the last man

"Sometimes the most positive thing you can be in a boring society is absolutely negative."
-Johnny Rotten

"For it must be cried out, at a time when some have the audacity to neo-evangelize in the name of the ideal of a liberal democracy that has finally realized itself as the ideal of human history: never have violence, inequality, exclusion, famine, and thus economic oppression affected as many human beings in the history of the earth and of humanity. Instead of singing the advent of the ideal of liberal democracy and of the capitalist market in the euphoria of the end of history, instead of celebrating the ‘end of ideologies’ and the end of the great emancipatory discourses, let us never neglect this obvious macroscopic fact, made up of innumerable singular sites of suffering: no degree of progress allows one to ignore that never before, in absolute figures, have so many men, women and children been subjugated, starved or exterminated on the earth."
-Jacques Derrida

"Man will never be free until the last king is strangled with the entrails of the last priest."
-Voltaire

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"
I fondly ask; but Patience to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait."
-Milton

"Nothing great is possible for the Last Man, and it is my contention that Western civilization is moving in the direction of the last man, an apathetic creature, who has no great passion or commitment, who is unable to dream, who merely earns his living and keeps warm."
-Nietzsche

and then what?

I will no longer be affiliated with A.N.A. Comics, SP! Nexus "magazine", or the Arcana/Zedura "magazine". All projects really, writing and art and whatever else, are effectively off. I am in bastard mode. But I have minimal resources and diminishing interest in the world at large anyhow. And who gives a flying about yet another disgruntled hack?

Failure to communicate on any level whatsoever, embarrassing failures in maintaining any degree of professional scheduling, and failure to do anything with the large number of assorted articles and essays I've turned in over the past few months are all the reasons I need. I cannot and will not be associated with laziness, indecision, or backstabbing. And my work will not be jeopardized by the startling inability of those around me to handle their own job functions. So, it would be easier for me to simply drop out of the reviewer/interviewer game altogether (at least regarding comic books, the only creative medium with a built-in inferiority complex).

If somebody wants to use my name ever again, the fuckers had better pay for the right. I am just not interested in helping anybody with anything anymore. I waste too much time for others, more than enough and never again.

I feel bled and burnt, and I freely acknowledge that I owe nothing to anyone.

Praise motherfucking Jesus, ya'll!

When I grow up, I wanna be a racist, snake-handling southern preacher, the kinda guy who only preaches from Revelations.

That would be SO rad!


My toaster said so. And my toaster is never wrong.

the colour, the shape, the feel

So, Thursday night I went out to a local dive bar, and I left with a woman. She is five years older. This is dramatically out of character for me. I just do not do the random thing, and never really have. Aside from that one time in the restroom of that lesbian bar, but that was a long, long time ago. I worry, that I am so through with relationships, so in mourning over memories of Shelly from times past, that I simply no longer care. For much of my life, I took consalamentum with extreme seriousness. Even in windows of misogynistic directions that I've understandably ventured before, I never abused the concept of physical intimacy. Mindgames, sure. We can all learn from a good mindgame. But I have always had the sense to know beyond the shadow of any doubt that it is biologically impossible to separate emotional ramifications from the physical act. But fuck it, I just did, didn't I? Where in hell am I going?

More thoughts on Perry

While I've generally stayed offline most of the past few days, I have been closely following this story. As the last post states- I am a fan of the man, and the macabre circumstances of the recent weeks for his world have struck a very personal chord with me.
When Johnny Cash died, though I was only a big fan, I called in sick to work to engage in a drinking bender. I had an uncle who, every year on my birthday would mail me another Cash album on vinyl. So at a young age I was already developing a sweet record collection of some great tunes. When Cash died, I felt like I had lost something myself, having his music help hold me up for so long. Same deal when George Harrison passed away. Same deal when Layne Staley checked out.
And my feelings for the passing of Steve Perry are very much in the same vein. Although he was a writer, any great artist, great thinker, can impact. He was a brilliant creative mind and spirit who just never seemed to have found his due.
I am grateful that his friend Steve Bissette has kept the world informed in this dark time, and for doing so in a truly unbiased way.
Follow the many many links at Bissette's site. Inform yourself of Perry's body of work, in comics and animation. It is never too late to admire great art.

wreckamovie

Awhile back, I was fortunate enough to interview Timo Vuorensola, director of Iron Sky, for comicnews.info.





In the course of our dialogue, he informed me of a website called Wreckamovie. The idea is 100% collaborative filmmaking, from stormbraining plot points to promoting finished projects, and all roads inbetween. And by golly is it fun.
Now, Iron Sky is their first ringer, created by Energia Productions- the folks behind the Star Wreck series. Until recently Star Wreck was the highest grossing film to ever debut on the internet. Think about that, about what it means. These guys know what they're doing, and in fact are incredibly passionate about their craft. A passion that freely spills over into the many many many projects currently in effect up at Wreckamovie, from artisans the world over, mind you.
If you are of the creative sort, and have a love of movies and moviemaking especially, I could not possibly recommend this site more. I have made honest friends through my limited activities therein over the past year or so.

Steve Perry

With the ghastly news developing concerning the great writer Steve Perry, I feel obligated to say something. Why? Because I'm a fan.
Perry's work recently came to new light due to his Timespirits series from Marvel's old lamented Epic line being a source from which James Cameron stole freely for use in his Avatar film.


















Despite a variety of stories written for a number of publishers in the 1980's, he is best known for his work on both the ThunderCats cartoon series as well as the original comic series, published by Marvel. He created many of the ThunderCats heroes and villains.

I however, was first introduced to his work through Silverhawks. Writing for both the animated series and the short-lived comic book, Perry brought these crazy characters to life. And young me loved this stuff, ranking it on par or better with the likes of GI Joe, Transformers, Masters of the Universe, and even my beloved Micronauts.


















Indeed, I would love to see this property come back, ideally as a comic book ongoing. With Lt. Quicksilver, the twins Steel Will and Steel Heart, the Copper Kid, and my favorite- Bluegrass, there was a wealth of fun to these stories. Tons of imagination.
And much of that was due to the efforts of Steve Perry. His creative works in both comics and animation had a direct impact on my youth, and the properties he dealt with arguably introduced a large number of impressionable youths to the possibilities within science-fantasy. To hear of such inhuman tragedy hitting someone so wonderfully talented...

Martin Gardner

Recreational mathematician and theist Martin Gardner passed away today at the cherry old age of 95.
Vehemently opposed to pseudoscience, Gardner authored over 70 books on a range of subjects, and wrote the Mathematical Games column for Scientific American from 1956 to 1981. He was also a member of the all-male literary club Trap Door Spiders, which served as inspiration for Isaac Asimov's fictional mystery solvers, the Black Widowers.
An adherent of the New Mysterianism and creator of the excellent Dr. Matrix character, Gardner was as truthful a skeptic as one could possibly hope to find in the Western hemisphere.

We lost an extraordinary mind today, and we are lesser for it.

past from the blast

and all the more meaningful:

http://nilskidoo.blogspot.com/2009/11/beautiful-sad.html



(and thank you Mister Warren Ellis, though you will never see this, for inadvertently introducing me to this band, this tune)

the fourth

Something else written by my elder sist, Rebecca Cay Caldwell, unedited. This coming September 18th will mark the tenth anniversary of her murder at the hands of Benjamin Mills, who is currently serving a life sentence for the strangulation act. I'm living off of store brand crackers while your tax dollars pay for him to take college courses.

"The creators realized this was the fourth baby, and they remembered it was every fourth baby that received the mark. So the creators pulled out their ink jars and needles, and the creators proceeded to create art on every fourth baby's skin."

This fourth baby came out
of one of those families
the ones that aren't really spoken of
just a look passing by
was more than enough.
How many public school teachers
had really wanted to know
what the quiet boy
who never met their eyes
went home to?
he was marked
by his clothes
he was interpreted as coming from failures and
failure was his tattoo
there were no skills
that had been passed on
so he said he would
join the marine corps,
and then, it was college
and then, he was
going underground
and hide in the woods like Thoreau had
but all his plans fell through
he'd tried the factories and fastfood
alcohol and drugs could
easily become a career,
but
he'd seen both of his parent's teeth fall out,
their backs hunched,
the bones in their feet
rubbed raw
daddy blowing whiskey bottles and
mama gone crazy after too many years
of praying the lottery and the rosary
both had retired from life by forty,
trying to make sense of all those 50 hour
paychecks that would never do
and this boy grew
to slip through all the cracks,
he got to where
that place becomes a part of you
feeling so blue all the time
all you can do is breathe and start
looking forward to daydreaming
about long, uninterrupted sleep.
His opportunity
never came knocking,
but he never stepped on anybody, or maybe,
THAT was the problem.

He became consumed
with getting himself some new skin
and he dreamed about becoming a snake,
and shedding
all those years of oppression.
Starting new, he dreamed and
dreamed and dreamed
about it,
but his dreams couldn't come true
because he was tattooed
There are many people who will tell you
that the logic of the creators will
have to do,
but those are the same people who never
received the mark,
never remembered the ink sting
staining
what could have been a 2nd or 3rd baby tattooed,
and those people just thanked the creators
that they weren't born
the fourth.

By Rebecca Caldwell
Written 2-14-00

I Will Scream In Your Ear Til The Day You Are Born.

These factored heavily into last night's dream, the latest in an irregular series of conjoined nightmares.

http://nilskidoo.blogspot.com/2010/01/calico-ruinations-and-musings.html

The Story Of Kevin Varga

Ever really wondered what death row was like? Ever wonder what serving death row in Texas was like? Kevin Varga got to find out, the hardest of ways imaginable. And, he maintained a faithful blog about his experiences, all the way up to his execution on the night of Wednesday, May 12th, 2010.
Read his harrowing tale for yourself, right here.

Regardless of guilt or innocence, this must be one of the scariest ordeals a modern man can go through. There was a time when I was vehemently opposed to Capital Punishment. Then my sister was murdered, which led to a change of heart. But sometimes the wrong guy takes the fall, and in cases of Capital Punishment, the final actions are generally irreversible. And sometimes still, Capital may not be the BEST or most adequate form of Punishment, regardless of the crime. Certainly the least imaginative, to be sure.

but the lion sleeps tonight

All things said, this might be the most peaceful time I've yet spent in this city, the fighting, the money troubles- all of that aside.
I owe a lot of that to my flatmates, Al and his fiancee Nat. They are a good deal younger and far less experienced in the ways of the adult world than me, and are living a very green lifestyle for their years. By this, I mean (among other things) we do much to conserve water usage. They have water barrels set up with which to assist with lawncare and cleaning. They maintain a nice little veggie garden out back, along with flowers and assorted eyecandy plants all over the place. There are compost piles behind the garage. Faithful recycling efforts, along with almost pseudo-regular donations to goodwill and the like. Low cost, low maintenance living, and extremely healthy at that. All of this really does help relieve a load of otherwise unseen stress, if only by removing a ton of modernized guilt from daily living. I appreciate it, all of it.
This past weekend, they hosted a tie-dye party, wherein I was able to breathe new life into some old clothes of mine (as the bulk of my current wardrobe is sadly, as ratty as hell). I even dyed one of my old sous chef coats. So I now have a bizarre, "new" smoking jacket.
So yea, right now I am faced with the hassle of reclaiming my identity, by having to replace my drivers license, social security card, etc. I am still trying to find credible side work, while waiting on multiple checks. I am flat broke financially, albeit with no overdue bills. No car, no insurance of any kind. I feel that I am even. I feel like I am working from a good vantage point, in a number of ways. The freelance writing stuff is still opening doors for days and weeks to come, the promise of future projects is always growing, which is good, as that's all that I think I really want to do with myself, ultimately.
I do still have a mother of an axe to grind with the world though, of course, but all in due time. For now, what few persons I surround myself with in this real world are all mindful enough to allocate the space I need. Lucky for them I'm actually a heckuva neat freak. I used to joke and say that somehow I inherited my father's work ethic, but there is quite a level of truth to that statement. I stay busy, even without a proper day job, without any sizable enough sources of income coming in regularly. I earn my keep. That's what a man is supposed to do, what he's supposed to be good for, above anything and everything else.
The nightmares still hit however, every damned time I try to sleep. I'm wrestling with a lot of darkness, as always, as ever. But I've never lost a fight in my life, proverbial or otherwise.

kicking a lion

Wanna hear about a bit of bad luck?

Yesterday was a day I'd been dreading for awhile, not because it was Cinco de Mayo (which is actually a memorial for a time when the Mexican army had its arses handed to them), and not because it was mi madre's (whom I have not shared any words with for some years now) birthday, but because of the one who got away. The one who so desired to hang herself on May the Fifth of last year. The most beautiful girl I have ever known, by far.
I had been planning on grabbing a nice bottle of rotgut and so find a spell of oblivion. I miss her badly. I'm funny like that.
Well, after picking up a cheque in the late morning for some security work I'd performed last week, I had made my way to the gas station near the better of the pawnshops downtown. I needed smokes, and change for busfare home. Instead, I had a bit of narcolepsy (an old ailment of mine, which after a few years has suddenly chosen to make its return) and blacked out right there in the parking lot. When I awoke a few minutes later, I immediately realized that somebody had apparently lifted my wallet. Sunny day and all. Never mind the guy passed out on the sidewalk, let's grab what little he has on him. And they got it all- KY and VA licenses, SS card, debit card, CBLDF membership card, a list of free redbox codes, a number of important business cards, my krogers card, and approximately 107 bucks cash.

Did I really need another reason to despise this hellmouth of a city?

Dearest S.

I never forgot you.

There was a time when I freely confessed myself to be the mongrel, but you opened my eyes like no other. You washed away my sins, like the good whore. You gave me words to live by, words to live up to.

I had no chance to mourn you last year. I am maddened at stooping below your worth, maddened at dreaming of the younger one. All were beneath you. All are beneath you. Just as I was. Just as I am. And I miss you so fucking much. Nobody could keep me talking as long as you could. Nobody could keep me dreaming as big as you so graciously would.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
My dead adulteress. You should have let me be the one to slip and fall. You are missed, but I was already forgotten. You tied the knot, but I will unravel it for the rest of my life.
I love you. I love you. I love you.




faux de mieux