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 |  I write, therefore I am |
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I write, therefore I am. I am nothing special; just a common man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten. But in one respect I have succeeded as gloriously as anyone who's ever lived: I've loved another with all my heart and soul; and to me, this has always been enough. PLUGS:
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| I feel a little nervous and a little pressured. I looked into the domain name, popcultureasylum.com and it is available. I've found a host for the website. Now I have to do the html and create the site. I need to decide on how I want to go about things. I'm thinking that I will focus on comic books and card games first and slowly branch out into other arena's of pop culture. I would love to eventually become a full service site for all news and reviews of movies, books, tv, music and all that jazz. I think I will start small and build bigger. I've already heard from Marvel Comics, Image Comics and a few smaller comic companies. I have been added to their press packets. Meaning I will get emails with information of upcoming events and comics before everyone else. I will also be sent advance issues for upcoming stories to review. It's happening kind of fast and I am surprised to hear back so fast from two of the big three comic companies, and positively at that. Well as they say I've taken the first step and I can't back out now. Wish me luck, I think I'm gonna need it. lol. Quote; You can't sit around waiting your whole life, for your life to happen. You have to go out and live it. --Unknown |
| Well the job is still going good, except for the bad sunburn I got from working outside all of Friday. The sun came out at 8 am. and stayed out the entire day. Most of my arm has already started to brown (thank you Native American blood, lol). I have decided to embark on a most excellent adventure. I am taking my love of all things pop culture; movies, books, tv, music, comics, and games and creating a website. I am waiting on return emails from most of the comic companies about receiving review materials. Next I will work on advance "screenings" for books, movies, and music. I have wanted to do it for a long time and I figured, you know for once in my life instead of talking about doing something I am going to do it. I have lined up a group of people to write articles for the site on games, and comics. Since I see almost every movie that comes out, lol, I should be able to handle movie reviews. I am working with a friend of mine who sells card game singles about running a store for them through the website. I'm talking with another friend who owns the best comic shop in the area about selling comics through the site. Mainly linking to his website to sell supplies and subscriptions. A massive undertaking. I just need to buckle down and do it. Who knows I could be the next AintItCoolNews.com. Maybe. Hey, it could happen. Pieces everyone. |
| I've been meaning to get in here more and make my way back into BLOGville, but eleven hour work days are taking all my time. Six days a week, are taking all my time. That is supposed to end this week, going to forty hour work weeks. Here's hoping. The job started off as temporary, seasonal as they say, but it has bloomed into a full time position. Hard work pays off and all that jazz. I was informed earlier in the week that I would be kept on along with a friend of mine, who's job I got for him. Looks like it's a case of last in, last out for once. I've been having the itch to write once again, I just don't know what I want to focus on. I also have over a thousand movie posters to go through and sell on ebay. A friend of mine worked at a Blockbuster in Vegas for ten years from the late 80's to the mid 90's. I've gone through some of the posters, but I haven't even made a dent in them yet. A lot of nice posters though. Well I think that is enough of an update for now. See you all on the flip side. |
| Isn't that how the saying goes? They always say to write what you know. Then again, they say a lot of things. Don't they? Anyway a friend of mine is starting up an online magazine with another friend dealing with gaming; video, cards, board, and Roleplaying. He asked me to write a fantasy story to go along with the magazine. Kind of a serialized story that could be posted with every "issue". I thought it over and almost told him that I didn't like the idea. I'm not much for fantasy, then I started thinking. What if I made the band of hero's in the story based on us and our groupd of friends. That way it would be something fun for me to write. And I know my friends, so in making them the characters I would be writing what I know, somewhat. lol. Anyway here is what I have so far. I'm not sure about it, but anywho:::::: The town is mostly deserted, except for the occasional travelers. There are a few locals and they can almost all be fond in the Inn on the farthest outskirts of settlement. The Inn carries with it a stench of manure, sweat, rotten fruits, and stale beer. It is the perfect place for meetings that are to be kept quiet. Especially clandestine meetings. The townfolk have no love lost for the Sherriff and they keep their noses to themselves. Who can say for sure how many place of assassination and robbery has been planned in this building. In the far corner, back to the wall, there sits a white haired, bearded gentlemen. He is eating a plate of sausage and boiled potatoes. He is making a great show of picking away pieces of rotten potato with his fork. "Have they arrived yet?" he asks quietly as he brings a piece of sausage up to his mouth. A small pointed blade stabs down from above him snatching away the piece of meat. As if nothing happened, the old man forked another piece of sausage. "You should be hearing them any minute." a voice whispered down from above him in the shadows. "Hearing?" At just that moment a voice called loudly from outside of the Inn. "Come on guys, not again." The doors to the Inn burst open and two tall gentlemen come stumbling inside throwing punches at each other. The shorter of the two men had the sides of his head shorn close, but the middle was a few inches longer and slicked back on his head. The taller of the two men was rather stout and wore his hair long, just past his shoulder and it fell in his eyes. The first table the bumped into was knocked aside, but the second was not so luck and it collapsed under their weight. Still they continued to tussle about as they made their way back to their feet. A deep laughter filled the room and in the doorway their stood a stocky dwarf who was adjusting his helm, and resting his axe against the wall. Behind him a robust man was shaking his close shaved head. "You don't have to join them you know?" The dwarf did not even spare his friend a glance as he smiled, spit in his hands, rubbed them together and charged into the fighting men. "Just once, I wish it didn't have to be this way." he says as he picks up the dwarf's axe and walks toward his friends. The old man bit into a small piece of potato as he watched the men tussle about. "I guess that would be them then?" "That would be. You can still change your mind, you know?" "It's too late for that." The old man cleared his throat and spoke in a booming voice. "That will be enough!" ::::::::So, what do youse guys think so far? I have no idea where I am going with this. lol. This is what has come to me so far. There is still one friend who hasn't been introduced yet. The story will involve him, the two guys fighting, the dwarf, the guy who picked up the axe, and the guy in the shadows. |
| Well once again I return from computer hell. Hopefully everything is fixed and ready to roll now. The computer is almost five years old, so what can I expect. lol. Anyway thanks to Nada for the Three Month Upgrade, it rocks and is mucho appreciated. So I have found a job and it is at least ten hours a day, five days a week with at least four hours, sometimes eight on Saturdays. I feel like I am on the end of a vicious cycle, back once more in the produce sheds of my youth. Standing for what seems like endless hours in one spot. Being lied to about when we are getting off work. I feel like a teenager again, except for the aches and pains. Even still it is nice to be working again. Recently I had a dream about the Lady Dee. For the frequent visitors to ye olde blog, you know how much this seems to happen. My life almost seems to be defined by her appearances in my dreams. Anyway, this time it was different. Over the last few month my hair has grown rather long, at least three inches down my back. I look like a wildman, lol. My mother of course hates it. Anyway I have drifted off track, as I seem to do from time to time. So I dreamt of her again last night. I was talking to her brother, their was a strong wind blowing through my hair, pushing it out behind me. He told me that Dee had been asking about me and wanted to see me. I told him that I didn't want to see her. He smiled and walked away. In spite of the strong wind I could feel her fingers running through the back of my hair and I could feel her lips pressed against my ear. She said, "I'm not fond of long hair, but as long as you are connected to it, I can learn to like it." I wanted to turn and face her, but I didn't. I had a breakthrough, an epiphany if you will. I don't need her anymore. She was a crutch for my psyche. It seems that with every struggle in my like she appears in my dreams as if she and the past she represents can make the present go away. I don't need her anymore. I said as much and pulled away from her. As her fingers slipped through my hair I waited for the pain to reach my heart. It never did. With each step away from her I felt stronger. I never turned to say goodbye. Then I woke up. Now all I can hope for is this breakthrough to last. I hope it will. Quote; Some people say forgive and forget. Nah, I don't know. I say forget about forgiving and just accept. Debi Newberry - Minnie Driver (Grosse Point Blank) |
| Well fine folks I have five days left on my upgrade, or whatever it's called. I don't have the money to pay for another three months. I wish I did, but I don't. I've been out looked for a job to no avail. I don't know when I will be back, but hopefully it will be soon. To everyone who has been passing along the kind words, I hope to pass this way again. It's been hard for me to come here and spend time, knowing that very soon I would be forced to leave. Good Luck Everyone. Maybe we will pass this couch again. Larry |
| My mother’s brothers were all men of their own minds, but they all have similarities. They all smoke even though their parents died from emphysema before they reached their fiftieth birthday. They still smoke even after one of them passed away from Cancer before he reached his fiftieth birthday. They are similar, yet so very different. My half-Uncle Wayne would pass for the modern day cliche American Indian. He dressed in gaudy rings of silver and turquoise. He wore a flat brimmed cowboy hat with a thick beaded band of various colors. He wore a necklace that looked like bone, filled with beadwork and turquoise. My Grandfather was half Indian and his first wife was full Indian. Wayne took it upon himself to reach out to his people and he spent most of his life as a preacher on a reservation in the Dakotas, until he retired a few years ago and passed away a few months back. The oldest full brother is Raymond. He idolized Elvis and liked to where his hair like the King. Dyed, slicked back into a schoolboy. Somewhere along the way he picked up the gift of gab, not in a bad way mind you, but he could talk for hours gripping you with his stories and jokes. He used to do magic tricks until the wee hours of the morning. He has been married twice to women who share names with his sisters. He has three kids from each marriage The next was Ricky who was a policeman and a drinker. He was always broke and borrowing money from my mother. He was loved by everyone it seemed right up until the cancer took his life. I remember the drive behind the hearse on the way to his funeral, cars were pulled off the side of the roads with their headlights on and in some cases the people were out of their cars, heads bowed until we passed by. We stopped having family reunions after his passing, they just became gatherings of the sisters. The brothers wouldn’t come anymore with Ricky not there. My Uncle Robert was the biggest influence on my reading. When I was ten or eleven he gave me four books and I read them, sometimes with his help. Dracula, Frankenstein, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mister Hyde, and the Portrait of Dorian Gray. He used to set up tape recorders late at night to tape the horror movies off of Dr. Madblood. Then we would sit in his room and listen to the tapes played back, filled with background noises from the house late at night. Scratchy and crackling, but we listened, eyes shut, door closed. He also gave me a few books that I loved until the fell apart. The Movies of Boris Karloff, The Movies of Bela Lugosi, The Films of Peter Lore, Vincent Price, Lon Chaney, and Lon Chaney Jr. I guess I got my love of movies from him as well. My Uncle James gave me my Imagination. He is just ten years older than I am. When I was young playing with my Matchbox and Lego’s he would come over and help me set up little towns and we would play for hours. Every Christmas he would be at the door early and we would play with all my new toys. Growing up there weren’t many toys for my mother’s family. So I guess James lived vicariously through me. After my Uncle Ricky’s funeral we got into an argument about him smoking. Of course he didn’t quit. My Dad has one brother Billy. He is what my mom calls the world’s sweetest man. Tall and lean, he spent most of his life working on the water. He is nothing like my father at all. I never saw much of him as I grew older. When my parents seperated it was like my Dad’s side of the family drifted away, which was weird considering I spent a few years with my dad afterward. I wonder was that because I was spending most of my time drunk and depressed? |
So I was trying to sleep and this story intro would not stay out of my head. It's different then most of what I write, being in first person. So if any of youse would like to take a gander at it and let me know what you think of the beginning. Is it too over done, storyline wise?
I'll be back tomorrow with more family history. |
| My Parents were young lovers. They met when they were young and grew up near each other. My father dropped out of High School in the Eighth Grade, but my mother graduated. The dated while my mother was in school and they married two years later. They married in October and I was born the March after. I have often wondered if they married because I was on my way into the big bad world, but I have never asked. I doubt that I ever will. From the pictures I have seen of my father he was mister cool. Hair slicked back, jeans with the cuffs rolled up, white t-shirt, and a Coke in his hand. He looked almost like the cliche Greaser. I know that he spent sometime in Florida working with my mother’s brother Raymond. The pretty much lived as migrant workers going from grove to grove, field to field looking for work. My mother’s side of the family claim that I am splitting image of my father. I guess that except for him only being 5' 7" and me being 6' 3" perhaps I can see it. My father believed in tough love, I guess you could say. He never told me that I did a good job. When I began writing he told me I should focus on getting a real job instead. Yet, he would brag about my writing to the guys he worked with. Even then he loved sports, football and baseball mainly. He played catcher for years on softball teams. He even coached a few Little League teams, where he was despised for his winning ways. His teams were always the best, at least in our little neck of the woods. He forced me to play baseball, even going so far as to try and get me to switch from left hand to right hand. I grew to despise baseball, even to this day I am no great fan. My mother was the next to the next oldest of ten children, and the oldest girl. She was beautiful and even into her thirties when she would pick me up at school everyone thought that she was my sister not my mother. It made me kind of uncomfortable. She always went to great pains to take care of me when I was young. My father covered the bills of the house and her money was used for groceries and taking care of me. She used to put money away in a Christmas fund and every years my Christmas was filled with more toys than I could imagine. I won’t lie and say that I wasn’t spoiled, I was. It didn’t last very long, but for a time I was. My parents separated for the first time when I was around nine, maybe younger. He got an apartment some ways away from us and I would see him on weekends. My mom kept the house. When they got back together things changed, and not for the better. My mom began going out drinking with friends every Friday and Saturday sometimes even during the week. I guess it could be said that she was sowing her wild oats. During one of these outings she met Lee and nothing would ever be the same again. So up until that point I had been happy. After that I barely remember a time when I was, up until and including now. Was she at fault for it all? Maybe, but who can say. I don’t think young love it meant to be. It leads to pain and heartbreak for everyone involved. I didn’t see that then, or even a short year ago, but I see it now. In a breakup everyone suffers, some worse than others, but everyone suffers. No matter how the break up occurs there will be moments when a certain smell, or feeling will bring back the love from the past and you will look on them fondly. Whether you are the leavor or the leavee. Everyone gets a little pain. I have excepted that now and I have forgiven the ones who shattered my heart. In the end I wish them nothing but the best. |
| When I was little my father’s father was already old and retired. I don’t know what he used to do, but considering the job situations, it could have only been a handful of different jobs. He had lost his pointing finger on his left hand in a car accident. His hand was on the driver’s side mirror when it was struck by a passing car. He always told me stories about the little green trolls that lived under the stairway. He claimed that one of them bit it off when he was too slow feeding them one night. I always remember my Grandfather as a junk man. He used to go to the landfill and find things to repair and sell. Old bikes, TV’s, tables. Whatever he thought looked in reasonably good condition that he thought he could fix he brought home. He was always tinkering. Every Sunday morning we would go visit him and share breakfast with him. He always ate fried potatoes and onions with something called Hake fish. Considering that is was a fish originally from Ireland. It makes me wonder if maybe there isn’t a little bit of Irish blood in the family. Adding that to the mutt I am. Let’s see, so that it German, Native American, and possible Irish. Hmm, interesting. Lol. He was a wonderful man who looked like my father plus twenty or so years. He always had root beer in the refrigerator in glass bottles. He always called it Sarperilly. He smoked and the house always seemed to have a yellow tinge to everything. As the years passed on I saw less and less of him, until I needed something. Which seems to be the way things go as you get older. I used to stop by to have something on my bike fixed; flat tires, broken chains. He always had bike parts. I only went by when I needed something, yet when I went by I would stay there for hours just talking to him. Just sitting on the front porch and talking. I don’t remember the stories he told, or who he told them about. I just remember listening to his voice. He passed away almost ten years now. He was sick a lot near the end and I never took time out of busy schedule to visit him while he was in the hospital. Then the night I was called and told that he had passed away, it was too late. It bothered me that I never went to see him before he passed. Sometimes I wonder what he must have thought of me for not coming. Was I forgiven? OR was I just written off for not coming? I’ll never know. My mother’s father passed away when I was six, just a few short months after my Grandmother passed away. They both died from emphysema. The only thing is I remember my Grandmother being sick before she left. But I don’t remember my Grandfather being sick. The family always claimed that the official cause of death, was wrong. He died of a broken heart not cancer. He was a short man, always dressed in his white chefs uniform. His hair was always black and slickened back on his head. He always had a cup of coffee near at hand and a Camel filterless near his mouth. He used to keep an old metal tin, that Sucrets came in, it was always in one of his pockets. Whenever he finished a cigarette, he would open the tin and deposit the left over tobacco in it. When he was out of cigarettes he would roll his own from the left over tobacco. He was in the Navy as a cook. I wonder sometimes how he met my Grandmother, but they left me way to early to ever find out. After the Navy he became a chef. He used to always make things in the kitchen from scratch and no one was allowed in there while he was cooking. No secrets were given to how he made things. No one was allowed in, but me. I used to watch as he made pancakes from scratch, candy from orange peelings. Everyday when he came home from work he would bring me a little brown bag filled with candy. He would hold me in his lap and search through the bag with me to see what goodies were in there as if he was seeing them for the first time. I don’t remember him being sick, I just remember him being gone. I remember the fight between my uncle’s leading up to the funeral. I remember my over dramatic Aunt Bonnie crying near hysterical at the funeral. I remember it was raining and I was wondering why everyone was crying. When the gunfire went off from the twenty one gun salute provided by the Veteran’s Association, I cried then and I cried later. I cried until I fell asleep. When I awakened I cried some more. I loved that old man, more than I realized even now. I dream of him and my Grandmother from time to time, dreaming of my Grandfather more. He is the reason I came to Writing.com. He told me to let no one stop me from doing what made me happy. He told me to write and make him proud. Gone thirty years and still it breaks my heart that he is gone; my Grandfather, my first best friend. Quote; Daddy, daddy, please laugh again Daddy ride us on your back again Oh, daddy, please don't cry "Don't Cry Daddy" by Elvis Presley |
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I took a look and it seems interesting.