25 Things That Got Me Through 2020

Earlier today, Ian Danskin aka Innuendo Studios put out a video on You Tube detailing 25 things that got him through 2020. If it’ll help me form at least a modicum of a positive outlook on life and help me fight depression, I’d like to make my own list of 25 things. Here you go!

1. 30 For 30: Nature Boy (ESPN Documentary)

2. Andre the Giant (HBO Documentary)

3. BoJack Horseman: Season One

4. Cold Wind by CJ Box

5. Dark Side of the Ring

6. Doggolescence by Rachel Oates

7. Five Finger Death Punch: F8

8. Force of Nature by CJ Box

9. Idiocracy

10. Inglorious Basterds

11. Kind of Like Life by Christina McMullen

12. Knives Out

13. Mega Man X Soundtrack

14. Papa Roach: Scars en Espanol

15. So Much I Want to Tell You by Anna Akana

16. Solomonster Sounds Off

17. System of a Down: Protect the Land/Genocidal Humanoidz

18. Tales of the Siblings Not-So-Grim

19. Ted (Seth MacFarlane movie)

20. The Hunger Games: Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

21. The Liberal Redneck Manifesto by Trae Crowder, Corey Ryan Forrester, and Drew Morgan

22. They Called Us Enemy by George Takei

23. World Heroes 2 Soundtrack (Arcade)

24. Wrestle Talk TV

25. Zombieland

I Need a Break

This was posted in the Good Reads group "Weekly Short Story Contests and Company":

Hey, everyone. I’m sure you all have noticed last week that I wasn’t a part of the short story competition. It wasn’t solely because I didn’t want to write The Uromancer anymore (though, that’s a huge part of it). This pandemic has been terrible for my mental health. More often than not, my brain will crap out on me when I need it the most. I’ll have one day of creative work then a gazillion days after that of exhaustion. I need my brain to be at 100% if I want to get anything done. That’s why I’m about to announce that I’m taking a break from the WSS. How long will this break last? I don’t know. All I know is that if I can’t use my energy to write a halfway decent short story or poem, then I should use it to finish rewriting my fantasy novel Beautiful Monster. I only have three chapters left before round three of edits/rewrites is over. Then it’s on to round four…and five…and six…and god knows how many after those. I also want to get some reading done, watch and review a few movies, and put together Lego sets I’ve kept in boxes since Christmas. It’s not that I don’t think the WSS is important. On the contrary, most of the stories in American Darkness and Poison Tongue Tales were entries for this very group. But I’ve been putting off a lot of projects lately and I don’t always have the energy to do them on a consistent basis. Thanks for understanding.

Immune to My Own Edge

 I might be the only person in the universe who feels this way…but when I’m writing a controversial scene in either my prose or poetry…I sometimes forget the weight of my own words. I’ve become immune to my own edge, if you will. A cowboy obliterating his opponent with a gatling gun and splashing his guts like a tidal wave? A leonine samurai decapitating a ninja with his katana before sucking the poor bastard’s insides out with the spine as a drinking straw? A femme fatale seducing a man into bed with her before she bites his penis off and shoves it between his ears? These things may be shocking to my audience, but they’re normal to me. They’re so normal to me that I wasn’t even trying when I wrote those descriptions. Now it’s time to crack my knuckles…

The other day I wrote chapter 21 of my fantasy WIP Beautiful Monster. In this chapter, an imprisoned elf reaches through the bars of his cell and grabs a mercenary by his facial hair. He then proceeds to pull this mercenary’s face into the steel bars as hard as humanly possible, getting more aggressive with each tug. The mercenary’s eyeballs pop out, his teeth shatter and roll on the ground, his nose gets plastered to the back of his skull…to put it as delicately as possible, this mercenary is fucked. Too graphic for you all? Well, that’s funny, because this is just another day at the office for me. This is easily as brutal as it gets in my novel and I didn’t even flinch. I’m immune to my own edge.

How did it get to be this way for me? Too many mental illnesses and pills numbing my mind? Too much brainwashing via the television? Not enough flinching when I watched movies like Saw and Hostel? It’s one thing not to care too much if it happens in a fictional setting, but in a documentary or news story? My god, does that shit hurt. I’m not immune to other people’s edges, just my own. If there’s a news story on TV about police brutality (which has become commonplace in America, unfortunately), I’ll get so pissed off that my jaw will be sore from all the clamping down I’m doing. My mind will do more hundred mile an hour laps than a NASCAR track. But if I write about it in one of my stories? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.

Why is this happening? Is it because I’m in control of my stories and poems and therefore already know the outcome? But what if the outcome is negative? What if a character is so haunted by their PTSD that they hang themselves from the ceiling fan with a chain whip? Will I be immune to that as well? If I’ve written it, yes, I will be. But only if I’ve written it. If I imagine it in my mind, then I’ll cycle through every harmful emotion I can think of, be it sadness, anger, or depression, which coincidentally spells the acronym SAD. Imagining scenes is much more fun than writing them, even with the harmful emotions.

That’s why I never understood it when people say that jokes can only be funny if you, the comedian, are the first to laugh about it. Sometimes I laugh at my own jokes, but not all the time. And yet, whenever I tell a joke I don’t laugh at myself, my audience laughs at it all the same. Want an example of a really disgusting joke? Okay, here it goes. Where do necromancers go to adopt children? An abortion clinic. You may laugh at that joke, you may not. Did I? Maybe a little bit at first, but I don’t hee-haw at it every single time. I must be immune to my own edge again. Here’s a joke I definitely didn’t laugh at, but other people found fucking hilarious. What do you call a Viking who saves people from drowning? Leif Guard. Not the most offensive joke I’ve ever told, but it’ll probably get more laughs than my necromancer joke, and that’s only if you pronounce Leif like you would “life” instead of “leaf” or “layf”.

Okay, so I’m immune to my own violence and comedy, but what about sadness? I can safely say that I’ve never cried at my own scenes before. I’ve had characters rape each other, attack animals, and die by the hundreds. Not one single tear. Then again, it takes a lot for me to cry these days. Well, it used to, anyways. I used to talk about having a 2007 benchmark for the last time I cried and that was because I blew my chances at signing up for Evergreen College. I can safely say that as of 2020, that record has been shattered. It’s not just the American news or the depression of being cooped up in my own home due to Corona Virus. Those things tax the fuck out of my mental energy, sure. But if you want to know what made me cry alone at night with nobody watching…I repeated the words “I love you” and “I’m sorry” over and over again. Who was I declaring my love for? I don’t know. Who was I apologizing to? I don’t know. It could have been anybody. Hell, it could have been my entire audience because I felt like I let them down in some way. I wasn’t immune to that. But writing about the experience? Not one tear drop.

While I feel nothing when I write my own controversial scenes, my audience feels everything. I’ve had people tell me they cried at my sadder stories. I’ve had people tell me they had chills up and down their spines at my lovey-dovey poems. I’ve had people cringe in pain as they read my more violent poems and stories. I say these things not to brag, but as a warning to anybody reading this piece of nonfiction. You have no idea how powerful your words can be to another person, for better or worse. A simple, “Hi” can be the difference between isolation and a pick-me-up. A tweet can be the difference between connecting with your audience and losing them forever. If a salutation and a tweet can have that much impact on someone’s life, imagine how a whole book can make them feel.

You know…maybe that’s why I was crying and apologizing that one night I broke my 2007 record. Maybe I felt like my books were having a negative impact on people’s lives. I know that’s not true since book sales have been piss-poor since I became a pro. But what if my sales spiked one day and my audience was angered by what I had written? What if Debra Winter’s characterization in Occupy Wrestling was deemed unintentionally misogynistic? What if my poems bored my audience to tears because of how the lyrics resemble corporately-produced rock songs? What if my depictions of rape and assault in Poison Tongue Tales were done in an insensitive way? Can I do anything about these problems now that the books are published? I could, but Amazon is making me jump through hoops just to make cosmetic changes to one of my poetry books. But even if Amazon was 100% cooperative, that would mean redoing six published books and always being behind because I’d be overwhelmed with work. It seems like a lazy copout, but it’s reality. I don’t have the energy to micromanage every single book I’ve published, especially when they’ve been on the market for so long.

But…what if someone didn’t see my writing in an offensive light? What if somebody loved it regardless of all of my negative thoughts? Art is subjective, after all. What’s disgusting to one person could be bliss to another. Yeah, I’m immune to my own edge, but I’m not immune to my own worrying after the fact. Maybe that needs to change. Maybe I should start holding my head high. But in the middle of the cluster-fuck known as 2020? That won’t be easy. But that’s one advantage to having immunity to the most controversial parts of my writing: I can get lost in the process and escape from the world, even if only for a little while. Maybe I can find that nugget of joy among the sea of diarrhea. Isn’t that why we write in the first place? Isn’t that why people say, “Write drunk, edit sober”? Don’t worry about the technicalities now, just barf onto the page and be happy for just a little while. I guess I’m not an uncaring sociopath after all. I’m just looking for joy where I can find it. If that joy includes evoking strong emotions from my readers, then goddamn it, I’ll embrace that shit until the day I die.

Depression Is Boring

***DEPRESSION IS BORING***

So…I went for my annual physical a couple of weeks ago…and part of this physical with the new doctor was for me to fill out a brief questionnaire about my mental health. These questions included things like “Can you concentrate on basic activities?” and “Do you get easily angered?” Long story short, I scored high on the depression part of the quiz and low on the anxiety portion, although the most defining part of that anxiety quiz was how easily I get angered by little mishaps in life. Obviously, this questionnaire isn’t meant to be an official diagnosis, but if what it says is leaning towards the truth…then there’s a good chance I could have depression alongside my other mental illnesses. It would make the most sense because of the isolation from the pandemic. Everybody’s feeling on-edge right now and it’s particularly worse for people with preexisting mental health problems.

If you follow me on Face Book and/or Twitter, you’ll find that I’m quite candid about my mental illnesses. Lacking the energy to concentrate on basic creative tasks is something I experience far too often these days. The gaps in time between editing chapters of Beautiful Monster, between writing fan fiction shorts, between drawing (passable) pictures of fantasy characters, they’re far too long for my liking. While resting up is pretty much the only way to recover depleted energy, what am I supposed to do until then? If my concentration levels suck that badly, that means anything I do will be usurped by depression. This leads me to believe that…above all else…depression is fucking boring. More than anything, it’s a fucking bore. Staying in bed all day might sound glorious, especially to someone with an exhausting work schedule. But trust me, there’s no glory in feeling defeated all day long.

So what do I do to fill the time in between projects, where resting is paramount? Surely, I can’t just lie in bed all day with my racing thoughts and new age music in the background. If that’s the only thing filling the gaps of time, then that truly is the definition of boredom. Would there be any activities that didn’t require a great deal of focus? I know of at least one of them: You Tube videos. Some of my favorite You Tubers of all time include Jenna Moreci, Hannah Lee Kidder, The Authentic Observer, Cynical Reviews, Krimson Rogue, Casey Aonso, and Strange Aeons to name a few. But like me, they too have long gaps in between creative activities, their primary source being You Tube uploads. So while I’m waiting for new content…what will I do until then?

I suppose I could just watch movies and TV shows since they’re generally considered mindless activities. I have the power to do that since I got a Roku for my birthday this year. The thing is, though, I consider movies to be yet another one of my creative outlets since I write reviews for them once they’re over. So why can’t I just watch a movie for fun and forgo the review entirely? Because reviews are my personal contribution to the world when everything else is on hold. The same can’t be said for TV shows, though, because in order to properly review one, I’d have to condense the many episodes down to one or two talking points. That’s why I don’t review TV shows as often as movies, so maybe TV shows will be strictly for enjoyment and not creative fuel.

You want to know what I’m watching right now? Well, since I’m depressed as fuck, there’s only one wrestling show that can pick me up again: Dark Side of the Ring. If that sounds ironic, it should. Dark Side of the Ring is a documentary series produced by Viceland that covers shameful topics in professional wrestling, whether it’s the death of Gino Hernandez, the Montreal Screwjob, the Chris Benoit double-murder suicide, or if you need a more recent example, New Jack’s controversial behavior. Seriously, the New Jack episode made me feel grateful that I didn’t become a hardcore wrestler, because I probably would have been carved like a Thanksgiving turkey by this insane motherfucker. Rest in peace, Mass Transit. Eat shit, New Jack.

Another go-to source of fun during times of depression has been taking photographs of my animals and toys and Photoshopping them in creative ways. I have over a hundred pictures of Piper alone, more than any other animal I’ve had or currently have. What about my Lego ogre? The one with the tooth hammer and the nasty demeanor? He probably got more camera time than any other toy I’ve got.

But therein lies the problem: every time I take a picture and post it online, it feels like I’m playing the greatest hits and doing the same thing over and over again. Yes, there are over a hundred pictures of Piper, but what’s the difference between each of them individually? One of them was adjusted through a green filter to make it look like she was being abducted by aliens. One of them was adjusted through a red filter to make it look like she was being haunted by demons. One of them is a close-up of her face with a purple filter. So what? A few unique pictures out of many similar ones? Something needs to change. Same goes for the toy pictures.

Here’s another activity that I can fall back on during days of depression: long distance walks, either to the Hi-Way Market convenience store or around the Fred Meyer plaza, the latter of which will give me more exercise due to how long it is. But since we’re in the middle of a summertime heat wave, is it really wise for me to stay outdoors longer, especially when my energy is sapped from my body and mind because of the heat? Am I really getting much of a workout going to the convenience store since it’s a shorter distance? Either way, I can only do these outdoor walks once because of the physical toll it takes on my 300 lb body. Once they’re over for the day, I’ve got to find something else to do.

I’m probably leaving a lot of potential activities out for the sake of brevity. Yes, it’s Port Orchard and even if it wasn’t, it’s still not safe to go out in public for anything other than necessities. The only source of fun has to come from my own home and that’s where a lot of my mental health problems get triggered. Yes, I’m an introvert who craves solitude, but isolation and loneliness are an entirely different ball of wax. That shit messes with my head in ways I never thought possible. Negative memories from under two decades ago are flooding my mind like they actually matter in 2020.

I was lucky enough to find the peace and quiet I needed to write this blog entry, but that’s not always the case. Waiting for the memories to die down takes time…and taking time is boring, just like depression itself. Let me say it one more time for the armchair psychologists in the back: depression is a fucking bore! Depression is like watching three hours of Monday Night Raw in the fall of 2018. Depression is like watching paint dry. Depression is like watching grass grow. It is…a FUCKING BORE!


***ONLINE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

(Circa 2005)

MY SPACE TROLL: You need some serious help if you thought that movie was good.

GARRISON: Help? What kind of help? I know! Why don’t you come on over here and help me with my pants zipper! There’s a special prize for you underneath if you do!

Reincarnation

 ***REINCARNATION***

This pandemic has left a lot of us on cruise control, which means a lot of time to think about whatever. For people like me who suffer from a variety of mental illnesses, that’s not always a good thing. Imaginations aren’t always about unicorns and dragons and woodland elves. Sometimes they’re a lot more sinister. Sometimes you argue with your head voices and accomplish nothing except for ensuring your own heartache in the process. And somewhere in this sea of diarrhea, you find a few gems. My gem happens to be the concept of reincarnation. It’s something I’ve made up my mind about a long time ago, but haven’t really discussed it at length with anybody, let alone the public. So in the interest of coming to grips with our own mortalities in the midst of worldwide trauma, here are my thoughts on the subject:

Despite being a hardcore atheist with no desire for heaven and hell, I do believe in reincarnation. It doesn’t have to be influenced by religion or politics. My own belief in reincarnation is one out of necessity. The idea of dying and being frozen in time with no consciousness and nothing to do is just boring to me. So boring, in fact, that it would drive me insane despite not having a consciousness. I do want to be reincarnated when I die. I don’t want to just sit around and stare at a blank screen for all eternity. Would I have any say as to how I would be reincarnated? Of course not. That would ruin the whole mystery of it all and make death completely meaningless.

What would I be reincarnated as? A human child in a loving home? A human child in a broken home? A future metal head in the making? A future country star in the making? An author again? An atheist? A Christian? An American? A Canadian? A Saudi Arabian? Whatever this new life would be, it would come with its own lessons and challenges, just like any other life. There would be complexities, opinions, feelings, and three-dimensional characteristics. I would have my own set of demons that would either traumatize me for life or give me something to conquer. Or maybe I could just be reborn as a lap cat and completely laze my way through existence. That would be nice!

If you think I’m spouting a bunch of verbal diarrhea when it comes to my reincarnation beliefs, that won’t bother me at all. You can agree or disagree with or without evidence. There really isn’t a whole lot of science to confirm my beliefs, so I could very well believe in something strictly for comfort’s sake. But I do have some questions for you all to think about. Why were we born in this specific time period? Why do I have this specific consciousness? What was I doing long before my birth into this specific life? Was I just staring at a blank screen this whole time? But how can I if there’s no consciousness or eyeballs to speak of? Why wasn’t I born in the middle ages? Or the old west? Or in Russia? Or in Germany? Or in South Africa? Am I making sense or am I word barfing onto the page?

Again, my beliefs are strictly for comfort’s sake. It’s kind of like the idea of The Rainbow Bridge, which is the animal version of heaven. Our puppies and kitties can run around freely and play and wrestle as long as they want to and when they get tired they can get in one big cuddle puddle. When they’re ready to return to earth, they can keep on being their cute selves, but in a different body with a different set of circumstances. There’s no proof that The Rainbow Bridge is real. It’s something we tell each other so that our dead animals don’t feel alone. I say it a lot when it comes to my own animals, whether it’s my gray and white kitty Emilio, my chubster kitty Oswald, or my saggy-jowled Maggie puppy. Nobody has disputed these talking points and I wouldn’t want them to. We don’t want to think of our animals as being alone out there in space. We want them to dance and play on The Rainbow Bridge.

If you’re still not satisfied with the idea of reincarnation, then there’s one more way to stay alive: immortalization in the minds of others. Your decisions and actions have a huge impact on the people around you whether these actions are small or magnanimous. You could donate a million dollars to the poor or you can say hello to a random stranger. Those things matter and they will immortalize you. But for me personally, I want my impact on this world to live on in the digital world. That’s why I publish my books with Amazon and post blogs like this one on social media. The bigger my digital footprint, the harder it is for people to forget, and the longer I’ll stay alive even after I’m gone.

I’m not one to force my ideas upon the world and make people conform to me. Imagine how boring life would be if everybody thought the way I do. That’s a lot of schizophrenic weirdoes! In all seriousness, though, if you don’t want to believe in reincarnation or you want to see it through an entirely different lens, then that’s your prerogative and I won’t harass you for it. I’m merely sharing my thoughts with the world, that’s all.

But whether reincarnation exists or not, I want you all to do me a favor. Live the very best life you can. I know that’s hard to do with the pandemic and world news going on, but your happiness is important. If you can’t find it on a larger scale, then you can try to find it in the little things. Life is worth living, Corona Virus or not. Tell the people around you that you love them and mean it with every fiber of your being. We will get through this. And if you don’t, then may you be reincarnated into a saggy-jowled puppy-duppy who gets lots of pettings and love from your owner. I’m Garrison Kelly! Thank you for keeping the faith!


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Come and share this painting with me. Unveiling of me. The magician that never failed. This deep sigh covers all of my chest. Intoxicated by a major chord. I wonder, do I love you or the thought of you? Southern blue. Morning dew. Let down your guards. I love yous. Ice cream castles. Lips to ear rhymes. A slumber deeper than time. Slow, love, slow. Only the weak are not lonely.”

-Nightwish singing “Slow, Love, Slow”-

Why I Don't Show Vulnerability

***WHY I DON’T SHOW VULNERABILITY***

Earlier today, I had a brief conversation on Face Book with my long time beta reader and confidant Ashley. It started off with a post about how I haven’t had a full-on crying spell since the year 2007. That sentence alone is disturbing enough, but not nearly as disturbing as me using the word “record” to describe that year. I wasn’t thinking about the braggadocios connotations the word “record” has. There’s even something called the Guinness World Book of Records, where every inductee has something to brag about. I never meant to sound proud of not being able to cry, but that’s how it came out and that’s how the conversation got rolling along.

Ever since that conversation, I’ve had a lot of time to think about why it is that the “record” still stands. I’ve certainly had my fair share of reasons to cry all throughout the 2010’s. I’ve lost pets to old age, I’ve lost an uncle to a car accident, I’ve lost a grandmother to natural causes, I’ve had bad reviews for my books, there were times when I thought my career was over…and yet, my eyes remained dry through it all. You can’t mistake me for a tough guy, though. You could attribute it all to emotional numbness brought on by mental illnesses and the medications used to treat them. But the truth is, nothing about my dry eyes is that simple. I’ve got my own reasons for why I don’t show vulnerability.

When the day finally comes that I unleash the waterworks, I want it to be done in a place where nobody else is around to check on me. I don’t want to be checked on. I don’t want to be overprotected. It has nothing to do with coldness towards those people. It has everything to do with being too vulnerable in front of people who want to know more about my emotional state of mind. So I tell them what’s wrong…and they want to know more…and I tell them what’s wrong…and they want to know more…and I tell them what’s wrong…and they want to know more. The more they ask, the more triggered I become. The more triggered I become, the harder it is for me to recover. Talking things out has never worked in my favor. In fact, it only makes the triggers worse. It could be a byproduct of schizophrenia. It could be fear of embarrassment. It could be the fear of never moving on again and being stuck with spinning wheels. Who knows?

Now that I think about it, the concept of asking someone about their triggers and being relentless about it is probably the biggest influence on Tarja Rikkinen’s character work in the very first draft of Beautiful Monster. It was coincidentally what she was criticized for the most. I mistakenly thought that asking about triggers and forcing people to talk was a normal part of the therapeutic process. Nope! Turns out my instincts about making triggers worse was right all along. Then again, first draft Tarja was also the same character who believed that giving Windham the best sex of his life would erase the worst sex of his life at the hands of Shelly and Torger. Nope! That too is just tropey ignorance.

So…if feeling naked in front of people will lead to triggering bad memories and emotions…and talking about it all doesn’t help…what is the solution? You know, aside from taking pills and making life slightly more tolerable. Maybe there’s a magic ritual where a witchdoctor will reach inside my head and pull out all of the malignant parts of my mind. With nothing left to agonize over, happiness would take over and 2020 will be a much easier burden to bear. But of course, these magic rituals don’t exist. Otherwise, nobody would be emotionally damaged and witchdoctors would be richer…than they already are, along with psychics and Goop Lab “scientists”. There is no magic solution to it all. There is no conversation that can convince my mind to ease up on me. Crying privately isn’t a permanent solution either. I can listen to reason, but my mind cannot.

But then again, being an emotional time bomb for thirteen years doesn’t seem like much fun either. Maybe it’s why I get angry at little things. Maybe it’s why I get easily burned out and exhausted. Maybe it’s why I’m bored shitless more often than not. Maybe it’s why I get anxious on the rare occasions that women flirt with me. Who knows? All I know is that all of the pent up emotions have to go somewhere. Why not have them go to a place where it’s easy to control the outcome? I’ve already mentioned crying privately, but is that really the answer to it all? Is it possible to have a deep conversation without triggering every negative feeling within me? What exactly does “confronting my emotions” look like?

Heh…You know what I just realized? The title of this blog entry is called “Why I Don’t Show Vulnerability” and I just spent the last few paragraphs doing just that. By reading this, you know more about me than most people ever will. Do you want to know more? And more? And more? And more? Can it, Tarja Rikkinen. You can ask as many questions as you like, but if a topic gets too uncomfortable, you have to allow me the right to refuse to answer. This isn’t Scientology. This is life. This is living through 2020 and coming out of the other side smelling like roses. Of course, the police brutality and Corona Virus pandemic won’t allow that to happen. But I can at least try, right?

What would perpetual happiness look like for me personally? What happened before 2020 that made me feel like I could conquer the world? Well, let’s start with December 2014, where I took a vacation to San Diego, California so that I could visit Lego Land. That vacation made me so happy that I completely reinvented my mind. From that moment on, I always found the energy to do creative work, I was never bored, I actually paid attention to new music that was blasting in my ears, WWE was actually fun to watch (for me, anyways), my relationships with family and friends were cherished to the fullest extent…am I leaving anything out?

And then…February 2018 rolled along and I suddenly had what I like to call “permission to feel bad again”. I hate to keep beating the dead Millennium horse over and over again, but on the night before my Pop Evil concert, I got curious and looked up “A Room with No View” on Wikipedia. I had seen the episode back in the late 90’s when it aired and I originally thought it was about a yandere who wanted a boyfriend so badly that she used violence to keep him under lock and key. Nope! It’s worse! Turns out that yandere was a seductress who used her sexuality to brainwash high school students into becoming mediocre and ordinary versions of themselves. I originally invalidated my feelings because Millennium is a work of fiction and could never happen in the real world. But when you invalidate your own feelings…you become a thirteen-year time bomb waiting for that one day to let the waterworks flow. But hey, at least I got Beautiful Monster out of that disturbing as shit episode, so that’s a plus.

And then…2018 continued to descend into darkness. I lost three pets that year (Maggie, Sitka, and Smokey), I quit watching WWE because they put on the worst episode of Monday Night Raw in November, Reina moved out of the house to live with Susan on a boat after an intense argument with our family…and…hmm…what else happened? That’s right! The year 2019 rolled along! I adopted Emilio back in December of 2018 and he died on June of 2019, the same month has my birthday. I stopped watching Real Time with Bill Maher after he exploited Stan Lee’s death and mocked fat people. The year 2020 showed its ugly head and before all of the worldwide trauma started, my big fat cat Oswald died in February. And now…here we are. I was given permission to feel bad, I slowed down creatively, and I honestly don’t think it’s appropriate for me to try to rebuild my happiness with everything going on with George Floyd’s murder and Corona Virus.

I just now noticed that I’m rambling on in this blog entry. I forgot where my original talking points were going. So I’m just going to end it here. Truth is, I never should have referred to the year 2007 as “the record”. There are other words for it, I’m an English major, and I can make it happen. There will be a day when the floodgates open and I drench my cheeks with salty fluids. When will that day be? I don’t know. But when that day comes, I hope nobody’s around to see me at my worst. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“We used to laugh. We used to cry. We used to bow our heads and wonder why. And now you’re gone. I guess I’ll carry on and make the best of what you’ve left to me. And every day, I’d laugh the hours away just knowing you were thinking of me. And then it came that I was put to blame for every story told about me. I need you like the flower needs the rain. You know I need you. Guess I’ll start it all again. I need you like the winter needs the spring. You know I need you. I need you.”

-America singing “I Need You”-

Zombieland

MOVIE TITLE: Zombieland
DIRECTOR: Ruben Fleischer
YEAR: 2009
GENRE: Zombie Apocalypse Comedy
RATING: R for violence and language
GRADE: Pass

As of the year I’m writing this review, which is 2020, the Corona Virus is sweeping the world and killing everyone it comes in contact with. This disease is bringing out the worst in humanity whether it’s violent rage (a la the Michigan anti-lockdown protestors) or deceptive behavior (a la Kenneth Copeland and Joel Osteen). If this mess keeps up, our world could very well come to an end. Wouldn’t you like a nice fun-filled movie to distract you from it all? That’s where Zombieland comes into play. I don’t want to say this movie was a prophecy back in 2009…but yeah, it was totally a prophecy. Granted, we haven’t gone full-zombie just yet, but the other ramifications have come to fruition thus far. Economic collapse, swindlers, incompetent leadership, and a bunch of cowboys playing with their shotguns. Yep. I’m sure this movie was just a coincidence at the time it was made.

If you think creating believable characters is hard to do within a silly comedy, just take a look at who we’ve got in this particular movie. Columbus wants to find a sense of family whether his biological one still exists or not. Tallahassee wants to munch on Twinkies because he appreciates the little things in life. And he just wants to kill zombies left and right. Cutthroat sisters Wichita and Little Rock want to steal as many resources as they can so that they can party it up at an amusement park in California. What do you notice from all of these character descriptions? They’re motivations. They have something that they’re willing to kill zombies for. Therefore, this is a character-driven zombie story. Didn’t think that was possible, did you? Notice how they’re not scrambling to save the entire world from the zombie apocalypse. They just want to cling onto a sense of normalcy no matter how small or temporary that may be. Isn’t that what we’re doing now with the Corona Virus: looking for something to comfort us? Totally not a prophecy.

I have one tiny little critique for this movie. Why would Columbus continue to trust Wichita and Little Rock after they’ve betrayed him and Tallahassee over and over again? They’re grifters. Deception is all they’re known for. Do they stop grifting by the end of the movie? Who knows? That’s not just me refusing to give spoilers; I actually want to know the answer to that. I guess this could all go back to Columbus wanting a sense of family in his life, so he keeps hoping and praying that the sisters change their ways just for him. Then again, Wichita was a femme fatale and part of that moniker is being seductive, either through attractiveness or just playing mind games. Columbus always wanted to brush a woman’s hair behind her ears. If that’s the case, then this whole movie is just him thinking below his belt. Wichita could burn down an orphanage and Columbus would still want to give her infinite chances. Yes, this is a comedy movie. Yes, Columbus is a dorky college kid. But…come on.

You want clever dialogue from every character involved? You want bloody action and excitement? You want a lesson on how to make believable characters? Ask and you shall receive it all in the form of Zombieland. You’ll get more than a few chuckles here and there. You’ll get a few life lessons that may come in handy as the age of Corona Virus progresses onward. You’ll love Woody Harrelson’s performance as the gun-toting cowboy Tallahassee. You’ll love Jesse Eisenberg’s performance as the spineless dork Columbus. Try not to think too hard about Columbus trusting people a little too easily, especially if they’re overly attractive. This was an enjoyable movie for me and for that reason I’m giving it four out of five stars.

How Much Longer? Wait Your Turn...

How much longer until this is over?

When my thoughts are clear and sober?

When the voices leave my mind forever?

Please tell me that the answer isn’t never

Wait your turn like a good little boy

Wait your turn to unhear the noise

Like a rainstorm, it’ll eventually pass

Until then, enjoy your kick in the ass

How much longer until I can leave?

Until making a cure has been achieved?

Until authority will no longer deceive?

Hopefully soon is what I can believe

Wait your turn like everybody else

We’re in this together, our moment of hell

Don’t be tempted by the church bells

Don’t forget about the ones who fell

How much longer until permanent peace?

Until the madness of the world will cease?

Until people come before the economy?

Until we can skip this whole tragicomedy?

Wait your turn like a model citizen

What makes you so goddamn different?

Don’t let your selfishness get in the way

Of America living on for another day

How much longer until I can rest my head?

And not have to worry about being dead?

Maybe that’s the only logical conclusion

Maybe I shouldn’t give into delusions

Wait your turn, you’ve got a long way to go

When your time will come, nobody knows

Get to work on your precious purple prose

Work until the day that your breathing slows

I know it’s cruel and it just isn’t fair

All I can tell you is to grow a brass pair

You never signed up for military life

But the truth cuts deeper than a bowie knife

Screw your harshness, screw your indifference

Screw your so-called melodic dissonance

I’ll be back in true form one of these days

Until then, your welcome is long overstayed

I’m the landlord and the rent is now due

Don’t act like this just came out of the blue

I’ll kick your ass out of my mind so fast

You’ll be too far back in the prehistoric past

Chains of Codependence

***CHAINS OF CODEPENDENCE***

I’d like to preface this blog entry by saying that I’m by no means an expert when it comes to matters of the heart. Shocking, right? But it’s true. I’ve only been in two relationships my whole life and they’re over now, so any experience and wisdom I do have is incredibly limited. So when I write a piece of nonfiction about romance, I’m doing so from the point of view of a maladaptive daydreamer and a serial crusher. I’ve got a gazillion crushes going on in my head right now, mostly You Tubers and internet friends. Who are these crushes? Well, on that front, I’ll have to zip it, lock it, and put it in my pocket. Wouldn’t want to weird anybody out and make these lovely ladies keep their distance from me forever, Corona Virus aside. That’s always been a fear of mine whenever I open up and talk about romance or sex: that people will think I’m being creepy. I’m going to word this blog entry as carefully as possible, which is something I should have done with my entry about bastardizing fan fiction characters, but didn’t, and now it’s scrubbed from the internet. Ready? Here we go.

Serial crushing can be lots of fun as long as you’re doing it for entertainment purposes only. You can daydream about holding hands together. You can fantasize about your crush giving you a hug after a particularly draining cry spell. Me? I like to pretend I’m resting my head on my crush’s lap while she strokes my hair. By then I will have already showered and my hair will be softer than a Humane Society kitty baby. These kinds of fantasies can bring a smile to your face…until you start to bemoan the idea of never being able to attain a relationship with said crushes. I’ve done this before as you can tell. And the more you bemoan this idea, the more depressed you become. This is what I like to call the “Chains of Codependence”. Imagine that: being codependent on somebody who not only barely knows you, but also wouldn’t want a relationship anyways. Usually when people are codependent, it’s with someone who’s physically there. But if it’s a long distance stranger…my god, does that shit hurt.

But if you talk yourself through this logically, it doesn’t have to hurt anymore. You’re crushing on someone whom you have limited knowledge of, whether it’s a You Tuber, a celebrity, an athlete, or whatever. You only see the best version of that person unless they voluntarily become vulnerable, which is rare in and of itself. And because you’ve only seen their best side, you don’t often see them at their darkest. They may have views that you strongly disagree with. They may be drama queens when the cameras aren’t rolling. They could have a criminal secret that you won’t be aware of until it’s too late. This is information you can obtain if you’re in a solid relationship with someone. What you do with that information could negate your schoolboy crush from so long ago. You see memes floating around social media that say, “If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best.” While this might set off a few red flags, there’s actually a lot of truth in it should you decide to commit to a relationship.

As long as you’re aware of the illusion in front of you and as long as your chains of codependence are broken, you can have a lot of fun serial crushing on long distance targets. Fill your mind with happy thoughts of you and your crush together. Play your favorite romantic song while you’re zoning out. Write a poem or short story about the experience (without using the person’s real name, of course). I wrote a poem not too long ago called Hand Massage and it’s about, you guessed it, smearing lotion over my crush’s hands as a way not only to heal her cracked skin, but also to relax her and earn her trust. Hand Massage ended up being a favorite poem of mine in recent memory, in a sea of marginally acceptable ones. I was open, honest, unafraid, and most importantly, I didn’t sound like a total creep. That’s a small victory in my book. Even the smallest victories will be vital in the never ending war against your own mind.

In March alone, I’ve had so many days of autistic and schizophrenic burnout that my writing output has been minimal at best. During these boring days of lying in bed and doing jack shit until the tiredness passes, I like to keep my imagination fresh by daydreaming of…whatever comes to mind. I’ve had thoughts about my own stories, I’ve had positive thoughts, evil ones, and yes, romantic ones. With the current Corona Virus spreading like wildfire all over the goddamn planet, my fantasies will be more important now than they’ve ever been. Movie theaters are closed, rock concerts are being canceled, public life in general has screeched to a grinding halt. As long as I’m staying home waiting for both the virus and my burnout to subside, I’m going to have my thoughts to keep me busy for the time being. Whoever said, “Thinking is the best way to travel” was probably living in my hometown of Port Orchard and had nothing to do whether the virus was spreading or not.

By all means, daydream until you’re ready to face this maddening world yet again. You can get attached to your crushes, but don’t get so attached that your happiness depends entirely on them. Have fun with your downtime. The world will come back to life soon enough. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

The last time I wrote a chapter of Beautiful Monster was either March 1^st or 2^nd and I spent so long getting it pumped out that I began to doubt my abilities as a writer. I began to question whether or not I was being too cautious in my approach. Even now I’m debating with myself about whether the next chapter, number ten, will be written with caution and slowness or reckless abandon and quickness. No matter which style I choose, I hope I can remember all of my talking points this time. I’m going to need them. In this chapter, Windham and Tarja venture into Devon Bay, one of the Atwood Queendom’s major cities, so that they can keep warm in a hotel room during the freezing weather. If you’re going to make “Get a room!” jokes, get them out of your system, because there will be nothing sexy about what Windham does in this chapter with a Smoke Wagon XT, the medieval equivalent of a handgun. Good thing Ordell Robbie from Jackie Brown isn’t giving him access to firearms. Otherwise, he just might have to “absolutely, positively kill every last motherfucker in the room”.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Walking home with you last night, you said the world is beautiful and how things look that way when you’re in love. I love this world. When I’m in your arms, is this heaven? I opened up the letter that the postman gave to me this morning. Had to stop myself from shouting out, “I love this world!” When you’re in my arms, is this heaven? I know that heaven waits for those whose love is true. I want to be there when the age of love has come again. Tell me all about yourself and how you came to me like in a dream. And every night I dream of you. I dream of you. When I’m in your arms, is this heaven? I know that heaven waits for those whose love is true. Don’t ask me where or when the time for us will come again. I sit and watch the sun go down. And in the darkness there’s no sound while in the sky tonight the stars all cry, “I love you!” Are they crying out over you? ‘Cause you’re in my arms. Is this heaven? ‘Cause the story starts and ends with you.”

-The Moody Blues singing “Is This Heaven?”-

***POST-SCRIPT***

You could totally use the above song as fodder for one of your romantic daydreams with your gazillion crushes. I know I do.