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Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Lenny Sustenuto Revisited part 1



Let’s go see Lenny Sustenuto, shall we?





*Ahem*




Well, it’s been a year and a half since I got derailed by a darling.


 
Yup.  It happens to the best of us, or the worst of us, like this here old punk rocker.


Kill your darlings.


Make your story strong and lean: no fluff.  (But dammit, Emeralda was so very tasty. I will miss her.)




The Down Town   by Days of the New   





Here we go, anon.  Now to return to the end of that ugly and guileful megalopolis called Fuckno.






This will not end well.   Yet, as always, this is a story about redemption.  There is, indeed, a happy ending.  You simply need to follow me through the boneyard, and if you do, we will dig our way out of the grave, into the sunshine above.  The best tales make you earn a happy ending.




LENNY



SUSTENUTO



REVISITED










We head forth form here.  If you’d like to find out what the fuck is going on in this part, then Gawd hepp you.  But this LINK will give you a clue, my dear.





Now please keep up, if you would like to read some TRVTH.




---willies on his way forward.







I Just Want the TRVTH, Baby    by  Born Cages     




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Saturday, December 19, 2015

Killing Your Heroes

No, not terrortits.

This is good humor and enjoyment of the art of literature. I truly believe that we are here for a short time, on a tiny blue marble, spinning alone in the edge of our own galaxy, and so every moment is dear.

Enjoy it while we have it; do not harm others.  Do not destroy.  Try to make something good for the rest of us.  Attempt to contribute something while you are here.

I have come from oppression, and I still face it to this very day.  But I do not kill others for a promise of something better.  That's bullshit.

It is complete bull shit.  Shit under the sandal.


...





Well, after a year and a half of writing on another format and spending all of my time there (marvelous site indeed) it has come time for me to face the TRVTH


My writing of a tale (that was quite enjoyable to construct) was side-railed by a character who captivated me.  De-railed.  Derailleur.  


At one time, I’d thought that Emeralda was the way to go.



However, she is a character who needs her own story-line, which I most certainly will follow.  But it should be in another line; a separate tangent.  (I friggin love that character Emeralda and her power, her prowess.)




Before she occurred to me, the original story was at the point of connection between the armies of blue ghosts and the young punks rockers, and of our lost friend who became quite vile.  Others came form far away, but there were entities from a place that is in between, and also, eternal.



It’s my own idea, and now I will continue this tasty tale, for me.


Good bye, Emeralda, in this here tale.  







This will be how I use my time now, instead of the other place.  Time for me.  And for you, vicariously, my friend.  You are vicariate.  Indeed. 




TRVST.



---willies out.




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Thursday, April 9, 2015

Sizing Myself Up For The Task Ahead




Blogger is my external hard drive.  I hope that it always will exist.  Even after the satellites fall from the sky, and our tiny sun named Sol becomes a giant red dwarf and consumes our planet, along with Mercury and Venus. Nothing will be left of us.  No tombstones, no books, no love letters, no carbon. 



Yet, we have sent off Voyager One and Two to sail along into the ocean of stars, as minuscule space travelers beyond our heliosphere, as a record that we have existed.


Our transmissions, our radio and television programs, our cell phone calls, and our texts and tweets,


Well,


They will be dissipated by the heliosphere outside of our tiny solar system, lost alone, on the fringe of the arm of our own galaxy.


So live how you will.


Write how you will.


Enjoy this opportunity to be here.  The idea of a fresh fruit, of first love, of pleasure from reading:


It means that there is indeed, something more.


Perhaps?




Now for songs for the next part.  Now to get writing this thing.  There are so many songs to hear out there.  I’ll just try to keep up.  I’ll try to select one or two.  It’s hard work, but it’s a lot of fun.


Please consider purchasing the songs of these artists. Hell, at least watch the advertisements and consider purchasing those wares as well..  It keeps all of this free to view.  Ya know?   




TUNES

FOR LORELEI:





Underwater Love   by Jerome Isma-Ae    






Heaven   by JES   (Myon Remix)   





For the rest of us damned Punks:





Learn From The Fall    by Noah   






Going Gets Tuff   by    The Growlers    




Wrong Way   by Sublime
 




Out of Control   by Hoobastank     





Ink    by Coldplay   





That’s When I Reach for My Revolver   by Mission of Burma   





Dead Man Coming    by Evil Nine  




It Gets The Worst at Night   by Lucero  





Hen House   by Ray Wylie Hubbard  





Say Something   by James





Lonesome Street by Blur    




Music is my food.  I will partake of every dish at the buffet.



VERSION ONE




Have to get back from here:





We damned punks held together as a Tribe, come what may.  That was our only saving grace.



So many opportunities to explore now.  The world is a vast sea, and we have small boats.  Our pens are our oars.  The sea is made of black ink.  The sand on the beach is where we write our experiences, to be washed away by the tide.



But do it.



Write, even as the stars fall from the sky.    



To Be Continued…





---willies in, again




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Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Placeholder for me

It's been four months, and I really need to do this.  It's for me, but I share it with the intention of creating honest, original creative work, as is the spirit of the original Arpanet.  Google will protect me because of this.  I truly acknowledge this.  YES.


This is the beginning of the second part of the Trilogy


TUNES





VERSION ONE


THE RIDE BACK Part One

Inventory of supplies:

People:

Joey, my best friend, a smallish man with an angry temper, who could hold his own in a fist fight with giants.  He was the Instigator, but he never bailed from what he had done.  He simply loved to engage, to stir up the mud and see what laid beneath.  More often than not, he laid many fine mistresses of his own encounter.  It was this:  Joey sought Trvth.

Sean, my other best friend, who tried to control everything, if you let him have the chance.  He needed to be thwarted at every misstep, or he would take over.  He did this because he was very capable of being correct most of the time.  He was a large, muscular man who also engaged, instead of whimpering in fear.  However, he was now taken over by a Walk-In named Seen.  He was gone from our enclave.  Seen Walked along the dark heart of Fuckno, and he was the one who would cause all ruin.

Tellesco was a large man who searched for Sean like a lost puppy dog, but for good reason. The good Sean, still encased within his own body, but held by Seen, has once saved Tellesco.  He was also the savior of the lost, much as he was.  He would save them from the ugly, despicable actions and behavior of them Purple Robes, even though he cried all the time.  Perhaps that was his raison d’etre.  Who knows?

Sinister Minister Glinty McFlintlock, a long dead cowboy preacher from the days of the Wild West.  He also perished at the hands of them damned Purple Robes, who now owned and controlled the hell of Fuckno.  His flock was now those who also perished in such a manner.  He sought to lead them to redemption.

Fat Jerry the purple-haired punk rocker who was a large angry baby.  His anger created the winds of vehemence.  This would lead to the destruction of Fuckno.  We simply did not know this at the time.  Hell, even he did not know this.

Me.  A whimpering coward.  I always made this sound when encountering something that I really did not want to do, but would have to do it anyway. Rrrrrghhhh.   I am a Red Man.  But I was lost in the desert, away from my Tribe that held residence on the islands of a mighty River in the east of what is now known as the USA. 

Katheena.  She was my true love.  She died at the hands of them Purple Robes, in a car crash during a rainy night in the desert, trying to chase us, to protect us dammed punk bastards.  Now she was back, and her fury could create icicles form the water vapor in the air.  Figuratively.  But also, literally. 

Lorelei.  She was my rebound after Katheena dropped me when that one became infatuated with an Alderman.  Lorelei was also German.  She taught me how to be a punk.  Yes she did.

That was my new Tribe, there in the desert.  The rest of them were from the other side.  Some would join us.  Some would be our mortal enemies.

The most curious one is Emeralda.  She was the one who held all of the knowledge and history of them fucked Purple Robes.  We had yet to meet her.  She was now a Walk-In, and a cannibal one at that.

Sven Slindlivrinn was the most evil, despicable man to ever exist, from the behavior and path of his life, and also for creating the opening to the gates of Hell, and causing the Walk-Ins to become cannibals upon Earth.

Lenny was to become Sven’s compatriot, his own personal hellion.

There was an angel, arisen from a dusty grave under the first mansion of them damned Purple Robes, buried after her own slaughter next to her own mother, but not buried with her.

She is young Avison Talon Wenonndinay.  She is the heroin of this story, as we get to the meat of this old tale.  http://williesthestories.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-fuckno-wars-ch-11-avison-talon-and.html 


This is the first chapter in the second part of this trilogy.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.



Need to continue to research my tale to get back into this.  Yup.

Also, thank you Google, and my friend YES, for allowing me to write this out of me addled head on this fine Blogger site, for free.  I enjoy the fact that it will exist for perpetuity.

I also do my best to view 15 and 30 second advertisements of folks showing me their wares, for that is proper.  The longer ones are also, quite often, very entertaining as well.


Nice work there.  Indeed.

  

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Monday, April 6, 2015

Emeralda: Resurrection




Keep Me Alive   by All We Are          




Emeralda ran back to her body lying there on the ground and pulled it over, front-side down.  It was quite heavy for a lithe, toned body, like pulling a bag of wet sand.  She thrust her big, meaty hands into the tiny rear pocket of the pants to grab the vehicle keys inside.


This startled her.  It felt like she was touching a part of her own body that had fallen asleep, like when you awaken in the night to discover that your arm has gone numb beneath you.



Such a cute little behind.  Hell, she’d worked out on her body after the two kids she birthed, and she did it for the right reason: to be strong and healthy for come what may.


She felt like a pervert on her own body.  That was also quite weird.  It is the bane of the new Walk-In to find their own dead body, from the vantage point of the new, borrowed body they now inhabit.  It can cause shock. A drop in blood pressure, cold sweats, and dizziness…



She began to feel faint, but she growled and she pulled those keys out and she stood right the hell up.  She breathed in a deep breath to chase the sparkles of fainting away.  She saw folks running towards her from the side of the house.


Fight or flight?


She made the wrong decision minutes before, and she wouldn’t let this happen again.  Her wrong decision was a late decision.  When you wait too long, then the decision will be made for you.

She ran to the vehicle and reached it and fumbled with the keys to slide the right one in and unlock the door.  This time, it worked.  She did not drop those keys.


She slid her huge body in and found that the front bench seat of the Suburban was pulled way up close to the steering wheel.


She slammed the door shut, locked the door, and pushed the key into the ignition and started the engine.  It growled: alive.


That was when the hungry cannibals arrived at the vehicle and began to try to bust the windows to get at her.


Her baby cried, it wailed in its carrier on the seat beside her.  It was hungry.


Everyone was hungry, all around her.


Then she saw their heads turn to the rear of the vehicle.  Through the busted-out window of the smashed rear-end, her baby’s cries rang loud and clear.  

An opening?  A way inside?


She saw them run to the rear, to climb in, to devour her baby. 


Her panic made her want to drive off, but they would chase the heavy vehicle, and some would clamber inside.


She made an executive decision that only a mother can do.


She waited for a moment as they pushed against each other and clawed to get back there, as she slid the transmission gear into reverse, and held one foot on the brake pedal, and hovered the other over the accelerator. 


She held her breath, biting her lip, and she resisted the urge to cry.  It was too much.  How could this be happening?  Was this truly the end times?
 

Fuck all, she thought, if I just pushed my own dead body over to get my own keys, then I am either losing my mind, or this is all too real.  Either way, we are all fucked.


Those bastards had killed her other daughter in that damned house---


NO.  (push this thought away for now, just make it through this...)



She began to shake as she waited for two seconds that felt like a pebble drifting downward in a far of honey. She pushed panic away.  (For just a gawd dayamned minute or two, pleeeease)



And then a change in her occurred.



How dare they?


How the FUCK Dare They?
  

WHO THE FUCK DO THEY THINK THEY ARE?


She growled low and long. It came from her guts, and she did not even know that she was doing this.


She saw that they were en masse behind her, fighting to be the first to climb inside.


She screamed, and it roared from the diaphragm of the large man whose body she now inhabited.


She said, “FUCK YOU TO HELL.”



Emeralda stepped on the throttle.  The tires squealed and the huge vehicle leaped back in a burst of speed. 


The thump of faces smacking the metal and the smack of heads hitting the asphalt made her grin.


She kept going, feeling their bodies tumble under the chassis in a dance with each other; a tango of bloody roses.  The large vehicle hopped and bounced in angry joy.


She skidded to a halt with bloody, wet tires, and she saw them writhing in pain.   It was a red salad of broken bodies trying to untangle, to crawl back onto the lawn with smashed arms and legs. 




She saw flattened faces with tire treads on them.



This made her smile even more.



Other people ran from across the street and dove at this mess, and pulled flesh up to their mouths.


Emeralda said, “Huh.  The end times have come.  There is nothing left.”


Then she pushed the transmission into Drive and she ran over the crowd of hungry Walk-In cannibals, and she drove off down the sunny lane.






+   +   +   +   +   +   +   +   + 





Up on the north part of the ugly megatropolis of Fuckno, where the air blew fresh and sweet, we damned punks rode in a huge white utility truck, stolen from the electrical power company.



Indeed, only a couple of us had witnessed the army of blue ghosts that stretched off in a line a mile wide.



Katheena had brought them to us.  Glinty McFlintlock was their preacher, and their savior.  He revealed the door to their salvation, but it was war that held the key.



After how they had each perished at the hands of them Purple Robes a century ago, they were ready to make war.  It was time for retribution.





Joey looked at me and said, “Weeeeeee-ill.  You up for this shit?”




I said, “Joseph, I am up for this shit.”







---willies out.





In The Heat of the Moment   by Noel Gallagher  



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