Thursday, July 30, 2015

A Journal By Some Guy 60


Dear Journ,

I'm starting collect some comics on trade. I simply don't have the money to buy some titles by issue. It was a good suggestion I think. Of course I started with Saga causing me to realize how I late I am on quality comics. It's super. Damn imaginative which is good. Frankly, Marvel and D.C. are pissing me off or just straight disappointing me all together.

Don't get me started on why Journ...Please...I'm begging you. Don't open this can of worms. We're going to be here all night and I can't do that....

Just to number them though....

First, continuity. Basically nothing is concrete. People come back from the dead. Alternate realities. A character has like ten goddamn books with none of the story lines being current. It's shit.

And for a fan boy to tell me that this bullshit is circular, like I should accept the fact that stuff will get twisted up just because is complete nonsense. Tell a fucking story with a beginning, middle and end, you know, like an actual narrative instead of some fan fiction. I give zero fucks about Val-Zod. A black Superman? Oh how novel...

Which brings to my second gripe. Diversity is not changing an established white character brown or gay. It's lazy. So goddamn lazy. I don't want you to pander to me by putting a spin on something I know. I mean, we have two Bobby Drakes. One of them is gay and he's from the past? Or an alternate timeline or whatever the shit but the future/present Bobby Drake is conveniently not gay so effectively/ you're just testing out the waters with gay Bobby while having old Bobby on stand by just in case. That sucks. Flash being black sucks. I'm sorry. That's pointless, especially when him being black essentially doesn't change his character in the least. If it did, then we'd be offended which is why they're playing it safe.

It would be simpler if you just made a new character that was ethnic or gay or whatever and portray him/her as a human being. Show us that you actually understand that there or other people on the spectrum but just switching out a characteristic? Fuck...

And third, characters not dying. Death means nothing in comics. Nothing at all. Wolverine will be back. Colossus came back. Nightcrawler came back. Jean Grey...is the goddamn Phoenix, the embodiment of rebirth. This is just the X-Men but as you well know Journ, this crap isn't just with them.

Death is cheap in comics. Mortality means nothing. Look at Batman. He's had at the very least, four Robins, two of which are in their mid to late twenties presumably, one in his late teens, and Damien, who despite being cool, is just kinda shoved in there just for kicks.

Yet Batman? How old is he? He trained both Jason and Dick from teenagers and yet he's what, in his late thirties at best? How is that so? Even Tim is Red Robin now...

Somehow, not aged at all and fighting crime and can still beat Superman.

He can't Journ. That's-that's not realistic at all and Affleck in an Iron Man suit is not gonna make it digestible.

OK. I'm done for now. I'll revisit this topic though, with research, later. I want my gripes to have evidence.

I've won the bet with time to spare though I won't say it's my best work. I suppose though besides the competitive aspect of the bet, I am glad I've got something out. Four months Journ. Fuck me sideways. How lazy am I? I actually thought I'd written eight. I seriously had the narrative in my mind only to realize that yes, I've been slacking off big time plus I've got a faulty memory.

I'm jazzed though because I know who's gonna die(obviously) and how it's going to end. It was one of those times when I see the story playing out in my head and I think this needs an ending. I am known to not finish shit. I don't deny it but things gotta change.

And I have to end that Shaggy,Velma, Daphne story. I'm so close to ending it...

Mundane Magic: Bushes and Cat Ladies 8

"You alright there gal?"

Witchfinger was the only thing holding her up. Her heart had not stop hammering when her head started to swim. I've been here before, haven't I? Tears welled in her eyes. I knew I'd be here but how? Sobs made her hiccup. Why am I crying? Was she weeping for herself?

"What's the matter with her Rusty?!" She faintly heard Jojo whimpering and yapping. He tried to nuzzle his little body against her leg. It made her cry harder. He seemed to change through her tears. He was a cat in boots. Then a labrador with a vest. Then a monkey in a suit. Then a squirrel in Viking armor...it was all switching so fast.

"Come on nah Matilda-"

"You knew!" Jojo bounded away from her. The ground split beneath her as Witchfinger's roots sunk into the ground. "You knew what I was! You knew where you were fucking taking me!"

"Here Jojo." Rusty stooped low to gather the terrified chihuahua in his arms. "That's a good boy."

"She's doing it man! Those eyes! That smell!" The bat was growing in size, more a trunk now than a staff. The birds flew from the trees. Rabbits, foxes, deer bounded away as the twilight turned to darkness.

"I can't! I won't! Not again! Again?!" Matilda swayed on her feet. Every time she looked up, things around the Gate change. Seasons and vistas and eras cascaded before her, a slide show of realities and possibilities. Her head felt like it would split in two exponentially. "You can't...make me..." Rusty was walking towards her with Jojo. His feet tracked through snow, leaf litter and desert with ease.

"Nope. I can't." He sounded weary. Bored almost. "But I don't have to Matilda. I never need to."

"You..." He was right next to her, Rusty was, with a shivering Jojo in the crook of his arm. Her mind-what was she talking about? Things were getting..."No!" The protest shot out of her even as her resolve against-what was she raving about?-began to ebb. "Not...not like this..."

"Let go gal." Rusty was shaking his head. "It's quantum entanglement. Last time we had this conversation, we smoked a joint so you wouldn't as you put it 'Go all Schrodinger'. Mebbe I shoulda prepared this time around."

Matilda Mae went ramrod straight. Witchfinger's trunk began to make branches. Her eyes began to cascade from hazel to green focusing on Rusty.

Jojo yipped as Rusty put him into Matilda's arms. He didn't know how Rusty figured she'd take him. She seemed so angry and afraid. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

 Yet she wilted like a flower with his touch, anger failing to sustain her any longer. Her body closed around Jojo as she sat lotus on the ground. He felt her pulse slow. Matilda was taking oxygen through her nose, exhaling through her mouth as if she had done it all her life.

"The fuck just happened?" Jojo barked. Matilda was petting her but she was staring off towards the Gate.

"She almost crashed again, that's what happened."

The Groundskeeper didn't seem at all surprised too see the white robed form come through a ripple in space time. Like all elves, he was too lithe and fine boned to be anything but. His eyes were the emptiness of space complete with galaxies twinkling in them. They seemed to focus on everything and nothing at once. "This is getting out of hand Rusty, her iterations are getting stronger."

"Bah. She alright." Rusty waved the elf's concern away. "I just had to speed this up quicker than I usually do. The Pine Witch already popped in. She knew things were gonna work out."

"Already here?" The elf''s eyebrows knitted. He shook his head. "And left?" Rusty nodded. "This is disconcerting."

"Oh boy. Uh are you doing that thing where-" The elf was still as a statue. Not even the wind stirred his silver tresses. "Yeah ya doing it."

____________

His Razor told him that Cricket would not heed his advice. How he did not know at the time when he initially made his calculations. Factoring in his sense of duty with his history with a version of Matilda Mae still wouldn't bring Cricket to the conclusion of not using her. She was a living part of the Yggdrisil. He'd be a fool not to.

Then he spotted the two wizards at the Dollar Store causing it all to come together.

A Power of Three Conversion! Fascinating! Brilliant! His magic made use of inevitabilty . It would only stand to reason the inevitable that erred on destiny could best it. But so soon though? After he tried to influence things his way?

He waited until the magicians began to shadow Cricket before making his move. They stalked with purpose. They must've have watched him and Cricket from afar. He let them get half a block ahead of him before blinking himself closer.

The Occam was on the next block, ironically under the large tree across from Moon's Subs. The reserve of magic it had made teleporting easier for him..

...and other beings. The elf didn't ripple into existence. It was if he was already there. His robes were iridescent in the gloom yet brightened nothing about him. Advanced astral projection across time space. He was in two places at once the Occam already knew, difficult for even an elf. It made him giddy. "You watch what you to know to happen and yet you must observe it closer still to find out why." His pitch black eyes were full of stars, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. "My kind suffer this malady with ease. You should as well Occam."

"I do as best I can m'lord." He could not keep the amusement out of his voice. He was here to do something that he didn't want to do or at least he hoped so. How often did you get to discomfit such beings? "But you are not here and there to tell me that."

"Most astute Occam. At least we can dispense with the existentialism I usually encounter." He looked at the bush waving like seaweed in water. Disgust twisted his delicate features. "Why does this human malign existence so again?"

"Puss' Boots." If the elf had pupils, the Occam was sure he'd have seen his eyes roll. He laughed at the thought.

"I hardly see amusement in this."

"Says the person who sees almost everything!" He watched the three go to the Park-N-Shop. After the black magician shook his hand, he would have thought Cricket more wary. The woman had quantum magic from what he could gather with those bags. "I told him to go with Matilda Mae."

"As you should have." He didn't move his head nor body towards the three but the Occam imagined he was looking at them just the same. "And yet we are here. Three have gathered to do what two should have." The elf's chest rose and fell slightly, his version of a sigh. "I must interfere through you." The Occam couldn't hold back his laughter. "Will you have done? I am serious."

"Of course you are! Your kind always is." He was doubled over struggling to catch his breath. The wind was blowing hard enough to make it rain sideways it seemed yet all was quiet around the tree. "May I ask why?"

"Because the homunculus knows you are a borderline sociopath as will her mistress. That will make her trust you somewhat." His Cupid's bow of a mouth went into a line. "She may do something desperate with the hedge clippers. I will need those to undo this mess. I cannot risk them."

"It will be you then?" The Occam didn't wait for an answer. "And she will trust me when I...?"

The elf shook his head so slightly the Occam might've missed it. "No. I give you more than you need wizard. It is here to make sure Cricket carries out her mistress' task. You and I both know that is a waste of surveillance."

________

"You gon' what?!"

"I've lead the witch's familiar here." The elf said smoothly. "That is to say, I've set things in motion so that shall occur."

"And why in the Sam Hell would you do that?" He threw an arm towards the Gate. "You gonna let that thing near it?"

"No. Be reasonable. I only need you to let her onto the farm." The elf's chin moved a quarter of an inch to the left. "You seem troubled."

"You want me to let her through. On this land. That I protect in countless dimensions..." He looked over at Matilda Mae rocking back and forth, staring between the gargoyles. "While she's like that?"

He looked upon her, the elf did, his shoulders moving slightly up, his version of a shrug. "She's rebooting just fine. Her quantum perception is separating again. She won't even remember feeling betrayed I'd gather which means she will be up to doing what she has always done. No harm, no foul."

"That sadness..."

"Is needed." The elf turned his attention to the Groundskeeper. "The familiar will tell Hurley of what the Occam has said. This in turn will bring Irma Jean out to Osteen where the Occam will have to face her."

"And why would that sumbitch do that? The Occam ain't fighting unless he can't run." The elf said nothing to this as he walked over to the trunk that used to be Witchfinger. His touch made the wood unravel, swirling in reverse, a hurricane of bark and saw dust. This was not without effort Rusty noticed. Beads of sweat blossomed on his pale brow. The elf grunted as if he were pulling it apart with his slender hands rather than magic.

Thrusting his his arm in the maelstrom, he pulled out the wooden staff. Root and vine wound about it like tentacles, almost dragging the fine boned elf's arm back into the whirlwind. He chanted mathematical equations so fast they blurred into babble and with a great cry ripped Witchfinger away leaving a trunk where it once was.

"So strong..." The elf staggered as if drunk. Rusty had rarely seen their kind in such a state. He gulped for air. "There is...there is math I had not encountered before...that should have been...easier..." The elf made his way towards Matilda, seemingly oblivious to Rusty's shock. He lay Witchfinger reverently by her. "Please genus loci, you just do as I ask in this. The sooner things are in motion, the sooner they are over."

And you want them to be over soon. That was what the elf did not say. He was ambling towards the portal. "You see?" He pointed between the gargoyles. The scene between them changed with only one constant; an orange tree with fruit on one side. The one the Pine Witch just summoned. "It is underway. This Matilda is ready."

"I hope you right about that." Rusty was packing his pipe. Matilda's fingers reached for her staff, inching slowing through the grass. "I really hope so."

"As do I." The scene rippled like water as the elf passed into the Gate.




Tuesday, July 28, 2015

A Journal By Some Guy 59

Dear Journ,


Monster Musume.

I'm watching it. It's like the strangest harem anime I have encountered thus far. I'm sure the hentai for it is incredible because of course there's hentai for it. I mean, come on Journ be reasonable here. Scooby Doo has hentai and it is awful.

Except for Velma. Real talk. She's like fucking off limits to anyone.

But between World Trigger, Arslan Senki, Gangsta and(takes deep breath)Fate/Stay Night: Unlimited Blade Works...oh and Prison School too which is hilarious, I'm watching too much 2D and not enough 3D. My excuse of course is that the new seasons of Doctor Who or Sherlock aren't out. Some people don't except those excuses.

They really should be out now though. The Doctor needs to climb in his Tardis and Sherlock needs to get on this case. It's-It's simply unfair for anyone to wait for these wonderful shows...

Not that I'm taking a break from anime Journ but I got look at other stuff. Sense8 is on my list but I don't have the Netflix you see and the same thing goes for Hemlock Grove which is quite a shame because of this:


And that same person who turned me on to that shit is betting me I can't follow with a new Bushes and Cat Ladies entry.

Game on awesome person. My reward shall be sweet I am assured. Wolves bursting out of people. How great is that?

Monday, July 27, 2015

A Journal By Some Guy 58

Dear Journ,


To my Mom. Not you. This was her day. Don't be so fucking selfish.

Scientifically speaking, you get most of your physical characteristics from your father. From your mother, you get your emotional fortitude and intelligence.

My mother can be summed up as such. Keesha, you know how I am. You can knock on the door and I can be up but if I don't won't to be bothered with you, I'm not answering my door.

She doesn't give a damn, my mother doesn't, about a lot of stuff. A lot of her opinions are arbitrary to other people's. Many call her mean and standoffish. She is not one to bite her tongue, even with strangers.

My brother: Who was that girl I was with before what's-her-face?

Me: Rosalind. Why do I remember random stuff?....

My mother: Oh yeah. The really fat one.

Me: Ma...

My mother: (mock look of indignation) Well she was.

Me: I like fat girls though.

My mother: I was just saying, she was fat. And she didn't like me at all. Not that I'm one to talk. I need to lose this gut.

She is the reason I have two birthdays. One for my actual birth and the other for when I was conceived. If she were any other person, I would call her on shit for that second one. She's my mother though and she would be the type to know exactly when I was conceived. Hell, she told me the story of how it happened. She's just that accurate about things like that.

She never had a filter for what she told us. It was like sure, let me tell you about these two bisexual, hippy, part-time prostitutes I used to hang out with before you were born because, well, at six or so, why not learn about this? She is part of the reason my mind is so...open? I asked her where babies came from, she grabs a medical text. Do I wanna know about condoms? Well if you need them, I'd rather you get them from me. Not that I want you doing anything...

I suppose she didn't. I'm fairly certain...

I started to pay attention to her and realized why people listened to her. My mom would speak like whatever she said was the most natural thing in the world. Are you upset about it? That's fine. Didn't mean she had to be pissed off with you. That infuriates people, not that she cares.

People like her because she doesn't care about being liked. She's cool for not being cool. Hypocritical without apology. How can you go by what the bible says about gays but watch LOGO like it's going out of style. Or...

I don't understand these video games ya'll playing.

Plays Castlevania on Gameboy DS like a boss, anything on the Wii U, and anything Super Mario.

All these spirits and demons and what not on television, preparing for the end of days...

Liked Twilight. Watches Supernatural, Atlantis, Fallen Skies, Agents of Shield, Arrow, Gotham, Agent Carter, Flash, Merlin and The Vampire Diaries.

She says we'll all find a reason to hate her one day. But I think that's more of a logical conclusion for her than an admission of guilt. It's like saying I'll die one day or you'll out grow me. Inevitable although she's absolutely wrong.

She's sixty year old Journ and she can still inspire fear in me to this day. She said she had a dream where I had a son and that she was sure he was seven years old. I don't know if that means seven years from now or what, but I know what I saw. He played baseball you said...

Sheer, unadulterated, terror. My heart in my throat. I'm sitting at the table feeling like I was just told I'd not be able to get any Christmas presents. Like summer vacation was cancelled. As if Halloween suddenly wasn't a holiday.

This is the dichotomy of my mother. Her views are conservative and archaic on one end and yet, she is intuitive enough to know how to hush someone without yelling and tell you why Bernie Sanders won't beat Hillary Clinton.

Micah, she looks over her glasses. We both know he won't make it pass the primaries. He won't have the money.

And cold hearted. Like ice in her veins.

And I love her because she's the reason I can be such a dick and not give one flyin' fuck about anyone's opinions. There's no god ma but bless you anyways.

To Hell with your omens however. Don't curse me so casually. Pathos....

Sunday, July 26, 2015

A Journal By Some Guy 57

Hullo Journ,

I gotta keep this quick because Rick and Morty is coming on and that just trumps all.



I actually got some stuff done today though. Stoner stereotypes are applying less and less than me though the smoking hasn't stopped. I suppose I just don't like feeling stagnant anymore. I have to actually do shit to achieve my goals because if I don't, who will.

Mr. Meeseeks perhaps? Hopefully?

Well my mother is turning sixty tomorrow Journ so expect something like an ode to her. It won't be sugarcoated of course but she's sixty and I will speak as honestly as I can for her sake as well as mine.

What else? I'm gonna write some more of Cricket. Got to. I'm on a half-ass writing streak here and last I left him, there were viking squirrels involved and I just can't walk away from that plus someone is actually looking forward to me writing it.

You know who you are. Worry not. Matilda Mae is gonna kick ass. Oh and more smut and maybe something else random and not a story but not a journal.

In conclusion, I guess I'm never gonna fully grow up, just gonna try and be mature about the things I really want like great sex and a sense of fulfillment.

A Journal By Some Guy 56

Dear Journ,

I don't know quite what to call it but I have teeth coming in even after most of my wisdom teeth have been pulled.

Honestly, even as I write this blog, I probably could Google it but fuck me if I'm not feeling extra lazy.

In any case, I was supposed do some drinking and chiefing over a friend's house when lo and behold, that misshapen thing started poking through the gums so I took a acetaminophen and thought to get a nap...so yeah, you know the rest of the story.

Which is why instead of blowing you off, I'm doing two of these pointless things in a day, again.

I would talk about work yesterday and how exhausted I was because of stupidity not of mine own making but I might make that a habit which I don't want.

Sexting got eighteen views. Can you believe that shit? I'm totally awed here. I mean granted in the grand scheme of the Internet eighteen of anything is nothing but it means a lot to me. If I could, I'd shake the hands of all eighteen people. That would only be after washing said hands.

I kid, I kid.

Not really though.

What can I say? I like that something I wrote turned someone on. Especially if their of the female persuasion. Not dumping on you male fans if I've got them. Your orgasms are important too just not to me so much.

It's just Journ, I like making women horny.

As a guy who works where I work, I see nothing less than three fine women a day. Like that's a realistic stat. Usually it's sundresses or yoga pants over a nice ass.

And let me just say...yoga pants are amazing. If there was a god(which there isn't)I'd imagine him/her/it winking at me with a thumb/tentacle/claw up on a cloud whispering Yeah buddy, I thought about ya.

Every time I see some scant evidence of divinity, I get turned on even if it's just a little. It's like I see a small sample clip of what sex could possibly be like with them. A teaser trailer for a site I'm not planning on paying membership for.

This is the case for most men. Sorry not sorry. Most of us are indeed undressing you with our eyes. No disrespect. It's nature though I have to say, we could be less creepy about it.

I can't imagine it's exactly the same for women and mind Journ, I'm probably wrong on this because I know shit about women(as most men do). Still, even if women are undressing men with their eyes(me hopefully?), women are still wired somewhat differently than men.

The only thing I might know is that women are more mental than men. In knowing that, writing erotica has been fascinating because no woman that I talk to about what I write ever admits to be turned on by what they've read.

Yet Journ, they read and ask when I'm going to post more. It's a Jedi mind trick.

Me: So you liked it?

Her: It was nice. Very involved.

Me: (me waiting)...And?

Her: I'd like to see what's going to happen in the next one. The story is...interesting...

Like, I'm getting half of the truth? Critiques I actually get Journ and for the most part I'm glad for that.

But it's like...I dunno...It's strange because I know why they're getting read but not WHY. And yet I keep writing them because I like knowing that women are aroused because of something I dreamed up. I'm trying to get better at it you know? That Quickies collection is coming(pun intended)bu how hard is the question.

And another thing, I'm just gonna start throwing pictures on these things because they need them for, uh, presentation and shit so here's whatever:


Friday, July 24, 2015

A Journal By Some Guy 55

Dear Journ,

Of course I skipped the other night. I'm human. I'm sorry. Moving on.

I posted some smut. Not my best admittedly. It felt good though to visit what I knew. It was extemporaneous somewhat but yeah, I was satisfied with how it ended up despite everything.

I do love writing. Even this conversation Journ is, enjoyable? Relaxing? Natural might work. I think perhaps as of late, I've been hyper critical of what I want to write. I question it's validity and if it's pushing me forward or not. If I was more honest though, I got lazy and unfocused.

There's so much to write though! So many ideas! I wish I had someone to bounce them off of. They're kinda just rattling around in my head cluttering up things. I at least need to know if some of them are stupid enough to let go.

Oh and hands aren't simple. They are Rubik's Cubes at the ends of your wrists(as if you have those). The hand has three masses in the palm. Your knuckles are lower than where your digits connect on the front. If you bend any other finger besides your ring finger, those fingers follow each other. You're better off drawing the ring finger and making a "mitten" for the rest....

And I still suck at them but I'm getting better. Understanding something little by little is realistic I think. You have to fuck up to do that though. I'm learning you're never perfect at the beginning.