The Warrior Poet of Golden, CO.

It was 2AM and we had just finished loading out from a gig.  I don’t remember where we were, but I do know that there was a small mountain between us and our house in Golden, Colorado.  It was before James & The Devil existed and we were in our early phase of….Capricorn.  Before you go on judging us about that name know this: you’re wrong and that band name was bad ass.  Neither Jim nor I were capricorns, however that was our “couple sign” based off of a very scientific article in Cosmo.

March 2003 edition if anyone would like to know.

So by the stars, the band was born, and by band I mean Jim and I doing acoustic shows of our early songs.  We used to lie and say we had a band to get gigs…I don’t recommend doing that…but hey, we were young and eager to play.  We’d show up to the venue, but our “band” conveniently had to back out last minute…don’t worry though; Jim and I could still perform and rock the house.  Being an amateur musician in a new city like Denver was daunting.  The lessons were learned quickly.  The first time I got yelled at by a club owner was also the last.

You gonna put up flyers around the entire city?  Good, cause no one else is going to.

You like pouring your heart into songs just to play them for the other band in an empty bar?  Good, cause you’re going to.  You’re going to do a lot of that and you’re going to do it for very little money.

It was not for the weak of spirit.
Jim Campbell is not weak in spirit.  I know this because I have witnessed many accounts of sheer epic prowess.  I have seen some shit, man.

It was after that gig at 2am, with a mountain between us and our destination, that Jim decided he was ready to look fate in the eyes.

“I’m gonna walk.  I’ll meet you at the house.”

“Walk?”

He pulled his hat down and began toward the base of the hill.

“Dude there’s mountain lions up there!” Someone yelled.

I can’t remember who it was…it was blurry.  I liked to party at that time.   Get off my back, Dad.  I was twenty.

Jim looked back at us.

“I hope so.” He said with the confidence of a…well a lion hunter.

We went back to the house. He arrived later that morning, brush still sticking out of the floppy straw hat that he had commandeered from me months before. It looked better on him anyway, damn him. He didn’t run into a mountain lion like he hoped, but he sure as hell wasn’t afraid to in the future.

This may not seem like it has anything to do with music, but it most definitely does.  One of the greatest things I’ve learned about being a songwriter is something Jim taught me: balls.  Have some balls and believe in yourself.  Don’t be modest and wish washy.  You wrote a song?!  Sing it as loud as you can!  Wake the neighbors!  To hell with them if they don’t like it.  Let them sing a song that they wrote.

Jim would perform his songs to anyone breathing. We used to go downtown and sing and play to the homeless of 16th street mall. They called him Mickey Mouse and me, The Dude. When Jim and I first moved to Denver we lived in a very, very sketchy apartment complex with a big courtyard in the middle of it. Jim would fearlessly go out to the courtyard in his thrift store magenta robe and sing songs for the kids. They would gather around and listen with their hearts wide open. It was truly beautiful.

We were there together in the trenches of rock n roll for years. We were hungry together.  We were poor together.  We fought together (we also fought each other a couple times, but we had a pact to never hit each other in the face.  We were men of honor…though he used to punch me in the shins and it hurt like hell!) We lived in a studio apartment with nothing but a PA, some beds, a couch, and some garlic salt that the previous owner left on the stove.  We lived in a world where love meant more than the bills, and music meant more than the jobs. We shared some pretty wild adventures:

The Great Spider War of ’07

The Driveshaft Debacle of Durango Mountain

Matt Stoner & the Legend of the Missing Pistachios

Trench Coats: Fashion Nouveau

Cheyenne by Accident

There are so many more wonderful stories that I will probably share one day…

James & The Devil had been born and was riding hard and fast. Life was good.  I met Alaina and fell in love hard and fast. We found out that we were going to have a baby. I moved back home and took a job in a factory while Lucy was born. Jim was pretty mad at me for leaving. He had every right to be.

Things were okay and then they weren’t, then they were and then they weren’t. Life is crazy. Alaina and I split up she moved to Minnesota. I followed. I started my band, The Slamming Doors. Things went well and still are with that. Then in a crazy twist, Alaina and I got back together a few years later.  We got married. Life was golden.

We booked with James & The Devil at a festival in Michigan. I was about to be reunited with my brothers! Then I got a call from Matt Stoner, a week before the gig. It was July.

Jim had a seizure on stage. They were running tests. It wasn’t good.

The last conversation I had with Jim, before he lost his ability to speak, went something like this:

“Welp, I have cancer.”

His voice was soft and smooth, like he was telling a joke.

“I heard.” I responded.

“Doctors said it’s in my brain.”

“You don’t need that, anyway.”

There was a laugh. Then he changed the focus.

“I saw you got your family back.”

“Yeah.”

“I knew you would. Tell Lucy I can’t wait to meet her.”

So here I sit, listening to old recordings of Jim and me from his apartment in Sedalia, Missouri, tearing up a little as I remember it all.

The universe is over 13 billion years old. Humans have been around for 1 to 2 million years. There are 7 billion people on earth today, and I was lucky enough to be born when I was.  I was lucky enough to move to Sedalia the same time as Jim.  I was lucky enough to be set on this wild path I’ve traveled. I was lucky enough to find James & The Devil. Yes, I was lucky.

Thank you for everything.

 

To the Warrior Poet,

the Hunter of Lions,

the Breaker of Strings,

the Bear of Blair 701,

Huckleberry,

Wherever we end up, I hope I’m with you, because I know that it’s going to be awesome.

 

To my friend, Jim.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Villa Leila – The Shape-Shifting Reptilian Elite of Kenton, Illinois

 

Chapter 11 – The Shape-Shifting Reptilian Elite of Kenton, Illinois

(An excerpt from “Villa Leila”)

Huckleberry Gary knew the tunnels well. He patrolled them almost daily. He was scoffed at often. Many time the butt of the joke, but he knew that protecting the city from the reptiles was more important than his pride. The Navy taught him that. Pride goeth before destruction.

Gary was on a mission, and so far, it was a success. He had yet to fail in his task of letting the reptile overlords take this good city. It could be because he has actually never caught one, but that didn’t matter. The shape-shifting reptiles were good at hiding. He knew this. He also knew that they were arrogant creatures. That was their weakness. A haughty spirit before a fall.

It was a chilly morning, but he was warm. He had on an old pair of coveralls that fit a little tighter than they used to. He had a loaded Sig Sauer M9 nine-millimeter pistol on his right hip and a 6-inch Ontario MK stainless steel knife on his left; remnants of his days in the Armed Forces. On his back hung a pink crossbow that he bought from the Kenton pawn shop.

Huck, like usual, had a small hangover, but, like usual, it didn’t slow him down. He was learning a lot from his court ordered DUI classes, but the recidivism part hadn’t quite stuck yet. Besides, he was carrying the weight of war on his shoulders. Not from the war in Afghanistan. Not from his time on board the Boxer ARG. This was an unknown war, and he, the only soldier. So yeah, he deserved a little downtime now and then. And what goes better with downtime than a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey?

The tunnels connected all throughout the bluffs that ran along with Mississippi River. There were many cave systems connected to a large man-made tunnel system that worked in tandem with the natural aquifer which was used by a long ago bankrupt brewery. The brewery had survived prohibition by bottling water and other types of beverages. At night they would use the tunnels to delivery kegs of beer and bottles of hooch to the river.

Some of the caves were bought and converted into storage facilities and warehouses. Some tunnels connected to the nearby streams and eventually lead to the dam, just north of Kenton. Huck kept track of them all. He sometimes took a break from the dark underground, and would patrol the islands on the river. Other times, he would check into the sewer systems.

Sure, he was laughed at by most of the town, but the Illuminati Reptilian Elite is no joking matter. He would explain that they have been around us for thousands of years with one goal: enslave the human race. The scariest part of it is that they’re winning. Huck couldn’t help but feel that humanity is all but lost. The reptiles had shifted their blood drinking violence to a more sophisticated means of entrapment. They have given us what we think we want. They’re drowning the bees in their own honey.

How long can we survive in the age of the iPhone? How fragile are our hearts truly, as we watch one another thrive on social media, while secretly crumbling at home? We compare ourselves to a fantasy version of others, all the while longing for a connection that we will never get over LTE.

When success is measured in likes, and failure is measured in tweets, we will never reach Nirvana. Not when our only growth is found from buzzwords in blog posts written behind a thin veil of enlightenment. What can a shaving commercial do for the plight of the disposable man? How can a meme lift the boots of rape culture off of our daughters’ necks? If the answer is inward, then we are looking in the wrong place. Yes, the reptiles are winning.

There’s no Facebook in Alpha Draconis. Huck pulled out a half empty flask from his back pocket and took a swig. A little Jameson always hits the spot on a hunt. He didn’t care that no one believed him, and it didn’t matter that he had no evidence. He was a soldier for humanity. He was doing this for us.

Huckleberry had seen one before, forty years ago, when he was just a little kid. It was dusk and he and his father had just loaded up their john boat on the trailer and were getting ready to head home. They had been out on the river setting trout lines. It was early June, and the sun was setting later in the evening.

“Did you get the plug, Gary?” His father asked him as he finished winching the boat to the trailer.

“Doing it now,” Gary called back. He whistled a hymn as he walked to the back of the boat to unplug it and drain the water.

There was a gurgling of bubbles and foam coming from the river bank a few feet behind him. Gary turned to see a tall human-like creature rise out of the water. It was black, with long arms and deep dark eyes. Gary screamed. His father ran to the back of the boat.

“What is it?!” He questioned.

Gary pointed at the water, but the creature was gone. His father grabbed him and they got in the truck and drove away quickly.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” Gary finally let out.

“Gary! Ephesians 5:4!” His father answered.

“I’m sorry, pa.”

“What was it that frightened you so much so that you would let such corrupting talk come out of your mouth?”

“It was a monster!”

His father didn’t believe his account, nor did anyone else after, but Gary knew in his heart that he saw something in the river that day. It was when he came across the son of the Godhead, David Freaking Icke, dressed in turquoise and being interviewed on the television, that he finally knew what he had seen. The shape-shifting reptilian elite were right here, in Kenton, Illinois.

Huckleberry Gary shimmied in his coveralls, arranged his junk, and continued his watch down the dimly lit tunnel.

Limbo, An Odd Novel available now!

You’re 5 foot nothin’, 100 and nothin’, and you have barely a speck of athletic ability.

Hey there. It’s me, Adam.
We’re kicking it ol’ skool here and doing a blog post. I know, right? 2017 called… amIright? Hey, I’m still a fan of the blog, though. It may not be as retro as the diary, and it doesn’t have the utility of the podcast. (In that you can’t really read a blog while you’re driving. Unless you’re me. I can. Go ahead and try it. Don’t worry about the other drivers. They’ll move.)
No, I’m still a fan of the blog because I always have and always will root for the underdog. They have such a big heart in such a small frame. Blogs are the Rudy of the online media. They deserve the slow clap.

It’s been a hell of a busy year with The Slamming Doors and Limbo and with more writing and fatherhood and dishes and what not, so I thought I’d offer a brief update and a progress report for anyone who wants to be in the know. For all the support since Limbo’s release THANK YOU! It’s been an amazing experience so far. I just did an episode of the Lake Superior Writers podcast that will be available soon, and then I think it’s time to switch gears and really start to focus on the new novel’s ETA.

I’ve been working hard on a second novel titled “Villa Leila.” I can’t wait to hear the mumbles on that one! And don’t worry, it isn’t about labradoodles or demon camels or couch-humping beasts of the bible. Don’t be ridiculous. This one is a love story…kinda. It’s sweet and romantic…kinda. Oh, and it does have a talking catfish named Xanny and there may or may not be an evil river monster, and also the ghost of Gray Dougal’s dog, Cheddar gets involved.

I’m having so much fun writing it. Can’t wait to finish it up. I’m hoping to have it done by spring!

We are also in the middle of a new album with The Slamming Doors. We are still tossing around whether we should release it in small portions as E.P.’s or as one album when it’s all done. But these songs that we are yet to record and the ones that we have already recorded may be some of the best ones we’ve done.

I’ve been thinking of starting a patreon page to help with the funding for these things.

What are your thoughts if you’re familiar with that? I’d love some feedback.

As always be safe and take care of each other out there! Ya’ll are the mutt’s nuts.

And please don’t read blogs and drive.

Diamonds and Daughters

“Dad, guess what…mom has a date tonight!” my daughter chirped to me before the front door was completely shut.

It was eight in the morning and my coffee was brewing.  Summer was ending and my regular Tuesday with Lucy was just beginning and rather than send her to daycare, I selfishly take these days off so we can hang out.

“She does?  Well…that’s uh…” I groggily scan the room for any empty bottles of booze. “That sounds fun, Pixie Stick.  So how is it that you came about this information?  The Russians?”

“She told me.”

I see an empty Coors on the table.  I toss it away before she sees it.

“She wanted me to be prepared.” She says again.

Luckily for her, she was.  This wasn’t anything new. We were both well prepared for this.

That seems to be a byproduct of the nuclear fallout families of today.  The kids are prepared.  The women are entitled.  The men are thrown back into adolescence and the world keeps spinning.  Fuller House is on Netflix.

I know I’m not alone.  I’m not the only stray dog wandering around the bars, desperate for a home, but too broken to find it.  I see these people often, and they see me.  It’s an unrecognized fraternity that we pledged to against our will.

“So how are you with things?” I ask her.

“I’m good.  Is your internet working?”

“Yep. So’s the neighbor’s”

She pulls out her iPad from her backpack.

“Dad, do you have a girlfriend?” She says.

“Of course I do.”

“Oooooh….what’s her name??” She smiles and teases.

“Oh I don’t remember.”

“Daaaaaaddd?”

“No, I don’t have a girlfriend.  You’re the only girl for an old chunk of coal like me.  Besides, who would have me?”

“Dad for the last time…you’re not old.”

“Soon I’ll be a diamond.”

“Dad, it’s okay if you have a girlfriend.”

“Sugar, I’m fine.  Besides, I’m too busy building sweet roller coasters on Minecraft.”

So that’s what we do.  We push the feelings aside and build new worlds in fantasy lands.  We build badass pyramids on Minecraft.  We laugh at funny cat videos.  We put together puzzles.  We take walks along the great lake and make plans to live on a sailboat.  She and I share a birthday, and she consistently tells me that she is going to ask her mom if we can have two cakes.  I always agree, although I don’t think I would eat the cake her mother bakes me…’cause of the poison.

She worries about me being alone.  Hell, I worry about being alone, but I’m her dad.  I am the one who shows her how a man is supposed to treat her.  I am the one who shows her how not to be objectified by the bullshit media.  I am the one to show her, that being a strong minded individual is not only okay, but ideal.  Don’t let a man dictate your worth.  And then it hits me….I’ve let a woman dictate my worth for years.  My daughter thinks I’m the bee’s knees… I am the bee’s knees, dammit.   So are you.  So is she.  Forget the rest.

So here’s the heart of this piece.  I’m a fake humorist, so here’s the fake humor:  A chicken crosses the road…and it takes everything it thinks it knows about love and shreds it.  You and I don’t know any more or less than the generations before us, and they, the ones before them.  So give every piece of your heart to a stranger, and be gentle with theirs. Go on dates.  Ask weird questions.  Fuck it.  Wear socks with sandals.  Be proud of your ability to give until you lose.  Life is shorter than you think.  Quit hiding, you chickens.  Get out there and build something.

Shine on you lonely diamonds.

Limbo – Chapter 19 – Genesis

An empty fish tank in your living room is about as useful as a fork in soup. God felt the same way about the universe. Heaven and hell had been created so long ago, that god himself had easily grown bored with it.  Engineering the universe was a labor of love. Which is a godly way of saying: it was a pain in the ass. There were so many issues to work out and then once people got involved it was like herding cats. This is actually why the lord created cats. It was a passive aggressive revenge of sorts. Why am I doing all of this? The lord would think to himself. These people don’t listen.

The creation process was usually pretty similar each time. First of all, like all of the other worlds he built, there needed to be some sort of order. Balance was the key to creating an interesting world. He had built a couple worlds before earth that were OK. One of the first worlds he had built was a place that was pure and simple and righteous. It was great at first, but there was no drama or excitement. In an effort to balance this out, he created another place that was the opposite. It was cold and full of dread and darkness. Again, it grew boring. Creation, like most things, was best perfected by trial and error. So what began as a dark void of infinite possibility became heaven and hell, and then, in a stroke of genius BAM…the lord created balance. You’re welcome.

Next up, the lord picked out a big, empty, rock hurdling through space, god thought to himself “This could be a fun world full of love and ambition. I could use this place to build people that have the same kind of love in their hearts as me. This could work…” Then BAM…Earth, oceans, veggies and all. You’re welcome.

​Without an anchor this newborn world would just float around the ever-growing fabric of the universe. This felt unfair to all of the life that would inhabit this world, though. They deserve a home in the universe, not to be some sort of interstellar hobo without a common sky throughout their lives. So the lord placed this giant rock near one of his favorite stars and let it slowly circle it. However, during the move he accidentally smacked it against some debris and part of it split off. It ended up circling the rock and reflected the light of the star back onto to the rock, giving parts of the world a beautiful, yet somber glow. God was pleasantly surprised with this and left it. He had a good feeling about this, and before he stopped creating for the moment, he tossed some stars around and smiled. BAM…the sun and the moon and the stars were there…you’re welcome.

​God came back after a while and took a look at this world. It was awesome. He was super psyched about how well it all turned out and figured he would shake it up a bit. He was looking down from heaven when one of his favorite angels came up to him.  

​“Gabriel, what do you think of this place?” the lord asked

​“Looking good, Big Guns. What are you going to do next?”

​“Huge fucking lizards, dude.”

​Gabriel nodded in agreement. That would be pretty bad ass. So the lord headed down to earth and began his effort in populating the world with these giant lizards. He loved them. Life on earth was good for a while, and it looked like the lord had found a place that he could put all of his love and joy into. BAM dinosaurs…you’re welcome.

​It was morning time when Big Guns noticed someone walking through the forest on his new world. He looked down from his throne in heaven and noticed the leaves disintegrating as the figure strolled through.

​Son of a bitch! He thought to himself. He stood up from his throne and ran outside onto the golden roads of heaven. He knew exactly who it was. Lucifer, that asshole that defected years ago, he was just trying to get under his skin. God knew better, but he hated seeing his new world being soiled by that dick head.

​“LUCIFER” the lord bellowed from on high.

​The man stopped for a moment and then walked into a clearing and looked to the sky.

​“Mother is that you?” he said, feigning innocence. He was wearing a black robe and had long blond hair.  

​“Is there a reason you are here? You belong in the pit, not on my new world.”

​“Well I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I heard you had these beautiful new creatures up here. I only wanted to see them.”

​“You need to leave, Satan.”

​Lucifer hated that name, Satan. It just felt mean rolling off the tongue. At that Lucifer looked up and responded “Of course.”

​He bowed his head and began to walk away. After a few steps he stopped, looked up to the sky with a terrible smile before spitting on the ground, and making an X in the dirt with his foot. He then continued on his journey.  

​That night, there was a terrible storm on earth. The lord was watching as his creatures were scurrying around seeking shelter from the plentiful world they lived in. God knew that this was somehow Lucifer’s doing, but wanted to see how it played out. Out of nowhere the sky split and a giant meteorite flew through the atmosphere and crashed right into the very same spot that Lucifer had made an X in the ground.

​The sky was covered in debris and the light couldn’t shine through. The lord watched with rage as many of his creatures died. Although, some of them survived and began to adapt to the new world around them, many of them would never be seen again. He knew what he needed to do in the fight against Satan. He would create creatures that could act as currency. Spiritual economics was the only way to defeat this evil butthole. It was a new concept in the world. He would create souls. All of the beauty and love and joy would be there for the picking, but it was up to these new creations to wade through the glutton and jealousy and fear that would hold them back. This would be the perfect creation. Something that the lord could love regardless of fault or failure: people. So then BAM…people. You’re welcome. And the lord loved them in a perfect way.

​As time progressed, the battle for souls became more and more intense and both sides became very invested in the war. Gabriel was given control over the angelic army. Over time, the war escalated and god had one more thing to create: a doorway between worlds. He knew that eventually the war would have to be fought on the very grounds that he had created, so he sent his son, Jesus, to earth.

​What happened in those days was mostly lost in translation. People were easily corrupted and prone to distorting the truth for their own means (especially when it comes to forgiveness, helping the less fortunate, and just generally being cool.) A lot of JC’s story was edited and rearranged to serve the powerful and help further their agendas. In fact, thirty years of Jesus’ life was completely omitted. No one even acknowledged his childhood comrade, Biff, but that’s a story in its own.

​After Jesus was betrayed and killed, his body was taken to a tomb. History tells us that his followers denied being on Team Jesus and that they got away without being brutally beaten and murdered like their patriarch. Then, days after his body being entombed, something happened. All of a sudden every disciple that followed Jesus went public with their allegiance, and thus were brutally beaten and murdered. What could make someone change their mind and walk right into the lion’s den like that? Jesus coming back to life and making them eat some proverbial crow. 

​Jesus and his dad were looking down from heaven after his death.

​“Well crap, looks like I’m gonna have to go back down there.” Jesus said

​“Yeah. Man, I really thought all of those miracles and sermons would have stuck.” God responded.

​“I know! Remember the sermon on the rock? That crowd was going wild! I really thought that we had some serious momentum.”

​“Yeah they were. I really don’t know what went wrong.”

​“What about the guy that they brought in through the roof? Remember that? Dude was paralyzed! The house was so full of people that they couldn’t fit him in! They had to lift him down with a bunch of ropes and when I saw him I was like ‘walk much?’ then BAM I smacked him in the ass and he got up and started PARTYING! What more do these people want?!”

​“I know it.”

​“I walked on water for my sake!”

​“I know it.”

​“Wine anyone?”

​“I know it.”

​“I won’t even talk about how bad it hurt getting brutally beaten and murdered. That shit sucked.”

​“I know it.”

​“I have to go back down there?”

​“Yep. You’re going to have to go back down there.”

​“UGH! Pops, I spent 30 years with those ungrateful fucks. Can’t I take a break?”

​“HA! Keep me posted when you’re eternity years old, buddy.” God put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “But sure, take the weekend and relax. You can head back on Sunday.”

​On Sunday the lord created a gateway back to the worlds. Jesus used it to head back to the tomb he was buried in.  

The gateways in the caves existed all over the earth; however they only allowed spiritual beings to use them as the doors they are. If a living creature went into the caves, they would be just those…dark and rocky caverns that lead into the depths of the earth. They’re just big, scary holes to us simple human folk, but the caves are a complex and diverse system of transit. There are pathways to many places: Heaven and Hell, Limbo and Purgatory, Hades and Valhalla, Kansas and Arkansas.

To travel to the land of the dead, any cave would work, but without a map who knows where you could end up. Luckily for Colin, there is only one map on Earth: A homeless guy named Catfish Durham.

 

Buddy, the Suicidal Bichon-Frise

When I was seventeen years old, my family was dog-sitting a family friend’s bichon frise. He had a sweet demeanor and curious disposition with curls as white as snow. I had been given the task of picking up my sister from somewhere, and I had decided to bring the pup along on the journey. We hopped into the family minivan, and I started it up, with Buddy riding shotgun. It was a lovely summer day in southern Missouri as we rounded the corner in my neighborhood, heading towards town. The windows were rolled down, and the sun was shining. It was then that I noticed something different. The usual love of life in Buddy’s eyes had somehow changed on the journey. He seemed…darker, like the weight of the world was weighing on him. I tried to cheer him up.

“Hey, Buddy, great day for a drive, huh?”

He looked at me with melancholy and ignored my cheers. It was then that I knew this dog was ready to hang it all up and put an end to this hellish façade we call “life.” Good lord… he was contemplating suicide!

The world went into slow motion as I saw him prepare to leap out of the open windows! We were travelling at a speed that would probably not kill him, but dammit if it wouldn’t cause some injuries. He leapt into the air.

“Buddy no!” I screamed…also in slow motion.

I had no choice but to let go of the wheel and reach out to save him. As I did, the Ford Windstar swayed off of the road and went right through a neighbor’s mailbox, which all but exploded on impact. Of course, all of this was witnessed by a row of people out enjoying the sunshine.

Well, as sure as the day is long, I had to dig a new post hole and replace the mailbox and some bushes. To this day, everyone remembers the havoc I had wreaked, and I still get some crap for it, but do you know what I never received? A thank you. Not one person said, “Thank you, Adam. You saved that dog’s life. You’re a hero…a big, sexy hero.”

Even Buddy, the dog, never thanked me! He just looked at me with his judgmental eyes.

It seems that we go through our entire lives being judged on the very few mistakes we make while all of the wonderful saves and catches are easily forgotten. Look at Bill Cosby. The dude sleep rapes forty to fifty people and all of a sudden no one remembers how much jello he sold us? Years of jello service just vanishes? Thanks, Bill.

Okay, that example may have been a stretch. That’s A LOT of allegations. He should probably go to jail.

What I’m getting at is that judging someone off of their mistakes or even their potential may not give us a very accurate result of who they are. A person’s heart and soul are both bigger than tiny moments in time. So if anyone accidentally destroys something on your property via minivan, go easy on them. They may have just saved someone’s suicidal dog.

 

Limbo – Chapter 1 – Dead

Colin Lodestar didn’t feel the sting of the Colorado spruce whipping across his cheek. He had been running so long that he could barely feel his legs. It was the kind of thick cold that left the air seeming as if it had just been shaken in a tin of ice and poured into a glass. As he ran through the dark hills he drank the air in. Night falls quickly in the mountains. Colin was nearly 30 years old and in decent shape, but he was half drunk and had been running for almost ten minutes now, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go at this pace. In life there are only a few situations in which one is inclined to run this way, and one of them is if you are being chased by a hyper masculine demon from Hell.

“I’m going to rip your nuts off!” The brute screamed from the rear. “One at a time!”

Colin had nothing left to give the girlish scream in his head justice. He wasn’t sure if he was running faster than before, but he was trying to accelerate. His feet felt like concrete but he pushed on. There are even fewer situations in which you need to run faster than before, and one of them is if you are being chased by a hyper masculine demon (from Hell) who is going to rip your nuts off, one at a time. That’s a horror of a different color.

It was 1984, New Years Eve, and Colin decided it was time to be bold for the first time in his young life. He turned south and headed downhill towards Old Mill Creek. There was an abandoned mine there that he and his friends used to play around when they were kids. He remembered a passage there that he thought he might be able to double back and lose this high protein diet of a pursuant. It felt like high school gym class again, but with less testicle threats.

The hill was much steeper than he had remembered from childhood. It was so steep that his desperate running turned more into some kind of flamboyant skipping.

“This is not how I want to die” Colin pleaded to himself.

All of a sudden there was a loud cracking noise. He was falling helplessly through darkness. Before he had time to react he felt his left ankle snap like the thirty year old wooden planks he broke through. Pain shot through his body like lightning. He screamed before he could stop himself from doing so. With no light there was no way of seeing how severe the break was. He could be bleeding out and not even know it. He had seen it with a cow once.

Colin grew up on a medium sized ranch on the west end of Denver. He had been around animals his entire life and knew much of the mysteries that are life and death. Or so he thought. He was only now learning that death is best mastered with hands on experience, not from putting down limp cows or sick chickens. This is exactly what he had done with a six day old calf that had bled out throughout the night from a fractured leg. The bone had broken the skin after being stepped on by its much beefier mother. Colin was barely 16 at the time and it was his job to herd the cattle back into the main pen before nightfall, but like most barely-sixteen-year-olds, his attention span was quite abridged, or as his father used to say: short and sweet and fucking short. He never noticed the irony of a baby calf’s leg being trampled by its own mother. His father, however, had noticed it and due to his long and bitter memory, never forgot it. He could never let Colin forget it either. This was just another blotch on the imperfect relationship between him and daddy.

Now here he sits with a broken leg of his own. Could this be some sort of karmic retribution? Was fate as cruel and unusual as his father? That he sitting here with a broken ankle waiting to be put down seemed almost fitting for the wackiness of the sins he had committed in his past. A sin is a sin you know, no matter how weak it is; and Colin’s sins were weak. In fact, Colin was kind of a bitch.

“Oh sweet beans and rice he can smell me” He thought, bitch-like, or maybe he said out loud. He wasn’t sure.

He looked up. The moonlight lit up the dust as it fell back into place in the hole above him. He could hear the desperate sounds of sniffs and pants. All of a sudden he heard voices above.

“It’s been a long time, Chrissy”

“Yeah, last time I saw you I believe I was throwing you into a bus. How ya been?”

“Oh, you know same old same old. Wasn’t that right before your dumbass got smashed by the same one? It doesn’t matter. Who’s judging? I’m just looking out for my guy down there.”

“Your guy? This is who you were assigned to?”

“That’s right, and you being up here is against the rules. ME being here is against the rules! He still has choices to make.”

“I’m just doing what I’m told, BJ. Now shut your cock-holster and get the hell out of here before your breath knocks me out.”

“Chrissy, you can’t do this. If this is a vendetta against me then you’re risking a lot by going this far. If you kill him it changes everything.”

“I didn’t even know he was yours until now.”

“He still has choices to make. We all had ours.”

“So what are you saying then?” Chrissy started to giggle. “You mean you ‘chose’ gingivitis? Jesus, BJ. A misguided breath from you could choke a chicken.”

The gravity of that particular choice of words fell swiftly to the floors of self regret.

“Don’t give me that look! You know what I meant!” Chrissy said. “I meant a donkey, you could choke it with…ah fuck it! Your breath sucks!

BJ calmly got the conversation back into perspective. “Okay, well I have to go now. They’re going to know I’m missing. Think about what you’re about to do. Please.”

Colin could hear the monster over exaggerating the effects of Juice’s reply. It sounded like he was stumbling around.

“Oh it’s terrible! I know you’re dead and all, but your breath literally smells like death. Damn, BJ! Jeez, aren’t you in heaven yet? I’m sure they could do something about that. There has got to be at least a couple dentists up there or something. Oh god, I can hardly breathe. Hold on a second, let me smell my own asshole, I need some fresh air. Jesus!”

Juicy turned to walk away, checked his breath when Chrissy wasn’t looking, and then he whispered “I hate this job” as he disappeared into the night.

“Hey, brother” the creature yelled into the sky. “If I could do it all again, if I could go back and change what happened that day in Chicago…I wouldn’t. I’d gladly kill you again.”

Although the creature was much less menacing after his maturity level was revealed, Colin went right back to being scared shitless when he heard his only hope of rescue leave. He listened again, hoping for a clue as to where the monster was. There was silence. Maybe the creature had changed his mind after all. Maybe this Juicy fellow had talked some sense into the brute.

He began to crawl through the unlit corridor in front of him, begging himself not to scream with every painful movement. His ankle was definitely fractured. He could feel the warmth of the blood filling his boots. The pain was despairing, yet strangely invigorating. It was a reminder that he was still alive, that there was still hope.

He moved through the narrow shafts at an impressive speed for such a condition. There was only darkness as he peered deeper into the tunnel, the very tunnel that was leading him closer and closer to the bowels of wherever this casual sexual orientation of a monster originated. The cold was starting to soak in. He wasn’t sure if he was shaking from the elements or from shock. Probably both he thought.

Why Me? Colin couldn’t figure out what he had done to provoke such a horrible creature. Ten minutes ago he had just been celebrating the beginning of a new year with his dearest friends. Oh god! They probably don’t even realize I’m gone! He was going into the New Year with aspirations of an existential overhaul, of personal growth. Basically, he was sick of being a panicky little bitch.

“Fuck my face!” Colin shrilled as the monster crashed down in front of him.

Panicky.

“What do you want from me?!” Colin screamed.

Snow was still drifting through the beams of moonlight cascading down the gaping hole above. As the creature slowly stood from the rubble, Colin noticed that the fiend was easily eight feet tall and covered with black hair that stood as thick and sharp as a porcupine’s quills. His eyes burned with an ancient madness, an incurable anger that could never be satisfied. His chest and abdomen looked like rubber. He had hands that were perfectly manicured yet rough enough to sand off a layer of skin with one quick and usually necessary pimp slap. Had it not been for the long snarling snout and dagger like ears sticking above his head, cheating his true measurement, Colin would have thought that he looked more like a gorilla than a werewolf. Then again, of the two, Colin had much less experience with a gorilla.

Colin forgot about his broken ankle as he tried to pivot and run away. The pain brought him to his back. He felt a little like a turtle on his shell. He was ashamed that he wasn’t going to die standing up. If I ever get a chance to die again, I will die like a man. He watched as the creature started toward him, walking easily through the rubble and snow like they were as insignificant as grass. This is it! The creature stopped in front of him and picked up an old railway spike that used to tie down the rails for the mine carts.

No words came to Colin’s mind as the creature held the spike behind his head, eager to stab him with it. His life did not flash before his eyes like he assumed. He only saw Anna’s face, and tried to remember her smell. He remembered the first time he had met her; He remembered the day she died. Anna. He was at peace with his last thoughts; for he loved her as deep as love could go.

The creature stabbed him once through the heart. The young man took in as much air as he possibly could, then exhaled one last time; and as he stared into those furious eyes, Colin Lodestar softly fell into a place of quiet.

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