Choose To Be Better

when you commit to something that is greater than your self, you remove question marks in your life. Whether it’s a girl, or a job, or whatever, you buy all in, and anything that stands in your way, all those things that seemed more important before, suddenly disappear. There’s no more ifs. No more well, “I have to do THIS first, gotta rip this bong, or take this or that…”, No, it’s a full on commitment to a cause.

It’s really hard to get others to understand the feeling, because it’s such a personal one, working deep within, that they only see your actions, and by those actions, they know you are serious.

suddenly, the need for validation, is erased. No more pandering, no more poking for reassurance, no, you KNOW what is important, and possible, just like breathing is, and know what it takes to get things done. All the sound bites rambling through your head, are more easily ignored, proven wrong, by exercising control, and commitment. Whether it’s getting in shape, or building something up, those tiny voices whither away, pike all the negative thoughts that keep you from actually succeeding in something. The only way you are going to make it, is by practising patience, keep moving, keep sowing good oats, never wavering from the right path, as Musashi quotes in The Book of Five rings. They’ll try to cut you down, edit you until you bleed, un-rightfully so, to keep you as miserable and defunct as “they” need you to be, so they can look at you and validate their own insecurities; but never fear, because once you commit, fully, it is life or death, and their decisions about you are theirs, not yours, and don’t matter.

In the long run, don’t even look back to say, I told you so. Just keep going, full throttle, through the internal, “you wont’s”, and “you can’t s”, until they become a blathering mess jumbled up onto a nice little ball you can safely throw away once you’ve reached your goal. Don’t let little bitty people’s opinions prong you. Their not you, not your life, and ultimately, don’t matter.

enough said.


The Toddler

Join me, in a whimsical tale about betrayal, romance, horror, and above all, sacrifice.


The blood drips in this wretched romance/crime thriller from David McKay. Follow the trail of cold blooded, capital murder, in The Toddler.

The Toddler


Outside of a non-descript gray building, cold wind blows across the grounds, turning up leaves and such in front of a partially cracked window, where two people are talking inside.


A young woman in her mid-twenties looks across a desk at the Adoption clerk, who has an open packet on the desk.


“Well, I’m sure you can see, Mrs. Amber, that the only person we have for adoption at this point in time, is Tricia. Now, before you can say anything, understand…this is a child, from Romania, the Eastern block. Her mother died in childbirth, and her grandparents shipped her here with an illegal U.S. customs certificate.”


The young woman made a confused face. “Customs…? Isn’t that for goods and services?”


The clerk gave her a stern look. “Yes. It is.”


“Thankfully, the border agent caught her before they could ship her to some crack house in Jersey. You follow?”




The Clerk pushed forward the packet. ” Just take a look.”


The woman picked up the packet.


When Amber gets home, she put the packet on the table top, and turns on the light above. 




Amber peeks around the corner of the room and sees her husband reading the packet at the table. He is tall, handsome, and is leaning on the table, the glasses on the tip of nose.


He looks up, startled. “Omigosh, I’m sorry I’m late, where did you get this?”


“The Orphanage,” says Amber, sidling in beside him. “It says she’s only 7. Perfect age, Don’t you think…”


He looks at her, finishing her thought, …to start a family.”


“Yes,” says Amber. ” Perfect age.” They embrace in a passionate kiss, the papers fall back to the table top.


Credits shot.


Photos fade into view, some of a small child in black and white. The child is holding an old-looking doll. Soft, choral music plays as photos of the packet change. Npw, is a photo of the same child, now significantly older, much closer to the actual age mentioned in the packet. The child is unsmiling. 


Music fades, as Husband is eating breakfast at table. He watches his wife bring toast. He clears his throat.


“You said she’s from the Eastern bloc? Don’t they have diseases there?”


Amber turns around with a look of shock. “Randy, they HAVE medicine in Russia. Just not as good as ours.” She tosses the rest of the toast at him. “Here, eat up, we have a family to start.”


He bites in, rolling his eyes.


A black sedan pulls along the long, curved drive of the Orphanage at dawn. The sun throbs golden in the East, over a leafless, life-less looking forest.


They two, come through the front doors of the greeting center of the orphanage, and greet the receptionist at the desk. 


“Excuse me,” says Amber, “we are here to see doctor Golding about an adoption.”


“Yes, well…see,” the receptionist fumbled with some papers, “Doctor Golding is actually out today, and won’t return until tomorrow morning. I–“


“You don’t have to say anything more,” says a loud voice over the intercom. “Please, send them in.”


The receptionist looks absolutely befuddled, and simply gets up and directs them down the hall. The doctor greets them at the door of the office. 


“I am pleased that you could make it. It would have been a shame to tell Tricia that you weren’t coming.”


“Say hello, Tricia.”


In a thick, Russian accent, Tricia responds. She lifts her tiny porcelain hand up to Amber. “Hello, Amber I am Tricia. It’s nice to meet you. Are you gonna be my mommy?”


Amber laughs out loud, “of course! Right, Randy?” She gives her husband a slight smile. 


“Aha, yep, we just need the go ahead from the good doctor here to get her started,



Tricia suddenly rushed forward, and embraces Randy’s mid section, and squeezes hard. 


“Whoah, Captain! I gotta able to maneuver!”


Randy pushes her off, and Amber bends down to her height. “Hi, there!” she says, but suddenly Tricia seems disinterested, and simply sits down on the ground playing with a hole in the linoleum.


Aber looks confused and stands back up, looking at Randy. “Kids,” he says.


“That’s about it, then,” the doctor says taking back the pen from where Amber had signed the release form. “Of course, just follow the schedule we have her on, and I’m sure you two won’t regret it.”


“Thanks, doc, we will,” says Randy, as they head back out the door. At The last instant, though, tricia turns to glances menacingly at the doctor, who immediately rushes forward to close the door right in her face.. 


Outside, we get a full perspective of Tricia’s frame as she walks hand in hand with Randy. She is about 4 feet tall, but heavier looking than normal, her movements, more measured than a normal child’s movements to be. Her only intention, it seems to be getting to the car in the parking lot. She pulls on Randy’s arm.


“Hold on!” he yelled, “I’m going as fast as I can. Are you hungry? Can you understand me?”


He looks down at Tricia, and her rather beautiful, child-looking face, gently cracks into a smile.”


“Huh? Whoa there, looks like we need to schedule a dentist appointment too. How about tomorrow?”


Tricia gleefully nods her head, her brown bangs flopping on her forehead, sillily. 


“Okay, we will then.” Randy smiles and looks at Amber, who is in the driver’s seat. 


She sighs, “I guess so, I mean I have class in the morning, I could slip one in before…hey!”


Tricia has climbed inside the car and has stuck her foot on the gas pedal, revving up the engine way beyond normal. 


“Tricia! Stop that…! It’s,” but, before Amber could do anything, Tricia turns around and wails into Randy’s lap. 


“Dangerous… that’s all I was going to say. Stop looking at me like that, Randy, please.” She pulls the car into gear, “I just want to go home.”


The car pulls away down the driveway, and we get a parting shot of the window of the doctor’s office. There is a man looking out, and he pulls the curtains shut.


“And this is YOUR room,” says Amber, turning on the lights.


Tricia enters the room, and immediately sits down and starts playing with child’s blocks on the floor.


“There you go. Im gonna clean up a little bit, and star dinner early. Do you like any that ng special?” 


Tricias hands stops. She looks up. “Yes…? Roast?”


“Roast? Roast it is then. I’ll have Randy pick up some from the store for us.”


“Can I go?!” Tricia screams. 


“Wha…? Hang on, we have rules around here, Missy. No yelling, please. It’s uncalled for. Understand?”


Tricia just nods her head, bangs flapping. “Uh, huh.”


“Good,” says Amber. “I’ll be back and check up on you in about thirty minutes. Have fun!”


Amber closes the door behind here, and leans against it. She pauses, thinking. She hears a slight laugh from inside the room, and turns back to it. She gently pushes the door back open. She sees that Tricia is lying in bed, seemingly sound asleep. She closes the door. 


Randy comes in with the groceries. He looks at Amber. “Everything okay?” He places groceries on the countertop. 


Amber pauses. “Yeah, it’s just that, well, Tricia is acting a little weird, don’t you think. I mean, we just picked up from the orphanage, and she’s acting like she’s trying to run the place.”


“Run the place? Amber, are you okay? The doctor said it would be a minute for her to adjust. I mean, she comes all the way from Russia, for Christ’s sake–“


“Mommy always told me not to take the Lord’s name in vain,” comes a small voice.


They both look towards the staircase.


“Tricia, oh my god…! How long were you standing there?”


“Long enough.”


Tricia runs to hug Randy, but Amber blocks her. “Wait, what are you doing, little missy? It’s past your bedtime actually. You’re going to take a nap.”


Amber grabs Tricias arm. To which Tricia bites down on her hand. 


“Owe, you little bitch!”


“Uh, huh, huh, you said not to scream. Where’s your manners?”


Amber holds her hand, while Randy bends down in front of Tricia. “Tricia, that’s not nice. Please apologize to Amber.”




“Say you’re sorry.”


Tricia shakes her head.


“Say it,” growls Amber.


She gives Amber a dirty look, then bounds off upstairs.


Amber looks at Randy. “She’s out.”


New fall leaves fall across the neighborhood. People raking in their yards. Dogs run around playing in the leaves. 


“Hi, Chris!” says Amber, to the next door neighbor. 


” Oh, hi, Amber! How’s the new member doing?”


Amber nods. “Fine. Just fine…hey, we’re having roast tonight, would you like to come? I mean, it would be good to have company.”


Chris looks hesitant. “Well sure, Amber. I’ll…i’ll just have to let Molly know. She’s not feeling well these days.”


“Oh, okay. See you then!”


Chris waves, but then lowers his hand and looks down at his poodle who is sniffing at the gate. He whimpers.


“Okay, there buddy?”


Dinner is being served. Amber sets down the plate full of pot roast in front of Tricia, whose shocking blue eyes scour over it, and then to her empty cup. “More milk, please.”


“Tricia, in this household, if we want something, we just get it for ourselves,” says Amber. She lowers the glass of milk and puts it on the table.


“Oh, okay,”says Tricia, jumping off the chair, pirouetteing once, then the doorbell rings, she laughs, and runs to answer it.


“Tricia, wait…!” But, it’s too late, and she opens the door, and there stands Chris, the next door neighbor.


“Ah, hah, young lady! Nice to meet you, I’m Chris Cummingsworth. And you are?”


She holds out her hand, and in a deep throated growl, whispers, “your death.”


“Eyeee! Yikes! What have they been feeding you?”


Amber comes to the door and holds Tricia back. “She’s our little animal, ha ha ha! Randy, take her back to the table, please.”


“Im sorry, Mr. Cummingsworth, it’s been a long day. Can, I take your coat?” 


“Thank you.”


Tricia catches Mr Cummingsworth’s eye at the dinner table. “I must say dear, you are absolutely beautiful. Did you come from Russia?”


Tricia just chews, pasues, and nods. All of the roast is gone from her plate.


Mr. Cummingsworth looks up. “You did say she is from Russia? Which part?”


“Uh,” Amber and Randy look at each other. “We aren’t sure. The file on her was so

..” Amber looks at Randy, “incomplete.”


“I see, well, for a child her age, she ought to be a little bit more developed. She’s definitely malnourished, and could use a haircut.”


Trcia snorts, swallows the last bit of meat, and disappears from view. The next sound is that of her slamming her bedroom door. 


Mr. Cummingsworth looks up. “Maybe she’s not.”


Friday. Twelve o’clock. Dentist appointment. Tricia is lying on her back, and the dentist peaks down in her mouth. 


“Holy crap…I mean, this is interesting.”


“What is?” Says Amber, leaning in. 


“Her jaw line, looks… developed way beyond her actual age. It looks…like an adult’s.


“That’s impossible,” says Amber, bending down to peer in. Tricia jolts abruptly in her chair, then goes back to sleep, the gas mask doing its work with the co2.


“In fact, even her molars are adult’s, as well. There is fine indications of being ground–“


The door opens to the dentist’s office.


Randy steps through the door. “Is she okay?”


“Yes, just a little, surprising is all,” says Amber, standing up. “As usual.”


Randy looks at Tricia on the chair, passed out. “Uh…?”


The dentist apologies, then begins procedure to wake Tricia backup.


“Remember anything?” Asks the dentist.


“I always do.”


On the car ride back home, Amber turns around from looking at Tricia in the back seat. 


“She’s going to need a root canal, and possibly a molar replacement, but those are so expensive.”


“We can dot it. I have high hopes. I got that job at the office, and we’ll get more money by December. Start planning the Christmas party now, babe.”


Amber laughed, okay, but first, we have to get little Tricia’s teeth all in order. Okay?”


Tricia glares at Amber, but as soon as Amber realizes it, Tricia’s eyes are closed, asleep.


With Tricia in bed, Amber and Randy sit together on the couch, getting randy. Randy’s hand pushes down into Amber’s pants. She grabs his arm. “Wait, what if–?”


“Oh, just relax she’s been asleep since she got home from the dentist.”


“I know… that’s, what,” but her voice changes into moans of pleasure, as the camera pans back up to the top of the staircase, where there are not-so-child-like eyes staring back.


At the breakfast table the next day, Tricia sits, eating pancakes with Randy. 


“Where do babies come from?” Tricia suddenly asks Randy mid bite.


He puts down the toast. “Babies come from the mother, I suppose, but it’s the man who plans everything.”




“Yeah, plan. Why, got a husband?”


Tricia just looks at him. “No.”


Amber comes in the door of the kitchen and sees them. “Uh, everything okay here?”


“Yeah, mommy!” Yells Tricia, jumping up, and hugging Amber.


“Huh? What have you two been talking about?” Amber laughs. 


“Nothing,” says Randy. “Wow, she seems to really like you now.”


“I know, isn’t it…great?” Amber says looking up.


Christmas time. Winter has fallen. Snow covers the wood three feet deep. Snow plows roam the street twenty-four seven. The t.v. news predicts even harsher weather through next week.


Amber is decorating a Christmas tree, while Watching Tricia play with an ipad on the floor. Doorbell rings. 


“I’ll get it!” Yells Tricia, and she leaps up to open the door. Staring back is an older looking lady, in her mid-fifties. 


“Why, you be little Tricia, am I right?”


Tricia just nods her head, and flashes her mouth full of braces.


Amber comes to the door. “Aunt marie…”


“Where is Randy at?”


Amber pauses slightly. “He’s…working late.”


“Oh, I see well don’t let that spoil you having a good time. Plenty of us are left coming, so…”


They go inside together, and Tricia spots the next door neighbors dog, before pausing, her eyes going into narrow slits. The dog is now digging in the spot it had been sniffing earlier, again. Tricia closes the door.


Inside the house, Amber goes about making sure the lights are in order, the table set, and music is playing in the background. The air is festive. Soon others arrive. Chris and his ill wife. And several other unknown people, friends of the family, all greet one another. Amber looks at the clock. She turns to speak. 

“I’m going to call Randy. He’s late.”


She walks in the kitchen then suddenly sees that the back door is open. “Tricia, are you there?”


Amber peaks out the door, and sees a set of shoe prints have been made in the fallen snow. She steps outside, and follows them. They lead to the back yard, where there is a bloody mess on the ground. Amber immediately stops, screams, and rushes forward. It is the next door neighbors poodle, its head ripped off, lying on the ground.


She falls to her knees.


“Mommy?” She hears, then, she swiftly turns around and catches a shovel to the head.


What seems like hours later, Amber feels herself being drug on the ground. She hears a soft muttering, a man’s voice. Garbled, speaking in an unfamiliar dialect. 


“я же сказал, что достану тебя, сука.”


Amber tries to scream, but she can’t. Her mouth is stuffed with leaves. Her head rolls on the ground. She sees party goers celebrating through the window. She lifts her head up and sees Tricias boots covered in blood. 


“Where are you taking me?”


“To the woods,” says a man’s voice out of Tricia’s mouth. ” Where you belong.”


“Oh, my…!” Someone cries through the kitchen window. “Its Randy!”


“He needs help carrying those groceries!”




They rush out to greet him, completely overlooking the trail of his wife’s blood now trailing off in the woods behind the house.


“Unhg! Ouche! Hold it together, young lady! Times not done with you yet…! Unhg!”


The much too strong girl is pulling Amber feet first into the thickets. Small veins pop on the little girls arm, her calves flex through her sheer, black leggings. “Ungh!” Her face suddenly looks old now, sunken, and grimy with sweat and blood. 


She throw Amber in a small ditch dug in the ground. She throw a shovel down in there with her. But not before using it to scoop up dirt onto Ambers body, and filling in the he.


“Soon, you will sleep forever. And, when dawn rises, I shall be in your place, forever. Ha, ha, ha, I mean, ahem, ahem.”


Dirt plopped down on Amber’s bashed head. And continued, until blackness took over. 


Soft Christmas music begins, then a record scratch as someone flipped it over to start a more Rocking song. Rocking around the Christmas tree begins playing as the guest are well into their share of the festivities.


Randy walks around with a garbage bag, picking up trash. He turns around. “Have you guys seen Amber. Tricia?”


“Tricia?” Someone asks.


Randy walks hastily into the kitchen, and sees the back door open. Dirt and snow now spill inside. He pushes it open. “Amber?! Tricia…!”




Randy turns around and sees Tricia standing at the bottom of the staircase.


“Good grief, you gave me a heart attack. Where’s your mom,  i mean Amber?”


Tricia just stands there, Rocking a little. Someone else enters into the kitchen and sees them talking. 


“Oh, you must be Tricia!”


“Tricia! It’s so nice to meet you!”


Tricia is being greeted by several others, when she looks over and sees Randy is gone out the door, and she bolts after him.


She rounds the corner and sees Randy standing over the body of the dead dog.


“Did you do this Tricia? Did you!” spits Randy. He wretches, then slaps Tricia across the face. She begins to sob in a soft child-like manner. Randy reaches out for her, but she pulls away and runs inside and upstairs to her room.


Later, the police have arrived. Randy is talking to a sheriff now, explaining about the poodle, and his missing wife.


“And the last time you saw her was before you left for the grocery store?”


“Six hours ago.”


“Got ya. Well, we’re putting out and apd on it right now. We’ll contact you if we see anything. Thank you for your time, Mr. Farmer.”


“Thank you, sheriff.”


Randy ushered the detectives out the door, then turned the deadbolt. He made his way to the bottom of the stairs, before taking a chair from the kitchen and sitting down on it.


“Tricia? I want you to answer me, truthfully. Do you know where your mother is?”


He hears a faint laughter from upstairs. It is not a child’s laughter, however. He stands up, nearly knocking the chair over.


“What tha…?”


He hears pounding. A racket. He races upstairs, and throws open the bedroom door. Tricia is completely nude, her body though not a child’s but that of a monster. Her frame has morphed, seemingly, into that of some kind of animal. She leaps from the window, howling into the night. 


“Run!” He hears a familiar voice scream.


“Amber! Amber! What the fuck!?”


He rushes to the window, and a hand reaches up and grabs his throat. A predatory hand. The porcelain color now reflecting the true gruesomeness of the bone structure within.


Randy grabs the arm with both hands, but the creature who comes up is much more strong, and beastly. It yells, and chucks Randy from the window and over the edge of the second story tiling, and onto the concrete below, where he lands with a thud.


Amber immediately tries to resuscitate him, hitting his chest, and screaming. Lights come on from across the yard, then more. 


“Hey, what’s going on over there?!” 


Amber gets up and runs towards the house, the window above now empty of Tricia. 


“You fucking bitch!” I’m coming for you!”


“Ha, ha, ha! Try your best, fucking wench. I’ll be sucking your blood by morning.”


“What do you fucking mean? You fucking cunt?!”


It was a man’s voice speaking now. “I’ll show you.”


The lights went out in the kitchen, and the warmth of blood spills down Amber’s head. She reached up and found a blade lodged in her skull. She reached and pulled it out, screaming bloody murder. The left side of her body felt a tingling sensation, so she switched the knife over to her right hand. She swings it at the untied shoe lace of the little girls boot.


“What are…you…you, bitch?”


The voice echoed off the kitchen walls. “I am the reason why we get chills in the night. The other side, as it were, of this life.”


“No, you are …just a little bitch, with a too low voice, and some fucked up teeth, nothing more.” Amber slurred. ” I should never have adopted you.”


“Well, I’ll never tell.”


Amber slipped in blood and fell on her back. The knife flew from her hand, and slides to a stop in front of the Tricias boots. She steps on it. Then reaches down to pick it up. Her body, her frame now, is hideous, and she straddles Amber, the knife raised over her. 


“How are you?”


Tricia smiled, her braces flashing in the moonlight. “I am the antichrist, come full form. And you are the last sacrifice to become human.”


“No, you’re not,” says a voice from behind. 


Tricia looks up, and sees Randy’s broken body hunched over in the doorway. He raises a gun, his police weapon, and fires it twice, hitting Tricia in the abdomen. She shrieks, and curses. There is a window crash, and she is gone.


Randy drags himself over to Amber. “Merry… Christmas.”


A thousand lights light up the front lawn of an already lit up neighborhood home. A tiny fire burns in the front lawn from where Amber had begun to burn what was left of Tricia’s clothes. Randy was being gurnied away in an ambulance, and medical staff was busy trying to get Amber to calm down to carry her away as well. 


Neighbors stood outside their homes watching the chaos unfold, as a tiny boot pushed into a nearby home’s back gate, and disappears with in. A slight laughter spills from inside, then,all goes quiet as the ambulance disappears around the corner.


The End 



Turning Pro: Entering into Warrior State

Not long ago, I had an epiphany: if I was going to do anything with my life, now was the time to do it. I was in a new town, was having financial troubles, and didn’t know where my life was going. School, for the past 3 years had done nothing to assuage the fact, that I could not pick a profession. I could not decide on my career, or, my ambitions. Doctor? Eh…criminal justice degree? Nope. Boxing? No. I went ultimately for General Studies; the degree plan with no degree plan. Wasted, I thought. I transferred to UNT in Denton, Texas. More if the same. Only, now, I was completely out of water. No friends, no job, and my financial aid…dried up. I began to panic. I didn’t want to stuck in a one-horse town, with future prospects, no girl friend, no hope. That’s when though, I remembered something I had always been…a musician. In a former life, I had tried, and, ultimately failed at garnering a career out being in a rock band. That was over 8 years ago–a life time. It was to me. I was different now, more street savy, more independent, and a lot more confused on my own nature. Could it be that what I was about to decide, would actually give me a reason to keep going? I decided, yes. A friend texted me out of the blue, and said, you know, you should keep doing music. I said, I’m trying. To which she firmly responded, try harder. I put the cell phone down, knowing what it was that had to be done. I was done fooling around. I had been training my entire life for one goal. Every opportunity I had had, had been for one purpose. From being a kid, writing my own beats on Mario Paint, to forming my first band in junior high, to the final meltdown of my last band in which I broke up with my drummer/girlfriend…my entire meaning had been for making music.

Now, I had something to do. Dedication. It comes in waves. The more you pursue something, the more it over takes you. The more you invest your time, and effort into something, the more it becomes you. Each step, paltry at first, blossoming into a a cascading purpose. I used to look around, perplexed by the world, confused as to where I should even walk to. But now, I know. Once in, once you have set aside, now, everything else that doesn’t pertain to you goal, my goal, the path becomes clearer. Having no new shoes, doesn’t matter; as long as I can make it to practise. Not having that night out with the boys, doesn’t matter; as long as you are ready to go at the crack of down, to run, to meditate on your new goal, and to ultimately become that. The sacrifice we make when succumbing to other side of success, is the point. It is the single minded pursuit you focus on that begins to drag you over the line from being an amateur, to becoming a professional. It is putting down the wooden sword, and picking up the steel one. I am out for blood, and no mercy. In my eyes, I have realized my hidden truth. That I was who I am to become even before I was born. I wonder now, as I prepare for battle now, sonically, if there are others like me all in, to the death. I wonder as I jog by them at night, do they sacrifice their desires, like sex, alcohol, and drugs, for the ultimate glory of victory? Humbly, I have to say yes. I will see you on the battle field.


Time to go to walmart



time to go to walmart.


I woke up bleeding on the carpet. My period had hit a day early, and it was hard coming out. Damn it’s bloody! I yelled and did a backflip and hit my head on the ceiling fan, and it knocked me clean out again.

I woke up in the bathtub. It was filled with red water. 

Hey…why’s the water all red–

Then it hit me, I was still bleedin out. Somehow I’d ended up in the bathtub. My head hurt from where the fan blade had hit across my skull and there was a lump the size of my left breast, which is bigger than my right because of an infection I got when I got my nipple peirced a year ago and the puss had built up around the ariola and swoll up in a tight knot. It never went back down. Anyway, I’m rambling. 

I crawled out of the bathtub like some goddamned half dead creature covered in blood and moaned.


Damn my pussy hurt. I pulled down a mirror and looked at it. The pussy lips was all red and swoll up. And it hurt because there was so much blood coming out. And it stank like something left out in the sun behind a fish restaurant. 

Fuck…I need to go get some tampons. Wait…

I thought I had one more left in the cabinette. I pushed up off the ground and fell on top of the sink and flung open the mirror door. Just some old used floss and some kind of disinfectant was in there.

Fuck it. I took the disinfectant and thrust that shit up my pussy and squeezed the bottle until I was dripping foam from my hole. 

And with that I pulled on my hussy shorts and headed for the front door. 

Time to go to Walmart.

Walmart was crowded with people. But I didn’t give a rats fucking ass. And I pushed on through to the bathroom dept. I saw all kinds of people today I knew while I walked. I saw a man that had tall purple hair and he was wearing what looked like a fake fox tail or something and I waved at him and shook my ass. He just kept looking down at the ground though. Must have dropped something. Than I saw my sista. She black and big. Damn she lookin’ like she going out tonight! She had on dem high heels, and her nails was all done and long and she was clackin’ them aginst her teeth trying to decide on something. But she didn’t notice me cause she was talking on the phone and hollerin’ at some small goofy chinese man who was gettin all mad cause she was standing the middle of the isle and he couldn’t squeeze by. He had no shirt on and was cursing her all in his way and fuck!…that’s Omar!

Omar was my husband of walmart. He was just tall, and dark, and handsome, and he had long black hair and always wore black teeshirts and ripped up jeans. And he was always riding on one of dem scooters you get on in the parking lot and ride in on. 

He stopped beside me.

Want a ride, lady?

Oh, my god…I just forgot everything then and climbed on the back of the scooter and we rode off down the frozen food isle together. 

I felt the wind in my hairs. my nips was all hard aginst his back and I felt his smell enter my mouth and I swallowed. We swerved to avoid some weird ass college kid and his dumb rich parents and I screams and flip em the bird.

Fuck you you assholes don’t know nothin’!!

I was in heaven. 

Soon though I felt something hot start a runnin’ down my legs and I looked down. Damn shit! I forgot my pussy was bleedin’ out! 

Head for the bathroom dept! I yells out in the wind. 

Omar just nodded and we turned down the dog food isle and that’s when I saw we was in for a suprise. I was the president of the united states standing in the isle and he had tall black platforms on and was holdin onto a sword or something. and he swung that shit at my head!

Die for your country bitch! he yelled out. Damn Barak fucking ass! I yelled back and he done spun on his platforms and came running at us from behind. 


But the damn batteries was low and we was nearly stopped and barak insane ass was nearly upon us like death and that’s when I decided to do then what I swore…what I swore I would never do. Ever. Again.

I reached down and scooped up some of my pussy blood and flung it at baraks face. Some it landed in his mouth. He fell into the dog food and bags fell on top of him and he was out.


It was the cops. Shit!

I pushed up from the ground like some damn snake decided to walk and started wobbling down the isle. The cops started slippin on the blood and they fell in it and were covered in it in no time. They was all pissed like nothing I ever seen before, yellin’ at me, trying to shoot my ass cheeks with dem tasers and shit and I just did make it to the end of the isle when I saw what I came for the whole time. 

Kotex. UltraInsane Heavy. Maximum absorbsiun. and I grapped a couple and lit off passing by all kinds of concerned, angry, confused faces and just did fish my dollar out my sweating tits and shove it in the cashier’s hands and stumble into the bathroom before my pussy decided to release the flood gates of hell. 


Blood poured from betwixt my lips and fill up the toilet and there was clots all in it and I vomited but I swallowed it back down. I took out the tampon and held that string. Then with all my might, tired as I was, I shoved that shit in and sealed the gap. 

I was so tired. I just lay back and closed my eyes and fell asleep on the toilet. That night in walmart I dreamed I was with Omar again and was riding on the scooter again, and I felt the wind from the frozen food sextion in my hairs again and I smiled knowing I was home. 



Joke is on you

Joke is on you.

Faster, the man ran down the alley. He quickly dove into an open dumpster container, and slammed the lid shut. Inside, he checked his state issue glock-45. It still had all 25 bullets in it. He wouldn’t need that many, he hoped. He peaked out of the lid, and slid the gun muzzle out. He followed at cat with it.

“Stupid cat,” he muttered. “Phew!” he pretended to pull the trigger. Then he saw it. It leapt out of the shadows. The man didn’t have time to scream. The dumpster lid closed with both them inside, and the gun went off, halting the screams and grunts coming from within. Now something just breathed. It let out a sigh, and pushed open the top of the dumpster lid and climbed out. It was a monstrous figure, gastly in the pale lamplight, standing half hunched over. It held the dumpster then slid off down the alley with the cat that followed it.

24 hours later. Peak Los LA Rush hour.

A million cars lit the highway. Plumes of noxious smoke drifted up over the highlights of the city. A lady in a broad fedora watched the trains of cars pass by her with aghast disbelief. She pursed her lips and shook her head and pointed a white glove at her companion–A white and red chester cat sitting quietly beside her in the passenger seat. It sighed and looked out the window.

“I can’t believe it’s raining again.” The cat meowed and scratched at its collar. “That makes it three days in a row. The evidence is going to impossible to disseminate when we get there.”

The lady simply nodded, and then she screamed. The cat looked over at her. It nodded.

“I see.”

The office where thirty or forty officers stood was only designed for three at once. A rather portly officer threw down some donuts on a desk, for which was covered with bullet casings, portraits of criminals, and dossiers as thick as French Accents, for which a stern looking gentleman of about 30 years of age peered back from one of the photos. The police chief looked up in disgust at the fat cop.

“Whose are these?”

The cop raised his eyebrows in injustice.

“You’re promoted to stage three operational chief, got that?”

No one wanted to be promoted to stage three operational chief, not in the middle of an ongoing criminal investigation concerning the quadruple homicides occurring within the last 24 hours.

“All had taken place at night.,” said district deputy Stevens.

“All had been chased down, and…”

Suddenly, there was a stir and all the officers in the room turned to see a pretty young redhead with green stunning eyes, that traced over every officer in the room like a presetting robotic transferring data interface. The eyes glistened suddenly then found their target. He sat in the back his hand on the desk, drooling slightly.


“Sloth, as it were, captain, is a retaining principle I see fits the molds of certain interoperational status pertaining to invalid justice, is it not?”

It was a question. The man just nodded. “Yeah, so? We got all the problems of a major corporation, and, all the politics of a religion spoiled by its own status.”


“Which is why you are here.”

“I see…”

“24 hours ago, we were hit with a string of random murders all centered around the center of town. We thought it was just a rogue clown from the invading circus affiliates, but…” he cantored, “we’ve narrowed it down to a climate stevens, or, “ he lowered his voice, “A bacteria folder.”

Meew…” said the unmistakable voice of a cat. The cat hopped up on the desk, and flit his asshole at the man in the suti, who snarled.

“Damn cat!”

Cat! CAt! Cat! The officers began chanting. As if under some remote control from a cvoiless entity under radar of suspension of disbelief.

The cat stood up and morphed into a man. He held out his hand at the cop. “Hello, I am Davis, your chief inspectional operations commander.”

Several of the officers in the tiny room attempted to kneel.

Davis turned to the stunned police chief.

“We need radar, surveillance, and most importantly…” he just smiled. “I’ll just text you.”

Davis and the woman in the fedora impatiently left the room, followed by a barrage of yells and counter yells from the officers in the room.



“Are you…really…?”

Several of the men started to shudder, their friends holding onto their shoulders. “It’s okay, just relax. There Bob.”

The building trembled. It wasn’t everyday that the ubercomplex of the National Interest sent it’s preeminent visionaries into the midst of the squadron of men.

Shape shifters. These people defied laws of logic. No one could shape shift, not anymore. Hushed conversation at the the bars sent men scurrying into the night, drifting down the lanes of moral ineptitude, and into the arms of mother fury.

A high garden wall made out of beer cans jostled, and a man with a hammer opened the door. Come in, he said, and closed the gate. It began to rain again, and some music came on somewhere, and the buildings that were held up by ropes and sheets of plastic and paper began to tinge with the onslaught of more water.

A woman sat in the dirt on the ground mending a long rope with a long snake’s head attached to it. She began to whisper.

“Avaroosh deshnelicon. Averiginal westligodligodlida!!!! zimbaloonay !1!!!!!!!

She slapped the snake head and its jaws slowly opened and it hissed.

Several of the woman stepped back. It was a warning. The investigators were in town. And the kneeling sad sop of a man who’d been at the bar drinking with his cop friends sniveled and got up and looked at the snake woman.

“What will it do to them?”

The woman smiled, liquidated. “Drink their blood, of course.”

The man heaved. The woman laughed. And the snake hissed. A burst of black cloud came forth from its jaws. Tiny ants seeped from the clouds and trailed out over the dirts towards the man’s foot.

“Ahh! AAAH!”

“AAA hahaha !”

“AAAHHH you bitch!” The man kicked the dirt and ran for the door. His through was caught, however in the outstretched hand of a dragon god.


Thinking of Being Nothing

Thinking of being nothing. All the day long one sits and thinks, oh, what am I? Who am I? When, one’s eternal answer is, I am no one. Am nothing. It matters not our response. Only our sacrilege. Only, our sacrifice.

Like, possibly, a samurai on the battlefield, or, the peacemaker on the highway, or the trucker swirling around mountain tops, one is ever in cadence with the deep mystery of not knowing.

And what am I? Who am I? What role? What being? What uncertain entity. I am nature, the degrees of god, itself. Yet why do I frustrate myself with this burden?

Who else sat here like I do, a monkey in time. Who else stroked the backbone of history, and wrapped itself around the coldness of never endingness? Who else pulled the cold turkey away from bones, and thought, this was it?

I did. As I glide on this ball into the rest of time, I construct melodies, and push them out. I know the sun isn’t supposed to be just ours.

People, know not, why they fret. They don’t understand why they’re drawn to the things that scare them. Because of some thing they can only see. Choose your mystery. Choose the conundrum of choice. Understand the rest. Shamefully.

Can a small man ever not know the largest object? Can clowns con cans of cameras couthly and confoundedly contriving concurrences by conscience confidences? Could be. But let not our fathers….

So, what am i but curious? Curious about how one can influence the supposition of man, and turn them into metaphysical anomalies.

Just writing. Ascorbic bass cabbage. Rumr ring web tempo.dba Adolf stl Donna sci stop.all lid :-(pd sm13th 4th to do do do ii edu uuhs

all daw stl lb egg j9b dBm full movie news.deck Werth.

And then, tomorrow starts, and who are you then? Are you just a bag of obligation, and indifference? Is looking for freedom, a little like stepping into thin air?

Is it, not caring if the balance is off, and just going? Is it, just letting yourself be itself? I thu k so. I think that is what people are looking for. The power to give just be alright with absolutely everything. That, is a discerning mind. One, that can tell what happens. Oh, did you see the news? No. I did not.

Rice paddies are pockets of knowledge, and the farmers are aliens. Rice granules contain a crystalline core that works like a magnet. Records your rectum.

People say we have invented the internet. I say we’ve invented a monster.

Inside of every code there is a chance that something could be misread. How? By chance. The operating system is colder oneday, the colon looks like a semicolon and changes the readout to be perform a destructive function, which creates a virus, and spins into systemic corruption. A world virus, one of the internet’s making will wipe out mankind. All that will exist is red assed baboons.

That is a million years from now. Think of it. A million years will go by in a flash. There’ll be so many goddamned parties in those years. People will survive.

But they’ll be nothing like us. They’ll be aliens. Bipedal clothes wearing hominids that sort of do what we do. They will invent time machines, and come back. And they’ll know it. They’ll be infinitely emotive, and robotic at once. Dumb and smart. As dumb as ever, but smart.

I am a man. Just that. Born on Earth. I wonder who I could be?


Amadeus: The (F)art of Folly

Whence upon watching Amadeus, the master work of the 1990’s representing Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s retching, breathtaking, and incessant take on modern classical music, I couldn’t help but notice that it was the music, beyond anything, that saved a race of people on the precipice of annihilation. During that era, around 17??, the British were in war with ??, and although modern culture at that time, during the tail end of the Renaissance, was at an all time high, the hate, anger, and confusion of that time, was threatening to send the old world back into the dark ages. It was during this great time of duress, that time needed, a savior.

A farting savior, at least. Mozart was known for his rancid, raucous220px-Mozart_(unfinished)_by_Lange_1782, rambunctious rectum. One of his pieces, I mean “scores”, was about licking his soiled anus, all whilst whistling, and yodeling, and clapping along to torturous thunderous applause from thine heaven. So, you can see, that history, likes to “select” one of us, sometimes, for greater use, to balance out the forces that be, in grand, semi-symmetrical, ways. Terrence McKenna once called the Universe a novelty act, where each occurrence, whether it be big or small, was met with deluging forces of nature, and hence, became a universe unto itself, separate from whatever else was going on. Mozart, at the time, was tripping on acid, and he spread his thighs ever heavenwardly, and split apart the diamonds in the rough, and saved a nation, from its own disparity.

People need saviors, because it lets us sigh eternally in their direction, and they take the pain, like ZRA, does, and has, and always will. By writing weird, out of this century, music, he, Mozart, circumvented authority, and basically, just went into the future, where historians now just focus on him more than the petty bullshit happening at the time, and thus don’t follow histories b.s. so we live a more fruitful, if ignorant, life. Bullshit. Mozart fulfilled his dooty. Won’t you??


Bushito, Way of the Samurai

Notice, I didn’t write, Bullshito. Hate to sound like Steven Seagal here, but it’s true, everything you’ve heard. Bushito, is a life style. It is a concurrence with nature. An agreement, you take care of me, I’ll take care of you. By respecting nature, by selflessness, you can tap into the most uncanny realms. Where you end up finding your car keys, at the last second. You wear your clothes until they wear out. You appreciate the fazes of all situations. And tap into the uncanny valley of surrealism with in reality, itself. Basically, it takes becoming yourself, fully realized. To yourself. Understanding that with the snap of a wrist, I can contort your hand into a pretzel. I can take your sarcasm, your hate, because I know it’s misplaced. I can take the pain, like Xzavier Renegade angel can. It’s showing utmost respect to all those around you, at all times. Even when you’re alone. It’s knowing there are no equal promises. No authority at best. No rule rich rule promenade.

Bullshito is the opposite. It’s flashy, at false setting. no measured nuance. And full of danger. In the real way, there is no fakeness. No ego. You are constantly striving, and struggling to be yourself. No someone else. Yourself.

steven seagal


Smoking With Julia: Conclusion

Viscous was waiting for me on the 7th floor balcony, dressed in all red, as was his custom. Bastard. That damn crow sat calmly on his shoulder, drenched in somebody’s blood from an earlier battle. I crossed the floor in seconds.

I reached for my gun, as was custom, in my holster, and drew it handsomely. You’ve got some nerve, I said, coming here. It was then the top floors of the building exploded, sending flaming shards of glass behind Viscous.

You think, he said. then his eagle took off from his shoulder and split the night. It left blood spatter on the ground coming near me, but I side stepped. I lifted my gun and shot it. The foul cried in the night, but I didn’t see it. It was then Viscous rained in on my parade. He swung his sword, a Japaneseharunobu-katana, but I blocked it with my gun. Stupid move. I turned and blasted, but it only caught the underside of his jacket. He laughed and spun away, dragging his katana across the ground. It was then, the shrieks from the sword became the shrieks from above, and his falcon attacked. You think you can take me, he said, coming at me. I countered and blasted his falcon out of the air, it fell at Viscous’ feet, and he didn’t stop and swung heavily towards my shoulder, my good one. Nah huh, I said, and ducked. I blasted his foot, and he felt it, and yelled out and fell backwards near the ledge. I ran and tackled him. We flew over the edge and towards the giant swimming pool in the shape of you named it, a red dragon.

Petty, I recounted. Petty occurrences. It’s all so trivial, our meaning. I felt the water hit, and pull me under, yet I hardened my choke hold on my rival, Viscous. Soon , we would drown, and not know it.  It was then, Julia jumped in, full of courage, as was her custom. But it was a soft hand that held mine, suddenly, and started to guide me up. I let Viscous go, and swam as hard as I could up the 20 foot pool.

The building, now rigged to blow, was starting to go. Thanks, Julia. We ran, the red dragon was over. We ran, towards nothing.