Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Site tweaks and ebooks
I've been revising the blog layout a bit. I don't even know if this technically is a "blog."
Anyway, I've decided to list categories at the top to differentiate between actual stories and updates - like I'm doing now.
If anyone has suggestions for story formats or anything, please let me know. I've been trying to post stories in plain text and also upload a PDF version using Scribd. I think I can convert the text into an epub format or something if I tweak the document just a little.
I don't actually own an ebook, so I'm not sure what formats are common. I know Kindle uses it's own file type. So, if there's a format that works well cross-platform, let me know. I'd like these stories to be as convenient and accessible as possible.
Anyway, I've decided to list categories at the top to differentiate between actual stories and updates - like I'm doing now.
I don't actually own an ebook, so I'm not sure what formats are common. I know Kindle uses it's own file type. So, if there's a format that works well cross-platform, let me know. I'd like these stories to be as convenient and accessible as possible.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Me and the Devil Blues
People make a big fuss about good and evil. It's important to them. It needs to exist. It puts the world in some sort of cosmic struggle where people's morals and actions have consequence. I suppose it makes sense. People don't just want their actions to matter, they want themselves to matter. Being born just to shit out kids and eventually feed worms isn't pretty, but the truth never is.
I guess it's kind of funny that I call their bluff. After all, I'm one of the very things they created. No...not created. Named. They even concocted these labels within their own harebrained scheme. I first got called “demon” by a man in Greece. Caught me off guard at the time. I've always thought of myself as more of a businessman. You know – a wheeler and dealer. When ex-slaves started hoodooing up the south, it became a popular notion that I was dealing souls.
To be clear, I don't buy and sell souls. Why? Because souls don't exist. Sorry to burst your Jesus-loving bubble. I'm interested in electrical energy - efficient, clean-burning Al Gore type shit. Every one of your kind walks around with some serious juice pumping through your veins. When you die, we drink it up. No pearly gates. No clouds.
Much like you people, we over-consume. We don't want to live comfortably. We want McMansions, fat bitches, and waffle fries. That's where I come in. I get people to let the air out of their tires before they reach the end of the road to nowhere. Maybe that makes me evil in your eyes, but you can't rape the willing.
I gained a little notoriety in the 1920s when I crossed paths with a Delta bluesman – looked a bit like you. Through urban legend and perverse lyrics, my name got out there, but even before I was known, I had my hands in history. I made deals with Alexander of Macedonia and Franklin D. Roosevelt. Then more recently, there's the deal with you.
People want a lot of things. People need very few. I can only give them what they want, so that they may give me what I need. We don't harvest at will. It might shock you to learn that we're a moral species. We just don't paint our minds with grandiose ideas. That's not to say I don't understand the need. You have your needs. We have ours. It's my duty to fulfill those needs. At least it was.
You see, something changed recently. Something important. I made an arrangement with a cumbersome lad who owes me what you consider his “soul.” For whatever reason, I'm unable to procure it. He refuses to die. Perhaps...he's unable to. This has caused a bit of an uproar with my kind. It's not just that he broke our contract, but there's serious repercussions afoot.
It may be escaping death to you, but it's ensuring it for my kind. So, I've made a change in profession. I'm not interested in deals right now. I'm interested in justice. And that brings me to why I'm here. I need you to kill the man who keeps slipping through death's fingers. I don't consider this a challenge for a man with your ehm...unique talents.
I guess it's kind of funny that I call their bluff. After all, I'm one of the very things they created. No...not created. Named. They even concocted these labels within their own harebrained scheme. I first got called “demon” by a man in Greece. Caught me off guard at the time. I've always thought of myself as more of a businessman. You know – a wheeler and dealer. When ex-slaves started hoodooing up the south, it became a popular notion that I was dealing souls.
To be clear, I don't buy and sell souls. Why? Because souls don't exist. Sorry to burst your Jesus-loving bubble. I'm interested in electrical energy - efficient, clean-burning Al Gore type shit. Every one of your kind walks around with some serious juice pumping through your veins. When you die, we drink it up. No pearly gates. No clouds.
Much like you people, we over-consume. We don't want to live comfortably. We want McMansions, fat bitches, and waffle fries. That's where I come in. I get people to let the air out of their tires before they reach the end of the road to nowhere. Maybe that makes me evil in your eyes, but you can't rape the willing.
I gained a little notoriety in the 1920s when I crossed paths with a Delta bluesman – looked a bit like you. Through urban legend and perverse lyrics, my name got out there, but even before I was known, I had my hands in history. I made deals with Alexander of Macedonia and Franklin D. Roosevelt. Then more recently, there's the deal with you.
People want a lot of things. People need very few. I can only give them what they want, so that they may give me what I need. We don't harvest at will. It might shock you to learn that we're a moral species. We just don't paint our minds with grandiose ideas. That's not to say I don't understand the need. You have your needs. We have ours. It's my duty to fulfill those needs. At least it was.
You see, something changed recently. Something important. I made an arrangement with a cumbersome lad who owes me what you consider his “soul.” For whatever reason, I'm unable to procure it. He refuses to die. Perhaps...he's unable to. This has caused a bit of an uproar with my kind. It's not just that he broke our contract, but there's serious repercussions afoot.
It may be escaping death to you, but it's ensuring it for my kind. So, I've made a change in profession. I'm not interested in deals right now. I'm interested in justice. And that brings me to why I'm here. I need you to kill the man who keeps slipping through death's fingers. I don't consider this a challenge for a man with your ehm...unique talents.
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