Tuesday, April 06, 2021

Defenseless

  We’re all born defenseless, a tiny bundle of vulnerable flesh, unable to even move on our own, totally helpless without our parents’ protection.

  As we grow older, we grow stronger. We take our first hesitant steps, walk our first mile, a child looking at the world with wide eyes. As we move through adolescence, towards adulthood, we grow strong and fierce, able and perhaps also willing to defend ourselves against any one enemy.

  But isn’t everyone defenseless to a certain degree in today’s vast and cruel society, potential victims of circumstance or fate, closing our eyes to the world’s brutal reality until it strikes us down?

  Do we live our life with our eyes closed, in the vain hope that it won’t happen to us?

 

  The novel The Defenseless by Amos Keppler

 




Tuesday, March 23, 2021

Great review - Your Own Fate

   This is a review of my novel Your Own Fate posted on Amazon. I repost it here in case it is removed, as reviews sometimes are. It touches on many things, both the story and on self-publishing in general.

  Before I read this book I had barely heard of self-publishing of books. Since starting to read books from an early age, my impression was that all books without exception came from major publishers, such as Penguin and HarperCollins. Since then I have read hundreds of books from various publishers, before I recently discovered a world of self-publishing enthusiasts. There are writers out there who are dedicated, talented, and hard-working people, with a certain degree of artistic integrity that makes them unwilling to even approach the mainstream publishers. In a world where the process of «getting published» relies more on how little your work differs from the norm, the standard, and what most people read, rather than on actual artistic performance in producing your work.
  This book stands out as a truly original work, and one of the most original books I have read. I have several times asked myself if the book could have been published by one of the big publishers. On the surface I think it could. It's a solid piece of work, packed with genuine and exciting action scenes, interesting development of characters, and a storyline that is certainly well thought out. Yet, deep within me there is a general feeling that some of it is just too "extreme" to fit the general consensus among those who decide what gets published and what does not. Although I hope to see a movie based on the book one day, I would hate to see it ruined by a bad Hollywood adaption.
  Taking you on an intense and action-packed trip around the world, the story is based around a police hunt lead by police officer Jeremy Zahn, who lets nothing stand in his way in order to bring the notorious criminal Timothy Joyce to justice. Most of the times after reading a fiction book, I contemplate the experience for just a moment before putting it down, and move on to the next book. This one, however, put me on a rollercoaster ride down the rabbit hole. An intense read. Recommended to anyone enjoying complexity and excitement in a story. I found it a light and deep read at the same time.

Wednesday, March 10, 2021

Author's word - The werewolf of Locus Bradle

  First of all, I have to apologize to the people of Padstow. I usually don’t do disclaimers, but here I feel I should issue one: None of the people described in the novel is modeled after any Padstow citizen. I have also taken liberties with describing the geography, the streets, town and the surrounding area.
  This is Padstow, though, a twisted version of it, a broken mirror, what is lurking in any small town or population center, the pitch blackness of mankind that can, at any time break free of its confines.
  I spent a considerable amount of time in Padstow and surrounding areas during several visits in the eighties, so my most notable memories are how it was then, not as it is now. This is a good thing, of course, since the story takes place in the eighties. I did as I often do. I visited the place knowing I would probably use the location in a novel someday.
  I wasn’t certain of what kind of story this would be when I began writing it, not even after forty years of carrying it in my head, forty years after I wrote a joke of a «movie script», a brief, ridiculous summary, but once I started out, wrote the first couple of pages, it became evident pretty soon. What I had imagined in advance was just a shell, hardly more than a skeleton compared to the fleshed-out version, the story of meat and blood and horror beyond words. This is most certainly a transgression story.

  Each novel reveals a different side of the Janus Clan, of their deepest yearnings and nature. This, this ripping of the skin, the thin, thin layer of civil consciousness is certainly one.
  This is my second Existential Horror story. The first was Alarums of Reality.
  The next book in the series will be very different from this one, like they’re all different from each other.
  Then, I have very good news. By only using two years at completing this novel, I’m far ahead of my schedule. In 2018, I found out that I need to stay alive until 2041 in order to complete the Janus Clan series, but if I keep this up, I will finish everything way before that.
  I still hope I can keep it going and be healthy until then, of course. At the very least that long.
  Do I wish to live forever somewhat healthy and somewhat young/youthful and with my mental faculties intact? You bet I do.

  One Sherwood Forest 2018-12-16 – 2020-09-26

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Wednesday, March 03, 2021

The Janus Clan - a brief description of the books published so far

  The Janus Clan is a series of eleven books. It starts off fairly quiet with The Defenseless. The story mostly takes place in the city of Denver in the United States in the Sixties and seventies, far from the events shaping the world and human society at the time.

  The Slaves is a completely different story. The main characters are cast through the wringer, the most brutal, cruel meatgrinder possible. They grow up fast.

  Birds Flying in the Dark takes a step back again, returning to a smaller scope, but the bigger story still expands as it progresses towards the explosive ending.

  In At the End of the Rainbow Liz and Ted, the main characters start their journey across the planet, the one that decades later will end in the distant Australian desert.

  Lewis of Modern York takes place in New York City. More relatives and important characters are introduced or reintroduced. The Janus clan, the Shadowwalkers return in full to the greater human society. More pieces of the puzzle, the Tapestry reveals itself. The first half of the story is complete.

  The Werewolf of Locus Bradle picks up years later, in Cornwall, United Kingdom. A perfect storm is playing itself out in the town of Padstow and the surrounding area, hardly leaving anything but ashes.

  ShadowWalk is the tenth book in the series, a stand-alone, but certainly not unimportant part of the vast Tapestry slowly revealing itself.


Tuesday, December 15, 2020

Fifty years of climate heating

    Temperatures are skyrocketing in unprecedented ways all over the world, particularly in polar and near-polar regions. The rise in the far north and far south is three times the global average.
  I grew up on the island of Ask√ły outside the city of Bergen in western Norway near 60.4619° N, 5.0893° E. I also live there, now. Fifty years ago, the winter started in early October and lasted six months, until the end of March, stretching into April. Some years we even had thick ice on the lake by the house in April. We had car races on that and other lakes.
  My mother also made detailed charts of temperatures and weather, so I got into that early.
  Now, we don’t have winter anymore, period. The last real winter with thick snow and prolonged cold we had was in 87/88. Last year we didn’t have a single moment below zero degree Celsius, and we haven’t had that so far this «winter» either.
  There’s no way to explain this away. Once again, the human experience fits the predictions and results of the climate scientists, both here and in the rest of the world.
  The frozen ground in Siberia and Canada is melting. Trees growing in that previously frozen ground is tilting, making yet another startling testimony of what’s happening. Methane stored in that ground is released into the air, aggravating an already grave situation further.
  The ice in Greenland is melting. When all ice there have melted, which will be soon, the ocean will rise with six meters.
  The ice in Antarctica is melting. Humanity will be in even worse trouble when the Thwaites Glacier drops into the ocean. But the real problem here is that the entire WAIS (West Antarctica Ice Sheet) will follow soon after Thwaites. And then the much larger chunk of ice covering East Antarctica will be further exposed to the growing heat. WAIS dropping into the water will make the ocean rise with six meters more. When all ice on the planet has melted, the ocean will rise with between sixty and seventy meters. At least that.
  Eighty-four percent of the world’s human population lives by the coast. We're talking unprecedented migration to the mountains here, if people eventually get their ass moving. If not, they will quite simply drown, of course.
  The ice in the Himalayas is also melting at an unprecedented rate. The impact of that melting is also grossly underestimated. India and China both depend on a steady flow of water from the mountains. When that well runs dry, half of humanity will be without water. Good luck with containing that "unrest".
  The signs are abundantly clear. And we’re talking years, not centuries. Anyone still talking centuries are the errand-boys and girls of Big Oil and the establishment.
  Most politicians and business-leaders talk big about the need for measures fighting what’s happening, but they don’t act on it. On the contrary, they keep subsidizing the oil-industry and give it favorable working-conditions. There is no true will to do anything substantial.
 
 
 


Wednesday, November 04, 2020

Page 11 of my novel Afterglow Fire

   The loud laughter made her shiver in her dreams. She recognized the man with the horns that had plagued her since childhood. He was not here, even though she feared he was. Conner stood above her with a sword in his hand, looking very menacing, completely different from her impression of him.
  There were no deeper dreams, no contact with herself. The collar did that, did that, too.
  She woke up coated in cold sweat. A woman stood in the doorway, obviously cautious.
  – Fair morning Tippy, the woman greeted her. – This woman’s name is Cherry Ganfar. She will be your guide on the premises.
  Janet sat up and rubbed her aching head.
  – Tippy?
  – We assign a name to those not presenting themselves at arrival, assuming they do not want to give away their identity.
  Janet reached for her clothes.
  – You may not dress, Cherry stated. – You may bring whatever valuables you carry.
  Afterglow wanted to comment on Cherry’s excessive clothing, but relented and followed her down the hallway to the room at its end. Cherry stepped inside and Janet followed her. Cherry closed the door.
  – You may move for me, now, the woman bade her.
  She had a quiet authority rubbing off Afterglow in all the wrong ways.
  Janet hesitated just long enough for the other to notice.
  – Tippy knows Conner’s reputation, Cherry stated. – She would not have put herself in his power if she did not trust him and his people to not subdue and enslave her.
  Janet began moving, presenting herself to the other woman like the pleasure dome trained Dancer she was. She did not hold herself back, but attacked the other with her wiles, not merely presenting her talent. It did affect Cherry, causing a layer of sweat to form on her brow.
  – Tippy may stop, now.
  Janet did. Cherry had clearly learned to resist pleasure dome displays. She remained cool and collected. A hand reached out and grabbed Janet’s jaw, appraising her further. Janet did not resist.
  – Tippy may have an excellent future as a Dancer, if she so chooses. She has not fled from a contract, has she?
  – She has not! Afterglow said firmly.
  – Illicit performance would still be illegal according to Arcadian law, of course, Cherry remarked.


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Monday, August 24, 2020

Back cover text - future book project - United States of America 2040.

  United States of America 2040.
  Robert «Bob» Moore, a rightwing white supremacist wins the Democratic Party primaries, becoming his party’s candidate for the presidency. Bob earned much of his reputation and popularity as a young detective at the death squadrons at Los Angeles Police Department, where he shot and killed a score of unarmed blacks and Latinos and Koreans in the destitute LA Downtown.
  His Republican Party opponent is Raymond «Ray» Moore jr, a well-known pedophile and misogynist and racist and Ku Klux Klan member.
  Also in the race is Bob’s main opponent during the Democratic Party primaries Alexandra «Alex» Martinez, a Latino African American socialist feminist popular among the disenfranchised and poor. She has joined the Green Party and become its candidate. Alex struggles with constant accusations from liberal media and liberals of being a Russian spy and traitor, and of «ruining Bob’s changes of winning».
  The United States is a nation on the brink, in a world on the brink. No one expects this election to change that, or change anything, really. It’s the same procedure as last year, Miss Sophie.

  I wrote this 2017-12-31

  I was pretty much on the money… but not going far enough in my predictions, and I was way off when it comes to the year. It is already happening. It will probably repeat itself with each election, growing increasingly worse, until everything snaps.
  This was meant as an ironic study. I never meant to write that novel, and I probably won’t.
 

Friday, May 29, 2020

The gross, dangerous fallacy of the non-violent fighters of oppression

  The non-violence movement has been a disaster from start to finish in the struggle for freedom. It has aided tyranny in its divide-and-conquer strategy in an active and obvious way. Its proponents aid the police when the police beat up protesters and crush their skulls, by blaming the protesters, calling them violent for being beaten up.
  It’s so obvious even, such a self-evident display of manufactured consent.
  I’ve attended countless protests, and I’ve never seen protesters attacking the police. That would also be extremely silly, with the police wearing armor and carrying guns and clubs and having all the advantages on their side. Protesters, as a general rule, at least the true protesters fighting a thoroughly unjust and brutal society, aren’t stupid.
  Non-violent rebellion may have some value as a short-term tactic, but certainly not as a long-term strategy.
  The only country where non-violence has even remotely "worked" is in India, and that is because there were 600 million Indian citizens against only 600 000 British occupiers.
  Lasting non-violent tactics play by the rules of the Enemy, the rules of engagement carefully chosen by the oppressive society to paralyze a given movement.
  No true rebel movement should deselect any given weapon at its disposal. The odds are certainly against us already.
  It is so very important to disregard any definition of good behavior coming from the establishment. A protest where the police are smiling afterwards is not a protest, but an exercise in conformity, futility, servility and obedience.

  Yes, all the great heroes of the «non-violence movement» were wrong.
  I still see many of them as great people, though. Anyone putting themselves in harm’s way fighting oppression is.

  «A riot is the language of the unheard». Martin Luther King

Friday, May 22, 2020

Watchdogs 2

  A considerable number of a given population takes active part in the suppression of free thought. If you speak on the phone or just have a conversation about a perceived controversial or radical subject on the bus or in public in general, you’re often told to not do so. That isn’t because you speak aloud or anything. You’re not told to lower your voice, but told specifically to not speak about that subject. Even if people don’t voice their displeasure, they still stare at you with angry eyes, and the threat of violence might be both implied and executed.
  It might concern a number of subjects, like the insanity of being a NATO-member, a war-supporter, the ongoing massive pollution, the climate change, the Mass Extinction Event, racism, inequality, injustice, wage slavery, modern slavery…
  Stuff like that.
  Like Stephen Biko pointed out; the ordinary men and women, the minds of the oppressed are tyranny’s first line of defense against those who would oppose it. They’ve been successfully brainwashed, subjected to pervasive establishment propaganda, to manufactured consent from the cradle. How can you tell? It’s quite easy, really. They keep using establishment talking points, doing so practically in every second sentence or so. I guess this is more obvious to an author, to one who is trained in interpreting texts, but everyone should easily see it. Those not doing so are clearly a part of the herd themselves. This is not rocket science, but self-evident facts.
  I have written before about the need for encouraging critical thinking in any given society, and to fight hard for it in a society like ours, where those in charge are clearly not interested in doing anything like that. They want people to be eager, supportive mules, and in that, they’ve pretty much succeeded.

Tuesday, April 21, 2020

The juicy notebook - a couple of pages from my novel Lewis of Modern York

  – Good boy.
  He turned deep red again.
  – Yes, I can confirm that «Miss Kendall» will be holding a press conference in the backyard outside her home at 4.30 this afternoon, Adrienne enlightened a reporter. – No, sweetie, there will be no further communication before that, either public or private. I should point out that Liz prefers to be called by the surname of Warren. She doesn’t exactly look kindly at those not respecting that.
  She put the phone back on the receiver. She blushed when Liz gave her an encouraging smile of approval.
  Journalists and TV-crews began gathering in the backyard not long afterwards, rigging and testing their equipment. A few tried the doorknob on the solid door. It remained locked, no matter how many times they tried to open it.
  – Good thing we had food and supplies delivered this morning, Peyton said and rubbed her earlobe anxiously. – We’re talking a siege here.
  – Don’t be nervous, Liz encouraged her.
  – I’m not, Liz, Peyton assured her. – Honest!
  She was so zealous, so eager to prove herself that it was almost touching.
  – It’s time, Liz grinned, – time to pay the piper.
  Everyone prepared, readying themselves, far more than she did. She smiled good humored at their zeal. Only a short stretch of time passed as they rode the elevator down, as everyone but her made the last few corrections in their clothing and appearance.
  She stepped out in the hot, arid air surrounded by her loyal guard, acolytes, associates and accomplices. The giant smile seemed stuck on her face, the very expressive face. She wore jeans, a jacket and a top, appearing as ordinary as she possibly could, demonstrating that she never would be.
  Elizabeth Warren stopped in front of the gathering of journalists and reporters, standing in the open, not protected by anything like a high dais or an array of microphones most famous or infamous people making a public statement had at their disposal. They had made one such for her, but she ignored it.
  – Early this morning, she began with a loud voice, – we sent copies of my grandmother’s «customer» list to anyone that might be interested, publishing it in full, not hiding anything or leaving anyone out. We included notes and customers’ preferences, a very detailed description of what they paid for. I will be reading juicy excerpts for a while, and then I will speak a bit more, and then I will answer your questions.
  She pulled what was clearly a notebook from her pocket. A loud murmur of expectation rose from a crowd of newshounds.
  – The first section is about Lester, Lester Carmichael. Lester is a man of excellent taste, Rachel writes. He prefers them young or at least younglooking, and just loves punishing them in many inventive ways, including but not limited to birching, spanking and whipping. He also loves calling them names while doing so, pleasant designations like whore, bitch, slut, tramp, harlot, hussy, cum dumpster, nympho, vamp, flirt, tart, floozie and a number of designations that certainly would have made me blush in my preteen days. He put several of the girls in hospital. We did report him to the police, knowing it was a failed venture, but made sure we got copies of the official and unofficial police documents. I barred him from admission, but there is no doubt in my mind that he found what he wanted from other sources.
  It went on and on. The journalists imagined she read every single word in the notebook. The shadows grew long as she spoke.
  She stopped, lowering the hand holding the notebook.
  The questions began as a deluge.
  – So, now that you have done what you set out to do, any early regrets?
  The loud laughter shook them just as hard as her other actions.
  – I remain very happy about my decision. It was the right call and long overdue. Someone should have done this shit ages ago. I will stress that I just don’t want to focus on the brutal «customers», but on all of them. I know you won’t print or relay important details in your excellent papers or broadcast stations, but you should know that everything will come out, also your role or lack of role in keeping the info from the public. It has already.
  She touched them, not holding herself back at all. She used her powers to rub their cocks and cunts, making them writhe in discomfort. The smile grew even more enthusiastic.
  Questions and answers continued for a long while, clearly hostile, but much of it lost its bite early, and even more so as the seance progressed.
  – What about your fellow squatters? One asked a question obviously designed to embarrassed her. She shrugged it off with yet one more act of sequential elegance.
  – The others are certainly a part of this campaign, but we work on many things, many aspects of the modern community, the list of horrible wrongs to be corrected is horribly long.
  – Garrett from the Post, ma’am, he presented himself.
  – It’s so nice to meet you, she responded sweetly.
  The frown on his brow grew visible and deep.
  – Isn’t prostitution merely an exchange of funds and services between two consenting adults?
  She did pause, pretending to ponder the issue.
  – That’s certainly one of many myths that have prevailed for a while, one we will keep cracking like the overblown balloon it is.
  She shook her head decisively.
  – No, it’s a process where the one receiving the funds is the weak part, a very unequal part. Prostitution is happening on many levels and variations throughout society, but the version where people are sort-of fucking is our main focus right now. We will certainly return to the rest at a later point.
  Something happened then, a darkening of the very air no one could put into words. She seemed to grow, to suddenly stand very close to them, towering over them like a giant.
  – We are told, pretty much from the cradle that we should accept every single injustice and indignity visited upon us. It is time we give a loud FUCK THAT in response to such horror.
  It only grew in intensity from that point…


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