Jeff Mach's Blog, page 33

Courting An Orc

Depending on your sources, you may have heard any number of complicated things about dating an Orc. Many of these are contradictory. Much of it is spread via myth, legend, and flat-out lying.

A very reasonable percentage of the lying comes from the Orcs themselves, of ourse.

But here are 7 of our favorite reasons.

7. Orcs are morally diverse. There was a time when we believed all Orcs to be a monolith, vicious, mean, unkind, tough, dangerous, destructive. But now, in a modern age, we realize they are just teddy bears hoping to be loved, if we make the guess that teddy bears are genetically part lizard and covered in sharp, pointy things and the sort of teeth that make sharks feel a sudden need to go in for cosmetic dentistry.

6. Orcs are all evil. Morally diverse? Are you KIDDING? These are beings who don’t worship the God of Death because the God of Death just kills you in a heartbeat, and Orcs much prefer the kind of spiritual entity which will take its time hacking you into improbably small pieces with a battleax the size of Norway.

5. Speaking of, if your Orc is ever sad, simply book a flight to Australia. They’re probably just pining for the fjords. But flight is easy in any Multiverse which contains Orcs; you can just go by giant eagle. Those suckers will fly ANYWHERE as long as it’s convenient to the plot.

4. Orcs are very good at plots. Now, if you’re asking if I mean “schemes and plans”, or “the ideas which drive a work of fiction from abstract ideas to full-fledged stories”, or “the big heap of land you buy so you have a place for your corpse”, the answer is, “Yes.”

3. Orcs WILL fight for your love.

2. And anything else, really. You give ’em a chance to utter a war-cry and go to town on a person, place, or thing, they’ll do it.

That’s not innuendo. I hope.

They are FIERCELY loyal. Not necessarily possessive or jealous, but loyal to a fault.

Of course, you should return that loyalty. You know what they say,

“Never cheat on an Orc,
Or you’ll become Long Pork.”

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Various Villainous Benedictions

To merriment!
to magic released!
To science strange!
To company sweet!
To alcohol, caffeine, and fairy dust!
To the unexpected, the unexplored, and the impossible!
To good beginnings, safe endings, and a middle we shall never speak of again.
To our hosts!
To our guests!
To you!
Hail!

Robert Anton Wilson said that Reality is what you can get away with. So we’ll just keep doing what were doinghope the Universe doesn’t notice.

Fiends, Bond Villains, Faeries, Time Travellers, and Weirdness ahoy!

Some tales ask you to enter a world of fantasy and magic. Some ask you into a place of science fiction. We ask “Why not both?”

Uh-oh! Did you wake up in a Universe where your day job is real and Steampunk is imaginary? Get to the nearest dimensional transport ASAP before it’s too late!

Why haven’t aliens contacted us? C’mon. Around these parts, UFOs wouldn’t even be noticed unless they opened theme restaurants.

A Random Sonic Note:

Faeries love the music of the mortal world because it makes you want to dance, unlike the music of Fairyland, which gives you no choice in the matter. Endless life seems enviable from the perspective of a human because most humans never have to deal with a fiddle which moves your legs without your permission and a fiddler who really, truly, literally doesn’t know the meaning of the word “stop”. The music of Fairyland is beautiful in the way a dagger made of carven emerald looks beautiful when it’s dappled with red streaks because it’s piercing your chest. Human music is flawed and fragile and imperfect, and those are reasons why it’s worthwhile to relish every note.

The best way to ensure that monsters don’t eat your children is to raise the kind of children who eat monsters for dinner.

This calls for a cup of industrial-strength tea.

To properly fuel my imagination, I require the kind of coffee which comes with warning stickers and CPR instructions.

With the Green Man, never gamble
Lest you want a mind of bramble.

Steampunk: Powered by tea leaves since imaginary 1813.

It’s time for brandy and cigars. And as long as I have a time machine, it will ALWAYS be time for brandy and cigars!

I like my Steampunk like I like my literature: Full of peculiar happenings and ridiculous words.

We are, as always, talking about Villainpunk, the event which chronicles what happens when the Fae leave Fairyland and Skull Island and rent a massive hotel to throw a world-shattering party. I’m Jeff Mach, creator of Jeff Mach Events, and I’ll be talking about events in general, Villainpunk in particular, and the fact that reality is a terrible excuse for pretty much anything.

(Jeff Mach Events theme song: “An Invitation”:

G D
The walls of Reality are thin
C Am
Strange things are a-creepin’ in!
G C
The walls of Fantasy – surprise!
Am D
Are made of duct tape & French fries
G D
Science fiction – it is known
Am C
Is here already – cover’s blown!

When Actuality’s impounded
You’ll find a world wholly unbounded
If that’s wrong, it can’t be righted
So we’re throwing a party – and you’re nvited
G

STEP RIGHT UP!

_

 

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Virtues of the Willow

It is said that the Willow is both hard and soft. This is not the sort of paradoxical self-contradiction

which seems to pepper most outside references

to Zen, Taoism, or The Right-Thinkin’ Bloke’s Way To Eastern Liberation and Skeet Shootin’–

that is, it certainly sounds like your standard-issue ubiquitous philosophical paradox,

but you can’t get a whole lot more real

than a damn plank of wood, eh?

It’s all such a poetic way of pointing out that the Oak is strong,

stiff,

puts out all of its force

and stays there,

powerful,

inflexible,

eventually ripped over in the storm.

And the bamboo sways

for anything,

for anyone,

provides us with flexible tools,

and can face no wind at all

without bowing

at best.

And it is the Willow,

the Willow,

the humble Willow herself,

not knowing whether to be hard or soft,

she adapts with the moment,

and this,

little tree,

is the key to survival.

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Strictly A Chaser

 

Dear Diary,

The house is very quiet now, with nothing but the peaceful noises of a country night; the chirrup of crickets, the thistle-rustle of a stealthy fox, the metallic TONK! as a Faerie bounces head-first off the outside walls.

They must realize they can’t get in. I think they’re not stupid, just very angry.

I can understand that. I, myself, am possessed of a certain calefaction of the vital humours. Or I would be, were it not unseemly. Technically, these citizens of Tír na nÓg have transgressed against neither Queen nor Country (one cannot, in good conscience, call a portal, say that a portal hovering eight inches in the air is “on British soil”), so outright rage would be unbecoming a gentleman. A quick scan of my Gower  notes that, with regards to “true love thwarted”,  one is reasonably permitted “a glittering but imperfect heat, perhaps marred by dusky smoke, as of a conflagration constructed of fur-tree branches suffering from a slight damp”. So that is the temperature of my soul at the moment. As always, it’s a wise prescription, as a clear mind is likely of some import when one’s beset by forces supernatural.

The ancestral library contains a significant volume of knowledge devoted to Faerie lore, which I would, until yesterday, have presumed to be further proof of the mental deficiencies of the pastoral side of my lineage.   (Why one would desert the manifold health benefits of the very latest factory smoke, carefully developed by wise engineers to have nearly as salutary an effect as the lungs as high-grade tobaccos, is beyond me.)

But to the task at hand.  All right: Faeries are real.

And while this piece of knowledge does not make all other spectral phenomena true (the ability to cross the land at breakneck speeds in a steam train hardly proves the ability of other, less-likely technologies, such as heavier-than-air flight), it does mean that at least some other extensions of the metaphysical into our Universe seem likely, by Occam’s razor alone, to be real, relevant, and worth reckoning.

It’s not that modern science is unaware of this hypothesis; what disturbs me is how much of this knowledge has been challenged, fought, ignored, or even, in recent times, been silenced by academics and industrialists alike.  Why in the name of the deepest recesses of Gehenna would anyone perpetrate a hoax of this magnitude?  And how would such a thing possibly happen without a vast expenditure of time, money, and breath—the very resources denied us by this selfish knavery!  Who knows what wondrous knowledge labors for the benefit of a stealthy and sordid few, while the rest of us are denied knowledge which rightfully belongs to Humanity?

It is damnably incorrect. It is Un-British.

But. My mind is distracted by a broken engagement, a room full of most unhappy specimens, and the ill-timed drumbeat of Elfin skulls encountering iron-reinforced masonry.  I will have to think further on this.  Now isn’t really the time.

And I suppose that if Love, that ever-fickle thing, has swanned off headlong to a holiday in the Shining Kingdom, taking with it a very expensive engagement band, I ought to be practical.  At least I might hope to balance my ransacked emotional ledger with an increased financial holding. A loss of joie de vivre will just have to face a little of l’influence de l’argent. Or, as they say in the States, “Money talks, and all other things perambulate.”

The Fae do not interfere much during the day; no doubt they prefer the charade of being easily-disbelieved “bumps in the night” (or, in the case of this residence, resounding “clangs”). The postman, at any rate, comes and goes unmolested, as likewise does a local boy who brings me the basic essentials of a proper diet—meat, bread, more meat, and brandy. And I am fortunate in this, as I’d otherwise starve during this grim supernatural siege.  Priorities, then: I shall wire a letter instructing my broker to invest in stocks I’d previously considered fanciful. Let me jot down a list:

The Drummond Ouija Board CorporationUnited PhlogistonPhrenology Ltd.The Ford Motor CompanyAnd whatever Aleister Crowley’s buying this month.

 

Of course, none of this says that each and every superstition is actually factual; some of them contradict each other, which makes them not only impossible per Aristotelian logic, but also damned impertinent.  One must still apply both deduction and research to sort fact from fancy. As a notable example, I have  engaged in limited discourse with the captive Fae.  I profess the hope that, as suggested in the folk-tales of my youth, they subsisted on starlight and moonbeams.  But they were quick to correct me, and request that which they actually consume:

 

Blood.

The moonbeams are strictly a chaser.

 

 

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Harm To Your Planet

ONCE upon a time, a space alien landed in New York, and said, to anyone who would listen, “Take me to your leader.”

Think “The Day The Earth Stood Still”. Think “To Serve Man”. Think “V”.

The aliens were hostile. Or perhaps they were kind and misunderstood. One thing is sure: They had a death wish.

I mean, are they a terribly advanced species? They must be; who else could cross the great cosmic chasms? Ae they fools? They must be. Who wouldn’t realize that this seemingly simple question works only in worlds where world leadership is certain? Even a little bit of time spent studying our world through monitoring our television broadcasts (a perverse and weird occupation for any advanced species)—would let you know better, would teach you why this is not a good idea.

So it’s a strange request. But they make it anyway. And what can you do? One can’t ignore space aliens on one’s virtual doorstep, no matter how one might try. So most likely, they meet with a leader (or, more specifically, and more accurately, they meet with somebody in charge of something.)

This tale then heads somewhere along these lines: The aliens judge us and find us worthy, or else—

Humans are conquered.

Humans are eaten.

Humans are mistrustful and join not the Brotherhood of sentients in the Universe.

Ah, sorrow. We wanted so badly to prove that we were really, truly ready to join the Great Cosmic Harmoniousness, only to, instead, prove once and for all that we are less than Galactic children (for Children can learn, and sometimes want to learn; and we have neither desire nor inclination to do so, lest we be taken over by rival Humans whose thought patterns drown out our own.)

In the end, all Humans are either gobbled, or left behind. It is a tragedy—if you’re a human; otherwise, it’s a narrow escape (for everything in the Galaxy but us.)

And so it goes.

We use this idea to comment on how despicable, backwards, and broken Human culture is, how we are not fit to join the Brotherhood of the Universe.

BALDERDASH.

(And BANDERSNATCH; but that’s another tale.)

Let’s be real here.

Any alien who lands in Central Park to make first contact has a strong sense of drama, and untrustworthy intentions. Interstellar travel they’ve got, faster-than-light travel they’ve got, but telephones they ain’t got? They can send a whole ship, but they can’t send a postcard? We’re just supposed to know what to do when they appear out of nowhere? Where did these beings evolve, such that it’s normal for strange, powerful, unknown things to appear without warning, and not be perceived as threats? Are there no carnivores on their home planets? No volcanoes, seemingly harmless, dormant for years, then suddenly, for all intents and purposes, exploding?

Listen: they come to Earth, they better expect mistrust, missiles, and wildly different definitions of ‘beer’, based on where one lands. Me, I’m a New Yorker. You land in my park with no warning, no explanation, damn right I’m going to steal your tires and write my name on your ship, because either your intentions are very, very sketchy and you deserve worse; or you’re too naïve to survive in this part of the Galaxy, and I feel bad for you.

Take it as a lesson. Sorry about the wheels. Let me buy you a pretzel.

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How I Became A Satirist

Sometimes, people ask me how I got my start as an author of satirical novels. And the basic answer was that I used to be a blogger and advocate for what we’d now call “cancel culture”. As tends to happen in that particular territory, if you don’t race to the front of the line whenever there’s a call to destroy something, the mob gets restless and comes for you. So I’ve been accused of just about everything you can imagine, including having raced a truck full of illegal beer from Texarkana to Atlanta. (I will totally admit that the last one was started by myself, to see if I could get someone to unironically accuse me of the plot of the Burt Reynolds movie “Smokey And The Bandit”. In my defense, I didn’t think anyone would do it.)

One of the sweetest but weirdest things that happens in my life is when people express sympathy for horrible things of which I’m accused.It’s very kind, because I really appreciate the sympathy and the well-wishes, but I’ve almost never heard the allegation.I don’t just mean that I didn’t know I was accused of it; I mean I generally don’t know the allegation existed.I am often reminded of a quote that’s sometimes attributed to Joan Rivers, wherein her husband says, “Honey, how come you never tell me when you’re having an orgasm?”, and Ms. Rivers replies, “But darling, you’re never there!”Today, a cancelled friend of mine offered me very kind condolences that I was taking attacks for having defended her and having said that, based on a vast superabundance of evidence, testimony, and just plain common sense, I did not think she was a monster.The problem is, whatever bunch of people are attacking me have clearly all got me blocked on Twitter. So I haven’t the faintest idea what they’re saying, nor do I care.One of the most naive (okay, I’ll be more honest: one of the most idiotic) things I heard, when the allegations first came out, was that a public figure must act in a manner so far beyond reproach that no-one could possibly accuse you of anything.This might exist in a society which believes in truth, investigation, information, and weighing data in some kind of vacuum – a world where was ask, “Based on what we can find, what should we believe?”But we don’t live in that world, of course. We live in a world of “Based on what our particular bubble wants to believe, what shall we decide is true?” There’s no real difference, in that Universe, between a distorted truth, a distorted lie, or an absolute and utter fiction. You could live your entire life in front of continuous surveillance, and be more blameless than any saint or angel, and all that’s necessary is for someone to say, “Just look at the way the subject blinked right there; you can tell that he’s thinking of vaporizing every kitten in existence; that MONSTER!”Am I complaining? Oh, HELL no.I’m going to keep writing dystopian novels, of course. And my goal in life? I’m going to keep TRYING to make the insane, ridiculous, parodic, satirical landscapes I dream up stay even VAGUELY surreal for at least long enough that I can publish something BEFORE it becomes an accurate prediction of our unbelievable reality.I’ll never succeed; if you could clone C.S. Lewis, H.L. Mencken, and Lillian Hellman, and merge them into one entity able to type with six hands at once, that being couldn’t actually model the madness which is our daily lives.But I’ll keep trying. Because I love a challenge.Thank you, dear friend, for your sympathy. But don’t worry about me. I’ve long past the point of suffering from the insanity of our existence; now, I can’t help but see it as more material for countless books of what would, in some less ridiculous plane of existence, be satire; here, of course, they’re just history books, slightly dated, and overly optimistic. But I’m in good company; who would have thought that “Brave New World”, “1984”, and “The Devil’s Dictionary” were works of starry-eyed futuristic optimism?

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Advantages To Believing There Are Hidden Monsters Everywhere

Unfortunately, we live in a world where people continue to show a distressing trend towards being interested in reality, instead of in the vastly-destructive and utterly proper idea of trying to destroy lives, shatter psyches, and create the maximal amount of human misery through creating academic fantasies which have about the same effects as pushing people off a cliff.

 

There’s nothing we correctly-thinking sentients can do except work our hardest to try to shut down and silence everyone who’s based in the real world by shouting them down on Twitter and in other environments. (Remember: Twitter might be more toxic than the atmosphere of Venus, but at least it exists primarily for the profit of large, vicious corporations, and is therefore properly placed to defend all of the poor unfortunate underdogs of the Universe.)

 

Yet, of late, we have noted a disturbing number of people who have questioned the validity of one of the key hypotheses which is used, properly, to attempt to keep other humans in as deep a state of irrational and anxious fear as often as possible, and to help ascertain that no-one can achieve a state of mind sufficiently healthy to effect actual change: namely, the pure and well-known existence of an endless number and amount of hidden monsters.

Because there are plenty of places exposing the existence of hidden monsters. And they’re so knowledgeable that they back each other up. I mean, if you go to one website about a Hidden Monster, it’ll refer you to another website about that Hidden Monster, which will then refer you back to the first website. Now it’s in TWO places on the Internet…so it MUST be true.

Imagine a World without the belief in Hidden Monsters, in vicious, demon hearts lying within seemingly-human bodies and minds. We would be easy prey for all those Monsters!

Granted, the more we look for Hidden Monsters, the more we find them. Which means the problem is basically infinite.

Actually, it’s worse. Because accusing someone of being a Monster ought to involve ostracizing that person, attacking that person, and trying to burn down everything that person has ever touched. Sure, that will destroy lots off innocent people, but that Monster may have to go to her second-favorite coffee shop because you’ve reduced her favorite one to ashes. Yeah, everyone working at the shop is out of work, or possibly burnt in the fire – but there’s always the chance that the Hidden Monster will singe her fingers, and that makes it worthwhile.

Remember, there are two ways you can determine if someone is a Hidden Monster.

First, Hidden Monsters can’t handle the truth. But they also know they’d be predictable if they lied. So I’ll leave you with this critical skill.

How To Determine If Someone Is Pretending To Be Fine But Is Actually A Hidden Monster:

If they say they’re not a Monster. Because they’d obviously lie.If they say they ARE a Monster. Because they’re trying to trick you.If they give any other answer, including no answer. Because they know that #1 and #2 can be detected, so they make up a third response.

Go ahead. Ask if someone’s a Monster. I guarantee they’ll either say yes, say no, or do some other thing. I’ll bet you a hundred dollars it’ll be one or more of those three things.

Wait are you waiting for? Get out there and tear down some coffee shops. Nobody should serve caffeine to Monsters.

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Notes On Adapting Your Villainpunk Persona

In Villainpunk, we encourage you to take on a fictional persona, one you can use like a costume or like garb, one which can help you change your mindset, enjoy possibilities outside of your everyday experience, and view the world through a lens of creative Villainy.

This is exactly what the Real World asks you to do, only the Real World seems to think it’s not pretending. Let’s humor the poor dears; they’re missing out.

Villainpunk is terribly flexible. While most subcultures spend their time wondering IF a given thing might fit into their plans, our offerings, in contrast, are always about HOW. Was Guthrie right? Can you rob more people with a fountain-pen than a six-gun? And if that’s correct, where do you find an appropriate holster, and in which states do you need a carry license for that writing implement.

“They’ll search any sharp objects, Chauncy—so don’t show them your mind!”

From “Chaunce: A Peter Sellers Film”

The Persona Itself

 

Now, for your persona, while it’s up to you, we recommend choosing from the wilder, more fanciful, less real-life elements of possibility. This is partly for reasons of creativity; partly for reasons of taste (other peoples’ imaginations are limited; do you really want to be the product of the lowest-common-denominator of ideas?)—and partly quite, quite practical.

If you’re inventing a Villainpunk person, you don’t want it to be too close to real life. Because Villainpunk seeks to free you from the banalities of that everyday life.

Consider what happens if you become something too similar to what is “real”. Outside of the generalized difficulties—

“It’s okay, Officer, I just pretend to be a monster because some other monster told me I could. This is totally normal adult human behavior and not suspicious at all.”—

I’d also like to note that, the more you identify with some kind of real Villainy, the more slings and arrows against that Villainy will wound you. If, say, you identified really, really seriously with a pickpocket, you might begin to feel bad when your local police cracked down on pickpocketing, and, rather horribly, you’d be no less likely to have your pocket picked than anyone else.

You’d get it from both sides.

That would be horrible.

This is why we stick to fictional Villainy; that, and we don’t know how to pick pockets.

 

You might then ask, “If Villainpunk isn’t going to do real crimes, does it have any teeth?”

Oh, darling.

Villainpunk is made of teeth.

Sometimes we charm. Sometimes we frighten.

Sometimes we do the one, when peoples’ response damn well ought to be the other.

It’s a strange world we inhabit, and we need to commit some massive imaginary crimes to get its attention!

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Villainpunk Gets Out Of Control

If you think Villainpunk stole its name from Steampunk,

You have vastly underestimated Villainpunk.

Villainpunk stole itself from Villainy, too,

And from regular ol’ punk,

And from me,

Certainly;

As I try madly for a ruthless cash-grab by

Creating a subculture,

The subculture, as usual,

Goes around creating itself,

Cutting o9ut the middleman.

Creating a Universe around Villainy

And then expecting to control it?

In my heart of hearts

(which is a metaphorical construct I use

To make up for the fact that I don’t

Actually have any kind of

Actual heart, you know)—

In the aforementioned semi-real place
Somewhere in what I’d like to claim is my
Psyche,

I knew that Villainpunk would get out of control,
Court Jester is more my speed,

Always has been,

Always will be.

If you’ve done eleven impossible things before breakfast,
Then you deserve brunch,

But aside from that:

Why not take over Villainpunk today?
Uneasy is the head which weareth the crown;
But it IS a very shiny crown.

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Update on the Turtle Hill Lawsuit

A brief moment of seriousness about the “Evil Expo lawsuit” that you might have heard something about.Since people are STILL copy/pasting from the original press release, I thought I’d write my own.This is it – since fairly few people know what’s going on, let me update you:Technically, the lawsuit is still happening.. For reasons about which I will let you speculate, as I should not comment, Turtle Hill appears, to me, to be very anxious to try to keep the pressure of a lawsuit on me, my family, and (obviously) all of you, since it affects everyone who’s reading this.This is despite the fact that:1. The Court has found that Evil Expo was not a kink event. This is why the court refused to grant injunctive relief to Turtle Hill Events, and2. During depositions, Cat admitted that directly that I was NOT the cause of GKE being cancelled. She admitted that it was cancelled because SHE failed to sign the contract on time and because the hotel GM said she was “unprofessional”.(THIS MAY BE THE FIRST TIME SOME OF YOU FOUND OUT THAT CAT ADMITTED, IN COURT, THAT IT WAS SHE AND NOT I WHO CANCELLED GKE. YOU MAY HAVE HEARD I WAS RESPONSIBLE, OR I WAS A REASON IT HAPPENED WITHOUT REFUNDS; THIS IS NOT TRUE.)Their lawsuit itself has been defeated on every significant point.. No, Evil Expo is certainly not any kind of kink event.. No, I’m certainly not prohibited from running Evil Expo or other events.. Despite their press release, I am most certainly allowed to write and publish books.. In terms of my “creeping back” into the world, or communities of creators, I’m allowed to be in the world, I’m allowed to create, and I’m allowed to make books, videos, shows, and any other creative endeavor.I’m not a lawyer, but as someone who speaks to the public, I WILL speculate that this lawsuit is being kept alive largely to attempt to preserve the original myths of the original PR piece – the suggested assertion that I’m somehow not allowed to do anything because of some perceived but unstated woes.. This is not true, and the lawsuit does not, to me, model any views of reality.Again, the persistent desire to make it harder for us to have events is bad for the entire event community and bad for everyone. But you’re all responding and buying tickets, and for that I thank you.-Jeff Mach

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