Whoa - Heavy, Man!

[Written for Write Club ATL's 'Heavy' Writing Prompt.]

When you can take a loaf of wonderbread and condense it with both hands to the thickness of an Ipad 3, you must ask yourself of the value of fluff. Weight, Heft, Heaviness, Substance, these are the things that give meaning to our lives. It is not to say that the opposite does not have its place. Sane individuals do not exist in binary universes where it is either black or white, dark or bright etc. You cannot have one without the other, but the argument is there to be had on how MUCH there should be of either.


And I for one, am tired of popcorn in our society. Reality Television has no reality to it whatsoever. It is mindless, scripted entertainment that doesn’t really have a script and only kind of entertains. Art should be about elevation rather than degradation to the lowest common denominator.

There are times to be light, let go, stop caring, but the best parties are built around the moments where you have real meaning, real substance to your life. What is that? Everyone has their own path to meaning…their own path to substance. And too much substance can kill.

“Hey Babe, what’s your sign?”

“Did you know that there are children starving in Africa?”

This is not a good way to get fucked. In fact, it can be a really good way to make a happening party slowly die as it crawls up in the paper bag of awkwardness. Too much heaviness makes the weight of the world crush down on your shoulders, towering heights of impossible devotion and death to which you seek to escape at any price. You would spork anyone in the eye, any time, any place, any how! The phrase that says Duty can be a mountain isn’t kidding and that mountain sucks when it hits you in the gut.

But….

BUT…

Have you ever seen that look in someone’s eyes, when they’re lost? Even the most supposedly irresponsible person has it, even when they’re masters of hiding it. This is not a case of not taking themselves too seriously, but a chronic understanding that they want some meaning to their lives and have a thorough understanding that they don’t have it.

Meaning, of course, must be earned. We define it ourselves and can validate it in those around us. Every life is unique, just as every story is unique. The Mythic Imagination Institute’s motto is, “Every Life is a Story, and a Story can change the world.”

That’s some pretty heavy shit right there. And it is easy enough to ignore it.

But…

BUT…

You can run away, but really? You can’t succeed at running away from yourself. “Wherever you go, there you are,” said Yogi Berra and he was right.

The light makes the heavy bearable. It lets you forget about your troubles for a while. But the heavy? The heavy is there when you’ve partied all weekend and you know that job saving orphan seals in the Himilayas is waiting for you and that it was all totally worth it man as your life flashes before your eyes just moments before you are hit by that truck full of monkeys.

Without Heavy, or even just the search for it, there will always be that lingering doubt in your mind of, “you didn’t even try!”

Now, to be fair, this guy sounds dangerously close to the asshole who says, “You didn’t matter. You didn’t amount to anything.”

Voice #1 is your inner light helping you to seek your path. Your destiny. Your true self. If you ignore her there is a part of you that will always hunger. You do not have to find what you seek, but you MUST Seek, for in seeking, you Find. Metaphorical enough for you? Well…that’s the nature of the beast. Heavy is HEAVY for a reason after all.

Voice #2 on the other hand is nothing. It’s an illusion and vapor created by the shadow in your own mind of what you think you should have been, largely built on expectations. When you learn to listen to the unseen world, the difference between Voice #1 and Voice #2 could not be more contrasted. But it’s a learned skill.

In sunlight, they both sound awfully much the same, but in the stars and under the moon and the dancing flocks of birds at sunset, you know, you know man that there is something there.

“Hey babe, what’s your sign?”

“It depends on the context of the question.”

“Right. Good point.”

“Let’s go Fuck somewhere. I feel my destiny has been fulfilled.”

“Me too!”

Chapter 30 in Forever West

Achieved Chapter 30 in Forever West...not bad :D

Have Started Part 2 of FW

And so far, it is coming out pretty dark.  I had known, in my originally planned arc, that this part of the novel would be the darkest...our heroes at their direst position, but....well...to say that it has gone a bit mariana's trench is an understatement...

But the uprise will be all the more dramatic as a result....there is a part of me that wants to defy normal convention and either do a gradual rise or simply maybe consider having them all die...after all, if every story ended happily, there would be no suspense...still, I'm trying to do something more identifiable by folks...

Which fortunately still allows me to kill some or all of them...

My  I guess I am evil about my characters after all....

Forever Editing

So I've done the first edit pass on the first half of Forever west. I've sent it to Mom and Skip and a friend of mine. I'm going to be restarting the podcast in March but recording it in Feb all at once so I don't have to care about the numbers of subscribers.

For the all none of you who follow this blog on a regular basis if you see this in the next week or two, email or message me and I'll send you the first half as well. Feedback is always welcome.

I admit, there is still a LOT of work to do but I like how this is shaping up so far. :D

A Poll to the the audience: Leauge of Christmas Darkness

I am looking to write 12 poems about the League of Christmas Darkness. Your input would be appreciated.

There are 8 open slots. Four have already been filled by:

*The Elf Shelf Defenestrator (name to be fixed)

*The Matches made from the Wood o...f the World Tree used by the Little Match Girl

*Ooala the Zombie, who had the flesh from his back forged into a drum used by the Little Drummer Boy and was reanimated the Night Of.

*Krampus (it would be like having the Legion of Doom without Luthor)

Potential Candidates include

1) The ghost donkey that took the holy couple to the nativity, imbued with bitter vengeance after it was glueified by Herod in retaliation.

2) The magician who's hat was stole by Frosty.

3) The Mangler who is responsible for Tiny Tim's Leg

4) Mr Industry, the corporate villain in half the christmas movies ever made who wants to militarize or sell Christmas

5) Mr Potter - Nemesis of George Bailey

6) The Evil Hobo - Nemesis of Children on the Polar Express

7) Bully the Reindeer - The one who led the other reindeer to cull the weak from the heard (he also ran over Grandma)

8) The Snow Queen - (probably an amalgam of the Snow Queen and the White Witch)

9) Hans (or rather someone like him) from Die Hard

10) The Star itself (a sentient star of Death, inspired by "The Star" by Arthur C. Clarke)

11) A cracked and insane Charlie Brown (or rather someone like him) after the Christmas Special

12) Lord Voldemorte (or rather someone like him) (since there were christmas elements in most of the books)

13) The Rat King from the Nut Cracker

14) Darth Vader (or rather someone like him) (A Star Wars Christmas Special)

15) Most any Doctor Who Villain (or rather someone like them)

Any proprietary villain will of course have the serial numbers filed off before Poetized.

Your input and/or help is appreciated.

Dance of the Fausti

The factory had not seen use for some time, dust coating every corner and crevice, but it was sufficient for the student's needs. By theft, by cunning and by apparatus arcane he had the means, the method and the opportunity for the answers. Wise he was, in knowing what he did not know, and understanding the limits of his intellect in the frame of years in which he sought to live, instead kenning the insights of those who had gone before. But after an exhaustive search the conclusion came alas to but one name that could answer his forbidden questions.

The science of the thing lay in the split beam of light capturing the kirilian aura, but magic claimed dust from the headstone of the dead. To the unlearned it was gibberish but the student did not care. Answers he would have.

Imagine then his surprise, when after the full moon's lightning gave birth to the infernal fires and rays and shadows on the wall, the student found he had not on Faustus, but two.

The first looked upon him, a face of aged torture but clean, bathed in the silver of heaven's graces, a luminous specter of joy. The second flush with vitality, nearly identical in features, but hot with hellfire and anger.

"Who are you?" the Student Asked.

"I am Faustus. Thou knewest this to summon me. Risk not magic’s temptation." The voice spoke of rapture but the eyes darted hither and yon, afeared.

"I too am Faustus. I suffer in the pits of hell. Risk not Hell's wrath." The voice was gravel and bulbous oil poured over an open wound.

The Student, then, was not to be denied. "I would know of things to come. Tell me of thy condition."

"Rapture," said the first, joyously but with a vacuous chasm in his words unspoken, yet detectable to the trained ear, "All day we praise Him. We sing and praise Him. It is so Good to praise Him. I am saved."

"Hell," said the second, "Half of each day is torturous such that the mortal mind cannot conceive, consuming my own flesh, the basest of degradations imaginable. The second half is not that much different than earth, to give us a perpetual connection to our mortality, that the punishment might be more severe."

The Student considered this. These were not the answers he expected. "What do you regret?"

"Oh if only I had repented sooner," said the first, "Every moment of impurity is one more in which I am weighed down by my imperfections, unable to be one with Him. Praise Him. Joy in Him." The eyes darted hither and yon, afeared of discovery.

"My torment is endless," said the second, "Nothing could be worth this. Be assured, my time on Earth was joyous, but the pain is unimaginable. You cannot believe it."

The student then asked, "What then, do you council I should do?" He liked neither of these paths. Neither of these answers suited his needs.

The first looked at the student but then instead looked at his mirror image, "Wait...you get to live life...half the time?"

"Oh yes, but it makes the fir-"

The first would have none of it. "Can you imagine then the torment of doing nothing but singing Praises to Him all day long? Threat of hellfire for the slightest infraction. Did you think our obedience for His amusement ended upon death? Obedience must be eternal. Vigilance must be eternal."

The second paused, "I had not considered this. Perhaps hell is more of a heaven than I thought."

The first nodded, "Had I but known the torment of unyielding unending church sermons and hymns and floating clouds, I would have sought damnation long ago." He looked then at the student, "Seek ye the way of power. Seek knowledge. Seek passion. For tis better that thou live in one mayfly spark than an amber's prison of torments unending."

The second chorused, "The book, open the book of knowledge past, find it then in the church yard of the 4th ward of Hamburg's meat district. Seek there, and all things shall be revealed to thee. Look for the red stone."

The student cheered. At last something he could use, "I shall! I shall! I shall!"

The second then flickered away, coming from heaven, returning to hell. The first, his eyes a spark anew with life, determined to repeat Lucifer's first serendipitous mistake. The student's will renewed, he then sought out the tome, and in days to come brought many things to the world...but not a one of them regretted.

Billy's First Bolt Gun

Billy's First Bolt Gun - A Book for Very Brave and Special Children

By Uncle Tom

First Page

Billy was a good boy who loved his mother and father very much. And they loved him.

[Image of a happy and loving family.]

Second Page

But sometimes Billy did bad things.

[Image of Billy grinning wickedly as he sneaks into the refridgerator and is reaching for some chocolate cake.]

Third Page

Billy's mother and father were very patient with him.

[Image of Billy getting his face washed with water and a cloth.]

Fourth Page

But perhaps that was a bad idea....

[Image of Billy sitting on top of the roof with googles, a radio flyer wagon and a roman candle...]

Fifth Page

Some things are very bad ideas...

[Image of Billy in the air with a wicked grin and falling wagon with a scared bird getting out of the way of the lit candle...]

Sixth Page

One day Billy's mother left her credit card where Billy could get it...

[An open purse with Billy looking at it, eyes wide behind the couch]

Seventh Page

Billy discovered the INTERNET!

[Computer screen with images of various dangerous things like tigers with lasers on their heads, lead finger paint, a whoopee cushion and a copy of Atlas shrugged.]

Eigth Page

Billy thought he ordered a tank of helium to make balloons!

[Image of Bolt Guns R US with an air tank.]

Ninth Page

Billy could hardly wait!

[Image of Billy waiting by the mailbox looking very sad.]

Tenth Page

Then one day, it came!

[Image of a box and Billy tearing into it.]

Eleventh Page

Billy read the instructions very carefully.

[Billy reading instructions. There are 100 dictionary's there, with a copy of Atlas Shrugged in the mix.]

Twelth Page

This would not make balloons.

[Billy is frowning at the Bolt Gun.]

Thirthteen Page

But it made neat holes in walls!

[Billy grinning next to a wall with lots of holes in it.]

Fourteenth Page

Billy found the bully at school.

[A large mutant looking kid looks at Billy.]

Fifteenth Page

Billy followed the instructions to the letter.

[Billy places bolt gun behind the Bully's neck.]

Sixthteen Page

KAAAAAAAAAAAAASNICK!

Seventeen Page

Uh oh.

[Kids all look horrified on the play ground, covered by blood and guts. At least one eye ball is dangling off someone's glasses]

Eighteen Page

Good thing Billy knew how to wipe his finger prints.

[Billy wiping the finger prints.]

Ninteenth Page

Good night Timmy. Good night Molly. Good night Sarah.

[Children staring at the ceiling in bed in various rooms on the page.]

Twentith Page

Sleep well. And Keep your mouth shut.

[Image of the bed in the dark with a shape at the window.]

Twenty First Page

Billy is the new Bully. And he doesn't like blabber mouths.

[Image of Billy grinning demonically with the Bolt Gun behind him.]

The End.