The Gonzo Wolf

What a long, strange trip it’s been. It feels like I left the cemetery on a different day rather than this afternoon. Even the wife just made it home.

She was off on an art job at one of the big, bad colleges here in Texas. I won’t reveal which; this state doesn’t need any more free PR than it already gets. Well, it’s selective PR at best.

My kid is grumpy af because he was subjected to the fifth grade version of the STAAR test, or TAKS, or TASS, or whatever it’s called nowadays. Bullshit is what it is. Kids spend all year preparing for this thing, and spend the remainder of the year preparing for the next one. They’re not being progressively taught; they’re only being given the bare minimum of whatever’s presented on the test. This is why we have two generations of social media actors coming into adulthood with zero skills. I can guarantee you that only a handful of Texas politicians can tackle that damned test successfully, and they’re all banking off our taxes regardless. I think they should be forced to take and pass it before every re-election bid.

The worst thing that hit me today regarding the good old state of Texas was a total lack of ethics concerning their somewhat-imaginary heroes: aka those who fought at the Alamo. If you watched my cemetery video from earlier in the day, you may have picked up on the fact that THE Sam Houston’s son is buried there. His son. His freaking son!

Sam Houston was a big deal in the state of Texas, otherwise his statue wouldn’t be standing outside that horrific city which bears his name. Why is his son (who was also a General) tucked away in a memorial forest on the banks of the Trinity River in Dallas? I mean, I had to put on my PRESS vest to chase off the crackheads on bicycles. Why was this man not shown the fanfare of his father?

The one thing I didn’t discuss in my video was that Dallas’ slave-owners “gifted” the river bottoms to the freed, thus naming it what it is today: The Freedman’s Town District. Of course, those cracker-sicko’s failed to inform the newly emancipated lot that they’d be living in a violently unpredictable flood plain. White people sucked/suck.

Who knows? Maybe he hated his father, and enjoys the quiet, tree-shaded rows in the shadow of downtown skyscrapers. It’s the “getting pissed on by homeless people” part that would drive me eternally insane. Perhaps that’s the Hell spoken of in the X-tian bible.

Respect? I guess. For the record, General Sam Houston was a registered Democrat, which, in 18-whatever, was the same thing as a post-1950’s Republican. They were big into slavery and the likes. Full circle; funny how that always seems to work. Also, I painted him as sort of a villain in my novella Jim Walker and the Redemption Hymn. I just can’t argue with that!

The Dime Western Returns!

“Reading Jim Walker and the Redemption Hymn is equal parts quirky fun and riveting action. Cloud’s confident, entertaining voice draws the reader in like an old radio western: the perfect bite-sized story with a main character you’re ready to follow through every adventure he finds himself on. So, tune in next time…”

– Megan Stockton, author of Lovely, Dark & Deep

The history books would read that Jim Walker was brutally executed after the Battle of Goliad, but a few promises in the right ear blurred the contrast between blood and ink. Now an aging bounty hunter on the verge of retirement, his services are requested in the Northern Arizona Territory to solve the terrifying mystery of the Verde River Massacre. With guns from a local Deputy, courage from a saloon proprietor, and a deathbed confession from an all-too-familiar Medicine Woman, Jim sets off on what could be his final adventure. Will he lay the ghosts of his past to rest once and for all, or is he simply whistling his Redemption Hymn?