You gotta love VOODOO HOODIES.  And you have to love voodoo hoodies that help the New Orleans relief effort.

I had more to write.  I wanted to talk about trickster deities saving the current culture and why writing is a form of magic . . . but the NyQuill (that big fuckin’ Q) calls and everything’s going to a cherry flavored haze.  Another time then.

Pleasant hallucinations and may your eye movements be rapid.

Conversation with my mother:

Mom:  [on the phone with my Dad]  “ . . . yeah?  You’re son is here, helping me frost Christmas cookies . . .” [back to me now]  “He says that’s adorable.”

Me:  [I stop my frosting]  “Well tell him not to tell anyone.  I have this creepy reputation to protect.”

What’s new?  My knee is still not acting right.  Still waiting on the novel contest.

Over the weekend, I got to see many people I dearly missed . . . but yet and still I didn’t get to everyone.  Weekends need to be longer.  This is my platform, as Emperor of America.  Posters coming soon.

Candlebox’s song, “You,” just came on my random mix (“Is this blood on my hands all for you?”) which makes me think of what I have on my screen just now . . . my online (partially in person) writing class is at an end and I got back, with some glowing remarks, the only story that got a 100/100 score.  It’ll be one of the interlude chapters in the coming draft of my epic . . . but it’s a stand alone story, so you really don’t need to know anything else to read it.  I don’t usually post whole stories on this journal anymore . . . but here ya go.  I’ll probably try and get this published soon, but you won’t tell them that I posted this here, will ya?

Our little secret:

Blood, Snow, and Sparrows

©Joshua Alan Doetsdch

 [Story deleted.  If you’ve come back this far, you’ll just have to ask me where you can find a coppy (hopefully published) to read.  –Josh] 

OK.  Nick and I are Eureka bound.

We should be there a little after 10.

It’s been a while, but Nick and I shall be visiting the Eureka area this weekend, Friday through Sunday (though we’ll be busy Saturday evening till about 11 pm).  Since these visits don’t happen as often as they used to, I want to hang out with as many of you fine folks as I can.

Lock you doors.

It will do you no good.

Running…running might do you some good.  My knee is still pretty messed up from the sledding incident and I walk like a silent movie monster.

It turns out an adult male human body is not meant to bounce twice off of a hard surface.

This has been a strange week of physical injuries…which is weird.  I’m a sturdily put together life form.  As a child I’ve fallen through windows, window wells, had a boulder (larger than me) roll over my leg, and countless brawls with my brother….and I never have had a stitch or a broken bone.

A couple of posts ago, I mentioned my DAMAGED FOOT.  That was only a warm up.  I think it is, in fact, all right now.

But Saturday I went out sledding with my brother and cousins.  We went, at night, to a mostly unlit sled hill of incredible height and steepness (not ski hill big…but the largest sled hill I’ve ever been to).  The first run went well – fast and furious and lots of flying snow shards stinging the face.

The second run…

We tried the other, darker side of the hill.  This was even faster (for the snow was more like ice)…and little less control.  My sled went sideways and suddenly, I was high in the air . . .

My cousin Matt, says it was quite spectacular looking.  Apparently there was a large jump, made from a huge ridge of ice that jutted out and pointed up.  I slammed into it, unaware of its presence, and I flew in the air.  My body was completely horizontal (feet as high as my head) and it’s all a blur, but I think I was four or five feet in the air.  I was still going as fast, horizontally, so I have no idea how much ground I covered.

All I know is that I was in the air long enough to realize it.  Usually, a jump and a fall like that, and any realization of the time you spent in the air is a quick memory that hits you a few milliseconds after the fact.  But I was in the air long enough to think, “I’m in the air.”  So long in fact that when the very painful fall, that I knew was coming, didn’t happen, I wondered if I was already back on the ground.

That’s when I hit.

The jump landed me in another patch of hard ice.  I bounced.  Bounced again, and slid for a while and eventually tumbled over.

Turns out an adult male human body is not meant to bounce twice off of a hard surface.
 

Two days later and it’s still hard to walk, sit, shift position in bed.  I can’t even do back-flips anymore…but maybe I never could…hard to remember, I hit the ice pretty hard.  My knee (which made the worst impact) still feels like a train wreck on the inside.  I’m not sure how bad it is.  I should probably go get it checked out…but I’m hesitant as I have no insurance.

My loving bro, who gets perverse glee watching me struggle around like an old man, thinks this is good for my eccentric image, that I need a cool, scary looking cane to hobble around on.  I even have such a cane…but it’s being borrowed.  Drat.

So if anyone finds any black market right legs during the holiday season, just stuff it in my stocking (should be a perfect fit).  I’d except a second left leg…but that sounds a bit cliché.

I should get some insurance before my next outing…

. . . and sometimes the blank page beats you.

I really hate this feeling.  It’s hell.  Not just the dreaded white space (not the good white, but the false promise white, the color of migraine white) but other things, things loosely connected.

I’m done.

No, not with that.  With a few of my inherent weaknesses.  I’m sure I’ll still hang on to all the others, for a rainy day.

More positive entry, coming soon.

Mark your calendars.

I’ll be a featured reader at TWILIGHT TALES on January 29^th, at 7:30 pm (at the RED LION PUB).  I’m still figuring out what I’m reading and what the official title of it all will be…but I should be enjoying the sound of my own voice for a good long while.  Who wants to come cheer me on?  Besides me you have a nifty group of writers and a cool, British style pub complete with hauntings.  They celebrated their 13th aniversary this last Monday and I got to drink (mostly) for free (grin).

I think something’s busted inside my foot.  My mom was cleaning the bottom of a very large shelving unit and I had it balanced, on arms and on my hip.  It slipped and came down with a mighty crash on my right foot, on the “knuckle” of my big toe and the area behind, which sticks up just a little higher than the rest of the foot, so the force came down on that one point, instead of dispersing.  I’ve never broken a bone in my life (though I’ve certainly suffered incidents where I should have) and I’m not sure if I have now.  The force of the blow made me nauseous for several minutes.  I sat and held my head in place so it wouldn’t spin off.  But it’s hard to read the wound . . . it’s not really on a joint or moving part.  I walk on it and think…that’s not so bad…but then I’ll take a shower and the force of the water hitting the top of my foot makes me think I’ll pass out.

But enough about my boo-boos.

What are you watching these days?

Lots and lots of Get Smart episodes.  My Dad just got the entire series on DVD.

What are you reading these days?

Lenore: the cute little dead girl (vol. 1).  I’m also reading Making Comics by Scott McCloud.  This is a great book.  McCloud breaks down the language of visuals combined with words and whether you ever plan on making comics or not, it’s a great read in terms of a study in communication.  It’ll give you some extra respect for the medium.

A comic book (or graphic novel, if you prefer) idea has been haunting the space between my ears for a while.  I’ll sit down to work on something else and then several separate pieces (characters, images, flashes) of this book hit me and I have to write it down.  It’s fleshing itself out really fast.  Tentatively, I’d title it Gun-Dead (or maybe GUndead, if I wanted to be really cute…and I like to be cute).  Among other things, it’d involve a little boy or girl (haven’t decided), a bit of voodoo (go figure), and a possessed Tommy-gun that likes to swear.

I like hangin’ upside-down and sleepin’ all day long,

‘cause it doesn’t remind me of anything.

I like spittin’ out goblins and wicked songs,

‘cause it doesn’t remind me of anything.

I like voodoo doll grins and talkin’ to crows,

‘cause it doesn’t remind me of anything.

I like pumpkin cackles and listenin’ to howls,

‘cause it doesn’t remind me of anything.

I like finding light wanderin’ in the dark,

‘cause it doesn’t remind me of anything.

I like sproutin’ an evil head and namin’ him Bob,

‘cause it doesn’t remind me of anything.

I like grabbin’ my shovel and playin’ Wake the Dead,

‘cause it doesn’t remind me of anything.

I’ve been up and down.  I’m north and home once again.  Got to spend a good chunk of time with TORRIE and friends.

You can now see my VIRTUAL BOOK SHELF, if you like, over at LIBRARYTHING.COM (I prefer the “Cover View” to the “List View”…but I’m just visual like that).  It’s a 100 book sampling of what I have sitting around on my shelves.  On my profile page you can click on “author cloud” and that’s pretty neat.  Anything that promotes literacy is good, because literacy means more potential customers…

I came home to jump, in fear, at finding a mysterious Raggedy Andy sort of a doll sitting on my writing desk.  In a room like mine (all skulls, cackling Jack-o-Lanterns, and raven grins), something like this doll is frightening…especially when it apparently got there on its own cognition.

“Hello,” I said.

“…” answered the doll.

“If you can hear me…don’t nod your head . . . good.  OK, if you don’t plan on coming to life and murdering me tonight . . . don’t nod your head.”

The doll responded and I was relieved . . . to a point.  I’ve had a history with malevolent dolls (for more details, ask me about ROBERT THE POSSESSED DOLL OF KEY WEST).

But it didn’t offer an explanation as to why it was there.  And it was familiar…sort of…maybe not…I didn’t know.

The next day, I found out the doll didn’t get there on its own.  My Mom had gone through some old boxes and found it and thought I’d want it.  It was a gift to me, as an infant, from my godparents (a friend of theirs made it).  It’s just as old as me.

I was much more recently given a sort of knock-off-of-Jack-Skellington doll from GENENDA.  I think I’ll put the two dolls together, lock the old doll in the Velcro-gripped embrace of the new doll, just to be safe.  I think a charmingly morbid doll would protect me from a deceptively cute doll (my inner universe has a peculiar set of physics…just go with it).

That’s all for now.

RANDOM COMMENT MADE IN A CONVERSATION TODAY:  “Midgets are proof that the universe has an inherit sense of humor.”