an exercise.

recently i've been reading stephen king's, on writing: a memoir of the craft. it is quite good, and i am nearly finished. in it, there is a section where mr. king provides a scene, and even a bit of a sampled back story, asking his readers to write a few pages. the focus is to write from the situation, to dig up the actual occurrence rather than force the story out of a tired old plot. the plot, he assures us, will come across if we've done our job well enough.

the situation he sets up is this: a man (dick) and a woman (jane) fall in love, get married and have a child (nell). through out the years, dick's jealously and anger seem to grow exponentially, until finally there is an incident and dick is locked up. the scene he asks his readers to write, is one day, years later, when jane learns that dick has successfully escaped captivity, and that he is in the area (heck, probably in the house). feeling this to be a bit too overdone, mr. king suggests at the last moment, to flip the protagonist and antagonist. make it jane who becomes violent or insane, and dick who is left to raise their daughter.

after his 2010 re-issue on on writing, mr. king encouraged his audience of aspiring writers to submit them to his website, however the sites moderator now states they are not accepting these submissions any longer. she suggests finding like minded people on the message boards and sharing with each other, but that means signing up for something else online, and truthfully, i've never much cared for message boards. but skimming over some entries, i noticed that a few fellow writers had decided to put their version the short story on their blogs... what a novel idea! and so, i submit to you, my (non)readers:

Dick and Jane (and Nell)

[First Draft]

A large, dark cloud looms in the horizon, as Dick leaves the construction site. He thinks, only a couple hours before that hits, perhaps he will make hot chocolate for Nell and him. They could curl up in a blanket and watch a movie – Disney, if Nell gets her way. Dick places his toolbox on the passenger side then jumps into his old pick-up truck, and starts the long drive home.

Tomorrow will be Nell’s birthday. Her gift is under the truck’s lone bench-seat, wrapped, but hidden to ensure she would not try to peak the contents. Nell’s favorite book, a rare edition of collected Winnie the Pooh stories, had been lost in the fire. Dick searched, placed bids on e-Bay and stopped in every bookstore he came across, until finally he obtained a copy the week previous. He thought about giving it to her tonight. Maybe he could read to her, instead of watching movies. Dick worried she would soon consider herself too old to be read to.

An annoying radio commercial cuts off a perfectly good song and Dick begins to scan different stations, all of which seem to be airing their own annoying commercials or music he has no interest for. Tuning past a distorted signal, he barely hears the words: Breaking News. He pauses to hear more. Through scratchy cracks he manages to decipher part of the following statement, multiple escapees from a women’s asylum. Were it not for his ribcage, he was sure his heart would have leaped from his chest. He fiddles with the tuning knob, gripped by fear, hoping to clear the signal.

Five patients escaped Fairview Women’s Psychiatric Hospital, a few hours ago, three had been caught and police had a fourth surrounded inside a gas station. Dick hardly had to think about it, certain that if there had been an escape – from that asylum – he not only knew the instigator, but also who the remaining fugitive was. It is her daughter’s birthday tomorrow, so it would make perfect sense. Psychotically perfect sense.

The shiny wrapping paper on Nell’s gift catches Dick’s eye, and he presses the gas-pedal to the floor. Naomi, the babysitter, would have brought Nell home from school by now. They would be watching bad television and eating ice cream, or cookie dough. Dick retrieves his cell phone from the dashboard compartment and tries to phone home; no answer. He tries Naomi’s cell phone; again, no answer. He drops the phone only for a moment, before picking it from the seat and calling any neighbor he has a number for. Finally Mrs. Harris, an elderly widow, answers.

“Hello?” She says with a soft, slow voice.

“Hello, Mrs. Harris? This is Dick, from across the street,” he says. Adding, “Nell’s father.”

“Yes, yes I know who you are,” she replies.

There’s a moment of dead-air before Dick continues, “Mrs. Harris, I need to ask a favor. Could you please go to my house, and if anyone comes to the door, ask them to call me?”

“Can’t you just call them yourself?” Mrs. Harris asks.

“I tried, but no one is answering,” Dick answers.

“Well then, I guess no one is there,” Mrs. Harris offers.

He lets out a hefty sigh, “Please, Mrs. Harris this is important. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t. I tried the other neighbors, but you’re the only one who answered.”

“Lucky me,” she says. “Alright, I’ll go check. What if no one is there?”

“Please call me back,” Dick says.

After dictating his number several times, Dick ends their call and places his phone on the seat. He had never been a religious man, but for just the second time, Dick finds himself praying for his daughter’s well-being. He curses his truck for being old and slow, and then he curses himself for not buying a new one. He could afford it, and now his guilt and frugality may cost him everything.

Dick is fifteen minutes from home when he begins sweating. It has been nearly twenty minutes since his conversation with Mrs. Harris. He continues to alternate calls, between home, Naomi and Mrs. Harris; no one is answering. Though not breaking any records, Dick is clearly speeding and hoping he might draw the attention of a police car. Never around when you actually need one, he thinks. Failing officer assistance, Dick decides to prepare by arming himself, retrieving his club hammer and a chisel from his toolbox, placing them next to his phone, as he turns left on to his street. Almost there, he thinks.

The house is dark as Dick’s truck comes to a halt in front of it. He leaps out, tools in-hand. Approaching the entrance, he can feel all the hairs on his body stand on end. The door is closed, but unlocked. He pushes it open, letting it swing in. He begins to call out names, “Nell? Naomi? Mrs. Harris?” But hears no reply, not a sound at all. He enters the house clenching his makeshift weapons, his eyes darting from left to right. “Goddamn it, is anyone here?” Just then, he notices a small trickle of blood, streaking halfway down the door at the end of the hall – his bedroom door.

Dick finds himself overwhelmed by a memory. It is the last time Nell’s mother, Jane, had been under the same roof as them – the night of the fire. He recalls lying in bed and waking from the smell of gasoline, before recognizing the roar of flames at his back and the heat they produced.  A blazing line, stretching end to end, engulfed the far side of the bed – Jane’s side. His wife was missing, however. Dick remembers the other line of gas, a narrow puddle on the hardwood, peeking from under the door and leading to the hallway. Seconds later it too is in flames, and Dick hears Nell screaming. The line of fire in the hallway runs from their room to Nell’s, stopping in front of her closed door. Dick kicks it in.

Creeping closer to his blood-streaked door, Dick is thankful the smell of gasoline is not present, but terrified by the silence. Placing his left hand to the doorknob, he glances at the long scar near his thumb. She had nearly cut if off last time. When he opens the door, Dick is thrust into sheer panic. While there are no flames – and it’s his room, not Nell’s – the scene before him is uncannily similar to the gruesome and devastating sight, five years previous.

Dick’s mind triggers unfocused flashbacks, which intersperse with his shaky vision of reality. He sees Mrs. Harris’s lifeless body, a pool of blood soaking into the carpet near her neck and chest, but he also sees his mother, lying in a similar state, out of her bed in front of Nell’s crib. Then he turns to see Jane. She has a large kitchen knife and a hostage, just as before, but this time the knife is held to Naomi. He sees them standing on the far side of his bed, and he sees Jane holding Nell behind her crib. He struggles to focus.

“Jesus,” Dick says. “Not again.”

“Hello, Richard,” Jane says. “Surprised to see me?”

“Jesus Christ, Jane! You’re goddamn psychotic!” He screams.

“No shit, Dick,” she replies. “Now, I know this little bitch can’t be the whore you ran off with, so where is she? Or did you trade up again? Get a younger, newer model? Huh? Is this little cunt even legal, Dick?”

“Where is Nell, Jane?” Dick asks.

Jane sways like a drunk, taking Naomi with her every movement. The knife blade lay flat across Naomi’s chest.

“I don’t know, Dick! Where is she? I was going to ask you that very question, Dick, where is she? Where is your goddamn little princess? Get her in here! Bring her to mommy.”

Dick looks at the trembling babysitter and her eyes tell him that Nell is safe. “I’m not going to do that, Jane,” he says. “Why don’t you let Naomi go?”

“Naomi, is it? That’s the name of your little whore? That’s a terrible name! You have a terrible name. It’s I moan, backwards.”

“Alright Jane, that’s enough! Naomi is the babysitter, she’s not a whore and I’m not with her. I was never with anyone, besides you. You were the goddamn love of my life, Jane! You were so beautiful, and so intelligent. So very talented,” Dick says, tears starting to form. “But you went bat-shit crazy, and you clearly will never get better.”

Jane tosses Naomi aside, slicing her arm at the shoulder, then she charges Dick, knife extended above her head and screaming. With flawless timing, Dick steps from the doorway and trips Jane, who goes sprawling into the hallway. He drops on to her spine with a knee, and then brings the club hammer down on the back of her head. Jane goes limp as the blood quickly begins to pool. Dick vomits a little.

It’s over, he thinks. It is over.

occupy this space.

i have been fairly reserved as of yet, about the occupy movement sweeping north america. those doing the occupying would say "the world", but what happens off this continent is - please excuse the turn of phrase - a whole different ball game. there is almost no comparing the two, and to do so, is to reach a little too far. anyway, i have remained relatively quiet on the subject because 1) i have several close friends who have bonded quite strongly with the movement, and 2) up to this point, playing - sorry, another turn of phrase - a devil's advocate against said movement, has seemed a little like pissing into the wind - damn it, i can't stop! (for the few who don't know yet, pissing into the wind is a bad thing... really, no good will come of it.)

the rally cry is "99% vs. 1%" and (i suppose) that is accurate enough. however, spoken by a group of people who almost seem to preach the gospel of individuality, this is a confounding statement, yet somehow not unfamiliar. as has been illustrated many (many) times over in history, this call for revolution assumes that the 99% is not itself, divided by variations in the populous. in other words, not everyone is going to want the same thing, nor are tactics and requests going to be unanimously agreed upon. not when the fight is for the individual, and therein lies the painful, obvious truth of the matter. now, i will toss around some simple generalizations, but - if you're actually reading this, for one - supposing you really want to get into the details of these observations, then just leave a message (you can do so anonymously).

my first observation was that the ninety-nine v. one not only defines rich vs. poor, but, within the 99% itself, informed vs. ignorant, relatively speaking of course (disclaimer: i am NOT inferring that 99% of the 99% are definitively ignorant). this just means that of those gathering/rallying only 1% truly have a message, and an idea of not only what the real issues are, but possible solutions or, at the very least, compromises that could be made. and this illuminates the underlying inspiration, and nature of not only this movement, but its past influences; those recent and historical. though it has worn many masks, its name (also interpreted age appropriately) has been the same for centuries: anarchy.

this is the first dictionary submission: a state of disorder due to absence or nonrecognition of authority. that simple. this basic principle can be adapted to nearly every call for individualism since the beginning of civilization. but even that is so incredibly contradictory, that the very notion of anarchism becomes instantly skewed by human perspective. we invented civilization, having evolved from the wilderness and the terrors our primitive ancestors faced, almost instantly installing a chain of command, or selection of respected leaders... only to conceive of an ideal (which was only possible because of civilization) that would, in modern terms, return us to a more primitive state.

it is this contradiction that causes the mind to reject (for a plethora of reasons throughout history) severe similarities in our myriad movements, even those which seem to be juxtaposed. from occupiers to hippies, back through emancipators, all the way to the birth of the hebrew (disclaimer: i am NOT implying ANY sense of negativity regarding any of these movements). what they all have in common, is a revolt against their current authorities, which has always been fueled by drawing out that primal instinct known as the individual, in enough of the population that a rebellion can take place. but, and this is where the 1% of the 99% come into play, there is always some rebels who recognize the unbelievable opportunity before them... and they gently convince the masses to accept a "new" form of leadership, because the individual does not allow for a collective direction, this is the exact opposite of what it is.

so, am i just going to run my mouth and not offer any ideas of my own? i am, after all, one of the ninety-nine, though the only place i'm occupying is the single rocking chair in the middle of my living room. i will not leave you totally empty handed, but i should warn of a possible vagueness to my opinion. we cannot (and will not) dismantle a system, and our current system has reached its global milestone; there is no going back... not without a great deal of unwarranted violence, at least. yet, it's understandable that the individual is also, for all intents and purposes, impossible to dismiss or deny. therefore, the species will, quite literally, have to adopt the simultaneous dual perspective of individual and (global) collective. this may be somewhat unrealistic, but in theory the best way to achieve real results is forming a unified mass of those willing to truly be involved in finding the most beneficial directions, inspired by the individual and influenced by the collective. in other words, be a part of the system, an equal piece of the direction. if the world speaks in corporations, make a people's corporation. be accountable to each other, and don't hold expectations for only yourself or put it all on the next guy. do both. with regards to my neighbours to the south in the u.s. of a. you could - again, in theory - form a "corporation" so massive that you could replace your entire government. but nothing is going to change, without change in a collective direction. don't just occupy, specify and direct the real needs of yourself in relation to your species.

i'll leave you with the first image (or series of moving images) that came to mind when i first began typing this, almost two hours ago. it is the final scene in a favourite film of mine, from my youth. enjoy! (oh, and i didn't hide any links in this post... it took me long enough to write it ;)

for you.

if you're reading this (and you know who you are), as the title says, this is for you. first of all, i miss you terribly, but you already know that. maybe you don't believe it, but you should. maybe i shouldn't have left, but maybe i had to... just for now, just to level and reconnect myself. but like everything i've thought, done, and hoped for since we met, it's all because of you. i want to come back to you when you'll have me, and when i deserve to feel your unbelievably beautiful presence all around me again. i need you... to love, to laugh, to live. i want to have a family with you, to grow old with you, to share every up and down with you.

you're the most wonderful, amazing, kindhearted and gorgeous woman i have ever met, and if you let me, i will devote the rest of my life to cherishing your delightful essence, and caressing your fabulous presence. i love you with every fiber of my being, every ounce of my heart, and every synapse of my mind. you are, and always will be my absolute favourite.

love n' kisses.

hiatus & the home.

nearly a year has gone by. where does this fleshy vessel, spiked with cognizance and piqued by the same, find itself? why, back on the very ground it was indeed conceived, birthed and reared, not so many years ago. it has been almost a decade since i last called this place home, and while much has changed, more has stayed the same. such is this cyclical method of life, i suppose...

 what have i been doing with myself since the last post? i was in love. madly, deeply in love. and with an amazing older woman. now, you're probably thinking, as i would, that if i were truly in love would i not have written? is that not what writers, especially great writers do? yes, yes it is. i was writing, just not here. i apologize if anyone was actually looking forward to my ramblings... but i think i know who you are, and if you want a rant you can just call me. so, what was i writing? a comedic novel about time travel, mostly, but dabbled in some screenwriting as well. my first minor accomplishment, one that i feel a strong personal sense of pride for, was a complete twenty-two minute episode of south park, which i wrote within a week, honoring matt stone & trey parker's actual regimen. perhaps i will share it on here, somehow.

but what about the love? it came about quite surprisingly, and took me longer to accept it's full power than i hoped. my uncertainty and timid approach left the level of my commitment seemingly indifferent, and my passion felt tepid to the one i love. you can probably see where this is going... i was so worried my emotions and romanticism were too immature to justify her love for me, that i overcompensated and shutdown almost completely. of course once i realized this, i went into a knee-jerk reaction and only made things worse. i became consumed by my faults, which in turn heightened my compulsion to nitpick other people's faults. this has happened before, though this time felt much worse. whether this was because of the incredibly beautiful woman, or the opportunity for inspiring personal evolution, i cannot say for certain... though i' going to go out on a limb, and say it was probably both and more. the possibilities presented by such a wonderful relationship were almost unbelievable, which in hindsight is a hell of a lot less gut-wrenching than said relationship and it's possibilities being unattainable. the more you know... my word, she was beautiful. inside and out.

and now i am home, alone except for a furry, four-legged little monster who follows me around the apartment like a remora. not that i don't love it. i sit in a lone, old rocking chair that the monster has inflicted significant damage upon, it's left arm has come loose and basically needs to be held in place. flanked by two completely different end tables, one holding the very computer with which i type, and the other various smoking paraphernalia, remotes and dual beverage containers. the only areas of the suite i have totally moved into feature my entertainment (tv, dvds, cds, et al), my grooming and hygiene (toiletries, shower accessories, et al), and my resting chamber (bed, clothing, et al). my kitchenware is a mess, and i have no other furniture to speak of, thus most of the floor is occupied by boxes for storage, or laundry i have amassed for weeks (since leaving my sorely missed, in-suite machines). i have reverted to total bachelorhood with relative ease, and this unsettles me slightly.

next comes formal employment, starting tomorrow at a low paying, low level day job, one i have worked several times previous. i hope to find something more compensating, if not stimulating. i see bingo callers make decent coin, for what i would assume is quite a simple task. i had hoped to apprentice as a medical marijuana grower, but that seems to have fallen through. perhaps i was too articulate in my application. the trouble is, all of this feels inconsequential without the love and it's possibilities, though for certain i am not the first to experience such remorse. we live on... or we try at least. even still, i recognize (with sincere concern) that i am no longer running, and i am beginning to realize (with great fear) that soon i may reach a point where i am unable to crawl. this is the time, so the cult classic adage goes, that i am to find someone to carry me, as i would for them... but (as feared) i can see no one who might graciously, and with my utmost gratitude, assume such a role. this, sadly, is what i have truly accomplished over the past three years of my life, but if i am to keep going i must fully accept the burden of carrying myself for many years to come. no taking turns, no rotation, no cycle. just me and whatever progress i can muster. evolvement as a singularity... precisely the concept i hope to diffuse (or perhaps dilute) within the mass stream of consciousness. how hypocritical and poignant, yet perfectly fitting.

so this is where i am. on an island. on a rock. they say no man is either, and i desperately hope they're right. the quaint family surrounding keeps me in something of a formation, like an archipelago. i must direct my drift with purpose and meaning, or i shall be lost to the sea. some thing's change, but most just stays the same... perhaps that's not cyclical, perhaps that's just growth. and growth, not change, is what's really important, in most cases. change is chaotic, and should only be utilized when necessary. growth is progress, education, and understanding. alright self, time to grow.