Tuesday, July 10, 2018

Tristan Jealous


VERSE 1
Dr. Jealous, what has become of me?
Can you give me something to set me free?
A shot of horse to keep me cheery and bright?
A can of caffeine to keep me up all night?
Laziness and comfort, my two best friends
A friendship this close rarely ever ends
Can you scrape me out of my bed?
So I can meet my goals, keep my ego fed?

VERSE 2
Dr. Jealous, I have something to prove
I need my fix to keep me on the move
I came to the protest with my cardboard sign
And a pocket of pills to make me feel fine
I can face the world one demon at a time
But all at once? That’s the steepest climb
Here comes the circus, here come the clowns
Not one safe space in this crumbling town

VERSE 3
Dr. Jealous, do you think she likes me?
Is this dangerous risk even worth trying?
Pop a Xanax or two, maybe even three
Only then will she see the best of me
I sit in the park trying to remain calm
Another day’s dosage in my shaking palm
Maybe I should turn and walk away
Save my courage for yet another day

BRIDGE
Tristan Jealous, I’m overzealous
I’m feeling a little bit rebellious
Call a medic, yes, I said it
My chart is in need of an edit
I cannot take this, I cannot fake it
I’m not sure if I can even make it
Doctor, doctor, help me out now
‘Cause I’m not ready to bow down

VERSE 4
Dr. Jealous, I can’t reach the phone
I’m trapped in this white cell all alone
The nurses told me over and over again
That I’ll be free when eternity ends
Everyone here is blending together
Washed away like stormy weather
Dr. Jealous, I’m calling your name
Please tell them that I’m not to blame

Sunday, July 8, 2018

Incelbordination, Chapter 3


Even though he was only three feet tall and south of a hundred pounds, Oswald Crow sent tremors throughout the punching bag like he was Mike fucking Tyson. The boxing gloves looked ridiculously large on his little hands, and for some it was a source of cheap entertainment. Whatever laughs he received at the gym were drowned out by the sounds of Phil Anselmo screaming “Bedroom Destroyer” in his ears. There was something euphoric about heavy metal strengthening Oswald’s punches against the sandbag.

He wasn’t just punching sand for the sake of it. He actually utilized decent footwork like all boxers should have done. He came at that thing from multiple angles and didn’t go too fast for fear of gassing himself out. The fact that Oswald had to learn these brutal techniques to begin with said a lot about why he would need them in life. Maybe that was why Antero was so keen on bringing him into Incelbordination. Heh, Antero. What a joke. He became a bigger joke when Oswald imagined the Matrix nut’s face superimposed on the punching bag.

The little warrior was so lost in his exercise routine that he failed to notice even the slightest chuckle behind him. He went for an overhead rabbit punch and his headsets accidentally slid off his dome. That was when the laughs became more obvious than a forest fire. Speaking of flames, Oswald’s face glowed bright red when he collected his MP3 player, turned around, and saw the source of the southern yuk-yuks. Of course, who else would it be? It was none other than muscle-headed high school tormentor Wacey Judge, who happened to be filming Oswald this whole time on his phone.

Watching his former bully laugh his ass off brought Oswald back to those old times when he was being stuffed in a locker, pushed over, held upside-down by the ankles, and called a litany of insults. If there was ever a time for that sweet green medicine, this would have been it, if for nothing else other than stamping the lit roll out in Wacey’s face. To Oswald’s way of thinking, such a red hot scar would be an improvement to his face.

“Hey, moron!” shouted Oswald. “This ain’t high school anymore! You’ve got to grow the fuck up! Put away the goddamn phone and fuck off!”

“Grow up?” Wacey chuckled. “Isn’t that what I should be telling you? You looked like a baby back then and you look like one now! Goddamn, Infinite Elgintensity’s going to roast the shit out of you tonight!”

“I don’t think so, you fucking retard!” belted Oswald as he threw his gloves to the ground and stomped towards his bully, not a hint of fear in the dwarf’s eyes. “Give me the goddamn phone!” He tried to reach up for it, but Wacey kept pulling it higher out of reach, prompting laughs from the “innocent bystanders”.

Patting Oswald on the head, the bully said, “Don’t worry, little guy, I’m sure there’s a ladder around here somewhere. Anybody got a step stool this guy can use? How about a stripper’s pole? How about an elevator?” The bystanders got even louder laughs out of Wacey’s “comedy” and a singular tear formed in Oswald’s red puffy eyes. “What, are you going to cry, little baby? Should I give you my thumb to suck on?”

Sure enough, Wacey held out his thumb and made a mockingly sorrowful face at his little victim while the entire gym watched and did nothing. Another tear rolled down Oswald’s cheek, but this wasn’t out of sadness. This was out of pure white hot rage stemming from years of abuse from someone who didn’t deserve to be as gigantic as he was. Why couldn’t Oswald have muscles like that? Why couldn’t he be a chick magnet too? All the jealousy, all the trauma, all the sickness, they led to a do-or-die situation for the little warrior.

“Fuck you, Wacey!” shouted Oswald with more lung power than he was capable of. He then hauled back and punched his bully right in the dick, doubling the giant over and causing the audience to gasp in horror. The dwarf’s next punch was an uppercut to Wacey’s square jaw, hurting his hand in the process, but make no mistake about it, the bully got the worst of that exchange. The muscle head squatted backwards against the wall dizzy and stunned.

“Fuck yeah! You just got your ass kicked by a midget! How does that shit feel, Wacey?! I said how does that fucking feel?! This shit’s been a long time coming! Woo!” screamed Oswald triumphantly while holding his bruised knuckles in the air.

“What the hell’s going on around here?!” said an equally muscular gym teacher, who burst into the room with his hands on his hips. “I’ll be damned.”

Pointing an accusatory finger at the teacher, Oswald laid into him with, “Nice of you to show up, Spongebob Square Jaw. It’s funny how you were nowhere to be seen when this jackass was having a laugh at me. Story of my life, isn’t it?!”

The gym teacher stomped towards Oswald, knelt down, and grabbed him harshly by the shoulders. “Listen up, you sick bastard. I don’t care what names you were called as a teenager. I don’t care how rough you’ve had it. The minute you attack another gym member is when I have to step in and call the shots. You beat the holy hell out of Mr. Judge here. I have to do something about it.”

“What are you going to do, ban me for life?”

“Damn right I’m going to ban you for life! Get your violent ass out of my gym!” ordered the gym teacher while standing up and pointing towards the door.

“That’s fine with me, you six foot dip shit!” snapped Oswald. “I wasn’t planning on coming back anyways! You’re harboring this piece of shit and turning your gym into a fucking Black Site! I’d be better off at Planet Fitness eating pizza until I have a heart attack! You hear that everyone? Don’t come to this gym anymore! I heard pedophiles like to hang out in the shower areas!”

“Get out of here, you twerp!” commanded the teacher.

“And don’t eat at their smoothie bar either! There’s a big fucking rat’s nest in the kitchen!”

“Are you going to leave or do I have to toss you out of here myself?!”

Waving him off, Oswald said, “Don’t worry, Lex Luger, I’ll be out of here in a second. I just want to make sure Wacey here is awake when someone tells him that his name rhymes with Stacy.” That earned a collective gasp from the crowd and a sullen expression from the gym teacher.

The pugilist dwarf raised his bruised middle finger to the sky as he trudged out of the gym. He closed the door behind him and ran out of there as fast as he could, as if the adrenaline would be the least bit effective at masking his tear-stained face. He looked like a badass in that gym, but he felt like the little baby Wacey accused him of being this whole time.

Oswald stopped running and collected his breath in the common area near an empty stone table. The tears wouldn’t stop coming. His mask of toughness was melting like ice cream in this goddamned heat. He didn’t bother to look up to see if anybody was watching him and he didn’t care at this point. First Antero Magnus, then Valerie Sand, and now Wacey Judge could be added to the list of shit-heels who made his college career a miserable one.

The little person pulled himself onto the stone bench and laid his face in his tiny arms. If he earned any laughs from the other students, it would have been a testament to their ignorance, he was convinced. What kind of song on his MP3 player could heal his blues? The better question for him to ask was what kind of green drug was more powerful than the most emotional Pink Floyd song?

Oswald reached in his trench coat pocket and pulled out another ready roll of Mary-Jane. He smiled and wiped away his tears at the sight of this beautiful medicine he was fortunate enough to have a prescription for. He frisked himself in search of his lighter, but goddamn it, he left it in his dorm room for the second time in a row.

He pounded the stone table in frustration and let even more tears pour down his bearded face. He secretly wished this whole college would burn to the ground just so he could have something to light his ready roll with. And then a familiar voice asked him a familiar question from the night before…

“Need a light?”

Friday, July 6, 2018

"Tantalizing Tales of the Horrific and Fantastic" by Marie Krepps


BOOK TITLE: Tantalizing Tales of the Horrific and Fantastic
AUTHOR: Marie Krepps
YEAR: 2018
GENRE: Fictional Short Stories
SUBGENRE: Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror
GRADE: Pass

Marie Krepps has written a lot of short stories over the years and now they’re conveniently collected in this omnibus for your enjoyment. Whether you want sci-fi action, terrifying horror, heartfelt drama, or bloody violence, you will get what you came for when you pick up this amazing collection of stories. Once she has your attention, she won’t let go until you’re jolly-well finished with this one hundred plus page book.

Of all the stories in this collection, my absolute favorite would have to be Coffins, a graphically violent horror story about a teenage undertaker named Pablo who dismantles dead bodies after using them to smuggle contraband across the Mexican border. This whole story is basically a clinic on showing instead of telling and Ms. Krepps has every right in the world to show off her skills. The supporting character, a gangster named Mick, gets so ill watching Pablo do his work that there has to be multiple creative ways to describe said sickness, whether it’s his body language, his face changing colors, or the good old fashioned loss of lunch. Take notes, fellow indie authors. Professor Krepps’s class is now in session!

My other favorite story would have to be Too Late, which is a picture-perfect deconstruction of romances being rainbows and unicorns. In this story, a highly-trained soldier named Sarah must rescue her ex-boyfriend Jonas from an old neighborhood suffering through a horrific sandstorm. Their relationship was never going to work because Sarah is too battle-hardened and Jonas is too pacifistic. But even so, Sarah uses the memories of their romance to bring herself comfort on this dangerous mission. Ms. Krepps reinforces the idea that you can still care for someone long after the relationship is over. Being able to get along is a powerful thing that we don’t see too often among broken up couples. This brings me hope. Lots of hope!

And of course, if you’re looking for a revenge tale bathed in bitter blood, look no further than Sister Princess. It’s a medieval fantasy about two princesses, Greta and Angela, who compete for their father’s affection and throne as he’s getting ready to pass to the other side. While Angela is unwanted, lonely, and depressed, Greta is pretty, pompous, and arrogant. It’s pretty clear throughout the story who you’ll be rooting for to get the final nail in the coffin. Revenge will taste sweeter than an Oreo milkshake. Savor the flavor of delicious blood. It’s all yours! Cue the evil laughter.

My complaints about this short story collection are minimal at best. There are just a few typographical errors here and there. Some of the dialogue in Mason’s Promise is a little too Shakespearean for me to take seriously, especially when Celeste says that her arm was gnarled “lustily”. But it’s nothing an extra round of beta-reading can’t fix. The collection overall is fun to read and it’s another shining example of a struggling indie author making her dreams come true. If you look up to her and pay attention to what she says, your dreams will come true as well. A passing grade will go to this wonderful omnibus of short stories.

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

The Shit


Ray Hardy’s alcoholic scent could be smelled from a country mile away, yet his equilibrium and speech remained normal enough for functioning in society. Though it was hard for a cheap bottle of Thunderbird to mess up someone’s balance when none of it entered the man’s mouth. Instead the bitter liquid stained his white T-shirt to where it looked like he was sweating bullets. Coupled with the venomous expression on his face, his fists at his sides, and heaviness in his footsteps, Ray’s roommate Adam Victor was in for a rude awakening as soon as the former crossed the threshold into the apartment.

Even though Ray was one hundred percent sober, he still had a hard time fitting his key in the door on account of his trembling hands. When he finally fit the damn thing in the lock, he made his wrestler-like entrance by swinging the door open as hard as he could. Adam, who was previously channel surfing on the leather couch in his sweatpants, jumped to his feet at the sight of his roommate and best friend looking awful as fuck.

“Good god, are you alright? What happened to you?” Adam asked.

Ray sucked in his belly and released a heavy sigh upon formulating an answer. “Adam, I don’t think you give a shit how I’m doing tonight. But to answer your question…I’m not okay. In fact, I don’t think anything’s going to be okay ever again. There’s no way in hell I can show my face at that bar again, not after what Ruby did to me.”

Nervous and fidgety, Adam said, “Okay, um…so…what did she do to you? You can tell me.”

“Of course I’m going to tell you, dumb ass!” snapped Ray, causing his best friend to lean back a little bit. “But then again, you can probably find the whole thing on You Tube if you look hard enough. I finally did it, Adam. I stepped out of my comfort zone. I approached the woman I had a crush on for so long…” He pulled his glasses off and wiped a singular tear from his face. “Ruby threw a drink in my face while her friends laughed their asses off. That’s why I smell so bad.”

“Oh my god, that’s horrible! Why the hell would she do that?”

“…Because…because she thinks I’m too fat and ugly.”

“She said that to you? What the hell’s wrong with her?!” Holding his hands up defensively, Adam hurried his next words along. “Listen, I had no idea this was going to happen, okay? I genuinely thought stepping out your shell would do you some good. I didn’t anticipate her throwing a bottle of Thunderbird in your face and…”

“Shut up, Adam!” retorted Ray while pointing an accusatory finger. “You wanted this to go wrong from the start! Do you even know why they call it a comfort zone in the first place? Because nothing bad happens there! If I had just sat there staring at my shoes all damn night, I wouldn’t smell like a bottle of hobo wine!”

In response to Ray’s heavy, beastly breathing, Adam kept his hands up and said, “Calm down, buddy. The important thing here is that nobody got seriously hurt.”

“Don’t give me that shit! I’m hurting now! I’m hurting badly! And it’s all because you brainwashed me into believing that everything would be okay!” Wiping away another angry tear, Ray said, “You know what? There is one way this will all be okay. I tried my hand at talking to women and I failed miserably. I lived up to my end of our little deal. Now it’s time for you to live up to your end too. The wooden box, the one marked The Shit, where is it?”

Backing slowly away, Adam said, “Um, Ray, now you’re really going to be mad at me. There’s been a little bit of a snag with the box full of shit. You see, I didn’t get my paycheck this week and…”

“Where’s the shit?!” Ray bellowed, causing an uncomfortable silence to hang between the best friends. Adam slowly stepped to the side and waved his arm towards the wooden chest, which was sure enough marked The Shit with a permanent marker. “Yeah, I’m going to get the shit. DVD’s, gift cards, money, CD’s…yeah, I could use some shit right now!”

Ray skulked towards the wooden chest and flung the lid open as fast as he could, almost making a crack in the wall. His imagination ran wild with the kinds of surprises that could be in there. Maybe there was a gift card to McDonald’s. Maybe there was the latest Hellyeah CD. Maybe there was a wad of twenty dollar bills. But when Ray poked his head inside the box, his insane smile drooped into a saggy frown. “A mirror? A fucking mirror?! Is this a joke?! Huh?!”

“Ray, as I was saying, I didn’t get my paycheck this week, so I couldn’t buy you anything. I’m sorry.” No response, just a frozen stare into the mirror from Ray Hardy. Adam swallowed a lump of saliva and said, “If it’s any consolation to you, at least you learned something from your experience. You can’t put a price tag on that. No Double Quarter Pounder will ever replace a valuable lesson. Right?”

Ray stood up and slowly turned to face his best friend with a vicious gleam in his eyes, causing Adam to tremble and back away a little bit. “Lesson? Yeah, I learned a couple of things, actually. One, women aren’t worth the trouble anymore. And two, neither are best friends! I was counting on there being some good shit in this box! I needed these things to be there for me when I failed!” Pointing his sausage-like finger, he yelled, “I! Want! A safety net!”

“You want a safety net?!” belted Adam, sending a shockwave throughout Ray’s tense muscles. “No, you don’t get a safety net, my friend! You know why? Because safety nets are nothing more than rewards for failure! You don’t get rewarded for failing! You get rewarded for succeeding! I put a mirror in that box because I wanted you to take a good long look at yourself! I wanted you to realize that there are no participation trophies in life! But you should know that because you’re a college kid! If you get too many F’s and D’s, you don’t get gift cards and CD’s! You get kicked out! I put that mirror in the box because I didn’t want my best friend to coast through life, that’s all!”

Adam’s burst of rage muffled back into fear at the sight of his friend huffing and puffing like a rabid wolverine. Ray growled, “Coasting, huh? Do you even know what it means to coast? It means to become comfortable with your own success to where you become complacent. Let me ask you something, Mr. 4.0 GPA: how am I supposed to be comfortable with my success…when I don’t fucking have any to begin with?!”

Adam tucked his chin to his bare chest and solemnly said, “I don’t know, Ray. I just don’t know. Look, I know how much that box of shit meant to you, but…” He let out a sigh and continued. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you just now. I often forget that you didn’t have it easy growing up and you don’t have it easy now as an adult. I guess what I did doesn’t make me a very good friend, does it?”

Ray slammed the lid shut and sat down on the box, his glasses in his pocket and his head in his hands. The two friends had a cold war of silence between them for the longest time. And then Ray wiped away his few tears, sniffed mucous up his nose, and softly said, “You know what? Can we just end this night right now, please? I don’t want to think about this shit anymore. I don’t give a damn about Ruby and I don’t give a damn about anything else. Tell you what, Adam, if you really want to be a good friend, do me a favor. There’s a bottle of pills in the kitchen with my name on it.”

“Wha…wait a minute…your medication? You mean the stuff for your…” Adam tapped himself on the head to signify a mental illness of some kind.

“Yes, those pills. I’d get them myself, but I don’t feel like getting up right now. I need two pills and a bottle of Perrier. If you get those things for me, I’ll completely forget that you screwed me over tonight.”

“Well, of course you will, because that’s what your medication does.”

“Don’t be a smart ass, Adam!” snapped Ray before taking a few deep breaths and calming down once again. “Just please, get me my pills and something to swallow them with. I’m not going to make any decisions about my comfort zone until the morning. Right now I just want to go numb for the rest of the night…and try to forget that I smell like the world’s worst wine.”

Adam nodded and said, “Okay” before fetching the two pills and bottle of sparkling water. He gave them to Ray and allowed the big guy to medicate himself for the evening. He shivered in disgust at the bitter taste of the pills, but otherwise remained peaceful with his head in his hand.

“How do you feel?” asked Adam.

“…A little bit better. I’m actually surprised at how quickly this stuff works.”

Adam took a seat on the wooden box next to Ray and put a gentle hand on the back of his neck. Mr. Victor then sang the lyrics to “Rx” by Theory of a Deadman, a song about taking medication and being depressed. This got a sad chuckle out of Ray, who then said, “You know what? Maybe I won’t go to bed just yet. I’d rather just sit here and listen to you sing goofy songs.”

“So in other words, me hanging out with you and being there for you during your time of need is safety net enough?”

Ray sighed, “I almost hate to admit it, but…I guess that’s what I want.”

Adam patted Ray on the shoulder and said, “Truth be told, buddy, you don’t need a woman like Ruby if she’s going to treat you like that. You can stay in the comfort zone for as long as you want. Come out only when you’re ready.”

“I probably won’t be ready for a while…but if I crash and burn again…will you be the one who gets me my pills?”

“Not only that, but I might have to fill that wooden box up with pills and call that The Shit.”

The two friends laughed and sang together for hours that night. They even sang a Pantera song whose title fit the situation perfectly: “Good Friends and a Bottle of Pills”. How convenient. Then again, safety nets usually were.

Tuesday, July 3, 2018

Things That Empower Me


***THINGS THAT EMPOWER ME***

I had a look at my most recent blog entry about things that scare me. Goddamn, did I sound like a sad sap. It could have been that the month of June was a weird one for me and I was still grieving. But July is finally here and it’s time to start over again. No going back this time around! Instead of talking about things that scare the shit out of me, I’m going to talk about things that empower me, thus turning a negative thought into a positive one. Positive thinking has been at the forefront of my happiness since December 2014, when I vacationed at Lego Land in San Diego and when I had the best goddamn Christmas I could ask for. I lost sight of that positivity somewhere in early 2018, but I’m working on bringing that shit back and it begins with this blog entry. Let’s start the list off with…


***SELF-TALK***

Dr. Phil can be full of more shit than a cow pasture sometimes, but the one thing he got right on the nose was that the words we tell ourselves are very powerful, for better or worse. When you tell yourself you’re too fat, too ugly, or not good enough, you believe those things like they’re the word of god. But what if you start sending yourself positive messages instead of negative ones? Let’s say I, for instance, repeat the mental phrase, “If you step outside your comfort zone, good things will happen.” Or what if I just imagine a good-looking version of myself with a skinny body and a sexy haircut like the one I had in my senior year of high school? Or what if I tell myself that I can afford anything I want to buy? What if I tell myself that the world loves me? You say these things often enough, you believe them and you become a happier person because of it. You know what? I’m going to have these thoughts more often, especially the one where I look like a sexy stud with a sweet ass haircut….not an ass haircut, that’s different. Hehe!


***MUSIC***

Some people call it “just noise”, but to me it’s more intoxicating and enchanting than the world’s most powerful drug. I remember being a little kid and listening to my dad’s CD’s from The Police, Pink Floyd, The Moody Blues, and Toto. I loved my Pink Floyd CD’s so much that I spent the entire late 90’s listening to the shit out of them. Then the 2000’s came along and I started listening to alternative metal like Limp Bizkit, Linkin Park, Three Days Grace, Korn, and Papa Roach. My musical library expanded tenfold since then and I wouldn’t trade any of those bands for the world. My current favorite bands include Soulfly, Nightwish, Five Finger Death Punch, Pantera, and Halestorm among others. I love music so much that I refer to concerts as “one-day vacations” and “pilgrimages” rather than “just shows”. I went to a Roger Waters concert in 2000 and my dad referred to at as “taking us to heaven to see god”. There will be many more concerts in the future, which means more opportunities to get high on my drug of choice…which if you haven’t figured it out already is music.


***HAVING AN AUDIENCE***

I know I said in my “Things That Scare Me” blog that being in front of large amounts of people makes me want to swallow Xanax. But make no mistake about it: the fact that there are people out there who are willing to listen to me is a blessing. Whether you’re complimenting my writing or critiquing it (hopefully not trolling), I’m grateful to have you as a member of my audience. I know writing is supposed to be a business, but you can’t put a price tag on having someone’s attention and never letting go. Whether writing becomes my main source of income or not is irrelevant, because some things in life are more important than money, like love, friendship, good advice, creative fuel, and the power of a good story or poem. To everybody who has supported me throughout my career, thank you so very much. To everybody that doubts me, your creative fuel is every bit as welcome. There’s another thing to be positive about: creative fuel can literally come from anywhere, whether it’s a news story, a personal experience, or the pencil sharpener sitting on my desk, which I once used in a toy photograph of Razor Ramon doing elevated pushups.


***SPENDING MONEY ON OTHER PEOPLE***

This goes hand-in-hand with my self-talk about being able to afford anything I want. When you believe you’re good with money, you can probably afford to shell out some of it on other people. That’s why I buy birthday and Christmas gifts months in advance for the ones I love: because I can and love them…that, and buying gifts ahead of schedule is a good way to avoid the stress of things like Black Friday. I also donate some of my money to various charities whether it’s the ASPCA, Extra Life, or St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital. Spending money on other people, whether in a big or small way, will actually make you happy in the long-term, because you’re strengthening your relationship with that person. You don’t have to clean out your life savings just to make one person happy, but having that kind of confidence with your money and that kind of love for the one you’re spending it on, that says a lot about your mindset.


***CREATIVITY***

To paraphrase Cenk Uygur from The Young Turks, OF COURSE this was going to be a list item! Writing stories and poems gives me a sense of purpose in an economy where English majors and Millennials are frowned upon. I don’t write for the money or the fame. I do it because I fucking love it. I do it because it’s hard work that I can be proud of. I do it because having a legacy is important to me. Do I have lazy days occasionally? All the time. But lazy days are temporary while legacies are forever. I realize that not everybody will like what I have to write, but that’s the nature of subjectivity. There are people who love the shit out of Fifty Shades of Grey and despise Winnie the Pooh. Yes! People actually hate Winnie the Pooh! But if I denied my audience the right to hate my works, I’d come off as a dictator rather than a role model for individuality. Life doesn’t end because of a bad review, or even ten of them. Your career isn’t over until you say it is.


***CONCLUSION***

Goddamn, I’m taking a long time to write this blog entry. Then again, it’s nearly one o’clock in the morning and I spent most of my day in a mental fog. If you can’t concentrate, you can’t write…at least not very well. Here’s hoping my messages of empowerment are well-received by you, my lovely audience. If not, well, at least I tried. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!


***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

(In the summer of 2017…)

JAMES: Hey Garrison, what was in the Amazon package you got in the mail today?

GARRISON: Duct tape and a CD.

JAMES: Those two things do not go together! What are you going to do, bind and gag one of your Face Book women and torture her with your music?

GARRISON: That’s not what the duct tape is for!

JAMES: Uh-huh. Sure! The only thing more disturbing than that was that it came in a long and narrow package. I thought it was another one of your corporate pop metal posters.

GARRISON: Goddamn it, James!

Sunday, July 1, 2018

Cloud Atlas


MOVIE TITLE: Cloud Atlas
DIRECTORS: Lana & Lily Wachowski and Tom Tykwer
YEAR: 2012
GENRE: Epic Science Fiction
RATING: R for violence, language, and sexual content
GRADE: Pass

In 1849, American lawyer Adam Ewing thinks he’s being treated for an intestinal worm, but he’s actually being poisoned by his doctor so that the latter can steal his riches. In 1936, English composer Robert Frobisher helps Vyvyan Ayers write a piano piece called The Cloud Atlas. In 1973, journalist Luisa Rey hopes to uncover a plot involving corrupt nuclear energy advocates. In 2012, Scottish publisher Tim Cavendish is committed to a retirement home and subjected to abuse during his stay. In 2144, South Korea has become a dystopian autocracy that robotic waitress Somni must find individuality in. In post-apocalyptic Hawaii, a tribal society struggles for survival when they’re constantly attacked by cannibalistic barbarians. Every one of these separate stories comes together to create themes of reincarnation and juxtaposition. The trick to watching this movie is finding that common thread.

As much as I loved the creative way in which these stories were connected, it does lend itself to confusing storytelling at times. While forcing an audience to think deeply is what all good movies should aspire to do, sometimes piecing together those puzzles right in the middle of viewing can take away from the overall experience. Perhaps this movie was always meant to be watched multiple times. All you have to do is consider the directors and what their legacies bring to the table. The Wachowskis are champions of Gnosticism, which makes the themes of interconnection and reincarnation that much more apparent. But at the same time, I can see how the chaos and confusion might force a watcher to turn away. I stayed throughout the whole thing and enjoyed it to pieces, so this is only a minor complaint on my part.

One of my favorite mini-stories in this movie is the dystopian tale in South Korea. With our current politics all across the globe, themes of dystopia are more important now than they ever were. Through Somni’s individuality and sacrifices, we as an audience are taught to question everything around us and never submit to brainwashing no matter how much violence is piled on against us. Our minds are the last safe haven we have when it comes to being ourselves. When we lose that, we lose everything. I’d rather live dangerously and be myself than live safely and be a clone. Or to put it in the words of a famous metal band from the 2000’s, “I choose death before dishonor. I’d rather die than live down on my knees.” Is it any wonder that Somni was worshiped so much in the Hawaiian apocalypse story?

The other favorite story of mine was Tim Cavendish’s nursing home fiasco. Tim can be described as an eccentric old man with more creativity in one of his farts than most people have in their whole bodies. That’s why it’s important for him to escape that dreadful nursing home so that he can become the imaginative author he was always meant to be. Of all the characters in this movie, Tim is easily my favorite to root for. He’s foul-mouthed, he’s delightfully Scottish, and he’s not afraid to express himself despite the conformist nature of his environment. In many ways, the nursing home is a lot like dystopian South Korea, and no, that’s not hyperbole. If Tim can stand up to that oppressive place, who’s to say others can’t learn something from his individuality?

The lessons in individuality and the craftily connected timeline are what make Cloud Atlas a modern day classic. It’s not perfect and probably does need to be watched more than once, but it’s still enjoyable and it’ll still blow your mind. Another notch in the Wachowski’s belts, another excellent decision when they partnered with the legendary Tom Tykwer. Just like the timeline of events, the stars aligned perfectly to bring the audience a movie they can love. How does a passing grade sound to everybody?

Friday, June 29, 2018

Do It For Her


When everything in the world seems to hurt
Just remember that you’re doing this for her
Every hour you work for draconian wages
Is so that she can live beyond young ages
Every sleepless night marked with baggy eyes
Is so that she doesn’t have to grow up to cry
Is it worth the pain? Would you do it all again?
Damn right you would, my hardworking friend
Some things are more important than agony
To say otherwise is the highest form of blasphemy
The future grows darker every single day
Even in dystopia, she needs sunshine rays
Should experience happiness while she’s alive
The world is there for your daughter to thrive
She can be a dreamer, really anything she wants
In spite of politicians who throw their taunts
In spite of billionaires who don’t want to share
In spite of bullies who don’t seem to care
While everything else may feel like a blur
Never forget that you’re doing this for her