It’s that season again!  Halloween! Time for all the creepy, and crawlies, to come out and go ‘oogie boogie’.  Probably no surprise that I get all sorts of excited about it.  In that spirit (get it…spirit…halloween…) I will be posting more often with spooky and creepy themed stuff.  I’ll cover movies, books, old horror comics, just what the hell ever I can, for the season.

To kick things off, we’re going to do something that’s kind of a tradition for me.  I’ve always loved old time radio shows; the scary ones, my favorite.  Because they are only audio, I think it lends an even creepier element to them, making the stories even more effective. I’ve had these posted for a couple years now, and with luck I’ll find some new ones.  So without further ado: some Halloween radio goodness.

Remember kids: stay in school, don’t drink and drive, and stay spooky.


A holiday message from your drunk uncle.


Happy holidays my good friends!  I hope all is well in your corner of the world.  It’s been a rough year all around.  A lot has been going on in the world at large and in my own personal one.  I focus on the bright spots and let the not-so-bright ones go so they don’t follow me into the next year.  I hope that the same goes for you all as well.  I’d like this holiday season to lead into a great and prosperous 2016 for all of us.

In the coming year I plan on making some changes. Some I’ve thought through and others I’m still working on.  NIGHT SHALL OVERTAKE will enjoy a book signing at Half Price Books on January 16th and I’ve been invited to the 1st annual Screamacon in August.  But beyond that I’m going to take a serious look at my self-promotion and make necessary adjustments to that entire program.  Also when PALE WINTER SUN gets published (and it will, one way or another dammit!) my promotional efforts will obviously take different directions. There is a good chance I will be doing some different things with this site too.

THE HEADPHONE BLEED has an exciting announcement.  I have an interview with the insanely talented Garek lined up and that will air soon.  My first musician interview so this should be interesting.  After the new year, the show will take a small hiatus.  I’ve been doing it for nearly two years and could use a small break.  I also want to take a hard look at the format I’ve been using and change it up some, I just haven’t decided into what yet.  Suggestions welcome!! (hint, hint)  If you haven’t heard it you can go to the Headphone Bleed tab above for ancient shows, or Fanboytv.com for current ones.  While the show is down I will put a lot of much needed focus on the station (that runs 24 hours, btw).

The wheels keep turning and all we can do is to keep moving forward.  Happy holidays, season’s greeting, merry christmas, and all that crap.  May your egg nogg be tasty and may Santa give you that thing you’ve been wanting.

Remember kids: stay in school, don’t drink and drive, and Santa wants beer and pretzels left out for him this year.




There gonna be some changes around here…

Jesus, it’s been busy lately.  Between work, writing, the radio show, promoting my book, and all the stuff in between, I’ve been a busy boy.  I am not complaining though.  It’s either that or I sit around watching TV.  Or play Doom. Or with myself.

I’ve been slowly making some changes to this site but I’ve also been making changes in the way I’m approaching this whole thing as well.  I spent way too much time just dreaming about making things happen and now that I’m actually doing it, I am realize just how much work it takes.  Books don’t sell themselves.  Essentially I have to plan certain activities around certain days.  Writing is a Monday-Wednesday-Friday thing with extra time on the weekend.  Of course if the muse strikes (or slaps me upside the head) then it’s write when the iron is hot. (I’ve mixed my metaphors, pray I don’t mix them again).  The radio show is usually planned on Thursdays and finished up Saturday.  Tuesday has now become the official day of book whoring.  That’s where I beg and plead for book reviews and interviews, getting it on shelves, etc.

It’s officially time to get serious with not only the book, but the Headphone Bleed too.  Honestly, I started it to fuel my long standing fantasy to be a radio DJ.  I figured once I tired of it or it got in the way, I could just drop it and move on.  The problem is, I enjoy it way too much to give up on it now.  I want it to strive and succeed.  The only way to do that is to bring in more listeners and the only way to do that is to put some real work into it.  Maybe move out of my own comfort zone a little. This will mean more time and energy on my part spent on it, but I’m up for it.

So that means a few changes, not only to the existing structures I have, but with myself.  I’m adding a new page to the blog specifically for The Headphone Bleed and one for reviews and interviews.  I’m also looking at for a better place to post previous episodes of the show because it takes forever to load more on portable devices. (I’m up for suggestions if you got ’em.)  Also flirting with Facebook page for it, but we’ll see.

And as usual I will promote whatever the hell I feel like, but I promise to actually tell the people I’m promoting this time.  I swear.  Or you all can beat me to the punch and submit your work for promotion.  Whichever.

Time to shit or get off the pot.


Remember kids: stay in school, don’t drink and drive, and my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.


It’s only Rock and Roll, but I like it.

I woke up this morning with a burning desire to write another post.  It was a consuming need and felt like the fate of the world depended on it.  The world waited until after coffee. Then I sat down and wrote a long and deeply personal post.  I revealed a lot about who I am and I mused on deeply personal feelings and demons that I wrestle daily.  I delved into worries and fears that even those closest to me are unaware.  In some way it was cathartic writing it all down, ready to share it with whomever decided to read it.  But then I highlighted it all and hit the delete button.

Catharsis gone.

I still feel kind of like a dick for erasing it.  Even more so for giving into my weaknesses by cramming it all back into its box and locking it up.  As I write this, I’ve got my headphones on and set to shuffle. It brought up Queens of the Stone Age’s Fairweather Friends and it washes away a little of this feeling. (Not because of any fairweather friends, but because its just a great song) With it is a reminder that music is one of the things that I feel so passionately about.  One of the most important pieces of myself.  It’s also my drug.  It’s the heroin I take to hide from having to deal with the really hard stuff.  It washes over me like a wave of euphoria, my speakers are a needle in the arm.  The guitar/bass/drums/vocals are my boyfriend or girlfriend for those amazing minutes.  A riff is an orgasm, a drum fill is foreplay, a tasty bass line is beautiful afterglow.  I can feel this immaculate gorgeousness instead.

But then there is the brutal reminder.  Shuffle just popped up Johnny Cash’s version of Hurt.  Don’t get me wrong, the Nine Inch Nails original is still an emotional powerhouse.  But then Johnny’s bare guitar and shaking vocals start and just rip all that shit out I ignore out.  The song is physically painful in its beauty.  I literally can’t listen to it in public because it leaves me in tatters.  It makes me have to deal with my bullshit.

Okay, I’ll admit it, I’ve cried on the shoulder of a guitar solo more than once.

That’s the essence of music though.  It gives us a more physical texture to our emotions.  Because of this I try hard not to be a musical snob.  Who am I to say what a person feels or doesn’t feel to even the most trite of pop tunes. Though the popularity of certain songs makes me wonder if some people are really as shallow as they appear.  I suppose it can be argued that all music is honest and it’s how you listen to it, but I’m enough of a musician to know that’s bullshit.  Some of it is just repolished and repackaged turds.

In this spirit, I present the below.  I submitted this story to a contest (it didn’t win).  I think it could still use a little work, but I’m posting it anyway.  Back when I was playing bass and taking names, I used to say that if you were to cut me I would bleed rock and roll. I said it because it was witty, but there is truth in it.  In those flying guitars and thunderous rhythms are pieces of me.  Balls out, raw and gritty, unflinching rawk was my inspiration for this story.  As well as the freedom, honesty, and essences of life it contains.  Enjoy.

Rock and Roll

“Why are you so sad all the time, Will?” Sherry asked him. Her bright blue eyes held a caring and concern that normally would soothe him. But this time they couldn’t, her wholesome and safe care was not enough. She couldn’t give him what he wanted; only what she thought he needed. There was a purity to her that tasted like homegrown Jesus and lip gloss. He cared for her and they had been making teenage plans for themselves pending adulthood. Instead of hopeful anticipation it grew a despondency in him; a listless and fidgety energy that left him sullen and short with those around him. The dry and unusually oppressive summer, was slowly turning to fall, only sense of relief that could be found. But as Sherry followed him down the faded grey asphalt road he looked around and realized that even the fall wouldn’t be an adequate balm. Brown dirt, brown weeds, brown buildings, even the blue sky had brown eyes. Fall would come on drab, leading to a bleaker winter.

He made an involuntary sound at the back of his throat. If I’m still here in the winter, I might just go crazy, he thought, and I would embrace the insanity. Sherry gave him a concerned look, as if able to read his mind, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Whatever troubled him wouldn’t allow him to face her. As if he had a devil inside that winced away from her innocent light. A mile or so ahead was town, such that it was. It was no more than a few criss-crossing streets where everybody knows your family, your name, and your business. Old trucks and out of date sedans that never went anywhere drooped in front of red brick buildings. They just moved the same abbreviated routes and would for time immemorial, like in a time loop. The same people doing the same things until the universe itself finally just gives up on them.

“Do you ever want to just leave?” he asked so abruptly and suddenly, Sherry looked a little scared.

“Sure, someday,” she started tentatively. “I want to see things; visit the city.”

“I mean right now. What if we take this road and just keep going. Just keep walking until this is all too far behind us to come back. Never stop.” he said pointed forward past the road that eventually dipped out of sight.

“You mean never come back?”

“Yeah, just go. Don’t look back and see what the rest of the world looks like. We can go visit a hundred cities.”

“Our family and friends are here. I just want to visit places, but this is home. It’s safe here.” She said earnestly.

“To hell with safe,” he blurted out. Anger was rising in him, but it wasn’t directed at her, it was nameless and detached.

“You should see Reverend Parker.” Her voice betrayed her fear. She had never seen him like this. They lived in the cusp of transition, not quite adults but too far beyond children. All friends and lovers held the faceless fear of their companions growing in a different direction than themselves. This is what made her so uneasy; if he outgrew their home he outgrew her as well.

“I don’t think one of his trite monotone homilies is what I need.” he tried not to sound bitter as they continued down the lonely road. It didn’t matter how far he walked, it was always just a circle. All roads led back here. Sherry lagged behind, unable to match his pace.

“You aren’t thinking of running away, are you Will?” she asked quietly, catching up with him in front of a feed store.

“No,” he answered hiding the sound of defeat. He felt his youth wasting away at that simple word. It was a lie. He had thought about it but didn’t have a direction to run to. Or the balls. This little hick town had instilled a failsafe in its population. It whispered how scary the real world was and to venture too far into it would swallow you up. Some left and they were never seen again, validating that fear. Others left and came back; praising just how much better it was to be back home. They had made it as far as the corner drug store as the evening sun was settling in to release its lasts bursts of incredible light before giving up until another day. A breeze lazily drifted by them, playing with a bright yellow paper. He grabbed it and studied it.

“What’s that?” she asked peering over his shoulder. The over Xeroxed picture was almost a black blob. They strained to make out four yellow and black figures standing in determined poses. They held their guitars as weapons, their sneers were shields. His heart took an extra beat, they looked menacing, dangerous, but more importantly, they looked like freedom. A sloppy hand-drawn logo held a name of dark promise; King Blowtorch.   Will looked up the sleepy road and saw a strange vehicle parked out at Millar’s barn.

Millar’s barn was where every dance, ho-down, and revival happened. Saturday night could be a night of swinging dance and old Millar’s expert banjo, and then Sunday morning it was the Evangelist from the next county selling Jesus’ love like snake oil. Without a second thought, he walked towards it. His only care now was to find the origin of this flier and the devil’s promise that it held.

“I’m going home,” Sherry said, a little scared. “Are you going to walk with me?”

“Yeah sure,” he mumbled not really hearing her and not changing direction. Silently she disappeared. The setting sun was blinding as he approached the dusty barn where a road-weary van rested surrounded by dead grass and powdery dirt. A squat hairy man emerged, his arms full of coiled cables. He wore a sleeveless shirt and torn jeans. The curious teenager saw the tattoos on his bare arms, a riot of writhing ink and color. The painted figures were such a stark contrast to the drab surroundings and he wondered if the man was there at all. The man gave him a cursory glance as he passed. All Will could do was hold out the flyer to him.

“Show starts in an hour. It’s going to get loud around her.” His scraggly beard opened to reveal a toothy grin. “Rock and roll, man.” he said as way of explanation and went back to his work. Dazed, Will turned around and plopped down against a nearby telephone pole.

Rock and roll! The raggedy man confirmed what the flyer promised; Rock and Roll! “Will watched the procession of instruments parade from the cramped van. His excitement built as the large kick drum appeared. The same name in the same lettering as the cheap handbill was emblazoned across it.

“So what is it?” Sherry said, making him jump. He hadn’t heard her approach. She wore a look of determination that told him she was going to go along with his foolishness, if only to make sure he didn’t get into too much trouble.

“Rock and Roll,” he told her and held up the yellow flyer that he had yet to let go of. “They should be starting soon.”

As if others had heard him, people started to show up. They parked their rusty cars and hand-me-down pick-ups in the dead field next to the barn. They tentatively disappeared inside. Random hits of the drums and an occasional jangling cord slipped out. Finally they followed, Sherry a step behind. The curious locals, mainly kids he went to school with, were milling about and laughing amongst themselves. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they had no idea what no one here knew what they were in for. The small wooden stage held the vision of anticipation, stacks of speakers, some battered and scarred guitars, and a wounded looking drum kit.   After a few minutes the same squat man stepped up to the stage and tapped the microphone.

“Testing! 1…2…3!” His voice echoed and raised dust.

“Too loud.” said a future homecoming king. The man looked him dead in the eye and gave him that same toothy grin; only this time it was something more menacing about it.

“If you want to go home, it’s okay.” he said to the wholesome girl clinging to the boy. “It’s your last chance to get out while you can.” She shook her head and squeezed her boyfriend’s hand..

Then they appeared. Black boots and torn Converses led them to their instruments. The band was a mess of black and badly dyed hair, their t-shirts stretched and worn with names and faces no one recognized. They slung on and wore their instruments as if they were a part of their bodies. Nothing so pedestrian as an arm, maybe their heart, or their soul. For a brief moment they all looked at each other and something unspoken and powerful was communicated between them. Nothing was said, but Will could feel it. Before him was a troupe of devils about to fulfill a promise of sweet hell. The muddy blonde singer and the guitarist were skinny, covered in road and ink. The bassist loomed on the stage like a scary sentinel. The squat hairy man took up sticks and sat behind the drums.

Sherry clung to him, but she had already been forgotten.

The singer brandished her pick and looked him straight in the eye, daring him. She raked the pick across the strings and his entire being filled with The Sound. The world went deaf at that moment and he died. He was in limbo, he was an amoeba and formless. Then she did it again, changing chords allowed him to be reborn. Reborn into the world naked and screaming, but this time he was born a god instead of as the smitten.

The band screamed and howled; jumped and gyrated. Carelessly instruments swung around, broken drumsticks came at the audience like shrapnel while the sound assaulted. Song after song; notes and chords and beats wrapped him up and spit him out only to chew him up again. These dark wizards threw their entire bodies and souls into the music; deft finger flew across the neck of their guitars producing progressions of sound he didn’t know were possible. His heartbeat was replaced with the bass drum and feared if it ever stopped then he might die. The excitement of that idea spurred him on as he clung on to the driving beat.   He yelled until his voice was raw to lyrics he didn’t even know. It was a demon’s lullaby being blasted out and he was gladly standing at the gates of hell.

He wanted to weep from rage and joy from the noise that smelled like sex and felt like redemption. It lit the soul on fire as he began to outgrow his skin. The already miniscule crowd had shrunk to just a brave few, trying to withstand the onslaught a little longer. For their reward they received evil sneers. The music was a dare, the crunching guitars and the punishing bass lines were a warning to those who valued their purity. But the opposite was happening to him, he felt pure for the first time. In the blanket of fuzz and volume he felt like he was home. This was what sex felt like without ever touching another human being. Time didn’t belong here so there was no need to keep track of it. He had no idea when Sherry had left his side. Her virtue and innocence would have never lasted long here.

While the band threw themselves around the stage, sweet sweat and raw emotion clung to every surface. Will clung to the front of it soaking in every decibel until the last note rang out and a muted silence brought back the rest of the world. He was disappointed, like a junkie he desperately wanted more. He feared he would be nothing but a walking husk without it. Ears rang and head ached but his mind never seemed so clear. The drummer stood up and winked at him. “Looks like you’re the only one we couldn’t scare off.” Turning he saw no one else. The others had run and hidden from a power they never would be able to understand.

Unceremoniously, they began gathering their equipment and rolling cords. All he could do was stand there stupidly. Fear rooted him to the spot because he couldn’t let them go, not now. Not after all that they have done to him, the newfound awareness they gave him, they owed him that much.

“Do you need a hand?” he finally asked the scary looking bassist.

“Sure,” he said and pointed at the tall cabinet that had been the transmitter of jarring low end. Eagerly he went to lift it to find it heavy from the weight of its dark quintessence. The bassists laughed and came over to help carry it into the tired looking van. Piece by piece he helped put their equipment inside and each one was both exhilarating and depressing. Once the last instrument was tucked away his saviors would leave and all he would have is the same loss as before.

Once the barn was empty of everything but the memory of sound, he heard the van door slam with aching finality. “Thanks for sticking around until the end.” The guitarist said from behind the wheel.

“Yeah, thanks for….everything.” There wasn’t anything else he could say, they had given him the last part of himself to finally feel complete and they were going to drive off and take it away. “I have never heard anything like that in my life and I want to spend the rest of his life hearing nothing but that. If I were to fall down dead right now, I wouldn’t mind. Rock and Roll would bring me back.” The sudden raw honesty burst from his lips and left him shaking. The singer gave him an appraising look that revealed nothing. “Take me with you,” he pleaded. When she didn’t say anything, he turned on his heel and walked away feeling ashamed. Red faced, he pointed myself in the last direction he wanted to go; back.

Will made it as far as the corner before the rumbling van pulled up beside him. The side door slid open and drummer called out, “Well, come on.” Without a second thought he fell into the cramped interior. “You need to stop at home for anything?”

“No. I am home.”


Remember kids: stay in school, don’t drink and drive, it can’t rock unless it rolls.

A little dose of ‘Night Shall Overtake’

I’ve just a few updates and then a small treat.

First off, I am happy to announce that my story ‘Possession’ will be published in the upcoming issue of Shadows & Light magazine. You can look for it this July in both digital and print at Amazon.  Everything I ever read in this collaborative anthology has been excellent, so it feels pretty good that  my story was accepted. This is the first short story that I’ve had published and I’m pretty excited about that as well.  It’s taken me a few (okay maybe more than a few) years to get to a point where I think my writing is worth a damn, and then a few more to get off my ass and put it out there.  A testament to things happening when you actually try.  Sitting around and hoping isn’t nearly as productive as actually putting forth the effort.

Secondly I have posted last Saturday’s radio show on the sidebar of the blog.  (Look to your right and scroll down)  I love doing live radio but it would be nice to have the show available anytime.  Every week will be a new show so stay tuned.  Now you have soundtrack while reading this humble little blog, or whatever internet perusing you are doing.  And, as always, catch the real thing every Saturday night at The Headphone Bleed. (For those of you who have yet to experience my weekly live show, it’s two hours of celebrating great music while I attempt you tell lame jokes and talk about whatever.)

Next month my novel, Night Shall Overtake, will be coming out.  And as such, I thought it might be nice to give you a little taste of what is to come.  There is great pride in writing those words ‘my novel…will be coming out’ and even greater pride in being able to share it with everybody.  Enjoy.

Insert fanfare and rejoicing here.

Insert fanfare and rejoicing here.


excerpt from Night Shall Overtake

**This part of town began the outskirts of hopelessness. Just beyond it lie the warrens of nightmares and fiends that terrified even those things that go bump in the night. In this dirty and dangerous urban outpost sat a bar. To call it a dive would imply that it could still get worse. It was a home for the outcast and despondent, as well as the desperate, especially the desperate. Invisible tensions brewed in the air, the occupants brewed with it, just waiting for the resulting explosion. Outside the dingy little bar the night was warm and humid and faint sounds of a ruckus could be heard. A stumbling drunk emerged from the dark street and clumsily staggered by as he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. He passed unaware of the sounds of strife until the dented and paint chipped door flew open and forcefully knocked him down. The dim light from inside spilled out onto the street as a man spilled out with it and landed hard on the worn and crumbling sidewalk.

“What is your problem?” the man yelled while trying to stand up as a short blonde woman tried to kick at him.

“You’re an asshole, that’s the problem,” she yelled right back. She grabbed at his red flannel shirt but he scrambled just out of her reach.

“Oh, I’m the asshole? You’re the one who is messing around behind my back,” he accused her. Inside the bar patrons were calling out encouragements for the woman to kick him in various parts of his anatomy.

“You know full well what you did, you and your little bitch friend.” The woman hissed quietly. “I know what you two are planning, or should I say what she is planning for you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he nervously twisted at his unfortunate mustache knowing full well what she meant.

“That’s the problem with you Richard; you are great at coming up with ideas but too gutless to act them out.” She turned to enter the bar again but he found his feet and grabbed her arm.

“Wait.” He realized it was a mistake as soon as he did it; three large shapes filled the doorway.

“Let her go, man. It’s not worth it,” a guttural voice told him.

“Step back inside here,” another one coaxed, “I want to finish kicking your ass.” Richard looked up and down the dark street. He knew then that he had lost control of the entire situation. All his carefully laid plans and all the allies he had worked so hard to make were in jeopardy.

“Janae, listen. Let’s just talk about this, maybe I overreacted. I was just upset when I found out you were seeing someone else, we can talk about this.” He tried again in a quieter tone.

“Overreacted? It’s like a western saloon fight in there because of you. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out how dispensable I am to you?” From inside the sound of crashes and barroom violence wafted out. “Go to hell, I’m done with you.” The finality in which she said it convinced him of her sincerity. It was because of that sincerity he became more conflicted than before.

“But what about all we put together?   The plan?” he whined.

“Like I said, you can come up with ideas, you just can’t execute them. Maybe it’s time someone actually did something about it.” They stood there for a moment just staring at each other before Richard stepped back and turned on his heel. He knew he was out gunned and if he didn’t leave soon, he probably wasn’t going to live much longer. Finding Meredith is top priority now, she’d know what to do. As he disappeared down the dark street she watched him go and sighed. With all her talk, she felt a little lost as he walked away. It was a fleeting feeling as she sensed the darkness around the door shudder and a vaguely human shaped shadow emerged into the light of the doorway.

“It’s time,” it whispered to her. “We should go.” Another Shade appeared on her other side. Janae looked at them both and put her chin up.

“You’re right. It’s time to make this ours.” She spread her arms out, “We’ll make this all ours.” Together, the three of them walked in the opposite direction and disappeared into their own darkness. Unseen by all of them was another shape hidden, inexplicably, in the dark. It had been there the whole time watching delightedly. It hadn’t planned for tonight’s actions to happen, but cheered that he could at least be a part of it. Yellow-red eyes blinked into existence and stepped forward. The silhouette emerged around them, a hulking and over-muscled outline of hell.

“Good, they are all inside.” Sharp pointed teeth emerged in an evil smile as it stepped into the street and faced the seedy bar. The creature reveled in perverse glee at all the chaos he was about to create. He looked down at the drunk that lay unknown and forgotten from where he had fallen. Our sprawling inebriate had watched the events impassively until he saw the demon emerge. His pants grew warm and wet but it went unnoticed. The demon could smell the fear and urine and it only made him smile larger. “I suggest you go.” At the words, the man scrambled to his feet and bounded away suddenly much more sober than before. He didn’t see the demon’s dance-like movements or hear the muttered words but he did see the street briefly light up around him with an orange light, and felt a hot wind out-race him. He refused to look back; he refused to do anything but keep running.**


Stay tuned for more updates as the big day gets closer.

Remember kids: Stay in school, don’t drink and drive, and if you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit.


Vacation slide show (and yes, you are obligated to sit through it)

My poor neglected blog. Here it sits collecting cobwebs and mementos of more halcyon days when I actually wrote in it somewhat regularly.

What can I say, I’ve been busy. I’m about to start a new job, I’ve been working hard on a few different writing projects, and I’ve been doing the radio show.  I also managed to squeeze a vacation in there too, a much needed vacation.  As much as I love Austin, it’s always good to get back home to Idaho and see family and friends.  And mountains, and seasons, and giant cracks in the earth.

Going back to Twin Falls is always a little surreal.  I lived there for 30 years and only 5 here in Austin, but Austin has felt like home to me for most of the that time.  Back in Idaho, driving in and crossing the Perrine Bridge is that feeling of coming home, but I’m also conscious of the fact that home is also four states away.  I’ve only been back a couple of times since moving here, so naturally I see as many people as I can and do the nostalgia tour.  Gotta go take in the sights of so many good times (and battles) to get those warm fuzzies of my yesterdays.  And the subtle reminders of why I left in the first place.

Don’t get me wrong, I love where I’m from, but Southern Idaho is no Austin.  I can’t go hear great live music at almost any time back home, or visit places like The Museum of the Weird, or drink Shiner.  Every time I do go back I am always struck at the beauty of the area. For the most part it is scrub, sagebrush, and rattlesnakes.  Just lots of browns and faded green framed by hills and mountains on the distant horizon.  There is a desolate beauty to it.  The miles and miles of lonely rolling earth has own ponderous attractiveness. A no-mans land one can get lost in to find yourself.

Like this.
Like this.

But then you get to a giant crack in the earth.  The Snake River Canyon tends to be where the real action is, so to speak.  It is awe-inspiring as it winds and wends across the land.  Living there, it’s easy to take it for granted.  ‘Oh, yeah.  It’s just the canyon.  Big whoop-dee-do.’  But going back gives fresher eyes and I realized that it really is a thing of natural beauty.

Looking at the Canyon
Looking at the Canyon
Still looking at the Canyon
Still looking at the Canyon
We're still looking at the Canyon.
We’re still looking at the Canyon.

And of course the bridge that people come from all over the world to jump off of.  (and not just for pretty suicides either) By that I mean BASE jumping and whatnot.

If driving over bridges makes you squeamish; check out this horror story.
If driving over bridges makes you squeamish; check out this horror show.


So long story short: I went back home on vacation and it’s one of the reasons I haven’t written anything on here in a while.

In other news==>  there really isn’t any other news.  Night Shall Overtake is still shooting for a June publication and my radio show, The Headphone Bleed, is still chugging along (see link on the sidebar).  I’m still open to reviewing and promoting any good artistic endeavors that come my way so please drop me a line and I would love to check it out.  You can contact me at michaelr4224@yahoo.com.


Remember kids: Stay in school, don’t drink and drive, and if at first you don’t succeed just blame the temp.


==> I’m too lazy to think of a title to put here <==

Goddamn I hate being sick.  It doesn’t happen often, but when it does it knocks me on my sweet patooty.  I had plans, such plans, for this last couple weeks.  But it was all for naught.  Instead I spent my time as a hostage to body aches and mucous.  Such is my life.  My gross life.

It hasn’t all been lost though.   I received some good news, which is nice.  My editor has gone through my manuscript and kindly not threatened to hang me with a rope made of all my misused commas.  On top of that Nick let me know that I can expect my book to come out around the first of June!  wOOt!!  So adjust your reading lists accordingly and be ready.  In June, shit’s about to get real.


Or something like that….

Meanwhile in radio land, I have manged to move my radio show Saint Zero’s Headphone Bleed to a new home.  The previous website was jenky and located in some backwoods part of the internet that most were too scared to tread.  And I don’t blame them.   I’ve moved it to www.live365.com/stations/saintzero.  Not only is it a stronger and more reliable site; it also doesn’t actively hide from regular internet traffic.  (I’m pretty sure the old website had more social anxiety issues than I do, which is saying something.)

So to recap: mucous overload, June release date for Night Shall Overtake, and every Saturday at 9pm you should be listening to my radio station over at Live365.

Don’t forget that I would love to review your creative endeavors (whatever form they may be) and Remember kids: stay in school, don’t drink and drive, and you can’t always get what you want (But if you try sometime, you just might find you get what you need)