I've definitely sunk into a funk here the past few days. I can't really put my finger on why, but every day has been permeated with a desire to sequester myself away from everyone. Of course that's not an option, as work still needs to get done and the kids need their father. Even my favorite pastime of gaming hasn't brought much pleasure. The Christmas season always seems to bring me down for some indefinable reason and Thanksgiving isn't really much better. The two holidays where everyone is supposed to come together in love and kindness makes me just want to be alone. And for some reason the news of my childhood friend's impending marriage seemed to sadden me as well. That makes NO sense to me whatsoever. He's been married before and that didn't go well. He's found someone now who I've only met once, but they are apparently happy together. I should be happy for him, and I do wish them the very best. Am I jealous? I don't think so, I've given up on marriage. I tried it once, it ended and I'm much much better off. I came close to proposing twice since then, and it fell through both times. That was enough for me. I'm very close to someone now whom I love very much, but neither of us have a desire to get married or even live together. That's not for everyone, but it seems to be working for us.
I'll get through the holidays like I always do, and give my children the best time that I can. And perhaps I'll find the cash to get myself a little something as well.
Suck it up, buttercup. There's more important shit going on than wallowing in self pity.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Sunday, November 2, 2014
My personal top 13 horror films
These are not in any rock solid order (except for the first and second spots), and I make NO claims as far as good taste goes.
13. Slither
12. The Exorcist
11. Night of the Living Dead
10. Nightmare on Elm Street
9. Paranormal Activity
8. Drag Me to Hell
7. Evil Dead
6. Poltergeist
5. Alien
4. Event Horizon
3. The Ring
2. The Grudge
1. The Shining
13. Slither
12. The Exorcist
11. Night of the Living Dead
10. Nightmare on Elm Street
9. Paranormal Activity
8. Drag Me to Hell
7. Evil Dead
6. Poltergeist
5. Alien
4. Event Horizon
3. The Ring
2. The Grudge
1. The Shining
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Johnny
He looked up and was awestruck. Words failed, and even conscious thought stumbled for a moment. What confronted his eyes (did he even have those any more?) was a tapestry of the surreal. Colors and shapes swirled before him, voices drifted out of the mist, pregnant with emotion yet wholly unintelligible. An eternity passed before Johnny became aware of where he was and what transpired around him. In an instant, the gravity of the situation crashed in upon him and his soul was afraid.
Johnny concentrated with whatever willpower that was left in him and slowly the events leading up to where he found himself began to drift into shape. Why was it so hard to remember? It had only happened a few minutes ago, hadn't it? He recalled the overwhelming despair, seeming to permeate every fiber of his soul, as he sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Johnny seemed to think he used to have a wife. Her name and face danced on the edges of his consciousness. Something had happened, something serious and it involved her. If it was so important why didn't it instantly spring to mind?
Time had no meaning, the only thing that mattered was memory. It took a colossal effort, but the most Johnny managed to dredge up was an argument, and a feeling of despair, and then a whisper of hope from a voice inside. A voice that promised to bring an end to the suffering and pain that Johnny's heart was writhing in. That voice was no stranger. It had been with Johnny his entire life. Sometimes loud, sometimes barely audible, but there nonetheless. Like a single termite gnawing it's way through a tremendous redwood, it ate away at his sense of self worth over the years. Time was the only thing that stood between this mental termite and it's goal, and time had no meaning.
Johnny remembered the revolver that he kept by the bed "just for emergencies". Now was certainly a crisis, if not an emergency, right? The velvety purr of doomed logic whispered in his ears. He probably wouldn't even feel anything. It happens instantly, just like walking through a door. Then it's on to see what else is out there. What if it's nothing? Well, Johnny thought to himself, that'll be just fine too. He loaded two chambers, on the off chance that the first misfired. He didn't want to give himself a moment to think while reloading. This was a committed plan of action, no second-guessing himself now.
And then there was nothing. Nothing until he found himself here. Not only did the bullet shatter the back of his skull, it also erased his recollection of the event. It was beyond Johnny to understand how a physical slug from a gun could affect his current form; whatever it was. He never was as sharp as those who pretended to understand such things. He always suspected they were making shit up just to sound more important anyway. Not that any of that mattered now; he was finding out first hand.
Johnny turned his attention outward from his attempts at recollection and tried to process his surroundings. In the background was a constant murmur of sound. Voices? If so it was unintelligible. It was all so muffled, similar to what you might hear through the wall of an apartment complex. Looking around, he could tell he was still in his bedroom, but everything seemed oddly wavy, like he was peering through old glass. Objects were familiar, yet slightly unfamiliar at the same time. He started to move through the room, trying to understand what he was experiencing.
This was nothing like the afterlife Johnny was expecting. He'd been to church in his youth, and occasionally during his marriage. He was expecting to at least meet God and then be judged to heaven or hell; Johnny had tried to live well but he had no pretenses that he was any sort of saint. But to be left behind, no corporeal form to house his spirit, was nothing he was in any way prepared for. At least with his memory shattered he was spared the pain that had brought him to this point. Ignorance is bliss, right?
Not-Johnny, as he thought of himself with a grim sort of humor, exited the room. He was truly a ghost, there was no debate any longer. His second revelation of the afterlife; ghosts were real and he was one. Johnny moved through the house that he and his wife had shared. Most things he recognized; occasionally there were new items he didn't recall. A picture on the wall here, a new coffee table there, and although their presence confused him, he didn't dwell on it. Best to file away such questions for later. Right now he wanted to see...dammit what WAS her name???
The house was empty. Johnny was alone here, unless you counted the constant sound of voices that were always in the background. Moving from room to room, he searched for any signs of life. The house appeared to still be occupied by Johnny and his wife judging by the possessions, but other than that it was as still as a tomb. Fitting. He would settle somewhere and wait. Someone had to come back at some point. The living room used to be home to his favorite recliner. Not that his formless energy needed a chair, but if he was going to settle anywhere it would be there.
And it was still in the same corner. Johnny moved toward it, and it seemed to beckon him. Settling down into the seat was like coming home. It was comforting but not in any physical sense of the word. The old tattered recliner felt like it was a part of him. He recalled hearing how favorite chairs seemed to be haunted by previous owners and now Johnny could understand. After spending countless hours with his butt parked right there, some of his energy must have imparted itself into this unknowing collection of wood and leather. The worn recliner felt like a warm blanket, and Johnny again lost track of time.
Johnny concentrated with whatever willpower that was left in him and slowly the events leading up to where he found himself began to drift into shape. Why was it so hard to remember? It had only happened a few minutes ago, hadn't it? He recalled the overwhelming despair, seeming to permeate every fiber of his soul, as he sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Johnny seemed to think he used to have a wife. Her name and face danced on the edges of his consciousness. Something had happened, something serious and it involved her. If it was so important why didn't it instantly spring to mind?
Time had no meaning, the only thing that mattered was memory. It took a colossal effort, but the most Johnny managed to dredge up was an argument, and a feeling of despair, and then a whisper of hope from a voice inside. A voice that promised to bring an end to the suffering and pain that Johnny's heart was writhing in. That voice was no stranger. It had been with Johnny his entire life. Sometimes loud, sometimes barely audible, but there nonetheless. Like a single termite gnawing it's way through a tremendous redwood, it ate away at his sense of self worth over the years. Time was the only thing that stood between this mental termite and it's goal, and time had no meaning.
Johnny remembered the revolver that he kept by the bed "just for emergencies". Now was certainly a crisis, if not an emergency, right? The velvety purr of doomed logic whispered in his ears. He probably wouldn't even feel anything. It happens instantly, just like walking through a door. Then it's on to see what else is out there. What if it's nothing? Well, Johnny thought to himself, that'll be just fine too. He loaded two chambers, on the off chance that the first misfired. He didn't want to give himself a moment to think while reloading. This was a committed plan of action, no second-guessing himself now.
And then there was nothing. Nothing until he found himself here. Not only did the bullet shatter the back of his skull, it also erased his recollection of the event. It was beyond Johnny to understand how a physical slug from a gun could affect his current form; whatever it was. He never was as sharp as those who pretended to understand such things. He always suspected they were making shit up just to sound more important anyway. Not that any of that mattered now; he was finding out first hand.
Johnny turned his attention outward from his attempts at recollection and tried to process his surroundings. In the background was a constant murmur of sound. Voices? If so it was unintelligible. It was all so muffled, similar to what you might hear through the wall of an apartment complex. Looking around, he could tell he was still in his bedroom, but everything seemed oddly wavy, like he was peering through old glass. Objects were familiar, yet slightly unfamiliar at the same time. He started to move through the room, trying to understand what he was experiencing.
This was nothing like the afterlife Johnny was expecting. He'd been to church in his youth, and occasionally during his marriage. He was expecting to at least meet God and then be judged to heaven or hell; Johnny had tried to live well but he had no pretenses that he was any sort of saint. But to be left behind, no corporeal form to house his spirit, was nothing he was in any way prepared for. At least with his memory shattered he was spared the pain that had brought him to this point. Ignorance is bliss, right?
Not-Johnny, as he thought of himself with a grim sort of humor, exited the room. He was truly a ghost, there was no debate any longer. His second revelation of the afterlife; ghosts were real and he was one. Johnny moved through the house that he and his wife had shared. Most things he recognized; occasionally there were new items he didn't recall. A picture on the wall here, a new coffee table there, and although their presence confused him, he didn't dwell on it. Best to file away such questions for later. Right now he wanted to see...dammit what WAS her name???
The house was empty. Johnny was alone here, unless you counted the constant sound of voices that were always in the background. Moving from room to room, he searched for any signs of life. The house appeared to still be occupied by Johnny and his wife judging by the possessions, but other than that it was as still as a tomb. Fitting. He would settle somewhere and wait. Someone had to come back at some point. The living room used to be home to his favorite recliner. Not that his formless energy needed a chair, but if he was going to settle anywhere it would be there.
And it was still in the same corner. Johnny moved toward it, and it seemed to beckon him. Settling down into the seat was like coming home. It was comforting but not in any physical sense of the word. The old tattered recliner felt like it was a part of him. He recalled hearing how favorite chairs seemed to be haunted by previous owners and now Johnny could understand. After spending countless hours with his butt parked right there, some of his energy must have imparted itself into this unknowing collection of wood and leather. The worn recliner felt like a warm blanket, and Johnny again lost track of time.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
And now for something completely different...
I need a new outlet, something to occupy my time other than work, gaming, and being a father. It must be my creative side yearning to be set free. The past couple of months I've felt a pining to build another computer, but there is absolutely no need for that, and I simply can't justify the cost anyway. The only other creativity I've felt reasonably good it is my word craft. I've only completed one story, of which I'm proud. Several others have been started but they always seemed to fizzle out before reaching the end. Often too many other distractions present themselves. This blog is my attempt to begin writing on a regular basis. It doesn't matter if anyone ever actually reads it or not, that's not necessarily my point. Eventually I plan to use it to compose stories, but this first entry will serve mainly to knock the dust off of my writing skills.
I've really settled into a routine in my life. Work occupies most of my week, and after Aaron and I get home, I find something to watch while I eat, then something to play until it's time for bed. Sometimes we play together, sometimes we don't. The only difference on weekends is that I don't go to work. Occasionally I have company, and that makes for a wonderful break in the routine, but it's nothing that is regularly scheduled. This weekend, for example, I invited Kristine over after we spoke about it a couple of days ago. We haven't been in touch since then, but I'm expecting she'll call me at some point later this afternoon. Next weekend, Becky and Evan are supposed to come down and we'll all go to the beach together.
Hopefully I can carve a new habit for myself in writing on a regular basis. If my life had gone differently I might have even pursued writing as a career choice. Somewhere in the back of my mind I still feel like I could bring in some extra income with it, at the very least. But monetary reasons are not the be-all end-all of my desire to write. It's a craft, just like painting or composing music, and while I have no talent in those mediums, I sometimes feel I'm wasting my writing skills but not using them.
With a little luck, a good topic for creative writing will present itself before I write here again. Most of my other writing experiments flowed out of me in the first person perspective. Learning how to tell a story from the third person is something I wish to hone. It always just seemed easiest to tell a compelling narrative as if I was actually experiencing it. Writing dialogue has also been a challenge. I like to be as correct as I know how with punctuation. When reading works by others I don't pay much attention to it, but that would be a good place to start learning. I've often even considered taking a creative writing course at the community college, and perhaps I'll end up there given time. This blog will make do in the meantime.
I've really settled into a routine in my life. Work occupies most of my week, and after Aaron and I get home, I find something to watch while I eat, then something to play until it's time for bed. Sometimes we play together, sometimes we don't. The only difference on weekends is that I don't go to work. Occasionally I have company, and that makes for a wonderful break in the routine, but it's nothing that is regularly scheduled. This weekend, for example, I invited Kristine over after we spoke about it a couple of days ago. We haven't been in touch since then, but I'm expecting she'll call me at some point later this afternoon. Next weekend, Becky and Evan are supposed to come down and we'll all go to the beach together.
Hopefully I can carve a new habit for myself in writing on a regular basis. If my life had gone differently I might have even pursued writing as a career choice. Somewhere in the back of my mind I still feel like I could bring in some extra income with it, at the very least. But monetary reasons are not the be-all end-all of my desire to write. It's a craft, just like painting or composing music, and while I have no talent in those mediums, I sometimes feel I'm wasting my writing skills but not using them.
With a little luck, a good topic for creative writing will present itself before I write here again. Most of my other writing experiments flowed out of me in the first person perspective. Learning how to tell a story from the third person is something I wish to hone. It always just seemed easiest to tell a compelling narrative as if I was actually experiencing it. Writing dialogue has also been a challenge. I like to be as correct as I know how with punctuation. When reading works by others I don't pay much attention to it, but that would be a good place to start learning. I've often even considered taking a creative writing course at the community college, and perhaps I'll end up there given time. This blog will make do in the meantime.
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