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Guys, Guys, Guys…

24 Dec

Holy

Guys, guys, guys, it’s Christmas Eve.

Go donate to a Kickstarter campaign or something, like Tell Me A Story…, that one looks promising. Or maybe, if you’re feeling holy, try the Philippine Typhoon relief projects on GoFundMe. Go help, trust me, it’ll make you feel better.

Merry Christmas Eve!

~D.

Wow

21 Dec

Cross Current

Well, it has been some time, hasn’t it? Two weeks, at least. Gosh, I can’t believe I’ve been gone this long. There’s so much I have to tell you! But I shouldn’t tell, I should show, yeah? Sorry if this isn’t filled with the cynicism you’re looking for, but I go back and forth between that and, well, this.

So, first off, it’s Christmastime, my absolute favorite time of the year. Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose, yule tide carols being sung by a choir, all that great, great, great stuff. I don’t think any will understand how much I love Christmas. initiate most of the decorating in my family, I devour cookies and milk throughout the week, I volunteer at any local holiday shows I have the time for (I played the Grinch this year for a bunch of kids; it was splendid). I have a Christmas music station on Pandora, which, from my pocketed iPhone, plays aloud while I shop for friends and family. Every time I go to Starbucks I buy that little snowman cookie, unless it’s unavailable. Then I jut harass the manager for being a moron. My favorite song of all time is a Christmas song you may have heard of (I usually like it best played on a piano). Although, it’s funny, on a strangely placed side note, the aforementioned song is actually being challenge right this second by a song I’m listening to on Pandora called The Planets. Fantastic music, but still just a challenger.

So yeah, lovin’ the winter. What else to talk about? I’m now the Editor of Sci-Fi Bloggers. Long story–which means it’s really a short story I don’t feel like telling. Needless to say I’m having a blast doing that as well. If any of you want to contribute to the site, head over there and click the “contact” button. Throw us an email (or just leave a comment here and I can talk to the people upstairs)!

What? I’m a fiction writer? Oh, here you go.

I guess that’s everything, really. I want to get back to writing Fight Club style metaphors about the world, but it’s been really tough getting around to it. Also, there’s not much more to write about Earth: it’s great, but it sucks, it’s light, but it’s darkness, it’s depressing, but it’s Christmas. Y’know? That’s pretty much the simplicity of it. Go start a business that helps people in some way and you’ll make a difference. Go die, and you won’t. Simple. Everything’s really simple, guys. To add complexity is to distort fact. Just go out, say, “I’m going to help,” and do it.

Merry Christhanawanza, folks!

~D.

C

23 Oct

I am that I tiger.

Wow. It’s crazy how far we’ve come, isn’t it? I mean, take a look.

We started with that review of that one movie with the dolls. Then, I said something I’d like to take back, and got lazy, and didn’t post for some time. After that, I came back and told a story, turned into more of a weirdo than usual. Then there was this poorly edited version of something I wrote, followed by another poorly edited version of something I wrote that is now way different, even in terms of plot, time periods, character development, dialogue, etc. So much stuff!

Man, what else did we do? Ah, that’s right! We went on a journey together, and you heard my voice and it was awkward. I wrote a bad ending, and watched an adequate show so you didn’t have to. We followed a goat, examined terrorism, false advertised, discussed knowledge, stayed up late, talked about you, got pissed about abortion, started, got pissed about each other (or I guess it was just me being a bitch or whatever), got pissed about some superhero movie, analyzed characters. Hell, we even got you to want to follow me on Twitter less than you already did! Oh, and something about 9/11, and loving you.

I think the last thing we discussed was racism, and I’ve been away a while. Don’t worry, I’m not disappearing. I just wanted to make sure I did something special for our hundredth time together. I couldn’t come up with much, honestly. Just remembering the good times with the Legendary Heroes and whatnot.

Okay, I guess that’s everything. Here’s something to read before you go to bed, or when you wake up, or whenever. Oh, and here’s a list.

Goodnight/good morning/good evening/good space/you all need to play Beyond: Two Souls.

 

~D.

C

P.S. – I think I left out something, but I feel like I shouldn’t talk about it for some reason.

 

P.P.S. – Look at this tiger.

Gifted

19 May

The truth will makes you shit the bed.

So, I was supposed to write something yesterday, and I didn’t. What am I going to do to make up for it? Nothing. Why? I don’t owe you anything. What? You think that’s rude? Oh, come on. Would you rather I lied? Would you rather I wept at your feet begging the forgiveness of you and your divine brethren in Heaven Above? Would you rather I were obedient? Would you rather I were “timely?” A wizard is never late, nor is he early. Know it like you know your name. I ALWAYS get things done when I mean to. I never meant to write anything yesterday. That’s why I didn’t promise anything. That’s the key word: promise.

I only make promises when I mean to keep them. If I plan on breaking an agreement, I don’t make promises. Quite simple, hm? Ah, but now I AM here, so you want something. Notice I haven’t ASKED that. I know you want something, it needs no inquiry. So, what shall I give you? Ah, THAT is a question that needs answering.

Lucky.

How about I re-post that chapter again, just for good measure? No, you’ll get angry. You’re always so angry. What in Satan’s name’s the deal with you, hm? Having cramps? Swallowed a lozenge? Got cheated on? Come on, say it, what’s the deal?

Okay, you won’t talk. That’s fine. I’ll just figure out something for us to do. I KNOW! Let’s go check out Reddit. What’s on there right now? Okay, this is on the front. There, now isn’t that just perfect? It’s a marine and his bomb sweeping dog. He’s been given custody of her for a week. I think that’s awesome, don’t you? You do? Cool, we agree on something. And, even if you don’t think it’s awesome, it doesn’t matter. You can’t talk. You can’t say a word. You can’t deny it, you silent oaf. You have no defense, no retaliation  You’re a spectator. You’re a viewer. You have no say here. You can throw something in the comments box, but I’m in control there, too.

Here, I am God.

Where’s he going with this? Here, take a look at this. Now, that’s a young boy who wrote that. I’ve been sending messages to him, and him to me back. We’re in good standing with each other. However, once I’m there, that place you just were, I am no longer God. But I AM God. And see, here’s where your mind splits. I am God here, and you are not. But you ARE. Because somewhere, someplace, YOU TOO are God, just like the boy. He controls the blog, he controls THAT world, THAT universe. And somewhere else, you have your own universe that YOU forge, that YOU control. And because of this, WE ARE ALL GODS. And because of this, we are all gifted.

Networked

But none of that means anything. I lied to you. You should be upset, hurt, intolerant, angry with me. Why listen? Why believe my words? Because we trusted each other? I broke that trust. You have no reason to forgive me. You have no reason to come back to me, to love me.

But you do love me, because I’m God. And I love you, because you’re God.

“I am that I am.”

—Us

Pickles and Jam

3 May

Sometimes, we just have to sit for a bit, y'know?

Okay, guys. I know I joke around a lot on here, and I know you like that (yeah, I actually read the messages and emails and all that jazz), but I’m listening to Stairway to Heaven right now and, to be honest, it’s making me look back at everything I’ve accomplished. I’m smiling, the reason being that I’ve actually created quite the impact on a few people throughout the past few years that I’ve been doing this. It makes me proud to know I’ve helped a few people, even inspired some. You know, I might go so far as to say that you guys are—naw, I’ll save that one. That one’s important.

But, I do enjoy you all, and I know y’all enjoy me and my work and shtuff. So, the first thing I’m going to do is paste the fully edited version of the first chapter of Ledge on here for you. Now, you may think I’m being lazy, but the point isn’t the chapter, it’s the second thing I’m doing, which comes after the chapter.

So, here it goes. This is for you guys, really:

———————————————————————————————————————————–

CHAPTER ONE: CLINGING

There’s darkness, and then the curtains are drawn back. Time starts. His thumb moves. Click. That’s the sound of the gun’s hammer getting pulled back.

“Still won’t talk, Mr. Adams?”

That’s Greg. He isn’t holding the gun. Mac’s holding the gun. Mac’s seven feet tall, or something.

“Hit him again, Mac.”

Whack! That’s me getting punched in the face by a left hook. The gun’s in his right hand, not aimed at anything in particular yet.

“Come on, Adams. We don’t got all day. Just tell us where your friend is and we’ll let you go.”

My friend is Michael. I won’t tell Greg anything. I think my jaw’s broken anyway. It hurts like hell.

“Adams…”

We’re in a hotel room. It’s got a nice view overlooking Lake Oslana. That wasn’t the lake’s first name, but the owner of the hotel line decided it’d be a nice one to buy. I wonder what it was called originally.

“You know how easy this is. And it’s not like we’re gonna backstab you or anything. Just let us at him!”

I wish Greg would get it over with and have my ass capped already. My favorite suit’s already ruined, and there’s no way I’m exposing Michael—no way. I really hope he doesn’t come in and try to save me or anything.

AGH! GOOD GOD!

“That’s strike one. Next we put a bullet in your other thigh. Might be hard to walk around. Start talking.”

Jesus Christ, it hurts so much! Keep it together, Eddie! Be cool! You’ll make it out of this. Just need a plan.

Greg’s looking over at the other two men in the room, Mac not being one of them. He says something to them, but I can’t hear it very well. It HURTS!

“…and if we’re not quick enough, the Doctor might wonder what’s taking so long!”

The Doctor: a psychotic crime lord, currently working with the government (strange irony there). Whack! Another punch. The Doctor REALLY wants Michael dead, huh?

“We may have to waterboard it out of this guy,” says one of the other men. I don’t know his name, just some random goon with a gun. I hope Greg doesn’t agree.

“Get the rags,” he says. Now I’m done for. I won’t be able to hold out through that stuff. I hope Michael left the country. It’s not safe here in State 9 anymore, not with all that’s been happening lately.

A lot of time passes once the third man exits to get the rags. I give Greg an indifferent look. He shoots a glare. I give Mac the same look and he just snorts and walks off, dropping the gun on a sofa chair. He talks quietly with the last man in the room (just another goon).

“Why do you care so much?” Greg asks me. I become introspective and really analyze this before I answer, and then I shrug seeing as nothing I say will prove satisfactory. If I told him how Michael saved me, how he was different from the other you-know-whats, he wouldn’t understand. He’d just say I was a nutcase who needed his head examined.

After the course of two or three minutes (it felt like a lot more to me), the rags arrive with the third man. He tosses them to Mac, who catches them with ease.

“Did you bring the bottles too?” Greg asks.

“They’re just outside sir,” the man responds. “I’ll go get ‘em.”

The chair I’m strapped to is made of wood. It is laid across the floor, me now facing the ceiling. This is going to suck.

“You could always talk now,” Greg offers. I remain silent, like a good friend should, and the rags are placed over my face. I toss my head to the left, throwing the rags off. When a hard punch hits me in the—Lord, that hurts!—face I stopped turning. The rags go over me again. I think my nose is bleeding.

One of the water bottles is opening, I can hear it. Here it comes. Mac’s tilting it right now. Get out now, Michael. Get out before they find y—CRASH!

“What the—?!”

The sound of men being tossed about the room echoes through my ears. Bullets fly from Mac’s gun, but it explodes in his hand, causing him to shout in pain. The other two goons fire but are launched into the ceiling, their necks snapping. I can hear Greg being pinned against the wall. Mac is groaning and weeping on the floor as the rags are lifted off my face.

Michael.

“Get out of here!” I tell him. He unties the ropes that bind me and helps me into a sofa chair. There’s Greg, being held against the wall by Michael’s power.

“I couldn’t just leave you,” he tells me, before looking to Greg with an expressionless face. One of the guns of the dead goons soars toward his hand. He aims it at the leader of the group, now begging for mercy.

“To harm an ally of mine is to hang oneself,” the angel says. Then a red mark appears between the eyes of Greg and blood trickles down from it until it reaches his lips. The body falls to the floor, lifeless. Michael looks back at me.

“Are you all right, Edward?”

“Yeah,” I lie, “I’m dandy. You showed up just in time. Although I still think you need to get the hell out of Dodge.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “We are getting out, not I.”

“I have to see Sally first.”

Sally’s my girlfriend. She’s—she’s beautiful. It’s a long story. I haven’t quite decided whether I’ll marry her yet. We’ve been with each other quite a while now.

“No time,” Michael tells me, causing me further worry. “Those were easy hunters. If they send Lucifer—.”

“I can’t just leave her. They’ll kill her!”

I’m standing now, but my leg hurts too much. I’m trembling as I fall back into the chair. Michael holds a hand to where the bullet is and slowly—YAGH—levitates it out of me. I’m not bleeding too badly. Okay, maybe I AM bleeding too badly. But he’s already ripping a bed sheet apart and wrapping a piece of it around the wound.

“That should stop the bleeding. Raphael will be able to heal you later.”

“Michael, I can’t leave her.”

His face, though without expression, holds weight behind it like you couldn’t imagine. His eyes waver and glow. And then, he understands.

“I will get you to safety first. The others are downstairs with a car. I’ll let them get you out of here, then I’ll get the girl.”

I’m thinking of disagreeing, thinking of telling him I have to be there when it happens. But that’d be foolish right now. I need healing, and Raphael’s always been the quickest at that.

“All right, fine. Let’s go.”

He nods. We depart. Mac looked dead last I checked.

This world has changed since the war. I can only hope that doing what I’m doing will help save it from its own self-destruction. Although, to be honest, when I look outside at the covert dystopia that has come, I can’t help but lose hope entirely.

We’re hanging on a ledge right now. I really hope Man’s fingers don’t get any more tired than they already are.

———————————————————————————————————————————–

Before I go, I want to tell you a true story about the power of art. There was once this girl sitting in a car on a city bridge. It was night, and not very many cars were passing by at the time. She was crying, weeping actually, because right then, right there, in that moment, she intended, completely and utterly, to drive over the edge of the bridge into the water below. Sweat trickled down her neck and shivers traveled up her spine. Now, this sort of thing happens all the time, and so, naturally, she could’ve just pressed down on the gas and gotten it over with. In most cases, this would’ve been so.

So then there was this nightclub. A DJ (I won’t say who, but suffice to say he’s a pretty big deal in the clubbing world—and a family friend) was playing some killer tracks, and everyone was going wild. The room was electric, truly. You could feel the life pulsating through it, like a heartbeat. Then, after the DJ’s work was done and he was turning in for the night, someone tried to reach him backstage. At first, security tried to shove the person away, but the DJ approved their passage, for they did not seem to be some crazy, drunk fan out seeking autographs or something “intimate.” His guess was right, for it was then that the person told him of the miracle that had been bestowed upon them.

They had just recently gone through some of the toughest trials life had ever thrown their way. In fact, these trials were so punishing and cruel, that the person had been driven to the point where death seemed like the only option. And then, literally seconds before the gas pedal was pressed down and a body was made soulless, a song came on the radio, a song called It’s Gonna Be Okay. It was one of the DJ’s best songs.

Art saved her life that night.

To all my fans who are artists: any time you think maybe your life would be more useful somewhere else, doing what society has told you is “productive,” remember that you’re doing something that actually saves lives. If that ain’t productive—ah, screw that, it’s productive, know it like you know your name. We need more of you out there, because even if you’re never thanked for it, know that you’re doing something badass just by being an artist.

So yeah, that’s why I put random pictures at the top of all my articles. Now, finish the night with this video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nwAYpLVyeFU

Love,

D.

Laugh.

You Never Know How A Post Is Gonna Venereal Diseases

29 Apr

The elves know Madison.

To any of my readers who have venereal diseases: too soon?

The last fictional piece I wrote for the blog that actually had a point and a purpose was rather anti-climactic. So, until I finish a few more shorts, and until I actually finish them, I’ll just be struggling to find something appealing for you guys. How’s about I give you a peak into what’s coming in the future:

STAR WARS: I’ve gotten a ton of requests to do another Star Wars piece. I’ve decided that this blog is just as much yours as it is mine and so I’ll figure something out about writing a “Top 5” or something.

SHORTS: As mentioned previously, I’m working on some short stories. I’ll be able to post them regularly on here soon. They’ll be a lot darker and moodier than my usual material, which is good because, you know, there isn’t enough dark and moody material on the market.

BASKETBALL: I just felt like writing the word; nothing here.

REVIEWS: I’ll be doing movie reviews again! Expect one for Star Trek: Into Darkness. I’m super stoked for that one, you have no idea.

SPOTLIGHTING: I’ll spotlight cool internet related things I find. It’ll give me more to do on here, more to talk with you about other than, you know, me.

I think that’s everything. All right, I’ll be seeing you guys! I’m off to not play TF2 some more (a few of you got that). BYE!

 

~D.

Well, I’ve done it…

24 Feb

So, you like to waterbend?

…I’ve now realized I can’t make one viewer jokes anymore. Know why? This is going to sound weird, but it perpetuates the idea that I only have one person reading these, and my stats have gone down since I’ve been saying it. I won’t say by how much, but it’s enough for me to take note of it. So now, I’m going to do something very strange: I’m going to act as though I have a million viewers. I noticed that that seems to work. If one acts as though they’re already successful and it’s all already done, things move right in that direction. And so now, my three billion readers, I want to talk to you.

I want to tell you how thankful I am that you’ve been following me for all these years. I want to tell you how much the trillions of emails I get from you warm my heart and make me laugh so often. Even the hate mail gives me a smile, since I get to say, “Oh, you crazy kook,” every time I read them.

I want to tell you how thankful I am for the gifts that I can’t find space for in my room. I’ve been stuffing a lot of them in my office, controversially placed in Geneva, Switzerland. I especially love the bust of Aaron Sorkin, who is, incidentally, one of my favorite writers. Thanks, Tom, for that one. Oh, and whoever anonymously sent me that map book of Middle-earth, massive props. Please comment you name below so we all know who you are.

I want to tell you how thankful I am that you and I have an honest connection, even with so many of you there. It’s good this way, it really is. I like transparency, and I like to be as personal as I can with you.

My friends, it’s a good day today. Tim Tebow’s going to the Super Bowl, the U.S. is in a surplus and we’re about to establish a colony on Mars. Please, keep reading my stuff, and I’ll keep reading your stuff, too.

~D.