Zombie Nation Declaration of Independence

I’ve been wondering where I put this… I found it finally. Why? Just because.

We the Zombies of the Dismembered Nation, in order to consume more brains and flesh, establish chaos, insure global carnage, provide for ourselves, promote the eating of brains, and secure the insecurity of the Living, do we zombies ordain and establish this Declaration of war on the Living for the Dismembered Nation, and Zombies everywhere.

~Zombie Nation Declaration~

A Poem: Bedtime

Bedtime

By Robert J. S. T. McCartney

As I lie here and rest my head
Next to you, where we’ve made our bed

In the dark, where my eyes dare play tricks
My view obscured by the plight of the night

The light, faint and ever growing tired, it mimics
A heart, and lungs, breathing

I often worry, though
That, how of which you lie
Restful slumber; your silhouette
Is as much as death, forever sleeping

So I cling and often toss and turn
Waking to the demons that dare try to come and take you away;
Wildly swinging, and shooing them tirelessly
“Begone, pest from another plane!” I growl

And so I’ll fight until my eyes do tire
The morning light comes, and then you stir
Then I can rest until the night comes again

As long as I have you by my side
I’ll try and try, defend and brave against the darkness and the demons that lurk

Otherwise…

I’m nothing without you
I can sleep when I eventually die

For my wife.

The Synthetic Prophecy

The Synthetic Prophecy

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

 

 

“Many years ago, I was blessed with a vision. Whether it was by an almighty being of the cosmos, my creator or whatever the sort was beyond me. It was a vision I discarded as being nothing more than just a mere dream. I was five or six…so I never took it as being a prophecy…or an event to come to pass. Most science fiction, dystopian, or post-apocalyptic stories have something similar. I chopped it up to being nothing more than an influence by something I had once seen on the television.

Then it came to pass…

One afternoon, I was traveling with my mother. We were running errands; the basic kind, you know. We had ventured to the local grocery store. As we had exited the vehicle and neared entering the establishment, the sirens began to sing…

People shrugged it off as another test of the Emergency Broadcast System. Then, inside the store, all the TV’s, all the monitors, all the cell phones, everything cried and warned with the coming end. An attack was made. The target? Our location along the West Coast. People ran. Panicked. Cried.

I looked up and saw them in the bright azure sky streaking towards us like rebel burning diamonds against the daylight. I felt my stomach sink. My hands had begun to sweat in my mother’s grasp.

A voice chanted, “Initiate Evacuation Protocol: Disembark. Repeat. Disembark.”

One by one, then dozens, thousands, millions…people dropped to the ground. I, myself watched as my body dropped to the ground. I looked over and saw my mother’s body drop limply upon the ground. Everyone flew up into the sky, a blue-white streak against the azure grain. We watched as the missiles struck the ground, the buildings, and reduced everything to a fiery crater. War had come. We were the first to be hit, and we certainly wouldn’t be the last.

We spiraled through the cosmos; flying by stars, buzzing by planets…Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, so far away from the sun, watching the Earth become a mere speck. Until then, we arrived. A new home. A new hope. Here.

We all awoke to our new mechanical bodies, synthesized humans. Robots. The Singularity may have saved us…or rather given us a way to escape death. However, back on Earth, many were trapped. Left to endure the war that took place. It is only a matter of time until it follows us here.”

The now young man appearing synthetic human opened his eyes and stood up before the crowd around him. “Surely, we could try to outrun our demise…or we can embrace a destiny where we fight back, survive. When they come—and they will, we will be waiting. We will return. We will reclaim our home planet. They will call us ‘alien’ but eventually, they will see…” He reached down and took up a foreign weapon. “We are more human than they are. We will save those left behind.”

The Scientist and The End of All Things

The Scientist and The End of All Things

By Robert J. S. T. McCartney

He sat in the chair for a while now. He hadn’t moved much since he was told the news. He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t much of a surprise, so to speak. The nightmares had been increasing lately. The pain of loss was too real, and he didn’t—he couldn’t handle that now.

He was so close. So close to being able to correct the neurological damage that had been done to his daughter years ago, a taxing result from the car crash. The seizures were relentless and had been unforgiving. It wouldn’t matter now, though. Still, all he wanted…was to watch his little girl walk and to hear her tell him she loved him. Now? Now he felt he never would.

“Mr. Colley, I am afraid I need to have you clear the room. We are experiencing an abnormal increase in trauma situations and are in need of grievance rooms. I do apologize for asking,” said the male doctor.

Mr. Colley nodded and sighed heavily, running his fingers through his black hair. He sniffled and wiped his eyes occasionally. It still hurt.

“You’ll want to get her affairs in order. It…it won’t be long now,” the doctor said sympathetically.

The doctor’s words cut him to his very soul, and such, as he walked out into the hallway, he collapsed onto the ice cold tile. Hospital personnel and people rushed around him. He felt alone. So alone in the eye of the hurricane.

“You need to get a grip, John. You need to be strong. Not for you, but for them. So what if they said she’ll die soon. If it were you, what would you do?”

I’d go out swinging. I wouldn’t roll over and go quietly to my grave. 

”Then find your balls, John. Dig deep and find your fucking balls, get up, and get back to the lab. Finish it. Who cares anymore?”

You’re right.

John got up off the floor and with purpose, left the hospital in haste.

John worked tirelessly in his lab. He had phoned his wife, letting her know of his sudden departure from the hospital.

He had a purpose. He needed to be vigilant. He knew no one else would exactly understand. His methods were unorthodox; a controversy in the States. Stem Cells. These, though, were engineered through biological manipulation and engineered with nanomachines to help speed up the brain’s recovery; and accelerate the development of new healthy cells. They repaired damaged tissues, reconstruct damaged nerves. A dream made a reality.

No testing had been done though. At least, not in humans.

John gathered up the syringes and made his way back to the hospital. His daughter would be administered the doses at the safety of the hospital. Just in case. After all, he had signed all the waivers and disclaimers.

“There’s a high probability that this won’t work, John,” warned the woman doctor.

“At least I’m giving her a fighting chance,” snapped John.

The doctor sighed. “Sometimes it’s better just to let go.”

“Not yet. Not until she’s old and had a chance to live.” John replied sternly.

“What about those that die young? What of them?”

John’s eyes were fixated with purpose as he administered the first dosage. “They were not in my hands. I cannot fight for everyone.”

After several weeks, the administering of the treatment was a success. The Occupational and Physical Therapists and her parents watched her walk on her own. Cognitive function dramatically improved. She had become much more independent and self-sufficient. John was beside himself.

The world and the universe, though, saw otherwise. War was on the horizon. Tensions were rising and meeting an unthinkable end was beginning to become more of a reality. No peaceful resolution could be reached. No side could give way to diplomacy. Civil war would begin to break out. A revolution would begin. The people had had enough.

As John watched the news with his family he knew the end would come, sooner or later. That, even in the marvel of science, he had only prolonged time.

Borrowed time…

John worked tirelessly in the nights. He had fancied quantum physics, space and time for a long time. He had an idea. It might prolong the inevitable but at least, at least he could spend whatever time that this device, this idea could grant.

Time stop isolation. At first, he thought just to his home. Then he thought his town. Then he decided the world. If it as all going to go to hell, he’d at least let some of the other families have extra moments.

On the Day of the End, John gathered his wife and children.

“I love you,” he told them all and hugged them tightly.

“I love you, daddy,” his kids told him.

He cried tears of joy. Ever since having heard the words for the first time from his oldest. He never wanted to take them for granted, let alone be her last. She had made so much progress. So much to live for. Now, now it was the end of all things, all things humankind.

The bombs were fired, dropped, set to explode. John pushed the little red button, initiating the time stasis field all over Earth.

The bombs never went off. Time and the Earth stood still.

Eventually, the universe had begun to collapse. A long passage of time went by. The ultimate end came and went in the blink of an eye. A beautiful and merciful death of humankind in the light of a glorious dawn. The contagion, contained and isolated, just like he wanted.

The End

Stuff Coming. . .Soon.

Hello, everyone.

So, as some of you have seen (if you follow along or such) whether at http://www.abnormalpublishing.com or here, I have been reintroducing The Diary of The Wasteland Bear God series and The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal. I have since the conclusion of Bob’s end compiled it and been getting it ready for ebook and print formats. I am pleased to share that it will be made available this Summer, first for Kindle, and then roll out to print formats.

I will also be redoing my anthology Abnormal Side Effects, and The Lodestone Files: The Things in the Shadows. The second installment of The Lodestone Files dubbed The Cat, The Mouse, and The Thing From Another World was completed. It will also be available through Amazon. They’re just fun quick side projects that don’t impact my overall performance of getting stuff out, something I enjoy.

Once I get the last few installments of The Lodestone Files concluded, they will be compiled into an all in one package. Either a box set or a multipart book so you can open it up, read it, and know where you were. More on that later.

I am compiling Season One of The Diary of The Wasteland Bear God. . .however, there will be a lot of hurdles, so it’ll eventually just be a very detailed ToC (or Table of Contents). For now. There is licensing and a lot of legal work to go into. That’s fine, though.

I will be possibly completing that series as well. The more I thought about dragging it on and on, it didn’t seem really logical, and I hate cash grabs. I mean, sure, some are pretty cool and all but I don’t see the point in dragging out a series of 1,000 entries. I guess I’ll know for sure when I get to that bridge (and maybe jump off it). Regardless, I’ve enjoyed it and I have plenty more to do.

Johnny Nightwalker entries will be coming, thus leading to the stories conclusion.

I have several short stories and otherwise, that will be coming up soon. Time as of late has been passing rather fast. It needs to stop. For a moment at least. *sigh*

There’s a lot on my plate happening all at once. So, I just need to take a sit down, maybe have a pint, sit in the tub, get bubbly, call the Mrs. in.

Life is good otherwise. Hopefully, we can get our modified van for our oldest cub and legend. Possibly get Blizzcon tickets. Oh, and I found out my therapist is leaving the current place I go to for my PTSD, depression, anxiety treatment. I figured I would follow her as she goes out on her own. I found it funny, though seeing that once I get a therapist I do like they either leave, get transferred somewhere, or something like that.

Whew. Close one.

So far, I’ve had my depression, anxiety, and PTSD in check. I’ve had a few moments but that’s all they have been. The night is usually a stickler for saying “HEY! Guess what? You’re gonna be thinking about the worst. Things. Possible. EVER! K?” And then it’s fisty cuffs wth the brain until I pass out from exhaustion. It is what it is.

I’ll share some more posts of Bob and The Bear God soon. I would like to tackle some of this yard work that I’ve had my eye on doing. Again, busy, busy. There’s just no rest for the wicked, ha.

I wish you all well.

Until later,

RJM

 

 

Why Morphine?

Morphine is a pain medication of the opiate type which is found naturally in a number of plants and animals. It acts directly on the central nervous system (CNS) to decrease the feeling of pain. It can be taken for both acute pain and chronic pain. Morphine is frequently used for pain from myocardial infarction and during labor. It can be given by mouth, by injection into a muscle, by injecting under the skin, intravenously, into the space around the spinal cord, or rectally.

— Wikipedia

The group had a chemistry and influence; definitely a certain kind of sexy

That’s what people generally think of when they hear that word—the drug.  However, I’m not referring to the drug in the medicinal sense.

Morphine was a band founded by Mark Sandman, Dana Colley, and Jerome Deupree (with Billy Conway subbing in for Jerome when he was taking a break from being ill). You’ll see that they were classified as Jazz Rock, Alternative Rock, or Experimental Rock. They were anything but alternative. They were unique. Described by Mark and the others, “Low Rock,” and to me, I would agree.

The group had a chemistry and influence; definitely a certain kind of sexy.

I hadn’t found their music until 2009. So a wee bit after our car accident. I was hopped up on a cocktail of antidepressants, tranquilizers, and in a surplus of guilt. Combined with alcohol, it was a total mess. I was referred to them by my best friend (and co-author), Al. The first song he played for me was Cure for Pain and I resonated with it. Something deep inside just clicked. Next was Honey WhiteBuena, and Like Swimming. Later, I developed an obsession with the sound of Hanging on a Curtain. Especially, during the hours of 1 am and 3:30 am driving/walking around Mason, MI.

Little by little, I became more in love with the sound that was Morphine. Then there came the find that Morphine lost Mark back in 1999, and there would be no more sweet, sweet, sexy bass and saxophone. No Sandman. No more Morphine. I was crushed. At the same time though it made me appreciate the find. It seemed meant to be. The band, though the loss was tragic, I never got the vibe that they were a tragedy kind of deal. What I mean by that is that though they had darker toned songs or sad songs, it [the songs] gave a glimmer (or shimmer) of hope and positivity.

As such, life went on, and it still does. Al and I wanted to give something back in return to the members of Morphine. . . in our own kind of way. We had an idea. We executed it, and well, we did it.

Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle is much more than just a writing project. It’s the time, blood, tears, sweat, memories, and more shared between two friends. Who, wanted to make something, and to give something back to one of the finest musical groups.

Morphine went on as well. There was the formation of Orchestra Morphine, Twinemen, A.K.A.C.O.D. so the music projects were aplenty.

The remaining members eventually formed (Members of Morphine and Jeremy Lyons, The Expanding Elastic Waste Band, then The Ever Expanding Elastic Waste Band) Vapors of Morphine. They carry on the sound and the music that is Morphine. I look forward to seeing them perform, one of these days when I get a chance to visit Boston. Though, I would love to somehow, some way, get Orchestra Morphine, Twinemen, A.K.A.C.O.D., and Vapors of Morphine altogether. Either for a benefit cause or something like minded.

I’ve been off medication for going on 7 years now. It has been a rollercoaster ride, for sure. I had help, though from my wife, friends, family and the therapists that were stubborn (and kind of enough to listen (and point me in the right direction)).

EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) therapy has helped a lot too. I was skeptical at first, mostly because I had to keep thinking about my car accident, the emotions, feelings and otherwise associated. It was stuff I didn’t want to think about or deal with. Not anymore. And now? Well, I like to think my load is lightened enough that I can function and be a real person, and myself.

I have moments here and there, where my anxiety will peak, and I’ll give in a little… to the darkness. But I take a little Morphine and then I remember what and who I was, and the long road I’ve traveled on.

Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle. . .It may not be a big hit now or ever, but we can rest easy for when our time comes to visit the other side, that we made a story, a world, and universe in honor of Mark, Dana, Jerome, Billy, and Jeremy. It’s our box that we filled up and sent back.

That we shared what influenced us, molded it into a story and dedicated it right back.

Art matters. Music matters. Reading and writing matters. Everything matters. Without these though we’re so limited. . .and on the borderline of being drones and bland; creativity strangled, raped and stripped.

I’d like to keep up with the arts, set up funding, contribute back to what matters. Especially, now that it’s all in danger. It is partially the reason why I established A.B.Normal Publishing and Media Group. Art matters. Music matters. Reading and writing matters. Everything matters. Without these, though, we’re so limited…and on the borderline of being drones, and bland; creativity strangled and raped. I hope to bridge the gap in writing between authors, publisher, and readers. If then, musicians, labels, and fans. And then, it’s on to movies.

Whether or not all that happens, well time will tell. However, you cannot sit idly on your hands and not did anything. Take action. Do something. It’s a two-way street after all.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do believe it’s time for some Morphine on this fine Friday.

Here’s to you all: have a lucky day.

Until next time, remain strong, be vigilant, and remember you’re not alone in the darkness.

RJM

P.S. My favorite song? A fierce tie between Hanging on a Curtain and The Night (both versions).

Ideas. . .

Oh no, I am not looking for any.

It’s a constant recurrence I have, where I will get constantly inspired to do certain projects. It could be a person, a place, a thing. . .anything. As such, since I’ve been mulling around a few ideas for some stories while doing these commentary posts about The Diary of The Wasteland Bear God I figured, why not?

So, I am whipping up an outline for ease, laying down the rubber mat if I want to trim off some fat, and a lovely machine that will pierce the skull the words written. I’m excited, really. It’s going to be gory, messy, and wild. . .free. . .untamed.

You see, I love horror. I love the darkness. You can find so much light in it and find a lot of release in it. It’s probably one reason why I love the night. . .and also dislike it when I go to sleep. Well, there’s also the anxiety but that’s a different issue. It’s just a lot of fun making folks cringe, shudder, and the same. Especially, when they read something you wrote, look at you, and go “what the hell were you thinking?” You can’t help but smile.

😀

I am aiming to get these out as short stories or otherwise relatively fast. Maybe this weekend or next week; it depends on the time. I have some other posts I want to do, which should be up tomorrow.

However, preemptively, I will wish you all a great weekend, and safe travels.

Until then. . .

RJM

 

What’s Coming This Week?

Hello, everyone.

I hope you are well, folks and possibly still adjusting to the whole Daylight Saving Time for this year. Hey, at least it wasn’t on a Monday when it happened, right? Still, it was a short weekend, and I despise it.

I love the weekend. I always have. Time is great when you’re young. You don’t have to adult, no bills, no real worries in the world. You just have your games, friends, outside/indoor activities, school, etc. to worry about. Good times, good times.

Well, enough of the dastardly deed and hour that was snubbed by us (until this Fall), I wanted to do a brief quick bit about what’s going to come out this week.

Firstly, I will be continuing my commentary/display/revisitation of The Diary of The Wasteland Bear God. It will be posted on my publishing blog primarily and reblogged here with (sometimes) an additional note.

  • There will be new posts for the series, as well as the season two finale this year.

Next, there will be another few bits about The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal. This will serve as a reintroduction to the series, why it was written—a behind the scenes take on it if you will.

I am debating with if I should replay Johnny “Nightwalker,” or perhaps give an address and then list each entry in a lovely outline.

  • I will be posting new updates, leading up to the conclusion of that story soon.

While all this is going on, I have several stories I am managing over. This also includes the want to revisit my anthology and my science fiction thriller series. The latter will eventually conclude this year, with the individual books being available, and a master hard copy collection. That is to say, all books in one edition.

I have a few short stories I want to get done and probably will since short stories are phenomenally easier to get out while doing other things simultaneously.I could list them all out, even go into the details of the outlines, but I feel that would take away from the surprise—even from me.

Needless to say, it’s going to be a slow start—perhaps—this year, but I got what I initially wanted to get done, done. Which was get my first novel—Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle—published. I will be doing the other books in the series, plus the other stories that take place in the universe.

Really, folks, it’s going to be a fantastic expedition. There’s a lot I want to share and though I know it’ll take time, effort, blood, sweat, piss breaks, and food. I will get it done. All of it.

You know, I’ve been struggling with my depression, PTSD, and anxiety for years now. It’s been a tough time, but I would like to think that I am on top of things a good 90%. I know I won’t ever be able to get over it all and such 100% just because of how my mind acts and things, but that’s OK. It helps keep me grounded, in check, keeps me human. It also serves me to help reach out to others that are struggling and that are in need of help. Whether it is just listening, comforting someone, writing, sharing tips and tricks—whatever. It’s about taking a negative and making it a positive. The best thing to do is talk. Whether it is with your parents, friends, a third party. Just talk. Keeping things bottled up inside, it can destroy you. I did it for years. It sucks.

So, with all that sappy stuff out of the way and all the pro on progress, I hope you will stick around because there is more to come and boy, oh boy, is it ever. I hope you all have a great week. Stay safe and positive out there.

Until next time,

RJM

A Novelette: The Crystal Manor’s Secret

The Crystal Manor’s Secret

“Time heals all wounds,” he remembered someone saying. He thought it to be horse shit.

Simon is a 14-year-old dealing with plenty of things: depression, suicide attempts, parental issues, and being the subject of plenty of kids’ jokes at school. His parents take the advice of their son’s psychiatrist and go on a family vacation to the fabled Crystal Bay Estate.

This family trip, however, is anything but helpful. Read on to read the story in its entirety. Continue reading

Excerpt From a WIP [Work in Progress] Piece of Mine.

What follows is a small excerpt from my epic dystopian novel (that is still a WIP). It is a rather large novel, one that will most likely be broken up into parts (while a super mega ultra rare edition will be. . .all parts in one.).

OK, here’s a hint at how massive it is right now. 600+ pages and I have 20 or so pages of outline. It’s in its raw form; unedited, not revised. Just. Raw. *boom*

Anyway, this particular addition is something I came up with the other day and as such, it has found a place within the novel, which serves as a sort of backdrop. A society that is controlled via nanomachines. Where the rich live in biodomes and the poor in slums or radioactive wastelands. Where lies and fear are spread continuously to help control the weak.

It’s up to a group of rebels to take on the organization that overthrew the world’s governments from their original rule and to free the people whose minds have been warped. Can they rebuild society, though? Can they remake the Earth? Or is it all just a fantasy?

It’s Hell on Earth. Here. Now.


Malthus turned his attention back to the computer monitor. His eyes tired from staring at the screen of variables and formulas for so long. Hours upon hours. The calculation was everything—it meant. . .everything.

They have to be exact. Precise.

He felt a vibration in his pocket. Another disturbance. There was no time for more of those.

The computer screen went black. Anger set in. A mighty fist hammered the keyboard.

Malthus sighed heavily. The generator probably finally went.

Then, on the screen there appeared a ghastly man, an old friend and lab partner of his. “Malthus,”

“You—you? It can’t be.”

The man spoke again. This time, his tone more melancholic. “This is a pre-recorded message. I pray when you receive this, you know what to do. Play it. Share it. It is time.”

The man cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

“My friends, I have a confession I would like to share with you.”

“You see, I cannot contribute to society anymore; for what it stands for, the people that are placed upon such high pedestals, that will send us to our certain doom. What I can do is call for us to rebel.”

His eyes opened; an inferno raged within them. “Rebel, friends.”

“Let us lead each other into unity and overthrow the corruption that is now. Let us purge this idyllic idiocy that casts its horrible shadow of death and our demise.”

The man’s voice grew louder, almost shouting. “Rise up.”

“Rise up from your decrepit chair of lives lost. Shed the shackles of debt and control. Rip off the blindfold of lies and deceit. Remove the earplugs that kept the truth from ringing in your ears!”

“Be free,” he shouted.

The fire in the man’s spirit raged on, behind his words, and in his voice. “See your brothers and sisters; for we all are of one race. Cast aside the labels: of prejudice, race, religion, sex, and profession. Let the truth ring; let it resound throughout the land! We will not be slaves! We will never be subjective subjects to a corrupt and unruly society and government!”

“We must be fleet-footed, truthful and just. For our enemies are numerous and vast. We must make examples of those responsible.”

His tone changed to a cautionary tale. “Be wary, friends, for there are brothers and sisters who are oppressed and fear for their families and loved ones. We must protect them, our neighbors, the sick, the poor, and our children.”

The man took in another deep breath, while a tear ran down his cheek. “Let our voices carry truth. Let our final cry be heard! Let the world know, we are no longer dumb, deaf or blind to the corruption that plagues us! And we shall strike down those that oppose the will of the People.”

“Enough!” said a stranger in the video recording. “He’s said enough. Now, make an example of what we do. . .to traitors.”

The defiant man breathed heavily. His spirit raged on. “We are the beacons in the dark! We are the Torch Bearers!”

A gunshot resounded and the man still sat up. Focused. Fixated.

The man shouted at the top of his lungs, “WE WILL NOT BE CONTROLLED!”

Gunfire erupted on the scene, and then the man, along with whoever was present were engulfed in flames.

Malthus stared at the screen and stopped the recording. He grinned to himself. “My friend, you did it. You really did it.”


I hope you enjoyed that small piece and that you potentially, look forward to the final product. . .when it gets done. Hoo!

More to come and all that fun stuff. Right now? Dinner! I gotta make this BBQ pulled chicken. 😉

Until next time.

RJM