"Preacher, Vol. 7: Salvation" by Garth Ennis

BOOK TITLE: Preacher, Vol. 7: Salvation

AUTHOR: Garth Ennis

YEAR: 1999

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Horror

GRADE: Pass

Feeling betrayed by his girlfriend Tulip and best friend Cassidy, Reverend Jesse Custer searches for meaning in the small town of Salvation, Texas. After fending off an attack against an old friend, he’s unofficially appointed sheriff of Salvation. His first big assignment is to do something about the Quincannon meat-packing family, who have run amok in Salvation with no consequences due to the patriarch Odin constantly paying off judges and officials. Jesse Custer cannot be bought or sold so easily and promises to do right by the people of Salvation.

While this installment of Preacher has its share of messed up moments, it doesn’t feel nearly as messed up as the previous volumes. Sure, there’s Odin’s little secret in the meat-packing plant. Sure, the villains are intolerably racist. But it just didn’t feel like the Preacher of old. Maybe I’ve become numb to it all after the first six volumes. Maybe I missed something along the way. Maybe I need to have this particular story explained to me. In any event, this seems more like a drama-driven story rather than a shock value extravaganza. While shock value doesn’t always mean good storytelling, Garth Ennis normally does it in a way that fits with the story perfectly. Don’t get me wrong, this is still a good story, but it’s just not the same.

But for all of this story’s faults, there’s no denying the heartstring-tugging moments that go along with it. This isn’t much of a spoiler since it happens early enough in the story, but Jesse does reunite with his mother after several decades apart. I won’t say how, but it does happen. And when it happens, tears flow from Christina Custer’s face like a running faucet. I’m sure Jesse cried somewhere during this reunion as well. Volume two was where Jesse’s sadistic upbringing and subsequent kidnapping was turned up to eleven. After enduring all of that trauma and never really recovering from it, Jesse and his mother have earned their tears and hopefully they’ll earn the reader’s tears too. This kind of hopefulness is what a dark and disturbing story needs every once and a while. Not too much of it, but this story had the right amount.

It’s also nice to see the sense of community among the residents of Salvation. It’s a small town, so everybody knows each other. I’ve lived in a small town before, so I know what that’s like. Coming together during a dire time of need is exactly what this town needed to feel credible. For years, Quincannon’s corporation has been terrorizing Salvation and getting away with it. It’s about time the citizens got sick and tired of being harassed. It’s about time they took Jesse Custer seriously as a sheriff. It’s about time they realized how badly they’re being wrecked by corporate interests. A nice little rebellion is what this story desperately needed. That too is heartwarming, probably just as heartwarming as Jesse’s reunion with his mother. I wish more small towns in America would stand up for their rights as much as Salvation ended up doing.

While I would have loved to see a continuation of the love triangle between Jesse, Tulip, and Cassidy (drug-induced hallucinations aside), I’m not giving up hope for that just yet as I have two more volumes to read before the canon is over. This was still an enjoyable volume to read, however. Yes, it didn’t feel as gritty as the previous volumes, but it didn’t have to be in order to earn my seal of approval. Imagine if I expected grittiness from every story I read outside of the Preacher series. That wouldn’t be fair, now would it? How does a passing grade sound, Mr. Ennis?

Goddamn Dog

As Tim Coleman laid half asleep in bed on a rainy afternoon, he kept wondering why his girlfriend Jade Quinn had “One More Light” by Linkin Park playing on repeat before she left for work in the morning. She wasn’t her usual peppy self. No smiles. No kisses. Not even a hug. Just cold, empty eyes as she left Tim in charge of dogsitting duty. The pouring rain coupled with the dour mood made him curl up against his pillow even more. A pillow was no substitute for Jade, however. He would have settled for Millie crawling up under the blankets. But then…

Something assaulted Tim’s nose like a wrecking ball to the face and had just about as much knockout power. He pulled his nostrils under the blanket, but he could still smell that rancid, god-awful odor coming from the living room. “Oh no…no, no, no…please tell me she didn’t do it…no…no…NO!”

He threw the blankets off of him and stomped out to the living room wearing just his athletic shorts. The harder he stomped, the more rage pumped through his ogre-like body. The odor set his nostrils nearly ablaze as he tried to suppress the urge to vomit. And then he made it to the living room and saw that Jade’s hardwood floors had become a battlefield of landmines. Gigantic, steaming brown landmines with the general herself laying on the ground in guilt. Millie the salt n’ pepper colored Labrador mooed like a cow before unleashing a cloud of toxic gas from her already putrid bunghole.

“Goddamn it, Millie! You stupid fucking goddamn dog!” shouted Tim from the top of his lungs. “I am so sick and tired of cleaning up your fucking messes! You goddamn dog!” Fury and venom poured from the fat man’s lips with every swearing scream. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you stupid dog!” Though he would never go through on such a threat, Millie wouldn’t have known as she guiltily tucked her head.

Tim stomped to the bathroom and fetched the necessary cleaning supplies for a job this disgusting: paper towels, a mop, and a bucket he filled with soapy water. In between retrieving these necessary items, he kept on roaring like the pissed off lion he was. “You goddamn dog! Quit shitting all over the fucking floor, asshole!”

His first course of action was to scoop up all of the dog turds with god knows how many paper towels before flushing them down the toilet separately. Every time he bent over, the odor triggered his gag reflex to where he wanted to vomit himself inside out. While that would be an instant relief to his aching and tired body, it would also mean more messes to clean up. “Goddamn stupid ass fucking dog!” he screamed.

After flushing the turds down the drain, he sat on the toilet seat for a while and wiped the sweat from his body, which poured like the rainy weather outside. Tim took several deep breaths not only to recover his lost energy, but also in a vain attempt to calm himself down. “Stupid dog…stupid goddamn dog!” he screamed, completely destroying his ambitions of nirvana.

Step two of this ultimate cleaning job was to mop the floors as vigorously as he could. A few strokes in and he was already sucking wind. Wind, by the way, that was broken by a sixteen-year-old dog huddling in the corner. “Stupid dog!” Tim screamed again as he scrubbed the wooden floor. No matter how hard he mopped, the air thickened like he was in a burning building. At this point he was genuinely surprised the smoke alarm didn’t go off during this job. “You stupid motherfucking dog! Quit making me clean up after you, you little shithead!”

Once he was certain the shit was completely cleaned up off the floor, he death-marched to the bathroom to flush the mop water down the toilet. His head ached worse than if he had been beaten with hammers. His heart pounded as if a Mortal Kombat character was trying to rip it out. His lower back flared with pain like he had taken a body slam over a pile of razorblades. Tim sat on the toilet and sucked some more wind, confident that his job was finally over.

He had recovered a modicum of his energy before he put the cleaning supplies back in the bathroom closet. Slowly and languidly, he waddled out to the living room and took care not to slip on the wet surface. The only wet surface he had to deal with it that moment was the one on Jade Quinn’s horrified face, an intensification of what she felt when she left for work this morning.

There she was in her business skirt, high heels, and wrinkled dress shirt. She dropped her purse by her feet and stared down Tim’s guilty soul with wetness in her eyes. Her lips quivered as she tried to form a sentence. “T…Tim…did I just…hear you…yelling at Millie?” No response, only a saggy frown to match his guilt. “Answer me!” she cried.

Tim’s own face quivered as he too tried to muster up the words he needed. “Jade, I’m sorry. She…she shit all over the floor and…I panicked…I would never do anything to hurt Millie, you know that, right?”

Pointing her manicured finger at Tim, Jade fought back the rest of her tears in vain as she mumbled, “You…would never…hurt Millie?” Silence hung between the two lovers like a yawning, fiery chasm. “You just did, you insensitive asshole!” Jade dropped to her knees and held her long blond hair in her hands, emptying her eyes of emotional fluids. Millie slowly edged towards her and got a scratch behind the ears from her one true master.

Tim gingerly approached his girlfriend and knelt down to put his massive hand on her shoulder. Jade swatted him away instantly. “Don’t touch me!” she sobbed. “You’ve done enough damage today!” She hugged Millie around her neck and cried into her salt and pepper fur. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m sorry he yelled at you like that.”

Tim stood back up not knowing what else to say. Apologizing didn’t work. Explaining his actions didn’t work. Not even a gentle touch of the shoulder could bring his girlfriend out of her sorrowful abyss. He knew he fucked up badly and could do nothing but sit on the leather couch with his pudgy face in his hands.

“You can’t sit there anymore, Tim,” blubbered Jade. “Not after what you did. This was supposed to be Millie’s special day. I was going to take her to the park and get her ice cream after I got off work. And now…all she’s going to remember is you yelling at her…How could you, Tim?”

“Wha…What do you mean all she’s going to remember? Is that why you played that Linkin Park song this morning? Jade, you can tell me what’s going on.”

Wiping away tears even though they wouldn’t stop coming, Jade lifted her face from her hug with the dog and said, “Millie has stomach cancer. That’s why she’s been going to the bathroom on the floor a lot. And you react to this mild inconvenience by yelling those awful things at her?!”

Tim didn’t notice it when he was cleaning, but now that he thought about it, there were small traces of red in Millie’s stool. The guilt choked him up like a noose around the neck. His eyes grew sore, but he did a better job of hiding his sadness than his girlfriend. Even during this dark time he was too proud to fall apart in front of her. But he couldn’t help it. One tear rolled down his cheek while many more cascaded from Jade’s eyes.

“You know, Jade…there’s no reason…why we can’t still get Millie ice cream.” His voice trembled as he etched out those words.

“Yes, there is!” shouted Jade as she stood back up. “She’ll just shit all over the floor and you’ll scream like a little child again as you clean it up! The only reason why you’re sorry is because you got caught! You don’t care about my dog! You don’t care about my emotions! In fact, get your fat ass off my couch and get dressed! I don’t want you here anymore!”

Tim didn’t get up. He sat there and let another tear roll down his cheek. “I’m sorry, Jade.”

“No, you’re not!” cried Jade as she grabbed Tim’s arm and tried in vain to jerk him to a standing position. When he wouldn’t budge, she just crumpled to a pile on the floor and cried some more, prompting Millie to lick her face dry.

“Jade…if you give me the keys to your car…I will go to the supermarket and buy vanilla ice cream for Millie. She loves vanilla, right?”

“Go to hell, Tim!”

“Listen to me!” urged Tim as he cupped Jade’s shoulders in his hands. “If you still want me gone from here, I’ll go. But please let me get the ice cream for Millie. She deserves that much. Right, old lady?” Tim petted Millie’s head and talked cutely to her about what a good dog she was, even planting a kiss on her wet nose. Millie returned a puppy kiss for his efforts.

Tim then held Jade’s hand in his own and begged, “Please…let me get the ice cream. You can even come with me if you want and we’ll listen to One More Light for as long as you want. I love that song too. And Millie can come ride with us. She can stick her head out the window and…”

“Tim, enough,” said Jade while a holding a hand in front of her boyfriend. She wiped away a tear and sniffed snot up her nose. “I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. She’s just going to shit in the car again and you’ll go on another yelling spree. If anybody’s going to get the ice cream, it’s me.”

With that said, Jade and Millie walked out of the house together for a ride in the car while Tim sat on the couch in his shorts sulking it up. A few tears escaped his eyes and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. It was over. It was all over. Not just for him, but for Millie as well. The puppy kiss didn’t even feel like true forgiveness. Knowing his hands were unclean (in more ways than one), Tim Coleman pulled himself off the couch and trudged back to the bedroom, presumably to get his things and go.

And then…he walked past the kitchen and saw something magnetized to the refrigerator door. He pulled down a familiar sheet of glossy paper and studied it for a while before making his final attempt at goodwill towards Jade and Millie. Wasting no more time, he picked up the phone and dialed a number on the sheet of paper. A few rings later, he was patched in.

“Thank you for choosing Pizza Hut. How can I help you tonight?”

“Yes, I’d like an extra large meat lover’s pizza with stuffed crust.” Tim couldn’t contain his sorrow over the phone and it was noticeable.

“Are you okay, sir?”

“Not really. But I’m sure my dog will be happy to see you once you get here with that pizza.”

Special

VERSE 1

Everybody thinks they’re special

Thinks they’re on a godly level

Thinks that they’re the chosen one

Has an ego that weighs twelve tons

You can’t brainwash me, you bastard

You’re not my undisputed master

You have no logic of your own

You’re just another fucking clone

CHORUS

You’re not special in any damn way

Too much sameness in what you say

Too much sameness in what you do

Words hurt, especially when they’re true

VERSE 2

Intimidation tactics, steel cage matches

Try to cut me down like a war hatchet

Long-winded talking, internet stalking

Everything of mine is worth mocking

There’s just one problem with your plan

It’s been done before, you stupid man

Over and over again, it gets so old

I shrug you off with a heart so cold

CHORUS

You’re not special in any damn way

Too much sameness in what you say

Too much sameness in what you do

Words hurt, especially when they’re true

VERSE 3

I never asked to be a politician

Someone else’s cannibal nutrition

Someone else’s bitch of submission

Someone else’s act of sedition

All I wanted to do was live my life

Any way I want whether wrong or right

You think you’re coming for my crown

You’re the court jester, a fucking clown

EXTENDED CHORUS

You’re not special in any damn way

Too much sameness in what you say

Too much sameness in what you do

Words hurt, especially when they’re true

You’re not special in your diction

Everything you say is fucking fiction

Everything you do fucks up your mission

Defeat is your own damn admission

"Howl" by Allen Ginsberg

BOOK TITLE: Howl

AUTHOR: Allen Ginsberg

YEAR: 1956

GENRE: Poetry

SUBGENRE: Beat

GRADE: Mixed

It could be that I’m missing something here. It could be that my English degree wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. It could be that Allen Ginsberg is making me feel stupid. But whatever the case, when I tried to piece together the imagery in Howl, all I could say to myself was…”What?!” Sometimes the imagery made sense to me and I could carry on with my reading. Sometimes I had to read it twice or three times and even then my ability to comprehend it was sketchy. The first poem in the book starts off with, “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness.” Ordinarily that would be an awesome way to start a poem. It certainly got me going. But then reading the rest of it, I began to wonder if Allen Ginsberg himself was being destroyed by madness. He does have a creative mind, I’ll give him that. He’s so creative that only he understands what the heck he’s talking about.

But for all of the times that he made sense to me, his poetry truly spoke from the heart. It’s depressing watching great minds descend into madness. It’s depressing to watch the almighty “Moloch” take over everything you love. It’s depressing to know that your best friend is wasting away in a mental hospital while the orderlies employ draconian techniques. I know how depressing these things are because I myself am a schizophrenic. There once was a time when I thought I was going to be institutionalized against my will. I even welcomed it at one point. But if I didn’t get the help I needed when I did, I could just as easily become another statistic a la Carl Solomon (Ginsberg’s insane friend). This book was published in the 1950’s, during a time when ignorance towards mental health was rampant. I’m not so sure I could have survived that era. Thank you, Allen Ginsberg, for bringing me back to reality.

It should be noted how important this book of poetry was to the free speech movement. The sexual imagery, the violence, and the constant swearing had conservative censorship groups up in arms. Despite me not understanding most of the content, I can appreciate the battles Allen Ginsberg went through to get Howl published. Freedom of speech was always a guaranteed right in the American constitution, but it still comes under fire to this day. Luckily, we’re a lot more open-minded as a society, but if not for people like Ginsberg putting their lives on the line for free speech, we would have stayed in the dark ages for a long time. When balancing the confusing imagery with the impact the words had on mental health and the free speech movement, I’ll give this book a respectable mixed grade. It wasn’t a perfect read, but maybe I’m not high enough on the educational food chain to appreciate it to the fullest extent. This is just my opinion. You’re always allowed to have your own, because that comes with the freedom of speech deal.

Yelling at Empty Seats

VERSE 1

You’re not owed an audience

And we’re not fucking idiots

Shouting in an empty venue

Isn’t on our college menu

Fuck your so called “big ideas”

There’s no sense in fighting us

Racist trash and sexist garbage

Spoken by obvious con artists

CHORUS

Yelling at empty seats

About what you believe

What will it achieve?

Who will you deceive?

VERSE 2

Yelling at invisible drag queens

Transgender males in their teens

Black Lives Matter protestors

And human rights protectors

Yelling at people not even there

We stayed home in case you care

Your talking points bore us to tears

Try spreading hope instead of fear

CHORUS

Yelling at empty seats

About what you believe

What will it achieve?

Who will you deceive?

PRE-VERSE

Let me ask you a philosophical question

VERSE 3

If you shout and nobody cares

Were you even fucking there?

Do you go on a verbal tear

And picture everyone in underwear?

When you break the fourth wall

Do you need to give mommy a call?

If only there was someone to answer

But we’re busy avoiding your banter

EXTENDED CHORUS

Yelling at empty seats

About what you believe

What will it achieve?

Who will you deceive?

Yelling at empty rows

Purple-in-the-face prose

Save it, we already know

Same shit, different show

Building My Life Around Mental Health

***BEFORE I BEGIN***

I know in the last blog entry I told you all that this current one was going to be about the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards for 2018, particularly their Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic category. That was a lie. Truth is, I’ve pretty much accepted the fact that I’m on an island with that one, so I’m not going to write it. Spoiler alert: the big winner of that award was WWE’s business relationship with Saudi Arabia. If you followed the news around the time Jamal Khashoggi was murdered, you’ll know why this promotional tactic was pretty fucking bad. Plus, there’s that whole thing about human rights abuses and suppressing women’s freedom.

***BUILDING MY LIFE AROUND MENTAL HEALTH***

If I wanted to, I could elevate my career to newfound levels of fame. I can take certain Skillshare classes on marketing, I can hook up with the right people, I can make an Author Tube platform, I can do all of these things that any sane independent author would do. But the truth is, if I do all of those things and achieve my highest level of fame and fortune, it might come at a steep price. For years now, I’ve built my entire life around two things: staying mentally healthy and knowing when I’m too tired to carry on. Stressing myself out will derail both of those plans.

Taking good care of my mind is the biggest reason why I don’t do a lot of things normal adults should be doing. I don’t apply for fast-paced jobs, I don’t drive a car, I don’t put myself out there socially, because if I do any of these things, my mind is toast. I’ve probably talked about this subject before, so excuse me if any of this sounds familiar to you. Stress plays a huge role in how a mentally ill mind can function. Too much of it can lead to long-lasting damage. Playing it safe sounds like a cowardly strategy, but I’ve been in those stressful situations before and I don’t need another schizophrenic episode. In a way I’ve learned to fear them. I had a lot of schizophrenic episodes during my WWU days. It might have had more to do with my caffeine intake and isolation than actual schoolwork, but I’m still weary about going back to college for any reason.

I know full well that taking risks is the key to success. But what does success look like and what is it worth when the cost is paid? Does it mean being famous? If that’s the case, then it’ll mean I’ll be looked at under a microscope by the entire world. Every review and every criticism will be felt on a magnified level. Escaping fame and getting out from under the microscope is damned near impossible. One bad criticism could result in a firestorm of public shaming. If that’s what fame and fortune will lead to, then I want no part of it. I’ve been publicly shamed before and with a schizophrenic mind it hurt like a motherfucker.

But what else does success look like? Having a shit ton of money? Okay, great, but what am I going to do with all of this money? People give billionaires a hard time for not being able to spend all of their money in their lifetime and rightfully so. I don’t need things like yachts and summer mansions. I don’t need an island in the Caribbean. To be honest, I don’t really know what I’d like to spend copious amounts of money on. Travel? Great, but where to and for how long? Books and CD’s? Perfect, but I do that enough already. Donations? Again, I do that enough already. Concerts? Well, you know where this is heading.

So basically in order to be successful in my line of work, I have to sacrifice my mental health for rewards I have no idea what to do with. Maybe I can use all of my earned income to repair my mental health. I could go down to California and visit Cuddle Sanctuary for platonic spooning. I could go to Las Vegas and buy real sex. I could go on a “Secret Journey” like the Police song says and become a holy man. But wait a minute…I sacrifice my mental health just so I can have enough money to repair it. You talk about a catch-22. Holy shit!

I’m not at all saying that I’m against the idea of fame and fortune. But if I’m going to achieve it, I’m going to have to be careful and realistic about what I want and how I get it. I need to do a lot of soul-searching and a lot of online research. This isn’t something I’m going to take lightly and if I need encouragement from others, I’m going to take it. But until then, I’ll just keep chugging along and satisfying the demons in my head for yet another year. Maybe when I earn enough money, I can buy a cure for schizophrenia! Heh, we all know one doesn’t exist.

In the end, I’m not ashamed of building my life around mental illness. It gets boring sometimes, but it’s better to be bored than in constant psychological torment. At least with boredom I can relax and let my mind wander to lighthearted places instead of dark ones. Apparently, I’m not alone in thinking this. I’ve met people on the Face Book group Writing About Writing who also don’t see fame and fortune as their end game and they too struggle with mental illness. Don’t take this as a sign that I’m completely giving up. Take it as a sign that I’ll be more cautious in my climb to the top. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying…actually, this would be a good time to slow down and take a breather.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Upon a secret journey, I met a holy man. His blindness was his wisdom. I’m such a lonely man. And as the world was turning, it rolled itself in pain. This does not seem to touch you. He pointed to the rain. And on the days that followed, I listened to his words. I strained to understand him. I chased his thoughts like birds. You will see light in the darkness. You will make some sense of this. You will see joy in this sadness. You will find this love you missed. And when you’ve made your secret journey, you will be a holy man.”

-The Police singing “Secret Journey”-

***POST-SCRIPT***

On a high note, I only have one more chapter of Emilio and the Scratching Post to write and then it’s off to critiqueville. I might write it tomorrow. I might write it the day after. Or the day after. Or the day after. Either way, I’ll be thankful to see my story in yet another Hollow Hills publication. Wish me luck!

Freedom of Information

CREEPY CHILDREN’S CHOIR X2

Tell on a gang

Look for friends

Take a course of action

And throw him in the sea

SCREAMING LINE 1

Get the fuck out of my head!

VERSE 1

Those words are not yours to read

You weren’t the one who had to bleed

You never had to hide your shame

You never had to change your name

CHORUS

Freedom of information

Public humiliation

Classroom comedy

Psychological sodomy

SCREAMING LINE 2

What are you fuckers laughing at?!

VERSE 2

An immature sense of humor

Labeling everyone a loser

Laughing at everything in sight

You never had to run and hide

CHORUS

Freedom of information

Public humiliation

Classroom comedy

Psychological sodomy

BRIDGE

Don’t minimize this horseshit

It’s not so easy to fucking forget

Punish these chuckling morons

Before somebody chugs Clorox

VERSE 3

Thank god I’m done with this shit

There’s nowhere in class to sit

I’ve washed my face full of spit

No longer treated like a kid

CHORUS

Freedom of information

Public humiliation

Classroom comedy

Psychological sodomy

CREEPY CHILDREN’S CHOIR

Tell on a gang

Look for friends

Take a course of action

And throw him in the sea

SCREAMING LINE 3

Piss off, you little shit weasels! Ugh!