A Better Blurb

Lost a really close friend the other day.

It was only a few feet away from where I was, but I'll never be able to walk that distance to find him again. 

It was only a few minutes after I talked to him, and I'll never get that time back.

If you've ever wondered about the inner workings of what someone in the military really wants in terms of being remembered and how they feel about what happens after they die, here it is.

There's a memorial service tomorrow, which I don't plan on attending.  Who will be there, however, includes people that don't know him, people that are going to mispronounce his name, people that will give platitudes about the honor of service, people that are obligated to be there, people he worked with, and a handful of people that he cared about.

Army Times was kind enough to write a very brief article about him.  If you can't be bothered to click that link, it stated where he was from, the unit he was assigned to, this stupid blurb "Rasmussen joined C Company in January 2013, according to a Fort Hood news release issued Tuesday. He enlisted 10 years before that and made a previous war-zone deployment in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom in 2007," and a list of his awards (well, some, it goes on to say 'and other decorations').  In summation: he's a guy that did some stuff, here's some stuff he did.

Also, there was this picture:


No one wants to be remembered looking like this.

I'm exceptionally jaded by this, his death is hitting me pretty damn hard, and if Deric deserves anything in an obituary, it's brutal honesty about him, for him.

First, Deric didn't much care for the Army.  His '10 years before...' was in reference to the fact that he'd been a Marine prior to joining, time spent initially enjoying the service, then loathing the last few years of it - which is why he got out.  No matter how shitty it was in the Corps though, Deric was pretty adamant that being in the Army was "Just as, if not a whole lot more stupid" than being in the Marines.  The only part of the Army he really cared about was the Medevac mission, and was essentially riding out his time until he could retire, "Ugh, I'm already past that halfway mark.  Might as well stick around and get the pension out of it.  Kind of too late to do anything else, know what I mean?"  As for his awards, he saw them more of a hassle than anything else, and more of a decoration that he could frame when he was old, something he could point at and laugh about how dumb he'd been to have gotten some of them.  "And this one is for attendance, and this one is for being a team player, and this is one is for that one time I didn't punch someone in the dick for being retarded.  That one I earned, junior."

As far as pomp and circumstance, he loathed it.  But, usually everyone does.

I like to look at my life like a story that pans out in ways both predictable and chaotic.  Most people here are bit players, secondary characters that aren't really involved with moving the plot forward.  Deric wasn't one of those people.  Deric was someone I could joke about Captain Phillips' utter stupidity with, without having to explain the life of a sailor.  He was someone I could call shipmate (ironically) and have him toss back an insult about my sexuality (or confusion thereof) without the preemption of the term.  We shared much discussion of random crap and how our lives made odd intersections (Bohomme Richard Battle Group?!  You too?) over many a lunch back at Hood.  Of everyone I spent my time with here at Masar-E-Sharif, when I made it up here, his is the company I sought, made this place bearable in light of all the bad memories being here brings up. 

This is a guy, that after watching curling with me, decided to help me invent a ridiculous Swedish sport using those little propellers on a stick - that you roll around in your hand to make them fly - with ultra Nordic terms (I do not know how to make umlauts and accents, but rest assured, there were many, and lots of Fj's, Y's, Z's, Jn's and W's used), then played with me - platonically - for the next several hours because neither one of us could sleep and he was out of cigarettes. 

Deric was so much more than a blurb in the paper and a memorial service.  I can't make everyone understand the kind of friend he was, or how close, but I can remember him in my own way.  I can immortalize him in writing, because stories last, and I'm going to make sure his sticks around.  If you ever see something about a redhead or a guy with a impish grin and a throaty laugh that went 'heh heh,' (seriously, two syllables, his laugh always made me laugh), it'll be Deric I'm writing about.

Sassy Rassy is survived by his friends, three children, and wife Jenna(vieve), whom "Is super hot, which is awesome, and she has a thing for gingers.  Thank GOD for that.  If anything ever happened to me, at least I know she wouldn't have a problem finding another guy.  Me?  I'm kind of a chudd."

A note about the picture:  That's what's known as a Hero Photo.  We all get one, several times a year, specifically for the media in the off chance that we don't make it back.  Deric and I referred to it lovingly as a Death Pic, "like a Dick Pic, but from the waist up."  We've talked about how much we hated those things.  How disingenuous they are, how many we've had to take between us.  He told me that how, after years of doing them, they've gotten progressively worse, on purpose.  Eventually, he said, he'd get to the point where they'd have to wonder if they could even use them because of how ridiculous he was going to make his expressions. 

So, you know what?  This is actually a perfect picture to remember him by.


"Heh heh"

I think, that after this, as close as this hit, I am choosing to not make a career out of the Army.  I've lost friends to this war, in combat and out, but this time it's different.  Not sure how much worse I'd be off right now if it wasn't for my family, whom has shown me infinite patience, compassion, and love while I deal with this.  Their support, in my life, and career choice, means everything to me, and I cannot thank them enough for being what they are to me.  I love you guys. 

My Real Life

Dustoff

I don't often post about the military side of my life; every once in a while, though, I do like to remind people that, despite outward appearances, I am a responsible adult in charge of a multimillion dollar aircraft and the lives of everyone aboard (even though I look like I'm 18).  Also, I had a pretty awesome flying buddy today.

It's been a while since I've watched Power Rangers, but Tommy - and now later in life, JDF - has been an inspiration to always keep going, always keep fighting.  At some point during the deployment, I ordered a Green Ranger action figure.  It finally came in.

So this post is more of a clip-show:

Dragon-zord got a makeover. 

It's cool, he's got this.

"Hey!  Listen!"

Front seat at 140 kts.

Eh... I'm still a kid.  Just a very responsible one.

Oh, I have a twitter account now.  Expanding awareness, 140 characters at a time.

Perspective

"How will you know if you can fight, until you fight?"

I was going to post about a month ago about what a huge day it was, what with the elections here in Afghanistan and everything. In fact, I'm even typing over the draft of the original post I had for that day. The first peaceful transfer of power in x many years.

Considering the circumstances under which I failed to update, 'peaceful' is not exactly the adjective I would have chosen. There were so many acts of violence in our region alone that we only found out about a fraction of them. What the news fails to mention, however, is that despite not losing any coalition soldiers, the civilians and national police are getting hit hard. How brave do you have to be to wake up every day knowing that at least one of you is probably going to die in the line of duty. 

Or get eaten by a sarlacc. Is it me, or does Afghanistan remind anyone else of Tatooine?

Whatever I may think of these people, whatever anyone may think of these people, they wake up knowing that today could be it and they still fight to make their country a better, safer place.

A picture I made 6 years ago.

Anyway...

Thinking about starting up Pirated Gods again.  It'll be an endeavor because, despite outward appearances, there was a ton of up front research that went into the project.  I'm talking maps, the history of late 18-19th century imperialism, (a few of) the complete works of Gilbert and Sullivan, international law, etc.  Before I wrote the first word, I felt like I had already accomplished something given the sheer scope of everything I had to learn.

The cover of a 1920's magazine
about Airships that I didn't even know
existed until about a month ago.

It kind of sort of maybe fell apart a little after that.  Hence the reboot.  The idea is to go through again and rewrite it to make it...readable.  Still in dire need of an artist, as all I have right now are concept sketches from a certain PJ Latizia (with whom, I wish I could have continued this project.  But we started years ago, and he has since raised a family).

Volunteers or friends of friends or anyone willing to point me towards an artist willing to work would be greatly appreciated.  There was much invested in PG and I'd like to see it come to life.

Anyway...

Here's a rhinoceros bettle.  Don't leave him hanging.

High five.

This is a thing I'm making

Ambitions change.

Songbird, tragic misunderstood hero.  More art here.

Growing up, I wanted to do two things with my life: Become a pilot and write.  Thus far, I've accomplished the pilot thing and have been doing it for a while.  I write now too, on a ... if not consistently then at least occasionally.  With time, though, (with the exception of the woman I've been completely in love with for half my life) my goals have changed.

I do enjoy flying, it's a solid career, it's fun (for a given value of Army), and I still have room to grow.

However, for a few years now, I've really wanted to open a bookstore ... of sorts.  Second hand books (I love the smell of old books), comics, graphic novels, and all the nerd toys, movie props, statues, and art you can think of.  I'd support local artists, writers, and sculptors by featuring their work and letting them advertise/sell in store.  I'd make movie, game, and book props (I intend to have a small workshop in the store).  We'd open at odd hours, because readers keep odd hours.  How many times have you finished a book in the middle of the night and needed the next one immediately because you have to continue the story?  There'd be monthly cosplay nights, give aways, it'd be a haven for night-owls and nerds and a general hangout (I see couches and big screen TVs).

Simple instructable here.

To that end I've been teaching myself things this year (like wiring LEDs) and looking at tools and techniques and getting ideas of things that I want to make.  Instructables is the best of shared creativity on the internet.  People making incredible stuff and showing everyone else how to as well.

So, I want to make some soft lights with a Bioshock Infinite theme (yes, I have a mild obsession) using the flasks of Infusion and Songbird's eye.

Tentative, crudely drawn plans.

Anyway, that's my brief interlude while I write.  Don't worry, there is writing happening.

Act 1: A Pantheon of Our Own (M6)

When you brag about slaying monsters, the monsters start to take an interest.

In the continuing writing effort, I'm starting very bare with M^6.  Over the next week or two, I'll show you how I go from nothing, to something, and all the steps in between.  I thought very hard about doing the web method (connecting plot points and such) for this, but if it isn't broke...

I've know how I wanted this story to start, but not how I needed to get there.  I found an out in Kurosawa (who makes mad films) based off a very tenuous connection while reading Questionable Content.  One of the characters mentioned Toshiro Mifune, I had a flashback to watching 7 Samurai back in high school, and that small piece opened up so many opportunities in this story.  Hopefully, you'll see the subtle influence completely removed from the direct reference.

Anyway, once that happened, everything sort of... fell into place.  I started with this very basic scaffolding:

Summer - The Great Karate Debate - Toshiro Mifune - The Walk - The Stare - The Choice - The Fight - The Finger - The Lies - The Panic - Debate Redux - Minor First Aid - Home - Smartassery and Worry - Parental Reaction - Ambulance Ride - Taking Blame - Minor Surgery - Sleepless Night - Angry Morning Parents - Ranting - Total Cost of Finger Loss - Earning It Back - Babysitting Brother - A Monster in the Closet - A Production - Validity Through Success - New Ideas for Cash - Speculative Advance

Section headings that more or less defined direction.  From there, I fill in the blanks a little bit at a time. To keep myself heading along the right path, I've also established benchmarks that may or may not act as chapter headings.  And once I have those, I continue to fill in the blanks in ever increasing detail, trimming and adding as suits the narrative:

1 When I was 12, my sister cut my pinkie off with a meat cleaver.  No, seriously, left pinkie, right below the knuckle.  It just hung there by a thin strip of skin, dangling and squirting blood everywhere.  

She didn't mean to, obviously.  At least, I hope she didn't.  It started out innocently enough.

-summer time, school is out.  the weeks spent in the living room, creating a fort of cushions and blankets to the detriment of a clean house.  

-Mom and dad taking little brother to karate for the first time late afternoon.  Dad on his fake leg and big belly, mom with her giant butt and aloof smile.  Why does he get to go to karate?  We wanna go to karate!  You never took us!  We never had the money.  Why?  Because children are expensive and neither one of you had the decency to eat the other in the womb.  Your father doesn't mean that.  Yes he does.  We'll look at classes while we're there.  What?  Why are you pouting.  We want to learn something cool, like ninjitsu.  I can't believe I'm related to you, I want to learn jujitsu.  that's because you're a girl.  That's because you're retarded.  Hey, time limit here.  You get whatever we find.  Watch a movie, clean up, bring the fort down, it's been long enough.  We'll be back in an hour or two.  

-Kurosawa was big in our house.  Anything with ninjas or samurai or kungfu, we knew it all.  Well, we knew about it all, we'd beaten up on each other enough to know that we knew more than anyone else.  Probably, maybe.  TV flickered, swords clashed.  Debate about swords over other weapons leading to a challenge.  Wanna go to the store and sword fight?  You already know the answer to that.  

-Mom and dad owned a comic book store.  Stocked with all sorts of fun collectibles.  I grabbed a katana, she went for a straight razor but thought it unfair and grabbed the butcher knife instead.  Movies lie.  All the time.  The sword fight, the blood not flowing, the pain then the blood actually squirting out and spraying the store.  

Agreeing to or not to call 911 (they are agreeable on most things) based on fear and they don't want to get in trouble.  Basic trauma - what dad had taught us.  Rubber band and ice. Wait for them to get home.

-okay, first, how did you do this?

-we lied and told them we'd been cleaning up around the house, they believed us... 'doesn't look like you got very far' the place was still a disaster, 'I think the important thing is that we tried.'

-second, why?  I wanted to be more like you?  slap in the back of head.  Dad, you are way too calm about this.  Mom, why is dad not freaking out?  Your father has seen worse. 

2 The ambulance ride ...

3 Everyone showing up at the hospital ...  So what did we learn?  That my superpowers don't include super healing or unbreakable skin.  Oh?  What do they encompass?  Super bleeding all over the place.  Son, for every one jackass that gets bit by a radioactive spider and gets all sorts of awesome powers, there are 7 billion people who just wind up with cancer.  But there's only 6 billion people in the world.  And probably zero radioactive spiders.  But... oh, well that sucks.  Pop - ow!  What was that for?  Language.  I can't say sucks?  Ow!  

4 The ride home - asking why and how leading into the house which is still a disaster.  Both of you listen up, he only made threats that he'd never carry out, if you ever decide to put yourselves in a position to where you might lose an appendage, think about this.  If your mother and I have to do this again, we'll cut the rest of your fingers off, hang you up by your toes and let you bleed out so that your brother gets everything in the will.  Go to bed.

5 Sharing a room, staying up and talking ...

6 The morning after ...  

7 Grounding and becoming babysitters ...

8 The monster in the closet production ...

9 A better business venture ...

10 Getting paid to act ...

11 Several more nights like that and a great summer ...

12 2 years of reparations ...

13 Finally old enough to baby sit for other people but eh ...

14 Our first babysitting job ...

15 Meet Virginia ...

16 The bogeyman discussion (Babaroga, dashakava, bogeymen, wikipedia) ...

17 The most epically blunderous fight of all time ... to include the use of silver necklaces against walking carpets with needle teeth, how scary something like a cavalry charge really is, the uselessness of a katana in a closet, beheading, distraction, terror vomit, and ptsd.

18 A few days of nothing happening and avoiding phone calls ...

19 Choosing to believe that nothing actually happened and getting on with our lives ...

20 Our first night back to work and the hydra ...

21 Conspiracy theories involving our lineage ... discussion of wandering upon someone else's path and how special we are not.

22 Once you saw weirdness, it was hard not to spot ... 

23 The mothman, The Fly and the can of RAID ...

23 Accepting who we are, or at least what we can do ...

25 The trials of high school and battling monsters ... my sister being my best friend

26 Our very first demon ...

27 Mechanics of magic and imagination ...

28 Insistence on higher education ...

Act 2 So I dated a succubus

0 Post coital bliss

1 My sister went through a goth phase, I had to go with her ...

2 We went off to college ...

3 Living arrangements ...

4 Difficulty meeting new friends ... (throw in a kick about Ariana in there HAHAHAHA, they meet at the party and end up cleaning up the Bloody Mary incident)

5 (friendly) Monsters in our midst ...

6 Business finds a way ...

7 Pledge week ...

8 Biological needs ...

9 Some solo work and pro bone em jobs ...

10 Thoughts on our mortality and the continued lack of super powers ...

11 Dating and the impossibility thereof ...

12 Monsters in our own closets ... or ''the call came from inside the house"

13 Succubus, incubus, suspicion and how cool it felt to be desired by something that lived to be desired ...

14 Headbutting ensues ...

15 A bout of normalcy ...

16 Breeding pairs and vigilance ...

17 Balancing school, work, and a relationship

18 The importance of keeping your girlfriend away from your clients

19 Jealous succubus beats jealous incubus any day of the week

20 This time I had to call 911 ...

21 The bitch banishes herself (so that's what happens to other people when I seduce them) and I gotta beat up a beaten incubus to find out what happened to my sister ...

22 The hospital, lies, my best friend in a coma

Act 3 Hell is all around us

He's telling this story to Pluto and company.

Summer evening coffee and two cents change - Late afternoon, the sun hanging heavy, falling slowly.  Drawing shadows longer and longer as the minutes ticked off.  It had been a warm day, cool breezes now blowing down the street trailing garbage in its wake.  Crumpled newspapers danced and twirled, crushed cans rattled, empty bottles rolled and clinked, bits of plastic rustled like leaves, all of the detritus of civilization sweeping forward on the road.  Sidewalks carried few pedistrians.  Midweek, no one had anywhere important to be, the rush crowd had already filed past some hours previous.  The stragglers were mostly kids, teenagers, nothing better to do than hang out, no rides, mom’s probably too busy making dinner or something else suffeciently homely.  Ragtag froup of skateboarders zipped by, quiet, sullen, headphones in, something about the day just making everyone depressed.  At least it wasn’t raining.  Metal seat dug into my back.  Waitress stopped by to ask if I needed a refill, I sent her away with a request for the bill and a polite smile.  Had too many already.  She smiled back and walked off.  It was always too bitter here, too hot, scalded my tounge every time.  I hated the coffee here, but Marlin loved it, so I did my duty as a good brother and came with her.  Her mug sat across from me, still full, gone cold, mocking, a promised remained as yet unfulfilled.  Clouds gathering on the horizon, too warm to rain though, just another starless night.  Every night since my sister was taken from me a week ago had been.  The waitress came back, handed me the bill, I handed her a ten and she produced change from somwhere in her apron.  A small wad of singles and a handful of change.  Another reason I hated the coffee here, too damned expensive.  Another plastic smile.  I watch the coins spill onto the table, a dull nickle spinning on its edge before clattering onto its face, dying sunlight glinting off tiny polished bits.  I stared, miserable, alone.  Mom and dad remain in denial.  For all intents and purposes, their hope is justified.  Marlin’s body lies inert in a south county hospital bed, in a completely vegetative state.  Maybe she’ll pull out of it, there’s been no physical damage to her body.  Maybe she will be okay.  I know she won’t though.  I grabbed for the change, my hand coming back nearly empty, holding only two cents.  Fuck it, the rest was tip.  I rose, pocketed the pennies and took the last sip of the horrible coffee.  Sooner or later, I was going to get my sister back.  I was going to Hell

A long walk, a song repeated

Sharon

She's in hell because we used blood magic to keep the baddies away.

Eurydice and Orpheus


So, there you go.  It's a start.  Look for more soon.

"My happiness outweighs my hurt, and I keep coming back for more of both."

Literary Return

The biggest sin of blogging (as I've been led to believe) is to go a time without posting, then following up the return post with apologizing for not posting.  So, you can tell that slimy piece of worm-ridden filth, he'll get no such pleasure from me.

  

Thus far, it has been a long deployment.  If anyone was looking for an excuse to why it's been just shy of year since my last post being in Afghanistan is my current (read: only) excuse.  Still have plenty of time left, and as the fortunate boredom persists, ideas abound. 

A while back, I extolled the virtues of Bioshock Infinite.  Recently, about 4 years after it's initial release and a self-imposed ban on gaming (which will continue indefinitely, only broken because I was interested in the story that was to be told), I played through Bioshock 2.  Ignoring the game itself, the story drew very interesting, very poignant parallels to that of Infinite - which makes sense considering the entire plot of Infinite, but that's not why we're here today.  

The whole point is that the protagonist to most video games, to most books, to most movies, are Heroes (or Heroines) with a capital H.  They are forces of nature, they are an individual surrounded by atypical companions equally unique and special in their own right, and they are changing things on an impossibly grandiose scale.  Which is fine if you are trying to shape mythos, but not okay if that Hero is veiled under the illusion of an Jonny Everyman.  The challenge of successful story telling, at some point, becomes relatablity vs actually doing something interesting.  

Trader was fun in that his actions didn't have world changing consequences.  He still had adventures while maintaining a degree (a very small degree) of familiarity.  I still had to give him a leg up in the intelligence and luck departments, as well as the standard non-standard unique companions.  And while Trader is now AVAILABLE ON AMAZON! I still have a ways to go in figuring out the writing style that I'm striving to achieve.  

With that, I'm probably going to do a few steampunk style short stories.  The genre has always interested me, at least the cosplay aspect, and I figured I'd dabble for a bit just to try something new.  Accordingly, I've dragged my father into it with me by introducing him into that world.  It's a slippery slope, he just doesn't know it yet.

And, because of the machinations of my Editor (without whom, I would have never finished Trader) I've been introduced to so many more books that I'm thoroughly enjoying.  Particularly: The Phantom Tollbooth.  Such a fun read, so much craziness and amazing wordplay.  It's for kids, but if you can read it and not have fun, I weep for you.

There are several others that I'd like to bring up, but I'm keeping these posts short.  People hate the long ones.  

She hasn't made anything official, and she'll probably want to kill me for bringing it up, but there may be a children's book in the works about the adventures of a hedgehog named Steve.  She started it, hopefully we'll finish it.  It'll be short, for kids, and a lot of fun.  I'm looking forward to it, another in a series of new directions.

That's all for me, expect updates to be forthcoming.  Probably more coherent as well.  

"Love is just a chemical.  We give it meaning by choice." -Eleanor Lamb