I'm moving! On the first I will no longer be a slave to loud drunken arguing and mid-night trips to the emergency room and will become a tenant of the fabulous Muse Apartment Complex in bustling downtown Charlottesville!
I got the news on Friday, and thus the weekend became a test of my mettle, both for the reasons I've just listed, and for a far darker one.
My dear brother once more became exceptionally intoxicated, and once more attempted to take his own life. This was followed by the useless bitch of a leech that is is fiance arriving home just in time to find him trying to hang himself off the patio with a home-made noose.
I didn't know this then, all I knew is when I signed into facebook it was smeared with post after post about how "love wasn't real" and how him and the rest of his buddies that have gone the way of the dodo would be missed. I did the only thing I could think to do... I called my mother.
She didn't pick up at first, so I kept trying, I knew the shit was hitting the fan something terrible but felt completely helpless to do anything about it. Finally she called me back, and as I was informing her of the situation the fight began. Through the ceiling I could hear a cacophony of screams, stomping, and breaking furniture as the epic struggle unfolded. My mother could hear it, through the ceiling AND over the phone. She tried calling them, and the bitch told her what was going on.
She did the only thing she could do... She called the police.
My mother called me back and by the tone of her voice I knew, but she told me anyway. My brother thought his fiance had left him, a "miscommunication" she would later call it, and no longer wanted to live. Above me the war raged on unchecked, I would later learn just how heinous these events were.
He hit her, a few times, and when she tried to pry the knife he was carving up his wrist with from his drunken, suicidal, hands he cut her. The police arrived in mid-conflict, Deus Ex Machina. They had him dropped to the floor, handcuffed him, and dragged him off to Five East where he was briefly evaluated then TDO'd.
For those of you who aren't familiar with this song and dance, mental health care officials can hold someone against there will ONLY if they are deemed a danger to themselves or others, and ONLY for 72 hours. After that they go before a judge and can be released again, regardless of if, by some miracle, they were magically cured of the crazy in the three days following whatever chaos just ensued in their lives.
I had a weekend of relative peace to ponder all this while I frantically began the long process of packing up my things. I had three weeks till the first, and no moment could be squandered. I brought up the AOL radio station "Awesome 80's" and worked like a mad bastard packing boxes, sorting out junk, and hauling old furniture out to the curb to be picked up by the city at a later date.
When Monday came around I was thoroughly exhausted. Every muscle in my body ached, most of all the ones in my cripple-gimpy spine of "ill-equipped to handle heavy loads".
And then, I got a phone call.
My dear brother had opted to be released when placed before the judge, and they had no other option but to let him. He arrived home that day, and we briefly spoke on the phone about unrelated things like "did I know how to download fonts for MS Word".
But there was a saving grace to all of this, I had, in my journey into the closet of endless sorrows, found a treasure that promised great riches. Three vintage bills, all foreign and exceedingly old, preserved under yellowed plastic and ready to be cashed by a would be antiques dealer like myself. A quick perusal of ebay had me salivating with desire for money.
And so Monday came and went, and Tuesday followed.
I awoke this morning ready to haul my closet plundered gains down to a local coin shop and have my way with the clerks wallet as if it were a cheap whore with a few bad habits to support. The clerk took one look at them and told me he didn't want them in a gruff emotionless voice that had me wanting to leap over the counter and plunge my thumbs into his eyes-sockets while I chewed out his tongue.
These weren't any old bills, they were a gift. The one possibly valuable thing I got out of a man of which I don't like to speak. He told me to hold on to them, that they were worth something, valuable treasures gathered by his father during and after the great war. They were worthless, only held high by pompous collectors with no sense of morals other than "buy low, sell high".
I went home, pockets empty, cash-lust un-sated, spent like the money I wouldn't. My mother called again, and I begged her to take me to another antique dealer, THIS one was sure to recognize the value of my wares. The results were the same, a paltry offer of a dollar each. Antique dealers are such sleazes.
She dropped me off and I went inside, fully ready to place the few bills online for sale cheap in hopes salvaging the day, when the phone rang once more.
It was my mother again, she was still parked outside. My brother had called, there was a warrant out for his arrest... I came back outside and she asked me what she should do. I told her he had to turn himself in, otherwise the situation could become much worse. Apparently someones lines got crossed, and when his fiance told them she didn't want to press charges they went ahead and did it anyway. It didn't help that she told them he hit her, that he stabbed her.
And so we were off to the police station, all four of us driving in silence fully expecting my brother to be behind bars within the hour. There was no reason to believe otherwise. The officer told him that it was good that he came in, that the magistrate would look kindly upon that gesture. My brother was handcuffed and driven to the Magistrates office in the back of a police van, while me, my mother, and his fiance drove together.
She kept on telling people how he wasn't himself, that he was drinking, that he normally didn't act like that, that he didn't MEAN to hurt her. She was like a talking head caricature of a beaten wife, and I couldn't tell if it was an act or if she really was that damaged.
As we waited in the magistrates office I leaned against the snack machine while my muscles twitched and my throat spasmed from all the stress. I kept having to cough, a mixture of cigarette smoke, dust inhalation from all the cleaning, and intense anxiety had me going into fits every so often.
We could hear them questioning my brother behind the glass, and it became apparent that he wasn't going to be held today, that a court date was being set for Friday and that if he were so much as five minutes late he would be thrown behind bars.
He came out of that building acting almost excited, a clear changed from the despondent acceptance he had been displaying all day. I could barely look at him... he deserved what he got from all this, and STILL might have to do time. You don't beat your fiance, no matter how much of a raging she-bitch she is.
On a lighter note, he's gotten another sponsor and is once more working the steps. I wish him all the best.
I'll be moving on the first either way.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Life is but a Dream
I dream of shapeless horrors...
Things that shift, that squirm, that consume...
There are variations on the theme, the place, the time, but in the end its always the same: They destroy me all else.
In my dreams these things are flesh incarnate, the embodiment of disease. Like amoebas they are formless, ever changing, but they are life. All life, the way our DNA contains the basic structures of all life merely reconfigured to form fly or man, and without that guiding hand we would be them. A living mass of tissue whose only purpose is to eat and grow.
I think of the movies and books I've seen in the past where this idea was present, what might have seeded these horrors into my consciousness: John Carpenters The Thing, The Blob, many others... None of them close to my sleeping minds concept. They are conscious, willful, and ravenous from countless millenia of imprisonment within our mortal shells.
In my dreams I see them, but there are moments when I feel my dreams have come to pass. I had one such moment of recall today. I sat at my computer exchanging messages with a distant friend, and in that moment I knew... I had dreamed this, and in a rare moment of clarity I knew exactly when, the night where I was released from the psyche ward, when I lay my head on my pillow and surrendered to sleep, I knew this moment would pass.
Are such things possible, the deconstruction of life to its base essentials to where it exists more distinct, more alien, than anything we have seen before it? I do not know, I do not CARE to know. Some things are best left to the resting mind to ponder, to fear in sleep and feel that sweet relief when you awake and realize it was but a dream. Life is but a dream, and death is an awakening.
Please let it be just a dream...
Things that shift, that squirm, that consume...
There are variations on the theme, the place, the time, but in the end its always the same: They destroy me all else.
In my dreams these things are flesh incarnate, the embodiment of disease. Like amoebas they are formless, ever changing, but they are life. All life, the way our DNA contains the basic structures of all life merely reconfigured to form fly or man, and without that guiding hand we would be them. A living mass of tissue whose only purpose is to eat and grow.
I think of the movies and books I've seen in the past where this idea was present, what might have seeded these horrors into my consciousness: John Carpenters The Thing, The Blob, many others... None of them close to my sleeping minds concept. They are conscious, willful, and ravenous from countless millenia of imprisonment within our mortal shells.
In my dreams I see them, but there are moments when I feel my dreams have come to pass. I had one such moment of recall today. I sat at my computer exchanging messages with a distant friend, and in that moment I knew... I had dreamed this, and in a rare moment of clarity I knew exactly when, the night where I was released from the psyche ward, when I lay my head on my pillow and surrendered to sleep, I knew this moment would pass.
Are such things possible, the deconstruction of life to its base essentials to where it exists more distinct, more alien, than anything we have seen before it? I do not know, I do not CARE to know. Some things are best left to the resting mind to ponder, to fear in sleep and feel that sweet relief when you awake and realize it was but a dream. Life is but a dream, and death is an awakening.
Please let it be just a dream...
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Pyramid Head Costume
ok, so this year I'm going to FINALLY do what I've been saying I'd do forever now and dress up as Pyramid head for halloween! Construction is underway on the helmet, and its coming along nicely. :)
I started out with a basic frame made from foam board, with two segments cut out so I can see once its constructed.
Here's the side view, with a better look at its shape and the two "peep holes".
Then I applied two layers of fiberglass screen to cover the holes so that I can see out but others can't see in. I also made a frame of sorts to hold in in place using a strip of wood and more foam foamboard.
To the back of the helmet I placed six bottle caps that will, hopefully once its painted, look like large bolts.
I purchased two cans of spray paint: one a textured paint that has the appearance of hammered metal and another regular paint that looks like wood grain.
Sadly I can't continue with this project until the rain stops, and its supposed to be like this for the next few days. I'll post again once I've made some progress. Oh, and the robes will be made of an old sheet I got from a thrift store, painted to look dirty. YAY FOR DYI HALLOWEEN!
Sunday, September 4, 2011
The Nameless Dread
Sometimes I get a nameless dread, a creeping feeling of fear and paranoia that can only be described as the sensation that some one is about to grab your ankle if it happens to be sticking out from beneath the covers. Silence is almost palpable in this state, and every small noise not readily attributed to a source is deemed a threat either supernatural or homicidal.
I've been getting this feeling since I was a kid, but haven't in some time. Tonight I awoke from a nap with it. I can only assume I had yet another nightmare, but I can't remember what it was or what it was about. Sitting at my computer desk I pulled myself indian style into the chair and played some music, hoping it would pass.
All day today the phone didn't ring, and I was left feeling lonely and hideously bored, so I should have seen this coming. Let my mind wander enough and its bound to try to self-destruct. With no one but my cat to keep me company I got online and began the long process of self-soothing, something I'm not particularly good at and usually involves buying stuff off ebay.
I remember when I was younger, when the rest of my family was asleep I'd be at the computer typing away till dawn some nights. The lights would be off and the glare of the monitor would sear into my eyes but I didn't care, I needed to make a connection however brief, however pointless. I'd scour the chat rooms for hours looking for that special someone, a woman with a unique mix of eccentricity and kindness to spend my time talking to. It never lasted, even the most generous of lost souls could only put up with me for so long, and I'd be back in the chat rooms again.
And do you want to know a secret?
I never really stopped...
I've been getting this feeling since I was a kid, but haven't in some time. Tonight I awoke from a nap with it. I can only assume I had yet another nightmare, but I can't remember what it was or what it was about. Sitting at my computer desk I pulled myself indian style into the chair and played some music, hoping it would pass.
All day today the phone didn't ring, and I was left feeling lonely and hideously bored, so I should have seen this coming. Let my mind wander enough and its bound to try to self-destruct. With no one but my cat to keep me company I got online and began the long process of self-soothing, something I'm not particularly good at and usually involves buying stuff off ebay.
I remember when I was younger, when the rest of my family was asleep I'd be at the computer typing away till dawn some nights. The lights would be off and the glare of the monitor would sear into my eyes but I didn't care, I needed to make a connection however brief, however pointless. I'd scour the chat rooms for hours looking for that special someone, a woman with a unique mix of eccentricity and kindness to spend my time talking to. It never lasted, even the most generous of lost souls could only put up with me for so long, and I'd be back in the chat rooms again.
And do you want to know a secret?
I never really stopped...
Friday, September 2, 2011
Night of the Smoothies
Earlier in the week, while helping my mother pack away and arrange her stuff into boxes she begifted me with a Smoothie Elite TM. I had not yet gone grocery shopping, however, and had yet to experiance the sublime bliss that is a home-made smoothie.
Today was the day...
I awoke knowing full well that I had a good two hours to kill before phone arrived, and yet I wasn't bothered by this. The leisurely and habitual morning routine was one I enjoyed very much, though it hardly ever actually took place before noon. I made my coffee with the last bit of ground awareness left in the can, shaking it into the espresso machines metal cup with urgency. I'm not much of a man without caffeine.
It quickly brewed, and with my coffee I had a cigarette, mingling the two substances both in taste and affect. The days first smoke is always the best. For two hours I waiting, speaking briefly with friends and my mother and when my social worker finally arrived I was good and ready.
She pulled up in a burgundy colored van and I hurried inside to grab my grocery list, fully aware that without it I was sure to get a stern look and possibly even a scolding. I'm not much of a man at all really...
"So how have you been?" Fawn asked, following yet another routine.
"Good, I got my book on amazon..." I responding, the only bit of news I had to share, and with that spent the rest of the conversation went to hell.
"So have you gotten out lately?"
THERE it was, the million dollar question, had ZAK gotten out lately, had ZAK made any friends. How I loathed it so...
"No, but I plan on going downtown tomorrow and hanging out with a friend, maybe pick up some hemp chord." I responding in a spit, expecting her to do exactly what she did...
"Rebecca?"
"Yeah, that's what I ALWAYS do, go downtown and hang out with Rebecca..."
"Oh... I was hoping you were doing something..."
This didn't sit well with me...
"I AM doing stuff."
The rest of the trip went on as follows: I shopped in a hurry, never once taking my list out of my pocket. I almost walked out in front of traffic. I closed the wrong door first on the van. I went home. I made a DELICIOUS SMOOTIE!
The concoction I put together was one banana, one peach, a cup of milk, most of an ice tray of ice, and sugar. It was bliss. Then, my brother called...
"Merry Christmas!" He shouted into the phone in a jovial manner...
"Ok... Whats up bro?"
-insert whatever the hell he wanted, for some reason I can't remember-
"Ok, come on down."
He answered the door with a smile and a little wave, the kind that princess give the crowds gathered as they drive by.
"Would you like a smootie?" I asked, fully hoping him to decline on the grounds of his weak stomach.
"Hell yeah!"
Oops...
I made the smoothie in a hurry, splitting it into three cups, one for me one for him and one for his fiance. He left with cups in hand, promising to return them at a later date, and I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong...
A half an hour later he called again.
"Bro! I'll give you TWO DOLLARS if you make another smoothie for me and my girl, how about it?"
Two smoothies and six four dollars later we had gone through most of the fruit I had just bought and had hoped would last at least a week or so. SIX POUNDS of bananas and peaches and a quarter gallon of milk. Only later did it occur to me just why he had such a sweet tooth.
He called again, this time asking if I would accompany him to the corner in the middle of the night for ice cream and cigarettes. He told me to come around front.
"But DON'T knock, just wait for me." He said emphatically.
"Ok..." I responding, still not understanding.
I waited on his lawn for him to come out smoking a cigarette when it finally hit me. He was high, again, and my suspicions that he was once more using were about to be justified.
He stumbled out of the front door and informed me that we had to go over to Marty's house, that his friend who he lovingly calls Hippie was there and he needed to kick his ass.
"I just want you to grab him from behind... and I'll punch him in the stomach, you got it bro?"
"No brother, I'm against violence..." I didn't know what else to say, but the hokiness of that statement lingered on my tongue like a bit of asprin that didn't go down.
"Alright then, I'll kick your ass too..."
He knocked on Marty's door with a series of quick and hard bangs that was supposed to mimic that of a police officer. Marty didn't even flinch, he was used to my brother's nonsense. He just opened the door and stepped aside letting us in.
"Alright, whats everyone want?"
As it turned out, Marty and Hippie were offering Ben a pack of cigarettes to walk up to the corner for them and pick up a few things, what ammounted to a two liter of coke and yet more cigarettes.
"Hold on... Just make a list, my brain doesn't have a memory anymore..."
I shit you not, his exact words...
We took the list and began walking up King Street, at this point it was almost eleven at night. I tried to make small talk, to hide the fact that I hated him for being so stupid as to use again after all he's been through, not that it would have mattered, he was too high to notice my subtle disdain.
"So how have you been?" He asked me: not the first time, not the last.
"I've been doing good, just keeping up with my stuff."
"Aren't we all... So what are you doing?" His questioning continued, as if he couldn't very well see exactly what I was doing.
"Walking... I have a destination." I hoped he didn't notice my frustration.
"Yeah, me too. I want to get my GED."
I was surprised, never in all my life had I heard been express interest in anything academic.
"That's great bro, what do you plan on doing with it?" I asked, legitimately interested regardless of his intoxication.
"I want to go to collage, take biology or zoo-ology, so I can learn to take care of wolves..."
I really should have suspected this...
"That's great bro..."
I didn't say much after that.
It wasn't until we approached the Corner that I realized it was Friday night. The Corner is a strip of bars and restaurants between UVA Medical Center and UVA Campus, and on Friday nights it is riddled with hideously drunken college students, homeless men and women (also drunk), and an odd assortment of partiers and sight seers (who very likely would be drunk as well). The place stank, the scents washed over me with ever step and shifted between oddly pleasant and deeply repugnant. Sweat mixed with the oder of food cooking, vomit with the inexplicable sweetness of cotton candy, and all around the stench of alcohol poured from the open mouths of a hundred heavy drinkers.
Women marched up the sidewalk like flocks of birds, all the while pruning there make-up and telling and retelling the stories that only such as them know. I'd catch bits of conversation, a word here, half a sentence there, always vacuous, always slurred. The men were just as ridiculous, I've never seen so many polo shirts and backwards baseball caps in my life. Popped collars all around boys, its FRIDAY NIGHT in CHARLOTTESVILLE!
We weaved in and out of the packs like outsiders in a gathering of wolves, and my brother never flinched, hell he seemed oddly comfortable. We reached our destination and went inside. By this time my heart was beating in my chest and acid was rising out of my gut like filth from a sewer. I bought a half gallon of cookies and cream ice-cream and two rolls of Tums. In the check out line my brother said he forgot something and ventured back into the store, I stepped outside for a smoke. He followed out a few minutes later.
"Don't tell my girl this, but that pixie girl in there was hitting on me."
Here we go again...
"Yeah, she was bangin too, not a bit of fat on her body, but don't tell anyone."
"You know I wouldn't, wouldn't want to get youi in trouble." Maybe...
"I told her I had a girlfriend though, she asked about my tattoos and I said I did them in my kitchen with my girlfriend." He managed to say, must have been sobering up at that point.
"Then she should be proud..." Ugh...
We once again began the trek up the corner when a balding old man approached my brother, he wore a black band T-shirt for a group I didn't recognize, was skin and bones thin, and had perhaps one tooth left in his head.
"I met you in prison, didn't I?" The man said. "I'm gonna get lit tonight, look in this cup."
I couldn't help it, my eyes trained on the plastic cup as if pulled there by force. It contained a sickly green and oddly neon fluid sloshing around with several diminutive ice cubes.
"Its chill, mixed with beer, gonna feel good tonight."
I had a moment where my morbid curiosity almost took over and asked the man what exactly "chill" was, and I hoped to god that it wasn't what it looked like, which was cheap anti-freeze.
A block down several beer bottles rained down from the balcony above, nearly striking me before shattering. I couldn't take it anymore.
"Lets get the fuck out of here bro..."
He merely nodded.
My brother went on to tell me that people respected him now, that women smiled at him and people spoke to him and he wanted to know why, he asked me upfront what had changed about him. I did my best to lie....
"You have confidence now." Liquid courage maybe, a little green deffinately.
I when we arrived back at Marty's he gave them there bounty and I went home, wishing him a good night. I gimped into my apartment and prepared myself a large milkshake with the ice-cream I had bought and sat down in my chair to reflect.
Today was the day...
I awoke knowing full well that I had a good two hours to kill before phone arrived, and yet I wasn't bothered by this. The leisurely and habitual morning routine was one I enjoyed very much, though it hardly ever actually took place before noon. I made my coffee with the last bit of ground awareness left in the can, shaking it into the espresso machines metal cup with urgency. I'm not much of a man without caffeine.
It quickly brewed, and with my coffee I had a cigarette, mingling the two substances both in taste and affect. The days first smoke is always the best. For two hours I waiting, speaking briefly with friends and my mother and when my social worker finally arrived I was good and ready.
She pulled up in a burgundy colored van and I hurried inside to grab my grocery list, fully aware that without it I was sure to get a stern look and possibly even a scolding. I'm not much of a man at all really...
"So how have you been?" Fawn asked, following yet another routine.
"Good, I got my book on amazon..." I responding, the only bit of news I had to share, and with that spent the rest of the conversation went to hell.
"So have you gotten out lately?"
THERE it was, the million dollar question, had ZAK gotten out lately, had ZAK made any friends. How I loathed it so...
"No, but I plan on going downtown tomorrow and hanging out with a friend, maybe pick up some hemp chord." I responding in a spit, expecting her to do exactly what she did...
"Rebecca?"
"Yeah, that's what I ALWAYS do, go downtown and hang out with Rebecca..."
"Oh... I was hoping you were doing something..."
This didn't sit well with me...
"I AM doing stuff."
The rest of the trip went on as follows: I shopped in a hurry, never once taking my list out of my pocket. I almost walked out in front of traffic. I closed the wrong door first on the van. I went home. I made a DELICIOUS SMOOTIE!
The concoction I put together was one banana, one peach, a cup of milk, most of an ice tray of ice, and sugar. It was bliss. Then, my brother called...
"Merry Christmas!" He shouted into the phone in a jovial manner...
"Ok... Whats up bro?"
-insert whatever the hell he wanted, for some reason I can't remember-
"Ok, come on down."
He answered the door with a smile and a little wave, the kind that princess give the crowds gathered as they drive by.
"Would you like a smootie?" I asked, fully hoping him to decline on the grounds of his weak stomach.
"Hell yeah!"
Oops...
I made the smoothie in a hurry, splitting it into three cups, one for me one for him and one for his fiance. He left with cups in hand, promising to return them at a later date, and I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong...
A half an hour later he called again.
"Bro! I'll give you TWO DOLLARS if you make another smoothie for me and my girl, how about it?"
Two smoothies and six four dollars later we had gone through most of the fruit I had just bought and had hoped would last at least a week or so. SIX POUNDS of bananas and peaches and a quarter gallon of milk. Only later did it occur to me just why he had such a sweet tooth.
He called again, this time asking if I would accompany him to the corner in the middle of the night for ice cream and cigarettes. He told me to come around front.
"But DON'T knock, just wait for me." He said emphatically.
"Ok..." I responding, still not understanding.
I waited on his lawn for him to come out smoking a cigarette when it finally hit me. He was high, again, and my suspicions that he was once more using were about to be justified.
He stumbled out of the front door and informed me that we had to go over to Marty's house, that his friend who he lovingly calls Hippie was there and he needed to kick his ass.
"I just want you to grab him from behind... and I'll punch him in the stomach, you got it bro?"
"No brother, I'm against violence..." I didn't know what else to say, but the hokiness of that statement lingered on my tongue like a bit of asprin that didn't go down.
"Alright then, I'll kick your ass too..."
He knocked on Marty's door with a series of quick and hard bangs that was supposed to mimic that of a police officer. Marty didn't even flinch, he was used to my brother's nonsense. He just opened the door and stepped aside letting us in.
"Alright, whats everyone want?"
As it turned out, Marty and Hippie were offering Ben a pack of cigarettes to walk up to the corner for them and pick up a few things, what ammounted to a two liter of coke and yet more cigarettes.
"Hold on... Just make a list, my brain doesn't have a memory anymore..."
I shit you not, his exact words...
We took the list and began walking up King Street, at this point it was almost eleven at night. I tried to make small talk, to hide the fact that I hated him for being so stupid as to use again after all he's been through, not that it would have mattered, he was too high to notice my subtle disdain.
"So how have you been?" He asked me: not the first time, not the last.
"I've been doing good, just keeping up with my stuff."
"Aren't we all... So what are you doing?" His questioning continued, as if he couldn't very well see exactly what I was doing.
"Walking... I have a destination." I hoped he didn't notice my frustration.
"Yeah, me too. I want to get my GED."
I was surprised, never in all my life had I heard been express interest in anything academic.
"That's great bro, what do you plan on doing with it?" I asked, legitimately interested regardless of his intoxication.
"I want to go to collage, take biology or zoo-ology, so I can learn to take care of wolves..."
I really should have suspected this...
"That's great bro..."
I didn't say much after that.
It wasn't until we approached the Corner that I realized it was Friday night. The Corner is a strip of bars and restaurants between UVA Medical Center and UVA Campus, and on Friday nights it is riddled with hideously drunken college students, homeless men and women (also drunk), and an odd assortment of partiers and sight seers (who very likely would be drunk as well). The place stank, the scents washed over me with ever step and shifted between oddly pleasant and deeply repugnant. Sweat mixed with the oder of food cooking, vomit with the inexplicable sweetness of cotton candy, and all around the stench of alcohol poured from the open mouths of a hundred heavy drinkers.
Women marched up the sidewalk like flocks of birds, all the while pruning there make-up and telling and retelling the stories that only such as them know. I'd catch bits of conversation, a word here, half a sentence there, always vacuous, always slurred. The men were just as ridiculous, I've never seen so many polo shirts and backwards baseball caps in my life. Popped collars all around boys, its FRIDAY NIGHT in CHARLOTTESVILLE!
We weaved in and out of the packs like outsiders in a gathering of wolves, and my brother never flinched, hell he seemed oddly comfortable. We reached our destination and went inside. By this time my heart was beating in my chest and acid was rising out of my gut like filth from a sewer. I bought a half gallon of cookies and cream ice-cream and two rolls of Tums. In the check out line my brother said he forgot something and ventured back into the store, I stepped outside for a smoke. He followed out a few minutes later.
"Don't tell my girl this, but that pixie girl in there was hitting on me."
Here we go again...
"Yeah, she was bangin too, not a bit of fat on her body, but don't tell anyone."
"You know I wouldn't, wouldn't want to get youi in trouble." Maybe...
"I told her I had a girlfriend though, she asked about my tattoos and I said I did them in my kitchen with my girlfriend." He managed to say, must have been sobering up at that point.
"Then she should be proud..." Ugh...
We once again began the trek up the corner when a balding old man approached my brother, he wore a black band T-shirt for a group I didn't recognize, was skin and bones thin, and had perhaps one tooth left in his head.
"I met you in prison, didn't I?" The man said. "I'm gonna get lit tonight, look in this cup."
I couldn't help it, my eyes trained on the plastic cup as if pulled there by force. It contained a sickly green and oddly neon fluid sloshing around with several diminutive ice cubes.
"Its chill, mixed with beer, gonna feel good tonight."
I had a moment where my morbid curiosity almost took over and asked the man what exactly "chill" was, and I hoped to god that it wasn't what it looked like, which was cheap anti-freeze.
A block down several beer bottles rained down from the balcony above, nearly striking me before shattering. I couldn't take it anymore.
"Lets get the fuck out of here bro..."
He merely nodded.
My brother went on to tell me that people respected him now, that women smiled at him and people spoke to him and he wanted to know why, he asked me upfront what had changed about him. I did my best to lie....
"You have confidence now." Liquid courage maybe, a little green deffinately.
I when we arrived back at Marty's he gave them there bounty and I went home, wishing him a good night. I gimped into my apartment and prepared myself a large milkshake with the ice-cream I had bought and sat down in my chair to reflect.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
LONELY MORNING
Morning comes without
Risk or doubt
That day will come together
Bringing forth another letter
Mailbox sits idle upon the lawn
Its mouth an open yawn
For lack of mail reception
Deceptive in its lack of expectation
Taste this dawn’s breach of nightly rest
A breathe of boring hex
Upon the day ahead
I cannot draw enough of it
Cause without tone erupting
From my telephone I’m something
Less than satisfied
Anxiety ridden
An embodiment of
Something hidden
So toll that bell within my slender phone
A conduit to home
And healthy pleasures
Safety first
Ready measures
For angry thirsts
Friday, August 26, 2011
BINKS!
http://www.amazon.com/Binks-Bizarre-Account-Zachary-ebook/dp/B005J85MME/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1314364528&sr=8-1
MY BOOK IS NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON AS AN EBOOK! YAY!!!!!
MY BOOK IS NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON AS AN EBOOK! YAY!!!!!
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Etsy stuff on Binks Blog
Added a little etsy thing on the sidebar that links to my storefront and the facebook page for my necklaces :)
Also, THERE WAS AN EARTHQUAKE TODAY!
it went kinda like this:
-me sitting around, making hemp necklaces and shit-
RUMBLERUMBLERUMBLERUMBLE....
Me: "HOLY HELL BEN'S APARTMENT IS EXPLODING!"
-runs outside, sees neighbors all on the front lawn gawking-
Neighbors: "Did you feel it too?"
Me: "Yeah, what the hell is it?"
Neighbors(that might I add that I have NEVER seen up until this point): "its an earthquake, a SMALL one"
Me: "OMGWTF!"
Also, THERE WAS AN EARTHQUAKE TODAY!
it went kinda like this:
-me sitting around, making hemp necklaces and shit-
RUMBLERUMBLERUMBLERUMBLE....
Me: "HOLY HELL BEN'S APARTMENT IS EXPLODING!"
-runs outside, sees neighbors all on the front lawn gawking-
Neighbors: "Did you feel it too?"
Me: "Yeah, what the hell is it?"
Neighbors(that might I add that I have NEVER seen up until this point): "its an earthquake, a SMALL one"
Me: "OMGWTF!"
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Quiet mouse, still mouse
QUIET MOUSE STILL MOUSE ONE TWO THREE!
shhhhh.... huhhh.... shhhhh... huhhhh....
YOU LOSE!
Breathing doesn't count!
oh ok...
Lets play another game...
what game?
NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD!
ok, how do you play?
FIRST, you find a toad, then you burry him in the sand and watch him crawl out again, like a zombie!
ok, where do we find a toad?
They live under the boards by the pole barn, come on I'll show you...
wow, theres like ten of them under there!
Quick, grab one!
ok, what now?
You have to knock him out first... here, flick him on the head and he'll go limp.
ew that's weird...
Ok, now burry him in the sand and in a few minutes he'll crawl back up, its awesome!
wow!
See, just like night of the living dead!
nick?
Yeah
will you be my best friend?
shhhhh.... huhhh.... shhhhh... huhhhh....
YOU LOSE!
Breathing doesn't count!
oh ok...
Lets play another game...
what game?
NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD!
ok, how do you play?
FIRST, you find a toad, then you burry him in the sand and watch him crawl out again, like a zombie!
ok, where do we find a toad?
They live under the boards by the pole barn, come on I'll show you...
wow, theres like ten of them under there!
Quick, grab one!
ok, what now?
You have to knock him out first... here, flick him on the head and he'll go limp.
ew that's weird...
Ok, now burry him in the sand and in a few minutes he'll crawl back up, its awesome!
wow!
See, just like night of the living dead!
nick?
Yeah
will you be my best friend?
Friday, August 19, 2011
Venting RAGE through art :)
ok, so I was VERY mad at my brother tonight. He blew me off THREE NIGHTS in a row, then when we were supposed to hang out today he stayed like ten minutes and then left expecting me to do his laundry for him.
SO, I was fuming mad, like wishing I could cleave his skull and dump his body in a nearby ravine mad, BUT since I am far too soft for prison I decided to use that rage to express myself. Anyone that might actually be keeping up with this nonsensical and pointless blog knows that I've been trying to teach myself photoshop, in fact my last three posts have been about just that. So tonight I needed a catylyst, something horrendous and foul, some act of cruelity and/or violence that I could draw so I wouldn't have to sit around ruminating on how much of a ginormous douche-fag my dear brother is.
Then, it hit me like a great knife to the groin... PYRAMID HEAD! What greater way to express my rage than by expressing it with a work of art of an embodiment of anger, pride, and punishment! Anyone not familiar with the popular and WICKED AWESOME Silent Hill series of video games will have NO IDEA what I'm talking about, but for those that do...
OMFG I DREW PYRAMID HEAD AND IT LOOKS AWESOME! But yeah, good stuff. Some minor points of interest: the tattoo on his shoulder is called "that halo of the sun" and is seen throughout the series from the third game on and is often used in attempts to resurrect the cults dark god or cause general supernatural mischief, I got the idea for the keys hanging from his waist from that scene in silent hill 2 where maria goes to unlock the door in the alleyway and pulls keys from various places on her person before finally finding the right one... I allways kinda thought that as a manifestation of James lusty feelings and hurt at Mary's degeneration into something, shall we say, LESS than sexual she was afforded certain favors one of which was having keys to any door in silent hill magically tucked away in her clothing so when I went to draw Pyramid head I gave him a belt of keys, there's even a car key on the far right of the rest of them, and last but not least PLEASE don't ask why I gave the patient demon bondage gear and a ball gag :P
THE END!
SO, I was fuming mad, like wishing I could cleave his skull and dump his body in a nearby ravine mad, BUT since I am far too soft for prison I decided to use that rage to express myself. Anyone that might actually be keeping up with this nonsensical and pointless blog knows that I've been trying to teach myself photoshop, in fact my last three posts have been about just that. So tonight I needed a catylyst, something horrendous and foul, some act of cruelity and/or violence that I could draw so I wouldn't have to sit around ruminating on how much of a ginormous douche-fag my dear brother is.
Then, it hit me like a great knife to the groin... PYRAMID HEAD! What greater way to express my rage than by expressing it with a work of art of an embodiment of anger, pride, and punishment! Anyone not familiar with the popular and WICKED AWESOME Silent Hill series of video games will have NO IDEA what I'm talking about, but for those that do...
OMFG I DREW PYRAMID HEAD AND IT LOOKS AWESOME! But yeah, good stuff. Some minor points of interest: the tattoo on his shoulder is called "that halo of the sun" and is seen throughout the series from the third game on and is often used in attempts to resurrect the cults dark god or cause general supernatural mischief, I got the idea for the keys hanging from his waist from that scene in silent hill 2 where maria goes to unlock the door in the alleyway and pulls keys from various places on her person before finally finding the right one... I allways kinda thought that as a manifestation of James lusty feelings and hurt at Mary's degeneration into something, shall we say, LESS than sexual she was afforded certain favors one of which was having keys to any door in silent hill magically tucked away in her clothing so when I went to draw Pyramid head I gave him a belt of keys, there's even a car key on the far right of the rest of them, and last but not least PLEASE don't ask why I gave the patient demon bondage gear and a ball gag :P
THE END!
Thursday, August 18, 2011
further FURTHER Adventures in Photoshop
Ok, so I think I'm getting the hang of it, and finding it oddly addictive. Every time I have a moment I'm pulling out my sketchpad and working on stuff. Either that or I have no life. But anywho, here's the latest creations. ENJOY!
This is a portrait I did of my friend Colleen, who probably wont appreciate it :P
I made this for one of my yahoo peeps, she has a thing for Lolcats :)
This is me and my best bud Rebecca done off a photograph taken a few years back :)
A rather serious looking Goatman, kneeling in prayer.
AND THAT'S IT FOR NOW! come back later for more BINKSY PHOTOSHOP CREATIONS!
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Further Adventures in Photoshop
Ok, for reasons I cannot explain I wanted to do a drawing of Dick Valentine from Electric Six riding a playground pony and pointing skyward...
THIS is the original photograph:
THIS is the shitty sketch I drew in about five minutes:
THIS is the original photograph:
THIS is the shitty sketch I drew in about five minutes:
THIS is the shitty sketch touched up and colored in photoshop:
The process takes FOREVER though, kinda thinking I'm doing something either wrong or not doing something necessary to simplify it. More on this later...
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
I'm teaching myself how to use photoshop, and one of the benefits of the hideously painstaking learning process is being able to color in and improve upon drawings you've done in pen or pencil.
That means turning THIS:
That means turning THIS:
A laughably bad and uber angsty sketch I did in highschool, into THIS:
STILL laughably bad, still angst ridden, only NOW its in COLOR! :D
THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS!
Saturday, August 13, 2011
The Shag Green Rug
The door to the bathroom shifted out of focus as I rushed blindingly towards it, threw it open, and leaped inside. What followed, relief... That single epiphany defying moment where everything flowed out and into the porcelain bowl of the toilette, never to be seen or heard from again. I grew limp, my head lolled forward on my shoulders, and my eyes trained on the one thing directly before them: the green shag bathroom rug directly beneath my feet.
The trails and strands of thick lime green material came into focus in the dim light of my comfort zone and now had my full attention. All else in life had little meaning next to this moment, time shifted out of importance, anxiety inducing family matters where obliterated in the haze of voiding my bowels, and all that remained was this green mat.
Many have spoken of the transcendent nature of the bathroom, how it can bring a mans problems closure and whiten your teeth at the same time, but none of that came to mind now. The mat was all I thought of, the mat was all that mattered. My eyes locked on it so hard they strained and in that near painful intense look the chaos of quarter inch thick threads began to shift almost as if they were alive. Sea anemone, I thought, its JUST like a sea anemone.
Without me taking notice the already time bathroom light grew darker still and in the center of the shag rug pattern a hole began to open. From it poured the intense smell of limes and darkness crept from in in creeping tendrils of shadow that defied reason. I still couldn't look away, I still was in the perfect moment of ease. The rug had expanded outward and now the entire floor was alive with movement with darkness creeping over it like mist and the hole now big enough that I could see through it to the other side, and in seeing madness grasped hold of me. I wrenched myself from the toilette seat and bolted to the door, but the tentacle strands of lime green shag grasped hold me legs and pulled me to the ground.
GOD I hated that rug. As I fell I caught a glimpses of myself in the mirror and saw that my hair, once salt and pepper black, was now thickly streaked with white. Nothing to do now, no longer at ease, no longer sane, I went limp on the floor, and as I was pulled forward towards that green maw of sanity shattering green I began to hear laughter.
"Who the FUCK would find this funny?" I asked myself aloud, and on the heals of that realized that the laughter was coming from me...
My feet dissapeared into the hole, and I felt a chill like icewater creeping up my legs, and a poem from my youth came to mind.
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor, and I don't like it one bit... Thank you, Shell Silverstien, for putting this moment in perspective. The lips of the hole expanded outward and drew me in inch by inch, but there was no pain, only the certainty that I was about to die, and if not die, never ever ever feel comfortable in a bathroom again.
Oh heck, its up to my neck...
Bathroom cleaner...
DEATH smells like...
Bathroom cleaner...
The trails and strands of thick lime green material came into focus in the dim light of my comfort zone and now had my full attention. All else in life had little meaning next to this moment, time shifted out of importance, anxiety inducing family matters where obliterated in the haze of voiding my bowels, and all that remained was this green mat.
Many have spoken of the transcendent nature of the bathroom, how it can bring a mans problems closure and whiten your teeth at the same time, but none of that came to mind now. The mat was all I thought of, the mat was all that mattered. My eyes locked on it so hard they strained and in that near painful intense look the chaos of quarter inch thick threads began to shift almost as if they were alive. Sea anemone, I thought, its JUST like a sea anemone.
Without me taking notice the already time bathroom light grew darker still and in the center of the shag rug pattern a hole began to open. From it poured the intense smell of limes and darkness crept from in in creeping tendrils of shadow that defied reason. I still couldn't look away, I still was in the perfect moment of ease. The rug had expanded outward and now the entire floor was alive with movement with darkness creeping over it like mist and the hole now big enough that I could see through it to the other side, and in seeing madness grasped hold of me. I wrenched myself from the toilette seat and bolted to the door, but the tentacle strands of lime green shag grasped hold me legs and pulled me to the ground.
GOD I hated that rug. As I fell I caught a glimpses of myself in the mirror and saw that my hair, once salt and pepper black, was now thickly streaked with white. Nothing to do now, no longer at ease, no longer sane, I went limp on the floor, and as I was pulled forward towards that green maw of sanity shattering green I began to hear laughter.
"Who the FUCK would find this funny?" I asked myself aloud, and on the heals of that realized that the laughter was coming from me...
My feet dissapeared into the hole, and I felt a chill like icewater creeping up my legs, and a poem from my youth came to mind.
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor, and I don't like it one bit... Thank you, Shell Silverstien, for putting this moment in perspective. The lips of the hole expanded outward and drew me in inch by inch, but there was no pain, only the certainty that I was about to die, and if not die, never ever ever feel comfortable in a bathroom again.
Oh heck, its up to my neck...
Bathroom cleaner...
DEATH smells like...
Bathroom cleaner...
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Re-Written Query Letter for Binks
I've taken the time to re-write my query letter and have begun submitting it using the format provided on writersmarket.com, which I've purchased a one month subscription to. At first I was hesitant to add my accommodations for poetry, but seeing that they are my only claim to fame as far as writing goes I've decided to give it a try. Let me know what you think guys!
Dear *agents name*,
All my life it has been a dream of mine to have my work published, to write and through writing express myself. I am a 26 year old male from Charlottesville, Virginia and I suffer from Schizo-Effective Disorder and Scheuermann’s Kyphosis, a debilitating mental illness and painful spinal condition respectively. My life has been an interesting one indeed, and because of that I have put pen to page and written my memoir. The proposed title is “Binks: The Bizarre Account of Zachary Peter Jarrett”, and contained within its pages is both great tragedy and uplifting levity.
As hard as this is to admit, I am also a victim of childhood sexual abuse, and as a man it is particularly hard to come forward on such matters. Men are trained by society to be strong, to not cry or show emotion or weakness, and as such many men when victimized do not come forward. Statistically speaking you would think that women are abused more, but the numbers are deceiving for they only show reported cases, and because of the prevalent silence of male victims, they are skewed.
My book details the suffering and struggles a male victim undergoes throughout this tragic process, and how I overcame not only that, but my physical and mental conditions as well. It would serve as a great message to those out there who, like me, had their innocence stolen.
In the past I have excelled at poetry: I was the winner of the 2004 Second Street Gallery Young Writers competition, I received an honorable mention in the 2001 Writers Eye contest, and I was published in the 21st edition of an anthology called the Poet’s Domain in 2005, and more recently, in 2009, I was a finalist in the First Amendment Writes poetry and songwriting competition in Charlottesville Virginia which aired on local television. Renowned author Rita Mae Brown presided over this contest as one of the judges and though she wasn’t present for the award ceremony she said of my poem in her notes that my entry, Syllabic Waffles, had “Real internal rhythm married to condensed venom”. My hope is that I have used the skills I’ve learned in poetry to be an effective writer of prose, specifically the memoir that I am putting before you.
The manuscript is currently 118 pages, 34,217 words to be precise, and it contains my life story from my earliest memories till when I graduated from Murray High School in the spring of 2004. I have had it edited by one Spencer Morton, and very soon now it will be ready to show to the world. Throughout are also various photographs from my youth with drive home the reality of the story, that I was only a child when these heinous acts occurred.
If you would like to know more, or perhaps peruse my proposal, you can contact me through any of the information provided bellow.
Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
Zachary Peter Jarrett
1307 King Street, Apt B
Charlottesville, VA 22903 (434)293-7158
Dear *agents name*,
All my life it has been a dream of mine to have my work published, to write and through writing express myself. I am a 26 year old male from Charlottesville, Virginia and I suffer from Schizo-Effective Disorder and Scheuermann’s Kyphosis, a debilitating mental illness and painful spinal condition respectively. My life has been an interesting one indeed, and because of that I have put pen to page and written my memoir. The proposed title is “Binks: The Bizarre Account of Zachary Peter Jarrett”, and contained within its pages is both great tragedy and uplifting levity.
As hard as this is to admit, I am also a victim of childhood sexual abuse, and as a man it is particularly hard to come forward on such matters. Men are trained by society to be strong, to not cry or show emotion or weakness, and as such many men when victimized do not come forward. Statistically speaking you would think that women are abused more, but the numbers are deceiving for they only show reported cases, and because of the prevalent silence of male victims, they are skewed.
My book details the suffering and struggles a male victim undergoes throughout this tragic process, and how I overcame not only that, but my physical and mental conditions as well. It would serve as a great message to those out there who, like me, had their innocence stolen.
In the past I have excelled at poetry: I was the winner of the 2004 Second Street Gallery Young Writers competition, I received an honorable mention in the 2001 Writers Eye contest, and I was published in the 21st edition of an anthology called the Poet’s Domain in 2005, and more recently, in 2009, I was a finalist in the First Amendment Writes poetry and songwriting competition in Charlottesville Virginia which aired on local television. Renowned author Rita Mae Brown presided over this contest as one of the judges and though she wasn’t present for the award ceremony she said of my poem in her notes that my entry, Syllabic Waffles, had “Real internal rhythm married to condensed venom”. My hope is that I have used the skills I’ve learned in poetry to be an effective writer of prose, specifically the memoir that I am putting before you.
The manuscript is currently 118 pages, 34,217 words to be precise, and it contains my life story from my earliest memories till when I graduated from Murray High School in the spring of 2004. I have had it edited by one Spencer Morton, and very soon now it will be ready to show to the world. Throughout are also various photographs from my youth with drive home the reality of the story, that I was only a child when these heinous acts occurred.
If you would like to know more, or perhaps peruse my proposal, you can contact me through any of the information provided bellow.
Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
Zachary Peter Jarrett
1307 King Street, Apt B
Charlottesville, VA 22903 (434)293-7158
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Soooooo many knots
And so the etsy hemp saga continues. NINETY FIVE views and not a single purchase, but I feel today is the day! I created a sister page for Zachary Binks HempCrafts on facebook in hopes of increasing my sites traffic and my views jumped from 75-95 in a matter of an hour. SOMEONE will buy something, its only a matter of time.
Been playing around with my mothers idea of a co-op, the chance at having my stuff in a STORE store is rather enticing. She seems dead set on it, and I've reminded her that she is the one that gets shit done. I remember being a kid and her pulling off the most outlandish Christmas gifts ever simply by virtue of DETERMINATION! She is a mover and a shaker, and a force to be reckoned with when she sets her mind to something. I only hope some of it rubbed off on me...
Today is the day, I can feel it in my bones...
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Zachary-Binks-HempCrafts/133150743443538
Been playing around with my mothers idea of a co-op, the chance at having my stuff in a STORE store is rather enticing. She seems dead set on it, and I've reminded her that she is the one that gets shit done. I remember being a kid and her pulling off the most outlandish Christmas gifts ever simply by virtue of DETERMINATION! She is a mover and a shaker, and a force to be reckoned with when she sets her mind to something. I only hope some of it rubbed off on me...
Today is the day, I can feel it in my bones...
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Zachary-Binks-HempCrafts/133150743443538
Monday, August 1, 2011
Waiting for Scrabble
Today was the first of the month, that means a frantic struggle to spend whatever money I'm allotted before it burns clear through my pocket and into my SOUL. SO I went with my mother to go help my brother unload the sad remainder of this past weekends yard sale at the salvation army, strange that I was dropping off instead of picking up for once.
We took turns either staying home or going with my mother to drop off, and between we loaded the truck with more boxes of stuff, which I proceeded to raid with increased vigor (of course I'll be moving in a month, but I COULDN'T pass up on the full sized drinking horn nor the silent bob action figure). This went on for a while, and each time I was there with my brother I'd watch him play video games or catch bits and pieces of a re-run of deadliest warrior he was watching.
When he queued up Marvel vs Capcom 3, a warning came up on the screen briefly:
"contains flashing lights and sounds"
And I'm thinking 'My STUPID STUPID brother, who has been an epileptic all his life, is going to have a seizure RIGHT HERE on his over-sized ratty old couch and I'm going to have to shove my wallet in his mouth to keep him from biting off his tongue.'
So I'm watching him play and he's explaining to me how the game works: He has it set to let an online challenger jump into his game at any time and fight him, but meanwhile he fights against the computer in an amazing display of seizure inducing lights and effeminate battle cries that only the Japanese would find intimidating. Even I was woozy and I've never had a seizure in my life.
Amazingly enough he DIDN'T go into a grand maul mid-counter attack, and all was well. My mother offered to have us come over some other time and have dinner with them, maybe enjoy a rousing game of scrabble. I can't wait :)
We took turns either staying home or going with my mother to drop off, and between we loaded the truck with more boxes of stuff, which I proceeded to raid with increased vigor (of course I'll be moving in a month, but I COULDN'T pass up on the full sized drinking horn nor the silent bob action figure). This went on for a while, and each time I was there with my brother I'd watch him play video games or catch bits and pieces of a re-run of deadliest warrior he was watching.
When he queued up Marvel vs Capcom 3, a warning came up on the screen briefly:
"contains flashing lights and sounds"
And I'm thinking 'My STUPID STUPID brother, who has been an epileptic all his life, is going to have a seizure RIGHT HERE on his over-sized ratty old couch and I'm going to have to shove my wallet in his mouth to keep him from biting off his tongue.'
So I'm watching him play and he's explaining to me how the game works: He has it set to let an online challenger jump into his game at any time and fight him, but meanwhile he fights against the computer in an amazing display of seizure inducing lights and effeminate battle cries that only the Japanese would find intimidating. Even I was woozy and I've never had a seizure in my life.
Amazingly enough he DIDN'T go into a grand maul mid-counter attack, and all was well. My mother offered to have us come over some other time and have dinner with them, maybe enjoy a rousing game of scrabble. I can't wait :)
Sunday, July 31, 2011
sooo... ummm... yep
SO yeah, BUSY BUSY BUSY! Its the first tomorrow and that means MONIES! and thanks to my cooling assistance its MOAR MONIES! but due to saving up for my move its LESS MONIES! :(
But anywho, good times! I went to my brothers yard sale and made NO MONIES! but that's ok cause I probably got SUN STROKE! cause today my body aches like a cheap hooker the day after turning tricks for the local sports team and/or college.
So yeah, by some miracle I managed not to get sunburn! woot? I guess... I GOT SWORDS! Two of them, the a lotr replica orc thingy cleaver/sword MONSTER and a claymore :)
GOOD TIMES!
oh and please excuse this photo of a koala...
But anywho, good times! I went to my brothers yard sale and made NO MONIES! but that's ok cause I probably got SUN STROKE! cause today my body aches like a cheap hooker the day after turning tricks for the local sports team and/or college.
So yeah, by some miracle I managed not to get sunburn! woot? I guess... I GOT SWORDS! Two of them, the a lotr replica orc thingy cleaver/sword MONSTER and a claymore :)
GOOD TIMES!
oh and please excuse this photo of a koala...
Monday, July 25, 2011
A Visit from my Brother and his Fiance
Sitting alone working out the kinks on this, my brand-spanking new blog, when there is a knock on my door. It was light and hesitant the way a child knocks when he expects his parents are busy but REALLY has to get their attention cause the kitchen sink is stopped up with play-dough and is flooding the entire house. I peer, just as hesitantly, out through the blinds and see my Brother and his Fiance standing there on my stoop. I answer the door and they come in, sit down on my couch, and we talk.
Small talk, conversation about our lives and how things are going, I tell them about the progress on my book, they tell me about how there tattoo equipment is out of commission until they can replace a few parts. All the while my cat Mojo sits in his fiance's lap enjoying the brief bit of company.
"So you should tell him about the call..." Fiance whispers.
"Oh... right..." My brother says, "We don't have Hepatitis C."
This was something that had been on my mind as of late, seeing that I had received several tattoos at the hands of both my brother and his Fiance and the prospect of dying for their lack of proper sterilization equipment seemed both grim and grossly unfair.
"Well... That's good, I'm sure you're relieved." I say with a smile that is all too forced.
All the while I'm thinking 'Damn you you bastard for making me think my arms were going to ROT OFF at any moment!'
"Yeah we were just bored, we wanted to prove to Ned that we aren't just bears in a cave." Fiance adds to the conversation at random.
"Bears in a cave?"
"Yeah, like we don't have people over much..."
And without thinking I say... "Yeah you guys don't have me up anymore..."
Fiance took offense to this and I could hear her objection in her voice...
"We'll I'm sorry but there isn't much to do, we just watch movies and sit around."
If only she knew... THAT combined with being able to see my brother every so often is ALL it would take for me to be at ease about the situation. Hell I'd LOVE to go up there and shoot the shit for a couple hours, even if it meant having nothing more to do than that.
A moment later they excused themselves and we said our goodbyes, and once more I took a seat at my computer with nothing more to do but type endlessly away at it till exhaustion overtook me...
Small talk, conversation about our lives and how things are going, I tell them about the progress on my book, they tell me about how there tattoo equipment is out of commission until they can replace a few parts. All the while my cat Mojo sits in his fiance's lap enjoying the brief bit of company.
"So you should tell him about the call..." Fiance whispers.
"Oh... right..." My brother says, "We don't have Hepatitis C."
This was something that had been on my mind as of late, seeing that I had received several tattoos at the hands of both my brother and his Fiance and the prospect of dying for their lack of proper sterilization equipment seemed both grim and grossly unfair.
"Well... That's good, I'm sure you're relieved." I say with a smile that is all too forced.
All the while I'm thinking 'Damn you you bastard for making me think my arms were going to ROT OFF at any moment!'
"Yeah we were just bored, we wanted to prove to Ned that we aren't just bears in a cave." Fiance adds to the conversation at random.
"Bears in a cave?"
"Yeah, like we don't have people over much..."
And without thinking I say... "Yeah you guys don't have me up anymore..."
Fiance took offense to this and I could hear her objection in her voice...
"We'll I'm sorry but there isn't much to do, we just watch movies and sit around."
If only she knew... THAT combined with being able to see my brother every so often is ALL it would take for me to be at ease about the situation. Hell I'd LOVE to go up there and shoot the shit for a couple hours, even if it meant having nothing more to do than that.
A moment later they excused themselves and we said our goodbyes, and once more I took a seat at my computer with nothing more to do but type endlessly away at it till exhaustion overtook me...
Sunday, July 24, 2011
8 Months
Eight months ago I sat down to type out what would be the first rough chapter of a hundred and twenty page manuscript, and since then not much has changed. I worked diligently through the classes I took, both on non-fiction writing and poetry, regardless of the harsh times that came between now and then. Now it is finished, the final revisions have been made, edited, and stamped with approval from my editor and I'm at a loss at how to proceed.
Somewhat prematurely I sent off copies of my query letter to several literary agents, and already I've received my first rejection letter. Thankfully it was written in a polite and supportive tone. As of now I'm waiting to hear back from five different agencies, all hand picked from my writers market for their interest in memoirs, acceptance of simultaneous submissions, and ease of contact (most of them accept online submissions). I have a sucidal urge to send a letter to every agency in the book, one I must quell if I hope to ever get published. I have to take this, as I have been through this whole process, one step at a time.
It's been such a quiet day today, I've neither gone anywhere nor had company. The phone has hardly rung all day. I spent most of it sitting around reflecting and watching old episodes of X-Files on netflix instant viewing. But oh, how I've wanted that phone to ring... to share this moment with someone other than my dutiful yet accepting mother. She gave me congratulations and then was off to enjoy her evening alone, something I'd normally enjoy myself, but not tonight... I want company, I want the walls to vibrate with our revelries and the night to sing my praises. But here I am, sitting alone typing away at a blog that likely no one will read.
My book will be different, it WILL be published, and consequently WILL be read. I'm ready for people to see now, to know my life as only I could tell it. So many nights I sat here working on that damned book, writing, revising, waiting to hear back from my editor, always working on it or thinking of working on it. It's done now, and all I can do is wait. tick tock tick tock...
Somewhat prematurely I sent off copies of my query letter to several literary agents, and already I've received my first rejection letter. Thankfully it was written in a polite and supportive tone. As of now I'm waiting to hear back from five different agencies, all hand picked from my writers market for their interest in memoirs, acceptance of simultaneous submissions, and ease of contact (most of them accept online submissions). I have a sucidal urge to send a letter to every agency in the book, one I must quell if I hope to ever get published. I have to take this, as I have been through this whole process, one step at a time.
It's been such a quiet day today, I've neither gone anywhere nor had company. The phone has hardly rung all day. I spent most of it sitting around reflecting and watching old episodes of X-Files on netflix instant viewing. But oh, how I've wanted that phone to ring... to share this moment with someone other than my dutiful yet accepting mother. She gave me congratulations and then was off to enjoy her evening alone, something I'd normally enjoy myself, but not tonight... I want company, I want the walls to vibrate with our revelries and the night to sing my praises. But here I am, sitting alone typing away at a blog that likely no one will read.
My book will be different, it WILL be published, and consequently WILL be read. I'm ready for people to see now, to know my life as only I could tell it. So many nights I sat here working on that damned book, writing, revising, waiting to hear back from my editor, always working on it or thinking of working on it. It's done now, and all I can do is wait. tick tock tick tock...
A Letter from my Editor
Zack,
I looked over the revised manuscript and am very happy with the changes/additions you've made. The additional chapters, in particular Cybernetic Organism, really add a lot the the original text. I haven't left you any additional comments on the right side like I did before, because I feel like it is solid where it stands. I simply made some more grammatical/punctuation changes.
I'm not saying this is a totally complete piece, but it's at a point now where you can present it to potential distributors, and they'll take you seriously. I'd encourage you to take the next step. Come up with a query letter, an abstract of what your memoir is, what it stands for and why it's important/unique. Tell potential publishers why your piece is different from others and how it will impact readers.
I'd be more than happy to take a look at your query letter when you've got it done up, if you'd like. Good luck from this point forward! I've really enjoyed reading your manuscript.I've got a great deal of respect for you and am sure you can make this manuscript happen.
Fill me in as you progress!
Spencer
I looked over the revised manuscript and am very happy with the changes/additions you've made. The additional chapters, in particular Cybernetic Organism, really add a lot the the original text. I haven't left you any additional comments on the right side like I did before, because I feel like it is solid where it stands. I simply made some more grammatical/punctuation changes.
I'm not saying this is a totally complete piece, but it's at a point now where you can present it to potential distributors, and they'll take you seriously. I'd encourage you to take the next step. Come up with a query letter, an abstract of what your memoir is, what it stands for and why it's important/unique. Tell potential publishers why your piece is different from others and how it will impact readers.
I'd be more than happy to take a look at your query letter when you've got it done up, if you'd like. Good luck from this point forward! I've really enjoyed reading your manuscript.I've got a great deal of respect for you and am sure you can make this manuscript happen.
Fill me in as you progress!
Spencer
Four am on Yahoo Chats
There is a rhythm to seeking comfort in the dark, to casting ones line among the endless drifting tides of the internet in hopes that you'll get a bite. Open room, enter captcha, check... check... check... new room... enter captcha... check... check... check...
wash, rinse, repeat...
Some faces are new, some wandering strangers, all of them lonely and without purpose. Even the ones that want nothing more than that paltry squirt at the end of a cam session are just looking to connect. Eye to Eye for a moment, even if obscured by lust and anonymity.
The bots wander the rooms, leaving and coming at programmed intervals, almost like ghosts... the digital souls of those who can never leave, never find that company they seek.
At four am most of America is asleep, if your lucky you'll catch someone from the west coast staying up out of desperation, but even that is rare. Whats left to choose from is the arabs and the asians: the phillipinos, pakastanis, indians, iraqis... all just looking for a moments trust, to get lost in the ether and find that hand looking to pull you up.
At four am there are no saviors, no devils, we're all damned if only by self-imposed guilt. The desperation that comes when all others slumber. The rooms are hollowed out, hardly anyone speaks openly, everyone just waits for that DING that says someone noticed them, that someone wants them.
Asl? 26 m usa, you? M too, bye... onward and downward and under it all they just want a hand to reach down and pull them up... but it never comes, trust me I've been doing this for over ten years....
it...
never...
comes...
wash, rinse, repeat...
Some faces are new, some wandering strangers, all of them lonely and without purpose. Even the ones that want nothing more than that paltry squirt at the end of a cam session are just looking to connect. Eye to Eye for a moment, even if obscured by lust and anonymity.
The bots wander the rooms, leaving and coming at programmed intervals, almost like ghosts... the digital souls of those who can never leave, never find that company they seek.
At four am most of America is asleep, if your lucky you'll catch someone from the west coast staying up out of desperation, but even that is rare. Whats left to choose from is the arabs and the asians: the phillipinos, pakastanis, indians, iraqis... all just looking for a moments trust, to get lost in the ether and find that hand looking to pull you up.
At four am there are no saviors, no devils, we're all damned if only by self-imposed guilt. The desperation that comes when all others slumber. The rooms are hollowed out, hardly anyone speaks openly, everyone just waits for that DING that says someone noticed them, that someone wants them.
Asl? 26 m usa, you? M too, bye... onward and downward and under it all they just want a hand to reach down and pull them up... but it never comes, trust me I've been doing this for over ten years....
it...
never...
comes...
Saturday, July 23, 2011
The Naptime Sex-Slide
My dreams range from the completely horrific to the uncomfortably erotic, this was a combination of the two... Unsettling and yet hawt in ways I don't conceive of in my waking life. It came to me during a late afternoon nap, and as soon as I drifted off it was already in full swing, as if I were dropped into a scenario that was constantly being played out behind my eyes. I was in was appeared to be a cross between a seventies club and a nineties lazer tag arena, lit with rope lights, black lights, and strobe lights, only the entire place was one long hallway. This would have been disorienting enough, but the whole shebang was tilted at a ninety degree angle and the floor was impossibly slick. I was sliding through this surreal flashing disco with an odd assortment of people, all laughing and seeming to enjoy the constant downward descent. For a moment the degree of the floor plateaued and I found myself on a gondola being carried down along the floor. In its center stood an elaborate soft serve ice cream fountain that looked like a circular Technicolor utter, with each teet secreting a different flavor.
As is normal with my dreams, Elizabeth was there, serving herself up some soft serve. She wanted a certain flavor, but its nipple had been drained dry. I emptied out one of the other nipples into a large glass and hopped on an inter-tube to continue my descent. From behind me a large woman collided with my tube and asked if she could have some of my icecream, which at that moment was nestled between my legs. Without asking for permission, she passed over the delicious ice cream and went to town on my john thomas instead. Unnerved by her forwardness I pushed her away and continued sliding down.
Finally the floor evened out, and the dream space became an fun house maze, still illuminated by mostly purple light. I came into a small room with a bar at one end and a woman there explained to me that I was part of an experiment, that I had been drugged with a cocktail of hallucinogens and Viagra. This isn't the first time I've dreamed of being dosed, so I went along with it. We began to "go at it" when the back wall of the room collapsed outward into a wall of dark water and we were sucked into it in an instant all around us swam sharks in the twilight lit waters of some exotic sea. We never stopped, I simply awoke to the sound of my phone ringing, once, twice, and then no more...
The tiny illuminated screen displayed NEW MESSAGES...
As is normal with my dreams, Elizabeth was there, serving herself up some soft serve. She wanted a certain flavor, but its nipple had been drained dry. I emptied out one of the other nipples into a large glass and hopped on an inter-tube to continue my descent. From behind me a large woman collided with my tube and asked if she could have some of my icecream, which at that moment was nestled between my legs. Without asking for permission, she passed over the delicious ice cream and went to town on my john thomas instead. Unnerved by her forwardness I pushed her away and continued sliding down.
Finally the floor evened out, and the dream space became an fun house maze, still illuminated by mostly purple light. I came into a small room with a bar at one end and a woman there explained to me that I was part of an experiment, that I had been drugged with a cocktail of hallucinogens and Viagra. This isn't the first time I've dreamed of being dosed, so I went along with it. We began to "go at it" when the back wall of the room collapsed outward into a wall of dark water and we were sucked into it in an instant all around us swam sharks in the twilight lit waters of some exotic sea. We never stopped, I simply awoke to the sound of my phone ringing, once, twice, and then no more...
The tiny illuminated screen displayed NEW MESSAGES...
Pancakes and Hemp Necklaces
There is a peace in tying a million tiny little knots as one would find if they ever found themselves in the exciting and intoxicating world of HEMP JEWELRY! Waking up today I knew without a shadow of a doubt that my necklaces and medicine bags, crafted with the FINEST hemp, leather, and bone, would not only SELL but sell at the prices I had given them. I had just the previous day placed them on craigslist, again KNOWING that I would make lots and lots of money simply by virtue of lots and lots of tiny little knots. My inbox was, of course, empty... empty like the void in my heart that made me want to make stupid little hemp necklaces in the first place. EMPTY!
BUT! I had other pressing issues, I had been forced to smoking loose tobacco from a pipe, and not just ANY pipe but a BOWL purchased for me in an ill advised manner when I told my brother "hey I'd like to have something to smoke this herbal smoking blend out of" and HEARD "I wanna GET HIGGGHHHH so HIIIIGGGHHHH!" So you of course see my problem, my pickle, a bowl is expertly crafted for the consumption of MARIJUANA (don't let the convenient store clerk tell you otherwise...) and as such has a very tiny little bowl for whatever it is your smoking out of it. A tobacco connoisseur knows that a relatively sizable bowl is needed for proper smoke-age.
So there I was, trying desperately to get a hit off this little pot-pipe, when my mother called and offered to bring me by some food. I of course asked her to bring by rolling papers, and not the "extra wide" papers (those are for JOINTS! damn you hippie mother!) but plain old regular sized top rolling papers, with a hundred leaves, in the little yellow envelope. She of course, after giving me "the look" by way of telephone (something difficult but not impossible to manage) and told me she'd be on her way shortly.
She arrived within the hour, bringing with her two boxes of pancake mix, eggs, milk, and two cases of Fanta in both "organge" and "grape", which proclaims BOTH that they contain 100% natural flavors AND absolutely NO JUICE. As to what natural substance is in Fanta, the world may never want to know...
Along with the pancake mixes (both bisquick and all natural wheat mix) she brought a pack of top rolling papers, an electric fan, and a cloth display board for my booming hemp necklace business. And so the day came full circle, and I spent the next several hours tying little tiny knots.... THE END!
BUT! I had other pressing issues, I had been forced to smoking loose tobacco from a pipe, and not just ANY pipe but a BOWL purchased for me in an ill advised manner when I told my brother "hey I'd like to have something to smoke this herbal smoking blend out of" and HEARD "I wanna GET HIGGGHHHH so HIIIIGGGHHHH!" So you of course see my problem, my pickle, a bowl is expertly crafted for the consumption of MARIJUANA (don't let the convenient store clerk tell you otherwise...) and as such has a very tiny little bowl for whatever it is your smoking out of it. A tobacco connoisseur knows that a relatively sizable bowl is needed for proper smoke-age.
So there I was, trying desperately to get a hit off this little pot-pipe, when my mother called and offered to bring me by some food. I of course asked her to bring by rolling papers, and not the "extra wide" papers (those are for JOINTS! damn you hippie mother!) but plain old regular sized top rolling papers, with a hundred leaves, in the little yellow envelope. She of course, after giving me "the look" by way of telephone (something difficult but not impossible to manage) and told me she'd be on her way shortly.
She arrived within the hour, bringing with her two boxes of pancake mix, eggs, milk, and two cases of Fanta in both "organge" and "grape", which proclaims BOTH that they contain 100% natural flavors AND absolutely NO JUICE. As to what natural substance is in Fanta, the world may never want to know...
Along with the pancake mixes (both bisquick and all natural wheat mix) she brought a pack of top rolling papers, an electric fan, and a cloth display board for my booming hemp necklace business. And so the day came full circle, and I spent the next several hours tying little tiny knots.... THE END!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)