Wednesday, March 6, 2019

2019 Movies!

So here's a post I used to do every year, traditionally at the start of the year but whatever, March is fine, where I list the ten movies I'm most excited about for the coming year. Obviously its missing January and February, but I checked, we didn't really miss much so far. Trust me. And Captain Marvel is off the list because it literally comes out tomorrow. Oh, and the list isn't in, like order of excitement or whatever, it's in release date order. So, without further jibberjab, here's the list!

Us - The "new nightmare from the mind of Jordan Peele" has already infected my brain. Seriously. I've had two nightmares inspired by this movie already and I haven't even seen it yet! I blame it on the imagery in the trailer and more so the super-effective editing job they did on "I Got Five on It" to turn it into a haunting nightmare siren. This hopefully horrifying flick frops in just two weeks, March 22nd. 

Avengers: Endgame - Big ol barrel of duh. April 26th.

Brightburn - Basically a superhero horror movie that asks the question, "What if Superman was an evil kid?" Produced by James Gunn, written by two of his brothers, and directed by David Yarovesky who's... directed some video games, or something. It looks fun, though. May 24th.

Godzilla: King of the Monsters - Godzilla vs. Mothra vs. Rodan vs. King Ghidorah in a sequel to the 2014 Godzilla starring Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch, and also a prequel to the upcoming Godzilla Vs. Kong. So does that make this Godzilla's Empire Strikes Back? I guess we'll find out on May 31st. Side note: It's directed by Michael Dougherty, who directed one of my favorite movies of all time, Trick'R'Treat, as well as the underrated Christmas horror movie Krampus. Should be a blast.

Yesterday - Going by the trailer alone, where a dude hits his head or something and wakes up in a world where the Beatles never existed but he remembers all their songs and becomes famous for "writing" them, this is right up my Beatles-loving alley. It co-stars my girl Lily James, features Ed Sheeran, and is directed by Danny Friggin' Boyle, and comes out June 28th.

Spider-Man: Far From Home - Yeah, this July 5th (who are we kidding, July 3rd) sequel is another huge steaming pile of duh.

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark - Guillermo Del Toro, who loves monsters more than I love peanut butter cups, is adapting that book series that terrified every child that read it. Of course this is on my list. August 9th.

It: Chapter 2 - Yeah, like I'm going to miss this? Chapter One was fantastic, and this one has put together one hell of a cast. We'll see how the story ends on Sept. 6th, although personally I'd love if they held this one out until Halloween. Always nice to have a good scary movie to go see in October.

The Art of Racing in the Rain - When Marisa and I first started dating, we diced to each give te other a book to read, a book we really loved and that we thought would show the other a lot about our personalities. I gave Marisa "N0S4A2," a book by Stephen King's son Joe Hill, one of th emodern masters of horror who has fast become one of my favorite writers (Editor's note: "N0S4A2" is premiering as a TV series later this year on AMC. I'm not saying you should watch, but...). Marisa gave me Gareth Stein's "The Art of Racing in the Rain," a book which is told through the point of view of loyal wonderful pup Enzo as his owner... I hate that word in this context, but it ain't like master is much better... struggles with a lot of heartbreak in his personal life. I can't lie, I sobbed my way through most of the book, and will probably do so through most of the movie, which stars Milo Ventmiglia, who' sbeen making me sob for three years now in This is Us, Amanda Seyfried, and, in a surprising choice, Kevin Costner as the voice of Enzo, the goodest of good pups. I can't wait. Sept. 27th.

Star Wars: Episode IX - Lastly, the biggest, most heaping heap of duh possible. I'm on the side of SW fans who have enjoyed what Disney has done with the franchise since taking over, especially the directions it's taking the main series in. Sure, I'd love to have seen more of Luke being a badass Jedi Master like he is in the EU books, but, we live in a world where Mark Hamill is old, so there we are. Star Wars is, pretty clearly, one of the bigger loves of my life, and I'm all set for what is, by all accounts, the end of the Skywalker Saga, but not the end of that galaxy far, far away...

So there you have my list. There are a few I'm looking forward to that couldn't crack the top ten, Pet Sematary, for example, but this is pretty much it. Anybody as excited for any of these as I am, or think I left something off? Let me know!

Friday, March 1, 2019

Fiction Friday: Birthed in Blood

So, despite still musing on exactly what kind of writer/blogger I want to be, I decided, for this week at least, to bring back my Fiction Friday tradition. For those new to my little blog, or those who need a refresher because it's been a longass time, Fiction Friday is, well, just that: me posting some fiction I've written, and doing it on a Friday. The posting, not the writing, I mean. Although I suppose the two aren't mutually exclusive...

Anyway, here's the beginning of a story I started working on for NaNoWriMo back in 2015. It's my version of an Arthurian legend story, a bit darker, perhaps, then what we usually get, and sure as hell better than that awful Guy Ritchie movie. I have a whole chart listing all the knights I planned on using for my version of the Knights of the Round Table, how they interact with each other, who hates who, yadda yadda, as well as another section listing family members and villains. I went deep into research mode for this one, folks. So here's the beginnings of what I started writing as the intro to the first book of a potentially four book series. I may be an underachiever, but you can't say I'm an unambitious overachiever, right? It's a bit on the lengthy side, by the way, so just be warned...

Prologue


“Gods-be-damned wizard,” the knight growled furiously as he yanked his sword from where it was buried hilt deep into the fallen foe before him. “If he could ever just once forego the riddles and actually tell me plainly what was about to happen…”
                But then he wouldn’t be a wizard, would he, the knight finished silently with a sigh. He looked at the carnage strewn around him across the battlefield: the mass of bodies, both wounded and dying, sprawled across the grassy earth; the men struggling and staggering, his own knights and the forces of the enemy; the grass and mud run red with blood, the same color that dripped now off his own blade, and sighed again. Reaching around his back with his free hand, the knight grabbed a trailing shred of his tattered cape and pulled it around, using it to wipe his blade as best he could before sliding it into the sheath on his right hip. The crimson of the cape would hide the stain.
                Just how much blood is that cape hiding by now, he wondered to himself? How many people had he killed now, be it through his decisions, his orders, or by him personally, their souls dispatched to the gods by his own hand and his famous or, perhaps, infamous blade? The question gnawed at him, but worse than the fate of those villains he had ordered killed or had killed himself was the fate of all the people who had died for him; because they were protecting him, because they believed in him, because he had ordered them.
                If heavy was the head that wore the crown, it was because it was weighed down by death.
                Arthur Pendragon’s crown was heavy indeed.
                This most recent battle, just one more in a series of bloody affairs in the current ongoing war, weighed on him heavily indeed. Although as he looked around the field it seemed the day was his, he didn’t know how many of his knights, his beloved brothers, had fallen, how many he had left. Too few, he knew, especially given his certainty that the bastard behind it all had slipped away again, meaning another costly battle would soon follow. And rich as she may be, Camelot could ill afford to pay many more costs like this one. If only the wizard had given him more information than a place and time… number of soldiers, support personnel, any logistical information at all. But, as he’d heard time and time again by now, that wasn’t how magic worked.
                “Gods-be-damned wizard,” he swore again, but with less heat and more fatigue this time, “and let them be-damn the magic too while they’re at it.”
                The clash of steel against steel rang out some distance to his left and Arthur’s head whipped around, his left hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. Roughly a hundred paces from him three knights clashed in what was clearly a two against one battle, and from the look of the armor it was obvious the outnumbered party was one of his knights. He began to quickly head toward the battle to give his aid but after only ten paces or so he felt his legs buckle and it was all he could do to make it a few more steps to a large, knee-high gray stone he could throw his weight against to keep himself from falling.
                The cost of the golden dream that was Camelot was indeed weighing heavily on him this day.
                Although he hadn’t moved much closer to the fight, the few steps did give him a better view, and he could now make out the armor design and plumage of his embattled knight. It was Galahad. Arthur sighed again, this time in relief; Galahad, he knew, needed no assistance. He watched as one of the shining jewels of the Round Table fought his two opponents, his footwork and balance so sure and flawless that he almost danced between his opponents as he dodged and parried their attacks, patiently waiting, Arthur knew, for the perfect opening to allow him to switch from defense to offense. He was familiar with Galahad’s technique and strategies; he had tried to best his knight many times in past training sessions to no avail. In truth, though Galahad was by far the youngest of the Knights of the Round Table, it had been years since anyone had been able to say they were his equal with a blade, let alone his better. The only one who could come close was Lancelot…
                “He really is poetry in motion,” a voice commented suddenly from Arthur’s left.
Tired and wounded though he was, the king’s left hand dropped to the hilt of his blade and drew as he turned and took a step back all in one continuous blur of motion. His instincts continued to guide him, his sword lifted up into a guard position as his feet settled him into a defensive stance. It was only once he was ready to ward off an attack that Arthur realized the voice belonged to a man who had simultaneously taken a step back and was holding his hands in the air, a man whose face he well recognized. “Kay,” Arthur breathed, his face visibly relaxing as he once again sheathed his sword. “This is really not a good time and place to sneak up on someone!”
“Apologies, my liege,” Sir Kay Andyr said, smiling innocently. “I thought the King of Camelot could hear a fly take a shit from a mile away.” His smile faded, however, as he saw Arthur once again sag against the stone. He hurriedly stepped to the king’s side. “Are you alright, brother? Are you hurt?” he asked, placing his hand under Arthur’s elbow to help support him. “I knew I was away from your side for too long.”
“Damn it, Kay, I’m not a child,” Arthur snapped. “I can survive just fine on my own for a few minutes without you hovering around me.” He looked at the other knight, saw the streaks of blood covering his armor, and knew that the fighting Kay was involved in was doubtlessly ferocious as he tried to make his way to Arthur’s side; as his bodyguard and brother, that was his place. Arthur knew it, and regretted his words. “I’m unhurt,” he continued evenly before Kay could respond, gently pulling his arm away from his foster brother’s hand as he rested his weight more fully on the stone. “Which is a good sight’s difference from alright. And yes, he is certainly a sight to see,” he added to forestall any further questions from Kay, directing his eyes back towards Galahad. He could feel the other man’s eyes on him, but Kay said nothing, settling in quietly next to Arthur as they watched the duel unfold.
Galahad effortlessly ducked under a slash from one of his opponents that was meant to cleave his head from his shoulders, dropped down to one knee, rammed the hilt of his blade into the unprotected back of his other opponent’s knee, making him drop to his knee as well, where Galahad promptly backhanded him across the face with his gauntlet so hard it knocked the other man’s helmet off. Galahad’s hand then shot back in the other direction, landing a slap across his face that knocked him down; then Galahad sprang across his now prone body to evade a downward slash from the first, still standing opponent, before rising back to his feet and turning to face the man once more from a ready position. He didn’t attack, just waited.
Arthur tilted his head curiously as he watched, and heard a questioning grunt issue from Sir Kay. Why hadn’t Galahad pressed an attack? For that matter, why was the fight still going on? Arthur wasn’t nearly as good as Galahad was in a swordfight of this kind, but he had seen multiple openings now where Galahad could have done away with both men, and was sure Galahad would have seen even more openings. But he had ignored them all. Why?
He heard more sounds around him, armor-clad footsteps, but this time he didn’t jump into action; ostensibly the difference was that this time Kay was there, but the truth was that Arthur feared if he moved off the stone again he might fall. When he didn’t hear Kay reacting with alarm, he looked around and saw that the rest of his knights were gathering around, joining Galahad’s audience, as were the remaining soldiers and squires who fought for and supported them. A further look around showed Arthur that the battlefield was calm. Covered in fallen bodies and slick with blood and guts, yes, but calm. The fighting, save for Galahad and how foes, was over.
The Knights of the Round Table had won.
“What’s the lad doing, do you suppose, my lord?” asked a big bear of man as he rested his giant axe on the ground before him. The axe, Arthur noted, which started the battle a polished silver, was fully coated in deep crimson.
“I’ve been wondering that myself, Tor,” Arthur answered. As they watched, the knight that Galahad had dropped to the ground with his strike to his knee regained his feet in a sudden surge, cutting between Galahad and his second opponent and catching the knight of Camelot with an uppercut strike that sent Galahad’s helmet flying off. The knights around Arthur gasped in surprise and quite a few stepped forward, intending to go help their comrade in arms only to be restrained by their fellow knights. This was Galahad’s fight, they knew, and he wouldn’t want their assistance. And a few of them, Arthur was sure, had noticed as he had that Galahad had leaned into that punch, accepting it when he could have easily leaned away instead. He wanted his helmet to come off.
What was he up to?
Not realizing he had wondered that aloud, he was surprised when Sir Safir, standing a few paces to his right, replied, “I know.” When Arthur looked at him questioningly, Safir merely smiled and nodded back towards the action.
Arthur looked back at Galahad and saw the younger knight glance at him with a smile across his face similar to the one on Safir’s. Galahad then nodded slightly to his king, turned back to his opponents, and attacked.
The change was startling. If Galahad had been, as Kay noted, poetry in motion on the defensive, then on the offensive he was an art perfected to its ideal. He stepped between his two opponents, slashing his sword back and forth, drawing their blades into short, defensive strokes, turning back and forth between them too rapidly for them to go on the attack again. He hit the enemy on his left, the one still wearing his helmet,  a particularly vicious blow that staggered him back a step, letting Galahad square solidly against the opponent on his right. He lifted his sword and swung it down in a vicious overhead chop, not directed at his opponent but at his opponent’s sword, smashing into it so hard it jolted from the overpowered knight’s hand. Galahad followed through on his stroke, burying his blade into the earth solidly so he could lift up on it and kick his legs out behind him to catch the opponent he had staggered as he rushed back in against him solidly in the chest, again knocking that man back a few steps, this time solidly down onto his back. Galahad set his feet solidly under him again at the same moment the knight in front of him reached for his fallen sword; Galahad met his descending arm with a swift upward stroke of his sword that started with him yanking it out of the earth and ended with the enemy knight’s forearm laying on the ground, separated from the knight at the elbow.
The knight screamed in shock as he looked at the blood fountaining from the stump where his forearm used to be, the shock slowly turning into agony until the scream was cut short by a thrust from Galahad up into the knight’s unprotected neck.
Arthur’s gathered knights cheered as Galahad vanquished one of his foes, and then laughed as the other knight regained his feet and ran at Galahad with a primal scream very unbecoming for a knight, his sword extended like a lance that he could use to impale Arthur’s knight. The scream gave Galahad ample warning and he easily sidestepped the charge, forcing the knight to collide with the body of his now deceased comrade, knocking it to the ground.
The reaction of his men to Galahad’s success was what led Arthur to realize what Safir in his wisdom had realized earlier, and he knew why Galahad had been toying with his opponents. He was putting on a show for the men, and Arthur knew why. “Finish it, Galahad,” he called wearily.
Hearing his king’s command, Galahad wasted no more time. He reached out from behind his opponent and wrenched the helmet from the man’s head, pushing him a step further away as he did so. As the man recovered and spun to face him, Galahad spun into a spin of his own, bringing his sword around horizontally so that his spin finished with him facing the unprepared knight as his sword removed his head from his body.
The other knights and their forces applauded Galahad’s display of prowess heartily as he turned to face them. Arthur caught Galahad’s eye with a knowing look and a small nod of gratitude, which the knight returned with a slight bow. Galahad had just done Arthur a great service by prolonging his fight until the rest of the battle was over and the men were assembled. He had reminded them that they were the superior fighting force; that they fought with skill and honor and supported each other, and that they did not lose.
They were the army of Camelot.
They were the Knights of the Round Table. They  were now, and ever would be, victorious.
His bows taken, Galahad began to walk back to his comrades-in-arms. He had taken but a few steps when the ground began to rumble so fiercely that he almost lost his balance completely. He dropped to one knee, reaching his hands to the ground to keep himself stable.
Arthur wasn’t quite as lucky. The rumbling caused the large stone he had been resting on to tip over, and between being exhausted and being caught by surprise he almost tipped over with it. If not for the quick hands of Kay and Tor, who each grabbed one of his arms to steady him, he’d have fallen backward into a very unkingly position.
“What the hell is going on?” Kay growled as Arthur nodded his thanks to them both. The shaking continued, the sound of it growing louder, and it soon became clear that whatever was causing it was in the deep forest off just a short distance to the Camelot assemblage’s right.
And whatever was causing it was clearly growing closer.
Arthur spared an eye towards Galahad and saw him facing the forest, whose trees were now visibly shaking, eyes narrowed. “To arms, men,” the king called, making sure Galahad could hear him. And hoping his prized knight would understand what he wanted. To his relief, Galahad nodded towards him almost imperceptibly.
“Giants!” came a cry from Sir Aglovale, the smallest of Arthur’s knights, who had just regained his feet after being held aloft by his brother Tor so he’d have a better angle in hopes of seeing what was happening. “I can see them moving through the trees. They’re…”
Whatever he was about to say was drowned out by a sudden, deafening roar as a group of easily two score giants broke through the last of the tree cover and screamed battle cries. Each giant was easily twice the height of a man… save Tor, who was already a good head and a half taller than the average man… and each was heavily armed; giant clubs obviously made from great trees, in some cases just uprooted whole, were the favorite, but there were some armed with great-axes and swords that looked like daggers in their massive hands.
“Bloody piss, shit, and rot,” Kay swore next to Arthur, gripping his drawn sword anxiously in his hands. “The bloody bastard kept giants in reserve as a surprise.” He then looked askance at Arthur, realizing that perhaps he might have misspoken. 
Tor smacked the edge of his axe against his open palm. “How kind of him,” he said, sparing Arthur the need to respond to Kay.
For his part, the king looked over at Galahad and nodded. Galahad, the man who had just bested two foes without letting a touch land in return save one he meant to land; Galahad, who was still a ways separated from the rest of the knights and thus had no back up, drew his sword again and charged at the giants. If that didn’t galvanize the tired warriors of Camelot, Arthur didn’t know what would.
Except maybe one thing.
He gripped the hilt of his sword in his left hand and quickly drew the blade. The sound it made leaving the scabbard rang out across the battlefield.
Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, had drawn Excalibur.
He raised it above his head and, with all the breath and strength he could muster, bellowed, “For Camelot!” and then charged towards the oncoming horde of giants.
As one, the Knights of the Round Table echoed his battle cry and followed their king into battle.
And under his breath, so softly that not another soul could hear, Arthur swore viciously, “Gods-be-damned wizard!”



Chapter One


                It did all start with a wizard, but if you asked him he’d probably take issue with the accusation of being “gods-be-damned.”
                In his more honest days, though, he’d doubtlessly agree.
                Merlin Ambrosius was his name, and had been for a very long time. By the time he was as damned as Arthur Pendragon constantly accused him of being, he had long since dropped the Ambrosius, preferring to go about simply as Merlin, or, when the need struck him, one of a few other select aliases.


Thursday, February 28, 2019

Where Do We Go From Here?

So here's the question of the day for me now that I've decided to start blogging again. Where do we go from here?

Of course it wouldn't be long before I got a Buffy reference in here.

Because I'll admit, I started doing this again with that post on Monday without any sort of plan other than getting that first post out there. So what to do next? A large focus of my blog in the past was as a reviewer. I reviewed every book I read. I spotlighted comics I really enjoyed, comic pages that really struck me. I passed judgment on every new TV show I watched each fall season and commented on whether they were worth sticking with (if I still did that, boy would I have some harsh words for you, Manifest and New Amsterdam...). I did the whole movie reviewer thing as well. Do I want to pick up with all that again?

I suppose the real question, the real essence of "where do we go from here" is really "what kind of writer do I want to be?"

Do I want to go back to being a reviewer? Lord knows I love letting the world know when something sucks almost as much as I love shouting from the rooftops the praise of everything I come across that I absolutely love (Black Panther, A Star is Born, and Anna and the Apocalypse were the three best movies of 2018, by the way. Fight me.) I might want to go back to that, but maybe not hold myself to it as stringently as I used to. I don't have to review every book I read, every show I watch, etc... I can stick to just the ones that inspire something in me enough to write about them. And I might want to get back into the movie reviewing thing; I enjoyed it when I was doing it for Film-Arcade before so it might be worth finding a way to take another stab at it, see if it leads so something that pays. I'm open to any leads on something like this, by the way. Just throwing that out there.

Or do I want to be less of a reviewer and more of a creator this time around. I need to write more. More fiction, especially. I have so many ideas and have wasted so much time. I could go back to my Biggs and Wedge series, as much as it's in need of serious retooling. Or I could revisit the dark Arthurian saga I started a few years ago. Or finally get started on the almost Lovecraftian idea I've had kicking around in my head for awhile now. Any sugesstions or preferences? I just need to find more time to write, and more time to read, as reading is the ingredient that fuels the motor of writing. And clearly I need to read a lot more, because that was a terrible analogy.

I could be more of a real life blogger, as well... just muse about my life, rant and rave about what's going on in the world, my experiences and opinions... and probably alienate 90% of the people I know! Especially if I start talking about work...

Or, the more likely option, all of the above. Like I said, I have no plan, which isn't easy for someone like me. I like plans and routines and agendas and all the other words you can think of. Seat of the pants is not my style. I'm clearly open to ideas (and collaborations, even). I'm just starting to reopen the gates of my creativity, so to speak, I guess I'll just sit and wait to see what pours out.

Monday, February 25, 2019

The Many Worlds Theory: Schrödinger's Blogger

The Many Worlds Theory. In a nutshell, it's just that... a theory that our universe is just one in a multiverse comprised of infinite differing universes, that every different outcome possible for a decision someone makes results in a different universe for each outcome. We only see the universe we live in as a result of those decisions, but not the alternate ones that spin out of the different possible choices. Sort of like Schrödinger's cat, who, unseen in a box, was both alive AND dead because the observer had no idea which was true. Or, for a more applicable example, Schrodinger's blogger; we live in a universe where I stopped blogging over three years ago and have tentatively restarted today... but there's a universe out there where I never stopped, and maybe I'm a famous blogger now, or movie reviewer, or whatever spun out of those choices.

There might even be a reality where Vincent Van Gogh didn't cut his own ear off and give it to a girl he loved (whch totally isn't what happened, by the way; he cut his ear off in a fit of rage and depression after finding out his friend Paul Gauguin was moving back to Paris, he only gave it to a girl they both knew so she could pass it on to Gauguin!), but instead he snapped and started cutting off other people's ears instead. Who knows what possibilites there are in the multiverse?

This is all a bit esoteric, I know, but I'm going to spin it back to reality, trust me. And I do mean OUR reality.

You see, there's a reality where a girl I had a thing for seven years ago felt the same as me, and life unfolded completely differently for us both. The same could be said about a girl I had a thing for eleven years ago. Or eighteen years ago. Or twenty. Holy hell, when did I get this old? Anyway, according to this theory, there are worlds out there where I'm currently with each of those women. But that's not the point, because I wouldn't trade my current reality for any of those. The reality I'm in now has me married to the best person I've ever known, and I wouldn't trade that for anything. This is the best possible reality.

There's also a reality where I wasn't able to talk Marisa into adopting George after someone talked her out of it. And in that reality, we obviously never went to Petco, saw Smitty, and decided to adopt him. In that reality, Marisa and I have a lot more money, money that went unspent on vet bills and cat food and litter and so many more vet bills. But that's not the point. In that reality, our lives are far emptier without our little furballs, and I wouldn't trade that for anything. This is the best possible reality.

And for a more recent divergence, there's a reality out there were I never got diagnosed with IBS. A world where this condition hasn't made life pretty damn difficult, hasn't caused panic attacks, hasn't seen me have to ignore opportunities to go places. There's a world where all the detrimental aspects of this condition haven't had a negative affect on my career at my current job, cost me opportunities, cost me some of my reputation, caused me even more stress that just makes the condition worse, and so on and so forth in a vicious circle. And right about now, the rule of threes has you expecting another "but that's not the point" sentence... except in this case, that is the point. Because this isn't the best possible reality. What I've realized in musing over my career and the chances I'm getting and not getting is that I'm actually living in the worst possible reality.

I've become someone who coasts, who goes to work and goes home and goes to sleep and wakes up and goes to work and wash, rinse, repeat, over and over, day in, day out, year after year. I haven't written much of anything since my last blog post over three years ago except for yet another half-assed attempt at NaNoWriMo in 2016. I barely even read anymore.

In short, I've been living in a reality where I don't dream anymore.

But in the Many Worlds Theory, where every choice creates a new reality, it's never too late to make changes. All you have to do is choose... and I'm choosing to change, to dream again, to remake my reality/ Working on this blog, changing the design a bit, actually writing this post I've had on my mind for a few weeks now is just the beginning. I'll be trying to write again, but not holding myself to the same rules and deadlines I used to; more free writing, more flowing that. In short, more shit that might not make sense to anyone but me. But that's okay, because one of my biggest mistakes was always blogging for the sake of being read, and not just writing for the sake of writing., which is what I'm dedicating myself to doing now. I might fail. If I do that's okay, because this blog isn't the dream, it's just a step in correcting reality. I've decided that if I'm going to dream, I'm going to dream much bigger than just a blog.

What IS the dream, you may ask?

I'll tell you when we wake up in a reality where my dream and my reality are one and the same.