Tuesday, September 26, 2006

The Circuits Are Fusing...

... the surveillance system, everything is overloaded! And I think Ted is dead.

If you can name that movie and you're not related to me, you get 100 Internet Points to spend wherever you wish.

Saturday, September 23, 2006

Drawn Out Yammering

I did something the other evening that I've not been able to do for quite a few years. If we still lived in New York, I would not have been able to do it at all. Or at the very least would not have been able to do it without much pain. What was this mysterious activity?

I sat down with a sketchbook in my lap and a pencil in my hand, and drew. My hand! It didn't hurt to hold a normal pencil! And use it!

I used to draw for hours on end. I have sketchbooks filled with stuff. I used to draw on my breaks when I worked at the place which shall not be named. I was 23 when I got a ridiculous cramp in my drawing hand. I was at work, and instead of going home I stayed and typed one-handed for the rest of the night. (Idiot that I am.) From that point on, every once in a while I'd go run my hands under hot water to make them feel better. I got to a point where holding a pencil just hurt too damn much. Luckily, I could make artwork with a computer. Not nearly the same, but it helped keep the artsy creativity going. I never felt like I could get the computer images just right, though. That's not to say that the ones I drew were "just right" either. I just felt more control over the whole process from brain to paper, rather than from brain to computer screen.

The fact remains that my joints don't ache here. Whether that's because of the elevation, the lack of humidity, the lack of stress, the lack of 30 excess pounds of blubber, or a combination of the aforementioned, I really don't care. I can sit down and friggin' draw again! Woohoo!

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

egamI rorriM

Sometimes that face in the mirror isn't a reflection of you at all.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Spheres and Rings and Other Round Things

Sometimes the titles are good, sometimes they're not.

Monday, September 11, 2006

2,996 - Jonathan Eric Briley

Jonathan Eric Briley was working at Windows on the World (North Tower of the World Trade Center) as an audio media specialist during the terrorist attacks.

He is survived by his wife, Hillary; his parents, Marie and the Rev. Alexander Briley; two brothers, Alexander and Timothy; and two sisters, Gwendolyn and Joanne. He used to tell his sister Gwendolyn "there was nothing like" the sunrise he could see each work day from the 110th floor.

Religion played an important role in his life. As a teen-ager, he was a member of Shiloh Baptist Church in New Rochelle. He served in the Christian education ministry and the music ministry. At the time of his death, he worshipped at First Baptist Church of Elmsford, where his father is the pastor

He is believed to be “The Falling Man”.

Richard Drew - AP

That image may offend you. Here, in a post that is meant to celebrate a man’s life, I put an image of him moments before his death. If you believe that his death was a suicide and because of that he is damned, go away. Now. Those who jumped that day exhibited courage, not cowardice. This image not only captures the final moments of a man’s life and conveys a powerful message. Not a message of despair and hopelessness. Not even one of faith, though it’s possible that Jonathan’s faith played no small part in his decision. Did he hope for a miracle? Did he leap into the arms of God? I don’t know. I do know that, for whatever reason, he chose not to wait for his fate to come to him. He took matters into his own hands, and he chose to act.

If that isn’t a profound celebration of life, I don’t know what is.

Life will throw all manner of things in our direction, both good and bad. We can either accept it or grab on with both hands and do something with it. It may not go the way you want, but at least you made the effort and demonstrated strength of will, character, and courage.

Jonathan Eric Briley proved to us all that he had those strengths on the morning of September 11, 2001 when he stepped off into the sunrise.





Monday, September 04, 2006


If you are out in the woods late at night and you have your senses about you, you may just wish you didn't. Should you catch but the faintest scent of the Unt'kini (some call it "Sirenflower") you will be lost. Not lost as in "I can't find my way home", but lost as in "never seen again and mourned by friends and family". It calls you. Gets inside your head and pulls you towards it. You'll crawl naked through the thickest thickets without slowing down to get to the source of that terribly captivating fragrance. You'd rather die than not have that perfume fill every breath as if it were your last. But that's the thing... you're so captivated by the smell that you don't think of anything else. You don't eat, drink, or sleep. You just breathe and sigh contentedly as you wither and die. Your body becomes food for the damned flower. Your corpse just lies there grinning like a slack-jawed idiot as it rots and gets digested. Soon, but not soon enough, your body is gone. But that's not the worst part. The plant doesn't just get into your head and eat your flesh. Oh no! Your spirit is trapped as well. The call is so strong that it holds you for eternity, tormented by the memory of the scent with no means to recapture it! The spirits that dwell near the flower howl and wail. Not as a warning, but in despair. Their cries of anguish would scare normal folks away, but anyone close enough to hear their cries is already caught in the spell of that damnable plant. I've cried enough because of it over the years. Or is it decades now? Centuries? I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I've seen that expression countless times before. You can't hear me. You're trapped, and there's no hope. For either of us.