Because I'm Feeling So Chipper

Here's a little bit of Hanzel und Gretyl.

SS Deathstar Supergalactik
Uploaded by novosibirsk

It's also a warmup to the piece I'm writing on Ministry, which is forcing me to weep a bit. Their next release has been declared by Mr. Jourgensen to be their final one.

Fight Democracy, Have Some Sex

Sex for the motherland: Russian youths encouraged to procreate at camp

And because there are not enough glitched humans walking around....

Scientists breed world’s first mentally ill mouse.

I can't wait. Soon I'll muddley awaken to a Desert Pocket Mouse throttling my throat with its manufactured, hyper-extended tale as it sings "Careless Whispers" by Wham.

Shoots & Letters

Today someone told me I was pejorative. So I called them an aardvark fucker and challeneged them to a game of Russian Scrabble/Roulette. Every time one makes a triple-word score, they take a mercy shot.

Naturally, me being pejorative, they declined, cried, and stole the gun and one bullett I was going to use. Maybe they were right about me being pejorative, but I was right about them being an aardvark fucker.

I Hang My Head in Shame

Let me make this clear. I despise Good Charlotte. I loathe Good Charlotte.

But damn if I'm not infatuated with this song.

The lyrics are awful, but when the chorus erupts, I can't fight the rush.

However, Namie Amuro's "Come" I will request at my funeral dance party. If I've never told you about my funeral dance party - wait. I will.

Galaxy Cocktail

Apparently you can fly a space shuttle drunk.

My question: Why the hell would you dare fly it sober? That's insane.

Stumbling Corpse

I managed two hours. Better than last night. I've always had this problem, ever since childhood.

I was doing fine, but then the sky decided to unleash a thousand furies of ideas in the form of thunder, and for some reason the portal to conception ventured through my windows.

I'm the type of person, if I sleep for ten minutes, I'm rejuvinated; as fresh as a soggy Frankenstein monster, and just as coherent. I don't know if we share the sneezing out brain matter thing. That one may just be mine.

Saving Sleep

Went for a walk in the midnight drizzle. I lay my head on the pillow - nothing happens. Sleep is something one should not wait for, yet I find it to be an endless interval, one I can never cross easily.

If I cannot sleep I go back to work. The television is my primary source for background noise (I never watch anymore). I used to write with music, but recently I have grown more accustomed to writing in silence.

Work is my first option while waiting for slumber because if all I do is lull about, waiting for that sad whisper - - When I'm awake, I think. I think alot. Awake or awaiting dreams there are two things primarily on my mind - 1) The future 2) Death.

I harbor assmesments of both in abundance. I think about the collapse of civilization, and how indubitably I was born in the wrong century. I belong in the Roman era, but I if there were any way for me to be a part of Victorian England, oh I would jump at the opportunity. Also, post-apocalyptic times; just not here - not now. But here I am, and I try to make the best of it.

Death. I have always shown an affinity towards the matter, more so in a scientific sense, but spirituality is a big part of my life, and the places I have been - graveyards at midnight, the deep mountains of Mexico, marching with the brujas and cullanderos - bewildering. But usually I dwell on my grandfather's death (soon, sadly), my mother's death (inevitable), and my own.

My grandfather is my world. He and my grandmother loved me, raised me, and were it not for them I probably would not have had much of a life at all.

There are things that I have done, instances experienced where I probably should have opened the door outside of existence, but for whatever reason, here I reside. It sustains this nagging ideal that maybe I am destined for something, even if on the outisde it appears to be the most insignificant action; be it turning on a light switch, crossing a street, or staring at a discarded candy wrapper - I am still on this planet because somewhere something is going to happen and I will be a part of it.

Everyday things happen, and I am a part of them.

When I was eighteen years old I disappeared. Neither family or friend new what had happened to me until I made that phone call, telling them everything was fine. Eventually I found my way back home, having lived enough for five lives. I don't think I will ever speak of what happened during those times, not here - I may drop a hint or two now and again - and even if I were to die tomorrow, I will know what kind of person I am or was, and if you believe in a higher power, that higher power will know what kind of being posessed this body, and what kind of spirit kept peace within the flesh.

Lately, I look around, and I am starting to ask myself those questions again. Could I give it all up for a trek through the unknown? Could I do it again?

Time will be the keeper of those tales.

Sore

Legs have been sore, going on day 3.

The book is coming along nicely, but there's not an hour that passes that I am not inclined to go back and do more rewrites. I just need to leave it alone.

The search for an agent is moving forward.

I fear awakening in the morning. Someone just take my legs away.

Pixelated Captivation

I am genuinely attracted to the red-headed woman from the Sonic commercials.

*sigh*

Her and Alex Borstein, formerly of Mad TV, now a Family Guy cast member and executive producer. Any woman that can make me laugh propels her right to the top of my list. The average male would look at me as if my eyes had been burned beyond procuration during a sixth grade science experiement, but I've never cared what the average male thinks, says, or does. I actually nothing the average male. I think Alex Borstein is downright delectable.

Jenny McCarthy and Sarah Chalke, too. I don't care for blondes at all, but these women are humorous, thus, to me, attractive. Eh - - go figure.

The Mole People Stole My Kidney

Another ancient civilization may live inside Earth's hollows.

Legends say that an entry to the underground realms was located somewhere in the
North, and legendary ancient tribes living on the planet centuries ago used the
entries to have a good shelter under the Earth's surface.
Mystics believe that the entry to the legendary Hyperborea, Shambala and Plutonia is
carefully concealed from outsiders somewhere close to the North Pole. Recently,
a reliable edition reported that UFOs coming to this planet start not
from space but burst out from huge holes under the surface in the North
Pole.

Gloomy Beach Revisited

Today today, it rained, but that was when today, yes this today, was still yesterday me time, and technically today Earth time.

Anyway - This time breakfast was fine, and I had enough time to thread a path, a path so fine because I had allowed myself the time.

The readings were great, how great, great enough to jump to writing a page, the page turned two, then more after four - four more pages - more pages made great.

Coffee was a treat, and the call was neat.
The sadly lit beach was sweet, it felt like every kind of retreat -
The kind you soak in, the kind you surrender to -
The gray side of sunshine began to deplete.

Night was inevitable. Shadows and circuses
Being ever so hospitable.
Society's taboos declare it unlivable.
These worn eyes, shattered mind, and bendable heart
Imply that high night is incredible.

Fell free to chase a tale
I will return when the taste of the conversation is stale.
Then, when tales are extinct due to chase
The pace of watery paste reinvigorates the essence of the taste.

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Eh. It is what it is. I was going to save it for later today, but I figured, it's an experiement; I'd like to believe that I can't screw up an experiment. The worst thing that could happen - I discover the written sequence that cracks through the third dimension, detonating explosions through hyper space, parenthetically dooming us all.

Or this piece could just really really suck.

Gloomy Beach and the Dying Phone

Today today, it rained, but that was when today, yes this today, was still yesterday me time, time....

I finished this elsewhere, but orignally i went off into this:

- - - and I really don't know where I'm gong after that. It sounds well enough alone, but there's more - inside there's more.

But after getting some pages done, I got a call from my bro - not biologically bro, but still forever my bro.

Bro family and me headed to the beach, there was never a sighting of the sun. The gloom in the sky thrilled me. The water was warmer, the music was louder.

Came home, showered - Bro #2, formerly #1, but still #1, and still not biologically bro, but still forever bro - PLUS - is nephew of bro #1.

Yet, they're only 3 or 4 years apart. Ah, mi familia. Mi personas. Mi raza.

Still here? Had a blast at Gloomy Beach, then bro #2 called. Went to his new apartment, had another blast with old friends, still now-friends, but also old friends. Then, wife and keeper of bro #2 came back home. Chatted with her a bit, chatted on a disintegrating phone, went elsewhere.

There was ice cream when I came home, and my cell phone is committing suicide, very slowly, very quietly.

"All Hail the New Flesh"

Scientists Invent Novel Hydrogels For Repairing And Regenerating Human Tissue

Taste of Humanity

I was kidnapped.

I went out, and enjoyed an afternoon with friends, then they dragged me - yes, dragged - I kicked, screamed; one of them needs a new liver as I'm still digging what's left of his from beneath my fingernails. But I was dragged across South Texas, and while not all bad, I lost a whole work day - not that I mind giving editors heart attacks. She's only 35, and after two months with me, the new white in her hair is settling in nicely. I think I've even gotten her to start keeping liquor in the office.

That would explain the i.v. I noticed her trying to pass off as a coat rack.

"David, high. It's a pleasure meeting you. I've read your stuff; very nice."

"Nice to meet you, Jennifer. I fucking hate editors."

Jennifer stares awkawardly.

"Don't worry. I meant to say that out loud."

"Oh god, the rumors are true?"

"I thought we were well past the rumor stage."

"The baseball bat through the window?"

Silence.

"The pregnant dog under the desk?"

Silence.

"Not the elephant urine in the truck bed?"

"Stick to punctuation and spelling, we'll be fine. Ask me to change the content, and every Christmas for the rest of your life will be forever shamed with reindeer carcasses strung up in your front lawn, execution style."

"Fake reindeer? That's extreme."

"Who said fake."

Back to work.

P.S. Seriously, Jennifer's been the best. The reindeer are happy.

Rain In Glass

Working on some things, and suddenly it starts raining. Rain is a rariity down here, and the humidity immediately turns the pleasurable earth cry, and the land in which I live, into a loathesome torture cell madeo of five foot mosquitoes, and moths that block out the moon. Sometimes I mistake them for bats.

Today it rained, and I desperately yearned to watch it, but I didn't want to stop working. That's when I looked to the wall and remembered, I have windows. The snapping, squeaking grind of the turning knob shattered my eardrums as the caked dust collapsed from the blinds. It was beautiful outside. It was dim, gloomy, and soaked. And now I know I have windows. I never have to leave this room again.

Graves in the Ocean

The sound of waves crashing reminded him of the planes collapsing back in the war. The impulse field distracted all the instruments, ceasing their function. Machines died, then, the giants fell.

The orange horizon did little to distract his memories. The great explosion was the same color, only it shifted between orange and red every three seconds. He knew it was every three seconds because that was the time interval for him to detonate the next charges. As he did so, corpses washed up to the shore. Some of them still moving, ut those were only the muscle jerks that dead things do shortly after passing. Some of the soiled themselves, others spouted small spirts of blood and sea water.

He used to love the beach, always being the first one to jump in the water, but now, all he saw was his reflection, and dead people staring up at him from the bottom, with fish nibbling on the caracasses.

Some day, he thought, some day he would get over it. But not today.

It Was Bloody

It's bloody, Lisa thought.

At what point was she supposed to breathe? When was she supposed to call on Hagin for the release?

Luckily, light cracked through the opening overhead. She breathed in relief as her shoulders threw the weight of their world off of them.

"Lisa," Hagin called.

"Hagin," she whispered.

"It's alright," his hand outstretched to lift her up. "It's over."

As she reached for her rescue, a crimson drip fell from Hagin's feet. She knew it was bloody.

Funeral With a Sledgehammer

My stereo died today. I tried to salvage it,but the needs were beyond my means.

It's probably for the best.

No, I don't have an ipod. I do have a cozey pocket-sized mp3 player, which is adequate for letting me ignore people. I barely admit to having a cell phone. Sometimes I forget it's even there. I don't want it. I don't like it. I don't like phones. I prefer not to use the word "hate" much, but yes, I hate phones.

Reading Now

Currently working through Arthur Koestler's "Darkness at Noon." It's set in the Russia, during the 1930's; a fragile time for the Soviet Union. Rubashov is a glorious figure in the eyes of the revolutioinaries. One day he is arrested, and thus begins the inner workings of the machine, and a new understanding of what Rubashov is fighting for and against.

I really needed something like this, something so focussed on the mentality of its narrator, particularly because of what I'm working on.

Also, I grew numb after reading so many books on new technology, the lives of corpses, the history of Krakatoa, the biography on the Fox sisters, and two Nikola Tesla biographies (still a hero to me, with a third biography on the way); I just needed me some good fiction. "Darkness at Noon" has provided me with that bridge between both worlds.

This book has helped me tremendously in only a few pages on how to really get a protagonist's point and ideal across. I'm hoping to devote more time to it, even got rid of my television for a while, but as the book is coming along, and my training regiment is improving daily, I may need to ease up on the work outs so I can get more done on the writing front. Only about a month left of downtime, too, so time is once again a factor. It's always a factor.

Just breathe.

I'm also treading through Neil Gaiman's "Fragile Things," another short story collection of his. I like being able to start and finish some pieces on the same day, so this one has been handy, as well as enjoyable, and Neil Gaiman has always been a treasure.

The last book I remember reading in one day was Stephen Chblosky's "Perks of Being A Wallflower;" something I hadn't accomplished since junior high, with my old Michael Moorcock pocket novels. One page was filled with such extravagantly detailed fantasy along with raw, real emotion. When teacher was scrawling on the chalkboard, I was nose deep in Hawkmoon's next adventure, or Elric's latest tragedy. Fritz Lieber was a close second, but his narration was always a bit dry for my taste.

I will miss Michael Moorcock when he leaves this world. I don't feel like thinking about it right now.

Preserved Baby Mammoth Discovered

A baby mammoth unearthed in the permafrost of north-west Siberia could be the best preserved specimen of its type, scientists have said.

Invisible Nano-Fibers

Checking in the mail. Found this interesting tidbit.

...researchers describe how they created surfaces that, seen with the eye, look as flat and transparent as a sheet of glass. But seen up close, the surfaces are actually carpeted with tiny fibers.

What's more, researchers found that the attracting surface does the same thing to coiled-up strands of DNA. When they put droplets of water containing DNA on the fibers, the strands uncoiled and hung suspended from the fibers like clotheslines.

Epstein said scientists could use the fibers as a platform to study how DNA interacts with other molecules. They could also use the spread-out DNA to build new nanostructures.

Now, to construct an army that sweats out onion scented perspiration, and unleash them upon my enemies. They will weep themselves into submission.

SCREW YOU, I'M MAKING A MANUAL !!

Babies get mad when you bite the tips off of popsicles.

I have just saved you thousands of dollars in therapist fees.

London

This was written on November 4, 2006 around half past midnight.
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London's asleep, and the skies were falling among the richest neighborhood's, among the worst, and among the lowest. Everyone shared pain that evening, and as the whistling metal plunged to the public and private, the rumble savaged workers knew it was only the beginning. They were needed.
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Yeah. Your guess is as good as mine. I don't even recall writing it.

Out of Town Stamped Only

Dear, Pen Pal

Hope things are well. Hope your government hasn't executed any in your family today. Hope you are alive to get this. I remember when you told me about the time they captured your uncle out of the toilet, suspecting him of aiding war fugitives with a tunnel. Then, they made him serve most of his sentence standing in the collection basin for the government army's latrines. How is he doing without feet, by the way?

Sometimes I feel that your limited access to the internet isn't so bad. It's not THAT great. But I'm pretty sure your loss of freedom kinda takes top priority.

The internet has done wonders for research and advertisement, and I've met some wonderful personalities, as well as a multitude of douchebags.

Bah. I fear I'm writing this letter at an ill time. The internet is not so bad, and much like alot, one's purpose defines the use.

Did they let you dig the corpses out of the ground before commanding you to plant the vegetables?

Everything here is well, though I feel this to be my Grandfather's last year alive. I'm ready for it, I've accepted it, but I really don't know what to expect until it happens. It wasn't like the last time he died. I mean, who would have thought; a busted gas vein, seeping gas through cracked earth, swirling within an air pocket, and Grampa just wanting to smoke a cigarette.

Damn, those paramedics were outstanding.

Must go, more work to do. Good luck, hope you're alive, and stay that way. Hopefully you can sneak out another letter soon. Cheers.

-David-

Shoko Tendo - A Yakuza Daughter

Doing some research on body modification, and ran across this story. I felt it was worth sharing.

Shoko Tendo is the daughter of a yakuza gangster. She's been forced into sex, and drug addiction; has had plastic surgery to cover the scars suffered from numerous beatings. By her own volition, she had her body tattooed, and now has her own life as an author.

Tendo's last speed fix came when she was 19, when her injuries from another beating in the room of a motel came close to killing her. "I kept thinking, 'I don't want to die in a place like this'. I was there for an hour and managed to drag myself home ... I knew it was time to stop," she said.

...it was her [Tendo's]decision, in her early 20s, to tattoo the top half of her body, yakuza-style, that marked the end of her emotional and physical dependence on the men of violence, and the beginning of the new life she has since made as a writer and, now, as a mother.

Psychic Tickle

Went back to one of the greatest songs ever. At one point, I actually declared it to possibly, maybe, perhaps be the greatest song ever written - that's how intense the blast was from this thing.

Temptations - Ball of Confusion.

My friends don't know what I do all day. I like it. I have my own world, but only because I've been busy lately; lately meaning 4 months. Yet, four months that have arguably been the best four months ever. But now, if I wish, I have a niece (by power of friendship) to chill with. She's the coolest thing/baby to ever come around. I will now send her a psychic tickle, a feat perfected while waiting in line at Best Buy.

The Octosquid - - it's not alone. Heed these words

Curious creature caught off Keahole Point
The animal, dubbed an "octosquid," is found off the Big Isle
By Brittany P. Yap / byap@starbulletin.com
It's a squid, it's an octopus, it's ... a mystery from the deep.

What appears to be a half-squid, half-octopus specimen found off Keahole Point on the Big Island remains unidentified today and could possibly be a new species, said local biologists.

The specimen was found caught in a filter in one of Natural Energy Laboratory of Hawaii Authority's deep-sea water pipelines last week. The pipeline, which runs 3,000 feet deep, sucks up cold, deep-sea water for the tenants of the natural energy lab.

"When we first saw it, I was really delighted because it was new and alive," said Jan War, operations manager at NELHA. "I've never seen anything like that."

The natural energy lab is a state agency that operates Hawaii Ocean Science and Technology Park in Kailua-Kona, adjacent to one of the steepest offshore slopes in the Hawaiian Islands.

According to Richard Young, an oceanography professor at the University of Hawaii at Manoa, the specimen tentatively belongs to the genus Mastigoteuthis, but the species is undetermined.

War, who termed the specimen "octosquid" for the way it looked, said it was about a foot long, with white suction cups, eight tentacles and an octopus head with a squidlike mantle.

The octosquid was pulled to the surface, along with three rattail fish and half a dozen satellite jellyfish, and stayed alive for three days. According to War, the lab usually checks its filters once a month, but this time, it put a plankton net in one of the filters and checked it two weeks later.

The pitch-black conditions at 3,000 feet below sea level are unfamiliar to most but riveting to scientists who have had the opportunity to submerge. The sea floor is full of loose sediment, big boulders and rocks, and a lot of mucuslike things floating in the water, which are usually specimens that died at the surface and drifted to the bottom.

"It's quite fascinating," War said. "When you get below 700 feet, it's a totally different world. Lots of fish have heads like a fish and a body like an eel. There are fish floating in a vertical position, with the head up, and don't move unless they're disturbed."

Christopher Kelley, program biologist for the Hawaii Undersea Research Laboratory, went to the natural energy lab Tuesday to pick up the preserved octosquid, rattail fish and jellyfish, which had been stored in a freezer, and brought them back to UH-Manoa's oceanography department.

"It's a beautiful squid. It's a gorgeous ruby red color," Kelley said. "We really enjoy these little mysteries that come up."

Also during Kelley's visit to NELHA yesterday, he and War talked about a more formal sampling program to search for other deep-sea critters. War said their goal is to sample the intake screen more often and capture animals alive and study them in captivity.

"This opens up a whole new area of research that UH can be involved with," War said.

In October, NELHA will be checking its deep-sea pipelines, something that usually happens every eight to 10 years, because it is worried that something might have happened to them during the earthquakes in October.

"If it's a new species, (NELHA) would like to name it," War said. "But that is sort of the honor of whoever classifies it."

At Death's Door.

I've just realised that I have lived across the street from 3 different funeral homes. Now those are some quiet neighbors; a polite bunch at that.

Head Hurts

I have the largest headache right now. My sleeping patterns are quite irregular now, and I don't like the idea of wasting the whole day, or night. Every time I think about working on the book the pain increases. I'm still going to try only because I'm running out of time, and I'm a sucker for anguish.

Peter Sellers Makes Me Happy

I just finished watching Being There, with Peter Sellers. A lovely, quiet film which I had not seen since I was little. I was a big Peter Sellers fan growing up, still am, and I first watched this on in my double digit years. I wasn't as aware of life as I am now, so naturally, I enjoyed it on a much different level now.

What strikes me as odd - allow me to point out, I haven't done drugs in years, not even swallowed an aspirin - point being, for reasons beyond my comprehension, after completing, well, really while watching this movie, I had the sudden urge to roll a fat joint, smoke it, and watch this thing all over again. It's just a soothing delightful piece of work.

I miss Peter Sellers.