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A

Acid King – Electric Machine

*Psychedelic/Doom – San Francisco, California

Apowain – Happy Day

Apowain – History Repeats

Apowain – Uptempo

Apowain – Worthless

*Alt. Rock – Sterling, Virginia

B

Basment Sessions – 07 the dark 1

*Alt. Rock – Seattle, Washington

Beat Mark – What I Want the Most

*Noise Pop – Paris, France

Bloods – All The Things You Say Are Wrong

Bloods – Best Friend

Bloods – Good Night

Bloods – Into My Arms

Bloods – Like a Diamond

Bloods – This Town

*Garage Pop/Punk – Sydney, Australia

C

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Camilla Elise – Summertime

*Singer/songwriter – Oslo, Norway

Carina Round – Into My Blood

*Rock - Wolverhampton, England

Crossfire – Hit the Bottle (Smashed up My Mirror)

Crossfire – Wicked Witch

*Rock n’ roll – London, England

D

David Nelson – She Talk

*Rock n’ roll – Provo, Utah

Deborah Joe – Come A Little Closer

*Alt. Rock – Tampa Bay, Florida

Defektors, The – Be the Change

Defektors, The – Little Seed

Defektors, The – Love Revolution

Defektors, The – One Love

*Reggae/Dub - London, England

E

Eelyk Mukcin – Legalize It

Eelyk Mukcin – Make Believe Repression (Maple Leaf Suggestion)

Eelyk Mukcin – Pick Me Up

Eelyk Mukcin – Politically Apathetic

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Eelyk Mukcin – Primal Rage

Eelyk Mukcin – Shattered Then Torn

*Hip-hop/Rap – Bale des Chaleurs, Canada

H

Hayley Fahey – What Is Love

Hayley Fahey – They Say the World Will End

*Singer/songwriter – Chapel Hill, North Carolina

H.Grimace//// - Lands of Gold and Green

H.Grimace//// – This is What We Are Doing

*Alt. Rock – London, England

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J

Johannes Persson – Actor

*Pop – Lund, Sweden

Just Jon – I Wanna

Just Jon – Play

*Alt. Rock – London, England

M

Merrow – It’s My Time to Shine

*R&B/Soul – Virginia Beach, Virginia

Mia – My Own Heart

Mia – Setting Up a Fire

*Pop – Unknown, Hungary

Miles Tomlinson – I Don’t Know

*Lo-fi Acoustic – Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Mother Gun – Anysound

Mother Gun – Distant Life

Mother Gun – Fall Around

*Alt. Rock – Granada, Spain

Ms. Fedorchak – Reap What We Sow

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*R&B/Soul – Westminster, Colorado

O

One Missed May – My Faults

*Pop Punk - Saratov, Russia

P

Paradox – Mr. Bureaucracy

*Alt. Rock – Cork, Ireland

Pedico – You Can’t Get AIDS If You Never Get Tested

Pedico – My Girlfriend’s Black (And There’s Gonna Be Trouble)

*Punk Rock – New York City, New York

Pi Makarov – Comatoast

Pi Makarov – Cynic

Pi Makarov – Dejected

Pi Makarov – Down and Drowning

Pi Makarov – Enabler (Love Me When I’m Drunk)

Pi Makarov – Expiration Date

Pi Makarov – Flowers in the Yard

Pi Makarov – Pathetic (Candle Against the Sun)

Pi Makarov – Rat Racer

Pi Makarov – Self-Deprecating Bimbo

*Alt. Rock – D.C., Washington

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R

Rebecca Sullivan – Moonlight Confessions

Rebecca Sullivan – Silver Slippers

Rebecca Sullivan – This Will Not Break Me-

*Singer/Songwriter – Ventura County, California

S

Sarah Ariete – With the Moon

*Pop – Sverige, Sweden

Senium – Drone

*Alt Rock – Ocean County, New Jersey

T

Tobi-Lea – Cheap

Tobi-Lea – Don’t F*ck Me Over

Tobi-Lea – Sexy Chick

Tobi-Lea – Sleeping Lies

Tobi-Lea – Take You Out

*Punk Rock – Mission Beach, Australia

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U

Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats – I’ll Cut You Down

*Psychedelic/Doom – Cambridge, England

W

We Govern We – bULLY

We Govern We – Dead Pretty

We Govern We – Mulligan’s Island

We Govern We – Song for Lizzie

*Alt. Rock – Ventura County, California

Weronika Rodriquez – Cold Water

Weronika Rodriquez – Here Comes a Rain Again

*Singer/Songwriter Oslo, Norway

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Stream or Download the full album free

Watch the music video for

‘ Sugarcoated Stardust’ on YouTube

*Alt. Rock

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*$4.95 .PDF, .MOBI and .EPUB format for PC and mobile devices.

The fate of reality falls into the hands of small town Colorado delinquents and a rock star with a gang of militant hippies called the True Light Advocates who must defeat domestic bio-tech terrorists known as the Sun King Nation.

*Request a reviewer's discount of 50% for a limited time only.

‘The Journals of Artemis Madoc da Vili’ – an excerpt from the e-book The True Light Chronicles

Part One:

Lying in a $4000 mattress covered in red satin sheets and blankets in a room with same-colored lamps; I was like a pinup hooker waiting to get fucked in an opium tent. The words I wrote spit out on the pages, staining them like the bad memories that drew them out of me had, and yet it was all for the power money could buy.

The first show I played was at a rock bar in Venice Beach.

The lights were too dim for me to see the faces of the unknown staring back at me and so all I could make out was the sound of the bar. One strum on my guitar made with my fingers and a head full of swinging memories was released. Back and forth they scraped down like a pendulum until all had dwindled except the single thought that I was, despite their attention now, forever alone with the harbored past.

"Play the fucking song," a man called out.

Okay, I thought, maybe not forever.

I muffled the drawn out hum and struck again, but was washed even further from the room.

I found myself in a wooden seat at a table in my high school library.

A group of valley girls were laughing here amongst themselves because of my clothing; a heavy metal t-shirt that reeked of nug and split mixed drinks and a pair of jeans covered in grass stains. My sickly white configuration was far from impressive.

What's the big deal though, I wondered.

Sexual performance over spectacle foreplay, I could be a charm.

In truth however, I felt I'd seen too much in my short time to seek out dates or dress nice or do much of anything but drugs and exhaust my ego more than I had already; so much that it could fill buckets as it sweat with self-awareness. How could I, the daily-using shell of a person running to deny the existence of childhood, possibly interest even the most desperate girl once holding me in long enough for a conversation brought them to their senses?

"Are you all bi-sexual yet or waiting until college when one of you has some tits?" I yelled out at the group.

"Suck an asshole,” one of them snickered. “I didn't realize you had the chromosomes to form a sentence.”

“Let me guess; you stretch your words out because they were taught to you with an enormous erection in your mouth," I shot back.

The stand-in for the absent teacher, a gym coach named Mr. Montoya, dropped his coffee on the dry-erase attendance clip board in his hands and washed away the x-marks he'd been putting next to the names of the present with the fluvial rush of the bone-baring drink.

"Artemis, meet me out in the hall pronto," he directed in his own language.

I grabbed my things and began to follow him when an alarm sounded.

"Well that’s just great," the coach mumbled.

He turned around and faced the class.

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"You heard it right folks, that's the code 99 alarm. Get under cover and stay away from the windows until I figure out what’s going on."

"Is it a drill?" The librarian wondered.

Mr. Montoya put up his hand to ask for her patience as he toyed with his walkie-talkie, but as he did, a not-so distant breakout of gunfire overwhelmed the sirens. The library erupted into yelling and crying until the coach slammed his fist on a table and projected the voice he usually pegged behind his megaphone.

"Down from the windows—now…"

A spray of bullets shattered the main glass doors he was standing near and killed a couple of freshmen in their tracks.

The shooters moved in as we scattered and riddled Mr. Montoya with bullets.

I dove behind the counter as they drew in, taking the cash register with me and crashing with it on the floor next to the doe-eyed last moments of the librarian, whom I’d littered with loose change and dollar bills. I held her clammy hands as she struggled to grip onto the world she knew and then peered over the counter once they'd released open. The group of girls was crouched in an isle of magazines, but they were going to need time to make an escape. I hopped the counter while the shooters opened fire underneath tables and bolted at them.

"Run," I screamed, pushing them to the side door exit.

Just as the last of them filed out, I felt a burst of pressure in my side and fell woozily into the rack of mixed modern fashion and tribal life, barely noticing it all crash down on top of me. When I’d regained consciousness, I coughed up a heap of warm blood, noticing my legs spasming.

My last sensory embrace, I groaned.

However, a minute passed, and I didn’t cease, nor did the shooters come to claim me. They were taking more lives instead; busting into classrooms and using their victims as mere martyrs of the terror possible by those pushed too far.

I have a philosophy of my own, I told to myself, working up to my feet as my back pumped out streams and I began to walk.

…That I've never known a single thing about myself; not until this moment. Not until near-smeared.

I’ve downed a frantic mix of favorite shows and icons.

Mastered how to act; how to drown quietly in a deep unchartered sociopathy...

…And now…like from a nightmare to a midnight orgy, I awaken to my own prospects.

I found our dead resource officer in the teacher’s lounge.

She wasn't far from the vending machine, a melting candy bar still in-hand.

I relieved her of her handgun and took a deep breath to think of what I was up against. The principal on the intercom informed my thoughts just then by saying he believed there were three assault rifles moving through the school held steady in inhumane hands. I knew that soon a team of cops who'd learned from the public's reaction to the Columbine incident would swarm the shooters and kill them if they hadn't killed themselves already.

“You're really hurt," I heard from behind me. “What are you doing?”

It was the girl I’d argued with.

"Go home," I told her.

To my surprise, she clung on to me, shaking.

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"I came back for you. I followed your blood from the library. I felt terrible for leaving you…you can't just go out there and die. Come with me."

A wonderment, I thought.

Every sure decision complicated.

There were times where I thought people like her deserved death for how they’d treated me based on superficial clause. I held that opinion of the officer for example, who’d been enraged with bitter loneliness in her lifetime. Mr. Montoya had his gym class favoritism, and even the librarian had perhaps triggered this inner voice in me at some point with the simple annoyance of a malfunctioning book scanner.

I didn’t feel this now.

It was I who was superficial, and in the case of the girl from the library, it was impossible to ignore that I wanted to live to be with her.

"In the next few minutes I add worth to the wasted years," I said on my way out. “Whatever could’ve been between us wouldn’t be as good as if I came out of this alive."

I began to follow where others took flight.

The presence of death in the hallways was decorated in bloody ornament; a hunt for an un-popped seed of sanity in a burning hearth.

I hit myself in the face a couple of times to desensitize, but soon I was stumbling and bleeding over heaps of bodies with every couple of steps.

"Fucking no decency," I cried out.

There was no pity or preference of killing.

It was randomized; the chaotic nature of life taught to me with no dilute.

The gunfire became louder with every turn made in the fresh-fed catacombs until I came upon one of its tenders.

He was jiggling like he had to piss, readying up to enter a new classroom.

Poor timing, I thought.

"Fuck face."

I waited for him to turn his head.

His eyes met my sights and I introduced my clip.

The holes left were large enough that when I walked up I saw fragments of skull floating in his head as if they were broken dish plates losing buoyancy of the blood beneath them while the brain held in the rest of the filth like a strainer. I stared at the dripping ceiling above in awe at what I'd done, beginning to work the rifle off of the corpse.

When I came into the bawling room of students, everyone seemed certain I was there to collect them for kill count.

"Relax,” I said, “I’m here to help. I have a handgun for anyone who wishes to seek their own justice as I have mine. When I did so, I had my cupeth over runneth; quite literally, if I were to stand beneath the ceiling drip."

I held out the gun with the hot barrel pointed down and waited for a volunteer I could trust. Of the two who walked forward, I picked a Vietnamese kid named Tycho Miyazaki to be my companion. As an excess hand, he was intended to draw the bath for the blood countess of my minds’ eye.

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"Stick close and follow my lead," I told Tycho as I re-entered the halls with him.

Tycho nodded and remained at my side as we went through the band hall.

It was a gruesome zone that trounced the rest.

Instruments and sheet music surrounded their musicians whose still-frame faces wore anguish while others endured fits of paralysis to a losing-battle.

"I know them," Tycho moaned as we tip-toed the carnage. "There's Rebecca, there's Trevor…"

"Just names," I reminded him, "power words to draw emotion when the cause is feet away and felling more…focus on your posture."

We continued the mind-deadening advance to the auditorium where the remaining shooters had contained the students.

"They locked them in before they began firing," Tycho said as he tried the door.

I examined it and saw that there were bars at the bottom lodged into fitted holes in the concrete.

Tycho shook the door wildly.

"All of those fucking people," he cried.

I grabbed him up off of his feet and tossed him away.

Once he got up I held out my rifle to him.

“Let’s switch weapons,” I said.

He hesitated to hand over his gun but eventually gave in.

“I need your cooperation,” I told him. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good…now here’s the plan…I want you to start firing rounds into that door’s window 15 seconds after I turn to leave. It’ll be less bullet-resistant to the rifle so you can put on some heat while I enter in backstage from the other side of the auditorium…got it?"

“Yes.”

I ran as fast as I could.

I’m counting on you Tycho; your binding principle riding backseat my thirst for blood.

I entered in backstage and stepped over the impaired in their theatrical make-up.

Pushing away wheeled racks of costumes and prop boxes became like cutting through a web until I finally had my hand on the edge of the stage curtain and could pull it away.

I noticed first that Tycho wasn’t shooting—his window post abandoned, and then looked up at rows of people running and hiding, getting plugged by life-plucking gunfire.

I winced from my injury as I held in my breath to shoot.

A few bullets were missed on smoking up the interior seating, but one finally caught in the neck of my target and he performed a stop, drop and roll on the stage he was standing, thinning the thick of his blood with every motion like a churner. The other

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gunman rushed over to a crowd and prevented me from shooting. When it’d dispersed, all that remained was his smirk and a single hostage thrashing inside his locked arm.

"Let him go…this is just you and me," I told the shooter.

"It's so much more than that," he called out.

He began to approach me with the hostage.

What is this…

“It’s easy to see that…” he continued, “that you and I have very little to do with anything. That everything belongs to this moment…some kid of the people you are…ring-leaping; lapping the shit from their boots. Me…I’m a moody godsend, drunk on the impossible."

I steadied my aim.

"Trust me, all this is happening," I assured him.

The shooter rubbed the gun barrel on the kid’s head in large pressing circles.

His glasses moved up and down with them, making him choke for air and whimper.

"You die inside from delusion yet I live on as a truth,” the shooter said. “Go ahead…inherit woe as I unearth."

He pulled his trigger before I could speak.

No second thoughts crossed my mind as I clenched my finger and took off the shooter’s face and shoulders like flying clumped mâché.

Rest with your tedious words, I thought.

I went back to the main entrance and saw that the key that had kept it locked was still in the hole. I turned it and opened the door, seeing that my fears for Tycho had come true. I knelt down by him quietly. His wounds were mortal but he said nothing and only pointed at my side with the last of his strength.

"I'll be all right,” I said. “Just look at me…you did it…you saved their lives. Not bad for a little corner of the world…right Tycho?"

Tycho was gone.

“Right…" I said, collapsing my head on his chest.

I listened to the rush of the late task force assigned what I’d accomplished and closed my eyes; unsure if they would open again or if I’d been pinched for my relentless arrogance.

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Part Two:

…And then there was a light.

I stepped out of the automatic doors of the hospital that would’ve opened for me even in electrical dead state. There was no question of my presence as news teams with cameras rolling ascended the stairs to get closer to the podium I was approaching. The star-Governor himself introduced me like apple pie just before taking his seat at my left like an eager imp of mental illness; awaiting the words I’d prepared while droning in a daze of sensory-fantasy.

“I return from weeks mirroring a torture chamber,” I said into the microphone. “Yet…there’s grief still that threatens to destroy me, for I’ve killed those involved in a misguided act of youth. I stand here now not to restore the system they challenged, but to contend progressive change. Therefore, I would like to dedicate this moment to rock and roll history, and announce the beginning of my career. Your attention has turned to me, and now I will use it to keep our loved ones, such as Tycho Miyazaki, in our thoughts forever…thank you…”

I moved away from the podium and congregated strength from the clapping.

There I was; a standard of men more than a man.

No going back now, I thought, watching the Mayor begin her own speech.

“Very passionate words Artemis,” she said. “They do not however meet the city’s need to compensate the forth-spring of heroic action. Local community fundraisers, our beloved School Board and donations from my campaign to be re-elected as your Mayor have come together to reward you $25,000.”

The Mayor grabbed a giant check from the hands of one of her younger supporters and held it up for the camera before handing it to me and posing for more pictures.

“I gladly will give half of this to the Miyazaki family,” I said to the film crew. “Too often do we falter to petty self-righteousness and forget our common goals.”

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Part Three:

By nightfall, producers, publishers and agents had flooded my voicemail, leaving me unsure of who to call first until I recognized the voice of the girl from the library. Within the hour she was on my lap lighting a blunt and asking me how I planned to spend my half of the money. My parents sat around me; my mother the termagant and my father the sycophant.

“How could you possibly think this is okay?” my mom asked me. “Your first day home and you’re smoking marijuana on my couch. You have this girl on your lap who I’ve never seen. You should just be thanking God that you’re alive.”

“In a couple of years I’ll have an estate,” I told her. “Private beach houses, a mountain resort; that’s how I’ll be saying thanks.”

“You’re day dreaming,” my father replied. “Publicity won’t make your music any better.”

“I’ll take care of this family more than you could ever hope to, you watch,” I challenged.

My mom rose from her seat to lecture me but my girlfriend got in her face.

“Stay away from him,” she yelled. “He doesn’t need this right now.”

“You think you know what’s best for him?” my mother yelled back. “Ask him something then you skank; does he remember who was up night-after-night with him in the hospital crying while he rested…does he remember who had to ignore his constant insults as pain and the drugs removing his filter?”

The room was energized by my mother’s eyes alone.

“Whatever I said or did, I’ll make it up to you,” I muttered.

A loud burst came from the front of the house.

Suddenly the walls exploded from above us and I hit the ground, lying still in the smoke and dust of the drywall.

When I looked up I saw my family dead around me.

A group of armed men pulled my girlfriend off of me and shot her too.

They beat me with their guns before I could even yell and I found myself being carried away.

“You’ll pay,” I whispered to myself. “I promise…”

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