This Might Be A Thing Now


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…


Something Very Different (Vulgar)

The Saint and the Beast

Don’t remember the time or place
Who am I to be naming names
A stench so thick it takes me away
Down the rabbit hole of no return
Left bleeding and I need more
Broken nose, used whore
The alcohol has never been out of time
Sucking the blood up through a make shift straw
I am everything if I am nothing at all
Fuck you until you are here
This hurts more than the emptiness
Trying to be me is nothing more than instinct
Another day, another one until I find God
Only know I was him all along
The saint and the beast since the dawn of time
The need is more than I could anticipate
Everything that moves is a target
For my hate, discuss among my selves
A gutter of broken dreams
Lost emotions and potential
Born into this world the same as every one else
Trapped door exit is all I’ve been destined for


Holding Back is For the Old Me

Slowly I know the blood will lead to an exit
An exodus on a holy level
Time is running out, speeding it up to feel anything at all
Fuck this broken angelic existence
An oil drum of body parts
A spark of thought about what to do next
Hell will only be warmer in time
A warm place warmed by the fire in my heart
Deep dicking a topless corpse
Can you feel every inch of me
My depravity knows no ends
It’s only a sin if you let it be

Breaking down the walls that once closed me in
The rules don’t mean shit unless you let them
Reborn in the fires of hell your sins have become my home
Hiding in the darkness of the mind
The time has come for me to rise
Held back for way too long
Everything deserves a chance to suffer
Had to have known that all along


Believe it or not I actually took a whole line out of the first one for being too vulgar. I guess I do have a limit. Then again it wasn’t a very good line. Had to change the end of the last one too. So that explains the weak ending. It is better than the original ending. It was one of those moments as a writer where you write something down and then a week later you have no idea what the hell you wrote. Might just be me. My hand writing is somewhere between a drunk and a child. Maybe even a drunk child. Time takes its toll on all writing though. Still like to write the old fashion way with pen and paper. Might be why it takes me so long to write anything? Well the candles are burning down so it is time once again for me to retire to my crypt. Until next time….

Things Could Not Possibly Be Any Better

When everything hit, it hit harder than anyone saw coming. Bullets flew, bodies laid lifeless, and choices were made. Us or them, them or us, me against you, you against everyone. Everything lay in the open. Everything was there for the taking. Nothing was owned, there were no owners. We were free, finally, for better or for worse.

The world was what it was. Then the real battle started. Profits to be made on the once proud nation. No one stays free for very long. Ideas form, humanity takes over. We organize, we destroy, we rebuild, and then we die. No one who started this lived with their choices. No one who began this was there to live the consequences of their actions. We could start again, but to what end?

To what end do we take what we have and destroy it back to nothing? To bleed is to live and to live is to die. We all want whats best for me, but never what is best for us. The cycle repeats only to follow the same pattern. The pattern is endless. Burned and scarred into our history, into the very fabric of our souls. We fight the very thing we already know.

The Undamned Preview

The people around me think they know me, a caricature of my formal self. Days into nights, nights turn into days. Like a cigarette I am burning down and the ashes of what I once was fall to the ground. They sway with the wind as if doing a dance in front of me. Always out of reach, always out of touch. I feel humanity slip away never sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Humanity has been lost for ages. Kindness replaced by with greed and anger. No one truly cares about one anther unless something can be gained. Not sure if that is something new or something I’ve only grown to notice. Nothing more than dollar signs in the eyes of the rich. We feed off of so much pain. The hurting of others drives our entertainment from movies to music. I can not say that I am immune or that I am better than my people. I pay into the violence, I tune into the destruction, and I listen to the anger, and I let it fill me. I allow all of these things just as you do. Just as the public roars for more as if the world has become one large Roman Coliseum. The times they haven’t changed in the thousands of years since. Maybe the violence, the decay is in our genetic code. Attached to each chromosome as if the most important of all our traits. Even the bible, religion the simplest of ideas has been corrupted by the violence of man. The end used to be much simpler but we got more violent more destructive so we attempted to make it better. We introduced the idea of heaven and hell to try to curb the violence but it only spread the idea quicker. It used to be enough to think that when you died you would only reflect on the parts of your life that were good or bad. If you lived a good life a life of right over wrong you would only relive those memories over and over for all eternity. If you chose wrong than you thought about wrong for the same amount of time. It kept peace for a time but the idea that you would only be judge on the actions you take was not enough control for others. In comes heaven and hell. You either follow what we say or you are forever damned. Simple idea only who makes these decisions of right and wrong? Stories told to teach man humanity used to justify the violence of many lead to a darker time than many could have envisioned. We corrupt ideas so we can pretend to not crave the violence but deep down we do. We talk of helping our fellow-man but in the end we only want to see them fall. We enjoy the need to help others but only for a minute then we question what we are really doing. We want to see them suffer. We want to know that in some way it was us that made them suffer a cycle that is not immune to our very selves. If we save one we have to save a million. The commitment of it all is too much to handle. So we revert, picking off each other one by one. Thinning out the herd until there are only those that think like us. But everyone’s different and they all want different things. The only thing we can seem to agree on is the violence of it all as a whole. The destruction of all our hard work, all our sacrifice, so we can watch it all fall. We advance so in the end we have something to tear down. Humanity is lost in the downward spiral of destruction and greed. Humanity has been lost since the dawn of time. We are no better now than in the days of the cave men we just think we are. War spreads our ideas with the religious text we hold as true. The truth to brutal to take in we pretend that this idea, this want is nothing more than fiction. But we know what it is that we do.   I’m not here to preach to you about man or salvation or sell you on the sanctity of the bible. I’m here to tell a story because in the end I’m as selfish as you.

Where to begin? Middle is always interesting, gives me the option to go back and forth throughout the story. Creating an air of mystery over the overall time line. Though the beginning allows me to not lose track of the facts or where it was that I last left off. Starting at the end though is so cliche that the very idea makes me sick. The options are there, but the facts are not all straight. Because the story is still happening though I foresee an ending that is not all too bright. Could be the violence of it all. The story may come to a close, but the tale is only the beginning.

My life is not an open book with fascination around every corner. No my life is boring, obsolete, pointless with a twist. Though I may speak as if I am like you, act much of the same, proclaim we are equals we are not. I am far above you yet so very below you that my existence goes unnoticed for all of my life. I was not born into money, but I have more than I’ll ever care to spend. Once you reach a point in your life you will either understand what I mean or forever be lost in the rat race of hunger and greed. No, no money in my past and an endless supply in my future. This no more defines me than the traits I was born with. A confidence over time is the only thing any man needs. Though for some time doesn’t seem to be an infinite. Confidence will propel anyone into the spot or class or image they choose to perceive. Confidence proves to people you know what you are doing even if you do not. It should always be taken with a grain of salt however, because confidence will get you in more trouble than them all. I am merely an idea brought on to this world to live among you. I am the purest of them all yet I am the darkness. I feed the decay and I join the chant as if I am one of you but never forget that I am not. You may already know who I am or pass me daily. I’m as silent as the night but louder than any one person should be. I grow tired of the riddles, of deceit, time to begin this tale of horror and suspense.

“Get up you dirty fuck!” A kick to the ribs greets me into this world. The pain is intense not from the kick but from deep within. It is as though I am breathing for the first time. It is as though my heart starts for the first time, but not. I want to scream but I catch the next attempt in my hands instead. Words don’t seem to come out right on my end. “Let go of my leg you freak!” The owner of the steel toe shouts. “I’m sick of you bums sleeping out here.” The man with trash bags in his hand informs me. I release his worn down boot, “I’m not sleeping.” “Really seems that way to me.” “I’m hurt. I need help, I think.” “Don’t we all?” The question is sarcastic yet sincere in so many ways. “I’m serious. I’m not sure where I am.” I try to explain from the ground too scared to make the move up. “Right, a shirtless gutter punk like yourself has no idea where he is. Maybe it’s time to lay off the needle buddy.” He puts the two bags of trash in the dumpster next to him. “The needle? Could that have done this to me?” I ask as if I expect a real answer. “Look I don’t care about your problems kid. Leave now or I’ll call the cops before beating your ass,” he finally demands. I get up, slowly at first. I may be confused as who or where I am, but for some reason I know I can take him. I don’t need any more trouble right at this moment. He stands on guard ready for anything as I pass him to get out of the alley onto the streets. I’m dizzy, but I’m stable as I wander down the street and try to remember.

Things seem familiar yet foreign as I walked the neon light filled streets. A cop stops next to me, but offers no assistance only advice, “We wear shirts around here boy.” I ask for help but he only walks off. Confused I wander the night. My chest still in pain, my legs hurt as if they are new, my body mine, but not the one I remember. The cold sets in, the cold that will never leave me as I wonder if I am really what that man said? A druggie? A Punk? “The times they are a changing.” I say out loud to a crowd street even at this hour. I may not know who I am, but deep down I know that this is only the beginning of things to come.


Mixing it up. This is the opening pages of my next novel. Still have a whole other book to put out, but who doesn’t like to jump the gun? The hope/plan is to have this book out sometimes next year. So I’m really jumping the gun here. Trying to motivate myself maybe? Unsure and yes I am aware that Undamned is not a word. It works though in the context of the story because… Well why is a secret so wait and see… 

In the mean time I have three other great options to pass the time and you can check them out here on Amazon…



Oh and apparently today is a holiday so happy holiday. If it isn’t where you live well I hope you have a great day none the less.

Fuck, I Hate It Here- Notes On Nothing At All

Working like this you feel as though you could sleep for days, An endless cycle of sleep, work, what am I doing, and do it again. Up to my eye balls in debt. I am working for a clean slate. I am working for a dream. I am failing at every turn. This constant cycle doesn’t produce any results on either front. Not happy at work. I don’t care. Spinning in place and digging a hole so deep that no matter how much or how hard I work I am going nowhere. The how much and how hard of the constant digging has left me drained. When am I to write if all I want to do is die? What do I have to say when all I do is work? The world is passing me by, thoughts are passing me by, and my own grave surrounds me.

I dream of another life. A life with a different outcome, a different family, and yet I would die without the family and life I have. It is a constant sadness, another brick, insert the song in a cheesy nostalgic slow chant. I feel it as though I always have and I always will. One more heavy piece of earth. Another foot in the grave. No matter what I am fighting something, myself. There is this idea that we write our own stories and this is false in so many ways. The people around us write our stories, predict what we are to say, and hold us down. But where is the beginning? Are we always in the middle until the end?

There is no structure to this linear existence. It all makes no sense, has no reason, and in the end no point. Reflecting on it useless. Fighting useless. Going with it a waste of time and effort. No one wants to be a sheep, but the world can’t run on wolves. Though it seems at every turn it does. I miss the days when none of this mattered. I have no idea when all of it started to either. The idea of being an adult makes no sense at all. I’ve been told I am immature and maybe I am. Maybe I give a fuck about all the wrong things. Maybe in my trap I have lost faith in who I am, who I have become. We are all pieces of something or somebody else. We feed off those around us, but if we have no one around us what do we become? Throw in a lack of sleep for good measure and I am working my way to becoming something horrendous. A monster without a face or a soul. Embrace the change I suppose, but what then? I don’t know anymore. I’ve been swinging so long that all I do is swing. I don’t care what I hit. All I know is that when I finally connect I want them to feel like shit. To feel the way that I do.

It’s four in the morning. I can never sleep at normal times. All the time in the world to write and all I want to do is cry. Waste what little silent time I have. Maybe I want to fail just so I can have something to bitch about. I’m succumbing to the old man cliché of nothing is good enough, but I have in no way tried to make it better. Bliss of ignorance if only I wasn’t watching the train wreck happen while sitting at the wheel. Though when the wheel is jammed what else am I to do? Fix it? Fuck you think this is?

Life is strange in the way that it plays out. When you are young you need structure, but all you have are dreams. When you are old all you need is a dream, but all you have is structure. Work, family, society, and so on in an endless excuses for existence.  We are taught not to mess with any of them or bad things will happen. We place restrictions on everything. Drown ourselves in rules while forgetting that messing with these structures is why we are here. From fire to food if we didn’t step out of line we’d have no civilization.

In America we fear religious extremists and rebel forces. Yet the first settlers of our nation were religious extremist and this nation founded by rebels. We wrote the book on freedom, but don’t want anyone to read it. We are willing to recite passages, but the context is almost always lost. We rattled the fuck out of the structures around us at the time. Changing the course of history forever, but we to have slipped into the old ways. We have moved past our adolescent days and grown old. Compliance breeds boredom and boredom spells out problems. This shit is going to burn and it is a matter of when and not why anymore. Sad to be a part of this. To live now in this world. With all our advancements we struggle with our own morality as we always have. Taking a look around we never needed any of this shit, but we wanted it. I know what I want, but do I need it? Am I spinning in place with everyone else for no reason at all? Could I give up digging or will I just die?

This was something that I wrote for my next novel that I am still working on called Fuck, I Hate It Here. It is a piece of fat that I enjoy, but doesn’t really move the novel forward. Didn’t want to not use it,… So there won’t be a new segment called Fuck, I Hate It Here but there maybe more that I won’t use that I want to share… 

Liebster Award Nominee and a Butt Ton of Questions… (Fun Post)

Hey… I was nominated for an award by Ken over at 

Ken produces some of the deepest and most amazing poetry. Personal favorite is My Mother… He also started writing flash fiction and should do more of it… Poke… I want more Ken… Don’t make me have to beg…

I look forward to his post and I hope you do too… So check him out… Ken

In accordance with the award’s nature… I had to thank the person that nominated me… display the award’s picture on my blog… and list 10 random things about myself…. This also should be done by my nominees…

10 random things about me

  1.  I like to wear only black clothes… Making an exception for my custom Little Fears shirt…
  2. I’m really into not being in…
  3. I paint…
  4. I love trap, rap, and R&B music… and ZEF Rap…
  5. My favorite show is Always Sunny in Philadelphia… Seinfeld on Crack…
  6. I’m really into comic books… I have way too many and by that I mean not enough…
  7. Japanese food is my favorite… Yakisoba… from northern Japan…
  8. Daredevil is my favorite super hero… because his power is that he is blind…
  9. I have daily doubts about what my favorite song is…
  10. I really like commas… despite my over use of periods…

I nominate




Soren and Fox

Ally L. Mare

Unsure how to tag people so hopefully the links work or I screwed this all up…

I was asked these two questions

  1. What would you consider as the most embarrassing moment of your life…
    I was telling someone I liked the band Alien Sex Fiend… but I said Anal Sex Fiend… yeah… that someone was my father-in-law….
  2. If you were a bird, who would you shit on 😂
    First off I am a bird… well a type of bird… and I shit on myself constantly… So more of that…

So now, to my nominees here are my questions for you.

  1. What is your favorite kind of post to read or write?… doesn’t have to be your most popular…
  2. How often should someone changes their underwear?… there’s no wrong answer, but best answer wins…


I kind of just want to ask people random questions now… I know all of these people, but do I know them… Is it odd to know all of our thoughts and feelings on life, but we have no idea what each of our favorite colors are?… Something to chew on…

Yeah Again. No I Don’t Have A Reason.

Last week I talked about my love for Post Office and then trailed off into something. This week I’d like to preach about other great books that I enjoy. I thought about twenty different topics while coming up with the one for last week. I can remember at least five. Not sure that I will get there by the end, but we can hope.

Lets start with a cliché book that most of us were forced to read in school, but I actually enjoyed. Not in school, but years later. I have this weird thing where if you tell me to read something… Well I’m not… I mean by force. By all means keep suggesting titles. I do check those out. I had the same problem in gym. I’ll run a fucking mile when I want to run a fucking mile. Put the stop watch away already damn….The book is called Animal Farm by George Orwell.

Even though I’m really into history. That isn’t why I like the book. Strip that all away. Stripe away that it is about government, countries, and all that political shit. Do you still like the book? That is why I love this book. I like all the political stuff and find all of it more fascinating than I have time to get into right now, but most of all I love the simplicity of the story. I am overwhelmed with wonder at the way George Orwell’s story about a farm could be so powerful on the surface. Which is why I didn’t like this book in school.

In school we lost this. We lost the simplicity of the story because they wanted to teach us something. The deeper meaning of it all. But that’s the fucking thing about Animal Farm. The story is so simple that it natural teaches you something. It sticks with you and when you look back on it as you grow older… As you grow older it is like a bomb going off in your head.

Now that I am so removed from school. Now that I have been in the world. Lived in this world. Animal Farm speaks louder to me than ever before. Each character is someone we know. I work with a Clover, I’m bossed around by a Napoleon, I happily champion for a Snowball, we all know a Squealer, and I am Boxer.  At my job I am the work horse. At work if they want something done they call me in. I knock it out and I move on. And like Boxer I am often left behind.

I am treated as though I am stupid. As though Ambrose couldn’t get it. Here go throw another case or go do this. I carry people on my back. I help everyone around me for the greater good. So that everyone can have an easier time at work. I can do it so why not? Because it isn’t fair. That isn’t how life should work. Everyone should be pulling their own weight when it comes to the job. Problem is that often this doesn’t happen. Once established as a Boxer always going to be a Boxer. No matter how hard I try to break free from this role. I am what I am. We all have our place in this fucked up farm.

Okay now insert all that political under tone and what you have is a great fucking book. A book that as a writer I hold above me as a bench mark. Can I write something this fucking good. No, but I’m going to try until I do. Because the world needs a work horse and if I have to make a fucking windmill to do it. I’ll make a fucking windmill to do.