The Myth

I love to walk among them. I love to see just how they treat one another, but most of all I want to see how they treat me. I do it to feel powerful and I love the power I have over each and every one of them. Though none of these people know just how powerful I truly am. They all fail to realize that they are under my control. That it is I who controls every aspect of their simple lives. That it is I who can destroy everything that they hold dear in seconds without lifting a single finger. I control everything and they have no idea. No one can ever understand what this really means. I’m here amongst them to enjoy their mistreatment. I enjoy their displeasure most of all, but I enjoy it more after witnessing them first hand. It is fascinating to watch these simple creatures made of flesh and blood. To watch how quickly they will turn on each other over something that doesn’t even exist but inside their heads.

These creatures value money as if it has any true value once they are gone. These creatures gorge themselves on anything they can fit their mouths around all the while children starve to death as they proclaim they are still hungry. Then there are the creatures that kill in my name so they can take over a land that isn’t even theirs. They destroy the very creatures I have made just to get their way. They drag my name through all the blood, all the pain, all the suffering of these creatures just so they can feel justified in disobeying me. If there is one thing I have learned in all this time it is that there is a flaw in the design of man.

Free will was bestowed to these creatures in hope that they could control themselves. That these creatures would one day not need a God to control them, but sadly their free will is wasted on jealousy and greed. I once had a dream, but it has long been lost on man. I have given up and I have given in. Some days I wonder if it is was truly I that has created these creatures, these monsters. These creatures say that they were made in my image, but they are most certainly not. A god does not create such dirty filthy degenerate things such as man. A god creates a world in which he wants to live in. A god creates a myth of how things should be and not how it is or so it seems thanks to man. A god may have control, but to have power I learned that I must destroy. And I have come to enjoy in that destruction, that chaos that mankind seems to enjoy so much. I have learned that I may not have made man from my image, but they most certainly have made me from theirs.

Pretty raw story… I wrote this years ago… I’ve expanded greatly on this idea… Which will feature heavily in my next short story book… Running Into Traffic… It was fun looking back on this story… After finishing the story that was based on this concept… It is strange years later how I changed a lot of the story and yet it is similar in the end… Well, this “story,” wasn’t much of a story, but a thought stuck in my head… 

Before Ask, Yeah…

It has been three years since I finished my last novel. The time and space seems like forever ago, but the feelings and emotions still feel fresh. Every new day is a mixture of past experiences and freshly served shit. Life keeps piling it on whether I hide in the corners or throw myself into the mix. Years have pasted yet I feel the same. I still smoke too much, drink even more, and waste my time as if I have more to burn.

Ten years ago I was sixteen and ten years ago I still had much of the same dreams.  Ten years from now it will be the same. Only time and depression will change. If ten years from now I am where I am today what would have been the point of all of this? My thoughts are worthless yet I value them at a high price. I believe one day my thoughts will hold enough meaning to warrant me money for nothing, but they are only thoughts. Thoughts that no one gives a shit about. My point of view must be worthless in the end because they are all the same. “Sorry but you are not what we are looking for right now.”

Isn’t that the point? Shouldn’t You be looking to the future? If this, what I say is not “in,” isn’t that what you look for? Taking a chance on me could pay off. I might be the next big thing. In the end, I might be the greatest, but I’m not stupid. The rejections state that I am good, but really I am not. They mean to say give up. They mean to say you are an untalented, pathetic writer that no one cares about. Direct quote for my headstone.

The words used to motivate me because I thought they meant that I just wasn’t there yet. Lies I told myself to keep going. Lies that used to inspire now only hurt. They are little paper cuts across my face and hands. Little scars filled with poison. Little losses destroying what’s left of a heart that was already broken. I’m becoming more damned every day. Becoming normal in every way. I want to give up, but what’s the use? I’ll still feel the same as I did yesterday.

Something Different

Stuck Choking On the Words

Surrounded in ash I begin to wonder
When this all had to end
Reflection of everything I hate
Your name tattooed on the inside of my skin
Hate to hate you any longer
If I could change one thing it wouldn’t be me
Self confidence in the worst of situations
Breaking open thoughts, looking for something
A memory of when this mattered
End of draft one, it is okay to turn away
A new level of dissatisfaction and regret
Blinded by a dying sun
The dark spots around your eyes permanently stuck
Don’t blame you for wanting more
Got nothing left to tell, if only my brain would shut up

 

A Crooked Smile For the Devil Inside Us All

I’m a fool for believing, I’m a fool for dreaming
A jester, a joke in my own head and yours
I tell lies to tell stories
Painted pictures of deceit
Yet what is there to believe
Our lives so dull though they still manage to cut
Like blades in our hearts, the blades in our backs
Slowly killing any real thoughts we have left
Work hard to work harder
Each day a testament of will
The hard part isn’t the work
The hard part is giving in
Dragging ourselves through sin
Blood on the tracks and I can’t resist
To keeping digging in
I wanted this more than it seems
An end to the beginning, a plot without a device
The words are deceitful but they feel so real

I wrote a children’s book called, “Who the Fuck Cares.” Looking for illustrators or anyone interested.

 

No Idea If Anyone Cares… But Here It Comes

So last month I talked about the books and films that have inspired me or inspire me as a writer. Those two things are high impact on my overall attempt to bring you something half decent. The most influential form of art though is music. I hint on the during my long-winded post about film and how I see each scene with music or soundtracks or something. I don’t actually pay attention to myself so what I said I have no idea, but I’m sure it is close enough to what I may or may not have said. The point is that music is a huge factor into me doing anything in life. I’m broken maybe? But I can’t do much of anything without music and when I do have to? Well, I lose interest pretty damn quick.

I listen to all kinds of music and if it has a good enough back beat I’ll sit through it with no complaints. Some of my favorite artists are Run the Jewels, Nirvana, Placebo, Jack White, Nine Inch Nails, The Devil Makes Three, Die Antwoord, Misfits, Alkaline Trio, and most of all Modest Mouse. I’ll circle back to Modest Mouse, but if you are into weird fun rap music Die Antwoord is amazing. I fell into Zef pretty damn hard. I love their I don’t give a fuck attitude. This idea that I am into what I am into and you can either join us or move along. Something very freeing about that. I like way more artist then this, but these are the ones that I come back to the most. I’m also a huge fan of Prince, Primus, White Zombie, Slayer, Jay-Z, Queens of the Stone Ages, The Clash, Psyclon Nine, Brown Bird, Tool, AFI, Pixies, and the list goes on. 80’s music is my favorite genre of music. I really think that the best songs were written during this era, but I also think a lot of it has been lost and dated because of the rise of electric instruments. If you take the time to strip away all the flash. The songs written at this time are soul-crushing juggernauts that can stand up to any music from any era. The 80’s was very much a victim of innovation. Okay, I’m done.

Back to what this blog is supposed to be about. Bands or music that influence me to write. The top two artists that come to mind are Alkaline Trio and Modest Mouse. The rest of the music I listen too I need to function in life but to live I need these two bands. There is something about these two bands that drive me to say anything, to set a mood, or keep on going. Narrowing down the reasons for Alkaline Trio it would have to be the way the music is upbeat pop-punk with some of the most depressing lyrics around. The duality of it all drives me to keep on going. No matter how bad things are we have to keep on going. My favorite track from them is “Steamer Trunk.” I also enjoy “Crawl,” “Nose Over Tail,” and “5-3-10-4.” That’s the short list of all my favorites.

Okay, so Modest Mouse. Issac Brock, the lead singer, and songwriter is my favorite writer. I could go on all day about Charles Bukowski, Langston Hughes, John Steinbeck, Chuck Palahniuk, Bret Easton Ellis, John Fante, Ira Levin, or Sylvia Plath, but in the end, Brock is my favorite. But how could a songwriter beat out all of those great writers? The simple reason is that I put on a Modest Mouse song like “Lives,” “Dark Center of the Universe,” or “Bukowski,” and I’m whole again. There is something about his words that bring me into a state of calm. A state of clarity that only Bukowski has ever come close too.

Brock’s lyrics are often complex and in the simplest form. Well as simple as he can get them. The thoughts and emotions he is able to dig out of me are beyond anything I have read or written or heard. His lyrics and words allow me to see the world in a different way. Good or bad I welcome that different perspective even if in most cases he and I think very similarly. I think because we do think similarly that Modest Mouse is a reassurance of yes keep going. Say what you want to say motivation. That I want and crave from the outside world.

Perspective though is what I love about reading in general. It is why I love reading all of your blog post from all over the world. I look forward to them every day. Perspective can have a profound effect on us as people. Something I think we should all strive for. I know we can’t all agree on the same things or want them either, but at the very least we need to understand them. I accept this every day. I’m grateful for it as well. Who wants to live in a world where we learn nothing at all?

This long ass post was inspired by a lot of things, but the most direct inspirations were Ward Clever and Mel Gutier. So if you are looking for some different music or great writing I suggest you check them out.

https://wardclever.wordpress.com/

https://fictioninmyhead.com/

 

And Other Things From This Time Preview

Throat of the World

One day, evening
I thought about God
Relationships and relations too
Sitting in the clouds
Could we really be all there is to talk about
Poisons in the bloodstream
Drive us to do unthinkable things
Ripping our own skin from our bones
We dance around like fiends
Ever discovering our needful needs
I think about Christ
I think of passion
I believe in fire
The words escape me
Lodged in my heart
I’m always watching
Perched even higher
Standing at the threshold
Between heaven and hell

Often

I often wonder what it feels to die
Does it feel like I do now
All alone with no one to talk too
I do this to myself
Yet I don’t know the answers to my own questions
I often wonder how soon
Will all this prove to be meaningless
They say you pave your own way
But what if it’s not true
What if this is nothing more than a collection
Of me and you
I often wonder about God
Am I him or is it you
All reason would lead to nothing at all
I feel like I know what I’m saying
But in the end, it all seems to come out the same
Blood in blood out and all that shit
Maybe life is nothing more than a brotherhood
Of bull shit
I do this to myself
Get all upset for no good reason
I often wonder what it feels to die
And I know it has to feel like this

Two more poems from my first poetry collection… And Other Things From This Time… A bit on the sad side this week I’m afraid… I’ve talked a little bit about the dark period of my life that I went through and these were written during that period… A warning for those of you that follow my blog… Thank You… this month’s previews will feature a few more from that dark period… So things may get a little rocky… But I am all “better” now… haha.. Okay… I’m doing better than when I wrote them… Hope all is well…

 

Salvation Can Be A Sin

I attend the morning mass for the first time in over a year. I usually can only make it to church at night thanks to the long late nights. Since I won’t be able to attend tonight I traded in sleep for prayer. The church is empty. Always so empty. Maybe after tonight that will no longer be the case. Those that are here put a rare smile on my face. It is good to know that not everyone in this city is lost. The bombs have all been set and the plan is in full effect I tell the lord. Today your message will seep into the minds of everyone and be on the lips of the damned as they flee with fear. Those who do not run in fear will be graced by my bullets and they do not forgive nearly as much as you. May the lord bless me as I full fill his sermon in his name and his honor. I take the body of the Christ into my mouth and swallow his blood as if it is my own. I am prepared to die today and every day in the name of Christ, the Lord, and the Holy spirit. I am how he has made me. I accept death. I accept it for what it is and what it means. I want to feel it’s cold hands pull me up to heaven, pull me up to let me know that I am done, but until that day I am prepared to do what needs to be done.

I arrive to the spot five hundred yards from the prison at about half past nine. Most of the prisoners should be out on the yard right now, but in fifteen minutes they will have to start heading back to their cells. The plan is to set off the charges at ten, which guarantees that all the prisoners will be in their cells. I unloaded my detonators, my rifle case, and my high-powered binoculars from the back seat of my car. It truly is a beautiful day today. The sun is shining, the sky is empty, and the air is warm. The lord could not have created a better day and these sinners couldn’t ask for a better day to die. I set my detonators on the grass as if I was laying out a picnic. Preparing for the feast of souls I set up my high-powered rifle as well. The craftsmen ship of the Remington R-25 is something to admire. It is the newest of the rifles and the most powerful one I have. This rifle is mostly used by the military so, getting my hands on one wasn’t easy. The R-25 is my insurance policy to make sure anyone left alive finds their way to the ground. The R-25 is mostly stock with the only modifications being to the magazine in both size and reload capabilities. By the time I look through my high-powered binoculars I can see the prisoners making their way back into the building. As I make my last-minute checks to the system of detonators and sight my rifle into position I can hear the pre-recorded speech come through the speakers all around the prison. Even from this distance I can hear it loud and clear.

“To all guards, medical personal, and support staff of the prison this is your fifteen minute warning to evacuate this facility. The prisoners are to remain in their cells. Anyone caught freeing prisoners will be executed. No judges and no jury. This is not a test. Your time begins now.”

You shouldn’t feel bad about the damned I tell myself. Up until now they have pretty much gotten a free ride. The handle of the rifle feels wet in my hands. I’m nervous, but after this there is no going back. The plan has already been put into motion, but when I press the button this doesn’t end until it ends. May your blood be of Christ and your souls open to salvation. Amen. I push the button on the detonator to my left. The board lights up. There is a slight delay as the board sends out the final signal to all the explosives in the prison. Each building begins to explode simultaneously. The bottoms blow out of the buildings spreading fire around each one. Those on the first floor come out on fire and screaming. Before more have a chance to exit the second wave of explosives bring what is left of the buildings down to their knees. It is beautiful in a magical way. I almost expect God to reach through the clouds of smoke and collect the lost souls himself. My hands aren’t so nervous anymore and my mind is only on the mission at hand. Slowly a few people begin to emerge from the ruble and the flames. More screams erupt from the prison. With my rifle ready I begin to take out anyone left making their way out of the buildings. Guard or prisoner it doesn’t matter. The sounds of sirens begin to drown out the cries for help. Reload. I don’t see any rescue vehicles. Reload. I know they are coming, but they are at least five minutes from the prison and another five from where I am. Reload. I line up shot after shot. Taking anyone I can. Reload. As I prepare to put down another sinner another massive explosion sets off a chain reaction through the grounds. The gas line I presume. Reload. I watch as the carnage increases taking out the outlying buildings and guard stations. I scan the charred remains and bits of rumble for anything still left moving. The sirens get louder and louder, and I can know see the rescue vehicles arriving at what used to be the entrance. I hear the distinct sound of a helicopters in the distance long before I can see them. More people emerge from the ruins of the facility. I fire off every round left in my clip. I don’t have enough time. I thought I would have more. It is okay because I have prepared for this. If only the police were so quick to rescue the innocent there might not be a need for my services, my existence. I hear a helicopter closing in on my position along with more sirens. I stand up and walk away from my gun. I take my jacket off and lay it down next to me. There is no use trying to get away at this point. I put my hands on my head as I wait for the police helicopter to find me. It hovers in front of me. Words blaring from its loud-speaker tell me to do what I am already doing. Not long after two squad cars pull up behind me. Still I don’t move with my hands on my head. The officers tell me to get down on my knees and I comply as they tell me to drop on to my belly. I am slapped with handcuffs and checked for weapons in a matter of seconds. Two officers pick me up off the ground and they escort me to a police cruiser. They read me my rights and stuff me into the back seat. There is already an officer in the driver seat. I can tell from his eyes he is not happy to see me by the tone of his voice. “Why did you do this you sick fuck?” The officer screams at me. “If you don’t see it now then you are never going to get it,” I calmly respond back. “What is your fucking problem?” He yells at me again. His partner enters on the passenger side, “Hey leave him the hell alone.” Probably the best advice he has ever given in his life. I put my face real close to the cage, “I answer to a higher power.” The driver’s fist pounds the cage of the police car. The first of many fists I will be seeing today.

The police at the station are as welcoming as the officer in the car. They choose to ask questions with their fists and by kicking me while I’m down rather than asking me with their mouths. I can’t blame them for their reactions they don’t see the big picture yet. Best to give it time and let it sink in. I don’t say a word or show an ounce of pain, and it pisses them off more and more. “My wife works there you sick son of a bitch. You better hope they find her still breathing or they won’t be finding you that way,” one of the overly polite officers says before smashing in my nose. I let the officers get good and bloody before finally speaking. “I want my lawyer,” I tell them. “Oh you hear that guys he wants his fucking lawyer,” one of the officers says as he rubs his bloody hands with fresh wounds on his knuckles. “Like we give a shit,” another one strikes back. He strikes me hard across my face and I can feel my teeth loosening in my jaw. Blood sprays out of my mouth and all over the officer’s face. He wipes it away as they all have a nice hearty laugh at my expense. His face a twisted mess of madness and joy. I see the devil in his eyes. I look the next officer right in the eyes, fist ready to strike, and I calmly tell him, “I have A.I.D.S. The look of horror in the room is worth every broken rib, every chipped tooth, and every last drop of blood on their fists. An honest smile fills my face for the first time in a long time. I watch as they all flee the room. Tripping over one another at the door. Rats scurrying in the light that is God. “He works in mysterious ways,” I shout behind them.

I’m treated with much greater care as I am escorted to my own jail cell. The walk is nearly silent. The only noise I hear is the news reporting on my sermon at the end of the hall. I am in my own cell no longer than five minutes before a gloved up doctor comes in to stitch me up. She places her medical supply case on the bed next to me. She is wearing gloves that go all the way up to her elbows and a medical mask. She seems scared, but maybe it is only nervousness. I can see it in her eyes though her hands are steady. I’m still in handcuffs, but there is still an officer standing by my side ready to put a bullet in my head. The doctor doesn’t say a word as she stitches up the gashes on my face. “I feel like hamburger,” I tell her. She doesn’t even so much as smile at me. After she is done patching me up the doctor takes out a syringe and draws some blood before exiting my cell. The officer follows her and after the door slams closed I’m advised to slowly walk to the cell door and turn around. He undoes my handcuffs and informs me they are having a hard time finding me a lawyer. In the mean time I am to sit and wait until they find a lawyer to represent me. He looks me straight in the eyes and tells me he hopes I rot in hell. So, there are a few believers left out there even in here I think. However, I will be far from the burning depths of hell when all is said and done. I take a seat on the bed. It is time to rest I think to myself as I close my eyes.

I am woken by the tapping of a baton on my cell door. The artificial light has taken over. How long have I been asleep? “Wake the fuck up scum bag,” the officer at my cell door screams. He is not the same officer that was at my cell last so, he must work the night shift. “We found you a lawyer.” I rise from my cot and the pain from the broken ribs almost drops me to my knees. If I thought my face hurt before I went to sleep I was sadly mistaken. I don’t let the guard see my pain. I turn my back to the guard as he slaps the cold cuffs onto my wrists. I play his little dog and pony tricks on the way to the interrogation room. The room is nice and clean compared to the last one they had me in. “You didn’t have to clean on my account,” I tell the officer. “Save it for the trial. Your lawyer will be in shortly,” the guard grunts at me. My chair is place against the wall and as far from the table as possible. The officer doesn’t bother removing my handcuffs. “Get up from that chair and,” the officer begins. “And what you are going to beat my ass?” The officer’s face turns a nice shade of red before he exits the room. Idle threats are useless at this point. My lawyers enter the room as promised a few minutes later. He is a young man who probably just passed the bar exam, and is looking for a good case to get his name out there. “My name is James Raven,” he reaches out to shake my hand, but since they’re still in cuffs he pulls his hand back. “They do that to your face?” He asks. “Probably had it coming anyways,” I say to him. “You did do a very bad thing, but I’m not here to tell you that or cast judgment.” He takes a seat in his chair. “Is what I did truly that awful?” I ask him. “If you have to ask what do you thinking?” He takes out a note pad. “I did as I was told and what I did was right.” “Who told you to do these things?” He asks. “God,” I say sternly. “So we don’t have to rule out an insanity plea,” he says without looking up from his note pad. “You don’t believe me?” “I don’t have to believe a single thing you say the courts do.” “I realize that, but I asked you?” He looks up from his note pad and stares into my eyes, “What does it matter?” I don’t back down from his stare. “I need to know if you are with me or not.” Raven gets up from his chair and starts to pace the room. “With you on what? Do you know that every attorney in this city turned down your defense, and there are a lot of lawyers in this town?” I sigh, “Legally they have to appointment me a lawyer.” Raven takes a seat once again, “Yeah and the last five used every favor they had to avoid you. I had no favors and I had no choice. So what difference does it make?” “It makes all the difference Raven. Tell me do you believe in God?” He rubs his forehead, “That’s irrelevant at this point.” “Yes or no?” I stare Raven in the eyes once again. “Yes, I do believe in God. Why would that matter at this moment? This is about you not me.” “Because he told me to do what I did and what I do. I am his servant Raven.” He writes down every word I am saying on his legal pad. “I’m not crazy. God chose me as his messenger of death.” “Wait did you just say messenger of death? I nod my head never breaking eye contact. “You’re the one who’s been terrorizing the city for the past few years? Taking out drug dealers, rapists, and anyone who stands in your way?” I nod again. “Dear God.” “Watch it boy.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just, do you know what kind of trouble you are already in? And now this? Do the cops know?” “I have no idea and I don’t care.” “There has never been an execution in this state and they are going to fry your ass. If I was you I would care a whole hell of a lot.” “Only one judgment I fear and it will not be handed down by man.” “Not to be an ass, but you are insane and that’s a good thing. If we have any chance of beating these charges it will be because of that fact.” “I told you Raven. I’m not crazy.” “But you are. Don’t you at least see that? Let’s say God actually told you to blow up that prison and kill all those people. Let’s say I believe every word you tell me. It will not matter. Do you have any idea how crazy all of that will sound in court? The jury is going to think that you are stark raving mad.” “Because their faith is weak. In time everyone will understand what I have done.” Raven slams his fist on the table, “They already understand everything they need to understand. It’s all over the news. Madman blows up state prison and they don’t even know who you are. Once it gets out who you are. All of this will only get even crazier. No matter what you say no one is going to believe a word of it.” “And why is that? People once believed Moses and the burning bush. I’m not the first man to talk to God.” “Why?” He tosses some medical papers in front of me. I read it the best I can off the floor, but Raven sums it all up for me. “Moses didn’t lie to his people. You’re not H.I.V. positive. Hell you don’t even have diabetes. That’s lie one right there. If you really are who you say you are there are at least a hundred deaths under your belt before today. Two of which I might add are your own wife and son. Something else Moses and the burning bush never did either.” “No that is untrue. They moved away from here to some place out west.” “No, they were supposed to move some place out west, but instead they were found with bullet holes to their heads. So they never quite made it.” “There is no way. They’re not dead.” “Face it Stan either you plead insanity or you’re going to fry.”

My names not Stan or is it? I don’t know anymore. I have been so many people in the last few years I can’t remember, but I know my family is not dead. “I’m not done here yet.” “What?” Raven asks. “I said I’m not done yet. I’m still needed by God.” Raven calls for the officer outside the door, but it’s too late. The proximity bomb was triggered as soon as I got near this wall, and as soon as I get up from my chair I have less than thirty seconds to take cover. I kick the table over on its side and take cover the best I can. I was hoping the guard would have undone my cuffs, but I was prepared either way. I dislocate my left thumb and force my hand through the cuff. “What the hell is going on?” Raven asks while standing outside of the protection zone. “I’m sorry.” As the officer opens the door he is greeted by the blast of my escape route. The table shields me from most of the shattered wall. Sadly I can’t say the same for Raven. I can’t tell if he is alive or breathing, but I don’t have time to check. I hop over the table and jump down the ten feet down to the ground level. I land hard on a parked car, but it feels better than landing on concrete pavement. Wounded but not down I disappear into the night just as quickly as I came. My methods maybe extreme. They may be seen as hostile. I am justified and I am far from done. I gave God my word. I intend to do his work until my soul is ready to pass on.

 

Author’s Note: This story is part of a larger story. The third part to be exact. It was not based on anyone living or dead or any real world event. This story was one of my early stories written back in 2010.

Back then I really wanted to work for Marvel comics and I really wanted to write the Punisher. I came up with this character who was in a sense Frank Castle only guided by God or his idea of God. I had this whole scene in my head of the two with guns pointed right at each others heads and not being able to pull the trigger. Which one is the hero and which one is the villain type of story. Naturally I need a back story for my character. The original story was that back story. I don’t work for Marvel comics so, I decided to use it as a stand alone story. I chopped it down for the post today. The only thing missing out of the story is more context on his mission and him setting up the bombs in the prison. 

This story was in no way an attempt to capitalize or honor events that have happened  since I wrote the story. Why post it? Sometimes as writers of fictions we write fiction and later life makes it true. I wrote the story because I liked the character. Even all these years later I like the character. I still want to see him go up against Frank Castle. We are human therefore we are animals and violence is part of our nature. We can not escape violence whether it is through stories, television, movies, or video games. We need it on a primal level. However unlike the rest of the animal kingdom we are able to obtain it in ways that do not require hurting anyone else. The forms I mentioned. I don’t believe there is anything wrong with healthy forms of violence.

But mass shootings, rape, child abuse, murder, etc. are not healthy forms of violence. Even if some of those examples can be found in nature it doesn’t make them right. No one should be hurting anyone whether it is for a God, for one’s self, or whatever reason.

I’m not here to pass judgment on anyone or for anyone. We judge ourselves enough as it is. I am only justifying why I posted this story.  If for any reason you are upset. I apologies, but I will not be taking the story down or editing it out of my book. My intentions as a writer are never to upset anyone, but to tell a story. Whomever that story may be about.  

This Might Be A Thing Now

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For the last two weeks now I have been talking about books and saying how I have X many titles to recommend. So far it has only been two and I wanted to do another one this week or at least try to do more than one. But yeah fuck that. Lets talk about film.

Movies, cinema, and film are a huge part of my creative process. I see my stories as scenes in a movie with a soundtrack, a camera angle, and everything that goes with it. I visualize everything in this way about writing. Often to come up with a story I listen to a song. With each action falling in sync with the music. For most if not all of my stories I start of with the music video version of a story. How would I tell this story with no words?

I came up with an amazing video concept for the song Fineshrine by Purity Ring. Amazing track if you haven’t heard it. No offense to the creators of the video, but it sucked. Mostly because it wasn’t my idea filled with gangsters, hip hop references, and a badass angel/demon. I want to tell you more, but honestly I need the story idea. How does this relate to film? It doesn’t.

What I want to talk about, about film is the film makers that inspire me. Early Kevin Smith, Quentin Tarantino, and George A. Romero. There are plenty more, but those are the main three that actually inspired me as a writer. Parallels there being that they are also the writers for most if not all of their films.

Mallrats had a huge impact on me as a child growing up. Wait fucking Mallrats?? Yeah Mallrats. Clerks, Chasing Amy, and Dogma are amazing films filled with some of the finest dialogue ever written.  But at thirteen Clerks is boring as fuck. Mallrats on the other hand is fun and there is nudity… So win?

Honestly I don’t know why I latched on to this movie at a young age, but I did. As an adult I enjoy it for Smith’s ability to link all these characters into a world connected by words rather than shots. It gives you something more to look for beyond what you are seeing right before your eyes. I like that and try to implement this concept into a lot of stuff that I do.

Guess why I like Tarantino films? Because the writing is so fucking good. Tarantino has come a long way as a writer which is crazy to say. Kill Bill is a masterpiece. Jackie Brown is such an amazing film with one of the best soundtracks I’ve ever heard. But neither of these films really shaped me as a writer. Not in the way that Reservoir Dogs shaped me. Being honest it isn’t my favorite film by him. Not even by a long shot, but what had an impact on me at a young age was his ability to tell a story with so little.

Tarantino’s talents lie in his ability to show you something you’ve seen a billion times and blow your fucking mind. Reservoir Dogs is a heist movie. Cool, but it isn’t. It is a movie about people who are in a heist. It is a movie about people. Reservoir Dogs showed me that I could write an amazing story about a heist gone wrong or I could write an epic story about people in a fucked up situation. What I took from him was that it is okay to base a story in clichés, but don’t make that the story. Make the people in the clichés the story.

The late great George A Romero… This one is going to seem like a cop-out, but it’s George A Romero. Need I say more? Okay fine. Dawn of the Dead (1978) is my favorite movie of all time. I own ever version of this film on VHS, DVD, DVD Special Collectors edition, and Blu-Ray. I have seen every cut of this film. I can watch the extended edition and the European edition, and tell you where he made his cuts. At this point I can tell you why he did and argue why he shouldn’t have. I used to watch this movie daily. Nothing on? Nope Dawn of the Dead was on. As a kid in high school I covered my walls with the script. I don’t mean a scene or two. The whole damn thing in order. I would read along to the movie or even other movies. I’ve been to the mall where it takes place…. Why on earth they updated I have no idea. It saddened me to an ungodly end. But it was still a fun trip if you like being disappointed and crushing your fantasy of it all….

I love the Dead series, but it is all about Dawn for me. The film is perfect in again telling this fantasy story about people. A zombie movie with little to do with zombies. They literally have it made. The whole worlds going to shit and they are living the life. Free to consume while the whole world is dying. They are the 1% in a world of nothing, but it is all fleeting. Because the world is always coming for you. The chaos of life will get you. No matter how much you plan, how safe you think you are, or strong. They’re coming to get you…

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