Hot and sunny Wednesday greetings, my collector friends! I am grateful to Sara for filling in for me as of late, but I must confess that I am especially jealous that she got to write about our own Ms. Mount and her delightful Ideal Bookshelf. As I said to Jane yesterday: it's like she read my mind! I love every single one of those books, and it seems I'm not alone. Their utter ideal-ness seemed to roust many of you from your lazy summer slumber... the $20 prints were gone in a flash!

 

Today's photography editions from the talented and sweet-as-pie Taj Forer are also quite fetching. After a lovely chat with the photographer himself about To live with you alone, Red Boiling Springs, Tennessee and Boots and raincoats, San Diego, California, I am that much more enchanted.

 

We had quite a lot to talk about, it turns out! We started with Taj's Threefold Sun series, inspired by Waldorf school founder and biodynamic farmer, Rudolf Steiner and went on (and on!) from there. I'm only including a snippet below, so if you just can't get enough, look for the full transcript on the 20x200 blog.

 

Jen: Hi there. Love your editions so! I am excited!

Taj: Oh, shucks. Thanks for doing this. I'm very psyched myself.

Jen: Sure thing, I am sorry that we didn't connect sooner. But what's funny is that this weekend I was at the Hawthorne Valley Farm store. So I've had Steiner on my mind.

Taj: No way! That place is amazing.

Jen: And I also got to drink raw milk. For the first time ever. And it is delicioso. Buttery.

Taj: So tasty. Amazing! Amazing that that's the ONLY way milk used to be consumed and now it's the rare exception...

...

Jen: It's super regulated although I can't tell if it's because of real danger or powerful Dairy Industry lobbyists. So, can you tell me how you connected with Steiner?

Taj: oh, I would imagine it's all lobbyist pressure.

But, to answer your question re: how I connected with Steiner—I attended a Waldorf school when I was a child, K-8 grade... It was a school located in an old farmhouse and surrounded by fields, forests and streams. Just gorgeous. As I got older and began the process of exploring my own life (rather than the lives of others) through photography, I turned my attention to the landscape of the Waldorf school that I attended as a child.

...

It's interesting, Steiner's biodynamic agricultural method came out of many of his followers begging him to address the negative effects that farmers in Europe were beginning to notice as a direct result of the beginning of industrialized farming. Something affecting everyone... Steiner was a devout Christian and often times I felt that his religious beliefs got in the way of more tangible forms of communicating his ideas. Having said this, he was a very open-minded person who borrowed from all of the major faith traditions when formulating various aspects of his philosophy.

...

Jen: I said connectedness and community is what I get from [your images], and you know, I've been looking at the work since the book came out.

Taj: I like that that's what you get from the pictures. ...

Jen: I love Boots and raincoats so much because on a surface level it's just delicious eye-candy.

Taj: It's an old public school that the city of San Diego no longer wanted to use so it rents to the Waldorf school for a good price.

Jen: but also it has such a wonderful cozy warmth about it, and a nostalgia.

Taj: I find that so lovely and metaphorical...

Jen: I mean it has a soundtrack in my mind, when I look at it.

Taj: Thanks. That image seems to resonate with many.

Jen: That is actually super interesting/great to know. And then of course the chalkboard poem—which is ever more charming b/c of its small errors.

Taj: Yes, the flaws MAKE that image for me. Tell me about the soundtrack!

Jen: Well, the soundtrack is that distinctive din of kids in a school yard, and oddly the ocean, for some reason, in the background.

Taj: So representative of the whole movement: beautiful, well-intentioned but, like anything worth a damn, also flawed. Like people!

...

Jen: It's comfortable and nostalgic, even though it's not something I ever experienced. I mean I think my teacher was kind like that, in pre-school, but I grew up in Queens NYC! heh. OK. This is super fun, I actually love talking to the artist about an image and finding out that the little stories I make up make sense. Sometimes they make no sense at all, which is fine too. But I can't lie, I enjoy being right. ;)

Taj: Nice. I always enjoy talking about the work as it often leads to new discoveries/ways of thinking about my own images and process.

Jen: Well, we can always talk more, right now I am going to write an intro... Yea we're a little late, so I gotta hustle like mad.

//Into the Belly of the Beast

 

// ENTER //

 

: : Sgt. Raven's Log : :

  

 

I'm writing this with one hand. You'll uh . . . you'll see why in my next mission report. But basically, I don't have the energy to write a full-fledged mission log right now. I'll let a few brief words and the picture's do all the talking.

 

A LAAT/i dropped us in the hangar of the Lucrehulk after the fighters knocked out the shields. We landed in, taking out several battalions of droids on our way in. My team jumped out, defended the LAAT. Once it got it's bearings, we booked it to the generator. We were surrounded on all sides by droids, but that didn't stop us. Me and Ears took cover behind some fallen crates, Rook jumped around with his shotgun (I swear one day that thing will be more trouble than its worth and probably end up killing him by how cocky it makes him) while 51 strapped the charges to the generator. Rook performed some crazy maneuvers with his jetpack.

 

. . . I'm starting to think maybe it was a mistake nicknaming him Rook. He really isn't taking anything head-on anymore. It's all angles with him.

 

Anyways, we blew up a Lucrehulk. Big deal. Now excuse me, I've gotta catch some Z's.

 

  

: : Sgt. Raven's Log : :

 

// END //

  

someone IMed me the night before i took off to china,

and i find it to be amusing, so i thought i might share

the experience with ya all.

For the record:

me:yo

him:hey

me: may i have your permission to use your

IM sn for my up coming blog? regarding

to the conversation we had for the past

few days?

him:no, why?

me:ok just thought i might ask

It started with something like this… *pay attention to these*

AIM IM with r*******12/18/07 8:54 PM

him:hi?

me:rt?

him:yeah?

him:saw ur aim on facebook

me:oh, whats up?

him:thought i’d say hi

me:where are u now ?

me:richmond ?

him:yeah for a short time

me:back to nyc ?

him:i hope

him:i’m trying to remmy ur name … just first

name pls?

me:O_o

him:sorry man i just had to go back to

facebook now

me:hui here

him:OOOH!

me:doh~

him:in fact i am ON ur page

me:u sure are

me:disappointed ?

him:befor eu told me who u are

him:then u spelled ur name

me:oh well

him:how’s ur life?

me:pretty good

me:actually packing tonight leaving tmw

me:for my asia trip

him:why?

me:vacation

him:that’s cool — china?

me:need to get out of here for my sake

me:shanghai and tokyo

him:u read my blog i’m sure

him:back to ur hometown, eh

me:yeah say hi to my hometown peeps

him:anyway heard tokyo is fun place to ck …

shanghai is booming

him:constructions everywhere

him:i had been checking a little on

skyscrapers.com

him:hey u read my blog?

him:boo?

me:sorry

me:was on phone

me:not lately

me:been too busy at work

me:new job 4 months so far

him:at?

me:ceb

me:http://www.r********.com/

me:is this ur blog site?

me:it’s down man

him:right … long story

me:oy

me:forgot to pay ur bills ?

him:no actually

him:the original plan is to take 7 day break

going offline so i can move to a new

server and launch a new design, okay?

me:rite

him:my cat was mauled to death and i had to

foot the cost of cremation … whcih left

me $34 short of paying this designer in

full him:for a new design. She refused to

turn it over and I just got a new job wont

get pay until next week on 28th. me do do?

him:i’m stuck. my inbox went from 400s to

more than 8K already

him:only *one* contributed. That is $10.

him:Need only 24 to get it so i can launch

me:oh boy

me:u should switch to google apps email

me:but that’s not the main issue for u right now

him:what’s that? i have gmail acct

me:gmail with ur domain account

me:say r****@r********.com is hosted by gmail

me:like my email

me:hui at orangezippo.com

him:oh

me:so i have my email whereever i go

him:it’s not my concern right now

him:i’m just stuck

me:right right

me:sorry abt that

me:who was the designer ?

him:but do u read my blog occasinoally?

him:jj

him:in fact, i’m supposed to pay her last week

me:oyyyyyy

him:hence do u read my blog occasionally or never?

me:yeah i read it once in a while when

someone tells me to look

him:then i’m doomed

him:u wont then

him:huh?

him:is it possible fo ru to make a small

contribution via paypal so i can get it

and fix it up before i launch it?

me:how much do u need ?

him:24 for that design … but 50 or 40 would

be cool so i can have something, u know?

so

him:up to u

me:alright

him:r********@gmail.com is my paypal addy.

if u dont have it, u can go to my old blog

at r****.blogspot.com and see “donate”

there

him:who are u going with to asia?

*blah blah about my gf*

him:so what’s up with the contribution?

me:she is on my fb

him:let me get on to that when i get home

me:im on my iphone

him:oh crap. when is that?

him:fyi i am enjoying ur pics

him:always loved ur pics

me:gotta get my errands done before store

closes

him:thx

him:u have paypal acct? would it be easier if

i send it to u and u login in via ur email

and ping! iphone is faster, too

him:loved this pic

him:http://photos-61……

me:hold on

me:brb actually

him:found it

him:hello?

him:hello?

him:Hui?

him:what kind of job do u do at CEB?

him:it’s more than 40 min already, man. what’s

wrong?

him:hello?

him:Hui!

11:12 PM

him:Hui?

11:46 PM

him:HUI

him:ZHANG

11:49 PM

him:sigh

12:00 AM

him:Hello?

12:03 AM

him:HUI!

12:05 AM

him:i give up

12:28 AM

me:hey man

me:just got back

me:oh!

him:me puzzled

me:i was wondering

me:dont u have any close friends that can help

u out with the money ?

him:oh … they’re not online

me:or ur siblings ?

him:H just had a baby

him:L is broke

him:G is in fla

me:i mean if u just send out a email to them

me:i mean ur good friends who’s close to u

him:i can do that

him:but u sai du can

him:?

me:and u picked me out of blue out of everyone?

him:no no

him:was just chatting and thought of it

him:was going thru hard moments

me:i didnt say i can.. jsut that it strikes me

odd how u appeared out of no where

him:then thought why not ask

him:sorry

him::man

him:i m glad i found u

him:i had been wondering where the fuck u

had been these days

me:?

him:J did not mention much about u

me:ok

me:try your close friends see if they help

me:then let me know

me:gtg

so i got offline, and went to china

2 weeks later, this guy is becoming like my bbf (maybe not bbf… perhaps bbwb), IM-ing me everyday

him:how s china?

him:tsk tsk

him:hui?

him:bad news

him:u know drew gutches?

me:kinda why ?

him:he runs deafbuy.com, deafpagers.com

owns boundless communication

him:has usher’ssyndrome works in an office

next to gally campus on wa ave and fla ave?

me:right

him:hes dead

me:of what ?

him:heart attack after sustaining massive

stroke and coma two saturdays ago

him:on dec 29th

me:that’s sad to know

him:how’s asian trip?

me:it was good

him:did u get to see J? when was the last

time u saw him?

him:hello?

him:hui?

10:45 PM

me:yeah

him:i asked u — how was asian trip?

him:no rsponse!

me:oh sorry must missed that one

me:it was good actually

him:shanghai still dirtyas usual?

me:lol

me:it’s china

me:but pretty clean like US in high class area

him:i wanted to visit this particular place —

let me make sure i got the name right

him:three gorges dam

10:52 PM

me:oh dont bother

me:nothing to see there but then dam

me:better off to see great wall if u are going

that far

him:i’d loe to see that — wish i go there

during olympics but it’d be brutal and too

crowd for me

him:they prolly will scam me out

me:perhaps

me:for one, u wont have place to stay

him:heard they razed poor ones out

me:bums and homeless

me:i see nothing wrong with that

him:yeah true

him:ey got one question

me:yes?

him:what do u think of chinese’s government?

11:03 PM

me:not good not bad.. making a big country

twice the size of US running stable is

impressive by my standard

11:09 PM

him:oh

11:13 PM

him:i forgot

him:the name of the currency in china?

me:RMB

him:?

him:never heard of it

him:hey hui

him:know what?

me:http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Renminbi

him:thanks

him:hey

me:ja?

him:what happened?

me:what do u mean ?

him:u told me u d contribute but u vanish and

rabbit to china — *slap*

me:lol

11:44 PM

me:well i was waiting for u to contact

your REAL friends

me:what happened?

him:many said xmas/nye stuff

him:impossible

him:i understand i cant pressure

him:same with u

him:the guy who works on my site is dead.

me:i thought jj works on ursite ?

him:she designs

him:drew fix

him:get it?

so this is the end of the sega… i think ? and ever since

i was temped to post this on my blog. so i went ahead

and ask him if i can use his SN in the blog…

AIM IM with r********1/9/08 9:46 PM

me:yo

9:50 PM

him:hey

9:53 PM

me:may i have your permission to use your IM sn

for my up coming blog? regarding to the

conversation we had for the past few days?

him:no, why?

me:ok just thought i might ask

him:is it abt contribution?

you are so damn right! oh well.. too bad i can’t use the sn…

but you get the idea

here’s an interesting update so he saw the post and emailed

me.

email 1

him

was that necessary? no u did not have my permission.

take it off, please. i’m hurt that you did this.

r

email 2

him

again, u did not have my permission to print. and use

my name. and use my copyrighted website. take it off.

or i’ll take legal action on you.

r

i guess this will get more interesting. legal advise anyone??

i just got another email from him, and it gets even more hilarious.

it implied one thing about u — u were out to

harm me. what kind of friend/person is that? i wonder.

On Jan 10, 2008 1:47 PM, hui zhang wrote:

well i’ve commented out those that has anything to do with ur site

On Jan 10, 2008 1:39 PM, R wrote:

> on ur site.

>

>

>

> On Jan 10, 2008 12:54 PM, hui zhang wrote:

> > where do u see that?

and man i dont know about him… being delusional or something?

me? his friend? i thought i was just someone on his facebook’s

victim of donation list?? we will see how this will turn out to be.

==The Arkham Auditorium==

 

Bleeding and broken, Delbert Billings scoured the ground for his fallen hip flask, in the futile hope that he might numb the pain of his latest affliction. As he tried to advance, it quickly became apparent that any movement might sever the remaining stands of sinew connecting his thigh and crus. That, Billings decided, was worth the risk. Just as he had located his flask, however, Leonard Fiasco picked it up off the ground, and walked slowly towards him, keeping the flask out of his reach. He held it aloft, and a steady trickle of dark rum dripped onto Billings’ open wound, filling the hollow that once housed his kneecap. Billings yowled, rolling back and forth, unloading every insult in his repertoire.

 

“Eraser, that’s enough,” Needham warned.

 

“Fine,” Fiasco obliged, carelessly tossing the flask over the balcony, its remaining contents staining the carpeted floor. Billings let out a high-pitched yelp as his longtime crutch soaked through the floorboards. Needham shot a red web over Billings' redder, capless knee to halt the blood loss, then took an exaggerated step over his screeching, profanity-spewing form, making his way downstairs to join the other Misfits, all gathered in anticipation around Drury. As Drury turned around, the light from the projector illuminated his face, highlighting the collection of purple bruises and deep cuts that were absent in the illusion. His face was glistening from dried blood and fresh tears and one eye was swollen shut.

 

“Drury,” Joey gasped.

 

“Christ, who stole your lunch money? You look almost as bad as-”

 

Fiasco caught Gar’s eye, and finished by mouthing ‘him,’ gesturing in Gar’s direction.

 

“Subtle,” Gar noted.

 

“It’s nothing,” Drury lied, wincing as Ten ran cold fingers across his swollen skin. “I hit a wall.”

 

“I mean, yeah, we’re all in a bit of a slump, but that’s no way-”

 

“An actual wall, Joe.”

 

“How’d that happen?” Fiasco frowned. “You chase a roadrunner through a painted tunnel?”

 

“Not a roadrunner,” Drury answered, swatting Ten’s hands away as the man sought to dress his worst wounds. “Not exactly.” Understanding not to press the subject further, the Misfits stood by as Drury opened Gar’s duffel bag and sorted through its contents.

 

“How many Outcasts are left?” Drury asked, not looking up as he riffled through the bag, retrieving several metal cannisters from within and affixing the first onto his cocoon gun.

 

“I- I don’t know,” Chuck realised. “I only ever saw Zoom and last I saw, The Flash was fending him off.”

 

“Which Flash?” Needham inquired.

 

“The kid,” Chuck explained.

 

“Impulse?” Gar asked.

 

“No, the kid Flash.”

 

“Impulse.”

 

“I liked the one in the tin hat and the bird wings,” Gaige grunted.

 

“Mercury,” Ten helped.

 

“No, it was tin.”

 

“Well, I don’t trust the second one. You can smell pig on him,” Fiasco stated.

 

“He smells like bacon?” Joey asked.

 

“No. Lynns smells like bacon. Flash smells like cop.”

 

Ten cleared his throat. Drury hadn’t said anything in a minute; not a joke, not a shutdown, not a grumble of disapproval. He was single-minded, and that clarity made him dangerous. “Drury, Norbert has been working tirelessly. He’s got good lawyers. Great lawyers. When this is all over, and it will be over, you can go home.”

 

“Home?” Drury blinked twice, finally facing him. “Ten, I can’t go home.”

 

“I thought… I thought that turning myself in would break the cycle; that I could do my time and you’d all be safe. So, I complied, I cooperated, I did everything I was ‘supposed’ to do, to protect my family. To protect you. And did it make a difference?”

 

Ten didn’t respond. So, Drury answered for him.

 

“No. It never makes a difference. Because no matter what I do, it doesn’t ever stop. They never stop. I can try and keep my head down, serve my time, pay my dues, but for every Carson, there’s a Joker, a Zoom, a Thawne standing behind him, waiting to take their shot. And there’s no boundary, no law, no unspoken line they won’t cross. Hurt my friends, to get to me. Harm my family, to get to me. And I’m- I’m just so tired. Of them. Of this. Of dragging you down with me.”

 

“That’s what you think?” Gar exhaled.

 

“It’s what it is,” Drury snapped.

 

“What, that we’re all hapless innocents in all this? That I am?” Gar laughed, a little unexpectedly. “Drury, you handed yourself over to the cops, and the first- the first thing I did was burn Sionis’ warehouse down, with Franco in it.”

 

“Franco was a pillock,” Drury deflected.

 

“No argument there,” Gar agreed. “But my point is, the point has always been, that whenever one of us has fucked up; whether they’ve banged Volcana, joined the Society, set themself on fire; the rest of us have been there to pick up the pieces. Because that’s what you taught us to do. We lived our entire lives as misfits, but you gave us a place of belonging, a supportive shoulder and an attentive ear; a seat at your table regardless of our shitty shortcomings and short fuses. So, maybe the reason you can’t break the cycle, is that you’ve been trying to alone.”

 

Now it was Drury who met Gar with silence.

 

“Gaige’s sub is waiting outside, Dru,” Joey placed his hand on his shoulder. “Your kids are too.”

 

Chuck eyed the ground, then interjected. “About that...”

 

Joey gasped. Drury’s mouth wobbled. Gar shot Chuck a dirty look.

 

“Right, shouldn’t have paused, my bad. They’re fine. I mean, Axel’s a little lighter and they’re all a little damp, but aside from that-”

 

“Aside from that?” Gaige pushed.

 

“We might need a different exit route,” Chuck mumbled quietly, scratching the back of his head.

 

“The fuck you mean, sunshine? Where’s my sub?”

 

Again, Chuck paused. “Blew up.”

 

Before Gaige could stick a spear in Chuck’s stomach and fly him like his namesake, Needham stepped forward, calmly redirecting them back on track. “Enough. You wanna know about the Outcasts?” he asked, looking upwards at the balcony. “Why don’t we ask them?”

 

~-~

 

“Fu-uck,” Billings moaned, stretching the word to an extra syllable, as a conglomerate of unfriendly faces encircled him. He had rather hoped that The Misfits had forgotten about him.

 

“Chin up, son,” Gaige smirked, rattling the hip flask in Billings face, like one might jangle a set of keys in front of an infant. “I reckon there’s just enough left for a nightcap.”

 

Still immobilised, Billings limply stretched his arm out, just for Gaige to retract it from his reach. “Uh uh, Christoper No Legs, first tell us what we want to know. Where are your buddies? Given the lack of retaliation, I assume you’re stretched thin, yes?”

 

“Fucking- skip the prologue, would you?” Billings snapped. “I’ll talk. I’ll talk! It’s not like I’m going anywhere,” he added bitterly.

 

Accepting his logic, Drury nodded to the group. With some reluctance, Joey put the flask to Billings lips as though he was hand-rearing a calf. “Cobb went dark. Crane fell out his chair. The Cat King took a sword through the sternum. Sims... fled and Hayden’s brains are splattered over Arkham West.”

 

“And Joker?” Chuck pressed. “What about him?”

 

“Holed up in the Arkham Mansion. We don’t have much facetime; He only contacts me when he needs someone to laugh at his jokes. Which I do, under duress, threat of death, an anvil on a frayed rope...”

 

“The mansion’s not far,” Gar said. “Security’ll be pretty low, especially with their heavy hitters down; any one of our fliers can get onto the roof and extract him.”

 

“Not our problem,” Needham argued. “We got Walker. Bats’ll send in the rest of his people, and they’ll take in Joker.”

 

“Same shit, different day, huh?” Fiasco asked.

 

“S’the way it’s gotta be, Fiasco,” Needham stated. “The hard part’s done. Now we go home.”

 

“Sorry. So sorry to interrupt,” Gaige tapped Needham’s shoulder, singing sweetly into his ear. “But WASN’T WALKER ADBUCTED ON THAT BAT-FACED BASTARD’S WATCH?”

 

“’Walker,’” Ten interrupted “is still in the room. Shouldn’t we ask him what he wants? Drury?”

 

He pointed his prosthetic back, then frowned.

 

“Drury?” Ten repeated, waving his hand at the shadows.

 

His cry went unanswered. It had taken years, but The Anti-Batman had finally learned his idol's greatest trick.

 

==Arkham North: Courtyard==

 

Simon’s chest pounded like a drum; before him stood Eobard Thawne, and in his grip was the man Simon was certain would stop him; the only man he was certain that could. The Flash; his face was as red as his crimson costume, torn in a dozen places, scarcely concealing anything. Thawne’s hand released, and Wally dropped from his grasp, rolling down the stone steps.

 

The Rogues stared on; they were putting on brave faces for the Walker siblings, but from the way their hands shakily held their weapons, it was clear this latest development had snuck up on them. Lord Manga hadn’t looked up; he was wiping dirt off a pile of fallen merchandise, passing them over to L-Ron to iron, then fold. Multi-Man woozily summoned a spork; his eye red and swollen from his last attempt.

 

Simon felt something brush against his left forearm, then felt Kitten’s hand against his, pressing tightly; Axel responded by clutching his brother’s right with his remaining hand, bracing for the worst. Their uncle stepped forward, shielding them behind his body. They all knew it wouldn’t be enough. Not against Thawne. It had been a Christmas just like this when Simon had last seen him. They had been on the same side then, though only out of necessity. And Simon knew from experience that opposing him was a death sentence. This was it, he understood. Death had come knocking a second time; only now, Simon was dressed in a partially damp t-shirt.

 

As Thawne approached, a body dropped at his feet; drenched in blood, wrapped in iron. Its head missing. He looked up, mildly bemused, then smiled. “A professor outranks a doctor, you know,” he spoke up at the interloper. Doctor Polaris floated above him, cape flapping in the wind, his metal faceplate stained with dried blood.

 

Hayden’s blood.

 

“The dead outrank no one, professor,” Polaris replied sternly. “Save your sermons for the grave.”

 

Thawne reached for the belt’s phone-like dial, but Polaris was quick on the draw, quicker than even Thawne had anticipated. The crimson wingtips adorning Thawne’s mask twisted inward like pointed knives. Thawne tore his mask off; a long lock of strawberry blonde hair danced across his forehead, caught in the winter wind. Lying still at the base of the stone steps, his blood dyeing the snow beneath him, Wally’s emerald eyes opened. He caught sight of Thawne, and his glare sharpened.

 

As Doctor and Professor dueled, a brass bell was wrenched from the clock tower and propelled towards Thawne, only to be intercepted by a golden portal. A second vortex opened and a 20-foot-tall bronze statue of The Flash tore through it. Polaris caught it, straining, then sent it crashing against the Intensive Treatment Building. Debris rained onto the battlefield; Wally shoved would-be victims out of the path of the falling bricks, with little regard for his own well-being; grit and glass scratched his face, but he endured. After all, he had the luxury of speed healing the others did not.

 

A third portal opened directly above Polaris; an endless stream of hot sand direct from the Hindu Kush Valley cascaded down the portal like the contents of an hourglass filled to fill eternity. The more weight added to Polaris, the less he could bear, and slowly he lowered to the ground as the sand enveloped him completely; his knees buckled, his muscles strained, but there was little he could do.

 

Little, not nothing. For the deserts of Nanda Parbat held many secrets, hidden in the sand. Violet eyes narrowed, as the faintest signal of metal called to him through the avalanche of dirt. A single dagger; a long-lost knife of a dead assassin. But enough. The knife tore through the curtain of sand and found its mark in Thawne’s forearm; the portal shut, and a weary Polaris took his leave.

 

Polaris had proven Thawne could be wounded, could bleed, and that was the call to action The Rogues needed. Mardon lifted the sand with his wand, carrying it with a howling gale; the sand transformed into a sandstorm under his skillful hand, and he quickly turned to entrapping Thawne within the enormous wall of silt. Rory emptied his Heat Gun into the funnel, heating the sand until it was a vast glass prison. “Nice job, Wiz. We’ll bake the bastard!”

 

“Who, me?” a voice asked.

 

Rory’s head whipped around just in time for Thawne to punch him unconscious. The Professor smiled, stroking the dial on his belt, then stepped over him, taking care to knock the Heat Gun out of reach. Thawne’s respite was brief; a ribbon slashed the air beside him, cleaving the nearest tree in twain. He turned back, chuckling to himself. “What’re you so smug about?” Lisa hissed, her dual ribbons dragging along the ground like whips.

 

“Oh, nothing much,” Thawne said, rolling his fist. “I’m about to make history.”

 

The ribbons shot at Thawne, graceful, golden razors; Thawne threw a punch, but Lisa turned intangible. Ice skates extended from the soles of her boots, catching her, as she glided along the frigid grounds. Mardon covered her with a pale mist, returning Thawne’s attention back to him.

 

“Check on Mick, Lis. Thawne’s mine.”

 

The winds howled, the force of a hundred hurricanes blasted from his wand, but Thawne dug in his heels. A portal opened between him and the wind, and its sister portal redirected the gale back at the Weather Wizard. Mardon fell backwards, but caught himself just in time, remaining airborne.

 

Acid rain pelted down, unleashed from rumbling storm clouds; Mardon’s wrist danced like a conductor’s to their orchestra, as his black clouds traced The Professor’s movements, refusing to let up. Thawne attempted to evade but, despite his speed, the corrosive downpour began to eat through his costume. Finally, he ran up the side of the building, launching himself at Mardon, dragging him to the ground. With a single snap, the wand broke in two. With a boot on Mardon’s chest, Thawne tossed the splintered halves onto the ground, and advanced.

 

==Arkham East: Botanical Gardens==

 

The survivors of the Cat King’s reign had spent much of the time since his forceful abdication in silence. That calm was broken with the appearance of The Batman’s first son. Nightwing had entered through the cracks in the enormous glass dome and was now sidling up to Thomas Blake. “We have got to stop meeting like this,” Dick said, offering his hand to the squatting Catman. Blake’s eye squinted, then he stood up, sidestepping Nightwing’s outstretched arm.

 

“You have got to put a disclaimer on that thing,” he muttered resentfully, as he moved past him.

 

Dick bit his lip, realising his attempted tension breaker was ill-timed and in poor taste. “I’m sorry,” he apologised. “About Cavalier. I’m-”

 

“Yeah, course you are,” Blake frowned, his gaze averted, his finger pressing on the tip of his knife until blood began to draw. “He was braver ‘n you, you know? He didn’t wait until the dust’d settled.”

 

“Blake, I-”

 

“Nightwing,” Selina cut him off, for his own sake. “Any update?”

 

Dick nodded, relieved to have been given an out. “Oracle’s sent Batgirl on ahead; she’s searching Max Security; retrieval only; we’ve got a couple of strays unaccounted for. With Jim recovering, Captain Sawyer’s acting Commish. She’s good; Batman’s told her to standby for now. The main fighting’s in the grounds, looked to me like another Reverse-Flash, but he’s got some kinda upgrade, some sort of ‘porter tech. I’m heading there once I’ve got you all patched up.”

 

“You go,” Selina offered. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

 

“Yeah?” Dick asked, his voice getting quieter. “Sure you’re ok?”

 

“Me? Sure,” Selina shrugged dismissively. “Blake and Chancer got it worse than I did.”

 

“Hey, you sure you’re ok?” Dick repeated the question, with greater emphasis.

 

Selina looked at Dick, back at Blake and Sharpe, and at the cape shrouding Drake’s body, then nodded appreciatively. “I will be.”

 

Dick departed, grappling up through the hole he’d entered. Selina recoiled her whip, then clipped it to her belt. Blake, flicked the blood off his knives, then sheathed them. Sharpe, muttered petulantly. “And how come he gets two sticks anyway?” he complained. “I told you they think they’re better than us.” Selina scoffed, resting her boot on the edge of one of the garden’s wooden benches, as she adjusted the side straps.

 

“Hey,” Blake approached her. He was moving a little shakily, not yet adapted to his missing eye. “What the King said, before, y’know…”

 

He ran his finger across his throat.

 

“I don’t think it’s particularly conducive repeating it,” Selina replied. The straps tightened.

 

Blake scratched under his eyelid. “I know, and I won’t, but you… got a kid in there? How far along?”

 

Selina sighed. Tommy Blake and Montgomery Sharpe were about the last people she thought she’d be talking about this with. Certainly, the last people she’d want planning a baby shower. “Six weeks. Any further, and I’d need a bigger catsuit.”

 

“Har har. You don’t think you should, I don’t know, sit this one out?”

 

Selina stared through him.

 

“O-kay. You, uh, picked out names yet?” Blake shuffled closer. Selina rolled her eyes at first then, detecting the sincerity in his tone, replied earnestly.

 

“Picked out names? I haven’t even told the-”

 

“How’s about Tabitha? Tabby for short,” Sharpe suggested.

 

“What about Cullen? Or Bella?”

 

“There’s Kat, there’s Kitty... Kitten’s a non-starter, obvs.”

 

“It’s not even really a name,” Blake admitted.

 

“Bro! I know!” Sharpe agreed

 

“Maria.”

 

Blake and Sharpe turned to look at Selina, staring blankly.

 

“Maria, if it’s a girl,” she smiled softly. “And Thomas if it’s a boy.”

 

Immediately, Sharpe cheered. “Bro, congrats,” he beamed, his fist tapping Blake’s arm supportively.

 

“I’m honoured,” Blake blushed.

 

Mortified, Selina looked over at Blake, smiling broadly and tickled pink with pride, and she tried her damn hardest not to laugh in his face. “Oh, no. No no no no no.”

 

==Arkham North: Penitentiary==

 

As he and Karlo walked together through the underbelly of Arkham’s penitentiary, Otis Flannegan turned, as a brown rat emerged from a crack in the wall then scratched at his muck-covered wellies. Without hesitation, Flannegan scooped it with both hands, and brought it to his ear. “Uhuh. Mm. No kidding? Don’t you worry, Bran; yer pal Otis is on the case.” And then, he did something that gave even Karlo pause; he lowered his gasmask, and nuzzled the small creature’s furry face, then tenderly set it back down. Karlo, let out a derisive mumble at this saccharine display. The gasmask clicked back into place, then Flannegan turned back to Karlo, a resolute expression just visible behind his visor. “Duty calls,” he said, performing a two-fingered salute in an admittedly last-minute attempt at reverence to the mud man. Karlo rolled his yellow eyes, then broke away from Flannegan, trudging onwards. Then, Flannegan stopped him.

 

“Hey, Karlo?”

 

Exasperated, Karlo twisted his head back, waiting for The Ratcatcher to finally give him his leave.

 

They locked eyes then, surprisingly, Flannegan gave him an encouraging nod. “Happy hunting.”

 

Karlo, nodded back. “Likewise.”

 

==Arkham West: Forests==

 

The Injustice Trio trudged through the snow together, in an unheard-of demonstration of solidarity. Bright lights lit up the sky behind them. A beggar in a torn coat shuffled past them, hands deeply entrenched in his pockets. Booker paused, for a moment, catching sight of the man’s grey hair and a familiar smoky aroma. “Hey,” Booker called after him. “Don’t I know you from someplace?”

 

The man paused, small clouds of hot air billowing from his nostrils. “No one knows me,” he said cryptically. ‘Four bullets,’ he reminded himself. ‘Just four bullets.’ He nudged past Booker, and disappeared into the forest. Booker scoffed, cussing performatively under his breath, and for a time their walk went uninterrupted.

 

For a time.

 

The rumblings had gotten louder, the lights brighter, now impossible to ignore. Bruce turned back, watching closely as Major Disaster stood transfixed by the fireworks-like display. And then, as if hypnotized, he dragged his feet in the direction of the blasts.

 

“Maj?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Tradition dictates we run away from the deadly sky-beams of unknown origin.”

 

“Yeah,” Booker exhaled, pinching his nose. “But this time, I ain’t leaving with a participation trophy. I’m going for gold.”

 

~-~

 

Bridget Pike made her way up through the Asylum, Jeremiah Arkham’s emaciated arm draped across her back. He had been a quiet companion, his spellbound delirium not yet dissipated. One of Flannegan’s rats scurried on ahead, leading them through corridors marked with dust and blood, squeaking warnings Bridget couldn’t possibly decipher. Finally, they reached the entrance hall; Bridget guided Arkham’s hand onto the scanner, and the doorway whirred into life. Moonlight crept through the widening gap and panicked voices on the other side grew louder, the smell of burning timber stronger.

 

Then Bridget’s heart stopped.

 

“Hello, Bridget. My, haven’t you been busy?” Thawne sneered, casting his eye to the last Arkham, muttering quietly to himself.

 

Bridget didn’t get a chance to answer. The ground quaked as, tearing through the trees, came Major Disaster atop an enormous podium of rock warped around him like a throne. Big Sir and The Mighty Bruce ran beside him, the latter clearly lacking the stamina of his peer but making up for it in firepower. Booker leapt off his perch, releasing a primal cry that those who knew him best thought him incapable of. Thawne set him off course with a portal; dropping him at the other end of the grounds. Bruce covered Booker, emptying his assault rifle; Thawne zipped across the battlefield to evade. However, Bruce was careless, unfocused, and untrained. His marksmanship was abysmal; if not for Wally’s intervention, his hailstorm of bullets would have claimed several unintended victims. As Bruce went to reload, Thawne took the clip, and before he could comprehend what was happening, The Professor cracked it across his head. Ratchett outstretched his arms to catch Thawne, but he was gone again in seconds.

 

Setting Arkham down, Bridget cocked her wrist shooters, then shot into the air, an orange vapour trail tracing her flight path. She unloaded her gauntlets; orange flames licked Thawne’s heels, but she still couldn’t keep up. Booker, could. He raised his arm and the ground beneath Thawne warped upwards like a ramp, knocking him back into Booker’s path. The Major cracked his knuckles and stone wrapped around his fists like jagged boxing gloves. He threw a couple of punches; one even connected, stunning Thawne long enough for Booker to strike a second time. By the third throw, Thawne had wised up. He sent his fist into Booker’s stomach, and he bowled over. Bridget reloaded, sending an inferno Thawne’s way. Thawne spun his arms like cyclones, extinguishing the flames, and knocking her back.

 

Otis Flannegan stuck his head from out of the maintenance hatch and snorted, taking a second to process the present pandemonium. Searching for a familiar face (preferably, one not currently fighting for their life), he trotted towards Big Sir, then tapped his elbow. “Ello, big guy, don’t suppose you can fill me in?”

 

Ratchett‘s large brow furrowed, casting a shadow over his eyes as he rehearsed his words in his head. “The Yellow man hurt Kite-Man and Multi-Man then Metal Man got sad and ran away and Mr Major and Mighty Bruce and Big Sir went to find the Metal Man but we couldn’t find the Metal Man but we met a very nice pirate but Mr Major said he was a bad man then Mighty Bruce pew-pewed him and the pirate got frightened and-”

 

“Holy run-on sentence, Fatman,” Flannegan cut him off, later than he probably should have. “Y’know what? Just throw me,” he instructed Ratchett. “And you better not Hippopota-miss.”

 

Ratchett cupped Flannegan’s bony backside, held him over his head, then flung him at Thawne. Thawne stood in place, but phased; Flannegan passed right through him, and rolled into a heap behind him. Before Thawne could decide what to do with him, a voice yelled out to him. Well, he assumed it was aimed at him.

 

“Hey, Ayo Edebiri!”

 

Perplexed, Thawne frowned, looking up at the ridge where a trio of fresh challengers stood assembled. At the front, Thomas Blake was gesturing wildly at him, as though Thawne was an exotic zoo exhibit.

 

“Eobard Thawne,” Selina corrected him, tapping his shoulder supportively.

 

“That’s the one!” Blake yelled with the same gusto.

 

“It’s cool, he has brain damage,” Sharpe added apologetically.

 

Blake threw his knife at Thawne. Thawne stayed still, calmly watching as the blade landed several metres from its target. His lack of depth perception did not dull Blake’s enthusiasm; he slid down the hill, emptying his utility belt. Thawne dodged Catarangs and smoke bombs; though he didn’t have to move very fast nor far to avoid them. By the time Blake himself reached Thawne, he was incapacitated with a chokeslam. Next, a white baton bounced off the trees like a pinball, ricocheting towards Thawne. His eyes tracked its movements, then, he caught it. He glanced across at Sharpe with an expression that clearly read ‘Was that it?’

 

“And that’s why I need two,” Sharpe crossed his arms.

 

“How would that help? He’s got two hands, dummy.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

Rubbing the back of his grazed head, Flannegan whistled, and the bushes around Arkham rustled with activity. Thawne backstepped; hundreds of brown rats emerged from the undergrowth, squeaking and snarling, and on a direct course towards him; too numerous to avoid entirely. He kicked at the rodents, and in the pandemonium, The Killer Wasp found an in. Norbert’s fist connected, and Thawne’s jaw swung out of place. It was a brief break from the Professor’s taunts, but one welcomed by all. Norbert wrapped his forearm around Thawne’s throat; Flannegan grabbed his right arm and Booker his left, the trio working together to keep him restrained. Thawne vibrated his body, generating a shockwave, scattering the battlefield. He took a hold of his jaw, then clicked it back into place.

 

Flannegan’s mask hung loose; he sprinted forwards, then sank his front teeth into Thawne’s forearm. “Vermin!” Thawne hissed, smacking him aside. His teeth stayed embedded in Thawne’s arm. Flannegan grabbed his lantern off the ground, and tripped Thawne up. He jumped onto him, holding the wooden bar against his throat. Thawne clutched the rod, pushing Flannegan off. He snapped the rod in two, and when Flannegan went back in for another bout, the rod pierced his stomach. Thawne grinned, then pushed the splintered staff through his back. Flannegan retched blood, then Thawne pulled the wood loose. A hand on his stomach, Flannegan keeled over, his rats retreating to his side. Blake roared, ramming his knife through Thawne’s boot. Thawne pried his foot loose, then reintroduced Blake’s head to the ground.

 

“THAWNE!” Wally bellowed, running back into the fray, kicking up a dust trail as he sprinted forwards. He threw a punch, striking Thawne. Thawne fell back then put a shaking hand to his split lip, examining the damage.

 

“Right on cue,” Thawne lapped the fresh blood off his lip. “Protector of the innocent. Oh, oops. How far you’ve fallen,” he taunted him. Wally threw another punch, but this time, Thawne was prepared, catching his fist.

 

“Oh, but where are my manners?” he spoke. “I believe congratulations are in order. I do hope your wife’s pregnancy goes smoother than last time.”

 

“You son of a bitch-” Wally hissed, cut off by an elbow to the jaw.

 

“Temper, temper. Such misplaced vulgarity! You’re lucky your mentor isn’t around to hear that… You know mothers are a sore subject with him.”

 

Thawne tutted, dodging Wally’s next flurry of punches with ease. “I kid, Flash. You know, I always had a soft spot for your Aunt Iris,” he smiled, running his finger across his forehead in a circular motion. “Right here. Perhaps I’ll pay her a visit.” Wally flung his leg forward; Thawne grabbed his boot, then hurtled him to the ground. “Once I’ve snapped your scrawny neck, of course.”

 

“Hey, bozo!” Axel exclaimed, raising his middle finger. “You mean you’re gonna waste this poser, and the real Flash isn’t gonna see it? Where’s the fun in that?”

 

Thawne paused. He knew full well that Axel was just buying Wally time; the Trickster was many things but subtle wasn’t one of one, yet in the back of his mind, he realised he was right. What use was killing the apprentice here? Alone? Without Allen around to bear witness?

 

“A point well made,” he conceded, driving Wally’s face deeper into the snow. “I’ll be right back,” he promised the bloodied West.

 

Springs extending from the soles of his trainers, Axel bounced overhead, spitting out a chunk of chewing gum. The gum hit the floor, then erupted into a fireball. Thawne dodged the explosion, simultaneously parrying an attack from Simon. “You look healthy, Simon,” he sneered. “That, can be remedied.” A backhand shattered Simon’s visor, and he cast his mask aside to see.

 

Axel wasn’t the only Walker to adopt their father’s affinity for gadgetry. The lit ‘stalks’ of Kitten’s Cherry Bombs burned downwards, the innocent-looking projectiles exploding into pink, sickly sweet clouds. The large red heart she launched onto the ground with a similar enthusiasm sprang up, ensnaring Thawne’s boot like a bear trap. The fighting paused temporarily, Simon and Axel exchanged concerned looks about their sister’s unexpected aptitude for violence. Thawne winced, phasing his leg free of the trap. ‘Don’t underestimate the pink princess,’ he noted, as he proceeded to grab a fistful of blonde hair and plant her face into the ground. A crackling beam of high voltage energy shot from Simon’s blaster; Thawne dodged, of course, and again turned his attention towards his long-suffering victim.

 

“Oh, Simon,” he sang back. “I know I said I’d wait for daddy but the anticipation is killing me and, besides, your corpse will keep.”

 

Norbert flew forwards, wrapping his claws around Thawne’s forearms and stinging his flesh. Thawne winced, then phased out of the lock. He reappeared behind the eldest Walker, and taking a hold of his shimmering wings, tore them from his back. Norbert screamed, batting him away, as brown, sap-like blood dripped down his back. Covering his uncle, Simon fired his blaster at Thawne; he zig-zagged past the bolts, then knocked Simon down. Axel jumped into action, but Thawne caught his ankle and dragged him back to earth, reuniting him with his sister in the dirt. Simon shuffled back, firing his blaster; Thawne walked calmly towards him, boredly deflecting his blasts with portals, then vibrated his hand.

 

Across the battlefield, The Flash and his Reverse locked eyes, and Wally knew what he had to do. Channeling the Speedforce in his veins, Wally fired a blast of lightning, everything he had, at the pair. Thawne grinned, pulled Simon close, and using him as a human shield, flung him in the path of the gold bolt. The lightning hit Simon like a wave; Manga’s novelty t-shirt disintegrated immediately, a damning indictment to its quality. The lightning clung to his body, then seeped through his suit, sinking into his skin.

 

“Missed,” Thawne sneered, dropping Simon’s singed body. He hit the cold grass, slow, shallow breaths just barely escaping his lungs.

 

Bridget came to a stop. “Oh, no,” she gasped, dropping her helmet to the ground.

 

“SIMON!” Kitten wept. She rushed towards him but was intercepted by Norbert, who swept her up in his arms. “Let me go! Let me go!” she shrieked, pounding her fists against her uncle’s forearms, begging him to release her. Norbert’s face darkened, but he remained strong.

 

“What did you DO?” Axel shrieked at Wally; The Flash staggered back, weakened, as he took a knee. “That’s my brother! That’s my-! You’ve only gone, and fucking killed him!”

 

Thawne’s hand vibrated, his fingers flexed with sadistic anticipation and, immobile, Simon braced, accepting the inevitability of his demise. Few could say they had died twice, even fewer could say they perished the same way both times. His wedding ring cold against his skin, he closed his eyes with one thought. Emi. Thawne’s gloved hand dived forwards, and he plunged it deep into Simon’s chest.

 

Nothing happened.

 

Simon opened a single, brown eye. There were certain expectations about the afterlife, myths reinforced by the revived and the resurrected. Death was supposed to be solitary, cold; as one of those fortunate few to return, Simon himself could attest to that, but he wasn’t cold. And he wasn’t alone. He was warm; a comforting kind of cozy; like he’d been swaddled in a golden blanket, embraced in a golden hug. The lightning hadn’t stung; it’d tingled. Tickled. And that hand planted in his chest? He couldn’t feel a thing. His heart raced, nay, sprinted, beating even faster than before; faster than humanly possible. Badum. Badum. Badum. The beats merged together into one, flat lining, but not as the herald of death, but a cry of rebirth.

 

Thawne retracted his hand, and his confusion quickly turned to rage. Simon’s own body was vibrating, counter to Thawne’s frequency, Wally’s lightning still crackling around him, a flash of yellow dancing across his brown irises.

 

“You,” he stared down Wally, murder in his eyes. “You gave up your speed for a boy you barely know? You pawned it off like a pair of old boots? Your speed! Your legacy!”

 

“The one move you couldn't anticipate,” Wally panted, laughing through the fractured ribs and bruised skin. “The sacrifice play. Because you're vain, Thawne. You're cruel. You're selfish. And where it counts, you're so damn slow.”

 

Simon’s eyes dashed back and forth; it was as though everything had stopped moving although, of course, they hadn’t. They were just very, very slow. He watched the snow drift downwards, one crystal at a time. He raised his hand out, and caught a pristine, unsullied snowflake on the tip of his finger. “It’s beautiful…”

 

Thawne scoffed. “It’s snow.”

 

“You mean, this is what you see? This- This is how you see the world?” Simon asked.

 

Thawne’s gaze returned to him; his eyebrow raised as though unable to discern the meaning behind the question. “Yes,” he answered at last, with detached honesty.

 

“And you still choose to maim, and kill, and torture?”

 

“That’s right.”

 

Simon cast his eyes down. “You’re an even bigger monster than I thought,” he said in quiet condemnation.

 

Thawne's smile returned, darker than before. “You flatter me. But I’m still faster than you, Baby Bug.”

 

==Arkham Penitentiary: Patient Property==

 

A verifiable Rogues Gallery worth of mannequins lined the walls, like a museum to The Batman’s storied career. Surrounded by soulless statues, Harry Sims rifled through wooden crates, searching for something, anything; Butchinsky’s gloves, one of the Bug’s blasters... He had spent what had felt like a lifetime standing by Karlo’s side and, in that time, he had kept a note of all his weaknesses. Which hadn’t done him a lick of good… The lens. The lens should have killed him, why didn’t it kill him? Sims continued his frantic search; Lynns and Walker had near-emptied the place when they were last here, but some of the weaponry remained. It had to. He reached in deeper, and his spirit lifted, marginally. Freeze’s ray. Not enough power left in it to kill, but aimed precisely, it would incapacitate Karlo long enough for Sims to make his getaway. Alas, Sims’ aim was never particularly precise. He’d preferred to leave the violence to his partners. He preferred to watch. He pocketed his revolver, removed his white gloves, and gripped the barrel of the silver ray gun.

 

Rising to his feet, Sims’ back hit something; solid, humanoid, but lifeless. He turned around, then jumped. Staring back at him, with empty glass eyes, was a mannequin, dressed just like he used to. A velvety, purple suit. A wide-brimmed fedora to match. And completing the look, a grotesque, wax-like mask. Sims chuckled at the mannequin, a mix of nervous relief, and sinister nostalgia. Playfully, he aimed the freeze ray at its head, and mimed firing it. “Hah,” he sneered beneath his helm. “Almost had me scare-”

 

A clay-like arm shot out from the mannequin, pinning him against the furthest wall. The mannequin squelched and shifted, warping into its natural form; an eight-foot tall, grotesque, sagging terror. Sims panicked, firing the ray in blind frenzy. The beam froze The Terror’s arm; brittle lumps of clay crumbled to the ground, dropping Sims in the process. His mask slid off, intact, but dented. He attempted to crawl away, but The Terror unleashed a kraken-like flurry of tendrils, wrapping around its prey’s legs and dragging him backwards. Sims shrieked; his fingers stuck into the ground, as he tried desperately to escape. Concrete was wrenched loose by his exposed fingernails, which chipped and broke and bled as they were scraped along the floor. The mud-like appendages lifted Sims up, so he was directly at eye-level with the monster’s sunken gaze.

 

“Y-you were supposed to be-”

 

“Dead? Like The Shape? Like Vorhees? Like Krueger and the rest? And I thought you a cinephile,” Karlo laughed coldly; an unpleasant, joyless gurgle, like he had a throat full of mucus. “You know as well as I that the dead remain so long as there is business left unfinished. And ours is a business whose conclusion is long, long overdue.”

 

Restored, Karlo’s other hand reached into Sims’ mouth, muffling his words. The mud travelled down his throat, smothering his lungs. Harry Sims choked. He spluttered. He cried tears of clumpy mud and sneezed brown snot. Then Karlo lifted his camera-like mask off the floor and took his final photo. He retracted his arm and Sims dropped to the ground with an inhuman ‘clunk,’ heavier than before. The clay within him had hardened. Solidified. Empty glass eyes, frozen in terror, stared up at the ceiling, their tear ducts blocked with dried mud.

 

It was only until all light had left Sims’ glass-like eyes that Karlo realised he wasn’t alone. A young woman in a black batsuit watched on, in horror and shock.

 

“Basil-” the girl in black gasped.

 

Karlo’s yellow eyes softened; he stepped back, then morphed into a friendlier shape; that of the purple-suited visage of his mannequin. He tipped his hat to her, to his Cassie, then shifted himself down the floor grate, disappearing into the sewers below.

 

~-~

 

Simon ran faster than he had ever thought possible, skidding across layers of snow and ice. His siblings, the Misfits, the Rogues, and all the others seemed like statues as he passed them by. Channeling their shared connection to the Speedforce, Simon blasted lightning from his fingertips, releasing years of frustration, of anger, at his one-time killer. Thawne had quietened. No longer so eager to tease and taunt, his focus had shifted to the swift immobilisation of the Lightning Bug, a name that had never held as much meaning as today. As Simon and Thawne’s speeds levelled, their fight shifted to hand-to-hand combat. The better fighter, Simon’s punches were harder, informed by an early life of petty crime and a few weeks of League training. Thawne’s were faster, more precise; over a decade’s worth of combat against more seasoned speedsters ensured that he knew exactly where to hit.

 

With the two combatants locked in combat, Lord Manga Khan had the perfect opportunity to offload his less-popular products. “Merchandise! Paraphernalia! Accessories of all types and sizes! Bartering encouraged!” his tinny voice roared. “Any takers? How about you, young human? A foam catcher’s mitt for the low-low price of 15.99!”

 

Sharpe gingerly approached; his eyes drawn towards the creased cardboard box laden with foam mittens. “That in dollars?” he asked, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

 

“Credits! The accepted currency of 70% of the planets in space sector 2814!”

 

“Sweet,” Sharpe nodded, as he reached into his pocket. “I have a nickel. That do?”

 

“It will indeed!” Manga yelled excitedly as he accepted the payment and handed Sharpe his prize. “Look, L-Ron, my first sale!” he announced gleefully to his robotic assistant. “I believe this is what the rods and mockers of today are calling Nickelback!”

 

“That’s a button, m’lord,” L-Ron spoke.

 

“Aha! How many credits is that worth?”

 

As L-Ron attempted to explain the minuscule value of Sharpe’s tribute, Doctor Polaris drifted above the pair, his head cocked. “How much for the hand?” he asked, in the tone of someone unwilling to pay.

 

“Ah, the catcher’s mitt? Keen eye, my friend! It's our best sell-"

 

Polaris, raised his palm. “No.”

 

Red and yellow lightning engulfed the dueling speedsters, stray bolts trailing off their bodies. Simon pushed harder; though he was quick, impossibly so, his speed was still dwarfed by that of the Reverse-Flash. Despite his best efforts, his blows stopped connecting as Thawne adapted to his strategies. Desperate, he pawed at Thawne’s waist then, at last, the Professor sent him crashing downwards with an overhand punch.

 

“Uhnff-!”

 

Thawne straddled Simon’s torso; Simon threw a few feeble punches with his left hand; Thawne cast his arm aside, then unleashed his fists upon the broken bug. He threw punch after punch, reducing Simon’s face to shades of reds and purples. Simon took the blows in stride; no yells, no screams, just silent endurance. Thawne was almost disappointed. “Now, where were we?” he asked, raising his vibrating, bloodied hand.

 

“H-hey,” Simon spoke through puffy lips.

 

“Tricked ya.”

 

Thawne’s eyes flicked downwards. Held tightly in Simon’s grasp was the red belt that he had wrapped across his waist moments ago. Then he turned back. Already, the beginnings of a coloured portal had started forming.

 

“No.”

 

Thawne lunged for the belt, but Bridget forced him back with her wrist shooters. Flanking her, Rory aimed his heat gun and Sharpe his dragon staff, and the three sent him to heel with their inferno. Thawne ran the length of the island to avoid the flames, but Lisa’s ribbons caught his ankle and tripped him over. “You shouldn't know those coordinates...”

 

A single silhouette, black at first, then blindingly white, appeared amidst the screeching of an unsettled, untamed wilderness framed by the fizzing portal. They were stood atop a single round disk, a platform keeping them airborne. And surrounding them like stars were hundreds of spheres, each a different colour, each a different, deadly design. The group gazed on, in wonder, in relief, some in confusion. And as man and disk exited, surrounded by a constellation of spheres, the portal snapped shut. The white-suited man grinned, and raising his pair of goggles above his head, addressed his welcome party.

 

“Alright, lads, wipe off the precum. S’only me.”

 

What happened next lasted less than thirty seconds; Simon threw the belt into the air; Thawne moved to intercept, but Selina’s whip caught his arm, binding him just long enough for Bridget to catch the belt, and hurl it upwards out of Thawne’s reach. Phasing out of the whip, The Professor turned to Krill; The Polka Dot Man achieved elevation by jumping onto a series of steps made by his dots; Thawne sped after him, but the podiums became deadly landmines under his soles; the explosions sent him backwards, and his path clear, Krill clutched the belt from the air.

 

Thawne wasn’t finished; rushing forward, he made a beeline for Krill, his hand vibrating. Raising his fist, the golden glove of Manga Khan clamped over his own, then jerked his arm backwards. Thawne attempted to fight against Polaris' magnetism, but in the end, the doctor prevailed; the hand moved, the forearm faltered, and the bone within snapped. Another man might have screamed; Not Thawne; he phased the fractured bone back through his skin and held it until his speed-healing rejoined the broken bone.

 

“I am not going back to that hell,” Thawne snarled, clutching his forearm.

 

“One of us is, mate. And I’ve got the keys to the bloody kingdom. What have you got? 'Side from a receding hairline and the same parasocial psychopathy that killed John Lennon.”

 

“That's right. Fuck all.”

 

And with a click of the circular belt buckle, Abner Krill was once again the most powerful man on the planet.

It's like that, y'all, check it out now

(Yeah yeah, now check the method) (Repeat 4x)

 

Fuck that, you know who's bigger

Even though nowadays you got all these motherfucking new niggas

Fuck those who spread rumors, I didn't retire

Even though you got all these Lord Finesse juniors

Trying to get hype and rip mics

They just imitators that can't quite get my shit right

So won't y'all just face it

That y'all sweat me so much I gotta give my dick a facelift

Wanna battle, I'm all for it

When it comes to this, I've been through more shit than a toilet

Now we could get wild and search for peace

Cause right now I'm chillin', like the nigga home on work release

And even on a lover tip I'll still wax brothers quick

When I do my thing I be on some old other shit

Niggas I slaughter, just to bring order

Aw fuck it, my shit be flowing like spring water

 

It's like that, y'all, check it out now

(Yeah yeah, now check the method) (Repeat 2x)

 

Now it's the dictator whose style's greater

It's the man with more flavors than motherfucking Now & Laters

And rappers I hit 'em well

They automatically go to heaven fucking with me, I give 'em hell

Yeah, so don't try to front, troop

When your style is played out like an Osh-Kosh jumpsuit

Huh, I'm out to collect figures

I'm on some Wu-Tang shit, so protect your fucking neck, nigga

I don't front like a man on a high horse

But yo, I make more noise than July 4th

So run, son, I ain't the one, bum, who dial 911

If you don't, you's a motherfucking dumb dumb

I'm not a role model, I'm a bad figure

When it comes to rap, I got skills out the ass, nigga

I got it locked like a warden

Rap without Finesse, that's like the NBA without Jordan

So all you new jacks kicking wack raps it's a fact that

I'll be on your fucking back like a napsack

It ain't shit you can tell me

Cause the ladies still jel me without an LP

 

It's like that, y'all, check it out now

(Yeah yeah, now check the method) (Repeat 4x)

 

It's like that y'all, and I keep figures

It's the hardcore ruffneck funky type of street nigga

Lord Finesse got the swift rap and

You don't need Dionne Warwick and them psychic friends to predict that

In years to come I'm bound to shine

Give me a mic and a minute, I'll show niggas I get down for mine

Word life, you know the haps

Fucking with me is like bungee jumping with no rope attached

Man listen, I got plenty rhymes

When it comes to props, motherfucks just oughta gimme mine

Word, cause I slay ya fast

Whether you're the best MC with a mic, or you're straight up trash

My lyrics excel, hops

From the ghetto street upstate to motherfucking cell blocks

No dought I got clout

I gotta give a shout (To who?) To my brother Show when I'm out

 

It's like that, y'all, check it out now

(Yeah yeah, now check the method) (Repeat 4x)

Oh noes!

 

Guess what, it seems to be my last vacation day!! Darn it to heck! Tomorrow I get to dump myself in the bosses problems and fix ‘m once again =) Oh well, luckily we’ve got all the summer holidays behind us, which means that the entire team is together once more ^^ hurray! So, that’ll make life much easier and way more fun.

 

And well, what better way to spend the last day before work, doing cartwheels in a field hmm?? As I couldn’t go to squash today, I had to find some other activities, which consisted of reading, running through a field and doing cartwheels.. hey, gotta do something right ;-)

 

And also, I just returned from London on Monday evening! Oooh, that was so awesome =) seen all the sights, drank all the beers & ate (only) unhealthy food! But one thing stood out for me: the biking! (what else ;-)) apperantly there aren’t that much biking folks in London or they would have complained about the state of the roads! Its like one bit of asphalt on top of another and then someone though “hey, let’s add another layer somewhere, cos we missed a spot…” it is a very bumpy ride I tell ya! And as for the other road users, well, nothing out of the ordinary, just had a weekend of mucho fun in the UK capitol ^^ theehee, “awesomeness on pedal-powered vehicles!”

 

But yeah, this week will most likely pass quickly: yesterday I was in London, today I’ve arranged the entire house, tomorrow my first work day in three weeks & Thursday I’ve got to be in our factory in Belgium for a ‘creative afternoon’, and Friday.. well, Fridays always fly (and I get to be massaged ^^)

 

That’s it for now, I’m out!

*Cheerio* folks!

 

PS. I want this summer to keep on going for just a little more ^^

 

PPS. for your (and mine) pleasure: ODESZA - Say My Name (feat. Zyra) - Lyric Video

such a mellow feely summery song ^^

Okay, so I haven't written in like 2-3 months or so and man, I missed it! But I have changed a lot of things. First off I changed the narration, it'll be a different person every once and a while right now it's Markus as you can see! So it'll be real slangy BTW it's super fun to write as Markus so I'll do it a lot! OH and it's now based in 60s-70s around there. And critiques are welcomed (i would appreciate them actually) And sorry it's a lil long OKAY let's get started===================================================

  

"pick up the phone man," Cole said

I told Cole "I'd rather not, I ain't getting up to answer no phone when it's probably just em' bums from the station." I've been gettin' hassled by the officers around town lately. They never liked me, well I guess I didn't expect them to love me or nothin', but they never got off my case about things I didn't do. Like this one time some chick snuck out a bottle of rum from a gas station down by the strip mall I hung around, when them cops showed up they didn't question her or nothin' they went straight to me. It's not like I was the biggest troublemaker neither, I guess I had the look of a common delinquent.

 

"Fine, I'mma answer it! but if it's the cops I'm not bailing you out."

"Man, why not? All I did was help clean out the aisles at the pawnshop, I ain't hurt nobody." Cole rolled his eyes. Man, I hated it when people rolled their eyes at me, I can't explain it, it almost felt like they didn't respect me or didn't care about my opinion or something..but I decided to let it fly.

 

"But still, you better watch it." He said While picking up the phone.

"Hello? Hello, Hello, HELLO?!? All I hear is breathi–"

"You know what? It's probably that dude next door, he's always high out of his mind!"

"Okay! you can shut up now." Cole listened very closely and heard.

"I can't talk very loud….Just get here now, Tod's tryna' kill me. He broke a window and I think he's in the house" It was Alex

"Man we gotta' go, Alex is in deep shit right now," Cole said while he hung up the phone.

"Well, what did he say?" I asked

"What do you mean what did he say? Just get off the couch and let's go!"

"Whoah whoah whoah, slow down, cars…we ain't got none"

"we could walk?" Cole glanced at my face, and I was smirkin' like I had just done something I wasn't supposed to and I just knew my eyes glowed with excitement.

"Nah, you ain't thinking–"

"Come on! Just you and me fooling around stealing a car, and the only cop after you right now is Sandy, and she's a real dingbat!" Cole scratched his neck.

"Alright, but hurry up! Alex could be dead already!"

 

I sure do love stealing things, I haven't much lately I really don't know why, it's probably because Hayden's always schooling me about stuff like that, if I wanted a weed or somthin' he'd tell me one day I'd go to jail and they'd never see me again. I ain't scared of bars on windows or nothin' I just thought it'd be easier to avoid the arguments with Hayden...

 

We ran down to Old John's Car Rentals and hopped into a lil ol' Cadillac, I knew how to start em' cars without keys, that was one thing my old man did teach me.

"woohoo" I screamed

"Put a cork in it, we don't want the whole neighborhood hearing us."

For a second I forgot where Alex had lived, but then I remembered. It was I nice little house, I really didn't like nice houses I always felt if I sat down on the sofa there’d be a great big stain or a pile of gunk where I was siting.

 

"Uhh, I don't know where I'm goin' Cole," I said nervously My hands were shaking, I didn't know why, and I ain't afraid of Tod or Aran, so there was no need to be scared.

"Just go straight! Remember by the lake? And hurry up, Alex is in trouble!"

"Yeah yeah, princess, don't get your panties in I wad willya'." I and Cole chuckled for a while. When we finally got to Alex's house it looked like nobody been there for months. We went around back to look for an open door when we saw a window had been smashed, and it had this goop leaking out the sides of it. I thought it was the insulation melting or somthin'.

"I ain't crawling through that." He said

"You got a better plan?"He finally warmed up to the goopy, broken, window so we climbed inside and walked around looking to see where Alex could be. I decided to snoop around upstairs, I carefully walking up the carpeted stairs, I was worried I'd leave a stain where I was walking. The walls were covered in yellow wallpaper and family pictures, I felt my eyes hurtin' I thought it was just some sort of fancy cleaner they used. I went into Alex's room and checked in the closet.

"Hey! I found him!" I yelled, Alex was curled up staring at the wall, I wasn't real sure what to do sense Cole still hadn't come upstairs yet. He pulled me down close to him by the collar of my jacket and said

"It's the Rashense"

"Wait, what are you talkin' ‘bout man?" I asked

"It's in the walls…" Then he went out cold, I had no idea what he was talking about, but we brought him to a clinic because he didn't look so hot.

"I guess we just missed Tod and Aran," Cole said, I didn't reply I was too busy thinking about what Alex said to me.

 

If you read thanks! Hope y'all liked it! peace!!

Second to the bikini on Koloist's Chaotic Universe post was the mentioning of post card which got me into this connection thing again. Now I don't consciously collect them but somehow I have them around me (and I don't mean bikini) and keep bumping into relating events and shops.

 

In 2007 I went to the Lomo World Congress event in London (1st Day, 2nd Day, Photos). On the last day of my visit, 30 mins. away from leaving the Royal National Hotel I saw a poster of the Bloomsbury Postcard Fair happening right there in a conference hall! The event happens EVERY SINGLE MONTH! But I got less than 30 mins., without waiting I paid 1.5 pounds and met really interesting folks!

 

I didn't know where to start, it was crazy, the clock was ticking. So I went to more organized exhibitors, the classification and the way they store them alone worth the entire trip to UK, it is like a primitive Google for searching postcards. You name it, they have a way. By countries, 30's 40's 50's, wars, transportations, children, eras, .... My mind flew away imagining that if there is such a physical search engine sorting resorting these postcards on the fly according to your search terms, wouldn't it be a sight?

 

And I met Ken Lister, a regular visitor to the show. He gave me some hints on how to find things there and he mentioned that there is such a fair happening in Hong Kong which I didn't know! Ken was an extensive traveler, been to many places in South East Asia, I wish there was more time to chat with him. Tick tock tick tock.

 

Postcards are not the only thing you find in this fair. Torn pages from old books/bibles, letters/deeds written by people long gone, surveyor's map, etc etc...... One thing in common though, you may not be aware of it but when you think about it, they are all PAPERS!! This amazed me really.

 

With only the last few pounds I had, I got 2 advertising postcards from fountain pen makers and 2 postcards of the "Peak Tramway and Barracks, Hong Kong", of which one of them was written by a Frenchman probably to his girlfriend in France. Imagine where this postcard had travelled and how it is connected to so many people. Again, if there is such a physical search engine to travel through time returning all properties relating to one particular object, ... oh perhaps too far fetched technically, we might as well just go to the Akashic Records to do the trick.

 

Here's a few more links of my postcard adventure:

Postkarten shop in Cologne Germany I stumbled upon recently.

Polaroid Postcard, a flickr group where people exchanging postcards in Polaroid format. You gotta try, beautiful.

Altered Postcard Art, use any postcard, alter it to suit your own artistic vision.

 

Finally, I've always had great times doing these personal postcards using "spare time" during business trips and I'm not stopping as long as there is postal service available. See Hairspray and Bird Shit, Birthday Postcard to Okuyama san. God give me more time on earth!

 

More on Scription blog: moleskine.vox.com/library/post/postcard-fanatics-monthly-...

Cowbell, kettlebell, whatever. Rest assured, we all could use a little more.

 

Last year, 2012, was the year I spent establishing healthier habits of regularly going to the gym and eating better. Yes, it took an entire year, and yes, it's still a chore to go to the gym. I am living proof that it's important though, so chore or not, I suck it up and just do it.

 

During that year I did what I like doing, which naturally, is what I'm good at. I've built some impressive upper body strength but have avoided anything that specifically targets my legs or core. This year, 2013, I'm changing that. I'm going back to basics.

 

This year I want to focus on my entire body so I'm stepping back, and in a way, I'm starting over. More pushups, pull-ups, dips, planks… I'm going to work on my balance, do squats and lunges… I'll spend more time doing power and battle type moves and learn new TRX techniques… And stretching, foam rolling, and maybe a few more deep tissue massages are on the agenda. Heck, I might even run a little, but we'll see about that. Then, hopefully sooner rather than later, I'll add more barbell and dumbbell work. Yes, whether I like it or not, I WILL learn to at least tolerate dumbbells and perfect proper form. While I hesitate to call my favorite FreeMotion cable and Hammer Strength plate machines cheating, they're far from it, it's time to crank my time in the gym up a notch. Or ten.

 

By now I've done all the things listed above at least a few times and have a better-than-average idea of how everything works. Now, it's just a matter of getting it done. It's what I'm unfamiliar with that I've really got my sight set on. By that, I mean *gasp!* yoga, and kettlebells. To show that I'm serious about this new endeavor, I attended my first ever kettlebell class tonight. That's right, I showed myself a little kettlebell love on Valentine's Day. And I gotta say, as boring as it looks, it's kinda fun!

 

Tonight we also did a few yoga moves which I'll say were, well, discouraging. I have the strength and stamina to crush kettlebells but I don't bend. And unfortunately, bending is sort of important in yoga. The problem here is that I typically don't like to do things that I'm not good at so naturally I don't like yoga. A vicious circle, that one. But as I learned last year, it gets better. Or at least I will learn to tolerate it as I start to realize why it's good for me.

 

I often do things not because I want to, but because I need to. And yoga is one of those things. Just like pushups and pull-ups and squats and foam rolling AND DUMBBELLS … The weird thing is, I can see now how kettlebell work can help with all this stuff. In fact, it just might be a gateway to all sorts of other badassery - and who doesn't want to be a major badass? Point is, in mastering kettlebells I might actually start liking yoga. That philosophy is possibly a bit of a stretch but I'm sticking to it.

 

That, and I'm pretty sure I'll never be able to look at a kettlebell and not think of Will Farrell in a super tight belly baring shirt giving us more cowbell. I mean really, who can't use a little more of that?

Don't Stay

 

Sometimes I

 

Need to remember just to breathe

 

Sometimes I

 

Need you to stay away from me

 

Sometimes I'm

 

In disbelief I didn't know

 

Somehow I

 

Need you to go

 

Sometimes I

 

Feel like I trusted you too well

 

Sometimes I

 

Just feel like screaming at myself

 

Sometimes I'm

 

In disbelief I didn't know

 

Somehow I

 

Need to be alone

 

Don't stay

 

Forget our memories

 

Forget our possibilities

 

What you were changing me into

 

[Just give me myself back and]

 

Don't stay

 

Forget our memories

 

Forget our possibilities

 

Take all your faithlessness with you

 

[Just give me myself back and]

 

Don't stay

 

I don't need you anymore

 

I don't want to be ignored

 

I don't need one more day

 

Of you wasting me away

 

With no apologies

 

Back to top

 

Somewhere I Belong

 

When this began

 

I had nothing to say

 

And I'd get lost in the nothingness inside of me

 

I was confused

 

And I let it all out to find / that I'm

 

Not the only person with these things in mind

 

Inside of me

 

But all the vacancy the words revealed

 

Is the only real thing that I've got left to feel

 

Nothing to lose

 

Just stuck / Hollow and alone

 

And the fault is my own

 

And the fault is my own

 

I want to heal

 

I want to feel

 

What I thought was never real

 

I want to let go of the pain I've held so long

 

[Erase all the pain 'til it's gone]

 

I want to heal

 

I want to feel

 

Like I'm close to something real

 

I want to find something I've wanted all along

 

Somewhere i belong

 

And I've got nothing to say

 

I can't believe I didn't fall right down on my face

 

I was confused looking everywhere / only to find that it's

 

Not the way i had imagined it all in my mind

 

So what am I what do I have but negativity

 

'Cause i can't justify the

 

Way everyone is looking at me

 

Nothing to lose

 

Nothing to gain / Hollow and alone

 

And the fault is my own

 

The fault is my own

 

I will never know

 

Myself until I do this on my own

 

And I will never feel

 

Anything else until my wounds are healed

 

I will never be

 

Anything 'til I break away from me

 

And I will break away

 

I'll find myself today

 

I want to heal

 

I want to feel like

 

I'm somewhere I belong

 

Back to top

 

Lying From You

 

When I pretend

 

Everything is what I want it to be

 

I look exactly like what you had always wanted to see

 

When I pretend

 

I can forget about the criminal I am

 

Stealing second after second just 'cause I know I can / but

 

I can't pretend this is the way it will stay / I'm just

 

Trying to bend the truth

 

I can't pretend i'm who you want me to be

 

So I'm

 

Lying my way from you

 

[No / No turning back now]

 

I wanna be pushed aside

 

So let me go

 

[No / No turning back now]

 

Let me take back my life

 

I'd rather be all alone

 

[No turning back now]

 

Anywhere on my own

 

'Cause I can see

 

[No / No turning back now]

 

The very worst part of you

 

Is me

 

I remember what they taught to me

 

Remember condescending talk of who I ought to be

 

Remember listening to all of that and this again

 

So I pretended up a person who was fitting in

 

And now you think this person really is me and I'm

 

[Trying to bend the truth]

 

But the more I push

 

The more I'm pulling away

 

'Cause I'm

 

Lying my way from you

 

This isn't what I wanted to be

 

I never thought that what I said

 

Would have you running from me

 

Like this

 

The very worst part of you

 

The very worst part of you

 

Is me

 

Back to top

 

Hit The Floor

 

There are just too many

 

Times that people

 

Have tried to look inside of me

 

Wondering what I think of you

 

And I protect you out of courtesy

 

Too many times that I've

 

Held on when I needed to push away

 

Afraid to say what was on my mind

 

Afraid to say what I need to say

 

Too many

 

Things that you've said about me

 

When I'm not around

 

You think having the upper hand

 

Means you've got to keep putting me down

 

But I've had too many stand-offs with you

 

It's about as much as I can stand

 

Just wait until the upper hand

 

Is mine

 

So many people like me

 

Put so much trust in all your lies

 

So concerned with what you think

 

To just say what we feel inside

 

So many people like me

 

Walk on eggshells all day long

 

All I know is that all I want

 

Is to feel like I'm not stepped on

 

There are so many things you say

 

That make me feel like you've crossed the line

 

What goes up will surely fall

 

And I'm counting down the time

 

'Cause I've had so many stand-offs with you

 

It's about as much as I can stand

 

So I'm waiting until the upper hand

 

Is mine

 

One minute you're on top

 

The next you're not

 

Watch it drop

 

Making your heart stop

 

Just before you hit the floor

 

One minute you're on top

 

The next you're not

 

Missed your shot

 

Making your heart stop

 

You think you won

 

And then it's all gone

 

I know I'll never trust a single thing you say

 

You knew your lies would divide us

 

But you lied anyway

 

And all the lies have got you floating

 

Up above us all

 

But what goes up has got to fall

 

Back to top

 

Easier To Run

 

It's easier to run

 

Replacing this pain with something numb

 

Tt's so much easier to go

 

Than face all this pain here all alone

 

Something has been taken

 

From deep inside of me

 

A secret I've kept locked away

 

No one can ever see

 

Wounds so deep they never show

 

They never go away

 

Like moving pictures in my head

 

For years and years they've played

 

If I could change I would

 

Take back the pain I would

 

Retrace every wrong move that I made I would

 

If I could

 

Stand up and take the blame I would

 

If I could take all the shame to the grave I would

 

Sometimes I remember

 

The darkness of my past

 

Bringing back these memories

 

I wish I didn't have

 

Sometimes I think of letting go

 

And never looking back

 

And never moving forward so

 

There would never be a past

 

Just washing it aside

 

All of the helplessness inside

 

Pretending I don't feel misplaced

 

Is so much simpler than change

 

It's easier to run

 

Replacing this pain with something numb

 

It's so much easier to go

 

Than face all this pain here all alone

 

Back to top

 

faint

 

Faint I am Little bit of loneliness A little bit of disregard A handful of complaints But I can't help the fact That everyone can see these scars I am What I want you to want What I want you to feel But it's like No matter what I do I can't convince you To just believe this is real So I let go Watching you Turn your back like you always do Face away and pretend that I'm not But I'll be here 'Cause you're all I got I am A little bit insecure A little unconfident 'Cause you don't understand I do what I can But sometimes I don't make sense I am What you never want to say But I've never had a doubt It's like no matter what I do I can't convince you For once just to hear me out So I let go Watching you Turn your back like you always do Face away and pretend that I'm not But I'll be here 'Cause you're all I got I can't feel The way I did before Don't turn your back on me I won't be ignored Time won't heal This damage anymore Don't turn your back on me I won't be ignored No Hear me out now You're gonna listen to me Like it or not Right now

 

Back to top

 

Figure 09

 

Nothing ever stops all these thoughts

 

And the pain attached to them

 

Sometimes I wonder why this is happening

 

It's like nothing I can do will distract me when

 

I think of how I shot myself in the back again

 

'Cause from the infinite words I could say / I

 

Put all the pain you gave to me on display / but didn't

 

Realize / instead of setting it free / I

 

Took what I hated and made it a part of me

 

[It never goes away]

 

Hearing your name / The memories come back again

 

I remember when it started happening

 

I'd see you in every thought I had and then

 

The thoughts slowly found words attached to them

 

And I knew as they escaped away I was

 

Committing myself to them / And every day I

 

Regret saying those things / 'cause now I see / that I

 

Took what I hated and made it a part of me

 

[It never goes away]

 

And now

 

You've become a part of me

 

You'll always be right here

 

You've become a part of me

 

You'll always be my fear

 

I can't separate myself from what I've done

 

I've given up a part of me

 

I've let myself become you

 

Get away from

 

Me

 

Gimme my space back / You gotta just

 

Go

 

Everything comes down to memories of

 

You

 

I've kept it in but now I'm letting you

 

Know

 

I've let you go

 

Get away frm me

 

I've let myself become you

 

I've let myself become lost inside these

 

Thoughts of you

 

Giving up a part of me

 

I've let myself become you

 

Back to top

 

Breaking The Habit

 

Memories consume

 

Like opening the wound

 

I'm picking me apart again

 

You all assume

 

I'm safe here in my room

 

[Unless I try to start again]

 

I don't want to be the one

 

The battles always choose

 

'Cause inside I realize

 

That I'm the one confused

 

I don't know what's worth fighting for

 

Or why I have to scream

 

I don't know why I instigate

 

And say what I don't mean

 

I don't know how I got this way

 

I know it's not alright

 

So I'm

 

Breaking the habit

 

Tonight

 

Clutching my cure

 

I tightly lock the door

 

I try to catch my breath again

 

I hurt much more

 

Than anytime before

 

I had no options left again

 

I'll paint it on the walls

 

'Cause I'm the one at fault

 

I'll never fight again

 

And this is how it ends

 

I don't know what's worth fighting for

 

Or why I have to scream

 

But now I have some clarity

 

To show you what I mean

 

I don't know how I got this way

 

I'll never be alright

 

So I'm

 

Breaking the habit

 

Breaking the habit

 

Tonight

 

Back to top

 

From The Inside

 

Don't know who to trust

 

No surprise

 

Everyone feels so far away from me

 

Heavy thoughts sift through dust

 

And the lies

 

Trying not to break

 

But I'm so tired of this deceit

 

Every time I try to make myself

 

Get back up on my feet

 

All I ever think about is this

 

All the tiring time between

 

And how

 

Trying to put my trust in you

 

Just takes so much out of me

 

I take everything from the inside

 

And throw it all away

 

'Cause I swear/ for the last time

 

I won't trust myself with you

 

Tension is building inside

 

Steadily

 

Everyone feels so far away from me

 

Heavy thoughts forcing their way

 

Out of me

 

I won't trust myself with you

 

I won't waste myself on you

 

Waste myself on you

 

You

 

Back to top

 

Nobody's Listening

 

Peep the style and the kids checking for it

 

The number one question is how could you ignore it

 

We drop right back in the cut

 

Over basement tracks

 

With raps that got you backing this up like

 

[Rewind that]

 

We're just rolling with the rhythm

 

Rise from the ashes of stylistic division

 

With these non-stop lyrics of life living

 

Not to be forgotten

 

But still unforgiven

 

But in the meantime there are those who wanna

 

Talk this and that / So I suppose

 

It gets to a that point feelings gotta get hurt

 

And get dirty with the people spreading the dirt

 

[It goes]

 

Try to give you warning

 

But everyone ignores me

 

[Told you everything loud and clear]

 

But nobody's listening

 

Call to you so clearly

 

But you don't want to hear me

 

[Told you everything loud and clear]

 

But nobody's listening

 

I got a

 

Heart full of pain / Head full of stress

 

Handful of anger / Held in my chest

 

And everything left is a waste of time

 

I hate my rhymes

 

[But hate everyone else's more]

 

I'm riding on the back of this pressure

 

Guessing that it's better

 

I can't keep myself together

 

Because all of this stress

 

Gave me something to write on

 

The pain gave me something I could set my sights on

 

You never forget the blood sweat and tears

 

The uphill struggle over years

 

The fear and trash talking

 

And the people it was to

 

And the people that started it

 

Just like you

   

I got a

 

Heart full of pain / Head full of stress

 

Handful of anger / Held in my chest

 

Uphill struggle / Blood sweat and tears

 

Nothing to gain / Everything to fear

 

[Coming at you]

 

Back to top

 

Numb

   

I'm tired of being what you want me to be

 

Feeling so faithless

 

Lost under the surface

 

I don't know what you're expecting of me

 

Put under the pressure

 

Of walking in your shoes

   

[Caught in the undertow / Just caught in the undertow]

 

Every step that I take is another mistake to you

   

I've

 

Become so numb

 

I can't feel you there

 

Become so tired

 

So much more aware

 

I'm becoming this

 

All I want to do

 

Is be more like me

 

And be less like you

   

Can't you see that you're smothering me

 

Holding too tightly

 

Afraid to lose control

 

'Cause everything that you thought I would be

 

Has fallen apart right in front of you

   

[Caught in the undertow / Just caught in the undertow]

 

Every step that I take is another mistake to you

 

[Caught in the undertow / Just caught in the undertow]

 

And every second I waste is more than I can take

   

But I know

 

I may end up failing too

 

But I know

 

You were just like me

 

With someone disappointed in you

 

Back to top

Don't take this the wrong way, but for the longest time now, I have been trying to imitate my dog.

 

Not his look, which is furry and chestnut brown. Not his walk, which, as with most golden retrievers, is more of a waddle. And not his tail. I don't need a tail. I have enough trouble buckling my pants as it is.

 

Also, I can live without his bathroom habits, which can be summed up this way: "Tree or bush? Tree or bush? Aw, how about right here on the grass..."

 

No, what I admire about my dog is his fascination with the simple routine of life. Every day for him is like boarding the space shuttle.

 

For example: In the morning, I tumble out of bed, grumble, yawn, open the door, and ta-da! There he is, the canine answer to Richard Simmons. He is so worked up, he doesn't know which way to go, toward me or away from me. So he does both.

 

"Oh boy oh boy oh boy!" he seems to pant. "It's morning and I'm gonna eat!"

 

Never mind that he has eaten every morning since he was born. Or that he's had the same food every morning since he was born -- and that was 11 years ago.

 

Never mind. He pulls me downstairs and waits breathlessly as I scoop yet another helping of boring brown nuggets into his bowl.

 

"Oh boy oh boy oh boy! Food, food, food!"

 

I yawn.

 

Three minutes later, he is off the food thing and into a new obsession: going out. Again, he runs forward and backward. "I'm going out! I'm going out! Is this great or what?"

 

Never mind that going out has not changed one bit since we've lived here. He is so thrilled by the notion of "exit" that he almost bites the doorknob off. He bolts into the backyard as if heading for Tomorrowland with a sack full of "E" tickets.

 

I slouch and yawn again.

 

The great indoors.

 

Then comes with the "bathroom" routine, which I already have described. Humans deal with these functions begrudgingly. Not my dog. It's a real thrill for him. He scouts for the perfect spot as if looking for beachfront real estate. "Tree or bush? Tree or bush?" And I don't have that many trees.

 

Then, once his business is taken care of -- and I make a mental note where we're going to have to shovel come summer -- he is off the going out obsession and onto a new one: going back in.

 

It doesn't matter than he was in just two minutes ago. "Things have changed! Things have changed!" he seems to pant. "I gotta get in there! I gotta check it out! Hurry up, hurry up!"

 

When I open the door, he bolts in, races back and forth -- looking for space aliens, I suppose -- and when he doesn't find any, he isn't disappointed. Instead, he snarls at some ratty toy he's played with for months, throws it into the air with his teeth, and watches it and. "Look at that!" he seems to say. "It goes up, it comes down!"

 

As I make a cup of coffee, he jumps up to watch. "Whatcha doin? Whatcha doin? Coffee, huh? That's amazing!"

 

He then clamps onto my leg and does a dance that, were it the early '50s, I might call the "Hootchie Coo." I am not sure what he gets out of this -- "Oh boy, a leg! Oh boy, a leg!" -- but he seems to be having a better time than many of the dates I've had.

 

When I disengage and disappear behind a door, he lies down outside and waits for me to come out again. If it is only 30 seconds later, he will still react as if I were a released hostage.

 

The sunny side.

 

Now, my dog does not work. He does not pay taxes. He does not create anything new (unless you consider the bushes outside). But he also doesn't need clothes, doesn't covet cars or jewelry, and doesn't care about houses, as long as he can find a sunny spot on the floor and lie there for a few hours.

 

Meanwhile, I am bored with my same routine.

 

Getting up is a drag. I can't get excited about breakfast. And going out then coming back only makes me wonder how many flies I've let in.

 

So I'm trying to imitate my dog. I'm trying to find wonder in the everyday. After all, when you think about it, it is pretty remarkable that you open your eyes each morning. And since every few hours you get to quench your hunger, well, that's a thrill, when you consider the alternative.

 

So while I can't match my dog's drool, I am trying to match his zeal. Don't worry. If you come to visit, I will not clamp on your leg and do the Hootchie Coo.

 

On the other hand, that sunny spot on the floor looks pretty tempting...

 

Author unknown

I've been feeling a certain way lately...

 

Back

Caught you lookin' for the same thing

It's a new thing check out this I bring

Uh Oh the roll below the level

'Cause I'm livin' low next to the bass C'mon

Turn up the radio

They claim that I'm a criminal

By now I wonder how

Some people never know

The enemy could be their friend guardian

I'm not a hooligan

I rock the party and

Clear all the madness, I'm not a racist

Preach to teach to all

'Cause some they never had this

Number one, not born to run

About the gun...

I wasn't licensed to have one

The minute they see me, fear me

I'm the epitome - a public enemy

Used, abused without clues

I refused to blow a fuse

They even had it on the news

Don't believe the hype...

 

Yes

Was the start of my last jam

So here it is again, another def jam

But since I gave you all a little something

That we knew you lacked

They still consider me a new jack

All the critics you can hang'em

I'll hold the rope

But they hope to the pope

And pray it ain't dope

The follower of Farrakhan

Don't tell me that you understand

Until you hear the man

The book of the new school rap game

Writers treat me like Coltrane, insane

Yes to them, but to me I'm a different kind

We're brothers of the same mind, unblind

Caught in the middle and

Not surrenderin'

I don't rhyme for the sake of of riddlin'

Some claim that I'm a smuggler

Some say I never heard of 'ya

A rap burgler, false media

We don't need it do we?

It's fake that's what it be to 'ya, dig me?

Don't believe the hype...

Don't believe the hype - its a sequel

As an equal, can I get this through to you

My 98's boomin' with a trunk of funk

All the jealous punks can't stop the dunk

Comin' from the school of hard knocks

Some perpetrate, they drink Clorox

Attack the black, cause I know they lack exact

The cold facts, and still they try to Xerox

Leader of the new school, uncool

Never played the fool, just made the rules

Remember there's a need to get alarmed

Again I said I was a timebomb

In the daytime the radio's scared of me

'Cause I'm mad, plus I'm the enemy

They can't c'mon and play with me in primetime

'Cause I know the time, plus I'm gettin' mine

I get on the mix late in the night

They know I'm livin' right, so here go the mike, sike

Before I let it go, don't rush my show

You try to reach and grab and get elbowed

Word to herb, yo if you can't swing this

Just a little bit of the taste of the bass for you

As you get up and dance at the LQ

When some deny it, defy if I swing bolos

Then they clear the lane I go solo

The meaning of all of that

Some media is the whack

You believe it's true, it blows me through the roof

Suckers, liars get me a shovel

Some writers I know are damn devils

For them I say don't believe the hype

Yo Chuck, they must be on a pipe, right?

Their pens and pads I'll snatch

'Cause I've had it

I'm not an addict fiendin' for static

I'll see their tape recoreder and grab it

No, you can't have it back silly rabbit

I'm going' to my media assassin

Harry Allen, I gotta ask him

Yo Harry, you're a writer, are we that type?

Don't believe the hype

I got flavor and all those things you know

Yeah boy, part two bum rush and show

Yo Griff, get the green black red and

Gold down countdown to Armageddon

-88 you wait the S1Ws will

Rock the hard jams - treat it like a seminar

Teach the bourgeoise, and rock the boulevard

Some sau I'm negative

But they're not positive

But what I got to give...

The media says this

It was supposed to be so easy

Just take back the DVD, withdraw that extra money

Tell mum I wouldn't be back for tea, then grab my savings and hurry

So first to get the film back in time, to avoid that big fine

I had to do a fast hill climb, but a faster decline

But I flew a bit quick, arms like a lunatic

Had to stop for a few ticks, I started feeling sick

Got to the video shop in a state, but chuffed it wouldn't be late

Only when he flicked open the case, I'd left the disc at my place

Today I've achieved absolutely nowt

In just being out of the house, I've lost out

If I wanted to end up with more now

I should've just stayed in bed, like I know how

So I failed on the DVD, but I still had to get the money

Tell mum I couldn't make tea, get the saving and then hurry

Rushing to the cash machine, still a bit mashed and lean

Then of course a mandatory car, drives by and splashes me

Get there the queue's outrageous, ladies taking ages

My rage is blowing gauges, how longs it take to validate your wages?

At last my turn comes, press the 50 squid button

Insufficient funds

Today I've achieved absolutely nowt

In just being out of the house, I've lost out

If I wanted to end up with more now

I should've just stayed in bed, like I know how

So I failed on the DVD, couldn't withdraw any money

But I still had to call mum, get the savings and hurry

So to call mum so that, I could tell her I cant go and that

At least I remembered my phone man, I didn't know her number offhand

Where's my phone have I got it, Oh this is a crock of shit

I lost the fucking thing, oh here it is in my pocket

But the batteries nearly flat, gotta call quick snap

Aww shit, the battery is flat

Today I've achieved absolutely nowt

In just being out of the house, I've lost out

If I wanted to end up with more now

I should've just stayed in bed, like I know how

So Ive failed on the DVD, couldnt withdraw any money

Or call mum about tea, I'll have to get the savings and hurry

But where was the money, I knew I'd left it on the

Side, next to the telly, this is not even funny

I left it in the living room, ready to pick up as soon

As I passed through, on the way out to the rendevous

So the shoebox full of money, just disappearing from me

Is not what I call funny, a grand dont come for free

Today I've achieved absolutely nowt

In just being out of the house, I've lost out

If I wanted to end up with more now

I should've just stayed in bed, like I know how

 

(Oi, soaked to the bone in my jeans, do you want me to stop?

I imagine my mums weaping right now

And the thousand pounds you swore, that I left on the table this morn

Has simply disappeared before my eyes, his eyes and yours

And I'm a thousand pounds poorer, a hundred thousand pennies, no more

A thousandth of a million squid, or two monkeys or a whole fifty scores

Gone withdrawn from my life, the money is no more for sure)

It was supposed to be easy

 

Haven't done one of these in a while – I've been getting shy about getting my camera out to photograph other people.

 

Missed the first Metropolitan line train from my end of the line into London (the 05:22) and just about made it to the station in time for the 05:36. Got to Liverpool Street at whatever time before half-six; it amused me how the fruit stall thing in the ticket hall was already bustling and busy, and how most of the shops in the station were open.

 

Got myself a hot chocolate from Costa's and chilled for a little bit before ambling over to Stratford for my first shift back after the whole hospital thing. I feel a bit useless though – I had my RTWI (Return to Work Interview) and because of the medication and the fact I'm still waiting for the GP to get back to me over what steps we take from here, I've got all sorts of restrictions placed on me – not allowed to work near platforms, deal with trains, work on my own in case something happens to me. It's all a bit naff really – I feel a bit redundant to be honest with you. Sat around for most of the morning in Fleet Haus as we had some 'Staff Engagement' meeting thing – it actually turned out to be okay. Lots of people across different grades actually clearing the air and making sense of stuff – it's so much more motivating when people aren't backbiting or bickering all the time.

 

Anyway, first dead early shift in a while tomorrow at a station I haven't worked at for about 3.5 years. Dreading it – got to don my 'stab vest' (basically stuff all my pockets full of Tube maps). Just finished watching the live feed for the launch of Space Shuttle Discover for STS-133 – brought back memories of being back in Florida last May watching Atlantis lift off for STS-132. Which I was there right now – London is so depressing at the moment, and I feel myself slipping backwards into some dark spaces. Alarm's set for 2AM – can't seem to get a later taxi as nothing in the schedule gets me in on time for 5AM. Oh well – a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

 

All Rights Reserved, as stated. Re-posts are with express permission only.

You may not use this image, edit it or alter it in any way (and as a result, claim the image or the derivative as your own). And it's not for Tumblr either.

Frank Hohman- The last of the great journeyman butchers

by Jessica Kane

 

At the Grand Union in Warrensburg, behind a set of plastic curtains in a refrigerated room, veteran butcher Frank Hohman, a towering man with a peaceful smile and blood on his apron, stands with a sharp knife before a primal cut of top round. With enormous steady hands, he artfully and effortlessly cuts off the excess fat and slices the slab into perfect juicy steaks. Beside him, stands his apprentice, a young man learning the art of meat cutting. He will study with Frank six months before he’s officially earned the title of meat cutter.

“Apprenticeships aren’t what they used to be,” said Frank.

When Frank first learned to cut meat back in 1965 in Long Island, he served as an apprentice for three years, and then served a fourth year to become a journeyman, which is a breed of butcher that’s almost completely extinct.

“It means you’re supposed to know what you’re doing,” added Frank.

The world of meat cutting has changed dramatically since 1971, when Frank and his wife moved Upstate and he started as a butcher with Grand Union. Back then, when a butcher got a delivery, what they received was practically the whole animal. Sometimes, with the skins and the fur on.

“You had to be like a surgeon,” Frank explained. “You had to know where to stick the knife to make the right cut. If you put the knife in the wrong spot you could loose 20 steaks.”

And that’s before they had rails, so a butcher had to carry these animals on their shoulder and hang them on a hook, a sharp hook, that if you missed, you could easily hang your hand on instead.

It was a dangerous profession to be sure, and injury wasn’t uncommon.

Frank still has the three puncture holes in one of his legs as a reminder of this.

Back then, there also wasn’t much concern about bacteria, and those carcasses that hung on hooks were not refrigerated - they’d hang out in room temperature until they were cut. And the meat grinder was only washed once a week.

Nobody thought of illness back then. In fact, the only strange thing Frank remembers finding in any of the meat he worked with was the time he found a gold nugget in some chop meat. The nugget had been mutilated from being in the cutter, but it turned out to be a gold ring that somebody lost somewhere, and when no one claimed it, he kept it, and it’s still in his jewelry box today.

These days, the meat industry is unrecognizable from how it used to be. All the meat delivered to the Grand Union today is packaged in what are called primal cuts, which are sections of the carcass that have already been separated. The word butcher isn’t even used anymore, except when referring to people who slaughter animals. People who cut meat are simply called “meat cutters.” Meat cutters then take these slabs, remove all the stamps, trim the excess, slice it, package it, and give it to someone to put in the cases.

All the meat is of course refrigerated properly and the meat grinder as well everything else is thoroughly cleaned and sanitized every night.

“With all the bacteria and everything now, you can’t take chances,” Frank said.

One thing that hasn’t changed is Frank’s old school work ethic.

“I get very particular on certain things,” he told me.

Every item in his cases gets Frank’s undivided attention.

The fat is trimmed off so people aren’t paying more than they need to, the wrappers are always neat, and the meat is always placed right side up on the trays.

Frank has now been living and working in the Adirondacks for over 36 years. He and his wife raised their four kids here, who are now all grown up - three teachers and an electrician.

“It’s a different atmosphere than down in the city,” he said. “Not so hustle and bustle, hurry up and get it done. You have to get your job done but you don’t have that city type of pressure.”

When he’s not cutting meat, there are lots of things Frank enjoys doing. One of these is eating meat, and Frank’s favorite is a porterhouse steak, rare, “about so thick,” he said, holding his fingers at about 2 inches.

“And I have good cholesterol,” he added.

Frank also likes to spend time in his yard gardening, or on his boat fishing for perch or bass. He also enjoys hunting and has his own little meat shop at home where he processes deer.

What he enjoys most, though, is staying healthy. “I think health is the biggest thing. I’ve had a couple of little bouts and lemme tell you, you gotta be healthy, nothing matters unless you’re feeling good.”

135/365

Hello to all my contacts/Flickr Buddies,

 

If you're reading this right now, I need your help!

 

Lately, I've been getting even MORE busy with school and all these various priorities I have..and I've been getting drained! Not only mentally and physically, but creatively as well..

 

If you're tagged in this photo, (I wish I could tag all of my contacts, but that'd be an endless amount of clicking D;) ...but not only do I absolutely LOVE your photos, but maybe this will be a chance for us to get more in contact with each other in the future!

Maybe possible print exchanges? Photo trades? I take a pic for you if you take a pic for me?

That sort of thing! I believe that Flickr is so much more than a place to dump photos and to gain views for them, but rather a way that we can all support each other for a common passion we all share..

   

So in your comments, kindly answer any or all of these sample questions:

 

-What kind of pictures do you recommend I take to keep this stream from getting "stale"?

-What do you do to stay inspired and original in your own uploads?

-Is there any kind of advice you'd give to new enthusiasts who want to get into photography?

-Whats your favorite food/drink?

-Do you like my pictures? D: (LOL JK, you don't gotta answer this one)

 

Take care everyone! Hope to get at least some responses~

You're all inspirations to me!

1. Rudolph?, 2. Catzilla meets the deer, 3. Catzilla meets the deer, 4. Warbling Maggie, 5. The Neighboroughs, 6. The Red Poll and the Frozen Frog., 7. Before the storm, 8. Bah humbug,

 

9. ET phone home, 10. Autumn morning, 11. Hey Ralph, you got peanuts over there?, 12. I love fall, 13. It's okay son, the MacDonalds people have left., 14. All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up.", 15. That tickles, 16. Dressed for Halloween,

 

17. Peanut colada please., 18. Peregrine Falcon, 19. You said the water was warm, 20. Feathers, 21. How do you open this thing?, 22. Hey buddy, can you spare a finger, 23. Stand Off, 24. I stick my tongue out at you.,

 

25. He's eating my flowers, 26. I've got my eye on you, 27. Into the wild blue yonder, 28. two peas in a pod, 29. Dew drops, 30. A flutter of Butterlies, 31. I love a parade, 32. Chrysalis,

 

33. Spread your wings., 34. Come with me to the Casbah, 35. I'm glad we had this opportunity to talk., 36. So small, 37. Two heads are better than one., 38. Our front door, 39. My turf, 40. Rose breasted grosbeak,

 

41. Sometimes it's easier to get into something than it is to get out of., 42. Ok, now what do I do with the seed?, 43. Star wars down on the farm, 44. Whats in a name, 45. Hello, 46. FEEDING JUNIOR, 47. Bad feather day, 48. Baltimore oriole,

 

49. Red headed Woodpecker, 50. white tailed deer at twilight, 51. RAZOR BILL, 52. Urquhart Castle, Loch Ness, 53. He made an offer I couldn't refuse, 54. He came for my birthday, 55. The Mallard and the Head, 56. Feeding the deer,

 

57. Cardinalis baldius, 58. Finally, 59. It's my first time out of the house, 60. Asian pitcher plant, 61. Psst gotta quarter?, 62. Where's my umbrella?, 63. Some of the neighbours dropped by last night, 64. Window strike survivor.,

 

65. Workin' at the car wash blues, 66. My Cat is Stranger Than Your Cat, 67. See Ian, there is sun shine at Rondeau, 68. Oh bother, 69. In the marsh at sunset, 70. In the morning sun, 71. Excuse me but there are clouds in my water, 72. Opening soon

 

Created with fd's Flickr Toys.

Sometimes it’s nice to be stared at. No, not like you’re a leg of lamb hanging on a rack at the butcher’s. But like the person can’t take their eyes off you because there’s something about you that is absolutely captivating. (Usually, there’s nothing captivating about you except for the bit of brownie still attached to the front of one of your teeth. Or maybe the bright colours of your panty that’s peeking through your fly that you left down the last time you went to the bathroom. Those can be considered ‘captivating’ right?)

 

But in the event that it’s not one of those things, (and I check quickly by running my tongue over my teeth and discreetly checking my pants) I wonder what it could possibly be that is making the guy at the other side of the bookstore look at me. Constantly. Maybe he thinks I’m someone else. That’s gotta be it. Or maybe he’s trying to decide which insanely ridiculous line he’s gonna come use on me. Oh jeez I can see his cogs turning. “Hey babe, are you an athlete? Coulda sworn you were, cuz you’ve been running through my mind all day! Har! Har!”

Oh god, suppose he’s one of those unimaginative conversationalists? Or worse what if he’s not a conversationalist at all? What if he’s REALLY dumb and he can’t form a complete sentence and all he looks at in bookstores is FHM for the “pretty pictures” and because the only magazine title he can actually spell is FHM and oh no I really don’t want him to come talk to me and I wish he’d stop staring at me and oh god he’s coming over here.

 

Be cool.

 

“If you haven’t already read that, you should. It’s excellent.”

 

Full, understandable sentences.

 

I look up and into clear, brown eyes. “Is it?” I ask, trying my hardest to remember what book it is that’s actually in my hand. I think it’s The Pilot’s Wife by Anita Shreve. In which case this guy is either a very eclectic reader or very, very gay.

“Yes, it is,” he says, “Trust me. She’s an excellent writer.”

“Okay.” I say with a smile. (Wow, who’s the blooming conversationalist now, huh?) I take this opportunity to look down at the book in my hand, and it really is The Pilot’s Wife. “Maybe I’ll give it a shot.”

 

I want to kick myself. Hard. I sound completely ditzy like I have that book almost by accident. Pull yourself together, girl! You can do better than this!

“You’re an Anita Shreve fan?” I ask. Well, so much for doing better.

He laughs. A pleasant sound. “Not really. An old girlfriend suggested it once so I obliged.”

Okay well at least he’s not gay. I think.

I tuck the book in the crook of my elbow so it looks as though I’m really considering buying it. (I already own the book. I was looking at the cover because it differs from mine and I thought it looked really nice.) “So what do you really read?” And here I start to hope that the answer doesn’t consist mostly of Archie comics. I don’t have anything against Archie, okay, it’s just not too comforting if someone can’t read a publication that doesn’t have pictures in it.

“A little of everything really.” His eyes leave me and take in the books surrounding us. “I don’t have a favourite genre or anything. I’d try anything once.” He looks back at me. “Except that romance Zane-Dickey-Erotic-Thriller-All-Black-People-Do-Is-Have-Sex nonsense.”

“I totally agree with you there.” I nod vehemently. “That stuff makes my skin walk.”

He laughs again, picks a random book up off the shelf, glances at the back and then puts it back down. “Well…” He shrugs and scratches the back of his neck. I could possibly be a nervous gesture; maybe he’s run out of conversation. “I’ll let you get back to your book shopping.” His smile is warm. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you. I will.” I watch him walk away. He glances back once, still smiling and then leaves the bookstore.

I look at the book in my hand and then towards the door. I roll my eyes, thinking that’s the most pathetic conversation I’ve ever had and he probably left because I thought I’m a complete and total loser. Oh well. I put Anita back on the shelf and move to a different section of the bookstore. Not like I’ll ever see him again anyway. And he’ll probably have forgotten the whole thing by, oh I dunno, five seconds from now.

 

In any case, I forgot about it, and time went by (as it always does). But as is inevitable, I found myself once again browsing in the same bookstore. I’m exploring the classics this time, trying to decide between The Woman In White and Animal Farm. (I end up getting both.) It’s Saturday and I’m particularly scruffy simply because I’m in town by accident. I’d accompanied my mother grudgingly, and now as she shopped for my brothers’ schoolbooks, I stood in faded denim shorts and a shirt that displays proudly I DON’T LIKE YOU EITHER. poring over ancient literature. Hair in a rough ponytail and Bitch-Face on, you could look at me and say that the world had a formidable opponent.

“Excuse me,” comes a voice from behind me. I don’t respond, because I know that unless they are Clifford, The Big Red Dog, they have ample room to pass behind me. I’m in a bad mood, okay. I’m not very hospitable when I’m like this.

“Excuse me?” they say again. I look around and there stands the guy with the clear brown eyes, smiling away.

 

This is when I decide that God has a sick sense of humour.

 

“You’re excused.” I say.

 

Ladies and gentlemen, the Dunce of the Century Award goes to *drumroll* Sunset Sealy!!! *Crowd Cheers!!!*

 

He laughs. Apparently he’s easily amused. “Did you enjoy The Pilot’s Wife then?”

He makes it sound as though we’re just picking up a conversation that we left off yesterday or ten minutes ago.

“I loved it.” I asnswer, “Really great story… very well written…”

“Yea, I really couldn’t believe that a man could live that kind of double life, you know?”

“I know! It was insane! I don’t know what I would have done if it were me in his wife’s position!”

 

Look at that. A conversation. We stand there for about fifteen minutes talking about Anita Shreve’s novel… and James Patterson’s novels… and Shakespeare’s plays. He talks about the literature like he’s lived it, and I don’t want to admit it to myself, but I’m impressed. He’s a music teacher at a primary school, really loves kids, doesn’t have any of his own, always loved reading, would like to open his own school of music someday, but that’s just a faraway dream, his name is Paul and could we talk more over coffee?

“Sure.” I hope I sound nonchalant. But of course now I have to find my mom to let her know that I’m disappearing with a strange man. Nice going.

Maybe I could send her a text message. That’d be better that yelling through a bookstore, “MOH-UM! I’m going for coffee with a guy I don’t know!”

I pull out my phone and drop her a quick line, fastest right thumb in history and all, and then Paul and I leave to get coffee. He gives me a sidelong glance and says “I love your shirt, by the way.”

I look down at my shirt, because of course I had forgotten what I was wearing, and then back to him. “Thanks,” I say with a smile. “It’s my stupid person repellent.” ← And that is my stupid person statement, folks. I’m just on a ROLL. Stupse.

 

In any case, I suppose you’re wondering when things start to go downhill. Don’t worry, I’m getting to that. But for now, it seems as though Reading-Coffee Drinking-Teacher guy is worth seeing again. And the fact that he had deciphered my shy drivel means that he’s genuinely interested. Or desperate.

 

The coffee happens. I mean… it happens. I laugh, I cry (cuz I’m laughing so hard), and I really have a nice time with this guy. Throughout our exchange though, I notice this chick sitting at the other end of the coffee shop. Let me be frank: de girl look like baddaBASH, den! And ever so often, she looks over in our direction. I think nothing of it at first, but after the first, I dunno, five hundred glances, it really started to bother me. I think about asking Paul if he knows her, but as luck would have it, I don’t have to! Bashy Chick rises from her seat and saunters over to us.

I’d like to say that she wasn’t super bashy and that she wasn’t popping her gum, smacking her lips and fanning herself with a washcloth. But she was.

I’d like to say that my first thought wasn’t “Wuh she really doin hay tho?” But it was.

“Wait, Pawul. I din even see dah was you.” She says to my coffee date. “Ya awrite?”

 

Paul looks up and uncertainty registers on his face. It soon changes, however, to reluctant recognition and then to horror. “Oh. Yea Shaniqua. (← I wish I was making that part up.) How you been?”

“I good, ya know.” It is at this point that Shaniqua proceeds to slap the back of her head in an effort to calm the itch in her weave. Without even realizing what I’m doing, I shield my coffee.

Baddabash smacks her lips and continues. “I jes tawt at I wud come and shout ya. Sence I ain see ya in a lil bit. Wait, how u lil girl? And ya wife? Ya still marred doh?”

Paul bites his lips and tries to gauge my reaction in his peripheral vision. “They’re both okay.”

Slimy and weasly apparently, but ‘liard’? At least not. It’s just interesting that neither one of these two supposedly important ladies came up in conversation. I mean, not like he HAD to mention them or anything, right? We were just having coffee. I was silly to think it would have been more than that anyway, right?

Still.

He could have mentioned them.

 

So while Shaniqua, Queen of the Itchy Weave finishes up with Paul, I finish up my coffee and make it a point to be checking the time on my watch. SmackLips finally walks away and Paul turns back to me. “Right.” His voice is a little lower now. “Where were we?”

“You were just telling me about your family.” My smile is radiant. “I believe that’s where we were.”

He flinches almost imperceptibly and sips his coffee. “I was going to mention them to you, ya know.”

“Oh, I KNOW.” The corners of my mouth are touching my ears by now and I know that if I don’t leave this coffee shop immediately and stop smiling, my lips will stick to my teeth and I’ll be able to audition for a role in Alice In Wonderland. “You can tell me about them the next time you see me. I really should get back to my mother.” I got up, still smiling, and make my way to the door.

Truth be told, I really didn’t want to be that abrupt, because then it would really seem as if that whole thing bothered me. It would seem as though I was looking for more than coffee and that I was extremely disappointed that this really nice guy turned out to have a wife and kid that never made it into our conversation.

I can hear his footsteps and I feel his hand on my arm. “I’d really like to see you again.”

 

He’s got quite a pair, this guy.

 

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t.” say I, Mistress of the Expanding Smile. “I’d better be going.”

 

These days I browse the bookstores with my headphones planted firmly into my ears. And if the retort on my t-shirt isn’t enough to deter you, then I go the extra mile and TELL you.

 

So stare if you must, but approach me not. Bookstore boys are bad news.

 

Sunset|Sealy|2006

if you love her, why do you push her so far away?

   

so i've gotten tagged again by many people and figured i'd finally get around to doing this haha. so here's some random facts. ;)

1. i REALLY hate when the refridgerator runs at nighttime. i find it to be the creepiest thing.

2. tonight i'm seeing "dear john" with a bunch of friends! :)

3. i want winter to leave. it's too cold. since when did PA become antarctica?

4. my hair smells like summer right now. the gel i used is from the summer and it just brings back all the memories. <3

5. i have 2 dads. i havn't seen my biological dad for 12 years. and i met my REAL dad's neice (my cousin) 2 weeks ago. thats why i was all upset.

6. i don't care what people think of me taking selfportraits. it's my style of photography, and that's how i express myself.

7. i'm hopefully meeting a few of you flickr people this summer! if anyone wants to try and meet, flickrmail me. :)

 

well, anyways. i gotta run. out to lunch.

do this please. :)

   

++++++

  

[february 12, 2010]

87/365

I found a tidal wave

Begging to tear down the door

Memories like bullets

They fired at me from a gun

Cracking me open now

I swim to brighter days

Despite the absence of sun

Choking on salt water

I'm not giving in

You gotta swim

_jM

//

I think I've put off writing about this day because...when I actually think about all of the tiny moments that gave me pause, it kind of blows my mind.

 

These aren't the sexiest or most-artistic or best-quality photos, but what they lack in artistry, I think they make up for in feels.

 

Tinder is supposed to be a stupid app where you meet people that you think you'll have fun with, right? Like, physical fun. You don't (ok, at least I didn't) expect to find someone that thinks to bring takeout from 2.5 hours away, on a Friday night, after driving 10 hours...just because.

 

There are a lot of reasons this shouldn't work. And a lot of ways that it doesn't/can't work. But you know that whole leaning in thing? I'm trying to apply that to life. And am trying to not run away just because there's a preconceived notion of how I "should" feel, or what I "should" be doing, or who I "should" be choosing to spend my time with.

 

It's not the easiest, but it actually feels really good.

 

And uh, I got a tattoo. Another tattoo, just as not-noticeable as my first. I've been thinking about it for a year, and turning 35 in a few weeks seemed appropriate.

 

Someday, I'll tell you the story of that.

‘Why do you always do that?’

 

‘Do what?’

 

‘The whole thing, you know, with the arms and the teeth. Why do you always do that when he comes in?’

 

‘I dunno, it’s just my thing. I’m a monster, I gotta be scary when they come in. It’s expected.’

 

‘You’re a dinosaur, not a monster.’

 

‘I’m a monster.’

 

‘Dinosaur.’

 

'Monster.'

 

‘Right, well, whatever. Either way, I don’t think you need to do that every single time they come in.’

 

‘What’s your problem with it? It’s harmless, it’s my thing man, I gotta keep ‘em happy. They come in here all bursting of bladder or bulging of bowel and all they see is mould, peeling paint and hell, you standing there all right angles and neuroses. I’m just trying to bring some levity to an awkward room where we all gotta spend some time.’

 

‘Well, I just think it’s all so affected. I don’t start shooting lasers every time someone opens the door. I don’t blast the sky with my death ray whenever they flush toilet. I’m just me, they take me or they leave me and hey, I’m still here.’

 

‘You have a death ray?’

 

‘Yes, I have a death ray.’

 

‘Does it work’

 

‘Yes it works.’

 

‘Well, in that case I’m a dinosaur if it keeps you happy.’

 

‘It would keep me happy if you could cut out the Godzilla shit every time someone comes in.’

 

‘That my angular friend, I cannot do. Without that I’m just a rubber lizard heading straight for the bin, just like you without your big square head are just a tin can on the way to be recycled. We all got our place and we all got our things. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to practice my stance.’

 

‘One of these days…’

 

‘One of these days what?’

 

‘One of these days I’ll actually turn my death ray on, it’s just my thing after all.’

 

‘Yeh, yeh tin-man, you keep on talking, now if you’ll excuse me, last night was curry and this morning was coffee so I’ve got to get me in shape for a busy days work.’

  

11/24/07 – I’ve been thinking (yes, you should be scared) about a lot of different things lately. Though, the line of thought holding my focus right now is creativity. More specifically that creativity is a form of insanity.

 

Think about it. To take everyday reality, and alter it, twist it, refine it, or change it all together to create something that wasn’t there before is…dare I say it?…not “normal”. Whether the medium be paints, words, cartoons, TV, movies, or (something we’re all familiar with) photographs. Not everybody can do this, a lot of (or most) people need their world defined, and can’t fathom divulging from this “norm”.

 

From what I understand, insanity (whether it is in form of schizophrenia, depression, autism, etc) is caused by a chemical imbalance (aka: not a pre-defined as “normal”…whatever that is) going on in the brain. Wiki describes the medical characterizations of insanity as “social withdrawal, deterioration of personal care, inability to perceive oneself as a separate entity, rapid shifting of thought and topic, autistic absorption, hallucinatory symptoms, delusions and often depersonalization.”

 

Take the 365 Days project. To go beyond the “what do I get from it” and take it on in itself is succumbing to a creative impulse. My guess is you didn’t just chance upon the project and think “hey that would be fun, I’ll start it right now.” You probably, in a non-direct way, began researching the project. It built over time; an initial curiosity began to appeal to something within you. There’s a period when you were considering to begin the project, this consideration built to a want, and then there’s a Day 1. That almost addictive quality of the 365 Days project is creativity, and this project is a great outlet for it.

 

Since starting the project have you have sought out more advanced editing software? So you can show yourself in a totally different light, or to express “this is what this feeling looks like”? Better yet, how many of you have threw in the towel (or finished) the project, only to pick it back up again a day, week, month later? If not the 365 Days project, have you continued a self portraits project on your own?

 

Keep in mind, I am not saying creativity is a “symptom” of insanity, I mean if someone is creative, then there’s a cylinder not firing right (or over firing would be a more accurate description) in their head. This is a good thing. Without it, humanity would never have advanced. There would be no art, no expression, no redefinition of what is considered “normal”.

 

Agree? Disagree? There’s that comments box below. Use it. I’d like to hear your thoughts on the subject.

 

Suspended Animation Classic #1,003 First published March 9, 2008 (#10) (Dates are approximate)

 

Cowpokes: Cow Country Cartoons

by Mark Allen

 

I love being surprised by a comic book or strip I’ve never read before. Take Ace Reid’s Cowpokes cartoons, for instance.

 

I’m no cowboy, but I’ve known plenty over the years, living in Oklahoma, and I see some of them well-represented within Reid’s single-panel cartoons. Especially when tourists stop to ask a couple of them, hard at work fixing fence, “Hey, could you fellows tell us where we might see real cowboys?” (Why is it city folk have such a hard time recognizing the real thing?) Or, when another proudly says to his buddy, “Man, this is better’n being rich – jist owe everybody so much they gotta be nice to you.” Then there’s the panel showing a cowboy tangled in what MUST be a painful heap with his horse, among a bunch of rocks and cactus, exclaiming, “Dang it! I busted that new eight dollar rope!” Yep, them’s cowboy priorities.

 

Besides the honest and realistic humor, Reid offers fans an art style like no other. His unique characters display a gaunt, yet rugged appearance. They look constantly hungry (as do the horses and cattle), haggard, worn out and played out. Yet, they’re obviously not too spent to get into tons of trouble. Whether it’s in a jeep perched precariously over a canyon, held by two spindly pieces of barbed wire after swerving to miss a skunk (“You shore missed him all right!”), or sitting atop a frightened horse with a wild boar at the other end of a rope (“Yep, Jake, you got yourself a hog – now what you gonna do?”), Reid’s cowpokes convey the reality of cowboy life in an original way that’ll tickle your funny bone, even while they elicit your sympathy. There’s no feeling sorry for those who discover this treasure, though.

 

Reid’s Cowpokes books are recommended for those who enjoy single panel gag strips, cowboy life, or just a good chuckle. Find them at online retailers and auction.

Sybil: “You’ve had loads of gorgeous girls. I mean, how could I ever compete with someone like Vinnie? According to your pictures of her, she had the perfect body type, the kind that all men desire. I bet you’re thinking now: ‘What the hell am I still doing here with this scrawny, little, ordinary-looking thing? She's just a stupid little rich girl trying to find a way to feel sorry for herself.’”

 

Elliot (smiles at her): “Sybil… Nobody is perfect. I could never find you repulsive. (lifts her chin up and wipes tears off her cheek with his fingers) Never! You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on – both inside and out. You are compassionate, empathic, brave and gorgeous in every way possible. I just… love you. I still love you today as much as I did yesterday after walking out of Honey´s with you. Nothing has changed, except that I know you even better now. And I consider it a blessing in disguise. I’m falling in love with you more every day… Just looking at you and hearing your voice make me feel giddy. You’re the purest thing I’ve ever known. Nobody can compete with you in my eyes.”

 

Sybil: (sniffles and looks at him in the eyes)

 

Elliot: “It really was not my intention to hurt you last night. I just couldn’t understand why you were going out with Hallam and at the same time flirting with me… I just couldn’t get my head ‘round it… I’m blunt like that. I don’t get things like that until later when I’ve already said something I know I’m gonna regret, and then it’s too late to take it back. I didn’t understand that you were fooling me ‘round. (smiles at her faintly) It wasn’t obvious to me. You gotta be direct with me, Sybil, or I won’t get it.”

 

Sybil (sniffles and smiles at him): “Well… That was just about the most honest speech you’ve ever given me. Thanks for that. (takes a hold of his hand) I think it’s time I cooked something for us. I bet you haven’t eaten anything today. Am I right?”

 

Elliot: “Well, I went to Honey´s this morning to move the gear, and I grabbed a root while I was there… I had a cup of coffee while I signed the contract. (winks at her with a smile on his face) I don't suppose cigarettes count... So yeah, you’re right. I haven’t really eaten anything. But I’m really tired… you know, after sitting in a cell all night. Do you mind if I take a nap here?”

 

Sybil (smiles at him): “I don’t mind at all… after you have eaten something. Come on, you can help me, and it’ll be done quicker. Let’s make something easy, like pasta with meatballs and Caesar salad. We can make Faline's dinner with the same trouble. I bet she won’t say ‘no’ to meatballs.”

 

Elliot (grins at her): "More like: 'Meow.' Let’s do it.”

 

Sybil: “I might need some beauty sleep myself once we have eaten.”

 

Elliot (smiles at her warmly): “Come on, you don’t need no beauty sleep… You just need it to feel fresh again – inside. But I on the other hand need all the help I can get in that department.” (grins at her)

 

Last night was interesting, just sat in the study room with a few people, chatted and did some work! Alex stayed over because it was too late for him to go back to Jersey.

 

Woke up at 7:30am.

Got Dunkin Donuts again.

Had lectures on Robert Moses and Jane Jacobs.

Finally got to be a part of the first discussion group so we had a lot of time for lunch and going back to our room to get ready for our afternoon field trip.

I had Teriyaki Chicken with LoMein for lunch. Not delicious but what can I expect.

 

(currently listening to AJ Rafael's cover of a MJ medley. Definitely loving the music and wishing I could be a part of it all!)

 

Our afternoon trip was to visit the New York Times Headquarters (on 41st St. and 8th Ave.) and have a talk with Constance "Connie" Rosenblum, a prestigious editor of The Times - currently working on The Habitat section which deals with the various Real Estates of NYC. The building is quite nice and Connie is also very interesting... talked about her experiences from not knowing what she wanted to do with her life, to becoming one of the top editors of NYC, to writing her own book(s), and helping her 20-something year old daughter figure out what she wants to do with her life!

I've never really put much thought into journalism, but after going to the International Center of Photography Museum, and seeing the photo exhibits of the students of ICP... I think I can see myself working my way to the top of this industry (that is if I get lucky enough to become a part of it in the first place!) This was definitely an experience we can't get elsewhere! Thanks David and Elizabeth for hosting us :)

 

(more AJ Rafael covers... undeniable talent. i continuously find myself wanting very badly to be a part of that clique. but the other part of me keeps telling me it's just not right. so what do I do?)

  

After the chat, Thieny and I scurried off to go look for the station with the Keys to the City... so supposedly, there's this thing that allows you to explore the NYC using a universal key - there are places in the five boroughs where we can look for things to do and see. It started off as something for a couple to do, as a date or something... but really, anyone can do it :) Too bad, neither of us lined up on Friday when we saw it... and now it's not there anymore! So sad.

 

We went to go buy a few postcards, got back on the Subway and headed home. Dani and I were gonna go out for dinner, but couldn't decide on any plans so now we're settling for dorm dinner... which I guess is more economical for our pockets right now! Not sure what the plans are for tonight... but I feel really sleepy right now. Let's not let tonight go to waste please!

 

Huge spider/bug bite on my left ankle... swollen and pussing... it's disgusting but hopefully, it will go away soon enough!

My knee is also wacko. Almost 3.5 months post-op, but still gotta be careful! Today, on the subway, the disabled seat had a sign on top of it saying that by law, people are required to let those who are disabled sit in that seat... and that "some disabilities may not be visible..." that really made me feel better :)

You can't see how much pain I am in, because I hide it well... I am used to it! But don't worry, I will take good care of myself. No more taking my health for granted, that's for sure!

  

Life is about chances and opportunities - no one lives the same life... everyone has the right to make our own choices.

Why do you chose to dress the way you dress? Talk the way you talk? Walk the way you walk?

"Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind." By the wise Dr. Seuss

How can one prevent others from misunderstanding him or her?

Sometimes, we all just need to learn to give each other the benefit of the doubt. Not be so harsh on one another.

That way we can all live together like a civilized group of people.

Live for yourself - not for someone who you feel means the world to you.

 

Isn't it trippy how you can love someone so much only to find out he feels the same way about someone else... who may possibly feel the same way about you??

Or, you could do everything possible for someone you love, only to realize you mean nothing more than just another friend to him or her...

"It's like 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife; it's like meeting the man of my dreams, and then meeting his beautiful wife." Haha. isn't it IRONIC?

 

Life is ironic.

That's why it's so important to live every moment to the fullest.

 

I think I am going to start blogging f'reals on my Tumblr, about whatever topic whoever asks me to blog about.

I will do research throughout the week, and write an actual article/blog by Sunday of every week! yeah... a challenge, but one I am willing to fight for.

  

What's the biggest challenge in your life?

      

will you help me reach my goal?

please and thank you!

unicamp.kintera.org/campathon/mwltatertots

www.lucytseng.tumblr.com

“Though I've tried before to tell her,

Of the feelings I have for her

in my heeeeeeeeart,

Every time that I come near her,

I just lose my nerve as I've done

from the staaaaaart!

Every little thing she does is magic!”

 

Zatanna’s ringtone. She sits up from bed and snatches the singing flip phone off her side table, and takes note of the clock in the corner of its screen - it’s 8:30 in the morning. Below this clock, though, is a name - one left unacknowledged before she answers the call.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Zee, where the hell are you?” Zatanna’s close friend and stage manager, Mikey Dowling, whispers through gritted teeth on the other line.

 

“Mikey? What are you talking about?” asks Zatanna, a hand on her forehead.

 

“Remember when we scheduled your magic shows for the season? And when we agreed to have one on October 30th, at 8:30 AM?”

 

“That’s gotta be a typo - why on Earth would I have a show this early in the morning?”

 

“I thought it was a little weird, too, but it’s too late to go back now; there’s already an audience! Biggest in months!”

 

“Shit, seriously? Alright, alright, I’m on my way.” Zatanna hangs up the phone, and casts a spell to reequip her magician attire. She rushes out of her bedroom in a panic, but before she can manage to exit the apartment entirely, she is stopped in her tracks by John Constantine.

 

“Wait,” he says, a hand out.

 

She turns to him, as he stands by the table - the one Alan Dell’s corpse once sat beside.

 

“Where did-..?” Zatanna points to the empty chair.

 

“Oh, he’s still there - I used a cloaking spell. It’s temporary, in this one state of emergency. I’ll figure out something better. Just hasn’t come to me yet.”

 

“‘State of emergency’? What’s going on-“

 

Knock-knock-knock.

 

“Come in, Dee Cee,” John calls out.

 

The door is opened by a man with brunette curls, a sweater of slate blue polyester, and a police badge on display between his fingers.

 

“That’s Detective Dee Cee, to you,” the man says to John - in a thick Jersey accent - before looking down to Zatanna. “Dale Colton. I’m with the SFPD.”

 

“He’s my informant. Or one of, anyway,” John explains.

 

“Whoa whoa whoa, John, you’re not gonna wait for me to close the door first?” asks Dale, a small smirk contrasting with his bushy, worried brows as he carefully pushes the door shut. 'Click,' says the latch.

 

Zatanna’s pupils dilate at the door knob, and she stumbles slightly. “I hate to say this, but I really have to go-“

 

“I overheard, Zee - you have a show scheduled - but, I think you’ve aught to postpone - and I would never tell you that if it wasn’t important,” John assures.

 

“It’s about The Enchantress. There’s been a… Recent development,” says Dale.

 

Any and all of Zatanna’s movement is put to a complete halt.

 

“…There was an attack. On the UCSF Medical Centre,” Dale continues. “We don’t know how many dead. The bodies seem to have disappeared, though the building went from chock-full of patients, staff, to completely empty within a single night. Empty aside from-“

 

“The green fire.” Zatanna’s words are somehow both whispered and echoed. Words of fear. Words of trauma. She turns to John. “Are there… Any leads, on where they might be?”

 

“Not yet,” says John, before nodding to Dale.

 

“This investigation is the number one priority for my precinct and numerous others. We’ve been looking everywhere. She and her victims seem to have completely vanished off the face of the Earth.”

 

“Have you checked underground?”

 

“We have some guys checking Delevinge car tunnels.”

 

“Delevinge… There’s that name again…” John scratches his head.

 

“We’re investigating them, too, actually - thanks for that black market theory, it’s getting us somewhere. See, we’re noticing that their tunnels, their buildings, they’re all over the city - but nobody ever talks about them. Nobody knows what they sell. And it’s like, you really have to think about it to even notice they exist,” Dale explains.

 

“Hmmm. That’s awfully suspicious,” says John. “Could be something psychic at play-“

 

“What about the sky?” Zatanna interjects, following up on her underground comment. “The Enchantress is able to fly, you know.”

 

“Yes, we’re using helicopters - but currently, still, no leads. Which is why I came here; I mean, you guys have got magic or whatever, don’t you have some way of finding her?”

 

“Them,” Zatanna corrects. “Not her. The Enchantress is two people, not one.”

 

“Uh, okay - them - but my question still stands,” says Dale.

 

“It’s not that simple,” John explains.

 

Zatanna nods in agreement with John. “Spells of teleportation do exist, but they require previous physical contact with the person you’re having teleported to you, or the place you're teleporting yourself to. Magic, on the contrary to popular belief, has its limitations.”

 

“And,” John adds, “that’s not even mentioning that we don’t know every spell in existence. And I’d say I could use a psychic map, but again, needs a souvenir of previous contact; like, a hair or something.”

 

“But even if we knew who the host was, and had a hair from them, it probably wouldn’t be enough for a psychic map; the switch to Enchantress shifts tons of biology, so it probably wouldn’t be read as the same person, if I had to guess,” says Zatanna.

 

“Wow, okay, you two really just have every excuse,” Dale laughs.

 

Zatanna steps towards Dale. “You seriously came here thinking we’d have a way of magically fixing everything? We don’t. If we did, we would’ve done it already. We’re not Gods, we’re just… We’re like you. We just happen to have some tools you don’t have, and we’re doing the best we can with them… Although…”

 

“‘Although’?”

 

“I did just get one idea - a potential next move - hold on, lemme try something…” She pulls out a pack of what appears to playing cards. Opens the pack, shuffles them, holds them out before Dale. “Pick a card, any card.”

 

“Are you… Are you serious?”

 

“Just do it, Dale,” John requests.

 

“Could you at least explain the mechanics first?” Dale bargains.

 

“I’ll explain later,” says Zatanna. “After you pick a card.”

 

He pauses, lets out a sigh, then points to the one third away from her right thumb. She flips it around.

 

“What do you see?” Zatanna asks.

 

“The… Burnt down house. The one Enchantress burnt down.”

 

“Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere,” says Zatanna, before reaching for both John’s hand and nodding downward. He looks puzzled for a moment, before taking her hand, and using his other hand to tap Alan’s invisible body on the shoulder. Then, Zatanna reaches for Dale’s hand. He takes it, and then, the trio appear in the remainder of the house. Some walls, frames, floorboards, but it’s all blackened with ash, and smothered in police tape.

 

“I don’t understand, why did the card… What’s going on?”

 

“Psychic cards only work when the viewer isn’t forcing themselves to think of something - it'd muddy the magic. But what we know now, is that this is either a place from The Enchantress’s past, present, or future.”

 

“Past. Obviously past, we know they’ve already been here.”

 

“Hm. Good point. Okay, another option: where’s the nearest Delevigne building from here?”

 

“Across the street from Dunkin’ Doughnuts?”

 

The trio hold hands again, as Zatanna teleports them to Dunkin’ Doughnuts. They cross the road, and open the front doors of Delevigne. Inside is eerily mundane; drowned in shades of tans and beiges, lit with blinding fluorescents.

 

“Do you have a scheduled meeting?” asks a receptionist.

 

“Mhm,” answers Zatanna.

 

“With whom?”

 

She aims her wand in the face of the receptionist. “Eveileb I tsuj dias eht eman fo a reganam ro rehto ytirohtua nosrep ohw skrow ereh! Osla, tegrof I tsuj demia a cigam dnaw ni ruoy ecaf!”

 

“Not being very creative, now are we?” Whispers John, nudging her shoulder - after having quickly traced the letters on his palm to figure out what she’d just said.

 

“I don’t have the energy to be creative right now,” Zatanna whispers back.

 

“Eldon Peck is not seeing anyone at this time, I’m afraid,” says the receptionist.

 

Dale backs away, startled. “That name.”

 

“What? What is it?” Asks John.

 

Without another word, Dale runs off, gets into a vehicle - that is not his - and starts the engine. John and Zatanna run after him.

 

“What’s going on?” John asks again.

 

“Leave me out of this. Find the witch - witches, whatever - on your own. I’m not having any part in this.”

 

Zatanna readies her wand in preparation to stop the vehicle, but suddenly, Dale pulls his firearm from his holster and aims it through the open window.

 

“Don’t touch me with another one of your goddamn spells,” he orders. “Don’t you dare.”

 

John and Zatanna back away from the vehicle, and Dale drives off.

 

“…Hm. Well. That was unexpected,” says John.

 

Zatanna doesn’t respond verbally, but quickly, she goes back to the doors of the Delevigne building - but directly behind the doors, is nothing but a plain brick wall.

 

“Huh. Well, as strange as this all was,” says John, “I think this puts all the puzzle pieces together, yeah?”

 

“Delevingne’s a front for a magic black market-“

 

“-likely run by this ‘Eldon Peck’ fellow-”

 

“-Alan Dell must’ve been a member, or at least investor in the whole thing-”

 

“-His benefits being, perhaps, free knickknacks? The Enchantress artifact, for example-”

 

“-But, this Peck guy must like to keep tabs on his business partners, so he won’t get blowback for any damage caused by said ‘knickknacks’ - hence the DITO.”

 

“Yeah. Okay. Yes. We’re on the same page. But… This still doesn’t tell us where The Enchantress is.”

 

“…I hate to do this,” Zatanna prefaces, wincing, “but do you think I can get back to helping later? It’s just, y’know, with Dale gone, I feel a little less urgency to skip this magic show? Mikey said it’s the biggest audience in months, and…”

 

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Why not. I’ll put a dent in it on my own, no worries.”

 

“Kay, thank you…” Zatanna pulls out her phone, punches in Mikey’s number, brings it to her ear.

 

“Took too long,” says Mikey.

 

“What do you mean, ‘took too long’?” Zatanna pulls the phone away, looks again at the clock in the corner. “It’s been a whole half hour?!”

 

“Mhm. Not to worry, though, cause your ol’ pal Mikey had a backup plan: called in your cousin.”

 

“Zach? Zach is performing right now?”

 

“Mhm. Caught the audience off guard for sure, but most folks are satisfied; he normally charges higher than you do, so this looks like a bargain.”

 

“Huh. Well. Okay, then… Do you still need me there?”

 

“Not really. You can go deal with whatever’s got you so preoccupied, superhero.”

 

“Alright, then - see you tomorrow.”

 

“You don’t have a show tomorrow.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Mikey hangs up.

 

“Well. That’s that, then,” Zatanna sighs.

 

“Breakfast?” asks John.

 

“Huh? Shouldn’t we focus on the case?”

 

“Last night’s been a lot. This morning’s been a lot. Least I could do is buy you a meal.”

 

Zatanna tries to think of a reason to say no, but can’t. “If you insist.”

 

“Cool. Right this way, Madam,” says John in a comedic accent, beginning to turn a corner on the somewhat busy sidewalk, his trench coat flowing.

 

Despite feeling a bit out of body, Zatanna follows - quickly casting a spell to change her attire into something casual, but presentable; a coral coloured lace top and blue jeans.

 

They reach a small restaurant, the sign above the door reading “The Quiet Ambassador”.

 

Inside is decorated in earthy hues; comforting oranges and browns. There are wood carven cacti all around, and tables sporadically occupied by anyone from a young hipster gentleman taking photographs of his omelette, to an elderly woman awaiting her congee to cool. Zatanna cannot help but wonder why the establishment is called The Quiet Ambassador.

 

“Just the two of you?” asks a server, clad in a highlighter yellow uniform that matches nothing about the joint. Despite the contradictions and oddities, there’s something in the air that does bring Zatanna to a state of higher comfort - though, mere at best.

 

“Yep,” John answers the server.

 

“Sit anywhere you like, I’ll be with you shortly.”

 

The Magician and the Detective take a seat by a window, with a perfect view of where they were moments ago. Zatanna looks out that window, ponders where Dale could’ve driven off to. She tries not to worry about it.

 

“Heard you were talking to that Mikey friend of yours. Haven’t seen him in quite a while, how’s he?” John asks.

 

“She - Mikey’s pronoun is she.”

 

“Oh! Right on, right on.”

 

“She’s doing good, though. Can’t believe once upon a time I was bossing her around - how the tables have turned. She’s gotten real confident over the years.”

 

“Ah, well, good for her… Hate to intrude, but do you know how it was for her, getting the meds? I know that stuff’s a bitch to get a hold of in England - any easier here?”

 

“Oh, she didn’t have a need for estrogen; I was the first person she came out to, so, I did my magic on her.”

 

“Huh, I see! She knows that’ll wear off eventually, right?”

 

“It won’t.”

 

“…You gave her a spell-sustaining amulet? Zee, you’ve only got so many of those! You can’t just be handing them out!”

 

“Mikey’s a friend, I think it’d be messed up not to.”

 

“Sure, but what puts her above any other trans person? What gives her the privilege?”

 

“I’d argue helping out one person is better than helping out none - and is that not what a hero’s philosophy should be?”

 

“Alrighty,” says the server, now standing above the duo. “Drinks to start?”

 

“Yeah,” says John, looking to Zatanna. “I’m getting a black coffee, what do you want?”

 

“Um. London fog, please,” Zatanna requests, looking up to the server.

 

“Coming right up.” The server walks off again, putting her pencil behind her ear.

 

Zatanna pauses, staring off at nothing in particular while twiddling a hair strand and bouncing one leg up and down. “What Dale said earlier has got me thinking,” she spits out, immediately regretting it a little. “‘Don’t touch me with another one of your spells. Don’t you dare’.”

 

“What about it?”

 

“Do you ever worry what we do is a violation?”

 

“No more than cops using guns on murderers.”

 

Zatanna’s body tenses.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” John apologizes, “I shoulda known not to use that example right now.”

 

“…I’ve tapped into people’s minds. Made people go to sleep. Turned living beings into other living beings, completely shifted their matter. Even the little things, like turning a baseball bat into a bouquet of flowers. Maybe that bat meant something to that guy, what do I know? What gives me the right?”

 

“Zee. You’re religious, ain’t ya?”

 

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

 

“And here you are,” says the returning server, placing both drinks on the table. “Have you decided what you’ll be eating?”

 

The two both begin skimming the menu.

 

“I’ll have… The coconut breakfast curry,” says John.

 

“And I’ll have the French toast, add strawberries. Thank you so much.”

 

The server smiles as she walks off again, taking the menus with her.

 

“I’ve met lots a blokes,” says John, moving his attention back to Zatanna, “who were so consumed by what’s right, and what’s wrong. If you spend your whole life asking questions, then nothing gets done. Religion’s a negative influence on that - and I mean, anybody who’s seen what you and I’ve seen should know it’s a waste of time.”

 

“If you never question what you believe is right or wrong, true or false, then you risk going your whole life doing nothing but bad things.” Zatanna points her wand at her London fog, discreetly whispers a spell to spike the drink with gin. She stirs it with the wand, slurps the foam off it, then casts a spell to clean it.

 

“And then what? You get punished by some big shot in red, who’s kept track of every bad thing you’ve ever done? Newsflash, I’ve met the guy - and he simply does not care enough about you or anyone else to keep those tabs. All a load of bull-shite and fairytale.” He takes a sip of his coffee.

 

“…You are very close-minded.”

 

“Yeah?” asks John, a defeated smirk on his face and a cigarette behind his ear for later. “I’d love to be wise - love to - but that’s not how life’s shaped me.”

 

“What I mean is just, holy shit, John, we were together for years, and you couldn’t remember that I’m Jewish?”

 

John hides his face behind a tired hand as he begins chuckling to himself. “Bloody hell.” His hand falls as he adds, “even so, doesn’t that still impact your philosophy? Means you believe in God, yeah? What’s that mean for you?”

 

“Not much, in terms of my want to be a good person - I’d just call that human decency.”

 

“And what, you’re saying I don’t have any of that?”

 

“I wouldn’t say that.”

 

“What would you say?”

 

“That you’re not very good at debating.”

 

“I didn’t sign up for a debate, all we agreed to was breakfast.”

 

“In lieu of recent events, I’d debate that a debate was in order.”

 

“Is it done?”

 

“Debatably,” she hiccups.

 

John leans forward, whispers the question “how much gin did you put in that fog?”

 

“Not enough.” Her eyes look even more tired than he does.

 

“Here’s your coconut breakfast curry,” says the server, returning yet again, “and your French toast - with strawberries. Enjoy!”

 

“Cheers,” says John, looking upon the meals. “While my memory may be iffy, my bias against religion may be a little Christ-centric, and my debating prowess may be rough around the edges, one thing you’ve aught to hand me is my judge of character.”

 

“Sure,” Zatanna snorts, taking the first bite of her French toast. “You are a detective, after all.”

 

“And a bloody good one, I’d add. But you see what’s funny about right now, yeah? So much on your mind, and you’re forced to pick a first meal of the day, what do you go with? Most cutesy, whimsical dish on the damn menu. Everywhere you go, your persona follows.”

 

“And in contrast, John Constantine couldn’t bare to add even a touch of cream or sugar to his coffee. Wouldn’t wanna risk brightening your day, now would ya? Would put a stop to that brooding.”

 

They laugh.

 

“If you thought it’d do so much good for me, why didn’t you add a sugar or two with that magic stirrer of yours?”

 

“It crossed my mind - but, it’d be a violation.” That last word brings Zatanna back to the debate - the debate that wasn’t much of a debate, it’s debatable - and her mind wanders on a path from that. She feels the back of her neck.

 

Scarless.

 

Her eyes go big, she backs her chair away from the table as she begins thinking out loud. “You told me to heal myself last night and I chose not to, and I know you didn’t say any spells of your own after that - you’re not nearly as good at subtlety as I am.”

 

“Can you quit it with the criticism?” John laughs, but his face quickly goes serious upon realizing what Zatanna is realizing.

 

“At about 1:30 in the morning, despite my nightmare, I could still hear the door creaking open. You came into my bedroom. And you used a spell on me.”

 

“Zee, wait, I-“

 

“You came into my bedroom. While I was asleep. And you used a spell on me.”

 

“…”

 

Zatanna throws a 50 dollar bill onto the table and storms out of The Quiet Ambassador.

 

And then casts a spell to put the French toast into a takeout box, and then casts another spell to put that in her hand.

  

Lefty's irst musical influences came from his uncles who were just 10 years older than him, but that’s a lot at that age. Lefty got heavy doses of Motown from them.

 

In Conestoga Gardens here in Lancaster, Lefty’s childhood friend Rusty Witek, (whose mothers were best friends with each other since grade-school), listened to music in the Rusty’s huge basement. Rusty was an audiophile, had incredible stereo equip, and turned him on to Dylan, There in the linoleum basement they’d sing into the bare lightbulb pretending it was a microphone. ”F*ck the Beatles; we wanted to be Black.”

 

They istened to all of the classic Blues artists, like Otis Spann, Howlin Wolf, and a lot of the Country Blues greats like Missippippi John Hurt and Lighterning Hopkins. Plus a lot of Jazz and stuff like Clifton Chenier. This was in the late 60’s. Rusty is now an English professor at Stetson University in FLA, where he teaches a “Roots of Blues” class.

His friend Rusty Witek- an audiophile- whos moms were best friends with each other since grade-school - huge

 

They’d listen to the radio program, Rendezvous for Happy Hearts- Rusty’s older brother would make them call in requests every week for “Gypsy Woman” from there he got the first Led Zep album and began listening to Vanilla Fudge- Keep Me Hanging On (to yesterday) Get Out My Life (why doncha babe). songs were getting longer on albums then- double actually : they went from 3-6 minutes featuring stoner solo drum or guitar, and everyone would listening to albums then go out for “nature walks”; code for smoking cigarettes.

 

They’d go out in another friend, Nate, and cruise around in his VW and drink quarts of Schmitts for 55 cents a piece and listen to the 8 track... A lot of folk stuff, and when Lefty heard John Prine tell a story while singing and playing guitar, he thought, “I can do that”.

 

They also listened to British Folk: Martin Carthy, Matty Pryor, Fairport Convention, The Pentangle, Steel Eye Span, Burt Yansch.. and David Bromberg and Norman Blake. Also the Allman Brothers, Door’s , The Dead, The New Riders of the Purple Sage.

 

In 1974, they discovered The Philly Folk Festival in Phoenixville and drove down in an ’88 Cutlass he paid $300 bucks for. Jimbo made a sign “Philly Folk Fest or Bust”. The car got them down there, but they had to hitchhike home and Lefty had to figure out a way to get the vehicle towed all the way back to Lancaster. Finally saw John Prine and David Bromberg for the first time at the PFF.

 

His 1st guitar was a Yamaha FG110 that was stolen out of his car in Lancaster on South Ann Street. He’d caddy for golfers at Lancaster County Country Club. December of his senior year at Catholic High, and moved to North Carolina with his father .Winston-Salem NC. The first song he learned was Steve Stills “Helplessly Hoping” in A minor. It wasn’t “Amy” he said referring to The Pure Prairie League hit that just about every acoustic set began with.

 

He learned a lot of old songs, real at college in NC-. At first, Lefty thought most oldtime music sounded the same- like one long song, and if it didn’t have lyrics... well then it Really sounded the same...

 

“I was really focusing on John Prine stuff tthen.”

 

A friend of his dad’s ( and his wife) came over and would practice oldtime music on the porch or at the kitchen table, and he began to hear the subtle beauty of Oldtime music. He still wasn’t completely sold on this type of music, although I attended lots of jams in NC, and that was mostly all they played.

 

“A huge revelation for me was the “Wiill the Circle Be Unbroken “ album, which featured the Nitty Gritty Dirt band playing and featuring the music of some of America’s iconic Country and Bluegrass stars.” It really gave me a pipeline into so much music that I never heard before, like the Carter Family, Jimmy Martin, Doc Watson, and so many more.” He started thinking he might like to play this kind of music.

  

Lefty describes himself musically as, String Percussionist...

 

“I beat the music out of my guitar...” he explained, “My voice is passable, but I guess my knowledge of lyrics is the strongest thing I bring. I remember all of the words to songs... and I know a lot of songs. I have written one or 2 songs I’m proud of, but my brain never seem wired for song writing. I really enjoy finding obscure songs and learning them and sharing them. And, I always knew how to get the party started!”

 

Big brown eyes and a demeanor that moves quickly between genuine and serious to a little devilish. Lefty likes to laugh. That’s the way I remember him. I met Lefty circa 1980 in some of Millersville University (Charlie Patton’s ) Literature courses and on the radio WIXQ 91.7 FM (we were both DJs) His show: The Lefty Lefever Debacle, “back when we were both hippies”, he remembered.

 

I also had a flashback of me doing some of his theatre makeup in Paul Talley’s Cinemard production of “Black Elk Speaks”. on the MU campus... “Who was the lead in that again?”, I asked...

“I thought I Was!” he said... just like I remember him!

 

Lefty first played in 1978 at Lucky’s Elbow Room; he was 20: they set him up in the hallway between 2 bars and the bathroom- people in & out with cocaine. “People’d get up right in the middle of my songs... and parade into the one stall bathroom. Like 5 or 6 at a time. And come out sniffing and wiping their noses. Good stuff, I guess!”

 

Thin Skin Review

Lefty was- was downtown at the square carrying his guitar when a tall guy said, “Hey lets play a song!” Nah, Lefty said, I’ve got somewhere to go... “But its right here in my truck.” The stranger, Pete DeVitry (father of one the members of The Stray Birds). The two hit it off right away, started playing together, and formed the band Thin Skin Review.

 

They played the Lancaster Dispensing Company, Bube’s Brewery. in Mt Joy. because Pete was going to Temple University, their business cards had two phone numbers on it: a Lancaster & a Philadelphia number-

 

“This is back in the ‘70s now, so there weren’t any cell phone- like, at all... even Air force One had to use a radio set to communicate!”

 

So they thought they were cosmopolitan... They played at JC Dobbs , and a few other venues in Philly. They were mostly playing high energy folk and rhythm and blues, but around this time, Pete started playing fiddle, and they slowly started throwing fiddle in on some tunes, although they didn’t stray too far from our r&B stuff.

 

“Pete learned “Cumberland Gap” on the fiddle and we played the hell out of that song,. Pete really shook all the purists up at the folk festival when he strapped a Fuzz buster to his belt and we walked through the campgrounds playing Cumberland Gap through the Fuzz Buster. We always leaned toward the irreverent with our musical arrangements.”

 

“The stark & spare lines for Thin Skin logo were created on a napkin while Pete and I were plotting out our takeover the music world in a bar one evening.. Something raw and American, like Woody Guthrie’s art. Pete took out a Flair and a sketched a few lines on the back of a napkin, and that was all we needed. We still cherish that logo today.”

  

Circa 1983/84 Peter Weir’s film Witness starring Harrison Ford, Kelly McGillis, etc) came to Lancaster on location- about Amish. Lefty met the Advance Crew for the Hollywood film Witness at The Golden Eagle at a Thin Skin Revue gig, and secured jobs for themselves as extras - they also managed to get their then-girlfriends, now wives (Wendy & Annie) as extras into the movie by proudly bragging their ladies were, “Dead-ringers for Amish girls, complete with wire-rimmed glasses.”

 

He describes the fun of being on-set: a lot of down time,

“a lot of sittin’ around” where they’d play their guitars and Vigo Mortensen jammed with Pete on harmonicas.

There was even word of the guys playing a song in the movie, but it wasn’t deemed “authentic” enough.

 

Lefty describes some of the leaner times playing in Lancaster. Once he and Pete D as The Thin Skin Review would be opening for Buzzy Linhart (You Gotta Have Friends). Lefty get’s flagged from performing there for saying the word “PISS” on-stage. “It’s a long story”, says Lefty. “The sound sucked in that place anyway.”

 

Lefty & Wendy are proud parents of 2 adult Sons; Andrew 26 Law school in the deep south – is a “shy” piano player , but learned to jam with friends in Mississippi. Since graduated and working at DA’s office in Lancaster.

 

His son, Dan 24- holidays he was home and Lefty heard Dan and Andy playing an old album downstairs in the basement, an album his dad gave him years ago, and which he hadn’t listened to in years: Otis Redding and Little Joe Turner... It blows me away that they dig into my album collection and listen to all those old albums. I have my father’s Macintosh receiver (tube) and a turntable, the best way to hear music, and the boys take full advantage of the setup.

 

“Both my sons have the musical DNA in them and I can only hope to see their talents blossom before I shuffle off this mortal coil.” Dan graduated from St Joseph’s University with a Food Marketing degree and is currently a “Purveyor of Spirits” and represent a company which features Gosling’s Bermuda rum as their flagship product.

 

An old friend of the family, Mr. Alan Orr was ill- we always played at his tavern “The Orr Inn” there on St. Patrick’s Day and him being Scottish with a lovely tenor voice, always wanted to sing “Oh Danny Boy”. It became a St Patty’s day tradition at the Orr Inn. Many years later towards the end of Alan life when he was afflicted with Alzheimers disease, We were at a graduation party for one of Alan’s grandson’s , and towards the end of the evening, Lefty’s wife, Wendy, kept saying,“Start singing Oh Danny Boy, you know he’ll join in”, but Lefty felt funny about it: what if , in his illness, Mr Orr forgot the words and the song backfired- he didn’t want to embarrass the older, ailing gentleman. Even some of Mr. Orr’s kids were saying, “No don’t do it”.

 

But Wendy persisted- Like she never does... when it comes to music.

So I started singing Danny Boy and Mr. Orr joined in,

and he, “ ... Sang that thing F*cking Perfect., including the clutch high note at the end.

 

“I’m so glad Wendy pushed me to sing it with him... I wasn’t going to do it.

He was dead a month later. I’ll never forget that”

 

Day 27 - 9th July, 2012

 

I've gotta stop missing so many days.

Major catch up going on right now.

You guys take so many heart-clutching pictures, I'm getting tired of being hit on the head with a truck again and again and again!

But tell you to stop it?

Never.

I'm too weak for that.

 

Oh and title inspired from Florence + The Machine. Again.

 

And also, I look much better when I look away from the camera. Why is that, I wonder.

Pfft.

 

I totally tried rotating this. But I'm afraid of going out of my comfort zone.

Though I don't see how rotating a picture can be out of my comfort zone.

I still don't like it. The rotation, I mean.

Quite satisfied with the picture. It's the only one of me without my camera.

 

Oh, oh my god. I didn't tell you?

FISH!

I GOT A FREAKING TRIPOD!

YES YES YES! A TRIPOD!

And another thing!

I HAVE A TYPEWRITER!

From where, you ask? Ahaha, I got it from a friend in exchange for a few clothes.

My gosh, what an amazing bargain, haha! :D

 

Aaaaand,

Comments OFF.

Whoop. Lets see what you guys do to this picture. ;)

Blame Amber for the comments not being Off. :'(

Clean & Serene For FOURTEEN!!! It’s Hard To Believe It’s Been Since November 1st 2007 That I’ve Surrendered To The Disease of Addiction and Haven’t Put A Mind-Altering or Mood-Changing Substance In My System!! All The Love Always Now As I Thank My GOD, My Family, My HomeGroup, My Sponsor, My Friends, My Kids ~ The List Could Go On & On + On Without Ends… But Specifically The NA Program for Offering Me HOPE When I Was Heartbroken + Hopeless, Feeling Helpless and Worthless ~ Breathed Life Back Into Me When I Was Lifeless By Providing Me A Proven Path + A Purpose 💜 Stay Involved With Something Positive and Step Aside from The Negative ~ I Promise It’s The Hardest Thing To Do, But Pick Up That Pen and Answer Some Questions About What’s Affecting You Within and Take A Look At You! Today I Live Free & Love True + Consider Myself Fortunate I Found The Way Out With The People Who Showed Me The Way Through!! WE Come In All Makes & Models, Shapes & Sizes, Colors + Styles!! What I Hear In Recovery Is Music To My Ears: TRUTH, Experience, Strength, Hope, Solution ~ A Program When Practiced Paves The Way To Walk In Universal Love & Acceptance Through Spiritual Guidance Helping Others Who Struggle Get This!! I Love My Family For Never Giving Up On Me, My Aunt & Uncle Taking A Chance On Me, Strangers Who Showed Me Love Until I Could Love Me, People Working In Facilities & Working A Program, Carrying Commitments and Handling Me With Care Without Judging Me 💜 Without All of This I’d Never Be In The Position To Meet Brittany & Now Be Married With Our Two Beautiful Happy Girls, 💝💞💝 Kenni & Reese 💖💞💖 Just Living Something Like A Dream It Seems Like A Life So Full of Love + Light It’s Like The Best Thing In The World!! 💕💞💕 I Love You All ~ I Pray for Everyone ~ I Love You and Thank You GOD ~ I Really Can’t Say All This Stuff Enough! But Tell Me How Do You Sum Up 14 Years of Freedom and Love?!?! 💜 It’s Been Challenging, Humbling, Radical, Beautiful, Heartbreaking, Backbreaking, Epic, Adventurous, Questionable, Draining, Motivational, Inspirational, But Overall Spectacular + Miraculous Above All ~ To See Where I Was Back Then, November 1st 2007, To Here Right Now ~ November 1st 2021! 💜 All Souls Day & Definitely All The Souls That Conspired To Find Mine Shine Bright On This Big Deal of A Day! ✨ I Finally Have Over A Year More Clean & Serene Living The Program Than I Did Using and Losing In Active Addiction (Between 12-13 Years Since I Started Off Getting Lost So Young) ~ And That Just Blows My Mind, To Have 14 Years Clean & Serene Livin’ The Dream Without Using One Time! 💜 Major Milestone To Know Today, Every Just for Today Living This Way, I Am Not Nor Will I Ever Be Alone! 💜 Special Shout Out To My Sister Jenn for Making Me This Custom Shirt for My Celebration: CLEAN & SERENE ~ SERENITY KICK That Disease In The Neck Cause It Needs No Respect! Follow The Three Ss of SucceSS: Stepwork, Sponsorship, Service ~ You Will NOT Lose and You Will Become A Grateful Recovering Addict In The Process and A GRATEFUL ADDICT WILL NOT USE!! ~ You Don’t Gotta Be 110 In All 3, But If You Actively Participate In All Three: You Will Be As Free As You Wanna Be!!! 💜💜💜 So As For Me, With Fourteen Years Clean, You Wanna Know What I’m Doin’ Right Now, I Just Got Home from My HomeGroup and I Went Into The Kitchen and Scrubbed My Brita-Pitcher Clean and Serene & Replaced The Filter So My Babies Have The Cleanest Water To Drink Fresh With Every Juice + Milk Bottle They Need! So This Is My Life Now, And I Absolutely Love It ~ Without GOD, Without The NA Program, My Loyal Friends & Fam, The Positive People In The Fellowship Pushin’ Me Forward Helpin’ Me Learn From Lookin’ Backward (And Inward), The New Ones Who Need The Example Of Integrity Actin’ True To My Word, The Ones Who Know What It’s Like To Have Nothin’ and Turn The Faintest Trace of Light Into Somethin’ ~ Without YOU, Without WE, Without US, There’s No ME and I Simply Could Not Have Done It!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 💜 Here’s To 14 Clean & Serene Full of HOPE, Life, Love + Light Bursting At The Seam 💜 *TJ Russell* 💜 11.1.2007 ~ 11.1.2021 ~ Fourteen Years of Freedom And Beyond…

so i've been trying to figure out how to balance the whole "photo a day" thing with the whole "i work wonky hours as a crisis worker" thing.

 

for obvious reasons, i can't bring my camera to work ("hello perfect stranger, i know you're having a crisis right now but do you mind scooting closer to the nice police officer so i can take a picture? perfect. now everyone say 'cheese!'").

 

however, i figured out a plan after a conversation with a co-worker who has been in the field for 20+ years. she was talking about coping skills...and how she doesn't have any. and i thought, "coping skills? i LOVE coping skills!"

 

so, my plan is to dedicate at least one day a week (on a day when i work the late shift) to taking a photo of one of my coping skills. that will leave me with catalog of 50+ coping skills and serve as a great reminder once the dark, drizzly winter weather sets in (oh wait, it already has).

 

so, for the first in my series may i present....chocolate. what can i say...dark chocolate is probably my greatest, and most utilized, coping skill.

 

now granted, i prefer darker than a 70% cacao. but sometimes you just gotta take what grocery outlet can give you (at a crazy, reduced price!!).

 

9/17/10: home

50mm

My hair has a lot of personality. It has so much personality it could host its own day-time talk show, and it would win a day-time Emmy, too. My hair could be the dictator of a small country in Latin America. My hair could invent products, patent them, then sell them on late night infomercials. I would be happy to let me hair go out and be all that it could be if it weren't attached to my head.

 

As a grown woman with more curly resources I've finally figured out 3-year plan of action for growing out my hair after years of having it straightened, Japanese style. My hair, however, is not always cooperative. It's got its own ideas. Here are common conversations I have with my hair in the morning:

  

Curls: I'm going big!

Me: No, uh, let's not.

Curls: I feel it! I'm going to be all up in everybody's grille!

Me: Know what? I just need you to lay calmly and curl like--

Curls: Screw you, bitch! I'm loud and I'm proud. You can't keep me back!

Me: Dang, there's no need to be rude, I'm just saying--

Curls: I'm gonna do Broadway so big they can see me in the back row!

Me: Please, please, please, I just need you to --

Curls: THE HILLS ARE ALIVE WITH THE SOUND OF MUSIC!

 

Or

 

Me: So, we've finished your shea butter deep treatment and lavender spritz.

Curl: That was so nice.

Me: Glad you liked it! How about we do an Aveda leave in conditioner with some frizz calming elixir?

Curl: Sure, go ahead, lady! I like you. You're cool.

Me: Thanks! So, how about you do that cute thing you sometimes do when you curl into neat little curls around the nape of my neck?

Curls: I dunno, I'm awfully tired now. Got me all calm, you know? How about I just hang in these loose curls without much shape?

Me: Oooh. Yeah, that's not going to work for me. I just figured since I'd given you all this good nourishment that you'd just be up and ... Curls? Curls? Are you sleeping?!

Curls: What?! Uh? Oh, no we're listening ... honest ...

Me: So, yeah, and maybe curling into ringlets around the crown of my face ....?

Curls: Zzzzz Zzzzz Zzzz

 

Or

 

Curls: Why you gotta play me that way?

Me: What? This is the middle of the day we can't negotiate now. Negotiation window is closed. Why're you changing it up?

Curls: 'Cause. We're bored. We're gonna poof on the right side bigger than the left side. You know, just shake it up a bit.

Me: It's the middle of the day--I thought we agreed we were going to just curl normally.

Curls: Nah. We changed our mind.

Me: FUCK YOU, CURLS!

Curls: Dang! You crazy! We were just kidding. Jeez.

 

Curls, just so you know, I've got my eyes on you!

I know this is old, but I just today found out how much I love this picture, I think it's amazing(:

 

I've started just hiding Dawn Photography on my pictures just in case you know? I know it's a blunt thing, but I don't care I have no uniqueness in me right now for anything better than that, and Dawn is my middle name just so ya' know.

  

I'm so tired of all the snow, and all of the stupid people here on this earth. I think this is why I'm such a blunt person they've killed my happy emotion and filled it in with a hate one, and on some good days my little hate emotion spirts some wings and I get a little smile and laugh, but oh well.

 

I love my YoYo, I seriously do. This dog is actually one I could call my world. He's one that can make me happy and laugh whenever. He's my little hippo sue. I'm going to try my hardest to get him as in inside dog after I get him fixed... :\ He's already once marked in the house the last time I brought him in. D': so I think getting him fixed will help but I love him to much to keep him outside all the time, but then I'll have to keep him and Tweaker seperate because he's male aggressive but fixing him might help with that as well. I'm hoping. I gotta say this is the first dog I've actually been so attached to I'm going to totally die whenever he passes. I remember when he jumped the fence and was sitting on the porch the next morning I bawled my eyes out all night just praying that he wasn't hit on the road, the first time I've ever prayed and it came true I opened the door and there he was laying on the porch looking in the door, wagging his tail like nothing happened.. Till I asked him what he did and he laid all out on his back trying to look all cute. Gah, I love him. (: He's all I need. ♥

  

I miss happy...

Today. was. amazingly and ridiculously. probably the most fun I've ever had on a school night at webb. ever.

 

First of all, I had a free block first thing, so I got to sleep in

Then I had English and History, but all I ever do is just sit there for 80 minutes while everyone else has discussion

After history, went back to my room

Tumbled and lookbooked and facebooked and what not till 550

OH and I got my momma her mother's day present (= a tiffany&co. locket, set me back about 380$, but me and my two bros are splitting the price. Still gotta do the whole picture frame idea too though. One homemade gift, and one super expensive piece of jewelry=better than a "its-the-thought-that-counts" card. (= Just saying.

 

So then at 550, went down to the dining hall and ate some dinner

Van to the Claremont colleges where they were hosting the prep league finals didn't come till around 610

Went to the finals, didn't have to run! woop woop (good cause I just ate a crap load of food and I wasn't mentally or physically prepared for it at all)

Cheered on a bunch of people, had the choice to leave early with Ivie, but thank GOD I stayed

cause after the races, our entire (most of it anyways) track team went crazy.

We lincoln logged, dog piled, pyramided, and chased our coach to the top of the bleachers.

And our boys school got 3rd, girls school got 2nd (= not too shabby

 

After that, we ALL drove to ihop and had dinner there.

Spit balled, took pictures, ate ate ate a buunch of food.

I had chocolate chip pancakes and a bacon cheeseburger. yum

 

It was just soo much fun and bonding, this years track team was really tight

Since there was a bunch of us, we didn't get back till after lights out, which was around 1040

And Florence, my track coach, drove crazy and had a bunch of us hanging on the outside of the van as she drove us back up to our dorms with the music blasting, everyone stuck in their dorms, lights out for all the underclassmen

 

Ah, missed all of study hours, came back in an almost food coma, satisfied and happy (=

And now it's almost 1 and I'm gonna go take a shower right now and then start on homework. Feels just like if I were at hooome

Oh and my previous picture got more notes and I posted my first look on lookbook and got comments and hypes and ahhhgiehfagh <3

AND tomorrow's friday, and oh boy this weekends gonna be crazy fun. Today was just...such a NON routine-typical webb day. I loved it. Love love LOVED it.

I’m not quieting. I’m not bowing out. I’m not giving up. I’m not throwing in the towel, or walking away…I’ve just run into a few un-negotiable snags that have forced me to take a step back and push the pause button. If this year has taught me one thing so far, I’d have to say this is it…Computers do not like me...

Already earlier this year, with the aid of my loverly wife, my senior computer contracted itself a nice little virus. It was a pain in the ass bug, but with a little help from lil sis, the problem was quickly alleviated, and life returned to normal. That is until last Monday. As much as that man chest pounding part of me would like to lay blame, the wife is not at fault this time? Hardly. Oh yes, one like myself at this very moment has to wonder if he is not capable of toppling entire empires, when he considers what he managed to accomplish last week. No, the wife had nothing to do with it this time. Nor did anyone else for that matter. I did it all on my own. It was a grand self shafting of un-lubricated epical proportions, and I managed it all on my own…I’m just not sure how.

Just what did the proverbial we accomplish? (Seriously…You can’t make this stuff up. If I wrote this into a work of fiction, no one would buy it). We, that being me. Yes. I. I last Monday (single handedly I might add) not only managed to crash not just one of my computers (nooooo, that would be far to easy), I crashed both of them. That’s right. I crashed both of my computers. And in one single evening, I might add (You gotta give me props for this). I managed the entire task of bringing both of my computers to the binary equivalent of their quivering knees in the span of less than a single hour…I’m not kidding. I crashed them both in less time than it takes Lady Gaga, to floss her teeth. If I hadn’t been here to see it, I probably wouldn’t have believed it myself. But I happened. One right after the other, that quick...

If they weren’t my computers I think I might actually be proud of that fact. But there is that undeniable part about, well. They were mine. And for the past week they have been as cold and quiet as Gary Glitter’s next big come back. I don’t think any of them are coming back. For at least the moment I have a small window of online opportunity by way of this thing the wife calls a “notebook”. Honestly. The notebooks I remember in high school were lot larger then this thing is. Hell, my junk is bigger than this thing is. If properly motivated it would probably do more than this thing would do too. Not one of the afore mentioned do photo editing. I’m taking comfort in the fact the most nearly everything I felt was important was backed upped somewhere, or somehow. Yes, I am a little hick, but I am a paranoid hick. If I can’t recover everything from the puters, I’m not sweating bullets. Not just yet. Most of my more sensitive documents are backed upped in one way or another. I am however, for at least the moment pretty much computer-less, and I intend to break rules. Rather than simply abandoning my 365 project, or attempting to keep track of photo’s while I compile enough “Ka-ching” for a new tower, I’ve instead pressed the pause button. I’m not sure if that falls into the guidelines of a properly formatted 365, but that’s what I’m doing. Honestly…How many folk do you know single handedly managed to crash both of their computers in the time frame of one chilly January hour.

So until the funds are available, the opportunity is there, and the time is right (shouldn’t be long). Take comfort in one thing. If there was such a thing as Terminator’s, or Skynet, or Judgement day…Right now. The luck I’ve had with machines lately (Thelma took a dump at work last week too)…I’d be John Conner’s best friend right now. I break just about every machine I touch.

Until I get upright again. This is Staticbob, signing off.

 

A Multitude of stories i have written over varying amounts of time.

If you would take a journey into my mind for a while it would mean the world to me. Thank you everyone for supporting me this whole way.

These Stories start from the newest, to the oldest i could find!

 

Please Enjoy Some short stories By me.

 

Story Number One-

 

You

 

I love the way you speak, the way that you carry each word. It’s beautiful. The way you look at me, the way your hair moves in the wind, the way your eyes shift so fastly. I love it all, but, I know I can’t love it for too long. I must let go of this feeling, as it’s wrong. As you have fallen for someone far greater than myself, someone perfect for you. And it brings a smile to my face to see you two so happy. But a part of me still has those thoughts. They go unheard for moments, but become deafening at others, and I hate nothing more than the way I feel. I feel selfish, I feel… Inhuman. As I see you happy, but. The first thing I ponder, is why it couldn’t be with me. But then I remember why. It’s because these lips upon my face won’t open up, they won’t say a letter nor a phrase, they won’t utter a word of truth to you. And as I see you two develop closer and closer, the more finely stitched my lips become. It’s a fine line in my brain. One side battling to say words of love and joy to you, the other side seeing you, and seeing how happy you are. Both sides Wait idle, waiting for a decision from mission control. But as more and more times passes on, the more there patience becomes dwindled. They begin to shorten the barriers, and shorten the line. Who knows maybe I won’t make a decision, and let the two sides fight. See who wins. But by then the two will be happily in love, and I’ll be stuck on the side, talking to her only as a friend. Only as an afterthought. I would then move on to the next person, someone not as perfect as you. But a mere place mat, a replica to the original piece. And years will pass and I’ll forget your name, until I don’t again. And I shall repeat this process once more.

 

Or.

 

I make a decision. One for either side, one that aids the other in the ongoing war. One brief moment, one small letter, one small phrase, could arch the wars back, and make it more tangible for one side. The outcomes are very different from one another. One side, would lead to two responses. “I'm sorry Nathan” followed by variable phrases destroying my every hope. The next, would be magical, “I feel the same way Nathan.” Unlikely, maybe even impossible. As I’m not her type, nor anyone’s type. Even if my personality was beyond charisma, my horrid appearance would scare away even the kindest of folk. So this was a mere dream. The most likely response would be one not predicted. But the most likely, “Nathan, I’m sorry, you're a nice…” followed by statements telling me how it is the worst time for her to be with someone, followed by many statements claiming that I will find someone soon, someone amazing. Someone perfect for me. Followed by my first response. “But you're perfect for me.” Then followed by a blinding screech in development, what ever friendship could be scraped off the floor has all been destroyed by my foolish assumptions, of course she wouldn’t have said yes to me.

Look at me.

 

The next option lets the side of practically win. One that would most likely save any kind of pride I have left in my vault. Would leave me a mere alone person rather than a depressed one. I would most likely take the road of the first stimulus I presented. But who knows maybe she would have come to me over time.

It is unlikely though.

 

As I write these words, and read them once over I find myself thinking more and more about her traits.

Her beautiful smile, so rare to see but so glorious when she does show it’s rare face. Her voice and how different it sounds compared to these other girls I’ve met, there’s something pure about it. Her vowels have a certain lisp to them, one that is so subtle, so faint, that most ears couldn’t hear it’s beauty. The way her words hit my ears is unlike any other, they echo down my ear canal and go straight into my heart.

Sappy isn’t it? Well I don’t care, because this is what I hear, what I feel, what I see, every time you come by.

I wish I could just write your name, send you this letter and wait upon your response. But fear overtakes my heart a lot of the time.

And I fear what you would say.

To a ugly person like me.

 

I think to my favorite memories when I sleep, every one of the most recent ones have you in them. How we stood next to each other, how you told me I was a special person in your life. The stories you would tell me about yourself. In those short three weeks I felt like I knew you better than I did any other person I’ve ever met before. Only to find out that you loved someone else.

Heartbroken these memories have become a bit more vague.

Blurred.

And some destroyed.

Like I said maybe one day I will forget all about these memories, these short days that I fell face forward towards you.

But like I also said fear overtakes my heart. And what I fear most, is remember them.

Again.

And relive every moment with you again, and falling once again.

Because at the end of the day, I’m not your type, I’m not the one who you should love.

For how could someone love me.

So maybe it’s time to let the soldiers on the right side, take their stance. And cross their line.

As I don’t see myself holding on much longer. The line is crumbling every moment.

And you know the truth better than I do.

I hope he makes you happy.

I’m just sorry I couldn’t.

 

I guess at the end of the day we know what decision we knew was right the whole time.

Your smile gives me all the confirmation I need.

 

You

 

Story Number Two-

 

Mind

 

Introduction

I’ve always believed that I was nothing, reinforced by awful words spread deep within my environment. Reinforced by every girl i have loved, every friend who I’ve trust. Every person who’s left. Every…. Everything.

It’s turned me into a cynical person. Not with all things, truly I try to be positive in all situations, much to others dismay it somewhat calms my heart. A heart that beats far to fast over the smallest things. Nothing in this world makes it beat faster than the fear of being second. I don’t speak in terms of sports as my care for those has grown quite short over the years, no this fear pretains to being second to someone else. Sounds crazy, right? It’s nearly impossible to always be first… And I think some people think I don’t know this, I do. I just choose to ignore it. Probably my biggest downfall in fact, maybe why I’m such a cynic in the first place. Have you ever thought about that? You speak words so fast, and you say so many thoughts within your brain that most of the words spewed make no sense at all. A mere overview can show this, even here it can. Didn’t I just claim to be a cynic from my environment? Then didn’t I continue onwards to what caused such traits? Strange….. why would I then say I am a cynic because I made myself one? Maybe it’s my misunderstandment of the word? Maybe it’s my unconscious thought process trying to force blame on myself. Or maybe it’s a way to stall. Who knows honestly? Because I’m not the one who does.

Where was I? That’s right? The fear of being second. Why was I talking about this? Couldn’t I…. no, people wouldn’t care a less about my relationship issues, making it a prime topic! Well maybe not. People may think I’m digressing! Am I digressing?

Where was I? Oh that’s right! My apologies I’m not in the best spot at the moment so, writing is a bit tricky. I was talking about my fear of being second. As I once said this doesn’t pertain to competition, that seems to primal in the setting it’s placed in. It deals with love, being second to someone who you are in love with.

It’s a uncommon scenario, but aren’t those the ones we fear the most? The uncommons. Commons aren’t frighting, as we are expecting them… at a somewhat constant rate, ratio can be made, and fears will be made, put to ease. But Uncommons? Well they are what we fear the most. And I’m no different.

 

Uncommon Scenario- Conditioned.

“Are you mad?”

“No”

“Well your never this short with me.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say? I’m not mad.”

“I mean you shouldn’t be so.”

“Jesus Christ I’m not angry. Let it go.”

“I’m just-“

“I said let it go.”

“See I knew it…”

“*Sigh* listen I’m not mad, I’m just having a rough day so I don’t want to talk.”

“...”

“So can’t we just lay here?”

“...”

“Good.”

“............ I just”

“Before you continue, just don’t. I just want to lay here that’s all. I don’t want to argue, I don’t want to fight, just relax.”

“Do you just want me to go?”

“What?!! When the fuck did I say that?”

“You didn’t it just seems like you want me to.”

“No, that’s not what I want.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“What?”

“...”

“Oh great not this shit.”

“...”

“Are you literally playing the silent game with me? Come on!”

“...”

“You know what you were right. I don’t want you to go.”

“...”

“No I mean I want you to go.”

“What?”

“Now. I want you to go home.”

“Your joking right?”

“No im not, I can’t handle this today.”

“Can’t handle what?”

“Can’t handle this, this back and forth, this nothing of a conversation.”

“Well what do you want me to do?”

“Go…”

“Do you mean that.”

“I can’t lie to well so I’m sure that’s what I mean.”

“Fine….”

“Fine.”

“I’ll just call my mom…. and go.”

“Okay.”

“You really want me to call her?”

“Yes! Why do you keep asking these questions as if I’m going to change my mind?”

“Fine…”

Uncommon scenarios, the ones we fear the most. That’s why I wasn’t afraid of this one. This dance wasn’t anything new, and nothing new was being thrown into the seispool. Seems boring right? That’s because it was, arguing every single day, it’s boring. Playing games with someone’s head constantly? Is boring. I wouldn’t want to over glorify a relationship of mine, now would I?

But, like I said this scenario is always the same. So, that only means one end can occur.

“Wait…”

“...”

“Don’t call her.”

My guilt would overwhelm me, I would tell myself that… if she walked out of that door, she walked out on me. This scenario happened a lot, so my fear of her leaving had decreased greatly, but I was conditioned at that point. I was practically her slave.

The next lines would go as so.

“But I’ve already called them.”

“Well is there anyway you can tell them not to come.”

“I don’t know.”

And then I would pause, and she would say once again.

“Well Fine. I’ll text her.”

Funny enough I never saw her text her, not once. It was all for the grand show. And I honestly couldn’t tell if I hated it, or loved it.

You know it’s been years since these events, these mondain, boring events, and I look back and wonder? Why did I stay?

I know it’s cliche, but looking back. I had no reason to, as there was no future for us together. None at all.

This was only a month into this journey.

 

Uncommon Scenario-Conditioned.

  

This next story was supposed to be a series much like God and Julia.

But much like God, And New waves, it came to a screeching halt for some reason. This is unfinished and pretty raw.

 

Story Number Three-

Kiss Me Goodbye

April 5th 2004

Alice…. Alice….. Alice can you fucking hear me for gods sake? It's about time to go, now can you please hurry up hun? It's a big day you know, not to many men get honored like this. It's a big day. Alice could you imagine what mom would think about me getting this far? Shit she would probably rolling over in her grave, fucking evil bitch. Probably would compare me to other workers before me, and how they have a fancy car, and a bigger paycheck. Alice? Hey alice are listening sweetie?

 

*Case of Isaac Forman, April 5th 2004, this was the last time isaac was seen in his residents, can you tell us a little bit about how isaac was acting that day?*

 

Sweetie? Okay i know i usually find this joke funny, but come on today, today is just not the day to be making such annoying jokes you hear? Ah fuck it make all these little jokes you want, who cares? Everything is already going perfectly today. Hey is it possible like in five you could help me with this tie? You know my pa never really helped me with the essential shit in life. I guess thats why its so nice to have you around. Well one of the nice reasons. Okay, come on nothing? Alright i'm coming to see what all the fuss is about.

 

*He was simply just chatting with someone, how many times can i tell you this? That's all i know? The only thing that was noteworthy was the name he kept saying this girls name.*

 

Don't make me come in there… You know i get all nervous when you're this quiet. Come on babe…. Hey why do you have the door closed? I won't knock alright, i know that shit scares you, i'm just going to assume your changing alright?

 

*What was the name of the woman that he kept saying?*

 

Alice, alright now it's been fucking almost thirty five minutes, it's almost time to go, shit at this point we're going to be late. So what's going on huh?

 

*How the fucking am i supposed to remeber? It was nearly two years ago?*

 

Oh my god…… alice? Alice, no no no no. Fuck fuck fuck….. Come on honey wake up, fuck wake up, please dear god wake the fuck up.

 

*For some reason mister handcock i feel as if you're not telling us the whole truth of the matter. Did you hear any frantic movements or noises that night of april 5th?*

 

Alice fuck….. Somebody help, fucking please, my girlfriend shes….. She's not breathing please somebody fucking help.

 

*I told you i don't know how many fucking times, i don't know a thing*

 

Alice keep your eyes open alright, alright you're not dying on me, not like this, not fucking like this. I love you alice please.

 

*Mr.Hancock we are going to play you the call we received from the former residence that night, and you can tell us if you don't hear any distress in mister foreman's voice.*

 

Hello, hello, please i need help,my girlfriend, she's stopped breathing, there's blood, god fuck everywhere.

 

Kiss Me Goodbye

 

*Good Morning Chicago, it's Jonathan Miller from channel eleven news, here to bring you some breaking news on the Isaac Foreman case, it's been six years since the disappearance of isaac. And just when everyone here at channel eleven news thought this story couldn't get any stranger, well let's just say. We were wrong. According to the police in manchester canada, they have found some trace evidence of the whereabouts of mister foreman. But it doesn't spell anything good for the foreman family. They found trace amounts of mister foremans blood within the house of claire winchester*

 

April 6th 2004

“I didn't do anything, i can't say that enough, it's been fuck, six hours since i left my house. I can't explain the events that had just transpired, who the fuck could? And i'm not recording this audio log to clear my name. There going to think i did something to my lovely alice. But i didn't do shit. Fuck, i'm sorry moma, please tell dad that, that i love him so much. Please pray for me. For i can't pray right now, shit i gotta go soon, i'm sorry. Fuck okay, i still don't know what the fuck happened, my mind is fucking racing. Fuck, hey….. Keep your hands off me alright, listen, no listen…. I'm not doing a thing wrong alright, i'm just filming a audio log…… *audio cuts off*”

 

*Jesus, that cannot be? That was only a day after? Alright listen i know you guys want me to spill my guts but what can i say that, that, that tape doesn't say? I don't know much about him. Isaac was always a strange fucking dude? Me and my family did not associate with him and or that girl alice he always brought home. But he never did anything wrong, no noise complaints. No problems at all truly. Can i please go home? This case has already fucked up my life enough.*

 

May 21st 2005

“Im…… Im dying moma, im so sorry, please moma dont listen to what there saying on those fucking news channels, i wouldn't ever hurt alice. You know that. What purpose would i have to hurt her? Moma i haven't eaten in days, and i'm cold. I just want to eat your warm chilli, and watch football with jo jo. I want to go home moma. But they won't let me go, i barely got away to get this tape out, moma theres some strange things going on. I think…… fuck there coming im sorry moma i have to go.”

  

Conversation Between deputy beagle and officer banks

Deputy begal- Alright listen banks, i know that you're new to this scene. This is your first case and shit it's a big one, but you have to understand why we do what we do. Were not the bad guys alright. The news is trying to say that we are fucking up this disappearance case, fucking idiots. Sorry banks i'm getting off track, just my mind's been caught up in the news. Got old bitch back at home, who never stops talking. Cant wait till this case blows up and i can leave that dumb cunt.

 

Officer Banks- Sorry to hear uh, deputy that things at home haven't been to great. But i feel as if we are getting off track, this is my first time doing this kind of work, i know your station saw me as a good fit on this case. Now i don't see why? But i'm just glad to be helping the poor family of alice Cooper.

 

Ends Here.... Again sorry for such a strange addition, i just wish i continued it.

 

Now these last two are very old one dating two years ago.

And one dating back to last year.

 

This first one is from early 2016

 

Story Number Four-

Up In My Dreams, My Little Short Story

 

Nathan- So welcome to my life through pictures and my daily adventures that i take and all the emotions i feel throughout my weeks, lots of my pictures reflect the way i feel and the emotions that i portray in my photography reflect a ton on my real life. Now some of my pictures this logic does not apply to. In most of my pictures i will take either a really cool scenery and turn it into my own creation or i will take a simple picture and just apply emotion and most of the time it's how i feel at the time of the photo shoot. Plus a huge thing i do is make the emotion more exaggerated or more far fetched. Now that is mostly my photo process and what i go through to get a image that i like, thanks for reading this little short part of my little short story, i hope you enjoy the book!!!

 

My Little Speech Chapter One(Love Yourself) - Life is hard, and life is going to hurt and bring you down. But does this mean it's terrible? Absolutely not, life is one of the most beautiful things in the world. I feel like a sad realization in my life is that people the world this way. I mean we all have days of hopelessness and just complete sadness, which is normal and you should allow yourself to feel this way. But when a person feels one emotion all the time, well that's when a problem arises, you see it's unrealistic to always be happy or always be sadd. You should feel out every emotion and i think then you can be one with yourself and you can be truly at peace with yourself. Now i see a lot of kids and adults falling victim to depression and viewing the world as one big terrible storm, when in reality the world is beautiful. Sometimes the world seems dark and grim, but if you search hard enough and truly want to see the good, then you will find the true beauty and the amount of amazing in this world. It's just sad to see people always looking for the negative or always looking down on others and situations, it's sad to see so many depressed. That's why my whole life i have devoted myself to bring others up always even when it will bring myself down in the process. You see i learned overtime that I could make others happy but i couldn't make myself happy. And if there was one thing i could tell every kid and every person in the world it would be that, make yourself happy first before others. Because there's only one opinion at the end of the day that matters, and that's yours, the rest will just become a distant memory. Trust me you will forget all the rumors and all the bad that was spoken about you. In a year or two you will forget what most people even said to you. But you will always remember your own opinion because that's the one that hits the hardest. I am my own hardest critic, and i bet you are too. You see if you can make that hard critic inside you love you then there is nothing that can stop you, i believe this to be the most inner peace one can achieve in life. That being the ability to love yourself.

 

Story Number Five-

 

Aftermath- a series of short stories.

To say it's been a hard couple of months is a terrible understatement. Ugh.. We lost another one of our great soldiers yesterday when…. When one of the those.. Animals got to her. It was horrifying… I can't even begin to think of the words to use for this situation. It's only been three or so months since… since the end. People came together.. quick but fell quicker… it's… it's flabbergasting. When this all first started people hid and ran understandingly.. The first month was very lonely… I was by myself for most of it.. I was so crippled by the fear of going out there… that I decided not to at all.. I wouldn't even peak out the windows to see what my fine world had become. So… I hid for a long time.. Until I heard a scream near my household… so I decided to fight my crippling fears of the outside terrains and finally leave my house.. I was greeted by a bunch of ravenous animals… I still can't describe them to this day. It was nothing like I have ever seen before…. They were attacking this woman… this beautiful women that looked to be nearly scared to death. I… I don't know where or how I mustered up enough courage to charge at those ravenous creatures… but I did.. And I'm so glad I did… because for some strange reason these things were afraid of me.. All three of them ran for the hills.. Chattering back and forth like a pack of wild hounds. This lady was a very fortunate person. She was bruised up and bleeding so I took her in for a day or so. She was very surprised by my willingness to help others.. I didn't understand at that time why. Well She informed me on the second ish day or so.. That she lived in a settlement not to far from my house. She ventured off to find more supplies. Maybe she wasn't the lucky one. I think I was the lucky one. She took me into her settlement and I am forever grateful for that….. I can't believe that she passed away. I will forever be in your favor Cassandra.. Thank you for everything. Rest in peace…

 

Locks- i decided to head back to my hometown… I don't really know why.. But I kind of gravitated towards those old memories. It was so sweet and familiar to see my old house that I left not to long ago. I don't know what I was hoping for.. My parents?! My old dog. aggie? No there was no possible way the survived.. I don't know how I survived to be honest… I mean I was in the basement.. For such a long time.. With.. With little food and little water. Like I said not to long ago I was so afraid to leave. Crippled in fact. And when I heard the screams.. I came up to complete nothingness. My familiar upstairs rooms. All gone. Living room.. and bedrooms all obliterated. So it is possible that they left before the end came.. I guess I'm just trying to stay positive… because the thought of my parents being dead is horrible and not even feasible. l can't even picture a world without them…. But I should start to gather the image. I searched the whole area looking for signs of my loved ones.. Nothing… nothing at all.. I started to feel empty… And incomplete. That may be the worst feeling I have endured… but I was so persistent on finding a sign. Just one sign of a life that once lived there… nothing again. But just when I was about to give up.. I went down to my former hiding hole...I discovered something very new.. I saw the locks on the floor… I remember I ran to the basement because of all the sirens… and it was all blank from there on out.. They. They must of locked me in so nothing could get me. I felt overwhelming happiness and gratefulness, but that soon diminished because I came to the realization that.. That they were gone… yeah I had no solid proof… but it was kind of obvious. I'm just glad they left this cruel world hero's…

 

Well I never thought the day would come… I never thought at the age of 15 I would be digging a friend's grave.. Well I guess I was dead wrong. These green monsters had invaded our camp and we had to flee immediately… they were too strong for us… we had ten at the camp.. And now… well now we have five. We all ran so fast. But… but they all followed me.. Like I was there Moses… I never led anyone.. Let alone group of people 20 years or older than me.. But I couldn't let them down.. I led everyone who was still left back to my old hiding hole. It was a about 2 miles away ßfrom camp. But it was the only place I knew.. At this time we had seven people walking with us.. And well.. They had been pretty beat up.. One of the wounded soldiers was Steven Aldrich… he had been shot in the face… he was really lucky that he didn't just die right there. But his luck soon ran out… we didn't have any medical supplies at free hand.. And well he was bleeding through the sheets we gave him.. It was horrifying watching a man keep his own eye from spilling out of his skull. I knew we weren't much farther. So I started yelling.. “Only a couple more blocks..” That was a fib.. Considering how much we had left. And I knew that if we just gave up right now.. That Steven would of passed.. Well my confidence didn't really matter. Steven passed out while we were jogging.. And… And. Didn't wake back up.. We checked his pulse… and nothing… he was like a machine that got powered off.. He had no life left in him to run.. I'm steven… I failed you. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse.. Stacy another member.. Started complaining of an extreme headache and a vomity feeling. She insisted that we push on to the safehouse. I wanted to stop but she was not going to allow that. She was to headstrong to allow us to help her. In some kind stroke of luck we made back to the safehouse untouched by any little critters. It was extremely dark and we all had the feeling of tiredness on our minds. We all feel asleep, but I was soon awaken not many hours later, by a consistent cough and choking sound. When I woke up… it was far too late… Stacy was choking up some kind of liquid.. And her face was all flushed out in the color of white. I tried everything in my power to help.. And nothing helped. I asked around the group about if anyone knew how to do the heimlich. Luckily Jason knew how to and he started to perform the procedure on her. It seemed as if it was working.. But just when we thought all things were good and breezy. She… she puked up a substance of some sorts. It was glowing.. And everyone around knew what had happened. Of course I was very oblivious to what was the situation. Everyone started to grow depressed. And I didn't quite know why. I mean she seemed fine.. So what that a little weird shit came out of her mouth? That's when they told me that she… that she presumably fell into a radiation pool. Which if she had swallowed any of the chemicals that would mean certain death. I looked at her… And she just looked so different from the Stacy I saw not two hours ago. Her mouth was so burnt.. Her mouth was open and I saw no teeth. I believe the radiation melted them away. It was soon after our discovery that she started choking again…. She seemed like she was in so much pain and I knew that she didn't deserve this at all. Everyone was so shocked and horrified from what she was puking up and how she looked. I had to be the reasonable one. I had to be the leader. I asked Jason for his .38 pistol. I had never shot a gun before. But I think it was time to learn. They were all asking me what I was about to do. I told them just look away. Just look away. They did so. I told Jason to let go of stacy. He did so. And then.. Then. I put the gun up against her head… then I preceded to…. To.. To end her life…. That was the hardest thing I have ever done.. Her face was so shocked on what I was doing. But it had to be done. I hope so at least. The group still hasn't looked at me the same since.. I buried her body right next to Cassandra's. I'm so sorry stacy… I failed you and everyone else. I'm sorry Steven that I failed you as well. I just wished I could've buried you next to your family. I am so sorry. I hope you all can forgive me in the afterlife.

 

Well there is five of us left. I truly thought it was the end after stacey and Stevens passing away. But it was strange. Yeah for a while there everyone in the group didn't talk to me and didn't keep me company when I needed it the most. But this little guy I found helped me through it all. I found him in the backyard trying to find food. He was no different from me. He was lost, he was wondering where to go next. I know this sounds ridiculous because he is just a animal and how could an animal feel the same way as a human? I don't really know but I had a connection for once with something in this wasteland. And it felt so warm and nice. I named the little fellow sparky. He was so anxious and jumpy so I thought that fitted perfectly. I'm so glad I found this little fellow. Because I was so depressed after what I had to do. I have not hurt a living soul. Let alone someone that I considered to be family. I know she was in pain. But I never wanted it to ended like that. I never wanted my first kill to be my friend let alone anyone at all. I mean her face was so shocked. I knew that her body was in shock but her brain wasn't…. I saw her face. I saw her reaction. She was so scared. And it was all my fault. These are the thoughts that went through me twenty four seven. And I was seriously wondering if suicide was the only option. To be honest. When I found the little fellow… I was actually looking for a spot to end it in peace. I guess that's how life works sometimes. I'm so lucky that I found Cassandra and I'm so lucky I found sparky. I know now two months later that what I did was the right thing in killing stacy. But it still stings my heart. But I had to do it. But in some strange way. A week or so after all the death. Everyone came together and we all teamed up and made a new sanctuary and a new life. We all agreed that is what stacy and Steven would of wanted. And I couldn't let them down again. Never again. When I found sparky I knew everything was going to be ok. And that day I decided that it was time for me to take a leadership role. I know I am only 15 but someone had to. And I was ready. Thanks to sparky and thanks to stacy and Steven and Cassandra. I owe all of them forever. And I will never stop being grateful. It's my time to rebuild this ruined world. Me and sparky and my people can. It is us versus the world and I like our odds.

 

Finding my brothers- Against all odds are group made it. We rebuilt are hideout on the top of my old hiding spot. It was amazing how we all came together and really made something out of nothing. But I knew there was something holding me back. I wasn't in the right state of mind. The group knew this and sit me down and asked me what was the problem. I told them that I was still curious about the location of my brothers. I had two older brothers who had both moved away not to long ago. Both lived in Chicago and from what I have heard from the rest of the commoners and the settlers who pass, it was apparently blown to pieces. So I don't have no clue whether or not they are alive. But it was bothering me and the group knew this. So we sat there for hours contemplating what I should do. And we all knew what I had to do. But it was far too risky. I mean a bomb dropped not even a Mile away from the city. I couldn't imagine there is any life left in that city that isn't obliterated. But I couldn't not know. So I was the first one to say it. I said I would travel to Chicago. And see if there is any life left. Including my brothers. It was dangerous and I knew that I was probably going to die. But I had to know. So I told them that I was going to set out for the city in a week or so. And they all said no. But I convinced them why I needed to go. And even though they were pissed at me they knew it was the right choice. So a week went passed. And nothing to my surprise went wrong. It was like the calm before the storm. And I was heading straight into the eye of the storm. Just before I left for my journey. People started to talk about my odds. And the things I will see. They said these things called ghouls will be there. Whatever the hell that is. They all said that Chicago is gone there is nothing even there. These were all rumors.. That people told me to get me out of going. I was to focused now to not go.

Finding my brothers part two- well it was finally the day to set out on my ventures. I was scared to tell the truth. But there was nothing I could do about my crippling fears. But conquer them and fight them back head on. Right before I left the sanctuary. One of the group members grace stopped me. She told me about how her parents were in the south side of Chicago and she wanted me to go see if they survived. I mean it wasn't that much of a hassle considering the convenience of my brothers living very close to the area in the south that she described.

Ends Here.

(Aftermath was a never posted photo series, this was canceled when that was!)

 

Sorry for this jumbled mess of a post.

I just wanted to have a showcase of my writings over the years.

I hope you all enjoyed.

 

Have a lovely Day.

"What the heck are you doin' in here Johnson?!"

"I'm sorry the door was open and this computer caught my eye."

"Ya well next time ask if you can come in here."

"Okay. I'll get out."

"Ya, and don't expect me to talk to you from now on."

"Wait, I gotta know. How? How did you get this stuff?"

"I'll tell you on the way out."

"Okay."

"Okay you really want to know? You remember Arnold right? Well he and I worked at Wayne Tech together and we working on this nano suit thing. I thought it would be a cool idea to use the suit for fighting crime. A few modifications later and ,boom, I was out fighting crime."

"Wow. Hey uh, you ever think of having a side-kick or something? Like a partner in this?"

"Kinda. But what do you know about fighting?"

"Uh, we took Karate together. I took a year in criminology in college. I've played a hero in a play..."

"Okay, I will think it threw."

"Come on man, we're friends."

"Okay, but you need a suit and a name. I'll have Arny work on something for you."

"Awesome!"

There is a certain something going around the internet right now, where people have the desire to exploit the massive amount of data and information around us in a purposely random (I mean literally random, not, "like, totally random") fashion. For example, there is a thing on facebook where you're supposed to find the fifth sentence on the 56th page of the book nearest you. And now there is the flickr equivalent, where you are supposed to take the fifth image from the fifth folder of your photo storage folder and put it on flickr. And then tag three other people to do the same.

 

I'm not a big fan of these kinds of things, but at least this is a decent venue for it. So here is my fifth image from my fifth folder. The interior of our garage, after returning home on the rainy night of January 2, 2008. I can't remember why I took this photo, but it's clear why I didn't post it: the composition is awful, there's a flash being used (ugh!), and, well, it makes me look like some kind of bike junkie. Even worse, looking at this photo I realize that since it was taken, every single one of these bikes has undergone some kind of alteration -- some major, some just the moving of a basket. The Kogswell there has become an Xtracycle and then gone back to being a regular bike, for example. One of the bikes has been sold. And there's a couple of bikes that aren't even in the photo!

 

I intended to orient this photo correctly even though you're not supposed to edit. But it looks better this way.

 

Anyway, good heavens. Now I've got to go tag some other poor souls so that they can do the same thing. Sorry. I had to do it.

 

I was tagged by cowboy montgomery.

 

I am tagging mplsminx, sandersnyc, and eyesohappy.

 

here are the rules.

  

- go to your main pictures directory (basically the start of where you save all your pics)

- go to the fifth folder off that. if you have everything in one directory, god love ya, and take the 25th picture. post that.

- in the fifth folder, take the fifth picture, regardless of what it is, and post it. no editing. just post it. the ONLY get out of jail free card is if it's you nekkid, and you're shy. if that's the case, move to the next picture where it's not you nekkid in that folder. if the fifth file in the fifth folder is another folder, go into THAT folder and take the fifth file from there.

- post a link in the comments of this picture.

- tag three more people with the instructions above because, you know... if you gotta, so do they.

TRP - What's your Angle?

 

So David aka Pikespice tagged me the other day (like last week) and I keep forgetting to do the 10 random things about me. So before I completely forget (which I have before, sorry), here you go...

 

1. I have a small fear of elevators, I will never live or work in a high rise building. It's a whole claustraphobia thing, but the movie Speed did not help at all. lol

2. Don't bother telling me that Speed was just a movie and that will never happen, because I'm not listening.

3. I hate spiders. and I'm ony mentioning that because I see one crawling on the carpet. eww, I gotta go kill it now.

4. I'm a night owl. I hate waking up early, me & mornings don't get along.

5. There are things about our house that are driving me crazy, and making me wish that we had looked a little more and not just jumped on this one.

6. Crap I see another spider on the wall! Dammit! See, I don't like living surrounded by so many trees

7. We don't have tv right now - not cable or an antenna - and I'm totally loving it. 1 less bill to worry about, and we're not just sitting in front of the tv every night. frankly I'm shocked that Jeff's enjoying it too.

8. I weighed myself this morning - and it was even after I had a chocolate croissant and a coffee for breakfast! - and I lost 5.7 lbs. in 7 days. I can't believe it, but I guess it's because I've had a cold this week.

9. and because of that cold, I was especially lazy all week. Tuesday I watched 5 episodes of Parenthood, and 1 of Glee. and Wednesday I watched some episodes of Glee and played farmville on facebook all day. seriously lazy...

10. my original idea for my last picture is out so I have to think of something else...

 

That was hard, it took me like 20 minutes to do that! and it's not even that interesting...

  

.

  

THE OUTSIDER (PART NINE FINALE)

 

SOME SAY TRUTH IS HARDER THAN LIES

 

.

 

Have you ever noticed how a story, no matter how uncomplicated, becomes bigger and bolder as it passes from mouth to ears along a chain, crossing borders, strolling through towns and navigating frontiers, until it reaches the mouths and ears of subsequent generations. I wonder if my story will ever be told, to live on in the annals of history, a growing legend ever more elaborate and violent. Something tells me that the truth of the matter is a little less romantic than such notions of fancy, and just like my bones, my story will be blown away by the winds of time. But you are still journeying with me, awaiting the conclusion of my tale of retribution and mayhem, awaiting my fate just as I do.

 

I guess you could say that the end has finally come for me, and doubtless none too many of you who read my sorry tale of woe will shed a tear for the passing of one so cruel and heartless, no matter the fact that he saw the error of his ways and tried to change. I guess the old saying stands true this day, once a gun slinger always aa gun slingernd maybe tryin' to run from the reality of your standing in this life is as shallow and futile as runing from a rain cloud as the thunder clap strikes overhead, when in the end, it'll get you by it's very nature. For the killin's I committed there can be no excuses, no vindication, even though some of them sons of desert snakes got what they deserved, and now I face the moment of my death as so many have at my own hands. I wonder, can a man really hope to change his ways when a lifetime of blood and fists have shaped the very pathway on which he treads. Can a black soul truly see the light? Can a broken heart mend? Do we pay a penance for all eternity for sins omitted in this mortal life? If I had the answers to all or any of those questions, I would surely have laid down my guns long ago in exchange for paying crowds waiting on my every breath.

 

With Frank Curtis screaming in a world full of pain and lyin' in a river of his own blood, and the town doctor powerless to help the dying man, I feel a certain sense of satisfaction as my own life passes before me. My eyes are blurred now, and mind kinda fuzzy as recollections, fact and fiction guide me on a one way ticket to oblivion. Somewhat spoiling the ambiance of the moment, I feel the sharp connection between scuffed leather and the bones of my face as a hired hand plants a boot in the centre of my skull. Head against the wooden wheel, with neither room to move nor chance to brace against the full impact, my nose cracks like dry timber as it shatters under the pressure though strangely only the inconvenience of a faint stinging sensation troubles my dying seconds. I guess I'm beyond pain now as the cold barrel of a handgun sits three inches from my temple. My nose busted and open, blood spewing from the gaping wound like a waterfall in spring. A shaking hand thumbs the hammer as it clicks back into place with a definite resonance, my mind slipping into black and white for the very last time, slow motion as images dance like pretty town girls across my mind.

 

The doctor, all fingers and thumbs, a barrel of nerves as he fights a lost cause and bows to the inevitable, rises to his feet and pulls his spectacles from his nose, rubbing them incessantly on his shirt to clean the blood spatter away. His bearded skin turns grey as he gestures to the last men standing that their beloved boss is about to dance with the Devil, and he backs away slowly towards the undertaker who has emerged like a spider from it's lair to ascertain the gravity of the situation and ready a wooden box and a mound of earth. Such is the way of life and death in the West. As Curtis breathes his last breath, my revenge is complete and through a hazy fog of dreamlike delirium I swear I can see Elizabeth, Zac and Eli running towards me across a cornfield lush and yellow. Now ain't that just the cutest of sights, hell I must dreamin' again. I gurgle and smile, arms involuntarily stretching out as in the distance, on a tall hill there sits Grey Wolf of the Cheyenne, resplendent in al his Injun finery and daubed facial paint, atop a proud looking Wa Ka Liva who nods his head and stamps a hoof defiantly into the ground. No longer lame, and the years have shed to back in the days when he was strong and oh so beautiful. I do believe I may have a tear pooling in my eye, or maybe it's just the dust as I sit here, I don't know.

 

In and out of consciousness, I catch a glimpse of the kid's face who holds the ridiculously shiny forty five to my head, a bag of tremblin' nerves, affeared of the kill, gulping for air and looking around him all the while for guidance, though in truth most of the fellas he be lookin' for guidance from now lie dead all around him like dogs in a yard. You gotta hand it it to me, single shot kills all and every one of 'em, the stuff of camp-fire legend if I do say so myself. Memories flood back to my tortured mind, of that first face, the look in the eyes of the boy I killed in his ill fitting Confederate uniform on the battlefield in the great war. No more'n thirty years reached between the two of us, spouting rhetoric we little understood, fighting for principles we couldn't even spell. Families divided, brother on brother, murdering for a bunch of ideals and a handful of glory. When I shot that boy, barely recognising his dirty skin and red eyes of angry blood-lust as those of my own cousin, I unleashed forces beyond my control, and embarked upon a journey of self destruction towards the very gates of oblivion at which I now find myself standing. Killin' is killin' and blood is blood, and the false hopes and shallow deceit of war don't make it any easier to swallow. Except that in my case, I lived for the kill. The moment when the eyes of your victim glaze to a hazy white and the life done drained clean outta them, the actual second when you can see and feel their soul rise right outta their bones and drift slowly onwards to wherever it's final destination lies. To me, a form of poetry. That really does you in, don't it? That a man could enjoy killin' so. When the town preachers tells us of the precious gift of life, all the while they live in the shadow of the gun and the pockets of the corrupt who run the place. Well, I ain't lied to you so far, and I ain't about to start now.

 

Perhaps I haven't been quite honest with you throughout my story, and maybe for getting this far with me, I owe you the truth, seein' as I'm about to die and all. See, if you're still searching for a reason for me to have turned out the way I did, if you're thinking that my upbringing had a part to play in the debauchery of my miserable life, then I guess you'd be right, though it pains me to say. A twelve year old boy fed up to the gut with a drunken father's beatings, and a mother who turned a blind eye for fear of her own life, attending church every Sunday with a swollen face and pride, placing money in the box and smiling at the preacher who turned a blind eye on account of my daddy's social standing in the town and the money he donated to church causes, and my mom still believing in the good in even the blackest of souls. And my father lived a life of two men, the one that the townsfolk new and loved, and the real man behind the mask. Tommy lee, my bestest friend when I was no more'n a nipper, well, Tommy lee was me. And his father was mine. In truth I never had no friends from my childhood, just running from the beatings my papa gave me when he wasn't running the saloon bar and acting all fancy with the townsfolk. I killed that son of a bitch one day when I found him standing over my mamma's bruised and bloodied body, laughing at her and finding amusement in her crumpled body as she cowered like a little child. He calmly turned around and told me:

 

" You gotta learn from this son. They will test you some, and they will push you to your limits unless you show them who is the boss, who decides what is right and what is wrong. You gotta be strong, and beat the bad right outta their hides ". Something inside'a me snapped and years of abuse at the hands of a monster came to a violent head. My mamma tried to apologise and took a hold of his bleeding hand which had inflicted so much hurt and pain, and for her efforts he began punching her with his fists, like she was a genuine threat when the reality of the situation was a woman with a kind heart the likes of which you cannot imagine. That cut me inside for all the lies she'd told to cover his guilt. I hit him with a shovel, stone cold knocked him unconscious with the first strike, though the blows continued until I was exhausted of limbs and I could no longer see nor recognise that bastards facial features. Taking his gun, it took all of my strength to cock the hammer, and fire. It was then that, for the first time in my life I truly saw a person's life fade away before me, and after that it was never so hard to kill again. And my mother, God rest her sadly deluded soul, cried at his burial and mourned his loss like a dutiful wife aoghtta, as I fled to the comforts of the civil war and violent ways which would shape my life forever more. There, now you know. Once you've killed yer own kin, a line has been crossed and there ain't no goin' back, ever. I never saw my ma again, using the civil war as cover to disappear and start a new life away from my past. I sent her money once I was earning for my violent ways, and I visited her grave where she was laid to rest next the rotting corpse of the man she still loved, the man she had always loved. Ain't that the darnedest thing you've heard? I guess I'll never understand women.

 

Grey wolf taught me that death was an end to life on this earth, and yet the start of life for the soul in whatever was the next world inhabited by spirits, and that the journey would be long and painful, as the soul moves Westwards along the sky path for those who have not lived a decent and righteous life. And here I am, a lifetime of sin and no prayer feathers to tie around my forehead, no yucca suds to bathe my flesh, no belongings other than my guns and the pocket watch I gave my eldest boy, no feathered prayer sticks. I look up at the kids face again, standing over me with his gun poised to put me out of my misery. Can you God damn believe it, I ain''t even got the chance to tell how I was put out of everyone else's misery by a mean son of a bitch from the hallowed legends of the wild west. I'm going to be snuffed out by a pimple faced nobody who's just about to piss his own britches on account of me being his first kilin'. Life just ain't fair now, is it? I try to lift my head and look at the kid. “ You just gotta believe in yourself boy, and squeeze that old trigger slow and gentle, like gently touching the skin on a lady. You've been with a lady haven't you boy”. He nods his head and swallows hard. He pulls his left hand round to cup the gun and steady his nerves, the barrel swinging in the breeze enough to completely miss me should he thumb that ole' trigger any time soon. I can see the impact as the trigger is pulled and the hammer strikes the shell, a flash of light igniting in the barrel as the bullet is propelled at breakneck speed. It slices through my skull, but I feel no pain. Muffled voices sound in my ears as the bullet ricochets inside my brain. My vision deserts me, replaced by a light that grows in strength and brightness, brilliant white as a soothing feeling washes over my body and I'm left standing in that cornfield with Elizabeth walking towards me. I reach out and for the first time make contact with her, able to feel her warmth, her skin and bones against mine as we embrace and kiss. She smells so sweet and fragrant, just like she always did, just like I remember.

 

Can a man be forgiven for the deeds of a life lived on the dark side of what's right? I truly thought I could walk away from my sins, to begin afresh and bathe in the love I shared with my family. I guess in the end we all have to pay the price, we're all accountable, and I can't expect forgiveness for what I've done. As the light burns my eyes, Wa Ka Liva strides towards me and bows his beautiful head as I climb up into the welcome leather of my favourite saddle. Gently taking the reins, I pull to the left and we are back home on the ranch, Grey wolf and my sons on the distant hill. My horse and I gallop together, roping cattle and stirring up the dust.

 

I am home now, I am free and my kin and me will be together always.

  

.

 

THE END OF 'THE OUTSIDER'

 

.

 

Written January 6th 2009

 

Photograph taken on the Halaupai ranch on the West rim of the Grand Canyon, Arizona, USA on September 24th 2008

 

NIKON D300 50mm 1/250s f/5.6 iso200

 

Nikkor AF-S 18-135mm f/3.5-5.6G ED IF. UV filter

 

A long and rambling reflection ...

 

I saw this sign on one of the Newport Cliff Walk's chain link fences on the way back to the car, and it struck me as incredibly funny. Of course these mansion folks would equate their attempts to keep out the riff-raff with whacking a dog with a newspaper. "Bad plebe! Down! Down! No treats for you! Go to your plebe house!"

 

I haven't talked much about all these ostentatious displays of insane wealth left over from the Gilded Age and what I think they all mean in the Age of Trump, in part because I've been saving all that up for a post I now find I don't much want to write. You start talking about economics, and it quickly turns political because everything's political these days, and all that's become so heavy and exhausting anymore. Also, we're sort of in "basic survival of the Republic" mode here and don't really have the luxury of fighting over economic theory at the moment. But the Gilded Age mansions illustrate a kind of uncomfortable reality today's ruling regime doesn't want to think much about. They don't, in fact, even realize this reality exists.

 

But a big problem with the Gilded Age was that unimaginably vast quantities of wealth wound up concentrated among a very small number of people, and that kind situation is never stable for long. The last couple of thousand years of history will tell you it's the kind of thing that leads to revolutions. In the case of the late 19th century, it wound up toppling a few European aristocracies while at the same time ushering in a world-wide depression that lasted right up until a big war waged by a bunch of fascists elected in response to the dire economics forced a spending spree that pried everybody back into something kind of resembling wealth. Of course, this is all an oversimplification, and it's possible the planet could have pulled itself out of the economic tailspin caused by wealth imbalance without killing a hundred million people in Europe and Asia. But we didn't. We don't. That's not how this ever plays out.

 

And now here we are, doing the same thing all over again. Because that's what we do. A smaller and smaller number of people are absorbing a larger and larger percentage of the wealth, while everybody else sinks lower and lower. The pastry magnates get ready for some modern Marie Antoinette to let the rest of us eat cake.

 

Now, despite what my mother-in-law might think, I'm no communist. I don't begrudge the wealthy their fancy houses or unnecessarily expensive cars. Communism fails because it requires the people in charge to act against basic human nature, to suppress the greed we're all born with in favor of a commitment to a greater good. And while you can often find a few smart people who will do that, eventually the reigns of power will land on somebody normal, and the entire system will be gobbled up as personal wealth. Capitalism's strength is that it works with those basic instincts instead of against them. The concentration of wealth and power takes longer, because there are a lot more people fighting to grab what's "theirs."

 

But I'm no great capitalist, either, because that concentration of wealth and power still happens eventually, and the entire system still routinely threatens to collapse within itself. Sure, it's great to be a rich widget tycoon, but after a while the widget tycoons will have all the money and none of the plebes can afford to buy any widgets. You can't just let the thing run itself, because it will inevitably run itself into the ground. As much as the modern regime leaders will tell you laissez-faire is the key, you gotta have some limits.

 

(As a side note, I'll mention that I kind of hate the term "neoliberalism," because too many people don't know what it means. In modern America, the terms "liberal" and "conservative" have come to mean "Democrat" and "Republican," and I've seen too many people vote Republican because they claim to hate "neoliberalism." I know this seems absurd, but it's true. And we're not in an era where you can explain that to anybody and have them believe it.)

 

The solution, then, falls somewhere in between. I say let the magnates make their money, and if they make enough to buy a gaudy mansion, so be it. But you can't let all the wealth just sit there in that mansion. You have to redistribute it. You have to force an investment in society. In nature, any functional closed system is a cycle, and if you want the rain to keep falling, you have let the water go back into the sky. You have to keep money flowing to the poor in order to have some to flow back to the rich. And there are certain sectors of the economy--health care being among the most significant--that just don't work as commodities, so you have to force communal investment. You have to have (GASP!) socialism! At least a little of it.

 

Of course, that's not where we're going, and I don't see much likelihood of us shifting course. We're going to pick the other option and dive deeper and deeper into our Second Gilded Age, and the wealthiest will keep whacking the rest of us with their newspapers as they yell, "Bad dog!" At least until all the dogs bite back, and God only knows where that will go.

 

Modern mansions tend to be more cheaply made, though. I don't imagine that once all the revolutions and wars are done, there will be much left for people to tour. Mar-A-Lago doesn't even sit on a cliff. It will be swallowed beneath the risen sea.

Oh of course I would choose Landon. What did you people expect?

Thank you Mattie for tagging me :D

 

1. What was your childhood like?

Pretty fun, actually. Aside from the whole "no parents" thing...

 

2. If you could go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?

That's pretty deep for the second fucking question... but... you know.

 

3. How much do you weigh?

I don't fucking know, too much? I think I've gained weight...

It's all those "munchies" binges...

Hehe...

 

4. Have you ever loved and lost? I'll bet it was your fault, wasn't it? Tsk tsk...

Sorta, yeah...

 

5. What do you do for a living, and why?

Hehehe...

Let's skip this question...

 

6. What kind of music do you listen to? Do you play any instruments? If so, which ones?

Oh fuck, I listen to, like, everything. Mostly heavy metal, I guess... and yeah, I play drums and guitar... and I know a little about pianos.

 

7. How old are you?

17, bruh.

 

8. What is the most annoying thing in the world?

Assholes who interrupt my private time...

 

9. What is your favorite word?

Toke *sticks out tongue*

And you were doing so well, I'm dissappointed...

Hehehe...

 

10. Do you have any interesting hobbies?... other than smoking weed...

Aw shit... uuh I play in a band... and uh...

This is difficult for you...

*laughing* Shut the fuck up!

 

11. What's the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you...?

One time this chick [bleeep]ed my [bleep]...

..the prompt tells me to ask for more but I don't want to know...

Good, 'cus I ain't tellin' *winks*

 

12. Everyone has an adrenaline fix, what's yours?

Pissing off the Ginger-Cu-

OK let's move along

 

13. What do you do to relax at the end of a long day?

Alright, I've got a fucking schedule. First, take a few hits from... whatever I feel like using that night, you know, gotta keep it interesting, keep yah guessin.

Mhm...

Second, take off my pants. This step sometimes comes first, but only if I'm wearing skinny jeans. Third, whip out my [bleep] and jerk it to some [bleep] getting her [bleep] [bleep]ed.

How profound...

 

14. Do you have any obsessions?

...naw, obsessions are for crazy people.

*cough*Stella*cough*

Shut the fuck up! *blushes*

 

15. What is your nationality?

'Merican! Like I should be!

 

16. What languages can you speak?

English, a little bit of Spanish and a bit of Hebrew.

 

17. If you could own ANY animal in the world as a pet, what would it be?

Aaw fuck man, I'd have a panda. They're so fucking chill...

 

18. What do others think your best quality is?

I dunno, my dick?

 

19. Who do you consider to be your hero?

Probably my older brother... I guess?

 

20. Have you ever been in a fight? Did you win?

Course I've been in a fight! A few, actually... heh... next question?

 

21. What's a random thing you find yourself doing every day?

Masturbating. *nods*

 

22. SPEED FAVORITES GO! Book, Movie, Game, Food, Drink, Color!?

Oh holy fuck ok... um... I don't fucking read, The Human Centipede, uh... pizza?...Red Bull, blue... that's everything, right?

 

23. Where is your house located and what is it like? Do you live alone or does someone live with you?

I used to live in California, but now I'm stuck in shit-hole Maine in a house (it's a mansion, btw) full of assholes.

 

24. What is the most sentimental thing you own and why?

Two things. My beanie and one of my pairs of drums sticks. Both belonged to my brother.

 

25. Are you in a relationship? How's it working out for you?

Uh... it's complicated.

 

26. What's the worst you've ever been injured or sick?

One time Stella kicked me in the balls so hard I couldn't walk right for a couple of days and they went all black and blue...

 

27. What scares you the most?

Uh... I dunno, giant squids? Those are pretty fucked up, you ever seen one?

 

28. Something random about you that people don't know?

Uh, I'm Jewish? I had a bar mitzvah when I was 13 and I usually wear a yamaka under my beanie...

 

29. Do you have any pets?

Haha nope but I could, if you let me have your pussy *winks*

Oh please God tell me this is over soon...

 

30. Okay that's all! Thank Christ! What did you think of this interview?

It was fucking stupid. I'm out of here.

 

Pardon the rude language, I couldn't resist making him... silly? XD;; Someone should tag me again, because I really enjoyed this tag and would love to do it for another character XD

19 OCT 12

 

Everybody throw your hands in the air and wave 'em like you just don't care...because...it's FRIDAY!!!

 

I decided on Tuesday of this week (solely because it didn't occur to me on Monday) to start a pep rally online for all my friends until we made it to Friday. So all week long I've been posting song lyrics and dance moves scrolled together to make a sentence, to help motivate us to have fun, dance, be crazy, and know that Friday and the weekend do fast approach. It was funny because everyone just started getting into it and waiting for the next post. So I posted one big one today with the inclusion of a music video with 50 of the greatest dance/club songs of 2012. Quite awesome if I do say so myself. It reminded me of the old jobby job, where I used to come in blasting music to get everyone pumped and there was always that one person that was like, what's wrong with you dancing and singing around at 8am in the moring, and I'd get them out of their seats and get them to feel my vibe. It just put everyone on the right foot in the morning. No time for griping, or I wish I were in bed, its time for today, whatever day that may be, and yesterday's troubles, belonged in yesterday! Granted, I'm human, I don't feel peppy everyday, but I try to start off my day on a positive note, say my little thank-you's to the universe for having a roof over my head, and food in my belly, and then get it going.

 

Today started off real well. Nothing beats hopping on a scale (if your a girl, don't know about the guys), and finding out you've just dropped 2 lbs for the week. I put a crap load of sweat equity in this week, and its nice to see it paying off big time. I know yesterday I felt defeated just a tad because I didn't complete the the entire high intensity workout and had to stop at the hour mark, but all you can do is try, right.

 

Started this morning off with a shopping trip to pick up a ton of frozen fruit. I just discovered H-E-B is charging literally half the price for their frozen fruits vs. my usual grocery store. This is awesome, because I make recovery smoothies for everyday I workout, and that is a lot of fruit, so I saved some money. Then I went to Subway for Breakfast slash lunch. A couple weeks back I was doing Friday anything goes day, meaning it was the one day a week I allowed myself to indulge in all the junk food I loved, but I never felt good on Saturday knowing I just consumed a ridiculous amount of crap food because then it was like, do you know how hard I've worked out this week to just eat crap like that. So now I maybe have like a candy bar, or in this case, bacon on my subway sandwich. I'm determined ya'll. I really am. The fire burns within me. Look at those eyes man...its there.

 

Hopped in the car, and guess what, two of my favorite songs were on, and I did the dancing in the car, singing loud, crazy person thing. You gotta let loose and have some fun people. It'll keep you young :o) Anyway, Happy Friday to you all. May you enjoy the day, your friends, your family, your pets, or whatever makes you happy.

 

Here were the lyrics for today: AWE YEAH, IT’S FRIDAY-what-what, it’s Friday,-what-what, I don’t care if Monday’s blue, Tuesday’s grey and Wednesday too, Thursday I don’t care about you, it’s Friday and I love rock and roll, put another dime in the juke box --oh baby baby, now what am I supposed to do, but get up out of that funk, and dance until we feel better, now stop, roll, wiggle with it, cuz it makes you say hey Mickey your so fine, your so fine you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby, here we go, now I’m at a pay phone waiting to call home, because I’m wide awake, and the weekends here, so we can party down, where’s the party, with the lights out, it’s less dangerous, here we are now, entertain us, but you don’t have to call, its okay ‘boy’ cause I’mma be alright tonight, tonight, there’s a party on the rooftop, top of the world, tonight, tonight you don’t know how much you mean to me, wherever you are, you know that you can lean on me, no matter the situation, uno, dos, tres, catorce! IT’S FRIDAY NIIIIIGGGGGHHHHTTTTT!

I've been hiding in the shadows for a little while now - It's been a bit since I've posted anything and it's been even longer since I've expressed any feeling in the form of a blog. Man I've got a lot on my mind and I think this is going to end up longer than I had anticipated, to the point where I may break it up some for tomorrow, we'll see - time to let it flow, so read along if you'd like. grab a beer, grab a coffee. thanks for hanging out.

 

1. Artprize: obviously the big one here and the all consuming, all media loving, crazy intense art contest that has spread into the very being that is every person within the greater Grand Rapids area - I cooked dinner in my own home tonight for the first time in over two weeks. I participated this year and had a lot of positive feedback from a lot of great people. I installed a series of nine images that I am incredibly proud of and would not have done or edited any different for the restaurant that I have them in. A TON of people were able to walk by them and see what it is that I am capable of doing. The images fit so well into the space I have them in, I overheard many people say that these must have all ready been here - not part of Artprize - then move along. Is that success or failure? Does my seamless transition from Italian restaurant to Art on the wall of scenes of Italy work too well? I had a lot of great conversations with people of all walks of life and I shared a lot of drinks with people and made some new life long friends potentially. I can't say enough about the relationship between the artist and the venue. That helped a lot - I did about 99% of the work that needed to be done, but my venue owner let me and wanted me to do all that. Not that he didn't want to do it, but he wanted to make sure it was done correctly. I respect that - I'm good with that.

 

I am really really happy with my craftsmanship on my installation. By no means did I get a chance to view the other 1261 artists that were competing in the event so I am not speaking for everyone here, but man my stuff looked a hell of a lot better than much of the similar genre photography that I saw out there. No one else did Italian imagery - I'm referring to the classic nature of my approach. The clean lines. The feeling of another place. The mood of a past setting. Tooting my own horn, but man I feel I should have gotten more attention. That attention was tough to come about though - I'm showing in a restaurant that only seats 55 people, it's quaint and small but filled with life. On an average week night there might be 10-20 patrons at any given time throughout the evening. Starting on tuesday, it was pretty busy but once the whole thing started, the room was maxed out at 55 people with a line out the door - it was incredible. Were they all there to see me? No, but many were. The majority were looking for a great place to eat that was not fast food and would not break the budget. From Tuesday to Saturday the place was jammed, 55 at a time. I was there for much of the time and if any of you know me, I love to read body language and non verbals and am usually pretty spot on. Everyone was too intimidated to slowly walk around and look at my work. They were missing the message, the images were there but they were not being seen. I watched people walk in, see the crowd, then walk out all week. I saw people look into the window, see the crowds, and avoid the restaurant like the plague. I don't blame them, I would have done the same. It was too much. A photo friend of mine, Lynell, had a great series of photos in a great venue across the street in a wide open format where 55 people were walking by every few minutes, not every hour. She had a great response and was ranking very well in the top 100 for a long time and may have even finished ranked by the time the top ten was done. I really wonder how I would have fared in a space like that? On Sunday, the kitchen of my venue was closed but the door was open for the art only. I pulled all the tables into the middle of the room and created an easy loop for everyone to walk through, put on a little classic rock, and let the masses in. It was my best day for viewing. I watched people come in all day - some really enjoyed it, some were in and out in 30 seconds. But those who did it slowly really made me feel great. I watched so many people stop and study the work, ask questions, talk amongst themselves - and vote. That felt great. I really enjoyed that - it filled me with warmth.

 

2. It's not all about the votes. It's about walking the walk and being seen. Again, those that know me know that many times I really hold nothing back when it comes to anything I want to talk about - except art. I cannot self promote as strongly as so many did. There is nothing wrong with it if it is done tastefully and appropriately but so much of it was not. I could not bring myself to do it. Prior too I did make every effort I could to get the word out that I was partaking and I wanted their support. I mailed fliers, I stuffed mailboxes, I send emails and facebook events. Once it started and ArtPrize was being covered 4 times a day by all the locals news channels, I stopped promoting. And I'm not sure of the local mega-bar that employs over a hundred and forced all of it's employees to wear t-shirts of the owner's wife's likeness printed on it with her voter numbers. Poor taste. Maybe it's the athlete in me, more specifically the runner - but I always went by the phrase talk with your feet. I was a cocky bastard, don't get me wrong. But at the end of the day my feet let me be that way. It's no different with the art, I'll get myself fully immersed, but I will not tell lies and try to put on some show that I am a superior artist. I'll make my artist statement then let you decide for yourself. If it's not for you then it's not for you and vise versa. If you do like it, then tell your friends. Not enough people told their friends but I made some great contacts. The show will be up for a minimum of eight more days so there is plenty of time to meet more great folks. I look forward to it - I welcome it. Next year I am going to do everything I can to make sure I'm able to secure space in a non restaurant/bar setting and hopefully be in an area filled with other comparable art - not stacked on top of each other, and not in a parking lot. I really feel strongly that my presentation this year would have gotten more attention to the point of registering in the rankings had I been in Old Federal or 45 Ottawa. I'm confident in that. Coulda. Woulda. Shoulda. Insert cliche here blah blah blah. But I wasn't in those venues and my venue owner got the return back on his $100 entry fee before the event even started. I am very happy with it, so is he. My work is beautiful and it is better than so much of the other displays out there. That statement was said with my feet and a straight face. But at the same time there are a few pieces out there that I am humbled to be a part of in the same contest. Many of which made the top ten, many did not. Many that made the top ten are items that you wouldn't even slow down to look at in your local flea market craft show.

 

3. I'm not here to point to the failures and flaws. I knew it was going to be like this from day one. I am a dreamer but I am also a realist. I will not dwell or hang my head. I am proud of everything that I have done and I am proud of what my future holds for me - and that future is bright. My wife and I made great new friends and are seeing things in a whole new light. We are entering a world where both of us get to spent the majority of our free time doing what we were supposed to be doing, what we are meant to be doing. We have something on our plate that might be bigger than we can chew right now, but we have pretty big cheeks - and can pack a lot in there. The future is bright for her and I both. We might both be not exactly in the place today that we thought we would end up, but Artprize and it's amazing lifeblood that has become the networking mecca that it is, has opened the door to the path in which we were meant to follow. There is a plan in place, there is route, and the next gigantic hurdle is dead in front of us - but we can do it.

 

thank you for taking the time to read this. It felt good to get it out, I gotta get this out more often....

have a good night - say hi sometime soon.

-pg

All episodes can now be found on their own Flickr page located here: www.flickr.com/photos/200688024@N05/

 

(Picture and story credit to @Jim Ayashi)

 

Part 4

 

It feels weird having to leave this place behind, never thought I would have to after all I've gone through here, but I guess one thing is for sure, the only thing that was going to make me leave this place was a disaster wrapped in a catastrophe with a viral outbreak bow tying it all together. Shittiest leaving present ever if you ask me. Taking a look at the good Dr. Glorybeard he is concentrating hard on the road ahead, can't say I blame the guy, this car looks like it cost a small fortune to afford and maintain, guess thats what happens when you buy a classic like this. It's a fine car, not like some of the hunk of junk beaters I've had in the past, but then again I never really cared as long as it got me from A to B.

 

He's pushing the car hard, weaving through traffic like butter, looks like something has him pissed off, then again if my wife was missing during all of this I would be pretty pissed too. Having that thought I look down to my left hand at the fading ring scar on my finger, I do miss her, it's been a few years now and still got no idea where she went, I just woke up one day with a folded note and her rings on a side table.

 

'Sorry, I can't do this anymore, I gotta go, Always, Abigail' with a red lipstick print and a little scent of her perfume to remember her by and she was gone. "They still here?" I hear Finn ask faintly over the wind rushing past my ears, I turn to look at him "Sorry, what you say?", He leaned to the side a little and rose his voice "They still here? Your partner" he give a quick nod to my hand, I ball my fist up and sigh a little and reply loud enough "Only in my head", I sit back in the passenger seat and recount a few memories of her.

 

It was a whirlwind romance, we were married for about a year or so, partners in crime and love, it was a time I won't forget anytime soon, before I could continue my thoughts the car came to a screeching halt jolting my body forward unexpectedly, the pain in my ribs reminding me of the handiwork of the rookie cop and is jumpy trigger finger. I turn to Finn and I'm about to say something to him, when in the background I see TV's in a pawn shop window, all of them displaying the local news, there's a chopper flying over the bridge out of the city, it's fender to fender cars, trucks and anything with wheels you could think of covering the damn thing.

 

"Looks like we got a problem" Finn says looking straight ahead, I turn to look to see there's been an incident up ahead, several cars are piled up on top of each other and those things are attacking anything that moves, "That's not our only problem, our main way out of the city is a no go" and point over to the TV's in the pawn shop window, he looks over and sees for himself, He slams the steering wheel a few times "FUCK".

 

It's not the news he wanted to hear and I can see the cogs in his brain turning to try and figure out what to do, This isn't great, someone took a big steaming shit on our plans of escape and locked the door behind them. I think back to some of the jobs I've pulled with the old crew, rattling my brain trying to think, if we needed to get out of town, how did we do it without taking the bridge? I gather my barrings and take a look around,

 

I look behind us and try to remember what routes are back that way, The Esper Bypass is a no go, way too far to go and that's headed back into the city, what about the Red Light District? Ugh probably not, there was diseases floating around that place that would make you itch just walking a few blocks from there......Hang on.....What about Arklay Pass? I turn back around in my seat and think how far away it would be. It's not that far but the road looks like it went 12 rounds with mother nature and got its ass handed to it, but with no other options that I can think of, I turn to Finn who has his head down running his hands through his hair and I let him know "I think I can get us out of here".

 

His head snaps up and looks me dead in the eye, theres a little glimmer of hope there for Glorybeard, "Where? What street? Tell me!" This is the first time I've seen him lose his cool, again, can't blame the guy but I give him a grin and tell him "Arklay Pass, It's not far, road is beat to shit but that's the best I got" he turns and looks out ahead of him and nods a little, he puts the car into gear and starts to drive "Take this left coming up" without a word he turns the wheel and heads down the street.

 

"We're going to have to take a few back streets and alleys but as long as we can make it to Arlington Road we should be alright" I can see him shake his head a little, I know he doesn't want to get his car banged up but we don't have many options, "How do you know of Arklay Pass?" well this is fuckin' awkward, what am I going to say to him 'Yeah I robbed a bank once and escaped the cops using Arklay Pass and we had a picnic in the forest?' pretty sure he'd shove me out the car there and then, "Been up there a few times hiking and camping" Camping? Fucking camping Raven? What the hell am I thinking. "It's a good spot for a hike and get a clear head" Finn replied. Well Fuck, that worked, didn't expect that.

 

"Oh take this right here, it's going to get a little tight but we'll make it" The first of some of the tight roads was coming up, I knew he wasn't going to like it but what other way can we go? The roads are filling fast but they will lead us to Arlington and out to freedom, Well it should. "OK, Hold on tight" Finn says narrowing his eyebrows, I think he knows what coming and he's determined to get us there one way or another. He slows the car to take the corner, he pulls into the tight street, we hit some luck for once, it's pretty clear other than a few trash cans and empty boxes, he's making sure not to hit anything he doesn't need too, and I'm still in no real condition to get out the car and move all this crap out the way.

 

I hear noises above us, there are some people running down fire escapes, some of them holding bags and others just running for their lives, "Take the left here, there should be enough room for you to turn" I tell Finn, he looks at me "Right, got it" he says, "No, Left" I joke with him, he cracks a little smile and points further up "Hey look, I can see your house from here" I turn to see where he's pointing too, A dumpster with the top open......Well played Finn, well played.

 

I chuckle and shove his shoulder playfully "Fuck you dude" he laughs and makes the turn, into the ally, it's the last stretch but we have another problem, another large dumpster, left across the ally, it's not far away from us, Finn tilts his head a little in hopes he might have room to get through the gap, but even I can tell there's no chance he's making it. "Think you can handle that Raven?" he asks, I pout my lips a little and judge the pain I'm in compared to the manual labor I'm going to have to endure, Christ I hope that thing ain't got much in it. "Yeah, I think I got this, been looking for a new place to live" I say stepping out of the slow moving car, I hear Finn chuckling "Make sure they have an En suite, you'll need it in your condition" what use am I going to have for a French Raccoon?

 

I make my way to the dumpster crossing our path, I take a look around it to make sure there's nothing on the ground that will bring it to a sudden stop "Sweet, clear path" grabbing hold of the handles I tug and move the dumpster, Well this is heavier than I thought it would be, collection day must be coming up. Having moved the dumpster out of the way as it thuds against the wall, I call it job done and should be just enough room to make it. I wave Finn forward checking the side of his car against the dumpster as he has his head looking over his door to check the clearance between the car and the wall. I hear a loud snarling and growling, sounds real close, I tap on the hood of the car.

 

"C'mon Finn, I hear one of those things close by and it sounds hungry" Finn looks up to me "Ok, Ok, almost got it" he replies as he starts turning the wheel towards me and pulling away from the wall, I hop over the door and land in the seat and landing with a thud......that was louder than I thought it would be, Have I put on a few pounds?. Finn brings the car to a stop and looks over his shoulder towards the back of the car making sure that he didn't scuff the back fender, I check down the other side of the car to make sure he didn't hit the dumpster, "Nothing my side" I say to Finn over my shoulder "Nothing here either" Finn says bringing his focus back to the front of the car. "So what was it?" He says to me, we hear the snarling again, right, behind us, our eyes widen a little as we both slowly turn to see one of the creatures crawling up the back of the car towards us.

 

We both let out a shout and a scream, Finn put the car in gear and hits the gas, jolting us both in our seats, the creature however has different ideas and grips onto the body of the car, how I got no idea. Finn tries to shake it loose, kicking out the back left and right, but the creature is gaining more hold on the body of the car and getting closer "GET THAT FUCKING THING OFF THE CAR!!" Finn shouts in a panic "GOT IT JUST GET US TO ARLINGTON" I turn around and climb in the seat trying to keep my balance as the car starts picking up speed.

 

The creature is reaching out to me and I'm trying not to topple on top of Finn while he's driving, I manage to find my footing and grab hold of the head rest of the passenger seat, I ball up my fist and punch it in the face repeatedly "Off....Off....Off...Off...Off....Off" with each punch to it's face it barely seems fazed and reaches for me again, Finn hits a bump in the ally which drops me down a little, The creature grabs hold of my shirt, gripping onto me like a vice "OH FUCK NONONONONO" Finn hears this and looks up at me briefly "HURRY, WE'RE COMING UP TO ARLINGTON" he yells in a panic.

 

This thing is gnashing it's teeth at me, and reaching up with it's other hand, I'm scared, panicking and trying to figure out how to get this overgrown trash panda from making me it's next meal. I suddenly realize, the gun down the back of my pants, While trying to hold off the putrid smelling asshat from taking bites out of me, I reach into the back of my pants and grab onto the grip of the gun, taking it out, I see Finn look at the gun then back to the road, I don't know if he said something as this thing is inching closer to my face, I grip onto the remnants of it's shirt and stick the barrel of the gun in its mouth "Eat this Motherfucker" and pull the trigger, sending the back of its skull and brain matter into the wind and ally behind it.

 

One round unloaded into its head and it falls limp onto the back of the car, I drop the gun onto the seat as the limp corpse falls into me a little "HOLD ON TIGHT" Finn yells, I know what's coming, A sharp right hand turn onto Arlington Road, I push the corpse onto the back of the car and dip down to hold onto the headrest again and brace myself for the turn. Finn slams on the brakes and turns the wheel, I hold on for dear life as the force of the turn batters my body.

 

The corpse flies off the back of the car across a few lanes of traffic and gets plowed by a gas tanker, which makes it swerve at the impact and start to lose control, I follow the tanker with my eyes as further down another car comes out of nowhere and smashes into gas tankers driving cab sending it out of control. The back side of the tanker kicks out into oncoming traffic and swipes some cars off the road then topples over, the cars following the tanker on the same side hit it and the whole thing explodes in a massive fireball. My eyes widen at the sight of what could have been mistaken for a bomb going off, I sit myself back into the passenger seat moving the gun onto my lap and putting my seatbelt back on. I see Finn looking in the rear view mirror then turning his head to me, I look back to him trying to look as innocent as possible. "Little excessive, don't you think?" he says to me in a deadpan manner. I shrug and reply "Well.....he won't be bothering us again......Oh hey our turn is going to be coming up".

 

"So where did the gun come from?" Finn asks me, I had to replace the one I got from the police station and if it's my own piece, there's no harm in that "Got it from my place, got some other stuff too" I tell him hoping that'll end the line of questions I know he's going to ask me "Other stuff?" he replies, well got that one wrong, didn't I? "Yeah, should help us along the way, just in case" this is so damn awkward "In case of what?" Finn asks inquiring on how far I'm stretching the bullshit excuses "Errmm...bears?" Bears? Seriously? I can feel Finn's raised eyebrow from here despite the fact I'm not looking at him, I can tell he's smart enough that he's putting two and two together and he's getting four, while I'm giving him twelve as an answer.

 

"Well, I'm not going to ask, but just know if you try to mess with me, I will break every bone in your body, AND name them off as I do it", Holy shitballs doc hadn't even crossed my mind. "Education via pain, got it" I joked and looked toward Finn, he wasn't joking. Well fuck. "Finn, look, I know that I'm not the ideal person to have along side you, but I promise you, I'm not looking at screwing you over. You've saved my life and I owe you that much in return" he listened and nodded. I looked towards the road and the turning was coming up so I let Finn know we had to hang a right. "Got it, hang tight" Finn sternly said as he whipped the car to the right sending us around the corner and headed where we need to go, Arklay Pass here we come.

 

It didn't take long for the road to start showing us how fucked it was, the car was dipping in some of the pot holes, we heard the under side of the car scrape across the tarmac. As Finn concentrates on avoiding the potholes, the roar of an engine behind us gets louder and passes us, two women on a nice looking bike, got a nice view from back here, I ain't going to complain at the occasional booty on a bike. Following the engine we heard the sound of a loud cracking and a small rumble, Finn already started slowing the car down, another crack and rumble this time louder, as a cloud of dust kicks up from the middle of the road, all the traffic ahead of us comes to a grinding halt. Finn brings the car to a solid stop and immediately gets out of the car and reaches for his baseball bat, I start to get out of the car to see what the fuck just happened, I get to my feet standing at the door and between the lanes of traffic I can see a big part of the road has collapsed in on itself, And I don't know if it was the painkillers making me see things but I'm sure I just saw a suitcase flying into the hole.

Let me confess to you all something in my behavior today that made no real sense at all. Something I think I've secretly known I was going to do for a while.

 

I never owned a Rat. I didn't have any experience with them until I started building them and kind of fell in love with the circuit, mostly because of the LM308 opamp being such an unruly, crappy opamp. I built my first one primarily because it was the only pedal in Jeff Beck's rig when I got to (briefly) meet him in 1989.

 

The Turbo version took me longer to discover. I can remember making fun of store displays for these when they came out. "Oh, it's like a Rat, but it's TURBOCHARGED!!!" Of course, the Turbo is the coolest Rat. I had no idea what the story was back then, but they have red LED clipping diodes and it just completely improves the circuit, IMO.

 

That said, I have a Retrosonic Distortion that's a Rat clone with three clipping options (including Turbo) and internal trimmers for bass and treble response that no Rat ever had. It's also true bypass. So superior to the real thing in pretty much every way. I also have at least two of my homemade clones that are pretty cool, including one with six clipping options and four compensation capacitor options.

 

Despite all that, I've been really wanting one of the old Turbo Rats from the 90's for a while now. I guess it's been like a sick fetish item for me. Gotta mess with a real one. Of course, I want to play it, not collect it. So I've been looking for the right candidate. There seem to be two kinds of these that pop up. There are the mint ones with the box and all assorted paperwork that cost enough to pay for a weekend in Vegas. Then there are the ones that look like they've been thrown at the wall nightly.

 

This one recently popped up, though. No box, but in remarkably decent shape and the price wasn't completely insane. Pot codes put it at 1991. So I looked at it every night for a week and then the monster whispering in my ear finally coerced me into buying it. Now I just have to tell my wife.

Rock Your Body

by Justin Timberlake

 

Don't be so quick to walk away

 

Dance with me

 

I wanna rock your body

 

Please stay

 

Dance with me

 

You don't have to admit you wanna play

 

Dance with me

 

Just let me rock you

 

Till the break of day

 

Dance with me

   

Got time, but I don't mind

 

Just wanna rock you girl

 

I'll have whatever you have

 

Come on, just give it up girl

 

See I've been watching you

 

I like the way you move

 

So go ahead, girl, just do

 

That ass shaking thing you do

   

So you grab your girls

 

And you grab a couple more

 

And you all come meet me

 

In the middle of the floor

 

Said the air is thick, it's smelling right

 

So you blast to the left and you sail to the right

   

Don't be so quick to walk away

 

Dance with me

 

I wanna rock your body

 

Please stay

 

Dance with me

 

You don't have to admit you wanna play

 

Dance with me

 

Just let me rock you

 

Till the break of day

 

Dance with me

   

I don't mean no harm

 

Just wanna rock you girl

 

Make a move, but be calm

 

Let's go, let's give it up girl

 

See it appears to me

 

You like the way I move

 

I'll tell you what I'm gonna do

 

Pull you close and share my groove

   

So you grab your girls

 

And you grab a couple more

 

And you all come meet me

 

In the middle of the floor

 

Said the air is thick, it's smelling right

 

So you blast to the left and you sail to the right

   

Don't be so quick to walk away

 

Dance with me

 

I wanna rock your body

 

Please stay

 

Dance with me

 

You don't have to admit you wanna play

 

Dance with me

 

Just let me rock you

 

Till the break of day

 

Dance with me

   

Talk to me boy

 

No disrespect, I don't mean no harm

 

Talk to me boy

 

I can't wait to have you in my arms

 

Talk to me boy

 

Hurry up cause you're taking too long

 

Talk to me boy

 

Better have you naked by the end of this song

   

So what did you come for

 

I came to dance with you

 

And you know that you don't want to hit the floor

 

I came to romance with you

 

You're searching for love forever more

 

It's time to take a chance

 

If love is here on the floor, girl

   

Hey

 

Dance with me

 

Yea

 

Come on baby

   

Don't be so quick to walk away (Don't walk away)

 

(Come on and)

 

Dance with me

 

I wanna rock your body (Let me rock your body)

 

Please stay (Come on and)

 

Dance with me

 

You don't have to admit you wanna play

 

(You don't have to admit you wanna play, just)

 

Dance with me Just let me rock you (Do do do do)

 

Till the break of day (Come on and)

 

Dance with me

   

Talk to me boy

 

No disrespect, I don't mean no harm

 

Talk to me boy

 

But I can't wait to have you in my arms

 

Talk to me boy

 

Hurry up cause you're taking too long

 

Talk to me boy

 

Better have you naked by the end of this song

   

Don't be so quick to walk away

 

(Just think of me and you)

 

Don't be so quick to walk away

 

(We could do something)

 

Don't be so quick to walk away

 

(I like the way you look right now)

 

Don't be so quick to walk away (Come over here baby)

   

Are you feeling me?

 

Let's do something

 

Let's make a bet

 

Cause I, gotta have you naked by the end of this song

All episodes can now be found on their own Flickr page located here: www.flickr.com/photos/200688024@N05/

 

(Picture & Story credit to @JimTellervo)

 

Part 3

 

With my head tipped back getting some more rest on the couch, the quiet of the room was broken by a door bursting open and slamming shut, shocking my eyes open, I can hear the sound of heavy breathing followed by a guys voice yelling for "Dazey" over and over again, that voice from earlier that's gotta be Finn, and who the fuck is Dazey? I shuffle on the couch a little sitting up some, I see Finn walking over to me, looks like he's giving me a look over, don't worry still not dead. "Did anyone show up while I was gone?" he asked me, not unless they heard the sound of the monster piss I was taking and ran off....No. I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head, probably not the answer he was looking for but there wasn't another one to give.

 

I watch Finn walk across the room and sit on the step on the other side of the room he looks up and speaks to me "How are you feeling? Are you managing OK with the pain?" I can see Dr. Glorybeard has a lot on his mind and he's trying to distract himself from whatever is going on in the upstairs department, I start to sit up and give a little nod "I've been better man, it doesn't hurt until I try to move." leaning back on the couch getting comfortable again. "That's good at least. It just means you need more rest." I just gave a little nod, I don't know if he saw it or not but I do see him leaning back on the steps before I hear him speak again "So, do you have a name or do I start calling you dumpster guy?" I hear the question and the laugh that followed it, I couldn't help but crack a smile, I tried to laugh but the pain turned it more into a grimace "You can start calling me Raven" I reply back while trying to get comfortable again. "Well Raven, it's nice to officially meet you. I suppose you must be hungry, I know I am. Would you like something to eat?" damn he knows how to throw a party, drinks, drugs and food the good doctor has got his bedside manor down to an art form. "Yes, Please" I answer trying to relax a bit, might have to inquire where he got those funky painkillers. I hear some clattering of plates coming from the kitchen, out of the corner of my eye I see a small red light flash on the TV, sweet, entertainment to boot? I'm down for this, but not for the blaring siren that came from it, the pain seemed to have vanished for a hot second as I sit up to pay attention to the TV as the picture springs to life.

  

"THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST......PLEASE STAND BY

 

Ladies and gentlemen, we have information of the current crisis running throughout the city. As an outbreak of incidents of mass numbers of the public being attacked by creatures of unknown origin, the creatures in question attack by biting their victims and feeding upon their flesh. Medical experts are saying if you are bitten by a one of these creatures, you are to isolate yourself at the earliest possible time. If anyone has been bitten they will show signs of infection including loss of energy, high fever, coughing, and bleeding from the eyes and nose, if anyone you know has any of these signs or has been bitten, it is imperative that they are isolated and contained as soon as possible. The CDC is being mobilized along side armed forces to help with the evacuation of the city, If you are not infected, you are advised to leave the city as soon as possible."

  

Holy sweet Jesus titty fuckin' Christ, did I just hear that shit or did Finn find the gun and put one in the back of my head? People eating people, friends and enemies alike, cats and dogs getting along, total pandemonium. OK this is next level bullshit if I ever heard it, They said it was an infection or some shit with fever, bleeding and loss of energy? Hell, no wonder Dr.Glorybeard nearly left me behind looking pale as I was with blood on my hand, I'm surprised he didn't off me there and then. Then I hear Finn speak, "OK he's right, we do need to get out of the city. It truly is hell out there and I don't know how long we will survive if we stay here. As much as I want to stay and wait for my wife, it isn't wise." his wife.....So that's who Dazey must be, the owner of the lace undergarments, he speaks again "I think we need to stick together, you're in no shape to be fighting one of those infected, and I'd feel a lot better with you beside me. So I will go pack some things, then I will take you to your place to get your things, that sound good to you?"

 

So let me get this right, people are outside eating ass left, right and center and it's only getting worse, sounds like it's a real fuckfest out there and it's every man for themselves, but Finn is smart and knows sticking together is going to improve our odds rather than going it alone, and headed to my place sounds like a hell of a plan, I know I got some stuff that'll help in a fight, could pick my piece up from there too. Best thing to do is to keep calm, treat this like a job and right now Dr.Glorybeard is on my team. "Yes that sounds good, but we don't have to run all the way this time do we?" I asked, hoping he's not going to have me hot foot it halfway across town, hell I don't know where in town we even are right now, guess I'll figure it out when get outside. I hear him laugh and shake his head "No Raven we don't have to run. We will take the car this time and you can just direct me to your place" Thank. Fuck. The look on my face must have been a good thing cause he left to go see to his shit, me on the other had, I have a fight with some shoes.

 

The battle between man and shoe, leather vs flesh, the advantage was mine, 'cause I was wearing socks, Slipping my feet into my shoes and getting them tied as best as I can manage and find my way to my feet and take a few steps forward, the pain isn't too bad, but I don't wanna push myself too hard, I see Finn looking at me before he speaks "Can you walk?", giving him a nod and slowly make my way towards him he looks over his shoulder at me after putting his bags over his shoulder and grabbing a baseball bat "Right, lets get to the parking lot. We go down the stairs though. There's no way in hell I'm going in an elevator, and this IS hell." What's this guy got against elevators? Is he a fitness freak? Fuck I dunno, I ain't in no shape to put up an argument so I shoot him a nod and follow him out the door not before grabbing my jacket before we leave.

 

Following him around a corner and down some stairs, listening to some of the apartments noises from within, they might have the same idea as us they might even be prepping for isolate themselves if they got bit, poor fuckers. Took my slow hobbling ass way to long to get down these steps, if I didn't get shot then we'd already be out of here, He tells me to stop once we get to a door, he slowly opens it and has a peak out into the parking lot before giving me the iggy to follow him. Giving the lot a quick scan myself, I don't see anyone but Finn is insistent on going from car to car for cover, I guess it must have been much worse than what I was dealing with, I hear a car chirp and orange lights flash, guess that must be Finn's beard-mobile. He opened the passenger side door for me to get in while he puts his stuff in the back, properly seated I close the door with Finn not far behind climbing into the drivers side seat as he looks over to me "Not to shabby to say you have a hole in your chest" buddy, you should see me without the hole in my chest, he continues "Please put your belt on. I'm not joking about us really being in hell. When we get out of here just tell me which roads to turn into ok?" I give him a nod, not able to really speak as the pain in my chest flared up again, with that he car began to roll towards the exit gate, the car comes to a stop and I notice Finn looking at me.

 

I take a look around outside to see where we are, I got no clue, so I scan the distance for landmarks close to my house, and there I see it off to the right, A neon palm tree on a tall white building "Errrrr, Over that way towards the Palm Sands Hotel" point to the right. The car moves off at speed as we head down the street, seeing the chaos on the sidewalks and surrounding buildings, that broadcast had to be put out but the timing couldn't be any worse, almost first thing in the morning and hardly everyone has woken up, some of these guys might have slept through the night not knowing what the fuck is going on outside. "Do you live far from the hotel?" I hear Finn ask as we weave in between vehicles on the road, "No not too far away" I tell him, I look over to him, not sure if he heard me or not but we're making progress, and not too long we've made it to the hotel and the cross roads right next to it, the car comes to a halt, guess this is my cue to get my barrings.

 

It's a little hard to do so seeing so much chaos, this city has gone to total shit but I ain't got the time or the crayons to explain to the local dumbfucks who dare ask if this shit is normal. Taking a look around this place is starting to look a little more familiar, I know my place is not far away, "Go straight up here, it's not too far away now, we're getting closer" Finn's head turns left then right, checking the roads then putting his foot on the gas moving us forward closer to my place, he's being a little more cautious but he's still wanting to get us the fuck out of here sooner rather than later, I must have got lost in my thoughts longer than I thought I had as I see a street I'm more familiar with "Right, Here" I yell out hoping he heard me this time round, think I made the good doctor leap out of his skin as the car goes into a slide barely missing people running across the street "Sorry about that!" he said as the car is headed down the road, keeping my eyes peeled for where my place is, I swear this bullet fucked up my co-ordination and then some, then again I am still recovering and there I see it, The Crescent Motel, rent is cheap and the rooms ain't that bad, got enough to have what you need "Over there, The Crescent that's my place" I tell Finn as I see his eyes clock where I'm pointing just off on the right hand side.

 

He starts to pull the car into the small parking lot and with a sprinkle of good luck, right outside my door, this guy is either psychic or he knows how to park. There are people and a few of those stumblefucks around, I gotta make this quick. "Stay here, I got this" I tell him as I swing the door open and step out of the car, the pain in my chest seems to dull and I focus on getting what I need and then time to leave this shit show behind. Opening the door to my room I step inside and shut the door behind me, looking around at what I will need, Clothes, Shoes, Weapons.....lots weapons, making my way to the bed, I reach under it and pull a bag out and open it's zipper, throwing it open. I open the draws next to my bed and pull out several pairs of socks and underwear, moving over the the drawers I take out a few pairs of jeans and some t-shirts.

 

Under the pile of folded shirts I see 2 small silver keys for my lock boxes, a grin crawls across my face, "Jackpot" I chuckle, swiping the keys and slamming the drawer closed, making my way into the next room, I swing another door open, inside is a small boiler with a large metal box mounted to the wall, using the key I unlock it, brining the door open and before me are my faithful tools of the trade, my pistol, pump action shotgun, 2 boxes of ammo for each, some brass knuckles, and a hunting knife. Criminals sometimes has to do the dirty work, but most of the time they are just for show, but on the rare occasion someone tries to act the hero, grabbing the weapons and ammo I get them put into the bag, with the exception of the pistol, that one stays with me, getting everything packed away, I swing the door open and slam it behind me, I make my way to the car and open the back door and put my bag on the back seat before closing the door then climbing into the passenger seat, and putting my belt on, I give Finn a nod and a smile, "Let's get the fuck out of this hell hole" he says with a firm gruff voice, with that he puts the car into gear and we get the fuck out of there.

 

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===Rigger Residence, Gotham City===

 

Joey entered the dining room by his father’s side; although they lived a modest life, the Rigger family had always ensured that they enjoyed a proper Sunday dinner every week with all the delicious trimmings that their matriarch could conjure up. His father hoisted baby Maggie above his shoulders and placed her into her plastic high chair, then pecked his wife on the cheek.

 

“Mama?” Joey called out, his throat dry. As he approached the table, he noticed it was set for five people, not four; his mother had even brought out the good plates.

 

“Joseph!” his mother beamed back, as she stepped aside to reveal their guest. Joey’s stomach lurched, as he made eye contact with a familiar ginger-haired man. “This is Mr Billings. He just moved in down the hall; he’s a movie star.”

 

“Oh, not a star by any means, my dear, I can’t abide the spotlight... I prefer to stand behind the camera,” Billings flapped his hands about as he talked, prevaricating like an especially dishonest member of the House of Lords. He was dressed in his Sunday Bests; a white dress shirt, an orange sweater and a black tie.

 

“Isn’t he a charmer?” Mrs Rigger smiled. “He’s still getting settled in, so I invited him over for dinner tonight.”

 

“He’s something,’’ Joey scowled. A little too loudly.

 

“Joseph Rigger! Don’t be rude,” his mother chided him.

 

“I- sorry, mama,” Joey slid into his seat, the scolding regressing him into the young boy whose home this was a lifetime ago.

 

“I'm awfully sorry, Dellbert.”

 

“It’s alright, ma’am. Joseph- Can I call you Joey?” Billings asked, well aware that if Joseph Rigger had any say, the answer would be a flat 'no.' “Your gem of a mother tells me that you’re into film. I actually know a little about cinema myself. Even made a film of my own! Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

 

“You’re rotten,” Joey stated flatly, earning him a reprieve from his father. Billings continued undeterred.

 

“Fresh, actually. Certified fresh. Anyway, I was thinking that, after dinner, I could show you one of my old tapes. Dig up some old props. If you’re interested.”

 

“Ooh, Joey, wouldn't that be nice? You're always talking about those Star Treks,” his mother recalled.

 

“Wars, mama. And I don't really like those films anymore.”

 

“Aw, hit too close to home?” Billings grinned.

 

“Nah. They're cheap and they're corny,” Joey said pointedly, staring down their guest of honour. For a brief moment, Billings smile faltered.

 

“Hey, Joseph, how's about you say Grace tonight?” his father asked. Billings watched on with a broad smile; elbows on the table, as he rubbed his palms together.

 

“Yes, sir,” Joey nodded, deflated, as he joined hands with his father’s right and, under duress, Billings’ left, and recited the family’s prayers.

 

“Beautiful,” Billings cheered. “B-U-T-Fool! Now, I’ll take some of those yams, please, ma’am,” he announced, as he greedily began piling up his plate. “And don't think I've forgotten about you l'il lady,” Billings sang, tickling Maggie's chin. “Here comes the aeroplane!”

 

Joey's stomach gurgled, as he watched as Billings sent a spoon of mashed potato Maggie's way. “You know, your big bro flew in airplanes all the time.”

 

“Weawwy?” was the toddler's mash-mumbled response.

 

“Uhuh. Say, Joey. How many planes do you reckon you’ve flown in? How many of them were armed? Broad estimate,” Billings inquired, pouring gravy in the centre of his mashed yams.

 

Joey, didn't respond.

 

“Oops, sorry, I guess I forgot the golden rule,” Billings feigned ignorance. “No politics at the dinner table.”

 

~-~

 

Gar walked upstairs, a match in his hand; as he wandered, he began to realise that the house was his own; the one he had lost when Josie's meta powers first manifested and burned it, and a squad of corrupt Stryker Guards, into cinders. He reached the upstairs landing, then entered his daughter's bedroom; his skin no longer crackled like a well-cooked pork belly, his desire was simple; He just wanted to hold his baby. He blew out the match, approached the crib, then paused. Empty.

 

Suddenly, the lights came on, blinding and sterile, like a hospital's, and when his eyes adjusted to the light, Gar could finally see his Josie.

 

Nestled in the arms of Dellbert Billings.

 

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” he bellowed, his run developing into a sprint, then a charge and finally, nothing.

 

“Ssh,” Billings hushed Gar, as he tucked Josie into her crib. “She’s sleeping.”

 

“Do you know how flammable alcohol is? Cause I do,” Gar hissed, his voice hushed but his blood boiling. “Why don’t I stick a match down your throat, and you can find out.”

 

Billings feigned fear, then glanced at Gar's raised fist. “Who’s the lucky lady?” he queried. Gar stared back confused, then he looked at his right hand; he hadn’t noticed that there was a gold wedding band wrapped around his ring finger.

 

“Jenna...”

 

“Jenna,” Billings repeated. “D'aww... Of course, no self-respecting father would ever walk their little princess down the aisle if there was a scrotum faced groom awaiting her, would he? And it’s not like the bridesmaids would keep their lunches down when you’re sucking face and she’s sucking bacon. That’s the reality. Who wants to face that? The truth is guys like us don’t get happy endings. Only in our heads. And if you find the right masseuse. Hah.”

 

Gar’s fist went forwards, and Billings’ face came away like paper. His head turned back, revealing a featureless, wax-like orange surface adorned with an unsettling black swirl beneath the torn skin and sinew. “How's that for gratitude?”

 

“It’s an improvement,” Gar drawled.

 

“Sure, let's ignore the Elephant Man in the room,” Billings grumbled, peeling back his scalp, his swirling face pulsing as he spoke. “Feeling better?”

 

“Yes, actually.”

 

~-~

 

"Eric, can you get Mikey’s cereal? I left the bowl on the counter. Should be Sugar Spectres in the cupboard," Linda asked, gesturing to the shelf above her.

 

“Sure,” Needham nodded, his voice shaking slightly. He poured out some cereal (the box was nearly empty), then a packet of white powder plopped into his son’s dish.

 

"The hell-?" Needham didn't need to investigate to know precisely what it was; the same powder that had killed his son and girlfriend in another life.

 

'No,' Needham shook his head. 'Not 'another' life; real life.' He put the bag inside his leather jacket for safekeeping, then turned to the purple rotary phone positioned beside the TV, now ringing. 'What now?' he wondered.

 

“You should probably answer that,” a man's voice advised.

 

Instinctively, Needham threw his knife, and it landed in Billings forehead. “Ow," Billings remarked, surprisingly calm given the circumstances, as a stream of fresh blood trickled down his face. With minimal effort, he dragged the knife out of his skull, then ran his finger along the wound, sealing it.

 

"Neat trick, huh? Guys along the boardwalk charge you 15 bucks to watch them put knives down their throat."

 

“Sick bastard-!” Needham snarled.

 

"I said," Billings frowned. "You should probably answer that."

 

Needham grimaced, then looked at the phone. Still ringing. While he watched it, Billings positioned himself on the sofa.

 

“Pick it up. Come on. Come on. Oh, come on, answer it!” Billings sat on the edge, his hands on his knees. Erring on the side of caution, Needham picked it up, not breaking eye contact with his house guest. Then, he heard the voice.

 

“Pop? Is that you-?” His voice cracked slightly. “Y-yeah, I’m fine. We- We’re all fine. It’s just... Just good to hear your voice. Yeah- Yeah, talk to you soon," Needham finished the call, sitting in silence for a few moments, just holding the phone in his hand. Of course, with Billings buzzing in his ear like a housefly, the silence was short lived, as a static-like crackling filled the air.

 

"My, aren't you popular today," Billings beamed, as he gestured to a piece of hardware sat on the coffee table. An active police radio.

 

Needham stood up, then picked up the receiver. “Suspected drug deal in the East End. Looks like LaMonica," the device chirped.

 

“Read you dispatch, over," a beat cop's voice responded.

 

“Hm, sounds important! Seems you’d better swing on over!” Billings suggested, then covered his mouth in faux realisation. "But wait a minute! Isn’t LaMonica the dealer that got you on Ferris' radar? Isn't he the reason little Mikey and Linda are worm food one world over? You don't think- Why, you don't think that if you leave, it'll happen again, do you?"

 

"Do you?" Needham growled.

 

"Well, as a passing observer, I think Santayana said it best; those who cannot remember the past-"

 

"Are condemned to repeat it," Needham muttered. "You son of a bitch."

 

~-~

 

Chuck stood frozen in the doorway, his heart racing. “C-Charlie? Charlie, it's you? It's really you?” he gasped.

 

“Of course it is, daddy, who else would it be?” the child replied. Instinctively, Chuck flung himself forwards, embracing his child in a tight hug, hiding the river of tears flowing down his face.

 

“Daddy, you're being weird,” Charlie giggled. Chuck couldn't help himself, and laughed back. An earnest, honest laugh unlike any he had since- since-

 

Since The Riddler murdered his son.

 

“Woo!” a voice like a foghorn bellowed, ending the tender reunion all too soon. Chuck reopened his eyes and looked up in horror; Billings was standing in the rear doorway leading out into the garden, a pair of metal tongs in hand. He was wearing a long chef's apron, stained with barbecue sauce over a black t-shirt, shorts and garish orange socks. “Look who finally made it! Hey, champ, how’s about you take your kite outside, your old man and I need to have a chat,” Billings tousled young Charlie’s hair.

 

“Ok!” Charlie complied, and he took off, disappearing into the green groves outside, his white and purple kite trailing behind him.

 

“Cute kid,” Billings cooed. “For a corpse.”

 

“Stop,” Chuck pleaded. “Stop this.”

 

“What's the matter?” Billings faked surprise. “I heard you like a garden party."

 

Chuck paused, caught off guard by the emphasis of that word. He looked past Billings, and caught a flash of long flowing red hair, blowing in the wind, attached to a slender figure. Pamela looked back at Chuck, and smiled warmly, blowing him a scented kiss. Billings, let out a mocking whistle. “Did you know she was on Task Force X? Our Presidential Defect's little side hustle? Guess that makes her a government plant,” he laughed. Chuck didn't.

 

“I said stop,” he repeated coldly.

 

“Hell no!” Billings sneered. “I put too much work into these!”

 

Chuck was about to argue, then paused. “These-? Then I’m not the only one?”

 

“Of course not. Don’t take this the wrong way, but this isn’t the Charlie Brown show and this ain’t a Peanuts mag. No, Crane did some cute little psych-evaluations; Zoom put his Rogue-Profiling to work. But Day was the linchpin. His insights set the foundations for this. All of this. ‘Oh, Charlie, sweet Charlie. Why can’t he see that he has been released from the shackles of mediocrity and placed on a path to greatness!’”

 

“That's enough! Whatever Joker offered you cannot be worth it!” Chuck yelled.

 

“What he OFFERED me?” slobber spewed from Billings’ lips. “He OFFERED not to steal my prosthetic and leave me hopping across the freeway at rush hour. All you need to worry about is what I'm offering you,” he spoke, making a broad sweeping gesture with his right arm. “All of this can be yours; I'm sure we can even get you your own Earth, with the right belt. All for the low, low price of Drury Walker.”

 

==The Bowman Estate==

 

Mayo was sat on the frozen ground outside; the grass had begun to thaw from his body heat, wetting his backside with cold water. He didn’t seem to notice. His red gloves lay beside him, as his frigid fingers clutched Jenna’s phone and he entered a sixth phone number into the touchpad.

 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. Pick up, please…” he begged. He’d tried Gar, he’d tried Chuck, he’d tried Joey and Sharpe and Blake. And as he waited for Reardon’s response, he sighed. Still nothing. He looked back up at the mansion, a pale blue glow emanating from its windows. And his mind was made up.

 

~-~

 

Cobb stared at Jenna; his face was gaunt and corpse-like; his eyes were pupilless, white ovals, fixed on her unusual attire and paired with an expression that she couldn’t discern. As he advanced towards her, his appearance glitched back and forth; switching between that of the Bowman, the Signalman, Phillip Cobb as he used to be and the corpse he was now. Jenna’s back hit something and she suddenly realised that she had backed into the wall out of terror. Driven into a dead end by a dead man.

 

“Get back, this screwdriver’s... sonic,” Jenna warned, unearthing a metal rod from her sock; spouting nonsense in an attempt to gain the upper hand. Her fear betrayed her; her arm shaking as she aimed the screwdriver at Phillip's head.

 

“Sonic?” Cobb repeated, a skepticism in his tone.

 

“It... makes a noise,” Jenna said, her voice wavering slightly.

 

“Uhuh. You, must be here to fix the pipes,” Cobb reasoned, undeterred by the minimal threat that Jenna’s screwdriver posed, sonic or otherwise.

 

“The pipes-?” Jenna asked, her brow furrowing, caught off guard by Cobb’s assumption.

 

“Based on your outfit,” Cobb explained, casting his sunken white eyes down at the tool belt around her waist. “And, that there’s a large shit downstairs that just. Won’t. Leave.”

 

Jenna’s lips pursed together. “Ah.”

 

“Well,” Cobb smiled. “You’re five foot one and crying; I rather doubt you’re here as my executioner.”

 

Jenna conceded with a quiet whimper, lowering the screwdriver. As her arm moved, Cobb’s previously playful expression changed. “Ketchup or blood?” he asked, preceded by a prolonged sigh; perhaps more empathetic than he wished to be, as he gestured to a dark stain on the strap of Jenna's overalls. She didn't answer.

 

“Blood, then,” Cobb nodded with an all-knowing frown. “I'm sorry but the man was an idiot. Immensely clever, but socially inept. Ah, but I'm sure you're already well acquainted with the incompetent and insecure inhabitants of the criminal underworld. One of the many perks of the job, eh, Miss Duffy?”

 

Jenna froze.

 

“Or do you prefer Carpenter?” Cobb asked coolly.

 

“Are you going to kill me?” Jenna swallowed after a moment's pause, her beating heart louder than any of the generators downstairs.

 

“Kill you?” Cobb stammered. “Why would I kill you? You've done nothing to me, nor could you,” he confirmed, a genuine sadness in his voice.

 

“Did they?” Jenna pushed, taking a cautious step forward.

 

“Did they what?”

 

“The people of Havenrock. Did they do anything to you?”

 

“No,” Cobb admitted, stepping back. “But I had a very good reason for that.”

 

“Which was?” Jenna pressed the topic, her hand tightening into a ball.

 

“I was dying.”

 

Jenna blinked twice in quick succession as she processed his response. “Well, now you're dead. J Cobbert Oppenheimer. Floating pixels,” she retorted, her voice returning.

 

“Think how you look to me,” Cobb replied, the thinnest smile on his skull-like features. “A short skeleton piloting a suit of skin. On principle, I should kill you for that pun, but I wouldn't want to appear... flippant.” He sat down, and his cape clipped through the seat. Jenna ignored that. “Let’s not barter on an empty stomach. There’s a bottle of Port behind that picture; should be glasses too,” Cobb waved his arm. “I'm afraid it's been open for a couple of decades; it may be a little... foosty.”

 

Jenna stayed still.

 

“For god’s sake... it’s not poisonous. I can’t programme Port.”

 

Accepting his logic, Jenna approached the painting, depicting a rather miserable red-haired boy and his father, and slid it to the left. She poured herself a glass, then offered a second glass to Cobb; Cobb stayed silent, allowing Jenna to realise her mistake by herself.

 

“How does it taste?” Cobb asked quietly, watching Jenna take a sip.

 

“I- uh, I dunno. A little fruity?” Jenna theorised, taking a second, slow sip.

 

“Hm. You can cross sommelier off of your career options. Pity, Jesus could do both; wine and carpentry, that is.”

 

“Well, I'm not Jesus, am I?”

 

“No,” Cobb smirked, a bitterness bubbling beneath his calm facade. “I suppose only one of us has been nailed to a cross and risen again.”

 

Jenna stared into the burgundy liquid and realised she was no longer thirsty.

 

“If your thoughts dwell on Kuttler, they needn’t,” Cobb responded, watching as she placed the glass down on the table beside her, his pale eyes watching the swirling liquid longingly.

 

“Of course they don’t need to, but he’s lying downstairs in a pool of his own blood and I’m drinking Sherry!” Jenna rose to her feet, her nostrils flaring.

 

“Port.”

 

“Who gives a shit!”

 

“From someone who has been dead for one year now, I assure you, he isn’t thinking about you,” Cobb replied, his hologram flickering like a dwindling flame. “Drink.”

 

“I don’t want to.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“It’s... foosty,” Jenna scowled, in dispirited defeat, retreating into the armchair.

 

“They sent you here to disable Billings illusions, didn't they?” Cobb sought confirmation, uncrossing his legs in anticipation of her answer.

 

Jenna rubbed her right eye with the tips of her fingers. “Yes.”

 

“Then they set you up to fail and him to die. You can’t switch it on and off willy-nilly like one of your ‘power’ tools. Certainly not as easily as you might presume. The affected, or infected is perhaps more apt, must make a conscious choice to recognise their false reality for what it is. And reject it of their own accord. Ingenious, really; thank god Billings isn’t around to hear that,” he added as a disclaimer, as if praise of Billings scorched his digital soul.

 

“Taking you out disrupts the signal though. Doesn’t it?” Jenna leaned forward, placing her hands in her lap.

 

“Of course. Of course, it might also fry the delicate minds of those partaking in Billings’ precious little parlour games. A scattered mind can be a terrible thing. It can leave you unable to discern fact from fiction, reality from fantasy. How could you ever trust the one that you love, the one you cherish, when she could be a simulation staring back with empty eyes?”

 

Jenna avoided eye contact, her thoughts on Gar, no doubt caught in Billings’ thrall. “You're lying,” she stated.

 

“I'm not.”

 

“Gar- They're stronger than you could ever know. They'll beat it.”

 

“They might well do,” Cobb agreed. “In fact, I hope so. But they need time, which is the one thing you don't have.”

 

Jenna stood up, this time not out of anger, but determination. “Then help me stop him. You and me, together. We can beat Nygma. Save the Misfits, save the world.”

 

Cobb scoffed derisively. “Now, Miss Duffy; I said I wouldn’t hurt you. I never said I would help you.”

 

“Listen,” Jenna warned. “You wanna sit in your panic bunker-”

 

“That’s downstairs.”

 

“Shut it! You want to hide in here, that’s fine, but I’m not letting him get his three wishes from you, not when one of them could be nuclear Armageddon.”

 

“Oh, please, Nygma wouldn’t destroy the world. He’s too proud to die,” Cobb waved his hand in the air. “Besides, it’d deprive him of an audience.”

 

“But he would destroy you. Right now, he’s downstairs, tapping his keyboard, breaching your firewalls; leeching the life from you. Taking everything that you are; doesn’t that bother you?”

 

“I suppose it should, but if you're trying to appeal to my humanity, you’re a year late,” Cobb was still smiling, but the warmth had left his voice. “I lived a miserable life and I live a miserable afterlife; I lost my autonomy a long time ago. In the end, we all do. We’re all just lines of code, really; social security numbers, PINs, a hundred different forms of insurance we’ll never need. And if you go out there, they will kill you.”

 

“If you stay here, they’ll kill you,” Jenna countered.

 

“I've been dead. I am dead. Either Nygma shuts me down or I shut him out; the outcome remains the same,” Cobb replied, a weariness behind his words. “Perhaps that’s a sign. My sign.”

 

“So, that's it then? What do you think a world run by the Riddler will look like?” Jenna interrogated him. “Because I see him killing everyone who’s ever made fun of him; everyone who didn’t take him seriously, or who didn’t play along; killing everyone dumber than him; everyone smarter than him too, because who needs that noise. And he’ll do it with a bunch of lazy, bullshit riddles.”

 

Cobb cocked his head to one side, pursing his lips. “They are bullshit, aren’t they?” he asked.

 

“The worst,” Jenna agreed.

 

“Hm. Oh, well, what’s the harm in dying twice?” Cobb arose from his chair. “It’s done wonders for Barson. Look at that, even I’m doing it...”

 

“Can’t you just zap him? Lock him out of the system?” Jenna inquired.

 

“I'm afraid not,” Cobb shook his head. “He’s using a backdoor- don’t you dare smile, that idiot Kuttler gave him access.” He hastily added a ‘sorry’ upon seeing Jenna’s expression change at the word ‘idiot.’ “I’d be better off destroying this whole bunker. No, our only advantage is that, right now, Nygma is approaching this 'puzzle' as a programmer, not a neurobiologist. Operating as though he's hacking a computer. Not a brain.”

 

“But that won't last,” Jenna stated.

 

“No. It won't.”

 

~-~

 

“I have to hand it to you; hah, hand, get it?” Billings was goading Ten, as he refilled his glass with the dark bottle on the counter. “You, were the fastest. Took a few, flailing minutes for the others to realise what I'd done; but not you. Guess that makes you the Smartie in a bag of M&Ms.”

 

Ten folded his arms, then stated calmly “You’re going to Hell.”

 

“Rude,” Billings replied, taking a calculated glug of booze for effect. “Rude and blasphemous; in five minutes, I’ve done more for the blind than JC in the AD.”

 

Ten raised a skeptical eyebrow.

 

“Nah, I’ve seen Hell, Tenny,” Billings continued. “I’ve been to Hollywood. Hell, is an invitation to the Oscars where you’re sat between a robot and a gay mummy.”

 

“You’re not exactly endearing yourself to me,” Ten said coolly.

 

“Yeah? That robot told me he fucked my mother,” Billings stated, his cheeks turning pink.

 

Sensing another anecdote brewing and not wishing to further swerve off topic, Ten joined Billings on his side of the kitchen island. “You may do what you like with me, but let the others go; let Drury go. He has a family; children.”

 

Billings chuckled. “Don’t try to trip me up with sentiment. I sold my soul to showbiz. Like you did to the Vatican, huh?”

 

“That's blasphemy.”

 

“And you are a sanctimonious prat. Why would the clown want you? You're damaged goods, pal. A broken toy. An Action Man that's missing its hands, what good are you, out there?” he pressed.

 

“He wanted you,” Ten stated bluntly.

 

“I, am an auteur,” Billings claimed, placing a hand over his heart, a prideful smile on his face.

 

“Now you’re the one fantasising. You’re a drunk and a villain,” Ten argued.

 

Billings scoffed. “Is Woody Allen a villain? Is Polanski?”

 

“Famously, yes.”

 

“And Shelley Duvall cried all through filming, but she still made The Shining. Sometimes, sometimes you gotta make tears to make art. And just you wait. When we're done with Walker, we're gonna get Best Picture.”

 

I think I'll name him Wilford. I have no idea why. It just seems like a good name.

 

turtle.

 

Today's Random Fact - My family almost got thrown out of a bowling alley once. Think about it.. do you know how hard that would be to do? To get thrown out of a bowling alley i mean. We were all pretty "happy" drinking beer or whatever. Except for my poor sainted mother who just sat there and laughed and was occasionally consoled by my sister who also doesn't drink.

 

Anyway.. one thing led to another.. and my brother finally hit a pinsetter thingie with a bowling ball. The bowling alley management came over with the rent-a-cops and asked us to quirely leave. We all just laughed and kept going. Eventually, all the guys that came over and threatened to throw us out sat down and had a beer with us and even bowled a frame or two.

 

Good times. :-)