holy shit

Eh, Sure?

Good morning,

It’s 6:03 AM on the East Coast. The birds are chirping and flitting around, no doubt cussing each other out for being so goddamn loud first thing in the morning. “I haven’t slept in six weeks because of your chirping, Reginald!” Because robins should have the name “Reginald”. Somewhere, kids are groaning about their finals and the approaching “June” months, while their parents are sitting somewhere day drinking — no MORNING drinking because they don’t know what the fuck to do with these little shits. The kids are probably dreaming of gaming and eating candy all day. Those worlds will never collide…

Meanwhile, writers, artists, musicians… All staring out the window, trying to grab inspiration from somewhere when their old, babydoll-headed Sid monster ideas from the back of their brain closet rear’s it’s one-eyed head and starts speaking in a demonic language all its own and that’s when they hear it, like a drunken frat boy who’s had too much tequila… “You know what would be a great idea?” And then we listen… We listen to those great ideas… We know they’re not great but maybe, we could make them great….. Maybe we have that ability. So we nod, and pony up — “Eh, sure?” and the creepy babydoll idea grins a toothless grin and sinks its missing eyed cranium back into its hole, cackling like a toddler on pop rocks.

Wonder what deal we’ve signed today…

It’s 6:17… fuck, I gotta work… Babydoll ideas don’t pay for themselves… well not yet…

What Motherfucker Hell Is This?!

I’ve found inspiration. A lot of it. Too much of it? The crazy bits of it. Tiny little fire in the pit of my rock full of guts or something cynical that I wrote … Ideas. So many fucking ideas. I have so many ideas floating around. They aren’t really anything tangible yet. I mean I have project after project. But soon, there will be a new project. A bigger project. One that will probably rip the remaining assumption of sanity from my eyes like a toddler through a smash cake. But worth it.

First: Still, thank you Chris. And a new shout out to Adrian “Lobo” Figueroa . You two, Seriously… Thank you.

Second: Shout out to my Baby Sis and Heathenous Beaverhousen … You two, you know what that’s for.

Third: HOLY FUCKING SHITBALLS BATMAN! This is ridiculous! But Exciting? I’ll say one thing, and not many people will know what this means… But! Quinn.

Give me two months for the final draft of Death of a Creative Soul to be finished and in print. And then I’ll jump up on the internet, like a fleshling at a brothel, and show you some of the goods. Just enough. And then hold out my grubby little hand for some of your hard earned cash and judgement.