Links to my Books

Links to My Writings

Meditations on Maintenance for the Kindle
Memoirs of a Super Criminal for the Kindle, Nook
One Year in the Mountains for the Kindle, Nook
Adventures of Erkulys & Uryon for the Kindle and Nook

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Memoirs of a Super Criminal Cover Art

These are three possible options for the cover of my new novel. Please leave a comment as to which one you like best and maybe a reason why. You can read a sample of my novel below this post.

Monday, August 8, 2011

Memoirs of a Super Criminal, excerpt.

An alleyway door clanged open and two men exited hurriedly. In the distance an alarm screeched and blared. The two men wore costumes. The one leading the way was dressed in all black with red gloves cut to look like flames. The other wore a simple gray jumpsuit with black military boots and a black mask. They both carried sacks.

“Hurry, fool, this way.” The leader said in earnestness.

“Don’t call me a fool. You tripped the alarm, not me.” The other angrily answered.

They neared the end of the alley and just before it turned left towards a side street, a dumpster crashed down to block their way. They both turned abruptly and saw him at the end of the alley; the red cape billowed out behind him.

They dropped their bags. The man in gray stepped against the wall and became invisible. The other raised his flame shaped gloved to defend himself but before he could shoot, a red blur was upon him.

Armageddon held the criminal by one arm. They were suspended a foot off the ground.

“Where is El Mag?” Armageddon whispered.

“Who the hell is that? Let go! You are crushing my arm!” The criminal cried.

“Tell me what I want to know or it will get worse,” Armageddon squeezed.

The criminal let out an agonizing squeal. “Stop, stop, stop! I don’t know who that is. Honest, stop!” The pain coursed down his arm. He could feel his bones slowly breaking.

Armageddon threw him to the ground and touched down lightly beside him. He reached down with both hands and grasped the criminal’s injured arm. He began to twist. The arm made a sickening sound as the bones broke and flesh tore.

The criminal screamed and clawed to be released. “Stop! I don’t know! Stop! Please!” He whispered in exasperation.

Armageddon had no sympathy. “Tell me, what you do know? Tell me now or I will rip your other arm off.” The criminal lay on the ground and whimpered.

Armageddon turned suddenly and looked over his shoulder. Laser bolts shot from his eyes and scorched a mark across the wall. A moment later a body fell to the ground, cut in two.

Armageddon looked back down at the man at his feet. His eyes glowed red. The criminal wet himself and cried harder. Just then a squad car pulled into the alley; blue and red lights cast shadows along the walls. Armageddon stood up and walked towards the car.

The police met Armageddon half way down the alley.

Armageddon addressed the police in an official voice. “Careful with that one. He has super powers. He can, could, shoot fire from his hands. The other one, he could turn invisible. I warned him twice to show himself and then gave a warning blast. I thought he might have been sneaking up behind me while I tried to subdue the other one. I guess I was off with my blast. Don’t worry I will file a full report as is my duty. Have a nice day officers.” Armageddon jumped into the air and flew away. His red cape billowed out behind him.

The lead officer grabbed his radio and called it in. The second officer inspected the scene. One body cut in two. The other one lay in a pool of blood with a limp hand ending in a mangled forearm cradled in his lap; pure hatred in his eyes as he glared at that red cape.

“What the hell happened?” The officer whispered to himself.

"Memoirs of a Super Criminal"

Copyright David Corbet 2011

Tuesday, July 26, 2011


It has been some time since I posted here. Life kind of moves fast when you are not paying attention. So it is. But a fast life is not an empty life. I have been painting and writing. Every month on the first Friday I show my art work at Station Square in Old Town Pocatello.

I have also published a short collection of poems. It is currently available through Amazon Kindle. It is called One Year in the Mountains. I am working on a novel as well. It will be available in mid August.

Monday, October 11, 2010


Monthly the moon is sacrificed as it moves through it's cycle. And yet it is reborn just as the spring is reborn from the dead of winter and once again the flowers bloom: red for the blood of the sacrifice and purple for the royalty of the heavens.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010


Epiphany is the time when the three wise men came and gave gifts to the Messiah. It is the origin of gift giving at the Christmas time. Some forms of Christianity still practice the giving of gifts on January 6th, instead of on Christmas day. It is an interesting story nestled in the second chapter of Matthew.
The Greek for the “wise men” is “magoi apo anatolon.” Literally it translates: magi from where the stars rise. The word “anatolon” which is often translated as “the east” is used repeatedly in reference to the rising of the star which the magi are following to find the Messiah. The Magi from the east saw the star in the east and followed it. The word anatolon has both the connotation of “rising” and “east.” Stars rise in the east and set in the west. Anatolon serves both as a geographical location and an action. The magi from the anatolon are searching for the Messiah by following the star’s anatolon. This is their realm of knowledge, expertise and location. They are successful in their venture and find the Messiah.

Are the Magi magicians, scientists of the day, crackpots, or representatives of other faiths? All of those scenarios have been presented in the literature at one time or another. Not much is known about whom these individuals are; who or what they represent exactly. The biblical account is silent. Christian tradition has assigned them names and places of honor. And the general designation of “wise men”, which may in light of the silence be the best designation, leaves much to the imagination. They were not questioned by the local authorities but rather accepted as valid emissaries on a mission. When they arrive at the side of the Messiah they are not questioned by the mother Mary but accepted.

What is the point of the story? This story only appears in the Gospel of Matthew. This gospel is largely concerned with proving that Jesus is the Messiah. The first chapter is devoted to two themes, first, to the lineage of Jesus back to the King David and the founder of Judaism ,Abraham; and second, to the miracle conception of the Messiah. The second chapter shows the secular rulers rejection of the “King of the Jews” but the acceptance of the “King of the Jews” by the “wise men.” The second chapter also shows an “exodus” event not unlike that of Israel in the time of their beginnings.
So what is the point of the story of the Magi?

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Big History

In the recent issue of Discover, I read an interview that dealt with the theme: Big History. As far as I understand the concept it is putting human history into context of universal history. Human history is only a subset of a much larger history that include the environment that allowed mammals to develop, the cosmos that allowed a planet to develop with such an ecology that supports life... back to the beginning.

I had this thought. Before everything that is there was truly limitless possibility. It is like a blank piece of paper before the first line is drawn; but once that first line is drawn it both reveal what picture may develop and also begins to limit what possible picture may take shape and with each line more limits are placed, until finally a finished product is revealed. As the cosmos go, before the Big Bang there were no limits, no natural or physical laws. But once "Bang" happened then limits were placed: atomic structure and shape, thermal dynamics, gravity, electromagnetism... more and more limits were put into place until life emerged. And limits are placed on life through ecology, DNA, intelligence.

But at what point can we step back from the paper and see the picture, how much of the outline needs to be revealed before we can understand the contours of the overall structure and shape of the picture developing before us? How many details need to be sketched in before the limiting effect is in fact a revealing effect? Or is there no grand picture emerging from the chaos turned order of the cosmos which has brought about life and awareness?

Saturday, August 22, 2009


The following is an excerpt from a document called, "Million Words." It is where I let my mind wander and fingers flow. It is were I practice my art of the wordsmithing. Someday I will write a million words (I am only around a few hundred thousand so far.) And so I share with you a walk down a rabbit trail.

(Written Before 02/15/2008)

I stood staring at my keys, forgetting what I was doing. Move ahead it will all come back to you. Look like you have purpose and keep moving. It does not matter where, just move, decide. Fool those staring at you. Keep acting with purpose. Why do I have my keys out?

Oh yeah going home at the end of the day. But to what home… I am lost in a sea of humanity and cannot find my mind. I am lost, completely alone and all that I put my hand to turns to rubbish. I am lost and alone; I am the existential dilemma incarnate.

I walk to and fro upon the streets and some think I am a beggar, others think I am a directed and confident soul. Some ignore me as I walk by and others are disgusted at my stench. Each breath is putrid rot and I enjoy the taste of the bile in my throat. Will they see my in time to stop?

I put the keys down on the counter as I enter the door. I put the bags of mass produced food like substance on the floor, perhaps the dog will put them away, or shall I? How did I get home? When I turn off my brain, my body can move on automatic and get me through the day. But when I turn it on, all that I see is kaleidoscopically and chaotically churning colors before my mind and I want to jump in and swim in those magical colors, but I fear I will drown. And so I snack every thirty minutes to give my self an excuse to not go insane. “Must wait thirty minutes after eating before you can swim,” is my mantra to sanity.

Why should I hold so dearly to my sanity when it is obvious no one else does?
Why do I have to pretend to be sane when it would be so much easier to be myself?
Ah, liberation of the artist’s soul!!!