Monday, October 31, 2011

Halloween



Tonight, this night,
The night of gruesome delight;
On a day when the sun makes short its earthly stay,
Blazing a trail for the moon and its milky way.
On this night
Darkness is the new light,
Returning fun to all wicked frights
As there is sweetness behind and within
 Every gnawed piece of flesh and candy bight.
Some shall don masks,
Others will shed skin,
Both revealing a truth to the underworld;
This is who we are within.
Thus, on this night,
The ultimate night,
We trade secrets.
We exchange identities to create a night of infamy.
From celebrating the festival of Sam Hain
To surviving religious disdain,
On this night of nights
Might the moon be bright;
However, take heed,
Beware the unseen
For tonight the familiar and the strange
Are one and the same
On this night of nights,
This night called Halloween.

Monday, October 24, 2011

Sweatshop - Movie Review



Sweatshop brings to us the tale of some independent entrepreneurs swaying in the rave business. They break into an abandoned factory to set up for their promoted event and during that time their personal secrets begin driving them apart and right into the hands and really big frickin' hammer of the factory's unregistered occupants.

Sweatshop is a story that you know how it is going to end and you don't care because there is too much fun going on. The characters are not the smartest bunch in the world, but because they're so young and naive you can't help but feel sorry for a few of them when they finally meet The Beast and his two ghoulish assistants. The movie is really an introductory piece for these three anyway, and I am personally so glad to have met them.

The movie is brought to us by Stacy Davidson who co-wrote it with Ted Geoghean, both having worked in only a handful of other movies but could be on their way to making a significant imprint ont he genre very soon. Davidson is a visual effects specialist and it shows because all the mutilation and kills scenes in Sweatshop are special. I'm not the type of person to rely on gore alone to sell me a horror film, I do care about the quality of the story, but there is always an exception to the rule and Sweatshop is a damn fine exception. There are several outstanding splatter moments in this film and it left me wanting more.

Sweatshop is a jolly good gorey time. I can't get enough of it right now. And I want that big frickin' hammer.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Nailgun Salutations



The more I venture out into the swampy marsh of the public mass the more I realize – to hell with Disneyland – home is the greatest place on Earth. Disneyland completely blows, by the way. It’s hot, boring, humid; a dainty, sparkly black hole filled with only bright colors and loud noises hoping to brainwash your senses into believing that entertainment is disturbingly large creatures wanting to be photographed with you before they usher you to the exit, handing you a single-bullet revolver so you may use it on yourself once you get home because there is no place more fun than Disneyland. It’s a good thing they hand the guns out outside the exit gates, otherwise it would be a full blown, foam-stuffed massacre every weekend.
Today’s new discovery in the evolution of basic social contact is that apparently the phrase, “Well, take care,” and others resembling its context of farewell no longer means farewell. Now, it is a segue used by people with the most uninteresting things to say to continue saying uninteresting things. Long gone are the days when the complementary “Take care” and generally complacent “See you later” took the place of the somewhat depressingly ultimate “Goodbye.” Fortunately, “Goodbye” has maintained its unmistakable context – Good god, I am so glad to be finished talking to this prick.
One more new social ritual has begun irking my ire – holding deep conversations in a door’s threshold. People needing to enter and exit at a steady pace are forced to either hold fort until the two brainless talking ass-scratching posts are finished with their talk of the weekends sales at the outlet malls and about their children whom really either parent could care less about the other person’s child.
If it was a rare occasion I wouldn’t mind so much, but three times in one day, six times in a week this happened. The good thing is that after the last one, everyone that needs to know is now informed to get the hell out of the way if they see me coming, especially since I will be holding a nail gun. If they like talking between doors so much, they can hang there and talk all day long. At least they won’t be blocking the path any longer.  

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Declining Ascension

Climbing the clouds by stepping on the wind,
Kicking windows while the rush of the flight makes it difficult
To breathe in.
So I turn my back to the ocean blue skyline
Only to see the same picture leaving me
Further and further behind.
I turn again,
It is a glistening blue;
A sparkling surface with a definitive end.
The mirror shatters, then my bones.
Ascension anew, now I begin,
Abandoning the obliterated wreckage
Seen as a sin.
Emptied flesh mixing blood and shards,
The likes of a blooming flower is what I see,
Looking from on high and afar.
Tis a shame no one else can view this painting
Regardless if it is morbid.
I left something beautiful behind,
Even though no one would ever know it.


Monday, October 10, 2011

Berserk - Partial Movie Review & Partial Wet Dream Rejection


Fell asleep during the second act of a horror double feature. I barely stayed awake through the cinematic abomination She Freak, and I don’t mean the creatures were abominations; it was truly an awful, awful movie. Yet, I was most looking forward to the second offering – Berserk, with Joan Crawford.
The movie was billed as a horror, though it was more of a suspense/mystery; and to take it one step further it may even be an accidental American giallo. The story centers on a callous, money-driven travelling circus ringmaster – Monica Rivers - portrayed by the wickedly endearing Joan Crawford.
Slumping profits are forcing Monica to make difficult choices over which acts to keep and which others to let go, but soon grisly accidents begin taking the lives of her performers which sends ticket sales rising, making Monica very happy, but there is still a mystery to be solved. Who is killing her performers?
The movie was filmed brightly, showing off the brilliant bright colors of the circus atmosphere and outfits, much like the tone of a giallo film, and you have the unknown killer roaming the circus grounds murdering victims in sadistic ways. For movie savants there is a special treat as the film also features the late Michael Gough as Albert Durando, Monica’s ex-lover. Michael Gough is most likely best known for portraying Alfred Pennyworth in Tim Burton’s and Joel Schumacher’s four collective Batman films.
From what I did see, the movie as a whole was well done, unfortunately the lazy plot and even lazier writing was its undoing. I dosed off but I wasn’t done seeing Joan Crawford just yet.
In my dream I was experiencing a romantic evening with a red-haired mystery woman, but the body and movements were undoubtedly influenced by Joan Crawford, and my assumption would soon be assured.
After cleaning up downstairs I entered the bedroom. My lover looked to be drifting to sleep as her face was turned away from my sight. I lifted the covers and nestled into bed next to her. I leaned over and planted a row of kisses starting at her shoulder and down her arm. Quickly, she turned around and slapped my face; I swore it was like a two-by-four had snapped against my temple. Her enraged eyes doused her fury all over me and all I could do was cowardly turn away and hope I could sleep without the fear of being stabbed in the back. Even when I awoke, I was turned on my side and I could feel the warmth of her body on my back, but as I turned around, there was only the unoccupied half of my bed.
I got rejected in my own wet dream!
Definitely my kind of woman, though.

Friday, October 07, 2011

A Spoiler-Heavy Rant about Zombieland

...so, spoiler alert for all overly-uptight uptight movie quacks.

I’ve never felt the same thrill out of the movie Zombieland that the majority of the general movie-loving population did, or even the basic liking that most horror enthusiasts welcomed.

Granted, it’s not a terrible film, far from it really – in fact most of it is enjoyable if you are willing to accept the fact that despite a cross country zombie epidemic, human beings are still the dumbest creatures on planet Earth, and I will not accept the excuse “I need to shut my brain off to enjoy it,” because the basic practical error executed within betrays not only basic intelligence and common sense, a constipated chimpanzee wouldn’t be dumb enough to do what a couple of these characters did.
The ultimate stupidity, unfortunately, lies with the two young ladies, Wichita and Little Rock, whom throughout the majority of the movie seem to be the smartest of the travelling quartet. Tallahassee is a truly likeable badass thanks to Woody Harrelson, while Columbus could’ve been played by any of the current popular film geeks who all seem to share the basic DNA of Michael Cera who this time was portrayed by Jesse Eisenberg. Switch them out in the middle of the flick, I couldn’t tell the difference and couldn’t give a mouse’s pubes if he ever made it to Ohio.
During the rising action setting up the climax, the four decide to split into pairs going their separate ways. In the middle of the movie, Wichita and Little Rock express their manifest destiny of settling at an amusement park, which already through me off for reasons I hope would be obvious to most reasonable individuals because remember, they are still trying to avoid contact with zombies.
 They arrive at that amusement park, partially armed with sufficient weaponry for battling a handful of the undead, and what do they do? In order to be at peace and zombie-free they choose to power up the entire amusement park – ALL of the lights, ALL of the rides – and partake in the typical fun one looks for at an amusement park. However, it never seemed to occur to these brilliant females that the loud noises and bright lights MIGHT…just MIGHT…attract, oh, I don’t know, perhaps a zombie or two, because it does. In fact, it attracts what I imagine to be every zombie within a two mile radius – several dozen to be specific. The zombies invade the park – who knew they were fans of rollercoasters and cotton candy, I thought they preferred human flesh?
Fucking idiots!
I’m willing to bow down, occasionally, to the humorous whims of reality-defying Hollywood – I still enjoy Armageddon from time to time, and when dealing with horror movies on a regular basis it’s almost instinct, but igniting the largest flashing beacon for all mobile, flesh-eating creatures to see and beckon to is just too ridiculous even for me, and I liked the movie Strange Wilderness.
Fucking idiots!

Monday, October 03, 2011

Honesty Gets You a Smile to Your Face and a Bullseye on Your Back



Sometimes I wonder if I’m trying to be creative or if I just let things fall into place. It’s a bit of both, I’m sure. Either way I wind up frustrated, wanting to chug my body weight in whiskey intent on snorting, smoking, and sticking every drug within phone’s reach into my body because part of being creative is weeding out all the crap – and there is tons of it - and this newfound sobriety kick isn't very difficult, but bottom line - sobriety blows - but I'm stuck with it, like it or not.  
People look to the news for ideas – I’ve never been partial to the news.  No one ever tells the whole truth, but that’s good because it leaves perceptions open to all types of interpretation, which in turn I hope would lead to interesting writing, but more often than not it leads to more frustration.  Even now I’m working on a story that has no ending. I’m breaking one of my core stipulations – never begin a story until you have an ending. It doesn’t mean that’s the ending you’ll write too, it just means that there is some kind of destination to be reached. The most thrilling part about writing is the journey – the characters – the language – it all consumes the writer; the story tells the writer where to go.
I try not to follow politics because it pains me to believe that anyone with a slim chance of making the United States a better country will ever get elected and do just that – make the United States a better country, not just for their rich, tycoon, scrotum-licking business associates, but for most people in general. And if they do try make the U.S. a better place they'll only be mysteriously killed for their troubles, but to make it a better place, everyone has to take a hit as well as a receive an upgrade. Someone always has to take the shitty hand, but instead of dumping it on the middle and lower classes, of which there are none – you’re either top class or bottom class, there is no middle – much like spreading the wealth around, you have to spread the shit around. Everyone is going to have to eat a slice. They don’t have to like it, just accept it and be thankful for the more fortunate parts of the deal.
But that’s not America anymore. People used to believe that the American Dream was being successful by making a living out of good ideas and hard work; now, it’s all about good ideas and how to make millions of dollars by pissing gasoline on the workers that earned the entrepreneur a chance in hell and thanking them by puking fire all over their hours of pressured perseverance.   
I’m not telling you anything any other established writer hasn’t said in the last three centuries. The only difference is I’m not established, but unlike established writers I have my mechanics down. My grammar and common knowledge of basic spelling and research saves me from an editor’s grace because, quite frankly, the American lawyers hired today by major law firms wouldn’t know how to use a semi-colon if a Singapore-born disease eroded half of their own ass. I listened to a federal judge call in to a highly regarded law firm on speaker phone to a room full of top dollar earning lawyers and verbally trounce all of their written statements over the lack of knowledge over the basics of grammar and wordsmith. It was hilarious and sad – bittersweet – I’m twice the writer any of them are, but I struggle to crack the fiber glass ceiling of acknowledgement, which I can say is fine by me. I don’t have to play by anyone’s rules. I am literary chaos, I am brutal honesty. I am the person you won’t read or listen to because I speak the truth, and because it’s not on Twitter or Facebook, you’re de-evolving brain and its diluting capacity for informatory intake can’t handle what I’m saying, and no internet petition or blog will change the world. It could light the spark for change, but a spark is all it will be.
Eventually, force will be necessary, cell phones will have to be used for more than slingshotting disgruntled birds across a screen, or taking pictures with the same friends you've known for ten years at the same damn bar you've been frequenting for the exact same amount of time, but when that time comes, most of us are already doomed because the majority of us do not think for ourselves anymore. We always believe what the loudest person in the room is saying even though the context is sparkle covered gibberish, but since they’re loud and have a YouTube account with over three-thousand hits they must be right, right?
I know I still have to spell it out for most of you, but at this point I’m better off putting a bullet through my head, or six through yours – unlike literature, math has never been my strongest subject.

Saturday, October 01, 2011

Delicious Pizza and some Mini-Reviews


Not just five minutes ago did I bight into a deliciously prepped, thoroughly baked meat-lovers stuffed pizza from one of the local pizzerias in town. Being from deep southern Texas, people don’t think we have pizza to compete or compare with Chicago or New York, and while those two are globally known as the dual Mecca of North American pizza – and they are incredible – my whole body quivered and I may have experienced a tiny death of the French expression.
And for those of you that don’t understand what I’m saying, I may have had an orgasm, and if you were any more ignorant I would’ve projected the fluids directly into your face for being so lame.
With that, I’ve been catching up on music and movies as of late, and while I rarely write full reviews anymore I do like sharing my opinion, or rather beating my opinion through your ear drum with my keyboard.
On the music end of things, the new Anthrax album – Worship Music is an absolute blast. It is Joey Belladonna’s first album with the group since departing in the early 90’s, replaced by John Bush. The music is a fine mix of both old and modern Anthrax, and you can tell that the band was able to broaden their writing skills by writing in higher keys to appease Belladonna’s voice. Originally, they lowered them in order to make it work for John Bush. I have been a lifelong Anthrax fan and by now after so many singers, guitarists, sounds; I thought I might have tossed them to the wayside, but the nucleus of their sound and energy is still alive and well with Scott Ian, Charlie Benante, and Frank Bello. They are still great.
Scooped up Foster the People’s debut – Torches – they are picking up where Gregg Alexander left off with The New Radicals but adding another layer of retro sauciness that does them well. I just fear that anyone listening to this band and others such as Fitz and the Tantrums will think that these sounds are fresh when they are truly not. Nothing has been fresh since the mid-70s.
The Other are a blend of punk and hard rock, the likes of post-Danzig Misfits. Actually, they sound exactly like post-Danzig Misfits, but that’s no reason to discard them right away. They do well for what they are.
I’ve taken a great liking to Arsonists Get All the Girls. They mix black metal with new wave and their attitude is all punk.  I’m really enjoying this band. Powerwolf is another power metal group that seems to owe their sound to Iron Maiden, much like Iced Earth, but they too are good for what they are.
Finally, Switchfoot has put out yet another new album – Vice Verses. Ever since they released New Way to Be Human back in 1999 each album has either surpassed or has been as equally good, most of them have blown that album away; and Vice Verses is no different. It is a great album and their songwriting skills continue to obviously mature.
On the movie front – I recently watched and reviewed Bereavement from Steven Mena; decent story with typical plot holes and intense kills.
I got to see Stakeland the other night: a movie about an older man and his young sidekick trekking across a post-vampire-epidemic America. Money is useless; the only credit is bartering or vampire teeth. The creators did a good job of transforming their locations and the overall mood into a destitute living with only the characters reliance on one another providing hope. Good for a character study rather than a typical horror venture.
The Killer Elite was a good, if dry espionage thriller. There was something off-tier about seeing Jason Statham and Robert De Niro acting together, but considering neither of them veers far from a basic on-screen persona, it worked out well enough. This Statham is The Bank Job, Snatch Jason Statham; the one that puts some effort into the acting part. I’m hoping to one day see a larger portion of the Jason Statham that had a minor role in London. That guy had hair and was still intense. Although, the entire time I was watching The Killer Elite, even though it is based on a true story, i couldn't help but think that we have Jason Statham and Clive Owen, just bring in Gerard Bartler and Sean Bean - we could have an extended British version of The Expendables.
My favorite film this week though has to be Drive. It is flashback to a 1980’s Italian gangster film, from the pop-heavy 80s-style soundtrack to the flashy, vibrant cinematography and bright pink lettering on the credits, right down to the unapologetic brutality and nerve-flinching gore. Ryan Gosling once again makes you fall in love with his fragile psyche; Ron Perlman and Bryan Cranston yet again prove that they have always belonged in the upper echelon of great actors as they go stride for stride with Albert Brooks. Nicholas Winding Refn did an outstanding directorial job.
Back to work I go….