Why All the Cartoons?

Alright…I think I owe everyone here an explanation as to why there have been so many political cartoons uploaded to my blog all at once. No, I didn’t get hacked, they are my drawings and I stand by those messages. In fact, cartooning has been a hobby of mine whenever my schizophrenic brain was too tired and too burned out to write stories or write poems. I can draw a cartoon anytime I want, whereas I have to wait a million years, maybe longer, to have the energy for writing stories and poetry. So yeah, that’s why I have a bunch of cartoons in my blog now. There will be so many more to come since I’ve been doing it throughout most of 2025, but I figured you guys deserved an explanation. I’m pacing myself with the upload schedule because it’s fucking tedious and drains me of energy pretty quickly. Stay tuned!

IOU

Something unexpected, but not really, though

When it comes to the world, there’s nothing I owe

I gave it everything

Until I couldn’t sing

The world asked for more, well, what do you know?

It’s an abusive romance with a floating rock

She gets all the diamonds, I get a bloody cock

More, more, more

So like a good man whore

I play the cheerleader while she’s fucking a jock

If I go on strike while I’m working this mic

What would there be left to click on and like?

I’m falling behind

In the endless grind

My wheels are spinning like a Kawasaki bike

Here’s an IOU that will never be paid

Here’s a shitty RPG that will never be played

You can be the DM

Until we’re past the PM

Hours of the day, I think my hairs have grayed

That’s all that life is: a game I can’t win

So why am I even going all the way in?

Gamble everything

Lose until it stings

Slam dunk the IOU in the rubbish bin

I owe the world nothing, its people even less

I’ve given all I’ve got and I’m still not the best

Christmas is over

I ain’t being covert

Middle finger to the earth, time for me to rest

Wake me up when you throw a parade

For every sacrifice that I’ve ever made

It’s not ego

I’m not a hero

I’m just full from drinking capitalist Kool-Aid

I Left My Spoons in Kitsap County

CHORUS

I left my heart in San Francisco

I left my wallet in El Segundo

I left my spoons in Kitsap County

Goddamn, I’m all over the place

VERSE 1

I can trim your hedges, wash your dishes

Do your laundry, cook your fishes

But the minute I turn on my computer

I get back in bed to be a snoozer

They call it Spoon Theory, I believe it

My silverware drawer makes me want to sleep in

More forks and knives in my sensitive skin

Than a sewing cushion that’s covered in pins

CHORUS

I left my heart in San Francisco

I left my wallet in El Segundo

I left my spoons in Kitsap County

Goddamn, I’m all over the place

VERSE 2

Going to war inside my fucked up head

Leaves me wanting the comfort of my bed

Ain’t no peace treaty being signed today

So I take my forks and knives every which way

I went to a rock concert looking like hell

Zoning in and out, but no one could tell

Yet it feels like I’m under a magnifying glass

Eat a bag of popcorn to fatten my ass

CHORUS

I left my heart in San Francisco

I left my wallet in El Segundo

I left my spoons in Kitsap County

Goddamn, I’m all over the place

VERSE 3

I left the venue feeling like Superman

Alive with zeal just like an uber fan

But the real world smacked me in the balls

It was back to the grind and the faceplant fall

I left my spoons in Kitsap County

Every bigot and troll wants to collect my bounty

My own cutlery drawer wants to cut me to pieces

Until the day my heartbeat finally ceases

EXTENDED CHORUS

I left my heart in San Francisco

I left my wallet in El Segundo

I left my spoons in Kitsap County

Goddamn, I’m all over the place

I left my money in Seattle

I left my body somewhere in Tacoma

I left my spoons in Kitsap County

Where the fuck did they go?

Fun Guy

VERSE 1

I dance like I’m in a pool that someone dropped a toaster in

I can’t do keg stands or I’ll throw up in the garbage bin

I can’t do the things that will make you confess your sins

To the preacher man when your Sunday morning begins

I haven’t smiled a day since the Reagan administration

I haven’t made love since computer masturbation

The only songs that play for me would bring tears to others’ eyes

And wouldn’t you know it, it’s been so long since I’ve cried

CHORUS 1

I can’t be a fun guy

When serotonin runs dry

Can’t be a party animal

When I sink like a cannonball

Can’t be a fun guy

Can’t be a fun guy

Fun guy, fun guy

Fun guy, fun guy

VERSE 2

You say you’re leaving my side because I bring you down so much

You say I’m on the edge of giving myself the finishing touch

You say you need a guy who has a million in change and isn’t so strange

You say you need a guy who doesn’t come off as sad and deranged

I say don’t let the door hit you on the ass when you leave

A half-hour friendship was a lifetime filled with being deceived

I wish you well and let me tell you one thing right before you go

My depression and rejection are less than one percent of what you know

CHORUS 1

I can’t be a fun guy

When serotonin runs dry

Can’t be a party animal

When I sink like a cannonball

Can’t be a fun guy

Can’t be a fun guy

Fun guy, fun guy

Fun guy, fun guy

BRIDGE X2

I didn’t choose the darkness

The darkness chose me

I could have been a fun guy

If not for fucked up brain chemistry

CHORUS 2

I can’t be a fun guy

When serotonin runs dry

Can’t be a party animal

When I sink like a cannonball

It ain’t fun for me either

When someone else is the leader

Grabbing me by the throat

Use my blood to write a special note

Can’t be a fun guy

Can’t be a fun guy

Fun guy, fun guy

Fun guy! Fun guy!

Love Me Back

CHORUS

I could fall in love with life

Life won’t love me back

It’s not a girlfriend or a wife

There’s way too much to unpack

VERSE 1

I could put everything I’ve got

Into this passion that I call mine

But passionate is what I’m not

I guess I’ll settle for just fine

Not enough energy to carry on

Life is better under the blanket

The social contract is just a con

Lowest of lows if you want to rank it

CHORUS

I could fall in love with life

Life won’t love me back

It’s not a girlfriend or a wife

There’s way too much to unpack

VERSE 2

I used to believe in meritocracy

Until they slammed the door in my face

I used to think life was a democracy

Until my vote was stuck in last place

And now I ask myself what’s the point

When the world has forgotten about me

Always been destined to disappoint

The machine pumps along without me

BRIDGE

You could call it a case of apathy

You could call it laziness if that’s better

I don’t know why you’re asking me

Take it up with the real trendsetters

EXTENDED CHORUS

I could fall in love with life

Life won’t love me back

It’s not a girlfriend or a wife

There’s way too much to unpack

I could fall in love with nothing at all

But the abyss won’t love me in return

It’s not a shelter with a roof and walls

It’s an underworld in which I burn

I Don't Feel Victorious

VERSE 1

I did it, I lived through another day

But I don’t feel victorious

Bought a pizza with my monthly pay

But it didn’t taste glorious

Found my emotional charging cord

But I don’t feel like a hero man

Powered down, left to feel bored

My battery’s down to zero, man

CHORUS 1

Forged in fire, what the hell does that even mean?

Can’t be the brightest star that you have ever seen

Greatness is born from a life so torturous

And yet, through it all, I don’t feel victorious

Victorious

Victorious

I don’t feel victorious

VERSE 2

I covered more pages in precious ink

But I don’t feel like a storyteller

I washed all the dishes in my sink

But I still feel deader than Old Yeller

I vacuumed all the dust right off the floor

But I don’t feel like Employee of the Year

Life goes back to being just another bore

But I don’t feel like I belong here

CHORUS 2

Hustle Culture, what the hell is that all about?

Getting fired for having the slightest of self-doubt

And now the big boss man is busy sorting us

Now’s not the time where I feel victorious

Victorious

Victorious

I don’t feel victorious

BRIDGE

Conditioned to feel bad every day of our lives

For daring to exist or trying to just survive

We don’t have a whole lot, not even a nine to five

We don’t want to be dead, but we don’t want to be alive

CHORUS 3

Embrace the suck, what the hell are the layman’s terms?

Die fifteen hundred times and then lay with the worms

The graveyard needs bodies, now the undertaker’s hoarding us

None of us have any right to feel victorious

Victorious

Victorious

I don’t feel victorious

Victorious

Victorious

None of us feel…

Feels Like Homework

CHORUS 1

Chowing down on food feels like homework

Being in a good mood feels like homework

Everything you do feels like homework

Feels like homework, feels like homework

VERSE 1

When getting A’s and B’s is all you’ve known

Getting anything less can make you feel alone

Ego takes a bruising, but not as bad as the brain

Every failure makes you question if you’re sane

Pop the pills like they’re Butterfinger BB’s

Eat every single pizza from the kitchen at Cici’s

No exercise today, because what’s the point?

Lay on the couch, watch the tube, smoke a joint

CHORUS 2

Playing videogames feels like homework

Remembering your name feels like homework

Doing more of the same feels like homework

Feels like homework, feels like homework

VERSE 2

Got an hour to kill before you hit the sack

Read a cheap romance from your library stack

Write a story or two about murderous goblins

Watch BoJack Horseman, get on with the sobbing

Every leisure activity comes with a final grade

Forever shamed for the lack of money made

Calling in sick starts to feel necessary

“Sorry, boss man, I’m ready to be buried”

CHORUS 3

Leaving the house feels like homework

Clicking the mouse feels like homework

Wearing Levi Strauss feels like homework

Feels like homework, feels like homework

Breathing in and out feels like homework

Asking what life’s about feels like homework

Disproving your doubt feels like homework

Feels like homework, feels like homework

VERSE 3

Tell the English professor as you leave her class

“You can take your D- and shove it up your ass!”

Tell the math department when you graduate

“You deserve every ounce of venom and hate!”

Tell the history department when you retire

“I hope this whole school gets set on fire!”

Tell the universe when it’s ready to take you

“Let me rest in peace or I’ll fucking make you!”

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.

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!

Balls to the Wall

Shane Herman’s sweat-covered T-shirt was glued to his body. His basketball shorts were drenched in ball soup. His Nikes and socks were probably going to smell worse than a skunk’s asshole once he finally got them off at home. His thinning brown hair stuck up everywhere like porcupine needles. His heartbeats were deafening. His mouth reeked of acid. His lungs burned. All Shane wanted to do was collapse on the floor mat and sleep the rest of the day into oblivion.

The roar of the crowd nor the lovely TV hostess’s bombastic voice could keep him more than semi-conscious. He didn’t even look her in the eye, just doubled over and sucked on air-conditioned TV studio oxygen.

The blond, cocktail dress-wearing hostess enthusiastically said into the hard camera, “Welcome back, everyone, to the toughest athletic competition on television…”

“Balls to the Wall!” shouted the audience.

“I said the toughest athletic competition on television!”

“BALLS TO THE WALL!”

“Much better! I’m Morgan Burch and thank you all for joining us this half-hour. Our guest this afternoon, Shane Herman, made history today, but not in the way he would have liked.”

“Oh, fuck off,” said Shane before spitting onto the mat.

Ignoring him, Morgan said, “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen: Mr. Herman has officially taken the longest time to complete our obstacle courses at eight minutes a piece. That means he has only two minutes remaining to complete the final challenge…or else!”

Wiping the sweat off his forehead with his equally soaked arm, Shane stood up straight and said, “Listen, you crazy bitch…” He took a few more deep breaths. “I’m done with this shit. I’m fucking exhausted. I just want to go home and fall asleep on my bed with my girlfriend.”

“Well, it’s funny you should mention that, because…well…you’re not competing for five thousand dollars anymore,” said Morgan with a passive-aggressive tone and a wink to the hard camera. “We here at Balls to the Wall decided to give you a little more…incentive. Direct your attention over to the far corner of the studio, Shane.”

Slowly the wall flipped horizontally and the secrets it revealed to the audience had them gasping in hokey outrage. On the left side of the revolving platform was Ambrose Kaider, an intergalactic bounty hunter with his own TV show on the Pursuit network, a spiked Mohawk, more metal armor than he knew how to carry, and a big fucking plasma rifle with an itchy trigger finger. On the right side of the platform? The love of Shane’s life Georgia Cushing, shackled, ball gagged, and wearing Princess Leia’s metal bikini from Return of the Jedi.

Ambrose’s menacing stare as he smoked a cigar along with Georgia’s muffled pleas had Shane’s adrenaline pumping and his eyes bulging. “Let her go! You can’t do this! This shit’s illegal!”

“Correction, Mr. Herman: it WAS illegal until you signed a Hold Harmless agreement as a condition of competing on Balls to the Wall,” explained Morgan. She placed a hand on Shane’s shoulder and seductively scratched his back. “Remember, Mr. Herman: you have only two minutes to complete the final obstacle course. And if you don’t, Ambrose is going to turn your girlfriend’s head into a blood bomb. But…there’s always a but…the silver lining to all of this is…” She leaned into his ear. “You’ll have one extra hole to fuck! Are you ready, Mr. Herman?” She punctuated that last sentence by grabbing Shane’s ass.

Despite the obvious sexual harassment, Shane’s newly acquired sniper sight was locked onto Ambrose’s ugly mug. He had that mile-long stare that said, “Don’t fuck with my woman” without actually using words. Without giving Morgan the benefit of eye contact, he said, “You’re damn right I’m ready.” He then clocked Morgan in the face and sent her into darkness.

With the overhead Jumbo Tron counting down the obligatory two minutes and the audience booing him for his knockout punch, Shane’s nerves went into overdrive. He ignored all of his aches and sweats as he blitzed down the track on his way to the final obstacle course.

He flew off the diving board and grabbed a hold of the trapeze. His hands were so sweaty that he instantly let go and landed into a pool of scalding red water. The screams pouring out of Shane’s mouth had the audience laughing, Ambrose grinning, and Georgia screaming through her gag as she struggled in her chains. The fake bubbling lava had lit a fire under his ass, almost quite literally. He high-kneed it out of the pool and dashed towards the next obstacle.

Shane’s wobbly legs did a piss-poor job of balancing his body across a high beam, which was suspended above a pit full of scorpion-like alien creatures. As soon as he hit his nuts on the metal beam, the scorpions scrambled underneath him, clicked their claws, and came green liquid out of their tails. Shane held on for dear life while simultaneously doubling over in agonizing pain. Slowly he pulled himself across the metal beam. When he finally made it to the other side, he didn’t have the strength to pick himself up and hung upside down over the pit. The Martian scorpions drooled and came some more.

The overhead clock reached the one minute mark and Georgia’s screams overpowered those of the ravenous audience. Ambrose snapped, “Shut up, bitch!” before smacking her ass.

Another burst of adrenaline rushed through Shane Herman’s veins. He clenched his teeth, reached down for a handful of scorpions, and sat up before throwing the creatures out into the audience. He flipped them off and spit on the ground before continuing the course.

His balls were aching so badly that Shane coughed up some blood during his last hoorah. Black visions took over his mind and he was ready to fall asleep right there. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that Snickers bar before the show, he said in his mind. His blood coughs turned into a full-on vomiting session while the overhead clock reached the thirty second mark. He had one more obstacle to clear: a platform jump. He wanted to get up and rescue his girlfriend from a cruel and arguably illegal fate. “How far will I go for the girl of my dreams?” he mumbled to nobody. And then…”Clearly, I have my limits.”

Shane spun around and landed flat on his back in a puddle of sickness. Not even Georgia’s banshee screams could snap him out of his laziness. Not even the booing crowd could awaken him from this living nightmare. Not even the buzzer sounding could jolt him into action. Not even the sound of a plasma rifle discharging could…wait a minute…

Georgia emitted one final scream that caused Shane to tightly close his eyes and the audience to gasp in mock horror. He failed her. He wasn’t the superman he professed to be when he signed up for this reality show. He simply just gave up when it got too inconvenient. However…

“Today’s your lucky day, you dumb bitch. You’re free to go,” said Ambrose before the sounds of chains snapping echoed in Shane’s ears. “Go on back to your man…if you can call him that.”

It was illegal after all. The whole thing was a sick and twisted motivation technique. Even when the pressure mounted, Shane gave up and the audience couldn’t love him for it. Neither could Georgia as she stood over Shane’s prone body with angry tears in her eyes.

“How could you?” she asked while wiping her eyes with her arm. “That monster could have killed me! That woman grabbed you! And you just…let it happen?! How could you just quit like that?!”

Spitting out a small chunk of blood-covered vomit, Shane said, “Fuck this superman shit. I’m not a goddamn athlete. I never was. If you hadn’t spent all of our money on trips to the beauty salon, I wouldn’t have to torture myself for five thousand dollars. No woman is worth the pain I went through today.”

“The pain YOU went through?! Excuse me?! I’m in a metal bikini! I had a ball gag in my mouth, you idiot! I could have died today!”

“I could have died too!”

Shane and Georgia gazed at each other with sad, puffy eyes. They set the bar too high for each other. They both fucked up. And now it was time to part ways.

“I’m sorry, Shane…it’s over.” Georgia wiped away snot with her fingers and took off from the scene, leaving her now ex-boyfriend to fend for himself.

He held his hands over his face to unleash tears of his own when suddenly, Ambrose came over with his plasma rifle and said, “Cheer up, quitter. You haven’t given up on life completely. You probably should considering how high the hospital bill will be. Plus, I’m sure Morgan Burch is going to sue your ass for punching her in the face. With a beaten up body like yours, that’s a debt you’ll never work off. You still want to quit? I’ve got one in the chamber for you, for real this time. What do you say?”

Staring down the barrel of the plasma rifle, Shane nodded at Ambrose and said, “Go for it.” It wasn’t even a hard decision at this point. He would have welcomed it even before beginning the final obstacle course. So tired…so exhausted…Whoever said, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” obviously had Shane Herman in mind.

Self-Forgiveness

***SELF-FORGIVENESS***

One of the things you learn about yourself as a creative person is how hard you can be on yourself when you hit near-bottom. Maybe you hate your rough draft so much that it’s food for the paper shredder. Maybe you didn’t meet your deadline quickly enough and things fall to shit. Or if you’re anything like me, the biggest sin you can commit is not getting anything done for a whole day. At the end of that day, what does punishing yourself really do for your productivity? Nothing. In fact, it’s less productive than doing nothing at all. It’s counterproductive!

Learning self-forgiveness for your creative “sins” is a skill that needs to be sharpened by all artists at some point. Some days are productive and you can pump out entire novels in one day. Some days are slow and sluggish and all you want to do is nap. For the latter of those two days, even if the reasons for being exhausted are legitimate, there’s always a negative voice telling you to “suck it up” or whatever other tough love phrase comes to mind. Hell, one of the ways I try to wake myself up for the day is by slapping myself in the face. It doesn’t actually do anything; it’s just unnecessary physical pain.

If you have a mental illness like me, self-forgiveness is more important than ever. Punishing yourself can be a symptom of this illness and it’ll only make you feel more depressed than before. Just because the world can’t see your illness, doesn’t mean it isn’t there. It could be the medication making you tired. It could be the illness itself. It could be a hermit lifestyle. It could be a fucked up sleep schedule. Whatever it is, something is weighing you down and it’s okay to admit it. Part of learning to forgive yourself is acknowledging that you have a problem to begin with. Pushing it down until it festers isn’t “manly” or “macho”. In fact, opening up takes a lot of strength in and of itself.

Yes, I admit that it can be hard to open up and admit your worries whenever you see authors out there professing that you must write X number of pages a day or X number of letters or words. While that can be good advice at times, it’s also important that they’re not hard-and-fast rules. There’s no one definition for what a writing goal should be because every author is different. What works for one author won’t work for another. If an author is mentally ill like I am, then writing X number of words/letters per day is damned near impossible. If you need to take it easy on yourself, then don’t feel shame for it.

Even Chris Brecheen (the admin of Writing About Writing) knows how important self-care is. Yes, he posts memes on Face Book almost every day saying some form of “You Should Be Writing”. He’s not doing it to be malicious or arrogant. He’s doing it because he wants his readership to succeed. But even Mr. Brecheen knows that certain factors can get in the way of doing so, mental illness being chief among them. He admits to not being an expert on the topic of mental illness, but his empathy speaks volumes when he’s giving his warmhearted advice to depressed writers. I fucking love this guy. I really do.

One of the things Chris tells the mentally ill people who ask him questions about word limits is that there are no set limits. It’s part of the reason why he hates NaNoWriMo, because writing 1,667 words a day is unrealistic and it can wear on an author’s psyche. Maybe the word count should only be a few sentences. Maybe it’s somewhere below five hundred. The point is, do only what you can manage. As long as you’re doing something, you’re sharpening your skills. And if you don’t do something for that day, don’t beat yourself up over it. Try again tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after. And the day after. Eventually you’ll have a good day and be a writing machine.

If you want to write a quirky Face Book post, do that. If you want to write a letter to someone, do that too. If you just want to write a Tumbler or Twitter post, that’ll make your writing strong too. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Writing is a long and arduous process that takes time. It shouldn’t be bogged down by unrealistic goals and limits. Who knows? Maybe fame and fortune isn’t the answer after all for some people. It doesn’t have to be. And that’s okay. We have comfort zones for a reason. While it feels nice to step outside every once and a while, overwhelming yourself is only going to lead to more guilt and more depressive pain.

If you have a creative person in your life and he or she is feeling down, don’t judge that person. Lend a helping hand. Squeeze their shoulders. Ruffle their hair. Help them with their chores. Do whatever you have to do to keep that person from spiraling downward. Self-forgiveness isn’t just some “pseudo new age BS”. It’s something we all have to do eventually. The lack of self-forgiveness in the mentally ill can actually lead to suicide in some cases. I remember when I first started having schizophrenic symptoms in 2002. My head voices affected my work rate to where I wanted to kill myself. I got the help I needed and I’m a better person for it. Granted, I still have days where all I want to do is nap and be lazy. Then again, lazy days are a part of the human experience. It’s not weakness. It’s pain.

I’m still learning how to forgive myself for my least productive days. Like I said, it’s a skill that needs to be practiced every waking day. But just like the writing process itself, moving along slowly is better than standing still. Although I will never threaten suicide again, it’s still important for me and all of the writers out there to take good care of ourselves. You can do this. You can conquer. You’ve got this! I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain! Man, those Three Days Grace lyrics never felt more important than they do now.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“It’s such a rainy afternoon. No point in going anywhere. The sounds just drift across my room. I wish this feeling I could share. It’s such a rainy afternoon. She sits and gazes from her window. Her mind tries to recall his face. The feeling deep inside her grows.”

-Snippet from “The Actor” by The Moody Blues-

Watching Paint Dry

***WATCHING PAINT DRY***

I’ve done a lot of journals over the past few weeks talking about real life commitments. These commitments have kept me from meeting creative deadlines, but I don’t sweat it, because these house chores need to be done in a timely fashion. I’ll admit that all of these concerts I’ve been going to have been extracurricular when it comes to managing my energy, but there’s a reason I categorize them under life events on Face Book: because I may never get another chance to see these kick-ass bands in my home state. I’m pretty sure this is what that DeVry University commercial is talking about when they say, “Life is rich, full, and beautifully exhausting.”

The beautiful exhaustion will continue over the next few days, maybe even weeks. Ever since coming home from the Pain in the Grass festival on Sunday, I’ve been helping my family paint the walls of Reina and James’s bedrooms as well as helping them replace their flooring with new and fresh material. The next bedroom to be painted and remodeled will be mine. This whole process involves moving everything out of that particular room before the work is started. In my room alone, I have a computer desk, a Sleep Number bed, a book shelf, two chests of drawers, god knows what else.

Not only is this kind of intensive labor going to be taxing on my body and mind, but since my room is next, it means I’ll have to unplug my computer and move that somewhere else. I already have a bad internet connection now that the range extender in James’ room has been temporarily unplugged. Having an unplugged computer means minimal creative output and missed deadlines for beta reading and book reviewing. With that being said, I owe Andy Peloquin and Marie Krepps the biggest apologies for not being able to keep my commitments to them. Yes, I know that real life gets in the way of the most brilliant projects, but that doesn’t make it any less painful.

The entire month of August has been one chaotic cluster-fuck of physical labor and mental exhaustion. It’s taken a toll on the entire family. Forgive me if I sound whiny, because that’s not the message I’m trying to send. I love my family and I want us to live in a good-looking and clean house. All I’m saying is that if you don’t see me online for a while or if you’re getting impatient about a commitment I’ve made to you, this is why. I always pride myself on being there for the people in my life that matter the most. While my online friends fit that bill, my real life family fits it as well. This needs to be done and we’re not going to stop working until it is.

On that note, I’d like to thank all of you for being supportive and understanding during this tiring moment in our lives. Normalcy will be restored to this house soon enough. Until then, it’s time to shatter those millennial stereotypes of laziness and turn this house into a Port Orchard paradise!

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“We’re going to deal with this the way any reasonable adult would: by ignoring it.”

-Ric Flair on an episode of “Camp WWE”-

Sleep Study Results

***SLEEP STUDY RESULTS***

Warning: this journal about my sleep study results will be so boring that you yourself will fall asleep reading it. Hopefully, you’ll be listening to new age music and snuggling with a kitty while you’re sleeping. If you’re snoring loud enough to wake up the whole household, you too will want to undergo a sleep study. Read at your own risk.

Five days after my 31^st birthday, I finally had the sleep study that I’ve been meaning to do since forever. I filled out a questionnaire describing my symptoms (snoring, waking up drained, lack of motivation, etc.) and the doctor said they were all consistent with sleep apnea and being a night owl. In order to combat the night owl syndrome, I’ve been waking up earlier in the morning with no excuses. The first week it was 10:30, the next week it was 10:00, the next it was 9:30, and from this point forward, it will be 9:00. It seemed like I was having more energy, but I was still taking naps in the middle of the day that lasted hours.

A few days ago, I took a home sleep test where I wore a heart monitor around my chest, had tubes in my nose, and a patch around my finger. If my bed was capable of spinning, I would be able to empathize with Crazy K from “Tales from the Hood”. All joking aside, the equipment was pretty goddamn uncomfortable to wear to bed and I never got a good night’s sleep. I went to bed at one in the morning and took the gear off at five. Despite only wearing the gear for four hours, the heart monitor was still able to get a definitive result.

Later that morning, I had a weird ass dream where Smokey was kidnapped Final Fight style. There were grizzly bears in my backyard, but I don’t know how they fit into the dream. I got out of bed and scoured the neighborhood for Smokey while trying to blast a confession out of everybody with an energy shotgun. Nobody confessed and I couldn’t find Smokey, so I wrote a heavy metal song about this incident called “Scour”. I couldn’t remember the lyrics when I woke up. Otherwise, I would have written and posted it to my social media accounts. It was a damn good song if I do say so myself.

A few days later, I get a call from the doctor in charge of my sleep study saying he has the results of the home test. Not only do I have a bad case of sleep apnea, but it was worse than he expected. He ordered a CPAP machine for me to use at home for thirty days. I have yet to pick up the machine, but it’ll definitely happen. My mom’s friend from high school Sandy uses one and she sleeps very soundly at night. Hopefully, it’ll give me the same amount of energy.

This past Monday and Tuesday, I spent most of the day helping my family move a bunch of heavy crap out of their storage locker and into our garage. After both sessions of moving, I felt so exhausted that I took a five hour nap. No creative work got done during those days, which I will talk about in further detail in the next few sections of this journal.

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

Before the contest in which I posted “Zion Heart” ended, I told the WSS that I wanted to take a one-week vacation from the next contest so that I could catch up on my backburner creative projects, which included editing the shit out of Poison Tongue Tales, beta-reading for my Deviant Art bestie Zero Urrea, building a WWE Lego set that I got for my birthday, and catching up on watching the last few episodes of NCIS: Los Angeles. I also planned on catching up with reading the “Final Curtain” stories and voting for my favorite one. But like I said, the last few days have been exhausting for me, more so than usual, so I can’t work under those tired conditions. Hopefully, the next few days will be more productive. It’s probably best that I opted out of this week’s contest since the topic was “Game of Thrones”. I’ve never watched that show or read the book a day in my life, so I would be flying blind the whole time. Plus, there aren’t any story ideas in my archives that could take “Game of Thrones” as wordplay. A game and a throne? That’s two prompts in one. What am I supposed to do with them? Sorry if I sound like a whiny bitch. That wasn’t my intention. I’m just sleepy today from all the heavy lifting and getting up early in the morning.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“We don’t need no education. We don’t need no thought control. No dark sarcasm in the classroom. Teacher, leave them kids alone. Hey! Teacher! Leave them kids alone! All in all, you’re just another brick the wall. All in all, you’re just another brick in the wall.”

-Pink Floyd singing “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2”

***POST-SCRIPT***

It’s funny that I should randomly select those lyrics from my quotes archives, because “Zion Heart” is about Roger Waters and his “controversial” statements about Israel. It also takes place in a high school, so there’s an added bonus. I swear this is just a coincidence. Maybe. It could be. I don’t know. Anyways, we have ears, say cheers!

Zombies

***ZOMBIES***

When it comes to the horror genre, the new generation is obsessed with three creatures in particular: vampires, werewolves, and zombies. The latter of those three is what this journal is about. We seem to have an unhealthy obsession with zombies these days whether it’s the zombie apocalypse, zombie strippers, or zombie lovers. What we don’t talk about, though, are the zombies who live in the real world. These zombies don’t hunger for brains. They don’t eat flesh. They’re not even necessarily dead. The only death they experience is on the inside. They’re mentally exhausted, emotionally heartbroken, and spiritually lifeless. They come in many forms whether it’s the working stiff, the mentally ill, the insomniac, or just someone who’s been dealt a shitty hand by life itself.

These are the zombies I want to talk about. Unfortunately, very few people want to talk about them with me. The zombies I empathize with are written off as “weak” and “lazy”. Those two slurs are used by the more fortune ones in our lives who don’t experience the same struggles the zombies do. There are two slurs for people like that as well: “spoiled” and “ignorant”. Do these people actually think the life of someone living in a constant haze is glorious? We all aspire to work hard and improve our situations. But if we can’t wake up from our hazy states, sometimes we have to take a step back and reevaluate things.

If you can’t get anything accomplished due to your constant state of numbness, know that you’re not alone and you’re certainly not “weak”. Your struggles don’t make you “lazy”. In the words of Maria Brink when she sings the In This Moment song “Out of Hell”, “Your struggles make you beautiful.” When you experience failures in your life that lead to emotional numbness, overcoming them is a sweet victory. But sometimes in your battles with the world, you have to lose a few. Nobody likes to lose, especially to an opponent as invisible as a mental wound.

The word “zombie” can also be a slur in and of itself, but know that when I use it, I don’t intend for it to be. In fact, giving a dark fantasy name to a modern world struggle is a good way to ignite anybody’s imagination. The thing about zombies in dark fantasy media is that it takes a lot to kill them. No matter how badly they’re beaten, they keep getting up and feasting on their opponents even more. If you’re experiencing a loss in your battles with your mind and body, know that it’s only temporary. You will have your victory in due time and when you do, it’ll be one well-earned. How’s that for being “weak”, Mr. Ignoramus?

We may be drowning in our own sorrows, but drown as we may, we know what fresh oxygen feels and tastes like. Our little victories aren’t little at all. To say otherwise would earn you the “ignorant” and “spoiled” slurs I spoke of earlier. If you’re an author who’s trying to wake up long enough to write a story, don’t beat yourself up for your story being imperfect. If you’re a mother dragging yourself along to get everything done in addition to tending to your children, then be proud of yourself no matter what the outcome. If you’re working nine to five in a call center and you fucking hate your job, don’t allow the negativity of customers to put you in a deeper slumber.

Waking up from the zombie-like state is a great victory no matter who you are. But when we wake up, it won’t be because of negative attitudes. It’ll be because we engaged this mental monster with our hearts and souls. We’ve got ears, say cheers! If for some reason you think I sound like Kevin McCarthy right now, know that I’m one of the zombies I talked about this whole time.

　

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

It’s a new week of contests and the prompt is “The Last Goodbye”, which was something I personally harvested from my new Disturbed CD called “Immortalized”. Most of my prompt ideas come from CD’s I’ve purchased recently and being the music hunter I am, that’s a lot of goddamn prompts. I’m happy that Ryan Stone used one of mine this week. He’s an awesome guy! This week’s story will be something I originally intended to do independently, but since it fits the prompt, I’ll write it for the contest. It’s called “The Happy Slasher” and it goes like this:

　

CHARACTERS:

　

Lisa Roberts, Sheriff
Cletus Jung, Serial Killer

　

PROMPT CONFORMITY: After this story is over, only one of these two characters will be saying their last goodbyes while the other perishes.

　

SYNOPSIS: In the wild west, Lisa has been investigating a string of murders in her desert town of Tombstone. She’s ready to call it a night and heads toward the saloon for a frosty beer. After a few chugs, she passes out on the ground and wakes up bound and gagged in Cletus’ dungeon. Cletus reveals himself to be “The Happy Slasher” and the reason for his string of murders is all because he asked Lisa on a date and she “rudely” turned him down. This loser in love now plans to butcher Lisa with an overly sharpened machete.

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES***

The most recent story from this series I edited was “The Beautiful People”. I thought it was going to be a miserable experience and it turned out to be yet another cakewalk. The next one I plan on doing is “Conform”, which is about two necromancers who try to control a single zombie (we’ve come full circle with the zombie theme). It’ll have a new title, but the story will be the same albeit improved.

　

　

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

For a novel that barely had the chance to take off, I’m sure taking a liking to drawing pictures of Blood Brawl characters. The next one I plan on doing is of Balrog Deathtrap, a Halfling monk who serves as the main villain of the demon town Aragon. Yes, his race says he’s a Halfling, but his hideous features will dictate otherwise. Hehe!

　

***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

RICH BRENNAN: Do you think Renee Young was giving you a hard time about not being a real Canadian?
KEVIN OWENS: I don’t know, Rich, does anybody give you a hard time about looking like Millhouse from The Simpsons?

Work Ethic

On my Facebook page, I follow a group called “The Writer’s Circle”, which posts quotes from various authors about their work ethic when it comes to piecing together a novel. They love to use words like “creative spark” and “white heat” while driving home the point of never taking a vacation from writing. These are all very inspirational and true quotes, but here’s where I’ve got a problem. There used to be a time in my life where I would write every single day like an endless dynamo of creativity. There used to be times when the words “white heat” meant something. Those days are over, though I hope they return soon. The reason those days are over is because my schizophrenic brain began to grind so slowly and painfully on me to the point where I’m always mentally exhausted. I’m exhausted when I wake up in the morning and I’m still seeking answers on how to get out of that hazy state. The things I do to try and wake my brain up include going for long distance walks to the grocery store, drinking caffeinated diet sodas, eating meaty foods to get by blood sugar up, etc. Even then, there’s no guarantee that when I get on my computer to write something I won’t be stuck sitting there like a complete idiot while I stare at my screen. Some say it’s writer’s block, but I blame it on my overly exhausted schizophrenic brain. Instead of getting everything down on the computer screen in one epic fiery flow, I have to pace myself to the point where it’s several days before I write anything again. Mind you that this only applies to three-page chapters of Hardcore Hate 2 and not to blog entries and DeviantART journals. Knowing that I’m not a mental or creative superman, when I see these quotes about work ethic on my Facebook page, I always think that they’re secretly implying that I’m a lazy bum because I don’t pump something out every single day. Let me ask you this, Writer’s Circle: do lazy bums have multiple first draft novels to their name? How about double digit short stories? Didn’t think so. My work ethic is unquestionable. My desire is even less questionable. My mental endurance, on the other hand, is extremely doubtable. There’s a difference between desire and endurance. If you don’t have the endurance, desire means nothing. That’s why I’m always giggling through my nose whenever I hear about a pro-wrestler or MMA fighter who is “struggling through the pain”. Eventually, the pain will be too much to bear and there will be no choice but to either tap out or lie down. It has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with science. Get it? Good. I’m out of here.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Bobby’s parents don’t understand why he can’t hold a job, because in school he was always on the honor roll. What Bobby’s parents don’t realize is that in today’s schools, everybody’s on the honor roll, because in order to be on the honor roll, all you really have to do is maintain a body temperature roughly in the 90’s.”

-George Carlin-