mad drunk genius

I used to have all sorts of problems. Now there's just the one.

Month: February, 2006

National Public Radio – twice as many listeners as I have readers

I got interviewed my National Public Radio today over the whole Bible Elective thing happening at Permian. I got interviewed and sounded like a complete and utter moron (though nowhere near as pretentious as I let myself become in my “writing voice”).

To quote a character from my fanfiction, “Words are slippery things” and they slip right out of your damn mouth without waiting for approval from your brain.

There’s an earlier post about this subject, “Netspeak to 1984 in a 1000 words or less” is the general idea, if not the exact title. I prefer the written medium because even when I’m at my most inebriated (from lack of sleep, mind you) and uninhibted, I revise what I’ve written at least a couple of times and I think about what I’m going to say more times than that.

But spoken words slide right off the tongue and onto your foot and then you insert them back into your mouth, or up your bum depending upon the severity of your mistake.

I won’t bore you with my political and theological opinion on the subject of a public school creating a class for the sole purpose of teaching the Bible, but it’s very well thought out and I rival the greatest poets and minds of any age in regards to its depth, scope, and imagination. Take my word for it. Written out, that comes across very clearly. Spoken aloud…. My natural stupidity should never be allowed to shine through. If I had any sense at all, I’d take a vow of silence. On the other hand, “Better a loud jackass than a quiet elephant.”

That’s a proverb isn’t it?

Wretched Man

I loved her. For a time I worshipped her, but I always loved her. Heart and mind and soul, but never body. Never body. My eyes did much loving, but such loving would not long do. An appetite whetted cannot so easily be sated, and I’m afraid to admit that my feelings began to turn to hate once I saw that my advances and potential advances would always be rejected and deflected so carelessly. She was a goddess, and I was a lowly follower, offering meaningless sacrifices in her name.

As much as I’d loved her, I hate her twice more. Ten more. A score, a hundredfold. Ah, what does it matter! What I did is done and though I am undone it cannot be. It should never be. An ecstasy should never be recanted once fulfilled, but mine should be. It most certainly should be.

The depraved ramblings of a diseased mind. Diseased and rotting with filth, but alive. Alive and active and hungry. Always hungry, but sharper still. Sharp as a tack, sharp as a knife, sharp as the needle that plunges into my flesh and gives my mind rest at last.

But I should not speak of what I did. A confession is a repression and and I will surely sink into depression if I do that. Let me be jjubilantand  rejoice, let my loving heart, mind, and soul rejoice for all of their wanting. Let me want until I want no more. Let my body jump and twist in agony for its having.

Wretched man that I am, I deserve no better.

Metroid and why I love it

None of you read this, and even if you do, I doubt you’re familiar with my other internet roles under this pseudonym. So it may come as a surprise to know that I’m fairly popular.

Let me rephrase that.

I’m fairly popular as a fanfiction author.

There, that’s better. Okay, truer. Debating the merits of fanfiction is not my purpose here, nor do I think I could actually convince anyone that it has any real benefit anyway. Read a random fanfiction on or just a personal site and no doubt you’ll walk away disgusted with how terrible it is (and most of them are terrible).

So why do I write it? Me, the superior, almost divinely intellectual (and humble) entity that I am? I write it because I love the Metroid video game series like the woman I do not have.

For those of you out there not reading this who are unfamiliar with Metroid, it’s a quasi-science fiction following the exploits of the bounty hunter Samus Aran, and Samus’ repeated run ins with Space Pirates, Metroids, and assorted ne’er do wells. Samus runs around defending the galaxy in an advanced powered exoskeleton, that’s basically an indestructible tank. Also, Samus Aran is a chick.

That last detail is not why I love the series; the quality and elements presented within the games is what does that. But Samus’ gender is probably why I love it as much as I do. And despite my lack of a significant female romantic presence in my life, it’s not any kind of substitution. Seriously, it isn’t. I actually prefer her in her suit than out of it, and view her as more masculine than most male heroes in fiction. Consequently, this is a matter of disagreement between me and a good portion of the fandom, but I digress.

I could definitely ramble on about Samus and make myself sound even more like a pathetic fanboy, but I’ll stop now and just come back to it later. Because like I said, she’s not the reason why I love the Metroid games and universe, nor is there really any one reason. But if there was, it would be the eclectic genres that are and can be represented within the confines of the Metroid universe.

Note: above I referred to the games as “quasi-science fiction”. There’s a reason for that. Although you could probably lump the games in with a lot of other space operas, it doesn’t quite fit that mold. The galactic struggle, the unexplained scientific technology (don’t question how a tiny ship could move far faster than the speed of light or something with wings could fly in space or a girl could curl up into a sphere and roll around, they just do), plethora of alien races, and borderline mystical elements are all part of space opera, but they’re not the only things. At least as I write it, Metroid is large parts military science fiction and cyberpunk/technological dystopia. At times, it’s very close to Whedon’s Firefly/Serenity universe. It can be all of those things because there is very little canon to go on and a lot of it contradicts itself, which is freedom for a fanfiction author. That’s my favorite element of Metroid as an author, but as just a fan, it’s all of the genres present.

I didn’t mention why I only consider it partly science fiction yet, so let me do so. All of the aforemention genres were really sub-genres of science fiction; this isn’t: fantasy. Metroid is a fantasy in a lot of very important ways. Samus Aran is a knight who runs on glorified magic (unexplained alien technology) whose primary antagonist is the most classic fantasy villain of all: a dragon. Ridley the “space” dragon is a large red (or sometimes brown or sometimes purple) dragon that breathes fire, flies, the whole bit. Ridley is a substitute devil and (as I write him) one of the greatest video game villains of all time. But Samus also fights other large lizards and even a ghost or two. She is, as I said, your prototypical knight in shinging armor, but because of the more pessimistic science fiction elements in Metroid (along with a backstory I really don’t feel like getting into) she isn’t as boring as, say, a Link from the Zelda games is, or really any usual hero knight from most fantasies are.

Samus Aran is a bounty hunter which means that she saves the galaxy out of a desire to get paid, not altruism.

Although I put way too much thought and concern into all of this, that may be what makes it all work so well. You have clashing genres and sub-genres that (when written well) create a truly magnificent dynamic to put your stories in. A hero that’s not always heroic, a world/galaxy that equal parts science and magic (mystical magic or “just accept it” magic). And really, the freedom to write stories about whatever you want.

I think I’ve gotten off track again, but no one is reading this and if you started, you haven’t made it down here yet. This is writing for me, and I’ll forgive myself for rambling.

Super Metroid presents the mythological elements the best. Samus became less of a human being in that one (not that she ever had much personality, mind you) and more of a representative force. She transcended characterization and became an archetype of heroism and destruction. Heroism because she was on a noble quest again, but along the way all she did was kill and wreak utter devastation.

But it wasn’t just her. Ridley was given the truly satanic persona of a devil living in hell. The climax of the game was killing him in Lower Norfair, and the denouement was the intended climax fighting Mother Brain and escaping as the planet blew up.

But it did it without compromising the science fiction qualities of the game, and added a level of horror to it as well (which in all of my previous rambling, I forgot to mention). The Wrecked Ship was a frightening an experience for me as a child as I can remember. The atmosphere of gloom, suspense, and despair, were marvelous.

I’m just going to end this now. I had hope for something coherent and thoughtful, but this will have to do for now.

Gutter of consciousness

The unseen, the unheard, the unknown, the unavailable, the infinite, ineffable, indolent, incapacitated, articulate, article of faith that sweeps me off the threshing floor into the Great Fire as it burn higher and consumes my dry flesh, not meant for consumption in this world or the next.

I am a whore and a harlot, a slut and a starlet. I devour the flesh that pleases my eye without concern for source or why, but I need it. I need it like I need air and I must have it or else I’ll die. Starve and shrivel up and my unquenched thirst will parch me.

But to eat, to eat is to sin, to eat is to enjoy and that cannot be. It cannot be. The utterly vile desires of a base mind, a corrupt mind. But I live in a corrupt world. Do I not deserve to enjoy myself as I see fit? As it is fit. Is not God at fault for being pure in a world that is not?

I am justified in my action because I am a natural man and I behave naturally doing the things that come natural to me, and doing them with pleasure. Nay, gusto. Shall I stay in a moral torpor when I can be sinfully vigorous?

Is not sloth a sin?

If I do as I please, then it pleases God. He wants me to be happy and it makes him happy to see me happy. So that should be my greatest method of honoring him, no?

I am a created being and if he is my maker, my faults are his. Not mine. Certainly not mine. I am a wind up doll and he wound me up wrong and the wounds I feel and inflict are from his very hands, albeit it indirectly.

I am justified in doing evil because there is no evil. There is only existence and nothing after and I should feel rapture because I shall not be taken away from this place. I shall die and find myself disappointed with oblivion.

What greater sin is there than disappointment?

God loves, the devil accepts

“God loves, the devil accepts.” ‘Tis the greatest Christian concept. For though God does love those who repent, for those who do not, His love is torment. Behave and be saved, believe or be grieved. We are impure and the world but a sieve.

So then what of those who are thusly strained out, unable to let faith suppress their own doubt? Be they doomed to weep, gnash, and wail? Be they doomed to suffer in Hell? Be they doomed to endure endless fires, simply because they defied God’s desires?

If you love God, He will love you. Forfeit the old, He will make new. Should you be graced, you need not have fear, for you will be counted among God’s most dear. Conditional love is His strongest trait, but conditional love is conditional hate.

So what then of the Bright Morning Star? Venus, it’s said, had a body unmarred. She took all who came, so the bawds sing, though called a whore later for doing such things. Or slut, I suppose, if you prefer, though I’m most fond of Lucy for.

It fits her right as a nickname, though she has had many and they all work the same. I might call her Asherah, were I Canaanite, and had pole to worship her rite. Or had a snake to wrap round a tree, and had an Eve to set us all free.

The beast with ten horns rapes our Mother with rapture, but only because she has been freely captured. She wants love that he can provide, and the strength of his lust cannot be denied. “The devil can’t love”, but I would remind, love of the flesh is love of a kind.

A shallow, complicated character study

I know a woman who, in order to get a job, told her future employers she had children, and coming up on three years later she is still working there and her employers still believe she has children. She uses these imaginary kids as an excuse to get off days of work, but all she does on those days is sit at home and watch television. Besides this, she is lazy, spiteful, and selfish. But she isn’t evil.

I know another woman who has half a dozen children from three different fathers and is dating another man. By her actions I know she favors the children from some fathers over others. By her actions, I know she is irresponsible and also selfish. I know that she used to sell drugs and may still, smokes weed regularly and has stayed out late at night getting drunk with boyfriend, all with six children in the home and often as a single mother. Her perception of herself and reality is biased to the point it is almost unrecognizable from the actual events taking place, a necessary device in order for her to gain people’s sympathy (and her own). But she isn’t evil.

Those two descriptions are not fair in the slightest, and I make no claims that they are. They are the worst aspects of two people who can be quite pleasant at times, the latter even more so than the former. They are not good people, either one, but they have good aspects, very good aspects, and I could spend pages listing them. They often seem to be quite good. And yet knowing the worst, I could never in my life call them good. I am tempted to call them sympathetic, but knowing the worst (some of which I don’t wish to mention here), even that is impossible.

I know a man who says racist things without remorse, who holds very strong racist opinions and holds them close to his heart. But this man is not just any man, he is in a position of strong political leadership and is friends with many political people in my city and across my state. From his statements it would be easy to gather that he thinks that Mexicans are all stupid, thieving, dishonest, and lazy, and you could probably get a similar or identical reading from his opinions on blacks.

And yet, from his actions I would never be able to tell. He gives money out of his own pocket to help Mexican children who don’t have enough for candy. He actually physically helps older kids whose tires have gone flat on their bikes. Any time anyone of any age, race, or creed comes to him for help, he does literally everything in his power to help them. And then when they turn their backs or get out of earshot, he’ll make disparaging remarks about how they’ll spend the money or why they were in that situation in the first place.

I don’t mean to be trite because surely you’ve all heard this before or reached the same conclusion, but there are very few people who fit the simple definitions we like to arrange others into. Unlike movies or comic books or most fiction in general, evil is rare and God knows true good is like a grain of sand in a haystack. Life is complicated, people are complex, but it’s easier and more attractive to write people off according to one word labels.

I’m no better on either account, of course. I still label people simply and act in ways that would quickly get me labeled if people actually knew about it.

I’ve pretended to be romantically interested in a woman just to get her friend (my co-worker) to like me better and therefore be easier to work with. I revel in the attention, get off on the idea of being desired and the source matter little at all to my ego. I am as selfish, loathsome, and wretched as any human being you will ever find, and if you knew some of the things I have done and if you knew the things I have the desire to do, you would agree and rightfully shun me like a leper.

But I’m not special in that way, either. For a while I used to think I was, but now of course I realize that all of those things are present in everyone to some degree. Those that know me may think I am nice, funny, pleasant, etc. I am. I can be a very considerate and thoughtful person. I can be intelligent and endearing. I am all of those things.

But I’m also an asshole, a pervert. A jackass, a selfish, unabashed cocksucker of the highest order. The “Illusory existence of an internet person” covers that concept fairly well, so I won’t delve into it any deeper, but what’s true in cyberspace is true in real space (and myspace). So what am I? A wonderful, dreadful schizophrenic?”

And you?

Is there something deep and significant in any of that? No, probably not. Does acknowledging that people, like each one of us, have many aspects to them, most of which we never truly see, mean that anyone will stop using simple definitions? Of course not. But it’s something to aspire to.