So, MySpace is running a contest for bands to get some exposure. Grand Prize: Record deal? Yes, please. Help us (Palisades Drive) win, hit GRAB THIS and embed/link this on your Facebook,MySpace,Virb,Bebo,Tumblr,Twitter,Posterous,Digg, Slashdot, Reddit, Delicious accounts, etc. You do have an account on all of those, right? I thought so.
As I sit here in my unimportant chair, looking at my dreary life with uneducated eyes, I feel it. The world is rising up and getting ready to swallow us. Men have flooded us with acronyms and obfuscated paradigms; creations of exponential complexity, uncontrolled, uncontrollable. And we are meek and we will watch, afraid but pacified, self assured. We will drown together and even then, we will not raise our voices, weary of the truth spilling forth seductively. In a perfect world, the world we like to imagine—a world with Jack Buer and Gregory House and Rorschach. A world where the right thing is done as a matter of course. In that reality, the word is not an article in a wiki. The word is absolute violence. The word rips flesh from bone. The word terrifies. The word rapes and pillages and burns. The word is absolute evil for relative good.
Revolution.
It will never happen but sometimes, honestly, don’t you think it should?
It’s always ham versus turkey on Thanksgiving.
I’m sorry my weird looking chicken friend but honeyed is what I’m thankful for.
Being uniquely qualified I present the following easy-to-follow rules that will guarantee your continued dissatisfaction and lack of success.
1. Never finish what you begin (or even better, don’t start anything at all).
2. Continually sacrifice your health and happiness for a paycheck. Someday when you’re sixty-five and can’t get a hard-on you’ll have lots of money to spend on bingo and a premium grave site.
3. Spend at least an hour a day visualizing the huge success you’ll be when you finally pursue your dreams. Bonus points if you can actually hear the applause in your head.
4. Recursively trade in your goals and ambitions for slightly less satisfactory ones. Attempt to eliminate them altogether.
5. Allow routine and tedium to rule your life. Wake up, Eat, Work, Eat, Sleep, Wake up, Eat, Work…
Begin by adopting these rules one at a time. By design, each sucessive rule will naturally follow. Good luck!
Do we really need a security guard down every aisle at a concert? Is the geriatric crowd at a Bob Dylan concert that great of a concern? Is it some type of cruel joke that THE protest singer of our time plays venues with more rules and precautions than a shooting range? How much money are people making from selling that blurry photo of Bob from 400 feet away?
And yes, I’m talking to you, the bald hard-on with a headset and a two-sizes-too-small yellow security shirt: if the 65 year old guy who knows every Dylan lyric, because he was there when they meant something, wants to partake in some recreational cannabonoids, shut the fuck up and hope when you’re that age somebody pays you the same deference.
Woe the turkey.
Yesterday, he walked
with little worry
Gobble gobble
Today he’s
covered in gravy
yum.
Hi again,
I’ve cleaned up all the posts for 30 Days Vol. I, adding links backwards and forwards so that it is easy to navigate. I’ve also created a cleaner archive page. The pages are also now cached to improve loading time.
Unrelated:
Help these guys get to 100k comments.
Nicholas Barrios finished typing and sighed. Even writing stories he already knew was hard—to create them from thin air, on a schedule, was some sort of stupid. Thirty days ago he had started writing with the idea that it would be no more than a small part of the day. Something to keep his mind occupied and perhaps a small grab at the hidden ambition he had of being a writer.
He had been wrong. He had spent the last thirty days constantly going over plots and motivations. Driving became a time to pump up the volume and live out stories, trying to make them go further with each repetition, hoping that at the end of the day he had come up with enough. He had learned to keep them running in the back of his mind.
And now that the thirty days were up and all he had left was to write a goodbye, he felt relieved. There were more stories to write, of course, but they could wait for a while.
He has a feeling, however, that as soon as that anxiety and excitement and motivation is gone, he will miss it. It wasn’t that hard, he thinks, I can do it again—thus proving he’s a goddamn fool.
If you were here from the beginning, thanks for reading. I’m honored.
If you weren’t, the words will be there for when you have the inclination.
See you soon.
The men were excellent archers and the arrows speedily rained down on their target but somehow did not get there. When asked later, none of the men could explain what had happened despite having seen it with their own eyes. Every arrow that had been fired was laid in a neat pile next to Josephine.
“What madness is this?” the leader roared, “Fire at will!”
The arrows rained down again, all expertly aimed. Up until the last instant they all looked to have found their target, only to then settle into the pile with the others. The men, bewildered, fire again and again. Eventually, their stockpiles were depleted and they looked at the lone figure for the first time with fear.
The pile of arrows was taller than her crossed-legged figure. She opened her eyes.
“I seek an audience with Samos of Alanya. In return, I will give the guards of Anamur this pile of finely crafted arrows.”
“You dare mock us! Such petty magic does not daunt us.”
The guard turned to his men, instructing them before speaking to her again.
“Run, or you ask for death!”
“I’m quite comfortable, Captain—and prepared to be quite insistent.”
“Fire!”
She had made the leader angry but she needed him to become angrier still; angry enough to call for help.
Explosions marked the firing of mortars, the payload heavy stone. She was surprised at the elementary nature of their defenses. She closed her eyes and prayed once again.
The stones shattered long before the reach her, the small fragments coalescing behind her. She concentrated on the Captain—such were the markings on his clothes—and took in his figure. The shattered stone began to take shape: first a pair of boots, then loose pants, a vest of armor, and finally a face. Then, for a moment, silence.
“A statue in your honor, Captain—to commemorate your considerable actions.”
The men stared at their Captain, then at a perfect stone likeness. She hoped they would panic and beg for reinforcements—call attention to stranger outside the gate. Instead she saw the Captain confer with his men. He returned to the front of the tower.
“You continue to mock me. Still your magic does not concern me. Let me show you why Anamur has stood for three thousand years!”
Josephine closed her eyes and looked into the tower, searching for the men, for what they had in store for her. She was surprised to find them all facing her at the towers edge. They did not move and indeed looked peaceful. What came next she could not fathom and had it not been for years of waging war she would not have recognized. Every guard began to speak at once, opening their palms toward her.
They had magic. In a land where those with magic were never found more than two or three at a time, here at Anamur gate were a dozen men preparing to destroy her. She recognized their words and knew that she could not stop them. Divine words of one kind were useless against others of another.
She closed her eyes and prayed to the Other—praying she could still convince the darkness she was loyal. The light arced from the men’s hands toward her. She did not see, shutting her eyes as tightly as she could, begging the One Who Was Not He to enter her once more.
“Enough!” she screamed, raising her hands and extinguishing the holy spell.
“It is my intention to get an audience. I will not ask for it again. I came in peace and you have fired upon me. I will afford you the same consideration. I will tear this gate apart if necessary.”
It was enough. The Captain yelled for a messenger and made sure she could see it.
“I have dispatched a message. The Elder will be here soon. However, you must understand that we will not allow you passage even if it means our death.”
Josephine nodded, wondering if now was the time to give concessions—what other weapons might these men have hidden and unexpected? She released her demons, standing up and noticing her exhaustion again.
“Water and food make peace, Captain, if you can afford them.”
Soon enough, a gourd with cool water was thrown, followed by a small sack with unleavened bread and fruit. She did not bother to check if they were poisoned. They would be fools to do so.
She ate in silence and waited. Two hours later she heard something no foreigner had heard for five hundred years. The Anamur Gate was being opened.
The gate was enormous and imposing. It was covered in metal thorns, perhaps to dissuade climbing; she doubted any army could get close enough for the attempt. It’s only ornament was a large seal at its center, carved with symbols she did not understand. She wondered how close she would get before something happened.
“Stop! Move no further!”
This close. She looked in the direction of the voice. It came from one of the towers at the side of the gate.
“This land is forbidden, stranger. You are not welcome.”
“I am looking for someone, a citizen of Anamur. It is imperative I talk to him as soon as possible.”
“This is none of my concern. None is allowed to enter.”
“You do not understand, I have no choice—I must speak to this man.”
“You must leave. It is not a request.”
“What harm could come of informing this man of my presence? I seek Samos of Alanya. Tell him that Josephine Margo wishes an audience.”
She looked into the tower with eyes that could see beyond those in her head. The men whispered; they knew who this man was.
“These are not my orders. All are forbidden, none will enter—you will leave.”
“I won’t, whatever threats you make. I will have my audience.”
She sat down on the soft sand and crossed her tired legs. She began to pray. She felt the guard’s anxiety. They had guarded this gate their entire lives, but except for the occasional official caravan, nobody ever came. It was beyond their understanding why a lone woman would have walked the desert to a gate she must have known she could not cross. She felt their leader hesitate but not long. He gave the order to ready.
“I must ask you once more—leave. The rules are strict; I am required to take action.”
Josephine did not respond. The men arced their bows and waited for the instruction to fire. It came soon enough.
