OBSESSION ... Disappear Here - Bad Suns

I stumbled upon an album I just love. "Disappear Here" is the title track for Bad Suns on their 2016 release. I had only heard one song by them prior, "Cardiac Arrest," that yes, I purchased. Bad Suns are considered alt rock/indie rock. I must say they walk that line quite well. Their music is inspired by bands like The Cure, Elvis Costello, and The Clash, some of my favorites.

The entire album is good. In fact, I've been listening to it so much, that even when I'm not, snippets of different lyrics and melodies carouse ceaselessly through my head. (Side note: I kid you not, I will go to bed listening to Metallica [Side note to that: Can I get a hell yeah, an amen, or a God-bomb! "One" is the most badass Metallica song ever.] and wake up singing a random song from this album.) That said, the lyrics are not especially mind-bending. Relationships, good and bad. Nothing new there. "Patience" struck me as a little bit more meaningful. I can relate. But still. This is exactly what I want to listen to on the weekends when I'm feeling ... meh. And during the week when I'm feeling meh. Just meh all the way around.

The single "Daft Pretty Boys" is the most catchy, and most popular on Spotify.

And this one speaks to me, maybe because it touches on the idea of soul mates, which I explore in Luminesce.

"Maybe We're Meant To Be Alone"

I've got a picture perfect plan
But I can't go in alone
Are we whole or just two halves
Reaching out to the unknown?

No, I can't help my ways
It don't make such sense to me
All these cold and rainy days
Maybe we're meant to be alone

I've got a voice inside my head
And a feeling in my gut
I don't know just who to believe
When you're torn in two, who can you trust?

No I can't help my ways
It don't make much sense to me
All these cold and rainy days
Maybe we're meant to be alone
Maybe we're meant to be alone
Maybe we're meant to be alone
Maybe we're meant to be alone

...

I haven't yet gone back to hear the entire debut work, Language & Perspective, but I'm sure I will in time. (Okay, I'm doing it now. Track one is "Matthew James.") These types of musical obsessions don't fizzle out quickly for me, no matter how much I listen. I seem to have a super high tolerance for music I really like. I can't tell you how many times I listened to Meteora between 2003 and 2006. It's probably in the thousands. I listened to Twenty One Pilots (and some of Tyler Joseph's solo work on YouTube) and nothing but TOP for at least 6 months every day. Even so, I still don't know all the words to "Fake You Out." And the more I listen, the more I like. But maybe this is true for everyone. It just doesn't happen to me all that often.

Which is why I get excited when I find new artists I like.

J. L. Dodd

Links:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bad_Suns

http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/badsuns/maybeweremeanttobealone.html

Conclusion of The Dark Tower ... or not

BE WARNED! SPOILERS TO FOLLOW!

I did something so unlike me last weekend. I took a break from The Dark Tower's final installment, and I haven't gone back to it. Worse, I started reading something else.

Okay, so it's not entirely weird. Unless you consider that I am literally 50 pages from the end of Mr. King's self-proclaimed magnum opus, and that Roland (with Patrick's help) has just vanquished the Crimson King. There is now nothing stopping him from entering the crux of all of existence and climbing to the room at the top with Maerlyn's rainbow windows. This is the moment Roland has dedicated his very long life to. This is the moment I've been waiting for when I started this series two years ago. So why stop now?

I think it's a combination of things. Separation anxiety for a book or series you've enjoyed is well-documented, by book nerds, at least. I'm also a bit concerned about being disappointed. More, I'm concerned about Roland being disappointed. He has lost everything and everyone at this point. His ka-tet was broken, which I expected but still didn't enjoy. Seriously, Mr. King. You didn't have to kill Jake AGAIN. Don't even give me that bullshit. You did not. And I will not forgive you for killing Oy. Although if you are going to kill Ake, you might as well, you bastard.

I'm not sure when I'll be able to bring myself to finish the book. I keep looking at it, sitting abandoned and alone on my dresser, after being toted around day in and out in my purse for the last month. The worn edges around the cover will attest to the traveling it's done, not unlike Roland's battered body. I keep reminding myself that when I finish, I can still look forward to the movie being released on August 4th, just a few weeks away. And It will be next, on September 8th.

For now, I'm reading non-fiction and Netflix binging on especially trite TV series, say true and thankya.

J. L. Dodd

Be careful what you wish for

I feel I must warn you, this blog may turn into a rant. Likely a profanity-laced rant.

But I need to rant, damn it.

This week I've had several discussions regarding the difference between being an asshole and just being ignorant. It's a fine line, to be sure. Can you forgive someone for being ignorant? Should you? And at what point does it become straight up assholiness? And how can you identify and categorize those people? Finally, do assholes feign ignorance to get away with it?

After some reflection, I've decided I'm not going to forgive anyone for being ignorant. You're all assholes in my book. Sorry not sorry. So before I move on:

LISTEN UP MOTHERFUCKERS!! THERE IS NOTHING FUNNY ABOUT AN ARMED ROBBERY!! SO TAKE YOUR STUPID JOKES AND YOUR STUPID LAUGHTER AND SHOVE IT UP YOU STUPID ASSES!!

I feel much better. Jesus. Why? Why?

This last week I've been witness to two very distinct cases of "be careful what you wish for." And although I can't go into details in either situation (one involves a pending criminal case, the other someone else's romance) I can conclude that Fate (substitute God, Satan, the Universe, Trump, what-have-you) will fuck you. And that in all reality, shit is as random as can be.

I suppose I'm sounding rather despondent today. I don't feel bad. A bit angry, I'll concede that much, but not bad. I've been worse. I actually took a two-week break from reading in April. That is when you know I'm fucked up. But I'm better now. In fact, I'm racing through Song of Susannah, book six of The Dark Tower series by Stephen King. Seriously, some weird-ass, mind-fucking shit is happening. I'm not yet sure how I feel about it, but I'm committed to seeing it through.

I'm 3,872 pages into this series, so hell yes, I'm committed. I'll hold myself to giving a full review when I'm done.

Enjoy the weekend people. It's got to get better. Or not.

J. L. Dodd

“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.”
― Albert Einstein

“You are not entitled to your opinion. You are entitled to your informed opinion. No one is entitled to be ignorant.”
― Harlan Ellison

Links:

http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/stupidity

Review XP The Road by Cormac McCarthy

A word of advice.

If you are ever feeling a bit dodgey, don't read The Road. Like, do anything but that. Because it is as depressing as shit.

And I knew this. I watched the movie, sort of, between my fingers 'cause it was scary. And it inspired my prepper/SHTF obsession wherein I shored up my pantry and put together several bug-out bags (which are still in the trunk of my car, full of MREs and nylon rope) TYVM.

I find it difficult of late to really get lost in a story. I'm drawn to examine and acknowledge writing style, word choice, typos, if any, and appreciate or depreciate plot lines. And on that note, Cormac McCarthy seems to have something against full sentences and punctuation, which the editor in me would argue are necessary for clarity, but in effect, really aren't.  I actually like that he breaks so many rules. Cormac you rebel, you.

Anywho, what I was working toward is DO NOT read this if you are already feeling down. This book is as immersive and mood altering as alcohol, and just as compelling. Excuse the spoiler, but her suicide really shocked me. It did in the film as well. As a mother, you think, "How could she?" But upon further reflection, as a mother, you think, "How could she not?" McCarthy didn't go into depth on this subject but for a few paragraphs from the man's POV, but it was enough to spark my internal dialogue. Is life really worth living when you are suffering so much? I always thought suicide was a selfish act, but not in this case. What would you do in the same situation? Would you keep living for your childrens' sake? Would you want them to keep living or would you be able to pull the trigger when mercy predicated existence?

Of course, I'm not yet finished with the book, but I know the ending or at least think I do.

I was feeling a deep sense of isolation after reading for a few hours last night, even in my own home, surrounded by my own family. It was quiet, and I wondered if there really was anyone outside. Or was the town empty? The Earth? It was that quiet.

I did eventually snap out of it (I think). Ice cream helps.

More later. I'm struggling.

J. L. Dodd

Emotional ... The concert and more

I've been feeling unhappy. Okay, not just unhappy, fucking fucked up. An unfortunate series of events has left me questioning everything I'd decided I wanted to do with my life. How can I start my own business and publish my own book when I can barely get through the day sometimes? And when will I have time to process the six cubic tons of laundry I do each week? And what should be the priority? And how do I balance it all? And does any of it even matter? And what if I get run over by a bus tomorrow or have a heart attack or spontaneously combust? And why are my kids so fucking messy all the time?

I totally do this.

I realize I'm being melodramatic, but these are merely a sampling of the questions that run through my head one hundred times a day.

A friend of mine recently put things in perspective though. I hadn't seen her in months, and when she came to see me at my work, she said, "I was thinking about you on the way here. I hope you are doing good, but I know you are doing better than me." A few weeks earlier, she had tripped in a parking lot, landed on her elbows, breaking both. One required surgery, and the other they could do nothing for but let it heal. She was unable to work, and had accumulated $19,000 in medical bills so far. Which is horrible. And fuck yes, I am doing better than her. And each time another unfortunate event hits me, I think, at least I don't have two broken elbows. Or, as my co-worker crassly pointed out, at least I can still wipe my own ass.

See, your life isn't so bad, is it?

So fuck you resistance. (Yeah, yeah, I'm always saying that but fucking do something, for the love of God!) Who cares if I accidentally deleted the most recent Word files of my book because I'm an idiot and someone at Microsoft thought it would be great if the files on my computer would sync to my OneDrive even when deleting? Seriously? I'll accept my responsibility in that I was ignorant of how the syncing worked in both directions, but isn't the point of having an online drive that if something happens to your computer or your phone or you are a complete fucking idiot and delete a bunch of shit from your computer, that you still have the files backed up online?

It's fucking amazing how much better I feel after expelling a few profane words. Be warned: I'm going to continue with this in an effort to lift myself up and improve my mood.

There was something good. A few things actually, but one stands out. I went to a Twenty One Pilots concert in Tucson, and it was F-U-C-K-I-N-G A-M-A-Z-I-N-G. So worth the money and the time spent driving and waiting in lines. I could write an entire 50-page dissertation on my experience, but I'm lazy, and it was a month ago now, so instead I'll share my only complaint: I wanted them to sing "Forest" and "Ruby." I learned something I didn't know up until this point (because I didn't figure it out for myself, and it probably didn't say it in the first paragraph of Wikipedia). TOP is considered (by many) to be a Christian group. Wow. I had no fucking idea. But I'll go into that another time.

This is my pic, gearing up for the finale. FA!

BTW, Happy St. Patrick's Day!

J. L. Dodd

"Here's to a long life and a merry one. A quick death and an easy one. A pretty girl and an honest one. A cold pint and another one!" - Irish saying

Links:

http://www.askmen.com/entertainment/better_look/top-50-irish-sayings-proverbs.html

I can't come to work today because ... werewolves

I usually love the full moon. I always make a point to stare at it and try to communicate: "Hello Moon. Goodbye Moon." Riveting stuff, to be sure. At the very least, I try to be inspired by it's white, full face and the moon-kissed landscape it paints.

But this last full moon, the February "snow moon"? Nope.

I woke up multiple times because of bad dreams. I was sick. I saw ... something, large and dark, cross the road in front of me in the early morning darkness. Even though my lights were on it, I couldn't make it out. So naturally, given the timing, it was definitely a werewolf. The Moon seems to have it out for me this month. FA-Q Moon.

I'm also having a rough time due to self-inflicted frustration. Damn you, resistance. I can't seem to find the time to do anything I want to, not that this is anything new. But my want for what I want to do is greater, thus the dissonance greater, thus the frustration even greater. Due to my schedule and my family, I'm putting myself last, and that's just how it has to be. And Trump? Don't even get me started. Ain't nobody got time to complain about Trump. Well, I don't. Apparently there's plenty of people out there who do have time, which is good, because someone needs to.

Back to werewolves. I think I've seen it all, through books, movies, TV shows, etc. I particularly favor the werewolves in the Underworld series. Their history and demeanor (scary as shit) are convincing. But let's do an internet search and see what happens.

One of the earliest stories comes from Ancient Greece. Metamorphoses, written by Ovid in 1 A.D., tells the story of King Lycaon, who offended Zeus by serving him human flesh. As punishment, he was turned into a werewolf so he could continue his cannibalism.

Later, in the 16th century, there were werewolf hunts and trials, similar to the witch hunts we are all familiar with. Several high profile cases were recorded, interestingly, many of those were found to be serial killers, some with the nasty habit of cannibalism. The first of these was Peter Stubbe in Germany, whose crimes included rape, murder and mutilation. He drank blood and ate human flesh. His punishment was torture and decapitation.

Wait ... Little Red Riding Hood was about a werewolf? It makes so much more sense now!

Gosh. I feel like I learned something today. This is so much more interesting than politics!

J. L. Dodd

Links:

http://www.historicmysteries.com/history-of-the-werewolf-legend/

http://mythicalrealm.com/mythical-creatures/werewolf/

http://alam25.tripod.com/first.htm

YA Fairy Tales

I would never go so far as to say "divine intervention." I wouldn't even say the "Universe" is being extra helpful. Let's just say, for the sake of argument, because I'm on a Jung kick and I fancy myself a writer, that the collective unconscious and my inner voice are on the same page.

I've been thinking about fiction. My need to escape into it. The relief it gives me and every other reader as we transcend worlds. I also thought about what most YA books have in common: an ordinary protagonist who isn't ordinary after all, tossed with elements of myth, the supernatural, the fantastic, and don't forget a mysterious love interest (preferably with electric blue or green eyes). It's a repetitive, cliche, and well-proven formula that appeals to women of all ages. If you follow the formula, it's pretty hard to fuck up (or fok up), whether it's vampires, ghosts, gods and goddesses, demons and/or Jinn. Oh, I forgot witches. There's usually witches.

Then it occurred to me: these engrossing yet ridiculous stories are the fairy tales of this age. And even for all their shortcomings, they offer sweet relief from kids and work and stress and adulting and, worst of all in 2017, politics. And it's not entirely a cop-out on my part. Good writers are constantly reading (or so I've read). And I might have writer's block, but there's no such thing as reader's block, at least not for me. I'll be eternally busy from now until I reach the clearing at the end of the road.

Per my current norm, I delved into a new book (although I have eight others I'm already reading). I picked up The Hero with a Thousand Faces, by Joseph Campbell at a used bookstore because the subject of heroes and myth and their relation to religion piqued my interest.

What I found in the introduction was unexpected and uncanny. As disjointed and confused as my thoughts have been in the last few months, I seem to be on the right track.

"Freud, Jung and their followers have demonstrated irrefutably that the logic, the heroes, and the deeds of myth survive into modern times."

"In the absence of an effective general mythology, each of us has his [or her] private, unrecognized, rudimentary, yet secretly potent, pantheon of dream."

Finally, I can explain why I'm driven to expel this drivel, and why my drivel tends toward the fantastic. Why the supernatural enraptures and the mysterious makes my heart sing. My writing is my own pantheon of dream. And tapping into it, Campbell goes on to explain, can open the door to "the whole realm of the destined and feared adventure of the discovery of self" (pg. 8). No wonder I'm so mad. And by mad, I mean crazy.

But you knew that already.

J. L. Dodd

Works Cited:

Campbell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Bollingen Foundation, 1949.