When Jane was seven years old she came to an important realization about the nature of people. There are particular things in this world about people that you cannot change no matter how much you say or do to the contrary. If they smoke - you can nag them and harass them and even bribe them, but they can and will only quit smoking when they are ready to do so and not a moment before. If they are rude - they will not stop simply because you ask them to.
In Jane's case, her sister Ruth hated her. She did not know why, but even at the tender of seven Jane knew that no matter how nice she was to her older sister, no matter how many times Jane offered to do her sister's chores, offered her the candy she bought every week with her hard earned allowance or even how many times Jane lied to her parents and took the blame for some misdeed that Ruth did - no matter what she did - her sister Ruth would always hate her and not a day went by that Ruth did not find a way to show or similarly inform her of this fact.
Later in life when Jane and her brother Franklin were talking about Ruth (who Franklin and her Father always referred to as Ruthie no matter how much she protested) over dinner at a crusty diner on the east side of the city - Franklin would tell Jane that Ruthie hated her because she came along at the wrong time and for no other reason at all. If she had been a boy Ruthie would have loved her, if she was born a few years later she also would have loved her - it was all about timing.
When Jane pressed Franklin for details on what he meant - Franklin told Jane about the Christmas concert of 1969 that her parents had missed because of Jane's untimely and premature birth. Jane arrived in this world four and one-half months earlier than expected and both her Mother and Father wound up attending the birth rather then attending Ruthie's performance as Mary at the school Christmas pageant.
Even though her parents lavished their eldest daughter with more gifts than she had ever before received (including the receiving the cherished and coveted Mrs. Beasley doll that would become Ruthie's constant companion during the next few pivotal years of her life) her parents were unable to ever make amends to Ruthie for missing this concert. Since Ruthie could not hold a grudge against her parents who had in fact made sure they got her everything she possibly could ever want that particular Christmas morning - Ruthie decided there and then that she would forever hate her little concert ruining sibling...
Now Jane and Ruth had three brothers. Their names were Jason, Maurice and Franklin and they adored both their sisters equally. ..
On Halloween night in 1974 all five children were making last minute preparations on their costumes and Maurice was having a particularly difficult time with the wings from his Hawkman costume. The children had gotten together in the waning days of summer. Before school began once more and forced them into their separate yet intertwined lives. They decided that they would and should go out together as a unified force this year for Halloween.
It was Jason, the supplier of all comic book related material in the house that suggested they go out as the Justice League. They all agreed and even Ruth agreed as long as she got to be Wonder Woman. Jane pouted for a few minutes until Franklin whispered to her that she was so lucky to be able to go out as Black Canary - who Jane knew was both Franklin and Maurice's favorite girl-type hero.
That decided, they all had two months to come up with costumes. They all agreed to make the costumes themselves and under no circumstances would they ask Mother or Father for help.
Setting up a stack of weather-worn and well-thumbed comics between them, the children started to choose their characters. Franklin chose Green Arrow, Jason chose the Flash, Maurice the high flying Hawkman, Ruth chose Wonder Woman. Franklin's best friend Kevin chose Batman. Maurice's buddy Keith took the Elongated Man and for some reason no one chose Superman or Batman.
Jason had no real friends at that point in his life and Ruth and Jane did not know that many girls who liked superheroes as much as we did. In fact this would be the last year that Ruth would even entertain the idea that she and her siblings were friends. The following year she would discover a new group of friends at school and they would introduce her to the wonders of pre-teen life. Movie magazines filled with hunky boy stars and plenty of gossip, make-up parties and afternoons spent styling and colouring their hair into fantastic and unbelievable shapes and positions and of course countless hours talking about what was to become their favorite subject - boys.
This year though, the five children had dressed in their collective Justice League costumes and left their house to go Trick or Treating at 6:10 pm. Their Father had to work late at the High School that night and their Mother who had been complaining of a migraine most of the afternoon had decided that the children were old enough to dress themselves and go out together as a group.
This had been their plan since the summer, but the five of them were more than happy to let their often frazzled Mother think this was her own idea and that for once her children were actually following her suggestions and respecting her word. Their Mother threw together some leftover chicken and salad and put in on the table in the kitchen and asked the children to make sure they had at least something to eat before they went out and to make sure that Franklin, who was the oldest, checked any and all candy before they ate anything out of their bags. She warned them about venturing too far out of their own neighbourhood, told them to stick together and not to talk to strangers.
This struck all of them as amusing as on Halloween night everyone was strange.
They were extremely proud of their costumes and they looked very impressive in their group. The only problem encountered was that Maurice had made his wings for his Hawkman costume much too big for his little body and as a result he kept smacking anyone who walked too near. No one really seemed to mind but Ruth who kept having her tiara knocked of by errand aerial attacks. By the time they hit the boundaries of their own stomping ground which was the park at 28th Street and Maple they had filled up their pillowcases to the three quarter full mark and Wonder Woman had retrieved her tiara a total of seven times over the night. Needless to say, she was not feeling too wonderful and she repeatedly warned Hawkman that the next time it happened she would tear his wings off and shove the where the sun refused to shine.
This sent Jane into a terrible case of the giggles and Ruth became even angrier although Jane insisted she was laughing at Maurice and not at Ruth. At this point the Justice League became involved in its first Catwoman unrelated feline-inspired super-fight when Wonder Woman decided Black Canary was getting to big for her britches, or rather her trademark fishnet stockings. When they reached the park, Wonder Woman threw her pillowcase to the ground, candy spilling out all over the wet grass and tackled Black Canary from behind. Jane's bag of treats went flying and so did both girls... right into a pile of leaves that had also contained an entire season's worth of discarded dog droppings. Since it had been raining the last few days the pile was very wet and both girls were instantly covered in wet leaves and attached to the wet leaves was the smelliest substance to ever befoul a superhero. In other words they became covered head to toe in wet and smelly dog shit. It was Franklin who, after letting them roll around in the pile for a few seconds, noticed the extremely ripe smell coming from the pile and declared that they both smelled.. well that they both smelled like shit.
Ruth stood up and screamed at Jane. Calling her every single name she could possible think of while kicking her rolled up sister repeatedly in the stomach, the side and a few times in the head. Maurice and Jason pulled her away and Ruth threw her hands up in disgust accusing them of protecting her like they always did. She reached down grabbed her bag and without stopping to gather what had fallen out, stormed off towards home where she spent the remainder of the night hiding in the bathroom on the top floor. They did not see her again until the next day.
Jane stayed in the leaves for a few seconds longer sobbing and feeling miserable over having destroyed everyone's nice night. As she stood up and the sobbing began to subside, Jane noticed for the first time the ripoe odour coming off her clothing and her sadness began to evolve into a rage, a rage over her ruined costume, a rage over her rotten sister and a rage over every single mean thing Ruth had ever done to her. This was the moment that she came to the conclusion that she would never be able to change the way Ruth felt about her. If Ruth wanted to hate her - then so be it - let the rotten, ill-mannered, evil b-i-t-c-h be that way - her brothers loved her and that would never change. From this moment on she would not shed a tear if a house landed on Ruth - in fact she would buy the owner of the house a box of chocolates to say thank you for ridding the world of one more wicked witch - the wicked witch of the Ruth - Jane thought with an evil smile.
Her brothers Jason and Franklin did their best to scrape the rotten and smelly leaves off of their soggy and sad sister. They did their best to console her without actually touching her when they were startled by a loud popping soind directly above them. The noise started softly at first andf Jason was the first to notice it. By the time he had the words "hey do you guys hear that ?" out of his mouth the noise was so loud that it is very doubtful they heard more than "hey do you g" before being drowned out by the sound. A low rumbly popping sound that could only be described as a bag of microwave popcorn being made in a kettle drum. The sound built in volume and intensity until finally climaxing with a nloud ear-ringing pop which ended with a flash of bluish light and a nude middle-aged man dropping out of the light and landing on top of the three shocked superheroes. Keep in mind that this was also Halloween and the mindset of the children in the dark was not that of an average young person on a normal night. If anything thses children were absolutely terrified by what they were seeing and at least one of the three was suddenly and irrevocably rendered incapable of holding on to their share of the three cans of Pespsi Cola the children had shared while getting into costume. Although it was highly unlikely that anyone would notice one slightly damp costume smelling faintly of urine in the middle of a situation that included a miniature Black Canary covered in wet dog shit and a naked man dropping out of the sky on a dark and incredibly spooky Halloween night.
To make matters worse, a group of drunk and rowdy adult men were entering the park on the other side. They took immediate notice of the naked man who appeared to be harrassing a group of three children still dressed in their halloween costumes.
In an alternate reality that existed before the arrival of the naked man - this group of men came across three children in costume and began to harrass them until the situation escalated into something that was both very violent and very tragic.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Across the thin white line... Chapter 2
It comes rushing in like fire in a dry season. The first thing he notices is the noise. A low rumble starting off in the distance. It grows and it grows quickly. Just like a hungry fire - ready to consume everything around it as quickly and hungrily as it possibly can.
Lennie covers his ears with his hands and then then with forearms, pressing them as hard as he is able to against the rushing sound of the drug roaring through his bloodstream. The sound becomes unbearable, so much so then he had ever been used to before - In the past Lennie had done a fifth of the amount he had just done and he has begun to flail and convulse. The 'funky chicken' his mates had called it.
Lennie had vowed this would never happen to him again.
This time was even worse.
He had not had a chance to properly stop the bleeding on his arm and what he did not know had saved his life. The excess poison and magic that might have killed him had he forces it to stay inside his body was now bleeding away and dissipating into the air of the room around him. It that it was not a mainline he had hit with his narcotic magic mixture, but an artery. Had he hit a regular vein it would have killed him and that would have been that. The Devil had not told him this and it was pure blind luck that he was able to inject into his artery and not a vein. Luck favours the stupid, the lovers and of course children. Lennie was not a child anymore but he was in love and he was stupid to try such a dangerous thing. A trick the most seasoned of magicians and charlatans and witches of any order or class would shy away from as stupid and unnecessarily dangerous. In fact no one had ever survived the ordeal - although it was unlikely Lennie would have listened to warnings even if he had received them. He was just that type of person.
Lennie's hands moved across his face in an attempt to keep his now imploding brain from leaking out onto his face and the room spun and swam and roared around him and he began to convulse and twitch. He saw his hands were coated with his own blood - it gushed out of his nose, his ears, his eyes and flowed across his face as if he were in a shower, casually rinsing off the day's dirt and grime.
In this case it was not the city's filth he was washing off but time and space and everything that kept him tethered to the here and now. To the the reality that existed beneath his neighbour's music and the faded hardwood floors his feet were touching.
He felt the whole world shake and cast him off - repulsed by his very presence, his very existence. Lennie prayed to fall unconscious - he prayed that he be spared the sight of his own body turning inside out. Lennie watched, distracted by the roar of his own blood and the smell of apples and cinnamon, as his hands began to fade into nothingness. His forearms disappearing and his black t-shirt and jeans deflating as if there were never anything inside them at all. His clothing passed through him and fell crumpled onto the couch and floor. As if they had been casually tossed aside by a sloppy and uncaring undresser. Perhaps in haste to prepare for bed or to meet a lover waiting for him in bed. This would have been so much better than what was actually happening as Lennie was ceasing to exist, his being falling out of sinc with this reality, his consciousness cut loose from his body - his very essence, what theologians have referred to as the soul - Lennie surmised, now acutely aware and bemused by the experience of becoming nothing but thought. The rushing sound carrying him out of his apartment like a loose wind caught between two sheets drying on an old clothesline on a windy and warm November afternoon.
Lennie felt his mind disintegrate and reintegrate - he felt his body die and be reborn on levels and places he never dreamed even existed. He was now gone from this plane of existence and was travelling well beyond human expectation. For a second or maybe even two Lennie unformed and stayed that way - almost lost forever on the winds of birth and rebirth - without an anchor Lennie would be funneled into a new life and be reborn into a new life into a world far beyond his own. His pain and suffering and love and sacrifice would have all been in vain because he was unable to concentrate on the one reason he was doing this in the first place.
At the last possible second Lennie heard the voice of fate calling out to him. It was Jane and his soul twisted and turned and spiraled towards the sound of her voice. Jane wanting Lennie to save her - not wanting her love for Lennie to become as meaningless as air.
Lennie's mind seizes this thought and driven by the sounds of the roaring around him begins to migrate through the storm of unbeing and lost moments - as this is where - Lennie discovers as his consciousness soars past them - this is where they all end up.
Breaching time and space and a wafer thin dimensional wall, Lennie arrives where he has intended on going. He has gone back to yesterday. He does not yet realize that it is not his yesterday that he has arrived in.
He arrives naked and skids across a hard paved surface, producing a painful bit of road rash along the left side of his body. He rolls to a stop, breathing heavy, savouring his first breath of air in this new world. He acknowledges the pain he feels in his heart and along the strip of raw flesh that landing in this dark and dismal alley has produced and then he starts to cry.
He crys tears of hope.
Lennie covers his ears with his hands and then then with forearms, pressing them as hard as he is able to against the rushing sound of the drug roaring through his bloodstream. The sound becomes unbearable, so much so then he had ever been used to before - In the past Lennie had done a fifth of the amount he had just done and he has begun to flail and convulse. The 'funky chicken' his mates had called it.
Lennie had vowed this would never happen to him again.
This time was even worse.
He had not had a chance to properly stop the bleeding on his arm and what he did not know had saved his life. The excess poison and magic that might have killed him had he forces it to stay inside his body was now bleeding away and dissipating into the air of the room around him. It that it was not a mainline he had hit with his narcotic magic mixture, but an artery. Had he hit a regular vein it would have killed him and that would have been that. The Devil had not told him this and it was pure blind luck that he was able to inject into his artery and not a vein. Luck favours the stupid, the lovers and of course children. Lennie was not a child anymore but he was in love and he was stupid to try such a dangerous thing. A trick the most seasoned of magicians and charlatans and witches of any order or class would shy away from as stupid and unnecessarily dangerous. In fact no one had ever survived the ordeal - although it was unlikely Lennie would have listened to warnings even if he had received them. He was just that type of person.
Lennie's hands moved across his face in an attempt to keep his now imploding brain from leaking out onto his face and the room spun and swam and roared around him and he began to convulse and twitch. He saw his hands were coated with his own blood - it gushed out of his nose, his ears, his eyes and flowed across his face as if he were in a shower, casually rinsing off the day's dirt and grime.
In this case it was not the city's filth he was washing off but time and space and everything that kept him tethered to the here and now. To the the reality that existed beneath his neighbour's music and the faded hardwood floors his feet were touching.
He felt the whole world shake and cast him off - repulsed by his very presence, his very existence. Lennie prayed to fall unconscious - he prayed that he be spared the sight of his own body turning inside out. Lennie watched, distracted by the roar of his own blood and the smell of apples and cinnamon, as his hands began to fade into nothingness. His forearms disappearing and his black t-shirt and jeans deflating as if there were never anything inside them at all. His clothing passed through him and fell crumpled onto the couch and floor. As if they had been casually tossed aside by a sloppy and uncaring undresser. Perhaps in haste to prepare for bed or to meet a lover waiting for him in bed. This would have been so much better than what was actually happening as Lennie was ceasing to exist, his being falling out of sinc with this reality, his consciousness cut loose from his body - his very essence, what theologians have referred to as the soul - Lennie surmised, now acutely aware and bemused by the experience of becoming nothing but thought. The rushing sound carrying him out of his apartment like a loose wind caught between two sheets drying on an old clothesline on a windy and warm November afternoon.
Lennie felt his mind disintegrate and reintegrate - he felt his body die and be reborn on levels and places he never dreamed even existed. He was now gone from this plane of existence and was travelling well beyond human expectation. For a second or maybe even two Lennie unformed and stayed that way - almost lost forever on the winds of birth and rebirth - without an anchor Lennie would be funneled into a new life and be reborn into a new life into a world far beyond his own. His pain and suffering and love and sacrifice would have all been in vain because he was unable to concentrate on the one reason he was doing this in the first place.
At the last possible second Lennie heard the voice of fate calling out to him. It was Jane and his soul twisted and turned and spiraled towards the sound of her voice. Jane wanting Lennie to save her - not wanting her love for Lennie to become as meaningless as air.
Lennie's mind seizes this thought and driven by the sounds of the roaring around him begins to migrate through the storm of unbeing and lost moments - as this is where - Lennie discovers as his consciousness soars past them - this is where they all end up.
Breaching time and space and a wafer thin dimensional wall, Lennie arrives where he has intended on going. He has gone back to yesterday. He does not yet realize that it is not his yesterday that he has arrived in.
He arrives naked and skids across a hard paved surface, producing a painful bit of road rash along the left side of his body. He rolls to a stop, breathing heavy, savouring his first breath of air in this new world. He acknowledges the pain he feels in his heart and along the strip of raw flesh that landing in this dark and dismal alley has produced and then he starts to cry.
He crys tears of hope.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Across the thin white line... Chapter 1
It began like this...
The music came on upstairs with a sudden rumble of bass, vibrating though the walls of the small room beneath it. Lennie, the man who lived in the room, rolled his eyes, licked the tip of his fingers, chose a spoon from the three on the table in front of him and began to crush the assortment of narcotics he had spent the better part of this dismal and rainy Tuesday morning acquiring. First he poured the compacted rocks of the cocaine onto the folded face of the British Queen and then he placed the image of the first Canadian Prime Minister on top of it. The cocaine was quickly reduced to a fine powder.
Four grams of the off-white powder made quite a nice little pile - like a miniature snow hill, all Lennie needed to do was imagine small figures on toboggans and the image would be perfect. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand and sighed. This was not the time for frivolity and fun imaginations and he was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. He needed to hurry if he going to save her. He didn't know how he knew this, but he did know it was true as certainly as he knew the sun would rise the next morning.
He didn't have much time left to do this and he had wasted a lot of time finding a dealer who sold the dilaudid he was told he needed in the quantiy he needed. In comparison the cocaine was as easy as going down to the local variety store and buying three bags of 2% milk. The special powder he needed more than anything else had taken the most time - but curiously he had predicted he would need several hours to get it and sure enough that was erxactly what it took. He was glad he had left that task for last though. As for the Dilaudid, he had needed to go to several dealers he knew personally until he found someone who knew someone who might have what he needed.
It was Ricky the Smile who eventually told Lennie about Peter. Normally dilaudid was fairly easy to find and usually it was only ten dollars a pill - Peter was asking fifteen and you had to agree to buy a minimum of three before he'd even let you in the door. To make matters worse Lennie had to go through a middle man which cut into both his time and his pocketbook. The money meant nothing at all, but the timetable he had found himself forced to follow was critical.
As it was, if it wasn't for the time constraints Lennie would have told the Smile to tell Peter to shove the overpriced dillies up Peter's little Guatemalan ass...
Unfortunately Lennie simply could not risk it.
Instead, he made a mental note that if he made it back and if he managed to save Jane...
After they spent enough time in bed wrapped in each others arms, hopefully making love as many times as they possibly physically could...
After they had sucked on each others toes and nipples and shoulderblades and he got down on his knees and thanked every diety he could possibly thank for not allowing anything bad to happen to her..
After these things happened, he would get up, untangle himself from her arms and legs and other parts, he would get dressed, go out and take the time to instruct both the Smile and Peter in the lost art of time management - Lennie hoped that they would do poorly in recieving said instruction and that he would need to use both his heavy boots and his fists as teaching aids...
In reality he was angry at himself and at the man known as Johnny the Devil but since Johnny the Devil was too far up the totem pole to touch in any way -and since Lennie was not at all masachistic in any way, Lennoie knew that he would have to take his anger out on those people he could touch.
This would, however, need to wait until much later as few things Lennie imagined ever unfolded as he had originally intended them too. He really hoped that this particular case would be an exception to the rule.
He would also need to tell the man who would eventually agree to sell him the 4 pills he needed, that he did not enjoy being overcharged and the notion of a minimum purchase was a bit of a joykill for a drug dealer who sold an incredibly addictive narcotic. Second only to heroin in the hierarchy of drug culture.
Lennie doubted that the Smile would say anything at all to Peter about the cost of doing business considering the twenty dollar surcharge Ricky the Smile had the tendency of adding on to any favour he did. Although it did explain the incredibly ugly man's need to smile so fucking much...
When Peter opened the door to Lennie, he immediately began to smirk - the kind of smirk Lennie recognized immediately. He had seen it on many dealer before - it was mainly reserved for dealers who smugly peddled junk or some other kind of opiate. It was a look that said "come in, sit down, shut up, laugh at my jokes, nod at my stories and when i get tired of you or if something better comes along i well eventually get off my skinny little spic ass and get you what you need... but if you piss me off in any way at all, i will cut you off where you stand - no matter how sick you are, no matter how sick your girlfriend is or how iunsanely bad you may or may not need or may or may not insanely want this drug..." Peter knew, from his phone call from the Smile, that Lennie both needed and wanted the pills and that he had, although with some hesitation agreed to the three pill minimum. It took half an hour and much small talk about local politics (a topic that Lennie had no interest in whatsoever) and much sweating on Lennie's part to act enough like a hurting junkie for Peter to eventually get up, walk over to his room-length ceiling to floor bookshelf and remove a book from the shelf...
Had Lennie seen the title of the book Peter removed from the shelf, he may have laughed at the irony of keeping a stash of narcotics in a hollowed out copy of Milton's Paradise Lost. In fact he might have derived such an appreciation of the irony that he may have decided that the activity he was currently engaged in was in fact absolutely the most dangerous thing he had ever done and indubitably insane and that despite the grief he would later feel, he may in fact recover from it over time.
In truth though, Lennie would have never recovered and his life would have become a tragic shell until his untimely and incredibly lonely death sometime in the near future....
On the other hand, since there was not a single book in Lennie's small room it also may be safe to assume that Lennie is not much of a reader and the irony may have been lost on him entirely.
Once Lennie added the four crushed triangular-shaped dilaudid to the mix, it became a slightly taller hill of chemically induced insanity. People have killed and have been killed for less than what was now heading into Lennie's tablespoon.
Although if Lennie's plan worked out the way he had intended - no one would have to die over this bit of drugs - quite the opposite in fact as Lennie intended to do his best to save at least one life with it. Not with it directly but it was his feverish hope that he would be able to save a life if this worked out like he thought it would or rather how he was told it would.
Lennie removed a small folded paper packet from his left breast pocket and opened the flap, pouring the yellow powdered contents of the packet onto the top of the cocaine/dilaudid hill - giving it a crested feeling that both amused and terrified Lennie.
Next he took his syringe and filled it with 70 ml of water from the Flintstone juice glass that sat next to the ashtray on the coffee table that made up the working area in front of him. Using a business card he had fished from his back pocket Lennie scooped the entire pile onto the teaspoon and put the spoon back onto the table. He then squirted the water into the spoon and started to stir the contents with the flat side of the syringe. The powder dissolved easily and soon the entire mix was gone - now replaced with a near clear mixture of incredible potency. Lennie shuddered and tossed a cotton filter into the spoon and began to draw the liquid into the body of the needle.
At 70 ml the liquid was gone and the syringe was full, leaving only a slight oily residue in its wake. Lennie flicked the side of the syringe twice with his middle nail and a few bubbles came loose and floated to the top. Lennie carefully pushed the plunger and released the little bit of air trapped at the top of the syringe and slowly put the needle down on the place mat. His hands shaking so badly now that he knew he would need to wait a few minutes before he did anything let alone hit. He didn't want to wait but he really didn't see any other alternative at this late point in the game...
With one deft movement indicating years of experience Lennie flicked open his belt and with a sudden yank the belt came flying violently out of its restraining loops and made a crack in the open air next to him. Tieing off with a belt always pained Lennie and in his final days as a junkie he had not had much luck tying off with anything at all. He remembered that most, if not all, of his veins were shot to hell. Collapsed entirely, clogged with scar tissue or burnt beyond any reasonable usage.
Lennie did, however, feel his chances were better with a thick belt than with anything else and he began to tighten the belt around his upper forearm.
As he did this, Lennie said a silent prayer for his ill-advised chances and that somehow he could 1. find a suitable vein to shoot this crap into and 2. that this would not kill him and in turn kill Jane.
As Lennie waited for a vein to stand up for delivery his mind went back to his earlier meeting with Johnny the Devil from down at the Bastion Beer Emporium . An evil and strange person if there ever was one. Johnny had supplied the powder that, when combined with the lethal overdose levels of dilly and blow, would send him off and away to a place where he was told that he could do something to save her. He could not think about that now. All he could do was steel himself for this next bit and then if it did indeed work as promised he would figure out what to do next and how to do it then
Lennie knew that he should not trust the devil, but in his eyes it was better to trust a devil you knew than one you did not. Johnny the Devil was someone Lennie had known for nearly twenty years and was a steady fixture in the neighbourhood that Lennie grew up in and as he later learned also a steady fixture in the city's seedy underworld of illegal drugs, illicit gambling and immoral prostitution. The cold hard facts were that if you were involved in any of these three categories: illegal, illicit or immoral than Johnny the Devil likely owned a part of you. He had been a steady fixture at the Bastion Bar and Grill since Lennie was a boy and had acquired his nickname from his early days as a loan shark. This was the story Lennie had heard many times circulating through the neighbourhood, but Lennie had always secretly believed it was because of the shiny-red suit jacket that Johnny always wore. It sparkled in the light and made Johnny appear magical to an eight year old boy. When Johnny walked into a room the lights would bounce off the sequined red jacket and a small light show would occur on the walls, floors and ceiling all around Johnny.
When you mixed the special effects that his jacket provided with his long nose and ferret-like facial features. Not to mention the incredibly oily slicked shiny black hair - you could see instantly that he was really a devil or he was waiting for one. Many had heard it said that Johnny was a living stereotype waiting for someone to breathe life into him. The way Lennie saw it - Johnny was likely the guy who inspired the stereotype in the first place.
Taking a seat directly in front of Johnny's table at the Bastion, Lennie invented a new and equally strange tale about why he needed the powder and why Jane, who was usually always attached protectively to his hip was not there.
Johnny smiled and said nothing.
A woman sitting next to him began to mock Lennie in a strange lilt. "He needs it Johnny" she whined, " I bet Jane needs it more" and then she laughed like a hyena until Johnny the Devil stopped smiling and put his hand up in the air to indicate he wanted her to shut the fuck up.
Johnny the Devil put down his drink on the table and looked at Lennie for a long time before he finally spoke. Lennie could feel a sheet of fine sweat forming on his back, his chest and his forehead. he didn't want to stop and wipe it away and if anything, it lent both credence and credibility to his story about Jane. Johnny looked at Lennie for a few seconds more and asked Lennie if he knew what the powder was used for. Lennie nodded without speaking and the snaky hyena women leaned over to Johnny and whispered something in his ear. Johnny looked at her as if she had bit him and he fixed the hyena lady, who Lennie noticed had enormous front teeth, with such a look that Lennie would swear it made the ill mannered woman wilt in her seat. She fumbled with her purse, excused herself in a quivering voice and scurried off to another part of the restaurant. Lennie did not see where she went but no one said anything for a few seconds after she left.
Johnny the Devil looked at Lennie for a few more minutes and finally picked up his drink and took a long draw on it. The ice cubes in the glass clinked and the sound seemed to reverberate throughout the restaurant. Lennie had been quite positive there had been several people sitting with the Devil when he had originally sat down but they were not there now. He had not seen them get up or leave.
For a second Lennie thought he might have to ask again, perhaps even add some additional details to his story, but as soon as he began to open his mouth Johnny began to speak. Lennie shut his mouth quickly and hoped the Devil didn't notice his impatience.
"You were always nice guy Lennie. a nice kid and i'd wager you are even a nice boyfriend", Johnny began to say, " You know, I knew your father, I knew your mother." Except when Johnny said these words they came out as mudder and fadder instead of the more traditional words. "Ey, I even knew your sistah" and he laughed to himself.
Two large men that Lennie had not noticed before stepped out of the darkness behind the table that Johnny was sitting in and laughed heartily at the not-so-subtle joke. Even Lennie smiled at the joke, hoping to smooth the tense situation over a bit . Lennie could feel himself begin to relax a bit. Maybe, he began to think, this won't be so bad...
Then the situation suddenly and without warning exploded in Lennie's face.
"Then you walk in here, and you lie to me to my face", Johnny the Devil shouts and the smile that had seemed contagious only a second before suddenly disappears from each and every face including Lennie's. The two men that Lennie had only noticed seconds before were now on either side of him.
The Devil continued "You come to me for something you know you can't get anywhere, anywhere else!!" the last two words come out more as a scream then anything else, Johnny's face has turned bright red with anger. The two men have each taken possession of one of Lennie's arms and are slowly pulling them back behind the chair. Lennie is too scared to offer up any resistance. "Do you think I don't know why you really want this shit, do you think i don't know how you know this shit even exists!".
"Fuck!", he screams, "my boys don't even know i have this shit and here you come in here to my place and you lie to me and you think I is going to just hand it over without finding out the real reason you want it!". Lennie's arms feel like they are going to snap beneath the pressure being placed on them by the two men. Tears and snot and sweat cover his face and run into his eyes and into his mouth as he tries to speak. Lennie blinks away what he can and suddenly the Devil is in front of him. He moved so swiftly that Lennie did not even see him move. Johnny the Devil grabs Lennie's face and for a second the pressure in so intense that Lennie feels his eyes begin to bulge in their sockets. His jaw cracks in a way that seems to excite the two gorillas on either side of Lennie. The pressure increases on Lennie's arms and they make similar cracking sounds.
A symphony Lennie thinks in crazed delirium, a symphony of pain, and before he can finish the thought - Johnny the Devil's hand finds its way across Lennie's face. It sounds like a rifle - a sudden crack the hand makes as it strikes Lennie's face and it echos repeatedly in Lennie's head. Blood gushes from Lennie's nose and mouth and suddenly it is over. Darkness washes over Lennie and he is gone.
In the darkness Lennie sees Jane's face reflected in the window of the diner where he first told her that he loved her. It is a good and incredibly sad thought.
Lennie opens his eyes and one of them refuses to do what it is being told. Through one eye, Lennie looks around the room. He is still seated in the same chair. The two goomba's are back in their position - standing behind Johnny the Devil, who has returned to his original coloring. He is sipping his drink and clinking the ice cubes together. He is also watching Lennie very carefully.
Lennie sits up a little straighter and wipes his nose on his sleeve. He uses the cuff to carefully wipe out the gunk out of the bad eye and sees that it is dried blood from his nose or from some other cut he doesn't know about - he has no idea how it dried onto his eye. Also he does not really care. Lennie snuffles a few times and decides to try and speak.
Lennie starts speaking slowly, he tells Johnny he is sorry for lying, He tells Johnny why he lied, he tells Johnny the truth about where he thinks Jane is and why he really needs the powder. Johnny the Devil nods at all the appropriate spots in the story and listens to Lennie without saying a word.
Sometime during the telling of the tale - the two large goombas have disappeared back into the shadows that they originally appeared from. Lennie does not even notice. By the time Lennie finishes the story he is crying and blubbering a little bit - he has not begged Johnny for the powder as of yet, but he is close to doing this.
He has never begged another living soul for anything in his entire life but today he is prepared to throw his thirty-two year record into the garbage for an opportunity to get his hands on this powder. He needs it more than he ever needed junk, more than he ever needed anything, he would hazard a guess that at this particular moment in his life he needs it more than he needs air to breathe.
Lennie could hear a group of people laugh. To Lennie it seems that they are surrounded by laughter and the only people not laughing are Lennie and Johnny the Devil. Once again, Johnny looks at Lennie for a long time before speaking. "I knew..." he begins quietly, "the truth before you told me. What upset me, young man, was the lack of respect you displayed in lying to me. If you had not told me the truth you would not be sitting there right now, I would have had my boys take you into the kitchen and feed you into the meat grinder", Johnny the Devil licks his lips, smiles an evil smile and adds " and then I would have been able to save a few dollars on hamburger this month".
Johnny the Devil stands up and walks over to Lennie. Lennie looks at his own feet , ashamed to meet the Devil's eyes. Knowing he has done the man an injustice. On the street where Lennie grew up, such offences were unforgivable. Truth and lies to the right and wrong people, pride, honour and loyalty - these were the qualities that made or unmade a man.
A small white paper packet lands in Lennie's lap and the Devil continues to walk. He walks past Lennie as Lennie looks in disbelief at the packet lying in his lap.
"You owe me boy, you owe me large and you know that and I know that... One day I am going to ask you to pay me back with a favour in return and you had better fucking be ready to cover the debt..." Lennie nodded dumbly as the Devil continued, " and if you are not ready or if you refuse or if you do anything stupid like lie or run or tell anyone or anything that even remotely feels wrong to me then I will not only feed you into my meat grinder, but I will happily feed your family, your grandparents and every-fucking one you fucking know into it. I will feed you last so you get to watch..."
Lennie continued to nod, not knowing what to say. "Sheeet... I'll be able to offer 1/2 price hamburger for the better part of a year, so you fucking better fucking believe me when I fucking tell you - be ready to pay me back when I fucking ask. Do you fucking understand me Lennie".
"I understand Johnny, I do", Lennie answers, but the devil had already left the room, leaving Lennie alone, bleeding from his nose, his lip and his ear, but he has what he came for.
"Fucking hell..." Lennie mutters to himself and gets up out of the chair, the packet clutched in his right hand and he leaves the Bastion the way he came in.
Looking down at his arm Lennie sees that a vein has made its way to the top. Its a mainline too which will make the whole thing go a bit faster.
Lennie picks up the syringe and pushes the needle into the slightly bulging vein to the right of the groove indicating the bend of his arm. He flags it and a bright red stream of blood rushes into the syringe. He Closes his eys and with a silent prayer and the image of Jane smiling at him in his mind Lennie presses the syringe. The entire contents rushing into his bloodstream over the course of a second. He releases the belt - it falls silently to the floor and he pulls the needle out of his arm.
Now it really begins...
The music came on upstairs with a sudden rumble of bass, vibrating though the walls of the small room beneath it. Lennie, the man who lived in the room, rolled his eyes, licked the tip of his fingers, chose a spoon from the three on the table in front of him and began to crush the assortment of narcotics he had spent the better part of this dismal and rainy Tuesday morning acquiring. First he poured the compacted rocks of the cocaine onto the folded face of the British Queen and then he placed the image of the first Canadian Prime Minister on top of it. The cocaine was quickly reduced to a fine powder.
Four grams of the off-white powder made quite a nice little pile - like a miniature snow hill, all Lennie needed to do was imagine small figures on toboggans and the image would be perfect. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand and sighed. This was not the time for frivolity and fun imaginations and he was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. He needed to hurry if he going to save her. He didn't know how he knew this, but he did know it was true as certainly as he knew the sun would rise the next morning.
He didn't have much time left to do this and he had wasted a lot of time finding a dealer who sold the dilaudid he was told he needed in the quantiy he needed. In comparison the cocaine was as easy as going down to the local variety store and buying three bags of 2% milk. The special powder he needed more than anything else had taken the most time - but curiously he had predicted he would need several hours to get it and sure enough that was erxactly what it took. He was glad he had left that task for last though. As for the Dilaudid, he had needed to go to several dealers he knew personally until he found someone who knew someone who might have what he needed.
It was Ricky the Smile who eventually told Lennie about Peter. Normally dilaudid was fairly easy to find and usually it was only ten dollars a pill - Peter was asking fifteen and you had to agree to buy a minimum of three before he'd even let you in the door. To make matters worse Lennie had to go through a middle man which cut into both his time and his pocketbook. The money meant nothing at all, but the timetable he had found himself forced to follow was critical.
As it was, if it wasn't for the time constraints Lennie would have told the Smile to tell Peter to shove the overpriced dillies up Peter's little Guatemalan ass...
Unfortunately Lennie simply could not risk it.
Instead, he made a mental note that if he made it back and if he managed to save Jane...
After they spent enough time in bed wrapped in each others arms, hopefully making love as many times as they possibly physically could...
After they had sucked on each others toes and nipples and shoulderblades and he got down on his knees and thanked every diety he could possibly thank for not allowing anything bad to happen to her..
After these things happened, he would get up, untangle himself from her arms and legs and other parts, he would get dressed, go out and take the time to instruct both the Smile and Peter in the lost art of time management - Lennie hoped that they would do poorly in recieving said instruction and that he would need to use both his heavy boots and his fists as teaching aids...
In reality he was angry at himself and at the man known as Johnny the Devil but since Johnny the Devil was too far up the totem pole to touch in any way -and since Lennie was not at all masachistic in any way, Lennoie knew that he would have to take his anger out on those people he could touch.
This would, however, need to wait until much later as few things Lennie imagined ever unfolded as he had originally intended them too. He really hoped that this particular case would be an exception to the rule.
He would also need to tell the man who would eventually agree to sell him the 4 pills he needed, that he did not enjoy being overcharged and the notion of a minimum purchase was a bit of a joykill for a drug dealer who sold an incredibly addictive narcotic. Second only to heroin in the hierarchy of drug culture.
Lennie doubted that the Smile would say anything at all to Peter about the cost of doing business considering the twenty dollar surcharge Ricky the Smile had the tendency of adding on to any favour he did. Although it did explain the incredibly ugly man's need to smile so fucking much...
When Peter opened the door to Lennie, he immediately began to smirk - the kind of smirk Lennie recognized immediately. He had seen it on many dealer before - it was mainly reserved for dealers who smugly peddled junk or some other kind of opiate. It was a look that said "come in, sit down, shut up, laugh at my jokes, nod at my stories and when i get tired of you or if something better comes along i well eventually get off my skinny little spic ass and get you what you need... but if you piss me off in any way at all, i will cut you off where you stand - no matter how sick you are, no matter how sick your girlfriend is or how iunsanely bad you may or may not need or may or may not insanely want this drug..." Peter knew, from his phone call from the Smile, that Lennie both needed and wanted the pills and that he had, although with some hesitation agreed to the three pill minimum. It took half an hour and much small talk about local politics (a topic that Lennie had no interest in whatsoever) and much sweating on Lennie's part to act enough like a hurting junkie for Peter to eventually get up, walk over to his room-length ceiling to floor bookshelf and remove a book from the shelf...
Had Lennie seen the title of the book Peter removed from the shelf, he may have laughed at the irony of keeping a stash of narcotics in a hollowed out copy of Milton's Paradise Lost. In fact he might have derived such an appreciation of the irony that he may have decided that the activity he was currently engaged in was in fact absolutely the most dangerous thing he had ever done and indubitably insane and that despite the grief he would later feel, he may in fact recover from it over time.
In truth though, Lennie would have never recovered and his life would have become a tragic shell until his untimely and incredibly lonely death sometime in the near future....
On the other hand, since there was not a single book in Lennie's small room it also may be safe to assume that Lennie is not much of a reader and the irony may have been lost on him entirely.
Once Lennie added the four crushed triangular-shaped dilaudid to the mix, it became a slightly taller hill of chemically induced insanity. People have killed and have been killed for less than what was now heading into Lennie's tablespoon.
Although if Lennie's plan worked out the way he had intended - no one would have to die over this bit of drugs - quite the opposite in fact as Lennie intended to do his best to save at least one life with it. Not with it directly but it was his feverish hope that he would be able to save a life if this worked out like he thought it would or rather how he was told it would.
Lennie removed a small folded paper packet from his left breast pocket and opened the flap, pouring the yellow powdered contents of the packet onto the top of the cocaine/dilaudid hill - giving it a crested feeling that both amused and terrified Lennie.
Next he took his syringe and filled it with 70 ml of water from the Flintstone juice glass that sat next to the ashtray on the coffee table that made up the working area in front of him. Using a business card he had fished from his back pocket Lennie scooped the entire pile onto the teaspoon and put the spoon back onto the table. He then squirted the water into the spoon and started to stir the contents with the flat side of the syringe. The powder dissolved easily and soon the entire mix was gone - now replaced with a near clear mixture of incredible potency. Lennie shuddered and tossed a cotton filter into the spoon and began to draw the liquid into the body of the needle.
At 70 ml the liquid was gone and the syringe was full, leaving only a slight oily residue in its wake. Lennie flicked the side of the syringe twice with his middle nail and a few bubbles came loose and floated to the top. Lennie carefully pushed the plunger and released the little bit of air trapped at the top of the syringe and slowly put the needle down on the place mat. His hands shaking so badly now that he knew he would need to wait a few minutes before he did anything let alone hit. He didn't want to wait but he really didn't see any other alternative at this late point in the game...
With one deft movement indicating years of experience Lennie flicked open his belt and with a sudden yank the belt came flying violently out of its restraining loops and made a crack in the open air next to him. Tieing off with a belt always pained Lennie and in his final days as a junkie he had not had much luck tying off with anything at all. He remembered that most, if not all, of his veins were shot to hell. Collapsed entirely, clogged with scar tissue or burnt beyond any reasonable usage.
Lennie did, however, feel his chances were better with a thick belt than with anything else and he began to tighten the belt around his upper forearm.
As he did this, Lennie said a silent prayer for his ill-advised chances and that somehow he could 1. find a suitable vein to shoot this crap into and 2. that this would not kill him and in turn kill Jane.
As Lennie waited for a vein to stand up for delivery his mind went back to his earlier meeting with Johnny the Devil from down at the Bastion Beer Emporium . An evil and strange person if there ever was one. Johnny had supplied the powder that, when combined with the lethal overdose levels of dilly and blow, would send him off and away to a place where he was told that he could do something to save her. He could not think about that now. All he could do was steel himself for this next bit and then if it did indeed work as promised he would figure out what to do next and how to do it then
Lennie knew that he should not trust the devil, but in his eyes it was better to trust a devil you knew than one you did not. Johnny the Devil was someone Lennie had known for nearly twenty years and was a steady fixture in the neighbourhood that Lennie grew up in and as he later learned also a steady fixture in the city's seedy underworld of illegal drugs, illicit gambling and immoral prostitution. The cold hard facts were that if you were involved in any of these three categories: illegal, illicit or immoral than Johnny the Devil likely owned a part of you. He had been a steady fixture at the Bastion Bar and Grill since Lennie was a boy and had acquired his nickname from his early days as a loan shark. This was the story Lennie had heard many times circulating through the neighbourhood, but Lennie had always secretly believed it was because of the shiny-red suit jacket that Johnny always wore. It sparkled in the light and made Johnny appear magical to an eight year old boy. When Johnny walked into a room the lights would bounce off the sequined red jacket and a small light show would occur on the walls, floors and ceiling all around Johnny.
When you mixed the special effects that his jacket provided with his long nose and ferret-like facial features. Not to mention the incredibly oily slicked shiny black hair - you could see instantly that he was really a devil or he was waiting for one. Many had heard it said that Johnny was a living stereotype waiting for someone to breathe life into him. The way Lennie saw it - Johnny was likely the guy who inspired the stereotype in the first place.
Taking a seat directly in front of Johnny's table at the Bastion, Lennie invented a new and equally strange tale about why he needed the powder and why Jane, who was usually always attached protectively to his hip was not there.
Johnny smiled and said nothing.
A woman sitting next to him began to mock Lennie in a strange lilt. "He needs it Johnny" she whined, " I bet Jane needs it more" and then she laughed like a hyena until Johnny the Devil stopped smiling and put his hand up in the air to indicate he wanted her to shut the fuck up.
Johnny the Devil put down his drink on the table and looked at Lennie for a long time before he finally spoke. Lennie could feel a sheet of fine sweat forming on his back, his chest and his forehead. he didn't want to stop and wipe it away and if anything, it lent both credence and credibility to his story about Jane. Johnny looked at Lennie for a few seconds more and asked Lennie if he knew what the powder was used for. Lennie nodded without speaking and the snaky hyena women leaned over to Johnny and whispered something in his ear. Johnny looked at her as if she had bit him and he fixed the hyena lady, who Lennie noticed had enormous front teeth, with such a look that Lennie would swear it made the ill mannered woman wilt in her seat. She fumbled with her purse, excused herself in a quivering voice and scurried off to another part of the restaurant. Lennie did not see where she went but no one said anything for a few seconds after she left.
Johnny the Devil looked at Lennie for a few more minutes and finally picked up his drink and took a long draw on it. The ice cubes in the glass clinked and the sound seemed to reverberate throughout the restaurant. Lennie had been quite positive there had been several people sitting with the Devil when he had originally sat down but they were not there now. He had not seen them get up or leave.
For a second Lennie thought he might have to ask again, perhaps even add some additional details to his story, but as soon as he began to open his mouth Johnny began to speak. Lennie shut his mouth quickly and hoped the Devil didn't notice his impatience.
"You were always nice guy Lennie. a nice kid and i'd wager you are even a nice boyfriend", Johnny began to say, " You know, I knew your father, I knew your mother." Except when Johnny said these words they came out as mudder and fadder instead of the more traditional words. "Ey, I even knew your sistah" and he laughed to himself.
Two large men that Lennie had not noticed before stepped out of the darkness behind the table that Johnny was sitting in and laughed heartily at the not-so-subtle joke. Even Lennie smiled at the joke, hoping to smooth the tense situation over a bit . Lennie could feel himself begin to relax a bit. Maybe, he began to think, this won't be so bad...
Then the situation suddenly and without warning exploded in Lennie's face.
"Then you walk in here, and you lie to me to my face", Johnny the Devil shouts and the smile that had seemed contagious only a second before suddenly disappears from each and every face including Lennie's. The two men that Lennie had only noticed seconds before were now on either side of him.
The Devil continued "You come to me for something you know you can't get anywhere, anywhere else!!" the last two words come out more as a scream then anything else, Johnny's face has turned bright red with anger. The two men have each taken possession of one of Lennie's arms and are slowly pulling them back behind the chair. Lennie is too scared to offer up any resistance. "Do you think I don't know why you really want this shit, do you think i don't know how you know this shit even exists!".
"Fuck!", he screams, "my boys don't even know i have this shit and here you come in here to my place and you lie to me and you think I is going to just hand it over without finding out the real reason you want it!". Lennie's arms feel like they are going to snap beneath the pressure being placed on them by the two men. Tears and snot and sweat cover his face and run into his eyes and into his mouth as he tries to speak. Lennie blinks away what he can and suddenly the Devil is in front of him. He moved so swiftly that Lennie did not even see him move. Johnny the Devil grabs Lennie's face and for a second the pressure in so intense that Lennie feels his eyes begin to bulge in their sockets. His jaw cracks in a way that seems to excite the two gorillas on either side of Lennie. The pressure increases on Lennie's arms and they make similar cracking sounds.
A symphony Lennie thinks in crazed delirium, a symphony of pain, and before he can finish the thought - Johnny the Devil's hand finds its way across Lennie's face. It sounds like a rifle - a sudden crack the hand makes as it strikes Lennie's face and it echos repeatedly in Lennie's head. Blood gushes from Lennie's nose and mouth and suddenly it is over. Darkness washes over Lennie and he is gone.
In the darkness Lennie sees Jane's face reflected in the window of the diner where he first told her that he loved her. It is a good and incredibly sad thought.
Lennie opens his eyes and one of them refuses to do what it is being told. Through one eye, Lennie looks around the room. He is still seated in the same chair. The two goomba's are back in their position - standing behind Johnny the Devil, who has returned to his original coloring. He is sipping his drink and clinking the ice cubes together. He is also watching Lennie very carefully.
Lennie sits up a little straighter and wipes his nose on his sleeve. He uses the cuff to carefully wipe out the gunk out of the bad eye and sees that it is dried blood from his nose or from some other cut he doesn't know about - he has no idea how it dried onto his eye. Also he does not really care. Lennie snuffles a few times and decides to try and speak.
Lennie starts speaking slowly, he tells Johnny he is sorry for lying, He tells Johnny why he lied, he tells Johnny the truth about where he thinks Jane is and why he really needs the powder. Johnny the Devil nods at all the appropriate spots in the story and listens to Lennie without saying a word.
Sometime during the telling of the tale - the two large goombas have disappeared back into the shadows that they originally appeared from. Lennie does not even notice. By the time Lennie finishes the story he is crying and blubbering a little bit - he has not begged Johnny for the powder as of yet, but he is close to doing this.
He has never begged another living soul for anything in his entire life but today he is prepared to throw his thirty-two year record into the garbage for an opportunity to get his hands on this powder. He needs it more than he ever needed junk, more than he ever needed anything, he would hazard a guess that at this particular moment in his life he needs it more than he needs air to breathe.
Lennie could hear a group of people laugh. To Lennie it seems that they are surrounded by laughter and the only people not laughing are Lennie and Johnny the Devil. Once again, Johnny looks at Lennie for a long time before speaking. "I knew..." he begins quietly, "the truth before you told me. What upset me, young man, was the lack of respect you displayed in lying to me. If you had not told me the truth you would not be sitting there right now, I would have had my boys take you into the kitchen and feed you into the meat grinder", Johnny the Devil licks his lips, smiles an evil smile and adds " and then I would have been able to save a few dollars on hamburger this month".
Johnny the Devil stands up and walks over to Lennie. Lennie looks at his own feet , ashamed to meet the Devil's eyes. Knowing he has done the man an injustice. On the street where Lennie grew up, such offences were unforgivable. Truth and lies to the right and wrong people, pride, honour and loyalty - these were the qualities that made or unmade a man.
A small white paper packet lands in Lennie's lap and the Devil continues to walk. He walks past Lennie as Lennie looks in disbelief at the packet lying in his lap.
"You owe me boy, you owe me large and you know that and I know that... One day I am going to ask you to pay me back with a favour in return and you had better fucking be ready to cover the debt..." Lennie nodded dumbly as the Devil continued, " and if you are not ready or if you refuse or if you do anything stupid like lie or run or tell anyone or anything that even remotely feels wrong to me then I will not only feed you into my meat grinder, but I will happily feed your family, your grandparents and every-fucking one you fucking know into it. I will feed you last so you get to watch..."
Lennie continued to nod, not knowing what to say. "Sheeet... I'll be able to offer 1/2 price hamburger for the better part of a year, so you fucking better fucking believe me when I fucking tell you - be ready to pay me back when I fucking ask. Do you fucking understand me Lennie".
"I understand Johnny, I do", Lennie answers, but the devil had already left the room, leaving Lennie alone, bleeding from his nose, his lip and his ear, but he has what he came for.
"Fucking hell..." Lennie mutters to himself and gets up out of the chair, the packet clutched in his right hand and he leaves the Bastion the way he came in.
Looking down at his arm Lennie sees that a vein has made its way to the top. Its a mainline too which will make the whole thing go a bit faster.
Lennie picks up the syringe and pushes the needle into the slightly bulging vein to the right of the groove indicating the bend of his arm. He flags it and a bright red stream of blood rushes into the syringe. He Closes his eys and with a silent prayer and the image of Jane smiling at him in his mind Lennie presses the syringe. The entire contents rushing into his bloodstream over the course of a second. He releases the belt - it falls silently to the floor and he pulls the needle out of his arm.
Now it really begins...
Thursday, October 26, 2006
My Prediction
I dreamt a strange dream.Of a country not mine.
of another day.
of another time.
I saw the next President
of the United States
and then picked up the paper
my mouth went agape...
Larger than life.
Bigger than real.
Not faster than supes.
But way more real.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
anger
Otto Vass. The name may ring a bell. He died after an incident in front of a 7-11 a few summers ago. Here is how i remember the story.
A large man he left the store just as two cruisers were pulling in. One cruiser slowed and the officers started talking to Vass. The officers got out of their vehicle and started to fight with Vass. The other officers joined in and this man was beaten within an inch of his live. He died before he reached the hospital. This happened in an area i was familiar with and i knew people who knew vass.
http://www.ocap.ca/legal/vassverdict.html
I just put down the paper and while i knew the fight was on to get justice in this case i did not know what had happened to this case.
here is what I read:
Inquest dealing with Vass's demons
Oct. 17, 2006. 06:42 AM
ROSIE DIMANNO
In a darker era, without enlightenment, Otto Vass would have been viewed as possessed, as if he had the devil in him.
The rage, the ravings, the tortured soul. It is a sad commentary that, at the turn of this millennium, despite sophisticated medical intervention and a more compassionate understanding of mental illness, he was still essentially a man seized by demons, helpless.
His sickness — schizophrenia, manic depression — stole much of Vass's life and, in the end, on Aug. 9, 2000, created the circumstances for his death: An unprovoked attack on a police officer outside a west-end convenience store, the application of violence to subdue him, and a dislodged fat deposit that travelled lethally into his lungs, causing him to suffocate.
Three years ago, at a manslaughter trial against four of the cops involved, Crown attorneys argued that Vass's death was caused by the unnecessary severity of that beating. A jury disagreed and the officers were acquitted.
Yesterday, after a six-month adjournment requested by the family, a coroner's inquest to explore the circumstances of Vass's death finally began.
But not without controversy, which trails Vass even now.
The Committee for Justice for Otto Vass, a group of activists who came together immediately after the tragedy, was denied in their second, revised attempt to secure formal standing at the inquest. Only last week, the presiding coroner, Dr. William Lucas, had turned down the committee's application, ruling it had no direct and substantial public advocacy role to play at the inquest.
He did, however, grant status to the Empowerment Council, a community group that deals with "clients'' of the mental health system.
This time around, lawyer Peter Rosenthal came armed with an affidavit signed by Vass's widow, Zsuzsanna Vass, urging that Lucas grant the committee standing, arguing that it was "very well-suited'' to represent both herself and her son, 14-year-old Michael. Another son from Otto Vass's first marriage, Attila Vass, also spoke in support of the application.
Again, Lucas said no. There was no legal precedent, he pointed out, for a third-party group to qualify for standing as a de facto stand-in a for a private-interest party to the inquest. Mrs. Vass has been granted standing but has chosen, apparently for emotional and financial reasons, not to exercise it.
Rosenthal, under questioning from reporters outside the courtroom, confirmed that he is working for the committee on a pro bono basis. He added that he would do the same for Mrs. Vass, if requested. But the widow, who was present yesterday along with her son — Michael is the youngest of Otto's five children — has steadfastly rejected this obvious solution to the impasse. Even relieved of financial pressures, she doesn't want to be directly involved.
Lucas took particular issue with Rosenthal's suggestion that the inquest Crown attorney, Eric Siebenmorgen, would not vigorously represent the family's interests because, well, Crowns belong to the same law enforcement club as cops. But this is the same Crown attorney's office that charged and prosecuted those officers in the first place.
More to the point, in his judgment, Lucas observed that the committee was simply trying to circumvent his original ruling, presenting itself as an agent for Mrs. Vass, even though not directly engaged to do so. "I have a concern that this is nothing more than a thinly veiled attempt for a group to slip in the side door when the front door has been closed.''
There was also a hint of undue influence over Mrs. Vass by the Committee and that got up Rosenthal's nose. <BR>"That's one of several times in which the coroner seemed to be questioning my integrity, personally. I feel I do have integrity and he should report me to the law society if he feels I don't.''
In fact, as two committee members admitted yesterday, they had been the ones to approach Mrs. Vass after Lucas's original ruling.
If stung by Lucas's comments, Rosenthal stung right back.
"I've seen many rulings at coroner's court. In my view, this is the most disgusting one I've ever seen. In his reasons earlier, he had said that what was missing in the application was an affidavit from Mrs. Vass. Then Mrs. Vass, at great emotional strain, produces an affidavit and now they say, `Oh, that didn't really mean much.'''
Without the committee there — and its intent, clearly, is to use the inquest as a quasi-appeal apparatus, to retry the cops, which is not permitted under the Coroner's Act; indeed no findings of blame can be made — Rosenthal argues that the whole exercise will fail Vass, again. "What's lost is any possibility of arriving at a reasonable view of the facts. There's going to be police lawyers pushing everything in a given direction. The coroner's counsel is not going to seriously oppose that. And it's going to be a whitewash.''
Then Rosenthal took himself off to Divisional Court, in search of a hearing to overturn Lucas's ruling. A date of Oct. 23 was set for hearing his application.
Lucas would not adjourn the inquest, pending that Divisional Court decision.
By early afternoon, there was that familiar store security video being played in a courtroom again, a harmless-looking Vass caught by cameras as he hovered about, leaving peaceably with two officers when they enter the premises. They'd been called by the clerk and what isn't shown is what had just transpired outside — a suddenly enraged and thoroughly delusional Vass cold-cocking a complete stranger who'd been sitting in a car.
What doesn't make sense to anybody else likely made entire sense to 55-year-old Vass, who was often paranoid and apt to lash out when suffering an "episode,'' occurrences that escalated during periods when he stopped taking his medication.
"It may have made some sense to him but uniquely to him,'' said Dr. Robert Hill, a forensic psychologist, who was the first witness called.
Less than a week earlier, it was Mrs. Vass who had taken her husband to the emergency department, but he'd checked himself out. Earlier that fateful day, he'd jumped from his vehicle — leaving it to roll down a hill and crash into a wall as pedestrians scattered — because he believed there was napalm, or a bomb, planted under his seat.
The world was a terribly threatening place for Vass when he was in these agitated states and, in turn, he unleashed terror on others. His medical records — some 20 hospitalizations of various durations since the age of 19 — and his criminal record are littered with incidents of violence: He repeatedly assaulted nurses and fellow patients, cops, guards, his children, his parents. Once, he locked up three women and a baby in a house, then set fire to it, standing with his arms folded on the front lawn and smiling as they banged on the window to be released.
It was the sickness that made him wicked. At other times, he was a good husband and kind father, hard-working.
"He always laughed and put me on his shoulder,'' son Michael told reporters outside. He was 8 when his father died and says he doesn't remember the bad Otto Vass. "I never knew that. I was small. I never saw it, that he was sick, never.''
On the day Michael was born, with his mother on the maternity floor, his father was in the same hospital, in the psychiatric ward.
The inquest continues.
A large man he left the store just as two cruisers were pulling in. One cruiser slowed and the officers started talking to Vass. The officers got out of their vehicle and started to fight with Vass. The other officers joined in and this man was beaten within an inch of his live. He died before he reached the hospital. This happened in an area i was familiar with and i knew people who knew vass.
http://www.ocap.ca/legal/vassverdict.html
I just put down the paper and while i knew the fight was on to get justice in this case i did not know what had happened to this case.
here is what I read:
Inquest dealing with Vass's demons
Oct. 17, 2006. 06:42 AM
ROSIE DIMANNO
In a darker era, without enlightenment, Otto Vass would have been viewed as possessed, as if he had the devil in him.
The rage, the ravings, the tortured soul. It is a sad commentary that, at the turn of this millennium, despite sophisticated medical intervention and a more compassionate understanding of mental illness, he was still essentially a man seized by demons, helpless.
His sickness — schizophrenia, manic depression — stole much of Vass's life and, in the end, on Aug. 9, 2000, created the circumstances for his death: An unprovoked attack on a police officer outside a west-end convenience store, the application of violence to subdue him, and a dislodged fat deposit that travelled lethally into his lungs, causing him to suffocate.
Three years ago, at a manslaughter trial against four of the cops involved, Crown attorneys argued that Vass's death was caused by the unnecessary severity of that beating. A jury disagreed and the officers were acquitted.
Yesterday, after a six-month adjournment requested by the family, a coroner's inquest to explore the circumstances of Vass's death finally began.
But not without controversy, which trails Vass even now.
The Committee for Justice for Otto Vass, a group of activists who came together immediately after the tragedy, was denied in their second, revised attempt to secure formal standing at the inquest. Only last week, the presiding coroner, Dr. William Lucas, had turned down the committee's application, ruling it had no direct and substantial public advocacy role to play at the inquest.
He did, however, grant status to the Empowerment Council, a community group that deals with "clients'' of the mental health system.
This time around, lawyer Peter Rosenthal came armed with an affidavit signed by Vass's widow, Zsuzsanna Vass, urging that Lucas grant the committee standing, arguing that it was "very well-suited'' to represent both herself and her son, 14-year-old Michael. Another son from Otto Vass's first marriage, Attila Vass, also spoke in support of the application.
Again, Lucas said no. There was no legal precedent, he pointed out, for a third-party group to qualify for standing as a de facto stand-in a for a private-interest party to the inquest. Mrs. Vass has been granted standing but has chosen, apparently for emotional and financial reasons, not to exercise it.
Rosenthal, under questioning from reporters outside the courtroom, confirmed that he is working for the committee on a pro bono basis. He added that he would do the same for Mrs. Vass, if requested. But the widow, who was present yesterday along with her son — Michael is the youngest of Otto's five children — has steadfastly rejected this obvious solution to the impasse. Even relieved of financial pressures, she doesn't want to be directly involved.
Lucas took particular issue with Rosenthal's suggestion that the inquest Crown attorney, Eric Siebenmorgen, would not vigorously represent the family's interests because, well, Crowns belong to the same law enforcement club as cops. But this is the same Crown attorney's office that charged and prosecuted those officers in the first place.
More to the point, in his judgment, Lucas observed that the committee was simply trying to circumvent his original ruling, presenting itself as an agent for Mrs. Vass, even though not directly engaged to do so. "I have a concern that this is nothing more than a thinly veiled attempt for a group to slip in the side door when the front door has been closed.''
There was also a hint of undue influence over Mrs. Vass by the Committee and that got up Rosenthal's nose. <BR>"That's one of several times in which the coroner seemed to be questioning my integrity, personally. I feel I do have integrity and he should report me to the law society if he feels I don't.''
In fact, as two committee members admitted yesterday, they had been the ones to approach Mrs. Vass after Lucas's original ruling.
If stung by Lucas's comments, Rosenthal stung right back.
"I've seen many rulings at coroner's court. In my view, this is the most disgusting one I've ever seen. In his reasons earlier, he had said that what was missing in the application was an affidavit from Mrs. Vass. Then Mrs. Vass, at great emotional strain, produces an affidavit and now they say, `Oh, that didn't really mean much.'''
Without the committee there — and its intent, clearly, is to use the inquest as a quasi-appeal apparatus, to retry the cops, which is not permitted under the Coroner's Act; indeed no findings of blame can be made — Rosenthal argues that the whole exercise will fail Vass, again. "What's lost is any possibility of arriving at a reasonable view of the facts. There's going to be police lawyers pushing everything in a given direction. The coroner's counsel is not going to seriously oppose that. And it's going to be a whitewash.''
Then Rosenthal took himself off to Divisional Court, in search of a hearing to overturn Lucas's ruling. A date of Oct. 23 was set for hearing his application.
Lucas would not adjourn the inquest, pending that Divisional Court decision.
By early afternoon, there was that familiar store security video being played in a courtroom again, a harmless-looking Vass caught by cameras as he hovered about, leaving peaceably with two officers when they enter the premises. They'd been called by the clerk and what isn't shown is what had just transpired outside — a suddenly enraged and thoroughly delusional Vass cold-cocking a complete stranger who'd been sitting in a car.
What doesn't make sense to anybody else likely made entire sense to 55-year-old Vass, who was often paranoid and apt to lash out when suffering an "episode,'' occurrences that escalated during periods when he stopped taking his medication.
"It may have made some sense to him but uniquely to him,'' said Dr. Robert Hill, a forensic psychologist, who was the first witness called.
Less than a week earlier, it was Mrs. Vass who had taken her husband to the emergency department, but he'd checked himself out. Earlier that fateful day, he'd jumped from his vehicle — leaving it to roll down a hill and crash into a wall as pedestrians scattered — because he believed there was napalm, or a bomb, planted under his seat.
The world was a terribly threatening place for Vass when he was in these agitated states and, in turn, he unleashed terror on others. His medical records — some 20 hospitalizations of various durations since the age of 19 — and his criminal record are littered with incidents of violence: He repeatedly assaulted nurses and fellow patients, cops, guards, his children, his parents. Once, he locked up three women and a baby in a house, then set fire to it, standing with his arms folded on the front lawn and smiling as they banged on the window to be released.
It was the sickness that made him wicked. At other times, he was a good husband and kind father, hard-working.
"He always laughed and put me on his shoulder,'' son Michael told reporters outside. He was 8 when his father died and says he doesn't remember the bad Otto Vass. "I never knew that. I was small. I never saw it, that he was sick, never.''
On the day Michael was born, with his mother on the maternity floor, his father was in the same hospital, in the psychiatric ward.
The inquest continues.
this has made me so angry i cannot even begin to describe the feeling.
so unfair that this has happened...
so unfair that the men responsible for this will never be brought to justice...
so wrong that we allow this sort of thing to occur in our great city...
Thursday, September 21, 2006
New Stuff and old musical intonations
I am in a movie. Its called "Hairspray". I filmed two long days so far and saw stars galore! John Travolta, Christopher Walkin and Queen Latifa to name a few. Dressed in snazzy 1961 era garb and my mess o' hair cut into an appropriate style i have been in 1/2 dozen scenes at least and am pretty sure I will get called back again for either late today or for early tomorrow to do more filming as I am a continuity player which means I need to be in several concurrent scenes to make the time flow though the movie work correctly. Queen Latifah had the most beatiful skin I have ever seen - it literally glowed and was almost as incredible as her warm and genuine smile. I got one of those from her and was in awe of both her personable flirty nature and her love of life. Very inspiring! Walkin was as creepy in real life as in every movie I've ever seen him in. Travolta was in a great mood all the time I saw him and treated the backgound performers well or rather as equals. Full of smiles and jokes and simply one of the gang. Also impressed with him. Both Walkins and Travolta were in drag which was kinda funny and wierd at the same time - travolta kept shaking his huge (padded) arse at the people in my general area and let me tell you - that was a sight I will likely take to the grave with me and will certainly become a staple within my nightmare's realm.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
When things look bleak I think about red tornados...
yes - when things look darkest - as they sometimes do - I think about how bleak they could be if I were a robot incapable of feeling or any type of sensation at all- if I were a character like DC comic creation the "Red Tornado" I would likely be a very unhappy person indeed - Mind you capable of fantastic feats of weather warping and of course 'tornado' abilities, but still a robot and as a robot I would have no h'human' feelings - no sorrow - no pain - no anguish - wait a second - back up here ... hmmm I think I may have totally missed the point here. On second thought I want to be a robot ! Yes! Yes indeed-do! A robot would be perfect for me and in fact a super powered robot would be even better - just think of the fun and frolic I could have zipping across the sky and spinning like a top- whenever I felt like a tattoo I could simply pick up a can o' spraypaint from the hardware store and voila! A new design on my steel alloyed shell - who could ask for anything more - no more pesky feelings to get in my way - no need to sleep - or eat (except for the occational can of motor oil that is)I am reminded of an old Chinese proverb I remember hearing in my youth that goes like this:
"...no mountain is unclimbable... no height unattainable... for him who wills
himself weightless."
I remember hearing that this Chinese man died quite young - slipping from an ice cliff and plummeting to his death on the icy rocks below.
Ironic?
perhaps it was...
A fitting death?
it certainly was...
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
10 things I have learned this summer
1. you may expect others to forgive you for past mistakes but sometimes you need to forgive yourself as well.
2. if you want free airfare from Thailand to the USA confess to a horrible crime that you did not commit and chances are you will be flown home, fed king crab and let go after a huge media circus with little or no fuss after they realise you had nothing to do with said crime.
3. 9 times out of 10 certain relationships can be rebuilt - no matter what an asshole you may have been in the past there is always hope if you are willing to put the time in.
4. there are other times when no matter what else may have happened it is time to just let it go...
5. some children have the jungle in them - wild and untamable. period.
6. older men can still play basketball if they really want to...
7. there is always time to start over if you really want to.
8. AIDs is still one of the worse things to ever happen to our earth.
9. Bill Gates is not as much of a jerk as I thought he was.
10. Sunsets and sunrises get better with time.
2. if you want free airfare from Thailand to the USA confess to a horrible crime that you did not commit and chances are you will be flown home, fed king crab and let go after a huge media circus with little or no fuss after they realise you had nothing to do with said crime.
3. 9 times out of 10 certain relationships can be rebuilt - no matter what an asshole you may have been in the past there is always hope if you are willing to put the time in.
4. there are other times when no matter what else may have happened it is time to just let it go...
5. some children have the jungle in them - wild and untamable. period.
6. older men can still play basketball if they really want to...
7. there is always time to start over if you really want to.
8. AIDs is still one of the worse things to ever happen to our earth.
9. Bill Gates is not as much of a jerk as I thought he was.
10. Sunsets and sunrises get better with time.
Monday, August 28, 2006
The future of Comics - More than one person's opinion
The comic book industry has been hurting for a lot of years. This is no surprise to anyone who has remotely followed comics at all over the last 10 years. Comic book shops continue to close. Is this because people aren’t interested in superheroes?
I’d say a definitive no to that one. Just look at what’s been coming out of Hollywood in the last 5 years: Spider-Man (1 & 2), X-Men (1, 2 & 3), Daredevil, Sin City, Electra, Blade (1, 2, and 3), the Hulk, Batman Begins, The Fantastic Four, Superman Returns, and more! I’d be willing to guess the total revenue on these movies far exceeds how much the printed material is pulling in. Not to mention cartoon series and video games…
Is this because we read less?
I’m not sure where national or international reading numbers sit, but if anything we are reading differently. Blogs and web news as well as online published magazine’s are unlikely to be tracked, but all seem to be doing well.
So here’s my theory of how to fix comics.
Distribute online. Satisfy the long tail and distribute your comics just like Apple iTunes music store. Right now tons of comics are being illegally distributed online through BitTorrent. Just go to isohunt.com and search for any superhero you can think of). This shows a clear desire by the community to get their comics in this format.
Here’s how I would suggest making it a success:
- Take a chance and distribute your comics in CBR/CBZ format with no DRM. If you put DRM on it, people will break it. Those who want to steal comics will. Don’t invest the time and resources to put some crappy rights management that’ll inevitably be broken immediately upon release. So don’t bother, it’ll just slow you down and likely produce bad press. Think about the good press of being the first industry to trust your clients.
- Do not provide comics in a Flash format that is cumbersome to read. CBR.cc currently has an indie comic called “Six Gun” that they provide as Flash. This is cumbersome to read and I’d guess most wouldn’t bother. I want to click one button and have it flip the page. Simple. Marvel also used to do this with their various Ultimates titles, providing s few issues as Flash based digital comics. I forced my way through one, loved the story but hated the experience.
- Provide comics at a great price point digitally, I’d suggest $0.99. I’d happily grab up of comics that I don’t want to preserve long term at that price.
- Release less printed copies, so there is a reason to collect and save. Collectors want to feel like what they have is valuable. Fewer actual printed copies would make this true again.
- Provide online previews of the first 4 pages of every comic.
- Try some new ideas out in a cheap digital only format.
- Allow me to one click subscribe to a printed version. Once a reader gets hooked on the digital version, it’s likely they’ll want to go further, or collect the printed ones.
- Do fantastic cross title promotion. For example if I buy mostly Spider-Man, and he is making a guest appearance in X-Men, tell me about it when I login to my account. Or, if I buy New Avengers and you introduce The Sentry, tell me about the back issue Sentry mini series you have so I can get back info on the character. Or if I love everything Brian Michael Bendis ever wrote, tell me when he decides to write a 4 part Spider-Woman mini-series. Amazon has become famous for this, follow their lead here.
- Finally, provide your entire back issue library easily accessible. Some of these books have histories that extend back into the 60’s. How am I supposed to remember something that happened to a hero before I was born in a book that I can only read if I find an old copy on eBay? Of course I can read about it on a fan site, but how does the industry profit from this and continue to produce great titles?
OK, that’s my rant. Hopefully the industry smartens up and adopts this fantastic new medium to expand to the potential we all know it has. Put it this way, make comics easy enough to get digitally, that it would be ridiculous not to.
I’d say a definitive no to that one. Just look at what’s been coming out of Hollywood in the last 5 years: Spider-Man (1 & 2), X-Men (1, 2 & 3), Daredevil, Sin City, Electra, Blade (1, 2, and 3), the Hulk, Batman Begins, The Fantastic Four, Superman Returns, and more! I’d be willing to guess the total revenue on these movies far exceeds how much the printed material is pulling in. Not to mention cartoon series and video games…
Is this because we read less?
I’m not sure where national or international reading numbers sit, but if anything we are reading differently. Blogs and web news as well as online published magazine’s are unlikely to be tracked, but all seem to be doing well.
So here’s my theory of how to fix comics.
Distribute online. Satisfy the long tail and distribute your comics just like Apple iTunes music store. Right now tons of comics are being illegally distributed online through BitTorrent. Just go to isohunt.com and search for any superhero you can think of). This shows a clear desire by the community to get their comics in this format.
Here’s how I would suggest making it a success:
- Take a chance and distribute your comics in CBR/CBZ format with no DRM. If you put DRM on it, people will break it. Those who want to steal comics will. Don’t invest the time and resources to put some crappy rights management that’ll inevitably be broken immediately upon release. So don’t bother, it’ll just slow you down and likely produce bad press. Think about the good press of being the first industry to trust your clients.
- Do not provide comics in a Flash format that is cumbersome to read. CBR.cc currently has an indie comic called “Six Gun” that they provide as Flash. This is cumbersome to read and I’d guess most wouldn’t bother. I want to click one button and have it flip the page. Simple. Marvel also used to do this with their various Ultimates titles, providing s few issues as Flash based digital comics. I forced my way through one, loved the story but hated the experience.
- Provide comics at a great price point digitally, I’d suggest $0.99. I’d happily grab up of comics that I don’t want to preserve long term at that price.
- Release less printed copies, so there is a reason to collect and save. Collectors want to feel like what they have is valuable. Fewer actual printed copies would make this true again.
- Provide online previews of the first 4 pages of every comic.
- Try some new ideas out in a cheap digital only format.
- Allow me to one click subscribe to a printed version. Once a reader gets hooked on the digital version, it’s likely they’ll want to go further, or collect the printed ones.
- Do fantastic cross title promotion. For example if I buy mostly Spider-Man, and he is making a guest appearance in X-Men, tell me about it when I login to my account. Or, if I buy New Avengers and you introduce The Sentry, tell me about the back issue Sentry mini series you have so I can get back info on the character. Or if I love everything Brian Michael Bendis ever wrote, tell me when he decides to write a 4 part Spider-Woman mini-series. Amazon has become famous for this, follow their lead here.
- Finally, provide your entire back issue library easily accessible. Some of these books have histories that extend back into the 60’s. How am I supposed to remember something that happened to a hero before I was born in a book that I can only read if I find an old copy on eBay? Of course I can read about it on a fan site, but how does the industry profit from this and continue to produce great titles?
OK, that’s my rant. Hopefully the industry smartens up and adopts this fantastic new medium to expand to the potential we all know it has. Put it this way, make comics easy enough to get digitally, that it would be ridiculous not to.
The following monday and I'm still waiting...
Still no riches for me. poor as a church mouse - yep thas' me...
Apologies to my faithful readers who had come to expect daily posts from me. Last Friday I suffered a migraine of biblical porportions and had to bury my head in the sand or in reality - a very very dark room with a pillow over my head moaning at each and every sound - I emerged on Saturday with a very tender brain pan and the feeling thaT i'd either been the victim of a psychic attack orbeen assaulted in the head with a hammer. I could not remember drinking so my hangover cartoon is not that approp. but still it is kinda funny and at least half approp. My head felt that way let me tell you. I spent most of the weekend recovering and setting up my youngest son's room as more of a older boy space fo him - complete with a problematic computer system his brother and I have rebuilt from three different systems recovered around town. Mr X was thrilled. I think I may have found a place to live - yay! will keep you abreast of the situation for sure. For now though I must snag a cup o' joe and see whats what in th ebig ol' bad world...
bye for now...
Apologies to my faithful readers who had come to expect daily posts from me. Last Friday I suffered a migraine of biblical porportions and had to bury my head in the sand or in reality - a very very dark room with a pillow over my head moaning at each and every sound - I emerged on Saturday with a very tender brain pan and the feeling thaT i'd either been the victim of a psychic attack orbeen assaulted in the head with a hammer. I could not remember drinking so my hangover cartoon is not that approp. but still it is kinda funny and at least half approp. My head felt that way let me tell you. I spent most of the weekend recovering and setting up my youngest son's room as more of a older boy space fo him - complete with a problematic computer system his brother and I have rebuilt from three different systems recovered around town. Mr X was thrilled. I think I may have found a place to live - yay! will keep you abreast of the situation for sure. For now though I must snag a cup o' joe and see whats what in th ebig ol' bad world...bye for now...
Thursday, August 24, 2006
I wanna do more!
How do you promote your blog?
How do you add cool and even cooler stuff to your blog?
Is it wrong to want people to read what I have to say?
Should I even care?
These are the questions I have been asking myself when I log onto my blog lately. I want it to do more than it is doing right now. Don't get me wrong though - I love my blog - so much I have started a second called "fall and live tomorrow". It is just that I have even higher hopes for what I do on these blogs then to just write for myself. I would like some feedback on what I write - some comments, critisism, disagreement and even agreement. I just want more.
thats all for now as my eldest son is pasing behind me waiting for the computer.
How do you add cool and even cooler stuff to your blog?
Is it wrong to want people to read what I have to say?
Should I even care?
These are the questions I have been asking myself when I log onto my blog lately. I want it to do more than it is doing right now. Don't get me wrong though - I love my blog - so much I have started a second called "fall and live tomorrow". It is just that I have even higher hopes for what I do on these blogs then to just write for myself. I would like some feedback on what I write - some comments, critisism, disagreement and even agreement. I just want more.
thats all for now as my eldest son is pasing behind me waiting for the computer.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Vampirates
are they Pirates?Yes!
Are they Vampires?
Yes!
Are they Canadian?
Yes!
Are they cool as hell?
You bet your ass they are and I am seriously impressed with this phenom online strip...
What are they?
Check em out at http://vampirates.comicgen.com/pages/001.html
and I bet you will love them too!
#@%?&*$#@!*&%$#@?!
The strange words you see in the title above were the words or rather long string of words that escaped my lips and they were without doubt the longest string of profanity that I have uttered in a very long time... I was helping my ex-wife move some stuff in her storage closet and I was in my bare feet. I started to move the shelf that had some paint cans on the top shelf and one full can fell - landing on the edge directly across my toes on my right foot. I screamed! I cursed! Tears ran down my cheeks and I hopped around like as friggin' madman... I will have to go to emerg later for xrays and "TREATMENT" as two of the toes are sticking out in ways they did not before and at such strange angles that I am afraid I will be unable to put socks on or shoes because the toes are in the way. I suppose I should see if they will bend back in a better position so I can wear the proper footwear .
15 minutes later.... Ok..... That hurt almost as much. Bending the first toe back into position resulted in not only mind numbing pain but a crackling sound that I really did not care for at all and will likely haunt my dreams and/or nightmares for the rest of my life... The other toe was easier but likely because I was still in shock from toe #1. Made a similar sound tho... eeeeugggch! My plan today was that I was going to write about this strange beast they found in Maine and are shipping to Toronto for DNA analysis and other testing. I was also going to write about something else but the pain this am totally wiped any ideas I may have had right out of my front/centre cortex...
So with out further ado. I give you the topics of the day..
1. George Bush and Mahmoud Fall in Love: this is a charming and very very short flash cartoon and is part of an anti-war campaign staged by a group of animators and illustrators in Israel. I loved it and I think you will too!
2. HOW TO - Freeze a snail and bring it back to life : This is strange and quite bizarre but it works! Check out the podcast and see for yourself. I was told bymy son it works as well with some other kind of small animal and a 9Volt battery... ASPCA look out...
3. Great Internet Radio: Its called Heavy Radio and its the "mutherf*ckin'' coolest intoxicatin' internet raideo ever!
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
the last time I quit drugs...
The last and final time I kicked drugs, it took three months and some other crazy stuff happening around that same time to finally bring me to the point where I was fully ready to quit using heroin. I wanted off the damn merry-go-round: the "horse ride" just wasn't any fun anymore. I stopped usingfor good in March After I got out of jail, I chose to go back on a methadone maintenance program, where I have remained... because it works. It miraculously causes the addicted junkie body to stop craving heroin as well as other like-minded opiates.
Unfortunately, even though my life took a sharp turn for the better that month - and has got progressively better and better with each month since - in the cynical minds of some people (mostly 12-Step program devotees) I am still not actually "clean". These people have been brainwashed to the point where they can't allow themselves to think of it as any sort of "medicine" - they're programmed to think of methadone maintenance as "just substituting one drug for another". They don't acknowledge the changes in my life...and that's why I avoid Narcotics Anonymous and its cultish followers like the plague that they are...at least to me, in regards to their thoughts on my life.
I know better. Methadone doesn't put me on the nod, or give me drug-high euphoria. (This is the main reason it just "doesn't work" for some people; they they seem to just be too disappointed that it's not the same feeling as the drug they're trying to stay off of with it.) It put an end to my hustling daily for cash. There was no more ending up on the hospital OD ward. No more clashes with the law. No more sticking needles in my arm. No more heroin... No more Dilaudid... No more 80 mg oxycontin.. No more 100 mg morphine... nada! These are not drugs they are damn nine-to-five jobs. A seven-to-nine job, actually. Fuck it, in all truth it's a 24/7 career. I got into drugs to escape reality and expand my mind: opiates are a one-way trip into a boring, ordinary reality - and one with the constant process of get money, score dope, get money, score dope being just a bit too much like the Straight World of consumerist credit-card-shopping-addiction workaholism. (Cocaine is very much the same way...but thankfully, it's much easier to quit that one. this however is another story for another day)
Methadone gave me a new lease on life - which was more like a property deed than a mere lease. This wasn't about switching one drug for another. It was about trading one lifestyle for another. This was something that no spiritually-based recovery program was going to give me. All the NA people offered me were hours spent in meeting rooms talking about the drugs I wanted to be using but wasn't...that, and some vacuous, vague promise that a "Higher Power" would set me free if I just wrote down a long list of all the fucked up things I ever did. It sounded so Santa Clausish to me: "make a list, and check it twice", and along will come God to make you Be Nice." And take away all need or want of drugs. It sounded fishy to me...and I wanted - NEEDED - an answer, not promises and hopes and wishful thinking sessions. So I told the NA recruitment wonks to get fucked, and went to the methadone clinic.
After I was on a stable dose of methadone for a few months, and my body quit feeling the sickness and the craving, my mind no longer felt the terrible crushing boredom that had always ensued before when I'd tried to quit "the life" - because now there was something else - I am still not sure exactly what it is yet but when I do know I will let you know... if I had to hazzard a guess it would have to be my boys. One day I looked at them and finally decided that i was going to see them grow up. period.
I was finally in a position where I actually, honestly didn't want to touch an opiate, instead of living in a life where I would have to spend every hour of every day reminding myself that I shouldn't have dope because dope is bad for me. There's quite a difference there.
I am back to using computers alot more than I did while I was using.
I now boot up my computer instead of "booting" a shot of junk.
The only thing computers and heroin have in common - besides being so utterly addicting - is that people who are into both of them are called "users".
Coincidence?
Who knows?
Unfortunately, even though my life took a sharp turn for the better that month - and has got progressively better and better with each month since - in the cynical minds of some people (mostly 12-Step program devotees) I am still not actually "clean". These people have been brainwashed to the point where they can't allow themselves to think of it as any sort of "medicine" - they're programmed to think of methadone maintenance as "just substituting one drug for another". They don't acknowledge the changes in my life...and that's why I avoid Narcotics Anonymous and its cultish followers like the plague that they are...at least to me, in regards to their thoughts on my life.
I know better. Methadone doesn't put me on the nod, or give me drug-high euphoria. (This is the main reason it just "doesn't work" for some people; they they seem to just be too disappointed that it's not the same feeling as the drug they're trying to stay off of with it.) It put an end to my hustling daily for cash. There was no more ending up on the hospital OD ward. No more clashes with the law. No more sticking needles in my arm. No more heroin... No more Dilaudid... No more 80 mg oxycontin.. No more 100 mg morphine... nada! These are not drugs they are damn nine-to-five jobs. A seven-to-nine job, actually. Fuck it, in all truth it's a 24/7 career. I got into drugs to escape reality and expand my mind: opiates are a one-way trip into a boring, ordinary reality - and one with the constant process of get money, score dope, get money, score dope being just a bit too much like the Straight World of consumerist credit-card-shopping-addiction workaholism. (Cocaine is very much the same way...but thankfully, it's much easier to quit that one. this however is another story for another day)
Methadone gave me a new lease on life - which was more like a property deed than a mere lease. This wasn't about switching one drug for another. It was about trading one lifestyle for another. This was something that no spiritually-based recovery program was going to give me. All the NA people offered me were hours spent in meeting rooms talking about the drugs I wanted to be using but wasn't...that, and some vacuous, vague promise that a "Higher Power" would set me free if I just wrote down a long list of all the fucked up things I ever did. It sounded so Santa Clausish to me: "make a list, and check it twice", and along will come God to make you Be Nice." And take away all need or want of drugs. It sounded fishy to me...and I wanted - NEEDED - an answer, not promises and hopes and wishful thinking sessions. So I told the NA recruitment wonks to get fucked, and went to the methadone clinic.
After I was on a stable dose of methadone for a few months, and my body quit feeling the sickness and the craving, my mind no longer felt the terrible crushing boredom that had always ensued before when I'd tried to quit "the life" - because now there was something else - I am still not sure exactly what it is yet but when I do know I will let you know... if I had to hazzard a guess it would have to be my boys. One day I looked at them and finally decided that i was going to see them grow up. period.
I was finally in a position where I actually, honestly didn't want to touch an opiate, instead of living in a life where I would have to spend every hour of every day reminding myself that I shouldn't have dope because dope is bad for me. There's quite a difference there.
I am back to using computers alot more than I did while I was using.
I now boot up my computer instead of "booting" a shot of junk.
The only thing computers and heroin have in common - besides being so utterly addicting - is that people who are into both of them are called "users".
Coincidence?
Who knows?
Monday, August 21, 2006
Some were made for loss...
Some were made for lossand others trade for life.
Some ladies find love early
while others tend to find it all.
or rather they will never tell...
what happens when he walks down the hall
when he walks down the aisle and
finds he's lost the will...
when he walks down the aisle and
finds he's lost the will...
lost his way, lost his needle, lost the vein.
He loves and loses not a drop
of daylight's precious matter,
of daylight's precious dream.
Did you know that daylight fell asleep?
When the clock strikes twelve and twenty- two
it'll be back again for more
and it will stand for no more;
than moonlit walks and shadow boxing bouts,
said she to the man who had no friends
it'll be back again for more
and it will stand for no more;
than moonlit walks and shadow boxing bouts,
said she to the man who had no friends
Its Monday Morning... Where are my Millions???
Well, I say with a sigh, Monday has come once more. I woke with a crick and a crack and a few other odd noises emanating from my body and started to shake off the wrecked feeling that so often sweeps across my body after waking up. Before I have my morning medicinal drink that is. I know that the feeling would grow and grow until my sickness would encompass me entirely if I were to forego my medicine. So I pull myself t
ogether and walk over to the pharmacy to get it. 60 ml later and on the walk back to where I am staying, I start to feel like a human again. I start to feel like myself again, which is quite nice after spending too much time trying not to.I scan the headlines of the day and see that the transporting of the accused, or rather, self -accused murderer, of the JonBenet girl was traveling back to the US in style as the newspapers took note of every detail of his trip - from what he ate, what he drank and what he watched on the TV during bis flight back from Thailand. Do I really care? No. The Toronto Sun headline made me snicker a tiny bit I will admit with its "Snake on a Plane" comment...
The movie 'Snakes on a Plane' is doing quite well at the box office and has actually gotten fairly good reviews - surprise surprise! In real life, too, serpents have been known to sneak aboard planes with sometimes hair-raising results: In July, Dutch customs officials at the Amsterdam airport thought they were looking at a plastic snake in a parcel marked toys being sent from Hong Kong. Wrong. It was a live poisonous Feas viper sent airmail to a Netherlands collector. Luckily, no one was bitten. In another incident a copperhead snake emerged from a heat vent on a helicopter flying near Rock Hill, S.C., in 1991. The pilot tried to step on the snake, lost control of the copter and was severely injured in the crash, according to the National Transportation Safety Board.
***special link to a cool place when you follow the girl with pink hair***
Snakes are prohibited from cabins on commercial airliners. "No reptiles or rodents in the cabin for safety reasons", says United Airlines spokeswoman Robin Urbanski. Such creatures could escape and wriggle into crevices, she says. But pet snakes have been hidden in carry-ons, especially before post-9/11 baggage scans. And a snake once slipped aboard an airliner, taking shelter in an overhead bin and later dropping onto the lap of a terrified female passenger, recalls Joel Chusid, a former airline executive who is chairman of the Association of Travel Marketing Executives. Although pilots are not specifically trained to deal with snakes, they are taught to deal with calamity. "Should an incident occur, rest assured that the pilot or pilots would react professionally and ensure the safety of the passengers," says Jeff Orschel, spokesman for the Air Line Pilots Association.
In other news over 70 Taliban killed in weekend fighting afghanno Afgan or Canadian casualties. Not one death was caused by snakes, but death is still death and it is still a shame that anyone was killed this weekend in any kind of fighting. There are few things I would support dying over and most of the conflicts that are currently going on do not make my list of worthy causes. I do however find the posted cartoon a bit funny and I do feel badly for the people who have died in this struggle. Life is just too fucked up sometimes. You have to laugh or else you might just cry...
I look in my pocket and take note that
I am still not a millionaire. As much as I would like to be rich I am still dirt-poor. I see a few bottles in a recycling box and grab them to add to my weekend collection of bottles. A slow weekend for drinkers around here as I am lucky if I have collected $5 wrecyclablesyclables to return. Oh well - Mondayl monday - I head back and make a mental list of things to do this week. First and foremost, I need to find a volunteer position badly. I have put my name in with Field to Table and Habitat for Humanity but have not heard back from either yet... I will look online after writing my 
morning blog and see what I can find for myself.In other news Sara Michelle Geller (see pretty picture) still doesn't know I exist and therefore is very likely still not in love with me... sigh...
Sunday, August 20, 2006
I have a chao!
My son created a digital pet for me today - his name is "lil'cy". He is a cute little widget called a 'chao' in a game universe revolving around Sonic the Hedgehog. To find out more about Chaos check out CHAO LABORATORY. com.
According to the online Wikipedia Chao (pronounced [tʃaʊ'], or "chow", plural form Chao) are creatures found in the Sonic the Hedgehog video game series, including Sonic Adventure, Sonic Adventure 2, Sonic Adventure 2: Battle,
Sonic Advance, Sonic Advance 2, Sonic Pinball Party, Sonic Shuffle, and Sonic Adventure DX: Director's Cut. Earlier forms of the technology behind them, A-life, were also in NiGHTS Into Dreams with the Nightopians. The word chao is a pun on chaos, a word commonly used in the Sonic series.
Chao start life in an egg state. The eggs of a common Chao are white with a yellow splotch on the bottom and blue freckles. Eggs other than those acquired in visiting a Chao Garden for the first time or mating are colored differently and reflect how the Chao will look. For example, a Gold Egg is solid gold in color and will hatch a solid gold Chao. Ways of hatching them include softly rocking the egg to throwing it. When they hatch, they can be trained to be different attributes and emotional states. The Chao from this game - Sonic Adventure 2 can also favour "dark" and "hero" sides along with the "neutral" side form which can lead to variations in visual evolution. Depending on the way the game goes, they take various times to evolve.
So far that is all I really know except that they like to be brought Chaos engines and small animals.
Some Cool Links
Official Sonic Team Website
Official Sonic Team Chao Website
Chao Club
Chao Universe
These Chaos are not to be confused in anyway with the chaos involved in Discorianism. Discordianism is a modern, chaos-based religion founded in either 1958 or 1959. It has been described as both an elaborate joke disguised as a religion, and as a religion disguised as an elaborate joke. Some of its followers make the claim that it is "a religion disguised as a joke disguised as a religion" (or "a joke disguised as a religion disguised as a joke disguised as...").
According to the online Wikipedia Chao (pronounced [tʃaʊ'], or "chow", plural form Chao) are creatures found in the Sonic the Hedgehog video game series, including Sonic Adventure, Sonic Adventure 2, Sonic Adventure 2: Battle,
Sonic Advance, Sonic Advance 2, Sonic Pinball Party, Sonic Shuffle, and Sonic Adventure DX: Director's Cut. Earlier forms of the technology behind them, A-life, were also in NiGHTS Into Dreams with the Nightopians. The word chao is a pun on chaos, a word commonly used in the Sonic series.Chao start life in an egg state. The eggs of a common Chao are white with a yellow splotch on the bottom and blue freckles. Eggs other than those acquired in visiting a Chao Garden for the first time or mating are colored differently and reflect how the Chao will look. For example, a Gold Egg is solid gold in color and will hatch a solid gold Chao. Ways of hatching them include softly rocking the egg to throwing it. When they hatch, they can be trained to be different attributes and emotional states. The Chao from this game - Sonic Adventure 2 can also favour "dark" and "hero" sides along with the "neutral" side form which can lead to variations in visual evolution. Depending on the way the game goes, they take various times to evolve.
So far that is all I really know except that they like to be brought Chaos engines and small animals.
Some Cool Links
Official Sonic Team Website
Official Sonic Team Chao Website
Chao Club
Chao Universe
These Chaos are not to be confused in anyway with the chaos involved in Discorianism. Discordianism is a modern, chaos-based religion founded in either 1958 or 1959. It has been described as both an elaborate joke disguised as a religion, and as a religion disguised as an elaborate joke. Some of its followers make the claim that it is "a religion disguised as a joke disguised as a religion" (or "a joke disguised as a religion disguised as a joke disguised as...").
It can be viewed as a simple rejection of reductionism and dualism, even falsifiability — not in concept different from postmodernism or certain trends in the philosophy of mathematics. It has also been described as "Zen for roundeyes," and converges with some of the more absurdist interpretations of the Rinzai school.
A
lso Socis is not to be confused in any way with Sonic Youth. Different animals I think...
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Murphy's Law Revisited
I was advised today by a friend that I am sickly preoccupied by Murphy's Law - you know the one - what can go wrong will go wrong...It was pointed out that while while my 'macro' may be a mess - you know - life for me as it exists over all. This is true, but I continually make steps to improve upon it, so that one day my 'macro' will be ummm... less messy than it is now.
My 'micro' on the other hand, is doing quite well and I should celebrate the mundane victories that exist within the 'micro' of my life.
For instance:
Today my socks match - Yay! A victory for me!
I did not trip and fall on my face on the way to the bathroom this morning - Yay! There's another!
I got to cuddle with my son and watch a movie we both enjoyed last night - Yay! There's another!
I am sure you see where this is going - I ned to celebrate the things that go right rather than worry about the things that can and will go wrong
I was also advised that I spend too much time regretting the past which I guess is true as well. I need to concentrate more on making things happen in the here and now - I need to live in the moment - acknowledge that which has happened before and learn from it so it will not be repeated and not worry so much about what will happen next. I need to be present for my 'here aand now'.
A good way of thinking for sure.
I am going to try it and let you know, loyal readers, how it goes. As for the lot of you - make a list of five mundane victories that you have had today and let us celebrate the mundane together.
Let me get you started:
1. You logged onto the internet without crashing the computer - Yay 4 you!
and for those of you interested in all things mundane let me point you in the right direction by sending you to the 'School of the Mundane' which is a free for all journal cronicalling all thing mundane in our daily life. For something that prides itself on its equisite sense of the mundane - it is actually quite amazing how much has been written on the subject - but don't tell anyone I said that...
For those of you interested in the 'mundane' comic posted above visit www.deliciousbrains.com and check out the amaaaaaaazzzzzing work they have posted there. I found the site accidentally while running a google search on the word "mundane".
Friday, August 18, 2006
what I like best
I really like being able to write my thoughts down and have access to one of the greatest sourses of information at my fingertips while I do so.
I can write about opera which refers to a dramatic art form, originating in Italy, in which the emotional content or primary entertainment is conveyed to the audience as much through music, both vocal and instrumental, as it is through the lyrics. I can give a link to my favorite opera - Aida - which is performed in four acts and was written by Gius
eppe Verdi.
I can even illustrate my point and show a photo of the famous Austrailian Opera House. If I wanted I could include as much or as little information as I want to. In this particular case I think that I have given as much info as I want to on the subject and now would be an excellent time to move forward.
I can tackle political subjects or personal ones. I can muse, write poetry or even post someone else's poetry.
For example - here is a poem that makes me smile but not nessessarily think deep thoughts. It is by c. c. cummings
If
If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie,
Life would be delight,
But things couldn't go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn't be I.
If earth was heaven, and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I'd be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn't be you.
If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,
Yet they'd all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn't be we.
Yes. I can pretty much say anything I'd like about any subject and back up whatever I say with facts and figures, pictures and posts.
Neat.
I can write about opera which refers to a dramatic art form, originating in Italy, in which the emotional content or primary entertainment is conveyed to the audience as much through music, both vocal and instrumental, as it is through the lyrics. I can give a link to my favorite opera - Aida - which is performed in four acts and was written by Gius
eppe Verdi.I can even illustrate my point and show a photo of the famous Austrailian Opera House. If I wanted I could include as much or as little information as I want to. In this particular case I think that I have given as much info as I want to on the subject and now would be an excellent time to move forward.
I can tackle political subjects or personal ones. I can muse, write poetry or even post someone else's poetry.
For example - here is a poem that makes me smile but not nessessarily think deep thoughts. It is by c. c. cummings
If
If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie,
Life would be delight,
But things couldn't go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn't be I.
If earth was heaven, and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I'd be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn't be you.
If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,
Yet they'd all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn't be we.
Yes. I can pretty much say anything I'd like about any subject and back up whatever I say with facts and figures, pictures and posts.
Neat.
The hardest part of waking up...
certainly isn't "Folgers" in my cup... No. For me the hardest part of waking up is wondering what the day will bring. Too often in my experience I have had unpleasant things happen to me. More recently then ever before and now I am hesitant to start the day because of it. Not to say I am unwilling to start the day because of it - certainly not - it is just that I need a certain amount of mental preparation in order to be ready for whatever the day will bring me - good or bad. Tomorrow morning might find me in jail - it may find me unconscious having fallen under the heels of one or more assailants - it may find me sleeping warm and comfortable next to my youngest smiling son or it may find me waking upoutside at dawn in appreciation of the rising sun casting its rays on my sleeping face...My point is that I never know what the day will bring and all I can do to prepare for it is to take a few minutes each morning after I wake up and get ready for it. I am sure we all do the same - or something similar at least. A morning routine that allows us to cope with the day as it unfolds in any one of a million delicious ways.
This morning I woke from a dream - a strange dream that involved my old lover and we were riding on some kind of motorcycle. She was driving and I was on the back trying to save the life of this strange creature/person as it slowly became smaller and smaller - this person/creature was melting for some reason I cannot fanthom during daylit hours - and I was trying my best to keep her alive by blowing on her. We arrived where we were going and I was upset that I could not save her and then we found out that she was okay. I remember feeling admonished and I also remember that my lover, the woman we were trying to save and her female lover were kind of amused at my lack of understanding as to how these things worked - these things that involved female power and the like. My lover touched me sweetly and made me feel better with a look - a look which told me she appreciated my effort and passion for life - even if it wound up not making a difference in the long run.
She could always speak volumes - when she wanted to that is- with just a look. At the same time she could erect a wall around her with a look that even the most avid climber could not scale. That the most arduous driller could not penetrate. She was quite the woman.
My point, before I lose it entirely, is that when I woke up today after seeing her in this dream and having her look at me in that way, I woke missing her very much. I missed waking up next to her. I missed the touch of her shoulder against mine in bed. I missed reaching around her and pulling her close to me. I missed the passion we felt and quite often showed each other on mornings much like this one. One thing that mornings like this remind me of most vividly was how incredibly physical we were. How well we fit together on a sexual level. Mind you, I acknowledge that the last few times before we split were less than stellar - but besides those few times - I remember such passion and physical excitement when we were together. I remember such a sense of play and joy and wonder in our physical relationship. A touch was all it took from her to send me through the roof - she was, and still is, sexier than I think ANY one could possibly be. We could talk for hours and hours - make love standing up, sitting down, talk some more and then do it all again - this time in water or maybe even outside. Driving, at the movies, pulling over on the side of the road if the need arose - and I remember a few times when it did. I remember loving and I mean absolutely 'loving' the noises she would make - the little moans and whimpers and the even louder sounds leading up to more exciting feelings she would be feeling turn me on now just reminiscing about them. In the end I fucked things up so brilliantly between us that we had to go our separate ways and I don't think a day has gone by that I don't regret what happened between us. That I don't curse myself for a damned fool for letting her go.
This is life. My life anyways. I don't know why I needed to share this with the universe today - but it made me feel a bit better to write these words and remember the things I have remembered. Doesn't make a difference one way or the other mind you - all it does is let me remember a few good things before I start the day - and if that isn't one of the better ways to start the day - then I don't know what is...
Say it wasn't so...
Say it was not so.
Say it was never there.
Say you never loved me.
Say it was a dream.
Say something, anything about
the feeling as it seems.
to be unreal - to be too much.
Say it like you mean
to break my heart
and cast me far away
that you were never there...
Say you never loved me and make it go away.
Because if you never loved me then I can walk away.
and maybe I can lie and say I never loved you back
and as long as I never have to meet your eye
you'll never know it is a lie
and we can go our seperate ways
and that is all I have to say
today...
Say it was never there.
Say you never loved me.
Say it was a dream.
Say something, anything about
the feeling as it seems.
to be unreal - to be too much.
Say it like you mean
to break my heart
and cast me far away
that you were never there...
Say you never loved me and make it go away.
Because if you never loved me then I can walk away.
and maybe I can lie and say I never loved you back
and as long as I never have to meet your eye
you'll never know it is a lie
and we can go our seperate ways
and that is all I have to say
today...
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Buffy the Musical Fact Sheet
~ BUFFY THE MUSICAL ~~ FACT SHEET ~
~ EPISODE NAME ~
Once More with Feeling
~ EPISODE ~
107
~ SYNOPSIS ~
The show begins with Buffy going through the motions as she patrols the cemetery. Of course, when she bursts into song and the vampires and a demon begin to sing and dance along as well she begins to suspect something is wrong in Sunnydale - well... more wrong than usual anyways...
~ EPISODE NAME ~
Once More with Feeling
~ EPISODE ~
107
~ SYNOPSIS ~
The show begins with Buffy going through the motions as she patrols the cemetery. Of course, when she bursts into song and the vampires and a demon begin to sing and dance along as well she begins to suspect something is wrong in Sunnydale - well... more wrong than usual anyways...
The next day at the Magic Box, everyone admits they found themselves singing uncontrollably as if they were in a musical, with rhyming lyrics and musical backup. Just as they begin discussing the possibilities, a group song pops out and they sing about their theories as to who might be causing all the singing and dancing. After the musical number is over, they discover that everyone in Sunnydale seems to be affected. The gang also discovers that they are being forced to sing their most private secrets to each other. Not to mention that people are burning to death from the inside out, and there seems to be some connection. Indeed, there are dark forces at work in the form of a demon, and it's going to be a hot time in Sunnydale if the Slayer and the Scoobies can't figure out a way to stop him.
That's vampiric entertainment!
Each song holds a truth for the singer as it explores the depth of their relationships with the other characters. All that sounds heavy, and some of it is. But "Once More with Feeling" is full of comic moments too, which is what Buffy does best - balance the humor and the drama in a fantastic way. By the end of the episode each member of the gang is changed in some way by the truths revealed to them through the power of song. Buffy confesses that the gang rescued her form heaven and not hell as they had originally thought. Tara discovers Willow has been tampering with her memory - ending their relationship just as it was truly blossoming into something wonderful. Giles admits that he is holding Buffy back and he gets ready to leave. No one is unscathed by the music and many relevations that are made this episode. In my opinion the episode is one of the best hours oftelevisionn I have ever seen.
~ CAST ~
Buffy - Sarah Michelle Gellar
Giles - Anthony Stewart Head
Willow - Alyson Hannigan
Spike - James Marsters
Tara - Amber Benson
Xander - Nicholas Brendon
Anya - Emma Caulfield
Dawn - Michelle Trachtenberg
Sweet - Hinton Battle
~ CAST ~
Buffy - Sarah Michelle Gellar
Giles - Anthony Stewart Head
Willow - Alyson Hannigan
Spike - James Marsters
Tara - Amber Benson
Xander - Nicholas Brendon
Anya - Emma Caulfield
Dawn - Michelle Trachtenberg
Sweet - Hinton Battle
~ THE SCRIPT ~
~ SONG LIST ~
1. GOING THROUGH THE MOTIONS
2. I'VE GOT A THEORY / BUNNY SONG
3. DRY CLEANING SONG
4. I'M UNDER YOUR SPELL
5. I'LL NEVER TELL
6. PARKING TICKET SONG
7. REST IN PEACE
8. DAWN'S SONG
9. SWEET'S INTRODUCTION
10. I'M STANDING IN THE WAY
11. I'M UNDER YOUR SPELL (reprise) / I DON'T WANT TO GO
12. WALK THROUGH THE FIRE
13. GIVE ME SOMETHING TO SING ABOUT
14. SWEET'S DEPARTURE
15. WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?
16. END
~ FUN LINKS ~
Buffy The Musical Test
Buffy E-Comics
The unOfficial Buffy the Musical Website
The Law Intervenes...
'Buffy' Stage Show Shut Down
Once More With Feeling - The Buffy Musical MIDIs
*copyright 2001 to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy Productions, and 20th Century Fox Television.
1. GOING THROUGH THE MOTIONS
2. I'VE GOT A THEORY / BUNNY SONG
3. DRY CLEANING SONG
4. I'M UNDER YOUR SPELL
5. I'LL NEVER TELL
6. PARKING TICKET SONG
7. REST IN PEACE
8. DAWN'S SONG
9. SWEET'S INTRODUCTION
10. I'M STANDING IN THE WAY
11. I'M UNDER YOUR SPELL (reprise) / I DON'T WANT TO GO
12. WALK THROUGH THE FIRE
13. GIVE ME SOMETHING TO SING ABOUT
14. SWEET'S DEPARTURE
15. WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?
16. END
~ FUN LINKS ~
Buffy The Musical Test
Buffy E-Comics
The unOfficial Buffy the Musical Website
The Law Intervenes...
'Buffy' Stage Show Shut Down
Once More With Feeling - The Buffy Musical MIDIs
*copyright 2001 to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy Productions, and 20th Century Fox Television.
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