honea byrne

It's taking time for me to express to you what it means to me to have your support in reaching over 100,000 views. If your seeing my blog for the first time. Thanx. On these pages are my thoughts on life, samples of my creative works.  These are mostly from my e-books on Amazon kindle. click here for my Amazon kindle page The latest blogs, as of Summer of 2018, are from "The House of Bacchuss"-this is about a haunted rehab facility in New Orleans. We release a chapter a month.  click here for chapter 1 I f you're not into all that horror, one of my most popular posts are a "100 Love Letters I'll Never Send." You might also want to see "Notes Byrne" my memoir (somewhat fictional). If you're seeing this again, I thank you for continuing support. I am getting better at what I do. Am very honored you stayed with me. I am pretty sure we both learned something about ourselves, the world and where we fit in this world. Please subscribe to

Years ago, he had  walked into a movie theater, in Atlanta Georgia, during a Batman movie with an assault rifle. He opened fire, killing over forty people. He tried to get off on an insanity plea. Over the years, he has been the subject of documentary films and books. Before the murders he was an honor student at Oglethorpe. He was on an internship studying Temporal Illusions, as it relates to space and time. Many psychologists have speculated the internship pushed Helms over the edge… At first, people were cheering. They thought the guy, dressed like Joker, firing the firearm was part of the show. Until, a lady in the front row screamed, “I BEEN SHOT!” The terror spread in seconds. “…at that moment, something inside of me came alive. I was one with the god inside of me,” he told the people in the court. “It had to be subconscious,” he thought to himself as his eyes were immediately drawn to the family members of the slain. He sensed anger, fear, and sadness too. It excited him.

The accidental tourist had called the number by a command on his cell phone He drunkenly said, “Baghk-ooze” instead of Back-uss. As in the restaurant. The House’s number came up.  It’s a telephone line that usually can only be reached by going through a series of algorithmic mazes. Thus his smart phone’s gps lead him to a side door. “Who are you?” The accidental tourist asked. He carelessly stepped inside. “Hello, my name is Henry Howard Helms. My friends call me ‘Howard.’” The door slammed  behind the tourist. “Is this The House of Baghck-ooooze?” Once again his drunkenness caused him to say  the House’s name correctly. Then the tourist got more frightened as he started having a memory that was Julius. The memory of the door when it closed. Julius insisted to walk to the chair alone. It was his last living act of dignity. Howard smiled gleefully. For once, he could do what he had wanted to do. Helms  lunged forward. Stabbing him in the stomach