Sunday, February 21, 2010

Back from the Dead

Admit it, you thought I was dead. Hoped I was, more likely. But like zombie-Jesus, I shamble forth ready to embrace the huddled masses. And eat their brains in my voodoo communion.

Life now is a lot grunt work and little creativity. Trying to change that, however. Martial arts training takes up much of my free time. Keeps me sane. And I am in the midst of re-reading "The Wheel of Time" series to remember why I became a writer in the first place.

And I have a new friend. Say hello to Odysseus, errant freeway kitty and lost wanderer who has now found his way home:

Thursday, October 29, 2009


I always get sick this time of year. Between Halloween and my Birthday, this my plague season. I just miss living in a place with trees,with weather that actually announced the passage of seasons. Instead, I have to rely on my annual dose of flu. Yay.

Monday, September 21, 2009

Flying rodents of doom

So on the same day I'm perusing apocalyptic news about some strain of disease carried by rats in South Africa that's about 80% fatal among humans, I'm also reading up on scientific breakthroughs in levitating gravitational fields to literally levitate mice.

Moments like these make me grin like a mad bastard and thank the chaos gods for such lovely timing. Flying mice and a new nightmarish rodent-spawned disease.

"Go forth and spread havoc," the gods said. "Let the plague rats fly forth on the tides of science (and gravity) to bring down the foolish humans."

I can picture it now, rats hovering below radar across the ocean, ready to embed themselves among the native rodents.

Of course, the more disturbing thought is that, at least within a year, levitating rodents is going to be used in some kind of sexual exhibition/pornographic scene. Because all science really creates is new and exotic porn.

Friday, August 21, 2009

The Face of Hell

Indulged some more apocalyptic speculations this morning. I blame seeing a 70+ old man in Lycra spankies influencing my misanthropy. But, from a stoic perspective, he's sharing the pain of getting old with all those around him. I can respect that. At least once I get my vision back.

You can see a lot of people entertaining post-cataclysmic fantasies. In books, movies, television shows, mad cults and scientific fears. People are getting all weak-kneed and glassy-eyed at the prospect of some serious Armageddon. Bring on the zombies, the wars, the destruction. Wipe it away, scatter the ashes.

And the reason is that people are pretty damned miserable. Life spirals into a downward pit of uncertainty, chaos, madness and pain. Moving faster, becoming harder to decipher. What people really want is an extended holiday from complication and from the endless hordes of themselves.

It was then I realized, there will be no grand final act, no awesome apocalyptic episode. No, this pain shall germinate into a blossom of unstoppable misery. I foresee the most complex of dying, decaying human existence (but never truly breaking down or reaching death). It will move so fast, will veer and fluctuate so that there will be continue uncertainty, stress, hurt. But it will have built a foundation, like barbed webs, that won't let it crumble. This is the endless Armageddon, hell by endless, twisting degrees.

Unless we luck out and have one gnarly alien invasion, look around, and see the mutating face of the future.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Gut check

I will finish this novel. I may die a painful death in the process, but then my friends can pull the manuscript from my rigor-stiffened hands and hold readings in memorium.

I'm quite serious. There are two things I wish to accomplish in this span. I'm close to reaching both, and I'm tired of hearing my own excuses.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Tales from the Hangover

No, not from drinking. Every time I actually slip and a have a few, it feels like I've swallowed several pints of raw Hell. And let me tell you, there is pain in passing Hell through your digestive system.

Anyone who has seen a U.S. weather report may have noted that the southwest is experiencing what is locally described as "fucking hot" weather. Pretty much the hottest July/August on record, not so much with max temperatures as every day being over 110, and it never cooling off ever. I've never missed the concept of cool weather more. I have erotic dreams about shivering from a cold breeze.

Perspective, right?

When I get in the mood to really start bitching, I do that thing us old fucks do, reminisce about when times were really hard. Like when I was a kid and going on vacation meant mom kicked dad out of the house. That meant we could actually watch the shows we enjoyed on television and we didn't have to tip-toe in the morning for fear of rousing the hung over grouchy bastard. I've been through worse.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Heat Wave

This town doesn't have humidity. We have this continual pollution factor that's liquid the way coagulating blood is liquid. It fills the air and fucks up breathability, visibility and sanity. Smog, smoke, dust, exhaust, dirt, sand, debris, chemicals. The air here has texture, flavor, complexity. Inhaling in this town is more than just respiration... it's Russian Roulette with periodic table of the elements.

On bad days, they tell children and old people to stay inside. Why? For fear of their lungs exploding I imagine. Or maybe because there's a paranoia of a race of mutants spawning at bus stops. They even recommend masks that can help filter out the larger particles. It's a dry heat, but it's a dry, toxic vapor of death that doesn't cause as much discomfort as a swamp, but will actually strip off two layers of dermis when the breeze picks up.

It's like a shield, keeping out fresh air, rain, and happiness. It's a dry heat. Much like a nuclear wind.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Morpheus Drive By

I had a dream about a girl I dated briefly years ago. Actually, what I dreamt about was coming across a book she'd written, a memoir of sorts detailing a failed lover affair with an unnamed man. As I read through the book, I realized it was me she was writing about, and while she was definitely pushing the boundaries of creative non-fiction with the setting and descriptions and other facts, the encounters listed were clearly our own short-lived romantic interactions.

The effect was a feeling unlike any I've ever actually experienced. To discover, so unexpectedly, that I had touched someone far more deeply than she had ever revealed. But then to realize that in our failure, I had somehow given this person a story of such significance that it took on its own life, became a source of pure creation and artistic expression. One she shared with the world.

Some dreams pretty much vaporize upon waking. Others linger, like a smell clinging to skin or a song playing through your mind throughout the day. This particular dream was of the latter type. Haunting.

This is what happens when I write before bed time. My unconscious gets all allegorical and poetic. A weird little foot-note for a mind fuck of an extended weekend.

The sky is bleeding heat. The air seems wounded, bruised. I'm not looking forward to returning to work tomorrow.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Glimpses from the Chaos Stream

I look around and look around, and I see... what the fuck?

At the gas station close to my house, I stopped for my healthy snack (hot dog with jalapeno relish and an iced-tea. Shut up) where I beheld an officer of the State Highway Patrol busily working at his in-dash computer. He was, apparently, updating his status on Facebook. I'm thinking something like "Taking ten for a 100 off the 60" or "Heheheh, Donuts rule."

The old "embarrass the weather gods into doing their fucking jobs" trick:

"Farmers in an eastern Indian state have asked their unmarried daughters to plow parched fields naked in a bid to embarrass the weather gods to bring some badly needed monsoon rain.."

Wonder how the Christians might try to incorporate this into Mass?

I think of this as the "Dude, wait, what?"

"We have a problem with wallabies entering poppy fields, getting as high as a kite and going around in circles. Then they crash... we see crop circles in the poppy industry from wallabies that are high."

Makes you re-examine every weird UFO conspiracy of the modern area. Time to keep our eyes on those shifty marsupials.

Oddly, these are the sort of things that make me feel at peace with world."