…and sometimes you blow through the wrecked semi, cackling in the flames, now remembering that your tricycle is armed with laser guided missiles, and an Artificial Intelligence named Optimus Prime.

 

It’s been a while since I really updated.  Last big update, I was sick.  I got better.

 

My days this week have consisted of me waking up at 5pm, going out (usually to Café Aeon) to write amidst the nicotine smoke…then I come home and write.  I procrastinate here and there.  And write.  Then I run just before sunup, take care of emails, and, if I’m lucky, get to bed by 8 am.  It’s a strange cycle.

 

The epic poem is coming along painfully at times and exciting at others.  When you top writing, it’s like letting go of a muscle and the convalescence of bringing that sucker back to life is full of aches and doubts.  But it’s coming back to me.

 

“You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.”

-Ray Bradbury, Zen in the Art of Writing

 

I now have a second reptilian pet.  It’s a Argentine Black and White Tegu.  They’re a big lizard.  I don’t know its sex yet nor have I seen it much, because it is hibernating (I thought it was dead when I got it).  So a name will have to wait.  They look something like this –

 

 

A while back, the British web-magazine BLOODLUST UK featured two of my vampire stories (…those may be my only vampire stories…I’ll have my secretary look into that…as soon as I hire her), “Varmints” and “For Poor Lucy.”  The editor of that ‘zine has been looking to publish an anthology of some of the stories on the website (including mine) and, in her promotional efforts has a print magazine wanting to feature some of the archived stories.  So I sent my info to her today.  The magazine is BITE ME MAGAZINE.  It wouldn’t pay all that much…but it spreads my virus thoughts to more poor victims.

 

I updated my bio to send to them:

 

Joshua Alan Doetsch is a Masters student in creative writing. He fell back on writing ever since the heart wrenching day that the high school guidance counselor informed him that “Spiderman” was not a viable vocation. He’s currently finishing his thesis – a modern epic poem about a fallen angel, a voodoo priestess, and a crow.  He has stories featured in both Bloodlust UK and Eureka Literary Magazine.  He is also one of five finalists in White Wolf Studio’s novel contest.  One night, on a long drive, out of sheer boredom and morbid curiosity, he wrote a blues song about necrophilia.  In the meantime, he stays up late with his pet serpent, Lenore, writing the things that come to him post witching hour – and typing bios in the third person…

 

Though…if I want to go for more brevity…I suppose I could just use Torrie’s Mom’s intro of me that she tells people:

 

Joshua – parrot head, poet, and wanderer in the dark.

 

OK…the sun is coming up…or at least thinking about it.  I’m going to go sleep.  Nighty-night kiddies (or day-dee-day).  Do something today that makes you happy.  Just put it on my tab.

Writing is playing chicken with self-doubt. And sometimes it rides down on you in a semi-truck and you’re peddling on a tricycle with a busted horn.

In addition…

1. …I’d make lewd comments about this one…but that’d be too easy
2. My favorite card.
3. And, by strange coincidence, each of the words is spelled exactly the same.
4. What can I say…I’m mostly nuts.
5. …this sounds kinky…
6. This is true, I was 7ft 2 inches tall in high school, when I was on the basketball team…now, unfortunately, I am not life size.
7. This was due mostly to poaching.
8. I’m trying to cut back to three Brits a day…
9. Yeah, I climb around in the nests of spiders late at night…but…all things considered, given everything you know about me…does this really surprise you?
10. Of course, if this one is true, we can inversely say that I’m good luck in more unorthodox places 😉

I’m still sick, sore, chilled, and slightly delerious.

I don’t remember how I got downstairs. My sister found me, on the love seat, curled in the fetal position, with my coat wrapped around me, and my hat forming a perfectly sealed, warm, dark, cocoon.

Good news…my new phone will be here in about an hour…so you can all call me and tell me not to die.

That might be overdramatic…but not in that pessimistic, whiney way…but that cutesy, stop-it-guys-it-hurts-when-I-laugh, kind of way.

I’m going to see if I can follow a plot to a movie…

I’m sick and every inch of me hurts.

But…I haven’t really updated in a while. My room is still a work in progress (sorting through years of stuff that piled in here when Nick and I went to college…so that I can make room for stuff now). But…there are now even more strange light sources (so I don’t have to rely on harsh, conventional illumination) than I had in Springfield…not to mention a mist spitting gargoyle.

A second exotic pet is on the way…Lenore will just have to understand.

I went to the overpriced Q101 party in the downtown Chicago Hyatt. It had a few lavish touches, yes, but no imagination and not enough fun. It pretty much took the worst aspects of going to a club and magnified them with money. Live and learn. One problem is that people didn’t really mingle and pretty much kept to their groups…and I had only come with my bro and his friend. At least we got to drink a lot and, having a room, didn’t have to drive.

When the ball dropped…I caught air.

My luck improved after midnight, when my hat and pin caught a few comments, and earned me a few dances.

Every black guy that I interacted with (the ones working at the party anyway) made a similar comment (hat check guy, bartender, and others) that I either looked like I should have a sax in my hands, looked like I belonged in a jazz band, looked like I had soul, or…well…I didn’t quite understand the last one…but it seemed to be some amalgam of the other three. After that, they all said, “But I bet you hear that a lot.”

And…well…I’m really aching so I think I’m going to quit and collapse.

But…all you artist/actor types reading this (particularly the ones I’ve worked with in the past) remind me to talk about something I don’t feel well enough to talk about now…a proposition of sorts…no…more like an idea.

Now I’m too sick and need to rest.

Or maybe I concocted this sickness to build suspense.

Or maybe I’m sick and a showman.

Say goodnight Josh.

Strange but interesting.

This is a car advertisement from Great Britain.
When they finished filming the ad, the film editor noticed
something moving along the side of the car, like a ghostly white
mist.  The ad was never put on TV because of the unexplained ghostly  
phenomenon.

Watch the front end of the car as it clears the trees in the middle
of the screen and you’ll see the white mist crossing in front of
the car then following it along the road……Spooky! If you turn the sound up a bit, you might be able to hear the distortion in the music.

Is it a ghost, or is it simply mist?   You decide.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=3385579284690408654

“So what,” she said, indicating the skull and crossbones pin in my fedora, “you’re obsessed with death?”

“No,” I grinned, “I’m obsessed with calcium deposits.”

As a last minute plan…it looks like I’ll be going to the Q101 party, downtown at the Hyatt, tonight…so off I go.

And my Mom, who now has a taste for Captain Morgan Private Stock (thanks to me) wants to bum some off me for the night…and is extra excited that I have a cool flask for her to tote it in…which is cool.

Poor some rum and then out the door…

My cell is busted and I’m not sure when I’ll have a new one. If you need to get a hold of me, call my home phone or email me. If you need to literally get a hold of me…just wrap your arms around me and squeeze.

OK…I’m conscious again.

 

I recall a delirious week of getting four Shakespeare papers (procrastinators aren’t we all) written, moving back north, and finishing the papers that didn’t get done in time (all my stuff, clothes and all, still packed in my car…just my laptop and lots of Pepsi).

 

Then a couple days of sleep…

 

And now I’ve got most of my brain cells back.

 

Let’s see…

 

-I’m back in Northern Illinois!!!

 

-My short story “Teddy Bear Rex” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

 

-I’ll start up, full time, again on my epic poem (my thesis), Souls Unsure, which means my dreams will again be filled with voodoo, black plumed carrion birds, and lost angels…but then…that isn’t a whole lot different than usual.

 

-I’ll set up a meeting (now that I’m North side) with a surrealist artist I met a while back in Chicago, and who says she has some darkly angelic artwork already done, for the epic poem, for me to sample and comment on.

 

-After I finish the draft of my thesis, at the end of January, I’ll head right into writing my novel for the final round of White Wolf’s novel contest (I’m the only one left with a three name byline…I can’t loose).  So I’ll need to do some research on medical examiners (will likely try and contact whoever I need to contact at the Chicago medical examiner’s office to see if I can maybe get an interview and a tour).

 

-I just put together a “Winter Moods” playlist for my mp3 player, centered around Nox Arcana’s Winter’s Knight, with some Midnight Syndicate tracks, a healthy dose of Danny Elfman, a dash of medieval tunes, and a hint of Moby.

 

-I went to see Troy play at Double D in Chi-town with Mike Urnikis last night (Troy did a music video for Mike’s indi film BLACK DAYS).

 

There’s probably more.  I’m still getting set up in my room and getting reacclimated.