Trying Syd's Book Experiment

Last January, Syd decided that while she has read many, many books, there were large gaps in her reading history. She hasn’t actually read that many classics, beyond those associated with the Sci-Fi and Fantasy genres. So she read Dracula, The Maltese Falcon, Pride & Prejudice and so on. It was an attempt to step outside of her comfort zone and see what else is out in the greater world of books.

Well, it’s harder for me to step outside my own comfort zone, because I’ve at least made a valiant attempt at a wider spectrum of books. However, I’ve got a few lined up. The first thing is going to be Jack Kerouac’s On The Road. It has also been suggested that if I don’t read Silverlock pretty damn soon, my father will kick me in the ass.

So that's going to be the first two. I will make a serious attempt at at least one book a month, and if I read two then the second doesn't count. This means I can't read four books in January and then skip until May. I will have to come up with 10 more books though. As I understand Syd's Rules: The books have to be classic enough that someone teaches them somewhere. They have to be books I've either never read or never actually finished when I was assigned them in school. I'm adding in the rule that it can't be a sequel to a book I've read before. So it wouldn't be any good me reading book seven of a series where I've already read books one through six.

Since I've never actually read any Kerouac, his road book should make a good first entry. I'll let you know a few days after New Year's...

Two

This

The Word

Brothers and Sisters – Chapter Two: Introductions all round

Chapter Two

Introductions all round

 

 

March 27^th, 2003

4:16 p.m.

 

            Tommy was able to sit up on the hospital bed, although he looked to be in some discomfort. His hands and upper arms were bandaged and although he had taken pains, the back of his neck had a large bandage taped across it. There was the yellow amber stain of antibiotic soaking through the white cloth of the gauze that they had wrapped around him. His face was uncut though, and for that they were glad.

 

            Jack entered the room first, followed by The Weirdo and Max came after them. Tommy watched them through the haze of the morphine they were feeding him through a drip. It was only because of this drip that he was able to sit on his rump at all.

 

            “Hi.” Tommy said. “You’ve come to take me home?”

 

            “We have indeed.” The Weirdo said.

 

            “Where are the girls?” Tommy asked.

 

            “Sheila thought it would be funny if they showed up in really tight nurses costumes they claimed they already own.” The Weirdo said. “I’m not going to ask why they already have them, what you do in your own time is your business. As they went looking for them we slipped out and told Marla to explain it.”

 

            “We figure she’s encouraging them to wait till you get home. Hospital stays are quite expensive and there’s no need to extend them any further than necessary.” Jack said.

 

            Tommy began to get up and looked pained as pressed down on the bed. He hadn’t wanted to say anything, but he’d burned his hands fairly badly by grabbing a metal post. He’d seen The Weirdo do it and thought they were cool enough to touch, he’d been wrong. The skin had burned quite badly, and now they hurt. That is to say the pain was excruciating, or at least really bad. It seared its way past the morphine, and directly into his brain. The Weirdo saw him wince, if only for the moment.

Little deer

A Serious Discussion of My Own Depression And Why “The Smurfs: A Christmas Carol” Is the Worst Thing I’ve Ever Seen

This isn’t going to be one of the fun reviews, with lots of screen caps and funny captions that people can put on pintrest. I’m going to take this thing to task, but not in a fun way. I didn’t even want to do it, but I came across something I wrote in a piece of fiction a few years back.
“If you have a talent, you're responsible for how, or if you use it. Letting it go to waste is as bad as misusing it.” And I have a talent for explaining why things are bad. As far as I can tell, I’ve never been able to convince someone that a movie is good, but I can convince them something is shit! Not an enviable position, perhaps, but I’ve got a talent and I’m going to try to use it for good this time.

I’ve decided we’ve got to talk about this, we have to have a conversation about this thing because it’s evil and wrong and if I don’t warn people, I might feel responsible later. Let me be frank about this, so that we don’t misunderstand things. This is not a fun little cartoon, it is harmful, it is DANGEROUS! You should not watch this damn thing, no one should watch this thing. This is less a review and more of a warning, because watching this could drive someone to suicide. I’m going to discuss this in personal terms, since that last sentence seem hyperbolic, so I’ll explain....

V says "It's too cold for this crap!"

Monkey

Christmas music

Christmas music


What I always find interesting about Christmas music, is that people are willing to listen to genres that at any other time of the year they wouldn’t touch with a barge poll. People who hate crooners will slap on a Bing Crosby record. People who aren’t normally country fans will put A Garth Brooks Christmas on the CD player. People still have CD players, right? I don’t, but I assume people do. I’ve always found it interesting that people will forgive a genre or artist they don’t normally like, because of a Christmas song.

Let’s be clear on this, I’m the sort of person who people look at and say “Of course, you WOULD listen to Manhattan Transfer.” But I don’t actually listen to them. Except, of course, I have their Christmas album. There is nothing so remarkable in that. I have about 200 Christmas albums, all told. Don’t judge me. I went through what can only be described as a period of my life. I made so very many, many Christmas Mix Tapes, and I needed A LOT of material for those tapes. You don’t know what hell is until you find yourself trying to sort 2300 songs looking for THAT ONE that fits perfectly, only to find Neil Diamond staring back at you.

It’s just odd, that during the month of December, everyone walks around with an expanded idea of what music should be and men open their shut up hearts freely to accept music genres that died out before they were even born.

OTHER THINGS I FIND ODD!

Now these are obviously self-selecting things, and none of them are set in stone or being handed down as rules. They’re just trends I’ve noticed. I probably have an exception to each of these in my collection.

If you’re listening to a country singer, the secular songs will be the bouncy “Fun Country” style song and the religious one will be the slow, reserved song. And there is usually only one or two religious songs on a country album.

Only Jazz or R&B singers sing the song “This Christmas” like it’s been set aside for them. Same with Christmas Time Is Here, no one else will cover it. Also, 7 times out of 10, Jazz songs that are religious are instrumentals. They’ll sing the secular songs, but not the religious ones. There are a lot of religious songs though, more than most other genres.

New Age musicians (By which I mean adult contemporary instrumental) LOVE them some obscure Christmas songs. Mannheim Steamroller, for example introduced me to several songs I had never heard and only rarely hear now. While contemporary Celtic musicians go for songs so obscure, I’m not always convinced they’re really Christmas songs. But since most of them are in some form of Gaelic, I can hardly call them on it. Also, since the songs are almost painfully beautiful, I don’t feel inclined.

Rock and pop tends either to go for the very traditional or a complete opposition to the idea of traditional. You either get Smashing Pumpkins on their very best behavior, or Blink 182 talking about going after carolers with a baseball bat. Quite frequently this is because a Christmas Album is an easy way to fill out a contractual obligation. Sometimes you’ll get someone who fully makes the music their own. See Tis the Season for Los Straitjackets for an example of this. Some people are trying, some people aren’t. Look for the group albums, where people are contributing one song and you’ll have a better time for the most part.


ANYWAY, just some thoughts I’ve been having.


EDIT I forgot to mention. If someone wants to do an intense, rocking number, it's probably going to be Carol of The Bells. That one has a repetitive beat like tune that can easily be adapted to that purpose.

Yes, I have a list

If you're not one of my far-flung family members (of either my blood, or chosen family) yo may ignore this post. It involves me mentioning some things I want in a way that's easier to convey than a normal e-mail might be.



I need a new Camera. Mine has been in the shop for three months and I have no idea when or if I'll ever get it back. I've been wanting to upgrade anyway. If someone is looking for a major big ticket item, I would like a red Pentax K-30. There is actually a pretty good deal on one here. Really, any good SLR camera would make me happy right now.

I could use a new long coat, and a nice hat to go with it. I've got a couple of coats I've been looking at... Shackelford (Size 48) or a Coburn Great Coat There is also a lighter lab coat (XL/2X) (color is not so important, it comes in white, brown, black and red)

Now as far as hats go, my head is 24 inches... I have great love for this John Bull Top Hat and this Derby. Both of them come in black and you'd want to get an XL. There is also this red top hat, but that's just silly if you don't also get a red coat (48 chest 50 belly)

My membership to the Henry Ford lapsed a little while ago, we have the Companion level and would like to have it again.

Annd, there is always the wishlist at Amazon and Amazon UK

I've been wanting to try some solar power chargers lately, there are a few different ones I've picked out.
Instapark Mercury 4S
Anker 14W
Opteka BP-SC8000
Poweradd Apollo2

There's always a knife or two, like the Ringed Razel and the folding Razel. One or two sword canes look neat. Aaaaand of course there is this bad boy that I've wanted for years. Or it's cheaper brother.

There is also a pair of sword and their friend.

Lilypad

Roof Tiles

Pins

A Retail St. Crispin’s Day Speech.

What’s they that wishes more employees? No, my fair Manager; if we are mark’d to work, we are enow to do our store loss; and if to work, the fewer employees, the greater share of honour. God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one employee more. If it be a sin to covet paychecks, we are the most offending souls alive.

No, faith, my manager, wish not one associate from another store. God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour as one employee more methinks would share from me for the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, through my host, that they which hath no stomach to this Holiday, let them depart. Their passport shall be made, and cookies for the trip put into their pocket. We would not work in that person’s company that fears their fellowship to work with us.

This day is call’d Black Friday. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d, and rouse them at the name of Thanksgiving. They that shall live this day, and see old age, will yearly on the vigil feast their neighbours, And say “To-morrow is Black Friday.”Then will they strip their sleeve and show their scars, and say “These wounds I had on Black Friday.”

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, but they’ll remember, with advantages, what feats they did that day. This story shall the good man teach his son; and Black Friday shall ne’er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remembered! The front-register, the floor runner, the manager and assistant manager. Be in their flowing shopping bags freshly rememb’red.

We few, we happy few, we band of co-workers; for they to-day that sheds their blood with me shall be my co-worker; be they ne’er so vile, this day shall gentle their condition; and gentlemen in regular jobs now-a-bed shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that worked with us upon this Black Friday!

Why is 3 months of Christmas a Bad thing?

(oddly, I've made comment about Buddha Day before, but never actually reprinted the original thought experiment, so here it is)

Let me explain this for those of you who are Christian or live in primarily Christian areas as to why many non-Christians get fed up with Christmas and the forcing of Christmas upon us.

Let us imagine for a moment that you live in an alternate Universe where the Chinese used all those inventions that they came up with first and that Eastern Culture took over the world instead of Western Culture. Now let us imagine that there is a holiday at the end of December called Buddha Day. Now imagine that for two months solid, every store you went into, every ad circular, every commercial break on every TV and radio station had tons and tons of Buddha Day reminders. The Buddha Day music starts in mid November, the little red resin Buddha statues start being sold before Halloween, the big light up Buddhas start showing up before Thanksgiving. You start seeing Buddha Day things in August and the rumble becomes a huge blaring noise that just builds for four god damn months. By December you can't go out of your house without seeing all sorts of Buddha Day decorations and being told to "Be Peaceful, Buddha Day is coming" and even when they don't mention Buddha, you know that's what they mean. The thin man in the green robes who delivers cakes on Buddha Day Eve might be an old throw back and more commercial than religious, but you KNOW what day he's for. All the specials are for Buddha Day, all the commercials are for Buddha Day, all the "Holiday Editions" are always sold with traditional (if non-religious) Buddhist symbols on them.

And now here is the clincher, here is the part that gets you. No one knows a thing about Christmas or Christianity, in fact, they're kind of dismissive about it. You tell people you don't celebrate Buddha Day because you're Christian and they say things like "Oh, but you must do something for it, right? I mean, for the kids at least." Or they say things like "Oh, Christmas right, that's the one where Moses comes back from the dead after being drowned in the big flood right?" and then they change the subject about this great gift they got their brother for Buddha Day. Anytime you try to say "Merry Christmas"to someone they give you a dirty look like you're tying to corrupt their children with your evil Jesus thing, or they complain about these filthy minorities always having to have their own stupid minority holiday that's just a cheep rip off of Buddha day. No one outside your little community sells anything (and I mean ANYTHING) for Christmas, you can barely find a little statue of Jesus for the dashboard of the car outside of the "Jesustown" shops. You felt lucky in the mid 90s when multiculturalism was hip and a Nickelodeon show did one (1) special just for Christmas although you can't find it on DVD because Christmas isn't very popular.

Under this system, you might get a little sick of Buddha Day after a while, wouldn't you? I mean even people who celebrate complain about feeling worn down by it. It might even feel a little galling when you discover that half the Buddha Day celebrations are based on (you guessed it) Christmas celebrations that were in place before the Chinese took over Europe. For all their bitching about "The War On Buddha Day" its really been a war to squash the truth that Christians started this in the first place and are still out there. In fact you come to the conclusion that the whole "War on Buddha Day" is really an excuse to shove Buddha Day down your throat even more and to remind you that as a Christian you are a small minority in enemy territory. When anyone tries to be inclusive and says "Happy Holidays" instead of "Happy Buddha Day" small groups of religious loonies stir up a huge stink and act like Buddha Day is being erased from the calendar despite the fact that the one day holiday now covers fully a third of the year.

With all this in mind, don't you think you might get a little hyper-sensitive about Buddha Day?

Maybe those who celebrate Buddha Day should confine it to December, at the very least?

I mean, I like Buddha Day, but I also like Christmas, Hanukkah, Dogbert Day, Yule, Kwanzaa, and all the other early winter holidays as well.

Respect for others and an understanding that not everyone celebrates Buddha Day would be nice at this time of year when we're supposed to love our fellow humans.

Let's not let Buddha Day take over and destroy all the other holidays, okay?

Red

Brothers and Sisters - Chapter One: A Ruined Lunch

Brothers and Sisters

A Tale of The Weirdo

 

 

Chapter One

A Ruined Lunch

 

 

March 27^th, 2003

12:21 p.m.

 

            The world can be said to be a watched place. We are all observers of our fellow beings and are also the observed. Some of us are active observers, some passive. There are times when we must go from being one to being the other. Most often we begin as a passive observer and then involve ourselves, becoming active.

 

            A small child dressed in a pink raincoat watched the world, and two men in particular. She had been doing a lot of watching lately passively observing. She was very careful about not being seen, taking great care not to be noticed by anyone. She had been spying for some time, on a certain group of people for reasons of her own. What reasons a small child of about four could have to observe this group can be anyone’s guess. She wasn’t the only one watching of course, there were people watching the people who were watching other people.

 

No one was watching her though, despite the attractive blonde hair and adorable blue eyes. She was the sort of child who caught people’s eyes, and held their attention. She was a serious looking child, but a beautiful one as well. She was on a mission of observation one might say, at least for the moment. It was as if she were watching so as to better be caught up with a story, a story she would soon be engaged in. To be truthful that is exactly why she was watching. It is up to you’re humble narrator to interpret from her accounts as well as the accounts of others to put together this tale.

 

            It was a decidedly gloomy day, by most people’s standards anyway. If the last few years had taught people any thing, it was that people had differing opinions on things. There were people who felt differently on things as simple as weather, and complex as the role of a scared people to kill thousands of peasants in another country. If you were the sort of person who found an over cast day gloomy then this would be a gloomy day to you. The thick, heavy clouds looked like long coils of cotton, laid out by some forgotten god for a long forgotten purpose. There was a threat of rain in the air, which would be made good by nightfall. The temperature was no longer hovering below the freezing point of water, but there was still a chill in the air. Spring had begun, but had not quite gotten into the full swing of things yet. Snow still lay in patches on the ground where it had been piled up by plows in early February, now formed into compact mounds of ice.

 

            People were moving about, despite the cold nip in the air. It was lunchtime after all and there was lunch to be had. The fact that this was Saturday didn’t diminish the fact that even in this business district people had to eat. After all, despite reassurances of turning the corner, the economy did not currently favor the worker. The worker, who could be compelled to work on a Saturday, would have to comply. So they walked to get their lunches from the only places that were open any more. Faces slightly ruddy, their breath only just visible in the air.

 

Some of the people thought it a gloomy day, but perhaps surprisingly there were just as many people who liked this sort of day. This is an oft-rejected fact because the sort of person who prefers sunshine tends to express their views loudly while those who like rainy days and cloudy afternoons are less explosively expressive. The sort of person who likes the cold is naturally less bombastic and there fore less annoying and less disposed to express opinions in the loud obnoxious way. These people will just quietly shake their heads and mark the sun lovers down as the fools they were. As we said before, people may disagree about a great many things. What could be agreed upon though, was that a nice bowl of hot soup would go down an absolute treat.

 

            There were two men sitting at a table, at an out door café. The café still deemed the weather a little too unfashionable to have wait staff brave the fifty-two degree weather, but these men didn’t mind. They took their soup and went out side to take table in the open air. It was colder out there but there was also the freedom to watch a greater part of the world go by. One had a ceramic bowl of chicken noodle soup, which was steaming from the heat. The other man because of certain characteristic, had chili served in a large sour dough roll that had been hollowed out. The chili did not actually steam because the crown of the sour dough roll had been placed like a lid over it. A few wisps of steam escaped once they were outside and even a little heat showed.

Pile of Wood

Stove

Thor 2 is like a meatmarket for women's fantasies.

So we went to see Thor 2, and I liked it... BUUUUUT

I feel like I was watching some kind of parade that wasn't meant for me. Like a guy walked out and said "Hey ladies! What do you like? Cause we got 'em. You like 'em big, blonde, blue eyed and beefy? Chris, come on out! You like 'em dark, tousled, emo and just a bit evil but with a heavy dose of you can make it all better with your love? Tom, get yer cute ass out here! Maybe you like 'em a bit older? More mature? Kind of a Swedish James Bond, the later years? Still has a sense of humor and will run around naked for a joke? Stellan? If you would? Or maybe you like 'em just a bit down to earth and kind of geeky. New boy here, named Jonathan Howard.

"Now I know what you're thinking. You're saying 'But I'm bi or a lesbian.' well rest assured I didn't forget you. You like them smart, sylphlike, and over serious? Natalie is here for you. What about more of a tough chick? Jaimie, smile at the crowd? More of a momma's girl? Rene is still lookin' good, isn't she? And if you wanna have a geeky, down to earth three way with Jonathan, we brought Kat back too. They look good together, don't they?

So what'da like ladies? We've got it all and we brought it here for you. Oh, and for the boys.... have some evil space elves or some shit."

I have never felt more superfluous to a movie's audience than I did today. But, I'm guessing that's how a lot of non-white, non-cis, non-straight, non-males feel all the time. And my crowd was well represented on screen. I just felt like we were there for different reasons than normal.

ETA: Syd wants me to mention that Natalie Portman got to wear a pretty-pretty princess dress and that Idris Elba is a pretty man when you get his helmet off.

BIKE STUFF

11 things

The problem with writing a list like this, is that there are at least four of you here who have read everything interesting that I might put in this slot. beynd that, I could say that for the Mysterium Cosmographicum alone, Johannes Kepler will alays be a beautiful mad bastard in my book. So do I write about things that maybe some of you know, or do I endevore to come up with all new things that I've never told a one of you? Tricky.

I'll try to balance.


1. I used to write a semi-regular set of lists called Five Things and it was alway the Something-Something Edition. As a result, many things about me are known. I try to adhere to the differnce between Personal and Private. You can ask me anything, and I'll tell you about anything. Sex, drugs, rock n' roll, research, books of the seventeenth century I've read. I will answer all those questions. HOWEVER! If you want dates, if you want places, if you want names, those are more or less off the table. Those are the limits. If I didn't hold these rules, I probably couldn't talk so frankly about Sex and Polyamory. The people who know I'm talking about them also know enough not to yell "HEY!" when their little so called secrets are semi-exposed.

So with all that being said, I've got ten more of these to fill out. (ou have no idea how tempting it was to make each point in that paragraph an item of it's own)

2. I was born in the Second General US Army Hosptial in Landstuhl, which is located in the former West Germany. This has lead to a lifetime of me telling people behind counters that A) Army Bases are US soil and that B) Even if it weren't, I'm born to two US citizens. When the questions have gotten too annoying I have had to lean on the idea. "Sorry, since we were stationed in West Germany while dad was a Captain in The US Army, single handedly defending everyone from the Commie Hoards on the other side of the wall(!) I'm not exactly aware what the adress they were claiming here in the US was at the time of my birth. Sorry aboput that, next time we'll just let Ivan have Texas, shall we?" ProTip: If you can keep a straight face and say things like that in a flat, emotionless voice, people do not know what to do with you. As a result, 9 times out of 10, they'll just stamp your card and let you go. On the tenth time, you have to get rough and then that judge starts going on about crimes against humanity again.

3. I once rolled a Suzuki Samurai in a soybean field. I was trying to avoid the dog. The Dog was fine. I also once grazed a deer, who hit her shoulder on my side mirror. She lived, and I got a facefull of glass. I also once yelled at a deer that he was blocking my way down the road and only noticed that there was a female near by after he fucked off. It was about that time that I did a quick calculation and realized that it was mating season. I don't recomend my actions to everyone, only those who are totally unaffraid to the point of foolhardiness. I also once pet a wild skunk, but that was a fluke. I have, however, never petted a whale's fluke.

4. I can cook most things, if asked. I've been cooking since I was about 4 or 5 and have honed my craft ever since. This isn't going to be a long point.

5. I started learning Judo at about 9. I learned sword fighting about the same time. I can fight with knives, swords, staves, eskrima sticks, rapiers, katanas, bare hands, and on one memorable event, a resus monkey on a stick.

6. I have never actually slept wth a straight girl. Every woman I have ever had sex with was either identifying as bisexual, or at the very least bicurious at the time of our copulation. I have no explanation for this fact, it's just an oddity of life. I personally have tried to trick every woman I've ever met to get into bed with me*, but so far only bisexuals have ever taken me up on the offer. (*This may not, in fact, be absolutely true) I like femme girls, I like androgonuys girls, and I like butch girls. Tall girls and short girls. I like kinky girls and vanilla girls. All girls have an equal chance of capturing my interest, but only girls who share a sexual proclivity return interest in me.

7. My first sexual experience was with two women, and has been documented in previous installments. I can't find it right now, but the story is avaliable for those who are interested and have been properly vetted. This was the lead-in to early experiences with polyamory.

8. I was in a poly-relationship with two women for about 10 years. It ended about four years ago. It's uncertian how I feel about entering into a new relationship, but as I often say "I'm interested in anyone who's interesting"

9. I started the Jack Collier Stories as a Nanowrimo project. He's now up to 7 stories and I have two more in mind. He's meant to be a less epic, less competent spiritual brother to The Weirdo.

10. My tastes were formed in the 80s, and as a result I like girls in tight jeans and leather jackets. Also, they need to be capable. Simply put, Ace is the best companion. She's everything I like in a woman.

11. On the other point, I cannot stand women who try the whole "Oh tee-hee, I don't know how to do complicated stuff. If only a big, strong, sexy man could help me here." thing. I can't think of anything that will turn me off faster than pretending to be stupid (or actually being stupid) and trying to use that to entice me. That will never entice me.

Twins in Death: Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

 

Epilogue

 

November 3^rd, 2002

3:21 p.m.

 

            The room was so dark that very little detail could be made out, beyond the cones of hard light. They stood in a circle, like a council of war. They wore robes of purple material with red trimmings. The hoods of each robe were drawn up, concealing every aspect of the wearer. They had to meet in this way, to maintain the secrecy under which they had operated so long.

 

            “Is he the one?” One of them asked.

 

            “He defeated Loki.” Another, a large one in a felt robe, said. “And he came back from the dead.”

 

            “That was part of it.” A thin small figure in a silk robe said. “So far all signs point to him being the knight.”

           

            “So he may very well be it?” The figure who seemed to be the leader said.

 

            “I think so.”

 

            “He’s been in hiding so long though.” Another said. “The knight is supposed to be in constant vigilance.”

 

            “He was given a terrible blow.” The leader said. “He may very well remain hidden until we draw him out.”

 

            “But the prophecy.” The arguer said.

 

            “Prophets don’t know everything.” The Leader said, “We will watch and if he is the one, we will draw him out. It will take months perhaps to decide.”

 

            “If he is the one, are we ready?”

 

            “We are.” The leader said. “I’ve prepared for everything.”

 

 

 

Final note:

 

            So we see that perhaps The Weirdo died and returned from the Grave, although all official documents and biographies claim he lapsed into a coma, which he rose from. There has been some conjecture as to where Loki and Virgil actually came from as well, since some reports have said they were implanted in women’s wombs and some say they were grown in vats. It must be said that as far as official records go, it is very hard to find confirmation or even denial of the claims in this book. We can only hope that further tomes will shed light onto the tale.

 

 

© 2013 Autumn Knight Productions

Off Set

I have a book to suggest...

I have been told that a book called Erotic Vampire Bank Heist exists.

HOLY SHIT! What more do you need?

From the Publisher...
"When a sensuous safecracker and the King of the Vampires begin a torrid love affair in 1974, nothing can stand in their way: not the nationwide crime syndicate, not the Vampire Mafia... not even the rampaging forces of nature itself!
With a ragtag team of stuntmen, conmen, lesbians, and bisexual swingers, Count Dracula and Emily Malone are going to take what they need from the vaults of Bullitsville, Kentucky... and they're not going to stop until their sexy desires are met! But between the gunfights and threesomes, the shootouts and the incest, the secret needs of a centuries-old conspiracy is growing...and when its shocking betrayal is enacted, neither the living nor the Undead can survive its onslaught!
Airport Books is proud to bring you E.J. Ehlers' Erotic Vampire Bank Heist in all its uncut glory. It's like Dracula by Sam Peckinpah and Anais Nin! Varney The Vampire by Jim Thompson and Erica Jong! And it's like nothing you've ever read before!
Erotic Vampire Bank Heist: Because the only thing a vampire hates more than a cross...is a double cross."


This sort of horseshit MUST be encouraged!

V on the Bookshelf

Vult

Flower

Field

Twins in Death: Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

A Force of Nature

 

At Home

 

            The Grandfather looked at the poor sick boy and asked if he needed anything besides the orange juice. The boy said he didn’t, he wanted to know what came next. This story had been so long, and he wanted to know how it ended now that he was so near the end. Grandpa had held the moment out too. Giving him all that talk about alternate realities and hanging forever on the possibility that this was the reality where The Weirdo got his head cut off.

           

            There were tissues near the bedside, and the boy’s cough drops were in good supply. The grandfather looked at the closed door, knowing no one was going to interrupt. He looked at the book with trepidation, his eyes moving across the page and then up at the child’s open and wondering face.

 

            It didn’t look good, when we last left our hero the katana was one and ¼ inch from his neck, moving faster than the speed of sound. The Weirdo, and we must be realistic here, was already dead. There wasn’t much that could be done at this point to save him. Now that’s a sad idea, but it’s a fact that people like The Weirdo don’t get to live to the ending. Those who live by the sword and all that.

 

            “So what happened?” The boy asked.

           

            “You sure you’re feeling well enough for this?” The old man asked, looking a little disturbed as he looked at the book. “I mean things don’t always turn out the way you expect them to. Sometimes, even the hero dies.”

           

            “I gotta know.” The boy said. “Even if he dies, I’ve gotta know.”

 

            “But if he dies here, that’s it. If he’s killed here, you know that the world is over.”

 

            “If we don’t go on, I’ll never know. I’ve gotta know.”

 

            “Okay.” The old man said putting his glasses back on.  “Let’s see where were we? Ah yes.”

 

 

            The blade whistled through the air, ready to take the head form The Weirdo and…

 

            “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

 

            “Will you tell me?” The boy screamed. “What the blistering fuck happens next?

 

            The blade whistled through the air, ready to take the head form The Weirdo and…

 

 

            …

 

 

           

Little Bird

Do you know why I love this photo? Because it's a wide shot. I think anyone else would have cropped it to make it a close up, it looks like it should be one. Instead, I left it with all the world around it. It makes the bird look smaller in my view, and as such make the pose more defiant. "I might just a little bird, but I will take on the world!" You go little bird, you get down with your bad self.

Pond

Library

WOO!

Ziegiest

#26

Flower

Vultures

Monkey

Twins in Death: Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Halloween Night

 

The Palace

 

            Her name was Zhaznal, and she was the goddess of uncertainty. Not much is really known about her, at least from a mythological standpoint. There are, as far as we can discern, no legends or fables or indeed any myths of her at all. She does not seem to have any worshipers besides a few new age physicists who claim that she really runs everything in the universe. This is not quite true, she observes the universe, and by observing certain parts of universe she affects them. She cannot truly control the outcome but it’s a pretty safe bet that she would be the one to sit next to at a roulette wheel. Always bet on what she put her chips on if you get my meaning. The palace she lives in is a huge empty place, which appears to be strewn with spider webs.

 

            These webs are not actually the silk of spiders but instead are the physical interpretation of waveforms of possibility. The goddess and her assistants shift the outcome of events and thus create one reality or another, by collapsing the waveforms of possibility and causing events to come to fruition. By watching the strands very carefully, one can usually tell which strand is going to finally be left and thus which event is going to take place, those strands are usually thicker and more substantial. Still Zhaznal has the ability and the right to affect the final outcome, by deliberately choosing one strand or another when the final event comes close.

 

             It is said that if a single person could more easily perceive multiple dimensions and could see all the alternate realities they would more fully understand that Zhaznal and her assistants don’t actually eliminate strands, but rather they sort each possibility into a reality of its own. They shape every reality by putting each individual waveform of probability into a set of strands that make up each reality. Those realities are then said to be woven together into strings, which confound physicists and then make a rope, in which the mulitverse is contained as a whole and complete thing.

 

            There are billions or possibly trillions of tiny spider-like creatures helping Zhaznal in her task of plucking (or possibly selecting and moving) each stand. There are then large angelic like figures who help her in selecting the daily decisions while leaving the larger choices to her.

 

            At this moment, most of them were intently watching seventeen strands, which were hanging in two massive clumps together over a small chasm. One clump of webbing was the past and the other was the future. Strands stretched out from each of the strands and formed pools and rivers, which branched out into other things. The fate of the universe though, seemed to be based on these seventeen strands before them. One spider watched as The Weirdo and his double Loki walked towards the warehouse. If one of them walked away he would break one strand, if they didn’t, he’d break another. If they both walked away it would be a third.

 

            People think that the tiniest difference in the way they might have acted could change the universe. Such changes are rarely as large as anyone thinks, a real decision would have to be made because what with Fate, Luck, all the assorted gods, and Zhaznal watching, things generally turn out like they were supposed to. Every once in a while though, the outcome is not what people think it’s supposed to be. Sometimes they turn out one way because people have bribed Fate, Luck, many assorted gods and Zhaznal to do things one way. Sometimes they turn out another way because other Gods, and creatures who we haven’t even seen yet get wise to the bribery. There are times though that things turn out the way they do because revenge can be a larger motivating factor than duty.

 

 

Bird is the word

It's not the leaving of Liverpool

Tower

Grasses

House

Twins in Death: Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

A Last Attempt at Ragnarok

 

 

June 1^st, 1711

9:04 a.m.

 

            The Weirdo was leaning against the wall, his jerkin buttoned to his throat as the Captain’s was. The two of them watched as one person then another walked past the guards at the door. The king was having yet another one of his delightful, parties which were just a way for him to demean and degrade everyone around him. The Weirdo didn’t particularly like this young man, but he had been assigned to learn everything he could from the captain of his royal guards, and thus here he was.

 

            He looked at the other Musketeers and wondered how many of them held the same grudge against the king. Was it just the love of the captain that kept them here? The Captain had been a Musketeer during the bad days, when the Cardinal had started the war with England. The Weirdo looked at the Captain and glanced at a priest who walked in and nodded to the Captain who nodded back.

 

            “Is that?” The Weirdo asked, stopping himself before he finished.

 

            “He is.” The Captain said.

 

            The Weirdo looked back at the black robed priest as he walked across the floor. He was taller than The Weirdo had thought he would be. He wondered for a moment what Miss Parker would say if she could see him. Her first thing might be that they were about a hundred and fifty years before her birth, but after that there would be amazement. She would be shocked to find a man she thought to know only the obscenities of the French language speaking it well enough to have become the trusted Lieutenant of the Captain of the Royal Guards in only two years.

 

            “I had better go check the west posts.” He said straightening up from the stone pillar. “He’ll want to go out into the garden soon, best to make sure everyone is in place.”

 

            “Very well.” The Captain said. “I’ll meet you by the great fountain.”

 

 

Rail Window

Dark Machine

Woodpile

Night

Tonight, at the plot bunny buffet

I had an idea today, and you can steal it for your plot bunny...


I’ll tell you the idea as I had it, you can abuse it any way you like.


A man wakes up in a hotel.

He doesn’t know how to get to the hotel, or why he’s there.

He went to bed last night, woke up in a hotel this morning.

He is wearing pajamas that are not his own, but they fit well.

By context (TV, newspaper, or looking out a window) he concludes that he is in Paris.

That Paris, the one in France.

There are clothes in the closet, very good clothes that fit him.

He has a wallet with about five thousand Euros in it and four major credit cards in his name.

He has a drivers’ license and a passport.

There is also a cell phone that rings.

The man answers the phone and is informed that if he goes to Brussels, someone will give him a case and if he takes the case to Frankfurt, someone else will pay him ten million dollars.

This then begins a race to Belgium, and then Germany.

Our hero is not a member of the SAS, he isn’t a former Navy Seal, he’s a normal, everyday guy.

On his way to Belgium, our hero is nearly mugged, and someone approaches him to make an offer that they’ll give him twenty thousand dollars to just give this up.

No one tells him what’s in the case and warns that it’s probably booby trapped to stop anyone tampering with it.

He gets an accomplice/bodyguard in Brussels who helps him on the rest of the journey. The other person (it should probably be a woman because of tropes) doesn’t know what’s in the case or why they want it any more than our hero.

The two of them then adventure their way to Germany, after basically being in a coldwar spy thriller from the late 70s/early 80s.

And now, the spoiler (don’t read if you don’t want my spoiler)

Dome

Twins in Death: Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

The First Battle of Central Park

 

October 31^st, 2002

12:04 a.m.

New York

 

            Kestrel sat alone in the ballroom, looking out the windows. There were such large windows and they gave such a beautiful view of the night sky. The dark and heavy clouds covered the night sky, but they were beautiful clouds. The wind had begun to pick up and the leaves were sailing by. They tumbled along, like the little happy things they had once been. Now they were dead of course, which was a bit of a sobering thought. Those had once been attached to a living tree, in order to help make food. When the season got too cold, and the leaves were too expensive in terms of water and warmth, they had to go. The tree could only survive by getting rid of the leaves. That which had formally been so vital to its life could cause its demise, so the leaves had to go.

 

            She wondered for a moment if that’s what they all were. Were they just leaves, drying up on the stem of the world? She was alone and trying to figure out where the hell she was going to go next. The problem was she felt like she might be drying up, like those leaves. She had felt it for so long and wondered if it was time for her to be blown off the life tree and become mulch for next year’s plants?

 

            She thought, if only there was some sort of sign that everything would be all right.

Shack

And now...

Bird

Crossing

Room of Light

Goose

Window

LLLLLLLAAAMA!

Goose Pond

Fire

No Idea What This Thing Is

A Quiet Place To Rest

Twins in Death: Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Returning the long way

 

Date – Unspecified.

Time – Unspecified.

 

            He had a name, but he couldn’t remember what it was, not that it bothered him that much. He was walking along a road, which as far as he knew he had always walked. He couldn’t remember ever not being on this road, or not walking across this blighted landscape. It wasn’t much of a place to walk really, not much of a place but he couldn’t remember anyplace else. The land was rocky, there was no particular source of light, the sky was a dull and nearly solid gray. There were patches of fog, patches where the rocks were slightly higher, but the land was lost. It was as if someone had simply known that ground and sky were necessary, but hadn’t had enough enthusiasm to make anything else.

           

            He somehow knew that he hadn’t been walking this road the whole of his existence, knew that he was going somewhere, but he couldn’t remember anything else. He couldn’t remember anything but this road, which was his existence at this moment. Oh, there was also the song, but there had always been the song. The song would always be with him, even if he couldn’t remember all the words, the tune would be in his heart.

 

            “Monkey, monkey, eating cheese. I’m dancing with a walrus, if you please. The monkey likes to sing and play. It’s a monkey, monkey, monkey day.”

 

Night at Greenfield Village