Serial Contrarian

VERSE 1: SERIAL CONTRARIAN

Listen up, my opinions are the only ones worth having

I’m taking off the kid gloves, we don’t need the extra padding

Your favorite show sucks, it only made a hundred bucks

Your favorite album’s trash, it’s not worth the change and cash

Your favorite food is ass, it takes a million years to pass

World’s first anal stone, it’ll break your tailbone

You can’t walk away from a friendly debate

Or else you’re the one who’s fascist and full of all the hate

 

CHORUS 1: ME

Serial contrarians are no different from the Aryans

We can’t have nice things, ‘cause we’re ruled by kings

Can’t I have five minutes where you shut the fuck up?

I’d probably get five seconds with my kind of luck

 

VERSE 2: SERIAL CONTRARIAN

Audiobooks don’t count, because you can’t see the words

They’re like campfire stories, in case you haven’t heard

I’m not trying to be ableist, that’s why I like AI

‘Cause we all know the dunderheads never score high

 

CHORUS 2: ME

Serial contrarians are filled up with arrogance

Just leave my stuff alone, ‘cause it’s where I call home

Can’t I have a moment so that I can sit and think?

I’m just buying time until you push me to the brink

 

VERSE 3: SERIAL CONTRARIAN

Unpack your bags and get out of the Uber

Did you forget that I’m famous and a powerful YouTuber?

If you break up with me, you violate the First Amendment

Court of public opinion, you’re the obvious defendant

I’ll make a thousand hit pieces and rack up ad money

Until you come back, kiss my cheek, call me honey

You’re more likely to come packing a loaded 45

I brushed up on Algospeak, now my ass is unalived

 

CHORUS 3: ME

Serial contrarians are just techno-libertarians

And now they’re all cancelled for being big assholes

They’ll never change their ways, so it’s time to walk away

With my head held high as I flip the bird goodbye

Serial contrarians are ripping out their hair again

They can keep from turning pink if they’d just see a shrink

But therapy is heresy, at least that’s what they’ll say

So they walk among the sheep and let out a loud bray

Billy Corgan vs. Father James Mitchell: Are You High?

 

Getting kicked off The CW has caused Mr. Corgan some...Melancholy and Infinite Sadness.

Jane's Addiction X Jane Goodall: She's Addicted to Kindness

 

R.E.M. vs. Russell Brand: Losing My Religion

 

Doug Martinez from 311 (I Purposefully Left the "SA" Out of His Name For Obvious Reasons)

 

Purity test this, pretty boys.

I Dare You to Move!

 

The black text is from the Switchfoot song "Dare You to Move". It's supposed to be inspirational, now it looks creepy as fuck considering who's in the picture and what he's holding. Haha!

Radiohead vs. Danny Masterson

 

The Radiohead lyrics are from the song "Creep". Danny Masterson would absolutely take those lyrics literally.

Dave Grohl from Foo Fighters

 

Incubus Concert

 Well…last night I went to see Incubus at the White River Amphitheater. There weren’t as many Kyles and Codys here as there were at the Five Finger Death Punch concert two weeks before. No Monster Energy Giga-Chad vibes here, just the sweetness of Incubus’s brand of rock and roll. They played a lot of songs from Morning View, which is understandable considering how almost perfect that album is. Songs like “Megalomaniac” and “Sick Sad Little World” will always get a rise out of me. But the one song that I was waiting all night for was “The Warmth”, which I’ve often used as an anthem for healing from my mental illnesses. “Don’t let the world bring you down. Not everyone here is that fucked up and cold. Remember why you came and while you’re alive, experience the warmth before you grow old.” Poetry. Absolute fucking poetry. There wasn’t a bad song on that whole show, and that goes for the openers as well. Sublime will never fully replace Bradley Nowell, may he rest in peace, but Roman Ramirez definitely helped take them into a new direction. He’s younger than me, so he’s got his whole life ahead of him. The other openers were The Aquadolls and The Naked Giants, both of which made instant believers out of me despite never hearing their music before that night. This was only my second concert since the pandemic and I’m glad I got to go out in public for my dose of serotonin. Up next: Roger Waters at the Tacoma Dome, which takes place on the 17th of September. He’s going to debut a new song called “The Bar”, which I’m excited for.

Dude Bros

VERSE 1

Dude Bros are pretty, Dude Bros are good

Seems that all they’ve ever wanted was a Monster

Chads are having hot sex, just like they should

Seems that all the Single Pringles need a martyr

CHORUS 1

This is a call to all the pickup tuckers

And cheerleader fuckers

This is a call to all the rap metal bangers

And crystal meth takers

VERSE 2

Kyles are pretty, Kyles are cool

Seems that all they ever wanted was some Death Punch

Karens are like Kyles, but they’re just old school

They say, “Let me speak to your manager” way too much

CHORUS 2

This is a call to all the valor thieves

“Freedom is not free!”

This is a call to all the armchair quarterbacks

“Alternative facts!”

VERSE 3

Kevins are pretty, Kevins are loud

Seems that all they ever wanted was a handgun

Landons are rich kids, Landons are proud

Egos are so big, they think they’ll get a fandom

CHORUS 3

This is a call to all the manly tough guys

Draft dodgers in disguise

This is a call to all the MMA wing nuts

Tapped out to a paper cut

This is a call to all the mansplainers

Whiny complainers

This is a call to all the Dudely Dude Bros

And their bigoted prose

Silent Warrior, Chapter 10

Scott George could have stayed locked up in his own imagination for a thousand years and he would’ve been happy. Even in a fictional dream, holding Adrienne Simpson in his arms was a warm experience that made him tingle all over his body. But eventually the real world caught up to him and it was time once again to go to Perkins High School a.k.a. hell on earth. Not even fictional escapism could free him from his responsibilities. At eighteen years old, he wasn’t a kid anymore. This shit had to be done.

But instead of catching the school bus and surrounding himself with laughing troglodytes, Scott woke up just before dawn and walked the whole way in solitude. Instead of starving his already pencil-thin body even further, he grabbed two unheated Pop Tarts and nibbled on them gently like a hamster. And instead of looking like a homeless Power Ranger with a rat’s nest for hair, he combed his hair backwards and wore blue jeans and combat boots with his obligatory black shirt.

He toed the line between love and war with his new dress code and eating habits. If he wanted to make his dream a reality, he had to fight for what he wanted. “Heart Shaped Box” by Nirvana wasn’t exactly war music, but the MP3 soundtrack powered Scott through his early morning walk to school. Not one shitty human being bumped his shoulders or cursed him out the whole way. Either that was a good sign or the calm before the storm.

Scott had taken his last hamster bite of breakfast by the time the sun bloomed in the sky and he arrived at school. To his surprise, not one student locked eyes with him or even gave off a hint of a mocking smile. Still, he had a knot in his stomach that wouldn’t stop pounding. He had to swallow hard to keep his Pop Tarts in his stomach, but he finally trudged up the stone stairs and past the front door. So far, so good. A sigh of relief escaped his frosting-covered lips.

“Mr. George. Can I have a word with you in my office,” said Principal Williams, who stood at the entrance with her arms folded, probably expecting Scott this whole time.

“Uh…,” stammered Scott as he looked like a deer in the headlights. “Can it wait until after history class?”

“Are you really that eager to put up with Mr. Simpson for another day? You didn’t seem to mind bailing out on him yesterday when you crept out of detention. What makes you so happy to see him this time around?” Lingering students let out their “ooo’s” and Miss Williams barked at them to shut up and keep walking. She then motioned for Scott to join her in her office before shutting the door behind her and instructing him to have a seat.

Scott’s face was aimed low at his boot laces, studying the various patterns as some kind of excuse to avoid eye contact with yet another authority figure. “Listen, Miss Williams, if you’re going to punish me, do it already and spare me the lecture. I know what I did was wrong and the sooner I get this crap over with, the better.”

Miss Williams lifted Scott’s head with a singular finger underneath his chin and said, “There’s more to it than that, my friend. Skipping detention is a serious offense on its own, but I’m more interested in the whys than the whats. I know about your lack of love with Mr. Simpson. I know this because pretty much every student he has says the same thing about him: that he’s senselessly cruel and doesn’t care one way or another about their fates.”

As soon as the Principal removed her finger from Scott’s chin, he asked, “If he’s really that much of a pain in the ass, why don’t you just fire him already? I don’t think there’s a single person in this building who would miss his sorry ass.”

“Duly noted, Mr. George,” said Miss Williams as she folded her hands across her chest. “Trust me, I’d love nothing more than to tell him not to let the door hit him on the ass on his way out. But it’s not that easy. It never has been. Teachers and other authority figures can’t just get fired over disagreements with the students. In other words, you don’t have to be a friendly person in order to qualify for the job. It’s screwed up, but that’s the way things go sometimes.”

A frustrated Scott slapped his own thighs and said, “It’s beyond screwed up, Miss Williams. School is supposed to be a place where kids can grow and learn things. What are they supposed to learn from having a bad teacher? That’s not a rhetorical question. I’d actually like to know the answer to that. Sure, there are bosses out there who never get their comeuppance, but that’s the very thing we should be avoiding when we have the chance.”

“I’m sorry, Scott. It’s out of my hands. What happens to you from this point on is up to Mr. Simpson since he’s the one who assigned you to detention in the first place. If you stiff him again, I’ll have no choice but to expel you.”

Scott folded his arms and said, “That’s right, Miss Williams. Punish the victim. Punish the guy who’s been laughed at for his whole high school career. Punish the guy who has few opportunities to stand up for himself. Punish the guy who actually knows what justice is supposed to mean. I knew it. I have no fucking allies in this school. Nobody really does. That’s why they’re acting out the way they do.”

“There’s no joy in this for me, Scott,” said Miss Williams as she leaned forward in her chair. “Even with students who deserve punishment the most, there’s no happiness in dishing it out to them. I also know what justice is, but I’m also wise enough to know that justice doesn’t always get served. Whatever Mr. Simpson has planned for you as punishment for ditching him yesterday, you’d better follow through with it.”

“Got it,” said Scott while sarcastically nodding his head. “Any other dreams of mine you want to crush while you have me here?”

“No, not particularly. But in order to make one of them come true, you have to endure a little bit of the suck for just a few minutes.” When Scott formed a confused look on his face, the Principal explained, “I don’t know if you’re aware of this or not, but there’s a video of you being circulated on You Tube. It has thousands of hits already and the comments are cringe-worthy at best.”

Reality smashed Scott in the stomach with a sack of bricks. He bent over in his seat and fought like hell to suppress vomit. Principal Williams rushed to get a trash bucket underneath his face, but after moments of intense breathing and body pulsations, it turned out Scott didn’t need it. He leaned back in his chair with pinprick feelings in his face and chest. He swallowed more saliva and it tasted like warm, bitter tea. Tears barbecued his stinging eyes as he struggled even harder to keep himself together.

“You already know about it, don’t you, Scott,” said Principal Williams with a hand on her student’s shoulder. The two of them hugged it out while Scott’s fiery tears bathed the Principal’s suit jacket. “You don’t have to tell us any more about it. We know who filmed that video.”

Scott broke the embrace and shouted, “So what?! You said yourself justice doesn’t always get served! So what the fuck are you going to do to that bitch-ass Alan Young?! Does he get to slip through the cracks or do only teachers get preferential treatment?!”

“If you’d stop bawling for a moment and see for yourself, you’d have the answer!” Miss Williams retorted while pointing her finger towards her office window.

Scott’s waterworks were cut short as confusion took over. Miss Williams pointed again and again until he pulled himself together and humored her this one time. His eyes widened as he watched two police officers talking to Alan Young. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, but whatever it was, it couldn’t have been friendly. The two cops spun Alan around and slammed him against the wall while cuffing his thick wrists behind his back. Straggling students screamed in horror at what they were witnessing. Even Alan himself couldn’t help but shed a few tears as he was being hauled away.

“Invasion of privacy, cyber harassment, you name it, this kid has done it all in that one video,” said Miss Williams. “If the other kids can pay attention to a stupid video, then they’ll damn sure pay attention to Alan’s arrest. He needed to be made an example of, Scott. Sooner or later, Mr. Simpson will get his. I can’t tell you when or how, but the domino effect is already in place.”

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Scott’s tearful smile seemed genuine instead of looking like a psychotic killer. He spun around and embraced Principal Williams once more while thanking her over and over again in a high pitched squeal. Feeling awkward, the authority figure returned the hug ever so slowly and noncommittally. “You’re welcome, Scott,” she said. “Please let go of me and get back to your classes. I believe second period is about to begin anytime soon.”

Dance Like You're Dumb

***DANCE LIKE YOU’RE DUMB***

This journal shouldn’t be confused with the short story I wrote a few weeks ago called “Laugh Like You’re Dumb”, which was about a college student laughing at a rape joke from a movie. I stole that title from an Incubus song and paraphrased it to fit the content. “Dance Like You’re Dumb” is much different and much more lighthearted. In fact, it’s a song WWE COO Triple H can probably relate to if he saw the lyrics. Hehe! Oh, those nepotism jokes never get old. Here are the lyrics to my new favorite Incubus song:

Ohhhh

Nobody gets whatcha got without gettin all hot

With the boss' daughter

Taking her out on the town, dizzy up, spin her round

Makin out with her dress turned upside down

Have a drink! Whatcha think? She's all heels and kink

Betcha thought you'd landed

Then like a pink Boba Fett, she calls you on your bet

And your hat is the least of... what you're handed

Dance!

Because

You're young

And you don’t need a reason

Dance!

Just like

You got

Your legs from a cartoon

Dance!

Just like

You're dumb

Like you don't need the money

Dance!

Under

The moon

Cause you never know, never know

You were kissed with a fist, now you're tied at the wrist

To the boss-man's daughter

You thought singing her praises would get you a raise

Now you're just like a horse being led to the water

Is fine, come on in! Takin one on the chin

Is a price worth payin

For a glimpse, just a look. Let's have one off the books!

She's a pink Boba Fett

And that's all I'm sayin

Dance!

Because

You're young

And you don't need a reason

Dance!

Just like

You got

Your legs from a cartoon

Dance!

Just like

You're dumb

Like you don't need the money

Dance!

Under

The moon

Cause you never never never know

(Never know, never know)

(Never know, never know)

Like you don't need a reason

Yeah, you don't need the money

Yeah, you don't need a reason

Yeah, you don't need the money

Like you don't need a reason

Like you don't need the money

Like you don't need a reason

Like you don't need a money

Just when you thought you were done, catch ya breath

Too much fun, now the red lights flashin

She kept a rainbow of pills, she was up on her thrills

Both her brains and her body liked

A good bashin

Of course, they're not mine! Officer, I'm not tryin to put it all on her

Put it on who? City boy, take a look, it's just you

Now I'm just like a lamb headed to the slaughter

Dance!

Because

You're young

And you don't need a reason

Dance!

Just like

You got

Your legs from a cartoon

Dance!

Just like

You're dumb

Like you don't need the money

Dance!

Under

The moon

Cause you never never never know

Yeah, you never never never know

Dance!

Look it up on You Tube if you get the chance. It’s worth it! We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***WSS: MONTHLY CONTEST***

It’s a new month, which means I’m on double duty when it comes to short stories, one for the month of June and one for the week of May 4^th, 2016 (May the fourth be with you, Star Wars nerds; this is a good day to Google pictures of chicks in Leia’s metal bikini). For the monthly contest, we’ve got a picture prompt given to us by the wonderful photographer and WSS admin Alex-Pie. It’s basically a picture of roman pillars protecting what could be the entrance to a sacred building. Therefore, my story for the June issue of WSS’s online magazine is called “Tiger Bullet Kick”. It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Bob Rua, Tiger Monk

Makoto Lionheart, Clown Samurai

Viktor, Mummy Warlord

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The entrance of the mausoleum is marked with the pillars in the photograph.

SYNOPSIS: Bob is the loyal watchman of a mausoleum containing mummified bodies and ancient treasure. Makoto sneaks into the building and uses necromancy to raise Viktor from the dead. It is revealed that Bob was the one who put Viktor in his grave using a martial arts attack called the “Tiger Bullet Kick”. In his old age, Mr. Rua can’t afford to use such a powerful move again lest it completely drains his spiritual energy and kills him. Sacrificing himself to put Viktor back in his tomb would leave the treasure and other mummies readily available to Makoto. Being an elderly martial arts master affords Bob a lot of wisdom, but even he can’t wrap his head around this one in a matter of crucial seconds.

***WSS: WEEKLY CONTEST***

You can’t have double duty without two stories. The weekly prompt is “Force” (again, Happy Star Wars Day), though I’m going to interpret it to be something much darker than a light saber fight with Kylo Ren. It’s called “Vex Ed” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

Martin Hitch, Sex Ed Teacher

Jennifer McHenry, Sexual Assault Victim

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Jennifer’s sexual experience was forced upon her.

SYNOPSIS: When Martin teaches sex education at Ocean View High School, he takes the abstinence only approach by putting emphasis on sexual diseases, pregnancies, and low social status. In his booming voice, he compares teenagers who have had sex multiple times to chewed up pieces of gum that lost their flavor. Jennifer, a victim of sexual assault, takes offense Martin’s oratory and bursts out of her seat to attack him. It takes multiple students to pull her off, but they won’t go unscathed either since the act of restraining reminds her of the rape she experienced.

Damn, I sure have a lot of American Darkness 2 characters named Jennifer!

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

These drawings are pretty much my go-to creative task whenever an exhausting day takes over. You all saw drawings I did of Clint Magnus, Tetra Engel, and Gargoth Trencher. The next one will be Stinger Crushwar, the obnoxious rhino barbarian from “Unleash the Animal”. Although, his name should be Stinker Crushwar seeing as how he took a shit in Rosie Moonbender’s magic pool. Either way, it’s another barbarian on my long list of them.

Speaking of toilet humor…

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“There’s a diet pill on the market where one of the side effects is anal seepage. If you’re taking this pill, I don’t care how much weight you’ve lost, ‘cause you’re not looking good in those jeans.”

-Jeff Foxworthy-

"Mad World" by Tears For Fears

When you’re going to school in the suburban nightmare that is Chehalis, Washington, you do whatever you can to maintain your innocence and creativity before some wise ass bully takes it away from you. From the summer of 1999 to October of that same year, my creativity and innocence led me to a Tears For Fears song called “Mad World”. The groovy 80’s synthesizers and Roland Orzabal’s vocals turned my pre-war mind into a rainbow-colored playground.

“Mad World” would bring about two different visuals in my imagination. One of them was playing Super Mario Kart and going through the Rainbow Road course. I didn’t have a favorite character at the time, but no matter who I used, I always enjoyed the colorful track despite falling off of it six or seven times during the race. The videogame soundtrack already uses cheerful and beautiful synthesizers to document the racers’ journey through this heavenly place. “Mad World” also has cheerful and beautiful synthesizers, so maybe it too could be used to move the racers along.

One train of thought leads to another and then they derail into a gorgeous disaster. I was working on a videogame idea called Super Final Fantasy (before Final Fantasy Hardcore) where the main character was a trench coat wearing, shotgun toting teenager with an axe to grind. Actually, his only weapon was the shotgun, he didn’t carry an axe, but you get what I’m saying. Since Final Fantasy 7 had the Golden Saucer and its many side quests, I figured Super Final Fantasy should have one of its own: the rainbow road-themed rollerblading park.

In order to earn new and better equipment for his party, Sage Gannon, the shotgun toting teenager in question, would have to put on his rollerblades and skate up the rainbow tower and into the calming night skies in a race against other opponents. It’s like the Chocobo race in Final Fantasy 7’s Golden Saucer park, but with humans instead of big ass chickens. Oh, and did I mention that “Mad World” would be the soundtrack for this rollerblade race? Did I also mention that there would be a molten pit in the center of the skate park? Yes, that sounds like a mad world to me. I don’t see Tony Hawk doing this shit.

Sage Gannon was going to rise to new heights whether he actually got to the top of the rainbow tower or not. That rollerblading gimmick was going to be gold. And then a little voice in my head told me to stop exploiting the Final Fantasy franchise and create stories of my own without the brand name. You know who told me that? Squall Leonhart from Final Fantasy 8. Yes, I realize he’s not a real person. If I’m taking advice from a fictional videogame character, then that means my schizophrenia probably started earlier than 2002. I’m still having a debate with myself as to whether this is the case or not, but either way, it was definitely made worse when the bullying started.

I still to this day enjoy the concept of a rainbow road. I still want to develop that concept into a skate park slash tower with a lava pit in the middle. And I still listen to “Mad World” to this day. Before I put the finishing touches on this song review, I want everyone to know I strictly prefer the Tears For Fears version over the Gary Jules version. All Gary Jules did for the song was play a piano and sing in hushed tones. That’s fine and good, but it’s not the best strategy if you’re trying to narrate action in a rainbow-themed skate park. Somehow, Gary Jules doesn’t bring the same Final Fantasy excitement that Tears For Fears does. So thank you, Tears For Fears, for giving me something to dream about even after my mind was incapable of dreaming due to the numbness and exhaustion.

　

***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

MR. GARRISON: Hey, Mr. Slave, I had a dream last night that you were being a real dick.

MR. SLAVE: Really? Why would you dream that I was being an asshole?

MR. GARRISON: No, no, Mr. Slave, I was the asshole.

-South Park-

"My Friends" by Red Hot Chili Peppers

“My friends are so depressed, I feel the question of your loneliness. ‘Cause I’ll be by your side. You know I will. You know I will…” The ideal scenario for this unusually depressing Red Hot Chili Peppers song is this: you have multiple friends who are in some kind of slump they can’t get out of on their own. They make an internet post asking for help, but you’re incapable of providing that help either because of preexisting financial burdens or a lengthy distance between you and your friends. When you can’t share your resources with your friends, you try to share words of wisdom. Your oratory of love falls on deaf ears, so the most you can provide to your friends is a hug or a kiss.

I’ve been on the other side of a friend’s depressing circumstances before. I don’t make a lot of money, I don’t drive a car, and I’m not particularly wise, so the best thing I can offer these friends is a hug or a pat on the head. My incapability of helping people is the reason why I’m not a psychology major today. I thought about doing a cinema and psychology double major when I was taking college classes, but due to the fact that my “advice” didn’t register with the people I talked to, I opted to do a single major instead, obviously dropping psychology. I’m embarrassed to say this, but I’m full of more shit than Dr. Phil when it comes to giving emotional advice.

Maybe instead of stretching myself beyond my means to help those who need more than I have, I could just recommend this Red Hot Chili Peppers song to them. When somebody needs a good cry, “My Friends” is the ultimate song to go to for that stream of tears. In fact, I’d even dare say this song should be included in the soundtrack for either “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” or “Love Letters to the Dead”. The emotions run that deep within these alternative rock chords.

Would this method of “help” work within my writing? That’s kind of iffy. In my writing, I wouldn’t have any characters who were beyond help or redemption. If I did have a character who was like that, then finding a solution for that character’s sadness would be next to impossible. I can’t find solutions for my own friends, so why would I be able to find them for my fictional characters? And don’t give me that shit about how it’s fiction and I can bend my world any way I want. Yes, the fictional genre gives me a lot of leeway, but it still has to be believable. Even if I was writing dark fantasy, the emotions have to be real or else nobody’s going to buy into the things I’m selling.

So if you’re feeling down in the dumps and nobody can help you, sad music is a good place to turn to. Music doesn’t judge you. It may dictate its own message, but as long as the music flows through your soul and gets a reaction out of you, that message will never come off as judgmental. Take it from me: I’m a liberal who listens to Five Finger Death Punch and an atheist who listens to Skillet.

But as far as “My Friends” by Red Hot Chili Peppers goes, Anthony Kiedis will do all of the talking when he sings these words to you. But if you need someone to listen to your sorrows, then the power of your imagination can mix with the song’s message to create pure nirvana within your soul. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go to You Tube and find this song. You’ll be glad you did. Or sad, depending on how many tears drop from your face afterwards.

　

***COMMERCIAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Failure IS an option, because in order to get better, you’re going to make mistakes.”

-Nameless Pizza Chef from a Domino’s Ad-

"Robot Boy" by Linkin Park

“You say you’re not going to fight ‘cause no one will fight for you.” This is the opening line to “Robot Boy” and every time I hear it, it stays true. Even though I live a passive life, I’m still an independent author and I still have my own battles to fight. I’m fighting for a steady payday, recognition, immortalization, and most importantly, love and friendship. Even the simplest of these list items seems like an uphill confrontation. Though it seems like I have allies in these struggles, help seems so far away.

Then again, the music of Linkin Park has always documented the band’s uphill struggles. Chester Bennington has his own family trauma to contend with. Mike Shinoda fights for his Japanese culture, especially since his father was interned in 1942. These two lead vocalists speak for everybody when they’re fighting the good fight. Is it any wonder why they have such a strong fan base?

I don’t know exactly which path Linkin Park took in order to become the voice of the voiceless. I don’t want to say they got lucky, because that would be disrespectful of the way they became successful musicians. I too wish to be a voice of the voiceless, but as you can plainly see, I only live vicariously through Chester and Mike. I have some fame, but not enough for people to listen to what I have to say. Self-published e-books and blogs will only go so far. And when the path to success is buried underneath mounds of dirt, it becomes hard to tell where you are.

“Someday the weight of the world will give you the strength to go.” The weight of the world represents the burdens us artists must bear on our path to the top. Constant weightlifting builds muscle. Our worldly burdens will therefore make us stronger for the experience. If nothing else, they give us creative fuel so that our wells don’t run dry too soon.

I hope this song and the story of Linkin Park in general can be creative fuel to my readers as these things have been to me. Despite my passive lifestyle, I can still throw a powerful punch to every demon that opposes me. I may not throw many punches, but one of these days, my one powerful shot will earn me a knockout victory over the forces working against me. Then and only then will I be able to rest peacefully myself. I’m leaving my mark on the world one way or another. Whether it’s in the form of a black eye or a warm hug remains to be seen.

　

***PROVERB OF THE DAY***

“The true definition of insanity is doing the same thing every day and expecting different results.”

-Albert Einstein-

"Country Song" by Seether

From childhood to my early teens, I played with toys and exercised my imagination so that one day I could use it to make my dreams come true as an adult. Now that I’m an adult and have four e-books to my name, I continually look for tributes to my childhood either on the internet, in movies, or in books. I recently saw The Lego Movie and my nostalgia needs were on orgasmic overdrive.

Long before that movie came out, I saw the music video for “Country Song” by Seether, which front man Shaun Morgan once called “Toy Story on crack”. He wasn’t kidding. The video shows a kid playing with action figures on the beach and whatever he’s doing to the toys happens in the world that Shaun Morgan and his band mates inhabit.

The band members are cowboys in the wild west (as the title “Country Song” would suggest) and the other toys are the villains of the story. You’ve got a Mexican luchador, a teddy bear, a space man, all of which occupy a wild west story, by the way.

But that’s the great thing about having a budding imagination: rules don’t matter. If Shaun Morgan wants to shoot an imaginary chain gun at the other “characters” in the music video, so be it. If a big fuzzy teddy bear wants to stir up trouble in an anachronistic nightmare, let him do it. And if the kid’s little sister wants to bring her Barbies along, they can stand by Shaun’s side like the smoking hot cheerleaders they are.

When you’re a kid playing with your toys, any object can be whatever you make it. If I was eight years old and saw a lead pipe lying on the ground, I’d probably interpret it in my play world as a big ass flame cannon. If I had a human-sized stuffed panda on my bed, he’d be one hard ass motherfucker for a Lego man to kill. If I saw a rubber stamp from the library lying on the ground, I’d probably use it to flatten my action figures into pancakes (in my imagination, of course).

I was born in 1985, which means I’m physically a grownup now. Emotionally? Far from it. While I prefer to play with characters in my stories instead of action figures, I’m still the same kiddy-pie I was in the 80’s and 90’s. A boy has the right to dream, but a man has the means to make those dreams come true.

Did I mention that I have four e-books to my name? Go to Smash Words and search for Garrison Kelly if you’re interested. Go to You Tube to watch the music video for “Country Song” by Seether as well. Seether is a hard band not to love, but in case you don’t, at least you can have a nostalgia boner when watching the music video.

　

***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

INTERVIEWER: What will you tell your children when they ask about what mommy did with her talents?

TEMPERENCE: I’m not going to have children.

-Bones-

"Shout" by Tears For Fears

Ever have moments where you’re being held down so tightly that you have no alternative than to shout? There certainly is no shortage of people holding the less fortunate down. This isn’t just a conspiracy theory that a bunch of stoner teenagers came up with. This is real. If it wasn’t real, we’d have a much quieter volume going on around the country. Whether we’re authors with a mile high stack of rejection letters, broken down workers who need a break, high school students with a brain full of insulting words, or anybody else who feels a gigantic thumb pressing firmly against their backs, sooner or later, we feel the need to raise our voices in one moment of angry passion. The places in which we can perform this hell raising action are very limited. If you did it in the classroom, you’d get detention. If you did it in jail, you’d get your ass kicked by the guards. If you did it on the street, people would go out of their way to avoid you. You might be able to get away with a screaming burst in your own home, provided you live in an empty space. The only places where I could envision getting away with a loud tantrum would be rock concerts. Pick a band, any band, a good band. It could be a heavy and violent act like Soulfly or Five Finger Death Punch or it could be something a little lighter like Pink Floyd or Toto. Yelling is not only allowed, it’s encouraged. Or since we’re talking about a Tears For Fears song, you could very easily get away with it there since they’re technically labeled alternative rock. Yes, your throat will be sore, scratchy, and numb after all that screaming. Yes, you might get a nasty headache even Excedrin couldn’t cure. But you know what the alternative to lacking an outlet for your voice is? Violence. If there’s no channel for our anger and rage, we make one. We could cause a riot and create a citywide bonfire. We could punch in a car window and steal a radio. We could beat each other up in a five on one assault. We all have aggression. But it’s the ones who can create something beautiful and orgasmic out of it that will see a light at the end of the tunnel. How do I channel my anger? Writing. I create scenarios in which two barbarians battle it out or I write a poem so aggressive that even Sworn In would mellow out after a while. But the key with writing is to create something beautiful from the burning ashes. If you create hatred, you can expect hatred in return. Neo-Nazis, gangsters, KKK members, these are all people who thrive on hate and make life miserable for the rest of us because of it. If you absolutely need a channel for your aggression, just remember to “shout, shout, let it all out. These are the things I can do without. Come on. I’m talking to you. Come on.”

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“The whole idea of battered distant relatives strikes me as a little strange. To get on a bus for six or seven hours a day just to beat the shit out of someone you hardly ever see.”

-George Carlin-

"The Silence Remains" by 3 Doors Down

“This world asks for so much. Despite what you give, it’s just never enough.” Those two sentences set the tone not only for this 3 Doors Down song, but also for the lives of a lot of people like me who are trying to make it in this world. We’re artists and the world looks down on us. It seems as though no matter how many books we write, how many times we edit those books, or how many times we show those books to our peers, the profits won’t buy us the happiness we need. So much untapped potential going to waste in the far reaches of the world where the least number of people reside. Let me ask you this question, people: who are the ones that matter to you? Better yet, who matters more to you: the best friend who wants to see you improve and grow or the editor at large of a major publishing company who looks his nose down on everybody who comes groveling at his feet for work? While the latter of those two people may be your meal ticket in an economy where they rarely exist, the former will be the only one who will tell you to “Lay down and rest here in peace in my arms now.” Editors and agents can’t provide you with peace and happiness. They don’t love you. They may love your talent and potential some of the time, but they don’t love you as a human being. Is all the apathy in the world worth it if your book happens to sell to a vast sea of people? Books can be splintered into paper pulp, but memories last a lifetime. The publishing company provides the books and the critics provide the awards, but those are just pieces of paper. The ones you love provide you the smiles, the tears, and the undying support that every artist needs in order to thrive in this world. Without love and friendship, this world is just one big money laundering scheme. Living paycheck to paycheck is not living at all. It’s an existence. Living your life means you can share it with the ones who matter most. Those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind. You have to go out of your way sometimes to find these kindred souls, but in the end, you’ll be happy you found them. And when you find them, keep them for as long as you can. Because you never really know what you’ve got until it’s gone. Fame can disappear as soon as the next trend comes along. But when love disappears, it really begins to hurt. That is what “The Silence Remains” by 3 Doors Down means to me. Brad Arnold and I couldn’t be more different. He’s a southerner, I’m a northerner. He’s a republican, I’m a democrat. He’s alternative, I’m metal. One thing Mr. Arnold and I can agree upon is our love for the emotional texture that music and art bring about. Without emotions, art is just a part of the word “artificial”.

　

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Kensi, wait. I thought you should know that the place I went to in my head to stop the pain was you. I just kept thinking about your smile. Your laugh. Everything. It’s the only thing that got me through it all, for whatever it’s worth.”

-Marty Deeks from “NCIS: Los Angeles”-