Brian Keith McMurray
Bio
I am your humble Illustrator, Graphic Designer, and aspiring writer. :D
Stories (12)
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The Air Master Anime was Awesome!
In the early oughts, I was on a mission to watch all the martial arts #anime I could find, and believe me, that was a lot harder in the early 2000s than it is now. The discoveries I really enjoyed were titles like “Fist of the North Star”, “Shadow Skill”, and the OG “Baki The Grappler” that fortunately debuted before 3D slop infected anime like the bubonic plague. Overall though, there is one anime that stuck in my memory because of its wacky humor, it’s zany atypical characters, and even some deep moments that truly spoke to me. This anime is dubbed “Air Master”, and it is probably one of my favorite anime. I watch it at least once a year.
By Brian Keith McMurray2 months ago in Geeks
Harvesance
Art: Brian Keith McMurray Summer-sting, she calls it, when sweat seeps into her eyes. She hates it more than barbecues, which are overrun with flies. The heat haze over searing roads she truly hates the most, for it portends the height of summer, wherein she’ll stick and roast. Beads of perspiration exude from every pore, and with the buzzing gnats around her, she often went to war.
By Brian Keith McMurray2 years ago in Fiction
The Twigling & the Cosmic Flame
The spheres of heaven quaked and were nigh torn asunder when tones of devastation emanated from the battle. Entire worlds were consumed in their wake when the Old Drake, Ayu-Maliff (the Tarragon of Everlasting Woes), clashed with the Great Mother. Maliff was her umbral reflection and older than the foundations of the Earth—even older than the Great Mother. For eons they warred, and with every battle, she snatched victory only for Maliff to return anew, sturdier and ever grander. He delighted in stalking her, laying waste to all she would nurture throughout her cosmic journey, but here at the root of Earth would she make her last stand. Across the heavens, the Earth's foundations sang out to her, and she would not have it plagued with the pestilence that was her ancient foe. So she called upon the voids of the low so vast; deeper than she had ever before, and the heavens trembled before her newfound might. So grand and awful was her display that even Maliff, who then could coil around entire heavenly spheres and constrict them to obliteration, was left in awe and dread. It was a sensation he had never afore felt and would not long contemplate before the Great Mother would bring him to ruin. With one blow from her bustling spear, the Old Drake burst into light and flame, brighter than a billion stars, until the root of his malevolent machinations was brought to naught. Her great work done, the wearied mother fell to the virgin Earth and slept for eons while her vital song brought beauty and abundance. Little did she know that a single spore from the Tarragon of Everlasting Woes remained, and it fell with her to the land. As her song nurtured the Earth, from it also was the stalk of his body grown anew, yet unlike the Great Mother, Maliff never slept. Even in hibernation, his mind was astir, and for eons he stewed in rage and hysteria, plotting his revenge. In his ire he did vow that upon his return, none would stand the wrath of Maliff the Horror, Maliff the Miserable, Maliff the Everlasting!
By Brian Keith McMurray3 years ago in Fiction
THE PEEPER
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By Brian Keith McMurray4 years ago in Horror
PERILLUS INCORPORATED
Part1: The Bellowing Bull Ever so often one is allowed a glimpse into the inner workings—to witness the black blood that lubricates the world engine. For most who are granted the privilege, it is like a brief nightmare that merely gives hints of foul foundations, but for some who gaze into the abyss, it will mean lifelong days of terror that satiate unknowable wills.
By Brian Keith McMurray4 years ago in Horror
THE RIVER SHARK
Uncle Zeke had only three rules if us boys were going to hang out at his place during the summer. One, always keep your word; two, always be on time; and three, never throw the first punch unless you intend for it to be the last. So long as we followed those three rules, we could hang out at his river cabin, a three story shack on stilts he called “Boggy Gut”. He built it himself along the banks of the Big Muddy on some land left to him by his father. Our time with Uncle Zeke were some of the best summers of my life. When us boys were at the cabin, we could cuss, drink, smoke, and even fight so long as we followed those rules, though most time we just fished, did some swimming, played on his pool table, or watch rasslin on his old back and white TV. Many times he’d make us lunch from the fish we’d caught earlier in the day, and he only permitted us one beer a visit if we were fifteen years and older, so he kept plenty of coke in ice filled coolers. Many times he’d join us in billiards. He was the best pool player this side of the Mississip, and he never let us forget it; not because he was a braggart or anythang like that, but because none of us never won a match against him. When it got dark, he’d watch rasslin and other shows with us while he sat in his old recliner. We called it the throne, though it looked as though he bought it used from some thrift store, cause it had holes all over it that he’d patched up with electrical tape. He sure sat in it like a king though, that’s for sure. Uncle Zeke always said, I might not have much, but what I do have I take pride in and so should you.
By Brian Keith McMurray4 years ago in Fiction
The Unfathomable Whims
To truly know despair, one must become an erudite student in the condition of man, for it is only then can one attempt to comprehend his relation to the umbral and unfathomable whims. Before the war, I lost that which was most precious to me, and received my doctorate in despair. Though, even now, the true magnitude of its depths remain a mystery.
By Brian Keith McMurray4 years ago in Fiction
Moorish Pie
Once in the realm of Albion was the kingdom of silver sun. Wend-bloom was its name oft sung by peasant, lord, and merchant tongue. Uriah Wend was its sovereign, who was the mold of squarish chin. His majesty gained the height of praise, in his lord’s holy crusade. When returned they did parade, and he did bed the fairest maid. All girls his Queen bore to him, and hopes of heir became quite slim. This grieved the King in Albion, and for years he labored for a son. To no avail did effort yield, that masculine form to be revealed. So shunned he felt, Wend Majesty, by his lord of Galilee. So he bequeathed power to air, and its prince from gale did hear.
By Brian Keith McMurray4 years ago in Fiction
BARTON'S PLACE
Youth is the spattering of dreams over a blossoming mind trying eagerly to discern that which is and which isn’t. The holy dreams are permitted well past youth unlike the gift giving dreams that maturity will wean. Given enough time, that which is and which isn’t can become entangled, and the past becomes like a dream, where uncertainty plagues the further behind one tries to gaze. When I look back, there is one thing that remains clear from my youth; my mother’s last words to me when she said,
By Brian Keith McMurray5 years ago in Fiction
