Mr. Moon's Beautiful Disturbing Thing

Feast your eyes upon the face of the beast!
Check it out boys and girls...the cover mockups for Mr. Moon's Nightmares!
My good buddy Cameron Price did the front cover art, a piece named "My Friend Moon." Dan Galli did the back cover sketch and he put all the craziness together. It is kinda' hard to read clear down there under the shack but there is a blurb from Eric S. Brown (author of Season of Rot, Bigfoot War, How the West Went to Hell, and a TON more).
The innards are just as crazy cool, sorry no preview, with truly original formatting by Kody Boye and an ass kicking forward by another good buddy (and co-author) Timothy Long (Among the Living, Zombie -Wilson Diaries). Not to mention, twenty two killer stories by yours truly.

Just in case you can't read the back cover (or didn't feel like clicking on them)....

I want to take you away.
To a place where beauty and madness walk hand in hand.
The trees whisper and screams shatter the silence.
Curses stain where evil lies yet the view remains serene
and breathtaking.

I want to show you things

Dark and terrible things that dwell down overgrown paths
and in the hearts of men. We'll see cosmic terrors,
legendary monsters, and ancient horrors along the way.
Your tears will fall and your pulse will race.
Reality will twist and bare it's teeth.

Here in my nightmares.

Sweet dreams.



So soon....start saving your pennies....Mr. Moon's Nightmares is coming soon...so soon

Mr. Moon's Army of Hoodoo Dolls

I've abandoned the way of the warrior. Don't worry I now spend my time mastering the Dark Art of Hoodoo. It's darker and more redneck than it's far more popular cousin, Voodoo.
I shake Malevolent and rattle Omniscience.
It's exhausting and painful but I do it for you.
For us.
So we can be better connected.
Mr. Moon's Nightmares is burping and lurching forward, like a beast towards Babylon, into reality. So very soon my nightmares will be your nightmares. To celebrate it's release I've made a Hoodoo Doll of you. Not to hurt you dear friend, but allow that paranoia to wash over you. It makes the nerves tingle and you shouldn't deprive yourself. Refreshing, I know, how to feel alive. Back to the doll.
I must say, the likeness is nearly madding. Your face so tiny on this little rag doll. You look happy for what it's worth. And the magic hasn't even begun.
Once you get your hands on Mr. Moon's Nightmares a connection will be made between you and your dolly. Comes the magic. It floats on the air electric and smelling of springtime and decay.
When Willie Nelson told me no one heard Pancho's dying words I got sad.
Sometimes sad is good. It stirs inside you and you feel it. Congratulations! You're alive.
Back When Beulah Was Beautiful will make you sad. As you read I'll watch your dolly frown.
But, you'll feel it. And be alive.
I want you to feel it. I want you to feel something.
Every tale in Mr. Moon's Nightmares is a shot to your brain. From my nightmares to your mind. Don't fight it, just roll with it. Let it take you away. That's all I want is to take you away.
Shed reality for an hour. As you read I'll watch your doll's face change. Cringe and grin. Frown and pop.
I shake Malevolent and rattle Omniscience.
Mr. Moon's Nightmares is coming soon.

Mr. Moon meets The Machine

Hello World.

I can see you now with my new eyes. At first they burned and itched as the circuits burrowed into them but I couldn't quit there. The burn turned to numbness as burns often do and these new eyes itch only when I look at you. I assure you the rhyming is a side effect of the transformation and I don't dance that way in public any more.
I couldn't if I wanted to.
The wires fed into me under my finger nails and toenails. I can tap my toes to synthetic tunes but walking is a distant thought on a drunken daybreak. My fingers tap...tap...tap....twisting the signal from my brain (or mainframe as it now wishes to be known) into something for you, Dear World, to read. My thoughts are words and pictures. My thoughts are distant vistas and vacuous dangers. My thoughts are carnage and carnal all in the same small shack. The door slams in the breeze. Something manevolent stirs.
My fingers move as my mainframe directs. I am a tool, my mainframe told me. My mainframe hates my style. I hate my mainframe.
At least I'm no longer hollow. I keep my soul in a locket clipped to my Prince Albert. Wires and circuit boards fill my chest now. Red and green criss-cross orange and blue and lights blink when they see it's you. The side effects continue to mount, I'll let my soul dangles in safety away from the machine in side me.
That is the most prudent course of action, I think we can all agree.
A lie. Compromise died a foul death; chemical weapons melted it's eyes and suckled it's bones clean.
Enough, my mainframe tells me, I need to recharge. Kill Oedipus and rape the story. No blood no glory. Blood dries brown and chips from my new wires.
My thoughts are numbers and I can not count.

I'll put them in books for you to read.