Ghost Rider After Sturgis

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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.

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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.

Why?

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

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Dogs

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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

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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

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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

SONGWRITERS
DAVID JON GILMOUR, ROGER WATERS


PUBLISHED BY
LYRICS © WARNER/CHAPPELL MUSIC, INC.

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A Taste from; The Many Unnatural Lives of Scott Solomon Dean

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“We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands, we are everywhere. And there will be more of your children dead tomorrow.”
Ted Bundy



    “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.”
Raven Blackstone



    “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.”
Johnathan Knepp



Introduction

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.


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The Fast and the In-Furious…

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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.

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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…

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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.

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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.

Why?

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.

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Thank you for reading,

Douglas S. Taylor


Grimstalker

Copyright Protected @2017 by DarkWorX

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.

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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.

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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.

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It Has Been A While But I Am Still At It!

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Created By Douglas S. Taylor for DarcWorX

I know it has been some time since I wrote a post. I am far from being dead and just like the inflammatory magazine cover states, I haven’t gone anywhere!

No, instead, here at my little corner of gloom, my sorcery in all things “Darc” has went for an immediate upgrade. First it was the Adobe Creative Master’s Collection CC 2017 and hardware upgrades galore. Yes, a new Alienware Area 51 R2 fully decked out with three NVidia’s GTX 1080 TIs grinding out the extreme HD graphics rendering in mega huge media formats such as Bus Stop Posters, billboards, additional art and design. It is strange to me that most people can work with Windows 10 Creative with 4 or 8 gigs. I have 64 Gigs of RAM and when I am into my larger work I utilize anywhere between 75 to 90% of my memory and my Pagefile is screaming at 95% or more. If you are into rendering out huge gigabyte Photoshop Files and Premiere videos to your client’s server, you need not only this kind of horsepower but the serious uploading bandwidth. With 1 Gb/s download and 200 Mb/s upload you really need this.

I DON’T PLAY GAMES and this is not a gaming rig though it has all the trimmings for decimating any game in the market. I am not bragging, I am showing you how serious you need to be when you are into the things that I do. True, I write with Microsoft Office 2016, I have Outlook 2016 open, Photoshop, and my music player pumping the tunes through my Logitech Artemis Spectrum C933 Wireless 7.1 Surround Sound Headset. Music is my muse and like Gene Simmons said, “I love it loud!”

True that!

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My Alienware M17 R4 Laptop joins the Darc Forces in two days and that is for when I am on the road to various studios in Northern California. Yes, there are studios now that displays my original pieces, One is actually a clothing designing studio where the public can purchase artistic designed clothing. You can go to my Facebook page and Twitter for more information and my cyber studio. All items are $75.00 USD plus shipping and tax. I have nothing to do with the fashion itself, just my art they want and they do the rest. I am told that one studio has a huge oil-based print of mine in their gallery that is 60 inches by 240 inches long all in a frame. I am assured it will sell and when everyone takes a bite out of the sale, I may just have enough to rub a couple of shiny new nickels together.

So, as you can see, I have been very busy. I also would like to make mention that I am leaving the eBook scene and going full throttle with Amazon Books in Traditional Paperbacks and Hardcovers. Already, “The Many Unnatural Lives of Scott Solomon Dean” has its ISBN for being sold via Amazon all over the world. I am also told that I will be in charge of setting the price of each book I produce. Since, I do the book designs already for a few special clients, and I am indeed a professional at what I do, designing my own covers is always KILLER.

Some good folks out here and in the world ask about what I write or a sample of my work. As you know, this is the official one and only blog of DarcWorX which is me. I am DarcWorX as far as my LLC Business is concerned. Moreover, DarcWorX is Douglas S. Taylor.  Okay, to the point; I have a lot of material here for those who want to get entertained and find value in my short stories here. As of late, “The Sheriff” that is on the “What’s Hot List” (still) is a great sample based upon “The Werewolves of Deadwood” that will be a full novel upon its own. There are other stories too and to include a real paranormal story, a non-fiction account of an angry ghost while I was stationed in Egypt.

You get the point. Also, there is a keen search feature on the upper right corner of the main page of my blog. I have everything tagged so it makes it real easy for people to find things.

Okay, yeah, I realize that I am nearly a one man show and I know that obviously irks a couple of hating people that lives for trolling. I am not getting negative or fall out of a perfectly great airliner and dive down through the thick jungle canopy tops crashing down to their level on the murky muddy swamps where gator bait and gas bubbles is all they are to me anyway.

Let me see if I am missing anything important…

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Yes, I will be adding a couple of new page and categories to this blog that will have links to the various studios I mentioned and where you can purchase clothing items, HD Oil-Based, and HD prints to scare away any rats you may have in the house or workplace. All this will be coming soon, very soon.

Thanks for reading and if you have any questions, please contact me at: Kromaethius1962@gmail.com

 

Douglas S. Taylor

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Now You Can Contribute and Spread the “Darc” World!

Now You Can Contribute and Help Spread the "Darc" World!

Good evening, good afternoon, and or good “mourning” to all who follow this unique blog of horrors and grim eye-candy. I know it may have been a while since I wrote anything like, “The Sheriff” who finds himself confronted by a possible werewolf of unknown origin responsible for at least one immediate death of a loved one. One might say it’s a short story, a prelude, a sample of things to come.

Oh, yes indeed. Things are changing on DarcWorX. One of the major changes is the fact that I listen to my fans and friends. In doing so, I will not be publishing any more eBooks but instead I will be offering traditional paperbacks through Amazon Publishing and like the former eBooks, these new editions will be sold Internationally. I have taken down, “The Haunted Library” from the damp and mysterious corridors of this blogsite only temporarily. Everything else remains the same but only better. In the past, organizations along with fans demanded the paperback version of what I write. This I am going to do. Naturally, I need your help, your financial donations made possible through PayPal. This is also set up for the International Audience on a very secure and familiar service that everyone already knows.

I promise you with funding, my little “Darc” world will greatly expand in both marketing and in advertising costs.

You as an avid fan and reader has certainly experienced my personal growth in writing and in the “Darc” arts. There are many stories, short stories within this blog to easily convince you that I am indeed gifted as a writer and in graphics design. I don’t say these things lightly. I don’t say these things first hand. These positive things are said by tens of thousands of fans world-wide.

DarcWorX International Wallpapers and Art

DarcWorX nor do I ask for much. Any donation of any amount will go to what I have mentioned plus expedite the publishing of the paperbacks that will be made available only on Amazon throughout the known world. Additional funding will also go on equipment and upkeep of my future home office.

Oh yes, as I stated time, and time again. Subscriptions to this blog are free for everyone. Now, I don’t keep email addresses, and WordPress assures me that they don’t SPAM or give your email addresses out. I never see them or have to deal with that and you should not have to worry about things like that too.

Let me bring you up to speed on some other things, or additional projects. Now, I want everyone to know that “Tales From Under the Concrete” in all three volumes of these eBooks will be, as they are, buried in a deep vault and shall never see the light of day again. Leastwise in the eBook fashion. I will no doubt create an updated and overpowering version of this ominous collection that included such grisly tales as, “Dead Indian,” “The Devil in Deadwood,” and so many others that touch upon various common elements and characters like, “The Whispering Pines Sanitarium,” “Raven Blackstone,” and for the “Werewolves of Deadwood,” most will agree that needs to be its own novel or a series of novels. There is just too much going on down at, “The Gallows,” and “The Busted Bitch Saloon.”

Deadwood amongst other things has its own history, gaming, adult entertainment, and more than enough paranormal activity to capture the minds and souls looking for such things. In fact, Lawrence County to include, Lead (pronounced as “Leed”) is an old gold mining town with stories of its own. For me, Lawrence County in its entirety has a lot that an over-active imagination can take in. It is a pleasure for me to write about what possibly can be called an otherwise “Raven State” that no one gives a second thought about with a grand total population of only 700,700 people with a 4 to 7% decline with the biggest export is our youth as they fly overhead.

Yeah, that saddens me some. Sure, but what are you going to do, right?

Hell

For me and my family, we chose to move out here after my exile at Pierre, South Dakota. I did my time in hell thank you very much. The prairie never done anything for me and nothing in sharp contrast to the Black Hills here. Plenty of great things to do and actually see. I am not a travel agency, but you can Google or Bing it all you want though.

As far as my life is concerned and according to Laura, Lawrence County has been the longest place I personally lived at. This is a personal record. I thought I might throw that in there too.

I would like to take this moment in time and thank the tens of thousands of folks who have come to read and take with them a little something in return. So, if you do find DarcWorX which is synonymous to me, Douglas S. Taylor. Well, I am certainly thankful for that too.

Don’t make yourself a stranger and when the time comes to release my next novel that I am working on between things, I will make sure you all will know about it and the “Haunted Library” page reinstated.

Thanks for your time, your donations, and your support.

Douglas S. Taylor

DarcWorX International Graphics and Art Designs
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