Gaia’s Dream, a novel about science fiction gladiators and shadow monsters, is now available!

Gaia’s Dream is now available! Links below:

A description of the book:

Science fiction gladiators. Land pirates. A giant city made up of huge buildings called megastructures.

This dystopian adventure has all that and more.

The story follows Mary Gold as she and her team of corporate gladiators hunt down Gat Jones, a serial killer who wants to use shadow monsters to destroy the city in which they all live.

The hunt takes them out of the city and into the unknown forests, rivers, and alien towns that none of them knew existed.

Thank you for reading!

I’m kind of proud of this one…

Jim the Farmer Boy and Bob the Dark Lord had been best friends for ages. When they were boys, oh did they have their fights. As the grew, it became apparent that one would never go anywhere without the other. While the women waited for their woos, Jim and Bob tramped off on adventure after adventure.


“Hey, Jim, look at this!” Bob said to his best friend, Jim the Farmer Boy. Bob held a rock in his hand that shone with the light of a thousand smaller lights. “It’s a trigger stone!”

“Whoa, those are like super rare!” Jim said to his best friend, Bob the Dark Lord. Jim approached Bob and tried to take the trigger stone from his hand. “”Just let me see it.”

“What, you can’t see it from there?” Bob challenged as he backed away, cupping the precious stone close his fist. “It’s mine, okay?”

Jim shook his head with a tainted scowl on his face and drew his mighty sword. No words were spoken as Jim chased Bob down, only the occasional guttural sound of a beast hunting down its prey. Jim almost struck at Bob’s leg, but missed as Bob dodged the blow.

“What you gonna do, farm boy?” Bob taunted, running away through the wooded, rocky terrain.

“I’ll kill you!” Jim shouted, chasing Bob down. Bob turned and laughed, turned and laughed, until the untapped rage within Jim (for had Destiny had its way, Jim would have been trained by the great wizard Merlin instead of befriending the one evil that he was born to hunt down, thereby overcoming that rage which always seeded itself deep inside his mind) finally turned him into a beast.

“Ah shit,” Bob said. “I dropped the trigger stone in this crevice.”

“What?” Jim stood there, searching his friend for the stone, but saw nothing in Bob’s hands. He then looked down the crevice, and saw shining perhaps a hundred feet below, the trigger stone. “Man, that sucks. Oh well.”

Jim and Bob continued their hike through the mountains together.


“Bob, help me!” Jim shouted as he lay, trapped under the dragon’s mighty paws. “It’s so fucking hot!”

“I knew helping this village was a bad idea!” Bob shouted back. He hid behind a large boulder as the dragon roared. “Why you always gotta help people, Jim? Why?!”

“Your friend will die!” the dragon shouted, its deep rumbling bass voice causing the large cave to shake as small bits of rock crashed down onto the ground. “Reveal yourself to me!” The dragon breathed an explosion of fire to emphasize its point.

“That’s kind of beside the point here, Bob,” Jim shouted to his friend. “I just need you to distract him! Just come on out!”

“Your friend wishes to betray you!” the dragon said.

Bob thought about just hiding there behind the rock and letting his friend die. They were hundreds of miles away from Hubriston, their home town, and no one would really ever know. He could just slip away. Drop his sword. And just leave. Just go. Do it, Bob, do it!

“Fuck you, Jim!” Bob shouted as he jumped from behind the boulder, swinging his large sword like a madman with too much wine in his insane systems. “Get back, ye dragon beast!”

Jim hadn’t expected something quite like the rush that Bob performed, but the dragon did. It breathed its fire at Bob, but only for a moment. For when it opened its mouth, Jim had managed to retrieve his sword from under the dragon’s paws and throw it directly into the beast’s weak spot — the thermal gland underneath its tongue.

The dragon roared, reared its neck, straightened its tail, and then collapsed. All was quiet for a moment.

“You…you okay, Bob?” Jim asked. He was still trapped under the dragon, but able to breathe.

“Uh…yeah,” Bob answered. His wide eyes beheld the dragon’s head that had landed merely an inch in front of him, and his hands were still raised above his head, holding his sword. “You?”

“I…I think so.”

“Good.”

“Yep.”

“Those fucking villagers better pay well.”

“It’s not about payment,” Jim said as Bob helped him up.

“Of course, that’s what you always say!”

“Look, maybe we just get a meal out of it.”

“A meal! A meal! I was almost a meal!”

“Bob, all I’m saying is…”

“…want money and…”

“!”


And so Jim and Bob continued on their adventures, threatening each other with death every step of the way.

A Tired Monkey

The wingbat stared at the sky and pondered what might be in another era. Thousands of years had passed and the gubers lived strong. These beasts, with horns that reached hundreds of feet high and trunks like the elephants that you had nightmares of as a child, destroyed the homes of the wingbats, who flitted of to Mars to live the rest of their sols.

The gubers ruled the Earth for millions, if not many millions of years. Decades? Centuries? Millenniums? They were nothing to the gubers, who wanted only production and evolution, management and organization, peace and brutal warfare.

The moon was home to an old species…you guessed it, humans. They were tall and thin and light from Luna’s light tug, but had little food to subsist on. More water evaporated into space than could be replenished. The humans were to die, and the gubars only waited.

A new type of wingbat was born one day, on Christmas Eve in the year 86,723,148 A.D. He flitted about and felt the wind of Mars and was ever happy and proud. All the other wingbats were in awe of his speed, his dexterity, and his abilities in the game of poker.

One day, an old wingbat approached Maximus and said, “My crapson, you are the fucking chosen one that our goddamn, dumbass people have spoken of for like three years. You know your shit and that’s why we’re fucking sending you to the worst kind of shit your ass has ever witnessed.”

“Just tell me what to fucking do,” Maximus said to the old wingbat.

“Go kill the shit. On the thing.”

“What the hell? You speak of Crappy the Crap, the crappiest crap who ever crapped?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“I’ll fucking go to Earth and fuck some shit up.”

Maximus, the crapperson of Plentimus, flew off to Earth to face Crappy the Crap in battle. When the young wingbat arrived there, however, he witnessed something that disgusted him: All of the gubers were ugly, lazy, and malcontent. It would be an easy battle, but there would be no honor in it.

“You there,” Crappy the Crap said, the biggest guber said. “You are Maximus? I hear you play a good poker game. How about we play a round and whoever wins shall inherit the Earth?”

“I can fucking deal,” Maximus said. Winning in poker against one of the greatest gamblers in the universe would certainly be a greater honor than slaughtering the pathetic creatures.

THe first hand was the wingbat’s, but the guber came back around in the second. The battle tipped up and down for each combatant and there was the ever flowing sound of chips being transferred back and forth as each other one gained the upperhand. Finally, Maximus landed the best hand imaginable.

“No,” Crappy muttered. Hands of sludge covered his eyes as tears poured forth like Niagara Falls expels water during spring. “It can’t be!”

“Oh, but it can, bitch,” Maximus said, the wingbat’s eyes gleaming with the shining light of righteous victory. “It can, bitch.”

“Five kings! Five of a kind! Why, this hasn’t happened since Bleepy destroyed Gappy in the Great Poker Tournament of 24,565,019 A.D.!”

“Give us our home back.”

And so the wingbats returned to Earth from their temporary shelter on Mars. The humans left the moon at the urging of the wingbats and returned to Earth, where they crossbred to become something like angels.

The gubers, on the other hand, were left with a Mars that was already rusting over. The radiation set in after three hours.

Open Letter to a Yeti

Listen. I saw a yeti yesterday. It was big and hairy and it stood there in the street (many people were in the street, for this was a festival) as though attempting, albeit failing, to be an obstacle. I felt then, so long ago, and again today, so far in the future, that the yeti was there to remind me of something. It wanted to be noticed, but not despised. Perhaps it was self hate.

A dangerous man with a knife threatened the yeti. The man with the knife stood in front of it for a few moments, perhaps now considering that there were children about, unaccustomed to gore and most likely to be traumatized by it. Sure enough, the man’s young son approached him and pulled at his shirt. The man looked at the yeti, his son, and the yeti before finally tilting his head down and leaving.

This interaction was beautiful. It reminded me of those aspects of human nature that many like to deny the existence thereof. A man can change, although he may presently be violent, despicable, and rapacious. A man can surely change.

The yeti followed me home yesterday. I cannot be certain why it followed me home, why it picked me over the thousands of fellow festival-goers. It walked inside and sat in my breakfast chair. I gave it some cereal.

It stares at me now, resting on my couch and flipping through the channels on the television (not having cable narrowed that slim selection). It stares through me. In me.

Somebody…listen…let the yeti out.

The Dancing Queen

“It’s a running joke around here that Jocelyn is the party monkey,” Jim said. The wide grin on his wide face reminded me of an ape.

I didn’t understand, so I just chuckled a bit and tried to similarize my facial expression.

“She’s always…’monkeying around,’ if you know what I mean,” he said with his smile that might have been the dreamwork of some drunk animator. “You know, with the boss’ wife.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, like she’s….you know…” His laugh was like a pig drowning in the mud that it so desired.

“I thought, you know, the boss is kinda like a” (don’t say religious) “straight edge kinda guy.”

“Oh yeah, but they’re into some wild stuff, man.” Jim’s eyes extended over his face and dripped with hate. “Wild shit that you would never dream of.”

 

+++ (where is the asterisk?)

 

I always thought that dreams were just in our heads. Like if you thought of something real in your head, even though that was real, it’s still just a dream ’cause it’s just in your head. Sometimes, and I think we have to give ourselves some evolutionary credit (for whatever that means), that’s not true. What’s in our head does exist in the outside world, it’s just that you have to prove it. Look at Einstein and how those observers somewhere in Africa (a continent that my education excuses me from the direct knowledge of its geography) saw those stars during the solar eclipse.

You just have to have a good argument. I’ve never been good at arguing.

 

+++

 

“I like to dance and get drunk,” Jocelyn said. Jim chugged a handle of whiskey in the corner of the bar. Everyone else was just drinking or dancing, and Jocelyn was dancing in front of me. Like I knew how to handle that. “You want to dance?”

“I’ve, uh…I guess…dancing is uh, you know…” Dancing is a way to prove your prowess in athleticism to those around you. It’s a fluke of it looking a lot like fighting, but only a few people fight nowadays. “It’s fun.”

“You like to dance.”

The Fallacy of Self – Coupon!

Get my short story collection, The Fallacy of Self, for 75% off from now until 11/7/15 using coupon code: KX74F .

Do it! Do it now! Before it’s too late! It’s about life! And what life would be like if life did not exist! A paradox? An android? Corporate warfare? Read it now!

Fallacy of Self