Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
the troll
decided to color the sketch from my story.using gradient mesh, which should be called the "bust my balls" tool.
it's frustrating, but i like the way it is turning out. hoping to actually finish this one before i get a new idea and abandon it.
fingers crossed.
Mythos- Billy Goat Gruff 2
The final portion of my interview with Robert “buckster” jenkins, conducted on the evening of the thirteenth of may in his west virginian home.
Interviewer- “so you retrieved your shotgun from the closet and headed for the bridge. What happened next?”
buckster- “the bridge is about five minutes from the back porch, and i remember thinkin as i ran, 'black bears will attack if you get between them and their cub.' it didn't make no sense though, billy knew better. Billy knew that if you see a black bear, especially if you see a female black bear, you get out of the area, right quick. Billy's head was always on a swivel, that boy had peripheral vision like i never seen. Didn't make no sense, billy'd never had taken his sister under that bridge if he had seen a bear anywhere round them parts. I figured the bear was hurt or somethin, had gone under the bridge to lick its wounds, and billy and his sister were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I also knew billy knew to play dead, but i had to hurry, just get there and save my boy. I didn't think to bring my knife or cell phone, i just ran.”
(buckster looks out the window, begins wringing his hands together, again and again, as he continues.)
buckster- “couldn't have taken me more than three minutes to get to the bridge. I stopped where the grass met the bridge and listened. I could only hear the water rushin beneath me, so i balanced my shotgun and started down the grassy incline to the muddy embankment. It was getting dark, the trees that line the river pretty much block out the sun anyways, so i had to strain my eyes. I stepped onto the embankment, and what i saw, what i saw...”
(buckster turns to face me, his face flush, his lips trembling.)
buckster- “don't make no sense, mister, it will never make no sense. Weren't no bear, far as i could tell. Sure, it was furry, but it's head was bald, and fat, rolls and rolls of fat, it's ears were pointy, almost had the face of a human being. And its belly, no fur covered its belly. And it was just sitting there, licking its lips with a great big purple tongue. I tell you what, it wasn't scared a me neither, just looked at me, as if we were passin on the sidewalk on the way to the bank. My hands were shakin pretty bad, i looked around where it was sittin, and i saw one of billy's sneakers, one of them nike jobs, and blood. The thing was sitting in a big pool of blood. I stood there, staring at it, it staring at me, for what seemed like eons. And then, it belched, and a hot wave of copper smell and rancid meat filled up my nostrils. I held my hand over my mouth to keep from vomittin, and then, its stomach moved, stretched like, and it was getting dark, so i can't be sure, but i swore i saw the imprint of a hand pushin against the folds of its belly, like someone was in there tryin to get out. Fury welled up in me, i tell you what, a white hot anger boiled up inside me and i raised that shotgun and blew about the entire left side a that monster's face clean off. I raised the shotgun for a second blast but the thing just slumped over on its side, closed its eyes, let out a gurgle. I thought it was dead, i really did, i thought i had killed it dead.”
(buckster lights another in an endless stream of cigarettes, drinks down the last of his bourbon, stares at his cigarette.)
buckster- “i didn't know what to do. I didn't have my knife with me, i couldn't split this thing open and see if it were billy inside of it, so i panicked. I held my shotgun on the thing's head and gave it a few good kicks, and this time for sure, something pushed against its stomach. I distinctly saw the imprint of a hand against the beats's stomach, so i put my hands in its mouth on either one of its jaws and opened its mouth. The thing had rows and rows of razor sharp teeth, tiny, jagged glass teeth, and my hands was getting pretty torn up, so i needed to act fast. I rememeber feeling like a crazy person as i yelled down its throat, i kept yellin, 'billy, hold on son. Hold on billy, its your pa, i'm gonna get you outta there.' i thought about draggin the carcass back to my house, but it was much to heavy. The monster was short, but it was dense, you know, too heavy to lug back to the house. Just as i turned to run for help, the beast's eyes snapped open, it stunned me, i must have stumbled back a step, and the monster got its feet on my chest and kicked me backwards. It was so strong, i went flying backwards, musta knocked my head on one of the bridge's support beams, and i was out cold. Fuckin thing was playin dead on me. Next thing i know, the sheriff's shakin me awake, and the beast and my boy are gone.”
interviewer- “was a search party organized?”
buckster- “yeah. That summer the people in this community musta killed bout every black bear in this county.”
interviewer- “why black bears? I mean, you said it wasn't a black bear that took billy.”
buckster- “yeah i knew that, but who was going to believe my story? Hell, i wouldn't believe my story, hadn't happened to me. No, everyone just wrote off the whole incident to the poor lightin under that bridge and my hysterics. It's funny, you know, you see the world differently when somethin like this happens to you. I mean, how couldn't you? You wonder if you are crazy, you wonder if you imagined a monster ate your boy. And the news, the news has a different tone to it. Like them kids that gone and disappeared down in chile. Or them fishin boats vanished down in cuba. Makes you wonder, really does. Fact of the matter is though, i lost my boy. I lost my boy and he ain't never comin back. Gone, forever.”
(buckster puts his head in his hands and sobs. From the kitchen, a young girl brings some paper towels. Her blonde hair is tied into a bun. She is thin, serious looking, she clutches a sketch pad in the hand not carrying the paper towels. A stern looking woman leans against the doorframe, watching the girl bring her father the paper towels. The girl lays the towels on her father's lap and turns to me.)
melissa jenkins- “you wanna see what the monster looked like, mister?”
(the woman at the door speaks up.)
heather jenkins- “missy has grown into quite the artist, mister. We can't get her to put that pencil down.”
interviewer- “if you wouldn't mind, melissa, i'd love to see your drawings.”
(meliisa cradles the pad in her thin arms, shielding my view from its contents. She carefully flips through the pages, nods as she finds the page she is looking for, and tears a sheet out, hands it to me.)
Melissa- “that there, sir, that the monster who ate up my brother.”
Interviewer- “so you retrieved your shotgun from the closet and headed for the bridge. What happened next?”
buckster- “the bridge is about five minutes from the back porch, and i remember thinkin as i ran, 'black bears will attack if you get between them and their cub.' it didn't make no sense though, billy knew better. Billy knew that if you see a black bear, especially if you see a female black bear, you get out of the area, right quick. Billy's head was always on a swivel, that boy had peripheral vision like i never seen. Didn't make no sense, billy'd never had taken his sister under that bridge if he had seen a bear anywhere round them parts. I figured the bear was hurt or somethin, had gone under the bridge to lick its wounds, and billy and his sister were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I also knew billy knew to play dead, but i had to hurry, just get there and save my boy. I didn't think to bring my knife or cell phone, i just ran.”
(buckster looks out the window, begins wringing his hands together, again and again, as he continues.)
buckster- “couldn't have taken me more than three minutes to get to the bridge. I stopped where the grass met the bridge and listened. I could only hear the water rushin beneath me, so i balanced my shotgun and started down the grassy incline to the muddy embankment. It was getting dark, the trees that line the river pretty much block out the sun anyways, so i had to strain my eyes. I stepped onto the embankment, and what i saw, what i saw...”
(buckster turns to face me, his face flush, his lips trembling.)
buckster- “don't make no sense, mister, it will never make no sense. Weren't no bear, far as i could tell. Sure, it was furry, but it's head was bald, and fat, rolls and rolls of fat, it's ears were pointy, almost had the face of a human being. And its belly, no fur covered its belly. And it was just sitting there, licking its lips with a great big purple tongue. I tell you what, it wasn't scared a me neither, just looked at me, as if we were passin on the sidewalk on the way to the bank. My hands were shakin pretty bad, i looked around where it was sittin, and i saw one of billy's sneakers, one of them nike jobs, and blood. The thing was sitting in a big pool of blood. I stood there, staring at it, it staring at me, for what seemed like eons. And then, it belched, and a hot wave of copper smell and rancid meat filled up my nostrils. I held my hand over my mouth to keep from vomittin, and then, its stomach moved, stretched like, and it was getting dark, so i can't be sure, but i swore i saw the imprint of a hand pushin against the folds of its belly, like someone was in there tryin to get out. Fury welled up in me, i tell you what, a white hot anger boiled up inside me and i raised that shotgun and blew about the entire left side a that monster's face clean off. I raised the shotgun for a second blast but the thing just slumped over on its side, closed its eyes, let out a gurgle. I thought it was dead, i really did, i thought i had killed it dead.”
(buckster lights another in an endless stream of cigarettes, drinks down the last of his bourbon, stares at his cigarette.)
buckster- “i didn't know what to do. I didn't have my knife with me, i couldn't split this thing open and see if it were billy inside of it, so i panicked. I held my shotgun on the thing's head and gave it a few good kicks, and this time for sure, something pushed against its stomach. I distinctly saw the imprint of a hand against the beats's stomach, so i put my hands in its mouth on either one of its jaws and opened its mouth. The thing had rows and rows of razor sharp teeth, tiny, jagged glass teeth, and my hands was getting pretty torn up, so i needed to act fast. I rememeber feeling like a crazy person as i yelled down its throat, i kept yellin, 'billy, hold on son. Hold on billy, its your pa, i'm gonna get you outta there.' i thought about draggin the carcass back to my house, but it was much to heavy. The monster was short, but it was dense, you know, too heavy to lug back to the house. Just as i turned to run for help, the beast's eyes snapped open, it stunned me, i must have stumbled back a step, and the monster got its feet on my chest and kicked me backwards. It was so strong, i went flying backwards, musta knocked my head on one of the bridge's support beams, and i was out cold. Fuckin thing was playin dead on me. Next thing i know, the sheriff's shakin me awake, and the beast and my boy are gone.”
interviewer- “was a search party organized?”
buckster- “yeah. That summer the people in this community musta killed bout every black bear in this county.”
interviewer- “why black bears? I mean, you said it wasn't a black bear that took billy.”
buckster- “yeah i knew that, but who was going to believe my story? Hell, i wouldn't believe my story, hadn't happened to me. No, everyone just wrote off the whole incident to the poor lightin under that bridge and my hysterics. It's funny, you know, you see the world differently when somethin like this happens to you. I mean, how couldn't you? You wonder if you are crazy, you wonder if you imagined a monster ate your boy. And the news, the news has a different tone to it. Like them kids that gone and disappeared down in chile. Or them fishin boats vanished down in cuba. Makes you wonder, really does. Fact of the matter is though, i lost my boy. I lost my boy and he ain't never comin back. Gone, forever.”
(buckster puts his head in his hands and sobs. From the kitchen, a young girl brings some paper towels. Her blonde hair is tied into a bun. She is thin, serious looking, she clutches a sketch pad in the hand not carrying the paper towels. A stern looking woman leans against the doorframe, watching the girl bring her father the paper towels. The girl lays the towels on her father's lap and turns to me.)
melissa jenkins- “you wanna see what the monster looked like, mister?”
(the woman at the door speaks up.)
heather jenkins- “missy has grown into quite the artist, mister. We can't get her to put that pencil down.”
interviewer- “if you wouldn't mind, melissa, i'd love to see your drawings.”
(meliisa cradles the pad in her thin arms, shielding my view from its contents. She carefully flips through the pages, nods as she finds the page she is looking for, and tears a sheet out, hands it to me.)
Melissa- “that there, sir, that the monster who ate up my brother.”
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Mythos- Risk Analysis
I had been chatting with someone in an urban myths forum during my the final year in college, and they directed me to a website called “known phenomenon”. It was a cryptic site, a collection of news stories from around the globe. Disappearances, unsolved murders, genetic anomalies, natural disasters. It was fascinating and creepy all at once. I sent an email requesting more information to the website's proctor and forgot about it, lost myself in my studies.
Several months later, while deciding on what subject to base my thesis paper on, i received an email from someone calling themselves “brian”. “brian” asked me about myself, what my interest was in mythology and folklore was, where i was from. I returned his email and moments later, he replied. “brian” asked if i was willing to come and see him at his cabin in saskatchewan, and being impetuous and stupid, i agreed.
During the three bus rides, the two commuter flights, and the ferry ride to the island where “brian” lived in a dilapidated cabin, i questioned myself, wondered if “brain” was going to gut me and wear my flesh like a leisure suit, cursed my maxed credit cards and compulsion to shed light on things that were unknown to me.
“brian” was waiting at the dock in front of a horribly rusty dodge pickup. He was tall, gaunt, his beard untamed and filthy. We drove the hour up and over mountains to his cabin in dead silence.
What followed was my first interview, conducted on the twentieth of october.
Interviewer- “well, here we are. You know, this cabin is a lot nicer inside than out, i must say brian.”
(we are sitting at a cracked formica table in a small dining area. Trying not to gag on the overwhelming odor of urine and stale tobacco smoke, i wonder if these are my last moments on earth.)
Brian- “my real name is christopher, just call me chris.”
Interviewer- “ok, Chris, i have to say, your website is fascinating. Have you always been a conspiracy theorist?”
(chris leans back, lights an unfiltered cigarette, unbuttons the top button of his plaid jacket.)
Chris- “You see, there, right there, that is what i'm talking about.”
(i remember swallowing, hard, fifteen seconds into my first interview and i had offended the interviewee.)
Interviewer- “beg pardon?”
(chris gets up from the table and walks to a bookshelf that is buckling under the shear weight of the hundreds of books stacked within it, on top of it, in front of it. He retrieves what looks like a photo album and returns to the table. He slams the book down and flips it open, revealing yellowed newspaper clippings glued to every available inch of page.)
Chris- “right here, see? Five years ago a deer was born in an italian wildlife reserve with a single horn growing from the center of its head. That is a fact. I investigate facts. That video from those two kids in philly who disappeared in the subway tunnel, the disappearances of those village kids in chile, the missing fishing boats in cuba, those are factual events. I do not theorize upon falsities, i search out factual events and try to alert the public to their existence. When you call someone a conspiracy theorist, i consider that a deflamatory statement. To be PC about it, i would say i am a risk analyst of the profound and unexplained. Now, let me ask you- why did you agree to travel all this way if you thought i was just some crackpot living in the forest because i couldn't handle the medicrity of our everyday world?”
Interviewer- “to be honest, i don't know. Your website and our email correspondence piqued some kind of interest within me, i suppose. I am finishing my master's degree in ancient history, and so much of what is on your website reflects directly the type of farcical ideaology that led to the creation of the myths of the ancient civilizations. I guess i just thought of you as some kind of throwback, someone prone to believe in those things that cannot possibly be real.”
(chris sat back and pondered this.)
Chris- “that's a damn fine answer. I was a professor in toronto for fifteen years. i taught a class based around folklore and urban myth, and i too share your interest in the unexplained. Do you plan on using this interview for a thesis paper?”
interviewer- “yes, i suppose so.”
Chris- “come into the kitchen and help me with something.”
(we stand, and walk across creaking, splintered floorboards into chris' clapboard kitchen, where he retrieves a huge mixing bowl from the top of his ancient refrigerator, takes a cutting board and two knives, and opens his refrigerator door. From within the hulking beast he takes bag after bag of fruit. Oranges, apples, grapes, bananas, cantalopes. He sets them all on the cutting board and hands me a knife.)
interviewer- “uh, i am really not that hungry, chris, i would love to continue with the interview.”
chris- “cut it all up very small, and make sure you remove all of the rinds and seeds.”
interviewer- “what are we doing, exactly?”
chris- “it will be so much better if you don't know. Now, cut.”
( i begrudgingly take the knife and spend the next thirty minutes or so peeling, paring, slicing and dicing. When all the fruit had been chopped, chris hoists the bowl onto his shoulder.)
chris- “follow me.”
(i follow chris through the front swinging screen door.)
chris- “hold up here, take a seat on the porch, and be very quiet.”
(chris walks down the stairs and down the gravel driveway to where his lawn meets the treeline, looks around for a moment, and sets the bowl on a tree stump. He returns to where i sat on the porch, smiling.)
Interviewer- “what is this? Are we feeding bears? Deer? I came to interview you, not witness the majesty of nature. What is going on?”
Chris- “please, remain silent.”
(chris leans back in his rocking chair and watches the treeline. I sigh and follow his gaze.
Ten minutes passed. Then, quiet at first, then growing louder, the sound of something large moving through the brush sends a shiver down my spine. I stiffen up and strain my eyes. a clicking noise, like someone flicking their tongue against their palette, and then another. Branches snap and leaves rustle, and something i would say that was at least nine feet tall stops at the treeline, reaches out a huge hand, and takes a piece of apple from the bowl.)
“atheism is a non-profit organization.”
george carlin, 2003
“sir, do you have a moment?”
“yes, of course, johnson, all i have is time.”
“sir, there has been another sighting.”
“goddamnit. Where?”
“detroit, sir. It seems he was seen conducting a sermon outside of a known crackhouse. Then, he, uh..”
“he what, jouhnson, he did what?”
“well, it seems he said a prayer over a junkie in a wheelchair and the junkie leapt up and ran off.”
“that is bullshit. It was street magic. People are gullible, johnson, don't bring me this bullshit. Get out of my office.”
“well, that's the thing, sir. It isn't bullshit. I checked into it and the junkie was a veteran of the gulf conflict. Parapalegic, post traumatic stress, heroin addict. I contacted his senior officer and his family, it was all confirmed. Seems that after the incident with mr. X, this soldier, matthew fleck, he got a job at home depot and reunited with his ex-wife. On two feet, walking, praising mr. x.”
“fuck. We have to handle this. I don't have to tell you, this does not leave this office. Get me flood. I want everyone dealt with. Fleck, his family, witnesses, mr. x. put them all in the fucking ground.”
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
a little different
i have one more of these to finish today, it is like a fashion magazine vector of a guy in a wrestling mask.
word.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Mythos- Shadows Fall
“The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore.”
-Vincent Van Gogh, 1875
This cruise was an attempt to rediscover the love in a marriage Gregory knew had already vanished into an empty abyss of broken promises, evenings of working “late”, colossal disappointments, and sexless nights. As contrived as it all seemed, he took the therapist's advice, talked mary into packing some bags, and they were off to sail for seven nights around the bahaman islands on the crown jewel of carnival's fleet, the proud victory, complete with seven restaurants, b level celebrity shows, three swimming pools, and romantic strolls on a moon washed upper deck. Gregory thought of the money he was wasting on the therapist, known to be a forerunner in the field of marital revitalization, which he found laughable at best. Mary and he could barely stand the thought of remaining in the same room for fifteen seconds, why not spend seven days and nights trapped together in a tiny cabin on a boat hundreds of miles from the main land? That was all the therapist could conjure. “go on a cruise,” he said, “spend time together, look into her eyes, remember why you got married in the first place, find the love you have lost.” Bullshit, to gregory it was all bullshit. He remembered why they got married. Mary needed someone to help her pay down her student loans, and he was sick of doing his own laundry. Certainly, at first the sex was wild and passionate, but when it became apparent to gregory that mary simply felt obligated to blow him on his birthday or after he had bought her a new car, it took the fun out of not having to separate darks from lights anymore. And here they were, ten years later, the wrinkles falling across his face, her hips stretching the taxed fabric of her armani track pants, no children, a house bought and paid for in a neighborhood she had chosen, miserable. How did the therapist think going on a cruise would be beneficial, in the very least fun? How enjoyable would it be for gregory to watch his wife stuff her face with anything coated in butter or for mary to watch him as he gave his liver a run for its money? During the first night, at dinner, it was so hard for gregory not to say, “my god, mary, have you tried the king prawn? Of course you have. This cruise was such a good idea, it will give us the time to talk about so much. Like, for instance, i really appreciated it the other night when i came home and you had fifteen of those disgusting vanilla cookie candles burning in our bedroom to rid the room of the smell of whatever landscaper's sweaty balls you had been gurgling earlier in the day. You are TOO good to me.”
it was only the second night and they both already were finding excuses to not be around one another. She went to do laps in the olympic sized middle deck pool and he sat at the bar slamming down shot after shot of expensive whiskey. Now he was standing on the top observation deck, nursing a jack and coke, chain smoking. Gregory stepped to the railing and looked out at the expanse of crystal blue water in front of him, wishing he was anywhere but there. The moonlight undulated with the tide, cohesion, in tune, the titan of a boat quietlessly stabbing its way to some other island full of people who hated every tourist that set foot on their shores to buy cheap knickknacks and laugh at the simple way island people live. Gregory flicked his cigarette and stared at the water. He closed his eyes for a moment, and as he opened them, he swore he saw a large dark shape pass underneath the boat.
“There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them.”
-Andre Gide, 1947
“throw me the lime green.”
Johnny did as he was told, retrieving the can of green from his backpack, gave it a few good shakes and tossed the can to where Jose stood above him, on the ledge just below the street level. It was just after three in the morning, and jose was putting the finishing touches on his new tag, a sprawling, jagged rendering of fidel castro. Johnny was happy to be doing this with his cousin, getting to know what colors contrasted with one another, where the best places were to tag, how to make your name jump right off the wall.
“think about it, bro, thousands of people will be riding the train into the city tomorrow and they will be looking out their windows, dreading the fact that they have to spend one more day snapping numbers and figures onto a keyboard in their cubicle, and they will look out and see this. They will wonder who did it, how they had done it, why they had done it. I will take their mind off of their boring lives for only a moment, but i will force them to think. It's crazy, really.”
Jose was kind of a big deal in the grafitti community. He was fearless, he was smart, and he was GOOD. His mural of the battle of little big horn along the crumbling east wall of the R5 station was legendary. Johnny was so excited when jose asked him to be his lookout, his pack mule, his apprentice.
Johnny caught something out of the corner of his eyes. He whispered up.
“we got headlights, jose, right above you. Oh fuck, blue and reds. Get down, we gotta split into the tunnel.”
Jose jumped down and they sprinted into the subway tunnel. They were safe there for at least two more hours, until the morning commute began. They hunkered down, slithered behind a filthy support pillar, cautiously looked to the ledge where they just had been. From street level, two flashlight's beams swept the area. They could hear the buzzing of the cops' walkie talkies. After a few minutes, they were gone. Johnny stood up, but jose pulled him right back down. He whispered.
“that's an old trick they use. The wave their flashlights around, make you think they gone, and when you pop out, they still there waitin. Just chill we got some time.”
johnny sunk down and took his phone out of his pocket. Jose snatched it up.
“damn, son, is that the new erickson? This shit is fly, dude. How'd you afford this?”
johnny was beaming, jose thought something he had was cool.
“ oh, i used the money from my birthday and my paper route and saved for like, a year to get it. Check this out.”
johnny took the phone back, flipped it open, pushed some buttons, and handed it back to jose.
“it has a built in mini cam. And if you push this button,” johnny leaned over, “boom, night vision.”
Jose looked at the screen and said, “hmm.”
johnny leaned back, closed his eyes. Somewhere down the tunnel, a sound made his eyes snap open, got his full attention. It was faint, but it sounded as if something had clinked against the tracks about a hundred feet from where they were sitting.
Jose piped up. “yo man, you hear about the severed hand they found down at the lombard south stop? Just sitting there, plain as day, a severed hand. Rings still on it, the news said it looked as if something had bit it off. It's funny, you know, anytime someone finds a severed body part, and you hear about it on the news, they never give out information as to where whoever's leg or hand or whatever they found, like where this handless person can come and pick up their hand. Why? They know that person's most likely dead. Fucked up, really.”
johnny muttered something, but kept his attention on the dark subway tunnel. He strained his eyes, swore he saw something move. He tugged at jose's jacket and whispered.
“can we go out there yet, jose, i think we should be going home now.”
jose batted at his hand.
“naw, johnny, i can't catch another jacket, i may do some time. I'm too pretty for jail, b, shit, they eat me alive in dere.”
Johnny shook his head, but jose couldn't see him, he was so preoccupied with the camera phone. Johnny leaned forward, and something did move, and is was big, but too quiet to be moving and not making any noise. It stopped some fifty feet from where they sat, and fear gripped johnny, prevented him from moving. Just then, there was a great expulsion of air. It spiraled at johnny, was hot and wretched, got jose's attention. Johnny, without looking, took the phone from jose.
Jose stiffened up, looked down the tunnel also.
“what the fuck was that, johnny?”
Johnny slowly brought the phone to his face, using buttons on the side to focus. There was another rush of air, a bellow, and his phone focused.
“it's, it's...” and it was upon them.
-Vincent Van Gogh, 1875
This cruise was an attempt to rediscover the love in a marriage Gregory knew had already vanished into an empty abyss of broken promises, evenings of working “late”, colossal disappointments, and sexless nights. As contrived as it all seemed, he took the therapist's advice, talked mary into packing some bags, and they were off to sail for seven nights around the bahaman islands on the crown jewel of carnival's fleet, the proud victory, complete with seven restaurants, b level celebrity shows, three swimming pools, and romantic strolls on a moon washed upper deck. Gregory thought of the money he was wasting on the therapist, known to be a forerunner in the field of marital revitalization, which he found laughable at best. Mary and he could barely stand the thought of remaining in the same room for fifteen seconds, why not spend seven days and nights trapped together in a tiny cabin on a boat hundreds of miles from the main land? That was all the therapist could conjure. “go on a cruise,” he said, “spend time together, look into her eyes, remember why you got married in the first place, find the love you have lost.” Bullshit, to gregory it was all bullshit. He remembered why they got married. Mary needed someone to help her pay down her student loans, and he was sick of doing his own laundry. Certainly, at first the sex was wild and passionate, but when it became apparent to gregory that mary simply felt obligated to blow him on his birthday or after he had bought her a new car, it took the fun out of not having to separate darks from lights anymore. And here they were, ten years later, the wrinkles falling across his face, her hips stretching the taxed fabric of her armani track pants, no children, a house bought and paid for in a neighborhood she had chosen, miserable. How did the therapist think going on a cruise would be beneficial, in the very least fun? How enjoyable would it be for gregory to watch his wife stuff her face with anything coated in butter or for mary to watch him as he gave his liver a run for its money? During the first night, at dinner, it was so hard for gregory not to say, “my god, mary, have you tried the king prawn? Of course you have. This cruise was such a good idea, it will give us the time to talk about so much. Like, for instance, i really appreciated it the other night when i came home and you had fifteen of those disgusting vanilla cookie candles burning in our bedroom to rid the room of the smell of whatever landscaper's sweaty balls you had been gurgling earlier in the day. You are TOO good to me.”
it was only the second night and they both already were finding excuses to not be around one another. She went to do laps in the olympic sized middle deck pool and he sat at the bar slamming down shot after shot of expensive whiskey. Now he was standing on the top observation deck, nursing a jack and coke, chain smoking. Gregory stepped to the railing and looked out at the expanse of crystal blue water in front of him, wishing he was anywhere but there. The moonlight undulated with the tide, cohesion, in tune, the titan of a boat quietlessly stabbing its way to some other island full of people who hated every tourist that set foot on their shores to buy cheap knickknacks and laugh at the simple way island people live. Gregory flicked his cigarette and stared at the water. He closed his eyes for a moment, and as he opened them, he swore he saw a large dark shape pass underneath the boat.
“There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them.”
-Andre Gide, 1947
“throw me the lime green.”
Johnny did as he was told, retrieving the can of green from his backpack, gave it a few good shakes and tossed the can to where Jose stood above him, on the ledge just below the street level. It was just after three in the morning, and jose was putting the finishing touches on his new tag, a sprawling, jagged rendering of fidel castro. Johnny was happy to be doing this with his cousin, getting to know what colors contrasted with one another, where the best places were to tag, how to make your name jump right off the wall.
“think about it, bro, thousands of people will be riding the train into the city tomorrow and they will be looking out their windows, dreading the fact that they have to spend one more day snapping numbers and figures onto a keyboard in their cubicle, and they will look out and see this. They will wonder who did it, how they had done it, why they had done it. I will take their mind off of their boring lives for only a moment, but i will force them to think. It's crazy, really.”
Jose was kind of a big deal in the grafitti community. He was fearless, he was smart, and he was GOOD. His mural of the battle of little big horn along the crumbling east wall of the R5 station was legendary. Johnny was so excited when jose asked him to be his lookout, his pack mule, his apprentice.
Johnny caught something out of the corner of his eyes. He whispered up.
“we got headlights, jose, right above you. Oh fuck, blue and reds. Get down, we gotta split into the tunnel.”
Jose jumped down and they sprinted into the subway tunnel. They were safe there for at least two more hours, until the morning commute began. They hunkered down, slithered behind a filthy support pillar, cautiously looked to the ledge where they just had been. From street level, two flashlight's beams swept the area. They could hear the buzzing of the cops' walkie talkies. After a few minutes, they were gone. Johnny stood up, but jose pulled him right back down. He whispered.
“that's an old trick they use. The wave their flashlights around, make you think they gone, and when you pop out, they still there waitin. Just chill we got some time.”
johnny sunk down and took his phone out of his pocket. Jose snatched it up.
“damn, son, is that the new erickson? This shit is fly, dude. How'd you afford this?”
johnny was beaming, jose thought something he had was cool.
“ oh, i used the money from my birthday and my paper route and saved for like, a year to get it. Check this out.”
johnny took the phone back, flipped it open, pushed some buttons, and handed it back to jose.
“it has a built in mini cam. And if you push this button,” johnny leaned over, “boom, night vision.”
Jose looked at the screen and said, “hmm.”
johnny leaned back, closed his eyes. Somewhere down the tunnel, a sound made his eyes snap open, got his full attention. It was faint, but it sounded as if something had clinked against the tracks about a hundred feet from where they were sitting.
Jose piped up. “yo man, you hear about the severed hand they found down at the lombard south stop? Just sitting there, plain as day, a severed hand. Rings still on it, the news said it looked as if something had bit it off. It's funny, you know, anytime someone finds a severed body part, and you hear about it on the news, they never give out information as to where whoever's leg or hand or whatever they found, like where this handless person can come and pick up their hand. Why? They know that person's most likely dead. Fucked up, really.”
johnny muttered something, but kept his attention on the dark subway tunnel. He strained his eyes, swore he saw something move. He tugged at jose's jacket and whispered.
“can we go out there yet, jose, i think we should be going home now.”
jose batted at his hand.
“naw, johnny, i can't catch another jacket, i may do some time. I'm too pretty for jail, b, shit, they eat me alive in dere.”
Johnny shook his head, but jose couldn't see him, he was so preoccupied with the camera phone. Johnny leaned forward, and something did move, and is was big, but too quiet to be moving and not making any noise. It stopped some fifty feet from where they sat, and fear gripped johnny, prevented him from moving. Just then, there was a great expulsion of air. It spiraled at johnny, was hot and wretched, got jose's attention. Johnny, without looking, took the phone from jose.
Jose stiffened up, looked down the tunnel also.
“what the fuck was that, johnny?”
Johnny slowly brought the phone to his face, using buttons on the side to focus. There was another rush of air, a bellow, and his phone focused.
“it's, it's...” and it was upon them.
Monday, June 16, 2008
umm, yes.
"Now he would never write the things that he had saved to write until he knew enough to write them well."- Ernest Hemingway "The Snows of Kilimanjaro" August, 1936
Friday, June 13, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
branching out
so i am trying to get a job barbacking at a restaurant that a friend's friend is opening right down the street from me. evidently, it is a mexican restaurant with a disco, mexican wrestling theme.awesome.
so, i asked if i could take a crack at designing something for them.
this is one of a few things i am working on, being the more cartoony of the pieces i am designing. i need to shade this and drop in a background, and then get to work on the classier piece i have in mind. stay tuned.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
get to the chopper billy!
"listen, dutch, all i'm saying is, this dude keeps screaming to 'get to de choppa", and i'll be honest with you, i totally forget where the chopper is to begin with. i don't see what his big fucking rush is anyway."Sunday, June 8, 2008
Mythos- Billy Goat Gruff
Transcript taken from an interview conducted with Robert “Buckster” Jenkins, at 3:15 p.m, the thirteenth of May.
Interviewer- “Whenever you are ready, Mr. Jenkins.”
(Jenkins looks up from his hands, which he has been wringing over and over since i have arrived. His hands are gnarled, crisscrossed with scars.)
Mr. Jenkins- “It's Buckster, everyone round here just calls me plain old Buckster.”
Interviewer- “Okay then, Buckster, why don't you tell me about the day William went missing.”
(Jenkins lights a cigarette, exhales loudly, looks out the window.)
Mr. Jenkins- You know, Bancroft don't have but some 400 people living here. I figured since i was born and raised here in Putnam county, weren't no need to move. It's quiet here, you know, crime is just about non-existent, 'cept for some vandalism or kids joyridin'. I have worked for the trash company for 15 years now, i do my job, i come home, spend time with my family. Every here and again i go fishin', or during buck season me and Billy would go huntin'. That's how i got my nickname, on account of my hunting prowesses. I tell you what, i bet i could put down a fifteen pointer at 400 yards, how good i got with my winchester. Billy loved to be outside, like the wind ran through his veins, couldn't keep that boy inside. He and his older brother were always out back tossin' round the pigskin or ridin' them damn atvs or buildin' a fort, couldn't keep neither one a dem boys in the house.”
(jenkins stops here to put out his cigarette, runs his hand through his wiry hair, looks directly at me.)
Mr. Jenkins- “So you wanna know about the day I lost my boy, huh?”
Interviewer- “If it isn't too much to ask. I understand your loss, Buckster, I really do. My brother was lost in the Manhattan subway incident. If this is all too difficult, I completely understand, i can come back another time or we could end the interview right now if you please.”
(Jenkins shakes out another cigarette, tilts his head to look at me, as if weighing me up. He strokes his stubbled chin, nods.)
Mr. jenkins- “No, no, ways i figure it, people need to know. Can I offer you a drink?”
(i shake my head no.)
Mr. Jenkins- “Hope you don't mind if i indulge then.”
(Jenkins pours himself a healthy glass of some type of inexpensive bourbon, returns to his seat facing me.)
Mr. jenkins- It was easter 'bout 4 years ago. We had just gotten back from church, boy o boy, you shoulda seen Billy boy rutchin' in that pew, chompin at the bit. See, Heather and i had gotten him a brand new rod and reel for easter, or the easter bunny had, you know? Well we pull up the driveway and i had barely stopped the car when billy was out and up the front stairs, back out in 45 seconds flat, i tell you what. That boy loved him some fishin'. I'd see him on the internet, taking notes on making his own lures, seeing when carp or rainbow season started, couldn't get enough of it. You see, billy was a good sportsman; patient, with a good nose for when to drop a line or take a shot. So billy comes barreling down the front stairs and i hold him up, tell him to take his younger sister with him. You see my oldest boy, Matt, had been visiting some friend at VTU that weekend, and the missus and i rarely got any alone time, so i figured what better time than a gorgeous, cloudless easter sunday for some afternoon delight. And you know what, billy didn't mind one bit. You should of seen him with his sister, so kind, so gentle, always watchin' out for her, god, that boy loved his sister. Made me think of the type of man he was growin' into, what kind of person he was going to be...”
(jenkins puts his glass down and cradles his head in his hands for a second, before standing and filling his glass yet again. He sits, tears welling in his eyes, but not falling down his cheeks.)
Mr. Jenkins- “So heather and i watch those two, walking hand in hand, billy with his rod and tackle box, missy with the new bright yellow ball the easter bunny had brought her. Breaks my goddamn heart, i tell you, burned in my brain, that picture.
The Kanawha River is about a five minute walk from our house, you just follow a path out in back, and you are there. Billy loved to fish off of old man hasting's bridge, on account of all the bugs that had built their nests on the underside of the bridge. See what i mean bout billy being a good sportman? He knew that the carp and trout would be under that bridge, feedin' on the insect larva. Boy was a damn fine fisherman.”
(Jenkins looks at his hands again, won't meet my eyes.)
Jenkins- “So bout 2 hours or so go by, heather and i have finished our business and are sitting on the front porch, planning on what vegetables to plant in her garden that year, when we here the back door slam. Them kids never were a quiet bunch. But something feels wrong, you know, somethin' was amiss. Then came the hollerin'. Heather and i bolted up and into the house, and there is my darling missy, blood coatin' her pretty easter dress. And she is crying, that way people cry when they are out of breath, or scared to death, or maybe both. I got down on my knee and tried to calm her down, it took some time. I remember asking, 'missy, missy baby, are you hurt? Where is billy? Where is billy, baby?' that is when she stopped crying, straight off. She looked right at me and said, 'a monster took him, daddy. A monster took billy.' I couldn't imagine what the tarnation she was goin' on about, but she became instantly calm. “we was on the bridge, daddy, billy was fishin, i was playin with the pretty ball the easter bunny brung me, and i bounced the ball too high daddy, i bounced the ball and it went over the bridge. I started to cry so billy took my hand like you and mommy tell him to and we climbed down the hill to get my ball, under the bridge. And then, and then,' and the tears came again. I think at this point i began shaking her, and heather took her from me. Heather picked missy up and fought back tears as she said, 'what happened then, sweetheart, tell mommy.'
Missy looked right at me, 'a monster tried to bite me, but billy pushed me out of the way. The monster bit billy, daddy, a monster bit billy and there was blood. Billy screamed for me to run, so i did. I ran and now the monster has billy.'
I didn't think, i just went to the closet, loaded shells into my shotgun, told heather to call the sheriff, and sprinted for the bridge.”
Interviewer- “Whenever you are ready, Mr. Jenkins.”
(Jenkins looks up from his hands, which he has been wringing over and over since i have arrived. His hands are gnarled, crisscrossed with scars.)
Mr. Jenkins- “It's Buckster, everyone round here just calls me plain old Buckster.”
Interviewer- “Okay then, Buckster, why don't you tell me about the day William went missing.”
(Jenkins lights a cigarette, exhales loudly, looks out the window.)
Mr. Jenkins- You know, Bancroft don't have but some 400 people living here. I figured since i was born and raised here in Putnam county, weren't no need to move. It's quiet here, you know, crime is just about non-existent, 'cept for some vandalism or kids joyridin'. I have worked for the trash company for 15 years now, i do my job, i come home, spend time with my family. Every here and again i go fishin', or during buck season me and Billy would go huntin'. That's how i got my nickname, on account of my hunting prowesses. I tell you what, i bet i could put down a fifteen pointer at 400 yards, how good i got with my winchester. Billy loved to be outside, like the wind ran through his veins, couldn't keep that boy inside. He and his older brother were always out back tossin' round the pigskin or ridin' them damn atvs or buildin' a fort, couldn't keep neither one a dem boys in the house.”
(jenkins stops here to put out his cigarette, runs his hand through his wiry hair, looks directly at me.)
Mr. Jenkins- “So you wanna know about the day I lost my boy, huh?”
Interviewer- “If it isn't too much to ask. I understand your loss, Buckster, I really do. My brother was lost in the Manhattan subway incident. If this is all too difficult, I completely understand, i can come back another time or we could end the interview right now if you please.”
(Jenkins shakes out another cigarette, tilts his head to look at me, as if weighing me up. He strokes his stubbled chin, nods.)
Mr. jenkins- “No, no, ways i figure it, people need to know. Can I offer you a drink?”
(i shake my head no.)
Mr. Jenkins- “Hope you don't mind if i indulge then.”
(Jenkins pours himself a healthy glass of some type of inexpensive bourbon, returns to his seat facing me.)
Mr. jenkins- It was easter 'bout 4 years ago. We had just gotten back from church, boy o boy, you shoulda seen Billy boy rutchin' in that pew, chompin at the bit. See, Heather and i had gotten him a brand new rod and reel for easter, or the easter bunny had, you know? Well we pull up the driveway and i had barely stopped the car when billy was out and up the front stairs, back out in 45 seconds flat, i tell you what. That boy loved him some fishin'. I'd see him on the internet, taking notes on making his own lures, seeing when carp or rainbow season started, couldn't get enough of it. You see, billy was a good sportsman; patient, with a good nose for when to drop a line or take a shot. So billy comes barreling down the front stairs and i hold him up, tell him to take his younger sister with him. You see my oldest boy, Matt, had been visiting some friend at VTU that weekend, and the missus and i rarely got any alone time, so i figured what better time than a gorgeous, cloudless easter sunday for some afternoon delight. And you know what, billy didn't mind one bit. You should of seen him with his sister, so kind, so gentle, always watchin' out for her, god, that boy loved his sister. Made me think of the type of man he was growin' into, what kind of person he was going to be...”
(jenkins puts his glass down and cradles his head in his hands for a second, before standing and filling his glass yet again. He sits, tears welling in his eyes, but not falling down his cheeks.)
Mr. Jenkins- “So heather and i watch those two, walking hand in hand, billy with his rod and tackle box, missy with the new bright yellow ball the easter bunny had brought her. Breaks my goddamn heart, i tell you, burned in my brain, that picture.
The Kanawha River is about a five minute walk from our house, you just follow a path out in back, and you are there. Billy loved to fish off of old man hasting's bridge, on account of all the bugs that had built their nests on the underside of the bridge. See what i mean bout billy being a good sportman? He knew that the carp and trout would be under that bridge, feedin' on the insect larva. Boy was a damn fine fisherman.”
(Jenkins looks at his hands again, won't meet my eyes.)
Jenkins- “So bout 2 hours or so go by, heather and i have finished our business and are sitting on the front porch, planning on what vegetables to plant in her garden that year, when we here the back door slam. Them kids never were a quiet bunch. But something feels wrong, you know, somethin' was amiss. Then came the hollerin'. Heather and i bolted up and into the house, and there is my darling missy, blood coatin' her pretty easter dress. And she is crying, that way people cry when they are out of breath, or scared to death, or maybe both. I got down on my knee and tried to calm her down, it took some time. I remember asking, 'missy, missy baby, are you hurt? Where is billy? Where is billy, baby?' that is when she stopped crying, straight off. She looked right at me and said, 'a monster took him, daddy. A monster took billy.' I couldn't imagine what the tarnation she was goin' on about, but she became instantly calm. “we was on the bridge, daddy, billy was fishin, i was playin with the pretty ball the easter bunny brung me, and i bounced the ball too high daddy, i bounced the ball and it went over the bridge. I started to cry so billy took my hand like you and mommy tell him to and we climbed down the hill to get my ball, under the bridge. And then, and then,' and the tears came again. I think at this point i began shaking her, and heather took her from me. Heather picked missy up and fought back tears as she said, 'what happened then, sweetheart, tell mommy.'
Missy looked right at me, 'a monster tried to bite me, but billy pushed me out of the way. The monster bit billy, daddy, a monster bit billy and there was blood. Billy screamed for me to run, so i did. I ran and now the monster has billy.'
I didn't think, i just went to the closet, loaded shells into my shotgun, told heather to call the sheriff, and sprinted for the bridge.”
Saturday, June 7, 2008
mythos (snippet)
"Perry, perry goddamnit. Wake up. We have 2 bogies 1000 yards northeast."
I put down my book and lit a cigarette, picked up the nextel.
"perry here lieutenant."
i hated the sound of the nextel's chirp. Like being ear raped by a needle dicked leprechaun.
"perry, we got two appaloosa colts circling at 38.64 by 76.98. they seem to be making their way towards your station. Be on the ready, we have 15 commuter flights arriving in the next 3 hours. I want those fuckers dropped as soon as they are in your sights."
"will do, lieutenant, perry, out."
i remember when i started with the agency, i was on ground maintenance, shoveling remains into the bed on my burnt sienna pickup, talking to myself, just wanting to do my job. Lieutenant Hastings somehow found out i was a sports marksman champion in high school, i honestly think he googled it, and before you knew it i found myself nestled in a concrete shed atop a 3,000 foot high pedestal, whiling my time away reading hemingway, smoking cigarettes, taking pop shots at arabians and andalusians and friesians, and talking to myself.
I walked to the balcony of the shed, turned my hat backwards, put on my shoulder guard, and checked the clip of my barrett. I took my ready position, flipped the scope's cover open, and waited. It didn't take long. They were about 500 yards out, circling, playing, nipping at each other. They were young, couldn't have been more than 2 months old or so. I lined up my shot, took a breath, and fired.
note:this is the beginning of a story i hope to write over break. and yes, there will be minotaurs.
I put down my book and lit a cigarette, picked up the nextel.
"perry here lieutenant."
i hated the sound of the nextel's chirp. Like being ear raped by a needle dicked leprechaun.
"perry, we got two appaloosa colts circling at 38.64 by 76.98. they seem to be making their way towards your station. Be on the ready, we have 15 commuter flights arriving in the next 3 hours. I want those fuckers dropped as soon as they are in your sights."
"will do, lieutenant, perry, out."
i remember when i started with the agency, i was on ground maintenance, shoveling remains into the bed on my burnt sienna pickup, talking to myself, just wanting to do my job. Lieutenant Hastings somehow found out i was a sports marksman champion in high school, i honestly think he googled it, and before you knew it i found myself nestled in a concrete shed atop a 3,000 foot high pedestal, whiling my time away reading hemingway, smoking cigarettes, taking pop shots at arabians and andalusians and friesians, and talking to myself.
I walked to the balcony of the shed, turned my hat backwards, put on my shoulder guard, and checked the clip of my barrett. I took my ready position, flipped the scope's cover open, and waited. It didn't take long. They were about 500 yards out, circling, playing, nipping at each other. They were young, couldn't have been more than 2 months old or so. I lined up my shot, took a breath, and fired.
note:this is the beginning of a story i hope to write over break. and yes, there will be minotaurs.
Friday, June 6, 2008
panda
so last night i am sitting at my computer when i hear a scratching at my window. i turn all of the lights out and grab my camera. i go to the window and hear a cooing. i focus my lense and take a snapshot using my night option on my camera.
who is it?
it's panda, the baby raccoon who lives in my wall!
it seems panda had scaled the wall leading up to my third floor window and promptly gotten himself stuck on my window ledge, not knowing how to climb down without falling.
you know, it is too bad raccoons are chock full of rabies, because i would have loved to pop open my screen and let him crawl in and sleep at the foot of my bed.
so i talked to him for a while, tried to calm him down, he seemed very distressed.
after about 10 minutes of consoling, there was a scuffling up the vines that climb my building and panda's mom came to the rescue, promptly reaching out and taking him in her mouth and scaling the building to the roof, where i could hear them scamper to the other side of my building and into the wall.
you know, having raccoons is better than having a cat because they eat mice and i never have to feed them.
so panda, if you get your rabies shots, you are more than welcome to come into my apartment.
i would teach you how to play xbox 360 and feed you snacks.
just a thought.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
crazy movie
see this movie.that's all i will say.
the english translation of the title is "inside".
it is the bloodiest movie i have seen in a long time.
wow.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
the amorphous blob that would be hitchcock
base color down. left eye started.this is going to take A LOT of layers and patience to complete.
was thinking of using gradient mesh but nixed it in favor of hundreds of layers.
why?
because i'm stupid.
and a glutton for punishment.
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