The Idalia Chronicles - Captain Gonzo's Furball

It's 6:43 AM; another night at the ole Motel 6, and it's storming hard. Gusting 20 mile per hour winds, apparently a "category four" - not that I, y'know, have any idea what that means. I've lived, or, more accurately, slept, through plenty of Hurricanes in my Interment here in the sunny Purgatory of Florida; but I must admit, it's different when you're holed up on floor two of a ghetto joint built in the tourist boom of the '60s. This ain't no Hilton. The scenic palm tree towering across the way is looking scarier than usual, wobbling like a limp wiener gone skydiving. Ah, well - least I got Cartoon Network and the magic of social media to distract me. I don't get scared often, but the automated robotic storm alerts that keep incessantly cutting through my beloved cartoons shakes me to the core just about every time. I think its some oddly specific, but potent trauma from being woken up in the middle of the night by that terrible muffled alarm tone as a child. Even bank phone calls or text-to-speech tools give me the jitters. Is there a word for the abnormal fear of lo-fi mechanical voices? 

How about... Robophobe. Sure. 

So far tonight, I've called friends, drawn, and sat by the shower listening to one YouTube documentary or another. Mostly Red Cow Arcade and Joon the King. I may have a strange aversion to monotonous, disembodied, automated messages, but I really enjoy the brown noise of long-form video essays. The difference? That's for you to decide. 

Just like writing, something about hotels really revitalizes my soul - I'd stay here all the time if it were financially realistic. I guess that goes to show the state of things. Hell, even at home I tend to leave on a ten-hour loop of that lovely motel AC rumble. Then again, I'm not sure how I'd feel getting robbed on the daily - can't underestimate the trash ways of southern folk. Myself included. I am a cook, after all. 

MidLife's going well, if not a little slower than I'd prefer. I just started working with a new voice actor who seems great so far, and I've been doodling loads of zombie extras and funky advertisements to decorate the dingy world of death. Music wise, I've been pretty narrowly focused on a track called "Isotope Sister", a sort of reversed song-within-a-song reggae experiment that I hope opens some minds to the insanity that is sound. Not every track is a unique musical idea, statement or effort, but I hope most have a standout gimmick of sorts that lets listeners introspect on perception. That's where my head's at. 

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Ah, well... three days later, the storm's dead and gone. Just like my grandson. It's a warm, sickly summer night, I gotta get up early, and I'm wasting time on my nightmare blog... this is the life.

The Ian Chronicles - A Gigantic Waste of Time

My Hurricane Protection Totem

Feels a little weird writing this cuz I knew an Ian. Blech.

Anywho! It's struck again - the return of the monster - everyone's favorite yearly crock - hurricane season! Yes, Ian's been looming past the sunny coasts of hellish Florida for the past few days now, and apparently it's finally made some pretty serious contact. Not that I'd know! Since, as usual, it looks like a normal day in Chicago around me. Nothing special; in fact, I'd go as far as to say it literally does not matter. But, safety first, I get it. Where it's bad, it's bad. I think.

Irma is the only recent hurricane I can remember legitimately impacting people around here; though even then, we just lost power for a few days. Good excuse to take a vacation, really - we headed up to a nice local lodge just out of town and made lemons into lemonade, Hilton style. Or some shit. It's a "boy who cried wolf" situation - the more they hype up these calm, serene thunderstorms, the less myself and others bother to care. It's even worse when you go online and see people from outside the state panicking, wishing us well, drafting our obituaries. C'mon, now.

Hurricanes can be dangerous, but y'know, so can Elephants. And I don't see us getting any compassion when the circus rolls into town.

Double standards.

Tell you the truth, the only reason I comment on all of this - besides consistency - is because I wish it'd just rain already. Like any degenerate, I love the muffled patter of a long, dreary day; its peaceful, really puts your soul in a better place. Makes your brain feel like Crumb by Locket. Lo and behold, a literal rain storm is tearing our beloved land apart, and there's not a fucking shredling of liquid dripping from Zeus' mighty cloud dong. Sad!

Oh, well. So far the only excitement has been the power going out, and my job shutting up. As such, plenty of time for my other, horribler, self-inflicted job; MidLife! Oh, how I love my little ghetto nightmare filmy.

Espencer Kennaeth Hasperian, the Sixty-Ninth

Not to mention, plenty of time for toy reviewing... man, can't believe I just said that. Gross! I have to thank Michael Crawford (not that one) A.K.A. Captain Toy for that little obsession of mine; my whole family's one big compulsive collector, so reading and learning about all sorts of lines like Palisades' Fairly Odd Parents, Playmates' World of Springfield, or any old Sideshow doll was super exciting as a kid. Still is, too! What can I say, it's a hobby.

I always thought it was cool he somehow got his hands on the mystic life-size Mike and Sulley promotional statues; I saw those things all the time at the local McDonald's in South Lyon, Michigan, super nostalgic to me. Gotta wonder where the rest of 'em wound up...

We've been closed for the storm

...Well, coming back to the ol' keyboard a day or two later - just smoked two spliffs, I forgot - the storm effectively came and went. Made for a nice little extended weekend, and the weather's just primo. I can finally breathe for the first time in weeks without breathing in a liquid gallon of humidity.

Now to prepare-panic for next week's apocalyptic doomsday event. I'll bring the sandbags.

The Corona Chronicles - Well

I seem to have missed a year... or so. My bad.

So, what all's happened in the wild and often-later-deleted life of the Wastelnd's finest trashman? 

Well... I've moved, I've panicked, I've ghosted, I've stood, I've smiled, I've loved, and I've unfortunately done just about everything one might expect to have happened during a long period of unexplained absence. That's right down to getting my first tattoo - what can I say! I've grown attached to the lovely little numbers of seven and one; coincidentally, also the name of my start-up production company. What are the odds?

But, enough about that; there's a very good reason these events have gone unmentioned, and it's simply because I didn't feel much of it was worth dwelling on - let alone archiving and displaying along my dusty, toy review laden little corner of the internet. That's the past, this is now... though, the difference is a bit debatable, as the years continue to more or less bleed into one another.

As such, the virus continues on...  

Speaking of which, that's another accomplishment crossed off my "dissappearance duties" list; I caught a terrifying disease! That's right; I'm a warrior, baby. I took the punches, I took the two weeks off, and I came back standing. Complete with multiple hours of Marvel and Hammer binge-watching. For what it's worth, there wasn't much in terms of discomfort; it was basically an exaggerated cold, with lots of pressure and discomfort in my chest and legs. Hate to say it, but I've had worse. 

In brighter news, though, my friends and I have begun work on some very exciting animation and illustration projects; not the least of which includes my pilot, which has evolved and morphed into a pulsating wildebeest the likes of which you've probably seen before. Long story short, I've decided to dip into the neon pools of experimental filmmaking; finally putting those few college years to use as I translate the completed pilot script into something a bit more cerebral. I've included a teaser trailer below... 

The Corona Chronicles - They've Come To Save Us, The Space Invaders

What's this? A followup post to an entry made over three years ago?!

An empty WalMart aisle; ignoring one odd stack of plates

That's right - another natural disaster has fallen upon us; this time not a hurricane, but a horrible, world-spanning sickness! Coronavirus - How nice.

International travel has been barred, supplies are running out fast, and people - broadly speaking - seem to be driving directly into a wall of panic; perhaps rightfully so. I'm a bit of a "don't believe it until you see it" type when it comes to mass chaos - I've seen enough world-ending disasters tumble by to grow totally unphased by yet another black death. Anyone remember Swine Flu?

Occam's Ashes' "PigBus"

Still, as I mentioned, there might be a bit of legitimacy to this round of hysteria. Enough mass gatherings and everyday services have cancelled to the point where the economy is taking a hit. Even my job, a shipping gig, seems to be taking a hit; with only one very sparsely packed truck coming in this week, rather than the usual two or three.

Allegedly.

That said, though, not much has particularly affected me. I'm still coasting along my odd, dreary life - bouncing between drawing, writing, and haunting around the local soon-to-be-gone Macy's.

It's interesting how the slow decline of Macy's has closely paralleled not only the concluding days of my authoring of Fate, but also the end of my life in Florida; the store's dwindling shelves and disappearing furnishings mirroring my fading regard for what many experiences I've gathered here; from long-lost friends, to sullen experiences, to sights and sounds of days passed. MidLife itself retells my life as an unwilling Floridian - unbelievably fitting that it finally reaches birth as I prepare to abandon the state in which it was conceived. Things always make sense in hindsight; as I've always strongly believed, everything happens for a reason.

Only seven days left until the store finally closes it's doors. I've only bought one thing thus far... a clipboard. Hey, I needed one anyways. I really wanted to buy one of the huge fiberglass leaves taken from the store's pillars-turned-palm trees, but sadly, I don't think it'd be all that worth it when I'm weeks from a nation-crossing move. Still, very neat pieces of obscure history. Guess that shows what'll happen to the store's huge entry display, itself a sized-up version of the aforementioned palm trees.

There really isn't much else of interest, unfortunately. Loads of branded shelves, some random brand iconography, but nothing all that unique. Even the clothes themselves aren't that enticing - I think the core crowd, as of now, are just above the thrift store types. A little too proud for Goodwill, but not quite above Ross. In other words, the Bealls Outlet society.


Surprisingly the store, as well as the attached mall itself, isn't all that quiet in the midst of the Corona scare; probably because we all have little else to do, bored out of our minds without work, school, or any other viable time wasters. Odd time to be alive, isn't it?

Also, I drove by the seemingly abandoned "chocolate factory" I discovered a few posts back, only to discover it is finally back in business! Glad to see things are going well.