Disney, Nerd, Star Wars

Star Wars VII: Things I Do NOT Want to See (And a few things I do)

In a move that came out of f**king nowhere Disney has bought Lucas Film and the Star Wars franchise from George Lucas (who has 100% ownership of the company) for $4 Billion of cash and stock. In the press release announcing the sale Disney execs announced that the as yet untitled “Star Wars Episode VII” will be release in 2015. I for one am very excited about some new blood and new creativity being pumped into the franchise that was gravely damaged by Lucas’s mostly horrible prequels. As a fan I have few things I want to see in the new movie and even more things I do NOT want to see”

I do NOT want to see:

Any new Jar Jar Binks-esque comic relief characters

An over-dependence on digital FX technology

A “reboot” of the franchise that erases the history of the series

Any scenes inside of a government building or involving legislative procedure

Ewoks

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Things I WOULD like to see:

Cameo by Mark Hamill as Luke Skywalker

A good script

A new and more sinister Emperor

More creature and make-up effects

More focus on the Rebel Alliance

An after the credits scene showing the torture and execution of Jar Jar Binks

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Just some thoughts from a nerd fanboy. I am counting down to 2015 and I hope hope HOPE I will not be let down again

 

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Erotic, short fiction

Smoke

There is something about those little flaming protuberances that look so alluring in a woman’s mouth. Simple, so much potential violence. Burn a cross onto your flesh and it is agony, but it creates a story worth wasting ink on. Action is just literature not written down. Scratch and moan and burn all you want… give me a passage on it. Give me a character. Show me not how a woman screams for the pain but what screams from inside her despite the pain or even, god forbid, because of it. Because I know she is screaming. From across the bar, the café, the bordello, wherever we are whatever we are doing I still see her and she is still a woman. And I still see her smoking, and sucking in the ashes that would otherwise disfigure the wooden floor. Oh let me extinguish those little fires on my tongue. They’ll hurt so very little and so very briefly, but the memory of the pain will never abate and will grow ever stronger as I grow ever more in need of pleasure. Breath them out, those ashes, onto me. I weep for them. I cry.

Smoke. Drink. Dry alcohol and even more desiccated conversation. So many businessmen and so little business. Oh every time you ignore them they grow ever more attached to you. Like a grasping, leaching weed that thrives on those dripping from your eyes, and your armpits, and from the crumbs that fall from your teeth. They cling to you without touching, and send out their invisible but inescapable vines and shoots into every crevice that they cannot touch but through their thoughts and eyes and nose. I am not enough of a Narcissist to delude myself into believing I am not one of these men sending out his roots to search and possess you. I am just not a businessman.

One of said businessmen, one with a mustache, he whispers something in your ear. I somehow know what it is he said. You should slap him for that. Not how you talk to a lady. But you don’t slap him. God forgive me I am disappointed for the man. I had wanted to vicariously experience his rejection. I know I will not be rejected. I can’t be rejected. You already accepted me in oh so many ways. Remember? You do remember… You smile and you flick your cigarette into the trash. You light another one. Not three seconds pass between the last puff and the first drag. Oh damn. I want to smoke, but it is so very, very filthy. I enjoy filth, don’t misunderstand me, but I wish to experience such grime through the lips and spittle of a beautiful woman. No man needs to smoke who has a woman who smokes. The taste, the sick, the retched addiction. All the existential sensation without the cancer, the yellowing teeth or the wheezing cough. It is sweet irony: The partaking in such an insignificant ill leads to such an unparalleled cure for wanton ardency.

Yawn! Yawn! I do see you yawn woman. Your mouth open, braving the moths that float about the fluorescent lights, beckoning the tongues that will not have you, but will lick the very blood from your bones in their dreams. Is it such a painful bore to be a woman? Is it such an ordeal to stand and attract the attention of men and boys and dogs? Let them all sniff your scent. Push them to frenzy. Order a cosmopolitan and dump it on the floor. Watch as they order you another one.

It is a cruel truth that all sensation leads to sin. I can lust for you through my ears woman. I hear the breath feed the fire that burns the weed behind the filter on your cigarette. If the world were quiet enough that breath would bellow through the ether like the raging furnaces that belch for the fires of hell. Your breath would burn bodies, consume souls, roast the hopes and dreams of a billion hearts, including mine. For I listened to that breath, and was transported to the deepest, the darkest realm of Sheol. I want to go to hell darling. Send me to the pit. I would gladly burn in the fires of your miasmic exhalations. What about your habit moves me to such dark profundities I spew? I just enjoy the smell of tar mixed with a lady’s sweat, the rest is just my artistic nature. I told you I was no businessman. But… No I have not told you that yet. But I will. When we talk again for the first time.

I finally catch your jaded eye. You smile that smile, that smile that lies like a fornicating politician. I scowl because I do not feel like lying to you. But I do take a deep breath, and you see that I do, and you breathe some smoke in my direction. I cough, and grow ever more aroused. You can tell and I think, I think it disgusts you just a little bit. I walk towards you, finally ready to receive what was always mine. You bite your lip in such a post-ironic way. It almost turns me off… If I had wanted the truth from you I would have taken you against your will in the alley earlier that night. I want to be lied to. I want the only truth that matters: the truth I choose to believe. You extinguish this, your second cigarette in 20 minutes. I reach into my pocket and give you another one, a different brand, but still a cigarette. You ask one of the businessmen to light it for you. Of course they do. You inhale. I ejaculate. The businessman gives you his card.

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2012 Election, Election, Mitt Romney, Ohio, Politics, Tagg Romney, Voting

Tagg Romney And Ohio Voting Rights

I wrote this email today to the Justice Department asking them to look into the ownership of a voting machine company by Tagg Romney, son of Mitt Romney.

To whom it may concern,

I am a citizen and voter who lives in Sycamore Illinois. It has come to my attention that Tagg Romney, the son of current Republican Presidential candidate Willard Mitt Romney, has an ownership stake in Hart InterCivic Voting Machines which are supplying the electronic voting machines for many Ohio counties in this election. I believe this is a breach of the public trust and a potential violation of the civil rights of the people of Ohio and by extension the people of the United States of America. I politely request that the Justice Department and/or any other appropriate agencies investigate this connection or at the very least secure the voting machines and make sure that they go without any hacking or tampering. I understand that you get a lot of requests from the citizenry on many different issues, but I believe this is important and I hope that I at least get a response assuring me of what precautions, if any, have been taking or will be taken to prevent voting irregularities or manipulation.
Thank you for your time and consideration
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If you would like to send an email regarding this issue or any other questions, comments, or concerns you have about your voting rights please go to the Justice Department website and look at the contact page. We are the people are the last line of defense against those who would usurp our democratic authority
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Book, history, Occult, Philosophy, Short Story, Writing

Excerpt From “The Dream of Father Pagomari”

The following is an excerpt from my new short story The Dream of Father Pagomariwhich will appear along with many others in my forthcoming book of short stories I will be publishing in a digital copy. Enjoy!

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If you were to ever happen across the town of Santiago del Bosque de Pinos you would notice first of all that the streets are well maintained and the houses are quiet neat and well built. Perhaps you would also observe that the town is well named: there is not one inch of the surrounding land and hills that is not covered in a thick growth of the most fragrant of pine trees. On a summer evening it can smell as though the forest had perfumed itself in order to catch the attention of the craggy peaks of the Pyrenees foothills that surround the area. The townsfolk liked to tell visiting dignitaries and pilgrims that the trees and the mountains were carrying on the most tumultuous of love affairs: the mountains constantly rebuffing the advances of the trees, and the trees in return never relenting in their pursuit of ascending the rocky slopes. Such was the way of these people; they always sought to impart a note of romance on even the most mundane happenstances of nature.

Santiago del Bosque de Pinos was halfway between the north eastern bank of the Ebro and the mountain passes that were the main conduit between Spain and France. It’s people spoke mostly Spanish of the Aragonese variety, with a smattering of French and Basque speakers, especially amongst the traders and shop owners who lived mostly on the northern end of the town near the bridge that led up to the Rubrum Rupe pass. This path was first discovered by the invading Roman legions as the fought off the Carthaginian armies then attempting to establish a foothold in Iberia. It had been used ever sense as the main artery between the towns of the Spanish Pyrenees and the French region of Toulouse. The town was by no means large (no more than 500 souls had ever resided within its ancient chalk-white stone walls) but it was prosperous, at least in relation to the neighboring hamlets and farm settlements. In this area of Spain, to say you were of Santiago del Bosque de Pinos was the same as saying “I have some cache in these parts”. Everyone knew that this town owed its success and relative riches to its location. Certainly its people were no better than any of the others around, and perhaps a measure worse. Because it was also said that if you were a resident of Santiago del Bosque de Pinos you were most likely haughty and full of superstition. These were a folk who did not crack a smile when talking about demons and spirit creatures walking about the woods, casting spells and causing mischief. Long after the rest of the population of the northern Ebro valley had given up believing in such silly things, the Bosqueans, as they were called, held on to their backwards beliefs and prejudices.

Perhaps this reluctance to move on from the past accounted for the interest the Inquisition took in the town. They had sent at least four different inquisitors in as many decades to this little mountain town, though not much if anything ever came from their investigations. But a people who do not have trouble believing in forest spirits and imps certainly will have no compunction in seeing witchcraft and heresy at every turn and in every glinting eye. And so one would be hard pressed to find a period in time when Santiago del Bosque Pinos was not caught up in some sort of civic tumult, we will focus on a more recent example, and an especially potent spell of hysteria and misfortune. The year was 1604 or thereabouts and the Inquisition was especially concerned with reports of witchcraft, paganism and other such affronts to Catholic morality and piety. As usual Santiago del Bosque Pinos was a locus of paranoia and reports of evil deeds. The population needed only a simple misfortune, a bad apple crop or a mislaid hog, in order to go into a frenzy of superstitious handwringing and finger pointing. Perhaps the town had “cried wolf” one to many times, but on this occasion the Inquisition decided not to send a full contingent out to investigate the panicked claims of the inhabitants. There were more important cases to look over, and the Inquisition could not spare the manpower to comb through the petty worries of a rather small mountain town. So they sent Father Diego Pagomari

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Biography, books, Brain, Life, Writing

Day in the Life of a Professional Writer

I realized today that I do not often talk about my personal life on this blog. Well I intend to remedy that mistake today. I will not bore you with a listing of everything about myself, if you are a regular reader you know enough about my interests and thoughts. I will talk about what I do day to day, or what I have been doing lately.

I am nearing the end of a long process, a journey even, the process of finishing my first complete novel. It’s topic is the papacy, specifically the papacy before the 20th century. I am secretive about my projects mostly out of shyness and a natural paranoia but I can disclose that this project was not the one I thought would be my first finished novel. My long term project, whose working title is “The Dionysian Man” (it will  not be called this when finished)  is about half of the way through and will be done probably by 2014. My pope project should be done and ready for the final edits before the end of the next spring. I hope to find an agent or a publisher next year.

I am working on three novels at the moment because I hate myself and don’t have a life…no, it is more because I have far too many ideas. I am a slow writer when it comes to finishing long projects. I have 200 plus poems finished, a book of short stories nearly completion, a completed play, and two essays that I am preparing to self-publish on Amazon Kindle. The link to those two essays will be proudly displayed on this site soon enough.

I am reading many things at the moment, as I always am. These include a history of the papacy by John Julius Norwich (naturally), a history of German thought and literature, some wonderful books on evolution and dinosaur science, The Dream of Reason, a history of Ancient philosophical thought, and various other things depending on my mood.

I want to end by thank all of my followers and my subscribers on this blog. It has made my art worthwhile to hear from all of you and to see your feedback, and it makes me happy every day to see all the people from everywhere on earth who are interested in what this autistic self-employed writer from Sycamore Illinois has to say. I hope I can keep you all interested and entertained well into the future.

Thanks!

 

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Debate, Election 2012, President Obama, Romney

Presidential Debate: Romney Zingers

What follows are my predictions as to what canned lines Mitt Romney will whip out in this debate. I am in no way being facetious with this list. In no way. None. At all. I mean it. Seriously.

***

*Handshake between the two political foes culminates in an attempted low-five from Mitt Romney. Obama merely laughs.*

“Nothing says American President material more than plastic hair and a fake tan.”

“What President Obama fails to realize is that I am indeed down with the peeps. Represent. Who let the dogs out?”

“My healthcare plan? Well if you have the flu I suggest you jump in front of a moving car and get sent to an ER. No socialism there!”

“If I am elected president I’ll be whoever you want me to be for an hour at a time.”

“That man who I am currently jerking off? Oh, that just David Koch.”

“I love Mexicans! At least as long as they are white, Mormon, and have 5 wives.”

“If I lose I am self deporting myself to be with my money in the Cayman Islands.”

“Haha! Why am I laughing like an idiot? Because I am scared shit-less by the prospect of  life after running for President!”

“America has voted, and the next American Idol is Sanjaya Malakar!”

*Debates ends and Obama and Romney again shake hands. Romney feels the need to end the night with an awkward jig*

If any of these things actually happen I will post a photo of myself in a dog custom on top of my car.

 

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