Monday, April 29, 2019

"MAD About Trump" from MAD Magazine


BOOK TITLE: MAD About Trump: A Brilliant Look at Our Brainless President
AUTHOR: MAD Magazine Staff
YEAR: 2017
GENRE: Magazine Compilation
SUBGENRE: Political Comedy
GRADE: Pass

If you thought Donald Trump’s thin-skinned responses towards SNL skits were childish, I’d love to see how he’d respond to MAD Magazine roasting him like a turkey in this book. I for one got a good laugh out of most of these jokes. Comparing and contrasting him to Burger King’s Cheetoh Fries seemed like the most obvious joke to make, but technically they’re not wrong, especially when they say both Trump and the cheese fries are disgusting dinner conversation topics. There’s a parody of John Lennon’s “Imagine”, a parody of The Apprentice with dead celebrities, a parody of Undercover Boss with Trump as the CEO, basically, there’s no shortage of ways to make Donald Trump look like a complete fool, though he does most of that to himself. If I had one critique from a writing standpoint, it’s that some of the jokes are repetitive and can get stale after a while. Plus, name-calling by itself isn’t necessarily a recipe for comedy. But it doesn’t matter, because whether you’re looking for laughs or you want validation for your hatred of Trump, you’ll get it in this book. Conservatives, on the other hand, would have a raging fit if they saw this, but that’s not always a lethal thing. Don’t feel ashamed for buying this book and enjoying it from cover to cover. If laughing is all you can do to keep from smashing your hotel room Pink Floyd the Wall-style, then I’m all for it. And speaking of which, Roger Waters from Pink Floyd is the only one who’s allowed to build a wall around here. A passing grade goes to this publication!

Sunday, April 28, 2019

Right Here Right Now


VERSE 1
Get your ass out of bed
You ain’t fucking dead
You just want to pretend
You’re at the contract’s end
I will sue your tired ass
If you don’t get your act
Together right this minute
This fight? You can’t win it

CHORUS
Right here! Right now!
Next show! Next town!
You were born for greatness!
So I won’t accept your lateness!

VERSE 2
Chug that can of Red Bull
Until your bladder’s full
Pop those bitter pills
They help pay the bills
Sign your autographs
Share a few horse laughs
They’re your fucking fans
Treat them like your clan

EXTENDED CHORUS 1
Right here! Right now!
Next show! Next town!
You were born for greatness!
So I won’t accept your lateness!
Right here! Right now!
All smiles! No frowns!
I won’t accept mediocrity!
Or this will end in tragedy!

VERSE 3
Do it for the exposure
As you find some closure
With your corporate deal
Your pie in the sky meal
You’re stretched so thin
It’s almost like a sin
How we treat our staff
It’s all just for a laugh

EXTENDED CHORUS 2
Right here! Right now!
Next show! Next town!
You were born for greatness!
So I won’t accept your lateness!
Right here! Right now!
Make me rich! Make me proud!
You can rest when you’re dead!
But you’ll still be in my debt!

"Preacher, Vol. 8: All Hell's a-Coming" by Garth Ennis


BOOK TITLE: Preacher, Vol. 8: All Hell’s A-Coming
AUTHOR: Garth Ennis
YEAR: 1999
GENRE: Graphic Novel
SUBGENRE: Horror
GRADE: Pass

After six months of drug-induced sex with Cassidy, Tulip O’Haire escapes the devious vampire’s clutches and reunites with the one she truly loves, Reverend Jesse Custer. The two of them clear up their misunderstandings and their relationship becomes stronger for it. Now all that’s left is for Jesse to ask around town about how dark of a past Cassidy truly has. Meanwhile, the Grail still have plans to assassinate Jesse. Plus, a certain disfigured recording artist faces backlash for his “controversial” messages. All of this will come to a head in the ninth and final installment of Preacher. But for now, enjoy this violent appetizer.

When I first started reading this volume, I expected it to suffer from the same problems as its seventh predecessor. I thought it was going to be yet another hackneyed drama with all of the “good stuff” conveniently left out. By the time I got to the horsemeat storyline, I was proven dead wrong. In fact, the way those horses were butchered wasn’t at all “deliciously violent”. It was downright disturbing. While I never like to see animals treated in that way, I do appreciate being unsettled and uncomfortable during a series that prided itself on offensive content. The horse butchers were the villains of that storyline, so watching them get their rightful beatings was well worth the discomfort.

That doesn’t mean I didn’t appreciate the dramatic aspects of this graphic novel. On the contrary, I loved seeing Jesse and Tulip back together again. Not only is their romance a healthy one, but they’re also equal when it comes to beating up the bad guys. They’re both good with guns, they’re both vicious brawlers, and they both do their fair share of rescuing each other. It makes Cassidy look even more disgusting when you realize just what kind of a person he really is. He tried to keep Tulip for himself, but Tulip saw right through the lies and put a bullet through his chest. She’s a keeper, but only for Jesse Custer.

Speaking of our dear friend Cassidy, the way his acquaintances describe him to Jesse is another part of the Preacher series that could be considered disturbing. For the first few editions, he was a fun-loving friend who’d never stab his friends in the back. In this edition, he’s described as a selfish jerk who disrespects women, spends money on drugs, and has no room in his heart for love. I hated Cassidy so much after hearing this that I wanted Jesse to exact his revenge right then and there. But that’s what makes Cassidy such a convincing shades-of-gray villain: he can manipulate his way out of any dangerous situation. He’s the kind of creep you’d see on Dr. Phil’s show. Or Jerry Springer’s show, either one would be fine.

All in all, this was a fun little comic book even though it didn’t have nearly as many of the screwed up moments as its predecessors. I have a feeling we’ll get more of those in the final volume. For what it’s worth, I’m looking forward to that final volume. Will Jesse finally put God in his place? Will Cassidy get the comeuppance he deserves? Will the Grail finally assassinate Jesse in a nuclear fallout showdown? What will become of Tulip if she loses her boyfriend again? I legitimately want to know the answers to these questions and this graphic novel put me in that mood. Another passing grade for you, Garth Ennis!

Friday, April 26, 2019

Not Worth the Pain


CHORUS
You’re not worth the pain
I’ve got nothing to gain
From watching you walk away
You’re not worth the trauma
You’re not worth the drama
Tomorrow’s yet another day

VERSE 1
What makes you worthy of my crowded mind?
What makes you worthy of my precious time?
Anybody can wear the shortest of dresses
Anybody can rock the hottest of messes
But only you can break another man down
Get your entertainment from watching me drown
Goodbye, my friend, for now and forever
I wish you the best in your future endeavors

CHORUS
You’re not worth the pain
I’ve got nothing to gain
From watching you walk away
You’re not worth the trauma
You’re not worth the drama
Tomorrow’s yet another day

VERSE 2
I’ve got enough pain in my oversized heart
And you were hardly the end or the start
I’m a sucker for only the tightest of hugs
It’s kind of like being high on opium drugs
Fool me once and the shame goes on you
Fool me twice and it’s really nothing new
I’ve got to kick this habit sometime soon
Before I get locked up like a loony toon

CHORUS
You’re not worth the pain
I’ve got nothing to gain
From watching you walk away
You’re not worth the trauma
You’re not worth the drama
Tomorrow’s yet another day

VERSE 3
Why do I keep on doing this to myself?
Why do I keep on compromising my health?
Why do I form these unhealthy crushes?
Why do I use friendship as my crutches?
Why do you keep coming back in my life?
Why do you keep on twisting the knife?
Why do you keep on breaking my heart?
Why do you like to tear my life apart?

BRIDGE
Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!
You’re not worth the pain!
Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!
You’re not worth the shame!
Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!
You’re not worth the sadness!
Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!
You’re not worth the madness!

Tuesday, April 23, 2019

Kicking Me While I'm Down


VERSE 1
Cheap shot, money shot, what’s the difference?
They both chip away at someone’s innocence
Brick by brick, my foundation crumbles down
The rubble on my carcass weighs a million pounds
Even when life itself has passed me the fuck by
I keep asking myself again what’s the reason why?
Why are these steel toed boots kicking my ribs?
Why is negativity all these fuckers have to give?

CHORUS 1
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
In the head! In the balls!
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
It’s funny as shit when I slip and fall!

VERSE 2
One final pulse beats through my broken body
Yet none of you clowns have found a new hobby
Kicking me around like you own the damn town
And here I thought this ended after the final round

CHORUS 2
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
In the teeth! In the ass!
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
You’ve got no soul! You’ve got no class!

BRIDGE
Maybe if I pull myself up by the bootstraps
Walk a hundred more miles to fill the gaps
Stretch myself a little thinner every day
You’d kick me when I’m down anyway

CHORUS 3
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
In the jaw! In the gut!
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
Giving me bruises! Opening cuts!
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
In the shins! In the ribs!
You’re kicking me while I’m down!
If I’m going to hell, I’m taking you with!

Friday, April 19, 2019

Coffin Crusher


VERSE 1
Wake up from the underground
Casket makes a creaking sound
Time to hunt some fuckers down
Make the Spirits of Evil proud
Step up to the hulking mummy
You ain’t got a chance, sonny
Rip the lining from your tummy
Sell your hide for big ass money

CHORUS
Coffin Crusher! X4

VERSE 2
Let’s all do the dance of death
Psychotic spirits in our heads
We all know how we’ll die
Rotten fist between the eyes
Brains turned to sloshing shit
Hearts roasting on a stick
Flesh ripped up like love letters
Viscous blood tastes much better

CHORUS
Coffin Crusher! X4

VERSE 3
The one-man killing machine
Left behind a genocidal scene
Rivers of blood down his throat
Oceans of tears, where’s the boat?
Mountains of flesh masticated
Hollow corpses exsanguinated
A meal fit for the gods themselves
Bon appetite, see you all in hell

CHORUS
Coffin Crusher! X4

FINAL VERSE
Back to the casket for a deep sleep
Pray the devil your soul to keep
If you die before you awaken
Know that you have been forsaken

CHORUS
Coffin Crusher! X4

Sunday, April 14, 2019

Jealousy


***JEALOUSY***

In the age of social media, it’s easier than ever to compare and contrast yourself to other people. When you see one of your friends on Face Book getting married, you wonder why it’s not happening to you. When you see a Deviant Art buddy getting an ass-load of faves, you wonder why you don’t have any at all, let alone any views. When you see a Good Reads author achieve an average rating of 4:5 stars on one of their novels, you wonder why yours is below the 3.0 mark. The more we subject ourselves to this kind of comparative thinking, the more depressed we become. The easy solution would be to just stop comparing your life progress to your friends.

In the words of whoever sang the theme to Kingdom Hearts, “I don’t think life is quite that simple.” In the writing world, jealousy works both ways. I’ve had authors be jealous of me and I’ve been jealous of other authors. It’s perfectly natural to feel this way as long as it doesn’t consume you and turn you against the people you love. But that’s the thing: it is all consuming. It does eat away at the soul. I even have examples from my own life to prove this.

There are plenty of reasons to be jealous of another writer, but the one thing I envy above all others is the ability to write god knows how many words in the span of one day. Or one hour. Or half an hour. Or fifteen minutes. I get on Face Book all the time and see that this author is bragging about writing fifty thousand words in the span of a week, thus completing their novel. This author I speak of has an ass-load of books to their name too, each with high ratings on Good Reads and Amazon, so it’s not like any of this hard work is going to waste. Me? I consider myself lucky if I’m in the mental state to write a five-paragraph review for a forty page book. My foggy state of mind is a constant source of ire for me, so when I see other authors pumping out novels like hotcakes, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous.

And then there were times when other authors were jealous of me (I can’t imagine why). Those who have followed me on social media for a long time know that I like to write blog entries about vacations I’m going on or rock concerts I’m attending. Last year in 2018, I’ve been to eight different concerts. This year, I’ve already seen three and I have four more in the future. And yes, I’m as braggadocios as the Face Book author who boasts about writing a gazillion words in three days, or whatever the statistic was. Going to rock concerts is something not everyone can afford to do on a regular basis, whether it has to do with work/school schedules, family emergencies, physical disabilities, or just not having enough money for it. So I’m going to try my damnedest to keep my concert talk to a minimum. I’ll still post them as life events on Face Book, but that’s all you’ll get from me.

While it is natural to feel jealous of other people in your life, the one thing you should never wish for is to swap lives with your friends or family. The one thing we all have in common is our pain. When you ask to swap lives with someone you’re jealous of, you take the bad with the good. Suppose you’re jealous of a friend who got married during a seven day trip at Universal Studios. That sounds like a shit-load of fun, but there’s a whole lot going on with that person that you don’t know about. He could be depressed and hiding it really well. He could have mountains of college debt. He could be a pariah in his neighborhood. Just because you see the best version of another person on social media, doesn’t mean you should wish for his life. Everyone has their pain and we all deal with it in our own unique way.

I don’t talk about my personal pain a lot on social media, so when I do it this time around, I hope it’ll ease some of the jealousy you have of my concerts, vacations, or whatever else is going on. You all know by now that I’m schizophrenic, overweight, and constantly tired all the time, right? Now here are some things you probably don’t know. I’ve been unemployed all of my life (except for volunteer work). My mother is having severe mobility issues and needs a walker to get around. I don’t know how to drive a car nor do I own one myself, so I’m confined to my bedroom most of the time. I’m painfully shy in big social situations, so my friends in this town are few and far between. My brother is dealing with bipolar disorder and had a few breakdowns recently. Okay, that’s enough for now. This isn’t a pain contest, but you get what I’m saying. You don’t want my life and I don’t want yours. We all have our own stories to tell and our own destinies going forward. Let it be that way.

If you’re going to be jealous of another person, don’t let it consume your life. The one thing authors need to remember is that we’re one big family who helps each other during the toughest times. This isn’t a competitive field. This is a tag team main event. That’s why I didn’t use names when I gave examples of jealousy, because those people are my friends through and through and I don’t want to paint them in a negative light. We can get shit done together if we put our minds to it. What’s that I always say at the end of my blog entries? Oh yeah, it’s…even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“You’re giving me too many things. Lately, you’re all I need. You smiled at me and said, “Don’t get me wrong, I love you, but does that mean I have to meet your father?” When we are older, you’ll understand what I meant when I said, “No, I don’t think life is quite that simple.” The daily things that keep us all busy are confusing me. That’s when you came to me and said, “Wish I could prove I love you, but does that mean I have to walk on water?” When we are older, you’ll understand it’s enough when I say so. And maybe some things are that simple. When you walk away, you don’t hear me say, “Please! Oh baby, don’t go!” Simple and clean is the way that you’re making me feel tonight. It’s hard to let it go. Hold me. Whatever lies beyond this morning is a little later on. Regardless of warnings, the future doesn’t scare me at all. Nothing’s like before.”

-“Simple and Clean” from Kingdom Hearts-

Suicide Note


Taking away our most brilliant minds
A suicide note is all you’ll ever find
More questions asked than answers given
Not one mere solution among the living
Not one necromantic spell for the night
Not one more song, not one more light
Only sadness and rage, rinse and repeat
Images of dead bodies’ dangling feet
Permanent reminder of a hangman’s rope
Only a bottle of pills to help you cope
Nothing we do can bring them back
True magic is what this world lacks
We lock each other in the tiniest cages
But it won’t tack on any extra ages
None of the tears we drop in pain
Can keep it from being all in vain
Go through the motions for another day
One more light? Who gives a shit anyway?

Saturday, April 13, 2019

No Singular Goal


***NO SINGULAR GOAL***

I’ve been writing novels and short stories for a long fucking time, yet I only noticed today how almost none of my novels have singular goals within the plot. Instead the main characters accomplish smaller goals on the way to a climax that may or may not be part of the linear structure. It’s weird. There are singular goals in other stories, but not mine. In Harry Potter, the goal is to kill Voldemort. In Star Wars, it’s to kill Darth Vader and destabilize the empire. In Lord of the Rings, it’s to destroy a powerful ring by dropping it into a river of lava. In Silent Warrior, the main goal is to…um…In Beautiful Monster, Windham Xavier wants to…uh…heh…In Incelbordination…Oswald Crow wants to…oh, I give up!

Okay, let’s use Incelbordination as an example. At the beginning of the story, Oswald Crow wants a girlfriend, or to at least have sex for the very first time. But then he meets Antero Magnus and wants to rage against the world. Then he sees how coo-coo his followers are and wants to bring Antero to justice. And then once that’s out of the way, he wants to sort out his life and find a real girlfriend again, which he doesn’t do. Does this seem like a cluster fuck to you? I’m sure it does. But we’re just getting warmed up!

For the sake of argument, when I refer to Beautiful Monster, I’ll only refer to the god-awful drive-by abortion first draft, not the rewrite I’m currently working on. Windham Xavier goes on a mission to spy on Shelly Atwood. Then he wants to get away from her. Then he wants to make sweet monkey love to Tarja Rikkinen for no damn reason. Then he wants to keep his job at the formerly known Paladin Cross. Then he wants to kill Orpheus Rinehart. Then he wants to survive and start a new life with Tarja. And then…reasons?

Still not convinced of how crazy my plot structures are? Let’s do the same thing for Silent Warrior. Scott George wants to stop having traumatic visions. Then he wants to stick it to his history teacher. Then he wants to fuck the history teacher’s daughter. Then he wants to get out of jail. Then he wants to graduate high school. Then he wants to be a psychological counselor at his high school. And then he wants to…he, uh…UGH!

These plots would all sound chaotic to any sane reader. Windham Xavier, Scott George, and Oswald Crow have no singular goals that define the entire story. They’re just playing in by ear and changing their minds as new events take place. Are there a whole lot of stories out there with this kind of narrative? I’ll try to think of a few.

In A Christmas Story, Ralph wants to get a BB rifle for Christmas. Then he wants to get an A++++++ on his essay. Then he wants to decode Little Orphan Annie’s message. Then he wants to beat the shit out of Scut Farkus. Then he wants to eat dinner at a Chinese restaurant after the Christmas turkey is ruined by the Bumpus’s dogs. And then once he shoots his eye out, he wants to…he wants to…he, uh…DAH!

In Pink Floyd the Wall, Pink wants to survive life without a father. Then he wants to stick it to his Scottish teacher. Then he wants to grow up and be a rock star. Then he wants to get married. Then he wants to shut everybody out. Then he wants to have a pseudo Nazi rally and then put himself on trial when things get out of control. And then he wants to…uh…Jesus…UGH!

I’m sure there are other examples of chaotic storytelling out there, but I can’t think of anything beyond those two I just gave. Truth be told, I’m not even sure if refusing to have a singular goal in mind is the right or wrong thing to do. I suppose a case could be made that these stories of mine are slices of life, where random occurrences and constant changes of opinion are part of reality.

Think about it for a minute. Does anybody’s life really have a singular goal? And if so, what do they do when it’s achieved? Does their story end right there? Do they live the rest of their lives riding out this goal or do they miraculously have a heart attack and die at the story’s conclusion?  Life is full of twists and turns. It’s not a linear path despite what these other stories tell you. If it was a linear path, the ending would be too easy to predict. But this is just my opinion and I could be missing something here.

I’d like to think that a story’s unpredictability lies within the hows, not the whats. Yes, we know the good guys will win in the end. But if you want to know how they survive these insurmountable odds, you have to read the whole fucking thing. But what if the ending is negative? Again, it’s all about the hows. How did the hero fuck it up that badly and how does life go on now that he’s no longer a factor? With a chaotic plot, you don’t have to worry about these things too much because you don’t know what to expect. You’re looking for the whats AND the hows. But again, this is just my opinion and if someone wants to prove me wrong, I’ll give you all the chances you need to do so. I could be wrong and I wouldn’t even know it until someone told me.

Are there any other examples of chaotic storytelling that I’m missing? They do exist, I’m sure, but most of my media intake comes from linear plots revolving around a singular goal. In Black Panther, the Wakandans want to defend their kingdom from evil forces. In Wonder Woman, she wants to make Ares pay for his sins against her people. In X-Men, Charles Xavier’s students want to keep Magneto from killing all humans despite the fact that humans are prejudiced against mutants.

In Occupy Wrestling (which actually is published), Mitch McLeod wants to win the KDW World Championship. Then he wants to keep it. Then he wants to put his boss in jail. Then he wants to protect his girlfriend from hideous monster wrestlers. Then he wants to bring down his boss’s monstrous empire. Then he wants to…uh…uh…damn it! I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain! What you do once you get to the mountaintop, that’s up to you. I certainly hope that’s not your singular goal in life!


***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

RANDAL: Can’t we do something about those two stoners hanging around the convenience store all the time?

DANTE: Why? What’d they do now?

RANDAL: I’m trying to watch Clash of the Titans and all I can hear is those two screaming about Morris Day at the top of their lungs.

DANTE: I thought the fat one didn’t talk much.

RANDAL: What, am I producing an A&E Biography about them?

-Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back-


***POST-SCRIPT***

While I’m playing the waiting game with Emilio and the Scratching Post (which is finished, by the way), I’ve been keeping busy with reviews of the shortest books I own. You’ll also notice a short story called Goddamn Dog. Well, I’d also like to get back to writing Beautiful Monster during this downtime. I believe it’s been at least a whole month since I’ve touched this project. That’s way too long. When it comes to chapter 17, I’m having a hard time deciding if I should tell the story through Windham’s eyes or Tarja’s. Windham is still in the Shadow Asylum basement being tortured by Kody Savage. Tarja is on her way to rescue him. Maybe I can split this chapter into two parts? Hmm…

"Cecil's Pride" by The Hatkoff Family


BOOK TITLE: Cecil’s Pride: The True Story of a Lion King
AUTHORS: The Hatkoff Family
YEAR: 2016
GENRE: Nonfiction
SUBGENRE: Lion Biography
GRADE: Extra Credit

When Cecil the Lion was heartlessly killed by a trophy hunter, it sparked worldwide outrage and rightfully so. The subsequent debate on animal welfare and wildlife conservation led to new laws being put in place to protect future generations of lions. But to fully understand how important these new protections are, we must first understand how Cecil lived his life as the king of his pride. He wasn’t just a random animal. He was a loving protector and a social creature at heart. May he rest peacefully and may his pride continue his majestic bloodline.

Instead of just a barebones biography, Cecil’s story was treated as an actual story with a beginning, middle, and end. He was portrayed as a three-dimensional character with his strengths, flaws, and lovability. He fought other animals when his pride was threatened and he ran away only when necessary. And because lions like Cecil are social creatures, they bond with other prides for the sake of protection. This is a classic storytelling technique: two factions banding together to fight off a stronger villain. And when Cecil is eventually killed, the reader will care that much more about him. It was already an angering story to hear about on the news, but to see it in this book is that much more heartbreaking. Cecil’s portrayal as a regal figure and a dynamic character in a much larger story is what makes this book special enough to deserve an extra credit grade.

In addition to employing storytelling techniques, this book also has an educational side to it. Because these two qualities work side-by-side with each other, it’ll be a guaranteed hit with students of all ages. You’ll learn why lions are important to Africa’s ecosystem. You’ll learn why they attract so many mates at a time. You’ll even learn a few statistics about animal extinction and why conservation is more important now than it has been in the past. Education shouldn’t stop when school is over. You can get more out of this book than just trivial facts. You can learn empathy. You can learn how to be an activist. You can do some good in this world with these forty pages shaping your mind. Put down the hunting rifle. Put down the bow and arrow. The only shooting you should be doing is with a high shutter speed camera.

Speaking of which, the lion photographs in this book are magnificent to look at. Cecil looks like a proud king when he watches over his families. His cubs look like little cuties when they practice their roars. His lionesses look seductive when lying about with their mates. Cecil even looks alert and ready to protect his pack when he’s doing something as mundane as drinking from the river. The African landscape is more than just a place for wild animals to do battle. It’s a kingdom. It’s an empire. It’s a society that must be protected from the cruelty of guns and crossbows. These pictures do the lions justice a hundred times over. Even the drawings have that kind of power over the reader.

It’s easy to balk at this book for being targeted towards small children. There are also a few who will contrast Cecil’s death to those of aborted fetuses. There are even those who question why lion lives matter to begin with. To those who would easily brush this book aside, I say give it one chance to change your heart. It’s forty pages and it’s mostly pictures. You’re not sacrificing much when picking this book up for a quick read. If anything, you’ll be better off for the experience. Keep your eyes and mind open and you’ll want to give this book an extra credit grade as well.

Friday, April 12, 2019

"Deadly Storm" by Richard Castle


BOOK TITLE: Deadly Storm
AUTHOR: Richard Castle
YEAR: 2011
GENRE: Graphic Novel
SUBGENRE: Crime Fiction
GRADE: Mixed

Derrick Storm is a smalltime private investigator whose recent assignment opens up an entire world of conspiracies involving money transfers and rogue CIA agents. The case starts off with Derrick spying on a cheating husband in a trailer park and continues with calls from CIA Agent Clara Strike wanting to hire him for a bigger job. Derrick is continually backed into a corner every time he thinks he’s in the clear, yet he figures out creative ways to get himself out of these sticky situations. Can he put the finishing touches on this case or will these rogue CIA agents disappear without a trace forever?

I’ve read a lot of crime fiction in my day and I’ve also watched a lot of police procedurals on TV. I know the formulas they use inside and out, front to back, and side to side. While I can’t piece together every single part of the formula, I do know that this graphic novel follows it down to the last detail. It depends on the formula so much that it becomes just another crime story rather than sticking out from the pack. It was enjoyable for what it was, but I’ve seen this scenario play out over and over again with other books and TV shows. Nothing about this graphic novel was original, but I still liked reading it. To put it mildly, this graphic novel was just plain fine. Not great, not terrible, just fine. Mediocre at best.

I wanted to give this book a higher grade when I read the opening line: “I’m not exactly an expert on what functioning adults do.” I know it’s unrealistic to expect that the opening line from every single likeable book should hook the reader instantly, but this is one of those rare occasions when it does. It had so much potential to show how messed up Derrick Storm really is. But sadly, I never got to see much of that beyond him joking about how his dad messed him up for life. In other words, he told the audience rather than showed them, which is a huge no-no in the writing business. Sure, he has nice one-liners here and there, but then again, so do a lot of hardboiled detectives. What makes Derrick Storm special? I can’t think of anything, really.

And while we’re on the topic of failed attempts to be original and cool, let’s talk about the names of the characters for a moment. We already know the main character’s name is Derrick Storm. We also know that his CIA handler is named Clara Strike. But did you also know that the trailer park prostitute is named Sassy Monroe (that’s a pseudonym, believe it or not)? I appreciate solid over-the-top names in my literature, but not when they’re so obvious that it becomes pretentious after a while. I’m not saying they should have boring names, don’t get me wrong. But there’s a middle ground between boring and over-the-top that would be suitable in a crime fiction setting. This is not it.

I’ve been pretty hard in judging this graphic novel, but don’t think for a moment that it wouldn’t make a nice gift for the mystery-lover in your life. It’s a quick read, it’s pieced together without any continuity issues, and it has all the whistles and bells that any detective story needs. If I hadn’t memorized this formula already, I might have a higher appreciation for it. But as it is, a mediocre graphic novel gets a mediocre mixed grade from me.

Thursday, April 11, 2019

"Familiars" by Fred Chappell


BOOK TITLE: Familiars
AUTHOR: Fred Chappell
YEAR: 2014
GENRE: Poetry
SUBGENRE: Cats
GRADE: Mixed

Prior to reading this lovely collection of kitty poetry, I (tried to) read another book by Fred Chappell, a novel called A Shadow All of Light. I had to DNF it because the purple prose and archaic vocabulary slowed the reading pace down. Luckily, I was able to complete Familiars all the way through despite it also using flowery descriptions that left me confused. Most of the time, these descriptions worked to the poems’ benefit. Who wouldn’t want to see kitties with their tails curled prettily around them? Who wouldn’t want to see precious fluff balls snuggling up with their elderly masters? Who wouldn’t want to hear about cats going on neighborhood adventures in search of mice to hunt or other kitties to play with? You’ll get all of that and more in this book. The one poem that really got my attention was the one about the old man who wanted to bag up his cats and throw them in the river. He was so cranky and coldhearted that it was a relief to see that he was the one who got tossed in the river instead of the precious fur babies. Truth is, there isn’t a bad poem in this book as long as you have some semblance of understanding of the oftentimes flowery language. A lot of it flew over my head and that’s why I’m giving this book a mixed grade instead of a passing one. Despite the glaring flaws, I enjoyed the book for what it was. The cats were presented as deities and divas, so that’s always a plus. I feel the same way about my own cat Emilio, who sleeps comfortably on my soft warm beddy-bye. Aww!

Wednesday, April 10, 2019

Muse of the Year 2019


***MUSE OF THE YEAR 2019***

Last summer I wrote a blog entry about how every year I have a new muse to inspire my creative work. Why every year? Who knows? This muse is always female and can be a pro-wrestler, actress, singer, or even a fictional character. My one rule for choosing muses is not to use people I know in real life (at least by internet standards). If these people knew I was crushing on them for creativity, I’d probably get sued or slapped with a restraining order. Pretty extreme reaction, but it’s the likeliest of scenarios. Celebrities or fictional characters only. Fictional characters don’t give two shits if you’re crushing on them. And celebrities? Chances are they don’t even know who the fuck I am. You think 2013’s Muse of the Year Ronda Rousey is just randomly perusing my Deviant Art account or blog to see what I think of her? Bullshit, she ain’t going anywhere near my social media. She’s got a lot on her mind, like trying to figure out a way to get a rematch with Becky Lynch after the botched ending to their triple threat match at Wrestlemania.

Last year’s muse was of course Sarah-Jane Redmond, the woman who played Lucy Butler in the 1990’s TV show Millennium. I’m sure Sarah-Jane is a wonderful human being in real life, but her character Lucy haunted my creative daydreams for the whole fucking year in 2018. If not for her, first draft novels like Silent Warrior, Beautiful Monster, and Incelbordination wouldn’t have seen the light of day. Obsessing over seduction will do that to a creative soul. Considering I’m in the process of rewriting Beautiful Monster from the ground up, I’d say Ms. Redmond was a pretty effective muse.

And now that 2018 is in the rear-view mirror, who’s going to be my muse for 2019? Well, this particular woman has been active in burlesque performances since the early 90’s, so that’s a plus. A burlesque dancer being an effective muse? Who would’ve thunk it? In terms of physical appearances and sexual appetite, this woman shares some similarities with Lucy Butler. In terms of alignment, however, they could not be more different. Instead of seducing young men into becoming mediocre versions of themselves, this muse brings the best out of every man she meets. She exudes class, calmness, and positivity. She’s more than a pretty face. She lives her sexy gimmick in her everyday life. She even joked about bathing in her lingerie. She’d totally do that. Without further ado, let me introduce you all to Garrison Kelly’s 2019 Muse of the Year: Dita Von Teese.

For some this is a controversial decision on my part. I accept that. I’ve heard the stories about her relationship with Marilyn Manson. I’ve heard stories about alleged arrogance. I’ve even heard something about her being proud of having her image painted on a drone bomb. I don’t know the intricate details of those stories and quite frankly I’m not going to try and find out. The Dita Von Teese I know and love is calm in the face of sleazy interview questions. She exits her relationships without lusting after her ex’s money or possessions. Just watching her give interviews on You Tube makes me want to up my creative game. Yes, her negative stories could be true, but before I even have the chance to find out, I’m going to enjoy her image for what it is: classic beauty that never goes out of style.

And as long as we’re talking about blog entries from yesteryear, I’m sure most of you remember one I’ve posted about fan fiction group therapy, where fictional characters talk about their feelings while rocking out to heavy metal and eating high calorie foods. Well, I thought it’d be a crazy, yet good idea to have sex therapy as part of this healing process. Whether this fictional character needs a cuddle session, a back massage, or something more, I’m sure it’ll serve a greater purpose beyond me fantasizing about weird shit. Guess who will be the chief sex therapist at Crystal Mountain, as I’ve called the mental health center? You guessed it: Dita Von Teese. Except her character won’t be called that. Her character will named after a little known Pink Floyd song from the early 70’s. No, it’s not Arnold Layne, you dumb shits! It’s Julia Dream! Mmmmmm, Julia Dream. Dreamboat queen. Queen of all my dreams. She’d make an awesome sex therapist.

So what kinds of works could she inspire with her positive and loving aura? What kinds of stories could I write that would exude happiness, lightheartedness, or at the very least psychological recovery? Well, I’m not so sure using Dita Von Teese as inspiration would have been appropriate for this, but Emilio and the Scratching Post is one such positive story. I plan on submitting it to an anthology called Tales of the Siblings Not-So-Grim. That title alone should be enough to clue you in on how lighthearted these stories are. And of course, it doesn’t get more lighthearted than a cuddly old man kitty looking for permanent love.

But until I get that story cleaned up spic and span, there’s no reason why Dita Von Teese can’t be the inspiration for continuing the new version of Beautiful Monster. I can’t picture her being in the same shadow as Shelly Atwood, though. Shelly seduces men (and women) to their own doom, Dita seduces them to greatness. She could be in the same shadow as either Tarja Rikkinen or Llewellyn Xavier. Well, more likely Tarja because Llewellyn is Windham’s sister and it’d be weird if the elf queen tried to seduce her own brother. This ain’t Game of Thrones, motherfucker. It also ain’t Preacher.

I’ve wondered since last year who 2019’s Muse of the Year would be and now I have my answer: a burlesque dancer who’s more than just good looks. She turns beauty and nostalgia into an art form. And yes, she inspires me to do better in my creative work. It’s almost like I’m trying to impress Dita despite the fact that she’ll never find me online. Hmm….Anyways, I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing Crystal Mountain! And while you’re at it, chug some Crystal Mountain Dew and find your serotonin levels!


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I change my clothes ten times before I take you on a date. I’m in a cold sweat, I panic, and it makes me late. I know you never asked for this. I know my shots will always miss. Does everyone stare this way at you? I only look this way at you. I change my clothes ten times before I take you on a date. I get the heebie-jeebies and my panic makes me late. I break into a cold sweat reaching for the phone. I let it ring twice before I chicken out and decide you’re not at home. Does everyone stare this way at you? I only look this way at you. I never noticed the size of my feet until I kicked you in the shins. Will you ever forgive me for the shape I’m in? Does everyone stare this way at you? I only look this way at you. I want to write you a sonnet, but I don’t know where to start. I’m so used to laughing at the things in my heart. Last of all, I’m sorry, ‘cause you never asked for this. I can see I’m not your type and my shots will always miss. Does everyone stare this way at you? I only look this way at you.”

-The Police singing “Does Everyone Stare?”-

"Preacher, Vol. 7: Salvation" by Garth Ennis


BOOK TITLE: Preacher, Vol. 7: Salvation
AUTHOR: Garth Ennis
YEAR: 1999
GENRE: Graphic Novel
SUBGENRE: Horror
GRADE: Pass

Feeling betrayed by his girlfriend Tulip and best friend Cassidy, Reverend Jesse Custer searches for meaning in the small town of Salvation, Texas. After fending off an attack against an old friend, he’s unofficially appointed sheriff of Salvation. His first big assignment is to do something about the Quincannon meat-packing family, who have run amok in Salvation with no consequences due to the patriarch Odin constantly paying off judges and officials. Jesse Custer cannot be bought or sold so easily and promises to do right by the people of Salvation.

While this installment of Preacher has its share of messed up moments, it doesn’t feel nearly as messed up as the previous volumes. Sure, there’s Odin’s little secret in the meat-packing plant. Sure, the villains are intolerably racist. But it just didn’t feel like the Preacher of old. Maybe I’ve become numb to it all after the first six volumes. Maybe I missed something along the way. Maybe I need to have this particular story explained to me. In any event, this seems more like a drama-driven story rather than a shock value extravaganza. While shock value doesn’t always mean good storytelling, Garth Ennis normally does it in a way that fits with the story perfectly. Don’t get me wrong, this is still a good story, but it’s just not the same.

But for all of this story’s faults, there’s no denying the heartstring-tugging moments that go along with it. This isn’t much of a spoiler since it happens early enough in the story, but Jesse does reunite with his mother after several decades apart. I won’t say how, but it does happen. And when it happens, tears flow from Christina Custer’s face like a running faucet. I’m sure Jesse cried somewhere during this reunion as well. Volume two was where Jesse’s sadistic upbringing and subsequent kidnapping was turned up to eleven. After enduring all of that trauma and never really recovering from it, Jesse and his mother have earned their tears and hopefully they’ll earn the reader’s tears too. This kind of hopefulness is what a dark and disturbing story needs every once and a while. Not too much of it, but this story had the right amount.

It’s also nice to see the sense of community among the residents of Salvation. It’s a small town, so everybody knows each other. I’ve lived in a small town before, so I know what that’s like. Coming together during a dire time of need is exactly what this town needed to feel credible. For years, Quincannon’s corporation has been terrorizing Salvation and getting away with it. It’s about time the citizens got sick and tired of being harassed. It’s about time they took Jesse Custer seriously as a sheriff. It’s about time they realized how badly they’re being wrecked by corporate interests. A nice little rebellion is what this story desperately needed. That too is heartwarming, probably just as heartwarming as Jesse’s reunion with his mother. I wish more small towns in America would stand up for their rights as much as Salvation ended up doing.

While I would have loved to see a continuation of the love triangle between Jesse, Tulip, and Cassidy (drug-induced hallucinations aside), I’m not giving up hope for that just yet as I have two more volumes to read before the canon is over. This was still an enjoyable volume to read, however. Yes, it didn’t feel as gritty as the previous volumes, but it didn’t have to be in order to earn my seal of approval. Imagine if I expected grittiness from every story I read outside of the Preacher series. That wouldn’t be fair, now would it? How does a passing grade sound, Mr. Ennis?

Tuesday, April 9, 2019

Goddamn Dog


As Tim Coleman laid half asleep in bed on a rainy afternoon, he kept wondering why his girlfriend Jade Quinn had “One More Light” by Linkin Park playing on repeat before she left for work in the morning. She wasn’t her usual peppy self. No smiles. No kisses. Not even a hug. Just cold, empty eyes as she left Tim in charge of dogsitting duty. The pouring rain coupled with the dour mood made him curl up against his pillow even more. A pillow was no substitute for Jade, however. He would have settled for Millie crawling up under the blankets. But then…

Something assaulted Tim’s nose like a wrecking ball to the face and had just about as much knockout power. He pulled his nostrils under the blanket, but he could still smell that rancid, god-awful odor coming from the living room. “Oh no…no, no, no…please tell me she didn’t do it…no…no…NO!”

He threw the blankets off of him and stomped out to the living room wearing just his athletic shorts. The harder he stomped, the more rage pumped through his ogre-like body. The odor set his nostrils nearly ablaze as he tried to suppress the urge to vomit. And then he made it to the living room and saw that Jade’s hardwood floors had become a battlefield of landmines. Gigantic, steaming brown landmines with the general herself laying on the ground in guilt. Millie the salt n’ pepper colored Labrador mooed like a cow before unleashing a cloud of toxic gas from her already putrid bunghole.

“Goddamn it, Millie! You stupid fucking goddamn dog!” shouted Tim from the top of his lungs. “I am so sick and tired of cleaning up your fucking messes! You goddamn dog!” Fury and venom poured from the fat man’s lips with every swearing scream. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you stupid dog!” Though he would never go through on such a threat, Millie wouldn’t have known as she guiltily tucked her head.

Tim stomped to the bathroom and fetched the necessary cleaning supplies for a job this disgusting: paper towels, a mop, and a bucket he filled with soapy water. In between retrieving these necessary items, he kept on roaring like the pissed off lion he was. “You goddamn dog! Quit shitting all over the fucking floor, asshole!”

His first course of action was to scoop up all of the dog turds with god knows how many paper towels before flushing them down the toilet separately. Every time he bent over, the odor triggered his gag reflex to where he wanted to vomit himself inside out. While that would be an instant relief to his aching and tired body, it would also mean more messes to clean up. “Goddamn stupid ass fucking dog!” he screamed.

After flushing the turds down the drain, he sat on the toilet seat for a while and wiped the sweat from his body, which poured like the rainy weather outside. Tim took several deep breaths not only to recover his lost energy, but also in a vain attempt to calm himself down. “Stupid dog…stupid goddamn dog!” he screamed, completely destroying his ambitions of nirvana.

Step two of this ultimate cleaning job was to mop the floors as vigorously as he could. A few strokes in and he was already sucking wind. Wind, by the way, that was broken by a sixteen-year-old dog huddling in the corner. “Stupid dog!” Tim screamed again as he scrubbed the wooden floor. No matter how hard he mopped, the air thickened like he was in a burning building. At this point he was genuinely surprised the smoke alarm didn’t go off during this job. “You stupid motherfucking dog! Quit making me clean up after you, you little shithead!”

Once he was certain the shit was completely cleaned up off the floor, he death-marched to the bathroom to flush the mop water down the toilet. His head ached worse than if he had been beaten with hammers. His heart pounded as if a Mortal Kombat character was trying to rip it out. His lower back flared with pain like he had taken a body slam over a pile of razorblades. Tim sat on the toilet and sucked some more wind, confident that his job was finally over.

He had recovered a modicum of his energy before he put the cleaning supplies back in the bathroom closet. Slowly and languidly, he waddled out to the living room and took care not to slip on the wet surface. The only wet surface he had to deal with it that moment was the one on Jade Quinn’s horrified face, an intensification of what she felt when she left for work this morning.

There she was in her business skirt, high heels, and wrinkled dress shirt. She dropped her purse by her feet and stared down Tim’s guilty soul with wetness in her eyes. Her lips quivered as she tried to form a sentence. “T…Tim…did I just…hear you…yelling at Millie?” No response, only a saggy frown to match his guilt. “Answer me!” she cried.

Tim’s own face quivered as he too tried to muster up the words he needed. “Jade, I’m sorry. She…she shit all over the floor and…I panicked…I would never do anything to hurt Millie, you know that, right?”

Pointing her manicured finger at Tim, Jade fought back the rest of her tears in vain as she mumbled, “You…would never…hurt Millie?” Silence hung between the two lovers like a yawning, fiery chasm. “You just did, you insensitive asshole!” Jade dropped to her knees and held her long blond hair in her hands, emptying her eyes of emotional fluids. Millie slowly edged towards her and got a scratch behind the ears from her one true master.

Tim gingerly approached his girlfriend and knelt down to put his massive hand on her shoulder. Jade swatted him away instantly. “Don’t touch me!” she sobbed. “You’ve done enough damage today!” She hugged Millie around her neck and cried into her salt and pepper fur. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m sorry he yelled at you like that.”

Tim stood back up not knowing what else to say. Apologizing didn’t work. Explaining his actions didn’t work. Not even a gentle touch of the shoulder could bring his girlfriend out of her sorrowful abyss. He knew he fucked up badly and could do nothing but sit on the leather couch with his pudgy face in his hands.

“You can’t sit there anymore, Tim,” blubbered Jade. “Not after what you did. This was supposed to be Millie’s special day. I was going to take her to the park and get her ice cream after I got off work. And now…all she’s going to remember is you yelling at her…How could you, Tim?”

“Wha…What do you mean all she’s going to remember? Is that why you played that Linkin Park song this morning? Jade, you can tell me what’s going on.”

Wiping away tears even though they wouldn’t stop coming, Jade lifted her face from her hug with the dog and said, “Millie has stomach cancer. That’s why she’s been going to the bathroom on the floor a lot. And you react to this mild inconvenience by yelling those awful things at her?!”

Tim didn’t notice it when he was cleaning, but now that he thought about it, there were small traces of red in Millie’s stool. The guilt choked him up like a noose around the neck. His eyes grew sore, but he did a better job of hiding his sadness than his girlfriend. Even during this dark time he was too proud to fall apart in front of her. But he couldn’t help it. One tear rolled down his cheek while many more cascaded from Jade’s eyes.

“You know, Jade…there’s no reason…why we can’t still get Millie ice cream.” His voice trembled as he etched out those words.

“Yes, there is!” shouted Jade as she stood back up. “She’ll just shit all over the floor and you’ll scream like a little child again as you clean it up! The only reason why you’re sorry is because you got caught! You don’t care about my dog! You don’t care about my emotions! In fact, get your fat ass off my couch and get dressed! I don’t want you here anymore!”

Tim didn’t get up. He sat there and let another tear roll down his cheek. “I’m sorry, Jade.”

“No, you’re not!” cried Jade as she grabbed Tim’s arm and tried in vain to jerk him to a standing position. When he wouldn’t budge, she just crumpled to a pile on the floor and cried some more, prompting Millie to lick her face dry.

“Jade…if you give me the keys to your car…I will go to the supermarket and buy vanilla ice cream for Millie. She loves vanilla, right?”

“Go to hell, Tim!”

“Listen to me!” urged Tim as he cupped Jade’s shoulders in his hands. “If you still want me gone from here, I’ll go. But please let me get the ice cream for Millie. She deserves that much. Right, old lady?” Tim petted Millie’s head and talked cutely to her about what a good dog she was, even planting a kiss on her wet nose. Millie returned a puppy kiss for his efforts.

Tim then held Jade’s hand in his own and begged, “Please…let me get the ice cream. You can even come with me if you want and we’ll listen to One More Light for as long as you want. I love that song too. And Millie can come ride with us. She can stick her head out the window and…”

“Tim, enough,” said Jade while a holding a hand in front of her boyfriend. She wiped away a tear and sniffed snot up her nose. “I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. She’s just going to shit in the car again and you’ll go on another yelling spree. If anybody’s going to get the ice cream, it’s me.”

With that said, Jade and Millie walked out of the house together for a ride in the car while Tim sat on the couch in his shorts sulking it up. A few tears escaped his eyes and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. It was over. It was all over. Not just for him, but for Millie as well. The puppy kiss didn’t even feel like true forgiveness. Knowing his hands were unclean (in more ways than one), Tim Coleman pulled himself off the couch and trudged back to the bedroom, presumably to get his things and go.

And then…he walked past the kitchen and saw something magnetized to the refrigerator door. He pulled down a familiar sheet of glossy paper and studied it for a while before making his final attempt at goodwill towards Jade and Millie. Wasting no more time, he picked up the phone and dialed a number on the sheet of paper. A few rings later, he was patched in.

“Thank you for choosing Pizza Hut. How can I help you tonight?”

“Yes, I’d like an extra large meat lover’s pizza with stuffed crust.” Tim couldn’t contain his sorrow over the phone and it was noticeable.

“Are you okay, sir?”

“Not really. But I’m sure my dog will be happy to see you once you get here with that pizza.”

Sunday, April 7, 2019

Special


VERSE 1
Everybody thinks they’re special
Thinks they’re on a godly level
Thinks that they’re the chosen one
Has an ego that weighs twelve tons
You can’t brainwash me, you bastard
You’re not my undisputed master
You have no logic of your own
You’re just another fucking clone

CHORUS
You’re not special in any damn way
Too much sameness in what you say
Too much sameness in what you do
Words hurt, especially when they’re true

VERSE 2
Intimidation tactics, steel cage matches
Try to cut me down like a war hatchet
Long-winded talking, internet stalking
Everything of mine is worth mocking
There’s just one problem with your plan
It’s been done before, you stupid man
Over and over again, it gets so old
I shrug you off with a heart so cold

CHORUS
You’re not special in any damn way
Too much sameness in what you say
Too much sameness in what you do
Words hurt, especially when they’re true

VERSE 3
I never asked to be a politician
Someone else’s cannibal nutrition
Someone else’s bitch of submission
Someone else’s act of sedition
All I wanted to do was live my life
Any way I want whether wrong or right
You think you’re coming for my crown
You’re the court jester, a fucking clown

EXTENDED CHORUS
You’re not special in any damn way
Too much sameness in what you say
Too much sameness in what you do
Words hurt, especially when they’re true
You’re not special in your diction
Everything you say is fucking fiction
Everything you do fucks up your mission
Defeat is your own damn admission

Saturday, April 6, 2019

"Howl" by Allen Ginsberg


BOOK TITLE: Howl
AUTHOR: Allen Ginsberg
YEAR: 1956
GENRE: Poetry
SUBGENRE: Beat
GRADE: Mixed

It could be that I’m missing something here. It could be that my English degree wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. It could be that Allen Ginsberg is making me feel stupid. But whatever the case, when I tried to piece together the imagery in Howl, all I could say to myself was…”What?!” Sometimes the imagery made sense to me and I could carry on with my reading. Sometimes I had to read it twice or three times and even then my ability to comprehend it was sketchy. The first poem in the book starts off with, “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness.” Ordinarily that would be an awesome way to start a poem. It certainly got me going. But then reading the rest of it, I began to wonder if Allen Ginsberg himself was being destroyed by madness. He does have a creative mind, I’ll give him that. He’s so creative that only he understands what the heck he’s talking about.

But for all of the times that he made sense to me, his poetry truly spoke from the heart. It’s depressing watching great minds descend into madness. It’s depressing to watch the almighty “Moloch” take over everything you love. It’s depressing to know that your best friend is wasting away in a mental hospital while the orderlies employ draconian techniques. I know how depressing these things are because I myself am a schizophrenic. There once was a time when I thought I was going to be institutionalized against my will. I even welcomed it at one point. But if I didn’t get the help I needed when I did, I could just as easily become another statistic a la Carl Solomon (Ginsberg’s insane friend). This book was published in the 1950’s, during a time when ignorance towards mental health was rampant. I’m not so sure I could have survived that era. Thank you, Allen Ginsberg, for bringing me back to reality.

It should be noted how important this book of poetry was to the free speech movement. The sexual imagery, the violence, and the constant swearing had conservative censorship groups up in arms. Despite me not understanding most of the content, I can appreciate the battles Allen Ginsberg went through to get Howl published. Freedom of speech was always a guaranteed right in the American constitution, but it still comes under fire to this day. Luckily, we’re a lot more open-minded as a society, but if not for people like Ginsberg putting their lives on the line for free speech, we would have stayed in the dark ages for a long time. When balancing the confusing imagery with the impact the words had on mental health and the free speech movement, I’ll give this book a respectable mixed grade. It wasn’t a perfect read, but maybe I’m not high enough on the educational food chain to appreciate it to the fullest extent. This is just my opinion. You’re always allowed to have your own, because that comes with the freedom of speech deal.

Wednesday, April 3, 2019

Yelling at Empty Seats


VERSE 1
You’re not owed an audience
And we’re not fucking idiots
Shouting in an empty venue
Isn’t on our college menu
Fuck your so called “big ideas”
There’s no sense in fighting us
Racist trash and sexist garbage
Spoken by obvious con artists

CHORUS
Yelling at empty seats
About what you believe
What will it achieve?
Who will you deceive?

VERSE 2
Yelling at invisible drag queens
Transgender males in their teens
Black Lives Matter protestors
And human rights protectors
Yelling at people not even there
We stayed home in case you care
Your talking points bore us to tears
Try spreading hope instead of fear

CHORUS
Yelling at empty seats
About what you believe
What will it achieve?
Who will you deceive?

PRE-VERSE
Let me ask you a philosophical question

VERSE 3
If you shout and nobody cares
Were you even fucking there?
Do you go on a verbal tear
And picture everyone in underwear?
When you break the fourth wall
Do you need to give mommy a call?
If only there was someone to answer
But we’re busy avoiding your banter

EXTENDED CHORUS
Yelling at empty seats
About what you believe
What will it achieve?
Who will you deceive?
Yelling at empty rows
Purple-in-the-face prose
Save it, we already know
Same shit, different show

Building My Life Around Mental Health


***BEFORE I BEGIN***

I know in the last blog entry I told you all that this current one was going to be about the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards for 2018, particularly their Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic category. That was a lie. Truth is, I’ve pretty much accepted the fact that I’m on an island with that one, so I’m not going to write it. Spoiler alert: the big winner of that award was WWE’s business relationship with Saudi Arabia. If you followed the news around the time Jamal Khashoggi was murdered, you’ll know why this promotional tactic was pretty fucking bad. Plus, there’s that whole thing about human rights abuses and suppressing women’s freedom.


***BUILDING MY LIFE AROUND MENTAL HEALTH***

If I wanted to, I could elevate my career to newfound levels of fame. I can take certain Skillshare classes on marketing, I can hook up with the right people, I can make an Author Tube platform, I can do all of these things that any sane independent author would do. But the truth is, if I do all of those things and achieve my highest level of fame and fortune, it might come at a steep price. For years now, I’ve built my entire life around two things: staying mentally healthy and knowing when I’m too tired to carry on. Stressing myself out will derail both of those plans.

Taking good care of my mind is the biggest reason why I don’t do a lot of things normal adults should be doing. I don’t apply for fast-paced jobs, I don’t drive a car, I don’t put myself out there socially, because if I do any of these things, my mind is toast. I’ve probably talked about this subject before, so excuse me if any of this sounds familiar to you. Stress plays a huge role in how a mentally ill mind can function. Too much of it can lead to long-lasting damage. Playing it safe sounds like a cowardly strategy, but I’ve been in those stressful situations before and I don’t need another schizophrenic episode. In a way I’ve learned to fear them. I had a lot of schizophrenic episodes during my WWU days. It might have had more to do with my caffeine intake and isolation than actual schoolwork, but I’m still weary about going back to college for any reason.

I know full well that taking risks is the key to success. But what does success look like and what is it worth when the cost is paid? Does it mean being famous? If that’s the case, then it’ll mean I’ll be looked at under a microscope by the entire world. Every review and every criticism will be felt on a magnified level. Escaping fame and getting out from under the microscope is damned near impossible. One bad criticism could result in a firestorm of public shaming. If that’s what fame and fortune will lead to, then I want no part of it. I’ve been publicly shamed before and with a schizophrenic mind it hurt like a motherfucker.

But what else does success look like? Having a shit ton of money? Okay, great, but what am I going to do with all of this money? People give billionaires a hard time for not being able to spend all of their money in their lifetime and rightfully so. I don’t need things like yachts and summer mansions. I don’t need an island in the Caribbean. To be honest, I don’t really know what I’d like to spend copious amounts of money on. Travel? Great, but where to and for how long? Books and CD’s? Perfect, but I do that enough already. Donations? Again, I do that enough already. Concerts? Well, you know where this is heading.

So basically in order to be successful in my line of work, I have to sacrifice my mental health for rewards I have no idea what to do with. Maybe I can use all of my earned income to repair my mental health. I could go down to California and visit Cuddle Sanctuary for platonic spooning. I could go to Las Vegas and buy real sex. I could go on a “Secret Journey” like the Police song says and become a holy man. But wait a minute…I sacrifice my mental health just so I can have enough money to repair it. You talk about a catch-22. Holy shit!

I’m not at all saying that I’m against the idea of fame and fortune. But if I’m going to achieve it, I’m going to have to be careful and realistic about what I want and how I get it. I need to do a lot of soul-searching and a lot of online research. This isn’t something I’m going to take lightly and if I need encouragement from others, I’m going to take it. But until then, I’ll just keep chugging along and satisfying the demons in my head for yet another year. Maybe when I earn enough money, I can buy a cure for schizophrenia! Heh, we all know one doesn’t exist.

In the end, I’m not ashamed of building my life around mental illness. It gets boring sometimes, but it’s better to be bored than in constant psychological torment. At least with boredom I can relax and let my mind wander to lighthearted places instead of dark ones. Apparently, I’m not alone in thinking this. I’ve met people on the Face Book group Writing About Writing who also don’t see fame and fortune as their end game and they too struggle with mental illness. Don’t take this as a sign that I’m completely giving up. Take it as a sign that I’ll be more cautious in my climb to the top. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying…actually, this would be a good time to slow down and take a breather.


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Upon a secret journey, I met a holy man. His blindness was his wisdom. I’m such a lonely man. And as the world was turning, it rolled itself in pain. This does not seem to touch you. He pointed to the rain. And on the days that followed, I listened to his words. I strained to understand him. I chased his thoughts like birds. You will see light in the darkness. You will make some sense of this. You will see joy in this sadness. You will find this love you missed. And when you’ve made your secret journey, you will be a holy man.”

-The Police singing “Secret Journey”-


***POST-SCRIPT***

On a high note, I only have one more chapter of Emilio and the Scratching Post to write and then it’s off to critiqueville. I might write it tomorrow. I might write it the day after. Or the day after. Or the day after. Either way, I’ll be thankful to see my story in yet another Hollow Hills publication. Wish me luck!

Tuesday, April 2, 2019

Freedom of Information


CREEPY CHILDREN’S CHOIR X2
Tell on a gang
Look for friends
Take a course of action
And throw him in the sea

SCREAMING LINE 1
Get the fuck out of my head!

VERSE 1
Those words are not yours to read
You weren’t the one who had to bleed
You never had to hide your shame
You never had to change your name

CHORUS
Freedom of information
Public humiliation
Classroom comedy
Psychological sodomy

SCREAMING LINE 2
What are you fuckers laughing at?!

VERSE 2
An immature sense of humor
Labeling everyone a loser
Laughing at everything in sight
You never had to run and hide

CHORUS
Freedom of information
Public humiliation
Classroom comedy
Psychological sodomy

BRIDGE
Don’t minimize this horseshit
It’s not so easy to fucking forget
Punish these chuckling morons
Before somebody chugs Clorox

VERSE 3
Thank god I’m done with this shit
There’s nowhere in class to sit
I’ve washed my face full of spit
No longer treated like a kid

CHORUS
Freedom of information
Public humiliation
Classroom comedy
Psychological sodomy

CREEPY CHILDREN’S CHOIR
Tell on a gang
Look for friends
Take a course of action
And throw him in the sea

SCREAMING LINE 3
Piss off, you little shit weasels! Ugh!