A Gun Called Life

A Gun Called Life. 

The bulk of my musical career, if you could call it such a thing, was spent in or around the musicians that made up A Gun Called Life. Beau Moseley on guitar, Ricky Kidd on drums, Chris McDaniel on the other guitar, Jamie Warner on bass, and myself as singer (which is a loose term when you're in a metal band). I don't know exactly when it all started, possibly in 2003 or 2004, it was born in a waffle house, over late night coffee and a pack of Marlboro 27s. Jamie was the cook, I had just gotten off of work from the Mcdonalds across the street, and everyone else had time on their hands.

I guess you could say it was destiny.

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The Traveler, The Tourist

  Few forget, or never really knew, that Beau and myself once participated in a musical endeavor where rhyming was a key function and second only to synthesized trance trumpets. I wrote the lyrics, and rapped, while Moseley provided the soothing sounds. Unfortunately there's no hope of finding the complete collection of songs we did on this project, so what I've linked to here is all that remains.

The good news is that as long as someone is flipping the bill for myspace.com then our extremely short lived, and obviously genius, side project will remain alive. If I consumed alcohol with you, anywhere in or around 2008, then likely you have lyrical spot in this song.

Especially if you were a attractive and interesting lady.


Hear The Traveler, The Tourist after the break

A Shotgun Named Marcus

I remember the moment I first heard Clutch, the song was Big News 1. I rode passenger in Patrick Day's blood red 1970 Chevy Nova, and were cruising down hwy 5 one day after school. I was 16 and, unlike my rebellious counterparts, I conceded that I didn't know everything in the world just yet. But I knew for a fact after that opening baseline that Clutch was going to become the background music to my life.

More on this story after the jump.

Gun Monkeys

There was snow, lots of it, in Atlanta and it caused me to become a different person for awhile. There's a odd wrinkle in how you spend your time when time is all you have, and being forced to work from home and not being able to leave occasionally and see...you know...people puts a strain on my creativity. Before the icestorm I was on vacation, and before that...I don't even remember before that. Seems like it  was the perfect opportunity to write, and I did write, just not on this blog.

More after the break.

She is Melton

She is Melton by iamstiver

The Great and Shining Path of the Monster Truck

I haven't kept up on my statement that I would post more, but that's fine, I never promised. But there is that nagging sensation rolling around the back of my head, some call it a conscience, so I will attempt to post more often, perhaps even with more intensity.

I will bring it, even if it has already been provided.

Today starts my first day back in college, and my first real foray into Ackworth land, where the one of many campuses rest. Rest it does, nuzzling its' redneck muzzle right into the butt crack of interstate 75, and it's one of those types of animals, the kind that won't fucking stop sniffing at your crotch until you've locked it in the closet. The specific campus I speak of has three buildings where one of which, whose size is larger than the other two combined, is the mechanic learning center. Yes. Mechanic. Learning. Center.

Sometimes I take a hard look at my life, and wonder what events led to this specific moment, where I stand like a foreign passenger in front of a New York City taxi cab, saying "this is going to hurt" over and over again.  I'd rather not pull at the threads that led me INTO the Mechanic, Learning, Center, but I will say that directions around here are a tainted mess, left behind by otherworldly demonic figures that are only happy when tech junkies like me fall into their soul sapping web of camouflaged hats, stickered deer slaying trucks and chewing tobacco.  I was told I was obviously in the wrong place, and that they had no idea what a VB.NET was, but they could think of some recreational uses for the thing.

Jan. 1st has gone and past by and I have not posted a short story, or web comic. Rest assured, as the Ackworthians do, these are coming. I've added  more projects along with these, a actual play Podcast, and very likely a releasing, chapter by chapter, of my first novel experience. Ink. A editor, well after she edits it I'll official consider her an editor, is combing through  my piles of filth now. I imagine it is  hard to connect my horrible grammar together like some sort of illiterate version of the DaVinci Code. I wish her well, not many come back sane.