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“We are losing the ability to recognise, let alone resist, the corporate control of time, space, bodies, and minds.” = Henry Giroux, author of The Mouse that Roared: Disney and the End of Innocence (1999) Cult /kəlt/: 1) A system of religious veneration and devotion directed toward a particular figure or object. 2) Misplaced or excessive admiration for a particular person or thing.  In 1991, my new bride asked me to stop riding motorcycles, at least until our children were grown and independent. I sold my Suzuki, content to get my adrenaline fixes from my career as an Air Force helicopter pilot. Goodbye motorcycles, hello kids. In the years that followed, we took those kids to Disney World—a lot. During those trips, I learned about Disney, its devoted fans, and its corporate culture. Little did I realize that my family and I were slowly being drawn into the Disney universe.
Hold that thought, because I’m going to digress back to motorcycles. Fast forward to 2022. Our kids were mostly grown and gone, and I gently reminded my wife of her promise from 30 years earlier. As we say in the South, “Bless her heart,” she reluctantly agreed to my buying a motorcycle. I bought a Harley-Davidson, and off I went. Little did I realize that I was slowly being drawn into the Harley universe. Now, in 2025, I’ve become deeply familiar with two corporate cultures: Disney and Harley-Davidson. Beneath the leather vests and Mickey Mouse ears, Harley-Davidson groupies and Disney Adults are essentially the same. Both are American icons with deeply loyal customers. Yet both institutions have seen better days and may even be in serious trouble. Disney and Harley-Davidson are iconic American brands, so woven into the American experience that they’ve become synonymous with America itself. They represent significant aspects of American culture: our fascination with childhood innocence and youthful rebellion. Disney and Harley-Davidson evoke youthful experiences. Disney is synonymous with childhood innocence, while Harley-Davidson embodies teenage and early-20s rebellion. These uniquely American archetypes were formed in the 1950s, when Baby Boomers were growing up and modern American culture coalesced after World War II. Perhaps no song better represents Boomer childhood than “When You Wish Upon a Star” from Disney’s 1940 Pinocchio. No image better captures Boomer rebellion than Marlon Brando in The Wild One. Innocence and rebellion—these are what they’re selling. But to whom? Disney and Harley are selling to people with money, and those aren’t kids or teenagers. They’re not even parents with young children. They’re selling to childless adults and, increasingly, older people. Both brands peddle idealized images of childhood and youth, but their primary audience is adults. The “Disney Adult” is a grown-up zealot for all things Disney, often stereotyped as a childless millennial lacking self- or social awareness. The stereotypical Harley rider is a well-off Boomer or Gen-Xer who attends motorcycle rallies and owns a “bagger” motorcycle more expensive than most cars. Both brands are expensive and increasingly resemble luxury brands. Harley-Davidson motorcycles are costly. A new entry-level bike in 2025 costs well over $10,000, making them nearly unaffordable for young people. A top-end bagger can exceed $50,000—the price of a new car. When you buy a Harley, you’re paying for a premium “badge,” putting the brand out of reach for teens and twenty-somethings. Reports place the average Harley rider in their late 40s or early 50s. The brand has shifted from “rebel without a cause” to “rebel with a fat checking account.” Similarly, the Disney theme park experience has become a luxury, out of reach for many young families. Tickets, parking, food, and countless “add-ons” and “upgrades” can make a Disney park trip cost over $10,000. Even seeing a Disney movie in theaters can cost hundreds for a family, not to mention streaming service fees. These brands no longer cater to families with children or rebellious young men wanting to “break away.” They cater to the illusions of successful adults and retirees trying to recapture their youth. And illusions love to play dress-up. Both Disney and Harley rely heavily on costumes and merchandise. At a Disney park, it’s not just little girls dressing as princesses—30-year-olds are doing it too. From Mickey Mouse ears to princess gowns for cosplaying any Disney character, the brand’s reach is clear. Similarly, the leather jacket and vest, synonymous with outlaw motorcycle culture, are staples of Harley-Davidson. It’s often said that Harley is an apparel company that happens to sell motorcycles. In both cases, brand acolytes are identifiable by what they wear. Clothing and costumes are outward symbols of subordinating individuality to brand conformity. Both Disney and Harley market extreme conformity branded as individuality: “Look at me, I’m a rebel just like you,” or “Look at me, I refuse to grow up just like you.” We all want to belong—that’s normal. But this fandom invokes an almost religious zeal for brand identity, not necessarily for a quality product or service. For example, I’ve owned two Harley-Davidson motorcycles. I recently traded my three-year-old Harley for a new Honda. Why? I grew tired of the mechanical and electrical malfunctions that plagued the bike. The quality didn’t match the premium price tag. Harley markets its heritage, but Honda markets quality and reliability. Give me quality any day. As for Disney, they seem to rely on poor-quality live-action remakes and cannibalizing intellectual properties they’ve purchased, like Marvel and Star Wars, rather than creating original content. They produce content now, not quality entertainment. Extreme market conformity can backfire. When content creation trumps artistic creation, corporate cultures prioritize “fan service” over originality and innovation. Harley is tied to its “heritage” marketing, producing the same stale bikes for the same demographic year after year. Any deviation from this formula in bike design is often met with outrage from Harley’s core customers, encapsulated in the phrase, “That’s not a REAL Harley!” Disney has gone further, trapped in a cycle of making live-action remakes of its animated classics. The result: both brands suffer from stale product lines. Their customer base erodes, leaving only deep-core brand loyalists who demand adherence to tradition while simultaneously bemoaning the lack of originality. I see this brand slavishness in other companies too, like Jeep and Yeti coolers. These are products from corporations concerned primarily with the bottom line and shareholder returns. Loyalty to customers is an illusion, in my opinion. I’m not talking about people who prefer a brand for quality or value—that’s rational behavior. There are two notable exceptions to this discussion. First, traditional families with small children who rarely visit Disney. They go for their kids, to create cherished memories, and enjoy both classic Disney properties, like the movies, and newer ones, like Pixar. Second, the 1% biker gangs—the true outlaw bikers. Their loyalty is to the gang or the “brotherhood,” not the brand. In both cases, the brand is a means to an end. For example, a family with small children may vacation at a non-Disney park for economic reasons and still feel satisfied. Many (though not all) outlaw biker gangs allow members to ride non-Harley motorcycles. Beneath the leather vests and Mickey Mouse ears, the Harley-Davidson groupie and the Disney Adult are the same. Extreme brand loyalty is a form of insanity. Brand cults are real and are cults in every sense of the word. This is a story of pathological codependency between slavishly loyal customers and the corporations that prey on them. In the end, it hurts both the customer and the corporation.
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 Next week I'm having a reunion with old high school friends, and we're going to play our first D&D game together in 30 years. I'm preparing a module, and I forgot how much work it is, or how much fun it was. I was always the Dungeon Master, so its my role to prepare the module. I went overboard and created a whole world. You know what? It's essentially like writing a novel.
Lots of D&D players go on to write. It's a thing. Wargaming, simulations and being a novelist are imagining worlds and trying to summon them into life. I'm looking forward to the game next week. Several of our old players are no longer with us. That makes me sad, but I'm glad a few of us are still here to make the magic again, but there will be difference. No beer, no pizza, and only healthy snacks. No "all nighters". Side talk of girlfriends, classmates and future plans will be replaced with conversations about doctors appointments, ex-wives, children and grandchildren. Ah, but the magic will be there, I know it. My module's series name is "Old Souls, Young Worlds." Here's a sneak peak. Does this sound like a module you would want to play? Whispers have trickled out from the depths of the Wald der Dunkelheit, the Forest of Darkness. Tragedy has struck Anfänge, an isolated village nestled deep in the far northern reaches of the Versteck Valley. The villagers are said to have offended spirits that dwell deep below the hills. A curse has befallen the small mining community. The villagers huddle in their homes for fear of what lurks in the valley’s shadowy forests. The miners dare not even enter the shafts. Now, a desperate plea for help has reached the distant towns beyond the valley. Tragedy has struck as several young maidens have vanished, including the beautiful daughter of the bürgermeister himself. Months have passed and Anfänge’s pleas go unanswered. Old Graf Verfallen, who administers the Versteck Valley and the rest of the southern Wald, has long been unable to guarantee the security of far-flung villages, including Anfänge. King Löwe’s unending war against the Elfenreiche has nearly emptied the kingdom’s coffers. Vassals like Graf Verfallen’s have been stripped of warriors and gold, leaving little to protect their fiefdoms. Verfallen’s forces rarely leave their garrison in Wellgunde, the fortress town of the Renos River. Anfänge stands alone. Rumors of a bounty offered by the bürgermeister have spread far beyond the Renos River. While details are sketchy, everyone knows Anfänge is a mining town. Where there is mining, there is often treasure That is what has drawn you to this seedy tavern in Wellgunde, and brought you together with your companions. Surprisingly, you have learned that you are the only adventures thus far who have answered the bürgermeister’s call. King Löwe’s wars and the promise of plunder in the north have drawn away more seasoned adventurers. Across the deep and cold Renos danger, and possibly great reward, awaits. Are you up for the challenge? Being an independent author in the Information Age isn't easy. Authors want readers to discover and read their books. However, there are MILLIONS of books available by tens of thousands of authors across the English-speaking world. Getting your book noticed is beyond difficult, especially if your books are different. Even if someone notices your novel, not everyone is a fan of the genre you write in. Even traditionally published authors, to include those by major publishers, find it a challenge to get their books noticed, let alone read. I could go on. Yesterday, an extraordinarily rare event happened to me, something akin to seeing a unicorn.
BLACK SEA GODS got noticed, purchased, read and reviewed by a complete stranger on the other side of the planet. Not just reviewed, but reviewed in a completely unique way that rarely, if ever happens to an indie author. Out of the blue, I got tagged on X by a book reviewer from the UK informing me he had reviewed my novel BLACK SEA GODS. He not only reviewed it, he used it to debut his new book review channel on Youtube, "Writing Stick Man, Let's Read an Indie." On this channel, he reviews and interprets an independently-published novel with stick man art. It's funny, and it's unique approach to book reviews. First, the review was highly positive. Yes, he had a few negative critiques, but the overall verdict was still overwhelmingly positive. Second, it was really weird (and funny) to see his "stick man" interpretations of scenes and characters. Those interpretations are obviously meant to be a creative angle to set his channel apart and get noticed. The crazy thing is it provided wonderful feedback on how my literary imagery was interpreted by the reader. I've never had that happen before! What was great was when he drew his stick figures of the main characters (with no labels) and I knew who they were. To me, as a writer, that was extremely validating! It was an honor to be this channel's first book review. I really wish this guy all the luck in the world with his channel, and also with his own writing career.  "Wisteria House," Bullock County. My camera and I are back out on the road. I'm gathering images of the Beautiful and the Abandoned across the Alabama Wiregrass for my next "Abandoned Wiregrass" book. This book has a more focused, and historically based theme, as I will be retracing the steps of some of Alabama's earliest pioneers. Specifically, I am following the trail of those who built and used the famous Three Notch Road that helped open southern Alabama to settlement.
In that light, I will be focusing on the following Alabama and Florida Counties: Escambia (FL), Santa Rosa (FL) Covington, Coffee, Crenshaw, Pike, Bullock, Barbour and Russell. Generally, this area will be an arc between the Escambia/Conecuh River and the Yellow/Pea Rivers as it arcs from Pensacola, FL to Phenix City, AL. I've already created over 100 images, talked to historians, locals, and accomplished hours of research. This is shaping up to be an exciting, if somewhat overwhelming, project. Check back for more images and updates |
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