My Dinner with The Son

I was just having dinner with Jesus. Yeah, since it's not football season he has some spare time to hang out with writers. It's a thing he does, hanging out with the little people, chilling with indies. I guess we're the modern day pariahs.

Anyway... you know when you're out with your friend and you start telling jokes? We get to that point. And Jesus is a funny guy. We're laughing, and he tells a real knee slapper. He says to me, "Patrick," He says, because Patrick is what he calls me. I mean I could insist on formality, but him being who he is I'm okay with informality. Anyway. "Patrick," He says, "Have you noticed how the people telling Christians to pay attention to Leviticus when it comes to immigrants are the same ones who were telling Christians to ignore Leviticus when it came to homosexuals a couple of months ago? Have you also noticed that nobody seems to notice that I undid all the laws in Leviticus and said the new law is don't be a dick?"

We laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Eventually a couple of old ladies shushed us and called him a long hair. He turned their coffee into whiskey and they were much more pleasant after that. I'm going to miss him when the damn quarterbacks start taking up all of his time again.

Until then, for more more insights from the mind of the Messiah, look here. http://hyperurl.co/duudrb

#satire #blasphemoushumor #writing #novel #shamlessselfpromotion #buymybooks

In the Beginning - The Eucharist

This should be part seventeen. All others are below, as per the usual.





Chester knew questions were dangerous. Especially ones revolving around religion or ceremony or, worse, both. The treacherous nature of the footing around such grew more intense when the ladies, the term changed from girls to avoid confusion with their daughter, were near enough to turn the answer into a lesson. Yet, he let the question slip without thinking. The ladies perked up. They did not share Chester’s distaste for Nicole’s monologues.

“It started before I was born. At first it was just secular holidays. My father felt people needed to be shown the foolishness of misusing the word and mocked for building monoliths to the greatness of man when the glory of God was right there. He said it could be celebrated every day. That it was insane to live mediocre, plebian lives that caused apathy to the miracles all around us. It was a travesty to trot out the Word only on special occasions and pretend they were celebrations when they were, in truth, wakes for our faith and souls.

“It always ate at him that the state had more days honoring the people’s mindless obedience to it than God did for giving us free will to ignore him. It incensed him that even when you included the days for false heathen gods, Caesar still had more. So he ‘threw tradition in the face of the Sodomites and Gomorrahans.’

“We had foie gras and vodka on Cinco de Mayo. On veteran’s day we ate frog legs and drank German beer. When that wasn’t enough for him we went out on memorial day and painted peace signs on the headstones of soldiers. The best one was his tradition of flying over an English family on the fourth of July. We took them on a tour of the white house, then threw coffee and firearms into the reflecting pool.

“Eventually, God told him to remember the religious days and keep them holy. So while state days were great fun and rebellion Christmas, Easter, Passover, any day celebrating the true God really, became somber occasions. We celebrated as Christ did, by honoring the Eucharist. Now that he is gone, now that we have the children to think of, now that we have these ladies to train I would like to continue the tradition.”

“Okay,” Chester sighed, “but can’t you go get the supplies yourself?”

“You know that’s a man’s job.” She chided in the way she had. Chester could never determine if it was humorous or deadly.

“But why a bum?” He couldn’t look her in the eyes when he asked. “If we’re fighting to change the world we shouldn’t attack the enemies of our enemies.”

“Make sure it’s not the bum working with us! Choose another. Chester, you know why. Nobody misses vagrants or whores. When the movement gains steam, after a few more signs we will attack those holding the power. Once we can’t be stopped we can take the war directly to those standing in our way. Until then, we have to fly below the radar but our traditions must be observed.”

He was about to argue. She stopped his protests with a kiss. The ladies oohed and ahed. He would do what she told him. As he always did. He just hoped his luck with murder was as good as the cop’s.

#shortstory #novel #author #dark #religion #socialcommentary #writer #writing

In the Beginning - Brave New World

Part ten, the first nine are below. This one got really dark on me.






Chester closed his hand around the buttons and his eyelids followed. The solid feel of them on his skin was not real, it was the past. He needed the present future of his vision.


The gasp signaling his return filled his lungs burning stale air. Smoke, blood and dirt assaulted his nose in a welcome menagerie. He opened his eyes to the endgame.

How could he have thought the man on the throne was him? Floating in front of and above the figure the idea seemed preposterous. The younger man bore a resemblance, enough for Chester to realize it was his son. A smile curled his ethereal lips and he mouthed the words, my son.

“Yes father?”

The king, for that was what his boy was, looked haggardly into the older man’s eyes. Chester cast his eyes about. The others focused as they were on their tasks or their leader, not seeing him. His boy had a connection strong enough to overcome different times and dimensions. Chester issued words in a voice more like the preacher than his own.

“This world is yours now, make of it what you will.”

His voice resonated like God, or his messenger. No wonder he sounded like his future father in law. The realization that he was inferior was bad. The reaction from his son was worse.

The boy bared his teeth in a smile savage enough to give death row inmates pause. The flames flickered to match his mood, shadows danced around the chamber. Even in his non-corporeal form, Chester felt a chill as the king uncoiled from his throne to stride forward like the hunter, no, the warrior he was.

“As you say, so it shall be. Vicker, bring me the holy texts!”

Vicker, a name or a title, Chester wondered. There was no time to figure it out though. His firstborn continued in a voice that terrified even a ghost outside of possible harm.

“I will give them war. Until my sisters surrender there will be no peace in this new Eden. Until they bow to me their servants shall perish to superior might.”

Flames of madness lit the young king’s eyes. Chester tried to say that was not what he meant but with spark of violence set to tinder of mind Chester’s speaking part was over.

“We need them though, this much is true. Men! Build out from the entrance. For one yard build breeding fields, only there will there be truce so man and woman can know each other. For a mile beyond build killing fields and man them with soldiers, slaughter any amazon who dares enter so only the strongest breech that barrier and give us the most worthy of sons. Once this is done send killing squads every day into the world. I will fill my planet with corpses until it is once again in my hands. This is the will of God and your king.”

Ejected from his own vision, Chester silently wept as he returned to his body. He heard Nicole end her call. If only the peyote was a hanger.

#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing #religion #dark

In the Beginning - Musical Interlude

Part seven of the ongoing saga and I'm not sure where some of this is coming from. You can find the earlier bits down below.





Caught between the priest and the preacher, Jack wasn’t sure which side was right. His initial surveillance showed nothing technically illegal but the gaggle of girls in the house spoke of a possible cult. At the very least it seemed to be the type of commune the hippies used to set up.

He discreetly took the information to some of his old cop shop contacts. They agreed no action could be taken, yet. The intel and the work impressed his old boss though. He had a standing offer to return to active duty. A detective’s badge tempted him, the steady income even more so. He needed to think about it, so he ended up and McClarren’s, a cop bar. Wouldn’t you know it happened to be on karaoke night? He hoped his poor ears would forgive him.

As he considered, he drank.  As old friends swung by to shake his hand and urge him to take up the cause again, he drank. When women who enjoyed the rugged, slightly dangerous look about him flirted, he drank. Soon enough he was two and a half sheets to the wind. Not quite blitzed but getting there. He was out of his comfort zone, but with one, about to be two ways back in.

Normally Jack reserved his gruff voice for the shower, his only audience the bar of Irish Spring and dollar store bottle of shampoo. That night though, the music moved him almost as much as his maudlin mood did. He filled out a slip and waited for the nondescript man running the show to call his name.

As a tribe cops have depressing taste in music. So the song he chose fit nicely. An old love song with a tragic story. His favorite song because at his core, Jack was still a cop. With no shame he got up and growled out the lyrics in tones fit to do any honky-tonk bound country singer proud.

Somewhere in the middle of the song a voice joined his, harmonizing, adding a poetic beauty one voice alone could not create. Jack looked for his duet partner, falling in love with the voice alone. A distant smile graced his lips as his eyes continued to search. By the end of the song he knew his own mind.

As the last chords faded to nothing Jack finally found the source of the voice. Neither the priest, nor the preacher’s prophecy could accept a man like him. The force had a hard enough time with it, but they were coming around quicker than any church. He would take up that badge. That was for tomorrow though. Tonight he wanted to buy the owner of that shaggy black beard a drink and see if partner could describe them when singing was not prepended to it.

#shortstory #novel #author #love #religion #socialcommentary #author #writer

In the Beginning – The Forum

Okay, this is part two of an ongoing story, you should go down one post and read part one first if you haven't already.



“No… NO!”
Templeton checked his login to thethronecometh.com. Username: New_World_Prophet Password: say3thth3l0rd Where were these posts coming from? It was time to seek assistance.
Hellfire and brimstone boiled from him at the screen. Vengeance may be the lord’s but he was mad enough to spit. He drew the cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number he hated to interrupt.
“It’s me. Do you have eyes on?
“Yes. Something strange is happening. I logged into the throne…
“It is not an end times site. It’s a forum for those who participate in a particular hobby.
“Of prophesizing what the world will be in the next age of man. What we will endure in the coming change and how transcending it will alter our society.
“That is not the end times! Now listen. Something strange is happening and I need to know if your friend is involved. Someone logged in as me and posted some very blasphemous statements that contradict the prophecy.
“Of course I tried to delete them! It is like that writer site that girl you went to school with was always on. There is no option to retract. I guess they think you should stick to what you say.
“The girl was obsessed with her imaginary worlds, and don’t you dare start comparing what I know to what she imagined. Wait, there’s a new one posting now. Now listen to me…


Nicole turned on bare toes, who walked barefoot on the beach in late winter? She peered at Chester before issuing what could only be a command. Daddy’s princess still assumed obedience would come naturally.
“Show me your phone.”
Chester turned it, showing her the mindless matching game on the screen. The game was a cover, to hide how intently he stared at her posterior while she spoke.
“Okay. Daddy thought you might have been hacking his account.”
“Let me guess, crazies for god? No, wait, the throne cometh dot com?”
“This is no laughing matter.”
“I think it’s hilarious.”
“He said if it was you to stop being childish. Your destiny is sealed and you need to get used to leading men into their future, even if you find it distasteful. You will be the tool of the new age.”
“Your dad’s a tool. Tell him maybe the devil, or God himself finds his prophecies asinine and might be hijacking his user name for the greater good. To show people what nut jobs modern day prophets are.”
Nicole glared at her date, the look of death indicating he had gone too far. Would have gone to far if not for his importance in the impending change. Chester choked on a laugh and continued.
“Better yet! Tell him to check and make sure he isn’t getting hacked by the NSA. They could be doing it to make him look like what they want him to, to the general public. I hear that’s what they did with the video of the whackos in Waco.”
“Daddy? Listen to me…”

#shortstory #novel #author #writer #religion

Oh Captain My Captain

And now for one that will probably upset some people but at the end of the day I gotta be me. I have been thinking for a long time on how to do this tribute and stay true to what I feel. More importantly to express how it changed the way I feel. Please forgive me, I am speaking of a great man but wow are my emotions raw after all of these tonight.

Oh Captain My Captain

You were in my life but I was not in yours. Not beyond that basic connection we all share anyway. Why has it taken me so long to speak to you, to speak of you? Because you were one of my heroes. You were one of the giants treading the world with an I don’t give a shit attitude and a devil may care smile. Then you did the thing I have never been able to forgive. You made yourself into a coward when you had it all.

No matter how unfair it is that stigma will taint my memory of you. My father taught me that suicide is the coward’s way out. Every religion tells me it is the one unforgivable sin. I know I overstate but most of them say it at least conditionally. That was who you became to me. You were a giant and became your own unruly David. How could you do that to yourself? You had so much to live for. How could you do that to us? You brought us so much joy and now we had to mourn you. How the hell could you do that to me? I needed men like you in the world.

A quirky entertainer. An actor who openly gamed? I don’t mean played video games, now every actor does that but you were the first big name to admit he table topped! You gave me hope for the world, for humanity, for everyone who was different. Then you took it away in a moment of shameful weakness. I will never forgive you. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe I don’t need to.

I don’t understand your battles. I know, and looking back I see how much pain there was inside. A desperate man battling the same fights we all must endure. How much harder was it for you with such a sensitive soul? How heavy did it weigh on you that we all looked to you for a laugh, to help us escape our every day pains when all you wanted to do was heal yourself? You tried, but still you were our golden calf, our doorway to a different place. I know you tried and I wonder if maybe we had just let you if things could have been different.

You gave us so much and we could not even give you privacy. You overcame your addictions, more than once, and yet you tried to stay healthy. How hard was it for you when you were warring with the feelings that finally overtook you and we splashed it on the internet and ate it up. In the middle of your struggle you had to pause and reassure us that you had not started using again. Time you could have been using to heal and we just weighed you down.

I cannot forgive the act but I can focus on your legacy. Nobody can replace you but I can live my life to bring entertainment to others as you did. I hope that is a fitting tribute. I hope that can help make those religions wrong and let you rest in peace. I hope you can forgive yourself.

I hope because it is all I have and there is less of it in the world without you. Thank you for everything you gave us.

Sincerely,

One Fan

#author #writer #socialcommentary #religion #shortstory

It's Christmas Time in America Again

So this one is way outside of my normal comfort zone, but it wanted to be written.

Amidst chill air and deafening silence I roamed my empty house. The tips of my fingers traced worn wooden backs of benches ready to seat my friends and family. In years before they were packed, filling my home with warmth, love, and voices raised in celebration of the season. This year I was alone.

Each of my intended attendees had reasons to explain their absence. Each piercing excuse, being forgotten and abandoned, filled me with sorrow. Was it worth putting myself out there for people who would so quickly abandon love for simple pleasures? To have one turn away in your moment of need is painful. To have all do the same at your moment of joy is excruciating. Why would they do it? There was only one way to know.

Soft snow drifted lazily to concrete as I stepped bare footed onto the street. Roads which once would have been empty on Christmas morning were only moderately quiet. Neon burned the early morning, inviting all to exchange unwanted gifts for mind numbing desires. Restaurants beseeched travelers to step in for an overpriced meal. Gone were the days when the only cuisine to be found on the holiday was of Chinese origin. Gone were the times when the only entertainment available was the moving picture shows. Such was the march of progress.

The chill in my house was nothing compared to the stabbing cold of knife edged wind cutting through my thin clothing. Soon I happened upon a house belonging to one of my family. Seeking comfort and joy I stepped inside.

“I bring the presents I offer every day of every year.”

I spoke but none listened. They looked through me without seeing. Exchanging store bought gifts and plastic smiles they passed the time with empty love and hollow promises to spend more time with each other. All the while they drank to excess to make the excursion tolerable while dreaming of high production video games and internet distractions they were missing out on. How many minutes of this day off were being wasted on family and celebrations nobody believed in anymore?

Try as I might none of them would look at me, none of them saw. Father, why have they forsaken me? I thought as I tired of tarrying where I was unwanted. On my way to the door I realized it was not all of them. The matron of the clan, a woman approaching a century and a small child not yet school aged would look at me and smile. Their eyes said happy birthday and their hearts nearly screamed it. I delayed my exit to kiss them on the forehead and pray the hearts of the others would open. Upon those two I bestowed my gifts; peace, love, and tranquility.

Exiting the home I witnessed others in the same predicament as me. The turbaned inheritor of my legacy walked arm in arm with my desert wandering forefather. With them was the elephant headed one from foreign lands. Like me they were unseen, even this time of year, but they walked with a purpose so I followed.

The air grew warmer as we approached a rundown part of town. I joined my fellows and we looked upon a line of destitute men awaiting a warm meal, hoping there would be enough. Moving amongst the dirty and disheveled were others, not much better off. These shepherds passed out steaming cups of coffee and cocoa. Others imparted blankets they could ill afford to part with to make life a little more bearable. None here were wealthy and yet from their hearts they began to sing the songs of joy that once filled my house.

I remembered why the trials were worth it. We all knew that amongst the forgotten and the cast offs we had family that would never abandon us. They had no internet to get home to, no home to get internet to. Yet they had room in their hearts for us, more importantly for each other.

Looking to my brothers an unspoken truth passed between us. There were so many with so little. There would never be enough thin soup to feed them all. Yet these ones did not give up on hope and love. There was only one thing for it, one gift left to give. I smiled to the others, warm for the first time that day as I spoke.

“I once did this trick with fish and bread. Let us work together and see how it works on soup.”

#shortstory #author #christmas #commentary #mythology #religion #socialcommentary #writer

Predestined Accountablility

Check it. Last night was legendary. I don’t normally go for cougars but… I got the bitch hammered and went back to her place. She was a God nut and the old school wrathful pictures were not in line with what we did. I mean, I knew going in that she was crazy but I only knew half of it. The things she did blew my mind hole.

Afterwards she starts chanting Latin at this vengeful Jesus mural. I swear she smiled at me there at the end. Anyway, my vision goes all blurry and I woke up alone. Thank Poseidon, right?

I rolled out of bed, stumbled, and smacked my head on the floor, figured it’s residual tequila body. I mean, it was a short fall so I must have been on my knees. My legs failed me so I crawled to the wall where there’s a mirror to find, I’m a damn baby. That don’t make sense.

Then I hear the sweet voice of my mother dancing through the trailer. I smile, watching a runner of drool fall onto the floor. Mom comes and scoops me up. She starts cooing at my bump. She’s telling me I’m her good boy for not crying, what a big man I am. I snuggle into her.

“Mom, check it. You ain’t gotta worry. Despite the meth you did while pregnant, despite the neglect and the abusive boyfriends I’m successful. I have a nice car, big house, stable seven figure job. Even you overdosing when I was thirteen and leaving me your thug brother didn’t mess me up. I don’t hold it against you. I just wish you didn’t.

“That’s not how a man measures success. That’s what one of my ‘uncles’ taught me. Last night proves I can do anything. A couple years back I crashed this wedding. The hottest bridesmaid was the high school aged sister. I ruined her for boys her age. A year later I tapped the bride. Despite them hating me and crying to anyone that would listen I hit their mom last night.”

I try to say all that to the one woman I ever had true feelings for as I drink in the sweat tainted warmth of her loose skinned body. What comes out sounds like me shitting from my mouth. I want to cry but I can’t with mom holding me. Eventually she lays me back in the crib and puts the side up this time.

I’m in that prison when the ten year old girl climbs through the window. Fear coils in my tiny belly. Mom didn’t understand my words but it seems this girl did.

“Sometimes a miracle requires sacrifice. My daughters will never know the pain you are so proud of inflicting.”

The pigtailed psycho pulls a butcher knife, bigger than her, from behind her back. With a clumsy hand she carved me a second scream.

“So that’s how I got here Pete. Can I meet Jesus? My lawn needs work.”

#shortstory #dark #horror #magic #religion #writer #author

The Succubus

So Old Odd Ends has one of the main characters as a variation on the succubus. I got to thinking... what the hell? Why are we so obsessed with them. For a historical reference you can look here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Succubus

So they started out monstrous and gross. Over time they got sexy as hell. They are a demon that even in religions that say all demons are fallen angels they were once human. Conflicting much?

I know many people who love angels and demons in their art. I know even more who think of the succubus when they think of demons. Why the obsession? Is it just the association with sex? Is there something more?

I am seriously asking here. I love them, love using them in my writing and I am not completely sure where my obsession comes from. Normally with angels and demons I prefer to stick to the traditional. Angels are angels and were never humans, demons are fallen angels not the souls of the damned. Yet, while I will fudge this in my writing, all information says these were humans not angels. So this is an oddity to me.

Succubi, why do we love them? Why do you love them? Sound off! Do it now!







#commentary #hello #magic #thoughts #villainess #writer #writing #succubus #demons #mythology #religion