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In 1978…

A white supremacist piece of shit wrote a book called The Turner Diaries.

That book told the story of a different white supremacist piece of shit who participated in the overthrow of the U.S. goverment, that eventually led to a nuclear war that finally led to an all-white world population. The book is celebrated within the white supremacist piece of shit community. Eventually a different white supremacist piece of shit perpetrated a terrorist attack that led to the death of 168 people. This white supremacist piece of shit had a copy of the book with him.

The reason I bring this up is that I have recently been quietly working on a new novel, The Reformers. Today, I completed it.

Once I began to read back over the work, and started to make notes towards my second draft, I had a near constant nagging reminder of The Turner Diaries. I realized that while my book neither advocated terrorism, nor racial superiority, there was always the possibility that some asshat would attempt to emulate what I had written.

So I sat, and thought for a few hours, and I thought about what would happen if I finished the book, and I ruminated on how that would affect me. Then I deleted the master copy, and all the notes I had for the writing of the novel.

It’s gone.

In it’s stead, I will give you this list of reading, and influences:

Napalm Death (particularly the last four or so albums)

Nestor Makhno

The Free Territory of the Ukraine

The Black Army

Black Flags of any kind

DMZ, Brian Wood’s comic series on a war torn New York.


Sam Adam’s Imperial Stout


That being said, I’ll be disappearing for a short while. Real life concerns, personal issues, medical issues, and a lack of a normal sleep schedule have to be tended to.

Hopefully I’ll come out the other side with a new project.



Grinning white teeth have been following me for days

I’m not sure why, or where he came from, but he’s been at my side, creeping closer and closer with every moment. Last Monday I told Brett there was no moment of perfect spirituality, no epiphany that shook me to my core. I told him I was a little shocked, that I found it odd that when others found faith in emotional destitution I had nothing. Yes, well wishers were there to help me through. Some with copious amounts of insight, others just checking to see if I was ok. But days later he began appearing in my thoughts.

First it was an idea for my next tattoo. I had thought the top hat and the grinning skull would be something to remind me about finality, something to keep me from going too far. I thought it’d look cool, and might be a nice conversation piece. Suddenly he appeared in my day dreams. Always grinning.

I had Melly do a reading this past week. I’ve done it sporatically from time to time for years now, and I enjoy the insight it brings. Always a starter, allowing me to explore feelings and thoughts I normally hide. I’ve never held much stock in the supernatural or fortune telling beyond a somewhat academic curiosity. However, each of those readings was a  way for Melly and I to connect, and talk about things I didn’t normally want to talk about. Of course, the readings are never more than what you’re already thinking about. They just bring those thoughts to the forefront, breaking past concious barriers. However, it’s always fun to see what comes up, and there was a common theme – rebirth.

He’s all about resurrection and rebirth. Being the man who decides who comes and who goes, he has a special dominion over letting people pass, a uniquely American Charon. There are similarities between us, as well. Superficial (love of tobacco,) and in personality (swearing, humor.)

Melly says he’s standing next to me. As La Croix, reminding me to live happy and well. As Cimetèire, reminding me of what always comes. As Samedi, watching as I’m reborn. Slowly insinuating himself in every facet of my waking life, appearing in the novel briefly, but never in my dreams, never directly to me.

Maybe I need to invest in some rum and cigars.


I’m The Batman Now.



(prose action, opening or notes to a later work.)

In theory Dr. Mordred’s Saturday Night SINema was a perfect showcase for terrible horror movies, and gore flicks that were written and produced in the Lubbock area. Mordred would shamble about in tattered coattails and a gray top-hat, slurring his speech, and flailing around with plastic human remains as he introduced the evening’s entertainment. Mordred, who’s real name was Ryan Sandoval (PetWorld’s night manager monday thru friday,) had originally conceived of the idea after seeing clips of a similar public access show in Panama City.

He had spent most of his life collecting any horror movie he could find. Copius amounts of money spent in converting VHS to DVD, trolling through bins in flea markets and Horror/Sci-Fi conventions each summer. He also nightly dreamed of fistfights between Vampira and Elvira that would end in hushed embrace – most often at the foot of his own bed. Horror, it seemed, was all Mordred cared for.

In practice, however, Dr. Mordred’s Saturday Night SINema was a perfect joke for all fans of the macabre who lurked in the shadows of the Lubbock area. Sandoval had long since tried to hide his high-pitched squeek under the guise of a terrible Bela Lugosi impression. He would often drink half a gallon of milk before each taping to “slime up” his voice, but mostly would serve to stain his makeshift zombie cotoure – turning red blood stains into pink swathes of dripping comedy. It was long held that he would pour Pepto on his clothes to achieve an effect of dried blood, but once it was understood that this was an unfortunate side effect of his milk voice, Sandoval became something of a living symbol for Ed Wood fans’ eternal desire to see people fail.


The philosophical implications of death metal…

The following is an excerpt from a conversation about the movie, Cannbial Holocaust archived on the Bendis Board..

“I was just filled with disgust and rage, and I wanted those guys to fucking die. Fiction or not, I couldn’t watch that whole scene. It was the most unsettling rape I have ever seen filmed. I felt ashamed just watching the movie after that.”

Kind of did what it was supposed to then, didn’t it? I mean, say what you will about everything in the movie – it, as art, means something about humanity. I use it as an explanation of why someone would ever listen to gore metal.

It is the act of epiphany for alot of people – the moment where you realize that humanity is sick. This gives you a few options – end it, ignore it, or use it. A movie like Cannibal Holocaust is the realization that we’re not at all right, where as something like Death Metal is the further explanation of what we’re capable of. Nihilism, in that sense, is less than a lack of care for other people, and more an exclamation point used to demonstrate why we need to change.

Of course, we have to examine each on a case by case basis. That is, not every one of these bands, much like many of the Mondo films, is expresing these views. They then become charicatures, and do little more than to serve up the same – sadly proving the original point that humanity is indeed off. I don’t think that anyone quite feels comfortable with the thought that George Fischer is one of the world’s leading social commentater.


The Reformers

(script action, politics)

“The Reformers”

Script – Mike Black


1 – Ext. suburban home. Backdoor of the house, a lone light sits lighting a small area of the backyard, the rest of the panel is pitch. Directly under the light is Richard, a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. His arms are crossed , but in one hand he holds the leash for his dog, sniffing at the ground in front of him.

TV (From inside door)-
The newest rounds of cuts has set off a fire storm of controversy across the country.

In The Slate-Helders budget, federal grants for student housing in post-graduate programs has been cut by some thirty percent. When asked for comment, Representative Helders stated…

TV (Helders)-
“The success from those programs was marginal. We’ve seen very little of value come from it over the past ten years. This is a society of success, and we cannot tie ourselves to endeavors that fail year in, year out.”

Well, atleast I can still go home.


1 – These panels will all be widecreen. I want a real movie feel to them, maybe even light-boxed. The dog wanders out of the circle of light. Richard’s head leans back as his knees bend. He’s staring straight into the night sky. His cell phone rings.

2 – Richard straightens up, and the dog runs back into the light. The phone rings again.

3 – The phone is in his free hand, the other holding the leash out. He holds the cell to his ear and answers.


4 – Richard’s head sinks down as the dog jumps up and down at his leg playfully. The cigarette goes limp in his mouth.

When did you sell it?

Boca Raton. How nice.

Alright, ma. I’m kind of busy right now.

Alright, love you too.

5 – Same panel as last. The dog is clawing up at Richard’s knee. His head is now up, looking forward into the darkness as he plunges the cell phone into his pocket.

Home is out of the question, then.



Except from correspondence with a good friend Dewey. Shared based solely so you can understand why I always look like I’m staring off into space. This might shed insight into why I have a tendency to pick up projects and drop them immediately (much to Geen’s chagrin in terms of my writing output.)


…Man – what the fuck is my deal lately? I’m in another one of my creative gluts right now. Yesterday it’s t-shirt design, and today it’s political activism. I swear to god, all I wanted to do all day is create an activist website dedicated to Futurethink and the concept of [I]Raison d’Humanite[/I].

It’s like all I want to do is infest minds with my political theory of “Shut the fuck up.” I mean, I have shit to work on – no artist in sight for the forseable future – but, I have so much crap flying around my head. I want to push ideas, and kick start brains, and break faces. It’s driving me nuts. Mostly this means you can ignore the random PM’s I might send you in the next month or so. They will be varied and crazed, and half baked and completely random. Just remember that the shit I would send you (if I do,) is only about a quarter of whatever comes up in my head at any given time.

Did I ever tell you about [Nebula], the mature (in thought process, not content,) comics magazine? I was ranting about it for about a year. I kept spewing out “It’s easy to imagine! Just think of Playboy – but replace the tits with serialized comics!” I swore up and down that it would be a great way to get comics to the masses.

The website – fuck. I was kicking around “”, where it was dedicated to finding, ferreting out, and polishing the ideas of the future. An online thinktank housing forward thinking educators, science majors, philosophers, and the like for designing and implementing Post Humanity (I suppose taking Morrison’s X-Men and making the ideas a reality.)

I also had big plans for bringing in architects to do city planning [on the website] – not just for urban sprawls here on Earth (to help aleviate population stress on the enviroment as well as to better control population growth,) but to try and plan what cities on Lunar colonies might look like. I swear to god, there is something wrong with the way I think.

Bler. My head hurts. I need to read. (Sometimes I need to vent before my brain bursts.)


Mike Black is…

A writer, reader, commentator, music lover, art lover, futurist, tech lover, pragmatist, romantic, DepDecoist, and a bastard. Hopefully you enjoy.

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