Gallowmere

Good Reading

Tue, 16 Feb 2010 16:25:01 -0400

It's been a few years since I watched Todd Solondz's Happiness. The first time around, I enjoyed it for how black its black humour was. It's a suburban satire along the lines of Little Children and American Beauty, but relentlessly darker. Not too many comedies involve suicide, pedophilia, fantasies of rape, and sheer misery. I decided to watch it again on the weekend, and since then, I have been jovially melancholy. I'm in a mood where I want to laugh about how much I think life is a farce. I get in these fits at least once a year. Last year, it lead me to the brilliant works of ugliness and sorrow Taxidermia, Ex-Drummer, and Synecdoche, NY. Those were all movies though, I would like to find another book to make me feel angry, sad, or violated. I didn't have access to the Gallowmere private library, earlier, so I couldn't satisfy my urge when I wanted to. When I returned to my abode, I decided that I needed something which would help me keep track of what I have, and give me remote access to a list of my books. Something other than an actual physical handwritten list, of course. And thus, with a few keystrokes, I found Goodreads.com. It's a site where you can catalog books you have and designate them to lists of read, to-read, currently reading, and other custom categories. It is apparently going for a bit of a social network thing as well. I haven't used it much, and am only a little more than halfway with adding my books to it. I've done all the fiction I currently possess, but I haven't added any of my nonfiction books to it. As well, I plan on going through and reviewing or at least rating the books that I have already read. My profile can be checked out here. As for now, I may have found something which can fuck me up, Comte de Lautreamont's Maldoror. I confess I don't know much about it other than that it is a surreal poem about an unabashedly evil person/being who hates everybody and everything. I'm smiling already. See everyone in hell!

29 Days Later

Wed, 10 Feb 2010 02:45:13 -0400

I'm beginning to notice a pattern now... Any time I crack open the Gallowmere Wazoo to spill a few thoughts or two, it's in 29 day intervals. Well, at least for the last couple entries. No real good excuses other than life at [Miskatonik] University, figuring out what I'm going to do with [The Noxious Novella], obsessing about death (hint! hint!), and for a couple weeks, I'd been indulging my inner-geek with Mass Effect 2 of which I'll say is a lot more polished than its predecessor, has a totally immersible universe, and excised problems I had with its predecessor such as a turgid menu, and boring rover missions (replaced by a 1/5th less boring planet scanner), and of course, I'm enough of a narcissist to have his fancy tickled by the fact that I got to import my custom character from part 1 (made to look like yours truly). Canada produces some mediocre books, movies, TV shows, but they seem to get videogames right. Go figure. Anyway, I'm here to say that I'm still planning on putting this site through a complete overhaul. I hadn't done much because I upgraded to Windows 7 Professional at the beginning of the year, and lost my FTP information for this site. I had it all on the sync software for the Palm One I had in the mid 00s. The actual PDA is history, but I had all of my important information on it... I thought I backed it up, but only the dates on the schedule survived. I let out a good "OH FUCK" and then pulled out a shrug-n-procrastinate combo. But finally, I decided to go and figure out how to retrieve it all. I got it back, and now I'm going to fiddle with a couple things or two to do this site. I will probably see what I can do next week since I'll be getting some time off. We'll see what happens. See everyone in hell!

Sticking my head out of the shed

Tue, 12 Jan 2010 17:00:45 -0400

Hola, Amigos! It's about time I pop my head out out of the shed I've been hiding in for a while. I'm still here. No bites yet for [The Obscure Opus] that's to be expected. I can expect rejections possibly going into the double digits before someone makes a call which will require me to have a change of pants nearby. For [The Noxious Novella], I wound up going in a totally different direction and started from scratch during the last days of last year, naively believing I could have about 200+ pages churned out by Dec. 31st. It was originally going to be a novella about an old man climbing 100 flights of stairs, each floor representing a year of his life. When reaching certain floors, he would recount particularly miserable moments of his life. I had it all laid out, and had gotten a good amount of it done before deciding I wanted to do something different. Pour some milk on me, because I flaked. From the old man story, while working on his adolescent years, I made him as someone detached, and suddenly, I wanted to focus something entirely on this detached adolescent. From there, I decided I wanted to explore the notion of teens romanticizing death that my friend [Spaghetti Western] informed me of half a decade ago. So, I put them together, and basically, that's what [The Noxious Novella] has become now. And since its projected length is more than 100 pages, it should actually be titled [The Noxious Novel]. I project getting the first draft done by the end of the month and having my final draft done by August, then ruminate until I decide to send it no later than November 28th. Also at [Miskatonic University] I have decided that I want to major in Multimedia with a combined major or just minor in Theatre and Film. I have enjoyed what I've seen of the courses in each programme so far, and I won't deny that I want to tell stories in as many mediums as possible, so it's only natural that I would dabble with Multimedia. As for Theatre & Film, I can do without the theatre part, but I love movies just as much as books, and during busy periods with school and work, I wind up seeing more movies on average than reading books. I wouldn't mind getting into movies some day. I mean, there was my short-lived porno career, but I would rather not discuss that now... After seeing Charlie Kaufman's most polarizing, but (in my opinion) strongest film Synecdoche, NY last summer, I have been inspired to put getting behind a camera on my bucket list. I know, obviously ambitious, possibly even a pipe dream. Especially considering that at the moment, I can't even get a book published. The way I see it though, is that I'm still young enough to be picking umbilical cord chunks out of my teeth, so why not go balls out now before life catches up with me? Going balls out could possibly result in a smashed testicle or a torn scrotum sack, sure, but the pay off could be well worth the risk. I know my limits, I can't save the world, cure cancer, fix a car, heat a house with a block of ice, change a diaper, or be a shoulder to cry on. I make stupid little mistakes all the time, and I would probably lose my head if it wasn't attached to my body. But what I think I can do best, and with comfort is tell a story. So, as long as a shelf of books don't drop on my head at work and give me brain damage, there will always be that to get me where I want to. And on that note... See everyone in hell (I promise a lot sooner next time)!

Darkly Deeming Dexter (quasi-spoiler free)

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 14:16:48 -0400

[Disclaimer: This review contains allusions to moments which are spoilers but that are not spoilers themselves. Doing such a thing refrains from revealing major plot points, but may provide vague hints to what happens. This is done in many reviews, but most reviewers tend not to have the courtesy to warn readers.] I'm not a big fan of television, but there's a handful of shows I still watch, even if most of the shows I watch have to be... obtained. One of those shows is Dexter. I found out about it around three years ago while roaming the aisles of [Pages] and harassing customers. I saw a picture of Michael C. Hall who I knew as the homosexual mortician David Fisher from Six Feet Under with his head being propped up by a dead hand and thought it was some weird spin off book. Then I looked further to see the title Darkly Dreaming Dexter and was charmed enough by the title to look at the description. The words "darkly comic" jumped out at me, and I liked the premise enough. It is about a likable blood spatter analyst who kills his spare time by killing people who kill people. A quasi-moral serial killer. Then I saw "Now a series on Showtime!" on the back and decided to make a point to check it out. So after that shift, I made an effort to... gain access to the 10 or so episodes which had already aired. It took two episodes for me to get into it, and the rest is history. I really like the show because of its titular character. Next to the protagonists of Murakami novels, Dexter is one of the few fictional characters I can relate to. Like me, he's emotionally empty but pretends to be more charming and likable than he is. He is also a detached introvert who is at his best during his time alone to work on his craft. He is also immensely secretive, though he at least has better reasons to be. And while we don't have the same hobbies, who wouldn't want to play chop suey with the scum of society? It's a well done show, but one that isn't without its flaws. Each season brings something new to the table, but obviously, there are certain similar things to expect in each one. It's entertaining, and the stories are well told, but it's not without its plot holes, but that's fine, it's entertainment. Anybody who thinks of this as a slice of life needs to open a window and get some air. Season one is still the most perfect, and surpasses the book it was based on. It was about a serial killer whose MO is slightly similar to Dexter's but he leaves the bodies out in the open, and bloodless. Eventually, the killer begins leaving hints in Dexter's apartment and at crime scenes which speak to him alone. It was great. It created a formula and got everything in it just right: Dexter's introspection (which I can never have enough of), Dexter's hunts, revelations of his past, Dexter befriending a serial killer/homicidal maniac who he relates to, learns to be more human from and then winds up being disappointed by. And of course, also the mystery, plot twists, and melodramatic side plots involving the other characters of the show. While not a puzzler, it was the most cerebral season of the show. Rating: 9/10 Season two, I don't think I will ever watch again. It's my least favourite season of the show. It is still a cut above most television programming, but I was irritated with the direction it went in. It was a direct continuation of the first season. And from this point on, none of the seasons follow the books (which isn't a bad thing). It starts with Dexter feeling off his game, being pursued by a rival cop, telling his girlfriend Rita that he is "an addict" to cast off suspicions of what he really is, and an investigation is lead by FBI agent Frank Lundy after the bodies Dexter disposed of are discovered. It had all of the ingredients of the first season, but the poorly measured balance of quantities affected the quality. There was too much melodrama and personal bullshit. There is nothing wrong with personal drama, and I would rather have the characters have some form of depth rather than just act as tools for solving the cases. But they cranked it up a few notches too high, and it became more of a soap opera than anything else. Dexter and his girlfriend Rita's character also jumped the shark a bit from what they were like in the last season. Especially Rita though, who all of a sudden became a nag. It also had a few plot twists which I found to be a bit contrived. Especially ones involving initial perceptions of Dexter's adopted father, Harry. And the main premise seemed to be trying too hard to hook people. Not that that's a bad thing, at all, but it did set into motion one of the major problems I had with the fourth season, this desire for the writers to keep viewers going "OH SHIT, WHAT IS EVERYBODY GOING TO DO ABOUT THIS NOW?!" The explosive finale more than made up for it, and is probably the only episode I'd look at again if I decide to watch anything from that season. Rating: 5.5/10 Season three got the formula right again, and even toyed around with it a bit. It involved Dexter befriending a DA whose brother he killed spontaneously. There was also a side mystery about a serial killer who skins victims. He was the most uninteresting serial killer for the show so far. As I said, it got the elements of the formula just right, as Dexter would say, "It followed the code." I enjoyed the bizarre bromance between Dexter and Miguel, the DA. The series doesn't have that much black humour in it, though it is present, but I have to say, that season got it down the best. Their relationship reminded me of the one between Henry and Otis in Henry:Portrait of a Serial Killer, though not as disturbing, and maybe not as funny. Excellent season overall, and the most well done next to the first. Rating: 8.5/10 Season four has been the most thrilling, and had the most intriguing moments, but was a bit of a mixed bag. I enjoyed it, but it could have been six episodes shorter. It involved Dexter adjusting to married life with Rita, who becomes even more of a nag than ever in this season. Special agent Lundy returns to chase down The Trinity Killer played by John Lithgow, who has been my favourite actor ever since I saw Raising Cain on TV when I was 8. As usual, Dexter befriends him (sort of), and learns a few thing from him. Honestly, all I liked if not loved about this season was Dexter's pursuit of Trinity. This one involves some of the worst side plots such as Dexter's family life, Debra wondering if she wants to rekindle the (over-written) flame she had with Lundy in season two, and a love affair between the two senior detectives Laguerta and Batista. Their love affair was the most brutal thing about the series. Yes, more brutal than any murder Dexter or Trinity could pull off. There was no reason for it whatsoever, their personal lives in earlier seasons were seldom delved into, except for season 3 which Laguerta's sort of had an integral role. Their romance does absolutely nothing to advance the plot or create any tension. If their scenes (which there are plenty of) were removed, nothing would be lost. The only side character who they did next to nothing with, and hardly ever do anything with is Vincent Masuka. He's one of the only side characters I kind of like. He's just the comic relief, and almost every line out of him is a smart-ass remark or a perverted joke. What's even funnier than Masuka's character is American media's lack of interest in Asian males. They can't catch a break. At least Asian women get to play the exotic romantic interests for the dashing white heroes of their movies and TV shows. But I guess anyone who wants to see Asian males as leads who are not geeks or martial arts experts can always watch Asian movies and dramas. My friend [Lotus Kai] swoons over those guys. a bunch of effeminate dandies. I think the problem is that when things are about minorities, they have to be about what it's like to be the minority, rather than a character being a character. And that writer's don't know what direction to go in with Asian American characters other than the usual stereotypes. They don't really explore the stereotypes with Masuka, and that leaves him with even less to do. That leads me to the race-baiter who put up a video on Youtube ranting about the moral turpitude of the show and its viewers and asked if people would like the show if Dexter was black. My first thoughts were, "What a pointless question? You can ask an infinite amount of other whatif questions for any movie or TV show? What if Dexter were a hermaphrodite?" I don't think it would make much of a difference, so long as Dexter acted the exact same way and lived the exact same life. But if all of a sudden it were, Dexter the black serial killer and a good portion of the show dwelled on what it's like to be a black serial killer, then it would be a different experience. Though I admit, it could make an interesting black-black comedy if done by the right director. It's a premise that could work also, if the show didn't have a thriller element. If it were exclusively about the mundane duties of him balancing his personal life with serial killing, then fine. Michael C. Hall's character David Fisher in Six Feet Under did have to deal from time to time with the implications of being a gay mortician dating a black man. It wasn't entirely what the show was about, but it was an element, and it worked, but Six Feet Under was a different kind of show, a family drama. Me and my tangents, I was doing pretty good too, until then... Back to Dexter. While the premise for the fourth season was good, the writers seemed to have a hard time doing much with it. The first five episodes, Dexter avoids the Trinity case like a plague until something happens halfway through the season for him to gain a personal interest. Then the episodes are spent with Dexter stalling because he wants to hang out with another serial killer for a while and learn a few tips on pretending to be human. Then when he decides he's ready, his plans are constantly thwarted. I didn't mind all of the cock-teasing of the second half of the season, however, because a lot is revealed about the Trinity Killer's warped psyche which I quite liked. However, the last two episodes together could have been wrapped up in a half hour. Episode 11 was an exercise in fiddling around for 45 minutes to finally reach its titular climax. And now, after watching last night's finale I have to say, the episode was sort of inert, but I can't say anticlimactic. The episode was much like the season and spent a lot of time on filler until it lead to its climax. I found it to be satisfying, though they could have spent a lot more time and sadistic glee on it after all of that wasted time in the episode. The episode had a twist which I only mention because they had been hyping for about a month. It is something that I figured out would happen only because they wouldn't stop pumping up how shocking the final moment would be. I ranted about this in an earlier post, but I will say it again, if you want to "blow the top off" of people's heads as they kept saying the ending would do, then they shouldn't have announced that there was going to be a twist. It's like telling somebody that you're throwing them a surprise party. Again, an overall good season, and I look forward to the fifth which I hope will be the final season, and which I hope doesn't figure the solution will be for Dexter to go to jail or die. And I also hope they won't hype up any twists.There are a lot of sensationalistic "OH SHIT, WHAT IS EVERYBODY GOING TO DO ABOUT THIS NOW?!" moments in this season. I think they relied too much on it, but, from a commercial point of view, I understand why. Shockers, and cliffhangers are an easy way to keep the conversation going. Ironically, the "big twist" ending didn't impact me that much and I'm not saying "OH SHIT, WHAT IS EVERYBODY GOING TO DO ABOUT THIS NOW?!". I know it's probably wrong, but, I sort of like what happened, at least the consequences and that it sort of fits. Still, the use of it, and its impact was pretty underwhelming and it seemed really forced. It would have been more surprising if they didn't use a pretty similar "OH SHIT, WHAT IS EVERYBODY GOING TO DO ABOUT THIS NOW?!" twist earlier in the season. Rating: 7.8/10 I wish that the show could be more twisted and less twisty. What I mean is that it could take weirder routes, not necessarily like the third book which had ancient gods and spirits, but go for weirder ideas. Have more characters who are unconventional than just Dexter and the guest serial killer friend. And have more twisted sorts of relationships. An example of what I mean by twisted as opposed to twisty is the ending of Hannibal which had Hannibal and Clarice, the detective pursuing him wind up becoming lovers and eating the brains of a corrupt agent from the justice department. Something like that is not really a moment which makes viewers say, "OH SHIT, WHAT IS EVERYBODY GOING TO DO ABOUT THIS NOW?!", but a moment which makes viewers say, "WHAT THE FUCK?! DID THEY REALLY JUST DO THAT? HOW DID THEY EVEN COME UP WITH THAT ONE?" The show, while it has dark subject matter, is kind of safe and is very accessible, which of course, it has to be. I'm sure it will continue to go in the direction that this season went in, especially since the ratings are apparently way up. But, just saying, it would be a lot better if it were a little more bizarre. See everyone in hell!

If I ever dare...

Sat, 21 Nov 2009 23:06:25 -0400

I might sound like a broken record when I say that I don't think I'll ever get married. The most persuasive reason for me to ever dare to get married is to avoid dying an embarrassing bachelor's death such as choking on baked beans that I'd be eating out of a can while wearing a greasy white t-shirt which hasn't been changed for two weeks, and while watching old sitcoms on a tiny old television. If I ever dare to, I will have to do what Robert Parker or Tim Burton do, and live in the same house, but split so that I have my own half and she gets her own. Besides my view that relationships tend to be Rube Goldberg devices which clunk up pleasurable ends such as conversation, intercourse, and good company, my gravest concern is what gets buried along with me after I pass away, if I have to go first. I would hate to have my dying wishes defied. As what has happened to Vladamir Nabokov. He is a writer whom I like, but I admit, need to get better acquainted with. When he died in 1977 he was in the process of writing a novel. He had ideas jotted down on note cards. He told his wife to destroy them. She never did. And now, 32 years later, after his wife passed the cards down to his son (don't even get me started on my thoughts on having children), it's been published as the most useless work of fiction I have ever seen, and I have to sell Twilight books. I was surprised to find out about it as I found myself shelving it the other day at [Pages]. I asked my boss [Amber Danielewski] if I could remove the plastic wrap of one to see what it was like in there. I wanted to see what made it worth 42 Canadian smackeroos. The answer: nothing. The entire book is a series of one sided note cards centred in the pages. Now obviously, I understand the significance of Nabokov, and literary critics tend to barely contain their hard-ons over such memorabilia, I don't see the point of their publication. Not even a rough draft. Just a basic schematic. I'm as it stands, a nobody at this time, but even now, I would be mortified if any of any preliminary material for my work were made public. They are ideas which tend to make only enough sense to the writer to be used as a springboard for the first draft, and are subject to change. What bothers me so much about it? I mean, on the other hand, I have read many works published posthumously, such as the work of Franz Kafka, who, like Nabokov said he wanted his work destroyed, and 2666 by Roberto Bolano, who intended for his work to be published beyond his life. And last month, I was doing cartwheels over the fact that a book of Kurt Vonnegut's unpublished short stories were released. The difference is that they were actually in the form of prose rather than just notes. Prose is a format more ready for public perusal. To bring it back to having a spouse and children, they're not the only villains. It can be anyone, anyone who you trust to leave your work with. But in most cases, who else would people trust more to handle their intellectual remains? Given I a piano doesn't drop on my head, or some other spontaneous death blindsides me, I will make sure that if I feel my death impending, I'll shred, burn, and delete anything I have in the works that I don't want seen in the public eye. See everyone in hell!

Speaking From Beyond The Grave

Thu, 22 Oct 2009 10:17:30 -0400

A mountain load of books came in to [Pages] on Tuesday. Towards the final hour, second in command [Veronica Oxford] pulled out a book, she said, "You like this author, right?" I looked and recognized it was a Vonnegut book. His books all have a new style to their cover designs. When I was introduced to him, his books all had covers with giant Vs which alternated in colour depending on the novel, and a small square in the top with an image pertaining to the story. The new design has his crude illustrations, and as well, alternate in colour. So, mind-numbing details aside, what I am saying is that I thought it was just one of his older books with a new cover. But then I looked at the title, and also saw that it was a hardcover and realized that it was all new. It's titled Look At The Birdie. It's a collection of unpublished short stories. Needless to say, I'll have to pick this up soon enough. I wonder if bits of the last novel he may or may not have been working on will be in it. I'll find out soon enough. See everyone in hell! (Except for Kurt Vonnegut who is up in heaven now.)

The Brutal Stuff Legends Are Made Of

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 13:04:58 -0400

OK, so the game's been out for two days now, but this is practically my first bit of spare time not playing it. I'm not much of a serious gamer. As a matter of fact, most games, I guess like most of everything else are shit. But since games are so expensive to make, they take a lot less risks. So most games are derivative and bland. But this game, I almost never want to stop playing. I'm talking about Tim Schafer's latest brain spawn Brutal Legend. For people who don't know much about him, Tim Schafer is a creative genius. I have played just about all of his games. From Secret of Monkey Island, to The Day of The Tentacle, to Full Throttle, to Psychonauts, to Brutal Legend. Whenever a game of his comes out, it's an event. What makes him such a legend? None of his games really reinvent the wheel in terms of gameplay or technological aspects. He's not a Shigeru Miyamoto or even a Yuji Naka. What he does do, however is come up with games that have interesting and well-developed stories, immersive worlds, and unique main characters. Very refreshing when you look at the characters of most games; soldiers, warriors, and sometimes ninjas/martial arts experts. Brutal Legend has all of the above ingredients of what make Tim Schafer games such treats. It stars Jack Black as Eddie Riggs, a roadie who gets into a stage accident. His blood drips into his cursed belt buckle, and he gets transported into a hellish but "bad-assed" heavy metal world. Look at the surreal heavy metal album covers of the 70s and 80s with spiders made out of motorcycle engines, mountains made of skulls, panthers who shoot lasers out of their eyes, trees with flesh and teeth, etc. and you'll have a good idea of what kind of world Eddie has found himself in. It's populated by characters modeled after and voiced by heavy metal musicians such as Ozzy Osbourne as the guardian of metal, Lemmy Killmister as a doctor whose music heals people, Lita Ford as a warrior princess of sorts, Kyle Gass (Jack Black's partner in Tenacious D) as a bouncer, and some others I have yet to meet. The main villain, a sadomasochist demon is voiced by Tim Curry of The Rocky Horror Picture Show fame. I'm sure there are others I met in the game, but couldn't identify, but I admit, I'm not the most versed guy when it comes to music of any sort. I have what I like, and that's it. That said, I really like the music in the game. 90% of it I've never heard in my life, but I constantly pause to get the names of the artists and the tracks. There is a lot to the gameplay mechanics, and it really merges genres. It's an open-world that the player can drive through a la Grand Theft Auto. Honestly, my only problem with the game stems from this aspect. Not the driving, which I am fine with, but the navigation. I am a person who is generally not good navigating, directions mean very little to me. In the game, the player has to constantly look for a white light coming from the sky at a far distance to figure out where to go next. Not all the time is the light even visible, so I wind up getting lost or have to constantly go back to the menu to look at the map. Basic action is hack and slash, guitar solos (hitting the right buttons on time) can be pulled off to cause certain effects such as the face melt. There are a few types of side missions you can go on, and so far most have been one of about four different types over and over again. Highly repetitive, but too short to get bored of. There are also elements of real-time strategy where the player builds up Eddie's band and stage and has them take down the enemy's stage. That is also what the multiplayer mode consists of, the RTS gameplay. The player can choose from three armies: Ironheade - Eddie's army, a band of headbangers and razor girls. Drowning Doom - An excellent parody of goth culture. When I see and hear them I almost have to think that Tim Schafer plugged in the brains of Edward Gorey and Charles Addams, and then hired Jhonen Vasquez to consult him on their gothic sensibilities and aesthetics. Naturally that is the army I almost always use. There is finally Tainted Coil - The demonic army themed around S&M and dark divinity. For example, in the army, there are nuns in skimpy outfits with zipper-teeth, men with large torsos with arrows sticking out of their backs and gag balls in their mouths, and leather faced priests. The story has been really involving so far. Most of the characters all have an interesting flair to them, and are more than just stock characters. Eddie Riggs seems like a mind meld of Tim Schafer and Jack Black, and of course the character is incredibly likable as well as has the funniest lines. The only character who I found to be a little one dimensional was Lars, who leads the resistance at the beginning. Mr. Schafer has listed Kurt Vonnegut as an influence on more than one occasion and it's certainly helps. The game never forgets to have a sense of humour, even during or not long after some of its darkest moments. I've reached about a third through, and the story and humour seem to be getting better. Though it has reached a point where it strikes a dark chord. Tonally, the game is a lot darker than its predecessor Psychonauts, which was purely whimsical, and pretty lighthearted. But that's to be expected. Psychonauts was set in a psychic camp for preteens, this game is set in Heavy Metal hell, so it's darker, gorier, and edgier. I haven't finished it off, and I think I will try to stretch out my enjoyment of it as much as possible, since it was four and a half years between this and Psychonauts. It will probably be just as long of a wait for the next. But I am already excited for what it will be. I can only assume it will probably have a totally different tone and style, since, in an interview, he once said he likes to go from one end to the other in terms of what his games are about. I look forward to it, but until then... See everyone in (heavy metal) hell!

Ocular Obscurity

Thu, 08 Oct 2009 11:37:14 -0400

A couple minor updates to the weird works page have been made. I have added [The Noxious Novella] to my works, and I have swapped the "incomplete" image for [The Obscure Opus] for one which one could say, gives a better eyedea of what one could expect to see in the novel. I've replaced it with this: Certainly a sight for sore eyes. Or maybe it's an eye sore. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I presume. I slapped the image together in Photoshop. I admit, the graphic is amateur at best, but hey, I'm a beginner. A couple courses that I'm taking at [Miskatonic University] this term heavily involve graphic and web design. The idea is for me to be good enough to handle the architecture, maintenance, and all of the other darkly divine duties required to manage Gallowmere without depending too much on The Prince of Darkness. The actual artwork used though is superb. I allowed an artist by the name of El Khan to stick a pipe into my brain and drain the images of the characters from [The Obscure Opus] out of my brain. When the time comes, their entire essences will be revealed on here. But until then... See everyone in hell!

A pet peeve of mine...

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 12:20:57 -0400

Revealing that there is a twist in a plot without explaining what it is is still a spoiler! I've been thinking about this a lot, lately. I was most peeved about this a few years ago, when, due to a complicated and convoluted plot filled with many twists and turns, I had The Prince of Darkness launder books for me from the pits of hell. One of those books was Daniel Handler's The Basic Eight. I had the novel recommended to me, read a brief synopsis, enjoyed the Lemony Snicket books published up to that moment, and decided it would be my kind of book. That was all I needed and wanted to know. When I finally had it in my hands, it was as if I was holding a melting ice cream sandwich, dripping down to my toes, seeping onto the dirty floor, being licked up by rats. I saw this: Unexpected twist... Well not anymore, shithead. I was astounded that: 1)The writer wouldn't see the irony and error of saying unexpected twist in a review which I can only assume is written for people who haven't yet read the book but want to. By saying there's an unexpected twist in the review, people will expect there to be a twist when they read the book. 2)That the idiot who designed the book cover would think it's a bright idea to include that on the back of the book. The sole purpose of blurbs on the backs of books is to convince a reader to an amount of time and attention to their book. A purpose of fictional novels is to entertain the reader. The reader wants to be taken out of his or her world, they want to be taken for a surprise. The twist is a plot device employed almost solely for entertainment and sensationalistic purposes. The more of a surprise the twist is, the more unexpected the twist is, the more of an impact it has. So, naturally, when I read The Basic Eight, I read through, reluctantly trying to figure out what the twist was. I think I figured out what it was about halfway through. It didn't completely ruin the experience. It meshed well with the style of the entire novel. I'm stopping myself from saying too much as I spill my thoughts into this blah, blah, blog, realizing that I am pretty much being a hypocrite. I could have been ambiguous, and not named out The Basic Eight as the novel which includes a "completely dark and unexpected twist". And saying that the twist makes sense due to its relation to the overall style of the novel, could get gears turning as to what the twist is. I don't think this novel is anywhere near as popular as the Snicket books. Anyone who may be reading this, and have an interest in reading the novel his or herself will have had the experience ruined the way it was for me. And to that I say, fuck the world! If I had the experience ruined for me, then everybody else should as well! See everyone in hell!

Obligatory Updates

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 09:22:55 -0400

I'm not dead yet, you bastards and bitches! You thought you could pop open the champagne bottles? No, keep them in your cellars, I've got a lot of saliva salvaged, and will make it my business to spit in each and every bottle. So I'm here, still no publisher for [The Obscure Opus] but at least no more have died yet, which means that they haven't read it. I don't understand why not though. My manuscripts all glow and emit hums in the slush piles they sit in. Maybe they're scared. I'll have to make sure I don't check off the evil energy box when I ship another batch of manuscripts through Gallowmere Express. I'm still squeezing in time to work on [The Noxious Novella]. I can tell that I've gotten serious about it, because I'm over-thinking it. I've got, I'd say, a quarter of the first draft written, but I keep stopping myself and wondering which direction to take it in. I have an outline, but I've changed it up dozens of times. It's not necessarily events of the story that I change, though some have been removed, added, replaced, and altered. It's more about the actual storytelling. I'm trying to figure out different techniques and devices to use for certain parts for the sake of cohesion. The book could almost work as a collection of short stories, it's very episodic. The only initial connection has been that they all have the same protagonist. Other characters from his life recur in a lot of the segments. Events from certain scenes are sometimes alluded to in other parts, and of course there's a bit of foreshadowing. There are other techniques I'm experimenting with which are a bit less tried and true and am trying to see how they would work. Some I have to wonder if it's too obvious if handled one way and too subtle if done another way. Other techniques I'm not quite sure how to pull off yet. Finally, quarter way through, I'm still not sure if I should narrate it in third or first person. I'm giving myself until the very end of this year to finish this thing and send it off. We'll see if I actually adhere to my self imposed deadline... See Everyone in hell!

I killed Kunati!

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 11:27:45 -0400

I just discovered that one of the publishers I submitted [The Obscure Opus] to, and was patiently waiting to hear back from has turned its toes up. Kunati Books. I really liked what they were about because they were an indie publisher looking for books with "balls" and [The Obscure Opus] is certainly not Emma, so I figured that they would be the type of publisher to take it in. They would have also been great for me because they're pretty much in my backyard. But all of my hopes have been dumped on the curb. It's like this, I can be oblivious to things. A couple weeks ago, I went to Kunati's site and it said it was down. I just assumed they were swamped, or that the site was undergoing some sort of maintenance. It turns out that they are dead, according to what I've read. It went under not long after I submitted my novel. I wholeheartedly accept responsibility for this. They read the first three chapters of my novel and fell into a dilemma. They knew they had to publish my novel, but also felt that it was their responsibility not to, since [The Obscure Opus] is too dangerous for public consumption. The decided that if they closed shop, then they would be abdicating all of the major responsibilities. They will have to figure out how to keep their lights on for the next few months, but at least they will be able to sleep at night. But it's amazing to see how lethal my writing is. I might have to change up the format of this book, and then change its title to [The Cursed Canticle]. I wonder how many other publishing houses I can take down. Muahahahaa! See Everyone in Hell!

Write about now

Sat, 29 Aug 2009 11:35:40 -0400

Gutentag! What am I up to? This and that. The short stories have been going well. I got a few of them done, though they need to be scoured. I have a few more publishers lined up for [The Obscure Opus], and I am staving off putting the scalpel to the last draft I did of it. In any other circumstance, I would have in a heart beat. But I've decided to start something else. I said I was penning a short story at the beginning of this year. One about an old man who lived a horrible life. I had eventually scrapped it because it just did not feel natural to me. I was trying to strike a few chords of pathos but it turned out I was tone deaf. I can't intentionally write piteous material. I have been told that certain things that I had written which I had intended to be funny are in fact depressing, but otherwise, me trying to write to make people feel sorry for characters is like a newborn pretending to know the stock market. I'm not sure if it's because I'm a person who never goes about feeling sorry for himself about things. But if emotions conveyed in the author's work reflects the author's personality, then the treatment I'm getting at this asylum may be futile. I may suffer from irreconcilable lunacy. And on the subject of feelings, I was reading Franz Kafka's The Castle recently, and started feeling really existential. My novel, [The Obscure Opus] is certainly filled with enough existentialism to make people not want to exist. Existentialist views are certainly espoused by two of the characters in it, and another one's life would give Franz Kafka nightmares. But that novel is pretty much done, and is shyly trying to emerge in the literary meat market. I have this vat of existentialist rage waiting to be released. And this is why I decided that I might turn said short story into a novella. Something I can possibly bang out in a month. It will be referred to on here as [The Noxious Novella]. As with most of the work I've done, it will be surreal, blackly humourous, mordant, and have elements and events derived from my life, dreams, and personal views. But I guess I don't even have to say that, what else would I write, Clancy-esque political potboilers? I will get a chance to be more experimental with this one. I want it to be small and effective. A drop of poison in a cup of espresso. I want it to ultimately have a starkly upsetting effect on the readers while making them laugh or at least sit with their mouths agape. In Ex-Drummer, protagonist/antagonist Dries says, "I can be totally happy yet quite ill at the same time." This summer, I've discovered that that is where I stand. I like being struck by misery and despair, nonexistent God help me, I think it actually makes me happy. This is how I want others to feel. There is a danger to saying something like that, it makes me come across as some sort of provocateur. I will state that that is not what I intend to ever be. I plan on writing whatever flows through my mind naturally, and as I write it out, carefully choosing words which paint ugly pictures. I don't intend on just sitting back and delineating what would be the most disgusting and offensive thing to include in [The Noxious Novella]. I discovered that repulsiveness for the sake of repulsiveness is... well.. repulsive, not to mention disingenuous. I realized this a few summers ago when I read Chuck Palahniuk's Haunted. Now, I like Chuck Palahniuk. I loved his earlier novels, and when I had started to take writing seriously, his work was inspirational to me, it gave me assurance that you can write bizarre stories which get celebrated as mainstream literature. I also think that if I get published, it will be thanks in part to him opening the doors. But with Haunted, I realized that I had outgrown his work. Haunted seemed to have the sole purpose of having each story out-gross the other. It was as if substance got lost, and the primary focus was seeing how far he could go with the revolting imagery. It didn't shock me or offend me, it just annoyed me. It was poor execution, and seemed too forced. That is not what I intend. On the other hand, I do plan on being more deliberate with the structure of this novel. [The Obscure Opus] in its many iterations became more and more organic. The first draft of it had a rigid outline. I had characters, locations, events, time-lines, backstories all there, and next to each scene, I had little check boxes. As I laid out each scene, I would check the box off. There were no additive scenes, events weren't removed, events weren't changed. But with each draft, I started to just go with whatever came to mind. And if I was out, and had an idea, I would write it down on the first piece of paper I could find, or on my PDA, then try to incorporate it some how. The result is a novel which certainly has a progression from beginning to middle to end, but without a serious adherence to pacing and not creating a real sense of urgency until the final acts I would say. This time, I want to make the story tight, as well as try to do as many literary backflips through flaming hula hoops as possible, although not getting inter-textual and postmodern with the formatting like David Foster Wallace, Mark Danielewski, or Steven Hall or anything. I do have an idea for a novel which I would employ similar techniques for, but that's far into the future. I will see more about how this turns out soon enough. Luckily, I intend for it to be short so that by the time I get tired of it, I will be done with it, anyway. See everyone in Hell!

Lay me down in my gingerbread coffin

Sun, 09 Aug 2009 00:00:11 -0400

Looking around my padded cell and the yard of my asylum, I can see artifacts of what was a party. A skeleton in clown makeup, scattered bits of dwarves amidst a melange of candy, dessicated maggot confetti, hollow kegs of phenol fluid, an arsenic cake half eaten by rats. What's the meaning of this? My birthday? But I just blinked, or maybe it was just a really long nap. Did I ring the bell yet? I can't remember. I'm not sure if the rule is that if I don't ring the bell the amount of times corresponding to my age on my birthday each year results in age paralysis, or if it's that doing it twice will result in me aging at twice my normal rate, or vice versa amongst those somewhere. Maybe my dodgy memory is a sign of aging. Maybe my dodgy memory is a sign of aging. Maybe my... Alright, I can pull myself together. What's the usual ritual? Normally there are reporters who disrupt my solitude. Ah, there they are, hanging in my closet like fresh suits, in the process of becoming skeletons. One of them has a tape recorder. Let me get it out of his hand and hear what transpired...

Rebecca Plutchard: So Mr. Gallows, another birthday. Do you ever get sick of these? Todd S. Gallows: I was born sick of these, Ms. Plutchard. RP: Please, call me Rebecca. TSG: Please, call me Mr. Gallows. *Laughter* RP: *Nervous laughter* *Silence* RP: Is there anything major planned for this year? Anything you want to do? TSG: Well there is a lot I would like to do. There is a lot I would love to do. But many of those things I won't share with you because they would be incriminating. The rest of the things are too personal. And as you know, I'm so bottled up that I keep secrets from myself. Though it's probably a mistake for me to even admit that. Isn't the first rule of being secretive that you shouldn't even let people know that you have any secrets being kept? RP: Hmm... Well I would think... TSG: Who asked you to think?! The question was rhetorical. *Silence* TSG: So aren't you going to ask me another question? *Silence* TSG: Well? RP: Am I allowed to? TSG: Of course you are! Why do you think I let you in here? RP: Okay... Well is there anything that you would like to do that you would care to share with the general public? TSG: Sure. Well I am dying to get published the way a teenager is dying to get laid. And like a teenager, I want to not just for my own satisfaction, but also for the social status. I want to get [The Obscure Opus] out there. But unlike a teenager's deflowering, I want the experience to be special. I want a reputable publisher or publishers, and when the news gets out, I want it to be filled with pride and accomplishment, not regret and embarrassment. I also think I can crank out a couple smaller works some time soon. I've got many sitting around, pining for publication, but their desires go unrequited. I will do whatever I can and have to to get them out there, even a few of the things that I wish to do but won't share with you as not to incriminate myself. I also think I may find a new asylum, I've been tired of living in the Gallows Family Asylum, it's time to move in to a new environment. Maybe a place with a view of the beach. Wouldn't that be something? *Laughs* RP: Well, that is very interesting, To-- I mean, Mr. Gallows. TSG: Thank you, Rebecca. RP: So what do you think about, you know, your giant clock going up another year? TSG: What's that supposed to mean? RP: Well I have heard rumours that you ordered a gingerbread coffin to be buried in. TSG: This interview is over. RP: Is it true Mr. Gallows? Is it true that you want to -- *Incomprehensible noises*

Hmm... How peculiar. Someone's at the door. The Cauldhame Bros. delivery service. I sign the papers and drag in the enormous crate. Inside is a gingerbread coffin. See everyone in hell!

Exentridermia

Tue, 28 Jul 2009 22:06:43 -0400

I've been on a quest to find movies which can leave me feeling violated, disturbed, and/or depressed. I realized it had been a while since anything impacted me that way. The last movie I had seen which left me feeling as if I'd been touched inappropriately was Ken Park, and that was four years ago. In April, I discovered Taxidermia, a Hungarian delight. It chronicles three generations of men with bizarre obsessions. The grandfather is an orderly with a potent sexual imagination and a rich fantasy life which pours into his reality. The son is a competitive eater who works on setting various records and creating new gorging techniques. His emaciated son, is a taxidermist with a perverse interest in preservation. The film manages to immerse the viewer in ugliness, absurdity, surrealism, and humour as black as blood from a cancerous bowel movement. It features a man ejaculating fire, a sex scene between that man and an overweight woman, a gorging contest followed by profuse vomiting, taxidermy, and a graphic operation. It never relents in hurling the ugliness at the camera. Yet, the gross-out gags are on a different level from the juvenile and artless films like Freddy Got Fingered . It's all shot with a great visual sense, and has some stunning as well as shocking shots. It also has a very bold and striking look to it. Taxidermia makes ugliness its business, and covers the "curse" passed down through the three generations of men, and their horrible outcomes in three segments with surrealism, and a Grimm sense of glee. It's hard to explain how it made me feel, or what it's like. It falls somewhere between the surrealist sketches of The Kids in The Hall, David Lynch, and David Cronenberg. This weekend, I found the Belgian gut-wrencher Ex Drummer. It has to be the ugliest movie I've ever seen, and I mean that in a good way! It never stops to accommodate anyone. Early in the movie, the protagonist/villain, an author named Dries (who to my understanding is a doppelganger of the author of the novel the film is based on), says, "I want to step outside my happy world. Descend into the depths of stupidity, ugliness, obtuseness, unfaithfulness... Latch onto the lives of losers but without belonging to that world and in the knowledge that I can return to my own world." That's exactly where I am, personally, though I have already been there and done that in the past. I've seen ugliness, and latched onto the lives of losers. It gets tiring and annoying after a while. It follows Dries meeting a band of three handicapped punks. There's Koen, a skinhead with a lisp who for some reason walks around on the ceiling of his apartment, and spends his spare time beating and raping women. Another is Jan, a homosexual with a stiff arm. His arm became stiff after a surreal masturbation mishap. The third handicapped band member is Ivan, a deaf heroine addict who beats his wife and neglects his child. There are other bizarre characters such as Big Dick, who... well, I'll leave that to the imagination. From beginning to end, this movie grabbed me by the back of the neck and rubbed my face in human ugliness for its entire duration. The characters are all reprehensible. They revel in immorality, harbour views of racism and homophobia, and do every vile thing to each other that you could think of, rape, sex with mothers, beating, cussing each other out, killing. There's not a single character to like, though I personally relate to the author Dries in some ways. He's much more of an asshole, though. The way the film is shot, it looks as if the director Koen Mortier wiped his ass and strapped the tissue over the camera lens. It has a very murky and gritty look throughout. It's a polarizing movie. Some of the most noteworthy works are. Mortier didn't just refuse to make love to the world, it seems like he decided to try violate as many people as he could. I was left in stitches from how hard I laughed, but also with a pretty bad taste in my mouth. A bad taste in a good way. I didn't wash it out. Instead, I want seconds. And now I seek out another movie to slap me silly and call my great grandmother a whore. See everyone in hell!

Schlock and Awe

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 02:01:59 -0400

I was watching Real Time with Bill Maher last Friday and found myself agreeing with everything he said in his sometimes heavy handed "New Rules" segment. He jeered at the absurdity of calling Sarah Palin - a person whose prominence in the news media, and presence in the political playground are tantamount to absurdity - a renegade. This has nothing to do with partisan politics because I cannot pigeonhole myself as either left or right wing. But it's hard to respect a party which revels in, and plays to the worst traits of the American people: ignorance, racism, homophobia, xenophobia, Christian fundamentalism, and this illusion that Jimbob the hick will some day be as rich as Bill Gates, when they would be lucky if they could end up like Lenny "Nails" Dykstra? It's hard to comprehend how they can deadpan their stance on small-government conservatism when Bush-era Republicans left America at its most Orwellian. Yet now they bellow freedom from big government as if they are in leather jackets and fatigues. And as for Sarah Palin, it's hard to take anyone so anti-intellectual and unprofessional seriously. She spent a portion of her time in office bantering with a 19 hear old punk, and a late night comedian. This is someone who dreams of some day dealing with world leaders? I digress. Back to Bill Maher. He had the fortitude to do what almost nobody in the mainstream media would and to make off colour jokes about Michael Jackson. He lamented the media's obsession with Michael Jackson's death coverage, and that they are holding him in such high regard. I myself haven't watched much of the American news networks all month, because every time I've tuned in, I've seen seemingly serious journalists with headlines beneath them reading "BREAKING NEWS: Michael Jackson's Gardener Speaks Out!" What resonated with me the most was his juxtaposition of America and Michael Jackson, namely its childish nature. He said what's been sitting at the tip of my tongue and fingers for a long time.

"Childish: Well we think Harry Potter is literature and Batman movies are profound meditations on the human condition... And 64% of the people believe that Noah's Ark actually happened."

Indeed, indeed. I have complained about The Dark Shite taking itself too seriously on here before, and hate sounding like a broken record. However, I am disturbed by how much and how many people take it seriously. They call it deep and dark, but it is a film about a man parading around in a bat costume thwarting the plans of a nihilistic clown goth. There isn't much substance to it, though it would have people believe there is by featuring a suffocating amount of incomprehensible violence and an antagonist which cannot be contained and become harder to contain with every effort to stop them. It was only an excuse to increase the amount of action sequences and sensationalism to the movie. It all paved room for explosions, shootouts, fist fights, and Patrick Bateman gliding around with bat wings. The ham-handed "experiment" served no true purpose but to highlight the film's climax. A difficult feat, since the whole movie was a climax. As well, it had the subtlty and complexity of a Play-do penis sculpture. I did enjoy the Burton Batman films, but I never thought of them as being true to life, or anything close to that. I enjoyed them for their surrealism and whimsical humour. There was a theme of loneliness and duality in it which I appreciated, but the movies are mostly popcorn entertainment. Harry Potter's a successful franchise, but Transformers 2 is a successful movie. Success does not equal greatness. I won't say that the Harry Potter franchise is pure dreck the way Michael Bay's Transformer movies are, but the books are purely for entertainment. Yet there are people who believe in the books with religious fervour. I reckon they were written to be read with the amount of focus required when reading in an airplane, beach, or (for those who do it) in the bathroom. That's fine. But it annoys me when I talk to people, grown ups, normally women, and they say, "Oh I read Harry Potter." It's entertainment, not literature. And of course now, there's Twilight, which doesn't even have the redeeming qualities of the Harry Potter series. The Harry Potter series at least has lore, a diverse amount of characters, an epic battle between good and evil *yawn*, and characters coming of age. Twilight is about po-faced vampires staring into each other's eyes. Being for children or people of all ages does not necessarily equal nonsense. Let me be clear about that. I do enjoy a healthy amount of children's fiction. Roald Dahl still cracks me up, and The Brothers Grimm fairy tales are earl gray tea for my soul. I enjoy the Pixar animated movies, and I to this day watch Looney Tunes, and Tex Avery cartoons. Some things for children, I dare say are actually more mature and substantial than their counterparts for adults. Not too long ago, my eyes tangled up in this article which was printed in The Cornell Daily Sun. More of my thoughts were covered.

...[T]here have been some astonishing literary phenomena in recent years that probably represent the largest shared experiences of reading in history. The obvious example is the Harry Potter series, which has sold over 400 million copies in 67 languages. More recently, the Twilight books have gotten a boost from the related movie and are now seen in every teenage girl's hands. And the seemingly unending hubbub over faux-memoirs and the accountability of authors would seem to suggest that people still care deeply about literature. But the literature under consideration is of a deeply impoverished sort. Harry Potter and Twilight are good for a quick thrill and an occasional, broad-stroked lesson, but there's no comparison to true art. At the risk of sounding too high-brow (and my hesitation indicates the extent to which cultural elitism has been discredited), the majority of what people read today is schlock. There's something to be said for the pleasure of reading Tom Clancy or Dan Brown, I suppose, but their prevalence pushes aside the great authors. ... And so we find ourselves in a cultural desert. People read, but they don't read what's valuable; or they read what's valuable, but they just skim the surface. In what is either an indignant protest or an attempt at compensation, our best writers produce long, complex tomes like David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest or Roberto Bolanos 2666. And now, there's barely even a place left to complain about it: book reviews have been sequestered to the Web, which, quite clearly, is not the ideal place for patient, reasoned criticism.

My sentiments exactly. People are too content with not being challenged, or thinking too deeply about anything. Entertainment comes in the form of comfort food. Light reads which are entertaining at face value and nothing else. That's why in my store, the 80% of the magazine racks stock pedestrian fluff. Muscle magazines, hip hop, rock, and soft core porno mags like Maxim for the guys. Gossip, sex guide, fashion, and interior design Magazines for women. Teeny Bopper Magazines with of all the hot teen actors and actresses vomited all over their covers for the young ones. There's only one rack in my store which has the magazines for geeks. The magazines covering politics, skepticism, science, history, business, art. The books people buy are usually of the James Patterson, John Grisham, Janet Evanovich, Danielle Steel variety. I love my pure schlock too. Mostly with movies, I will watch some of the trashiest b-movies for pure entertainment purposes. I'll watch the dumb comedies, and I'll watch some of the fluffy movies if I just don't feel like thinking. But there's more to life than that. Most people only fill their minds with the drivel. They read to decompress. Which is fair. Most people wind up letting their lives suck the life out of them. They spend all day working, they come home to worry about finances, they deal with interpersonal bullshit. So when they finally get access to spare time, it's spent getting away from the mundane by embracing the slightly less mundane. Wallace Stevens once said, "In the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination." That's true, but it seems to be the case that in prolonged consciousness the imagination eventually vacates the mind. This forces the definitions of consciousness and extraordinary actuality to go down a slippery slope. Though it has been argued that imagination is a form of intelligence, the diminish of imagination has little to do with the hoi polloi's fear of depth, and childish attitude toward reading material, and even toward film. It just seems that the social conscience and intelligence of western civilization has been stunted in terms of depth. It reflects in people being less reflective, and in them being a lot more self-absorbed, and ignorant of the fact that there is a world outside of their own. Well I went on for longer than planned. I think now is a good time for me to just pull my hands away from this keyboard. See everyone in hell!