There I was, you guessed it, knee-high in entrails after a very powerful explosion as I smell the C4 filling my nostrils still fresh in the air above me as I walked into what was left of a gutted building. I then fasten my oxygen mask to my helmet array. The blast leveled 6 city block vaporizing everything in that radius. Good thing in a way that I wasn’t any closer to the blast and falling debris, you would be using an Ouija Board to talk to me.
You, see, it wasn’t me that did the detonation, but those I have been tracking down like a bloodhound. The ones responsible for this hideous act of terrorism is nothing more than a couple of CIA and MASAD agents posing as ISIL/ISIS in a false-flag psych-ops. I am shocked that the Corporation Cabal didn’t try to persuade the Federal Government that has failed us all so miserably that this act was planned and carried out directly by us.
Just be a remarkable chance earlier this morning, my facial recognition confirmed two out of a possible four to six cell
team is definitely in the area. This might be my lucky day, I thought. Unfortunately, too fucking late for all the untold folks killed in the blast. Seems that I have been a step behind them. I have my new orders now, and these sons of bitches ain’t getting away. Once again, the world will know the truth about this mass killing of the public.
My Helmet’s HUD Display came online through my black facemask — Non-reflected of course. Green lights told me from within that the live stream is in sync with the world wide web via satellites. I want every soul to know what is going on as more people across America are driven to our cause after Los Angeles was leveled by a nuclear missile from an American Boomer running silent and not so deep. Truth managed to get out and this false-flag disaster killing millions of people and maybe more kicked off the new civil war. I must admit, looking back, the Corporation Cabal is doing a fantastic job of getting people off their asses and forcing them, us all, to make a choice.
Yeah, the same old shit that fools every American to this very day is losing its grip making all question everything and finally stopped listening to the Cabal – The Federalists, aka the Fascist Regime. A few bad presidents later, I mean, quite a few since Woodrow “Sell-Out” Wilson. Personally, I would not call this rebellion against the establishment a “Civil War” but to overthrow the Nemesis of the U.S. Constitution.
Hence, the name was given to us all who have a dog in the fight, “The Constitutionalists.” For myself, I never believed in either the Democrats or the Republican Parties. To me, those slack-jawed motherfuckers were all one of the same. Man, I am the dog in this fight, and I am far from being the only one.
Here in the now. I am all dressed up for the occasion as I knew high over my head was a Predator Drone with a Hellfire II Missile with my name on it. So, I have to stay focus because of this slight issue of being a new crater with my DNA all over it. Meanwhile, the fires, the smoke, and debris still in the air would give me enough cover to at least track these twinkled-toed motherfuckers down.
Nevertheless, today, today is different and in this dream, I was in my element — My training never left me, never faltered, never failed. Moreover, that was a completely different time and a different government that I faithfully served. Now, right now is a completely different geopolitical world. New alliances made. The Corporation Cabal attempted to buy the Russians into the mix. I reckon the Cabal thought the Russians are brain-dead or something. Since the millions lost in Los Angeles, Seattle, San Francisco, and Portland, Oregon, the Russians stuck it to Washington D.C. not to mention, Maryland in quite the surprise. The Russians never launched a nuke, and would never stoop to such levels as the Cabal – But any government and or regime has its own corruption. The Russians are far from being halo-wearing self-righteousness like the Federalists.
The Russians hacked into the NSA using a variant of the NSA code, yeah, these fuckers are more of a help than an opposing force. The incompetence of the NSA is our best friend, this is what I am saying. Anyways, with all these hacks, we got control of a few satellites and complete control of all the nukes still sitting all along our territories west of the Mississippi.This, nothing short of a full-blown miracle. A few SUK-57s later and Andrews, what was left who didn’t jump sides knowing who really is the enemy was pounded into the historical archives along with Langley and of course, the CIA Headquarters. Obviously, that the CIA caught wind of this just before the air-strike by our Russian “comrades.”
As I maneuvered through the outer region of the blast, I manage to get back on track in hunting these dogs down. I thought, how in the hell am
I going to get through the vaporized zone. Then realizing that I am moving through some very hot spots would wipe out any tracking by infrared and such. Besides, there is enough shit in the air to cloak me enough.
Soon, I found them all above a nearby highway bypass high-fiving each other as I got Facial IDs showing who they are and who they are really working for. However, I find it shameful to have to say that these assholes are CIA as I zipped two perfect headshots. Closed caskets for those lads and now for the remaining four assholes. The clock is ticking and until air support comes in, I am at the mercy of this damned situation. I needed a fast way to get up there and get those ducking their fucking demise. Then with all the shit around to include the very same on-ramp they must have used to get up there.
I can’t stay where I am at. I know any moment that Hellfire II would pick up my signature as I could see the remaining guys yelling and crying into the radio in English of course. My heart pumping enough adrenaline through my system, I have only one thing on my mind and that’s to get these four remaining zipper heads some lethal booster shots.
I went into a really dark place into the depths of my soul. It is my primary objective to wipe these ass-clowns off the face of the planet. I have not failed a mission and I wasn’t going to break my winning now.
I manage to make it up to the highway’s on-ramp and up to the bypass. Odd, that the remaining four would actually stay low and now attempting to fire back at me. Obviously, mistake number three for them as returned fire as flashes from my weapon chopped them up double-quick time as those standard bullets didn’t have any effect on my outerwear. I quickly reloaded as I grabbed the radio and then I turned, jumping off the overpass, drop, roll, and found cover in the nick of time as the Hellfire II struck the area I was just at a couple of seconds ago. I didn’t have time to watch the last guy die as he was choking up some dark blood.
The explosion is intense as I am now ground level behind a huge chunk of concrete. I can’t believe this wonderful armor suit. I smiled as the fireball is going around engulfing me. Naturally, without the suit, I would have been fried a long time ago. Man, I have to going to have to send DARPA a goddamned “Thank You” card. Yeah, a good thing for the latest body armor from DARPA. I don’t think any of those assholes would mind. You know, their stuff being used for good…
For a change…
Now, in the all-clear, double-checking my weapon and suit to include all my systems in the green, yeah, I find myself very impressed with all this new technology that didn’t quite make it to the Federalist since we tracked down the shipments being hauled by train across New Mexico. Special Forces, my gang, we got ours first, and right away, anyone fighting on the front lines got theirs. Once the technology of this suit was jacked, we went into full production by the time Texas fell to our control. It didn’t take much for Texas to see things our way. I mean for fuck sakes, it’s Texas after all, and most already saw things on the same channel, sort of speak.
When the Federalists tried their damnedest to send in their Army and Air Force remaining to kill their own families, well, another great mistake by the Pentagon now laying in waste. Not even a scratch on good ole’ Abe. I cannot say that for the rest of D.C.
My com still silent and I had my orders accomplished. I changed direction to the east. My communication equipment is working fine. Combat Operations for this mission is just east of the Indiana border. My ass needs to get to the landing zone or it’s going to be a long walk to Indiana.
I have some time to reflect a bit on this morning’s events leading up to this moment. The only thing I am sorry about as my ears are still ringing from the new blast is the fact, “Too bad I couldn’t get to these motherfuckers earlier…” In the dream, I sure was contrite about that fact. So many families wiped out.
An indicator is flashing letting me know that I am running low on my oxygen tank feeding into my helmeted mask. My head’s up display and digital readouts were still working great and as I hid there under the ruins of concrete, I could not believe my luck as fortune does favor the foolish. The CIA drone dropped altitude in hopes of finding whatever that remained would give them one of the glowing warm-hearted feelings back at, “Lost in the Fucking Woods, Maryland. Oh, the damned look in their faces as they would think they snuffed out all the loose ends of this slaughter only to find out the public fall out once again adding to a very long list of reasons for people joining up with us, the Constitutionalists.
My auto-tracking picked up another target quickly approaching from the air from the easterly direction coming in fast.
It’s the damned drone that is banking sharply into my favor as I had the bird all locked in via my HUD display and synchronizing my weapon in nanoseconds. “Come to papa, bitch!”
I honestly don’t know if the good folks at the new CIA Digs got to see the end of my weapon pissing out lead sending the craft into a fireball. I avoided another death sentence and I quickly moved away and heading to my L.Z.
Man, I am indeed fortunate today and just imagining the long and shocked faces at looking at their large HD 4k displays going abruptly dark. That brought a smile to my otherwise, melancholy stone face.
Moving quickly to a ravaged bus, I hid there for a few seconds as I heard a cloud of voices coming over that handheld radio asking if, “The team” is okay. They were demanding a SitRep. Oh, I had one for them, it is gonna break their fucking hearts as I told them their bad news.
“All is lost and I am streaming this shit live to all the good people of the world in real time. You are not getting away with another 9/11 today, bitches.” Anymore, they or my forces would lock into this signal and today, I just didn’t feel like being blown to bits.
As for the streaming of all that I am doing, I just figured out there amongst the sea of dancing eyeballs would be some people cheering me on. I also know that Google is NSA and Google owns YouTube. They could shut down the feeds but organizations seeing things our way already are sending all this shit across the Internet. The NSA and the CIA can’t block out everything.
I ditched it among the smoldering bodies all over the bus. I made a run through all the shit just as my tank of air was exhausted. Still, I had my filtration that would remove some ninety-five or more percent of the toxic smoke.
I have to make it to the extraction point where those like me from the same military background of whatever we saw, did, hear, or told never happened. Nothing we could put on a resume — Bet that – would wait to get the hell out of here.
Chicago’s north side and western regions fell into our control and it is a matter of time before the east would fall as well. As far as the rest of my home state is concerned, we’re all as one. This, all of this right here, does my heart good saying that. It really does.
Then a Cobra Helo crossed over the cluttered street of burning cars and those inside. There is nothing I could do for any of them. My HUD said, it is one of ours as a sigh of relief came over me. I could see they had a lock on me and via the technology; they had me pegged as one of our own.
I know the gunship is giving us cover now. Yeah, there was more than just I alone as the others would be heading to the extraction point. As to the cold fact of how many of us were left?
I had no idea and again, something I couldn’t do about it anyway.
Shit, as I am double quick timing it I can see the Blackhawks coming in and the rotary cannons firing at some nearby trajectory as the Cobra fired two righteous missiles down on the location further ahead. Apparently, the CIA had more than just one team of “terrorists” for us to cherry pick them off at wholesale.
As I am catching my breath and keeping from getting too brutal in my mind as it is literally racing with images from Desert Storm up to the present moment, the rest of the northern states like Wisconsin and their militia would sack anything in their way in opposition. Indiana is in flames as most of Indianapolis has fallen into positive control. I kind of feeling some remorse at any of the possible Federalist controlled strongholds face all those pissed off farmers – Not really.
My heart felt as it is at the top of my throat. Fuck, I remember my crisis mode. Go into crisis after neutralizing the primary and secondary objectives later. Yeah, that’s me. Now, I am not quite out of danger’s way but I am out of another danger close situation as more traffic from my own coms came alive. Thank god, I was getting close – Oh, I have to remind myself that I am, after all, an atheist.
The body suit of mine and all those like the one that I have acquired, has its own environmental built right in and this is a very good thing. My bio reading showed a core body temperature of 101 degrees. I know personally, I am good for 107 degrees. Yeah, that’s my personal best by the way. Even with the robotic type assist in the interior shell and with everything, I would not have been able to do anything close like I am able to do along with every other old-timer such as myself. This suit gave us old timers the strength of ten men. Now, the Federalists are keeping things interesting as they are sending several thousand of their best droids are way. Droids have a fault and soon, we would have positive control over them too. These droids, heavily armed and nearly unstoppable by ordinary civilians are about the equivalent to a speed bump to the A-10s that are already on the situation in Indiana’s Eastern region.
Combat Ops had me pegged and broke through signaling me for a complete SitRep, I have a good enough signal as I sent the heavily encrypted data their way. They would all have what I saw and done thus far. Yeah, just like the net was seeing except my name, rank, social, and bio information.
I continued at a slower pace as others were sending their SitReps into Command. By the sounds of it, we lost half of the teams but in spite of this shit, we still came up on top as two F-15 Silent Eagles ripped the sky apart over my head coming from the west – They are our birds. You see, let me tell you, good folks, something. The F-15s never lost in a firefight since the first making way back in 1973.
The American Government didn’t know what they had in a fourth generation bird modified a good many times to be fifth-gen at best. Still, we now own the skies – F-35s and those fucked up F-22s left were like shooting fish in the barrel so I was told. The Federalists and their Military Industrial Complex spent hundreds of billions of dollars on such bullshit that is desperately falling short in their propagandized media blitz. By the time the Federalists tried to order the squadrons of B-2’s, well it was too late for them as we broke their hearts by blowing every one of that two-hundred-billion a pop went up in flames. Kind of ironic though, I mean seeing our acquired B-1 bombers doing the destroying from Ellsworth, Air Force Base just outside Rapid City, South Dakota.
There are many drones still up in the air in the east and no matter what they throw at us, we’re going to take down. You see, the Federal Neocons fucked up and put too much faith into technology rather than the human mind. Most of the Generals and Admirals bailed from the Corporate-Controlled Government and are now leading our side both strategically as well as tactical operations like the mission I am on. Those that didn’t make have got ass-fucked at the fall of the Pentagon and assault on D.C.
Keeping our cool and all moving east here in South Chicago can see another episode of swatting the drones out of the sky above us. The proof is in the sky above us and check out our F-16s now way above us with their cannons locking in. Hey, those little dark spots you are seeing up there are drones coming to an abrupt end.
No matter the Feds say in their propaganda, the reality is the fact we Constitutionalists have the civilian supported majority and the military on our side all focused on bringing down the corrupted powers that remain. Oh yeah, we definitely have the upper hand.
South Chicago suffered enough and with this latest False-Flag thrown at the good folks here, well, once again, more and more people are seeing things, waking up to things our way.
Maneuvering through the streets, I can see a few civilians coming forth onto the streets and cheering me on. Just about the time, I thought I am coming a hero and celebrity came up a heavily armored transport vehicle to pick me up moving slowly through the cheering crowd.
Tits, this is the end of the show right here for me. You can roll the fucking credits on the mission it’s a wrap. Now the sad thing apart of the Feds setting off the bomb and succeeding killing an untold amount of people about all of this is the fact that it’s my last mission. As I am loading myself into the vehicle and can see some familiar smiling faces as I too took off my helmet. Yeah, all of us look like we have had one hell of a day. Some of the remaining looked like the sorry end of a short stick. I fared better as I took a seat.
Before I know it, I will be back with my family in the Black Hills of South Dakota as more troops and those younger come in filling our big shoes. I know a couple of things, these kids are on the fast track in their military career, and the fall of the Feds is indeed coming soon.
Yes once again, the Sturgis Rally has descended upon the Black Hills of South Dakota and Wyoming.
In the past years I have discussed the mortality rates and the demographics of those involved in deadly accidents. This morbid but fascinating at least to me, shows just how dangerous the Baby-Boomers are wreaking havoc nocking each other off the roads in a domino effect – This is still going on and getting worse all the time. The experienced motorcycle rider already has the daunting task of the worry of vehicles and natural wildlife to look out for. Now this is compounded by the elderly on the rent-a-bikes industry.
This year I want to talk about something that truly has been bothering me since I moved out here some 11 years and that is how the local businesses including hotels, casinos, covenant stores, and bars escalate, inflate, fleece, to include robbery on these poor saps from out of state.
It’s a feeding frenzy where the average room at a normal hotel is anywhere between $35.00 a night to $45.00 a night. However, during bike week, you are looking at an average of $265.00 a night and some places a lot more. A bottle of beer is now $7.50 and the blood-sucking leeches at the Buffalo Chip will drain you dry. I think most people have seen a reality show of the antics of the Buffalo Chip – Fucking pathetic.
Then there are those who lease their homes out to bikers for the entire duration. This is something that the bikers and the homeowner both benefit from. Even the campgrounds rates are so jacked up you would be thinking you would be purchasing property rather than renting space – empty space. Pitching a tent just anywhere is against the law and strongly enforced. Fines, patrols, and law enforcement are out to get fresh out of state funds from the idiots who don’t know how to obey the speed limits or the rules.
I have no tolerance for idiots breaking the traffic laws. They are usually the ones making a fresh grease mark on the pavement when it is all said and done. I will say this much, local people to include local female drivers are showing more road-rage than ever before towards these assholes who think they own the road.
That’s the fucking problem right there, those idiots who think they’re kings of the road. I watched a woman scold a biker calling his old ass every name in the book. Legally, she was in the right and once again the Baby-Boomer was in the wrong. Though through these last couple of years, the road rage has increased dramatically. Not all can be at the fault of the bikers by any means. Nor am I saying all bikers are assholes and idiots.
So, with the fleecing bit. Well, the bikers are not as slow-minded as some would suspect. They know when they are getting fucked. Tired of the fleecing, the majority of bikers this year are out here a week earlier and leave a day or two when the Rally officially starts.
Some are planning to come out here after a week or so when the Rally is over. I cannot blame them a bit. Though, I have noticed that the local businesses and other highway robbers are following suite in jacking up prices in advance and keeping these rates jacked a week or two afterwards. So, who are the ones really getting fucked besides the bikers?
The local folks – we all get fucked!
You might think that Deadwood and the rest of Lawrence County makes a lot of money because of the gaming alone. You would be wrong. The money is the second biggest export out of here heading to Sioux Falls, the baking cartel and good old Uncle Sam in Pierre, SD.
Most of us in Old School Math where 2 plus 2 equals 4 might have had this on one of your math test questions;
“If Johnny had one red apple and he wanted to share his apple equally with his girl, Betty, then, how many pieces would Johnny have to make?”
Answer; 3 equal pieces or Johnny would have to cut the apple in thirds.
Glad you asked; Uncle Sam has to get his cut too!
Lawrence County is the poorest county out of the entire state excluding the reservations like Wounded Knee of course.
Thanks for reading and for the new kids with the new math. Listen, it won’t do you a bit of fucking good in the end.
Douglas S. Taylor
You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need
You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you’re on the street
You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed
And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight
You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking
And after a while, you can work on points for style
Like the club tie, and the firm handshake
A certain look in the eye and an easy smile
You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to
So that when they turn their backs on you,
You’ll get the chance to put the knife in
You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder
You know it’s going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you get older
And in the end you’ll pack up and fly down south
Hide your head in the sand,
Just another sad old man
All alone and dying of cancer
And when you loose control, you’ll reap the harvest you have sown
And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone
And it’s too late to lose the weight you used to need to throw around
So have a good drown, as you go down, all alone
Dragged down by the stone (stone, stone, stone, stone, stone)
I gotta admit that I’m a little bit confused
Sometimes it seems to me as if I’m just being used
Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise
If I don’t stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this maze?
Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending
That everyone’s expendable and no-one has a real friend
And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner
And everything’s done under the sun
And you believe at heart, everyone’s a killer
Who was born in a house full of pain
Who was trained not to spit in the fan
Who was told what to do by the man
Who was broken by trained personnel
Who was fitted with collar and chain
Who was given a pat on the back
Who was breaking away from the pack
Who was only a stranger at home
Who was ground down in the end
Who was found dead on the phone
Who was dragged down by the stone
DAVID JON GILMOUR, ROGER WATERS
LYRICS © WARNER/CHAPPELL MUSIC, INC.
“We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands, we are everywhere. And there will be more of your children dead tomorrow.”
“There are real monsters in this life but they are not out there in the darkness somewhere just out of eyesight. The real monsters are sitting right next to you smiling and laughing the whole time they are thinking on how many ways they wish to kill you. The real monsters are entwined in the society of humanity since the dawn of time.”
“I knew there was something odd with me when I was a small child. Other kids would not have nothing to do with me. It would come to me in just a short few years that I thought I had a monster within me. Then at true revelation struck me, damn, I’m the demon within. I accepted, embraced, and loved my bloodthirsty insatiable appetites upon all I would cross without care or reason.”
Brandon “The Worm” Reed
“I lost my virginity while inside a woman and then immediately starting killing her. As I was doing so, I realized there are far greater pleasures than sex could ever offer me. I simply followed my strong urges. I became a god over who lives and who dies.”
Standing upon Mount Moriah are two men, both wearing their white hard hats and their matching Corp of Engineers shirts. The oldest in silver hair and sharp blue eyes is rolling up the overall plans of a major project. Behind them a small surveying crew doing their work just out of earshot of the two.
“So, you’re on board with the plan or what?” The older said snidely.
The younger man looking rather pale from this immoral plan. “Yeah, you actually want me to go with that? You want to only move the headstones and leave the rotted bones right where they’re at?”
The older man turned to face the younger, “Listen slick, it isn’t like your goddamned grandmother is among the dead buried down there with all the other whores. Mount Moriah Cemetery is just some fucking forgotten place in the annals of local history, superstition, and any other redneck beliefs. The goddamned rotting bodies stay right where they’re at and we’ll move the stones to the new location.”
The older man paused only for a second. “If you can’t be a part of this, then you’re off the team. Besides, you like being married to my daughter, don’t you?” It is nothing less than a viable threat.
“Frenchy, what are you gonna do, take my wife way from me if I don’t agree to this unspeakable bullshit of yours?”
“Taking away? No, I was thinking more along the lines of her being a widow. Accidents happen all the fucking time, Bob. This is a huge project, you may find yourself prone to one such fatality or something.” Frenchy paused with a determined grin froth with rage painted upon his otherwise, white face.
“Look, I brought you on so that it would help you both financially and making a goddamned man out of you. This would be the first big project you have ever been on. I won’t allow you to fuck things up here – too much riding on this – too much money to be had wasting it on bullshit. The getting is good, so for god sakes, pull your head out of your ass and join the team or you can be lying face down with those there at Mount Moriah Cemetery in an unmarked grave all covered by three feet of crushed rock and gravel with another two feet of reinforced concrete. Go along with my plans or simply be a result of an accident. Hell, I’ll even dig the grave with the traditional six feet of earth for you Bob. Now how would that be?” Frenchy’s eyes looked like two slits of rage.
“So, what’s it gonna be, Bob? I don’t have all fucking day goddamn it. Make up your mind now you fucking cocksucker.”
Bob Weber browbeat and threatened by his own father-in-law wiped the sweat off of his own brow with his white handkerchief. “Okay, all right, I’m in.” Bob looked up to his father-in-law shaking his head affirmatively.
“Well alright then…” Frenchy then put his hand on Weber’s shoulder and whispered in Bob’s ear. “And if I catch your prick in another woman or that boyfriend of yours, I’ll kill you myself and I’ll put your body down a hole that no one shall ever find – not even God could find you.”
Weber stunned in the realization that Frenchy is already well aware of his two affairs also shook his head affirmatively in both overwhelming shame and wonderment.
“Good then, I won’t have to bury them next to your grave down there where the new outer parking lot will be,” Frenchy smiled ever so coldly as he removed his firm grip on Weber’s shoulder.
“Fly right, son, and we’ll both be fucking rich. You’ll see.” Frenchy turned away and walked up to his white air-conditioned pickup truck then driving away from the scene.
Weber watched him go and realizing that no matter what and how he personally felt, his father-in-law had him under Frenchy’s thumb, and there would be no way of getting out from under it.
Then like a bolt of lightning, a though entered his mind, “Accidents happen all the time on major worksites. My fucking father-in-law could easily be an accidental casualty.” A smile broke across Weber’s face.
The massive construction of the Whispering Pines Sanitarium with its own super-max facility will begin shortly after the transfer of the headstones and all things above ground belonging to the Mount Moriah Cemetery. These opportunities will afford Weber the chance to not only get out from under Frenchy’s thumb, but to shatter it completely.
As I stated many times before. When you begin to get successful at whatever you are doing and then comes a long a rat bastard to try to trip your ass up. This is a strategy is like the fucking war on terrorism – that too is a war on a tactic only. This too is unsuccessful. The big bad wolves are all but dead from trying to blow down my iron-clad carbonite fortress.
The rat bastards and the wolves are all but casualties left to rot. More about that later.
Now, I must admit, the last couple of weeks or so has been if anything, exciting. With my new Alienware Area 51 as seen below. With this new addition has come other things like upgrades of components, rearranging my work center since this machine weighs in over 80 pounds. The human skull on the top doesn’t count.
Yes, owning this machine is a fantastic dream that has finally come true. Not only that, with my wonderful support from around the world and from studios in California – Northern California that is, I was able to purchase the Alienware M17xR4 Laptop with the Vindicator V.2 Pack for when I go and show my work in whatever format or project.
Remember and please keep this in mind, I am far more than a writer, a published author, graphic artist, web developer, artist, and musician. I dabble in alternative energy, zero-based energy to include my favorite scientist of all time, Nikola Tesla. Meanwhile back to my day to day activities, I use the Adobe Creative Master’s Edition CC 2017. I also have been dabbling in Photoshop professionally since 2000 hot and heavy. I have been using some flavor of Photoshop since the mid 1990s. Of course my artistic talents both in graphics, musical scores, short movies or movie-editing without putting too fine a point on things – well a normal stylish lightweight petite laptop with a dismal screen and horseshit for memory and two tin cans for sound just isn’t gonna cut it with the kind of work I do. No, you need a portable studio when you are on the run with all the bells and switches. You need something durable, built to last, and all the trimmings to floor a motherfucker, or a staff meeting of entire motherfuckers in my case. (Add the Samuel L. Jackson style to the last couple of sentences.)
Now I don’t want to knock Apple and those who have Apple iMacs and that door wedge of a laptop, but you really do get what you pay for outside of the Apple world. There is nothing close that touches these machines, that is if you want to spend $15,000.00 on an iMac tower and there isn’t a Laptop made by Apple that can come close to the Alienware product line. Now, I am not a shill or someone that works directly for Dell or Alienware. Sure, there are haters out there that sit around and complain about Alienware while operating their Walmart Public Assistance Machines.
Hate if you must…
Let me get away from technology and set my Samsung 10.1 inch tablet down from the emails, tweets, and messages I get day in and day out. I can read them all much later. I am just going to sit in my 20 some-odd year old chair where I pump out eBooks, Traditional Paperbacks, posts, blog articles, and occasionally without exception piss some jealous cunt (bi-gender word I use) off. Now this all of this isn’t some short story or a wet dream. I have more than enough short stories on this blog that should give you a very keen grasp in how I write to include style and or content.
If I am such a poor writer, ask yourself this question; why are you still reading my material no matter the subject?
If you don’t like my artwork, you know, the shit I am getting paid for and paid to do then why are you looking at it?
Why do you feel compelled to even come here and waste your time in the first place?
I’ve asked these rhetorical questions before and this is the last time I need to discuss this since all of what I do is paying the goddamned bills and earning a living.
Maybe that is the issue, me doing some of the things I always dreamed about doing and getting paid for it.
Moving on and leaving the dead and dying behind in the wake of my determined momentum.
I have a lot to say, perhaps some things better not shared here but on Facebook, or a tweet that is razor sharp and cuts deep into the bone to some specific people who thinks they can get a free lunch of knocking me and my work around.
Now, I will say that my experience, my overall experience has been mostly a very positive one. I had, since the course of last summer, friends that came and went. You know the kind, or the infamous saying, “A friend in need is a friend indeed.” This has been a proverb of mine along with a good many people so it seems. Another that comes to mind is, “No good deed goes unpunished.” Yeah, we all had these “kinds” of friends. Again, these rat bastards are not your or anyone’s friends.
That last paragraph there, you can take that motherfucker to the bank and bet the house on that one. Yes, some of my “friends” closest to me were not my friends at all as it seems. They were anything but.
For the record, I try to help out everyone. I try to put my best foot forwards in hopes of their successes and personal problems. Then when I need some help, some understanding, some resolve, I get, yup, you guessed it, zilch.
I am speaking directly to a couple of three or four people out here. An argument for five can be considered. Nevertheless, these assholes that would not give me the time of day after I helped them, well let’s see if this Karma shit will come back ten fold upon each of them.
Being mean, being vindictive, or holding a grudge is nothing I enjoy doing. Frankly, I am too goddamned busy. Rather it is a waste of energy and time. This is something that I am certain that you all can agree to. I will just leave these spineless fucks in the bad odor I found them all in the first place.
Now please allow me to add some encouragement to those who are struggling in their artistic, uber-talented endeavors. Now, 99% of all people who want to be a writer, a painter, and musicians never make it.
There are a few reasons from getting tired struggling, getting down by those same fucking leaches who drag anyone down and are nothing but losers, to illness, emotional, mental, or otherwise. Sometimes a gifted person just needs to unplug and take a long walk to an airport and board a flight to anywhere. Yeah, I’ve done that and I cannot express how much fun I had ditching my former life behind and starting a new. You certainly don’t have to go to extremes like that. You don’t have to come into your Boss’s office and piss all over him and his desk on your way out but if you can, I highly recommended it. Look at all the money you will save from spending it on therapy.
I also know full well on how overcoming or overwhelming all this can be. Pressures of life, family, the job – the one that you are a fucking slave to, and dreams seeming to fade or die. Nothing grieves me more than to see someone realize that their lifetime ambitions has come to a grinding halt.
Truly, the living dead…
One thing is for certain, I am eclectic as well as unusual. The song, “Divide” by Disturbed says it all about me and those like me. I have been different from what seemed like everyone else since I can remember. I tried to be like them in the early years but when you are in survival mode and held hostage by demons at home, well, it’s nearly impossible to just to breath let alone, express yourself.
Nevertheless, sometimes a break is in order. Sometimes stepping back from something to give you a fresh perspective is essential. A new stratagem because the one you’re into right now is not doing jack shit to the bottom line of things.
I know I write blunt. I know I can be brutally honest at times and seemingly unmerciful. I know that my hands may be caring but to reset that broken bone of yours is really gonna smart. Same with a broken heart. I know a lot of talented people. I know poets who write the most beautifully but cannot tell a goddamned good story. This goes for the short story people too.
You want to go the long haul?
Then sit down and write a full-blown novel from a blank screen. Edit it after you have finally finished before sending it off to an editor if you can afford one. Design the cover, spine, and back cover of the book. Take goddamn charge of your work in all aspects and whatever you do, don’t let the rat bastards tell you different.
Never give up and never get complacent in your talents. To be a master at something will take all of your life. Take charge. Don’t wait around for someone else that will or may ever come. Publish your novel, it’s really easy. Master the social media platforms and most importantly, don’t be a fucking baby about it.
Thank you for reading,
Douglas S. Taylor
In these woods, I am the boss. Least, this is what my fellow brothers and sisters say. Most days I am pretty easy going and you really have to go out of your way to really piss me off. When you do, well, let’s just say you opened up a frosty keg of Old Testament Retribution. Naturally, I’m not religious, and make no mistake, all religions say there is no room for my kind in any heaven. I will say look at the big picture of things, I can’t see my sorry ass sitting on some cloud playing a goddamned harp and that would be a living hell. Nevertheless, something about the unforgiving vengeful god that just gives me some righteous wood. You know what I am saying and if you don’t best mind your own business.
I love rolling with my kind like thunder through these beautiful black hills sporting our colors, our tribal colors that is. Ours is like no other and those fucking sissies that say they are some outlaw biker don’t know the meaning of, “The 1%.” Sure, just because we look human, act human, and on any other day, have empathy of a human, well, there is just more than just leather jackets, high octane, and the crack of an opening throttle. After all, happiness is a flick of the right wrist away. However, you see, there is more than what you can normally see about my kind. There is so very much more beneath the skin as they may say.
Human shell on the outside and our truer selves on the inside. Believe whatever makes you sleep better at nights thinking you know there is no such things as ghosts, phantoms, vampires, monsters, and my kind, the werewolf. Yeah, that’s fucking right, there’s all kinds of creatures walking day or night. We are your doctors, nurses, service men and women, the police, the fire fighters, and shit. But one goddamned thing you got to understand is that we are indeed only human on the outside. Inside of my kind is a blizzard of wrath that no man can contain though many have tried — tried and died. There’s a whole goddamned nation of a cemetery full of them. More scattered to the four winds in the form of shallow graves and rotting remains hidden away. Up here in the hills, there are more old mine shafts than people, and in the bottom of these are hills of bones who thought once upon a time that humans were at the top of the food chain.
Listen, the moon does not hold its sway over my kind. Piss me off and have me in a corner, and I will show you the animal within from zero to spilling your guts in less than a couple of seconds. Not to worry, you’ll be plenty alive when your small and large intestines splash its payload on those new boots of yours. Also, let me clue you in on something else, religious relicts, crosses and such, spells and incantations don’t do jack shit either. Once upon a time long before you or I were a pup and then some, we overcame the silver bullet thing. I mean, in the spite of what you’ve seen in the shows, Hollywood, and shit like that, you’re in for one hell of a shocker when your silver hallow-points has no effect on us other than messing up our clothing. Not to mention, pissing any of us off.
Like I said earlier, I am a pretty easy going guy. I’d rather smile, laugh, smoke weed, and hang out at the Gallows talking shit, and meeting other members of packs from out of state sorts.
We all have specialties, I mean, you know, what we do in our more natural, or perceived in your eyes as, “Unnatural” we have our own names, handles, and skill sets. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking and you’re already wrong.
When we are in our natural state, we are cunning, fast as lightening and the weakest among us is as strong as any ten men you may want to chose. The brothers and sisters of my pack and those of my kind call me the, “Grimstalker.”
Trust me, every since I was a pup, I made it a profession in tracking down the free-range rubes that tend to get a little too close to things of ours, our business, our way of life, our land. Oh, for the fuck of Christ, trespassing on my land really raises the fucking hackles on the back of my neck.
Sitting up at my cabin here in the Black Hills you have to go off the beaten path, the roadway, and follow an old mining road and then turns to a path and a bridge over a small creek just to get to my land. I have no use for “visitors” of the human kind let alone uninvited assholes. Trust me in saying, I can hear a real dumbass walking up from the road far below. If the wind is blowing right, I’ll pick up the scent of the poor son of a bitch. Then your goddamned ass is all mine.
This is where I turn from a guy catching some porn on the tube to my namesake. I jump up and already I can feel the change come on. I keep it in my pants if you know what I mean. Then on my way out, I grab my stainless mattock. It’s a custom job like a stainless tomahawk or one hell of a bitching hatchet with one unfucking-forgiving business end. You’ll never see it coming, you might hear it buzzing through the air and maybe, just maybe the sun will dance ever so briefly just before I take the top of your fucking skull clean off.
Again, you’ll be still alive when my gifting separates some of that grey matter of yours. Then as you slide down next to a tree, you’ll be sure to see me. Though because of the missing portions of your fucking brains, you’ll be not doing much else except look up at me as blood flows from your mouth and ears while shitting and pissing yourself in doing so. It usually happens to most people and I don’t hold that against anyone just so you know.
Then with my claws I dig into your exposed brain for a fucking taste and that is when you fade away right when I got a good paw full of your brains as your body has its fits, seizures, and shit. I’ll let you die as I eat and fetch my mattock right above your body pulling it from the tree along with the top of your skull and scalp. The scent of fresh blood in the air — your blood that is. You won’t know it, but very soon, day or night, we’ll be feasting upon your remains.