Irreverent Irrelevance

Vaguely Organized Musings, January 2012

2012-01-28T00:36:00.003-05:00

Vague Film Stuff

Well, 2012 has only been 27 days (28 by the time anyone reads this... unless, of course, you're in a later time zone, in which case it'll still have only been 27... I'm too lazy to do the math, but I'm thinking nobody will be on January 29th when this goes up... but, yeah... I'm so off topic, I don't even know what the Hell's going on...)...

Lots of ellipses... hmm... Hey, there's two more.

Okay...

So, 2012 has only been 27 days (28 by the... shit... never mind), but it's already kicking ass and taking names. For pretty much the past two weeks (and maybe three), I've been locked in meeting after meeting, pitch after pitch, and shit is getting done. Scripts are out, indie films are in pre-production, and my living room (along with several other living rooms, a few coffee shops, a couple of sushi bars, and a handful of restaurants) have turned into impromptu, planned, and deliberated gatherings of talent and (the one thing every starving artist actually wants) money.

Yep. Money.

For all you aspiring writers out there: there is an end to the rainbow... and it is definitely shiny.

Anyway... pulled this picture off a filmmaker's Facebook page after an extremely long session...

Starbuck yawning, Sagremor (still recovering from shredding open one of his back feet - long story... one that involved me doing field surgery, but I'll save that one for another time) passed the fuck out. Definitely metaphorical.
(click for larger image)

For all you aspiring artists out there: this shit's hard work.

Vague Writing Stuff

First off, I'd like to apologize to the readers of Panoramic Mindscapes. After posting 100,000 words worth of short stories between June and September of last year, I started to slow down... not because I wasn't writing, but because I had to shift my focus to screenplays (some spec, some commissioned). I assure you that I kept up my goal of writing 1000 words per day for the rest of the year, and I even tried to post a script onto Panoramic, but the formatting proved too much of a hassle.

Anyway, I'm slowly ramping up the short story focus again, so expect a short story per day (or at least a chapter of one) again very soon.

Beyond that, some aspiring directors are scouring the shorts on The Tenth Daughter of Memory for material, so some of you might be getting emails from me asking for permission for these people to adapt your work.

Obviously, those of you who have shown unusual dedication, persistence, and a willingness to learn, edit, and rewrite have already received recommendations from me as "read firsts."

Vague Location Stuff

Yeah, so, I may be moving again. Don't know where, don't know when... could be tomorrow, right down the street. Could be the end of April to Australia. Basically, I'm going to wait until that nagging feeling pulls an ex-girlfriend on me and pushes me over the edge.

At which point I'll jump and see where I land.

Don't knock it... it's a fun way to live.

Vague Tommy Lee Stuff

Some of you know that, a few years ago (2007-ish), I wound up driving for Tommy Lee (he of Pamela Anderson fame... and a damned good drummer) during the filming of his reality show. I told a lot of people then that Tommy Lee was probably the coolest, most down-to-earth celebrity I've ever had the fortune (or misfortune) to work with.

Anyway, fast-forward to last week, and I'm going to dinner with a couple of lawyers, a video game designer, a Google programmer, and a film director, and we wind up standing in line at one of my neighborhood's awesome Japanese restaurants (like, really... there's a shitload of awesome Japanese restaurants within walking distance).

Let me back up a bit... I was already drunk at this point.

So, in line in front of me is Tommy Lee. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I don't bother celebrities. I don't get starstruck because, well, I just don't give a shit. But Tommy Lee was cool in Atlanta (where I drove him), so I interrupted his conversation with whomever and shook his hand. Told him we once worked together (because, you know, there's no way the man remembered me) and we had a chat... at which point he totally validated my theory that he's probably the coolest, most down-to-earth celebrity I've ever met.

Seriously, ignore his bad press. The dude's awesome.

Vague Teddy Bear Stuff

So, I just realized that one of Jon Stewart's teddy bear props on The Daily Show is identical to one of my teddy bears. Anyone recognize it?

Yeah, I have a teddy bear... so fucking what?
His name's Rar Bear, by the way.

Vague Nostalgia Stuff

Last, and probably least, I'm missing my other two dogs something fierce, so I figured I'd post some photos of them. Haven't seen them in 18 months. It makes me sad.

Jax, me with insanely short hair, Jasper as a pup

Jax and Jasper, early 2008

I'm gonna go cry now.

Tenth Daughters of Memory, 2011: Volume 2

2012-01-14T00:01:00.026-05:00

So, another six months, another round of short story entries for The Tenth Daughter of Memory. This will probably be the last time I link any of my creative writing from Irreverent Irrelevance, but for the sake of 2011 symmetry, here you go.

Happy to say that "Fig Leaves," "When These Angels Want You Dead," and "Effect" won their respective Muses, and "Walls Have Ears, Calendars Have Eyes" finished as a first runner-up.

Woman or Dragon: The Ride of Your Life (early July)

A Better Ending (late July)

Born Thursday

Rehearsals with Gods (early August)

Two Glass Houses and Twenty Stones (late August)

Opaque

Infest, Infect, Infect (early September)

Deathbed Revenge (late September)

Concrete Butterfly (early October)

The Harmony of Liquid and the Melody of Light (late October)

Landing

In Love, In War, For Lust, Forewarned (early November)

All It Takes

The Curious Case of the Brown Shoes (late November)

Double Down

Under the Cover of Time (early December)

Smiling as the Sparks Fly Upwards (late December)

Flint

De-resolutions

2012-01-10T00:01:00.054-05:00

Just some random musings to kick off the 2012 blogging year...

I hope to be a bit more active here than I was last year. I admit, I got bored with blogging in general (as I'm sure most of you do), but I'll try to pick things up in 2012... although this year I'll have less time. C'est la vie.

Advice: before you promise your producers a new draft of one script, the fine people at the BBC a spec draft of a different script, and enter a writing competition... do make sure the deadlines aren't all the same day. Ugh.

Nice to know that the Christian God is spending Sundays making sure Tim Tebow wins football games. Really, people? C'mon! God's not that crazy... he pulls for the Saints. We all know that already.

I miss my dogs. Jasper, Jax, I will come visit as soon as I can!

Why, oh, why, can't I avoid North Carolina in my life? Just for a little while... please?

The third series of the British TV show, Misfits, started off a little shaky... but, damn. Way to finish!

On December 1st, 2010, I received a fortune from a cookie that read: "You or a close friend will be married within a year." It did not happen. Just sayin.'

For the second time in my life I've learned that the following phrase is always untrue: "I will always help you out, no matter what." Beware of anyone who says that... they have funny ways of justifying why they left you for the wolves. It's a good thing I like wolves, but still...

I don't want to quit smoking. Take that.

Yeah, the Aussie accent is still the best in the English-speaking world. Probably the entire world, but I'm not here to force my subjectivity onto you.

Thank you, 2011, for being the first year in a long time that I didn't get invited to any funerals. I'd prefer it if the next one I attend is my own.

Someone please inform my cat, Sagremor, that while he's outside, it's not polite to jump up and latch onto window screens in order to scare the shit out of me and my guests while we're inside having a conversation. To make matters worse, one guest had just watched the movie The Breed and refused to leave for an hour.

Someone also please inform Sagremor that cats meow... they don't chirp. He really needs to quit doing that.

Just in case this ever comes up again... when driving me to the hospital, don't talk to me. Just get me there.

Nice to know my old unit inactivated with my record-score for firing the M249 unbroken. Yes, a mark no one will ever recall, but I do... and that works for me.

I do believe the above sentence is comprised of horrifyingly bad grammar.

Sorry, but texting me "I think your cute" is a good way to lose my interest.

I have realized that the apostrophe is sexy. Not as sexy as the semicolon, but close.

Aight... enough of this... I'll be around. And hopefully more relevant.

Weight Loss

2011-12-22T00:01:00.016-05:00

Okay, so I've lost a bit of weight lately... but it's not what you think. I am now short an organ (and apparently suffering from low potassium), and since people have been wondering if I'm alive (yes, but for how long remains to be seen... hehehe), I figured I'd share some photos from my recent stay at a wonderful hotel, highlighted by images of early Christmas presents.

Anyhoo... after a pretty bad run of pain for two days, I decided to check in to a hospital. Needless to say, I was a bit surprised when I was told I needed to go into surgery. Fun, fun.

My new television

Apparently, In addition to surgery, I was told I was suffering from a potassium deficiency, and so the lovely nurses (actually, two of them sucked... but the rest were cool) pumped me full of three bags of the stuff (the little IV bag above is potassium). In case anyone doesn't know, potassium hurts like Hell when given intravenously.

My new canteen

Got some cool scars out of the deal... one of them is from the tube this little device left in my abdomen. It's called a Jackson-Pratt drain. They wouldn't let me keep it.

My new bluetooth

Three IV entry points on my poor arms. One on the right (for the antibiotics) and two on the left (including one in my biceps).

My publicist/producer giving birth to Starbuck

The hospital released me into the care of my friends, Pat and Tara, who took me home, at which point we discovered my house was a disaster (thanks to an irresponsible neighbor who left my dog locked in my friggin' bedroom). Between that and the fact that I was on drugs, Tara refused to let me stay there, and so took me to her house and nursed me for three days. On the ride there, Starbuck was somehow born again.

Anyway, I'm sure I bored everyone who read this. I'm gonna pop a vicodin and get some sleep.

Irreviews, 2011: Issue VI

2011-11-10T00:01:00.064-05:00

All right, so I'm falling behind a bit in my Irreviews... I've decided to go to ten movies per entry until I catch up.

Buried (2010)
Director: Rodrigo Cortés
Writer(s): Chris Sparling
Starring: Ryan Reynolds, José Luis García Pérez, Robert Paterson
-----
My first question as I finished up Buried was: how can a movie take place in such a limited location and be so good? My second question was: how can such a movie cost $3 million to make? Regardless of where the money actually went, Buried (which takes place entirely inside of a coffin) is an awesome example of filmmakers challenging themselves with artificial limitations. There are probably a few too many cliches in the film, but given how difficult it must've been to come up with a story like this, it gets a pass.
Verdict: SEE it.

Centurion (2010)
Director: Neil Marshall
Writer(s): Neil Marshall
Starring: Michael Fassbender, Dominic West, Olga Kurylenko
-----
An interesting premise directed by the person responsible for two horror films I admire (The Descent and Dog Soldiers), I watched this based solely on the fact that Neil Marshall's name is on the poster. Basically, a bunch of Roman soldiers in 2nd century England gets screwed fighting the Picts (the story is very loosely based on the disappearance of the Roman Ninth Legion) and a handful of elite Roman soldiers survive to wreak havoc and find their ways back home. The problem with the film is that there's too much "contemporary sensibility" to the story, including some bad-ass ninja-type fighting, a pretty lame love story shoved in the middle, and, well... yeah, you get the idea. Not overly bad, but without a clear identity.
Verdict: Eh...

Cronos (1993)
Director: Guillermo del Toro
Writer(s): Guillermo del Toro
Starring: Federico Luppi, Ron Perlman, Claudio Brook
-----
We're all sick of teeny-bop, romantic vampires (thanks, Anne Rice... you single-handedly saved, then killed, the genre). But, way back in 1993, disturbo-extraordinaire Guillermo del Toro gave us a quirky, Spanish-language tale about a grandfather who inadvertently becomes a bloodsucker (thanks to a centuries-old magic insect stuck in a magic pocket watch... yes, ridiculous, but it works) and is caught between solving the mystery of what happened to him and taking care of his granddaughter (who would make a good meal). This is quite a romantic film, but it's rather unique place in celluloid vampire lore leaves you with a healthy gratitude that someone out there can still spin a vampire story that doesn't involve albino teenager angst. Then again, this was 18 years ago.
Verdict: SEE it.

Election (Hak se wui) (2005)
Director: Johnnie To
Writer(s): Nai-Hoi Yau, Tin-Shing Yip
Starring: Louis Koo, Suet Lam, Tony Leung Ka Fai
-----
There's really not much to say here. Chinese Triad/revenge movies are pretty much all the same these days. At least the ones US distributors seem to want to import. There are a few interesting characters (hit-men that are ordered to change sides on a whim, sadistic-but-not-murderous mob bosses) and the action scenes are well-done, but everything else about the film is pretty flat (I'll reserve from stating "boring," since the pacing is generally quick).
Verdict: SKIP it.

The Fighter (2010)
Director: David O. Russell
Writer(s): Scott Silver (screenplay), Paul Tamasy, Eric Johnson, Keith Dorrington (story)
Starring: Mark Wahlberg, Christian Bale, Amy Adams
-----
Mark Wahlberg's well-publicized journey to get this film produced often made Wahlberg look like a foolish ass, or a misguided ass, or just straight-up crazy. But, you know what? He just made all the press about it look foolish, misguided, and under-informed. By now you all know that Christian Bale and Melissa Leo won Best Supporting Actor and Actress, respectively (with Amy Adams receiving a nomination, as well), but even those accolades fall short of revealing how good this movie really is. The true story of one brother recovering from crack-cocaine addiction and another brother climbing the ranks in the boxing world is a breath of fresh air in a genre overrun by Disney-fied underdog sports movies.
Verdict: SEE it.

Intacto (2001)
Director: Juan Carlos Fresnadillo
Writer(s): Juan Carlos Fresnadillo, Andrés M. Koppel
Starring: Max von Sydow, Eusebio Poncela, Leonardo Sbaraglia
-----
I first saw a trailer for this film in 2002, when it was imported to the US on a limited art-house basis. But, I never got a chance to see it. Still, the image of blind-folded participants in some sick, twisted, luck-based game running full sprint through a forest never left me. And, so, finally, I tracked the film down and gave it a go. Unlike a previous film I waited years to see (Passion in the Desert), this one was worth the wait. Centered around a group of people who've discovered they can buy, sell, and otherwise transfer luck to each other and have created an underground sport based on that said ability (which culminates in the ultimate Russian roulette match... literally), it's an intriguing story to watch unfold.
Verdict: SEE it.

Red Road (2006)
Director: Andrea Arnold
Writer(s): Andrea Arnold, Lone Scherfig (characters), Anders Thomas Jensen (characters)
Starring: Kate Dickie, Tony Curran, Martin Compston
-----
I'm not a huge fan of Dogme films, a trend of independent filmmaking started by everyone's favorite audience torturer, Lars von Trier. That stated, I did like quite a few of them... I'm just saying that the self-imposed rules of provocative, raw filmmaking don't really add anything to the stories they're often attached to, save for usually making them depressing. Red Road, a Scottish film that was the result of a revival of the Dogme canon, is definitely depressing. For the UK viewer, it's depressing because it involves a woman hunting down the man who accidentally killed her husband and daughter. For the US viewer, it's depressing because it depicts "Big Brother" in such a terrifying manner. Still... I did kinda like it.
Verdict: Eh...

Shutter Island (2010)
Director: Martin Scorcese
Writer(s): Laeta Kalogridis, Dennis Lehane (novel)
Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Emily Mortimer, Mark Ruffalo
-----
I love Martin Scorsese. I think Leonardo DiCaprio is a fantastic actor. I think Mark Ruffalo and Ben Kingsley rock. I hate contrived films that want to you be in awe of how clever they are. Add those all together, and I'm not a big fan of this movie. This type of storytelling might have taken Hollywood by storm with The Usual Suspects (a film I love) and The Sixth Sense (a film I don't), but it's run its course. At least it's run its course the way Hollywood keeps trying to do it. Sorry, Marty, but you need to stick to your established genres... you know, the ones you're the indisputable master at. I will acknowledge, however, that Shutter Island was beautifully made.
Verdict: SKIP it.

Trick 'r Treat (2007)
Director: Michael Dougherty
Writer(s): Michael Dougherty
Starring: Anna Paquin, Brian Cox, Dylan Baker
-----
Not since the Creepshow films have we had such a fun collection of horror vignettes. Sure, there was that Tales from the Darkside movie, but who remembers that? Anyway, Trick 'r Treat takes the vignette one step further and intertwines each of its tales to form an almost-cohesive whole. It doesn't quite work as desired, but the backs and forths do provide for an additional laugh or two. Perfect? No. But definitely fun.
Verdict: SEE it.

Videodrome (1983)
Director: David Cronenberg
Writer(s): David Cronenberg
Starring: James Woods, Deborah Harry, Sonja Smits
-----
True story: James Woods has long creeped me out, and I've never really been able to pinpoint why. Another true story: I've long been terrified by the image of a television coming to life and scaring/seducing the man watching it. Last true story: thanks to Netflix and a recent article I read about Cronenberg, I queued and watched Videodrome. I now know why the first two stories are true. Anyway, enough about me... despite dated (and ridiculous) special effects, the moral of Videodrome concerning the dangers of a media-based culture is profound, has proven to be true, and watching this film in retrospect makes it that much more terrifying (in a philosophical sort of way... it's not really that scary... unless you're 5).
Verdict: SEE it.

Things You Can Do With a Sleeping Cat's Ear

2011-11-08T00:01:00.004-05:00

Sorry, nothing profound here... I'm just messing with my camera.

And my cat.

Hair!

2011-11-06T00:01:00.007-04:00

Oh, snap! It's a video blog (which is what I'm guessing a "vlog" is). Anyhoo... first one ever (for me, that is).

Brilliance

2011-10-28T00:01:00.003-04:00

Got news for you. You don't know shit, and neither do I. Everything you've learned is worth forgetting. Everything you've forgotten is worth relearning, as long as it feels new. Friends close and enemies closer doesn't always work; sometimes your enemies stab you too quickly. The best ones don't even wait for you to turn your back, and I'm talking about your friends. Rejoice, shake hands, give a few hugs, cop a feel or two and hope she doesn't call the cops. The twinkle in your eyes is a smile, it's just hard to see in the dark. Then again, everything's hard to see in the dark. So laugh. Make yourself heard when all others are blind. They'll blink first, trust me. You really think those you left by the wayside are better off than you? Maybe they are, but why do you care? They're gone for a reason. Good riddance. Rid yourself of the negativity in your life. If those negativities happen to be people, then say your goodbyes. The world's a big place. Travel it. Never settle. There's always something bigger and better, and all you can take with you are your experiences. Never believe someone who says all they want is to be happy, because they don't know the meaning of the word. All they can see is a wall, a fence, and wonder naively what's on the other side. You ever seen someone who's climbed a fence? They're just as disappointed as they were yesterday. Tomorrow is all that's important, because that's what you'll accomplish. Sure, what you've done has cleared the way, but clarity is only important when there's nothing left to see. And there's always something new, something borrowed, something blue. Like the skies, plural, and the oceans. They're the limits, and they're limitless. Why limit yourself? Be the world around you. Eat, drink, and sleep the world around you. It's not going anywhere, no matter how bad some idiot claims things to be. Life can only be as great as it is shit, otherwise no one would know the difference. Don't worry about what time it is, just know that time is passing. Fuck a watch. All it does is leave an uneven tan line. The Sun loves all of you. Let yourself shine.

Irreviews, 2011: Issue V

2011-10-10T00:01:00.071-04:00

13 Assassins (Jūsannin no Shikaku) (2010)
Director: Takashi Miike
Writer(s): Daisuke Tengan, Kaneo Ikegami (original film),
tarring:
-----
Yet another Japanese film that's based on both a true story and Kurosawa's great The Seven Samurai. This one also happens to be remake. The action's crazy, fun to watch, but a tad over the top. Run of the mill honor/action/intrigue samurai film from a country that's been responsible for far better honor/action/intrigue samurai films (including the original Thirteen Assassins). Production value is outstanding, however, which is to be expected from Takashi Miike (as is the gore). Not much to say about it beyond that.
Verdict: Unless you're a hard-core jidaigeki fan, SKIP it. Watch the original instead.

Ink (2009)
Director: Jamin Winans
Writer(s): Jamin Winans
Starring: Christopher Soren Kelly, Quinn Hunchar, Jessica Duffy
-----
I've never heard of Ink, but its poster intrigued me and I wound up staring at it long enough that I decided to watch the movie. I am very glad I did. Part fantasy, part family drama, this film exhibits an imagination as good as anyone's in mainstream Hollywood. No, the acting isn't great (and hurts it in quite a few places), but the story, action, and imagery are phenomenal. Even more so considering the film's production budget was $250k.
Verdict: SEE it.

Night Watch (2004)
Director: Timur Bekmambitov
Writer(s): Timur Bekmambitov, Laeta Kalogridis, Sergey Lukyanenko (novel)
Starring: Konstantin Khabenskiy, Vladimir Menshov, Mariya Poroshina
-----
I've been trying to see this film for years, ever since I read about how it set a new standard in the Russian film industry. And, boy, the wait was... sort of a disappointment. An interesting take on vampire lore with several unique/uncommon details concerning our favorite bloodsuckers, the movie starts off interesting enough, but quickly devolves into an action spectacle that makes little sense. Yes, the portions of the story that dealt strictly with the vampires are generally to the point, but a strange subplot (ultimately revealed to be the plot, and then not...) involving the apocalypse throws everything for a loop. The movie looks great, but I have no real interest in watching its sequel any time soon.
Verdict: Eh...

Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (2010)
Director: Mike Newell
Writer(s): Boaz Yakin, Doug Miro, Carlo Bernard, Jordan Mechner (screen story and video game)
Starring: Jake Gyllenhaal, Gemma Arterton, Ben Kingsley
-----
I can honestly claim that Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time is the best movie based on a video game ever. Of course, with a list of films such as Super Mario Bros., Streetfighter, Mortal Kombat, Wing Commander, and Resident Evil, that's not exactly a revealing accomplishment. That stated, it's a fun movie and a potential franchise-launcher. Jake Gyllenhaal wasn't as bad in the role as most feared he would be and, in fact, he pulled it off quite nicely.
Verdict: It's fun. SEE it.

Wilderness (2006)
Director: Michael J. Bassett.
Writer(s): Dario Poloni
Starring: Sean Pertwee, Alex Reid, Toby Kebbell
-----
A low-budget teen thriller set on a small island off the coast of England. This had all the markings of yet another "kids run around getting killed off by maniacal killer one at a time" movie, and that's exactly what it is. Except it knows that's what it is and plays it more intelligently than Hollywood's thrill-mill genre. A good cast with good characters and a (mostly) believable premise make this a good one for fans of the genre. I'll be honest... I only watched it because Alex Reid is in it.
Verdict: I liked it, but I'll refrain from recommending it. SKIP it.

What a Day...

2011-10-05T00:01:00.005-04:00

Yeah, I'm in an inordinately massive good mood. Why? Well, I'll tell ya. I had a seriously eventful day... yarp... all of this happened in a single day (give or take a few hours)...

A script I wrote got agency representation...

Two different film investment groups expressed interest in purchasing said script and are on the verge of a bidding war...

And I have a pitch meeting at a production company in which I'm supposed to bring a ton of my work... apparently, they already like me...

A friend of mine hooked me up with filmmakers who have connections with some little known films such as Bull Durham and Tin Cup... and they dig me...

A couple of aspiring writers somehow heard of the Aussie Breakfast technique and have approached me to help develop them...

I got a gig working on writing hip-hop music videos... Really? Those things have writers???

Beyond that, I'm still riding a high because one of the writers I'm developing got a short story published in a New Zealand magazine...

And my dog loves me. Hooray for October 4, 2011.

A Victory for an Aussie Breakfast

2011-09-27T00:01:00.007-04:00

Since this past April, I've been developing a writing exercise to help aspiring writers. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't believe in the bullshit of "writer's block," and part of the intent of this exercise is to help prove that writer's block does not exist. Basically, I wanted to shove that proof down the throats of creative writers who keep trying to hide behind that arbitrary, self-inflicted, totally craptacular notion.

And, what can I say, it's worked. I haven't formally asked any of the participants in the exercise yet, but I'm certain they will now agree that there's no such thing as writer's block, if they didn't already.

Anyway, the exercise is called "Aussie breakfast writing," so-named because the first piece written using the method was titled An Australian Breakfast (believe me, I wanted to call the method something else, but the name sorta stuck...). The exercise itself is nothing special, but I'm not going to discuss how it works as of yet, since I'm still testing it out with writers and am in the process of analyzing and comparing the works they've created.

Which brings us to the question: Why the Hell am I mentioning it?

Well, I admit, I was going to wait before I wrote about Aussie breakfasts, but something pretty friggin' awesome happened this past week...

One of them got published.

Yes, that's right... an Aussie breakfast piece, "Fakie," written by a university student in New Zealand, got picked up in a magazine that sent out a call for creative writing for one of their September issues. What's amazing is that the writer (check out her blog here) has no formal creative writing training, and beat out several entries written by people who do.

Now's probably the time I should mention that another goal of Aussie breakfast writing is to obviate creative writing courses... cough, cough.

I guess we're on our way.

Irreviews, 2011: Issue IV

2011-09-24T00:01:00.068-04:00

The Descent: Part 2 (2009)
Director: Jon Harris
Writer(s): James McCarthy, J Blakeson, James Watkins, Neil Marshall (characters)
Starring: Shauna Macdonald, Krysten Cummings, Gavan O'Herlihy, Anna Skellern
-----
It's a generalization that movie sequels aren't as good as the films they follow (and, likely, not entirely true). It's another generalization that horror movie sequels are despicably bad (and, likely, true). That stated, The Descent: Part 2 isn't a bad movie... it's just not good, either. A horribly contrived setup and throwaway characters (something the first movie avoided) just make this another run-of-the-mill move from the horror-movie-mill of the motion picture industry. Not to mention an ending that, well... didn't make a whole lot of sense.
Verdict: Uber-fans of the original, sure. Otherwise, SKIP it.

The Expendables (2010)
Director: Sylvester Stallone
Writer(s): Dave Callaham, Sylverster Stallone
Starring: Sylvester Stallone, Jason Statham, Jet Li, Dolph Lundgren, Eric Roberts, Randy Couture, Steve Austin, Giselle Itié, Terry Crews, Mickey Rourke
-----
A throwback to the action movies of the 80s in every way, shape, and form. Plot? 80s. Hell, Reagan could've written it. Characters? 80s. Total "badass" archetypes. Actors? Heh... mostly 80s action stars who are well over the hill. But, it's this last point that makes the movie kinda fun. Stallone knew what he was doing when he put this spectacularly spectacle-filled garbage together. It did its job.
Verdict: Did I enjoy it? Yes. Can I recommend it? No. SKIP it.

Horror Express (1972)
Director: Gene Martin
Writer(s): Arnaud d'Usseau, Julian Zimet
Starring: Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, Alberto de Mendoza, Silvia Tortosa
-----
What's this? Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee on the same side??? That alone makes this B-movie nod to both Hammer films and The Thing From Another World worth seeing. Yes, the plot is ridiculous, the monster/alien/zombie/whatever-the-fuck is ridiculous. But, damn... Cushing and Lee! On the same side! And Telly Savalas as a Russian sort-of-villain, to boot. This is guilty pleasure at its best.
Verdict: Yeah, well, why not? SEE it.

Iron Man 2 (2010)
Director: Jon Favreau
Writer(s): Justin Theroux, Stan Lee (comic), Jack Kirby (comic)
Starring: Robert Downey, Jr., Gwyneth Paltrow, Don Cheadle, Scarlett Johansson, Sam Rockwell, Mickey Rourke
-----
It's a generalization that movie sequels aren't as good as the films they follow (that sounds familiar...). And while Iron Man 2 is not as good as Iron Man, it's an awesome movie. The recast of Rhodes from Terrence Howard to Don Cheadle had me worried, at first, but it's now clear to me that Cheadle's a good fit. Sure, he lacks Howard's somberness, but he more than makes up for it with Cheadle-ness (that's a good thing). And, anyway, who cares? This film's all about the suit and the man who plays it. Robert Downey, Jr. keeps the fun going, and even Scarlett Johansson isn't as annoying as she can often be (I state this for no apparent reason, since I typically enjoy her films).
Verdict: SEE it.

Shiver (2007)
Director: Isidro Ortiz
Writer(s): Hernán Migoya, José Gamo, Alejandro Hernández, Isidro Ortiz
Starring: Junio Valverde, Francesc Orella, Mar Sodupe, Jimmy Barnatán, Blanca Suárez
-----
Shiver marks yet another Spanish horror film that is... well... good. I can't be sure if it's because the Spanish are just good at horror at the moment, or because of the "foreign film effect" in which only good foreign films are imported to the US (probably the latter), but Shiver is a good movie. It plays upon vampire and werewolf themes without (egad) being about either of those two creatures. That's probably giving too much away, so I'll shut up now.
Verdict: SEE it.

Irreviews, 2011: Issue III

2011-09-21T00:01:00.034-04:00

Animal Farm (1954)
Director: Joy Batchelor, John Halas
Writer(s): George Orwell (novel), Lothar Wolff, Borden Mace, Philip Stapp
Starring: Gordon Heath, Maurice Denham
-----
George Orwell comes to the screen in this animated classic. Though slightly more pro-Western than the source material (keeping its anti-communist bent, but muting its anti-capitalist bent a tad), it's nevertheless an excellent cinematic political satire. I've never been so pissed off at the mistreatment of a horse in my life. Death to Pigs!
Verdict: SEE it.

The Chronicles of Narnia: Voyage of the Dawn Treader (2010)
Director: Michael Apted
Writer(s): Christopher Markus, Stephen McFeely, Michael Petroni, C.S. Lewis (novel)
Starring: Georgie Henley, Skandar Keynes, Ben Barnes, Will Poulter
-----
The first entry in The Chronicles of Narnia from new distributor Fox, the story continues to be told competently, even if it's losing some of its charm. I'll admit, I had high hopes for this one, since Voyage of the Dawn Treader is (along with The Horse and His Boy) one of my two favorite books in the series. I wasn't disappointed, but neither was I overly impressed.
Verdict: Er... SEE it, if you're already a fan.

The Social Network (2010)
Director: David Fincher
Writer(s): Aaron Sorkin, Ben Mezrich (book)
Starring: Jesse Eisenberg, Andrew Garfield
-----
Facebook rules the world. Pretty much. And this movie purports to be the (highly fictionalized) true story of how Facebook began to the rule the world. Say what you will, it's a damned good movie. Jesse Eisenberg is fantastic as the screen Mark Zuckerberg, and even Justin Timberlake (who's yet to show he can act) didn't suck things up. David Fincher continues to show he's one of the best directors out there, capable of handling any genre with relative ease.
Verdict: SEE it.

The Tree of Life (2011)
Director: Terrence Malick
Writer(s): Terrence Malick
Starring: Brad Pitt, Sean Penn, Jessica Chastain
-----
Terrence Malick makes good movies. Terrence Malick makes beautiful movies. The Tree of Life is a beautiful movie. But, boy, is it boring. While the slices of "real life" are convincing and the plot is easily believable, the movie's "little train that could" determination to be considered an art film derails it... big time. Clearly, Terrence Malick wanted to share his personal beliefs and perspectives with the rest of the world, yelling "look how perceptive and omniscient I am" at the audience. If you want good Malick, skip this one and rent The Thin Red Line instead.
Verdict: SKIP it. Full of pretense, satisfying only to the pretentious.

Zack and Miri Make a Porno (2008)
Director: Kevin Smith
Writer(s): Kevin Smith
Starring: Elizabeth Banks, Seth Rogen, Craig Robinson
-----
Yes, the title caused a hubbub. But the movie is cute, romantic, and Kevin Smith's best directorial effort since Dogma (even though I liked Clerks II, but more for nostalgic reasons). Seth Rogen isn't annoying, and Elizabeth Banks sells her role with ease. Who knew porn could inspire true love to reveal itself?
Verdict: SEE it.

Irreviews: British Television, Issue II

2011-09-14T00:01:00.000-04:00

More British shows for you to check out (or not):

Misfits (2009-present, 2 series, 17 episodes)
Starring: Robert Sheehan, Iwan Rheon, Lauren Socha, Antonia Thomas, Nathan Stewart-Jarrett
-----
For those of you who still have a bad taste in their mouths from Heroes, look no further. Misfits takes the accidental superheroes theme and runs full-sprint with it. Deep, layered characterizations combined with top-notch writing, and you'll never bother with "save the cheerleader" again. As implied, the series isn't entirely original, but its execution earns its kudos (although the series 2 finale left something to be desired...).
Verdict: SEE it. Quite simply one of the best sci-fi series ever.

Smack the Pony (1999-2003, 3 series, 21 episodes + 2 specials)
Starring: Fiona Allen, Doon Mackichan, Sally Phillips, Sarah Alexander, Darren Boyd
-----
Not only decidedly British, but decidedly British woman, Smack the Pony is a skit show that takes some time to find its footing (almost losing this viewer in the process), but ultimately turns into a solid source of laughs.
Verdict: SEE it, but you might want to skim the first series.

That Mitchell and Webb Look (2006-present, 4 series, 24 episodes)
Starring: David Mitchell, Robert Webb, James Bachman
-----
Ridiculous, inane, irreverent... and all from the guys who bring you Peep Show. Another skit show from the land of awesome skit shows, That Mitchell and Webb Look is top-notch, top-tier, and a laugh riot.
Verdict: SEE it.

Ultimate Force (2002-2006, 4 series, 21 episodes)
Starring: Ross Kemp, Jamie Draven, Miles Anderson, Alex Reid, Danny Sapani, Jamie Bamber, Tony Curran
-----
This show is, no doubt, one of the inspirations for the American series, The Unit. However, where The Unit never really found balance between action and character, the first two series' of Ultimate Force hit the nail on the proverbial head. Quite possibly the best special operations-oriented television show in history... for its first two series, that is. A ghastly decision by the showrunners to reformat into a more action-oriented spectacle resulted in one of the worst special operations-oriented television shows in history. It's no wonder a huge portion of the cast quit after series two (seriously... four of the six regulars took off).
Verdict: The first two series... SEE it. SKIP the rest.

Ultraviolet (1998, 1 series, 6 episodes)
Starring: Jack Davenport, Susannah Harker, Idris Elba, Philip Quast, Colette Brown, Fiona Dolman
-----
An interesting take on vampires, it's one part police procedural and one part conspiracy theory. It's clear there was an attempt to be scientific/forensic concerning vampirism, but there are far too many "magical explanations" that keep the wall of disbelief up. Still, it's different enough to be worth a look, and the appearance of Stephen Moyer as a vampire (nearly a decade before True Blood) will probably garner interest among True Blood fans.
Verdict: If you need a vampire fix, SEE it.

Eulogies

2011-09-11T00:01:00.021-04:00

For Omer, for Dave, for Glen, and for countless others I don't have the ability to properly write for.

De oppresso liber, essayons, and this we'll defend...

12,300

2011-09-06T00:01:00.018-04:00

And there you are, alone in the dark, alone with your thoughts. A glass of Merlot recalls what it once was to be grapes on a vine, underfoot, barefoot, the sand between your toes and saltwater for sex. The Sun rises anywhere, but it looks different everywhere. Have you seen the Southern Cross? Experience the world upside down and realize Dorothy had it right all along. All roads lead to Rome, all roads to home. Welcome back and au revoir.

"Are you happy?"

Answer a question with a question. Revel in your rhetoric, but know it won't change a thing.

"Are you?"

Seals on the beach stare for moment, curious. It doesn't take long for them to become disinterested. They've learned the meaning of it all... we just are. It's reason enough for them to live, why isn't it enough for you? Nothing's behind the curtain because there is no curtain. It's all there to see, all there to touch, and when you see her, when you touch her, well... it's all you'll need to know. Good enough is good enough, because the pursuit of perfection takes you where everything else will take you, and you already know you can't take it with you.

Speak of disgusting things in French, it'll sound better. Play the piano, even if you can't play the piano. Touch a wild horse. Ride a horse. Watch a sport you don't know the rules to, and enjoy it. Fly across an ocean to look at a beautiful woman. See the stars under a different sky. Drive to Belize. Scream at the top of your lungs until it becomes a song. And dance. Never forget to dance. Never stop moving. Be confident; never comfortable. Sharks rule the oceans because they don't know what it is to be complacent. The kings of the jungle don't even live in jungles. It's easy to rule when your empire is far away. A far off place. We are all monarchs of our memories.

Laugh more often. The joke's on you. Cry more often. Woe is me. Ignore what everyone else wears, what everyone else drives. The road doesn't care. The landscape doesn't mind. Just go... While you're sitting down, thankful that you have a job, someone else has learned to live. No longer the race, but the rat. Nature provides. It's all so fucking hysterical, this irony. This belief that intelligence is responsible for intelligence. What, then, is learning? You are you who want to be... it's not anyone else's fault that your aspirations are so banal.

"What is it you do?"

"Nothing."

Smile as they try to figure out whether to be jealous or to feel sorry for you.

"What do you want to do?"

"Don't really know. Don't really care."

In their confusion, they'll think you're confused.

Eat, sleep, fuck. Have another glass of wine. Play in the rain. Learn to cook. Want to know everything, knowing you're too small. Take everything at face value as long as it's not two-faced. Realize that the moral are only so because they fuck around. Know your enemies. They're probably friends. As long as you're willing to lie on any level, white or black, you're not to be trusted. Fiction only entertains. The truth will, as it's said, set you free. Break your God damned chains and accept that God is worthy of being damned. Who you listen to is up to you. Avoid indoctrination. Find North on your own, be it by star or by gravity. Fall from a plane, at least once. Breathe underwater. Humanity is unnatural. Live it.

What can I do and what have I done are the two most important things to ask. We are weak, we are frail. Imagination and memory are what sets us apart. A true church relishes instinct, it doesn't suppress it. You want to walk on water? Then spread the legs of the one you love and wake them up with an orgasm. You want a kingdom? Love her. You want power? Tell her you love her. You want glory? Show her. The rules of life change, and rules from yesterday no longer apply. Everything moves in one direction. It's called time. Accept it, and join in the progression. Grow old gracefully. Someone will remember you for the way you were, even if it's all a lie.

"Where do you see yourself in five years?"

"Five years from now."

"Yes, where do you see yourself?"

"That was my answer."

Talk of everything and nothing. Worry only about what you can change. Tell the children of dead friends how good their fathers and mothers were. Forget that you weren't there to help. Screw the guilt before it screws you. You can't be everywhere at once. Omnipresence is a myth, as is omnipotence. Omniscience? The world is more than you'll ever know. It's more than anyone can ever know.

And there you are, alone in the dark, alone with your thoughts. A cup of coffee recalls what it once was to be beans on a tree, underhand, barehanded, the wind in your hair and blood for lust. The Moon disappears, but it'll be back. Have you seen the North Star? Stand on your own two feet and remember that wherever you've gone, you've been. The path not taken wasn't worth taking. Bonjour. Find what you're looking for.

Irreviews: British Television, Issue I

2011-08-23T00:01:00.019-04:00

I haven't done any kind of television rant, rave, or review in a while, so here's one for you.

Thanks to magic of Hulu, I've been catching up on shows watched by our cousins across the pond. It all started when a long-favorite show of mine (Spaced) landed on Hulu. I can't state it enough: best. sitcom. ever. And, yes, I did the fanboy thing and watched the entire series again.

That led me to a bunch of other series (strategically advertised by Hulu's placement ads).

Now, I'm no stranger to British television (I've been watching Top Gear and Graham Norton for years), but until recently, I haven't seen enough of it to get a decent cultural picture of it. Given the shows below (along with several others I've seen the past - Primeval, Spooks, etc.) I think I'm learning... and quickly. I also think that London is, as far as television is concerned, the new New York.

In other words, the quality of British television is much, much higher than ours. HBO notwithstanding.

Australian television, on the other hand... well, I'll save that for another rant.

Black Books (2000-2004, 3 series, 18 episodes)
Starring: Dylan Moran, Bill Bailey, Tamsin Greig
-----
Bernard Black (Moran) is an irreverent, disrespectful, deviant of a man. And he owns a book shop. Problem is, he can't be bothered to run it properly. Enter Manny (Bailey), an aloof, kind-hearted weirdo who has a propensity for business and a need for a job, room, and board. Sort of an over-the-top Odd Couple (odd threesome, really, when accounting for Fran, Bernard's oldest friend), Black Books is a riot.
Verdict: SEE it. And worship the Bernard.

The Book Group (2002-2003, 2 series, 12 episodes)
Starring: Anne Dudek, Bonnie Engstrom, Michelle Gomez, James Lance, Rory McCann, Saskia Mulder, Derek Riddell
-----
Scotland-based American ex-pat Clare Pettengill (Dudek) has trouble making friends, so she decides to form a book group in an attempt to find like-minded people. Instead, she finds a drug-addicted smart-ass, three footballers' wives who just want to get away from the grind of celebrity, a secretly gay football fan who just wants to get close to footballers, and a paraplegic aspiring writer. It's touted as a comedy, but it's not very funny. Avid American viewers might enjoy Anne Dudek (formerly of House) and the later appearance of Henry Ian Cusick (Lost).
Verdict: SKIP it.

Green Wing (2004-2006, 2 series, 17 episodes + 1 special)
Starring: Sally Breton, Oliver Chris, Olivia Colman, Michelle Gomez, Tamsin Greig, Pippa Haywood, Mark Heap, Katie Lyons, Stephen Mangan, Lucinda Raikes, Julian Rhind-Tutt, Karl Theobald, Sarah Alexander
-----
Scrubs, meet your competition from across the pond. This entirely over-the-top comedy is somehow both more cheeky and more realistic than its American cousin. The cast is perfect, the characters are insane, and it's a riot. I'll probably watch this again at some point.
Verdict: SEE it.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (1981, 6 episodes)
Starring: Peter Jones, Simon Jones, David Dixon, Sandra Dickinson, Mark Wing-Davey, Stephen Moore
-----
The first attempt at adapting Douglas Adams' BBC radio classic to the screen, it's arguably the best version. No, the recent film isn't as bad as people claimed and, no, you can't really state that any version is more faithful to the source material since Adams himself has rewritten the source material several times. That stated, is the BBC miniseries all that great? Maybe... but it hasn't aged well.
Verdict: If you're a fan, SEE it. Otherwise, you won't feel like you've missed anything.

Peep Show (2003-present, 7 series, 42 episodes)
Starring: David Mitchell, Robert Webb, Olivia Colman, Matt King, Neil Fitzmaurice
-----
A unique sitcom told primarily from the first-person perspectives of its two main characters, Mark and Jeremy (Mitchell and Webb). Mark tries to live his life responsibly, pursuing a corporate career and studying history. Jeremy tries to live his life on the edge, pursuing music and doing a lot of drugs. The problem is, neither is any good at what they do, and role-reversals abound. What's the gimmick? Not only is the series shot first-person, it's narrated by the characters' thoughts.
Verdict: SEE it. Mitchell and Webb are hilarious.

Driving With Starbuck

2011-08-13T00:01:00.010-04:00

Most of you know by now that I'm a dog-lover (cat-lover, too, but we're not discussing that at the moment). For a long time, I had three dogs. But, faced with the decision to pursue a career aspiration or "keeping the family together," I was forced to leave two of them. It's a decision that bothers me and will continue to do so. Hopefully, one day, I can get them back. Until that happens, though... it's just me and Starbuck.

L-R: Starbuck, Jax, Jasper - happier times

I've learned a lot about Starbuck over the past year of just him and me. You see, I initially acquired him for my then-girlfriend, who often liked to complain (playfully, of course) that she didn't have a dog that loved just her. Which was, I'll admit, true. Jax was mine (but adored the girlfriend) and Jasper was mine (but looked upon the girlfriend as his surrogate mother). She wanted a dog that was hers and hers alone.

Silly thought, yes, but I figured... why not?

So we went to a local PetSmart on a Saturday and spent some time looking at the not-great selection of dogs they had for adoption. There was Starbuck (named Skeeter - bleh - at the time), sitting in his cage, basically looking scared and curious at the same time. I could tell my girlfriend was on the fence, having something else in mind (probably a Yorky or some sort of purse-dog), but she was taken with his personality. Something about him screamed "I need you." We asked one of the workers if we could walk him around the store for a while, and that's what my girlfriend did. She probably won't admit it, but she found herself liking the guy. I told her to get him, and that I'd pay for everything. She balked at the price tag (rather hefty, I'll confess), but I said it was okay. She wanted a dog and I was more than willing to get her one (I will, however, also confess to being apprehensive about getting a third dog... keep in mind that, at that time, we also had six - SIX - cats).

Wondering where his mother is...

Long-story short, she took him home and he latched onto her like glue. Point of fact was that he was scared of me. It was revealed to us, both by the adoption worker and by the dog's behavior, that he was severely beaten by his previous owner. He avoided me like the plague, going so far to beg, scratch, and whine at the bedroom door whenever my girlfriend closed it. We had an on-again, off-again rule pertaining to no pets in the bedroom, and while we broke it often anyway, she always broke it for Starbuck.

Yeah, fine... he was hers. I'd pretend to argue, but I didn't really care. She loved that dog more than, again, she'd probably admit.

Over the years, we moved around a lot and my girlfriend took off for home, leaving me with Starbuck. It bothered him greatly, at first, but eventually he came around to trusting me. I can now raise my hand, sweep the floor with a broom, and put him in a vehicle without him freaking out (he used to throw up in cars... I'm thinking his previous owner locked him in the trunk or something).

So, another long-story short, Starbuck - the dog I didn't really want - became mine. He was stubborn, smart (showing a strange knack for escaping and problem-solving in general), and altogether loveable. He was reunited with my ex for a while, and it was clear that he (along with the other two dogs) remembered her fondly (which she'll deny... but I had a howling German Shepherd to prove it). The reunion didn't last very long, and he was mine alone once again.

Then came the decision to move for my career. I could only bring one dog with me. Jasper, the Shepherd, was too big and too loud. Jax (my preference, since I had him the longest) couldn't go, since there was already a dog living where I'd be moving to, and she wasn't spayed (Jax still has his nuts). So, by default, I took Starbuck... fearing countless escapes and altogether bad behavior.

Only... it never happened. Yes, he escaped from a gated, concrete-and-brick-walled yard the first week there, but as he was alone (without his escape buddy, Jax), he generally stuck around. He became my best friend. I found I could walk him around town without a leash. I found he got along with other dogs extremely well, even whining when he could smell a German Shepherd or other large dog (I'm guessing he initially thinks they're Jasper). I found he was a good companion for my cats (although maybe not my squirrels). I found, truly, I had a good and loyal friend. A dog I was never even supposed to have.

Caught in the act...

Now, one of things I used to do with all three dogs was go on drives, hikes, and road-trips in general. They used to ride happily in the back of my pickup, enjoying each other's company in anticipation of the adventures ahead. Obviously, without the other two, riding in the back is now lonely proposition.

So... I started letting Starbuck ride in the passenger seat up front. Not an easy decision, mind you, as cleaning his white hair on my charcoal gray upholstered seats is not something to look forward to. But I just couldn't leave him by himself.

That's when I discovered his fear of driving at night. Oh, he's tip-top and blissful during the day, but oncoming headlights terrify him. And I do mean terrify. He flinches at their passing, sometimes even hiding on the floorboard. Very often, if you look carefully as I drive by, I'll have my hand over his eyes so he doesn't freak out. It's pathetic, I know, but I can't bear the thought of him again becoming afraid of an activity that he, not so very long ago, had gotten over his fear of.

What else can I do but engage in a modified form of peek-a-boo with oncoming traffic?

He's not just sticking his head out the driver's side...
he's fucking driving.

And you know what? I couldn't care less. He's an awesome dog. I used to mock-complain about how my girlfriend should come take him off my hands (three dogs is expensive, you know), but she'd have to shoot me to get him back now.

That stated, he's still a stubborn bastard, getting into trouble whenever and however he can. I got the mugshot to prove it:

More Squirrel! And Cats!

2011-08-03T00:01:00.030-04:00

Some of you (the three of you who bother to come here) might remember me raving about an adopted squirrel a couple of months ago. Well... there's been some... er... developments on the little bugger's life.

And, well... I sort of recorded the... er... Let's just say I'm a fan of the nature videographer's ethic that one shouldn't interfere in the chaos of nature.

The dark cat on the left is Sagremor. The white cat on the right (the killer) is Kay. Apparently, they're like the velociraptors from Jurassic Park.

Here comes the carnage...

All right, all right. Nothing happened. Except for Sagremor literally lying down a few moments later and going to sleep. I did have to chase Kay away... he was getting a little too curious.

At any rate, about a month after those videos were taken, I went outside to feed the squirrel and was welcomed with a bit of a surprise.

I have to point out that the voice-over is wrong... we actually had met both squirrels. In fact, upon remembering the day I pointed out he was getting fat, it dawned on us... we'd been feeding the wrong squirrel. The revelation of which also solved the mystery as to why our baby squirrel was so schizophrenic (the newer squirrel is rather aggressive and has bit me twice).

And to top it off, we realized that our previous disagreements as to whether it was a boy or a girl were moot. Fatso is a boy. The original one is a girl. She's a sweetheart.

Now we're just afraid they're going to mate, and we're going to wind up the godparents of an entire squirrel colony.

Ah, well... it could be worse.

South Sudan

2011-07-09T00:01:00.037-04:00

At midnight on Friday, local time, South Sudan became the 193rd independent nation recognized by the United Nations.

That is pretty awesome. I had planned on being there (one of my goals is to be somewhere when that "somewhere" becomes independent), but I had shit to do... I know, right? Of the 364 days I don't have shit to do, I had shit to do on July 8th. WTF? Really... WTF?

Anyway... just to put things in perspective... it's taken the Republic of South Sudan the better part of 50 years, two civil wars, six years of a UN-enforced peace accord, and a voter's referendum to gain independence from Sudan. And, yet, there's still vocal extremist Americans running around the USA screaming about how bad we have it and how we're doomed. Sorry... I'll take an American version of doomed over a Sudanese version of blessed any day of the fucking week.

Some facts: Sudan itself is largely Muslim, while South Sudan is largely animist and Christian. It's also (voila) oil rich and depressingly underdeveloped. Its capital city is Juba, and several nations already have or are in the process of opening embassies there. It's completely landlocked, which may mean it's as screwed as most landlocked African nations, but... there's the oil. I'm sure a neighboring country (be it Ethiopia, or even Sudan itself) stands to gain from a potential pipeline agreement.

Whether it's destined to be accosted for the remainder of its independent existence (which, hopefully, is a long time) or it will find a way to maintain sovereignty without falling into political, religious, and tribal disarray, I think the formation of the country is pretty fucking cool. A little known fact about me is that I love maps... love 'em. Can't explain it, I just do.

And now I have to go buy a new world atlas.

Shityeah.

Book Irreviews, 2011: Issue II

2011-07-03T00:01:00.040-04:00

Song of Kali - Dan Simmons
Plot: A literary journalist is sent to Calcutta to verify the legitimacy of a new poem written by a poet long-thought dead. Disappointed with his initial findings, Robert Luzcak digs deeper until he uncovers a dangerous cult that worships the Hindu goddess of death... and practices resurrection.
Thoughts: Simmons' first horror novel (and first novel in general, I believe). It's solid, not all that scary. I like it because Simmons is a favorite of mine and it was interesting to see how he's progressed. He establishes himself as a research-oriented author in the vein of Michael Crichton.
Verdict: If you haven't read Simmons at all - or are (like myself) a huge Simmons fan - read it. Hard-core horror enthusiasts might be a little disappointed.

Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
Plot: Richard Mayhew lives the rat race in London. A good job, a beautiful girlfriend, and a serviceable flat. One night, on his way to a dinner with his girlfriend's influential boss, Richard makes the fateful decision to help a wounded, disheveled woman who seemed to appear out of nowhere. He doesn't know it yet, but he's just crossed over into another reality... once that exists beneath the city.
Thoughts: Like Dan Simmons' work, I'm a huge fan of Neil Gaiman's. The guy is just awesome... he gets "modern fantasy" and I'd almost be willing to go out on a limb and claim he's the late 20th century's/early 21st century's Lewis Carroll. Okay, I'll go out on a limb and claim that.
Verdict: Read it.

The Cat Who Walks Through Walls - Robert A. Heinlein
Plot: In a strange case of mistaken identity, and uninvited dinner guest is killed at the table. Richard Ames, an adventurer in his own right, is caught in a web of conspiracy that only his would-be lover can help him solve. People are never who they seem and actions are never what they are.
Thoughts:Robert Heinlein wrote one of my favorite books (Starship Troopers). I've read something from all of the "Big 3" of 20th century science fiction (Asimov and Clarke, the other two), but I've been wanting to expand my Heinlein. I should've went with Stranger in a Strange Land, but I picked this mess instead. My impression? That Heinlein read Douglas Adams' The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and felt he could do better. I realize that The Cat Who Walks Through Walls is part of a larger story, and I realize that it's not the first book in the (loose) sequence... but I still don't think I would've liked it.
Verdict: Skip it, unless you've a hard-on for Heinlein. Or have read the books you're "supposed" to read first.

The Man-Eaters of Tsavo - J.H. Patterson
Thoughts: The basis for the movie, The Ghost and the Darkness, I was a little disappointed that the titular man-eaters were such a small part of the book. It's mainly a British adventurer musing about his overall experiences in Africa, with the point of emphasis being his hunting excursions and the building of a railroad.
Verdict: Not sure... decent memoir, but I won't recommend it based on the misleading title.

The Third Man / The Fallen Idol - Graham Greene
Plot: The Third Man: Rollo Martins is a pulp novelist called to post-World War II Vienna to visit his longtime friend, Harry Lime. By the time Martins gets there, Harry's been killed in a tragic car accident. Problem is, the cops don't believe it was an accident, and neither does Martins. The search for the truth leads to more tragedy, and a revelation worse than Martins could have envisioned. The Fallen Idol (also known as "The Basement Room"): Young Philip is, for all intents and purposes, raised by two house-servants: Baines and Mrs. Baines. He idolizes Baines and despises Baines' wife. One night, while pretending to run away, Philip sees Baines with another, younger woman. Secrets are kept, truth rears its ugly head, and a cover-up threatens to drive a young boy insane.
Thoughts: Graham Greene is regarded as a literary giant. That's because Graham Greene is a literary giant. His style rocks, his characters rock, his plots rock. He just rocks. I will be reading a lot more of him in the near future. What else do you need to know?
Verdict: Read it (or them, depending on which edition you can get a hold of).

Tenth Daughters of Memory, 2011: Volume 1

2011-07-02T00:01:00.000-04:00

Here they are... all of The Tenth Daughter of Memory entries for the first half of 2011.

Unlike last year's Volume 1, I've already posted February's River of Mnemosyne entry in a separate index. "Uncharted" appeared on Irreverent Irrelevance (the last bit of creative writing to do so) and all the rest are on Museless Propaganda.

Happy to say that "Uncharted" and "Departure" won their respective Muses, while "An Australian Breakfast," "Clandestine's Daughter," and "Eagle, Anchor, Trident" finished as runners-up.

Webster's, p.983 (early January)

The May Says We're Fucked (late January)

Five Soldiers, Four Whores, Three Lovers & Two Killers (early March)

Give a Hand to the Future (late March)

From Hell to Breakfast (early April)

A Cat Can Look at a King (late April)

Virginia Has Lost Her Cat

Neptune's Payback (early May)

White Lies Belie a Darker Truth (late May)

Mother Dearest (early June)

Two Over Easy and a Nice Chardonnay (late June)

Walk the Mindscape

2011-07-01T00:01:00.175-04:00

Figure it out?

Don't lie. The only truth is that it's all fucked up. There's no intelligence in the design, just lobotomized ramblings of someone who doesn't give a shit. You have no idea what you believe, because someone else told you to believe it. The greatest story ever told hasn't been told yet.

Contradiction.

Contraindication.

Contraceptive.

Stop yourself before someone stops you.

What is the topic? Histories, geographies, and humanities of imagined people and places that are created by one who is real. But they are unimportant. The ones whose characters are good enough, bad enough, interesting enough, will be the stories told. With interpretations and interruptions as subjective as the reader.

They miss a beat, they skip a step, they are the memory you can't remember and the nightmare that wakes you up at night. Friends, enemies, lovers, and people you want to fuck or fuck over. Sex and vengeance make for good conversation, locker rooms and bureaus are the meeting places of the new gods. Good versus Evil, ambiguous depending on which side of the line you're on. Your god is not their god, and they want to kill yours. Always have. Always will.

Dreams do not exist here, for those stories are written and told. Life does not exist here, for the page does not breathe. Leafs and leaflets falling from trees of knowledge growing in the gardens of the mind. The Book's only truth is that it is already dead. It doesn't care what happens to you, as long as you teach someone else to read before you go.

It is ignorance that sparked the flame. Intelligence that ignited it. And intolerance that fans it. Everyone's an arsonist, but nobody knows what to burn.

The Sun, that pagan symbol of life, can kill you. The moon can do nothing but stare at its own reflection. Narcissism guides your hand, even as you claim modesty. Pride will be your downfall after it leads to your success. Secede from expectations, and chaos becomes wonderful.

Is she in the picture? Does the photograph truly speak thousands of words? Or do your eyes deceive you? If she's so perfect, why doesn't everyone draw her the same way?

She is model, actress, slut. Smiling when required, crying when alone. Suckling both nipple and cock at some point in her life. The end always justifies the means. Happiness is the goal.

He is model, actor, asshole. Shaking hands even if he doesn't like you, talking shit even if he does. Putting foot and crow into his mouth and washing it down with alcohol. Pride can be swallowed if your throat is wide enough. Power is everything.

Who are the heroes? Where are the deceivers who walk on water and grant three wishes, heal lepers and give great blowjobs, prophesy the end of times and make the best wine?

Has the sea parted? Or are we simply part of the sea? To rely on Noah for rescue is to realize that you're not allowed on board. Everyone else was clearly too stupid to build a boat, including you.

Is she worth it? Are her curves exhilarating enough in the blue light of the stars? Does the girl next door have a better squeal? She just wants someone to spend eternity with. He just wants someone to last through the summer. Does the paper boy deliver? Can the porn star perform on demand? What does he drive?

When a killer has standards, you know the world is in trouble. No women, no children, means overpopulation. The coming extinction of a privileged class too vain to harvest their own food. The rise of an uneducated population who would rather blame their problems on everyone else. When the lights are off, they're all the same... dicks still throb and cunts still drip. Just make sure you're doing it right.

Words are just words. Patterns of letters depicting concepts understood. Concepts created by those who needed to understand. Creations dreamed of by those who didn't know any better. Why invent language if you don't want to insult your enemies?

History proves that no matter how much you disprove, people remain unconvinced. Trust is a one-way street, since there's no way to know what the other guy's thinking. Is it a game? If it's chess, we're in luck. The smart will survive. If it's tic-tac-toe, kiss your ass goodbye. If it's Mahjong, you've clearly run out of things to do.

It's a game, alright. Is it over, already? If there's a stage 2, you'd better hope you're going the right way. You've convinced yourself you are. But why would you care? Isn't exploration what it's all about? Why the need to pretend you already know?

Knowledge is earned on the back of those who tried. Wisdom is learned on the back of those who failed. To stand on the shoulders of giants means to understand where they came from, not pretend they've always been there. It is with fealty that one shows love. Piety is spiritual masturbation. It's probably better to just pull your pants down and stroke.

You can shove your judgements up your ass. Where the Sun doesn't shine is as good a place as any. If you cannot stomach the musings of others, don't think they can stomach yours. Everyone's right, everyone's wrong. Take your rhetoric and go home. Leave them alone and they won't try to kill you. Stay, and you're on your own.

Sustenance isn't just about survival, it's about pleasure. In the garden of hedonism there was only one rule, and it was broken. She couldn't look at his phallus because it reminded her of the snake. She took it anyway. Endurance is the measure of man, woman, animal. Longer and harder wins the day, regardless of size. That's what we tell ourselves, anyway. And then we rot.

It's a short ride, so enjoy it. It's a rough ride, so learn the bumps. You won't avoid them again, but at least you'll have an idea of when to jump. The sky's the limit, and mankind has learned to fly. Where to next? That's the only question that matters.

Anything goes here. Leave your sensibilities at the door. Or don't come in. Laugh. Cry. Scream. If you aren't taken to the limit of acceptability - and beyond it - then this view is a failure.
Are you afraid yet? You'd better be. You're a fucking idiot if you're not.

I invite you to walk The Mindscape. If you want in, just ask.

Enjoy.

Laughing Matters

2011-06-30T00:01:00.007-04:00

One of my favorite lines in all of motion picture history is "Because it's all so fucking hilarious," spoken by Daniel Craig in Road to Perdition. Great movie, great line, and I've adopted it a bit in the way I look at the world. Partially because it's accurate, and partially because it makes "moving on" relatively easy.

But none of that is relevant to what I'm actually rambling about.

And... what am I rambling about?

When it comes to certain things, I hate being right. Not that I'm always right, or even often right, but when it comes to predicting certain people, figuring out motivations, causes, effects, and consequences... well, there's a handful of people I just seem to nail. Not a lot... I'm not psychologist, no oracle, not even a good excuse for a fortune cookie. But... for these few people, I seem to be.

Granted, most of this handful are wanton and willing train wrecks anyway, and will freely confess to their predictability, but it's this latest example of a "prediction" that's gonna bug me.

You see, I don't know the particular person in question as well as I do "the handful." But, this person is painfully easy to read. It's no great mystery, I assure you. I do know a person very close to the the one in question, and I know a few others who are intimate with the "question" (we'll just assign that nickname, shall we?) well enough.

In short, what the Question does really isn't any of my business.

Why is this an issue?

Because, I predicted a few months ago that the Question's significant other had, well, another "question." And, by complete accident, proof of that was recently established. So, now what? "Question's" friend (not really a friend, but we'll keep it simple), who is close to me, has a vested interest in Question's happiness. Another of Question's circle of people also has a vested interest in Question's happiness. They're going to want to know.

No-brainer, right? Well... no. There's the small matter that the Question held some added relevance to me in the past (how and what is also irrelevant).

Which leads to the predicament: if I rat, I'm an envious, vindictive asshole (which I'm not denying). If I don't rat, I'm a backstabbing, lying asshole (which I may or may not deny). Either way, I come out on the losing end of things.

So, I guess I'm going to have to do something I hate doing...

Lie about it.

What else can I say, but "I was wrong" with a smile? Mere days after the significant other had some "fun" with someone else, the significant other is going to party, laugh, have "fun" with, and probably tell the Question "I love you" at some point (some of those while my other friends are present, I'm sure). It's enough to make you gag, but you've gotta admit... it has the makings of a good joke.

It's all so fucking hilarious.

What would you do?

Sex and Death, I Suppose: A Review

2011-06-27T00:01:00.002-04:00

Sex and Death, I Suppose, by Michael Colonnese.

THE SYNOPSIS - Pete Lombardo is a down-on-his-luck private investigator who takes photos of real estate on the side. During one of his real estate excursions, he happens upon a dead body and his P.I. instincts take over. Unfortunately, so do his survival instincts and he fails to properly report the crime scene.

His girlfriend, a psychoanalyst (and also his therapist), recommends Pete as a P.I. to an elderly woman who believes her husband - a former mayor and dead for 50 years - was murdered. Pete doesn't want the job, but because of the troubles stemming from his aborted photography, he needs the money.

The police, the mob, and a cadre of lesbian Muslim terrorists soon make finding and harming Mr. Lombardo their ultimate goal. What has Lombardo uncovered? Even he doesn't know.

THE DISCLAIMER - I'll keep the synopsis at that, for I need to confess something: I've known Michael Colonnese since 1999 and want you to go out and buy his book. It's a quick and enjoyable read (though there are things I don't like... I'll get to those below) and entirely worthy of a debut novel (quality-wise, I'd rate it with Simmons' Song of Kali, despite their different genres). It's available through Amazon.com (click here). Disclaimer 2: I like parentheticals (they're cool).

THE REVIEW - There are quite a few things one takes away from this story. One is that, despite its reputation, Connecticut probably isn't a nice place to live. Another is that private investigators do not live a glamorous life.

The story is filled with over-the-top characters. Simply put, there isn't one "straight man" character in the entire work, and it somehow makes the whole thing strangely believable. There is no lack of three-dimension in these people and, as far-fetched as some of their quirks may seem, readers are likely to know someone in real life who suffers from similar neuroses as the population of Sex and Death, I Suppose does.

The aforementioned Pete Lombardo is a sleazy, self-centered imp of a man. Sort of. However a reader will wind up describing Lombardo's ambiguous ambiguity, he's an awesome character. Marlowe-light, with a healthy serving of irreverence (everyone knows how I feel about irreverence), and an obsession with sex and food that rivals Nigella Lawson.

Everyone else in the book, whether they are enemies or allies, is designed to clash with Lombardo in some way, shape, or form. If the essence of a good story is, in fact, dramatic conflict, the people Lombardo interacts with from the first page to the last page are good storytellers. Simply put, nothing is cut-and-dried for Lombardo, because nobody lets him cut and dry. Starting with Lombardo's girlfriend and ending with the novel's villain (whose identity may or may not surprise you), nobody acts in a predictable manner, for the reader or the protagonist. It does seem a little much at times, but overall, it's pretty fun (and funny) to sift through the relationships.

At several points in the book, the detailed narration can overwhelm the reader, but never will you be left with the impression that you don't know who the characters are, where they are, or what's immediately going on. Regardless of whether or not you find the narrative style too heavy, the plot, the tone, and the various characterizations are crystal clear throughout the entire book.

In short, Sex and Death, I Suppose is classic noir and pulp with a modern bent, and totally irreverent. Lombardo is a great protagonist and I, for one, would like to read more about him in the future.

*Complaint 1: the proofreaders at the publisher - if they even employ any - absolutely suck balls. There's easily an error at least every other page. Bad errors, too. Missing letters, fucked up punctuation, repeated words, changed words, wrong words... gah. Drove me bonkers (I discovered later that the proofreading/editing was farmed out to a firm in China... a firm run by non-English-speaking Chinese... true story).

*Complaint 2: Ignore the plot description on the cover. While it doesn't "lie" to the reader, it's extremely misleading and does nothing to help one want to read it.

Verdict: Read it.

Book Irreviews, 2011: Issue I

2011-06-22T00:01:00.018-04:00

I've mentioned elsewhere that I'm trying to read a lot this year. Novels 'n shit. As of this writing, I've finished seven novels (I started an eighth... a Dan Brown... and chucked it after 19 pages), two short story anthologies, and a memoir (not including works I'm paid to read). Not great by avid reader standards, but certainly great by mine.

A quick run-through for those curious... think of these as "Irreviews" for books (because, well, that's what they are):

The Thing - Alan Dean Foster
Plot: A team of American researchers discovers a spaceship buried beneath the ice of Antarctica. After accidentally rescuing a malevolent shape-shifting alien from Norwegian scientists, the researchers are caught in a fight for survival. The stakes? All life on Earth.
Thoughts: An adaptation of the John Carpenter horror film (itself an adaptation of John Campbell's novella Who Goes There? and Howard Hawks' original film, The Thing From Another World). Not much else to say.
Verdict: Eh. Sci-fi/horror fans who love the movie, sure. Everyone else... nah.

2010: Odyssey Two - Arthur C. Clarke
Plot: Something strange is happening on Jupiter, and Discovery and the Jupiter Monolith hold the clues. The window of opportunity closing, the Soviet and American space agencies band together to solve the mystery.
Thoughts: The sequel to 2001: A Space Odyssey, it more closely follows Kubrick's film version than Clarke's novel (much to my chagrin, though I understand why Clarke chose to do it that way). Still, an awesome read.
Verdict: Read it.

The Other Side of the Sky - Arthur C. Clarke
Thoughts: An older anthology of Clarke's short stories. Many are extremely interesting and have aged well. Some are a little boring and have aged poorly. A must for Clarke and sci-fi fans.
Verdict: Read it. There are some "challenge-based" short stories included that any aspiring writer should check out.

The Drowned World - J.G. Ballard
Plot: Earth is heating up, the ice caps are melting, swamps and oceans are expanding. Stranger still, life itself seems to be devolving. The definition of being human will never be the same.
Thoughts: Yes, the little boy played by Christian Bale in Empire of the Sun is a real person and wound up writing a bunch of pulpish science fiction. An interesting read, though a little dry. But as a book warning of the ecological and psychological dangers resulting from Global Warming, it's a hoot. Why? Because it was written in 1962.
Verdict: Pulp fans, yes. Conspiracy theorists, maybe. Sci-fan fans, eh...

Sex and Death, I Suppose - Michael Colonnese
Plot: Corruption in government, corruption in industry. A down-on-his luck private investigator and part-time realty photographer gets caught in the middle of it all.
Thoughts: I'm a little biased about this one, since Michael Colonnese is a friend of mine, but I still have to say that his book was a fun read. Not perfect, but fun. I'll refrain from saying too much, since I plan on giving it a proper review in the future.
Verdict: Read it. Support an aspiring novelist. Dammit.

Horse!

2011-06-16T00:01:00.007-04:00

Last weekend a friend of mine asked if I'd help with an indie short he put together. He had no sound guy and, since I once dabbled in production sound (I suck at it... hence, "dabbled" and not "worked"), I was basically asked by default.

Of course, to make matters worse, the place they rented the sound equipment from forgot to include a set of headphones, which meant checking the levels while recording was impossible. I didn't rent the gear, so I didn't inspect the gear. Yes, that was me passing the buck.

Anyway, it was a good time. Figured I'd share some photos and a video or two. I'll post a third video at some point, but since my dumbass held the camera sideways, I'm going to have to rotate the image first (read: I'll have to ask someone with the equipment and the know-how to rotate the image first).

Our super-professional and high-tech vehicles and gear... plus the "deputy" looking a bit lost.

The director's back. Trust me, you don't wanna see his front.

Three horses and two outlaw Indians. Why are Indians always outlaws?

Oh, wait... because Cody and Rod ARE outlaws.

Prop horse. Okay, not really... I've just always wanted to type the phrase, "prop horse." Okay, not really...

Cody's ride-by.

And last, but not least... a douche on a horse.

Look at my horse, my horse is amazing...

Getting Ready... and Other Ramblings

2011-06-15T00:01:00.077-04:00

Yeah, so... considering leaving Los Angeles a bit earlier than I had planned (four years was my intended limit). No specific reason... just seems right. We'll see what the next few weeks bring. Probably nothing. I have a strange way of being apathetic to what happened yesterday and what will happen tomorrow.

Helped out on a short Western last weekend. First time on a horse in years. Felt good. Had a blast. I'll get some videos up soon.

Life is strange, yeah? Life's brought me five or six friends who I know - without an ounce of doubt - will help me in fucked up situations no matter what. Ironically, the only person who's ever actually told me they'll "help no matter what" is not one of them.

Trust actions, not words.

Found a memorial site on the Internet for combat engineers in the Army. Sucks, how many of them I know. Or knew, rather. Not sure which tense is appropriate.

A lot of people are predicting the end of the world, and for various reasons. Is it really worth being that miserable? World's not going anywhere... not for a very long time. I seem to recall a cult that formed about 2000 years ago... they predicted the end of the world back then. Whoops. Just accept that the stars aren't trying to tell us anything. Numbers aren't signs. Nor are cards. Or tea leaves. Or folds of skin in palms. Or pieces of paper in cookies.

Don't jump to conclusions... I am neither down in the dumps nor pissed off. On the contrary, just watched a rough cut of a short film I worked on and am enjoying a quiet evening with my dog and two cats.

Nothing is so valuable as loyalty.

Hypocrites are the worst criminals. People who settle are hypocrites. Dream or don't. Don't lie to yourself about it. I may fail, but I'll never settle.

Re: figuring it all out - What's the fucking rush?

R. Fernandez: survived a war, then died of a freak accident at his birthday party. WTF?

Saw someone last Saturday that I hadn't seen in six years. Kinda weird. Even though I've been no one important in her life, she stood there for five minutes with her jaw to the floor. Guess she didn't get the memo...

Life is strange, yeah?

Song lyric of the month: "It'll take you 'round and 'round; sometimes you're up, sometimes you're down... It's just a ride." - Jem

Aight... gotta finish getting ready. For what, I have no idea. Wouldn't have it any other way.

Squirrel!

2011-06-08T00:01:00.001-04:00

Okay, so there's this adopted squirrel, and it eats out of my hand... although I'm not sure why I'm telling you this, since no one believes me. Even after I take photos of it, nobody believes me.

Not satisfied with photos, a disbeliever challenges me to take video. So I do.

And THEN said disbeliever wants to know why the video isn't longer and whether or not that is really my hand. So I take another one... much longer... one that ends in tragedy.

Okay, I lied about the tragedy, but I'm telling the truth about the squirrel!

D-Day

2011-06-06T00:01:00.011-04:00

Dear Mother,

I am reminded of something that happened a while back. Someone wished me a Happy Memorial Day. It was a woman and her children were present. I am under the impression she singled me out because of my regulation haircut.

I feel guilty for how I reacted, but I told that person to go fuck themselves. I couldn't help myself. I confessed to the Chaplain later and asked for Forgiveness. There was nothing else for me to do, for I do not know the woman nor have I seen her again. I am unable - not unwilling - to apologize.

In my head, in the moment before I responded with the unfortunate expletive, I had asked her many questions.

Did she remember Charles and Andrew? Charles, who bled to death on Andrew's back while Andrew struggled to carry Charles 25 kilometers to safety. Andrew, who wound up drinking much of Charles' blood because of the position with which he was carrying his friend. No, she did not.

Did she remember Daniel and Jonathan? Daniel, who was burned alive trying to push the rest of his squad out of a downed aircraft engulfed in flames. Jonanthan, Daniel's youngest soldier, who - despite a broken arm - tried to pull Daniel from the aircraft but only succeeded in having portions of Daniel's immolated flesh stuck to his hands. No, she did not.

Did she remember Thomas and Scott? Thomas, who volunteered to stay behind during a retreat for no other reason than he had twisted his ankle and knew he would slow the retreat enough that they would no doubt be overrun. Scott, who volunteered to stay with Thomas for no other reason than to alleviate Thomas the loneliness of dying alone. No, she did not.

I suppose I reacted so badly because in her hand was a bag of frozen steaks and bottles of ketchup and mustard. It isn't their fault, I will admit. How are they to know not everyone has a barbeque for Memorial Day?

Anyway, I find that I should get to the point. If you're reading this, you have no doubt received - or will soon receive - notice that I have been killed in action. I ask you to not use my death as a topic of conversation, discussion, or debate for any future Memorial Day, or any other day set aside for the supposed remembrance of soldiers. I have no desire to be remembered by a society that cares more about a day at a beach than the men who stormed beaches to ensure they could have the freedom to celebrate. I suspect you would receive a great deal of superficial condolences and sympathy that would be as quickly forgotten - if not more so - than the many names found on many walls.

To paraphrase Larry Hama, "A soldier's job is to do the impossible, to do the unthinkable, and then be forgotten for it." I have done the impossible. I have done the unthinkable. I take no issue with being forgotten and have no desire to be thanked for my service.

All the good ones are dead. I am proud to be, once again, in their company.

I love you. Now and forever.

Sincerely,

******* * ******

Soundtracks After the Fact I: Intensity

2011-06-02T00:01:00.003-04:00

It's no secret that I often write to music. It's no secret that many often write to music. And since neither of those are secrets, I won't state anything more about them.

Something cool happened the other day as I was piddling about doing nothing in particular... I was listening to a mix of the various versions of Eminem's/Rihanna's/Skylar Grey's "Love the Way You Lie" and wound up perusing some old stories I crapped out at one time or another. Anyway, long-story-short, I came across my "Intensity." It was... well... pretty cool. Added some relevance to an otherwise irrelevant story.

As you can tell, I've got nothing important to say (I rarely do), but I invite you to listen to Rihanna's "Love the Way You Lie, Part 2" while reading "Intensity." Let me know what you think.

Gil and George: Get It Together

2011-05-29T00:01:00.163-04:00

Press "play." These dirty words are not televised.

"GET IT TOGETHER"

a mash-up of

"The Revolution Will Not Be Televised"
Gil Scott-Heron

"A Modern Man"
George Carlin

You will not be able to stay home, brother. I'm a modern man, digital and smoke-free; a man for the millennium. You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.

You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip, skip out for beer during commercials, because the revolution - a diversified, multi-cultural, post-modern deconstructionist; politically, anatomically and ecologically incorrect - will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox in four parts without commercial interruptions. I've been uplinked and downloaded, I've been inputted and outsourced.

The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary. I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading. The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by the Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie Wood and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia. I'm a high-tech low-life. A cutting-edge, state-of-the-art, bi-coastal multi-tasker, and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond.

The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal. I'm new-wave, but I'm old-school; and my inner child is outward-bound.

The revolution will not get rid of the nubs. I'm a hot-wired, heat-seeking, warm-hearted cool customer; voice-activated and bio-degradable.

The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, brother. I interface with my database; my database is in cyberspace; so I'm interactive, I'm hyperactive, and from time to time I'm radioactive.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie May pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run, or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance. Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, riding the wave, dodging the bullet, pushing the envelope.

NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32 or report from 29 districts. I'm on point, on task, on message, and off drugs. I've got no need for coke and speed; I've got no urge to binge and purge. I'm in the moment, on the edge, over the top, but under the radar. The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down brothers in the instant replay. A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary. A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom-feeder.

There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process. I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps, I run victory laps.

There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving for just the proper occasion. I'm a totally ongoing, big-foot, slam-dunk rainmaker with a pro-active outreach. A raging workaholic, a working rageaholic; out of rehab and in denial.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and women will not care if Dick finally gets down with Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people will be in the street looking for a brighter day. I've got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant, and a personal agenda. You can't shut me up; you can't dumb me down. Because I'm tireless, and I'm wireless. I'm an alpha-male on beta-blockers. The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock news and no pictures of hairy-armed women liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose. I'm a non-believer, I'm an over-achiever; laid-back and fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home; low-rent, high-maintenance. I'm super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built to last.

The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb, Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth. A hands-on, footloose, knee-jerk head case; prematurely post-traumatic, and I have a love child who sends me hate-mail. But I'm feeling, I'm caring, I'm healing, I'm sharing. A supportive, bonding, nurturing primary-care giver. My output is down, but my income is up. I take a short position on the long bond, and my revenue stream has its own cash flow. The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a message about a white tornado, white lightning, or white people. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds, I watch trash sports. I'm gender-specific, capital-intensive, user-friendly and lactose-intolerant.

You will not have to worry about a dove in your bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl. I like rough sex; I like tough love. I use the f-word in my e-mail. And the software on my hard drive is hard-core—no soft porn.

The revolution will not go better with Coke. I bought a microwave at a mini-mall. I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast food in the slow lane. I'm toll-free, bite-size, ready-to-wear, and I come in all sizes. A fully equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically proven, scientifically formulated medical miracle.

The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath. I've been pre-washed, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped and vacuum-packed. And I have unlimited broadband capacity.

The revolution will put you in the driver's seat. I'm a rude dude, but I'm the real deal. Lean and mean. Cocked, locked and ready to rock; rough, tough and hard to bluff. I take it slow, I go with the flow; I ride with the tide, I've got glide in my stride.

The revolution will not be televised driving and moving; will not be televised sailing and spinning; will not be televised jiving and grooving; will not be televised wailing and winning.

The revolution will be no re-run brothers; I don't snooze, so I don't lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty, and lunchtime is crunch time. I'm hanging in, there ain't no doubt, and I'm hanging tough.

The revolution will be live. Over and out.

Flag Musings

2011-05-27T00:01:00.111-04:00

So... what's up?

Trying to brush up on my German again.

Not going to say why I'm learning German (again). But here's a decent German hit for you to listen to while I ramble on about plans for the future:

So... back from Australia. Still owe everyone some irreverent analysis of the country/continent/island (pick one, but not two).

I'll get to those irreverent analyses eventually. But first, what's next?

Well... in Spring of 2012, two of my former Army roommates (Joe and Mike) and I are heading to Italy, Slovenia, and Croatia for a few weeks. Well, Joe and I are heading there. Mike already lives in Italy. Joining us is a "civilian" buddy, Johnny O (who conveniently speaks Croatian).

After that, it's a return to Japan and Korea in November, to visit family, friends, and document a pretty awesome military ceremony. Also, I'm trying to beat the Mayan doomsday scheduled the following month.

But first! (Wait, I said that already) (Screw it... I'll say it again) (Or write it again, rather) But first, an engineering buddy and I are planning on driving from Los Angeles, all the way through Mexico, and into Belize. Still working out the logistics of that one, so wish me luck.

Oh, and in 2013, I'll be returning to Australia for a couple of months. Adam and I want to drive the entire rim of the country. On motorcycles. Shit yeah. Of course, that's after I hop over to New Zealand for a week or so.

To my friends in the UK and Spain who have invited me to visit, I'm working on it. It shall most certainly happen. Just looking for the right excuse... er... expense account... er... expeditionary force... er... excuse. Yeah... excuse.

And just to wrap things up...

Feel free to come along on any (or all) of these.

Sponsored by JeffScape - Making the world smaller since the day he was born.

The Best of Museless Propaganda

2011-05-24T00:01:00.001-04:00

Someone recently asked me where my fiction went. Well, to answer that question (again), it went to one of two places: Panoramic Mindscapes, accessible only via invitation (readers there are expected to give honest and brutal critiques... or they get deleted), and Museless Propaganda, which is where I put all of my Tenth Daughter of Memory entries.

Why'd I do this? Well, to be honest (and in case you haven't noticed), I'm a little tired of blogging. I am not, however, tired of putting pen to paper (so to speak), which is why those other places exist.

Anyhoo, for those who may still not be familiar, I'm posting my top vote-getters from each 10thDoM Muse from late January to late April (none of them won, by the way).

And, to answer another question, no, I won't be replacing the follower widgets anytime soon.

"They and Their Men" - for the Muse, The Map Says We're Fucked
The black man was, by any stretch of his imagination, the last person he'd think to see walk in through the front door. As he does every Thursday, he was eating breakfast at the diner on the corner of Coldwater Canyon and Ventura. He liked watching traffic at this intersection - no one knew why - and typically it was warm enough that he could eat... Read More

"Gold, Seas, and Blood" - for the Muse, Five Soldiers, Four Whores, Three Lovers & Two Killers
Her toes curl and her back arches. It's hot today, record temperatures for October, but that's not why she's sweating. Not the only reason, anyway. It's not often a trick brings her to orgasm. Thing is, she's in love with this one. Has been for a long time. Soledad Beltrán knows she shouldn't be, for there's little chance her feelings will be... Read More

"Flash" - for the Muse, Give a Hand to the Future
Many like to point out the inherent irony of the term "civilization." Many who do so claim to abhor the multitude states of conflict found among the human race. Many of those also like to claim people should revert to living as naturally as possible. They fail to point the inherent irony in that. Find one species on Earth that doesn't live in a perpetual state... Read More

"An Australian Breakfast" - for the Muse, From Hell to Breakfast
The sun was shining, but it wasn't a good day. A group of ravenous magpies were tearing the shit out of some poor rodent's carcass. My wife - God bless her - was still asleep on the sofa, snoring her ass off like she always did after a night of too much drinking. It must've been a great night, too, because one of our dining room chairs was currently... Read More

"Virginia Has Lost Her Cat" - for the Muse, A Cat Can Look at a King
Princess Virginia was a beautiful young woman in the Land of Donhe. Hopeful princes and lonely kings across the continent wanted to make her a wife, but she was bored by all of them. As far as she was concerned, they had nothing to offer. She didn't want land, nor power, nor riches. She wanted adventure... Read More

Irreviews, 2011: Issue II

2011-05-23T00:01:00.000-04:00

Accepted (2006)
Director: Steve Pink
Writer(s): Adam Cooper, Bill Collage, Mark Perez
Starring: Justin Long, Jonah Hill, Lewis Black
-----
Hollywood loves the "nerd gets hot girl" genre. Loves it to a fault. Which is why most of them (with some notable exceptions) are pretty bad. Accepted, starring everyone's favorite "I'm a Mac" celebrity endorser, isn't that bad, but it's still not good. Sure, it has a fun concept (academic failure who couldn't get accepted into even the most banal university creates a fake one to dupe his parents) and a good cast, but that's not enough to save it from groan-inducing scenes full of film cliches and staples.
Verdict: SKIP it.

Red (2010)
Director: Robert Schwentke
Writer(s): Jon Hoeber, Erich Hoeber, Warren Ellis (graphic novel), Cully Hamner (graphic novel)
Starring: Bruce Willis, Mary-Louise Parker, Helen Mirren, Karl Urban, Morgan Freeman
-----
Everyone knows about comic book movies. They're everywhere. In fact, they're so pervasive, a lot of movies people don't realize are based on comic books (or, sorry, graphic novels) actually are. Red is one such movie. And it's a hoot. Willis, Mirren, Freeman, and John Malkovich play retired spies who are forced out of retirement because of a simple misunderstanding. Parker plays Willis' love interest who is pulled into the mess simply because Willis would call her for technical support regarding his social security checks. Yep... Bruce plays a lonely old man who fell in love with a voice. And then kicks some serious ass in order to protect her. A rom-com at heart, this is an action-packed film that's a joy to watch.
Verdict: SEE it.

Sucker Punch (2011)
Director: Zack Snyder
Writer(s): Zack Snyder, Steve Shibuya
Starring: Emily Browning, Abbie Cornish, Jena Malone, Scott Glenn
-----
Zack Snyder has a strange reputation in Hollywood. He makes visually awe-inducing films (Watchmen, 300) that do well commercially (and sometimes critically). But he's long been harped on as a director who doesn't understand the concept of story. I was confused. And then I saw Sucker Punch... I am confused no more. Yet another film full of eye candy (both aesthetically and, er, curvaciously), this one suffers in that it doesn't have source material for Snyder to fool us with (if, in fact, he truly doesn't understand story). Quite simply: there is no story. Excellent cast wasted. Excellent visuals wasted (unless you go to the movies expecting nothing more than an endless music video). Excellent concept wasted. Ugh.
Verdict: SKIP it. Unless you like being sucker-punched.

TRON: Legacy (2010)
Director: Joseph Kosinski
Writer(s): Edward Kitsis, Adam Horowitz
Starring: Jeff Bridges, Garrett Hedlund, Olivia Wilde, Bruce Boxleitner
-----
Let me start out by stating that I love the original Tron. Yes, it had a ghastly, deus ex machina ending, but it was awesome. It's still awesome, even if it reminds most modern moviegoers of a cinema version of Pac-Man. So, when a sequel was announced, I pooed my pants. Then, when I saw the promo stands for the sequel in a theater, I pooed my pants again. Then I heard it had script problems and I shit my pants. Then I heard that Disney (wisely) let the big-wigs from Pixar offer suggestions, and I returned to pooing my pants. Then I saw the film on a flight to Australia. It's a good thing the plane was empty, because I shit my pants. And, I'm sorry, but the computer-animated faces of young versions of Jeff Bridges and Bruce Boxleitner creeped me the fuck out.
Verdict: Agh! SKIP it, unless you're an uber-fan of the original.

True Grit (2010)
Director: Ethan Coen, Joel Coen
Writer(s): Joel Coen, Ethan Coen, Charles Portis (novel)
Starring: Jeff Bridges, Hailee Steinfeld, Matt Damon, Josh Brolin, Barry Pepper
-----
A friend of mine claimed that Joel and Ethan Coen's True Grit was the best Western movie ever. I asked if that included Lonesome Dove. He said yes. That's a tall claim, in my opinion, and I had to see if it was true. Is it? No. But True Grit is pretty friggin' good. Excellent, in fact. Better than the original. Jeff Bridges outdoes John Wayne. The supporting cast is phenomenal. Rooster Cogburn is as good a character as Lonesome Dove's Gus McCrae and Woodrow Call are. The Coens knocked one out of the park (again). What more can I say?
Verdict: SEE it.

Leave Your Hair at Customs, Part 7

2011-05-05T00:01:00.002-04:00

Aight, folks... this'll be the last glimpse of my Aussie vacation. It was an awesome three weeks... most relaxed country I've ever been to. In fact, I've added it to my list of places to retire (along with San Diego and Greece... although Greece seems a bit, er, volatile at the moment).

Melbourne, The Return

Went back to Melbourne to check out the Old Melbourne Gaol, which is where they hanged the infamous Australian outlaw, Ned Kelly. Also attended a reenactment of Ned Kelly's (unfair) trial... at which I was somehow recruited into playing one of the witnesses (Sgt. Steele). They wouldn't let me keep the hat.

More awesome Melbourne peeps. That's Helen's niece, Rebecca.

Traffic signals for Melbourne's infamous "hook turns." See the hooking right arrow? Yeah... in order to turn right, you have to get in the LEFT lane. Fun times. I did one... after I made Helen do one. She almost cried.

Swan Hill, Jindebyne, and Canberra

Pioneer museum in Swan Hill, Australia. This goat was tied up and couldn't reach the tall grass, so I fed him for a few minutes.

Near Jindebyne (awesome town)... Mt. Kosciuszko... the tallest mountain in Australia. Actually, wait... no, that's just me shaking my hair around in front of Mt. Kosciuszko.

At the Australian Museum in Australia's capital (Canberra), there was an exhibit that had all four of the Ned Kelly gang's suits of armor (which is what I was hoping to see in Melbourne). No photography allowed at the exhibit... but we got plenty.

The Plan to Re-Invade...

Am I going back? Does a kangaroo fuck in the woods? Shityeah, I'm going back... 2013... taking a month or two to drive the perimeter of the entire continent on a motorcycle. And making a quick hop to New Zealand.

My riding partner and fellow re-invasion planner.

For more of my trip, you can check out Baino's Banter at the following:

Leave Your Hair at Customs, Part 6

2011-05-04T00:01:00.000-04:00

Or... "Just Me and Some Australian Nature"

Yeah, that's a better title.

Anyway, there will be one more Aussie trip post after this (followed by some Aussie irreverence posts)... this one is primarily just some cool animals and some kick-ass scenery.

The Great Ocean Road (and some nearby places)

Couldn't help myself. Two flies were having sex on the rental car. Kodak moment.

On the Great Ocean Road... a place called the Twelve Apostles, which were twelve spires (some of which have fallen) that jutted out from the beach cliffs. No... I am not pissing off the ledge.

Spotted a hungry fox on the way to the Loch Ard wreck site. Tried to feed him, but had no food.

A cove near the Loch Ard wreck site. Awesome place.

On the way back to our cabin at Aireys Inlet, saw this guy on the side of the road. Picture doesn't show it well, but I hopped out of the car and got extremely close to it. Wallaby? I have no idea.

Cockatoos the following morning at Aireys Inlet. The one eating out of my hand was cool... the one to the left of that one bit my finger and drew blood. But I fed it anyway.

More to come...

Leave Your Hair at Customs, Part 5

2011-05-03T00:01:00.001-04:00

I know, I know... I shouldn't call this "Leave Your Hair at Customs" since I still have my hair. Rest assured, it'll be cut soon. Perhaps I'll mail it to Australian Customs. You know, for accuracy's sake.

The paparazzi are everywhere. Can't remember where this was taken... I think a place called Lakes Entrance. Or maybe Eden. Or maybe Narooma. Or maybe Ulladulla. I seriously have no idea.

The Hunt for the Gippsland Worm

Found a museum display at a replica mining town called Coal Creek in Korumburra. That's actual size, folks.

At a place called Loch, I saw a picture of this sign. So I drove around for hours until I found it.

Poowong Landcare Group

Giant Earth Worm Habitat

Rehabilitation Project

Hunted around that fucking "rehab project" for two fucking hours and all I found were fucking wormholes!!!

Penguin Parade - Philip Island, Australia

Saw some cute baby Fairy Penguins waiting for their parents to come home from fishing. Couldn't take pictures, though... but this sign is great.

Melbourne, Part 1

Melbourne's an awesome place (more on that in a future post). And I know I shouldn't be smoking... but the devil made me do it!

Watch out for this woman. She'll feed you too much.

Definitely watch out for this guy... he'll give you too much alcohol (home brews, at that!).

And then he'll send his pet alien facehugger after you.

More to come...

Bin Laden Be Dead

2011-05-02T00:01:00.006-04:00

Last week, bitch. Hiding in plain sight isn't as smart when that's where we're looking, punkass, is it? Should've kept your cockhole in China.

How come all the cool shit happens when I'm not at home? Gah. Well, at least now I can cut my hair.

Word up to the ground forces who took him out. And to the intel boys who got the boots there. Hoo-ah.

If you blink, you're too late... Blink; Whisper

That's all I got.

Leave Your Hair at Customs, Part 4

2011-05-01T00:01:00.070-04:00

Yeah, so, I'm back in the United States now, getting ready for about a year of work before I take off for Italy and Croatia in late spring of 2012 (you reading this Mike? I'm coming!). And what better way to do all of that than to take a gander through all of the photos taken of my trip to Australia.

A trip, by the way, in which I was supposed to get a haircut (hence the title of this series of posts) but ultimately did not. Which means I still have my hair. Which means that if anyone feels like coming over to braid my hair to kill an hour or so, by all means... come over.

Anyway... here's more self-indulgent photos with informative and irreverent captions concerning whatever the Hell it was I was doing at the time of the photo. Or something like that.

The Haunted Quarantine Station - Manly Beach, Australia

Oh, shityeah... Helen and I spent the night at a haunted quarantine station in order to do a ghost tour. She was scared shitless (supposedly because of the dark), but I... well...

My first experience with Australian wildlife: a possum. While eating dinner at an outdoor cafe, this dude shows up, climbs up my leg, then steals a bread roll and runs away. I was like, "Dude, I'd have given it to you!"

At this point in the ghost tour, the guide tells a story of women who've claimed that a ghost of a Chinaman grabbed their ankles from under this building. So I hopped down to take a look. Nothing.

Disappointed, I crawled under the building with Helen's camera. What did I see that scared the shit out of me? Absolutely nothing.

This is a picture from carbolic acid showers used to disinfect those quarantined. After the rest of the tour group went home, I asked the guide to lock me in the showers with the lights off. What did I see? Showers. And a dark hallway.

Again, after the tour group went home, Helen and I checked out the Chinaman's haunting grounds again. I figured I could piss him off by taking a piss in his toilet. Didn't work. Yes, that's my urine. Not sure what the red shit is. Probably red shit.

The Sydney Opera House - Sydney, Australia

The following weekend, we went to a concert at the famed Opera House. Supposedly, the architecture resembles seashells. Don't ask what I said they look like.

Getting snotted before the show. Or not.

More to come...

Australian Road Trip Musings

2011-04-26T00:01:00.033-04:00

No photos today (but they're coming)... just some random mental meanderings from the land of marsupials.

Started an 8-day road trip across the southeastern portion of the country/island/continent.

Left from Sydney, drove down the Pacific Highway to Mogo Zoo. Saw some white lions, dingos. Stayed in a mining town resort.

Left from Mogo, down the Pacific/Princes Highway, on the way to Giant Gippsland Worm country. Stayed in Leongatha in a roadside motel. The next day, stopped at a replica mining town (lots of these in Australia) in Korumburra, chatted up two shopkeepers for worm info. Bought Alan Burnett some postcards (okay, okay... Baino bought Alan Burnett some postcards). Saw a photo of a Gippsland Worm reclamation project sign. Drove around a dinky country area (Poowong) until we found the sign. Hunted for worms for a couple of hours.

To no avail.

Drove to Phillip Island and saw some Fairy Penguins, which are now known as Little Penguins, since some Aussie bureaucrat arbitrarily decided that gay men might take offense, despite the fact that no gay man in Australia has ever complained about Fairy Penguins.

Went to Melbourne, saw where they hung Ned Kelly, took part in a reenactment of Ned Kelly's court trial (I played Sergeant Steele) and spent the night with two awesome people (Lenore and Chris) who got me friggin' pissed on home-brewed beer. Including a heavily-alcoholic ginger beer that I got to name (Melbourne visitors... track down "Red Sonja!")

Drove down the Great Ocean Road, all the way to the Twelve Apostles (gorgeous cliffside/seaside natural formations) and the Loch Ard wrecksite. Drove back up the Great Ocean Road (of which much of it is nowhere near the ocean) and stayed in Airey's Inlet... where I was attacked by cockatoos the following morning (photographic evidence will be presented at a later date).

Went back to Melbourne and hung out with Baino's niece and her boyfriend (two more awesome people). Someone remind me at some point to talk about the driving laws and peculiarities in Australia... particularly Melbourne's infamous "hook turns."

Drove up to Swan Hill (saw zero swans) and visited another vintage mining town/museum. Drove past Pyramid Hill (which does look like a pyramid).

Drove down the Alpine Highway to Jindabyne, found an AWESOME hotel in East Jindabyne (by accident), then checked out Australia's highest mountains.

Went to Canberra, saw the Ned Kelly suits of armor at a museum (all four in one spot), then checked out the war memorial museum the next morning (awesome museum). Sadly, I slept through the Dawn Service for ANZAC Day (I will attend one in the future... which means, yes, I'll be back).

Now back in Sydney, preparing to return home.

I have not seen any koalas in the wild, but I have seen kangaroos, wallabies, and wombats. Shit yeah.

Okay, so there's not much musing today... but I'll revisit all of this in more detail shortly.

Table of Contents: One Last Thing

2011-04-16T00:01:00.000-04:00

I can't remember why I decided to write this story. Perhaps I wanted to "borrow" two of my favorite characters and insert them into a story of my own. I don't know. Regardless, the full version of this one has a massive plot hole, but I'm working on it.

In the meantime, enjoy...

"One Last Thing, Part I"
Cray stares at Drew, studying his partner's face. They've been together for years, not really out of any sort of friendship, merely the acknowledgment of the other's competence. Cray is slightly older, just on the other side of 60. Drew has a couple of years left before he enters that... Read More

"One Last Thing, Part II"
Seven Uzbek mobsters aim their handguns - a variety of weapons ranging from American M1911s to Czech CZ75s - at Cray and Drew. Cray's HK G36 and Drew's HK416 return the favor. The two Americans know that they might die here, in this dusty excuse for a warehouse... Read More

"One Last Thing, Part III"
The sounds fade as the lights dim. Cray knows he's missing something spectacular and it's his body's fault. Too old, too slow, it couldn't keep up. Or stay ahead, in this case. It's disheartening... not so much that he has to take it lying down... but that his mind is as young... Read More

Leave Your Hair at Customs, Part 3

2011-04-15T00:01:00.067-04:00

A few things I've learned in Australia (so far):

Australian cigarettes kinda suck. Not because they're bad, but because they're essentially American cigarettes.

But their waterfalls are kinda cool. This one's at a place called Govett's Leap.

The weather makes my scalp itch. Okay, okay... the photographers make my scalp itch.

Australia is the home of the largest Japanese Gardens in the Southern Hemisphere. This is from a lookout called "Symbolic Mountain." Because, you know, that rock supposedly looks like Mt. Fuji.

And said Japanese Garden has a waterfall.

And fishes. Because "fishes" is an acceptable plural form of "fish." It said so on the sign.

I was asked to photograph these mushrooms. I'm thinking Helen was hungry.

Japanese invasion money. Apparently, the Japanese intended on replacing native currencies with their own. In several languages. There's money for places they never even got around to invading.

Were I not driving, this would be a MUCH better photo of a kangaroo/wombat crossing traffic warning sign. But I was driving. On the wrong side of the road. Which is the right side of the road for upside-down people.

My first meat pie. Not bad. But don't be surprised if I never have another. I had this in a small town called Carcoar. Population: 385. Historic claim to fame: Australia's first daylight bank robbery.

Store-bought kangaroo meat.

Me. With my storytelling rudely interrupted by a photographer attempting not to be noticed.

Prawns (top left), kangaroo (center), beef (bottom right).

Kangaroo meat is friggin' awesome. Shit. Yeah.

Lily's gums were itchy.

Leave Your Hair at Customs, Part 2

2011-04-13T00:01:00.002-04:00

My hair has survived another day, but only because I wanted to let some of Australia's native fauna play with it (that's not innuendo, folks).

Helen took me to Featherdale Wildlife Park during the day, where I got to see kangaroos, wallabies, dingos, koalas, skinks, Tasmanian Devils (well, one of them), and a kick-ass bird called a Tawny Frogmouth (which looks like a bad Hollywood special effect... seriously). Basically, the day at the park was me trying to get a wallaby to attack me, to no avail. Even the threat of eating one of their larger cousins did nothing to spring them into a frenzied action.

At night, Helen, Adam, Alex and I went to a comedy show featuring (egad) four Americans, a Canadian (who, ironically, lives in my neighborhood back in the US), and two Aussies. Two of the Americans and one of the Aussies were gut-busters (Tony Woods, in particular), but every act was entertaining (save the second American, who sucked balls... I'll remember his name at some point and post a warning).

Right before I said "I'll eat your face, motherfucker!" And to no response.

Climb. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. Why does no one worship these things as gods??? I'll be the first.

Frogmouths don't like my hair, either.

Tasmanian Devil. Poor guy was running around in circles. I agree: loud children are scary.

My nephew wanted to see a skink... so here's a skink.

Leave Your Hair at Customs, Part 1

2011-04-12T00:01:00.023-04:00

My hair's pretty long. Rather ridiculously long, to be honest. Also to be honest, I kinda like it long. But it's gotta go.

I'm sick of cleaning out my shower drain every three days or so. I'm sick of having to buy proper "product" to make my hair look decent (although I've learned a shortcut or two...). In fact, the only thing I'll truly and properly miss is the strange willingness of women to braid my hair when there's nothing else to do.

Anyway, in preemptive memoriam of my lengthy locks, I've decided to enshrine images of their final vacation in Australia.

Also, taking suggestions for hair styles.

The "woman on a motorcycle" look. Except I'm on a boat. And have a penis.

Now you know why potheads prefer long hair: it can help hide their habits.

Shiny.

Song-Written

2011-04-09T00:01:00.001-04:00

A while back I waxed poetic (and perhaps alcoholic) about writing to music, and I've been asked by a handful what I've written to music. Truth is, most of the fiction I write is likely written to some form of music at one point or another, but given the thesis of the earlier "Song-Writing" piece, I figure I'll share what I've written using the method I touted there.

Oddly enough, some of these "song-writings" were written listening to music I don't normally listen to. And it's fairly to easy to tell that I go through phases of what I do listen to. In the case of Star Fall, the song is so ingrained into the story that it's in the story itself.

Just goes to show... imagination really does get pulled out of hats and asses.

The Song-Written:

Lost Kingdom - "Lost Kingdom" by God is an Astronaut
And They Dance... - "Touch" and "Pocketful of Sunshine" by Natasha Bedingfield
After Paris - "Soulmates" by Natasha Bedingfield
Star Fall - "Lost" by Sunlounger
The Scheherazadi, Part III - "Lost" by Sunlounger
The Road - "Asleep at the Wheel" by Working for a Nuclear Free City
Waking; Warning - "Asleep at the Wheel" by Working for a Nuclear Free City
In the Wind - "Asleep at the Wheel" by Working for a Nuclear Free City
Action - "Cascade" by Hyper
Driven - "Inutile et Indispensable" by Little People
Escape Art - "Guitar Sound" by Ronald Jenkees
Exhale: A Requiem - "Wolf Drawn" by Emancipator
So Cruel; C'est la Vie - "So Cruel" by U2
An Absence of Proof - "Ramblin' Man" by Lemon Jelly
Canon - "Canon in D Major" by Pachelbel, performed by Trace Bundy
They and Their Men - "Objects of My Affection" by Peter Bjorn and John

Up in Your Down Under

2011-04-06T00:01:00.063-04:00

By the time anyone reads this I'll be in the air, having left LAX for Sydney, Australia, where I will spend over three weeks making Aussies hate America. Oh, yes... if they don't already, they will...

"Knock, knock."
"Who's there?"
"Kanga."
"Kango who?"
"No, Kangaroo, bitch!"

Not funny? Fine, how about this one?

"Knock, knock."
"Who's there?"
"Koala."
"Koala who?"
"Koala Bears, motherfucker!"

You're probably rolling your eyes, but I find the latter one extremely hilarious.

Lost-In-Translation Fact #1: Australians think Americans are arrogant and obnoxious. Americans think Australians are arrogant and drunk. They're wrong. We're right. Nyah.

I plan on eating kangaroo (how evil of me, I know). My friend Helen swears that I'll refuse to try any after seeing roos in the wild. I've seen wild rabbits. I've seen wild cows. I've seen wild deer. I've seen wild pigs. What's my point? I've eaten all of them (and more). Helen's logic is arrogant and drunk. I mean... fallacious.

I was hoping to catch an actual opera at the Sydney Opera House, but I'm going to have to settle for a symphony orchestra. Ah, well... at least I'm actually seeing something at the Opera House, rather than just doing what most Americans do - walk around it.

Lost-In-Translation Fact #2: Australians still use that horribly inefficient "British-English." Why add two unnecessary letters to the phrase, "favorite color?" Why pronounce "zee" as "zed?" Seriously, think about it... it's the only letter that has a pronunciation that begins and ends with a consonant. One of these things is not like the other ones, one of these things does not belong. Er, yeah... that would be us, I guess. But only because we're the only primarily-English-speaking nation without a queen.

An aside: A, Bed, Ced, Ded, Ed, F, Ged, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, Ped, Q, R, S, Ted, U, Ved, W, X, Y, Zed. Yeah... definitely ridiculous.

Also going to an Aussie-rules professional football game with my buddy Adam. Fuck yeah. First sporting event I'll have been to in a looooong time. Can't wait. Good times. With drunk Aussies.

Spending the night at a haunted quarantine station. It was supposed to be (partially) a location scout for an American Ghost Hunters-type production. Sadly, the people who run said production (not Ghost Hunters, by the way) are horribly unreliable. Their loss, not mine... since I'm still going. Nyer.

Lost-In-Translation Fact #3: Most Aussies find Americans horrible travelers. Actually, I tend to agree. Americans are mostly tourists. What culture breeds people who claim to have experienced foreign lands and cultures by taking a cruise ship to a dock filled with other Americans who - outside of funny letters forming words they can't read - wouldn't be able to tell the difference between Cozumel, Nassau, and Miami? Oh, wait... America.

My aforementioned friend Helen is taking me on a (probably) two-day hunt for the infamous Gippsland Earthworm. It's a rare species, often growing up to six-feet in length, with a maw the size of a large marble, full of razor-sharp teeth. They've been known to feed on unsuspecting campers in the night. They have some sort of hollow injector in their mouths that anesthetizes the bite area so they can feed on you without you waking up to your blood being sucked.

Okay, I made all the flesh-eating shit up, but it got you excited, didn't it? Really... they do grow to six-feet. An earthworm! Who wouldn't want to see that? Oh, wait... stupid people who take cruise ships just to offload on beaches full of Americans.

Anyhoo, I might post some cool shit that happens while I'm down there (maybe even my hair cut), but don't get your hopes up.

"Knock, knock."
"Shut the fuck up. Tourist."

River of Mnemosyne, 2011

2011-04-02T00:01:00.036-04:00

So, the Second Annual River of Mnemosyne Challenge came and went, and it grew a bit from the previous year. I didn't win like last year, but I placed a respectable 2nd (losing to a worthy competitor) and wound up with an "accidental novel."

The portions below are what were submitted for the challenge (roughly 30k) words. There's another 37k words or so floating around the Internet, and you can read those if you're a member of Panoramic Mindscapes.

The Horizon Axis

Tenth Daughters of Memory, 2010: Volume 2

2011-03-26T00:01:00.000-04:00

The Tenth Daughter of Memory keeps on keeping on. It's been a fun ride, so far, and I look to keep on keeping on as long as it stays fun. Yeah, I've given up my role as the lead admin, but that's only because I'd rather spend more time participating in 10thDoM than running 10thDoM.

Anyway, here's what went up in the second half of 2010:

War (early July)

The Morning After... (late July)

There's Gotta Be a Catch (early August)

Below the Neck (late August)

Silence Lies Broken (early September)

Suicide Seat (late September)

Softly-Spoken Bullets; Hardly-Spoken Lips (early October)

Confession (late October)

Under the Kiss of the Blood-Soaked Tree (early November)

Shafts of Grace in the Corner of a Room (late November)

Shooting the Breeze (early December)

Extreme Robot Vodka (late December)

Q & A: 20110324

2011-03-24T00:01:00.045-04:00

Harnett-Hargrove asks: 'La Boheme' is opening here next week, are you offering your novel to burn on stage? Could be fun. Are you auctioning your hair to fund your travels? Is there really an overuse of ... going around? Why do you not answer the really important questions? -J

JeffScape answers: J, I've no doubt burning a novel on stage is a riot. After all, Hitler did it, and everyone thought he was the cool kid. Except for that silly mustache and vile propensity to commit genocide, which is an act most consider a vile propensity. As is repeating one's self. It's a bit rude, don't you think, having to point out something twice in case someone else didn't grasp it the first time? Can you imagine falling from a cliff and not grasping the ledge the first time? I'm not entirely certain, but I'm willing to bet one doesn't get a second chance in such a situation. Nope, I'm pretty sure everything just ends in a big splat. It certainly does for the bugs on my windshield. Who says washer fluid is worthless? Although the passenger wiper usually is. Why is it that aftermarket wipers never seem to fit the windshield properly? It's a conspiracy, I tell you. Probably perpetuated by the same asshole who came up with the 9/11 theory. Why can't I just have clean windows? Do we really need to bring suicide bombers into the equation? That just makes a mess.

Getting a haircut also makes a mess. But, they say one man's trash is another man's treasure. Although I'm pretty sure Gloria Steinem doesn't say that. Such a remark would be considered sexist. Or should it be genderist? Couldn't someone interpret sexism as prejudice against having an orgasm? Who would be prejudiced against having an orgasm? Oh, wait... never mind...

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Really important questions are answered on a daily basis. For instance: should I piss before I brush my teeth in the morning? Or brush my teeth before I piss? Or, perhaps, I'll just piss in the sink while brushing my teeth, thereby saving time and water in a misguided attempt to be more environmentally conscious. You know, like those "tree-huggers" who claim to hate all things petroleum and artificial, yet sit there blogging their rhetoric on their plastic computers made from refined silicon in factories powered by coal. Who doesn't love a good hypocrite?

Hope this satisfactorily answer your questions. Perhaps others can lend further insight.

Ecstatic Ramblings

2011-03-23T00:01:00.076-04:00

Am I drunk? Read this before you answer that: The Ballad of Robert Weston Smith.

But, no... not drunk. Maybe a little crazy. Okay... a lot crazy. Seriously, though, that above piece was the result of having an elbow and wrist injury. Then again, I wasn't even medicated when I wrote it... yeah, I'm fucking nuts.

So... what's new? Other than my reemerging propensity to overuse ellipses, that is. Hmm... no, that's pretty much all that's new. Just my reemerging propensity to overuse ellipses.

My hair is the longest it's ever been. Seriously, it covers my nipples. That's right... my nipples. Not to worry, though, since I'm getting it chopped while I'm in Australia next month (there might even be pictures, but don't hold your breath).

Charlie Sheen is a douchebag. So are NFL players and owners.

A friend of mine got a novel published (go Mike!). And I accidentally wrote one. I'll probably burn mine before it's polished, but I'm going to read his on the 14-hour flight to Sydney.

U2 is playing SoCal this summer. Anyone want to go? I'm buying. Dan Black played SoCal last fall... I just found out. I missed three shows within driving distance. Fuck you, Twitter!

This is no shit: I was asked to accompany a group of people to Libya a couple of weeks before the hoopla there. Glad I said no. Then again, the pay probably skyrocketed. Eh, whatever. I've got a trip to Croatia to finish planning. I'm counting on there not being another Yugloslav civil war. Probably a safe bet at this juncture.

I'm afraid that the back of my head is going to feature prominently in an episode of a dancing show this upcoming season. Ugh. No, I'm not dancing in it.

A friend of mine claimed that I'm the only person who would travel half-way around the world just for the chance to see a 6-foot earthworm. Oddly enough, the first two people I mentioned this to have gone on record as also willing to travel half-way around the world just for the chance to see a 6-foot earthworm.

Books I've read so far this year: 2010: Odyssey Two, The Other Side of the Sky, The Drowned World (okay, so I'm currently reading that one), The Thing. I only mention this because I'm making a concerted attempt to read more this year than last year.

If you're a fan of Robotech, you should check out the Macross Saga (the original series the first portion of Robotech was adapted from). It's free on Hulu right now and is amazing for two reasons: the story is remarkably human and it's obvious the recent Battlestar Galactica mined the series for ideas. Oh, they'll deny it. Probably even claim to have never seen (or heard of) it... but they kiped it for all it was worth. Okay, maybe not... but the similarities are ridiculous.

Music lovers should buy Rebecca Loebe's albums, especially if you're a fan of American Folk. She has (so far) sent me all of her albums for free, but you should pay for yours! Damnit. It's good stuff.

I'm done rambling. Time for bed.

Table of Contents: Exodus Lost

2011-03-19T00:01:00.000-04:00

This story is a personal favorite of mine, not because it's caused a bit of behind-the-scenes ruckus, but because it is insanely fun to write (then again, maybe the ruckus is what made it fun). I stated it when I posted the first part and I'll state it again: there is no commentary on religion intended here. The only intent is to tell a adventure story that happens to encompass the scope of Western religion. So don't get your knickers in a bunch.

"Exodus Lost"
Talbot pauses to stare at the stained glass image of the Madonna over the oak doors. He's seen the image - similar ones, at least - many, many times, but for some reason this one appears to be brighter in color than they usually are. The crowns on Jesus and Mary's heads... Read More

"The Man in the Fedora"
"Eyes on?" McGonigal asks into the headset. He's been in Los Angeles for over a month, leading a squad from Gabriel platoon on what was turning out to be a wild goose chase. Nobody had said anything, but it was becoming obvious that none of the men thought this... Read More

"Garden of Fire"
The Adversary smiles, lost in the irony happening on the field of battle. They have devolved to not only using men as soldiers in their war, but to using the tactics of men. Then again, it is those men who managed to dictate the necessity for those tactics. Not bad for cockroaches... Read More

Theme Thursdays, 2010: Volume 2-2

2011-03-12T00:01:00.002-05:00

You might remember me complaining about how odd Theme Thursday got last year. Or you probably don't. Anyway, it did. And I announced my intention to quit participating. Then an admin there asked me for suggestions. So I gave some. And then they implemented pretty much all of them. So I kept participating in order to not look an asshole (even though I am one). And then I quit again, but for other reasons. Ah, well. Check it out, though.

Here's what I linked (titles marked with * were not originally posted for Theme Thursday):

Reveal - Tender Are the Young* (May 4, 2010)
Stretch - Motion* (June 18, 2009)
Fence -

Touché, Cliché #1: The Grass is Greener...
Mercury Costs More Than Cyanide
Matches? Check. Charcoal? Check.* (September 7, 2010)

Game -

When the Clock Strikes Now, It is Then
A War To End All Wars* (May 21, 2010)

Knot - Gray Matter* (February 16, 2010)
Wheel - Driven* (September 23, 2010)
Monster -

Sand -

The Storms of Dust, Part I* (January 19, 2010)
The Storms of Dust, Part II* (January 20, 2010)

Relax - Piano* (August 4, 2009)

Irreviews, 2011: Issue I

2011-03-09T00:01:00.001-05:00

Okay, okay... while I used to only review movies that were new to me, I've decided to go ahead and review anything I've watched recently that I've not reviewed here before. I mean, why not? What the Hell else am I doing?

Oh, and I've also decided to put the Bond films in their own section.

Sin City (2005)
Director: Frank Miller and Robert Rodriguez
Writer(s): Frank Miller (graphic novels)
Starring: Bruce Willis, Mickey Rourke, Clive Owen
-----
Robert Rodriguez' near-perfect adaptation of Frank Miller's Sin City comics, this is a movie for comic fans and noir fans alike. No, it's not a near-perfect movie, just a near-perfect adaptation of its source material. And it's very, very good. A unique look (until Miller's ghastly The Spirit, anyway), a unique tone, and a unique setting make this a fun-yet-slightly-disturbing film. Probably a little over-the-top for a lot of film-goers, but that's sort of the point.
Verdict: SEE it.

Superman II: The Richard Donner Cut (2006)
Director: Richard Donner
Writer(s): Mario Puzo, David Newman, Leslie Newman, Tom Mankiewicz (uncredited)
Starring: Gene Hackman, Christopher Reeve, Marlon Brando, Margot Kidder
-----
The firing of Richard Donner from the completion of Superman II is a well-known story in Hollywood and had, for two decades, been the cause of fan curiosity concerning his vision for the film. As everyone knows (or should), Richard Lester was brought in to complete the original film. Even though Lester's version was comedic and campy, it was still enjoyable (his Superman III, however... ahem). But... it definitely seemed out of character. Donner's cut is, for the most part, a superior movie. With more and more powerful scenes featuring Reeve, Margot Kidder, and Marlon Brando (though I'll admit to missing some of the scenes involving Superman's mother), this entire cut is a treat to behold. Combined with the original Superman and Brian Singer's highly underrated Superman Returns, we finally have a trilogy worthy of the Man of Steel.
Verdict: SEE it.

The Town (2010)
Director: Ben Affleck
Writer(s):
Starring:
-----
Ben Affleck (as director) knocked one out of the park with his directorial debut, Gone Baby Gone. He continues his slugging prowess with his follow-up, The Town. No, it's not as good as Gone Baby Gone, but it's an excellent sophomore attempt and doesn't hurt Affleck's credentials as a film director. Hell, it even helps his credentials as an actor. An excellent heist film with excellent characters (Jeremy Renner's "Jem," in particular) and excellent car chases (in my opinion, the best since Frankenheimer's Ronin) makes for, well, an excellent movie. I've said it elsewhere, but Affleck is making a strong case for becoming the new Clint Eastwood.
Verdict: SEE it. Definitely.

***

You Only Live Twice (1967)
Director: Lewis Gilbert
Writer(s): Roald Dahl, Harold Jack Bloom (additional material), Ian Fleming (novel)
Starring: Sean Connery, Akiko Wakabayashi, Mie Hama, Tetsurô Tanba
-----
In 007's fifth silver screen outing, he travels to the Far East in order to prevent SPECTRE and Blofeld starting a war between the USSR and the USA. It's notable for being the last consecutive Connery-as-Bond film, as well as for being written by Roald Dahl (yeah, the Willy Wonka guy). You Only Live Twice is a fun film, probably a bit over the over-the-top threshold for Bond, but it's a great farewell (although a temporary one) to Sean Connery.
Verdict: A decent entry, helped by its setting and hurt by its "Bond in space" aspect, but SEE it anyway! Er... BOND it!

On Her Majesty's Secret Service (1969)
Director: Peter R. Hunt
Writer(s): Richard Maibaum, Simon Raven (additional material), Ian Fleming (novel)
Starring: George Lazenby, Diana Rigg, Telly Savalas
-----
No discussion concerning the overall best Bond film is legitimate without serious mention of On Her Majesty's Secret Service. Sure, it didn't meet expectations at the box office. Sure, it was directed by an inexperienced director (who was previously the primary film editor of the franchise). And, sure, it starred the least popular (and arguably worst) actor to play 007. But... the story rocked. Hell, the directing rocked. The action rocked (although Lazenby's over-exaggerated fist-fighting style is irritating to watch). Pretty much everything about this film (other than Lazenby) rocked.
Verdict: One of the best. BOND it!

Irreport, 20110306

2011-03-06T00:01:00.003-05:00

So... are you back?
No.

So... what's with all the posting?
If you actually read here (and I doubt you do), you would remember that I mentioned I'd be burning-off a lot of posts that had already been written before I took a mental vacation.

Where's all the fiction and stuff?
Elsewhere. Again, if you actually read here, you'd know where. That last piece was an accident and that's the only reason it's been posted at IrreX2.

Why do you have private and public blogs for your fiction and stuff?
I've identified people whose opinions aren't completely full of shit - even some who are highly critical of my crap - so I let them read my garbage in private, where they're free to tell me I suck without repercussion or judgment. I'm sorry, but if 500 people are telling you that your stuff is awesome, and they're neither helping you get published nor paying for your work, they're completely full of shit.

I thought you didn't speak in absolutes and that you believe there are always exceptions?
Nope; yep.

What does that mean?
Yep; nope?

Are you asking me?
I have no idea.

Did you mean all those rude things you said about (insert name)?
Probably. Even if I didn't, those rude things are true. Yeah, (insert name), I'm talking about you.

Purple or Violet?
As a color, I'd pick Violet. As a name, I'd pick Purple.

I heard you successfully predicted Libya. Is that true?
No. I successfully predicted Lebanon (in 2006). I wasn't surprised by Libya. Although Al-Jazeera was.

I was talking about football.
Rugby, soccer, or gridiron?

Soccer.
The only real football is American football.

Any truth to the rumors that the National Football League is going to contact you for assistance in resolving its current labor dispute?
Like the illustrious President of the United States, I find that I have nothing better to do than to stick my nose into the administration of America's most popular sports league. Also like the illustrious President of the United States, I feel that - despite not playing football at any significant level... ever - I am highly qualified to provide commentary on the game.

But... aren't you a proponent of the belief that the critical mindset is inherently different from the player/artist mindset?
Don't pay attention to me. It's not worth the effort. And I actually like how the President handled that question. I'm just being irreverent. Surprise!

Is it true that you're so anal, you actually hide typos in what you write in order to catch "skimmers?"
I facking hate skimmers.

Why are you talking to yourself?
Wanted an intelligent conversation.

That's lame.
Never said I wasn't.

You're an asshole.
Never said I wasn't.

You're proud of being an asshole?
I'm proud that people know they can get a straight answer from me.

But you're just an anonymous name on the Internet. That's probably not even your photo.
I'm talking to myself. We've already established that I'm crazy. And I never said it was.

So, you tell the truth even when you're drunk and/or angry?
Of course not. Don't be stupid.

And you're not drunk and/or angry now, yes?
I'm sober, but you're irritating me.

Need I remind you that you're talking to yourself?
I'm typing to myself, idiot. There's a difference.

You just wrote that you're an idiot.
Never said I wasn't.

What else are you?
Hmm... according to this hot chick: arrogant, creepy, and pretentious. She also called me an idiot.

That's quite the gamut.
Never said I wasn't.

What? A gamut? Do you know what "gamut" means?
I will once I look it up on an online dictionary and pretend I've known it for my entire life.

Who does that?
Uh... everyone on the Internet.

You're an asshole.
You're repeating yourself. Can I go now?

One last question: any regrets?
Just one. Having to give up my dogs, Jasper and Jax. Miss you guys. Starbuck does, too.

Starbuck, Jax, Jasper: A Long Time Ago...

Magpie Tales, 2010: Volume 2

2011-03-05T00:01:00.004-05:00

Well, I kept a promise to myself and participated in Magpie Tales a bit more frequently than I had been, but I have to confess to linking far too many pre-existing stories to the writing group. Still, there's something both inspiring and memory-inducing about the images posted there.

That stated, I'm tired of the group. Too much, too fast, not enough talent. And way too much "scratch my back and I'll scratch yours." Sorry, I subscribe to: If it's good, read it; if it's not, don't. Is reciprocation the only thing that drives bloggers?

Yeah, I said it. Sue me. I still recommend it if you're looking for a place to post your stuff, though.

Anyway, here's what I linked for the second half of 2010 (as well as 2011, before I split):

*Pieces not originally written for Magpie Tales are marked with an asterisk and their original posting dates.

Magpie 21 - American Independence* (July 4, 2009)
Magpie 22 - Cricket & Rabbit
Magpie 23 - Other People's Fires* (July 25, 2009)
Magpie 24 -

Waking; Warning
Push* (July 30, 2009)
Vitis Coffea, Part I* (June 24, 2010)
Vitis Coffea, Part II* (June 25, 2010)
The Road* (July 25, 2010)

Magpie 25 -

A Winter Tale, Part I* (July 22, 2010)
A Winter Tale, Part II* (July 23, 2010)

Mapgie 28 - The Window Blinks When the Mirror Sees* (March 4, 2010)
Magpie 29 - Time, Not Place* (August 3, 2009)
Magpie 30 - The Blinking Moon* (November 2, 2009)
Magpie 31 - After Paris

Window* (June 17, 2010)

Magpie 32 - Countdown; Carpe Diem* (August 9, 2009)
Magpie 33 - The Storms of Dust, Part I* (January 19, 2010)
Magpie 35 - A Weight the Wind Will Not Carry* (July 11, 2009)
Magpie 36 - Gateway* (December 4, 2009)
Magpie 37 -

Mirror
Upon Reflections* (February 17, 2010)

Magpie 38 - Alone in His Absence* (March 12, 2009)
Magpie 40 -

Pearl Harbour: Rising Suns* (November 4, 2010)
Pearl Harbour: Far Enough* (November 4, 2010)
Pearl Harbour: Safe Harbour* (November 5, 2010)
Pearl Harbour: Pearl in the Water* (November 5, 2010)
Pearl Harbour: Cherry Blossom* (November 6, 2010)

Magpie 41 - All's Fair* (July 8, 2010)
Magpie 43 -

The Snowbird* (December 10, 2009)
Minds Ajar* (August 31, 2010)

Magpie 45 - Exodus Lost* (December 22, 2009)
Magpie 46 - Exhale: A Requiem* (October 3, 2010)
Magpie 48 -

Piano* (August 4, 2009)
The Hidden Conversation: In Abstract* (December 14, 2010)
Symphony* (November 17, 2009)

A Life in Dialog

2011-03-03T00:01:00.000-05:00

*This went up accidentally on January 28 (it was intended for Panoramic Mindscapes), but since some managed to read and comment on it, I'm going to put it up here again.

"I'm just a trigger-puller, bro. You're supposed to tell me what to shoot at."

He laughs. "I resigned, remember?"

"Yeah, dickhead. The new guy's an idiot."

"Not my problem."

But it's nice to be missed. At least for a little while.

Neither man has spoken to each other since. Neither even knows if the other's alive.

***

"When are you leaving?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Thursday."

"Thursday?"

"Wednesday better?"

Little did either know, the sooner he leaves, the sooner the other's life falls apart.

One's off finding himself. The other's trying to save his marriage. Neither really knows what they're looking for.

***

"All talk. That's all you are. Fucking talk."

He smiles. "My foot's broken."

"So?"

"Tired of walking, is all. It hurts."

There was never a light at the end of the tunnel. People like them rely on night vision. Eyes open, eyes closed... makes no difference.

Both have experienced the heights of success. Both have lost it. One is content to stay at the bottom. The other's scratching his way back to the top. Neither can explain why their choices are important to them.

***

"I have to admit, when you said 'leave it all behind,' you meant it."

He frowns. "Nah, not really."

"Then why did you?"

"You can only turn your back so many times before they forget what you look like."

Forward is the only direction, whether they like it or not. It's all about time. And the clock doesn't turn back.

One often forgets what day it is. The other counts the seconds on his watch. Neither admits they just want to be kids again.

***

"You missed the funeral. You never miss a funeral."

He nods. "I can't handle it."

"Oh, come on. Nine years and I only ever saw you break down once."

"You never saw me at home."

It is not the recall of memories that depresses them. It is the imagining of memories never made. A reminder that it's too late now.

Often, the faces of those they'll never see again haunt their dreams. For both, following dreams means something else, entirely. Neither will confess that there's nothing that they want to follow.

***

"You moved again?"

He grins. "That's a surprise?"

"No, I guess not. You ever going to settle down?"

"When I'm buried, I'm sure."

There's something strange about constantly being in situations that are designed to kill you. The dichotomy of keep moving and keep your head down confuses the meaning of life, if there ever were a meaning of life. Being safe is unnatural state of living.

Neither will ever figure out that war is the only place they'll ever feel at home. Too many people will tell them otherwise, will tell them that they're wrong.

***

Too many people talk too much.

Notes on the 83rd Oscars

2011-02-28T00:01:00.045-05:00

I often rant about the Academy Awards, which is why I'm doing so now. Don't get me wrong, it's my favorite awards show and the only one I try to watch every year (of any art industry awards). On to the show...

The opening number was lame. Alec Baldwin and Morgan Freeman were the highlights. Hell, they should've hosted the show. Which brings me to...

Anne Hathaway is an excellent actress. Excellent. She is complete shit as a hostess. Tried way too hard.

James Franco is an excellent actor. Excellent. Was it just me, or did he seem totally bored?

As you can tell, I am screaming for Billy Crystal to return. At least give Hugh Jackman another shot. Or, wait, Alec Baldwin and Morgan Freeman.

Kirk Douglas was a delight to see, not much fun to watch. It was a little sad and more than a bit awkward to see such a prominent Hollywood icon in that state of health. That stated, he was infinitely funnier than either host.

Melissa Leo's speech, the first acceptance speech of the evening, started off great (it's about time we get the f-bomb on the show!) but ended stupidly. Please don't preach. It's the Academy Awards, not a political forum.

The Academy's bordering on disrespectful with their "In Memoriam" sequences lately. This year was no exception. You telling me they can't give another five minutes (at least one extra minute) for their dead friends and colleagues? Really?

I love the new Governor's Awards format. Seriously. More honorees and on a separate night, at that. Good call, Academy (for once).

The ten movies for Best Motion Picture is now officially a sham. Here's what I wrote last year: "Experimenting with a return to ten Best Picture nominations was both a success and a failure. It was a success in that it undoubtedly provided much-needed exposure to films that would not have otherwise garnered that exposure (and allowed Up to be nominated!), but it was a failure in that it provided nothing to help the telecast's ratings. Sure, you'll point out the overnights, but wait a few years. Ratings will drop. Again."

Now here's what I'm saying this year: given the complete lack of airtime devoted to the Best Motion Picture nominees in general, the proclaimed goal of "increasing interest" in the Academy Awards is bunk. They blew right through them. It's just a marketing gimmick for studio DVD covers. Lame.

I do like how they combined most of the "lesser categories" (I use quotations to reflect the public's perception, not my own) into groups of two. Made for a more efficient broadcast, even though it still ran over three hours.

Not sure how I feel about Best Director not being the penultimate award given. I guess I don't really care, but it seemed odd. Especially concerning my feelings that the award should be eliminated and combined with Best Motion Picture.

Love Natalie Portman's subtle dig at spoiled Hollywood starlets. Right on. Hated all of the pro-union props (ostensibly in support of Wisconsin). I'm not necessarily anti-union, but see my above comment about Melissa Leo's speech. Loved James Franco's rip of Charlie Sheen.

I'm with Randy Newman: prepared lists are lame. As are prepared speeches. Next time I see an award-winner pull out a 3x5, I'm taking a bathroom break.

What else was lame? Oh, yeah, the finale. I'm not against public school choirs by any means... but it's not Hollywood. And there's nothing worse than Hollywood pretending it's "just like everyone else." It's not just like everyone else. It's a world apart. That's why it's so friggin' popular.

Other than that, not the worst show I've seen. Definitely not the best. Might have been the worst hosts, though.

Insomniac Olympics

2011-02-17T06:01:00.001-05:00

So...

No, I'm not back. Merely burning the midnight oil for the sake of burning the midnight oil. A nicotine relapse combined with a sleep-schedule almost normalized gone to complete shit and I find myself jotting down words about nothing at all and everything in particular. Funny how that works, eh?

No, I'm not drunk. Haven't had a drop of alcohol since before last Thanksgiving. Who knew? Well... that's not accurate. Everyone knew. Rather, everyone who would know knew. I'm not making much sense, am I? Don't know. Don't care.

At any rate, a few days ago I finished my submission for the 2nd Annual River of Mnemosyne Challenge. Another science fiction story borne of many years of being bored. How many years? Hmm... all of them, I think. Don't know. Don't care. But, I will say this... as far as prose goes, it's the longest story I've ever completed. 30k+ words for the submission, plus another 30k words or so left out of the submission. And all in two weeks, give or take.

I'm not being very exact, am I? Don't know. Don't care.

The other entries, so far, are pretty good. Intriguing, at the very least. I'm reading them as they finish and, even though it's safe to claim that mine is the longest, a few of the others are pretty long, themselves.

In about six weeks, I hop on a plane for Australia, where I will spend nearly four weeks blowing off steam in a place almost as far away as I can get from here. Can't wait.

Against my better judgement, I turned down a job analyzing comic books. I know, I know. I must have taken ill. Talk about a dream job. Ah, well... I'm sure the opportunity will come around again. I've got other fish to fry, other birds to kill, other (insert fauna) to (insert heinous act).

Set some arbitrary self-imposed deadlines and restrictions for myself this year. We'll see if anything pans out.

Can't sleep. But I feel oddly good. One of my cats is eying some flowers a friend of mine gave me. They're on top of the bookshelf. I should probably move them somewhere safer. Not that they'll live very long (the flowers, not the cats).

Escape is a state of mind. Except when it's a state opposite of incarceration. Just thought I'd point that out.

I've been a shit friend as of late. To pretty much everyone. Even my dog, Starbuck. He's a champ, though. He misses the other dogs, but he makes do. I need to be more like him. Except for the neutered part.

House, despite the addition of the "super-genius" kid character (okay, not quite a kid, but awfully young to be on a diagnostic staff), is still one of the best shows on television. Chuck still has its charm, but isn't as good as it was before all the cancellation drama a while back. Which means it'll probably be canceled. Southland still rocks. Sure, the gradual elimination of its ensemble cast is painfully noticeable and has fundamentally changed the show, but it still rocks.

There's a backlog of prepared posts here. I'm considering re-scheduling them just to get them out of the way. This doesn't mean I'm back.

Where was I? Don't know. Don't care. Where am I? Guess what the answer to that one is.

A shitload of cat hair just went flying around the living room. Cats sure are entertaining.

I think I might have another cigarette. I know it'd go well with coffee. I've recently fallen in love with Earl Grey tea. I wonder how well cigarettes go with that. Perhaps I shouldn't find out.

Eh...

The Sign Says Closed

2011-01-13T00:01:00.000-05:00

Way back in 2006, I wrote a blog post on MySpace in response to a friend of mine's irritating propensity to self-promote. Like... really irritating. Worse, she'd self-promote when she didn't need to, when it was unwarranted, or when people clearly didn't give a shit. So, me being a bit of a jerk... I wrote about it (IMDb Listings).

For the next three years (give or take a month or two), I wrote wrathfully and whingeingly about a ton of shit that, admittedly, I didn't really care about. But, people have long-expected such a tone from me and since MySpace was, you know, "a place for friends," I felt compelled to oblige. I even got my buddy Wings involved in MySpace and (indirectly) blogging.

Wings, being more in tune with cyberspace than I am, quickly discovered new blogging platforms and in late 2008 made the jump to Blogger (check out his blog here). Since he was one of my blogging buddies and (I'll confess) I kinda missed him around, I started checking out his new blog. By May of 2009, he'd convinced me to give Blogger a shot.

So I did. And I loved it. Sure, there are some features from MySpace blogs that I miss, but in 9 features out of 10, Blogger blows MySpace out of the water. Six days after testing it out, I jettisoned MySpace for good.

Shortly after that, Wings asked me to edit something for a blogging group called Theme Thursday. Then he encouraged me to give the group a whirl. And I did.

Over the last year and half or so, I've begun correspondence with a ton of cool bloggers. Many have become regular sources of entertainment and information, a few have become collaborators and/or professionally intertwined, and a handful have even become real-life friends. And, for these connections, I'm eternally grateful.

Last year, from January 1st to December 31st, I conducted a bit of an experiment and wound up posting on a strict schedule in order to prove a point in a dick-headed manner (I'm a jerk, remember?). Sometime last summer, I got sick of it... the schedule, the point, the blog... all of it. But, as I'm also stubborn, I kept with it. I figured I'd get the bug again eventually (and I sort of did), but the muse has faded to the point of apathy. This, combined with the fact that several around these parts have proven to be remarkably disingenuous, has made the fun of blogging (for me) disappear.

So... I'm closing up shop. I'll still be around, of course. There are three or four bloggers I've run across who have legitimate shots at becoming working writers, and I'll be assisting them whenever I can. Those connections I'm grateful for know where I'm hanging out, and a fellow blogger has kindly granted me author access on her blog for whenever I get the itch to post some creative writing publicly (which will primarily be to keep my participation streak at The Tenth Daughter of Memory alive). Maybe I'll be back, but I wouldn't hold your breath (the three of you who care).

Well, see you around. Gotta go. One of my cats clearly wants more attention. Maybe he misses my other two dogs as much as I do.

The First Random Musings of 2011

2011-01-12T00:01:00.000-05:00

These are the first random musings of 2011 (and first ones in a while)... they may also be the only random musings of 2011. Strongly considering closing up blog-shop.

I have discovered the joy of cooking steak with onions.

So, someone decided to publish The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, sans the word "nigger." Yes, Roger Ebert's knee-jerk reaction to the news was, well, an overreaction, but he's right. Editing any literature is stupid. And the people who support the idea are stupid. Is the word unfortunate? Absolutely. But do you know what's more unfortunate? People who try to pretend fucked up things didn't happen in history by editing them so nobody else knows they happened. Not only is that information control (something these nit-pickers like to whine about), it's blatant censorship. And censorship is for assholes. Motherfucking assholes. Edit that, bitches.

Hmm... I may have forgotten to mention earlier that I have discovered the joy of cooking at all.

Top Gear, one of the most-watched television series in the world, got in trouble because the hosts decided to dress up as Muslim women for a segment of their Christmas special on the BBC. Obviously, the Muslims who watch the show were "highly offended" because the hosts essentially "mocked" Islam for all of 10 minutes. Never mind the fact that the entire show mocked Christianity (particularly the belief in the Three Magi, who bestowed gifts upon a newborn Jesus), or the fact that the reason for the cross-dressing was to hide from (and mock) authorities from Israel (you know, that Jewish country that Islamic fundamentalists would like to see wiped from the face of the Earth?). No... they cared not about that. Only the 10 minutes that offended them. To them I say, "Go fuck yourselves."

By the way, if you've never cooked a rib eye steak in cilantro, you should try it.

The San Diego Chargers didn't make the playoffs. Argh.

I have recently discovered that the "lime" tree in my backyard is actually a lemon tree. Oops.

What's the point of being declassified if all the government wants to do is reclassify what they agreed to declassify?

Had eel for the first time ever. Loved it.

I'm slowly discovering that "I'm too competitive" is actually a euphemism for "I'm a sore loser." Got news for you: true competitors play until they win. They don't give up when they lose.

There might be a new country in Africa next month. The southern portion of Sudan just voted on a referendum to secede from the country. A little known fact about me is that I'm a geography freak... that includes both physical and political geography. The concept of a new country is something I find pretty friggin' awesome. One of these days I'm going to figure out how many new nations were formed in my lifetime... but I'll save that for the bucket list.

If Secretary of Defense Gates was truly concerned with military efficiency and cost-effectiveness, he'd push harder for the Marine Corps to be absorbed by the Army.

Whiny hags crack me up. And, before you ask, I've been known to crack myself up.

Actually, I've decided. Closing up blog-shop.

Uncharted, Part VI

2011-01-10T00:01:00.001-05:00

*Continued from Uncharted, Part V

"Clock?" Compass' voice crackles electronically through the intercom. "The bitch with you?"

Clock glances up at the Librarian, who pretends to have taken no offense. "Yes, Compass. What do you need?"

"I need those fucking numbers, ASAP."

Clock lets go of the intercom. "You haven't given them to him?" Clock is not happy.

"I gave them to you, not that impudent pup."

"That impudent pup is a Navigator, Librarian. You, on the other hand, are not."

Clock doesn't hear the gunshot. Nor should he have, for the silencer is of the highest quality.

***

The tendrils snake towards Spyglass and she's unable to move. She tries to scream, but all she can manage is a whimper. It's cold here. Dark. Completely black. Light absent and absorbed. And it's where she's stuck.

A scaled tendril, tentacle, wraps around her bare leg and begins feeling its way up her body. Another wraps her other leg. Still more wrap her arms. They begin to constrict. It begins to feed. Her breasts palpate, her body squeezes. Something penetrates her.

She manages another whimper.

***

"So, Spyglass calls it Krueger because it gives her nightmares..." James tries to work out what's going on as he sifts through volumes upon volumes of archives. He loves libraries - always has - and the Order's is as impressive a private library as any.

"Yes," Compass confirms, hoping James will shut up. Compass is already annoyed that there's no imagery from the Jezercë Tunnel, forcing him to work with intelligence gathered from Giewont, but being stuck with James makes it worse.

"... and Sextant calls it Kracken because...?"

"Something about something that looks like an octopus."

"Krueger looks like an octopus?"

Before he lets loose, Compass decides to ignore James, concentrating instead on symbols found on Tunneler artifacts over the years. There are three in particular taking most of Compass' attention. Numbers of some sort. He momentarily recalls the previous Clock, a mathematician who successfully identified and decoded more than a dozen numbering systems used by the Tunnelers. Though that Clock took copious notes, he died of a heart attack before he could finish organizing them into something useable. Continuing that work should be the new Clock's responsibility, but as the new Clock is more time-keeper than number-cruncher, the task somehow fell to Compass.

Compass is regretting not having spent more time on it. The Order would love nothing more than to have someone who can simply read the symbols and Compass would love nothing more than to have one less thing to rely on the Librarian for. Speaking of...

"You seen the hag?"

James, lost in a some web-search, looks up from his screen. "What?"

"The Librarian. Have you seen the Librarian? She's supposed to be coming with the numbers."

Afraid to admit that he's typically unaware of his surroundings, James glances around before responding. "Ah, no."

***

Marianne sits on the floor in front of the fireplace. Though she's under the impression things should be more hectic, particularly during a Kracken Protocol, she likes that Sextant has decided to tell her stories of the Order's history.

"Pope Pius XI met with Mussolini because of the Order?"

Sextant takes a drag from a cigarette and quickly ashes in his von Braun ashtray. "Not singularly, but, yes. He had information that a fascist leader knew of the Order and was preparing his own occult forces."

"But that was Hitler."

Sextant chuckles his, by now, familiar chuckle. "Exactly."

"Hitler wasn't even power in 1932."

"Exactly." The old man pauses and stares at Marianne. Sextant is no, well, sexist, but he's generally surprised by young women with such a detailed knowledge of history. Then again, he's generally surprised by anybody with such a detailed knowledge of history. He shoots her a smile, takes another drag, and explains how each current member of the Order was recruited.

***

Her knees ache. Her ankles. Every joint in her failing body. But she has to move quickly. She's shaking, and not from frailty. The rush she experienced from shooting Clock has yet to subside. The Librarian found it... exciting. She understands now why so many in the world love firearms.

For far too long she's watched these inept fools run the Order into the ground - never mind that Sextant has been in the order for much longer than she's even known about it - but it's her time. She's the smartest. She's the most capable. The Order deserves to be hers.

***

Though the current Clock hasn't been Clock for very long, he's been associated with the Order for years. Prior to his appointment, he was the second-in-command of the Phalanx Nautikos. He'd been promoted to Clock over the other finalist candidate... the Librarian. His predecessor had also been promoted over the Librarian. Come to think of it, Derartu Kebede disappeared shortly after the Librarian was hired.

That Clock has worn a bullet-proof vest under his clothing ever since he'd been shot as a rookie cop in the Chicago Police Department allows him to connect some dots that had, until just now, not been connected. He hadn't been sure that his death throes were convincing. Thankfully, the Librarian has never shot anyone before. Nor seen anyone die of a gunshot wound from up close. She didn't even have the presence of mind to shoot him again, just to make sure.

He knows he'll have to beat Compass to it, but Clock can't wait to kill the hag.

***

Even as she experiences death in her dreamworld, she experiences life. Her heart stops beating just as she's brought to orgasm.

"Sarah..."

This time, the whimper is a scream. She throws off her covers and jumps out of bed, running blind to her bedroom door and through the haunting corridors of the manor.

***

"You ever seen drawings of Cthulu?"

Compass pauses. He knows where James is going. "Yes. It's not Lovecraft's version of Kracken. Lovecraft wasn't in the Order. He was just a creepy writer." Compass glances at James in time to see a dejected frown. "What are you doing? Googling tentacled monsters?"

"Yeah. The only things I'm finding so far are Lovecraft, Jules Verne, and this story by two weirdos about an alien soccer war."

Compass laughs. "Ah, the Garghouls."

"That's the one."

"You should read it. It's pretty funny. Authors were definitely doing drugs, though." The extended conversation is Compass' method of encouragement. He doesn't bother to see that it's lost on James, who simply takes it as extended conversation. Compass might have bothered, but his attention is suddenly diverted back to his screen.

The numbers he's been looking for. Three symbols from the 20-numeral system of the Tunnelers. 9. 8. 3. Placed in a semi-circular pattern. Like a combination lock. Trying to stifle any excitement at the possible - emphasize possible - discovery, Compass taps the print command repeatedly until he hears the printer whir to life.

Running over to it, he grabs the page before it's completely out of the machine, tearing it at a bottom corner. Compass runs for the door. As he reaches it, a sweating and obviously nervous Librarian opens it and enters. Compass brushes her, waving the paper in her face.

"See, bitch? That's why I needed the numbers!"

Letting the shock dissipate, the Librarian continues to her desk, nodding a greeting to James. There, she retrieves a backpack, an attaché case almost too heavy to lift, and exits the library as quickly as she entered.

***

Sextant is mid-sentence of an embarrassing tale - embarrassing to Marianne, that is - when the alarms begin blaring. Relieved that she'll not learn of a Portuguese woman's gyrating ass, Marianne nevertheless becomes instantly worried. "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure. Stay calm, Marianne. The Phalanx will have sentries outside. We've nothing to fear."

She knows she shouldn't, but she believes Sextant. Marianne's never met anyone quite so calming, even when the situation screams that they have everything to fear. As if confirming her subconscious thought, a heavy pounding on the door to the den breaks the calm instilled by Sextant. Marianne swears she sees confusion sweep across Sextant's face, but only for an instant.

Sextant stands and heads to the door. He is confident, but cautious. "Yes?"

"It's the Librarian."

Reflexively, he unbolts the door - bolted automatically when the alarms activated. "Where are the sentries?"

The Librarian waddles in, weighed down by her bag and case. "What sentries?" She looks around, grimaces when she sees that Sextant is not alone. No matter. The wheels are already spinning. Pulling a stun gun from her bag, she fires it into Sextant.

***

Clock, along with Captain Danquah and two other Phalanx soldiers, storms into the library. James jumps from his work, startled.

"Where's the Librarian?" Clock asks. There is no patience in his voice.

"She's, ah... she left. Grabbed some stuff and left."

Clock turns to Danquah. "Get to Sextant."

Danquah nods a quick acknowledgement and he and the two soldiers take off running. Clock looks to James. "This is why you're still alive, James."

James, already confused, is even more so. "What?"

Clock waves his hand, motioning to the library and everything inside of it. "This is yours now. Whether you want it or not. Deal with it."

The thought to ask what's going on doesn't have time to materialize. Clock makes eye contact with James, ensuring James heard him, then turns to leave. "But choose a new title. Librarian has been soiled."

Dumbfounded, James barely realizes that he finally utters a question, albeit one fairly useless in the current predicament. "Bibliothēkē?"

***

Compass was the first to arrive. More out of hatred for the woman than for recognition of what she was doing, Compass rushed her and tackled her to the floor. The Librarian still had her stun gun, though, and Compass doesn't remember what happened next. He never heard Spyglass yell. Never even knew she'd arrived.

Spyglass had come for reassurance. Sextant was the only member of the Order who knew - and understood - the full extent of Spyglass' dreams. He would have been the only person capable of calming her down before another vision burst. Seeing his unconscious form and what she thought was Compass' lifeless body eliminated any chance of that happening.

It was unfortunate, but both the Librarian and a wholly-freaked out Marianne bore witness to what a vision burst looks like. Its effect frightened Marianne even more, but only made the Librarian smile.

"What are you doing?" Spyglass had screamed.

Not needing the stun gun for Spyglass, the Librarian had brandished her pistol. She would have pulled the trigger, too, were it not for the timely arrival of Captain Danquah and other members of the Phlanax Nautikos.

The Librarian had, in fact, pulled the trigger, but given her lack of training, the bullet had struck harmlessly into a wall. Danquah and the PN, however, are well-trained marksmen. And the Librarian activated her door a mere moment after enduring three bullet wounds.

It was unfortunate that Compass, the member of the Order who desperately needed to see a door in action, was unconscious for the Librarian's escape.

But, as Sextant would say, such is life. Except... Sextant is dying.

***

It is a quick conference between Clock, a calmed Spyglass, and a conscious Compass. Gone are Danquah and the Phalanx Nautikos, but still present is Marianne, who cries profusely over Sextant's body.

"We need to transfer what's left of Sextant's powers, before it's too late." Clock's statement is cold, matter-of-fact. But the situation affords no time for mourning.

"To who?" Compass asks. There's been no time for a vetting process, and none of the Order are aware that Sextant had already conducted one in secret.

Spyglass, tears dry from experiencing abject fear for the past few days, finds her thoughts elsewhere. "The Librarian is working with the Tunnelers?"

Still concerned with succession, Clock answers Spyglass' question anyway. "No. She's against them, just like we are. She's just also against us."

"How much of Sextant's powers did she steal?"

Compass grabs the tube from the Lichtenstein print. "It's electromagnetic, whatever it is. It wasn't active before, but it's definitely fucking with my direction-finding."

"There's no way to tell. We'll have to study his successor."

The three Navigators know that there's a strong possibility that the line of Sextants is about to be broken. Already dead, the essence of the Sextant won't remain in his body for much longer. Seconds pass, each Navigator lost in thought.

Marianne, all but forgotten by the others despite her presence directly in front of them, continues to cry. "What are Sextant's powers? He never said."

Compass glances up at Clock. Clock's eyes maintain their steadfastness, returning Compass' look, then shifting to Spyglass.

Spyglass shrugs. "But, she's Catholic." Spyglass isn't used to being part of the decision process of the Order. Even if she were, she's still rattled by her dream.

"As was I," Clock responds. "It doesn't last long."

"Clock?" There is a overwhelming sense of urgency in Compass' voice. "Now or never."

Clock nods.

Compass turns to Marianne. "You're about to find out."

"What?"

"Lie down," Compass orders, pulling a knife from Sextant's belt. "This might hurt a little."

*To be continued...

The Complete Uncharted: Map One

Uncharted, Part V

2011-01-09T00:01:00.000-05:00

*Continued from Uncharted, Part IV

"Spear 6 to Aegis, we are ready to close the tunnel." Aleksandr Lermontov has been a soldier in the Phalanx Nautikos for seven years, but this is the first time he's ever seen one of the portals. Barely visible, it almost looks like a single drop of water hanging from a freshly used faucet, only larger than a man. This one, the Jezercë Tunnel, happens to be larger than a bus. According to Compass, the Jezercë Tunnel hasn't been here long.

If everything goes according to plan, it won't be here much longer.

Aleksandr's earpiece buzzes. "Spear 6, Aegis. Proceed with detonation."

He snaps his fingers and the three others with him begin moving down the mountain, one taking care to brace a detonator as they begin lumbering their way, weighed down by climbing gear. Ordinarily the team would consist of nearly a dozen - seven more wait at the base of the mountain - but these four are the only expert mountaineers in all of the Phalanx Nautikos. In a few moments, the PN will be devoid of expert mountaineers.

The drop of water shimmers, instilling a vision of a splash in Aleksandr's vivid imagination, and something comes through. Before he can react, its arms - matted in a putrid-smelling fur - grab Aleksandr around his stomach and snap his spine in half. He's already dead when it pulls him back into the tunnel.

A moment of panic causes the demolitionist to twist and pull the detonator. Snow and rock tumble through the moonless Albanian night and the three remaining mountaineers tumble to their deaths.

***

Spyglass bolts awake, sweating profusely under a blanket. It takes a moment, but she realizes that she wasn't in Reception. Merely dreaming. Another nightmare.

"You okay?"

"Oh, shit." She forgot someone else was in the room. Compass. Slaving over his blasted laptop, tinkering with schematics and spreadsheets in an attempt to design an effective system of locating the Tunnelers.

Compass stares at her, wide-eyed. His expression reveals one trying to figure out whether to offer assistance or to start laughing his ass off. Since he's crushing on Spyglass, he chooses the former. "Nightmare?"

The adrenaline subsiding, Spyglass feels her cheeks turn red. Another embarrassing moment in front of Compass. He may never ask her out at this rate. If he wanted to, that is.

She nods quickly, pulls the blanket over her head - barely tolerating the smell of her own perspiration - and tries to control her breathing. Terror and embarrassment are a difficult mixture. She hears the tone of Compass' phone and his muffled greeting.

"On the way." The phone snaps closed, then the laptop.

"Get up, Spyglass." Spyglass knows something's wrong. That's the only time Compass addresses her by title. "Shit hit the fan."

***

Captain Kofi Danquah hates debriefing the Navigators. Not that he minds their company, but given his level of autonomy in running the Phalanx Nautikos, Danquah tends only to debrief the Navigators after something bad has happened. Born in Greece - the son of a Ghanaian diplomat - Danquah finds the winters of Switzerland far too cold. But he loves his job.

Except this part of it, of course. The only thing worse than debriefing the Navigators is doing so in front of a blinding projector light.

"At 0217 Central European Time, Sergeant Lermontov's team conducted a peripheral reconnaissance of the Jezercë Tunnel..."

Clock interrupts. "Peripheral?"

Danquah nods, answering Clock's implied question before resuming the debrief. "Two members of Lermontov's team entered the tunnel, which is when they discovered this." Danquah taps his remote and the projected image changes.

"What the fuck is that?" Nobody has to ask whether or not that was Compass.

"We don't know," Danquah replies. "Permission to conduct a recon in-depth was not granted."

"Nor was it asked for, Captain," scolds Clock.

As he's not yet been made privy to all of the radio transmissions, Danquah was not aware of this. He purses his lips and attempts to hide his burgeoning anger at being left out of the loop. They were his men, after all. His soldiers. He should've been allowed to oversee the operation, even if from a remote location. But Clock had demanded oversight. One does not question the decision of a Navigator, even the commanding officer of the Phalanx Nautikos. Wisely allowing his ire to pass, Danquah continues.

"Preliminary analysis suggest a lock of some kind."

Sextant speaks this time, which shocks everyone. Such an act is a rarity in any formal Order conference. "A lock? For what?"

"We don't know that, either."

"Is there any imagery?" Compass asks.

"Destroyed in the accident."

Marianne and James, sitting unobtrusively in the back, begin whispering to each other. Though it was his idea to reveal the Order to them, Clock is annoyed by their presence in the conference room. "Something to share?"

"If it's a lock, and this tunnel is newer than the other ones, what if it's not a tunnel at all? What if it's a door?"

Sextant speaks again. "Manufactured?"

"Well, yes. Why not?" Marianne is rather pleased with herself. The pleasure doesn't last long.

Sextant snaps his fingers. "Kracken Protocols. Immediately."

Two seconds ago, there were nine people in the room. The four navigators, Captain Danquah, two PN intelligence specialists, and Marianne and James.

Two seconds later, there is only Marianne and James.

***

Marianne sprints through the corridor, chasing Compass. James struggles to keep up behind her.

"Compass!"

"What?" Compass doesn't turn to look at her. Nor does he stop jogging.

"What's going on?"

"Sextant thinks we're about to get invaded."

Marianne stops, dead in her tracks. "Invaded? By the Tunnelers?"

"No. Just one Tunneler."

***

Elsewhere, entering her dormitory, Spyglass shivers. She hopes Sextant is overreacting - he's done so before. In fact, this will be the third time the Kracken Protocols have been implemented since she's been Spyglass. But never before has it happened after a Phalanx Nautikos mission went awry. And never before has anyone even considered the possibility that the Tunnelers can make their own tunnels.

All Spyglass knows is that she's no desire to meet Krueger in person.

*Continued in Uncharted, Part VI

The Complete Uncharted: Map One

Uncharted, Part IV

2011-01-08T00:01:00.000-05:00

*Continued from Uncharted, Part III

The beast is a familiar one. Spyglass has seen it many times before. It spoke to her once, even as it stuffed its maw with the flesh and tissue of Leonard Cayce. Spyglass hadn't known it at the time, but Leonard was once a candidate to be Compass. Not that it mattered. The image of his devouring sort of ended any speculation that the current Compass could be replaced.

Its wings aren't feathered, but scaled. At least they look scaled, for even during Reception, Spyglass is too afraid to take a closer look. Some of these Tunnelers are reported to be psychic, after all. Proximity in dreams may be as dangerous as proximity in body. Though young, Spyglass has never been one for taking unnecessary risk.

She remembers what it said to her: "You will understand my tongue." The obvious interpretations were clear, given Leonard's body as a meal and the fact that it communicated in English, but Sextant assured her that neither was what it meant. Spyglass has taken to calling it Krueger - after the horror film antagonist - and often finds herself combating it in her own dreamworlds.

Its fingers, like its film counterpart, are blades. Its skin, depending on the angle, appears charred. But there the similarities end, for there is nothing human about this Krueger. Its mouth is tentacled, replete with toothed suckers like a giant squid and barbed tips like stingers on scorpions. And its eyes... not terrifying in their appearance... but terrifying in that they always seem to be looking at her, whether during Reception or dream.

It finishes killing someone. She's not sure who... or what gender... but that's not what terrifies her this time. What terrifies her is that it speaks to her again...

"Sarah..."

***

Compass is in a bad mood. It's enough that he has to ask the Librarian for some assistance; it's worse that Marianne tags along. Yes, she's kinda cute and, he must admit, her voice has a lusciously sultry tone to it, but the fact that she has a boyfriend obviates any dirty thoughts for her body that Compass might have. He may be a jerk, but he's got scruples.

Thankfully, he's either walking too fast or has too intense an expression on his face for Marianne to try to make smalltalk. She just follows him through the Karl Moser-designed manor, taking turns staring at him and glancing at some of the paintings and artifacts on display throughout. She's never actually been to the Library and doesn't know where it is, but when Compass pauses in front of a large set of oak double doors, inhales, then exhales, she knows they've arrived.

Compass pushes open the doors, as quickly as their weight will allow, and without even knowing if the Librarian is inside, calls out.

"You get those numbers I asked for?"

The Librarian appears behind a stack of shelves in the northwest corner. She fumes subtly. "I'm a librarian, Compass. Not a researcher. You may get them yourself."

"You gave them to Clock. He lost them. I need them."

"No."

"Pardon me?"

"I did the work once. I need not do it again."

Compass secretly wishes the Librarian were a man. He'd love to break her jaw. "He said you pulled them up on your computer. How hard would it be to, I don't know, just bring them up again?"

The Librarian returns to whatever it is she was doing. Compass' expression makes Marianne wonder if he's going to beat the old woman to death with a heavy book. That there's a dictionary on a reading lectern a few feet from where Compass currently stands makes Marianne worry.

"You do realize we're in the middle of something important, don't you?" Compass asks, a final polite gesture before, no doubt, things get ugly.

The Librarian continues her work as if neither Compass nor Marianne are in the room.

"Fine, bitch. I'll check Clock's office again." Compass bolts out, brushing by Marianne. How an order so seemingly dysfunctional manages to save the world on a near-daily basis is beyond her.

After Marianne is gone, the Librarian walks to the lectern and brushes her fingers on the dictionary. It's a vintage American Webster's, dated 1900. She flips through the pages with her eyes closed, blindly pointing at a random word. Petulant. Insolent or rude in speech or behavior. The Librarian laughs and takes a closer look. The preceding word is petunia. She laughs again.

"That'll do nicely." Closing the dictionary, she returns to the shelves.

***

The four men and two women standing before Cardinal Grant are obviously soldiers. Elite ones, at that. Their leader, a man who identified himself only as Corporal, holds out a hand. In his palm, innocently placed, are two white tablets.

"I cannot commit suicide. Such an act would consign me to Hell."

"The alternative is painful, Cardinal," Corporal replies.

"God would never forgive me."

"I don't believe in your god. I couldn't care less."

"Child." It is a defiant tone with which Cardinal Grant speaks. He looks at the other five soldiers. "Children. It matters not what you believe. Only what He believes."

Corporal fights back a smile. Despite appearances, he doesn't enjoy this part of his work, and it's merely a nervous reaction. The Phalanx Nautikos were formed to combat the Tunnelers, not conduct assassinations. The unfortunate revelation that several species of Tunnelers were telepathic made the secrecy of the Order of Navigators tantamount to the survival of the Human race. The survival of Earth, as well, for that matter. Given the incident of 1489, in which Martin Truchseß von Wetzhausen - then the Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights - was almost compromised by the Tunnelers a second time, the tradition of assassinating those outside of the order who knew of the order began.

"He believes, Cardinal," Corporal begins, replacing his almost-smile with as grim a look as possible, "that if you do not consume these pills, you will suffer worse pain than your Lord and Savior did at Golgotha."

Corporal lets that sink in, then continues in a softer tone. "I can assure you that your god does not wish that upon you."

The Cardinal looks into Corporal's eyes and takes a breath. Regardless of choice, it is time for belief to be tested.

***

Clock sits across from Sextant, who is currently regaling Clock with tales of Derartu Kebede, the Ethiopian princess who was Clock prior to his own predecessor. It is obvious that, despite all that Kebede instructed Sextant, Sextant wanted nothing more than to bed her. It is also obvious that Sextant never did.

A buzzing noise interrupts Sextant's story and Clock reaches into his pocket, retrieving his cellular phone. He answers it, slowly nods, and hangs up.

"It's done."

Sextant frowns. Both men's curiosities try to determine if the pills were taken, but both men have too much respect for Cardinal Grant to ever ask. Besides, if God is real, they'll find out soon enough.

*Continued in Uncharted, Part V

The Complete Uncharted: Map One

Uncharted, Part III

2011-01-07T00:01:00.000-05:00

*Continued from Uncharted, Part II

Excerpt 1 -

It is estimated that the tunnels have been open since the year 949. In the early part of that year, all of the planets in the Solar System were aligned in the same 90-degree arc. For reasons as-yet unexplained, the gravitational alignment of the planets resulted in a tear in space-time and doorways (what the Order refers to as the tunnels) to other dimensions were opened. These Meean tunnels (so named after Jean Meeus) weren't hypothesized until later in the 20th Century and the discovery of the first tunnel in Poland (near Giewont in the Tatra Mountains) confirmed their existence.

The Order of Navigators, leading a pseudo-military incursion, has reportedly closed the Giewont Tunnel, though Navigator Sextant has so far refused to reveal the method of closure. Lacking conclusive evidence, as well as the order's reluctance to cooperate fully with Vatican authority, I am of the opinion that there are many more tunnels and that more creatures have come through them.

Excerpt 2 -

Given legends such as the Beast of Gévaudan (and several others), I believe that creatures have been coming through these tunnels for centuries. The irony that a Pope authorized the annexation of an atheist order of "Knights" for the purposes of protecting our existence only serves to reinforce how important and real this situation is.

Excerpt 3 -

That stated, the operational and administrative status is an affront to our Catholic beliefs. That you were successful in convincing Navigator Clock to disband their military arm (along with their assassination practices) bears poorly on our sovereignty and, in my humble opinion, our very legitimacy. We are more than capable of handling these Demons using our existing assets. My appeals to do so have been denied now for the seventh time.

Excerpt 4 -

It is with great regret that I resign from my position as Prefect of the Supreme Tribunal of the Apostolic Signatura.

Cardinal Jonathan M. Grant

***

"Wow. He resigned?" Marianne doesn't know what to think. Cardinal Grant was who first informed her that the Order of Navigators were even real. She didn't know him well, but she considers him a mentor.

Compass, testing an algorithm on his computer, nods. He fails to mention that the military arm of the order isn't exactly defunct and that, with the Pope's reluctant blessing, Cardinal Grant will suffer a fatal heart attack by the end of the day.

Tired of watching the computations, Compass stands from his chair and heads for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To the Library. Need some information."

"Can I come?"

Compass shrugs as he exits.

Watching from his high-backed smoking chair in the corner, Sextant - who had been frowning up to that point - lets loose a wry smile. It was strongly advised that he select a different Compass, but Sextant needed the apathetic humor that this Compass provides. Sextant recognized that his own skills and, indeed, his own discretions were falling by the wayside. While he wants nothing more than for his successor to be as empathic as possible, he needs his Compass to be as blunt and straightforward as he - Sextant, that is - used to be.

A long time ago, that was.

***

Even before Sextant became the head of the Order of Navigators, he was an accomplished navigator. Once a Lieutenant in the Royal Navy, he had been aboard the HMS Repulse when it was sunk by the Japanese in the early days of the Pacific War. It was then that he'd met his predecessor for the first and only time.

Drowning in the South China Sea, somewhere East of Endau, a young British sailor prepared himself to pass through to the other side. Except... he didn't.

Prior to passing out from the lack of oxygen and the water pressure, that sailor witnessed the oddest of sights. A black man locked in a physical struggle with what could only be described as an octopus made of smoke. And a green turtle that, moments after the sailor spied it, exploded in a fissure of flesh, blood, and shell. Or, perhaps, imploded.

When he had come to, Sextant found himself lying on a beach in Sumatra, very much alive. The black man was reciting some strange incantations and carving symbols into Sextant's chest. Sextant tried to resist, but found himself too weak. And found his arms pinned by two green turtles, both of whom appeared to be smiling. To this day, Sextant swears one spoke just before he had passed out again. "Welcome," it had said. But, other than the first Clock he had worked with, Sextant mentioned it to no one.

Indeed, until he had met his first Clock the year after the Japanese surrendered - he'd been captured on Sumatra and spent most of the war in a prisoner of war camp on Hokkaido - he had no idea who that black man even was. When he'd woke the second time, the black man was lying dead beside him, and the green turtles were gone.

***

Sextant had been sleeping in his flat in London when his first Compass had knocked on his door. With him was his first Clock, a strikingly tall Italian woman with whom he'd have many sexual encounters until her death three years later (an untimely death, largely Sextant's fault).

"Who are you?" Sextant, then still operating under his birth name, had asked.

Both Compass and Clock were carrying pistols - American Colt 1911s, if memory serves Sextant correctly - and Clock had ordered Sextant to pack some clothes and come with them. In a position to cherish life as fully as possible, Sextant obeyed. By the time the DC-3 had landed in Switzerland, Sextant had learned who the black man was - the Third Sextant. He'd learned that prior to the First Sextant the position was known as Quadrant and prior to being known as Quadrant it was known as Astrolabe. He'd learned who Compass, Clock, and Spyglass were and what they did. He'd even learned that, from the time he'd been imbued by the previous Sextant to the time he'd been found by Compass, he had been growing younger and is, in fact, 12 years older than his body thinks it is.

Neither the Compass nor the Clock at the time expected Sextant to fall into line so quickly, but he had. And for no other reason than having seen an octopus made of smoke and being welcomed by a turtle.

*Continued in Uncharted, Part IV

The Complete Uncharted: Map One

Uncharted, Part II

2011-01-06T00:01:00.000-05:00

*Continued from Uncharted, Part I

They are at home in the dark. They are at home in the light. Myths propagated by the banal imaginations of those who wanted nothing more than control of their congregations led humanity to believe that monsters only exist at night. But what of monsters that are not? There is nothing about them in the legends of these cultures. No revelations. Could they read the languages of man they would but laugh at the explanations of what lies beyond.

For nothing lies beyond. Save for them. What is seen is what begets. And what begets is fear. The evolutions of creatures subject to biological conditions not yet imagined by the chemical reactions known as thought. Chemical reactions some mistake as a gift granted by yet another imaginary evolution.

It is these mistakes upon which they pray. It was not God responsible for the alignment of the planets on that fateful day in the 10th century. It was not gods ignorant to the gravitational pulls of celestial bodies that ripped open a small tear in the fabric of space-time. It was simply chance. One in unimaginable billions. The same chance that created life here. The same chance that created death there. The same chance that opened the tunnels.

But the myths got something right. There are great powers in the universe. And they are more common than the son of one. More common than an adversary. And the creatures from the other side of the tunnels can smell them.

To humanity, these great powers are miraculous. Rightfully the stuff of legend. To the Tunnelers... they - along with the rest of carbon-based life on Earth - are food.

***

James cuts into the rib-eye steak, much to the chagrin of Marianne. She can barely hide her disgust at James' propensity to eat rare meat. It's the blood. He's a great work partner, but she's slowly coming to realize that he's not as good a life partner as she'd once hoped. James has done nothing all that irritating in the past few months - not since the debacle at her parents in Brussels - but it's not helping his cause that she's heavily attracted to Compass. Worse, it's hurting that it is James who was assigned to observe Compass. Though Marianne is in awe of Sextant, she wishes she could spend more time with the direction-finder. Through today, she's only seen him a handful of times and has only spoken to him once... and that was merely a quick introduction and exchange of names.

"How's the old guy?" James asks, oblivious to his current station in Marianne's perception.

She looks up, nibbling on her salad - a much more sensible meal, in her opinion. "Oh, he's wonderful. Weird and charming."

James scrunches his brow. Weird and charming? "Compass is a bit of an asshole." He hesitates to mention Spyglass, fearful that Marianne will somehow notice James' attraction to Spyglass in his voice.

Marianne would have noticed no such thing, but she does notice James' disdain for Compass, which further sours her mood. "Oh, you don't even know what the Hell it is they're doing."

James shrugs, taking it as a point of fact. He doesn't know what they're doing. He's only here because he's been Marianne's - his girlfriend - research assistant. She seems to know most of what's happening, but her ability to explain it is much like the ability of any of his female friend's ability to explain anything: nonexistent.

"I wish they'd let us out of here," James mutters, recalling that his university friends are currently somewhere in the Italian Alps, enjoying some powder and, no doubt, ski bunnies.

Unfortunately for James, there's no place Marianne would rather be. Eating dinner with her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend - should all go as planned - in front of a hearth in one of the many dens in the headquarters of the Order of Navigators.

As she imagines running her fingers up and down the spine of Compass, James chews on his steak, considering the irony of a religious order full of members who don't believe in God.

***

The crone-hag fast approaches - carrying a cardboard tube - and he can already smell her medicated odor. Compass has never liked the Librarian and, he's quite sure, never will. He hates people who are nothing but facades. Everyone has a facade, he knows, but it takes a dedicated faux-intellectual who grew up in faux-intellectualism to actually be nothing but a facade.

It certainly doesn't help his impression of the Librarian that she's not even an official member of the order, despite her title. He's convinced that she's only around because she's older than any of them, save Sextant. That she looks older than Sextant almost makes him pity her. Were she pity-worthy, that is.

Where's Spyglass when he needs eye-candy?

"Compass."

He also hates how she calls his name so matter-of-factly. No question, no greeting. Just blunt adjective.

"What?" Compass dropped the fake smile for her years ago.

"I need you to give this to Sextant," she states, holding the tube out for Compass to grab. "It's for his birthday."

Compass stares at the tube, not taking it. "What is it?"

"It's a birthday present."

"You said that. What is it?" He can't help himself. He loves being a dick to the hag. Particularly because she reacts to poorly to it. Almost like a child. Then again, it's not his fault she's not allowed direct access to Sextant.

"A Lichtenstein."

Compass continues to stare at the tube, then slowly shifts his gaze to the Librarian's bespectacled visage. Wrinkly and thoroughly unattractive. Probably smoked cigars for a time.

"He's a pop culture artist from America, was popular during..."

"I know who he is, hag." It's an interruption Compass will cherish for hours. He grabs the tube and turns to leave, not wanting to remain in her presence.

"Compass."

He stops, mentally shrugging. "What?"

"Just give it to him. Don't say anything; just give it to him."

"Why?" He stares into her eyes as she glares at him. She knows nothing of his combat histories and, as many professionals who've long had to discipline students, believes her gaze to make men nervous. For Compass, it just gives him the opportunity to make mental jokes of her beady little turkey eyes.

"I don't want you to dilute the gift."

"By saying something?"

"It doesn't require your voice-over."

He shakes his head, stifling laughter. "It's a Lichtenstein."

The Librarian stares, as if questioning his answer and trying to answer his question.

Compass explains. "I could take a shit on it, and it will still be a Lichtenstein."

"Please just hand it to him."

The dam breaks. "You know, for all that useless factual knowledge stuck in your head, you're pretty fucking stupid."

It's a statement Compass will cherish for days. Then, he's no idea what he's set in motion.

***

"Why do Compass and the Librarian hate each other?" Spyglass asks Sextant. She's always wondered, but never remembered to inquire.

Sextant pulls on his cigarette, savoring the smooth Turkish flavor, and chuckles his comforting chuckle. "Because she's pretentious and he's apathetic."

Spyglass frowns a bit. It's an involuntary reaction. Even she doesn't yet realize how defensive of Compass she tends to be.

Sextant taps the cigarette over an ornate ash tray made from portions of a V2 rocket's gyro control mechanism - supposedly a gift from Werner von Braun. "Sad woman, that one."

Spyglass doesn't hear him, her thoughts elsewhere. As if on cue, Compass enters and tosses the cardboard tube onto an empty chaise longue. "Happy birthday, Sex. Bitch got you a Lichtenstein. Where's Clock?"

"Late, I'd imagine," Sextant replies, chuckling again.

*Continued in Uncharted, Part III

The Complete Uncharted: Map One

Uncharted, Part I

2011-01-05T00:01:00.000-05:00

Black. The absence of light. The absorption of it. And it's where she's stuck.

Her breath is amplified. Deafening. Despite her best efforts to remain quiet and, by proxy, perfectly still. She's being too loud. She knows it can hear her.

She also knows it can see her.

She's breathing too loud.

Too loud. Much too loud. She can't hear it approaching, but she knows it's coming.

Were there any light, she'd have seen the tendrils, wafting in the still air amid dust particles that found their place places based on density, like oil and water. Air settled only by her unwillingness to move. Were there any light, she'd have seen that the tendrils created no wind, offered no disturbance.

Were there any light, she'd have not felt the vertigo. Not been confused as to whether or not she was underwater, in spite of her deafening respiration.

But there is no light. She sees nothing. Feels nothing.

Until it rips her apart.

Oil and water. And blood.

***

Spyglass' eyes open. She wasn't sleeping, but the effect still disorients. "Damn." It's all she can mutter.

"What?"

"They got another one." Spyglass curls up, propping herself with her elbows behind her back. She winces for a moment as a lock of her hair gets caught under arm. There's a futile hopping gesture - hard to do when one is still essentially lying down - and a flinch of the neck. It's unnecessary - and, indeed, unnoticed - but she's hit by a twinge of embarrassment, thinking her clumsiness makes her appear unattractive.

"That's not good." Compass doesn't notice her stuck hair as he busily types notes into his archaic laptop computer. Not that he would've cared; he probably would've enjoyed the sight of her pert breasts jiggling atop her nubile form. As it is, he's caught up in data entry of a most unusual kind on a computer he berates under his breath. Still, he's not one to pass up an opportunity to ogle Spyglass.

Fortunately, for the both of them, there are more important matters at hand.

"Which one?" Compass asks.

"Da Silva, I think," Spyglass replies, kicking her legs to the side of the leather couch and sitting up properly. She blows some loose hair away from her eyes - probably from the same lock she caught herself on - and rubs her eyes. She's barely 25, but worry lines are starting to draw her in her 30s. "It was definitely a woman."

"Which one?" Compass is not repeating the earlier question. It's apparent to the third person in the room, James Lüpertz, that these two have done this many times already. It is not a good revelation. Even more so since he doesn't even know what's going on.

Spyglass scrunches her brow and looks to the ceiling. She pauses on the faux-Gothic chandelier - replete with ceiling fan attachment - and wonders for a moment if anything as romantic as the Phantom of the Opera could ever be real. The blades batter the air and Spyglass shivers at the reluctant memory of... whatever it was.

"Which one, Sarah?" He is repeating, this time.

She shrugs, blindly noting his use of her real name. She'd return the favor, but rumor has it Compass had his name legally changed to Compass upon his assignment. "I don't know. I've never felt that one before."

Compass frowns and taps more keys in rapid succession. Between Spyglass' admission and the outdated CPU in the laptop, Compass' frustration boils over. "Well, that's fucking wonderful."

"What does that mean?" James isn't supposed to say anything - he's merely there as an observer - but he can't help it. Confusion is rapidly disappearing into layers of more confusion.

Spyglass lies back down on the couch. Compass keeps typing. James look to one, then the other, then back to the first. It is Compass who finally answers. "It means shit's still coming through."

"How? The tunnel in Poland was closed."

"Fuck if I know, dude." Compass speaks as if a teenager, though he's well into his 30s. His lengthening hair effectively disguises nearly two decades of military service, and people often take him less seriously than they should. Then again, Compass wouldn't have it any other way. "Maybe there's another tunnel? Hello?"

James turns to look behind him - a reflex - but no one is there. It takes him a moment to realize that Compass' greeting was American sarcasm. Why can't the bastards ever give straight answers?

"Am I next?" Spyglass lazily asks, about ready to fall asleep. Reception is exhausting.

Compass shrugs. She pouts and almost begs for reassurance, but he beats her to it. "I doubt it. You're pretty low on the totem pole."

That's not very reassuring, she thinks, as she lets herself slide into a dreamworld... her own, this time.

***

Marianne Dequenne stares in awe of the two men seated in front of her. Well, one of them, anyway. The elder one. Nearly 80 years old, he is a man who has - quite literally - seen everything. Everything the stars have seen.

The stars looking at Earth, anyway.

He is Sextant. A position he's held for 67 years, longer than any previous Sextant by more than two decades. He came into the title by pure accident, the wrong place at the right time, and has held it professionally ever since. Even though his first few years with the responsibility were disastrous - the Earth was almost destroyed twice - the woman who was Clock guided him well. As did her successor, a would-be Ethiopian princess once known as Derartu Kebede.

The other man in front of Dequenne is the new Clock. He's only been Clock for two years, which is why Marianne isn't in awe of him. As of yet, he's accomplished little of note.

Publicly, that is.

She's no idea that it is this new Clock who has granted Marianne Dequenne and James Lüpertz direct access to the Navigators.

It is a gesture unprecedented in the history of their order. Previously, when the existence of their order was discovered - or strongly suspected - "accidents" were arranged. An unfortunate side effect necessitated by the enemy they face.

But there would be no accident, not this time. The reasons for their disclosure are few, but important. Marianne has no idea what any of them are.

Or how close she and James were to being erased from existence. Fortunately, for her and for James, Clock identified something useful in the two of them.

And, besides... existence is still young.

*Continued in Uncharted, Part II

The Complete Uncharted: Map One

33

2011-01-03T00:01:00.002-05:00

Numbers. Numbers. There's a secret in the numbers. How do I get to it? Nah, I'm not crazy. Not like all those other number freaks. They make up meanings because they want to find some. I've already seen the meaning. I just want to know the why. Seen the who. The what. The where. The when. The how. Even the which. But I don't know the why.

Numbers. Numbers.

***

"He's gonna figure it out." Twist's face shows genuine concern. She's been hiding in the shadows for a while. Hiding behind Shadow. But if she's revealed, then, well, the game's over.

"Figure what out? There's nothing to figure out." The cigarette smoke disappears in the steam. Mother likes to talk about how he never smokes inside the house. Apparently he doesn't count the shower as being inside the house.

"That's what he's going to figure out." Foil shares Twist's concern. He learned long ago to follow the lead of his sister. Her eyes are always looking, always seeing. Always perceiving. Foil's never been the sharpest tool in the shed, he knows this. It's this knowledge that prevents him from sharing his theory. Mother wants the game to be over.

"He already knows. That's why there's nothing to figure out." Both children hate that Mother smokes.

***

It's there. Hidden in the subtext. I keep going over the conversations in my head. Double-meanings. Triple-meanings. What seems blunt, open, honest, might be anything but. It's hard to trust the words. But the numbers. They're just math. Math doesn't lie. Mathematicians might, but not the math.

The plot's been set for a while. I know where the story's going. Previous encounters preparing me for the final, like some weird romantic gauntlet. They've all had something in common. Maybe not with each other, but definitely with the one around the corner. Nothing but clues. Foreshadow in the details. Oh, the details.

She's beautiful. What does she have to do with the numbers?

***

"Are you sure he's really coming?" Twist only asks because he's been known to waffle. Change his mind on a whim. She really has no idea how much he wants to figure this out.

"He's coming." Mother steps out of the shower, reaches for a towel. Neither of his children will tell him, but Mother's aged well. He'd be rather popular if he came out of hiding more often. Not that it matters to Mother. A defining encounter is soon to happen. "Foil saw the arrangements."

"Yeah, I did." There's some emotional confusion for Foil. He's a bit leery of what Mother believes is sure to happen, but he does want it to happen. A least a small part of him does. The mystery they've all been relishing for the past few months - nearly a year - will end, and there is some sadness to that. The relationship and its exchanges have been interesting. But, one way or another, Twist needs to be revealed. The game demands it.

"Just because he's coming doesn't mean he's going to win." Mother's voice is reassuring, as always, even though it was not a statement of reassurance.

***

The day of the month. The month of the year. The date. There's a warning in it. Or maybe just a sign. I can't tell. It's worrisome, regardless. High hopes or a harbinger. That's the secret. That's the Twist. Multiplication equaling a number that equals me. If I can be divided into integers. I don't know the control measures. That's the problem. It's in the formula. I don't know what that is, either.

There's a secret in the numbers. I'm gonna run out of fingers.

***

"Should I stay out of the way?" Twist isn't really worried, but she knows things might get awkward. She's also aware that even if she stays hidden, she's revealed. It's an inevitability that makes the climax a given, even if no one has any idea what's going to happen.

"No. Act natural. Let it play out." They can tell Mother's annoyed. He's been expecting this for some time and has played out many different scenarios. Some good; some bad. But all lead to a conclusion. He's coming without much of a plan, so chaos will be in order. There's no point in preparing reactions, only preparing for the arrival. It'll unfold as it will.

"I warned him." There's a small smile on Foil's face. He did warn him. But he also inadvertently encouraged him. That's usually what happens when someone fails to take a strong position. There is more than one way to the end of an equation. Foil accidentally provided more than one math.

"Yes, and you shouldn't have. The challenge is what motivated him." Mother reaches for a cigarette. The game's well afoot. It remains to be seen what the final score will be.

***

Numbers. Numbers. They're not adding up. Maybe I am crazy. It's not a sum; it's a product. Knowing the variables is not helping me. She's an undefined value. X. A gestalt of smaller geometric shapes in the form of an answer to a question.

She's the who. The what. I know where she is. I know when I'll be there. Shit, I've had it wrong. I do know the why. I don't know the how. Which is unimportant, which is why nobody asks it. The proof needs to be solved. Too bad I suck at math.

This is either going to be great, or I'm going to die. What am I up against?

Numbers. Numbers. What a strange year.

*Continued in 24

The Mindscape

2011-01-01T00:01:00.000-05:00

What is it?

It's a jumbled mess, whatever it is. The Genesis of an Abortion. The Exodus of False Lives and Lies. A Revelation of a Journey that bears no resemblance to moving from Point A to Point B in a logical manner. The hand of Fate, deliberately leaving its subjects no choice.

A contradiction.

A deception.

Many deceptions.

Bullshit, as they would say.

Who are they? Forms and figures - phantoms, perhaps - of imagined ideas and actions that are ostensibly controlled by one who is Real. But they are the Banal. The ones worth time are those that - they who - what the fuck ever - are uncontrollable. With lives and half-lives of their own.

They are radioactive. Born dead and only interesting when inanimate. Those who lie, steal, murder, rape. Those who stop the liar, the thief, the killer, the rapist. The object of their existence is to take others to the abject principle and show that humanity - the very act of thought - knows no bounds. Good and Evil are one and the same. Always have been. Always will Be.

God does not exist here, for there is more than One. Gods exists here, and there are less than Zero. The shadows of social imagination create their power struggles and cast out those who are too weak to follow, too weak to care.

It is apathy that starts the war. Empathy that fights it. And sympathy that makes everyone a liar.

The sun never sets on Empiricism. Darkness falls upon the Land of the Arousing Sun. Superficial eroticism is the reason for everything. It's - she's - beautiful, and that's why she's wanted. It's also why she's killed.

Was she an infant? Whose skull was crushed beneath the boot heel? Was she a child? Who stole her innocence and replaced it with an overwhelming guilt that will lead her to the water that the horse will drown her in?

As an adolescent she was coveted. And taken. By many. And a prisoner in adulthood, freed only by the merciful finger of the Reaper.

He was a baby fed to the wolves because father was bored. He was a child introduced to sexual assault by means of example. He was the teenager whose life of crime began with a coming-of-age in a prison cell. He was the adult who bred more criminals.

Where are the heroes now? Who are the Myths that walk on water and turn blood into wine, bread into flesh, piss into vinegar, and excrement into dessert?

Are they waiting for the sky to fall? Or are they simply falling from the sky? To rely on Icarus for rescue is a foolhardy decision. To wait for the Peregrine to arrive is to wait forever.

Is forever worth waiting for? Perhaps if it comes with supple nipples and a wet vagina. Otherwise, what's around the corner might do just as well. He just wants to watch her breasts bounce and her buttocks gyrate. Old, young, immoral. It doesn't matter if one is careful. The careful are never caught. Crooked police only fail to police.

Who is the killer who sheds a tear? Her mind is a jumbled mess, whoever she is. The second coming of a Faith that never returned. The first coming of a Legend that never arrived. Her hand is taken. In love. In lust. Hearts whose beatings are rivaled by only that of erect penis and swollen labia.

Ugly words describe the enjoyable. And by whose command? An author - authors - whose names will never be known because their followers took pride in taking credit. It's only a Sin if they disagree. It's a Virtue if no one agrees.

The true Faith lies in not believing blindly, but in believing in the face of proof that it's a lie. True hope lies not in the wanton tossing of pennies into a fountain, but in the willingness to use the tricks of an enemy against the enemy. And Eye for an Eye. And Tooth for a Tooth. Ashes to Ashes. Dust to Dust.

It's a race, and the good - not the Good - will win because they will pull the trigger first. When they turn to smile, is it a friendly gesture? Or are you merely next?

Art is expression and expression will not be censored. The Truth is not meted out in doses. It is not colored by subjective moral. It simply is. They enjoy watching others die. They enjoy blood spurting from vein and artery. They enjoy placing their tongues in places that make her squirm. They will try anything twice.

Save your judgements for your own thoughts. They care not. If you cannot stand to bear witness to all that will transpire, then gouge your eyes and burst your ears. Turn out the lights and lock the door. That you cannot tell the monster from the paramour is of no concern to them. They'd just as soon kiss you and fuck you as they would kill you and cook you.

They are what they eat. And they're all cocks and pussies. Hard, soft, warm, and wet. Like the rains, dependent on the time of year and the mood of the wind. Doldrums just mean they have to make their own fun, and whether you're a player or the game depends solely on nothing at all. Merely the mood of the wind.

The world, the universe - existence - is a fucked up place. Chaos reigns and only those destined to fail believe there's an order to it all. Moving forward is the only option. Leave everything behind. That is the fine line between predator and prey.

Anything goes here. Leave your sensibilities at the door. Or don't come in. Laugh. Cry. Scream. If you aren't taken to the limit of acceptability - and beyond it - then this view is a failure.

Are you afraid yet? You'd better be. You're a fucking idiot if you're not.

Welcome to The Mindscape.

Enjoy.

Schedule Kept... Time for a Nap

2010-12-31T00:01:00.000-05:00

Towards the end of 2009 I inadvertently got re-involved with the development of a few aspiring writers. It was, quite honestly, an accident... mostly to help friends out or people who have recognizable talent but seemingly no direction. I, for one, hate to see wasted talent and always help a friend when I can.

I also became increasingly annoyed with "aspiring" writers who seem to do anything but write. For those who haven't figured it out yet, the profession of writing (creative, technical, what have you) requires output. In that sense, it is no different than any other.

When confronting these "writers," I always got the expected responses: "I'm too busy," "I'm not motivated," "I'm not inspired," and (the worst of all) "I have writer's block." So I set out to prove, in a sense, that all of that was bullshit. The result: a disciplined schedule requiring myself to write something every day and posting it as proof.

Yes, many things were written in a rush (I was too busy), many were written when I were rather doing something else (I wasn't motivated), many were written when I didn't feel like writing (I wasn't inspired), and many were written in violent defiance of a blank page (I had "writer's block"). A great deal of what I put up was and is crap, and will never see the light of a publishing day outside of this blog. But, some of what I wrote this past year is workable material (and, surprisingly, already published) and there are at least a dozen stories that an editor or producer would like to get his or her hands on.

Was this past year's experiment easy? Oh, Hell, no. But writing is not an easy thing to do, even for the so-called naturals. Did I prove my point? I would say yes. Many would say no, I suspect, but I'm fairly certain those who would are the very people I point my finger at.

At any rate: schedule kept; mission accomplished. I did it for a year and could continue on, but I have other things to do (like my real job). It's time for these aspiring "writers" to own up and, well, write no matter what. As for me, I'm not a writer... so, I'm done.

In short, this:

Sundays: Touché, Cliché

Mondays: ranting and raving

Tuesdays: creative writing

Wednesdays: ranting and raving

Thursdays: creative writing

Fridays: usually nothing

Saturdays: Irrewinds and indices

is now replaced by this:

Whenever: whatever

Happy New Year! And write anyway!

***

In other news, as mentioned in my Extracurricular Endeavors rant, Panoramic Mindscapes will be launched 24 hours from this posting. Thanks for the support.