Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 115
September 2, 2015
Creative Fuel For Kids
***CREATIVE FUEL FOR KIDS***
When I was a kid and I got in trouble, I made no mention of the media I liked because if I did, that particular medium would get taken away from me. I’m sure we can all relate to this in one way or another. Let’s say for instance you and your older brother wanted to practice martial arts. One of you gets injured, so what do the parents do? They take away your Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee movies. As a kid, you keep insisting that those movies don’t make you act the way you do and there may be some truth to that.
However, there’s also a truth to the ratings they put on TV shows, movies, and videogames. If a seven-year-old watches the Faces of Death documentary from the late 1970’s, then he’ll grow up thinking those graphic images are a normal part of life. In some ways they are, but that mentality takes away from the beauty that life can become. That’s not to say that movies turn kids into murderous sociopaths, because that’s a stretch. Those same movies do however define normality for those kids for the rest of their lives.
Take me for instance. I didn’t become a fan of WWE until I was six years old and at that age, I didn’t want to believe it was scripted and that wasn’t how people fought in real life. Over the years, WWE started incorporating more disgusting storylines that involved racism, sexism, sexuality, and humiliation. I watched all of that until my mom banned wrestling from the house for the foreseeable future.
But that didn’t stop me from finding other sources of creative fuel that were to my liking. I watched Pulp Fiction when I was 11 and didn’t question any of that movie. I had it in my mind that you didn’t have to be a racist in order to use racial slurs. Boy, was I wrong. I watched Clerks when I was 13 and thought the words “cock” and “cunt” were exclusive to that movie. I was wrong again.
And then I was 14 years old when I watched my first soft-core porn movie. It was called Playtime and focused on female masturbation. Ever since watching that horny movie, I started looking for internet porn and somehow thought sticking a ball gag in a girl’s mouth and sucking her feet was an instant turn-on. It’s not. In fact, most girls I know think that’s weird.
So let’s take an inventory of all the horrible things I thought were normal: violence as a solution to everyday problems, women dressing in skimpy clothing, racial slurs with no racism behind them (or so I thought), instant lesbianism, gay jokes in public places, god knows what else. Good thing I’m not a sociopath or else this would have been a really destructive life.
In spite of all the misconceptions of what acceptability was, I’d like to think I’ve always been on the benevolent side of the spectrum. I got in so many fights in high school not because I was a psychopath, but because I wanted to end bullying and injustice. Ending those things is admirable on any level. So at best, my intentions were always pure, but my methods were questionable. Cussing out internet folk to end trolling? Doesn’t work. Using ball gags and duct tape during an internet version of “making love”? Doesn’t work without consent. Using the word “faggot” because Immortal Technique used it liberally despite being a leftist? Yeah, not going to happen.
I’m not trying to convey the message that media makes small children into school shooters. It doesn’t. It does however set the standards for what children perceive as normal and justified as they grow up into adults. Children absorb everything like a sponge. And I do mean everything. They don’t develop a strong filter for bullshit until they’re teenagers, where they rebel against everything that doesn’t agree with their lifestyles.
I suppose you could blame parents for allowing kids to see things they shouldn’t, but that’s not necessarily true. Kids today have access to materials that can be hidden from even the most watchful parent’s view. Even if parents could monitor their children 24/7 (which they can’t), kids can be sneaky and venture into worlds that nobody else can stop them from seeing.
Frankly, I’m more concerned about parents who abuse their children instead of parents who fail to catch their children watching a bloody kung fu flick. I was fortunate enough to have loving parents and a healthy childhood. No school shootings or other criminal behavior here. In fact, I have no criminal record at all, so that’s one less thing I have to worry about.
I was bound to have a wakeup call sooner or later on what was decent and what wasn’t. In the summer of 2014, I wrote an erotic short story for the WSS called “Tainted Love”, where the female protagonist was bound and gagged by a complete stranger and loved every minute of it. I’ve never felt so ashamed of myself in my life. No woman in her right mind would ever think being kidnapped by a criminal is sexy. But that’s what maturity is all about: having experiences, learning from the mistakes, and chipping away at the rough edges to make a beautiful sculpture.
I’ve said enough for today. I welcome all viewpoints and talking points as long as they’re decent and maturely presented. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTEST AND COMPANY***
The new week started yesterday and the theme is “homeless”. My story, should I get around to writing it, will be called “I, Barbarian”. Yes, I get stereotyped by my family a lot for writing barbarian stories, so if you have a joke, let it out now or forever hold your peace. The story goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Magnus Warcry, Bear Barbarian
Corey Darkside, Human Barbarian
Ace Hank, Sheriff
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Corey is being accused of vagrancy, which is defined as wandering around without a permanent address (aka being homeless).
SYNOPSIS: Ace brings Corey to the police station on charges of vagrancy and resisting arrest. While he’s interrogating her, she insists that her barbarian gimmick isn’t an act and that Magnus Warcry must be defeated. Ace is contemplating sending Corey to a mental institution when Magnus shows up to the police station and starts mauling everything and everyone in sight. Not only is Corey Darkside not crazy after all, but she might be Paulson City’s only hope in this battle of primitive warriors.
***AMERICAN DARKNESS***
Yes, I know you all were expecting three more edited short stories, but they won’t get here today or even tomorrow. I took a one-day vacation from editing today so that I could catch up on my reading obligations to Edward Davies, Paul McAvoy, and Daniel Bryan. I’ll probably take another one-day vacation so that I can concentrate on “I, Barbarian”. I can take as many vacations as I want, so suck it. Besides, I only have four more stories from American Darkness to edit, so I’ve pretty much got this in the bag.
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Ladies, at least one time in your man’s life (at least once, don’t let him lie), he has stood in front a full-length mirror absolutely naked and he tucked his dick between his legs to see what he’d look like as a woman. And men, if you haven’t done that yet, you will now that I’ve mentioned it.”
-Tommy Blaine-
When I was a kid and I got in trouble, I made no mention of the media I liked because if I did, that particular medium would get taken away from me. I’m sure we can all relate to this in one way or another. Let’s say for instance you and your older brother wanted to practice martial arts. One of you gets injured, so what do the parents do? They take away your Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee movies. As a kid, you keep insisting that those movies don’t make you act the way you do and there may be some truth to that.
However, there’s also a truth to the ratings they put on TV shows, movies, and videogames. If a seven-year-old watches the Faces of Death documentary from the late 1970’s, then he’ll grow up thinking those graphic images are a normal part of life. In some ways they are, but that mentality takes away from the beauty that life can become. That’s not to say that movies turn kids into murderous sociopaths, because that’s a stretch. Those same movies do however define normality for those kids for the rest of their lives.
Take me for instance. I didn’t become a fan of WWE until I was six years old and at that age, I didn’t want to believe it was scripted and that wasn’t how people fought in real life. Over the years, WWE started incorporating more disgusting storylines that involved racism, sexism, sexuality, and humiliation. I watched all of that until my mom banned wrestling from the house for the foreseeable future.
But that didn’t stop me from finding other sources of creative fuel that were to my liking. I watched Pulp Fiction when I was 11 and didn’t question any of that movie. I had it in my mind that you didn’t have to be a racist in order to use racial slurs. Boy, was I wrong. I watched Clerks when I was 13 and thought the words “cock” and “cunt” were exclusive to that movie. I was wrong again.
And then I was 14 years old when I watched my first soft-core porn movie. It was called Playtime and focused on female masturbation. Ever since watching that horny movie, I started looking for internet porn and somehow thought sticking a ball gag in a girl’s mouth and sucking her feet was an instant turn-on. It’s not. In fact, most girls I know think that’s weird.
So let’s take an inventory of all the horrible things I thought were normal: violence as a solution to everyday problems, women dressing in skimpy clothing, racial slurs with no racism behind them (or so I thought), instant lesbianism, gay jokes in public places, god knows what else. Good thing I’m not a sociopath or else this would have been a really destructive life.
In spite of all the misconceptions of what acceptability was, I’d like to think I’ve always been on the benevolent side of the spectrum. I got in so many fights in high school not because I was a psychopath, but because I wanted to end bullying and injustice. Ending those things is admirable on any level. So at best, my intentions were always pure, but my methods were questionable. Cussing out internet folk to end trolling? Doesn’t work. Using ball gags and duct tape during an internet version of “making love”? Doesn’t work without consent. Using the word “faggot” because Immortal Technique used it liberally despite being a leftist? Yeah, not going to happen.
I’m not trying to convey the message that media makes small children into school shooters. It doesn’t. It does however set the standards for what children perceive as normal and justified as they grow up into adults. Children absorb everything like a sponge. And I do mean everything. They don’t develop a strong filter for bullshit until they’re teenagers, where they rebel against everything that doesn’t agree with their lifestyles.
I suppose you could blame parents for allowing kids to see things they shouldn’t, but that’s not necessarily true. Kids today have access to materials that can be hidden from even the most watchful parent’s view. Even if parents could monitor their children 24/7 (which they can’t), kids can be sneaky and venture into worlds that nobody else can stop them from seeing.
Frankly, I’m more concerned about parents who abuse their children instead of parents who fail to catch their children watching a bloody kung fu flick. I was fortunate enough to have loving parents and a healthy childhood. No school shootings or other criminal behavior here. In fact, I have no criminal record at all, so that’s one less thing I have to worry about.
I was bound to have a wakeup call sooner or later on what was decent and what wasn’t. In the summer of 2014, I wrote an erotic short story for the WSS called “Tainted Love”, where the female protagonist was bound and gagged by a complete stranger and loved every minute of it. I’ve never felt so ashamed of myself in my life. No woman in her right mind would ever think being kidnapped by a criminal is sexy. But that’s what maturity is all about: having experiences, learning from the mistakes, and chipping away at the rough edges to make a beautiful sculpture.
I’ve said enough for today. I welcome all viewpoints and talking points as long as they’re decent and maturely presented. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTEST AND COMPANY***
The new week started yesterday and the theme is “homeless”. My story, should I get around to writing it, will be called “I, Barbarian”. Yes, I get stereotyped by my family a lot for writing barbarian stories, so if you have a joke, let it out now or forever hold your peace. The story goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Magnus Warcry, Bear Barbarian
Corey Darkside, Human Barbarian
Ace Hank, Sheriff
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Corey is being accused of vagrancy, which is defined as wandering around without a permanent address (aka being homeless).
SYNOPSIS: Ace brings Corey to the police station on charges of vagrancy and resisting arrest. While he’s interrogating her, she insists that her barbarian gimmick isn’t an act and that Magnus Warcry must be defeated. Ace is contemplating sending Corey to a mental institution when Magnus shows up to the police station and starts mauling everything and everyone in sight. Not only is Corey Darkside not crazy after all, but she might be Paulson City’s only hope in this battle of primitive warriors.
***AMERICAN DARKNESS***
Yes, I know you all were expecting three more edited short stories, but they won’t get here today or even tomorrow. I took a one-day vacation from editing today so that I could catch up on my reading obligations to Edward Davies, Paul McAvoy, and Daniel Bryan. I’ll probably take another one-day vacation so that I can concentrate on “I, Barbarian”. I can take as many vacations as I want, so suck it. Besides, I only have four more stories from American Darkness to edit, so I’ve pretty much got this in the bag.
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Ladies, at least one time in your man’s life (at least once, don’t let him lie), he has stood in front a full-length mirror absolutely naked and he tucked his dick between his legs to see what he’d look like as a woman. And men, if you haven’t done that yet, you will now that I’ve mentioned it.”
-Tommy Blaine-
WWE NXT Rival: Hideo Itami vs. Tyler Breeze
MATCH: Hideo Itami vs. Tyler Breeze
PROMOTION: WWE NXT
EVENT: Rival
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
Hideo Itami signing with WWE was a long time coming. In Japan, Itami, then known as KENTA, was a staple of his home country’s pro-wrestling. The number of championships and awards he won while wrestling in Japan is absolutely ridiculous. The Wrestling Observer Newsletter readership took a huge liking to him since he won Best Wrestling Maneuver in 2006 and 2007 (Go 2 Sleep) and was one half of the Tag Team of the Year in 2003 and 2004. The award-winning move known as the Go 2 Sleep is a fireman’s carry into a knockout knee to the face.
CM Punk used that move to win multiple world championships in the WWE from 2006 to 2014 when he retired from wrestling. Another KENTA move that was used by a WWE superstar was the Busaiku Knee, which is basically a running knee to the opponent’s face (he sure loves kneeing people in the face). Daniel Bryan, who’s been with the WWE since 2010, uses the Busaiku Knee as his finishing move and won many world championships himself with that move. The newly christened Hideo Itami was a godsend to WWE NXT.
One NXT staple who didn’t exactly greet Mr. Itami with a warm welcome was Tyler Breeze. After Hideo Itami had a successful feud with The Ascension (Konnor and Viktor), he and Tyler Breeze were part of a tournament to determine the number one contender for the NXT Championship, which at the time was held by Sami Zayn. Itami and Breeze’s first encounter together was in the quarterfinals of that tournament. Hideo won in convincing fashion, but was defeated in the semifinals by longtime friend Finn Balor (formerly known as Prince Devitt in Japan).
The “Hero of Pain” wasn’t sour at all about losing to Finn Balor. He was sour, however, when Tyler Breeze beat him up in the locker room shortly after conducting an interview with Devin Taylor. Tyler, who had been hanging around in number one contender situations for a long time now, was sickened that an “uggo” like Hideo Itami would keep him from another crack at the NXT Title. And now we’ve got a rivalry that needs to be settled. What better place to settle it than NXT Takeover: Rival?
From the beginning of this match, it was highly apparent that Tyler Breeze and Hideo Itami learned a lot about each other after their first match. They countered pretty much every move they could throw at each other and did so in an intelligent and athletic fashion. Remember, these two wrestlers are known for their speed, agility, and technique. If they’re going to move away from each other’s moves, they’re going to do so like a bolt of lightning. The feeling out process was fast and furious, which is weird for a feeling out process.
And then Tyler Breeze got the idea to target Hideo Itami’s legs. The Japanese superstar was at one time an amateur kick boxer, so when he kicks you, you’re going to feel it until the grave. Hell, it might be an early grave if he kicks you in the right place. Twisting Hideo’s legs in painful submission holds, dropping knees and elbows on them, even the occasional Dragon Screw (which is throwing someone down by their calf muscles) came off as intelligent strategy by Tyler Breeze. There was even one point in the match when Tyler not only slammed Hideo’s knees against the ring post, but also performed a Figure Four Leg Lock on them with the steel ring post as the fulcrum between Hideo’s legs and his groin. Ouch!
But if there’s one thing about Hideo Itami fans of Japanese wrestling know, it’s that no matter how savagely beaten up he is, his opponents will never take away his warrior spirit. If you had to spend years on end training for six hours a day in a wrestling dojo and then having to scrub down the gym, do laundry, and cook meals for the experienced wrestlers, you’d have a hard time giving up your warrior spirit as well (that is, if you don’t quit your first day).
Even with one injured leg after Tyler Breeze’s constant aggression, Hideo Itami still found the resolve to throw disgustingly strong kicks. And when Hideo threw them, Tyler sold them to perfection. “Prince Pretty” flew around the ring and grimaced in severe pain after each strike. Then again, even if you’re a wrestler who no-sells all of your opponents, you pretty much have no choice after taking a kick to the ribs, legs, and head. Even a lower corner drop kick is hard to regain oxygen from. And then we had the exciting finish to this match in the books: Hideo Itami knocking Tyler Breeze loopy with a single leg dropkick appropriately known as the Shotgun Kick. One, two, three, and your winner is Hideo Itami in a match that could be accused of stealing the entire show.
Ever since that historic badass match, Hideo and Tyler continued to feud over the number one contender status of the NXT Championship, which was taken away from Sami Zayn at Takeover: Rival by 300-lb. Canadian juggernaut Kevin Owens. Some matches Tyler Breeze won while others Hideo Itami won. There was supposed to be a triple threat number one contender’s match at NXT Takeover: Unstoppable between Breeze, Itami, and Finn Balor. The match was watered down to a one-on-one battle when Hideo Itami suffered a serious shoulder injury that would keep him out for six to eight months.
If you haven’t learned anything about Hideo Itami from watching Japanese wrestling, then you should have learned something from watching him on NXT programming on the WWE Network. This guy doesn’t quit for anything. You can punch him, kick him, break every bone in his body, but as long as he still has the tiniest puff of breath in his lungs, he’ll never give up. A shoulder injury is just another obstacle for him to conquer, which he’ll no doubt do in convincing fashion. The rise of the Japanese warrior has only begun. Konnor and Viktor of The Ascension were the first to fall. Tyler Breeze was the second. When Hideo Itami returns to action, there will be a third.
PROMOTION: WWE NXT
EVENT: Rival
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass
Hideo Itami signing with WWE was a long time coming. In Japan, Itami, then known as KENTA, was a staple of his home country’s pro-wrestling. The number of championships and awards he won while wrestling in Japan is absolutely ridiculous. The Wrestling Observer Newsletter readership took a huge liking to him since he won Best Wrestling Maneuver in 2006 and 2007 (Go 2 Sleep) and was one half of the Tag Team of the Year in 2003 and 2004. The award-winning move known as the Go 2 Sleep is a fireman’s carry into a knockout knee to the face.
CM Punk used that move to win multiple world championships in the WWE from 2006 to 2014 when he retired from wrestling. Another KENTA move that was used by a WWE superstar was the Busaiku Knee, which is basically a running knee to the opponent’s face (he sure loves kneeing people in the face). Daniel Bryan, who’s been with the WWE since 2010, uses the Busaiku Knee as his finishing move and won many world championships himself with that move. The newly christened Hideo Itami was a godsend to WWE NXT.
One NXT staple who didn’t exactly greet Mr. Itami with a warm welcome was Tyler Breeze. After Hideo Itami had a successful feud with The Ascension (Konnor and Viktor), he and Tyler Breeze were part of a tournament to determine the number one contender for the NXT Championship, which at the time was held by Sami Zayn. Itami and Breeze’s first encounter together was in the quarterfinals of that tournament. Hideo won in convincing fashion, but was defeated in the semifinals by longtime friend Finn Balor (formerly known as Prince Devitt in Japan).
The “Hero of Pain” wasn’t sour at all about losing to Finn Balor. He was sour, however, when Tyler Breeze beat him up in the locker room shortly after conducting an interview with Devin Taylor. Tyler, who had been hanging around in number one contender situations for a long time now, was sickened that an “uggo” like Hideo Itami would keep him from another crack at the NXT Title. And now we’ve got a rivalry that needs to be settled. What better place to settle it than NXT Takeover: Rival?
From the beginning of this match, it was highly apparent that Tyler Breeze and Hideo Itami learned a lot about each other after their first match. They countered pretty much every move they could throw at each other and did so in an intelligent and athletic fashion. Remember, these two wrestlers are known for their speed, agility, and technique. If they’re going to move away from each other’s moves, they’re going to do so like a bolt of lightning. The feeling out process was fast and furious, which is weird for a feeling out process.
And then Tyler Breeze got the idea to target Hideo Itami’s legs. The Japanese superstar was at one time an amateur kick boxer, so when he kicks you, you’re going to feel it until the grave. Hell, it might be an early grave if he kicks you in the right place. Twisting Hideo’s legs in painful submission holds, dropping knees and elbows on them, even the occasional Dragon Screw (which is throwing someone down by their calf muscles) came off as intelligent strategy by Tyler Breeze. There was even one point in the match when Tyler not only slammed Hideo’s knees against the ring post, but also performed a Figure Four Leg Lock on them with the steel ring post as the fulcrum between Hideo’s legs and his groin. Ouch!
But if there’s one thing about Hideo Itami fans of Japanese wrestling know, it’s that no matter how savagely beaten up he is, his opponents will never take away his warrior spirit. If you had to spend years on end training for six hours a day in a wrestling dojo and then having to scrub down the gym, do laundry, and cook meals for the experienced wrestlers, you’d have a hard time giving up your warrior spirit as well (that is, if you don’t quit your first day).
Even with one injured leg after Tyler Breeze’s constant aggression, Hideo Itami still found the resolve to throw disgustingly strong kicks. And when Hideo threw them, Tyler sold them to perfection. “Prince Pretty” flew around the ring and grimaced in severe pain after each strike. Then again, even if you’re a wrestler who no-sells all of your opponents, you pretty much have no choice after taking a kick to the ribs, legs, and head. Even a lower corner drop kick is hard to regain oxygen from. And then we had the exciting finish to this match in the books: Hideo Itami knocking Tyler Breeze loopy with a single leg dropkick appropriately known as the Shotgun Kick. One, two, three, and your winner is Hideo Itami in a match that could be accused of stealing the entire show.
Ever since that historic badass match, Hideo and Tyler continued to feud over the number one contender status of the NXT Championship, which was taken away from Sami Zayn at Takeover: Rival by 300-lb. Canadian juggernaut Kevin Owens. Some matches Tyler Breeze won while others Hideo Itami won. There was supposed to be a triple threat number one contender’s match at NXT Takeover: Unstoppable between Breeze, Itami, and Finn Balor. The match was watered down to a one-on-one battle when Hideo Itami suffered a serious shoulder injury that would keep him out for six to eight months.
If you haven’t learned anything about Hideo Itami from watching Japanese wrestling, then you should have learned something from watching him on NXT programming on the WWE Network. This guy doesn’t quit for anything. You can punch him, kick him, break every bone in his body, but as long as he still has the tiniest puff of breath in his lungs, he’ll never give up. A shoulder injury is just another obstacle for him to conquer, which he’ll no doubt do in convincing fashion. The rise of the Japanese warrior has only begun. Konnor and Viktor of The Ascension were the first to fall. Tyler Breeze was the second. When Hideo Itami returns to action, there will be a third.
August 31, 2015
Pet Names
***PET NAMES***
When going to the Humane Society to adopt a pet, there are certain things a future animal owner looks for. Sometimes age plays a factor. Species is another important one. Friendliness with other animals is a must. But did you ever figure that an animal’s given name would have any effect on his or her adoptability? Because most of the animals are taken from the streets, they don’t already have names assigned to them. Therefore, the Humane Society does that for them. Some of the names are cute and cuddly (Oswald, Ozzy, Tori, and Sitka can all attest to that). And then there are names which are so fucking weird that nobody bothers to adopt that animal. It’s sad and unfortunate, but it’s true. Would anybody adopt a kitty named Boompsa? Admiral Akbar? Sniper? Killer? What the fuck, man? So in this journal, I’m going to give you all ideas for pet names that aren’t too fruity or too weird. They’re just right and if they don’t feel right yet, you’ll get used to them over time. Starting with….
MALE:
Adam
Albert
Angelo
Barry
Biggie
Billy
Blake
Bo
Bray
Buddy
Caesar
Calvin
Chuck
Clay
Connor
Cooper
Dallas
Damien
Danny
Diego
Drake
Duncan
Dusty
Eddy
Finn
Frankie
Fred
George
Gerald
Henry
Howie
Jack
Jake
Jerry
Jimmy
Joey
Josh
Kingston
Larry
Louie
Luke
Mac
Marty
Mickey
Mojo
Monty
Nacho
Neville
Norman
Oscar
Owen
Pete
Randy
Ricky
Rocky
Sammy
Scotty
Seamus
Shadow
Simon
Sunny
Sylvester
Thomas
Titus
Tony
Tucker
Tyler
Victor
Woody
Wyatt
FEMALE:
Bailey
Becky
Bella
Brie
Cammy
Carmella
Charlie
Cherry
Cookie
Emma
Eva
Harper
Hattie
Jasmine
Jeanie
Jordan
Kelly
Lana
Lexi
Lilly
Marie
Mattie
Murphy
Naomi
Natalie
Nikki
Paige
Patty
Riley
Rosie
Sasha
Summer
We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***UPDATED CREATIVE TASK LIST***
EDITING TIMELINE:
September 1stt: Teach Me Passion, Twice the Cuteness, Walkabout
September 2nd: War Is My Destiny, Wendell Backland, Wishes in the Night
September 3rd: Wrestle Maniac, Format E-Book, Replace Old Copies with New One
READING PRIORITIES:
“The Girlfriend Wager” by Edward Davies
“So…I Met a Vampire” by Paul McAvoy
Weekly Short Story Contest and Company: “Flea Market”
“YES!” by Daniel Bryan
WRITING PRIORITIES:
Blood Brawl: “Chapter 2”
Character Profile: “Cain Lockhart”
Movie or TV Show Review: “Dennis the Menace”
***PROVERB OF THE DAY***
“Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.”
When going to the Humane Society to adopt a pet, there are certain things a future animal owner looks for. Sometimes age plays a factor. Species is another important one. Friendliness with other animals is a must. But did you ever figure that an animal’s given name would have any effect on his or her adoptability? Because most of the animals are taken from the streets, they don’t already have names assigned to them. Therefore, the Humane Society does that for them. Some of the names are cute and cuddly (Oswald, Ozzy, Tori, and Sitka can all attest to that). And then there are names which are so fucking weird that nobody bothers to adopt that animal. It’s sad and unfortunate, but it’s true. Would anybody adopt a kitty named Boompsa? Admiral Akbar? Sniper? Killer? What the fuck, man? So in this journal, I’m going to give you all ideas for pet names that aren’t too fruity or too weird. They’re just right and if they don’t feel right yet, you’ll get used to them over time. Starting with….
MALE:
Adam
Albert
Angelo
Barry
Biggie
Billy
Blake
Bo
Bray
Buddy
Caesar
Calvin
Chuck
Clay
Connor
Cooper
Dallas
Damien
Danny
Diego
Drake
Duncan
Dusty
Eddy
Finn
Frankie
Fred
George
Gerald
Henry
Howie
Jack
Jake
Jerry
Jimmy
Joey
Josh
Kingston
Larry
Louie
Luke
Mac
Marty
Mickey
Mojo
Monty
Nacho
Neville
Norman
Oscar
Owen
Pete
Randy
Ricky
Rocky
Sammy
Scotty
Seamus
Shadow
Simon
Sunny
Sylvester
Thomas
Titus
Tony
Tucker
Tyler
Victor
Woody
Wyatt
FEMALE:
Bailey
Becky
Bella
Brie
Cammy
Carmella
Charlie
Cherry
Cookie
Emma
Eva
Harper
Hattie
Jasmine
Jeanie
Jordan
Kelly
Lana
Lexi
Lilly
Marie
Mattie
Murphy
Naomi
Natalie
Nikki
Paige
Patty
Riley
Rosie
Sasha
Summer
We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***UPDATED CREATIVE TASK LIST***
EDITING TIMELINE:
September 1stt: Teach Me Passion, Twice the Cuteness, Walkabout
September 2nd: War Is My Destiny, Wendell Backland, Wishes in the Night
September 3rd: Wrestle Maniac, Format E-Book, Replace Old Copies with New One
READING PRIORITIES:
“The Girlfriend Wager” by Edward Davies
“So…I Met a Vampire” by Paul McAvoy
Weekly Short Story Contest and Company: “Flea Market”
“YES!” by Daniel Bryan
WRITING PRIORITIES:
Blood Brawl: “Chapter 2”
Character Profile: “Cain Lockhart”
Movie or TV Show Review: “Dennis the Menace”
***PROVERB OF THE DAY***
“Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.”
August 28, 2015
Flipped Off
A massive red pickup truck pulled in slowly in front of the rickety three-tier house on top of Claymore Hill. On the outside the house looked like it was used every Halloween to scare the shit out of little kids. Cobwebs, broken windows, loose doors, shoddy construction, basically this place looked like a nightmare to live in.
When Ivan Savage and his heavyset buddy Mickey Ryder got out of the truck dressed in blue jeans, stained white T-shirts, and black combat boots, that could have only meant one thing: it was time to go to work on this puppy.
Ivan ran his gloved hand through his messy brown hair and said, “This feels wrong. This feels very wrong.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mickey.
“What do you think I mean? Didn’t you hear on the news who this house used to belong to? Angelo Crockett. Not just any Angelo Crockett, but the same guy who used this house for a goddamn rape dungeon. He kept anywhere between twenty and thirty underage girls here. If I start talking about what he did to them, I’m going to vomit. We should just get back in the truck and get out of here.”
Mickey made a flat tire noise and said, “Dude, what did you expect? You bought this house sight unseen at a flea market. A flea market, for shit’s sake. Hell, there are probably a bunch of fleas living in there right now. But you know what? This is the kind of work we get paid to do. As flip men, we have certain obligations and though they may seem cruel and unusual, they do include flipping houses and getting them ready to be sold at a high price.”
“Hey, I have no illusions about what I do for a living. It’s just that this is the most disgusting assignment I’ve ever had to do.”
“You think I feel any better about it, Ivan? You think I condone what that bastard did to those kids? That’s why we owe it to those young girls to clean this place up. Trust me, buddy, by the time we’re finished, Angelo Crockett’s name will be long forgotten about. Let’s get inside and see what we’ve got to work with.”
Mickey waddled his fat ass up the stairs and into the house while Ivan shook his head and reluctantly trailed him inside. The outside and the urban legend surrounding this house was vomit-inducing enough. But the inside was a disaster. The floors were covered with blood, puke, and feces. The walls were covered in even more sickening bodily fluids. The kitchen was so caked in urine and dirt that eating anything from there would be certain death. The bathroom reeked so badly that stepping one foot could mean a gut-busting assault on the nose. The basement? Well, that was easily the most sickening part of the house since it was everything the above two tiers was multiplied by ten.
Despite the horrific condition of this lonely house, the stench of it all was something Ivan and Mickey were both used to. They were flip men after all and remodeled houses as bad as this all the time. In fact, Mickey was already on the attack when it came to his plans to fix this house up.
“Alright, so here’s what I’m thinking. The carpets and the linoleum both have to be ripped up from the ground. There’s no saving them. In their place will be wooden floors. We’ll have wooden floors all around the upper two tiers and even the staircase will be like that too. We’re also going to use wood paneling for the walls, which are going to be painted afterwards, probably in the neighborhood of greenish blue. The bathroom will be a different story; it’s going to have square tiles both on the floor and on the walls. The appliances will all have to go from the sinks to the oven to the refrigerator to the toilets to the tubs. We’re going to buy brand new appliances and put them in their respective places. The cupboards are also going to have to be replaced with new wood. And finally, those light fixtures above us are going to have to be replaced with ceiling fans. You think we can do all of this, Ivan?”
Ivan gave his friend an “Are you kidding me?” look and said, “That’s all fine and good, but did you forget that this place used to be a goddamn rape dungeon for small children?!”
If either flip man needed a reminder of that, all they had to do was look on the kitchen floor next to the burned out stove. Ivan knelt down and picked up what appeared to be a porn magazine. He dusted off the cover and gagged when he saw what the book was titled: “Sexy Teenagers Weekly”.
“I’m going to be sick! I’m going to be sick! I’m going to be sick!” Ivan kept saying to himself as he dropped the magazine, ran out the front door, and retched all over the lawn. He shook hard as he tasted his McDonald’s breakfast sandwich from earlier that day. His decade-long experience of being a flip man didn’t prepare him for this.
“I’m going to go ahead and survey the basement. You can feel free to join me once you’re done throwing up,” yelled Mickey from the inside. Ivan was huffing and puffing while struggling to make it to his feet. As soon as he wiped the vomit from his mouth, he heard his construction buddy let out a blood-curdling scream followed by the sounds of fire and shredding.
Ivan slowly turned his head around and said, “Oh dear lord, no…Mickey!” He bolted inside and visited all of the rooms in the house in search of his friend. No sign of him. The one place he hadn’t looked was the basement aka Satan’s port-a-potty. Ivan swallowed a glob of barf-flavored saliva and shakily ventured down the stairs into the dark basement.
He struggled to find a light switch, but eventually found one at the bottom of the world’s longest stairs. He flipped it on and saw the ashen and shredded remains of what was once his best friend Mickey Ryder. “What the fuck?!” yelled Ivan as he rushed to the middle of the dingy basement to check on his friend. Once on his knees, tears formed in Ivan Savage’s eyes.
His sadness would be blended with fear when he heard the whispers of small children all around him. There they were: the ones responsible for the soul-stealing death of Mickey Ryder. They were the ashen souls of the thirty raped girls, who were forming a large circle around Ivan by holding hands and dancing around him.
“Please!” begged Ivan. “Please let me out of here! I never wanted to be here in the first place! I don’t even want to be a flip man anymore!”
In demonic, unified voices, the ghosts of the girls said, “Your friend had to pay the price! He wanted to use our deaths as a way to make money! He wanted to exploit us just like Master Angelo did!”
Disturbed by the fact that these girls just called their rapist “Master Angelo”, more tears formed in Ivan’s eyes when he said, “Listen…that man will never hurt you or anyone else again. He’s behind bars and he’ll never get out. He’s probably being stabbed to death in the showers right now.”
The ghosts said, “As well he should be! But that doesn’t solve the problem of you, my friend. You came here for the same reason as that giant sack of protoplasm over there. You wanted to exploit us for some easy cash! We’re not going to let you nor anyone else get away with that!”
“Please! You have to believe me! I wanted no part of this! I’ll do whatever you girls want! Anything you want!”
“…Anything?”
“Anything you want! Name it and it’s yours!”
The ghosts stroked their chins in mock contemplation before dancing around in a circle again and closing in on Ivan, who was curled in a little ball waiting to be murdered. But then the girls picked him up off the ground and made their conditions known. “You want to live, money man? Then you set us free right now. You will not flip this house. You will instead burn it to the ground. No one shall make money off of us again! Nobody! Do you understand?!”
“I…I…I…” Ivan swallowed hard. “I have a gas can and some matches in my truck. As soon as you girls let me go, I’m burning this place to the ground. Just like we promised.”
The next time the girls danced, it was in a celebratory ballet style. They hugged each other and spun around in happiness while Ivan ran past them, up the stairs, and out to his truck to do what he promised.
He scrambled in the back of the pickup truck for that gasoline. He panicked when he almost didn’t find it, but there it was buried underneath the lumber. The matches he got from the glove box. Ivan took a few deep breaths and steadied his nerves before slowly approaching this former rape dungeon to do what he wanted to do all along. He splashed some gasoline on the walls, lit a match, and watched the fire consume the entire house.
Before the fire could get too out of hand, Ivan hopped in the truck and drove away in a hurry, easily doing 80 miles per hour. Sooner or later, someone would call the fire department and the rape dungeon would be nothing more than cooling ashes. Knowing it was all over gave Ivan a sense of relief, therefore he slowed down his driving speed and breathed a sigh of relief. All he needed to do at that point was come up with a little white lie to tell his superiors when they ask him about what happened to both the house and Mickey Ryder.
When Ivan Savage and his heavyset buddy Mickey Ryder got out of the truck dressed in blue jeans, stained white T-shirts, and black combat boots, that could have only meant one thing: it was time to go to work on this puppy.
Ivan ran his gloved hand through his messy brown hair and said, “This feels wrong. This feels very wrong.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mickey.
“What do you think I mean? Didn’t you hear on the news who this house used to belong to? Angelo Crockett. Not just any Angelo Crockett, but the same guy who used this house for a goddamn rape dungeon. He kept anywhere between twenty and thirty underage girls here. If I start talking about what he did to them, I’m going to vomit. We should just get back in the truck and get out of here.”
Mickey made a flat tire noise and said, “Dude, what did you expect? You bought this house sight unseen at a flea market. A flea market, for shit’s sake. Hell, there are probably a bunch of fleas living in there right now. But you know what? This is the kind of work we get paid to do. As flip men, we have certain obligations and though they may seem cruel and unusual, they do include flipping houses and getting them ready to be sold at a high price.”
“Hey, I have no illusions about what I do for a living. It’s just that this is the most disgusting assignment I’ve ever had to do.”
“You think I feel any better about it, Ivan? You think I condone what that bastard did to those kids? That’s why we owe it to those young girls to clean this place up. Trust me, buddy, by the time we’re finished, Angelo Crockett’s name will be long forgotten about. Let’s get inside and see what we’ve got to work with.”
Mickey waddled his fat ass up the stairs and into the house while Ivan shook his head and reluctantly trailed him inside. The outside and the urban legend surrounding this house was vomit-inducing enough. But the inside was a disaster. The floors were covered with blood, puke, and feces. The walls were covered in even more sickening bodily fluids. The kitchen was so caked in urine and dirt that eating anything from there would be certain death. The bathroom reeked so badly that stepping one foot could mean a gut-busting assault on the nose. The basement? Well, that was easily the most sickening part of the house since it was everything the above two tiers was multiplied by ten.
Despite the horrific condition of this lonely house, the stench of it all was something Ivan and Mickey were both used to. They were flip men after all and remodeled houses as bad as this all the time. In fact, Mickey was already on the attack when it came to his plans to fix this house up.
“Alright, so here’s what I’m thinking. The carpets and the linoleum both have to be ripped up from the ground. There’s no saving them. In their place will be wooden floors. We’ll have wooden floors all around the upper two tiers and even the staircase will be like that too. We’re also going to use wood paneling for the walls, which are going to be painted afterwards, probably in the neighborhood of greenish blue. The bathroom will be a different story; it’s going to have square tiles both on the floor and on the walls. The appliances will all have to go from the sinks to the oven to the refrigerator to the toilets to the tubs. We’re going to buy brand new appliances and put them in their respective places. The cupboards are also going to have to be replaced with new wood. And finally, those light fixtures above us are going to have to be replaced with ceiling fans. You think we can do all of this, Ivan?”
Ivan gave his friend an “Are you kidding me?” look and said, “That’s all fine and good, but did you forget that this place used to be a goddamn rape dungeon for small children?!”
If either flip man needed a reminder of that, all they had to do was look on the kitchen floor next to the burned out stove. Ivan knelt down and picked up what appeared to be a porn magazine. He dusted off the cover and gagged when he saw what the book was titled: “Sexy Teenagers Weekly”.
“I’m going to be sick! I’m going to be sick! I’m going to be sick!” Ivan kept saying to himself as he dropped the magazine, ran out the front door, and retched all over the lawn. He shook hard as he tasted his McDonald’s breakfast sandwich from earlier that day. His decade-long experience of being a flip man didn’t prepare him for this.
“I’m going to go ahead and survey the basement. You can feel free to join me once you’re done throwing up,” yelled Mickey from the inside. Ivan was huffing and puffing while struggling to make it to his feet. As soon as he wiped the vomit from his mouth, he heard his construction buddy let out a blood-curdling scream followed by the sounds of fire and shredding.
Ivan slowly turned his head around and said, “Oh dear lord, no…Mickey!” He bolted inside and visited all of the rooms in the house in search of his friend. No sign of him. The one place he hadn’t looked was the basement aka Satan’s port-a-potty. Ivan swallowed a glob of barf-flavored saliva and shakily ventured down the stairs into the dark basement.
He struggled to find a light switch, but eventually found one at the bottom of the world’s longest stairs. He flipped it on and saw the ashen and shredded remains of what was once his best friend Mickey Ryder. “What the fuck?!” yelled Ivan as he rushed to the middle of the dingy basement to check on his friend. Once on his knees, tears formed in Ivan Savage’s eyes.
His sadness would be blended with fear when he heard the whispers of small children all around him. There they were: the ones responsible for the soul-stealing death of Mickey Ryder. They were the ashen souls of the thirty raped girls, who were forming a large circle around Ivan by holding hands and dancing around him.
“Please!” begged Ivan. “Please let me out of here! I never wanted to be here in the first place! I don’t even want to be a flip man anymore!”
In demonic, unified voices, the ghosts of the girls said, “Your friend had to pay the price! He wanted to use our deaths as a way to make money! He wanted to exploit us just like Master Angelo did!”
Disturbed by the fact that these girls just called their rapist “Master Angelo”, more tears formed in Ivan’s eyes when he said, “Listen…that man will never hurt you or anyone else again. He’s behind bars and he’ll never get out. He’s probably being stabbed to death in the showers right now.”
The ghosts said, “As well he should be! But that doesn’t solve the problem of you, my friend. You came here for the same reason as that giant sack of protoplasm over there. You wanted to exploit us for some easy cash! We’re not going to let you nor anyone else get away with that!”
“Please! You have to believe me! I wanted no part of this! I’ll do whatever you girls want! Anything you want!”
“…Anything?”
“Anything you want! Name it and it’s yours!”
The ghosts stroked their chins in mock contemplation before dancing around in a circle again and closing in on Ivan, who was curled in a little ball waiting to be murdered. But then the girls picked him up off the ground and made their conditions known. “You want to live, money man? Then you set us free right now. You will not flip this house. You will instead burn it to the ground. No one shall make money off of us again! Nobody! Do you understand?!”
“I…I…I…” Ivan swallowed hard. “I have a gas can and some matches in my truck. As soon as you girls let me go, I’m burning this place to the ground. Just like we promised.”
The next time the girls danced, it was in a celebratory ballet style. They hugged each other and spun around in happiness while Ivan ran past them, up the stairs, and out to his truck to do what he promised.
He scrambled in the back of the pickup truck for that gasoline. He panicked when he almost didn’t find it, but there it was buried underneath the lumber. The matches he got from the glove box. Ivan took a few deep breaths and steadied his nerves before slowly approaching this former rape dungeon to do what he wanted to do all along. He splashed some gasoline on the walls, lit a match, and watched the fire consume the entire house.
Before the fire could get too out of hand, Ivan hopped in the truck and drove away in a hurry, easily doing 80 miles per hour. Sooner or later, someone would call the fire department and the rape dungeon would be nothing more than cooling ashes. Knowing it was all over gave Ivan a sense of relief, therefore he slowed down his driving speed and breathed a sigh of relief. All he needed to do at that point was come up with a little white lie to tell his superiors when they ask him about what happened to both the house and Mickey Ryder.
August 24, 2015
Recycling Buildings
***BEFORE I BEGIN***
The last journal was about how I went to the Pain in the Grass festival in Auburn, Washington’s White River Amphitheater. In case you were thinking of asking, it was a badass concert from top to bottom. Three Days Grace was fucking awesome. Lamb of God was REALLY fucking awesome. I’m glad to be introduced to Bullet For My Valentine. But Slipknot? They were badass on a whole different level. The masks, the pyrotechnics, the devil’s mirror background, and most importantly, the music itself was a shit ton of fun. Aside from riding the shuttle bus with a bunch of drunken fans who butchered every jingle on the planet, I had a good time last night. I even had the cute clerk at the convenience store, Chelsea, tell me that she was jealous earlier today. That’s a damn good sign. Hehehehehe!
***RECYCLING BUILDINGS***
Apparently, going to a heavy metal show with a bunch of kick-ass bands inspired me to have a strange, yet poignant dream. In this dream, the QFC grocery store in my town was converted to a concert hall and Pantera got back together to play there. The freezers were replaced with seats, the checkout isles were ticket scanners, and the deli was replaced with one big ass stage where Pantera played “This Love”. And then I woke up and had a topic for a Deviant Art journal in mind already: recycling buildings.
When a business becomes defunct, it would seem like such a waste of construction to demolish the building. If you’re not going to use the building for a grocery store or restaurant, why not use it for a library or a toy store? This actually has a lot of merit in today’s world. In the cop dramas The Shield and NCIS: Los Angeles, both agencies use old churches and convert them to a fully-functional headquarters. Old churches, for shit’s sake. In Texas not too long ago, a Wal-Mart was closed and the building was abandoned until someone started using it for one big-ass library, thus turning Wal-Martians into wallflowers. The old headquarters in Wisconsin where Dungeons & Dragons was born was turned into a candy shop and a hotel after Gary Gygax lost the rights to his game.
Using old buildings for bigger and better things isn’t a new idea, but it’s one that should be spread more often. It would take a shit ton of imagination to convert something like a butcher’s shop into a nightclub (which has been done on an episode of Seinfeld). It’d be a lot of work, but it could technically happen. That QFC dream isn’t far off from reality. It technically could be converted to a concert hall and we could bring some heavy metal to Port Orchard, a city not known for such things. And what about the abandoned Taco Bell building on Mile Hill? Is it just going to sit there and do nothing or can it be converted to…a gaming shop! Can you imagine holding D&D sessions and reading graphic novels in a building that used to be Taco Bell? If your creative energies and imaginative juices aren’t flowing like a raging river, I don’ t know what to say.
Maybe this is all stemming from the fact that I see artistic merit in pretty much everything around me, including reusing condemned buildings, house flipping, and home improvement in general. In this case, the artists in question are working with a tainted canvas and making something beautiful out of it. It would be the same thing if I drew my picture of Daron Campos on the page of a Disney coloring book. It would be a tainted canvas, but it could be done….and it would be creepy to think about considering what Daron Campos is capable of.
Do you have any old buildings that could be something better in your neighborhood? Can you make a college out of a Wal-Mart? Can you make a wrestling school out of a Burger King? Can you make a barbershop out of an abandoned warehouse by a dingy dock? If your imagination is big enough and you’re having a constant flow of nerd-gasms, all of those things are possible. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***COMMERCIAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“You will howl like a happy hound dog over these hushpuppies!”
-Popeye’s Spokeswoman-
***POST-SCRIPT***
Actually, no, I won’t. Popeye’s food is so bland and boring that I can picture one of their restaurants being converted to a record store slash punk clothing emporium. And we’ve come full circle yet again!
The last journal was about how I went to the Pain in the Grass festival in Auburn, Washington’s White River Amphitheater. In case you were thinking of asking, it was a badass concert from top to bottom. Three Days Grace was fucking awesome. Lamb of God was REALLY fucking awesome. I’m glad to be introduced to Bullet For My Valentine. But Slipknot? They were badass on a whole different level. The masks, the pyrotechnics, the devil’s mirror background, and most importantly, the music itself was a shit ton of fun. Aside from riding the shuttle bus with a bunch of drunken fans who butchered every jingle on the planet, I had a good time last night. I even had the cute clerk at the convenience store, Chelsea, tell me that she was jealous earlier today. That’s a damn good sign. Hehehehehe!
***RECYCLING BUILDINGS***
Apparently, going to a heavy metal show with a bunch of kick-ass bands inspired me to have a strange, yet poignant dream. In this dream, the QFC grocery store in my town was converted to a concert hall and Pantera got back together to play there. The freezers were replaced with seats, the checkout isles were ticket scanners, and the deli was replaced with one big ass stage where Pantera played “This Love”. And then I woke up and had a topic for a Deviant Art journal in mind already: recycling buildings.
When a business becomes defunct, it would seem like such a waste of construction to demolish the building. If you’re not going to use the building for a grocery store or restaurant, why not use it for a library or a toy store? This actually has a lot of merit in today’s world. In the cop dramas The Shield and NCIS: Los Angeles, both agencies use old churches and convert them to a fully-functional headquarters. Old churches, for shit’s sake. In Texas not too long ago, a Wal-Mart was closed and the building was abandoned until someone started using it for one big-ass library, thus turning Wal-Martians into wallflowers. The old headquarters in Wisconsin where Dungeons & Dragons was born was turned into a candy shop and a hotel after Gary Gygax lost the rights to his game.
Using old buildings for bigger and better things isn’t a new idea, but it’s one that should be spread more often. It would take a shit ton of imagination to convert something like a butcher’s shop into a nightclub (which has been done on an episode of Seinfeld). It’d be a lot of work, but it could technically happen. That QFC dream isn’t far off from reality. It technically could be converted to a concert hall and we could bring some heavy metal to Port Orchard, a city not known for such things. And what about the abandoned Taco Bell building on Mile Hill? Is it just going to sit there and do nothing or can it be converted to…a gaming shop! Can you imagine holding D&D sessions and reading graphic novels in a building that used to be Taco Bell? If your creative energies and imaginative juices aren’t flowing like a raging river, I don’ t know what to say.
Maybe this is all stemming from the fact that I see artistic merit in pretty much everything around me, including reusing condemned buildings, house flipping, and home improvement in general. In this case, the artists in question are working with a tainted canvas and making something beautiful out of it. It would be the same thing if I drew my picture of Daron Campos on the page of a Disney coloring book. It would be a tainted canvas, but it could be done….and it would be creepy to think about considering what Daron Campos is capable of.
Do you have any old buildings that could be something better in your neighborhood? Can you make a college out of a Wal-Mart? Can you make a wrestling school out of a Burger King? Can you make a barbershop out of an abandoned warehouse by a dingy dock? If your imagination is big enough and you’re having a constant flow of nerd-gasms, all of those things are possible. We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***COMMERCIAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“You will howl like a happy hound dog over these hushpuppies!”
-Popeye’s Spokeswoman-
***POST-SCRIPT***
Actually, no, I won’t. Popeye’s food is so bland and boring that I can picture one of their restaurants being converted to a record store slash punk clothing emporium. And we’ve come full circle yet again!
August 21, 2015
Pain in the Grass 2015
***PAIN IN THE GRASS 2015***
This coming Sunday (August 23rd), I’m headed over to Auburn, Washington’s White River Amphitheater for the Pain in the Grass festival, which is basically a heavy metal concert with an ass ton of bands. I’ve been to a lot of concerts in my lifetime, but never to a festival-style concert. The show is expected to go from 2:00 in the afternoon to about 10 or 11 at night. Since the venue is at a grassy lawn, I’ll probably bring a blanket and rest in between performers. The last time I stood up for an ungodly amount of time was when I saw Cavalera Conspiracy this past May in Seattle. There were four opening bands that night before the main act and my legs were killing me. Laying on the grass during this upcoming event will feel like laying on one of heaven’s clouds. Here are the bands that will be performing:
MAIN STAGE:
Ayron Jones & the Way
Crobot
Motionless in White
Theory of a Deadman
Bullet for My Valentine
Three Days Grace
Lamb of God
Slipknot
ANOTHER CENTURY STAGE:
Varsity Week
Like a Storm
Stitched Up Heart
Awaken the Empire
New Years Day
Good God almighty, that’s a lot of heavy metal and hard rock bands. I’ll only be gone for one day at this concert, but the recovery time will probably keep me from participating in my usual internet festivities. I’ll probably still compete in that week’s WSS contest, but not until later in the week when I’m fully rested. Everything else that I do on the internet such as writing Blood Brawl chapters, editing American Darkness stories, editing Marie Krepps’ Slayers chapters, and anything else artistic I’ve neglected to mention will be put on hold, but for a very short time.
This may not be a week-long vacation, but it has the same feel: limited internet time and lots of snoozing. It’s funny, because my last journal entry was about “hanging around”. This time, I have an actual reason to idle. Come to think of it, I’ve always had a reason to idle, but didn’t realize it until now. Whenever I’m done with a creative task, I need to “cool off” and “recharge my batteries”. Creativity can be taxing on the mind, but not enough to keep me from enjoying the fruits of my labor. Isn’t that why working people have lunch breaks and coffee breaks? We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
ZIVA: I would have loved to see Gibbs shoot that computer.
MCGEE: If I don’t get his email working, you might get a second chance.
-NCIS-
This coming Sunday (August 23rd), I’m headed over to Auburn, Washington’s White River Amphitheater for the Pain in the Grass festival, which is basically a heavy metal concert with an ass ton of bands. I’ve been to a lot of concerts in my lifetime, but never to a festival-style concert. The show is expected to go from 2:00 in the afternoon to about 10 or 11 at night. Since the venue is at a grassy lawn, I’ll probably bring a blanket and rest in between performers. The last time I stood up for an ungodly amount of time was when I saw Cavalera Conspiracy this past May in Seattle. There were four opening bands that night before the main act and my legs were killing me. Laying on the grass during this upcoming event will feel like laying on one of heaven’s clouds. Here are the bands that will be performing:
MAIN STAGE:
Ayron Jones & the Way
Crobot
Motionless in White
Theory of a Deadman
Bullet for My Valentine
Three Days Grace
Lamb of God
Slipknot
ANOTHER CENTURY STAGE:
Varsity Week
Like a Storm
Stitched Up Heart
Awaken the Empire
New Years Day
Good God almighty, that’s a lot of heavy metal and hard rock bands. I’ll only be gone for one day at this concert, but the recovery time will probably keep me from participating in my usual internet festivities. I’ll probably still compete in that week’s WSS contest, but not until later in the week when I’m fully rested. Everything else that I do on the internet such as writing Blood Brawl chapters, editing American Darkness stories, editing Marie Krepps’ Slayers chapters, and anything else artistic I’ve neglected to mention will be put on hold, but for a very short time.
This may not be a week-long vacation, but it has the same feel: limited internet time and lots of snoozing. It’s funny, because my last journal entry was about “hanging around”. This time, I have an actual reason to idle. Come to think of it, I’ve always had a reason to idle, but didn’t realize it until now. Whenever I’m done with a creative task, I need to “cool off” and “recharge my batteries”. Creativity can be taxing on the mind, but not enough to keep me from enjoying the fruits of my labor. Isn’t that why working people have lunch breaks and coffee breaks? We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
ZIVA: I would have loved to see Gibbs shoot that computer.
MCGEE: If I don’t get his email working, you might get a second chance.
-NCIS-
"Blade of the Destroyer" by Andy Peloquin
BOOK TITLE: Blade of the Destroyer
AUTHOR: Andy Peloquin
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Medieval Fantasy
GRADE: Pass
The Hunter is a ruthless contract killer who always finishes his assignments and demands his payment right away. His methods are as mysterious as his actual birth name. He does everything on his own terms. Those who double-cross him will find themselves brutalized in the worst possible way. Rumors of his deadliness have spread far and wide, creating the illusion that he is invincible. But when he finishes an assassination of a high-ranking lord, he finds out that the aristocrat is involved with a criminal empire known as the Bloody Hand. Only through dealing with these merciless thugs will The Hunter’s invincibility be truly tested.
The reason this book gets a passing grade (four stars if you’re on Good Reads) is because of how well-constructed it is. Everything is so intricately researched to where the author himself feels like an authority on contract killings and stealth trickery. Whenever The Hunter needs a disguise, he not only puts on the right clothing, but he also puts plaster on his face to match the physical description of that character. When he needs an entry point into a castle or a fortress, he sneaks to the tippy-top of that building and eases his way inside with no problems. When he fights his opponents, they not only go down, they stay that way either through brutal incapacitation or death itself. The Hunter does everything he possibly can to keep his identity a secret while successfully going in for the kill.
As cold and calculating as he is, The Hunter is not without personal feelings. Every once and a while, he’ll meet with a small child or a lonely beggar that he feels so much sympathy for that he’ll pay them a little extra money and attention when walking by. He even allows beggars outside of his home, mostly to maintain subterfuge, but also because they have nowhere else to go. And whenever The Hunter sees a pretty woman, he’s not without his primal urges to get in bed with her and do the nasty. This goes to show that no matter how much you push your feelings down for the sake of your profession, they will always come back stronger than ever. It’s what makes us human, and though people think of The Hunter as godlike, he is human.
But if there’s one part about this novel that really had my attention, it’s The Hunter’s weapon of choice, the Bloodhunger. It’s a jagged dagger that not only rips flesh and shatters bones, but also drains the spiritual essence out of those it penetrates. When Bloodhunger wants blood, he’ll get it one way or another. Did I say he? That’s because the dagger actually communicates with The Hunter in a schizophrenic fashion whenever it’s time to kill someone. The hungrier the dagger is, the louder the head voices become. Sometimes The Hunter will have witty banter or a philosophical discussion in his own head about oligarchies, romance, and such, and Bloodhunger will completely interrupt his train of thought with violent words. Not only is this a creepy and frightening part of the story, but it’s also quite original. Any form of against the grain creativity will always strike a chord with not just me, but also other readers.
Andy Peloquin may be an independent author, but he’s no rookie. If he is, he doesn’t write like one. His descriptions paint a vivid image in the reader’s mind just like any piece of writing should. Blade of the Destroyer is no exception to that rule. You should also follow his blogs on Good Reads since his words of wisdom will ring true with any aspiring author. I follow him on Good Reads and we’ve actually become good friends over time. This passing grade I’m giving his book isn’t because we’re good friends. It’s because he’s a damn good writer with infinite potential and a creative mind. He can get the job done come hell or high water.
AUTHOR: Andy Peloquin
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Medieval Fantasy
GRADE: Pass
The Hunter is a ruthless contract killer who always finishes his assignments and demands his payment right away. His methods are as mysterious as his actual birth name. He does everything on his own terms. Those who double-cross him will find themselves brutalized in the worst possible way. Rumors of his deadliness have spread far and wide, creating the illusion that he is invincible. But when he finishes an assassination of a high-ranking lord, he finds out that the aristocrat is involved with a criminal empire known as the Bloody Hand. Only through dealing with these merciless thugs will The Hunter’s invincibility be truly tested.
The reason this book gets a passing grade (four stars if you’re on Good Reads) is because of how well-constructed it is. Everything is so intricately researched to where the author himself feels like an authority on contract killings and stealth trickery. Whenever The Hunter needs a disguise, he not only puts on the right clothing, but he also puts plaster on his face to match the physical description of that character. When he needs an entry point into a castle or a fortress, he sneaks to the tippy-top of that building and eases his way inside with no problems. When he fights his opponents, they not only go down, they stay that way either through brutal incapacitation or death itself. The Hunter does everything he possibly can to keep his identity a secret while successfully going in for the kill.
As cold and calculating as he is, The Hunter is not without personal feelings. Every once and a while, he’ll meet with a small child or a lonely beggar that he feels so much sympathy for that he’ll pay them a little extra money and attention when walking by. He even allows beggars outside of his home, mostly to maintain subterfuge, but also because they have nowhere else to go. And whenever The Hunter sees a pretty woman, he’s not without his primal urges to get in bed with her and do the nasty. This goes to show that no matter how much you push your feelings down for the sake of your profession, they will always come back stronger than ever. It’s what makes us human, and though people think of The Hunter as godlike, he is human.
But if there’s one part about this novel that really had my attention, it’s The Hunter’s weapon of choice, the Bloodhunger. It’s a jagged dagger that not only rips flesh and shatters bones, but also drains the spiritual essence out of those it penetrates. When Bloodhunger wants blood, he’ll get it one way or another. Did I say he? That’s because the dagger actually communicates with The Hunter in a schizophrenic fashion whenever it’s time to kill someone. The hungrier the dagger is, the louder the head voices become. Sometimes The Hunter will have witty banter or a philosophical discussion in his own head about oligarchies, romance, and such, and Bloodhunger will completely interrupt his train of thought with violent words. Not only is this a creepy and frightening part of the story, but it’s also quite original. Any form of against the grain creativity will always strike a chord with not just me, but also other readers.
Andy Peloquin may be an independent author, but he’s no rookie. If he is, he doesn’t write like one. His descriptions paint a vivid image in the reader’s mind just like any piece of writing should. Blade of the Destroyer is no exception to that rule. You should also follow his blogs on Good Reads since his words of wisdom will ring true with any aspiring author. I follow him on Good Reads and we’ve actually become good friends over time. This passing grade I’m giving his book isn’t because we’re good friends. It’s because he’s a damn good writer with infinite potential and a creative mind. He can get the job done come hell or high water.
August 19, 2015
Stardust
When Mitch O’Connor’s spacecraft touched down on the world of Stardust, he couldn’t believe how small it was. It truly was a retreat for an introverted hermit like Marcus Edge. The door to the pod-like spacecraft opened and Mitch clunked down the stairs in his spiked metal power armor while carrying a gauss rifle that was bigger than his own arms. “Oh, this is too easy. Too damn easy!” he said to himself.
Stardust wasn’t the most complex world in the galaxy. Smallness aside, it appeared to be a jungle land complete with coconut trees, dirt trails, tall grass, plant life, just your everyday nature trail on planet earth. Even for a planet this tiny, Mitch still had a problem finding his target Marcus Edge. It didn’t help matters that the space mercenary was stomping around on the ground in his gigantic metal boots. Then again, his job didn’t require a great deal of stealth, so he didn’t dwell on it much.
“Marcus Edge!” shouted Mitch through an amplified microphone inside his space helmet. “I know your ass is around here somewhere! I’m feeling pretty good today, probably because toasting your little world is going to be the easiest thing I’ve ever done! So here’s what I’m going to do, Marcus: I’m going to give you the chance to get your hermit ass off this planet so that when I burn down the plant life and kill all the animals, you won’t have to be a part of it. My boss at World Corp wants to turn your little home into a vacation getaway. It don’t look like much of a vacation right now, buddy boy. It looks more like…”
Before he was allowed to finish his oratory, Mitch O’Connor’s legs were snatched up from underneath him and he hung upside down on a vine. He was so far off the ground that when he dropped his rifle, he couldn’t pick the damn thing back up again. “Oh, you’ve got traps now?” he said. “Well, I got news for you, smart ass: I’ve been doing this shit for a whole decade and ain’t no vine going to stop my ass from burning everything in sight!”
His boldness turned to fear when he found himself face to face with a Venus Fly Trap, the owner of that tight vine. This particular plant had teeth the size of railroad spikes and blood oozing from its mouth like a waterfall. Mitch’s lips were vibrating and his eyes widened at the sight of this monster. And then he went back to being bold when he said, “Wait a minute! Why the hell am I scared of a goddamn plant?”
With his metal space helmet, Mitch O’Connor unleashed a powerful head butt to the Venus Fly Trap, loosening a few teeth and spraying some more blood, but more importantly, loosing the vine’s grip on the mercenary’s legs. Mitch plummeted to the grassy ground below, but his metal armor protected him from injury, so he pretty much picked himself up, dusted himself off, and found his rifle again.
“Is that all you got, Marcus? Some stupid plant? Oh, this is going to be easier than I thought! And I’m making millions off of this job! It’s like Christmas came early!” boasted Mitch.
“Don’t be too sure of that, you disgusting human!” said the busted up Venus Fly Trap in a raspy voice. With Mitch watching in awe and horror, the plant morphed into a human being wearing bear skin clothing and a raccoon cap on his head. This was him alright: Marcus Edge, hermit druid.
“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, huh? You want to put up a fight? Well, goddamn, man, you’ve got one now, bitch!” shouted the soldier for hire when he raised his gauss rifle and opened automatic fire. That many plutonium bullets would have been enough to shred a normal human being into dust. Hell, the surgeons would need a microscope to put his sorry ass back together again. But when the storm of bullets ended, there was no corpse.
Instead all Mitch O’Connor got was a deafening bird squawk right in his left ear. Marcus, who now morphed into a parrot, continued to blast his windpipes in his opponent’s ear and double the man over as he got a headache. When the druid believed his adversary had enough, he flew off into the sunset and left Mitch to clutch his aching head.
The sudden drop in volume inspired the mercenary to aim his rifle and unleash another rainstorm of violence upon his opponent. The shredding impact only resulted in one feather this time. On measly little feather.
“What the hell’s going on here?!” Good question, Mr. O’Connor. What was going on was that Marcus Edge had now morphed into a charging rhino. The tank-like beast barreled and stampeded his way across the grass and knocked a few trees over. With little time for his opponent to react, Marcus gored Mitch and sent him flying backwards several feet, knocking a few trees over himself.
That power armor was a blessing for Mitch since he had just survived a high drop and getting spear tackled by a rhino. But now the mercenary was feeling the pain. He was so exhausted from these attacks that he took longer than usual to get up. He crashed into trees, for god’s sake. Trees! Yet he continued to be brash and cocky in the face of danger.
“Is that all you got, you son of a bitch? What are you going to change into now, a small puppy? Are you going to bark your way to victory?” yelled Mitch.
Changing from a rhino back to his human form, Marcus slowly approached his nemesis and said, “No, I’m not going to do any barking today. That’s been your job since you landed on Stardust, you asshole.”
With Mitch watching in awe of his opponent, Marcus continued his speech with, “You know what I detest about the human race? You people think you have the right to conquer whatever the hell you want. You did it on earth with pretty much every group of people that wasn’t white, including Indians and Africans. That’s all you guys do: just take, take, take. You have some oil? I’ll take that. You have human rights? I’ll take that as well. Is that supposed to be impressive? To who, exactly? Your mother? Your father? Your trophy wife? The president himself? How many more people have to die before you’re finally satisfied with the things you already have! You make me sick! You all make me sick!”
An uncomfortable hush had fallen over the scene and then Marcus laid into Mitch some more, “That’s why I came to Stardust: to get away from it all. And now some space jockey like you decides to come to my world and sell it to some rich asshole? Let me fill you in on a little secret, buddy boy. Stardust isn’t just any tiny planet. It’s the product of my own imagination. As long as I keep being creative, I can manipulate any part of this world I want while you only have that stupid rifle to overcompensate for your small penis. To put it in words even a money-hungry thug like you can understand…you were screwed the minute you stepped foot on my world.”
This would have been the best time for Mitch O’Connor to get back in his spaceship and tell his bosses at World Corp to shove it. Just leave now while he still had his peace of mind and still had his health. But instead he decided to keep playing the role of an arrogant jerk-ass. He yelled, “You worthless piece of shit!” prior to opening fire yet again.
Except this time it wasn’t just plutonium bullets. It was also fireballs, ice sickles, lightning bolts, biological sludge, and laser beams, all of which were hidden compartments on his rifle and all of which were necessary in doing his job to destroy entire planets to get them ready for flipping.
After unloading a cataclysm of agony that Armageddon itself could never produce, Mitch didn’t even check to see if there was a corpse this time. He just dropped to his hands and knees, breathed deeply, and laughed his ass off. “I got you, bitch! I got you this time! And there ain’t nothing you can do about it!”
Mitch was so busy laughing his way to insanity that he didn’t realize he was sinking in a mud pit. Even when the mud was completely covering his space helmet, he couldn’t have cared less. It was when he was underneath the mud pit and into a cavern of filth that he realized what was going on. The realization hit him even harder when Marcus was standing there with his arms folded saying, “What took you so long?”
“No…no…this ain’t happening, man! This ain’t happening! Don’t you ever fucking die, man?!” screamed a deranged Mitch O’Connor.
Marcus laid a hand on his invader’s metal shoulder and said, “Old druids don’t die. They just get better.” With Mitch shedding tears of defeat, Marcus Edge transformed into a gigantic grizzly bear and started chewing and mauling his way through the metal armor, which at this point was a lot like opening a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli. Oh, the meat sauce inside was going to be so worth all this rage.
Stardust wasn’t the most complex world in the galaxy. Smallness aside, it appeared to be a jungle land complete with coconut trees, dirt trails, tall grass, plant life, just your everyday nature trail on planet earth. Even for a planet this tiny, Mitch still had a problem finding his target Marcus Edge. It didn’t help matters that the space mercenary was stomping around on the ground in his gigantic metal boots. Then again, his job didn’t require a great deal of stealth, so he didn’t dwell on it much.
“Marcus Edge!” shouted Mitch through an amplified microphone inside his space helmet. “I know your ass is around here somewhere! I’m feeling pretty good today, probably because toasting your little world is going to be the easiest thing I’ve ever done! So here’s what I’m going to do, Marcus: I’m going to give you the chance to get your hermit ass off this planet so that when I burn down the plant life and kill all the animals, you won’t have to be a part of it. My boss at World Corp wants to turn your little home into a vacation getaway. It don’t look like much of a vacation right now, buddy boy. It looks more like…”
Before he was allowed to finish his oratory, Mitch O’Connor’s legs were snatched up from underneath him and he hung upside down on a vine. He was so far off the ground that when he dropped his rifle, he couldn’t pick the damn thing back up again. “Oh, you’ve got traps now?” he said. “Well, I got news for you, smart ass: I’ve been doing this shit for a whole decade and ain’t no vine going to stop my ass from burning everything in sight!”
His boldness turned to fear when he found himself face to face with a Venus Fly Trap, the owner of that tight vine. This particular plant had teeth the size of railroad spikes and blood oozing from its mouth like a waterfall. Mitch’s lips were vibrating and his eyes widened at the sight of this monster. And then he went back to being bold when he said, “Wait a minute! Why the hell am I scared of a goddamn plant?”
With his metal space helmet, Mitch O’Connor unleashed a powerful head butt to the Venus Fly Trap, loosening a few teeth and spraying some more blood, but more importantly, loosing the vine’s grip on the mercenary’s legs. Mitch plummeted to the grassy ground below, but his metal armor protected him from injury, so he pretty much picked himself up, dusted himself off, and found his rifle again.
“Is that all you got, Marcus? Some stupid plant? Oh, this is going to be easier than I thought! And I’m making millions off of this job! It’s like Christmas came early!” boasted Mitch.
“Don’t be too sure of that, you disgusting human!” said the busted up Venus Fly Trap in a raspy voice. With Mitch watching in awe and horror, the plant morphed into a human being wearing bear skin clothing and a raccoon cap on his head. This was him alright: Marcus Edge, hermit druid.
“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, huh? You want to put up a fight? Well, goddamn, man, you’ve got one now, bitch!” shouted the soldier for hire when he raised his gauss rifle and opened automatic fire. That many plutonium bullets would have been enough to shred a normal human being into dust. Hell, the surgeons would need a microscope to put his sorry ass back together again. But when the storm of bullets ended, there was no corpse.
Instead all Mitch O’Connor got was a deafening bird squawk right in his left ear. Marcus, who now morphed into a parrot, continued to blast his windpipes in his opponent’s ear and double the man over as he got a headache. When the druid believed his adversary had enough, he flew off into the sunset and left Mitch to clutch his aching head.
The sudden drop in volume inspired the mercenary to aim his rifle and unleash another rainstorm of violence upon his opponent. The shredding impact only resulted in one feather this time. On measly little feather.
“What the hell’s going on here?!” Good question, Mr. O’Connor. What was going on was that Marcus Edge had now morphed into a charging rhino. The tank-like beast barreled and stampeded his way across the grass and knocked a few trees over. With little time for his opponent to react, Marcus gored Mitch and sent him flying backwards several feet, knocking a few trees over himself.
That power armor was a blessing for Mitch since he had just survived a high drop and getting spear tackled by a rhino. But now the mercenary was feeling the pain. He was so exhausted from these attacks that he took longer than usual to get up. He crashed into trees, for god’s sake. Trees! Yet he continued to be brash and cocky in the face of danger.
“Is that all you got, you son of a bitch? What are you going to change into now, a small puppy? Are you going to bark your way to victory?” yelled Mitch.
Changing from a rhino back to his human form, Marcus slowly approached his nemesis and said, “No, I’m not going to do any barking today. That’s been your job since you landed on Stardust, you asshole.”
With Mitch watching in awe of his opponent, Marcus continued his speech with, “You know what I detest about the human race? You people think you have the right to conquer whatever the hell you want. You did it on earth with pretty much every group of people that wasn’t white, including Indians and Africans. That’s all you guys do: just take, take, take. You have some oil? I’ll take that. You have human rights? I’ll take that as well. Is that supposed to be impressive? To who, exactly? Your mother? Your father? Your trophy wife? The president himself? How many more people have to die before you’re finally satisfied with the things you already have! You make me sick! You all make me sick!”
An uncomfortable hush had fallen over the scene and then Marcus laid into Mitch some more, “That’s why I came to Stardust: to get away from it all. And now some space jockey like you decides to come to my world and sell it to some rich asshole? Let me fill you in on a little secret, buddy boy. Stardust isn’t just any tiny planet. It’s the product of my own imagination. As long as I keep being creative, I can manipulate any part of this world I want while you only have that stupid rifle to overcompensate for your small penis. To put it in words even a money-hungry thug like you can understand…you were screwed the minute you stepped foot on my world.”
This would have been the best time for Mitch O’Connor to get back in his spaceship and tell his bosses at World Corp to shove it. Just leave now while he still had his peace of mind and still had his health. But instead he decided to keep playing the role of an arrogant jerk-ass. He yelled, “You worthless piece of shit!” prior to opening fire yet again.
Except this time it wasn’t just plutonium bullets. It was also fireballs, ice sickles, lightning bolts, biological sludge, and laser beams, all of which were hidden compartments on his rifle and all of which were necessary in doing his job to destroy entire planets to get them ready for flipping.
After unloading a cataclysm of agony that Armageddon itself could never produce, Mitch didn’t even check to see if there was a corpse this time. He just dropped to his hands and knees, breathed deeply, and laughed his ass off. “I got you, bitch! I got you this time! And there ain’t nothing you can do about it!”
Mitch was so busy laughing his way to insanity that he didn’t realize he was sinking in a mud pit. Even when the mud was completely covering his space helmet, he couldn’t have cared less. It was when he was underneath the mud pit and into a cavern of filth that he realized what was going on. The realization hit him even harder when Marcus was standing there with his arms folded saying, “What took you so long?”
“No…no…this ain’t happening, man! This ain’t happening! Don’t you ever fucking die, man?!” screamed a deranged Mitch O’Connor.
Marcus laid a hand on his invader’s metal shoulder and said, “Old druids don’t die. They just get better.” With Mitch shedding tears of defeat, Marcus Edge transformed into a gigantic grizzly bear and started chewing and mauling his way through the metal armor, which at this point was a lot like opening a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli. Oh, the meat sauce inside was going to be so worth all this rage.
Hanging Around
***HANGING AROUND***
For the past two weeks, my brother James and I babysat the puppies and kitties while my mom and step-dad Dale went to North Carolina to do some remodeling of their future retirement home. These two weeks would have been an awesome time to get some serious creative work done and so far, so good. I gave Andy Peloquin’s “Blade of the Destroyer” novel a four-star detailed review and did the same to Carl Hiaasen’s “Star Island” book. I also participated in two WSS contests and that’s why “Nail Bomb” and “Kill, Cut, Scalp” are in my Deviant Art gallery. I snapped some toy pictures of Daniel Bryan, Roman Reigns, Homer Simpson, and Wario. I drew pictures of Katie Evans from “Froggy Smacks” and Machu Throatslash from “Ascension”, both stories a part of the Poison Tongue Tales anthology. I wrote a four-star review for a WWE match between The Prime Time Players and The New Day that took place at this year’s Battleground pay-per-view. I edited the shit out of an American Darkness story called “It’s Okay For You to Love Me”. And last but not least, I FINALLY pumped out the first chapter of Blood Brawl, which used to be called Dungeons & Dragons: Hair vs. Hair, but has since been changed.
You probably think the main reason for telling you all what I did over the two weeks my parents were gone is so that I can brag and get my jollies off. As much as I love to let my arrogant side every now and then, that’s not why I’m writing this journal. This journal is titled “Hanging Around”, which if you look it up on Urbandictionary.com is just a synonym for idling or doing very little. Truth be told, it doesn’t take a great amount of time to do all of the creative tasks I did in those two weeks. Snapping pictures takes literally a few seconds while writing a short story or novel chapter can take anywhere between half an hour to a full hour.
Yes, I got a lot done, but what about the downtime in between creative work? Most people fill this time up by doing chores, going to their day jobs, or hanging out with family members and friends. While it is true that I had a lot of chores to do to maintain this two-story house and keep the animals happy, the chores are also super easy to do and don’t take very long, so that’s even more downtime that I have between creative projects. Closing this gap seems like an easy thing to do at first glance. Okay, so I’ve edited an American Darkness story, so my next project to hop on is writing a chapter of Blood Brawl.
Except it doesn’t work that way, at least not in my world. You know what I do during my downtime? Plenty of things that would constitute “Hanging Around”: napping to new age music, checking my online messages, dinking around on Face Book, and walking around my house like a zombie while talking to myself (usually reciting dialogue from Clerks or Pulp Fiction). So basically, instead of being a relentless worker, I am a professional zombie.
While I’m frying my brain on Face Book and snoozing despite not being tired, I’m doing something that brings all of this idling to light: waiting. I’m waiting for my mental energy to be restored. Only with maximum mental energy can I plow through my creative projects. Anything less and I just crash at the first few words of the story. For years I’ve tried to figure out the secret to my mental exhaustion and I have many answers: sleep apnea, schizophrenia medications, bad diet, minimal exercise, and an aversion to low barometric pressures. That’s a lot of things I have to fix just to be active and alert 24/7. But the one thing that outweighs all of those other problems is my sleep apnea.
Sometime when Mom and Dale are home, I fully intend to make an appointment with a sleep clinic to see if I need a breathing mask or not. I probably do, but the clinic visit is just a formality. Until then, I have to admit that I feel guilty about watching my time go by. I have no excuses. The reason I don’t get much done is because I’m literally sitting around doing nothing while waiting for my brain to stop being an asshole to me. As someone with a strong work ethic and an even stronger creative urge, this makes the guilt more powerful.
But you all have told me over and over again that I don’t need to feel guilty over not getting everything done at once. I sound like a broken record when I talk about mental energy, but that’s because I can’t thank you guys enough for taking that weight off of my shoulders. I hope you can continue to support me now that you know I’ve been spending most of my free time “hanging around” instead of relentlessly working.
I’m actually thankful I don’t have a day job right now. Even with my sleep apnea-induced mental tiredness, I’d still have to work an eight hour day doing presumably boring work just to pick up a paycheck. To those of you who have you are enduring the corporate grind, you have my empathy, my love, and my thanks. I don’t know how you do it, but I have all the respect in the world for you.
I do have plans to get some creative work done after Mom and Dale get home tomorrow. Bulldozing my way through unedited American Darkness stories is a top priority. Writing the second chapter of Blood Brawl and introducing Ivan Blackstone to the story is another top priority. Before those two things, it’s a new week at the WSS contest and the prompt suggestion is “Different Worlds”. Here’s a synopsis of my eventual story this week, which is called “Stardust”:
CHARACTERS:
Marcus Edge, Morphing Druid
Mitch O’Connor, Space Mercenary
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Stardust is a world different from our own.
SYNOPSIS: Mitch is hired by an intergalactic corporation called World Corp to colonize planets by killing off the inhabitants and burning the plant life, thus getting them ready for rebuilding into the CEO’s image. Mitch has been doing this kind of work for a whole decade, but when he goes to a hermit’s planet called Stardust, he finally meets his match when the one person he has to kill is a shape-shifting druid named Marcus Edge. Marcus can change into any kind of earthen animal from a wolf to a bear to even something as annoying as a deerfly. During the battle, he reveals that the reason he became a hermit was because of his disgust with the human race.
I do have bursts of energy every now and then and I’ll always have free time of some kind. Come hell or high water, these projects will be done and they’ll be done the right way. You hear that, American Darkness stories? The Hate Train is coming for your asses! Hahahahahaha! The only reason I’m calling it the Hate Train is because it’s also the name of a Sanction VIII song and that was the first band that played on the night I went to see Cavalera Conspiracy in Seattle this past May. And as long as I’m making references to obscure metal bands who probably don’t venture outside of the Sea-Tac area…
(Points to American Darkness) This is what I stand for!
(Points to Stardust) This is why I fight!
(Points to Blood Brawl) This is what I live for!
Prepare to die tonight!
We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“The Miz is WWE’s version of Right Said Fred: he’s a one hit wonder.”
-John Layfield-
For the past two weeks, my brother James and I babysat the puppies and kitties while my mom and step-dad Dale went to North Carolina to do some remodeling of their future retirement home. These two weeks would have been an awesome time to get some serious creative work done and so far, so good. I gave Andy Peloquin’s “Blade of the Destroyer” novel a four-star detailed review and did the same to Carl Hiaasen’s “Star Island” book. I also participated in two WSS contests and that’s why “Nail Bomb” and “Kill, Cut, Scalp” are in my Deviant Art gallery. I snapped some toy pictures of Daniel Bryan, Roman Reigns, Homer Simpson, and Wario. I drew pictures of Katie Evans from “Froggy Smacks” and Machu Throatslash from “Ascension”, both stories a part of the Poison Tongue Tales anthology. I wrote a four-star review for a WWE match between The Prime Time Players and The New Day that took place at this year’s Battleground pay-per-view. I edited the shit out of an American Darkness story called “It’s Okay For You to Love Me”. And last but not least, I FINALLY pumped out the first chapter of Blood Brawl, which used to be called Dungeons & Dragons: Hair vs. Hair, but has since been changed.
You probably think the main reason for telling you all what I did over the two weeks my parents were gone is so that I can brag and get my jollies off. As much as I love to let my arrogant side every now and then, that’s not why I’m writing this journal. This journal is titled “Hanging Around”, which if you look it up on Urbandictionary.com is just a synonym for idling or doing very little. Truth be told, it doesn’t take a great amount of time to do all of the creative tasks I did in those two weeks. Snapping pictures takes literally a few seconds while writing a short story or novel chapter can take anywhere between half an hour to a full hour.
Yes, I got a lot done, but what about the downtime in between creative work? Most people fill this time up by doing chores, going to their day jobs, or hanging out with family members and friends. While it is true that I had a lot of chores to do to maintain this two-story house and keep the animals happy, the chores are also super easy to do and don’t take very long, so that’s even more downtime that I have between creative projects. Closing this gap seems like an easy thing to do at first glance. Okay, so I’ve edited an American Darkness story, so my next project to hop on is writing a chapter of Blood Brawl.
Except it doesn’t work that way, at least not in my world. You know what I do during my downtime? Plenty of things that would constitute “Hanging Around”: napping to new age music, checking my online messages, dinking around on Face Book, and walking around my house like a zombie while talking to myself (usually reciting dialogue from Clerks or Pulp Fiction). So basically, instead of being a relentless worker, I am a professional zombie.
While I’m frying my brain on Face Book and snoozing despite not being tired, I’m doing something that brings all of this idling to light: waiting. I’m waiting for my mental energy to be restored. Only with maximum mental energy can I plow through my creative projects. Anything less and I just crash at the first few words of the story. For years I’ve tried to figure out the secret to my mental exhaustion and I have many answers: sleep apnea, schizophrenia medications, bad diet, minimal exercise, and an aversion to low barometric pressures. That’s a lot of things I have to fix just to be active and alert 24/7. But the one thing that outweighs all of those other problems is my sleep apnea.
Sometime when Mom and Dale are home, I fully intend to make an appointment with a sleep clinic to see if I need a breathing mask or not. I probably do, but the clinic visit is just a formality. Until then, I have to admit that I feel guilty about watching my time go by. I have no excuses. The reason I don’t get much done is because I’m literally sitting around doing nothing while waiting for my brain to stop being an asshole to me. As someone with a strong work ethic and an even stronger creative urge, this makes the guilt more powerful.
But you all have told me over and over again that I don’t need to feel guilty over not getting everything done at once. I sound like a broken record when I talk about mental energy, but that’s because I can’t thank you guys enough for taking that weight off of my shoulders. I hope you can continue to support me now that you know I’ve been spending most of my free time “hanging around” instead of relentlessly working.
I’m actually thankful I don’t have a day job right now. Even with my sleep apnea-induced mental tiredness, I’d still have to work an eight hour day doing presumably boring work just to pick up a paycheck. To those of you who have you are enduring the corporate grind, you have my empathy, my love, and my thanks. I don’t know how you do it, but I have all the respect in the world for you.
I do have plans to get some creative work done after Mom and Dale get home tomorrow. Bulldozing my way through unedited American Darkness stories is a top priority. Writing the second chapter of Blood Brawl and introducing Ivan Blackstone to the story is another top priority. Before those two things, it’s a new week at the WSS contest and the prompt suggestion is “Different Worlds”. Here’s a synopsis of my eventual story this week, which is called “Stardust”:
CHARACTERS:
Marcus Edge, Morphing Druid
Mitch O’Connor, Space Mercenary
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Stardust is a world different from our own.
SYNOPSIS: Mitch is hired by an intergalactic corporation called World Corp to colonize planets by killing off the inhabitants and burning the plant life, thus getting them ready for rebuilding into the CEO’s image. Mitch has been doing this kind of work for a whole decade, but when he goes to a hermit’s planet called Stardust, he finally meets his match when the one person he has to kill is a shape-shifting druid named Marcus Edge. Marcus can change into any kind of earthen animal from a wolf to a bear to even something as annoying as a deerfly. During the battle, he reveals that the reason he became a hermit was because of his disgust with the human race.
I do have bursts of energy every now and then and I’ll always have free time of some kind. Come hell or high water, these projects will be done and they’ll be done the right way. You hear that, American Darkness stories? The Hate Train is coming for your asses! Hahahahahaha! The only reason I’m calling it the Hate Train is because it’s also the name of a Sanction VIII song and that was the first band that played on the night I went to see Cavalera Conspiracy in Seattle this past May. And as long as I’m making references to obscure metal bands who probably don’t venture outside of the Sea-Tac area…
(Points to American Darkness) This is what I stand for!
(Points to Stardust) This is why I fight!
(Points to Blood Brawl) This is what I live for!
Prepare to die tonight!
We’ve got ears, say cheers!
***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“The Miz is WWE’s version of Right Said Fred: he’s a one hit wonder.”
-John Layfield-
August 16, 2015
Chasing You
VERSE 1
Chasing you has tired me out
I end these childish games now
Save my energy for someone who knows me
Loves me for everything I can possibly be
Don’t waste your ballads on little old me
Don’t fight my battles until you bleed
Give me a reason to break my shell
Without dragging me through hell
CHORUS 1
Chasing you has weakened my legs
Chasing you has forced me to beg
Chasing you has left me for dead
No one shall share my heavenly bed
VERSE 2
Status and fame were all to blame
You made me believe you weren’t the same
I put you on high and you passed me by
Without even telling me how or why
Fairy tales are for pre-school kids
Romance is only for the highest bid
You keep the mace in your favorite place
In case you want to torture my pudgy face
CHORUS 2
Chasing you isn’t worth the pain
Chasing you has driven me insane
Chasing you for hollow lust
Replaced by tabloid headline disgust
VERSE 3
I’m not a paparazzo with small F-stop
I don’t like to dance, I don’t listen to pop
All I have is a wild imagination
And venomous words for a demonstration
I won’t change who I am for any diva
Badass singer or chick named Ziva
College chick with the shortest of shorts
Cheerleader chick who bends and contorts
CHORUS 3
Chasing you has left me weak
Chasing you leaves my future bleak
Chasing you was all for nothing
You don’t believe in the power of loving
You believe in stacks of dollar bills
Doing cocaine in Beverly Hills
Tantric sex and other such thrills
If I can’t have you, then damn it, who will?
STOLEN LINE
Maybe I should let her go
But only when she loves me
She loves me
How can I just let her go?
Not until she loves me
She loves me
Chasing you has tired me out
I end these childish games now
Save my energy for someone who knows me
Loves me for everything I can possibly be
Don’t waste your ballads on little old me
Don’t fight my battles until you bleed
Give me a reason to break my shell
Without dragging me through hell
CHORUS 1
Chasing you has weakened my legs
Chasing you has forced me to beg
Chasing you has left me for dead
No one shall share my heavenly bed
VERSE 2
Status and fame were all to blame
You made me believe you weren’t the same
I put you on high and you passed me by
Without even telling me how or why
Fairy tales are for pre-school kids
Romance is only for the highest bid
You keep the mace in your favorite place
In case you want to torture my pudgy face
CHORUS 2
Chasing you isn’t worth the pain
Chasing you has driven me insane
Chasing you for hollow lust
Replaced by tabloid headline disgust
VERSE 3
I’m not a paparazzo with small F-stop
I don’t like to dance, I don’t listen to pop
All I have is a wild imagination
And venomous words for a demonstration
I won’t change who I am for any diva
Badass singer or chick named Ziva
College chick with the shortest of shorts
Cheerleader chick who bends and contorts
CHORUS 3
Chasing you has left me weak
Chasing you leaves my future bleak
Chasing you was all for nothing
You don’t believe in the power of loving
You believe in stacks of dollar bills
Doing cocaine in Beverly Hills
Tantric sex and other such thrills
If I can’t have you, then damn it, who will?
STOLEN LINE
Maybe I should let her go
But only when she loves me
She loves me
How can I just let her go?
Not until she loves me
She loves me
