This is not a blog
  It's not.

All I can ask is that if you're here and reading this, please give We Chose to Go a chance...
It's what every story every written has needed at some point.

The Death of "Superman Lives"; What Happened? - One of the Best, Most Captivating Documentaries I've ever Seen

I doubt many people visit this page, and I'm not truly sure how much I care anymore, nor am I one to share much of anything with anyone. But this is something worth sharing, though it's got nothing to do with me or my writing. I just watched the Showtime premiere of the absolutely fascinating documentary, The Death of "Superman LIves"; What Happened? and I can't get it out of my head.

As someone who's never been a particularly big fan of Superman, and who found the last two incarnations to be moderately entertaining at best (and probably less than that), the idea of a Superman movie directed by Tim Burton and starring Nicolas Cage as Superman, with all the quirks and eccentricities and nuance that such a combination would have brought to the screen, completely enraptured me, and this documentary captures that perfectly. The Death of "Superman Lives"; What Happened? chronicles the story behind "Superman Lives", development of which began in the late 1990s, what it could have been, and ultimately, the heartbreaking circumstances that led to its demise.

From interviews with concept artists, costumers, producers, Kevin Smith (who came up with the title and even wrote the first version of the script), as well as Tim Burton himself, the director Jon Schnepp outlines a captivating backstory that, truthfully, I'd never known about before I watched the documentary. In a way, I wish I hadn't, because as enthralling as the movie was, I (and I'm sure many others) feel as if Warner Bros. (the studio that ultimately scrapped it) robbed the moviegoing world of a genuinely extraordinary and unique experience.

The costumes were cool. The ideas were cool. They were big. And different. And daring. It truly would have been an original work.

Anyone and everyone with even a passing interest in comics or movies should watch this film, and watch it straight away. And to those who may scoff at the idea of Nic Cage donning the Superman suit, I say, bring your preconceived notions along, but have just the slightest bit of imagination, watch The Death of "Superman Lives" and prepare to feel more cheated by Hollywood than you ever have before.

Whilst I am a nobody--with only modest nerd cred--who wrote two books that barely anyone read, I'd like to float a meaningless but sincere thank you out into the 'verse to Jon Schnepp for putting together one of the best documentaries I've ever seen, and to everyone involved with development of "Superman Lives" for daring to try something truly different. I wish the movie had happened. And now, having learned about it, I hope, somehow, someday, it still does.

What if the world tipped over?

All you mooks would fall off.

A Po-em from a non-poet (It leans a tad toward the children's side. My books do not. Kids shouldn't read them. Or maybe they should. I don't know. At least they'd learn some stuff.)

The Thing in the Lake

There's a thing in the lake,
Of indeterminate size
Propelled by fins, feet or flippers,
And with four great big eyes

Well, maybe there's two eyes
Or perhaps even one
But regardless of eye count,
If it's after you--run!

It's large, fast and mean,
And it eats kids for breakfast
Don't bother warning your parents,
Mom and dad can't protect us

It already got Robbie,
At least that's what I believe
My mom says he just moved,
But she's lying to me

So that's Robbie, his sister,
His mom and his dad
All devoured by a monster,
Things are getting real bad

It'll only get bigger,
And hungrier too
Instead of one kid a week,
It'll soon want to eat two

If you'll permit me a moment,
Let's return to its eyes
I mused over the number,
But did I mention the size?

They're as big as a dinner plate,
No, the lid of a trash can
When it snarls its eye slits are the size of a man!

I've been drawing up plans,
For a weapon to fight it
Whether or not it will work,
I have not yet decided

But I have to do something,
I can't let this go on
If it does then soon all the town's kids will be gone!

So until my plan's ready,
Just stay out of the lake
Keep your eyes peeled for the ripples,
The beast trails in its wake

For the skeptics who argue,
That it's driftwood, a log
Or even the neck and head of a large swimming dog

You can go on believing,
That my story is fake
When all's said and done we'll see who's been spared,
By the thing in the lake!

-Originally posted 8/2/2014

Down in the Trenches...

All right, so maybe I will be voicing an opinion every now and again. Wars throughout time, but especially the World Wars, have spawned a number of figures of speech, from barrage (WWI artillery), to balls-to-the-wall and the whole nine yards (WWII fighter pilots). These sayings have become part of the vernacular, and that's okay. However there is one figure of speech that just doesn't deserve to be thrown around as much and as loosely as it is--comparing one's piddly tribulations to being in the trenches of the Great War. I know, it's just a figure of speech, but a comparison is a comparison, and people need to stop what amounts to comparing their whiny apples not simply to oranges, but rather to piles of dead bodies. It flat-out does not compute. Recently I heard the host of a national morning news show equate a singer's leg being grabbed by a fan at a concert to being in the trenches. Disgusting.

When millionaire football players and sports announcers compare the hitting and banging at the line of scrimmage to the conditions a century ago in which millions of soldiers died, it makes me want to pull out my hair (or pull out theirs if they've got any left). It doesn't matter what you're trying to compare to the trenches--your "plight" is going to fall short, so don't. Unless you're a soldier in a trench, don't compare your situation to being in the trenches. The next stock broker in the trading pit, or athlete, or actor or musician who thinks about saying "down here in the trenches" should just stop and do themselves, the world, and history a favor: find a wall, and run head-first into it. No one (besides completely and utterly insensitive morons) makes Holocaust comparisons (and rightly so), so no one should insult the suffering of those from just one generation prior to that.

With the hundredth anniversary of the start of the Great War just two weeks away, remember just what "in the trenches" means, and slap the shit out of the next person who uses it for any reason other than while discussing trench warfare.

-Originally posted 7/22/2014

Elon Musk...A Billionaire Who Deserves It

With regards to Nikola Tesla and his vast contributions to the modern world, more and more people are gradually beginning to "get it". But Elon Musk has known it, and shown his respects, for a long time. If you don't know about who the real Tesla was and what he did, you should. If you don't know much about Elon Musk, this article from CNN should at the very least tell you the caliber of human being he is:

-Originally posted 7/11/2014

An actual entry

This may be something that falls under the category of interesting, or at least modestly interesting. I've been kicking around several ideas for short stories, and have also begun to work on a sci-fi story of longer length. One idea I was planning to eventually write was a short about ghosts, possession and revenge, though I was initially in no hurry to write it down. That is, until the day I had a nightmare in the same vein as my own idea. At 2:15 a.m. I awoke from an intense and very vivid dream. I was feverish, drenched in sweat, and deeply frightened by the experience. In the dream, an entity had taken over my girlfriend's body, and among other chilling acts, was forcing her to say horrible and vulgar things, in an equally horrible voice.

The entity did not want to inhabit only her, though; it tried to jump into my body as well, which was the most vivid aspect of the dream. When it tried to take me, I felt it reach inside of my head and begin to tear at my consciousness, pulling me away from myself, and I distinctly remember fighting against that pull with everything I had. The sensation accompanying the pull was strong, like a massive charge of static electricity, and it roared inside my head as I resisted. As I fought and the electric, pulling sensation intensified, a deep voice, the entity's voice, began forcing me to say awful things I struggled not to say.

Upon waking, I quickly realized there was no way I was getting back to bed. I had to get the idea out of my head so I went to the living room, opened my computer, and inside of four hours later, with the sun coming up, I'd written more than half of The Glove, using the sensations I felt in the dream to describe the feeling of possession. I finished the story two days later, and have decided to offer it exclusively on Kindle for 99 cents--as cheap as is possible. I encourage you to check it out and hope you will; all you've got to lose is 99 cents and less than a half hour of your time. Read it, share it, recommend it, take a moment to review it, why not? Until next time.

-Originally posted 6/6/2014