Tonight’s thought that refuses to die is: “silly shit I did for other people, and why.”
Nine times out of ten, I can almost assure you it was for the attention of a woman. Whether it be for potential extended companionship, or just a roll in the hay on a karaoke Friday night. I can’t see myself rolling my eyes, but I can surely feel it.
A decade ago, I jumped out of a marriage built on adultery and lies, and immediately into a lengthy relationship built on adultery and lies.
I’m not sure why I was so surprised when they both screwed around and lied. I should’ve written that prediction down somewhere, but I would’ve ignored it regardless. Because sex.
The absolute magnitude of torture I’ve endured for physical pleasure since age 15 is nonsensical. Or, maybe I was just perfecting my craft. It’s the only damned thing I was ever consistently good at, and that doesn’t win you any medals outside of Van Nuys. Do they still film porn there? Is that a dated reference since every spot on Earth is potentially a porn studio? Thanks, smart phones!
I won’t buck the ex-wives club tonight – godess knows I loved them all at one time or another and made all kinds of magic in the process – but the one night stands and flings between marriages were tiring, nightmare-inducing drama factories.
Don’t get me wrong, there were a couple here and there that I’d high-five if I passed them in the street, but I can’t get over the number of Gen X women running around out there who’ve never had a legitimate orgasm. I’m not making this up. They may have been, but I’m merely repeating what I was told.
To the few I could crack, I swear I thought they’d claw through the mattress and down into the next apartment. What a surprise that would’ve been for my downstairs neighbor! A climaxing, naked chick burrows through their ceiling mid-breakfast. I’ve never seen that in a horror film, or smut! The tough part was convincing the receiver it wasn’t some type of witchcraft. Men should be forced to take fuck-classes. We’re quite pathetic, collectively. We spend our adolescence bragging, and then we never bother learning to use it.
To the ones I couldn’t win over, in all my infinite wisdom and talent, I felt so horrible for them. They were mostly incredibly sexually active women, otherwise my alcoholic self wouldn’t have chased them in the first place, but why? Why sleep with everyone you meet if you’re not getting anything out of it?
To the ones who stuck around long enough to tell the tale, it all dealt with trauma from another man. Sometimes, it was an abusive boyfriend. Others, an overbearing father or a pervert uncle. I don’t know; maybe I’d stop beating myself up if I could just convince myself that it was all in the name of science.
I get it; I totally do. I was so inebriated one night about twenty years ago that I was raped by girl I knew. Not a day goes by when I don’t dwell on it for a moment but, hey, she got hers! Most guys struggle with finding the magic button, and I inadvertently located hers while she ground me against my will.
I grew up in such an over-sexualized generation, whether it be from our music, our movies, or our backseat rendezvous. In hindsight, it was also my downfall; my Kryptonite.
Give me a couple dozen names, and I’ll give you a couple dozen different ways to love a woman. In the end, there’s only one of those ways that matter. That’s the one you somehow land on when you least expect it in the most peculiar of circumstances.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever written on the subject of sexual psychology, and I’m not sure how I feel about it in this very moment. It’s a part of me, though. The successes, the failures, the embarrassing little quirks I recall in case I ever require blackmail ammunition. Sex both made and broke me; every aspect of my life, every reincarnation. Maybe the American divorce rate would drop if the church got out of the bedroom and we could normalize masturbation. How many bad dreams could we all have avoided if we would’ve just taken that extra minute or two in the shower? Not without Heavenly Father catching a chubb!
Seriously. Fire one off on your own first. If you still feel the same then, by all means, do the dirty. It was meant to be.
I still might not even publish this. It sure beats politics, though! I’ll sleep on it.
To most, 1865 was an eye-opening year. The American Civil War was officially over and the soldiers fortunate enough to survive the bloody conflict returned home to collect the pieces of their former lives. To young Arizonan, Robert Jack, the fateful desert homecoming marked the end to all he once knew. Forgiveness is overrated. Death is final. Revenge, however, dances between the fine lines of mortality and eternity. Love always finds a way.
“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?
“Someone call DC and tell them this is how you write a female hero character!” – Lisa Lee Tone, Bibliophelia Templum
Angel Burns is a young firefighter with a shrouded history. During a routine night at work, she stumbles upon a demonic ceremony that brings her memories out of hiding – as well as her repressed supernatural powers. Angel soon learns her life was intended for things greater than extinguishing fires for mortals. Now on the payroll of the Vatican, Angel embarks upon an epic quest to protect the Gutenberg Bibles from evil. If successful, she will secure peace for generations. If she fails, the power of the ancient books will bestow an eternity of darkness upon all humanity!
Toby Liberman is nearing the end of his rope. After a fateful confrontation with his wife’s lover, he is chased into the woods only to be discovered by an unidentifiable creature. He is attacked and rendered unconscious. Upon waking at the scene of a gruesome triple homicide, Toby is arrested as the sole suspect and thrown into a jail cell with a strange man that knows way too much about his predicament. The stranger reveals to Toby that he now possesses the curse of the werewolf. Using his new-found strength to flee his captors, Toby begins to discover that things are not what they seem in the sleepy town of Twin Oaks, TX. Now hunted by law enforcement, as well as the town’s gun toting civilians, Toby seeks vengeance against his false accusers and embarks upon a quest to clear his name once and for all.
A Curse Beyond Comprehension. A Power Beyond Belief. A Girl Far From Home. Katie Liberman is your typical eighteen-year-old college student…or at least that’s what her family thinks. Picking up five years after the events of A Taste of Home, Katie has dropped out of school and embarked upon a dangerous quest to find Kurt Jimmerson, the New York City attorney responsible for her family’s werewolf curse. Unknown to her, the attorney’s grip on the ‘City That Never Sleeps’ is tighter than imagined and she’ll need any and all help available to be victorious. But… where do you find friends when you’re Far From Home?
Twin Oaks, Texas is at war! Taking place immediately after the Far From Home events in New York City, Katie Liberman has returned to rescue her birthplace from the clutches of her nemesis. As the paranormal battle of North vs. South rages in the shadows, the tiny town must decide to fight against the odds or become one with the darkness. Blood will be shed and only one will survive as the final battle of the Home Series concludes.
I know this is the part where I’m supposed to talk about the book, but I feel as though the synopsis needs its own preface to truly understand. 2023 was quite an eye-opening year! I began it by living my dream as a vintage steam locomotive fireman, but that dream was soon squashed thanks to my writing career. It won’t matter that you wrote your extreme horror offerings years ago and under a pen name. Also, it won’t matter that your publisher and author friends from days gone by express pleasantries and kind, nurturing words to your face, because they’ll clique-up and talk trash the minute you turn your back. F**k the biz, create. Create for art, not clicks. Click for love, not hate. Those are words true artists should have no issues living by, yet most seem to hide behind their keyboard shields, flinging ill-thought words of destruction toward once-trusted ears. Don’t pour something into everything; pour everything into something. Do it all by yourself if necessary. With any luck, 2024 will be the year of The Reverend. I’m not exactly sure what that means yet, but we’ll find out together. Anyway, here are a few short stories and poems I wrote as C. Derick Miller in 2023. I stole them from myself. Fair and square. Enjoy.
Poetry has always come naturally to me. Whether it is an expression of emotion toward someone I care about, or a display of humor pointed in the direction of those I loathe, it is my true outlet. Several of these works were written in a passenger seat while exploring the highways of the United States and somehow managed to survive “The Great Ex-Wife/Ex-Girlfriend Poetry Purge” of 2019. Others were penned during COVID-19 quarantine. Although it may not be the most epic poetry collection you’ve ever read, it all contains bits of blood and soul. You will feel something. Guaranteed.
“This profound collection of horror brings classic monsters into new light in the modern day” – B.L. Blankenship, God Walks The Dark Hills series.
The modern world is a crazy place. Worrying about childish politicians, empty grocery store shelves, and our pending membership to the “global disease of the week” club, it leaves very little time for the average reader to finish an entire novel. This is where Six from Five Seven: Short Stories from a Short Man comes in clutch! A story per day to keep the impending apocalypse away, with a single day left over to contemplate why you purchased this book in the first place. That sounds like an entertaining week when compared to the one you were destined to have regardless. What do a cursed husband, a privileged brat, a curious prostitute, a repressed savior, a vengeful son, and two hell-bound soldiers have in common? Their stories lie within the pages of this collection and invite you to tag along on their journeys of fate, redemption, and demise. When finished, you, dear reader, can hide this book inside your basement with the rest of those important documents you wished you’d never taken home. The FBI won’t be happy, but at least they’ll know you’re a cool person for owning a copy while conducting the raid. That must count for something, right? Let’s hope the judge thinks so!
Also, there’s a few other things not listed here that are floating around out there. Best of luck with the hunt.
Current Projects
Rev. Dare Cloud
Reverend · adjective. worthy of adoration or reverence. synonyms: sublime · sacred.
is a Dallas author, musician, and gonzo journalist. Some of his works include the controversial splatter-western Starving Zoe (written as C. Derick Miller), the Taste of Home trilogy, and the ongoing Jim Walker series. He is also the co-host of the American Justice Podcast and Senior Writer/Junior Producer for AtuA Productions LLC. His literary crushes are (of course) Hunter S. Thompson, J.D. Salinger, and Kevin Smith. Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon.
“You’ve got to press it on you You’ve just been thinking That’s what you do, baby Hold it down, Dare!” – Gorillaz
The Gonzo Wolf 
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