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December 14, 2010 

Dreamstory Part 2

(This is a continuation of my dreamstory. Part 1)

~~
He opened the door. Cigarettes. Syrup. Urine. Burnt hair. The poker and blackjack tables were all upturned, chips scattered everywhere Oh my god! I should get some.. No. Keep focused. What is going on here? Where is everyone? Carefully picking his way though the debris, he reaches the door to the slot machine floor.

He slowly pushed the door open, and on first glimpse of the casino floor and the acrid stench of burnt hair and flesh reached his nose, he vomited. Cigarettes. Syrup. Death. Vomit.

As he regained what was left of his senses, he looked into the room. Through the smoke, he could see the slot machines on the floor, still flashing and beeping and buzzing. Their cheerfulness violently contrasting the apocalyptic seen in front of him. Bodies, hundreds of them, heaped upon the tables where the slots used to be.

Still smoking, sizzling, these were hardly recognizable as humans. Burnt and mangled, the demons played Mister Potato Head with them. Ripping limb from trunk, and reattaching with reckless abandon: arms, eyes, ears, noses. A human mosaic. A Picasso in flesh. Cigarettes. Smoke. Vomit.

Clambering over the chirping slots, he made for the front door. Terrified, speechless. He was going to leave his fellow gamblers to the same fate as these tortured souls. I have to get out of here. What IS this? What ARE THOSE? The sounds stopped. The lights shut off. A siren wails from no where, increasing in volume and pitch, like those sirens on public emergency broadcasts.

He falls. Shit. Shit shit shit. His ears splitting, he looks around him, trying to find an exit. In the dim light entering the glass front doors, he sees them. The bodies. Grotesque marionettes: dancing, flying, flailing this way and that. Mouths agape, sirens wailing in unison. Both a terrible and oddly beautiful sight. Or, it could have been in another time, another place. A unholy choir, singing of death.

But right now, he was too scared to realize his bowels evacuated. Too scared to realize his ankle was broken, and he wasn’t going to be running anywhere. Too scared to realize the bodies stopped screaming, and it was now just his own screams filling the room. But the others in the lounge weren’t. They heard the sirens, just as they now hear his screams. I thought he was looking for help? What’s going on out there? Cigarettes. Syrup. Urine.

Two of the puppets close in on him, grab his arm. Pull. Popping as his shoulders dislocate, and more screaming. He rises into the air, and stares into the fluorescing upside down eyes of the puppet before him. That child’s voice again–Laughing. Giggling. Almost innocent.–escapes the crooked mouth, and tells him “Don’t worry, mister. This is going to be fun!”

And with that, a bright light fills the room, engulfing him in flame, smells of sulfur and death. His screaming crescendos and then. Full Stop. His body no different than the bodies of the hundreds lying below. Twisted and surreal. Fire. Sulfur. Cigarettes. Syrup.

“See?” Giggle. “Fun!”

~~

And so ends part 2. Part 3 will come soon.

November 17, 2010 

NaBloPoMo Day 17: Who lives in your head?

Shamelessly stolen from Avitable and Karen Sugarpants.

Who lives in your head?

November 12, 2010 

NaBloPoMo Day 12: The World According to Eli

Unlike Thomas, Eli is a realist, a man of facts. The world is how he observes it, how could it be anything else? Memories are subject, clouded with time and emotion. Garbage in, garbage out. Cold and calculating, his world is not recreated with a poof, a cloud of thought. It is reformed, redefined with each new observation. Each new day, each new experience, another data point.

Charts, graphs, plots. Everything fits together. Makes a statement. Pieces of a puzzle. Not making sense? Just more research, just more data. The world according to Eli was a machine, broken though it may be. Each piece interconnected with each other, teeth on cogs on sprockets on chains. But, then, they weren’t spinning right, were they? War and poverty and hunger and unemployment and books for pedophiles and arguments. Too many teeth, too few cogs. Where’s the fix?

More data, just more research. More study. Where’s the fix? That’s the world according to Eli. A set of problems looking for solutions. A set of solutions without knowing the problems. Never fixed, always broken, but it is a challenge! Something to work for! But why doesn’t it work? What piece needs fixing? Where to bloody start?

This is the world according to Eli. And as he lay, breathing becoming increasingly shallow, nearing the end of a life spent searching for answers. Data. The Present. No reminiscing. Memories unreliable. He shuts his eyes and POOF! He slips into memory, a life spent following his passion, always looking for answers, looking for problems, plotting, graphing.

He opens his eyes again, smiles, as the teeth of the cogs align, the machine begins humming along. Smiling, he closes his eyes again, and POOF!

NB: This is a spiritual successor to The World According to Thomas.

November 9, 2010 

NaBloPoMo Day 9: Superman: Earth One Review

Earlier this month, DC released a brand-new graphic novel, Earth One. The story is of a 20-year-old Clark Kent striking out of his small hometown into the big city, Metropolis. In this gritty new take on the revelation of Superman, writer J. Michael Straczynski and artist Shane Davis bring a refreshing and dark ambiance to the Man of Steel.

Like any 20-year-old, a young Clark Kent is lost, wondering what to do with his life. Does he pursue money? Fame? Sports? Or does he reveal his powers to the world, becoming its champion? Truly, the plight of any recent high school graduate is difficult, but add to that the ability to fly, shoot lasers from your eyes, and otherwise just be a badass? Well, that escalates the problem.

In addition, the young boy is concerned about his adopted mother, he wants to make sure she is well taken care of, and for once, it occurs to me that maybe Superman isn’t so different from us after all. This is the magic of Earth One. Straczynski takes a step back, and forces the reader to also take a step back and rethink everything that the movies and comics have told us about Superman. While he may be impervious to bullets and can shot put a tank from Metropolis to Smallville, he’s got problems. He has to make decisions that, because of his power, can affect thousands or millions of other people.

And that’s just the narrative. Earth One’s art is simply stunning. Rather than the usual super hero bright colors, the Metropolis of Earth One is muted and dark. The dingy scene casts a more realistic bent Metropolis, and is, honestly, how I always envisioned the city anyway. The whole book is muted in sepia, granting both nostalgia and reinforcing the dingy feel to the early days of a Superman just coming into his own.

Most people who aren’t that into comic books are still fans of Superman. For these people, Earth One is an excellent starter book. It doesn’t go too deep into comic book lore, and it doesn’t take any prior knowledge to get into or understand. Plus, the writing and the art are both incredible. So if you’re looking to cut your teeth, or if you’re already a comic book enthusiast, Earth One is an excellent book.

If you want to check out a little preview, go check out Earth One over at the DC site.

I would post a link to amazon or something, but I would rather that you go find your local comic shop and purchase the book there. These shops are usually great places, staffed by people who really care about comics, and will often help you find something you’re interested in. These businesses are hard to keep running, so any business they can get is better than nothing. So go support your local comic shop.

*Superman and Earth One cover image are all copyright DC Comics.

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