“This week, I got older.”
When this post goes up, it will be my birthday. I'm 31 years old now.
Last week, I offered up three copies of Princess Nonomi as a promotional filler. The offer continues this week, with another three copies up for grabs. The e-book comes in a PDF format and can easily be converted to any format you need for your reader.
To win, you simply need to follow this blog.
Starting next week, my posts will be bi-weekly. I'm currently working on my next book and have little time to devote to a blog about, well, nothing in particular.
Since I'm mentioning my current project and seeing as it's my birthday, this week's post is a little taste of what I'm working on. The title of the novel is Three Ring Circus and will consist of short stories written around a nameless city. The city itself acts as a sandbox nightmare to my imagination, a place where the monsters we fear are not in the closet but in our neighbourhoods. Our stores. Our business. The world is crawling with twisted and horrid secrets. Each tale is touched with a sense of violence, sexuality or gore. Sometimes erotic. Sometimes disturbing. Always possible. Like Princess Nonomi, there is no limit to the amount of graphic descriptions in Three Ring Circus. It is not a book for the prudish and faint of heart.
The following piece is the rough draft introduction to the collection. A prologue to madness. The first story to the Three Ring Circus. The unveiling of a mind unleashed. Free.
The ghosts of my imagination.
Enjoy.
* * *
Three Ring Circus: An Introduction By Micheal Grin
As the audience sat in mute darkness, a spotlight snapped on the right ring. In the centre of the circle, a woman sat atop of a bloodstained oak table. Her arms were missing from the shoulder, the flesh stitched closed. The eyelids were melted closed, the lashes burned away. Over her mouth, a brace held the lips open, clamps forcing the teeth apart. The metal device wrapped around a shaved skull, her head rolling with pleasure. Hips ground perversely against the surface, crushing the vagina with each pull. Her legs were missing, the stumps on the thighs sewn. Her breasts were bare, the nipples pierced through with dull studs. Her groin hairless with a tattoo of a heart over the clitoris.
A second spotlight snapped, lighting up the far left ring. A large dog lay on its side, legs akimbo. The muzzle slack, its tongue lay on the floor. Flies buzzed like a cloud around the corpse. The ribcage was exposed, flesh and fur torn away in shreds. A naked man, emaciated to but shades on pale grey flesh, crouched over the dead beast. His hands held the rubber entrails of the animal, caressing them with thin fingers. Eyes flickered to and fro in jerks as he masturbated his lengthy member. Short steel spikes protruded from his scalp like tiny slivers of reflective hair and his mouth drooled blood. Ill yellow semen erupted from his glands into the gaping damage of the beast.
The final light, the centre ring. A lone man stood, dressed in a tuxedo and top hat. He was but three feet tall with a skull painted over his face.
The Ring Master. He raised a microphone to his lips.
“Ladies and gentlemen, bitches and fuckers. Children served in every way. Welcome to the Three Ring Circus! Tonight we bring to you the violent representation of hatred most pure. A sexual carnage presented through the submissive surrender of gore and beauty combined.”
“A torso for your pleasure and a feast of the beast.”
The spotlight vanished off the right ring, followed by the left. He stood alone in the darkness, a cruel smirk on his face.
“Ladies and gentlemen. You bitches and every fucker out there. Allow me to introduce to you the master of masters. The ego feeding on egos. A sinner of saints.”
“Mr. Grin.”
The centre light vanishes, plunging everything in darkness. Moments pass. The right ring returns.
A woman knelt on an altar of stone, side to the audience. She wore a nun's habit made of latex, raven hair hidden beneath the wimple. The chest of her robes was tailored around her breasts, exposing smooth round molds and hardened pink nipples. Black lips showed prominently on her smooth white face, eyes veiled by long lashes. Around her neck hung a large wooden cross, reversed in fashion. Three men surrounded her, each nude and muscular. She pulled consistently at two hardened members, the third swallowed to the pubis within her throat. Each male wore a full mask of an animal, the details of realism grand; a lion, a wolf and a sheep.
The left ring returned, a man suspended off the ground by a length of rusted chain. The end vanished into darkness. He was bare, the sinew stretched with strain, head wrapped in a black burlap sac. Feet struggled to touch the ground as a second man entered the ring. Wearing a surgical apron and mask, he carried in a gloved hand a long razor. His bald head lacked the cap of the skull, brain exposed. Solemnly he stood before the suspended victim and with dextrous precision, began carving the flesh off the man's stomach. From the bag came an excruciating scream.
The third circle lit up on a solitary man, his shaved head and goatee prominent above a priest collar and robes. He stared toward the audience, a speaker phone painted black in his hand.
Mr. Grin.
He raised the microphone to his mouth and shouted.
“God!”
A pause. He spoke gently, his voice carrying lightly.
“This is my existence. A nightmare in my nightmare. My halls of desolation and chamber of eternal sorrow. Misery to your right, reality to the left. We, caught in the middle, stand alone against a hypocrisy of society and the vile rape of our future.”
“Within my mind rests the one-shot two step, a macabre dance of visions wrapped further in visions. A city built on gore and lust. A kingdom raised on chaos. We live in the underbelly crust of secrets, walking on graves and corpses, eagerly aware that our very existence exists solely on the simple fact that humanity is lost and we are the monsters we bear.”
“I am the monster we bear.”
To the right, the men stepped back from the woman and she lowered her face in reverence. Hands raised before moist lips in a mockery of prayer. The three pulled at themselves, their glands aimed, each in turn ejaculated on her bowed face.
To the left, the doctor stepped around the hung man, revealing a fleshless torso. Red muscle shined with blood. The head within the sac twitched in violent spasms, the penis below the carved layer standing erect in a climax of agony and suffering.
Mr. Grin continued.
“This is our tragedy. The children of children. The violated meaning coiled in godlessness and blasphemy. We create for the sole purpose of destruction and revel in the abuse of our fore fathers. We bring to light a darkness so thick of foul fog we choke on the scent and strangle on the meaning. Our race, of colour or blood, crawls like the mindless ants of a colony aimed at feeding off each other.”
“And I embrace it.”
“I coddle the heartless and the cold. I embrace the dead and unwilling. I wrap myself in misery and reality, curled within a shroud of horror and fact.”
“We are disgusting creatures. We are the everlasting fuck that strives to destroy any sense of logic and drown the infant hope in a pool of piss and terror. We shatter our innocence like a victim of rape and the perpetrator of which take is take and giving is all that's left.”
Silence. He lowers the speaker yet his voice floats on.
“Face it. We are all capable of such things. All guilty of crimes never committed yet forever achieved. We have inside us a creature of distorted morals and gutted values and to each of us we venture curiously. Seeking forever the limits of our discomfort and the towers of our hate.”
“We want to fear. We want to squirm. We want to swallow and force every putrid thought like the coated pill of reason. And I willingly present it to you.”
The lights vanish, plunging the flanking rings into inky nothingness. Mr. Grin stands alone, a beacon of blasphemy.
“This is my mind. Please come inside.”
The centre circle fades away. A distant buzzing of flies blend lightly with the hollow moan of primal pleasure and the wailing of a babe. In the darkness the sounds fade, leaving nothing.
* * *
Midnight, Sunday on the 29th day of January, 2012.
Comments? Questions? Feel free to speak your mind.
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Find out more about the Three Ring Circus. Visit www.michealgrin.com.
