Necro Power Plant

Ever wonder how those malls play holiday music?

Keep your internet connection and never lose it?

Keep the lights on in your depressing man cave?

Keep the water warm so you can shower and shave?

 

You can give your thanks to the utility wizards

Necromancy keeps you warm during blizzards

Now that your eyes popped out of your sockets

We run on dead bodies, it’s how we line our pockets

 

Feed the giant slab of rotten gray beef jerky

Through the dynamo of swamp water so murky

Boil them corpses like a pot of spaghetti

Let the green steam get the juicy juices ready

 

What’s the matter, kid? You think this is wrong?

Grab the hippie-dippie guitar, write a protest song

It’s not like we killed the dead bodies ourselves

Who cares when their souls are stuck in hell?

 

Exploiting dead people is a great business model

When politicians do it, the press is sucking milk bottles

When Vince McMahon does it, it’s a sure ratings draw

Whether the corpse has hands or puppy-duppy paws

 

It’s all in bad taste, but it ain’t nuclear waste

We’ve got no souls, but at least it ain’t coal

Call us super villains, we don’t give a goddamn

They’re your lights, bro, you’ve got the wrong man

 

What do you mean we’ve failed the safety inspections?

What do you mean the civil court is now in session?

What do you mean we’ve got to pay a billion dollars?

What do you mean we’ve got debt collecting callers?

What do you mean we’re going right out of business?

What do you mean the plaintiffs got their own star witness?

What do you mean we got to put on these orange onesies?

What do you mean our cellmates are extra snuggly?

Ghost Story

I ate a can of spam and my heart went kerplunk

I hit the wooden floor with a heavy ass thunk

Final seconds of my life I saw my greatest hits

From a baby in a diaper to a corpse taking shits

The Rainbow Bridge had burst into flames

The ghosts of my pets with their human names

Possessed my dead body, turned me into a puppet

Now we’re going to have fun, because, fuck it

Kitties and doggies were my necromantic fuel

Now it’s time to get vengeance on a world so cruel

Visit puppy mills and set the little duppies free

Chew the breeders’ brains for all eternity

Visit every dog fighting circuit in the underground

Come on, tough guy, fight with me for five rounds

You might get away with an uppercut or two

But I clamp my broken teeth and start to chew

An abuser’s flesh tastes like T-bone steak

Drink a flood of blood the size of a lake

Rince and repeat until the bones are picked clean

A birthday buffet for the zombified fiend

The Rainbow Bridge is supplied with fresh souls

Every abuser’s death turns the flames ice cold

Ashes of the dead replenish the plant life

From dour to flowers, phytomantic power

Colors glow brightly across the fields

The souls of furry friends can finally heal

After I enjoyed my never-ending meals

I can finally rest in peace as part of the deal

Ghosts leave my body, the maggots take over

Until there’s nothing left but formaldehyde odor

The circle of life continues after death

Every living thing is now eating like a king

Suicide Note

Taking away our most brilliant minds

A suicide note is all you’ll ever find

More questions asked than answers given

Not one mere solution among the living

Not one necromantic spell for the night

Not one more song, not one more light

Only sadness and rage, rinse and repeat

Images of dead bodies’ dangling feet

Permanent reminder of a hangman’s rope

Only a bottle of pills to help you cope

Nothing we do can bring them back

True magic is what this world lacks

We lock each other in the tiniest cages

But it won’t tack on any extra ages

None of the tears we drop in pain

Can keep it from being all in vain

Go through the motions for another day

One more light? Who gives a shit anyway?

Undertaker

Necromancy is my native tongue

For those whose songs remain unsung

For those buried beneath the ground

For those haunted by traumatic sounds

Every corpse has its own little story

Every death has its own hidden glory

Some died fighting for what they believe

Or took to the grave their ability to deceive

Some died never having lived at all

No surprise that one day they’d fall

Detachment is my only suit of armor

Against crying for those I must honor

Just another body to grow the grass

Just another ghost waiting to pass

To the next world if there ever was one

Covered in roses or saluted with guns

An undertaker’s job is never really over

An undertaker’s fear is silent and covert

Rest in peace is what we learn to say

Go through the motions for another day

This is life imitating the finest art

This is a life being torn clean apart

Just as dead as the bodies I bury

Just as heavy as the burden I carry

Maybe it’s time for a brand new career

There’s nothing left for me to do here

Follow my dreams into older ages

Write my stories on the dusty pages

How many times will I get this chance

Before I give into the devil’s dance?

New Orleans Vacation

***NEW ORLEANS VACATION***

From Sunday May 14^th to Thursday May 18^th, I’m going on yet another vacation, this time to New Orleans with my parents and my mom’s two friends Mina and Navin. This will be my second time visiting the city with my first time being in 2011. I always joke to my mom that she’ll get to meet Duane Pride from NCIS: New Orleans and have pumpkin pie with him. It really is a fun and lively city with lots to do. The food is next-level delicious no matter what you’re eating, the necromantic culture is jam-packed with creative fuel, and the swamps are thriving with fascinating creatures. I’ll try to take some pictures and post them to my social media accounts. Unlike the Mexican cruise, I won’t be surrounded by water, so my camera will stay safe and dry.

Just like with any vacation I take, this means limited access to the internet. However, it’s slightly less limited since there’s a good chance I’ll have my laptop fixed before we leave for the airport. That doesn’t mean I’m going to be cranking out Demon Axe chapters, raunchy poetry, and two-sentence horror stories like crazy. On the contrary, this is a vacation and vacations are meant for relaxing, not work. If all goes right with the laptop repair, then I’ll be able to vote in the proceeding WSS contest. As far as entering something, since I’m leaving this Sunday, I’ll have to hit the ground running if I want to get that epilogue from Demon Axe in on time. It can be done, however. Epilogues are so easy to write that I can do it standing on my fucking head.

This is a shorter vacation than what I’m normally used to, so you won’t have to do without me for that long. I’ll always come back to snuggle with my own kitties and sleep in my own bed. Vacations are fun, but coming home is always heavenly. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you soon!

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I’m getting really sick of guys named Todd! It’s a goofy fucking name! “Hi, what’s your name?” “Tooooooodd! I’m Todd! And this is Blake and Blair and Blaine and Brent.” Where are all of these goofy fucking boy’s names coming from? Taylor, Tyler, Jordan, Flynn. These are not real names! You want to hear a real man’s name? Eddy. What happened to Eddy? He was here a minute ago. Joey and Jacky and Johnny and Phil. Bobby and Tommy and Danny and Bill. What happened, Toooooooodd?! And Cody and Dylan and Cameron and Tucker. Fuck Tucker! Tucker sucks! And fuck Tucker’s friend Kyle! There’s another soft boy’s name for you! Soft names make soft people! I’ll bet you anything that ten times out of ten, Nicky, Vinny, and Tony will beat the shit out of Todd, Kyle, and Tucker!”

-George Carlin-

Ghost

CHORUS 1

You’re just a ghost

With no love to boast

Gone with the wind

Are all of your sins

The shit in the past

Is never built to last

You’re just a ghost

Whose ass is toast

VERSE 1

If I wanted ghost stories, I’d sit at the campfire

Instead all I’m listening to is a fucking bad liar

Twisting the truth like the arms of your victims

Turning the strongest men into prison bitches

A haunted house isn’t good enough for you

A dark cemetery is where you’ll forever stew

Banging on the gates in search of your freedom

As if somewhere beyond is the Garden of Eden

CHORUS 1

You’re just a ghost

With no love to boast

Gone with the wind

Are all of your sins

The shit in the past

Is never built to last

You’re just a ghost

Whose ass is toast

VERSE 2

The spiritual realm has been calling your name

Like a chorus of boos stripping you of your fame

Like a necromantic chant in a sacrificial ritual

Like a street corner sermon of a sick individual

Consider this your one and only eviction notice

It’s extermination time for the swarm of locusts

There’s nothing left here for you to feed on

No more tortured souls for you to beat on

BRIDGE

If there’s something strange in your neighborhood

Burn it to the ground with gasoline and wood

If there’s a ghost in your brain that’s causing you pain

Flush that shit out and watch it swirl down the drain

CHORUS 2

You’re just a ghost

A parasite to the host

Gone with the wind

Let the new wave begin

The shit in the past

Is never coming back

You’re just a ghost

With no bail to post

FINAL LINES

You’re just a ghost!

You’re just a ghost!

Of all the hatred I could give

You deserve it the most!

Lazy Day

VERSE 1

In this world of necromancy

Another rainy day is passing

Nothing to do but fall asleep

For wasted time I will weep

Laziness has taken over me

Blurry vision is all I can see

Novocain on my poor brain

Saturday goes down the drain

CHORUS

If hard work is everything

Show me the tools to bring

Give me the lyrics to sing

I’ll fly with my own wings

If boredom is the sickness

End it with some quickness

Lazy days drain life away

In this bed is where I lay

VERSE 2

In this world inside my head

Everything is buried and dead

Coffins make the best of beds

Ashes to ashes is what I said

Dust to dust, in fire we trust

Light the fuse, ignite the lust

Nothing wants to move today

Slightest twitch is too much pain

CHORUS

If hard work is everything

Show me the tools to bring

Give me the lyrics to sing

I’ll fly with my own wings

If boredom is the sickness

End it with some quickness

Lazy days drain life away

In this bed is where I lay

BRIDGE

Writing my life down on pages

Speaking in the tongues of sages

Rocking on the biggest stages

Lazing until the final ages

Recovery mode is not an excuse

But it’s the one I always choose

Heavy eyelids and a heavy heart

Continue to tear my art apart

VERSE 3

There’s always tomorrow to cure today’s sorrow

Because I know that time is always mine to borrow

Procrastination is a form of indoctrination

Convincing myself that this is my destination

So many of my allies depend on my actions

But all I can give them is less than a fraction

End the day by falling down on my face

Fuck necromancy and fuck this whole place!

CHORUS

If hard work is everything

Show me the tools to bring

Give me the lyrics to sing

I’ll fly with my own wings

If boredom is the sickness

End it with some quickness

Lazy days drain life away

In this bed is where I lay

New Orleans Vacation: Round Two

***NEW ORLEANS VACATION: ROUND TWO***

Next Friday, as in October 30^th, the day before Halloween, Mom, Dale, and I are getting on an airplane to New Orleans for a Halloween vacation on Bourbon Street. I’ve been to New Orleans before and that was in 2011, when I was also on a cruise ship trekking through South America. The necromantic party animal culture of that city is very appealing despite me being a hardcore introvert. I’ll fit right in when I put on my navy blue jumpsuit and Slipknot mask for a night of Halloween fun. I’ve been meaning to take a selfie of me in my Slipknot costume, but I don’t have a smart phone and I haven’t been able to get anybody to take the picture using my regular camera. Don’t worry, the picture will come in due time. Plus, since I’m wearing a creepy mask, it won’t matter if I smile or not. Hehe!

Just like with any vacation I take, my time in a new city will mean time away from the internet. For Deviant Art, that means no new pieces of art will be uploaded during that time. For the WSS group on Good Reads, it means I’ll take a one-week sabbatical from the contests (though I still plan on competing in the “Patterns” prompt). For Face Book, it means my “heavy metal for the day” and “Ungrateful Mind Rewired” posts will be nonexistent (sorry, Jamie!).

But just like all good things, my vacation in New Orleans will eventually end and I’ll be back home to get the creative juices flowing yet again. I leave on Friday, October 30^th and I return home on Wednesday, November 4^th. As much as I love spending time with my online family, a break from the everyday grind is just what the doctor ordered. I opted out of the Steamboat Springs vacation back in September, though that was the right choice because sitting on my ass during long car rides would have driven me fucking nuts. New Orleans will be a better choice for me, so I’m definitely getting on that plane.

If you’re planning on robbing my house while I’m away, there are two things you need to know. One, you’ll never find it in a million years. Two, even if you do, you’ll have a pissed off older brother and a spitfire niece to contend with. I don’t like your odds. Hehe! We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES: WRITING***

With the arrival of a new week at the WSS Contest and Company, I have a story on deck for their “patterns” prompt called “Streetwalker” and it goes like this:

　

CHARACTERS:

　

Ryan Brock, Barbarian John
Danielle Courtney, Dark Mage Prostitute

　

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The patterned purple and green flames on Danielle’s predominately black dress give her an aura of mysticism and magic, which her customers either find appealing or intimidating.

　

SYNOPSIS: In a D&D setting, Ryan is looking for a prostitute as a way of celebrating his latest brutal conquest. He finds one in Danielle, who is using the money to pay for wizard school. When Ryan becomes too aggressive with her, Danielle shows him just how powerful her magic really is.

　

And then there will be a short story I’ll work on independently called “Born to Die” and it goes like this:

　

CHARACTERS:

　

India Malakar, Elf Monk
Jill Henderson, Space Mercenary
The “Born to Die” Space Mercenaries
Bartender

　

SYNOPSIS: Jill and her mercenary team are celebrating a completed mission where they burned down a village that refused to pay them protection money. While they’re drinking heavily at a bar, screaming loudly, and annoying the bartender, a young boy named India enters the bar seeking revenge for his fallen village brethren. There are many mercenaries and only one India Malakar. In order for the martial artist to win this battle, he has to learn to control his aggressive feelings and fight with a calm and clear mind. As long as vengeful thoughts take over his brain, he’s doomed to end up just like his fellow villagers.

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES: EDITING***

When I went to Random.org’s number generator and selected a short story to edit, the one it chose was…(gulp)…Death Blade. If you’re wondering why I nervously gulped just now, it’s because this short story was my first official entry at the WSS back in late 2013 and it’s the one I’m least proud of. I know we as authors always feel like our past works suck the most, but Death Blade really has me rattled. Even Marie thought it was a bizarre story and that’s saying something, because her imagination is even more colorful than mine. Wish me luck!

　

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

In the interest of continuing the theme of Villains Month as imposed by my good friend Zero Urrea, the next drawing to come from this series will be of Michael Demonkill. You’ve never heard of him before because he’s a Blood Brawl character who doesn’t appear until the middle of the novel. He’s an orcish dark paladin who dresses in even creepier clothes and has a nastier disposition than Ivan Blackstone. Hell, those two orcs are eventually going to meet and it’s going to be an R-rated gore fest. Yikes!

　

***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

SUSAN: Garrison, are you laying in the dark listening to foo-foo night-night music again?
GARRISON: Yep.
SUSAN: Garrison, that’s depressing! You need to find something fun to do!
GARRISON: Like what? Drawing a picture of Elmer Fudd cutting off Bugs Bunny’s head?
SUSAN: No! No yucky pictures!