Twelve Days

VERSE 1

I could’ve been a rock star who sold out arenas

I could’ve been a bigger wrestler than Rock and John Cena

I could’ve been the president of the United States

I could’ve been the one to erase all the hate

Betrayal from within kept me from reaching those heights

Too many wars with my mind, lost those fights

Too many times where anxiety took over

Now this journey seems to go nowhere

CHORUS

One day of victory and twelve days of rest

But everyone keeps telling me it’s all for the best

Everyday I rot away

Dystopia is here to stay

VERSE 2

Paper lanterns with the dimmest lights of them all

Guide my way down the never-ending hall

Forgive me if I seem to stumble and fall

Or bang my fucked up head against the wall

If this trajectory sounds way too familiar

It’s because being directionless is such a killer

So many dreams of my peers are snuffed out

Now I’m the latest whose future is in doubt

CHORUS

One day of victory and twelve days of rest

But everyone keeps telling me it’s all for the best

Everyday I rot away

Dystopia is here to stay

BRIDGE

I could’ve been the hero of everyone’s story

I could’ve spread my wings, could’ve been soaring

I could’ve been the next god the world needed

But none of it’s possible when I feel defeated

CHORUS X2

One day of victory and twelve days of rest

But everyone keeps telling me it’s all for the best

Everyday I rot away

Dystopia is here to stay

"The PROX Transmissions" by Dustin Bates

BOOK TITLE: The PROX Transmissions
AUTHORS: Dustin Bates
YEAR: 2017
GENRE: Graphic Novel
SUBGENRE: Science Fiction
GRADE: Pass

A greedy one-percent corporation who wants total control of humanity-saving technology? Check. That same corporation wanting to keep the masses ignorant and amnesic? Check. A secret society that wants to make the technology public so that we don’t live through an apocalypse? Check. And what about a couple of pawns who happen to be highly-esteemed engineers? Double check. When you strip away the sci-fi elements, this graphic novel begins to read like a prophecy. Unlike Mike Judge, Dustin Bates wasn’t off by 490 years. This is classic capitalist dystopia at its most dangerous. When profits come before people, the people won’t remain and they’re the most important resource we have. The loudest voices of our generation are being silenced, provided those voices don’t belong to the willfully ignorant or the economically powerful. If this graphic novel about decoding a space transmission doesn’t serve as a warning to humanity, I don’t know what will.

I know this book doesn’t seem like much of a message given it’s only eighty-eight pages and the first half of it is riddled with cheesiness. Sometimes the dialogue seems like an exposition dump or wholly unrealistic. The romantic relationship between Stephen and Dana happened way too quickly, which might have been by design considering what we learn about Dana. Some of the main characters are removed from the plot too easily and when they come back it almost seems like Deus Ex Machina. While I appreciate the scientific terminology being broken down into laymen’s terms, that too feels a lot like an exposition dump. The sob story that Stephen tells Dana about his ongoing divorce feels forced and only thrown in there as a ham-fisted attempt to garner sympathy. The fact that it was so endearing to Dana is a little bit sick. After this first half was over, I wrestled with myself about what grade I should give this book.

And then the second half came along and everything became as clear as day. The action got hot and heavy in a hurry when the assassination attempts on the main characters were taken more seriously. The cryptic text messages weren’t just a cliché plot device after all and actually led to the greater good. The technology that the evil corporation wants to get their hands on would quite frankly go a long way in rebuilding our economy in the real world. The anti-capitalist themes were more apparent and more urgent-sounding. There were twists and turns that made me forget about the Deus Ex Machina reinsertion of lost characters. The ending brings about a full circle effect that leaves the story open-ended, much like the uncertainty of life itself. I guess what I’m trying to say with this paragraph is that if you’re waiting for things to stop being cheesy and start being real, then your patience will be rewarded with a brilliantly-written story. The eighty-eight pages will feel jam-packed with everything you’re looking for in a dystopian journey.

The author of this graphic novel, Dustin Bates, also happens to be the lead singer and songwriter for the electronic rock band Starset. He doesn’t just write a neat little story; he lives the gimmick. He believes everything he says and we should listen to him. Does the sci-fi aspect seem silly to ordinary people? Absolutely. But does the genre make the message any less important? No way. Whether you think he believes his own gimmick too much or not, Dustin Bates is doing what every classic sci-fi storyteller has done before him: predict the future and call his readers to arms. For that, this graphic novel deserves four out of five stars.

Joker

MOVIE TITLE: Joker

DIRECTOR: Todd Phillips

YEAR: 2019

GENRE: Psychological Thriller

RATING: R for violence, swearing, and disturbing themes

GRADE: Extra Credit

Humanizing a violent criminal is a tall task in and of itself. Getting sympathy for any kind of character is harder than it looks (trust me, I’ve tried). When you watch this movie, not only will you have sympathy for Arthur Fleck a.k.a. The Joker, but you’ll cheer for him as well. There’s more to building a sympathetic villain than throwing in a tragic back story and calling it a day. This movie went above and beyond in developing the Joker character. He’s mentally ill, he’s rejected by society because of his awkward behavior, he’s impoverished, and he’s the target of violence just as much as he’s the instigator. While people wouldn’t under any circumstances condone his violent behavior, they will at least understand it. They might even learn to treat fellow members of society with respect. Nobody starts out as an evil person. They’re slowly built into one by the forces around them. Again, it doesn’t excuse Joker’s murders nor does it give the incel community an idol to look up to. But the more we see each other as human beings, the more we act like human beings.

Of course, none of this sympathy would have been possible if not for the brilliant acting work of Joaquin Phoenix, who played The Joker. In fact, Mr. Phoenix might be telling Heath Ledger to hold his beer (no disrespect to Mr. Ledger). The pathological laughter, the nervousness around strangers, the poor cadence of his jokes, the sadness when he’s alone, they all looked believable coming from Joaquin Phoenix. Mental illness is a lonely obstacle for someone to overcome. Nobody wanted to be around The Joker when he was at his worst and the actor brought that loneliness to life through his character work. It took a lot of studying and reading in order to get this villain down perfectly. Mr. Phoenix’s passion for what he does is obvious in his roles. If he doesn’t get an Oscar for this performance, I’m going to be very surprised and upset. Granted, I won’t give the Army nervous fits with my level of disappointment and nor should anybody else. You hear that, terrorists? Be nice!

Somewhere in this nature vs. nurture debate, there’s a modern day dystopia happening all around The Joker. Garbage is piling up, rats are infesting the city, the disenfranchised are being bullied, social programs are being cut, and poverty is at an all time high. When politicians and oligarchs use their influence to enrich themselves at the expense of others, distrust starts to build between the social classes. It doesn’t always end in riots and violence, but sitting down and doing nothing doesn’t cross their minds either. In many ways, the dystopian politics of this movie reminds me a lot of what’s going on in the real world under the Trump administration. So we have a realistic Joker and a realistic political system. Superhero movies get a bad rap for being cartoonish and comical, right? You know what Joaquin Phoenix and the rest of the crew says to that? “Hold our beers.”

Everything that could go right with this movie did go right. It’s gritty, it’s real, it’s dark, and nothing was out of place. Keeping a smile on your face all of your life is close to impossible. It’s okay to feel bad sometimes. Toxic positivity did nobody any good. But if you must rage against the machine with a nihilistic point of view, don’t cross the point of no return like The Joker did. An extra credit grade will go to this modern day masterpiece. Now THAT’S something worth smiling about!

Nobody Cares

VERSE 1

The world is on fire, dictators are liars

Nobody left on our planet to admire

We go through the motions every year

Drown our sorrows in drugs and beer

The other side wants to mock our tears

And divide us with their angry fears

Nobody cares that this is happening

The apathetic have become champions

CHORUS 1

And nobody cares

Nobody cares

Another rainstorm of bullets

Godly rhetoric is bullshit

VERSE 2

We could burn an orphanage tonight

Leave a beacon like a searchlight

Everyone would look the other way

Carry on like it’s just another day

We could steamroll our own young

When they grow a silver tongue

And nobody would give a damn

Despite performances of a ham

CHORUS 2

And nobody cares

Nobody cares

Another war with ourselves

Creating our own version of hell

BRIDGE

Sex is used as a weapon

The rapists go to heaven

The victims are crucified

Accused of spewing lies

And nobody cares

Nobody cares

VERSE 3

If one person could do enough

Then life wouldn’t be so tough

If one person’s voice truly mattered

We could put an end to the splatters

I wanted to believe that this was true

But there’s nothing I can do

Except play the role of the helpless

Call me lazy or call me selfish

CHORUS 3

And nobody cares

Nobody cares

Another day in paradise

Why can’t we all play nice?

And nobody cares

Nobody cares

Another day in the shitter

Leaves us cold and bitter

Another day in this winter

Is worth becoming a quitter

And nobody cares

Nobody cares

Do It For Her

When everything in the world seems to hurt

Just remember that you’re doing this for her

Every hour you work for draconian wages

Is so that she can live beyond young ages

Every sleepless night marked with baggy eyes

Is so that she doesn’t have to grow up to cry

Is it worth the pain? Would you do it all again?

Damn right you would, my hardworking friend

Some things are more important than agony

To say otherwise is the highest form of blasphemy

The future grows darker every single day

Even in dystopia, she needs sunshine rays

Should experience happiness while she’s alive

The world is there for your daughter to thrive

She can be a dreamer, really anything she wants

In spite of politicians who throw their taunts

In spite of billionaires who don’t want to share

In spite of bullies who don’t seem to care

While everything else may feel like a blur

Never forget that you’re doing this for her

Isle of Dogs

MOVIE TITLE: Isle of Dogs

DIRECTOR: Wes Anderson

YEAR: 2018

GENRE: Animated Comedy

RATING: PG-13 for violence and politics

GRADE: Extra Credit

In dystopian Japan, corrupt politician Kobayashi orders a mass exodus of the dog population to Trash Island due to an outbreak of canine diseases. A small minority of Japanese citizens believe that this quarantine is nothing more than xenophobia in a disguise. One of those rebels is Kobayashi’s nephew Atari, who hijacks a plane and flies to Trash Island to rescue his bodyguard dog Spots. What starts off as a small act of defiance becomes a full-blown revolution against a five hundred year dynasty hell-bent on spreading messages of fear and hatred against dogs. No one person can do everything, but everybody can do something.

With the current political climate here in America, it’s no wonder that this synopsis sounds familiar to us. Kobayashi is little more than a Japanese Donald Trump with the way he dodges criticism and spouts bigoted rhetoric. In the case of Isle of Dogs, we know the disenfranchised dogs are easy to root for because they’re so darn cute. But being empathetic is more than about rooting for the favorable ones. It’s about rooting for complete strangers who are being crushed by oppression. True empathy doesn’t care if you’re rich or poor, white or otherwise, gay or straight. If you see injustice in the world, say something. If you’re feeling brave, do something. That’s what this movie means to me and that’s the reason why it deserves an Extra Credit grade.

As long as you’re cheering for the dogs to have a better day, why not rub their bellies, scratch their ears, and give them hot baths? Yes, they’re covered in dirt from living on a garbage-infested island for so long. Yes, they eat things normal people wouldn’t touch. Yes, they have infectious diseases. But they deserve your love anyways. Cook them a nice steak dinner. Throw a tennis ball for them and have them bring it back to you. Let them take long naps on your furniture during gray and rainy days. You can’t resist these fluffy creatures no matter how hard you try. Couple that with a powerful anti-xenophobia message and Isle of Dogs will easily become your new favorite movie.

Of course, with any piece of art, there will always be critics. It’s as certain as death and taxes no matter how good the movie appears to be. In the case of Isle of Dogs, the biggest piece of criticism it received from the public was the possible appropriation of Japanese culture. The movie has Taiko drummers, sumo wrestlers, sushi meals, school uniforms, anime references, and plenty of other tropes that might be deemed racist. Well, I’m here to tell those critics to relax. You’re looking for a controversy that’s not even there. I’m not worried about a white American like Wes Anderson using these tropes. I would be more worried if a director used them badly. Watch the old Dick Tracy cartoons from the 1960’s and contrast them to Isle of Dogs. Not even a close call when it comes to offensiveness. As my mother always says to people who are uppity, “Calm down, relax, take a deep breath.”

With a powerful political message, cute animal babies, deadpan comedy, and an all-around good story, it wouldn’t surprise me if there was a semi-truck full of Oscars waiting for Wes Anderson and his beautifully-done masterpiece. Everybody who participated in this movie deserves high accolades, from the voice actors to the animators to the translators to…everybody! It took a whole village to put together an awesome movie that all ages can enjoy. Five out of five stars, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

All the Same

(In the style of “Like Me and You” by Raffi)

Farage lives in England

Sarkozy lives in France

Harper lives in Canada

Putin lives in Russia

Kim-Jong lives in Korea

Trump lives in America

Christie lives in New Jersey

Scott lives in Florida

Walker lives in Wisconsin

Paul lives in Kentucky

Perry lives in Texas

Bush lives in dystopia

And each one is exactly the same

They bring the world so much shame

They’re the ones we ought to blame

For shit going up in flames

"Lament of the Fallen" by Andy Peloquin

BOOK TITLE: Lament of the Fallen

AUTHOR: Andy Peloquin

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Dystopian Fantasy

GRADE: Extra Credit

Once a ruthless contract killer, the demonic Hunter now struggles with the voices in his head, which urge him to kill and feed his magical dagger Soulhunger despite The Hunter’s overwhelming guilt. Traveling aimlessly, The Hunter stumbles upon a battle in which a knight named Sir Danna and her apprentice Visibos are trying to fight off highwaymen. Against the voice’s wishes, The Hunter springs into action and earns the two knights’ trust by defeating the bandits. As the group of three travels together, he must keep his demon heritage a secret since the two knights are sworn hunters of his kind. How long can this charade last? What will be the consequences if he gets caught?

Just like with the Bucelarii book that came before this (Blade of the Destroyer), the battle sequences in Lament of the Fallen are well-thought out and realistic down to the last detail. Andy Peloquin has a black belt in multiple martial arts, so when he talks about sneaking into guards and the effects a simple strike can have on bones, he’s not joking around. The way The Hunter ignores his own suffering in order to win a battle represents the kind of toughness it takes to succeed in martial arts. He could have fire in his lungs, stinging sensations on his skin, and a head full of fog, yet The Hunter somehow manages to push the worst kind of pain to the back of his mind and finish his battles with a bloody passion. His stealthy fighting style and ruthless aggression make The Hunter one of the most feared opponents somebody could have in a fight.

Which brings me to my next point: The Hunter is more than a bloodthirsty killer. Despite his demon heritage, he has more humanity in his pinky finger than most of the people he encounters have in their whole bodies. His struggles to resist the urge to kill are believable and relatable to any reader. His need for friendship despite his murderous vocation makes him even more relatable. He may have the outer shell of a tough-minded killer, but deep inside lies a modicum of innocence that will always steer him towards the right path. He doesn’t kill because he enjoys it. He does it because he must. Maybe the voices in his head enjoy every bloodbath he goes through, but The Hunter is better than the demonic commands that threaten to control him. If you can’t get behind him right away as a reader, you will by the time the story is over.

But there’s one reason why this book has earned my ultra-rare five-star rating: because the voices in The Hunter’s head are reminiscent of modern day schizophrenia, which I have suffered from since 2002. The Hunter just wants his brain to shut the hell up and give him some peace. That’s all I wanted when I first started hearing my own voices as a teenager. I wanted it so badly that I would have committed suicide to obtain it if it hadn’t been for my loved ones talking me down. Because I can relate to The Hunter on a deep level, I want him to succeed in this story. I want him to find answers to his past. I want him to seek revenge on those who wronged him. I want him to find friendship in the unlikeliest places. It’ll be another five hundred years in The Hunter’s world before Risperdal is invented, so living with this sadistic dialogue in his head is even tougher for him. I feel for him and I want nothing but the best for him, despite the fact that he’s an assassin for hire.

Andy Peloquin knocked it out of the park when he wrote “Lament of the Fallen”. Everything about this book is believable from the fight scenes to the emotional traumas to the world building to the street folk’s reactions. You will find a lot of surprises as you flip through these pages and you will have an evil smirk on your face when The Hunter finds success in his journeys. Mr. Peloquin is one creative son of a gun and he deserves the highest praise for his hardest work. I don’t give five-star reviews that often anymore, so enjoy your success, Andy! Hold your head up high (unless of course you’re dodging a roundhouse kick).

Subway Smackdown

The damage to Venice Reyes’ car was sickening: side view mirrors shattered into pebbles, the windshield reduced to snowflakes, the metal twisted and bent, the tires punctured, and the top of the car caved in completely. What other method of transportation was there to get her to her next modeling gig? As she thought of the ultimate answer, her stomach burned with anxiety and her skin welled up with goose bumps. She had to take the subway train. She threw up in her mouth a little bit at the thought of it.

Venice boarded the train wearing a red cocktail dress and black heels, obviously dressing for the job she had. She wasn’t onboard for a few seconds when the stench finally assaulted her nostrils: monstrous body odor, stale food, vomit, urine, and shit. The sexy model contributed to this mess when she doubled over and threw up bile on the already disgusting floor.

The monsters, orcs, ogres, and goblins riding the train with her laughed like hyenas with sore throats. Venice gave them all a frightened smile as she grabbed onto one of the overhead hand railings, struggling to keep herself standing straight. The subway train lurched forward and the model fell right on her ass into the puddle she puked up. The slimy skinned and diaper odor monsters laughed yet again at her plight, this time causing her to shed a few silent tears.

Venice once again grabbed hold of the railing and managed to stay up this time. Her dress was a disaster. How was she supposed to do a convincing photo shoot with her clothes in such horrible condition? She needed the money, smashed car aside. If only she could have caught the bastard who did that to her vehicle. Venice was a lover, not a fighter, but even she would have been capable of reducing a punk ass vandal to blood chunks if given the opportunity. Damn that vandal and damn this subway!

After a few minutes of being lost in her own thoughts, she was accosted by a throaty laugh behind her. She begged whatever god was up there that the monster wasn’t interested in her. She slowly turned around with tears in her eyes and snot in her nose to see a seven foot tall piece of bloody meat named Khan Shou, a famous boxer she had seen on television a few times when there was nothing else on.

Television didn’t do Khan justice. Venice looked like a small child standing next to him. His shark-toothed grin sent chills up her spine. His swollen red body was dripping with green slime. Venice secretly begged for this subway ride to be over, but it was just beginning.

“You must be Venice Reyes. Yeah, you’re definitely her! I’m a big fan of your work!” said Khan as he held out a magazine with her on the cover. The publication was covered in red and green goops as well as goop from a more intimate place. “Will you give me an autograph? I’ll pay you whatever you want: fifty credits, a hundred credits, two-hundred credits, hell, I’ll give you my life savings if you’re willing to do a little more for me!” Khan licked his lipless mouth with a combination of hunger and lust.

The model stared at her monstrous assailant with wide eyes, a quivering body, and a terrified smile as she held up her hands defensively and slowly backed away, obviously giving a no answer. As she backpedaled, she tripped over a homeless orc’s legs, prompting the passengers to laugh at her some more and prompting the orc to yell, “Watch it, bitch!”

Venice gently and apologetically giggled at the orc before standing up and stumbling toward the women’s bathroom, slamming the door and locking it tightly. Compared to the outside of the bathroom, this tiny stall smelled like a botanical garden. Venice used this opportunity to take deep breaths in and out and enjoy the beautiful air. She sat down on the toilet shaking and clutching her knees to her chest, still feeling the trauma of riding this subway.

Khan ripped the door off the bathroom and tossed it aside like it was a piece of paper, not caring who he hit with it. Venice screamed in horror as the seven foot creature said to her, “It’s not exactly the mile-high club. More like the six-feet under club. Either way, I’m a happy guy. Come on, pretty girl, what do you say? Are you ready for some goddamn fun?!”

“Hey, shit head!” yelled the homeless orc from before, who was now sporting a giant lump on his forehead. “Watch where you’re throwing that fucking door! You almost gave me a concussion, asshole!”

“Who are you calling an asshole, you queer?!” yelled Khan as he and the orc were pushing and shoving each other with the subway passengers cheering them on like animals.

Venice had spent most of the time covering her face in fear until she saw an opportunity. While Khan was distracted, the model got on her knees and crawled beneath the monster’s oversized legs. She then stood back up and ran towards the back exit of the subway. As Khan yelled for her to get back to where he was, Venice didn’t care if the subway was still in transit. Her modeling gig was over the minute she boarded this god-awful train.

She continued to run until she jumped through the back window and landed on the train tracks. The subway train left her behind while she was lying on the tracks covered in glass and blood. Venice was slipping in and out of consciousness while crying softly to herself. She may have gotten to safety, but that didn’t mean her troubles were over. She needed money in the most desperate way. She needed to buy a new car, get a new apartment, and get food in her stomach. She was sure to be late to her modeling gig, not that she was in any condition to be there anyways.

After what seemed like centuries of lying on the train tracks, Venice Reyes slowly picked herself off the ground, pieces of subway glass getting imbedded into her once lovely hands and knees. When she stood, she was on wobbly legs. When she walked, she struggled to stay upright.

“You look like you just had the world’s greatest orgy!” said a familiar throaty voice behind her. Venice silently said, “Oh no!” to herself over and over again as she turned around and saw Khan Shou smiling at her from a short distance. The hideous circus freak thudded and thumped on the train tracks as he stalked his sexual prey, licking his lips like he was about to eat a slab of prime rib.

Venice started running down the tunnel despite wearing heels and despite being in bloody pain. In her mind, she was running faster than a cheetah bolting through the African plains. She looked like a bolt of lightning flashing through the sky. She was a blur to the naked eye. She could see the boarding platform and it looked like the gates of heaven with the light shining down upon it. With one mighty leap, she grabbed hold of the edge and attempted to pull herself to safety.

And then she felt the chokingly tight grip of Khan Shou’s monstrous paws clutching her ankle. Venice screamed at her highest pitch, but nobody was around to hear her, not even the transit cops. She pulled her leg as hard as she could, but her diminutive strength was no match for the vice-like grip of the hellacious ring warrior, who whispered at her sexually and clicked his tongue.

So this was what the life of a famous sex icon was like in a dystopian world. Even in a normal world, Venice would have been treated like a sex slave to the public. Was putting her body out there really worth all of this unwanted attention? Of course not, which was why she took off the high heeled shoe on her good leg and jammed the stiletto in Khan’s left eye.

For a guy who was a brutal ring warrior, Khan showed a childlike lack of toughness when he danced around clutching his smashed eyeball. He screamed and bled all over the train tracks before finally removing the hell with brute force and staring a hole through Venice, who was crab-walking her way toward the platform exit.

Khan Shou growled like a grizzly bear when he said, “I’m going to snap off your arms and legs like the Barbie doll you are! I’m going to chew your brains like a giant wad of fucking bubblegum! I’m going to drink your blood like a bottle of Coors Light! I’m going to…” His lovely oratory was interrupted by a speeding subway train that splattered him all over the platform like a rotten tomato. He smelled just as bad as one too.

Venice laid backwards and breathed deep sighs of relief. The subway ride was over, Khan Shou was a dead man, and Venice Reyes was safe from male perversion. The only question now was, what would she do for money now that her modeling gig was a bust? She didn’t dwell on that too much. She instead closed her eyes and drifted off into a haunted sleep. There were other modeling gigs for someone as beautiful as her. Just a few more photo shoots and she could afford to move onto something else. Maybe she could also afford a therapist.