S.J. Bass's Blog

I’m now living in Thailand! I’m working to finish several books out here and a few short stories. Two books will follow my cyberpunk universe that I created years ago. The short story I hope to finish soon (in the editing phase) is surreal and psychedelic. In between writing I’m looking for jobs in Thailand after traveling to Chiang Mai and islands in Krabi province. I’ve had a blast out here, along with some stomach problems from the street food--let me tell you that oil of oregano does wonders for this problem.If you’re interested in following me on my adventures, then add me on instagram: www.instagram.com/s.j.bassI post pictures almost everyday. I’ve been working on my photography skills using a Canon 60D and two lenses, one for wide and long shots, and one for shallow short shots. I’m at 218 followers and growing (sometimes it's less, those pesky pretend-followers)!Feel free to message me here or on Instagram for any recommendations in Bangkok, Chiang Mai and Krabi province. I’ve experienced so much out here already in the last month and for any new traveler it’s good to know where to go and what not to do.For now, I wish all my friends well, and keep dreaming your visions of a new tomorrow and a healthy future. Peace be with you my friends.

Any great writer will tell you that their job is not only be a keen observer of their own life, but that of others. It's a helluva lot more of course. Layering of character, key elements, style, voice, having marketability of some sort. Knowing how to grab a reader's emotions with the right words while pursuing a story crafted with the thoughts of near-perfection in mind, that's what I push for when I write my stories. Such stories open doors to the inner workings of people's minds and touch their souls. Writing is an old tool, and I believe stories told through the written word should include all kinds of layers that grab at people's emotions and keep them excited about reading.

October 19, 2016The REVOLUTION will be televisedSponsors include: Walmart, Chevy, Apple, McDonald’s, and Exxon/Mobil…Watched online, 1,000,000 and countingBorn a blank slate, one day I’m bribed to love Thanksgiving and ChristmasInside I’m an alien, outside, controlled chaosThe Revolt carried onMain-Stream-Media made it look thinAnd thin it remainedWelcome to a revolution caught in a death SpiralAll my true heroes died while the next generation slept in bellies and ball-sacksWaking up programmed, everyone analyzedAll us are numbers safely filed away under: Unimportant SheepleMeanwhile, I woke as an extremist after discovering my history was sanitized, and for a great many reasons the BEAST threw me off his backGrab a coffee, go to war, have a baby and give it a birth-dentityBlame your misery on the flutter of a Butterfly-God’s wingsFit in by finding comfort in filler words, “like”Become a victim of the revolutionBecause it will be televised, commercialized, compartmentalized and soon enough you’ll be programmed just like the ones you loath mostThe moment of my birth, invisible chains of control called S.S. numbers fastened me to a mountain of debt that embed various fishhooks of servitude and addictionMeanwhile, a Shadow’s white gloved hand prunes plants grown from the seeds of historyDo you ever stop to notice their painful tugging and cutting?

Sitting at the opening of a dark and dingy alleyway beside some loose trash, Unit Seven pet his blue glowing biorobotic dog, Beta Nine. His three fingers stroked his companion's neck while he observed people passing them by. With slow intermediate pulses, Beta Nine's blue glow was noticeably fading.The night was still young and filled with a type of grubby stifling air that contained all kinds of unbreathable chemicals. Unit Seven's tattered gray hoodie wicked away all but the moisture that clung to his slightly corroded metal face. This moisture gathered as several tiny growing droplets upon the sharp edges of his dull metallic chin."It's okay, Beta Nine, we'll find some spare energy soon."Beta Nine whimpered and looked out towards the busy multicolored neon-lit street."Please rest now," urged Unit Seven, "don't use your energy."Unit Seven propped up a bright blue neon lit sign that read: Will Work for Energy.The sign started to fizzle out, but Unit Seven gave it a slight shake and it came back to life.After a brief time, a group of five neon-punks stopped at the alley's entrance to stare at them. All wore clothing that glowed neon red at the seams. Half their faces were covered with glowing neon red breathers while some also wore goggles that glowed a deep crimson. Standing there staring, they started to remove several blunt negatron weapons from off their backs. As each person switched theirs on, it shocked the air around the bats with blue white electric life.Unit Seven asked them, "Please, can you spare any energy?"Someone from the back of the group laughed and asked with his slurred speech, "What's... What's your names you pieces of trash?""Unit Seven, and this is my companion, Beta Nine.""No, no it's not," he said before letting out a chortle. He stepped forward and shook his green glowing spiked hair, propping it up with his free hand after a thick green spike drooped onto his face. "I'm calling you, Uven and Betnine. How about that?""Please, no trouble, please."Another neon-punk a fewfeet closer to Unit Seven yelled at him, "Say the names!" To read the full story, please visit : https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0751K6BLR

Driving onto a 101 freeway rush hour filled concrete jungle, there are no exits, only obligations. I'm stuck in my armored mobile cubicle moving at the speed of slow. Hidden flowers on the hillside bloom away mocking my insanity, they cheer me on to see beyond these gray prison bevels. Gray blocks hollowed out until they’re filled with my humanity, making me choose choices reaped with devils.I feel like I’ve lived a day in one hour, it’s so early it could be midnight. Twisting and turning in my brain, the sun suddenly ridicules, feeding me a fresh case of insane. I’m at a point of sorrow, sorrow of an exceptional quality, Grade A-farm raised, take two tomorrow.The raven croaked nevermore, Juliet is the sun, dangren-burang1. We have to go. I’m almost happy here2. Complacency rots insides, then refills with fear. So - Listen to them - children of the night. What music they make3. Clamoring for sight. There’s no flesh or blood within this cloak to kill. There’s only an idea. Ideas are bulletproof4. Filled with truths, synapse salvoes, loves, and drugs. We love what we eat and eat who we are. GERManic germs looking for psychological thrills. You work the guns, I’ll rattle the hills.Smoking cannabis to an over-extent, hope lost, old kung-fu and 80’s movies won, I eat smoke for breakfast. This sun is still mocking me, “Start your day, be productive, make a baby, then expiry.”Stepping into society, I’m a satanic leaf-tailed gecko wanting freedom, abdicate, and let go your kingdom. Half-halfheartedly half washed dishes in my sink; this entropy roller-coaster of highs and lows drives me to drink and think, then drink and smoke, making life one strange syrupy green swirl of mammaries and calamities filled with brevity’s of rarities.5,000 images, 2 comedies, and a numb right arm later I’ve turned into dark matter, invisibly pulling all that matters together into a forever stretched infinity, making literal synergies out of my life's energies.Notes: 1) Yield to nobody when one is doing what is right. 2) Ender’s Game, Ender Wiggin 3) Bram Stoker’s Dracula 4) V For VendettaWritten by S. J. Bass

So technically, when I was writing this, it was just past my birthday by 30 mins. Ah, time is so fleeting. I spent my day working at a restaurant, serving people, giving smiles for dollars and yes, you're an asshole but I will just look past that and get you that thing you needed. Wait, so I do this because I'm partly dyslexic, or is it mostly? I can't tell anymore. I tell things backwards sometimes.The first half of my day was spent creating a listing on Amazon for a cyberpunk novella I finished on the morning of August 22nd. This will be one of many, to the point of eventually creating an anthology and making that a whole. I hope you read this one and get back to me how you felt about it.Cheers,S.J. Bass

To Praise a Dead Man - By S.J. Bass  “Alphonse, he was the most colorful man I’ve ever known,” said Miss May, “and I don’t think I’ll ever forget his magnificent balloon animals. One time, he’d made me a giraffe...”The procession eventually carried on. People I knew quite well from my small shanty town walked past the dead man and paid their respects. He was a man of little prestige, and even smaller holdings, but he was so full of love. He’d never worked a typical job. Rather, he’d worked many odd ones, including painting his face for kids to perform at their adolescent birthdays.I stepped up to say my piece. It had been years since I’d last seen him. I’d moved from Spain and studied in England, but during the week that I’d returned, he’d died in a car accident while drunk.I cleared my throat, and my voice meekly saturated the mic.Alphonse is–was the type of man that made you smile even if your ice-cream cone fell in the dirt, I said, and if you were broke and starving, like me, he would tell you to wait where you are, and then 10 minutes later he’d have something for you to eat.I gathered my composure and continued.I don’t think that I’ll ever again meet a man quite like Alphonse, for he did the things that simply make life beautiful and fantastic. And although some of my more distant well off neighbors, at times, found themselves lacking radios and TV sets, Alphonse never hurt the ones he loved.A person who doesn’t hurt the ones they love is honorable in my eyes, for honor is defending that, which one holds dear, and Alphonse held our community most dearly.What is one passing life while the living continues to flourish? Long term it may mean nothing, we may all forget about Alphonse, but we will never forget that being a just person, a person who gives back to their beloved community, a person who makes children laugh, a person who lives to make others happy, is a person that is worthy of praise, regardless of where you stand at the fence. I love Alphonse for the things he dared to do, and I believe that you should look at this man as more of a jester, instead of what the newspapers say, and know that he gave you the ideas to think beyond your own personal safety zone.Thank you, Alphonse, I said, I’ll miss your compassion.-Written By S.J. Bass