Showing posts with label Psychomancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Psychomancer. Show all posts

Saturday, February 17, 2018

"Dog Man: A Tale of Two Kitties" by Dav Pilkey

BOOK TITLE: Dog Man: A Tale of Two Kitties
AUTHOR: Dav Pilkey
YEAR: 2017
GENRE: Graphic Novel
SUBGENRE: Children’s Adventure
GRADE: Pass

An anthropomorphic dog cop aptly named Dog Man has been assigned to protect a laboratory housing a psychomantic fish, who was rebuilt using mechanical parts so that the scientists could sufficiently study his brain. Elsewhere in the city, another scientific experiment takes place as escaped convict Petey the Kitty creates a miniature clone of himself and struggles to raise it like a real kid. Soon the two stories hit a crossroads in a cutely written adventure involving buildings coming to life, a mechanical cat suit capable of superhuman feats, and a gigantic truck full of French salad dressing. It’s a silly story, but one worth enjoying.

While it is true that this graphic novel was intended for small children, you can also enjoy it if you’re an avid pet lover like me. The Petey clone’s innocent antics, Dog Man’s cheerful nature, and even the minor role characters bring out the warm and fuzzy feelings you’d expect from animal literature. My favorite cute moments from the book include putting Lil’ Petey to bed, giving him a bath, and Dog Man bouncing all over the police chief like a real dog. You know what? Why don’t we just give the entire cast of this graphic novel one big cuddle-huggle. Good or evil, they’ve all earned a special place in my heart for the sweetness they bring!

As happy-go-lucky as this book is, it’s not without the occasional sad moment. I can pinpoint three different parts of this book that strike me as heartbreaking: Dog Man’s sad expressions when the police chief tells him he’s a “bad dog”, Petey becoming frustrated with his “kid” and leaving him in a box alone on the streets, and Lil’ Petey drawing picture books for his special friends. Don’t be too turned off by these tear-jerking scenes, because they’ll easily renew your love for animals everywhere. If you’ve got a little kitty or puppy at home, give him or her extra cuddles and pettings to show them how much you care.

Enough with the tears of sadness. How about some tears of happiness for a change? The mechanical cat suit Petey builds for his son is called the 80 Hexatron Droid. If you shorten that name to an acronym, it’s called 80-HD. Say that ten times fast and clap your hands like an audience at a golf tournament. Oh, and one of the buildings that comes to life? It’s an oatmeal factory called Holland Oats. Kids today might not understand that reference, but an older member of their family will. The jokes and puns in this story won’t make you hee-haw with laughter, but they’ll bring the world’s goofiest grin to your face.


If you like cute and cuddly stories with happy endings and golf clap humor, buy a copy of this graphic novel. Whether you have children of your own, you are a child, or you’re just a guy who loves sweetness, you’ll love what the pages have to offer. Don’t let anybody tell you you’re too old for this kind of material. What matters most is what you love, not what anybody else’s standards dictate. I love this story and that’s why it deserves a passing grade.

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Hotheadedness

***HOTHEADEDNESS***

I can count the number of travesties going on in this world on one hand…and the other hand…and my toes…and my teeth…and my hair. I may talk briefly about them online, but that’s about it. People always say that taking calculated risks is better than being passive in the shadows. They say if you don’t take risks, you haven’t really lived at all. Is that true? What if you choose to live safely because every one of your risks has ended badly? Am I suddenly supposed to live up to someone else’s standards of bravery by having more shitty results? Is it too much to ask that at least one of my bold risks pays 100% interest? So yes, I’ve lived in my safe place for several years now and I like it just fine.

Basically, what the failure of these risks boil down to is that I’m extremely hotheaded when it comes to confrontation and debate. Every time I’m challenged, my blood goes cold, my stomach feels ill, my mouth goes dry, and my Benedict Arnold of a brain shuts down when I need it the most. Once all is said and done, I dwell on these confrontations for several days, weeks, or even months. As I’ve stated several times, I’m autistic and schizophrenic, so that means a huge increase in sensitivity. The more sensitive you are to negative stimuli, the more you’ll want to avoid them.

If you were a psychologist trying to pick my brain, I guess you could say that the reason I love writing violent stories so much is because I secretly wish I could do those horrible things to my opponents. If I had the muscles and heavy weaponry of my favorite barbarian Deus Shadowheart, there would be a lot of dead bodies lying around. If I had the power of psychomancy like Tony Castle did, I could simply make my opponents feel just as sensitive and nervous as me. Writing violent stories is my own personal way of making gratuitous bloodshed legal.

But writing bloody stories doesn’t really solve anything, does it. Come to think of it, punching a guy in the face doesn’t do much either. Anger begets more anger. Hate begets more hate. While I realize how powerful of a force love can be, when I get into hotheaded mode, I’m not thinking about love. I’m either thinking about getting the hell out of my situation or beating some ass. I think even less about love when my schizophrenic mind shoves the incident in my face over the next few days and interferes with my life.

So there you have it, guys. Until there’s a cure for hotheadedness and oversensitivity, you won’t see me in the picket line or on the battlefield. Taking deep breaths does nothing, because while you’re trying to calm yourself down, your opponent will have already made the next move. And then you’re several moves behind and before you know it you’ve been bested by someone who is clearly in the wrong.

The best I can do for the cause is continue to write my bloody stories, pen heartfelt poetry, and vote my ass off. Sharing memes doesn’t do a whole lot, because let’s face it, nobody ever changed their mind because of a stupid meme. At least when I’m creating art from the shadows (a.k.a. “the safe place”), I’m getting some bang for my buck. What do I get for going to people’s houses and telling them what’s what? A black eye? A bruised ego? A bullet in my chest? Those would be preferable to an overly hot head. I’m not just talking about any hot head, but one that could bake a sheet of chocolate chip cookies.

I am by no means a cowardly person. I’m just a guy with awkward brain chemistry and too many lost chances. Even something as simple as applying for a job at What Culture could be considered a calculated risk. It could either mean a lifetime of writing kick-ass articles and being around funny people, or it could mean stressing myself out and not knowing what the hell I’m doing. Seeing as how I have a limited knowledge of pop culture, I’m guessing the latter of those two would be more likely. Why crash and burn when I don’t have to?

Living in a stress-free environment is paramount to the recovery of a mentally disabled human being; every psychologist will tell you this. It’s part of the reason why mental disabilities are grounds for gaining social security benefits: because working in, say, a customer service job would unleash the demons inside. While it is true that level-headed people feel stressed out at work too, disabled people feel it a hundred times worse. We can’t in all good conscious leave these people with no income, so that’s where social security comes in. That’s a talking point I’ll defend until the end, hotheaded or not.

Do I have the power to change the world? I don’t know, buddy, do you? Does anybody? Does any group of people have a loud enough voice to bring change to this mad world? Some people get noticed, some people get ignored. If everybody got noticed, we’d have a much happier world, wouldn’t you agree?


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

It’s a new week at the WSS and wouldn’t you know it, the admins used my prompt suggestion “Inner Voice” (I wonder how I thought of that one). My story this week will be called “Madhouse” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

  1. Joe Fields, Artillerist Mercenary
  2. Random Hallucinations

PROMPT CONFORMITY: One of Joe’s hallucinations is his inner voice.

SYNOPSIS: With bulky steel armor and chain guns mounted on either hand, Joe attempts to hunt down a bounty head in the middle of a bamboo forest. He stumbles upon a Japanese-style temple thinking that this is where the criminal is hiding. When he busts down the doors, he finds that nobody is there and he tries to leave. Instead of a clear escape, Joe begins having hallucinations of ghosts, samurais, ninjas, and other warriors attacking him at random angles. The vulgar mercenary begins to slowly go insane as he fights off these tormenting phantoms. Joe is convinced that there’s a conspiracy against him, but this belief only contributes to the degeneration of his mind.

FUN FACT: I guess Mr. Fields secretly has a hot head.


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

I’ve tried twice to draw Knox from “Emoticon Artist”, but these attempts were met with me throwing both pieces of paper in the garbage. I’ll eventually find a good model for my orc warrior, just not tonight.


***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Protesting is a lot like having sex. You can scream and be as wild as you want. You can even do it all night long. But if something starts to burn, then maybe it’s time to go to bed.”


-Trevor Noah-

Sunday, November 27, 2016

The Psychomancer

Little Ashley Cormier ran down the forest road with a scar on her right cheek, burning lungs, and flapping arms. As she was sucking down air, she made small whimpering noises like she was about to burst into tears at any moment. She could hear the voice of a screaming teenaged boy behind her, but she couldn’t discern if that voice was in her head or a frightening reality. No matter how much adrenaline flooded through her system, her body could only do so much before she dropped to her knees and breathed her hardest. She held her aching ribcage and spit out stale snot. Tears dribbled down her cheeks and into the mud puddle she was kneeling over.

“The forest is no place for a delicate young girl like you,” said a powerful male voice, which caused Ashley to spring to her feet out of anxiety. The man was dressed in a black robe with various Wiccan symbols strewn in red across the trims. His long brown hair and rugged beard made him look like a walking advertisement for Head & Shoulders conditioner. His fingers always seemed to be spread out like he was ready to cast a spell. This had to be the legendary Tony Castle.

“Are you the Psychotic Mister?” asked Ashley while flapping her arms nervously.

Tony chuckled and said, “The term you’re looking for is Psychomancer. And yes, I am him. You can call me Tony if you’d like. You seem to be in a lot of anguish, my dear, judging from your dirty hair and torn hoodie. Have you been in a fight recently?”

“Yes, Tony. I, uh…I…” The teenaged girl twiddled her thumbs and fingers while clapping repeatedly. When she couldn’t come up with adequate words, she bawled some more.

The psychomancer approached the fragile girl and hugged her around the shoulders. His robes were softer than a kitty’s fur and the strength of his hug reminded Ashley of the father figure she never had. She hugged him back, but not without patting him on the spinal column a few times.

When the embrace broke, Ashley wiped her eyes with her dirty index finger and asked, “Is it true that you can cure people like me? I have this…problem. I don’t want it inside of me anymore.”

“If you’re seeking the services of a psychomancer, then I can hazard a guess as to what you might be referring to,” said Tony. “You’re autistic. The arm-flapping and constant nervousness are both telltale signs. You came here because you want me to rid you of what you perceive to be a serious disease. I can cure many ailments, but this is one that is beyond my league. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

“You don’t understand, Tony!” Ashley sobbed as she twiddled her fingers some more. “If you don’t cure me, those boys will keep picking on me and calling me a retard! I can’t live like this anymore! If you won’t help me, then I’ll just…I’ll just…”

“You’ll what? Deprive the world of a beautiful human being like yourself?” asked Tony. “Many people have come to me with thoughts of suicide. While you may experience permanent relief from your mental ailments, you will hurt many people around you with your actions. You may not realize it yet, but there are people in this world who love you. If they don’t know you yet, then they’ll be lucky to have you as a friend.”

Ashley weakly shoved Tony away and shouted, “You don’t know me! How can you say those things about me when you don’t even know my goddamn name! I don’t have any friends! They all hate me! Everybody just wants to beat me up all the time!” She dropped to her knees and released another puddle of tears into the dirt.

Tony knelt down and placed a loving hand on his charge’s shoulder. “Have you explored the world beyond your dwelling? Are you sure that every single person in this world will hate you for being autistic? And even if they did, will they like you even more if I suddenly used my magic to cure you? Love is what will save you in the end. If not in one place, then you’ll find it in another.”

“What am I supposed to do, run to my mommy for help?!” Ashley yelled. “She’s the whole reason I feel this way! She let those doctors stick needles into me when I was little! You know what they say about those kinds of needles!”

“I do know what they say about those kinds of needles, my friend,” said Tony. “And none of it is true. Quicksilver alone didn’t make you who you are. Genetics can only do so much, but it’s what you feel inside that will make you who you really are. You don’t need to hate yourself and you don’t need to hate what’s inside of you. Because of your autism, you have a heightened sensitivity to the world around you. When you’re this sensitive, your mind has a lot to take in. And when it takes in that much, you can not only process psychological trauma, but you can also create beautiful things during your time on this earth.” Tony smiled through his leonine beard and asked, “What’s your favorite form of art?”

“Well…I like to…write…” sniveled Ashley. “But I’m not that good!”

“That’s because you don’t believe yourself to be good,” said Tony in a soft tone. “If you don’t believe in yourself, how will your audience believe in you? Artistic endeavors are just like any other skill: without practice and hard work, they don’t develop. It may be a long journey to where you need to be as a writer, but if you start to love who you are every once and a while, it will seem like you’re already there.”

The two of them stood up and embraced once more. Ashley’s snot and tears soaked Tony’s robe, but the middle-aged wizard didn’t seem to mind. He could only hope that his message of positivity got through to her. Even powerful sorcerers had their limits. Powerful hearts, on the other hand, were much stronger than any magic spell in the world.

“Well, ain’t this a cute sight!” said a grating male voice in the background. Ashley and Tony broke their embrace and stared down a pudgy teenager with a bald head, an American flag T-shirt, and black jeans with combat boots. The boy folded his tree trunk arms and smiled disgustingly.

“You have no business here, young man!” Tony warned the boy. “Turn around and leave this place before I…”

“Before you what? Challenge me to a game of shuffleboard! You’re one generation away from being locked up in the old fart’s home, pops! Now let go of the bitch and bring her here! She’s got some lunch money she owes me!” said the bully.

Ashley felt a cold weight in her stomach as she stammered and flapped her arms while the big boy mockingly held his sausage hand over his ear for better hearing. The autistic girl eventually found the small courage to say, “Screw you!”

“Screw me?!” the bully laughed. “Is that was this is about? You want to screw me? Well, why didn’t you say so! Here, why don’t I lay that smoking hot body of yours across the mud and we’ll do it right now! I’m game!”

The nameless jerk marched over to Ashley with his ham-hawk mitts raised in a grabbing position. With a wave of Tony’s hand, the bully froze in place and trembled with anxiety. His eyes were huge, his chubby cheeks flapped lightly, and he made the same small whimpering noises that his victim made earlier.

“Do you feel that, young man? Do you feel it?!” said Tony. “That’s what your victim feels right now. That is pure, unadulterated fear and post-traumatic stress. It’s the feeling a victim gets when his nervous system is so stressed out that it’s about to snap. Your brain will go numb. Your heart will beat like a war drum. Your blood will go colder than a meat locker. Any A’s you had in school will turn to D’s, C’s, and F’s. But don’t take my word for it. My new friend will tell you what it’s like.”Ashley looked up at Tony confused and terrified, but Tony patted her shoulders and said, “It’s okay, little girl. You can do this. You have to do this.”

Ashley’s cold river of anxious adrenaline turned into a molten lava pit of boiling anger. Her eyebrows turned downward, her arms stopped flapping, and her legs were sturdy enough to keep her standing through what she was about to do. She approached her bully with her finger pointed at him like a totalitarian authority figure. “You listen to me and you listen good!” she raged. “If you ever pick on me again or call me a retard or beat me up, I’m going to kick you in the balls so hard that you’ll have a lobotomy! Then we’ll see who the real retard is! Do you understand me?! I said do you understand me, you son of a bitch! You’d better tell your friends that they’ll get the same thing if they fuck with me!”

The bully nodded at Ashley and slowly turned around to limp away. She even kicked him in the butt and yelled, “Move it!” to get him to leave faster. The bully stumbled and tripped along the way due to his firsthand experience of anxiety, but he was eventually far enough out of sight for Ashley and Tony’s benefit.


The only thing that could calm the autistic girl down was the psychomancer’s gentle hand on her shoulder and the words, “You were cured alright.”

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Kicking Caffeine

***KICKING CAFFEINE***

As many of you already know, struggling with laziness has been a problem for me for the past few years. I desperately wanted to write the next great chapter or read another thirty pages of my book, but then my brain would be too foggy for me to carry on. This frustrated me so much that I started blaming myself for this drowsy feeling. I got a CPAP machine a few months ago and that solved a lot of my problems. And then I started reading articles online about procrastination, so I made even more changes to my lifestyle. I’m going to bed at an earlier time, I don’t eat a heavy meal before sleeping, I abstain from sugary foods, and the biggest one of all, I’ve given up caffeinated drinks completely, which include Diet Mountain Dew and Lipton Black Tea.

Last Wednesday was when I began making these changes. I started the day by writing chapter seven of Demon Axe. Then I went to Silverdale with my mom to exercise at the Y, get my back adjusted, and get some healthy foods at Trader Joe’s. One of the things I bought at that store was chamomile tea, which doesn’t have caffeine and serves as a digestive relaxant. All in all, I felt good that day about my creativity and my general health. It also helped that I got to have fun conversations with my mom like we always do whenever we’re in the car.

The next day, the caffeine withdrawal symptoms began kicking in. I went from being on the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. I slept longer than usual, I took multiple naps in the middle of the day, and worst of all, I didn’t want to do anything creative. In other words, by giving up the chemical that was making me lazy, I in turn became even lazier. This lasted until Monday morning, but it felt like a whole year had gone by without creative outlets. Well, I drew a picture here and there, but that was about it.

Monday arrived and my withdrawal symptoms had passed by then. I used that day to compete in the WSS contest by putting out a story called “Die Purring”. I’ve never been so happy to be awake and alive than after writing that story. I was going to be a hard worker again and I loved it. Tuesday was lacking in creative production, because the night before, I made the mistake of eating vegetarian pizza burgers right before going to bed. It’s Wednesday now and I haven’t cheated on my health regimen since.

I chose to use this day to catch up on reading and write this blog entry. Another thirty pages of “The Blade Itself” is in the books (pun intended), chapters eleven and twelve of “Never Again” have been critiqued for Marie Krepps’ review, and Edward Davies entry at the WSS has been signed, sealed, and delivered. While I may or may not use the rest of the day to do my next WSS short story or writing a chapter of Demon Axe, I feel satisfied about what I’ve done with my morning. The operative word here is “morning”, because I woke up at 7:40 today and didn’t feel exhausted in the least.

Why am I suddenly telling you guys this? Because it’s a reminder to all that sooner or later, our health is going to become important to us, whether it’s mental or physical. In the past, I’ve written songs and blog entries mocking healthy lifestyles, and there’s no telling whether or not I’ll do it again. But as much as I criticize obnoxiously healthy people, I must say that being free from caffeine’s addiction feels pretty damn good right now. I look forward to more days when I can work my ass off and put out a damn good product, or help others do the same. The creative urge is stronger than addictive chemicals. Remember that.


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

This week the prompt is “Quicksilver”, so I figured it was another opportunity to write a story with “mancer” in the title. Seems reasonable, right? My story will be called “The Psychomancer” (mind wizard) and it goes like this:


CHARACTERS:

Tony Castle, Psychomancer
Ashley Cormier, Autistic Teenager

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Quicksilver, which is another name for mercury, has often been thought of as the link to autism since it’s used to preserve vaccination needles. Tony disputes this point during his conversation with Ashley.

SYNOPSIS: Ashley runs away from home and seeks out Tony’s help after a lengthy search. As a psychomancer, Tony is believed to be able to cure all sorts of mental diseases. When he uses his powers to find out Ashley has autism, he refuses to “cure” her. Instead, Tony tries to help her cope with it and use it to her advantage creatively and academically. Ashley doesn’t want to be autistic anymore because it makes her an easy target for bullies at her school. Instead of receiving a magical cure, she receives inspiration to just be herself no matter what anybody says or does.


***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER EIGHT***

Daniel Mercer has finally come down from his traumatized state thanks to Raven Triscloud. Now it’s time for him to meet King Arthur Triscloud, leader of the elven race. The elves are still convinced that Daniel has what it takes to defeat Roger Zee despite the fact that the singer’s only fighting experience comes from drunken brawls in shitty bars. Arthur has a gift that he’d like to bestow upon Daniel for such a quest, but is he really ready to accept it? Is it a weapon? Is it a prop? Is it a magic wand? What could it be?


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Up next on the long list of badass characters is Christopher, the gnomish rogue from the Dungeons & Dragons game played by Brenda Christopher in “Emoticon Artist”. He may be the shortest member of the team at just three feet, but if James Ellsworth from WWE Smackdown has taught me anything, it’s that any man with two hands has a fighting chance…and two ways to masturbate.


***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***


When somebody on WWE Smackdown Live says, “See you next Tuesday”, it’s not supposed to be an insult, because they actually film episodes every Tuesday. Although, I can picture Alexa Bliss saying it to Becky Lynch right before a big Women’s Title match.