Jun
26
“Fat Daddy said you might have something special for me.”
“What – Oh, probably just this oxy that we just got in.” Reg reached into his pocket and pulled out a prescription drug bottle and rattled it. “Here take a couple on the house, one for each of you.”
“Thanks man.”
“I’ll grab a couple of beers to wash those down. I’ll be right back.”
“See I told you this was a good idea. Here.”
“I don’t want an oxy. I want to go to The Cave.”
“Fine more for me.” Paul popped both pills in his mouth and took a long draw from the beer that Reg handed him.
“Can we go now?”
“Reg just brought us some beer. Let’s drink these and we’ll go.”
Reg chased a couple of guys from one of the couches so that they could sit down. Claire looked down at the filthy couch and resigned herself to sitting on it. She sat on the edge in order minimize the area of her skirt that came into contact with the couch. Paul had engaged Reg in a conversation about baseball. Claire looked around the room wishing that she was anywhere else. The apartment was filthy and the heat and the stench were making her ill. There were two women on the couch across from them doing lines of coke off of a compact mirror. Both were barely clothed one was wearing knee high blue boots and the other stilettos that appeared to have been salvaged from a dumpster. There was a shabby skinny man unconscious in the corner. The couple in the recliner was now fully engaged in sexual intercourse. Claire diverted her eyes and stared at the floor. She gritted her teeth. It was too much.
“Reg. I’m sorry, but we have to go. Paul.” Claire stood up to leave. Paul grabbed her wrist and attempted to pull her back down.
“Come on let’s stay for a while. The fuckin’ chair is free.” Paul was slurring his speech.
Jun
23
Reg was a good natured kid from the street that had fallen under Fat Daddy’s control and become his right hand man. Reg grew up just outside the city proper in an old farmhouse that had lost its farm. Reg was the youngest of four and doted on by his mother and father, but picked on by the kids in the neighborhood for being a little slow. Reg wasn’t mentally retarded, but he would never go to college. Even he if he applied himself higher learning was out of his reach. If his house hadn’t lost its farm, if it was an earlier time , then Reg would have been a competent field hand. He could have planted and farmed a plot large enough to sustain his family and have enough left over to take to market and put some money away for the future. If his focus was narrow his amiable nature and outstanding work ethic allowed him to accomplish more than those who were born with considerably more intelligence. But he wasn’t born into an earlier time and there was no farm. Reg had fallen in with Fat Daddy when Reg was a freshman in high school. Fat Daddy was recruiting, looking for mules and dealers, in order to build his network, to increase his power, and to insulate himself from the legal hazards of working the street. He found Reg one day sitting on the curb with streaks on his face where his tears had washed away the dust from the ball field. There had been a pick up game and Reg as usual had been picked first. Reg was athletic and had been playing ball since he was old enough to walk, but Reg’s talent wasn’t universally admired and when he had tagged out a runner at home to win the game the other team, embarrassed by being beat by the slow kid, proceeded to taunt Reg calling him retard, asking him when the short bus was going to pick him, all the cruel, contrived age old things kids say to hurt one another. Reg’s team not wanting to be seen taking up for a retard joined in the taunting until punches were thrown. Reg was more than able to handle himself and the fight didn’t last long, but when it was over all the other kids went away laughing while Reg sat on the curb and cried.
Fat Daddy found him that way and took him under his wing. He didn’t send directly out on the streets and he didn’t have him deliver drugs. He took Reg out to lunch, had him meet people and talk to them. Reg was good at this he, he was a natural conversationalist. He laughed easy and was genuinely interested in what others had to say. He would talk to the receptionist at a hotel while fat Daddy snuck in a couple of prostitutes or he would talk to the driver of a truck while Fat Daddy off loaded a shipment of drugs. Reg didn’t know what Fat Daddy did at first he just knew that he got to talk to people then Fat Daddy would take him out to eat or buy him some new clothes. Now Reg was loyal to Fat Daddy. He had given Reg a life, made him important when others had cast him off. Reg was Fat Daddy’s right hand man and no one crossed fat Daddy. Reg made sure of that.
Paul and Reg greeted each other like brothers and Reg embraced Claire warmly. Claire liked Reg, even if he always made her a little sad.
Jun
22
“Fat Daddy.” Paul addressed a corpulent immaculately dressed man.
Fat Daddy dealt drugs, had since he was twelve and he found that the older kids on the block were willing to give him ten bucks a tab for the pain killers he found his mothers medicine cabinet. After that he stole a Physician’s Desk Reference from the Library his parents used to take him to to check out Dr.Seuss, and with the PDR he was able to harvest forgotten prescription drugs from the medicine cabinets of his friends. After he had exhausted these resources he moved on to selling marijuana, ecstasy, cocaine, heroin, and meth. There wasn’t an illicit substance that hadn’t passed through the meaty hands of Fat Daddy Jones at one time or another. Now Fat Daddy was more of an executive or perhaps a middle manager with aspirations beyond his abilities, but he played the part. He arranged shipments, collected payments from his men on the street, sent muscle to straighten out accounts that were in arrears, and occasionally enforced discipline himself. Paul usually dealt with Reg when he needed to score, but Fat Daddy saw Paul’s studies in pharmacology as a potential future resource and would occasionally deal directly with him in order to cultivate a relationship. Paul in his part felt that by dealing directly with Fat daddy he was important, that he was an insider.
“Paul my man – and his beautiful girl, what’s going on.”
“Just gettin’ square.” Paul passed the folded twenties cupped in his hand to Fat Daddy as they shook hands.
“You’re alright. Listen I have some business to conduct, but why don’t you go and talk to Reg. He might have something special for you.”
“We really have to be going.” Claire voice shook.
“I told you that I wanted to see Reg and say hello.” Paul gave her a withering look. “Thanks man.”
“Don’t mention it. And you take care of that little girl or I might eat her up.”
Paul and Fat Daddy laughed and exchanged another jovial handshake, but Claire didn’t see any humor in Fat Daddy’s comment. He said it in a benevolent voice and with a smile on his face, but she could see the sin in his eyes. The gluttony that had a hold on Fat Daddy’s soul was not limited to epicurean delights. And pleasure twisted by gluttony leads to perverse evil permutations of desire that resemble the original pleasure less the more the appetite is fed. Fat Daddy fed his appetite’s. The power and the drug’s gave him the avenue and no morality, no conscience existed to hold him back. Claire saw this in his eye’s, saw it everytime he looked at her. Every time his pink tongue flicked across his livid lips and he winked that glassy protuberant eye. She looked back and he was watching her go. He smiled and lifted his eyebrows.
Jun
21
“Jesus, can you stop dragging your feet.”
“Where are we going The Cave is this way.” Claire had turned to walk toward the club district.
“Nothing’s happening at The Cave yet. The band doesn’t go on until eleven. It’s only Nine.”
“They’re playing music. I can dance. And Sasha’s going to be there.”
“I just want to go to Fat Daddy’s for a few minutes.”
Claire made a sound of exasperation and stopped walking her hands firmly on her hips.
“What the hell. We smoked a bowl before we left the apartment. And I hate Fat Daddy’s. I hate Fat Daddy. He creeps me out.”
“Come on. Reginald’s going to be there and besides I owe Fat Daddy.”
“I told Sasha I’d meet her. I haven’t seen her since term ended. You go to Fat Daddy’s and I’ll meet you at The Cave.”
Paul looked at Claire and looked down the street and saw two guys walking down the street glance her way, and for the first time since they left the apartment he realized how beautiful she was.
“Hell no.” The look on Claire’s face stopped him from continuing. He stopped and reconsidered for a moment. “Listen it won’t take long. I’ll just drop in and say hello to Reg and pay Fat Daddy for that bag that I bought from him. The bag we’re both smoking.”
“Fine, but I want to get to The Cave before the band goes on.”
The rest of the way to Fat Daddy’s was uncomfortable, though the night was fine. There was a gentle breeze blowing that kept the sweet humid air from becoming oppressive and carried with it a hint of the ocean, marsh, and river. They reached Fat Daddy’s shortly and descended the five steps that led off the sidewalk and down to the basement apartment. They were greeted at the open front door by four unwashed and unkempt thugs smoking and shooting the shit. Paul greeted them all by name and shook hands as they eyed Claire hungrily. Inside the apartment the air was thick and hot. Smoke from drugs and cigarettes hung in the air. The music was loud and there were people lying on a couple of junkyard couches. A faceless partially clothed couple was progressing toward intercourse in a duct taped and lousy recliner. Claire kicked a beer can out of her way and put her arm around Paul’s waist.
Jun
17
“How was your first night at work?”
“It sucked. I got soaked to the bone; I cleaned the dirty, filthy grease trap, which nearly made me puke it smelled so bad, and my co-workers found it oh so funny.” Paul had slept until noon after drinking late at the Cup. “But it means that I don’t have to go home this summer and spend time with my parents and all the snobbish, fake little rich kids that pretend they’re my friends – You wanna get high? I got a new bag from Fat Daddy. It’s hydroponic, supposed to be really good.”
“I want to go out tonight. Let’s go dancing.”
“Alright. Hand me the pipe, we can go to the Cave there’s a band playing that’s supposed to be good.”
Claire handed Paul the pipe off of the coffee table, and she watched as Paul went through the daily – morning, noon, and nightly – ritual of breaking bud from stem, rolling the bud between his fingers and letting the loose pieces fall into the bowl of the pipe where he packed it firmly so that it would burn without going out. When he was finished he pressed the pipe to his lips, put the flame of the lighter to the bowl and inhaled. The hot pungent smoke filled his lungs and burnt his lips leaving a sticky acrid coating of resin. He held his breath until his body rebelled and forced the smoke from his mouth and nose in fit of coughing that lasted after he had passed the pipe to Claire and she had repeated his actions. They did this until the pipe was cashed. They laid back on the couch and laughed.
They spent the rest of their day this way, drifting on a warm hazy breeze listening to music and talking idly and enjoying the freedom that is afforded to college students in the summer. They ate frozen burritos heated in the microwave, and drenched in salsa to soften the chewy shells. They drank cheap berry flavored wine, and made love in the warm sunlight that flooded the studio apartment. The fading light roused them from their stupor and they headed out for the night. Claire had changed into a poodle skirt she had rescued from a consignment store and meticulously cleaned and mended. Her hair was up and she looked beautiful. As they walked down the street under the arching oaks, heads turned and the eyes of everyone she passed followed her. Paul was oblivious to the attention that she was attracting. He was anxious and walking fast. Every block or so he would stop, grab Claire’s arm and impatiently pull her forward.
Jun
17
I was in PA for a few days, but I’m back and will be posting again.
Jun
10
Tim trained Paul in the dish room while Francisco ran the kitchen. Tim was a fair teacher, his knowledge and exacting nature were hindered by his natural assumption that everyone was capable of learning as quickly as he did. Paul’s ability to learn was superior to Tim’s and soon the two of them joined Francisco in the kitchen and took advantage of an after diner lull to sit on the freezers and bullshit with each other and any passing wait staff.
“So is this what it’s like every night,” asked Paul.
“Sundays are usually pretty slow, but not like this. All the side work and prep are done and everything’s clean. That happens when my man here works before you.” Francisco slapped Jeff on the back.
“I didn’t feel like being social today so I just stayed back here and got things done.”
“I saw you were drinking hard last night at the party. My guess is today was a Blues recovery day.”
“It was.”
“What party? I hit two or three last night?”
“Tim, here, and his roommate Jimmy throw a little party at the end of every quarter to blow off steam and ready our minds for the next quarter.”
“Your roommate’s name is Jimmy.”
“Yeah.”
“Timmy and Jimmy.”
“Yeah Tim here was pretty lit up last night and seemed to be having a pretty good time with Kim.”
“Kim who? What were we doing.”
“Kim Matthews. I think you were playing hide and seek or freeze tag, I don’t know, but there was a lot of giggling and running and touching.”
“Shit.”
“You don’t remember anything?”
“That’s the least of the things I don’t remember, though it seems familiar now.”
The rest of the evening passed quickly. The addition of a new person and his initiation into the family at The Cup made for an interesting evening there were soakings with the dish hose and the soaping of a floor, and the subsequent clean up of a dozen broken glasses after the prank claimed Julie, the head waitress, as its unintended victim. At midnight the restaurant closed and Tim’s shift ended.
“Tim what kind of beer do you want? It’s George’s night to buy.” Julie was in better spirits after closing her till and counting her money.
“None for me tonight. I’m going to go home and study, try to get a jump on my reading for this quarter.”
“Why the hell are you taking classes over the summer? This is time to relax.”
“Double major. History and philosophy. This quarter I start my major philosophy classes.”
“Two Majors. You think you could have picked one that would get you a job.”
“I’ll get a Job. Don’t worry.”
“Tim I need to see a beer in your hand.” Francisco walked out of the kitchen wet, and stinking of cleaners and food.
“Not tonight – Paul you can have my beer.”
“Thanks I need it after cleaning the grease trap.”
“You made him clean the grease trap?”
“Yeah, and now you need to have a beer with us. He’s been through the initiation and now we get to the good part, the after party.” Francisco laughed.
“I woke up this afternoon naked in my front yard. I’m taking the night off.”
“You what?”
Jun
9
They spent the rest of the afternoon feasting on eggs, pancakes, and coffee at The China Cup Café. The China Cup had opened with aspiriations to be a European style bistro and bakery, but the only things left of those aspirations were the stale pretension of its name and some old dingy lace doilies that were stored behind the dishrags. The China Cup failed to achieve a refined atmosphere, but it found success serving breakfast to people who were not awake at breakfast time. Tim started work at The China Cup his freshman year as a waiter and soon found that he was not well suited for the job. He did, however, find a home in the dishroom and later in the kitchen. The China Cup had become home to him, a place to eat after a long night of drinking, and a place to drink after a long night at work. He also managed to do some studying at the bar when he needed coffee and when the silence at home was more distracting than the noise of the restaurant.
The sun streamed through the windows of the restaurant, the angular rays visible in the dusty, smoky atmosphere, but the dark polished wood work and the dark tile floors absorbed the light before it could penetrate the depths of the restaurant. This baroque scene, the dramatic effect on such a mundane scene put Tim in an introspective mood that lasted after the sun had advanced past the window, and left the restaurant in a melancholy shade, the world outside still shining happily beyond the window. Sunday afternoons were slow and Jeff was alone between the kitchen and the dishroom. Robert Johnson wailed an incantation from a small tinny radio and drove the wait staff out of the kitchen in search of more hospitable company, and left Tim to work lazily and happily, his thoughts seldom interrupted. The dinner shift brought with it more business and an end to Tim’s solitary existence, in addition to the second person that was normally scheduled on a Sunday evening there was a new guy to train, Paul. Paul had also just finished his sophomore year, and was working toward a career in pharmacology, whether as a pharmacist or researcher he had not yet decided. What he had decided was that going home to his parent’s house for the summer wasn’t an option. So when he was forced to leave the dorms at the end of the quarter he got an apartment. His parents agreed to pay the rent, but all living expenses were his responsibility. So he got a job.
Jun
8
“Tim. Tim. Get up.”
Tim opened his eyes and immediately shut them against the blinding light of the sun. He shielded his face and tried to say “Go away”, but his words were unintelligible. His teeth were fuzzy and his saliva was the consistency of mucus, his head was throbbing and some asshole was shaking him.
“Tim you have to get up man. Come on,” Jimmy was pulling on Tim’s arm. “Andrew stop laughing this isn’t funny.”
“Oh come on, if this isn’t funny then what the hell is.”
“Go get a blanket or some pants or something.”
Andrew roared with laughter as he left to follow Jimmy’s instructions.
“Tim get up. Now”
“What the hell is going on. Just let me sleep.”
“Tim. You are naked in the front yard and its noon. The police are here. You have to get up and put on some clothes.”
“Shit.”
Tim was awake and on his feet immediately. Indignation turned to embarrassment and he passed Andrew moving as quickly as he could while still maintaining, what he believed, was left of his dignity. He was quickly relieved of his illusion when Andrew handed him a blanket and burst into another round of laughter. Tim made his way quickly inside to the kitchen and washed away the foulness in his mouth with a glass of water. He sat and tried to piece together what the hell had happened to him. He was definitely clothed when he had left Candice. Then he lay down in the grass. That was it; what the hell happened.
Tim sat like that for fifteen minutes staring blankly at the table filling the void in his memory with all sorts of fantastic things that might have happened. Andrew sat down across from him grinning from ear to ear. Tim looked up at him and couldn’t help but to laugh.
“What the hell happened to you last night that you ended up naked in the front yard?”
“I don’t know. I was going to ask you. The last thing I remember is going outside and lying down on the grass because I was hot.”
“I guess it was a hell of a night all around. I woke up with Suzy this morning.”
“Suzy Mitchell? I hope you remember more about your night than I do mine. Did you see me after we did that last shot?”
“Nope. You left with Candice and I went outside and hooked up with Suzy. We spent the night over at her house. I came over to see if you guys wanted to grab some lunch, I walked up, you were naked and Jimmy was trying to wake you up. Maybe Jimmy can shed some light on the situation.” Andrew motioned behind Tim with his eyes.
“Well, our neighbors aren’t going to press any charges and the police agreed not to arrest you.”
“Good.” Tim relaxed a little. “But what the hell happened last night. I did that last shot, I danced with Candice, and then I went outside to cool off.”
“You yelled at Rhonda that you wanted her to come outside and call you Poppy T.”
“Shit.”
“I’m sorry I missed that.” Andrew wiped the tears of laughter form his eyes.
“You almost broke Ronald’s nose with the door on your way out.”
“Is he alright.”
“Yeah, it was an accident. You just threw the door open on your way out. He walked around holding a cold beer to his nose the rest of the night.”
“I bet he looks like a baboon this morning with a big purple nose and his ass up on his back.” Andrew choked the words out between fits of laughter.
Jimmy and Tim laughed not at Andrew’s ribaldry, but because of his laughter.
“That doesn’t explain why the hell I was naked in the front yard.”
“That, my friend, I don’t know.”
“And where are my clothes?”
“I don’t now that either.”
“My boots.”
“Nope.”
“Damn.”
“Get dressed and let’s grab some lunch. I’m buying. I feel generous this afternoon.” Andrew had stopped laughing, but his spirit had not changed.
“Are you going to see her again, or better yet is she going to see you.” Tim stood up and checked his blanket for coverage.
“Tonight.”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. See who? What’d I miss?”
Jun
7
“Hey what’s goin’ on?”
“Shhh. Freddie’s in there with Rhonda.” Tim moved to the side to make room for Jimmy to listen at the door.
“With Rhonda?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not Freddie. Call me Papa.”
“What..? I don’t…”
“Come on baby. Call me Papa.”
“But…”
“I said call me Papa.”
“Mmmm. Papa.”
“We don’t need to listen to that. Let’s go. There are drinks down stairs.” Jimmy pulled Tim and Andrew away from the door. “Tim. Let’s go.”
“Don’t call me Tim, call me Poppy T.”
The three friends stumbled to the kitchen. The table and counters were covered in bottles and smoke hung thick in the air. People, in varying degrees of sobriety, gathered together into groups and discussed politics, religion, sex, all with the confidence that comes from consuming too much alcohol. There was a couple in the corner awkwardly trying to come to the same point, verbally dancing when sure action was what was needed, a hand on a knee, a toss of the hair, then the diverting of the eyes, signals that were clear in retrospect yet so ambiguous in the present. There was a group of young men discussing religion in a friendly tone, one cocksure atheist and three faithful Christians. There was a mixed group of five arguing politics, not an unslurred word among them, and none of them with a coherent position, but there was much preaching and hammering of fists on the table. There were many others involved in conversations while watching the room, the people, for something of significance.
Tim and his merry band, and merry they were after having consumed no small amount of alcohol, made their way through the crowd and the distractions to find themselves at a length of counter that served as the bar and was crammed with bottles of alcohol and mixer being slowly drained until empty. Jimmy poured the drinks and they all laughed at the inane things the other drunks were doing around the room, believing themselves to be the only ones behaving appropriately. They slammed their shots and Jimmy poured another. Things began to blur and Tim smiled. What a fantastic beginning to what was going to be a great summer. Tim saw his friend Candice walk into the room and slammed another shot. Without any hesitation he bounded over the couch in front of Candice, picked her up and spun her around. Candice gave him a kiss and they walked together back to the bar. Jimmy poured another round. They slammed each other’s shot and Candice dragged Tim into the living room to dance.
The music was loud and people were dancing slow regardless of the tempo of the music. The room was hot. Tim took off his shirt and tied it around his waist. They danced fast causing the others to retreat to the edges of the room where they were safe from flying hands and feet. The room was unstable and Tim felt the result in his throat. Others were joining in the dance now. People were bouncing up and down. Tim made his way through the sweaty bodies to Candice.
“I’m going outside. It’s too hot in here.”
“I’m going to dance I’ll be out when this song is over.”
Tim saw the others, the guys anyway, watching Candice, smiling. God it was hot. Tim walked out of the front door and the cool night air wrapped around him chilling the sweat on his skin. He lay down. The grass was soft and cool. The stars and sky spun around over his head. Tim shut his eyes and felt himself softly spinning around.
Jun
7
I started writing Happy Monday/Black Friday shortly after I finished the Light of Day, and the story was writnig itself. Words were flying from the tip of my pencil, then they stopped. I won’t go into details, but suffice to say that my routine got interrupted. I’m a creature of habit, and laziness is my natural state. Well, maybe not laziness, because I’m always doing something. But chaos, entropy, and a general lack of focus rule my life, and drive my wife crazy. Once I revert back to my natural state it’s difficult to reestablish a routine. So, in an effort to force myself to write every day I am instituting some drastic measures. I will be posting what I write every day. Keep in mind that this will be raw unedited, unrevised, un-proofread prose. It will contain spelling, grammatical, and stylistic errors. In short it will probably suck, but that’s part of the process. Also, I don’t always write in order. If I ’m having trouble with a chapter I’m prone to skip forward to the next chapter, I currently have an unfinished chapter two and three. Sometimes I skip entire chapters. If, after reading these caveats you’re still interested, check SnookieLane daily and keep me honest. I have the better part of three chapter so for several days I will be posting old material. I will only be leaving the posts up for a week. If I miss a day let me hear about it.
Jun
6
I have reduced the price of the Kindle version of the Light of Day to $2.99. So any of you with a new Ipad, go download the Kindle app, and buy The Light of Day. It’s a steal.
Dec
22
The Light of Day is now available directly from Create Space. https://www.createspace.com/1000251476
Nov
27
The Light of Day is the first novel by author James Byrd. This is a story of the human spirit, the potential for good or evil within us all, and the struggle for individuality within an oppressive society. With underlying themes of morality, collectivism, environmental regulation, and the struggle for freedom; it is well worth your time to read. The Light of Day combines dynamic characters with vibrant scenes that draw the reader into the story from the first chapter.
From the beginning, the reader is confronted with the potential for a powerful elite to manipulate the larger population to their own advantage. Although this is not an anti-government treatise, it does illustrate the potential for the powerful in government to oppress the people they govern. The reader is thrust into a struggle between the individual and the State, the inflexibility of an impersonal set of rules and their imposition by people whose only purpose is to ‘rule’. There is an underlying theme of environmental regulation pushed to its extremity. However, it is not the purpose of the book, nor is it blamed for the actions of those in power. It is merely a weapon which they wield to instill fear and guilt in the populace and manages their actions effectively without conflict. Given the current conflict over Cap and Trade legislation, it is an example of how things can be carried too far, in the name of the ‘greater good’.
The main character, Jeff, was born into a society called The Underground where all actions are determined by their impact on the environment. Everyone lives below ground, in a system of tunnels and rooms that are dirty and cramped. Access to the surface is granted only with permission by a government employee, and is subject to refusal at any time. Technology is limited and regulated, and individual experimentation is discouraged. Jeff finds himself fighting with the curiosity innate in his character and the struggle to evade discovery and punishment by the state. His grandfather, Old Man O’Hara, discovers his curiosity and warns him against carelessness. He is simultaneously proud of his grandson and fearful for his safety. Having moved to the underground grudgingly, in order to save the life of his wife, O’Hara has long wished to return to his position as a revolutionary. He now sees the potential for his grandson to be a free individual, but is concerned about the consequences of those in power discovering his ability.
Jeff’s parents have not known freedom and are content to live by the standards of The Underground. They have become comfortable in the ’security’ provided by the State, and have no use for freedom. When Jeff’s technological deviance is discovered, they scorn him for his unsocial behavior.All of these underlying conflicts are the result of state propaganda directed at controlling the individual. Jeff is faced with an internal conflict between the human need to fit into a group and his individual desire to improve his quality of life and gain knowledge.This story illustrates the struggle between people, like Jeff’s parents, who accept what the state provides because it is easy, and those who would improve the lives of society as a whole through their personal achievements.
When Jeff is faced with the loss of his grandfather through the malicious negligence of a guard, he is thrust into a world of personal conflict and direct oppression by those responsible for his loss. Blame for his grandfather’s death is transferred to Jeff on the grounds that he broke the rules and set himself apart from society. When his parents turn their back on him, blaming him for the actions of the officials and showing indifference to human life, Jeff decides to turn his back on the oppressive society he was born into. After enduring a violent interrogation on the grounds of technological deviance, Jeff is sentenced to Madison, a prison for the mentally ill. This forces Jeff to choose between the use of force in order to escape and complacency with his fate. Because Jeff chooses to fight for his liberty, he launches himself into a new world of personal responsibility, morality and self-reliance.
Jeff is united with The Resistance and discovers that life above ground is not only possible, but is not the environmental scourge that he was led to believe. Jeff forms new friendships, learns to interact in a free society and takes on all the responsibilities required of an individual in a free society. He learns that there are consequences for one’s actions and that the right choice is not always an easy choice. He is faced with prejudice and isolationism, spirituality, and the struggle with the lust for power that corrupts men and requires constant vigilance on the part of society.
When Jeff discovers the opportunity to join The Resistance in an invasion of the facility at Madison, he is faced with the most formative experience of his life. With the death of a friend, Jeff is plunged once again into the realm of personal loss and regret. He is reminded that all actions have consequences and that personal sacrifice is often the cost of freedom. The book ends on a melancholy note of redemption and new beginnings. The reader is left wondering how things will turn out for the characters and looking forward to the next book.
Nov
20
I have a request for all of you who have recently purchased The Light of Day. When you are finished reading the book, please go to Amazon and write a quick review and add some tags. Put it on a Listmania list or a So You’d Like to list. All of these things will help people to find The Light of Day and to decide whether it’s a book they will enjoy reading. But please don’t post any reviews good or bad if you haven’t read the book. If you have read it then post your honest opinion positive or negative.
Thank you all for spending your time and money to read my book.
Nov
19
After I obtained my degree in computer art from the Savannah College of Art and Design I decided that I didn’t want to animate. I didn’t want to help other people realize their ideas. I had ideas of my own. I wanted to write. It was about a year after graduation and I was working on a novel about a new Cuban revolution, and though the writing was going well I wasn’t happy with the structure of the story. I was driving home from my girlfriend’s house down dark country roads and I asked myself “If the arguments of the environmental extremists are taken to their logical conclusions what would the world look like.” That question prompted me to write The Light of Day. Here is an excerpt from the book that is in part an answer to that question.
John started walking again, his eyes focused somewhere beyond the dark of the forest.
“From each according to his ability to each according to his need. That is Communism; at least it is one of the tenets of communism according to Marx. The stated goal is to achieve an equality of outcome. All determinations of value are based upon the common good. Economists and political scientists will give you more exact definitions. They will give you the history of different communist movements. They can detail the differences between Marxism, Trotskyism, and Stalinism. They can spend hours discussing and arguing over the differences and similarities of communism, fascism, nationalism, agrarianism, and every other form of statism, but the one common denominator is the belief that society is superior to the individual. If you ask an adherent of one of these philosophies why communism or socialism or whatever has always failed, they always reply that it wasn’t really their philosophy that had been tried. It’s never their philosophy. It’s always because it wasn’t pure, but if they could….”
“John. What does any of this have to do with my grandfather?”
John’s eyes focused and the determination returned to his countenance.
“When international communism collapsed its adherents found a home in the environmental movement, they founded a radical faction known as Freedom Earth. Eventually Freedom Earth became the Consortium, and proffered the idea of The Underground, a wonderful world where everybody would be taken care of and no one would have an impact on the environment. “
Nov
18
Thanks to Alvaro Alvillar at Big Government for writing a very nice review of The Light of Day.
The Light of Day’ Exposes the Green Movement’s Roots in Tyrannyby Alvaro Alvillar
This book, by emerging author James Byrd, paints a telling portrait of the true agenda of the Green Movement. It successfully exposes the underlying agenda of collective power in the hands of the State; at the expense of the individual. Mr. Byrd creates a world of dynamic characters, their interrelations, and the societies in which they are cast. It is a powerful first book, by an author who has a firm grasp of the way in which an oppressive government uses propaganda and fear to control the general population. The Light of Day is the story of Jeff O’Hara and his struggle for personal freedom and the realization that the things most worth having sometimes require the greatest sacrifice.
From the first paragraph, the reader is thrust into the O’Hara family dynamic.
Old Man O’Hara comes from a time before The World Consortium forced the people of the earth into a subterranean existence, where some never experience the simple pleasure of feeling sunlight on their skin. Those who live in the lower levels never have the opportunity to see the sky, even through the barrier of an observation window. It is a world of grime and florescent lighting, where people don’t care about their surroundings. The bleak artificial nature of their world has deprived them of a sense of accomplishment and the desire to maintain their surroundings. The concept of individuality is virtually nonexistent.
Jeff is the grandson of Old Man O’Hara. He is inquisitive, headstrong, and intelligent. Because these are all qualities discouraged by the collective, Jeff soon finds himself at odds with his situation. A conflict between his grandfather and the guards who grant access to the surface leads to Jeff’s determination to escape the oppressive environment of his birth. Subsequent events lead to Jeff’s banishment to a prison compound and his personal quest for Liberty. Through the kindness of others and his own strength of character, Jeff escapes and joins up with The Revolution of which he had heard rumors.
The Light of Day is a must read for anyone who is concerned with the veracity and motives of the modern environmental movement. The reader will find themselves cast into a world that may not be far off, where the needs of the individual are superseded by the ‘virtues’ of nature. It is a gripping first novel and a testament to the integrity of the human spirit.
Nov
13
Happy birthday and Semper Fi. Also, thank you to all our veterans. I know I’m a little late. I didn’t actually intend to post anything concerning the Marine Corps birthday or veterans day, but I was reading my son poetry tonight and I read him one of my favorite poems, and – well we’ll get there.
Almost the first time my son heard my voice I was reading verse. That first night in the hospital room while he and my wife were sleeping I read to him from Classics of Victorian Verse, and although since then the ratio of poetry to prose has shifted dramatically to prose, I am happy that he now asks for me to read him poetry.
Poetry and fine art have a lot in common in the way that they viewed in our society. They are seen as effeminate leftist drivel, the providence of hippies, beatniks, existentialists, and deconstructionists. People don’t get it, and the reason is that the tastemakers, the critics, the intelligentsia have convinced people that drivel is art. A friend of mine in art school had a professor that called it “barbed wire and vomit”. Duchamp hung a urinal on the wall and the art world went to hell. Suddenly figurative art was pedestrian.
When it comes to poetry literary critics have convinced people that poetry that has rhythym and rhyme is for children and simpletons. They torture school children with drab boring verse or poetry that is written in language that is unintelligable to school age children, in effect killing the natural love that children have for poetry. Most people probably haven’t read the fireside poets; Longfellow, Whittier, Bryant, Lowell, and Holmes. People read these poets by the fireside as entertainment. But remember, in the intelligentsia’s eyes any art or literature that is intelligable and enoyable, and therefore has the potential to be popular, is pedestrian. Only if they, the intelligentsia, are the only ones that can enjoy and understand it is it real art.
So now we come around to the reason for this post. My son asked me to read his current favorite poem, The Dangerous Dan McGrew by Robert Service. Comparative Lit majors everywhere are rolling their eyes. So, I read to him about Dan Mcgrew and Lou and the stranger crazed with hooch. Then I read him one of my favorites, Tommy by Rudyard Kipling. I am going to share it with you. Remember that this was written in 1890. The problems we face today aren’t old, they have always been with us.
Tommy
by Rudyard Kipling
I went into a public-’ouse to get a pint o’beer,
The publican ‘e up an’ sez, “We serve no red-coats here.”
The girls be’ind the bar they laughed an’ giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an’ to myself sez I:
O it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, go away”;
But it’s “Thank you, Mister Atkins, when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it’s “Thank you, Mr. Atkins, when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but ‘adn’t none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-’alls,
But when it comes to fightin’, Lord! they’ll shove me in the stalls!
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, wait outside”;
But it’s “Special train for Atkins” when the trooper’s on the tide,
The troopship’s on the tide, my boys, the troopship’s on the tide,
O it’s “Special train for Atkins” when the trooper’s on the tide.
Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re starvation cheap;
An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin’ in full kit.
Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy how’s yer soul?”
But it’s “Thin red line of ‘eroes” when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it’s “Thin red line of ‘eroes” when the drums begin to roll.
We aren’t no thin red ‘eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints:
Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints;
While it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Tommy, fall be’ind,”
But it’s “Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind,
There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble in the wind,
O it’s “Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind.
You talk o’ better food for us, an’ schools, an’ fires an’ all:
We’ll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don’t mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow’s Uniform is not the soldier-man’s disgrace.
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ “Chuck him out, the brute!”
But it’s “Saviour of ‘is country,” when the guns begin to shoot;
An’ it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ anything you please;
But Tommy ain’t a bloomin’ fool – you bet that Tommy sees!
Nov
7
For those of you with a Kindle, there is now a Kindle version of The Light of Day available. Currently Amazon shows that it is not available in the United States. I assure you that it is available in the U.S. I have contacted tech support and they should have the issue resolved soon.
Nov
4
“I’m not going to watch Jeff be indoctrinated the same way you were.” Old man O’Hara was in rare form. He very rarely deviated from his stoic, thoughtful form of argument. His demeanor was persuasive in itself, but when it came to his grandson he easily became more argumentative.
“The Terra Corps is mandatory service for all citizens. Besides, I enjoyed being in the T.C. They gave me a sense of identity. I never knew who I was until the T.C.”
“That’s my point. I don’t want anyone giving Jeff a sense of identity, especially not the people who created this monstrosity that we are forced to live in.”
“But… you always talk about how awful The Underground is, but the people decided that this is what needed to be done. This is what saved the world from humanity. We were destroying the world.” Greg O’Hara’s hands were slick and clammy. He never could argue with his father. Old Man O’Hara always made him feel like he was wrong. He had made him feel that way all his life, in fact he couldn’t be in the same room with him without feeling like he was being judged. He tried to straighten up, to meet his father’s eyes and keep his shoulders straight.
“We weren’t destroying anything; in fact you weren’t even born. I want Jeff to make his own decisions, not make the decisions that society, his friends, you, or I think he should make. I want him to be able to use his ability to reason to make his decisions.”
“Well, the law says that the service is mandatory. There’s nothing we can do about it anyway. So let’s just drop it.”
“Greg there are always options open in life. That’s something you were always too scared to understand. At the very least there are always at least two options and they are the most important, to live or to die.” Old man O’Hara stood over his son and looked into his averted eyes as he softly growled to him the final argument for free will. “People aren’t like animals we can choose to live, not to live, or to die for what we hold to be dear.”
“Then why didn’t you choose to die like all those poor stupid bastards that you think so much of, when they made it illegal to live on the surface.”
“Because, I decided to live for my wife and my unborn son.” He turned his back on his son and slowly walked out of the room, trying to regulate his breathing and heart rate.
He made his way out of his family quarters and started into the white polymer maze of The Underground. The incessant flickering of the fluorescent lights always threatened to give him a headache. God, he hated this cold synthetic environment in which he was going to die. He knew that he was going to die in this place. He had known it since the day he made the decision not to stay topside. His wife was pregnant and complications in the pregnancy made it impossible for his son to be born without a hospital without killing the child, his wife, or both. Despite his precautions his wife had died and he raised the love of his life alone. He had the highest of aspirations for his son. Greg was to grow up to be a free man, whether he grew up that way or had to fight for it tooth and nail. That didn’t happen. He had watched his son grow up to be enfolded in the society that he despised. Every year Greg’s spirit became more and more malleable, and every year Old man O’Hara retired a little more of his own soul to that secret place that some people fortify with whiskey and hate. Old man O’Hara hid it in plain sight. He hid it in the light of day, in the world that should have been his and his son’s, the world that was off limits to the general population except under special circumstances by decree of the World Consortium on Government, Labor, and the Environment.
The World Consortium began as an activist organization. They pointed to technology as the cause of human suffering. They pitched science as mysticism and provoked the fear of the unknown in the ignorant. They were a paragon, the final ultimate stage of the evolution of the Luddite movement. They wanted to close the factory to save the weaver and the environment. They were going to close it no matter what the owner said and no matter how many people had to freeze without shirts on their backs. Even if it meant that the Luddites themselves would starve, because it was what was good for society and the world. If society and the world were too stupid to see it then they would just have to have the school marm twist their ears a little to show them, and they did.
Old man O’Hara could recall perfectly the day that the Consortium and the leaders of the world announced that there was going to be a sovereign alliance of all the worlds’ governments. All industry was to stop immediately and divert all resources to the development and production of an underground living environment for the world’s population.
The call to arms came within days and the fighting ensued, but in the end the Consortium won, leaving a new population less than sixty percent of what it had been. Only a small portion of the people that perished was lost due to the revolt. The majority of those people starved to death or died of exposure or disease. Once the market that supported the population was removed the statists received a first hand course in how man’s existence, and the markets and systems that it creates, always progresses to a state of equilibrium.
“Sorry, the topside is closed.” The Terra Corps guard was slouched in the doorway leading to the surface.
“The topside is open until dusk, and it’s barely after noon.”
“Listen pops. The topside is closed, because there is a storm rolling in and the skies are starting to darken. You don’t want to get caught out there when the bots activate.”
“Thanks, but I’ll take my chances. If it gets dark I’ll come back in and if I get caught outside, well then, that’s my problem.” Old man O’Hara started to push his way through the door when he felt three sets of hands grab him from behind and drag him out of the doorway, drag him down the hall and shove him into the wall nose first.
“Sir, no one is allowed on the surface during undesignated hours or in the event that Terra Corps officials deem that going topside would be detrimental to your health, the health of others, or to the environment. Trying to gain access to the surface during these hours is an offense punishable by 150 hours of service under Terra Corps supervision. Can I see your citizens’ card?” The guard had Old Man O’Hara’s arm behind his back so that his shoulder was on the verge of disjointing and his cheek pressed against the cold, slick wall. He reached up with his other hand, past the collar of his shirt and pulled the chain around his neck to reveal his identification card so he could hand it to the officer.
The officer scanned Old man O’Hara’s card.
“Your sentencing will be on the 22nd of next month. You will be notified of its outcome. You must attend a seminar on the rules and regulations of the Terra Corps. This seminar must be completed prior to your sentencing. Now move along. The surface is closed for the rest of the day.”
Two of the guards who had grabbed him were laughing and chatting with the guard at the door. Old man O’Hara turned away started down the hall gritting his teeth as he passed the guard. The guard watching him had his hand on his baton waiting for the old man to cause some trouble as he made his way for the door.
Old man O’Hara headed for the observation hall. He loved the observation hall. It had a glorious view of the surrounding wilderness, but it made him sad. On days like this he expected the hall to be packed, but every time he went there to see the sunrise or set, to look at the moon, or to watch the thunder heads roll over the forest, there was no one there. The observation hall was a mistake that ran one of the tunnels out onto a cliff face. To fix it the engineers turned it into an observation area. He had heard that some of the undergrounds didn’t have any kind of observation area. The kids in those areas were growing up never seeing the moon unless they went on Terra Corps night expeditions.
Old man O’Hara took the corner onto the observation hall and saw the one sight that could always make him happy, his grandson. Jeff faced the window and was intently scribbling notes into a book in his lap, occasionally pausing to stare thoughtfully at the lightning expanding from the clouds rolling over the forest and branching out to strike the tops of the oak and tulip trees. Jeff’s Grandfather sat down beside him, stared out the window and thought about what had started him on his day.
He loved his grandson. Sitting next to him was quality time spent.
“So how’s your day going?”
“Well I was going to go topside and work on my homework, but they’re not letting anyone up because of the storm. So I figured I’d come down here and watch the light show.”
“Doesn’t look like you’re doing much watching. What do you have your nose stuck in?”
“Nothing, just some homework.”
“Let me see. Maybe I can help.”
“No really, I don’t need any help.”
His grandfather reached out. Jeff reluctantly ceded his book and papers to his grandfather’s gently persistent hands.
Jeff’s heart raced. He hadn’t expected anyone to be in the observation hall. The only people he ever saw here were older people who came to see the sunshine when they were no longer able to go to the topside and lovers who came late at night to avoid prying eyes. No one ever came to watch the rain. The observation hall didn’t have any surveillance due to the fact that it was an accident and the plans and materials couldn’t be acquired in time to add the needed equipment. That and the fact that the hall was deserted almost all the time made it the perfect place to come and work.
His palms were cold and covered in sweat. He felt a vastness between his ears, and a pressure in his stomach that was rising up his spine to the base of his skull and threatening to blow out his ears. He knew he could relieve the pressure by screaming, by screaming and running. His grandfather gave him a sidelong glance and went back to flipping through Jeff’s papers, occasionally stopping to study a page he found particularly interesting.
Jeff slowed his breathing in an attempt to bring his heart back to a safe rate. He straightened his back, pulled back his shoulders and took a deep breath. He didn’t know what kind of reaction his grandfather was going to have, but he knew that there was nothing that he could do now other than to accept the consequences and work through it.
His grandfather laid the papers down between them face down and stretched his neck, back, and shoulders.
“Don’t leave those sitting there. Put them away.”
Jeff did as his grandfather said and put the papers into the back of his folder and put the folder under his textbook.
“Do you want to know what it is?”
“I know what it is. What your diagrams and equations don’t show in detail your notes make clear. That’s what worries me. I haven’t studied any math or science since I was your age and I know what is described in those papers. Destroy them.”
Jeff felt the pressure that he had been feeling leave him suddenly. He couldn’t take a deep enough breath to fill his lungs, and when he found his voice it came in a torrent.
“I don’t want to stop. This is what I do. It makes me happy. It’s what I want to do forever. There’s so much out there that I can use and that other people can use.”
“Slow down. I’m not asking you to quit. I am telling you to destroy those papers. Find another way of keeping your notes and diagrams. Work them out in the sand and commit them to memory then rub out the evidence, but do not put them on paper for other people to stumble across. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir. I’ll work out something so that I don’t have to use any paper, and I’ll destroy all my notes.”
“Now, tell me what you’re working on. I want all the details. You chose a safe place and we have time to kill.”
Jeff proceeded to tell his grandfather how he and Ryan were on a Terra Corps day hike a couple of years earlier when they stumbled across a piece of trash that was partially buried in the dirt. Ryan picked it up intending to dispose of it at the next stop and report the incident as required by law, but he forgot about the trash in his pocket until he returned home that evening and began preparing for a shower. When he found the trash in his pocket he burst out of his home and sprinted over two sections and up two floors to consult Jeff.
Neither Jeff nor Ryan knew what to do. Bringing anything in from the topside was a heinous offense, but when they studied it and realized that it was an artifact from the Old Topside they knew that they couldn’t tell anyone. They had to dispose of it without anyone knowing they had ever had it. They made a plan that on the next day hike they would take it out with them and report it then as if they had just found it. That way not only would they not be punished for bringing contraband into The Underground they would be commended for helping rid the world of the remnants of the evil society that used to exist topside.
Jeff kept the trash. His bed had a space in the fiber frame where he could hide it. Most items that required some structural integrity were manufactured out of a fiber that was grown in sheets then layered and pressed to create a rigid form, but because of the limited amount of power available the air bubbles were hard to remove. A small amount of heat would go a long way to resolve the issue, but the manufacturer had to use his energy ration wisely or he would find himself without lights until the next month.
By the time the next day hike rolled around Jeff had found that the item was the remnant of an old calculator. He learned how to get it working again, but he still had to do calculations on their terminals, because most of the numbers were unreadable on the cracked LCD. After he got the calculator working he was hooked. He looked forward to every Terra Corps hike as an opportunity to scout and scavenge for electronics remnants. He spent all his free time at the book repository and at his terminal trying to find as much as he could on electronics, circuitry and related sciences. Most of the information was restricted, but he pieced together what information he could find and kept it in a folder so he could fill in the details. Occasionally he or Ryan would find another piece on a day hike, or they would come across a piece of electronics in The Underground that was waiting for renewal that they were able to pirate off without anyone noticing. They would spend weeks or months trying to decipher what they could from the bits and pieces they gathered. They worked in tandem each working on all the pieces at different times.
“What do you do with this contraband when you’re finished picking it apart?”
“Most of it we put back where we found it. Some of the stuff we find topside we keep hidden away but most of it we either take it topside and leave it there or we take it on day hikes then tell the sergeant on the hike that we found it and let him dispose of it.”
“Just be careful. If you get caught you’re going to find yourself in a lot of trouble.”
“Yes sir. So you’re not going to tell anyone about this or make me stop?”
“No.” Jeff’s grandfather was proud of his grandson but he was concerned about his safety. If he was caught with technological contraband he would be prosecuted for a multitude of crimes ranging from neglect to recycle resources to technological deviance. A charge of technological deviance would end with Jeff spending the rest of his life at Madison. Technological deviance was defined as any research or product that had not been found to be environmentally benign and approved by the department of technological affairs.
Jeff sat staring into the storm. The clouds couldn’t be seen through the driving sheets of rain that were whipping through the trees, causing them to dance to the rhythm of the wind.
“You’ve never felt the rain.”
“What?” Jeff barely escaped screaming the word at his grandfather. It was such a simple statement; yet, while staring at the rainstorm that was turning into a tempest, the simple truth of that statement hit him like a sparrow hitting a window. He had to find a place to go. He didn’t know where or why, but he had a buzzing in his head and a hollowness in his belly that were conspiring to tear him apart if he didn’t find a safe place soon.
“Show a little more respect when you speak. I was saying that you have never felt the rain. Neither a gentle drop of rain that drips from your nose onto your tongue in the summer and chills you to your bones in the winter, nor rain that’s being pushed out of the sky, through your clothing and into your skin like the one that’s falling outside right now. I want to feel that again.”
Old man O’Hara put his arm around his grandson and squeezed his shoulder, then gave him a gentle push to guide him as he stood up.
”Get out of here. You look like your about to pop.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I was just a little startled. I was caught up in my own thoughts.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just don’t do it again. Now run along and don’t forget what we talked about. It could save your life.”
