Garrisimp

 

Save Your Life

VERSE 1

You’re laying on my sofa getting high on my medicine

I couldn’t call the police without a shred of evidence

That you stole everything from me and my family

Left us broke and broken, on the edge of tragedy

So even if you’re drowning in the ghost river

I won’t swim after you, I’ll just let you shiver

You better grow gills and a fish tail over your legs

If you make it to the surface, grab your tin cup and beg

CHORUS

I’m never going to save your life

So get ready for the afterlife

You’d never do the same

For me on any day

Now it’s time to say

Now it’s time to say goodbye

VERSE 2

You got inside my head and you’re not getting out

Can I get on with my life? The answer is in doubt

My favorite music is all but dead to me

I got all this passion, but not enough energy

So even if you’re dangling over jagged rocks below

I’d turn and walk away, this is your own death row

You’d better grow wings and a halo over your head

If you fly to the top, it’s because you’re already dead

CHORUS

I’m never going to save your life

So get ready for the afterlife

You’d never do the same

For me on any day

Now it’s time to say

Now it’s time to say goodbye

BRIDGE

Forgiveness is a violation of my boundaries

It’s hard to let it go when my brain takes a pounding

I’m stuck in second place, but I’ll keep dipping lower

That’s called mental torture, it keeps getting slower

I can’t hold a job, I can’t live my life

I can’t drive a car, can’t marry a wife

My dreams are all gone with the wind

And that’s why I refuse to forgive

CHORUS

I’m never going to save your life

So get ready for the afterlife

You’d never do the same

For me on any day

Now it’s time to say

Now it’s time to say goodbye

Disillusionment

CHORUS
Disillusionment
Disappointment
Disenchantment
Disenfranchisement

VERSE 1
Never forget the platinum rule
Don’t be taken for a bloody fool
Pedestals weren’t meant to go that high
Same level as the angels in the sky
When they destroy what you love
When you’re theirs to push and shove
When you’re locked in an institution
Still don’t realize your own disillusion

CHORUS
Disillusionment
Disappointment
Disenchantment
Disenfranchisement

VERSE 2
Was it sex appeal that turned you on?
Was manipulation part of the con?
Money and fame that fucked your brain?
Word salad that made this seem so sane?
Should I slap your face to wake you up?
Should I scream about how much this sucks?
Your tragic tale has a deadly conclusion
Yet you can’t realize your own disillusion

CHORUS
Disillusionment
Disappointment
Disenchantment
Disenfranchisement

VERSE 3
The planet’s on fire, the air is poison
Shit goes beyond mere disappointment
No money in your bank, here come the tanks
Got a rifle in your hand like you’re in the ranks
Head in the sand like a number one fan
Idol cheats a system that fucks a lesser man
Wakey wakey, wakey! Eggs and bacey!
But you say to the reaper, “Come and take me!”

FINAL VERSE
You tried to hide!
Opened wide and lied!
You died for pride!
False god never cried!

Lap Pillow: A Fantasy Story

My head cradled on her velveteen lap
Her fingers in my hair, heavenly nap
Stuck in zombie mode forever and a day
I lay in silence, but to this goddess I pray

Vampire fangs and gentle fingernails
Elven hair and flesh so milky pale
Faerie figure and the wings of an angel
Eye-to-eye contact for this fair female

She tells me everything I need to know
That it’s okay if I want to take things slow
It’s okay if I’m sad every once and a while
There will be other days for my artistic style

I believe everything she tells me and more
I believe in her kisses and what they stand for
Imagination is a powerful thing, after all
When you’re stuck behind plain white walls

I know she’s not real when I’m wide awake
I know there’s poison running through the lake
I know the sunshine is covered in smoke
I know my feelings were all just a joke

I know it’s my duty to keep her alive
Pages to preserve an imaginary wife
What good are the pages if nobody reads?
What good are the images if nobody sees?

I’m invisible in the eyes of everyone else
I could never grace their vast bookshelves
I don’t have the ability to save myself
Loneliness is mine and I wear it well

Evil Shit

VERSE 1

I’ve said some evil shit in my day

Most of it I cannot wash away

Words as weapons, letters as venom

My list of sins appeared to be endless

I’m not an angel nor will I ever be

Neither are you, you sin just like me

Everyone’s got something to hide

But sharing it’s a matter of pride

CHORUS

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Fire to breathe! Poison to spit!

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Pure of heart? You’re full of it!

VERSE 2

I’ve done some evil shit in my time

But if I confessed every single crime

We’d be here forever and a day

Not enough room for us to pray

I’m not a cherub or a honey child

I’m not innocent, tender, or mild

Your list of sins is just like mine

God won’t listen to you whine

CHORUS

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Fire to breathe! Poison to spit!

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Pure of heart? You’re full of it!

BRIDGE

Let’s all go to church together

It won’t make everything better

Nobody would ever die for us

Only in ourselves should we trust

EXTENDED CHORUS

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Fire to breathe! Poison to spit!

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Pure of heart? You’re full of it!

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Bullets to shoot! Axes to grind!

Evil shit! Evil shit!

Never let the blind lead the blind!

Angel's Share

The rift between Alex Macintosh and her so-called “lord and savior” grew with every bigoted slur that came out of a preacher’s mouth. It was already a yawning chasm from an early age. Now it was a dark black hole that sucked all of the life out of her. Going to church wasn’t as fun as she remembered it being. The fairytales weren’t as fascinating. The loving spirit wasn’t as warm. Everything in this mega church full of enthusiastic worshippers revolved around money these days.

How much money could Pastor Shawn Hawkins swindle out of his followers? How much of it would actually go to the poor? How much of it would fund his vacation in Neo Hawaii? The deeper Alex dug into his bank account, the more obvious the answers became. There she was in a shadowy corner of the church tapping away on her smart phone and thumb drive. Her dark trench coat and equally dark scarf around her face made hiding in the shadows that much easier. It also helped matters that the thousands of people packing the arena were too busy praying for things they’d never get on their own.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” shouted a young man into the microphone. His voice temporarily jarred Alex out of her hack job, but ultimately she thought nothing of it and went back to work. “Put your hands together for the messenger of God himself! The angel from the heavens above! The warrior of worship! The preacher of perfection! Here he is: Pastor Shawn Hawkins!”

The raucous clapping and lurching from the congregation once again snapped Alex out of her work. They were so obnoxious with their zeal that she failed to concentrate on what was most important: getting Pastor Hawkins’s ill-gotten fortunes back into the hands of those who needed it. Just a few more bars of code…just a few more clicks…”Damn it!” she whispered to herself. She quickly covered her mouth considering where she was saying it, but still nobody paid attention to her.

As the audience clapped and some of them did back flips and cartwheels in the audience, Pastor Shawn Hawkins descended from the ceiling dressed in flowing red robes. He really was an angel from heaven with his feathery wings gently flapping and lowering him to the stage. “I’ve seen better wings on a plate of KFC,” murmured Alex as she struggled to focus on her hack job.

The raven-haired, thick-bearded Pastor yanked the microphone out of his hype man’s hand and motioned for his congregation to sit down and shut up, which they gladly did. Alex couldn’t believe the smiles on their faces, the tears in their eyes…and the dollar bills folded up in their hands. “Here we go…” she muttered.

Taking a karate stance in the center of the stage, Pastor Hawkins belted his sermon into the microphone like a heavy metal singer moonlighting as a fat-shaming fitness guru. “Sinners! All of them! Each and every damned soul outside of this church today will have no such access to the pearly gates! They choose not to come here and choose not to give their welfare money to the heavens above! They are vile! They are rotten! For every penny they pinch, they are keeping the Christian revolution from taking place! That will not happen on my watch! Can I get an amen?!”

“Amen!” said everybody not named Alex Macintosh, who still thumbed away on her smart phone, still chipping away at Shawn’s bank account.

Pointing his hairy finger out into the crowd, he shouted, “You see that?! The sinners and nonbelievers call that fanaticism, but I call it reality! God is your reality! This world we’ve created for ourselves inside this church is the only thing that’s real to us now! Forget the vegetable-munching hippies! Forget the rock and roll niggers! Forget the transgender fags! They hold no power of us!”

That last slur had Alex’s eyes watering with rage as she looked up from her screen to unleash a hellish look upon her tormentor. He couldn’t see her even as he flapped his wings and floated around the church, but she saw him with tunnel vision, so much so that she forgot to keep cracking the code. She wanted so much to rip his tongue out, but also knew that Shawn Hawkins was a martial arts expert and often used his trade to intimidate “sinners” into giving him money.

“I fly around this room today and I see heavenly beauty!” As if right on cue, congregation members grinned up at him and held out their wads of cash. “You’re not just giving me your hard-earned money. You’re buying something with your dollars. You’re buying a revolution! You’re buying paradise! You’re buying a weapon against the darkness of hell!”

Alex shook her head and got right back to work cracking the code. Pastor Hawkins’s words began to blend together in a cacophony of screaming and prejudice, so much so that Alex didn’t even notice him flapping directly above her until she saw his reflection in her screen. “Come on, damn it!” she whispered as she grew closer to cracking his password.

“Who said that?! Who in God’s good name said that in my church?!” roared Shawn. Alex dropped her phone in panic and almost shattered the screen. She crab-walked against the wall in an attempt to hide from her accuser. She even held her knees to her chest to make herself small. But there he was descending upon her, the flaps of his wings creating deafening whooshes, the anger on his reddening face palpable and tense.

“Come to me, harlot,” said Shawn as he held out his hand. Alex couldn’t. She was frozen in fear. “I said come to me, you devil’s whore!” He stomped over to her and her phone crunched beneath his army boots. The congregation stared at her with wide-eyed shock while Shawn picked up the remains of the phone and instantly deciphered what Alex was trying to do.

“It appears we have a thief in our midst, my children. Stealing is a sin! Stealing from the lord is a MORTAL SIN!” Shawn stared hellfire into Alex’s soul and she could do nothing but cower in the corner and shiver. He ripped off her scarf and revealed another “sin” to the congregation. The blond hair extensions, the white makeup, the poorly smudged blue lipstick, they all led him to one conclusion. “Transgender whore!”

Alex could feel the boos and “Whore!” chants radiating off the congregation and piercing her skin like daggers. She tried to stand up, but her legs were too wobbly and her head was swimming laps around this church. She eventually found her equilibrium by holding onto a stair railing. “Please!” she begged in a low, trembling voice. “Just let me go…I’ll never bother you again…it’s just that I…”

“Silence!” barked Shawn as he punched a hole in the wall next to her head, causing her to trip over her own quaking fear. She couldn’t even crawl down the stairs without Shawn placing his boot across her ankle. The harder he pressed, the louder she screamed. “You dare steal from a house of worship?! You dare steal from the lord almighty?! That is inexcusable! I shall send you to hell myself, you filthy whore!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please, just take my flash drive and take your foot off of me!” She blindly chucked the flash drive at him hoping he would catch it. However, her heart and brain pumped her with so many chemicals that she miscalculated how hard she threw it. It bounced off of one of his feathers and exposed wiring underneath. The hacking properties of the device caused even more sparks to shoot out of what was now revealed as his mechanism. The congregation gasped in shock while Shawn’s hardened facial expression grew soft with worry. He even took his foot off of Alex’s leg.

Trying to regain her breath, Alex pointed at the fake mechanical wings and said, “You see that, everyone? He’s not even a real angel. His money isn’t being used for a Christian revolution! He fooled you all! Thou shalt not bear false witness, anyone? He tricked you all into becoming bigots! He tricked you all into giving away your money to what will eventually be his expensive vacation! If you don’t believe me, look on that flash drive! Look on whatever’s left of my phone! The more you hate people like me and the other so-called ‘fags’, the richer he becomes and the poorer you all become!”

Shawn kneeled down beside his victim and smiled at her. “Don’t you get it by now? These people don’t care about any of that. They don’t care about you. Did they care when our president said he would grab a certain part of the female anatomy? No. Did they care when a certain Supreme Court justice was accused of doing much worse to said anatomy? No. These people know who the real enemy is and who their friends really are. They want entry into heaven. They know they’re not going to get it by listening to a transgender thief whore like you!”

“Is…is this true, everyone?” asked Alex. Her answer came in the form of angry stares from the congregation, not at the one swindling them, but at the one they were told to hate. Their hatred hurt her badly. She could feel her heart racing and her mind numbing to the violence that would become of her very shortly.

Shawn slowly stalked Alex as she crawled down the staircase. As soon as she moved too fast for everyone’s comfort, the congregation and their Pastor charged after her in a screaming rage. She almost tripped over her fear again when she tried to get up, but this time she bolted out of the emergency exit and set off a blaring fire alarm. Fire sprinkles set off even more sparks on Shawn’s mechanical wings and his congregation crawled on top of him to put out the electrical storm. Alex used this distraction to dash down the street, her legs trembling and aching the whole way.

She ran until she couldn’t do so anymore. Her lungs burned, her heart exploded, and her eyes dripped with wetness as she hunched over on the street corner. “How could they not care?!” she mumbled unintelligibly. “How could they not fucking care!” She stomped her high heeled boot on the ground and broke said heel in the process. “Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

“Excuse me, Miss!” said a homeless man with sunglasses. “Can you spare me some change?”

How about that? He actually said the right gender prefix. But such a small victory was nothing to celebrate as Alex wiped away burning tears from her reddened face. “I don’t have a dime,” she confessed. After a silence hung between them, she pointed at the mega church and said, “But they do. Why don’t you go ask them yourself?” Alex walked away hoping at least one person got the message she was trying to send.

Everyone's a Demon

Everyone’s a demon, everyone’s a sinner

Everybody does things that make others shiver

From the tiniest fuck-ups to the nuclear level

Everybody’s cloned from the same old devil

Skeletons invade our most secretive closets

Saying otherwise is bullshit and I will call it

Putting your heroes on the highest pedestal

Will make your disappointment credible

What should we forgive? What should we punish?

A slap on the wrist or an all-out whodunit?

Where should society draw the fucking line?

What would they consider the ultimate crime?

It’s a constant game of limbo, how low will we go?

When crossing the threshold, how will we know?

Everyone’s a demon, everyone’s a mistake

Everyone’s a devil, for Jesus Christ’s sake

Everybody fucks up, some more than others

Few will swear on the graves of their mothers

That they’ve changed into a brand new person

Yet they still live with their crippling curses

To forgive or fuck? That is our only question

Is the answer even worth a minimal mention?

Go ahead and behave how you want to behave

In the end, everybody sleeps in the grave

Everyone’s a demon on their way to hell

I don’t give a shit in case you couldn’t tell

No Closer Than a Stranger

VERSE 1

You seem to know everything about me

Maybe that’s why you choose to doubt me

No closer than a stranger, all about danger

Taking faraway shots like a sniping ranger

Do your homework, or better yet ask me

How long my life and career are lasting

I call the shots and carve my own path

It’s not rocket science or three-D math

VERSE 2

You seem to know what it is you want

Your loving kisses are more like a chomp

No closer than a stranger, being the angel

Of hell or heaven, both can prove fatal

A seductress so tempting and sweet

Sees me as nothing but hellhound meat

I’ve seen it all before, not begging anymore

For any pretty face who’s rotten to the core

BRIDGE

Money, get back, I’m alright, Jack

Stop spending everything on crack

Money, so they say, is the root of evil

Buying the minds of average people

No closer than a stranger on the streets

Or a dead body buried beneath my feet

Or a priest or politician on television

I refuse to join your corporate religion

VERSE 3

All you had to do was care about me

Not live your life on your dirty knees

No closer than a stranger, yet here you are

Thinking you can set my highest bars

This is why I don’t jump in headfirst

A cracked open skull is the fucking worst

Just be there to catch me when I fall

Then I will tear down my Floydian wall

FINAL LINES

No closer than a stranger, I see your anger

No closer than a stranger, my pain you savor

No closer than a villain, no closer than a punk

You’re no prophet of rage or renegade of funk

Silent Warrior, Chapter 11

A clear mind was all Scott George ever wanted. Clear of Mr. Simpson’s condescension. Clear of Alan Young’s brand of “humor”. Clear of worms that had no business being there in the first place. While his brainwaves weren’t a complete heavenly paradise, he was able to dry his eyes long enough to get through art class in one piece. The whispers of his classmates weren’t obtrusive enough to hold his attention. Instead his focus was pinpointed on a drawing he had been working on since the opening buzzer.

Rainbow colored flowers decorated the borders of Scott’s drawing. Pink clouds filled the negative spaces in between with a crisp golden sunshine lingering in the background. In the center of this latest masterpiece was heaven’s most beautiful angel. Instead of a radiating golden light, she brightened the picture with green flames and a purple haze. Rather than looking at the subject, her face turned slightly away with shyness, her hair down to her chest and her face a brilliant shade of red.

Unfortunately for the cloud nine-residing Scott, his one true love wouldn’t be in English class to see this marvelous masterpiece he created. Her desk remained empty throughout the entire hour and that brought a disappointed frown to his face. Where could she be? Did somebody figure out that she and Scott were dating? He hid his face as much as he could that day, fearing the absolute worst. It could have been a simple case of her coming down with a fever, but Scott’s mind wasn’t a place where rational adult thinking took place.

By the time lunch period rolled around, Scott still tried looking for Adrienne, even going back to the spot they sat at yesterday. He even visited the salad bar, which was slightly better than the spongy chicken nuggets, but not by much. He wanted to follow her advice as much as humanly possible and not worry about some stupid worms crawling in his meal. He took his Caesar dressing-covered greenery and sat at the same empty spot he took yesterday, hoping Adrienne would miraculously show up.

A few nibbles of spinach later, nothing. A few more nibbles, still nothing. A half hour of rabbit bites and Adrienne still hadn’t shown up. With nobody coming to save him this time, Scott’s stomach began to ache and flare up as he felt funny little creatures crawling around in his intestines. He felt as though an alien was going to pop out of his body and latch onto his face at any moment. And then an oddly comforting hand touched his shoulders and he was back to reality. When he saw who the hand belonged to, Scott’s comfort died down like a wounded animal.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked.

“Long enough to see you writhe around in pain for whatever reason. My history class isn’t that bad, you know,” said Mr. Simpson with an unfunny smirk. “Mind if I sit here? Of course you don’t. We have much to discuss.” The history teacher took a seat across from Scott and folded his hands across the table. “I’m assuming that the reason you didn’t show up to my class today was because Miss Williams had a little chat with you.”

“Where’s Adrienne?” asked Scott pointblank before covering his mouth quickly.

“That’s none of your business,” said Mr. Simpson. “Besides, I wouldn’t know her whereabouts anyways. We haven’t talked in such a long time. Kind of like the way you and I never talk anymore except to breathe fire down each other’s necks. Actually, you’re the one who insists on not talking, which is why your grade is currently standing at a C- when it could be much higher.”

“if you came here to make fun of my introversion, then I’m going to go sit somewhere else,” said Scott, who tried to stand up only to have Mr. Simpson grab him by the wrist and sit him down again.

“Trust me, Scott, I didn’t come here for amateur comedy night. We really do have a lot to talk about, especially as it pertains to your punishment for not showing up to after-school detention. You didn’t think there’d be an easy way out, did you? There never is, my little silent warrior. But you should at least be thankful that this wasn’t a court appearance instead. If it had been, you’d be in jail. At least with school, some of the harsh punishment is easy to serve.”

Scott leaned his face closer to his teacher’s as a way to suppress his deepest fears. “Principal Williams basically told me that my fate was in your hands. If that’s the case, then stop wasting my goddamn time and tell me what’s going on.”

“I had no idea your ‘goddamn’ time was so valuable to you, Mr. George. You certainly didn’t feel that way about me when you left me hanging for thirty minutes straight. Isn’t my time valuable as well? Considering I’m several decades older than you, I’d say that’s the case. Well, you’re not going to waste my time anymore, buddy-boy. You want to learn your fate? Here it is. If you have any plans this weekend, cancel them. You’re going to serve an hour of detention bright and early Saturday morning.”

“What?!”

Cleaning his glasses with the waist of his shirt, Mr. Simpson said, “I believe I made myself abundantly clear. Since we’re spending an hour of quality time together, I’ll have to think of something for you to do other than clean off the desks, thought that can be pretty time consuming. Students love to leave unspeakable objects underneath the desks whether it’s chewed bubblegum, nose goblins, graffiti, god knows what else. One time I caught a student sticking gummy worms underneath the desk.”

The gummy worm trigger caused Scott to gag and lurch as he fought desperately to hold his salad down. He could feel the adrenaline sewage bubble up in his stomach…then to his chest…then to the back of his throat where he could taste it. He swallowed a massive tidal wave of saliva to keep the burst of bile down. He breathed heavily with his tongue hanging out, like a dog locked in a hot car.

“Listen,” said Mr. Simpson while holding his hands up in mock defense. “I know cleaning off dirty desks isn’t the most pleasant way to spend an hour of detention, but for the first time in your young life, it isn’t your fault, Scott. Kids today have no respect for public property. They think a desk is their own personal toilet.”

Scott’s violent breathing muffled most of his words when he said, “F…fuck this shit…I’m not coming.”

Mr. Simpson let out a sarcastic laugh and leaned in closer so that his diabolic eyes could shoot straight fire into Scott’s already burning pupils. “Oh, you’re going to show up alright. You’re not getting away with anything this time around. Eight o’clock in the morning sharp, not a second late. If you even think about bailing on me again, you might as well stay at home for the rest of your life, because you won’t be allowed back on school grounds. I’ll have you expelled from this place so fast your head will spin. And then what’ll you do with your life? Treat sewage? Clean toilets? Dig ditches? Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be a lot more fun than taking another history class from me. Compared to those disgusting jobs, cleaning off desks doesn’t seem so bad, does it?”

The teacher stood up and allowed Scott to keep choking down whatever was boiling in his throat. Mr. Simpson pointed a finger at his student and said, “Remember: eight o’clock on the dot. I’ll be waiting with a fresh cup of coffee, though you’ll probably won’t want to put anything in your mouth after the grungy work you’ll have to do. See you soon!” He gave a two finger salute and walked out of sight.

Scott’s mind raced with schizophrenic banter and a crippling headache. His stomach felt as though he had endured gyroscopic torture. His throat, eyes, and face burned worse than if he stuck his head in the same deep fryer the kitchen used to make those awful nuggets. Not being able to fight the good fight against his own body much longer, he rushed towards a garbage can and unleashed a waterfall of vomit that stunk to high hell. He could hear the other students backing away in a hurry. Some of them laughed. Some of them made disgusted “eww” sounds. A few of the girls gave off a shriek of horror. Scott didn’t care. He unloaded his weapon of mass disgust all over the inside of the garbage can.

He then slid down on the floor on his ass and breathed so heavily that the remaining students held their noses at his oral stench. If he had taken a diarrhea dump in that garbage can, it would have smelled like a bed of roses compared to this mess. Speaking of roses…

“Are you done, Mr. George?” asked Mr. Simpson while holding a piece of paper. “I wanted to give this to you before you forgot it. Nice work, if I do say so myself. It’s no history essay, but it’s still pretty good. You should be proud of yourself.” He handed Scott the drawing he made from art class and patted him on the shoulder before attempting once more to walk out of sight.

Scott gazed deeply into the drawing and wiped off a stream of chunky spittle that hit the page. He banged his own head backwards into the soft garbage can repeatedly while the buzzer for the next class echoed throughout his agonizing head. It might as well have been a room full of babies crying instead of a buzzer. He felt like he could be one of those babies right now. How simple life would have been at that moment.

Silent Warrior, Chapter 9

Out of one dark abyss, into another. The George household bathed in blackness while Beth’s snoring rattled the walls. She didn’t even wake up when Scott walked through the door. He never had to be light on his toes when he entered the kitchen looking for a bite to eat. Through all of the fury, tears, and insanity, Scott just now realized he had only eaten one meal that day. His ribs were sore for more reasons than the constant use of his diaphragm.

Every Tupperware meal in the refrigerator was crawling with worms and maggots, at least in Scott’s mind. He shook his head to try and free his mind of that image, but the little bastards slithered even more and grew as big as snakes. He slammed the refrigerator door shoot and there was a slight disturbance in his mother’s obtrusive snoring. And then the tiny motor in her closed throat wailed once again. Scott breathed a sigh of relief and reopened the fridge door.

Still they crawled with worms. Slime and shit covered the mashed potatoes and gravy. The macaroni and cheese moved by itself, as if the little pasta bites were necrovores themselves. The milk jug had more worms at the bottom than a bottle of tequila. Scott knew this was just an illusion and took a deep breath to calm himself. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what Adrienne told him: replace the worms with something more pleasant. Something delicious. Something that made eating enjoyable again.

With his eyelids still clamped shut, Scott pulled out a Tupperware container of meatloaf and ate it cold. As he slowly chewed and suppressed his gag reflex, he could feel something moving around between his maulers. The thought of worms moving around wouldn’t be allowed to surface and instead the little creatures were replaced with gummy worms. Meatloaf and gummy worms: the dinner of champions. He took another bite. And another. His eating speed became so rapid that he bit down on his tongue and suppressed a scream.

For the first time since having those Aloysius Striker dreams, Scott finished a meal without getting the urge to vomit himself inside out. He breathed heavily after taking the last bite of meatloaf, his appetite satisfied only until he realized it was bedtime. The thought of going back into his subconscious theater made Scott lightly bang his head against the fridge door repeatedly. If biology was truly up to him, he’d drink Red Bull until the end of time and never fall asleep again.

But reality was always worse than the dream world. Scott’s day had been an exhausting one where he dealt with all sorts of jerk-off characters: Aloysius Striker, Alan Young, Tom Simpson, Beth George, and an undertaker and football jock who both went unnamed  None of these people deserved names in Scott’s mind; they were all just part of a community of worms.

But Adrienne was different from all of those conformists. She was beautiful in more ways than just her physical appearance. She too was hurting badly. She too loved creativity. She too resisted any attempts at breaking her spirit and bending her to the will of the corporate overlords. Those things made her the most beautiful woman on the planet. And yet, Scott wondered what she even saw in a man like him anyways. It wasn’t as though he had the dashing looks of a Hollywood actor or the charisma of a rock star. He was just Scott George. Plain old Scott George. Even his own name was boring to him.

All of these racing thoughts in his head blinded him to the fact that his mother’s footsteps were pitter-pattering across the wooden floor. He quickly closed the fridge door, dropped the meatloaf container in the sink, and bolted upstairs to his bedroom. One stupid fight was one too many for Scott, so he took the role of diplomat and tucked himself in bed, not even bothering to change into more suitable sleepwear.

Scott’s ribs ached like a motherfucker. His head exploded with pain and trauma. His blood was lukewarm. His eyes still burned hotly enough to make closing them a painful experience. Scott didn’t stand a chance when it came to fighting the forces of sleep. His eyelids burned like shooting stars, but his lids were heavier than a grand piano. He could have used such a gentle instrument to sooth his battered soul. Laziness took over to where he didn’t want to press play on his stereo. One slip and down the rabbit hole he fell…

Just a few moments of uninterrupted darkness was what Scott needed. His tortured mind rebuilt itself from a rock bottom foundation. His pain was numbed to the very last nerve. He forgot that a world of a shit existed outside of his aching brain. And it felt good. It felt more heavenly than an hour-long chair massage. It felt more soothing than a harp concert serenading his pounding ears. The nothing consumed every last bit of his body.

And then his temporary peace was shattered as he found himself on a football field with lightning and grayness in the sky. The rain poured down and smacked his skin like bamboo canes. Then the rain thickened into dreaded fucking worms and Scott danced around shivering in disgust. Rows of puppet cheerleaders, so flawless, yet so ugly by virtue of their perfection, twirled and flipped in the air with worm infested pom-poms. Scott swore he heard their chant somewhere before.

“Bring out the gimp! Bring out the gimp! Come on, everybody, let’s bring out the gimp!”

Scott tried to shout back at them, but his mouth was obstructed by a rubber object. He touched his face and scalp and sensed a leather presence covering his Sideshow Bob hair. He also felt a heavy dog chain digging deeply into his neck. He could panic, kick, and scream all he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that Aloysius Striker owned him and was dragging him to the top of an Olympic-style platform. The puppets formed a semi-circle around the enslaved Scott and listened intently to Mrs. Striker’s oratory.

“You see this, everyone?!” she shouted in her signature ham voice. “This young man is an example of someone who doesn’t want to be part of our community! He wants to go his own way and leave his neighbors to drown in the worms! Well, if he must leave this community, it’s only fair that we give him a going away present!”

Mrs. Striker lifted up her own dress and pulled out a handful of the slimiest, nastiest worms she could, much to the cheerleaders’ giddy delights. The worms oozed with black oil, red blood, and white…whatever the fuck it was. The teacher unzipped the mouth on Scott’s gimp hood and prepared to shove the filthy fuckers down his throat.

“Stop!” shouted a female voice for a prolonged period of time. The cheerleaders and teacher alike stared down the one member of their “community” who dared defy them. The lone cheerleader threw down her pom-poms and ripped off her own head to reveal she was Adrienne Simpson underneath. The puppets and Mrs. Striker gasped in unison like good little conformists when Adrienne sprouted metal angel wings that shot flames in either direction.

“Don’t just stand there, you dolts! Get her!” shouted Mrs. Striker, to which the cheerleaders threw their pom-poms down and attempted to cannibalize the metal angel with shark-like teeth. Adrienne was one step ahead of them when she pointed the tips of her wings at her assailants and shot streams of fire at them. The cheerleaders squealed in agony as their wooden, worm-infested bodies warped and twisted into piles of ashes.

“What the…what have you done to my community? My poor, poor community!” cried Mrs. Striker while holding her dimply cheeks. Scott used this distraction to rip off his gimp hood and shove his “teacher” into the gigantic football field fire, barbecuing the bitch nice and crispy. Her screams were more music to his ears than anything he listened to on his MP3 player that day.

Adrienne flew over to Scott and scooped him up in her arms before floating into the heavenly sunrise of a newly pink morning. The rain had stopped, but the thunder remained, sending crashes of lightning onto the burning field of dead puppets. Scott didn’t want to relish on this recent war and instead relaxed in the arms of his beautiful angel. She sang to him lyrics that were once familiar in his dead father’s music collection.

“I bless the wings that bring you back across the shore. If I could touch you now, my darling, I’d love you just once more. If I could hold you…hold you…hold you…I know you’d understand…I know you’d understand…”

Her soothing soprano tones would have made the Moody Blues proud, but they made Scott relax even further in his girlfriend’s arms. She leaned her face down and kissed his mouth, no taste of worms, no embarrassing boner on Scott’s part, no awkwardness or disgust at all, just a moment of love that would last longer than any haunting trauma. Too bad Scott had to eventually wake up to go to school the next day. But if it meant Adrienne would be there and walk him home again, it would be worth all the heartache.

What would she think of the You Tube video that Alan Young posted in the graveyard? Would she see him as a weakling? Would she take pity on him? Would she break up with him before their relationship even got started? Scott tried not to think too hard about these circling questions and just enjoyed a moment in the pink and orange sunshine with his angelic girlfriend…while he still could.

Jesse

She was so far away, yet she was so close to me

Smell her perfume through the computer screen

Touch her silky skin through the keyboard

A plane ticket was something I couldn’t afford

We were young, in love, and without a dollar

Somehow I found a way to long distance call her

Every email laced with sugary vocabulary

Her golden heart was my only sanctuary

She was the first to be worthy of my love

I called her my angel from the heavens above

But with those wings, she flew away from me

Jesse never came back, not even in my dreams

We never had the chance to say goodbye

I never had the chance to ask her why

I never had the chance to chase her around

I felt stupid for falling for her like a clown

You could call it dopamine or testosterone

But she was the reason I never felt alone

You could call it heartbreak or depression

But this will be her one and only mention

I'm Back From NOLA

***I’M BACK FROM NOLA***

If you’ve seen my Face Book posts about this particular vacation, you’ll notice the central themes of exhaustion and crabbiness. Truth is, though, it wouldn’t be right to complain about sleep schedules and lack of private time when many of my readers would kill for a chance to have fun in New Orleans, Louisiana. Why wouldn’t they? The food is next-level delicious, the eye-candy is sweeter than their actual desserts (that’s saying a lot!), and the weirdness of the late-night partying gives the city its individuality. Aren’t vacations supposed to be about having a good time anyways?

The first day of the vacation was Sunday, which means lots of airplane and taxi riding. If you’re traveling to New Orleans, your ass-numbing patience will be rewarded with a delicious dinner of tender and juicy rib-eye steak, soft and salty French fries, and some fried oysters that everybody can share (with good reason). Even before entering the restaurant, if you’re in this scenario, you get to meet a crazy guy who calls his little doggy a “reincarnated angel in animal form”. Come to think of it, if I didn’t know how weird New Orleans can be, I’d swear that guy owns a windowless van. Hehe! Nah, that’s mean. He had a good puppy-duppy, I mean, angel from heaven.

The second day was all about riding a boat through the swamplands and getting to see some awesome creatures in their natural habitat. There were so many gators in that swamp that you’d swear Karen Russell’s novels took place in New Orleans instead of Florida. We also got to see some wild piggies, some of whom were affectionately named Male Chauvinist Pig, Piggy Smalls, and Notorious PIG. Goddamn, that tour guide had a wild sense of humor. He even made a few wisecracks about throwing his guests overboard since they were “live bait”. And when we pulled into the dock, we got to pet small kitties hanging out at the ticket office. There was a tuxedo kitty, a panther-looking kitty, a gray and white beauty, and a shy Siamese sweetie that reminded me of Luna-Tuna. So many animals in one day!

Dia numero tres (forgive me if my Spanish is off) was spent going on a van tour of the city and learning all about the history of this wild and crazy city. Houses were purposefully raised to deal with flooding, some of them high enough to fit an entire level underneath. When Hurricane Katrina did its damage, it wasn’t he levies that broke. It was the rising level of the lake, a lake which feeds off into the Gulf of Mexico. From what I’ve seen, New Orleans still has quite a bit of work to do in recovering from this environmental disaster. Theme parks need to be restored, buildings need to be used, and schools need to be reopened. It can and will be done. If there’s anything you can learn from the people of New Orleans, it’s that they can persevere through anything and keep their smiles alive in the process.

The fourth day was easily the most eye-opening and educational part of the vacation. We visited Whitney Plantation and got to learn about the oppressive lives of black slaves. Our tour guide, Ali, even said that the alternative right racists have nothing on the slave owners back in the 1700’s and 1800’s. Owning slaves wasn’t just about physically beating someone into submission. It was psychological torture as well. The slaves lost their names, their culture, their education, and their family structures thanks to this disgusting business of treating human beings like property. Visit Whitneyplantation.com to see just how fucked up of a past we have. Racism is real, slavery is real, and both still exist in other forms in today’s world.

The fifth and final day was spent wandering around the French Quarter looking for various shops to pay a visit to. My mom got a facial at a beauty shop and the European lady who performed that service told me that I was “cute and handsome” and that she wishes she had a mommy like mine. My face was redder than the Communist Manifesto. I’m just kidding, I don’t write like that. Hehe! Dale visited various candy shops and got his fill of chocolates and pralines. I got a full body reflexology massage that relieved the stresses of travel and lifted a huge weight off of my shoulders. I also went to the toy store and bought a Lego dragon from the Ninjago franchise, so expect Toy Universe photos in the near future.

This is the second time I’ve been to New Orleans, the first being Halloween in 2011, where I walked down Bourbon Street dressed as a druid. If I ever go there again for Halloween, I’m going dressed as Corey Taylor from Slipknot. Even the late-night partying weirdoes of that city would back away in fear, just like they do in Port Orchard. Hehe! All in all, the tiredness and travel was worth it for five days of necromantic culture and educational history. I’m not sure I’d want to do another long-distance vacation again for a while, but hey, that’s what I have concerts for, which are really just one-day vacations. In June, it’s Roger Waters. In July, it’s Brit Floyd. In August, I have separate dates for Green Day, Metallica, and Incubus. And now in October, it’s Linkin Park with Snoop Dogg opening for them.

It’s easy to feel crabby and whiny when you’re tired all the time, but never forget to be grateful for all of your positive experiences. Home is always waiting for you, sleep is not too far behind, and your best memories will last a lifetime. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

Now that Demon Axe is in the rear view mirror (at least until I recruit Marie-Pie to help me edit it), I’m going back to writing short stories to include in Poison Tongue Tales 2 and American Darkness 2. With the theme this week being “Call of Nature”, my story will be called “The Geomancer” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Bryan Valencia, Geomancer
2. Ally Bennett, Hiker

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Geomancy requires the wizard to be in touch with nature. It is, after all, the Greek word for “earth magic”.

SYNOPSIS: Ally is hiking in the mountains when she stumbles upon Bryan casting some sort of spell on the summit. When she asks him about it, he openly admits to wanting to cause a volcanic explosion. He’s a misanthrope who’s fed up with the atrocities humans have committed over the years whether it’s rape, war, genocide, or street violence. One blast from this volcano will be powerful enough to literally set the world on fire. It’s up to Ally to talk him down since she’s the only one who believes in Bryan’s geomantic powers.

***SPEAKING OF POISON TONGUE TALES***

I got feedback from my awesome friend Andy Peloquin regarding this lysergic collection of sci-fi, fantasy, and horror stories. Unfortunately, he couldn’t complete it because it was “too trippy” for his tastes. I don’t feel bad at all about that. In fact, I take it as a compliment that he thought he was on acid during his reading adventure. Hehe! I’m the same guy whose favorite movie of all time is Pink Floyd the Wall despite the creepiness of the schoolchildren’s faceless masks. This is a blog entry about New Orleans, so that only adds to the trippiness of it all. If Andy is reading this, I want to thank him for taking the time to read what he could and that there are no hard feelings, only yuk-yuk chuckles.

***BOOGER THE CLOWN***

During the flight home to Washington state, I jotted down ideas for novels in my Lego journal and came up with…”Booger the Clown”. Before you laugh like a donkey at that title, know that it’s an urban fantasy novel idea that deals with depression. Watch You Burn deals with schizophrenia, Occupy Wrestling deals with hair-trigger tempers, and most recently Demon Axe deals with PTSD. Now it’s time to talk about depression, so without further delay, here’s a beginning and middle synopsis for “Booger the Clown”:

CHARACTERS:

1. Andrew Gale a.k.a. Booger, Depressed Clown
2. Stupid Dog, Stray Schipperke
3. Orc Army
4. More to be Named

BEGINNING SYNOPSIS: After a tour of duty in the Middle East, gangsta rap-loving ex-marine Andrew Gale comes home with crippling depression and can only find work as a birthday clown named Booger. On his way to a party, his car breaks down and all he wants to do is sit on the side of the road and drink beer while listening to violent music. When an orc approaches him with a blade and an attitude, Booger thinks it’s just a drunken hallucination and encourages the beast to kill him. The orc becomes stunned at Booger’s suicidal behavior and ends up getting his ass kicked himself. After the battle, the clown finds an abandoned schipperke on the side of the road and calls him Stupid Dog due to his finger biting habits when being fed.

MIDDLE SYNOPSIS: Booger reveals that he didn’t join the marines because of personal politics or even the thrill of war. He joined at a lied-about age so that he could one day be physically and mentally strong enough to kick his abusive father’s ass.

***FACE BOOK POST OF THE DAY***

Just once I’d like to buy a birthday cake for someone, put candles in it that look like penises, and tell the birthday boy to, “Blow them out”.

Angel of Chehalis

VERSE 1

In the city of burning crosses

We’ve suffered so many losses

In the town of blind-eye bosses

We were figuring out the causes

But you were the one constant

As I laid down watching for comets

Could you be the Angel of Chehalis?

Would stealing your kiss be tasteless?

CHORUS

You made me believe in love

When I gave up and had enough

You brought me out of the dark

Angel of Chehalis, take my heart

VERSE 2

You flew away in the dead of night

Deprived this city of your radiant light

I carried my burden with all my might

It’s my cross to bear, no love to share

I walked the earth, but saw no sign

Of the angel from the burning ley line

Are you still the Angel of Chehalis?

Or has this damn city left you jaded?

CHORUS

You made me believe in love

When I gave up and had enough

You brought me out of the dark

Angel of Chehalis, take my heart

VERSE 3

Finding heaven in the strangest places

Finding angels in the saddest faces

Finding the living in permanent stasis

Finding the dead lonely and wasted

In the city of burning crosses

I walk away and cut my losses

Until we meet again, Angel of Chehalis

Until this world is a photograph faded

EXTENDED CHORUS

You made me believe in love

When I gave up and had enough

You brought me out of the dark

Angel of Chehalis, take my heart

Take my body, take my soul

Take my mind, take total control

Fill the chasms and the black holes

Why must this memory take its toll?

Dead Roses

VERSE 1

Sitting in a vase all precious and pretty

Nothing for the soul that feels so shitty

Nothing for the heart made of chiseled stone

Nothing for the man who feels all alone

Dead roses are just a pile of corpses

Taken away by the devilish forces

You’re not a lover, you’re an undertaker

Sending men to their graves to meet their maker

CHORUS 1

Dead roses on a coffee table

Dead roses, the coffin’s nails

Dead roses with vampire thorns

Dead roses never again to be born

VERSE 2

The sweetest flower, a symbol of love

Gifted to me by an angel from above

I was never a knight in shining armor

A dancing fool with no dance partner

A fool for believing in fairy tales

When the simplest flirt ends in a fail

A prisoner of my own steel cage

A life sentence full of quiet rage

CHORUS 2

Dead roses in a padded cell

Dead roses burning in hell

Dead roses with stinger blades

Dead roses of wilting shades

BRIDGE

A loaded trap with the easiest bait

A dying romance with a sealed fate

A garden of roses, a rotting cemetery

A collection of souls so incendiary

VERSE 3

You’re not an angel, but a mere mortal

You’re not a hero of love, too immoral

You’re a soldier of fortune, a mercenary

Another burden that my heart must carry

All I have left are these wilted roses

Offensive to the least sensitive noses

Another plant gave its life for nothing

Another symbol for wasted loving

CHORUS 3

Dead roses in a garbage can

Dead roses to your biggest fan

Dead roses on the casket lid

Who the hell are you trying to kid?

Fights and arguments, war and peace

Only death could make it all cease

You made me fall in love with you

And slashed my heart right in two

"Preacher, Vol. 1 through 3" by Garth Ennis

Just because the title of this graphic novel series is “Preacher”, doesn’t mean you should expect some Mickey Mouse, Veggie Tales, McGee bullshit. Yes, the main character, Jesse Custer’s, occupation is a minister, but what actually occupies his time is trying to fight off demons and angels left and right. How does he do it? With the help of a trigger-happy girlfriend named Tulip and a raunchy Irish vampire named Cassidy. Oh, and Jesse also has a powerful stare that forces its victims to do whatever the fuck he wants. If Jesse Custer wants you to go fuck yourself, that’s exactly what you’ll do. If he wants you to count the grains of sand on the beach, then be prepared for a long ass night. You can see every piece of hardcore, godless, offensive action in the first three graphic novels of the Preacher series. Each of them have blood, guts, broken bones, monstrous sex scenes, and dialogue that no bar of soap on the tongue can cure. No absence of malice in any of the first three editions. Having said that, the most disturbing of the three so far is the second one where Jesse has to survive being tortured and twisted by his devilish and bitchy grandmother. The horror she put Jesse through as a child and teenager is unspeakable, the most disgusting treatment being locking him in an underwater coffin for what seems like an eternity as punishment for going against the word of God. Throughout the entire second edition, you keep hoping and praying (no pun intended) that the grandmother gets her comeuppance. The further you read, the angrier you get at her and her cohorts. But before you punch a hole through the comic book, you should feel some sort of relief that there’s a special place in hell for people like her. You think you have fire coursing through your veins? Try living in hell for as long as the grandmother will. Constant torture and agony for a longer time than all of Jesse Custer’s underwater coffin punishments put together. This is the kind of thing you can expect from every episode of Preacher: badass action, transgression horror, and nightmares for many days to come. For all of you who say that comic books are for kids, I certainly hope you’re not talking about the Preacher series. Your kids would need so much therapy that even Bill Gates couldn’t afford to pay for it all.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“When I hear that trumpet sound, I’m gonna rise right out of the ground. Ain’t no grave can hold my body down.”

-Johnny Cash singing “Ain’t No Grave”-