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CC # 115: New Book Announcement

Hello Commons, I’m happy to announce the conclusion of the W-63 series, The 2020 Event |The Sideshows| is officially available on Amazon.

|The Sideshows| is a collection of 62 short stories that expand on the story told in The 2020 Event |The Main Event|; it also wraps up the W-63 series in a very HOW way. The Books page of the website has been updated so you can read the first four stories, and the bottom of this post will contain a link to the book’s page on Amazon, just in case you’re curious as to what those 62 short stories are about.

W-63 was my first fiction series and, when I started it, I had no idea it was going to end the way it did. But that’s the fun of telling stories – you don’t know how it’s going to go until you get it going, and when you do get to the conclusion, it’s usually pretty epic. I may be going out on a limb here, but if you read the whole series, you will not be disappointed.

I’m not sure there’s anything else to be said, so here’s that link I mentioned, plus the book stats and the series stats.

Book stats:

|718 Pages|231,955 Words|

Series stats:

|1,834 Pages| 536,791 Words| # of times the words person andΒ people were used: 0|

Be well Commons~

 

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THC Book Club: December ’19

Hello Commons, this is the last book club of the cycle. I read 24 books this year (not including my own) and wrote 5, and I probably read through those 5 at least 888 times each during the editing process… lots of reading lol. Here’s a little bit about my reads, my top 3 for the year and an update of what I’ve been working on.

December

  • The Drawing of the Three – Stephen King – 12/4/19
    • I tore through this piece of work like the words were about to vanish off the page. Follows Roland after holding palaver with the tarot card slinging The Man in Black; three cards were drawn, and three doors appear at the edge of the desert, near the sea. Makes me want to buy the entire series and read them all in one shot, tell you the truth, and perhaps next year I will.
    • The second entry in King’s Dark Tower series.
  • Lisey’s Story – Stephen King – 12/17/19
    • A story about a dead writer’s widow who more or less has to deal with her late husband’s ghost, and all the ghouls who are restlessly pursuing his unreleased manuscripts. Plus her occasionally catatonic sister. I was a little slow getting into it, but then I dove and the water never stopped splashing. If you’re the crazy writer type, you’ll dig this one.
  • The Institute – Stephen King – 12/30/19
    • I got this for Christmas, started reading it the day after, and finished four days later. It’s a 500 some odd page book. What can I say, the thing sucked me in. ‘Twas a Kingish December.

Top Three for the Year

  • Number 3: John Dies at the End – David Wong
    • This book is the catalyst that originally started me writing. I first saw the movie a few years ago high off my ass and I fell in love with it; it’s all about how this drug called Soy Sauce lets its users gain awareness of a world outside the normal one, and the tragedies that follow when the drug is used. It has two sequels, both of which were fantastic, and the author has another book called Futuristic Violence and Fancy Suits that would fill this slot if John Dies at the End didn’t exist. But it does, so it isn’t, and that’s about that.
  • Number 2: The Prince of Milk – Exurb1a
    • Not the only book I’ve read by the cosmic turtle, but certainly my favorite. Dude’s a well known YouTuber and an independent author, I originally found his videos a couple years ago, likely whilst high off my ass, and when I discovered he writes fiction? The buy button got smacked. The Prince of Milk is a novel about time travel, cats, and higher planes of existence and it’s written brilliantly. Dude’s got his own style and it fuckin’ works. He also has a short story anthology called The Fifth Science that would be filling this slot if I never read The Prince of Milk, but I did so it isn’t and now, number one.
  • Number 1: The Gunslinger – Stephen King
    • I’m just going to keep it short, this book fundamentally changed the way I look at writing, fiction, and literature in general. I don’t know what planet Mister King fell from, but I hope he stays on Earth when he reincarnates.
    • The Man in Black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.

Aaaaaaaaaaaand that’s it. 2019 was a wild ride. I wrote some stuff, did a lot of work on myself and then wrote some more stuff. And then, I wrote even more stuff. If 2019’s taught me one thing, it’s that other humans getΒ reeeeaaaal fuckin’ weird around you when you tell them you write books. Oh well, awkwardity never stopped me.

As for my stuff, I’m steadily making progress on the next part of The 2020 Event. It’s about 600 pages long so far and I have 13 more stories to add, then it’s time for part three. Outside of all that, I have a project that’s about halfway done that I’m planning to get back to when The 2020 Event is (finally, after three years) finished. There’s also another little project I’ve been floating in my head that will likely see the light of day post T2E, and chances are looking pretty good that I’ll start a YouTube channel at some point during 2020’s front half.

When I was in high school I was part of the cross country team, a sport that ran from the summer through the autumn, and we upheld a certain belief about it: championships are not won in the autumn, they’re won in the summer. My favorite thing about cross country is that anybody can do it, it’s just running, and all it takes to be good is time put in and energy invested. When you work your ass off during the summer, it pays off in the autumn.

2019 was my summer, and I put over 400,000 words of time, energy and work into my W-63 series (click here if you’re curious). Here’s to 2020 being my autumn.

Reading is fun. Be well Commons~

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CC # 114: New Book Announcement

Greetings Commons, I’ve a new book to announce today called The Abusive Runner’s Log. It’s a blank runner’s log that you can fill in to keep track of your times and mileage for a year (if you make a habit out of running) that comes with a mascot to keep you company. The mascot’s name is Footsie the Running Shoe. He is not to be trusted.

To be candid, this is just a silly little project that I threw together in a day to close out 2019 with 5 published books under the THC name. It’s not connected to any series; it does have something of a narrative but it’s more a practical thing than a piece of literature. You can buy it for $4.19 on Amazon by following this link.

2020 is looking pretty good, content-wise. Books shall come out. Until then, you can click here to check out all the books that I’ve already put out, read the beginnings, check the stats and even buy them! You don’t have to though, feel free to miss out.

Be well Commons~

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THC Book Club: November

I read one book this month. Here’s a little bit about it, plus an update of what I’ve been working on.

  • The Gunslinger – Stephen King – 11/5/19
    • Tells the story of the Gunslinger as he pursues the Man in Black across a desert in a world that’s moved on. Incredibly well written, the style is unique in all the best ways and the story grips you and drags you betwixt the pages. It was the first King book I’ve ever read and the best book I’ve read in a long time, I was starving for more when I was done.
    • The first entry in Stephen King’s Dark Tower series.

Aaaaaaand that’s that. I started the next book in the series and I meant to finish it for today but the planets didn’t align. Oh well, there’s always next month.

As for me, I’ve been busy shuffling back and forth between the library in town and my cave in the attic working on the next part of The 2020 Event. The manuscript’s about 380 pages long thus far and I’m hardly half way done; I’m hoping to get it published during the first quarter of 2020 but we’re going to see where the wind blows. I also have plans for two standalone books (one novel/la and one short story anthology) once all three parts of The 2020 Event are done, but that’s a ways off.

Lastly, and I’m just going to give this to you straight, kindly do not expect daily posts here in any way, shape or form until The 2020 Event is totally complete. I know, that’s very lame and probably comes off as lazy, but I just don’t want y’all to be disappointed. The 2020 Event has been boiling in my cauldron for a long time now and it’s ready to come into the world – I’ve gotta do what I gotta do to get it here.

But that’s October’s Book Club! The Gunslinger marks 24 books read thus far this year; if anybody has any suggestions, leave them in the comments and I won’t promise that I’ll check them out! And if you need something to read, I’ve written four books that are downright different than whatever you’re used to reading. This link will show you more.

Reading is fun. Be well Commons~

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A Giving Of Thanks

Hello Commons, today in my little world it is Thanksgiving. I’m not a hardcore turkey day guy, but I just wanted to take a moment to say that I’m thankful for this website and all of its followers. We’re nothing huge but we’re here and we’re growing slowly but surely, and the fact that you guys are still hangin’ with me really means the world. I’ve been doing this thing for a few years now and I won’t name names, but there are a few of y’all who have been reading and liking my stuff from the very beginning and the fact that you’re still here just blows the brain clear out of my skull. I appreciate all of you and I look forward to seeing us continue to growπŸ‘½

I’m also thankful I’ve been given the opportunity to chase my passion in creativity. In the past I’ve worked a few normal jobs, mostly in the retail and physical labor fields, and until I started being creative I never found happiness or fulfillment in my work or in life in general. That all changed when I started writing though; I want to recognize that some never get the chance to even figure out what their dream is, let alone to chase it, and I feel so fortunate that the universe has contorted itself in a way that lets me chase mine. Thank you so muchπŸ™

Lastly, I’m thankful that I’m still alive and kicking after going through the nonsense I’ve gone through in this life. I won’t get too into it here but a couple years back I hit my head so hard that my skull actually caved in, and I didn’t get immediate medical attention. Protip: get immediate medical attention if your skull ever caves in lmfao. But anyway, I’m still tripping over the fact that I woke up from that. Life is so fragile and short and precious, but despite the breakable nature of it all, I got another chance at mine; I don’t even know how to express the gratitude I feel for actually getting a second chance. Here’s to not wasting it!

So yeah. Happy Thanksgiving Commons, thank you for being what you are. I appreciate you, I truly don’t know what I would do without you, and I can’t wait to see what we become. Be well~

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Quotables: Ralph Smart

“Don’t say yes to someone when it’s actually a no to yourself.”

– Ralph Smart

I’m sure Ralph Smart isn’t the first one to say it but regardless, I’ve been doing a bit of this lately. Coincidentally, very little writing has gotten done lol.

That’s okay though, because I’ve written four other books. Click here to check out a list of them with links to read the beginnings for free. Or don’t. Regardless…

Be well Commons~

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CC # 113: Despair

Been sitting on this one for a few days, don’t know why.

Despair

I want to be an author
but some days I don’t want to write.

β€˜Tis a plight so truly awful,
I’m afraid to peer daylight.

I only roam the streets at night,
a sheet tied round my neck like a cape
with a mask and a fedora on my head.
My laptop’s dead, next book ain’t fin
and a joint hangs lit from my lip;
I gaze th’ moon, squint three eyes
and ask of consequence.

Then gray clouds blot out the stars,
the night turns black as air.

Despair grips my collarless shirt
and pleads for me to be fair.

β‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆ

I write books too, sat on these for a while before I released them. Click here to see a list of them and what they’re all about, or don’t. Regardless…

Be well Commons~

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CC # 112: *click*

The free book promotion has officially ended, big shoutout to the 9 lovely individuals who downloaded my ridiculous novel. I hope you guys enjoy it, I appreciate the hell out of y’all for checking it out. But anyway, here’s a random thing that I wrote.

*click*

I shoot from the hip β€˜til the clip is empty
like I run from the hip, talkin’ right and left feet.

Perfection, how could I ever top such a feat?
Lyrical insanity geared with an Eminemish clarity;
but at the same time
it’s not good; it plain rhymes
like airplane and fair game or mary jane and game time
it’s the same line.
Means absolutely nothing.
Scrawled only for practice,
like the act of running
to make your brain focus
first thing in the morning
before you eat breakfast
after Cannabis coffee.

So I grip my pencil, knuckles white like my teeth
whilst I whip on my soul to produce a complete
and full page poem, caged bird with a rhyme scheme
that it can’t stick to, dollar store glue and concrete?

Is it all unraveling? Am I searing the prime meat?
Nah, that’s just the *click* before the clip is emptied.

β‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆ

If you’re not one of the nine humans who got my novel for free, you can click here to see a list of all my books and what they’re about, plus links to read the beginnings for free.Β Can being the operative term; nobody’s going to make that decision for you.

Be well Commons~

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Quotables: Humanity

Librarian: “Have a good one.”

Me: “Oh I’ll be back.”

Librarian: “Oh, well okay. We’ll be here.”

– At the library when I was going home to eat lunch.

When I got back to the library, different librarians were working the front desk. Did they lie?

And is this really a Quotable? Or is it a nonsense post that I fabricated just to include that link down there? Life is perception, some woke-sounding nonsense, blah blah 420 blah.
β‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆ“I write books,” says I. “And you can check them out by clicking here.” Am I lying? Only one way to find out.Β “Also,” I continue, “click here to get the ebook of my novel about aliens that do psychedelic drugs The 2020 Event |The Main Event| for free from Amazon until November 19th at midnight!”

Be well Commons~

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CC # 111: Bowl

I wrote this poem late into the night; in the morning, it was not trash. Hallelujah.

Bowl

I know I can go to bed.

Shed these clothes,
don some sleeping pants,
tuck in and rest my head, yet I sit at my desk instead,
just sitting here,
zoning out, doing nothing.

Meditating, I guess.

I realize I’m on a quest;
I’m living life, life is a quest
but more the journey half and less the test,
and the destination isn’t to be known
until I’ve earned the salvation.

Salvation from what? I don’t know.
I mean really, is this a poem?
Or is it prose?
Or a note, scribbled upon an empty pad
when I’m pleasantly stoned?

Who knows; I’ve found my bowl.

β‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆ

I recently published a 600 page novel about aliens that do psychedelic drugs and the subjective nature of reality, and you can get the Kindle ebook for free until November 19th at 11:59 PM PST. Clicking here will bring you right to the page on Amazon.

Or you can click here to check out the other three books I’ve written. Whether you do or not…

Be well Commons~

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CC # 110: Today

Here’s a poem with zero context. Also, in a few days I’m gonna be having a free ebook promotion for The 2020 Event, my novel about aliens that do psychedelic drugs. You’ve been forewarned.

Today

Today,
just as tomorrow as yesterday.
Though each new dawn feels like a blank page
and each sunset the footstep of old age,
it’s all the same.

I’d like to think tomorrow symbolizes a better today,
whilst yesterday’s for lessons learned
and all the mistakes we’ve made.
But it’s all the same… and I fear it will be, too.
An everlasting moment whether the sky’s shaded blue,
blotted gray or shrouded out in black.
Today’s here, tomorrow’s a farce and yesterday isn’t coming back.

That’s not to say each day’s unlike an unscratched slab of slate
just waiting for you to β€œmake your mark” or whatever’ll get you to shake.
I tremble at the thought of this, a rat caught spreading the plague,
if yesterday and tomorrow are fake, then why not today?

I ask these existential questions but then again, does it matter?
Is life anything more than the emptying of one’s bladder?
Is it meant to be questioned as we fill up and repeat the cycle?
Or is this just a silly poem and the meaning seeker the psycho?

Tomorrow, today, the deranged and the sane,
it’s all just a game, just a way to fill the page.

It’s all the same.

β‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆ

I also write books, and they aren’t all the same. Click here to see if I’m lying, or don’t. Regardless…

Be well Commons~

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CC # 109: Poem

A poem titled poem that I wrote wh- poem. What? No, I mea- poem. Wait, wh- poem. N- poem. Poem.

Poem

The air is gray,
the sky is soot,
the ground a blanket, a shroud of dead leaves.

November’s morning breath,
a chill to the touch,
a gust of wind whisked through the trees.

This poem is quite dry,
the cold on my skin,
my footpace’s step as I run down the street.

Run it for the cardio,
do it for the sake of doing it,
the rain falling from the sky will not freeze.

But it won’t feel good either,
this poem is an eye-bleeder.
The rantings of a mad man who lives in a wooden cave?
The piercing of the veil that is societal charade?

Maybe both,
probably neither,
this exists now,
take a breather.

β‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆ

I also poem books. Poem is a poetry poemlection. Poem. Or poem. Poem…

Be well Commons~

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Quotables: Humanity

“Clearing a smudge with a dirty eraser makes greater the mistake.”

– Anonymous member of humanity

Overheard a grandfather-lookin’ guy say this at the library and liked how it was worded. Then, as I went to erase a smudge in my journal where I wrote the quote down, the smudge grew larger. Wouldn’t you know it, my pencil’s eraser was dirty. Existence is weird.

By the way, I write existentially weird books. Click this link to check them out. Or don’t. Regardless…

Be well Commons~

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CC # 108: Warm

I wrote this poem at a totally reasonable time, but I won’t specify the time because if it’s not past midnight, it’s not the same.

Warm

I wake up in my bed,
a cloud surrounds my head
and my feet feel colder under the covers.

When I stand my blood sloshes,
feet warm but I’m made nauseous,
and that’s after at least an hour of sleeping in.

But I’m not really sleeping, am I?
Laying on my side with one eye
smushed closed against the soft fabric
that sheaths my sheeted pillow,
whilst I breathe and leak a billow
of steamy breath from my paired lungs.

Bored of the baseboard
based on basting hordes
with hot air borne in uniform;

I throw back the covers
and brace as I’m smothered
by cold air that makes me feel warm.

β‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆ

I’ve written a few books, one of them’s a poetry anthology with 70 poems. Click here to check them out. Or don’t. Regardless…

Be well Commons~

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CC # 107: Anxiety

It’s been a while since I’ve written a poem. This one was done at around 3 am.

Anxiety

Anxiety; what a bitch.
Nothing rhymes with anxiety.
Nothing vibes with it either,
your soul left to teeter on the edge
of possibility and putrid inferility…

That’s not a word.

Yes it is, I created it
so fuck whatever you heard.
It means inferiority,
like a sheep without a herd
with an essence of insecurity
and a total lack of purity,
bleating its woolly head off
avoiding dreadful infertility.

But why pass on genes
afraid to burst at the seams?

Dirty wool shaves makes pants never clean.

β‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆβ‰ˆ

I’ve written a few books, one of them’s a poetry collection. Click here to check them out. Or don’t. Regardless…

Be well Commons~

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THC Book Club: October

I read four books since the last time I made one of these. Here’s a little bit about them.

  • Vanishing Point – David Markson – 9/3/19
    • A story told through the format of index cards with ideas that the author (an old dude named Author) wanted to incorporate into his story. By the end of it, he gets totally lost in the process and goes functionally senile. Good read.
  • The Prince of Milk – Exurb1a – 10/1/19
    • A very existential story about cats, time travel, higher dimensions of reality and a small town in Belgium. Fantastic read.
    • At one point I was reading this book in a park whilst waiting for the local library to open and a blonde woman asked what I was reading because I seemed like a hippie who knew what was what, according to her. I told her, “It’s called The Prince of Milk,” and she asked me, “Wait, is that about that one gay guy in San Fransisco who would rape and kill a bunch of other gay guys, and like… milk them?” No, hell no, fucking hell no. Blondes are weird, man.
  • Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas – Hunter S. Thompson – 10/10/19
    • A psychotic and somewhat despicable story of a journalist and his lawyer going to Las Vegas and doing as many drugs as they could get into their system and then some. Loved it.
  • The Prey of Gods – Nicky Drayden – 10/29/19
    • A story taking place in South Africa about ancient gods, robots, a psychedelic drug, a gay couple and a cross dressing politician who just wants to sing. It was a wild ride, included a lot of South African cultural stuff that I wasn’t familiar with but a good read overall.

That marks 23 books read thus far this year; if anybody has suggestions I might check ’em out, no promises though. I’ve also written a few books of my own, they’re downright dubious. You can check them out here.

Reading is fun. Be well Commons~

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Quotables: Stephen King

“If you don’t start out too big for your britches, how are you gonna fill ’em when you grow up? Let it rip regardless of what anybody tells you, that’s my idea; sit down andΒ smokeΒ that baby.”

-Stephen King, The Gunslinger

And a hell of an idea at that. I suppose when you spend your time surrounded by humans who’ve been raised to believe that falling in line and not standing out is the best way to live, you get accustomed to the idea that accentuating your true colors is arrogant and blasphemous. But, to quote Royce da 5’9″, “What the fuck does humble mean?”

By the way, I write weird books. One of them is about aliens that do psychedelic drugs. Click this link and dive your ass down my rabbit hole, or don’t. Regardless…

Be well Commons~

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Quotables: Humanity

“The single greatest problem with communication is the illusion that it’s taking place.”

– Anonymous member of humanity

In a world connected by isolation-inducing social media platforms, communication is hard… he says in a post on a social media platform. Yikes. I can’t help but feel that if humans could simply evolve the ability to read each other’s minds, life would be easier. Or at least more straightforward.

Then again, what would be the fun in that? Be well Commons~

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Samples Of My Books

Hello Commons, I’ve added a few pages to the website today. If you go to the page where all my books are described (or just scroll to the bottom of this post) you can read the first chapter from each of my books. I want everyone to read my stuff, and I wish the gears of our planet weren’t oiled by dollars, but uh… they are.

SO, please feel free to get a glimpse into what you would be getting into if you were to buy any of my books. I would recommend The 2020 Event if you’re going to check any of them out because, yanno, aliens on psychedelic drugs and whatnot. But that’s your call to make.

Running: How to Torture Yourself and Enjoy It |The Unvictimized Edition|

Roadtrip: The Gramango Edition!

A Lyme-Brained Rhyme Game

The 2020 Event |The Main Event|

Be well Commons~

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Quotables: Humanity

“You can write the best book in the entire world, but if nobody buys it, it means nothing.”

– A friend of mine whilst hiking with me

Art doesn’t matter if nobody will give you money for it; certainly a bold statement if nothing else, especially coming from a non-artist. Ironic how the speaker hasn’t bought any one of my four books, despite him telling me he was inspired by the one I gave to him for free. I suppose some would rather see you stagnate than help you grow, oh well.

Humans are interesting. Be well Commons~

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CC # 105: Two Books in One Post

It hasn’t been a year, but the next two entries in my W-63 series are out. Well, they’ve been out for a little while now; I slacked on announcing them for reasons similar to the reason there wasn’t a THC Book Club in September: because I’m lazy. So here they are:

Roadtrip: The Β‘Gramango! EditionΒ (A ~120 page novella)

  • A self-important Jersey-flavored author guy who lives in an alternate universe took a road trip down to North Carolina and wrote a book about it. Now, a few months later, a more self-important version of the same author reads the book to his grandmother because he needs a reason to republish it. [Paperback] [Kindle]

A Lyme-Brained Rhyme Game (A ~200 page poetry anthology)

  • Hunter Owens Wallace is a writer who lives in a universe that lies parallel to our own; this is his third book, an anthology of poetry and thoughts that were written over the course of the three years of his life that he insists he spent infected with Lyme disease in his brain. He’s very happy to be releasing this now that he’s cured the ailment, and he invites you to read along as he becomes one with himself through his written works. Available as a [Paperback] only.

I probably should have just announced them as they came out but hey, this whole independent author thing is still fairly new to me. The next book, which probably won’t see the light of day for at least another decade or so, will have its own post. Until then, please buy my shit, and as always…

Be well Commons~

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Quotables: Horoscope

“How you get there isn’t as important as where you want to go.”

– Today’s Taurus Horoscope, according to one of the myriad of websites that provide daily horoscope readings

When you’re working on a big project you usually get an idea in your head of how the process is going to work… or at least, I do. Then, when you start to realize your process is flawed, you start to freak out… or at least, I did. Then you realize something:Β It doesn’t fucking matter how you get there, just as long as you get there in the first place… or at least, I realized this.

I’m not sure what y’all are going to get out of this, but whatever. Here we are.

Be well Commons~

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rePurpp: Man Cave Table

I rePurpp’d an old metal patio table for a friend of mine who recently moved out of our hometown. His new bedroom is the basement of his house and it’s huge; he uses half the space as a bedroom and the other half as a man cave – big screen TV, subwoofers, a DJ station, it’s dope. But, before today, he was lacking in a table to put between his television and his new futon.

Another friend of mine just happened to have an old, rusty, paint-bubbled-up-from-the-mold-or-humidity-or-something patio table sitting in his basement that he was trying to get rid of. It looked like this:

Before (2)So I bought it off him for $10, slammed it with an orbital sander (among other sanding tools) and repainted it black; sold it for $50 too, not a bad flip.

What was old and nasty was rejuvenated and given a whole new lease on life, plus I turned ten dollars into fifty. Not bad for a weekend’s work. Be well Commons~

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Insomnia Post 9: A Conscious Universe

This’ll be short, and it’s more of an observation than anything else, but damn does it have me shaking my head. Tl;Dr: our Universe is cheeky as fuck.

It’s 2 AM and I think the Universe may be conscious; I call her Uni when I talk to her. The thing about her is that she is me; if you want to read this from your perspective, then read it how I’ve written it because I wrote it this way for a reason.

Today, a certain choice was presented to me: either A, work on a poetry collection that I will hopefully be publishing soon, or B, pick some stuff up from a dude I know to sell. Nothing illegal, don’t worry. I tried to pick the stuff up from the dude, but literally within seconds of me texting him, my cell phone’s service randomly died for no reason; the phone deactivated itself.

So after a 3 hour phone call with 3 different Verizon workers, I was told I need to bring the phone to a Verizon store and they would fix it. But, since it was nearly 9 PM by the time I got off the phone, I would have to go tomorrow. Whatever. So I get to working on the poetry collection, I get it all sorted and whatnot and randomly decide to check my phone. After I got the poetry collection work done, like seconds after I finished working is when I checked my phone, the fuckin’ thing came back on and started working fine, as if nothing had happened.

This fucking Universe, I love her but she’s so cheeky!

Look, it’s probably a coincidence. But like… what if it’s not? It reminds me of this other strange thing that happened a week or two ago. I was hiking with a couple dudes I knew in high school, one of them told me he felt his third eye open just like I did. He also told me a story of how he was watching a movie and, in this movie, there was a very old 1930s mobster car that would pull up and take the main characters back to the 1930s. Well, the very next day after he watched the movie, he was listening to a song and as the beat dropped, the following lyrics hit his ears: “Life is a dream.”

At the exact moment that he heard those words and the beat dropped, well wouldn’t you fucking know it, the exact model of car from the movie the previous night came flying around the corner and almost ran him over. Fuckin’, what?

The kicker: during our hike, I was trying to tell him that there might actually be something to the wholeΒ third eye/reality isnt all that real thing. He didn’t believe there was anything special about it because, according to our mainstream scientific beliefs, all that spirituality shit is jsut that – bullshit. The way I see it though, as far as mysticism and the science surrounding the inner workings of consciousness and reality at large goes, well… humans don’t know shit. It would be impossible for a scientist to study the third eye if that scientist’s third eye never opened, and you’ve got to work at it if you want yours to open. It’s not something that just happens for no reason, in a way you have to earn it, kind of like how you earn a diploma for sitting though school.

What I’m saying is that we, the humans, are the scientists, as far as our consciousness goes. In essence, and I say this in hindsight, it wasn’t my plan when I went hiking with the dudes, but in essence I was trying to convince the third eye dude that maybe the picture of reality that humans hold so near and dear is wrong. I was trying to free him from a closed mind, said in hindsight; I was trying to liberate his spirit.

Fuck that sounds so high and mighty, the actual events did not have that undertone.

Anyway, on the drive home from the hike, shortly after dude told his car story, we all saw a suped up muscle car with hydraulics with the wordsΒ The LiberatorΒ emblazoned across the side. Everyone saw it, one of the dudes even called it out. I’m real tempted to say that was probably a coincidence too but I live in a pretty small town, lived here for twenty years, and I’ve never seenΒ The Liberator driving around. So why on that specific day?

Why did the sighting of this car line up so perfectly, in a thematic and synchronized way, with what we were talking about and what was going on during the day???

Either its all a coincidence or none of it is; by the very definition of a coincidence, coincidences happen far too often to actually be coincidences. So like… and I say this as if I don’t live my life this way already, but… what if life is actually this dream-esque, mystical, spiritualΒ thingΒ that we all actually control as we go through it, but it appears as if we don’t because we’re looking at it from the perspective of a human and not from the perspective of the Universe herself.

Because if the Universe is conscious, it has a perspective. And every single human being, every single living being, is part of that perspective. Maybe humans play a very special part in the Universe, maybe we’re the missing link between the physical and the metaphysical. Maybe humans are here for a reason other than working to serve a global economy.

Maybe reality’s all entirely pointless, maybe it has a point that’s only revealed when we die. Maybe it’s something else entirely and I’m as crazy as the humans who think you live once, there is nothing outside of physical reality and that any inexplicable occurrence is… well, ignored.

Maybe it’s whatever you want it to be, as long as you want it hard enough. Maybe I’ll fall asleep soon. Be well Commons~

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Quotables: UBI

“A couple of dudes I know are moving slow/ In music you do or don’t/ Diligence only way you improve or grow.
You one the fence-ass rappers getting sent back/ My pen packing a punch that’ll punch a hole in your synapse.”

– UBI,Β What It Takes offΒ Under Bad Influence (2019)

What can I say, I’m hooked on this album. Replace the wordΒ music withΒ <insert passion here> and you’re golden. Be well Commons~

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Quotables: Info Gates

“I ain’t really vibin’ with the massess/ tweetin’ bout it while they on they asses/ swimmin’ in the gas while they playin’ with the matches/ it’s ashes to ashes/ it’s madness.”

– Info Gates,Β Madness off UBI’sΒ Under Bad Influence (2019)

Ain’t nobody chasin’ after average. Be well Commons~

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Quotables: UBI

“See I don’t live like a sheikh in the palace/ On a peak in the mountains/ lemme keep this in balance.
I live somewhere between the streets and the calculus/ Somewhere between a voodoo priest and an alchemist”

UBI, from Involved off Under Bad Influence (2019)

They say balance is key. Be well Commons~

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CC # 104: Running: How to Torture Yourself and Enjoy It: The Unvictimized Edition

Earlier this year, I published a book called Running: How to Torture Yourself and Enjoy It. When I wrote and published it I was in a very negative place; I was angry at the world, confused, sad, probably a little bit disassociated, and I meant for the book to be something of an auto-biography.

Then I read it back to myself and decided that it was the most ridiculous fucking thing I had ever read.

So, naturally, I reworked it into a fictional satire piece and called it The Unvictimized Edition! It’s now the first book in a series that I’m doing called W-63; all the books in this series are written by Hunter Owens Wallace, a man who lives in an alternate universe and has a name similar to my own. There’s absolutely nothing abnormal about him and I’m not sure why you’d assume there was. Just totally normal books, nothing to read into.

If you have money for me, Running is currently available on Amazon as a [paperback] and an ebook on [Kindle]. It’ll probably be ten years before the next book in the series comes out but hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Be well Commons~

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The End of an Era

Death – a floating legless skeleton in a dark cloak that carries a scythe, even though his bones lack the muscles and whatnot to do so. It’s a very interesting character, if not an ironic one. I’d bet the human that originally made it up was a farmer. The remains of a human after roasting in the sun and having the meat stripped by insects and vermin, the tattered sun cloak, the farming tool – the character’s an embodiment of a farmer’s greatest fear: themselves, after working themselves to the bone in the fields until nothing remains but their skeleton, their sun protection and their chosen paddle for the upcoming rowboat ride across the River Styx.

That’s just the thing about death though, it’s not an end. It’s a transition, a change, the end of one thing and the beginning of the next. I say all that dramatic stuff to say this: The Hillside Commons has officially passed away, quietly in its home after an entire month of no posts.

The Hillside Commons, however, has arrived to fill its place. What’s the difference? Well, the first THC was the name of a campsite that I also used for this blog, whereas the current THC is my legal Doing Business As name for my company rePurpp.

This means that some changes are coming to this digital domain I’ve got going on here; I would love to say that I’ll write one, if not multiple blog posts every day, put out a new book every month for the next eight months (including this month), keep up the daily posts on the Instagram (thehillsidecommons) that you’re now aware of, and a whole bunch of other great Commonsy stuff, but I’m wise enough to know that my saying that will guarantee that it doesn’t happen.

So let’s just say some changes will be coming, and leave it vaguely at that. Be well Commons~

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THC Book Club: August

Well… despite failing to follow up on what I said, nothing got released in August. Tomorrow I’ll make a post revealing the fate of The Hillside Commons, but that’s then and this is now, and now, it’s the August rendition of The Hillside Commons Book Club.

I read one book this month, and got halfway through another before giving up. Here’s a little bit about the one I actually finished:

  • The Fifth Science – Exurb1a – 7/12/19
    • An anthology of short stories taking place throughout all of time, following The Galactic Human Empire from its inception to its demise. Consciousness played major undertones in all the stories and it was written by a youtuber I’ve been watching for a few years now, so that’s pretty cool.

That’s all. So uh, yeah, tomorrow I’ll announce what’s going to happen with this website. Until then… reading is fun. Be well Commons~

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THC Book Club: July

Blah, blah blablah blah blah, I read a whole book in July. Here’s a little bit about it.

What the Hell Did I Just Read?: A Novel of Cosmic Horror – David Wong – 7/4/19

  • The third installment in the John Dies at the End series, it was definitely a novel. Definitely some cosmic horror. Definitely enjoyed reading it… not sure what it was, but I definitely enjoyed reading it.

Cave life has been real lately. Thanks to some extenuating circumstances I’ve been bound to crutches for a few weeks. Probably not handling the situation in the best way I possibly could be but hey, we live and we learn. Should be releasing some stuff in August, we shall see.

Reading is fun. Be well Commons~

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CC # 103: Silent

Be well Commons~

Silent

I scurry across the floor of my cave like a mouse.
The sun burns my eyes, I barely ever leave the house.
Y’all probably think I’m a shut-in now, devolving myself out.
But I scribed 500 pages, the fuck y’all on about?

A hundred eighty thousand words typed on a screen
all supplied by the voices that no longer scream.
As much as I want to, these days I hardly even smoke weed
so I can supply y’all some lines with meaning in between.

My poetry isn’t deep, it’s a pillow for you to sleep
while you’re resting easy knowing that the mouse still creeps.
The rodent’s just decided to no longer pip or squeak,
I prefer to drop bombs and stay silent for weeks.

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THC Book Club: June

Despite hardly leaving my cave, I read two whole books in June. Here’s a little bit about them.

Futuristic Violence and Fancy Suits – David Wong – 6/3/19

  • A novel set in a Futuristic city about Violence that revolves around, but is not necessarily caused by, men who wear Fancy Suits. There’s also a girl and her cat. Can’t wait for the sequel.

This Book is Full of Spiders: Seriously Dude, Don’t Touch It – David Wong – 6/18/19

  • The second novel in the John Dies at the End trilogy; the friends who took the drug that (kind of) lets them communicate with Hell get tackled by a zombie apocalypse. OffersΒ a very unique take on the whole “zombie” thing, truly superb.

I would have read more but I put about 100,000-ish words into the draft of a novel that I’ve been trying to write for three years now. If you have suggestions for me, still keep them to yourself. I’m going back in my cave.

Reading is fun. Be well Commons~

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Critical Thinking: Gargoyles

This is a perfect example of why I can’t stand Facebook people, or people in general. Humans or bust, aliens even better!

So, in my town there’s a private group called “TownName Voices” where people like to bitch about things they don’t like in the town. Somebody posted a picture of graffiti on a dam that’s in my front yard,Β that’s been there for at least a month now,Β and the ensuing comments devolved to the following state:

“This is a crime beyond normal graffiti. This isn’t BadCity or OtherBadCity or innercity acceptability. This is a pristine pure image that has violated our community at place designated for a view and example of the many wonders of TownNames beauty. ThisΒ is a violation to us all. This should be prosecuted to the full extent and advertised of hiw we treat the lowest form of disrespect with this particular vandalism! I’d put a picture of the person in his jail cell to warn all that this town is like no other because we all pull together to keep it wonderful.
Paint your backpack, paint your bedroom, draw on your book cover, participate on our wall, display your work on canvas, or get a permit to make public display. This graffiti at this vista is a sin.”

So being the cheeky bastard I am, I went out at midnight, cleaned the graffiti, posted pictures of the cleaned handrail and said the following:

“Shout to all my gargoyles that would rather perch up on the roof of their private Fakebook group than swoop down and clean up the “violation to us all” in their backyardπŸ‘πŸ’―πŸ‘½”

Here are my pictures:

Stay off the rooftops. Be well Commons~

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CC # 102: Keep in Touch

I quite like this one, it’s a whole roller coaster of emotions and enlightenment. Be well Commons~

Keep in Touch

Keep in touch.

Hearing those words used to put me in a huff.
Like, what the fuck is stopping you from keeping in fucking touch?
What, are you too busy building up a fucking bluff
just so I can call you out from outside your fuckin’ rut?

Then I realized, that attitude stinks worse than a butt.
The others aren’t malicious, their lives just fuckin’ suck.
They’ve lived the groundhog day so many times that they’re stuck
placing bets on a lottery, hoping for a stroke or luck.

If that’s true, all my sub-peers must be stupid as fuck.
Trading their paper for other paper that amounts to… what?
Disappointment, plus another bottle of brew in your gut.
Wow, living on a prayer must be pretty fuckin’ tough.

But then I realized, this world is pretty fuckin’ rough.
The humans do their best but they’re running out of trust.
The parasitic gov holds a hand out, wearing a glove,
demanding their piece, their cut of your fuckin’ stuff.

And you’ve got kids to feed, or an ass that you’ve gotta bust
β€˜cause it’s the only way you know how to clean off all the rust.
I hope to leave this place one day, and when I do we’ll discuss
how much I enjoy your presence, and my hope that you

Keep in touch.

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Quotables: Self

“If I seem to come off like you’re a pain in my ass, it’s because I see through humans like translucent panes of glass.”

– Self, laying naked in bed wishing I could fall asleep all the while knowing my time would be better spent writing.

Satisfiction, attention, listen, play your position, player. Be well Commons~

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CC # 101: Carry

Something just kind of hit me a few nights ago. Be well Commons~

Carry

I’m tired and lonely but I don’t feel alone,
I just kinda wish someone would answer the phone
when I call hoping to be smoked up, monotone
is the opposite of my voice, I’m the drunk version of stoned.

I don’t wanna carry β€˜till the novel’s complete,
not to mention the short stories, totaling near fifty,
because I’m not crazy enough to know I’m not wasting time;
if the shit don’t go well some reserves would be fine.

Not fine like how ya drunk girlfriend is feeling,
Better than the okay taste of an orange peeling.
Even flyer than this shitty poem that I scrawled without thinking,
when I don’t have herb to smoke I always end up drinking.

So instead I carry the sober burden on my shoulders,
the bullshit being heavier than the heaviest of boulders
that the pioneers would drive for miles right over
the very same ground that sprouts out four-leafed clovers.

I wish I had a mentor to tell me how to think,
this shaman mindstate has me constantly on the brink
of embracing the spirit life while I wash myself off in the sink
because just in case I’m wrong, I don’t wanna be the guy that stinks.

So I constantly carry with me a cacophonous doubt.
I can’t even tell you what this fuckin’ poem’s about
but I’m laying in the dark writing it against the couch
as I shatter the glass labyrinth with the strength of a mouse.

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rePurpp: Headphone Necklaces

I found a use for dead headphones. There was a pile of them nesting in the drawer of one of my dressers, desperately trying to make a connection but, alas, they all have male connectors. I also had some pendants from pre-ordering Tech N9ne CDs, because they do it right at Strange Music, that I had no idea what to do with. Then, it hit me.

I fed the headphones through the pendants and tied them in a loop and viola – artsy necklaces. What better to be used as a chain for a necklace commemorating a music icon than the very things used to enjoy his work? The black one is even adjustable. Here’s a couple pictures:

IMG_1562

IMG_1563

I don’t even wear them to tell ya the truth, they hang decoratively from my CD collection. It’s fun to give old things a new life. Be well Commons~

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Quotables: Alan Watts

“The true Bodhisattva state is very difficult to pin down as being neither supremely religious or blatantly secular. And, people who think that the height of Buddhism or the height of Zen is to be perfectly ordinary is to miss the point like the atheist has missed the point.”

– Alan Watts

The concept of the Bodhisattva is quite curious to me; one who, in Buddhism, is capable of reaching Nirvana but puts it off to help others, out of compassion. Jesus was this type of person, as were many others across the ocean of time, I’m sure.

Everyone’s capable of reaching enlightenment, or so they say. Listening to others has never gotten me very far, although this time I have to agree. Be well Commons~

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CC/Insomnia Post # 99/8: Banishing the Lyme Demon

Greetings. A forward to this piece of content: I haven’t gottenΒ sleepless weird in a while, but this shit that I’m about to share… let’s just say it comes straight outta the special journal I keep that I call The BlueBook because everything I write in there has to do with some weird, paranormal spiritual-type shit. This is the first paragraph, read the rest by clicking here.Β Or don’t; I actually might prefer if you didn’t. Regardless, be well Commons~

Banishing the Lyme Demon

What you’re about to read is weird, very out there, as it were, and reading it back to myself… well, if I was anybody else I would think it was a work of fiction, but like, I wrote it so I know that it happened. I think I had neurological Lyme disease, as in the fucking bacteria was inside my brain. I’ve felt symptoms of bodily Lyme since I was 10 years old, but after a head injury in β€˜17 I slowly watched myself descend into a dark pit of pseudo-schizophrenic insanity over the course of a year and a half, and then something happened. I think I cured myself, somehow, and I think it has to do with spirituality and psychedelics. But that’s all what I think; what I know: after what I call β€œThe Banishing” happened, I woke up feeling better than I have in literally years.

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Jahona Rustles in the Bathtub

Hello Commons, I hope you’re doing well. The following has been saved as a draft on WordPress since December 22nd of last year. I’m not entirely sure what it is.Β 

I vaguely remember the characters, and that there are other parts of this story, but otherwise this fragment is all I have. So, I thought I’d share it so the little 1 in the circle would go away.Β  Good luck and have fun.

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“I don’t even fucking know what he took, he’s doing drugs again though,” she says into the phone, voice hoarser than a cough. “He always does this, one tiny variable gets thrown in and he just freaks right the hell out and chases a skanky Alice down the most glorious rabbit hole he’ll ever know.”

“The most glorious one he’ll ever know, you say?” he returns, amused.

“Yeah, because he never fucking stops doing drugs.”

Jenna damn near sprains her finger ending the call. She drops her phone to the carpet and throws herself backwards onto the bigger of the two couches, landing daintily. The fox didn’t love getting hit in the head but he probably shouldn’t be in the couchtunnel anyway, he knows better; he just wants attention because it’s lonely in the burrow.

After a few more moments of unknowingly sitting within inches of a grown red fox, Jenna stands up and walks over to the bathroom door. Her lower back fuses its bottom three vertebrae as she tries to bend and then separates them again as she stands with her other cell phone in her hand. Jahona watches her walk away, wishing she had come sooner so she could have heard the phantasm.

The couch trades phones with Jenna and gets jealous when she has somebody to call. Nobody calls the couch, Johanas can hear it weeping from the tub. The tub too weeps, but not for solitude; the tub is full of ‘Hona.

“Can you come over, please?” she asks desperately into the phone, zero introduction given. A moment of listening, then, “No, he’s not… okay first of all, we’re not fucking and we’re not a thing, and second of all, he’d never hurt a fly. Plus, I’d kick the shit out of him if he tried, times, he’s always too zonked on whatever to do any real damage.”

She listens intently for an entire minute, cleaning her spotless fingernails with her bottom teeth all the while.

“Yeah, and he said Crizzle is coming.”

Listening, then she peers out her window to see the massive leg of the evening patrol loom past. The curtain shudders less than she as it comes to settle in front of the glass.

“Yep, still going. Can’t imagine them stopping very soon, you’re best to just be sneaky.”

The conversation ends of natural causes. Jenna flips the phone closed and plops again, this time the fox is long gone. He has a mission, he heard the rumbling in the human woman’s stomach from the smaller of the couches. It resonated with his own in strange ways; he must remedy the harmony.

There’s a knock at the door. Jenna grunts and then stands. She looks through the peep hole and almost turns right around but the evening patrol will be back at any time. The blood of an innocent can’t be on her hands.

She closes the door faster than she opens it. From beneath a beret, the blonde boy smiles chipper.

“G’day, madame! Thank you for entrance, vampires are not welcome with invitation and you did not invite me, so you don’t even have to worry about all that. Look, do you have a moment to talk about H-”

“HUSH NOW!” Jenna screams. She doesn’t know it, but the scream startles Jahona in the tub and he thumps his head against the tile. “It’ll hear you, idiot. No, I don’t want to hear your sad little story, I stopped dosing a long time ago.”

She grabs the boy by the collar of his runner’s cloak and drags him to the curtained window. There, with one hand tufting his hair, she makes him watch her unlock and open the window. It slides silently, she’s oiled it well.

Then she slams it shut and the catch makes not a peep, incredible.

“When it passes this window, you count to five. Then, you open and peer around the corner to make sure you didn’t count too fast; if it’s gone, you go and that’ll be that.”

“That’ll be that?”

Jenna walks away and sits on the couch. The boy does as he’s told, wishing he could tell his story. He won’t eat, he won’t sleep, he won’t be welcome back to the brood, not until he tells his story. The evening patrol passes. The corpulent black spire reeks of barlmΓΌt.

The little blonde boy opens the window but pauses, turning back. “Miss, are you certain I cannot tell you my story?”

Miss takes the second cell phone in her right hand and lobs it over her right shoulder, missing the boy and shattering the empty space of the open window. It clacks against the road. The boy gasps audibly but Jenna doesn’t make a sound – she tried to stay out of it, he just wouldn’t let her; his innocence is lost.

The boy closes the window silently, opens it, and closes it again and then repeats the process five times. Then, the broad hand of the patrol sweeps through. The boy is swept with it.

Jahona bursts from the bathroom, missing one pant leg and half the hair from his left arm. They don’t own a hair trimmer.

“Jon,” Jenna mouths, pointing dismayed at the open window.

Jahona sprints and closes it tight, clipping the locks. He watches the evening patrol pass, its beefy stomp inaudible, then draws the curtain.

“What the fuck dude, what’re you on??” Jenna floats lightly, as not to scare him off.

“What’re you off, ladybeans?” Jahona retorts, retreating to the kitchen to unjar a pickle. “You want a sour one?”

“Yeah, hit me.”

Jahona throws a sliver of pickle as he would a kunai knife across the apartment. Jenna catches it between two fingers.

As the vinnegar settles, “Dude, just tell me. We have the rule, you’ve gotta tell me.”

“That’s the thing,” a bite of pickle. Chewing. “I don’t,” swallow, “remember,” bite of pickle, another bite of pickle, smaller than the first. “That’s just the shit,” enough chewing to piss off a cow, then a swallow to piss off an uppity audience if’n it was joked about, “I have no idea. I don’t know Jack from Cracker right now, and you can keep the caramel off my corn, dizzy.”

“Man what the fuck?” Jenna sighs as she leans back into the couch, her pupils examining the inside of her skull. “Maybe you should just go back in the tub, dude.”

Jahona springs from the couch and swallows the rest of his pickle whole. He leaves a curve in the carpet as he makes the turn.

Jenna grumbles to herself regarding her current living arrangements. She checks her remaining phone – the screen’s cracked, clock illegible. Brilliant, she offed the other phone with the boy. She could make the run… the evening patrol only swept him, the phone should be there. Though, the patrol’s fast tonight…

Another knock at the door. She stands apprehensively and opts for the window to the left of the door, the one obscured by the bushes. They never look that way, only to the windows with the shudders drawn. The twist: those aren’t even windows.

The real twist: Crizzle is the one who knocks.

‘Shit.’

She opens the door quickly and to a crack, not taking any chances. “Hello Crizzle, how are ya?”

“I’m doing swell Jennifer, and how are you?”

He offers a hand for a handshake. Her hand flops into his like a dead flounder before quickly retreating behind the door.

“I’m doing well, what can I do for you?”

Crizzle smiles, shows just a little glimpse of his pearly whites. “Well Jahona called me, said there was a fox problem. I have my pest control business so I said I’d come by, check it out per bono.”

Crizzle tries to peer past Jenna. She doesn’t let the strange man view her house. He notices but pretends not to notice, but she notices.

“Is the fox still here?”

“No, sorry there, Crizzle. I-” she cuts herself off, eyes wide as lillypads. Her left on Crizzle, the right travels to the corner where her lids meet and watches the evening patrol loom past the window. The door slams with nobody to offend, not a sound is made.

“Jahona!” Jenna yells, deftly stomping to the bathroom. He closed the door at some point, so she begins a’banging. “Jahona, Crizzle just fucking showed up here, what are you doing?? You need to fix this shit!”

The fox hears the commotion as he enters the hole in the human compound. The gap between the outer wall and the inner foundation isn’t a wide one but he’s not about to get stuck, not with this plump bird in his jaws. He must share it with his friendly housemates, they didn’t need to give him those couches. Even if they’re sharing it, they didn’t need to give him access. They’re kind, they deserve a treat.

The fox crawls to the end of the smaller of the two couches and stuffs the bird into the ceiling of his tunnel. Its head pops out between the two cushions, unseen by the human set a’banging.

Jahona rustles in the bathtub. If only he had a blanket.

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Be well, Commons~

Posted in THC Book Club, Uncategorized

THC Book Club: January ’20

Hello Commons, I read one book this month. Here’s a little bit about it, plus an update of what I’ve been working on.

  • Pet Sematary – Stephen King – 1/7/20
    • Damn.

Aaaaaaaand that’s it!I started rereading The Divine Within by Aldous Huxley after Pet Sematary because I felt like I needed a little extra divinity in my life, but that’s a reread so it doesn’t really count. Also started The Dark Tower series but the first two books are rereads so they don’t count either.

Arbitrary WHOOP.

As for me, now that W-63 is done I feel like I can respire again. Also, I have a new project in the works and I’m not sure if it would be considered a short story anthology or a novel, so I’m sayingΒ fuck it and callingΒ it a Ringwoodian epic.

Here’s to sayingΒ fuck it.

Be well Commons~

Posted in Insomia Post, Uncategorized

Cold Feet

My feet are cold constantly.

Like, constantly.

I’m inclined to believe there’s a spiritual cause behind this – I’m not ready for what comes next. Not sure what’s going to come next, not sure why I’m not ready, but my feet are cold, so obviously there’s something wrong with me and I’m subconsciously preventing myself from being ready for what comes next.

Or maybe I just have some kind of nervous system and/or blood circulation issue that makes my feet cold all the time that I can’t get checked out by a doctor because the US government is making me wait somewhere between 30 and 45 days before I can use the free healthcare it approved me for because I am financially poor and humans without money don’t deserve a high quality of life.

Or maybe my crouching dragon posture is terrible and I don’t exercise at all and I’m making it hard for my feet to warm themselves.

Or maybe it’s fucking winter time and I live in northern New Jersey.

What I do know is, I’m not doing the audiobooks for the W-63 series. I was going to, and if I did I would have had enough videos to put up one a day for the next six months, but after a week straight of recording and re-recording the first fucking chapter of the first fucking book and fucking hating it every single fucking time, I flipped the fuck out and punched my closet door so hard and so many times that it literally broke off its hinge.

Fucking.

I also broke my hamper, pressed a rusty knife to my wrist and throat in hopes I would finally just off myself, spent two days straight in bed alternating between states of screaming into my pillow and being unconscious, all the while without eating or drinking anything, and a whole bunch of other stuff that makes you uncomfortable but is part of reality so I’m fucking saying it.

Fucking.

Fuckitty fuckitty fuck fuck fuck.

I wrote a 1,800 page book series that nobody read and for that, I deserve to die.

Right?

WellΒ  I certainly think so.

But I hate myself so much that I won’t even allow myself the sweet, loving embrace of death.

My fucking feet are so cold, I don’t know what to do.

So I guess it’s on to the next thing.

Be well Commons~

 

 

Posted in Random Commons Post, Uncategorized

A Rant About Ebooks

I consider myself a bookmaker before I consider myself a writer, which is kind of odd now that I type it out. I run a solo operation here at The Commons, I and I alone build my products from nothing into something, and my products are books, books filled with wild narratives I conjure off the top of my dome. Without the writing there would be no books, and without the bookmaking process the writing would be pointless; so I suppose I’m equal parts writer and bookmaker, and storyteller, really, but I’ve gotten off base.

I’m gearing up to release the fifth entry in my W-63 series, surprise. This will bring the series to a close (in a spectacularly W-63 way, I shall say; not to toot the horn but I’m damn proud of how it all came out). As part of this process, I’m revising and republishing the first four books in the series, and I have the cover arts all done, all the manuscripts are ready to be uploaded, all I have to do is pull the trigger.

But the safety is on; I have the option to do ebooks.

In the past, for the first, second and fourth books in the series, I made ebooks. They were terribly formatted because I couldn’t be bothered with it, and in my opinion, if you’re not reading from a physical book then you’re missing out on the experience entirely. There is a certain power that comes in the pages of a paperback, and the same can be said of a hardcover – reading an actual book is just different than staring at a screen and gazing the symbols that way. As for the third book, it’s a poetry collection of sorts and there are specific fonts and graphics and a whole mess of kinky formatting stuff that does not translate well into an Amazon Kindle ebook.

For the third book I decided an ebook would be pointless. I’m starting to feel that way about the rest of them, to be real with myself; when I put together a narrative it’s not a simple thing. As far as the W-63 series goes, every single page in the books are significant aside from the copyright/publishing page – the acknowledgements, the dedication, the table of contents, About The Author, they all play a role in the story I’m telling, no matter how small, and when I try to convert them to an ebook, it just sucks all the magic out and makes it shitty.

As I’m sure any creative would agree, when you go about putting together a project, you have an idea in your head of what it’s going to be upon completion; in my case, I see a book, not a file to be read on a tablet or a phone. My shit’s just too… complex, I guess. Too intricate, too many moving parts to be easily converted into an epub. On one hand, I don’t want those who are afraid of the power in the pages to miss out on the magic I’m making, but at the same time, if you can’t get wit’ the shit regarding my creations, then why do I care? The only thing I’d be missing out on is the ebook sale money, but like… the money’s not why I’m creating this shit, I’m creating all this shit because I enjoy creating it and literally no other reason.

So I guess I’ve reached a conclusion, then; to keep it as 100 as possible, I decided in my head that I was axing the ebooks upon punctuating the first sentence of the paragraph before the one before this one. I just didn’t tap the buttons of my laptop enough, I guess. I don’t know. This has been a rant about ebooks.

Be well Commons~