Face Book Short Takes

Per the encouragement of my awesome Port Orchard friend Anna Bradshaw, here’s a compilation of all the funny short takes I’ve posted on Face Book. Enjoy!

EVANESCENCE DREAM:

I haven’t been remembering a lot of my trips to the subconscious theater lately since they involved competitions of some kind (I never remember those for some reason). I do however remember pretty much all of my concert dreams. Last night was no exception. This time I saw Evanescence play a show in an abandoned bank in the middle of nowhere. Amy Lee and her new band mates were all fifty years old. I repeat, between the release of Evanescence’s first album and this dream, Amy Lee became…fifty years old. She had gray hair, wrinkly skin, Marlboro lines in her face, and she was wearing a pants suit like she was running for office. This whole time I kept asking, “What the fuck’s going on here?!” Thank god I woke up when I did. But yes, it’s true, ladies and gentlemen: as of today, Amy Lee is only fourteen years away from celebrating her fiftieth birthday. Let that sink in for a minute and then you can slowly realize it beats the alternative.

CONCERT CO-HEADLINERS:

Because I was too zonked out today to get any real work done, I made a list of bands I haven’t seen perform live yet and paired them together as fantasy co-headliners. I tried to have the pairings make as much sense as possible. Live Nation? Make them happen!

1. 3 Doors Down X Crossfade
2. David Gilmour X Martin Kesici
3. Gemini Syndrome X From Ashes to New
4. Ghost X Babymetal
5. Hellyeah X All That Remains
6. Killer Be Killed X Down
7. Limp Bizkit X Bloodhound Gang
8. Sepultura X Sworn In
9. Serj Tankian X Tarja Turunen
10. Within Temptation X The Dark Element

BATHROOM BREAKS:

Here’s something I’ve always wondered, but never got an answer to. Why is it whenever you’re talking to someone online and you tell them you have to go to the bathroom, they always think you’re looking for an excuse to get away from the computer? Would they rather you soil yourself? Would they rather you wear a diaper at the computer? I don’t know about you guys, but sitting in my own biological sludge isn’t worth maintaining a conversation with someone. It stinks. It stinks very badly. I know this because my elderly dog Maggie shits and pisses all the time and I’m usually the one who wipes it off the floor. Whenever I tell you I need to go to the bathroom, believe me. This is especially important to me after I have a whole pitcher of iced tea to drink….or two…or three. That’s a lot of urine, more than Smokey’s litter box allows. So yes, I’m going to need a non-diapered bathroom break every once and a while. Deal with it.

FIFTY SHADES JOKES:

If you surf You Tube a lot like I do, you’ll eventually watch a few less-than-romantic videos and some wiseass in the comments section will say, “Still a better love story than Twilight.” Well, I’ve never read Twilight, so I can’t say for certain, but I have read its fan fiction predecessor Fifty Shades of Grey. I gave that book three out of five stars (mixed grade), but now that I have the benefit of hindsight, it deserved less. Much less! So that got me thinking: what are the most extreme, fringiest examples of movies or books that are better love stories than Fifty Shades of Grey? In the interest of bad taste, I’ve actually compiled a list for you so that you don’t have to. Starting with…

1. A Serbian Film
2. Boston Public (stalker episode)
3. Different Strokes (bike shop episode)
4. Fatal Attraction
5. Millennium (A Room with No View)
6. NCIS (Bete Noir)
7. NCIS: Los Angeles (An Unlocked Mind)
8. Pink Floyd the Wall (“Don’t Leave Me Now”)
9. Pulp Fiction (pawn shop scene)
10. Savages (Blake Lively’s captivity)
11. Star Wars: Return of the Jedi (slave Leia scene)
12. Suicide Squad (Joker X Harley Quinn)
13. Tales From the Hood (spinning table scene)
14. Team America: World Police (scat fetish scene)
15. The Shield (David Aceveda blowjob scene)
16. Through the Shattered Glass by Jeanie Clarke (marriage to Stone Cold Steve Austin)

With a virtual cornucopia of extreme examples, I want you to think carefully the next time you make a Fifty Shades joke. Let’s say you decide The Shield is more romantic. You’re basically saying that you’d rather get orally raped by a Mexican gangster than have a bondage romance with Christian Grey. I know, I know, you desperately want to put those things on the same level, but trust me, you’re exercising your hyperbole muscles when venturing into this territory.

BLACK TEA:

In all this time of drinking iced tea, I’ve always thought black tea had a negligible amount of caffeine. I can’t stress the word negligible enough. Turns out it’s one tier below coffee and I’m just now paying the price for drinking entire pitchers of black tea. Caffeine and schizophrenia is a fucking horrible combination. Plus, there must have been some reason why I kept waking up at ten in the morning despite going to bed late at night. If you don’t see any creative work from me for a while, it’s because the black tea caffeine is working its way out of my system and I’m constantly in beddy-bye with Smokey. I can’t concentrate if I’m perpetually sleepy. It probably doesn’t help matters that I’m constantly listening to “True” by Spandau Ballet and having romantic (not sexual) thoughts while doing so. Negligible, my ass!

CHEERIOS AND SOCCER:

When I was a nine-year-old preparing to play in a soccer game, I wanted to eat a bowl of Cheerios before the match, because…and I quote directly from the tube…they had “Morning power! Kid power! Go power!” James laughed his ass off at that while I was having a hard time undoing the brainwashing of television advertising. Truth is, Cheerios won’t help you win a soccer match. As a matter of fact, my team and I, the lovable losers known as The Thunder Eagles, got our asses handed to us like a bunch of jobbers. Drinking warm Gatorade didn’t help me win either. It gave me some cardio, but not a victory. I could have eaten a hot fudge sundae and had the same results. Is it any wonder why I didn’t want to shake the other team’s hands afterwards? Participation trophy, my ass!

BABY INITIALS:

I’m too zonked out today to get any real work done other than build a few of my birthday Legos. So instead I’m going to have some fun with potential kid names (even though I still haven’t any plans to father children). Tonight we’re going to look at initials, excluding the T in Temons and keeping the H in Haines (assuming initials are only supposed to have three letters). Ready? I sure am.

1. Grant Thomas Haines-Temons (GTH (Go to Hell))
2. Heath Edgar Haines-Temons (HEH)
3. Hunter Hearst Haines-Temons (HHH (Triple H))
4. Ivan Cody Haines-Temons (ICH)
5. Marcus Edge Haines-Temons (MEH)
6. Neville Alexander Haines-Temons (NAH)
7. Roger Owen Haines-Temons (ROH (Ring of Honor))
8. Samuel Mitchell Haines-Temons (SMH (Shaking My Head))
9. Tucker Oliver Haines-Temons (TOH (Treehouse of Horror))
10. Uriah Garrison Haines-Temons (UGH)
11. Walter Travis Haines-Temons (WTH (What the Hell?))

That’s all I can come up with for now. Happy Father’s Day!

COUPLES:

Here’s something I’ve often wondered, but never got a definitive answer to. Why is it whenever I go out in public with someone, everybody thinks we’re a couple? I’ve had people assume me and my brother James to be a gay couple, especially when we have Reina in tow. Hell, I’ve had a massage therapist in Hawaii assume that me and Aunt Ruth were a couple. You’ve got to have Ray Charles vision in order to fuck that one up. This isn’t Game of Thrones, people. My family tree actually forks. If it didn’t, then according to Jeff Foxworthy, I might be a redneck. Actually, my neck is red anyways since I go out for long distance walks in eighty degree heat, but that’s beside the point. Back to the topic at hand, it would be REALLY fucking disastrous if someone thought me and Reina were a couple. And while we’re at it, why don’t we just assume that people walking their dogs are in bestiality relationships. Good god almighty!

CREATIVE NONFICTION IS REAL, DAMN IT!:

When I was taking a nonfiction creative writing class in 2009, I overheard some kid questioning whether or not the words “creative” and “nonfiction” belong in the same sentence together. His major talking point was that since the memories are real and nothing is made up, it can’t be creative. The counterpoint to his argument was that the author still had to tell a story, which means the same rules as fictional writing still apply whether it’s showing vs. telling, being a reliable narrator, using colorful descriptions, dictating a desirable pace, using correct grammar, etc. No matter how many times the kid was proven wrong, he just kept insisting that there’s no such thing as creative nonfiction. It was like talking to a brick wall. Actually, the brick wall would have a higher IQ. Roger Waters seems to agree since he built one out of his own insecurities and made a classic rock album out of it with his Pink Floyd mates. See? I told you creative nonfiction was real!

DANIEL BRYAN X PAIGE:

Another weird ass goddamn dream from last night? Sure, why not? This one is WWE themed as it involved Smackdown wrestler Daniel Bryan and Smackdown General Manager Paige. Both of them were kidnapped by a religious cult after yesterday’s show. One of the cult members openly admitted to masturbating to Paige’s leaked sex videos, which naturally made her shiver in disgust. Once the cult’s van got to a high school gymnasium to perform a ritual, they gagged Daniel and Paige with tall Red Bull cans and duct tape. It was up to me and a special team of whoever-the-fucks to raid the gym and rescue the two Smackdown personalities. Daniel was successfully rescued, but Paige was nowhere to be found even as I kept desperately screaming her name. Then I woke up feeling happy for some strange reason, probably because I got a lot of work done last night at one in the morning (blogging Escape From Chehalis, writing Because of You, and reading chapter three of The Savior’s Champion). Although that might not be the official reason for my happiness, I chose not to question the source and actually let myself have a good day today.

DISTURBING NAPTIME MUSIC:

As someone who likes good music and good naps, I can tell you now that there’s nothing depraved about falling asleep to “She Don’t Want the World” by 3 Doors Down. The lyrics are disturbing as fuck, but the music is soothing enough to cure insomnia. Same thing goes with “Out of Hell” by In This Moment, a gentle piano melody with…questionable content. Not once have I fallen asleep to these songs and had a horrible nightmare afterwards. Most of my dreams are about school, concerts, and occasionally Unitarian churches (I used to go to those as a kid and a teenager, but not anymore). Last night’s trip to the subconscious was about me actually WANTING to go to school, so I signed up for a creative writing class and a gym course. Normally Roger Waters and I would agree when it comes to crappy school experiences, but this time, I actually wanted to go. Huh. Weird shit.

JAPANESE RESTAURANT:

It’s day three of zombie brain BS, so the most you’re going to get from me today is a post about a weird ass dream I had last night. Or as I like to call it, a trip into the subconscious theater. The dream opened with me getting a report card from college: two Ds and one F. I was so fucking pissed that I threw my report card in the garbage and went on a hissy-fit rampage in front of my teachers. To calm me down, one of the teachers suggested that I find a job at the Japanese restaurant on campus. When I started working there, the TVs at the sushi bar were playing Isle of Dogs and nobody batted an eye. I changed the channel to WWE and watched Dean Ambrose, Carlito, and Mojo Rawley give a member of The New Day a triple power bomb a la The Shield. I woke up wondering just what the hell happened (what a fucking surprise). Now that I’ve written this dream post, there might be some hope for me yet when it comes to creative work. The question now is, do I want to write a blog entry about Incel Terrorism or Creative Crossroads? Hmm…decisions, decisions…

SPIRO’S FAUX PAS:

As I ate dinner with my brother James at Spiro’s, he introduced me to a new word I apparently should have learned a long time ago: Faux Pas. It comes from the French for “false step” and it’s an idiom for an embarrassing or awkward mistake. Apparently during dinner, I made two Faux Pas that night. One, I ate the entire chocolate topping off of James’s peanut butter pie (which reminded him of the episode of South Park where Eric Cartman eats the crispy skin off of everybody’s KFC meals). The other Faux Pas was when I refused to engage in small talk with our waitress. She asked me if I did anything fun for the fourth of July and I simply said, “No”, prompting James to chuckle awkwardly for some reason. Even though he’s introverted too, he can’t understand why small talk is so difficult for me. All in all, it was a fun way to end our evening. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have many more Faux Pas to make.

STUPID HOSE!:

A few years ago, I was out on the back porch trying to get my garden hose to work. I can’t remember if I was watering flowers or cleaning out the rubbish bin, but I needed that hose to work. Much to my frustration, the damn thing wouldn’t spray any water. I tried everything from checking for knots to turning the faucet on. Nothing. Instead of looking for calmer, more rational solutions, I scream, “Come on, you stupid fucking hose, get working!” Little did I know that there were little children getting off school and parents who could have misinterpreted the word “hose” as being spelled H-O-E-S. What a disaster that would have been if someone thought I was a pimp. But I assure you, I’m just a guy who gets pissed off at little things. If you’ve ever wondered why my stories and poems have an angry tone, that’s why. I swear I’m not a pimp. Hehe!

GARRISH:

One day while going out to lunch with my dad and brother, the clerk who made my sandwich called me Garrish instead of Garrison, which my dad attributed to my poor handwriting when I placed my order. Dad and James joked that Garrish sounded like an Eastern European name, but it turns out it’s a real English word, albeit spelled with one R instead of two. Dictionary.com defines it as “tastelessly colorful”, like the Hawaiian shirts I used to wear back in my twenties. You learn something new every day, folks.

INUYASHA, SIT BOY!:

One of my favorite things to watch as a college kid was Inuyasha, but the one thing that always frustrated me about that show was how Kagome could bend Inuyasha to her will by using a “sit” command. Every time she said the magic word, the dog demon would fall flat on his face and become instantly obedient. Well, I think I’ve figured out a solution to that mess. To paraphrase Agent Smith from The Matrix, “What good is a sit command if you’re…unable to speak?” Sorry Kagome, but there are no M’s in the word sit. Hehe!

LIMP BIZKIT:

Whenever I need entertainment in the late hours of the night, I can always count on the subconscious theater to deliver a five star performance. Some might disagree about the five stars in this particular dream, but I don’t. Last night’s dream featured yet another weird ass rock concert, but this time the venue wasn’t in a building that was supposed to be something else like a Chinese restaurant or an art museum. This time the nightclub setting actually made sense. The main act? None other than one of the most hated bands on planet earth, Limp Bizkit. Some of their onstage antics included blowing cigarette smoke out of a desk fan, having a face-to-face screaming match with yours truly, and doing a cover of Metallica’s “St. Anger” (as if they couldn’t be more hated). It was a nice way to wake up for my 33^rd birthday, to say the least. Another nice way to wake up was seeing everybody’s birthday wishes on my Face Book page, so thank you all for that. The rest of my birthday was well-celebrated and now all I want to do is nap with Smokey. Maybe if I nap with her long enough, Limp Bizkit will give me another kick-ass performance.

MANIC PIXIE DREAM GIRL:

I just looked up the term Manic Pixie Dream Girl on Wikipedia. It’s a literary pejorative for a supporting female character whose main role in the story is to boost the self-esteem of the depressed or brooding male protagonist, thus helping him come out of his shell. Examples include Susanna from “The Way, Way Back”, Sam from “The Perks of Being a Wallflower”, and to some extent Sophie from “Obselidia”. When it comes to my current work in progress called Silent Warrior, I have strong reasons to believe Adrienne Simpson also falls under this category. Good god, what have I done?!

THE MARINE TEST:

Today’s my second straight day of mental sluggishness, so instead of actual writing, I’ll tell you all about a weird ass dream I had last night. In this episode of the subconscious theater, Mom, Dale, and I were vacationing in Afghanistan. While there, Mom had me apply for a job and as part of my recruitment, I had to take something called The Marine Test. It wasn’t actual military training like one would expect, but a written exam followed by a drawing test. I gave up halfway through it and decided to fly home to America. I called Mom and asked her when she and Dale were coming home. Mom said they were stuck in Israel, so I got even more frustrated. Then when I went out to the driveway, Dale and Mom were pulling in. I woke up wondering what the fuck just happened. The Marine Test? What does that even mean? And why was drawing something part of the exam? I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this, but unfortunately, Sigmund Freud is one dead motherfucker and I’m not trained in the art of necromancy. Bummer.

MEET JOE BLOW:

When I was in middle school in the late 90’s, I refused to go on a date with a girl because the movie we were going to see at the theater was Meet Joe Black. I wanted to see either American History X or Rush Hour, but no, it had to be the lovey-dovey Meet Joe Black because it meets the criteria for a “date movie”. Fast forward to 2014 and I realize that anything can be considered a “date movie” no matter what the genre. My now ex-girlfriend and I went to see The Lego Movie and Peabody & Sherman when they came out. Let that sink in for a minute. Still to this day, I haven’t watched Meet Joe Black nor have I desired to. Maybe I’ll research it on Wikipedia and call it a day. Or maybe one of you, my lovely readers, has seen it and can give the Cliff’s Notes version of it.

WHY ARE YOU UP SO LATE?:

I have a question for my fellow night owls. Have you ever been online past midnight and a friend sends you a message asking why you’re up so late? Usually these people live in a time zone far ahead of yours, so they’re technically up much later than you. I swear to god, one night I was online at ten-thirty and someone from the east coast asked me why I was up so late. By my math, that means the guy asking me is staying up until one-thirty in the morning. What is HE doing up so late? I’m not sure what the time difference is between the pacific coast in America and countries from across both oceans, but I’ve gotten the “Why are you up so late?” question from friends over there as well. Technically, I should be going to bed at a reasonable hour since I have sleep apnea and psychological exhaustion is one of the reasons why I don’t write or read every single day. My body says, “Go to bed”, but my mind says, “Fuck no” and wins that battle on a frequent basis. Maybe I just think that listening to music and fucking around on the internet is more entertaining than lying in bed. Perhaps this will answer some of your questions as to what I’m doing up so late, even though technically you’re up much later than I am.

ROCK AND ROLL WILL NEVER DIE!:

Would someone like to explain to me why I keep hearing the phrase “rock is dead”? Last time I checked, brand new rock and heavy metal albums are still being released to the public. Plus, if you love the old stuff, you can always, I don’t know, go back and listen to it. Music genres don’t just “die out”. People said rap rock was dead in 2001, but you still have bands like Hollywood Undead and From Ashes to New performing in that genre. Hell, there are still people performing classical symphonic music. Lindsey Stirling plays a goddamn violin, for Christ’s sake. Nightwish uses an orchestra for some of their songs. Hell, Evanescence released a symphonic album called Synthesis in 2017. If you have a favorite music genre, don’t give up on it because it’s not “trendy” or “hip”. Trends come and go, but music is forever. It’s the soundtrack of our lives. It’s medicine for the soul. Rock and roll isn’t dead now and it won’t be dead anytime soon. If for some reason it does die out (which it won’t), don’t blame it on young people, because that’s just a cheap copout. Plus, it’s bigoted as fuck. Can’t we all just…enjoy the music?!

TARJA TURUNEN DREAM:

It’s been a while since my last weird ass dream (mostly because I couldn’t remember them in the morning). This one really takes the goddamn cake. I dreamed I was in a long distance relationship with Tarja Turunen. While we’re talking on the phone, she mentions having to be cryogenically frozen until there’s a cure for whatever she has. She also says that because she lives in Philadelphia (she doesn’t in real life) and it’s polluted as hell, kissing her would be the equivalent of drinking hemlock. I tell her that since I live in the Pacific Northwest, kissing me would be the equivalent of kissing Walt Disney (because it’s cold up here and Mr. Disney is frozen). Before we hang up, I make a promise to wait for her until she’s awakened from cryogenic stasis. My mom then tells me that I don’t actually love her and that I’m only crushing on her for “pedestrian reasons”, whatever that means. I woke up with Smokey curled around my head since she’s made a habit out of trying to steal my pillow. Pedestrian reasons?! What?!

THEY’RE JUST FUCKING CLOTHES:

You know how people like to say, “He doesn’t know how to dress himself?” Well, I’ve come up with a little test to see if that’s true. Are you naked? If not, then congratulations, you know how to dress yourself. It doesn’t matter if you’re wearing sweatpants, New Romantic style, Goth boots, an Armani suit, or even a Speedo. If you’re clothed, you’re clothed. Hands down. End of story. Although I must admit, if these sweatpants weren’t so damn comfortable already, I wouldn’t mind dressing like a Goth or a New Romantic (despite the fact that it’s no longer the early 1980’s). But as it is, fashion is overrated and clothes are only good for warming up an otherwise naked body.

OVER-THE-TOP NAMES:

Reina and I just had a conversation about unrealistic names in my stories. When it comes to a college drama like Incelbordination, she thinks the names Oswald Crow and Antero Magnus sound too over-the-top and fantasy-like. They sound like they’re about to slay dragons rather than pine over hot chicks. Then there’s Beautiful Monster. Reina was strangely okay with the name Windham Xavier, but she thought the name Shelly Atwood didn’t fit the bill for a gothic seductress. Reina’s grandma is named Shelly. She rests her case. And then there’s Silent Warrior, which features a monstrous puppet teacher that appears in Scott’s dreams. Her name is…drum roll please…Aloysius Striker. As long as she’s relegated to the nightmare role, Reina has no problem with that name. Basically, her rule for naming characters is to have one of the names be fancy and the other be basic. She would have been okay with a name like Oswald Smith and she’s okay with Nikita Johnson. And then I explained to her that Crow was the last name of a pop singer (Sheryl Crow) and an actor (Russell Crowe). She didn’t buy that excuse. Me? I bought it with one hundred percent interest. I plan on showing Reina more of my overly exotic names tomorrow. Right now, it’s time for bed. Goodnight, everyone!

BEAUTIFUL MONSTER WEAPONS:

I have an hour to kill before WWE Monday Night Raw comes on TV, so I’ll use part of it to explain why in my WIP Beautiful Monster, Windham uses a whip and Tarja uses a staff. There’s no Freudian psychology behind either of those choices. Windham isn’t secretly into BDSM or anything like that, but if that’s what you got out of his characterization, I won’t argue with you. The reason I gave Windham Xavier a whip is because Simon Belmont from the Castlevania videogame series had one too. I gave Tarja Rikkinen a wooden staff because Donatello from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles franchise had one as well. As long as I’m dispelling Freudian psychology in my weapon choices, Commander Rinehart doesn’t use a punching dagger because he’s secretly into fisting. He uses it for the same reason anybody else would: because it fucking hurts. I shall say no more. I’ve said enough already. Hehe!

Moving On

***MOVING ON***

In all this time of doing blog entries about my distant past, you’re probably wondering why nothing serious comes up. The easy answer would be because talking about such horrible things makes my schizophrenia significantly worse, and that is god’s honest truth. But there’s more to it than just having a numbed out brain. The more important reason is because anytime something bad happens to me, all I want to do is move on with my life. I don’t want to take time to process it or talk it out, because that’s precious time lost that I could have spent doing creative work.

Time didn’t wait for me back then and it won’t wait for me now. High school didn’t slow down because I was in the early stages of schizophrenia. College didn’t wait for me to glue my broken heart back together. My writing career isn’t going to be put on hold because my brain doesn’t want to shut the fuck up. I don’t believe in taking mini-vacations just so I can mentally recover from something that should have been processed within seconds. Minor bad shit doesn’t feel like much to other people, but to a schizophrenic and autistic person like me, it feels like a hailstorm of bullets. I guess that makes me a special little snowflake, but I didn’t have a choice in the matter nor do I have it now.

Don’t get me wrong, nothing bad happened as of late; I’m merely speaking in general terms. Moving on with life without delay is something I cherish even if my mind or other people don’t agree. I don’t believe in slowing down for anything and that’s where I get my strong work ethic from. If my fingers are shooting out blood like a water pistol, I write anyways. If I don’t have hands at all, I’ll still find a way to write. If my brain wants to show me Clockwork Orange flashbacks of something that happened a few weeks ago, I’ll find a way to write. If I’m suffering from sleep apnea, I’ll give myself a quick head massage and slap myself in the face until I’m wide awake.

This is why I take lazy days so personally, because it’s a squandered opportunity to do something with my life, despite the fact that I had no say in the matter. If the lazy day is somebody else’s fault, then that’s extra hatred for that person, because that person stole precious creative time from me. That’s why I chose to beat the shit out of my bullies when I was in high school, to take back what I rightfully own.

But why am I so concerned about losing precious creative time considering I’m only 32 years old and have my whole life ahead of me? Because creativity is what gives me the most pleasure in this world. I look at a chapter of Silent Warrior or a fully published copy of Occupy Wrestling and I can proudly say to myself, “I made this!” The more time I spend away from my creative vices, the angrier I become.

For future reference, if something bad happens to me and I seem irritable, don’t ask me to talk about it and don’t overprotect me. Taking all of the time needed to process the emotions is time wasted. If I allow myself to take breaks from creative life to recover from psychological bullshit, then who’s to say that I won’t take them every single time? One break piles on top of the other and then it spirals out of control to where it’s been ages since my last creative project. For me personally, I see this as complacency and I can’t allow that to happen. If I tell you I want to move on from something, I want to move on as quickly as possible. If some guy says, “Idiot” to me under my breath, I don’t want to take more than a few seconds to process it. That’s the way brains should work. They should be tough and durable. But mine isn’t. It can be if I rush through processing it.

Thanks for reading this and understanding why I don’t talk about bad shit. The bad shit I do talk about is so far in the past that it doesn’t matter anymore. Either that, or I’m talking about it in a purely satirical and humorous way. My blog post a few weeks ago about The Thunder Eagles? That’s a funny memory to me, because I’m laughing at what a sore loser I used to be. Beating the shit out of other players because I lost? Come on, that’s self-depreciative comic gold! The heavier stuff will never make it onto my blog, because when people see that, they can’t stop talking to me about it, which results in overprotection, which results in spending too much time processing something and not enough time on creative work. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Hey, you. Out there in the cold, getting lonely, getting old, can you feel me? Hey, you. Standing in the aisle with itchy feet and fading smiles, can you feel me? Hey, you. Don’t help them to bury the light. Don’t give in without a fight. Hey, you. Out there all alone, sitting naked by the phone, would you touch me? Hey, you. With your ear against the wall, waiting for someone to call out, will you touch me? Hey, you. Will you help me to carry the stone? Open your heart. I’m coming home. But it was only fantasy. The wall was too high, as you can see. No matter how he tried, he could not break free. And the worms ate into his brain. Hey, you. Out there on the road, always doing what you’re told, can you help me? Hey, you. Out there beyond the wall, breaking bubbles in the hall, can you help me? Hey, you. Don’t tell me there’s no hope at all. Together we stand, divided we fall.”

-Pink Floyd singing “Hey You”-

Writing Everyday

***WRITING EVERYDAY***

Lord knows how many times I’ve beaten this topic to death. Every time I logon to Face Book, I see a primordial ocean of memes telling me to write every single day of the week with no excuses. As frustrating as it is sometimes to read those memes, they’re absolutely right. If I could write every single day, I’d be one smiling motherfucker. It’s not like I haven’t been put on that schedule before. You don’t graduate from WWU without writing everyday. Hell, even in 2011 when my schizophrenia was flaring out of control, writing was a daily grind that I embraced.

There’s not on particular thing that contributed to my ability to write everyday in the past. It was more like a multitude of happenings. I was younger, so I had more energy. I drank cans of Red Bull and Amp Lightning like there was no tomorrow. I also was a proud practitioner of the Atkins Diet, which resulted in my minimum weight being somewhere around 240 lbs. But just like with all good things in life, these temporary fixes were just that: temporary. Being young doesn’t last forever, as evidenced by my induction into the dirty thirties. The energy drinks were making my heart race, so I had to stop drinking them at the risk of having a heart attack. The Atkins Diet, just like with all fad diets, was never meant to be permanent, so now I’m back up to 300 lbs.

Now that I’m older, heavier, and caffeine-free, it seems as though I spend most of my time walking around like a zombie and napping with Smokey. Napping with Smokey is a wonderful activity, but it doesn’t result in creative bursts. Because of this newfound tiredness, my head isn’t as clear as it once was and when your head’s fogged up, you can’t concentrate. When you can’t concentrate, your writing turns to shit. Sure, first drafts are never meant to be perfect, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have an obligation to at least try to make them that way.

One of the things I’m currently doing to remedy this problem of mental exhaustion is using a CPAP every night. It’s an oxygen machine designed to counteract sleep apnea, a disease where you stop breathing in your sleep and wake up tired the next day. Sleep apnea can be caused by a number of things, weight gain, a large neck, and antipsychotic medications among them. Even though I use my CPAP every night, it’s not a surefire guarantee that I’ll be alert and ready to go for that particular day. Some days I can knock it out of the park, other days I just want to lay in bed and do jack shit. That’s part of the reason why I get a lot of creative work done in the nighttime: because I spend most of the morning and afternoon trying to wake the fuck up.

I admit that a lot of my mental exhaustion is my fault. The Atkins Diet failed because I love carbs too much. I especially like foods from Pizza Hut, McDonald’s, KFC, and Quizno’s. The most I do for exercise is walking two miles every day in the frigid weather, but it’s only a matter of time before the rain, snow, and wind come rolling through and going outside is no longer an option. I have a gym membership, but no car, so I can’t go whenever I want. If I had the chance to exercise everyday at an intense rate without gassing out in the first few seconds, my food addiction might not even be an issue. And yes, that’s what it is, folks: an addiction to food. Sugar, salt, and fats are all more addictive than cocaine. They’re designed to be that way, because the food industry needs repeat customers. Mission accomplished. It’s not a copout; it’s the truth.

If I could write every single day without worrying about mental energy, you’re damn right I would. I’m self-motivated, I’m hardworking, and every supervisor I’ve ever had admired my work ethic. Throughout my college days, both at Olympic and Western Washington, I’ve only had five C’s and two D’s. The two D’s were in the same subject: physics. The one C at Olympic College was for a sociology class taught by a former Harvard professor. The other four C’s happened at WWU, where everything is by design harder than anything taught at a community college like Olympic. More often than not, I’ve had either an A or a B in whatever class I took at the two colleges. That’s a lot of fucking classes and only a handful of times have I been unsatisfied with my grades.

I listed those credentials not to toot my own horn, but to prove that I’m capable of finishing any project I set my mind to. It’s all a matter of having an endless supply of mental energy that day. If not today, then tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. The easy solution for me would be to eat better, exercise harder, and keep a positive mindset. But the truth is, if it was that easy, I’d be a middleweight by now with novels out the yin-yang. Being healthy is a skill. That’s why we have entire competitions and games dedicated to being a skillful athlete: hockey, wrestling, basketball, football, or whatever. It’s not a skill that can be perfected right away. It’s one that has to be crafted and learned over time, just like writing.

For those of you out there who post memes suggesting that I should write everyday, know that I’m listening with both ears wide open. Not only do I listen, but I also agree. I’ve done it before and I can do it again. The ability to work hard doesn’t just go away because you’re done with school. And whatever you do, don’t let anybody tell you that you’re lazy just because you were born in a certain time period where technology was readily available. That’s just a dickish statement made by bitter people who gave up on their dreams a long time ago. I may be mentally fogged up, but I’m not down for the count! Not even close! In fact, just when I was certain I wouldn’t get any creative work done today, I wrote this blog! Take that, motherfuckers! We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***AMERICAN DARKNESS 3***

Looking back at the short story synopses I wrote back in 2013 and 2014, it’s noticeable how little detail I put into them judging from how short they are. Such is the case with “Dark Skills” (holy shit, that’s a lot of darkness!). The WSS has a new contest going with “Signature” as their main theme. So, here’s how everything fits together:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Matt Singleton, Serial Killer

2.      Carl Howard, Serial Killer

3.      Michelle Woods, Victim

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Carl is in the process of tattooing Michelle’s lower back with his indecipherable signature when Matt breaks into the apartment.

SYNOPSIS: Matt and Carl are rival serial killers who want the same victim. Michelle is all alone in her apartment and ripe for the picking. The two killers use different entrances to gain access to the apartment and argue with each other over who gets the kill.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Another thing I’ve noticed is that there are two synopses in my archives that revolve around the Spanish word “Comegente”, which translates into English as “cannibal” or “human eater”. One of those synopses is titled Los Comegentes and features a seven foot tall Mexican gangster named Patrick Ortiz whose weapon of choice is a chainsaw. Great stuff, huh? Guess what? Patrick is going to be the next Dark Fantasy Warrior.

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DANTE: I can’t believe you. I finally get my shit together. I’m hours away from getting out of here and really starting my life and you somehow manage to obliterate all of that and reduce me to a convict!

RANDAL: Oh yeah, it’s my fault your life’s fucked up. I’m the engaged guy who knocked up my boss.

JAY: You knocked up the guy who owns Mooby’s? Ew!

-Clerks 2-

Real Life Projects

***REAL LIFE PROJECTS***

“Real life can get in the way of even the most brilliant creative projects.” I say this all the time to people online who need to take a sabbatical from the internet. Now it applies to me. Things are changing in the Haines-Temons-Stevens-Wilson household and as the family strongman I need to take part in those changes. I woke up at seven in the morning today to help my mom and Dale put together the yard sale. I went back to bed after my work was done and didn’t wake up until two in the afternoon. I also helped my parents put the yard sale stuff away and donate some of it to a local thrift store. There will be other loads of junk we donate on different days. For now, this will do. I felt so exhausted after today’s work that I don’t feel like doing anything creative at the moment.

As many of you know, I don’t handle exhaustion well. If I’m too tired, I won’t do anything creative for fear that my product will suck or that I’ll fall asleep in the middle of it. I owe a lot of this to the fact that I’m overweight. It’s easy to tell me that all I need to do is eat less and go to the gym more often. If things were that simple, I would have been a middleweight a long time ago. Fast food is addictive and car rides to the gym are not always available. I know it sounds like I’m making excuses and allowing my barriers to get the best of me, but if that’s the case, what would you rather I do: walk all the way from Port Orchard to Gig Harbor to the YMCA and then walk all the way back? It’d be a hell of a workout, but one that I would dread until that day I die.

The CPAP machine I was assigned to use by my doctor has been hit-and-miss when it comes to helping me get my energy back. Some nights I can wear the oxygen mask comfortably and wake up the next day ready to tackle anything and everything. Other nights the mask is either tight enough to leave red marks on my face or loose enough to blow oxygen into my eyes and cheeks. On those other nights, I don’t get a good night’s sleep and the whole idea of getting in bed is meaningless. I plan on emailing or calling my CPAP providers on Monday when they’re available to see if they can help me through this dilemma. I’m confident that they can. The lady who showed me how to use and clean the machine (Leah French) was friendly and supportive during the entire demonstration. She even gently told me to “Simmer down” when I was swearing at my failed attempts to unhinge the mask from its straps. Hehe!

The exhaustion isn’t going to end with today’s yard sale and thrift shop donations. For the next few months, real life will be calling my name and I’ll be there to answer that call. There are a few things going on in August that need my attention. My parents want to replace their carpeted flooring with vinyl since it’s easier to clean, so in order for that to happen, I have to help them move their living room furniture out of the way. As someone with autism, I’m more sensitive to pain and stress than everyone else, so doing all of that heavy lifting is going to take its toll. Despite this, if we’re going to keep having pets, this floor replacement needs to be done. My parents are Baby Boomers and can’t do as much as they used to in their younger years.

Dale especially can’t do much to help us with furniture shifting because he’s going to have a second surgery on his kidney in early August. Heavy lifting afterwards might rip his stitches and put him back in the hospital. Plus, he’s going to feel exhausted himself and won’t feel like doing his normal chores around the house. He’s been an awesome stepfather to me in the eleven years he’s lived with us, so it’s only right that I take over for him when he’s at his weakest. He can enjoy basketball and crime dramas in the easy chair until he recovers from his surgery.

On a more exciting, yet still exhausting note, I have two concerts that I plan on attending in August and one that I plan on attending in November. On August 11^th, Slipknot and Marilyn Manson will play at the White River Amphitheater with Of Mice and Men as their opening act. Hopefully, Corey Taylor can stay healthy while he’s entertaining all of us maggots. On August 21^st, the Pain in the Grass festival returns to that same venue and will be headlined by Disturbed. Other bands include, but are not limited to Breaking Benjamin, Alter Bridge, Saint Asonia, and Anthrax. And then in November I’m headed to the Tacoma Dome to see Five Finger Death Punch and Shinedown with Sixx AM and As Lions as their opening acts. How can something so tiring feel so good at the same time? Because I’m a diehard metal head, that’s why!

In addition to one-day vacations a.k.a. rock concerts, I’m also going to go on a week-long vacation to Hawaii on October 3^rd. I’ve only been to Hawaii one other time in my life and it was in the fall of 2010. The weather was beautiful, the beaches were beautiful, and the brown women were even more beautiful. Hey, it’s not racist if I actually like their race. You can thank Jerry Seinfeld for that joke. Going to Hawaii will be all about rest and relaxation. We’ll probably do one major activity during each day and spend the rest of the time hanging around. Low-key vacations are the best, especially for hardcore introverts like me.

Before Dale, Mom, Aunt Ruth and I all go to Hawaii, Mom and Dale are taking a six-day vacation in September to Utah to see all of their national parks. I’m choosing to stay home and babysit the animals while they’re away since national parks aren’t my cup of tea. It’s a bunch of trees and rocks: so what? I even wrote a short story for American Darkness about this called “Trees, Rocks, and Murder” (it used to be called “Forest Dump” before Marie and I agreed that it wasn’t the best choice for a title). The trees and rocks part of the title apply to the national park vacation, but not murder, thank goodness.

Going back to August for a moment, my therapist Rachel is having a barbecue at her house on August 13^th, which is exactly two days after the Slipknot X Marilyn Manson concert and eight days before the Disturbed concert, the latter of which Rachel and her husband will go to if it’s not raining that day (it’s an outdoor venue). She and I have lots in common when it comes to our love for badass heavy metal. She’s also been very helpful to me since 2003 when I first confessed to my family that I was hearing voices and feeling suicidal. Managing my schizophrenic attacks is much easier thanks to her, so seeing her at the barbecue will be lots of fun. Besides which, I never turn down an opportunity to eat a good barbecued meal.

I hope I didn’t leave any important details out when it comes to mapping out the next few months for me. There’s going to be a lot of work to be done and a lot of fun to be had. It’s the same kind of duality in life Gemini Syndrome preaches in their music. Speaking of which, I hope Gemini Syndrome will be at the Pain in the Grass festival, because that would be fucking awesome! Getting back on topic for a minute, having this many things to do may be so tiring that I will have to take a sabbatical from creative work and the internet in general. That means I might not compete every week at the WSS nor will I meet my deadlines for beta-reading Andy Peloquin and Marie Krepps’ manuscripts.

I’ll try to make this hectic schedule work, but I’m making no promises. Never fear, though, because no matter what happens in my life, I always make time to say hi and shoot the breeze with my friends and family, including my online ones. I may be gone for a little while, but never permanently. You guys have been so supportive of me and my author career over the years, so I’ll always miss you when I’m away. It’s not going to be like the Brave Little Toaster where I wait an entire generation to come back to my loved ones. In the same way that you all have been there for me, I will always be there for you. Thank you so much for listening to me.

***TELEVISION DIALOGUE FOR THE DAY***

JERRY: Hey, wait a minute; you have the Mark McEwen TV Guide.

WINONA: That’s Al Roker.

JERRY: Well, they’re both chubby weathermen. I get Dom Deluise and Paul Prudhoe mixed up too.

-Seinfeld-

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!

I Dream of Weird Shit

***I DREAM OF WEIRD SHIT***

I say all the time that dreams are a rich source of creative fuel. They’re like Vitamin B12 for the schizophrenic mind (trust me, this is real science; look it up). Last night’s visit to the subconscious theater was one that qualified as cinematic wizardry. Or a psychotic cluster fuck, one of those two. Either way, I’m going to harvest as much creative fuel as I can from this once in a lifetime acid trip. Here’s how the dream went:

I started the dream by opening a newspaper and reading about male-to-female transgender MMA fighter Fallon Fox confronting Ronda Rousey at one of her press conferences…wielding a crossbow. That’s right, folks. A crossbow. Not a shotgun. Not an AK-47. A crossbow. Nobody around me was asking why Fallon Fox was holding a crossbow. They wondered what kind it was and how many rounds it could carry. This was the one instance where it was okay to complain about unfair advantages in a one-on-one situation. A crossbow, for shit’s sake!

I put down the newspaper and get to work at my family-owned toy store. My occupational dreams have come true; I get to work with toys! I was setting up various Bionicle figures on the display table and even playing with some of them. My videogame playing brother signed a package for a shipment of Double Dragon games…for the PS4. A beat-‘em-up side-scroller from the 1980’s is now on Playstation 4. Where the fuck have Jimmy and Billy Lee been this whole time?! I missed those guys!

And then I actually start to play a copy of the game. Seeing as how it’s on the newest generation of videogame consoles, the game is ten times harder than its Regular Nintendo predecessors. The first level is a ski resort crawling with anthropomorphic wolves carrying big fucking swords. The creatures themselves aren’t so scary. It was when they grabbed Billy Lee and bashed him over the head several times with the handles of their blades that I decided to lower the difficulty and try again.

The ski resort level was the same, but this time I was fighting baby dolls with milk bottles. The same health bar-draining beatdown happens all over again. The dolls force feed me sleep-inducing milk while the other dolls punch and kick me while I’m down. I throw the control and say, “I don’t want to play anymore!”

I couldn’t play the videogame any further anyways, because it was time for me to clock out from the toy store and spends some time with my babysitter. This thirty-year-old man actually has a babysitter! And that babysitter has some cute daughters who are about my age. I tell everybody how beautiful they are and they get creeped out.

Instead of talking about beauty, we watch a TV show about aliens disguised as people roaming the earth and preparing it for an invasion. For the main character, we have a bald guy in a trench coat and a hat with his face concealed as he goes around ratting on these aliens to the authorities. Every time he successfully squeals on an alien, he gets a new identity under the Witness Protection Program and continues roaming the earth to do his detective work. He one time ratted out an entire restaurant because the aliens were making racist jokes about Europeans. Aliens getting accused of xenophobia: the irony could not be clearer.

After the end credits rolled, the closing logo featured a guy getting hit by a car and flying through the air, getting hit by another car and flying through the air, getting hit by a train and flying through the air again, and then getting his nose chopped off by a helicopter’s propellers. In the words of the pilot, “That’s one dead motherfucker!” For some reason, I thought that closing logo was the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen.

I woke up this afternoon at about two o’clock and I didn’t want to do anything for the rest of the day. I was so exhausted from ongoing sleep apnea issues that writing was impossible until now. I also didn’t feel like watching WWE NXT or Smackdown this evening, instead electing to watch the NXT Takeover special in Dallas tomorrow night and Wrestlemania 32 on Sunday.

Losing an entire day of potential work to sleep apnea is something that has plagued me throughout my whole career. Some days I’d have energy, some days I didn’t. Today was the latter and I felt awful about it. Not to worry, because I finally scheduled a sleep study which will take place on June 8^th, five days after my 31^st birthday and three days before seeing Slipknot and Marilyn Manson in Auburn. Chances are good I will need an oxygen mask, which I won’t mind as long as it gives me the energy I need in my day-to-day routine.

As of now, I have a short story to write for the WSS and a chapter to edit the hell out of in Occupy Wrestling. Those things don’t just write themselves. At least now I have some funky creative fuel to power me through my short stories. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call it when the voices in your head laugh at you for having dirty underwear?

A: Skids-ophrenia.

A Good Night's Sleep

***A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP***

I talk about my sleeping habits a lot in these journals because I’m always in search of a reason why my low energy level is interfering with my creative projects. Sleep apnea will certainly suck the strength out of anybody. Being overweight does that all the time. But there are other contributing factors that all of us can pay attention to when it comes to our own lives.

My most recent solution was to wake up at 11:00 in the morning every day regardless of how tired I am. I was able to do it yesterday, but that was only because I actually had the energy to pull that off. I turns out I had a lot of extra time in my day and I used it to finish reading “Love Me Today, Kill Me Tomorrow” by Marie Krepps before writing a review for it and eventually going to my dental appointment. Today, on the other hand, was a much different story. My mom came in and raised the blinds to help me wake up at 11:00 again, but this time I was too zonked out to do it. And then I go back to all the times I woke up early in the day only to take a nap in the afternoon and go back to my usual sleeping cycle.

Yet another solution was to drink milk before going to bed. Milk has a narcotic effect on the human mind and puts said human to sleep in no time at all. Sometimes this has worked for me, sometimes it hasn’t. Maybe the failure rate has to do with me grabbing a midnight snack before going to bed. I’d love to give that habit up, but because I wake up late every day, I’m not around for breakfast. They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day for a reason: because it will determine your energy for the rest of the day and it will leave you full enough so that you’re not hungry before bedtime. I could easily combine the solutions of waking up at 11:00 and eating breakfast and I’d be on my way to perfect health.

But then there’s something else I learned about recently. Did you know that staring at a computer screen has the same optical effect as flashing a light in your own eyes? Blue is a common color in computer screens and it’s the same one that makes your eyes tired when you’ve been sitting in front of the screen for a long time. Starting tonight, I’m going to try something new and you all are welcome to try this if you’re having trouble sleeping. Before going to bed, stay awake for at least another our while trying to avoid looking at computer or TV screens. If you need sleeping music like I do, but you use your computer for that, turn off the monitor and leave the speakers turned on. If you need an activity that trumps dinking around on your social media accounts, read a paperback novel or write in a paper journal. I would advise against listening to your MP3 player since that has a digital screen like TV’s and computers do.

November is a month of challenges. It’s a challenge for writers to produce something every single day, but for me personally, it’s also going to be a challenge to alter my sleeping habits so that I can wake up with enough energy to blow through my creative projects and hopefully lose some weight in the process. Wish me luck! You can also wish me goodnight if you want!

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES***

My plans to write “Born to Die” have not changed, although it’s getting a little difficult trying to plot this story from beginning to end. I’m going to try and stay disciplined so that I don’t have to choose another story to write in its place. The writing can be easily figured out. The editing, on the other hand, has taken a slightly different direction. As you all know, Marie Krepps is my beta reader and she’s been doing a stellar job of critiquing my work and getting it ready for the marketplace. Recently, she’s been sending me back her notes a rapid fire pace and I applaud her for that. Because I have a lot of stories to work on, I’m no longer going to randomly choose one story at a time to work on. I’m instead going to bulldoze these stories like I did with American Darkness not too long ago. By that, I mean edit the stories in alphabetical order and do three per day with no excuses. You hear that, Death Blade? You too are getting the bulldozing treatment no matter how scary you are! Have I told you all lately how awesome and wonderful Marie is? ^_^

　

***LUNACHO***

Do you all remember me talking about suspending Blood Brawl because I had writer’s block? It’s the whole reason why I’m trying to finish up Poison Tongue Tales. But what happens after Poison Tongue Tales? I’ll have both an editing and writing job to do. I plan getting Marie’s critiques on my most recent first draft novel “Watch You Burn”. For the writing itself, I’m going all in with LuNacho, the animal fantasy story about two kitties I used to have, Luna and Nacho. Unlike Blood Brawl, I planned out LuNacho the right way and I actually have the intention of following through with it. And this time, though the chapter count of 20 will stay the same, I will start shooting for 40,000 words or more, which means each chapter has to be at least 2,000 words long. Can I do it? You’re damn right I can! It means I’ll have to push myself beyond my comfort zone, but goddamn it, I can do it!

　

***READING***

Now that “January First” and “Love Me Today, Kill Me Tomorrow” are in my rearview mirror, I need two more books to read and review. My choice for a digital book was easy: “Box of Chocolates” by the ultra-lovely and tough-as-nails Marie Krepps. Since the book is in the neighborhood of fifty and sixty pages long, I could probably read it in one day and review it right away. For the paperback book, as in the one I will read in lieu of dinking around on the computer tonight, I’ve got “A Street Cat Named Bob” by James Bowen. I was browsing Barnes & Noble one day and since this book had a picture of a cute, cuddly kitty on it, I purchased it without hesitation. The kitty on the cover actually reminds me a little bit of Nacho. Aww!

　

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

In the past few days, I’ve drawn pictures of two different people with Brock in their names: Ryan Brock (barbarian from “Streetwalker”) and Brock Dempsey (monk from “Maggie’s Wisdom”). That’s a Brock of shit. (Audience boos and throws vegetables at me.) Okay, okay, bad pun, I get it. There won’t be anything funny about the next character I’m going to draw: Corey Darkside, yet another barbarian. Maybe my family is right about me: I AM obsessed with barbarians. Hehe!

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“What do I think of Seth Rollins? I think he’s a weasel and a thief. He didn’t earn that championship; he stole it from me. At Battleground, it’s over.”

-Brock Lesnar-

　

***POST-SCRIPT***

And now that makes THREE people with the name Brock.

Hush

***HUSH***

Over the past week, I’ve maintained a minimal presence on the internet. It’s almost as if a hush had fallen over my social media accounts, which is weird because I’m currently listening to a song called “Hush” by Hellyeah, but it’s not about the same thing. Because of this “hush” over the internet, I’ve only gotten two pieces of writing done (“Saggy-Maggie” and “WWE Tough Enough”) and my online presence has been limited to Face Book posts of heavy metal songs from You Tube. You guys have been very supportive of me and even told me that I don’t have to apologize every time there’s lack of activity. I believe you guys when you say it, so I won’t apologize. However, I do feel that at least some kind of explanation is necessary. In that case, there are three different things going on in my life that keep me from maintaining a full internet schedule: housework, sleep apnea, and lopsided creative work.

　

For anybody who doesn’t know, this past June, Susan and Reina have moved out of the house and aren’t on good terms with either of my parents. This move was going to happen sooner or later since Mom and Susan really never could get along. They were always arguing over the messiness of the house and Susan’s parenting abilities. When Susan and Reina finally moved out, they left in a huff and a lot of their possessions were left behind. Mom, Dale, James, and I spent the last week boxing up Susan and Reina’s possessions and remodeling the house. It was exhausting work for all of us. In fact, just today, after I got done shampooing the carpets, I passed out on my bed for five hours. No kidding. Mom and Dale wanted to get all of this work done before they flew out to North Carolina to inspect what will eventually become our new home. On a positive note, our house here in Port Orchard looks MUCH better than it did before, but at what price?

This past July, I visited my therapist Rachel Burgett’s office and one of our topics was my mental and physical energy. I told her about my newly formed caffeine habits and how I drink either four tall cans of Diet Coke or three large bottles of Diet Mountain Dew just so I can stay awake and alert. Caffeine is not conducive to being a schizophrenic since it has been known to trigger head voices. After saying that, Rachel suggested that I might have problems with sleep apnea due to my ongoing weight issues. The sleep apnea suggestion might be the closest thing to the truth I need to hear. In college, my roommates kept moving out of my dorm because I snored too loudly. One of my roommates even said I stopped breathing before the snoring started. Snoring is a problem in my present life and it shows, because even though I get 12 to 14 hours of sleep a night, I still feel exhausted throughout the day. As soon as Mom and Dale get back from their two week trip to Asheville, they’re going to schedule me for a visit to a sleep clinic to see what they can do about my sleep apnea. I might need a breathing mask, but I’m not sure.

I’m sure you all have noticed by now that I’ve stopped talking about “Star Island” by Carl Hiaasen as my current reading project. It’s not because I stopped enjoying it. On the contrary, it’s quick and witty just like any Carl Hiaasen book should be. I was recently asked a favor by my friend and fellow independent author Andy Peloquin to read “Blade of the Destroyer” and give it an honest review on Amazon and Good Reads. He says he needs the review by August 21^st, but also keeps insisting there’s no rush and that if I miss the deadline it’s no big deal. In his words, “Any time before the end of the world would be nice.” I also need reviews of my books, Occupy Wrestling in particular, so I agree to this favor. I don’t mind doing this favor at all. In fact, I think very highly of Andy Peloquin’s writing skills. It’s just that for some reason, I became so obsessed with this reading project that I’ve completely ignored all of my other creative obligations. It’s been ages since I saw a new episode of NCIS: Los Angeles. And that first chapter of Hair vs. Hair (which will now be called Blood Brawl)? Not up yet. No movie reviews, no character profiles, no paperback versions of Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage and Occupy Wrestling, nothing. The problem here isn’t that I’m doing someone a favor. The problem is that I’m obsessing over it. I did the same thing when I was editing Occupy Wrestling with Marie Krepps.

　

Couple my obsessive work schedule with cleaning up after Susan and Reina and sleep apnea problems and it should all be clear by now what’s going on in my life. I still haven’t decided yet if I’m going to compete in this week’s WSS contest, I’m so tired. I need a few moments to figure everything out in my life. It’s suddenly not as easy as going to random.org anymore.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“You are not alone. I’m standing by your side. I walk with you through hell. I walk with you tonight. We are the forgotten that nobody wants to face. Together we can rise. Let’s climb out of hell. You are not forgotten. I’m standing by your side. Your struggle makes you beautiful. Out of hell we will climb.”

-In This Moment singing “Out of Hell”-