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Darkly Dreaming Demographic.

Where weird shit hits bizarre fans.

Starship troopers pilot scene 5

Hey,

Not really feeling my usual high energy self today so I’ll keep it brief. Haven’t been doing much this week except working my day job which was ok. Didn’t really get around to doing any Cur, so I’ll start friday and hopefully not have any excuses to avoid it.

Vampyr came on gamepass this week so I’ve been playing that. I bought a month of gamepass because it was on sale and I mostly feel ripped off because most of the games are pretty bleh. Only three really stuck out, but three games for two quid is ok I guess, but Vampyr is pretty good. I’ve been waiting for it come down in price, it was 85% off last week and I thought about getting it but it was still over a tenner so I thought I’d just wait and boy am I glad I did haha. So far it’s pretty good, not amazing but not generic either, it feels like it’s own thing instead of a clone of something else.

I tried to watch a Cronenberg movie I hadn’t seen before called ‘Naked Lunch’ and I got about halfway through before I decided I had better things to do than watch that utter nonsense.

It had no story really, and it was just gross, which is normal for Cronenberg movies but the grossness had no context or plot, it was just there. Which made it totally boring, the whole movie was just really boring and about nothing. It reminded me a lot of Brazil but not fun or interesting. It was surreal but not in a  fun or interesting way either.

It was like if David Lynch had no sense of humor whatsoever and was just a pretentious douchnozzle. Which some probably think he is but it couldn’t be further from the truth and it’s why I love his movies and music, he’s like anti-pretentious. He’s the guy who isn’t afraid of being called an idiot, his movies couldn’t be less pretentious. They’re just fun and weird and any deeper meaning is left ambiguous.

But the reviews for naked lunch perfectly illustrate the nature of this sort of emperor’s new clothes mentality in media. All the reviews are either 10/10 praising it for being super artistic and having all this deep meaningful context about heroin addiction and the other half are people without their heads jammed up their asses giving it 1/10 because it was boring and nothing really happens. The movie has no inciting incident, there’s no structure or goal, and I see people calling it funny in the reviews, it’s not funny, not at all. Unless you think bugs with talking buttholes is funny, which I don’t.

It was just weird for the sake of being weird it had no relevance to the plot of which there wasn’t any. Brazil is funny and cartoony and weird and it works, it builds its world really nicely, this movie doesn’t even try to do that. It was written by a heroine addict writing about a self insert character failed writer drug addict and it’s only famous because he was friends with a bunch of other famous drug addicts.

It’s just one of those movies that’s obscene and is just trash but the right people have convinced themselves that it’s art and not a movie that should end up on the sci-fi channel. I dare someone to watch this movie and then compare it to silent night deadly night 2. At least that movie had a story and was kind of funny. Naked lunch isn’t even funny bad, and all the reviews are telling me to watch it over and over when I couldn’t get through it once.

It’s just two hours of total pretentious nonsense. It has some cool effects but they’re sort of contextless, they’re just there. It doesn’t really help that I guess it’s inspired heavily by Kafka and I also haven’t made it through a Kafka book. I just find them too dry and boring. Like 1984 is a really amazing and serious and vital book but it’s also really interesting and genuinely entertaining. It’s not just a boring book you need to read for whatever mind expanding experience. I enjoyed it thoroughly, it’s actually a good read.

This is like if Hunter S Thompson was just really boring and instead of going on a crazy drug binge road trip he just stayed in his hotel room and had weird sexual conversations with his bug type writer’s butthole. I honestly can’t for the life of me pull anything worthwhile out of this movie and any one that can is for lack of a better word a total moron high on the smell of their own farts.

I guess this can’t really be called a review since I didn’t watch it all the way through but I didn’t really hate it, it just did nothing for me and sort of repulsed me. It wasn’t funny or fun or entertaining like it could have been, like brazil or fear and loathing. It was just bleh and I decided it had wasted enough of my time, it hadn’t done anything or gone anywhere with the story for the first hour and I didn’t expect it to go anywhere in the second.

So anyway, starship troopers haha. That reminds me I couldn’t really get through the animated tv show either, I was watching it while I worked out for the last week or two an it’s not that it’s bad, it actually has a lot of good ideas, it’ just sort of substance less in terms of actual story. It’s basically a kids show it’s a lot like eating a big fast food burger, it’s like you’re eating real food but it’s just empty calories, you don’t really feel full because there’s not much to it.

But I was just watching it mainly for ideas and in that regard it’s been really good, it expands on the mythos really nicely borrowing from the book and the movie. But it’s just a kids show, an excuse for cheesy jokes and mindless action. It’s as shallow as a puddle.

Anyhoo, gotta get back to proofreading the final chapter of Loverman for thursday.

See you…

EXT. an open dance floor on a terrace garden. Night

 

 

 

 

 

Rico is walking back after getting some punch for Carmen and he finds her deep in discussion with another guy.

 

 

Dizzy sees this and intercepts him taking one of the drinks.

 

 

DiZZY

 

 

Thanks

loverboy

.

 

 

RiCO

 

 

Hey, that was…

nevermind

.

 

 

Karl walks over to join them.

 

 

KARL

 

 

To

Diz

; May I have this dance.

 

 

DiZZY

 

 

Wait in line, me and Rico are up next.

 

 

KARL

 

 

Is that right?

 

 

Carmen comes over smiling. Rico gives her his drink.

 

 

CarMEN

 

 

Thanks.

 

 

CARMEN (

CONT’D

)

 

 

I was just talking to Steve, his sister made fleet, can you believe that?

 

 

CarMEN (

CONT’D

)

 

 

Can you imagine what is must be like to fly one of those

starships

?

 

 

RicO

 

 

You should try out for it.

 

 

CARMEN

 

 

Well that’s what I’ve been meaning to tell you.

 

 

CARMEN (

CONT’D

)

 

 

I’m

gonna

sign up the day after my birthday.

 

 

KARL

 

 

That’s great, me and Rico were thinking of doing it ourselves. We’ll go with you.

 

 

CARMEN

 

 

You both wanna go fleet too? That’s amazing.

 

 

KaRL

 

 

Me, be a space truck driver, no thanks, I’m going

starship

R & D. Electronics.

 

 

CaRMEN

 

 

Space truck driver? I hope they drop you off on Pluto and let you freeze.

 

 

CaRMEN (

CONT’D

)

 

 

And Johnny what were planning on doing?

 

 

RICO

 

 

I think I’ll buck for space pilot too.

 

 

CARMEN

 

 

That’s great! Maybe we’ll bump into

eachother

in training.

 

 

KaRL

 

 

A collision course.

 

 

RicO

 

 

(Seeing Mr.

Duboi

) Hey there’s Mr.

Duboi

, I just wanted to go talk to him.

 

 

Dizzy watches him go and decides to go dance with Karl instead.

 

 

Rico greets Mr. Dubois.

 

 

RICO (

CONT’D

)

 

 

Hey Mr.

Duboi

, I just wanted to tell you that your class was the best I had all year.

 

 

  1. DUBOIS

 

 

That’s great to hear son, I just hope you learned something.

 

 

RicO

 

 

I did, I think I did, I just wanted to ask you.

 

 

  1. DUBOIS

 

 

What is it Rico?

 

 

RiCO

 

 

I was thinking of joining up for federal service.

 

 

Mr. DUBOIS

 

 

That’s great Rico.

 

 

RiCO

 

 

My parents are against, but it’s my choice.

 

 

RiCO (

CONT’D

)

 

 

I just don’t know what I should do.

 

 

Mr. DUBOIS

 

 

Part of growing up is learning to make your own decisions. That’s what it means to be a man.

 

 

Mr. DUBOIS (

CONT’D

)

 

 

I can’t tell you what’s best for you.

 

 

Mr. DUBOIS (

CONT’D

)

 

 

Only you can do that.

 

 

Rico nods and Mr. Dubois shakes his hand.

 

 

Mr. DUBOIS (

CONT’D

)

 

 

Maybe one day we’ll meet under better circumstances.

 

 

Rico goes back to dance with Carmen.

 

Loverman Chapter 8 ‘red right hand’

Bet you didn’t think you’d see this, yeah neither did I.
This is basically me trying to procrastinate so I can finish this shadow book I’m reading that of course is really boring before I start the next Cur. I really hate leaving books unfinished but this book is dragging it’s fucking feet so hard man. I want to just finish it and get back into the Conan stories that are fucking amazing. So I can soak up that lovely Conan badassery and keep it in my head, pass that spirit on to Cur 2.
Because I really feel inspired when I read something like that and it’s just like rocket fuel to my creativity and energy.
So hopefully I’ll finish the boring ass Shadow book and I can get back to Aquilonia like a boss. 
It might be surprising to hear that their are stories so stupid and shitty that I write that even I abandon them. Like sometimes I get halfway through something I think will be fun and interesting to write and then I’m just not feeling it and I drop it for something better.
This coming from a guy that writes weird samurai clown nonsense and that’s the stuff that makes it, even what doesn’t make it, wrap your brain around that. But I figured since I put some of it on inkitt I might as well finish it and I saw how close I was to finishing it, like a chapter and a half, there last chapter is next. So I thought ‘fuck it’ kill some time, get some content and maybe have some fun. I guess I just didn’t really get into the character of Ericcson and I didn’t really care about his struggle and if I can’t care about him how the hell is a reader going to care about him?
So I kinda rushed the ending a little but it’s a an ok ending, it did everything I wanted to do with it. I just wanted to make a fun little lovecraftian super hero revenge story with lots of gore. Maybe some people might enjoy it, who am I kidding no one is going to read this haha.
One can dream.
Ok well that’s pretty much it, gonna make a start on Cur 2 tomorrow unless some unforseen circumstance comes along and a bus hits me or something. Won’t be able get much done over the weekend because I have lots of day job stuff to do but I should have something to show of it the week after hopefully.
See you…
It was getting dark, Ericcson was fully awake as far as I could tell. He slowly planed my mother’s Crysler to a stop near a tight grouping of dying oak. The trees loomed over head bare and exposed as the sky burnt out and blackened like a struck match.
The car creaked under him as he got out and slammed the door in the fashion he had become accustomed. He came around the side and picked up the bag I was currently calling home and placed me on the hood of the car for whatever reason. Maybe he thought I needed to stretch my legs, or get a lungful of fresh air, having neither faculty it seemed like a waste of time.
He went around the back of the car out of sight and I heard the trunk opening and closing.
I couldn’t see much for the trees and the looming darkness, he’d angled the car towards an old broken fence. Through the trees I could see a dilapidated red farmhouse and a barn that looked like it needed a new lick of paint.
The ground was a mix of grey and browns, dry and desolate, the leaves blowing in the wind were grey and floated like ash.
I looked closer at the fence, it was more like a small coral for sheep but with no gate. A few of the planks had given way and the fence had slumped slightly to one side, the wood looking sodden and old. On second viewing the coral seemed too small for animals and then I noticed the pieces of wood propped up at even intervals sticking out of the ground. Some of them stooped with age and decay.
Ericcson without a word came around the front of the Crysler after slamming the trunk. Obviously not content with just mistreating the drivers side door of my mother’s car. In his hand was a shovel and all at once it made sense what I was looking at.
Some folks in the more rural parts of new England preferred to have their own private plots. Or if they were just too poor they could opt to intern their dearly departed on any land they owned and create their own tombstones.
So, not a sheep or pig pen but a small family cemetery.
He started digging as the sun went down and then after it was down by the head lights of my mother’s Crysler, never stopping and never seeming to tire. After a while it almost seemed like he wasn’t breathing at all. As I recall it must have been cold but as I had stopped breathing all together I hadn’t thought that his breath should have been visible also.
I decided to give it no further though. I tried to focus on the sound of shovel carving the cold earth like a butcher chopping thick slices of meat. He sunk the blade of the shovel deep into the ground with what seemed like an icy resentment for it being there.
She wasn’t buried very deep, I know nothing of the actual burial but I know most all of her family were lying beside her already, waiting. I believe I read something about it in the paper, in any regard they weren’t currently living in that farm house. She was most likely interned by the state, otherwise she’d have been filed away on a cold shelf in the morgue.
I heard the shovel hit something hard and the sounds of his effort cease. The still night and the sounds of him scratching and scraping away dirt with the cold shovel blade, then his hands. His black nails scratching at the coffin lid. I imagined for a moment that it was her making those noises from the other side of the lid. For what could surprise me now, after the impossible things I’d seen, the impossible thing I was.
It was hard to make out with the stark light of the headlights but I saw him stand. Then I saw him stab down hard and the crack of the wood as it splintered under his boot. He lowered himself down into the hole where I couldn’t see, gently like the honeymoon in the marital bed.
There was then a low sound like a dog whimpering, mad whispered talking. I suddenly felt dizzy, like I couldn’t tell which way was up and there seemed to be pictures projected on the sky. Then it was around me, a room, a padded room. Lying on a bed, my head attached to a body I didn’t recognise. Silence and then a song whispered in the night and a knock at the door, the door to a cell.
L is for love, baby
O is for only you that I do
V is for loving virtually everything that you are
E is for loving almost everything that you do
R is for rape me
M is for murder me
A is for answering all of my prayers
N is for knowing your loverman’s going to be the answer to all your prayers.
It was a woman’s voice singing but there was no music, sung almost like a nursery rhyme, whispered through the door of the padded room. But at the same time it seemed to be all around me. Me? The me experiencing something close to a memory of Ericcson himself in that damned nut house.
L is for love, baby
O is for oh, yes I do
V is for virtue, so I ain’t gonna hurt you
E is for even if you want me to
R is for render unto me, baby
M is for that which is mine
A is for any old how, darling and
N is for any old time
Like Now!
Suddenly she was there, I had no idea how, but she was on top of me. I couldn’t stop her, couldn’t want to. She was strong and forceful and hateful and my limbs felt numb and heavy and willing. A face I knew somehow but changed, a mask of some obscure emotion covered her face and she tried to be someone else and no one. Her features mashing together in some hideous parody of feminine beauty.
Her lips burning and biting into mine, a hollow sinking feeling, cold heat.
And that ring, she was wearing the ring.
The ring.
“It’s gone”
Ericcson’s voice came from the hole.
“Her wedding ring is missing”.
After that Ericcson was aimless, seemingly inconsolable. Driving through the night with no destination. No goal in mind but a rising foul hatred for everything outside of my mother’s Crysler. Of course he didn’t tell me this, he’d barely said a word to me after we left the asylum. His anger, hopelessness, radiated off of him, I could feel it like heat from a lamp, smell it like second hand smoke.
‘Anger’ was a poor choice of words, there was a seething boiling disdain fomenting inside of him for nothing in particular. It felt like he wanted to tear the sky down like it was some pathetic backdrop in a school play. Pull the stars down from the sky and shatter the moon and let thick cool blackness blanket everything forever.
His restlessness was getting to me so I suggested he get something to eat or drink, anything to calm his nerves and take his mind off whatever it was on. He didn’t answer me but he soon pulled up at a little roadside diner connected on one side with a gas station outside of town.
I’m not sure why I insisted that he try calm himself or why I thought food and drink would suffice to do that. Maybe I hoped some kind of routine would spark something in him. Or if I saw him eat a cheeseburger he’d seem more human and I could feel sorry for him instead of revulsion. It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen him eat or drink anything since we’d met, nor had he really slept. I was starting to wonder if he needed to or if he was even still alive. Was this really Zane Ericcson or something else wearing his face?
Regardless, some part of the man remained, the part that was driving him on, that was fueling his hatred. Why else would he visit his wife’s grave, why would he feel this sucking melancholy pulling him under a writhing tide of black bile hatred? If not love, then what?
An hour of staring at a cold bacon double cheese burger and soaking under halogen lights past by. Ericcson decided to skip the slice of keylime pie and top up of coffee and fill up my mother’s Crysler instead.
The gas station was dimly lit and in disrepair with a dingy mini mart squatting behind the pumps. A dagger eyed Asian man glared at us from behind the counter. The diner across from it, I had assumed was an all night affair but after we left it closed and they turned all the lights off.
The silence didn’t last long, punctured by a loud tire squeal and the vein rattling bass beats of urban music.
I saw them pull up in what looked like a Lincoln town car, square, with box like edges, black with a dent in the rearside fender. All this I could see as through protest I had been elevated from my position in the duffelbag on the seat. To my new lofty position of hanging from the head rest by the handle so I could at least see out of the window. A strange thing lacking a stomach but still suffering from phantom car sickness, it helps to see the horizon as most sufferers know.
They parked the car at a haphazard angle and one of the youths got out in a cloud of smoke. The music louder than ever, an oddly shaped hand rolled cigarette hanging from his mouth. He started pumping the gas as one of his friends got out to go into the mini mart. His movements loose and heavy like he was bouncing, his arms swinging by his side.
The one smoking the cigarette noticed Ericcson and shouted over the music. “Hey what’chu lookin’ at man?”
Ericcson said nothing and made no attempt not to stare at the youth.
A moment of awkwardness past then there was a loud series of pops from the mini mart and the one that had entered jogged out, a pistol hanging from his side.
“Ayyo! I said what’chu lookin at man?”
“Who dis?” The youth with the gun said, gesticulating with the pistol as he spoke not looking at Ericcson but pointing the pistol in his general direction. “This nigga wanna die too?”
“Ayyo, we gonna be late to that party man!” Another voice from inside the car shouted over the music.
“I don’t give a shit, this mufucka can I.d us man”
“Then waste his dumb ass, what you think we can wait around here all night?” A moment past as the one with the gun just stood and sweated as he readjusted the gun in his hand. “Bitch ass” The smoker said as he sucked his gums and pulled out his own gun. I can’t say much for guns, my family had never been big on them so the make and model eludes me. It was silver and rather large and I knew the dangerous end was pointed at Ericcson.
“I said; what you lookin a-“
The youth with the cigarette stopped talking as he noticed the change. He focused on Ericcson who remained constant like a waxwork, but the night was silent. No birds chirped or dogs barked, no cars passed, no wind. The pumps, the cars, the gas station, the road, the diner, the sky, were all gone. All moved away like props on a stage.
The youth gaped and his cigarette fell and hit the ground with no sound as he stared at the endless nothingness. The blank black canvass that surrounded them and then there were sounds. Only the sounds of Ericcson’s shoes as he walked closer to the youth. The tap tap tapping that echoed over the dense writhing darkness sending shocks through his veins. Each footstep like a dentist drill skipping over his teeth. The silence itself becoming thick with a terrifying low hum.
His body deflated, all the muscles in his face sagged and his arms shook at his sides as if they weren’t connected to anything. His posture was that of someone floating shoulder deep in a black pool. He felt light and weak but constantly in a comatose rhythmic somnambulist motion.
Ericcson stopped too close to him and took both his hands smiling like the devil himself. He helped the youth clasp the gun tightly in both hands. Then he forced him to put the gun in his mouth.
Ericcons smiled as he bit down on the barrel of the gun and said “Pull it niggerman!”
The youth flared with a rage that was as sudden as it was flaccid, his trembling fingers pulled the trigger and blew out the back of Ericcson’s head. A thick black brain matter exploded out of the back of his head like the ink of a squid and he fell backwards slowly as if he was sinking and then he stopped.
Ericcson rose to his feet from mid fall with a queer slithering motion and he laughed soundlessly.
There was a loud thunderous bang and suddenly reality bobbed into jarring focus like falling in a dream. Everything was the same but now the gun was in the mouth of the youth.
He pulled the trigger and his eyes rolled back into his head as he covered the car in brain matter.
His friend who had come out of the mini mart froze and then started up again like clockwork firing wildly at Ericcson who hadn’t moved from the pumps. Ericcson grinned and raised his hand, out of his sleeve. A vicious stygian tendril shot out and in a blink of an eye had hold of the youth with guns arm and was wrenching him about like a dog with a chew toy.
The tendril, with an inhuman level of strength whipped the youth through the windscreen of the car. His head imploding against the toughened glass and landing in the drivers seat.
The youth in the back of the car got out the otherside and started firing over the roof. In an instant one of those foul tendrils clutched at his throat, wrapping it’s veiny muscular limbs around his neck. The tentacle yanked him across the roof of the car.
Another tentacle slashed at his wrist, severing the hand completely before the one around his neck twisted his head off slowly. His cries trailing off in a distended vile screech like a dying animal.
His body fell from the roof of the car with a terrible wet thud.
Ericcson’s feet scraped the concrete as he walked over to the dead man’s car and casually turned the radio off. He searched the dead man’s jacket pocket, the deadman closest to the pumps. he pulled what seemed to be a piece of paper out of it and walked back over to my mother’s crysler, staring at it intently.
If for some insane reason you want to read the rest of this chapter or this weird ass story, head on over to inkitt. Red right hand

Diana after dark Chapter 12 ‘Wandering limbs’ (remurdered)

Yoyoyo

Gonna be a tight one today because I’m being chased by the black dog and I have other things I need to do.

I really don’t have anything to say today I just feel so shitty and I have no one to talk to. I just feel like this is the end, I’ve been holding on for a long time and I just don’t think I can hold on anymore. All I’m doing is trying to forget and medicate with video games and writing (mostly video games) and I don’t think I can keep doing this. There’s just something wrong with me and I’ll never be who I want to be, I’ll just fade away.

That’s all.

“You can’t do that to me, I was worried sick,” my ‘aunt’ said as she squeezed the cheap plastic steering wheel of her overgrown roller-skate car. Shouting but in a hushed voice like we were in a crowded place. “You can’t stay out late like that without telling me, I must’ve called you a hundred times.”

I counted twenty two missed calls, actually.

I would much rather not have had this one-way conversation. I also would much rather not have had to wait the four or five hours it took for Wendy to go to sleep before I could slip out and get on a bus home. Lastly, I would much rather have avoided the various California-natives who frequented the late night buses. Talk about dick pics. Surely not as distressing as seeing someone in person, urinating on the floor of a moving bus, while singing Waltzing Mathilda in a sequin dress.

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t mean it. The word ‘sorry’ was sort of meaningless. If someone was truly sorry, they’d never do what they were sorry for ever again—or in the first place, for that matter. That wasn’t possible. It was a ritual that was obviously necessary for polite society to function. Despite the fact it seemed completely ineffectual—on women especially. The word was never enough; to be sorry and say sorry were two different things.

“I was sure—I was so worried.”

No effect, Dharma was still just as miserable as she’d been a moment ago, no magic word was going to change that, no vague promises I couldn’t keep. “Did you—?”

A moment of stunned silence passed.

Maybe I should’ve said I was sorry again, maybe I should’ve repeated it over and over again until she stopped talking. We were on our way to pick up my dress and shoes for the prom, which seemed fast-approaching.

I’d soon have to get my hair done, and put on lots of makeup. Pretend to be having the time of my life dancing to eighties music and drinking punch. I’d much rather be out in the dim darkness, making other people drink cool aid, a bit of an outdated reference.

“I could’ve said I was your mother,” she blurted.

“You could’ve lied to me, but instead you lied to me.” I feigned indignation. In actuality, my capacity for disdain, lies and half-truths was very little. A soul was required to feel pangs of sorrow and betrayal. Most of what made up my ‘normal’ existence was a lie, and it seemed petty by comparison. “What difference does it make?” Teenage aloofness was my staple.

“I just thought I could help you.” Her face contorted into something like a grim mask that might summon tears, but none came.

“Help me?” I asked, almost to myself. I didn’t even know I needed help.

“Guide you, give you a normal life, I thought you forgot. I tried so hard to forget, everything.” Dharma cut herself off, stuttering, making a wry almost wrenching noise, like she wanted to cry but nobody taught her how.

“Forget? Forget what?” I made my eyes wide, but I wasn’t sure what I was staring at anymore. If she told me she had had three heads, I would’ve believed her.

“He promised he’d guide us; he promised, but he, never got around to it.” My ‘aunt’ shrugged with a little ‘that’s life’ sad smile, trailing off at the end like it didn’t really matter.

“And then what?” I looked forward as we stopped to let a couple of meth heads cross the street. For a moment I thought I recognized one of them from the bus last night, but I couldn’t tell because this time, he was wearing pants.

“He was gone.” She’d said it like she was talking about the phantom of the opera or something.

“Tell me…about him. Dad,” I said as I studied the palm trees swiping past the window.

“He was—special. He was going to help us get ‘squared away,’ that’s what he said.” Her eyes got a little misty, and her face slackened, like she was reading me a bedtime story. “His father did the same for him.”

“Get squared away?” I watched the scenery fly by, the small sad houses of Santa Ana, baking. A couple of Hispanic women rolled past with double strollers with gold wheels.

“We weren’t born like this. When he was gone, and there was no one. No one to keep us on the straight path.” Dharma’s face became a confusion of worry-lines, like she was trying to unravel a ball of headphone wires with can openers for hands.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“We’re here.” She parked outside the dress shop in Santa Ana, where I’d been measured and ambushed all in the same day.

“Is that why you sicked Captain Claw on me?” I called after her as she’d hopped out. “To get me squared away?”

If you want to pick up the rest of this bad girl you’ll have to wait until its released or if you’re on my mailing to get an e-copy at some point in the near future.

Starship troopers tv show pilot scene 4

Hey there,

Yeah still milking the starship troopers thing in loo of real writing haha. I dunno I think I’m dreading doing prose again for some reason, keep trying to put it off but now I really can’t get away from it. Having to commit my heart and soul to something again, it’s like a relationship almost, I feel like I lose a little piece of my soul every time I write something just for some unmarried cat lady in an office in new york or london who smells like box wine and elevator farts to shit on it haha.

Especially since all the bullshit around chritmas, I just feel so fucked recently, by everything but I keep on not killing myself like the selfless prick I am haha. Hey those videogames don’t play themselves.

For some reason I was thinking about how bad american horror story apocalypse was last night in the shower and I realised the part that pissed me off the most was how ambitious yet incompetent it was. It’s the first season where I noticed how little money actually went into it. Because it’s set initially in a ‘bunker’, now the reason I say that is that it’s basically just a house with no natural light where the windows are covered up and they tell you its underground and ‘naturally shielded’. It also handily functions as a school for teen warlocks so that’s convenient, don’t need to make two sets, you literally just use the same set over and over.

And the reason the school is underground is because ‘muh persecution’ apparently there was a time where weird effeminate warlocks were seen as ok then here comes ‘trumps america’ stirring up all this gay warlock hate and they need to make a new school that’s underground. And I literally mean they’re all gay because apparently in this universe testosterone suppresses magic so only women and really effeminate men can be warlocks. Which gives way to one of the best Cheyenne Jackson characters that was criminally under used. He basically played a camp Constantine haha. He’s just shoved out of the way for the boring witch characters that weren’t interesting in season 3.

So they have a post apocalyptic show set in a bunker and they don’t have the cash to get a real bunker set, so it’s all just set in this dark house. It’s incredibly lame and you never get to see any of the other bunkers or the sanctuary they hinted at, it’s just one big flashback cheesy clip show.

Ok all my rage out for that show, it’s apparently been renewed but the original writer has gone on to work for netflix so it’ll either get a new life under a new writer or be peacefully sunsetted.

Anyway, about this actual scene, in the movie starship troopers Rico’s father is just kind of this two dimensional character, rich dad man, rich dad man angry because son not want to go to harvard and continue the family business. He’s a little like that in the start of the book but he’s much more than that. He does get mad when Rico disobeys him and goes off to join the MI because he really has no good reason to. There’s no family tradition, he never really has a good reason, he says it’s not to impress a girl but it kind of is, more so in the movie but also because his friend is doing it and he has no real direction and just wants to strike out on his own and find himself.

His father has an understandable position, he doesn’t want his son to get killed fighting some war he thinks is pointless but he’s happy to send other people’s kids off and he doesn’t have a good perspective on what’s really at stake. That’s it’s not just about the individual, I think that’s one of the major themes of the book. That being a citizen is more than just voting, it’s about understanding that you’re part of something greater and the responsibility is on your shoulders to carry the society. And not everyone can be entrusted with that right, because some people are happy just to be part of it, just to be carried and they choose not to see the things and the people holding them up and in some regards they even resent them. Which I think is perfectly highlighted in the book by intellectuals who scoff at the system but don’t have the fortitude of character or the selflessness to take part in it.

And rico’s father lives in the book and he has a change of heart and it’s a really interesting part of the book that I would love to see in a tv show. It’s not something they could really go into in the movies because they’re so surface level. They don’t want to tell a real story with real characters like in the book, they just want a big set piece explosion movie to make money off the fans of the original. Like all these animated movies, they use the names of the characters only as a draw for all the explosions and bugs being killed, they don’t actually have the balls to do anything with them. They’re just there to appease the fans when there’s no way there can be any development of these characters.

In a way these characters are just sort of frozen forever, waiting for someone to actually thaw them and give them an arc, bring them to life.

Anyhoo, waffled enough for one day. Gonna try and get some more eyes on Cur for now I think, try and get a publisher possibly, I dunno, getting an indie publisher didn’t really work out for me last time. I’m thinking of writing all three books and releasing it as a full trilogy.

See you…

InT. rico’s bedroom. Night.

 

 

RICO is getting ready for the senior dance, he’s wearing a tux and his parents are helping him get ready.

 

 

Rico’s mom

 

 

You look wonderful sweetheart.

 

 

RiCO

 

 

Thanks mom.

 

 

RiCO’S MOM

 

 

Go see your father before you go, I’m sure he’ll want to see you too.

 

 

RICO

 

 

Sure thing mom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

InT. Rico’s house living. night.

 

 

Rico’s dad is in his chair reading the news paper smoking a pipe in front of the fire. He puts his paper down and smiles at Rico as he comes in.

 

 

Rico’s Dad

 

 

Looking sharp boy.

 

 

RiCO

 

 

Thanks dad.

 

 

Rico looks hesitant but he has something he want to say.

 

 

RiCO’S DAD

 

 

Something on your mind son?

 

 

RICO

 

 

Dad, I wanna join up for federal service.

 

 

Rico’s dad puts his pipe down.

 

 

RiCO’S

DAD

 

 

Boy, have you lost your mind?

 

 

RiCO

 

 

Sir?

 

 

RiCO’S DAD

 

 

Are you looking to get yourself killed?

 

 

RICO

 

 

No, sir.

 

 

RicO’S DAD

 

 

Have you told your mother about this?

 

 

RiCO

 

 

No, sir.

 

 

RICO’S DAD

 

 

(sighing) I suppose there’s a time in every boy’s life when he wants to do something phenomenally stupid.

 

 

 

 

 

RICO’S DAD (

CONT’D

)

 

 

I remember when you learned to walk just yay high and you were a little

sonofabitch

, breaking everything not nailed down.

 

 

RICO’S DAD (

CONT’D

)

 

 

I remember the time you and your friend Karl stole one of my cigars and I didn’t say anything because some mistakes it’s good to learn on your own. How sick it made you was a lesson on it’s own.

 

 

RicO’S DAD (

CONT’D

)

 

 

This, isn’t one of those mistakes, this could ruin your life if it doesn’t take it first.

 

 

RicO

 

 

I wouldn’t ruin my life, just a term of service that’s all, not a career.

 

 

RicO’S DAD

 

 

This family has stayed out of politics for over a hundred years, why would you want to stray from that? We made our own way, followed no man but our fathers before us.

 

 

RICO’S DAD (

CONT’D

)

 

 

Why would you want to change that proud tradition?

 

 

RiCO’S DAD (

CONT’D

)

 

 

Tell me it’s not for a girl?

 

 

RICO

 

 

No, sir.

 

 

RicO’S DAD

 

 

It’s that teacher of yours, the veteran?

 

 

RICO’S DAD (

CONT’D

)

 

 

What was his name.

 

 

RICO

 

 

Mr. Dubois.

 

 

RiCO’S DAD

 

 

That’s it, did he put you up to this, there ought to be a law against turning a classroom into a recruitment centre.

 

 

RICO

 

 

No, sir. Mr. Dubois, he isn’t like that, if anything he tries to talk us out of service.

 

 

RiCO’S DAD

 

 

Son, your life can be so much more than this, you can go to

harvard

and study business, do some travelling and when you come back the business will be waiting for you to take over.

 

 

RICO’S DAD (

CONT’D

)

 

 

It would be different if there was a war on but there isn’t you’ll just be wasting two years of your life for nothing.

 

 

RICO’S DAD (

CONT’D

)

 

 

Is Karl doing it?

 

 

RiCO

 

 

Yeah but dad, it’s not…

 

 

RiCO’S DAD

 

 

(sighing) he’s a fine boy, but misguided.

 

 

RicO’S DAD (

CONT’D

)

 

 

I wanted to keep this as a surprise for after when you graduate.

 

 

RicO’S DAD (

CONT’D

)

 

 

How does a vacation to mars sound instead of all this federal service nonsense?

 

 

RICO

 

 

Wow, dad, I had no idea.

 

 

RiCO’S DAD

 

 

Have fun at the dance son, and think about what I said.

 

 

RICO

 

 

I will, thanks dad.

Diana in the dark Chapter 11 ‘Dark lines’ (remurdered)

Here I go again recycling material. Well hey there, that wont be too long because I just finished furiously beating out the plan for Cur 2 and it turned out pretty nice and easy.

Although my plan to turn it into a five part series was sort of torpedoed because I basically decided that the structured would be better if I mashed two of my book ideas together. Otherwise I’d have had to come up with a bunch of filler to water down each concept and I didn’t want to make this middling story full of filler unconnected to the lore and plot.

Also laziness, pulling unconnected story out of your ass is hard and all I’m really doing with this is taking the actual mythology and give it connective tissue so it seems like a story and not just a bunch of stuff happening. So it’s not just X god did this, you understand their motivations, you know why they did it and how they feel about it.

So I’m just reciting mythology, I’m giving it life and taking a hell of a lot of liberties to do it. So I could insert huge swaths of unrelated story from different sources for instance some of what I added was from Arthurian legend and I added a tiny bit of Lovecraft because that’s just fun and forgive me for thinking a race of evil fish people should be a little lovecraftian haha.

But I didn’t want to take away from the plot and just have this little padded book, I want to write something I would read, I want adventure, I want a journey. I don’t want my characters to go to one place and be there the whole time, I want them to feel like I’ve gone with them. So to give it more scope I scraped two books and made one cohesive story.

It’s set to be a trilogy and I might just write them concurrently with clown shit in between haha. I basically don’t want to drip feed people this story or try and stretch it out like this is just a middle book, I want it to stand on it’s own and surpass the first which this definitely will. This book will make the first look a tiny in comparison by it’s scope. And then by the third book it will make the leap to epic fantasy, this second book is like the bridge from tight sword and sorcery pulp fantasy to epic sprawling huge battles fantasy.

Yeah so probably gonna start that next week but I feel like I should finish Loverman first just for the sake of my sanity. I’m imagining one person out there just ripping their hair out longing for a conclusion lurking just around the corner. Of course this person doesn’t exist or is more or less me. I’m just sort of feeling fantasy right now, sword and sorcery, also want to finish this boring red scare Shadow book so I can get back into Conan, which I’ve been really looking forward to.

Anyway that’s about all, just gonna be looking into more places I can send Cur to, maybe try and get more feedback on it because I think it sags a little towards the end. I dunno, I’ll wait for some objective opinions.

See you…

Locking doors was obviously for poor people who weren’t literally encircled by a small army of trigger happy ex-cops. Because Wendy was out prepping for the prom, it was certain she wouldn’t be here. I knew she had a brother but he was rarely home in the day, myths of an expensive heroin habit abounded. He’d probably stumble home much later, if at all.

The house should be empty but for an annoying little yappy dog she was banned from taking into school in her purse. Hopefully since the prom wasn’t at school, she’d probably have the annoying little rat with her, and I wouldn’t be tempted to pulp its head into an eight hundred dollar Persian rug.

I loved animals, but not that particular one.

I took a quick precautionary glance across the street, but thankfully aside from a team of illegals gardening two houses over, they were quiet. I guessed everyone was out living the good life, lounging around a golf course or a yacht or something. Aside from one guy eating noodles in his underwear and crying in a house he soon wouldn’t be able to afford.

I slipped into the house and closed the door firmly behind me. As I stood in the cool, sweet-smelling foyer, I felt okay. I was just a pretty rich girl coming home from yogalates, walking into her own home—no big deal. Nobody could call the cops over that. It wasn’t like I’d used a grappling hook and scaled the wall garden.

The interior was fresh and clean, cream interior walls with off-white, eggshell tiles on the floor. A staircase, carpeted in a darker cream snaked off from the oddly angled front door up to the bedrooms on the right. A big curtain-less window at the turn of the stairs let in lots of light.

I stopped in the hall and listened to the steady creak of silence. This confirmed the house was empty, so I let go of my breath and padded the tiles and dust off this new set of leathery predator wings.

The entryway opened up into a huge but very minimalist carpeted living room, it seemed to take up a whole corner of the house. It was very eighties deco, devoid of color, with a high ceiling that spanned both floors cut off by a balcony onto the second floor. There was a door off to the left, leading into a relatively small galley kitchen which was nevertheless very nice.

I wasn’t there for the tour, so it wasn’t like it mattered. I doubled back to the front door and started a slow ascent up the stairs. Looked outside the huge window at the turn, hoping not to see some nosey old woman staring at me and memorizing my face for a sketch artist to reproduce.

I figured if I was going to find any evidence at all of Wendy’s guilt, it wouldn’t be lying between the pages of a copy of Teen Vogue on the coffee table.

“Hey remember when I poisoned my dad and framed my mom for the money? Lol smiley face smile face xoxox.”

It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, but seemed unlikely. But who knew. She wasn’t like me, not the same kind of monster; a normal killer for a normal reason, a sane reason to do something insane, money was the root of all this.

So there was a chance Wendy wasn’t like me at all; there was a chance she had emotions. One of those possibly being guilt, and if that was true, she’d leave some trace of it behind.

My best bet was finding her computer and working a little slack hack magic on it, basically shake it and see what fell out.

I turned the corner, checking the window, but it was just the bare windowless face of the neighboring house staring back at me. I continued on up the second flight, noting an open bathroom off the stairs—seemed an odd place to put a bathroom.

The second floor split off in two directions, leading to the bedrooms. As far as I could remember, Wendy’s bedroom was off to the left, and her parent’s en suite was off to the right. Considering her parents weren’t in the picture anymore, it made little sense to not occupy the empty en suite.

It’s what I’d do, would have to be crazy to let all that closet space go to waste because of what? Sentimentality? Ghosts maybe?

I padded the carpeted floor delicately, hoping my light frame wouldn’t leave any telling footprints. Thankfully I’d remembered to not wear heels, and had opted for a set of flat treadless pumps.

I took the right, peering over the second floor balcony down at the living room and the large windows. It seemed like an average sleepy day in the neighborhood, not a curious dog walker in sight. Just sun shining and birds chirping.

Oh how I longed for the huge savage moon, and that black canvas of night to paint red.  ‘Soon,’ it hissed, and I knew it was right.

Soon I’d have my starry night and my bloody moon.

There was no rush; I’d started as early as I could. They’d be at the preparations until late into the afternoon. Factoring in Frappuccino and pastelito breaks, maybe some California tuna rolls. Skipping breakfast had been a mistake.

New rule; never break and enter on an empty stomach.

The hallway got a little narrower, I passed an airing cupboard and I could smell signs of a lived-in nature. More specifically, Wendy’s perfume; it seemed my estimation of her and our shared desire for closet space was on-point.

I entered, and was sort of surprised that the room was so small. Then I turned my head. I’d stepped into her closet.

I opened the door to her actual room and was instantly taken aback.

It was so… so…

Neat.

If you want to read more of this lovely book I’m probably going to be giving it away to people on my mailing list by the end of the year so join that and hold on to your butts. If you can’t wait that long just head on over to my inkitt page and read the raw version. It’s not all prim and proper but you’ll get the thrust.

 

Starship troopers tv show pilot scene 3

Bonjourno,

Well I made a start, on Kur 2 surprisingly enough, I just had some really good ideas for how to start it and started tossing things around in my head, ideas for scenes, the developing plot and the story, themes. I do think I need to write a self inclosed book, I mean Diana is that of course but it’s not a huge book, it’s something I planned to expand over a couple of books. So now I want to make a book that expands and finishes in one book, telling a complete and epic high concept story. But you know I can’t control where my mind goes and my mind right now wants to swing a broadsword around like Conan instead of flinging super powers haha.

I’m kinda in that weird rut again in between big projects because if I write a sequel to Kur but no one likes Kur 1 then I’m shit out of luck and I really need to go back and redo a lot of the first in my opinion. But I honestly don’t know if that would improve it or make it worse.

I really should be going into something new but I’m not sure the superhero story I want to do will really be the thing that gets the ball rolling. I always just sort of write whatever I feel like but at this point I’m going to die before I even get anything traditionally published haha. I’ve sort of accepted that I’m this spergy weirdo like Lovecraft who’ll most likely die alone and  that means all that really matters is leaving behind something worthwhile. I mean there’s one thing that I can really say that I’ll leave behind that I know is truly worthwhile but in terms of my writings I can’t really pick out one thing that’s really significant, it all kinda feels like scraps, little tit bits of ok stuff floating around in a lot of junk. And I can’t tell if there’s more good than bad honestly and that’s really the difference between being remembered and being forgotten. Living forever or… not.

So I don’t know, only time will tell and other cliches, but it’s maddening and I feel like I’m running out of time and the deck is stacked against me. It’s one of those days where I wish white male straight privilege was a real thing so I could cash some of that shit in haha. If only there was a good old boys club for publishing, sadly that is not the case.

Anyway so we’ll see how that goes, I’ll continue to follow my creative ID brain to whatever stimulates me I guess. On the subject of what does and doesn’t stimulate me (epic segue haha).

I already said I bought game pass for a month to try out their games, it was like 2 quid and I feel like I got my moneys worth. I wanted to review Homefront the revolution because it’s a game that got totally fucking flamed when it came out for being a buggy mess. And I’m playing it like ‘this is really good’, it’s basically farcry 3 but or crysis but good. I don’t know another way of describing, it’s mostly just that the world feels more real and it doesn’t have these comic book villains, its just trying to make a red dawn scenario as close to reality as it would be. And I really like how the game is structured where you have these zones that are open warfare and then you have these places where people live and it’s more built up and you have to focus on stealth or you’ll be overwhelmed. I really like that pacing and strategy and the guns look and feel great. 
I was gearing up to give it an awesome review just be a contrarian fuck but then I get to the end of the game and it just fucking breaks haha. Like its just dead, I can’t complete it.

I’m obviously not that pissed because I didn’t pay like sixty quid for it, it’s included in that two quid for gamepass. But if I had paid full price I would have been pissed because I did feel invested in the world and the story was decent, not amazing but it knew when to be involving and it knew when to stay out of your way. Which is the main problem with most far cry games, they try to give you this involved story with characters you barely get a second to care about before you’re thrust up their asses and it just feels forced. I much preferred farcry 2 because the story knew to sit on the edge and just let you enjoy the game and the world.

Still watching American horror story apocalypse and I have to say it’s probably the most boring season so far, there’s a lot of filler for a show that doesn’t have that many episodes to a season. Don’t get me wrong I like the main villain, I like most of their main villains the problem is that the heroes are fucking insufferable and every character Sarah Paulson plays has the smug turned up to eleven, it’s hard to watch.

I’m expected as a viewer to look at these irritating main heroes and like them I guess but expect them to lose to the more likeable and relateable villain but then he will ultimately lose because that’s just how these stories work. They toy with these horror elements but in the end the ‘good guy’s’ always wins and it sort of deflates the whole story. Have some fucking balls to tell an actual horror story and have your heroes lose, I mean they all come back as different people anyway.

It’s just what I hate about narratives like this, they’re so fucking predictable and worse they try to make you like characters that are shitty and only really there to push a narrative.

The reason it’s boring is because it opens up this new apocalypse world which is cool, they’re living in a bunker and there are biblical themes and mad max themes and it starts to work but now we’re stuck in this middling middle bit where it’s just flashbacks before the end where it’s sort of trying to fill plotholes from previous seasons we’d already forgotten about. Like I don’t give a shit if the ghosts from season one kiss and make up, I don’t care what happened to the witches in season three, they were barely likeable there. In fact the only likeable character in that season was Kathy Baites, admittedly she’s pretty much the most likeable character in every season. I wanted to cry when she died in season six, just a fantastic actress, I love it when she plays bad guys especially haha.

But you have this cool premise you could do pretty much anything with and it feels like it’s just jerking itself off spending whole episodes dwelling on past seasons like some cheesy clipshow from hell only to end in a way I know will be predictable as fuck. I mean yeah you need to know how the anti-christ got the ball rolling on the apocalypse but do you really need to spend like half the show on it going back to previous seasons? The show kinda feels like charmed right now or supernatural. I’m still enjoying it but I know how it’s going to end, hopefully it’ll be fun before that cringefest inevitably happens. At least I know it could never be as cringe as the end of season seven, jesus jumping fuck.

Anyhoo, can’t waste the whole fucking day on this, need to get back to planning Kur 2 electric boogaloo. This of course is the rough starship troopers pilot script, here we have some of that lovely cringe propaganda Paul Verhoeven added, this isn’t in the books but I felt like it adds a layer to the world building and it’s just fun and funny and campy and how could you not do it. Just lends a spirit of fun that I think was necessary, the book is a little overly serious, I do think it needed to make fun of itself like this.

See you…

INT. Studio

 

 

A strange looking man looks in the camera with a psychedelic backdrop.

 

 

Strange man

 

 

Do you think you’re psychic?

 

 

STRANGE MAN (

CONT’D

)

 

 

Maybe you are.

 

 

An eye opens on his forehead and a weird light comes from it.

 

 

VOICE OVER

 

 

The federation is opening testing sites today in your area for those who believe they are gifted, sign up today!

 

 

A smiling woman is sat in a metal chair with a screen behind her with large playing cards displayed on it, she’s trying to guess the them. There’s a man in front of her operating the machine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ExT. Planet p. Day

 

 

The mutilated bodies of a colony of people in a strange desolate planet.

 

 

VOICE OVER

 

 

Horror on planet P.

 

 

VOICE OVER (

CONT’D

)

 

 

The mutilated bodies of members of a religious cult were discovered today.

 

 

VOICE OVER (

CONT’D

)

 

 

The religious group has been warned on several occasions against colonizing restricted zones of the planet.

 

 

VoICE OVER (

CONT’D

)

 

 

Was this some sort of ritual or something worse.

 

 

VOICE OVER (

CONT’D

)

 

 

Only the federation can guarantee your safety, stay only zones marked unrestricted. More at eleven.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

InT. Courtroom. Day

 

 

A man in chains is brought before a council of judges.

 

 

VOICE OVER

 

 

A pornographer is convicted today.

 

 

VOICE OVER (

CONT’D

)

 

 

The sentence for this smut

pedler

is death.

 

 

A group of military police are lined up as a firing squad.

 

 

VOICE OVER (

CONT’D

)

 

 

Tune in live at six on all channels.

 

 

VOICE OVER (

CONT’D

)

 

 

Would you like to know more?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

InT. Karls basement lab. Night.

 

 

Rico is hooked up to a computer and is doing the same psychic test the girl in the

infommerical

was doing. He’s trying to use psychic powers to guess the playing cards. The ace of spades is on the display behind him.

 

 

RICO

 

 

The queen of hearts.

 

 

Karl

 

 

That’s the fifth guess you’ve got wrong, statistically you should’ve at least guessed one right purely by luck.

 

 

RICO

 

 

So I’m not psychic and I’m not luck.

 

 

KARL

 

 

It’s not about luck its…

 

 

KARL (

CONT’D

)

 

 

Why the interest in all this stuff so suddenly anyway, you trying to read Carmen’s mind?

 

 

RicO

 

 

It’s nothing, I’ve just been having these weird dreams recently.

 

 

RiCO (

CONT’D

)

 

 

I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep thinking about what I’ll do after we graduate.

 

 

KARL

 

 

You’re

gonna

go on a rich kid’s vacation to mars or the outer rings of

saturn

and then you’re

gonna

go to

harvard

just like your dad wants you to. (

he’s

tinkering with something not directly looking at Rico.)

 

 

RicO

 

 

Don’t give me that rich kid

crap

, ever since we were kids everything I had was as good as yours too.

 

 

RicO (

CONT’D

)

 

 

Like that rolls copter my dad got me, that was as much yours as it was mine.

 

 

RICO (

CONT’D

)

 

 

It’s not like I asked to be this rich and good looking.

 

 

RiCO (

CONT’D

)

 

 

So what about you, big brain Karl must be going to college too.

 

 

KARL

 

 

Actually I decided to do a term of service before I continue with school.

 

 

RICO

 

 

Seriously? Why?

 

 

KARL

 

 

I

dunno

. It just seemed like the right thing to do. It just feels… natural.

 

 

Rico takes a moment to think about it.

 

 

RiCO

 

 

You’re serious.

 

 

RICO (

CONT’D

)

 

 

Then I’ll join up too.

 

 

KARL

 

 

Your dad won’t let you.

 

 

RiCO

 

 

How can he stop me?

 

 

KarL

 

 

It’s not like they’ll put us in the same squad, I’m not bucking to get shot at,

starside

R & D is more my speed. You know me, electronics are my thing.

 

 

KaRL (

CONT’D

)

 

 

What about Carmen?

 

 

RiCO

 

 

I walked her home again.

 

 

KaRL

 

 

Did you ask her?

 

 

Rico

 

 

To the dance? Sure I did and she said ‘yes’.

 

 

Karl looks a little surprised.

 

 

RiCO (

CONT’D

)

 

 

What was I not supposed to?

 

 

KARL

 

 

Well there were other options.

 

 

RICO

 

 

You mean like

Diz

Flores?

 

 

KARL

 

 

It doesn’t take a mind reader to know what she wants.

 

 

RiCO

 

 

It’s Carmen for me and that’s that.

 

 

KARL

 

 

It’s Carmen for a lot of guys.

 

 

RiCO

 

 

What’s that supposed to mean?

 

 

KARL

 

 

I mean

Diz

is a better fit. Carmen’s always been

kinda

flighty

.

 

 

RicO

 

 

Funny. She likes me.

 

 

KARL

 

 

She likes your

olympic

size swimming pool.

Falling short

And it’s days like this…

It’s been a long time coming

But I’m falling short.

Cause you could say its…

It’s not too far to carry

But I’m falling short

And it’s times like these

Cause you took something away

From yourself, too far.

Diana in the dark Chapter 10 ‘I call him D’ (remurdered)

Hey there,

Another bit of fille- I mean a glimpse at the finished product, time, sweat and tears and lots of blood. Not my blood, but it’s the thought that counts.

Not been up to much recently, watched the latest season of American horror story as I keep telling people on facebook when I wasn’t banned and it’s pretty fun. I mean it never really sticks the landing but it always starts off fun. It’s like a toybox full of nice new toys you know one kid is going to take a dump in.

Like the last season was about a cult sort of surrounding Donald Trump but not really. It started off pretty partisan and wasn’t too heavy on politics on one side or the other, sort of making fun of them both but towards the end it’s picked a side and surprise surprise which side it is haha. I didn’t really mind that but the ending is so forced it reminded me of the ending of Law Abiding Citizen. Just one of those endings that seems really forced and doesn’t really make sense in the logic of the film world.

So yeah this super genius guy who can kill people from a prison cell is basically going to take over the city by blowing up the mayor but he can be outsmarted by this attorney who has basically just been a bumbling idiot until now. But no magically he not only finds the bomb but puts it under the super geniuses bed and he dies. Like “Ooh can’t wait til that bomb explodes and crumbles this corrupt system that’s broke, oops whats that smell?”
I hate it when they make smart characters dumb. Why is the character a genius up to this point but now he’s suddenly dumb because the script asked him to be dumb. It’s so contrived, if you set up a character to be this evil genius but can’t come up with a good way to defeat him then the natural course is to let him win. Not to just tack on a good ending where he slips on a banana peel and dies. You have to establish a flaw for him to fail or he wins, you can’t just go ‘ok now the good guy win!’
It’s cheap and tacky and it completely just feels hollow and shitty.

 

So basically the ending of Cult, oh yeah spoilers ahead haha, is the cult leader played by Evan Peters is in prison but he’s sort of indoctrinated the prison and he’s fucking the female guards and they help him escape so he can go kill the person who squealed on him which is Sarah Paulson’s character.

So he escapes and he gets on stage to kill her but the gun is empty and the ‘twist’ is that Sarah Paulson’s character had a little ‘chinwag’ with this indoctrinated guard and somehow unindoctrinated her and she gives him an empty gun so when he pulls the trigger nothing happens and then someone else shoots him. And to a normal person you’d just go ‘ok the bad guy loses cos reasons’.

But I was instantly like, literally none of that makes sense. One how did these people even meet, so this person is indoctrinated but travels god knows how far to meet someone who escaped the cult, why? The prison probably is nowhere near this person and why would the indoctrinated person even think of doing this? And if it was Paulson did she talk to every guard in the prison? And if she really unindoctrinated her why did the guard still have sex with him and help him escape after, i.e committing career suicide? It makes zero sense.
If she was really not under his power he would’ve never made it out of that prison in the first place. It just makes logical sense within the real world or it’s own world. It was just ‘Bad guy loses’. 

And the politics and message are sort of cancerous, it makes reference to that Ashley Judd speech where she read out this poem that I doubt that many people know about really. And Sarah Paulson’s character is a crazy murderer too so it’s not really ‘bad guy loses’ it’s more like ‘male bad guy loses, female bad guy wins cos reasons’.

Also lena dunham is in it playing the chick that shot andy warhol and that episode was just fucking aids tier, I almost stopped watching after that, it was just pushing too hard on the parody wall to be taken seriously. It stretched credulity to a point it was obnoxious. The story sort of fell apart after that and the ending was just small and unsatisfying and it made me mad haha. Even though I knew it was coming. It reminds me of a really good movie I watched recently called Upgrade and I wont go into it for spoilers but you get to the end and it starts to get formulaic and me I’m watching it like ‘oh here comes the generic ending’. Like you can just tell, a story is building to this one ending but you know it’s gonna cuck out and take the easy way out like Law Abiding Citizen. The super genius character is suddenly gonna just not account for an allergy to pollen or something really fucking dumb.

But no, it gave me exactly the ending that I never expected, the ending that actually makes sense and it was ten times more satisfying. That ending alone made that movie for me, but all around it’s just an awesome little movie, I recommend you watch that and skip every season of american horror story haha. I’m watching it out of curiosity, it’s just something to put on while I pump iron haha.

So, down to business, Kur is done, sort of, not really and it’s time I work on something new. And honestly I dunno, I feel like Diana and Kur are both sort of up in the air and I don’t know what to do with them just yet. I need some direction, I need to follow my instincts because this is a lot of time investment to waste on a book maybe nobody wants to read. I mean if no one like either book what’s the point in writing a sequel?

I’m starting to think I’d be better off writing more clown samurai nonsense haha. I do have something I was sort of working on a while ago and I think I might go with that and instead of writing something intended to be a series just write a one and done book like fight club (but not like fight club haha). Maybe I’m spreading myself too thin and not putting the focus where it needs to be.

So I had this idea about a super hero going through Burnout syndrome, basically a superhero who tries too hard and his powers are too strong and he ends up killing innocent people by mistake and goes to prison. And in prison he slowly begins to see the world is much too broken to be the hero he wants to be and he essentially becomes a villain. I mean he’s still the hero but the “government” becomes the villain.

I likened it to like Hancock meets 1984 meets american history X but in reverse I guess haha. Maybe old boy would be a better description but he doesn’t become evil in oldboy. It’s complicated. The reason I said that is because I want to play the politics card like ahs cult and have an evil but relate-able nazi character for fun. Like a mix of Patrick Bateman, the guy from american history X and the comedian from Watchmen. A villain who is vile but still oddly likeable, so much so you feel dirty for liking him haha. Characters like that are always fun and really make even bad media good, like Kilgrave in Jessica Jones, any wonder the second season fizzled out? Killing him off was their death nail. I heard netflix is axing all that cape shit now, good riddance, it was terrible imo.

I think I’m gonna spend some time with the notes and materials I have for Kur 2 and this superhero story which is called ‘Burnout’ now but I toyed with a few others. I wanted to call the main character burnout but of course it’s already taken haha. I was looking through the notes for it, because it started off as a comic as does a lot of the stuff I write now. But the notes I have are pretty extensive, I’m a little impressed with past me haha. I mean it’s funny looking back at my world view then comparing it til now. It’s like reading Alex Jones’s wank material haha. 

But there’s a lot of good stuff there ready to be moulded into an actual story, so I think that’s what I’m gonna do for the next couple of days, just see where my head is at, see what I’m feeling. But baring a sign from god I’m feeling the super hero story mainly because I a lot of the song titles I have for chapter titles haha. Stole most of them from the excellent american psycho soundtrack haha. So yeah, American Psycho meets hancock haha. I guess that’s a thing maybe.

Should be a lot of fun, I’m gonna take my time and play it out a little, see what I can do with it.
Oh also the starship troopers pilot screenplay is done, now I need to decide what I’m gonna do with it haha.

That was a long one but I think that’s good for today.

Also did another newsletter, first of the year, sorry about that haha. I attribute it to laziness and forgetfulness. But I haven’t really been spamming much since I’ve been getting banned so much recently.

See you…

We cut out a lot of walking through bland bleached white halls, not too dissimilar from the inside of a hospital. Complete with the smell of death and cleaning products. I waited in an interview room. It was sort of a bland eggshell color, and it smelled vaguely of crayons.

A square room that could’ve been an empty storage closet but for the table and chairs. There was no long two way mirror, just a camera that was no doubt watching. They’d see nothing of interest, no tell or wink or me talking to myself. I lacked guilt of any kind, incapable of feeling it in fact; and as far as I knew, I was actually innocent of any crime larger than an overdue library book.

My fantasies aside, I was a pretty solid citizen, on paper. Two—or probably thirty—minutes from now, a detective could walk in here with a video of me robbing a jewelry store, wearing the barmaid’s head as a hat.

I’d pull off surprised, then again, maybe not. I’d dwelled on the possibility the dark back seat driver might’ve been taking me around for a spin in the wee hours of the night. Slipping his driving gloves on, and sidling over into the front seat while I was away with the faeries. That seemed fanciful, even for me. Although, it would explain why I felt so rundown recently, but I could just be getting my period.

I was about to delve deeper into another dark daydream, when the seal on the door behind me was broken. I turned awkwardly to watch detective Cantwell saunter in, looking down at a bland manila folder, as if I hadn’t been waiting at least an hour at this point. He sipped a hot cup of coffee, probably one of many. Our tax dollars at work.

There was something I liked about this place. Something beautifully impersonal about everything. Men and women, in and out of uniform, shuffling about in a trance, pretending they belonged, all separated out in little cubicles and cubbies.

The smell of justice was a dank bitter scent, like burnt coffee and cigarette butts. People brought together working toward something that could never truly be but was worth their time anyway. Like a maid constantly making a bed for others to sleep in, only to have to make it again the next day. Making order from so much chaos. What a daunting task, I liked it.

The detective looked up at me like he didn’t expect me to be there, causing deep creases to form on his smooth chocolaty forehead. He then proceeded to slap the folder on the table, as if it had pictures of the Kennedy assassination from an until-now, unseen new angle.

My money was on Jackie this time around. Maybe it was the butler with the candle stick.

He took a sip of his coffee, waiting to say something, this whole thing I guess was to soften me up, let me stew, all protocol no doubt.

I could’ve said something; that was sort of the point of me being there. But, I felt it impertinent to be the first one to talk in this situation, surely that would break some sort of criminal code. At least let the cop ask a question before one spills the beans entirely.

So I sat, adjusted myself in my seat a bit and looked at him as he continued to peer down and sip his coffee. I cleared my throat quietly, readying myself.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked some very guilty looking coffee grounds at the bottom of his cup.

“Err…” Eloquent as always. “Something to do with the heads in the lockers?” The words tiptoed out playfully.

The heads seemed like a distant memory now, a memento from a special day I never got to keep; I didn’t even keep the ball.

Maybe I could still get it out of the trash.

Cantwell made a face at his coffee like he got all the way to the bottom only to discover the body of a fly in a set of tiny Bermuda shorts.

He looked at me with half-lidded eyes and made a sucking noise with his teeth before setting the empty cup down.

The sound of it touching down on the table echoed right through me. We had so much in common.

He readjusted himself in his seat and made a sighing noise, like he was about to open some grand grimoire of Diana’s mistakes past and present.

A catalogue of all my thought crimes recorded for all to see. Probably even had my tween fascination with Justin Bieber and Edward from Twilight in there, too. That would’ve been truly incriminating. Especially if he found my adolescent fan-fic shipping the two. My mind was wandering, trying to distract from the dark hissing noise.

A black punctured tire, whispering to me in that mock reflection of my own inner voice.

A quiet siren ripping through the dark foggy depths of the ghost town called Diana.

The detective opened the file and split his lips as he looked at me, flipping a Photostat copy of a picture over in my direction.

In it; a blurry night still from a security camera, the vague outline of a hummer pulling out into the night.

“That picture was taken from a gas station security camera of a car fleeing the scene of the latest Headsman murder.”

I tried not to fall out of my seat. What was more shocking? The picture or the fact, not even the police could decide on a definitive name for him, Headhunter, Headsman, pick one.

I gave my best teenage ‘so what’ face. Trying both, not to look completely blindsided and also trying not to open my eyes wide enough for him to see that there was nothing behind them. Too much emotion, and too little would both be mistakes. What a tight rope I walked, how I envied Manson. He’d always just made a funny face and said something vaguely intelligible.

“I—err…”

Great work Diana, you’ve got him eating out of the palm of your hand.

“Now what would be the chances you’d be the one to find those heads?” The detective sat back in his chair, laying out some figurative diorama of events with his hands on the table separating us. “And only one day later, were photographed leaving the scene of another murder in your boyfriends car. That is your boyfriend’s car, isn’t it?” The question hung in the air devoid of any inclination of doubt. He slid a few more pictures across the desk, these ones were less blurry. Different angles of the car—and even a nice shot from the front—my ghostly white face projecting through the tinted glass windshield.

 

In dreams

Waiting for me there

I know I don’t deserve you

But in dreams you’re mine.

You gave me your love

Although I didn’t earn it

You gave it freely.

I know I’m not there

In my dreams there’s only you

One day I’ll hold you.

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