Notes from the Edge Notes from the edge black

Notes from the Edge

wendellsweet7 September 23, 2025

Posted by Geo. 09-23

Tuesday once more. It is cold enough here to build a snowman, if there were snow, and it was 25 degrees cooler. Okay, so it isn’t overly cold, but it is barely 50 degrees this morning, and I think officially I can stop complaining about the heat of summer and switch over to the coolness of winter. Okay, I’ll wait a few weeks, and honestly it has been so hot and humid this summer that I don’t really mind this cold yet. I think that is my problem with the weather this year, it has been too extreme one way or the other. Not much, or enough of the nice in between weather.

Spent my day yesterday with family and the small children that result from family. If you have not spent time around small children in awhile I suggest you do. Nothing like the way a child laughs to loosen your heart up and make you appreciate life, youth, beauty, the world.

I think the goals for this month are to get all of the books that should be available available. With new writers and deadlines that is a job. That is what I will be sticking too today, getting listings done.

As for Dell he is stepping back a little further. I will take over all of the day to day stuff and that is probably where that will remain. So he isn’t gone, he just isn’t here. I think things are finally running the way he wanted them too and so he stepped back as he said he would to allow them to run.

There isn’t much else going on. We are working to get books out and listed, working on the websites. I see there are still old links that offer free chat. Does anyone even use that? So things like that will be cleaned up as I go through the links, other than that you shouldn’t see any major changes. I will write this blog from now on and so my name will be on the blog, a small change. I will continue to make the websites phone and tablet friendly.

I think one thing you will see is a more centralized website. In other words all areas easily reached from a main menu. Right now things are spread out and the information, reading, art or whatever else you are searching for is on multiple sites and not easily found. I’m making the consolidation of that sound easy, I’m sure though that it won’t be.

I am going to leave you with that as far as news goes.

New writers:

I hope your Monday is good, I will leave you with a short story from Paul Block…

BLACKNESS OF THE SOUL

This excerpt is used with permission. If you would like to share this short story, please point those you wish to share it with to this page. This material may not be copied electronically or digitally and or distributed without the publisher’s express permission (Writerz.net). Permission is granted to use short excerpts in critics. The publisher of record for this work is writerz.net & Dell Sweet. The copyright holder retains all rights foreign and domestic to this work.

Blackness Of The Soul

~1~

Paul Brown settled the barrel of the nine Millimeter pistol against his left palm, curled his hand around it as if to hold it forever, and then released it finger by finger. A sob escaped his throat and a fat tear drop rolled down his left cheek and splashed against the butt of the pistols grip where the clip protruded slightly. He took his free hand, wiped the tear away and then reached for the beer that sat beside him.

He raised the can to his mouth, drank deeply, and then continued to stare at the black pistol that rested in his right hand. Once again his left hand closed around the barrel, but lightly. Stroking it. Caressing it. He fished a cigarette from the pack beside him on the floor, thumbed the wheel of his old Zippo and pulled the harsh tobacco smoke into his lungs.

The smoke, or the beer, or both seemed to calm him, at least momentarily. His chest hitched but he stifled the sob this time. The sobs frightened him more than the gun. The sobs came on their own and there seemed to be no way to fight or stop them. They were a life unto themselves. The gun on the other hand only had to speak once. And technically he would never hear it.

“Probably never hear it,” he whispered into the semi darkness of the living room. He had pulled the curtains on the outside world. Blocked it away from him.

Probably never hear it. He wondered about the truth of the statement for what seemed to be an excessive amount of time to him, caught himself, and took another deep drink of the cold beer followed by a near frenzied pull from the cigarette. He waited on the sob but it came when he didn’t expect it. A flood of tears came with it, falling from his eyes, staining his reddened cheeks before he could think to try and stop it.

“Oh, God,” he moaned. He sucked in a deep breath, lifted the pistol to his mouth and bumped the barrel across his teeth and into his mouth.

Everything seemed to freeze. The taste of oiled metal flooded his mouth He gagged, and then nearly squeezed the trigger too hard because of it. Panicked, he ripped the gun from his mouth tearing open his upper lip on the gun site as he did.

He was breathing hard. He needed to calm down. The tears just continued to fall. His cheeks felt raw. His eyes full of sand. His head began to pound harder. It had begun to pound earlier. He thought about that too. No more headaches. None. No more worries. No more anything at all. He sighed and returned the gun to his lips. He could taste the oil and metal once more, mixed with the blood from the torn lip.

His lips did not seem to want to part. He eased the gun away, took a deep drag off the cigarette, his breath shuddered in and out. He tipped the can and took a deep drink to rinse his mouth of the tastes that had made him gag, then upended the can and drained it. He reached over and pulled another beer from the bag on the carpeted floor, took another deep drink to rinse the tastes from his mouth and then lit a new cigarette from the butt of the old one. He dropped the old butt into the freshly emptied can beside him. He pulled the smoke deeply into his lungs and then let it drift from his nose as he slowly exhaled, trying to calm himself. If he could only think this out, his mind jabbered. He took another deep drink from the can.

In a way it would be nice to sit down and think this through, but in another way he didn’t care if he ever had another thought in his life. He didn’t want to take the time to think it out at all. He had made up his mind earlier. In a few minutes, when he finished the cigarette and the beer he’d do it, he decided.

He didn’t want to die with a lit cigarette in his mouth and burn down the house. Anne had to live here… Well, maybe not, but even so she’d have to sell it or something… If she didn’t lose it…

He pulled hard on the cigarette as if rushing it to its end so he could rush his own end. He took a deep drink from the beer and felt the headache ease back a little.

He could feel the buzz from the beer. Maybe it would knock down the headache after all. Either way the headache was not long for this world, he decided.

Calm seemed to come over him all at once. The sob that he had been waiting for didn’t come. His chest didn’t hitch. His cheeks still felt irritated, his eyes full of sand, his mind weary and removed from him to a degree, but the hysteria he had been sure was going to grab him didn’t make another appearance.

Through the curtains he could see the late afternoon sunlight. Still gold in the sky. Heating up his part of the south. There was no noise except the steady rumble of the air conditioner. Whatever heat the sun held was lost on him today.

He pulled on the cigarette, noticed that it was all but dead and dropped it into the can with the last one. He upended the beer can and drained it. He waited, expecting the sobs to come back but the calm remained. He sighed once, was surprised to find that the gun was only inches from his lips, opened his mouth and slid the barrel in. The hysteria stayed at bay. He adjusted the barrel so it would be more comfortable, sighed at the absurdity of that thought, and then squinted his eyes down as his finger tightened on the trigger.

~2~

“How do you feel, Paul?”

Paul blinked and tried to look around him. He found that it was not entirely possible. He couldn’t really turn around to where the voice had come from no matter how he tried.

“It doesn’t matter though,” the same voice said.

And it didn’t. It became completely unimportant right then. Just like that.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m pretty upset. I…” He stopped. He had been pretty upset, but he wasn’t now. Now he felt… Well, at peace.

“That’s good, Paul. You should feel at peace.”

“It feels good,” he said. It seemed entirely normal that whoever was behind him could read his mind… Am I dead?

“I wanted to talk to you about how you got here, Paul.”

“How?”

“How.”

The time spun out.

“I stole about… I guess I don’t even know how much… I kept stealing and it kept adding up. And I knew they’d catch it… And they did… My boss must have called the cops,“ Paul said.

“Actually the company accountant… But I meant how you got here… To this point.”

“I… … I don’t know what you mean.”

“To kill yourself, Paul. I mean how did you get to this point where you decided to kill yourself… Take your own life… How did you reach that point, Paul?”

“Oh… I thought about it… I…” He stopped and thought about it. “I see… It’s just tough to understand… I don’t really know exactly… Are you God?”

“Do you think of me as God?”

Paul thought about it. “I think I do… I think so… I believe you are God.”

“Then I am.”

“You are? … Really? You really are God?”

“I really am, Paul…”

His voice was soft. Reassuring.

“I… I thought you would sound different… I… Am I dead?”

“No… Not yet… You have some little time left… I thought, since you asked, that before you do something that will change everything we should talk.”

Paul nodded. “I prayed… Earlier I prayed.”

“I know… You know, Paul, people sometimes think I don’t listen to prayer anymore… If I ever did. They tell themselves that and then they begin to believe it. I do listen though. I do. Every prayer. Every time. Do you believe that, Paul?”

“I do… I mean I do now. I do know that now. I’m ashamed to say that.”

“Don’t be. There is no shame here. You are used to saying words that really don’t mean anything true. They are there, you say them… In this case you say that you are ashamed when you are not ashamed.”

Paul examined himself. “You’re right… I don’t feel ashamed. I feel good still. At peace still.”

“So how did you get here. How did you come to be here? Who told you that suicide was a solution?”

“I… It was painful… My wife will leave me. We’ll lose everything… The kids… I can’t imagine what the kids will do… Feel… It seemed… It seemed right.”

“Did it?”

Paul thought about it. “Maybe not… It felt like the only choice I had.”

“Yet you called out to me. Why?”

“Because… Because I used to believe in you… I…”

He laughed. “And I am still here. Did you think I had died? Did you think I had stopped believing in you?”

“Some people think so… That you died.”

“You?”

“No… I guess the truth is I just stopped believing… I believed in other things… Taxes… Bills… Mortgage payments… Summer… Fall…”

“The things you see every day.”

“That’s a good way to put it.”

“I have a way with words.”

Paul laughed and then stopped. “I thought maybe that was a joke.”

”It was… Do you wish you had not stopped believing? Do you see how things could have been different?”

“I can see that now, but what good is it after the fact? I pulled the trigger… I remember that.”

“Did you? I think you asked me to help… Sometimes I help in unexpected ways… Thomas needed to see… To place his hand in my side… Peter needed to see me risen… Sometimes my people ask me for help and then don’t recognize the help when it comes.”

“Like now?”

“Like now, yes. It’s time to think. To breath… To make a decision… A different decision.”

“Then what?” Paul asked.

“Then? … What comes, comes… I know what it is to live. I have felt what you feel. Struggled with the same temptations. We take it as it comes to us, Paul.”

“So the problems would still be there?”

“Yes.”

“That’s help?” Paul asked.

“I will help you all that you will allow.”

Paul thought about it and realized it was true.

“So… How did you end up here?”

“I guess I just walked away… I guess I chose to do that.”

You still choose words that are untrue. Do you guess or do you know?”

“I know. I walked away.”

“You know, it’s a split second decision… Many times if you take the time to think you can get through whatever comes at you.”

Paul nodded, took a deep breath. “I see.”

~3~

The finger stopped. He remembered something… Something… Summer. A thousand years ago it seemed… Anne… When they had first met… The picture in his mind was so perfect, so intense. So real, and a flood of images followed it… But… There had been something else there for a moment, hadn’t there? He had been focusing on the trigger… The pressure… And there had been something else there… Just for a moment… It seemed so. It seemed as though he had been ready to pull the trigger and… And someone…

He pulled the barrel from his mouth and sucked in a deep breath. Whatever it might have been it was gone now. The sobbing came back with the fresh air. The pistol slid from his hand and fell to the carpet with a soft clunk. He lowered his head into his hands and let the tears take over…

I hope you enjoyed the story. Have a great Tuesday! Check out our sponsors, Geo

Home: https://www.wendellsweet.com

The Outlaw John Dillinger JD-01

The Outlaw John Dillinger

wendellsweet7 September 18, 2025

John Dillinger was born on June 22, 1903, in Indianapolis, Indiana, to John Wilson Dillinger Sr. and Elizabeth “Lizzie” Wilson. His early life was marked by tragedy when his mother died in childbirth when he was just four years old. His father remarried, but John’s relationship with his stepmother was strained. He grew up in a grocer’s store where his father worked and was known to be a bit of a troublemaker as a child.

Dillinger’s life of crime began early. At 21, he was arrested for theft and sentenced to 10-20 years in prison. During his time at the Indiana State Prison in Michigan City, he befriended several other notorious criminals, including Homer Van Meter and Harry Pierpont. These relationships would later shape his criminal career.

After serving nine years, Dillinger was paroled in 1933. However, he soon returned to crime, committing a series of bank robberies across the Midwest. His exploits earned him the nickname “Public Enemy No. 1” from the FBI. Dillinger’s notoriety grew, and he became a folk hero of sorts, with many people sympathizing with his actions against banks, which were seen as symbols of the economic hardship of the Great Depression.

One of the most significant figures in Dillinger’s life during this period was Polly Hamilton, a young woman he met while still in prison. She became his girlfriend and visited him regularly during his incarceration. Their relationship continued after his release, and Polly often accompanied Dillinger on his robberies.

Another crucial figure in Dillinger’s life was Anna Sage, also known as “Woman in Red.” Sage, a Romanian-American woman, had her own criminal record and became involved with Dillinger. She played a pivotal role in his eventual demise. Sage, who had been in trouble with the law and was facing deportation, agreed to cooperate with the FBI in exchange for leniency on her own charges. She lured Dillinger to the Biograph Theater in Chicago, where he was watching a movie, promising him a night out.

On July 22, 1934, outside the Biograph Theater, FBI agents ambushed Dillinger as he left the movie. Sage, wearing a red dress that would become infamous, was with him. The FBI agents, led by Melvin Purvis, had been informed of Dillinger’s presence by Sage. As Dillinger attempted to draw his gun, he was shot multiple times. He died shortly after, at the age of 31.

Dillinger’s life of crime and his eventual death captivated the nation. His exploits were widely covered in the media, and his legend grew as a result. Despite his notoriety, Dillinger’s actions were often romanticized, and he became a symbol of rebellion against the system.

Interestingly, Dillinger’s criminal career was marked by several close calls and narrow escapes. He was known for his brazen robberies and his ability to evade capture. However, his relationship with Anna Sage ultimately proved to be his downfall.

The Biograph Theater, where Dillinger met his end, still stands in Chicago and has become a piece of American history. Visitors can see the theater and learn more about the events that transpired there. Dillinger’s legacy continues to fascinate people, and his story remains one of the most infamous in American crime history.

In the years following Dillinger’s death, the FBI’s reputation grew significantly, and Melvin Purvis became a national hero. However, the role of Anna Sage in Dillinger’s death has been the subject of much debate. While some view her as a traitor, others see her as a pragmatic woman who made difficult choices to save herself.

Dillinger’s impact on popular culture is undeniable. He has been the subject of numerous films, books, and documentaries. The 1945 film “Dillinger” and the 1973 film “Dillinger” starring Warren Oates are just a couple of examples. More recently, the 2009 film “Public Enemies” directed by Michael Mann and starring Johnny Depp as Dillinger, brought his story to a new generation.

John Dillinger’s life was a complex mix of tragedy, crime, and notoriety. From his early days in Indianapolis to his eventual death in Chicago, his story is a fascinating and cautionary tale of the allure and consequences of a life of crime. Despite the passage of time, Dillinger’s legend endures, captivating audiences and reminding us of the darker side of the American Dream.

Dillinger’s robberies often involved careful planning and execution. He and his gang would meticulously plan each heist, using stolen cars and guns to carry out their crimes. Dillinger’s brazen nature and charm made him a compelling figure, both to the public and to those who knew him personally.

The FBI’s pursuit of Dillinger was relentless. Led by agents like Melvin Purvis…

Home: https://www.wendellsweet.com

Don’t ask me Why Audacity

Don’t ask me Why

wendellsweet7 July 7, 2025

Just fooling around with an idea in my studio….

(Studio= an electronic studio on my desktop)

I have a set up with mics – counter-top etc where I record and a glass wall that has hooks on the supports to hold the guitars, I have built that I use to record with.

#Music #guitar #SelfPenned #dellsweet

I use Audacity to record, yes even the EP that had to be pro to release, Audacity.

Hydrogen, a drum machine to create all of my beats that I use. Fool around with it for a few minutes and you will see how simple it is to use, also free.