CH 1 QUEEN OF THE DESERT

"There ain't no such a thing as a writer’s block.  When you find that the words don’t come out correctly, then you stopped digging deep.  Ask yourself this:  Why?  Are you afraid of the dark?  You might have to grab up that ole shovel and head off to the boneyard with lantern in hand."  ---Sinister Minister Glinty McFlintlock ca. 1889.

Huh. 

How about that.

Epilogue  by Crosses   

We continue from here my friend.

The desert cabin burst apart from the lightning strike and we damned punks got tossed into the dirt from the shockwave.

That angry punk rocker rolled over and he was pissed off and naked.  These are two things that when combined are never pretty to see.

(Unless that is your thing.  No judgment here on you my friend.)

Me?

I had chust seen Katheena sitting with that Glinty dude atop his horse-drawn carriage and all time stopped for me.

I lied in the dust and fiery splintered boards rained down upon us all.

The sky above was black.

I must have taken a bump to the noggin, for I could see the stars above.  Some of them glowed, some winked into existence and then blinked out, and others whirled along the outer fingers of the Milky Way Galaxy.   

Our own tiny blue marble is located on the end of one of these tendrils, you know. 

We may never impact another solar system.

We probably won’t.

If we are indeed left alone like this, then all we have is each other.

Well I tell you my friend, my own star was now riding a black hearse drawn by a huge horse named Mayhem.  His mane burned with blue flame, and I felt betrayed.

Katheena was my star; only for me.

In my dizzy state of mind from the cabin-blast wake-up knock-down, I saw her kneeling down in a short, tight, lime-green skirt looking for her keys under her car from back in the day when I had first betryed her trust.

My betrayal to her had not stopped there, no.

I had shown her the evil of cocaine.

http://williesthestories.blogspot.com/2011/10/146-imbationation-begins.html

Rrrrrghhhhh   

It's hard to tell about this.

THE

QUEEN

OF

THE

DESERT

The mighty Massive Attack with silky Hope Sandoval put up on YT by the lovely DamselBoo

It went much more than an introduction to desert dust.

It went much, much further than that.

We brought the older Purple Mansion down in a baptism of desert rain and fire.  But that ancient hotel had become their meeting place:  a place to hold parties for the very wealthy of Fuckno, as well as to hold meetings of them Purple Robes.  It had a water tower on top of it from the old cowboy days, and that helped us to baptize the old motherfucker.

http://williesthestories.blogspot.com/2011/12/baptism.html

While that old Purple Mansion drowned and caught fire, Katheena saw us damned punks speed by with expensive, stolen vehicles and others in pursuit.  She met her demise when she pulled out of the side street and raced after us.

http://williesthestories.blogspot.com/2011/12/158-baptism-and-sacrifice.html

Lion Man drove her to the Hospital as her life ebbed.

http://williesthestories.blogspot.com/2011/12/160-tdc-weaw-weekend-at-willies-death.html

Do you see?

I should have driven her.

She might have lived.

 It’s what I thought all along but never admitted it until now.

It was because of me that she died.

I had killed my Star.

http://williesthestories.blogspot.com/2011/02/x40.html

Let us now attend to another fellow who left his own Lady behind, cool with you?

GREGOR

He awoke in a burning body and could not find his woman, his Lady, his wife.

He was Gregor, the High Priest of them Purple Robes.

He had abandoned her in the ugly part of the city, but he did not know this just yet.  He’d thought he’d been following her away from the asshole of Fuckno.

 http://williesthestories.blogspot.com/2013/10/tcc-ch-16-paint-it-black.html

Gregor walked-in to a fading spark and could not open his eyes.  They were melted shut.  He found himself inside the body of the young woman who had started the fire in the servants’ quarters.

He screamed from the pain of being on fire and inhaled flame from the exploding aerosol cans.  His new body burned from the inhalation of fire and from the pool of kerosene all about the floor beneath him in that hellhole of a supply closet.

He had made a Really Bad Decision to enter such a fading spark.  This would stick with him after the burning stopped and he died, yet again, and then could move on to another spark of an unconscious person.

The path of the Walk-In is not one you should wish to follow.

You see, you can leave your wife behind in the dark.

S V E N

The original cannibal; the one who had infected them Walk-Ins with his hunger for depravity, torture, and human flesh, well, he was dragged out of the burning mansion by those who thought him to be the Son of the High Priest.

In the rear courtyard, he coughed out aerosol smoke and vomited.

The security man, (also a Purple Robe) asked him, “Sir!  Are you OK?”

Sven nodded and wiped his mouth.  He coughed and looked up into the young man’s face, in the bright light of the rising sun.

Sven said, “I haven’t felt better in ages.”

He knew that he did not have much time,  but he did not figure one single thing into his math, as smart as he was.

It was this:

He was now in control of them Purple Robes.  He was the new boss of the empire, by default.

All that he knew was his hunger.

Now listen.

We will go back to meeting Katheena in the desert at the lowest, darkest part of this tale: 

...next time.

Damn.

…..rrrrrrrrrggghhhhhrrrrr…

God Help You.

God Help me, too.

---willies out.

rrrrghhhhhhrrrr

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You Can’t Fix This   by Sound City Movie supergroup 

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TCC CH 20 ANSWER TO THE CALL

Hurt   by NIN  

I’ve been fighting the direction that the tale indicates. 

In fighting against the truth, we may lose our path.

But if we remain true to our inherent beliefs, then we might find a solid step.

What is it that you need to do?  Why are you telling your tale? 

Should you look back to your roots, and find the answer?

Our opposition could be those who are hollow, and those who have only their own best interests in mind.

You see, there are those who do not lead with even a bit of heart.

But if you have the guts, then you can delve.  You can dig.  You can persevere in the face of oppression.

Never sell out.  Remain true to your Tribe.  Our Tribe is all of us.  Tahoo.

“The Truth will set you free.”

Huh.

God Help You

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

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TCC CH 19 Make It Rain

The blue edge of the blade swept across the desert dunes beyond, towards we dusty punks.

Clouds piled up beyond the mountains to the East.  These mountains were a barrier to my home in the east.  Someday I would cross them.  I would follow a long forgotten wagon trail toward the rising Sun, to the eastern coast.  You know, them old Conestoga  trails led to the West back in the day.

An island in a mighty river awaited me.

My Island…   

my River…    

my Home.

 

No Home   by Stukenberg  

Them clouds filled up with hatred against us.  They piled up and sent tendrils and fingers down the valleys and crevasses of the Sans Joking Mountain Range.

They rumbled and tumbled until they filled the bright blue sky over the dustbowl and they blotted out the angry Sun.

The blue flame of Mayhem’s mane glowed brighter now. 

Sometimes it has to be dark to see the light, you know.

I looked back at them young men who held the punk down and said, “Anybody got a light?”

The sky above shrieked in response.  Lightning flashed and it blinded us as the cabin’s roof exploded.  We fell flat in the dust, ears ringing from the shockwave. Yup, that old cabin caught fire and began a stately burn. 

Big Bryan was the first up.  He was always like that; ready for a fight at the drop of a thundering bolt.

(My apologies to you my friend, I appear to be fighting with the tale again.  It’s taken many rewrites since Saturday.)

Rrrrrghhh.

A Hundress Mie   by Nicky PH 

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

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TCC CH 18 BLUE FIRE

Danse Macabre   by Camille Saint-Saens   

You should know by now my friend, that a saving grace is a miracle (those are lovely should one come your way) but it is a cheat on the tale.

In this here tale, there has never been (nor will there ever be) a sudden miracle out of the blue.  That would be a disservice to these lively characters.

And to you.

A hack writer will cheat, and I am no hack. 

You see:

If properly constructed, a story will unfold as it must, and it will surprise even the one scribing the events, much like a news reporter. 

I have always followed three tantamount beliefs:

1.  Write only what you know (or have researched well).

2.  Remain true to the characters and the tale they want to tell.

3.  Be true to the Reader of the tale.  (This is the most important of all.  Readers of your tale have amazing forgiveness for bad speeling and such, but they will you call you on a misstep, gawbless them.)

 

Hey, I’m along for the ride just like you, my friend.  Know this:  I don’t want to lose the track, the tack of the sail, the wind, nor the island ahead, to where we head.  I’ve got it mapped out, but the treasure is in the journey, not buried under the X on the map.

TCC

CH 18

BLUE

FIRE

I pushed down on the legs of that angry punk and looked to where the crying young man pointed.  I saw a white-hot glint of blue fire far across the desert dunes.  The angry sun glaring down from overhead could not erase such an indelible image, in the mind’s eye.

I pointed at it and shouted at the others, “Hold tight!  Something is coming towards us!”

Tellesco clapped me on the back after he watched me do this.

He said, “Mr. Will, you see it, too?!”

I nodded and said back to him, “Yes I see him!  Now help us out with this big bastard!”

Tellesco chucked himself down on the back of the struggling giant and forced his elbow against the neck of our adversary into the desert sand.  Fat Jerry got his face buried, again.

I turned back to look at the wildfire.

At first: a glint, a hint, a spark of white hot mettle appeared.  Then it grew across the vast desertscape.  I was looking at the sharp edge of a flat blade, swinging towards us at great speed.

(Duck!)

(Run to the hills!)

(Bury your head in the sand!”)

I could not speak.  Them others looked up to see what I was doing as Tellesco pinned that big man down solid.

Joey said, “Weeee-ill! What you doing?!  Ain’t nothing coming!  Come put this boy to bed!”

Patrick the utility truck driver said, “I don’t think my company insurance covers this liability!  This is certainly a dream I’m having-“

Big Bryan said, “We got him down, Will!  You do what you gotta do.”

Me?  I about shit my pants.

Instead of saying, “What, you guys can’t see this blue flame,”  I said, “Hold him tight!  I got his legs.  That old fucker said we need him, but he didn’t say that we need him awake!”

They each wrestled with new strength and held that evil man down until he stopped quivering.

I got up from kneeling on his hamstrings to meet our demise.

When Mistah Death appears, he doesn’t need a welcome.  No need to panic the ones with you who are about to die…

…with you.

This is what I saw:

The thin blue blade gleamed across the horizon, and a glint from the center of the sharp edge glowed with fire, like Tellesco had said.

The shiny gleam upon its edge neared, and as it did so, I could see a fireball of blue.

In its center I could see a massive black hole, like the spot in a photograph where the Sun should be.

It was Mayhem.

Blue fire whipped back from its head as it hauled a black hearse.

A man sat atop his hearse with the reins held taught in one hand and a shotgun in the other.

His face looked to be dried out for a hundred years and one of the black lenses in his spectacles was broken in half.

The Glinty led The Blue Army of them ghosts.

He sure did like to make an entrance, didn’t he?

 But you should understand one thing, which is this:

There was an angry young Thai chick who sat beside him:

Katheena

She Brings The Rain   by Can   

See you tomorrow for the goods.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

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TCC CH 17 Sunday School Cry Baby

Sunday School begins when all hope has left.

We begin here from the last part: Paint It Black.   

We should have simply run away.  That would have been the best thing; safety-wise.

The Glinty was gone, baby gone.

We should have lit-out like he did.

But do you know, you never leave a man behind.  A promise is a promise, baby.

Let’s go to school, shall we?

Warsaw  by Them Crooked Vultures   

That Tellesco dude pinned the angry punk in a half-nelson and pressed his face down into the desert sand.   

Ouch.

Tellesco struggled and re-adjusted his grips, but soon enough, that fat bastard he held down in a sleeper began to awaken in a rage.

The angry punk opened his left eye and he looked up at his attacker. His other eye was smashed down in the dirt, and this didn’t feel all that good to him.

He growled. 

He pushed at the ground. 

His temper made him feel hot and sweaty.

And dirty.

He usually enjoyed those sorts of things, but this time he didn’t.

He was supposed to be in control.

He began to rise.

RRRRRRRGH

That was the sound that the ground made beneath them both.  We could hear it and we could feel it in the heels of our boots.

Tellesco began to weep.

TCC

CH 17

Sunday

School

Cry

Baby

There we were my friend, left behind by that Glinty dude.

It didn’t look good for anyone who might engage.   What would you have done?

Gawdayam, might as well go out with a bang, isn’t that right?  We damned punks ran to help out the only one who faced his fear.  

He was one huge angry punk, and he seemed to grow bigger with each breath he took.  He got up on his knees just when I dove at him.  Big Bryan followed me, and when the huge bastard knocked me back, I had the wind knocked out of me.  Bryan pulled me away and helped me catch my breath again.

But Joey, the Lion Man, well he leapt up and grabbed onto Fat Jerry’s big melon. 

That was enough for me.  I couldn’t catch my breath, but I got to my feet and charged at the Punk, and Tellesco fell away into the dirt.

He sat back up and wiped his eyes.  He couldn’t stop crying.

He looked over at us and said, “Sorry guys!  I mean…”

Then his eyes got big, with tears streaming down from them.  He looked over us all there fighting with the angry punk, and he said, “There is a blue fire coming!”

Do you know my friend, The Glinty did not abandon us.   He figured that we could fend for ourselves in this moment, and he was correct.

What we didn’t know was this: 

He had gone to collect them blue folks. 

It was their time to shine. 

This was the nexus of building an army.

We had no clue about that, but it couldn’t be helped.  It was the natural course of events, do you see?

When a man is left with nothing, only then will he find out what he has inside.  This is why you must accept each challenge that comes your way.

You may surprise yourself.  You may find that you have a limitless wealth of strength, built from the ore of what is true. 

It simply takes the furnace to burn away the floss, the flotsam, the jetsam, and the fluff.  Forget about showing off.  Try to find your mettle.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out

OK, One More For You.

Let’s go to school, shall we?

Mind Mischief   by Tame Impala  

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TCC CH 16 PAINT IT BLACK

We continue on from the last part, my friend.  We were going to help out the only man among us who stood and faced the angry punk, and he put that huge bastard down.

Tellesco said, “Hurry the heck up Mr. Glinty!  I don’t think I can hold this big guy down much longer!”

Amor Fati   by Washed Out   

We all looked back at him from our reconnoiter.   We each felt shame, but no one would admit it out loud.  Of course, a man has to cover his tracks to hide his shame, and that is when the worst mistakes are made.

In shame a man will discover the flavor of weakness.  In recompense he will taste his demise.

We all looked back at each other for assurance but The Glinty was gone. 

This broke our mental spell.  We ran to help Tellesco instead of running away, which was the safest thing we should have done.

T C C

C H   1 6

P A I N T

I T

B L A C K

He lied on his back in a bed made of silky down pillows.  A dim spark glinted from just beyond his field of vision, and it grew. 

Was it time for breakfast? 

He felt the soft bed and snuggled against it.  He would sleep in for another hour.  Work awaited him,

…but that was after the long weekend.  He could sleep for days if he wished.

Nothing like pillow time, isn’t that right.

He drifted off as he turned and put his hand under the pillow.

He usually slept on his stomach with one knee pulled up, not on his back: flat out like a dead man. 

If he had the left knee pulled up and his right arm under his pillow, it did an odd thing: it made his balls hurt. 

If he pulled up his right knee with his left arm up under his pillow,  he could sleep for hours.

He could not twist into his favorite sleeping position. 

He found that is was hard to breathe.  The down comforter must have weighed three hundred pounds.  It was binding him to the bed, and he felt hot.

He tried to push the heavy comforter off.

He tried to kick it away.

It was stuck to him.

What the fuck?

He could not breathe and somebody was shining a white hot flashlight onto his eyelids.

He panicked.  He felt like he was stuck in a sleeping bag with the zipper broken.   He could not escape.

He forced his eyelids open and it burned like the screech from an electric guitar.

Fat Jerry awoke, and boy was he mad.

I Sat By The Ocean   by QOTSA 

Tellesco struggled with that angry fat bastard underneath him as we ran to help.

Help. 

…Yeah.   

…We were always ready to help,

isn’t that right?

 About that...

Will you join me tomorrow at Sunday School for the Schooling of the Punk?

That old cowboy desert preacher will lead us in his prayer for Brother Fat Jerry.

It will be long and hard to take in.

God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.

One more for ya.  (Dammit, I can never tell when he's joking)

Diaphanous  Breeze   by Lisa Downing   

 

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