Category Archives: Journal Entry

A Writer


They write
They type,
They’ll edit many times

Move words
’til they’ve
perfected every line

A writer
A lover
of words and page

aren’t born
somehow their made.

I’ve was a writer even before I realized what being one meant. It was more a nagging suspicion than a revelation. There was always something inside of me trying to get free. My first experience of wanting to create a story was after reading a Conan the Barbarian book. I saw the map inside and drew my own. I tried to write a story to go along with the map, but I never got around to it. I was in seventh grade at that time.  I didn’t actually write any stories that year, but I could see the characters on the map and I began to hear character’s voices in my head. I knew where they lived, where they were going, and what they had to do.  Although, these characters and plots have been with me for a long time, I have failed to write every story,  but I’ve finished plenty along the way. I truly feel that writing is something that chose me.

Old Man’s Last Say

I used to write poetry everyday.  Many of the poems are collected in my book “Poetry Principia,” which I wrote as a way to teach myself new styles of poetry.  You can download the book from Amazon for 99 cents. You can find many of my poems in this blog, but I invite you to take a chance and buy the book.

The Old Man’s Last Say

by Thadd Presley

“The worms can have him, for from them he was made,”
the lady remarked as she looked on the grave
and chopped at the dirt with a long handled spade.

She had buried her husband late in the day.
“The sun is too hot, we’ll wait for the shade.
I know he will rot, but he’ll not do it today.”

He was put away quickly, with no friends there to pray,
And when it was over, I remember no-one had stayed.
“Now that he’s gone, I’ll can get married this spring
with all of his money, we can buy the best things.”

But, that wasn’t the end of what that man had to say.
The ground suddenly shook all around the grave.
A great voice rose up and declared from the clay.

“You might have succeeded in ending my days
but you’ll never outlive your hate and disgrace.
I curse you this day ’til the last breath you take
A widow you are and a widow you’ll stay,”

To a cold, whining wind, his voice then gave way
and the widow never married and wasn’t seen since that day.
I come to this hill and stand near their graves.
I remember what mother told me on her final day.

Years later, in tears, she weakly proclaimed:
“I killed your father. It was my greatest mistake.
But love will always conquer a heart filled with hate.”

Thank you for reading. I wish you all a Happy New Year 2016.

The Hunger (to read)

In my last post, I wrote a Letter to Santa Claus and revealed that I love to read. It’s true that I haven’t found many new books that catch my interest lately. Perhaps, I’m getting to picky. I read everyday and write everyday.

One writer that I used to read is Bentley Little. He has a knack of writing stories that really stick in my head and I find myself cringing years later when remembering a short story or a certain line. He is a talent, no doubt.  Few other writers have made me have this reaction.

Stephen King is a true writer. He has dedicated his life to turning out novel after novel, but nothing he has ever written has stuck with me for too long.  Don’t think I haven’t read all of his books and have been thinking of reading them again. There are a few I would enjoy very much.

Another writer I absolutely was fated to find and read was Isaac Asimov. The Foundation Trilogy, the Earth books, and the Robot Series are amazing and I wouldn’t be who I am today without having discovered them.



I am leaving you with a poem titled Hunger.  Enjoy.



by Thadd Presley

The last sunrise brought tears about
just as blood brings years to me now.
Put behind me my crimes,
Too long, I’ve hid  from man’s eyes
long was the distance, long was the time
’til a love returned that I enjoyed in my life
It came back to me, screaming
calling, in desperate cries

Suddenly, I needed to share it still;
to find those with thoughts and those who feel,
to tell my story and allow a clear reveal
of my obsessions and of my will
by professing my great love for words; Oh, how it will feel!!

After countless ideas, my stories have piled high
and I yearn to have but one glancing eye
to cross my pages and take into mind
the story I’ve tried my entire life to write.

I can’t do this!!
Yes, I know.

But, if I words plant my words?
What would grow?
Is it right to sow that which I don’t know?
Grow in people a cancerous growth?
Make another hunger for the page, a wretched bleak fate
Begin them toward a wretched, bleak fate
with nightmares and visions, in sleeping and wake
to which there’s no end and no way to escape.

To know what’s in me will come out,
to know every whisper escapes as a shout!!
and knowing brings me to a cold shutter,
that we’ll be judged for ever word that we utter.

It’s not what goes in my mind, but what comes out
that shows what my words could possibly sprout
and reveals myself, both inside and out
made known, everywhere and throughout.

That’s what we breath
That’s what we see
That’s what we eat
When we hunger to read.



Thank you for reading. Also, if you have a blog I will be more than happy to add it on my “other blogs” page.

Thadd Presley’s Christmas Wish List

Dear Santa, as you know, I’m a big reader. I even love it more than writing. Recently, I was thinking about buying a book because I didn’t have anything new to read and I wanted a short story collection so bad, but after looking in all the stores in Oak Ridge and Knoxville, I couldn’t find one that I really wanted. So, I started wondering how many writers were out there that nobody knew existed. I knew there was one at least that is unknown and wondering: is there anybody out, is there anybody out there who could write the greatest short story collection ever, if they only decided to write one?

And the answer came to me faster than one of your magical reindeer fly. The answer was, of course, the great and powerful Roger Water, who’s words are forever sang and revered.

I know that if he wrote a short story collection it would set records that would take years to break. Much like the words in the albums he is known to occasionally write, this book would become a record setting machine and would set a record that would never be broken. Like the album “Dark Side of the Moon,” which stayed in the charts for 741 weeks from 1973 to 1988 and selling 50 million albums worldwide., this book of fiction would become a testament of legend.

So, I’m sure, Santa,  that you’ve heard “The Dark Side of the Moon” and “The Wall” which I’m citing as major examples of the skill and power Mr. Roger Waters is capable of putting into his words.  And since he is such a gift to the literary world it’s not like I’m asking for this gift out of selfishness. No, I’m writing this for the world. It will be a gift to humanity itself.

So please, Santa, please make Mr. Waters write a book of fiction. I want to read it so bad and I’ve been good all year. Well, you know I was good for some of it.  Please Santa, this is my only Christmas wish and I promise to be better next year if I can have this one, single thing.  Thank you Santa for all you’ve done for all the other children around the world. I love you so much.


And also, Santa will you make him name it “Diving Deep?”  I think “Diving Deep” would be a good title for Roger Waters to use when he writes it.

And P.S. again,

Santa will you please become a racecar driver? You would win every time.

Signed, Thadd Presley

The Universe is inside of us

Have an of you ever heard the music created by Symphony of Science. It is really an experience to listen to it, even though it’s a collection of scientist’s talks set yo an auto-tuned track. I’ve always been truly impressed by the songs they have.  Take a moment and listen to “We Are All Connected.

Carl Sagan said that the Universe created humanity because it wanted to know itself. I take it a step further and say that we have eyes because the cosmos wanted to see itself. I also believe that all of our atoms were created inside of stars. Inside of each and everyone of us are pieces from all points in Time and parts that came from many places in the Universe. It’s amazing to think that at one time the elements we are made from did not exist. Therefore, before we were possible, iron and oxygen and many other atomic structures had to be imagined and created. Only later did it become possible to have organic machines as complicated as we are.

There is a famous photo taken by on of the Space Telescopes that looks like an eye.


The last time I wrote about metaphysics and our amazing existence, I told how I thought Super Clusters looked like bigger versions of neurons in our brains. I explained how our consciousness might continue to exist as part of this larger structure even after our bodies die. The similarities of such large structures and tiny ones inside of our bodies can not be a coincidence. There is a bigger picture out there and we will someday find it.

You can read my last post on super clusters and neurons here:

The galaxy above is amazing, but below I leave you with another beautiful representation of how our Universe exists right inside of us.  Our eyes look more like galaxies than the galaxy above looks like an eye.   Isn’t this unbelievable.


eye of the galaxy
Each eye is a galaxy of it’s own

What happens when we die?

Some of you don’t know that I am a student of metaphysics and the global consciousness and tat we have the ability to alter our reality. Some of you only visit the blog to read poetry of short stories.

This has been a hard year for me. I’ve lost many friends, which has me thinking about life and death tonight. Here is my summation of what could be possible.

Does our brain waves simply disappear when we die? Do we have a place to go after this world and this body has deteriorated? Besides our spirit or soul, what lives on after death? Many of these questions can’t be answered with accuracy from this side of the life/death threshold. But, if we look around us we see many things that resemble other things many ways. For example, an atom resembles a mini solar system, a river system looks like a lightening strike, and something recently discovered was the amazing similarities between super clusters in space and neurons in our brains.

Then, we have maths that go deeper than all of these discoveries which we use to try and understand the amazing underlying complexity of the world and how it is built up from simple mathematical expressions such as the Mandelbrot Set, and the Fibonacci Sequence.

All of these amazing discoveries proved over and over that we are part of a bigger picture and our understanding of the universe isn’t complete by any stretch of the imagination. The mystery of dark matter and dark energy is only one example of what we don’t know.

The fact that a neuron looks like a super cluster give me the idea that all of our memories, our experiences, our lessons, and more than anything our personalities have a larger interface to connect to once we pass on to the next phase of our experience.

Someone once said that “the Universe created us so that it could know itself better.” Maybe it was Carl Sagan.

The Greek believed that what we saw “out there” was “schema.” Nothing but the reflection of ourselves. Sometimes I wonder just how much ancient knowledge we have lost, because know that we can see 13 billion years into the past and we can see the movement of brain waves along with the ability to create living, working neurons, it seems the Greeks might have been right. The universe is a like us.

My theory is this: when we die, our information goes from the operating system inside our craniums and uploads to the giant operating system in the sky.


In 2012 I became the bass player for the band Minor Nine. We never got famous, but we made an album in 2013 and had a blast playing shows. For almost three years I practice Saturday and Sunday and played almost 200 shows. During our time together I learned a lot about music and a lot about getting shows.

It hard to keep a band together. Everyone has a role to play as a member of the band, as well as a life they much continue to live at home. The two lives are often at odds, leaving hard choices to be made weekly.

We did however create amazing music. We had a diverse group of musicians. Even though there was only 4 of us, the age range when we started was 13, 28, 34, and 60.  We all had different backgrounds and somehow it worked magically. With a set list of 30 originals we set out across Tennessee and played show after show meeting really cool bands and even cooler people. One show we played with Swedish metal band Avatar is my claim to rock and roll fame.

I quit the band for many reasons. I suppose the biggest reason being the band falling apart from the inside. I had better things to do than watch it crash, so I took my gear and went home. Simple as that.

I created a few videos for the music we created.  The one that follows is “Unite.”  The words came from a poem I wrote years ago and the music and voice is Rex Green. He and I have a special ability to create music. I don’t think I’ll ever meet another person like him and I’m sorry we aren’t working together all the time.

At one time, it was amazing how we were climbing in the scene. Now, I’m not talking about fame and fortune. I’m only talking about the little music scene in Knoxville, Tennessee.Yeah, I know it’s not Long Beach, but it was our patch of the scrap yard and I enjoyed it.

The music in the video was created by Rob Ruddick, Matt Fahey, Rex Green and Thadd Presley.  I hope you enjoy.



A Ghazal and a fun Haiku Chain

I often write poetry as a way to relax. This is a few poems I found that I’d written in 2008, back before I wrote Poetry Principia. They still make me smile and I hope they will you as well.  I know that Haiku are usually about nature. These are not, though they do reflect my nature.

The last poem is a ghazal.   I put an explanation of a Ghazal below from for those who are interested in poetry.

“The ghazal is composed of a minimum of five couplets that are structurally, thematically, and emotionally autonomous. Each line of the poem must be of the same length, though meter is not imposed in English. The first couplet introduces a scheme, made up of a rhyme followed by a refrain. Subsequent couplets pick up the same scheme in the second line only, repeating the refrain and rhyming the second line with both lines of the first stanza. The final couplet usually includes the poet’s signature, referring to the author in the first or third person, and frequently including the poet’s own name or a derivation of its meaning.

Traditionally invoking melancholy, love, longing, and metaphysical questions, ghazals are often sung by Iranian, Indian, and Pakistani musicians.”


Fun Haiku

The Implant

the lines move faster
if you get the chip implant
you can get cash back

Therapeutic Reading

I’m going to read
sit back and relax to words
yeah that’s the ticket

Smart Cops

It was broadcast live
America’s Most Wanted
suspect got away

Cascading Cellulite

She sat before me
with her second set of thighs
cascading downwards

Birthday 2009

A new Lovecraft book
H.P. for my birthday rocks
and a movie too

She called me Stupid

I was called stupid
I ask dumb questions sometimes
if I need to know

Writing Caused This

A blog can hurt me
a comment can make me fly
writing incites both


You’re my one and only
well, besides those few women
But, they mean nothing.

The Ghazal

“The Night I Write”

Sitting near the window, under the moon, In the light I write
Harvesting thoughts that form from dreams, during the night I write

It has been my pleasure to write about my life, an undertaking of soul
As it happens, my lines bright design illuminates the night I write

Dark characters do die too soon to be born alive once again to sin
and hide in the shadow and in the dens to survive the night I write

The village where I create my men and the wives they so love
comes ever so close to disaster within the darkness of the night I write

The men cry, “Thad, thou hast done ill and evil to us mere men.
”I have learned they deplore all the sins and despise the night I write.

Two Books from my past: “Sins and Tragedies” and “The Edward Ballaster Project”

Books come and books go, but the people you work with stick around in your head and sometimes you want to turn back time and work with them again. There are three who come to mind very quickly. I worked with them both on Sins and Tragedies and The Dark Fiction Spotlight. The three writers are Stacy Bolli, Stephen W. Roberts and JD Stone. This was the first anthology I was part of and it went together without a hitch.

I worked on a project that included many writers. There is a list of the names at the end of everyone who worked on “The Edward Balister Project.”  Take a moment to look them up and see what they are into now. I know I’m going to.

Here is the review of “Sins and Tragedies.”

Sins and Tragedies Reviewed by Charlotte Emma Gledson – Author of ‘The Lonely Tree and Other Twisted Tales of Torment’.

Sins and Tragedies will take you on a tragic voyage into the deep and twisted minds of four talented authors. This is a collaborative anthology composed by the staff members of The Dark Fiction Spotlight, bringing the reader twelve tales of trauma, terror, tragedy and torment.

Stephen W. Roberts, Thadd Presley, Stacy Bolli and JD Stone, showcase their talents by weaving morbid tales with bizarre and curious scenarios that will tantalize the reader, yet leave them unnerved.

Stephen W. Robert’s contribution to this collection feature, ‘A Voice Within’, ‘Rose’s Roses’ and ‘Clutch My Heart, Nevermore’. Each story is written with menacing grace, pain and trauma flowing naturally within every sentence. Stephen W. Roberts is a heartfelt and beautiful writer who targets your inner emotion with his pungent tales of dark personal horror and tragedy. ‘Clutch My Heart, Nevermore’ is a poignant account of a suicidal father, and ‘A Voice Within’ deals with a fatal car crash that takes the life of a young couple. Stephen writes with a graphic poetical approach, trickling the reader with empathy for each character that leaves a lingering shudder of intense sadness.

JD Stone pens, ‘Glass Atrophy’, ‘Phantom Weight’ and ‘Cursed Blessing’, all three written with vibrant horrific vocabulary leading the reader to experience the very essence of the story. With ‘Glass Atrophy’, one can be part of the sights and smells of an exotic yet squalid region of India, and then indulge in the graphic horror that soon unfolds. ‘Cursed Blessing’ tells of a rock band sharing a very dark bloody secret. JD Stone is a writer with a natural skill of the narrative, stained with a chilling brutality that will leave horror fans satisfied.

Stacy Bolli stories comprise of, ‘Momma’s Boy’, ‘Toilet Troubles’ and ‘Music Of The Swamp’. I respect the way Stacy is unafraid to venture into new territory for a female writer. ‘Toilet Troubles’ will leave you squirming and itching but also with an evil smirk on your face. ‘Momma’s Boy’ is a tale of a vampire hybrid that soon unearths his darkened past. With an ability to menace with her descriptive prose, she is a fine example of a skilful female writer within today’s horror genre. Stacy Bolli writes with conviction, wit and an understanding of the darkness that dwells within us all.

Thadd Presley’s, ‘The Treatment’, ‘Shallow Grave’ and ‘Halloween’ are vivid accounts on the depravity of human nature. Thadd writes with a passion and rawness that can be unsettling, perfect for the current horror genre. In ‘The Treatment’ the taboo subject of paedophilia is written with sensitivity, yet bringing home the true horror of child predators. With ‘Halloween’, domestic violence is portrayed at its very worse. A beguiling writer, Thadd leaves the reader wanting more, yet you are left reeling from his explicit and dynamic stories.

Reviewed by Charlotte Emma Gledson – Author of ‘The Lonely Tree and Other Twisted Tales of Torment’.



by Thadd Presley

She has no patience. Neither do I for that matter. Except that Love is something for which we all must wait. First, waiting all those long years to grow up, then waiting for that special someone to fall in love with, and if we are adults by this time, we wait respectfully for the divorce to be final, so life can begin. Some of us — some of them, I mean — don’t wait for anything. They uproot and trek to the love they’ve found and try settling, for some it works wonders.  Others, though, have a hard time of it. Like a patient suffering through a nightmarish fever dream, they cast about and say the wildest things, while their body rejects a much needed organ transplant. They can’t seem to hold onto anything in this new life. Everything they touch disappears, absolves itself back into the dream-foam from which they’ve constructed their life. Nothing satisfies these people. Things felt, tasted, and wanted only satisfies to the extent of reminding them that they are not happy. All this happens while the real world ebbs and flows around them, many wonderful things go unnoticed and people they know and have met don’t know what to do or how to help. Many are left wondering what the problem really stems from.  To the outside world, there is no pattern to latch onto: one day everything is good, the next day everything is bad. The ones who care the most often get upset by seeing a friend in such misery, but they go absolutely unnoticed by the one they deem most important. Yeah, some transplants just don’t take. But, she has no patience. Neither do I, for that matter.