Spirits of the Damned

13Nov09

A friend and I were discussing the movie Paranormal Activity the other day and although I haven’t seen it, the way it was described to me sounded extremely cheesy and blatantly fake. He also brought up the argument that spirits or ghosts are simply demons posing as those of the dead – people that have passed on, that you may be looking to contact. In his words, Hell and the Devil will do anything to pull you over to the “bad” side.

Regardless, discussing this movie brought a question to mind:

Why don’t these people and/or directors ever make movies about real “Paranormal Activity”? Is it simply because no one really believes it? Or because it’s extremely hard to capture?

You’re probably thinking by now that I must believe all of this, to some extent, and you’d be almost dead-on.

Over the soon-to-be past decade, I have experienced paranormal activity, if that’s what you want to call it. And just to clarify, I am not insane nor I am delusional.

Back in 2001 and 2002, I was living with my Father at my Step Mother’s house. Before I divulge the things I’ve experienced, I’ll note that this house had been rebuilt early on in the beginning of the 20th century, to replace the house that had burned down and killed a family of three.

Oh! Plot thickens, right?

My Father recalls things such as papers violently flying off of desks on calm and still summer days, speakers moving across the floor for no apparent reason, the dogs coming down the stairs whimpering with tails between their legs after loud voices shout things like “SHUT THAT DOG UP!”

I remember my Step Mother saying that at night, she’d smell burning flesh or see a man sitting on the end of the bed.

What did I experience?

Objects in my room would move on their own to other parts of the house, I’d hear footsteps at night right beside my bed or the sound of a child singing, which has also been reported by more recent occupants.

No, I never saw white shadows floating in the air, but these people were pissed off and/or messing with us most of the time. I had a lot of trouble sleeping there.

It would be at least 2-3 more years before I experienced anything else, but upon moving out of that house, I thought it was over.

Until one day, in the middle of the afternoon, at a friends house, I’d seen the figure of a long-haired woman peaking around the side of a shed that sat next to a garage, while I had simply been standing there smoking a cigarette. And I checked, looked all around, no one to be seen or heard.

Other things had happened as well, such as somebody tapping me on the shoulder as I sat at my computer. I’d look around and see absolutely no one.

My friend mentioned that maybe experiencing these things had something to do with the witchcraft I had dabbled in as a teenager. But that was just naive curiosity and I do not believe the two are connected in any way. At least, I hope not.

Do I expect you, the reader, to believe me?

Nope.

Not many people will believe you when you talk about ghosts, spirits or demons – at least not until they’ve experienced it for themselves. And if you believe it only depends on what you believe in, it doesn’t. I don’t believe in much, but I at least know that there is something after death, there’s gotta be, unless we’re all just telepathic, moving things with our minds and creating images in our heads, but I don’t think so.

I still have trouble being alone in the dark.


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Undying Resolve

02Nov09

One of the biggest and probably also one of the worst things I’ve ever experienced, which is what also inspired and forced me to write the novel that I am, will rear its head on its two year anniversary, in three months. Sure, three months is kind of a long while away, but I wanted to share with whatever readers I actually have, what this book used to be.

As it stands right now, what I am writing is an apocalyptic and demonic tale told from the perspective of a man who comes between two women and the loyalty of his own flesh and blood, good and evil or so it seems. But what a lot of people don’t know is that this story is sort of true, in a metaphoric way and I’ll leave it up to you to decide how, once you’ve read the finished product.

I remember telling her, there sitting on her bed, with a single sheet of paper in my hands, that the prologue I’d written would eventually turn into a novel. This prologue involved an amatuerish couple thousand words that involved a man whom worked at a gas station, gets shot at and has some demonic vision, ending in a trail of fire and a drunken stupor.

I also remember her asking me if and when that was ever going to happen, as if she thought that I wasn’t capable of accomplishing what I had originally set out to do. But it wasn’t until after “the end” that I knew what exactly it was that I was writing/going to write.

In the months of evolution that I had experienced, maybe four to five months later, I developed something bigger, but it didn’t fit my exact vision. Not to mention the fact that I was still stricken with a looming seed of anger and questions; depression and drunkeness.

Then, for some reason or another, it clicked. I tossed 20,000 words of what I had already written out the window, for the most part and started over.

Which ultimately leads to the point I’m at now. Sitting here with 32,000 words of the novel that was partly originally inspired by the “her” I’ve mentioned above. And I guess a part of me, upon finishing and publishing this novel, just wants her to know that I was more than capable, because I do, contrary to belief, have a dream.

In retrospect, I can say that I believe I reacted in a way that any person would, in such a screwed up situation and that what came of it, was more than worth it. Even with all feelings severed by now, I still cringe at the thought of “you”, showing “your” face once more, because we all know “you” will.

Before I finish the first novel in a saga of my own literary masterpiece, I just think “you” should know that this is the monster that you’ve partly created, congratulations.

And no, I’m not mentally unstable! I just have a few issues, some, unresolved issues, that beg of my attention.

PaxCorpus is on its way, and I can say that with utmost confidence.


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Mind-fudge

26Oct09

What to write about. Hmm.

Perhaps I should write about the over-hyped bullshit that is the H1N1 virus. The fact that the seasonal flu is more dangerous than the aforementioned and that it is, in fact, not a national crisis. That people need to wake up and not be controlled by the media and presidential fear mongering.

You can find the information all over the Internet. The seasonal flu, which has been around for ages, kills millions every year! Now, I don’t know if that’s comparable to the couple hundred/thousand this year, but I do believe we are running out of months for 2009.

Yes, you should take precautions if you catch the “swine” flu, i.e. get some rest, have some water, eat healthy, drink tea, etc., etc..

If you don’t take care of it (or simply don’t have the immune system to combat it), when and if you get it, yes, there could be detrimental effects.

But what do I know? Common sense is muddled and stamped out nowadays.

I could also talk about the fact that I’ve finally managed to completely outline my novel. From front to back, I’ve finally planned every last bit of detail and event that will occur.

These are very exciting times. With the H1N1 zombie virus spreading and the end of the world careening our way (coming 2012, to a theater near you!), what’s a guy to do with such little time to publish a saga?

But anyway, stay on your toes people and until next time, when I hopefully have a little more to conversate about, stay ever vigilant!


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FanFiction?

14Oct09

First, I’d like to say (and this is going to sound geeky) that I am probably one of THE biggest Metal Gear: Solid fans out there. I’ve got all of the original action figures packed away in boxes, I have multiple copies of the Playstation debut, including a Japanese copy, both versions of MGS2 and 3 and let’s not forget that I actually purchased a Playstation 3 only to play through and beat Metal Gear Solid 4.

The character, Solid Snake, has stuck with me since my mid-teens. In a way, I’ve identified and created a sort of emotional connection with this fictional character, created by Hideo Kojima. And just a few nights ago, I thought to myself: “Self, why not write a Metal Gear: Solid fan fiction?”

I figured, hey, I’m a writer, I feel my skills are at least slightly developed, why not give it a shot. I decided that it could be my little side project, since I seem to have no problem switching between both my own story and ideas for an MG:S fanfic. And this is what I wrote –

With the fall of the Patriots and the elimination of all enemies, you’d think it were all over. The world as we knew it was supposed to change for the better – but war, war rages onward. The only difference now, apart from the past, is that now war is simply a political tool of persuasion.

There is no order to it. No grand scheme or ultimate goal.

It is pointless, uncontrolled and highly profitable.

#

I’ve been spending my last few months visiting libraries and museums, soaking up as much of history as I can, becoming a drifter and an old sponge.

Only a few weeks left now.

When I sleep at night, on a park bench or under some tree, warmed by the fire of an old metal barrel, I dream. Everyone I’ve ever killed, either by order or by desire – they’re always there. They mock me, they can’t wait to see me; joining them in the bowels of Hell.

I embrace them.

Before I left, Otakon had begged me to stay, welling up with tears as usual, but that’s the last thing I need on my death bed. The Codec, though, remains intact and functional and he uses it liberally. Always checking in, “Snake, how’s it going?” or “How are you feeling?” I appreciated the gesture, I really did, he’s an old friend and a long-time ally, but he had to know that I felt nothing short of horrible.

Then I stopped and fell asleep. But it hit me. I realized/remembered that these characters–this world, was created entirely by someone else. If I were to do something like this, I’d only be taking someone elses world and remodeling it, slightly.

To me, it almost felt as if I were cheating on my characters and my world. Don’t get me wrong, I’d still like to do it, simply because I love Metal Gear. Yet a part of me doesn’t feel right about it.

Tell me, would I lose integrity or respect from other people if they had found out now or later (maybe, say, after I’ve published a book or two) that I had written fan fiction based on an extremely popular franchise? Would you look down on me? Am I wrong in feeling “dirty”? I guess what I’m looking for, for the most part, is approval. I want to know how writers feel about fan fiction, because, honestly, it’s a topic I’ve never seen discussed before.


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The Grabber

29Sep09

This is the very beginning of my novel — yes, the unfinished one. As of right now, this is the rough draft of my “grabber.” What should pull my readers in and take them by the neck, start to finish. We’ll see. How about, you tell me?

Muffled voices of a man and a woman slip through the cracks of comatose consciousness, arguing back and forth –

“Where are we taking him?” she asks.

“Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, his home. Won’t do us any kinda harm there.”

He hesitates for a moment.

“Won’t get in our way…”

“Why not just leave him here, in the city of the forsaken?”

My lungs constrict and tighten, ready to implode. An invisible hand grabs my heart and squeezes with all of its might. I want to scream, but not a muscle moves.

“He’s going into cardiac arrest, administer the antidote, now!”

A quick sting to my neck, like a hornet, then cold – extreme cold bursts through my veins. Grey meets black and they swirl together. Dancing back and forth behind my eyelids as they tether and snap, spinning, swirling, washing away and here we are, ground zero.

You look to your left and you see rioters and looters pushing office furniture through the window of a glistening high-rise. To your right you see the dead ripping flesh from bone with the entrails of someone you’ve never known hanging from their gnashing teeth. A blurred cloud of panic and chaos erupts from the volcanic streets of Manhattan. Behind you is the deafening sound of chopper blades, lifting and dropping in unison, with the bellowing sound of a ship’s horn breaking through each millisecond of a pause.

The scenery is smudged water color, red and gray, bouncing off the top of skyscrapers. Something you’ve never really taken notice of, thinking to yourself, with the stench of foul eggs tickling at your nostrils. The roads and sidewalks littered with twisted and over-turned vehicles, military men and their “so-called” training being put to good use, the muzzle flash of a hundred guns going off in the distance and you realize that maybe, just maybe, we weren’t prepared for this, no matter how much training we could’ve had.

Bullets whiz by from all directions. A shred of cloth flutters from your shoulder, the impact throwing you backward, leaving a sticky red substance in its crater like shape. Shaking and nervous, you pull an injection from your front shirt pocket, driving the needle directly into the large blue vein on your wrist, depressing the pump and pulling it out before you have a chance to react to the pain.

You crouch, watching bodies drop and rise, drop and rise, head swirling – you stop, mouthing inaudible words to an invisible listener, “This is what they were talking about.” Preprocessed meat and synthetically made French fries climb through your esophagus, spilling out of your mouth and onto your brand new, police issue combat boots.

In books or dictionaries you might’ve read that the apocalypse would have been the hand of god destroying evil. You may have thought that this was necessary. What you don’t know or might not have considered, is the fact that maybe god sees evil in all of mankind. If there really is a god – a question you’ve asked yourself ever since you gained the ability to think independently.

Out-of-body, watching the back of your head, turning from the crowd in a soulless, milky-eyed trance, he says: “When death sleeps…” and the sentence trails away, lost in a catacomb drenched in two-toned shadows…


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The Pax Integral

17Sep09

We’re coming to you live from the Shores of Hell, rightly named by a compatriot of mine and a brother to all of us in this war against death.

You’re listening to the Pax Integral, you’re one-stop, only source for up-to-the-hour information regarding everything that has to do with todays post-apocalyptic world.

If you’re heading our way today, well, what’re you even thinking? GO BACK!

In store for the East coast this morning is a slight chance of rain, followed by thunderstorms in the afternoon.

Traffic is at a disturbingly low rate, as our trafficam shows that the highways are completely empty!

Although, if you’ll take a moment and look up, you’ll see our brothers and sisters taking flight, in those wonderful flying fortresses we all depend on to keep our food and ammunition supply in stock. That goes for fuel as well.

The stock market today shows that Paxcorpus is at an all-time high, going up in price from two pennies to three! You guys even know PC was a corporation? Right, we made that up anyway.

If you do happen to be on the road today and you’re outside of the wall, remember to always wear your seatbelt. You never know when you could be pounced. Thank the stars for all that Plexiglas we found out west, aye? The last thing we need is to lose yet another unfortunate soul to the armies of the dead.

If you’re a new listener, why not drop us a line here, maybe we could provide you with some information as to what this is all really about, go ahead, don’t be scared!


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Reigning Change

03Sep09

The dust settles, the skies clear and the gunfire halts. A crowd rejoices and blindly embraces the hope and change of a nation they deem a failure. And change is exactly what’ll emerge from the seething animosity and arrogance of the unthinkers of common sense. But it isn’t their fault or even your fault — it is only desperation bred from the belief that a system is corrupt and one-sided.

In time, you’ll learn what the government really is.

You’ll realize that the only person with your best interest in mind is you. The only person that can change anything, is you.

Now, watch this video and seriously tell me that you aren’t even slightly disturbed.

Alright, now that you’re either confused, crying or wearing your tinfoil hat, let’s analyze a few of the things these out-of-touch and washed up celebrities stated.

You want to help end hunger, support food banks — smile, laugh, love and battle illness. Alright, that all sounds fine and dandy — Do we really need a supposedly inspiring president to make us want to do these things? Haven’t we always had the ability to do these things? (even though I seriously doubt the sincerity of any of those people)

You want to care for the elderly and give them access to health care. But with the way this new health care bill is panning out, the government will be deciding whether or not they’re worth the time and money. Plus, they’ve gotta put those death panels to good use, right?

Oh, did I mention that P. Diddy would like to stop leaving lights on in his house?

And what about this 200 year old promise to abolish slavery? We’re still talking about America here, right? What slavery are you referring to? Oh, you’re talking about Iraq? What will you do? Short of suiting up and joining our soldiers. (and I doubt certain people would anyway, they’d rather bitch and complain about it — something they know nothing about)

Speaking of slavery, and this is where it gets scary, every single one of them join each other in the most unsettling chant, “I pledge to be a servant to our president and all of mankind.”

Excuse me, I’m a servant to no one but myself.

This is what I don’t understand. You want life to be better, but you’re waiting for the right moment, even though this is the land of opportunity.

Let’s stop sitting around and hoping something good drops into our laps and make that good happen, whether or not an ethnically diverse president is in office.

I don’t belong to any groups or special movements. I’m just a guy, a writer. A teller of tales that I fabricate within my own imagination. I don’t watch television, so I miss most of the propaganda, lucky me, eh?

I’m going to bring this post to a close for now, but I’ll leave you with something else that just about screams brainwashing.


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Biodegradable

27Aug09

When the world comes crashing down and gunfire illuminates the sky, hanging your head low and praying for release, the last thing I’d expect you to say is, “Well, you know, we’re all just biodegradable organisms anyway.”

Pelting your chest in quick pops, bullets shred through your flesh, whiz through your lungs and exit just missing your spine.

And I ask myself, “How could a person devalue themselves and dismiss their presence on this planet as ‘just another’ part of the compost heap?”

Your body flops to the ground just as quickly as you heard the sound, shell casings ringing out from the streets. I look up, right, left and then I wonder.

I always wonder.

Why would anyone consider themselves or at least their existence to be meaningless or worthless? Does this stem from the belief that there is nothing after death? Is this why people sterilize themselves, claiming that they’re only trying to lessen the amount of human beings overpopulating the world?

I say, go ahead, more drinking water for my children and I.

But let’s think about it for a moment and this is something I’ve contemplated many times. If someone truly believes that there is nothing after death — and I’m not telling you to go read the bible, I have my doubts as well — then I ask of you one thing, imagine “nothing”.

Sure you can imagine nothing, but can you feel it? Taste it? See it?

Can you imagine yourself, your own being not existing? No, this isn’t an arrogant rant. I’m not saying that the world couldn’t possibly go on without yours and my presence. I’m simply asking you to imagine what it would be like if you completely stopped existing. Do you feel your consciousness? I think you do. The dilemma here, is that I, for one, cannot imagine that. Even imagining that there is nothing, that I simply don’t exist. In my mind, I still see something, darkness maybe, a black hole.

Maybe I’m too young to understand or maybe I’m just missing a piece of the puzzle.

To me, this is a paradox. If you can’t imagine not existing, is that just an example of the limitations of our imaginations, or is there something more, hidden between the lines.

Sometimes I wonder maybe if this is just a phase, leading to something greater. I do think that we all have some kind of purpose here, whether your dumb, smart or just in between, you’ve got a purpose. Maybe you’re here to teach someone a lesson. Maybe you’re here to learn a lesson, who knows.

I’ve read countless articles where people state that they truly believe there is nothing after death, but I can’t. I remember an article by Phil Anselmo (sp?), the vocalist of Pantera/Down, saying that he had died for about 20 minutes I think, stating that when he was dead, he saw nothing, black.

He saw nothing, black? Sounds like he was at least aware of something. Either he wasn’t dead, or he was lying.

What are your views? Whether you believe in a higher power or some extra-dimensional realm that our “souls” travel in between, tell me what you think. Tell me if you can imagine nothing — feeling nothing, not existing.

If, though, we truly knew the answer, I think that’d be the end of days.


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The Quest for BlizzCon

26Aug09

Watching BlizzCon this year was awesome. Got to see a slew of new things for World of Warcraft and even had a peek at Starcraft 2 and Diablo 3. Unfortunately though, I missed ETC and Ozzy due to my job. That’s right, I was watching BlizzCon, via a live internet broadcast. Sure, I got a cool little space marine Murloc for my World of Warcraft character, but I have a feeling things would’ve been even cooler if I had been there in person.

Which brings us to the main topic.

I have at least 9-10 months to raise for myself and a friend, at least, 2500-3000 dollars. Sure, I could just save money from whatever I can skim off of my paychecks, but I think it’d be even more triumphant if I somehow found a way to raise this money completely seperate from working at my daily job.

So, once again readers (if any ;P), I am asking you to help me out here. How would you go about doing something like this? Have a yard sale? Become a hitman? The reason I don’t want to dip into my bank account is mostly because I’d like to keep whatever’s in there as a sort of “last resort” cushion if things go south while I’m in California next year.

And yea, I don’t make thousands and thousands of dollars at the moment, so I can’t just up and jump across the country when the opportunity arrives, so… planning needs to be involved. What do ya say?


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Scalpel Please

13Aug09

For today’s blog update I found myself wondering if a human being could actually perform surgery on him/herself?

This is part of my thought process for coming up with new material for my book. Yes. I actually considered having a character in my book perform surgery on himself.

Would there be enough morphine and painkillers to stop yourself from going into shock? If a doctor carefully took you through each step, would it be possible?

Reason I ask is because I am not a doctor and I do not know what goes on behind the scenes of a surgery.

Think of it this way: My character is laying on the ground bleeding internally. He’s gotta cut open his stomach and stop the bleeding, writhing through his own entrails. The only doctor/medic is within earshot (his earpiece) and he just so happens to have a bit of morphine scavenged from a hospital. Would a normal human being survive such an ordeal? I’d hate to decide on adding something to the story and end up finding out later on that it’s physically impossible to do!


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You’ve Achieved Insanity!

28Jul09

As a few of you may notice, I’ve redesigned my blog. But not only have I redesigned it… I’VE ADDED ACHIEVEMENTS.

Yea, that’s right. If you don’t know what those are, play any game on any platform that’s obviously recent, you’ll get special points and a score, usually accompanied by a small picture and a description and usually gained by doing random and stupid things. Well, my friends, I’ve found a way to integrate this wonderful new craze into my own life!

Just click the ‘achievements’ page up top and give it a look see, son!

If you have me linked on your blog, please update the title from Dante’s Chronicles to The Pax Integral. It’s still the same blog and both titles have something to do with my novel, but this title is a little less specific, which is what I want my blog to be.


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Dream Session .1

20Jul09

I thought that this would be interesting, maybe give those of you that know me a deeper look into the workings of my mind and what lurks beneath!

When I was younger, a child, I had a slew of vivid and abstract dreams, which went well into my teen years. I still have dreams like this every so often, but not even nearly as much. I’m going to start my first update about these with one of my first most memorable and disturbing dreams as a kid. These will all be from memory, so details may not be exact. (although I’d be the only one to notice that)

My brothers and I were outside playing beside the line of attached town houses, all white and black, sitting uniform against a large green forest. The sky, the air — everything was a light brown tint. The air was swirling and becoming nastier, a storm was headed our way.

I remember one of my parents shouting from inside of the house that a tornado was coming.

The three of us scrambled, grabbing our toys as we dashed inside, not looking back, too afraid to.

When I got inside of the house I saw to my right the kitchen and the indoor window that peered into the dining room, ahead was the living room, with a glass sliding door at the back.

You could see the wind blowing and dust spinning through the air outside. This is where my vision sort of slanted, like cheap special effects in an old horror movie.

And this is also where I realized my youngest brother had not made it inside, so I went back out.

He was there, in the middle of the frontyard standing, frozen and scared. I reached out for him, grabbing his hand and he screamed very suddenly. As I pulled him toward myself I noticed that his flesh and muscle were tearing with each pull, but since this was a dream, I had no control. I continued pulling until his arm came clean off and I remember the ghastly look on his face and the heart pounding fear that rushed through my veins like molten fire.

My heart dropped and so did the arm.

After that everything goes blank, that’s all I remember. There are crazier and more disturbing ones to come, but this had to have been my first and at the age I had been, this actually frightened me quite badly for a while!


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Mr. Ryan!

16Jul09

I have a question, Ryan.

WHAT?!

I’m not sure what music is socially acceptable in today’s society and I’d like to make the right decision when gracing my ears with the pleasant sound of vocals and instruments.

Well then, Billy, why didn’t you just say so?

But Ry…

SHUT UP!

Now, listen, I will only tell this to you once and you better listen carefully boy, ’cause I aint just whistlin’ fakken dixie…

Many, many years have passed and many many bands have traveled in and out of my interest — there are only a few that still hold true to the test of time, my son, young grasshopper Billy. Today we will discuss one of my all-time favorite bands and their latest release.

But that just sounds like an advertisement!

Can I ask you something, Billy? Don’t answer.

Do you know what fist tastes like as it’s traveling through your esophagus?

ANYWAY.

Devildriver, yes.

It is very rare that I stumble upon a band that somehow manages to produce album after album, failing to disappoint, never making something not worth listening to.

I like a lot of bands and a lot of music, but only this band has managed to not suck 100% of the time.

I’d give you the name of my favorite song or album, but honestly, I enjoy just about every single song from every album. Sure there are a few I’d rather listen to than others, but that doesn’t make them any less listenable.

Not to mention the fact that I’ve been following Dez since Coal Chamber.

Which brings us, well not really, I just thought I’d interject myself, err… yea, which brings us to my ultimate point, the new album.

Pray-for-Villains

Again, DD, you have kicked my ass, musically. Machine gun riffs, of course, ass-pounding drums and bleeding-throat vocals — could I ask for anything more?! These guys never fail to reinvent themselves each time around the bend, compare this CD to their original self-titled album and you’d think you’re listening to two different damn bands! But that’s cool! That’s what keeps me listening!

Variety, my bitch. Err, sorry, your name was Billy? Right?


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Re-Emergence?

15Jul09

It’s already too late. I can’t tell you where I am now because I simply don’t know. My only advice to you, is to run.

Those were his last words, unspoken — written. After that I never saw him again. There’s a missing link, a piece of the puzzle, a person — Fuck, I don’t know. My eyes felt like a thousand burning fires. Alcohol was starting to seep through my pores filling the musty old room with the lingering scent of vodka.

I slapped back the chamber of my 1911 and shoved the barrel into her forehead, “Where is he?!”

She disintegrated and bled into the floorboards.

It all seemed like a bad dream, maybe I had been a cop for too long.

The window behind me, a gazing and bright as day moon shown through.

I turned as the glass shattered, the momentum of its force pulling me out and down twenty-seven stories.

My life didn’t flash before my eyes, my heart didn’t stop. I had to be dreaming, none of this makes or made any sense.

And then there I was, standing on the top of a skyscraper, the one I’d fallen out of. Rain pouring down with overzealous speed. A woman, again, it’s always a woman, holding a gun pointed at me. The darkness and her hair cover her face, but you can tell she’s angry.

A furious demon awakens within and without control I give way to my knees, reach behind my back and pull out an automatic pistol, firing before it’s even aimed straight forward.

Right before I open my eyes, a stream of blood shoots from each side of her head, a direct hit, one out of the thirteen bullets I had fired.

Thirteen.

Regiment number thirteen and this is Dante, My name is Dante and I am with Regiment thirteen.

Fuckin’ snap out of it man! Get the hell up!

Bullets whiz by, clipping loose clothing and concrete. An unknown figure drags me into an alleyway for cover. I’m awake and this is not where I was when I went unconscious.

Who the hell are you and where did you come from?!

and that’s it for now, seems I’ve regained my inspiration. Thank you goddess of inspiration, yea that’s right, I worship the goddess of inspiration. I made her up, don’t look at me like that. I named this blog before I knew what it was about. I wrote until the words stopped spilling out of me and then for some crazy reason, both the blog and the title fit together perfectly.


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Starting over?

04Jul09

Well I’ve about finished my case of beer…

…and my vacation unfortunately.

We’ll see if I can finally get back to writing once I start working again. It’s weird. Ever since the hospital incident, I haven’t been able to think of ANYTHING for either of my books. Although suddenly, I’m thinking of things I haven’t thought of in a while, so I’m hoping this’ll jump start me back into “that” state of mind I need to be in, whether it’s good for my health and well-being or not.

A part of me doesn’t want this at all, but the other side, err or both sides want to finish these books and I feel that if I do manage to completely erase these thoughts and memories, I’ll lose the “character” and “emotion” for the story and then I’ll have, what? Nothing.

I guess it’s sort of my fault, you know, for writing an epic story half based on…

You know what, nevermind. I’m not going into this again.


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What a week

24Jun09

This week has been an interesting one, to boot.

I goto work on Sunday night and end up driving myself to the ER at about 3am, only to find out from a doctor that I have “pneumothorax”, long explanation short, my lung was semi-collapsing due to a small hole.

The remedy? A tube inserted into my chest that sucks the air out, allowing my lung to inflate and deflate once more.

At least I’m on vacation now! Won’t be doing anything too stressful for the next two weeks!

In other news, eBay is getting on my nerves. There are way too many people on their that simply do not understand the concept of auctions. If a seller is going to list an item, any item, desirable to extremely desirable, for .01-1.00, it would be in your best interest to NOT bid until there is very little time left.

I am sick and tired of seeing something up for a buck, only to be pushed up to 10 dollars, 15 dollars, 20 dollars, etc., etc., well before time is even anywhere near ending, i.e. 20 hours or more.

Are you people serious? Are you friggin’ serious?!

I, for one, know that Tomb Raider Underworld for the xbox 360 was not an extremely popular game, yet I’m watching an auction that starts out at .99 and we’re at about 22 hours left and you’re pushing it up to 11 dollars? What is wrong with you people? Seriously.

This agitation is mostly due to my intolerance for stupidity and also due to the fact that I haven’t had a cigarette since 3am, Sunday morning. Withdrawal is kicking my ass at times, but I’m making it.

Now if I could just concentrate on my books and writing, maybe I could take my mind off of nicotine! lol


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Dante Does Myspace

18Jun09

So I come home from work and what do I see? My fictional character/alter-ego has created himself a damn myspace page!

Yea I’m thinking the same thing you are.

Check it out though, hey, maybe he’ll even befriend you.

Dante Marcellus


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What inspires you?

12Jun09

There a certain things that inspire me while writing and today, in order to keep myself consistantly making updates here on the DC blog, I thought I’d share.

Songs like this:

or sometimes just looking at pictures like this:


(courtesy of Deviantart)

But most of all, my own imagination. I constantly have crazy shit running through my head! haha

That’s all for now, I’m going to go enjoy a little Resident Evil 5.


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NetherBound

01Jun09

While writing the first thousand words of my 50,000 word short story for Kiwiwriters, I was also attempting to come up with a title, since it’s the prelude to my novel (you know, the unifnished one). I didn’t want it to have a title anywhere close to the same as the book, so I sat and thought.

Since this whole storyline is inspired by old games like Doom and Quake, back from when I was a kid… back in my day… I wanted the title to kind of make me feel nostalgic for those games and their atmospheres.

Think Doom, Thy Flesh Consumed, Knee Deep in the Dead, The Shores of Hell.

Think Quake, The Necropolis, the Nether-realm, netherworld, Hey I like that word… Nether.

And then I had it, just the word itself, Nether, gave me that feeling, running around those brown-stained hallways blasting zombies and demons back to where they belong, Hell.

The idea of the character in this story is that she’s on a straight path to corruption and evil, kind of like she’s… Hell-bound. I think you get it by now.

NetherBound. (the two words sewn together look cooler to me :P )

And just reading it reminds me of the good ol’ Doom and Quake days, which brings me back to and closer to my vision, reminds me and makes sure I never stray from that path, no matter where I go with these characters or the storyline, there should always be an underlying evil.

Not to say that I’m an evil person or anything, but I enjoy nightmarish, creepy and unsettling themes.


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SNAKE! SNAKE!? …oh, wait.

28May09

Alright I’ve gotta confess. I haven’t done much writing lately, although I plan on going back in full-swing. My brain’s been a pile of mush the past few weeks with a few ideas stringing in and out of my mind. I actually have a good amount planned ahead for what’s coming next in the book. But as my emotions twist me, so does the story.

I was also pointed toward this website: http://kiwiwriters.org

I want to write something for a challenge, I’m thinking possibly a short 25,000 word prelude to the novel that introduces you to “my” end of the world. Except it won’t be from the point of view of my main character, or any of the characters you may know about, if you’ve read any of the stuff I’ve had here before or have been in contact with me directly and previewed some of it.

The character will be female, based on a blog I posted a few clicks below this one. The idea is that the end is happening/coming, the person telling the story is both significant and insignificant and will most likely play a role in the book. It’ll be a transformation from good to bad and then corruption.

Imagine a field of green and tall standing brush. The sky is cloudy and the sun barely shines through. The air is cold and smells of rain, if you know what that smells like – I do – a sort of metallic smell, like damp pavement. You’re standing there, you feel the wind of change blowing almost directly through you, your life, everything you know is coming to a halt. Ahead you can see a black mass of sprawling arms and gnarled, anonymous faces. They’re running. They’re coming. For you… and of course anything else that’ll feed their insane hunger.

All you have is a 9mm and one magazine. You’ve seen the movies, you know the rules – so you run, sweat pouring from every orifice. Hair flailing around, brushing your face, blocking your view. You almost trip over a body. Looking back as you pass by you realize that it was only half of a man, the legs missing.

The busy stores and lively homes, no more. They’ve either evacuated, or… no, you don’t wanna think like that.

And hey, there’s your car. An old, green and rusted Pontiac GTO. Get in, or die.

Fingers trembling with your keys in hand, you twist the ignition and the engine roars. Rubber burns and scars the pavement as smoke clouds the oncoming crowd in a quick 360 turn, blasting down an empty street in the middle of bump-fuck Pennsylvania – hitting every pothole on the way. But where are you going?

No, that’s not anything I plan on using, I just wanted you to imagine yourself in that situation.


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