Hey everybody, it’s your old pal Skull taking some time to appreciate and give thanks to all of our veterans and their families who have sacrificed a lot so that we can enjoy many freedoms that people in other countries do not. Celebrating veterans is important whether you agree with the concept of war or not. It’s about letting the men and women who stick their lives on the line that we recognize the hell they have gone through and are grateful. Not all veterans have spent time on the front lines, but without them our troops would likely fail. I’m talking about cooks, mechanics, and of course medical staff. Empty stomachs don’t win wars, nor do Jeeps and tanks that don’t run, and without the fantastic medical teams many more soldiers would not make it home. It doesn’t take much time to say, “thank you for your service,” to that man wearing a Vietnam Veteran hat or the young woman in full uniform waiting in line ahead of you at the grocery store, but it’s important. Everyone doing a job wants their efforts to be appreciated and veterans deserve a huge amount of respect. Without them, you might not be here at all.
The wind waves a small American flag, the only moving thing on the chilly apartment balcony until a white-haired old man shuffles out the sliding door. Cigarette ready in hand, he lights it with a well-worn Zippo lighter. It’s engraved, a souvenir of his time in Vietnam. Why he re-enlisted was always a mystery. Most soldiers had more than enough of the blood, sweat, bullets, and pain during their first tour in that napalm hell. But that became his normal. In the jungle, nobody questioned his actions or why he enjoyed killing. It was more than just a job he had to do. Out in the oppressive heat of the jungles and rice paddy slogs, he was free in a way that was unavailable stateside. The dog was off the chain and running wild.
Letters from those who made it home didn’t paint many pretty pictures. Unfaithful wives and girlfriends running off to shack up with some draft-dodging longhair. Kids you barely knew stared at your scars with fearful eyes. Either that, or they didn’t understand why you weren’t a fan of playing War. Hey, you had the outfit, right? But they’d never seen their best buddy get blown to hell by a hidden mine, body fluids and pieces of flesh raining down. Not to mention your own family selling the souped-up Dodge you’d so lovingly put into storage when you got called up. The only thing left was a stupid sign you painted in High School saying “Mopar or NO CAR!” When the kid next door came home in a box, they just figured you were a goner, too. So, they slapped an ad in the paper and sold your dreams for two hundred lousy bucks. It was like being released from prison and coming home to a kennel.
The flag keeps waving as the old man lights a second cigarette from the butt of the first one. He still keeps the cherry concealed behind his hand, to avoid attracting enemy fire. Old habits die hard. As he sucks in another lungful of rich smoke, his body starts to spasm, mouth going slack. The spasms turn into deep coughs racking the man’s now frail body. He flops about like an out-of-control puppet.
A huge wad of yellow mucus lands in the wife’s potted plant but at least he can breathe again. The man quickly brings the cigarette to his lips and refills his lungs with smoke. His doctor has warned him to slow down, encouraged him to quit. But the doctor is just some kid with a mustache that looks like he drew it on with a sharpie. Always wears a pink tie, too. So what does he know about life? Back when he was in the service, cigarettes were good for you, beer had vitamins, and nobody wore a pink tie unless they were looking for a busted lip. Uncle Sam even handed out two free packs with the weekly rations, along with rubbers, candy bars, and razors. He always traded the chocolate bars for smokes.
As the night comes on, a breeze comes in from the east and makes lighting the third cigarette a challenge. But the old man’s smoked in rougher conditions than this. He looks around the crumby, post-industrial city he’s stuck in and grimaces. This isn’t where he wanted to retire, but Clarice wanted to be close to her family. Oh yay…She hates that he still smokes and makes him do it outside. Whatever, he likes being by himself anyway. Out here he doesn’t have to listen to Clarice’s sister rattle on about what surgery she’s having next or whether margarine is just as good as butter. She made her husband quit “that nasty habit.” Now good boy Ralph just sits there silently holding his hat over his crotch while the two sisters blab.
Another round of coughing rocks the old man in his flimsy plastic chair. He grimly endures it, knowing it’ll pass. In the distance, a train whistle blows as the 7:15 rumbles down the tracks just a block away. They sure didn’t mention that wonderful feature in the apartment listing! Damn it, why can’t he stop coughing? The old man fights to pull in some kind of breath, smoke, anything, but the gates are down, blocking his way, alarm bells clanging in his head. The tracks are bathed in yellow light as the huge freight train roars into view.
With his last bit of energy, the old man launches himself towards the balcony railing, hoping to dislodge the sticky blob of mucus blocking his trachea. Just a little air, a little time, a little rest. Train cars roar past, chained to each other like prisoners of war; some scream as they are dragged along. Whugguh-chuggah, wugguh-chuggah…Screee…reee…eeee! The old man appears to be dancing to the rhythm of diesel and steel. That familiar petroleum stink filling the air. A thin stringer of drool stretches down from his mouth to the asphalt below. They often lit the flamethrowers with their cigarette butts, everything bursting into dancing orange and blue flames, sucking up all the oxygen in the jungle air until there was nothing left.
The thud of the old man’s body is masked by the passing train, and no one notices that he’s not standing there when it passes. Inside, just feet away, on the other side of the sliding glass door, Clarice continues talking to her sister. Together they wonder just who will be the ten-thousand-dollar winner on this season of, “Baking With Rich Movie Stars’ Kids That Nobody Likes,” or a similarly themed reality game show. Ralph holds his hat in his lap and keeps quiet because those are his orders. Out on the balcony, the flag still waves in the wind as a thin ribbon of smoke slowly spirals skyward.
Brian James Lewis is a disabled poet and writer with PTSD who finds writing to be vastly important to his recovery. Working class to the bone, he writes inclusive, real-world stories and poetry that mirrors real life. Most recently, Brian’s work has appeared in Ill Winds and Wild Weather a speculative flash anthology from Smoking Pen Press, and the Hook of a Book Poetry Project which mixes horror poetry and mental health awareness to promote the healing power of writing. He is a frequent contributor to Trajectory Journal. Brian lives in Endicott, N.Y., with his wife Michelle, their rescue animals, and too many old typewriters. For news and independent book reviews, find him online at: damagedskullwriterandreviewer.com.
Thanks for taking a few minutes to read my flash piece! Be sure to check out THE SUNLIGHT PRESS for a wide variety of stories, poetry and artwork. You can visit them at: http://www.thesunlightpress.com for good reading, submission opportunities, and as a nonprofit they would certainly appreciate support from readers to help them do what they do.
Happy New Year all you monsters! It’s your old pal Skull with some good news for lovers of all thing speculative: A brand new Read on the Run anthology has just been released from Smoking Pen Press, and it includes a story from my mortal host Brian James Lewis! How about them poisoned apples? His short story “Too Cold For July” is one of the many great stories included in Ill Winds and Wild Weather, a collection of intriguing pieces that are just the right size for reading while one is riding the bus, waiting for food, sitting in your car while an oil change is happening, or chilling between classes. If you’ve got a few free minutes and an e-pub reader, the Smoking Pen Press has an anthology to help you escape the boring normality of the usual day. In fact, Brian’s story is about a person who likes to hit up thrift shops for cheap music to break their writer’s block. I don’t want to spill the bones, but I CAN tell you that it doesn’t take long for the blocked writer to wish they were back at their boring office. Unfortunately when one is dealing with dark magic, a quick sidestep is pretty much out of the question…
Currently, Ill Winds and Wild Weather is available from Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, Gardners, and of course Amazon. Here is the link for obtaining it there: https://www.amazon.com/Winds-Wild-Weather-Smoking-Press-ebook/dp/B0CRTCVBZG There will be a physical ink and paper option available in the next few weeks as well. As always, thanks for following your old pal Skull and his mortal Brian James Lewis at http://www.damagedskullwriterandreviewer.com . You can also catch up with us on Twitter/X @skullsnflames76 . Stay tuned for cool things happening this year, including posts about writing and mental illness, Brian’s upcoming publications in Trajectory, The Iconoclast, and Sunlight Press. There will also be book reviews, and more information about Ill Winds and Wild Weather from Smoking Pen Press.
Happy Holidays, Horror Fans! It’s your old pal Skull here with a few ideas for your next reading experience. It’s almost Christmas and for many of us that means two more days of mindless panic. If you’ve waited this long to start shopping, you’re obviously not a big planner and that’s okay. But instead of getting your partner another fragrance gift set that they’re not going to use, why not give the gift of kickass independent horror? Not only will you be cooler than a Polar Bear, but you’ll also be helping authors and small presses who really need your support. Depending on your bookseller of choice, you can pick these titles up in store, get 2-day shipping, or easiest of all-purchase it for their Kindle or other e-reader.
If you like your horror mixed with humor, check out Blood & Swine by A.R. Yngvie. This entertaining book follows the adventures of Carl Olsen Krocek as he applies for and gets a middle management job with the huge multinational hog farm, Hogoration, Inc. This should be a good thing, but as Carl digs deeper into strange goings on at the factories, he comes to the grim realization that his boss might be a vampire. They also aren’t very good farmers. Your old pal Skull is currently reading this novel and I’ve laughed out loud at all the awkward moments and been scared when the big boss sticks his talons out. Will Carl succeed in making life better for the pigs and people at Hogoration, or will be the big boss’ next victim?
One of my favorite ways to enjoy horror is by reading anthologies of short works from different writers. I also dig collections by a single artist and The Vengeful Dead by John James Minster really delivers the goods. Inside you’ll find grave robbers on the run, a player who gets played but comes back for a grisly encore, a man who thinks he’s found a dream love only to realize too late that he’s trapped inside a nightmare, social media stars who go too far, and an executioner who gets to experience the misery wrought upon the people he was “helping” by tenfold. These very real feeling stories uphold the laws of physics and the supernatural. For every action, there is a reaction and when multiplied by dark forces beyond our understanding there’s going to be one hell of an aftershock. Should you get this terrifying collection? The Magic 8-Ball says YES.
My favorite book of 2023 is The Daughters of Block Island by Christa Carmen. It has a great storyline. strong characters, and unexpected twists around every corner that will keep you turning pages until well after midnight. You might be groggy in the morning, but the powerful conclusion that pulls the covers off centuries of evildoing against female inhabitants of Block Island is totally worth the price of the triple espresso shot you’ll need to function. I’m a big fan of Christa Carmen’s work and this novel is awesome! Highly recommended.
Last but not least, I’d like to mention The Growth and The Growth Lives! A two novella series by Adam Hulse. Something evil is travelling through every possible waterway in Great Britain. It’s not even safe to use the toilet because the growth can suck you down the pipes as it burns all the flesh off your body. The military is having zero success eradicating The Growth, but there may be a light at the end of the tunnel. Kevin and Tax are an unlikely duo. Tax the inevitable man is a brawny mob enforcer while Kevin is a computer nerd who often forgets to eat and couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag. Despite all that, these dudes partner up for the common good and eventually become fast friends. There are many other subplots that make this series a cool read like the hate cult that forms to worship The Growth and an Olympic boxer searching for her missing girlfriend in a dystopian land. Both books focus on the power of love and question the powers that be. Can we really trust our government or the military as a whole, or does it come down to each individual’s moral code? Interesting, thought-provoking, and sometimes, pretty damn funny. Check this guy out!
Well, my fiendish friends, 2023 is rushing to an end. So, it’s likely that this will be the last post from your old pal Skull until the New Year. If that’s so, many thanks for reading my writings and let’s hope that 2024 will bring good things to us all. Until then, hug your babies whether they be fur, feather, or human, and love your partner. Share holiday warmth with your chosen family and enjoy the small acts of kindness during this time of year. Love is love, all colors are equal, and real bodies are beautiful. Don’t let the haters win.
Today we had to help one hell of a good reading companion cross the rainbow bridge. Luckily we had assistance from the wonderful people at The Cat Doctor and it was a peaceful and tearful final journey. Murphy was a fighter who beat cancer and used every one of his nine lives before he left this world behind. We were blessed that he chose us. Always charming, sometimes funny, and amazingly quiet with the softest fur, Murphy made even crummy days better. He would often sit like this on the porch with me as I wrote book reviews enjoying the sunshine in one of his shirts that he truly enjoyed wearing. Murphy was a very tolerant cat and usually enjoyed visitors much more than Moon who would disappear before quests even arrived. When we adopted a big dog, Murphy somehow let it be known that he was the boss of the house without any screaming, fur fluffing, or fisticuffs. He was not a big cat and the dogs had the physical upper hand, but neither Jake nor Axle ever tried to overrun Murphy’s authority. Much respect to the quiet little boss of the house. He will live on forever in our hearts.
Murphy with his watchdog, Axle, enjoying the outdoors
If you’re looking for this notebook, it is currently unavailable
Hey everybody! Going to keep it short and sweet. Last night I got word that one of my stories has been accepted for publication. It was news that I really needed to give me some forward momentum to continue writing. The contract is a few weeks down the road, so I will give more details as they emerge since there may be a possibility of a title change in the works. I’m feeling invigorated and am truly back to writing with ass in chair and hands on keyboard. Hopefully this is just a taste of things to come in the near future. Thanks to everyone who subscribes and reads this blog, Skull and I appreciate you very much!
Human beings want to understand things because it makes us feel more in control of our lives. There are countless books, articles, and blogs about how stuff works from automobiles to xylophones. But we don’t really know everything that happens inside the human brain. I know some of you are huffing and puffing, perhaps explaining the functions of neurons and ganglia to your computer screen, right now. And you’re right about the mechanics of those systems. But a list of parts doesn’t explain why a person who appears outwardly “normal” to the casual observer would want to murder a store full of people, a school full of children, or random individuals attending a concert or movie. That’s what makes the whole phenomenon so scary. How are we supposed to stop these killers if we have no idea where, when, or why they’re going to strike next?
I wrote “Following My Destiny” to give readers an idea of what life looks like through a mass shooter’s eyes. My original plan was to use the research I did in more of a creative nonfiction format, but the result was dryer than a high school book report. Frustrated, I talked with some trusted friends and fellow writers, who suggested an immersive fiction approach that made use of my research and my personal mental health issues with PTSD. The results were still pretty flat…Until I was wrapping up another late-night writing session and my hand wrote: The voices are always talking to me, no matter where I am…”
Chance McCandless had finally come to life! And once he started talking, there was no shutting him up. My day-to-day activities were constantly invaded by his observations and desires, delivered in a strangely dry and matter-of-fact voice. Sleep provided no escape, just frequent nightmares in which I was always running or drawing a bead on targets. Feelings of guilt, anger, lust, and shame kept washing through me as if I were the one committing crimes, not Chance. He brought me to the realization that mass shooters carefully plan their crimes, slowly accruing supplies, and studying targets. They also spend time figuring out how to be invisible or accepted on the surface while their brains whir like food processors inside their skulls. In our modern world where everything moves fast, and stores are understaffed, those that notice something off about a person are too busy to point it out. And if they do tell their manager or law enforcement, nothing good happens, so you can be damn sure that employee or fellow tenant will keep their head down and mouth shut in the future. The system is broken.
“Following My Destiny” begins with Chance telling us about the voices, his desires, and what he’d like to do to his father. Not that I’m endorsing violence, but his hatred is not without provocation. Also fueling the fire is Chance’s favorite podcast delivered by religious zealot Lediv Bloodsmoore who preaches Armageddon to his followers. Chance is desperate for recognition and is planning to do something “really big” in the nebulous future. But when an unexpected event occurs, he’s forced into action too soon. Without a fully developed plan, things speedily spin out of control. Bullets start to fly slicing open Chance’s detached view of life and making his ideas crumble. Should he give up like his friend Al, keep fighting to the bitter end, or make a run for it while he still can and continue “spreading the good word” across the nation?
Intrigued, interested, and wanting to read more? Excellent! What you’ll want to do next is order a copy of TRAJECTORY issue 22 spring 2022. Inside, you’ll find excellent poetry, short stories, and flash. There’s a photo documentary about the wall between Mexico and U.S., a piece about the legendary Charles Bukowski, and poetry so real that it hurts. In other words, this fully independent literary journal publishes real writing by real people, not just college kids who are guaranteed to get published because it’s part of the degree their parents are paying for. To date, TRAJECTORY issue 22 has sold out two print runs and is printing a third as you read this. To get your very own copy of this excellent literary journal you can contact: ME through this blog. I have a limited quantity for sale at $20 each which includes domestic shipping and handling. You can also contact editor in chief Chris Helvey at: adobechris@hotmail.com to purchase issue 22. I also encourage you to check out TRAJECTORY’S website at: https://trajectoryjournal.com where you can read previously published work, sign up for the newsletter, and subscribe. All of which supports independent writers and poets, which is good for everybody. Thanks for reading this post from Damaged Skull Writer and Reviewer. Skull and I would love it if you’d follow us at: https://damagedskullwriterandreviewer.com so we can continue to help independent writers and presses. Until next time, keep writing!
Hello friends, it’s your old pal Skull with some groovy book mail from a cool independent press called Filthy Loot. Like many of my fellow writers and book reviewers, I dig stickers big time. There’s nothing in the world that can’t be improved by a sticker! From weddings to funerals and everything in between. So, when I saw that Filthy Loot was offering a special pack of them I had to have one. I mean, how genius to put them in a library card holder with those exciting words “withdrawn” on it. I also decided to get F*CKED UP STORIES Vols 2 & 3 that include stories by Madeleine Swann and many others that I look forward to reading. “Happy Suit” (Vol 3) is definitely a reflection of modern big biz and political practices. I recommend it! I also dig editor in chief Ira Rat’s mixed media art book “I’m Sorry Mom” Overall, a total win! So what are you waiting for? Head on over to http://www.filthyloot.com and http://www.irarat.com and warp your brain today! Tell ’em Damaged Skull Writer & Reviewer sent ya.
***The “I love big books and cannot lie” tote bag is an old gem of mine used for modeling purposes only
Damaged Skull Writer 
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