Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Giving up on a book

I hate giving up and not finishing reading a novel, it really fills me with a palpable sense of failure. Thankfully I have only had to do that a few times in my life. But if you don't like what you are reading, why continue? It's better to find another book to enjoy and experience.

I made it more than halfway through Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon before giving up on it. I just couldn't find any enjoyment in reading it, I was also very sick at the time I made the attempt and that probably didn't help matters any. I think at some point I may go back and try again or try to find an audiobook version.

Another one that really hurt was J.R.R. Tolkien's The Silmarillion. As a huge fan of The Hobbit and The Lord Of The Rings saga, I was eager to read about the back story of Middle Earth. I found it impossible to connect with anything the book was saying due to the style in which it was written. I don't remember how far I made it exactly but I finally had enough. It hurt but what could I do?

I now find myself in the same boat with a book called The Book Of Eibon. This is a collection of short stories written to recreate The Book Of Eibon, a tome of evil spells and information written about by Clark Ashton Smith and H.P. Lovecraft. Most of it is written in a faux medieval style that I find impenetrable. So I may skim through it to see if ANY of the stories are worth attempting, otherwise, on to something else...

Monday, November 22, 2010

New poem

If the war is all you have

It was typical Wednesday business

down at the triage tent

they bled me ‘til I was stupid

then I ran for president

but I ended up a shepard

to a restless ewe and calf,

just another familiar dead end

if the war is all you have.

It was out there on the outskirts

of this hateful little town

they would roll the dice to decide

if I was a devil or a clown,

they’d ask me loaded questions,

I replied in the speech of bone

just another language picked up

if the war is all you’ve known.

I was the Pope of urban legends

more Vati-can’t than Vatican

all my enemies fit in one mirror

and when they said “stand still”, I ran

now all the guilty mascots

are driven off in a Mercedes-Benz

just driving on forever

if the war will have no end.


Brian Moreau

Saturday, October 2, 2010

A horror story I wrote

Wow, it's October already! I was hoping to be on my way to Portland Oregon by this time but it looks like it'll be a little longer yet before I move,lol.

In the meantime, to celebrate the season, here's a horror story I wrote last year. Hope you enjoy it!


The Night Life

The new people moved into the old Bilkins house on Monday. Thursday night they threw their first party.

Adrian Draly noticed the noises coming from down the street at around eight o’clock that night. While working on his client’s file on his laptop, he became aware of a deep, thudding drumbeat. He was sitting at his kitchen table and got up to see where it was coming from. From his window, he could see that most of the houses on his street were either dark or calm, but the Bilkins house, older and taller than the other houses on the block, was ablaze with light. He could see dark shapes moving around inside. The drumbeat was definitely coming from there and from time to time he could hear a woman’s high pitched squeal or laughter.

Must be a housewarming party, thought Adrian. As long as it doesn’t last too late, I don’t care. And with that he went back to his work.

He finished a few minutes before nine and decided to spend the next hour before bed watching a DVD of a recent British comedy a friend at work had given him. While he was watching it, he was dimly aware of the pulsing drumbeat in the background. At one point, the loud squeal of the woman he had heard earlier came through the open window of his bedroom and startled him. At twelve minutes after ten, he turned off the DVD and got ready for bed, hoping the party would wind up soon.

Three sleepless hours later, it still hadn’t.

Not knowing what else to do, Adrian called the Nashua police. He recognized the voice of the officer that answered as Hugo Timmons. Adrian was relived; Hugo was a friend and would get to the bottom of this.

“Hey Hugo, this Adrian Draly out on Cody Road. I hate to bother you tonight but there’s a loud party going on a few houses down, some people moved into the Bilkins house and I guess it’s a housewarming party or something, I don’t know. Could you please swing by there and get them to tone things down? I can’t get any sleep.”

“Sure, I’ll go talk to them. The old Bilkins place, huh? All us kids in town were scared shitless of that place growing up.”

“Yeah well, I didn’t grow up around here, I moved here twelve years ago, still a newbie to a lot of people around here.”

Officer Timmons laughed. “Yeah, that’s pretty true. You get yourself some sleep Adrian, I’ll go calm them down.”

Adrian hung up the phone. Forty minutes later, the party had still not abated. He finally fell into an angry, restless sleep.

There was another party the next night.

It was a Friday night and Adrian didn’t have to work the next day but the endless drumbeat and loud cheerful shrieks of the woman (or was there more than one voice? He couldn’t be sure.) kept him awake. He considered calling Timmons again but decided not to. He didn’t want to be the cranky neighbor who couldn’t stand to see others having fun. He’d encountered his share of those during his college days in Atlanta twenty years ago. Let them have their parties, they couldn’t keep this up forever.

At one thirty, the party was still going on. Adrian sighed and went downstairs to sleep on the living room couch. The sound was slightly less intrusive there and once again he fell into a fitful sleep.

Saturday night came and with it another party.

“Oh come on! You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”, Adrian yelled to himself after the now hated drumbeat started up shortly after eight. He spent the next few hours stomping around the house. Once, he heard the now familiar gleeful squeal of that damn woman.

“Fuck you, you whore,” he muttered under his breath.

At midnight, he couldn’t take it anymore. He called officer Timmons.

“Hugo, it’s Adrian again. Look, it’s been three goddamn nights in a row, every night a damn party. I’ve tried to be a good sport about this but enough is enough. I don’t know what you told them the other night but it didn’t work. You’re going to have to go back and be stricter this time.”

Timmons was quiet for a few moments. “Uh, yeah…about that. I never made it out there.”

“Why the hell not?”

“You heard about the 7-11 that got held up that night? I was on my way out there when the call came in. All officers on duty had to respond. By the time everything was wrapped up it was almost four AM. I figured by then the party had burned itself out.”

“Well could you please make it out there tonight and make them cut out the shit?”

Adrian, give ‘em one more night. I’ve been a cop for fifteen years, trust me on this. You don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with new neighbors. Give ‘em just one more night. If they’re at it again tomorrow night, give me or the cop on duty a call and I promise we’ll take care of it.”

Adrian gave a deep, suffering sigh. Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

“Hugo…I can’t have been the only person on this street to have complained about the noise.”

“Well, let me check…” There came the sound of rustling papers. This lasted for nearly a minute and a half. “No, there have been no other complaints from anyone on Cody Road.”

“That can’t be!”

“Can’t but is buddy. So what’cha gonna do?”

Adrian sighed again. “One more night…’Buddy!’ But if I hear so much as a peep from that house tomorrow night…you are gonna hear about it.”

“Good man! Now try to get some sleep.”

Timmons hung up, leaving Adrian alone in the dark. Alone with the drumbeat and a woman’s piercing voice.

Sunday night was blissfully quiet, as were the next three nights.

By the middle of the week, Adrian was certain that the problem of the rowdy neighbors was a thing of the past. When he came home from work on Thursday afternoon he was in such high spirits he decided to walk the few blocks to a nearby convenience store to buy a few groceries. There was a lightness in his step as he made his way down the street. He passed by the Bilkins house. The house still looked very run down, it didn’t seem as if the new owners had done any work at all on the building.

Well, if the assholes hadn’t wasted their time on those parties they would have a lot more accomplished by now Adrian thought smugly.

At the store, he bought a quart of milk, some orange American cheese and a package of hot dogs. Still feeling happy, he began the walk home. As he passed by the Bilkins house again, he saw there was a woman standing on the porch.

She was at once the most beautiful and most repellant woman he had ever seen. She seemed to be in her mid twenties but somehow Adrian knew that wasn’t true. She had long reddish brown hair and huge eyes that seemed to be all colors at once. Her mouth was small and crooked into a sly, secretive smile. From what he could see of her teeth, they seemed sharp and pointed. She was wearing a short green dress. Her skin was the most disturbing thing about her. It looked amazingly smooth, like the skin of a shark or maybe a life sized doll. Adrian wanted to touch that skin…and he wanted to run away from it, forget he had ever seen it.

Without realizing it, he began to walk towards the porch, towards her. She moved towards him as well and as she moved out into the bright sunlight, he noticed just how sheer the fabric of her dress was. He could see the dark aureole of her breasts and his eyes strayed down her body…yes, he could faintly see the dark triangle of her loins.

They stood like this for several moments. Then Adrian found his voice.

“Uh..hello there! I’m Adrian; I live a few houses up the street. What’s your name?”

She didn’t answer. Just looked at him with those huge eyes, her smile becoming ever more sinister.

“You sure had a lot of parties here last week! Hope you all had fun! How many of you moved in here? I never saw a moving truck, just one day the ‘For Sale’ sign was, poof! Gone!”

She still didn’t answer. Instead, she began to slowly open her mouth…then she snapped it shut. She did it again. And again. And again.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Adrian asked. He nearly winced at the panic he heard rising in his voice.

Her mouth opened. Snapped shut. Opened. Snapped shut.

Adrian turned and walked quickly up the street. Before he turned into his driveway, he looked back down the street. She was still there, watching him. Suddenly, she threw back her head and let out that squealing shriek that had nearly driven him mad the week before. Then she turned and ran into the house, the front door slamming behind her.

That night around eight, the drumming began again.

“That fucking crazy bitch!” Adrian roared. He threw the shot glass of vodka he had poured to calm his nerves across the room. It hit the window and knocked out a huge shard of glass, causing him to scream even louder. He began to stomp towards the phone to call Timmons but midway across the room, he stopped. Fuck Timmons! He hadn’t done shit to help him with this problem. He was probably sitting on his ass down at the station, laughing about the whole situation. No…he was going to have to take care of this himself.

I’m going to go down there and make them stop! he thought in a red haze. If I have to wipe that disgusting smile off that little whores face and slap around any other freaks there, so be it!

He marched down the street, each step seeming to make the drumming louder. The old Bilkins house was once again all lit up. Every single window had a shade drawn down. Adrian thought he saw a large shadow slide quickly behind one on the second floor. He ran up the porch steps and across to the large front door. He began to pound on it.

“Hey assholes! Is this a private party or can anyone come on in? You love to share the fucking noise though, don’t you?”

He gave the door another savage punch. It swung open. It was also at that moment the drumming stopped. Having taken things this far, he decided to go on in. Before he crossed the threshold, he turned and looked back up his street. Every other house besides his and the Bilkins place was dark. He then realized he hadn’t seen or heard any of his other neighbors in several days. Possibly longer. A shiver passed through him and he stepped inside.

The inside was a mess. Absolutely no work had done been on the inside either. The floor was rotted in several spots. There was no furniture anywhere. The smell of mildew was the strongest he had ever encountered in his life; he had to concentrate to keep from coughing. The new silence was very unnerving.

Adrian heard heavy bumps like running steps coming from the floor above him. They must all be hiding upstairs, he thought. He began to look around for stairs so he could go up there and confront them.

He passed by an open door. Something made him stop and look.

It had been a large, walk-in closet. It was totally empty, no old clothes, no hangers, not even the rods for the hangers. A single bulb hung bare on a cord that swung on a faint breeze. He noticed there was an extension cord running into the closet. He walked inside.

There was a large hole in the floor of the small room. Here, the floorboards had not rotted away but violently smashed to expose the ground beneath the house.

There was another hole, in the ground.

As if in a dream, Adrian drifted over to the hole. The extension cord ran into the hole in the ground. He looked down into it. There were many work lights, like the ones mechanics use, strung down along the side walls of the hole, going very far down. But the hole continued far down below the last light.

There was something inside Adrian, some race memory or psychic whisper that told him that hole went all the way down into Hell itself.

He stood, perhaps for many minutes, maybe for several hours, gazing down into that pit. At some point, he became aware that someone was behind him. He turned.

She stood there before him, totally nude. His eyes drank in the beautiful white and brown of her perfect breasts, the lovely dark tangle of her crotch. Again, he noticed that nearly impossible smoothness of her skin that spoke of sharks gliding in the moonlight reefs, of the artificial crying out to be human.

On silent feet, she walked up to him. She gazed into his eyes and he knew he had been born to love this succubus, that she had crawled up the side of that pit behind them only for him. She reached up and took his face in her hands. She pulled him down and kissed him with all the passion of Hell. After several long moments, she broke off the kiss, looked at him with that smile that was full of dark hints.

Suddenly, her embrace became a shove.

Adrian stumbled backwards. His feet flew over the rim of the hole and he began to fall. He reached out wildly to grab onto to something but the walls of the pit were too hard to gain any purchase. His hand lashed out again and closed on one of the white hot bulbs of one of the work lights, causing it to shatter. He shrieked in pain.

As Adrian fell he thought he heard the drumbeat begin again, but whether it was the final poundings of his heart or the music of the demons that awaited him below, he would never know.

5/31/09-6/01/09 Brian Moreau

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Forgotten great songs part two

Sweet Fire Of Love by Robbie Robertson (with U2). Album:Robbie Robertson

It's true: when you're a teenager, everything is about sex.

I was 16 in the fall of 1987. I had just gotten my driver's license and a beautiful Indian summer was in full swing. Robbie Robertson released his first solo album right around this time and it spoke to me. These were sexy songs, they captured perfectly the intense, giddy holiness that a teenager views sex-and much of life-with.

This song in particular really captures the mood of the album. Back in '87 it felt like jumping off a cliff into a river of cool water...or maybe a lake of fire. Twenty-three years later, my breath still catches and my heart begins to pound when I hear it.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

New poem

Atlantic City, August 1979


The morning fog
seperated the boardwalk
from the sea.
Only winos wanted to be on
the beach that early,
you could see them as shadows
pacing on the sand,
pretending to have concerns
and burdens greater than
the paper bag becoming too light.


Children are at home in crowds,
a chance to be a mustang in a stampede,
a stone in an avalanche.

Supertramp blared from every passing car,
every open shop door,
the sun burned away the fog
and sang along to the hits.


Sharks and stingrays
in a green lit tank,
small crocodile on a mossy log,
an aquarium of the defeated.

Next door,
a battered paperback of Spiderman comics hung from a bookrack just beyond my reach.

I couldn't dare to ask for it.


At 8 years old,
I couldn't legally gamble,
even though I'd been taught my whole life what was at stake.

I had years,
decades even,
to learn I was in no postion to negotiate,

that we live entire lives
in the shadow of risk,
hoping our faces give nothing away,

that we hope we remain on the boardwalk and the people in the fog get taken by the sun.

Brian Moreau

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Recent poems

Quicksilver, Slowsilver, Stillsilver

(for D)

All these years,

dreaming of your molten life,

your hot, mirrored heart.

Silver moonlight at dawn-

I’ll be sorry if I unblock (---)”s profile.

I just don’t want to know,

I’ll be sorry.

Where do we go…

no one can predict our motion,

our entanglements

that takes us from one end of the universe

to the other,

yet 3000 miles

is unbearably long

to your embrace.


All night,

green fire and loud booms

influence dreams.

A war in heaven,

you as Helen of Troy

sending angels into glorious battle.


Brian Moreau


Heat Wave '10

The sun is lighting the world
into a Kurosawa film,
the bright orange corpse of grass.

The rain stays away out of shame.
One by one,
we find ourselves breaking down,
hot kitchens and bedrooms
become silent and guilty.

The A/C drones the longest catechism
in history,
the warm breezes asking:
"If the rain won't forgive you,
how can a lover?
Or a heart that's grown to hate you?"


Brian Moreau


Yellow moon behind clouds, October 1978

I wish you could have seen it love.

Mom and I were shopping in
Fitchburg on a school night.
She bought me a Battlestar Galactica T-shirt
and then burned rubber along the back roads to get me in bed an hour past bedtime.

That night, I dreamed I lived in a kingdom ruled by fellow children.
All we ever ate was spicy pasta and meatballs.
Then in my dream I was back on that lonely road

my Mom drove to get me home.

I saw a street light in the distance and it broke my heart.

I wanted that beautiful light to never go out,
shine on me always.

I know dreams should remain private
but sometimes they are the only things we can share,
that little bit of rope we throw to each other

when the voice of the abyss is loud, insistent.

Brian Moreau


Depth Charge

I choose to believe

that the sailors found

the blossoms of light in the depths


and that, come dawn,

the sight of the ocean littered

with U-boat debris could only

be considered a good omen,

one less enemy stalking them

thru the water.

Some days,

I’m only a bright flash in your shadows,

a weapon of love fired scattershot

into the dark.

Some days,

armistice seems impossible,

our hearts faltering

under the crushing pressure

of everything destiny has hidden from us.


Brian Moreau

Sunday, August 15, 2010

About a week ago...

...I had a very strange dream. There were these people, not many of them but a few, who seemed to be the ones that were really in charge of...everything. I don't know how else to put it, they seemed to be the ones who pulled the strings of everyone and everything on Earth. And they were not nice people. The leader, in particular, was a cruel and hateful person, being around him made you feel sick.

Some friends and I decided that since we were the only ones in the world who knew the truth about this group of people, it was up to us to put a stop to them, by any means necessary. They seemed to live in another dimension. You could only get to their "world" by an elevator in an office building. Before we went to confront them, each of us tried to arm ourselves any way that we could. All I could manage to rustle up was an old red hammer and a rusty toy saw.

We took the elevator, which takes you to a large field in their universe. Immediately upon arriving, a schism formed in our group. Half of us thought it was a mistake to fight these people and should try to find a peaceful way of dealing with them. My side of the group thought we should fight to be free of them, it was obvious that they were building up to something very awful that would hurt countless people and they would not listen to any peace talk.

Before our argument was resolved, I seemed to black out. When I came to, I was lying down in the back seat of a car. A woman was driving. She said she was taking me to where my friends were and that someone wanted to talk to me. She tossed a cell phone to me. On it was my brother, who I haven't spoken with for a few years. He was quietly taunting me for going on this mission. I listened but didn't say anything, hoping it wouldn't take too long to get to where my friends were and that we could somehow pull this off. That's where the dream ended.

As strange as all that was, what happened next was even stranger to me. I awoke and had the sensation that between the end of my dream and when I woke up, the universe had been "paused" or shut down for billions of years and had just been started up again. I can't really describe it any better. It's as if reality was a computer that had been shut down for billions of years and when it was restarted, I, as a "program" in that computer was aware of the time span that had passed but (thankfully!) did not experience the actual passage of that time. It was kind of pleasant and relaxing but I was acutely aware of the vast gap from one moment of existence to the other.

I don't think I've ever experienced any thing like that before. Has that happened to any of you?

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Forgotten great songs part one

This is going to be a new "feature" I do from time to time, focusing on wonderful songs by well known artists that don't get the same amount of notice as some of that artists other songs but deserve it. I'll try to do at least one of these a week.

Snow In San Anselmo by Van Morrison. Album: Hardnose The Highway

I've always thought it was a shame that the general public never delved into Van Morrison's work beyond Brown Eyed Girl and Moondance. Those are great songs, to be sure, but there countless other gems in his catalog that many people will never get to hear and honestly don't care to, because they aren't bouncy pop songs.

One such song is Snow... It tells a simple story of people sitting in a 24 hour pancake house in a desert town, watching the first snowfall the town has seen in about thirty years. The music and mood has a tenseness and anxious urgency that seems to imply that there's more going on here than meets the eye. Almost like we're missing half the story, the characters in the song seem relived for the distraction of the freak snow storm...but a distraction from what? We're offered few clues, perhaps only "a madman looking for a fight" or "if you suffer from insomnia/you can spend your time away." Morrison himself has said this song is just a sketch of a moment in time and doesn't have any deeper meanings. I like to think this song is an example of a piece taking on life beyond what it's creator intended.

Here's a peek at future songs I plan to cover on here:
Bob Dylan-Jokerman
Elvis Presley-Good Time Charlie's Got The Blues
Pink Floyd-If
David Bowie-The Motel
The Beach Boys-Disney Girls (1957)
Frank Zappa-Catholic Girls
The Talking Heads-The Facts Of Life
I'll try to think of even more soon!

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Seeing things?

I worked in a plastic factory for many years. Sometimes I had to wear ear protection due to the specific job of the day being extra loud. I noticed something strange whenever I had to wear the ear protection...I would keep seeing movement behind me, as if there was a huge crowd moving behind me. It was really impossible for there to be anyone behind me, the machines went nearly all the way to the back wall and there were pipes, tubes and barrels filling in the tiny little space there was. Yet, I'd be working along with the "ear muffs" on and again I'd see movement out of the corner of my eye, a vast crowd milling about.

One night, I was working with them on and I happened to look up. For a split second, I saw what appeared to be a black man, lunging towards me. I jumped back in shock but as soon as I saw this apparition, it was gone.

I have no idea why I "saw" these things. Maybe by removing my sense of sound caused any psychic ability I might have to become stronger...or maybe not being able to hear causes the brain to get bored and make shit up. I really don't know.

Friday, July 16, 2010

History's Greatest Monster AKA Brian

This won't be a very long post.

For three years I loved and cared about someone and each day that person hated me more and more for the simple reason that I did love and care about them. Finally, this morning I decided to stop being nice and return some of the verbal abuse I've been receiving.

I have found myself in this situation several times over the years. As long as people view me as a sweet, selfless, simple person they love to have me around but as soon as I start to become a complex person with needs and personal goals of my own...well, they can't handle that and look for the first sign that I'm a "bad" person and cut ties.

I don't want to be an angel.
Or a devil.
Just a man.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Just two of the people that live in my head

I have so many ideas for novels, stories and movie scripts in my head. I'm really bad at writing, I never seem to be able to just sit and write, I feel almost sick with anxiety when I try to write. Even this blog post is a torture for me,lol! Over the years, I have had many characters come to life in my head. I will tell you today about two of them.

Dark Mr. Fripperton

I was a huge fan of the "British Comic Writers Invasion" of the 80's. Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, Jamie Delano-all my heroes forever and had a massive effect on shaping me into the person I am today. (In fact, my first encounter with Alan Moore's writing will most likely be a blog entry sometime soon.) Another member of this group was Grant Morrison. He took over writing two DC Comics, Animal Man and The Doom Patrol. Both of these titles had been around since the early 60's and not long after taking over, Morrison began taking them in bizarre and wonderful new directions.

I began reading Doom Patrol in '92 and loved it. I still haven't read the early issues from his run yet though, but I have read about them and one thing that has always stood out to me: a character named Shadowy Mr. Evans. I loved that name so much! You can read about him here:

I started writing "This ___ has been a Shadowy Mr. Evans production" when I finished writing a new poem, story etc. However, the twin desires to create a unique character and to not be sued led me to create Dark Mr. Fripperton.

I think the name came from my love of the music and experiments of Brian Eno and Robert Fripp. The name Fripperton stuck in my head and I thought it was great. I then needed to create the character of DMF. I knew he was a master manipulator and would only come out of the shadows at certain points. For many years I worked on it and I wrote this in the notes for a novel I may write:

1. The Order of the Dying Swan/Dark Mr. Fripperton

Legend has it that the Earth was created by the “Then” Gods (see below) and set on the back of a giant swan to drift around the heavens in peace and harmony for all eternity. But the “Yet” Gods (see below) were very jealous of this sublime creation and vowed to destroy it at any cost. They took the greatest hunter of the first people to live on the Earth and gave him the most powerful bow and arrow ever created. They raised him far above the world and bade him to slay the giant swan. Seeing the enormous bird, the hunter could not resist a shot to bring it down. However, the arrow, forged by the chaos minded “Yet” Gods, was not perfectly straight and the arrow did not fly true. Instead of killing the swan, it only wounded it. Gravely hurt, the swan sailed around the cosmos erratically, causing strife and war upon the beleaguered Earth.

Enter the Order of the Dying Swan. Believing themselves to be descended from that original mighty hunter, the men and women of the Order have pledged to finish the job and deliver the mortal blow to the swan, killing it and sending the Earth to sink into the fires of creation, destroying it forever. To do this, the Order carries out specific assassinations and acts of terrorism to hasten the world toward certain “node” moments (and yes, one of these nodes is on December 21, 2012) when the destruction of the Earth would be possible. Obviously, they have thus far been unsuccessful…

No one is certain exactly how many the Order numbers, but it is said that no matter where you are on the Earth, a member of the Order is never more than two hundred miles away. All races, all creeds, all levels of social status make up the order. Men are given a name that begins with “Dark Mr.”, women are given names that begin with “Dark Mistress.” The headquarters of the order are rumored to be in northern Greenland.

Enter Dark Mr. Fripperton.

The greatest warrior the Order has ever produced and also, secretly, it’s greatest failure. For Dark Mr. Fripperton is a secret acolyte of the belief of War Without End, which is in direct opposition to the agenda of the Order. The Order is working towards the Final War and the destruction of the world-the swan must die, the Earth must fall into the fire and die. Dark Mr. Fripperton envisions a world even more chaotic and dangerous then it is now, an endless series of conflicts and wars that will beat humanity down to an animal submissiveness and then take them out into the stars to do battle with the very universe itself. So far, his goal has been well hidden from the rest of the Order…although some are beginning to have suspicions.

Like all members of the Order, the life of Dark Mr. Fripperton before he joined is unknown and perhaps forgotten. It is possible it will never be revealed.

So that's where things stand with Dark Mr. Fripperton at the moment. Hope to have more in the future.


Winright Enfield

I've had a TV show going on in my head since the mid 90's.

I guess I could describe it as The X-Files meets Moonlighting with a little bit of Misfits of Science mixed in. It's about a group of people who investigate strange events. There's a main male and female lead duo who are ostensibly the "stars" of the show but the wacky supporting cast would be meant to "steal" the show...and none more so than Winright Enfield.

Winright is a scientist and a brilliant one. He has degrees in pretty much any branch of science and medicine you can think of and many more you can't begin to imagine existing. He's also very old fashioned which is where a lot of the comedy would come from. His favorite greeting is "Good day, good sir/madam."

He is very tall and thin with thick curly hair and a mustache. Very Kurt Vonnegut-esque. He would start off in the "series" as a buffoonish character but over the course of the show would become a deeply complex person.

I have no illusions that this show will exist anywhere but in my mind. It's just too complex and there's been too many "wacky X-Files" like shows on the SyFy (God I will always hate that) Channel, people will think I'm ripping those off. But Winfield is a very real person to me and he will live on in my head and I can revisit my favorite "episodes" featuring him any time I wish...

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Happiness: How The Fuck Does It Work?

Hi everyone, welcome to my new blog. I'll try to post here as often as possible, talking about my views on life. Back in January, I had a psychic tell me I should write about life, I guess I will take that advice. I'm a huge fan of the radio show This American Life, so that will kind of be my template for what I write here.

I've been thinking a lot about about happiness lately or maybe more accurately, the lack of happiness. Something happened last night that really made me think about it.

I was on Facebook and I was getting ready to play a game on there, the "bouncing ball" game. While you're waiting for the game to load, a commercial will play. Usually it's some stupid Geico ad but this time it was for Chips Ahoy, you know, the cookies. The commercial takes place in a beautiful kitchen, it's one of those perfect bright, sunny summer California days you always see on TV or the movies. There are maybe three or four kids in this kitchen, aged around 8-12, not real small little kids but not teenagers either. They are all laughing and stamping their feet, waiting for cookies. The Mom reaches up into a cabinet and pulls out that famous blue package and soon everyone is eating chocolate chip cookies and laughing even harder. Life is wonderful.

Well, this commercial really depressed the hell out of me. I think I've isolated three reasons why it made me feel that way. First, there was a basic kind of jealously... I wish I could be young again and the only worries I had in life were how many cookies I could score., for the most part, just isn't like that. Sometimes there are moments that are simple and full of joy but those are pretty rare and you'd have to be a pretty shallow person to not have a few dark shadows on the edges of happy times. Maybe that's just me though. Maybe I'm just not used to totally giving in to happiness.

Finally, on a third and I guess you could call this the Meta level, it depressed me because it REALLY wasn't real-it's just a damned cookie commercial filled with some ad exec's ideas of what makes people happy. It kind of made me feel uneasy the way amusement parks do. It's a forced, artificial representation of something that's not even real. Or, at least, a frame of mind that we only have when we are very young.

So it just seems to me that a lot of what we call happiness in the modern age is fake. I hope I don't come off as some joyless person who doesn't believe in true happiness. I do. It just seems like life makes real happiness hard to achieve and tries to foist a lot of phoniness onto us. I want the real thing!

Sorry this first post was a bit on the gloomy side. I promise to lighten things up in my next post! I think I will discuss characters that I have created and live only in my head-so far!