The Diluvian Mountains were a bitter set of black and grey teeth jutting from a flood plain that was sparsely populated. Steep, tall, prone to releasing torrents of glacial flood waters at a whim, not many cities had seen a desire to set roots close by, so there were few who called the place home. The residents who did were seasonal farmers and hunters who would risk the plains during warm weather, growing fast, high-yield crops they could harvest quickly for market then return to the higher valleys to wait out winters, hunting, until the next cycle began.read more
My Yamaha Bolt has been in the dark for far too long. Has your own bike suffered from months of hibernation?
It’s time, my friends; Winter is releasing its cold grip on the Northern Hemisphere. Everywhere the dark is receding, the snows are melting, temperamental storms are voicing change and the air is (slowly) getting warmer.read more
“…some considered me an embarrassment to the sport and wanted me to just go away.”
We make wheelchair ramps, we strive to fight cancer, we pass laws to fight behaviors leading to diabetes. Mental Illness? Hell no, put those people away; let’s not even talk to them.
Love us one minute, ignore or hate us the next…we live with enough darkness. The constant rejection just feeds the illness; it adds to our suicide rates (and that’s when friends and support seem to come out of nowhere…after we’re dead? We needed you before that!)read more
Sad fact…I’d ordered Engine Guards and they were sitting in my garage, still in the damn box! Laziness and procrastination had led me to put off their installation. I paid for that! Literally!read more
And now…making your Yamaha Bolt say “Oh Shit!” …or other bad and smartass things.read more
While waiting for my new glasses to arrive, I decided it was time to work on the prototype cover art for the new Mr. Rain piece. I had a base to start the cover from and an idea of where I wanted the cover to end…read more
Tristan’s crawler stopped on a worn ridge with a view of bones. They had been a metropolis, once, before civilization retreated and the weather went mad; though it was the retreat of civilization, more than weather, that had destroyed this particular city. Elemental forces, time–they’d stripped the skin, though Tristan hardly gave it more attention than a convenient waypoint. It’s former status, the ghosts or history it may have held didn’t matter. Warning chimes sounded, reminding her that this was not the best time to stop and that was it. She silenced them with the push of a button that crunched as it ground particulates into finer substance and sat, listening to the sound of her own breath through a respirator.read more