I woke up this evening, not knowing where or when or who I was – like when you look in a mirror too long and the face becomes unrecognizable – the way a word transmutes to something alien when you say it too many times in a row.
I felt sick today and took a nap right after work (missing a Shakespeare class). But it was worth it. Much better (thanks for the words Karisa).
Now back to work…back to the fluid filled cauldron that is my plasma screen – keys and fingers here we go! I say work and I say words like “research.” But that’s the beauty of my program. When I say “research” I mean I’m looking through pages and dusty tombs and digital tombs for information on things like:
ASANBOSAM: A vampire found in Africa, known to the Ashanti of southern Ghana and the people from the Ivory Coast. A creature of general human shape with iron teeth and hook-like feet from which it hangs from trees in forests, scooping up and devouring travelers walking below…
MALAYSIA: And many of the blood-flesh-soul sucking things that reside in it’s ancient folklore. Things like the Bajang, Penanggalan, and Pelesit. As well as the disciplined and fearless magicians who have mastered the art of bottling up offending vampires.
PUMPKINS: Gypsies of the Balkans, particularly those of Muslim faith, thought that pumpkins, if left out later than ten days after Christmas, turn into a sort of rolling, growling vampire. Thank God for little punks and hoodlums who save our lives every year, by smashing pumpkins on Halloween.
Bits and pieces of research for a story I’m writing for class on Thursday, called “Vampire Jack.”
For a look at my other “vampire” story, my first published story, called “Varmints,” click HERE (the British webmagazine, Bloodlust UK, it’s about nine stories down the list).
And for another bit of writing, here’s a poem. I sometimes post bits of free-writing, but I don’t usually post finished works, because, technically speaking, that is considered publishing and many magazines want a first-time published story. Oh well. I won’t tell if you won’t. Some of you know this one (and are probably sick of it), but it will be knew to others. If you’re a fan of Poe or if you had a rough night at the dance clubs, then you should find something to relate too…
© Joshua Alan Doetsch
Over many a female at a local bar’s dance floor.
While I stood there nearly drooling, I said to myself, “Who am I fooling?”
As if any of these women would show me anything but the door.
As if they wouldn’t treat me like the rotting corpse of a bloated boar.
Still, I really wanted to score!
My heart was about to hemorrhage, my courage needed some leverage;
And so each alcoholic beverage gave me the guts to get on the dance floor.
Eagerly I spent my money; vainly I sought a honey.
I tried to be suave and funny, yet the women thought me a bore.
Except for this one chick named Lenore.
A rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore.
Safe in my little black book, forever more.
And the silken, sexy rustling, of her less than skimpy clothing,
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic fantasies, many of which I’ve dreamt before.
So that now to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
“I’m good enough for this girl, good enough and more;
To have a romantic rendezvous with this chick named Lenore.”
Who shakes my libido’s core.
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer.
“Babe,” said I, “or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
For you, a drink I’ll be buying, I’d really be sort of lying,
If I said I was not trying, to get to know you a little more.
So what will my dear be having?” – here I opened the wallet that I wore.
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams that I’d be unsuccessful in my dare to score.
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and with no answer, looked up and said, “Lenore?”
Her chair was empty, nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
How could she just leave me, that mean and vicious little [you know].
“Surely,” said I , “surely this has nothing to do with my own pizzazz.
My charm could not have failed me as; I am all that and much more.
‘Twas my breath and nothing more.”
I gave my doubt a dismissal, when with many a flirt and whistle,
In there stepped another lady, even more gorgeous than before;
Not the least obeisance made she; not a moment stopped or stayed she;
But with mien of lord or lady, stood upon the dance floor.
Stood and swayed in a sensual manner, dead center of the dance floor.
Looking at her was not a chore.
Then this beautiful babe beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
With slick smile presented, I sauntered out onto the dance floor.
Smoothly I popped an Altoid, so her nose wouldn’t be annoyed,
But here, my nervous mind went void, save pick-up lines we men keep in store.
“Honey,” said I, “I have lost my phone number, can I have . . . yours?”
Quoth the lady, “Nevermore.”
Startled at my courage broken by rejection so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what she utters is her only stock and store,
From a relationship with some miserable bastard, who unmerciful disaster,
Followed fast and followed faster, till the boycott of all men she swore.
For the dregs of masculinity, she would have no more.
This it is and nothing more.”
But a new girl was beguiling my sad fancy into smiling.
I was pretty sure she was over eighteen, but not much more.
I said to this girl with a perm, “Want to see my Conqueror Worm?”
It must be duly noted, to a woman, such lines spoken, are akin to declaring war.
With that the girl slapped me, and her sharp ring, my cheek did tore.
Quoth the girl, “Nevermore!”
At the bar I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing.
To the girl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
With my last dollar in reach, I bought a “sex on the beach.”
For on this cursed night, the closest thing I’d get to a score,
Was the name of this concoction’s clever metaphor.
So I drank, and drank some more.
“Bartender!” said I, “please help me, with your kind, caring empathy.
By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore,
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sexy maiden, like that one chick, Lenore.
Will I find such a sultry maiden, will I, will I ever score?”
Quoth the bartender, “Nevermore.”
And here I am, never flitting, still am sitting, still am sitting,
On the puke encrusted stool, that is bolted to bar room floor;
And my eyes have all the seeming, of a drunkard that is dreaming,
And my stomach’s inside’s teeming, has thrown my lunch on the floor.
And my ass from on that bar stool, that lies bolted to the floor,
Shall be lifted – nevermore!
I stand in awe of you, Josh.
Doetsch fan club
I’m starting a Josh Doetsch fan club. Who wants to be among the charter members!?!? We can make T-shirts and go to his readings and camp out overnight outside his residence hall to be the first to get autographed copies of his finished works.
Please post suggestions for other future activities here.
(So how is that for psycho, Josh? Have I beat out psycho-crush girl??? ^_^)
Re: Doetsch fan club
It was neck and neck…and you just pulled ahead 🙂
Would it be vain of me to be part of my own fan club???
Re: Doetsch fan club
Maybe, but why not? If you have a fan club, your fans will think anything you do is cool. So go for it, man!
Hey, I’ve been a member of Josh’s fan club for years now!
By the way…Josh…how do you post pictures in your entries?!
A Picture is Worth a Thousand Computer Codes…
Pictures…not too difficult.
The whole thing is run by code. For example if I put a word inbetween (in between the two sets of bracketed “i’s”) then it comes it in italics.
But who can remember all them codes? There are two ways to get around them. On the LiveJournal home page, you can find an option to “download a client” (you click on this and go through a series of options and can choose a client program…I use SEMAGIC). This is a program that you call up (like a word processor) and then sign in and you can type up your post (offline) and then you just click send (it’s how I type up my posts). It gives you a tool bar that allows you to just highlight text, and then hit the proper tool button to make things bold or underlined or different fonts and colors or whatever. You can also use this to post images.
If you don’t want to download a client, just look at the bottom of the text box when you are updating your journal. There is an option for “Rich Text Mode.” Click on that and a tool bar will appear.
Either way, to post pictures, you need to post pictures taht are actually online (rather than on your computer). Either pirated from some other website (Grar!) or if you happen to have an image hosting service (I don’t). Go to a webpage that has the picture and right click it – now choose properties – in “properties” there will be a URL Address, copy that (you want this and not the address of the actual webpage). Now when you click the insert image tool button (either on the Client or Rich Text Mode) you just paste the URL address in the proper slot and there ya go!
Man…it’s not a very complicated thing…but it seems like it when I acutally type it out.
Re: A Picture is Worth a Thousand Computer Codes…
ignore that first sentence ab out italics….I tried putting in the code so you could see…but it just disapeared………..ignore the code……
Re: A Picture is Worth a Thousand Computer Codes…
but I want to post a picture that isn’t on the internet….boo hiss. I guess I’ll have to take anyway one of my other pictures and uploead this one. grrr…
Re: A Picture is Worth a Thousand Computer Codes…
Yeah…the only reason I could post picturs of Lenore is that the reptile forum I go to for info also has a photo album where you can upbload photos. I’m thinking of getting some sort of photo hosting service…though I don’t really know anything about this (Jeramie? Amy?).
Can our fan club shirts say:
Josh…anything less would be Nick
That’s a great idea! And I suppose we should make them black, of course. Maybe with a raven on them? By the way, hi Karisa, I’m Torrie, and I’ve heard all kinds of great things about you from Josh and Kris, so we’ve got to meet sometime!
Also, sorry Dee, didn’t mean to steal your thunder! Since you have so much seniority, you can be president of the fan club. Or queen. Or empress. Which do you prefer? I think I would choose empress but it’s up to you. I’ll just be your midwest delegate, or something like that. ^_^
The shirts are gonna be black? Why not pink? I think that better encapsulates all that is Josh. I do like the saying, and as the official producer of all things, I think it has to stay.
….I should never have taken that test…..
the only problem with torrie’s shirts is that black with black birds doesnt quite work…what needs to be done, is make them pink with black birds…then they will match the “Josh Color”…besides… who likes black…it is such a silly color……
Okay Mr. “I’m only wearing black until they make something darker.” It was just a frickin’ suggestion. So screw you! I have an ear infection. I’m going back to bed or something.
poor torrie, always missing my sarcasm…i hope the inner ear thing works ok by the time you come up here. we would like to get drunk…and it wouldn’t help you if your world is already spinning. andbesides, why not yell at kris? she said about the same thing…grrrr….why you always pickin on me.
Salt in the ear
Some salt water in the ear and pain killers and it’s amazing how much better the world seems. But, in response to your question, I pick on you because you are an easy target. And I know you will love me anyway. I can’t get drunk with you tomorrow because it is too many calories and I don’t want to put my already stressed immune system in jeopardy. Yep, I’m an old loser.
Re: Salt in the ear
LOSER!!!!!!!!!! fine then, we will drink without you…and it will be FUN. TO THE LABYRINTH we shall go, and then, we will drink of the rum and pepsi until we can walk no more. 🙂