Being Alone, Sometimes, Isn't Smart

And another example of being left alone with my thoughts is the following example:

No More

I knew this night would come but I had no idea it would be so fast.

Where my heart would fall into the pit of my stomach.

For the moment I have no hope and I don’t want my emotion.

I didn’t want it to happen, but I knew it was coming.

And I knew I couldn’t stop it, but if I did stop it I would be wrong.

If this is right, why do I feel so empty inside?

A piece of my heart died today and I cannot get it back.

Gone with the hope of a person I thought I knew.

I understood what was at stake and I still let it happen.

Powerless of the outcome I could only stand idly by and suffer.

A piece of my heart died today and it will be felt for a long time.

Coming to me, a long time of hurt and agony that I should, but can’t ignore.

I hate being helpless, I hate being felt tossed aside, I hate this sickness.

It keeps happening to me no matter how hard I keep it inside.

My life always has a person who enters it and reopens that wound.

Things are too perfect, and usually that’s true.

From the very beginning I never had a chance, so why do I allow myself to try?

I look into their eyes and die, not knowing why, why I should still care?

A piece of my heart died tonight and it’s not coming back.

It flew away from me in the heat of pain and regret.

There’s only one way it can come back but this hope is a mere glimmer.

For sometimes I feel even our friendship just gets dimmer.

A piece of my heart died tonight, given away freely by infatuation.

Forcing my emotions to be more lost than ever before.

Why must I do the good thing, the decent thing right now?

The man thing to do is to let that go, but why, for once why can’t I just take?

For once it should work and win, for once it shouldn’t matter to anyone.

Because for once it should be the same, for once I should be right.

And the fact only one thing should really be keeping me back from whom I want.

It’s the timing, that’s all; the timing is all wrong so I have to let it go.

A piece of my heart died tonight; died while given to someone.

Someone who I have found fascinating and wonderful and great to be around.

But no matter how much there was in common and how much the same person we were.

I know deep down no good could ever come of it.

A piece of my heart died tonight in the arms of one I care about.

But, no matter how much emotion I could give to them, in the end there must be no more.

A piece of my heart has died; if it happens again I fear there will be no more.

Yeah, just down in the dumps sad, but that's where I am right now.

H.R. Green, 14th of November, 2009, 2:34 p.m. Burtchville, MI

B.A. (Bloodsuckers Annonymous)

Good evening, I hope everyone is well who receives this missive.


My name is unimportant as to what I wish to speak about tonight and quite frankly I really don't care as this is more a letter of enlightenment or warning. You see there are parts of what you all call entertainment in these modern nights that concern me. What I have found in the past is what you see on your medium desensitizes that masses and fills their brain with false feelings, such as a morbid type of hope. I wish to quash these feelings, not because I want to, and believe me this stuff has helped me yet hurt me greatly, no, because I deem it necessary. I am speaking, of course, on the legendary creatrue; the vampyre.

Now to those who know folklore well, vampyres are beings that are not to be trifled with and not to be lampooned. They were and are created to be predators of the night; they are the boogymen that keep you asleep at night and the monsters who prey on the innocent.

With that being said, let me tell you what they are not. Thanks to entertainment, and you all call it that, being in your mainstream like the Twilight movies and the "True Blood" and "Vampire Diaries" television shows, apparently you all think these creatures can be turned into the male model, Fabio. Plus they don't turn into Angel either...they don't have souls, period! If they show that they care it's because there's something in it for them, like a mobster, only one that cannot easily be killed. Vampyres do not look like Robert Pattinson so get over it. They may have possible better personalities than that actor, but, they are personalities that will kill you.

They also don't decide that one night they'll try to be more human. It is not in their D.N.A. So when you come across one, if you know it's one, don't draw attention to it because it's not a stuffed teddy bear. Hell, I've seen a commercial lately about a couple, the man being a vampyre and the woman his mortal plaything. Something makes me think that some entertainment executives are either vampyres or are controlled by them. Either way, it isn't alright to be messing with them.

They are the boogymen, the monsters; they are not nice and they will kill you and they most definately can act better than Robert Pattinson.

With regards,

Vlad.

Yeah, decided to have a little fun with this rant, making it a fictional letter to the masses by a real vampire, but still, I hate Twilight, "True Blood" and "Vampire Diaries," even as much as the touchy feely loving vampire that's en vogue. Kinda makes me wish that vampires did exist to teach these teeny bopper girls a lesson from their ignoramous chick lit. But then again, that's being really mean.

H.R. Green, 12th of November, 2009, 10:04 p.m. Burtchville, MI

Muses Hate Me

This post is a revised version from an introduction I did in one of my books. Because it was an intro from a special edition I did I'm going to start paraphrasing because the beginning is written to state that it was in fact a special edition and that I did some, maybe wonderful and maybe God awful stupid things with said book, I mainly wanted to talk about one thing, as I am going to do here; my muses. But to be more basic, the fact my muses tend, in the end, to hate me as I fall for them. I put poetry in the book, which usually is a bad idea, each piece inspired by a muse. My books as well has had some influence by some woman in my life, normally a woman who probably did not part from me on good terms.

Now it doesn't take a brain surgeon many people of the craft of writing or painting or sculpting or related art forms tend to have their muse for the piece they are working on and lots of times it is more than just a friend interest. That's how a lot of my poetry and song lyrics manifested and even some characters in my stories, they were heavily influenced by real life people, especially muses. I have a huge exception as the title suggests, my muses hate me.

Well, not just hate me, they have come to loathe me and avoid me like the plague. but guys, don't feel bad at all for me, after a decade of this crap you come to expect it from the female race and kind of get used to it; even get pleasantly surprised when one decides to hang around for a while. Plus, I do have this hang up about writing poetry. Even though it is a vital mechanic throughout literary history and a simple basis to create one's voice into the literary world, a lot of poetry I see and read, including my own, tend to be a lot of words put together in hopes that it might mean something to several readers. Think about it this way, I didn't put song lyrics into that special edition in fear that the pages might ooze with maple syrip from the sappy language that sit on the paper.

LeSigh, I still digress, my muses still hate me and they still haunt me.

H.R. Green, 10th of November, 2009, 8:55 p.m. Burtchville, MI

Enter: Marillion

This small short story is about a character in my current book Daemon, a werewolf by the name of Marillion. He's another character with many names but that is one he likes the most. The following is a story written seven years ago as a prelude to the Daemon novels. Okay, so I should call it one of the Daemon stories, just like "Daemon & Rowanne." There are a few others in existence but I decided on this one to get the fictional ball rolling with this blog...

H.R. Green, 9th of November, 2009, 5:24 p.m. Burtchville, MI

No ruling potential they said.

No strange presence?

No presence of mind?

Oh, how they were wrong about me...over one millennia ago.

***

I have gone by many names; Marcus, Matthew, Jerhal, Mikahl, and so forth. And I have been given very vile names such as Lecher of the Beasts and he who has the sense of humor of the grotesque. Those who have named me that are no longer with us are they? But I still am. Watching you all, and doing all that you will not know or hear about. I am the animal you always hear about but never see one of the original beasts; a lycanthrope, a werewolf, and, fortunately, I can control my disease! I am one of few.

Like all the rest of you my former self came into this world through the female species, as a normal human. My other birth, the one that gave me the powers of a god, I lived fifteen years to the day as a mortal until one day of hunting I was knocked out and awaken to a nightmare of pain and ecstasy and overwhelming confusion. Running around in a scared panic, looking for my tribe. Finally finding them after two days of delusions, I noticed changes in myself. I have become stronger; I have become faster. Every bit of blood tastes better, and every bit of pain feels better. I now scream for cause. I now howl for satisfaction. They soon found out what I became, and feared me. To the point, I have become more, but I did not know it at first. I dealt with lycanthropy as a disease. Something that was disgusted by all people and one I had to get rid of. Some tried to help me, most threw me aside. Until, what I call the freak brigade, decided all freaks of nature should be put to death to take them out of their misery. They found me, and decided I was one to be made an example of. But, I did not want to die. I HAD THE WILL TO LIVE! And I was not going to let a bunch of pathetic little yes men sent by the king to make that decision. The first time in my life, and I did not know then, but I know now why I suddenly thought this way. I was finally getting all of my reconnaissance back, and know whom I really was.

The brigade decided for the “mercy kill” at nightfall, so the creatures of the night could take the curse that was bestowed upon the [accused] to keep it with them. How wrong they were to find out about me.

There was a much motley amount together. What was called freaks then would be appalled by the likes of people like you. There were retards of all nature, including what you call Down syndrome and autistics. All who I could tell had their own personality should have had their own life, but they were hanged. Then they brought the psychos, the crazy people. The ones who talk to themselves, the ones who scream every time someone touches them, the ones addicted to various uncivilized drugs, the people who think they are what they are not, the accused witches and warlocks, and then there was me. I guess the bible huggers thought I might do something to disrupt the happenings. Fuck! The real reason was I was the main attraction. My first lesson in politics, and already I thought it sucked.

“We are here to pass judgment to one man,” the auditor looked over to me in much distain, “who calls himself Marcus on having the devil in him...”

“You never had a trial against me!”

“You bite your tongue, boy! You need not have a trial for you have the devil in you. We have to get rid of it!”

“What gives you the right?”

“We have all the right,” The preacher gets into my face. Man, how I did want to spit a nasty bloody loogie right up his protruding obnoxious nose. It is such a huge shaft that a mason brick could easily fit and the man could still breathe. “We are men of God.” He finishes his statement. So high in his fucking self I wanted to vomit on his neatly shined boots. So I did. It was not hard.

“It is just that attitude that I will enjoy your execution. You gotten too cocky ever since you were told you were to be put to death as a sacrifice to the demons of the land.” The preacher coldly whispers in my ear. “What makes you think that anything but death will happen?”

“What makes you think that I want anything BUT death, laddie?”

The man could not say anything, but scowled at me anyway knowing that I was sane enough to live and not die. Yet, so sane that I would kill when I want and how I want. I knew this too.

“Put the noose on the beast and wait for my signal.”

“Noose?” I thought to myself, “This will not hold me. It held most, but not me.”

“Let it be written, on the year of our Lord, 927 A.D. in the land of the Saxons, that we pronounce the execution and the exorcism of the man who calls himself Marcus. I pronounce you dead.” The preacher brings his arm down to start my hanging. Suddenly I feel great pain directly to my neck has the burning rope starts burning a small inferno into my neck. I twist my head back and forth as the pain intensifies and turns rougher and rougher and the sweeter when I finally blackout to only see my memories, or lack of them. I went back. Back to when I was in the forest when I first started my hellish ride. Now I am conscience to witness what happened to me on that night. But, I was not prepared to know what really happened to me. When I woke up after that night I had a huge headache and a throbbing, nagging pain in my left arm and the same type of pain in my right foot. I was not even close to healthy. I lay there with a limp lifeless body and waited. After a short time I heard movement in the background, then noises of animals. Soon I noticed they were wolves, slowly walking up towards me. There must have been five or six of them. They were stalking me, but I was already unconscious. Why did they have to be cautious with me? Then I knew. The last wolf to approach me, it seemed to be the leader, started licking certain parts of me. I knew I was a goner now. But this was a replay of my past, so the must not of killed me, but they certainly did hurt me a lot. Then the wolf gave me a nasty bite on my wrist, then my left leg. Soon the rest joined on in, like it was a common ritual to them. I did not hurt at all. Instead it felt kind of pleasurable. I knew now what I was, and the potential of what I can become; an ego trip. Well, I sure as hell needed it! I woke up to the real world with this memory, and much to my delight, finally changing to my full potential.

“You are trying to kill me with common rope?! Too bad you had no clue about me preacher.” I grabbed a handful of his hair, “ Now you shall DIE!” And I threw him to the ground, back first, a hard as I could, breaking his neck instantly. I knew it broke because I heard it.

“I’m hungry!” I look around at all the people present, and then I chose the one plumpest to my eye. “You’ll do fer now chubby!” And I commenced to have one of the best dinners of my life, even though it only lasted ten minutes. I distinctly remember a, what at the time I thought was gorgeous, scream at me “MY HUSBAND! You’re killing my husband!” I began searching for her. Somehow it was not hard to find her. I could smell her! I knew what town it was. I had to know what house.

I wandered the town a little bit searching for her. Everyone was in a panic to stop me from walking around. I did not know why they were afraid. I changed back. I guess not enough. I looked in a mirror and saw my face, but the eyes of a wolf. I smiled back at the mirror with admiration. Everything was coming to me now. I knew I was a god.

Then I found her. “Hello.” I yelled to the house. “Hello in there.” No answer. I guess I will introduce myself to the widow during this mass hysteria over me. So I knock on the door. “ Hello. Hello, Mrs. MacShithead, are you in there?” Still no answer. So I entered on my own only to be greeted rudely by an older mortal.

“Now that’s not a nice way to greet a new houseguest is it?” I grabbed the man by the neck and thrust him into a convenient chair. “Sit down and drink yer tea old man!” Now to my quest I thought to myself. “ Were are you my little pretty one. Where are you hiding?”

I quickly met up with the rest of the family, namely the mother and other two sisters; it seemed like, “Go away you vermin!”

“Now, normally I would fuck you hard then kill you for that comment, but you’re too old so I’ll just kill you.” I reached my fist into her chest, pulled out her heart then ate it. This made the other two women faint. Undaunted, I search for my princess. She was not hard to find, in her room it looked like, hiding under her bed, I pulled her from under it and tore off her clothes in one slash, creating a little bloody wound.. That is okay. They are better that way.

“You killed and ate my husband, you animal.”

“All, but his manhood. I cannot stand another man’s manhood.”

“Are you going to eat me too?”

“No. I’m going to have my way with you. Then I’m gonna have my way with those other two downstairs. Then I’ll leave this decrepit village.”

“How dare you-”

I slap her then turn back into the beast. “I dare very much because I can do anything.”

It only took me ten minutes with her, I think. It would have bee longer, but I had two others to do the same to then get the hell out of there. This was wonderful, quick pleasure. Next time I should remember to plan better so it would be longer. After I was done, I had to run out of here. I, of course, was unopposed. With the wind in my fur and a dust trail in the moonlight, I ran to the highest elevation point to yell back down onto the town.

“This town of Caledonia is now and forevermore cursed after your ill-treatment of me. Let it be written that I am the one to be feared by all whether it is in history or legend. My name and my soul will not brook any aggression. I now run the show! I am stronger, I am faster, and I am smarter than ANY of the likes of you and others in surrounding shires! In twenty years your next generation will be plagued with my disease and will rule over this town as much I can rule over you as well. I now will live forever on MY terms! I don’t even care if I’m damned for eternity. I’m going to live for an eternity and I might be so bold as to say I am eternity. May you never, ever forget the name, Marillion!”

Hence my lifelong adventure begins, for generations to come and go.

The Voice of Nothing

So I guess I wasn’t meant to write a blog. It’s the eight of November and nobody has read this for a month; so much for this idea and so much for the experiment. I’ll admit I was optimistic at first, but see how far optimism gets me; about four inches from the door. It is really daunting when someone does an entire article on trick questions to measure the common sense quotient of the American people and everyone reads that yet nobody ever knows about my own stuff.

“Can you end a sentence with the word ‘the’?”

Heh, funny; I was dead tired and still got in within a New York minute. That’s just one of many things that’s been bugging me but then anyone who may stumble on my blogging will figure that out easily, if indeed this thing doesn’t get shut down do to my own neglect. Of course another fault of mine is holding back. Sometimes you have to hold back or you turn into a complete idiot making absolutely no sense or alienating everyone who’s around you.

The world fucking sucks and hurts, yeah, I God damned get it, but once, just fucking once, I wish I could grab that glimmer of hope and ride it until I die. Sometimes it just makes me wonder if I’ll ever be able to tell, if I get that last chance, that it is a chance and not be too stupid to let it walk away in anger before I realize I missed my ride for the last time. I’m not surprised that this blog has turned to the way of almost anything else I’ve tried to do; an epic fail. Makes me wonder why I still try to write at all if it isn’t going to get me anywhere. (This includes the books, of course, which have be barely bought by anyone out there.)

Voice of nothing seems to be my title.

So I’ll put down introductions I’ve written in the past for my books that I’ve published or not, at least they find a home, maybe finish this one serialized story that I started back in the day and put here on this blog, maybe even post a bad poem here and there, but as it stands with a constant post with this blog, put a fork in this steak because it is done. The only way it can be resuscitated back to life if people actually read it and comment. Even if it’s a “fuck you” comment, by now, it’s something rather than nothing. Sorry to be a sour puss but this was not meant for me alone to read.

H.R. Green, 8^th of November 2009, 9:45 p.m. Burtchville, MI

Camping Around the Idiot Box

So a little while back I got enamored with a new television show called “Defying Gravity.” Unfortunately I knew this television show was doomed from the start. First, it was one I liked very much and second, it was an intelligent science fiction series. Well, it was as close to science fiction as the American networks would get. Only thirteen episodes of this show and it was suddenly scrapped, I knew I couldn’t count an both the networks and the viewing public to carry on with something that would actually make them think as well as entertain. ABC carried the majority of the episodes, just not all of them but thankfully I’m close to Canada, so I can see the last shows telecast from their networks. (I think it was CTV.) So what does ABC put into it’s place after the poor ratings? How about a rehashed sci-fi show from the eighties called “V?” And the idea was just as cheesy as it’s eighties counterpart; lizard people using synthetic skin to look more human who are about to destroy the human race. Yeah, it sounds like the same thing. I guess “SyFy” wins out again as more and more I get sick and tired of this bubblegum culture get stupefied by their little glass teat friend, a.k.a. “The Idiot Box” a.k.a. television. I know now why P.B.S. to me is getting cooler by the day.

Very little out there peaks my interest anymore. Granted there’s “House” and “Burn Notice” in the summer, and hopefully a “Warehouse 13” on the horizon, but beyond them we get stuck with franchised shows, as if we don’t have enough with one concept, we get force fed with multiples of the same shows, like “CSI” and “Law and Order,” now “NCIS” is beginning to be franchised. Granted some are good shows but they are too much of a good thing. What’s next? “Law and Order” the cartoon?

A while ago I watched the older scifi shows and realized from when I was a child up to now how one’s intellect may change. When I was eight I loved watching “Buck Rogers,” I thought that show was really cool and was pissed when they cancelled the show. I even had a little Twiki robot toy. When I watch it now I catch on more to the adult themes, mainly the difference in Buck’s knowledge of the twentieth century and his perpetual slang he constantly used that would confuse his friends. I didn’t get that part of the show when I was younger.

On the other hand, when I was younger I always fell asleep when Star Trek was on, and I really tried to follow it. I didn’t help that the local station at the time aired it on Sunday afternoon, right after church when I was fighting to stay awake during the sermons. After that torture was supposed to be naptime, usually. Now that I’m older and other Star Trek series came on I was able to get a better grasp on the original series, granted I’m not a trekker or trekkie, though my wife is, but I am now able to enjoy it a little more, however Star Trek Voyager and Enterprise was really pushing things, hence, the franchise comment above.

“Babylon 5”; great concept, was fun to watch, a beginning, middle, and end was a nice kick in the teeth to those “franchise” people. “Farscape” should have be given a better treatment than it was, but I guess the “Stargate” franchise was more important. Oh, by the way, “SGU” is ass. “Battlestar Galactica,” now there was something that was done right by “SyFy,” sort of; with their beginning, middle, and end, just way too fucking depressing. The earlier series and miniseries “1980” I never saw at first because bedtime was 9 pm for a long time. I missed a lot of decent TV because of that but I also missed a lot of shitty TV too. But, with the original series, I read the Book of Mormon, so I had an idea of the show’s concept. About the same with the new one, except this one had an ending and gave me a replacement word for my vernacular so I don’t swear in front of my children. That is always a good thing.

“Terminator: The Sarah Conner Chronicles” ended too fast, and so did “Firefly,” however both are just sci-fi, still a little entertaining, and not just because Summer Glau was in both of them. These are just a few examples I’m giving you all, I’m sure others out there can voice out a few other television gems that should have earned a better shelf life.

But the idiot box will always churn out shit, because the viewing public wants shit, so it will give it shit. However, nowadays, the gourmet shit is “reality TV.” And that’s a whole other rant.

TTFN

H.R. Green, 7^th of Novemeber, 2009, 11:30 p.m. Burtchville, MI

Pulp Toys

Okay, people wonder how weirdos lose their minds in the first place. I wish society would make up it's fucking mind as to what's acceptable and what is not, whether it pertains to sex, religion, fashion or stereotypes. The double standard of say one thing/do something different tends to get on my nerves. Today's topic, my friends, to put it generally, is toys.

Specifically, this Ken doll over here, smiling, looking like a million bucks, and yet another one that looks like it swings in the wrong direction to give it a little description; I mean, come on, what man would walk a dog out like that? But, more importantly, Mattel is telling girls to go out and get a man with loads of money, regardless of sexual orientation. Is it wrong? Yes. Can you stop it? No, not really. I am still waiting on trailer park Barbie to be created. Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll have a massvie recall on it due to bad taste? Okay, so the Ken doll is a collector's item, but, still, damn!

This is so disenchanting, my son tried, at least I think he tried, for a long time to stick to normal toys but that computer and those playing cards proved too addicting. Then again, he keeps his plastic swords to beat his friends with to get his agressions out so it isn't all bad. "We are the Knights who say 'Ni!'"

Then again, I shouldn't bitch too much, I am a part of the generation who thought the Atari 2600 was the shit. Actually it was the only game in town for a while. And wouldn't it be great if the video games were more lifelike? Well, they are now, and they're turning our's and our children's brains into moose poop. Television, doing the same thing, but when the toys get weird on you it's gotta give you some pause.

Remember the fucking Furby, anyone? The little A.I. stuffed animal that talked and "learned," that doll was evil! It was more evil than Teddy Ruxpin. The cartoons were not much better; cartoons, mind you, that tied themselves into merchandise in some way. YuGiOh was/is a show that was written around a collectable card game that it was based off of, so watch the show, see how the game is played, and imagine your dark magicians and dragons jump off the cards themselves. WHEEEEEEEEEE! At least with Transformers you can create a vehicle and turn it back into a robot. Pokemon and YuGiOh is just about as bad as playing Mystery Date; "Character's faces do not talk."

Well, on an unrelated not, this is the end of week three of the experiment and I gotta say, pretty fucking dismal. This is worse than my book sales and that's saying something. Not even a "you suck" comment on my blog. ::Shrugs::

Well, we will see if I can write any blogs in the next three days but I highly doubt it. It's convention time for me before I become a slave to the grind once again. If my books were bought, I wouldn't have this problem. TTFN

H.R. Green, 29th of October, 2009, 12:53 p.m. Flint, MI