Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 47
March 15, 2019
Hollow Hills Presents: Tales of the Siblings Not-So-Grim
***HOLLOW HILLS PRESENTS: TALES OF THE SIBLINGS NOT-SO-GRIM***
Every year the fine folks at Hollow Hills Publishing put out a new anthology and 2019 is no different. Last year it was Still Standing, a collection of short stories with an anti-bullying theme. The story I submitted to that one was Savage Beatings, a prequel to a novel I’m currently rewriting called Beautiful Monster. Copies of Still Standing are still available (why wouldn’t they be?) and all proceeds will be donated to the Crisis Text Line. What are you waiting for? Wait, I know. You’re waiting for me to start talking about what Hollow Hills is doing in 2019. Of course, silly me!
Tales of the Siblings Not-So-Grim, unlike Still Standing, will be lighthearted in nature. Comedy and romance are welcome, but they’re not required. This will also be a collection of stories with a PG rating, so there’ll be no excessive swearing, erotica, or ultra-violence. As you can probably guess from the title, each story will be a fairytale of some kind, though it doesn’t have to be a parody of an existing Grim Brothers Fairytale. It can be completely original or a parody of something else.
Of course, anytime Hollow Hills puts out a collection of short stories, I’ll want to throw my name in the hat. Yeah, I’m normally known for stories with excessive ass-beatings and over-the-top craziness and anger. But just for this anthology, I’ll temper myself as I write “Emilio and the Scratching Post”. It’s a clear parody of Jack and the Beanstalk except instead of a beanstalk it’s a gigantic scratching post and instead of a boy named Jack it’ll be my elderly kitty Emilio. Immortalizing my pets through my stories and poems is kind of what I do. I’m sure old man Emilio would love his own story. Right, cuddle bear?
Stories submitted to this anthology must be between 8,000 and 13,000 words long. In order to meet my minimum requirements, Emilio and the Scratching Post will be five chapters long and every chapter will be at least 1,600 words long, which is one hundred more than I normally do. Easy-breezy-lemon-squeezy! It’s even easier considering Hollow Hills will start accepting submissions between April 1st and June 1st. I’d love to get my story done before the first due date, but I’ve got a lot of time between now and then. Like I said, it’ll be a piece of cake. Or in the case of Emilio, a piece of pizza pie!
I’m announcing this new project for a couple of reasons. One, I need something to snap my five day streak of mental sluggishness. I already drew a picture of a novel character named Animal, so this blog entry was naturally the next step. The other reason is because all of my other creative projects will take a back seat to this one. Beautiful Monster, Incelbordination, and any WSS contest entries I write will have to wait for Emilio to climb the magical scratching post to the giant’s fortress in the clouds. I don’t mind putting those other projects on hold, because having a singular focus is better for me than having a cluttered workload.
Speaking of chaotic workloads, tomorrow night I’m headed to Seattle to see Within Temptation perform at the Showbox SoDo. If the Soulfly concert before it was anything to go by, then my sore legs, feet, and back will come back to haunt me the next day and I’ll want to continue the five day streak of laziness. Actually, this concert shouldn’t be anywhere near as tiring because it probably won’t go past midnight and there are only two opening behinds before Within Temptation. Maybe if I’m lucky I can write the first chapter of Emilio and the Scratching Post before I go to the show. I’ve done that before. I wrote chapter fifteen of Silent Warrior before going to a Starset concert back in February of last year, so why not?
The deal with this anthology is the same as the last one: I can’t post my chapters online since Hollow Hills forbids it. That’s something I can live with. They’re a business and they need to make money, so why should anybody have their books for free? Speaking of profits, this new anthology won’t be for charity, but you should buy it when it comes out anyways, because you’re awesome like that. Right? If you’re wondering why I’m not posting as often as I do, it’s because my attention is fully devoted to this new project. Plus, there’s that whole mental sluggishness thing I was talking about earlier. Wish me luck! I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“Sunday morning I’m waking up. Can’t even focus on my coffee cup. Don’t even know whose bed I’m in. Where do I start? Where do I begin?”
-“Where Do I Begin?” by The Chemical Brothers-
***POST-SCRIPT***
The next time I post a blog entry, it’ll be about my favorite time of the year: the release of the Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic awards from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter! They came out yesterday and boy, were there some whoppers. One big winner and six runner-ups. Not as many as I anticipated, but still, these are pretty god awful. Get your barf bags ready! It’s going to get ugly! Hehehe…heh…heh….I’m on an island.
Every year the fine folks at Hollow Hills Publishing put out a new anthology and 2019 is no different. Last year it was Still Standing, a collection of short stories with an anti-bullying theme. The story I submitted to that one was Savage Beatings, a prequel to a novel I’m currently rewriting called Beautiful Monster. Copies of Still Standing are still available (why wouldn’t they be?) and all proceeds will be donated to the Crisis Text Line. What are you waiting for? Wait, I know. You’re waiting for me to start talking about what Hollow Hills is doing in 2019. Of course, silly me!
Tales of the Siblings Not-So-Grim, unlike Still Standing, will be lighthearted in nature. Comedy and romance are welcome, but they’re not required. This will also be a collection of stories with a PG rating, so there’ll be no excessive swearing, erotica, or ultra-violence. As you can probably guess from the title, each story will be a fairytale of some kind, though it doesn’t have to be a parody of an existing Grim Brothers Fairytale. It can be completely original or a parody of something else.
Of course, anytime Hollow Hills puts out a collection of short stories, I’ll want to throw my name in the hat. Yeah, I’m normally known for stories with excessive ass-beatings and over-the-top craziness and anger. But just for this anthology, I’ll temper myself as I write “Emilio and the Scratching Post”. It’s a clear parody of Jack and the Beanstalk except instead of a beanstalk it’s a gigantic scratching post and instead of a boy named Jack it’ll be my elderly kitty Emilio. Immortalizing my pets through my stories and poems is kind of what I do. I’m sure old man Emilio would love his own story. Right, cuddle bear?
Stories submitted to this anthology must be between 8,000 and 13,000 words long. In order to meet my minimum requirements, Emilio and the Scratching Post will be five chapters long and every chapter will be at least 1,600 words long, which is one hundred more than I normally do. Easy-breezy-lemon-squeezy! It’s even easier considering Hollow Hills will start accepting submissions between April 1st and June 1st. I’d love to get my story done before the first due date, but I’ve got a lot of time between now and then. Like I said, it’ll be a piece of cake. Or in the case of Emilio, a piece of pizza pie!
I’m announcing this new project for a couple of reasons. One, I need something to snap my five day streak of mental sluggishness. I already drew a picture of a novel character named Animal, so this blog entry was naturally the next step. The other reason is because all of my other creative projects will take a back seat to this one. Beautiful Monster, Incelbordination, and any WSS contest entries I write will have to wait for Emilio to climb the magical scratching post to the giant’s fortress in the clouds. I don’t mind putting those other projects on hold, because having a singular focus is better for me than having a cluttered workload.
Speaking of chaotic workloads, tomorrow night I’m headed to Seattle to see Within Temptation perform at the Showbox SoDo. If the Soulfly concert before it was anything to go by, then my sore legs, feet, and back will come back to haunt me the next day and I’ll want to continue the five day streak of laziness. Actually, this concert shouldn’t be anywhere near as tiring because it probably won’t go past midnight and there are only two opening behinds before Within Temptation. Maybe if I’m lucky I can write the first chapter of Emilio and the Scratching Post before I go to the show. I’ve done that before. I wrote chapter fifteen of Silent Warrior before going to a Starset concert back in February of last year, so why not?
The deal with this anthology is the same as the last one: I can’t post my chapters online since Hollow Hills forbids it. That’s something I can live with. They’re a business and they need to make money, so why should anybody have their books for free? Speaking of profits, this new anthology won’t be for charity, but you should buy it when it comes out anyways, because you’re awesome like that. Right? If you’re wondering why I’m not posting as often as I do, it’s because my attention is fully devoted to this new project. Plus, there’s that whole mental sluggishness thing I was talking about earlier. Wish me luck! I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“Sunday morning I’m waking up. Can’t even focus on my coffee cup. Don’t even know whose bed I’m in. Where do I start? Where do I begin?”
-“Where Do I Begin?” by The Chemical Brothers-
***POST-SCRIPT***
The next time I post a blog entry, it’ll be about my favorite time of the year: the release of the Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic awards from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter! They came out yesterday and boy, were there some whoppers. One big winner and six runner-ups. Not as many as I anticipated, but still, these are pretty god awful. Get your barf bags ready! It’s going to get ugly! Hehehe…heh…heh….I’m on an island.
March 9, 2019
Come With Me
Grayson Joseph scanned his ticket at the arena entrance and felt everything as soon as he entered. Every drunken laugh. Every aggressive conversation. Every playful shove. While none of these actions were directed towards him, they all rented space in his mind, swirling in his nervous system at a million miles an hour. He tucked his head as he made his way to the general admission pit in a vain effort to make himself invisible. Were these people casting off their stones at him? No matter how many times Grayson told himself otherwise, his mind would feed him more lies and more psychosis.
Once he found his position in the pit, Grayson kept his head tucked and his eyes averted. For all he knew, he could have been the most noticeable person in the crowd. His skinny build, greasy blond hair, oversized Linkin Park T-shirt, and baggy green khakis would have ordinarily helped him blend into the concert environment, but his mind shoveled more self-hatred and lies into his system. Grayson held his stomach and let out a small burp as his knees grew weaker. He wished Halestorm would just get onstage already and close out this social experiment. He sarcastically thanked his mother for the concert tickets in an effort to further kick himself for his “weakness”.
After a while of socially anxious thoughts and tingles, the lights went out in the arena and the audience cheered their heads off. They clapped, chanted, and roared in anticipation of Halestorm taking the stage. Grayson tried to let out a cheer of his own, but all that came out was a small pop in his throat. This social experiment was not working. Although, he cheered up a little when Lzzy Hale and company took center stage. The band greeted their audience with one of their classics, “American Boys”.
The shredding guitars and Lzzy’s raucous voice helped put Grayson at ease. He found himself bouncing his head up and down to the tune. He relaxed some more and bounced around harder. The more he enjoyed himself, the less judgmental he found the eyes of his fellow audience members. He could take on the world. He could take on an army of moshers. The demons of hell could drag him to the underworld and he’d still be having a night of fun.
But that was only because his confidence went largely unchallenged. The intense fright jolted his system once again when a soft, long-nailed hand brushed across his shoulders. Grayson soon found his hands tenderly gripped by those of an attractive female, dressed in her heavy metal best with the black leather skirt, gothic boots, and pink halter top. Her dyed blue hair and cherry-colored lips completed her seductive look. Grayson didn’t know whether to admire this woman’s beauty or be terrified of her, so he silently took both roads.
The temptress danced in Grayson’s arms, twirling around, dipping backwards, swinging to the left, and swinging to the right. He didn’t reciprocate one single dance move, instead opting to freeze in fear despite the woman’s coaxing. She danced with him some more and Grayson had a knot in his intestines the size of a medicine ball. He also had a tingling sensation in his penis and testicles, so he scrunched his legs together to hide a potential involuntary boner.
What started off as an innocent dance turned dirty in a swift minute when the seductress slowly grinded her butt against Grayson’s groin. His vision grew blurry as he detected several smiles and camera phones lighting up around him. He remained frozen with fear. What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to like the attention? Was he supposed to pull away? Why him? Why not more attractive men?
As the questions pooled in his racing mind, the tingling sensation in his groin reached its fever pitch. Sticky liquids crashed against his pants and oozed down his legs, causing his dance partner to jump backwards and cover her mouth in disbelief. Grayson looked down at his pants in an effort to avoid the judgmental stares, but all he got was another reminder to do his laundry the next day. His pants were soaked in his own sexual fluids. Were the people around him laughing or was that his mind playing tricks on him? Were people recording him on their phones or were they recording Lzzy Hale? Grayson touched his pants and wiped his hands on his Linkin Park shirt. He was that drenched and that embarrassed.
“How could you?” he mouthed to the dumbfounded dance partner before running out of the arena as fast as he could. His legs were weak from the orgasm, yet they took him far out of sight. They created distance between himself and the judgmental eyes and laughing voices. He didn’t notice security personnel asking him if he was okay. His tunnel vision took him out of the arena and down the streets of Paulson City, where the ferry terminal was waiting for him.
Grayson’s lungs burned like acid. His chest and ribcage didn’t expand far enough for his comfort. His eyes grew wetter than his pants. His breath intensified into a whirlwind of exhaustion. Yet he continued to run down the street. Neither the psychotic homeless people nor the laughing street thugs could slow him down. His legs matched the speed of his racing mind. Even with his skinny body, he should have had a heart attack with the pace he was going.
When he made it to the terminal, that’s when the acidic feeling in his torso and the numbness of his mind took over. He doubled over and sucked down enough wind for a marathon sprint. His breaths were raspy and squeaky, which drew the attention of the terminal personnel right away. Did they too have judgmental eyes? Did they see him only for his messy pants and not his messy mind? Grayson took a seat at a nearby bench and huddled over to further catch his breath.
“Sir, are you okay?” said a fellow terminal worker decked out in an orange vest and blue uniform. No response. “Sir?” Grayson lifted his head. “Are you okay?”
With a shaky voice, a pink face, and teary eyes, Grayson lied when he said, “Yeah, I’m fine. I just…Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Do you need a glass of water or anything like that? I can get you one if you want.”
“Nah, that’s okay. I’ll be alright. I swear.”
“Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“Sure.”
As soon as the worker walked away, Grayson was truly left alone with his paranoid thoughts. The confusion between arousal and terror. The dangerous beauty. The seduction that led him to his downfall, not unlike the sirens he read about in horror and fantasy books. “Why me?” he asked himself. “Why not somebody else.” Grayson wiped away a lonely tear and for the first time noticed how badly his hands and legs were shaking. “I look awful…I am awful…”
These thoughts pounded in his head like Arejay Hale’s drum kit, a sound he couldn’t listen to ever again without being reminded of his molestation. No more Halestorm. No more rock and roll. Worst of all, no more rock concerts. “I should have just stayed home and read more fantasy novels.”
“What was that?” said a nearby worker.
“Nothing.”
Grayson spent so long in the psychotic doldrums that he just then noticed a large crowd of former concertgoers filing into the ferry station. They wore T-shirts of their favorite bands and smiles on their intimidating faces. Did these people record his humiliation and post it online? Did these people want to judge him some more? Did these people find comedy in his pain? He could feel it all as they walked past him. Some looked down at his khakis in disgust, others in pity.
A gentleman in a Metallica T-shirt and short brown hair approached Grayson and the latter could feel his stomach aching and twisting yet again. The man asked, “Do you know that chick?”
“No…I have no idea who she is.” Grayson’s eyes couldn’t even meet this stranger’s face.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. After you ran out of the building, the security tossed her out on the streets. They weren’t having any of it. Lzzy was pissed too.”
That didn’t bring him any comfort. It just made Grayson tuck his head further into himself. “I’m so fucking embarrassed right now.”
“You’re embarrassed?”
“Yeah…I don’t even want to get on the ferry with these people…I want to go home and get changed, but…”
“Want a glass of water?”
Grayson smiled sadly and joked, “Do you have a cyanide pill I can swallow with it?”
Waving his hand, the stranger said, “Nah, don’t do that shit. It ain’t worth it. Yeah, there were some jackasses laughing, but it ain’t everyone. Come on, the ferry’s going to be here soon.”
The stranger extended his hand and Grayson allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. The latter said, “I didn’t even buy a ticket yet. I should probably do that.”
“Nah, you don’t have to buy squat. It’s Earth Day. Public transportation is free. Did you already forget today was Earth Day?”
“Trust me, I won’t be able to forget today no matter how hard I try.” The two of them boarded the ferry together amongst the crowd of metal-heads. Grayson almost thought of this kind stranger as a shield from the terrifying eyes and lit phone screens around him. “How come you’re not laughing at me right now?”
“Because that shit ain’t funny,” said the stranger. “It wasn’t funny when it happened to Chester Bennington, may he rest in peace, and it wasn’t funny when it happened to you. I see you got the shirt on. Nice! I’m Steve, by the way.”
“Grayson. Nice to meet you.”
The two of them shook hands, though Grayson worried that he got sticky stuff on Steve’s palm. Steve said, “We’re metal heads. We got to look out for each other. We’re one big family.”
“I just hope the guys on Rock Feed and Loudwire’s You Tube videos feel the same way when they see what happened to me.”
“It’s the internet. There’re going to be a few assholes here and there. But you know who’s not going to be ashamed of you? The guys in Halestorm. They don’t think that shit’s funny either.”
“That’s wonderful, but I don’t think I can listen to a Halestorm song again without thinking of…you know…” said Grayson referencing his stained trousers.
“I wouldn’t give up on rock and roll so easily if I were you. It’s brought you peace and comfort this far into your life. It might save your life again. Think about that for a minute.” Steve patted Grayson on the back before heading off to the ferry’s bathroom.
Grayson would take him up on thinking about that. He did so in a faraway corner of the ship where the shadows covered him up from the masses. “What a night,” he said as he sat down huddled over, his mind still racing. How long would it take for his mind to slow down? How many laundry cycles would it take to get the splooge out of his pants and underwear? Would the femme fatale be arrested for her actions or would Grayson become a laughing stock to the police too? The only reason his mind stopped asking so many damn questions was because he fell asleep in his chair. A temporary vacation was just what he needed. He could think about it tomorrow. But tonight, it was all over…at least for now.
Once he found his position in the pit, Grayson kept his head tucked and his eyes averted. For all he knew, he could have been the most noticeable person in the crowd. His skinny build, greasy blond hair, oversized Linkin Park T-shirt, and baggy green khakis would have ordinarily helped him blend into the concert environment, but his mind shoveled more self-hatred and lies into his system. Grayson held his stomach and let out a small burp as his knees grew weaker. He wished Halestorm would just get onstage already and close out this social experiment. He sarcastically thanked his mother for the concert tickets in an effort to further kick himself for his “weakness”.
After a while of socially anxious thoughts and tingles, the lights went out in the arena and the audience cheered their heads off. They clapped, chanted, and roared in anticipation of Halestorm taking the stage. Grayson tried to let out a cheer of his own, but all that came out was a small pop in his throat. This social experiment was not working. Although, he cheered up a little when Lzzy Hale and company took center stage. The band greeted their audience with one of their classics, “American Boys”.
The shredding guitars and Lzzy’s raucous voice helped put Grayson at ease. He found himself bouncing his head up and down to the tune. He relaxed some more and bounced around harder. The more he enjoyed himself, the less judgmental he found the eyes of his fellow audience members. He could take on the world. He could take on an army of moshers. The demons of hell could drag him to the underworld and he’d still be having a night of fun.
But that was only because his confidence went largely unchallenged. The intense fright jolted his system once again when a soft, long-nailed hand brushed across his shoulders. Grayson soon found his hands tenderly gripped by those of an attractive female, dressed in her heavy metal best with the black leather skirt, gothic boots, and pink halter top. Her dyed blue hair and cherry-colored lips completed her seductive look. Grayson didn’t know whether to admire this woman’s beauty or be terrified of her, so he silently took both roads.
The temptress danced in Grayson’s arms, twirling around, dipping backwards, swinging to the left, and swinging to the right. He didn’t reciprocate one single dance move, instead opting to freeze in fear despite the woman’s coaxing. She danced with him some more and Grayson had a knot in his intestines the size of a medicine ball. He also had a tingling sensation in his penis and testicles, so he scrunched his legs together to hide a potential involuntary boner.
What started off as an innocent dance turned dirty in a swift minute when the seductress slowly grinded her butt against Grayson’s groin. His vision grew blurry as he detected several smiles and camera phones lighting up around him. He remained frozen with fear. What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to like the attention? Was he supposed to pull away? Why him? Why not more attractive men?
As the questions pooled in his racing mind, the tingling sensation in his groin reached its fever pitch. Sticky liquids crashed against his pants and oozed down his legs, causing his dance partner to jump backwards and cover her mouth in disbelief. Grayson looked down at his pants in an effort to avoid the judgmental stares, but all he got was another reminder to do his laundry the next day. His pants were soaked in his own sexual fluids. Were the people around him laughing or was that his mind playing tricks on him? Were people recording him on their phones or were they recording Lzzy Hale? Grayson touched his pants and wiped his hands on his Linkin Park shirt. He was that drenched and that embarrassed.
“How could you?” he mouthed to the dumbfounded dance partner before running out of the arena as fast as he could. His legs were weak from the orgasm, yet they took him far out of sight. They created distance between himself and the judgmental eyes and laughing voices. He didn’t notice security personnel asking him if he was okay. His tunnel vision took him out of the arena and down the streets of Paulson City, where the ferry terminal was waiting for him.
Grayson’s lungs burned like acid. His chest and ribcage didn’t expand far enough for his comfort. His eyes grew wetter than his pants. His breath intensified into a whirlwind of exhaustion. Yet he continued to run down the street. Neither the psychotic homeless people nor the laughing street thugs could slow him down. His legs matched the speed of his racing mind. Even with his skinny body, he should have had a heart attack with the pace he was going.
When he made it to the terminal, that’s when the acidic feeling in his torso and the numbness of his mind took over. He doubled over and sucked down enough wind for a marathon sprint. His breaths were raspy and squeaky, which drew the attention of the terminal personnel right away. Did they too have judgmental eyes? Did they see him only for his messy pants and not his messy mind? Grayson took a seat at a nearby bench and huddled over to further catch his breath.
“Sir, are you okay?” said a fellow terminal worker decked out in an orange vest and blue uniform. No response. “Sir?” Grayson lifted his head. “Are you okay?”
With a shaky voice, a pink face, and teary eyes, Grayson lied when he said, “Yeah, I’m fine. I just…Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Do you need a glass of water or anything like that? I can get you one if you want.”
“Nah, that’s okay. I’ll be alright. I swear.”
“Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“Sure.”
As soon as the worker walked away, Grayson was truly left alone with his paranoid thoughts. The confusion between arousal and terror. The dangerous beauty. The seduction that led him to his downfall, not unlike the sirens he read about in horror and fantasy books. “Why me?” he asked himself. “Why not somebody else.” Grayson wiped away a lonely tear and for the first time noticed how badly his hands and legs were shaking. “I look awful…I am awful…”
These thoughts pounded in his head like Arejay Hale’s drum kit, a sound he couldn’t listen to ever again without being reminded of his molestation. No more Halestorm. No more rock and roll. Worst of all, no more rock concerts. “I should have just stayed home and read more fantasy novels.”
“What was that?” said a nearby worker.
“Nothing.”
Grayson spent so long in the psychotic doldrums that he just then noticed a large crowd of former concertgoers filing into the ferry station. They wore T-shirts of their favorite bands and smiles on their intimidating faces. Did these people record his humiliation and post it online? Did these people want to judge him some more? Did these people find comedy in his pain? He could feel it all as they walked past him. Some looked down at his khakis in disgust, others in pity.
A gentleman in a Metallica T-shirt and short brown hair approached Grayson and the latter could feel his stomach aching and twisting yet again. The man asked, “Do you know that chick?”
“No…I have no idea who she is.” Grayson’s eyes couldn’t even meet this stranger’s face.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so. After you ran out of the building, the security tossed her out on the streets. They weren’t having any of it. Lzzy was pissed too.”
That didn’t bring him any comfort. It just made Grayson tuck his head further into himself. “I’m so fucking embarrassed right now.”
“You’re embarrassed?”
“Yeah…I don’t even want to get on the ferry with these people…I want to go home and get changed, but…”
“Want a glass of water?”
Grayson smiled sadly and joked, “Do you have a cyanide pill I can swallow with it?”
Waving his hand, the stranger said, “Nah, don’t do that shit. It ain’t worth it. Yeah, there were some jackasses laughing, but it ain’t everyone. Come on, the ferry’s going to be here soon.”
The stranger extended his hand and Grayson allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. The latter said, “I didn’t even buy a ticket yet. I should probably do that.”
“Nah, you don’t have to buy squat. It’s Earth Day. Public transportation is free. Did you already forget today was Earth Day?”
“Trust me, I won’t be able to forget today no matter how hard I try.” The two of them boarded the ferry together amongst the crowd of metal-heads. Grayson almost thought of this kind stranger as a shield from the terrifying eyes and lit phone screens around him. “How come you’re not laughing at me right now?”
“Because that shit ain’t funny,” said the stranger. “It wasn’t funny when it happened to Chester Bennington, may he rest in peace, and it wasn’t funny when it happened to you. I see you got the shirt on. Nice! I’m Steve, by the way.”
“Grayson. Nice to meet you.”
The two of them shook hands, though Grayson worried that he got sticky stuff on Steve’s palm. Steve said, “We’re metal heads. We got to look out for each other. We’re one big family.”
“I just hope the guys on Rock Feed and Loudwire’s You Tube videos feel the same way when they see what happened to me.”
“It’s the internet. There’re going to be a few assholes here and there. But you know who’s not going to be ashamed of you? The guys in Halestorm. They don’t think that shit’s funny either.”
“That’s wonderful, but I don’t think I can listen to a Halestorm song again without thinking of…you know…” said Grayson referencing his stained trousers.
“I wouldn’t give up on rock and roll so easily if I were you. It’s brought you peace and comfort this far into your life. It might save your life again. Think about that for a minute.” Steve patted Grayson on the back before heading off to the ferry’s bathroom.
Grayson would take him up on thinking about that. He did so in a faraway corner of the ship where the shadows covered him up from the masses. “What a night,” he said as he sat down huddled over, his mind still racing. How long would it take for his mind to slow down? How many laundry cycles would it take to get the splooge out of his pants and underwear? Would the femme fatale be arrested for her actions or would Grayson become a laughing stock to the police too? The only reason his mind stopped asking so many damn questions was because he fell asleep in his chair. A temporary vacation was just what he needed. He could think about it tomorrow. But tonight, it was all over…at least for now.
March 1, 2019
I'm Not Laughing
BEEP! “Dr. Love, your twelve o’clock is here to see you.”
“Send him in.”
Claire Love sat in her easy chair with her high heeled feet propped up and a cup of rosemary tea in her hands. The smell relaxed her senses, but not enough to keep the barrage of questions from swirling in her mind. How would she tell Alexander Percival what she needed to tell him? What would his reaction be? Would this put a strain in their therapist-client relationship? She took a sip of hot tea and closed her eyes as she waited for her client to enter her office. Just to show she was serious about trying to relax, she pressed a button on her remote and played gentle piano music on the stereo. Still not enough to put her at ease.
There was a knock on her door and upon being told to come in, Alexander Percival waddled in the room with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand and a worried expression that equaled his therapist’s. “So what’s the emergency, Dr. Love?”
“Thank you for coming by on such short notice, Alex. Please, have a seat. Get comfortable.”
He took his gray hooded sweatshirt off and hung it across his own easy chair, complete with its own footrest. His dismal expression told the story of not being able to relax despite the cushy chair’s comfortable features. He sat with his spine hunched over and his fingers drumming on the coffee cup.
Claire placed her tea mug on the coffee table and took deep breaths as she tried to come up with the right words to say. “Alex…I want you to know that…I enjoy these sessions of ours. I really do. I enjoy learning new things about you. I enjoy giving you healing when you need it the most. Nothing will change that. However…I want to preface this by saying…I know you don’t actually have hostile feelings towards women.”
“…What? What are you talking about?”
Claire pulled an iPad out of the coffee table’s drawer and scrolled through it as she explained herself. “I went through your Twitter feed last night. I saw something there that upset me deeply. This Tweet goes a while back in your history, but it’s still there and it still gives me chills every time I read it. In this Tweet, you’re doing a parody of feminine hygiene product commercials. And…my stomach hurts reading this out loud…you said…‘If it smells like dead fish and you’re nowhere near the ocean, buy a shipping container full of…Vagisil Pussy Wipes.’”
Alex’s massive hand trembled so badly that he spilled a little bit of coffee on his blue jeans. He gave a tiny yelp and wiped the stain off with the belly of his shirt.
“It doesn’t end there,” continued Claire, swallowing a wad of saliva. “In a similar Tweet, you refer to tampons as Tampax Tube Steaks. You also refer to maxi pads as Blood Huggies.” Holding her palm against her aching stomach, she placed the iPad back on the coffee table and said, “Alex, do you see where I’m going with this? I know you have a weird sense of humor, but this goes beyond comedy. Comedy can’t be comedy if it’s not funny. These kinds of jokes will do more damage than good.”
Alex downed the rest of his coffee and tossed the Styrofoam cup in the rubbish bin. He hunched over and ran his trembling fingers through his thick brown hair. He seemed to have a more difficult time coming up with the right words than his therapist. She even detected a tiny tear dropping down where his coffee stain was.
“You know what this conversation reminds me of?” he said with a shaky voice. “It reminds me of being back in college with a creative writing professor who wanted me to submit only G-rated stuff. I couldn’t have any R-rated fun around her and she threw it in my face all the time. I gave her what she wanted…and all I got was a lousy C+ in return.” He lifted his blushing face. “I feel like you’re trying to censor me, Dr. Love. I don’t want to be censored.”
“Alex…listen to me….this is not about being R-rated, G-rated, PG-rated, or whatever. This is about using common sense. Your Tweet was buried so far beneath the rest of your history that you dodged a bullet when it came to getting backlash. But what if the wrong people saw that Tweet? What if you finally managed to find a girlfriend you liked and she read that? What if your boss read that? What if your writing became famous one day and a media outlet picked up your Tweet? Are you really prepared to defend those jokes against the ones who mean the most to you?”
Alex’s voice grew even shakier than before. “So what? You want me to ask you for forgiveness? You think I don’t know how the online mob mentality works? I could ask for forgiveness over and over again and it won’t make a difference. I could literally be on my hands and knees and it wouldn’t be enough. I gave up on asking for forgiveness a long time ago.”
Claire took a sip of tea to settle her anxious tummy. “Alex, you don’t have to ask me for forgiveness. I already forgive you. It’s not my job to cast stones at you. Unconditional love is a prerequisite for being a sex therapist. But you’re right about one thing: those other people might not be as forgiving as me. Which is why it’s important that you do something about this Tweet before everything spirals out of control.”
“You want me to delete it? Why? So that I can prove the conformists and gatekeepers of the world right? So that I can remind them that they can do whatever they want to me without resistance? This is a free country, Dr. Love. I don’t have to justify my first amendment rights to anybody.”
“That’s true. But there’s something you should know about the first amendment. It protects you from the legal consequences of free speech, not the social consequences. In other words, you won’t go to jail for anything you say as long as you don’t defame anybody. But free speech is a two-way street. If you have the right to make sexist jokes online, then your critics have the right to respond to you however they want, not the least of which is labeling you a social pariah. Alex, if you want to be in a creative field, you have to learn to take criticism gracefully.”
Claire could tell that Alex was doing his damnedest to hold back his tears and shield his red face. He shook some more as he refused to engage his sex therapist.
“Alex, you don’t hate women. I know you don’t. That’s not who you are. But when I read those Tweets, as a woman, I think to myself…I don’t feel safe around this person anymore.”
Another small tear splashed onto Alex’s jeans. It was obvious to Clare that he couldn’t stand breaking down in front of a woman whose job it was to build self-esteem. He pulled himself up and staggered towards the door.
“Wait, don’t go!” Claire pleaded. “Please. Just do me this favor.” Handing him the iPad, she said, “Delete what you’ve posted. This isn’t about censorship. This is about your life. This hatred is not worth defending. You’re better than this.”
“Better than what, exactly?” said Alex with a sniff. “Better than a C+ student who couldn’t hack it with a G-rating?”
“Please, Alex. I know you’re hurting now, but you’ll hurt even more if this joke circulates to the wrong people. Nobody’s asking you to change who you are. I’m just asking you to use some common sense. Please…delete these messages. Do it for the women in your life who trust you and love you.”
Alex’s breathing became labored as he wiped another tiny droplet out of his eyes. He kept his back to Claire as if to stall for an answer, as if this choice was the most difficult one he’d ever made. She could see that he thought his individuality was on the line and she knew nobody should have to compromise that. But in the end, Alex turned to face her without lifting his head. He reached for the iPad and sat back down to do his work. After a few more long seconds of stalling and refusing to crack, he tapped the screen a few times and handed the iPad back to his therapist.
“It’s done. The Tweets are gone.”
Claire breathed a sigh of relief and said, “Thank you so much for doing that for me. How do you feel?”
Still refusing to lift his head, he answered, “Hurt…defeated…controlled…embarrassed. I’m an English student, I should have more words for it somewhere. Humiliated…sorrowful….”
“I know you’re hurting, Alex, but whether you know it or not, you did the right thing by deleting those Tweets. You’re not a sexist. You’re just a guy who made a mistake. You don’t need to be punished for it by the online mob.”
Unable to hold back any longer, Alex’s tears came more frequently and his voice grew even shakier. Pouting sympathetically, Claire crossed the room and cradled his head in her arms. “It’s okay, Alex. It’s okay. I forgive you. Let it all out. You are an amazing human being. You are sweet. You are kind. But most of all…you are loved. After our sessions are over, I’m sure you’ll find a lovely woman who’ll agree with all of those things I’ve said.”
“Crying sucks. Goddamn, I’m such a snowflake.”
“No, you’re not. Snowflake is a derogatory term for a natural emotion. You’re just a highly sensitive person. And to be honest…I like that in a man. Now, what shall we work on today?”
The embrace was broken and Alex snorted more salty liquids up his nose while wiping his tears with his shirt sleeve. “Can I have some of that tea?”
“Of course you can, Alex.”
“Send him in.”
Claire Love sat in her easy chair with her high heeled feet propped up and a cup of rosemary tea in her hands. The smell relaxed her senses, but not enough to keep the barrage of questions from swirling in her mind. How would she tell Alexander Percival what she needed to tell him? What would his reaction be? Would this put a strain in their therapist-client relationship? She took a sip of hot tea and closed her eyes as she waited for her client to enter her office. Just to show she was serious about trying to relax, she pressed a button on her remote and played gentle piano music on the stereo. Still not enough to put her at ease.
There was a knock on her door and upon being told to come in, Alexander Percival waddled in the room with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand and a worried expression that equaled his therapist’s. “So what’s the emergency, Dr. Love?”
“Thank you for coming by on such short notice, Alex. Please, have a seat. Get comfortable.”
He took his gray hooded sweatshirt off and hung it across his own easy chair, complete with its own footrest. His dismal expression told the story of not being able to relax despite the cushy chair’s comfortable features. He sat with his spine hunched over and his fingers drumming on the coffee cup.
Claire placed her tea mug on the coffee table and took deep breaths as she tried to come up with the right words to say. “Alex…I want you to know that…I enjoy these sessions of ours. I really do. I enjoy learning new things about you. I enjoy giving you healing when you need it the most. Nothing will change that. However…I want to preface this by saying…I know you don’t actually have hostile feelings towards women.”
“…What? What are you talking about?”
Claire pulled an iPad out of the coffee table’s drawer and scrolled through it as she explained herself. “I went through your Twitter feed last night. I saw something there that upset me deeply. This Tweet goes a while back in your history, but it’s still there and it still gives me chills every time I read it. In this Tweet, you’re doing a parody of feminine hygiene product commercials. And…my stomach hurts reading this out loud…you said…‘If it smells like dead fish and you’re nowhere near the ocean, buy a shipping container full of…Vagisil Pussy Wipes.’”
Alex’s massive hand trembled so badly that he spilled a little bit of coffee on his blue jeans. He gave a tiny yelp and wiped the stain off with the belly of his shirt.
“It doesn’t end there,” continued Claire, swallowing a wad of saliva. “In a similar Tweet, you refer to tampons as Tampax Tube Steaks. You also refer to maxi pads as Blood Huggies.” Holding her palm against her aching stomach, she placed the iPad back on the coffee table and said, “Alex, do you see where I’m going with this? I know you have a weird sense of humor, but this goes beyond comedy. Comedy can’t be comedy if it’s not funny. These kinds of jokes will do more damage than good.”
Alex downed the rest of his coffee and tossed the Styrofoam cup in the rubbish bin. He hunched over and ran his trembling fingers through his thick brown hair. He seemed to have a more difficult time coming up with the right words than his therapist. She even detected a tiny tear dropping down where his coffee stain was.
“You know what this conversation reminds me of?” he said with a shaky voice. “It reminds me of being back in college with a creative writing professor who wanted me to submit only G-rated stuff. I couldn’t have any R-rated fun around her and she threw it in my face all the time. I gave her what she wanted…and all I got was a lousy C+ in return.” He lifted his blushing face. “I feel like you’re trying to censor me, Dr. Love. I don’t want to be censored.”
“Alex…listen to me….this is not about being R-rated, G-rated, PG-rated, or whatever. This is about using common sense. Your Tweet was buried so far beneath the rest of your history that you dodged a bullet when it came to getting backlash. But what if the wrong people saw that Tweet? What if you finally managed to find a girlfriend you liked and she read that? What if your boss read that? What if your writing became famous one day and a media outlet picked up your Tweet? Are you really prepared to defend those jokes against the ones who mean the most to you?”
Alex’s voice grew even shakier than before. “So what? You want me to ask you for forgiveness? You think I don’t know how the online mob mentality works? I could ask for forgiveness over and over again and it won’t make a difference. I could literally be on my hands and knees and it wouldn’t be enough. I gave up on asking for forgiveness a long time ago.”
Claire took a sip of tea to settle her anxious tummy. “Alex, you don’t have to ask me for forgiveness. I already forgive you. It’s not my job to cast stones at you. Unconditional love is a prerequisite for being a sex therapist. But you’re right about one thing: those other people might not be as forgiving as me. Which is why it’s important that you do something about this Tweet before everything spirals out of control.”
“You want me to delete it? Why? So that I can prove the conformists and gatekeepers of the world right? So that I can remind them that they can do whatever they want to me without resistance? This is a free country, Dr. Love. I don’t have to justify my first amendment rights to anybody.”
“That’s true. But there’s something you should know about the first amendment. It protects you from the legal consequences of free speech, not the social consequences. In other words, you won’t go to jail for anything you say as long as you don’t defame anybody. But free speech is a two-way street. If you have the right to make sexist jokes online, then your critics have the right to respond to you however they want, not the least of which is labeling you a social pariah. Alex, if you want to be in a creative field, you have to learn to take criticism gracefully.”
Claire could tell that Alex was doing his damnedest to hold back his tears and shield his red face. He shook some more as he refused to engage his sex therapist.
“Alex, you don’t hate women. I know you don’t. That’s not who you are. But when I read those Tweets, as a woman, I think to myself…I don’t feel safe around this person anymore.”
Another small tear splashed onto Alex’s jeans. It was obvious to Clare that he couldn’t stand breaking down in front of a woman whose job it was to build self-esteem. He pulled himself up and staggered towards the door.
“Wait, don’t go!” Claire pleaded. “Please. Just do me this favor.” Handing him the iPad, she said, “Delete what you’ve posted. This isn’t about censorship. This is about your life. This hatred is not worth defending. You’re better than this.”
“Better than what, exactly?” said Alex with a sniff. “Better than a C+ student who couldn’t hack it with a G-rating?”
“Please, Alex. I know you’re hurting now, but you’ll hurt even more if this joke circulates to the wrong people. Nobody’s asking you to change who you are. I’m just asking you to use some common sense. Please…delete these messages. Do it for the women in your life who trust you and love you.”
Alex’s breathing became labored as he wiped another tiny droplet out of his eyes. He kept his back to Claire as if to stall for an answer, as if this choice was the most difficult one he’d ever made. She could see that he thought his individuality was on the line and she knew nobody should have to compromise that. But in the end, Alex turned to face her without lifting his head. He reached for the iPad and sat back down to do his work. After a few more long seconds of stalling and refusing to crack, he tapped the screen a few times and handed the iPad back to his therapist.
“It’s done. The Tweets are gone.”
Claire breathed a sigh of relief and said, “Thank you so much for doing that for me. How do you feel?”
Still refusing to lift his head, he answered, “Hurt…defeated…controlled…embarrassed. I’m an English student, I should have more words for it somewhere. Humiliated…sorrowful….”
“I know you’re hurting, Alex, but whether you know it or not, you did the right thing by deleting those Tweets. You’re not a sexist. You’re just a guy who made a mistake. You don’t need to be punished for it by the online mob.”
Unable to hold back any longer, Alex’s tears came more frequently and his voice grew even shakier. Pouting sympathetically, Claire crossed the room and cradled his head in her arms. “It’s okay, Alex. It’s okay. I forgive you. Let it all out. You are an amazing human being. You are sweet. You are kind. But most of all…you are loved. After our sessions are over, I’m sure you’ll find a lovely woman who’ll agree with all of those things I’ve said.”
“Crying sucks. Goddamn, I’m such a snowflake.”
“No, you’re not. Snowflake is a derogatory term for a natural emotion. You’re just a highly sensitive person. And to be honest…I like that in a man. Now, what shall we work on today?”
The embrace was broken and Alex snorted more salty liquids up his nose while wiping his tears with his shirt sleeve. “Can I have some of that tea?”
“Of course you can, Alex.”
February 27, 2019
Breaking Benjamin
***BREAKING BENJAMIN***
It’s been about twenty days since my last blog and at this point I’m just reaching for topics like Luke Skywalker reaching for his lost lightsaber in the heat of battle. Just like that same Jedi warrior, I used the force to come up with this next topic. And by use the force, I mean exactly that: I had to force myself to come up with this topic because nothing else of immediate importance came to mind.
This coming September, Breaking Benjamin is coming to Auburn, Washington’s White River Amphitheater to put on a fucking rock and roll show. Their opening acts in order of appearance are Diamante, Dorothy, Three Days Grace, and finally Chevelle. The only opener that I listen to on a frequent basis is Three Days Grace.
Prior to this upcoming Breaking Benjamin show, I’ve seen Three Days Grace twice in concert. The first time was in 2013 at the Showbox SoDo in Seattle, where I was introduced to their opening band at the time, Otherwise. If you follow my progress with rewriting Beautiful Monster, you’ll understand how Otherwise became as important to me as they are. The other time I’ve seen Three Days Grace live is at the Pain in the Grass festival in 2015, where they were the third to last band to appear onstage behind Lamb of God and the headliner Slipknot.
Three Days Grace has been a part of my life since 2003 when I was attending school at Olympic College. I don’t remember much of the early 2000’s due to the onset of my schizophrenia, but I’ll never forget how Three Days Grace’s music made me feel. Their song “Home” perfectly described my state of mind at the time and “I Hate Everything (About You)” could have been a descriptor for my mom’s terrible ex-boyfriend Art. Seeing Three Days Grace live twice was psychological medicine for me and seeing them a third time in 2019 will be no exception.
Breaking Benjamin is the only other band in that lineup that I listen to on a regular basis, which is why I’m going to the concert in the first place. I don’t go to concerts unless I recognize the headliner. Prior to this concert, I’ve seen Breaking Benjamin on three separate occasions. The first was in 2004 when they opened for Korn. Like I said earlier, I have minimal recollection of the early 2000’s due to my ongoing battle with schizophrenia. When Breaking Benjamin opened for Disturbed as part of the Pain in the Grass festival in 2016, my senses were wide awake. Unfortunately, that show was marred by me having to sit next to a drunken lunatic who wouldn’t leave well enough alone. That’s okay, because in 2018, Breaking Benjamin came back to that same venue with Five Finger Death Punch and Bad Wolves as their openers. Much better experience!
I didn’t fully appreciate the music of Breaking Benjamin until 2006 when I first heard “So Cold”. From there, getting hooked on the music was easy. I listened to a lot of their fourth album Dear Agony in 2009 when I was taking the bus to and from my final college class. Coincidentally, I also started listening to “Life Starts Now” by Three Days Grace. We intersect once again! Who knew two sad-ass metal bands would make the perfect soundtrack for resorting to forced extroversion in a college class environment? I still don’t understand why college classes put introverts at a disadvantage like that by having public conversations in the grading rubric. It’s almost like there’s a bias going on here.
Breaking Benjamin’s upcoming show won’t be until September 22nd of this year, which is a country mile ahead of the current date. Like I said before, I was reaching for a topic this whole time. I don’t like going for a long time without writing a blog entry because I consider those to be just as important as my poems, short stories, and chapters of Beautiful Monster. Speaking of which…
***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
Chapter sixteen will feature the fruits of Windham’s traumatizing labor in action. Shadow Asylum along with King Lars Stonewall and his troops will perform a raid on Shelly Atwood’s castle in an attempt to put an end to her sex trafficking business once and for all. Windham did a phenomenal job of exposing the castle’s weaknesses in his blueprints, so this should be an open and shut case, right? Sure, you can believe that if you want. You can also believe that monkeys will come flying out of my ass. After dining on Pizza Hut food tonight, monkeys are the last thing you should worry about flying out of my ass. Hehe!
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
HUTCH MORGAN: Eat me!
PAIGE: No thanks, I’m trying to bulk up.
-Fighting With My Family-
It’s been about twenty days since my last blog and at this point I’m just reaching for topics like Luke Skywalker reaching for his lost lightsaber in the heat of battle. Just like that same Jedi warrior, I used the force to come up with this next topic. And by use the force, I mean exactly that: I had to force myself to come up with this topic because nothing else of immediate importance came to mind.
This coming September, Breaking Benjamin is coming to Auburn, Washington’s White River Amphitheater to put on a fucking rock and roll show. Their opening acts in order of appearance are Diamante, Dorothy, Three Days Grace, and finally Chevelle. The only opener that I listen to on a frequent basis is Three Days Grace.
Prior to this upcoming Breaking Benjamin show, I’ve seen Three Days Grace twice in concert. The first time was in 2013 at the Showbox SoDo in Seattle, where I was introduced to their opening band at the time, Otherwise. If you follow my progress with rewriting Beautiful Monster, you’ll understand how Otherwise became as important to me as they are. The other time I’ve seen Three Days Grace live is at the Pain in the Grass festival in 2015, where they were the third to last band to appear onstage behind Lamb of God and the headliner Slipknot.
Three Days Grace has been a part of my life since 2003 when I was attending school at Olympic College. I don’t remember much of the early 2000’s due to the onset of my schizophrenia, but I’ll never forget how Three Days Grace’s music made me feel. Their song “Home” perfectly described my state of mind at the time and “I Hate Everything (About You)” could have been a descriptor for my mom’s terrible ex-boyfriend Art. Seeing Three Days Grace live twice was psychological medicine for me and seeing them a third time in 2019 will be no exception.
Breaking Benjamin is the only other band in that lineup that I listen to on a regular basis, which is why I’m going to the concert in the first place. I don’t go to concerts unless I recognize the headliner. Prior to this concert, I’ve seen Breaking Benjamin on three separate occasions. The first was in 2004 when they opened for Korn. Like I said earlier, I have minimal recollection of the early 2000’s due to my ongoing battle with schizophrenia. When Breaking Benjamin opened for Disturbed as part of the Pain in the Grass festival in 2016, my senses were wide awake. Unfortunately, that show was marred by me having to sit next to a drunken lunatic who wouldn’t leave well enough alone. That’s okay, because in 2018, Breaking Benjamin came back to that same venue with Five Finger Death Punch and Bad Wolves as their openers. Much better experience!
I didn’t fully appreciate the music of Breaking Benjamin until 2006 when I first heard “So Cold”. From there, getting hooked on the music was easy. I listened to a lot of their fourth album Dear Agony in 2009 when I was taking the bus to and from my final college class. Coincidentally, I also started listening to “Life Starts Now” by Three Days Grace. We intersect once again! Who knew two sad-ass metal bands would make the perfect soundtrack for resorting to forced extroversion in a college class environment? I still don’t understand why college classes put introverts at a disadvantage like that by having public conversations in the grading rubric. It’s almost like there’s a bias going on here.
Breaking Benjamin’s upcoming show won’t be until September 22nd of this year, which is a country mile ahead of the current date. Like I said before, I was reaching for a topic this whole time. I don’t like going for a long time without writing a blog entry because I consider those to be just as important as my poems, short stories, and chapters of Beautiful Monster. Speaking of which…
***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
Chapter sixteen will feature the fruits of Windham’s traumatizing labor in action. Shadow Asylum along with King Lars Stonewall and his troops will perform a raid on Shelly Atwood’s castle in an attempt to put an end to her sex trafficking business once and for all. Windham did a phenomenal job of exposing the castle’s weaknesses in his blueprints, so this should be an open and shut case, right? Sure, you can believe that if you want. You can also believe that monkeys will come flying out of my ass. After dining on Pizza Hut food tonight, monkeys are the last thing you should worry about flying out of my ass. Hehe!
***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***
HUTCH MORGAN: Eat me!
PAIGE: No thanks, I’m trying to bulk up.
-Fighting With My Family-
February 21, 2019
Learn to Lose
You’re still talking, still just yapping
Verbal masturbation, endless fapping
You can’t go undefeated forever
Your chances of winning are never
Learn to lose your arguments, buddy
Mudslinging became too damn muddy
You’re proven wrong time and again
Yet the conversation never really ends
You’ve got an army of straw men soldiers
Your childish tactics get older and older
Being loud is not the key to victory
But the key to friendships ending bitterly
Know when to shut your filthy pie hole
Lose gracefully, don’t cry your eyes cold
One of these days, they’ll drop the hammer
You’ll rot in the slammer, never again yammer
You’re fighting a battle you cannot win
As you wait for your sentence to begin
Defying the odds is not your strong suit
Especially in a cage with a hairy brute
What will it take to get through to you?
A body full of bruises so black and blue?
Is it a lifetime membership in the ICU?
Or a permanent home underneath the tomb?
I guess some people don’t want to change
Never improve their lives, stay deranged
I guess you can’t rehabilitate those types
A bullet to the skull, an end to your life
If you truly believe in reincarnation
Come back with an attitude of elation
Be grateful for your second chance
Or in hellfire is where you’ll dance
Learn to lose before you can’t turn back
Know your place in the hunting pack
Verbal masturbation, endless fapping
You can’t go undefeated forever
Your chances of winning are never
Learn to lose your arguments, buddy
Mudslinging became too damn muddy
You’re proven wrong time and again
Yet the conversation never really ends
You’ve got an army of straw men soldiers
Your childish tactics get older and older
Being loud is not the key to victory
But the key to friendships ending bitterly
Know when to shut your filthy pie hole
Lose gracefully, don’t cry your eyes cold
One of these days, they’ll drop the hammer
You’ll rot in the slammer, never again yammer
You’re fighting a battle you cannot win
As you wait for your sentence to begin
Defying the odds is not your strong suit
Especially in a cage with a hairy brute
What will it take to get through to you?
A body full of bruises so black and blue?
Is it a lifetime membership in the ICU?
Or a permanent home underneath the tomb?
I guess some people don’t want to change
Never improve their lives, stay deranged
I guess you can’t rehabilitate those types
A bullet to the skull, an end to your life
If you truly believe in reincarnation
Come back with an attitude of elation
Be grateful for your second chance
Or in hellfire is where you’ll dance
Learn to lose before you can’t turn back
Know your place in the hunting pack
February 20, 2019
Obligations
Running away from your obligations
Won’t put an end to the conversation
The topic’s been brewing for a while
Never mind approaching it with style
You must attack the problem head-on
Even if it starts to feel morally wrong
You don’t have to have the answers
You’re a team player, not a freelancer
Help each other come to a conclusion
Don’t spend so much time in seclusion
Don’t confuse the act of cooling down
With running away and skipping town
You can do this, it’s a phone call away
Don’t put this off for yet another day
Three words, eight letters, say it loud
Before the hatred comes back around
Don’t let a small misunderstanding
Become your downfall, a stiff landing
Pick up the phone before it’s too late
Before the silence has sealed your fate
Won’t put an end to the conversation
The topic’s been brewing for a while
Never mind approaching it with style
You must attack the problem head-on
Even if it starts to feel morally wrong
You don’t have to have the answers
You’re a team player, not a freelancer
Help each other come to a conclusion
Don’t spend so much time in seclusion
Don’t confuse the act of cooling down
With running away and skipping town
You can do this, it’s a phone call away
Don’t put this off for yet another day
Three words, eight letters, say it loud
Before the hatred comes back around
Don’t let a small misunderstanding
Become your downfall, a stiff landing
Pick up the phone before it’s too late
Before the silence has sealed your fate
February 16, 2019
Staying In Bed
To hell with being dutiful
Staying in bed is beautiful
A purring kitty on my chest
He agrees that it’s time to rest
Piano music calms me down
Hypnotized by the gentle sound
Cold breeze blowing outside
Under the blankets is where I hide
Back to work on another day
Couldn’t motivate myself anyway
Stare at the ceiling, think about life
Share my bed with an imaginary wife
Watch movies playing in my head
They don’t make a lick of sense
Heater blasting on a winter night
Makes resisting sleep an uphill fight
But I can’t stay here forever and ever
Despite the drop in barometric pressure
Another day waits on the other side
That way you can’t say I never tried
Still walking around like the undead
Not a whole lot going on in my head
A few more hours until it gets dark
Until rainwater floods the public park
Until the moon shines down upon us all
Until face down on the bed is where I fall
Disconnect my telephone line
Tomorrow everything will be just fine
Like it is almost every damn day
No sense in asking me if I’m okay
Staying in bed is beautiful
A purring kitty on my chest
He agrees that it’s time to rest
Piano music calms me down
Hypnotized by the gentle sound
Cold breeze blowing outside
Under the blankets is where I hide
Back to work on another day
Couldn’t motivate myself anyway
Stare at the ceiling, think about life
Share my bed with an imaginary wife
Watch movies playing in my head
They don’t make a lick of sense
Heater blasting on a winter night
Makes resisting sleep an uphill fight
But I can’t stay here forever and ever
Despite the drop in barometric pressure
Another day waits on the other side
That way you can’t say I never tried
Still walking around like the undead
Not a whole lot going on in my head
A few more hours until it gets dark
Until rainwater floods the public park
Until the moon shines down upon us all
Until face down on the bed is where I fall
Disconnect my telephone line
Tomorrow everything will be just fine
Like it is almost every damn day
No sense in asking me if I’m okay
February 15, 2019
Boring
VERSE 1
“Get a real job!” is what they say
Blind conformity equals good pay
PRE-CHORUS 1
Trade school is boring
I can’t keep from snoring
Come on!
Fuck off!
CHORUS 1
You see, it’s their fault
We don’t have no dreams no more
Colors fading, not worth parading
Society has become a chore
VERSE 2
“Go work in tech!” is what they scream
Crushing your dreams, it makes them cream
PRE-CHORUS 2
Tech jobs are boring
I can’t keep from snoring
Come on!
Fuck off!
CHORUS 2
You see, it’s their fault
We can’t do what we love the most
Paintings destroyed, artists left unemployed
While the boss men laugh and boast
BRIDGE
Crushed all our pride
We can’t get inside
Nowhere left to hide
We sleep outside
Come on!
Fuck off!
VOICE-OVER
Trade school: the one part of the educational journey where it’s okay to fall asleep in class! Sign up today and get fucked for your first three months free!
“Get a real job!” is what they say
Blind conformity equals good pay
PRE-CHORUS 1
Trade school is boring
I can’t keep from snoring
Come on!
Fuck off!
CHORUS 1
You see, it’s their fault
We don’t have no dreams no more
Colors fading, not worth parading
Society has become a chore
VERSE 2
“Go work in tech!” is what they scream
Crushing your dreams, it makes them cream
PRE-CHORUS 2
Tech jobs are boring
I can’t keep from snoring
Come on!
Fuck off!
CHORUS 2
You see, it’s their fault
We can’t do what we love the most
Paintings destroyed, artists left unemployed
While the boss men laugh and boast
BRIDGE
Crushed all our pride
We can’t get inside
Nowhere left to hide
We sleep outside
Come on!
Fuck off!
VOICE-OVER
Trade school: the one part of the educational journey where it’s okay to fall asleep in class! Sign up today and get fucked for your first three months free!
February 13, 2019
Gary-Stu
I spent a hundred years in the navy
The sexy siren is carrying my baby
I spent five decades in the marines
They all call me a fighting machine
I spent half a century in the army
No way could the enemy harm me
I spent ten years in the air force
I still don’t make sense, of course
I’m a Gary-Stu who’s lost at sea
Always carry machineguns with me
A battleaxe bigger than my body
Always imitated, but never copied
Except by those trying to make a buck
Make a fortune from negative luck
Put me in a videogame or paperback
I’m a macho man, genetically jacked
Everybody wants to buy my image
Everybody wants to laugh at critics
Everybody wants to look for tropes
Everybody’s given too much rope
Whatever happened to character depth?
Got slaughtered in a battle to the death
Everybody’s got their own little flaws
They don’t include too much brawn
They don’t include a nasty attitude
They don’t include a lazy aptitude
Three dimensional isn’t hard to achieve
All you have to do is make them believe
If a captain is going to be lost at sea
If a warrior is going to bleed, bleed, bleed
If a damsel in distress screams one last time
Put some reason in your fucked up rhyme
The sexy siren is carrying my baby
I spent five decades in the marines
They all call me a fighting machine
I spent half a century in the army
No way could the enemy harm me
I spent ten years in the air force
I still don’t make sense, of course
I’m a Gary-Stu who’s lost at sea
Always carry machineguns with me
A battleaxe bigger than my body
Always imitated, but never copied
Except by those trying to make a buck
Make a fortune from negative luck
Put me in a videogame or paperback
I’m a macho man, genetically jacked
Everybody wants to buy my image
Everybody wants to laugh at critics
Everybody wants to look for tropes
Everybody’s given too much rope
Whatever happened to character depth?
Got slaughtered in a battle to the death
Everybody’s got their own little flaws
They don’t include too much brawn
They don’t include a nasty attitude
They don’t include a lazy aptitude
Three dimensional isn’t hard to achieve
All you have to do is make them believe
If a captain is going to be lost at sea
If a warrior is going to bleed, bleed, bleed
If a damsel in distress screams one last time
Put some reason in your fucked up rhyme
February 7, 2019
It's Okay to Be Single
***IT’S OKAY TO BE SINGLE***
Valentine’s Day is on the horizon, a horizon covered by about ten inches of falling snow, by the way. For those who are single, Valentine’s Day is the hardest holiday to get through because it seems as though your non-existent relationship status is being rubbed in your face. I know this, because I too am single and I hated this holiday for the longest time. I wish someone had told me back in those romantically lonely days that…it’s okay to be single. I know it’s hard for some people to believe that the world won’t judge you if you are, but if it’s a comfort to you at all, I’m the very last person in this world who will judge you for being single. I won’t even judge you for being a virgin. Involuntarily celibate is an entirely different story, but still, you get my drift.
When you learn to let go of this idea that romance is a necessity, you’ll feel as though the weight of the world is finally off of your shoulders. That doesn’t mean you can’t get into a relationship somewhere down the line, but if you obsess over it all the time, then it’ll hurt you emotionally. A lot of the pain from my university days stemmed from being single and wanting someone I could never have. I crushed on Tarja Turunen, the ex-lead singer from Nightwish, and it hurt me constantly that I couldn’t have her. Even when I crushed on women within my location and economic means, I was too shy to approach them because I didn’t want them to be offended by my presence. I carried this pain for a long time, long after I graduated from college.
The idea of letting go of my obsession was insane to me, which I now realize is an ironic thing for a schizophrenic like me to say, but oh well. Why was I so obsessed? Was it a combination of teenaged hormones and having my first slow dance at 15? Was it a long-distance relationship I had in 2002 and 2003 where I desperately wanted to close that gap? Was it my first kiss in 2014? Was it being seduced by random women at rock concerts in 2016 and 2018? Those brain chemicals are addictive as hell, I agree. Any addiction makes letting go a difficult thing.
But when I finally let go earlier this year, I asked myself a series of questions that had “duh” answers all along. Would being in a relationship truly make me happy? Would having sex for the first time be as magical as books and movies make it out to be? What exactly are the consequences supposed to be for staying single? When the time finally comes to be in a relationship, will I be prepared or will anxiety take over my senses? Truth is, not everyone who’s in a relationship is happy, as evidenced by divorce rates, abusive situations, and constant fighting even when things are going great. First time sex ends too quickly, or so I’ve heard. There are no consequences for being single. I’ve done nothing to prepare myself for a relationship, so my anxiety and nervousness around women won’t dissipate.
None of this means that I don’t believe in romance. It doesn’t mean that if a woman asked me on a date, I would automatically reject her. It simply means that I won’t form unhealthy crushes or obsess over something unattainable. My emotional health means everything to me. It’s the reason why I’m able to sustain a writing career and an overall peaceful life. If I’m constantly in a state of unhappiness, then I don’t care how many poems and stories I write, because I can never satiate those obsessive desires. I wrote three first draft novels this year, all of them centering on my obsession with romance. While I’m grateful for the creative exercises, I can get the same result and probably more work done if I’m happy about life instead of miserable.
It’s particularly bad when you’re in love with a celebrity, especially one that’s been around since your teenaged years. You spend all of this time pining over and dreaming of them. Even when you realize it could never be, you obsess more and more until it ruins your state of mind. You carry this unhappiness with you into adulthood and by that time your celebrity crush is much older than you are. Everybody ages, everybody moves on, and you must do so too.
If you’re single this Valentine’s Day and you don’t know what to do, just treat it like any other day of the week. Do some creative work. Get some reading done. Draw a picture. Order a pizza. Watch a movie. Do something other than give into your unrealistic obsessions. You’re responsible for your own happiness. Treat yourself kindly. Don’t beat yourself up. Take good care of your mind. You only get one in this lifetime, so be good to it and don’t drive yourself insane. If you must get into a relationship, keep it healthy and happy and don’t be codependent. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
Rewriting this story has been a slow process with many gap days in between the work days. You can thank my constant sleepiness for that. But fear not, because before 2019 is over, I will have this novel finished and published. The next chapter to be written will be number twelve, where Windham and Tarja deliver the blueprints to Shelly’s castle to their boss, Orpheus Rinehart. Will the boss man be grateful or will he reward his employees with a year-long membership in the Jelly of the Month Club? It’s the gift that keeps on giving the whole year. You get a cookie if you know what movie that’s from.
***PHILOSOPHICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“You will find that if you get with reality, all thoughts of delusions disappear. But you must remember that the secret to all of this is not to be afraid of fear. When you can really allow yourself to be afraid, and you don't resist the experience of fear, you are truly beginning to master fear. But when you refuse to be afraid, you are resisting fear, and that simply sets up a vicious circle of being afraid of fear of being afraid of being afraid of fear. If then you try to obliterate fear, you're working in the wrong way. To attack at fear is to strengthen it. As if you were God, that is to say, you don't trust anybody and you're the dictator and you have to keep everybody in line, you lose the divine then. 'Cause what you're doing is simply defending yourself. So then the principle is the more you give it away, the more it comes back. The meaning of the fact we see that everything is dissolving constantly, we're all falling apart. We're all in a process of constant death. Then you truly understand that you don't have to let go because there's nothing to hold on to.”
-Alan Watts-
Valentine’s Day is on the horizon, a horizon covered by about ten inches of falling snow, by the way. For those who are single, Valentine’s Day is the hardest holiday to get through because it seems as though your non-existent relationship status is being rubbed in your face. I know this, because I too am single and I hated this holiday for the longest time. I wish someone had told me back in those romantically lonely days that…it’s okay to be single. I know it’s hard for some people to believe that the world won’t judge you if you are, but if it’s a comfort to you at all, I’m the very last person in this world who will judge you for being single. I won’t even judge you for being a virgin. Involuntarily celibate is an entirely different story, but still, you get my drift.
When you learn to let go of this idea that romance is a necessity, you’ll feel as though the weight of the world is finally off of your shoulders. That doesn’t mean you can’t get into a relationship somewhere down the line, but if you obsess over it all the time, then it’ll hurt you emotionally. A lot of the pain from my university days stemmed from being single and wanting someone I could never have. I crushed on Tarja Turunen, the ex-lead singer from Nightwish, and it hurt me constantly that I couldn’t have her. Even when I crushed on women within my location and economic means, I was too shy to approach them because I didn’t want them to be offended by my presence. I carried this pain for a long time, long after I graduated from college.
The idea of letting go of my obsession was insane to me, which I now realize is an ironic thing for a schizophrenic like me to say, but oh well. Why was I so obsessed? Was it a combination of teenaged hormones and having my first slow dance at 15? Was it a long-distance relationship I had in 2002 and 2003 where I desperately wanted to close that gap? Was it my first kiss in 2014? Was it being seduced by random women at rock concerts in 2016 and 2018? Those brain chemicals are addictive as hell, I agree. Any addiction makes letting go a difficult thing.
But when I finally let go earlier this year, I asked myself a series of questions that had “duh” answers all along. Would being in a relationship truly make me happy? Would having sex for the first time be as magical as books and movies make it out to be? What exactly are the consequences supposed to be for staying single? When the time finally comes to be in a relationship, will I be prepared or will anxiety take over my senses? Truth is, not everyone who’s in a relationship is happy, as evidenced by divorce rates, abusive situations, and constant fighting even when things are going great. First time sex ends too quickly, or so I’ve heard. There are no consequences for being single. I’ve done nothing to prepare myself for a relationship, so my anxiety and nervousness around women won’t dissipate.
None of this means that I don’t believe in romance. It doesn’t mean that if a woman asked me on a date, I would automatically reject her. It simply means that I won’t form unhealthy crushes or obsess over something unattainable. My emotional health means everything to me. It’s the reason why I’m able to sustain a writing career and an overall peaceful life. If I’m constantly in a state of unhappiness, then I don’t care how many poems and stories I write, because I can never satiate those obsessive desires. I wrote three first draft novels this year, all of them centering on my obsession with romance. While I’m grateful for the creative exercises, I can get the same result and probably more work done if I’m happy about life instead of miserable.
It’s particularly bad when you’re in love with a celebrity, especially one that’s been around since your teenaged years. You spend all of this time pining over and dreaming of them. Even when you realize it could never be, you obsess more and more until it ruins your state of mind. You carry this unhappiness with you into adulthood and by that time your celebrity crush is much older than you are. Everybody ages, everybody moves on, and you must do so too.
If you’re single this Valentine’s Day and you don’t know what to do, just treat it like any other day of the week. Do some creative work. Get some reading done. Draw a picture. Order a pizza. Watch a movie. Do something other than give into your unrealistic obsessions. You’re responsible for your own happiness. Treat yourself kindly. Don’t beat yourself up. Take good care of your mind. You only get one in this lifetime, so be good to it and don’t drive yourself insane. If you must get into a relationship, keep it healthy and happy and don’t be codependent. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***
Rewriting this story has been a slow process with many gap days in between the work days. You can thank my constant sleepiness for that. But fear not, because before 2019 is over, I will have this novel finished and published. The next chapter to be written will be number twelve, where Windham and Tarja deliver the blueprints to Shelly’s castle to their boss, Orpheus Rinehart. Will the boss man be grateful or will he reward his employees with a year-long membership in the Jelly of the Month Club? It’s the gift that keeps on giving the whole year. You get a cookie if you know what movie that’s from.
***PHILOSOPHICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“You will find that if you get with reality, all thoughts of delusions disappear. But you must remember that the secret to all of this is not to be afraid of fear. When you can really allow yourself to be afraid, and you don't resist the experience of fear, you are truly beginning to master fear. But when you refuse to be afraid, you are resisting fear, and that simply sets up a vicious circle of being afraid of fear of being afraid of being afraid of fear. If then you try to obliterate fear, you're working in the wrong way. To attack at fear is to strengthen it. As if you were God, that is to say, you don't trust anybody and you're the dictator and you have to keep everybody in line, you lose the divine then. 'Cause what you're doing is simply defending yourself. So then the principle is the more you give it away, the more it comes back. The meaning of the fact we see that everything is dissolving constantly, we're all falling apart. We're all in a process of constant death. Then you truly understand that you don't have to let go because there's nothing to hold on to.”
-Alan Watts-
