Posted in Complete Blog on January 15, 2012 by michealgrin

Here’s to the followers I might have; I’ve decided to move my blog from wordpress to I find it much easier to post and update posts through blogger. It’s less demanding of me and as simple as copying and pasting directly from OpenOffice. You can find the site at


That is all.


Who Am I?

Posted in Complete Blog on January 8, 2012 by michealgrin

This week I asked myself; who am I?”

I lifted my head, waking from a dream. In my fantastical world

of the subconscious, I was tied to a set of posts flanking me, naked

with my legs open and wearing a ball gag. There were these men,

each one a shadow of my daddy, and they each took a turn raping


Outside the window, it was night. The sky was oil, the stars a

reflection of every tear I lost. I rose sore and walked to the mirror.

My beautiful blond hair was a mess and the ponytails were out,

the scrunchies I used, loose. I fixed myself up, then stared at my

reflection. Then, I ranted softly.

Little whore. Little whore. Why would he love you? How

could he love you? Daddy’s little girl. Daddy’s little princess. Burn

motherfucker, burn. Burn. Burn. How could he love you? Daddy

broke you. Who can love a broken doll? Burn. Burn. Little whore.

Ruined little cunt. Pussy too loose for the doctor. How could he

love you? How could he love you? Burn. Burn. Burn.”I giggled, a

wet line down my cheek. Then speaking so sweetly.

Little whore. Little girl. Let me hit and rape you. You look like

a doll. You look like a slut. Burn. Burn Burn. Touch me and see.

Taste me and see. I’m not broken, doctor. I’m not broken.”

I sighed and cocked my head, frowning exaggeratedly.

But you’re not a princess, and princesses I love. You’re not a

princess, you’re faking, my love. Find me a castle. Find me home.

And I will show you…”

I leaned closer, staring unblinking into my eyes, staring deep

into my soul and I saw her—me—the little girl with only a doll for

a toy. Alone in her room. Unloved. Forgotten.

I growled. Not a purr, a deep-throated voice from somewhere

inside of me. A monster. My monster.



    • – Page 109 “Princess Nonomi” by Micheal Grin

I stopped reading from my laptop and faced her. She shivered in the cold air, her lips trembling with nerves. Her bare flesh littered in goosebumps, perspiration on her round breasts. Damp in the hair of her loins.

Her head rolled from side to side, struggling to see through the blindfolds. Her wrists pulled against the ropes keeping her trapped to the table. Her legs jerked effortless against the straps around her ankles.

Every muscle of her sex tightened with my voice.

I wonder at times the definition of who I am. Don’t we all? The underlining mystery to life as we know it poses as an eternal question; who are we and why are we here? The ego drives humanity to try and understand the very purpose to our existence. It’s the cosmic or spiritual lust that propels us forward. That lends us the will to fight. That gives us meaning.”

I’m not out to understand the meaning of life. Fuck that. It isn’t meant for us to know. If we knew the truth to our existence, then what would be the point of continuing? If you know how the story ends, why read it? Where would be the twist? The plot development? The humanity?”

No. I simply want to know, “Who am I?”

She gasped sharply at the touch of my fingers, pleading in whispers. I turned from her body, to the table beside us, and picked the most friendly of choices. The blade was polished, reflecting the desk lamp.

Long and sharp.

I relished the way she startled and froze as the flat of the knife slid down, between her breasts, along the curve of her stomach. The tip teased her navel. The cool metal pressed firmly against her clit.

She grunted in absolute terror.

We all do, I’m sure. I might not be an expert on the common person but I have a feeling I’m not far from the mark. We all strive to make sense of the face we see in the mirror. The body within the skin. Perhaps not as frequently as I do, but often enough. We want to have a better understanding of who we are on the inside.”

Labels. We cling to them as if they held any definition to the person we make ourselves out to be. “I’m a goth. A jock. A sinner and a saint.” These are fail-safe methods we cling to, hoping that name tags will help us better identify ourselves. Perhaps allow a glimpse through the eyes of the observer. See ourselves through the audience.”

We all want to be onstage.”

With a twist, the edge of the knife dug between her labia and effortlessly began its journey back, along the unseen seam of her body. A railroad trail, sliding up through the stomach, towards the chest. It crossed along, creating a junction over the collar before I moved it back between her thighs. From there, I traced the pelvis to the hips.

Her screams were like angel cries.

I couldn’t care less about how others see me. I’m sure everyone has their own opinions and I’m certain that they are all wrong. What they see on the outside, what we all see of others on the outside, is the illusion of conformity. The mirage of humanity. We are puppets wearing masks over our masks. The reflection is a lie and the truth underneath is what really matters.”

Who am I? I’m a person who enjoys his cloak of lies as much as he hates it. I’m sure we all feel that way. We want to be something more, someone else. We want the world to perceive us as we perceive ourselves, regardless of whether that is who we are or not.”

Sometimes, who we are is not as good as who we think we are. Other times, who we are is better than who we want others to think we are. Sometimes, the answer is simply to convoluted to decipher.”

Her body convulsed as shock took away my enjoyment. The nerves were exposed, the flesh pulled aside like the covers to a book. Her book. Muscle bound breasts and sinew covered stomach. Her groin the starting point to the girl within.

She lay open to me like no one else could, red like roses and smelling of vanilla copper.

Putting the knife back, I sensually caressed her inner layer with my hand.

I was thinking, “Maybe who we are is but the reflection of society. A shadow cast by the expectations of pop culture, of television and of mainstream media.” It could be that there is no unique identity left in this world. That originality has been played out beyond repair and we are all just factory made vessels squeezed out like unwanted babes into the river of expectations. We are not special. We are not loved.”

We are simply human beings.”

I asked myself the question; who am I? My conclusion is that I might never know. Many of us might never know. Perhaps, by that thought, there is no heaven or hell. Instead, in death, this final question might finally be answered. In our last moments, the illusions we’ve weaved about us may lift like a veil and for once in our story, we truly see the character within us.”

And maybe, when that time comes, we fully understand what it is to be human. To be unique. To stand in the spotlight.”

She died well before I came, well before my bloody hands had touched every inch of her muscle, every bump and nook of her bones. By the time I learned to love her, she was but a corpse. To me she was more.

Lying on the table, her flesh pulled open like angel wings, she was real. The illusion of who she was gone.

Sitting at my desk, I blew smoke up in the air and turned to the screen.

Already she was forgotten.

If so, I will die with a grin.”

* * *

Midnight, Sunday on the 8th day of January, 2012.

Comments? Questions? Feel free to speak your mind.

A Fresh Start

Posted in Archives, Complete Blog on January 1, 2012 by michealgrin

This week I decided to try once more with my blog.”


Sheep! You are all fucking sheep! Breeding and eating and

eating and shitting! Fucking and working and living each and every

day lying to yourself about who you are and what you want

out of your pathetic, useless life! Convincing yourself that this is


Is it? Is it right? To live this way? Is it fucking right? Do you

know who I am? Wake up!”

This is not the way we are meant to live. This world is not for

me. Fuck your HBO and your McDonalds. Fuck your MTV, your

oil leaks, and your voting parties. Fuck your Top Ten lists and your

fucking rules. Fuck your reality TV, your Flicks on Demand, and

your Eco-friendly alternatives. We are not meant to live this way.”

It will end. Someday. When it does, I will be there. I will be

there. You think I’m crazy?”

I’m not crazy. You are.”

 – Pages 27-28 “Princess Nonomi” by Micheal Grin

I tossed my book down on the surface of my desk and turned to him. His eyes flickered with candle light, the sweat on his brow like diamonds. His fear was intoxicating.

“Princess Nonomi describes the way I feel almost every minute of my life. The hatred and frustration she expresses during the moment suits emotions that bury deep inside of me, threatening to claw its way out. Like a cancer. My anger is a fucking cancer. And there is no cure.”

I took my time, my hand passing over the many tools at my disposal. I watched him, his frightful stare following my dancing fingers. I was judging. Hunting for the perfect reaction. When he gasped into the duct tape sealing his mouth shut, I smirked and stopped.

Nice choice. I picked up the cordless drill.

“2011 is done now. The new year is upon us. It’s a time for new beginnings and regrets. A time for planning and hopeful wishing. A time to think to ourselves; what exactly do I want to accomplish next year? Me? I’ve got a shit ton of resolutions planned for the year 2012.”

Things didn’t necessarily bad for me though. I’ve published my first book. My short story “Peaches” was voted to be in the Deviant Nightmares Book Project anthology. Two fairly nice accomplishments, in a sense. However, the list stops there.”


Each step towards him was torture. Not my own. His. He squirmed against the rope, his boxers soaked in the front. Have some dignity, my good man. Have some fucking dignity.

I stood before him, a god, his jury and executioner. He tried to rock the chair. No luck. It was bolted to the floor. His flesh was pale as chalk and mine was on fire.


I’m broke. I’m lost. I’m frustrated and I’m caged. This month, I’ll be 31. Where the fuck did I go wrong? I thought things were just starting to change for the better. What the fuck happened here? Where am I headed? Is this even fucking worth it? What the fuck do I have to do to have some flicker of meaning in this pathetic excuse of an existence? I don’t fit in the fucking world we inhabit. Not at all. I try, without a doubt, to blend with the rest of society. I just can’t seem to do it. I just don’t care enough. I hate every choice there is to make and love none of the alternatives. I’m on the dead-end road through life.”


A single squeeze of the trigger. A quick spin of the drill bit. It sent him screaming in agony. His head reared back, eyes shut tightly. He was unable to ignore the pain. The sharp tip caught the flesh of his collar. Pulling. Twisting. Tearing. It dug in briefly and then stopped.

With a jerk I pulled it out and proceed to do the same under his left shoulder.


This blog, this joke of an attempt to promote myself; what the fuck is it for? Does the world even care what I think of it? No. The world doesn’t want to know what is going through my mind. The earth is rotting away at the surface, infested with the disgusting bacteria called Man. No one cares about one person. No one wants to know.”

How do I continue a blog or contribute to it regularly when I have nothing good to say? I fail to see the point so long as it’s expected of me to provide an insight on our lives. So long as it’s not a perspective seen through the eyes of a horror writer. Through the thoughts of a madman.”


Two holes pierced, I returned to the table, placing the bloody instrument down. He’s gasping, head hanging. The gouges bled like tears of angels and I was only just getting started. With cold amusement I took hold of the next toy.

He raised his face to the scalpel in my hand.


The last post I did, I started to explore the concept of an atheist death. Maybe provide an opinion. A point of view. Why did I stop? The answer is simple; We die and there is nothing we can do about it. Quit fucking worrying and pay your damn taxes.”

I have no concept of god or society. I can offer nothing of importance other than the exploration of my fictional and diluted mind. The violence and sex that stirs a heat in my core. That’s all I can give. A hateful rant against the planet we chose to destroy. A spiteful finger to the establishment of church and government.”

The only thing I have to offer to anyone who reads this is my sincere thoughts of the world.”


Like the macabre ballet of agony, I spiralled the blade across him. Through tender flesh, leaving my touch tattooed in red ink. Suffer. Feel. He screamed and begged. Each syllable from him the song that carried me.

Die, friend. Die.

I want to watch you die.


I’m not crazy. You are.”

Mere moments for me. Days to him. His skin hung in strips from his skull. His chest torn apart, muscles exposed to the damp air. Vomit on his lap. His penis a useless chunk on the concrete floor.

I returned to the table, hands sticky with cooling blood. Placing the blade back, I bent and picked up the canister of gasoline.

By this point, I doubted he even cared.

“That’s why I never updated before. I had nothing nice to say. We all know the fucking advice; “If you’ve got nothing nice to say…” I looked into self promoting my book and any advice I found sings the same bullshit song and dance. Write a blog.”

Well, this is my blog and all I want to do is piss on everyone out there. Self promotion? I’m no fucking salesman. If I was, I wouldn’t be broke and unemployed.”

Do I post this instead? Yes.”


Ritualistically, I showered him in petrol.


I’ve decided to give this one more try. A final phoenix chance. Only this time, things will be different. I will share a point of view, provided only the way I can. Through my eyes. My ears. My thoughts. I’m not a monster. Far from it. I’m simply angry, lost and tired. But now I have an outlet, a tunnel to take me home. I’m inviting you all along.”

I thought to myself; what if I take what I observe in a week, pick something to comment on, but add a Mr. Grin twist to it? What if I was saying it to someone else? Someone caught in my world?”


I leaned in close to him. The stench of fuel burned my nostrils and I smiled.


Someone like you.”

This is the third reincarnation to maintaining a blog. A rebirth to provide a dark look at things, at life through the philosophy of my psyche. If it offends, I don’t care. If it entertains, all the better. I only wish to share what I learn each week about the world we live in.”

That is my goal; to update weekly, bringing a new topic, a new observation as only I can explore it. They might be serious. They might be simple. Regardless, someone will suffer as I share. Someone will die.”

Let’s blog through sex and violence. Let’s chat on my terms. Let’s explore the mysteries of over priced coffee or the decline of religious power while I choke the life out of you.”

Let’s see if I make it work.”

Until then, I’m not dead. I’m alive and enraged. Disgusted and tired. Sickened and far from hopeful.”

Perhaps this will help keep idle hands from straying.”


I sat back in my chair, desk behind me. The glow of my laptop a sick ambiance in the room. He lifted his head, eyes swollen, and looked out at me. I doubt I was any more than a shadow to him, a silhouette against the light of heaven.

Taking one last drag of my cigarette, I flicked it. It streamed an amber fire, twirling like the devil’s dance.

It ignited his final inferno.


Fuck the world you know. Welcome to mine.”


Midnight, Sunday on the 1st day of January, 2012.


* * *


Comments about the new direction I’m taking? Questions? Feel free to speak your mind.


For more about the Deviant Nightmares Book Project, go to


Posted in Complete Blog on December 15, 2011 by michealgrin

To what extent should a man feel free to express himself?

That is all.

Deviant Short Fiction Project

Posted in Complete Blog on July 1, 2011 by michealgrin


Last week I was contemplating the atheist afterlife and was going to continue my musings this week. That’s not going to happen now. Instead, I want to tear any attention I currently have to the Deviant Short Fiction Project, presented to us by fellow writer Joseph Sweet.

This is a great opportunity for writers on DeviantArt to get published. Though their is no pay involved, you’ll get your name out there and have the bragging  rights to say that you are a published author.

I’ve already submitted one of three short stories and I would recommend to everyone that you take advantage of this chance for a start.

To find out more, go check out Joseph Sweet’s journal.


That is all for now. This is my weekly update. Next week, maybe I’ll continue on the question; where the fuck do I go when I die?

Yours truly,

Micheal Grin

An Atheist Death: Part One

Posted in Complete Blog on June 23, 2011 by michealgrin

Ladies and gentlemen,

I am an atheist. I am not agnostic. I do not believe in a god. I do not believe that there is the possibility of a god or higher power.

I have been, in all technicality, an atheist since I was 14 years old. Since that time, I’ve explored theological options and thoughts, both of my own and the peers before me. During a stint of my young adult life, I had considered the possibility that I might be a Satanist according to the philosophical teachings of Anton LaVey. That ended when I informed myself on the organization only to discover that there was a 500$ membership fee. Basically a hypocrisy within a mockery of hypocrisy.

At that point I denounced all religions. Each one, to me, is no different than the other in that they offer answers without facts. Spare me the loophole responses concerning the miracle of gods around us. That is bullshit. Science has been the only logical provider of detailed facts I’ve been given to answer many of life’s mysteries.

That poses a problem. Science, based on my views and values, provides the facts.

After my disappointing search for spirituality, it was safe to conclude that I was an atheist. That’s fine. I don’t need to feel the comforts of divine manipulation to feel secure about the life I lead or the path I choose. I’m a good person. I don’t steal. I don’t hate based on misinformed or misguided reasons. And despite what I write, I believe everyone is allowed the right to live.

This brings me back to my point and the main topic of this rant. See, without religion or some fantastical belief of the afterlife, I am left shadowed by the prospect of death. It’s not a fear. It’s a simple anxiety towards the unknown. Like taking the wrong turn and finding yourself on a unfamiliar path. You’re not afraid but you just… don’t like it.

Albert Einstein’s (as if I was talking of some other Einstein) obituary in the New York Times, April 19, 1955, quoted; I cannot imagine a God who rewards and punishes the objects of his creation, whose purposes are modeled after our own — a God, in short, who is but a reflection of human frailty. Neither can I believe that the individual survives the death of his body, although feeble souls harbor such thoughts through fear or ridiculous egotisms.

I agree with him that it is impossible to imagine a god influenced by man. To accept a omnipotent being created to cater humanity’s self absorbed egos. I find it difficult to believe that throughout our lives we are judged based on our actions, for one man’s definition of good is another man’s evil. It’s unfathomable for me to accept that throughout our world, those who follow the laws of religion proceed to a rewarded afterlife despite the contradictions among said dogmas.

In short, I believe what Einstein said.

To a point.

I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in god. I don’t agree with any common religion or cult. Yet I disagree that this is all there is. Einstein didn’t believe in life after death, and I hope for his sake and mine that he’s wrong. I can’t even begin to pretend I believe in a god, yet I can successfully fool my mind into hoping that there is a life after death. Why?

Anxiety of the unknown.

I’m an atheist in life and agnostic in death.

I’ll continue this rant next week. Feel free to comment.

– Mr. Grin


A final plug and note: I’ve recently added a second short story to my website, free to download as a PDF. The story can also be found on my DeviantArt account.

Also, I’ve activated my author’s account on Goodreads. Feel free to check it out .

Finally, there is a new page on Facebook for my book, Princess Nonomi. As always, the novel is now available through

That is all. The progress is slow but as it stands, I’m creating something from this blog.


Links:   My website: Micheal Grin

My Goodreads: Goodreads

Princess Nonomi Facebook page: Princess Nonomi on Facebook


Micheal Grin Dot Com and the Evolution of Hate

Posted in Complete Blog on June 16, 2011 by michealgrin

Ladies and gentlemen,

After spending much of my day fighting and struggling with shit I don’t understand, I now have a website. On it you will find my author bio, information on my novel Princess Nonomi, a sample of said book AND a free short story.

In upcoming days, there will be more short stories available for download. The files are free and formatted as a PDF.

Check it out and pass the word on.

FURTHERmore, it has been decided by my patience and tolerance that I will not continue with my separate blog over on blogspot. What’s the point? Why would I need two blogs when I already have one here?
See, the original idea was that I would have one blog for author stuff and interviews or reviews. The other one was to be a journal of some sort where I can publicly rant about the little things in life that render me insane.

Why bother? Why submit myself to such pointless efforts to divide who I am with who I propably should be? It seems like a waste of time to me. Honestly, what would be the purpose of doing so when I end up linking my other blog through this one? You want to know what’s on my mind, I don’t think I need to hide it on some dummy website just to protect people from my opinions. I’m not paid to care and I’m not hampered by judgement.

This site will be my journal.  I won’t shy away from who Micheal Grin is.


That is all for now.