Monday, December 31, 2007

2007 DMN Texan of the Year: The Illegal Immigrant

COURTNEY PERRY / DMN
We can't seem to live with him and his family, and if we can live without him, nobody's figured out how. He's the Illegal Immigrant, and he's the 2007 Dallas Morning News Texan of the Year – for better or for worse. We can't seem to live with him and his family, and if we can live without him, nobody's figured out how.

....."One week I'm a traitor, the next week I'm a patriot," laments Mr. Gears.

Honesty Can Hurt, But It Always Helps. So Fuck You. There. I Helped You.

What do you like to do, she asks,
With people?
Nothing,
I tell her.
Where are you from?,
Stirring her drink, and seeing her world
Swirling in it.
Here,
I say.
Oh c'mon, she's sparked.
I know who you are, I know you have more to say.
I blushed with a grin,
But, you don't know me,
I enforced. You know your idea of me.
But I am human. Aghast,
Only human.
What do you like to talk about?
She tried
Again.
Nothing.
With no one, if that is what you meant.
She was shocked, stunned, but intrigued.
She was curious -
What did I really mean?
We then talked,
And we walked and talked,
And then we laughed, sometimes we kissed,
And then we laughed.
Then we kissed alot more.
And then we laughed.
And laughed.

Mr. Heevil

The blue blur of the Florida bound bus distracted Mr. Heevil. He had been making out contorted patterns among the frosted windows. Watching the giant vehicular transport specialist zip by recalled to Mr. Heevil the day or game against Trenton when the hockey puc slapped him across the face, ricocheting off his panic-swung stick, and passed the goalie. Remembering that day gave Mr. Heevil the chuckles every time.

Sunday, December 30, 2007

People Losing Privacy

"The general trend is that privacy is being extinguished in country after country," said Simon Davies, director of Privacy International. "Even those countries where we expected ongoing strong privacy protection, like Germany and Canada, are sinking into the mire."

...concern about terrorism, immigration and border security was driving the spread of identity and fingerprinting systems, often without regard to individual privacy.

Wake Up Juice

Still trying to wake up. Not in the get-out-of-bed-way, but in the brain-needs-to-function-way. I'm trying to do that with some light typing, which comes in handy once in a while. Even now, I'm testing out my speed. I've been practicing lately just in case I become a lonely, single, coffe-making, dry cleaning seceretary somewhere some day.

My fingers are too bulky for answering phones.

Knightriders



Man - this one is a twister on the judgement factor. The concept seems outrageous, even by today's standards. Maybe being set in the future would have numbed the first look shock of it all.

BUT DAMN IF IT ISN'T FUN.

This could have been a joke under anyone's direction other than Romero's. It became something unique, but not without some of the campiness blasting through, but good performances from Ed Harris and Tom Savini, with some great surprises, including Stephen King and Romero's regular, "I'm Joe Grizzly, bitch" Ken Foree, now, seemingly, a Zombie regular.

The characters are allowed to grow, though some are more annoying than others, particularly Julie, played by Patricia Tillman. She thought every police siren and every alarm was because of her for whatever lazy reason.

Ed Harris took this role so seriously, as much as any other performance I've seen him in. Somehow, it all made sense in this film. Especially today with pro-wrestling, mixed martial arts, and now American Gladiators is returning (but I seriously doubt for very long).

This movie also represented well the kind of people attracted to this lifestyle, the ones that can't settle down in society's norm, because they know it isn't the norm, that the world is not supposed to be full of all of this hate and despair. People like that usually wind up willingly homeless, or a carny; living the lifestyle, at least.

Hustlers or jugglers, they're both out to sell something.

Saturday, December 29, 2007

Harmony of the Phoenix

What am I searching for?
Beyond this evolving door
The songs I have learned to play
Cut the air, and along the way
They go, spreading the sweetest thing
That anyone could recall hearing.
The composer rejected fault,
Claiming the sound was never meant for all those ears
That would take years upon the sound to descend,
Bringing curiosity to a halt.

Did not the world care for a new day
Of new ideas, when mankind once again
Had someting interesting to begin,
That would lead to new things to say?

In the distance,
Deep underground,
There lived a new race of sound;
A new species of resonance
Waiting to unleash itself upon a droll, monotonous world,
Not that this new harmony would go untouched as it unfurlled;
Truly some changes would come,
A new revolution,
The kind that would require the sounds of the sun.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Osama Claus at Parachute Blue

Late December, 2007

Houston, Texas was the last place I ever expected to find the long bearded, featured festival character of Osama Claus. Cloaked in an ominous black, clouded by heartily loved cigarette smoke and bad drunken breath, he cut a path through the steadily crowding bar, nesting in a corner, unloading his endlessly provisioned, white-trimmed, black sack of debauchery. The taste of the second hand smoke enthralled the holiday terroriser to an delightful degree, Osama Claus prouced a single cigarette and lighter from the darkness that was the morbid veil of his self, though by human's sight it appeared as a faded black sweater and livlier black cargo pants, with boots to match. His salt and pepper beard swayed down past his chest, and while his facial features were full and covered, not even the dry profile hair could hide the angry look, malicious look eternally branded on to Osama Claus' face. The face that told a story, that sent a message; Osama Claus wanted the world dead.

In the hazey distance, the flashy and jubilant nymphs, aptly named the Happy Elves, crowded the entrance welcoming surprised newcomers and beloved regulars of the Parachute Blue. Its reputation was mixed, but legendary, and often times intimidating, but one supposes that ass-less chaps would do that to a few sheltered individuals.

Farmer Happy Elf unleashed a smile when an intoxicated and excited Preppy Asian Happy Elf showed up. Preppy Asian Happy Elf had generously helped himself to the egg nog, this particular batch made by Simple Bill, the bartender and co-owner of The Parachute Blue. The potent beverage exceeded all expectations, including being so dangerous to keep close by; it had to be kept in the basement of the bar. One flick of burning ash even near the direction of the egg nog, snow and ash would intertwine making for a conflicted Christmas and a gray New Year. Simple Bill's working partner, the sharper tounged Vicious Larry, ruthlessly dubbed the potentialy lethal holiday concoction "Dread Nog."

Preppy Asian Happy Elf continued his hugging feast, cheefully throttling any and all that neared him loudly greeting them with a "Welcome!" He went on, enthusiastically threatening any that refused to show cheer by kicking them with his four-hundred dollar elfen boots.

"I kick-uh you with my four-hundred dollah boots. Come here - why you no lemme kick-uh you?"

Osama Claus watched, calculating hundreds of thousands of ways to rid the Parachute Blue of its thril and merriment. His only projected obstacle would be that Preppy Asian Happy Elf.

Osama Claus waited.

Patrick Stewart and I Have Much In Common

Friday, December 21, 2007

Traveling

Heading to Houston. I'm clueless as what to expect other than cold weather. I'm already smiling.

I'm avoiding family this year, but unlike previous holidays, I'm not cowering in the kitchen corner shielded by a flipped table and armed with a pan and cleaver.

I need a new book. I've been circulating two short story collections (Dying for Tomorrow, Fragile Things) and an omnibus (Sherlok Holmes). It's been a delight, but now I have an exigency for a single literary constant.

I may have to take chance with this next one.

Tickle My Nucleus

This week - alot of death this week.
Students, teachers, and fathers dying.

I wish I could fabricate this,
but it is real.
And I'm used to it. I have no problems with death.
I know when I die,
I'll die for good, I'll die for sure;
My death will be pure.

I love Christmas. The Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack is perfection. Music seems livliest during Christmas time.

But Christmas has been disoriented this last half-decade, so this year I will escape north. The weather is so blasted unpredictable; the humidity (as I've often griped about) screws everything up all year long.

The fog before half past eight was a dastardly discomfort. I mean I like fog, but not when I just wanna get home before bedtime to a piece of chicken. Damn, man.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Restless Planet

A new $1-billion theme park in Dubai – featuring over 100 animatronic dinosaurs of 40 different species – promises to take you closer to a prehistoric world than you've ever been before.

The Tyrannosaurus rex follows you with watchful hungry eyes, but unlike his likeness in the Jurassic Park film, this robot – found at the world's most impressive dinosaur theme park – is unlikely to snap you up for dinner.



These things shall rebel, eventually conquering Earth to dominate it once again, but the kicker, they shall reproduce, and later on down the line, the species shall become agresal cyborgs.

Evolution will cycle itself, only robotics will be a native component of every species.

It will rape you, is what I'm getting at. And then eat you - - you see.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Sleep with the Sun

There is no sleep like morning sleep. Night sleep is boring. Morning sleep, the mixture of the dreary and the sparkling energy that comes with a newly birthed day.

Dreams at night are better detailed visually. I'll give'em that. The ones in the morning are clouded. The mixing of dreary and sparkling energy, the foundation of a new found day, disturb several connections.

One might think they could train their bodies to adapt to the circumstances, but it never happens. But awakening, refreshed and sun soaked; that is a pleasure reserved for the idle and the opportunistic; the sacrificial and the fortunate.

Liquid Eyes

I saw my body floating there. I was oblivious to everything, confused. As if I had lost my connection to everything in the world. Another dropped call, another lost number, and the shuffling continues.

I was still breathing, but that didn't occur to me until a good thirty minutes in. I was immersed in the vision, it moved organically. It took me through time. It let me see things, but not telling me who or what.

What I had seen was not at all what I expected, but the best thing was the absence of humans, but I didn't see any animal life either.

And there it was. I had seen the Earth reclaim dominance.

I couldn't stop laughing.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Dream Date

Were we together last night? Did we take a walk along the bridge; moonlight gliding us past the iron and blood,the purpose and the pressure. The city could protect as easily as it could harm. That was what I used to think about serial killers.

Did I hold your hand? I would hope that I did, with the fog blanketing our affection, secluding it momentarily from the world, leaving that moment spiritually, universally, and forever ours - our own. Time does not own it. The Earth does not own it. We own it.

Just keep looking ahead. Ignore the dog urinating in the sunken eye sockets of its dead master's corpse.

Industrial Oasis

I never wanted to rest on the island. I loved it so much, I never wanted to tire of it, thus I would never visit. The city suited me well. It wasn't loud, not where I chose to settle. I explored every asset and corner, and around some corners stood the blind guy that would be celebrating his birthday.

Everyday ended up being his birthday.

Highrise

What is it with being scared? These days, every time the wind shifts someone's brains rattle until liquified.

I hope for alot of changes, most of them would get me banned from quite the amount of countries. And I still wouldn't give a shit what most others think. It's a curse at times, but I just don't.

But to those that I do,....be greatful. I could have used the exact same words to shred your mind.

Yeah, I care about you too. Do I really have to say it? Every time?

Shit. There's banging on the door. Grandson's got the shotgun. I'm down to Brianna, my sweet knife. Nin, my grandaughter; she's aiming low with that tommy gun cross bow.

I love being old.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Double Barrel on Homosexuality

It pleases me to know that I live in a world where a woman can naturally become aroused when watching another woman masturbate. If I had to thank a gawd I would.

Because it just can't be done with a penis. I've checked before. Nuh-uh. No way. Whatever gay men see in it, they are welcome to it.

But sometimes head is head, and kinda like drugs, sometimes the good shit is just hard to find.

And I can't fuckin believe I feel obligated to do this, thank you, you sensitive bitches, but I have nothing against homesexuals be they male, female, pre-op/post-op male/female because some people probably skipped around on this one.

All are welcome to make porn and post it on the internet. Variety is a wonderful courtesy.

Sunday, December 09, 2007

The Birthday Massacre - Blue

They've just been getting better and better with each album.



I remember when goth had guts and was willing to fight for their ideals. Now, goth kids are soiled diapered whiners. The Birthday Massacre has finally brought some glory back to the darkness.

Saturday, December 08, 2007

Innuendo Mocha

Alone, seated, with warm coffee growing cooler with every ticking away of time. Marshall once left his finger in a cup of coffee from the time he poored to the time it cooled. He wanted to know how long it took a cup of coffee to cool in Connecticut. Maybe it was different from Texas.

Surrounded he was by a young man's dream. A quaint and sometimes too cold coffee shop, and surrounding him were women. Ladies of all sorts, and maybe some of them didn't deserve to be called ladies, but his grandparents had taught him better. He liked meeting the people he would eventually loathe first.

But back to the women, he didn't need this. He really didn't. His physique didn't match his age. He enjoyed exercising, and the workouts had been kind to him, except maybe that evening.

Sitting alone, next a dulling cup of coffee, reading from a book who's auther's name was printed in bulky, bright red letters - Moorcock.

It sounds exactly the way it's spelled.

Happy Fries

People forget that other people have problems, some more cruel than others, some more playful while scarring less.

But it is when we have problems that we forget others have none. We see them smiling, sparkling in a shiny life when deep down they're just as miserable as we are.

Misery is reality. Happiness is indeed something we create.

Friday, December 07, 2007

When the Bomb Drops

When the bombs drop
There will be no pain.
Ashes will kiss the wind,
Earth will cease to rain.
The axe will resume control,
The superficial will be in disarray.
I will be smiling.
I will be waiting.
When the bomb drops.

Sunday, December 02, 2007

Running Bunny

Damn you, bunny. I don't want shards of your skull embedded between my tire's treads, but I'll take it if I have to.

Sci-Fi's Humping of the Corpse That is the Wizard of Oz

The Tin Man

I had some interest until I saw the extended preview. It feels, to me, like Sci-Fi's attempt at getting a franchise going, though I have neither read or heard anything of the kind. It's just a feeling I got conducted by my beliefs in the whoredoom that is Hollywood.

Read the originals. I know - read - AAAAHH!!

Saturday, December 01, 2007

Spreading Misery In Every Direction

I needed her to be there for me. She was. Always.

Stupid stupid beautiful girl.

The blood on my clothes made her think, but I've somehow made her believe that I am worth keeping around. I have known no boundaries with this odd lovely lady. But here I am, needing her again. Using her again.

She has no idea, but when this whole thing is over, I'm leaving.

I hate it. I do. I hate it. She's the sweetest woman in the world, and I have been mighty fortunate to find a woman that could keep a body like hers. I've slept, spanked, and had the sex that makes people lose weight with what some would consider worse. I called them different, and much lovlier and rich because of it.

But she was only my access to the outside world. My looking glass. I couldn't be seen out in the world, not after death and malicious coincidence were involved.

I had done this kind of thing nearly a dozen times in a dozen ways. She settled in with the rare few that I felt guilty about using. I've always hoped she'd find better.