I'll come up with something in a minute.

the hell?

I just saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand, I thought we were doing zombies today.

June 13, 2012 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , | Leave a comment

Do people not understand what is going on?

No, I mean it as a serious question. We’re not supposed to kill the children, because they’re just children. Yes, four of them got together and took down that lawyer from Pontiac, but we mustn’t hurt the little darlings. I mean, they only stalked, tumbled and killed a two hundred and eighty pound man and they’re just ripping his still steaming guts from his carcass and eating them raw as we speak. I’m sure if we give them a stern talking to they’ll cut all this Lord of the Flies bullshit and behave.

I’m thinking, and I might be crazy here, that those kids are unreachable and that perhaps whatever is motivating them is beyond our ken. Just a thought, one I had when the nine year old yanked his eye out of the socket ad popped it in her mouth. I can out run them, which is why we got away far enough to discuss the issue while still being close enough to hear the slippery sound of intestines being yanked from a body and scoffed into a mouth and swallowed whole. A sound, by the way, which it’s going to take a lot of booze to ever even come close to forgetting for even a few moments.

Yes, I am advocating putting the little monsters down. I don’t like the idea of them coming for us during the night, their little fingers working through whatever barricade we make and slowly pulling at the cracks until the larger ones can get in and help.

We are talking about the end of the world here. This isn’t a situation where we can skip off into the sunset, if for no other reason than because we are heading east.

June 13, 2012 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , | Leave a comment

No, what’s wrong with YOU?

You know, I really resent the phrase “What the hell is wrong with you?” particularly coming form someone who’s life I saved twice in two minutes. First, I save them from that second walker who came along while they were watching the lunatic. Then, after the lunatic had smashed the skull open, and started talking about how awesome the brains looked on the ground and wondered aloud about how fresh meat might look before swinging his rifle butt. When you decide to go all Platoon and try and see if you can get brains to splatter “more pretty” than you already have achieved, and you decide to kill a person to do it, then you’ve crossed the line.

Yes, I cut his legs off at the knees. Yes, I then cut his arms off at the elbows when he started picking himself up. I didn’t want him changing and being able to chase anyone. And I let him bleed out because he needed to understand that there are rules and there are limits. Also, I’m not going to directly kill anyone today. At least, not anyone who still is a person. Even that lunatic was a person. If he bled out from his wounds, that’s his problem. I didn’t try to kill him, I was just trying to defend people.

And what thanks do I get?

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

What’s wrong with me? I’m alive and intend to remain so? That seems to put me in a distinct minority, and one that everyone seems to be dead set against.

June 13, 2012 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , | Leave a comment

Bad Romance

I turned my head for two seconds, when I look back, BOOM! World is over. This is what insanity feels like, you don’t even feel anything when the world ends besides a sense that another damn thing has happened.

Next thing you know, some bath salt smoker is chewing on the face of their neighbor. Everyone laughs about that for a moment, then their grandmother is doing it, then some little kid is dragging a useless leg behind them and reaching out with a three fingered hand so they can gnaw with their remaining milk teeth. All the sudden, it’s not funny anymore. At the point that they’re having to choose between what they’ve always thought of as their humanity, and smashing a six-year-old’s skull on the pavement, most people choose wrong.

I can handle this, I know how to deal with them. You play some Michael Jackson, or some Billy Ray Cyrus. They’ll dance to Achy Breaky Heart, which should have been an early warning sign in my opinion. Anything with a danceable beat, it gets into their hind brain, past the hunger. Bad Romance will also do the trick too, but that’s just too sick for me. Even I have some standards. Bad Leroy Brown just makes them stand there and look at you quizzically as you slice them to pieces. It’s not that I find this fun, but I do find it interesting and in some cases necessary to save people not smart enough to run away.

The problem is, splattering blood of some face eater on another person’s face makes the second person loose their shit. You save someone, and they demand to know why you just did what you did. So I left the idiot to the people he seemed to prefer, and they ate him. I’m having a serious sympathy deficiency right now. People that stupid don’t deserve to live.

June 13, 2012 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , | Leave a comment

We’ve been here before.




People think it’ll be fun. They think, “Hey, I’ve played Resident Evil and Left 4 Dead. I totally know how to deal with this.” They think they can handle it, they think they understand. People, as I have mentioned in the past, are fucking stupid.

I know how it started this time. I was warned, I knew ahead of a time. I saw it in the stars, that’s how. It doesn’t matter, you wouldn’t believe me and you refuse to understand that IT. IS. OUT. THERE!

When I tell you that The Pillar of Cheese in the shape of Jane Austen is out there, and that The Pillar of Cheese in the shape of Jane Austen is consolidating again, I don’t do it for my own health. I inform you of these things so maybe the idea of your dead grandmother climbing up your leg is as best a hallucination brought on by too much coffee. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’m crazy, that I’ve gone round the bend for the fifth or sixth time.

Have you looked out the window?

Does that look sane?

I told you so.

June 13, 2012 Posted by | Uncategorized | , | Leave a comment

On The Twin Subjects of Depression and Knives

Hunter S. Thompson once said “I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.”

I would like you to keep that quote in mind as I talk for the next few minutes. In as much as I don’t advocate this, but it’s always worked for me.

There are people who ask me, “Weirdo, why do you own 97 knives and 36 swords.” And I tell them the same thing, over and over again. That it’s only 56 knives and 27 swords. As with many things, there are multiple answers, and all of them are true to an extent. I like the look of blades as pieces of functional art. I enjoy swinging swords and knives around as aerobic weights. The knives are often useful, and many of them have been used for perfectly practical things like opening boxes or cutting down trees. I cut down a sapling with my kukri once, which is what the damn thing is for. The fact that I sometimes use a two foot long short sword to open envelopes is my own damn business and I don’t see what it has to do with you.

These are true answers, there is nothing wrong with those answers. However, there is a secret answer that you must unlock like a playable character in a video game after scoring 10,000 points. Do video games still have points? Fuck, it’s been a long time since I played a video game.

The secret answer is that I keep the knives around because they prevent me from self harming or killing myself. Does that sound counter productive? Does that sound like leaving a loaded handgun, a couple of cyanide capsules and a noose around just in case? Maybe. I can’t say about the other things, they don’t hold the power or the allure of the blades for me, which is probably why I don’t keep them around.

See, I know about blades. I know how to fight with them, how to use them peacefully, how to store them and how to keep them in good condition. I also know how they can hurt, and being someone who learned how to fight I know that cutting oneself is against the rules of the game. In fact, the entire point of that game is that you remain uncut. It got into my head, makes me do things to avoid being cut, makes me feel I’ve lost the game when I do get cut. Kitchen accidents are more about me swearing in frustration than in pain.

And I know what blood does to a knife. It corrodes the steel, it dulls the edge, it can really screw up a good knife if you do it properly. I have too much respect for my knives to want them damaged. These are works of art after all. Like books and paintings, it would go against something inside me to deliberately damage one, or leave it in a state where it could get damaged. Some things, a person simply does not do.

However, if I were going to do it… if I were going to engage on an escapade of self destruction, I would have to use a blade to do it. Where did this rule come from? I don’t know. Perhaps ego, that I would only take that sort of thing from an object I respect and admire. Maybe I’ve got some old warrior idea in my head that it can only be done right with a blade. I don’t know, but I try not to poke too many holes in a rule that’s saved my life more than a few times. All I know is that with the knives around, they present a dare that I don’t take. It’s almost as if the knife is saying “Yeah, you wanna do it? Well, you’ve gotta use me. Only you won’t, because you don’t want to cut yourself and you don’t want to damage the blade.” and I know the knife is right and it’s okay that it talks in a Bronx accent because that’s what it’s like in my head.

When we were on vacation recently, I crashed hard and bad. Probably the worst dip into depression I’ve had in years. One of the problems, at least from my standpoint, was that I didn’t have a pocket knife with me. I didn’t want the hassle on the flight, it would get confiscated even in checked baggage, blah blah blah. But not having it made me edgy and miserable. Now, this isn’t a self defense thing. I don’t need a knife in case thugs decide to attack. I don’t see thugs around every corner, and even when walking in downtown Detroit, the thugs tend to keep a respectful distance and look for an easier mark than me. When deprived of a knife, I can fuck someone up with my keys, or my belt, or a Bic pen, or a magazine, or a chopstick, or even my hands if the situation goes that way. No, the person I needed to defend from was myself, and for than I needed a knife. I realized how dire the situation was when I found myself wondering if the fall from the balcony to the street would be sufficient. See without a knife there, to insist that it had first refusal on any self-destructive behavior, other options began to crop up.

It was so bad that on the second or third day, on the first shopping excursion I took, the first thing I did was look for a knife. I didn’t even get a particularly good knife. It was $10, and probably worth half that. It’s a tanto point, which I hate and it’s a widish tactical blade, which I’ve never liked. I like a nice thin stiletto like blade, something that can fit into the gap of an envelope and slit it open neatly. Hence why I love the Laguiole style so much. None of that is the point though, what is the point is that it was a knife and I felt better for having the knife The ledge stopped looking inviting and I was able to relax… for a given value of relaxation. I was able to not become so argumentative that I made Syd cry, and that was something.

The rest of the trip wasn’t exactly enjoyable, but it was at least tolerable. Going into a funk when you board the plane and only starting to shake things after you’ve been back at work for a couple of days makes me feel like we’ve missed the point of our vacation. It was hard to enjoy anything while that weight was on my shoulders and colored everything that happened that week. However, the victory so tiny you need an electron microscope to see it is that I did come back.

And that’s REALLY why all the knives and all the swords. I need talismans, and these are mine. Well, that and a steady influx of sugar and caffeine. They seem to steady my mood a bit and keep me from wanting to enter into danger. The knives really do help though. They focus my attention, and keep me thinking about being careful and not cutting myself rather than the opposite.

I can’t recommend these things to you, because blades and Red Bull might be just the thing that sets you off. However, there is some power in having some kind of talisman, for whatever reason you have it. Granted, most the people I’ve talked to carry worry stones, or religious icons, or pictures of a loved one. I don’t know of anyone else who carries a dangerous weapon so that if they feel suicidal that weapon will keep them from doing it.

June 13, 2012 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment