House Sitting, Day 7

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existential pizzaDay Seven of the House Sitting.

Last day. Doing the laundry one last time, getting things packed away. Spending one last night here, then headed to work tomorrow mourning, all of my things tucked into the NEKRON 7. Headed back to the Haunted Victorian afterwards.

Tonight, though, I plan on watching the newest Preacher on the AMC channel on the Dish Network setup (as opposed to waiting until Monday evening to watch it on the Amazon streaming). Only three more episodes left to this season. I hope they actually get to the point of all this. Judging by last season, though, probably not.

The existential realization of heading back to the reality tomorrow looms just above and behind me, like the realization of my own mortality. It’s more of an intangible black cloud, reminding me that, like life itself, the holiday is fleeting, a mere blip in the grand overall scope of time and space. I exist, and that existence has meaning; and yet, when compared to the vastness that is time, and the fact that time itself is speeding along faster and faster, so that to give the illusion of blinking and seeing much of my life and experience go by, a blip in the history of Everything…makes me want to just order a pizza and chill out a bit.

Mmmmm…taco pizza from Casey’s…make this a reality, when the laundry’s done and I have socks again…

::END TRANSMISSION::

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CALLING IT A YEAR, FOLKS (A Metapost)

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NecRoSarX Chronicles Header

2016-badLet’s just cut right to the chase, here: 2016 was a trying year. I’m not saying it was a bad year, per se; here we are, a bit less than two months to go, and looking back there seems to have been enough bummers to send even the most sunny smile-wearing optimist into a downward spiral of existential quandary.

Mentally picturing that last part I wrote just put a smile on my face. Excuse me for a bit while I regain my composure.

2016-good

There we go. Where were we, now? Oh, right.

I’m gonna call it a year right now, folks. I know, I know, it’s only the beginning of November. And no, I assure you it has nothing to do with any “Post-Halloween Depression”. It hasn’t been that bad this year, as a matter of fact. It’s just that, given the recent happenings in the ongoing dramady that is my life, I thought it prudent to take the rest of the year off to regroup, deal with the fallout that’s happening right now, and try and look forward to the near future. Namely, next year.

Without going into detail, there was another death in the family on Halloween night itself. As of this writing, tomorrow (November 5th) is the funeral. Then there’s the beginning of the period of the year I like to refer to as the “Holiday Clusterbomb”, which is always a stressful time, regardless of how much I try to not get involved with this superficial time of the year.

I’m just tired right now. I need to try and get things reorganized, especially with my writing, and get some kind of rhythm back on. Writing and posting on this blog, along with producing sessions of NECRO SHOCK RADIO have been my few outlets of creative joy in my life, something I haven’t been able to get back to as much as I’d like.

So, until the beginning of 2017 in a couple of months, I’m going to take the time to recoup a bit. Focus on finally finishing up the backlog of articles and reviews I’ve started but put on hold for whatever reason, then scheduling in advance for next year. Work on getting some Sessions of NSR in the can. Mind you, there will still be your periodic post here and there in the remaining weeks of 2016, mostly reviews of the new theatrical movie releases (there’s Doctor Strange, and also Rogue One with the Exalted Geeks on the docket) and the yearly OBLIGATORY YEAR END REVIEW post I try and get out on December 31st-ish. But for the time being, please excuse the proverbial radio silence from here on out.

If I’m still alive by the end of the year, I shall emerge again in 2017. Have a happy something-or-other, my wonderful freaks. And please disregard all the blood.

::END TRANSMISSION::

Sunday A’La Carte – November 23, 2014

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sesame_street_thanksgivingHere we are, the week that includes Thanksgiving. That would be November 27th, here in the States. I realize that this is called the WORLD Wide Web that we’re all surfing about on, so to any non-American readers / followers / lack of better word that doesn’t make it sound like I’m conceited and egotistical about this blog of mine, I hope you enjoy your Thursday. That also goes to all of you fellow Americans who don’t celebrate Thanksgiving for whatever reason. Here’s wishing you a nice day off. Assuming you work at a job that affords Thanksgiving off. I really should derail this train of thought before I start veering off into territory I don’t want to find myself in.

snow skullAs for me, I’ve already celebrated Thanksgiving with my families. Twice, actually. Well, the first time was the second weekend of November, and it was referred to as “pseudo-Thanksgiving”, and featured soups instead of turkey and Gramma’s Cheesy Potatoes. Eh, it was decent enough, what with getting to catch up with family I haven’t seen for a while. The second Thanksgiving gathering happened yesterday, at the nursing home one of my Grandparents was imprisoned residing at. This one was a bit more intimate, but also had the turkey, pumpkin pie and the coveted Gramma’s Cheesy Potatoes that I seem to look forward to each year, despite my growing despondency over the seasons. Speaking of which…

Black Friday is coming up! You know what that means! Yep, the annual Holiday-Induced Downward Spiral! It’s that time of year that, due to my working retail during what is deemed the later part of the so-called “Golden Quarter” in business for several years, I grow more and more disillusioned with humanity as a whole as lip service is given to JOY, GOOD WILL towards their fellow MAN, GIVING and all sorts of other empty buzz words that have been sucked hollow yet tossed about like Pez candy, yet the actions of the very same people belie the ugly truth of the matter–namely, nobody really cares. It’s a means to an end. Shiny tinsel and bobbles on a dead and rotting tree. I will share in the worship in remembrance of the birth of my Lord and Saviour, Christ Jesus, and I shall enjoy time with my family. But for me, December is probably the worst month out of the year.

And in case you were wondering: No, I’ve actually had a pretty good day today. Let’s move on to some lighter stuff, shall we?

on top of itFrom the Tempting Fate Department, this headline says it all: MICROSOFT HIRES DALEK-STYLE ROBOCOPS TO GUARD SILICON VALLEY HQ. I get the sense that, whoever decided to implement these things, maybe are the type who would read Brave New World and 1984 and think, “Hey, these are some great ideas, here!” Still, relieved they didn’t use The Terminator as a brainstorming session.

Blimey Cow is one of my subscriptions on my YouTube account, because it makes me laugh. And it has that off-beat sense of humor that seems to be missing from a bunch of youth groups I’ve helped out at over the decades. Here’s one listing the Ten Kids You Meet At Every Youth Group. Then, watch this one on How To Write A Worship Song In 5 Minutes (Or Less). Then, sit back and let the time-wasting happen.

From the different kind of irreverent awesome, over at Metal Sucks dot Net, they posted what metal lyrics would be like had they been penned by the Bard himself, William Shakespeare. The Disturbed one is spot-on.

Speaking of Metal Sucks dot Net, this past week featured a special podcast episode that featured a co-interview between Chuck and Godless of the Metal Sucks Podcast, and Matt and Toby from the Bad Christian Podcast. It’s a very honest and genuine dialogue between a couple of atheists and a couple of Christians talking matters of faith in an upfront and respectful way, something that’s sadly lacking when it comes to conversations of this sort. I dare everyone to listen to the entire thing back-to-back, and actually listen to both sides of the coin. Part one of the podcast is here, and part two is here.

And finally, here’s a post over at The Church Of No People blog that nails it as to why Sunday worship services aren’t exactly my cup of black, bitter coffee.

the crocking deadAnyway, on to the STUFF I’VE WRITTEN: Mostly reposts again, as with the coming of the Holidays comes the Mandatory Overtime that comes with it. Regardless, I managed to post some misadventure that befell me when I was 9, looked back at the time immediately following having quit smoking, and an amusing list of signs you might be an old metalhead. Then, I posted movie reviews of Survival Of The Dead, Terminator: Salvation, Terror Toons, Thank You For Smoking, Ticks, 2001’s The Time Machine, and the Troma classic The Toxic Avenger. And as for music reviews, I have some for Goredeath here, one for Grace For The Fallen here, one for Grave Forsaken here, two for Grave Robber here and here, one for Graveyard Bats here, one for Grim here, one for GROMS here, one for Gryp here, six for Guardian here, here, here, here, here aaaaaaand here, two for Haven here and here, one for Head here, one for Heaven’s Rage here, and two for Holy Blood here and here.

bapticostalSo, that’s all for this week. And since, as I mentioned above, Thanksgiving happens this coming Thursday, I’m going to share a yearly tradition that I’ve been doing since taking part in it at the radio station in college back in 1994. Namely, the playing, in its entirety, of the song “Alice’s Restaurant”. I really don’t have anything planned, as I’ve already did Thanksgiving, so I’ll probably use that time to catch up on my writing. Meanwile, I have to get up at 5:30 on the morrow to take care of two hours of mandatory overtime at work. Yippy. Cheers, my wonderful freaks.

::END TRANSMISSION::

Wilber The Fly (Based On A True Story)

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Wilber The Fly (Based On A True Story)Drawing a blank.  The cackles of the slovenly white trash annoys what semblance of coherency I’ve managed to hold on to this late morning.  Loud, southern-tinged idiocy with a vocal lilt that graces my ears with all the subtlety of a cheese grater on tender flesh.  Morbidly obese females with bodies sculpted to resemble bloated toads, with facial complications complementing the metaphorical comparison. Male companions who’ve yet to conceive of the grand concept of personal hygiene, or shirts with sleeves for that matter.  No doubt captivated by bright shiny things zipping around a racetrack, speech consisting of a system of grunts and two-syllable words. White trash at its finest.  Sadly, perhaps considered mental giants to their brood.

As I light another in a long line of nicotine-laced goodness, I am reminded of why I frequent this place. Here, I am a god among the insects.  Only actual insects are less annoying…

Having my fill of these primitive screw-heads, I turn to the only other patron that fascinates my human spectating doldrums.  Wilber the fly buzzes around the glass of citrusy carbonated concoction in lazy arcs, content with his airborne synchronicity.

“What say you, fly?  Has life been fulfilling for you?”

Wilber lands on the edge of a long-emptied water glass. “Life is meaningless,” he says to me, as his proboscis probes the rim.

I consider his words for a minute.  “Are all flies as nihilistic as you are” I ask him.

“No,” he says, still exploring the edge of the glass.  “Make no mistake.  I am not a nihilist, at least not in the traditional sense.  I happen to be more of an existentialist.”

An existential fly.  Fascinating.  As I consider the possibility, Wilber continues his discourse.

“I fly around after spending months as a larvae.  I seek food, fly around some more, and if I’m lucky enough to not be snacked on by something higher up on the food chain, or squashed by one of your kind, I mate, I reproduce, and then I die.”  He takes off, buzzing around my litter of books and such on the table.  “Three to eight days, tops.  And then I die.”

“Seems a bit meaningless to me, really,” I muse out loud, lighting up another cigarette.  The couple sitting at an adjoining table are shooting me incredulous side glances.  I pay them no heed.

“It’s not like I have a lot of time to wallow around in self-pitty about my lot in life.”

“But, what’s your purpose?  What’s the point of your existence?”

Wilber sighs.  He then lands on my arm.  I make no move to brush him off.  “Now who’s the existentialist?” he asks.

“I just see no reason for your existence.”

“Now I need a reason to exist?  As God’s greatest creation, you’re coming off as completely dense.”

So you believe in God?”

“Who else but He would create something as pointless as a common housefly, and give no explanation as to the purpose of creating me?  I buzz around, I annoy a few people, and I die.  The punchline, my caffeine-enriched friend, is that my purpose, my grand contribution to society,is to buzz around, annoy a few people, and die.” He takes off and buzzes around my head.  He certainly is proving his point.

I take a drag from my cancer stick, and exhale a satisfactory plume of smoke.  “So, life is merely a joke.”

“On a certain level, yes.  Although, I must admit, I do have it better than the mayflies. They live only a couple of hours.  No mouths or stomachs, you see.  They emerge from their larval state, mate, then die. All in the course of an afternoon.  You want to argue pointless existence, there you go.”

“Again, I fail to see the point.”

Wilber lets off an exasperated sigh.  “Then, you never will,” he says, before flying away to other exploits.

I light another cigarette, and take a long pull from my glass of replenished soda.

::END TRANSMISSION::