September 30, 2017

Jaded Surfeit Ramblings

So I finally missed a Friday. I wish I could say that it was because I was doing something so exciting and time consuming that it slipped my mind, however I was in fact watching the new episode of Will & Grace three times in a row (bringing the grand total to four.) The thought that I had to write even crossed my mind at nine o’clock but I shrugged it off. The desire just wasn’t there for me. Well, only partially missing, but it was the one that won the scrimmage in my brain. When I try and figure out what happened all I can think is that I am just super depressed. The world has spun out of control and I never know what is going to happen. The worst part of it all, is the depression has jaded me more than ever before.

I jokingly called my blog “Journal of a Jaded Josh,” mainly for the alliteration but primarily as a joke. I have some ho-hum views about perfectly mundane things. But it can’t be stressed enough that it was a joke. However, it isn’t anymore. I find myself increasingly driven to this dark perspective about life and living. My longing for the past when President Obama was in office has reached new heights. At that time I never read the news. Politics bored me. I just wasn’t interested in anything big because in the back of my mind I knew that everything would be taken care of. We would move forward with good leadership and a cool head. That sense of security has long since faded. Now I’m terrified NOT to read every piece of news and know every facet of every situation. My fear is that I’ll miss something crucial and find myself in a camp.

My loved ones think I am jumping to extreme conclusions when I say my husband and I are going to be rounded up and put into camps because we’re gay. They don’t see how that could possibly happen, but who would have ever thought it would have happened to the Jews. This administration doesn’t rely on it’s word. At all. They say one thing and literally turn around and do the complete opposite. It’s a mad house. And just recently it was announced that they want to make it legal to fire someone for being gay. I mean… I don’t think that would happen in my normal nine to five, but who knows. You learn who your true friends are when the rules no longer apply.

I get frustrated beyond belief with republicans. I truly dislike them. Yes they’re good people. They want to live a happy life just like me. And they may not agree with the vilification of gay people, but it is the fact that they elect people of power who do. That is where I draw umbrage. They look at this person and don’t think, “Well, I like what they have to say but not the gay stuff. But I’ll go ahead and vote for them anyway.” The excuse I hear ad nauseam is “Well I had no other choice.” That is bull shit. There are always other choices. There are hundreds of choices. You just happened to look at the R and ignore everything else. It’s despicable. I have zero patience for it. Hillary would not be a bumbling buffoon who can’t keep her trap shut, who at the end of the day is worried about only one person.

I still hate politics. Especially more so. I hate the lies and deceit and the money that truly runs things. Every one of them is scum and nothing can fix it, it seems. The people who have the heart to do the people’s will end up corrupted by money or pressure from their peers. Even now, given a seemingly insane individual, they rather stick to party than politics. The health care bill alone is just a way to fuck the people and help only a select few. Power and wealth corrupts. And one would think at a certain point those without the two would see the corrupted for what they are and revolt, but these sons of bitches (that’s right, not kneeling protestors), have somehow magically manipulated the masses into fighting against their own self-interest to protect their claim to wealth and power. I genuinely applaud them for their skill. That alone is astounding.

It is in this rage and futility that I finally see what drives a person to extremism or the desire to lash out. When you feel like there is nothing left to lose you are willing to watch the world burn around you.

While I saw Obama as the second coming of Christ (not literally of course because many claimed he was the anti-christ) others saw him stripping away… something. They built up this fictitious world in their mind that said he was destroying all that they held dear and in that they began to loath the system and turned on it, deciding to give it to an outsider that bragged about assaulting women and vilified minorities. And in that knowledge, I begin to wonder myself, have I built up my own fantasy? Yet when I see that people in Puerto Rico are dying and he’s bitching about peaceful protest in the NFL I realize I am justified.

So, all of this has made me jaded. I have no want for violence (however honestly it does cross my mind from time to time) because I am a pacifist… or a pussy. Whatever way you want to look at it I am want to avoid confrontation. It’s not me. Instead… I rather wallow in my misery and avoid things that give me life. And it is clear that writing gives me life. I say that it was that lack of desire that kept me from writing, but here I finish probably one of my longest posts to date.

The one good thing about this admin is it is exposing one’s true self. And when there are so few things to look forward to, that in itself is something to treasure.

September 23, 2017

The jinx waiting period has passed

I genuinely forgot that I needed to write. And I am very glad that some random part of my brain reminded me that it needed to be done because so far I have missed a Friday. And my new mantra as of late is “finish what you start.” But to be fair I never did give an end date to this. Or maybe I did… a year? Who knows. The primary purpose of this was to keep myself writing to hone my craft into something sellable.

Today is officially a week since I sent an email inquiring within for a possible columnist position. There was a controversial firing over at the local newspaper and I thought I’d strike while the iron was scalding hot to get myself a role in the vacated seat. Although I have not heard a peep back. It’s disheartening. Hell, at this point, I would take a “we will look further into your inquiry. Thank you,” than absolute silence.

I told myself not to get my hopes up. Going into the email process I knew the chances of hearing back were slim to nil. And more likely not at all. But as one does I started to fantasize about getting the position and putting my life right onto the page. I would have an audience of typically conservative Christian readers potentially sending me hate mail, that I told myself I wouldn’t read. And the most important part of it all, I would get paid to write.

At this juncture I am such an easy score that I’d write something for $10 just to say that I am a paid writer.  Then I could turn that one job into stepping stone to bigger and better things. It’s all part of an overarching plan. I just need that first step.

I won’t take it personally, the no response. I am sure that he probably gets a million emails a day and I was just one lone voice in the cocaphony. Or maybe I was marked as spam and it filtered me out, never to be seen. Either way it doesn’t mean anything negative toward myself or my ability.

The thing that I did get from this event, that was entirely unexpected, were the words my husband imparted to me. He said, “It is something that you just tried.” Every once in awhile he says something unexpected that fills me with pride and worth.

So, I will take the lack of reply to be a firm no and I will fight the urge not to bombard him with further letters.

September 19, 2017

NYC Midnight – Flash Fiction Challenge #1

I am a sucker for competition, especially in regards to trying to prove my intellect or skill. When it comes to writing contests, there is no other drug I would choose. I love the stress and panic that comes with the possibility of winning. The awards given would prove, once and for all, that I was worth-while and had talent. However, only until recently have I even received any kind of recognition.

As I’ve mentioned before, I won third place for my column “Gay Agenda” in the Renegade Rip.  That award gave me so much self-worth I didn’t know what to do with it or myself.

When the chance to compete in the “NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge” arose I had to enter. Sure it cost me $50, but it guaranteed two of my stories would be read and critiqued by the judges; and it entered me into a chance at winning a cash prize.

The idea behind the contest is that the entrant is put into a group of around 30 people, and in that group each person has to write a 1,000 word story in a specific genre, that takes place at a designated location and must include a single item. Whether the item is crucial to the plot is up to the writer. For the first challenge, I was given the genre of Sci-Fi. My location was “a man-made island” and the item to be included somewhere in the story was “a skeleton.”  I have included it below so that people could read it. Followed immediately after is the feedback I received, and I have to say I agree with everything noted, with the exception of one.

Without further ado, here is my first entry into the flash fiction competition, brought to you by NYC Midnight Madness. I placed 13th out of 15 spots, in a group of 31 contestants.

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SCHIFF’S ISLAND

Darris Shiff stood on the shore of his newly formed island with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes bounced from one aluminum robo-mech to the next as they bustled about the land mass spreading like a bubble across the surface of the ocean. 

“What do you think?” he said, gesturing with both arms to the scene. 

The young woman with chestnut skin glanced around at the construction with a blank expression. 

“I imagine the Terrestrial Brethren will be pleased.”  

“Good. All it took were a few quadrillion global credits, and here I stand on the precipice of a new age, away from the stench of poverty and war.”  

The young woman licked her lips, turned, and walked to the small table that had been set up for the meeting. A large blue and green hologram spun counterclockwise at the center, with a series of dots typing out flags of data. The sound of the robo-mechs and the waves lapping at the shore dulled the sound of the robotic voice reading each tag. 

“Your assistant informed me that the expected completion date is two weeks from now. That will not sit well with the Brethren. ” 

Schiff sighed, “No, it won’t, but you can’t rush progress. So, it will have to do. Most of the heat and salty ocean air has had a hand in the destruction of the majority of my mechs.” 

“And yet you persist.” 

Schiff turned to her with a broad grin. 

“One does what they must to survive.” 

The woman circled the table and examined the hologram. The grid of illuminated digital lines formed the peak of a single mountain rising like a beak from the tropical foliage and numerous buildings, turrets, and barriers surrounding its base. 

“I could survive here,” she said.  

Darris walked to the table and pressed a single button on the panel at its side. The hologram flickered away.  

“When can we expect them? I am ready for the Dalian Eclipse.” 

The woman smirked. “Are you so certain of that?” 

“Who are you to-” started Schiff, but the loud hum of an approaching ship cut through his response.  

The two looked up toward the sound to see a hover yacht emerged from the dense fog that circled the island. A long, red flag trailed from the rear to signal their station and identity. 

“Finally,” Schiff said. 

The woman narrowed her green eyes at the back of Darris’ head. 

The leisure cruiser pulled close to the island and dropped anchor only a few meters from where the two stood. A shimmering electron gangplank birthed forth from its side and rested at the edge of the shore, as a group of five men in billowing gold garments stepped to the edge of the craft. 

Schiff rushed forward and took his spot at the end of the walkway, as he tugged, tucked, and pressed his clothes to impress. 

“It is a pleasure to meet with you, gentlemen,” Schiff said, with half a bow. “Welcome to my island.” 

The man at the head of the group, with a gaunt face and a hooked nose, pursed his lips together and nodded. 

“Indeed, Mr. Schiff.”  

The men stepped around their host and walked onto the shore. 

“As you can see, everything is coming along nicely. I have developed the technology to build new lands, away from the coppers, for those willing to pay the price.” 

The five men moved about and appraised the scene before them like a flock of birds. 

“Pay?” one of the five said. “Hopefully, that does not include us. Considering what we’re offering you.” 

“Of course not, gentlemen.” 

The men chittered their approval. 

Schiff stepped next to the table and ignited the hologram.  

“As you can see the look of the finished product. We have all the amenities to protect us from pirates and the poor.” 

The Brethren circled the display and gestured to each of the features with their commentary. 

“You’ve done well. A man with your talents deserves what the Brethren offer.” 

Schiff moved to speak, but his voice escaped him. Instead, his jaw opened and closed like the limbs of one of his malfunctioning robo-mechs. 

“Provided you guarantee our own private property in this ocean world, you can join the brotherhood and live forever, like us.” 

Schiff nodded. 

The man with the hooked nose grinned and pulled from a pocket a clear plastic box that contained a single squirming creature that resembled a grub. 

Darris’ hands shook as he lifted them to grab his prize. For so long he had heard the rumors of what it took to be a Brethren, but he had never believed it until the leader placed it in his open palm. 

“Thank you.” 

The growl of an engine drew the attention of everyone gathered on the beach to the ship that exploded from the fog flying a tattered acid-green flag, adorned with the skeleton of a shark. 

“Pirates!” One of the men shrieked, sending the brethren into a panic. 

The young woman seized her moment. With moves as quick as lightning, she pulled a pistol from her boot and shot a single bolt at the gangplank where it short-circuited the walkway, trapping the men on the island. 

“You’re not going anywhere.”  

“We will give you money!” one of them shrieked. 

The young woman sneered. 

“I don’t want your filthy credits.”  

The young woman fired a charged bolt into each of the Brethren’s heads and stopped when she came to Darris. 

Schiff dropped to his knees, with the box still clutched in his hands. 

“Why are you doing this?”  

“One must do what it takes to survive,” the woman said. “And the world without your kind is better off.” 

Schiff glanced from his captor to the dead men on the ground, to the Kubuli in his hands. 

“Thank you for building us a beautiful new world.” 

With one final bullet, the Brethren were no more. 

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JUDGES’ FEEDBACK:

{1751} I truly appreciated the revenge that the young woman takes on the people who would obviously have only used the newly invented land to serve themselves (because that’s what they do best).  {1739}  Schiff’s struggle to join a secret society is intriguing. The tech that he has developed to prove himself, makes him a sympathetic character.  {1743}  This is quite a taut and penetrating flash science fiction.  The slam bang ending is a working hologram itself, italicized with a “Kabuli.”  That pirate ship bursting through fog, flying its shark flag is a real keeper.  Fine piece of writing, this.  WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK – {1751}  It seems astounding to me that the men who have such power and wealth would have no bodyguards and only one ship on and off the island; you might improve the story if the young woman had disabled even more obstacles, such as bodyguards or more ships, as it might make her victory seem less miraculous and more plausible. However, this is only a suggestion.  {1739}  The story really begins once the Brethren arrive. Consider truncating the opening sequence. Nothing is written that makes the Brethren or Schiff bad people. They all seem to be pretty hard working folks. Schiff mentions that steps are taken to protect against pirates, yet his facility is immediately overrun. This is a big conflict.  {1743}  An em dash is rendered as: –.

September 15, 2017

Conundrum of Age

This week has been something else. I have quite a few things to discuss with my small collection of readers. However it’s all going to have to take it’s time. The most demanding of posts is in regards to a small twitter “feud” that occurred between Armie Hammer and James Woods.

We’re gonna let the name slide for now… but just know, I am not a fan. What I am in favor of is his portrayal of a young 24 year old college professor that falls in love with a 17 year old boy in the film “Call Me by Your Name.” While I have yet to see it, I am aware of what it’s about, and I eagerly await the opportunity to do so for the simple coincidence of the character’s ages.

My husband and I met when I was in the final days of 17 and he was in the twilight months of him being 24. Our meeting was an accident. He had messaged me out of the blue during the AOL instant messenger days, thinking I was someone else who happened to have a similar screenname to mine. (My internet handle was “Melancholyschaos,” good god was I such a hipster emo.) He was dating someone at the time, his first message to me was in fact “Diego and I are still together.” I carried on the conversation like I knew who he was and what he was talking about before I finally just asked him who he was.

For some reason I had a hunch he and this Diego would not last long and every time he appeared in my “buddy list” I would message him. Finally, he ditched his former and I swooped in. We ended up meeting near midnight at a Denny’s, close to where we live now.

My husband hates this story. He also hates the fact that I was 17. It brings him more shame than it should. In the end it was just a number, and I turned 18 only 3 weeks after we first met. He did the legal thing and waited until that magical age to take our relationship any further than just talking.

I understand his discomfort. Yet it’s strange to think that numbers play such a significant part of public perception. In the case of James Woods, I also see how that seems young. If he were a year older somehow that makes it miraculously better and no one would bat an eye. However, that wasn’t the point he was trying to make with his comment. He was equating that to NAMBLA, which is an entirely different organization; one that should be shunned from every corner of the globe. He suggested that this group was “getting their way” and destroying public norms. Mr. Hammer’s response to that was “Didn’t you date a girl that was 19 when you were 60?” Well said, Hammer. Well said. James Wood’s response was to block him on twitter. So, I guess he won that argument.

I hesitated for so many years to divulge our ages at our first meeting. Mainly because of his insecurity, but a small portion of my own. But, seeing as how we’ve been together for so long it’s just part of our history. There’s no reason to be ashamed. I knew what I was getting myself into and what I was pursuing. Most would say, “Well, you were immature.” Yes, but was I? At what point do we just assume someone is an “adult” and stop treating them as if they “don’t know.” Is it when the clock strikes midnight and I roll over to 18?

The best portion of this “ twitter fight” was of a young actress that chimed in with a story that Mr. Woods had invited her and some friends to Las Vegas for a weekend. Her response at the time was that she was 16, to which his reply was “even better.” Since her tweet, he has said that her retelling is an outright lie, but when one looks at his dating history, it would appear that he has a taste for the young ones. So, who is to say? (Oh, he totally did it.)

Again, I don’t understand why age plays such a huge role in a relationship. I mean, it does 100% when it comes to the maturity level and “making it work,” but what I don’t understand is an outsider’s perspective when learning the ages of the couple.

Now, don’t for a second think I am advocating the dating of underage boys or girls. Quite the contrary. I don’t think teenagers are capable of grasping the idea of monogamous relationships. I know that in my early years I was still discovering who I was as a person or what I wanted out of life.

The simple answer to this is that there is no cut and dry response. It is a murky topic that goes into a downward spiral quickly. I guess, it just boils down to intent. What is happening with the relationship and what is being gained.

I will say, if you’re old enough to be that child’s grandparent, you probably shouldn’t be messing around with them. Okay, Woods?