Excerpt from God Armor

The Metroplex of Pumapunku, Tiahuanaco, the ziggurats of South and Central America, the tower of Babel, the Great Pyramids in Africa were built by changing the frequency of monolithic stones to temporarily alter their physical compression.  To change their inherent magnetism.  The frequency of gigantic stones was changed with sound mathematics -octave impetus.  Once this paradigm is understood, you could easily create a new world.

Sound mathematics.

The meter and a half of burnt orange cocobolo felt like iron in my hands; living iron, ready to do some hard and ugly work.  I move.  I felt the killing action start with my feet, let the movement flow through me like a gigantic spring; my knees, my hips, my shoulders all moved in perfect order, swinging the two inch thick acetylated wood like a hexagon shaped baseball bat.  The impact was staggering, a loud wet crack.  I hit it again, and again.  I was surprised at the sudden gummy red pulp filling the air to my left.  Red pulp, raining sideways across my media room and spraying the egg crate foam covered wall.  Red pulp, that just a second ago had been the Frankenstein monster’s huge fearsome head.  I watched the man -the thing- stumble back.  His impossible body still tried to fight me without a head.  Without a Godd@mned head, and this freak of nature and reason was still trying to kill me.

I heard the inner wall slam down.  The six inch thick metal plates crash into place as the dense outer wall fell away under the power of the transhuman soldiers.  Monsters of modern necessity created from the Neanderthal DNA still lurking in the dark recesses of modernity.  Monster men who felt no pain and could see in the dark.  Werewolf, zombie, and vampire merged into one hideous monster, the wild savage barely controlled by the button on some strategist’s desktop.  Imagine that.  We believe that we are the pinnacle of human development, but we aren’t even half way there.   We’re not Atlantis below the Mediterranean; we’re not Eden in the Sahara.  We’re war mongers who hate ourselves and we’re killing each other with planned holocausts and genetic mutation.  Humanity was more a long time ago, a long, long Godd@mned time ago when the Mothers mastered the transmutation until the nuclear fall.  Until the fallout caused the fall of the race of Man.  Made of them degenerate and barren monsters who turned the world of order and impossible beauty on its ear.  Monsters.  Transhuman societies fighting invisible foes to survive, fighting to make someone rich and powerful while the rest of us fall into the utter confusion that remained.  Darwinian Theory does not explain us.  Darwinian Theory, flawed as humanity itself, gives only make believe answers.  Cataclysmic geology, earth crust displacement and genetic homeostasis explains more but is shunned, cast aside.  But that’s what we are.  We take ideas that merit thought and trade them in for the least common denominator, the pretty garbage wrapped in a plastic box and sold to us as the truth.  But the truth is hidden from the common man, until now.

The truth; modernity is a joke.

I built my house like one of the Xi of the Amexum, a pharaoh of Kemet.  I built it to last.  But these monsters who serve the corporation, they’re off duty.  They are not shackled from the common man by their electronic collars so they roam the streets looking for prey.  Looking for food.  Looking for some peace loving family with no fire power or a safe room to keep them alive until revelry is over and the dogs are put back on their chains.  They’re looking to sink their teeth into human meat, after they have raped and beaten it blood red and tender.  Stone walls and electrified bars will not stop them tonight.  No.  Not this time.  Today they are tearing my monument to great ancient architecture down to get at my Doxie and me.  They’re just a moment away from a great supper.  Today this sick and unnatural world is winning.

Unnatural world.  If that ain't the understatement of the year.  The world we live in is a polar bear under the acacia tree.  The world we live in is a wild horse in the Mojave.  Man embracing his inner animal, then adding other animal DNA into the stew pot for good measure.  He wants to make himself better.  He wants to make himself better than God made him. 
Fool.

An excerpt from Jeremiah Stone

The smell of this monster is killing me.  It’s rank; even above the decay of the Cataclysm, it’s like nothing my terrorized olfactory senses have ever encountered.  Like an animal’s cage at the Audubon zoo, a searing mountain of feces littered with the bones and blood and bile of the missing zookeepers; shit piled three feet off the floor, and urine that had fermented into glowing green ammonia.  The air around it an appalling black halo of flesh eating misery that annihilated lesser life forms.  A veritable well of sorrows like a stinking invisible force field radiated out from its pores, a personal plague.  And now he was here, in my face, breath like a wild acid wind from damnation and shadows burning my resolve to ash.  Grinning, chuckling.  Why?  Because he had never felt the pain of a broken bone before a simple over medicated man had broken it for him?  Or maybe, because he liked the pain?  He giggled like a little school boy, stared down at me with contempt in his superior serpentine eyes, and I realized what he was.  He was… he was... a distraction...

An Excerpt From: FINDING EDEN

I want to stop feeling like I’m supposed to be special.  I want to let go of the notion that I’m born to be some kind of a hero, or some kind of saint.  I ain't Superman.  I must think that I am, but I’m not, and the proof came flying at me like magic knives floating on a dark breeze.  I dreamed that my sister was in danger.  
     I dreamed that she was in trouble and -somehow- only I could help her.  She sat with me, asleep in the uncomfortable chair at the foot of the bed, huddled beneath a ragged blanket in that dark and dismal little antiseptic smelling room.  
     I sat up in my bed, pulled the countless fluid giving -life giving- needles out of my veins and moved to the end of the bed.  I didn't hear the alarms going off.  I ignored the garish red and orange lights flickering like a bonfire behind me.  I had to save my sister.  I am the only one who can rescue her from the imaginary danger of my weird and tormented dream.  When I awakened I was falling off of the bed, threatening to leap into some nonexistent fray to sacrifice myself for my baby sister, my baby sister who caught me –who rescued me from falling onto my face.  
     She’s the hero.  She’s the rescuer.  
     The nurses rushed in, eased my body back into the lumpen sterilized disaster of a bed.  They looked at me, studied me carefully –studied my right hand, and were amazed that I had removed the countless needles without causing further injury to myself.  Then, unable to find the veins after fifteen minutes of exploratory piquerism by the expertly trained vampires, they decided that the veins on my left hand were suitable enough, and stabbed me back to sleep.  
     The look of concern on Simone’s face is bothering me more than the new pain in my hands.  How did this happen to me.  
     How the hell did I let this happen to me?