Edward Lorn's Blog, page 120

Ruminating On: Coming Out Of The Closet

Ruminating On: Coming Out Of The Closet

I’m gay. There, I said it.

This should come as no surprise to those of you that know me. I’ve always been a pretty gay dude. Musicals make me gay, as do Johnny Depp films. Supporting gay marriage and civil liberties makes me quite gay, also. Not to mention, my wife makes me gay. As do my children. Yep, I’m as gay as the Roaring Twenties.

I couldn’t be any happier.

Wait. Not what you thought I meant? Oh well.

I felt the urge to do this Ruminating On because I’m thoroughly fed up with our society. I already did a blog on North Carolina and Gay Marriage, so I won’t rehash what I said there. I do want to talk to a few people though. Maybe you stumbled upon this blog because you Google’d “coming out of the closet.” If you did, I’m talking to you. Maybe you don’t know how to go about it. Maybe the idea scares the hell out of you. Maybe you’re just looking for a kind word, a venue that will not bash you, a place of hope. Well, you’ve come to the right place.

I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through, but I would like to tell you a little about me before we get started. I’m a fat guy, almost four hundred pounds, so I’ve seen plenty of hatred in my time. I’ve been big all my life, but most recently, I’ve become huge. This is a lifestyle choice, and I choose to live this way. I could diet, but I don’t. I’ve exercised, but I only end up quitting. Unlike you, I have a choice in the matter. The vile comments I get from people stem from my own stupidity. I was not born with a hamburger in my hand.

I believe you when you say being gay is not your decision. I understand that you would be an idiot if you had decided to live a life where you’re ridiculed and mocked on a daily basis. I see you, and can empathize.

You’re not a bad person, though some will say that you’re going to hell. You’re not a deviant, though some will think your lifestyle is nasty and unnatural. You are a person, plain and simple. Your heart beats just like theirs, and your shit probably stinks just as much as theirs does. Do you. Don’t worry about what anyone else has to say on the matter.

Now, I won’t give you any false hopes. Your loved ones could disown you, and I know that’s a scary thought, but think about it like this. If they cannot love you for who you truly are, why should they be a part of your life? It’s a hard thing, losing the love of parents and friends, but you must risk it if you’re ever going to be happy. Once America pulls their collective heads from their asses, and you’re allowed to marry the person you love without protest, you’ll want your partner to meet these people that mean something to you, I know you will, so why not prepare them for that meeting. Ease them into it. Chances are, they already knew you were gay to begin with. You’re the only one that wasn’t sure there for a while.

This is not your fault, and no one is to blame. This world is filled to the brim with ignorant monkeys that love to sling shit and try to get you dirty. Don’t play their game. Just walk away. Be the better person. And the next time someone tells you you’re going to Hell, ask them what God said about judging people. That’s His job, not theirs.

Suicide is not an option, because that would mean the brain damaged automatons win. You’d no longer be here, and nothing would please those shitheals more. Live life. It gets better. You only need to learn how to love yourself when no one else seems to. Check the angle of your neck. Stop staring at the ground and hold your head up. I want you to breathe my air, because you’re worth it. The strength of your heart, the power of your soul, has nothing to do with who you want to sleep with. Your character is who you are on the inside, not what others think of you. Trust me, I should know.

Today’s blog is a little off track from some of the other crap I spew out on a weekly basis, but I felt this needed to be said. If only one young person reads these words and feels better about themselves, then I have done what I intended. If that person is you, dear reader, please let me know. You don’t have to say it in the comments section, but I’d love to hear from you in an email.

edwardlorn@gmail.com, in case you’re wondering where to reach me.

Love is an amazing thing. If you can find it, hold on to it. Doesn’t matter if that person has the same parts as you do. Just so long as they love you back.

See, it’s not just Sears that has a softer side.

E.

One Too Many

I had this buddy named Larry. And Larry liked to drink.

More importantly, he had a girlfriend named Georgia he enjoyed tending to with his fists.

I’ve known Larry as long as I’ve known how to read. It’s not your ordinary friendship. Not in the everyday sense of the term. I’m always there for him when he screws up. He’s nowhere around when I need him. One-sided would be a good descriptor, so, let’s use that one.

I didn’t kill him because he beat on Georgia. Her black eyes and swollen lips only played a small part in his demise.

***

Friday night–date night to be exact–and I was trolling with another would-be bedfellow through the streets of San Fran. Larry dragged Georgia by her wrist as we crossed busy streets and pushed through the late night clubbers massing for a good time.

“Where the fuck are you taking us?” Larry growled from behind me. His gut had grown large with his constant imbibing. He started wheezing because of it.

“New club on fifth,” I told him.

“Likely a butt barn.”

“Does he always talk to you like that?” my new date asked. If I could remember her name, I would tell you. Let’s call her Red. She was a ginger. I recall that much about her.

“He grows on you.”

Georgia spoke for the first time that night. “You’re hurting my wrist,”

“Yeah, yeah.” Larry laughed. “So, what’s this place called, Tony?”

“Chums.” I didn’t really know if that was the name of the place, but it sounded right. It didn’t matter anyway. When you murder your life long best friend, you tend to ignore the small details of the evening.

Larry’s throat melted before my eyes. It was kinda cool.

The club was empty. A lone bartender–some fat broad with tits hanging out the bottom of her shirt–asked us what we were drinking. Larry ordered a double of whatever was going to “fuck him up the fastest” and I asked for a whiskey sour. The girls ordered something, but that, too, got lost in the details.

The massive barkeep pulled down the required bottles and went about making our order.

Red said. “Smells funny in here.”

I nodded.

Larry told my date, “Just your upper lip, darlin’.”

Red looked at me as if I should do something. I shrugged.

“Well fuck this,” Red belted before leaving me alone at the bar. One less witness. I was fine with that.

His fucking cheeks were smoking. Never seen anything like it.

Larry was shitfaced long before I finished my second drink. Georgia leaned on the bar between us, eyes heavy from the alcohol and puffy from the abuse. She looked forlorn, distant. It made me want to hug her.

I didn’t.

Larry got up and stumbled towards the bathroom. I made my move.

Excusing myself from the bar – not that Georgia really noticed – I followed Larry to the little boy’s room. Walking in shortly after he did, I found him posted up against the wall at the urinals. His mammoth gut filled the tank. One hand held his hose while the other palm propped him up against the wallpaper.

Larry coughed, asked, “I ever tell you I fucked your sister?”  His stream hitched and urine splashed onto the tops of his shoes before he corrected it.

Even though he wasn’t looking at me, I shook my head.

“Sure did,” he responded, as if he could see me. “Stuck it so far up her ass, she was shittin’ soldiers for a week.”

Larry zipped up and turned to me. His eyes were slants and his second chin was shaking from the effort of breathing.

“Ain’t you gonna piss?”

“Nope.”

“You ain’t gonna try that queer shit; are you? Cause-”

“I got something for you.”

“I told you I don’t-”

When I pulled the flask from my back pocket, Larry finally shut the hell up.

“What’s that?”

“Something hard.”

“For me? You shouldn’t have.” Larry laughed. He snatched the silver container from my hand. “This that moonshine you been tellin’ me about?”

I nodded.

“Fuckin’-A-right, Tony. Good looking out.”

Larry unscrewed the cap and slammed the opening to his lips so hard I heard the metal tink! against his teeth.

I waited for it to take effect.

I imagine he would have screamed if he’d been able to, but his tongue was too busy dissolving and running out of his mouth for it to form any coherent sounds. His teeth fell from his gaping maw, making soft clicking sounds as they bounced off the tile. He tried to lurch at me when his cheeks became see-through, but I pushed him back into the same urinal he’d just pissed in with a well placed tennis shoe to the gut.

He reached for his face, but that only allowed the substance to spread to his hands. Larry began to spit, trying to get rid of the stuff, but his lips fell off before he could. There was a gurgling sound, a soft pop, and then a hole opened in his trachea. A soup of red, white and pink ran from the opening like a faucet.

His death was much more fun that I had imagined it would be.

Larry’s eyes asked why just before the life ran from him. I meant to tell him “just because”, but what came out was a confession of sorts.

“Did I mention I got that job as a chemistry teacher? That might explain the sulfuric acid.”

***

I walked Georgia home that evening. Kissing her on the cheek, I told her goodnight.

“Where’s Larry?” she finally asked. Her drunken gaze swung left to right. She swayed unsteadily.

I confided in her. “He’s dead.”

She laughed before saying. “Shit! Don’t I fucking wish!”

The End

“Bring It On” by The Gaslight Anthem

Found these guys through Joe Hill. Amazing.

Ruminating On: Technology

Author’s Note: I will be out of town from the 24th to the 28th of May. This means I will miss Friday’s Ruminating On. To appease those of you that care, I figured I would post to the blog now, instead of completely skipping it. You know I love your mugs. Yes, even the ugly ones. So, here we go…

Ruminating On: Technology

I’m a big fan of gizmos, video games, cell phones, laptops, tablets, ereaders, and things with blinking lights that attract my ADD, but I couldn’t care less for technology. Now, before you scream at your computer screen, “Wait! What’re you rambling on about? They’re the same thing!”, let me explain.

I love toys—dirty minded folks, please leave through the side door. I am, pretty much, a big kid. New tablets and cell phones are all shiny and pretty, with crisp graphics and easy to use interfaces. I’m a man that loves to use his fingers, so sliding them around and actually getting a reaction is just awesome to me. Wow, this blog is going to appeal to all my gutter-minded readers. Oh well, moving on.

What I don’t enjoy is the technology these electronics carry installed upon them. You have Facebook apps, Twitter apps, LinkedIn, Tumblr—the list goes on and on. This means that no matter where you are in the world, at any moment in time, if you can find an internet connection, you can contact whoever you want. That poses a great dilemma to the traditional horror scribe. In a world of ever expanding connectability, my job is getting harder and harder. I have to account for all these new devices and connection options when writing my fiction. Several cheats can be used, but I don’t want to use them. I’m sure at some point I will, but then I’ll get emails to the tune of, “Thought you weren’t going to use that copout?” and then I’ll end up having to cyber-hunt someone down and eMurder them.

Some examples of what I consider cheats, are:

#1. The battery’s dead: No one has a charger? Really? Which leads me to sub-cheat a) The power is out! Oh no!

#2. Even in this day and age (Stephen King I’m talking to you, too. Seriously, why don’t you own a cell phone?) your character just chooses not to have a mobile device. Funding isn’t really an issue anymore, as most companies will give you a free phone, or charge you for whatever you pick out, on your first bill. As a man who used to hop from one company to another every two months without paying his bill, trust me on this. I know, I’m an jerk. But I’ve changed, Ma, really I have. I’ve seen the error in my ways, and all that 12 step stuff bad-people-who-want-to-be-good-people say. I was homeless for a little while, too. But that story is for another time.

#3. For some unexplained reason, no one’s cell phone works. Now, unless your characters are out in the mountains, the desert, or the wilderness, there’s probably no reason for them to not have service. Even then, they probably will. I would much rather read about a lack of signal because of the absence of towers, than I would some supernatural reason. It just seems all too convenient. “Oh Lordy, we’re stuck in this apartment complex, and a demon is after us, and does anyone have a cell phone, and what do you mean you don’t have a signal! We’re in downtown Los Angeles!” I realize, that in Dastardly Bastard, no one has a signal, but that’s because of the location, not the monster. So shuddup!

Horror—for me anyway—is about atmosphere and isolation. My chore is over coming the fact that, nowadays, people always have a way of calling for help. There are simple answers that are not cheats, but they become over used, as well—e.g. even though your character can call for help, they still have to wait for help to arrive. But, unless you want to end your story when the authorities respond, you’re going to have to explain why they can’t get to, or help, your character. Some people believe 911 is a joke (thank you, Flavor Flav and Chuck D) but it is a thing and for the most part, it does work.

Then we have 3G and 4G. This irks me to no end. If your character finds a mysterious item, substance, bit of text, or a strange science experiment, they can do an internet search on the fly. Yep, I believe Google’s killing the mystery star, just like video committed radio-cide. A writer used to be able to tell their reader something and said reader would just follow along without too much protest, as long as the writer was competent in his delivery (Michael Crichton was famous for that), but now, with devices like Kindle Fire and Nook, information is just a swipe and type away. You can go directly from your ebook, to Google, and find out whether or not it’s actually possible to clone a dinosaur using a frog and a friggin’ mosquito. It makes me want to slam my head into a wall, really. Talking about technology, not asexual dinos.

Of course, I see the other side of this, as well. Technology is making writers tell better stories. We’re having to up our game and explain more. We’re required to ditch the simplistic and focus in on what we should have been doing in the first place—suspending disbelief in a logical fashion. Just because cell phone tech and internet search engines exist, does not give writers the right to cheat. Authors must make note of their content issues and overcome. If not, they risk losing readers.

So, if I ever cheat, let this diatribe be my formal apology. But also know that, at one point in time, I felt the same way you did. Hopefully, that day never comes, and I remain a reliable storyteller.

Yeah, technology sucks. That’s just my opinion. One lowly horror writer’s attempt to describe why he has it so rough in this day and age. Forget the fact that I’m doing what I love.

I know, you feel so sorry for me; right?

E.

“Me and Mr. Jones” (Explicit) by Amy Winehouse

Writing Under The Influence

Amy Winehouse – Me and Mr. Jones (Explicit)

Writing Under The Influence

Win A Signed Copy of Bay’s End!

Below you will find ten questions regarding people and items located in my novel, Bay’s End.

The rules are simple: First person to email the correct answers to edwardlorn@gmail.com, wins a signed copy of Bay’s End. Make sure to add your physical address to the email, or I won’t be able to send you your copy.

Please, number your answers!

And away we go!

1. What is Officer Mack Larson’s sister’s name?

2. Two men got in a fight at Hap’s retirement party. What were their names?

3. While the boys are playing hide and seek, what falls out of Jude Lance’s closest that Trey find so repugnant?

4. Danny, Trey’s father, used to work for Minnow. What was the name of Minnow’s company?

5. What movie does Jenna Wales quote towards the end of the book?

6. What’s the make, model, and color of Hap’s cruiser?

7. Jamie doesn’t pronounce words too well. What was it he called butterflies?

8. What two arcade games are ready to play at Chapman’s Laundromat?

9. The Westerns were once a logging company. What was the name of that company?

10. There’s Bachman High, but what’s the name of Bay’s End’s middle school?

Good Luck!!!

E.

A Grammatical Tale of Terror!

Feel free to steal this. Just try and give me credit when possible

Grammatical Horror

“It was a dark and stormy night,” Vague Antecedent began. “They were going there, expecting it.”

“You’ve peeked my interest. There not going two make it; are they?” Homophone asked.

“Whats going to happen, to them.” Bad Punctuation inquired.

Dangling Participle smiled. “By reading your expression, this story is boring you.”

“U sey its derk n stormee, butt I dunt see ne rayn.” Miss Spelling argued.

“Glaringly big holes are arguably what’s wrong with this horrendously told tale.” Unneeded Adverb grinned mischievously.

“I don’t see no point in continuing.” Double Negative sighed.

“Anyone tried. I tired to go to sleep.” Typo stretched.

“Every time he told this story. Everyone is getting bored!” Tense Issue blurted.

“i’m done. the End. all right? i don’t want To hear another word From you. everyone get OUT of my house!” Improper Capitalization demanded.

Teh end…

Introducing Camp WannaBastard!

Tell us, what are some of your most cherished, or tarnished memories?

I’d like to invite everyone to Camp WannaBastard, a Facebook community that focuses on the strength of our memories.

Share a story, upload a picture, or just like the page so you can follow the thread. 

Enroll in Camp WannaBastard Today!

Ruminating On: Porn

Ruminating On: Porn

Jesus! What won’t I talk about?

(Insert eye roll here)

Dictionary.com says.

No, really, go check out Dictionary.com’s definition. I’ll wait here.

Back? Good. Now we can continue. To all the pornography aficionados out there, I must apologize. We will not be discussing, showing, or promoting fuck films here today. We will be going over the mentality of different kinds of porn. The type of media that caters to a specific clientele’s desires. If I have broken your little heart, just Google “porn” and you will be sated. There are plenty of free YouTube-style adult sites around to tickle your pickle, or, for the ladies, to double click your mouse to.

Food Porn: I love this one. Being a fat fuck makes me an expert on this topic. I’m not fat because of some glandular problem, or thyroid issue. I’m obese because I love food. I enjoy the taste, the smell, even the feel of food. In a way, yes, it gets me off. Just thinking about food gives me a chubby. Food Network is just as fascinating to me as Big Bootie Bitches Part Umpteen-Thousand. It’s all about satisfying a craving without actually partaking in the deed. Whether I’m pumping my love muscle, or stuffing my pie-hole, the end result is the same: I’m a happy bastard, and a little messy to boot. It does confuse me a little when Guy Fieri or Bobby Flay come on brandishing succulent treats and I feel that familiar stirring in my loins. I guess when it comes to my food porn, I’m bi-feastual.

Torture or Gore Porn: Either, or, you decide. But there is a difference. Gore porn is for those craving as much blood and viscera as one director and special FX department can muster. Gore hounds require neck stumps pumping arterial spray into the heavens and entrails trailing behind their owners like fat worms, whereas torture porn addicts need to see genitalia nailed to a chair, or a set of fingernails being removed with pliers. The difference is: action versus aftermath. Movies like Saw and Hostel are among my favorite, but I fail to see why. The reasoning behind enjoying a human being’s suffering, is beyond me. I don’t have a lot of faith in humanity, and hate most people in general, so that may have a little to do with it, but that doesn’t mean I like torturing people. Just because I love Food Network, doesn’t mean I want to be a chef, I only like watching chefs at work. It’s voyeuristic, really. By watching torture porn, I think I am living vicariously through the evil doers on the screen. Maybe it keeps me from hunting down that fucktard on a certain social networking site, dragging him to my home and ripping his bleeding heart from his urethra. Or, maybe, those movies give me those ideas in the first place. I’m not of the mindset that violent media creates antisocial behavior, but it has sure given me a couple good ideas.

Luxury Porn: If you have never heard this term, it could be because I just made it up. Maybe not. I’m too fucking lazy to Google the term, so you’ll just have to do it yourself when you’re done reading this. Before MTV Cribs, there was a show called Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. The host was known for sounding like a pompous douchebag, dragging out every word, as if his syllables were weighed down by gold encrusted vowels and consonants. Everyday people have always been curious about the better off of society. To this day, we are drawn to reality shows about people living more extravagant lives than ourselves. Kim Kardashian went from one style of porn to another. In one, she gets about nine inches of Ray-J to the tune of “I love you so much” while a camera captures everything from a dresser. Love isn’t quite the word I would use for what he’s doing to her, but whatever floats your apple-shaped ass, is fine with me. In the other, she bitches about her failed relationships, business ventures, and how terrible it is to get everything she wants, while Bruce Jenner does his best Joan Rivers impersonation. Am I hating on Kim because she has more money than I will probably ever see in my lifetime? No. I’m pissed off that she’s famous for being famous. Like Paris Hilton, she has a body to be looked upon, and a brain to be ignored. If you think she’s a smart business woman, you’re fucking retarded. It’s called an accountant. You just have to know how to hire one. And all that takes is an internet search.

So, if you get your jollies from food, pain, rich people, or good, old fashion hole violation, porn may very well be your thing. But remember, when you substitute media for real life, there are bound to be people looking at you funny. Porn is best enjoyed in private, or with a loved one you trust. Parents may find it hard to talk about and spouses may think you’re just trying to replace them with it, but in reality, you’re only trying to fill a hole without making an effort.

Hehehehehe…

I said, “Fill a hole.”

E.