LET THERE BE LIGHT

We are the ones in black. We are the few that entertain the many. The men and women behind the scenes. We make the lights work. Without the techies their would be no sound, no lights, no smoke, no fire, no foam, sets or stages. We are the few that make it happen. With long hours, great heights, power tools, complicated boards, miles or wire, hot lights, and short circuits. We are the sweaty, the chafed, the deaf, the dumb tired, hung over and underpaid. We are the stage hands, light board operators, sound guys, light guys, pyro guys, drum techs, guitar tuners, truck drivers, carpenters, electricians, props, and customs. We don’t sing, we don’t dance, and we are not here for your amusement. We work. We stir our drink with our dirty stage hands and cheers to those not seen. We bleed, we are electrocuted, we are crushed, smashed, rolled over, impaled, driven over, blinded, burned, broken and we don’t stop the work. “The show must go on!” is our battle cry but you will never hear it. Break a leg and Merde is our luck. When the plan fails we fix it. And you never know we were there. What can go wrong, will go wrong our prayer. We laugh at problems. The sky is the limit, and if you can imagine it we can build it, wire it, hang it, fly it, hid it, rig it, and make it appear in a crowded stadium from nowhere. We can pack it on a truck, drive it across the country, and whip it out in an hour for all your eyes to see.

Your Welcome
The Techies

Not my normal thing America but who the hell knows why any of us write what we do. I guess we write what we know and my part time, hobby job, that keeps me in shape and sharp, turned into a fucking work fest for the past month. Fucking beat America but it was my major in college right up to the point SWAT kicked in my door. You never know where life will take you. So sit back, get a drink, get a blow job and enjoy the ride America. There are no redos.

DEAL IN A CHOP SHOP

So America I try not to talk about my deals as much as possible because some of these people are still alive and still have guns. But as life strangles my past to death and kills off more and more of my acquaintances I can talk more. Back when I was a coke dealer I was very much the new kid on the block(excuses the reference). I was straight off the farm, my Dad had just turned grey, slipped into a comma, and died in front of me so I figured “why not” from then on. Any risk, or experience I was the first one in. Cops, dealers, strippers, Hoes, DEA, and the NSA were in my phone. I did everything a 22 year old could get his hands on except a fat chick. On everything but roller blades I became a city boy with pavement under my feet and lights on my streets. Six month before this I had had my own horse and a living parent.
Any who one day on far to many drugs I came across my business partner. A 350 lbs six foot tall black man, who made the most awkward partner in crime a 5,7 150 lbs wet cracker runt could have. How we first met frankly I have no idea. I started writing because one day I realized I had no idea what I had done the month before. Maybe it was a year. Total drug, sex, drunk over load blank. For christ sake I forgot a stripper threesome. Who does that? I figured I needed to write my story for either my memory or eulogy whichever was cool with me. So me and the dude had a meet. He said meet him at the barber shop (name omitted). I suit up and let the dice roll. I roll up in a suit, hidden gun, and bullet proof vest under my cloths. Which led to my alias Kevlar. I was cool with dying, but gut shot me and I’m returning fire. I enter the barber shop and everyone stops talking. Do I have to mention I’m not only the only white person in their I’m rocking a coke suit? The dude comes out of a door in the back and calls me in as everyone starts talking again, pegging me for the next mark. I follow him down the darkest hallway with dark doors on both sides. Anything or anyone could have snuck up on me. We walk down this hall which enters a chop shop in the back of the building. Saying to myself, “God hates a coward” I lay out the doe in a oil drum in front of 16 (quick count) criminals. 10,000 reasons to kill me and throw my body in the river. The dice came up snake eyes. No sooner had the money hit the greasy oil drum then 16 guns were pulled on me. A quick count showed 4 Aks, 3 macs, and god knows what else.
Like a cocky farm fuck who has broken horses and sailed hurricanes I smirk and say, “We doing this or not?”
Speechless they all look at the dude, awestruck by my brazen disregard of their shock and ah shit tactics. The dude looks at me for any sign of weakness to see only a farm boy with nothing left to loose. I’d of taken six of them with me, as I shout I’m from a farm bitch boooooooom head shot, but I only had six. A reload with 30 bullets in your body is tough. Shit, scar face couldn’t even bust a reload or hold onto his gun.
The dude looked me up top and bottom. Suit, obvious body armor since I’m so small and my chest was so big and a suspicious bulge in my pants and jacket. Yes my gun can be fired with an erection. The dude looked at his boys who looked at him completely taken back and a little nervous to see what made me so cocky. Why was this suit wearing runt so self assured? They lowed their guns and me and the dude make 500,000 each over a two year period becoming such good friends he saved my life once. My fair city was never the same. And of them all I was the last man standing.

Long Live the Writers
Oceans

Link to my book on amazon below.  Rated a 4.6 out of 5.

I dont quit

I would love to say that in my travels I have learned something about this world. That I know how you can make your life better using the lessons of my life. What I learned is about myself. I don’t quit. Ever. When I get an idea in my head I make it a reality. Sure some of those decision are wrong. Very wrong. Yes I was a coke dealer and yes I was a great one thank you. I got out of it with some money in the bank, a 0 body count, and no time served. I put that in the win column.

I didn’t quit when I was a kid rolling that log up the hill.  I didn’t quit when I had cancer.  I didn’t quit when they wanted to throw me in a wood chipper.  I didn’t quit when she broke my nose during sex.  I didn’t quit in the battle, on the coconut tree, in a wrecked car, lost in the woods, busted by swat, with hash in the court room, my apartment fire, with the girl field hockey team, in a drinking contest with flight attendants, on the blue lady or when a cork almost took my head off .

Shakespeare said “This above all to thine own self be true” and it has stuck with me since my high school teacher forced open my skull and stuck it in there.  What I have learned is the only things you can know for sure are about yourself.  I’m great in bed, an even better sailor, not a bad dancer, and have been called highly intelligent.  I’m terrified of spiders really bugs in general, don’t like heights, and am short due to severe scoliosis.  I’m great around blood as soon as I’m done throwing up, and one hell of a dirty fighter.  I want to live on a sail boat and I spell at a sixth grade level due to dyslexia.  I’m Taylor Oceans and I’m a Gentleman.  Got a problem with me and I’ll prove I’m one hell of a cold blooded shot too.

What do you know about yourself?

I don’t know where I will be in a few years.  Up down over and out.  A puppet a paper pirate poet pawn or a king, but I do know that wherever I am, whatever I’m doing I will not quit, and I know I will be good to my neighbor.  Especially if she is hot.  Generous, compassionate, flexible, speaks two languages, green eyes, short, dirty minded, great sailor, kinky, plays an instrument, doesn’t have a southern accent and has the stamina of a wild horse…  But I’m not picky I just know what I want.

 

As always thanks for reading my rough drafts and if you would like to try my book, link below.

THE SLEEPER HAS AWOKEN

Well America I got cock punched by the publishing company if you didn’t get the memo. Strangely no fault of mine, normally is. 1,000 dollars spent on the greatest negotiation ever, for the greatest writing contract ever. Sure it was a small publishing company but to have a publishing company find me and say “Lets make some money” gave me a hard on my chubbier followers could swing from. I’m talking a cock made of concrete. I rocked that success erection for three months while I waited for my book to come up for edits. I’m sure you all know how badly I need those. Then one week before my turn at the editor’s brain the owner of the company gets the bad word from the doctor, panics and fires everyone from the sales reps to the writers. It just reminds me of the most common comment I get. “Did you make this up?” No disciples this shit really happens to me. All of it and if anything I tone it down a little.

But what the fuck I’m here to show you how to live right? Today’s lesson is dealing with frustration and set backs. It all can’t be strippers, drugs, sex and boats in this blog. Once I got over the feeling I wouldn’t piss on them if they were on fire I realized hey at least it wasn’t me with the doctor bad news. Sucks for her hope she is OK. Sometimes you just have to be happy with what you got and remember the Paul theory of life from my book. For those followers who have not bought my book, about 10,900 of you 11,000, Paul was a friend of mine at boarding school. He was from Sudan, AKA God’s asshole, and the tales he told me would turn a black man white. Horror shows of a small kid dodging Ak bullets and grenades on his way to sixth grade. He knew he had to learn English and come to America to fucking survive. Can you imagine being 12 and thinking survival. We are so sheltered and spoiled in this country it’s easy to become ignorant of the issues of Africa. The entire place is fucked but that is not the point. The point is Paul didn’t tell these stories for a pity party. At 16 he had more nobility in his cock then I will ever have. He told his tales to enlighten us. To show us how lucky we are and to thank God for it, but we aren’t on speaking terms since he thought my dad should join him on his porch instead of listening to Eric Clapton on Waterloo’s porch with me. It’s what we have that is important not what we want. Today I got up, had a great day at work where I got to work with my hands and be creative. I love creating. I built six chandelier from nothing that would make any fairies pussy wet. (For the record Taylor Oceans is pro gay everything. If every man was gay all the women would be mine and ever fairy would want to convert me. I would never have to buy a drink again.) I came back to my rather nice apartment. Well it’s a 100 year old moldy piece of shit but I have made it my own. Said high to my alley cats, lamented the lose of my dog, made a rum and coke in the can so no dishes and wrote this. That’s a great fucking day minus not getting a BJ and having sex three times. I have been shot at, run over, almost thrown in a wood chipper, drowned, hypothermia three times, beat cancer, broken my nose during sex, thrown up on, thrown up on myself, mauled by my own damn dog, flipped cars, sunk boats, busted by swat, thrown out of two schools and been suspended from one, faced five years in fuck in the ass state and walked, watched my dad shrivel to 85 pounds turn grey slip into a coma and die of AIDs right in front of me, and a bunch of other shit. Today was a good day. That is what matters. Not what I want. Not what has happened although it has made me and I’m proud of my mistakes.  I’m wiser and older now. What matters is today was a good day and the next publisher will work. Keep one eye on my back and one eye on my future and both look good today.  A cig in my mouth and a rum and coke in my hand doesn’t hurt either.

Reach for the stars America. Even with your ass stuck in the mud. Sure I’m pissed about the contract falling through. Sure I’m pissed about all the other shit that has happened, but it’s not the burden that matters it’s how I carry it. And God Damn it America this Virginia Gentleman has got some fucking swagger.

Long Live the Writers

Taylor Oceans

Hope I get to travel the world
But I don’t have any plans

Buy my book link below.

A WALKING DREAMER

Ooh, crazy’s what they think about me
Ain’t gonna stop cause they tell me so
Cause 99 miles per hour baby,
Is how fast that I like to go.

Can’t keep up with my rhythm
Though they keep trying.
Too quick for the lines they throw.
I walk to the sound of my own drum,
It goes, they go, we go, hey yeah yeah yeah

O here we go America. The deal fell through with the publisher.  Worst luck ever award goes to; this guy.  One week before my book goes in for edits the owner gets sick, panics and closes shop.  Some days I just can’t believe the shit that happens in my life.  For a second I was ready for someone to come in and drag my ass across the finish line. I was going to get editors, sales reps, and a 40% royalties. Yes America I was staring down at the greatest contract ever given an indie author, with such a bad use of grammar, and the view looked good. I’m tired of the fighting, the struggle, the life of the indie author. I was so ready to get it all done for me and the kind soft voice of them saying it’s all going to be OK. I was consumed in the warm blanket of publishing companies only to have those cock faces send me a three sentence letter saying we decide to close up shop.  Sorry you paid 1,000 for your attorney which cost more than the entire budget of writing the book. FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You know that’s 40 lap dances, one whore, or I could have printed 160 copies of my book to send to other publishers.  FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well you know what America I could bitch and moan but blame is for small children and God.  Deep down I knew this deal would fall through that’s why I never even said their name. I’m a walking dreamer. And I got that way by reaching for the stars with my ass in the mud. My life has never been easy and I almost felt cheated the end was going to be so effort.  From first draft to published in a year that is a little fast and unheard of.  Where is the struggle?  Not this life. Not this writer.  Not this book. I want the hard road and I want to walk it alone. That is what Gentleman do. We pull up our boots and wade though the shit. We mock rules, regulations and the opinions of others.  We respect them but choose to ignore them. Our only slogan is “Never tell me the odds”.  We want a tall mountain to climb. A vast Oceans to cross. The walking dreamers are the ones who will first reach the stars. Even with our asses stuck in the mud. So keep dreaming America it only dies when you do.  And when you walk.  Swagger.

 

TO THE LIQUOR CABINET!

Long Live the writers and walking dreamers

Oceans

 

And since I’m back to moving my own books here it is for sale on Amazon.com.  4.6 out of 5 rating.  And that is with my atrocious editing.

 

This is what America has said so far about my book.

Absolutely loved this book. The tales were humorous yet so real. He has such an interesting outlook on life. Great writer, hope to see more.

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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful

By Keri B on January 8, 2014

Format: Kindle Edition

I got this through CreateSpace and it’s effing hilarious. Hopefully this book does well enough through indie publishing that he can get picked up by a traditional publisher, because it’s a funny book and I see no reason why — with the marketing and editorial resources of a traditional publishing company — and it couldn’t reach a wider audience.

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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful

By Dave on December 18, 2013

Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase

As a follower of Ocean’s blog, I couldn’t wait for this book. It has become one of my beliefs that we should be as candid and open as possible and he’s done just that. Excellent stories and I never got bored reading it. I will say though that I’m not a fan of the last paragraph. You’re at a point where most people barely figure out that there is a life to be lived. You’ve kicked ass, taken names but what kind of stories do you think people want to hear about your next 27 years? Think twice about living that ‘family man’ life… Keep life amazing man!

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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful

By twa2r on December 18, 2013

Format: Paperback

Secretly, we want what they have and we want to be able to do what they do. And this boy can get as bad as we can imagine. He does it with gusto and a sense of pride in ownership. He owns what he does and it makes him great! It makes us envious.Where are our guts? Hidden deep within our limitations. Taylor exposes his inner self with no holds barred. Sexually, he sounds like Don Juan run wild. Who wouldn’t want to be in his shoes? Some of his statements make me feel like I’ve never even had sex, and I’m old and should have tried at least a few of his suggestions by now. Physically he is small, but there’s a Goliath beneath the tiny frame, and David would do well to run from this giant. He doesn’t give up and he doesn’t give in.When can I have a drink with him? I want to hear and learn more.

Robert

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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful

By Amazon Customer on October 18, 2013

Format: Paperback

Taylor takes you with him on his adventures. His style of writing brings humor to the most simple of takes. Beer pong and dealers, sex toys and Mitzvahs, fires and and log rolling…oh my!You’ll read about the boy turning to a gentleman. The kid turning to an adult. The Nieve turning experienced and all in 200 pages. This book is a compilation of stories that will grab your attention and make you take notice.It’s not for the faint of heart and requires all who venture forth to strap in and keep your hands inside the car. Once the ride is moving there’s no turning back.

There is something in this book for everyone. The war with his friends. The fire that takes his eyebrows, the Valentines day special. For every vice a fix and every itch finds a scratch. From glass pipes to glass dil*** and glasses of scotch. College buddies and drug buddies and f*** buddies alike…Taylor proves life is there for the taking, you just grab hold and enjoy!

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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful

By Rose on February 16, 2014

Format: Paperback Verified Purchase

I ordered this book, had no idea what to expect, opened it and found myself sitting there laughing my head off! Now the guy who wrote this obviously lives a lifestyle I have no idea about and don’t, well, totally approve of, but as drug-crazed, sex-soaked, alcohol-frenzied stories of wit and wisdom go, this is just genius!! I would recommend it to anyone with a funny bone.

 

I CAN SHOW YOU HOW TO LIVE

America lets rap about how to live, FREE.  I have used my life with all its drunken, debaucherous, drug induced glory to show you anyone can do anything.  Am I telling you to go out sell coke and fuck strippers.  Well maybe, but that is not the point.  The point is live your life.  I did all those things because I had lost my Dad to AIDS, my farm to a legal head shot, my roommate to suicide, and dumped my girl friend because she may have been a 10 but damn she was crazy.  I was alone, broken, hopeless and just said fuck the world I’m getting mine and became a drug dealer.  It worked. I got mine for four years of insanity any rock star from the 70 would have simply said “Damn… he beat me”  From my 21 to 25 I was rich, drunk, coked up, covered in strippers, and the luckiest man alive for passing my STD test every year.  And lets not forget at 23 got cancer and beat it like a rented mule.  Needless to say I had watched my old life of college, family, christmas dinners, and any kind of guidance shatter, wither, and die in front of me.  I even had to put my 23-year-old dog down, who saved my life when my house was on fire and I was passed out on nitrous (now in WordPress dictionary because of me).  My Dad was grey (I mean fucking grey colored people), in a coma and 86 pounds when he died.  I may be the runt of the family but papa bear played center in football and I rarely hugged him and got my arms all the way around him.  His thumbs were so big when he rolled a joint his thumbs side by side reached both sides of the joint.  But we did have a runt milk man…  O my God I love milk…  Moving on.

The point is it’s not at rock bottom you bounce back.  You have to hit the floor so hard it shatters everything you own, love, and believe in.  You have to be completely lost.  At one point I was drunk and turned my beer pong table to splinters with a steel pipe till the blood on my hands was flying into my eyes.  What I’m a Serb we keep rage in our pocket when we need a war?

The point to my writing is I have been there people.  I have been in the trenches of life fighting to survive, looking for my place in this world.  Sure our problems are different.  For example when I had 17 guns pointed at me at once or almost thrown into a wood chipper.  These examples parallel everyone’s because it was just me against the world and as much as we like to feel connected we all die alone.  At some point you have to do it yourself.  All the guidance, support, love, affection, inner peace, and sanity goes right out the window when you’re in the trenches and its fight or die.  May it be a battle against cancer, family issues, job shit, AK fire in Afghanistan, over weight, or just being a dumb shit.  At some point you have to say to yourself.  Cowboy the fuck up, I got this, and beat cancer, be the mature mediator of your family, fuck the bosses wife, curb stomp Osama, get your fat ass on a treadmill, or study hard because you’re a dumb shit.  Because it’s never easy here in the trenches.  Some stay longer than others. Some have no idea what the fuck I’m talking about.  But with my new legal job, new publisher, and new outlook on life I’m going over the top and shaking this world when I do.  Follow me my fellow Americans.  I’m going to show you how to live.  Enjoy the show.

“Over the top”  In WW leaving the trench and attacking the enemy.  100 years ago my Serb forefathers started WWI on june 28 by assassinating Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria.  A few years later my American forefathers ended it by kicking the shit out of the Germans.  This clip is from a great movie I mean a fan fucking tastic.  The Lost Battalion.  A bunch of New York gangsters lead by an attorney held out for days against the entire German army.  Let us pour out a drink for our soldiers and remember even if we disagree with the war hate the government not our troops.

Kind of cool to play flowbots sound and watch video on mute

REVOLUTION

Let me tell you a tale.  When I was a young lad I was sent to summer camps as most kids were however the one I was sent to was at a boarding school.  These summer camps are mainly used as marketing tests and advertising for these boarding schools and it’s not uncommon for parents to send their kids to these camps the summer before ninth grade to give the kids a taste of hell.  I found it bitter-sweet.  The one I was sent to was as diverse as a can of peas.  All the same size shape and color.  500 brats from some of the richest families in Virginia.  This was an Ivy league testing ground not a school.  Every student will go to college most to a top 10 school.  From a young age these kids are reared on rank, conquest, marketing, respect, dress codes, no free time, hazing and a structure that would rival most military bases.  These will be the future senators, leaders of industry, religious leaders, and heads of state.  Competition is fierce and social rank is the highest order based on years spent at this camp.  Separations are 1st year, though 4th year.  Everything is based on this rank from where you are bunked, your roommates, your class, position on playing field, duties on dorm and even your seat at meals.  Being a 1st year in the age group where 4th years are most common I was thrown into the fire.  On my floor I was 1 of 5 1st years so isolation and hazing was my norm.

Not being one to take it willingly I thought the structure of this institution was in need of new management.  Me.  First I had to have my room assignment changed to bunk all the 1st years on my floor in one room and my army was started.  After a week of team building, mutual support, confidence building, respect and protection I had whipped these four kids one a bed wetter into my lieutenants.  Using the bureaucracy against itself I found a long ignored bi law that said a petition can be used to raise a new sports team.  Using my lieutenants votes and the votes of a few ringers I scouted, my team was formed.  Team bad ass was the best only first year lacrosse team in our camp.  If you have never played lacrosse it is incredibly difficult and takes a measure of team play, finesse, quick thinking, strategy, endurance, pain tolerance, patience and aggression unrivaled on a sports field.  Football, hockey, and soccer bow down to the complete lack of rules lacrosse requires.  Basically all you can’t do is swing your stick like a bat and hit your opponent in the head.  This is a stupid rule because the head is the most protected part of the body and physical injury almost impossible to inflict.  We all go for the ribs and legs where their is no padding.  Your enemy can’t focus when you’re spearing him like a swordfish in the ribs with an aluminum stick.  After days of this brutal practice my army was ready for anything and I plotted my next move.

At these camps it’s normal for all the counselors to get together one night sneak out and get drunk and laid.  Ever seen Jason?  Shit is true.  I bribed, scammed, bamboozled, flimflammed and hoodwinked this date out of my counselor and waited for the “authority” to be removed from the equation.  I told my army of my intentions and every 1st year who had been paddled, pranked, made into the hall maid, used as skeet in lacrosse, rat tallied, mocked in the shower, assigned tray duties, benched during games, and ridiculed made my force.  This was lead by team bad ass in an organization that would rival our military.  Allegiance was sworn and final solution a few days away.  We would give it back to all those who used rank against us.  We would fight terror with terror and the gloves were off.  When the night arrived and counselors vanished off to the woods for a fire and fuck we attacked.  I separated my force into three teams.  Alpha mine was the largest and took the senior dorm head on.  Bravo and Charlie rushed through the others hazing the 4th years and assimilating the other 1st years until an avalanche of righteous genocide washed over the dorms in a night of broken lacrosse sticks.  We destroyed personal property, hazed and tied up the seniors, threw dorm furniture out windows and basically raised hell as best 200 13 to 15-year-old 100 pound kids could do.  At the preassigned time we melted back to our rooms leaving a wave of destruction unrivaled in boarding school history.  No building was left untouched and a snow of TP covered the campus.  Gambling the school could not expel all 200 of us and the fear of what might happen if they expelled me, the general of the 1st years, an amnesty was issued to me and army of bad ass mother fuckers or the ABAMF.  What I’m a Serb?

The next day went on with only a reference in chapel that any further insurrection would be met with stern reputations.  I was called to the head master and given a stern warning from a broken man with no good cards.  The horrified seniors never again ridiculed my boys.  Dorm duties were reassigned in all dorms equally based, hazing was no longer tolerated, everyone took up their own trays and everyone got time on the field.  Peace, generosity and a mutual understanding reigned and I made those future heads of states Virginia Gentleman who always remember people should not fear their government, government should fear their people.  And we are all made equal under what ever god you fucking choose.  And me?  I went to the boarding school for bad kids and fit in nicely.  We called it the Rock and I was Vice President of the school.  President had to much responsibility although I was president for six weeks when the president was thrown out for weed.

 

Long live the writers

 

Oceans

MISS MATCH SOCKS

At my new job the other techies noticed my socks never match.  I always wear one white and one black ankle socks.  When asked why I say because no one is perfect.  This is a simple yet profound message my Dad taught me with his do as I say not as I do, child raising.  This was a man who left me and my mom alone for seven years, came back, and fought hard for my respect…  Well as best he could, no one is perfect.  Dad openly admitted he failed hard at just about everything he had done and pulled no punches about telling me everything he had ever done from throwing drugs off a mountain to get away from the cops, to taking a breathalyzer while wearing a table-cloth as a toga.  Are we are our parents children or what?

To top it off he knew he cursed way to much.  He owned a restaurant and would say things like, “We have the best fucking lobster in the state.”  or “Fuck you you incompetent (waiters name) Fuck get the fuck out of my kitchen, get the fuck out of my kitchen then he would throw a coffee mug with expert aim to just miss his target yet accomplish maximum terror.”  If you haven’t noticed my writing is sewn together by curse words.  I have been fighting this since everyone asks why so many are you angry and frankly I don’t even realize I’m doing it.  I’m part of a sailor family we live by different rules.  But, my Dad told me to fine him one dollar every time he swore in front of me.  As a kid this accomplished three things.  One it showed that with effort, dedication, we can try to change although he went to his grave cursing.  Two, it showed me that my Dad was not perfect, but the first step is admitting his fault.  And three, I would make over 100 bucks on top of dishwasher pay while visiting him on weekends.

I wear two different socks every day so every time I see my feet I’m reminded of that lesson and to be patient with the people I’m working with.  Also turn you socks inside out. Socks are poorly designed with the seems on the inside and it pinches the toes.  And its good luck.

So America today’s lesson is no one is perfect or will ever be.  But if we play our hands right we can be Gentleman and Ladies.

Long live the writers and techies

Oceans

 

Definition of Techie-

Techie, tek’e, n. 1. A person or persons who perform duties related to the running of technical aspects of theatrical and various other performance-oriented entertainment and who at times feel the need to distract performers by playing pranks during the running of the show thus taking the level of professionalism out of the craft and therefore earning the title “Techie”.  {Al Fitch} 2. Person skilled in one or more of the following aspects of a show: scenery, properties, lighting, sound, playing pranks, messing up. works insanely long and unsafe hours. has a main food supply of caffeine and sugar, sometimes is lucky enough to be able to eat fast food during a 2-5 minute break…Only happens about once a week. Never makes mistakes that anyone can notice. Lives by the motto: Squeeze to fit, Paint to match.{Joseph K. Ott}

“An actor without techies is a naked person standing in the dark trying to emote. A techie without actors is a person with marketable skills.” {Mark Leslie}

“We screw for money.” (Set Crew)

Lord grant me the Serenity to accept the things that I cannot change, the Courage to change the things I can, and the Wisdom to hide the bodies of those actors I had to kill because they pissed me off.

 

See you at the end of the bar over the rainbow Dad.  You were my best friend and greatest teacher.

PROBLEM SOLVING

Well America as you may know I have gotten a regular job to apply for a small business loan.  Seems banks have a problem with unemployed retired drug dealers.  So I have gone back to my trade as a lighting technician.  I do theatre grade lights and really know my shit.  I did the lighting for the whalers once and got to sit on the bassist amp the entire show.  Well half in the middle of it I walked off the front of the stage and straight into a threesome.  Foursome if you count the girl driving the car.  But that was the end of my legal work.  I actually quit to leave early to bang those chicks.  WORTH IT!

Any who I’m currently working a party at the Country club of Virginia.  These rich people know how to party and can afford theatre quality lights which brings me to problem solving.  I just started this job two months ago and am currently getting paid to supervise the party and address any technical issues that may arise during the party.  Well they did.  Lost an entire room’s mood lighting.  Here I am  at my computer upstairs in the ballroom.  Staring at my keyboard wishing words would appear without the aid of Rum.  Suddenly an engineer from the club comes to my perch and tells me the problem.  Like a crack head with a debt I was off.  Saw the problem, started trouble shooting and realized the buildings breakers couldn’t support the load.  When we wired it we didn’t plan for the chefs heat lamps and the breakers kept popping.  Without a second of panic I addressed the problem and fixed it in minutes.  I will spare you the tech lingo because I don’t even give a fuck and I’m paid to do it.

This job may suck and I’m currently in a club I will never be able to afford to be a member at however I love problem solving.  It is your time to shine.  Resourcefulness, courage, creativity, thinking outside the box, dedication and quick thinking are the key to problem solving and it is what I do best.  That is what I like about doing lighting.  Well that and when God made the earth the first thing he did was put on his tech cloths and said “let there be light”.  It is always a different problem that needs a creative solution.  What I’m trying to say America is have faith in yourself.  When the shit hits the fan you can lead, follow or get the fuck out of the way.  I lead.  What do you do?

And on a personal note negotiations dragging out with this publishing company so I will remain a member of the working class just in case I have to tell them to fuck off and start my own publishing company.  Totally going to steal their sales reps to spite them for making me eat a grand in lawyer fees during the negotiation.  I’m thinking Atlas and Phoenix Publications.  Thoughts?  Atlas and oceans?  Oceans Publishing?  Live Bad Ass Publications?  Take no shit and prisoners publications.  Do what you love, love what you do and have what you love kill you publishing.  To wordy.  Any who peace out America I have to do a lap around this party to be sure no drunks have fucked my lights.  Just remember don’t take no shit America, but remain a Gentleman.  If I can say I can do anything so can you.

 

Long Live the Writers

 

Oceans

Video

Amateurs

America this country was built by Amateurs. George Washington was an amateur and I’m pretty sure he lost more battles than he won. The underground railroad was run by Amateurs. Lewis and Clark were Amateurs. Most our boys who stormed the beaches of Normandy were Amateurs and had never seen battle. Neil Armstrong was an Amateur he had never landed on the moon fuck no one had. Bill Gates, Amateur, started making computers in his mom’s garage. Amateurs have always been the explorers and trail blazers into the future and are immortalized as courageous resourceful Amateurs who like Han Solo Amateur are never concerned with the odds. I am and Amateur. Fuck didn’t even spell Amateur correct. I am the king of the run on sentence and couldn’t put a semicolon in the right place if you put a gun to my head or offered me Brazilian whore. But like my Amateur forefathers who sailed to this country and stole it from the Indians I am starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Four fucking years ago I started writing. I have filled over four composition notebooks, and lost even more. Four years ago I decided to try my hand at writing and when I say try my hand I mean go straight to the top. Like the phoenix I knew I would rise from nothing and have everything I want out of this life. How did I know I would get it? Faith. But not faith in God, Allah, Buddha, or the others. You have come to the wrong place if you want religion. All I will say on that topic is respect people’s religion.  But people with religion, it would be nice if you guys would keep it to yourself and stop dragging the rest of us into faith-based wars.  I had Faith that I can do anything I put my mind to. Faith that I am an unstoppable force. A rouge wave of pride, courage, intelligence, resourcefulness, kindness, respect, sexiness, and a fucking Virginia Gentleman.

Am I different? Yes, but we all are and there is something magical about that. We all have gifts and burdens. But a gift is only a gift if used wisely and our burdens are irrelevant; we all have them and it’s all relative. What counts with your burden is how you carry it. Do you let it break you or do you walk tall and take it in stride. No one is perfect not one fucking one of us. The only thing that we all have in common is faith. Some have less and others more. Anyone can do anything in my world and you should join me America.

I wanted to be a writer. My reasons are mine, but I wanted it and I fought for it. Four years of basing my head against a wall without even shaking it. Four years of my family saying you’re a ridiculous fool. One even said “A writer I just saw a box of books on the sidewalk there is no money in books.” My friends said it was hopeless while others just said nothing. No one said I could do it and I gave two fucking shits. I had faith and that is all you need. It was a lonely road and if I said every day I was confident it would work I would be a liar. Night after night I thought of other ways to use my time. Thought of the odds. Calculated the costs. Gauged my ability as a writer. Good story-teller and worst typeset, and grammar idiot on the planet. I didn’t care I had to try. But not try that is what losers say I had to succeed.  Don’t survive thrive.  I have never been stopped by any force and damned if I will stop now. I hired and fired 19 editors. One even held my draft ransom saying “This will make money I want to be partner.” Told her to stick it up her ass with a candle on it and rewrote it.  However I did take it as a massive compliment. Then I found a girl who worked well with me and got what I was going for. Weeks we spent rewriting and editing the run on drunken madhouse which is my writing. Even more time spent writing this blog which I use as a litmus test for my tales. Over 140 posts and 30 never got posted. Hours, days, weeks, months, years, four years of nothing. I realized I didn’t just need an editor I needed an agent. Over 300 NO’s America. 300 emails I sent out looking for help and all came back “Thanks for your interest in our company. We enjoyed your writing but it is not for us. And sorry for this form letter” So I decided to self publish and did it through createspace.com and amazon. This was well received and America was kind enough to give me a 4.6 out of 5 rating for my very rough first edition. I also had more help from my ladies. A group of loyal assistants who liked my blog and wanted to help. Part time amateurs but they helped me write my form letters and showed me the language of marketing a book. One even went further and helped me get my foot in a door with an online publisher. I submitted my draft and they sent me a contract. I then had to hire an attorney for a grand to tell me what the hell the contract said. He helped me make some changes and we conference called with the publishing company. I sat back and watched him work and he got it all. Every fucking thing I wanted from that contract and they agreed. Now he is writing the final draft and when it’s done I will sign.  Hopefully they will still sign and a brick came out of the wall I had been bashing my head into. I now can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Just a glimmer, but that is more than I have ever had. I fucking did it America and I’m an Amateur, dyslexic, tech theatre and creative advertising college drop out. I have been thrown out of every school I have ever been to or suspend for five years and I fucking did it.

What one Gentleman can do another can do better America. With Faith in yourself. When your back is against the wall, your cards suck and your almost out of chips you can still win. You just have to play your hand right. Whatever you want out of this life America you can get. Anything is obtainable America you just have to fight for it and fight fucking hard. A little rum never hurt either.

Now stand by for the official announcement of me becoming a published author America. I’m going to shake this fucking world.

 

And to all my friends and family.  SUCK MY WELL ENDOWED COCK i MADE IT YOU DOUBTING CUNTS.  And Dad wish you could have seen it.

 

Long Live the Writers

Oceans