Orson Marcel makes six the total children/newborns alive and interacting within the circumference of my environment. Granted, I do not participate in this part of my environment, but the adults that do are either related or have been friends long enough that I consider them related. There are two other babies to be born that exist closely within my circle. The carriers, or their inseminators, are not close enough to be considered family. They are work related friends, so they are physically much closer, but philosophically and emotionally much further removed. If you’re counting, that is a total of eight, the oldest is four and the youngest is yet to be born.

In a sense I can consider myself surrounded. I have made a choice that no matter how seductive the offer, I will not create another human animal, but I would donate copious amounts of semen for cash; even though I consider the earth to be over-populated and becoming ever more so with each passing day. For it seems that despite of the overwhelming evidence to this effect I am witness to those of my generation or younger, fully informed of the affects of their actions, indulging in the act of breeding; even if at a far lower rate then that of their parents. My reasons for not breeding are far more selfish then concerns for over-population. I do not want to alter my lifestyle in any way to have to care for or watch a child, even as an ‘uncle’. I could, but there is not only no desire too, but a deep desire NOT TOO! I feel strongly about this for three reasons. One, because I am protecting my lifestyle, two, because I am concerned for the ecology of the Earth, and three, because I believe that quality of life far outweighs living for mere survival. What do I mean by that? That last one, quality of life? Some people will tell you that there is plenty of room on this planet for more people. OK, true. In China there are so many people in one area that they live on top of each other in insectoid honey comb like buildings. In Japan there are those that live in cubicles just big enough for you to lie down in. Is that a life worth living? What about the one billion people that are starving? That’s right ONE BILLION people are starving. Some would say that there is plenty of food; it’s just that the economic system of the world does not allow for them to get their needed sustenance. Is that a life worth living? Being fed just enough to stay alive for the next day so that some privileged American college student doesn’t feel guilty that at any time he can, pretty much, eat whatever he wants? There are going to be too many people on this earth someday for anyone to live a life worth living. That is what I mean by quality of life, living so that basic needs like food, shelter and space are prevalent enough for one to pursue other goals, pleasures and experiences. For EVERYONE. This is not possible at the current rate of human population growth.

By the time my father was my age, he had already helped create four boys, gotten divorced, and possibly remarried, or was about to remarry and help create a daughter. Wow! This is seriously unbelievable to even fathom from my strict bachelor code of a life experience. Do I respect the amount of responsibility and sacrifice it takes to have and raise children? Yes. For my mother (and my father in certain instances) to have done the amazing job she did raising four intelligent, tough yet kind, hard working boys in what at times was next to squalor, is simply an accomplishment beyond words, rewarding in only a way a mother and father would know.

I acknowledge and understand all of this, and yet the very real dark side to procreation is also ever present in my thoughts. I will not begin to express that right here or right now. But those essays are coming and they will be posted, and I can only hope that the people that I love and their ilk will understand that I am merely practicing my right to freedom of speech and expression, and that these are not attacks on their choices, lifestyles, or the people they love and care for. And even, possibly, try to accept that there are others with viable and valuable perceptions and opinions on this very controversial but relevant and timely subject, which will just become ever more so as time moves on.




This next installment is from a Florida metal band called Black Tide. None of the members are over 21, one is 16 and one is 18. I love their debut album; Light From Above, its old school metal done with new energy and love. Metal, in general, can be pretty juvenile, and then, suddenly, can become really deep and heavy in a manner unequaled by any other musical genre. Black Tide is a group of juveniles, but they are also a group of musically talented individuals.

This song is one of the more adolescent songs off the album. And that's why I love it, for its pure adolescent imagination, obviously written by comic book reading, science fiction demented, videogame and RPG loving, freaks. It’s animated and entertaining to watch, and it’s called; Warriors Of Time. Do yourself a favor and spend a few minutes and watch it in full screen mode:




Waves of shadows move through trees. The cries of man resound throughout the eons and reverberate against the thick bark shaking it from its hold. The wolf hunts, dark like men turning away from truth to live less painful lies, purplish black lines stream through the green. The scent of agony and desperation fills its nostrils and it grunts into a rolling growl that sustains and builds in menace. A destroyer runs from him, its fear billowing out behind it. Scourge of the natural world acquiesce to the circumstance of your castigation.

Narna is running very hard, very fast, his heart pounding in his chest, his lungs near bursting. His breath is fire that burns. The sounds of the beast snapping sprigs and crushing bushes seem to echo all around him. “Where is that fucking lake?” Narna didn’t think he had traveled that far down the path, but he had already become aware that many of his senses had failed him throughout this excursion. Around him the greens and browns of tree and bush are beginning to blur together, he is becoming light headed and dizzy, losing his breath, but if he stops he dies. His footfalls begin to clap in his head and his next step seems to move ahead in slow motion until connecting to the earth with a heavy thud that thunders throughout the forest. And then again with his next stride. And again. And again. All at once time slows down and Narna’s mind begins to retreat from the totally focused, totally aware reality of the now, to a place further within him. He feels as though he is watching his slow deliberate movements from a place a few feet higher in the air. Is he giving up? Had his mind and body given in to the impossibility of escape without informing his conscious thought?


The strike of a large iron bell, so loud it shakes the ground.


Again, and then the light quick beating of a snare drum accompanied by the soft lower notes of horns. His sense of being floats above the ground, although he can plainly see his feet firmly upon it. The beating of the snare grows louder with the steady beat of a bass drum as the horns’ notes rise in intonation.


He is surrounded now by a foreboding melody hastened onward by the steady deep beat of a bass drum. He wants to stop and catch his breath and try and figure out what is going on, but the fear of the wolf almost upon him cannot be ignored even though all sense of reality has left him. Exhaustion must be overtaking him, the music, although it grows louder with every passing moment, must be inside his head. Is he failing? Is he sinking back into the claws and fanged maw of the beast behind him? This music, familiar somehow, what the hell is it? What does it mean!?!


“This is the death song; you can hear it, young Narna. You have heard it before, remember?” The voice, Narna is sure, comes from the forest. It is versed and deep with the thickness of the hinterlands. It is soothing and knowing, and Narna does not question its authenticity. He remembers this song; he has heard it when he has taken the life of an animal while hunting. In that long second when his shot has made the kill, almost subconsciously, he understood it in all its immortal majesty. He has never dwelled on it, quickly dismissed it, and eventually forgotten it. Now it beat and pulsed and sang around him, and now it called for him. This moment it was his song, ritualized for him, and tears came to his eyes.


“I don’t want to die like this. I don’t want to die now.”

“That is not for you to choose, young beast of the world. The dark wolf has found you, he hungers for your meat, and he will be fed. He has his prey within his grasp, and it is the law that he must prevail. The death song is for you. Close your eyes young Narna and give in to the romantic.”


Narna’s back calf is slashed and he stumbles forward. He begins to hastily regain his footing when he is violently struck upon his left side, casting him from the path into the immense bushes and down onto his back. He reaches over to his side where he was struck and finds soft wet matter where his shirt once covered his skin. He is horrified and tries to get to his feet, but cannot move his legs anymore. He does not see it, but can smell its rank coat and hear its heavy and rasp panting, and knows that it is a few short feet from him, loathing over him, savoring the kill. The pain is incredible, rolling throughout his body with fierce stabbing edges, sustained by aches that almost render him unconscious.


A deep long growl that sends bolts of cold shivers down his back and the wolf is in the air above him. He can just about cover his face with his arms before it is on him, sinking its fangs deep into his exposed neck. The romantic has built to a crescendo, the beating of the bass drum pounding as the horns go from semitones to overtones in a pulsating melody so familiar to Narna he could swear he has heard it from birth. He is vaguely aware that the wolf is in his neck, he can feel the weight of its body pushing him into the ground and smell the dried gore on its matted fur, and now he can no longer draw air. Before he can try and choke a breath, the wolf has ripped out his throat. A sense of peace fulfills him as the soft timbre of a myriad of cymbals cascades over him. The wolf howls, lasting and lamented, and Narna is no longer aware.

The sweet song of birds extolling the magnificence of the rising sun comes from the surrounding trees as Charles and Alexander wait patiently in their hunting stand. Fully camouflaged they lie behind their .220 Swift rifles with the equipped 15x Lyman Super Targetspot scopes trained on the open area of forest below them.

“Hey Charlie?”


“What do you think happened to Narna?”

“Oh I don’t know, he probably came back to the campsite, saw that we had gone on without him, and went home. He doesn’t want to do this. Has some sort of moral objection to this kind of hunting. Whatever”

“What a whiny….”

“Shhhhh! There’s one, two o’clock, peeking its head out of the bushes.”

“It’s massive and so dark. I’ve never seen anything like it. I got it square between the eyes.”

“Patience, wait for it to come fully into the clearing first. That way if you miss we can still try and hit it before it runs away. “

“Holy shit, have you ever seen such a beast?”

“I’ve never seen a wolf like that before. I can’t believe how big it is. We are going to be famous if we nail this baby.”

“Look at all that blood in its fur, the thing must be completely savage. Hey….what was that? Did you hear that?”

“How could I miss it? What was that, a fucking bell!?! Is that…is that…music!?! What the hell?”

“This is getting weird, the wolf is looking right up here, and I swear he’s fucking grinning!”

“That music is very familiar; I’ve heard it somewhere before…”

“Shit! Charles, shit, shit, shit! It’s coming for us…what… what in God’s name?? No! AAAGGHHH!! Get it off me Charles!!! Get it…”

“Alright. Good boy. My buddy there is plenty of food. Feed on him, let me go. Yeah! Take that you fucking thing!! Take that! Wha…I shot you….damn it I…no…AAAGGGHHH…bleuckkk...uuucckk…”



For about fifty feet or so he continued, the rocky structure manifesting itself to him as he neared it. Once he could see it definitively, he paused. It wasn’t part of any mountain or hill, it could very well be man made, but that seemed unreasonable given that it had no right angles or straight edges in its design. It was simply an enormous mound made of jutting, irregular, rock. There were no other rocks or mounds of any kind near it, just the eerie ancient wood twisting about it on either side. It appeared unnaturally natural, if that’s possible, and that gave Narna goose bumps. What sent a shiver down his spine was that the path he had been walking upon lead right into a large pitch-black opening at its medial point.

“What the...,” he said aloud. It suddenly dawned on him that this wasn’t the result of his curiosity leading him astray; he had been purposely led to this destination. He began to feel deceived, but how this could have been perpetrated was a mystery. Still, he could not turn away, he was hooked and he had to see what was inside this foreboding structure, even though the thought of entering it terrified him to no end. He approached the gaping maw of the rock mound. There were no ridges or cracks, and it was not a crevice or fissure, just an opening molded in the rock as though it were clay. Slowly, with deliberate steps, he entered the lightless hollow. He had a little flashlight on his key chain and he turned it on. Surprisingly it lit up a good amount of the darkness, even though reason argued against this possibility. But if Narna was going to listen to reason, he would have turned back long ago.

The walls of the cave were piceous, and a thick liquidly substance ran down its sides and dripped from above, but there were no puddles on the floor. Narna stopped and listened for sounds and heard nothing, not even the running liquid made any noise. No shapes formed in the light of his flashlight, the cave seemed to be flat and barren, but he decided to explore a bit further before turning back. A few feet more and he began to smell it, a thick, gamy animal pungency. He could see the floor ahead begin to incline slightly with every inch. He slowly edged forward, his eyes wide and aware of any movement, every shadow, his ears aware of every squeak, any whisper, as the smell amassed robustly about him. It no longer was a hint in the air, it had become the air, and now it mixed with another smell, almost as stark in emanation. Both these smells were familiar to Narna, and both sent caution signals racing through his brain and he abruptly froze in his tracks and flicked off his flashlight concurrently.

“Wolves!” Narna shouted inside his head. “Shit! What the hell am I doing? Stupid! So stupid!”

The other smell still hadn’t been identified yet, other then to signal strict vigilance. But as he stood there and concentrated on its aroma, it began to condense, a mixture of heat, moisture, carnality and decay. “Slaughter!” He could not tell the nature of the slaughtered animal, it could be because there was a mixture of different animal kills here, or that he was not familiar with this particular animal’s death smell. “Slaughter and wolves, the last two things I want to smell together at anytime. A wolves den. You stupid idiot. OK Narna, you can get yourself out of here, quietly turn around and go out the way you came.” Just before he could turn himself around, he heard it, a scraping in the near distance, and then the snuffling of a beast trying to pinpoint a scent. He had been discovered, and by the sound of it, this was no small wolf. He did not move a muscle and listened intently for the animal’s next move. He could only hope that it would not explore the intrusion, but lay back down to sleep again. Its claws rasped against the floor as it seemed to Narna that it had begun to casually pace, awaiting a sign of movement. It must surely smell him, although the smell of carnage was very strong and might be masking his odor. He had already slowed his breathing down as much as he could, which he was very adept at, a skill honed from years of hunting. Any movement on his part, while the wolf stayed alerted, and he would be taken down. There were surely other wolves here as well, had to be at least one other, but they must be sleeping or Narna would surely hear them. Any attack from the alert wolf would bring the others down on him as well.

His hunting experience would come to bear here; he could wait motionless for hours until the right moment for him to leave presented itself. That would be nothing short of hearing that wolf lie back down. For long, long minutes he waited before he heard the large creature flop back onto the ground with a loud thump. “A good sign,” thought Narna, “it sounds as though it has given up.” Fighting his deep inquiring need to turn his flashlight back on and take a look at what must be a humongous animal and its slaughter filled den, he slowly and silently began to step toward the exit. He turned around and saw that the opening was but a small bright light a number of feet away. He had journeyed inside this cave a lot further then he had thought. Again, disappointment in himself arose at the realization that he had proceeded whilst so unaware of his surroundings.

The opening got bigger as he approached it, the light beginning to discern itself as that of the sun. “Almost there. Not but twenty feet away.” Scratching! In the distance behind him, his heightened senses picked it up instantly; the wolf was back on its feet. Narna couldn’t stop right now, he knew he should, but the fear over powered him, the exit was so close, and instead of stopping, he ran.

(END Part 2 of 3)



Running hard, moving fast through the trees and green leafed bushes, the morning dew leaves splotches of wetness on his shorts and shirt. Occasionally he has to block sprigs and sprays from slapping him in the face; although he cannot block them all and red welts form upon his exposed skin. Behind him there is the steady and heavy plodding of pawed feet in comfortable pursuit. Its thick, rhythmic breathing fills the air around him. He can’t help but let out yelps of fear as he thrusts his body on, gaining speed. It is obvious to him that the beast is toying with him and can take him down at any moment.

“Damn! Damn! Damn!” Why had he strayed so far from the campsite? Why? They were having fun drinking and enjoying the fire. His friends were just having some fun at his expense, no big deal. They were always giving each other shit, it was just his turn. No need to feel like he was being ostracized in any way. No need to take it so personally and wander so far from the safety of numbers.

“Why would we hunt them on foot, Narna!?! We have perfectly good hunting stands,” Charles barked at him.

“Damn dude, do you even think sometimes?” Alexander chimed in. “We are just going to sit back, relax, and pop them off as they come through the bush.” His hands making the motion of holding and firing the rifle, left eye closed as the other peers through the scope.

“I thought you guys were into the thrill of the hunt, the art of sneaking up on your prey.”

“No, no Narna are you crazy? They could eat us alive! We just want to kill a couple, cut off their heads and hang them on the wall. We’ll just say that we hunted them on foot. Gees man, is your head full of rocks?”

Alexander started laughing, and Charles joined him. “You are such a dumb shit!”

Narna stood there a moment and took it, but his feelings were hurt and that emotion began to turn into anger. The feeling was mixing with the rising disgust he felt for his friends as he realized they were turning the skill of hunting into a target shooting contest. The emotion came on strong and began to overwhelm his sense of reason. He threw his beer into the fire, which drew louder guffaws of laughter from his friends, turned and stormed into the forest.

At first he was just going to walk to the lake, but once he got there he found that throwing a few rocks into the water was doing nothing to quell his anger. They had been up all night drinking, and the sun was starting to rise between the distant mountains, turning the sky orange and pink with its rays. He walked along the lake’s edge as his mind turned over the preceding events with insights and justifications. He had gotten about a half mile further when he came upon a part of the forest that seemed older then the rest. The gnarled limbs were reaching and twisting about the massive tree trunks, and the foliage! Narna had never seen such abundant plant life and it was magnificent to behold. He just stood there and tried to fully comprehend this amazing sight, it was so alien from the surrounding forest it just didn’t seem like it belonged here. A few moments passed and he noticed that a little pathway lie there, obscured by intertwined branches and large green bushes with leaves the size of lily pads.

The trail’s floor was barely visible through the abundant frondescence, and he was surprised he had seen it at all. He parted the branches blocking the path and began to enter it slowly. About ten feet or so ahead it cleared up and the massive growth all around it seemed to stay at its edge. His curiosity piqued and he found himself slowly going about the trail at a steady, even pace. As he was doing so he noticed that under the dirt layer of the path were smooth flat stones that seemed to form the foundation. He bent down to examine them closely and discovered that they were all of similar size and that they had been polished. This was some sort of man made walkway, and the question to him was, from how long ago? There was no backing off now; he was going to explore this trail and see what lie ahead.

For what seemed like the next ten minutes he ambled along this strange walkway as it curved and climbed through this odd patch of forest. It appeared to him to be of deep primeval roots, untamed and rampant with opaque shades of greens and blues, the rising sun barely cutting into its umbrage. Up ahead now he could see a rocky eminence, which he found a bit strange since there were not supposed to be any mountains within two or three miles of the lake. He had only been walking ten, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, right? Yes, he was sure that he had not been walking long. He turned to survey behind him, and saw that the path, not but five feet away, was swallowed up by the encroaching forest. There was no way to see how far away the lake was, that would be impossible through the dense wood. And there was no way that he was going to turn around, he had to know what lie ahead. Onward he strode.

(END PART 1 of 3)


The Handlers #30


I have been finishing up my work on Handlers' #31 and am unable to post a new piece at this time. So, I am going to post a link to The Handlers' #30. Some of you may have already seen this, but for those who have not, enjoy. This is an ongoing project that I am involved in with the artist, Mr. Nate Marcel. Since there are three issues before this, and the next one I am going to write is The Handler's #1, expect them to be posted out of order. Sorry. They are fun and they are juvenile, but enjoy!!




Under this heading, in periodic fashion, I will review, and then post a link to a video that I think others should behold. It won’t always be about the music, sometimes it will be about the visual aspect of the expression, or the combination of the music with the visual expression.

Today’s link is to a video by an Electronic band from Norway called Royksopp. Thier name literally means “smoke mushroom” in Norwegian. This pick was made purely for the visual//musical combination. Don’t misunderstand; I really like the music as well. There are amazing electronica/techno groups out within the musical flux, and Royksopp is definitely one of them. This is a prime example of a perfect melding of visual art with the art of sound.

There is an ode to the original art of video gaming in this, and the musical accompaniment is sublimely dreamy.





The movement is made through rigid barriers. Barriers that not only refuse to bend or twist, but that push forward, that crowd in. The people conformed, and established a lifestyle that they made comfortable within their government’s molds. They exalted here, existed, found ways, even, to exhilarate, express and celebrate, and then the barriers would push forward some more, and interfere and quiet their ambitions, softly, urgently.

The heroes are the ones that, despite how high the odds are stacked against them, push back. They sacrifice their current and future freedoms (and no matter how limited they may be relative to ours, they are that; freedoms), and sometimes their lives, to instigate drastic change from the suffocating reality that imprisons their minds and bodies. These men and women of today, and throughout the annuls of history, should garner your respect and support as they mirror the efforts once made by those that fought for the rights you hold so dear in your country’s heart.

In what is now considered the polarized country of the USA, we have openly rediscovered something we, as Americans, have always agreed upon. That the people of the country deserve freedom of thought and expression, deserve for their votes to count, and deserve the right to protest against the powers that be without being beaten, imprisoned, or killed. We all agree with that.

Let us not forget, however, that there was a time, and times, when our government withheld rights from certain citizens (some would say it still does) and reacted just as violently to dissenters of policy, not very long ago. The radicals of the sixties were met with such an example of brutal government opposition; some would even put forth that departments of the government carried out assassinations upon its leaders. That even as recent as the latest unpopular Iraq War, dissenters were considered unpatriotic and non-supportive of the troops, when an argument can be made that they were the most patriotic; in practicing their free rights, and the most supportive of the troops; in not wanting their lives wasted in a war that was considered unnecessary, and justified under false pretenses. Here is where the polarization begins to ensue. But instead of letting it fester and boil, let’s look at the opposing sides a bit. One doesn’t have to agree with why they protested, but one surely can agree that they have the right to protest peacefully without fear of violence or imprisonment. That was easy, this one is harder. One doesn’t have to agree with why we invaded Iraq, but one surely understands that it was done for the future stability and development of the USA in mind, although carried out with a certain amount of corruption and deceptiveness. Also, that those in power had the right to attempt to protect America in the way that they thought best. If you do not agree that these two polarized sides have the right to think and act differently, whether you agree with their viewpoints or not, then you do not believe in America, you believe in Amerika; a totalitarian concept much akin to present day Iran.

Even though I think it is now plainly clear that the powers of Iran are indeed pursuing the development of a nuclear weapon, we cannot invade or even bomb them; else we unify them once again behind their totalitarian government. We must allow the people to revolt on their own levels, within their own time tables, at the pace of their own urgency. As an international body we can inflict penalties and embargoes, but we must not swing the mighty dick of our war machine at their unsolicited behest. If they were to seek our help as we once sought the help of France during our own revolution, then certainly we should aid them, although one can highly doubt that they would. Any action other than that would prove to be a devastating mistake.

The barriers are rigid and they push against the tolerance of the people, until their tolerance is slowly eroded down to anger, and then the people push back without concern for repercussion. The true heroes of this world sacrifice for the benefits of the greater good, for the people who are to live in these countries, upon this planet, in the future.


Mass Murder

“What’s the premise?”

“The premise is Mass Murder,” Darla stated, and then took a long sip from her whiskey, neat.

“Ok. A popular subject. Non-Fiction?”

“Oh…no, Fiction. Real murder is horrible. I find it deeply disturbing, some of the ghastly murders that people actually commit. Horrible.” Another, longer, sip of whiskey, and then a clearing of the throat.

Tiffany wanted to laugh, but could see from Darla’s tightened brow and pursed lips that her friend had become very serious. This is a face that a moment ago was bright and cheery, eyes wide with joy over her accomplishment. Real murder wasn’t just disturbing to her on a matter-of-fact level, Tiffany realized. Real murder infected Darla’s imagination. She couldn’t just know of the murderous acts without her mind instantly mapping out the psychological aspects of the disturbance. Every moment of the murder’s stages were vividly seen in her mind’s eye, starkly vibrant. This was the part of her that enabled her to write these scenes for her films. “The psychological aspects of such crimes are not lost on you, hmmm?”

She ran her long fingers through the strands of black hair that were hanging down her face, and brought them back over her forehead. “Anytime I hear of these occurrences, I began to analyze what possibly could have happened to the murderers to bring them to act out such deeds. The more details I hear of the murders, the more disturbing it becomes for me. I can see every detail. How can people do that to each other? The worst ones are the sexual ones. To me, those are the most complicated. You can’t boil those murders down to acceptable reasons such as revenge or sudden rage.”

“The sexual murders almost always involve men inflicting their sick wills upon women and children. They also seem to operate off the basis of kidnapping.” Tiffany smoothed her dress over her thighs to her knees, where it ended. She repeated this motion a few times and then sipped her Chardonnay.

“Just the worst in human nature, the most disgusting aspects of animal dominance filtered through the mind of a human being. No, much too much for me to acknowledge as a reality. Those poor, poor victims, it’s just awful!”

“Have you ever hypothesized that what the victims go through may be a karma payback?”

“What? How can a child have experienced enough of life, and operated it with enough understanding to perpetrate any action that would deserve such a terrible reaction!” Darla gulped the last of her whiskey and set it down hard against the table.

Tiffany could see she was upsetting her friend, but felt compelled to continue discussing the idea to its end. “Karma stems from the belief that involves the ideas that we live multiple lives in an infinite scope of reality. Maybe the bad karma is carried over from previous misdeeds in previous lives.” She sat up straight and leaned towards Darla. “But, after such horrific punishment, they are reborn into a wonderful existence with a clean slate and a chance to begin again.”

Darla sat back in her seat and eyed her friend suspiciously. “That is a bit too forgiving of a concept for me. I can’t perceive it in such an ethereal, transcendental aspect.” She paused, shook her head and stared at the bottom of her empty glass. “You know, I’m not even making this about a human killer, although humans are being killed.”

“Who’s doing the killing?”

“A pack of vicious, sharp toothed long clawed, goblins.” She smiled, turned, and flagged down a waitress. “Another whiskey, make it neat.”