Wednesday, January 17, 2018

Welcome To My Channel!

Hope the video isn't/wasn't too horrible to watch. Thought it turned out nicely, myself (asymmetrical facial hair not withstanding). In any sense, before you take a gander at the juicy links (no, not sausage links, but I'd recommend eating smokey, juicy links during any viewing of any video), I'd like to give you a more elaborate explanation of a particular series that will be popping up here from time to time that I didn't really elaborate too well on: The commentary/podcast series shall thus be dubbed NEVER RACE A WALKING MAN. Basically, it is series that parses works by other authors/artist who are not yours truly, for one part of each episode, which can be enjoyed by all. Each episode will have a bonus part, which will be for patrons only: it's basically stringing you along for the ride of hearing me read and edit my work before I refine it (sometimes after the fact for patrons... Sorry). Verily, it should all be rather horribly and wonderfully fun.

Well, without further ado, here are the Links!:

Have a wonderful life!

Monday, January 8, 2018

Spontaneous Combustible Combustions

Before I began my descent... Before I began rearranging my room.

Happy New Year!

Remember the old so the present can be anew and the future will be just as wonderfully tumultuous!

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

The Morning Rough - Double Rough


Good morning and welcome to The Morning Rough.
I will keep this introduction short today, as time is working against me in some ways. The post, today, is a Double Rough, due to the fact that I had another Monday of not being able to finish anything. I don’t know how I managed to get two stories finished before the morning ended, but I do hope you enjoy “Candle Lit Dreams” and “Don’t Get Me Right.”
As always, I hope you will comment and share any one of my posts, either now or in the near future. Overall, though, I hope the day serves you well. Thank you for reading.

"Candle Lit Dreams"

One day, I just walked out a door and just never stopped going. It’d be an gross understatement to call this a compelling urger, maybe even a blatant misconception. There wasn’t anything particular I left behind, and there wasn’t anywhere I particularly wanted to go. Nowhere I went held my interest for very long, as I was more concerned and annoyed with the fact that I had this urge to go from town to city to town, with no end destination in sight. Whether I was walking long distances or hitching rides, I was always aggravated with the an unfortunate feeling. No part of me was looking forward to seeing any place I’d end up at.
Weirdly enough, the only things I ever really looked forward to because they were the only things that brought any sense of accomplishment were the odd jobs I’d do for cash. Each job was a means to keep me going, both in traveling and living. There were times I would want to keep working at a certain job, but the urge to travel to another place was too strong.
Sooner than later, though, things come together in unexpected ways. Just as a flower bud is a green, usual thing before it suddenly blooms forth to worship the sun and the spring. No matter how often it happens, the transition into spring colors is a slow yet unexpected instance.
For me, the instance happened on a quiet winter morning, as I sat on a park bench and ate a sandwich, minding my own business. I had already done two jobs around this town, and I had already forgotten the name of the town. But, that was more a professional hazard from traveling so much. Unlike other towns and cities, this one was captivating me, each time I took a bite out of my sandwich.
Then a lady sat next to me, instantly putting a large purse on her lap and opening it. Expressively, she rummaged through her purse as her face was riddled with distress, discomfort, and an uncanny sense of urgency. Before long, I had caught myself looking, but for the life of me, I couldn’t stop. She just kept rummaging, pulling out a paper or an envelope and scanning it every now and then before going back to the hunt, as I ate my sandwich like a dumb fool.
At no point did she look my way, nor did she seem to mind my presence. Eventually, though, she tossed the purse to her side and started crying in her hands. Something about that made me nearly jump out of my skin, causing me to look around for any strangers nearby. Not sure I was worried about judgmental eyes seeing her like this…
She continued to cry in her hands well past five minutes, which had ignited a realization in me. Quickly, I opened my backpack and searched for the item that had popped into my head.
When I found it, I looked back her, finding no sign of her stopping the well of sadness she was drenching on her fingers and palms. Nervousness had shocked throughout my body before I swallowed a frog in my throat and finally spoke audible words: “E-Excuse me, miss.”
“Leave me alone,” her muffled voice sobbed, from her hands.
“I will,” I assured, “but I-… it’s just that I think this will help you more than it will help me.”
“Hard to describe… it’s something better left seen, I guess…” I scratched my head as I study the item I had grabbed from my backpack. “Probably… not too hard to describe, but I think it’s better to see it… Looks rather nice, but I’m not sure why I procured it in my travels…”
Her sobs stopped, though she continued to sniffle as she rose her pink, teary face out of her palms. Turning her head, she saw the snow globe in my hands: a little girl was kneeling in the center of a cross that was printed on the floor of the globe, praying with clasped hands and a low head, as she was surrounded by burning red candles, red gerbera daisies blooming in between each candle. After giving her a moment to look at it, I turned the key underneath then shook it: a soft, serene, twinkling song played as translucent, sparkly flakes fluttered all around the girl.
I blinked, and the lady was looking into my eyes.
My eyes were caught in hers.
Before I knew it, my life seemed to have bloomed like the flowers of spring. Of course, it wasn’t spring. It was winter, but each night bloomed under the candle lit dreams that, I imagine, weren’t unlike the candle lit prayer of that little girl.


"Don't Get Me Right"

What a night…
One moment, I was entering a bar and thinking I was going to mind my own business, as per usual. The next moment, a couple of wise guys were holding my arms, a big buffoon of a man rammed his fists into my gut and face. Maybe the pummeling was screwing with my memory, I couldn’t think of a damn good reason why they wanted to beat me to a bloody pulp.
Frankly, though, I was more surprised I heard the buffoon say something, after giving me a good kick into a wall. This is how I heard his spitting jargon: “If ya know what’s bes’ for ya, ya’d stay away from Scarlet.”
After that, they left me to the alley and my thoughts. More than thirty minutes passed, at least it felt like thirty minutes, before I realized I wasn’t spewing anything out of my noggin. Seconds passed until I finally remembered that I didn’t get a single drop of beer.
Then three minutes passed…
I got up and was relieved to find a cigar that was still intact. Walking out of the alley, I had it burning between my lips as a loud ticking sound plagued my mind. Suddenly, I found myself glad that I had started the cigar: I was a long walk away from any bar.
Didn’t think I’d know where I was after that beating… Guess I didn’t know a Scarlet, guess those blowhards confused me for someone else. Honest mistake, but the more I smoked, the more I walked, and the more I felt the blood in my mouth… the more I wanted them to learn from their mistakes.
Had no reason to rush, though: I needed to heal.
I needed a drink.
My cigar was done by the time I was close to the bar I was nabbed from, so I tossed it in the gutter before I walked in for the second time around. To say I didn’t give a damn about the stares would be an understatement and a half.
Only had one thing to care about for the rest of this night, but I had a priority to take care of before I handled that undertaking. As they say, first things first…
I ordered a pint of beer.
Wasn’t too much of a hassle to find the information I was after. By midnight, I had the names of the two bozos and that buffoon, and after that, it didn’t take too long to figure out whom Scarlet was, especially to that buffoon.
It was almost hard to believe I was being lead to a university, looking to teach something to the quarterback and his lackeys. Guess a few people would be astonished about the fact that many university professors were running a lucrative human trafficking “business.” 
Nothing about this surprised me, though…
Scarlet was one of the popularly-liked girls, picked for this business through blackmail and extortion like all the rest. The beating I got told me she had a bit of a rebellious streak, too.
Before long, I managed to find her, and she was definitely a looker, which made things all the sadder. Certainly, it didn’t sit well with my gut when I paid her to put together an orgy, tomorrow night, for the three thugs and a few professors. I made sure to stress that this was supposed to be a secret surprise for the buffoon. My heart sunk a few pegs when she took the large wad of cash with no hesitation.
The next night arrived…
My wounds were all patched up, and I was waiting for the party to begin. Just as suspected, they all came with their pants jumping and their guards down. It’s amazing how little powerful people think about protecting themselves from their enemies.
Each set of eyes went wide with shock when I entered and put a bullet in each knee that was attached to all responsible parties. The victims of this “business,” of course, were spared and allowed to leave.
Before long, each person learned something, especially that buffoon. Death was going to be too good for every single one of them, so I made sure to tend to the bullet holes before I strung their naked asses to the trees of the on the university lawn. I made them watch one of the university buildings burn to the ground.
After that, the police arrived.
The next day, not a word was mentioned about me in the many news outlets. What was more, the whole trafficking “business” was being torn down inch by inch. I actually found that the buffoon was interviewed: they asked him who had inflicted this act of vigilante justice upon him.
He just kept repeating one sentence.
“I picked the wrong guy.”
Seemed like a good occasion to drink, after that…

Sunday, October 29, 2017

The Morning Rough - "Sparkle And Flicker"


Good morning, dear reader, and welcome to The Morning Rough.
Today, I am at an odd state of mind, and that odd state of mind was fit to produce a kind of story, entitled “Sparkle And Flicker”, that was, perhaps, more tell than show. No use in giving you the grimy details of my odd mind at the moment, but it may be useful to know that this story may be an interesting, if not rather too abrupt, take on world building. Fantasy, at times, seems ripe for snippets of world building material that might not be unlike this piece. But, that’ll remain to be seen if I re-look this at a later time, or if some one actually sees this.
As always, dear reader, thank you for your time and patience and I do hope you will comment and share this story after reading it. Other than that, I hope your day is as well as can be expected. Thank you for reading.


"Sparkle And Flicker"

His name was Castor Wilhelm.
Everyone knew him as the stranger who - many claim - came out of the Unspoken Zone, borne out of a burst of fire and smoke. Those who lived to see him knew he had eyes of black basalt - somehow keeping a red hot, volcanic fire at bay - and a sword that seemed comprised of active brimstone. His touch, as well, seemed to turn some into ash, others into fiery beings, or it would put a person on their knees as steam covered their bodies.
Reports of his name came within hours after his arrival. A day later, propaganda of his ruthlessness had been posted to every Communal in the Spoken Zone. Many believed, thanks to the propaganda, that he had slaughtered the entirety of the Feather Communal, the closest village to the Unspoken Zone. Before a whole week ended, it had become clear - to the Invisible Authority - that Castor was being grossly underestimated, as the reports came in on the falling of two more villages.
Then within a month, after several more villages were reported as fallen, the blind people of the Spoken Zone saw the towers emerge from the once fallen villages. At first, the Invisible Authority tried to control the knowledge of the towers, vainly attempting to convince every person that the towers were not really there. However, it soon became clear to them that Castor was not merely a ruthless stranger, but a conqueror who amassed an army of fiery soldiers.
In the eyes of Castor, though, he was neither conqueror nor savior. His memories of the Unspoken Zone were sparse, near nonexistent, but there he had found himself, of that he was certain. But, we he entered the Spoken Zone, he saw a world that had lost all its honor. Yet, there was a faint echo, a yearning for honor that tried to cry out from the very earth itself.
Without hesitation, he went in search of men. He had not used his sword against another in his entire search, for the men had no fight in them to resist his hands. Many had turned to ash, and each flake of those ashen piles had revealed the life of lost honor. Few were engulfed in flame, their souls ignited and hungry to learn what he knew of this elusive value that beat inside his heart. Those who were protected by steam were uncertain souls, their potential preserved until his search was either a success or a failure.
Nothing escaped the fire of his eyes.
Castor, indeed, saw that the Spoken Zone had not known war in centuries. However, this was no land of peace: it was a land subjugation, each village called a Communal to service an Invisible Community, which had controlled them through the Invisible Authority, and this, in turn, allowed an Invisible City to thrive.
So, Castor amassed his army of fire, building tower after tower as symbol of ascension. Before long, nearly half of the villages had been conquered, his sword still unused, and the Invisible was surrounded, made very visible. The other villages didn’t need to be conquered, as the people finally heard the yearning in their souls. Despite the Invisible Authority’s efforts, many villages became towns. Many men, as well, took up arms along side the fiery soldiers.
Cornered, the final day of war at hand, the Invisible City did something no one, borne of the Spoken Zone, knew to be possible. First, it made the land shake, it’s earthquake as unnatural as it was an expression of rage. Then the city seemed to implode before becoming amorphous. Castor knew the Invisible City was really a dormant, Invisible Dragon.
However, this dragon could not hide behind the transparency of its scales, could not full his eyes nor the eyes everyone whom it had subjugated. It was as scared as it was ruthless, snarling and flying and eating what it could.
It was at this moment that Castor flung his sword, fire erupting out of his eyes as hot air surrounded him. Many stood in awe as charged, fully intent on slaying the beast and its maniacal enslavement of the Spoken Zone.

Saturday, October 28, 2017

The Morning Rough - "Petty Fingers"


Good morning and welcome to The Morning Rough.
Today, dear reader, I give you a story, entitled “Petty Fingers”, that is a strange attempt at the science fiction sub-genre known as cyberpunk. I may’ve tried my hand at this sub-genre once or twice, and I have not read it very often to my knowledge, so I am not very schooled in it. What I do know about it is from movies and video games, and though I do enjoy it to a degree, I wanted to write something that was a tad uncommon, perhaps.
In any sense, dear reader, I hope it is a well-enough read. Please feel free to, if you can, leave a comment and share on this or any other post. Other than that, I do hope your day gives you a spec of something that will benefit your life. Thank you for reading.


"Petty Fingers"

“The world is in the dark,” she said to the Pastor Irvine Beckett as he entered the alter area of his church. He wore a black suit, matching hat, and a red tie, all of which made him look more like a gumshoe - save for his round spectacles - than a pastor. When he looked up from The Bible he was reading, wasn’t the least taken aback by seeing a woman in a short black skirt, revealing leather top, green hair that was done to cover half of one of her flame riddled eyes, and even though she had tattoos in various seen places - perhaps more in unseen ones - there was nothing shocking to him to see skin to literally sparkle. Seeing his disposition, the woman continued, “I’ve heard whispers about this place, about a church that shouldn’t exist on the Net, and about a pastor who knows about a man who’s has found light in this chaos.”
Closing his book, the sound echoing throughout this plain - save for the crimson carpet - looking church, Irvine adjusted his glasses with one finger then walked to his podium. Once there, he placed the book on it as he stood beside it. As he lazily looked at his jacket and tie, brushing off unseen dust, Irvine asked, “Why do you say that? Why shouldn’t a church, like this one, exist on the Net? Isn’t it supposed to be designed to allow for anything to be built, any life to be lived?”
Shaking her head, the woman explained, “Every other so-called ‘place of worship’ is riddled with invisible propaganda, and everyone knows they’re a transition for the users that are classified as superstitious. No Patch would tolerate a place like this, free of the noise and filters. All others are riddled with Nazi bots, disenfranchised within seconds, and before anyone knows it, they are mysteriously sent away to a re-education program.”
Nodding his head, Irvine asked, “Who are you?”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Closing her mouth, her eyes shifted down, her expression submerging into a deep thought. Finally looking back up to meet his eyes, she answered, “That is one of the things I hope to find out.”
Irvine nodded his head.
“Before I take you to this man, whom you seek,” he said as he took off his hat, “ou will have to agree to leave your avatar, which requires a very uncomfortable sleep. However, when you wake up, you will not wake as an avatar but as a body, and that body will be the personification of who you are, but it will still not provide that answer. Knowing all of this, do you still want to meet him?”
She nodded and said yes, without any hesitation.
“Excuse me, Miss,” echoed a voice, as she was submerged in the darkness of an unconscious state. “Miss!”
A warm, rough hand grabbed her shoulder, causing her eyes to slowly slit open. Everything was blurry at first, and her head had a weight to it that she wasn’t used to, but eventually, her sight cleared. In front of her, as she was leaning against a wall, was the pastor from earlier, but his face was littered with hair stubble, and a cigar hung out of the right corner of his mouth as it burned. Gone was the gentleness she had seen back at the church, and in it’s place was a hardened, tired soul.
“There you are,” Irvine said with a feigned smirk. “What brings you here at the doorstep of my office?”
Shaking the heaviness out of her head, she said, “Not sure, at the moment.” Then she noticed her body: taller, a bit curvier, and all the tattoos and sparkles had vanished from her skin. However, she was wearing a red dress that seemed to glittered in a way, it seemed, that she had never seen, and in a way, it was far more glamorous than the sparkles.
“Well, lets start with a name,” he said, putting out his hand. “My name is infamously referred as Irvine Beckett.”
It was the strangest thing looking at his hand, hanging there and waiting to be shaken by hers. There was just something about it that ascended something within her, making her shake his hand and say something she did not expect.
“The name’s Winona Violet.”
Nodding his head, Irvine said, “Well, Miss Violet, you’re welcome into my office, if you’re in need of a private investigator, though to need one in the Net may not be an easy affair… I do have coffee, though. That usually jogs my memory, if you’re looking to remember something.”
For whatever reason, Winona agreed then followed him into his office. As she walked, a great sense of warmth cast upon her. There were certainly simulated temperatures on the net, but there was something about this warmth that was different.
Certainly, it was the strangest thing…

Friday, October 27, 2017

The Morning Rough - "Warm Shadows"


Good morning and welcome The Morning Rough.
To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I could back in the swing of things after hitting a kind of a rut, so I decided to write a story, entitled “Warm Shadows”, that pulls from one of the few universes that play out inside my head. I’ll won’t go into too much details of this universe, though I wish I could dispel all the details that are left out of this particular story.
Perhaps, the only thing I could say about the universe of this story is that it is my take on utopian, distopian, and post-apocalyptic fictional universes. Each one of those categories, popularly speaking, seem to not be enough in some regards. Though, I neither have the time nor patience to describe what is not enough, at the moment. So, dear reader, you’ll just have to deal with this rough short story.
As always, I hope you will comment and share this or other posts one of these days. But overall, I hope your day goes about as well as you can manage it. Thank you for your time and patience.


"Warm Shadows"

Sunlight began to bleed into the wild landscape of mountains and trees, as the morning dew had thinned. Paul and Lola were still sleeping in the old truck, naked and cuddled together under a thick blanket, on a roadside hill that overlooked that range of green giants. When the sun reached the windshield, Paul eventually received a glint of sunshine in his face. He opened his eyes ever so slightly and tried his best to turn away as his body jerked and stretched.
Lola responded by tightening her arms, wrapped around his abdomen, as she tried to dig her face in his chest. Neither wanted to accept the fact that the day was upon them, but eventually, they had fully awoken and bore a tense silence toward the realities they’d eventually have to face.
“Did we glimpse paradise?” Lola asked, with a sigh.
Paul kissed her head then patted her shoulder.
“Come on,” he said, reluctantly. “I doubt we escaped them just yet.”
She looked up at him with a wanting stare.
Of course, he stared back at her.
How could he resist those sparkling irises? Why would he abstain from kissing those lips that had been kept away from him for far too long? Those lips gave him the warmth of life.
They had to get up, however, to put on their clothes and gear. It was likely that this highly wooded area would make things more difficult for their relentless pursuers. There was no use relying on the environment to completely impede that relentlessness.
After double checking their blades, their guns, and their ammunition, they got back into the truck and drove back on the road. Neither of them wanted to think about encountering the need to go off road just yet.
Before long, they were driving through a stretch of road that was surrounded by the woods and the hills they grew out of. Hours passed as they drove, the environment looking so unchanging yet full of distinctions here and there. The silence of the day made both of them suspicious of their surroundings, but the growl of the truck’s engine seemed keep their paranoia at bay.
Suddenly, a person came into view a few yards ahead of the road: it was what seemed like a tall man wearing a suit that comprised of various shades of pink, but he also wore a peculiar helmet that covered his face; the face of that helmet seemed to made of pure white marble, sculpted to look like a lifeless, indifferent, androgynous face. Paul slammed on the breaks the moment he saw the pink of the man’s cloth.
“Drone!” Lola exclaimed, grabbing a shotgun. 
“Three more behind us,” Paul said, grabbing a pistol, “another couple yards.”
“I don’t see any more. Guessing they’re the search party.”
After a moment, the drone in front of them finally grabbed a peculiar-looking rifle from his back and began walking toward them. Behind the truck, the three drones merely grabbed their rifles as well.
Paul and Lola waited for the right moment to attack, as it they would have a better chance fighting them at close range. Each drone was bread to be agile and extremely ruthless, and while they possessed considerable strength, they lacked certain improvising skills that were required in a fight.
When the drone was less than a yard away, Paul and Lola holding off attack for just a bit longer, something unexpected happened: Someone had leapt out of the forest, swinging of some kind of line, and landed on the drone. Both Paula and Lola cocked their heads as they saw that the person was smaller than the drone, wearing a kind of gas-mask helmet, but a large hat was on that helmet as well, as he disarmed the drone then stabbed a machete-like blade into its neck.
Then a roaring engine echoed behind them.
Looking behind them, Paul and Lola saw that the drones had been distracted by noise as well. A motorbike soon came into view, and it looked like it had once been a steed that had been captured from the pits of hell itself. The rider looked like a conquerer of death - from the looks of his deformed-skull helmet - and there was a hat on him that wasn’t too dissimilar from the hat the other stranger wore.
His presence seemed to make the drones shake in fear, especially when he produced a relic thought long gone. When the New Rulers sought to crumble the Old World under its heels, they made it a point to dispose of every revolver. For whatever reason, the rulers despised it both as a weapon and symbol
Paul, like Lola, had merely escaped the world that the New Rulers had bread them into, so neither of them knew what a revolver was a symbol of to them. He couldn’t speak for Lola, but the moment he saw the weapon gleaming silver and killing the drones in a matter of seconds, one word somehow entered his head.