Crystal, author of Big Bright Bulb, is an amazing woman. She’s vibrant, she’s forthright, she’s clever and inspiring.

Lately she touched on a subject that’s been near to the surface of my mind and a thorn in my heart: Laziness.

There is often so much in life that needs to get accomplished, and if you aren’t accomplishing those things, you’re a lazy, awful, no-good, very bad person, right?

Well, no. Not really, but it’s very easy to get sucked into that feeling, and into feeling that way about others when you see they aren’t getting much done either.

Crystal rightly frames what we call “laziness” as a more like being “stuck” and as a symptom of another (sometimes larger) issue. Below is her list, and beside each item: all the ways I can own up to the fact that I may not have excuses, but I have reasons for not being a perfect Doing machine all the time.

Laziness is a symptom of being—

in Mourning - In 2007, my father died of a heart attack. There’s a lot about that I’m still coming to terms with, and I miss him every single day.
in Recovery – I spent some time drinking on an almost daily basis. I didn’t stop entirely – I’m not on the proverbial wagon – but in the last 4 months I think I could count the number of drinks I’ve had on one hand. That said, my body still tells me sometimes that it’s tired from the hard times I put it through.
Angry – There are just too many things that make me angry to even list. I can tell from that statement alone that I’ve got some things I need to take care of.
Exhausted – I can’t seem to get un-tired sometimes it seems. There’s a lot to do and when I set myself to it, I can’t be stopped. This unfortunately sets me up for some nasty self-care habits that leave me wiped out.
Embittered – I feel cheated by foul circumstances that seemingly have no end. I feel used by those who leverage my patience to delay giving me my dues.
Dehydrated – Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. What’s water?
Depressed – It’s a compound of everything, really.
Demotivated – (Distinct from unmotivated.) I’m going to get treated poorly and still be expected to perform? Uhh…
Disorganized – I’ve moved living spaces and hopped computers a couple of times in recent history, and I can’t. fucking. find. anything anymore. It’s maddening.
Distracted - The internet is full of shiny things I can care about, or pretend to care about.
Disappointed – I live and work with adults. Sometimes, that sentence is very hard to believe.
Conflicted – I could continue to take care of my family, but I know that comes at a serious cost to my relationship with my significant other… and with them, but I can’t not help, can I?
Undernourished - See previous mention of poor self-care habits.
Uninspired – I’m not so sure about this one. If anything, I’m over-inspired to the point I can’t seem to find a thing and run with it.
Unwell – My allergies have been plaguing me constantly.
Unmotivated – What incentive do I have to fix everything life throws at me? I mean honestly. Some of these things aren’t even mine to fix in the first place, and that’s just the damn truth.
Uncentered – I barely know which way is up half the time, yeah. Sense of self? Shaky at best.
Unfocused – Priorities are numerous and hard to get into line. It makes it easy to stare at all the different tasks like a magic eye picture in the vain hope they’ll take shape. (And I never could do those magic eye things.)
Undercommitted – It’s well known that there’s a lot of “stuff” I have to do, but just what that is feels like it’s mutable, and it’s hard to hold myself accountable to a goal of “STUFF”.
Overwhelmed – Yes?
and maybe just a little low on Mojo – Extra large with a cherry on top, please.

So, in short I may be abused, tired, neglected, overwrought, underappreciated, over-committed, unimpressed, heartbroken and scatterbrained, but the one thing I am not is LAZY.

With all that in mind, when things fall by the wayside and I can’t seem to get things done, maybe it’s time I stop punishing and hating on myself for being lazy and start working smarter, and not harder. Crystal proposes several things that work for her. All those resources look fascinating, but it’s up to each of us to find our own path back to… well, back to whatever it is that “lazy” isn’t.

And I suspect the only way to do that is one positive acknowledgement and reward at a time.

Today’s positive acknowledgement? That I have all these bad feelings and things in my life, but I am not merely the sum of all those bad things, and my reward for that acknowledgement will be a big, deep breath and a night’s sleep that isn’t bookended by guilt for all those bad things.

Then tomorrow we’ll try for breakfast… and see what I can do from there. :)

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You know those old videos that were all the rage back in the day that were about playing classical music overtop of bright and colorful things that were supposed to make an army of super intelligent babies but actually did more to develop ADD than anything resembling intelligence? Well “Vermilion Pleasure Night” is sort of like that for the Young Adult Fetishist.
Lots of bright colors, lots of cute girls in outfits that would give any fashion aficionado a rock hard erection, awesome music, and some bizarre comedy.

I remember seeing the trailer for this a long time ago in my early pubescent days of reading Newtype Magazine and being intrigued. At the time I was into manga and anime in a bad way. So anything that the magazine told me was good I wanted with a passion. It also promised boobies, which at the time would have also worked.

But as things go I never got around to buying it and I eventually forgot it. However the other day I was browsing through Netfilx streaming catalog and found all of the episodes were available for instant watch. So looking for a chance to wax nostalgic I Queued it up and let it go. I was not entirely prepared for what I got.

The music, they style, and on rare occasion the comedy and satire were fantastic! I was racking my brain as to why this wasn’t more popular. I thought “This crazy Japanese random crap is exactly what weeaboo otaku eat up!” But then I realized, the reason it was not popular is because its not “Japanese” really.

The animation style that it uses are far from anime and the closest I could compare it to is Heavy Metal but even then still not quite right. The music isn’t girl pop sang by frilly pop idols. The clothing, while ridiculous, is not made of lace, no latex tutu’s, no maid outfits, and the nurses are far from this. What’s more, it’s not trying to be wacky or crazy its trying to be legitimately different and I applaud them for that.

The problem that arises is that it’s a fairly repetitive show . Skits repeat often and a lot of the time the humor of the running gags don’t come across very well. Two recurring skits that I kind of hate are the Fuccons, who got their own spin off show and did fairly well in America, and Zombie Family which takes too much time and is boring even if the make up looks rad. By the third episode in a row I was just fast forwarding though them as quickly as possible to get to the good stuff.
At times the show tries to satirize Japanese family sitcoms which sometimes you can kind of see how it could be funny but it generally fails. What’s worse though, is when it tries to satirize art films. Sometimes it does alright but most of the time it just becomes difficult to tell if it’s a joke or if its being serious.
But all of that doesn’t put me off that much. I still enjoyed a lot of it. Watching pretty things, listening to dance music, and clapping my hands like the super intelligent infant I truly am.

I would suggest, if you can, watch the first two episodes then give yourself a break. I was up till 3 watching all five episodes back to back and I’m sure my brain slowly leaking out of my nose.
But there is always something cool and new to be seen in every episode but a lot of each episode is repeated skits or more goddamn Fuccons.

Keep a look out for:
One point English
Midnight Cooking (specifically the one where she has the shakes)
Zipper Girl
Quick Girl
Hot space ladies playing in pink goo.

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Most people understand yoga (Ashtanga or otherwise) to be is a series of postures performed to increase strength and flexibility. This assumption is not incorrect. Yoga postures, also known as asanas, do strengthen the body, improve balance and posture and increase flexibility, and no practitioner would dispute their ability to focus the mind and connect with the body. However, for some practitioners, asanas are just a small fraction of a yoga practice.

The Role of Asanas in Ashtanga Yoga

For serious practitioners of Ashtanga Yoga, asanas serve as preparation to stabilize and control the mind, which one, of many, steps along the “the path of internal purification for revealing the Universal Self,” which is the ultimate goal of this practice, and for some yogi’s and yogini’s (female practitioners), the ultimate goal of life. Heavy ;)

The Yoga Sutras and the Eight Limbs of Yoga

The role of asanas are laid out in the Yoga Sutras, and ancient Indian text that describes the mental and spiritual foundations of yoga, and outlines the “eight limbs” of yoga from which “Ashtanga” Yoga derives its name; the Sanskrit word literally translates to “eight limbs.”

Each of the eight limbs relates to one aspect of achieving a healthy and fulfilling life, ideally reaching personal enlightenment; and each limb builds upon the one before and is complemented by the one after (much like the nearly 75 postures in an Ashtanga class, but that’s another post.)

The Eight Limbs are outlined very briefly below:

1. Yama: consists of five ethical guidelines regarding moral behavior including nonviolence and truthfulness.
2. Niyama: consists of five ethical guidelines regarding moral behavior towards oneself, including self-study and cleanliness.
3. Asana: the practice of yoga postures.
4. Pranayama: the practice of breathing exercises.
5. Pratyahara: Withdrawal of the senses so that the exterior world is no longer a distraction from the interior world within oneself.
6. Dharana: Concentration, meaning the ability to focus on something uninterrupted by external distractions.
7. Dhyana: unfocused (all encompassing) Meditation.
8. Samadhi: Bliss. The transcendence of the self through meditation; The merging of the self with the universe. This stage is sometimes translated as enlightenment.

As you can see, Asanas (the postures we commonly associate with yoga) are just one of these eight limbs.

Personal Practice
In my personal practice, I’m coming at this from a beginner’s perspective. For now, my focus will be primarily physical, working within the Asana and Pranayama branches. Many students come to practice this way, which seems an appropriate fit given that asanas were first practiced in order to prepare yogi’s to sit, or stand, for very long periods of time in meditation. (See yoga dude below:)

Sri K. Pattabhi Jois, the founder of Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga, has been quoted saying that it is “not possible to practice the limbs … when the body and sense organs are weak and haunted by obstacles. A person must first take up daily asana practice to make the body strong and healthy. With the body and sense organs thus stabilized, the mind can be steady and controlled.” Simply put, you must connect with your body before you attempt to connect with your mind.

A Beginner’s Perspective

I haven’t studied Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras, I don’t yet practice daily, I have not gone through an extensive teacher-training program, and I have only been practicing regularly for a few months now. However, my curiosity has been piqued and I hope to chronicle my experiences as a beginner to this ancient practice, as well as my research about the practice (from history to specific poses, breath work to body locks).

That said, I don’t currently attend my Ashtanga classes with any aspirations of revealing the Universal Self (I’m hoping that’s one of those things that just… hits you). But, I am truly beginning to learn something new about myself every day. Whether it’s relative to this mind/body/universal self connection or to a new flexibility in my ankles, Ashtanga yoga teaches me something every time I practice; and right now that is enough for me. Hopefully when the Universal Self (that scamp) catches up with me, I’ll be ready.

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Good morning, shoppers. As usual December has rolled around which of course gives us the lovely sentimental holiday known as Christmas. And as we all know one of the many traditions that is a part of the spirit of Christmas that isn’t mass consumerism is movies. The kind that are sweet, loving, caring. the kind of movies that give you hope, that warm tingly feeling in your stomach like hot cocoa after playing in the snow. What the fuck are you doing reading this then? Although I’m not entirely off on that last part, the movie I’m about to review can leave a tiny warm feeling in your stomach, the catch is it’ll be a bullet hole. For those unaware, last Friday on December 5 the sequel (kinda) to the 2004 movie “The Punisher” was released. “Punisher: War Zone” I had been looking forward to for quite sometime since I saw the trailer. I saw the first one with Thomas Jane and enjoyed it (didn’t wow me but as a movie it was good.) When I heard that Jane and the director had bailed out I became skeptical as to who would take over. Came to find out it was Lexi Alexander and thought it was a brilliant pick after seeing her previous movie “Green Street Hooligans“. Then when I found out Ray Stevenson, an Irish actor I’d never heard of, was going to take over the role of Frank Castle and discovered that he looked JUST LIKE him I was rooting for it full steam.

The film takes place in New York City, where arguably many criminal minds reside. Castle has already made his presence as The Punisher well known to those in the criminal underworld who fear and members of the judicial system who envy him. It kicks off with Castle in his safe house watching a news broadcast about an infamous aging mob boss skating on serious charges due to a missing witness. Immediately vengeance is exacted by The Punisher on the mob family with the exception of the boss’ nephew, Billy Russoti (played by Dominic West) who escapes his wrath momentarily. The Punisher later follows him to a recycling plant which serves as a front to the crime family, which is being monitored by the FBI. A war begins inside the plant causing Russoti to fall into a pit of glass bottles which are waiting to be broken down by large grinders… to only be activated by Castle. Not killing him but only horribly disfiguring him turning him into his arch nemesis Jigsaw. In the midst of the lead-based melee Castle kills and undercover FBI agent in the line of duty. Which in comes his family featuring wife Angela Donatelli (Julie Benz) and daughter Grace (Stephanie Janusauskas) that in quick succession become a priority for Jigsaw when a large amount of money comes up missing from the family fund, making their safety a number one priority for Castle after accidentally murdering Donatelli. With the assistance of his friend Microchip (played by Wayne Knight, more commonly known as Newman. Yes, Newman is The Punisher’s friend) they go out to protect the Donatelli’s and take down Jigsaw with an arsenal behind them and in front of them.

One of the things I loved about Stevenson as The Punisher was the fact that he embodied the comic book version of Frank Castle from the looks down to his demeanor, whereas Tom Jane who was Frank Castle if he were a stiffly bitch-like overactor (“You mean Tobey Maquire? The gay monk that shoots webs?”). My issue with Jane was he did an okay job playing The Punisher, but he wasn’t being The Punisher. The Punisher is a man who shows no mercy, no restraint, and is a true soldier when it comes to the war on crime. And in a war nobody, especially the enemy, comes out clean or generally in one piece. In this version of the war the enemies of hundreds turn into thousands from the blood-curdling violence. To say that there are a few head removals in this movie is to say that flowers grow from the ground. All the moments of violence you wished were in the previous one, it all got thrown into this wagon, set on fire and launched from a catapult. Another noteworthy item about this movie is the fact that they were more true to the origins of The Punisher. The Tom Jane version he was an FBI agent who was involved in the killing of a money launderer during a sting operation, thus him and his family (all members of his family, not just his wife and son) was killed for retaliation. Bullshit. How The Punisher came to be in the comics was how it was mentioned in the movie, his family (mother, son and DAUGHTER) witness a gangland execution while on a picnic and are killed shortly after. Also he was an FBI agent with Special Forces training as Tom Jane, appropriately Stevenson was a military instructor as he originally was which is more prominent in the character archetype that is The Punisher.

As for Lexi Alexander’s take at The Punisher I truly enjoyed and wasn’t disappointed in the least. Clearly she referenced the comics for the storyline and it’s look, which is very dark contrast and also quite colorful at the same time. Kinda had a very nostalgic, ’80s feel from the way it was shot and also from a lot of the production design. They also included some references in some of the backgrounds as well, the one that stands out the most is there’s a big shootout that takes place at the end in a place called the Bradstreet Hotel, which is a reference to Tim Bradstreet (EXAMPLES) who did the cover art for the comics for quite a long time. And according to an article that there were many instances of The Punisher skull in the background, sometimes just as a fluke (article.) Comic book fan or not I highly recommend seeing this if you’re looking for a good ol’ fashion movie with a lot of violence in it. Until next time, keep making shit.

=Sketch/Ed

Amazon Links
Punisher Vol. 1: Welcome Back, Frank
Punisher MAX Vol. 1: In The Beginning
Punisher: War Zone Official Soundtrack (featuring Slipknot, Seether, and Rob Zombie)
Punisher “Well Suited” Shirt (a black shirt with his new armor)

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Here’s a little social experiment: Erase your MySpace page. Go ahead, you’re going to have to trust me on this one. And while you’re at it get rid of your Facebook page as well. Right now, I’ll wait. Also delete your LinkedIn profile and take yourself off of Match.com, Friendster, and Classmates.com. Peekyou, Flickr, and Twitter – all gone. Next, walk over to your window, open it up, remove the screen and collect the following items: PS3, XBox, Game Cube, etc. Toss ‘em right out that sucker. Cell phone? iPhone? Google phone? Yup, toss those out the window too. Just for good measure, if you are one of the last few still harboring a landline, might as well detatch that. And finally – this one is going to hurt – haul that television over to the window and let that big guy fly. That’s right, no more cable, no more HBO, no nothing.

DISCLAIMER: RKNet Blog is not responsible for any lost or damaged items resulting from this experiment, or injuries resulting from falling personal items.

So at this point you may be wondering what the purpose of all this is. I assume most of you readers wondered this before you removed your self from all connections between you and your friends, family, and business associates and threw thousands of dollars worth of electronics to the streets below. Well, the reason for this experiment is twofold. First, if I see one more commercial with that smarmy, coy douche bag, Dan Hesse I am going to devote the rest of my life to Durden-esque system-fighting. And two, the everyday life of too many Americans has become so crammed full of distractions that the important things in life are now self-obsessed, masturbatory (side note: “masturbatory” has actually been proven to be the funniest word in the English language, so go ahead and chuckle despite the seriousness of this topic) functions solely aimed at attention whoring or money grubbing.

Certainly one could blame poor parenting for creating generations of fickle minds and self-centeredness, but that’s a whole different conversation with sociological implications I am not currently prepared to address. What I do know however, is that I have watched plenty of television and felt the depraving addiction to lame TV programs. I have participated in social networks and felt the emptiness of wondering what strangers think of me. I have texted people for no reason, drunk dialed, and entertained other desperate attempts at pointless neediness.

“Hey, wait just a second,” you readers may be protesting at this point, “if you have detached yourself from social networks, communications devices and other mind-numbing electronics, what are you doing writing for a blog??” Very good question, dear reader. The unfortunate truth is I cannot do all of these things. (I tried by abandoning television and video games, which was a big step but ultimately trivial when compared to the lot of things I could not remove from my daily life. I also rationalized that ignoring people’s calls was like not having a cell phone, but it’s not.) This is why I need you all to carry out this experiment for me – for all of us.

It is my dream that one day I will be able to disconnect from everyone and from everything. I would urge everyone to at least consider it – if only temporarily, or only just a little. I have even considered moving to places that do not embrace a culture of television, do not have as much accessibility to internet, cable, cell phone towers, etc. Not only is it healthy, but I think it’s the only way to avoid a zombie apocalypse.

In this case I am using the term “zombie apocalypse” to refer to the very real possibility of the world ending at the hands of superficial morons, or as I like to call them, zombies.

There are of course many logical arguments against abandoning such useful devices as telephones, televisions and computers like,

“How am I supposed to communicate with the ones I love?”

“What if something important happens somewhere, I will have no way of knowing.”

“I may be left unprotected during emergencies.”

and other such fit-for-emo-song complaints. Well these are real concerns, but the true pessimist will see the benefit right away. A true realist will come around eventually. And you optimists have fun seeing how many friends you can horde on Facebook while civilization crashes down around you.

My point is that I cut out television from my normal life and felt better immediately – healthier, happier, so on. I also recognize my addiciton to attention through social networks and through cell phones and email, and it makes me feel dirty. I will even go so far as to say that I felt like a more genuine person before I got wrapped up in the tsunami of mass communication that is rapidly forming a global society. Too much staring at screens will drain you physically and obsession over image will drain you mentally, perhaps even change you. That is why I am warning those of you who may share my experiences. Get out now, while you still can.

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Well, it’s that time of year again. Holiday Fun Time! And, if you’re anything like me, you usually wait until the weekend before your holiday of choice to get your shopping done… er, started. You brave the mall with a bunch of crazed maniacs and a hangover, and inevitably, you never quite find what you’re looking for. You likely way overextend your budget in an attempt to disguise your procrastination, and often end up with a slightly impersonal gift, wrapped in really pretty paper with a big shiny bow.

This year, I’ve decided to take a stand. I’m not going to buy one tiny (yet always overpriced) item for every member of my boyfriend’s family, or each of my roommates, or every coworker. No more $16 tubes of branded lip-gloss, no more wind-chimes or gift certificates; no more scarf/hat/mittens sets from Target; no more purses that I can’t afford and can’t guarantee the recipient will like. This year, I’m doing it old-school. I’m making up some swank-ass gift baskets for the whole family, and I think you should too.

Skip Generic, it's time for a little DIY

Now, the key to making gift-baskets work is to skip the generic, store-bought, prepackaged, two-for-one-deal baskets they sell at Bath-and-Body Works, Wal-Mart or Kitchen etc. and put the baskets together yourself. You can make your baskets big or small, extravagant or modest, themed or random, selective or amalgamated, but most importantly, and here’s where you come in- they should be personal, and they should feel indulgent.
My basket is for a whole family, so it’s gonna be packed.

I’m planning an understated wicker basket, lined with some pretty cloth or other that will fit nicely into my boyfriend’s mothers’ “country-home” aesthetic (tiny colorful houses, quilt patterns or antiquey finishes). Then on to the good stuff: a gourmet jam or two, some classy crackers, some olive tapenade, a few select cheeses (port-wine pub cheese, soft brie and garlic smoked gouda, perhaps?), a small cheese knife (and maybe a cheese board), a pepperoni stick, nuts, several kinds of homemade cookies and/or fudge, homemade chocolate dipped pretzel rods (rolled in crushed walnuts and coconut!), gourmet hot-chocolate, gourmet coffee, homemade chocolate stirring spoons, homemade chocolate dipped candy canes, and, the clincher: two framed photographs of the smiling family on the receiving end.

Make it Personal

The basket is an amalgamation of everyone’s favorites: cheeses, dips and olives for the sisters, chocolate and homemade goodies for mom (plus the personalized basket), coffee and hot-chocolate for the brother and photographs to make everyone go “awww.” The best part: I’ll put the whole thing together for less than the three $20 gift certificates to the mall I otherwise might have resorted to (notice the liberal use of the world “homemade” in the above paragraph.)
My basket is jam-packed, because it’s meant for a whole family with differing tastes, likes and dislikes, but you can theme your basket around just about anything and anyone. Try some of the suggestions below, and see what you come up with.

A Few Ideas

Chocolate

Everyone loves chocolate. You really can’t go wrong. And chocolate gift baskets are really easy. A canister of gourmet hot chocolate or some nice hot fudge in a pretty jar can be your centerpiece. Bake some double-chocolate-chip cookies for filler. Add some unique flavors of chocolate (like spicy chili, honey, or extra-dark) and round it out with homemade chocolate dipped anything! From fruits to pretzels, what doesn’t taste good dredged in chocolate?

Wine

Know your recipients' preferences. If they love deep reds, choose a velvety Cabernet. If they’re into crisp, fruity flavors, choose a bright pinot grigio. Then, build from there. Find brands they likely haven’t tried, and don’t fall for gimmicks. Ask a clerk at your local wine or liquor store for his or her favorite and ask them why. Then, get a unique bottle or two. Add two wine glasses (i love stemless glasses
- very modern), some cheese, crackers, nuts or chocolate and include a cute bottle-opener or wine stopper
.

Breakfast

Breakfast baskets are great, if you know your recipient will use them. Make a couple of your own pancake or waffle mixes and put it in a nice jar. Splurge for some real maple syrup (so worth it) Add a few packets of freshly ground coffee and two matching (yet inexpensive) mugs, and you’re done!

Cooking

Perfect for the chef in your life, a cooking basket can feature any number of surprises. You choose a meal-in-one type basket, where you'll surround your gift around one particular meal by adding gourmet pasta and sauce (using a colander for your basket), or homemade dough and an array of pizza toppings (arranged on a pizza stone), for example; or you can choose a hodgepodge of kitchen staples like unique marinades and sauces (think curry, pineapple-teriyaki or brown-sugar molasses), spices and rubs, gourmet oils (rosemary, lemon, garlic or pepper infused are always big hits) and few kitchen tools (like a Parmesan cheese grater, a cute apron or some colorful kitchen towels).

And your basket doesn't have to be filled with edibles. Put together a massage basket for a hard-working couple with a few scented oils, candles, some wood-rollers and a how-to book. Or a survival kit for the athlete or outdoor adventurer in your life with items like a flashlight, hand-warmers, chap-stick, trail-mix, wool socks, a knife, a flint and a compass.

The bottom line is that you can make a thoughtful, personal gift-basket for just about anyone, without overextending your budget. If money is tight, fill your basket with homemade goodies like cookies, fudge, seven-layer bars and dessert mixes. Your recipient will appreciate your effort and hard work, you'll save a bundle, and you might even have fun doing it.

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I can’t remember when I first heard this song. I’m not from a family that listened to Neil Young when I was a kid. So if I was to put an age on it’d be around 17 or 18. When I was out there discovering music to listen to of my own. This would definitely be the first Neil Young Song I heard. It’s a “classic” of is. The song that got him to the top of the charts and is the song he loathes to play. It also isn’t his best song.

But it’s a damn good song none the less. It speaks of many themes that I find compelling. The weariness of life spent in constant search for the perfect place and moment. But I can’t stop searching and I can’t stop moving in life. Ah well at least I’ve got my passport.

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You are hiding behind a stone wall being shot at by heavily armed cultist. You have had two weeks of training to deal with situations like this. But you’re only just starting to remember this. You know you should feel angry that people are shooting at you. But you consider that they would shoot at anyone trying to sneak into their heavily armed and very secretive religious compound. Instead you think about the figurative bastards that put you in this situation. They woke you up at four in the morning approximately thirteen hours ago. Bundled you into a car, then an airplane and whisked you six hundred miles from your home. They told you that that two week blackout you had was their fault. That two week blackout two years ago. A blackout that cost you a relationship with a person you deeply loved and very nearly alienated you from your immediate family. They said that you’d been taken to a secret government facility and been in their words ‘The Clockwork Orange’ treatment. Except instead of making you dislike violence they taught you to know how to do very unpleasant things to your fellow human beings. When you didn’t believe this as they quite reasonably expected they produced photographic evidence, timestamped and digitally signed. These memories slowly came back to you. You attributed this to the background music playing in the airplane’s cabin.

The current problem that you are to be injected into was explained to as a local disturbance which could rapidly turn into the European version of the Waco Ranch massacre. They explain to you that this is where you come in. You, they explain are to sneak into the compound and assassinate the leader of the cult as well as disrupt as much of the chain of command. Logically you try to explain to them that Solid Snake does this in the video games and he tends to die an awful lot in the attempt. They do not get the reference. They also suck their gums a lot which you take as a sign of ‘you’re not the first one we’ve sent in.’

The sneaking into the farm ran by crazy cult members did go better than expected. You made it past the official police line and through a field past the body of who you assume was ‘the first one sent in.’ As you reach the edge of the main farm complex however it all goes wrong.

Not the first one to be sent in seems to explain the problem well as you hide behind a dry wall. Your mouth is dry and your hands have almost stopped trembling. Their bullets have stopped firing. Cautiously you peer around the corner and see that three of the larger cultists are running towards you while brandishing very scary looking shotguns. You gulp. Aim the silenced pistol you were given at the closest cultist. Then you fire. It isn’t a perfect shot. It goes through his leg and he tumbles to the floor. He is screaming but the other two have upped the pace. You take aim again and fire. The next one drops without a sound in a mist of red. The third cultist stops. He raises his shotgun. You take cover. He discharges the weapon into the wall and the pellets bounce off the wall harmlessly. You feel you are getting the hang of this. Looking around the corner you feel slightly disappointed that he is running away from you.

You move forwards from this wall to the next. This is progress you think. Then they start firing a machine gun at you and you dive for the closest thing you see that looks like cover. The training you remember consisted of firing ranges, simulated close quarters combat exercises and training drills. Very little of the training (although you cannot be quite certain right now as your memory is still fragmented) involved being shot at and the immediate action to be taken when you inevitably come into the situation. You go on instinct here. Duck and cover, then hope that the machine gun breaks or runs out of bullets. 

The person manning the machine gun appears to be enjoying himself. Every few seconds a burst of fire removes fragments of the dry stone wall. The bullets are close and you hear some of them whistle through the air. The gunner however has a steady rhythm to his firing. You remember that you have a mirror on one of the cargo pockets. You take it out and use it to peer round the edge of the wall. There is only him. His burst finishes. You jump over the wall and shoot him in the head. The way into the main building is clear now. You kick the flimsy wooden door from it’s hinges. You hear a thumping noise.

You are cold and cannot move. Your head aches with a dull throbbing sensation. Your face hurts. Opening your eyes you see that you are in a cellar. The thin light of sunset comes in through an opening in the wall near the ceiling. You work out why you are cold and cannot move. Directly ahead of you  is a man.  He is naked and strapped to a gurney. His right arm has a horrific gunshot wound and his groans occasionally break his possibly drug induced sleep.

Four sky clad people walk into the cellar. One of them has a demonic mask and a evil knife. Another, a drum made from wood with a tight white skin with tattoo ink blue Celtic markings on it. The other two are women who start dancing and chanting as soon as they enter the room. The drummer starts to hit his drum and the masked man you watch move to stand in front of the injured man blocking him from your view.

“For your intrusion onto hallowed ground we punish you,” the masked man shouts.
“For your intrusion onto hallowed ground we punish you,” the others repeat.
You watch the masked man drag the knife across the injured mans chest. Blood runs to the ground.
“For your violent ways we injured you,” the masked man shouts.
“So we shall injure you again!” The two dancers say.
The masked man pushes the knife into the injured mans gunshot wound.
He screams!
“We the children of the gods say you must die,” all of the cultists say.
The injured man screams one last time.
You see the masked man turn to you. 

You are sweating heavily now. That evil knife is covered in gore and the blank look of the masked man you feel hides a sadistic smile. The drumming man carries on his vile rhythm for the dancers to follow. You see a small ball shaped object role through the sunlight opening. It bounces on the stone floor of the cellar.
“For your intrusion,” the masked man starts to say. You close your eyes in terror.

You hear a deafening noise followed by chaotic screams and gunshot. You close your eyes even more. The ringing in your ears stops and you open your eyes. You try to speak and a desperate whimper is all you can summon. You see eight people in battle dress and black full face gas masks. One of them approaches you and slings his weapon over his shoulder. You watch him take his gas mask off.
“It will be alright. You’ve done your duty. You’ve exceeded our expectations. Let us help you,” he says.

This story was originally entered into the SFX Pulp Idol competition. It didn’t win (aw), didn’t get shortlisted and it didn’t even get an honerable mention. No matter I’m well aware of it’s deficencies and it was a tracer bullet. Oh well it’s a success if someone enjoys it.

Will.

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Let me start by saying that this grouping is little more than a list of some of my favorite books. It in no way purports to be comprehensive in any sense, nor are the books presented in any particular order.

Many are distinctly Modern (I’m looking at you, Dave Eggers, Nicole Krauss and Lauren Slater). Others employ a favorite story-telling technique, Magical Realism, that I personally, can’t get enough of (thanks Toni Morrison, Salman Rushdie and Gabriel Garcia Marquez). Still others are included because they’re beautifully told, utterly unique or just plain cool.

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (Dave Eggers)
Eggers’ first novel is part memoir, part fiction and all modern. This book is bigger than itself. Eggers’ wildly experimental prose, self-conscious narrative and sheer humanity make this one of my all time favorites. The story details his family’s struggle to adjust to the death of both their father and mother in the span of just 32 days- yet much of the book is sheer fantasy and Eggers takes creative liberties in calling this story a “memoir.” (See “Lying: Lauren Slater, below) I would highly recommend this book to aspiring writers.

100 Years of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
A legend in and of itself, this book traces the lineage of a family in a small, supposedly South American town “on the edge of nowhere.” Employing some stunning examples of Magical Realism, a literary technique that has one character literally being drawn into the sky never to return, Marquez’ style is resonant of a fairy-tale so that the impossible is readily, even eagerly accepted. The opening line alone speaks volumes about the way this book hooks you: “Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.”

Song of Solomon (Toni Morrison)
Morrison needs little introduction on my part, and I had a difficult time choosing just one of her novels to highlight. However, Song of Solomon, to me, is perhaps her most experimental yet down-to-earth story to date. The story is a part coming-of-age, part alamentation of the lasting effects of slavery and part an examination of love, in all its strange and often distorted manifestations. Oh, and you’ll find some gorgeous instances of magical realism thrown in there for good measure as well.

Midnight’s Children (Salman Rushdie)
Hilarious, beautifully written, and impeccably structured, Rushdie constantly teases and tests his readers. The story, which traces a young man, Saleem, and his family as he grows up during India’s independence movement has been called a metaphor for the growth, and coming of age, of the country. Rushdie is truly a unique voice and Midnight’s Children is unabashedly accessible.

The History of Love (Nicole Krauss) 2005
A beautifully understated story with distinctly modernist leanings, The History of Love braids together the lives of three characters inextricably, yet distantly tied to each other: Leo, an old man who fears he is disappearing; Alma, a young girl on a quest to find happiness for her withdrawn mother; and Litvinoff, a mysterious and brooding Chilean man from another time. The History of Love truly stuns with some of it’s passages, one in particular stays with me:

“The first language humans had was gestures. There was nothing primitive about this language that flowed from people’s hands, nothing we say now that could not be said in the endless array of movements possible with the fine bones of the fingers and wrists. The gestures were complex and subtle, involving a delicacy of motion that has since been lost completely…”

The Unbearable Lightness of Being (Milan Kundera)
Perhaps a bit pretentious, this work of modern/post-modern fiction examines the insignificance of each and every one of us through a couple and their various infidelities. Uplifting, no? While it’s fair to say that not much actually *happens* in The Unbearable Lightness of Being, so much is said. Kundera believes this “lightness” (our insignificance) to be somewhat wrenching. I myself find it a bit liberating. Whether or not you enjoy the story, Kundera’s structure and prose make this piece worth reading, and the points it raises might send you on a philosophical quest of your own.

The Ear, the Eye and the Arm (Nancy Farmer)
I’m biased because this was a childhood favorite. Set in Zimbabwe in the year 2194, this story follows three royal youths through the various underbellies, subcultures and cults they encounter after they’ve been kidnapped. Three detectives with genetic deformities (super sensitive ears; excessively perceptive eyes and the third with a sense of empathy that often causes him to break down in tears) are assigned to find the children. Yes, it’s science fiction. Yes, it’s a children’s book. Yes, it’s worth reading. Take it to the beach!

The Darling (Russell Banks)
Russell Banks is a beautiful storyteller with the unique ability to put himself in the shoes, and heart, of almost anyone. The Darling is the story of Dawn/Hannah, a middle-aged woman whose rebellious past led her into the depths of Liberia where she experienced all manner of horror and beauty. A striking story told with the fresh rawness of a new wound, passages from the Darling will haunt you for years after you put it down.

Ulysses (James Joyce)
Read this book just to say you did it. Ulysses is an epic novel, yet spans just one day in the life of its protagonist, Leopold Bloom. Some say the book is pure genius. Others denigrate it as over-hyped fluff. Personally, I’d need to read it about five more times to make a fair assessment… But one thing is certain: Joyce went places with Ulysses (which was banned in the United States for obscenity in 1933) that few writers had gone before, and few have gone since. From his topical choices to his stylistic ones, Joyce has a voice and character all his own.

Lying: A Metaphorical Memoir (Lauren Slater)
This book will change the way you think of the term “memoir.” Slater challenges the concepts of truth, its contexts and even its very existence at the core of the human experience. Beautifully written and constructed with a modern twist, Lying has been called “metaphorical memoir,” (though she begs throughout to be understood as non-fiction.) This book continues to frustrate and enchant me, yet Slater’s beautiful prose and (here it is again) modernist tendencies keep me coming back for second, third and fourth readings.

Honorable Mention:
The Angel on the Roof (a collection of short stories by Russell Banks), How We are Hungry (a collection of short stories by Dave Eggers), What is the What (a creative non-fiction account of the life of one of Sudan’s Lost Boys, as told to and expanded upon by none other than Dave Eggers)

Note: If my liberal use of terms like “modernism” and “magical realism” annoyed or offended you, please see my upcoming post detailing these literary techniques and my interpretation of them. Until then, click the links, fool! Modernism – Magical Realism

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Nothing makes you think harder about the quality of your life than having the shits. Truly. Nothing gives you more pause for thought than when your colon is doing things you know damn well it oughtn’t do at all.

You sit there, straining to either get things out or keep things in and wonder how it got to be like this. What in the world could cause such fundamental disruption in your body’s essential functioning? Part of you doesn’t want to know. Part of you is focused on the horrific smells your body is producing. (Is this what death smells like?) Part of you can’t help but pause and go over the last few days of your existence. Not just food, because that in and of itself is always tremendously unremarkable. No, you have to tie those feeding periods to other events in your day. Recall all the cups of coffee you sucked down to first chase away the hangover from the night before, then to have something to put in your mouth to avoid telling people what you really thought of their fabulous new insert-item-or-idea-here.

It’s unbearable, and you’re chained to The Throne. The John, The Shitter, The Can. It’s always preceded with “The” as if this toilet, the one you are on right now, is the only piece of crafted porcelain and modern waterworks known to mankind at that particular moment in time.

Didn’t remember to pay off that bill today. Again. The phone keeps ringing and it gets ignored again. It’s not as if it’s family or friends or even the neighborhood dog catcher wondering if you’ve seen fluffy. It’s just the same three or four or five debtors reminding you that in your race to keep up with your own perceived material desires you’ve fucked yourself. Bitten off more than you could chew, as the expression goes. And boy are you feeling it now, too. What did I eat, anyway? Roadkill by the smell, cement mix by the effort it’s taking to make anything happen.

Such a vulnerable position. It seems like for as progressive and open society may get, there are still so many taboos and social mores surrounding the act of voiding one’s digestive system. Why shouldn’t there be? The body saves all the worthless, all the diseased, all the least usable parts of everything it ingests for this part of the process. Urine is supposedly sterile, but everybody is taught at a very early age that shit is not in the least bit sterile. There’s somewhat of a culture of guilt surrounding taking a shit (taking it where, those interested in linguistic semantics might muse). Everyone does it, no one likes to talk about it. Especially moments like these when things Just Aren’t Going So Well.

Of course, when things Just Aren’t Going So Well in other arenas of life, no one actually wants to know about it. Even when people ask “how’s it going?” “how are you?” “hey, what’s up?” they never actually want to know. Most people have things that Just Aren’t Going So Well, but if you told Joe Lunchbox at the office that, he’d chuckle awkwardly, try to come up with something comparable, and shuffle off without making eye contact with you for the rest of the day. With some, they’d whisper to others that you weren’t Quite Right, and Poor So-And-So Is Having A Tough Time. Misery is said to love company, what misery really adores is a conduit. It’s rare that people want to share their own misfortunes, but to hear about someone else’s puts the whole world in a ray of sparkling perspective. If they don’t actually have to empathize or even talk to the person suffering, more the better. That’s why gossip is so popular. All the misery, none of the unfortunate emotional connection associated with the company.

Of course after this enema-esque clearing of the soul occurs, the unstoppable bowels under some pretense of control again, the brain shuts back off. Thank your lucky stars, it is over, free at last! Time to clean up, flush all that away, and pretend you’re just as free of vile thoughts and substances as the next asshole – no pun intended of course – you come across.

Then it’s wash the hands, check the hair, inspect the clothes and the shoes for anything amiss, and back to smiling and watching. Watching and smiling. Got to keep any eye out for aberrant behavior. Can’t let anybody catch you in an off moment. Certainly have to assure everyone you encounter that nothing could be better. What could be wrong? Nothing that’s what. Truth be told a lot of this activity is a form of mindless self-indulgence. Two seconds of thought about the people you deal with will tell you that most have no concept of the life you live. An extra two seconds – mind you, this is if you really think hard about it – says that they don’t understand half of your thoughts and couldn’t care if they tried because the simple fact of the matter is: your life is outside their sphere of understanding. They could no more understand you, who they see every day, than they could a Polynesian tribal leader. Even with proximity, so many lives don’t really intersect on meaningful levels.

Yet at those most vulnerable moments, when we are only human and not even really an individual, nothing is more desirous than basic understanding. “Know that I’m a person just like you!” “Things don’t always go just right!” But who really expects that level of understanding? It’s painfully hard to come by in most seemingly ideal scenarios. Taking a shit is a lot like death in that regard. If you have a particularly nasty bowel movement, you get treated rather awkwardly by anyone who knows. If you lose someone particularly close to you, you get treated rather awkwardly by anyone who knows.

It might not be entirely the same; people are less apt to make fun of you for losing your favorite grandparent than they are if you shit your pants on a long car ride, but some elements surely remain the same. Lack of eye contact. Not knowing what to say. Not sure whether they should be sorry or not. Lingering desires to make sure you’re “ok” – whatever that means.

These kind of thoughts hover in the back of the mind when you slide back into your pain-inducing office chair and wonder for not the first and not the last time what exactly you’re attempting to accomplish by getting up every morning and coming to this place. Can’t sit comfortably, can’t shit comfortably, can’t get a word in edgewise out of pure desire not to ruffle overly sensitive feathers, can’t think straight, can’t figure out if these are all really “can’t” type things or if it’s just a lack of willpower. Deep inside something screams “get out” and another voice says “this is nothing, you can whip this, beat it, call it Sally and make this j-o-b into a real accomplishment”.

And ain’t life just contradictions.

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