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Tuesday, September 30
A cinematic experience, a kaleidoscope of heroism and nightmares and imagery seen nowhere save the subconscious of Goya or even Hawksmoor himself! 
Production sketch from a never produced Batman movie that was developed by Orson Welles in 1946! Yes, that Orson Welles. Read Mark Millar's article from Comicbookresources.com, and dream of the glory that might have been. Thursday, September 25
Brain waves drive man's bionic arm A man who lost both of his arms in an accident is getting some high-tech help with an innovative artificial limb that controls movements by thought. To get the new arm, Sullivan first underwent surgery to graft existing nerve endings from his shoulder onto the pectoral muscle on his chest. Those nerves grew into the muscle after about six months. Electrodes on the graft can now pick up any thought-generated nerve impulses to the now-absent limb and transmit those to the mechanical prosthesis, controlling the movements of the arm. Sullivan's doctor says this is the first time a nerve-muscle graft has been used to control an artificial limb. Wednesday, September 24
More fiction. The Afterlife Her eyes lock with mine as I feel the tightness around my throat, causing me to breathe in raspy hot breaths. Oh fuck all, not this again. I look for salvation within the pale orbs of my lover, but am greeted with naught but fear. My heart leaps hopefully within my chest; perhaps it is fear for my safety that bathes her eyes in moisture. Fear for the neck of her lover, her scandalous highwayman. Gods teeth, was I a fool! The darkness between her lips grew as she opened them, as if to speak, to cry out, to scream for redemption, to howl; "Mercy! Mercy for the man I love!" But this doesn't happen... Never does, does it? Her eyes turn away. Click here to read the rest. Friday, September 19
Here's another story. The Hole Jem Waites stared down into the dark hole trying hard to distinguish any shapes or colors. The hole was ringed with a small wall of stones much like the wall Jem had put up a year ago around the old well at the south end of the farm. Jem guessed that the diameter of the hole was about four feet wide, and it had to be more than twenty feet deep because when he shone the flashlight down it was unable to penetrate the blackness. Jem remembered when the county crew got permission from Jem’s father to create the hole. It was intended to be some kind of waste collection pit for a new drainage system that the state was installing, but the funding ran out, and so did the crewmen. Jem’s father, Obed, tried for the longest time to get the county to seal the hole but there was always one reason or another that they couldn’t come down and do it. For weeks Obed threatened to have Jem fill in the hole, but father and son became so busy with the farm that they just never got around to it. A month later Obed took ill and died. A week before he expired Obed had Jem build the small wall of stones around the hole, no one really knew why, least of all Jem. Old farmer Howard Phillips often said that he would look out of his window at night and see Obed crouched down in front of that hole. The old farmer said he could see a fire burning nearby, and he swore he could hear a rhythmic chanting. Then again farmer Phillips also claimed that faceless creatures would carry him from his bed at night and bring him to other worlds. The old man was crazy, but Obed did seem to have an obsession with that hole. It was a persistent topic on the Waites’ farm during the last few weeks of Obed’s life, according to day workers. On more than one occasion Obed yelled and screamed at Jem, while hacking up blood, and demanded that the boy drop stones down the hole until it was closed forever. Obed always calmed down and apologized to his son right afterwards. Farm hands had said that they didn’t think he apologized because he had hurt his son’s feelings, but because he really didn’t want the hole closed. Click to read the rest. Wednesday, September 17
We're Only Science Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a total mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. -Pete (Thanks Pete) What is it? Only Wednesday? Sigh.  
Yes, I awoke this morning to find that my car had been broken into. Nothing important was taken, but it's the point of it all, really. Counting today there are only three more days left in this week. What could possibly happen next? ...uh oh....ninjas!! 
Tuesday, September 16
Well, now. It's been pretty much one crap day after the next. Been having terrible days since last Saturday. This has been the one highlight thus far: 
Don't hate the playa, hate the game! Hoping for a better week. Friday, September 12
"Well we're doin' mighty fine I do suppose In our streak-of-lightning cars and fancy clothes But just so we're reminded of the ones who are held back Up front there oughta be a man in black." -Johnny Cash 1932-2003 
Thank you sir. Goodnight. Give my love to June. Wednesday, September 10
I quote: "The Pixies. Are back. Together. Music is saved. Lovers of rock, unite and cheer. This is going to truly own." Monday, September 8
The Shadow Of The Tower The warrior stood in the doorway of the small inn. A blanket of silence slowly fell over the few patrons as the howl of the winter winds announced the newcomer to their midst. They watched him pull shut the heavy oak door to keep the bitter cold outside. He was tall, taller than most men in the village, so much taller that he had to duck his head a bit upon entering the warmth of the inn. Draped about his wide frame were furs from many different animals sewn together in the distinctive style of the northern tribes, a clever layering pattern that helped trap body heat close to its wearer. But this stranger was no northern tribesman; his hair was black as soot and much longer than any barbarians. The tribes of the north, according to their rites of manhood, wore their fair hair short. In his dark hair were many braids, warriors braids, symbols of an accomplished fighter, one who has killed many. The stranger stalked forward like a great cat. He watched all and seemed to notice everything without ever turning his head to actually set his gaze upon anything. His weapons hung at his left hip, two great blades sleeping quietly in a double sheath, one right on top of the other. The villagers had word from the scouting outposts that an armed traveler was heading towards the village. Very few warriors take solace within their village walls being that the town’s proximity is so close to the mating caves of the Other Race, a breed of humanoid creatures, bent and misshapen by whatever god created them. Every winter they travel to the caves in the west to mate and all within their path is razed to the ground. All inside the inn had heard tales of this particular stranger, however. They had heard tales of a large, dark haired warrior with a dual sheath for two arcane blades. One who is said to have accomplished great deeds, tremendous battles fought and won. They say even mighty wizards have fallen beneath his blades....and everyone fears wizards. This is a story I had written a while ago. Read the rest of Part I here, and please let me know what you think. Thursday, September 4
Speaking of the lie that is the world, here are some brave folks who have chosen to go against the grain and illuminate the secrets and the lies. http://www.prisonplanet.com/ http://infowars.com/ Sites of Alex Jones, scarily talented conspiracy researcher and public speaker who compiles news from around the world to show the machinations of the New World Order. http://www.ctrl.org/graphicHome/CTRLhome.html Home of the Conspiracy Theory Research List. Take some time and look around. http://www.paranoiamagazine.com Web site of the conspiracy magazine Paranoia. Think 'Newsweek' with wackos. http://www.forteantimes.com/ The truth IS stranger than fiction. http://www.davidicke.com/ Above them all my favourite wacko. Some good, solid, provable theories come out of this mans brain...stick with him through the shapeshifting lizard-like aliens who are the puppet masters behind every government in the world. http://www.steamshovelpress.com/ All conspiracy no theory. http://www.bilderberg.org/ Haven't had much of a chance to look around here yet, but it seems worth a browse. http://www.coasttocoastam.com/ The companion web-site of the AM radio show Coast to Coast, once hosted by the incomparable Art Bell. http://www.jimmarrs.com/ Ah, Jim Marrs. The American version of David Icke...only less Lizards. http://www.conspiracyarchive.com A well balanced and well laid out site. http://www.subgenius.com This is the Truth. All hail Bob! http://www.ology.org/principia/ The official "Bible" of the Discordian society. Read it, because it's all true, except for the parts that aren't. If any of you know of some that I haven't covered, please enlighten me. This is a journal posting from my friend Kurt over in JournalSpace somewhere: I want to firmly grasp the entire world with both of my hands, sink my fingers into the dirt, and rip this planet in half. Then slam both halves down and grind what’s left into dust. And it still wouldn’t get rid of the problems. The conflict does not end. I am slowly being driven mad by forces in this world. Now I know I’m prone to becoming a paranoid schizophrenic, but seriously doesn’t life seem like a conspiracy theorist’s living nightmare? Not only are these insane acts covered up with some asinine story, but the public actually buys it all and asks for more! Consume! Be dumb, afraid of anything “WE” tell you isn’t Amerikan, and work your life away while “WE” begin the dissection and total elimination of your civil rights. It makes me want to shatter my skull on this desk and pray that a nice sharp skull fragment may pierce my brain. It may just be the only way I find peace with the political and societal changes occurring around me. I was once told by a friend that if I don’t like what the government does, that I should not accept any help from the government and move out of the country. At the time I exclaimed that I’d gladly remove myself from the country in a second if I had the means. But shortly after, and until this day, that conversation chews through the lining in my stomach, tenses my shoulder muscles, and causes my teeth to grind incessantly. Fuck that and Fuck you! I’m not leaving this country, because I love what this country could stand for. What it could be. Not the submissive bitch of a corporate master in the soon to be enslaved world, but a righteous force that can kick down your goddamn door, shoot your goddamn politicians, and scream loudly that we’re not taking this bullshit anymore. The only upswing of this whole Bush administration is that it is getting so far out of hand, and into the public that it might just be enough incentive to get people like myself to actually do something about it. I am being driven mad by forces beyond my control. The grating noise that comes from the speakers attached to my computer at work will make me do something really bad to my co-workers. Reality is a prison because I choose to view it as such. My friend Kurt is slowly going crazy because he sees the shit that holds this world together. He is one of the few that Commandant Coke, and Der Schreck Meister McDonalds cannot blind. Remember in The Matrix when Morpheus mentioned that they usually don't 'awaken' people as old as Neo? Well, this is why. The world is a lie, and when you realize that, it is a terribly jarring experience. This world is horror. We as Americans are completely shielded from the real world, so much so that we have absolutely no idea why the rest of the world hates us. We ignorantly chalk it up to jealousy, we think that they hate the freedom we have. We. Are. Not. Free. Reality is a prison because I choose to view it as such. And Ignorance is Bliss. Something in the above statement is true. Tuesday, September 2
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