Home of the Reverend Dare Cloud, excommunicado: Dallas writer, musician, gamer, & paranormal investigator. Jack of many trades; master of none. Paul Varjak-ing it since 1973. What a long, strange trip it’s been…
Braving Sunday morning’s chill to handle business. The Trinity River smells like room-temperature poop instead of boiling poop; still poop.
Yesterday, I visited my regular reptile store on the outskirts of the city. It’s occupied by trippy LGBTQ hipster chicks, and I loved them for it. When I entered, they were all jamming out to a song by the band adorning my t shirt. When I pointed to my chest, no one recognized it. Society is doomed, but we already knew that long before yesterday.
The internet has granted everyone access to the pop culture encyclopedia. Example: I didn’t know many people of color, and I know/knew a lot, who listened to Nirvana in the 90’s, but their merch must’ve got handed out freely in their mailboxes. If you try to strike up a Nirvana conversation, they’re clueless. Their aunt gave it to them for Christmas, and she didn’t listen to them either. Damn the capitalists pigs who organize department store print t shirt displays. Witches; the lot. Working in a theme park and being alive in the 80’s was a daily wasted effort. Everyone wears their most conversation-starting attire to Six Flags, yet they look at you odd when you speak.
They, and the little entitled crackers of this generation, know little to nothing about what they wear on their bodies, because our world’s passion has been sucked dry.
As a young teen, brandishing Zep, Floyd, or Boston clothing, I could tell you my preferred everything, but that’s probably because the shirt came from the concerts. I particularly love it when it’s a Guns N Roses shirt. Um…
Nothing bad about Guns, I share a publisher with their tour manager, but the Lies album; One In A Million. Yes, it was the 80’s, but it’s an openly racist statement. Artistic rhetoric aside, it’s no different than wrapping yourself in the Confederate flag. Just like the King Ranch trucks. Did you not know who King was? Google is free, and in your pocket. A simple search could’ve saved you tens of thousands of dollars you inadvertently donated to his family. He was a slave trader, a Confederate sympathizer, and a traitor; smuggling his cotton through Mexico during the American Civil War so the Union wouldn’t know he was selling it to the Boys In Grey. That’s called treason. Stop insulting the relatives who bled for you, oh fumbling modern p*ssies.
In the night, I received a dozen voicemails from the same person. They were drunken, slurred, and oddly familiar. There were words spoken, but to a passenger. I don’t believe they knew they were leaving messages. Whoever these callers were, they were searching for someone. Maybe me. I guess I’ve been too quiet for too long, and that leads folks to believe it’s okay to crossing my shadow-border with their noses. That’s a good way to get those f*ckers blown off.
The past is like an assh*le and a bad penny; they always turn up, and no one uses pennies anymore. What, you’ve never seen a turned-up assh*le? I’m here to protect you from those naught vowels.
There was another NO KINGS rally yesterday. As a member of local activist groups, I got zero invitations. I hope they remembered to walk the same streets, chant the same chants, and wear their GnR t shirts. It’s all about soc-med clout, in the end. If you really wanted no king, then walk in his front door, and chop his head off. Isn’t that how the go-getters did it back in the day? Statistically, American society would ultimately be successful. There’s only so many bullets and so many guns when compared to the amount of people who claim they don’t want a king. It’s a numbers game! No, people just want to be seen on the news screaming “no kings”, and their work is finished. No organization; no staying power.
If you sit in my swing with a band shirt, you better at least know a chorus; that’s all I’m saying. Two decades of cool-kid rom-coms in the 80’s & 90’s, and we let the posers take over. Posers at their No King’s rallies; myself included. Prove me wrong.
Gen X has failed miserably. We indeed “took it” after promising them all we wouldn’t. Twisted Sister weeps.
As much as I’d prefer you purchase these directly from me, they’re also available through Amazon and various other book sellers.
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.
Leave a Reply