1001 Albums (431-445): It's a Shame About Ray - John Mayhall's Blues Breakers

Note: I've been meaning to sit down and do this for like 2 weeks. It wasn't a group I was that thrilled about, but not that bad to keep me away for so long. Let the debating begin.

431. It’s a Shame About Ray (1992) by the Lemonheads
432. It’s Too Late To Stop Now (1974) by Van Morrison
433. It’s Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back (1988) by Public Enemy
434. I’ve Got a Tiger By the Tail (1965) by Buck Ownes And His Buckaroos
435. I Want to See The Bright Lights Tonight (1974) by Richard and Linda Thompson

First five at a glance: The Public Enemy album was pretty key in turning rap into a mainstream genre. The Morrison is a live album full of his best. I’ve got more into Morrison lately so that maybe will be something to check out. Buck Owens is old school country from before the school was even built. I call crap on the Lemonheads inclusion here.

436. Jack Takes the Floor (1958) by Jack Elliott
437. Jagged Little Pill (1995) by Alanis Morissette
438. James Brown Live at the Apollo (1963) by James Brown
439. Jazz Samba (1962) by Stan Getz and Charlie Byrd
440. Jerry Lee Lewis Live At the Star Club, Hamburg (1965) by Jerry Lee Lewis

Second five at a glance: Personally, I can’t think of a better, more important album released by a female in my lifetime then Jagged Little Pill. It introduced rock to female bitterness and depth essentially lost since Joplin. The album has big hooks, cameos by Dave Navarro and Flea and lyrics that she essentially made cliché. Brown and Lewis’ live album I am sure highlight the way both performers could work a crowd into a fever.

441. Joan Armatrading (1976) by Joan Armatrading
442. Joan Baez (1960) by Joan Baez
443. John Barleycorn Must Die (1970) by Traffic
444. John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band (1970) by John Lennon
445. John Mayall’s Blues Breakers with Eric Clapton (1996) by John Mayall’s Blues Breakers


Third five at a glance: You have to be in the right mood to listen to most of tracks on the Plastic Ono Band. At times it comes off as great to me, others a whiny. Everything that Clapton touched was gold when he joined John Mayall’s group for that blues album. John McVie is also listed in the band. I believe he later joined Fleetwood Mac. It’s blues though, so I don’t really know if I’d like this or not

The Goods: Alanis Morissette

Probably Good If I had it to listen too: Van Morrison, James Brown, Jerry Lee Lewis, John Lennon


Something to check out: I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight – Listened to the title track and while not the greatest thing I ever heard, it certainly was passable.

History lesson: Jack Takes the Floor – This was the album that Bob Dylan points to as steering him toward his folk style in the 1960s. There is also spoken word before the tracks that is supposed to be fairly entertaining.

Verdict: Outside of Jagged Little Pill, I haven’t heard any of the rest of the albums in their entirety to form a solid opinion. The Lemonheads does weigh this group down like a beer gut on a swimmer.

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 24 - The Path Guide

Note: Had a hard time finding a lyric out of this tune. Not that it's a bad tune, but the subject matter is very different than my tale. Last week, I entered the first page in a contest that runs sort of like a tournament. Readers give the page a rating from 1 to 5, with 1 being lousy, 5 being great. The more 4 and 5's you get the better chance to move to the second round. It takes 72 hours for a rating to become official, so you're always a little behind on knowing how you're doing. As of this morning, I had 16 ratings, 38% at 4, 37% at 3 and 25% at 1. So it's kind of a mixed bag so far. It is an interesting way to do a contest. I may enter one my short stories in because I know its a bit more polished and has received good reviews in other contests.

Disc 2
Track 3: Winnebago – The Louies

“Let’s hit the road”

Rubbing at his chest through his long-sleeved brown shirt with one hand and holding the other up over his eyes to block away the blowing snow, Oan stopped where the path split around three boulders that were stacked atop eachother with the largest at the bottom. Behind the boulders, a rock cliff rose straight up a hundred feet. The paths led around the cliff and disappeared. One led to their destination while the other led east to the sea where the sea captains of Atlan once ruled. The witch called the three boulders the path guide. Seeing them, he knew now what she was talking about. The boulders looked like a stout little man that would lead travelers through mountain paths.

They were three days from the cave and the witch, but he could still feel her tingle in the burns on his chest. He did not know why that signified anything, but he was certain they would not feel so if she had already opened the Door to Nowhere and disappeared forever from this world. In fact, he was positive if she were gone that they would finally heal fully and stop irritating him. Being able to heal from everything within a few moments made him rather impatient with discomfort and, as Nestor certainly could attest, put him in a sour mood.

Before leaving the witch, both he and Nesor were allowed one look into the mysterious glass of the Door to Nowhere. The witch had warned them to look into but one pane. The choice of which pane was theirs, although she said the soul of each man compelled him toward one or the other. Naturally, the witch only peered into the green pane. Curiosly, Nestor had chose red. He had stumbled away from the door in a fit of panic and sprinted out of the cave after only a short glance into the pane. The witch had warned that the viewings were for their eyes only. While sharing knowledge from the door did not break any ancient code or law, the witch admitted that the images were complex and difficult to interrupt. It was wise to keep most of it inside to decide and understand. Others may only add their perspective to something they did not see and confuse things further. Oan had not asked Nestor what had frightened him so, and the man had offered nothing.

As for Oan, he had approached the blue pane of glass without much consideration. It was almost as if the other two panes did not exist. The witch had not lied. As soon as his eyes focused beyond the pane, images burst across at a speed that was nauseating. Most went by too fast for his mind to sort out while others he made out only faces – Nestor’s crying out with an ungodly amount of rage, the witch’s calm and serene face as the green drained from her pupils, another woman he did not know smiling with blood dripping from her lips, and the demon’s soulless glaring eyes appeared over and over again. All the images were tied to events, but he could not make them out, yet he could feel the memory of them imbedded in his mind. He suspected some of them he would remember when they were needed.

The last image though held still for some time before everything turned to blue like the waves of a pure sea. It was of him. He was facing away with his long black hair flowing in a steady wind as he stood upon a snow-capped mountaintop. In his right hand was a sword that pulsed white light, and in the other was a sword as blue as the pane of glass. Kekur was strapped upon his otherwise bare back. Off in the distance were three figures standing upon a rise. One lifted off the ground with wide, bent wings and flew away a line of fire blazing ahead. The second gave off a roar before sprinting away in a golden blur. The last was at first a stone and then a man then a stone again and before the view turned to only blue a voice echoed in his head.

“I dream of the wind blowing, blowing till nothing can stand. Water and stone, paw and claw and hand. Agony rolling like thunder on the wind.”

For three days, the words had circle around his mind like moths to the light of a torch’s flame on a hot summer night. There were times it took completely over and he lost track of the path that was covered with a fresh level of clean white snow. The path was marked with hoove prints, the local beasts knew where the easiest treading was even when they could not see it. The mountain goats were the most prevalent. One had provided an ample meal the night before.

The cruch of Nestor’s feet sinking into the snow woke him from his stupor as his stared at the path guide. The terrain had been too dangerous to risk the horses so they had set them free before leaving the witch. The man had whined the entire time since and was certain the woman meant to catch them to concot her stew. With the steeds gone, Nestor lagged behind in the snow and cold. He may have been fleet of foot on the dunes of the Sorna, but the man could barely stand on the wet snow.

“Well this is as the witch said,” Nestor’s voice sounded like he was spitting out venom. “Why couldn’t that bitty clue us in on which way to take to reach that palace.”

“She said the guide would show us the way to Metahischoo,” Oan said. The old palace of Marek rested in the shadow of the peak of Kekur. The witch claimed that was where the two needed to go next in order to cross the Belnor. As was her policy, she told them very little else. All Oan knew of the palace was that after Tarek Grandar broke open the heavens, the place was emptied of all not loyal to him. Those who left were the ones cursed to the foothills, the ones now called the Shadows of Marek. As far as anyone knew, those who were loyal stayed for a time, but whether or not anyone still lived up there was unknown.

“More damn riddles,” Nestor growled. “That women throws up as many walls as she sees through.”

The man was shivering uncontrollably. They both still wore the thin summer clothes fashioned by the Aldroubi. The tribes always migrated south in the winter where they never saw snow and cold like this appropriate clothing for mountain hikes in winter was not necessary. The weather did not bother Oan much other than he tired of having wet feet as the snow soaked through his soft-soled brown moccasins.

“Did you learn anything peering into the door, Nestor?” Oan watched the man flinch at the mention of the door. He had not offered any idea of what he had seen and Oan did not want to know it all. He just hoped there was information that would be helpful to their journey.

“We’re going to lose this war,” Nestor’s one-eye watched him as he brushed away his wet gray hair with his disfigured hand. Oan barely noticed his deformities any more. “I saw it. I was screaming, alone in the dark. He was there. I could feel him. I wish I had never met that witch or that door. Knowing is worse than not knowing.”

Oan found it hard to believe that was all the man had seen or that his visions were that simple, but he knew how hard the door was to understand. It had occurred to him that at no point did the witch guarantee that victory stood at the end of this for him or for mankind. In fact, she seemed almost convinced that he could not win. He did not know what that meant for Nestor if they failed. How long would they be tied together like this? Oan was not entirely certain yet that he could trust the man. There were points of his tale that did not ring true. Maybe it was all the years with witch, but Oan had hard time taking anyone’s word for truth.

“Perhaps knowing provides an advantage that the enemy does not have,” Oan said.

“I don’t see how, my boy,” Nestor answered. “All these riddles and half truths leading nowhere except the dark. I am not sure it’s even worth the fight. Perhaps, fighting is not even the right path.”

“The right path? You’ve seen this evil up close and you are considering standing aside. That is something I cannot do. Whether you continue on or not is not my choice, but I will stand against it.”

“Easy boy, easy. I am not saying give up. I do not know what I am saying. Just maybe the whole thing can be manipulated someway. I do not know. I cannot see the path ahead, I cannot.”

Nestor threw his arms up and his loose sleeve fell well below his elbow. His arms were very pale, and for the first time, Oan noticed that the skin near his armpits was turning a shade of green, as if he were molding. Oan started to wonder if the poison that had afflicted the man before entering the Belnor and in the Rock Garden of Manta was returinng. That was certainly something to keep an eye on.

Nestor continued to shout and holler in frustration and he topped it all off by kicking the bottom boulder of the Path Guide. He hobbled around on one foot after, regretting the kick. As he did, a rumble started from the peak above the guide. Oan pulled Nestor away from the guide in time for him to avoid being crushed by an avalanche of stone and snow that covered the path that appeared to lead west.

“Ah,” Oan felt a laugh bubbling up from within. He did know how long it had been since he had truly laughed. “See the guide has pointed us in the right direction. We shall take the path not covered.”

He did laugh then and, after a moment, Nestor joined him. It did not take long before they were scaling up the side of the cliff and then over. When they reached the top, they could make out the old palace in the distance with the great peak of Kekur rearing up above.

They were still laughing even as the snow started blowing sideways, stinging their faces.

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 23 - Beacons in the night

Disc 2

Track 2: Twilight Omens – Franz Ferdinand

“Twilight omens in my life then I hear your name.”

Above the city of Omet the fires from the beacons split the night sky like lightning shooting from the ground up into the heavens. Ewam’s gaze was lost as the flames danced with the backdrop of a thousand stars. Soon they would come. First the patrols and rangers from the countryside followed by thousands of soldiers from the cities of Ferdin, Lutz and Stra. The ones from Stra would be last, a pity to wait, since the eldest of the four cities, Stra was essentially on the road to Nocnil, but the beacons had to be lit as it was the swiftest way to call the armies from Ferdin and Lutz. He had sent a messenger to Stra, hopefully to intersect their men halfway and have them wait to meet them along the path to Nocnil instead of having them come all the way to Omet.

Thinking of Stra brought cousin Randall Cortobrane back into his thoughts. Ewam and Eden had sent him packing shortly after their cornation to be mayor of the old city. Neither twin could stand the man’s constant conniving and plotting to set the two brothers against each other. Cortobrane wanted power, and while being mayor of Stra afforded him some, the city was really ran by a complex system of guilds older than Satar and each guild’s tsar, which was a word from a very ancient and dead tongue that had lost any meaning other than guild captian, bargained out most of the laws with mayor only really there to carry out punishment. After an age under such rules, Stra functioned on its own with little need of a mayor or a king, for that matter.

There was a rustling as the door to his bedchamber opened. He did not give it a second thought. It was likely just Meriam retrieving his clothes from the day to be washed and pressed. The woman never ceased working or stopped caring.

The guild tsars did not matter to Ewam. Mostly they made his and Eden’s rule slightly easier unless there was an uprising between two guilds and, even then, the guilds had ways of handling things before they became too public or too bloody. Cortobrane was the bother. The mayor was the general of the city’s army. He would be at the front of his army meaning that Ewam would have to listen to his poisonous words all the way to Nocnil. The important thing was that Ewam keep the man away from Eden. His brother was not himself under the strain of his wife and daughter’s predicament. Ewam could not blame him; the two had been in the back of his mind all day as well.

“Do your thoughts fill the sky tonight, Ewam Perde, son of Rudan, King of Satar, Dawn of Man,” Ewam jumped at the voice that came from the balconey leading from his brother’s room to the west of his. Inside, he heard the door to his bedchamber close, likely Meriam leaving, and tried to hide his surprise with a broad grin. Kendra stood upon the other balconey beaming almost enough to hide the lines of weariness. She had begun addressing him so when they had been in their teens because she was the only one other than Eden who understood how much it ranckled him.

Kendra Leone was the daughter of the mayor of Omet. As a girl, she was a free spirit with an uncanny talent with a paintbrush. As a woman, she was the mold every queen after was to be cast from. Except now there were dark circles around her eyes that reminded him of a raccoon. Heavens, what evil would do such a thing to a woman so strong, so independent?

“Only enjoying a few moments of silence above this wonderful city, my queen,” he bowed knowing the same proper shows struck a nerve in her. To think a silly mask and prank put this distance between us? He shook the thought away in time to see her likely doing the same.

“Then I will leave you to your thoughts, my lord,” she made an exaggerated turn toward the door back to her and Eden’s chamber.

“Please don’t,” the plea came out stronger than he would have liked. “I stand not well alone here in the dark.”

“As you wish, my king,” she bowed.

“Please, Kendra no more tonight.” He wished he could leap to her, be beside her then, but the distance was too great between the two balconies. The figurative distance was much farther.

“Very well, Ewam.” She backed up against the palace wall and produced a cigar and lit it. He had never seen her smoke before, but Kendra had always been a woman to hold back surprises to even her closest of friends. Wafts of smoke slipped away into the night. He could nearly make out the smell from there and after a moment he struck up his pipe and joined her. For a long while, they spoke not a word. He had not been lying about silence. The city was like a tomb tonight, probably inhaling before the big push started at sunrise.

“You shame Eden by taking command of the army,” she broke the silence, then crushed the last of her cigar on the railing beside her. “You have always snatched at things without out concern for him.”

Ewam snorted. Without concern for him, she said. It was not as if he lusted to tangle with some demon out of lore or lead the son’s of Satar to death. Though the song from sword made the idea feel right. He pushed that thought away as quickly as the one before.

“We are twins Kendra, we both take sometimes without the concern of the other in mind” he knew the words were wrong before they came out, but he could not stop them. He heard her snort, although she stifled it short.

“Be that as it may,” she said in a voice that started out choked. “Eden is not one comfortable being powerless, and recent conditions have left him feeling that way more than a King should.”

“What would you have me do, leave you and Evandra alone here with those conditions being what they are?” He threw up his arms. “Satar will need a King here and one on the field. I am made for one and he for another.”

She pressed forward against the railing, the soft skin of her neckline reflected in the beacon’s fires.

“He needs to see that his presence here is to defend the city. That means, you’ll have to leave more behind so that he can turn Omet into a fortress.”

“No, I cannot. We need as many as we can.”

Her eyes were wide, but also sparkling with tears.

“We need as many here to make a stand.”

“We must attack.”

“You will lose, I can feel it. Ewam, please, you cannot win this. Not this way.”

The words put a momentary end to the struggle. The air between them was compressed leaving them inches apart even if feet apart. He wanted to feel her breath upon his lips.

“I will leave the guard of Omet and five hundred more,” he tried to figure the rest of numbers in his head. The odds were turning grimmer. Her lips opened in surprise and, he thought, disappointment.

“Where is my brother?” Ewam moved to change the subject. Her shoulders and head slumped.

“I sent him away to retrieve wine and berries to help ease relations,” she sighed. Ewam, without a thought, took a step toward his door to go to her apartments. “Do not worry, he leaves the door locked and guarded now. I am a queen and a prisoner.”

“He has told you then. All of it.”

She didn’t raise her eyes, and he feared she was breaking before him. Impossible, he thought. This is the girl that once ran fifteen miles one day to prove their teacher, Victor, wrong on the physical merits of females. She had to hold.

“I have suspected as much for some time. His news only places a name on my assumptions.”

“Kendra, you must fight it. You must.”

Her head snapped up, her makeup was smeared, her face sagged, but that stately glare remained. She was not a woman to underestimate.

“I’ve heard that from your lips before, Ewam Perde, son of Rudan,” she spit the words out like poison.

“Kendra, you must not say such things,” he started, the creak of floorboards in his bedchamber tickled at his ear. He ignored that.

“More of the same, brother of my husband,” she squaked, “More of the same.”

He reeled back on his heels as if struck between the eyes with a mallet. The vision of the great ball in Union Hall all those years ago danced in his head. All the women decked out in flowing gowns. The men all in red jackets and black trousers and masks painted gold. Come to think of it, that was the last time he had shaved his face completely clean. That had been Eden’s idea, but Kendra had seen him before the ball with spots of blood still trickling on his face. She had laughed then. Neither of them laughed later, after the dance and the kiss.

He put both palms to his forehead trying to block all that out. That was only the past and he had too much ahead to be thinking behind.

“Kendra,” he whispered. She was still staring across the void, tears streaking down her face.

“I have fought much stronger feelings for much longer than this demon has been around,” her voice was ice. “I will not let it take me.”

There were footsteps in his room, heading away from him. This time he had to look that way. He made out a figure as it moved in the shadows then out of his room and into the hallway. Heavens, what was Meriam doing eavesdropping on him. He would have to speak to her about this in the morning.

He turned back to Kendra, who was bawling against the wall of the palace.

“What of Evandra?”

Again her head snapped up, this time with fierce gaze.

“She is none of your concern.” With that, she entered her rooms, closing the balconey door behind her.

He slumped down into his chair, fighting back fears and memories. Above the city the beacons still burned red and hot.

Fool on a Hill

"Got a good reason for taking the easy way out" Day Tripper - The Jimi Hendrix Experience



The two men spread out low against the side of the pale dirt mound. Each holding their hats on their heads against a strong head wind. The other hand shielded their eyes from the blazing yellow sun. Red strained to be able to look down upon the group of buildings made of wood and stone. He was struggling to make out all the figures in the distance as Snake was counting. 1...2...3...4...5... The group of three men made their way around the far side of the smaller stone building in the middle of the town. Their march was steady as if this thrown together group of guards were actually soldiers. 7...8...9...10... The men appeared again on the near side of the building. Red was wishing he could see their faces, see what kind of men they really were. One man in the middle was slightly shorter than the other two. They walked tall with rifles being carried by the two outside guards and the man in the middle holding a scatter gun. All three worse revolver at the waist. 11...12....13...14...15 The middle guard stops at the front door while the other two continue the march. He knocks three times in rhythm for the door to open. A much taller man, maybe a full head by Red's blurred visioned, steps out of the opening nodding at the shorter man. His once blue shirt is now gray from all the dust blown across the barren land. He begins to dust himself off as he walks inside the building. 9...10.. The taller man, his shirt bright blue shining across the distance closes the door behind him as he walks out to the porch area. He looks to be holding another rifle. The two marching men have made it back to the front of the building. They stop only for a moment to allow the new guard to step in formation. They take off again on their steady gait.

"15 to make the circle, nine to ten at the door," Snake rings out as he slumps back down the dirt mound. He talks his hat off to wipe his sweaty brow with his sleeve.

"So only four that we've seen, but gauging by the food and supplies they've brought in the last two days, I'd say there is at least two more inside that haven't come out." Red had to rub his eyes from the strain. His grizzled face was raw from the sun and wind. He still felt pretty fresh despite the long horse ride and then walk into the side of town.

"Yes, those two are the ones guarding the cell for sure. Usually got scatter guns. This ain't gonna be easy. We shoulda brought Clem and Hop." The strain was more obvious across Snake's face.

"And what?" Red could see the worry in Snake's face, but the comment still made his blood start to boil. "Hop can't help us storm the place and he ain't hitting crap from up here. Clem.... Just forget about them, it is our fault, we'll fix it ourselves." Red could already feel his fists tightening.

"Hold on a minute, our fault? YOUR fault. YOU knew Chief wouldn't say no to something you asked him to do. I told you they don't like his kind in the area, but you made it go anyway."

"I ain't never made Chief do anything he don't want to, ain't nobody ever had power over him." Red knew that wasn't true. Still he got the reaction he needed out of Snake.

"Whatever you say Red. It always is." The vigor began to drain from Snake's face. "So, what's the plan? Scaring people with guns on stage coaches and robbing farmers on the trail is one thing. But busting into a jail with six or more armed men is a new animal for us."

"If you were scared, you wouldn't be here! But if it is MY fault, then getton back home." Red could feel his cheeks flushing this time. Snake had been at the home a little too long, he still sounded like Van Mussen every now and then.

"Calm, yourself. You know it is always gonna be me and you. Now what you wanna do?"

"You loaded?"

"Always, I ain't stupid, just because you the brains," the last part had just enough of the sarcasm that endeared Snake to Red. He knew he had it in him to do what Red knew had to be done.

"We gonna take the easy way then," Red couldn't stop the grin from crossing his face.

Snake began checking the chambers of his twin revolvers, "That ain't ever been true yet."

Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 22 – Power

Note: I expected to stay with the witch and Oan here, but the song steered me toward another direction. I think it turned into a good way to start the new disc.

Disc 2
Track 1: Broken, Beat & Scarred – Metallica

“They scratch me. They scrape me. They cut and rape me”

His name used to be Eglan Nas Ver Wetching, an Atlan noble of some wealth and power in the days before the splitting of the world by Tarek Grandar. He led armies across the vast sea in the east to conquer lands now lost even in legends. Never a handsome man, he grew strangely fond of his two younger sisters when he hit the age when boys started to notice girls. For years, he made veiled advancements toward the two girls. When they reached an age of consent, they both outright denied his intentions which drove him slowly mad.

He turned to battle, to war, to brutality, to things polite folks could not imagine. His armies butchered entire villages against the wishes of his King. Eventually, he was banished with penalty of death if he ever returned to Atlan. That was when he found the Dinar, or the Dinar found him. Hatala could not quite puzzle out how that had come about.

The Dinar called him Neros, which in the old tongue meant casket. The name came from the two wooden stakes that he carried on his belt loop. They came from the caskets his two sisters had been buried in when he was finished with them. A ghastly business there that even Hatala did not probe deeply into uncovering.

While he had never been a vision of beauty for any woman, he had not improved in appearance in his considerable age. As with all the ancient Dinar, which there were not many, his skin was light green and lined with thin purple veins. His eyes were nearly empty of emotion, his nose was all but gone, and dark blisters spotted his body. The dark powers of the underworld could maintain flesh for only so long. Soon, Neros would dissipate into spirit and return to the fires of the underworld. But his strength was not all gone. Contrary to his physical body, his spirit’s strength grew in power and vitality. That was how the ancient Dinar maintained control over the younger, more able-bodied recruits to the Dinar brotherhood. It was also what made him and his companions useful to her.

Taking them into her bed had started as a necessity as they traveled from Noce to Stra. Even though she was strong, Salama’s pull still called her back. The only way to quench that thirst was to engage in the acts. She had not lied to her father, the Dinar were brutal with her in bed. The brothers, Lars and Het, used her together, forcing her into acts no good woman would ever admit to. She had loved indicating such to her father, who would have betrayed her in a second to the lusty folk of Stra that wanted her dead from the time she was a little girl and they noticed she was different. The look on his face left a sweet taste on her tongue. She was different now more than ever, but no self-righteous people were going to bring her down. That was going to be quite the opposite really. The folks of Stra were in for quite a shock and those that did not bow down to her would be fed to the Children of Salama.

Neros drooled down at her naked and used body from the doorway to her father’s room. He was the ranking officer in the little band that Salama had sent with her to complete his wishes in Stra and beyond.

The sworn pupil of the Lord of the Underworld disrobed. Tufts of hair fell from his head with the black robe to the floor. Like many of the others, his lips were eroded away leaving his gray and black teeth grinning out at all times. She could smell decay emanating off him from across the room. The odor always hit like a punch in the stomach forcing vomit up into her throat.

“Please, be gentle,” she whimpered. He soaked in her meekness.

He was the roughest with her. He bit and cut, much like the others, but he scratched deep into her flesh, pouring out blood and tightened his cold, stiff hands around her throat till she was nearly unconscious. Her screams aroused him so she used all her strength to deny him that pleasure as long as possible.

When he grabbed the wooden stakes, the ones that had rotted, slivered and softened in the age since he first grabbed them from his sisters’ gravesite, there was no stopping the torrent of agony. He used them unmercifully on her, gouging and tearing away at her insides.

For her part, the pain was terrible but it also provided the lengthiest pleasure that any of the Dinar had been able to produce. Old flesh was indeed weak.

Neros, like Lars, Het and the fourth, a mute named Mahmet, who came a long time ago from beyond the Sorna, all believed she was their minion. Nothing more than a toy to be controlled, used and abused. So they believed and so she allowed them.

Power and authority were not always wrestled with the sword and the shield. While brute force was good for men, women had to use other means to gain their end. She had known from the moment she felt the sudden urge to run west toward Noce that she could not succumb totally to that desire. For her to maintain her own destiny, she had to be attentive, to watch, to listen and understand the weaknesses of those she was dealing with.

“You are not focused,” Neros voice sounded as if he had swallowed a handful of dirt. From his breath, it smelled like he ate a handful of another substance left on the ground.

“I fear the neighbors,” she lied. “They spy, they always have. We cannot have them aware just yet.”

He grunted. He may have been countless years old, but he still reacted to a woman’s worries the same as any other man with a grunt and a roll of the eyes.

“They saw nothing,” he bit into the flesh of her neck.

“We cannot be sure this way,” she held back a surprised yip from the pain. “The folk cannot know of us just yet.”

He pinned her shoulders down and stared with dead pupils down at her. Even so, she could sense his desire, his need.

“I will send Het and Lars with the children,” Neros sat back on his knees. “They will handle the neighbors.”

She was sure to sigh loudly and turned her face away. He could not see her wince that way, he loved to see his work strain out in the lines of her face and in tears that not even she could hold in.

“You know they will bungle it,” she sighed again and started to close her legs.

“Woman,” it came out almost as a plea. She could tell the tone even surprised him.

“I cannot provide you the proper attention with this weighing on my mind,” she turned back letting the full effect of her large green eyes to take effect. He dropped a hard fist down onto the mattress before standing up.

“You tease me,” he growled. “Be here when I return or I promise to make you feel ever inch of these neighbors pain.”

“Yes Lord Neros,” she sat up on her knees and bowed. He stalked out of the room, letting out a low whistle that called the other Dinar to him.

Hatala rolled around in the covers of the bed. When the door below closed, she laughed using her power to heal any wounds they had caused. It would not be long, she thought, until they were completely hers. It would all be hers, including him. The one they sought. The one who Salama truly feared.

She rubbed her stomach and cooed thinking about it. Before all was said and done, Hatala Del Aram would be second only to the Lord of the Underworld. Her offspring, well, that blessed creature may just supplant that lord as well. Then she would rule all.

Something In The Air

"I had bits of my lungs, shrapnel glass and cigarettes for breakfast" The Little Things We Do - The Zutons

Light slowly creeps back into existence. My eyes ache as I try to open them, the throbbing sensations causes them to blur. Tick, Tock...Thump Thump....the heartbeat reverberates in my skull like some bad dance song being played on blown out speakers. The wind tickles my finger tips before I can feel it rush across my face. The tears are dropping down onto my fatigues from my watering eyes, forming a large pool that begins to soak through to the skin. After a quick wipe of the eyes with my sleeve, revealing even more wounds and aches across my arms and a possible dislocated shoulder, the picture starts to clear. The fatigues are shredded as if someone had picked me up and ran me across a cheese grater. The fingers are missing in my gloves, blood stained sticks remain. The wind picks up speed and whistles through the ruptured windows of the helicopter. A piece of glass is embedded in Rico's eye. The thought crossed my mind to pull it out, but I refrained. I barely knew the guy, new to our squad yesterday. The rear hatch is open and glows bright in my eyes. Slowly I move, one hand and knee in front of the other, crawling over 3 more dead bodies. Good men who ended up luckier than I. The rushing wind makes it near impossible to keep my eyes open. The air burns my lungs, eliciting a forced cough. The cigarettes are gone from the pouch on my chest, likely tossed out in the crash. It feels as if a stranger is touching me as I rub my face. Who's hands are these? A new screech begins to fill the air. I turn my head to see the enormous cloud billowing up out of the far end of the city. It looms large over all the buildings. The swing sets of a nearby park squeak as they are tossed violently about. This is the quietest this city has been in years, probably since before it was a city. The heat begins to burn on my cheek. I would scream if I could gather any breath, not that one is left to hear it. The safety of the helicopter seems miles away now. Jones's face, hollow with empty eyes, beckons to me. The concussion blast heaves my chest and robs my lungs. A wave of debris and smoke knock me onto my back. The sky is gray, the clouds are swirling. I never was the lucky o.....

1001 albums (416-430): The Infontainment Scan - Is This It

Note: I changed this to try and speed things up a bit. Maybe it will invoke more discussion because I cover less right away. I don't know. I may continue to tweak this as I go.

416. The Infontainment Scan (1993) by The Fall
417. Ingenue (1992) by K.D. Lang
418. In It for the Money (1997) by Supergrass
419. Innervisions (1973) by Stevie Wonder
420. In Rock (1970) by Deep Purple

First five at a glance: One thing I learned from this group was that Stevie Wonder wrote “Higher Ground,” which was later covered by the Chili Peppers. Otherwise I think Deep Purple was a good enough band to get on here sometime. I don’t know their music well enough to point and say, ‘hey that’s Deep Purple,” but I know I’ve heard them. K.D. Lang was one of my sister’s favorites when she was in college. I never cared much for her, but I do know “Constant Craving,” from this album. The book called The Fall “brilliantly consistent,” which sounds like a fancy way of saying mediocre.

421. Inspiration Information (1974) by Shuggie Otis
422. In the Court of King Crimson (1969) by Crimson King
423. In The Wee Small Hours (1955) by Frank Sinatra
424. Introducing The Hardline According To Terence Trent D’Arby (1987) by Terenec Trent D’Arby
425. In Utero (1993) by Nirvana

Second five at a glance: In Utero is the biggest album of this bunch and had the biggest expectations as Nirvana was coming off the most important album of the last 25 years in Nevermind. In Utero is different from Nevermind in a good way and produces great songs like “Heart-Shaped Box,” “Dumb,” and “All Apologies.” Sinatra is the man, there isn’t much else to say about that. I am going to let Snake talk about Crimson King, I remember him digging them a few years back. Shuggie Otis was the son of songwriter Johnny Otis (credits included Hound Dog). Shuggie was also asked by the Rolling Stones to replace Mick Taylor. I got tired just reading the title of the Terence Trent D’Arby album.

426. Iron Maiden (1980) by Iron Maiden
427. I See A Darkness (1999) by Bonnie “Prince” Billy
428. I Should Coco (1995) by Supergrass
429. Isn’t Anything (1988) by My Bloody Valentine
430. Is This It (2001) by The Strokes

Third five at a glance: I have The Stroke album, which I like, but I find I listen to less and less over time. I wonder if it’s going to hold up 10 years from now. I am going to let Snake handle Iron Maiden, but I am thinking I need to find their album cover artist to some renderings for my CD project. I think the themes would be similar. My Bloody Valentine is another 80s cult indy band.

I feel like I should mention Supergrass since they appear twice this week. So there you go.

The goods: Nirvana, Crimson King, Frank Sinatra, The Strokes, Deep Purple, Stevie Wonder.

Something to check out: I See A Darkness – apocalyptic country music. Could be interesting.

The Verdict: This is a pretty good group to get started again with. Some solid albums and good bands.