Dried Grass to you all.

This is the fifth of my weekly(ish) e-mails which I send out to those lucky (nay foolish!) people whose e-mail addresses I have happened across. Admittedly the last one was sent out on January 8th... Anyway, some of you are new so you won't actually know what's going on with the story but that's okay 'cos neither do I ^_^.

Before I get to said story, here's a dream I had in the wee hours of February 26th: You can find it on the dreams page in the freaks webshite (wow! an actual dream!), but 'cos some of you might be too lazy to go there I've included it here.

~

It's a warm autumn afternoon, after school, and I'm late for my bus. I get to the top of the hill just in time to see it pulling away. All the rest are gone as well, except for a blue and yellow double-decker. I run down the hill and beat my fists upon the doors for the driver to open them. He does. I get on and ask whether this bus goes home. It does. I walk towards the back of the bus. A girl gets up and lets me sit next to the window.

I jolt awake as the bus lurches round a corner. I'd fallen asleep. The bus is still full and it's gotten lighter outside. I notice my arm is numb and look down. The girl has fallen asleep as well and has rested her head against my right shoulder. I try to see her face but her hair has fallen across it and so I cannot. I look around the rest of the bus and don't recognise anyone. No. Two people, who are sitting a few rows in front of me. I know them. Yet they seem to be so much further away. They're looking at me and are talking and smiling. I can't hear their words but I'm sure they're talking about me. About the girl. I try to see the girl's face but again cannot.

Everyone has gotten off the bus except for me and the girl. I haven't recognised any of the stops and she's still asleep. The bus stops in a place I recognise. The bus driver, much older now, turns and tells me that this is the last stop. I try to wake the girl but cannot. I get off the bus, carrying the girl in my arms. Her face is still hidden but I'm sure I know where she lives. So I try to carry her home. After walking through streets I recognise, but which turn into ones I don't, I realise I'm lost. So I decide to ask the girl's father the way home.

It's night. I'm in the middle of a battle on the edge of a war. Men are being killed all around me. Shards of skull and fragments of brain shower me yet don't touch me. I walk forwards and the girl's father appears. He is lit from behind by a white light, and appears to be in charge. He glows from within. I ask him the way home. He's shot in the back of the head and his face explodes towards me. Reality shifts and melts. I look down and finally see the girl's face. She's woken up. She's beautiful. She's smiling at me. She's shot in the back of the head and her face is gone.

~

The people in the dream (the girl and the two people in front of me) were actually people I know in real life, but I don't want to say who here 'cos that just makes it more fucked up ^_-. Assuming any of you don't explode (and therefore give a shit) talk to me and I'll probably tell you who's who.

Anyway, that pretty much sums up the kind of dreams I've been having lately, specifically the huge amounts of gore which I've noticed becoming much more detailed. I should probably stop with the reading of Preacher just before I go to bed...

So now I guess I better get on to...


Caleb and the Pixie Slaying Jelly Babies - Part 4
A Mega Sad Digression by Caleb Newcastle

So Caleb's on a quest to kill all the evil pixies. Which is just fine and dandy. However, all good stories need those parts where the main character does something boring and talks. Build up the tension or some junk like that. So.

Caleb put his leg up on the chair and rubbed it vigorously with his towel. He reached over to the sink and took his comb off the side. Carefully, he began to comb his leg hair, gently unknotting the knots and making it all flow in the same direction.
    "What ya doing boss?" asked Jeremy.
    "Combing my bloody leg hair, what does it look like?!"
    "Okay. Well, anyway boss, the golems have delivered their report."
    "And?"
    "It seems the Pixies have decided that Leon is the shittiest film of all time and they've ordered all copies of it to be destroyed."
    "What?!" Queried the Caleb. "That is an outrage!"
    "Quite, boss."
    "Get Natalie in here will you?"
    "Sure thing boss. Hey, Nat! Boss wants to see you!"
    "What is it Caleb?"
    "Did you hear about what the Pixies are planning to do?"
    "Indeedio."
    "Well, what do you think we're gonna do about it?"
    "The same thing we do every night?"
    "Well, yes, but before that we're going to... Take Over The World!"
    "Sweet."
    With this Caleb pulled on his blue-jeans and black t-shirt. Jumped into his eternally-scuffed boots. Slipped on his dark grey shirt. And filled his pockets with matches. "We're ready Jeremy, Nat. Let's go Take Over The World!"

So Caleb (played by Caleb), Jeremy (played by the raven / crow dude from Sandman) and Nat (played by Natalie Portman [yay!]) are now on their way to do battle with the pixies. This is it. I was gonna build up to the final showdown type thang over many weeks, but I really can't be arsed. In fact I'll probably be ending it next week. This is so bad...

To be concluded...


So that's that. Damn I had high hopes for that story. Ah well, at least I've now learnt my limitations. Fucked up short stories good at I may be. But not these long @$$ed things. So fuck 'em. Fuck 'em all!

Smeg, we're back at school in a couple of days. You bunch of grass sniffers done your homework? I don't actually care, but... um...

Rees has got the idea of these weekly e-mails down far better than me. He actually says stuff which the people he sends it to probably actually give a shit about. Probably.

So I'm not gonna do that. This is my way of saying dried grass. And, so help me ghod, I'm gonna keep doin' it till the cows come home. And the fat lady sings.

Crazed 'n' dazed 'n' confuzed,
Caleb

PS - Here are some kewl quotes from Warren Ellis, the super-scribe of Transmetropolitan:

- "Remember; it is only the editors who claim to be overworked and underpaid. Everyone else knows they get paid just fine and do as little work as possible. They also drown kittens and grind schoolchildren up to make bread."

- "Do not feed the editors. Do not allow editors to leave the house without a leash. Do not allow editors to foul the footpaths. And do not, DO NOT, allow the editors to think for themselves. It will become a habit, and that is not a good thing.
It's like this; If they rewrite you, hit 'em. If they ignore you, hit 'em. And if they use their own bizarre and dubious "tastes" as a guideline to hiring on ancillary creators, kick the living crap out of them. Roll up your sleeves, slip on the brass knuckles, wade in there and TELL 'em who they'll be hiring.
By all means, allow editors to make suggestions and provide samples for creators they favour. It makes them feel useful, and wanted. Sometimes, you may even agree with them, but do not do it enthusiastically. The editor will then start getting ideas, and this is bad.
Treat your editor like an appendix. If it starts giving you shit, have it removed with knives. Words to live by.
Beat your artists regularly, too. It's all for the best. Trust me.
(SPECIAL NOTE; the above is nothing I have not already said to editors, often to their faces. And I'm still in work. Try it. You'll like it.)"

- "I'd also say that, for as many wonderful, intelligent, creative and skilled artists as there are out there, there are also an equal number of inbred hillbilly mutations with brains like chickens on speed, the ethics of a eel, and all the creative firepower of a vintage car engine filled to the brim with stale dog's urine."

Admittedly they all kinda have to do with the publishing field but they're still kewl just for the way they're written. If you want more of this kewlness go check out www.warrenellis.com. He is my favourite writer at the moment. And ask me if you wanna borrow what I've got of his work. Later.