BLOGS

"On June 6, 2012, Ray Bradbury, the Universe's writer, was called back to his galaxy." - Orange County Screenwriters Association

JUNE 6, 2012

Web site: RayBradbury.com
CNN: Sci-fi legend Ray Bradbury dies

NASA: Transit of Venus

Black Queen of England  

    Queen Charlotte and her Contributions toBritain

    Princess Sophie Charlotte was born on May 19, 1744--the eighth child of the Prince of Mirow, Germany, Charles Louis Frederick, and his wife, Elisabeth Albertina of Saxe-Hildburghausen. In 1752, when she was eight years old, Sophie Charlotte's father died.

   A princess of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Sophie Charlotte was descended directly from an African branch of the Portuguese Royal House, Margarita de Castro y Sousa. Six different lines can be traced from Princess Sophie Charlotte back to Margarita de Castro y Sousa. This explains her African appearance in her Royal portraits that exist today.

   Sophie Charlotte married George III of England on 8 September 1761, at the Chapel Royal in St James’s Palace, London, at the age of 17 years of age becoming the Queen of England and Ireland. Their were conditions in the contract for marriage, ‘The young princess…, join the Anglican church and be married according to Anglican rites, and never ever involve herself in politics’. Although the Queen had an interest in what was happening in the world, especially the war in America, she is seen to have fulfilled her marital agreement.

   An indicator of George’s feelings towards his wife may be seen by the fact that, as stated on the Royal website, ‘George III bought Buckingham House in 1761 for his wife Queen Charlotte to use as a comfortable family home close to St James's Palace, …14 of George III's 15 children were born there’.

   Having married the King, she became consort to the George III, and they were both devoted to each other. The Royal couple had fifteen children, thirteen of whom survived to adulthood. There fourth eldest son was Edward Augustus, Duke of Kent (2/11/1767- 23/01/1820), who later fathered Queen Victoria.

   Her Majesty Queen Charlotte made many contributions to Britain as it is today, though the evidence is not obvious or well publicised. Her African blood line in the British royal family is not common knowledge. Portraits of the Queen had been reduced to fiction of the Black Magi, until two art historians suggested that the definite African features of the paintings derived from actual subjects, not the minds of painters.

   In Queen Charlottes era slavery was prevalent and the anti-slavery campaign building up. This may go some way to explaining why Britons are not fully aware of the racial mix of the royal family. Portrait painters of the royal family were expected to play down or soften Queen Charlottes African features.

   Painters such as Sir Thomas Lawrence, who painted, Queen Charlotte in the autumn of 1789 had their paintings rejected by the royal couple who were not happy with the representations of the likeness of the Queen. These portraits are amongst those that are available to view now, which could be seen as continuing the political interests of those that disapprove of a multi-racial royal family for Britain.

   Sir Allan Ramsey produced the most African representations of the Queen, he was responsible for the majority of the paintings of the Queen. Ramsey’s inclination to paint truer versions of the Queen could be seen to have come from being ‘an anti-slavery intellectual of his day’, Frontline.

   The Coronation painting by Ramsey, of the Queen was sent out to the colonies/commonwealth and played a subtle political role in the anti-slavery movement. Johann Zoffany also frequently painted the Royal family in informal family scenes.

   Queen Charlotte was a learned character, her letters indicate that she is well read and had interests in the fine arts. The Queen is known to have supported and been taught music by Johann Christian Bach. She was extremely generous to Bach’s wife after Bach’s death. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, at aged eight dedicated his Opus 3 piece to the Queen at her request.

   Also an amateur botanist, Queen Charlotte helped to establish Kew Gardens bringing amongst others the Strelitzia Reginae, a flowering plant from South Africa.

   The Christmas tree was introduced to England by the Queen who had the first one in her house, in 1800. It was said to be decorated with, ‘sweet-meats, almonds and rasins in papers, fruit and toys,’.

   The Queen Charlotte Maternity hospital is in London and has been since 1739. Set up as a charitable institution, it is the oldest maternity care institution in England.

   Another care venture for the Queen was when George III became ill in 1765 and Queen Charlotte took care of him, noting in one of her letters to her brother that spending time in Weymouth became frequent as bathing in the sea was beneficial to the King.

  Queen Charlotte died at Dutch House in Surrey, now Kew Palace, in the presence of her eldest son, the Prince Regent. She is buried at St George’s Chapel, Windsor.

   The only private writings that have survived are Queen Charlotte's 444 letters to her closest confidant--her older brother, Charles II (1741-1816), Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. On 23 May 1773 in a letter to her younger brother: ‘I find that the solitary and retiring life which I lead is not made for me. Having admitted this I assure you I shall not ignore my duty’. This shows that the Queen felt she was in a position of privilege yet a task. Her Christian faith was a protection and a method of endurance, as she quotes from the Bible and recognises her role as a royal of God beyond her royal role on earth.

   The Christmas tree that Queen Charlotte introduced is still very evident today. A well established custom of over 200 years at Christmas time, are present in nearly every household and public building in Britain, still decorated with lights and shiny objects.

   An exhibition took place in 2004, at the Queen’s Gallery, Buckingham Palace displaying Charlotte and George’s collections and tastes in the arts.

   Queen Charlotte is the great great great grandmother of the present Queen Elizabeth II who still lives in the expanded Buckingham House, now Buckingham Palace. Kew gardens still flourishes and is always being expanded, also the Queen Charlotte maternity hospital and many other places still carry her name in honour globally such as Charlotte town, Canada and Fort Charlotte, St Vincent, West Indies.

Unless you just woke up from a coma and found the hospital you're in abandoned and the world gone to hell without sending you a memo, you better have read the first two parts of this guide before reading any further. You are way behind the curve and at best are 'walker bait'. In fact, stand by the door and open it when I tell you. Don't worry about me moving to the far side of the room exit with all my stuff....

For those of you who are up to speed, I congratulate you on surviving this far. However, the only pat on the back you'll get around here is from several dozen infected wanting to give their regards.

So now you and your fellow survivors have slightly rested while the main wave of the infected are busy chasing down the remaining crowds of people driven before them. You wish those folks luck, but thank them for their distraction. While the carnage continues off in the distance the question, 'what do I do now?' rears its ugly head once more. Simple, you have to change your location... now.

Rule #13 - Get out of the City

'Lucky #13' applies to any area with large numbers of people so towns, hamlets and villages also apply. Don't forget, walkers go where 'the food' is and you are the food. The bad news about cities is by now they are snarled with traffic accidents, burning buildings and vehicles. Just being on the street with all of that is dangerous as having to deal with panicked herds of people and effin' zombies! Yet, being the rule #5 ready survivor you've proved to be so far, you can already see the 'bright side' of the situation.

Use the mayhem as cover

As you move to un-ass the city, stealth is going to be your friend. Burning cars and buildings are dangerous, but they're useful. The smoke can cover your scent and the flames are good when you shove an infected mofo' into them. Also, burning debris make mighty fine improvised weapons if any walkers hung back from chasing the smorgasbord.

Use the landscape as shield or weapon

Don't be shy about prying open a car's gas cap, sticking a piece of cloth in the gas tank and lighting that bitch on fire should a mob of walkers catch wind of you and your group. The explosion will make them key in on the sound and they'll focus on that while you all slip away. Also, don't feel bad about setting the building you had to evacuate on fire to cover your escape. The 'owners' have already been eaten.

Keep $#%^&! quiet

No matter what kind of zombie you are unfortunately faced with (infected '28 Days Later', brain eaters 'Return of the Dead', or straight undead 'Night of the Living Dead'/'Dawn of the Dead'/'The Walking Dead') the primary thing they have in common is they can hear annoyingly well. Use those flipped and abandoned vehicles to stay out of their sight. Most importantly keep quiet! If others are with you, use hand signals to keep them moving or hold in place. Rule #9 comes in particularly handy at this time so you aren't that asshole who either trips or knocks something over making enough noise to alert every damn walker in the tri-state area. In the unfortunate (and highly probable) event that happens, there's no reason to start screaming and knocking stuff over when you have to bail.

Use distractions

The other thing all zombies have in common is they're not too bright. Since the infected are attracted to sound, there's no reason why you can't set up a 'deadfall' (an improvised trap whereby something heavy falls) or toss some debris (toss it far please) away from your position to draw those suckers away. That's a rule #5 move that when used properly can give you that much needed head start.

Above all remember to; move fast when needed, hide when needed and keep headed out of the city.

Rule #14 - Find a secure location

In this case, you don't want the 'Marine' version of secure just yet. It is highly probable you and your fellow survivors are still on foot so with ducking and taking down small groups of infected here and there, the group will have cleared the city but not by much. Most likely you're running out of daylight and the last thing any of you want is to be out on the street at night. Priority one is to find a secure location.

Unfortunately, that's easier said than done. Mainly, because any place that's particularly good will be; infested with walkers, already occupied by other survivors who ain't hearing your pitiful pleas to let you in ('cause they've got their rules cheatsheet too) or it's locked up tight. Here's some tips on looking for a secure location:

Houses, Farms and certain Buildings are not secure

Houses suck as hideouts. You've got too many entry points for walkers to barge in. Windows have to be boarded up (ever notice in zombie movies how many suburban homes are nicely stocked with boards for blocking windows?) and doors have to be barricaded. Most houses can't keep $#@@damn burglars out. How can anyone expect a house to hold out a crush of zombies?

Farms also suck as hideouts. First farmhouses have all the issues houses have (except they may actually have all those damn boards you'll need.) Plus the fact there will be lots of wide open space around them for walkers to mill about smartly then get a running start when they come at you. Don't even think about using the Barn either. Often there'll be livestock in there and you don't want to be the other, 'other white meat' available. Plus barns have hay and other flammables in there. All it takes is one careless jackass (four or two-legged variety) and the place becomes an inferno.

Also, avoid storefronts as they will have lots of lovely plate glass windows the infected can come flying through at you. Lastly, bypass apartment buildings. They, just like hospitals will initially be a nasty mix of walkers and hostile survivors duking it out in there. Not to mention you'll need a large group to secure all the access points which violates rule #10.

Well, you've all had a rough day so let's just say in this instance fortune has smiled upon you and let you find a small warehouse that one of your group used to work. For whatever reason, she knows how to get you all in by going via the roof and now for the time being, you have someplace zombie free to hole up.

Rule #15 - Take stock of available resources

So after your group has waylayed the pitiful group of walkers in the warehouse, you've secured all the access points. Unless the zombies fire up a semi, tank or somebody does something stupid, they ain't getting in. Though you've bought yourself some breathing room, you are by no means in the clear. You and your group have a ton of work to do. Now's the time to take stock of your available resources. That means everything that's on hand including the members of your group.

Recon your location

'Recon' isn't just some cool word they use in movies and videogames. It's gathering information necessary to complete your mission ('mission' = not getting your ass eaten by a damn zombie.) You're going to have to hole up in the warehouse for a while 'till things die down so you need to get eyes on it's layout. You'll be looking for additional access/exit points, places where you can mount a strong defense then escape and what the landscape is like around it.

Find out who your fellow survivors are

This is the time you need to figure out who's who among your fellow survivors. Everybody is no doubt freaked out and giving them a chance to pull themselves together will cut down on the chances someone will flip out and bring the infected down upon you all. Get everyone's name, what kind of work they did, find out if they have family and then give them something to do.

Divide the Labor

For the time being, the warehouse is the only thing standing between the group and the tens if not hundreds of thousands of walkers out there. You must get your fellow group members no matter how traumatized up and working to keep them focused on the problem (of not getting eaten.) Everybody works and everybody fights has to be the mantra to keep cohesion. Remember all it takes is for one person to do something stupid and all that running and dying crap starts all over. Giving people tasks will help take their minds off of worries concerning family, friends and the lives they will never get back. If anyone gets bent about working, just remind them of all those walkers out there that would love to make their acquaintance. If they look like they're going to be a real problem, keep rules #2 and 7 in mind when you bust that mofo in the skull.

Take inventory

This is also the time to take stock of what resources you have on hand. Clean water is your primary concern. Without it you're all going to die within 2-3 days after all the running, fighting and stress you've been under. Find a good water source... now. Food is the next resource needed though you can roll without it much longer than water. Long as you have water available, you can survive without food for weeks. However, if you want to be able to haul ass when one of your fellow survivors hallucinating from starvation opens the rolling bay doors because he thought all those walkers outside were 'chickens', you'll need a decent supply of food. Seeing as how you all were lucky enough to break into a warehouse that had several hundred crates of military 'MRE's' (meals ready to eat), the food thing is covered big time.

Make a 'to go pack'

Next, you'll need to start building everyone 'kits' so when crap rolls downhill (which it eventually will) they can have what they need to last several days until another secure location can be found. Backpacks, courier bags, even those big-ass shoulder bags women carry are good items for carrying supplies and needed items. Just make sure your kit doesn't violate rule #11. Another thing to remember about packs and bags is their number one drawback... they make great handles.

You might have an extra step on that pesky infected on your tail, but they have a bad habit of reaching out and grabbing anything they can get hold of. Your carry pack is a perfect 'grabbable'. If your pack or bag has quick release straps, get familiar with unhooking them quickly with either hand. If they don't, then cut the straps and tie them back together with a 'half-hitch' knot (looks like half the knot used to tie shoelaces.) Make sure the pull line hangs down and the loop is up so all you have to do is yank the line to disengage the bag. Better to let the infected have it than get dragged down! Just like your primary weapon, your pack should be with you at all times.

Rule #16 - Scavenging

It's certain your current location will not have everything you need. So that means you'll eventually have to go out and do some 'shopping'. Initially, you'll have to send out or go on recon runs just to see what resources are available. It will be a bad idea to go into the city for scavenging runs because there will be craploads of zombies and potentially hostile survivors who've carved out a territory. However, there will still be good pickings in the outlying areas and roads. Send out only those who can move quickly, quietly, can keep their heads and throw down if things go into the toilet. Here are some tips for scavenging under hostile conditions:

Keep the team small

For recon, a two person team is the prime number. One to scout, the other to cover their backs. For scavenging 3-4 persons max. Better to send out small groups that can carry small loads quickly and quietly.

Stick to the essentials

Water, food, medicine, weapons, clothing and reliable transportation are the only things you should be concerned with. Stuff like small amounts of jewelry can be taken on the fly as they may be useful in the long run when dealing with other groups of survivors but are not necessary items in the short term. Make note of their location and come back if things settle down.

Cover your tracks

In 'I am Legend' the lead character sprayed vinegar around to foil the zombies ability to track him by smell.  You may need to carry a spray bottle of vinegar, cleaning fluid or 'eau du walker' with you to keep them from following your scent. Don't forget rule #5 when it comes to hygene on recon/scavenging runs.

Do your 'business' before you go out

It's not only your blood that will attract the attention of the infected. Bodily functions #1 and 2 are just as good if not better to help zombies home in on your ass. Do what you have to do before you set out and clean up well so you won't leave a 'scent corridor'.

Keep $#%^&! quiet and don't do anything stupid

This applies at all times while you're outside your secure location. A perfectly good run can go straight to poop if you or one of the team makes any noise. Also, you already got your naughty bits hanging over a bear trap as is. Taking unnecessary risks is just stupid and will endanger not only you, but your fellow survivors. They would be well within rule #7 if they left you to get eaten while they made their escape because of your damn stupidity. Just do the work and get out. If something catches your eye, make note of it and come back another time. Every second you spend out there BS'ing around is one more second an infected may have to jump up your ass.

Rule #17 - Keep your focus

Just because the walking dead either haven't figured out where you are yet or have yet to find a way into your location doesn't mean the problem is solved. You are just like those folks whose city or castle is under siege. You may have that much needed breathing room to get rested and build up  fat reserves, but doodoo can change at any moment.

Don't get comfy

It happens in every ZA movie or TV show, people get a little breathing room and then they start getting stupid. Modern industrial nation humans are primarily lazy bastards and any opportunity to get back into 'couch potato' mode will be seized upon. You can't allow that to happen. You need to keep people occupied at all times or minds will start wandering and that's when dumb stuff starts happening.

Make weapons
Keeping your existing weapons clean, sharp and in good repair are great ways to keep the mind occupied. Also take the time to increase your arsenal with whatever's available. It literally will not kill you to make extra weapons and leave them around where anyone can grab hold of one when needed. You and the other survivors should have your primary weapons on hand at all times. But in case you run out of ammo or your gore slick weapon slides out of your hands, it will be sorely convenient to reach out and grab a spare. This is also the time for anyone with skills for or can adapt to making weapons (ammo, etc.) to get crackin'.

Be prepared to keep order

The stress of survival will take it's toll on everyone. You and your fellow survivors will suffer survivor's guilt at not having gone to find loved ones or just for having survived when so many others around them fell. These feelings will cause dissention which will lead to conflict which will lead to somebody doing something stupid. Allow people to vent somewhat because they'll need to. But when things get too noisy and or start getting out of hand, feel free to lend some minor pain to the situation with a swat across the back of the thighs with a board or bat. Don't pull a pistol or rifle unless you're going to kill them. That threat only will work long as they know you'll pull the trigger. So if you have to use that option, remember rule #2.

Rule #18 - Establish a pecking order

Sorry kids but the days of 'Democracy' are over. There has to be one leader, one second and persons in charge of certain tasks. Humans crave order and want rules and boundaries no matter what any proponent of anarchy spouts. We are pack animals and our societies at their core are similar to monkey troops and wolf packs. Get over it and make do.

Everybody can't be the 'Alpha'

Quiet as it's kept, the leader of the group need not be the biggest or strongest. They have to be the most capable when it comes down to making critical and mundane decisions. Everybody will not be capable of operating like that. Also, the leader of the group must inspire confidence in their fellow survivors. Not with threats or platitudes of 'everything will be just fine', but with deeds that show cohesion of the group will keep everyone alive. Here is where any potential leader must understand how rule #1 applies.

The leader must get it into everyone's head that 'what was, is no longer'. 'Now is the new reality.' Ultimately things will change, but not for a while. Until then, the group survives long as it functions with everyone's full participation. Anyone who thinks they can make it on their own can take their chances outside with the infected. That rule has to be enforced without reflection or mercy.

Rule #19 - Keep your $#!% together

Despite the conditions (let's face it, you didn't think you'd be spending time with folks you don't know in a warehouse surrounded by effin' zombies), you need to maintain your health both mental and physical. Drinking water and eating as best you can in addition to keeping yourself clean as possible will go a long way towards being 'ret' ta' go' when the time comes to bail. Things you must do are:

Wash your ass

In 'The Book of Eli' though there weren't any zombies (I'm sure crazy cannibal mutated humans count), but conditions were similar to what you're currently facing. His solution to keeping clean was to use alcohol hand cleaners. Hand sanitizers and hand sanitizing wipes are great resources to help keep your skin clean (and they burn like a mofo! See rule #13.) Just make sure whatever you use doesn't violate rule #5. If you have a source of clean water, save that stuff for your pack (see rule #15.) Keeping yourself clean lessens the chances of the infected sniffing you out and keeps you from getting turned into walker bait because of a debilitating skin condition (remember if you're sickly your fellow survivors will implement rule #7 on your ass!)

Maintain a clean living area

You're going to have a hard enough time keeping those hordes of rotten bastards from finding you as is. Making it easy for them because you are a bunch of nasty #$%@'s is suicidal. if you must cook, do so low to the ground as possible. Vary the times and days that you do to make it harder for the zombies to tune in on your home cooking. Only have fire in well ventilated area with high ceilings. Keep fires small in case you have to put them out quickly. Don't make big 'White Man' Fires as the Native Americans call them where they can be seen for miles and smelled for tens of miles. They also use up valuable fuel which you'll have to risk members of the scavenger parties to get more.

Make sure that when you or other survivors do the business, it's in a place that's far enough from the common areas (but secure) and will not accumulate in a manner which will attract walkers or promote the spread of disease. It also must be imperative to maintain the means for washing up afterwards and keeping the implements of washing up clean as well.

Keep fit and practice with multiple weapons

Just because you've got breathing room doesn't mean you can chill. That you made it to this temporary safe haven by running and gunning, just meant you got damn lucky. Now you need to make the weapons you use a part of you and get your bod primed to keep your ass alive. If there is a considerable surplus of ammo and you can do so without attracting undo attention, practice with all available projectile weapons and become familiar with them. If someone goes down, you may be close enough to grab their weapon and put it to further use (not like they're going to need it anymore.) Best to be familiar with it or you'll be laying next to her on the 'first come, first serve buffet.

Where your hand weapons are concerned, practice with them until they feel natural in your hands and learn to fight in multiple directions (because walkers ain't gonna' line up nice and neat for you to mow them down.) This will be an everyday thing so when you have to throw down ('cause you will), it will come to you naturally and much more efficiently than just out of fear. Just remember rule #12 when taking out infected mofo's starts getting good to you.

Take time to bond

Nobody's saying y'all gotta' have 'Kumbaya' moments, but when folks are on perimeter watch, cooking detail, scavenger runs, weapon cleaning detail, weapons practice or doing physical training, use these times to get to know your fellow survivors. Unlike in wartime when soldiers didn't want to know the 'FNG's' 'cause they were gonna' get smoked before too long, bonding with your fellow survivors is necessary to keep group cohesion.

Share the rules and lay down plans

Nothing will sow confusion and dissention more than witholding information. If you are leader or you've found something the leader should know, a decision must be made on whether to tell the group or not. Some things may be best left unsaid, but the truth will always out. When details come out that dim the big picture, you're going to have to suck it up because the alternatives are; kill yourself, your fellow survivors kill you or be the guest of honor at the next walker banquet. If you want to live, you'll just have to roll with the bad news and keep on pushing. If not, there's always rule #7.

Rule #20 - Preparing for the long haul

Eventually, you'll need to move to a better stocked and more defendable location. With luck, you've acquired enough reliable transportation, food, water, medical supplies, weapons, ammo and maybe a few more reliable survivors to replenish the ranks for those lost. You've got the leadership thing down for the moment and laid out the plans for the near future. So you should just pack everybody up and go now right? Not necessarily. Long as your location has not been compromised and you have adequate stores, you may want to standby on your potential evac. There are two potential things coming which will give you an advantage over the hordes of dead and or infected out there. Plus, there are things you'll have to work out amongst your fellow survivors and any new groups you encounter.

Starvation

Enough time passes, the infected will have eaten everything they could get their hands on and they'll just starve to death. That was the ultimate solution in the film '28 Days Later'.

Decay

Walkers and Brain Eaters are literally animated dead. Seeing how most of these outbreaks take place during the spring and summer, just be patient and let nature do its thing. Between the heat and insect larvae, eventually zombie bodies will rot to the point of non-functioning.

Winter is coming

Your ultimate salvation will come from the cold weather. Animate or not, infected or not the cold will cause zombie bodies to freeze. Any zombies that didn't starve or rot away by this time will be too cold to move and at this point will make for fine kindling. Just before the snows start up will be the best time for zombie-free scavenging and relocation.

Beware your fellow survivors

Remember from now 'til some time in the far off future, rules #1 and 2 are in effect. You and your group managed to beat the odds and survive, there will certainly be others. Humans were tribal as hell before the world turned to poop. Now they're on the accelerated program. Bottom line is; remember the rules. Whereby some groups you run into will be all too happy to meet, greet and trade if not even link up. Others will be effin' savages you'll have to kill down to the last mofo. So just like in rule #1 you'll have to accept it or not.

No 'planting of seed'

Long as there is the threat of large numbers of walkers or even one damn infected running around, boys and girls either 'wrap it up', tie it off, plug it up or keep it to yourself. Pregnancy for a woman under these conditions is a death sentence. Morning sickness will force her to stay off of recon runs and perimeter watch because of the noise made from retching and the smell of vomit will attract walkers big time. She will need extra food rations which the group may not have to spare and when she is fully gravid, those wonderful feats of 'foot beating', leaping, jumping and climbing won't be possible. Forget the fact that babies have a nasty habit of wanting to be born at the most inopportune times. Lastly, somebody will end up forgetting the rules and get themselves killed trying to defend her in the event of an overrun of infected.

It is inevitable that available men and women will hook up (part of that whole 'bonding thing' from rule #19.) Just go out of each other's way to prevent a life threatening pregnancy. Rebuilding the species will be a 'top priority' once the zombie threat has ended. Just keep in 'practice' until then.

You're on your way to survival

Well, you and your fellow survivors have lasted for many weeks now. You've kept sharp, you have a good leader,  you have your plans laid out and you've even got a new and better location scoped out for the move this winter. Now is the time to keep focused and don't do anything stupid. You've noticed a decline in the numbers of infected, but those bastards are still out there. You've made some good connections with some other groups of survivors but had to put down some mad dogs that wanted to effup everything by stealing your supplies, raping the women and what-not. You salvaged their gear and busted them in the melons for good measure. Damnedest thing about those jokers that escaped running right into that patch of walkers you had penned up in that underground parking garage. Sometimes you gotta' love rule #7....

© 2012 H. Wolfgang Porter. All Rights Reserved. Images used are owned by their prospective copyright holders.

“Just a bit farther.” She said. We climbed up a mountain that I had only seen in dreams. Dreams of her, dreams of us as her words played over in my head “If I could be your girl, I’d make you happy.” Was she telling the truth? Was I?

“Here we are.” She helped me up the steep face and onto a flat crown of earth that stood high above her home. She looked back behind us and smiled “She’s out lovely tonight.” She lay her  sketch book on the ground, sat down and led me to sit next to her.

“The king of Dreams himself couldn’t have thought up a better night.” Turning toward her we both smiled. She got the reference and it set the night into tune. It was midnight in the desert over looking a thousand lights. In the midst of the night made of dream stuff and happy parlances’ I watched her sketch a landscape that hummed with a thousand dreams.

“If I could make this night light enough to move, I’d take it everywhere we went” I smiled at her and she smiled back as she carved out the houses into a white paper canvas.

I wish I had my guitar right then, I would’ve sung Pachuca Sunrise. Or moonrise in this case, I watched her a beautiful dreamer, my beautiful dreamer….Not really mine…not in this when…but in this where…She sent the perfect line to catch me in a song and take me where ever she wanted.

“I wish I was doing something, I feel like you’re doing all the work.” I shifted over to look at her work.

“You’re here, that’s all I need, and you know that.” She continued sketching. “This night is perfect, Morpheus will be so jealous that he didn’t dream this up first.”

“You got him beat there, Chica.” We stood there for a while longer while she finished up, as the moon moved the shadows of the landscape shifted in a dance, which partners switched almost every hour. I would’ve loved to stay here forever, with her on the this mountain where reality was really fiction and dreams were the only thing that actually existed. When we dreamed real, when now and then, here and there met and had a conversation that woke up the stars and made new suns. Where moons reflected on their old lives and planets an comets slowed down in the Endless transit to catch bits and pieces of a bygone conversation that had happened seven seconds into the future. We we’re dreamers then and we are dreamers now.

We climbed back down the mountain and kissed. Everything that would have should have and could have been was in that kiss. A kiss to make love blush, a kiss to shoot down the stars an make the world reconsider the direction of its orbit. She smiled at me then and looked upon me with ever-hopeful eyes. She had grown, we were here, this was all we could hope for, for the moment at least.

“Goodbye” She said in whispered sensual tones. And then. I woke up. And realized I was no longer in the middle of New York and California. Received her message on my phone. We need to do that again sometime. I smiled and replied continue to dream real chica, continue to dream real.

“Just a bit farther.” She said. We climbed up a mountain that I had only seen in dreams. Dreams of her, dreams of us as her words played over in my head “If I could be your girl, I’d make you happy.” Was she telling the truth? Was I?

“Here we are.” She helped me up the steep face and onto a flat crown of earth that stood high above her home. She looked back behind us and smiled “She’s out lovely tonight.” She lay her  sketch book on the ground, sat down and led me to sit next to her.

“The king of Dreams himself couldn’t have thought up a better night.” Turning toward her we both smiled. She got the reference and it set the night into tune. It was midnight in the desert over looking a thousand lights. In the midst of the night made of dream stuff and happy parlances’ I watched her sketch a landscape that hummed with a thousand dreams.

“If I could make this night light enough to move, I’d take it everywhere we went” I smiled at her and she smiled back as she carved out the houses into a white paper canvas.

I wish I had my guitar right then, I would’ve sung Pachuca Sunrise. Or moonrise in this case, I watched her a beautiful dreamer, my beautiful dreamer….Not really mine…not in this when…but in this where…She sent the perfect line to catch me in a song and take me where ever she wanted.

“I wish I was doing something, I feel like you’re doing all the work.” I shifted over to look at her work.

“You’re here, that’s all I need, and you know that.” She continued sketching. “This night is perfect, Morpheus will be so jealous that he didn’t dream this up first.”

“You got him beat there, Chica.” We stood there for a while longer while she finished up, as the moon moved the shadows of the landscape shifted in a dance, which partners switched almost every hour. I would’ve loved to stay here forever, with her on the this mountain where reality was really fiction and dreams were the only thing that actually existed. When we dreamed real, when now and then, here and there met and had a conversation that woke up the stars and made new suns. Where moons reflected on their old lives and planets an comets slowed down in the Endless transit to catch bits and pieces of a bygone conversation that had happened seven seconds into the future. We we’re dreamers then and we are dreamers now.

We climbed back down the mountain and kissed. Everything that would have should have and could have been was in that kiss. A kiss to make love blush, a kiss to shoot down the stars an make the world reconsider the direction of its orbit. She smiled at me then and looked upon me with ever-hopeful eyes. She had grown, we were here, this was all we could hope for, for the moment at least.

“Goodbye” She said in whispered sensual tones. And then. I woke up. And realized I was no longer in the middle of New York and California. Received her message on my phone. We need to do that again sometime. I smiled and replied continue to dream real chica, continue to dream real.eam,s

I walked, along the riverbanks. I watched the silver sky illuminate its path, or was that the path that illuminated the sky. I was looking for something, waiting, but for what I knew not. However I knew I must wait, there was something here that required patience. I sat down on the muddy bank and looked at the river, after a while a young woman came with a small gleaming jar a little ways down from me. She regarded me with curious eyes, eyes that knew things that I did not. I lie down on the bank and closed my eyes. The voice said 'Wait by the river’. I awoke to the sound of approaching footsteps. I sat up and our eyes met.

 "Why are you waiting by the river?" She asked.

 "I'm not sure, something told me to wait here, but for what I don't know."
She looked around her and then asked "Would you like some water?" I looked at the river and then back at her. "Sure why not, I'm sure what I’m waiting for will show up." she put down her ornate jar and sat beside me. From a leather bag she pulled out two cups. She poured me a drink and then poured one for herself. As I put the cup to my lips our eyes again met and when I drank I knew what she knew. I saw lifetimes, I had lived and she was in all of them. Friend, Confidante, Partner, Teacher, Lover. At that moment the oddest sensation came over me. "Would I be wrong to kiss you?" I asked. This was not my normal way of doing this, I was never forward. And she replied. "No you wouldn't, you'd be perfectly right." When our lips met I had known intimacy water shared with fish or birds shared with the sky, or flowers shared with the sun. When we stopped I asked her. "Would you mind staying with me for a while until I find what I’m looking for?" She patted my hand and smiled. "Sure, I could use the company." I smiled at her and looked back at the river. "Thank you." she patted my hand again and said " No thank you." The night came cold and deep and l looked at her and asked "Would you like me to keep you warm?" She inched closer to me and said "Let's keep each other warm." I smiled and she smiled back, we slept there that night on the bank. A sleep so peaceful so serene so familiar, that I was sure I had done it many times before and hoped to do it many times again. When the day broke I sat up and stared at the silvery sky, I looked down at my companion and felt something so profound it nearly brought me to tears. Then out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of it. Gleaming in the river, floating slowly down ward. Kissing her on the forehead , I dove head first into the water, this was it I was sure. I grabbed it and found it to be a crown, it was battered and tarnished in some places but it was still a crown, as I began my trek back to the shore I was pulled under, the river had become violent and turbulent I couldn't get to shore, not back to her, until I felt a hand grab mine. I looked up and she said "Come on pull." I struggled against the current and then heaved myself out. The crown and I sprawled on the floor, she helped me up and said "You made it, I knew you would." I gave her a puzzled look as she walked over to the crown and dusted it off. "I have been waiting for this for a long time." She placed it on top of my head. "What do you mean?" I asked as she picked up her jar, reversed it and placed it on top of her head. I had not noticed it before but it appeared to be a crown of sorts like mine. "Come I’ll will explain everything to you once we get home." She laced her fingers in mine and led me to a far structure jutting out of the earth like an odd triangle. "Home?" I said and then looked at her and she at me. and we both remarked "Home."

Hierophants Writer/Creator Ra'Chaun Rogers is on a mission to share a piece of his mind with the world. In order to do so he's taken his words and scripted the first issue of his comic Hierophants. The world of the book is not unlike our own, there is tension with in Black and Brown communities and the role that the pomice hold in them, the difference is that this world has The Geist as a hero of the people. I spoke with Ra'Chaun about the comic. Kaos Blac: So what lead you to write this comic? Ra'Chaun Rogers: I'd been trying to write comics since really elementary school. I've been effectivly scripting comics since Junior year of highschool but my push for this was summer of 2008 where I interned at marvel and saw a mural on a wall with hundreds of characters if not thousands and only 10 of them were black. Most of them I'd never really seen, So I decided that we need some stories about us and we (meaning black people) were the only ones who were going to effectivly tell them. Kaos Blac: How did you come up with the name behind the book and the concepts? Art By Kurtis Hamilton Ra'Chaun Rogers: The name has changed several times it was originally called the Geist but that name was owned by DC comics then it was called Vilgilance but there was another indie comic with that name. So I had been reading Sandman and Clive Barker's Hellbound heart and the word Hierophants kept coming up so I looked up the meaning and it fit. It's essential a being that guides others to something deemed holy or sacred. The concepts were drived from ancinet African spirtiualism, books that my older brother had recommended to me that I'd read and become enamorued by the info I gained from those books were what gave me the imeptus to make this a more supernatual story. Kaos Blac: Not to let to much of the story slip but this story resonates with the current case of Treyvon Martain, as well as NYC's own stop and frisk policies. Its seems to me that these things always seem to happen in the black community, would you like to share your views on the relationship between Black and Brown communities and the authoritative mishandling of people of these communities in dealing with crime. Ra'Chaun Rogers: I can yes, I feel we live in an age where "Walking while black/brown" is a crime. There seems to be a lot of "Hey you boy, you must be up to no good" especially in New York city. What gets me is that the people who are the most aggressive when it comes to this are black/brown cops. There is a consensus whether it be unspoken or spoken that Black and Brown Communities have a fear or apprehension toward Authority because of the behavior of said figures in black and brown neighborhoods. We can name the numbers of killings that are public and for everyone there are others that aren't public I had a conversation with my older brother and he said "What if the police are really afraid of us?" to paraphase. So that got me thinking too. My character of Roger Drake is a perfect example of one of the above points. He's torn between where he comes from (Harlem) and where he is (The police force) so his growth and development will show what I think of things related to that. Kaos Blac: So how many issues are planned to spin your tail of Hierophants? Ra'Chaun Rogers: Right now there a 8 issue scripted. there will be about 3 or 4 seasons each containing 8 issues so about 32 give or take that's if money is coming in to produceand if people support. Heh. Kaos Blac: So you have a long road ahead of you filled with more stories. Cool beans. Well do you have anything else to say about your work in closing? Ra'Chaun Rogers: Yes, not so much my work but the industry i'm in. I'd like to put out a call to all creators of color, keep doing what your doing and to people of color who want to see people with their faces wearing capes and flying around the city. Remember to support, I love to create but no one can do anything without support. For more info on Ra'Chaun's work check out: Nelomaxwell.blogspot.com

As i sit here and think about what ifs and why nots, I research certain questions and i see the questions repeated over and over again but to no avail. Why arent there more black superheroes in the movies and mainstream comics even? Where are all the black heroines that i know are out there waiting to have their movies made? Where are the black comics? Milestone set the bar high what have we done since?

They say the world isnt ready to accept an black hero i say bull, what about Blade? Why havent new stars been given the nod yet( Michael Jai White) Who can pretty much take anybody out he darn well pleases and yet we have him doing comedy roles. Really? Is that the best we can do for someone born to be an action star like him comedy?  Tell me what you think

This is very much a first draft and will have many revisions before I'm done, but I wanted to give you a little taste of what I'm working on: 

    The wind swept over the jagged edges of the snow capped mountain and across the valley. I braced myself against the frigid gusts. Spring was past, the grass was only just fading into the mass of dry golden blades of summer, yet the wind was as cold as any blustery winter day as it swept off the glacier. 
    I smelled underlying scents of the ancient lands, flexing and swaying under the dying sun, red in the fading sky. I realized I was waiting for the moon to rise. Dark descended, but the land was not quiet. It came alive as dusk encroached on the day, the sky darkening. 
    The individual scents of the awakening animals flared into awareness, my nose twitching with each new smell. The scurrying of tiny creatures about their business, the soft hoot of the old owl, all of my senses were heightened as the sky glowed with the moonrise. 
    Somewhere, not too far away, I smelled the hot scent of asphalt, exhaust fumes, the occasional rumble of a truck. 
    More than scent, more than sounds, more than the growing knowledge that this was not just a dream… 
    The moon rose above the sparkling glacier, rose over the black mountain [sleeping, she is only sleeping, she will wake soon], sharp against a starry sky, cold black on a velvet black, and the voice rose in my throat like bubbles rising from the bottom of an algae covered pond, unknown, unseen, unheard until they burst at the surface. 
    It seemed natural when the icy wind touched, caressed my throat and the howl burst from my upturned muzzle.  

    Chapter 1 

    Sweating, I sat straight up in bed. For a few seconds everything was hazy, as distant as the mountain in my dream. I snapped the rest of the way into awareness and realized I was still in my little RV, still parked at the rest area off of Interstate 5. 
    I wrinkled my nose. 
    “Dang, it still smells like dog in here.” 
    Both of the rat terriers stuck their noses out of the covers and looked at me, whimpering softly in the dark. 
    “Do you two need another bath?” I grumbled, “I swear, you stink worse than the wolf pen at the zoo.” 
    Both sets of ears perked up. Sugar yipped and Spice jumped up, wagging his little stump of a tail. 
    “Oh jeez”, I groaned. “You want out again?” 
    Both dogs squirmed out of the covers and started dancing on my chest. 
    “Just a minute, just a minute.” I pulled a leather jacket on over my jammies and scrabbled around for a moment looking for my boots and the leashes. Both dogs were running back and forth, jumping from the bunk to the door to the front seat and back again, barking in excitement. 
    “Shhhh” I growled in frustration and suddenly both dogs cowered. Puzzled, I looked down at them. “Come on you little turds…” Sugar rolled onto her back, eyes rolling. I reached down and picked up the little dog by her harness and rubbed her tummy. “Come on, come on, you’re a good little mutt,” I soothed them both as I reached across the floor for my moccasins. 
    By the time I managed to get them on, both little dogs were dancing in excitement again. 
    “Shhhh, shhhh” I hissed as we stepped out between the big rigs parked on either side of my little RV. The rumble of generators blocked the freeway noise. The smell of diesel made me wrinkle my nose again. 
    We made it past the rigs and to the grass before the dogs started barking again. 
    I didn’t try to quiet them; the truck drivers wouldn’t be able to hear them over the idling motors anyway. I shouldn’t have parked among the trucks, but all the smaller spaces were full when I’d pulled in at dusk and I was too tired to drive any farther. 
    Now though, the brisk wind was whipping past me, cutting through my pajama bottoms. Like my dream, the glacier on Shasta was gleaming pale under the full moon and bright stars. I shivered, pondering again the dreams. This wasn’t the first dream I’d had, they’d been coming since I was a child and now they were more and more frequent, more and more real each time.   
    A tug at the leashes brought me back to the present. Sugar was trying to lead us back to the RV while Spice wanted to find one more leaf to pee on. They were both shivering, so I made kissy noises at them. “Come on you two, come on. Back to bed now.” 
    It was as quiet as any rest area ever is, considering the freeway noise and generators idling, so when the stench of cigarette puffed out from behind the trailer, I was caught by surprise. Stupidly, I wasn’t expecting trouble here; I didn’t even have the .25 in my pocket. 
    Again I caught the scent of stale cigarette and the man stepped out in front of me. Phaw, he stank worse than the dogs. He stood in front of me, obviously waiting for me to step around him. 
    I stopped. If this was a waiting game, I’d wait as long as I needed. Patience is more than just a virtue, it’s a necessity to a hunter. I have just enough patience to make Great grandfather frown and tell me (again) that I need to learn to watch and wait before jumping into a situation. He taught me that lesson again and again until I finally got a clue. 
    So I waited, if not patiently, at least silently. 
    The stranger glowered at me. 
    I stood calmly, waiting to see what he was going to do next. The terriers were at my feet, quiet, which was completely unlike them, they would normally be acting like little fools, barking and snapping and straining at the end of the short leashes. 
    I dared to glance down at them, they were both pressed against my legs, one on each side, and shivering. Sugar whined quietly, looking at him intently. 
    When I looked up, he was sliding out of sight. A waft of corruption, of rotten meat came on the breeze. He was moving downwind, so I couldn’t track him by his stench. Hackles up, I carefully stepped forward, light on my feet, watching to see if he was circling behind or if he was waiting on the other side of the rig. All my senses were screaming trap, trap, trap, as I stepped carefully past the corner of the trailer, past the huge wheels. Both little dogs were lifting their noses, sniffing the air. Sugar’s head whipped around and she growled. 
    It was barely enough warning, I braced myself as a huge arm wrapped around my neck and hot breath warmed my ear. The stench of rotten meat made me gasp as the arm tightened. It didn’t feel like an arm, it felt like the coils of a snake, scales rubbing my neck. He lifted me off my feet, pulling me up and back against him. My heart was pumping harder, faster as he tightened around my neck and the world started to go gray and fuzzy. 
    But I’m a lot stronger than I look. 
    Reaching up, I pulled his arm away from my neck. Gasping, I managed to get my other hand to my open jacket. Grasping the blue-green sunstone that hung on the silver chain between my breasts, I breathed deeply, again and again, and felt heat of the stone and its strength filling me. 
    I growled and the arm loosened, startled, as I steadily started pulling away. Leaning forward, I got my feet back on the ground, lowered my head and growled again, instinctively, pulling harder. Sugar and Spice whimpered as my strength grew and the world sharpened into focus. Still holding my sunstone, I grasped the arm trying to hold onto me, pulling it down and out. Letting the sunstone swing free, I got both hands on his arm as he scrabbled on the asphalt. 
    It was only a few seconds but it seemed like hours as he flipped up and over me, crashing to the ground. 
    A truck door slammed open and a shout, “Hey, hey, hey, what are you doing to her?” 
    There was no time to look as he scrambled up and dived behind the trailer. The adrenaline was throbbing through me as I took another deep breath and gathered the leashes up. 
    A lilting tenor voice behind me, “Damn girl, what did you do to that fool?” 
    I breathed again, deeply, and tucked the sunstone back under my shirt before I turned. “My parents made sure I knew martial arts, they were always nervous about me being so small.” I smiled, careful to keep my face from showing anything other than the flush of adrenaline. 
    “Whew, I just happened to hear your little dog bark and looked out in time to see him grab you.” He barked a laugh, his soft lilting brogue growing as he spoke, “Lassie, I thought he had you until you got your feet on the ground and threw him right over. Ayyyy, it was like being back in the old country, it was…” 
    I looked again at his burly figure, his broad open face, the sandy-red hair shot withgray. 
    “Are you from Wales?” I asked. 
    “Aye, yeah, when I get wrought up me vowels give me away, don’t they?” He looked at me, looked away from my eyes. “Ayyyy, lassie, there’s some of the old country in you too, I can see it in your eyes.” 
    He hesitated, decided, and stuck his hand out, “Sullivan, Marty Sullivan. I drive that Kelly green Peterbilt over there, the one with the double sleeper and the Celtic cross on the door.”  
    I took his hand carefully, but he didn’t react when I touched him, so I knew he wasn’t of the Fae. So I shook his hand firmly, his large hand enveloping my smaller fingers. 
    Then he did surprise me. 
    “Ayyy, child, ye have the old country in you, but I feel the Great Spirit in you too.” He leaned a little closer and looked about, then said in a lower tone, “Be careful little woman, there’s much ado in the world these days and only the Good Lord Himself can say where it will lead.” 
    He saw the surprise on my face; I didn’t recover quickly enough to hide it. So I smiled instead, “Thank you my brother, I didn’t realize you were aware of the Little People.” 
    He looked around again, “Not just the Little People. I didn’t get me granny’s far sight, but she left me enough to know when the moon rises and the Great Powers walk, that I shouldn’t be out in the night air. And lassie, neither should you, so I’ll wish you a good night and watch to be sure you get into your RV without any harm.” 
    He knelt quickly and patted Sugar and Spice. Strange, strange, they don’t take to strangers; normally they’d be barking and snapping at his fingers. Instead, they’re licking his hand and wagging their little tails like he was a long lost friend. 
    I shook his hand once again, smiling. There’s no sense of Fae about him, yet he knows that there’s more to me than it looks. I’ll have to ask Granddad who he is. Tugging the leashes, we walked quickly to the RV. 
    I looked back as I unlocked and opened the door. Marty was still standing there, watching and my vision doubled for a second as he raised a hand, the flicker of moonlight on the long steel blade in his hand, he was taller, slimmer, younger, with long red hair bound in a green band, wrapped in a grey mist, and my vision flicked back to normal. There was only a stocky red-headed man waving farewell. 
    I raised a hand in return and wondered what he saw as I stepped inside and locked the door. 
    “Damn” I muttered, “It really, really stinks of dog in here.” 
    Both terriers jumped up into bed, burrowing under the covers, Sugar sticking just her nose and bright eyes out, on guard, watching me as I stripped out of my clothes. 
    I double checked the locks before I stepped into the tiny shower. The hot water was good; I scrubbed the sweat off and felt myself calming down as the stink of stale cigarettes and corruption and dirty dog washed down the drain. I was quick, I’d just dumped the tank the day before, and I didn’t want to dump it again – at least not until daylight. 
    As I toweled my hair dry, I looked at myself in the foggy mirror. 
    Blue-green eyes, ringed in dark blue and flecked with gold, looked back, framed by dark eyelashes and brows two shades darker than my glossy, almost black, auburn hair. I’m petite like my mother. I also have her Celtic temper and when I’m angry my eyes go yellow with rage. 
    I have my Dad’s skin, soft, smooth dark olive, not quite as fair as my Cherokee cousins’ and with a warmer undertone. 
    I’m not especially pretty, Mother’s eyes and auburn hair married with Dad’s Black Indian heritage, plus a short nose and full lips makes me more exotic than beautiful. 
    And like all of my Brothers and Sisters of Color in America, I have pretty much heard it all, from the most vile racist garbage to the oh-so-condescending liberals who are sure they know just how to help me conform to the greater society – whether I like it or not. Yet, even though I’m not “good enough” to be treated equally, I’m sure good enough for them to try to get next to. 
    I often wondered, as I deflected yet another unwanted pass, What would he think if he knew I wasn’t human? Would he try anyway or would he shy away, frightened in finding that the old fairy tales are more than true, that the Fae and more than the Fae, that the People still walk this earth? 
    Ah, I thought, Stop yourself now, this is an old battle, you don’t need to fight it tonight. 
    Tonight, now tonight was more than strange. I felt again the stranger’s skin against my neck. It was like the skin of a snake, cool and scaly, not at all like his outward appearance of a man. And when he disappeared around the truck, did he actually walk or was it more like a slither, like a snake? 
    And Marty. I must ask Granddad about Marty. He isn’t what he appears to be. The Sight revealed him as someone older and younger, ancient in the old country’s ways. I could see it, even though I couldn’t feel it when he touched my hand. 
    He felt familiar; though I was sure I’d never met him before.

Jackson shoved the Goddess aside and turned in the direction of the source just as a streak of blue grazed him. The contact was peripheral but imbued with enough force to send Jackson spinning to the ground.
Marty Buckles, also known as the Blue Blur, the fastest man in the universe, stopped on a dime. He wore wind resistant head to toe blue spandex with blue-tinted wraparound sunglasses.
He threw a frat boy grin at the Nile Goddess. “Boy, I wish I could have recorded what I just saw. Ace nearly had you down for the count, lady!”
Candace straightened, rubbing her throat, murder burning a ruby light in her eyes. “If you don’t shut your insufferable trap, I’ll put you down!”
The speedster raised a lewd brow. “I think I’d like that.” Then he was off.
“I’ll bet you would,” the Goddess murmured irately.
The Blue Blur bowled into Jackson at a speed that most certainly earned him his sobriquet, and held on tight. “How ‘bout a quick ride, Ace?”
The Blur held Jackson for little over two seconds, which in distance translated to six long blocks. He let go and halted, but Jackson kept going, sailing across a park, through a playground until he collided with a tree, rupturing its trunk to splinters. Jackson lay curled on the grass, emergency bells and whistles again filling his helmet with a low key racket.
The Blue Blur was far from the strongest member of the Guardian Protectors. Still, even a rabbit, moving at supersonic speed, could cause considerable damage if it bumped into something.
Jackson stood shakily, orienting himself. He spotted the Blue Blur standing on the other end of the park wearing a cocky smirk. The next second the speedster was gone…in motion!
Jackson didn’t think. He acted. He powered his foot repulsers. Tiny thrusters in the soles of his metal boots lifted him straight up. At the same time he ejected a dark gray marble size object from his lower torso harness. The object fell in the Blue Blur’s path and detonated. The impending blast threw the speedster back as if he’d bounced off a steel wall. Clods of dirt and grass, mixed with a bubbling froth of black smoke, bloomed from a ten-yard diameter crater gouged by the explosion.
The Blue Blur flopped limply on his back, the wind knocked out of him.
“Surprise, surprise,” Jackson taunted. He switched his thrusts to flight mode and glided out of the park. The mayor had evacuated the entire southern district of Valor City at Jackson’s request. He needed to keep the battle within its bounds.
Something struck his right shoulder as he zipped over a wide avenue. Jackson spiraled out of control before regaining enough of his bearings to manage an off balance landing. He cast his gaze about until his threat sensor locked onto a red Ford Taurus 30 to 40 yards in the direction from which he came.
The car suddenly disassembled. Its parts shifted and shuffled in a dizzying array of motion that resolved into a man. At least from all appearances.
George Kennan, aka MachineWare, always had more of an affinity for gadgets than people. His psychic ability to manipulate machines made him a valuable asset to the Guardian Protectors. But as Kennan, little by little, converted himself into a gadget, that’s when the corruption set in. It could be said that his humanity and all the compassion and empathy it entailed diminished with his imbibing of a new cybernetic component.
Ropes of super hardened overlapping metal coils, connected to metal plates, layered MachineWare’s guant frame. Only his face remained bare of any markers denoting his bizarre transformation. He raised his right arm and it reconfigured into gatling gun. The gun’s eight barrels rotated and a flaming chatter of titanium bullets ripped forth.
Jackson staggered backwards as a sleet of hot metal pounded his suit. He pushed outward with his mind, extending the range of his shield to approximately seven feet in front of him. Waves of bullets deflected off the shield.
MachineWare raised his other arm. It lengthened and thickened in a clanking whir of adjustable parts, forming a long-barreled cannon. A black missile whisked out of the cannon’s maw, plunging into the shield. A scorching shower of released energy gushed from the shattered missile, winking the shield out of existence propelling Jackson into a brick walled corner drug store.
MachineWare hurled five more missiles after the first, and the entire storefront, along with a good chunk of the building that housed it disappeared in a fiery, demolition collapse.
An ashen cloud belched from the flame-smothered ruin, encroaching on daylight like a horde of demon wraiths springing from the underworld.
MachineWare’s armaments retracted into his body. He stood before this howling destruction he’d wrought, unaffected by the smoke and heat, unmoved by his action. His expression held a very machine-like dearth of emotion.
“Pity, Victor Jackson. You should never have opposed us.”
“Pity on you, George. You should never have gone rogue.”
MachineWare whirled to find Jackson standing behind him.
Before the cyborg could react, Jackson triggered a beam from his ordnance bracelet.
A crackling web of electromagnetic energy surrounded MachineWare. The cyborg quaked violently, his previously impassive face, twisted in a convulsion of agony. When the web vanished MachineWare crumpled to the pavement in a short-circuited heap.
Jackson pumped enough EM into MachineWare to plunge of all of Valor City into Stone Age darkness. It would require ten times that amount to fully and permanently disable him.
Jackson had neither the time nor the output to finish Kennan off.
A cold wind whipped around him. It was a winter-like gust in the middle of a humid summer day. Dark storm clouds boiled into sudden existence overhead. The odd weather was no natural occurrence. The wind grew more frigid, more active, becoming a raging twister.
Jackson powered his thrusts to get away, but the savage funnel snared him with irresistible force, driving him skyward.
In a wink, the twister vanished and Jackson found himself face to face with the tornado’s conjurer, a flame-haired woman called Windrider.
Valerie Hewitt had been a climatologist in a past life. Ironic.
Windrider crossed her forearms. A tendril of lightning danced from the sky, poured into her body, surging out of her hands in a pulse of linear energy directed at the armored man.
Jackson extended his contact shield, blocking the pulse. He countered with a salvo of rockets.
Windrider waved an arm, scattering the rockets with a high speed blast of wind.
“Give it up, Jackson!” Windrider derided, her crimson mane waving in a self generating breeze like flickering candle light. Her sky blue cloak vividly contrasted the yellow body suit that hugged her comely contours like a perfectly fitted glove. “You can’t beat all of us. Hell, you can’t beat one of us!”
“I’d say I’ve been holding my own pretty well so far,” Jackson retorted.
The air temperature around him dipped drastically, frosting his armor. Within seconds he was encased in a block of ice.
“It’s a cold, cold world, Jackson.”
Windrider watched with psychotic glee as the man in armor plunged ground ward from well over ten thousand feet.
Jackson didn’t doubt that he would survive the fall, even encased in a ton of ice. He just preferred not to experience it.
He ignited his shoulder emitter. The light’s coherence bored through a section of ice, providing a pocket of space for his emitter’s turret to rotate. He also powered every thruster pimple on his armor, creating a sweltering buildup of heat. The ice dissolved to the point where Jackson could apply brute strength to break out. With servo-powered arms and legs, he hammered away at his confinement until he burst free in a sparkling cloud of ice crystals.
Jackson righted himself, and boosted his thrusters beyond their maximum limit, accelerating upward as if he had been launched from a rail gun. He fired over two dozen rockets at Windrider.
The weather-manipulator batted the projectiles aside with directed wind just as she had done the first time. The rockets twirled every which way, but Jackson linked on to one. He displaced the sole rocket’s internal guidance with manual.
Windrider crossed her arms, summoning a second bolt of lightning.
Jackson stayed on his trajectory toward her, making no attempt at evasive maneuvering. He focused on the rocket, bringing it about, lining it up with its target.
Windrider must have sensed something. She glanced behind her just as lightning channeled through her body. She caught the most fleeting glimpse of the rocket and extended a hand toward it, redirecting the electrical energy pulse intended for Jackson.
Pulse and rocket met point blank.
A blinding, deafening eruption birthed from the collision. A flaming fist knocked Windrider out of the sky.
Jackson didn’t know if she was dead or alive. He didn’t try to find out. He ignored her and headed south, deeper into the district, where he needed to be. He checked his power levels and grimaced. 47 percent reading. Not good. His power plant was nearly depleted and his diagnostic screen painted a bleak picture of points of structural damage. Some of his primary functions were so busted he had to switch to auxiliary. He needed to keep this contest going until he was in a position to implement Phase Two.
A warning alert. Danger flew at him fast. Jackson pulled directional data from his AVD and banked to avoid what was coming…too late!

So I had the artist for my adult web comic take a crack at the Geist just for fun, It came out pretty cool but the original is till the best. Shout out to Garvoe.

Technorati - Education in Rural India

This is an open letter I penned that's gotten quite a few hits on my Scribd.com account. It apparently struck a nerve.

It is an admitted rant, and a "Perchance to Dream" (quite off the Shakespearean original meaning), yet I'd rather dream and vent my frustrations at the inane "solutions" our leaders forward than to comply with muted silence, or impotent apathy.

It is also sad commentary that the complexity of speech by lawmakers has markedly declined over time, paralleling our collective preening for the clever soundbite suitable for cable television and You Tube; limiting thought process and debate to the infamous 140 characters...

...and, preening peacocks seldom come to consensus.

"Education is a basic necessity. It prepares, widens and allows exposure to the entire world through the mind. A sound education implies better quality of thought, which results in superlative quality of life."

Read more: link here, and below photo above. Similar sentiments expressed in this article (a very interesting cartoon that for a brief time, I lived).

Open Letter

I'm jumping off the walls!!!
The Serpent Cult is now available in PRINT!
So for those who love to read action adventure WHILE actually FEELING the pages and the weight of the book in your hands you can grab it on CreateSpace or at Amazon

Of Course for those trendy techo savy futurists it's also good to go on Kindle and NOOK!


I'm working on my own Website now where I'll be posting all things Mountairy Rock!
Your Boi,
Howard Night (The NIGHTMANAGER!!)

The light of the new sun cut a path across the quilt. They slumbered beneath a dark warm world all their own; such was the womb of love. He opened his eyes recalling the name ‘Black Sea’ from dreams, dreams that reflected his life as it had been and now was. Dreams of past consorts most helpful some harmful but thankful for each one because without them he would not be with her. He looked at her in his arms, her back against his chest, As they lay on their sides completely content after a night of steaming love that cooled in the evening air, cooled, but not extinguished like stars in the night sky. He had felt apprehensive about her at first her nature was secretive and that troubled him until he learned that is was not her intention just her disposition. He had hoped one day to learn all of her secrets and in doing so the nature of the Universe itself. He descended under the covers, tracing small kisses at the small of her back, pulling moan from her lips and causing a quick chill to be sent up her spine. He moved back up and kissed her shoulders, light air string instruments played in the approaching sunlight, as music filled the room. He didn’t want to leave that spot, didn’t need to, his desire to stay there with her in his arms- warm quilt around him and her scent gracing his nostrils- was like that of a drowning man to breath. He smiled at this thought; this was it, the world he had dreamed of as a boy playing adventure with his brother and friends. That never ending world of fantasy and a romance that transcended the language he spoke, where nothing could go wrong and if it did, he could brave it. She rolled over to face him, eyes hazy but loving and kissed him sweetly on the lips, it was the good morning of lovers, a greeting that didn’t need words. It was as if the intent had been passed through the look and the lips. This was magick he thought kissing her back. She laid her head on his chest and kissed his cheek; she then took his hand and laced her fingers between his. He held it up and kissed it and she did the same, this was their ritual, familiar and old but never tiring, never faltering. Soft lyrics filled the room intensifying the feel of warmth, the as a bright sensation expanded in his heart. He looked at her again and kissed her forehead. She looked up smiled and kissed him on the lips again. Grabbing the covers, he enveloped them in the darkness of the womb of love. This was the world between Light and Song, This was the place of peace, of darkness and safety of love and acceptance, passion and joy, The world between Light and Song. This was Heaven and its many layers.

It's been so long since I've written any poetry. This one visited me and I wanted to share it :).

I cannot leave her

her pungent soil calls to me

an earthy prenumbra

an orange harvest moon

that bathes me in her light

Sweet muse whisper softly to me

that which is never forgotten

with drum conjure my memory

I am your daughter 

Copyright 2012 Valjeanne Jeffers

Dilbertdotcom

Tweedle Dum: If you think we're waxworks, you ought to pay, you know.
Tweedle Dee: Contrariwise, if you think we're alive you ought to speak to us.
Tweedle Dum, Tweedle Dee:That's logic.

The Curious Wavefunction: Physics's PR Problem

First things first. If you're reading this without having read Part I, get the hell away from me! You're obviously not smart enough to survive the Zombie Apocalypse and when you get torn apart, you'll take a bunch of survivors with your dumb ass. Go back and read Part I before me or one of the other survivors 'mistake' you for an infected and bust you in the melon!

Now for you survivors who've made it this far, you've had to come to grips with some hard and harsh rules so far and I'm sorry to tell you that it's not going to get any easier. So, you've got your 'mind right', an improvised weapon and have no doubt cracked open some infected skulls to good effect. At the moment you're in good shape.

So let's surmise the most likely scenario you'd find yourself in when the ZA initially goes down. You're far from home in a populated area in a building of some sort. As you hold your bent and bloodied metal folding chair breathing harder than a racehorse that just escaped the glue factory you're thinking, 'What do I do now?' Well since you've come to terms that going home right now isn't an option, there are some things you have to do asap.

Rule #8 - Get clear of the chaos

Once you've fought your way clear enough to make a break for it, you need to get clear of the mayhem. You're still in the initial wave of the event and right now your fellow humans are as dangerous to you as the zombies. People are running from the infected like zebra being driven by hyenas. You want to be as far from that as possible. Whether alone or in a group, your first priority is to find or create a reasonably secure location to hide and allow the first wave to go by. There's nothing you can do for those crowds of people being chased past your hiding place, so keep quiet and keep still. The infected at this stage are no doubt still able to see relatively well and will go after anything that moves. You never chased after the parade, don't start now.

Rule #9 - Be aware of your surroundings

This rule will always be important, but especially so in the first hours of the event. You've managed to get yourself into a nice hidey hole, but did you notice if there were as they are called by the military, 'avenues for emergency egress'? Simply put, is there another way out that's zombie free? Not good if you've holed up in a place with one way in and out when an annoyingly observant walker figures out you're in there. Always be aware of where you are or the infected will do it for you.

Rule #10 - Avoid large groups with a vengeance

That old saying, 'there's strength in numbers' applied when there weren't hordes of mindless undead freaks coming to eat everyone. On the one hand, large groups are good because in the rush the odds of you getting dragged down are lessened. However, take a look at the nature documentary 'Planet Earth' and watch the segment where a massive shoal of herring too numerous to count gets annihilated by swordfish, dolphins, sharks, tuna and sea birds. At the end, all there is left are shiny scales floating down into the depths. That will be you if you're lucky.

Eventually, you will need to link up with additional survivors. But remember; lions and wolves follow the herds not the other way around. Here are a few extra points to remember:

Do not go to the military or police for help

I know, 'But they're there to help us!' Yeah, I wouldn't bet my life on that. With the military, the odds are good they have orders (as the Marines describe) to 'secure the area'. That's 'marinese' for 'kill everything that moves'. More than likely in the case of a catastrophic outbreak, they have orders to 'sanitize the area'. You want to be reaaaaly far away from that. The Police on the other hand, are no doubt  overwhelmed by the situation and will be looking to secure their own interests. Oh and they have guns. 

Stay away from shopping malls, stores and churches

Yes, you'll definitely need stuff from those places and you may want to call upon God for salvation, but remember things are still in 'panic mode'. Those places are like watering holes and lots of people will be there trying to loot. All that activity will ring the dinner bell for every walker in the vicinity. Trust me, come back a lot later. Zombies don't steal.

For God's sake avoid Hospitals

If you have a relative or other loved one in a hospital, they're already dead. Unless they went to get an ingrown toenail removed or get a cast taken off, they fall under rule #7. Besides, think for a moment. What's the one thing a Hospital or Clinic is going to have lots of? Dead and dying all either getting up off the table or already chowing down on somebody. Pass.

Rule #11 - Stay mobile

When things die down (no pun intended) you'll need to break cover and get moving. For the most part, the infected will still be following in the wake of large groups of people fleeing them. You'll have to move out after they pass because you no doubt weren't lucky enough to find a hide with plenty of food, water and weapons, good sewage facilities and could be defended easily by your grandmother. With that in mind, you'll have to keep on the move. You and any survivors still with you better be ready to roll out in an instant. Some tips for staying mobile are:

No loads

If you can't carry an item and run at flank speed, leave it behind. Don't be like that moron caught on the Katrina video carrying a damn flatscreen TV through the flooded streets of the decimated city. If it's too heavy or unwieldly, you don't need it. That also goes for people. You parents or individuals getting your maternal/paternal instincts on better keep that in mind too. If a kid or adult can't keep up, you'll face rule #7 whether you want to or not.

Don't depend on motor vehicles

Cars, motorcycles, boats or helicopters are great if you can access them. But in the initial crush, they'll be more hindrance than benefit. You will need a vehicle to get some distance from populated areas. But, you want to avoid them like the plague (pun intended) during the early part of the event. People panic behind the wheel similar to those poor saps you watched get chased down the street by the infected. There will be accidents a plenty and the infected will be attracted to the commotion. The major concern with motor vehicles will be fuel.

Stay off the main streets and roads

Because so many people will have accidents and bail on their vehicles to escape the infected, all main thoroughfares will be all but impassable. Take a look at any major evacuation where things got out of hand and that's nothing compared to what will go down during a ZA event! Stay off the interstates unless scavenging which at this stage will be too early for you to be doing. Stick to the side streets and side roads. Also be prepared to abandon the vehicle if you reach an area which is impassible.

Do not rely on animal transportation

Though a horse has the advantage of not needing gasoline, no horse in its right mind will stay calm when confronted by a mass of undead coming from every direction! An animal that large will attract walkers far and wide. It is certain the animal will panic and throw you leaving you injured just enough to allow the infected easier access to you both.

Rule #12 - You can't fight them all

It's a given now that you and your fellow survivors are mobile either on foot or in vehicles. However, you'll need weapons 'cause you'll have to fight sooner than later. When choosing weapons initially, you had to improvise and that folding chair and table leg worked out just fine. Now you have to get serious about your selection of practical weapons. Of course there are guns and you will need some. But just like vehicles and fuel, you'll need ammunition. Lots of it. 

Your primary weapon should be a hand held implement that can deliver blunt force damage (like a bat, hammer or club), cleaving damage (like a meat cleaver,  knife or sword) or both (like an axe.) Your primary should be light enough to wield without trouble, but heavy enough to quickly put down a walker.

Don't get overconfident

Just because you cracked open some infected melons and gunned down their friends, don't get cocky! The most important thing to remember about this rule is; there's a poopload more of them than there are of you. Just because you've made your 'bones' whacking walkers, don't lose perspective on how dangerous those damn things are. Save that ammo for when the infected try to hem you and your fellow survivors in and it's time to make an aggressive tactical withdrawal.

So now that you and your remaining fellow survivors have managed to get clear of the crush, are armed and mobile, you've beaten the odds so far.... In the final part of this guide, you'll learn what's needed to survive in the long run. Hang in there, keep those eyes peeled and don't brake for walkers!

© 2012 H. Wolfgang Porter. All Rights Reserved. Images used are owned by their prospective copyright holders.