Fright Fest 2018

A little known fact about me: I am a huge rap fan. I’m headed out to see Twiztid, one of my favorite acts in the horrorcore-rap scene, and I can’t wait. I have been following their work since 1998 when they were first showing up on the Psychpathic Records team, and since then they have made quite the following for themselves. Not to mention a new label with great music, and acts such as Last American Rockstars, and G-Mo Skee. I’ll be at the Pittsburg Event. If you are a juggalo, and you’re going, hit me up. We can talk history. I’ve seen a million concerts, and these guys were always up on the top shelf as some of the best live performances I’ve ever had the honor to peep with my own two eyeballs.  MAJIK MAJIK WHAAAAT! 

Wicked Shorts Story

Wrote as a guest blogger for Wicked Shorts! My featured story was made from a prompt that asked for a tale under 1000 words based on: Lone Survivor on a Deserted Island. And as is my nature I had to twist the rules some. Here’s the link:

http://www.wickedshortsblog.com/2018/09/something-got-out-jarce-artthor.html

A funny story from the Carnival

Wait For November

That’s what they all tell us now.

Just wait, wait until November. 

On one side of the country the fire spreads like a rampant virus out of control, on the other half it floods and there is no summer, in the middle everyone suffocates under oppressive heat. Prison camps are thrown up to cage babies. Adultery is made a biblical action. Mass murderers are praised by a leader. Free press is challenged. Law is twisted. Allies are pissed on. Enemies are praised. But just wait, the voters will make it better. They said something similar back in 2016. That already feels like a million years ago. They say, just wait until November, the promised one is coming. And she did not come. She failed the small people, ignored them almost entirely. She eclipsed an opponent with malicious tactic. Meanwhile as she catered to her richest of backers a snake slithered out from the fields and whispered sweet treachery. He called to the sick and ignored. He smiled, and he danced. They laughed and they offered their shoulders to carry him. He climbed their spines and took the throne. Sex, lies and scandal blocked a road to a new day, and a bridge of fantasy took the desperate dreamers up, and up on a cloud of nostalgia. The cloud obscured the drop. It won’t come back, it can’t come back, tomorrow is impossible to stop. 

Wait until November. 

They both are saying it now. The left, the right. Both are convinced that we are in trouble now, but both are stagnant entities in a roiling, raging, storm. Guns can kill the innocent, but cannot save you from a mad man. 

They wait, while the sinners play. The puppeteer dawdles his watchers. His show plays on: traitor, mischief, liar, divisive, divider. 

Wait!

Says the opposition, as they sit and watch, powerless to deflect anything.

Wait...

Whispers a man cowering behind his desk, distracting a lunatic with deception and trickery, asking us to trust in him that the situation is under control. 

Wait! 

Says this station, and that station, this camp, and that camp.

Wait, and vote.

So we wait for our turn to throw in to the suggestion box. But the box is on fire. Our ideologies are on fire. There is no truth—only his truth, or her truth, and any other truth is Fake News.

Until November we lock down our plastic bubbles and double down. But plastic veils won’t help us in a nuclear blast. 

We can’t be wrong, because if we are not right we lose. But if we are right we lose. Because we are broken, and the wheel is lost. Jesus be damned! The devil has got that shit. The storm is fierce, and it is inescapable. But we did this. We waited too long. 

Until November we will drink in our partisan conspiracies. The chasm grows. The ground sinks. The earth is opening. And the beast is hungry. 

On November we will be drunk on bullshit.

After November the tides may clash, the walls will close, the jaws clamp down, and the small people will be stuck with a choice they will not like.

In November we lose.

We let a wolf corner the nation. We let a foreign agent inject us with poison. 

No matter how it happens now,

One way or the other it will be over. 

And the Lodestar will fall like Wormwood.

And a third of the world will be sick, and inundated by woe. 

But wait for November. 

What the hell else can we do. 

Scrawl out your ballot in Blood. 

2018

I know I will. 

Writing

Started a Vblog

Created a vblog so I can start reaching out to the digital age, and promote my work. Too bad I don’t care enough to make it pretty! Whatever... I learn as I go. 

No Secrets

There are no more secrets.

I feel so alienated.

I feel so empty.

I feel trapped.

There doesn’t seem to be anything that I truly want or need. 

There is nothing to desire, nothing to hope for.

Yet, I am unsatisfied. 

I lust for acknowledgment, and no one is fooled otherwise. 

There are no more secrets.

Everyone seems so omniscient. But they don’t actually know anything.

I talk to no one, yet everyone knows exactly what I am thinking. 

But they don’t care. 

They wouldn’t like my thoughts if I shared them. 

They don’t understand.

I feel so disconnected.

We are all separated from our world, so hopelessly detached from reality.

We are zombies plodding on blind ahead.

But everyone believes that they can see.

Everyone is Woke, yet they are drowning in there own self-absorbed comas. 

They all hold the key to some great esoteric truth, though they remain torpid in most every other faculty demanding their immediate attention. 

But somehow they know all about me!

How?

They barely even know who they are.

I don’t even know who they are, like a kid embracing a gaiety mascot at a cartoon theme park. 

Still, there are no more secrets.

I am isolated, and I am naked.

I put up walls, but they can see right through.

I have no armor.

I’m a snowflake.

No! I’m angry and I don’t care.

It is all a façade…

I hide away, ensconced by my fantasy realm where I can be who I want to be.

Here I can be free.

Out there I am an introvert, but here I am charismatic, and bold and brave.

Out there I am ignorant and uncultured, loud and brazen, but here I can be intelligent and tactful.

Here I can be anything, and nothing. 

No one can hurt me.

But that is a beautiful lie.

In here they say horrible things, because they know who I really am—because there are no secrets.

In here the mask is also a double-edged sword.

How can they know so much?

How do they get in to my head?

How do they see everything: My pain, my phobias, my wonders, my dreams, and even my likes?

I stay behind a transparent veil. 

There are no more secrets.

Everything that is on my mind, they can see.

How can they know this?

How can I have so many friends, yet still be so alone?

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