Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Wow. It's December already.

So, I've been horribly behind on posting. The whole work thing and the holidays and playing video games. I haven't been writing too much lately, either.

There is a waning pile of doom leaving the theatre right now. Lameass school shows.

Frog and I decided we are starting a Nerdcore side project called OC/DC. I think Stephanie may be in on that one, too. Chaz and I are still trying to get Kid Friendly Genocide up and running. Matt and I are only half joking when we say we want to start an outlaw country band called Richard McGerkin and the Rooster Wranglers.

My only time to hang out and play video games is when I should be sleeping. Now, I want to add three bands to the mix. I'm sure that's a BRILLIANT move.

Monday, November 17, 2008

Breaking the border of Dystopia

So, sometimes I wonder why I love movies like Mad Max and Blade Runner. Movies with imperfect futures. Science fiction. The idea that the more we better ourselves, the futher we slip into dystopia. A dark seed in my soul hopes that this is our future. I don't know why. The hope to see a world where government has become corporation and corporation has become government. Maybe it's the opportunity to say "HA! Told you so!" Maybe it's that part of the human psyche that WANTS to see destruction. Tell yourself you don't all you want, we all want to see violence, death, and pain. Why do you think contact sports are so popular? We all want to see someone's knee snap back and bend the wrong direction. Yes, it's dark. Yes, it's a horrible thing to say. Yes, you are lying if you say you don't think that way.

It's strange. Sometimes I wish I could be frozen until dystopia stands. A world where the skies are always gray. Flying cars, skyscrapers that touch space, robots. A world overrun by apathy. I want to go t sleep and awaken in this world...just so that when I can wake up, I can do everything I can to tear it apart.

Then, I remember that I am a writer. I CAN close my eyes and step into this world. All I have to do is CREATE it. Create it, destroy it, create it again. I remember that within my mind, I can create infinite worlds. And, as those worlds die, I can choose if they go out with a bang or a wimper.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

So, it is election day...

It has been said that this is the most important election in history. It definitely should be. But something dark is tugging at my insides. A feeling that it doesn't really matter who wins, this country, the world, is going to collapse. If McCain wins, we will have 4 more years of the same bullshit that has had this country spiraling towards Oblivion for the past 8 years. If Obama wins, the hardcore, right wing, NRA member, zealots will most likely end up assassinating the man and end up starting a civil war which will end up going global and turn into WWIII. So, here we stand. The brink before us is nothing more than a jumping off point. Us kicking our own asses, one way or the other. I suppose now, it's nothing more than "Which side are you on?" But then, I think it's a direction we've been heading in for quite some time. I wish it weren't. I wish there were a middle ground we could all agree on. I HOPE that the sinking feeling in my stomach is just from the years of playing violent video games and watching violent movies and cartoons and TV shows mixed with bad jokes about two men who worked very had to get the chance to run for the office of president. Agree with their point of view or not, they did both work very hard to get there.

Here's hoping I'm just being paranoid. Get out to your local voting location and choose your side.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

The morning of

So, today I turn 26. The act itself doesn't mean much. I mean, what does 26 mean? Squat. Maybe lower car insurance. But that doesn't mean shit. What the act of a birthday means is a night of great food. And this one means LEGO Batman. Yeah, I'm excited about A) a comic book B)LEGOs and C)this particular version is on the Wii. So go ahead, call it juvenile. It makes me happy about getting older to be able to hang out to my youth. And fuck you for thinking everything you do as an adult needs to be the "grown up" and responsible thing. You gotta enjoy life or it'll slip away.

Peace,
Eric

Sunday, September 28, 2008

It's been a GRAND week, hasn't it?

So, after a long and annoying week at work, everything ended with a bang. On Friday, my car started to overheat on the highway and I had to get towed to the shop. Turns out my radiator decided to crap out. That's how it goes sometimes, you know? Eh, I'll figure something out. I have a rental car for the time being.

Peace kids,
Eric

Monday, September 22, 2008

Infinity Beneath the Bulbs

This takes place towards the beginning of the story. Maybe not quite the beginning, but definitely close to it. If you've ever been on a street corner early in the morning, you'll probably understand the world that exists in that particular space and time, and how it sharply contrasts the same place during the day. I plan on Francis being an important figure in the story, but not a big player. We will see how that turns out.


Francis stood beneath the streetlight. Staring out at the great nothing, eyes vacant as if his soul had stepped out of his body and was wandering through infinity. The only sign there was any life in him at all was when he puffed out a thick cloud of gray smoke from the cigarette hanging between his lips. You couldn't help but wonder where his mind was. It had to be somewhere beautiful. Somewhere lush and green and without the pain and pollution and noise of the city. Or maybe he was right there beside himself. Taking in the beauty within the ugliness beneath that street lamp. Always there, on the corner of Cambrian and Montauk.

It was five o'clock in the morning on a Wednesday. We were heading out to the coffee shop he and his sister ran. The corner was the halfway mark. Or close to it, at the very least. It was January and it was dark and cold, and only the cigarettes and flasks of Maker's to keep us warm beneath piled on sweatshirts and old jean jackets.

Sometimes we would stand there in the silence for what seemed like hours. Sometimes he would only pause for a moment. Now he stood, watching the darkness beyond the streetlight's reach. I was startled a bit when he spoke.

"So, I've been thinking..."

All I could do was stare for a second. Wondering if he was going to finish his thought or if he was waiting for me to coax it out of him.

"I'm thinking of leaving this place. This city, I mean. Going somewhere...Fuck, I don't know. Somewhere not." His sentence ending in a finite manner. It seemed like it should have been inquisitively searching for a finishing word.

"Somewhere not what?" I thought it a valid question. After all, anywhere you went was something.

"Shit man, I don't know. Just somewhere not. Not here. Not civilized. Not lost. How the fuck should I know. Just go nowhere, you know?"

I thought for a moment that this was how buddy movies started. One friend suggests they leave and go on an adventure and they see the world and find someplace new or find that what they were really missing was right there in front of them all along. For a few seconds, I thought of Antoinette, then shook it off. But, I knew he would never ask me. Normally, I would be the first to leave and the first he'd ask, I know, but this time was different. This was him saying he needed some time just to himself. Away from everything. EVERYthing.

"I mean, this is all just me talking out of my ass, you know? But, that's for now. I'm gonna have to take off one day soon. I can tell."

"I know what you mean. We've all got something to find. Sometimes you have to search just to figure out what it is you're searching for. Then, and this is the fucked up part, you have to go search AGAIN for what it is you really are searching for." I think it was the whiskey going on autopilot.

"Promise me now, you'll look after my sister and the shop for me." It was a statement, but on the cusp of being a demand. It was something up to me. Something he knew was coming, more than his departure. I agreed. How could I not? He was one of my best friends. I had known him for most of my adult life and I knew that no matter what, we would be until the day we died.

Although I would think about the conversation often, it wouldn't be until just after he was gone that I would realize the sentence did not end with the words "until I get back."

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Philosophical Insurgents

Let's start by saying this is a work of fiction. The characters do not actulally exist, though pieces of them are based on the people I know and pieces are based on how I view the world, people I've met, and how I think it should be. On that note, I should also tell you this is not the beginning of the story. Perhaps it is the beginning of the second act, I'm not sure yet. It is the introduction to the character Antoinette, who may or may not be a "love interest" for the narrator. If there is a love interest at all, so far I think she would make the best, though it is not a love story in the least. It is a journey. The journey we all have to make as pint glass philosophers with high ideals in the idealessness of society in modern America. The occaisional venture into sexual odyssey. Over-caffenated. Sometimes even violent, this is a book of first impressions. I want the story to be viewed by the reader as if they are the new face in the group. The narrator is a mutual friend extending an inviting hand and introducing the characters involved. It is the story of you and I, yet we are not part of it. Fictitious reality.



"The usual?" That voice was so sweet. And the looks she'd give along with it could tear a man in half. The poor sap ordering his morning latte had no idea, but I knew the reality behind those words. Those lips. Those eyes. She despised everything about jokers like him.

Seeing her as a barista always seemed so awkward, yet strangely appropriate. Selling coffee and bagels, yet she couldn't stand the flavor of either. I take that back, she only hated bagels plain or with cream cheese. She did love the shop's aroma, though. That's what she told me, anyway. She loved what it meant. What it stood for. "An uncomfortable drink for uncomfortable silence", she'd call it. Perfect for those morning afters with someone you didn't know or hadn't planned to. Before you say your only good-byes.

We had a lot of those, the two of us. Perhaps it was the many we had shared that caused her to share that view with me.

Sweet, sweet Antoinette. Such a strange name for a 21st century American girl. Still, it was her name. Named for her father's mother, she had told me once. We had both been well under the influence and properly preparing for one of those morning afters we would look back on so fondly. She wore it proudly. Never going by any other name, nor allowing anyone to call her any sort of shortened pseudonym. She was Antoinette. No more, no less.

Most days, that was where you would find her. Behind that bar serving steaming paper cups and soft, fresh-baked wheels of bread. Always in those black V-cut sweaters, just barely showing a birds wing on her right breast in a brilliant blue that seemed more like actual feathers than ink. Or maybe it was just strategic placement. Like the way her auburn hair perfectly framed her face, or the way her eyes seemed more like emerald lakes than mechanisms for mind control.