Der erste Schritt... (orig. written Jan.2009)

Pref.

A hole had opened itself in my bathroom wall overnight. I looked upon it with nary a rational thought as to how it could have come to be. I could feel the joyless expression written on my face, but my mind was not focused on the hole itself (nor on the, no doubt, astronomical fee that would be charged by whichever day-laborer I could find to patch it). No, my mind was transfixed on what lay within the abyss now before me...

I

Staring into the Lovecraftian void, I saw a figure...

My job has entered the final act; a deathdrain, 90-degree downward spiral that only exists to further batter my already waxing distaste for this company. My efforts have doubled to find yet another job to take me away from the moebius-strip laced with boredom that is Unified Industries. I came to work this morning in a fairly chipper mood (as chipper as I ever allow myself to be). I was singing "Hamstrung on the Highway" by PIG even as I put my car into park in the lot just outside my building. Through the doors, into the elevator and into the freshly painted (sky blue) hallways of the third floor where I now reside, my mood plummeted upon setting foot into the office. It's uncanny and altogether frightening and disconcerting. I need to escape before I become further entrenched.

II

...and as I watched, I wondered, "Is he, nay, IT, watching me?"

I suppose this should have been first in my post, but, eh, oh well. As you can see, I've made my way back to the blogging public. I had another blog on this site, but I thought it more apt to begin anew. I particularly enjoy the layout and overall anonymity of the whole thing. I honestly prefer to "blog" alone, as in, without the possibility of being seeing by anyone. I use writing as a means to get out my current thoughts, however moronic they may be. Of course, that doesn't mean that I mind my closest friends or girlfriend stopping by for a read (so long as they prepare for a journey into boredom).

III
I felt a chill clamp onto every hair of my exposed flesh...

...as though Winter had fallen in spite of the time of year my calendar claimed it to be. Posturing for but a moment, my eyes fell from their forever-stare as I caressed my forearms in a deeply routed ritual of warming oneself, although to no avail. It was only when my eyes returned to the ebon void before me that I realized...

IV
...the figure was gone.

Fängen wieder an...

Hello...?

So, it would appear that I do, in fact, have a blog from a couple of years ago. I'm not sure if it speaks negatively of my sanity, or sheer lack of focus that I had completely forgotten about this. Reading back on my musings, I found some of them rather humorous, and it has inspired me to make a passing attempt at keeping up a Blog on whatever may strike me.

Why isn't anyone listening to me?

MySpace is horribly boring and riddled with the latest generation of Pedophiles and Spambots masquerading as fairly normal people. At first it was easy to identify the porno-spam, as it was always some plastic diva raising her shirt for a photo that clearly had too much time and money spent on it to warrant usage in such a public clusterfuck of mind-numbing personae. Now, however, it's like the next generation of fucking Terminators when I get a Friend Request; able to fit in under general scrutiny, but once the skeptical eye falls upon them, they break out the assault rifles and rape your hard drive looking for Sarah Connor...and passwords.Okay, so maybe they're not quite that skillfully chameleonesque, but their profiles will now often require actually visiting them and reading a bit to find out whether or not this is your old friend Steve from '98, or a link to the latest "What Won't These Chicks Do With A Chicken, A Wheat Thresher and 3 Gallons of Ipecac?" website.

Their meticulously crafted facade falls quickly asunder in the About Me section about 98.99% of the time, though, so perhaps my apocalyptic rendering isn't 100% accurate. It's as if they tried to make you believe, "Hey, you! This is a real person and we just want to be friends and share your interests with you! We noticed you liked the movie 'Blade Runner,' and that is totally awesome because we did too..." and then follow it up with, "...and nothing makes me think of a Replicant-filled future where C-Beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate like 76 METRIC KILOTONS OF SPAM IN YOUR FUCKING INBOX!" and then, Boom!, all your files are lost in time...like tears in rain.

Ahem...

(I'm not sure if there is a proposed etiquette for "...but I digress," but if there is, I am unaware of it. So, without further ado.)

...but I digress...

What the fuck is wrong with me...?

Tonight is the vaunted "Bad Movie Night" amongst my brethren and I. We have 3 "classics" lined up as per the usual. They are, in random order:

"Day of the Dead": This appears to be a remake for all those fans of the original George A. Romero film who thought, "Well, it was good, but I didn't laugh nearly as much as I thought I would. Let's do this again, only this time I want comedy, and each scene must be punctuated with Awesome in order to get my seal of approval." That's right, horror purists, I didn't like the original "Day of the Dead." While it wasn't as preachy as its predecessor (which was a good 45-minute movie...that lasted 14 hours), the original "Day..." was the beginning of Romero gleefully exposing every crack in his shining facade as a one-note filmmaker ("Land..." expounded on this and it looks as if "Diary..." is going to be the film equivalent of seppuku). This remake looks, for lack of a better description, fun.

"Alien Agent": I actually don't know anything about this movie, but that's not going to stop me from writing something about it. From what I hear (through an e-mail sent by my cohort August), it stars Mark Dacascos, and from what I can gather from the title, he may either be an Alien Agent sent to destroy Earth from the inside-out, or possibly a down-and-out cop on the edge of suspension who is mankind's only hope to stop Alien Agent. It also stars Billy Zane, who will likely play one of the two roles I mentioned...but I'm going to go ahead and assume it will be whichever role Dacascos is not hamming up.

"P2": This was an actual theatre-release from awhile back. It's directed by Alexandre Aja, who directed the French thriller "Haute Tension;" one of my favourites. It did piss-poorly in the theatre, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's bad...yet. Funny Fact: When I first saw the title on a website a year or so ago, I thought it was a spoof of the second Terminator film with Pigs or Pixies or something. I'll let you know if my original thought was the better idea...

Es schneit, Liebchen, kommt hinein...

The snow is falling silently in flakes a thousand-fold.

Taste bitter defeat, my enemy, The Summer! Today officially ushers in a world of freezing white and dead things. Damn the delusions of warmer days to come, and damn the thought of redemption from Winters icy grip! A thick veil of crystalline powder will suffocate the dreaded heat. Let it be long before it may return. Long live the reign of Winter, shallow be my name.

I doubt that words can stem its tide, but who would be so bold?

A project lay ahead of me of wood and iron and blood. If ever there were three things that screamed out "Christmas" with the fullest of convictions, these would be those things. I have only 20 days to complete my task, and if my calculations have been accurate, it should be more than enough time. The intended recipient will hopefully be as enthused in receivership as I am in crafting said device. Let it be known that I endorse this project with all that I am.

For Winter brings about a change for each of us in turn

There is a young Spanish woman working at the Sbarros in Springfield Mall. Her mouth is the size of a grapefruit at least. She reminds me greatly of the aliens from Sesame Street who repeat phrases such as "Yip, yip, yip, book, book, book" ad nauseum. I like the aliens, I dislike her. She is a bitch with a large mouth. May she meet a similar fate as the bass with equal traits. That is all.

And most of all for me, you see, for I have now emerged.

RiXmas will be held in the month of February. A more precise date is coming. Please be patient, I am trying to accomodate everyone in the long run....but mostly me, since it is my holiday. Tom, Michael, Rick & Seth will be invited in turn, and whomever they choose to invite is fine upon approval. Rick has spoken.

Dein Blut auf meiner Haut... Sag "danke."

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Mörder (der) :: n :: Murderer

ohne :: adv :: without

Reue (die) :: n :: Remorse

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Have you seen this boy?

*Blogger deleted a rather lengthy and poetry laden post of mine before I could save it...this is the result. My apologies.

für Stuffi: "Stecken Sie es in Ihren Mund." ;)

"Trebuchet" ist die einzige Schriftart, die eine Festung zerstören kann

(die) Pechsträhne :: (n) :: A Streak of Bad Luck
(der) Verflucht :: (n) :: The Cursed
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Durch das Höllenfeuer und den Schwefel...
Christmas approaches post-haste. A miserable time of year with reflections of the joyous. If money makes the world go 'round, then the rotation during the months of November and December should catapult us into space. Is the look of joy and/or humorous disappointment on the recipients' face worth the quarter year of destitution to follow? I say "yes," but that is varied by the intended recipient.

...ein Schmetterling fliegt...
My demeanor hinges on boisterous with a touch of the slight, yet my conscious self is ever aware of the fabled "negative vibe." Perhaps it is so acute that I am able to dissect the negative from the intended positive. The matter at hand at that point would be which to cast aside and which to take to heart. Even the most profound compliment can have an undertone of hatred depending on the transmitters' perceived thoughts of the receiver. It is through this belief that my character has become as indelible as it has. Paradoxical is it may seem, I am fragile, yet indestructible.

...und lässt einem feurigen Nachlauf dahinter.
Artificial Intelligence is better viewed as a human trait. There are those that will horde knowledge of the seemingly archaic and less sought after knowledge in hopes to one day wow their cohorts with their inherent wisdom, whereas a prolonged conversation with such an individual can unravel their A.I. with startling proficiency. Eradication is an extreme answer to said problem, however I much prefer Education. Only a few minor letters separate death from enlightenment, remember that the next time you hold onto a single trivial fact of interest as an effector of possible friendship with those you deem intelligent. They will find out, and you will be judged.

...der Adler wartet in den Schatten.

~R

Probably why I like him so much...

You scored as Gambit. Gambit is another loner character. He loves Rogue. He has a very cool debonair personality. He's done things in his past that he's not proud of but he atones for his actions by fighting for peace with the X-Men. His weapon of choice is the playing card. Powers: Charges objects with kinetic energy by touching them, then they explode like grenades. Gambit 95% Emma Frost 85% Iceman 60% Wolverine 55% Jean Grey 50% Storm 45% Cyclops 45% Rogue 45% Colossus 30% Nightcrawler 30% Beast 25% Most Comprehensive X-Men Personality Quiz 2.0 created with QuizFarm.com

Jonathan Brandis

It was a sad day in 2003 when Jonathan Brandis shocked his adoring public by hanging himself. However, the truth of that sad day has never been brought to light due to a deep-rooted conspiracy. You see, Mr. Brandis' death was not in fact a squeaky clean suicide, but a cold-blooded murder. There were no signs of a struggle, and that means that it was done by someone he trusted. I am here to tell you who that someone is. First, ask yourself, who had the most to gain by Mr. Brandis' untimely demise? Who stood to acquire more wealth and power than ever he had before? Who knew him well enough to charm his way into Jonathan's house before committing the villainous deed. That's right...

Chuck Norris.

Chuck worked with Jonathan on a little movie some of you may remember called "Sidekicks." It was a fun, family-oriented coming of age tale wherein a boy uses martial arts to overcome his fear of man-love, or something. It was on the set of "Sidekicks" that Jonathan Brandis fell in love with Braddock, aka Chuck Norris. Who could blame him? For years Chuck had been jump-kicking for freedom in the deepest jungles of Saigon. Who can resist a martially equipped lethal instrument of justice? I'll tell you who can't. Jonathan Brandis.

Jonathan kept things quiet about their relationship, only briefly turning up in the spotlight again for SeaQuest and a myriad of terrible direct-to-video movies. Things seemed to be going great for Jonny boy despite his ailing career. That is, until Chuck realized that he wasn't gay. Things fell apart for Brandis one fateful day in December. From this day until the day of his death, Chuck would be forever Missing In Action from Jonathan's life.

Things remained quiet for a few years until Jonathan decided that he could overcome his loss and become a somebody again. He had one weapon that he felt would either launch his career or sink it forever. Needless to say, he was prepared to take the risk. That weapon was his affair with Chuck Norris. The National Enquirer was his intended audience. Jonathan made the phone calls, dressed in his Sunday Best and made some appearances about town. He was received with the expected luke warm greeting, but he didn't care, for this would all change in a matter of days.

The Enquirer decided to beef up it's article by phoning Mr. Norris direct to ask him to comment on the article. They felt this would be the extra "spice" that would knock the world on end. Mr. Norris didn't even answer their first question. He hung up the phone, put on his tanned duster and hopped in his black jeep-truck. His destination was clear, Brandis.

Chuck arrived at the Brandis Estate (read "trailer home") at 7:05 p.m. CST. He coerced his way inside by whispering sweet Nothings into the young actor's ear. As soon as he had entry, he coaxed Mr. Brandis into the bedroom. Thinking that this may be one last fling with Lone Wolf McQuade, Brandis eagerly accepted. As soon as he set foot into his very own room, Chuck unleashed a very forbidden form of jumpkick and knocked Jonathan's head clear off of his shoulders. Momentarily stunned, not by the murder, but by the fact that at 63 he still had what it took to go back into the Octagon, he then rounded up some rope, duct taped Brandis' head back to his neck and suspended him from the rafters.

The police show up, a little Hollywood Razzle-Dazzle and BAM, suicide. One cop claims to have seen Norris leaving the scene of the crime, but brushed it off because, hey, how could anyone who owns a jetpack be evil?

Beware my young, fledgling actors, of who you fall for. There are thousands of Chuck Norris's out there, and YOU could be the next Jonathan Brandis!

P.S. I went to the Smithsonian instead of going to the Renaissance Fair. It was fun.