“Now I Am Become Death, The Destroyer Of Worlds”

Brittany and I were sitting in a restaurant tonight, each of us furiously concentrating on the cutting and the chewing and the swallowing of two extremely delicious steaks, when it occurred to me that my lovely fiancee has all of the power and the radiance of a thousand suns bursting at once in the sky – and meeting her destroyed my world. She came upon me like a feral cat, wild and hungry with a hidden strength rippling beneath her feline curves, and she devoured me whole.

But this alone wasn’t the end of my world. No, that came later, when I met her son. I remember that fateful night, alone in her apartment together with each other and the bouncing, precocious little bundle of unbridled two-year old enthusiasm known as Trey. The first exchange he and I had found me making a stupid face and saying, “Blah, blah, blah!” For whatever reason, he smiled instantly, and by the end of the night he was sitting in my lap as I leaned against the couch, the two of us enraptured – he by the movie playing on the television, and me by him. Looking back now, it was that night that found the atomic bomb bursting over the desolate landscape of my heart and my soul. And, in the explosive energies ferociously released from its terrible detonation, a strange and wonderful new life emerged from that tempestuous storm. A being forever changed by the explosion. A mutant. Me.

Sitting tonight in the little neighborhood restaurant we’ve adopted as our secondary home, I realized that I was content to do nothing other than sit and breathe the same air as my fiancee. Rather than wanting to go out to dance and drink the night away engaged in various form of debauched frolicking, I didn’t want to do anything other than simply be with her – and with Trey. Sadly, this is the monkey’s weekend with Brittany’s former sperm donor, and our house is left quiet and little dead without him in it.

As I’ve said before, I always wanted kids eventually – but I knew that tainting a new life with the hideous germ of my ex-wife would be visiting an evil up an innocent soul that no decent person could ever let happen. So, we didn’t plan for kids. We rarely talked about them, and I got my kid-fix in through my godchildren and nephews. I adopted a sort of surrogate father role as the cool uncle who comes around to stir up trouble and provoke the children to all sorts of obnoxious behavior, who then retreats when the insanity reaches its zenith, leaving the parents alone to contend with the Bad Behavior.

When we first began to get to know each other, Brittany once asked me what I thought about children – and she will never let me forget my answer. I said, “They’re great to be around, as long as it’s not on a daily basis.” If I could take back any of the horrible sentences that have escaped the flapping monstrosity that is my mouth, it would probably be that one. I couldn’t have been more wrong if I tried – and I hate being wrong.

My life has been taken over by four animated children flying around alone and unsupervised in an unlicensed rocket.
“We’ve got a mission!”

When Trey is off on his visitation with dad, one third of my family is cut away from the whole. It’s painful, and I don’t like it. What I realized tonight wasn’t that I love Brittany and that I love Trey – I already knew that. The realization that revealed itself to me over the delicious slabs of cooked and seasoned dead cow flesh we were eating, was that I loved both of them, not as separate people but together – as a family. And that’s what I have now, and a father and husband is what I have become.

The man I was with my ex-wife died one bitter night while lying in Brittany’s arms after a particularly vicious and loathsome phone call from the horrible woman I married. I remember that night, and the moment I realized that there was more to Brittany than the feral cat I wanted so badly to want. I realized that I did want her. That I could, and that it was OK. After that, the dating came easy and the love came fast. But it wasn’t until I met Trey that the purifying fire of a world destroying bombshell exploded over my wounded heart and mutated it into something that could feel again.

I plan on talking more and more about the family in the days and weeks and months ahead. The bond I’ve developed with both Brittany and Trey is as mysterious and incalculable as it was unexpected. Nothing depresses me more than being apart from either one of them, and nothing encourages me more when apart than the knowledge that I will soon see them again. I love my nights alone with Brittany, even as a third of me mourns the absence of Trey. And, even when my new son and I are spending time together, exploring and playing the day away sans females during our Boy’s Time, a third of me sits alone and apart, waiting until the three parts come back together again.

As a sidenote to this little sentimental journey of an essay, Brittany and I stopped by the grocery store on our way home this evening to forage some snacks from its junk-filled isles. We’re having a movie night tonight, cuddling up together on the couch and stuffing our faces with all sorts of repellant and odious “food products” that taste all the more delicious for having such little nutritional value. So, while we were picking up sodas and popcorn and candies in preparation for our night alone in the house, we were a little shocked and amused to see the grisly form of my ex-wife shambling down one of the isles.

At first, it was surprising to see her and I could feel the neurons in my head short-circuiting in a fearful display of confusion, anger, and bewilderment. Quickly, however, things sorted themselves out, and Brittany and I both just looked at her in a sort of stunned silence. There she was, the vile and awful cause of so much grief and confusion, clad in her trademark brown and impotent stabs at trendy fashion, and all I could feel was…nothing. In the past, the mere thought of her infuriated me, and the sight of her shuffling, clueless body was enough to enrage me beyond reason. This time, however, I didn’t get angry. I didn’t get sad or upset, or anything. I just looked at her, shook my head, and smiled. Any feelings I ever had for her, be they positive or offensively negative, were forever burned in the conflagration of healing fire that came over me when Brittany and Trey entered my life.

Of course, we hoped to evacuate the building before she caught sight of us, as we were both terrified that she might try to speak to us. Brittany, not being a big fan of my ex, would probably take immediate and hateful offense to the word, “Hello” – and I didn’t want to be around to see the carnage that would inevitably ensue. Unfortunately, we weren’t so lucky as to escape undetected, as she was edging towards the end of an isle when we were walking past it on our way to the register. I saw her. She saw me. She froze, and her face quickly contorted into a strange mask of shock and fear, her razor lips shrinking her mouth into a macabre circle as her tiny eyes bulged under the ghastly painted-on horror of her eyebrows. In reply, I think I felt my head tilt as a likely imperceptible smirk crossed my lips, before I simply turned and kept walking. Brittany saw her and blurted out a surprisingly loud, “OOP!” that almost immediately turned into a chuckling sort of laughter that sounded a lot like how I think the word “mockery” might sound, if it were to be pronounced entirely by giggling.

Yeah, it was kinda like that.

In short, it was the perfect ending to a perfect evening. I was already in a reflective mood and contemplating just how much better my life became after it was destroyed, when Fate decided to lift mystery’s thin veil and show me. Seeing the pitiable thing that I once found at the center of my universe felt like some sort of karmic reward from the powers-that-be, and I thank them for it. I died a strange and empty sort of pseudo-death when my marriage imploded, and it left me alone and broken, wandering aimlessly through an empty world as some kind of hideous, undead creature. Then, when I least expected it, the furious glory of an exploding sun called A Family burst in my sky, shattering and killing and laying waste to the Man-Beast I was becoming. And, as I sit here now, typing out this essay…I couldn’t be happier about being dead.

“You know, sweetheart, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: nobody knows what’s gonna happen at the end of the line, so you might as well enjoy the trip.”

Want some books? 'Course ya do!

NOTE:  I know times are hard and yeah, I need to make a living too, but if you want to read any of my books but can't afford to buy them right now, hit me up.

I'll take care of it.

Humor | Nonfiction
Available now from the following retailers

Have you ever lived through an experience that was so humiliating that you wanted to die, but when you tell it to all your friends, they can't stop laughing?

Have you ever made a decision that seemed like a good idea at the time, but you're still living with the hilarious consequences years later?

If so, then grab a snack, get comfortable, and prepare to have all of your own poor life choices seem just a little bit more bearable.

You're welcome.

Short Stories
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The nine stories of rage and sadness collected here range from the most intimate of human experiences to the wildest realms of magic and fantasy. The first story is a violent gut-punch to the soul, and the rest of them just hit harder from there.

Those who tough it out will find a book filled with as much hope as despair, a constant contradiction pulling you from one extreme to another.

Life might knock us down, over and over, and will the beat the ever-loving snot out of us from the time we're old enough to give it attitude until the day we finally let it win and stop getting up.

Always get back up.

Gaming | Nonfiction
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This isn't just a book. It's a portal to other worlds where there be magic and dragons and hilarious pirates. Okay, not really. But this book is about those portals, except they're called video games.

The Life Bytes series of books take a deep dive into one man's personal journey through childhood into kinda/sorta being a responsible, competent adult as told through the magical lens of whatever video games he was playing at the time.

Part One starts way back in 1975 and meanders down various digital pathways until, oh, around about 1993 or so.

If you're feeling nostalgic for the early days of gaming or if you just want to understand why the gamer in your life loves this hobby so much, take a seat in your favorite comfy chair and crack this bad boy open.

I'll try to not be boring.

Horror
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What you are about to read is not a story. There is no beginning, middle, or end.

What follows is nothing more than a series of journal entries involving shadow people, sleep paralysis, and crippling fear. It’s not pretty, it doesn’t follow story logic, and nothing works out well in the end.

You've been warned.