It's foggy today. Haze is the coat around my shoulders, and the winter's memory has been revelling in the atmosphere, which seems odd considering the streets are melting in England, and the fires in California deliver the future of the state to its people before their own eyes.
Need to do some legal research, then, attempt to flush out a courtroom scenario.
It's foggy today.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Out and About
Been doing some spots of travelling, lately. Right now I've lampooned in my favorite city, and spent a good portion of the day relaxing in its streets. There were new voices in the wind, and some new attituded following them.
Last night it wasn't about going to the break of down, howiling with the wild of the night, it was about rekindling the fire that made me love this town in the first place, and we did just that. I'm not missing the real world so much, and I'm not too sure what I'm going to get when I return there.
Miles of water are flowing beneath my feet, beneath the building I'm in. Last night was the first time in a long time where I was in a swimming pool, and if I spat over the side of it, I coud hit a moving helicopter.
Last night it wasn't about going to the break of down, howiling with the wild of the night, it was about rekindling the fire that made me love this town in the first place, and we did just that. I'm not missing the real world so much, and I'm not too sure what I'm going to get when I return there.
Miles of water are flowing beneath my feet, beneath the building I'm in. Last night was the first time in a long time where I was in a swimming pool, and if I spat over the side of it, I coud hit a moving helicopter.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
The Rent is Due
I was approached by a man with a interchangeable faces to be a patron of his business. His details involved switching my body with another, with my own face to follow, though I could keep the glasses if I wanted.
His heavy breathing, and comet flying eyes had me wondering how much cocaine he was on, and how much he was willing to part with, but an openeing never arrived, and I was stuck out in the rain, with dry hands, and empty sockets. My rotator cup was stuckk in a cycle also, clicking like a cog in a machine every time I raised or lowered my arm. It only seemed to happen when I was looking for an exit.
The man changed face again, but the eyes stayed the same. They wanted my suitcase. But that, I could not give away. It contained the secrets of the city, and every name of every person that was ever murdered in them. It also contained my overdue rent money.
His heavy breathing, and comet flying eyes had me wondering how much cocaine he was on, and how much he was willing to part with, but an openeing never arrived, and I was stuck out in the rain, with dry hands, and empty sockets. My rotator cup was stuckk in a cycle also, clicking like a cog in a machine every time I raised or lowered my arm. It only seemed to happen when I was looking for an exit.
The man changed face again, but the eyes stayed the same. They wanted my suitcase. But that, I could not give away. It contained the secrets of the city, and every name of every person that was ever murdered in them. It also contained my overdue rent money.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Talk Between Sex
What is this?, she asked.
Sex, I answered.
It didn't seem so confusing to me.
No, she giggled,
This, us.
What's happening right now?
I'm sobering up, I said.
That's what's happening right now.
We collected some silence
To store for a rainy day.
What's your head telling you?, I asked.
She said that is was something else.
What's the rest of you telling you?
That this was more than she expected.
Frankly, I couldn't have agreed with her more.
Sex, I answered.
It didn't seem so confusing to me.
No, she giggled,
This, us.
What's happening right now?
I'm sobering up, I said.
That's what's happening right now.
We collected some silence
To store for a rainy day.
What's your head telling you?, I asked.
She said that is was something else.
What's the rest of you telling you?
That this was more than she expected.
Frankly, I couldn't have agreed with her more.
Back to Basics
It happened again.
I went out for an hour, sipping some tea, heavied with caffeine, reading Jean Jacques Roussea's "Social Contract", and enjoying it very much, and some associates walk through the door.
I spent the last hour conversing with them.
I have not been out in public for over a month, other than to work out, and no sooner do I decide to that I am spotted.
Look's like it's back to hiding in the back of the medical library for me.
I went out for an hour, sipping some tea, heavied with caffeine, reading Jean Jacques Roussea's "Social Contract", and enjoying it very much, and some associates walk through the door.
I spent the last hour conversing with them.
I have not been out in public for over a month, other than to work out, and no sooner do I decide to that I am spotted.
Look's like it's back to hiding in the back of the medical library for me.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Sloth Review
Sloth HC
"Sloth" is brought to us by Gilbert Hernandez, most known as a a co-creator of Love and Rockets along with his brother Jaime.
Sloth is all Gilbert, written and drawn. It begins, centered around Miguel Serra, who recaps the typical life of an average teenager stuck in a low-maintenance town, the suburban kind that's slow; good for the elderly, and for those wanting to raise children.
It turns out that the fate of teenagers is not a pleasent one. Miguel is also troubled by his mother's abandonment of him, and his father's incarceration for drug peddling, so in hopes of escaping reality, Miguel wills himself into a coma.
One year later, he awakens, and apperently, things are exactly the same as he left it.
He still has his girlfriend, Lita, and their friend Romeo, whom all three form the band "Sloth". Do you get it? The band is "Sloth", and the book's called "Sloth", do you get it?
But there's more. Miguel's motor skills are not exactly up to speed, suffering from a year long break, so he's moving slower than usual, but that doesn't really seem to play a factor in the book. He's slow, see, and sloth's are slow, and the book is called "Sloth."
Still here?
It turns out that his girlfriend, Lita, had a fling, with a boy from another school while Miguel was out,....but that doesn't seem to play a factor into the book, either. Miguel does suspect something is wrong with Lita, but for some reason he drops the issue, but the stress causes friction with Romeo.
Lita drags Miguel and Romeo into a hunt for the Goatman, a mythical being that is capable of switching lives with someone at will, and he haunts an old lemon orchard.
The primary visits unearths a shocking recording on the camcorder on their way out of the lemon orchard.
Romeo begins distancing himself from Lita and Miguel, there's a group of thugs that have issues with Miguel for reasons never explained, and then, after a return visit to the lemon orchard for further proof of the Goatman's existence, the swerve happens, and the story stays the same, only told somewhere else, and after a few pages, it happens again, and then it ends.
As a reader I was left with an itchy brain. So I scratched the perplexed organ and said, "Wha-huh?"
The art is well done, with the black and white dynamics played and mixed well. There just seemed to be alot going on in the story that was dropped for the sake of finding an ending, and not a concrete one at that. The dialogue falls into the same traps as other coming-of-age books do, referring sequences of a characters actions to being stuck in a movie, not having clue one about the actions of their parents, or grandparents (in Miguel's case). I just feel that every time I read a book about teenagers, it's the same teenagers, speaking the same language, stuck in a mind surrounded by the same confusion.
"Sloth" was not a bad read, far from it, but there really wasn't anything new offered, and it seemed much was sacrificed in order to meet the deadline and page limit.
If you appreciate Gilbert Hernandez, stick to "Love and Rockets"; check out "Sloth" if a paperback is offered for less. The hardcover is twenty bucks, so if you are a die hard Hernandez fan, it's worth it.
"Sloth" is brought to us by Gilbert Hernandez, most known as a a co-creator of Love and Rockets along with his brother Jaime.
Sloth is all Gilbert, written and drawn. It begins, centered around Miguel Serra, who recaps the typical life of an average teenager stuck in a low-maintenance town, the suburban kind that's slow; good for the elderly, and for those wanting to raise children.
It turns out that the fate of teenagers is not a pleasent one. Miguel is also troubled by his mother's abandonment of him, and his father's incarceration for drug peddling, so in hopes of escaping reality, Miguel wills himself into a coma.
One year later, he awakens, and apperently, things are exactly the same as he left it.
He still has his girlfriend, Lita, and their friend Romeo, whom all three form the band "Sloth". Do you get it? The band is "Sloth", and the book's called "Sloth", do you get it?
But there's more. Miguel's motor skills are not exactly up to speed, suffering from a year long break, so he's moving slower than usual, but that doesn't really seem to play a factor in the book. He's slow, see, and sloth's are slow, and the book is called "Sloth."
Still here?
It turns out that his girlfriend, Lita, had a fling, with a boy from another school while Miguel was out,....but that doesn't seem to play a factor into the book, either. Miguel does suspect something is wrong with Lita, but for some reason he drops the issue, but the stress causes friction with Romeo.
Lita drags Miguel and Romeo into a hunt for the Goatman, a mythical being that is capable of switching lives with someone at will, and he haunts an old lemon orchard.
The primary visits unearths a shocking recording on the camcorder on their way out of the lemon orchard.
Romeo begins distancing himself from Lita and Miguel, there's a group of thugs that have issues with Miguel for reasons never explained, and then, after a return visit to the lemon orchard for further proof of the Goatman's existence, the swerve happens, and the story stays the same, only told somewhere else, and after a few pages, it happens again, and then it ends.
As a reader I was left with an itchy brain. So I scratched the perplexed organ and said, "Wha-huh?"
The art is well done, with the black and white dynamics played and mixed well. There just seemed to be alot going on in the story that was dropped for the sake of finding an ending, and not a concrete one at that. The dialogue falls into the same traps as other coming-of-age books do, referring sequences of a characters actions to being stuck in a movie, not having clue one about the actions of their parents, or grandparents (in Miguel's case). I just feel that every time I read a book about teenagers, it's the same teenagers, speaking the same language, stuck in a mind surrounded by the same confusion.
"Sloth" was not a bad read, far from it, but there really wasn't anything new offered, and it seemed much was sacrificed in order to meet the deadline and page limit.
If you appreciate Gilbert Hernandez, stick to "Love and Rockets"; check out "Sloth" if a paperback is offered for less. The hardcover is twenty bucks, so if you are a die hard Hernandez fan, it's worth it.
Do Not Look At Me
Just awoke. No coffee,no food, don't expect anything decipherable.
I don't like being recognised in publice. I don't like going out and running into people I know. There are very few that if I do encounter them, I will make my way towards them, very, very few, but for the most part, I'm a fucking ghost.
Whenever someone busts out a camera, I'm walking the other way.
Back when I was a drinker, I'd end up going to the bar, settling down in my space in the dimly lit, smokey tavern, and I'd enjoy my two or three taps, but by the end of the night, I'd end up somewhere with complete strangers who seemed to have known me their entire life, downing some of the fines liquor around.
I suppose I just have that face. The face that says, "shove liquor down my noise tube."
I've been sober, for a while now, and am enjoying it. So are the orphans. They don't wake up screaming anymore.
I don't like being recognised in publice. I don't like going out and running into people I know. There are very few that if I do encounter them, I will make my way towards them, very, very few, but for the most part, I'm a fucking ghost.
Whenever someone busts out a camera, I'm walking the other way.
Back when I was a drinker, I'd end up going to the bar, settling down in my space in the dimly lit, smokey tavern, and I'd enjoy my two or three taps, but by the end of the night, I'd end up somewhere with complete strangers who seemed to have known me their entire life, downing some of the fines liquor around.
I suppose I just have that face. The face that says, "shove liquor down my noise tube."
I've been sober, for a while now, and am enjoying it. So are the orphans. They don't wake up screaming anymore.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Newsradio Will Not Let Me Sleep
I'm already an insomniac, have been since childhood. I've been trying to switch to daytime trends, but I find out tonight that Newsradio is playing every Monday on Nick at Nite. Not just one or two episodes.
4 hours worth.
I really should get the DVD's for this show, it's totally worth having them. It was a good show, with a well placed cast, with Stephen Root as Jimmy James, the station's owner, who kills every time he makes an appearence. It was also the launching pad for my crush on Maura Tierny.
4 hours worth.
I really should get the DVD's for this show, it's totally worth having them. It was a good show, with a well placed cast, with Stephen Root as Jimmy James, the station's owner, who kills every time he makes an appearence. It was also the launching pad for my crush on Maura Tierny.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Razor Wind Kisses
They were out there, you could hear them, and you could here their flesh as it shredded from their skin from the razor sharp gusts of wind. The children tried hiding in the trees, but a burst from the east chopped one of the limbs, and the boys weight snapped the rest of it, sending them all back to the ground, lacerated, with nowhere else to go.
We tried to direct them to the toolshed, but it was padlocked, and the key was inside the house with us. If they tried running our direction, they would never have made it.
All we could do was turn off the lights, and listen to the screams.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Something
It all ends, take as many turns, take all the shortcuts, it all ends. Roads, cities, air, and the walls that keep them from uniting. There was today, and what did we do today? The same thing as tomorrow, or not even a fraction of what was accomplished yesterday?
But no matter what, the voices will still lsugh, the books will still read, and the music will still exist, long after we've reached that end.
But no matter what, the voices will still lsugh, the books will still read, and the music will still exist, long after we've reached that end.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Heave-Ho
I need to get rid of my television. I've allowed myself to be distracted by all of it's nonsensical glory. I've used it to keep up with conditions in Israel, which has been the most entertaining thing since Stephen Colbert's rip on President Bush at that dinner thingy.
My word-children weep, fearing their abandonment by me, and I need to assure them that daddy hasn't gone anywhere. He's just been very busy, and will finish their adventures soon.
In fact, why am I writing this? I need to get to work.
Curse you for making me write this (I'd blame myself, but then I'd be at fault. Impossible).
My word-children weep, fearing their abandonment by me, and I need to assure them that daddy hasn't gone anywhere. He's just been very busy, and will finish their adventures soon.
In fact, why am I writing this? I need to get to work.
Curse you for making me write this (I'd blame myself, but then I'd be at fault. Impossible).
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Bed Bug
I don't like waking up in the first place. But I really don't like waking up, surrounded by dead insects. Right now, I awoke to a live one, the size of my elbow, resting neatly on my arm.
On television is this Spirit Agent anime' that makes no sense to me, and I kind of like it. If I were to watch it from the beginning, straight through, I'd probably come to terms with what's happening, but I don't want to. I like being in the fuzz on some things, leaving my own interpretation open for value, thus, allowing me to unintentionally rip off a television show and claim the idea as my own.
The books are really piling up around my bed. I - hold on. Got the bug.
The books are piling up. I've been using some as references, others are for enjoyment, others are there to remind me that I need to read them.
I don't even like anime'.
On television is this Spirit Agent anime' that makes no sense to me, and I kind of like it. If I were to watch it from the beginning, straight through, I'd probably come to terms with what's happening, but I don't want to. I like being in the fuzz on some things, leaving my own interpretation open for value, thus, allowing me to unintentionally rip off a television show and claim the idea as my own.
The books are really piling up around my bed. I - hold on. Got the bug.
The books are piling up. I've been using some as references, others are for enjoyment, others are there to remind me that I need to read them.
I don't even like anime'.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
What I'm Doing Here: A Devin King Confessional
It's staring at me again. It's looking and wanting to jump within my eyes, shred my brain, and urinate into my skull, then throw some cereal in it, and eat. Why did I bother to get out of bed this morning? Why did I bother joining this organization?
Money was a factor. And cigarettes, they provide cigarettes. Okay, not the mystics themselves, but the little, rat toe scrapers that work for next to nothing for an organization that is not supposed to exist. Those are the ones I bum the most cigarettes from. They're so damn paranoid, making nearly minimum wage for a job where if they slip their lip about their employer, it's complete amnesia city, and they'll most likely end up as a cross-dressing act in Vegas, or if you're luckier, part of the donkey show in Mexico.
What was I thinking about? Oh yes, this thing with red eyes, wanting to use my skin as it's appetizer.
Money was a factor. And cigarettes, they provide cigarettes. Okay, not the mystics themselves, but the little, rat toe scrapers that work for next to nothing for an organization that is not supposed to exist. Those are the ones I bum the most cigarettes from. They're so damn paranoid, making nearly minimum wage for a job where if they slip their lip about their employer, it's complete amnesia city, and they'll most likely end up as a cross-dressing act in Vegas, or if you're luckier, part of the donkey show in Mexico.
What was I thinking about? Oh yes, this thing with red eyes, wanting to use my skin as it's appetizer.
Vacation Blues
I'm not used to this free-time. I could get used to this vacation deal, only because it allows me to work on the things that matter to me.
In the middle of writing a copyright page for my book, which is beginning to give me a headache. Most likely, I'll be up until 5 or 6 in the morning again.
I have been devoid of human life for the past few days; can't say I miss'em. I do want a new pet, though. The blender just hasn't been the same since the chimpanzee's curiousit got the best of it.
In the middle of writing a copyright page for my book, which is beginning to give me a headache. Most likely, I'll be up until 5 or 6 in the morning again.
I have been devoid of human life for the past few days; can't say I miss'em. I do want a new pet, though. The blender just hasn't been the same since the chimpanzee's curiousit got the best of it.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Sperm-Ops
Indeed it was a trying day for troops. They had waited three long weeks before deploying their special brand of penetration into the foreign uterus. So close they had come (heh, heh), but still, the ever vigilant obstacle of birth control stood in their way. Now, it was Black Ops' turn. 
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Buried
The day wasn’t much for rain. A few drops, but nothing that we could call soul-cleansing. The earth was still dry at the end of the day, and I wasn’t about to take the twins out to see you in that weather. Their allergies were acting up as it was in the house, taking them out could have right well sent one if not both of them to the hospital.
It just seems odd, knowing that you’re buried out there, somewhere.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Selfish
Insomnia's killing me. It's ten past five in the morning, and I need to be awake at thirty past eight.
Writing has been a chore these past few days as my ideas for the current stories do not want to churn, rather, they want to become new stories themselves.
Selfish, these children are.
*************
It wasn't warmth that kept us united. It rained every day we were there, but we wouldn't let either of us out of our sights. The animals were a delight, petting them, holding them, imagining what their insides would look like, wrapped around the Christmas tree.
How would your look like wrapped around the Christmas tree?
Beautiful, I think, and your bones in the fire place. All we need is snow for me to drape your shedded flesh over a miniature snowman.
Writing has been a chore these past few days as my ideas for the current stories do not want to churn, rather, they want to become new stories themselves.
Selfish, these children are.
*************
It wasn't warmth that kept us united. It rained every day we were there, but we wouldn't let either of us out of our sights. The animals were a delight, petting them, holding them, imagining what their insides would look like, wrapped around the Christmas tree.
How would your look like wrapped around the Christmas tree?
Beautiful, I think, and your bones in the fire place. All we need is snow for me to drape your shedded flesh over a miniature snowman.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Rachel
I don't know why, but the thought of what has officially become my first love has been tip-toeing it's way through my head, opening doors to places it's never been, hiding in closets where I keep most of my junk and uncrystallized dreams.
I met Rachel in the fifth grade, we were ten years old. She had wavey hair and that poof up front that all the girls in the eighties had, like they'd been standing on the side of the curb, and a semi-truck just came blazing right past them.
I didn't know beauty, cute, or attractive, I just knew she was special, and I was utterly drawn to her. When we reached junior high, and my generation matured a bit, my crush developed into a desire, a need, but it was one that I never acted upon; to this day I've never considered myself the most attractive person in the world, so back then, I was pretty much Quasimodo's uglier little brother.
Then, we made it to high-school, and I didn't want to call it love, but I did know she was intelligent, and by this time, I'd come to know what beauty was, and it was Rachel. She had tanned skin, not too dark, just a shade above happy sand, and her hair was dark, and typically, that's enough for me, I'm floored, but she was great to talk to, and we always had things to talk about with one another. I guess she had a boyfriend, but by that time I placed my feelings towards any type of relationship second to learning music, and experiencing life in general; wild trips, knowing drugs, booze, and yet I graduated a Texas Scholar. I don't get it.
We parted ways before graduation, our high-school split into two factions and we were now worlds apart. She was at the school where weed was the fun junk of choice, I was at the school where cocaine was served with the cafeteria cereal.
I ran into her about three years ago, and at first glance I was ten years old, and we started talking, and I was in love again. I had never known it, but I was because it was at that moment when I knew that if I had acted upon my feelings, if I'd just had one chance, then, to this day, she and I would still be together. I would have never let her go, and never given her a reason to sweep me aside.
She's married to a military guy, and has a son. I asked her if she was happy. With her current situation, yes, but in all, no. I haven't seen her since. It's probably best that I don't. I can't go back to the past other than to learn from it. I've learned from Rachel.
Meanwhile, a man's brain miraculously rewires itself after nineteen years (I love this stuff).
http://msnbc.msn.com/id/13690450/?GT1=8307
I met Rachel in the fifth grade, we were ten years old. She had wavey hair and that poof up front that all the girls in the eighties had, like they'd been standing on the side of the curb, and a semi-truck just came blazing right past them.
I didn't know beauty, cute, or attractive, I just knew she was special, and I was utterly drawn to her. When we reached junior high, and my generation matured a bit, my crush developed into a desire, a need, but it was one that I never acted upon; to this day I've never considered myself the most attractive person in the world, so back then, I was pretty much Quasimodo's uglier little brother.
Then, we made it to high-school, and I didn't want to call it love, but I did know she was intelligent, and by this time, I'd come to know what beauty was, and it was Rachel. She had tanned skin, not too dark, just a shade above happy sand, and her hair was dark, and typically, that's enough for me, I'm floored, but she was great to talk to, and we always had things to talk about with one another. I guess she had a boyfriend, but by that time I placed my feelings towards any type of relationship second to learning music, and experiencing life in general; wild trips, knowing drugs, booze, and yet I graduated a Texas Scholar. I don't get it.
We parted ways before graduation, our high-school split into two factions and we were now worlds apart. She was at the school where weed was the fun junk of choice, I was at the school where cocaine was served with the cafeteria cereal.
I ran into her about three years ago, and at first glance I was ten years old, and we started talking, and I was in love again. I had never known it, but I was because it was at that moment when I knew that if I had acted upon my feelings, if I'd just had one chance, then, to this day, she and I would still be together. I would have never let her go, and never given her a reason to sweep me aside.
She's married to a military guy, and has a son. I asked her if she was happy. With her current situation, yes, but in all, no. I haven't seen her since. It's probably best that I don't. I can't go back to the past other than to learn from it. I've learned from Rachel.
Meanwhile, a man's brain miraculously rewires itself after nineteen years (I love this stuff).
http://msnbc.msn.com/id/13690450/?GT1=8307
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