A Sad Dream

I had a dream the other night.

It’s late, and I’m in my old house.  The one I grew up in, for the bulk of my life when I was young.  A three story house that my old man built almost entirely by himself.  No joke, he actually did.  Took a few years, but he got it done.  Wicked impressive.  Sucks to see what’s become of the joint now.
Growing up, I always was up early.  Made the old man happy.  I greeted each day with him.  In the morning, in the summer, I remember the damp air.  Birds calling, waking up.  Mosquitoes at my screen over my window.  I remember all of that.
In the dream, I’m waking up in that house.  But I’m not little kid me.  I’m the older version.  To grown up one.  During the summer up here, the sun never really sets.  It can get super dim, but it never becomes truly night.  There is a sound.  It’s the phone ringing.  The old phone with the cord on the wall.  But it was still me as a grown-up in that place, even though that was an eternity ago.  My room was just across from the kitchen in that place.  The phone was on the wall adjoining the kitchen and dining room.
I stumble out of my room and pick it up.
“Hey, you idiot.”
“C?  Babe, it’s early.”
There’s this pause.  “I know.  I’m sorry.  Just wanted to hear your voice, you know?  I don’t know if I’ll get another chance.”
I’m confused. “Another chance for what?”
“To ask you a question.”
“What question?”
The pause hangs in the air so hard, so long.
“Are you happy?”
Pain grips my heart.  I try to hide it from my voice.  “I get by.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She always had a gift at cutting through my bullshit.  “I know.  Sorry.”
“Just tell me.  I won’t be mad.  Are you happy?”
Now it’s my turn for a pregnant pause.  “No, C.  I’m not.  It’s been so hard.  I miss you every day.”
Can almost feel her sadness.  “I know.  I’m so sorry, Lu.”
Shake my head.  “Why?  It’s my fault.  If we hadn’t been fighting, you wouldn’t have left that night.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“I started that fight.”
“Yeah, but it ain’t I didn’t have it coming.  I fucked up.”
The two of us sat there, not saying anything for a while.
“Wish I could be where you are.  Apologize to you in person.”
“I know.  But you can’t.  Not now, anyway.  You gotta keep going.”
“Why?  Life sucks, C.  I’m not going anywhere.  I’m all alone here.  Everyone has ditched me.  Went off to their own fucking lives or don’t like me anymore.  Or I drove them away because I didn’t learn anything and fucked up their lives.”
“She doesn’t feel that way.  Hell, she was enabling you just as much as you were making her life more difficult.  She’s a grown-up too, and has to take responsibility for her own bad decisions.  So do I, I guess.”
“Yeah, but you won’t.  You’re not here anymore.”
“Sure.  But you don’t actually know that there’s nothing after this.”
“No reason to think there is.”
“Maybe it’s on another worldline.  Like us, right now.”
“Is that what this is?”
“Why not?  It could be.  There’s no way to know for sure.”
I smile to myself.  Takes me back to some of our old arguments.  Hours spent arguing about the nature of existence.  It’s good stuff.
“Is apologizing a waste of time?”
The pain grips me again.  “No.  I don’t think so.”
“Okay.  I’m sorry, Lucien.  I fucked up.  I drove you away.  Forgive me?”
Had to think about that.  “Sure.  I’m tired of being mad, C.”
“I know you are.  I love you.”
“Love you too.”
“Wait!  C, don’t go!  Don’t hang up.”
“I have to, Lu.  You’re gonna wake up, in your worldline.”
“I don’t want to wake up there anymore.  I don’t want to go back to that dead-end job and my dead-end life.  Please don’t make me hang up.  Stay.  Please.”
“Wish I could.  I really do.  Get a chance to fix what went wrong.  What I fucked up.  Bye, Lucien.”
“C, don’t go!”
That was when I wake up.

She used to tell me about how reality is countless universes running parallel to one-another.  That each universe exists on different worldlines.  She genuinely believed that in dreams, we can occasionally see onto those worldlines.  Part of me always thought that was just silly pseudo-science.  But nights like that, I wonder.  I miss her all the time.

Until next time, a quote,

“Why are you crying, sweetheart?”
“Because you’re not real.” – Chloe Price, Life is Strange: Before the Storm

Peace out,



My Views on Assisted Suicide, Part Deux

I’ve said in the past that I think that those who are suffering from terminal illnesses should be allowed to seek assisted suicide.  My views on this were sharpened by an episode of FRONTLINE called “The Suicide Tourist” (linked here).  The story of Craig Ewert is heart-breaking stuff.  To go from a very vibrant man to a shell of a human being, watching your body slowly decay and losing control of your faculties, I can’t imagine what that’s like.  Well, to an extent.  When I was 14 I smashed my skull open.  I died for a little bit there, when my heart stopped.  I was in a coma for a month.  Coming out of that, I could barely move, couldn’t do anything for myself.  It was the most emasculating and humiliating experience of my life.  To be 14 years old, and unable to do basic bodily functions by yourself.  It was so utterly dehumanizing to not even be able to wipe my own ass without my mother’s help.  It was there or a nurse, and my pride couldn’t take someone else doing that.  It was awful.  Granted, I did get stronger as I went along, but I can at least understand some of what Ewert was feeling.

There was a story a few years back of a woman who was dying of cancer, in constant pain, who also wanted to end her life.  I wrote a post in support of that.  One of my best friends, I got to watch her mother die of lung cancer.  It happened because she smoked like a chimney, and didn’t really think too hard about the consequences.  What it did to my girly-mate and I to see that was just awful.  Had she pursued that course of action, I would have totally understood.

However, there was a story in the news recently that also got my attention.  It is also very harrowing stuff, as it is about a person who is a very smart mind, forced to confront a different kind of dying and his choices about that.  The story was about an Australian scientists named David Goodall (linked here).  He’s 104 and he wants to die.  The man isn’t terminally ill.  His belief is that his quality of life has reached a point where it will never improve, which is true, and he wants to end his life.  He has flown to Switzerland, much as Ewert did, to end his life.

This got me to thinking about the idea of those who are not terminally ill, but very old and their right to die.  Got me to thinking about my grandmother on my mother’s side.  See, she also was slowly deteriorating.  More and more, she couldn’t take care of herself.  It was coming to the point that my parents were wondering if they should take her in to take care of her.  A lot like me, she couldn’t do basic functions without help.  And a lot like me, she had my mother sometimes helping her with that.  I think about what it must be like, to have your child helping you go to the bathroom.  It must be so humiliating and degrading.  All of your pride just dies away as you watch that.

I thought about if my parents ever did take her in, and if she were ever to ask me to help her end her life.  Would I have done it?  Honestly, yeah.  I’m pretty sure I would have.  Seeing how she was at the end and her quality of life, I probably would have helped her.  The truly tragic irony is that what killed her was a blind, stupid accident.  It was an ugly way to go.  Her head get stuck between the bars at the head of her special medical bed at the old folk’s home she was living at.  She was trying to get in bed.  Something happened, and her head was stuck in there.  Essentially, she was strangled to death by the bars.  Ugly way to die.  Unfortunate.

Looking at stories like David Goodall, I think about how those who reach a certain age and quality of life should be allowed to seek assisted suicide legally.  There’s no good reason why they can’t.  Now, I can hear people already saying that it would be exploited by greedy children looking to get inheritance.  I do see that potential for abuse.  Convincing people who are elderly and mentally compromised to end their lives.  But just like what is done in Switzerland, there should be a process where you verify that a person is of sound mind.  That their reasoning is solid.

I have a special relationship with death.  Having been physically dead once, I don’t view it as something to be afraid of.  It’s a constant companion.  As the telomeres decay at the end of each linear chromosome, you are aging.  Only cancer cells are immortal.  It will come for all of us, sooner or later.  If you are one of the people who is stuck in that position that your ability to live is so miserable that each day holds nothing for you, there’s no rational reason to force you to continue existing.  We allow pets whose quality of life has decayed to nothing the opportunity to die.  People should be given it too.

Every single day I take walks.  Each of my 15 minute breaks at work are spent walking.  I want to be able to have an active life.  Obesity runs in my family.  I’m overweight, but I love pizza too much to ever truly be skinny.  But I want to be active enough to have people in my life want to do something sometime (a man can dream) and to be like “sure, that sounds like fun.”  Granted, because of my nerve damage in my feet, I’m not gonna be hiking a mountain or spending all day on my feet, but I’d like to be able to go on adventures for a few hours and be able to make the most of my life.

People seem to believe that life is a sacred thing.  It must be cherished and fought for.  Some truth to that.  If life is worth nothing, why would anyone keep living?  I view my life as worth very little, but it does at least have some value.  I can watch movies, read books, play games, search for great stories.  Narratives that move my heart, make my soul take flight.  Given how little personal interaction or stimulation I have with actual human beings, fiction is about the best I’ve got.  It’s sad that I feel more kinship with fictional characters than I do real people.  These days, anyway.

That went on a tangent.  The point is – if a person’s quality of life is such that waking up each day is no longer an experience that is tolerable, filled with pain or weakness, there’s no logical reason to force that person to continue to live.  None.  I wish David Goodall a peaceful hereafter.  I wished Craig Ewert peace.  I don’t believe in God, but if there is something after all of this, hopefully their next phase isn’t as painful as the one here.

Until next time, a quote,

“I’m not tired of living.  I’m tired of the disease, but I’m not tired of living.  I’d like to keep living, but I can’t.” – Craig Ewert

Peace out,


In Memory of Lizzy

If you would have asked me today if I would be doing this post right now, I’d have told you fuck no.  No way.  Because I know that I wouldn’t be here when this would be happening.  I’d be out with her and I would know that it was coming.  But an unbelievably selfish individual decided to take it upon themselves to make this decision for me, and now I am here, writing a post that I have been thinking about for weeks.  And I can finally get something out of my head that has been nipping away at me for weeks.  I don’t think I’ll ever forgive the person who decided to make that decision for me.  Ever.  My best and most loyal friend died tonight.  She was kind, sweet, lovable, had four legs and was covered in fur.  It was my cat.  Her name is Lizzy.

19 years ago, I was there when we went to the pet store and picked her out.  They had kittens for sale, and I went with my mother to pick one out.  My parents had a policy about not getting boy cats.  They tended to have bad bathroom habits and are little shits.  The last cat we owned had the moniker “shitty kitty” for the fact that it shit all over the place.  Thank Groj it wasn’t an indoor cat.  It lived in my old man’s garage.  Before you say that’s cruel, he kept it warm in there for the vehicles.  We had a large property, so kitty had never known an indoor life.  Peanut Butter was his name, even though he was orange and white.  Never did ask where the rationale for that name came from.  It was my sister’s cat, in name alone.

When we got to the pet store, there was a cage with all the little kittens inside, and they were all cute as fuck.  But there was one that stuck out above all the rest.  See, it was climbing the cage wall, with a look on its face of – get me out of here!  From that very moment, I knew that this kitty and I were going to be best friends.  As luck would have it, that kitty was a girl.  So we picked her out and headed home.  My kitty has NEVER liked confined spaces, so on the car ride home she was miserable.  But I was eating chicken strips, and gave her some of the chicken.  That made for a happy kitten.  Every time she has been in a vehicle since, she has been a VERY unhappy camper.

From there began a relationship that was the most loyal and true that I have ever had.  See, while she was around everyone, there was no denying that Lizzy was MY cat.  Everywhere I went, she followed.  If she was outside and I tried to go places, back in the first house I lived at in memory, she would try and follow me.  So I’d have to put her inside.  I named her Lizzy, after my grandmother on my old man’s side.  Her first name was Mary, but her middle name was Elizabeth.  So I shortened that down to Lizzy.  But over the years that wasn’t what I would call call her.  Lizzy got shortened to Liz.  Then to Wiz.  Then to Wiz-Biz. Or Wiz Cat.  Or sometimes “you’re being annoying.”  Silly kitty.

After leaving the first house we lived in with her, we moved into my grandparent’s on my mum’s side’s old house.  It was a home that they homesteaded in, ages ago.  There is so much history in this house.  Part of me is glad that it’s still in the family.  At this new house, Lizzy had so much more area to explore.  A huge property, a lakefront, and all the voles a kitty can eat.  Oh yeah, there was a serious vole problem when we first moved in.  Lizzy took it upon herself to help deal with that problem.  Using kitty violence.

During the summer, Lizzy hated to spend time inside.  She would spend hours upon hours on end outside.  Sometimes we would let her out late in the evening, only for her to be out all night and come in the next morning.  Part of me wonders how she was never attacked by an owl.  But she did have the right fur color to blend in with the undergrowth.  So many funny memories.  Like, seeing her shimmy up a wall.  See, my parents had a balcony into their bedroom from the third floor.  On nights where she would be out and want in at 4 in the morning, she would shimmy up the wall and then go onto their balcony and whine until someone let her in.  Or she’d whine outside my window.

But the thing that I loved most was how she would spend her evenings and winters with me.  Since she hates the snow, kitty would spend all of her time in the winter cooped up indoors with me.  I had this amazing blue chair.  It had these really tall arms, and my kitty’s favorite place to rest was there.  See, I moved around too much for her to be comfy on me.  I’m not one of these people who says that if the cat is comfortable I can’t get up.  Pussy can move.  But she knew I gave her tons of love, so she would rest on the arm of my chair, watching movies with me and watching me play games, then judging when I made mistakes harshly.

So many little memories that I can chain together.  Like on Christmas, where she would attack the wrapping paper and get all wrapped up in it.  Or when we put garland on her and had her indignant face.  I would give my last 10 years to be able to go back and get a picture of that.  Alas, when I was a teenager we didn’t have camera phones that took really sweet pictures.  Think that was before my head injury.  She would always watch us set up decorations and judge us harshly, but she loved getting attention.  Wish I had been better about getting her Christmas gifts.

Thing is, she didn’t want lots of toys.  She got to go outside and wander around and have fun.  Plus, something I did that nobody else did – fight with her.  See, sometimes she would want to get into a fight.  I ever had a special glove for it.  It was a work glove with a leather exterior.  She’s wrap around that and claw the living shit out of it for a few minutes when I’d go at her belly when she is in a fighting mood.  My cousin would fight with her too, except he was an idiot who did not wear a glove, and she would fuck up his hand.  He would joke that she loved it, and part of me does wonder if there is some validity to that.

Another adorable thing about her is the fact that she had both of the dogs my parents owned scared to death of her, even though both of them were big enough to bite her in half.  The first was Zoey, then her puppy, Riley.  In both cases, it’s because she was so mean to them as puppies.  Like any puppy, they went over to her and wanted to be best fwiends.  But she wasn’t having that.  They would know who the top dog in the house was, so to speak.  After slashing their puppy faces up, both of them knew that love from her came at her pace, not theirs.  It is so cute having both of these dogs being so much bigger than her yet scared to death of her.  Poor Riley.  As the much more friendly of the two, he kept on trying to get love out of her, but she was always a bitch to him.  But eventually the dogs and her found a happy equilibrium and all was well in the world.

Moving in to the last house I have lived in, my parent’s sunset home, things changed.  See, Lizzy has been getting old.  The years don’t show on her because of how small she is, but for a while she was fine.  But then things started to happen.  See, her hearing was getting worse and worse.  Eventually, she went totally deaf.  It was a bummer.  And for her, I genuinely believe it made her scared to death, all the time.  I also contend that her vision was going too.  At night, she would make this really ugly noise that sounded like she was in pain, but I think it was her being scared and not being able to hear or see where she was or where she was going.  This led the parents to believe that she was losing her mind, and while I joked it off, part of me wondered.

Months went by, and she was sleeping more and more.  Eventually it got to the point where she was sleeping almost every second of the day, only to wake up and cry.  The parents were not enjoying it.  As I was living in a place that didn’t allow pets, I tried to make excuses for it.  Then one day, I get told the my parents are wanting to take her to the vet.  The idea is that we need to get an answer on this, and if there is no cure, and her quality of life is just going to get worse, to put her down.  I made very clear that I was going to be there for that.  We went to the vet and they said that her kidneys are indeed shutting down.  But it can be prolonged.  With some diet change, she can get many more months of life.  Maybe it should have ended there.  I don’t know.  But it didn’t.  Which leads me to the last four days.

I went out last weekend because the parents said that her problems are getting worse, it’s clear that her mental state is not well, and it’s time to say our goodbyes and be done.  I was going out more to tell them I had damn well better be there when it ends.  I was there when we picked her out.  I was owed that.  It ties in to that thing I haven’t been able to get out of my mind.  We’ll get there.  However, the mum was unable to bring herself to say that we’re going that far.  So I went home thinking that I this could go on for much longer.

And that brings us to tonight.  I got a call from the mum saying that my kitty had “died in her sleep.”  She could have let it stay there, but she decided complete honesty was a good policy and told me that that was a euphemism for she had indeed been fast asleep, and my old man had put her down himself.  Believe it or not, I do buy that she was asleep.  My girl couldn’t hear.  Sneaking up on her was very easy.  I’d seen first-hand how she can sleep if you are right in front of her.  I don’t doubt that she never woke up before he ended it.  With one bullet.

Before you go saying how disgusting and horrible that is, I’ll head you off.  I don’t hate the method.  It’s quick, and if she’s asleep and doesn’t know what’s coming then it’s painless.  Here’s where I take insane levels of umbrage.  I was there when we picked her out.  I was there when we brought her home.  I was there from the very beginning, and I fucking deserved to be there at the end!  Though, I would have asked to do the more typical euthanizing, because I don’t want to think about the mess.  That’s kind of horrible.  My girl died alone.  She died without me there.  It hurts me more than you can know.  The old man decided that since the mum and I couldn’t bring ourselves to do the deed, he’d do it for us.  I had a right to be there with her at the end, and that selfish person took that right away from me.  When I was rightly upset by this, it is then me who is turned into the villain, as is always the case.  My family has never valued my opinion and is quick to throw any transgressions I have ever committed squarely in my face the moment I am upset with the parental authority figures.  I got a clear lesson in how little they respect me.

My companion, my confidant, my dearest friend.  Someone who stood with me during all the worst parts of my life.  When I lost friendship after friendship because the significant others of those people didn’t like me.  When other “friends” turned their back on me because I’m weird or I have feelings they don’t like.  When my cousin/brother I never had stabbed me in the back.  When I lost relationships, one in a bummer way and one in a way that did irreparable damage to me because of how it ended.  She was there for all of that.  And I wasn’t there with her to say goodbye.  It hurts me more than you can possibly know.  Someone took it upon themselves to do that and I am quite upset with them right now.  Given what happened between us afterwards, I don’t know if our relationship will be able to mend.  We’ll see what happens.

I normally try and close these things out with something that the person I am doing this post for told me, but since this particular friend was a cat, I decided I would close this out another way.  See, I’ve had this song rattling around inside my head for the last few weeks.  At every funeral I’ve been to, there is a hymn that has been sung.  It holds a lot of resonance with me because of how much I have grown up with it.  I’m not a spiritual person.  I think people who believe in the magic sky wizard are childish beyond the capacity for rational thought.  But since there will never be a funeral for my kitty, I thought I’d close out with this lyric.  Those of you who know what the melody to this is without looking it up are pretty alright in my book.

Until next time, a quote,

“I was there to hear your borning cry,
I’ll be there when you are old.
I rejoiced the day you were baptized,
to see your life unfold.”

Peace out,


2060: The Year Humanity Begins to End

Saw this story about a new study done that shows that the sperm count among human males is rapidly declining.  Over the last 30 years it has dropped off.  At the current rate that it goes, the vast majority of human males are going to be completely infertile by 2060.  The cause of this decline is yet unknown.  So even if we learn what it is tomorrow, the chances that we can fix whatever is wrong with our species is nil.  I am loving this news.  I love the shit out of it.  Because it seems that everything Carlin said about humanity and our effect on this planet was true.

One of my favorite bits by George Carlin was him ragging on this idea that we need to save everything now.  We’ll save the trees, the whales, those particular snails.  Everyone is going to save something.  Now it’s coming out that while we are so busy trying to save the whole goddamn planet, humanity is on the verge of death.

Naturally, the SJW media was all over this.  See, the study where it was found that sperm counts are dropping had the most definitive results in western countries, but not in Asian or African ones.  Which to me isn’t a surprise.  How big a sample size could they have had in a lot of those places?  It’s too easy to show that in Asian countries birth rates are already starting to plummet.  Japan is at a point where they are about to have a year where more people die than are born.  I’ve said before how I think the fact that other western nations are following suit is a good thing.  We need the human race to descend by some.  Too bad I didn’t see that that number is about to go off a fucking cliff.  Though, given the fact that western nations have a much larger exposure to crap than other countries, maybe it is just a First World thing.  As I said, the SJW media was all over how great this is.  Yeah, die, all you westerners!  Let’s let the Africans inherit the world!  Too bad that without modern medicine from the west, even if they are immune from whatever is happening to the rest of the world, they will die off in massive numbers from diseases.  Saw this retarded SJW who actually believes that without white people, Black Panther would be a true story.  Hilarious.  Yeah, read the book “Guns, Germs, and Steel,” you fucking retard.

For my part, it’s genuinely refreshing to know that humanity’s time is coming to a close.  We find out why this is happening tomorrow, and I guarantee that corporate America would fight against it just as we fight against accepting that climate change is a real thing.  A chunk of ice the side of Rhode Island just broke off Antarctica, but let’s talk about how it’s all bullshit.  Hilarious.  Corporate America will do everything they can.  And the libertarian dumbfucks will sing about how people dying off is a good thing because of the free market.  The SJWs will all get into a big circle and sing about the death of humanity like it’s the best thing ever.  It will be the last gasp of a species with all this promise, who chose to do nothing with it.

I was always hoping that I would get to be one of the last people on the planet as humanity finally brought our time on this world to a close.  Alas, that won’t be the case.  It seems we now have definitive proof that the generation who comes after us is almost-certainly going to be the last.  It’ll be like Children of Men, only with the true heartbreak being that humanity could have done great things.  Instead, we spent all this time making iPhones and other crap when we could have at least colonized Mars.  So for all you people in your 20’s who are thinking about having kids, I say best not to.  What’s the point?  You’d be condemning the generation you breed with the reality that we are doomed and there really is no point in fighting to continue the species.

It’s too funny for words.

Until next time, a quote,

“The planet’s not going anywhere.  We are!  Pack your shit, folks.  We’re going away!” – George Carlin

Peace out,


In Memory, In Ink

I have a friend named Quinn.  Ever since she was ten years old, she lost the ability to speak.  She got incredibly sick.  It was a disease that caused massive inflammation all over her body.  She nearly died.  A fever of 104, death nearly came for her but she came back from it.  Now she no longer has the ability to speak.  It’s been a very hard life for her.  You don’t really think about the value that the ability to speak has until you lose it.  So much of her life was hurt, and she has been trying to come back from it for as long as she could.

Through all of that, there was her incredibly supportive mother.  Even when she found out that her daughter was gay, and her father kicked her out of the house, her mother did everything she could to help her.  To the point that they ended up getting a nasty divorce because the mother hated the father for how he treated their daughter, which in turn translated into how well he treated her sister because she was the child he had always wanted.  Meanwhile, Quinn had her mother.  When she was really little, as I understand it, Quinn was a very talkative little kid.  Her mother called her “Chatty Monkey.”  It was with this in mind that when she died, Quinn had an idea for a tat.  But since she has no artistic talent, it just stayed as an idea, until now.  With the help of my dear friend Kathryn, it has finally come to fruition.  As it will when it is immortalized on Quinn’s skin forever.  One of three tats, all of which have great significance for her.

16901932_10155070158909111_1716337255_nThe monkey is to stand for the nickname that her mother had for her all her life.  The gun is because her mother was a crack-shot, most specifically with a revolver.  The smoke is because, the unfortunate truth is that her mother was a chimney.  You can extrapolate how she died based on that.  Woman went through a pack a day.  I try not to judge how people live, but as her coughing got worse, even Quinn felt terrible.  The woman left our state to go be in a warmer climate, and it did help.  But it only went so far.

A wonderful woman has passed away.  She left a legacy of a connection between mother and daughter that is unmatched, from a girl who life has been horribly unkind to.  How people keep their memories close.  Quinn is putting this memory on her hip.  So when you see this image, keep in mind the connection it symbolizes.  Let me know the connections that you have with people who have left your life and how you keep that alive in the Comments.

Until next time, a quote,

“Death is not the greatest loss in life.  The greatest loss in life is what dies inside us while we live.” – Norman Cousins

Peace out,


My Comic Book Idea Coming to Life

To anyone who doesn’t remember, I had an idea for a comic book that I made a post about (linked here).  It tells the story of a man who is murdered and subsequently approached by Death.  It makes an offer to him that he can stay in the world of the living and live a normal life, so long as he acts as the Reaper, going after the souls of the undead who have transgressed in a way that Death finds unacceptable.  He takes the contract and thus is given back his life.  Now he is a being who can travel between the land of the living and that of the dead.  He becomes embroiled in the politics of the undead and the nature of the Unlife currency that all undead want in order to not have to stay in the City of the Dead.

My problem when thinking of this really cool idea is that I can’t draw.  At all.  I can write with all the flair and flourish that I could ask for, but that form of artistic expression is forever beyond me.  However, I recently got a beacon of hope from an unlikely source that has quickly gone from a workplace acquaintance to someone who is very important to me.  She said she wants to do some panels of this comic.  I was emphatically behind that, but didn’t feel the need to crush her creative energy by making what I had in mind very outlined and rigid.  I recognize that sometimes genius happens at moments you do not expect.  She has completed her first initial sketch for the project, and I think it’s awesome.  So let me show all of you.

14937016_10154719305514111_1630433156_nThere are no words for how awesome I think this is.  I cannot wait to see what she comes up with next.  And because I want to see where this goes, along with giving her work more exposure, I will be posting what she comes up with on my site.  Let me know what you all think down in the comments.  This is the initial sketch of the Reaper in my comic.  So badass.

Until next time, a quote,

“I dream my painting, and then I paint my dream.” – Vincent Van Gogh

Peace out,


The Failed Adulthood

Once again, here we are
Luck gone to shit
Don’t even care anymore
Not one little bit

Dreaming of better times
Days gone by it seems
Only there can we see it clear
In the smiles of our dreams

We’re about to lose our place
The apartment we tried to make our home
Another check on our failure board
What good memories do we own?

All we can do is fail
Again and again and again
No matter how hard we try
For it seems that good luck is for better men

We failed as an adult
We failed as a boyfriend
We failed as an employee
Nothing in life could we make bend

It’s all our own fault
Don’t give us any shame
We shot ourselves in the foot, on all counts
Only ourselves there is to blame

Now we sit here
In this darkened room
Our thoughts as lost as our future
We cannot see through this gloom

I don’t like being alive
Wish that accident had taken our life
If nothing good happens
How is it worth going through all this strife

My shitty poems
This terrible rhyme
I don’t care about anything, anymore
Who has the time?

So here’s the thing to take away
From my rambling verse –
Death is a healthy substitute to breathing
Because the alternatives are far worse

Peace out,