Friday, March 13, 2009

Fully Employed But Half Awake

This is not simply a blog entry, oh no.

This is part of today's struggle a delaying tactic if you will.

I am still at work and about to fall asleep at my desk.

mmmmmmm... sleep....

It wasn't that I stayed up to late, I am nothing if not responsible. It's just that I was awoken by the sensation of my face being furiously licked and sadly the culprit was not Jessica Alba or Judge Marilyn Milian but my big eyed dog Jake. I patted Jake on the head and ushered him away. Then I tried to get back to sleep but it was no use, I had been awoken. I checked the clock radio, it was three AM. I groaned audibly and pounded my fist against the mattress. The minor commotion disturbed my wife and half-awake she grumbled "You're supposed to do that in your office."


So now here I am, struggling to stay conscious as the workday ticks by slowly... numbingly... soothingly... so soothingly...

just a few minutes... I'll just close my eyes for a few minutes...

But no! I can't do that. That's the trap, I know that if I close my eyes for what I promise yourself will just be a moment the next thing I know I'll find myself waking up from lying face first on my keyboard, my face slicked with my own drool. I drool a lot when I sleep, I drool like Paris Hilton at a rich douchebag convention. Besides I know the minute I nod off my boss or any number of corporate underlings will come wandering into my cubicle for one reason or another.

So I sit here typing away, pausing only for the occasional blackou-

mustn't... black... out...

...or steal dialogue from Frank Miller comic books.

I'm no stranger to falling asleep at work, it doesn't matter what the job I had I feel asleep there at least once. I once fell asleep while manning a cash register in the middle of an afternoon rush. All I know is that I started to get drowsy at 1:30 and the next thing I knew it was 2:45- I still have no idea what happened during that missing hour and fifteen minutes but oddly enough my cash drawer was perfectly even that day. I rare occurrence for me.

When I worked in an office supply store I would frequently drowse off in an office furniture display while 'straightening it'- I guess it was kind of practice for now eh kids?

and my dreams, brief and disturbing... am at home dreaming of my job or at my job dreaming of home?

And I really do dream of work an awful lot really, maybe that's why I'm so comfortable sleeping here. Maybe its just getting even, maybe its just a sign of old but where I once dreamed I was a character in a particularly Freudian episode of Doctor Who or the X-Files I now dream that I'm on a quest to figure out where the latest productivity meeting is. Where I once dreamed of banging away on Cindy Crawford or Angela Lansbury I now find my dream self trying to bang a toner cartridge into a dirty photocopier- a dirty dirty photocopier. Where I once dreamed I was a long haired Adonis I now dream that I am a long haired Adonis with a clip on tie.

why is it the more tired I get the more offensive and surreal my material gets, like a tiny Nazi riding on a mule wearing a spangled turban...

It is an amazing and cruel thing to be perfectly awake at 3 AM watching infomercials and dead to the world at 3PM when you are supposed to be enhancing shareholder value. I try to give my energy a boost by having sugary snack, there are no shortage of sugary snacks around my workplace. I believe it is an insidious plan by my corporate masters to make us too bloated to leave our cubicles. I can almost see my future self so bloated that he cannot move from his ergonomic chair, kept alive and working via a company that pays us in insulin. Of course we will passing the savings on to our customers.

barely awake now... dreaming of Nutty Buddy bars...

I promise myself that when I get home I'll go straight to bed but that's a lie; dogs need to be walked, then re-walked, my daughter needs to be made to do her homework - reason is rarely effective , the threat of waterboarding has been a rousing success, my wife will most likely yell at me for gently mocking her on the Internet. And really I shouldn't mock her because of all the women I have made love to she is the only one that never shouted "What the HELL are you doing?"

Oh yeah. She's a keeper.

My daughter's homework is a major stumbling block as well, I don't remember my homework being quite so intricate when I was nine years old. Then again I did have to take my classes in the boiler room with the other 'creative' students. Now once my daughter gets focused she does great but getting her to that point seems to take a long exhausting time. Before I know it it's 8:30 and time to take out the garbage and maybe clean the catbox, sure it might make more sense to do those chores in reverse but that's just not how I roll.

Before I can go to bed however I first spend some time with the missus then try to add a write a few pages. It could be anything, my blog, my writing, my ever growing enemies list.

You bastards know who you are.

Then I go to bed but I know I won't make it through the night, something will wake me up at 3 AM even if it is the sound of my own snoring.

waking up now ...I can think again...

Well I managed to stay awake, the brain activity involved in working on this little project is just what I needed.

Of course now that you're read this there is a good chance I've put YOU to sleep.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Forgive Me If I Go Out On A Limb Here...

Now here is an idea for a Helluva Double Feature!

Ah if only my parents had been millionaires that had died young. I would either have been a costumed crime fighter or opened my own movie theater to show movies that I thought were worth seeing - the classics, the obscure and the new and interesting would all have a home there.

And every Saturday night there would be a double feature. Here is one of the ones I think would be great...


Here are two stories of women that turn from victims to agents of destruction, here are two stories set in worlds where the laws and physics, physiology and rational behavior have no power. These are films that titillate and mutilate. They are the the direct decedents of Sam Rami's Xena and Evil Dead series Both oddly enough feature heroines that are maimed and then weaponized. The villains in Planet Terror are zombies and slowly mutating soldiers. The villains in The Machine Girl are ninjas and mobsters prone to wearing drill bras. These are some real crowd pleasers with delirious action and some moments of humor that are as odd as they are charming. These are the perfect movies to watch with some friends, so long as it isn't your local church group. (then again...)

If you haven't seen either of these flicks yet, they're both out on DVD. Give them a try.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Let The Right One In (Låt den rätte komma in) Out On DVD today

OK here is a link to start us out...

And here is the trailer

And lastly here is my previous review

I have spoken at length about this film and I can't recommend it and buying/renting it enough. If you like any of my strange weird tales I have here and on my web page then you are going to love this film. This film (and the book) tells the kind of story I have been trying to tell most of my life and does so beautifully and subtly.

See it as soon as you can folks.

(I would also recommend a triple feature of this film, DONNIE DARKO and BETTER OFF DEAD if you want to understand the teenage years of Al Bruno III)

Thanks again for listening.

Monday, March 9, 2009

In The Shadow Of His Nemesis chapter three

In The Shadow Of His Nemesis

Chapter Three


Al Bruno III

Thursday November 7th 1996

Galen. His name was Galen. He sat quietly on the side of the tub while she rummaged through the medicine cabinet in search of Band-Aids and peroxide. Of course she couldn't find either now. If she had been searching for Q-tips or eyeliner she would have found bandages aplenty.

"Who did this to you?" she said as a bottle of aspirin went clattering into the sink. "Damn it!"

"No idea," He said. "I was just… I never saw their faces."

Isobel wasn't sure if she believed him. She believed he'd been beaten pretty badly. His face was bruised and scraped and his hands were cut up pretty badly too. It looked to her like he'd tried to play tug of war with a coil of barbed wire.

But would someone really go to the trouble to do something like that at random?

There was more to this Galen then met the eye.

Then just bandage him up, give him cab fare home and get him the fuck out!

"Maybe we should call the police then."

His ice blue eyes flashed with panic, "No police."


He smiled sheepishly, "I have a history with the police."

"Really?" She flashed him a smile of her own, "Am I in the presence of a dangerous man?"

Oh God, he's blushing. That's so cute.

What am I doing?

She gave up all hope on the medicine cabinet and started looking under the bathroom sink. "Ah ha!" There it all was- bandages, peroxide and... cotton swabs! She'd forgotten she had cotton swabs.

"Look." Galen stood and put his hand on Isobel's shoulder with a surprising gentleness. "I really should go. You've been very kind but I really don't need any first aid.”

"What are you talking about?" Isobel turned to look at him. She had always thought this bathroom was too damn small but now it felt positively cozy. There was something about the smell of his sweat, something primal. "Look at you."

"I heal fast."

She took hold of his right hand; the flesh of the palm was all in tatters. "At least let me get at the worst of it."

His hand grasped at hers in a movement that was as pleading as it was sudden. "I’m not…"

Before she could think about it, Isobel kissed him.

When the kiss broke. They were both gasping. They were both looking at each other with surprise.

Then they were kissing again. Isobel deftly undid the buttons of Galen's shirt. His chest was covered with fine red hair. Her jeans slid down her legs. He lifted her up, planting her bottom on the cold porcelain sink.

Goosebumps worked their way down her back. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and nuzzled at his throat.

He lifted her up again. “Bedroom…” he gasped.

“To the right” Isobel murmured, tightening her thighs around him.

Galen blundered to the right, their entwined bodies bumping and slipping along the wall until they found their way to her bed. They fell back onto the mattress sending folded laundry scattering this way and that. His fingertips were cool and insistent. He undressed her, his touch leaving her bare skin streaked with blood.

When she was naked he took a step back from the bed. Isobel started to grab after him, then she realized he was looking at her. Looking at all of her.

And he liked what he saw.

Then he was pushing his jeans down to the floor, kicking free of them as he knelt and kissed his way up from her navel to her breasts then up to her chin and mouth. She could feel his errection brushing against her leg, throbbing in time with his heart.

The room seemed to have become unbearably warm. She ran her nails gently over his back. “Fuck me.” She whispered, “Just fuck me.”

Galen practically growled with anticipation, his powerful arms turned her over onto her belly.

What is he… Ohhhhh…

He kissed his way from her bottom to the back of her neck. When he took her he wasn’t gentle. Isobel shuddered and gasped his name like she'd known him forever.