Due to a recent revolation that I give away far too much on my writing, I have decided to just post my shorts here in my portfolio. I know everyone was just dying to read it all; but, this is the way things have to be.
For those of you who really enjoy my style, I will be selling my work on lulu.com as Daemon Messiah (because, we all know that is such a wonderful pseudonym, right?). I would, however, like to know if anyone is interested in a rewritten version of Broken Soul. Depending on the response, I will get to i. Otherwise, the original is right here, for free.
 

First update! W00t!
I was bebopped around the us, then sent off to Germany, and here I am. It's boring, dusty, there's a whole lotta beach and not enough ocean. I worked dealing with bags. now I work dealing with people. YAYS!

Word up from Iraq!
 

         After a two year vacation, I have come back. Back into the groove, back into writing, back into whatever. I just won't you all to know thta I intend to stay this time.
         Now, granted, no one reads this. But I'll say it anyway. The line is pure, the design is good, and I will try to add a chapter a week to all of my stories.
         Now, what's going on in my writing life.
         My current list of stories that I am working on is two, Fire and Ice and Digital Eden. You have the following to thank for that: Bella and Krystal.
         Regarding Fire and Ice, we see the introduction of a new character in out play, one I have been working on for a a long time. I know him, but I am having trouble getting a bead on who he is, so bare with me.
         Regarding Digital Eden: I haven't written on that in a while, but I have been toying with the idea of having him wake out of a coma when he does. A sterile landscape, an unfamiliar room, and maybe a hallucination or two as his only companions...HOLY SHIT INSPIRATION!
         In other news: When these get done, they will be published on lulu.com. Fell free to purchase, should you feel the need, or spread the word! 80)
 

Dun care
 

To quote one gentleman: "Gays are a threat to America."
My reply: "Gays are PART of America. That's like saying your arm is a threat to you because a finger is slightly bent."

Thank you. That is all.
 

I've decided to lock out eden, it being a rather serious projetc in itself. I may or may not allow others to view ths finished project; but, even so, I don't need to be worrying about what people think while I write it. Enjoy my side-projects, though, and fel free to send comments
 

An entry written specifically so I don't get an email saying to update my blog.

I'm not really sure what to say here. Inspiration come and goes. I stopped plotting a while ago, simply because it actually bogs me down. I have an idea what I want, but I prefer to let the characters surprise me. Guess I'm weird like that.

I have a slight headache, most likely from lack of caffeine. Damn caffeine addicts.

Saalute!
 

There are many reasons why, against all logic, the US Military operates the way it does.
Some say it's politics. Others say that it's to "maintain standards" and "discipline". My explanation? Possessed IBA.
Anyone in the military knows what IBA is; but for civilians reading this, it bears further explanation. IBA is the acronym for "individual body armor", or so they say. It is what those of us wear when we have to worry about big, mean monstrosities dropping from the sky and going "boom". Everyone has one; they are an accountable item; and in the end, if we were being bombarded by giant exploding killer bees, they would serve their purpose.
But nobody knows where they come from. Such is a great mystery. One would imagine they were produced in some factory somewhere, where they were thrown together by machined with bionic eyes and sewing machines for hands, pulled from the ground and sown into their current form using both synthetic and natural fibers.
But I have a darker, more interesting theory. It all started when a loan soldier found an ancient gremoire.
"Within my pages..." spoke the gremoire. "...you will find wisdom and the power to defeat your enemies!"
Well, probably not those words EXACTLY...but you get the picture. Cut me some slack.
Anyway...gripped by fear and the pain of shrapnel fragments tearing through his body, he read the book, which gave detailed instructions on how to build what it clearly stated was Infernal Body Armor.
See, what did I tell you? They only TEACH you that that is what it means!
Over time, the man somehow collected all of the ingredients necessary to create this omnipotent defense. The hair guts of a three-week old possum, the hair off the back of an angry ogre, the pubes of a prostitute, all brought together under a full moon to be soaked in a soup of blood and baby parts and blessed by the most wretched, most foul demons of Hell.
When he put it on, the first thing he felt was what any enlisted member feels: damn, this thing is HEAVY. Not long after, he felt the power, the inevitable rush of evil whispering in his ear. He went into battle, guns blazing, his upper torso immune to the shrapnel, insane with power.
Then he got shot in the head by a comrade, who correctly thought he had gone completely insane. After all, only a crazy man would charge into battle wearing only body armor. And a gun.
Still, hims comrade saw merit in the idea, and IBA began to be mass produced. The new ones were less powerful, but they could still possess the wearer, and with that torment all of enlisted kind.
Which is why exercises always occur in the middle of the night, in the middle of your sleeping schedule. And why they always require you wear Infernal Body Armor!
 

         Give me point. Give me direction. Lead me to places unforseen, inspire me to new heights, and then, allow me to die knowing I have done all I was meant to do.

I don't know either. It's something that stirred in my mind while I was thinking about my own mental disability, ADHD; boundless energy, but unfocused. Give that energy direction, and it can move mountains.
 

         Two sides to every story. The other side of the coin.
         Voices, somwhere in the dark world of an uncoded realm, discussing in low murmurs, the only clear words muttered names: Caliban, and Steven.
         Caliban is a coin. In world, he is a dangerous warrior born in the town of Thorn, raised on the border that seperated the tamed lands from the unknown frontiers where the monsters roamed unchecked. In reality, he is an intelligent, proud man, with many things to admire but few notice due to the one thing he lacks: the ability to walk...

A teaser for the next chapter of Eden.