krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)
So I guess here we go, a brand new adventure in the world of blogging as I transfer over 10 years of journalling into one new location. Now I'm trimming down my tag cloud (which, holy shit jay, poetry tags? you're annoying) from over 260 to maybe 25.

And don't think for a second I'm going to go tag up my posts for the first two journals.

Ten years of journalling. What would that look like if it was printed up into little diaries? Would it be a shoebox or a milk crate?

Okay, math time. I'm going to ignore word counts and focus on pages, because for these every page would have one entry, and some comments. I think the average paperback novel is going to have... 300 pages? 400?

Okay I'm looking at copies of the two books next to me. One is Handmaid's Tale, the other is Ghostmaker. Yes, judge me.

I'm about right. So 350 pages average. I don't REALLY do cheese sandwich posts, and I don't usually post memes, and even my twitter posts are only a recent addition and they're probably safely in this range.... so let's assume I'm god for one page of content for 50% of the time.

I'm looking at the numbers when I last kept count, and I'm looking at about 3380 entries between all three journals. So assuming my signal:noise ratio is sitting around 50%, I'm looking at 1500 pages? All the journals are almost the same length (weirdly), so I'm looking at three really beefy novels. I really think they wouldn't work as paperbacks, so maybe they'd have to be slightly larger hardcovers. I guess 3 to 5 books?


Lots of editing. I need a fucking editor. But I need to figure out how to ship something to publishers to see about interest, because fuck all if I'm going to republish 10 years of my life and not figure out how to sell it in the real world. Who the fuck is going to buy a biography that stretches over 4 books. That's stupid. BUT I GUESS THAT'S WHAT AN EDITOR IS FOR.

anyways... it's still just a weak thought in my head. I don't know if I would just dump it all out chronologically, or somehow split it into 3 different phases in my life. I could easily do a whole book on that ugly period in NY, and do one for the road, but then I've got a whole bunch of random life I'd have to bind up into a book.... and what worked for William Burroughs is not going to work for me.

Anyways hey check it out, I'm thinking about another project that's going to take years out of my life and I'll sell a half dozen copies. Because I'm not sitting on a bunch of other eggs waiting to be found.

Go me.

The first two journals have been thrown into the fire. The third will be tossed in once it outlives its usefulness. Right now it's a great echo mechanism, and if I could figure out how to get everything to broadcast from there opaquely... that would be wonderful.

I have an e-mail for all of this. Maybe I can set up a repeater there. OR HIRE A FUCKING ASSISTANT.

Burning the old journals feels kinda good. More of you should do this.

krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)
What's the average going rate per word for a writer? I've spent a lot of time writing recently, and I'm curious as to see how much "money" I've invested in this project....
krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)
I was going to make this huge livejournal post here tomorrow, because it will be my big anniversary with this place. Yeah man, can you believe it, 10 years of livejournaling.

Who here has been the longest? I think my brother has been here since day one. Or at least, I've talked about him the most. Hahaha.

10 years of awesome adventures, a dozen failed creative attempts, and a few heartbreaks.

So yeah, was gonna post a huge thing about my "10 years of lj" but apparently tomorrow is the day everyone shuts down the internet to protest something about fair trade (countries that make and sell soap and how we abuse them) or some other weird 'protest the internet' movement.

That's my luck.

/cue theme song.

oh wait, my ten year is today, i still have time!
krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)
Squinting his eyes against the setting sun, Jake stubbed his cigarette out against the corrigated metal of the train's roof and stood up. He twisted his torso enough to cause his spine to pop, slung his bolt-action rifle over his shoulder, and keyed in on his two-way radio.

"Sun down in twenty, time to come home."

The radio crackled briefly and its operator spoke up.

"Roger that. How's Spike? Anything?"

Jake looked down at the dog laying next to him. He squatted down and lovingly scratched around the collar on its neck. Spike raised his head slightly and lazily leaned into the boy's affections.

"Negative. But I don't have a good gut about this. Come home straight, don't fuck around."

"Language kid," the radio intoned.

Jake frowned and pressed the tiny red button on the cheap and grunged up radio in his hand. "Just come home. Now." He pleaded.

He hooked the radio into his belt, brushed the sandy blonde hair out of his eye, and shouldered his rifle. Looking through the scope he had a pretty unobstructed view between the railyard and the general store at the end of the road. He swept the rifle from side to side, once quickly, and then once again slowly, looking for movement.

Startled by the loud bang of metal against metal, the young man spun around to face the hatch that was just thrown open by a tomboyish redhead.

"Fuck! Jo, what I tell you about throwing doors open," he admonished her.

"I dunno Jake, what they say about your language?" she shot back, as she pulled herself up onto the roof, and brushed down the hem of her polka-dotted sun dress. She dropped to her knee, suddenly very focused on the undoing of one of her boot laces.

Jake turned back to the direction of the setting son and looked back into the scope. "Remind me again why everyone's on my case about my cursing?" he grumbled.

"Oh, you don't remember how you almost got all of us ran out of New Orleans by the King himself for that expletive laden tirade of yours?"

Read more... )
krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)

Here's a list of the writing projects I'm in the middle of:

My Cruel Heart
 A collection of poems and diary entries I wrote while going through one of the most painful endings of a personal relationship I've ever been through. I simply need to go through everything, organize it, and create the layouts. Then it's off to design the book.

I'm publishing this book for the sole purpose of telling anyone else going through any painful phase in their life that they are not alone, nor does the world have to end.

Of Monsters and Windmills
A story of teen drama involving a group of kids and their Quixotic adventures.

Liberty Wall
The problem with building a wall around a people is not that you're keeping the bad guys out, but you're also keeping the good ones in.

The Curse of Eichenlaub Village
A Nazi sacrifices himself , both figuratively and literally, to save a town.

Burlesque Macabre
A Voodoo priestess dances for a caberet full of vampyres.

Dead Alexis Collection
The Angel of Vengeance is told that God has turned his back on us all. A series of shorts.

Blackwater, Missouri
The horror of the undead descends on a small town. Currently, it's in script form. The first act is done, the second act needs dialogue, the third act needs more than just a plot outline.

Eddie and the Egg
A coming of age story about a mute Hispanic kid as the second coming of Jesus.

Six and Ten: Genefix Cure
A dark and gloomy steampunk story.

Hand of God
The story of a genetically modified assassin. Frankenstein's Monster in a Hong Kong Bullet Opera.

Reality of the Dead
This is the true story... of eight strangers... picked to escape a zombie outbreak...survive together and have their struggles  taped... to find out what happens... when people stop being polite... and start getting real...

Lords of Death
I place a few of my characters into the middle of Revelations.

Proud Mary
Zombies on a Train

"Gang of Brothers"
South Central LA bangers grow up together, go into the military, and come back with the training to become kings of the underworld.

The 3000
Based on current events, this is a story about a organized crime cartel made up of the security gaurds from the largest prison in the US.

UnderBridge: The Rise and Fall of the Internet Provocuter
(i'm not telling.)

krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)
The band played a caribean influenced song while she danced on stage. The statacco beats of the drums and brass accented her writhing. With a perfect fluid grace she moved serpentine, her hips gyrating, her full breasts swaying. A thin layer of persperation glistening like glitter against her dark chocolate skin. Back and forth, and in tiny little circles, the balls of her bare feet dancing against the smooth surface of the stage. Ankle bells lightly jingling.

Rosetta Kali danced seductively with an otherworldy grace, moving with the music of the band in the pit nearby.
Stone faced men with pale skin and unblinking eyes stared at her from the darkness, all of them not quite lit from the small candles on their tables.

guy on a cross on the stage.
cut open into a tower of champaign glasses
epilogue - vampyre in a state of blood lust comes to her dressing room, she uses her voodoun and sics her zombie gorilla on him.
krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)
When he first came to town, he was tired, bleeding, and a member of the army invading our country side.

He was first seen slowly dragging his body across the center of town, towards the fountain, leaving a thin rivulet of blood trickling back and forth across the cobblestones. Just as he had started pulling himself up against the brick work in an attempt to drink the water, the mayor’s eldest daughter ran to him and tried to help him, just narrowly beating out her new husband from reaching him. His intentions involved a shovel, and where much crueler.

Compassion won out against fear as we tended to his wounds and hid him as he slept.

He told us the story of how he broke rank and ran. He horrified us with stories of the Nazi General who lost his mind in battle, chasing ghosts and running from imagined daemons.

He couldn’t stand the crimes that were being committed at every town they came across. The shootings. The lootings. The rapes. Children used as target practice or temporary concubines.

He only wanted to go home. We only wanted him to leave.

A few days later word came to us from a local hunter that he saw the rest of them coming.

An armoured column. A massive army that outnumbered our village by ten to one. Enough bullets to kill us a hundred times over. Tanks and cannonades to flatten our buildings. Waist thick timbers and stone walls collapsing in moments.

We knew, without doubt, his presence here would have our fields salted and our history forgotten within an evening. There was nothing we could do. There was no running, being surrounded by steep mountains. All we had was an acceptance of our fate. We prepared to line up in the streets and quietly welcome our invaders.

He refused to leave. He begged us to listen to him. He had an idea. But there would have to be a sacrifice.

The armoured column announced its revival with the distruction of the bell tower of the chapel.

The Nazi war machine marched straight towards the center of our town, goose stepping in cadence as if it was a parade march. The General even took lead, as if this was the easiest of exercises.

Only a few moments into the village, the army immediately slowed. Every leader, every soldier, every horse felt the same hesitation. This town was not empty, but it was quiet.

A few more blocks in, the army slowed more, and mutterings of trepidation crossed the faces of the invading enemy.

The General, enraged, spured his tank forward with a small group and advanced ahead of his command.

Just before rounding the corner to reach the center of the town, the General himself halted the movement of his group. On a sheer brickworked wall in front of him was a sigil, a diagram, and a quote.

Alchemy and daemonic whispers, a secret power word written in blood 20 feet across.

The General, for the first time in his entire military career halted.

His face ran white.

Unable to face his impossible fear, the fear of showing a moment of weakness, he pushed forward in horror.

In the center of the fountain a body hung crucified, torn open with rough hands, the entrails tied in mystic knotwork. Giant swaths of blood and gore painted obscene grids and sigils that promised other-world summonings.

The medic and champlain ran forward, investigated, and came back with eyes haunted with madness that will affect them in later years.

“He was alive for all of this.”

The General started at the remains of his most trusted first Lieutenant, and one of his closest friends. The one man who was privy to so much of his most recent fears, the visions of the battle between the daemons and the angels. The weird symbols carved into the pages made of arabic flesh.

The General succumbed to the madness, and ordered his own suicide. He was dead in moments.

We watched the army retreat from the safety of the shadows in our basements and attics.

They never looked back.

Neither did we.

Our town survives to this day.
krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)
So, I'm pleased with the story I just released. I think I have to go over it one more time, because I know I have at least 2 continuity errors, and I'm sure my present tense and past participle merge once, but it's about done. [Poll #1782621]
krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)
Our attention was immediately back on falling into our training and our duties, as soon as we heard the first explosion farther down the wall and somewhere near another vehicle.

We planted our feet, brought our weapons up to attention, and we were ready to operate as soon as we could acquire target.

We mercilessly scanned the horizon, and we saw no movement. The explosion echoing in the distance was felt like an anomaly. Until there was another one, closer on the other side, and we scrutinized our zones. We were ready for all hell to break loose.

Silently, very silently, the thin report of automatic machine gun fire slowly drifted towards us. At first we couldn't tell where it was coming from because of how it was echoing across the valley, but eventually we realized it was coming from the farther sides of the mountains that cradled us.

Our collars blinked to life, and as lights switched from green to red, they barked small moments of static, and then they seemed to buzz with a sharp energy.

It steadily grew louder, like thunder in the distance, and then we heard the unmistakable sound of artillery fire from one of the towers east of us.

Or west of us.

And that's a weird thing, I remember so much about that day, but I don't remember which way the fighting was starting from. The sun was in the wrong position, and with the stress of the situation, I could barely tell what was up or down. All I knew was "in front".

I damn near jumped over the barricade ran for it when the tower next to me came online.

Dishes rotated into position, Bulky weird cannons that looked like plastic whales with glowing blue teeth drew their full lengths into the still air. We could smell the ozone, and hear the crackling.

Suddenly the my comm collar let out this weird noise. It was some sort of weird frequency static, like some sort of white noise, and it got loud, I mean like it almost hurt.

Then the cannon I was staring at just fired, with this brilliant flash that left some sort of glowing in the air, like the opposite of the inside of an electric toaster.

I realized what the sound from the collar was doing, when i realized that after the cannon fired, I could still hear everything around me as clear as day.

Off in the distance I saw one of the blue cannons from the tower down the wall, and watched as there was no beam or projectile, just that weird glow, and then nothing. A few hundred yards a way I noticed it. The movement got my attention. I guess with being a sniper now, small movements from far away kinda get my attention.

It was if the trees and bushes across the clearance zone seemed to be hit with the swiftly moving cough of a small god. They bended incredulously for just a moment, and then slowly straightened themselves out.

The moans came first. Something was in the bushes. Off a little farther came inhuman screams.

Not constant screams like the battle cry of an approaching army, but the sudden and frantic anquished screams, the short high pitched bark of the mortally wounded.

And the moaning.

At this point the machine gun turrents came to life, swinging their barrels back once or twice in a quick movement of target acquisition.

The guns fired until they barrels practically glowed. Then they would pause unnaturally until they cooled down for a while. Then the cannons would fire again, doing that weird ghostly launching of something powerful and invisible.

Like clockwork, the guns would take their turn a few times winding up and cooling down, and then the cannon launching. Eventually and at different times the turrents would start beeping in defiance and settle down into their locked positions.

Like weird and ugly bull terriers, they sat quietly, waiting for operators to come around and reload their ammo pods.

Training prepared me to move instantly. I immediate set up at a bench position and loaded a round into my rifle, and looked into the scope. At the same time I heard the ATVs disengage from their parked position, and start tearing down the range towards the trees and outcroppings.

The collars didn't do that constant chatter thing like they did in the movies and games. No one said anything. We sat in defensive response positions until the ATVs could recon. Without hesitation I started looking for David's unit.

Just like him, he was one of the farthest ones, racing to get a first glimpse at the horrors awaiting us.

A single rivulet of sweat ran down the side of my neck as I zeroed in the scope, watching every moment of Dave's approach.

He stopped short from a clump of bushes, and he and his wingman lept quickly from their vehicle and approached the edge of the clearing with their SMGs at the ready.

They stopped. They stopped dead in their tracks. I couldn't see what was in front of them. I couldn't see Dave's face, but I could tell by the sudden rigidity of his body that something was very, very wrong.

I saw his partner move first, he dropped he shoulders down, curved his body tightly against his weapon, and fired into the bushes.

Dave snapped out of his shock, and as the echoing of gunfire hit us, I saw David lurch swing his weapon at the man next to him, knocking him off target and sending him sprawling into the dirty.

The look of utter dismay ran across the other soldier's face. He screamed something at my brother in law, got up on one knee, and continued to fire at whatever was in front of him.

A body fell clumsily out of the bushes in front of him, I caught only a momentary glimpse of what looked like rotting and decaying flesh. Or something horribly burned and mangled. I only caught a twisted limb as it landed in the high weeds.

I could hear David's anquished cry, and as I brought my view back to the men, I saw David open fire on his mate, sprays of gore blossoming in the air as rounds tore through the man on his knees.

My heart stopped beating. I couldn't fathom it. Why did Dave just kill one of us? I was absolutely numb with shock.

Another body lurched out of the bushes. All I saw was teeth  and claws and movement.

Instinct kicked in and I pulled the trigger, sending a .50 PLUS round down range at nearly the speed of sound.

Whatever was menacing Dave disappeared from the floating ribs up in a thick cloud of gore.

Dave hesistated, firing once or twice wildly into the bushes. But movement came from everywhere.

Dave, seeing something far worse than I could imagine, clumsily fell back, tripping over the underbush, and smacking his head against the ATV.

I pressed my fingers to the collar like they showed us in class, I thought really hard about Dave's name and id number, and I yelled at him to run.

Suddenly the cannon fired again, the bushes shook, and Dave jumped back up to his feet, and then strangely climbed onto the ATV, his feet planted on the rack and the gas tank.

Another ATV raced to his location.

He looked into the bushes, screamed in fury as he reloaded, twisting his body  and opening fire on the support team racing up the hill.

The ATV careened out of control, spilling it's two riders into the dirt. As the vehicle rolled to a stop, the driver was gunned down in a hail of bullets from Dave. The other rider opened fire, and managed to hit him once on the thigh as Dave cut him in half from yards away.

I called out to Dave again over the comm, screaming over and over again, what are you doing, what are you doing?!?!

As he brought his hand up to his collar to respond, I noticed every light on his collar was blinking and red.

His hand stopped, I saw him listen to some sort of command only he could hear, and I swear to god he was looking right at me as his collar detonated.

As his headless body slowly sank to the ground, I saw the limbs and claws of monsterous creatures find their ways out of the shadows. 

Numb from shock, I felt my arm go through the motions of reloading. I froze just as I was about to finish decisively gliding the action foward.

My collar gently beeped once and intoned:

"Incoming Foot Tangos. Comply with orders or face execution."

I felt my held breath die in my chest as I watched the face of my wife emerge from the bushes.

She was alive. She was hurt badly from a grazing gun wound. She was very very frightened, but very very much alive. She was also holding our daughter against her chest.

She fell to her knees and screamed.

Just as the wind carried her voice to me, my heart broke.

Then the turrets next to me started spinning.

My collar beeped in warning.

Time stopped. I saw the tears in her eyes from hundreds of yards away.

I watched as a leaf gently float past her face, casting a shadow across her.

My mind latched on to the shadow, realizations burned a bolt of lighting into my brain.

I watched the leaf land in the grass. The wind whipped Sarah's beautiful long hair across her face and the face of our child.

I watched as she took in another breath, and my eyes pulled themselves away from her face just for a moment as I looked at the sun.

All this time, I didn't realize it. I don't think anyone did.

Our guns, our weapons, our troops.

Liberty Walls faced inward.

My collar started screaming it's shielding frequency, and the cannons started to glow.
krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)
Just like that, everything went from real bad to absolute fucked. It started off as another regular day. This time around, the only real difference was all of our cell phones and all of our net connections just stopped working.

That didn't stand out, not for a second. Looking back, we thought we got it figured out. That was the moment the game changed. Well, no. A lot of people said that for a while, and some people might even still believe it. But they don't either can't figure it out, or they don't want to figure it out. It wasn't the loss of contact, it was when the Compliancy model was activated.

That penultimate loss of freedom.  Those little blinking lights. The smell of the first one that goes off. That's when the game changed.

We didn't know if it was a drill or not, but without warning an alert went out near the tail end of breakfast, all hands on deck. We locked and loaded as quick as our best times, and we all hit our positions on the wall.

I looked down from the wall and looked at David, as he was stationed operating one of the hybrid ATV scouts.

Weirdly, he looked up at the same time, and we caught each other. He smiled and winked at me, but I saw his face changing when he looked away. I could only imagine how dark my face must've looked at the moment. It felt as black as pitch. I'm sure he saw it.

Klaxxons, lights, the whole thing. All of the weird antennas and shutters extended on all of the towers. All of the garages opened and all of the vehicles poured out. Somewhere right in the middle of the day, after only a few minutes of warning, we were battle ready. We had no idea what was coming, but we knew it was big. All of the towers and troops as far as I could across the entire valley where standing active. If this was a drill, this was going to be one that would take hours to reset from, having to put all of the weapons and armour away.

Suddenly, from each of our collars, the towers, and our wrist units, first the seal of the US, then the presidential seal, and then the announcement in all of its flat hologram glory.

The President made the announcement. The grimmest of events in our country's history. I don't think a single man in that valley was breathing as he continued.

The President was very calm and collected. I think there might've even been a tear in his eye. I don't know, those images were pretty lossy. Oh but his voice, I will never forget how crystal clear his voice sounded.

He said what he needed to say, the video feed ended, and then The Panic hit.

We could practically hear the screams of outrage and doom coming from every city across the country.

I will give credit to the men of our battallion almost none of the men broke rank. I saw a few go into "at ease". I definately saw quite a few relax the grips on their tools and reach for their phones. None of them worked period. Dead bricks in our hands. A few men fell to their knees, but those men at least stayed very, very quiet.

At least at that point we knew right away, somehow, without any real logical explanation as to why we all knew at once, we all knew we had to be quiet.
krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)

Dave was one of those guys who would actually slap his knee while laughing.

It was that particular goofy noise that brought me back around from my daydream. By the time I came around, the noise had faded pretty quickly into the cabin's clean and utilitarian walls.

I asked him what was up and I admitted to him I was blissed out, kinda watching all of the new buildings and roads go by as I stared out the window of the train. Course, he was laughing at the fact that he called me on doing it, so that was pretty funny. His mood shifted a bit all of a sudden and I felt he wanted to talk about his sister and I. I didn't want to talk about it, it was weighing too much on my mind, and had been, for weeks.

He told me not to worry, that this big job was going to make her come around. "Oh I know her man, she's my sister." I knew her and I had a good idea I might've known her more than he did. Dave was always that sort of guy. He saw the good in everything that happened around him. He must've stole that from his sister. Definitely stole that from his parents. Outside of him, the whole family was pretty dour. Which I'm thinking might be the problem here. I don't think Sarah's parents are saying the nicest of things about me. Sarah has a lot of faith in me, but she's also realistic, and after a string of dead end warehouse jobs, she was getting a little tired of moving.

The baby though. If it wasn't for our daughter Susan, the fighting probably would've been a lot more intense. I definitely would've been drinking a hell of a lot more. No matter how angry we got, we just couldn't bring ourselves to be nasty around our kid.

At least we have her. The kid kept us together pretty well, for an 8 year old, strangely enough. Here's hoping the job will just make things a little more solid around the house. Susan at least deserved a classroom full of friends that didn't have to change every year.

Dave kept trying to talk to me, he kinda stammered a bit about something, got quiet for a bit, and I guess he eventually figure out to give up, which is good. I wasn't in the mood. I'd rather stare out into the world and focus more on the future than on the past.

The rest of the train ride was pretty awkward, but at least with the new engines, it was a short trip. Dave knew enough to let me have my space while we got sorted out and bunked up, but once we started swinging hammers on a regular basis, I was able to lighten up and start talking again. Course, once the hammers stopped, things got even uglier, and it almost happened overnight.


We had a pretty good buzz going right away. Lottery winners such as myself got these nice new uniforms. Standard SWAT style BDUs in weird slightly off blue that we got used to pretty quick. Lots of white ceramic plates, straps and buckles.

We thought it was going to be difficult keeping them tidy, but even the guys who ended up down on the ground for shifts noticed that everything was impregnated with something that made dirt kinda just slide off easy.

The armour plating was very light and slightly flexible, and with how the helmet seemed to almost lock down into the breast plates, they made us feel almost like futuristic versions of those guys from old England with the horses and the swords.

Even our firearms and batons were mostly white.

The stuff was high tech, definately. The guns had this thick plastic and enamel paint job that made them feel like they should've shot lasers, but instead they used this wierd off calibre round that I think they used like one of those French cops from the EU. We even got our hands on other crazy stuff, like these pocket smartcells with flexible screens we could mount to our wrists or helmets, and these killer neck cuffs that had a few lights and buttons on them that allowed us to talk to each other over long distances. The audio and mics were so good discussions between guys a few towers away sounded like they were standing in right next to you. Heavier than they should've been though, and the battery packs seemed a little too big. They also had a habit of binding into your torso harness and helmet if you scrinched your neck the right way.

After the first day guys were fixing to wear them around their shoulders, but any time a supervisor saw them do that, they got into some serious shit. Things got to the point where they were pretty draconian about the whole thing.

Since no one likes doing PT out in the desert, we all just kinda dealt with them and wore them like clockwork. That and the computer voice it used for incoming transmissions was very easy on the ears, and some guys got to flirting with it, not that it got anything more than a few laughs from our guys sitting near em.

All and all we felt like bad asses. Like we stepped right out of that Robocop remake from a year or so ago.

Things got... weird. And quick. We had all of this high tech stuff, but our ability to talk to our friends and families started getting less and less reliable. Cell phones had a bad time connecting, no matter where on the wall you where. SkypeNet got throttled more and more. It got to the point you could barely stay awake long enough for DiaPlus to load up your friend's timeline.

It got noticeably worse within days. Suddenly we were starting to get cut off from the rest of the world, and we weren't happy about it. HomeSec said it was due to a lot of the towers housing these "invasion" countermeasures. Word around the campfire was the shielding on them wasn't as up and up as they were supposed to be. You know how it is though, lowest bidder and all of that.

They also started getting stricter and stricter with us. Every few days there was a new rule or operations guideline. It was hard enough to keep track that many of us were losing our  vacation time on a regular basis. Some of us were starting to go for days without hearing from our families, and weeks without seeing their faces, even when they were local. It was getting to us, being disconnected, and it was getting to us quick.

Everything just kept snowballing pretty quickly. Fights happened. People stopped working. Penalties got more and more severe. At first it was the usual "hey go do this shit job for a week now", but then it quickly turned into "pack your bags".

After a weekend of bunks emptying, people got the message. A lot of us felt the whole cut-off thing was only temporary, and eventually cooler heads prevailed and we could start agreeing that even if we couldn't check our e-mails every day, it was better than not having a job anymore.

I got worried around the time I started hearing rumours that outbursts were responded to with FoodCards suddenly just not working for a day or two. Even at HomeSec's worst though, they're not going to starve people.

Well, after the very last State of the Union address we had, the one that started The Panic, I really don't put anything past them anymore. Once a government hits murder, then nothing is off the table anymore.

krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)
The President’s plan was bold, far reaching, and America believed in it.

Everything was pretty cut and dry, and every single one of us working class stiffs could get behind it in a big way. They made it sound really simple, and excluding all of the politics and economic stuff and other stuff I don’t really have a head for, it kinda was.
Just one big domestic initiative. An infrastructure so big it could feed everyone for years. It made the Hoover Dam look like a canal dredging out in the bay.

One big project. Hire everyone who could swing a hammer or walk a straight line. “Opportunities for All!” You couldn’t escape the billboards and posters. As if they stopped talking about it in the news, you’d somehow forget. You couldn’t forget it. Things were working again. Even the nay-sayers who started off calling it “socialist witchcraft” got behind it when they realized how big the tax breaks were gonna be for their petrol investments.

Outside of the conspiracy nuts and priviledged white art students, no one could find much fault in the program. At least not enough fault to turn down the paycheck.

For so many of us trapped in the bad parts of the cities, those of us who were over-qualified and under-employed (you know, all of us), this was just like winning a lottery. Salaried contracts that would last a few years, benefits after we leave, vouchers for services. The paychecks. Well all felt the same way. Full fridges, finally. No more picking which bill to pay at the end of the month. This was going to pull us out of our debt. Each of us.

My brother-in-law and I were on the first bus out of Tennessee as soon as we got the word we qualified. We didn’t even unpack our documentation and paperwork until we were 100 miles in.

I’m not sure exactly how everything happened so quickly and so easily. When the president introduced that big multi-media simulcast of “Project Liberty Wall”, it was almost too much to take in at once. I could only imagine this sort of stuff must’ve already been on the back burner. Somewhere between Operation SafeGaurd and the TSA meltdown they said. A lot of lobbying, a lot of incredible tax breaks. Mining companies, the transportation industry. They practically couldn’t ship blue collar down south fast enough. This thing was big and it hit the ground running.

There was such a sudden change that the economy bounced immediately back up. There was nothing we couldn’t do wrong. The world basically accepted we did the impossible, and we got our credit rating back up. I think we also ended up taking a Central American country while no one was looking.

Some of the less learned workers from deeper in the burbs where asking about why no one was being sent North, but we were able to straighten them out when we reminded them of when we helped Canada find justice after that Jihadist attack destroyed the reactors and wiped out most of Quebec.

All the cities along the border doubled and tripled in size. Skyscrapers went up in places like El Paso and Nogales. Each bordertown swelled up with legions of new workers. Shipping and receiving logistics centers everywhere. Some days I’d wake up in complete disbelief as buildings were built almost overnight. New Orleans suddenly had the world’s largest shipping yard, and became a metroplex in months.

Transportation and labour laws got pretty loose, and there might’ve been a few accidents, but hey, we were all getting fed. Foodcards went double value in company stores.

Most nights you could see the miles and miles of headlights. They said it twinkled like stars if you saw em from low orbit.

It was considered the 9th wonder of the world once it was done. A continuous wall that ran for miles between Mexico and the US. Averaging between 15 and 20 feet high, wide enough for three men to run down. Occassional gates on major highways. Towers within eyesight of each other.

It was like a high tech modular version of the Great Wall of China, before part of it disappeared when Three Gorges dam went out.

It was amazing how fast everyone can work when properly motivated. We had it way ahead of expectations.

All of the techie stuff got installed fast. With the way they had our work battalions set up, the entire grid was wired for power in a few weeks, instead of months.

Trenches, short retaining walls. This wide flat “clear zone” for yards on both sides. You could see people approaching from both sides for hundreds of yards. And with the motion sensors, cameras, low-lights, infrareds, it was almost too much. There’d be dry tests randomly down the wall during the tail end, and a jackrabbit couldn’t take a dump in a bush without floods and lasers lighting it up almost instantly.

We used to joke the towers had sensors locked up inside of them that could hear someone THINK about looking at the wall, but mostly it looked like they just housed a few antennaes and some weird electric grill looking things that must’ve been speakers or broadcast dishes. More than likely the garage on the bottom part of the tower didn’t really carry much except for a small ATV and maybe some maintanence tools.

Around that time some guys the next tower over thought it was pretty cute to bring paintball markers to work. The second time they hit an animal, they were fired on the spot. They didn’t even get a chance to back their bags, they were on trains heading home so quickly. They even managed to outrun the rumours about them getting tossed in a slam over it.

And then that was about it. One regular morning we all got calls, e-mails, texts. Same general announcement. We all got the same letter on the same HomSec/INS letterhead.

Liberty Wall was complete.

“We’re all very proud of your work. We couldn’t have done it with out all of you patroitic hard-working citizens, blah blah, blah.” All we knew is that it we could go home now. We’d all go back to our families (if they didn’t move down here with us), our old ways of life. Our lives as mechanics and masons, fry cooks and bartenders. And we got to go home with full wallets, and sizable pensions for us to either re-invest in the new technology we knew about, or just blow on very very extended vacations.

We were given special scannable passcards that we could use to get access to our trusts, and we were all surprised by being told while most of our contracts were over, they were instituting an immediate lottery for workers to join this new National Border Guard. Nothing really more than a public works department for Liberty Wall.

I was in before I knew it. I had a winning number, and it was all I could do to send for my kids and their mom. Maybe this new job would be enough to convince her to move down here. Maybe the loose talk about the separation would end.

There was a lot of arguing over the phone for the next few days.

I was able to keep my mind off of it during training. They kept us incredibly busy. Push this button when this light flashes. Go connect this if this light breaks. We were definitely glorified janitors and security guards. However we all got basic fire arms training and some range time, and really none of us thought anything of it. We kinda figured from the new uniforms and gear we were going to be some sort of patrol, and most of the guys in my group were hunters or operators before they even came down. So for us it just felt like part of the job. The top scoring guys got the fancier hardware. I placed well with a scoped bolt-action rifle that was not nearly as heavy as it looked like it should’ve.

After a few more nights of long talks, and promises made, and apologizes made, Sarah and the kids were on their way down. Outside of brief visits once every few months, I didn’t get to see enough of them, and the idea of them seeing their daddy in uniform and being proud of him made my heart sink something fierce. I didn’t realize how badly I missed them until she told me they were on the train.

That same feeling in my gut came rushing back ten times harder when I recognized her through the scope of my rifle three days later.
krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)
With the beginning of the new year, I'm perfectly ready to start putting more energy into getting even more of my shit together. I have a few great things planned out. Not much, mind you, because my laptop is flat out dead now, but I think if I look at my to-do list hard enough, I can find things on it I can do that doesn't involve my computer. Or at least things that don't involve *my* laptop.

Of course, I just came down with a seriously nasty cold, so I'm not doing shit that warrants my attention for more than 5 minutes at a clip.

Which really sucks, because I really need to get off of my ass and WRITE.

A few things have been weighing heavily around my neck, and I really need to just talk about them. I'm just not ready yet. I need to string the right words together for it.

Also, I really want to get in on that NANOWRIMO (whatever, fuck off) project this year. I figure joining it would motivate me to get a ton of writing in, and also it might get me motivated to finish up my Zombie Movie, which I have been "writing" for over three years now. I look at it once every few months, but I never really do anything with it. I was going to turn it into an actual script and then continue, but I don't know. Maybe I should just finish it up as the story it is, and then work on converting the formatting.

So yeah, I'm taking a very deserved break from web design. I'm also going to ignore the 3D CGI stuff until classes start. Which means I should find more time for writing.

So yeah, NANNARIMORI day 1: word count ZERO.
didn't write shit cuz i'm so sick i'm practically hallucinating.

am i doing it right?
krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)
A work in progress:

Eddie Guerra was accidently born an American citizen, being as he had the gross indecency to do so in Guantanamo Bay. At first, his birth was a quick "weird news" clip found all over the internet. But it was election day, so no one really paid much attention. It wasn't until a few years later, after celebrations died down, that someone pointed, out in the Web(2.0), the question "Wait, doesn't that make him a citizen?"

Too quickly too much attention was paid to him. The previous administration was unable to cover up their mistake. The next amdministration waved him like a flag, neither one ever could've guessed him happening. We were ill prepared for waht was next.

It was decided, at the end of it all, that he would be placed in a sort of "transparent" protective custody.

This prevented him from being kidnapped, assassinated, or raised in normalcy.

As he grew up, he was always clumsily shadowed by the Secret Service. However, no one was allowed to explain any of it all to him.

By the time he was an adult, he developed black-outs, due to a pre-natal twin being absorbed into him, causing a perfectly formed biscuspid to press too hard against his frontal lobe on the rare occasion.

Also, it didn't help his frequency of black-outs that he was an alcoholic. The type of alcoholic that would drink steaadily and profusely until he would just painfully and bodily fall over. No stuttering, slurring, or stammering. None of those easy to figure out signs of a typical Saturday morning cartoon drunk.

Just a sudden shutdown. No warning. End of Day.

Because of these sudden random black-outs, and the government mandated protection, and the weird almost peripheral media attention towards this "Terrorist Bred American". He developed a sort of Christ-like existence.

He floated in Limbo. Strangers would gawk and stare, but none would actually contact him or connect with him.

He came to believe that he could kill with him mind, simply based on the fact that any time anyone spent too much time with him, he would suddenly wake up a hundred miles away. Far from his dinner guests, with no explainations. Never to see them again. Without a clue as to what possibly could've happened. Even if the answer was nothing more than an ill-timed black-out and an ill-timed Secret Service intervention.

All this aside, he was a gentle and caring soul, and he grew to be cautious and introverted, in an attempt to prevent this perceived horrible fate from happening to others.

In time, it came to pass that the rest of the world started to see him as a sort of phantasmic Christ figure. A vague re-awakening of a previous messiah. However, after time, lines blurred, and he started to become a sort of Virgin Mother figure as well.

Cut to a quick scene where he has a lengthy and secretive interview with a hillbilly ex-president.

This man he meets speaks at length about the horrible things he did to the country in the name of pleasing his friends and family. All and all, at the end of it, he comes to learns his friends were just bad business, and eventually, he learns to become ashamed of the dark era of american politics he created.

After a night of banter over a fireplace in a lodge somewhere deep in the heart of the Republic of Texas, Eddie wakes up far removed from his last discussion.

He awakes in the center of a grassy field. The soil damp on his back, the sky dark against his eyes, curled up in a fetal spooning position around a massive ostrich egg.

As he wanders across the country from this point, events lead him to believe that this was when he became the Mother Virgin to this new Child-Christ.

When he arrives in the American southwest, he is absorbed into a gang of bikers known as the "High Desert Rats", as they battle a two pronged war running supplies across a battlefront created by the Arizona Minutemen and the Independent Mexican Army.

During this, the promise of the Christ-Egg prevents the start of the Second Mexican-American War.

By the end of this story, the oil-hoarding terrorists of the Free Republic of Texas were nuked, California becomes it's own nation shortly before sinking into the ocean, and Arizona Bay becomes the new capital of the hopeful and promising rebirth of America.
krowface: xenomorph in full lotus position (Default)
I guess today is a good a day as any to make an announcement.

First off, there's a new photo book in the works, in which, if all goes well, I'll actually be collaborating with another photographer. It'll be called "Silent Cities", and there might be one or two of you out there who knows exactly what I'm planning based solely on that. News on that later...

Secondly, I've been toying with the idea of writing up a screen play. It's been bouncing around in my head for quite some time, and it's been mingling with all the useless knowledge I have stored up there. As I work on the various aspects of this project, I'll post more about it, not just to keep interested parties up-to-date, but so that I don't forget some of the little details involved. So between my serious love (and knowledge) of the zombie mythos, and the fact that I spend way too many hours behind the wheel, I present you with the first mention of my next project:

Blackwater, Missouri

"something something zombie hordes"

Anyways, notes have been collected, research has been made, and I'm going to start writing the first draft of the script tonight. Mind you, I don't know shit about writing screen plays, but that's never stopped half the people out there that do it.

Any and all input is appreciated, I'm pretty open to suggestion as to what you would like (and not like) to see in a zombie movie. I've got a series of concepts and outlines for the project, but there's still plenty of gaps that need to be filled in. Really all I have in my head is images and instances. I'm sure once I start writing it out everything will fall together.

The premise of the film really is an exploration of the zombie canon, and at the same time I'd like to challenge the de facto standards, such as character archetypes. I'm also going to try to focus on the town itself, and still keep a social sub-context. I'll probably delve into the concepts of religious mass hysteria, and at the same time try to create a sort of "how to" guide at the same time, without either being too heavy handed.

Expect signs of heavy influence from George Romero and Max Brooks.

November 2016



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