Happy Anniversary (a story)

Happy Anniversary.

She sat smiling at rocks, in her head she divided their colours into different minerals and moments in history. Peace of mind (awful peace of mind.) What would the burnt layer of char say about her moment? She had had her fill of peace of mind. She had been spared. One human entity left alive, and what worse punishment? What greater torture? She dreamed of trees and conversations about trivial things. She dreamed of human companionship. She dreamed of surprise parties and arguments and inflated egos. She was without human friend or human foe. Alone. Even her custom made Z-4 model was breaking down, giving in to unkind years, and corrosion. His brass knobs were oxidizing. His stainless steel stained. His aluminum rusting into metallic cellulite.

It was ten years ago to the day that he was presented to her as a gift from her people. Her people. A sigh turned to a choke at this uncomfortable thought. What kind of queen would let this happen to her innocent minions? What foul treachery! All dead, never forgotten.

She shuttered and remembered the day the airships loomed in, filled with armies. Ruthless beings from a distant star. They wanted fossil fuel.. They wanted gold and jewels and women and children. They were pirates on the vastest sea imaginable, and they were bloodthirsty. Her subjects lived in a non-confrontational Utopia, a dream. Greed had turned her dreams into nightmares: bodies filling the streets, children's cries silenced, beggar's screams unanswered. Who could help them?

The Z-4 was their last gift to their Queen. He was custom made for her. Beautiful and strong. Sweet and trustworthy. Perfect. And now? Nothing more than a miserable old tin can. Through his deterioration, one of his many programs had become scrambled. Confused. Disillusioned. His sweet had become sour.

She left the rocks and made her way to the rubble. Though catastrophe had happened years ago, the memories refused to fade, leaching onto her brain, sucking out all the good, only leaving the waste behind. The memory of his assembly was a bitter relief. It had been her birthday. The Z-4 was presented to her so that she may never again feel lonely. Who would've thought that this could happen? He had become a reminder of life's ironic little jokes.

She moved through piles of rubble, silt, and slag, and found her Z-4 model sitting miserably on a small lopsided heap of air-carriage wrecks. His deep frown creaked and ground through his elastic skin, forming a little smile for her. Not being returned, it slipped away with his gaze.

"You must learn to forget. There are plenty of other things to be miserable about." He said with a strange echoing buzz, for his Series 5700 voice box had slid out of place and was now located in the far hollow of his throat.

"Like what?" She replied, trying not to show her annoyance.

"Like the humid burn of this never ending summer. Like the shortage of food (and it frustrates me to no end that you need that waste to survive.) Once it's gone, you'll leave me like everyone left you so long ago. Then I'll be here alone, never shutting down. Oh, the pain of programs running on forever."

"Don't be so foolish. At the rate that you're falling apart, you won't be around come the next full moons. Then I'll be alone."

This petty argument had been replaying itself for years, and through many full moons, but this time it was different. The Z-4 surprised her.

He turned away, oil leaking from his high resolution eyes. "You are alone, dear. I am just a machine. A broken machine. No different than the wrecks I'm sitting on, and only slightly better company. Deal with your problem. I was created to make you happy. I don't know how to do that anymore. I no longer serve you. I serve only myself. The only one properly programmed to make you happy is you. This situation…" He rang, stiffly pivoting his arm to display the rubble and bone, "is not going to change. If you don't want your circuits to scramble, than you're going to have to change."

She turned sharply, and walked away from this with a troubled mind and the knowledge that he may be right. What a sickening day it was when a broken machine could out-human a broken human. He really did seem to understand (and how a machine could realize mechanical selfishness was a mystery to her as well.) When he lifted his body up to walk back to the ruin they referred to as their house, his body creaked and moaned like an old drawbridge. She turned and watched him with his new found independence. 'Not much better than an air-carriage wreck…' he had stated. She surveyed the graveyard of littered scrap metal and somehow, as hard as she tried, she could not picture him in the same light. He may not have been human, but he was the closest thing she had, and he was the closest friend she had ever had.

***

As she picked through the broken ruins looking for trinkets, a loud hum shook the landscape. An air-ship was hovering over her homestead. Something deep in her cranium snapped, and she ran towards it in a panic. Though the ship looked completely different from a pirate ship, it triggered memories of laser cannon fire, and carnage. Her Z-4 model was sure to be taken slave, or perhaps destroyed altogether for parts. She raced over slag heaps, through puddles of silt, and collapsed at what substituted as a door. The door fell at her collapse, sending a cloud of dust into the air. As the cloud settled she climbed to her feet. The Z-4 was sitting at a makeshift table with a human male.

"What do you want with us?" She screamed before any explanation or introduction could be offered. "You've already taken everything!" She grabbed a metal pole out from it's spot holding up the plexi of the window.

"No! You've got it all wrong!" Announced her machine, in a voice that sounded as if it came from an electric bullhorn. "Earlier today I finally fixed the transmitter. I've had SOS signals transmitting all afternoon! I have finally discovered a way to make you happy again. This is Captain Franchiser." He stopped his introduction, and offered Franchiser a glance, subtly displaying his jealousy for the man's real flesh, his actual heartbeat, and his ability to heal. "He is here to rescue you." His mouth crimped into a slight grin. "Captain…I am pleased to introduce you to our Queen. The Queen of Memory. The Queen of Refuse and Decay…" He creaked over to the window and peered out at all she surveyed, catching his reflection in the plexi-glass. "…The Queen of Nothing." He turned back to look at her. "My Queen." His voice at this point was so filled with static that it sounded more like a husky wheeze. And on that he wandered out into the early evening stink.

***

That evening was especially dark, though the glow of the ship kept a good portion of the ruined city well lit. He sat on his favorite heap of air-carriage wrecks and watched as it finally lifted into the sky, and with a quick flash it…she was gone. The night, to his oil-clogged eyes, was the darkest he had ever seen, even through his malfunctioning infrared socket visors it was black. Void of heat. He turned off the red. Void of life. For the first time he realized what genuine human feelings were. They were miserable. Not part of some misbehaving program, but justified. He arrived home and lit a torch. He walked to the empty bed and stared at it. Though he had been programmed to satisfy a woman, he had never really understood why until now. Because, albeit in different ways, it satisfied him as well.

"You were absolutely right." A voice!

He turned around and she stood there looking somewhat lost and bewildered.

"About what?" He sputtered. "About what?"

She smiled. She smiled!

***

That night, as she lay in bed, she heard him clank and grind into the room. He first sat on the edge of the bed, and then folded down beside her. He took his usual place by her side, and with a series of cranks, gnashes and hollow moans, he leaned over and crimped his rusty lips into a smile and kissed her on the forehead before moving his arms around her. Holding her, he shut himself off to sleep mode. For the first time in many years she had smiled. How could she leave?

He was made for her.

Idiot Revolution - vol. 3: Idiot Bedtime Story

Evil Terry was a chimney sweep that lived in a warm shack next to a cold puddle.

And thats all you need to know about it. He's evil. Stay away from him.

Idiot Revolution - vol. 2: Idiot Love Story

Dalamahr was not her name. Nor was it her middle name. It rested at the back, in last place, though she was often referred to this as if it were her first. She had breasts she liked, and so did others, for they were shaped like they were meant to be that shape, and they also they were generally liked because they were breasts and folk like breasts. She was tall for her height and stood upright like she took her species’ evolution with a side of spite.

But she was alone…and that is where she found me, lying on a nap sack that was not a sack at all, but a place where I did indeed nap. Nap sack. I had hauled deep the air of infectious fauna burning in a pipe (which is to say I was high) and she was no longer alone, for there I was. She thought she was. She smiled and sang to herself as if she were alone. She may have even passed gas and picked her nose for all I can remember…but it was all the proof I needed that she thought she was alone.

Dalamahr liked to smoosh her face into a cool pillow when she was sleepy. She would imagine she had been abandoned on a planet, and was so alone that a whole other planet felt sorry for her. She would lie there and dream up locations where she might be alone, but still have the modern conveniences of home like running water and food supply and movies on DVD, all with a billion special features each. “Survival” was too vast an ocean for her lazy-eyed self esteem.

I liked the taste of her mouth after she drank anything at all. I used to think about what her bum might look like without her clothes on. I knew I would never find out what this was truly like...but I always had my Tudor cottage in the woods next to the vague memory of her countryside of smoochies. Smoochies.

Dalamahr like to pretend she was a super villain that repented right before her death, saving some person she wished the respect and admiration of. She always seemed to have at least one small bruise somewhere on her leg from clumsy running-into’s.

There are three power foods prescribed by every diet out there as being the best of the best in healthy foods….almonds, blueberries and spinach. Dalamahr could only stomach those things if they were fried together with both soy sauce AND Worcestershire sauce.

When she was a teenager she always wished she were one of those girls that were capable of cutting themselves for attention. She wasn’t. She blended. She wasn’t convinced that her blood wasn’t invisible to others anyway.

But there she was.

Sigh.

Idiot Revolution vol. 1

This is the story of Failsafe and Candle Lid. They liked to wander and wandering is what they did best. They would wander on a path and off a path, they would wander up and through. Candle Lid, who was tall amongst short folk, and short amongst tall folk had a long row boat. It had to be long so that he could wander up and down , and often into the water. He did not use his boat.

One day a very old man named Pudding was trying to move his items up a hill. Failsafe couldn’t move up, so he could not help. Candle Lid made dinner and they all ate whatever it was he made which was something called a lot. It had stew in it.

How unlike the sea Failsafe was, and very dry Candle Lid liked things except his bath and a drink. They sometimes took a hot kettle down to the massive sea so that they could take a hot bath together and talk about their trip. The sea was too big though, and the water could not get hot enough for them to get clean, so they canceled their trip until next year.

Next year was a better time they thought when it got here and they left for their trip again, except this time it was the right time so it wasn’t again. They picked a large place and then they wandered around there. Candle Lid liked to look up at things when he wandered, Failsafe liked to look to the side. It was easy to hide on them. A very old man named Pudding once followed them for a year and they never knew it. Pudding got very hungry and that is why he stopped.

One day, when neither of them could swim, they didn’t even take a bath, because you can drown in a drop of bath water the magazine said. Failsafe didn’t see how this was possible unless you were a bug that lost its legs someplace. He didn’t want to take any chances, though, so he waited until he could swim again.

Candle Lid was so spiritual that he went to the dentist twice a month to get his teeth cleaned. He wanted to have a nice smile for the good in everybody.

When Failsafe burped, Candle Lid listened. Both of them at one point in their lives had painted a room in a house. It was the same room, and neither have seen it since. Failsafe had a job. Candle Lid was dangerous sometimes.

They really wanted a dog but didn’t think they were ready.

Stick to Re-Animating a Cold

My lips are dry…my shoulders hunched from the dull ache of a cold…my tummy filled with apple juice, white tea and Cold FX. I am fighting it…and I think it’s already on its way out. What a great time to take a hot shower and then cozy up on the couch with a blanket and watch some movies.

First up: From Alpha Home Entertainment’s “Cult Classics Collection”: Ted V. Mikel’s “The Corpse Grinders.” With a nonsensical tagline like “Turn bones and flesh into screaming, savage blood death!” how can you go wrong? This is 1971 film is about a couple of crooks that take over a cat food company and put it on the map by grinding up humans and canning them up for kitty. When cats get the taste for human flesh, they start turning on their masters and it’s up to a doctor and his nurse girlfriend to get to the bottom of things. The DVD cover would have you believe this to be a gruesome b-movie gore-fest with lots of gratuitous nudity. Not so lucky. It plays out like a low-budget TV movie, is almost completely free of gore (oh people get grinded up real good – but always off camera,) and not even the quickest nipple slip. Crap. I think it has made my cold worse.

Next: 1988’s “Flesh Eater.” This movie is directed by Bill Hinzman, written by Bill Hinzman, produced by Bill Hinzman, and stars…um…who’s in this crap-fest again? Oh yeah…Bill Hinzman. Just who is Bill Hinzman you ask? Well, zombie fans will know him as one of the most recognizable zombies (pictured above) from George Romero’s original “Night of the Living Dead.” despite the x-treme low budget, this movie delivers on the gore and even has some choice nudity…but alas has absolutely no plot, crap acting, the stooopidest reason for there being zombies, and is actually really boring. Even the gore and nudity lags. It is also hard to watch the Hinzman interview…he seems to have waaaay more ego than talent, and even sounds quite bitter towards the man who made him in the first place….the way more talented Romero. Hard to watch…and seems to be the anti-Cold FX.

Two misses so far…time to put on something that I know will be good. Perhaps a good ol’ Stuart Gordon movie. One of the Re-Animators, From Beyond, or Castle Freak. Perfect for scaring off a cold. Thank you Stuart for chasing Hinzman out of my aching brain.

Death Charmed Over: quacks, charlatans and medicine shows

I admit to having some strange obsessions in my past: learning everything I could about the less popular mammals, Hawaiian music, erotic musicals & horror, and lesser-known musical instruments as art...but as I delve deeper into the world of olde Medicine Shows, Side Shows, Freak Shows and Quacks, I find myself feeling a deeper fascination than I have with other seemingly pointless interests.

This all started when I was younger and first watched Tod Browning's film masterpiece "Freaks" (1932.) A beautiful and strange film that actually cast real "freaks" (pin-heads, Siamese twins, the half-boy, the human torso, etc) and was banned for many years for that reason. I started to read up on the life of Browning, and found it fascinating, sad and artistically masterful. I started to read more...(see book list at bottom.)

Next I came up with the idea to write a novel called "Death Charmed Over." Oddly not about a side show at all, but rather based on the idea of Quacks (those wishful thinkers, delusional, and out-right criminal practitioners of medicine) and the all-out spectacular Medicine Show.

Perhaps this came to mind realizing that my favourite childhood character was Dr. Terminus ("Carry On..." regular Jim Dale) from Disney's "Pete's Dragon." The term "Snake Oil Salesman" became known to me as a youngster, and the insanity of the medicine show seemed both animated and somehow sinister -- but always completely fascinating.

What fun, I thought, to base my novel on such a charlatan, someone that doesn't have a cure for death, but rather tries to charm it over for the sake of a quick buck. BUT! What if this medicine man didn't want money...what if this one wanted destroy lives, murder and stop the industrial revolution from happening to preserve a world of magic and mystics? All because he was immortal and had been around since the beginning of time and was both bored with life and afraid to let it go? Knowing that a revolution will start that will accelerate the end of the world (and wanting to stop it) makes him a hero as well as a completely evil. Thus you have my creation: Dr. Festus Bacch.

I digress...what writing this has done has sent me into a world of books...researching the time frame in which the novel takes place, and all the different methods and lengths one would go to to sell their snake oils.

Tales of J.I. Lighthall (aka The Diamond King)...a man who became a real celebrity with his travelling "troupe" in the wild west...John St. John Long who specialized in consumption cures...Dr. Frank "White Beaver" Powell (Buffalo Bill's medicine man)...the list goes on, all seem fictional, but are indeed true...and in many areas of the world.

Now I haven't forgotten about the better-known Freak/Side Show, but the lesser focussed on Medicine show has peeked my interest as of late, it is worth looking into it yourself for sheer entertainment, history, and horror stories. It is also interesting to note that funnyman Sacha Baron Cohen performs a medicine show scene (to cure baldness) in the recent Tim Burton adaptation of Sweeney Todd. One of the screen's best snake oil salesmen can be seen in the Dustin Hoffman flick "Little Big Man."

It is not easy to find literature on this...but worth seeking out:

Mystic Healers & Medicine Shows by Gene Fowler
Quacks: Fakers & Charlatans in Medicine by Roy Porter
Quack! Tales of Medical Fraud by Bob McCoy
The Medicine Show Manual by Tom Jorgenson

and on Side Shows/Freak Shows and Tod Browning:

Dark Carnival: The Secret World of Tod Browning by David J. Skal
The Monster Show also by David J. Skal
Seeing is Believing: America's Sideshows by A.W. Stencell
Circus! by Alan Wykes
Freak Like Me by Jim Rose
Snake Oil also by Jim Rose

and there's always Wikipedia!