Monday, August 26, 2013

Back From the Land of Vacay

I haven't posted anything here for quite some time, been on vacation enjoying the sights and sounds of San Francisco for a good two weeks.  Amazing food, I fed the fatty inside me way too well this time around.

Here are some of the writings I've done while I was off in SFO.  I hate to say it, but that place just charged me up with stories and energy... which is now slowly being sucked away from me thanks to my day job (which sadly has Zer0 relation to writing).  I plan on taking a break from work so I can recharge and focus.  Enjoy the stories...

07/25/2013 (Thursday)- The Dinner Party

I dreamed my characters coming to life, they had all gathered around my bed carrying food and drink.  Dishes of cold meat, cheese and fruit were set neatly upon the covers and blanket of my bed as I slept.  Salutations and small talk were exchanged between them.  The door opened again bringing in a new wave of guests: my family and friends. 

It was a strange scene…  The babble of friendly banter filled the air: a laugh here, a titter there. 

Silence.  The food was gone, the drinks imbibed. 

Then they each came and took a piece of me home. 

07/26/2013 (Friday)-  Insecurities

Watch what you’re doing.  Use your eyes not your mouth.   Again?  We can play when you’re done.  Go play over there by yourself.  Did you hear what I said?  Don’t make me repeat it.  What are you doing?  If you have nothing better to do, behave.  Don’t be a smart aleck.  Don’t talk back.  Don’t ask me, be quiet.  Don’t ask too many questions, they make you look stupid.  I don’t have time right now.  Where did you want to eat?  Let’s go eat somewhere else.  Why can’t you be more like your cousins and brothers?

Why did you fail?

07/27/2013 (Saturday)-  First Bite

I don’t think ya can call my job ‘stable.’  My work, well, it deals with things no one likes to talk about.  It’s not quite legal, at the same time it isn’t illegal, the gray matter of morality. 

I kill people.  Well, I kill homeless people, the ones society has forgotten and have sprouted like weeds through the city.  Yeah, I like that, I’m the person ya call to get rid of weeds. 

This past week though, something wrong is going on with ‘em.  One of them bit me, after I shot it six times. 

I-I feel a bit sick.

07/28/2013 (Sunday)- City Beats

The city thrums with the energy of her people even late into the night. Her arteries of concrete and asphalt beats with the life of the young and sexually charged. Her heart pulses and quivers to their lusts and cravings. 

Intoxicating. Dominating. Alluring

The gray shade rises in the horizon: last call. The children leave to slumber, some stumbling, others laughing, all tired. The day will be up soon, too soon. 

Somnolent. Soporific. Sated. 

They crawl under their covers, some alone, some in pairs. Day will be up soon with his demands. So they sleep, the young and sexually charged.

07/29/2013 (Monday)- Ballad of Blue Flowers

Walking down the street of China Town one is immediately captivated by the charm of the red lanterns, the energy of the hawkers, and the smell of food being cooked in soy sauce and spices. 

Through the noise and busy-ness of everything, a piercing eerie song envelopes me. I see an old Chinese man playing a hauntingly beautiful song on a two string erhu. I stop and stare, mesmerized by both the music and the fluid beauty of his arthritc hands finding their notes, his bow moving gracefully back and forth. 

A song full of soul. A song of flowers.

07/30/2013 (Tuesday)- Your Wish...

Walking down the streets of China Town again, my brother points out an old blue box with the half body of a Djinn in it. He tells me that it’s Zoltar the fortune teller, the same one from Tom Hanks’ movie Big. ‘Why don’t you try and make a wish?’ he said.

I take a dollar out and feed it. Its mechanical eyelids blink open, revealing worn bloodshot eyes, I still can’t forget it... 

His eyes. They were real. 

He blinks once more, tears streaking down his craggy wooden face as my fortune ticket pops out. 

“Please... Free me...”

07/31/2013 (Wednesday)- A Day For The Senses.

Someone suggested I visit this person in the city, a Cloud Collector. I naturally, of course, laughed at him- but having nothing better to do I decided to go. The directions he gave brought me to the top of the St. Regis Museum Tower, and a roof enshrouded by clouds. I was mesmerized by the fairytale world created by this playground of mist. 

An old man was sitting on a bench puffing on a hookah pipe, seeing he had a visitor he offered me the pipe and space to sit beside him. 

“Tell me what you see in my clouds.”

08/01/2013 (Thursday)- Conversations in Yerba Buena

Sitting at Yerba Buena Garden I got to meet an interesting person. She tells me how hard life is living in the city, a hectic day of flying around from one point to another, living on the crumbs her bosses give her. It’s hard being a second class citizen in a first world city. 

I nod in agreement. It is hard, I tell her, but there are benefits. She tilts her head and looks at me as though I was crazy. Before I could explain the pigeon flew away. 

Sighing, I pick up my invisible ball and chain and leave.

08/02/2013 (Friday)- A Shoe’s Perspective

A million feet walk the city each day. The relaxed and easygoing in sandals, the uptight and serious in their leather shoes with no creases, the yuppies and artists in their bright colored sneakers trying to be unique but failing to be, and those who sleep on the streets with their scuffed shoes or, even worse, bare feet. 

I watched as they walked by me. Shoes in a hurry to take their person somewhere important, shoes that just didn’t care about time and enjoyed the flowers and sun. 

I wait and watch through the glass. Someone will wear me someday.

08/03/2013 (Saturday)- The Sound of Marcie’s Feet...

It’s the sound she makes I miss the most. A pitter-patter of excited happy feet running up and down the stairs, the happy jumping up and down of a child impatiently waiting for an adult to play pretend with, the joyful skips of a little girl greeting life. 

I try to forget each day. Each time I hear a tapping sound I remember her attempts to tap dance on bare feet. Each time I hear a child’s cry I remember her stepping on a lego piece. 

I put back her bronzed little shoes on the mantle beside the urn.

08/04/2013 (Sunday)- Sunglasses

“Take a jacket, and umbrella,” my brother told me as I stepped out of the door, “San Francisco is notorious for her micro climates.” 

“Micro climates?” 

He smiled as he picked up his sunglasses and sunscreen. “You’ll see.”

As soon as I stepped out I was hit by the cold wind, I cocooned myself further into the jacket. After a few blocks it began to rain cats and dogs, I opened up the umbrella that he gave me. As we neared his office the sun came out beating us down with his intolerable heat. 

“Sorry, I don’t have extra sunglasses.”

08/05/2013 (Monday)- Why Not?

I was paid three seeds for a good deed today, by an old lady as I helped her cross the road. Her weight supported by the crooked wooden cane as she limped along beside me. 

She spoke a dead language to me in thanks as she disappeared into the eery morning fog of San Francisco. I look down at the three little golden seeds she gave me, unsure what to do with them. It’d be a waste to just throw them, and three seeds isn’t enough to feed me. Why not feed them to some pigeons? What could go wrong?

08/06/2013 (Tuesday)- Stillness

There is a place in Napa Valley. It’s the only church that I can see myself actually attending, not because it’s far from where I actually live, but because of the silence. Inside the chapel all you can hear is the creaking of old wooden beams, in-between those sounds I feel as though I can almost hear my soul speak to me. 

Behind the building is a lake filled with lily pads and lotus flowers, and peace. I didn’t take a picture, I felt that doing so would defile this special place.

I sat and had a chat with myself.

08/07/2013 (Wednesday)- Journal Imp

There is an Imp in my closet. Not the cute-demony types that Terry Pratchett talks about, nor are they the mischievous rascals that fairy tales paint them to be. 


This Imp is grotesque, and mean. Very mean. He comes out when I sleep, walking in a mixture of a shamble- shuffle- slide, and he always carries an old heavy book. 

He’ll sit on the foot of my bed, put on his glasses, and find the last page he read from that book. Cough. Then start... 

“... Today’s Fears and Failures, by Michael Barzaga. Number one: Cowardice. The reason being...”

08/08/2013 (Thursday)- Usagi

I was surprised to find myself at a Rabbit’s restaurant, a little hole nestled within the urban forests of San Mateo. The waiter had white fur and wore a black formal suit as he led us to our table. I couldn’t read the menu, the words seemed to be scratches on paper, I chose what I wanted based on the pictures. The waiter smiled then chittered, he might have said ‘Excellent choice.’ 

Our food came out on hot sizzling plates, hamburgers with deglazed sauce with rice and vegetables. Sadly, it was the carrots that tasted the best out of everything.

08/09/2013 (Friday)- My Strange Hobby

My mom and little bro asked me what it was I enjoyed most from my vacation in San Francisco, I told them honestly: watching people. 

All I did here, asides from eating, was sit down at a park and watch the people walk to and fro to their destinations. I would try to guess their personalities from they way they walked or how their shoes looked, what their lives must be like behind closed doors, who they love and who love them back. 

I like to watch people. It’s a strange hobby and entertainment. 

I wish I had more time.

08/10/2013 (Saturday)- RE: Lightning Delivery

I wake to the sound of rolling thunder, which is odd to hear in San Francisco, odder still when it’s 6 a.m. and the sky is clear. I look out of the window and see a moving truck and men rolling barrels out of it. 

The men were shorter than most, but definitely stout and sturdy. They all had beards that reached to the ground, and wore intricate horned metal helms. The language they spoke was the rumble of earth and stone. 

I watched as they moved the barrels that roared like thunder as they rolled into the office: Olympus.

08/11/2013 (Sunday)- Red Eye

Midnight.  I put the ticket into my jackets inside pocket, this isn’t a usual time for me to fly, and as I look around I see why no one else flies the red-eye.  Well… no one human.

I see trolls feigning sleep as their children cry, acne riddled goblins whispering and stealing kisses from each other, and obese ogres covered in filth and stink.  The stewardess checking tickets has a deep red skin, hooves, horns, and a pitchfork. 

I cover my face with the book I’m reading, hoping that they wouldn’t realize there was an outsider flying with them tonight. 

08/12/2013 (Monday)- An Epiphany of Sorts…

It’s funny how things go.  I take two weeks off, have a blasting good time, see things interesting and weird, eat things too fucking good to be real, and write some of the best exercises I’ve done. 

Then reality hits.  Hard.  I go to work as soon as the plane lands, the boss-man calls up asking why I didn’t send him my school schedule (despite me sending it twice on 07/10 and 07/25), then asking me to work overnight schedules and a 50+ hour week. 

I realize as I sit down writing:  I cannot see myself being an employee anymore.   

08/13/2013 (Tuesday)- Rewind

… it’s a trick that anyone can do. 

I forgot who taught it to me.  This is a trick to stop time, nothing like meditation at all, or those mumbo jumbo psychiatric mental focusing bullshit.  All it takes is an old watch, preferably one with sentimental value to yourself, a watch that has over time developed its own personality.  Next you find yourself a silver hammer, one forged in the light of a half-moon night.  Then lastly, an anvil of the deepest darkest obsidian. 

Place the watch on the anvil, then smash it with the hammer. 

Simple.  Like I said…

08/14/2013 (Wednesday)- A Good Knife/A Bad Man

He pulls the heavy butcher knife out of the chopping block. It is an old knife, worn but sharp, aged yet tenderly loved, a good knife. 

The opposite could be said of the man that holds it: a young man with dead eyes, features marred by deeds of atrocity, a bad man. 

A damned man. 

The ceiling light sways back and forth on its rusty chain, the only light, a silent witness to this man’s sins. He puts on his round glasses and smiles. 

A bound figure in the dark shrinks away, and the knife dies a little more inside.

08/15/2013 (Thursday)- Waters of March: A Lonesome Road

I pick a song.  I then hit play.  

A slow beat to start.  A slow wake for today.  The end of the road. 

The rhythm and rhyme picks up, like a trap, it catches you, it wakes you, like a joy in your heart.  A flight, awing, captive to the song, a little alone, in a world all my own, a silly smile on my face, not sure where it’s from just happy it came, a promise of spring.

The end of a drive.  The end of a song.  The end of a tale. 

Still a joy in my heart.

08/16/2013 (Friday)- The Seven Fathers

In a Hall deep below the mountains of Middle-Earth, in a room of fire and smoke, Aulë raises his hammer.  The hammer falls on Earth and Steel and Magic, and the World shakes from his thundering blow.

The First of Seven Fathers was forged, to him he gave the name of Durin. 

Aulë brings his hammer down six more, each blow creating a Father, each thunder becoming their names.

He looks with pride at his children. 

To them he gives his lore and craft. 

To them he gives knowledge of Earth and Fire. 

To them he gives a name… 

… Gonnhirrim.

08/17/2013 (Saturday)- Nineteen

At nineteen I was invincible.  A night of rock and roll and beer, and when the morning sun rises, I wake sober and able to think and discuss things of existential import with friends and whoever is still left from the night. 

It was a fine age.  A good age.  An age where I believed that I had time infinite in my cups.  That I am inherently important due to the stardust I’m formed, and that I have time for all my future accomplishments. 

Today I feel the weight of proving myself.  Today I ask:  Where has the time gone? 

08/18/2013 (Sunday)- How to Build a Scarecrow

1)      A whole skeleton: If one is not found whole, feel free to replace any missing bones with one of a similar build and sex (very important!)
2)     A fresh beating heart, torn out in the light of a full moon. 
3)     Straw:  one or two bales (depending on size of skeleton)
4)     Eyes:  Any will do (Remember: the scarier the better!)
5)     Sack cloth (any type of cloth will do, sack is just traditional) to make the clothes.
6)     A crucifix to hang him in the field.
7)     Hammer and nails.
8)     Hat.
9)     Lastly don’t forget the br-

08/19/13 (Monday)-  Keepsakes

There’s a doll kept in the attic, an old Raggedy Anne doll.  It belonged to my grandmother’s sister, who died just days after receiving it as a birthday gift when she turned twelve. I was told this story as I picked up the doll while cleaning up the attic. 

It felt heavy for a doll, more child-heavy rather than doll-heavy.  I placed it back in its box and shoved it back to the dark corner of memory. 

I know I put it back.  I’m sure.  It has to be a prank.

Yet, every night, I find her in my bed. 

08/20/13 (Tuesday)- Carnivore

She giggles.  An innocent childish feeling tarnished by the blood dripping down her mouth, she dabs it away daintily with a handkerchief, then smiles.  A pure sincere smile. 

She checks the ropes keeping me splayed on the bed.  I turn my head to stare at the bodies in the house: a half-eaten giant wolf, and the skeletal remains of what looks like an elderly lady.  A whimper echoes in the house, someone is pleading, crying… using my voice. 

She looks up, golden tresses spilling out of her red hood.  Smiles.  Picks up her knife and takes another slice. 

I scream.

08/21/13 (Wednesday)- Emerald Dreams

This is an old dream, with roots deeper than an oak.  One that started when I was but a child, and since then have dreamed of nothing else. 

I stand at the bottom of the world, a cavern so dark and vast that its enormity send chills down my spine.  In the dark a strange hymn is sung and worms it way into my ears, I find myself chanting along… 

“…Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn…”

Then His eyes appear out of darkness. 

Eyes older than time. 

Eyes of emerald evil and hate. 

"Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fhtagn!"

"Cthulhu R'lyeh fhtagn!"

08/22/13 (Thursday)- Musical Ear Syndrome

My eyes were taken away, at my request, due to… personal reasons. 

I felt that it would make things better.  Finally, I can find peace in not seeing dead people around every corner with their empty eye sockets.  No more children covered in blood, no more men deformed by their sins, no more victimized women looking for revenge.  No more fear of the dark.  No more horrors to wake me in the night. 

Just peace.  Peace and quiet. 

I wake in the middle of the night, to a strange sound.  I hear them all the time now…

“We’re still here…”

08/23/2013 (Friday)- Religious Fervor

Stand.  Kneel.  Pray. 

It’s a ritual.  It’s a routine.  It’s a Sunday.  A repetitive sequence of bowing and scraping to golden covered spoors of something that once held meaning now lost and tarnished by the same sins they warn you about. 

Stand.  Kneel.  Flesh. 

It’s a right.  It’s a privilege.  It’s their duty.  Acolytes have their innocence robbed by groping beringed-fat-fingers of supposed holy men looking out for their fucking flock.

Stand.  Kneel.  Blood. 

A dead religion.  Flock of fools.  Baa Baa, Black Sheep.  They ask you to kill in their [G/g]od’s name, decked in their white pointed hoods.


08/24/2013 (Saturday)- Time Out

I took time out today, and went to Haslam.  There I found three books:  Smoke and Mirros by Neil Gaiman, Just After Sunset by Stephen King, and 100 Ways to Improve Your Writing by Gary Provost.  I also bought John Dies at the End by David Wong, The Shining, and The Stand by Stephen King on my Kindle. 

I bought a total of six books in a matter of three days, and hopefully I’ll have the time to read all of them within this month.  I’m reading the Gary Provost one first, of course, funny as hell.  Highly recommended reading. 

08/25/2013 (Sunday)- Break From the Routine

I can honestly say that I have bled more in my writing during my stay in San Francisco.  There was a charge in me then, an electric jolt of inspiration traveling up and down my body. 

I was energized.  I was free. The sun soared.

Today, and yesterday I’ve struggled.  There’s a heavy weight upon my shoulders, my feet drags, my soul shrinks.  The sun sets again.

Is it me?  What is my problem? 

I have no qualm as I lift the phone to call in, unlike before.  My soul shrinks, my heart dies, I want to taste the sun. 

Hahaha, ok it's a lot of stories.  This blog is dedicated to my 100 word story project, which I hope will help improve my writing, and will last about a year (maybe more).  Wish me luck on this adventure.  Constructive criticisms are always welcome!