I've always wanted to be amazing but Ive never been willing to put out the effort.
Sustained effort has generally been beyond me. Getting off speed and graduating from clown school. These are the only two tasks of any real weight I have accomplished. What makes a person amazing then?
Kristen Bell is amazing. Beautiful, smart, talented, skilled.
I'd like to be someone like that, if only for the sake of attracting similar into my life.
I need to be smart, talented, sexy. Disciplined. Sexy will come of it's own accord with the other attributes. Smart I've got a bit of, but really just enough to coast by in most things doing the minimum to have general low level successes.
I have no education, that's something I could remedy.
I think a successful career, making my self particularly skilled, be one of the best at something other than taking pictures of naked clowns.
SO that's what I need to be. Disciplined. Become lithe, skilled and focused.
I want to be amazing. This will take more than my general minimal effort to achieve. But I'm not crazy any more, or not as crazy, and can spend less energy fighting depression and obsession, and try to focus on making something good that lasts, and making myself into someone I would want to be with.
I was driving to abaeline when I saw it in the back of a pick up truck. It shone so bright I had to pull down the visor to keep my eye on the rode. But It held my eye and kept it and wouldn't let go and in little to no time at all I found my self in the parking lot of a pik'n'pak idling next to the red chevy pick up waiting for that young lady to go in to the checker.
She was blonde and tiny and wouldn't caused me no trouble, but I hadn't never done nothing like this before so I waited until she was right gone, and popped out of my rover, sidled up to her little pickemup and lifted it out of the back.
It cried, soft like, like something between a baby and a kitten with a little bit of cock thrown in, an i tucked it under my shirt as I walked back to the cab of my truck.
I could feel it's beak hot against the skin of my chest, through my shirt, and it's feet flexed to the sound of the song on the radio, scratching at my waistline, digging into the fabric of my jeans.
Damn thing was sick, anyone could see that. It was barely hot at all. Hell, I could touch it.
I took it out colbert road towards the old lumber mill, and pulled off into the culvert near the jackson place.
No one around for miles. No hunters, no collectors, no tv people or scientists. That girl woulda sold the damned thing and then what? No bird, no season, all the crops die. I mean shit, yeah theres likely a whole slew of them up in the mountains, but still it just aint right to cage it up like that.
Not for money.
I laid it out on a stump and it looked up at me. It was crying, making that soft noise, it's tears burnin off the side of it's beak. I'd never seen a bird cry before.
It freaked me out. I grabbed a can of gas from the car and held the thing down as I soaked it with the can. Poor thing couldn't understand, didnt like the smell, probably stung it's little eyes too.
I took the matchbook i keep in my pocket for emergenices, from the Jack Shack on Petaluma, struck one and lit the damned thing on fire.
It went up like an old book, it's feathers peeling back and lifting off it';s charred body, carried by the heat into the wind. I had doubt then frined, I'll admit it. For a moment I was unsure, and I lost it. I grabbed my big gulp fromt he car and tried to put the damn thing out. Anything to make it stop crying.
But I was too late, thankfully too late. It's body collapsed into cider and ash, picked up in the afternoon wind, made a mess of the truck and my hair. But it was done, and when the wind blew it all away, that little blue egg was all that was left behind.
And I'll hold on to it fellah, until it gets too hot to hold, and then I'll bury in some leaves our in the woods where no one will find it, and wait for it to hatch.
In my life, so far what have I done? What that is amazing, or inspiring, or that would fill me with awe. I can't think of anything, and the fact that I am bothering with the thought must be some middle life crisis, proving my life to this point has had worth. But really, what have I done. I have loved 3 women wholey and failed awesomely in each case. I went to clown school, that was difficult, to leave my home and go to a new city to follow a fool hardy impulse, with much lost hair and cortisol in the mix, but that's no more than many many people do, at a much earlier age. It can be argued that I have in some way saved two people from overdosing. One of whom means something. And speed. That was the hardest thing I have ever done. I quit speed, on my own cold turkey. Took a long time to heal, and don't know if my brain will ever again be what it was. But it was the hardest thing I have done. Still, I don't think it qualifies as amazing.
I've decided to become a reviewer of men's lifestyle products.Movies, games, stinky stuff ect. This means I need to create a blog just for reviews (maybe) and start reviewing my favorite and least favorite things. I think that's a plan. A.
The water in this lake has the same salt content as human tears. It is a wide lake, deep and still and the people of the village won't come near it. It tastes like a girl I know who used to cry over everything, and I would kiss her snotty face and make it temporarily better. It reminds me of her and I can taste the tears through my coffee. The people in the village stay away and I am afforded my privacy. It is a welcome tradeoff for a breakfast that tastes like sadness and recrimination. On it's single shore, I can do my unhappy work.
Starts with a will reading, Young Terry is orphan again by his grandfather. His father an inventor was killed during the great war, and his mother an ancient mayan princess from the city under the north pole, who died shortly after his birth. At the reading of the will, young tery finds out that the majority of the granfathers wealth is either donated to a museum or put in a trust for the boy. Terry is sent to live with his aunt, who he has never met. She shows up at the will reading as a mysterious and somewhat sinister figure. The Aunt is to become his custodian. She is a WWI vet/spy turned commercial treasure and bounty hunter and people hire her and her tiny team to hunt for treasure of all types, which leads her into contact with spies, Nazi's, super scientists, cryptozoological monsters and elder gods.
She wants a book or a relic from the grandfathers collection, but can’t access the resources of the grandfather without the boys direct intervention.
There are secrets buried in the grandfather research and books, and the aunt needs the boy to access the materials.
The grandfather died of mysterious circumstances and was heavily involved with an adventurers society who hunted the same goal he did, the central mcguffin, a great treasure, a tremendous power, guarded by a lovecraftian horror. Within the adventurers society there were various factions, some of which opposed his research for one reason or another.
The aunt with the boys help discover clues to find the great treasure.
They are pursued by members of the secret society who want the treasure power for themselves, and others who wish the mcguffin to never be discovered.
Their chase leads them around the world, and eventually to a series of turquoise lined tunnels beneath the andes mountains, where they must face a lumbering lovecraftian horror, to get the treasure, in the form of an ancient meteorite of alien technology and prevent the baddies from using it to control the world.
There will also be yeti like under the north pole and giant jelly fish and of course Penny Dreadful the teenage pirate queen and her band of grizzled lesbian cutthroats, some pre WWII nazi’s, a super scientist and spy types.
He had a flower in his hair. It grew out of the side of his head. It had started as an itch that grew and grew until it was unbearable. HE scratched himself raw and swollen, and in his sleep a bud broke through his skin. The itching never went away, but over time he learned to ignore it. He had to change jobs, began working at a Montessori preschool, because no one found it that odd that he wore a flower in his hair. But the stem grew out, and he had no insurance. He tried to cut it, but he felt it's flesh like his own, and it hurt to much to remove it. The stem grew until the flower peaked out from his head a foot above him, stiff in the wind. It would turn to find the sun. He took to walking for hours in the park, to alleviate the ache of it's hunger. He met a girl in the end with flowers growing from her body, and they grew rather fond of each other, but could never consummate their relationship, due to the fear of crushing her flora, and the pain it would bring her. One day he gave up, laid down in the freshly turned dirt, and left himself to the weather. The doctors had told him it was too late. If he had come sooner before the roots had buried in his brainpan, they may have been able to remove it via a costly experimental surgery. But he had missed his opportunity, and instead accepted his fate, tucked himself into the humus of the forest floor, and waited to decompose. The flower lived on long after him, and was eaten one day by a bear.
When she was 4 years old, Lisa ran away to join the circus. They sent her back home again, because she was much too small. But as she awaited retrieval by her family, staid and English, she watched the elephants mate and the cotton candy made, she drank lemonade for the very first time. She had ran away to join the circus drawn in at her Lima bean age by the musics and colors, from across the street where her parents sold cars, but she fell in love, at the pie car with the sequins, the terrible smells and all of the sugar.
She ran away again when she was 7 and her grandmother hit her with a hairbrush. She could not find a circus and instead spent the night in a museum. Everyone was very worried.
From the age of 9 through 125 she ran away every summer, when the circus would come through town. She secretly taught herself to juggle and bend, and train rabbits to do card tricks, but was always sent home again, for being too small, before the circus moved on to it's next town.
She lost her virginity at 14 to a pair meth-addict carnies, and got in her first fist fight at 12, (she won) with a rube who insisted the bearded lady was a fake. At 16, at the age of her maturity, she won another talent show at school, and her parents died in a pinto explosion. She tried to run away to join the circus then, but her lawyers insisted she go to college.
At college she specialized in theatre arts, business management and vetrinary science, and when she graduated she applied to all the small family circuses she could find. But they were gone now. All the victims of their own pinto explosions, or tax filing deadlines or lack of butts in seats, can't cover the nut or make it up on the dink, just no money in it anymore.
And all that was left was the large circus corporations. it wasn't the same, but it would do she though. And she joined the circus company, and pushed papers on a desk, and sold ads in magazines and months later quit.
She moved back to her parents car lot, and opened a small theatre, which booked ancient vaudeville performers. But built a small apartment building for them to live in, she had gathered so many tap dancers, magicians and ventriloquists, she had to have a place to keep them all. She was well loved by her community, a successful veterinarian and entrepreneur, and word of her kindness and beautiful theatre spread around the world.
At first it was a Chinese acrobat, defecting from her handlers at the airport and hiding in Lisa's theatre/retirement home. Then followed a lion tamer and his lions, who could find no where else to keep his senile ailing cats, and then slowly act by act, escaping from the drudgery and corporate oppression of the big circuses, magicians and trapeze artists, eldery contortionists and pregnant clowns, derelict ringmasters and desperate musicians on the lam, came one by one or in groups and eventually tiny parades to live in Lisa's now expansive retirement village, performing daily and twice on Sunday at the theatre she built on the lot where her parents died.
Whiel Lisa never managed to run away and join the circus she did eventually convince the circus to run away and join her.
Ok secondary characters for my new pulp adventure novel will possibly include most of the characters from my terrible first novel, Penny Dreadful and the Mayan Snow Beast:
Penny Farthing / Penny Dreadful - Orphan turned Teenage Pirate Queen and her ship of Lesbian Pirates and maybe Her father - the Sleeper Agent/Sonambulist, a Shadow like figure, Secret agent Bourne/Bond like as well The Yeti's from PD&tMSB Probably the Giant Jelly Fish from PD&tMSB Pre-WWII Nazis Professor Hammer the charming explorer/evil Nazi collaborator Doctor Wu, inventor of the Apathy Ray And possibly the alien predecessor elder gods who created the Viking and Mayan races. I'd like to get something Lovecraftian in there, a lumbering slumbering sogoth like figure, deep in the ornate turquoise lined tunnels of the city beneath the Andes.
The main character will be a WWI vet/spy turned explorer/treasure hunter. Traditionally he should also be a pilot, though I am unsure about that. It would allow him to move about with ease. He can have a fat slob partner, and a whole small p.i. treasure hunting business. People hire him and his tiny team to hunt for treasure of all types, which leads him into contact with spies, Nazi's, super scientists, cryptozoological monsters and elder gods.
I know I want a lot of it to take place in the rain forest, and maybe in the south pole. I could pull back in the whole city of yeti's from the first novel and re-purpose them as living in Antarctica.
According to Wikipedia meteorites are a big deal in the antarctic, much better preserved than elsewhere when they land. There might be a tie in there. I spent too long in the arctic last time, I'm not really sure I want to go there again.
There's a clear McGuffin in all this, being whatever treasure they are hired to find. Though I might want to avoid the Nazi thing since it is so present in Indiana Jones and in all of the Hellboy stuff. I don't want that much overlap. I still think I should use Professor Hammer and Doctor Wu though.
So my hero is hired to hunt down a treaure, turns out to be a person, and finding this person leads them on a chase after a greater treasure, while being pursued by the forces that kindnapped the first person orignally. The treasure they seek and eventually find is being guarded by an elder god in the city deep beneath the Andes mountains.
So that's a pencil sketch. Now to fill in the details and start writing the novel.