No Voices

Let us speak of

Betrayal and pins

And dirty hookers

In the night.

Let us talk about

Nerves and sick

And the sun at first light.

Let us murmur of

Priests who whisper

Secrets in the dark

And loving mothers

Who send their

Children to churches

Of Sodomy.

Let us bark out

Across the land

The words to songs

That meant nothing

but lies.

Let us yell to the

Wolves who dance

Upon broken backs and

Scream their names as

A warning to those who

May wander too close.

Let us burn out our

Eyes on the sun.

Let us fuck until

Our souls are one.

Let us lick the stains

From the unclean

And bathe their sores in blood laden streams.

Let us count ourselves lucky and never speak again.

Sunday in Hollywood

I went to Hollywood

on Sunday 

for

shits and giggles. 

After eating at Juicy Burger, 

my wife, 

my friend, Shawn, 

and myself proceeded to the parking lot 

where I paid to store my car while we walked around. 

We got gas on Sunset Blvd.,

and spent 

far too much time

trying to get onto the 101 fwy 

( why the Hell they don't have turning lights at the freeway on ramps, I'll never know). 

Anyway, I got on the freeway 

and it was jammed 

bumper to bumper 

so I settled in for the long ride home 

when my stomach lurched. 

It wasn't one of those 

'could just be gas' 

moments. 

Nay, this was a full scale 

invasion of my lower intestines - 

the kind where you're pretty sure

there is some type of alien life form 

trying to evacuate through your lower extremities. 

My eyes got wide and I started to sweat. 

My friend glanced over and asked if I was all right. 

I puckered my lips, 

held my breath, 

and wheezed, "No ..."

"There's a Chevron station back 

there if you have to go," he replied 

like a man who isn't about to lose the 

trade in 

value of a new car.

I made my way to the off ramp,

cutting off a Volvo who's owner seemed 

a bit unnerved by my sudden swerving. 

Thankfully, he let me in and I was barreling along, 

doing my best not to make any sudden stops. 

By this point,

my head was drenched 

in sweat, and it was starting to get

into my eyes. 

The pain in my guts grew

to the point where 

I had to start wiggling 

for fear 

that any type

of relaxation 

would indeed

cause a rupture. 

The line of traffic was

three city blocks long 

(and not any normal city block length. 

This was the city block that

was engineered by 

the very Devil,

himself). 

Finally I pulled

into the gas station 

and shuffled my way

into the store portion, 

bypassing

several

concerned

looking

patrons 

who obviously feared

catching whatever it was

that I had. 

I made it to the bathroom

when I noticed a

coin slot. 

Now usually

you can get

a coin from

the cashier, 

but I said,

"Fuck it!

I only have

a few seconds

until I explode 

so I'll just pay

the twenty-five cents

and save myself 

the embarrassment

of 

leaking 

my 

way 

back

to the cashier." 

I fumbled through 

my pockets 

until I found 

a quarter 

among the handful of change. 

I slid the coin

into the slot,

 but it wouldn't go in. 

The slot was blocked off.

"Really, God? Really?!"

I said aloud 

as I shuffled

to the counter.

A couple of people

looked my way 

before going about

their business 

of deciding whether

 to buy

a fucking

Twinkie 

or a

Ding-Dong, 

and I nodded and 

feigned the best smile I could.

I wiped my brow

with my shirtsleeve 

and glanced around

the bulletproof glass, 

trying to find

the cashier. 

After a few, 

"Excuse me's," 

and a couple of 

"Hellos," 

the girl

finally appeared. 

Not wanting to 

draw too much 

attention

to myself, 

I smiled

and

asked

for the key.

She looked at me

suspiciously 

and handed over

a tiny key 

attached

to the end

of a 

goddamn plunger. 

I guess it was so

I wouldn't forget

to bring it back

when 

I was finished. 

I gave her a quick thank you, 

nodded, 

and wiped the sweat 

from my eyes again 

before duck walking 

to the bathroom.

Once inside, 

I wrestled my shorts off, 

tossed the plunger key 

to the ground and nearly 

cried

at the relief

to follow. 

In that moment of grace, 

I saw angels with harps. 

They gently swooned me 

with

the most beautiful music 

I have ever heard. 

A chorus of, 

"Let it go! 

LET IT GO!!" 

could be heard 

over the elevator music 

that was playing through

the speaker system outside. 

Finally 

a tear fell

from my eye 

and I smiled 

like a man

given salvation. 

I thanked

every god

that would listen. 

I said

a silent prayer

to Cthulhu 

and made for

the toilet paper.

There wasn't any.

I stared at

the empty roll 

of cardboard

to my right 

and became uneasy, 

hoping for a hidden square 

at the back 

where I couldn't see. 

No such luck.

"What the fuck 

am I 

going to do 

now?" 

I asked.

I took a gander to my left 

and

checked the bathroom

for hidden cameras. 

Not finding any, 

I proceeded

to

remove

my shorts 

and waddle

to

the

sink. 

I leaned in

with everything

I had. 

Several minutes

of hovering 

and splashing 

followed 

as I tried

to keep

my balance. 

With my hands

and ass

soaking

wet, 

I spotted

my salvation

on the wall. 

There was

a hand dryer 

fastened 

about four feet

from the floor. 

I gave the little mechanism on the front 

a quick push 

and 

reared up my ass 

as high as I could 

to get the most 

out of the warm current 

of air 

that followed. 

It took three 

activations 

of the dryer 

before I was

comfortable enough 

to shimmy back over

to my shorts 

and get dressed again. 

I returned the plunger key to the cashier, 

smiled, 

and left the fallout behind. 

No Rooms without Walls is finally finished. It is up on Amazon now and will be available in print on 12/17/12. As always, let me know what you think in review, a share, or a private message.

THE NEXT BIG THING!

What is the working title of your next book?

No Rooms without Walls.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

It came from a fear of growing old which came to me in the same way most of my stories seem to develop: in a far too vivid dream. I coupled the dream with events in my life and molded the story out of run-on sentences and contradiction.

What genre does your book fall under?

Apocalyptic Horror and Dark Fiction.

What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?

I think Robert Duvall would be great in the lead, but hell if I know who would work for the other parts.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

A breaking heart has no room which can hold it.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

I’ll be going the self-publishing route for fear of the unknown.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

About three months, give or take. There were a few long breaks when I was finishing my previous novel, Waiting to Die.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

First, I would have to say that I won’t do any of the following authors justice, but No Rooms without Walls could be best described as a mash up of Cormic McCarthy’s The Road, Ernest Hemingway’s Old Man and the Sea, and one of my earlier pieces, Silently Inside. Again, I am nothing like the writers. I do my best and have my own voice and that is enough.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

My fear of the unknown, my grandfather, and death all played a part in the making of the book. I always found it amazing how my grandfather overcame the great depression, the loss of three out of four of his children, the death of my grandmother, and most of his siblings. He is a strong man and I can only aspire to emulate him in this small way. I created the main character after my grandfather and used a hell of a lot of artistic license to finalize the work. I put myself in his shoes, added a bit of poetry and the book was done.

What else about the book might pique the reader's interest?

Many of the scenes were pulled from actual events I’ve been through, questions I have asked myself, and meditations that I have underwent. No Rooms without Walls falls together like a puzzle, each portion conspiring to exemplify the next. It was a labor of love and sorrow and sudden change. It was a labor that I will not soon forget.

The following authors will be following next Wednesday:

Stephen A. North

Matthew Darst

Paul S. Huggins

Jonathan Moon

Kevin Milliken

Now available in print on Amazon and Createspace.

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1480035017/ref=cm_sw_r_fa_dp_medEqb0AVG1RH

Createspace:  https://www.createspace.com/4014911

The last week has been one of the most trying of my life. After getting Waiting to Die back from the editor, I had to do some last minute changes while I was working with a cover designer, formatting the final product, and trying my best to maintain a level of networking that I've never undertaken before. To say the least, it has been one hell of a ride.

While I was putting the finishing touches on the final draft, I contacted Peter Fussey to do a cover design based on an idea I had. Within a few days, he had something that totally blew me away! In my opinion, it is one of the most original Zombie covers I've seen. Ladies and gentlemen, books are very much judged by their cover.

In anticipation of the print release, I'm offering a free signed copy of one of three limited copies to whoever posts it the most. I'm talking Facebook, twitter and the web. Posts should be public so I can gather the information and linked to your Facebook page. The release date is October 22nd, 2012 so whoever gets the most posts in before that time will get a free copy of the limited release to kick off the official release.

This is the new Facebook page for Waiting to Die. Give it a 'like' when you have the chance!

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Waiting-to-Die/357458377674665