I travel to places often in my mind. I was astounded at the places I’ve gone so far with these essays and journal entries. I don’t mention this to brag- more to congratulate myself for the work I’ve done thus far. It is work in the sense that I want these articles essays and journal entries to have some significance, no matter how minute or grand it may be.

    Today I’m going to jump in and write fiction. Not on here, of course- I will publish my stories of fiction, and you all can purchase them so as to read them. I plan to start writing what I didn’t write previously. So I’ll probably throw some of the stories in the garbage. The way I enjoy writing stories is, if I don’t get it right the in the first draft, I start from scratch, and write an entirely new, better draft. I take it chapter at a time. So re-writes aren’t more than 4,500 words. It’s not that big of a deal when I’m able to zone into what I want to say. What I feel needs be said by the fictional characters I’ve created.

    I’m grateful for the authors stories I’ve read recently. I observe what I like, and what I don’t care for so much. I emulate what I think works well, make it unique to my prose, and leave out the rest. Most all the authors I’ve read are good storytellers and writers. Some are really good. And a few are on the brink of being great.

    I notice for myself that I can’t write unless I have the urge to vomit the words out onto the page. Kind of a bummer in a way- many of you probably write more fiction than I do. At the same time, I’m writing way more non-fiction than most of you are, so- turns out I’m more of a creative non-fiction writer/creator. Maybe some day I’ll become a bitchin’ fiction writer. One can hope, right?

  • LIFE

    I am given help. For that help I’m grateful.

    I live an independent life. For the most part. The monies I receive must be allocated better. It can be done. I have to make it work. Otherwise, living will continue to be difficult.

    I may never make the big money. So with that in mind I have to make work what I have.

    I’m not doing much at all today. I decided to write this even if it’s not saying much.

    I’m on my own. A lone shepherd. It is really depressing since I do love spending time with people. So I’m depressed often. Even without drinking alcohol the depression cripples me.

    I’m doing my best. I will continue to do my best. I believe good times are ahead. Better times are to come.

    Maybe I’ll write a fiction book soon. Or I won’t because I’m too depressed. I hope I can not be so depressed.

    Well, back to solitary confinement. Wish me luck.


    I have to moderate my thoughts while I’m writing these essays. Certain topics will arise in due time. For now, I keep to the basics. I stay in my lane. I do this because I know certain people are reading. These people mean me harm. They think I’m, and I quote, “a nefarious person”, and, “all Philip does is lie”.

    I have to stay on my grind. I have to watch what I say. Freedom of speech isn’t that free. Especially when you dabble in creative non-fiction. Liberties are taken, but it’s still, non-fiction. Meaning I describe real events in a creative way. The creative way is to illuminate the truth, the pure truth of things. These individuals who seek me harm are of lies.

    This comes down to gaslighting. The concept of gaslighting is this: the accuser is the one portraying the innocent as guilty. The accuser often times is a manipulator of truth. When truth is manipulated, and if, it is reasonable with the fashions of morals and ethics of the current times, it can be taken as pure truth.

    To manipulate truth means it is a skewed truism. A false reality, a synthetic, an imitation of the real thing. Stuck in a cave, the viewers saw fire and thought it was light. Yet the fire was a mere imitation of the sun. What was perceived as the life giving force was actually a fraud. A copycat, a hack- with the pretense of being the real deal.

    The sun is real. Those views came out of the cave and saw. The realized the fire in the cave was weak sauce, lame, and just overall pathetic, compared to the actual sun.

    People will attempt to draw those in power into the cave from where they work. They will come out of the cave, and deceive, lie. Tell the audience that within the cave is a concentrated sun. A sun but more personable. More real. And some will follow those fools back into the cave, and live there as if the outside realm doesn’t matter. The universe doesn’t matter, is what these fools claim. That, their comprehension is ultimate and supreme, that the fire is all anyone need to be happy in life.

    That’s a lie. These individuals are golems. In Yiddish, a golem is a clay creature that appears real, like a human being- just looks damn near the real thing. But a golem has no soul, no spirit, no energy, no life force. The golem is void of love. The golem, is an evil creature long forgotten. JRR Tolkien tried to mention this type of creature in his trilogy, THE LORD OF THE RINGS.

    Anyhoo, I’ll let you stew this over. Consider my wisdom. Feel my strength in my voice. And I didn’t name names. I just spoke truth.

    I am not a liar. I am not a nefarious person.



    People form cliques. They become exclusive. I’ve seen this on Twitter often.

    I’m reading BUNNY by Mona Awad and it’s all about exclusive clubs.

    I’ve seen some people I thought were friends block me because I offended one of their personal clique friends. Even so much so that some of you just avoid me, while still following. Keeping a watchful on me to judge me if I slander you or someone else in your clique.

    I think this is foolish. Even the artist I work with is persona non grata. She plays it cool because I think deep down she knows it’s bullshit too, but she’s not going to forgo what she has to align with me. So be it. Could be worse, but it still hurts nonetheless.

    I’ve observed that the most hardcore clique people are those who were often loners in high school, and college. Maybe even the military. They were an outsider, an outcast. So what happens is, these like-minded outcasts form a group, or a clique. And they operate within each others realms. They might occasionally blip other authors or movies, entertainment material in general. But who do they interact with? The same fucking people. Some are still outsiders in the sense that they don’t have a clique, but damned them if they aren’t trying to conceive and manifest a clique that they can be a part of.

    Death is our only birth right. Did you know that? Which means even in your clique, everyone will eventually fade away and die. Even you will die at some point. Was your clique sufficient enough as creative artists to have its own movement? Not from what I can observe, not even close. Trashy horror will be just that- trashy horror. It’s not of the ilk that Shirley Jackson was, Arthur Machen, Anne Radcliffe, Ray Bradbury. B to C to D grade horror is fun, but it’s not real literature. It’s purely entertainment. To claim their is some deeper philosophical meaning would imply that the authors present such material where upon we the reader imagine greater ideals, themes, paradigms, philosophical perspectives unique and fresh. Sadly I haven’t seen too much of that. Aron Beauregard and Kristopher Triana are the only ones I’ve read that bring something special to the table in the ways of extreme horror.

    This book BUNNY isn’t extreme horror, but in a way is similar to, NOTHING BUT BLACKENED TEETH, in that they both revolve around group dynamics, and a dissent within that causes pandemonium and eventually a climax, with a resolution and afterthought. These are the stories I will study.

    I will no longer reference those of you in immature cliques. I don’t give two shits if you’re the greatest- I don’t and will not give you praise anymore. I deserve more praise for my efforts, as I weave and craft simple yet enjoyable material to consume. It’s deep, but now it’s made for the working class to digest as well.

    Good for me. Sucks to be some of you.


    I had listened to two thirds of Cassandra Khaw’s story, NOTHING BUT BLACKENED TEETH, then put it down for a couple months. Last night I decided to finish listening to this tale on audible.

    I left a mini review on Instagram- first semi legit review I’ve posted on social media. Check that one out as well at @consumeideas on IG if you want.

    First off, I enjoyed this story. A quickie, nothing like reading IT or THE STAND. It packed a solid punch to the gut, so the length I felt as a reader was perfect.

    The basic premise is this group of adults in their early twenties is allowed permission to stay in a haunted, abandoned mansion somewhere in Japan. Two of the group members, Talia and Fiez, want to be married in this haunted place. Phillip and Kat are also there in the beginning, and at some point another person named Lynn shows up.

    Strange things do begin to happen upon entering the mansion. They’re subtle, but definitely the place is haunted. From what I could gather, the man who owned the place way back when, buried his wives (or soon to be wives) six feet under while they were still alive. Also the man ghost bride haunting the place, uh- I think she buried herself, because her husband never returned to marry her. I apologize, I should know what’s what, but basically women were getting buried beneath dirt while still alive. Also, this happened during what I believe was the feudal age or rule in Japan.

    This story has significant similarities to THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE by Shirley Jackson. The house may be possessed- but the house works in a unique way upon its guests. Those in the house begin to loathe and hate each other, to be nasty towards each other.

    Same thing going on in this story by Khaw.

    At some point the spirits take Talia away to- I have no idea, she’s just no longer in the house with the rest of the group. The house seems to have taken her hostage in another dimension, maybe. Again, not too sure on this.

    I love how crazy love can make people. Love unfulfilled. What lengths one will go to in order to reunite with their love, their partner. Clearly the demons of this house have manifested a fun little test for the occupants. And yes there is blood and death.

    I’m a huge fan of Shirley Jackson’s writing and storytelling abilities, and feel that Cassandra Khaw has shown up in the industry as a really amazing writer and storyteller. Cassandra’s prose is wondrous, so descriptive and detailed. I feel Cassandra Khaw is maybe the best contemporary wordsmith I’ve come across in the past several years. I mean, great prose. Her storytelling abilities are also really really good.

    I try not to give anything away that would spoil this story for you, and I think I did alright in that regard. This is a quickie, like I said earlier, but well worth the price of admission. I recommend this book to fans of horror. The spooky, creepy elements are in this story, but the real horror of this story is how the group starts to treat each other, how, maybe they deep down really don’t care about each other, maybe even despise each other.

    A unique story worth reading. I hope some of my observations will entice you to read this story. And if you’ve already read this, what did you think? Did you love it, like it, or dislike it- and why? I’d love to engage with more of you in chatting about stories we enjoy, or didn’t.

    See ya next time


    I guess it depends on the person, if they dream or not. Maybe some people sometimes have dreams, but not every time they sleep. For myself I dream every night when I’m asleep.

    Last night I remember being on a football team. Not professional, I think high school or college ball. We never were in a game from what I can remember. Just hanging around on the field and then… I’m in a mall, wondering around. I’m on the road and have stopped at a diner that’s next to something else, usually a monster killer that lurks down the street in one of the houses. Sometimes my grandparents are around.

    I remember last night I was with my dad. We were traveling by means of a car? Maybe, or just walking. We end up on a beach that reminds me of Cabo San Lucas. Then we wonder over to the left, and there’s this little alcove. It’s like a hidden part of the beach where the moon always is out in the sky and the stars shine bright. For some weird reason one of my cousin’s was there. Exercising in the water. My dad asked what he and his woman do for work. I said nothing really, they’re kind of like hippies.

    I also remember being involved in warfare. In combat fatigues, looking for supernatural forces to battle. Caves and mountains, open sky on the cliffs of mountains, and machines descending from the sky, speaking an alien language.

    There’s sometimes a very foul witch that lives in a house. She’s sometimes there haunting it, other times, she’s nowhere to be seen, but lingering invisibly somewhere. There are times I’m in swamp lands on a boat and gators are a real threat, even though they most often are not a threat.

    I seem to know the people I run into. Sometimes I’m traveling streets, going north east south west. Just cruising I suppose. Sometimes I’m in LA, sometimes I’m in Paris. Sometimes my family is involved in the dreams, other times it’s just me. Or I’ll remember faces from long ago, and we are back together in Omaha, Nebraska, where it’s winter and it’s very cold and dreary.

    Sometimes law enforcement gets involved. Never have I been imprisoned in my dreams (thank you dream land for that). There’s lots happening in my dreams. So I might share with you some more of my dream world.



    The goal is to read more books. Or listen to audible books. Because that’s where ideas stem from. You catch a little detail in another story and expand, make it whole on its own. I’ve always adored reading because the themes and ideas captured within are timeless. If done writing, the voices of characters, the rhythm and cadence to the sentences, the nuances and creative liberties taken.

    We can all learn from other writers. In fact I believe with all of my being this is how an individual becomes a better writer, in part. Writing daily is also a necessary thing to become a better writer. A better storyteller though, comes from reading other stories. How does the author craft a story? How do they weave in details, landscape, surroundings, senses? How does the author make the story captivating, how are you moved as a reader to keep reading the next page, and the next? What makes it magic, is what we as readers need to be aware of.

    Translate that into writing and storytelling, you’ve got a good amount in your toolbox. I’m convinced that reading everyday is necessary, and reading as much as possible. Brian Bowyer has now read like 220 something books this year. That’s rockstar reader level! Man is dedicated to the craft of reading and writing. Check out Brian Bowyer as an author, as he writes like a demon with a mission. His stories are amazing.

    Another author that I see doing amazing things is Judith Sonnet. She is pushing new stories out to the public like, every three weeks. Go, Judith! That’s amazing and as a fellow writer I’m really proud of how much she is on the grind. Put in the time and the results will be undeniable. I know that when I’m in my zone and I write, each time I get better at my prose.

    Well, that’s it really. Check out Brian Bowyer and Judith Sonnet if you get a chance. Jay Bower also has some great stuff to read. He just released a new novel yesterday that you might want to give a read!

    Peace out girl scouts.


    Yeah so, I’m Nathan. Not Nate. Not Nathaniel. Nathan. Nathan is what you call me.

    Sometimes I do the chicken dance wings flapping blood spills from my mouth and I grin. But that’s just a dream.

    It’s not easy being mentally ill. I want to be healthy. I know deep down I’m okay but I always fuck things up. I didn’t mean to fuck up. Still, no one cares about that. I fucked up. That’s what these people care about.

    I’m shunned by society but I know Jack. Jack the Puppet. But he’s not a puppet. The puppet speaks with words I and many others understand. Jack gets us. He somehow understands. And he has a plan for the world. Specifically he wants to help us Americans. He says he loves Americans. I know that he means that, when he says it.

    Well I mostly sit around the house. I watch shows and movies. I don’t want to say which ones because then I might give too much away. You don’t need to relate to me in fact you stopped doing that long ago. I don’t need friends. Jack made that clear to me. That he was the only friend I need from here on out. Jack is right. I’ll keep my interests a secret. You don’t really care, anyhow.

    I think I’ll go take a smoke break. I might make some coffee. Go for a walk wearing my hoodie. It’s too fucking hot for a hoodie but that doesn’t stop me. Pulling the hood over the top of my head. I don’t need you looking at my face. You don’t need to see what I look like.

    I’m Nathan. And I’ll be back.


    Be who you want to be. It’s that simple. It’s that complex.

    Live as you want. Societal constraints are not real. Don’t believe in compromise when it comes to your energy. Your spirit. Your soul.

    Don’t settle. Never settle down. Always be on adventure. Books can give that. So can writing. Living can be an adventure too. Just going for a walk, maybe with your dog. Is an adventure.

    I’m never going to say do this or do that. I think about shit, and I think maybe. Maybe, as a suggestion, try this on for size.

    The thing is, I’m a tailor of worlds. Maybe they are fictional. Because, they are from what I imagine. I write some disturbing things, sometimes, from the mind of disturbing fictional minds. It’s an outlet for me. This is an outlet for me.

    Music is an outlet. Speaking is an outlet.

    I believe that I can. So I will. I will continue to. And then keep on with it. Never stop. Never ring the bell.

    So much to say. So I may as well say it. All of it.



    I sit with the screen in front of me, coffee by my side, my dogs playing and loving life. I had a great conversation with my grandfather yesterday. I won’t go into detail on the specific nature of the conversation, because it’s personal, a private matter. What I will say is that I finally knew my grandfather understood what I’d believed to be true for a long time now, and he agreed that I was right, in a sense. Good enough for me. Maybe the finer details aren’t dead on accurate, but in essence what I’ve observed to be true, finally reveals itself to be what I always knew it to be.

    In some ways, the validation from my grandfather, aunt and uncle, was exactly what I needed to move past this barrier in my mental state. The barrier is a cardboard cutout, and all I had to do this whole time was simply push it over, and continue living my life.

    These past few years I’ve gone my own way. In some ways, the universe spoke, and it became pure destiny for me to begin my own life. While I still have support, it’s not what it was when I had a safety net. And, I still have a safety net, it’s just smaller and less stretchy, so I can’t fall from too high up or I’ll seriously hurt myself. I finally don’t have to worry about shelter, or living in fear that I’ll be kicked to the curb. Worked through that debacle. The rest I can manage. I do get by with a little help from my friends. I don’t have many friends, but the ones I do sure as shit help me the best they are able to help. That counts for a whole lot right now.

    Now is the time for me to write and publish fiction stories, along with these essays. The essays are free, since I feel insights and observations shouldn’t cost a dime. I could be wrong, and if I am, the only thing you lose is some of your time. I didn’t fleece you, didn’t ask for your money in exchange for what I have to say. Although, I will ask you for a small price to read my fiction. Of course you’ll have a digital copy, or a paperback, which seems to be a fair enough trade. Give me and Amazon some money, and you get a book. As a reader, I’m all about this. Some authors have even kindly gifted me their books, on the house! That’s REALLY awesome. I need to get back to reading more often so I can leave some reviews of praise for these amazing authors I’ve met.

    Right now I’m a cat with about two or three lives left before eternal damnation becomes my being. I have come across as a real asshole to some people with skin in the game. I refer to myself as a cat because I’ve burned through about six or seven lives already: I can’t afford to lose any more lives. This kitty has to be a proper kitten, not some back alley stray. Right now I kind of let things be. I don’t interact with people I used to as much, because I feel that unless I’m a sycophant, I come across as meaningless. Which isn’t a good feeling. I can help build your world, or I can get busy building my world. I choose to build my world, or worlds, and see where that takes me. These essays are in essence supplementary research for my fiction writing. I am very much a German in that, I don’t like being embarrassed, or to look mediocre, or simple-minded. Fuck the Nazis and Adolf Hitler- before those jerks did what they did, Germans were seen as hardworking people. People who were dedicated to their craft. Of designing and building cars, or architecture, or art. I have that German drive to be the best at what I do. Not a competition, no- just to be the best I can be at what I do. Why wouldn’t I want to be a spectacular professional?

    I will give praise to authors I like, just not as often. Balance, grounded, all that good shit. I want people to know that I do respect their art, respect them as an artist. It’s healthy to uplift people with genuine and authentic praise. Truly, it’s one of the best feelings in the world. It means on some levels, the individual more than succeeded, like- a super uber success. So cool.

    I’ve rambled on enough. I go now to sip more coffee. Then hop into this world I’m writing about fiction wise for a few hours. Churn some butter. Make some milk. Add in some honey. Food dye for effects. Maybe some dry ice in the background coming out of a cauldron. Shit like that.

    Okay, over and out.