# My Week



## Arcopitcairn

Nothing too significant or important and I have no idea why I'm even posting this.

Went to brew pub with Kristen. It was an arty place, full of young college students who still have hope for the future. The servers wore fedoras, that should give you a picture of what kind of place this was. Had vegetarian pot stickers. They were insubstantial. During dinner, had two pints of two of the house tap brews. Beer fans may cry foul, but I've never had a locally brewed beer that didn't taste like lake water with alcohol in it. Went home, left Kristen annoyed with my generally bad attitude.

Went to Pizza Hut with my Wesleyan friend Kris. Always have to watch my language and 'blasphemy' when I'm around him, but he's my oldest friend, so I don't mind. Ate pizza. It was Pizza Hut pizza, so, you know. He'd bought a horror anthology book from Amazon that has a couple of my stories in it. He wanted me to sign his copy, but I forgot to do that. We talked about creating Christmas newsletters and how much comic books suck now compared to when we were young.

That night, I had to take my brother to the hospital (He's fine), but I sat and waited in the car outside the emergency room for four and a half hours. Did not have enough gas to drive around. Breezy night. Poor person hospital. People drifted in and out to smoke cigarettes. I also smoked many cigarettes. It always strikes me, when I'm around rednecks or hillbillies, just how loud and violently annoying they are. One squat woman stood not far from my car, smoking and screaming into her cell phone. She was in her fifties, and her shrill voice carried in the night. Apparently, Britney let Donnie cut the baby's hair, and only Gary is allowed to cut the baby's hair, and Donnie just butchered the job, and if Britney calls you and says that she was kicked out, that's a lie, because Britney left of her accord. Only Gary is allowed to cut the baby's hair. That went on for half an hour. Then some weird guy came out of the night, his face covered in fresh stitches. He asked to bum a smoke. I never turn anyone down who wants to bum a smoke. As he smoked, he told be all about how he was car-jacked earlier that day, and the carjacker threw his baby in the street. I asked him how the baby was, and he said the baby was fine, and he spit on my arm when he said it. He asked me for a ride and I said no. He asked if he could sit in the car for a while to rest his legs, and I said no. He wandered off. My brother emerged from the emergency room at two in the morning.

No More Words, by Berlin is playing on the radio right now.

Yesterday, I hung out with Doug. He wanted to drive all the way up to 16th Street and get Popeye's chicken. So we did. Doug seemed uncomfortable because we were the only white people there. I asked him what he expected. It's Popeye's chicken. I couldn't care less about black people, so I just ate my chicken and biscuits. We went back to my house and we watched The Shining. I told him how Stanley Kubrick was so mean to Shelley Duvall on that shoot that it made her hair fall out from stress. Doug did not know that. We talked for a while after the movie, until he got a headache and went home.

Starting a fast today. Need more cigarettes.


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## Jon M

Arcopitcairn said:


> Nothing too significant or important and I have no idea why I'm even posting this.


But I'm glad you did. Was very fun to read about your time spent in these classy eating establishments and with weirdos outside the emergency room.


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## Bloggsworth

Come to England if you want real beer.


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## Arcopitcairn

Been feeling the existence of my ceiling lately, mentally, I mean. I’ve been very conscious of its constancy. I am disquieted by it. I drove through a very long tunnel not long ago, in the Rocky Mountains, west of Denver, a tunnel that runs for a mile under a mountain. I could feel the countless tons of rock hanging over my head, and I figured that the structure would pick that exact moment to fail, and that collapse would reduce me, and the girl I was with to some unrecognizable and unrecoverable liquid mass, and we would both merge, and we would seep down through the newly formed cracks and mix into the water table. Obviously, we were not annihilated like miserable insects, but the feeling has remained.


  I was in a parking garage a few weeks ago, and for the first time during my infrequent visits to these sorts of buildings, I could see nothing but my body smashed into a quivering blob of jelly by the gigantic concrete slabs which were only moments away from a pancaking collapse. I found that I could not comfortably remain in the garage.


  And now my own ceiling betrays me. Chances are I would survive the rush of wooden beams and plaster, if they were to fail, but I would probably find myself notably injured. I am disturbed.


  This week, a song by Tears for Fears called ‘The Working Hour’ has been stuck in my head.


  I tried to unstop a stopped-up toilet using telekinesis this week. It did not work.


  I think the whole ceiling thing comes from the fact that the idea of instantaneous destruction of the human body troubles me greatly. I was in an office complex that was hollow in the middle, meaning that basically there was an indoor courtyard, and from the balconies on various floors, one could look down onto the lobby far below. I did this very thing, and though I thought the feeling had subsided from previous experiences, I find that I still have an annoying case of twitching death-urge. I looked down on the lobby, and my heart started beating fast, and I saw me hurling myself head first over the side. I would watch the tiled floor speeding towards my face in those few horrible moments before everything I was was wiped out and obliterated in a gore explosion that the lawyers and secretaries would talk about in hushed tones for years following. I hate it when that happens.


  I’ve been in several head-on collisions, which tracks along with these thoughts, because of the ‘snap-of-the-fingers’ way you are injured in a car wreck. You’re driving along. You are fine. You are fine. You are fine. You’re broken and your car is destroyed!


  Went to an art studio complex this week. Beforehand, this girl and I had some chips (fries) with curry dip and malt vinegar, topped off with a decent IPA brew. The art show was neither here nor there. There was some small amount of talent on display, but it seems to me that sixty or seventy percent of ‘art’ is simply having the balls to create something and call it art. There was one artist though, who showed a series of wonderful charcoal and graphite pieces depicting women morphing into various inanimate objects and invertebrates. I found it quite compelling, and the artist had a perfect grasp of anatomy, composition, and the use of negative space. He was also able to achieve a very bold and taut line quality with his medium, which is not the easiest thing to do, in my estimation.


  Drove yesterday out to the country to visit a sprawling antique mall. There were many beautiful things there, but I only got an old copy of ‘Stag’ magazine, which I am very much looking forward to reading.


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## Arcopitcairn

Have seen many issues of _Knights of the Dinner Table_ floating around. For years I would pass them by when scouring quarter boxes at the local flea market. I finally broke down and bought some issues and read them. They were surprisingly fun. I find the gamer subculture to be wonderfully interesting, but I myself have never been able to get into role playing. I just don’t have that thing in me, whatever it is, to be able to act like the character on the D&D sheet. But I like the people who do. I like all the rules and minutiae, all the micro-management. I’m a fan of the passion that people have for their chosen loves, like cosplayers, G-Fans, people who speak Klingon, or anybody who has a subscription to _Wrapped in Plastic_. _Knights of the Dinner Table_ brought these feelings home in a nice way, and I would recommend the series to anyone who likes gaming.


  Joined in a discussion in the debate forum this week. It was something that I told myself that I would never do, and I regret doing it, and I’m not doing it again, and I’m not sure why I did it in the first place. Maybe I just wanted to participate. I mean, that’s why I’m a member here, yeah? To participate? Perhaps I felt it was something that I _should_ do. It’s just that when I read the threads, they make me kind of sad, because they are a reflection of a habit of human nature that I’d rather avoid. Nobody agrees on anything, somebody always knows better, or more than somebody else, and people just don’t treat each other right. I have said things to people in online debates that I would never say to their face. It injures me. As a person, it hurts me to callously treat the opinions and thoughts of others that way, and if you’re guilty too, then it hurts you too. It is disintegration, degradation, and I doubt I’ll participate in it again. It’s not a harmless or fun thing for me, a throwaway lark. It has to mean something. I need to be fulfilled by an activity, and an online debate will not do that for me.


  Plus it has no art in it.


  I consider myself a man of art. I’m not saying that I’m a great artist, or a great critic or have a special understanding of art. If I said those things, I would be a pompous ass. I just like being around it. Art: I like it in my life. I would rather spend my time thinking about _Alphonse Mucha_ than thinking about abortion. I think that the _Clair De Lune_ is much better than organized religion. Gregory Peck in _To Kill a Mockingbird_ kicks ass all over the Middle East. I prefer _Avram Davidson_ to gay marriage. I need art much more than I need to argue the finer points of nothing with someone I don’t know. I can talk about those sorts of things with my friends. I’m here to read and be read, or to discuss non-controversial things, and that’s what I’ll stick to.


  Helped Kristen put up a fence in her backyard today. Nothing major, just a little fence to keep her new dog from wandering away into oblivion. Disturbed a bee hive. Got stung three times on my arms and left hand. As I’m typing this, my hand is so swollen that it’s hard to make a fist. Annoying.


  I can smell the roast cooking downstairs. I’m gonna go get me some.


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## dale

Arcopitcairn said:


> During dinner, had two pints of two of the house tap brews. Beer fans may cry foul, but I've never had a locally brewed beer that didn't taste like lake water with alcohol in it.



i used to like the alcatraz pelican IPA. i almost cried when they shut they place down. RAM is alright, i guess.....but doesn't compare to the alcatraz.
sounds like you were on MASS ave or broad ripple. don't go there much. not really my type of crowd.


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## Arcopitcairn

dale said:


> i used to like the alcatraz pelican IPA. i almost cried when they shut they place down. RAM is alright, i guess.....but doesn't compare to the alcatraz.
> sounds like you were on MASS ave or broad ripple. don't go there much. not really my type of crowd.



I think this particular place was an Upland in Bloomington. Yeah, I'm not so much the Mass Ave or Broad Ripple sort either. I was hitting those scenes 20 years ago, and now it's all changed. Passed me by. Young person's game.


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## Arcopitcairn

Was sick this week with the _thing, _you know, the thing that's 'going around'. Still had to go do outside work while I was very ill. Felt put upon and sad, listening to 80's music while I worked, music from my shining time. That music makes me feel invincible and old at the same time.

Caught poison ivy from outside work. Currently battling poison ivy.

Started brush fire today and the pile exploded. Burned hair off my right arm (the one with the poison ivy) and the flames crisped half my beard. I smell like burned eraser. 

Sick.


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## Arcopitcairn

On the tail end of being sick, I was finally able to do things. Went to some garage sales. Bought a Bosson bust for my wall, the Highwayman, and I was surprised to find just how many of these strange heads exist. There are a multitude of Bosson heads, for every occasion, and I have to say I am annoyed that I did not know of their existence before now. I don’t know what I would have done with that information, but I don’t like not knowing about things that are interesting. It makes me feel incomplete.


  Still have poison ivy on my arms, but it is fading. My friend told me something that was counter to everything I believed, and I felt dumb for not knowing it. She told me that poison ivy is not catching. And I did not know that. I thought for as long as you have poison ivy on your body, you are in danger of it spreading to other parts of your body. This is not the case, and I felt silly. I realize, when I think about it, that there are many things I do not know.


  I’ve always wanted to be able to easily identify a specific bird, tree, or flower on sight. But I cannot do that. I never seem to get around to putting in the reading to absorb that knowledge. I keep learning things that I _want_ to learn, rather than those things I sometimes feel I _need_ to learn.


  I’m somewhat lacking in my knowledge of history and geography. I know a good deal, but not enough. I think because I don’t absolutely need this kind of information, I pass on opportunities to educate myself. Seems I am content for the moment to occupy my time with fiction. Soon I think I will have to try to digest something with a little more substance, the meat, you might say.


  It’s been a long time since I have been involved in a forum, a message board like this place. In the past, I often caused much trouble because I chafe under the terms of service. I never seemed to be able to function correctly within the confines of a site like this. I have to say that I am quite proud of myself for not getting banned from this site. It really is quite a feat for me, and I’m happy that I’m constructively contributing. I think it’s the electronically impersonal nature of these kinds of sites that compel me to cause trouble, but for some reason, not here. I felt before that I was missing some integral component that everyone else seemed to have in their make-up. Something that made me break rules, argue, troll, and perpetrate mayhem. It always felt before that there were no real consequences, because I didn’t really care if I got kicked out or banned, but there is, really. I like this forum, so I follow the rules. If you knew me at all, you’d be surprised. I haven’t told any of my friends. 


  I’d like to comment on more pieces on the site, but I just don’t have a mind for in-depth critique. I’m one of those: I don’t know why I like this piece of art, but I do kind of people. I read a lot of things on the site, but I feel sometimes that I have nothing to contribute to the conversation. Just another voice in the chorus. I’m going to try a little harder, though. I hate to see someone post something that gets no response. I’d like to try and say something, and sometimes I do, but it always comes off a little stiff in my mind. Practice makes perfect, I guess.


  It’s strange, telling people I don’t know and will never meet things about my life. I guess I could tell you just about anything and it wouldn’t really matter. I’m not going to, just in case someone I know finds this site, but it’s an interesting proposition. To just spill all the darkest secrets of your soul, with truth, and no spin. But here’s the rub: Would anybody care? Would I care? If someone really let loose all their stuff, would I care to read those things? I couldn’t say for sure, but I find that it’s always very interesting to experience something sincere, something true. Openness, truth, and complete sincerity. How hard would that be, I wonder, to write and to read? Don’t worry. Like I said, somebody I know may one day discover me here, and I would not want them to know certain things about me, even though they are my friends. But if any of you, who I shall never truly know, wish to spill honest and terrible secrets on the altar of ‘why not?’, I’ll read them, and bask in the light of truth.


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## Deleted member 49710

I quite like reading about your weeks.

Your reflections on message boards in general and this one in particular are interesting to me. Long ago, when my SO was playing in a band, I read and occasionally posted on a local music message board, thinking that I was anonymous. Well, one day I posted a snarky comment about a band that my SO's band had opened for. I'm not sure how, but this was immediately connected to me, my SO and his bandmates were very irritated with my breach of etiquette, and I felt terrible about it. 

Ever since then, I try to write as if I were not anonymous in this public context. In fact, I choose usernames that are related to my real name, just to make sure I don't get too comfy and confessional. It's a temptation, certainly. Spilling your guts is sort of like getting really drunk, I think, feels good at the time but afterwards there is regret and awkwardness and you wish you hadn't. By "you" I guess I mean "I".

Even simple comments like "I like this" can be very nice to receive on a piece of writing.

Glad to hear you're feeling better.


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## dale

Arcopitcairn said:


> It’s been a long time since I have been involved in a forum, a message board like this place. In the past, I often caused much trouble because I chafe under the terms of service. I never seemed to be able to function correctly within the confines of a site like this. I have to say that I am quite proud of myself for not getting banned from this site. It really is quite a feat for me, and I’m happy that I’m constructively contributing. I think it’s the electronically impersonal nature of these kinds of sites that compel me to cause trouble, but for some reason, not here. I felt before that I was missing some integral component that everyone else seemed to have in their make-up. Something that made me break rules, argue, troll, and perpetrate mayhem. It always felt before that there were no real consequences, because I didn’t really care if I got kicked out or banned, but there is, really. I like this forum, so I follow the rules. If you knew me at all, you’d be surprised. I haven’t told any of my friends.



lol. for some reason i have the same problem on message boards. i've probably been permabanned from 90% of them i join, simply
because i forget to keep a PC lock and key filter on my words before i type them. this place has given me more 2nd chances than most,
in that regard. i enjoy your posts here also, though. i like people who aren't afraid to "cut loose" with what they really think.


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## Arcopitcairn

I almost felt like I was challenging myself to be 'double true' with my last post. I had to delete a very personal secret at the end of the post, and I'm kind of glad now that I did. I guess I don't have to tell every little thing, just as long as I don't lie. Because it's so easy to lie on a message board. I don't want to do that. Even if the truth is boring, silly, or commonplace. It's real.


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## alanmt

I like reading these updates also.  They are well-written, in a distinct and enjoyable personal style.

I am happy, when I post pieces, to get any sort of review, short or detailed. And there are times when I read something and don't have much to say, other than I like it.

I haven't read Knights of the Dinner Table in years.  I should reread.


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## Arcopitcairn

Got some Jim Woodring books this week. Got _Weathercraft_, _Congress of the Animals_, and _The Frank Book_. They are hardcover collections of sequential art. Comic books. Woodring’s comics have few or no words, opting instead to tell stories visually. Sometimes they’re hard to understand logically, but they created feelings in me when I experienced them. I recognized them. Recognized them on a strange level. There was truth there. I saw myself and people I know in the actions of his characters, his ‘funny animals’.


  Also read _Nightmare of Ecstasy_, by Rudolph Grey. It’s an oral history, anecdotal, of Edward D. Wood Jr. I’ve always had a fondness for Ed Wood. His single-minded, obsessive march to mediocrity moves me. His is an entertaining but ultimately sad tale of has-beens and never-was’. I love his entourage. Weird, sad people like Tor Johnson, Vampira, Bunny Breckinridge, and of course, Bela Lugosi. If only he could have put Betty Page in one of his movies, it would have been the zenith of the underbelly of the perfect 1950’s. Ah, the mondo bizarre, drag queen, drag race, stripperama, E.C., blacklist, beat poet, Jean Shepherd radio 1950’s. What an interesting time.


  Went to a Chinese buffet with Kristen on Friday night. It was raining. It bothers me to see people running from the rain, sprinting from their car to a restaurant or something. I feel like they’re missing a part of life, trying to cheat somehow. They also look stupid when they’re doing it. The buffet was pretty good. There were lots of interesting items to eat. I watch the people at buffets a lot, mostly hoping that they don’t lick their fingers and then go back and touch the common tongs or ladles. I also like to see what their choices are, and how they eat those choices. Then I imagine what their living rooms look like, or what the most perverted thing they’ve ever done sexually is. People stymie me. I never love people more than when I’m not around them, and when I’m around them, misanthropic tendencies bloom like a weed.


  I feel very imperious when I’m out in public. Like those times in the bible when Jesus would walk through a crowd and ‘no hand would touch him’. I feel like a lion, prowling, or royalty, surveying my subjects. Walking among the common man with my head held high, observing the unwashed. I love my subjects, as any good king would, and I’m rooting for them to succeed, but I’m not one of them. I’m not saying I am that, but I do feel that way sometimes.


  Watched some Duran Duran videos with Kristen. She said that their clothes were cheesy. I disagreed. In the time in which the video was made, those styles were cool. They were sincere and honest. I like them, just like I like the 70’s disco, ‘Soul Train’ style, the 60’s Mod look, the aesthetics of 1950’s kitchens, non-ironic 40’s Fedoras, gangster, rum-running 30’s, the roaring flappers of the twenties, and all the way back to the last gasps of Art Nouveau at the turn of the last century. To me, cheesy is weak style or pretentiousness, but never sincerity.


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## Arcopitcairn

So I got a little horror story published in an anthology that came out last week. I received a copy of the book in the mail yesterday. I was pretty happy about it. It’s small press, but it’s always nice being published. The story itself is just a fun little lark. When I write short horror stories, I’m just interested in something fun and punchy, something _neat_. When someone reads a story like this, all the reaction I want from them is a little smile, and a “Hmph. That was pretty cool.”


  The story wasn’t meant to change the world, and truthfully wasn’t all that important to me. The editor told me that he might make a few changes before publication, which was fine. But he made a lot of unnecessary changes. He really made the story clunky in some places. He honestly interrupted the flow of my language in some parts, and stalled scenes that moved and slid before his editing. I care about the story around a three out of ten, ten being the highest concern, so I’m not too shattered, but I’m slightly sad about it. In the story, my voice has been diminished, and now the piece is only about eighty percent _me_. He e-mailed me and asked what I thought about the changes. I lied and said they were fine because I want to keep the contact fruitful. But I’m going to have to find a way to delicately approach the subject of his editorial choices. I had two stories published in a previous anthology of his and he barely touched them at all, so hopefully I can find a way to gravitate him back to that mindset.


  Hung out with Kristen on Friday. She made vegetarian chicken sandwiches. They were very good. I think vegetarian cuisine has come a long way in the last ten years or so. I had a very bad experience earlier in the week, which I’ll get to in a moment. She could tell something was wrong with me, but I could not tell her what it was. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to worry her. We watched Cabin in the Woods. It was a fine horror movie. Perfect time of the year for it.


  Spent the day with my friend Doug yesterday. Have not seen him in a little while, so it was nice to catch up. We went to a Mexican joint. I had _Nachos Locos, _which is what I always have. We were going to go see the original _House on Haunted Hill_ with Vincent Price at a retro theater, but we decided against it. We went driving around to yard sales and book stores instead, which is always enjoyable. We ended out the day watching several recent episodes of the Big Fat Quiz Show, hosted by Jimmy Carr. Doug and I enjoy watching U.K. television, so we had a fine time. I think U.K. TV has lot more thought and quality than American TV. Even a show like Top Gear is compelling to me, even though I’m not a car guy, because of the personalities of the hosts and the production values of the program. I enjoyed shows like Sherlock, Secret Britain, and I had a particular fondness for James May’s Toy Stories. Loved that show! It’s nice to be able to watch the unedited British airing of Top Gear and other shows, and not have to wait for the BBC America versions. Bless the Internet.


  On a serious note. I won’t harass you with unseemly and improper details, but I was mere moments from certain death on Wednesday. I had time to think about it. For a moment, death was a surety. It wasn’t the first time I was sure I was going to die, but it was the first time I didn’t care if I died. It frightened me, my uncaring attitude concerning my own end. I felt something in my mind nearly go away, something I need, something important. I’ve lost something, and I don’t know what it is. I thought about it for a long time, and I took solace from the fact that I was sad about the situation. But then I realized that I was not sad that I almost died. I was sad that I was broken to a point that I didn’t really care if I died. For a long time, I’ve felt defeated, beat. I feel like a shadow of a human, a walking ghost, separated from life. I don’t want to die, but it seems to me that I’m not that interested in continuing to live either. It’s an interesting, if disconcerting feeling.


  The problem, or one of them, is that I’ve inherited sorrow from my family. The families of both my parents were the biggest bunch of joyless, stoic, resigned, sad people, down to the last, each and every one of them. So I guess I come by it honestly. My family tree must be a Weeping Willow. Heh.


  I need to get back on my Taoism. I wish they would make a patch for that. Minus any supernatural aspects, Taoism appeals to me as a philosophy. It’s a struggle (Not supposed to be) to apply Taoist principles to everyday life. Raised as I have been, in the place and time, eastern philosophy is not an easy thing to utilize. But it’s the journey that counts, and all that. Yeah?


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## Deleted member 49710

Congratulations on your publication and a hiss at that editor.

Hope your near-death experience isn't repeated any time soon, though the self-evaluation such things engender is valuable. I also come from sad people; at a certain point I decided that I have to see happiness as something that I choose and build, because it is not some blessing or trait bestowed upon me at birth. It requires work on my part. Sometimes a lot of work, but that's better than the alternative. I don't know if this is useful to you.

The journey is definitely what counts, because (speaking as an atheist) the end's no good.


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## Arcopitcairn

lasm said:


> The journey is definitely what counts, because (speaking as an atheist) the end's no good.



Amen, sister.

I think that religious people don't get how difficult it is sometimes not to believe in supernatural things. Surrendering logic and reason is tempting sometimes. It would be easy, but false.

Thanks for your useful words. I struggle with the same thoughts. It sucks coming from sad-sacks. Rising above genetics is certainly, as you say, very hard work.


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## Morkonan

Arcopitcairn said:


> Amen, sister.
> 
> I think that religious people don't get how difficult it is sometimes not to believe in supernatural things. Surrendering logic and reason is tempting sometimes. It would be easy, but false...



Part of being a conscious and intelligent living thing is finding your own answers to the very substantial questions this whole "life" paired with "consciousness" and "intelligence" thing brings for us. As you probably know, it's more than making up your mind about who serves the best pizza or whether or not micro-brews have any redeeming qualities.

When we "grow up", intellectually, we can no longer ignore that we exist and that life, for us as individuals, has some sort of meaning that is greater than the sum of its parts. Consider art... Art is a creation, something that an artist designed with the intent to communicate an idea that is greater than just the scrap of canvas and paint that the artist used in its creation. It is greater than the sum of its parts. As conscious and intelligent beings, we too are greater than the sum of our parts. We are more than just the heart, lungs, blood and tissue that enables us to not only move from the couch to the kitchen, but also enable us to experience linear time or the results of the aggregate actions of quantum particles like photons as they brighten up a room on Sunday morning. We are greater than the sum of our parts.

When we come to grips with this, our intelligence demands that we answer for it. So, we seek answers. Some of us find them and are content with their world view. For some, we find our ultimate answers in religion and philosophy. For yet others, they find their answer in denial; Denial that we are more than just the sum of our parts and an affirmation that existence is nothing more than what's in the box...

For myself, I find the idea that we are nothing more than ambulatory meat-bags with an over-inflated sense of self-worth distasteful, if not abhorrent. We're so much more than that and the denial by some that we are greater than the sum of our parts is just dodging life's biggest question. There's no "logic" or "reason" within that particular sort of idea that is tempting to me.

But, that is my own path, my own way of seeking an answer to the Big Question that an intelligent and conscious existences poses for me. Others have to seek our their own answers. That's the burden of being human.


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## Arcopitcairn

Morkonan said:


> Part of being a conscious and intelligent living thing is finding your own answers to the very substantial questions this whole "life" paired with "consciousness" and "intelligence" thing brings for us. As you probably know, it's more than making up your mind about who serves the best pizza or whether or not micro-brews have any redeeming qualities.
> 
> When we "grow up", intellectually, we can no longer ignore that we exist and that life, for us as individuals, has some sort of meaning that is greater than the sum of its parts. Consider art... Art is a creation, something that an artist designed with the intent to communicate an idea that is greater than just the scrap of canvas and paint that the artist used in its creation. It is greater than the sum of its parts. As conscious and intelligent beings, we too are greater than the sum of our parts. We are more than just the heart, lungs, blood and tissue that enables us to not only move from the couch to the kitchen, but also enable us to experience linear time or the results of the aggregate actions of quantum particles like photons as they brighten up a room on Sunday morning. We are greater than the sum of our parts.
> 
> When we come to grips with this, our intelligence demands that we answer for it. So, we seek answers. Some of us find them and are content with their world view. For some, we find our ultimate answers in religion and philosophy. For yet others, they find their answer in denial; Denial that we are more than just the sum of our parts and an affirmation that existence is nothing more than what's in the box...
> 
> For myself, I find the idea that we are nothing more than ambulatory meat-bags with an over-inflated sense of self-worth distasteful, if not abhorrent. We're so much more than that and the denial by some that we are greater than the sum of our parts is just dodging life's biggest question. There's no "logic" or "reason" within that particular sort of idea that is tempting to me.
> 
> But, that is my own path, my own way of seeking an answer to the Big Question that an intelligent and conscious existences poses for me. Others have to seek our their own answers. That's the burden of being human.



This is not the debate forum. This is a thread for me to tell you how my week went. If you enjoy my self indulgence, please feel free to let me know. Otherwise, I don't really care what you think. If I wanted to argue about it , I'd post in the debate forum, but I do not do that.


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## Jon M

Congrats on being published. Sounds like you dealt with your editor's liberties better than I would have. Sometimes I think people who aren't artists don't fully understand how serious it is to go changing an artist's work. Like they think it's some trivial thing, and "Don't worry, he'll _understand_." It's a hard thing to deal with, in my experience, because your name's on the cover. If it sucks the perception is _you_ suck, not your editor. I submitted some photos to a publication once, after asking if they wanted a specific size (they said no), and later discovered they had stretched the images until they were bitmapped pieces of junk. Made me feel terribly embarrassed, to the point that I didn't even want to look at them, or the publication which keeps them.

What you said regarding loss and the feeling that you're missing something sounds familiar. Sometimes death seems like it might be a vacation, like the Bahamas or something. I didn't inherit sorrow from my family as much as I've just had a lot of practice over the years. 

Hope that spell gets better for you. I'd miss these weekly updates.


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## Arcopitcairn

Thanks Jon. Yeah that editor took a silly little zombie story with a dash of punch and turned it into kind of a clunky mess. It's not really my story now. It's his. If I ever entrust a piece that I really, really care about to him, we'll definitely have to have a discussion about his controlling, micro-managing tendencies.

As for the other, I'm sure I'll be 'fine', just like always


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## Morkonan

Arcopitcairn said:


> This is not the debate forum. This is a thread for me to tell you how my week went. If you enjoy my self indulgence, please feel free to let me know. Otherwise, I don't really care what you think. If I wanted to argue about it , I'd post in the debate forum, but I do not do that.



My apologies, but I was not attempting to debate the subject, only offering my own thoughts in response to your post. That you don't care what I may think does not make much sense, since the purpose of a forum is the interchange of ideas and open discussion of posted topics. But, evidently you feel insulted and I am sorry for that, even though I can find no logical reason why you should feel that way.

Best wishes, my apologies, have a nice day.


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## Arcopitcairn

You are one of those people who, when someone posts something they don't agree with, it's like an irresistible bug-light. There are countless, pompous people like that, and it's old, and it's boring. I made the mistake of mentioning the supernatural, or lack thereof, and that's like catnip to the god-bothering snake handler.

I don't mind comments on what I write in this thread, of course, I'm happy to get them. But what I don't need is some self-righteous lecture about consciousness and intelligence, a lecture about what I feel in my heart, a critique of my life. Your passive-aggressive non-apology is an archetype of why I try to avoid these sorts of exchanges. Leave me alone.


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## Arcopitcairn

Silly of me, probably, to post when not much happened this week. It truly has been uneventful, but I feel somehow, even if it is self-indulgent, that I would like to at least post something. Perhaps it's just a record for me to know what I was thinking or feeling at the time.

It was one of those weeks in which I had all the time in the world to get any number of things written, drawn, or read, but I did not do much.

Read All Star Superman by Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely. It's Morrison's love letter to the Silver Age of comics. I really enjoyed it, and Quitely's artwork is so amazingly beautiful in an ugly kind of way.

Went to a haunted trail with Kristen. It's put on every year for charity (To help end hunger) and the admission price is any canned goods you can spare. It was a very enjoyable little haunted trail. It was a spooky story book land. In one area, I was sure, after a close look, that someone was a mannequin, but then they moved. It actually gave me a start, and it's been a long time since that has happened.

Working on drawing a zombie picture for the front cover of a small press book. I hope it turns out okay. Sometimes I feel, like writing, a drawing takes on a will of its own and simply 'becomes' the thing it was supposed to be.


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## Arcopitcairn

So I had this dream. Like everyone, I often will have dreams that I don’t fully remember. Sometimes I have dreams that I remember every detail of. The other night I had one of the most detailed and strange dreams I’ve ever had. The themes became transparent by the end of the dream, but it was an interesting journey, and for no reason at all really, I’ll relate that dream here.


  Kristen and I were driving in Illinois. It was early afternoon on a Saturday. We went off-highway, just bumming through the countryside down back roads out in the middle of nowhere. Kristen was driving her little blue car, and she was starting to get worried because she was running a little low on gas. We started to see a lot of traffic, and we figured we must have been close to a town. We followed a line of cars and we ended up in this small town; some mini-malls, a town square, and some scattered neighborhoods. There were a ton of people around, all very busy, carrying boxes, tidying things, standing around talking, all very happy too. It was a pretty little town, abuzz with activity.


  We stopped at a stop sign in the middle of the little downtown area. There was a comic store on the corner called _Walker’s Comics_. I’m genetically hardwired to want to look inside any comic store I see, so I told Kristen we’d have to come back and look after we got gas. She said that she didn’t really want to go in the store, so she suggested that I just jump out and she’d swing back and pick me up after she got some gas. We could see a _Speedway_ sign down the road, so I got out of the car and she drove off. I went into the comic store. The inside of the establishment was not comparable to the beauty of the storefront. It wasn’t dirty or anything, but there was nothing there. There were a couple particle board tables in the large space, with piles of comics on them. The comics were strictly flea-market fare, quarter box stuff. They didn’t even have a rack of new comics, like any respectable shop should. But there were three guys working there, in that nearly empty place, three happy and extremely friendly employees. With such poor stock, I wondered how they could possibly keep the store open. I politely sifted through the comics, exchanged pleasantries with the workers, and I got out of there. I went back out on the street and waited for Kristen. She did not show.


  I started down the street to the Speedway. People were everywhere. Lots of traffic. I got to the gas station, but it was not like any Speedway I’d ever seen. The pumps were gone, and the convenience store part was darkened and closed. In place of the pumps, there was a huge metal tank. Workers were hand-pumping gas from the tank into cars that were lined up, and the customers would hand over cash. Other cars were lined up on the other side of the tank, but the people in these cars were not buying gas. They were delivering it. Each car would stop by the tank, the driver would get out and open his trunk, and then he would remove a full gas can. The driver would then climb some metal steps so he could access the top of the tank. He opened a hatch, dumped in his gas, returned to his car, and left. Then the next person would give some gas, then the next person, and the next. Odd, and I walked on because Kristen was not there.


   I noticed, in the air, a ubiquitous sound, like engines running. I had not noticed it before. I realized that everything that was electric was being run by gas-powered generators behind the buildings. Any buildings that weren’t in use were dark. There was no actual power.


  I passed a little grocery store. There were multitude of people standing around talking, watching a truck being unloaded. Happy people were unloading boxes of oatmeal and taking them into the grocery store. I stopped next to two women who were watching. They were both quite excited.


  “Can you believe all that oatmeal?” one of the women said to me. “This’ll be really good for the grocery store!”


  “Uh, yeah,” I said, “that’s definitely a lot of oatmeal.”


  “It’s outdated, but still good,” The other woman said seriously, “oatmeal lasts a long time.”


  I agreed and walked on.


  I came across a mall. The sign said _Walker’s Mall. _The building looked like a 1970’s office complex for lawyers or accountants. The architecture was all blocky, dark wood, and the building was surrounded by trees. The parking lot was full, and Kristen’s car was there. I went inside.


  The mall was deserted. It seemed that all the cars in the parking lot belonged to people who worked there. The stores were, like the comic store, overstaffed and under-stocked. It was full of flea market, thrift store stuff, and people were bringing more boxes of stock in here and there, dropping the stuff off at the different shops, like they were donating things for the stores to sell. Every store had three or four people working there. The only other customers I saw were a very ugly family, two parents and three horrible-looking children whose genders were not apparent. They bounced from store to store, greedily poring over the substandard wares, and they kept shooting me dirty looks from their twisted and misshapen faces.


  Next to a huge book store that had two bookcases full of cheap books, there was a large wooden staircase that led up to the second floor. The second floor was deserted, except for a very pretty teenage girl dressed in an immaculate security guard uniform with a white shirt and a gold badge. Next to her was the only shop on that second floor landing. It was a dark doorway with weak red light inside. There were mumbling low voices coming from the room, and there was a wet thumping, a chopping noise coming from the blood-colored darkness. The security girl smiled at me.


  “Can I help you find anything?” She asked.


  “Nope. Just looking.”


  “We have a nice butcher’s shop here,” she said, motioning to the doorway. “This is the place if you’re looking for meat.” She smiled.


  “I’m good,” I said, and I went back down the stairs.


  I found another open doorway in a corner of the mall. It was completely dark inside, total blackness with little pinpricks of light, like outer space. Over the door, in rainbow letters, the sign read _Wonderland_. There were multi-colored stars and planets dancing around the letters on the sign. There was another security guard there. An old woman.


  “Would you like to go inside?” The guard asked with a smile.


  “No thank you.” And I left the mall.


  Outside the front doors of the mall, another young girl, maybe about sixteen was walking towards me. She’d been crying. On a whim, I asked her what the name of this town was. She looked at me wide-eyed.


  “You don’t know?” She asked.


  “No, what is it?”


  “It’s called _Walker’s Abbey_,” She said hurriedly, “but if you don’t know that, that means you’re not one of them!” Her eyes darted around, looking to see if anyone was about.


  “One of who?”


  “The people who come here on the weekends,” She whispered conspiratorially. “Do you have a car? We gotta get out of here.”


  Just then, a man came up and identified himself as the girl’s father. He asked me if there was a problem. I glanced behind him at the girl, and she was shaking her head ‘no’, wide-eyed, like she was warning me.  So I told him there was no problem, and that I was just asking the girl for the time. He told me it was six, and he ushered his daughter away. She glanced back at me, terrified, but I did nothing. It was getting dark, and I was getting afraid.


  I heard my name called out from the parking lot. It was Kristen’s brother, but it was also Jesus (You know how dreams are). It was Jason (Her brother) and Jesus at the same time. He was standing next to Kristen’s car, dressed in robes, and jingling keys. (In real life, Kristen’s brother speaks in a mumbling stutter, but this person spoke to me in my own voice.) I went to him. He looked more like Jesus than Jason, but I knew him, and I was happy to him in a way.


  “What are you doing here?” I asked him.


  “I came to pick you up. Kristen’s at my _convert_.” He said with my voice.


  “No, I mean _here_, in this town.”


  “Hanging out with some friends at my convert.”


  “What the hell’s a convert?”


  “It’s what I call my house. It’s converted.”


  “Converted from what?”


  “Whatever it was before.” He said matter-of-factly. And he started to get into the car, motioning for me to follow. “Come on, Kristen’s waiting for you.”


  I got into the car, and when he started it up and turned on the headlights, I saw a headless cat stumbling around between the cars. It was an orange cat with a bloody stump where his head should have been, but still alive. In the dream I immediately thought of an old ghost story that I’d heard when I was young. It was one of those ‘The Cat Came Back’ stories. At the end of the story I was thinking about, the cat came back carrying his head in his mouth. I always wondered, since I was a child, how the cat could be carrying his head in his mouth.


  “It’s a metaphor,” Jason said, “It’s not his head he’s carrying home. It’s something else.” He’d known what I was thinking.


  “What was he carrying, then?” I asked as he backed the car out of the space.


  “He was carrying me.” Jason said as he smiled at me. And off we drove.


  “I want to show you my venue, real quick.” He said as we navigated the car-filled streets.


  “Your what?” I asked, as he pulled us into a busy strip mall.


  “The venue I was telling you about. The place I’m saving my money for.”


  Then I remembered that he had told me about a concert hall that he was going to buy. He pointed it out. It was at the end of the strip mall, a large space. The sign above, in big black letters, read _Billy Walker’s Genocide_. A picture of a skull dotted the ‘i’ in genocide. We stopped in front and looked at it for a minute.


  “It’s a place where we can really put on a good show, you know? It goes along real good with the town. We put on a great show here on the weekends.”


  “Look, can we just go get Kristen?” I asked. The whole thing was really getting on top of me. I just wanted to get out of that place.


  We drove a short distance to Jason’s house. Kristen came stumbling outside, followed by several young men who were trying to talk her into coming back inside. I took the keys from the ignition and got out of the car. Kristen was unintelligible, confused, and her face was covered with what looked like sperm. It was on her clothes and in her hair, and I got a pretty good idea of what those guys had been doing to her. Her brother seemed unconcerned. I punched him in the face and knocked him down. I ripped part of his robes off and I wiped Kristen’s face with it. The other guys just watched with smiles on their faces. I put her in the passenger seat of her car. I started towards the young men, but they ran away. I kicked Jason in the teeth as I rounded the front of the car, I got in, and we headed out of town.


  On the outskirts of town, the road was blocked off by day-glo barricades and one man. When I stopped, the man came walking up to the window. He asked where I was going. I told him that everybody was super jazzed about the new shipment of oatmeal, and that I was going out to get a carload of milk. He thought that sounded pretty great, and he let me through the barricade.


  Kristen started to come back to herself the further we got from the town. She was crying, talking about how it wasn’t a town at all, but an idea. I didn’t know what she meant, and then the dream ended.
  I got up in the middle of the night and wrote all the details out, still half asleep. I didn’t really need to do that, though, because when I woke up, I remembered everything. 

Saw the movie Cloud Atlas yesterday. I'm not sure if I liked it or not. I don't think I did.


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## Kevin

There's no ---- way you dreamed all this, and if you did I'm jealous. With all the empty shelves it sounds...soviet or... _Gymkata; village of the crazies fight scene._


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## Arcopitcairn

Did dream it all, really. It's maybe only the second or third time that it's happened to me in my many years. I wish it would happen every night. Oh, and you're getting major Gymkata respect from me!


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## Arcopitcairn

So on Halloween I went over to Kristen’s house. We carved pumpkins, waited for trick r’ treaters, and watched the ‘Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown’. I like carving pumpkins. It’s something you only get to do once a year, and the activity has an interesting history. I’m of the mind that you should never take more than a few minutes to carve your pumpkin, as to try and capture a more slap-dash, child-like aesthetic. My pumpkins always turn out pretty well. Kristen only had three trick r’ treaters (Ghoul, Witch, and Princess), and one young couple who had their infant dressed up like a puppy. The infant’s mother, no doubt, was going to consume most of the baby’s candy, which she was collecting in a little blue bucket. I’d hoped there would be more treaters, because I live in a neighborhood that consists mostly of businesses, and I have not had a Halloween visitor in all the years I’ve lived there.


  The Great Pumpkin is always nice to see. It brings heavy nostalgia. But there’s this thing I noticed. The Great Pumpkin is widely available to watch all year round, if one were so inclined. I own the show myself. But I have never watched the copy I have. There’s something more special about watching it when it’s supposed to be watched, and how. On television with commercials. I think if I ever watched it when I was not supposed to, the show would lose something for me.


  It’s like music. Anybody can have any music they want any time they want it. My formative music is seventies and eighties music, and I have a ton of it. I can listen to it any time I like, and often, I do. But I always find something more special about hearing one of those old songs on the radio than listening to them on an mp3 player or my computer. Perhaps, even if you’re alone, you get a more shared experience-type feeling when you hear a song you like on the radio. You know that a bunch of other people are listening to the song you like as well, as they go about their mysterious business. All I know, is that when I heard ‘Too Shy’ on the radio this week, it put a smile on my face. More of a smile than I might get hearing that song on an eighties play-list in my computer. Maybe the more you have of something, and the easier it is to get, the less impactful or important it becomes.


  I sometimes wonder if I worked at an art museum if perhaps I might eventually become desensitized to art. Probably not, but I’m sure there would be some effect on me. Maybe I would become more discerning and critical. Or maybe jaded and cynical. Never can say.


  Bought a Ford F150 pick-up for one dollar this week. Kristen’s father wrecked it, and he decided to sell it to me for a buck because he likes me. Kristen’s parents think I’m the cat’s meow, though sometimes I cannot understand why. Anyhow, the truck needs a little work, but for a dollar, you can’t really go too wrong.


  Hung out with my friend Aaron all day yesterday. Had a good time talking about our common interests, like art and comics. We had a mini movie marathon. We watched Star Trek 4, Temple of Doom, and UHF. UHF…I love that stupid movie.


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## Arcopitcairn

So there was this big explosion here in Indianapolis a few miles from where I live. It happened on Saturday night at about eleven. I’m sure I heard the explosion, but because of the industrial neighborhood in which I live, I have become desensitized to loud noises, and the explosion didn’t register as something out of the ordinary. It was more than likely a gas explosion. Two people were killed, seven injured, and several houses were completely destroyed, and many more houses were severely damaged. All around a bad scene.


  The local news was interviewing one of the people who lived near the explosion. His house was one of the ones destroyed, but he was not injured. He was thanking god on the news that he was okay. That’s all well and good, but it occurred to me that Christians are kind of like people that suffer from Stockholm Syndrome. Or they’re like battered wives that constantly make excuses for their abusive husbands. Or perhaps they are the whipped dogs that sidle back up to their harsh masters, cringing at their heels, full of stupid love for the one worst thing in their whole miserable life. Personally, if I believed in some all powerful magic monster, I would ask why this creature did not prevent the disaster, instead of thanking the _thing_ for sparing me.


  Went to our town’s art museum with Kristen on Sunday. It’s decent, with many fine pieces to enjoy. We wandered the place for three hours. There were many people there. I know that this is the wrong attitude, incorrect, but I often feel that the common man does not have the ability to appreciate fine art like I can, or people who are like me, like-minded, with my sensibilities. It’s the art snob in me, but I sometimes feel that these people just don’t have the capacity, and would be better served staying home and watching NASCAR or reality television.


  I went to a Norman Rockwell exhibit in Dayton, Ohio last year. My friend Kris and I made the drive from Indianapolis just for that purpose. There were hundreds of people there to see the exhibit, and the line stretched out far into the museum proper. No big deal, I say, for I have no problem with crowds, and it was kind of nice to see so many regular joes interested. When I finally made it into the exhibit, I felt then, after observing the people observing the art, that they were not there for the same reasons that I was there. They flew through the galleries, giving cursory glances to the paintings, talking on their cell phones, breezing past. They were there to consume, because they recognized the name ‘Norman Rockwell’ and they had to have some of that. I think that I may have seen some frustration in those scattered faces, a dull rage that sprang from the fact that they could not eat the art, could not rub up against it, or take it home. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was there to see those iconic pieces by Rockwell too, but I had more right to be there, as far as I was concerned. My thoughtful appreciation and contemplation of the collection was loudly salted by screaming children, snatches of irrelevant conversation, and the mental farts of those who understood nothing of what they were seeing. It was disgusting. I’m not saying all the people there were like this, just most of them. And the Dayton art museum itself was deserted. They were all just there to ingest Norman Rockwell, because they recognized the name. If it had been a J.C. Leyendecker exhibit, they would not have been there.


  Kristen made vegetarian curry for dinner, and it was quite good. We then played a couple of games of _Carcassonne, _a medieval strategy game. It’s a heck of a lot of fun, and I would heartily recommend it for anyone who enjoys board games.


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## Kevin

Oh, call me a 'plebe', but you missed the 'Jeff Gordan Brickyard Smackdown' (who knew Indy was such a jumping town? I hope dale's alright..) Thanks big "A". Always a pleasure to read-k


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## Jon M

.


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## Arcopitcairn

*Horror Stuff*

Went to Holstenwall Fair with my buddy. It was geometrically haphazard. Fortune teller there claimed my buddy would die, which is a strange thing for fortune tellers to do these days. Knocked my buddy for six, but he should not have worried.

et quand il fut de l'autre cote du pont, les fantomes vinrent a sa rencontre. Though, that may be incorrect.

I feel sometimes that I am the Dmitry, come ashore at Collier's Hope. Or at least the literary equivalent.


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## Arcopitcairn

Have been eating like a ravenous pig since Thanksgiving. At 7:30 this morning I was making turkey salad sandwiches and microwaving green bean casserole. It's ridiculous. I am laden with pie.

Been in a massive creative slump lately. Cannot write. Can draw though, and I have been working on the cover for a zombie fairy tale anthology book that is being put together in January. Will post in art section when done. If I can't shake the blank page willies, I don't know what the next thing I'm gonna write will be. It sapped my remaining creative energy just writing this post. Why, I don't think I have enough juice left to even finish thi


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## Arcopitcairn

Have been obsessed with getting my hands on all the _Church Mouse_ books, by Graham Oakley. I really loved them when I was young, and I feel like I need some good, nostalgic memories lately. Maybe they’d put a smile on my face.


  Have been creatively blocked for writing. Been drawing some, but have been spending a lot of time reading, and playing an rpg called _Dragonquest_ on my DS.


  Showed Kristen George Romero’s _Land of the Dead_. She did not care for it much.


  I’ve been friends with Kristen for many years. I loved her once, but she did not feel the same way, and she told me so. And that’s fine, I swear. But I decided to remain friends with her when I probably should not have. The thing is, she’s a great girl. A true friend. I know that if I really needed her, she’d be there. But being friends with someone you used to have feelings for is not the easiest thing, because even if those feelings are gone, the memories of those feelings remain, the memories of the hurt remain.


  I find that there is an element of humiliation in me at still being friends with a woman who did not want me. I feel like a toothless, girly loser, a puppy dog, still hanging out with her. It bothers me. When she tells me about past sexual experiences, I want to tell her to save that stuff for her female friends, because I don’t need to hear it. But I don’t tell her that. I listen to what she says like a good friend should. I am a good friend to her. And most of me is happy about that. However, I just know that if she ever gets a boyfriend or a husband, I’m going to have to cut her loose. I just would not be able to stand that heightened level of humiliation, being around her when she’s with some guy. I’d be happy for her, but I just couldn’t be ringside for it. Plus, any girl that might turn up in my life may not be too keen on me spending so much time with another woman. Who can say?


   I’ve never actually mentioned any of this to Kristen, and it’s a conversation I hope never to have, really. It’d be a pity to lose her as a friend.


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## Arcopitcairn

Though I am an enemy of religion, once a year I put aside my disgust with supernatural garbage and I accompany my friend Kris to church. Kris is my friend, he’s as my brother, and if he wants me to come and see his church’s Christmas play in which his daughters are performing, then I can do that for him. But as you might imagine, it’s not really my thing, but friendship trumps.


  We drove out into the rain and the fog last night, out to the country, reminding me of the moors in _American Werewolf in London_, and we finally came to Kris’ tiny little Wesleyan church. It looked like somebody’s house that had been converted into a place of worship. It was a tidy little joint, warm (Figuratively and Literally) and cozy, and the people were a pleasant sort. I always feel like an infidel when I’m in a church, though, like a spy searching for a weakness to exploit so that I might bring the whole enterprise crashing down into a smoking ruin. But everyone was no nice. It’s hard to want to annihilate their belief system when they’re such nice people. Plus, you know, they need it, the supernatural, like a baby needs a bottle. I decided to allow them their hogwash, just for last night.


  There are things I like about church, actually. I like the togetherness, the fellowship, the sense of belonging and purpose. I think those are good things. I just don’t care for the delivery system.


  Anyhow, Kris and I settled into our pew. He was called up (He’s the song leader) and he had us open the hymnals and we sang ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’. Then he came back and sat down and it was time for the show. It was all the young people of the church (Professional name: Kidz in Motion) who performed the songs and the play. First, the older kids sang ‘Oh Holy Night’ with mixed results, but their hearts were in the right place. Then, like a herd of twitching elephants, they marched the little kids up to the stage to join in with their bells. Ridiculously cute of course, were the children in their little choir robes, but they needed more practice with their hand bells. Still heart-warming though, to see the kids having a good time, and see their excitement at being involved. 


  Then began the play. It involved people from a church making up boxes of clothes to send to poor people for Christmas. The woman in charge was sending poor people the junk, and she was keeping the good stuff for a church sale. A choir was practicing in the room next door, and they came in for a girl/boy sing off. One of the little girls in the choir, after the singing, said that she loved the baby Jesus so much that she would give him her stuffed monkey for Christmas. She had the monkey with her. Kris’ daughters, the characters they were playing, were so moved by the child’s willingness to part with her monkey, they started filling the poor people’s boxes with better stuff, including some of their own possessions. Like a fancy purse, and a new book.


  There was a little more to it than that, but you get the idea. It was a worthy sentiment. The play ended with another song, and everybody clapped. It was nice. Don’t get me wrong, the play was a wreck, but it was still good in the ways that are important, you know? Kris, his daughters, and I drove out into the night after the expected hobnobbing that punctuates a church event, and the miles were eaten up with a lot of happy chatting. The girls were pretty proud of themselves for a job well done, Kris was proud of them, and I was happy to be along for the ride.


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## Arcopitcairn

A Few Memories about Everyplace I’ve Ever Lived (Language Warning)


  As an exercise, threw out first few memories that popped into my head surrounding every place I’ve ever lived. Not of any interest to anyone but me, but hey…why not?

*Harvard Square Apartments, Indianapolis:* Was born (Was told this, do not remember it)


*Grandmother’s House, McFarland Rd, Indianapolis (1[SUP]st[/SUP] Time), Indianapolis*: Have no memories of this.


*Apartment in Fountain Square, Indianapolis:* Have no memories of this. Learned to walk (Second hand information)


*Laurel Lake Apartments, Greenwood, IN:* First real memory. Walking around crying with soiled diaper. Smell of mother’s hair spray.


*Fox Harbor Apartments, Indianapolis:* Father’s motorcycle. Wearing father’s firefighter boots and helmet. Easter candy. Fisher Price _Holiday Inn_ toy for Christmas.


*House on Harlan Ave, Indianapolis:* Brother born. Dog named _Pepper_. Beat up by older retarded girl in neighborhood. Dropped Robin _Mego_ in overflowed septic pit.


*Laurel Lake Apartments (2[SUP]nd[/SUP] Time):* Mean neighbors, feeding ducks. Mother ran Mustang into telephone pole with me in car. Both slightly injured. Slammed left thumb in car door, nail permanently disfigured. Watch _Hee Haw_ and _Donny and Marie_ every week.


*Regency Park Apartments, Indianapolis:* Father loses patience with me while trying to teach me how to play baseball. Throws ball at my head but misses. _Shogun Warriors Godzilla_ for Christmas. First memory of _It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown_. Saw _The Fly_ with Vincent Price and it disturbed me. Parents claimed that ‘_Wombats_’ and ‘_Woolyboogers_’ would jump out of the trees and pull my hair at night.


*House on Asbury Street, Indianapolis:* Nice Christmas (Six Million Dollar Man toys), but have first stirrings of fear and suspicions of Santa Claus as supernatural entity. Went to bed one night on top bunk, woke up on floor. Learned to ride bicycle. Became enraptured with Graham Oakley’s _Church Mouse_ books. Mother sometimes covered her face with her hair and came after me like a zombie, trying to scare me. It worked.


*Oak Meadows Trailer Park, Greenwood, IN:* Realized Santa Claus was not real, began to have misgivings about God. Caused much trouble at Maple Grove Elementary. Could tell teacher hated me. Had dog named _Kizzy_ that liked to eat grasshoppers. Kizzy disappears. Father attempted to burn down trailer for insurance money, but failed to destroy trailer. Only enough insurance money to move. 


*Woods, Brown County, IN:* Moved repaired trailer to wooded lot in Brown County. Parents hoped to build house. First love. ‘_Married_’ girl who lived down the road, ceremony performed by her older sister. She moved away. Two dogs; _Buppy_ and _Heather_. Had cat called _Ishaboo_. Wandered the woods forever. Ishaboo run over by car. Parents Separated. Buppy and Heather taken to ‘_farm_’.


*Grandmother’s house (2[SUP]nd[/SUP] Time):* Brother nearly killed by Neighbor’s Chow. Took grandfather’s shotgun and attempted to shoot the dog. Loaded gun incorrectly, would not fire. Grandmother cussed like sailor. First time I ever heard ‘_motherfucker_’ or ‘_cocksucker_’, it was from my grandmother.


*El Lago Apartments, Indianapolis:* Mother, with problems, started going to Baptist church. Hated going because I did not believe. Saw it as waste of time. Parents finally divorced. Father with new woman.


*Homeless:* Abandoned apartment and possessions. Rode busses around the U.S. in attempt to find new place. Kept an eye on brother. Sleeping in bus stations. Crawling under door of pay toilets. Trying to sell ‘_Black Beauties’_ in men’s restroom for food money. Walking endlessly in strange cities. Did not have actual meal for weeks, lived out of vending machines. In Phoenix, AZ, mother finally decided to return home.


*Father’s House, Dundee Drive, Indianapolis:* Forced to live with father while mother found new place. Father’s new wife did not like us. Many arguments and fights. My brother crying.


*Grandmother’s House (3[SUP]rd[/SUP] Time):* Reclaimed by mother. Only possession was stack of comic books.


*Sherman Village Apartments, Indianapolis:* Met friend _Kris_. Mother met and married new man. She worked at used book store. Bought many comics there. Bought _Marvel Fanfare_ #1 and _New Teen Titans_ #1 off rack. Discovered silver age comics. Pushed brother through _Target _aisles in cart while he knocked stuff off shelves. Chased by midget manager, caught and thrown out. Head on collision in front of Catholic school. Mother and stepfather badly injured. I woke up in the road with a priest standing over me. I got a broken wrist. Brother was not with us, if her were, he would have been killed.


*Father’s House (2[SUP]nd[/SUP] Time):* Brother and I forced to live at father’s house while mother and stepfather hospitalized. Brother was always picky eater. Frequently forced to sit at table until he finished his food. Did not understand why my father would let his new wife treat us like that. Tension.


*Sherman Village Apartments, (2[SUP]nd[/SUP] Time):* Back after mother and stepfather recover. Waiting for insurance money. Leave apartment.


*Grandmother’s House (4[SUP]th[/SUP] Time):* Waiting for insurance money for wreck. Cast removed from wrist, but it would never be the same, and would always hurt. Watched _MTV_ a lot. Spent most weekends sleeping over at Kris’ house.


*Longacre Trailer Park, Indianapolis:* Bought trailer. Met friend _Doug_. Nearly shot by drunken man who thought I messed up his cable TV. At 13, smoked dope for first time and had sex for first time. She was 14 and we did it in a public swimming pool when no one was around. It’s a good memory. Rented first VCR (From U-Haul, no less), watched _Evil Dead_. _Transformers_ and _G.I. Joe_ toys were ubiquitous. Was sitting on train tracks listening to Walkman. Did not notice train until I felt the rumble. Nearly killed.


*House, Cottage Ave, Indianapolis:* Sold trailer, rented half-double in Fountain Square next to my aunt. Ran the streets with the wild city kids. Went to Shortridge High School for a few weeks. First time I saw uniformed guards in a school.


*Half-Double, Brickenwood, Hanna Ave, Indianapolis:* Hated High School. Pulled fire alarm and confessed so I would be kicked out. Fought constantly. Suspended many times. Escaped school many times. Ran with the hoods. Had the long hair and button-covered denim jacket. Called before the principle because I nearly started a race riot. Not racist, but it was an easy way to cause trouble. Madly in love with the girl who lived next door, _Holly_. Listened to _Head over Heels_ by _Tears for Fears_ over and over, thinking of her. Never told her how I felt.


*Greenway South Apartments, Indianapolis:* Finally old enough to quit school. Stayed up all night every night for a year. Slept all day. Finally read ‘_The Stand’_ by Stephen King. Listened to _Sign O The Times_ constantly. Wandered nearby neighborhoods at night, creeping through alleys. Wanted to be the ‘_thing’_ in the dark that people were afraid of. Disagreements led to moving in voluntarily with my father.


*Father’s House (3[SUP]rd[/SUP] Time):* Left when father’s wife suggested I should stop collecting comic books.


*House, Tacoma Ave, Indianapolis:* Met friend _Kristen_. Met friend _Aaron_. Worked at comic book store. Began writing, reading, and drawing more. Went and got G.E.D. Had puppy named _Bob_. Died of distemper. Wrecked pick-up truck with Kris as passenger. Both only slightly injured. Get into_ Love and Rockets_ (The band), the _Pixies_, and I start seriously noticing ‘_Japanimation_’ (Now called Anime). Got dog named _Funky Chicken_.


*House, Troy Ave, Indianapolis:* Loved Kristen for years from ‘afar’. Nothing came of it. Writing and drawing more seriously. Managed two video stores. Had sexual relationships with two employees. Both mistakes. Was hit by old woman in intersection and she totaled my little Toyota. Was angry, so I called her a stupid whore. Cop convinced me to apologize. He was right. Smoked a lot of weed with video store friends.


*Queen Anne Apartments, Seattle, WA:* Went to live with Doug in Seattle for a while. The Safeway grocery store at the top of Queen Anne Ave. had the best Chinese food I’ve ever had. Doug was gay, so I was immersed in the gay lifestyle, frequenting many gay bars. Doug would often ‘Secret Service’ me against advances (Gay men are not shy or subtle), but I always found the propositions rather flattering. Nice to feel wanted. First and last time I ever called a black person ‘_nigger_’ was in Seattle. Watched a ton of Asian cinema because the video stores were full of it, being Seattle.


*House, Here:* Longest I’ve ever lived anywhere is here. Helped Kristen move to Las Vegas. Borrowed her car to drive out to brothel while I was there, for the experience. Was with Czechoslovakian girl named Sasha who was taller than I am. Plane struck by lightning several times on the way back to Indianapolis. Flight attendants looked scared. Thought I was going to die when the lights went out on the plane. Everyone cheered when we finally landed. Funky killed by neighbor dogs. Got dogs _Penny, Buffy, Jojo_, and _Teddy_. Penny died of old age, first dog I’ve ever owned to completion. Buffy died of cancer. Jojo and Teddy are still alive. Worked at _Bayer Diagnostics_, refurbishing parts for medical machinery. Worked as a janitorial sub at _Center Grove Schools_. Worked marble tub and shower installation in houses under construction. No bathrooms, so workmen leave bottles of urine in the walls of half-finished houses. Almost every new house probably has bottles of pee in the walls. After eight years, went back to Vegas to help Kristen move back, and had a wonderful drive back through the Rockies. Worked as car-detailer, had a few things published, some art here and there. And then there’s now.


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## dale

i stayed in fountain square for a while, just south of bud's supermarket. i didn't really care for it. there were too many
of what are called "wiggers" there. those people get on my nerves. i'm more partial to the west side.


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## Arcopitcairn

I was there in the eighties, before a large segment of poor white people decided that it would be a good idea to imitate racial stereotypes. In my day, young fella, it was all heavy metal kids. Long-haired, crazy-eyed youths whose hearts screamed for Ozzy, Judas Priest, and Air Supply. 

That last one? Maybe not so much.


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## Kevin

'air supply' haha....god, radio sucked back then...there was one song by the DK s, and some little goober named 'Rodney', who gave you an hour of early hardcore starting at midnight on Sundays. We passed around homemade compilation tapes(cassettes) like bongs and beers.


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## Arcopitcairn

Oh, god. I forgot about the comp-tapes. Several young ladies found themselves subjected to my musical love-letters, all those years ago, that's for sure.

I tried to catch 120 Minutes on MTV whenever I could, and though I have a nostalgic love of eighties music, there was a lot of crap.


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## Arcopitcairn

Author as a mere lad, circa 1975. Merry Christmas.


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## Arcopitcairn

Have been corralled into New Year's Eve party. It's a wonderful thing to have friends who want to spend time with you, but to tell the truth, I think I would rather spend the time spend in solitary reflection. But I will go. Every year I try and catch the 'Live From Lincoln Center' symphony performance on PBS. They do it every New Year's. I suppose I'll miss it this year.

The new year does not really hold much for me in reality, as the years seem to run together in a blur. Whatever hard times may have fallen upon me, I guess there are a lot of people out there who have it a lot worse than I do, and I seem to have this odd little core of undying optimism buried somewhere deep. Who knows? Maybe things'll be okay next year.

Happy new year


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## Arcopitcairn

So my friend and I were talking about professional wrestling. I like it. I think it’s quite unique as an art form. Way back in the earlier days of the previous century, traveling carnivals would go from town to down. These were not like carnivals today. These were the real deal, with barkers, freak shows, oddities, strip shows, and fights. A thuggish bruiser (The Heel) would get up in front of the fight tent and start talking smack about whatever town he was in. The crowd would become reliably annoyed by this (The heel was getting ‘heat’ from the crowd), and he would then challenge any hometown man in the crowd to face him in the ring and shut him up. A good-looking, younger man (The Babyface) would then step up to the plate for his town, promising to put the Heel in his place for the good of the community. The two men would storm into the fight tent, where the ring was set up and waiting. Of course, all the townies had to see their hometown boy (Which none of them had ever seen before) face the jerk who bad-mouthed their town. It would only cost them a small amount to enter the tent, but whatever the price, it was worth it to see the Heel get his comeuppance. 


  The ‘hometown’ boy would win, of course, and the crowd would go away happy, safe in the knowledge that all was right with the world. No one ever hung around to notice that the hometown boy left town with the carnival.


  And so it went, and professional wrestling was born. I watched it a little back in the eighties, but even though back then I still saw it as an actual competition, I had my suspicions. I didn’t know that what I was watching was a _‘dramatic exhibition’.

_

  There are still the Heels, the Babyfaces, the managers, the colorful characters, the soap opera storylines, all tailored to ‘work’ the crowd and the viewer. I find it all very interesting.


  A few years ago, I went to a ‘Deathmatch’. These are small, traveling wrestling shows where the matches run to the extreme. They bash each other with folding chairs, put each other through tables, body slam each other on thumb tacks scattered across the canvas, bust fluorescent tubes over their heads, use barbed-wire bats or metal garbage cans on each other, and even sometimes set each other on fire. There is a lot of blood and violence. Since I was a relatively new wrestling fan at the time, I thought it would be fun to see such a spectacle. I was wrong.


  After a progression of escalating violence, match after match, I started feeling ashamed. I was watching old, broken-down wrestlers on their way down, making money the only way they could, or watching desperate amateurs spending their blood for a chance to get into the business. It was too much for me, mentally, and it made me sad. They did not have to do those things for me. I would have watched them simply wrestle, and I would have been happy to do it.


  I went outside in the dark and the cold, and I joined a few other guys who were smoking cigarettes in front of the Shriner’s Hall or local rec center or whatever it was. Soon, one of the wrestlers came outside. He was a huge bald man, covered in blood, so much so that it looked as if someone had dumped it on him. He was shirtless and bloody, bumming cigarettes off the young fans outside. It was cold, so steam was rising like smoke from the warm blood that covered the wrestler. He looked like a fading ember in the moonlight. I’ll never forget that.


  The young fans were crowding around him, strutting with adrenalin, acting like fools, congratulating the wrestler on his match, telling him how awesome they thought he was. And maybe he was awesome in some strange way. But all I could think of, all I wanted to do, was ask the bloody man if we were worth it. Were the hundred or so people at the show worth his blood? The children that rallied around him, were they worth his pain?


  I did not ask him these questions. I felt as if the questions might insult him, and I did not want to do that, considering what he’d already been through. Plus, I got the feeling that those types of questions might also anger the man, and that was something that I surely did not want to do, for he could have crushed me like an insect.


  I never went to another Deathmatch. But I still enjoy the odd pageantry, the athletic play-acting, the manly soap opera that is pro wrestling.


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## Arcopitcairn

Hey guys! Here’s my new novel idea!



  Hurricane Toga Party Finally Sees The Horsewolf



  Set on an alternate Earth where all humans evolved as dwarves, our story begins with _Bizmoticron_, the purple, four-armed, three-eyed space chimpanzee crashing his ship into the woods on the outskirts of Tiny Town. This sinister, cosmic ape crawls from the wreckage, bent on mayhem and murder!


  Meanwhile, as bad weather approaches (both literally and figuratively), our hero, _Blastie Ferguson,_ is being censured by the conservative, religious dean at Tiny Town University. Blastie’s strident views on ‘Proportionalism Science’ and ‘Advanced Applied Midgetry’ are constantly getting him into hot water! Blastie rejects the notion that the legendary _Horsewolf _killed the evil fantasy gods for the good of Dwarfkind, and now watches over the Earth.


  Outside, Blastie’s girlfriend, _Betty Mongo_ is waiting for him. They head for his Frat, _Whamma Slamma Gamma_. Blastie’s best friend and rival for Betty’s affection, _Dirk Gherkin_, is preparing to throw a massive Toga Party at the frat house to celebrate the Dwarfball team’s big victory over State. 


  So the Toga Party rages on into the night at the isolated Frat house. A hurricane blows outside, but not even inclement weather can dampen the party atmosphere. But then, Bizmoticron attacks! What follows is an ‘Assault on Precinct 13’ type siege adventure, with the dwarves bravely protecting the house, dying by the scores in their little togas, ripped to shreds by the angry space ape. Blastie uses his science genius to concoct several chemical weapons and explosive devices to keep the monster at bay.


  Bizmoticron sees Betty and becomes enamored by her ‘beauty’. He grabs her and climbs to the uppermost spires of the Victorian Frat house, fighting the howling, gale force winds. The few dwarves left alive (Trying not to blow away as they gather on the lawn) can only shake their chubby fists in crushing impotence at the chimp as he manhandles poor Betty on the roof. Blastie runs into the house, and Dirk calls him a ‘dwarfing coward’. Dirk tries to climb to the roof to save Betty, but Bizmoticron throws a piece of aluminum gutter at the would-be hero and knocks the little fellow out!


  But Blastie is no coward! He bursts from an upstairs window wearing a prototype jet pack of his own design, armed with a burlap bag full of canned goods. Blastie hovers around Bizmoticron, circling him in the driving wind and rain, pelting him with cans of peas and beans. Finally, Blastie scores a direct hit on the astro-chimp’s skull with a can of creamed corn. The monster topples off the roof, dizzy, dropping Betty. Blastie swoops in and catches her, and Bizmoticron falls and breaks his neck. Just then, the hurricane blows itself out and Blastie kisses Betty.


  As the dwarves stand over the corpse of the strange monster, they hear a howling. On a nearby hill stands the Horsewolf, with the body of a horse and the flaming head of a wolf. The Horsewolf nods at the dwarves and howls again, a jet of flame bursting from his fanged mouth. He disappears in a wisp of smoke. Blastie realizes that the Horsewolf is real, but it doesn’t matter because the Horsewolf didn’t help them beat the space ape. Blastie beat Bizmoticron with science and corn. The Horsewolf just showed up at the end and pretended to have something to do with it. 



  Here’s the first little bit:



  The fire-drenched spaceship exploded into the atmosphere of the Earth doing, like mach 5 or something. In the cockpit, Bizmoticron, the psycho, purple, four-armed, three-eyed space chimpanzee was having some kind of rollicking tard-spasm, jerking the unresponding control systems, screaming at his cosmic TV screens that showed only static, and convulsing like a nutzoid on speed. He tried every trick in the book to take care of business to no avail and his sprits fell like an ice-leaf on one of the frozen trees on lonely, little Pluto. He had just enough time, with one last screech, to fling a handful of angry feces at the malfunctioning and smoking guidance panels before his ship crashed in some woods like an atom bomb but not as powerful. The smoking wreckage laid like a carcass in the night.



  No critique needed. Because I already know it’s awesome. Just thought I’d post it so everybody can share in the wonder. When the gravy train of inspiration is on the tracks, everybody rides!


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## Arcopitcairn

Been eating sushi lately from Kroger (which is a supermarket chain for those who don’t know), and it’s some of the best sushi I’ve ever had. It seems kind of white-trashy, buying sushi from a grocery store, but I highly recommend it.


  The sushi meal I had this last week was one of only two actual meals I had. Things have been a little tough at the old homestead, and I found myself having to choose between food and cigarettes. I chose smokes.


  Not long ago, my friend Doug and I were at a restaurant. Sitting not far from us was a family. They were definite ‘Holy Roller’ types, looking almost two steps removed for being Amish or Mennonite. They had three pinhead children. You don’t see those very often, pinheads I mean, unless you read _Zippy the Pinhead _or watch _Todd Browning’s Freaks_. They disturbed me, and I found it hard to enjoy my meal.


  I realized that the couple obviously had one pinhead child, two pinhead children, and because they were moronic, they thought it was a good idea to spin the wheel and try again. Perhaps when the third pinhead was born, they finally decided that God was trying to tell them something. I’m sure that the couple love their pinheads and see them as God’s special snowflake gifts, but they think that because they are crazy and stupid. And just because they saddled themselves with three pinheads does not mean that they should parade them all about for everyone to see, especially not at a restaurant where I’m trying to eat.


  Human oddities and retards of all kinds have always creeped me out. Don’t get me wrong. I would not want anything to happen to these poor souls, and they should be well taken care of, but I just find them unsettling. They remind me of chimps. You can have a chimp as a pet and everything is fine, maybe for years, but one wrong move…and you get your face ripped off. I’ve heard stories from people who have worked with them that many retards are hyper-sexual and predisposed to rape and violence. A special education teacher at a school I used to work at was once cornered and sexually assaulted by the kids in her class. She was nearly raped, and one of the kids twisted one of her nipples off. The teacher didn’t teach any more after that. That’s not the kind of stuff you read in the brochure for the Special Olympics, I’ll tell you that.


  This doesn’t really have anything to do with anything, but it popped into my head. Has anyone ever seen a sexy retard? Like a truly, smoking hot retard, male or female? I’m talking one that’s natural born, not a normal person that was dropped as a baby or kicked in the head by a mule. I don’t think I ever have seen one. Humph. 


  The endlessness of outer space has really been bothering me lately. Our planet hangs in our solar system. Our solar system hangs in our galaxy. Our galaxy hangs in the universe. What is the universe hanging in? I’ve never been able to find an answer that has satisfied, and it half drives me mad sometimes. If anyone has any suggestions for reading material along these lines, please let me know.


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## dale

What? You mean you didn't find "sissy" from Todd brownings freaks smokin hot sexy like the rest of us?


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## Arcopitcairn

Ha! Guess she just wasn't my type.


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## Arcopitcairn

Happy New Year to all our Chinese friends out there, especially those born in the year of the snake.

Played a game called Rory's Story Cubes last night. It was like Boggle, but instead of letters on the sides of the dice, there were simple pictures. You roll the dice and use as many of the pictures as you can to fashion a story on the spot. It was fun! I recommend it to writers as an interesting exercise.

You know, I detested the debate forum when it existed, but now I kind of miss it. It seems to me, in certain circles, that there is a kind of tension on these boards. I may be crazy, but perhaps the debate forum existed as some kind of flypaper to catch all the chest-pounding, strutting, argumentative buffoonery that certain posters thrive upon, keeping that crap from infecting other parts of the site. I've noticed an upswing in nastiness since the debate forum was removed. We might need that bug-light, that buzzing temptation, to lure indignant self-righteousness and competition away from more civilized areas of the forum. It's just my opinion, of course. I, for one, am more than willing to admit that I am wrong


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## Arcopitcairn

One of the dogs, Jojo, died on Sunday. She vomited blood for several hours and then she laid down and died peacefully. I delivered the corpse to the vet yesterday for cremation. I say 'One of the dogs' because she was not my dog. She belonged to one of the people I share the house with. I don't care for dogs, cats, or any other pets, but I don't _hate _them. I treat them like children, like innocents, and I'm always nice to them. I just don't have that thing inside to be able to tolerate pets. That being said, Jojo was a good dog, as far as dogs go, and it was good that she did not suffer. I can't stand to see animals suffer, I just don't want any.

Have been rather sick for the last two weeks. Anything I eat seems to make me ill. I've countered with a semi-fast that I started yesterday. Though hungry, I'm feeling better already. I've fasted several times in my life. One time, I ate nothing for a month. It always seems to free my mind, somehow, seems to make me just a little sharper. I become physically weak and very tired, but my brain catches fire. Starve yourself for a few days, see what I mean.


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## Arcopitcairn

We feed and care for stray cats on our front porch. Have done this for years. The other morning, I found one of the cats dead on the porch, stiff as a board. His name (Or the name we gave him) was Wilson. Something had come up and killed him in the night, more than likely a dog. We'd given Wilson a little house in which to live, to protect him against the cold. I believe that the house contributed to his demise. When the dog came rooting around for food, Wilson had no place to go, pinned in his house. When he tried to escape, the dog must have grabbed him and shook, breaking the cat's neck. It was a revolting development. I think the house, and the care we gave Wilson was a complete good act. So I tried not to feel too much to blame for providing the little house that helped kill him. I went out in the snow and buried Wilson in the cold, hard ground.

I've been very tired from starving myself, so digging a four-foot deep hole was not easy. My heart beat too fast for half an hour.

The super-restrictive diet has made me, though very weak, feel more healthy mentally and physically.

I went off the diet yesterday and went with Doug to a restaurant called 'Bravo'. It's an Italian place. I had a modest meal of Italian Wedding Soup and Spaghetti and Meatballs. It was pretty good, but the place was kind of fancy for me, and I felt too old and unkempt to be there.

Doug and I watched, for some odd reason, the 1960 television version of Peter Pan with Mary Martin. It was pretty good, and I was completely hot for the girl who played Tiger Lily, Sondra Lee. Then I realized that she was tiny and looked really young. I had to jump online to find out how old she was during the production. Turns out she was 30 at the time. She just looked young, and happened to be tiny. I'm not a letch! Whew! A man has to be careful about those sorts of things.

Have been 'In between engagements', so I've been looking for a job. I've worked a lot of hard-ass manual labor jobs in the last many years, but I'm getting too old to work outside in the heat and the cold. I need a nice retail job.

I've been working on a writing project over the last eight months or so. It's a collection of short stories. I keep getting distracted by writing other things, so I'm going to try not to do that any more. I think that since this project is my 'desired project', it's taken on an importance in my mind, and well it should. But an unintended side effect to that importance is a fear that, when completed, my project won't be any good, and I'll have wasted my time. Maybe that's why I have taken every opportunity to write little one-off stories and poems all the time. I'm pessimistically trying to delay my inevitable failure and the rejection of something I think is fun and pretty good. I just need to have a little more faith in myself, I think.


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## Deleted member 49710

Lately when I feel like writing a one-off I try to make it related to, though maybe not part of, my big project. Backstory scenes and such like. Feel like this allows me to work on the big project from a different angle, deepen the main story, while simultaneously indulging my tendency to procrastinate and fear of failure.

Hope your health and work situation improve.


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## Arcopitcairn

lasm said:


> Lately when I feel like writing a one-off I try to make it related to, though maybe not part of, my big project. Backstory scenes and such like. Feel like this allows me to work on the big project from a different angle, deepen the main story, while simultaneously indulging my tendency to procrastinate and fear of failure.



I will do this too.


And thanks for the kind word. I'm really rather fine, just have to be better.


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## Arcopitcairn

Much snow here.Ten minutes ago I finished shoveling the driveway. Heart is still beating too fast. Too old. But I always do the things that Need To Be Done. I wonder, is it selflessness, or martyrdom? Part of me hoped one of the people I live with would have come out to stop me from hurting myself, show that they care. But nobody did. So maudlin! Ha! Big deal.

Does secret resentment negate a selfless act?

I had visions of one of them finding me dead in the snow. Too late for CPR. Ambulance called. Buried in potter's field. Forgotten. 

My friend Kristen writes fanfiction. I riled her up the other night when I said that I considered fanfiction an invalid art form. Don't get me wrong, there are quite a few fine writers in fanfiction. Kristen is one of them. She has real talent. I just don't get why someone who can really write would waste their time writing slash stories about Anime characters. She said that it's fun and that it makes her happy, and that's a good thing, sure, sure. Writing gay porn about cartoon characters is not a proper use of time for a talented writer (Absolutism). But I'll leave her alone about it. If that's what floats her boat, then it shall freakin' float.

Saw that new Oz, The Great and Powerful movie hopped up on Vicodin for a neck injury. There was a character called 'China Girl' in the movie. Every time she came on screen I felt teary-eyed. It must have been the drugs.


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## moderan

I have a friend that writes fanfic too, or did until a few days ago. He used to write Cthulhu Mythos stuff, and was good enough to be part of a couple of anthologies, and has done really good original horror pieces. But he doesn't write for commercial purposes, but instead to please himself...I agree that it's a waste of talent but long ago gave up trying to get him to do something "real" with his ability.
I have several friends that do rpgs because the structure enables them to keep writing when they can't (or won't) work on their own projects. I find that even sadder. I used to run rpg stories (called "novels") at PanHistoria, and ran away screaming because of the eternally frustrating levels of incompetent storytelling one encounters in such venues. So I feel your pain, and I understand. But there's little that can be done, alas.
It snowed here one day over the winter. Was very interesting. Coulda shoveled it with a dustpan maybe.
Catch your breath. Breathing isn't under-rated.


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## Arcopitcairn

Writing an RPG always sounded kind of fun to me, actually. Doubt I'll ever get around to it.

There's just something about fanfiction that strikes me as off. I can't explain it.


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## moderan

It can be fun. I've done some...things like a combination Hunter Thompson/Lovecraft story, a combination Zelazny/Lovecraft story, combination Aldiss/Lovecraft, Arthur Machen as told by Dr Seuss...nothing salacious cuz that just doesn't appeal. Most of it's just crazy junk. RPGs, I recommend not doing them unless you have no love for story.


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## Arcopitcairn

Well, got a new job. Retail cashier and stocker. It's not too bad, really. I'll be able to make a little money and still work on writing. The last time I worked retail was the nineteen-nineties, when I managed a video (Tapes) store. I ruled that place with an iron fist, but luckily, I've mellowed out considerably since then. I was surprised how much I didn't hate the customers, and how nice I was to them without even trying. I've changed.

I think I'll stay off the management track. I could easily run that place, but I fear I may relapse into a more despotic mindset. Worker bee for me, thank you very much


----------



## Arcopitcairn

There is no writing. There is no drawing. There is only work, and recovering from work, and dreading going to my work.

I listen to music on the lunch hour. I should not do that because it makes me sad. It makes me sad because music exists...and I am at work.


----------



## dale

Arcopitcairn said:


> There is no writing. There is no drawing. There is only work, and recovering from work, and dreading going to my work.
> 
> I listen to music on the lunch hour. I should not do that because it makes me sad. It makes me sad because music exists...and I am at work.





> I fear my enthusiasm flags when real work is demanded of me.
> H. P. Lovecraft


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## Arcopitcairn

The retail job moves along. I have to say, I have never been in my life a witness to a procession of such unhappy, sullen, mean, miserable bastards as the customers who come through my store. I don't want to, I try not to, but I find myself detesting most of them. I thought the misanthropic tendencies of my youth long gone, but here they are again in full bloom. It must be the area I'm in. I should very much like to work somewhere where a better class of people would frequent my place of work. That may make me sound like an elitist or a snob, but I swear, if any of you had to spend time with the caliber of people I've been forced to experience, you would say the same thing. It's like they've evolved to inspire hate. They must excrete some pheromone that makes life bitter and foul for all within sniffing range.

The job eats up my existence. I don't seem to get a moments peace. But I cannot leave it. Certain unfortunate financial incidents and responsibilities have arisen that force me to stay there. If I were to quit, I would become homeless in no uncertain terms. Many bad things have happened lately. It's an interesting exercise in tension. I have rarely felt such stress in my life, and never so prolonged a stress as this. It's disturbing, but compelling in a way. I've become interested in seeing just how much I can take. Everything keeps piling up.

I'd like to write or draw. But nope. The stress seems to douse any creative spark. There is only worry.

Hope all is well with all of you


----------



## Kevin

Arcopitcairn said:


> The retail job moves along. I have to say, I have never been in my life a witness to a procession of such unhappy, sullen, mean, miserable bastards as the customers who come through my store. I don't want to, I try not to, but I find myself detesting most of them. I thought the misanthropic tendencies of my youth long gone, but here they are again in full bloom. It must be the area I'm in. I should very much like to work somewhere where a better class of people would frequent my place of work. That may make me sound like an elitist or a snob, but I swear, if any of you had to spend time with the caliber of people I've been forced to experience, you would say the same thing. It's like they've evolved to inspire hate. They must excrete some pheromone that makes life bitter and foul for all within sniffing range.
> 
> The job eats up my existence. I don't seem to get a moments peace. But I cannot leave it. Certain unfortunate financial incidents and responsibilities have arisen that force me to stay there. If I were to quit, I would become homeless in no uncertain terms. Many bad things have happened lately. It's an interesting exercise in tension. I have rarely felt such stress in my life, and never so prolonged a stress as this. It's disturbing, but compelling in a way. I've become interested in seeing just how much I can take. Everything keeps piling up.
> 
> I'd like to write or draw. But nope. The stress seems to douse any creative spark. There is only worry.
> 
> Hope all is well with all of you


 Arco, we're expecting full documentation of all your experiences; full descriptions of both the physical and behavioral activities of_ all_ the beings you encounter, their interactions with each other, your interactions with them, and most importantly, your reactions (including any emotional states) to them. You will be graded on completeness and insightfullness. You may treat it as an anthropological study. We expect progress in both your abilities to describe and your forays into the metaphysical, which may include any other forms of artistic expression. This is your mission. Stay busy. Fortify yourself. We look forward to your regular reports. Grammar counts and we're counting on you. We will try to maintain on our end. Godspeed and don't give up the ship.


----------



## dale

Arcopitcairn said:


> The retail job moves along. I have to say, I have never been in my life a witness to a procession of such unhappy, sullen, mean, miserable bastards as the customers who come through my store. I don't want to, I try not to, but I find myself detesting most of them. I thought the misanthropic tendencies of my youth long gone, but here they are again in full bloom. It must be the area I'm in. I should very much like to work somewhere where a better class of people would frequent my place of work. That may make me sound like an elitist or a snob, but I swear, if any of you had to spend time with the caliber of people I've been forced to experience, you would say the same thing. It's like they've evolved to inspire hate. They must excrete some pheromone that makes life bitter and foul for all within sniffing range.
> 
> The job eats up my existence. I don't seem to get a moments peace. But I cannot leave it. Certain unfortunate financial incidents and responsibilities have arisen that force me to stay there. If I were to quit, I would become homeless in no uncertain terms. Many bad things have happened lately. It's an interesting exercise in tension. I have rarely felt such stress in my life, and never so prolonged a stress as this. It's disturbing, but compelling in a way. I've become interested in seeing just how much I can take. Everything keeps piling up.
> 
> I'd like to write or draw. But nope. The stress seems to douse any creative spark. There is only worry.
> 
> Hope all is well with all of you


i'm kind of in this same situation now. the difference for me is....this job allows me to openly drink wine throughout the day
while dealing with these people. kind of alleviates the stress factor.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Well, My friend Kristen lived in Las Vegas for several years, and not long ago, I went there to help her move back after she had some troubles. There were certainly 'low-type' people there (as there are everywhere), but the ratio was different. When she returned to Indianapolis, she would often complain about the state of the citizenry here, talking endless smack about 'Hoosiers' (Used derogatorily), and all the 'rednecks'. She claimed that people in Vegas, for the most part, were of a higher standard. I furrowed my brow slightly when she would go on a tirade against these sorts of people, because I live here, and perhaps I felt some sort of civic responsibility to my home town. But I've come to the realization, no matter the cost to my standing as a human being, and in fear of being a 'class-snob', that she has been quite correct with many of her points. I know now that though I live in Indianapolis, I am not _of Indianapolis._

I always said in jest that I never loved my fellow man so much than when I was not around him. I have always been rather solitary, with a choice group of friends, and though I am friendly and courteous to those I meet here, I know now that I mostly see myself as above them in certain ways. Of course, intrinsically, my life is not more important than the life of any other person, I realize this, but I think there is something to be said for varied levels of _validity _and _usefulness _in the sphere of human existence. It may be imperious (Which I most certainly am), but I think perhaps that I should be seen and listened to with different eyes and ears than a common redneck, respected more. Unfortunately, rednecks and scumbags all seem to labor under the misconception that they too are 'just fine', and should be respected in some way. I see now that this may not be so true. I do not respect these people that I am forced to come into contact with. They have nothing to offer. There is no art in them, no higher meaning in their lives and no appreciation of the finer things in the world. What I have just uttered is a generalization, to be sure, but not much of one, not so much off the mark, really.

I think people are generally good, in a way. I think that most people, such as myself, who are of a higher stripe, are smart enough, and magnanimous enough to honestly want to give the cretinous all the benefits of the doubts that we can, because those cretins are so human-like, like chimps, that we should very much like to assign some worth and dignity to them to show that there is at least some hope for these poor bastards and their cursed offspring. In some far-flung future, these meth-addled, tattooed, half-christian, gun-fetishists, these street-walking gutter-skipping idiots may just realize how worthless they are, how much a joke they are, and pull themselves somehow out of the muck. But not today.

True absolutism is viewed these days as radical, extreme, or misguided by most. A laser-focused idea about something that most people would put up for debate is disquieting to some, yeah? But I say to you, in absolute terms, that I am better than these people. I feel sorry for them, maybe I'm even rooting for them to better their station in life, but mostly they just inspire disgust in me. It's a cosmic tragedy that I should have to even see these wretches, much less speak to them and serve them. It's humiliating. But absolutely necessary, unfortunately.

It's a 'first world' problem, and that's the truth, and I know that. But there are corners of suffering and pain in the first world, too. And I'm in one. It sucks.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Oh, I wish I could drink at work. Because I would. All the live-long day.


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## Arcopitcairn

I've been whistling Christmas songs at work. I did not understand why I would be doing that in the compulsive way I have been doing it. I thought about it for a while, very carefully, and now I realize why I'm doing it.

When I was very young (Age 3 or 4), I loved Winnie The Pooh. Lots of kids did, I guess. I also never really slept very well (In my entire life so far) and I laid in bed awake in the night, or wandered the house in the dark. One of my most vivid childhood memories is sitting awake on my bed in the middle of the night, staring, terrified at the open and dark closet door, the pitch black awfulness inside. My child's brain knew something was in there, and it was going to get me. I remember whispering the Winnie The Pooh theme over and over to myself, like a talisman of comfort, singing to myself to ward off terror.

I always loved Christmas songs. They take me back, you know? To when things were simple. That's why I'm whistling carols at work. I'm doing it to try and ward off desperation and stress.

Nicknames I have given to some of the customers at my terrible job:

Natural Three-Finger
Kee-Oh Baby and The Dirty Girl
The God-damned Retard
The Other Retard
The Actual Retard
Silent Walker
Happy Smoker
Pregnant Drama Squeaker
The Cat Caretaker
The Two Little Bastards (And the Most Useless Mother in the World)
Black Brady Bunch
Meth Queen
The Sexy Girl Covered in Sores
Batwing Armfat Man
The Gays
The Frightened Woman
The Nazi Jerk
Every Episode of Jerry Springer Sisters
Milf with Tardo
Mr. Important in a Hurry
The Change-Tosser
The Angry Food-Stamper

And those are only the ones I could rattle off the top of my head. It's a horror show. I wish I lived in a better part of town.

I've been so discombobulated by stress and troubles, I have not been able to concentrate on anything creative. But I've settled in a little, become accustomed to the drag. I'm finally writing a little bit and I hope to draw a little bit again. Yay!

BTW...A book of zombie fairy tales, for which I drew the cover, and in which I have a story, will be published in a few weeks. So that's nice, too


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## Pluralized

Man, it's nice to hear from you. These nicknames, while obviously horrific examples of the human sludge you must deal with, have made my day. Certainly must be great story fodder, if nothing else, right? 

Congrats on the illustrating gig too, that's awesome.


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## dale

Arcopitcairn said:


> Nicknames I have given to some of the customers at my terrible job:
> 
> Natural Three-Finger
> Kee-Oh Baby and The Dirty Girl
> The God-damned Retard
> The Other Retard
> The Actual Retard
> Silent Walker
> Happy Smoker
> Pregnant Drama Squeaker
> The Cat Caretaker
> The Two Little Bastards (And the Most Useless Mother in the World)
> Black Brady Bunch
> Meth Queen
> The Sexy Girl Covered in Sores
> Batwing Armfat Man
> The Gays
> The Frightened Woman
> The Nazi Jerk
> Every Episode of Jerry Springer Sisters
> Milf with Tardo
> Mr. Important in a Hurry
> The Change-Tosser
> The Angry Food-Stamper



lol. i swear i do this with pretty much everyone i 1st meet. my most recent one was yesterday. it was a really fat chick without a chin, which i found
kind of a rarity. she became "the chinless wonder".


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## Pluralized

You guys make Indianapolis sound absolutely delightful.


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## JosephB

I tend to name my clients after sitcom and movie characters. We have one who's really uptight and by-the-book -- we call her "Miss Jane" after Jane Hathaway on the Beverly Hillbillies. Kind of looks like her too. Others include "Smurfette," and "Newman" from Seinfeld. Smurfette is a stocky little woman with piles of blond hair. Our Newman doesn't look so much like Newman, but he sure acts like him. Then there was a guy named "Charlie" because for months, we never met him -- we just heard his voice on the conference room speaker phone. I guess those are pretty benign compared to Arc's list.


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## dale

Pluralized said:


> You guys make Indianapolis sound absolutely delightful.



it's really not a bad city, in my opinion. i'd probably keep a home here, even if i came into a lot of money. i think he and i kind of have in
common too much experience with the more sordid areas of town. not sure about him, i don't know him personally, but that's the way i take it.

edit: oh...and i guess this post just moved me up from an "adept writer" to a "profound writer". how special.


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## Arcopitcairn

dale said:


> it's really not a bad city, in my opinion. i'd probably keep a home here, even if i came into a lot of money. i think he and i kind of have in
> common too much experience with the more sordid areas of town. not sure about him, i don't know him personally, but that's the way i take it.
> 
> edit: oh...and i guess this post just moved me up from an "adept writer" to a "profound writer". how special.



True. Not such a bad town, but like every place you go, there are the flypaper sections, the littered streets full of sullen people. The white trash are the absolute worst. I just want to shake them and scream, "Read a #$@^% book! Be more like me so that I can relate to you on any human level!" 

I'm poor, so I have to live in this part of town, Frog Holler, Dogpatch, whatever...

At least it's not Detroit.


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## Arcopitcairn

Oh, a couple more from this evening:

The Penny Hater
Grandpa Insane
Absolute Returner
Shaved Bigfoot
Definitely Has Concealed Weapon Man
Baby Shirt Muffin-Top
Should Never Wear Shorts
Oil Magnate

Some of them almost sound like Indian names.


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## dale

Arcopitcairn said:


> True. Not such a bad town, but like every place you go, there are the flypaper sections, the littered streets full of sullen people. The white trash are the absolute worst. I just want to shake them and scream, "Read a #$@^% book! Be more like me so that I can relate to you on any human level!" I'm poor, so I have to live in this part of town, Frog Holler, Dogpatch, whatever...At least it's not Detroit.


lol. oh yeah. i found the "little tijuana" section of town i lived in like near washington/belmont much more pleasant than the white trash neighborhoodi lived in on minnesota/state. i have to admit, though....i found the black neighborhood at like michigan/16th worse than all of them. i'm in north hamilton countytill august, though. i'm here to finish this book and then i'm back to the city. i can't stand it here in the sticks no more. too much time in my own head.and this motel job is filled with more garbage than i ever seen in haughville.


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## Arcopitcairn

dale said:


> lol. oh yeah. i found the "little tijuana" section of town i lived in like near washington/belmont much more pleasant than the white trash neighborhoodi lived in on minnesota/state. i have to admit, though....i found the black neighborhood at like michigan/16th worse than all of them. i'm in north hamilton countytill august, though. i'm here to finish this book and then i'm back to the city. i can't stand it here in the sticks no more. too much time in my own head.and this motel job is filled with more garbage than i ever seen in haughville.



I imagine working in a motel must be awful. Ugh.


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## Ariel

Arco, I had to read back a ways to discover the city you're in because I was thinking it was mine.


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## John_O

Only took less then 24hr after hooking back up with our local police to get my first snake rescue call from them. (today) Hope this is the start of a busy year. This works out well for everybody. The police won't have to bother with those calls which thrills me to pieces  because all they do is kill it! Gives me a chance to save more, which also thrills me to pieces . Oh, and more chapters for my book! hehehe


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## escorial

Nothing too significant or important and I have no idea why I'm even posting this...sometimes we just have to get it out....i read it as real cos it felt so real.


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## John_O

Well it is your 100th post. :wink:

EDIT: Well was your 100th post at the time.


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## Arcopitcairn

amsawtell said:


> Arco, I had to read back a ways to discover the city you're in because I was thinking it was mine.



No, you'd know if I was in your town because you would hear the soft, soft sounds of genius in the distance...


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## Arcopitcairn

Went to a comic show on Sunday. We don't really get comic conventions here, but every two months we get a show. I went with my friend, Doug. The show is a relatively small affair, but it's easy to spend money there. I like it because you can get lots of bronze-age stuff for a buck or two. I got some Werewolf By Night, old Marvel Spotlight's (Featuring Son of Satan!), and the whole run (10 Issues) of Omega, The Unknown. Omega, The Unknown, by Steve Gerber, was a very strange comic, and hard to explain. I was actually thinking about trying to, but I don't think I can.

I like being at the show. It's full of people who like the things I like. Fanboys. I have a soft spot for fanboys, but unfortunately, most of them are socially inept and tactless. Harmless, but very flawed people. There's just a bearing they have that tells the observant that these are not a normal sort, a peculiar breed. They have a fear in them, some of them do, like a whipped dog mentality that makes them hard to figure. Someone, like myself, in the show setting, might like to strike up a conversation with one of them while sifting through fifty-centers, but the fanboys are so used to being outsiders, they practically flinch when you talk to them. Not all, mind you, but most. They are alone in a room full of hundreds of like-minded individuals. I'm a fanboy too, but I don't have that problem. I mesh well.

Almost everybody I meet likes me. It must be the social chameleon part of me, but I seem to fit in easily with everyone I come in contact with. I think it may be a defense mechanism on my part. I don't particularly want people to like me, but if they do like me, they are less apt to hurt me in some way.

A zombie anthology book, in which I have a story, and drew the cover for, has been published. I got a copy of the book in the mail the other day. It's always nice being published, even on a small scale. Another anthology for which I drew the cover was published as well. I'm jazzed, within reason. These are small things, but they make me happy in an otherwise dreary time.

Last night an old man was walking through the aisles of my store while I was stocking shelves. He carried a container of bleach. I'd seen the old man before and we have been friendly in the past. He sat his bleach down on a shelf in the aisle I was in and leaned against the shelf, breathing heavily. I asked him if he was okay. He said that he was having a hard time breathing. I asked him if he needed help. He said no, that he had a fluid build-up around his heart, but he'd be okay. I asked if he wanted to sit down, and he said no. I went back to my stocking, and told him if he needed anything to let me know. 

"I said I don't need any goddam help!" the old man yelled. "You asked three damn times!"

I stood looking at this man for a moment. He was breathing heavily, looking at me angrily.

"I said I'd be fine!" He said. Mad at me.

"All right." I said softly. 

He grabbed up his bleach and stomped off, huffing and puffing. The entire encounter made me sad. I did not understand it. I mean, I understand that the old fellow is a crusty guy who is probably afraid of death and not being able to do for himself. Perhaps I made him feel weak with my concern. I just don't understand why I had to be part of that exchange. I went back to my stocking, trying to decide whether or not to start hating the old man for his unpleasantness. I decided not to hate him. But it's hard for me, when stung, not to resent the stinger forever. I'm in constant battle with grudges, even little ones like that. I will not offer him kindness or concern again, though.


----------



## Pluralized

> I decided not to hate him.



That's a really good outlook to embrace. I bet he used to be a prideful man, strong in his own way. Perhaps a provider. When the ravages of age begin to undermine the body before the mind has gone, there is no reconciliation besides humility and acceptance, which is hard for some people. Fear of death pervades our culture, but we must all eventually experience it. Never has there been a more sound reason to embrace the beauty of life and be nice to strangers.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

So, like most towns, mine has a large downtown fireworks display. I had a rough day at work yesterday, and I was kind of looking forward to watching the fireworks. I can see downtown from where I live, and I just have to step out in my driveway to see and hear the shells explode. I was sitting on the trunk of my car last night, waiting for the show.

A busy road runs right in front of my house. As I was waiting for the fireworks, I saw the neighbor's cat get hit by a car. I walked over to the cat, a small yellow and white one, and it was still alive. The cat's back was broken, and it was clawing at the dirt, trying to get up. The cat almost seemed embarrassed. I immediately thought of the old phrase 'Cats hide to die, and dogs go home'.

I walked over to my neighbor's house and knocked on the door, but there was no one home. They have a man living above their garage, so I knocked on his door. I told him about the cat. He was upset, but in the way one is upset tactically, faced with a practical matter. He called the owner of the cat, who was downtown with his family watching the fireworks. The owner asked him to get rid of the cat before he and his family got home, so the kids wouldn't see.

The garage man, Jamie, walked with me out to the road to see the cat. He didn't know what he should do. He wanted to wrap the cat up and stow it somewhere. I told him that the cat could live for hours or maybe even all night with its injuries, suffering. I asked him if he had a gun. He didn't. So I told him he needed a shovel, so he could put the cat out its misery. He went and got a shovel.

I myself have had to put several animals out of their misery in the past, and I know that it is not an easy thing to do. We stood looking at the cat, fireworks all around us, from downtown and the surrounding neighborhoods. He said that he didn't think he could do it. I told him I would, because I couldn't bear the idea of the broken cat living on for who knew how long. It seemed like he was going to hand me the shovel, but he decided against it. He figured it was his place to do the thing, his responsibility. I agreed with him, Candy's dog from 'Of Mice and Men' flashing through my mind. He hesitated for a moment, and then he busted the cat's head open with the shovel.

He took the cat away to bury it, and I went home, ignoring whatever fireworks were left in the sky.


----------



## Staff Deployment

Arcopitcairn, you constantly get tangled in other people's stories, kind of like The Doctor or those guys from Supernatural. First it's that old guy struggling to come to terms with his own helplessness, and then the poor guy living on his own who could barely bring himself to take the cat's life.

(Few years ago my dog tore open a squirrel. Still feel bad for not quite killing it with the first blow.)


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Staff Deployment said:


> Arcopitcairn, you constantly get tangled in other people's stories, kind of like The Doctor or those guys from Supernatural. First it's that old guy struggling to come to terms with his own helplessness, and then the poor guy living on his own who could barely bring himself to take the cat's life.
> 
> (Few years ago my dog tore open a squirrel. Still feel bad for not quite killing it with the first blow.)



I do feel like a witness most of the time. I'd like to put myself in situations in which I might observe something finer, but I don't know where that is.


----------



## Staff Deployment

The fire station!


----------



## Pluralized

Gawd, that's horrible. But you write it so beautifully, and the fireworks are a really magical way to frame the sadness of the cat's death. Sorry you had to do/see this, but I thank you for sharing it with us. I can relate in many ways, having put more than my share of animals out of their misery, all in horribly sad circumstances.


----------



## dale

i had to do this once. i still have flashes of guilt for it today, and it happened in 1999. it was a puppy. my puppy.
it got hit by a car, but only the back 1/2 of her was ran over. she was conscience, too. whimpering. i couldn't bear to hear
her whimpering like that and i knew there was no way of her surviving. with real sorrow, i twisted her head and snapped her neck
with my hands. it still eats at me today that i did that. i kind of wish i would have just held her and petted her until she passed
naturally, even though i know the pup was in great pain.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

dale said:


> i had to do this once. i still have flashes of guilt for it today, and it happened in 1999. it was a puppy. my puppy.
> it got hit by a car, but only the back 1/2 of her was ran over. she was conscience, too. whimpering. i couldn't bear to hear
> her whimpering like that and i knew there was no way of her surviving. with real sorrow, i twisted her head and snapped her neck
> with my hands. it still eats at me today that i did that. i kind of wish i would have just held her and petted her until she passed
> naturally, even though i know the pup was in great pain.



Good grief. That's awful. Sorry, man.


----------



## Eruadan

dale said:


> i had to do this once. i still have flashes of guilt for it today, and it happened in 1999. it was a puppy. my puppy.
> it got hit by a car, but only the back 1/2 of her was ran over. she was conscience, too. whimpering. i couldn't bear to hear
> her whimpering like that and i knew there was no way of her surviving. with real sorrow, i twisted her head and snapped her neck
> with my hands. it still eats at me today that i did that. i kind of wish i would have just held her and petted her until she passed
> naturally, even though i know the pup was in great pain.



That's is pretty grim, but look on the brightside, you had the puppy's best interest in mind. Prolonging the suffering would have only been crueler.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

So I quit smoking. Tomorrow will be one month since I smoked a cigarette. Not sure why I quit. Health? The cost of it? Maybe I just wanted to see if I could. I guess I feel pretty satisfied. I’m using the nicotine patch.


  One of the interesting side effects of the nicotine patch is vivid or disturbing dreams. I’ve been having a ton of them over the last month. I had a marvelous sex dream involving my friend Kristen that was so real I can only imagine I accidentally viewed a moment in time in another reality where we were together. I’ve been having a lot of nightmares as well.


  I like nightmares. I’m a horror fanatic, so dreams full of uncoiling black masses, screaming and twitching things, or snapping bloody teeth don’t really bother me at all. I usually wake up thinking, _whoa, that was cool!_ But every now and then I have a nightmare of sorrow, which does bother me. Have you ever had one?


  I woke up from one of these dreams at five this morning and could not go back to sleep. 


  When one of my grandmothers died, it was my job to fix up her house to sell. My entire family consists and consisted of wholly miserable, unhappy, or generally angry people. My grandmother’s house held no joy for me, no good or warm memories. It was a cold place, and I was alone there. This was not the dream.


  In the dream I was there again, after so many years, alone again there. It was ten or fifteen years in the future, so I was maybe 55 or 58 years old. In the dream I thought about my friends and family as I wandered the empty house. My family were gone, all passed away. My friends were all gone, except Kristen, and she had just moved away out west. I was completely alone in life. I stepped out into the fenced-in back yard. The neighbors were having a child’s birthday party in their back yard, even though it was cold outside. It was a joyous occasion. I looked around my back yard and I saw several malnourished dogs. It was my job to feed the dogs, and I had been doing my job well, as there were many bowls of fresh food waiting for them. But the dogs cowered in the far corners of the yard, watching me nervously. I knew in the dream, as I looked at the overflowing bowls of food, that the dogs would not eat it. They would rather have starved than eat the food I provided them. I sat on the back step, listening to the party next door, and I watched the dogs as they wasted slowly away.


  Then I woke up. You see, the problem with that dream is this: I don’t know about you all, but there are several parts of my life, both past and expected future that I do not allow myself to ponder because it would be too painful to do so. I’m going to die alone. There are some people who are fated to do that, and I am one of them. That statement, true as it is, in my waking life does not cause me much of a problem. It is an inescapable fact that I have hardened myself against. I have murdered any sorrow that accompanies the bleak vision I have of my dark future. In my waking life I am immune to most anguish. My will protects me from it.


  But in my dreams, my defenses are down, and pain stabs. It’s an alien feeling, and very disconcerting. I don’t like those kinds of dreams.


  My job proceeds. I have acclimatized to the work pretty well, and I seem to be growing physically stronger and I’m getting in better shape, albeit in small increments. More importantly, I have learned to wear the customers more loosely. I still detest most of the cretins that come into my store, but I am learning to keep my disgust with them at arm’s length, so that it does not touch me, and does not affect how I deal with them. It is hard to pretend to not despise someone, but I seem to be getting pretty good at it.


  Still have not been able to write anything. And there are so many things that I would like to write.


----------



## Kevin

Those dismal dreams...yes. Sometimes I'm my dead relative's spirit still wandering a place where none of us has lived for thirty years... 

This is writing of a sort, isn't it?


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## Arcopitcairn

Kevin said:


> This is writing of a sort, isn't it.



I suppose. But I'd like to offer something a little more than my complaining.


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## Pluralized

Arcopitcairn said:


> I suppose. But I'd like to offer something a little more than my complaining.



Thought your "complaining" was pretty well-stated and intriguing. 

I've had those "nightmares of sorrow" that you mention. A profound sense of sadness which could never be experienced in an awake, overt kind of way, drills right down into the darkest parts of me. Without going into much detail, I can relate and it isn't a fun sensation. 

Glad the job's working out fairly well, and I hope you'll share more of your experiences. They're always worth the read.


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## Arcopitcairn

I  took a personality test once, and the results were that I had a type-ish 'A' controlling personality with some kind of dash wily, oriental despot. I've often considered this in my dealings with people. I work, unfortunately, as a cashier/stocker at a national retail chain. My dealings with the customers are mostly imperious, with a silver lining of friendliness. I have had a lot of problems with them, though, and have been chastised by my boss several times. The main problem was that I was expecting too much of the customers. I felt that they should act with some bit of base humanity, some dignity, or common sense. I wanted them to not make a mess, not misplace merchandise, and to not steal things. Apparently, they cannot be expected to act correctly in those specific ways. It takes hours, every night, to fix the store after the customers have gotten through with it. Corporate calls it 'recovery'. And it is, the store has to recover from the inconsiderate and filthy customers. It was causing me a lot of stress, constantly angry every time customers sat things on shelves where they didn't go, or knocked things on the floor and just left them there, or ripped open food to eat straight from the shelves like a buffet. Very, very frustrating.

But, recently, just over the last week, I've turned some kind of corner in my thinking. I don't care anymore. And it's god-damned awesome. Don't get me wrong, I still do my job, and I'm good at it. I have just reached a place where I realize that I have no control over the menthol-huffing primates that frequent my store. I'm just a cashier, and it's not my place to worry about it. The customers will never do even the smallest things to signify that they have any semblance of civic responsibility or intelligence, so screw it. I'm off the hook. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my back. So much so that I feel creativity coming back into my head. I want to write and draw again. And that makes me happy.

Plus, we got Thanksgiving and Halloween stuff in at the store, which means fall is coming, then winter, and with them, happiness. Think about something you hate like poison. I hate Summer more.


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## Lewdog

Oh...when I was managing at GNC in the mall, I can't tell you how many times I almost blew my stack when a parent would come in with their young child, and the parent would just let the child walk around the store pushing all the little bottles all over the shelves.  At first I would walk around behind the child and fix them as they messed up each shelf, but eventually if the parent didn't get the hint, I would have to ask the parent to please keep a more keen eye on their child.  People would think *I* was being rude by saying something.  Many times a parent would just laugh, and say something like, "Hey their kids, it's what kids do."

I wanted to pick up a mop handle and whack them across the face and say, "Oh your a parent, now act like one!"  There were times when I would be busy with multiple customers and when things slowed down, walk around the store to find the bottom two shelves in the entire store had to be fixed.  Retail employees have to be one of the worst treated people in society.


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## Arcopitcairn

So this girl comes into the store nearly every day I work. She’s this thin, little, white trash girl of about twenty or so. She has black hair, delicate features, a small gap between her two front teeth, green green eyes, and a little crescent-shaped scar on her left temple. I want her. She sets my fingers twitching whenever I see her, and I want to take her into the stock room and give her the business. But, when she comes in to get her Newports or junk food, it’s with her lousy, reedy little husband. Plus she’s way too young for me. So in the real world, whatever. But in fantasy world, I save her from her life of white-trashery, take her home, bang the living hell out of her, and instill in her a love of reading.


  But perhaps she could not be tamed!


  See, I see my store as a kind of fort, a last outpost of civilization on the edge of wild and dangerous country. The apartment complexes and neighborhoods north of my store are full of shifty-eyed street wanderers, swarthy minorities, buzzing high porch-sitters, crazy homeless, and packs of filthy, wild children. I provide these weird, indigenous peoples with their smokes, chips, diapers, and soda pop. I kind of see this girl of which I speak as a kind of Sacagawea, there for me when I wish to explore the Louisiana Purchase of that particular Frog Holler, or Dogpatch world she lives in. My sweet Indiana Princess could usher me into her dark and dangerous world. Her mastery of the native tongue would help me communicate with the tattooed, beer-addled savages, and learn some of their foolish and pedantic customs, so I might use that information to my advantage. Her familiarity with the terrain would assist me with my map-making, as I fearlessly charted the shortest route through those hellhole neighborhoods, to help future explorers bypass as much of that wasteland as possible.


  Ah, those restful nights, camping next to a sewer stream, the garbage-dotted water rolling along, perhaps the tainted source of some great river, so many miles away. The polluted, half-alive trees sway in the breeze, plastic bags fluttering on the partially-leaved branches. The sounds of ultimate fighting championships, rap music, and babies crying drift on that breeze, along with the smell of motor oil, rot, and weed. And I snuggle with my coltish, bony squaw in our dirty copse, knowing that there is no future for us, for she could not survive in my world, and I could not survive in hers. Fantasy. Heh.

In other news...a headless rabbit was found in the yard, in a small, gravel-filled enclosure next to the back porch. The head (Also present) was almost popped off, and there was no blood. There was no way the corpse could have found it's way into the enclosure from the attached back yard. The lack of blood tells me that it was killed somewhere else. The consensus here is that a large bird of prey must have accidentally dropped the corpse (In two parts) into the small area, and could not comfortably land to retrieve it. When confronted by a bloodless rabbit corpse in two parts, I had visions of some gang message of menace, or voodoo curse leveled at the house.

Was bitten by a spider or some other thing on my arm. It's swollen like a sausage casing. I'm half afraid my arm might pop like a water balloon, or split open like a hot dog in a microwave. It's annoying.


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## dale

lol. man, i don't know what genre style you write in. i think i remember you saying something like "dark speculative" or horror once. but you
should try at least one story in what i would call "urban neo-americana". you're really good at describing inner city indianapolis and the people
who live there.


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## Arcopitcairn

dale said:


> lol. man, i don't know what genre style you write in. i think i remember you saying something like "dark speculative" or horror once. but you
> should try at least one story in what i would call "urban neo-americana". you're really good at describing inner city indianapolis and the people
> who live there.



Thanks! Thinking about it. It'd probably be a heap of fun


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## Arcopitcairn

Existence has been a dreary blur. Working to pay bills. Creativity is difficult. I actually wrote a little story today from a dream I had and posted it. It feels nice to create something or other.

I got robbed at the store a week or so ago. Guy came in in a hoodie, sunglasses and gloves. he showed me his gun and demanded 'All dat money'. I gave it to him. I find myself oddly unmoved by the whole experience. I'm usually rather introspective about things, but not this. It is weird.

My friend gave me his old E-Reader. I have a hundred and fifty books on it, but have had time only to read one. I'm really looking forward to reading more of those books. I have the Mongo detective novels, Horatio Hornblower books, Remo Williams, Joe Lansdale, and a bunch of odds and ends. It'll be good.

Had a lousy Halloween, am going to have a lousy Thanksgiving, and Christmas looks bad too. Ugh. But I'll give it a try.


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## Kevin

> I actually wrote a little story today from a dream I had and posted it


 And it was good...



> I find myself oddly unmoved by the whole experience.


 Good! Better than ptsd or something.  



> Had a lousy Halloween, am going to have a lousy Thanksgiving, and Christmas looks bad too. Ugh. But I'll give it a try.


Well, at least there's New years. Okay, I'll shut up.


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## Jon M

You should think about creating a blog and posting these little anecdotes there. Your writing's good, and the stories are interesting. I'd follow it.


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## Arcopitcairn

Jon M said:


> You should think about creating a blog and posting these little anecdotes there. Your writing's good, and the stories are interesting. I'd follow it.



Thanks But I think my self indulgence should only go as far as this forum. This would be the only place that people would have even the slightest interest in the posts I post. And that's fine by me.


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## Arcopitcairn

You ever see somebody and automatically hate that person? It happens to me all the time. I think about it. It seems that there are a finite amount of types of people who exist in society. I see some guy, some guy I never met before, and I say to myself, I say, 'I know that guy. Maybe not that particular guy, but I know him. And I hate that guy'. It's usually not, in my case, about something shallow, like looks (But I can safely say that I've hated everyone I've ever met that had a face tattoo), and it's not about race or gender. I usually have to get a sample of a person, how they think or speak, before I decide whether or not to hate them. Hate, you know?

I don't think I shouldn't hate. Because you're going to hate someone, unless you live in some fantasy world. Everybody hates, or has hated somebody. I believe it's a natural state.

On the other hand, I meet people that I automatically feel love for. Not many, but for those I do, the empathy and care I feel in my heart is freaking stupid. It's jarring to feel warmth for someone you don't really know when you're used to hate. But, Yin and Yang, yeah. Balance, It's fantastic.

I think about these things, ponder them, while I watch and listen to the people at work. Some of them are so vile. I just wonder what dark goings-on that they are involved in, how they spend their time. It must be awful, whatever it is. What kinds of stupid things do they like? Do they cry when they are alone? I bet they do.

Every year around Christmas, my friend Kristen and I drive around in the night, listening to Christmas music, rolling through neighborhoods admiring the different light displays in yards. I'm really looking forward to it this year. It makes fine memories, spending time with a friend, enjoying the same thing. With all the tough times I've had recently, it helps to have something to look forward to, even something small.

I guess I shouldn't complain about life. It is unseemly. There are a lot of people who are worse off than I am, to be sure. But if one guy gets punched in the face three times, sure, he can lord it over the guy that only gets punched once, but to be fair, it still hurts to get punched in the face (believe me), even if you only get punched one time.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Been thinking about Al Capp's shmoo lately. Reading a book about it. Like Gloop from the Herculoids, the shmoo represents something that I've had an odd attraction to in the past. The idea of the shmoo, some weird, malleable creature that exists only for your pleasure appeals to me. Sexually. I'd like to nail a shmoo. Or Gloop.

The shmoo would die of happiness if you looked at it like you wanted to eat it, and depending how you prepared it, the shmoo could taste like anything you wanted. It also selflessly provided milk, eggs, and butter from its body. I wonder how Gloop would taste? If only you could eat cartoons. What animated character would you eat?

Work proceeds. I sell tampons where I work, and I've noticed that attractive girls will often be very embarrassed to buy them from me. Sometimes I've watched their tentative browsing near the feminine products, furtive, nervous glances my way, as if they are wondering if they might want to go someplace else to buy their pads or tampons. They obviously don't want a paragon of male virility to be privy to their personal ways. It's funny. Homely girls don't seem to mind as much.

Doing quite well at work. I could be promoted at my convenience because of my work ethic, honesty, and people skills, but I would have to change locations. I don't want to do that, so I remain.

Will not be writing much this year. Have decided to concentrate almost exclusively on artwork in 2014. Have a webcomic, Christmas newsletter, and two children's books that I will be working on this revolution around the sun. I suspect that I might post an occasional poem, though. When I have some noteworthy art to share, I'll post some links, if anyone is interested.


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## dale

lol. sex with a shmoo? ha ha. now i know there are plenty of fat chicks in indy you could role play that one with.


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## Arcopitcairn

dale said:


> lol. sex with a shmoo? ha ha. now i know there are plenty of fat chicks in indy you could role play that one with.



Nooooo!

But yeah, there are a lot of roomy girls lurking about. But it just wouldn't be the same. My heart beats only for shmoo!


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## Deleted member 49710

Arcopitcairn said:
			
		

> Work proceeds. I sell tampons where I work, and I've noticed that attractive girls will often be very embarrassed to buy them from me. Sometimes I've watched their tentative browsing near the feminine products, furtive, nervous glances my way, as if they are wondering if they might want to go someplace else to buy their pads or tampons. They obviously don't want a paragon of male virility to be privy to their personal ways. It's funny. Homely girls don't seem to mind as much.



Seems quite possible they have been exposed to crappy remarks from less polite paragons of virility out there. But regardless, lots of women feel sort of weird about it. Even knowing it's no cause for shame and nobody really cares, still... "Hello, Mr. Cashier, how are you today? Yep, well, I'm on the rag, meself..."


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## Bruno Spatola

I'd just buy something even more embarrassing than the tampons to make myself feel better about it, like a fishing magazine, or a CD of Christmas songs performed by the KKK. Who's going to go, "Gee, tampons?"


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## Arcopitcairn

Didn't think of that. Knowing some of the kind of people who are cashiers, I can guess some of the sniggers or remarks. I can't imagine doing something like that. I'm proper in practice, if not entirely in theory

One of the girls I work with, while I was stocking the feminine hygiene shelves, asked me if it made me uncomfortable. I said, "No, what am I, in grade school?"


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## Pluralized

My vote always goes for finding alternate uses for the tampons, as an excuse. "Naw, they fer nosebleeds, man."

If you get some artwork done and feel like sharing, please post us up a link or something. Enjoy your updates too.


----------



## dither

Arcopitcairn said:


> Been feeling the existence of my ceiling lately, mentally, I mean. I’ve been very conscious of its constancy. I am disquieted by it. I drove through a very long tunnel not long ago, in the Rocky Mountains, west of Denver, a tunnel that runs for a mile under a mountain. I could feel the countless tons of rock hanging over my head, and I figured that the structure would pick that exact moment to fail, and that collapse would reduce me, and the girl I was with to some unrecognizable and unrecoverable liquid mass, and we would both merge, and we would seep down through the newly formed cracks and mix into the water table. Obviously, we were not annihilated like miserable insects, but the feeling has remained.
> 
> 
> I was in a parking garage a few weeks ago, and for the first time during my infrequent visits to these sorts of buildings, I could see nothing but my body smashed into a quivering blob of jelly by the gigantic concrete slabs which were only moments away from a pancaking collapse. I found that I could not comfortably remain in the garage.
> 
> 
> And now my own ceiling betrays me. Chances are I would survive the rush of wooden beams and plaster, if they were to fail, but I would probably find myself notably injured. I am disturbed.
> 
> 
> This week, a song by Tears for Fears called ‘The Working Hour’ has been stuck in my head.
> 
> 
> I tried to unstop a stopped-up toilet using telekinesis this week. It did not work.
> 
> 
> I think the whole ceiling thing comes from the fact that the idea of instantaneous destruction of the human body troubles me greatly. I was in an office complex that was hollow in the middle, meaning that basically there was an indoor courtyard, and from the balconies on various floors, one could look down onto the lobby far below. I did this very thing, and though I thought the feeling had subsided from previous experiences, I find that I still have an annoying case of twitching death-urge. I looked down on the lobby, and my heart started beating fast, and I saw me hurling myself head first over the side. I would watch the tiled floor speeding towards my face in those few horrible moments before everything I was was wiped out and obliterated in a gore explosion that the lawyers and secretaries would talk about in hushed tones for years following. I hate it when that happens.
> 
> 
> I’ve been in several head-on collisions, which tracks along with these thoughts, because of the ‘snap-of-the-fingers’ way you are injured in a car wreck. You’re driving along. You are fine. You are fine. You are fine. You’re broken and your car is destroyed!
> 
> 
> Went to an art studio complex this week. Beforehand, this girl and I had some chips (fries) with curry dip and malt vinegar, topped off with a decent IPA brew. The art show was neither here nor there. There was some small amount of talent on display, but it seems to me that sixty or seventy percent of ‘art’ is simply having the balls to create something and call it art. There was one artist though, who showed a series of wonderful charcoal and graphite pieces depicting women morphing into various inanimate objects and invertebrates. I found it quite compelling, and the artist had a perfect grasp of anatomy, composition, and the use of negative space. He was also able to achieve a very bold and taut line quality with his medium, which is not the easiest thing to do, in my estimation.
> 
> 
> Drove yesterday out to the country to visit a sprawling antique mall. There were many beautiful things there, but I only got an old copy of ‘Stag’ magazine, which I am very much looking forward to reading.




I felt a few connections with this Arco. It's funny how startlingly aware one can feel sometimes, of one's own mortality ,and how fragile human life is.

You speak of large structures,and concrete slabs:

With me it's razor-sharp knives, sometimes i just can't bear to look, and almost feel the stinging pain of being slashed, or stabbed.How irrational is that?
It causes me to wonder about this "having lived before" deal, not sure where i stand on that one, but i wonder, y'know?

As for art,and people having the testicular fortitude;
Maybe it really is,just all about perspective, and some how being able, through one's percieved art to connect with others in some inexplicable way.
Does that make sense?

dither


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## Arcopitcairn

You do make sense, Dither. I believe in that connection. I think we all strive for it when we cast our creativity out to others.

I'll think calming, common sense thoughts about concrete slabs, and you think them about knives


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## Arcopitcairn

So I was wandering about, walking down a dry creek bed, in the woods. There was an old, stone bridge there, with no connecting roads. There was a large pipe under the bridge, leading off somewhere, just big enough for me. I crawled into the pipe. I could not stop myself. I was compelled. I slid along on my belly through the pipe, on and on. I hit a downward slope and started to slide. The size of the pipe was slightly smaller as it leveled out again, but I struggled onward. I could feel my ribcage touch the sides of the pipe as I inched forward into the stale darkness. I had to keep going. I could not go back. There was only forward. Forward through the dried silt, forcing, contorting my body around ninety-degree bends in the pipe, onward, into the dark.

Finally, just as I feared that I might go mad, there was a dull light up ahead. I redoubled my efforts and I flopped out into an open, lighted area. I stood up on shaky legs. It was a concrete room with a florescent strip on the ceiling. It was just an empty, concrete box, one of a series of featureless, gray concrete boxes set up in a grid with open archways to connect them. And that is all there was.

I realized that the only way out of this block of boxes was the pipe. Then I started to cry. I made my way back to the pipe, and the opening was much too small for me to climb back into, so small in fact, that it seemed impossible that I had made it through in the first place. I could not leave. And box, by concrete box, the lights started flickering out. 

That was a recurring dream that I have a few times a year. I had it again last night.


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## dale

before i got to the last line, i thought you were for real, like you really did that. i was getting claustrophobic just reading it.


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## Arcopitcairn

When I was young, I saw 'The Goonies' on the big screen. The thoughts of secret places and hidden wonders filled my mind. I lived in a trailer park, not far from a large stream, mostly just run-off. There was a large pipe there, big enough to walk into if you hunched half over. So I ventured inside one day with a flashlight. Pretty boring, really, just detritus and branches and trash. Not even any rats or racoons. I walked for a while, then something odd. I heard the faint sound of my mother screaming my name. My little brother saw me go into the pipe and got scared when I didn't come back. He went and got my mother. I got in a tidy little bit of trouble for that


----------



## Arcopitcairn

I sometimes feel that I am observing my life as an interested and amused outsider. My connection with my own existence seems tenuous. Often like a dream. I search, it seems. I think people find me cold, my friends, I mean, my family. Not cold though, detached. I don't know if that is good or bad.

I am almost comically poor. Not as poor as some, but more poor than most. I've been so exhausted lately, so hungry, thirsty. I'm waiting for my tax check so I can buy a nice sandwich. But I'm still not that touched by it all. I'm just watching myself. Not judging. Impartial.

My mother has been sick a long time. I finally forced her to go to the hospital. People like us only go to the doctor when we get a broken bone or a cut that won't stop bleeding. But she could no longer walk, so I went over there and made her go. She has congestive heart failure and anemia. She'd not been to a doctor of any sort for thirty years, but actually, it's not all bad. Seems like she'll pull through okay. I got her there in time. But now, she is weighing the importance of her life against the bills that come with continuing health management. I don't know what to say to that.

What I believe is that she should simply do what she thinks is right and live or die according to what she wants. If she wants to give up because of money concerns, then she should do that and pass away free. But I did not tell her that. I told her what I was supposed to tell her. I told her she should fight hard and not worry about the bills or the change of diet, or the fact that she would have to frequently see doctors and manage her condition from now on. But I don't think she bought that from me. Because she knows me. She pretended to agree, because that is what she was supposed to do. She is like me. I have no idea what she is going to do. Her bills will run into the thousands and she has no way to pay. I cannot help her. I don't even have enough money to have one decent meal per day. It'll be interesting to see what happens. Stressed, but also detached. Observing.


----------



## Pandora

Arcopitcairn said:


> I sometimes feel that I am observing my life as an interested and amused outsider. My connection with my own existence seems tenuous. Often like a dream. I search, it seems. I think people find me cold, my friends, I mean, my family. Not cold though, detached. I don't know if that is good or bad.
> 
> I am almost comically poor. Not as poor as some, but more poor than most. I've been so exhausted lately, so hungry, thirsty. I'm waiting for my tax check so I can buy a nice sandwich. But I'm still not that touched by it all. I'm just watching myself. Not judging. Impartial.
> 
> My mother has been sick a long time. I finally forced her to go to the hospital. People like us only go to the doctor when we get a broken bone or a cut that won't stop bleeding. But she could no longer walk, so I went over there and made her go. She has congestive heart failure and anemia. She'd not been to a doctor of any sort for thirty years, but actually, it's not all bad. Seems like she'll pull through okay. I got her there in time. But now, she is weighing the importance of her life against the bills that come with continuing health management. I don't know what to say to that.
> 
> What I believe is that she should simply do what she thinks is right and live or die according to what she wants. If she wants to give up because of money concerns, then she should do that and pass away free. But I did not tell her that. I told her what I was supposed to tell her. I told her she should fight hard and not worry about the bills or the change of diet, or the fact that she would have to frequently see doctors and manage her condition from now on. But I don't think she bought that from me. Because she knows me. She pretended to agree, because that is what she was supposed to do. She is like me. I have no idea what she is going to do. Her bills will run into the thousands and she has no way to pay. I cannot help her. I don't even have enough money to have one decent meal per day. It'll be interesting to see what happens. Stressed, but also detached. Observing.


I feel your week keenly Acropitcairn in many ways. Living a memory. 
In the 90's is when I took care of my Mama. She had CHF as well, passed in 99. Most of our family 
not keen on seeing doctors either, I'd quote my Great Grandfather but better not. I would say through 
her treatment and care my opinion didn't change much from that. Luckily she had Medicaid from her 
Wisconsin days. That didn't buy her a great place to finish her life but no bill worries at least. 
Maybe with some research you can find her some aid to help. As a country we can take of our elderly.

I'll not forget what a comedian once said about living longer, "Five years? yeah that's the five years I'm peeing myself 
and forgetting my name". After having died with many loved ones those last five are humbling indeed.

Enjoy your time with your Mama, she made a beautiful you, a gifted mind, a true heart. I have a feeling many poems will come
in these days with her. A blessing to each other you are, that is living! and your readers will reap the rewards.

Oh I'm an Aquarius I know all about detached. I'm at the age now where it's hard to tell life from a dream.

Thank you for sharing, bittersweet memories now fill me. It's a road we must walk.


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## Arcopitcairn

Thanks so much for your kind and thoughtful reply

My mother seems to be on the mend. Cautiously optimistic.


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## Pandora

Welcome, Arcopitcairn. That is great news, please let us know how she is doing.


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## Arcopitcairn

My mother's condition is improving and manageable. So that's good.

I was as sick as I've ever been on Saturday. I was flu-ridden, burning with fever, and throwing up all over the place. Bad enough, yeah, but I was also alone. I didn't have time to really absorb it at the time because I could barely maintain consciousness, but afterwards, when I thought about it, I was a little disconcerted. I very well might have died alone. Hmm.

I had to go pick up some prescriptions for my mother, for she cannot leave her house now that she has returned there from the hospital. I went to Meijer. There were twelve scripts, so it was going to take an hour. Still sick, I went out to the car and restfully watched the parking lot, letting my mind wander. Within my field of vision, I tried to count five seconds without any movement. I could not. The lot was a beehive. Cars came and went, people walked with varied degrees of urgency, some pushing carts, carrying bags, and the ubiquitous cart-collector boy was on his rounds. For an hour I tried to count to five. Nope.

People's little stories intersected my own, these mysteries in and out of their cars, buying their secret goods, ferreting them away to whatever comfortable nook or cranny. Their stories for me began when they parked. Who is that person? I do not know them. What do they like? Do they like the same things I do? Would I like that woman? Would I detest that man? I felt quite calm and benevolent behind my fevered brow there in my car, watching. I wished them well, those busy little bees.


----------



## Pandora

Arcopitcairn said:


> My mother's condition is improving and manageable. So that's good.
> 
> I was as sick as I've ever been on Saturday. I was flu-ridden, burning with fever, and throwing up all over the place. Bad enough, yeah, but I was also alone. I didn't have time to really absorb it at the time because I could barely maintain consciousness, but afterwards, when I thought about it, I was a little disconcerted. I very well might have died alone. Hmm.
> 
> I had to go pick up some prescriptions for my mother, for she cannot leave her house now that she has returned there from the hospital. I went to Meijer. There were twelve scripts, so it was going to take an hour. Still sick, I went out to the car and restfully watched the parking lot, letting my mind wander. Within my field of vision, I tried to count five seconds without any movement. I could not. The lot was a beehive. Cars came and went, people walked with varied degrees of urgency, some pushing carts, carrying bags, and the ubiquitous cart-collector boy was on his rounds. For an hour I tried to count to five. Nope.
> 
> People's little stories intersected my own, these mysteries in and out of their cars, buying their secret goods, ferreting them away to whatever comfortable nook or cranny. Their stories for me began when they parked. Who is that person? I do not know them. What do they like? Do they like the same things I do? Would I like that woman? Would I detest that man? I felt quite calm and benevolent behind my fevered brow there in my car, watching. I wished them well, those busy little bees.


Glad to hear about you Mama, life is good when Mama's are better. I wondered when I first started reading about your own illness
 if you were frightened, if you were at the age to be frightened of dying like that. It bad enough to be sick as a dog but have 
that feeling lingering too,  I can relate. I'd rather die alone myself though. I can't imagine looking into the eyes of a loved one.

I wrote a series of writings based on just that.  For awhile I was driving  a loved one around and found myself 
sitting in the car watching. It is very inspiring.

Hope you are on the mend now.


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## dither

Arcopitcairn said:


> People's little stories intersected my own, these mysteries in and out of their cars, buying their secret goods, ferreting them away to whatever comfortable nook or cranny. Their stories for me began when they parked. Who is that person? I do not know them. What do they like? Do they like the same things I do? Would I like that woman? Would I detest that man? I felt quite calm and benevolent behind my fevered brow there in my car, watching. I wished them well, those busy little bees.




I can relate to this.

Just to sit, watch, wonder, and while away the time.
When i'm in that sort of mood, love it.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Caught a shoplifter the other day. Was in the back of the store throwing freight when the alarm went off at the front door. We've been using a new security tag system, and we've been catching a lot of thieves. People steal the strangest things. A lot of medicine and make-up. Found empty frozen pizza boxes, so I guess people are stuffing whole pizzas down their pants. One lady filled her purse with Glade candles, a box of Pop Tarts, and a roll of frozen hamburger when we caught her.

So I walked outside after the alarm went off the other day, if for nothing else than to see who it was who stole something. Usually when the alarm goes off, we ask people to step back inside, and most go running off on foot or to their cars and speed away. This guy that I followed out was still there, standing by the side of the building. He was an older fellow, with a cane, and though not relevant except to this story, he happened to be black. So i walked up to the guy and said:

"Hey man, you set off the alarm in there. You want to step back inside for a second and see why it went off?"

He looked at me for a beat, seemingly confused. "No, I don't want to come back inside."

At this point, the situation becomes tricky. I usually, being me, take the direct route. "What did you take?" I asked him.

He reached inside his coat and pulled out a large bottle of body wash. "I just have this drink," he said.

I held out my hand for the body wash, but he started to put it back in his coat. "Give it here," I said.

He dazedly handed it over. I told him not to come back to the store. he said he had to go catch the bus, and he hobbled off.

I walked back inside. My manager asked what was what, along with several rubber-necking customers. I told her that the guy took some body wash, and he obviously wasn't all there. And that was that, kind of.

This huge redneck with a crew cut walked towards the front door, looking out. You could still see the old man limping away down the street.

"You want me to go get him and hold him while you call the police?" The redneck said.

"I don't think that's necessary," I said.

He cast a furtive glance around the store. "Pardon my language, but I had a bunch of niggers in the woods behind my house, causing trouble and stealing shit. I ran 'em out. You gotta run 'em out, and you gotta call the cops. He'll just come back, if you don't get him."

I looked at this man for a moment. "Look, the guy is missing something upstairs. We wouldn't press any charges over some body wash, anyway. And I don't appreciate your language."

He looked at me like I slapped him, and he stormed out of the store. He did not pursue the old man.


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## Pluralized

I can't believe how much stranger your life is than any fiction. 

So the ol' dude was going to drink the body wash? Crazy.


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## dale

when i was young, i knew this old man that used to shoplift rubbing alcohol to drink. it ended up killing him eventually, but he
did die with a really nice, clear acne-free complexion.


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## Arcopitcairn

The old fellow was just one of those lost, confused people that you see from time to time. When I think of him now, I think of him crying for some reason.

I seem to have a surplus of strange people coming into my store. Lots of people that you just want ask questions of. What happened to you? Why do you think that? Why are you the way you are? It's interesting, but frequently sad and frustrating. I've said before that I've never been subjected to so much plain hopelessness, undirected anger, and complete lack of education. Most of the customers I get are unpleasant in one way or another. But not all, of course.

There are the nitpickers who try and get you to sell sale items before the sale starts or after it's over. People find things misplaced in the store and demand that the items be sold for the price that was on the shelf where the item was sitting. And they get so angry when you tell them no. It's like no one ever told them no before. People rip open packages to check out merchandise, and then they don't buy it.

One guy was ripping open a two-pack of air freshener so he could spray it around to see if he liked it. I happened to be walking by.

"Don't open that." I said.

"Why?" Said the guy.

"Because you haven't bought it yet."

"Maybe I was gonna buy it," the guy huffed.

"I don't care if you were going to buy it or not. Until you pay for it, it does not belong to you. It belongs to the store, and you are destroying it."

I say that kind of stuff all the time to the customers. I'm surprised I haven't been fired. But my work ethic outweighs any scuffles it seems. I'm important to the store, so I get a little leeway. Other stuff I've said to customers recently:

If you're not gonna buy that, don't carry it around the store.

The customer's always right? Please.

I don't have to do anything. This is a private business establishment. It is not a public space, like a park or something. When you walk in those doors and buy something here, it's not a right that you possess, it's a privilege that we afford you. We _allow _you to come here.

Are those your kids? Reel 'em in, would you? They're messing up my store.

If you don't like it, get out.

Keep in mind that the kind of customers that I might say these sorts of things to totally deserve it. And more, really.

I know I'm rambling on, but another odd thing I've noticed is that when someone's order comes out to any variation of the number 666, people will almost always buy something else to offset the number of the beast.

Kids love to pay for things.

People who use food stamps buy mostly junk food.

People call me by name, in a very familiar way. I keep forgetting that I'm wearing a name tag. It rattles me every time they do it.

One last thing. There are a few customers that I actually like. Very few. One of them is this very tall middle-eastern guy. Very nice fellow. Super friendly, doesn't make a mess, gets his business done quickly, and all that. But one odd thing about him is that he sings the same song constantly whenever he comes in. The only lyrics are "I can't stand you". Every time, he's singing this song. In a high pitched, bluesy kind of singing voice. Just lightly singing, loud enough to make out the words. I asked him once what he was singing. He said it was just something he made up. I guess he liked it, because that's what he's sticking with. I think he's crazy in some harmless way. I smile when I see him.


----------



## Pandora

I watch the jail dockets, another story, anyways, so many are shoplifting, all ages. Yes some maybe can afford what they take others are in a hard way now
and, as you say, some are not all there upstairs. Your tenderness comes out in your writing Arcopitcairn, the wisdom to know when and who needs a good verbal spanking
and the insight to care and understand those who need it. Wonderful mix that is to read, to feel and to know. I learn from you and about you, this I very much enjoy. 
Great read, your week sort of becomes my week. O


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Thanks so much for reading it, and for your kind words. It is strange. Sometimes I feel like I connect in a more realistic and meaningful way with people here than I do in mobile, outside life. I guess you can say things in writing, express feelings easier than you can if you're talking to someone face to face. I'm not sure if that is a good thing or bad, but it is quite interesting.


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## alanmt

I think more people should be like you.  Good customer service does not mean putting up with rudeness or attempts to cheat the store.  "The customer is always right" is a horrible slogan.


----------



## Gargh

alanmt said:


> I think more people should be like you.  Good customer service does not mean putting up with rudeness or attempts to cheat the store.  "The customer is always right" is a horrible slogan.



Agree on both counts. It's one of those things people take too literally... mostly customers. Like 'be cruel to be kind', which strangely isn't a license to be horrible to folks!

I worked in casinos for a long while and you had the weirdest little subcultures popping up underneath the typical 'I own the place' kind of swaggerers. There were a lot of unemployed and just-plain-broke coming in for the complimentary drinks and to earn gaming chips as skivvy to the high-rollers (this is what happens when you don't allow tipping!). They would also get paid in food ordered on the high-roller's complimentary tab. Then there were other punters who'd act as counsel or chauffeur or... worse.  It was a real curiosity watching how they all bartered round the socio-economic problems of gambling.  Reading your stories reminds me a lot of those days, Acropitcairn. I spent a lot of time people watching in that job.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Not much been going on. Working like dog.

Watched a japanimation called Durarara. It was very interesting. Recommend it highly for those who like foreign cartoons.

Had to take my mother back to hospital for a day, but she's okay. I went outside to the parking lot for a smoke while she was in the emergency room and there was an epic goose battle going on right outside the door. Geese are bastards, in case you didn't know, loud and mean. They were screeching and flying at people who were trying to get to the emergency entrance. It was a real free-for-all, a mess. There were only three of them, but they were definitely unhappy with each other and anyone else that happened by. One of them flew at me, but I refused to look like a wuss in front of the geese and strangers, so I just stood there to see what would happen, ready to kick the goose if need be. The honking bird veered off, perhaps sensing my alpha-type power (heh.) Seriously though, my heart did speed up just a little, even if it was just a goose that was coming after me.

It was funny to watch other people run from them, though. I realized later that I probably would have injured my old foot if I'd kicked that fat bird.


----------



## Pandora

Glad to hear your Mama's ok.
I love your posts I can find many of my own memories to tie up in them. So true about geese, I do love to see that one though watching over the flock. 
I find that endearing. Also the babies are dear little things. Last year at this time my boy lived on a lake with so many families of them, all different sizes
of the little darlings, tis the season for little ones.  I can feel your alpha-type power, I'm a believer.


----------



## dale

Arcopitcairn said:


> Had to take my mother back to hospital for a day, but she's okay. I went outside to the parking lot for a smoke while she was in the emergency room and there was an epic goose battle going on right outside the door. Geese are bastards, in case you didn't know, loud and mean. They were screeching and flying at people who were trying to get to the emergency entrance. It was a real free-for-all, a mess. There were only three of them, but they were definitely unhappy with each other and anyone else that happened by. One of them flew at me, but I refused to look like a wuss in front of the geese and strangers, so I just stood there to see what would happen, ready to kick the goose if need be. The honking bird veered off, perhaps sensing my alpha-type power (heh.) Seriously though, my heart did speed up just a little, even if it was just a goose that was coming after me.
> 
> It was funny to watch other people run from them, though. I realized later that I probably would have injured my old foot if I'd kicked that fat bird.



oh my god. i hate them. they're lucky i don't drive anymore or i'd run them over every chance i got. why these birds are still on the
indiana protected species list is beyond me. this state has like a geese epidemic.


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## Arcopitcairn

I didn't know that they were on that list. No wonder they're so thick around here!


----------



## Arcopitcairn

So, a decent amount of my time lately, considering my mother's physical problems, has been spent in waiting rooms. These are always interesting places to me because I will often people watch and assign back stories to my fellow waiters. The other day I was tasked to take my mother to a doctor. The waiting room was on the fifth floor, overlooking a nice little stretch of woods. I mostly, as I waited, watched the woods and the sky, hoping to catch a murmuration or an unwary bigfoot.


 Directly across from me sat an old couple. The woman obviously suffered from some kind of dementia. Her husband patiently answered every question his wide-eyed and confused wife asked, no matter how many times she repeated the question. I listened to her desperate search for answers and memory as I watched the woods.


 The elevator doors opened and this zaftig woman burst forth, fleeing the elevator in a panic, grabbing the receptionist's desk with both trembling hands. She was mentally challenged. She was followed closely by her sister or mother or friend, I couldn't tell, but she was a phone girl, one of those people who live, not in our world, but in phone world. The zaftig girl wore a black jacket with the 'explosions' on the back, in bright yellow letters.


 “I hate elevators!” The explosion girl barked, wiping sweat from her forehead.


 The receptionist, in that receptionist way, said, “Awwwww.”


 Past her portable world, the Phone Girl signed Explosion Girl in at the desk, her eyes never leaving her online paradise.


 “I got a present for the doctor!” Explosion Girl said, “but I forgot it!” Everything she said was loud and important.


 “Awwww, how nice,” the receptionist said in her fake way. “Take a seat and we'll call you soon.”


 Phone Girl had already begun drifting toward the seating area, using her peripheral vision, of course, and Explosion Girl ambled behind, walking in that completely not-self-conscious way that challenged people walk, some kind of arm-swinging gallop. They found seats.


 Explosion Girl began then, to do something that endeared her to me, a little real thing, a sincere, innocent thing. She started pulling various bits of make-up and jewelry from the pockets of her jacket. She put on some lipstick, looked at herself in her compact to make sure all was well, and she tried several necklaces and sets of earrings, all the while conferring with Phone Girl on the effectiveness of her combinations of adornment. She was trying to make herself look pretty for the doctor, the one she'd forgotten to bring the present for. She excitedly, nervously worked on her look, and when she was satisfied, waited anxiously, fidgeting and tapping her feet. Phone Girl ignored all this, of course, enraptured by her little screen.


 Explosion Girl looked around the room and caught me watching. I smiled at her, and she looked way quickly. I decided to give her her privacy then, but noticed her looking back at me frequently out of the corner of my eye. There was something so sweet about her wanting to look nice for the doctor.


----------



## Kevin

Why does the word insipid come to mind every time I see phone-girl? I watched her the other day, crossing the busy boulevard at a shuffle and thought about D_eath Race 2000_. Too easy: 5pts.


----------



## dale

lol. have you wrote a novel yet, arco? if not? you need to. anyone who can make sitting in a waiting room that damn interesting
is surely gonna be a best seller.


----------



## Blade

Arcopitcairn said:


> Thanks so much for reading it, and for your kind words. It is strange. Sometimes I feel like I connect in a more realistic and meaningful way with people here than I do in mobile, outside life. I guess you can say things in writing, express feelings easier than you can if you're talking to someone face to face. I'm not sure if that is a good thing or bad, but it is quite interesting.



I would take it as a good thing. The problem with the face to face thing, especially if you have a life where you don't meet a lot of people, is that whomever you encounter you likely have little in common with and they are unlikely to be very expressive anyway. On line you can seek out the like minded and/or those with similar interests with some reasonable assurance that they will have something engaging to say. A communion of inner selves, so to speak.


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## Kevin

> have you wrote a novel yet, arco? if not? you need to. anyone who can make sitting in a waiting room that damn interesting
> is surely gonna be a best seller.


 _Graphic _novel?  _The Adventures of Indiana Vapid_. She could be like this smoking hot chick with attitude (or lack of)...sort of like Mandy in _Billy and Mandy_, only with much less to say, and not as much going on upstairs... and the characters she is adjacent to but has zero regard for... " plucked from real life."


----------



## Ixarku

I've only just joined these forums today, but I can already tell, I'll be looking forward to reading Arcopitcairn's musings.  There's a kind of honesty and a unique perspective there that grabbed me immediately on reading just a few posts.  Bravo.


----------



## dale

Kevin said:


> _Graphic _novel?  _The Adventures of Indiana Vapid_. She could be like this smoking hot chick with attitude (or lack of)...sort of like Mandy in _Billy and Mandy_, only with much less to say, and not as much going on upstairs... and the characters she is adjacent to but has zero regard for... " plucked from real life."



lol. i hope his novel is set in indianapolis. i set mine in charlotte, NC. he's great at depicting indianapolis, though. 
for some reason i can't do it like that. and i've been here forever.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

dale said:


> lol. have you wrote a novel yet, arco? if not? you need to. anyone who can make sitting in a waiting room that damn interesting
> is surely gonna be a best seller.



What a great compliment, man. Thanks

No, I haven't written anything like that, though I'm working on a novel-length book of short stories. I don't seem to have long works in me, but who knows?


----------



## Ixarku

Arcopitcairn said:


> I don't seem to have long works in me, but who knows?




Granted this is only a first impression, but I have a gut feeling that the kinds of stories you write are probably best suited to a shorter format.  Straightforward, visceral, very to-the-point.  The kind of story that steps into the room wearing a trench coat and smoking a cigar, walks over, punches some random guy in the stomach, and walks out without saying a word.


----------



## Pandora

I felt like I was there with you,  the soft sweetness in your voice as you ended your moment, I could see, feel, your heart  love that, great write Arcopitcarin, thank you.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Been interminably girl-crazy lately. Have had prurient thoughts about almost every girl I see, thinking about all the girls I've been with in my time.


 With that, hey, here's my brothel story!


 When I went to Las Vegas, I did not know that they didn't allow brothels in the county where the city is located. I had to borrow my friend's car and drive for 45 minutes out to a little town called Pahrump, because there are brothels there. So I set out through the desert early on a Sunday morning. They are open 24 hours. I had three hundred dollars to spend with no idea what that would get me.


 Though I'm no Romeo or whatever, I've actually been rather lucky in my life with girls. I didn't really _need _to go to a brothel, but there was this _man_ thing, almost a Hemingway thought, that I _should_ go, just for the experience. I was excited and actually kind of nervous.


 So I get there. There were two brothels right next to each other. One was a run-down looking affair, like a giant ranch house. I forget the name of that one. The other was this massive white mansion called Shari's Ranch. The parking lots were empty. I decided that I would try the fancy place first, and if it was too expensive, I'd go to the cheaper-looking place.


 I went into Shari's and it was like walking into a rich person's house. It was all white inside, marble columns, and a fancy huge front room, full of couches and chairs. Morning light streamed in from skylights and massive windows. I think the place had a golf course in back maybe, and there was a giant pool right outside.


 I thought the place was too rich for my blood, and I was about to leave, when I was approached by a little old lady, well-kept, decked out in turquoise, western-style jewelry.


 “Would you like a line-up?” She smiled. Meaning that she would call the girls, the girls would come, they would line up, and I would pick one.


 “Uh, sure.”


 “Have a seat and look over our menu, and they'll be right in.” She smiled again and gestured to a large couch. There was a stack of menus on the coffee table. In the menu was what you're thinking. It was all the different things you could have the girls do to you and all the things you could do to them and the prices for each thing. I won't go into detail, but there was a ton of stuff in there, catering to all manner of fetish and kink. And it was not cheap. The old lady called the girls for a line-up. Over the loudspeaker. I was getting somewhat, at that point, self-conscious about being there.


 The girls came. All very pretty in a dancer kind of way, stripper pretty. There were twelve of them, all races, by design I'm sure, and all sizes. Basically just about any kind of girl you might want. Some of them were dressed for action, in their lingerie, but some of them had been sleeping, and they were in sweats or pajamas, having no time to put on make-up. I was severely tempted by one short blond girl in pajamas, wiping the sleep from her eyes. Her girl next door quality endeared her to me. But then my eyes found the girl on the end. She was a tall brunette, taller than me, and she reminded me of Wonder Woman. She was dressed in a sheer, silk teddy, and she had lustrous, shiny black hair. Her name was Sasha. I picked her.  


 Sasha smiled warmly and held out her hand to me. The other girls shrugged and went back to their rooms. I felt bad for picking a girl in that meat-market way, but they were used to it, and I'm sure several of them were happy not to be picked so that they could go back to bed. I took Sasha's hand and she led me back to her room. It was a very nice room, clean, looking like a fancy hotel. The first thing she wanted to do was to check my Little General for any evidence of disease. I shrugged and unfurled the Magic for her inspection. She leaned down and examined my stuff, declared me clean, and ushered me to the couch. There was another menu there.  


 Now, she was Czech, so she had this wonderfully low, almost stereotypical Russian-type voice. Her voice itself was enough to make my mind buzz. I just wanted good, old-fashioned cowgirl for an hour. That was going to cost 500 bucks.


 “How long can I get for three-hundred?” I asked.


 “Four-hundred, and you can have me for 45 minutes.” She said, purring like Chekov from Star Trek.


 “I have _300 dollars_.”  


 “How about 25 minutes?” She smiled.


 “Sounds good.” I said, thinking about all the books I could have bought with that money, but...


 I gave her the money, she took it away, and then she came back.


 “You are not nervous, are you?” She drawled exquisitely.


 “Not too much,” I said. “Maybe just a little.”


 “Oh, you must not be nervous, _dahling_, you must not be.” And then she was on me, and then we were naked. I'll stop there. The only real details that surprised me was that under no circumstances was I to touch the condom (she would open the package, she would put it on), I was not allowed to touch her privates, and I was not allowed to kiss her on the mouth.


 We completed our business. We got cleaned up and dressed in the bathroom. Our talking was light and pleasant. She walked me back out, down the long hall, and when I fired up a Camel Wide, she asked for one. She took my hand and walked me to the front room. She kissed me on the cheek and we said goodbye. I walked outside, into the desert wind and sun. I looked around for a second and I realized that I was sad. It's a good memory now, but at the time, I felt like driving the car until it ran out of gas, and then I would just walk to some new life. I don't know why.


 But a clearer head prevailed. I returned my friend's car to her. I flew home a few days later. (Side note: The plane was struck by lightning several times on the way back to Indianapolis, and dropped from the sky a few times, giving the feeling of weightlessness. I thought I was going to die, but later was proud of myself for not having one thought about god.)


 Not sure why I posted that story, other than the fact that many of you probably won't ever go to a brothel, and perhaps you might have been curious about what it's like. That's what that one was like for me.


----------



## Pluralized

Wow - that was an awesome read. Your life fascinates me, dude.

Hope you'll get back into the LM soon. Miss your presence over there. I've been combing through, reading old stuff, and your entries never disappoint.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Thanks for reading it I have been thinking about getting back into the LM, it was pretty fun from what I remember...


----------



## Pandora

I think I know better now just how all that works, I guess all business. I'm surprised right with you and without all those pleasures what could possibly take 25 minutes,
I guess I'll ponder awhile on that. Good write as usual Sir, (most especially the conversational parts) I enjoyed, one I won't forget.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

The Man who Waved at Ducks


 It is snowing here today, on April fifteenth. It's a dark day today, like yesterday. I like dark days, being in the light, or warm against a cold, black day. I'm bored a little, which is rare. So I will ramble, if for no other reason than I might revisit this post later on down the line to remember how I was feeling, what I was thinking or doing.


 Not long ago I used to work at a body shop as a detailer, which is a fancy word for someone who washes cars really well. I would wash those cars, deliver and pick up repaired rentals to and from the airport, and do whatever was required of me. The people I worked with were nice, but I was not one of them. After a while I stopped chameleonizing myself to fit in with them, and I started being more myself. They realized quickly that I was smarter than they were, and it separated me from them. We'd still smoke weed in the well ventilated painting room, chat and laugh about things, and have arguments about whether or not nine-eleven was a conspiracy (It was not, by the way.), but I was mostly alone when I was with them. It was like they spoke another language most of the time. That job dried up, but one of my bosses, we'll call him Jeff (Cause that's his name), frequently had work for me at his house. It was cleaning, yard work, painting, and light maintenance. It continues, even though I have another job now, he still gets in touch with work. I like extra money. So I work for him.


 I only ever work at his house when he is not there. I prefer it that way, not having him breathe down my neck the whole time, but it's always strange being alone in a house that is not yours. He had a golden retriever named Lola. Good old dog that I fed a little bit of my lunch to whenever I worked. The last time I was there, Lola had a limp and was in considerable pain. The dog was dying of bone cancer. I fed the dog some bits and let her limp outside. I remember the dying dog rolling in the grass like a puppy, her swollen, cancerous joints wiggling at the sun. The next time I worked there, Lola's ashes were in an urn on the fireplace mantle. I've cleaned that house enough since, that there are no more of her hairs to be found in the house, no evidence that the dog was there at all except the urn and the picture of the dog that sits next to it.


 I worked there yesterday. Jeff met me at his open garage door with a list of things that would end up taking me six hours to complete. I cleaned his house, his hot tub, floors, and so on. My main job was stripping a wood door in the garage. The house is out country-ish, relatively desolate, but there is a house across the road. The open garage, lights on, faced the house across the way. As I spent a couple hours working on the door, I was convinced that someone was watching me from over there. It was not a bad feeling, really, I just felt that there were eyes on me. As I used solvent on the door, I wondered what the person watching was thinking about me. Did they wonder what I was doing? As I sanded the door down, I wondered if the watcher ever sanded anything, and if they had, were they impressed with my technique? Did they think I was doing it right? When I took smoke breaks, I wondered if the watcher smoked. Or were they frowning?  


 In the rain outside were two ducks. They were walking around in the front yard, rooting around for food. I stood there smoking my Camel, and I watched the ducks. They noticed me watching them. I waved at them and smiled. I wonder what the watcher thought of that?


 Humph. The sun just beamed in through the window. Ut! Now it's gone again. I'm sure it'll be back.


----------



## Pandora

Enjoyed your memory on your gray day, mine was too. You make me smile and be sad with your words. I love your natural storytelling style.
I feel like we are sharing a beer somewhere. 

If I was the watcher I'd like you even more. I speak to all feathered friends and yes wave, a pure reaction. I had a moment yesterday when I left work for the bank
three very long blocks away, not unlike a long runway with green grass on either side. On my way back two geese were flying low over the street, 
not low enough to hit, yet. I slowed up and followed as they lowered. I watched there sweet little feet outstretched and their wings teeter in the heavy wind,
 blowing 30-40 mph gusts! I came to a stop to enjoy as the grounded and looked at me. 
The male you can always tell, alert to protect the Mrs. I like that.  I drove on thinking it is all about timing in life, yes timing is everything.

I wonder if your watcher thought that  

Thanks Acropitcarin for sharing.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

I'm not allowed to smoke on store property where I work. When I get a smoke break, I have to walk over behind the business next to ours. There is a little grassy area there, an empty parking lot, some dumpsters, and some woods that a street cuts through. It's shady back there, very deserted, and there's lots of garbage blowing around in the wind.


 When I was heading out for a smoke break yesterday, a guy who I barely registered was buying some barbecue Vienna Sausages. I went outside. There was a winter coat leaning against the wall of the little alley between the two businesses. I walked past it, around the corner, and lit up my Camel. The guy came out and stood next to the coat. I was just out of his eye line. He ate the sausages and threw the lid and the empty can in the grass. Then he saw me.


 He was wearing a gray sweatshirt, khaki pants, white tennis shoes, and a ball cap. He started walking up on me, like close. I backed away, my hand in my pocket, resting on my box cutter. Now, I'm not the scared type of person, but there was something, some creepy thing about this guy that was setting off alarm bells in my head. But as always, I was calm.


 “You don't have to back away, bubby,” the guy said as he bent over and wiped the barbecue sauce off his hands and on to the grass. “I'm not gonna do nothin'.”


 He walked up on me, too close again, but I resisted the urge to back away. One time was enough. I was ready to slice him open.


 “I'm Corn Bread,” the guy said, and he turned to show me the back of his sweat shirt. In Sharpie, there was written 'Corn Bread” with the words separated by a cross.


 “Hey,” I said, alarm bells still ringing.


 “I got some rules,” said Corn Bread. “I can't tell you all of them, but the three most important are that I won't steal, I never do any homosexual stuff, and I don't do intravenous drugs. I'm Corn Bread.”


 “Right,” I said. “Why do people call you Corn Bread?” This guy was creepy, but getting a closer look at him, I was fairly certain that I could take him if I had to, so I decided to talk with him for a minute. Just to see where it went.


 “I don't want to talk about it,” he said, about the origin of his nickname. “It was my prison name.” He then started flashing all kinds of hand signs at me, variations of devil horns and such. “You know what these mean?” He asked. When I shook my head no he said, “This one's '2-1', this one's the Outlaws.”


 “Oh yeah?”


 “Yeah, I can't ride right now, cause of the probation. I used to do all kinds of bad stuff, but God showed me a better way. My mom left us you know, I got raised by my dad. Whenever I used to cry, my dad didn't care. Nobody cares when you cry, that's why I don't do it no more. He's dead now, my dad is, and I don't know where my mom is. She left us. I'm getting ready to go down the street to the club and get a shower, take my shoes off and get a shower. I took some other guys over there once, but they made me look bad, well, not that bad, but they embarrassed me. God's gonna help me get a job, maybe with them Mexicans over there at the body shop, or someplace else. But that's a ways off, I know, because God's still helping me.”


 I took my hand off the box cutter. The guy was creepy, but no threat. Just crazy. “Well, my manager's gonna be on me if I don't get back inside,” I said as I started to walk away from him. “You take it easy.”


 “Hold on,” Corn Bread said. “Let me show you something. A handshake.” He held out his hand.


 I took his hand, and he showed a weird little handshake.


 “You know what that means?”  


 “No, what?”


 “White power. The ultimate glory. That's the handshake Hitler used to use.” And he smiled.


 “All-righty,” I said as I extracted myself from him. “Take it easy.” Then I went the hell back inside.




 I swear I'm like a magnet for this kind of crap.


----------



## dither

Arco,
I often think that I'm a magnet for the fruit-cakes of this world, damaged goods, and it's a shame, life eh?:read:


----------



## Bard_Daniel

dither said:


> Arco,
> I often think that I'm a magnet for the fruit-cakes of this world, damaged goods, and it's a shame, life eh?:read:



Witticisms are nice.


----------



## dither

Just a tired old man Dan, telling it as he sees it.


----------



## Kevin

> I'm like a magnet for this kind of crap.


 You're like the Jesus of the Alley. Lucky you.  Have to admit though: it is entertaining.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Well, I suppose it makes things interesting, Dither.

The other day, a man came into the store. He was like Pig-Pen from Peanuts, but instead of dirt and dust, this guy was surrounded by a pot cloud. He smelled so strongly of weed that I swear I got a little cotton-mouthed from the two minutes I was standing close to him. And the smell stayed, cloying and heavy.

Half an hour later, an old lady is checking out and she starts sniffing the air. "You been smoking weed?" She asks me.

"No, it was some guy that was just in here. He left the smell behind."

"Well," the old lady huffed, "I hope he knows that he's smokin' what killed Elvis!"

"Elvis died from smoking too much weed?" I asked her as I bagged up her stuff.

"What, you didn't know that?"

"No, I did not know that."


This silly little stuff happens all the time. It's the place where I live. Chock full of nuts.


----------



## Bard_Daniel

lol wut. 

That's odd. Where do you live? States?


----------



## dither

Arcopitcairn said:


> Well, I suppose it makes things interesting, Dither.
> 
> The other day, a man came into the store. He was like Pig-Pen from Peanuts, but instead of dirt and dust, this guy was surrounded by a pot cloud. He smelled so strongly of weed that I swear I got a little cotton-mouthed from the two minutes I was standing close to him. And the smell stayed, cloying and heavy.
> 
> Half an hour later, an old lady is checking out and she starts sniffing the air. "You been smoking weed?" She asks me.
> 
> "No, it was some guy that was just in here. He left the smell behind."
> 
> "Well," the old lady huffed, "I hope he knows that he's smokin' what killed Elvis!"
> 
> "Elvis died from smoking too much weed?" I asked her as I bagged up her stuff.
> 
> "What, you didn't know that?"
> 
> "No, I did not know that."
> 
> 
> This silly little stuff happens all the time. It's the place where I live. Chock full of nuts.



Arco you are a captive audience, you can't run, and you can't hide.
A bit like when I'm waiting for a bus, or worse still, when I'm ON a bus, why me?


----------



## Arcopitcairn

danielstj said:


> lol wut.
> 
> That's odd. Where do you live? States?



Indianapolis. It's an okay little town, I suppose. Just a surprising amount of cretins and weirdos that seem to orbit me. It's probably the same with everyone, you too, I'll bet. It's fun practice to write about it.


----------



## dither

Arcopitcairn said:


> Well, I suppose it makes things interesting, Dither.
> 
> The other day, a man came into the store. He was like Pig-Pen from Peanuts, but instead of dirt and dust, this guy was surrounded by a pot cloud. He smelled so strongly of weed that I swear I got a little cotton-mouthed from the two minutes I was standing close to him. And the smell stayed, cloying and heavy.
> 
> Half an hour later, an old lady is checking out and she starts sniffing the air. "You been smoking weed?" She asks me.
> 
> "No, it was some guy that was just in here. He left the smell behind."
> 
> "Well," the old lady huffed, "I hope he knows that he's smokin' what killed Elvis!"
> 
> "Elvis died from smoking too much weed?" I asked her as I bagged up her stuff.
> 
> "What, you didn't know that?"
> 
> "No, I did not know that."
> 
> 
> This silly little stuff happens all the time. It's the place where I live. Chock full of nuts.



Arco you are a captive audience, you can't run, and you can't hide.
A bit like when I'm waiting for a bus, or worse still, when I'm ON a bus, why me?


----------



## dither

Arcopitcairn said:


> Indianapolis. It's an okay little town, I suppose. Just a surprising amount of cretins and weirdos that seem to orbit me. It's probably the same with everyone, you too, I'll bet. It's fun practice to write about it.



Arco, people DO seem to love reading about such experiences, maybe we've ALL been there at one time or another.

And maybe we're ALL weirdos, who's to say?:icon_shaking2:


----------



## Gargh

Arcopitcairn said:


> Indianapolis. It's an okay little town, I suppose. Just a surprising amount of cretins and weirdos that seem to orbit me. It's probably the same with everyone, you too, I'll bet. It's fun practice to write about it.



I always get the weirdos too, something about me tells them I can't turn my back because I know what it's like and there's a very good chance it will be me one day. And if it isn't, I shall still remember and cash in all those hours put in listening to other people's crazy by going spectacularly loony at some point in my life. No minor leagues for me. I should move to Indianapolis first though?


----------



## Pandora

My son has a friend named Cornbread, I just don't really know what went wrong. My daughter's x boyfriend, his Mama left him at 8 years old, raised by his father. 
He does't know how to treat a lady and too damaged to want to learn. Sad, important to feel what makes others who they are, brings compassion. 
I think maybe you won't forget this encounter, memories lie in adrenaline. Maybe a lesson learned too. Are weirdos the mentally ill who have learned to cope with the world without meds?


Enjoyed as always Arcopitcairn.


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## Arcopitcairn

As long as I've known my mother she has always been sad. I'm not sure I've ever seen her truly happy. She's had a hard life, not as bad as some, but worse than others. My only wish for her has been to find some peace. Found out yesterday that she has about 6 months to live if she is lucky. One thing I know about her is that she has never been lucky. Soon, I think, she will finally have the peace that she never had in life.


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## Pandora

I'm so sorry Arcopitcairn, very sorry. I identify with you and your Mama, going through the same in the late 90's. When I traced our ancestry I learned there was much for her to be sad about as well, unforgivable tragedies. I seemed shallow and petty to have ever blamed her for anything. 
Knowing what to expect is half the battle, preparing and enjoying the time you have together. At the time, our ending here on this Earth was really trying but now 15 years later I look back on it with joy. It's not to late to give her peace of mind here. My Mama so frightened to leave this world. I researched proof of the hereafter, read stories to her, it helped her let go more comfortably. It is a process, a journey to share together. You have a huge creative heart, your Mother raised a caring good man. What more could she ever want. She takes that, with pride, with her.


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## Arcopitcairn

Thank you. I guess I just have to concentrate on making her remaining time as comfortable as I can.


----------



## Pandora

I can't say this enough I'm so sorry, it's a tough pain for you. You are a good Son.


----------



## Kevin

Oh man... Been through it. Steel yourself. It's going to be rough. Fight with the doctors if you have to. You may not have to. She should not be in pain.


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## Arcopitcairn

Yeah. They stopped her heart today and shocked it back to try and get a good rhythm. It kind of worked, but now they have to see if she will breathe on her own when they take the air tube out tomorrow. The doctors seem pretty decent, like decent people, so that's good. We'll see what happens tomorrow. If she won't breathe on her own, that might be it.


----------



## Pandora

It would be too raw for me to share what we went through, my Mama and I, she having CHF.  It would hurt you more and maybe effect the time you have together. No purpose, everyone is different. If you have Docs you can trust that is really good. Whatever she wants to be now is up to her. You are along for the ride, if that's not too blunt. There to defend, protect, support and like you said bring comfort. I have a feeling you will be as proud of her as she is of you. I'll be praying for whatever outcome she wants. I'll be praying for strength for you Arcopitcairn, we all walk the long road.


----------



## Dave Watson

That's a rough one dude. Keep the chin up.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

My mother has been on a respirator for many days now, kept sedated. There is a question about whether or not she will be able to come off of it. If she does not, then it will be up to me to make the hard choices. 

I'm wondering if we will ever have a conversation again, and I keep trying to remember the last one we had, for it may have been the last. When I was at the hospital, I talked to her anyway, told her about my day. I hope that she heard me.


----------



## Pandora

Oh Arcopitcarin, you have been on my mind, I'm sure all our minds. I think she can hear you, yes talk to her anyways. Prayers for you and your Mom. That difficult decision will come if it is necessary. I don't know about faith and you, for me it is times like this that it was made for us. 
It is easier to say goodbye when you believe it is not. You might like to read the proof of afterlife books that are out there, pick one up. You could read to your Mama and in turn help yourself too, feel stronger. Thinking of you both . . .



Acropitcairn I was thinking if you aren't comfortable with a book like that you could see if you have any photo albums or old pics to spark your memory and you can share those with your Mom. Even if she can't see them you could describe and talk about loved times and her loved ones, especially those who have left this world. That is comforting for you both, sharing your life here together.


----------



## dither

Wishing you good luck Arco seems such a dumb thing to do,
but i don't know what else to say.

Good luck,

dither


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Pandora said:


> Oh Arcopitcarin, you have been on my mind, I'm sure all our minds. I think she can hear you, yes talk to her anyways. Prayers for you and your Mom. That difficult decision will come if it is necessary. I don't know about faith and you, for me it is times like this that it was made for us.
> It is easier to say goodbye when you believe it is not. You might like to read the proof of afterlife books that are out there, pick one up. You could read to your Mama and in turn help yourself too, feel stronger. Thinking of you both . . .
> 
> 
> 
> Acropitcairn I was thinking if you aren't comfortable with a book like that you could see if you have any photo albums or old pics to spark your memory and you can share those with your Mom. Even if she can't see them you could describe and talk about loved times and her loved ones, especially those who have left this world. That is comforting for you both, sharing your life here together.



Thanks for your kind words. I appreciate it

We don't have any supernatural faith. I suppose my hope for her is the peace of eternal sleep.


----------



## Deleted member 49710

Arcopitcairn said:


> My mother has been on a respirator for many days now, kept sedated. There is a question about whether or not she will be able to come off of it. If she does not, then it will be up to me to make the hard choices.
> 
> I'm wondering if we will ever have a conversation again, and I keep trying to remember the last one we had, for it may have been the last. When I was at the hospital, I talked to her anyway, told her about my day. I hope that she heard me.


I'm sure you'll make the right decision for her. So sorry you're going through this.


----------



## Gumby

I am so sorry you're going through this, Arc. I hope you have other family members who you can talk to and be with. You sound like a good and loving son, I'm sure your mom appreciates the time you are spending with her and I would bet that even though she isn't conscious, a part of her is aware of your time with her. We are going through a somewhat similar thing in our family and I know how very hard it is to see someone you love leaving this world. No matter what your beliefs of the afterlife are, and no matter how much it hurts to lose them, there is some comfort in knowing that they will no longer suffer. Hang in there, and know that you have a lot of people here who are thinking of you and mom.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Well, I'll tell you, it sure is nice to know that there are people out there sending good thoughts my way. Can't thank you enough


----------



## Arcopitcairn

My mother made it off the respirator, and she is awake. Unfortunately, she now has some kind of ICU psychosis that makes her incoherent and hallucinatory. She is claiming to see all kinds of strange things. The doctors say it will pass.

I visited her yesterday and she demanded that I disconnect her from all the machines and take her home. When I told her I could not do that, she told me to never come back. I know it's the psychosis talking, but it was still disconcerting.


----------



## Pandora

Not a bad thing to ask for, we can feel that, escape. My Mama thought she could catch a bus on the corner to go back to Wisconsin. She wanted to go back and blamed me. Sadness surrounds, it is a tough time. I know you'll be there and be strong. We are all thinking of you here. Thank you for posting and sharing with us, our hearts are with you, Arcopitcairn.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Well, my mother has recovered from the psychosis and she has made back home. She's able to walk with a walker. Her prognosis is still the same, and who knows how long she'll be able to stay out of the hospital, but it's nice for her right this minute. Thanks everyone for your good thoughts during this time


In other news, I got a little horror story accepted for an anthology, which is always a bright spot.

There was this woman who shopped regularly at my store. I found her quite attractive. Whenever she came in, I would always cast an appreciative eye her way, not ogle, but I certainly looked. Well, she noticed me noticing her the other day. She was very angry. She thought I was keeping an eye on her because I thought she was going to steal something. She came up to the counter, loudly complaining that I was always watching her when she came in. She proclaimed that she would never come back, and that she might send her son into the store to teach me a lesson. I simply kept quiet and apologized, which made her more angry. Luckily, my manager was standing right there and heard the whole thing, the woman trying to get a rise out of me and threatening me. My manager also apologized, but the woman said she was going over our heads and calling the district manager. As far as I know, she did not do that.

I almost told the woman that I was not looking at her because I thought she was trying to steal, but because I thought she was very attractive, but I thought better of it. Would have made things worse. As it stands, I feel like kind of a heel. Guess I'd best keep any roving eye I might have in check from now on. Yeesh.


----------



## Pandora

Almost afraid to click on your thread fearing your Mama had worsened or worse. That is great news Arcopitcairn! I used a walker for awhile, my Mama's I still had, not a bad way to get around. I hope she has wheels, you can really get those moving.

Congrats on your horror story too.

I was thinking while reading what happened at the store,  those are rare and lovely, the women who don't know they are attractive, how beautiful they are. Kind of cute about her son too. I wish in that moment you could have told her, I wish she was unattached and there began a love story. 
I will wonder what if, maybe you too? I could be a matchmaker at heart.


----------



## Kevin

I would have been tempted to tell her that she looked like a painting... and that I was very sorry, but am a lover of art (_you might comment on 'structure'_). It never occurred to me that she was there to steal and could she please accept my apology. She, of course, is always welcome in the store and in the future, I will keep my artist eyes to myself, whenever possible.

I'd probably end up fired and then possibly beat up... (or arrested, depending on how things went) Mom might be upset.


----------



## dither

Arco, it's such a dilemma,
one might think that if you explained why you were looking,she might, at the very least, feel flattered.

"What kind of woman do you think i am?"

Can't you just see it?

Women!:dejection:


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Things have been quite difficult for our hero lately. Very poor. Hungry and injured most of the time. Work proceeds.

My mother seems to be on the mend somewhat, though still quite ill.

Have been slingshotting around a type of Objectivism. Clamping down on my morals. Have been for a while. There is black, and there is white. And there is nothing in between. It's not an easy way to think, the world filled with ambiguity as it is.

I was at my friend Kristen's house on Friday. Her little dog was rooting around in her back yard flowerbed. The dog was harassing something, something that was squealing. We got the dog away from the flowerbed and put it inside. I looked to see what was in the flowers, and before I could, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. There was a rabbit there, a small brown rabbit, standing five feet away from me, watching. I looked in the flower bed and found a small hole filled with newborn rabbits, five of them, eyes not yet open. If I left them there, the dog would kill them, so I had to move them.

I dug a hole in a safer flowerbed. I got some gloves and carefully extracted the babies and all their nesting material. I put them in the new hole. They were safe for the time being. I went back inside. The mother rabbit lingered around the flowerbed where she had given birth. Anthropomorphically, I assigned the rabbit a sort of a confused sorrow. I wished I was fast enough or clever enough to catch that rabbit and put her down next to her babies new home. I knew that by moving them, I saved the little things from being ripped apart, but had I simply doomed them to freeze in the night or starve to death? I had to resist the urge to kill them all, just to make sure they didn't suffer. I came very close. But I decided that it would be better to at least give them a chance at survival and let nature take its course. I do not know if the mother found them.


----------



## Pandora

Oh we learned as kids, touch a baby, put a human scent on it and the mother will have nothing to do with it again. I hope this is not true. I hope you see them again grown larger. My recent bunny experience, I am hoping Mama came and fetched the wee one home. A huge baby hawk in the yard yesterday as we swam in the pool. Seemed so tame, listened to every word I said to him while looking me straight in the eye. An injured wing kept him low and walking about. I am praying today he is better too. Sometimes we must just trust nature. 

Glad to hear your Mama is getting on, I have a feeling she is a fighter. She raised a nice man too.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

A woman came into my store. She was one of those women who are On The  Phone. She had a child with her, a little boy. He was playing with toys  in the store and making a mess. I let those things go more than I used  to, but we are supposed to politely ask them not to do that. She came up  to the register, on the phone, and her kid was bouncing a ball around,  knocking things off shelves. I had enough and I told the boy to give me  the ball. Not too sharply, but authoritative. The woman grabbed up the  ball.

"You don't talk to my child that way! That's my child." She said.

"Uh-huh," I said, "are you buying that?"

"No."

"Then give it to me."

She then handed me the ball. I took it and set it behind the counter. 

"You don't snatch things from me!" She screamed, "I have low blood sugar! I could have fallen down!"

"Okay," I said simply.

"I'm not buying any of this," She said, motioning to the stuff she had on the counter. "Where's your manager?"

My  manager was just an aisle over, had heard the entire exchange, and had  no problem with me. The woman complained and left. And I thought that  was it. Maybe I should have just ignored the ball-playing, but it is  extremely difficult for me to watch people break rules without saying  something. Ah, well, yeah?

Later on I was in the break room  having some cashews when I realized that it was time to smoke. I went up  to the front of the store and my assistant manager, Jessica, was there  ringing people up.

"I'm glad you were there in the back!" Jessica said.

"Why?" I asked as I walked toward the front door.

"Don't go outside! That lady from earlier came back with her husband, and he's big! They're still in the parking lot!"

I went outside to smoke.

When  I was younger, I had several good fights, as most boys do, and I was  beat up several times, as some boys are. I won some, I lost some. All  those memories, even the losses, are fine and dandy with me. But the  memories that bother me, even now, are the couple of times I backed  down, or chickened out when I was young. That cowardice stays with you. I  decided years ago, that no matter what, It's better to get my butt  kicked than to avoid trouble like a coward. So that's why I went  outside. I didn't know what was going to happen, but I wasn't gonna be a  wuss about it. I walked to the side of the building, out of sight, and  lit up a Camel.

Sure enough, the husband saw me round the corner,  and he walked up on me. He was a foot taller than me, younger, and had  hands like canned hams. I don't know about other guys, but I have an  instant appraisal of men that I meet, in the context of determining  whether or not I could take them If I had to. I see a man, and it  happens automatically in my mind. Yes, I can beat this guy up, or no, this guy could beat me up.

Well, this guy could definitely beat me up. It's disconcerting, being rather old, injured, past my prime, knowing that I can be manhandled. It's just something I'll have to get used to.

"Hey, my man," The husband said. "I heard you yelled at my wife and my son, and was snatchin' things."

I smoked. "Nope."

"My wife and son are both on disability, and we can be havin' none'a that stuff happenin'"

"It didn't happen, man."

"Well that's what my wife said happened."

I then told the man exactly what happened, about the witnesses to it, and the fact that we have the entire exchange on video if he wanted to watch it. 

"Look, pal," I said to him, "No disrespect, but I'm not worried about you or your wife enough to lie about what happened. If I yelled at your wife and kid, I'd be happy to tell you. If they did something to deserve to to be yelled at for, I would yell at them. But they didn't do anything that would make me yell at them, so I didn't yell at them, and I'm not stupid enough to snatch something out of a customer's hands when I'm on camera."

He looked at me for a second. "Well, if they come in here again, with or without me, they should be treated with respect."

"I'll treat them with the respect they deserve." I said.

Then he walked away.

I'm happy the guy was reasonable, but I also feel satisfied that I didn't stay inside the store when I knew he was out there, even if there was a chance for trouble. It's like a tiny little personal victory over fear on my part. Very tiny victory, miniscule even, but enough.

Not too exciting of a story, but it's always interesting to get tangled up in drama.


Had a wonderful grilled cheese sandwich the other day from a barbecue restaurant. It had bacon and tomato. Got some Cracked magazines from the 1980's for fifty cents a pop, and I'm looking forward to reading them.

My mother's health is the same. Not too bad, but not great.


----------



## Kevin

I can totally relate. The instant appraisal, the memories of backing down. 'Low blood sugar'... that made me laugh.  O_migawd! are you feeling okay? you're right, you don't look so good...can I get you something? sit, sit...i'll get you some water. my gawd, how do you deal with it? must be awful and you, with this child...I had this aunt once... _


----------



## dale

lol. i couldn't work in store. the "bratty kid syndrome" really gets to me. i'm the type of parent that will bust my kid's ass when she acts up.
some of these people i watch just let their kids control a situation with tantrums? it's unreal to me. it makes me wanna slap the hell out of them.


----------



## Pandora

Trying your patience, sounds like the young child starving for attention. I will never forget and hopefully have not said here before, my daughter at about three having a tantrum in the check out line at the store. A little old lady, probably my age now . . . ha! said, "the sign of a determined woman".That was a gift and put it all in perspective for me for what's been the next 25 years. Raising children is a lot of hindsight is 20/20 and those little gifts we find along the way like that. 

I enjoyed your story Arcopitcairn, I was very glad the husband was not a hothead, the boy has a much brighter future with a reasonable Daddy.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

[video=youtube;9C4Qb17HQsM]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9C4Qb17HQsM[/video]



I was with my brother. And I was with my mother in an apartment that was not ours. My brother and I were on the patio smoking. We were talking to my mother. She was inside. We were talking to her through the patio screen. A whistling came then. A very loud whistling noise from the sky. Everyone came outside to see. There were glass pyramids in the sky, tumbling, leaving jet trails. They were the things that were whistling. They came in threes and fours. So fast, here then gone, but there were more. My brother was taking pictures of the pyramids with his phone. I was trying, while people were screaming in fear, to decide if the pyramids were as big as mountains or not.


 My brother ran down the street, filming. Day turned to blackest night. I saw my brother's silhouette in the headlights of cars, the kind of headlights that never turn off. It turned day again. There were explosions. So loud, impossibly so. But nothing shook. Everyone was holding their ears, and the explosions were coming from our minds. Over the explosions, my mother was screaming for us to pray. Pray!


----------



## Gofa

Good on you for facing the guy and calmly telling him the truth.  In facing an adversary always lower your shoulders and smile. These are very disconcerting to an aggressor. The lowering of you shoulder signals in body language you are not afraid. By passes conscious evaluation.  Smiling upsets as it signals you know something that that they do not. 
One final point.  Never use your fists. God only gave you fists in case you feet get tired from too much kicking.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Have not been feeling well lately, mentally or physically. I could live for thirty or forty more years. The thought makes my stomach hurt.

Maudlin. 

Wrote two substandard and angry poems. Posted them. Thought about removing them, but no. Will let them remain as example to myself of what not to do.

Mother ticking along fine. 
Work ticking along.


----------



## Kevin

Stomach ache? Yeah...me too. Gives me a stomach ache to think I only have thirty or forty more years left. I'm like over half-way gone. Hang in there, buddy. There are some little pleasures, aren't there? Your writing gives little pleasures. I'm not alone in that. You have your fans and we demand... 
Mom's doin ok for now? Good! Enjoy. Me? I'm gonna eat this can of pork'n'beans without a spoon. Now where's my can opener? Guess I'll have to use a knife...


----------



## Pandora

A beautiful family from Atlanta, Dad Mom children, went to Florida to celebrate a wedding anniversary. Daddy and daughter, nine years old, walking the beach. A small plane making an emergency landing hits Daddy kills him instantly, daughter dies later in hospital. Broken hearts all around. Smiling pictures left behind. 

I can wish myself gone, I do often especially as of late, damn weary. Then feel this and the pain for those left behind, I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Everyone would have someone to hurt for them. So we live and appreciate life more for those who have lost theirs.


----------



## dither

Pandora,
it's so sad.

How some people seem to  have so much to live for, and even those who don't cling to every waking breath like it might be their last, and then here's me, what i wouldn't give to be gone. Makes me seem/feel so ungrateful and would so willingly/happily give mine to someone like that dad, but i can't. And it all seems so unfair sometimes.
But that's the way of things and their's nothing we can do.

dither


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## Arcopitcairn

It's not so much that I wish to be gone. It's more that I wish I had some level of comfort and peace. When I think of years and years more of dark future unfurling out ahead of me, well, it is disconcerting. I suppose my problems are rather prosaic, but I'm the one who holds the lease, yeah? Everyone owns their own suffering and puts in on a pedestal, shining it from time to time.

Am currently reading a book of New Yorker articles from the 1940's. It is quite interesting so far, and I've only scratched the surface of the text.

_I Heard The Owl Call My Name, _by Snowbird has been rattling around my head lately. It's an ethereal song, a wisp. I tend to gravitate to songs that are transcendent, or at the other end of the spectrum, walls of noise, like Shoegaze music. It's about the feeling, not the lyrics for me.

Fall is coming soon. I'm always happier in Fall and Winter.


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## Pandora

Me too the next months are usually my happiest but this year each holiday, well  . . .

I have comfort and peace, great faith that everything works out in the end. This doesn't change how I feel though in fact I think it exemplifies it.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Whether it be desultory, fanatical, utilitarian, or sybaritic, I do not have the luxury of faith.

Would that I could have at least faith in my fellow man. But look what we have done.

I would have faith in myself, in the end, if I deserved such acclaim.

My life seems to be a constant struggle to simply not be ashamed.


----------



## Pandora

I get that, from a bitty kid on. Oh and then there is guilt  "the gift that keeps giving"


----------



## Kevin

You have to give yourself a break. I mean... unless you're out there doing malicious evil, give yourself a break. Flawed is our middle name.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

I've been thinking about Steve Ditko's business card lately. It's simply half black, and half white. Black and white, with nothing in between. No gray. I've been trying hard to change some things about my life, trying to erase even the smallest wrong thing. I feel the need to be above reproach, but...it is not easy. It's a fight.

I wonder, is it egotistical to try and be absolutely right and good? Or is the journey, the struggle to try and reach that place, however unattainable, worth the effort? I think, for me, it's worth trying, but I feel bad when I fail. Must try harder.

Just a few days ago I posted two hateful things, perhaps three. That was wrong. Vigilance and introspection is the price I suppose I have to pay.


----------



## Morkonan

Perfection is unobtainable, yet it is the most worthy of pursuit. The price you must pay is to stand defenseless before your own judgement.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

"The price you must pay is to stand defenseless before your own judgement."

A true thing.


----------



## dither

Arcopitcairn said:


> I've been thinking about Steve Ditko's business card lately. It's simply half black, and half white. Black and white, with nothing in between. No gray. I've been trying hard to change some things about my life, trying to erase even the smallest wrong thing. I feel the need to be above reproach, but...it is not easy. It's a fight.
> 
> I wonder, is it egotistical to try and be absolutely right and good? Or is the journey, the struggle to try and reach that place, however unattainable, worth the effort? I think, for me, it's worth trying, but I feel bad when I fail. Must try harder.
> 
> Just a few days ago I posted two hateful things, perhaps three. That was wrong. Vigilance and introspection is the price I suppose I have to pay.



That's an interesting conundrum Arcopitcairn.

"Is it egotistical"?
Or not?

For me i think,
it stems from self-loathing,a  need for acceptance generally,  the "self-fulfilling prophecy issue, and i'm in way over my head here.

I'll get my coat.


----------



## dither

Arcopitcairn said:


> "The price you must pay is to stand defenseless before your own judgement."
> 
> A true thing.



Yup!

"The rock and the hard place".


----------



## dither

Arcopitcairn said:


> "The price you must pay is to stand defenseless before your own judgement."
> 
> A true thing.




Why do we do that to ourselves?
Does anybody REALLY care?
Does any of it REALLY matter?
But we do it all the same.


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## Arcopitcairn

My answer to that is that it matters if you want it to.


----------



## dither

Arcopitcairn said:


> My answer to that is that it matters if you want it to.



Yeah i know.


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## Arcopitcairn

Been tough lately. Have not had enough money to eat properly. Tired and hurt. Have been served with all kinds of debt-collector summons'. I incurred a bunch of debt years ago, when things were better and I was more able to keep up. Had to let a lot of bills go and fester because of circumstances beyond my control or ability to deal with them. Government is trying to garnish my wages now. It's upsetting, but not unexpected I suppose. Must try and get money to declare bankruptcy somehow.

Have been growing ever more hateful of my job, but cannot quit. Trapped there.

On the bright side, I gathered up a bunch of stories and poems and made a little E-Book on Kindle Direct Publishing. Sold a couple so far, which puts a little smile on my face

Have also tentatively started an art project that I'm excited about, so that's good.

My mother continues along, but not too well. She's scared, and I don't know what to say to her.


----------



## dither

Fingers crossed for the E-Book Arco, and hoping for you mate.

Wishing you good luck seems so,,,,, useless, but well, good luck.:|


----------



## dither

Arcopitcairn said:


> I've been thinking about Steve Ditko's business card lately. It's simply half black, and half white. Black and white, with nothing in between. No gray. I've been trying hard to change some things about my life, trying to erase even the smallest wrong thing. I feel the need to be above reproach, but...it is not easy. It's a fight.
> 
> I wonder, is it egotistical to try and be absolutely right and good? Or is the journey, the struggle to try and reach that place, however unattainable, worth the effort? I think, for me, it's worth trying, but I feel bad when I fail. Must try harder.
> 
> Just a few days ago I posted two hateful things, perhaps three. That was wrong. Vigilance and introspection is the price I suppose I have to pay.




Arco, i know about introspection, and it's a bitch.
Maybe we need to lower our sights a little, i mean we're not muggers, we haven't killed anybody, and maybe KEVIN'S right.
Maybe we all just need to back off some eh?

And i know about  feeling like a failure, don't do it to yourself, don't go there.


----------



## Pandora

We got word this week another very close friend passed this last May, that was two who left this world in a month's time, feels weird to find out so far after the fact. They were good old friends from when we were young, miles separating though still in contact. Mortality can be a gift, when it hits like this, an eerie gift. When we are young we'd say, 'life sucks and then you die' along with these friends. Young and cocky with a grain of truth. Sorry life sucks right now Acrop, that creativity of yours is seeing you through, what a precious blessing that is. Neither of my parents or my sister were afraid to die once it came right down to dying. Dying was a blessing by that time. I mentioned I read books of proof of afterlife to my Mama but that might not be your approach. The unknown is scary so if one feels they know it eases. Your mother might just want to know you, your work, your words, your happy memories, know that you are ok then she is ok. That's what I want to know when I go, that my children are ok.

I'd like to find your e-book you have left an impression on me.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

So, I finally got fed up with my job. I put in my two weeks notice. I thought I was doing my manager a favor by doing so, so she could find someone to replace me. She seemed okay with it at first, but over the next few days, she started riding me like a tick. She went absolutely nutzoid. Every little thing, she was on me about. Finally, it came to a head over some small trifle, and she threatened to fire me. So I walked.

I have a couple more job prospects lined up, and am slightly nervous about the transition, but I feel a weight has been lifted off my back. I truly hated that job.


----------



## Pandora

If you walked then no unemployment benefits? I hope that is not the case, you deserve them if you qualify and it is no skin off your employer's nose, they carry UI anyways. With each claim the insurance goes up but it's one of the more modest expenses for employers considering how it helps their former employees. It's not too late to apply. 

Good luck with your job prospects Arcop, sending positive vibes and smiles for these changes in your life.


----------



## dither

Arco,
when i left a previous employer,after god knows how many years, to be where i am now, i was scared, the unknown, have i messed up here ? Etc. And it WAS  a steep learning curve, but y'know what? For the first couple of years it didn't feel like work, it really WAS a breath of fresh air.
Now i find myself souring again , in need of a move once more, but there are no choices for me now.

Good luck with your's,
dither.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Pandora said:


> If you walked then no unemployment benefits? I hope that is not the case, you deserve them if you qualify and it is no skin off your employer's nose, they carry UI anyways. With each claim the insurance goes up but it's one of the more modest expenses for employers considering how it helps their former employees. It's not too late to apply.
> 
> Good luck with your job prospects Arcop, sending positive vibes and smiles for these changes in your life.



Nope, no unemployment benefits. I just have to get another job. There are other people out there who would need those benefits more than I would, anyhow. Thanks for the good vibes!


----------



## Plasticweld

Arcopitcairn said:


> Nope, no unemployment benefits. I just have to get another job. There are other people out there who would need those benefits more than I would, anyhow.




Your a good man!


----------



## Plasticweld

Arcopitcairn said:


> Nope, no unemployment benefits. I just have to get another job. There are other people out there who would need those benefits more than I would, anyhow.




Your a good man!



*Just a few days ago I posted two hateful things, perhaps three. That was wrong. Vigilance and introspection is the price I suppose I have to pay.* 


This is the beginnings of wisdom


----------



## Pandora

I always suggest my employees get their benefits, they worked hard, earned them to use until a job is found. As an employer I must carry insurance, pay into the fund on both Federal and State levels. Knowing my money is being used by my employees too feels good. I see it at work in our print family as that little something to tide over until work is found. I have seen it abused as well, former employees not reporting they are working while collecting benefits, other end of the spectrum. Honest and proud most all are though.

Just wanted to say your book arrived yesterday though hubby ordered a while ago, it went to junk mail  which I never check. Yesterday I did and there were two notices, silly me. That cover is intriguing, can't wait to dive in! Good luck in all you do Arcop, I, like the others, know you are talented and resourceful.


----------



## TKent

There is an impact to employers in that the rate my small business pays in is based on claims my employees make. I have a small tennis business and have never had an employee file a claim so don't know the impact.

And I'm not suggesting anything about using them just mentioning there is an impact.


Pandora said:


> If you walked then no unemployment benefits? I hope that is not the case, you deserve them if you qualify and it is no skin off your employer's nose, they carry UI anyways. With each claim the insurance goes up but it's one of the more modest expenses for employers considering how it helps their former employees. It's not too late to apply.
> 
> Good luck with your job prospects Arcop, sending positive vibes and smiles for these changes in your life.


----------



## TKent

Arco what is the name of your ebook? Would love to check it out.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Pandora said:


> I always suggest my employees get their benefits, they worked hard, earned them to use until a job is found. As an employer I must carry insurance, pay into the fund on both Federal and State levels. Knowing my money is being used by my employees too feels good. I see it at work in our print family as that little something to tide over until work is found. I have seen it abused as well, former employees not reporting they are working while collecting benefits, other end of the spectrum. Honest and proud most all are though.
> 
> Just wanted to say your book arrived yesterday though hubby ordered a while ago, it went to junk mail  which I never check. Yesterday I did and there were two notices, silly me. That cover is intriguing, can't wait to dive in! Good luck in all you do Arcop, I, like the others, know you are talented and resourceful.



If I had not half quit, half got fired, I might consider it. But my situation is such that I have to act faster than the slow wheels of government benefits turn.

P.S. Thanks a million for buying my book! Unfortunately, it will more than likely offend you, so you have my apologies in advance.


----------



## Pandora

Yes our rate is pretty high. We went from 31 employees to 4 over a decade.UI in line with workers comp or health is relatively inexpensive. The rating goes up by percentage so small companies usually don't see huge hikes unless like us there was a massive lay off, closed two locations during the recession. It would be rare for us to fight benefits, I think twice in 2 decades. I just see it as earned and so does UI. The employers must have very good cause or the benefits go to the employee, as it should be.


----------



## Pandora

Arcopitcairn said:


> If I had not half quit, half got fired, I might consider it. But my situation is such that I have to act faster than the slow wheels of government benefits turn.
> 
> P.S. Thanks a million for buying my book! Unfortunately, it will more than likely offend you, so you have my apologies in advance.


 It hasn't yet, I like your style Arcop but you know that. I'm a tough old broad too . . . ha!

If you don't find a job in no time go online to your UI office you can apply there now and get what you deserve. You will have to appear once and then receive a rechargeable debit card. Benefits within a couple weeks in your pocket. If your employer fights it and wins which is rare you must pay back what benefits you have received. Tribunals most often favor the employee unless there is illegal activity or you out right quit without notice or go awol for days. The employer must show documentation, warnings, records of misconduct, etc. Good luck again and thanks for sharing your book with us, very cool.


----------



## TKent

That is good to know Pandora. My husband is in real estate, so recession hit his business pretty hard too. The few employees in my tennis business work from home and they love that so much there hasn't been much turnover thank goodness. 



Pandora said:


> Yes our rate is pretty high. We went from 31 employees to 4 over a decade.UI in line with workers comp or health is relatively inexpensive. The rating goes up by percentage so small companies usually don't see huge hikes unless like us there was a massive lay off, closed two locations during the recession. It would be rare for us to fight benefits, I think twice in 2 decades. I just see it as earned and so does UI. The employers must have very good cause or the benefits go to the employee, as it should be.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

So I went to a horror convention today with my friend, Aaron. It was pretty cool. There were a bunch of horror celebrities there, like Adrienne King, Michael Berryman, and Herschel from the Walking Dead. There were other celebrities there, too, Like Bill Sadler, Kane (WWE Superstar), and the guy that plays Hannibal Lecter on the TV series. I'm not much for autographs, but it's always interesting to look at celebrities, like at a zoo.


 I was particularly taken by Sheryl Lee, the woman who played Laura Palmer on Twin Peaks. But I had nothing to say to her. I wish I did. I wish that she would have been quite taken by my unique views and conversational skills. I wish I could have charmed her enough that she would have liked to have had a drink. But no.


 It was crowded, with tons of people in cool costumes, and lots of dealers with interesting things that I could not afford. The joint was jumping, with so much to see it was almost too much. But there are always the things I notice. The people who are alone, odd, or too strange to even fit in at a horror show. There were the celebrities that no one was lined up for, with a table full of unsigned pictures. The artists who were showing their wares, but sold very little. I hated to walk on by. I wish I had enough money to buy something from every table, not just for me, but for them.


 There were writers there, too, hawking their books.  


 There was a whole hall filled with masks, a giant room. They call it Mask Fest. It was rather impressive. A lot of wonderful talent was on display. Tables full of latex, eyeless monster heads everywhere.


 I bought a Halloween 3 button set, a Bigfoot air-freshener for the car, a wanted poster of BOB from Twin Peaks, two packs of vintage Fright Film trading cards (With bubblegum intact), and a winter hat with Farmer Vincent from Motel Hell (Decked out in his pig head, holding his chainsaw.) So I was happy with my little haul of gimcracks and gewgaws


 My friend Aaron and I had been planning on attending this con for the last 8 or 9 months. But there didn't seem to be a lot of excitement in either of us. We'd planned on staying all day, catching maybe a panel or watching the costume contest. But the day waned, he was tired, and there didn't seem that there was much there for us in our moods, with our troubles. And it was so very crowded.


 I felt alone there, even with the crowds. Separate. I'm not sure what it was. I felt like a black hole in the world, an inky mass of nothingness. I did have a little fun, but there's always that dark lining to the silver cloud. I'm sure that there were a lot of people there that I would like to know, but never will.  


 Aaron didn't want to hang out afterward. My friend Kristen didn't want to hang out either. I am alone and I do not want to be alone tonight. I'm watching The Shining as I type this. I might watch one of the Halloween movies next, or maybe The Prowler. Who knows?


----------



## Pandora

I'm alone too , husband gone this weekend and everything everyone around me feels dysfunctional.

The blue funk that comes after a major stress/change like your recent job loss must be to blame. Hard to enjoy things you otherwise would. People you otherwise could. Strangers look happier than usual making it worse and feeling like you just can't fit in. This has been me some months now, really almost a year. Our family is in turmoil, you too with your Mother's health.  It does feel like a black hole with no light in sight but hope. I hope this, I wish for that. _The_ _Shining _is a favorite movie of my son's. I have it on his book list for the next round. I got _From a Buick 8_ and _The Gunslinger_ instead.

The little trinkets were nice to gather, that can cheer a little. One of our x employees, a student who has moved on to be an art director, loved these types of shows and would go in costume. Maybe looking back it will still be a nice memory for you. Good thoughts for you Arcop, hopefully life will brighten for us both soon. I would say it can't get much worse but I know it can.

I taped the Wisconsin Badger game to fast forward through, my Bulldogs didn't play today. I'm going to make a tiny Homerun pizza, have a bottle of Zen Zin and go to bed with my lady dogs. Hubby comes home tomorrow night, he is depressed. It is draining to be with his very ill Mama, she can't speak or move, just lies in bed, so sad. Just lots of hard life around those I love lately.

Be well . . .


----------



## E. Zamora

That was a great little read, Arcopitcairn.



> There were the celebrities that no one was lined up for, with a table full of unsigned pictures.



That's a particularly poignant image.

Thanks for posting.

Esteban


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Pandora said:


> I'm alone too , husband gone this weekend and everything everyone around me feels dysfunctional.
> 
> The blue funk that comes after a major stress/change like your recent job loss must be to blame. Hard to enjoy things you otherwise would. People you otherwise could. Strangers look happier than usual making it worse and feeling like you just can't fit in. This has been me some months now, really almost a year. Our family is in turmoil, you too with your Mother's health.  It does feel like a black hole with no light in sight but hope. I hope this, I wish for that. _The_ _Shining _is a favorite movie of my son's. I have it on his book list for the next round. I got _From a Buick 8_ and _The Gunslinger_ instead.
> 
> The little trinkets were nice to gather, that can cheer a little. One of our x employees, a student who has moved on to be an art director, loved these types of shows and would go in costume. Maybe looking back it will still be a nice memory for you. Good thoughts for you Arcop, hopefully life will brighten for us both soon. I would say it can't get much worse but I know it can.
> 
> I taped the Wisconsin Badger game to fast forward through, my Bulldogs didn't play today. I'm going to make a tiny Homerun pizza, have a bottle of Zen Zin and go to bed with my lady dogs. Hubby comes home tomorrow night, he is depressed. It is draining to be with his very ill Mama, she can't speak or move, just lies in bed, so sad. Just lots of hard life around those I love lately.
> 
> Be well . . .



Well, I sure hope you enjoy your evening Give a smile to your husband from me when he gets back.


----------



## Plasticweld

*From the personal diary of Sheryl Lee*





_Don't ask how, but I managed to hack into Sheryl's  personal blog, where she writes about the day at Horror Convention._ 

It was the same old stuff same old people, nerds asking the same old questions, it never stops. 

I eyed a young man, I could tell he was watching me, but he would not approach.  He had a certain air about him, like there was depth to his character.  I would have given anything to talk with him, somebody who had a unique view on things, someone who saw me as Sheryl Lee instead of Laura Palmer.  I was his to be had, as much as I tried to make eye contact, send him a clue, he did not bite.  Just one drink, one meaningful conversation was all I was hoping for... Well maybe I see him next year and we will chat.





It's not much... but I hope it cheers you up and puts a smile on your face...Bob


----------



## Deleted member 56686

Plasticweld said:


> _Don't ask how, but I managed to hack into Sheryl's  personal blog, where she writes about the day at Horror Convention._
> 
> It was the same old stuff same old people, nerds asking the same old questions, it never stops.
> 
> I eyed a young man, I could tell he was watching me, but he would not approach.  He had a certain air about him, like there was depth to his character.  I would have given anything to talk with him, somebody who had a unique view on things, someone who saw me as Sheryl Lee instead of Laura Palmer.  I was his to be had, as much as I tried to make eye contact, send him a clue, he did not bite.  Just one drink, one meaningful conversation was all I was hoping for... Well maybe I see him next year and we will chat.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> It's not much... but I hope it cheers you up and puts a smile on your face...Bob



She's actually pretty good.


----------



## TKent

Oh yes it was 



> It's not much...


----------



## Gofa

Acro.  One thing i do over the years is to wave at myself in the past or the future. I started with getting angry when stuck in traffic.  I would give myself a wave into the future and wave back as i moved out of the jam. The more you do it the less situation and time trapped you feel. In a shitty time wave into the future in good times remember and answer with a wave back.  My biggest problem has been a false belief that it will always be like this. These problems will never end. When i wave up or down the time line i counter this belief.  In response to the many troubles in my life, living well in the future is my best revenge.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Plasticweld said:


> _Don't ask how, but I managed to hack into Sheryl's  personal blog, where she writes about the day at Horror Convention._
> 
> It was the same old stuff same old people, nerds asking the same old questions, it never stops.
> 
> I eyed a young man, I could tell he was watching me, but he would not approach.  He had a certain air about him, like there was depth to his character.  I would have given anything to talk with him, somebody who had a unique view on things, someone who saw me as Sheryl Lee instead of Laura Palmer.  I was his to be had, as much as I tried to make eye contact, send him a clue, he did not bite.  Just one drink, one meaningful conversation was all I was hoping for... Well maybe I see him next year and we will chat.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> It's not much... but I hope it cheers you up and puts a smile on your face...Bob



Ha! Classic

Nice one. Big, big smile.


----------



## TKent

What a wonderful thought!  I'm definitely sticking this one in my survival kit 



Gofa said:


> Acro.  One thing i do over the years is to wave at myself in the past or the future. I started with getting angry when stuck in traffic.  I would give myself a wave into the future and wave back as i moved out of the jam. The more you do it the less situation and time trapped you feel. In a shitty time wave into the future in good times remember and answer with a wave back.  My biggest problem has been a false belief that it will always be like this. These problems will never end. When i wave up or down the time line i counter this belief.  In response to the many troubles in my life, living well in the future is my best revenge.


----------



## TKent

Hey Pandora,

It sure is tough when a loved one is depressed. And when one of you isn't there to pick up the other, doubly so. I mentioned my husband is in real estate and he had a rough bout with depression a few years back when all felt lost and nothing but black at the end of the tunnel. Happy to say that he is out of that funk now. I love Gofa's post. I'll definitely be waving back and forth from here on out.



Pandora said:


> he is depressed


----------



## dither

Plasticweld said:


> _Don't ask how, but I managed to hack into Sheryl's  personal blog, where she writes about the day at Horror Convention._
> 
> It was the same old stuff same old people, nerds asking the same old questions, it never stops.
> 
> I eyed a young man, I could tell he was watching me, but he would not approach.  He had a certain air about him, like there was depth to his character.  I would have given anything to talk with him, somebody who had a unique view on things, someone who saw me as Sheryl Lee instead of Laura Palmer.  I was his to be had, as much as I tried to make eye contact, send him a clue, he did not bite.  Just one drink, one meaningful conversation was all I was hoping for... Well maybe I see him next year and we will chat.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> It's not much... but I hope it cheers you up and puts a smile on your face...Bob



That is so sad, it's the story of my life.
Why can't we talk?
Nobody dares to make the first move.
We're so scared of rejection.

And it's hell, it really is.


----------



## Deleted member 56686

dither said:


> That is so sad, it's the story of my life.
> Why can't we talk?
> Nobody dares to make the first move.
> We're so scared of rejection.
> 
> And it's hell, it really is.




I hear you. I pretty much have lived it myself.


----------



## dither

Two people,
He and she,
eyes meet, across a crowded room, on a bus, in a shop, or just  out and about;
It might have been/COULD have been, the sweetest, most perfect match, but they didn't dare.
Social convention, to her way of thinking, demands that he makes the first move, she couldn't possibly.
So it doesn't happen, they'll never know.
Why can't she see that she holds all the aces?


----------



## Plasticweld

Regret, there is nothing more powerful, it has shaped who I am. 

I have made some vows in my life; all because of the despair I have felt over what I have _not_ done.  I am probably the most forward person you would ever meet _today ,_all because I vowed to never again not be the one to not say something, ask something, do something.  I consider myself successful yet on the other hand I no of no one else who has failed at as many things as I.


  What I have learned is that it hurts less to fail, than it does to have regret.


----------



## dither

Plasticweld said:


> What I have learned is that it hurts less to fail, than it does to have regret.



If only PW, if only.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Finally finished my current writing project (First draft). Have sixty-five thousand words worth of short stories about the same character, told with a loose, connected narrative thread. I'm pretty happy with it. Just have to flesh a few things out, tie up a few nitpicks, and edit it. I'm thinking about the horror branch of Samhain publishing for submission. Anybody have any experience with them?

And thank goodness for nicotine patches. One of the side effects of the patch is that they give you vivid dreams. Based on one short dream this morning, I have concocted my next long term writing project. It's gonna be fun, I think. I just have to be careful to take care of the first project before I start the next one.

No news on the job front. I have a good lead, and I'm going to call the guy tomorrow and make sure my name is in there.

My mother has a strange tumor on her ovary, apparently. So we'll have to see what happens there.

So, all proceeds apace.


----------



## dale

Arcopitcairn said:


> Finally finished my current writing project (First draft). Have sixty-five thousand words worth of short stories about the same character, told with a loose, connected narrative thread. I'm pretty happy with it. Just have to flesh a few things out, tie up a few nitpicks, and edit it. I'm thinking about the horror branch of Samhain publishing for submission. Anybody have any experience with them?
> 
> And thank goodness for nicotine patches. One of the side effects of the patch is that they give you vivid dreams. Based on one short dream this morning, I have concocted my next long term writing project. It's gonna be fun, I think. I just have to be careful to take care of the first project before I start the next one.
> 
> No news on the job front. I have a good lead, and I'm going to call the guy tomorrow and make sure my name is in there.
> 
> My mother has a strange tumor on her ovary, apparently. So we'll have to see what happens there.
> 
> So, all proceeds apace.



samhain is a decent place, but i'm not sure if they accept short story collections. a lot of publishers don't. congrats on finishing up and having 
enough for a full book. that publisher that published our shorts takes short story collections. but of course, you pretty much have to do your
 own promotion to get any sales. they have a new editor now, though. she's good. wish she would have been there to edit my novel when
 i submitted there. but yeah...try samhain and the bigger small pubs 1st. good luck.


----------



## TKent

Wow!!! Congrats!!  Also, I keep meaning to do a review on Amazon for H&O. Will do so this weekend! I am also finishing Terry D. book (which is VERY good) and hope to do the same for him.  

On another note, I could not find you on twitter.  Please PM me with your Twitter handle!  I want to take a look and maybe have some suggestions!!  I don't even have a book but everytime I tweet a line from my wattpad story with the right hashtags and a link, the number of readers goes up by 50 or so, so I just think a link to your amazon book with a cool line (and you have SOOOOO many of them) being tweeted daily can not hurt!!  In marketing, its all in the numbers, you've got to get the title in front of as many people as you can and some are going to buy!!  

So sorry about your mom  Fingers crossed it goes well.



Arcopitcairn said:


> Finally finished my current writing project (First draft). Have sixty-five thousand words worth of short stories about the same character, told with a loose, connected narrative thread. I'm pretty happy with it. Just have to flesh a few things out, tie up a few nitpicks, and edit it. I'm thinking about the horror branch of Samhain publishing for submission. Anybody have any experience with them?
> 
> And thank goodness for nicotine patches. One of the side effects of the patch is that they give you vivid dreams. Based on one short dream this morning, I have concocted my next long term writing project. It's gonna be fun, I think. I just have to be careful to take care of the first project before I start the next one.
> 
> No news on the job front. I have a good lead, and I'm going to call the guy tomorrow and make sure my name is in there.
> 
> My mother has a strange tumor on her ovary, apparently. So we'll have to see what happens there.
> 
> So, all proceeds apace.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

This is only really for anyone who has seen Friday the 13th Part Five (A new Beginning).

So there's this scene in the movie where a fellow runs to an outhouse to do his business. His girlfriend shakes the outhouse to mess with him. They sing a little song together while he's doing his business. Then Jason (The imposter one) kills them. You know, just another scene in another slasher flick. But then I found this video:

[video=youtube;8RLW4fjN88U]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8RLW4fjN88U[/video]

I'm not sure why, but the fact that someone would take that little scene and make something like this...well it really makes me smile. It's so silly. I love this stupid thing. If any of you dig the Friday the 13th flicks, you'll probably laugh, too. He goes to outer space in the end. Heh.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

900 posts. That's not bad for someone like me

Been a tough week. Cannot get job and have been hungry. I've been hungry in the past, when I was younger, but half-starving at my age is rather disheartening. I'm not sure, given my history, why I thought this, but I always reckoned that when I reached the age I am now, I would always have a little cash in my pocket and things would be good, or at least decent. I'm so lucky to have a few people who care if I live or not. There's not a whole lot that's easy about me, and I'm amazed that I have such fine friends. I'm sure I will find some way to alienate them.

Finally got a Twitter account recently. It's my first attempt at social media. It's interesting. I'm surprised at just how much I want to check on it, that something I was easily able to do without has become a growing concern, it's odd. A fellow forum member compelled me to sign up, so that I could push my little Kindle book, and I've been doing that, but I've also enjoyed the swirl of opinions and links that showed up after I started following people I'm interested in. I draw the line at Facebook, though.

I've noticed something else. Can you just develop dyslexia? Probably not. But as I've been typing stories lately, I've been having to correct a ton of mistakes as I go along. A bunch of scrambled letters. I can't seem to stop doing it. Every story or poem I write, even every post, they're becoming more of a struggle. It worries me slightly. This post here, I've kept count. I've scrambled letters or made mistakes twelve times. Thirteen now, as I just had to fix the last sentence. Weird.

October is coming Trying to get into the Halloween spirit. Watched Halloween 3 yesterday, and I'm reading Gunnar Hansen's book about the making of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Mistakes fourteen and fifteen. Damn!). Love me some Halloween!


----------



## Arcopitcairn

For no other reason other than I felt like it, here's a list of stuff I like. I like:


 Bronze age Marvel covers.
 The _football fight_ from Flash Gordon.
 When Snake Plissken says “President of what?”
_Baker Street _by Gerry Rafferty.
 The fact that there are no obvious comic influences on Michael Golden's art.
_Ocean, _by Lush.
 B-Wing fighters.
 The album cover for 'In the Pink', by _Dizzy Bitch._
 Nutty Mads from Marx.
 The opening credits for _Bionic six, Mighty Orbots, _and _Galaxy Rangers._
 Esquivel.
 Big Jim's P.A.C.K.
 Alex Schomburg covers.
 Dogs Playing Poker.
 The 'World of Wood' poster number 4.
 The 1950's idea of what the future would be like.
 Mars Attacks! Cards.
_Close Encounters of the Third Kind._
 Captain Canuck.
_New York Movie, _by Edward Hopper.
 An arched back, and the over-the-shoulder 'Go Ahead' smile.
 Mellow cremes in the Fall.
 Classic 2000AD Judge Dredd.
 The first 5 or 6 years of MTV.
 The hospital shoot-out in _Hard Boiled._
 Linnea Quigley in _Return of the Living Dead._
 When girls wear dresses.
 Galaga.
 The little metal spray bottles of Binaca.  
 Spaghetti with smoked sausage in it.
_First, Pacific, _and _Eclipse_ independent comics.
 Egon Schiele and Alphonse Mucha.
 The _Purple Rain _soundtrack.
 The _Burger Chef _fixins bar.
 The sublime creepiness of Japanese ball jointed dolls.
 Horror movies and a cookout on Halloween.
 A cigarette when you really really need one.




 Not much going on lately. I'm very happy Fall is here. I've been getting up very early these days, and I go outside for a smoke when it's still dark. The other morning, I was looking at a cloud hanging motionless up in the dark sky, lit up by the remaining Moon. As I smoked and watched, I wondered if anyone else was looking at that cloud at that exact moment. Then, within three or four minutes, the cloud dissipated into a wisp of nothing, just disappeared right before my eyes and was gone. Maybe I busted it


----------



## TKent

OMG ARCO!!  I was so excited to tell you this, I almost TRIPPED over my keyboard (with my fingers that is...).  DRUM ROLL PLEASE.......

TWIN PEAKS IS COMING BACK IN 2016!!   Also, don't know what kind of music you like off the top of my head (but could figure it out by going to the song threads I'm sure) but since I know you likey Laura Palmer, I've included a video below of a song titled "Laura Palmer" by one of my fav UK bands - to get you in the mood.

http://variety.com/2014/tv/news/twin-peaks-revival-to-air-on-showtime-in-2016-1201322329/

[video=youtube_share;JQnSc0bczg0]http://youtu.be/JQnSc0bczg0[/video]


----------



## Bishop

Arcopitcairn said:


> When Snake Plissken says “President of what?”









"President of what?"

"That's not funny, Plissken."


----------



## Arcopitcairn

TKent said:


> OMG ARCO!!  I was so excited to tell you this, I almost TRIPPED over my keyboard (with my fingers that is...).  DRUM ROLL PLEASE.......
> 
> TWIN PEAKS IS COMING BACK IN 2016!!   Also, don't know what kind of music you like off the top of my head (but could figure it out by going to the song threads I'm sure) but since I know you likey Laura Palmer, I've included a video below of a song titled "Laura Palmer" by one of my fav UK bands - to get you in the mood.
> 
> http://variety.com/2014/tv/news/twin-peaks-revival-to-air-on-showtime-in-2016-1201322329/
> 
> [video=youtube_share;JQnSc0bczg0]http://youtu.be/JQnSc0bczg0[/video]



Awesome news and a cool song! I'll definitely be watching that when it comes back

- - - Updated - - -



Bishop said:


> "President of what?"
> 
> "That's not funny, Plissken."



Escape From New York is one of my favorite flicks of all time. Have you seen the new ReAction Snake Plissken figures? They're pretty boss in a retro kind of way


----------



## Bishop

Arcopitcairn said:


> Escape From New York is one of my favorite flicks of all time. Have you seen the new ReAction Snake Plissken figures? They're pretty boss in a retro kind of way



It is my favorite of all time! And yes, I've got them on my amazon wish list, I really want one.

Also. *THIS* is one of the coolest posters for the film, EVER.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Yep, that poster is bad-ass. I'm a complete slave to almost everything classic Carpenter. Just some of the coolest stuff ever!


----------



## Bishop

Arcopitcairn said:


> Yep, that poster is bad-ass. I'm a complete slave to almost everything classic Carpenter. Just some of the coolest stuff ever!



Same ^.^


----------



## Arcopitcairn

I found these interesting.

http://www.neatorama.com/2014/07/01/Anatomical-Venus-Medical-Models-from-18th-Century-Europe/

Of course, being me, I envision them waking up.

- - - Updated - - -



Bishop said:


> Same ^.^



Check this out:

http://toynewsi.com/news.php?catid=139&itemid=22980

And this:

http://www.comicbookresources.com/?page=article&id=54326

You probably already knew about them, but just in case...


----------



## TKent

Arco have you been to any of the 'Bodies' exhibits where they have all the dead bodies without their skin??  Imagine "Night at the Museum" meets "The Bodies Exhibit"....

- - - Updated - - -

I know what I'm getting Bishop for X-mas 



> Check this out:
> 
> http://toynewsi.com/news.php?catid=139&itemid=22980


----------



## Arcopitcairn

The 'Bodies' exhibit, though interesting, is also troubling. The Chinese cadavers used in these exhibits are said to be from unwilling participants, unclaimed religious and political executions. From reading about it, it's a distinct possibility. That possibility is enough to make me want to stay away from it. But it is a compelling display.

I like the Medical Venus because it is art that contains no actual human remains. They're made of wax.


----------



## TKent

Yikes  



> The Chinese cadavers used in these exhibits are said to be from unwilling participants, unclaimed religious and political executions.


----------



## E. Zamora

Chinese cadavers? That explains a lot. An hour after going through the exhibit, I wanted to see it again.


----------



## Gofa

I'm kinda hearing that movie byline. "No actual (animal now substitute) Chinese person was killed or injured in creating this exhibit"

In the fine print "we only used religious martyrs and people the state murdered for political reason. Oh and PS we only skinned a few of them"

PPS please remember the food stalls on level 2 which also have not used any exhibit Donors as an input source.

Oh dear


----------



## dale

E. Zamora said:


> Chinese cadavers? That explains a lot. An hour after going through the exhibit, I wanted to see it again.


....................................


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Spent Halloween alone. Watched Halloween and Halloween 2, as you do...

Have begun formulating ideas for new book containing, among other things, a space princess, a caveman, and a robot. I hope it will be fun.

Having rough time lately, but rough times of some other members, both here and departed, have put things in more of a useful perspective. I don't have it so hard compared to some.

I fear this holiday season, though. It will be bleak.


----------



## Bruno Spatola

We all have problems, it's true, and some worse than others, but that doesn't lessen the leeching effect they have on us; that's a universal truth, I believe. Empathy can soothe the soul, no doubt, but it can't heal the cracks. Our intelligence won't allow it -- we over-analyze, and fret, and anticipate the future, millions of times in our lives. We're all trapped in our own heads. You can't have a holiday from yourself, even when you sleep.

I'm sorry to hear things aren't so great for you right now. I don't have to go far back in my memory to recall similar times, and I know the black hole that can form inside. There are good days and bad days, sure. You laugh, you cry; sometimes you do nothing at all, looking at your wall as if it will open up and show you an exit. And yet, somehow, you keep going, because you are worth the gold in your bones. Even if it's simply showing your art to the world, or whatever, there's a reason to trudge through the mire of bullshit.

I don't think I'm being very helpful. I guess what I'm saying is you seem like a pretty strong person to me, and a generally cool human being. I doubt that's consoling, I'm aware of that -- I know it, in fact. I've been on the receiving end many a time. No-one truly understands how you feel -- only you can fight your demons.

Sorry for the rambling, pseudo-intellectual babble. I hope things will improve for you, and soon. If I were religious, I'd pray for you, but I hope my thoughts will suffice. All the best.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

http://news360.com/article/264097108/#

This is truly one of the best things I've ever seen. I had to post it.


----------



## Gargh

Arcopitcairn said:


> http://news360.com/article/264097108/#
> 
> This is truly one of the best things I've ever seen. I had to post it.



Love it! I like street art anyway, but those are really nice. I particularly like the fish... it looks like it's pitying the chairs stuck chained above ground.

ETA: Re: Holidays and, incidentally, street art... have you ever seen this?


----------



## dither

Very well put Bruno dude.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Had a dream about OZ. A permanent portal opened to OZ, and a hastily constructed, modular command center had been set up in the grasslands of the Emerald City, next to the yellow brick road. It was a large portal, looked like a Stargate, from the movie. Trucks and equipment could be driven through. In between the command center and the Emerald City, there was a beehive of construction going on. There were dump trucks and bulldozers moving soil and leveling for more modular trailers to serve as ambassador residences, science labs, and security checkpoints and barracks.  


 The 'G7' nations were all forming little diplomatic footholds in the area just outside the portal. Full political and trade relations were being formed with OZ. The command post, situated right next to the portal, was a large modular complex. It looked like it was built from fancy cargo containers. Everyone who came through the portal had to pass through the command center for assignments and inoculations (as protection against what, I don't know). It was a madhouse, a flurry of human activity.


 I used to be a sidekick to some superhero who moved on to something else. I was very fast, very strong, and very hard to hurt. I was not very well-known, though. I came as part of the American delegation, a member of the security force. But I didn't really care all that much about that. My plan was just to get to OZ, leave my post, and explore. The next day, I was due to act as security for a team of surveyors, cartographers, and biologists. I planned to accompany them through most of the three-month expedition, but then I would strike out on my own.


 So I walked out of the command center, pushing past throngs of scientists, construction workers, and low-level ambassadorial aides, and I looked at the Emerald City. We were a quarter mile away from it, and you still had to crane your neck up to see the peaks of the green spires. It was one of those weird days when a storm was coming but it was still nice where you are. Thunder clouds were approaching, and lightning bolts competed with the sunlight for brightness. The skies were finally darkening completely as I made my way up the yellow brick road to the open front gate of the city. It had not yet started to rain, but people were hurrying, some trying to get into the city, some trying to get back to the command center. At this point, I had not yet laid eyes on a citizen of OZ.


 A woman I recognized as one of the aides walked out of the gates. She looked frazzled.


 “They're crazy!” She said, looking exasperated.


 “Oh?” I said with a smile.


 “Yeah, I'm banned from town until tomorrow,” she said as she lit up a cigarette. “They appointed me Minister of Defense of the Morals of OZ when I walked in the door and forced me to give a speech.”


 “How'd you do?” I asked.


 “When I tried to bluff my way through a few modest proposals, they booed me off the podium.” She exhaled a lungful of smoke. “They appoint everybody something. There was a line of people after me, ready to give their forced speeches. These people are impossible! I don't know how we're going to ever have normal, diplomatic relations.”


 “I'm sure you guys'll figure something out.” I said. “But in the meantime, just look around! It's a whole other world.”


 She dropped her cigarette and crushed it with her foot on the yellow bricks. “Yeah, a whole other world.” 


 She walked away. I looked at her cigarette butt for a second. And I went into the Emerald City.




 I love nicotine patches. They give me the most detailed and cool dreams.


----------



## dale

Arcopitcairn said:


> I love nicotine patches. They give me the most detailed and cool dreams.



you should try sinequan for some intense dreams. well, actually, you really shouldn't. they're horrifying. i used to wake up thinking....
"oh my god. what am i? some kind of sick maniac?" but then i talked to other people who had taken it, and they had the same 
experience while being prescribed the crap. it was like being in a horror movie every night.


----------



## dither

Arcopitcairn said:


> Had a dream about OZ. A permanent portal opened to OZ, and a hastily constructed, modular command center had been set up in the grasslands of the Emerald City, next to the yellow brick road. It was a large portal, looked like a Stargate, from the movie. Trucks and equipment could be driven through. In between the command center and the Emerald City, there was a beehive of construction going on. There were dump trucks and bulldozers moving soil and leveling for more modular trailers to serve as ambassador residences, science labs, and security checkpoints and barracks.
> 
> 
> The 'G7' nations were all forming little diplomatic footholds in the area just outside the portal. Full political and trade relations were being formed with OZ. The command post, situated right next to the portal, was a large modular complex. It looked like it was built from fancy cargo containers. Everyone who came through the portal had to pass through the command center for assignments and inoculations (as protection against what, I don't know). It was a madhouse, a flurry of human activity.
> 
> 
> I used to be a sidekick to some superhero who moved on to something else. I was very fast, very strong, and very hard to hurt. I was not very well-known, though. I came as part of the American delegation, a member of the security force. But I didn't really care all that much about that. My plan was just to get to OZ, leave my post, and explore. The next day, I was due to act as security for a team of surveyors, cartographers, and biologists. I planned to accompany them through most of the three-month expedition, but then I would strike out on my own.
> 
> 
> So I walked out of the command center, pushing past throngs of scientists, construction workers, and low-level ambassadorial aides, and I looked at the Emerald City. We were a quarter mile away from it, and you still had to crane your neck up to see the peaks of the green spires. It was one of those weird days when a storm was coming but it was still nice where you are. Thunder clouds were approaching, and lightning bolts competed with the sunlight for brightness. The skies were finally darkening completely as I made my way up the yellow brick road to the open front gate of the city. It had not yet started to rain, but people were hurrying, some trying to get into the city, some trying to get back to the command center. At this point, I had not yet laid eyes on a citizen of OZ.
> 
> 
> A woman I recognized as one of the aides walked out of the gates. She looked frazzled.
> 
> 
> “They're crazy!” She said, looking exasperated.
> 
> 
> “Oh?” I said with a smile.
> 
> 
> “Yeah, I'm banned from town until tomorrow,” she said as she lit up a cigarette. “They appointed me Minister of Defense of the Morals of OZ when I walked in the door and forced me to give a speech.”
> 
> 
> “How'd you do?” I asked.
> 
> 
> “When I tried to bluff my way through a few modest proposals, they booed me off the podium.” She exhaled a lungful of smoke. “They appoint everybody something. There was a line of people after me, ready to give their forced speeches. These people are impossible! I don't know how we're going to ever have normal, diplomatic relations.”
> 
> 
> “I'm sure you guys'll figure something out.” I said. “But in the meantime, just look around! It's a whole other world.”
> 
> 
> She dropped her cigarette and crushed it with her foot on the yellow bricks. “Yeah, a whole other world.”
> 
> 
> She walked away. I looked at her cigarette butt for a second. And I went into the Emerald City.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> I love nicotine patches. They give me the most detailed and cool dreams.



How DO you guys do that?
Where on earth,does it come from?
And don't say OZ. ;-)

Arco,
with an opening like that, as i'm sure you well know, the possibilities are endless.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

It might be fun to use that dream as a springboard, but if OZ is not public domain (I'd have to check), it'd just be fanfiction. Not my thing. But it was a fantastic dream


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Have always been a fan of mondo video and weird stuff. Recently rediscovered the work of Shaye Saint John. Was familiar with this several years ago, but have recently rediscovered. Enjoy...

[video=youtube;n2RV8js_yWw]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n2RV8js_yWw[/video]


----------



## Arcopitcairn

So my mother had an internal defibrilator put in her chest. Whenever her heart stops, it is going to shock it back to rhythm. I've been spending a lot of time helping her out lately. I'm happy to do it, but I find that I'm not well-suited to the role of caregiver. I'm not mad at her or mean to her, of course I'm not, but it seems like I'm just not one of those people who can fulfill that function easily. I'm doing the best I can.  


 I had a new job lined up, was hired, but I had to back out because of my responsibility to her. There is no money. I do have friends and family to help me out, but there are some days when I can't afford to eat. My clothes are rags. I feel like a homeless person sometimes, then I realize that it would only take one or to bad steps to make that scenario a reality. It's a very interesting situation. Quite stressful. But, not homeless yet, so...


 I'm almost done with my WIP. I've mentioned that it's a series of short stories connected with a very loose narrative. The other day I figured that with just a couple of pages between each story, I can bridge them together into one, semi-cohesive piece. I'm not sure. I'm thinking about it.


 Kindle self-published a little book of poetry. It has been roundly ignored. It's sad. I think that if a few people would give it a chance, they'd get a kick out of it, but they don't seem inclined to do that for me. It's mostly stuff I've posted on this forum, so if you've read any of them, they're okay, yeah? At least fun or interesting in some way. I mean, I'm not crapping diamonds or anything, but there's at least a couple home runs in there, poetry-wise. Ah, well.


 I did leave one poem out. It's called Jesus Christ and the Prophet Muhammad F%#K a Donkey. I couldn't put it in the book for fear of getting banned from Kindle Self-Publishing (Again). Then I figured that there was no place at all that you could post such a poem. Maybe 4-Chan? It's too bad, because it even rhymes

Then there is this:

[video=youtube;ahqcr6Ksaak]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ahqcr6Ksaak[/video]

The lyrics in that song made me laugh, but then the sincerity creeped me out.


----------



## dale

welcome to my world. i've been doing the homecare health thing for my dad for like 6 months now. he's gonna get an insurance settlement here
in a few months, though. so i should be able to hit the highway again by spring. it is kind of a morose life though, sitting here...can't really go out
much and taking care of things...but...i don't want him in a nursing home. he'd hate that.


----------



## Deleted member 56686

Right now I'm living with my mother. She is now a cancer survivor and has had some episodes with A-fib. Her health has deteriorated considerably and her mental capacities aren't exactly stellar these days. I fear that eventually she will be better off in nursing care, but knowing some of the care you might actually get on some of these "homes, that's pretty much a double-edged sword. Anyway I suspect my situation isn't all that unique so fight the good fight guys.


----------



## Kevin

The end-part bother's me, you know...when hospice comes in. I never feel at peace about it, not for them, or me, or anyone else.  It's just over. I have to brace myself and it just sucks bad, anyway. 

Sparks... ah man... so 70s. They could play. They were like ironic and most people didn't get them; like the Tubes. I like the chorus at the end... like a movie soundtrack.. Jenifer Jason Leigh or Christy McNichol... _Foxes.   _Skateboards and feathered hair...


----------



## Arcopitcairn

"Jenifer Jason Leigh or Christy McNichol... _Foxes.   _Skateboards and feathered hair..."

Heh. Nice. I have good memories of the seventies. Everything was Jaws or Star Wars or Happy Days or Grease and on and on...

Yeah fellas, nursing homes are tricky. If you can find the right one, great. If not, it's a nightmare. My mother did some rehab in one, and brutha, it was a _hole_. I couldn't wait to get her out of there. The low point was when she begged me to come and shave her hair off because they wouldn't wash it.


----------



## dale

when i think of the 70s (i was a little kid then) i think of......


----------



## Arcopitcairn

dale said:


> when i think of the 70s (i was a little kid then) i think of......
> 
> View attachment 6917



Hells Yeah. I remember watching 'Kiss Meets the Phantom of the Park' when they showed it on TV. My young mind figured it was the best thing I'd ever see or ever would see


----------



## dale

Arcopitcairn said:


> Hells Yeah. I remember watching 'Kiss Meets the Phantom of the Park' when they showed it on TV. My young mind figured it was the best thing I'd ever see or ever would see



 lol. yeah. i loved it when i was 8 or 9. i bet it's incredibly stupid watching it as an adult, though. matter of fact, i think i'll go to pirates bay right now and get it just to see. ha ha


----------



## Arcopitcairn

My friend and I watched it earlier this year. On fast forward, if that tells you anything. The only parts that are remotely interesting are the parts with KISS in it. Unfortunately, there's a story in the film. They do have super-powers though, so that's cool


----------



## Arcopitcairn

I only really became aware of the plight of Burmese Christians after I saw the most recent Rambo movie, the one from several years ago. Rambo escorts some missionaries into Burma so they can deliver medical supplies and render aid to the Christians. The missionaries get captured and then Rambo goes in and kills all the bad guys. The reason I mention it is because I've found that here in Indianapolis, there is a growing population of Burmese, brought over from their oppressive land by well-meaning church groups. It's nice of them. There's a lot of them now, and they bring with them many interesting Asian grocery stores and such, filled with all manner of odd food. I like that.


 The reason I mention that is because I found myself in a hospital waiting room for several hours the other day and there were many Burmese people there. I wondered what was going through their heads. Who can say? A Burmese family moved into a house next to the mother of my friend, Kristen. The house is slowly taking on a more Asian design aesthetic. There is a tiered garden developing in their back yard, and they grow unfamiliar things there. They painted the bricks on their house pink. They also construct jungle fencing around their flower beds, and even the flowers are unknown to me. I find it all very interesting.


 In that same waiting room, there came a young mother with her baby in a carrier. She was around twenty-two or three, very tidy, very cute, dressed in a nice little black track suit, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. I was listening to John Williams music while I sat there, and I was watching the mother watch her baby. During the Superman theme, the mother gave her baby one of the most tender looks I'd ever seen. It made me smile. But then the look was replaced by something a little different. She raised her eyebrows and sighed, her eyes widening a little, and she produced a crooked smile. I immediately identified the look as one of resignation, like she was thinking: “Well, I've really gone and done it now. I guess I'm a mother.”


 I really wanted to ask her what she was thinking, but I did not, because the world doesn't work that way. _Yoda and the Force _was playing as she was called away by a nurse.  


 I had to go to court on Tuesday. I am in debt. So I was summoned to court to be harassed by a credit card company lawyer. I sat there for two hours and stood before the judge for three minutes. The questions were very simple. I related to them just how destitute I truly was, and they decided to make me come back in March to see if I had any money at that time they could wring from me. I sat there watching the other people go through the same thing. I just let my mind wander.  


 There were cops there.


 Now, I'm no racist, but there is one group of people I hate on sight. I hate cops. F&%$ing hate them. Seriously. When I see one in person, I seethe. I want to take their guns and pistol-whip them. I do not fully understand why I despise cops, but despise them I do. So at the City-County building downtown, I was surrounded by bastard police. As I sat in the courtroom, I started dreaming about running through the halls of the building, performing pro-wrestling moves on the police. Like a whirling dervish, I'd rampage down the corridors of power, delivering heinous clotheslines, thundering suplexes, and tap-out-inducing crossfaces or arm-bars. It made me think of a character called 'The Invincible Wrestler' (Or maybe a better name) and all he would do is wander the country, insanely attacking people with crushing moves or submissions, pinning them for the three-count or making them tap. He'd have a ghost or robot referee calling his freelance, spontaneous matches. The authorities would try and stop him, but he could not be stopped! They'd have to call in a crack team of pro-wrestlers to track him down and try and pin him (Then he'd lose his power). The idea made me 


 Then there was this:

[video=youtube;Wx8hjW7FqKE]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wx8hjW7FqKE[/video]


That video also made me smile. It's neat.

Had a decent Thanksgiving, which was a nice surprise. There was much pie.


----------



## dither

Arco,
the trouble with cops is,
like so many jobs nowadays,
is that many people are doing it for the wrong reasons,
and/or seem to have become soured by the system.


----------



## dale

my brother in law is an indy metro cop. i'll tell ya the problem with those people. the 1st 2 "rookie" years, the department
tosses them in the brightwood neighborhood. the most violent gang-infested hood in indy. so of course they end up being jerks
after a couple years of that.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

dale said:


> my brother in law is an indy metro cop. i'll tell ya the problem with those people. the 1st 2 "rookie" years, the department
> tosses them in the brightwood neighborhood. the most violent gang-infested hood in indy. so of course they end up being jerks
> after a couple years of that.



Yep. That'd do it.


----------



## Kevin

Sorry... the part about the cops made me laugh... We have two kinds here, LAPD and the sheriffs. Used to be either would beat the crap out of you at the drop of a hat... I mean, not always... but if like you ever got in a car chase that scared them, you were getting a skull fracture. No exaggeration there. Always, the chases ended with the person getting an ambulance ride for resisting. Till Rodney King. Anyway... the sheriffs are still thugs. They spend their two-year apprenticeships as guards at the jails. They deal with the worst and are taught all about being brutal; using brutality. I could go on and on... I get along fine. Never had a run in, don't even get tickets, but I know: sheriffs are thugs. Lately the feds have been investigating. Whatever. It's a never ending battle... the balance between upholding the law and thuggery. I get it, but assuming everyone is a scumbag; they victimize the innocent, along with the guilty. I guess there's worse. In Providence they used to knock your teeth out for resisting, like if you assaulted a cop, hit him, they'd hold you down and bash them out with their nightsticks.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Well, they don't hire normal people to be cops. Law enforcement don't want well-adjusted, reasonable people to be police. They want aggressive people, not too smart, and overly dominant. Like attack dogs. And the kind of people who want to be cops are those kinds of people. They revel in the petty little bit of power they have.

 Every interaction I've ever had with some lousy cop pig has proven this to me. And I don't care that they do good things sometimes. You can train a chimp to act all nice, but one wrong move and your face has been ripped off.


----------



## Kevin

"You dirty rat... you coppers'll never take me alive" * bdrdrdrdrdrdrrr!!!* Burmese food... something like Thai I'd guess. Do they have Pho out there? edit.. Ok I looked it up. Yeah, of course they do.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Drew a picture of Groot from GOTG for my friend's Christmas card. Thought I'd share it




*Translation: Merry Christmas!


----------



## TKent

That is amazing!  I had no idea you were an artist as well. I've been coming some of the publications through DuoTrope just for grins and there were several that wanted weird comic strips in the dark fantasy area. Ever thought of doing that?  With your imagination and drawing skills, you could do some amazing ones!


----------



## Arcopitcairn

I was thinking about doing a couple small things, but drawing is more of a side hobby these days. Who knows? There's just so much great fan-art out there right now, a lot of talent, and it's not easy to compete. I write better than they do, though So I'm concentrating on that.

Glad you dug Groot!


----------



## TKent

I'd like to see one of your slithering tentacled entities come to life on the page sometime  Your writing is so good, I can imagine them already.


----------



## dither

Arcopitcairn said:


> Drew a picture of Groot from GOTG for my friend's Christmas card. Thought I'd share it
> 
> View attachment 6972
> 
> *Translation: Merry Christmas!



Hey Arco,
that's pretty cool imo.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

So, yeah. I let my brother borrow my car so he could use it to go to work. And somebody stole it out of the parking lot. Hooray.


----------



## dither

Jeez that's rough Arco.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

It certainly throws a monkey wrench into the works.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Behind the house I live in, there is a field. There are trees, winter-bare, wishing in their silent way for the sun, dark branches reaching. I went downstairs in the gloaming to smoke a cigarette because I don't want my books to smell like tobacco. There was a murmuration of Starlings swirling in the gloom. A black tornado, then a wave, and then I thought I saw a mobius strip of feathers and beaks there, just for a moment. I'm glad I saw it.


 It was not important.


 I was out on Christmas day. My brother and I visited my father. Empty streets and barren, litter-swept parking lots blurred by my passenger window. We see him once a year, my father. We go there for money and food. It's always odd. He left us when we were children. I don't know him, but I really do. I see myself in him, the way he is, how he speaks. Every time I see him, I remember why I never had children. I would abandon them. I'd like to think I wouldn't.


 I have been spending a lot of time assisting my mother. She's quite ill. I wish there was more I could do for her, but I can barely help myself. I'm afraid I'm just a ne'er-do-well. She can't really do much for herself. Luckily she has my stepfather. Her birthday is on Christmas day.  


 The world outside is like a ticking clock. It just grinds on and on without me in it. Is it my ego that makes me feel sorry for everybody that does not know me? I guess it is. I wish I could solve all the problems of the world. I bet I could if I was in charge. But nobody would listen to me. Ha! Megalomania anyone?


----------



## Arcopitcairn

These are things that have been on my mind lately.


 I had a dream about a record album. It was called _The Rotten Corpse of Susie Strawberries. _It was a collection of strange songs, crazy stuff. Songs I never saw anywhere else, or even heard of anywhere else. The cover was yellow, with the title in red lettering, small in the right bottom corner. The back of the sleeve was flat black, with the song titles lettered in white, real plain like. I don't remember the songs. Can't think of the bands, either. But that's just noise. But the most important thing wasn't the songs, it was the picture on that cover.


 There was a dead girl there, laying in the brown leaves, like she was in the fall. She was probably seventeen or eighteen. The record was from the mid-sixties, so she was _mod_. Not sexy mod, awkward mod, like she'd seen all the right pictures in the magazines but couldn't quite get there. I mean, you've seen some of those sixties chicks, the mod scene, before the hippies took over? Some of those girls were fine, with their wool miniskirts, crocheted bikinis in all the blandest colors imaginable, the beehives and the pixie-cuts, the clunky shoes, yeah? But the girl on the cover of _The Rotten Corpse of Susie Strawberries _was not attractive. I mean, her clothes were cheap-looking, like a seventies Holiday Inn, and her hair was screwed. You can tell she tried to get her little hair-sprayed swirl right, but ugh. Maybe it got mussed up when she was murdered and all, but looking at the picture, I have to believe that that haircut wasn't really the greatest thing when it was alive. On a dead girl it was just creepy.


 Her face had a look on it. I'll never forget that look. On her plain face, dead face, was a look of, well, the closest I can come up with is retarded embarrassment. Her unplucked, bushy eyebrows were angry, like furrowed, but her eyes were wide open, super white with tiny pupils that seemed to be traveling off in different directions. Her nostrils were flared, frozen that way. Her upper lip was curled up in a snarl, like she was getting fish-hooked on one corner of her mouth. Her teeth were crooked, and you could just make out the shadowed blob of her tongue in the darkness of her mouth, past her lower lip, which covered her bottom row of teeth. Her skin was waxy, pale. Poorly applied make up stood out on that pale face.


 I came to believe that this girl was Susie Strawberries, and she was really dead. She was disgusting. Embarrassed.  


 In real life, I once saw a corpse of a woman who had been killed in an awful car wreck. She was in the grass, having been thrown from the car. Her clothes were askew and ripped from her ejection through the windshield. She had deep cuts on her arms and shoulder that were just splayed open with no blood, no heartbeat to bleed through the wounds. On her face was a look of profound confusion and I swear, a hint of shame. Her eyes had questions in them, unanswered. I said once in a story that the dead are laid bare in their obscenity, ashamed in their mockery of us, what we are, and what we all must become. I think that the dead are in an unnatural state, like a human is supposed to be alive, and any other form is a blasphemy. Of course I may be wrong about this. It is only my opinion.


 I saw a man blow his brains out once. I searched for shame in his face, in my memory of his face, after he slumped down like a puppet with cut strings, and all I remember about his face was a look of peace. That, and blood streaming from his nose like a faucet.


 I was also thinking about priests. I like priests and nuns. I like the idea of a cloistered, focused existence. If I believed in the supernatural, perhaps I may have become a priest. I wish there were a secular priesthood. An organization that would provide you with a living, a place to live, just for helping people and doing good works, but without the hindrance of magical thought. I've frequently considered volunteering for some worthy cause, but in my current state of affairs, in my life, it'd be like jumping up and down on a tightrope. If I cannot help myself, how could I presume to help others?


 I've decided that I will write no more prose. I'm giving it up. I believe that poetry is a true form of expression that I can partake in, so perhaps I'll rattle a few of those off here and there. I just don't think that I have any relevant voice to offer the world of novels. I was supposed to start a novel the other day. I had a ton of notes and outlines for theme and structure ready to go. I was supremely confident. I had no doubt that I would be able to write a fun little novel. But then I decided, no, I just don't want to.


 I'm going to concentrate on art. Fun, kitschy, super-geek foolishness that I will actually enjoy. Actually, really enjoy. The only writing, other than a poem here and there, or a rumination here, will be spent on text for comic strips, or logos, or fun newsletters. When I get something I'm proud of, I'll share it 


 Finally, I spent several hours at a hospital waiting room today. I spent most of that time listening to music. There was an old couple sitting in my peripheral vision. I was listening to _Sugarless _by Autolux when I realized they were looking at me. I know why. Because I'm not like they are.  

[video=youtube;0uGt1n3xERo]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0uGt1n3xERo[/video]



 Every time I glanced their way, their gaze was on me. I could see their blurry shapes out of the corner of my eye. I was quite interesting to them. I was rather self conscious, but not surprised. It's the way I carry myself, the look on my face, my imperious nature. People look at me all the time. I'm very real. It's a very worthless super power. I also find that people will invariably want to talk to me. Almost always. Nervously. I'm not sure, maybe they want to hear my voice. I may be like a song.


 That all sounded very weird.


 The old lady was called back into the bank of examination rooms, and the old man continued to stare. He may have wanted to talk, but I had earphones on. He started a conversation with the receptionist. I muted the music to see what they were talking about. He was very old, so perhaps he was imparting some aged wisdom. I always hope for this when I speak to elderly people. But this man was going on and on about college sports. Make of that what you will.


----------



## Pluralized

That's one of the heaviest things I've ever read. Yours is a terrific burden to bear, and I hope your keen and robust powers of observation will continue to yield these beautiful posts. Tragic shit, especially that bleeding nose. I think that will linger in my head for a bit (and I've been thinking about it since I read this last night).


----------



## ShadowEyes

I joined Writing Forums because I wanted to reply to your "Week," but never got around to doing it.


----------



## dale

damn. i really hate to hear you're gonna give up writing prose fiction, arco. you have such a lush way of describing thoughts, images, and events that just can't be conveyed through poetry. but....you gotta write for yourself, before anyone else. so do what matters to you.


----------



## hvysmker

I have two cats living with me. One doesn't get along with the other, so I keep on in my bedroom.  I try to spend time during the day with that one too keep it from being too lonely.  So, at different times during the day and before going to sleep at night, I'll often lie in my bed, reading and petting the feline monster.

While lying there about two weeks ago, I noticed a tall weed on the other side of a bedroom window.  It's tall, thin and dry, right outside the window, looking in.  I've been paying attention as the weather gets below and just above zero F, winds both weak and strong.  Snow blows around it, forcing it to bend.  

Sometimes, in the morning, the window's frosty and I worry it won't be there.  I actually worry about that suffering weed.  Every time, though, when the frost leaves, the weed stalk is standing high, sometimes blowing back and forth.  I'm in the habit of smiling and waving to encourage it as I lie there.  One day, though, I know it will probably break, and I worry. I worry. I worry.

Charlie


----------



## Kevin

_Futureperfect_. One of my few cds. Lately, I play the intro to_ Plantlife_ over and over on my evening commute. Helps me get out of 'it'. The whole album's good, pretty much. I maybe skip one or two songs, considering my mood.

I think I mentioned one of the tenants is a comic book production company. This one employee, he just produced/wrote/drew his first solo. I see him everyday outside smoking. I'm guessing he's got no family as he's there when I get there, really early; still working when I leave. He gave me a copy of his first issue.  I sort of root for him (like people here).


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Pluralized said:


> That's one of the heaviest things I've ever read. Yours is a terrific burden to bear, and I hope your keen and robust powers of observation will continue to yield these beautiful posts. Tragic shit, especially that bleeding nose. I think that will linger in my head for a bit (and I've been thinking about it since I read this last night).



Sorry to put that in your head. That kind of stuff isn't easy to forget. I think everybody has something like that.

- - - Updated - - -



dale said:


> damn. i really hate to hear you're gonna give up writing prose fiction, arco. you have such a lush way of describing thoughts, images, and events that just can't be conveyed through poetry. but....you gotta write for yourself, before anyone else. so do what matters to you.



It took a lot of thinking. I just think I'll be better served with some fun art. Writing, for me, has become _pressure_. I don't need more of that. But when I finish a cool picture, it puts a smile on my face

- - - Updated - - -



hvysmker said:


> I have two cats living with me. One doesn't get along with the other, so I keep on in my bedroom.  I try to spend time during the day with that one too keep it from being too lonely.  So, at different times during the day and before going to sleep at night, I'll often lie in my bed, reading and petting the feline monster.
> 
> While lying there about two weeks ago, I noticed a tall weed on the other side of a bedroom window.  It's tall, thin and dry, right outside the window, looking in.  I've been paying attention as the weather gets below and just above zero F, winds both weak and strong.  Snow blows around it, forcing it to bend.
> 
> Sometimes, in the morning, the window's frosty and I worry it won't be there.  I actually worry about that suffering weed.  Every time, though, when the frost leaves, the weed stalk is standing high, sometimes blowing back and forth.  I'm in the habit of smiling and waving to encourage it as I lie there.  One day, though, I know it will probably break, and I worry. I worry. I worry.
> 
> Charlie



Huh. I relate to this and I can't explain exactly why. I suppose your sentiment is universal in a way. Thanks for posting it

- - - Updated - - -



Kevin said:


> _Futureperfect_. One of my few cds. Lately, I play the intro to_ Plantlife_ over and over on my evening commute. Helps me get out it. The whole album's good, pretty much. I maybe skip one or two songs, considering my mood.
> 
> I think I mentioned one of the tenants is a comic book production company. This one employee, he just produced/wrote/drew his first solo. I see him everyday outside smoking. I'm guessing he's got no family as he's there when I get there, really early; still working when I leave. He gave me a copy of his first issue.  I sort of root for him (like people here).



I really dig their sound, Autolux. _Here Comes Everybody _reminds me of better days, personally. 

Hey! Root for me, too


----------



## ppsage

Hi Arco... According to WF, I haven't posted in this thread before. I do follow it closely and enjoy it thoroughly. Maybe enjoy is an inadequate description. I just wanted to say that it's good writing and it's prose and it doesn't seem that onerous for you to compose. Maybe I'm wrong. If not writing prose means not writing fiction, then you have my support. There's a ton of it already and to me making more often seems discouraging and a little pointless. I would go back to sculpture in a second, if I had space and my joints didn't creak so. But I encourage you to keep up with _Your Week. _​In appreciation, pp.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

ppsage said:


> Hi Arco... According to WF, I haven't posted in this thread before. I do follow it closely and enjoy it thoroughly. Maybe enjoy is an inadequate description. I just wanted to say that it's good writing and it's prose and it doesn't seem that onerous for you to compose. Maybe I'm wrong. If not writing prose means not writing fiction, then you have my support. There's a ton of it already and to me making more often seems discouraging and a little pointless. I would go back to sculpture in a second, if I had space and my joints didn't creak so. But I encourage you to keep up with _Your Week. _​In appreciation, pp.



Oh, I'll keep up with this thread. I'm looking forward to posting some art or links to art here. Not to mention going on and on about weird stuff

I'm glad that some people enjoy checking out my goofiness. If I discover any great secrets, I'll share them. Or just tell you where I ate yesterday


----------



## Arcopitcairn

So, as described in earlier posts in this thread, one could say I've fallen on hard times lately. Certainly not as hard as some members here, but hard nonetheless. My friend Kris has been having trouble scraping by as well, so we decided to go to a food bank last week.


 I was very thankful to be able to go to this place, as was Kris, but it's not something I intend to do often. This one was at a church, in a specially built building behind the church, actually. It was a nice place. I very much respect volunteers.  


 We waited in line for a while, filled out some paperwork (one paper we had to sign was, among other things, an agreement not to use foul language on the premises), sat through a 15 minute sermon, and we shopped in their large pantry area for some food. I say 'shopped', but it was just going from shelf to shelf, getting one of each thing. There were judgments and complaints I had in my head during the affair, the forced sermon, looking like trash in the eyes of the freshly-scrubbed volunteers, and being painted with the same brush as the other poor people who were there, and there were many (And the wealth of them were unsavory in one way or another). But these complaints were foolish, I decided, because if one goes to a place like that, one knows what to expect. So I will not complain, just be thankful


 The reason I post this is for those who, thankfully, may never have to go to a food bank, but might still be interested in what you get there. So here is a list of what I got:


 A can of green beans (French cut)
 A box of spaghetti and a jar of sauce
 One plastic bag with twelve oatmeal breakfast bars
 One organic dark chocolate bar
 One bag of barbecue veggie chips
 One Little Caesar's cheese pizza
 One carton of soy milk
 One plastic baggie with eight cheese sticks in it
 One loaf wheat bread
 One package wheat hot dog buns
 One six pack of bottles of orange juice
 Ten bottles of water
 Six bottles of Sobe mango-melon drink
 One large bag of dry coleslaw
 One plastic bag with four limes and one lemon in it
 One package of squeezable fruit that I cannot identify
 Two containers of stuffed grape leaves  
 One plastic baggie with eight bite-size Milky Way candies in it


 So, for a food bank, that's pretty good, I think. For reference, here's what I got at another food bank I went to a month ago:


 One package frozen pork chops (2)
 One jar of peanut butter
 One bag of cranberries
 One can of pork in 'juices'
 I large Italian cream cake
 Four loaves of French bread
 One bag of wheat rolls




 So, yeah, a big difference. I have to say, though thankful, and admittedly desperate, part of me feels quite humiliated at having to do these sorts of things. But I suppose those places are there for people who are down on their luck.  


 Otherwise, have been drawing a lot. Have not been able to work on any personal projects because I've been lucky enough to sell some superhero pin-up commissions on Ebay. A fellow is having me draw the Legion of Superheroes and their villains. I've drawn twenty so far, but have not been able to save any images because I do not have a scanner. It's been a real help to have at least a little money rolling in, because I still don't have a job. I'm still spending most of my time helping to take care of my ailing mother. There is a chance she's on a small mend, however, so perhaps there will be a job in the near future. I hope so


----------



## Bruno Spatola

Stay strong. One day, I'm sure you'll look back on those trips to the food bank and think, "How on Earth did I end up there?", but not in a negative way. You might even be inspired by the fact you sacrificed some of your pride to keep yourself from sinking. That's not a reduction of dignity, that's acceptance; that's survival. There are no unwritten laws saying you've got to do it on your own.

You're in my thoughts. Good luck to you both. It's good to hear your mother has at least somewhat improved.


----------



## dither

Arco, 
Store all these experiences up. Stay strong, come through this and good luck.

dither.


----------



## dale

Arcopitcairn said:


> One Little Caesar's cheese pizza
> 
> 
> One plastic bag with four limes and one lemon in it



too bad they didn't include a bottle of cheap tequila with that. how inconsiderate of them.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Crispin Glover, the actor, put out a concept album in 1989. I bought it when it came out. It's a strange album, but I found it an enjoyable novelty. The concept of the piece was that it had an underlying theme. You were supposed to discern what these things all had in common:




The killing and maiming of     defenseless animals?
II. Cleanliness?
III. Indignant,     righteous, self manipulation, with discrimination against     others?
IV. Clowns?
V. Getting out of bed?
VI. Boots?
VII.     The daring young man on the flying trapeze, who might just as easily     be called a gloating woman seducer?
VIII. Charles Manson never     saying “Never” to always?
IX. Oak Mot?
  A. Adry Long     circa 1868?
  B. Adolf Hitler circa 1932?
  C.     Adry/Hitler in the minds of history forevermore? 
 

 There was a phone number for you to call with your answer. Glover himself was said to sometimes be on hand to answer it, to tell you if you got the answer right. I've been trying to figure it out ever since. I have not. I consider myself a relatively intelligent person, in a creative way, not math way, but I've never been good at riddles. It has to be an incredibly simple riddle for me to find the answer. For me, for my mind, a riddle poses quite a problem. I tend to consider way too many variables, possible solutions. I can't focus, my brain is too flighty, too dreamy. Sometimes it's annoying, because I'd like to know the answer.


 But is it _the answer, _or just _an answer_? Or, more certainly, is it just a veiled opinion masquerading as something profound?  


 And what is the worth? On and off for many years I've pondered this riddle. I won't think about it for months, but then it's back, bothering me. It sticks in my craw. I like Glover, but is his personal little riddle really worth the amount of thought I've put into it? Should it make me feel inadequate that I cannot puzzle out his mind? It is not worth it, but yet it persists. I seem to torture myself with it out of spite. I've even looked for other people online who may have figured it out, but information is sparse. It will always bother me. I often wish I'd never bought the album.


 It makes me think of what I like to call 'Feeling Art'. To me, Feeling Art is a movie, song, story, or poem that makes you feel something on a base level but poses no real question or answer. I really like David Lynch flicks, but some of them are hard to understand. The guy who made Donnie Darko did a movie called 'Southland Tales'. I didn't understand that movie very much, but there were parts that were moving. I sometimes think that the artists involved don't want to put too fine a point on whatever is in their hearts, preferring to have the audience join them on a journey to come up with their own conclusions, but another parts of me thinks that these sort of artists don't actually have anything important to say at all, and they're just pretending to be deep, evoking emotion for the sake of emotion, trying to make a connection on a primal level instead of an intellectual one. Who knows?


 I've written poems that put a point on what I wanted to say. And I've written poems that meant something to me, but were mysterious in their intention. And I've written some that meant nothing, but sounded pretty. Are my thoughts worth deciphering? Probably not. If I wrap them in beauty or salaciousness, present them in a funny package, are they worth more? If I write a perfect poem, a verbal key to the locks of my soul, how entertaining must the piece be for anyone to care to try and see inside me? And why should I torment myself to try and peer into Crispin Glover's mind? Is his not just another voice in an endless choir of opinion?  


 There was  a scene in 'Twin Peaks, Fire Walk With Me' that I sometimes think about. Harry Dean Stanton was showing two FBI agents a murdered girl's trailer. While they are looking around, an old woman comes to the door and looks inside. She's dirty and battered. Stanton looks at the woman and he looks like he's about to cry. He's just this handy man, running a trailer park, but there's some history or tragedy to this old woman that touches him enough to almost bring him to tears. But we never know what the hubbub is. No words are spoken. I too felt in that moment, a sadness, just because I saw him sad. Not because I was privy to the back story, but because I simply related to Stanton's character being sad, and I know what that's like.  


 I'm just not sure if that kind of art is cheap or not. It's effective, to be sure, but is it cheap? I've been guilty, like I said, of doing the same thing, but I don't know. Maybe it's just an artistic shortcut, like drawing a one-line, one half-circle cartoon eye. You know it's an eye, even though it only suggests it. Maybe Glover's album, Eraserhead, or Southland Tales are just the suggestion of profundity, and maybe that's enough. Maybe it's safer to just touch someone briefly with emotion or beauty or horror, rather than to explain why they should be compelled to appreciate such things. Maybe it's just the connection that counts. Maybe I should just decide that I like the songs on the album, and appreciate what they mean to me, my own personal underlying theme, and not worry about the opinion of the artist unless they tell me what it is? I probably won't, but who knows?


 I was watching a porno once. There was this girl flashing on a playground. The guy filming her was asking about her college days as she showed her boobs on the merry-go-round. She sad that  her favorite subject was math.


 “I like math because there's only one answer. Just one.” and she covered herself up a little when she said it, looking very contemplative.


 I always remember that girl. It's a nice sentiment about math. But I hate math.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Have been working on art projects and helping out my Mother quite a bit. Have not been able to get job. Mother might be starting six months of chemotherapy, so she'll need my help during that time. We'll see what happens.


 Quit smoking. Have not smoked for three weeks. I'm pretty happy about it. I started to feel bad, feel ashamed of myself that I could not beat cigarettes. Now I'm beating them, hopefully for good. I don't tell myself I _can't, _I tell myself I _won't._


 Have watched a ton of movies lately while I've been drawing and inking. I watched Roadhouse and Steel Dawn (Swayze double feature!), Killer Klowns from Outer Space, Pieces, Gates of Hell (Fulci), Deathstalker, Red Heat (Cocainum!), Race the Devil, Gymkata, and Hawk, the Slayer. I'm sure there's more, but that's all that come to mind. As you can probably tell, I'm in a super cheese mood.


 Got a new car. Old cop car. Now I drive around feeling like Elwood Blues.


 Hung out with friend Doug today. It was nice. We always talk about the things that we know we enjoy talking about and tell our new stories to each other, and go over some of the old stories. It's good that way. He wanted to go bowling. We played four games (My high score-168, not bad for somebody who has not bowled in ten years), and being old, we both know that we'll feel it tomorrow. I'm feeling it now.


 We also looked at three antique malls, seeing all the cool things I cannot afford. One of the places had the vintage Marvel Comics toilet paper roll, with the box, mint condition, for 28.00. I've wanted that for twenty years. It's odd, at my age, that 28.00 is an impossibility for something like that. All money must go for bills and necessities. But I sure would like to have that blasted thing. Aw, well, who knows what'll happen tomorrow?


 We ended our afternoon at a Chinese buffet. It was good. I saw a girl there, a tender goth girl, a wisp-like black leaf fluttering, tiny and fragile. She had on her wool cap, black clothes, all the right make-up and piercings, and she was cute, but not pretty. She looked like a hothouse flower ready to wilt in the cold wind of the world, not a bending reed, but a green stem set to snap under any slight, eyes furtive, afraid, and tentative. God, but I wanted to protect her somehow. She stepped aside carefully and quietly, eyes lowered when she got her small plate of food, wall-flowering as much as anyone ever has. She would have cried if I made fun of Robert Smith or Bauhaus, or whatever new, young goths listen to these days. She really endeared herself to me, her slight manner did, and I sure do wish her well, from one outsider to another


----------



## dither

Arco,
that is one helluva post.
It's been a while coming. You've been missed.
" WON'T smoke", do i sense gritty determination there? Brilliant. I wish you luck. Been there, done that, it ain' easy.
Ex cop-car sounds cool. Does it look like a cop-car still?
Bowling eh? You're not SO old are you? No need to answer that.
Arco, your thoughts regarding the goth-girl offer a glimpse of you the person and there is much to like on both counts.

Hang in there Arco and good luck with the cigs.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Thanks, Dither Looking forward to being completely free of the smokes.

Um, nope, the car was a two-tone black and white, so I painted it all black. There was some talk when I got the car that the cops don't like it when you have the same color scheme as theirs. I could not find out for sure, so I just went ahead and painted it. It still has the cop searchlight on it, though.

And no. I'm not that old, I guess, but certainly old enough to be stove up today after bowling yesterday


----------



## Arcopitcairn

On Saturday, my friend Kristen and I drove to Cincinnati. It's a little over a hundred miles from where I live, so it made for a nice day trip. The reason we went to Cincinnati was to visit a grocery store, Jungle Jim's. It was supposed to have an amazing selection of food and treats from all over the world. It did. There were quite a few interesting things. I bought a Scandinavian chocolate bar, some licorice from the Netherlands, and some British Ginger Beer. It was all very nice. There sure were a lot of people there. Apparently, it's a _destination._ You couldn't really stop to look at anything for too long before people started to creep up on you, silently cursing you for being in their way. It was kind of a madhouse, and after an hour-and-a-half, I began having fantasies of mass shootings and suicide vests made from plastic explosives. Whenever I'm in a place like that, with a thousand or so people, I always feel like I'm breathing them into my lungs, dreaming of minute, foreign particles settling on my skin or in my hair. I'm not made for crowds, but I can take it for a while, and it was a very cool grocery store.


 Whenever I'm in an unfamiliar place, I seem to have a mutant power for spotting comic book stores, and Saturday was no different. We stopped at a great comic shop that had a wonderful collection of back issues, notably forty-five or so long boxes of independent titles (A lot from the nineteen-eighties), which is kind of my jam, comic-wise. I'm like a pig in a slop trough when I'm in a comic store. And it always makes me feel like I've found a little oasis of like-minded people. I'm comfortable when wrapped snugly in geekery. I bought an issue of Captain Canuck, and numbers one and two of Justice Machine. You have no idea what those are 


 Kristen wanted to get something to eat, and wanted to eat at a diner-type family restaurant. We drove around for an hour looking for a suitable place. I'm super easy when it comes to places to eat, but she's a little more choosey, so we searched. I actually enjoy wandering around places unfamiliar, so I didn't mind. I spotted a little joint called 'The Red Squirrel'. I didn't know what they served there, but I informed her that we were eating there just because of the name. It turned out to be a family-type diner, just like she wanted. We had a nice meal (Every time I go to a diner, I have a Reuben) and then we drove back to Indianapolis, chatting and listening to old disco songs playing in the background.


 Have still not smoked, and I aim not to ever again. Two weeks of the patch left, and I'm flying solo.


 Took my mother to get a scan today for cancer. Should find out something on or around Wednesday.


----------



## dale

research chicago for those kind of connoisseur type shops and stores. you'll have a far better time than cinncinatti with more selection.
plus, chicago is just such a monstrosity. lol. i really love it up there when i go. hope all with your mom goes alright.


----------



## TKent

Sounds like a great day. Good luck with smoking. I smoked from 16 to around 26. My mom died of lung cancer so hopefully I stopped soon enough that I won't pay the price.


----------



## Pluralized

Nice to see you around, Arco. Good luck on the smoking thing - I too smoked from 16 to 26 (high five TK!) but quit because it made me feel shitty all the time. Nicorette did it for me. Gained a good fifty in the year following though... Replaced that nervous habit with sammiches. Knowhatamean? Of course, now I have replaced sammiches with coffee, straight from the teat of the Keurig. Another cup? Donmindiffadoooo.

Good thoughts/vibes for your mom.


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## BurntMason84

New to this place, but still wanted to give you my best wish Arco.  Like everyone said, kudos to the quitting smoking!  Easy to pick up other nasty habits along that outbound path.

Also, best wishes to your mom.  I've been there with both parents, from bad to brink of the abyss, but it sounds like you've got her back if need be.


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## Arcopitcairn

My stepfather got this free TV, see? It had a built-in VCR. It is a very nice television, even though it is old and obsolete. He was just going to get rid of it, so I took it. Now, I have a nice TV, with a pretty picture, and I enjoy watching crisp flicks and such, yeah? But there is something compelling about this old TV. I started picking up a few VHS tapes at some local thrift stores and now I've decided to have a modest VHS collection. It makes me happy to watch them, the nostalgia does, and there's a wonderful, primitive quality to them that I had forgotten. They're like a signpost for a simpler, slower time 

I found a couple of documentaries about people who collect VHS. I guess it's actually a _thing_ now. Humph. I will participate with a smile. It's always nice to find a new, cheap hobby.

Mother started Chemo last week, and will go for six months. I will help her.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Had a dream that I was at a large family get-together. We had a 'big day' tomorrow, so we were all bedding down for the night. I drew the unfortunate card of having to sleep next to my cousin. She was possessed by a demon, and she was also Jenna haze, a porn star who looks like this:



 



 So I was annoyed in the dream, oh and plus I was like, twelve. She was laying on the bed that I was to share with her, dressed in a mid-thigh night-shirt, and gym socks. She was comatose, staring at the ceiling. The pile of leather belts that I was to secure her with for the nights sleeping was next to her. I started rolling her over and getting the belts underneath her, and then I fastened the belts in front, so she could sleep on her back without buckles digging into her. I strapped her seven or eight times, all down her body, from her shoulders to her ankles, all the while keeping one eye on her staring, slack-jawed face. Just as I covered her up and put a pillow under her head, she came to life, hissing and snapping her teeth at me. I turned off the lights and laid down next to her, turned over, and closed my eyes. I could feel her squirming around, trying to free herself.


 “You better not go to sleep.” She said. “When I get loose, I'll get a kitchen knife and stab your eyes out.”


 I ignored her.


 “Did you hear me?” she whispered. “I'm going to kill you.”


 In my dream, lying next to her, I was trying to go to sleep. I was trying to fall asleep in my dream. I wonder if I had, would I have had a dream within a dream?


 I heard her sigh next to me, and she stopped struggling.


 “Well, good night, then.” She said, sounding kind of dejected.


 “Good night.” I said, then I woke up.






 I've had a mild obsession lately with poutine. I found out that it was a popular comfort food in Canada, and it sounded quite good to me. My friend Kristen made it, and it was just as good as I'd hoped


 Have been slowly expanding my burgeoning VHS collection. Got Galaxy of Terror, Halloween 3, Buckaroo Banzai, and others. They're making me pretty happy when I look at them.


 My mother continues chemotherapy. I've been helping her out a lot. She wants a garden this year, so I'm working on a garden for her.


----------



## dale

i like how you mixed tying your demon-possessed cousin to a bed with eating poutine. there's a great story in there somewhere.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

This video ruined Billy Squier's career because it made everybody think he was a homosexual.

[video=youtube;fR0j7sModCI]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fR0j7sModCI[/video]

Just thought you'd all want to know that, just in case.


----------



## dither

dale said:


> i like how you mixed tying your demon-possessed cousin to a bed with eating poutine. there's a great story in there somewhere.



I'd go along with that. Get punching that keyboard Arco. Seriously.


----------



## Kevin

At first glance I thought the video was from _Flashdance._


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## dale

lol. i remember 1st seeing the video when it came out. it didn't make me think he was a homosexual. but it did kind of 
tarnish his "small town working class white boy" image a bit. it was a corny video.


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## Arcopitcairn

I think his near-liquid sex appeal burned so brightly in that sterling moment that it short-circuited and confused many people. The backlash was because of all the men who found themselves irretrievably excited by Squier's gyrations, and the shame and stigma of their forbidden lust drove them down the dark road of hatred and intolerance. Ah, if only they could have found within themselves the milky nipple of love on which to suckle (It resides within us all), then their closed minds could have been freed, and Billy would still be hip-thrusting his way into our hearts.


----------



## Kevin

I'd nearly forgotten about all the onstage prancing going on back then.


----------



## dale

lol. i could see what they were trying to do. it was becoming fashionable for a man to be flamboyant and even effeminate
in the industry. the images were going from ripped up denim and leather to glam and hot pink and girly make-up. but squier
just couldn't pull it off. he appeared awkward and uncomfortable. it ended up just being hilarious to the point you were 
embarrassed for him.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Billy Squier was also a holocaust denier.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Plus, When Billy Squier died (Suicide), he was buried in the clothes he wore in the "Everybody Wants You' video. Apparently, that outfit included his 'Action Pants'. Whatever the hell that means.


----------



## dale

wow. i didn't even know he was dead.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Some guy I know told me that he saw Billy Squier beat a dwarf to death with a claw hammer in Toronto. Sounds plausible, when you read about Squier's hatred of little people.


----------



## dale

ha ha. ok. you got me. i was sitting here like....what? so i googled the suicide and holocaust shit. you were kidding.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Or am I? Dun, dun, DUN!

But seriously, sometimes it's fun to gang up on Billy Squier, even if the accusations are 'false'. Somebody should start a thread called "Let's all say bad things about Billy Squier". In these hard times, I think making up crap about Mr. Squier would uplift a lot of downtrodden souls.


----------



## Kevin

Stroke me (hehehehahaha ... cough...choke...) sorry.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Have been alone so much lately, my throat starts to hurt if I have a conversation. Maybe I should start talking to myself?


 There have been other times in my life when I have spent  a lot of time alone. I'm alone ninety percent of the time. I can't work right now because I'm helping to take care of my ailing mother, so I can't hang out much, plus I have no money to go anywhere except when I assist her. I don't really get lonely, but I do start to get more and more odd and misanthropic the more alone I am. Feh, don't know why I'm complaining. It won't be forever.


 Here's a picture I took a couple weeks ago at a cemetery I was walking through. Posting a pic from a graveyard makes me feel like a goth. Haw.






 I've been watching a ton of MST3K lately. I've always been a fan, but I'm just now catching up on a bunch of episodes I've missed. They're pretty great 


 Finally off the patch, by the way, and I have successfully conquered smoking. So, you know, cool.


 Have added 'The Perfect Weapon' (Starring Jeff Speakman), Grayeagle, Cocaine Wars, Back to the Future, and the Ultimate Warrior (Brynner, not WWF) to my growing vhs collection


----------



## dither

Congrats on the conquest Arco.
Well done.


----------



## Blade

Acropitcairn said:
			
		

> Have been alone so much lately, my throat starts to hurt if I have a conversation. Maybe I should start talking to myself?



IMHO it is the people who don't talk to themselves that have the problem. do what ever works.:eagerness:



			
				Acropitcairn said:
			
		

> Finally off the patch, by the way, and I have successfully conquered smoking. So, you know, cool.



Congratulations, a major victory.:sunny:


----------



## ppsage

I stopped smoking 25 years ago, after doing it for 22. (25 + 22 + 18 = 65? Yes. OK.) I haven't had a genuine craving in at least a half-dozen years. Recently I even stopped dreaming about it. Tobacco is one pernicious weed. Stay vigilant everybody.


----------



## Plasticweld

So how do you know if you’re crazy?  

Me-- of course I am not crazy, I am too boring and practical.  A risk taker yes, maybe just a little too aggressive…but always predictable, so there is no way I could be crazy? Right!

This morning on my way to pick up one of my employees, (he lost his license, DWI) I have the radio on, listening to AM talk radio… ease dropping on the conversations of others who are also up at 4am.  The George Nory show was on.  “For those who do not know, he and his guests talk about the para-normal.”  

This morning I listened as the host and the guests nonchalantly talked about their experiences with   communicating with the dead or being kidnaped by aliens or how to tell if you have esp. They talked as though it where all very normal and only a freak or a crazy person did not have this spiritual awareness or experience with aliens.  Having never been for a ride in a spaceship or talked with anyone who is dead or never having had a past life in a different time. or moved things with just my mind.  Maybe I might just be the crazy one, at least at 4 am.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

I, also, will not be your putdown clown 

[video=youtube;CvN4g4-mPNo]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CvN4g4-mPNo[/video]


----------



## dither

ppsage said:


> I stopped smoking 25 years ago, after doing it for 22. (25 + 22 + 18 = 65? Yes. OK.) I haven't had a genuine craving in at least a half-dozen years. Recently I even stopped dreaming about it. Tobacco is one pernicious weed. Stay vigilant everybody.



Very similar to what happened with me but i feel sure that i shall never smoke again.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Well, I started smoking for fun, but then the self-destructive act itself became wrapped up in my pessimistic world-view. I never thought I'd live to see twenty-five, so why not smoke? Never thought I'd live to thirty, forty, why not smoke? 

I suppose I'm exploring hope for a bit with my quitting smoking. Maybe I will live to be an old man. But now I fear that if I begin to care too much about living I'll just find out I'm dying and be very disappointed. I wonder if nihilism can be a defense mechanism against the expectations of a happy life?

If I live to be seventy-five or eighty, I'll probably start smoking again, if cigarettes still exist, because, truth be told, I really do enjoy smoking.


----------



## Kevin

Smoking's like tattoos. You never know for sure if and when the strychnine in the ink will kill you. But if it does..._day-em_


----------



## dale

i quit smoking for over 10 years. smoked pall mall non-filters for years before that. so i quit for 10 years and then decided to quit drinking. so i figured i needed at least 1 vice in life to get by, so started smoking again to quit drinking. of course, now i'm drinking and smoking, so everything worked out great....except for the fact that pall mall non-filters are $8 a pack now...so now i'm forced to buy cheap cigs and rip the filter off of them. so yeah....it sucks.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Ugh. I'm sure both our sets of lungs are crispy critters by now.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Every Wednesday I take my mother to chemotherapy. The facility itself is very nice. It's pleasant to be allowed inside even though we are very poor. Most things are made of wood there. It's quiet, and clean, like a library with no books.  The nurses are unfailingly cheery, but phony. If you watch them, their true faces sometime appear. They are detached, as I would be if I were surrounded by suffering and death every day. I don't care for them, probably because of the phoniness. My mother doesn't care for them because she dislikes everyone.


 Her chemo takes three hours or so. I drop her off. Some people have family members who stay with them the whole time, but my mother knows me well enough to know that staying there would make me uncomfortable. Plus, every minute my mother and I are together in a place, the odds for an argument increase. We don't get along.


 So I leave her to her treatment. I usually go get a soda or a treat and read in the car. If I have an extra couple of bucks, I go over to the thrift store. Thrift stores smell like laundry. Like the hot smell of a laundromat, scorched denim, soap crystals, and greasy fabric softener. Every thrift store smells the same, and I equate that smell with poorness. Thrift is a name of a plant called a 'Sea Pink'. I wonder if it smells like Bounce or Tide?


 The thrift store is always crowded, filled with people. The one I go to is a Goodwill, so the place is lousy with retards and cripples. They have one sitting in a wheelchair right by the door, so that you are forced to talk to it when you enter and leave. Retarded people make me uncomfortable because of their unpredictability. I can predict what most people are going to do, but retards always put me on edge. You never know when one of them is going to try and rip your face off or something. It's very stressful.


 I'm not sure how much of what I just wrote is true or not, that last paragraph. I just like saying things you are not supposed to say. Politically incorrect things, whether they are true or not. It's liberating to say the things we are told not to say. Try it.  


 So after a while, I go into the facility to claim my mother so I can drive her home. I walk past the nervous people in the waiting room, wringing their hands in anticipation of the cancer verdict. I walk past the nurses station, where they always seem to be stuffing their faces with snacks. And finally I walk past the numerous cubicles of cancer patients, sad, gaunt people who watch you walk by, annoyed that you are cancer-free. Don't worry friends, I'll get mine someday.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

I have a natural inclination, genetically, spiritually, mentally, to push. I always push against the acceptable or the expected. I kind of like that about myself, but I also sometimes do or say stupid or silly things that are not necessary, all in the pursuit of poking at the edges of the envelope. I need to realize that some places are not the places in which to do or say certain things. I started a couple threads recently that were removed. I need to remind myself that this is not my forum, and I have no special right to annoy or provoke. I apologize to the people who were offended. A group effort, the forum is, and it's more pleasant when pleasant.

I do owe a public apology to Leec. I was rude, and I'm sorry.


----------



## ppsage

I have a lot of retarded relatives on my wife's side. Even though I'm a fat old man, and pretty slow, I don't have any trouble with face ripping. Even though their moves don't make a lot of sense, they're still predictable because they telegraph them so blatantly. It's psychos that scare me. I think my family on my side might be full of psychos, but the thing is, you can never tell. I'd take retarded people over psychos every time.


----------



## LeeC

ppsage said:


> I have a lot of retarded relatives on my wife's side.


You just got me slapped again when I told the wife others share my frustrations, and quoted your first sentence


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Friend Doug and I went to see the new Mad Max movie today. It was quite good, just my kind of movie, very unafraid and ballsy, unique. We saw it in 3D, which I don't usually do. I found the effect unimpressive. I just wanted to see the movie, but he likes 3D, so I'm easy.


 We then drove out ten or fifteen miles to a new comic store we'd never been to. We always like to check out new comic stores. You never know what might be there. This one (The Android's Dungeon) had mostly new stuff, which I'm not a fan of. I like old stuff. He had lots of clever and shiny trinkets that I could not afford. And the owner was kind of a dick. I wanted to throw a lit can of gasoline through his window. Out of nowhere I felt that. But I've been under a lot of stress lately, and my mind has been whirled with good and bad impulses. Can't think straight. It took me three tries to spell 'impulses' correctly two sentences ago. And that's not a word I should have trouble with. I wanted to burn up all that guy's comics and watch him cry. I didn't do that, and I probably didn't actually want to either.


 Doug and I went to a Chinese buffet. In my town there are a bunch of establishments simply called 'Chinese Buffet'. I don't know if they are connected or not. Probably (Just took three tries to spell probably right). Anyhow, there was something about this buffet that caused great mental anguish on my part. The food was fine, but there was something about the run-down, sparsely populated place that sent me around a corner. I swear I felt such a wave of crippling sadness while I watched the other patrons, I almost had a panic attack. I can't explain it. The place was just SAD. I felt so sorry for everyone there, and I felt sorry for myself. I told none of this to Doug. I just swallowed it and tried not to flee while he finished eating.


 Then we stopped at a BP so Doug could get a road soda. While he was inside, a very pretty red-haired girl came outside and unlocked the metal propane cabinet in front of the store so some slack-jawed shlub could get a fresh tank for his barbecue. I felt so bad for her, having to work at the BP. She was pretty. She shouldn't work at a gas station.


 Stress has been making me strange lately, insular, secretive, and nasty. Trying to work on it, but I have been at odds with existence for quite a while now.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

I've been unable to get a job because I'm too busy helping out my ailing mother. It's been stressful, but it's also given me the opportunity to catch up on some reading and to get some exercise here and there so I can get back into some kind of shape. The people I live with are cool with it, since they're my friends. They know I'm having trouble, and they know I'm good for it. It's just until August. I have been earning a little money on the side, doing yard work for people, and selling artwork on Ebay. I've had pretty good luck selling superhero commissions on that site, but sometimes people ask for the strangest things. One time a guy had me draw Wolverine spanking a woman with the great pyramids in the background. Another time, it was all the X-Men women as nuns in bondage. Heh, frickin' people, man. Here's a really bad picture I took of a pin-up I recently sold on Ebay. It's the Guardians of the Galaxy in their original seventies and eighties outfits 



 



 I've been combating stress with the aforementioned exercise, and by wrapping myself up in a blanket of geeky things I like, things that bring me comfort. I've been reading lots of comics, watching horror and sci-fi movies (Tons of MST3K), and I've been playing Resident Evil, mostly part 4.


 I've been mildly obsessed with a song that was playing in the background of the first Friday the 13[SUP]th[/SUP] movie. It was playing at a diner. I remember the song nostalgically. I saw the movie in 1980 at the drive-in. It scared the heck out of me. I was so afraid for the young victims in that movie, and so sad when they died. My young knuckles were certainly white as I watched the plight of the final girl, Alice. I love that movie to this day, and I always remember noticing that song, that weird country song in the diner. I only recently thought to track it down. I enjoy it. It's not really my kind of song, but I like the memory, and even the sentiment of it 

[video=youtube;4PkCe6pm5CQ]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4PkCe6pm5CQ[/video]


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## Kevin

the artwork all yellowed looks like 1930's era sc-fi, flash Gordon or john carter-esque.


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## dither

You have rare talent Arco.


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## Arcopitcairn

Kevin said:


> the artwork all yellowed looks like 1930's era sc-fi, flash Gordon or john carter-esque.



My camera gives everything sepia tone unless the light is right. I wanted to get an actual scan of the pic, but was not able   It was 14 by 17, so I would have had to go to a copy store.


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## Arcopitcairn

dither said:


> You have rare talent Arco.



Go check out some of the pictures on the art forum. A bunch of people there got me beat by a mile, especially Abby 

Thanks for the compliment! Love those


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## Arcopitcairn

Here's a small public service for all you writers out there! Having trouble making up names? Well, I've opened the genius door just a crack so that I can provide some of you scribbling youngsters a few table scraps of naming magic! Feel free to use any of these completely awesome names for your next sci-fi or fantasy epic. You're welcome!

Churdlemutz Romando

Swanzo Seskerman

Museo De Cera

Treed Skeen

Baron Star-Fang

Grindlepop Bibbletron

Vulvar Sugarwalls

Professor Outer Space Jr.

Babora Morealis

Futerus Biznon

Jeff Mantoucher

Novormax Shadowlaser

Gunt Deathchunk

Explodo The Clown

Gris Greyslate

Kwibimus Whibber

Dr. Muffin

Lisablast Lisamax

Rex Doublegirl

Holly Bob Bobertson


Don't ever say I never gave ya nothin'


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## dither

That's interesting Arco.
I tend to play around with words.
Arth Ritic,
Rhuema Toid,
but to name a couple.

You got some great suggestions there though for sure.


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## Arcopitcairn

Here's another bad picture of another pic I drew a couple days ago. It's the Girl from Galaxy Rangers, the mom from Bionic Six, and Cheetara from Thundercats, all with huge, unrealistic boobs! And it's super cold where they are (If you know what I mean  ) This is the kind of stuff that people on Ebay will buy for the most part, so that's what I've been drawing lately. Yay!


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## dither

Arco,
with your talent i'd be taking the Lucian Freud route.

Seriously.
Way to go.


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## Arcopitcairn

Man, I wouldn't be fit to hold Freud's jock strap. I just do fun comic art. Fine art is way past my pay grade 

Glad you dug the pic, though!


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## dither

Have you given oils a shot?

I mentioned Freud because there has been a couple of his making the news recently, selling for obscene amounts,  he seems to have had a naked "obese woman" phase.


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## Arcopitcairn

dither said:


> Have you given oils a shot?
> 
> I mentioned Freud because there has been a couple of his making the news recently, selling for obscene amounts,  he seems to have had a naked "obese woman" phase.



Nope. Just not very good with that stuff. Pencil, pen, that's about it. But that's okay. It's mostly just for fun


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## Plasticweld

I just got back from camp in Vt. we are building a barn and did more dirt work this weekend to get the ground ready for building.  There is nothing like running equipment all week then do the same thing during your days off. After 3 weekends in a row the 11 hour round trip drive gets to be a bit much


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## Arcopitcairn

I have found out that I have Class Identity Disorder, or if you will, Class Dysphoria. I feel, deep down inside that I was born different. I am gravely dissatisfied with my station in life. In my bones, my heart, and my soul, I realize now that I have royal blood. I can't help it. I was born this way.  


 Whew, it's a relief to finally come out and say it, to free myself from the bondage of my lower-class birth. What a horrible quirk of fate! What a kerfuffle! Boggle and bother! I need plastic surgery to have the inbred, confused-eyed, simpleton look of my royal brothers and sisters. I can hardly wait to go under the knife! I will be a wise and just ruler!


 I now must ask everyone to respect my new Class Identity. You may refer to me as Sire, Your Majesty, or My King. Or familiarly, King Lionheart Excalibur. Soon I will be mincing around in my crown, my fabulous fur cape, and waving my scepter about, Oh the royal life!




 Edit: Actually, through Past-Life Regression Therapy and hypnosis, I've just found out that I don't suffer from Class Identity Disorder at all! Turns out I'm Species Disphoric! I've been informed by those in the know that I was actually born a puppy. But I'm not surprised. Knew it all along. I think part of me, deep down, realized that Class Identity Disorder was a load of crap. I know now that I'm a dog. I think I've always identified as such. Even as a child.


 My new name is Scrambles. I'm a happy little puppy. Make sure when you see me wearing my collar that you only refer to me as Scrambles. Make kissing noises at me and I will come to you for snuggles. I must start getting fur-grafts and have my hands and feet cut and shaped into paws. It's gonna be rough, but I was born this way. Don't judge me. You're not a hater, are you?


 Man, it sure feels good to live life the way I was meant to live it! No more pretending. Woof.






 Or maybe, now that I think about it, I may have some sort of mental problem. I'm probably not a dog or even a king. I'm probably just messed up in the head and I should talk to someone before I disfigure or mutilate myself.


 I suppose I should just accept that if I'm a genetic human being or a common person, then I'm just a human being or a common person. No amount of cajoling and back-slapping from people with my same problems, forcing fearful acceptance from those who are afraid to look prejudiced, or fantasies about being brave by indulging my mental foibles will change the fact that I'm not a king or a dog. I'm just a common man. I was born that way.


----------



## dither

Interesting.


----------



## Gofa

Oh me too.   Is there a subsidy that you can apply for

I have found out that I have Economic Identity Disorder, or if you will, Extreme Wealth Dysphoria. I  know in truth, deep down inside that I was born poor and different. I have in the fullest of time become gravely dissatisfied with my wealthy station in life. In my bones, my heart, and my soul, I realize now that I have rich mans disease and I can't help it. fate had it in for me, I was born this way.  


Whew, it's a relief to finally come out and say it, to free myself from the bondage of my lower socio economic birth place. What a horrible quirk of fate! That i worked hard. Educated myself strived for many years delaying gratification to reach financial independence. What a kerfuffle that was ! Boggle and bother! Only to end up with rich man disease.

oh i remember the good old days when i lived in a shoe box in middle road.  And.  I thought it was LUXURY


----------



## ppsage

I'm putting dibs on Treed Skeen.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

So, I watched 'All Aboard! The Canal Trip'. It was a show on BBC Four, a 4MPH canal boat ride down a portion of the Kennet and Avon canal in the U.K, from Bath to the Dundas Aqueduct. People are calling it the most boring show ever on TV. It was one continuous two-hour shot, uninterrupted, with no soundtrack or presenter voice-over. There were only small factoids superimposed on the water, sides of boats, or on bridges, giving relevant facts about the history of the canal. There were also instances during the program in which the vista changed, morphed into a vision of the past, showing historical photographs taken along the canal in black and white.


 I loved it. See, I'll never get to travel to the U.K. So for me, it was a chance to experience something beautiful I'd have never known about otherwise.


 The concept is called Slow TV, or 'unhurried television'. It started in Norway, apparently. The Norwegians had a 134 hour coastal cruise on television. They had eight-and-a-half hours of uninterrupted knitting. BBC Four showed a Spring Dawn for an hour, and I believe they're going to show a craftsman make a wooden chair. I love this idea, and I hope to see more of it. Just having the 134 hour coastal cruise on in the background would be super-cool while you do other things. It's like having a nature fireplace, or a fish tank you can watch for relaxation if you feel like it.  


 And the Canal Trip was quite relaxing. Wonderfully so


----------



## Arcopitcairn

ppsage said:


> I'm putting dibs on Treed Skeen.



I'm actually hoping someone might use Jeff Mantoucher. God, how I wish that were my name.


----------



## Kevin

> Just having the 134 hour coastal cruise on in the background would be super-cool while you do other things. It's like having a nature fireplace, or a fish tank you can watch for relaxation if you feel like it.


My fave? : Yule Log... you may've heard of it. Super-cool collective-reduction of carbon footprint, socially conscious (conscience?). No more fireplaces as they are actually prohibited in all new construction anyway. ("Wood-burner!" "Round-head!") Though now thinking on it the idea of glorifying or venerating this barbaric, scuze me, ignorant, erm... noney-nahny, noney-noney practice (sheesh! toy guns for children) is somewhat of a conundrum. The burning of our mother? Like animal sacrifice. Okay, we should phase it out...


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Kevin said:


> My fave? : Yule Log... you may've heard of it. Super-cool collective-reduction of carbon footprint, socially conscious (conscience?). No more fireplaces as they are actually prohibited in all new construction anyway. ("Wood-burner!" "Round-head!") Though now thinking on it the idea of glorifying or venerating this barbaric, scuze me, ignorant, erm... noney-nahny, noney-noney practice (sheesh! toy guns for children) is somewhat of a conundrum. The burning of our mother? Like animal sacrifice. Okay, we should phase it out...



Oh yeah, yule log is great! Got a VHS fireplace tape not long ago. It's groovy. I'll play it on the winter solstice.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Went to Indy PopCon today, downtown at the Indianapolis convention center. It was a convention for all kinds of interests. Comics, gaming, artists, toys, cosplay, and all that good stuff was pretty well represented. Sam Jones, the guy who played Flash Gordon in the delightfully cheesy 80's flick was there, as well as several other low-tier celebrities. There was a crush of people, many in costume, aisles packed, lots of commerce. There were a ton of local artists there, some good, some only okay. I went with my friends Aaron and Rai.


 I bought a stack of fifty-cent comics and a poster. I did not have any fun. This is not a reflection on the event or the company. Both were fine and dandy. It's just that nothing's ever easy about me. Not one blasted thing, and it starts to get on my nerves after a while. I think that I may just not be capable of 'fun'. Not like other people. I'm too serious, too reserved, focused, on edge, on the clock. It's like I'm watching for something when I'm in public, waiting for something. The best I ever seem to be able to manage is a general feeling of uneasy interest and a strained amusement.


 Maybe it's all the troubles I've had lately, at least that's what I tell myself. Maybe when things calm down, life will me easier. But when I think back on my life, I realize that I've never really been calm. I don't remember a time when I wasn't high strung. It's worse now that I've quit smoking. The cigarettes soothed my nerves, at least until the fear of cancer and the monetary cost frayed them again. I just wish I could frigging relax just once in my life. The closest I ever come to being comfortable and relaxed is right now, when I'm alone. In solitude, I can almost breathe easy, until I start thinking about tomorrow or the next day, or the next one after that. Sleep is the only time I don't drive myself buggy, and I have not been sleeping well lately.


 Ah, well. The con was interesting. Lots of pretty girls, and people who like the things I like. But not much fellowship. You go with the people you are with, you don't talk to anybody else, and then you leave with them. I suppose I had fellowship with Aaron and Rai, but there's something to talking to other people, strange, new people who have different ways. Sometimes that would be interesting.


 I leave you with a picture I took there. There was a young girl at the con who was wearing an old computer monitor on her head. It was purple, and the screen was black, but she could see through it from her side. Her outfit was purple, too. I saw her several times walking the floor, her big, purple head bopping to and fro. Once she was looking at posters, monitor angled down sharply. I saw her several times, like I said, but I never saw her without the monitor. As I was leaving, I saw her sitting at a table near an older woman. I don't know if the older woman was any relation. I couldn't help but think the monitor girl seemed sad in some way.


----------



## dale

Arcopitcairn said:


> Went to Indy PopCon today, downtown at the Indianapolis convention center. It was a convention for all kinds of interests. Comics, gaming, artists, toys, cosplay, and all that good stuff was pretty well represented. Sam Jones, the guy who played Flash Gordon in the delightfully cheesy 80's flick was there, as well as several other low-tier celebrities. There was a crush of people, many in costume, aisles packed, lots of commerce. There were a ton of local artists there, some good, some only okay. I went with my friends Aaron and Rai.
> 
> 
> I bought a stack of fifty-cent comics and a poster. I did not have any fun. This is not a reflection on the event or the company. Both were fine and dandy. It's just that nothing's ever easy about me. Not one blasted thing, and it starts to get on my nerves after a while. I think that I may just not be capable of 'fun'. Not like other people. I'm too serious, too reserved, focused, on edge, on the clock. It's like I'm watching for something when I'm in public, waiting for something. The best I ever seem to be able to manage is a general feeling of uneasy interest and a strained amusement.
> 
> 
> Maybe it's all the troubles I've had lately, at least that's what I tell myself. Maybe when things calm down, life will me easier. But when I think back on my life, I realize that I've never really been calm. I don't remember a time when I wasn't high strung. It's worse now that I've quit smoking. The cigarettes soothed my nerves, at least until the fear of cancer and the monetary cost frayed them again. I just wish I could frigging relax just once in my life. The closest I ever come to being comfortable and relaxed is right now, when I'm alone. In solitude, I can almost breathe easy, until I start thinking about tomorrow or the next day, or the next one after that. Sleep is the only time I don't drive myself buggy, and I have not been sleeping well lately.
> 
> 
> Ah, well. The con was interesting. Lots of pretty girls, and people who like the things I like. But not much fellowship. You go with the people you are with, you don't talk to anybody else, and then you leave with them. I suppose I had fellowship with Aaron and Rai, but there's something to talking to other people, strange, new people who have different ways. Sometimes that would be interesting.
> 
> 
> I leave you with a picture I took there. There was a young girl at the con who was wearing an old computer monitor on her head. It was purple, and the screen was black, but she could see through it from her side. Her outfit was purple, too. I saw her several times walking the floor, her big, purple head bopping to and fro. Once she was looking at posters, monitor angled down sharply. I saw her several times, like I said, but I never saw her without the monitor. As I was leaving, I saw her sitting at a table near an older woman. I don't know if the older woman was any relation. I couldn't help but think the monitor girl seemed sad in some way.
> 
> 
> View attachment 8806



i worked the "days of the dead" event today at the wyndham west. i ran the door of the celebrity room right next to sid haig's table.
i got a pic of him on my phone but this cheap phone won't give me a way to get it off there that i can see.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

I almost went to Days of the Dead, but my friends wanted to go to PopCon. Was it any good this year?


----------



## dale

Arcopitcairn said:


> I almost went to Days of the Dead, but my friends wanted to go to PopCon. Was it any good this year?



i think it would have been a lot of fun, had i not been so tired. everyone was drunk and there were a lot of large breasted girls running around in skimpy
halloween type get-ups. i wish i would have stayed for the VIP party. i bet it would have been a wild one. but i just felt like crap.


----------



## Arcopitcairn

So, roundabout 1947 or '48 Timely Comics (a company that would eventually become Marvel Comics) put out a series of titles aimed to appeal to a female audience. They were:


_Blonde Phantom: _A blonde adventurer in a red dress and a mask beats up robbers or shoots them. The character took over _All Select Comics _at number 12 and she ran until issue 22.


_Namora: _A blonde Submariner cousin who made the sea her home, she mostly battled monsters, pirates, or angry natives. Her title lasted three issues.


_Venus: _A princess from the planet of the same name, Venus' title lasted the longest, running 19 issues, mostly because the series eventually took a horror slant. A silver-haired space princess fighting vampires or werewolves is actually pretty cool


 But the one that interests me the most is _Sun Girl._


 In 1939, Jim Hammond, the original Human Torch appeared in Marvel Comics number one. He was a sophisticated android who could set himself on fire, throw fireballs at people, and could fly. He decides to fight crime. He actually joins the police force as the Human Torch. He has a kid sidekick with similar powers called _Toro._ Doing important work in the police force also requires one to have an office and a secretary. Hammond's secretary was named _Mary Mitchell. _When Toro has to leave to care for his ailing foster mother, Mary (Blonde, of course) takes up the persona of Sun Girl, clad in yellow and blue, with a very powerful wrist flashlight and her fists as her only weapons. She guest starred in several stories before Toro came back and she went back to being a secretary. But she did get her own little series that ran for three issues in 1948. Just to give you some idea about how crazy Golden Age comics were, here's a brief rundown of the stories from Sun Girl's short-lived series.


 Issue One:


_Flying Fists and Glamour: _Sun Girl beats the living hell out some bank robbers and uses herself as bait to smoke out the gang's head honcho. She beats the hell out of the head honcho and makes him confess. She recovers three-quarters of a million dollars, but she has to borrow subway fare from a cop at the end of the story because she's broke. Best Sun Girl quote: _“Now, before I choke the breath from your murderous body, tell me … who sent you to kill me? TELL ME, OR ...”_


_The Menace of the Monster: _An old nemesis, Dr Drearr, is released from prison after serving his time. Bent on revenge against the world and Sun Girl in particular, Drearr uses a machine he invented that uses strange electrical rays to lure a monster from the depths of the ocean. Sun Girl jumps on the monsters head, even as the military bombards it with artillery, and using her flashlight, tricks the monster back into the ocean. Using a tracer, Sun Girl tracks the rays back to Drearr's lab, where she proceeds to beat the hell out of him, use his own machine to send him deep into the ocean with all the other creatures of the deep, and finally destroy his contraption with a fire axe. Sun Girl quote: _“How could you set that madman free? Don't you remember that he took an oath to destroy the world after he'd served his time?”_


_A Jolt for Johnny: _Sun Girl decides to take it upon herself to show a delinquent, Johnny Murphy, the error of his ways. She does this by, (A.) dropping Johnny off at a seedy pool hall to get acquainted with Nails Nelson and his gang, (B.) Posing as a police woman and tricking Nails into admitting a crime, and (C.) Revealing that she is, in fact, Sun Girl, beating the hell out of an entire gang, and getting Johnny shot in the process. In the most compelling twist, Sun Girl reveals that, even though he lost an arm, Johnny is now a respected judge. This means that the original story took place in the 1920's, because Murphy is now an adult judge. The story's present day is 1948. Sun Girl has not aged in that span of time. Now, some have claimed that this is just a simple continuity error, but there are some that believe that Sun Girl is perhaps supernaturally long-lived, and therefore much more than she seems. I like that. Sun Girl quote: _“You gentlemen don't expect me to just stand here and surrender?” _ 




 Issue Two:




_The Menace of the Sparks of Doom: _Professor George Fredericks is a homicidal maniac on the loose! Luckily, Sun Girl tracks him to his lab where she witnesses him attempting to destroy some electrical machinery. She stops him and is about to beat the hell out of him, but she pauses when he implores her to let him wreck the machine. The frazzled professor explains that he never killed anybody. It was the Sparks! He turns on the machine and they appear in a field of electricity, strange green aliens with antennae, sharp teeth, and visible black skeletons beneath their transparent skin. They begin to choke her, but Sun Girl keeps them at bay with her flashlight. The professor, nearly hysterical, hurls himself at the machine. Sun Girl gets out just before the lab explodes. Sun Girl quote: _“Shimmering sun spots! He's going to destroy the electronic equipment! I've got to stop him!”_


_The Death that Waits!: _Dr. John Worth receives a large inheritance from his father, much to the annoyance of his lousy younger brother, Dick, and Dick's scheming wife. Laura. Sun Girl is giving an interview in a coffee shop when she overhears Dick and Laura plotting. When John comes in to talk to Dick, things get out of control and Sun Girl has to stop a fight between the brothers. Sun Girl decides to keep an eye on the situation. Dick and Laura break into John's lab and open his safe. Before they can open the small package inside, John comes home and Dick shoots him. Sun Girl arrives just as the couple open the package and handle the contents, deadly radium! Seems John Worth was a scientist doing important work. Sun Girl informs Dick and Laura that they will be dead soon, and John pulls through to continue his important work. Sun Girl quote: _“That package you stole contains live radium capsules! The safe was lead-lined! You both have lethal burns and a death that waits!”_


_Sun Girl Battles the Crystal Monsters!: _Ferd Farrel is a nerdy lab assistant that falls off a dock into Quartz Lake. Sun Girl just happened to be present, so she saves him. Giant crystal monsters emerge from the lake and start turning things to stone with their glassy touch. In a fit of sadness over the harsh words of his boss's daughter, Elsie, Ferd disposed of an experiment in the lake, giving birth to the monsters. After she stops Ferd from blowing his brains out, and stopping the military from dropping an atomic bomb on the creatures, Sun Girl discovers that dry ice kills the creatures and reverts all stone victims back to normal. Plus she makes Elsie see how much she loves Ferd. Sun Girl quote: _“Come on, kids! Dig into that dry ice cabinet! Get as much of the stuff as you can out here! Wow! It's cold!”_




 Issue Three




_Bokk, The Beast: _Bokk is King Kong, basically, except bigger and more evil. He's brought to the city, wakes up, escapes, and causes a ton of trouble. The giant ape is seemingly unstoppable. Sun Girl makes plans with the authorities. They want to drop an atomic bomb on the ape, but Sun Girl decides that instead, she should drive a truck filled with poisoned fruit to the monster and see if he eats it. He does. Then he dies. And Sun Girl wonders if Bokk may have been the true victim. Hmmm. Sun Girl quote: _“Wow! They must have made this bozo when meat was cheap!”_


_The Leap of Doom!: _Sun Girl is at an observatory and notices a bound man floating across the sky. She makes a nearby helicopter pilot take her up to save the man. Also, an interplanetary rocket ship is seen passing not far away. The floating man is Professor Wemblem. He created a machine that made 'flesh lighter'. Floating dogs and cats aren't getting his goat, so the professor goes to town and hires a youth to be a guinea pig. Unfortunately for Wenblem, the juvenile is Peanuts McCoy, a crook who is obsessed with his namesake legume. Peanuts takes some pills that make him lighter, and uses the machine to make Wemblem weightless, casting the hapless professor into the atmosphere. Peanuts then goes on a crime spree, leaping and bounding around like a jumping bean, leaving the cops stymied. While Sun Girl is chasing peanuts, they are both abducted by aliens from the planet Zarko. The aliens want to try and teach humanity peaceful ways, but are shocked when Sun Girl starts beating the hell out of McCoy because he's a crook. And all crooks deserve beatings. The aliens decide to wash their hands of the savage humans and send them back to Earth. Because time is different in space, a month has passed by the time they get back to earth, though they feel that they've only been gone for a few hours. Apparently, the light flesh powers wear off after thirty days, so Sun Girl turns Peanut over to the cops. Sun Girl quote: _“Come down here and fight like a man!”_


 The idea of a possibly supernatural girl running around with a flashlight beating up crooks and monsters makes me happy. Here's the cover from the second issue. I really like it, but I'm not sure what to make of it. All the men are reading about her, but none are noticing that she's standing right there. Does she want to be noticed? Or is she upset that she has not been offered a seat because all the men are reading about her and not noticing her? Does she just want to sit down?


----------



## Arcopitcairn

I just deleted a post about my life and the problems I've been having. Doesn't matter.

I read in a book once that instant accumulation of information does not equal understanding.

I'm not sure I think that I'm entitled to a public forum in which to air my opinions or talk about my life. I don't believe most people, actually almost all people, are entitled to that. I feel like I may be part of the problem with the world. But that's egotistical, because it doesn't matter anyway. It's like recycling. Did you know that almost all recycling just adds more pollution to the world? It's actually better for the world, pollution-wise, to just make new glass, paper, or plastic. Only aluminum (and most metals) are waste-effective to recycle. Making new aluminum out of bauxite is harder on the world than recycling the old. Plus, it's actually industry that's destroying the environment on a massive scale. Every citizen in the entire United States could recycle and live green and it wouldn't make any difference to the world. But people keep recycling.

The internet is like recycling to me. When I say something online, I'm burning rubber tires in my yard. But it's a tire made not out of rubber, but of opinions, polluting the world in its own special little way. A smog of careless thought, an oil spill of clever invective. But screw it. Like the world, the internet is laughably doomed anyway, so why not recycle if it makes you feel better?


----------



## Arcopitcairn

Well, my mother only has four chemo treatments left and she's all done. I'm hoping it's all good, and I'm looking forward to getting a job again, finally. Everybody I know has been getting the high hard one lately, lots of trouble for everyone. I'm hoping things lighten up in the fall. Things seem to be pretty tough all over.

So I have four really good friends. And I feel that I don't need any more. New friends would seem to mean new complications in my life. Do any of you feel that way? Or is it the more the merrier?


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## Kevin

I'm a little confused. I was just trying to think like... how does having more friends impact your life? Do the one's you have require much? I guess I don't know. I have some friends. Some we go out with, others I just see once in a while. If they're busy, they're busy; likewise. No one gets butt-hurt or expects anything. I guess if you get rejected enough times then you get the message (_we're hanging with so-and-so, again; not you_...). Low maintenance...


Congrats to your mom on her completion. Don't know how it was for her but it can be mild to extremely rough. I've seen the latter and I don't recommend it. Not that there was much choice. They tell you what to do/what they're going to do to you and then it happens. About the only choice was the type and dosage of pain meds.


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## Arcopitcairn

Kevin said:


> I'm a little confused. I was just trying to think like... how does having more friends impact your life? Do the one's you have require much? I guess I don't know. I have some friends. Some we go out with, others I just see once in a while. If they're busy, they're busy; likewise. No one gets butt-hurt or expects anything. I guess if you get rejected enough times then you get the message (_we're hanging with so-and-so, again; not you_...). Low maintenance...
> 
> 
> Congrats to your mom on her completion. Don't know how it was for her but it can be mild to extremely rough. I've seen the latter and I don't recommend it. Not that there was much choice. They tell you what to do/what they're going to do to you and then it happens. About the only choice was the type and dosage of pain meds.



Thanks for the good words for my mom 

As for the friend thing, I don't just have pals, I only have lifelong friends, like family, and it's hard to add someone to that mix. even though sometimes I have the chance to do so. Like I said, not that big of a deal. Just talkin', wondering if anyone else has ever felt the same


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## Arcopitcairn

I like Xanadu. The Olivia Newton John movie. I like the soundtrack more. I find the songs very pleasing. There's something about a movie like that one, and those tunes. They're cheesy, but since they are so sincere, I can find myself moved my them. It's nostalgic, too, because I remember seeing that movie at the drive-in when it first came out. My father bought the soundtrack and listened to it constantly. I've always believed that the music on that soundtrack so moved him, made him feel free in the mind, that when he looked at us, his family, he couldn't reconcile his life with the joy he felt listening to that music. He left us soon after. Xanadu, I believe, broke up my parent's marriage. I've never asked my father about this. I wonder if there is some music that would make me leave my family? If I had one.

When my mother was dating after the divorce, some guy took her to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show. She bought the soundtrack and listened to it so much, that I had the thing memorized at 12 years old. I had no real frame of reference for the songs. It wasn't until years later that I went to a midnight screening of Rocky Horror and was able to see the moving pictures that went with the music. When I think of Xanadu and my father, I then think of my mother and Rocky Horror.

Anyone ever been to a midnight show of Rocky Horror? Newspapers and toilet paper and squirt guns. Heh.

I've been checking out ASMR videos on Youtube. I saw a news story about them and found myself interested. One thing that always excited me sensually was a soft voice or a whisper in my ear. Whenever that has happened to me, I feel light-headed and tingly, and aroused. It's pretty boss for me, and if you dig it too, you should check it out, though I wouldn't recommend the spit sloshing or chewing noises, unless that's your bag.

I guess I've been thinking about music and sounds, hence this post.

Anyone ever heard of infrasound? It's a set of low-frequency sounds that are mostly beyond the range of human hearing but are still perceptible in various ways. Every now and again, when it's a certain kind of quiet, I think I hear screaming in my head, like the screaming is coming from a distance. But it only ever happens when there's a hum of quiet. Because in our world, it's almost never really quiet. There's always some static background noise, and air conditioner, a furnace, a transformer buzz. I used to think that I may have been going mad, but now I'm sure it's infrasound.

Have you ever heard of shadow people? have you experienced darting shadows in the corners of your eyes, the feeling someone is there, the feeling someone is watching you or standing behind you? There's a certain infrasound frequency that causes that. There's also, apparently, a frequency that makes you feel like you have to defecate, though I myself have never experienced that one


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## Kevin

> I had the thing memorized at 12 years old. I had no real frame of reference for the songs. It wasn't until years later that I went to a midnight screening of Rocky Horror and was able to see the moving pictures that went with the music.


 You're lucky... at twelve years-old I went and saw it when it just came out and afterwards I was like _what the hell did I just see?! _Men in fish-nets and Tim Curry's big lipstick lips disturbed me/freaked me out. I suppose it's fairly tame now, but back then it was more frightening than the _Exorcist_ (which had come out around then too).

Ah... Olivia... my dad had an eight track of hers... this was pre-movie carrier, (like '75, or...). We bagged on him for it. F-ing kids. He had no defensive skills, and looking back I feel bad...


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## Arcopitcairn

Olivia Newton John makes me feel funny...in my gentlemen parts. The leopard skirt at the end of Xanadu. The shiny black pants at the end of Grease. Heh.


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## Arcopitcairn

My week:

[video=youtube;0rtV5esQT6I]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0rtV5esQT6I[/video]


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## Kevin

You've... joined... an all... Asian.. girl-pop... band? Um... wow... good. You guys are really good!


....








the Pyongyang Beatles crossing Anju Road... these gals are from the north.


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## Arcopitcairn

Little ACEO Frankenstein sketch card I did for fun.


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## Arcopitcairn

Have been drawing super-heroine pornography for Ebay for money. I'd rather not, but it keeps selling, so, you know, money. Cannot post any of them here, but I have to say, risking blowing my own horn, some of them are pretty good


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## dither

Hey Arco, that's pretty damn good and if you're selling your stuff well good on yer.
Go to it man, make your fortune and good luck.


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## Kevin

> some of them are pretty good


 Where's the link?


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## dither

Kevin said:


> Where's the link?



Ditto.


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## Arcopitcairn

Kevin said:


> Where's the link?



When I get some more up or put some on Deviantart I'll post a link 

[video=youtube;DWW6QeeVzDc]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWW6QeeVzDc[/video]


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## PaperbackWriter

Arcopitcairn said:


> Nothing too significant or important and I have no idea why I'm even posting this.



I beg to differ. Seriously. Although I enjoy peeking into other people's lives, they usually bore and disappoint me. Maybe it's the way you relay all that 'insignificant' and 'unimportant' stuff. Sign of a true writer. I'm going to read the rest of the thread now. Looks like it's been going on a while.


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## Arcopitcairn

Kevin said:


> Where's the link?



So I put some of them on my Deviantart page. I'm not sure if they'll show up or not, depending on whether or not you're a member. If they do show up, keep in mind that they are not safe for work 

http://arcopitcairn.deviantart.com/


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## ppsage

You have to swear you're old for them to show up.


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## Blade

ppsage said:


> You have to swear you're old for them to show up.



It is useful once in a while.:thumbl:


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## Goob

Arcopitcairn said:


> I've been checking out ASMR videos on Youtube. I saw a news story about them and found myself interested. One thing that always excited me sensually was a soft voice or a whisper in my ear. Whenever that has happened to me, I feel light-headed and tingly, and aroused. It's pretty boss for me, and if you dig it too, you should check it out, though I wouldn't recommend the spit sloshing or chewing noises, unless that's your bag.



I don't get how the ASMR videos work. Whenever I try one out, the only thing going through my head is, "wtf am I watching?" I want to feel that brain tingle everyone raves about.


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## Arcopitcairn

ppsage said:


> You have to swear you're old for them to show up.



Now my account has been suspended. I've been a member for 6 years and I had no idea you could not post porno on Deviantart. Guess I should have checked


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## Arcopitcairn

Goob said:


> I don't get how the ASMR videos work. Whenever I try one out, the only thing going through my head is, "wtf am I watching?" I want to feel that brain tingle everyone raves about.



Well, I've always had this thing where if a girl whispers or talks right in my ear, it makes me light-headed. From what I understand, ASMR doesn't work on some people. If you want to try, find a voice you like, low or whispers, or even mouth noises, spoken ear-to ear, and use headphones. No need to actually watch the video, just listen. They don't all work for me, either, just a few here and there


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## Arcopitcairn

[video=youtube;22rZUMNDnSw]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=22rZUMNDnSw[/video]


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## dither

How's it goin Arco?


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## Arcopitcairn

Still helping to care for my ailing mother. Much stress. I wish sick people were like they are in the movies, an idealized version, humble and noble. But in real life, there is bitterness and regret, anger heaped upon those who care as much as they are able. I'm doing the best I can. Like almost everyone, my life is not turning out the way I had envisioned when I was young. And I am tired.

On that high note, hope all is well with you


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## dither

Anger bitterness and regret?
Well f*** them i say.
Hang in there Arco but save a little for yourself eh?


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## Arcopitcairn

Here's what's what lately:


 Still have not been able to get a job because I'm busy helping my ailing mother. She's not doing too bad, but not long ago, her heart stopped and she fell down and hit her head. The internal defibrillator that she had implanted started her heart back up, and I discovered her on the floor, barely conscious. Got her to the hospital and she's doing better.


 There's been a lot of stress with, you know, being alive and all, so I started smoking again. That brings me some small comfort but it comes with stress of its own because it is so expensive. I've been making money by selling pornography on Ebay. For years I did comic art commissions for a little extra money, cranking out pictures of superheroes and such, but the market for regular old pictures seems to have dried up lately. The only way I can make money now is to offer XXX superheroines, cartoon girls, and video game character pics. It keeps me in smokes with some cash to spare. It's a lot of cartoon Japanese monster tentacle rape, Hanna Barbera orgies, and exploding bodily fluids. (PM me if you want me to draw you some superhero porn  )


 The art takes up most of my time, but I do get to work on my own projects from time to time (I'm working on a John Oates art project) and I even get to draw some pics just for fun. Here's one:



 



 Stressed, I'm always looking for comforting or relaxing things to play in the background while I'm drawing. I found a nine hour train trip through Norway that is pretty ginchy, and also hours-long videos of mountain streams. Or I might just play a classic slasher movie in the background while I create the porn. I have found a particular thing that I love. I really dig model train layouts. I think they're beautiful, really. I found several great videos of people who have attached a small camera to their model engine and they run their train through their layout. It's like you're taking a ride through a giant diorama. It tickles me. Here's one:

[video=youtube;XzFEOZ1fBdg]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XzFEOZ1fBdg[/video] 



 What else...


 A friend of 25 years has decided to transition to a woman. I support him, of course, because that's what friends do, but secretly I think that if you live 46 years as a man, you might as well just play the cards you're dealt. But, if it makes him happy, power to him!


 I started a thread that will more than likely be completely ignored on a another part of this site.  


 Have been girl-crazy lately, probably because I've been spending so much time drawing porn.


 Actually wrote an offensive little story that I'll probably post after I finish this. It's about George Washington taking a dump on his birthday. It started as an attack on political correctness, but I decided that it's futile to poke at the social justice beehive when I have better things to do, so I abandoned the story. However, I find the part I wrote to be funny.


 Til next time …


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## dither

Enjoyed the post Arco,
Porn, whatever, if it sells, good for you.
That's one of he joys of art i suppose, you're not nailed to any particular genre, good luck.

"Social justice beehive", i like that.
You have a great perspective.
Respects.


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## Arcopitcairn

[video=youtube;HLDJ2QteN7c]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HLDJ2QteN7c[/video]


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## wainscottbl

Arcopitcairn said:


> Went to Pizza Hut with my Wesleyan friend Kris. Always have to watch my language and 'blasphemy' when I'm around him, but he's my oldest friend, so I don't mind.
> 
> .



[video=youtube;T38eLWOpCYk]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T38eLWOpCYk[/video]


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## Arcopitcairn

Well, my mother got a modest inheritance from her uncle's estate. It's not a life-changing amount, nut it's enough to make life easier for several months, which is very nice for her. She gave me a little money as well, which allowed me to pay off some small debts and even buy a couple little things for fun. It will also allow me to stop drawing porn commissions for a while, which is very nice for me. It's satisfying to know that I'm just good enough at art for people to want to pay a little for it, but I have to say that I'm burned out on it, and I would really like to just draw some things for fun.


 I'm going to Ohio with my friend Kristen on Saturday, to visit a giant grocery store called Jungle Jim's. I mentioned that we took the exact same trip last year, and I suppose we're creatures of habit, because we're going again. They have a lot of interesting international foods there. I am looking more forward to going to a specific comic store near the grocery, however. I've been on a very restrictive diet for the last month and a half (Around a 1000 calories a day), so there's not much at Jungle Jim's I could actually buy. But I can buy comics 


 I'd also like to mention that I think I owe a few people an apology based on comments I made on another thread. Sometimes I can get very vehement in my views, especially when I think I'm correct. In the final analysis, I guess the whole affair turned out to be pretty pointless. So, yeah, considering my spotty track record of thread-building, I think I'll avoid starting any more discussions. I think I'll just participate properly in threads that are not of my own design. Participate properly.


 Nothing else of note. So, should anyone want to assassinate me, I'll be at Jungle Jim's in Ohio on Saturday. Good luck!


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## EllaLouis

Highlight of the week: Spending yesterday working with Irish people (workplace visits with men in green-and-orange feather boas, women sporting glitzy green top-hats, one man surely had Irish coffee for breakfast. Our group caused quite a stir in our non-Irish-cultural part of the world!)


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## Arcopitcairn

[video=youtube;wfNGtHhJr58]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wfNGtHhJr58[/video]


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## Arcopitcairn

I've been trying to increase my goodness. I've come to realize that my intelligence, which is at least adequate, has in no way really been able to make the lives of those around me better. There are a lot of smart and clever people out there and nothing much seems to come of it save novelty or argument. My smarts, to me, are not a characteristic that can be applied to the common good. I mean they could be, but I'm not in a position to affect the world at large and I never will be. My brains don't do any good.


 I've been thinking about it. If I can't make things better for everyone (which is egotistical anyhow), perhaps I can just try and make life better for those around me and the people I meet by simply being Good. That is an attainable goal, seeing as how intelligence hasn't served me that well, plus I'm as smart as I'm ever going to get. But my uses can be different. I can't be much use to you. But if I'm decent, upstanding, I can be plenty of use to my friends and family. I can matter in a small way, which is fine.


 When I was young, I had visions of trying to change the world somehow. I would create something artistic that might alter perceptions, shift thought, maybe improve things. I'm not able to do that. I struggled a long time with thoughts of lost potential, wasted time, and dashed or decreased expectations concerning my place in the world. But now I feel that my place in the world should be very minimal. I just want to live my life, be good, and have peace and calm. And spread that peace and calm around in my tiny sphere. That's not so bad, huh?


 Other: Years ago, I drew a bunch of pictures for a nice fellow who wanted to make a coloring book. Superheroes and monsters. He finally collected all the pictures in the coloring book. So if anybody wants to pick up a weird book to color in, full of pictures I drew seven or eight years ago, here's the link:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/1522920935/?tag=writingforu06-20


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## Kevin

> That's not so bad, huh?


It's not so bad at all. Admirable. I know you don't care for that, but still...


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## dither

Arco's post has weighed heavy on my mind ever since i first read it, yesterday i think. I so want to respond but it's so difficult to put my thoughts into words and i don't want to offend or have my comment mis-interpreted.
You can't quantify good or badness. 
There is good and bad in all of us to varying degrees and you cannot MUST NOT MUST NOT MUST NOT try to live your life for other people.
What's that saying? "You can't please everybody all of the time."
I don't know Arco personally obviously and for all i know he could be the devil himself, i don't think so.

Instincts tell me Arco, and i've read a fair amount of this thread, that you're a pretty good egg. Live for yourself, live long and prosper. 

dither...


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## Arcopitcairn

[video=youtube;WeTi0b291ok]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WeTi0b291ok[/video]


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## dither

Hey Arco,

how're you doin?


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## Arcopitcairn

dither said:


> Hey Arco,
> 
> how're you doin?



I've been on a starvation diet since February that has blossomed into a wonderful eating disorder, I'm growing more and more distant from my friends and family, and I'm constantly drawing comic book heroine porn commissions for Ebay to keep myself in cigarettes and Slim-Fast. You?


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## Kevin

Arcopitcairn said:


> I've been on a starvation diet since February that has blossomed into a wonderful eating disorder, I'm growing more and more distant from my friends and family, and I'm constantly drawing comic book heroine porn commissions for Ebay to keep myself in cigarettes and Slim-Fast. You?


Yeah, me too... Hey my city got a pro football team.. First time in like forever, which is great except I don't like football


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## dither

Arcopitcairn said:


> I've been on a starvation diet since February that has blossomed into a wonderful eating disorder, I'm growing more and more distant from my friends and family, and I'm constantly drawing comic book heroine porn commissions for Ebay to keep myself in cigarettes and Slim-Fast. You?



Me? i'm bored witless. I need to get back to work but my arm isn't ready yet. I broke it a couple of months ago. Nothing serious it just needs time to recover. What's with the starvation diet Arco? Doesn't sound good.


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## Arcopitcairn

Sorry to hear about your arm. I hate broken bones. They are not meant to be broken.

The diet? I just started it and now I can't seem to stop. It's interesting. But I eat just enough to survive.


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## dither

Such is life Arco, such is life.
Glad to know the drawings are selling.


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## Kevin

You should eat some real food. 
I'm sure your real friends miss you. 
Eighties music is awful, shockingly bad. I was there and I often had to turn that crap off.
Eat something. Tell us a story.


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## Arcopitcairn

One of the reasons I have not been around is because I have had nothing interesting to share. Not even kind of interesting. Everything is ugh.


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## escorial

share everything man...the mundane to the epic stuff..it's what life is made up off....even rockstars have the odd downtime....

[video=youtube_share;DmeUuoxyt_E]https://youtu.be/DmeUuoxyt_E[/video]


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## dither

Arcopitcairn said:


> One of the reasons I have not been around is because I have had nothing interesting to share. Not even kind of interesting. Everything is ugh.



Arco,
 I respond to peoples views occasionally offering a view. I throw my hat into the ring as it were and it all goes into the mix i hope.

As for "UGH!" Don't i know it.

When i first came here i had so much to say, mostly b******* of course but it dried up, now i have nothing and i wish.

Hang in there Arco and what better place to hang.


I don't know why i hit that smiley and i'm sorry.


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## Arcopitcairn

Part of my problem is that summertime is poisonous to me. I hate the summer so much. I hate the wet, green leaves, the bugs, the heat, summer clothes, all of it. I hate summer more than terrorists, child molesters, Christians, and social justice warriors. It's a dead time for me, filled with nothing. So that's probably mostly why I have not had anything notable to express. It would just be constant seething, which would then become tiresome.

Anyhow, here's one of the few non-porn pictures I've drawn lately. Some guy wanted it for a poster for a movie he's making:




I've also been reading a book about the history of the comic strip. I'm slogging through the (admittedly interesting) parts concerning the Yellow Kid, Little Nemo, Gasoline Alley and the like to get to the parts about The Spirit, Pogo, Flash Gordon, Peanuts, and Terry and the Pirates. Maybe Steve Canyon, too.

I also got a trade that reprints all the Solomon Kane back-up stories from the 1970's Marvel magazine explosion. They are pretty boss, and I would recommend either sequential or the original prose Solomon Kane stories to anyone who is partial to pulp adventure.


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## Arcopitcairn

Oh, and this:

I like to go to Youtube and download music videos and make DVD compilations out of them. I put them on in the background while I draw. It makes me think of simpler times when I used to hang out and watch Mtv 

I came across this video. It's one of the creepiest videos I've ever seen. Holy cats!

[video=youtube;4aWhn0Hc8ps]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4aWhn0Hc8ps[/video]


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## Kevin

That is creepy... a lot of rock stars have hooked up with minors.

That art looks really vintage. Maybe you should do forgeries? Lol


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## Winston

Arcopitcairn, I'll see you, raise and call.  

[video=youtube;o-eVxtuMR0o]https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&amp;v=o-eVxtuMR0o[/video]

I alternated between laughing and wincing.


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## Arcopitcairn

Oh, good grief 

They'd never get away with that these days, that's for sure.


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## Arcopitcairn

Here's a an image I drew for my friend's Christmas card


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