Stuff I’ve Written – “Blackout”

This is another story I wrote years ago.  This is just the intro, but I think it’s a fun start.  I really like the idea and I think I’m going to try and figure out where I was going with the story.  As always, remember these are in their very beginning, rough draft stages.




Hello there. How are you feeling? Good, I hope. Not too disorientated by the trip? Good, because it’s a doozy from here. This rabbit hole is deep and wide too. I’ll try and prepare you as best as I can, but there is shit out there that even I don’t know about. Here’s hoping we don’t find those, it could cause problems.

My first piece of advise is forget everything. Everything that you think you knew about the world or what is in it, because it’s all wrong. Everything you ever laughed or scoffed at being too ridiculous is real and boy can some of those things be mean….


I’m alive. That much I know to be true. I’ll worry about the rest of the story later. The rest will come in time, it always does. Sometimes all at once, and sometimes a piece at a time.

There is always an easy way to tell if I have survived my previous endeavors. There is no way that death could hurt this much. It really is that simple, if you’re dead, you don’t have to feel this much pain. At least I hope, because that is my goal.

I had a name, but that was another place and time. After last night I can no longer be sure of anything. Was it even one night or has this time gone on even longer? The only things I can be sure or are the pain in my head, and that awful smell.

No sense in rushing this, it’s not like I have anywhere to be. This is most definately a new record. Maybe I have finally gone and done it, maybe I have finally pushed myself out past the safety and the current is just going to pull me away, into the abyss. Wish it would hurry up, my head is pounding.

My name, in what now feels like a different lifetime, had been David. Now that we are both getting cozy with each other, I should warn you. I’m not a nice man, and yes, I am trying to kill myself. I have done things. Things that could keep you up at night, things that keep me up at night.

Even before this self destructive turn, my life had hardly been easy or attractive to even the lowliest of creatures. I had been a man of many titles. Started out as an honest, straight arrow cop. But, that was before the darkness came up and swallowed me whole. No chewing, no mashing. One day I’m there, the next day I’m in so deep, I wonder if I’ll ever see the light again.

I’ve had jobs that run the gamut from garbage man to prize winning investigative journalist. It has been a heck of a ride to lead you here to me, face down in the mud and struggling to remember where I am.

If you’ve never woken up face down in the mud, you don’t know the right way to do it. Most people get up too quickly, and make that biggest mistake of all: they open their eyes. You don’t want to move, especially if you don’t have to. Never, under any circumstances open your eyes until you are ready to face what you will see.

That’s the predicament I find myself in right now. I don’t know what is hurting more, my head or that awful stench burning my nose. It is simply not a smell that a human nose should ever have to endure. Worst of all, I think I’m the cause of it.

While we are having this nice chat, I’m running my checklist. I have a way of doing these things and an order to do them in. Don’t be too obvious about it, you never know who is watching you. Move slowly, get yourself together.

“Hey Jackass, I know you can hear me. Nap time is over”

He’s yelling, he thinks that will hurt. He’s right, but I’m no rookie, I know how to handle a hangover headache and no dipshit yelling in my ear is going to force me to tip my hand.

Deep breath, tense the muscles, get them limbered up. Ready for anything.

“Fuckwad! I said nap time is over.. wakey, wakey, hands off snakey!”

A cold explosion goes off on my head and then goes down my entire body. Wear the hell did this guy get a bucket of ice cold water? Alright, enough of this. He knows I’m awake, and it’s time for me to face what’s in front of me.

“Jesus fucking christ! Did you have to dump the whole bucket on me? You knew I was awake” I mumble angrily a few more choice words under my breath, but I got my point across.

“What a perfectly fitting choice of words. Actually the water was the hardest thing to come by, but you are surprisingly close to what is actually going on. Although you always did aim too high.”

“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” I’ve actually begun to slowly open my eyes now. I think you can see the redness from space today. Opening my eyes was no help, all I can see is a big bright blur.

“Once again, you are surprisingly on target. Now, I can’t explain everything right away. That would take away all my fun. I’m going to let you dangle for a few more minutes.”

His breath, which is what I now believe to be the source of the smell, is making my eyes water worse than the sun. I find my sunglasses, and the whole world starts to take shape. We are definitely not in Kansas.

“Absolutely right, we are not in Kansas. South Dakota actually to be more precise, but it’s very much on the road to hell. Your own personal road no less”

With the shades on, the world is a much more tolerable place, and I take my first look at my good friend here, and I’m nearly out for the count again. It’s not the skin, I’ve seen some weird ethnic mixtures, so deep red skin tone is not that unusual. It’s the horns, they are just the right size and shape to not look Hollywood and fake, they actually looked closer to large fingernails than anything.

“Sorry for the dramatics, but I don’t like to play around too much. I really do need to get to the point and rather quickly. I do have other appointments today. Yes, I am the Devil, Lucifer, whatever you want to call me, it’s right and I’ll always know when you are talking to me.”

“So, you’re the Devil, and we are in South Dakota. Obviously I’m not dead, because I would like to think that Hell would be more interesting than South Dakota and my head hurts way too much to be dead.”

“Yes, you are right on all counts. We are on your personal road to Hell. Notice the sign up there ‘St. Clair Ave’ David St. Clair? And, about 2 miles down this road is Hell, or so the National Enquirer would have us believe.”

His comments are really getting on my nerves. There needs to be a point and soon.

“Your Devil-ness? Is there a point anywhere in our near future, because if there isn’t I’d like to find a nice dive place to get some greasy bacon and eggs and wash it all down with a nice morning cocktail, so unless you really want to get to the fucking meat of the story and tell me what the fuck it is you want, I’m just going to get going now. I’ve had enough of the cryptic bullshit for one morning and my mouth is watering for a bloody mary and some eggs.”

It didn’t work, he didn’t get to the point, just stood there for a few seconds with that ultimate shit eating grin, and then he just turned and started to walk away.

He turns around real quick and tells me “Such an attitude, I normally like people who don’t just cower in fear, but I think it would be more fun to see how much of this you can figure out on your own. So, I’m going to leave you with a nice parting gift and the promise that we will be in touch soon. Have fun and enjoy your eggs, I know you will.”

With that, he has walked off and left me in the middle of nowhere, apparently somewhere in South Dakota. My watch says it’s the 15th. That is the one thing I always make sure is working. If you’re prone to blackouts, you want to know how much time you lost. Apparently I’ve lost 3 days and about 2000 miles. I had been working my way across the Florida panhandle. Must’ve been one helluva party.

First order of business now, ignore the cryptic “Devil” and find breakfast.


Stuff I’ve written – “All You Need is an Idea”

All You Need is an Idea

He was plagued with ideas. The man always found himself thinking. He was always having some thought brewing in the back of his mind. Good ideas, bad ideas, ideas on how to improve the world, ideas on how to destroy the world. Ideas woke with him like a partner to greet the morning, or waited for him in the bed like a lover. He was a man consumed by ideas.

A wise man once said “Build a better mousetrap, and the world will beat a path to your door.” This was like a mantra to him. Whether he chose to acknowledge it or not. His life was governed by the pursuit of the next big thing. His vice was not drinking, nor smoking, or even gambling. His was a life of thoughts, images floating in the ether of his mind.

Almost none of these would ever come to fruition. It was because of this that people called him a lazy daydreamer. They would look at him and think to themselves. There is a man just wasting his life away, staring at the clouds. When in reality his thoughts were consumed, this was hardly a leisurely distraction for him. Far from it, this was an obsession.

He had tried to rid himself of the thoughts, the ideas. He had tried drugs, prescription and non-prescription, home remedies, illegal homebrews. Nothing could quiet his mind. The drugs just provided stranger and stranger ideas. Instead of being simple thoughts about daily life they would take a strange, darker more sinister turn.

The man knew however that his salvation and freedom from life’s daily grind lay in these thoughts. How was a man to be obsessed with examining all of the different perspectives of life, if not for a purpose, for a way to better the world, or at least better his place in it. He wouldn’t admit it in polite company, if he ever entertained guests, but he was not above simply coming up with a way to either beat the system or bend the system to his will.

This however would be his problem. He could look at a wristwatch and think of a thousand and one ways to possibly make the watch work smoother, but he couldn’t think of a single way to put these ideas into reality. Many sleepless nights were spent focusing all of his mental efforts onto a way of turning all his ideas into a reality. When it came to this, he would draw a blank.

He complained of this openly to his family and friends, this was at a point where they would still return his phone calls. They all told him different ways to get a grasp on his “wandering mind” as his mother so politely put it. Keep a notepad by the table, he kept one on his person at all times. Try a simple voice recorder. He had 5 of them, one in each room of his small apartment, and one in the car. This was to be the root of his true problems.

He would focus so much on holding onto one idea, one thought that it would become an obsession of his. He would try to meticuliously write it down, so nothing was lost in the translation from mental to physical. He would then take his notes and show them around. No one could ever make sense out of what he had drawn or explained. He would focus so hard on holding onto the idea that the root of it, the true essence would be lost. It was like seeing a face in the smoke of a flame, and then trying to pull the face out and hold it and examine it. As soon as his mind moved on, the idea would be lost.

The man, had had some good fortune in his life, he managed to pull enough out of a few ideas to have some small inventions made and he had several patents. It was enough to keep him afloat, after he lost his job. His bosses had always told him to stop daydreaming. He had had loves in his life, a few had even managed to stay with him for a while. They always left complaining he couldn’t focus on them long enough to have more than a simple conversation. Talk would turn to the weather, and then out would come the notebook and he would try to franticlly jot down ideas about a new weather satellite, or once he had even tried to come up with a weather control system.

Once he had gone to see a psychiatrist. He was trying to get the doctor to write him a prescription for something, but to no avail. The psychiatrist had actually wanted to talk to him and see what the root cause of his unhappiness was. After several appointments in, the man realized he was not going to get his prescription and told the doctor he would no longer be coming in. The psychiatrist tried to warn him about looking to the future, the horizon, your happiness doesn’t come from what is to be, but what is happening now. The man simply said thank you and left. The psychiatrist called a few friends of his who the man might try to go to for prescriptions and warned them of him. That was the end of the man’s quest for prescriptions to quiet his mind.

The man one day had decided he was tired of being “crazy” and decided that if he couldn’t do anything about the thoughts plaguing his mind that he was going to kill himself. Sadly, he was too distracted about all the possiblities of knot tying that he tied the noose incorrectly and just ended up with a damaged vertebrae and was in the hospital for several weeks.

The hospital proved to be a safe haven and a new level of hell. Because of the pain in his neck, they had him on a high does painkiller and sedation. For the briefest of times he was able to enjoy the silence without thinking of new ways to improve accoustics in his house or soundproof the walls, or how to make the neighbors timing belt run smoother. However, when he was pulled out of these states for talks to the doctors or therapy, he would enter an all new area of pain and discomfort. Not only did he have the physical pain of his bodies recouperation to deal with, but he also had a whole new world of devices and practices for his mind to work on. He saw the EKG machine in the next bed over of his shared room and thought of ways to make it more efficient or how to improve nurse response time. He was finally discharged when he was told his therapy was complete and there was nothing more the hospital could do for him.

The man tried to take solace in the lack of physical pain in his life, but that would eventually lead him to find new ways of thinking up preventive care medicine practices, and his whole cycle would begin again.

The man had finally reached the end. He could take no more, he thought about suicide again, but considering how the last attempt came out, he went against that. He sank deeper and deeper into a depression. He ceased going outside, he ceased bathing, he ceased doing much more than existing. He slept, he ate, he used the bathroom. His mind had broken, he was hardly aware of the passage of time anymore.

After some unmeasurable amount of time, the man finally passed away. His body was discovered after the neighbors in his apartment complex could no longer tolerate the smell. He was identified and his family gave him a simple service and burial.

One man came to the service who did not look like everyone else. He had the look of one who has truly lost something important. The family thought that the man was clearly in the wrong room, he looked like he had just lost his best friend, not some man whose mind had finally snapped, who had died with no friends or loved ones. This stranger gave his respects to all those present. He saw the hastily thrown together funeral with the few pictures of the deceased spread around the room. At long last the service began and the preacher asked if there was anyone who would like to say a few words about the deceased. The family all sat there quietly, they had barely knew him and had nothing to say.

The stranger stood up and walked to the podium. “I have something I would like to say” he announced.

“This man is your flesh and blood, but you hardly knew him.” He said looking to the small contigent of family. “This man was a genius and a tortured soul. He spent his entire life looking ahead, constantly trying to figure out the best way to get to that greener grass on the other side of the fence. I knew him, but for a few weeks, and I was amazed at the intellectual power this man had, but he thought of it as a curse. He was insulted when I refused to simply medicate his mind into a stupour. The last words I ever spoke to him was both advice and a warning. I told him to stop looking to the future for his happiness. For it is not the future of promised riches that makes a man wealthy today, it is not the hope of future loves that makes a man loved today, it is not the promise of a home that keeps a man from sleeping in the streets today. It is for today that one must live and love. Hope and dream for the future, but do not be consumed by it. We all today are gathered to pay our respects to a man that was consumed and obsessed by the promise of a better tomorrow. We must all remember that a better tomorrow begins today and that it is the bonds we share, the bonds we make and the bonds that break that define how our life is. Not the material wealth. We take what we are given. This man was blessed with an infinite curiousity matched only by that of a child. A gift that many of us fail to appreciate just how special it is. A remarkable man has been lost to us, but let us gain strength from the many ideas that he has passed on to us and left for us.”

The psychiatrist stepped down from the podium and took his seat again in the church. He could see that his words had some affect, the pastor was wiping his eyes as he retook the podium and finished the service.

After the funeral, the man’s mother approached the psychiatrist and offered him everything that had belonged to the man. “He was virtually a stranger to us, you seemed to know him better than his own family, this is a tragedy that we must deal with.”

It’s been a while….

So it’s been a while since I posted anything on here.  It happens when you get busy with a million other things, hit up to see a big chunk of what I’ve been up to.  Yes I know I’m completely shameless in my plugs.

I had an idea the other night that I thought I would post some old writings that I dug up in an untouched folder on the computer.  I thought I would post up the information here so that I didn’t clutter up the other posts.

Basically, all of these stories are in their VERY rough draft state.  I’m just looking for any kind of feedback on them.  Think they are good? Let me know, think they suck? Share your criticisms with me.