Hey everyone, sorry that things have been a little quiet here, I assure you that the show is very much alive. In fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about today. Since we transitioned the show into a live streaming talk show we’ve been able to gauge our viewership and popularity more accurately. […]
I’m not normally one for any sort of visual art. But I was actually surprised that the effect I wanted worked. Kind of wish I could’ve seen myself frantically blowing out a burning piece of paper though.
(For an introduction to just what the hell this is, click here)
No one ever mentioned how everyone would be shipped. There were plenty of technologies that could’ve performed the task admirably, so the choice of large boats seemed odd.
Rita couldn’t remember the last time she was on a boat. She knew for certain she had never been on one so large. Somewhere along the way she heard that when vessels were this large they were called ships. She didn’t particularly care about the exact difference.
Watching the crew operate the ship was a good way to pass the time. Adults scurried all over, pulling levers, tying ropes, tending to different machines. Every once in awhile one of her fellow passengers would find some ounce of ambition in their chests and offered their services. Each time they were politely asked to take their seats again with assurances that while the responsibility of the ship was not theirs, there might be a task for them on the return trip.
When The Rampant Lands first came into sight, the excitement was marked by the buzzing of skin and widening of irises. Rita felt a bit of shame as she joined in with the others as they called out for more speed. The remaining water was only an obstacle that needed to be ignored and conquered. Continue reading
(Warning, evidence against my current status of sane lies ahead)
There was a time when I had grand plans for this blog. There was an intricate blueprint including different columns and features. Yet, as the years have gone on and have refused to stop most of those designs have fallen away. This blog in turn has become mostly something of a dumping ground for anything that I feel like sharing. Essentially, I’ve lost focus and I’m not exactly upset about that but because of this I find that it’s necessary to write these sorts of introductions whenever I begin something that is somewhat different in nature than other things you may find here.
Let’s just get right into this.
There’s a place in head, a place that I conjured up sometime during my senior year of high school. I don’t think I realized it at the time, but it was a world that I invented as a safe zone for my imagination. I don’t know if there was a specific event that triggered the emergence of this world from the abyss, but before I even recognized its existence I a name for it, The Rampant Lands.
I never considered someone who couldn’t handle the real world around me, but slowly The Rampant Lands grew as I began to realize that the shield of high school and adolescence were going to be taken from me. Soon, I was no longer laying in bed thinking about the days that had passed but I was dreaming of this world and the characters inside. The stories that played out for them were inherently fiction, but I couldn’t deny that there was a certain sheen of realism coating the images in my head.
Basically, I was retreated to The Rampant Lands as a way to shield myself from the real world. By adding a layer of imagination between the things I believed were plaguing me and myself I felt like I was somehow able to exist, better? Eventually I started to write down the tales that were more persistent in The Rampant Lands, some of those stories may have even shown up on this blog, I’m just a little too lazy to go back and check. But, like most of my bigger writing projects, The Rampant Lands entered a state of hibernation that for all intents and purposes was supposed to be permanent.
It was recently though, when I began cautiously visiting The Rampant Lands again, lord knows what that says about my stability, and I’ve felt compelled to share. So, for the foreseeable future, the majority of this blog will become a place where I tell the tales of The Rampant Lands.
Now, let me be clear. These stories are abstract, vague, symbolic, and wholly personal, just like any self respecting coping mechanism should be. A lot of these were written years ago and most likely show this. The release schedule is not set in stone and I have no idea whether or not this project will ever be finished. But, if you’re still interested,
The world is full of mistakes. The list is vast, the list is long and includes things like the fact that The Bachelor has more than two seasons under its belt and don’t even get me started about the decision to put raw onions on the McRib. But, there’s one misstep that is making a blitzkrieg march towards the top and that particular item is basically how we fucked up, well, fucking. Continue reading
First off, please don’t call me a backslider. I know that if you consider just the part of my life that matters to you, backslider is the appropriate term, I get that. The more appropriate term for me should be born again atheist. Yes, I agree that that makes me seem like the edgy cool kid from a 90s teen drama about “alternative lifestyles”, I’ve come to terms with that but, as the phrase suggests I think there’s a version of my story that you don’t know, because I don’t really buy into the whole omnipotent thing. Continue reading
Recently I’ve been reading a wonderful book called Come Here Often by Sean Manning & many others. (which can be purchased here) It’s a wonderful book of essays about the writers’ favorite bars, or at least the bars that hold a certain place in their hearts. This has inspired me to write about a certain bar from my own history and what position it holds in my own sorted past.
I hate Murphy’s Pub. I hate just about everything about it. From the cheap shots that they pour down the patron’s throats, to the barely legible bass heavy music, to the Discovery Channel-esque feral display that is commonplace on the weekends. It’s a place where souls go to sleep for a night and the decisions made by drunken synapses run supreme. It exists where it should not and like an open sore it festers there. The people who frequent it are vapid, aggressive, sex crazed, shameless, and blind.
And goddamn if I don’t wish I could be one of them again. Continue reading