To be bluntly honest, nothing has felt right since about 2016, and it’s not all due to the Cheeto in Chief. Yes, he got elected, and immediately donned his tard cap, and then did it twice more. I don’t think he was cheated out of 2020, but the bastard would never STFU to let anyone else work. He’s a man-baby, but we collectively put him there whether some of us want to come to grips with it or not. Do better, America. Get out and vote.
I’m thankful I took Charlie Rose to Opening Bell’s open mic last weekend for her first time, because this week’s shifted into some type of alternate dimension I could feel the moment I walked in the door. You know me; I’m going to be brutally honest, and I hope this doesn’t offend someone who’s decided to follow me after yesterday’s performance. This is why this writer can’t have too many friends. Only those with the toughest skin need apply. The greats pulled no punches, and lived in solitude. I guess that’s what I’ve done.
Time seemed to move differently from the stairway’s descent. We’d chosen dinner over haste this time around, and I signed my name on a line destined to be called after the first hour. I felt too skitzed for coffee, and I’m five-ish years sober (that’s why I avoid barre chords in my playing style. Laugh). Somehow, having a bottled water at a rock show was a tad too real for my ever-aging psyche, and I could feel the energy begin to leave my soul through the bottoms of my feet – deep, deep escape; down into the ancient, secret-laden concrete of the old SEARS building. At least I think it was; I don’t feel like checking because I’m in a mood. Things are flowing, and I’ve got that seventies playlist I love to gush over playing as loud as can be into my ears:
Can you imagine the blood and deeds soaked microscopically throughout the foundation of Dallas’ “South Side” monument? The catastrophes and sudden, violent deaths of the neighboring railyard? It was one of the biggest businesses in the entire world at the turn of the last century. There definitely had to be some mob ties going on there. I got the same sensations inside, as I did in most every history-laden warehouse in Brooklyn, Boston, and beyond – the oldest parts of this country. You don’t become that big and rich following the rules and playing nice; a lesson I hope some of you are now learning from casting your ballot multiple times for Christianity’s actual, stone-clad description of the Anti-Christ. Have fun with that sh*t. He can’t harvest my soul if I don’t believe, or at least that’s what I’ll keep telling myself until the scalding pitchforks invade my anus for all eternity.
Anyway, I’m my own worst enemy when it comes to time. The longer I sit in waiting, the more opportunities I’ll have to psych myself out. Surely, as explained, I tuned, and tuned, and retuned, and tuned again for the next hour and fifteen minutes. On the bright side of things, at least I was tuned.
What wasn’t tuned was my spirit. It was in constant battle with whatever energy was inhabiting this structure on this particular day. It seemed as though every artist who preached in my presence picked up on it as well; even if they didn’t realize it in the moment. Some have the gift, and we wish like hell we could give it back most times. If there’s anything my previous wife & life did for me in my decade-long roller coaster of shadows, it was to open my mind to things I shouldn’t speak of in religiously mixed circles. Lucky me; now I’m middle-aged and chasing UFO’s. It’s a living.
That’s secretly why I’m scared to continue my remote viewing training. I’m scared to death I’ll be successful, and I know me. It’s the Anakin Skywalker story arc on repeat. As a positive, it’s always made for great sex, and I’ll never complain about that. You know damn well Anakin used the force on Padme’s nether-regions a time or two. She was a sexy, rich senator; she could’ve had just about anyone in the galaxy. She chose the freed slave wizard with mommy issues. There’s a reason she slummed it to her last breath: The Force on that ass. Guaranteed…but I digress.
Bad vibes throughout; ALL artists fumbled and stumbled, and I knew I’d be no different. The hallways felt darker; more shadowy than normal. It’s always there, I mean. Today, it just felt “irritated”; like frantic flying insects on the verge of Autumn. Aggressive. Hungry, of sorts. It feasted on us one by one as we gave of our lifeforce freely; sans permission. A rape of whatever pent energy we’d stored throughout the week, and denied it to the ears of the starved, regulars. Unfulfilled, I could feel their unified dissatisfaction.
I could nitpick – giving credit where credit is due, as promised via my schtick, where you’re rarely left less-than-satiated – but it’s not fair. Everyone in the Opening Bell circle is a good, talented soul who performs with dreams in their heads and joy in their hearts. At least, that’s the vibe I get from them. I should know; I’ve spent decades mucked about by those who would do me harm. I know a good thing when I feel it; until I don’t.
And now, a word from the responsible writer:
I know there’s some shenanigans going down concerning em-dashes and AI, but I’ve written with em-dashes FOREVER. When I try to refrain from using them for the sake of AI accusations, it severely restricts my flow. For those who need it explained (and I’d expect those who already ‘get it’ to skip the following), you can suck your em-dash AI accusations out the skinniest part of my willy, and spit them into your bucket of shame – along with my fiction and railroading careers. Not that anyone’s done this yet – you need a fanbase for that, em-dashes nonwithstanding – I’m just pre-emptively stating my position on all this nonsense. Who knows? I could be busy when the clique-arrows fly. Using the “Old Noodle”, says I.
Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon. Actual evil is a very ancient thing; older than man, religions, or money. You’d better f*cking listen when it calls you by your first name – regardless of how you wish you could erase it from the mouths and tongues of those who once held it dear. Collectively, our energies were unable to put a dent in that damn thing. There’s no such thing as hauntings – just haunted people; but energy is forever. It’s everywhere; always.
Next time, I’ll walk away, as I’ve done a few times before. I’m not sure why I’ve chosen to go against my psychic bells & whistles so often over the last decade – almost like I’m subliminally insisting those curses weren’t permanently attached to that identity. There’s no curing haunted, folks.
Maybe the building just needs a sacrifice. I doubt I could find many virgins in The Cedars.
Want to help support The Gonzo Wolf? Buy and review some fiction!
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. 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 
Leave a comment