Monthly Archives: May 2013

Free E-Book!



For the next 5 days my first book “Crossing” will be available for free on Kindle. It’s a short noirish fever dream filled with love, death, and violations of reality taking place in Baltimore, MD.

Any reviews or feedback would be awesome. I hope you enjoy!


Crossing: New Book!


Baltimore Maryland’s hospitality industry generates over 5 billion dollars in annual revenue; about the same as the city’s drug trade. Aggressive gentrification has transformed the landscape into an ever changing kaleidoscope of narcotics and death that outsources those valuable commodities throughout the eastern seaboard, but that’s not what this story is about. This story is about a girl named Jane and a girl named Kelly and how I successfully failed to murder either of them; it also happens to take place in Baltimore.

This is my new book!  It available for free on Kndle for the next five days at:

Paperback versions for 3.99 at


I would describe this as surreal noir.  It is mechanical in nature and operates like a paradoxical clock, but it’s also entertaining and I hope at least occasionally amusing

Sad eyed girl in pastels



It wasn’t until much later that he realized where he was going.  The building in front of him might as well be completely featureless for its lack of personality.  A moderately well dressed man sat on the planter near the entrance and surveyed him suspiciously as he approached.  No words needed exchanging, just the mutual nods generally resulting from extended eye contact.  She was small and wore pastels to cheer herself up, but was somewhat bashful by nature so doubly aware of the attention her clothes drew.  He sat in the waiting room and attempted to relax so that she might relax, because increased tension in these situations can compromise outcomes.  Once he entered the inner office the receptionist’s nervousness seemed more warranted than he had given her credit.  Following the not altogether difficult procedure he left the building the way he came, passing the moderately dressed man, who upon being passed, turned and re-entered the building.

He saw a bar across the street, and lacking many more appointments for the week, walked over and ordered a drink.  The bartender regarded him warmly and made conversation about the weather and unremarkable current events.  After a few drinks, the bartender put a pack of matches beside the drink and gestured to the back of the room.  He picked up the matches, read the instructions on the cover and then walked to the bathroom in the corner.  It took a few more minutes than he had anticipated, but he eventually returned to his stool and struck up a conversation with the receptionist from across the street.  She had apparently only been in the city for a month and didn’t really know anyone, but for some reason had no problem explaining in detail all the events in her life that had led up to this point.

Tired guy


Everyone seems to be quite tired, but it’s probably just because I am.  It is a well documented fact that people find it hard to imagine others not feeling the same way they do, or maybe not, that’s just probably me too.  Projecting afflictions on others to justify my own infirmity seems at least practical anyway.  The shock comes when someone comes along who is not as I am, because isn’t this person supposed to be sharing my mental state?  Their upbeat/downbeat/ambivalent behavior is an affront to my state of mind  so  the way they are is obviously wrong and I unfortunately have to inform them of this in an effort to impart how important it is for them to appreciate how critical it is for them to feel the way I do immediately, otherwise there’s really no point to my interacting with them.  I probably am simply not exhausted enough; as I run down others may as well and then I can talk with them minus the blood-boiling rage of tolerating clear eyes and sunny demeanors.  I will persist because I am right; I am tired and getting tireder, which is not a word, but I suspect will be, because of its applicability to so many situations; again me setting universal standards for what should be.

It is now a partially documented fact that I am tired and expect others to share this and any other state I may be occupying as a prerequisite to be around me.  I’m probably simply waiting to fall asleep, but am not allowed so will impose my unpleasantness to achieve satisfaction in it.  Foregoing complete documentation is as necessary as necessity although not more transparent than transparency, but then that’s approaching typical madness so will have to wait in lieu of something more coherent that I’m sure someone will be able to inform me of as they are the same as me and me as them, so may have some insights that I have but have obviously misplaced.


As of late there is only design.  Which is okay; I enjoy design and invention, but it is concerning because shifting to that style of thinking makes it hard to do much else, such as say writing the last two pages of a book.  However, writing this has helped me remember something I meant to do, but lost in a tidal wave of furniture construction mechanics.  There were similar difficulties during the recent rekindling of my sound/instrument/machine interests, which fortunately, unfortunately, sadly, or excellently were shelved in favor of more immediately attainable goals.  As utterly uninteresting as all of this may be, it exposes on some level (or at least vents it for me) some of the technicalities necessary to switch from medium to medium without feeling a sense of something lost.

I suppose a metaphor would be children.  My mind has several children, maybe 4 or so, each of them might have some pets or something that they take care of and maintain.  The children’s names are Art, Craft, Logic and Invention.  They each have their pets, which they sustain with leftovers from what I feed them (not a spectacular existence I’m building here, but there is a point).  Most of the time the children interact and learn form one another in a complimentary fashion, but every once and a while one of them will do something rather unexpected and will draw my full attention, which by the way is also their nourishment. I would surmise that my current state of mind might be attributable to Craft taking some of Invention and Art’s toys and using them to crank out the torrent of furniture construction mechanics mentioned earlier.  Not quite as tricky as Invention or esoteric as Art, Craft tends to be on the more pragmatic side and tends to spend a lot of time trying to figure out Logic, who occasionally helps Craft, but not always in the way Craft would prefer.  Anyway, this  all got a bit ridiculous, but basically I locked Art and Invention out in a blizzard and forgot about them for a few days, which means they’re a bit cold and hungry; so there’s the feeling of guilt, loss, etc…

Developing the lame metaphor above did help, but if something that insubstantial got things moving again, I would assume Art and Invention have been on the verge of starvation for some time.

Post-Apoclyptastic some more


Zombies are shufflers,

Anything running is just diseased,

Not deceased,

Like the vampires,

However they fly,

Generally anyway,

Extra-dimensional aliens are another thing altogether,

As they share a single consciousness,

Like you do,

Coffee is currency,

Nosferatu are allergic to caffeine,

And it makes you invisible to invaders,

But not to lunar crumbs plummeting to earth,

As the Nyarlahotep thing eats the moon,

Day and night; the sound of a great munching,

Or maybe that’s me,

Smoke from the cookie mill means that everything is okay though,

Maybe hunt for feral children to sell tomorrow,