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Joshua Alan Doetsch

~ Author & Scrivnomancer

Joshua Alan Doetsch

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Readings and Signings and Novel Writings

31 Saturday May 2008

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“There are three rules for writing the novel.
Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”
—W. Somerset Maugham

Hello, lovelings.

The time when I get to venture away from home and actually socialize is coming very soon. Here are some upcoming author type appearances:

ROAD TRIP
Next weekend, I’ll be doing some readings/signings in Central IL (FOR ALL MY FRIENDS INT HE BLOOMINGTON/PEORIA AREA). I and some fellow Chicago and Illinois writers (including: Wayne Allen Sallee, Sylvia Shults, Roger Dale Trexler, Martel Sardina, and Larry Santoro) will visit some bookstores in Pekin, Peoria Heights, and Grande Prairie on June 7th and 8th.

The schedule:

Saturday June 7th:
Illinois Prairie Book Sellers,
427 Court Street, Pekin
11 am — 1 pm

I Know You Like A Book,
4707 Prospect Rd, Peoria Heights
3 pm — 5 pm

Sunday June 8th:
Borders at The Shoppes At Grande Prairie
11 am — 1 pm

We’ll do readings from our various books. I’ll be reading from BOOK OF DEAD THINGS. There will also be prizes.


Twilight Tales and Me

I’ll be one of the featured readers (along with Martel Sardina) at Twilight Tales on June 30th, at 7:30—at The Fixx Coffee Bar, 3053 N. Sheffield, Chicago. I’ll be reading from my upcoming novel, Strangeness in the Proportion. It’s got cannibals, corpses, autopsy lore, monsters, absinthe trips, and even a love story.

Listen to a few chapters and I defy you not to find necrophilia adorable—I DEFY YOU!

Cannibals Don’t Count Carbs
So yeah…the novel. The due date is tomorrow on my current draft. But I got an extension…just now figuring out how long it should be—a few more weeks most likely.

So…how does one go about constructing a fictional cannibal cult that has infiltrated Chicago? Well…as is most often the case, if you want it to be really scary, you start with a BIT OF REALITY:


As to the novel’s progress…I don’t know where to begin to talk about characters and plot structures and discovering things about the draft process for book length works for the first time… Let’s just say that a lot of what my editor had me do before getting to this draft was worth it…working in ways I didn’t realize at the time, but kind of organically working now.  It’s a learning experience. The main character is probably the most complete persona I’ve created (I know an awful lot about him).

So, instead of trying to explain further, I’ll show you a preview of the novel through quotes. I like quotes. I like putting them at the heads of chapters and essays and short stories. It’s a way of appearing more erudite than you might be (Writers: con men aren’t we all). But more than that…there is a magic to words out of context. So here is a major sampling of quotes that either appear in the draft…or at least helped inspire it. Maybe you can put together a story from it, wonderful stories in your head. Maybe we can compare notes…

“There is no exquisite beauty…without some strangeness in the proportion.”
—Edgar Allan Poe, “Ligeia” 

Nothing can happen more beautiful than death.
—Walt Whitman
…the death, then of a beautiful woman is unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world…
—Edgar Allan Poe, “The Philosophy of Composition”

“The time for sleep is now
It’s nothing to cry about
Cause we’ll hold each other soon
The blackest of rooms”
-Death Cab for Cutie, “I Will Follow You Into the Dark”

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
—Edgar Allan Poe, “Alone”

Taceant colloquia.  Efugiat risus.
Hic locus est ubi mors guadet succurrere vitae.

Let conversation cease.  Let laughter flee.
This is the place where death delights to help the living.
—Translation from an inscription on the wall of the
Chief Medical Examiner’s office in New York City

Someone take these dreams away,
That point me to another day,
A duel of personalities,
That stretch all true realities.
That keep calling me,
They keep calling me,
Keep on calling me,
They keep calling me.
—Joy Division, “Dead Souls”

“Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.”
~Edgar Allan Poe, “Eleonora”

“Dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared dream before.”
-Edgar Allen Poe, “The Raven”

…and then, fighting to stay asleep,
wishing it would go on forever,
sure that once the dream was over,
it would never come back…
you woke up.
—Neil Gaiman, The Sandman

When you’re strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you’re strange
-The Doors, “People Are Strange”

I’m so happy ‘casue today
I found my friends
They’re in my head
—Nirvana, “Lithium”

I sit alone in my bedroom
Staring at the walls
I’ve been up all damn night long
My pulse is speeding
My love is yearning
I hold my breath and close my eyes and…
Dream about her
‘Cause she’s 2,000 light years away
She holds my malakite so tight so…
Never let go
‘Cause she’s 2,000 light years away
—Greenday, “2,000 Light Years Away”

My love is unusual
It’s painted with roses and thorns
With her I’m complete
—Stone Temple Pilots, “Atlanta”

She comforts me when
The candles blow out
The cake has grown mold
But the memories are sweet
—Stone Temple Pilots, “Atlanta”

And now she’s dead
Forever dead
And she’s so dead and lovely now
—Tom Waits, “Dead and Lovely”

speak to me baby
in the middle of the night
pull your mouth
close to mine
i can see the wind coming down
like black night
so speak to me
like the winds outside
it’s broken up, pushing us
hear the rain fall
see the wind come to my eyes
see the storm broken
now nothing
speak to me baby
in the middle of the night
speak to me
hold your mouth to mine
’cause the sky is breaking
it’s deeper than love
i know the way you feel
like the rains outside
speak to me
—Moby, “The Sky is Broken”

I’ll come to you tonight, dear, when it’s late,
You will not see me; you may feel a chill.
I’ll wait until you sleep, then take my fill,
And that will be your future on a plate.
They’ll call it chance, or luck or call it Fate.
—Neil Gaiman, “Reading the Entrails: a Rondel”

and I’ll whisper something
you will never know
forever these feelings will drift with me
all the currents will singe with your purity
and with the strength of a thousand antihistamines
and your golden eyed cadaver
falling over me
—Lucigen, “Cadaver”

Mimes in the form of God on high.
Mutter and mumble low.
And hither and thither fly—
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
—Edgar Allan Poe, “The Conqueror Worm”

I got my head, but my head is unraveling
Cant keep control, cant keep track of where its traveling
I got my heart but my heart is no good
And you’re the only one that’s understood
I come along but I don’t know where you’re taking me
I shouldn’t go but you’re reaching back and shaking me
Turn off the sun, pull the stars from the sky
The more I give to you, the more I die
And I want you
And I want you
And I want you
And I want you
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
–Nine Inch Nails, “The Perfect Drug”

“He said the dead had souls, but when I asked him
How that could be – I thought the dead were souls,
He broke my trance.  Don’t that make you suspicious
That there’s something the dead are keeping back?
Yes, there’s something the dead are keeping back.”
-Robert Frost, “Two Witches”

“There is wrong done with the knife, and though the gods smile,
There are those of the dead who will not let old wrongs sleep.”
-Aeschylus, The House of Atreus

Is it any wonder I can’t sleep?
All I have is all you gave to me
Is it any wonder I found these
Through you
Turn to the gates of heaven, to myself feel down
Turn away from Eye
It’s not enough
Just a touch
It’s not enough
Just a touch
It’s not enough
Just a touch
It’s not enough
Just a touch
—Smashing Pumpkins, “Eye”

“But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:–”
-Edgar Allan Poe, “Annabel Lee”

“At last the new moon had come.  The night was pitch dark and promises to the dead are sacred and must be kept.”
-Count Carl Tanzler von Cosel (1877-1952),
infamous romantic and necrophile
of Key West, Florida

Feeling like a freak on a leash.
Feeling like I have no release.
—Korn, “Freak on a Leash”

Without you, without you everything falls apart
Without you, it’s not as much fun to pick up the pieces
It’s not as much fun to pick up the pieces
It’s not as much fun to pick up the pieces
Without you, without you everything falls apart
Without you, it’s not as much fun to pick up the pieces
—Nine Inch Nails, “The Perfect Drug”

“All you need is love.”
—John Lennon
“Some assembly required.”
—countless toy boxes

the razors and the dying roses
plead I don’t leave you alone,
the demi-gods and hungry ghosts,
oh god, god knows I’m not at home
-Vast, “Touched”

“Shadows in the fog are moving in
From the world outside
To my world within”
-Echo & The Bunnymen, “Just a Touch Away”
“Never be unkind or indifferent to a person others say is crazy.  Often they have a deep wisdom.  We pay them great respect in the old country, and we call them fairy people, and it could be they are sometimes.”
-the mother of the playwright of Mary Chase

“…that country were it is always turning late in the year.  That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay.  That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun.  That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts.  Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain…”
-Ray Bradbury, October Country

“Day was departing, and the darkening air
Called all earth’s creatures to their evening quiet
While I alone was preparing as though for war”
-Dante, The Inferno, II 1-3

“Is this blood on my hands all for you?”
-Candlebox, “You”

“…if people look hard at me my eyes water and I feel uncomfortable.  I’m the sort of person you’d think wouldn’t say boo to a goose, but you’d be wrong.  I nearly always say boo to geese when I meet them, provided there’s no one else there of course.”
—Stephen Gilbert, Ratman’s Notebooks

“Demonic frenzy, moping melancholy,
And moon-struck madness.”
-John Milton, Paradise Lost

“the monsters make me hide
perhaps I’ll eat myself alive
—Chiasm, “Isolated”

Monsters under the bed, under the bed
Bash in your head
Somebody tell me, please tell me
Who’s got my back
Stitch my throat closed
Cut my smile wide
Sew my eyes blind
I can still see through you
I can see right through you
—V-Shaped Mind, “Monsters”
“—horror more horrible from being vague, and terror more terrible from ambiguity.”
-Edgar Allan Poe, “Berenice”

“Reality is merely an illusion.  Albeit a persistent one.”
-Albert Einstein

“If he thought at all…it was that he and his shadow, when brought near each other, would join like drops of water; and when they did not he was appalled.”
—J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

“Oh don’t talk of love” the shadows purr
Murmuring me away from you
“Don’t talk of worlds that never were
The end is all that’s ever true
There’s nothing you can ever say
Nothing you can ever do… ”
Still every night I burn
Every night I scream your name
Every night I burn
Every night the dream’s the same
Every night I burn
Waiting for my only friend
—The Cure, “Burn”

“It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what else shall I call it?) to be enamored of the night for her own sake; and into this bizarrerie, as into all his others, I quietly fell; giving myself up to his wild whims with a perfect abandon.”
—Edgar Allan Poe, “The Murders in the Rue Morgue”

“Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crisped and sere—
As the leaves that were withering and sere—”
-Edgar Allan Poe, “Ulalume”

“It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.”
-Edgar Allan Poe, “The Conqueror Worm”

“If I look hard enough into the setting sun
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes”
-Rolling Stones, “Paint it Black”

“And I lie so composedly,
Now, in my bed
(Knowing her love),
That you fancy me dead –
And I rest so contentedly,
Now, in my bed
(With her love at my breast),
That you fancy me dead –
That you shudder to look at me,
Thinking me dead: –”
-Edgar Allan Poe, “For Annie”

You get me closer to God
—Nine Inch Nails, “Closer”

you’re a golden eyed cadaver
I’m in love with you
—Lucigen, “Cadaver”

Deconstrution Blues

25 Sunday May 2008

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Would Super-Man fall from the sky if he thought about how he flies?

Would your heart stop if you became too aware of it?

Asking how you do it can be a dangerous door.

Procrastination is the Perfect Drug

08 Thursday May 2008

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book of dead things, music, strangeness in the proportion, swing state, twilight tales, white wolf, writing

Neck deep in novel.

I’ve got less then a month to go and most of it (the new draft) to write. I picked up a lot of slothful habits that I’m having a bitch of a time trying to kill. But I need to. If I’m not productive, I tend to not sleep well these days…so writing and running and working out and writing…hopefully when the month is out I’ll have a book and be a bit thinner (all to earn the zzzzzz’s).

This pretty much leaves me a hermit until June 1st.

But I’ll try and pop on here, every so often, to surface…maybe a month of posts following the progress of a novel. It’s a novel for White Wolf. It’s a horror story…though I like to think of it as a love story on the other side of entropy. It’s about a very eccentric, absinthe addicted forensic pathologist, Simon, who meets a girl, falls for the girl, looses the girl, and then gets her back…one piece at a time (and he falls down a very twisted rabbit hole along the way). It’s called Strangeness in the Proportion.

By the bye, the reading at SWING STATE went really well. At first, I thought it wasn’t. It’s a loud and raucous place—nothing wrong with that…but I started getting the feeling, while reading my story from BOOK OF DEAD THINGS, that I was reading to an audience that couldn’t hear, and didn’t really want to. But…people started scooching up, people started complimenting, and as the Twilight Tales crew read further, we gathered more of them, and we read some more…only this time picking out the more lyrical, short, and violent/suggestive/funny/sexy pieces to read. I read my poem, “Poe Goes to the Singles Bar” and that seemed to be a hit. In the end, we sold as many, or more books than we have at quieter, more “attentive” venues, so I chalk it a success. Thanks for having us out Swing State!

Back to the novel…when I write, I like to make playlists for the things I’m writing, little (or big) soundtracks to my fiction. A lot of it is instrumental/mood music…but a sizable chunk has lyrics and sometimes lyrics help by adding images and words that help focus the project in question. I might make another post, later, about more of the music I listen to while writing this novel, but right now, I thought I’d mention two songs that I think sort of indirectly narrate the plot of the book (from different angels).

The first song is by my bestest friend, Torrie’s brother’s former band, Lucigen. The song is called “Cadaver”. The lyrics go:

strained stare in a new light
and a walk among the dead
in the moonlight
i know it’s strange but will you
try and realize this time
I could never paint you in memories
though I promised you my eternity
I could die with everything in harmony
with your golden eyed cadaver
falling over me

showering down on the window
leak the stars dust into your pillow
and I’ll whisper something
you will never know
forever these feelings will drift with me
all the currents will singe with your purity
and with the strength of a thousand antihistamines
and your golden eyed cadaver
falling over me

when do you suppose they’ll come after you
will they come for me
when they have recovered you
I’ll be the same as I was
when I endangered you
you’re a golden eyed cadaver
I’m in love with you



The second song is Nine Inch Nail’s “Perfect Drug”. Again, I can almost follow the plot of my novel by the lyrics:

I got my head, but my head is unraveling
Cant keep control, cant keep track of where its traveling
I got my heart but my heart is no good
And you’re the only one that’s understood
I come along but I don’t know where you’re taking me
I shouldn’t go but you’re reaching back and shaking me
Turn off the sun, pull the stars from the sky
The more I give to you, the more I die

And I want you
And I want you
And I want you
And I want you

You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug

You make me hard, when I’m all soft inside
I see the truth, when I’m all stupid eyed
The arrow goes straight through my heart
Without you everything just falls apart

My blood wants to say hello to you
My feelings want to get inside of you
My soul is so afraid to realize
Every little word is a lack of me

And I want you
And I want you
And I want you
And I want you

You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
(whispering)
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the drug, the perfect drug

Take me, with you
Take me, with you
Take me, with you
(continues in background)
Without you, without you everything falls apart
Without you, it’s not as much fun to pick up the pieces
Without you, without you everything falls apart
Without you, it’s not as much fun to pick up the pieces
It’s not as much fun to pick up the pieces
It’s not as much fun to pick up the pieces
Without you, without you everything falls apart
Without you, it’s not as much fun to pick up the pieces

But, I think, if we shuffle the two sets of lyrics together…we come to something that gets really close to a surreal plot synopsis:

I got my head, but my head is unraveling
Cant keep control, cant keep track of where its traveling
I got my heart but my heart is no good
And you’re the only one that’s understood

Strained stare in a new light
And a walk among the dead in the moonlight
I come along but I don’t know where you’re taking me
I shouldn’t go but you’re reaching back and shaking me
I know it’s strange but will you
Try and realize this time
I could never paint you in memories
Turn off the sun, pull the stars from the sky
Though I promised you my eternity
The more I give to you, the more I die
I could die with everything in harmony
With your golden eyed cadaver falling over me

And I want you
And I want you
And I want you
And I want you

You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug

You make me hard, when I’m all soft inside
I see the truth, when I’m all stupid eyed
Showering down on the window
Leak the stars dust into your pillow
And I’ll whisper something
You will never know
The arrow goes straight through my heart
Without you everything just falls apart

My blood wants to say hello to you
My feelings want to get inside of you
Forever these feelings will drift with me
All the currents will singe with your purity
My soul is so afraid to realize
Every little word is a lack of me
And your golden eyed cadaver falling over me

And I want you
And I want you
And I want you
And I want you

And with the strength of a thousand antihistamines
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug
You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug

When do you suppose they’ll come after you
Will they come for me when they have recovered you
Take me, with you
Take me, with you
Take me, with you

Without you, without you everything falls apart
Without you, its not as much fun to pick up the pieces
I’ll be the same as I was
when I endangered you
you’re a golden eyed cadaver
I’m in love with you
Its not as much fun to pick up the pieces
Its not as much fun to pick up the pieces
Without you, without you everything falls apart
Without you, its not as much fun to pick up the pieces

Tonight’s blog entry is brought to you by the largest word in the english language:

“Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis”

It’s a lung disease caused by breathing in volcanic particles.

Good night!

Lookin’ for answers…

08 Thursday May 2008

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changelings

Hey.

Can anyone tell me if there is a particular syndrome or term for a parent (specifically a mother) who suddenly resents her child, or is suddenly alienated by them, thinks its not their child…something tying in to old changeling mythology (“My little boy was sweet and happy…but something came and took him away and left this screaming, red thing.”)….that sort of thing.

Thanks bunch!

I Clubbed a Hobbit Inside Enya’s Uterus

29 Tuesday Apr 2008

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birthday, book of dead things, epic poetry, mom, pottery, skulls, strangeness in the proportion, swing state, writing

My brother was playing World of Warcraft on his computer, running through some new level/location.  I noticed the game music as I walked by.

Joshua:  Wow…that’s pretty relaxing mood music for a computer game.

Nick:  Yeah…

Joshua:  It sounds…sounds like you’re inside Enya’s womb…

Nick:  Yeah…

30 in the Mirror May be Closer Than It Appears
So I’m 29 today (yesterday…it’s late).  I don’t feel panicky that this is the last year of my 20’s…I just feel vaguely obligated to be so.  I sometimes fear stagnation, of extinguishing.  But age, in and of itself…well…my freshman year of college, in my acting class, we had a make-up section and the final project was to make ourselves geriatric and I discovered one thing about myself that day…I’m  going to be one sexy-ass old man.

Thanks for all the well wishes, everyone.

For my birthday, my Mom wove her pottery-wheel magic and whipped me up a batch of coffee mugs, drinking cups and house plant pots decorated in smiley-muerte skulls.  It’s the macabre and motherly love all swirled together in the primordial embrace of earthen ware.  It makes me smile like the skulls.

Novel Deadlines, Horror Anthologies, and Epic Teachings
The deadline for my completed draft of the White Wolf novel is now June 1st.  It’s getting close.  I still have most of it to write.  I’ll likely have to disappear, for the most part, until June.

Several Mondays ago, I met with a few Chicago writers and talked through the seeds of what will be a horror anthology…but with an interesting method and progression of story to story, author to author (I don’t know what details I can say just yet).  I’m pretty excited about it.  We’re creating a shared mythology and setting.  I’ve already read the rough draft of the first story and things are progressing from there.  Sometimes after June 1st, I’ll get started on my story.

On Friday, I visited my friend, Genenda, who teaches high school English, and talked to three of her classes about poetry, some of its history, mythology, how storytelling changes when working with a known mythos, and how epics tie into todays media.  The kids were pretty good, many of them interested, a few asking good questions about writing, and even one asked me about writing epic poetry.  To top it all off, I got to read a story and a poem and perform some improv acting at an open mic at the local coffee shop…all lubricated with three, pre-birthday double-whiskey’s and cokes.  And Sabra sang the coolest version of a Brittany Spears song that I’ve ever heard.

Book of Dead Thing Event


Another Book of Dead Things event is coming up, this Friday, May 2nd.

8:00 pm at Swing State (a hookah lounge/cafe/gallery)
19041 W. Grand Ave.
Lake Villa, IL

Some of the Twilight Tales crew (including myself) will be on hand to do some live readings from Book of Dead Things.

Would a goose scared by any other name shriek just as sweet?

23 Wednesday Apr 2008

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“…if people look hard at me my eyes water and I feel uncomfortable.  I’m the sort of person you’d think wouldn’t say boo to a goose, but you’d be wrong.  I nearly always say boo to geese when I meet them, provided there’s no one else there of course.”
—Stephen Gilbert, Ratman’s Notebooks

Putting Together a Virtual Bookshelf…

21 Monday Apr 2008

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Prime Time

07 Monday Apr 2008

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optimus prime, politics


Political?

I’m just a shifty soul trippin’ over news bytes, weary of truth clouding convictions, praying for the second coming of Optimus Prime to show us the way in this troubled world.

Did I ever tell you about my massive crush on Scully?

23 Sunday Mar 2008

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dreams, scully, x-files, zombies

Had a dream last night.

It was a sort of episode of The X-Files…

I’m agent Mulder.

Scully and I arrive at a suburban neighborhood that suffers from a zombie plague. We spend most of the time killing zombies and saving each other from near death.

But the hoard gets too big and endless bullets are running low—endless bullets eventually exhaust against endless undead. Dream physics. We find the lone survivor in the neighborhood, a middle-aged woman whose zombie husband keeps chasing her, and we make for a house. But her husband catches up to us and grabs the poor woman. I fire my Glock, and, luckily my aim is off and I only glance his head because he grabs his wife, rushes us into the house and reveals that he’s only been acting like a zombie so that the flesh hungry revenants would leave him alone.

Scully and I barricade the doors but we don’t think that’ll hold very long and we’re at a loss. But the still living husband seems to know what to do and he’s been grilling hamburgers (from a huge supply of ground meat…probably from a summer cookout that was never meant to be in this doomed subdivision). He also has a large supply of beers. Scully and I are skeptical of the man’s sanity.

But the first zombie breaks in and lumbers towards us and the husband calls him by name in a neighborly tone and hands him a beer and the zombie’s held tilts to the side and it stops its rampage long enough to clumsily take the beer and drink. The husband uses the pause to hand the cadaver a burger…and the zombie starts eating it along with his beer.

More zombies shamble in an the husband repeats the strange, suburban ritual and it works each time and they are all milling about the house, rotting flesh and bone shamblers, eating burgers and drinking beer and if you squinted your eyes you might think it was a normal summer cookout in the burbs—small talk melting to moans.

And I, Mulder, realized, in one of my Mulder monologues, that the cure for this particular species of undead epidemic was hospitality…the power of the HEARTH—food and drink and a call by name and a smile and community…as apposed to screaming and running (never run from the undead, that just excites their aggression). Bt this was only a temporary cure. A few of the less decayed zombies could now think clearly enough to cheerfully speak to us and let us know that though they enjoyed this quick reprieve from mindless, rabid hunger, and this little reminder of the simple pleasures of life…as soon as the food and the beer ran out, they would revert to their killer, human-eating natures.

By now, all the zombies were contained in the house and the burger meat and beers were running low. Scully and I made the husband stop grilling, the zombies didn’t seem to mind raw meat, and we made ready to escape. But how to stop the spread of undeath? The husband had a plan. We locked all the doors and, still bleeding from his head wound, the husband led the zombies (who were starting to loose it again) upstairs…sacrificing himself. We set fire to the downstairs and fled the home.

Outside, Scully says, “Oh, no!”

I see a black neighborhood dog. It’s moving fast for a zombie, but slow for a dog, erratically zig-zagging. Crap. Scully is out of bullets so I raise my gun and shoot—we have to contain the plague—and I shoot and shoot and shoot and shoot—and the blasted thing won’t go down—and I shoot—and I really hate having to shoot a poor dog and I really, REALLY hate having to shoot a poor dog a few dozen times. It finally goes down. But our collective sigh of relief dies in our throats when the black dog’s large belly starts wiggling and several puppies burst out, running full speed in different directions…

“You have got to be kidding me!” I yell.

I check my gun, wondering if I have enough bullets, if I can brutally kill the puppies, if I’m even fast enough to get them all as they scatter, if they are able to spread the plague to other towns. And the sun is up and I guess the episode is ending and I’m angry that the zombie scourge is spreading, and as I become aware of my bed and the ceiling fan and a dull need to pee, I’m madder still that I had that whole lucid dream and didn’t take the opportunity to make out with Scully.

Be Careful of Writers…

14 Friday Mar 2008

Posted by scrivnomancer in Uncategorized

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