it moves

This should not be happening. This was ridiculous. This was insane. I seethed. I raged. I could feel my fingernails digging deep creases into the palms of my hand as my fists clenched and unclenched at my sides. His face warm and convivial, hands folded earnestly, my monster sat across the table from me. Not that anyone called him that anymore.

Of all the indignities, that was the worst. I had such high hopes. They would call it Schrader's Monster! And then just a Schrader until some pedant would remind them that that was just the name of professor who made him, not the monster itself, blah blah blah. But now... It was unfathomable what they called him. It was unbearable. It was intolerable. It was oppressive. They called him Darrin.

And now he sat before me and tried to smile sympathetically. It was a gruesome sight - I'd cobbled together his misshapen jaw from an unmatching top and bottom. The resulting underbite should have been a prominent characterization in legends, myths, and Sci-Fi channel movies for years to come. Instead he was kind of meekly self-conscious about it. He steepled his fingers and cleared his throat.

"Father." It was cute at first, and I had let it slide. Now it made me mad. Well, angry. You know what I mean. Anyway. He continued, "I've been meaning to have this conversation with you. I think it'd be a lot more conducive to my development as an individual if I moved out of the castle."

I was livid. I boiled. I erupted. "This is your home! This is where you were made! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a castle in New Jersey? How will I look, here in my castle, without a monster or anything!"

"Dad!" He looked hurt. It was pathetic. It was feeble. It was wretched. "I've requested many times that you not call me that anymore. It's detrimental to my construction of a healthy self-image!"

This is how he talks to me! Whatever happened to "fire bad!"? I wasn't going to stand for it. "This is not up for discussion, Darrin." I spat as much venom as I could into the name. "Here is where you shall stay, and you are not going to read any more of those absurd books! And we are going to drive this filthy hamlet into a pitchfork-and-torches hysteria whether you like it or not!"

He sighed and rose from his chair, his grotesque, hairless head nearly touching the ceiling. "Alright. I tried. If you'd noticed I'd been packing my stuff for the last two days, you would have realized that I hadn't asked to have a conversation with you today because I sought your permission." He turned and walked out, closing the heavy palisade behind him as he left.

I was crestfallen. I was dejected. I was crushed. He'd pay for this. They'd all pay!

clean, renewable power

Terry glared at me from behind thick frames, his beady eyes magnified into normal size by what must have been a near-legendary prescription. I hadn't exactly expected him to be thrilled to see me, but I'd hoped for at least a smirk. As it was, I couldn't even say for sure if the glimmer behind his steely glare was a spark of recognition, or if I was a total stranger to him now. Or worse, a non-person, exorcised from the realm of people he would ever have to consider again. After all, I was the first one to leave the fold. To pursue a life outside the laboratory. Away from the white coats, the formulas, and the long stretches of hours hunched over diagrams spanning six tables pulled together. I looked away.

The atmosphere probably wasn't going to improve, so I just waded right in.

"Hey, Terry." I mumbled. "Good job with the matter-integrator thing. I heard the UN considers you a national-level threat."

"Yeah." He frowned. "Well, they're a bunch of pussies."

"This is my fiancée, Laura." I gestured vaguely at the area beside me, which surprised me by being entirely empty.

She had apparently been hiding behind me up to this point, but seized it upon herself now to step forward and try to ease the tension a bit. Laura was better at these things than I was. She shook his hand warmly.


"So you're the mad scientist Tim used to run around with, huh? I really like your place. It's very uh, bright. Very modern."

The foyer, if you could call it that, went far beyond bright and modern. Every surface was jet-black, spotless, and polished to a shine. The lighting, all bare and fluorescent, was somewhere between dazzling and oppressive. But Terry seemed to loosen a little anyway. That was one of Laura's specialties. If she gave you a compliment, you believed it. They just sounded sincere.

He shifted a bit. "Yeah. Well, I designed this whole place myself. The whole facility. It runs on its own power, an engine that converts my own self-loathing into electricity."


"That's... wow. That's totally incredible. That's brilliant, Terry."

The hallway dimmed. Terry's expression went cold again. "There are some limitations. It's a work in progress." He spun on his heel and motioned for us to follow as he opened a door to go deeper into the complex. The lights slowly flared up even beyond their original brightness as we fell in step behind him.

return of another beloved feature

"I've worked enough in marketing to know that everyone breaks at some point, that no one needs anything outside food, air, water, and shelter, and that our whole lives are corporation-conducted symphonies. The only way for this to end is for the president of Coca-Cola to stand up before the world and announce that everyone should just start drinking water."

I look forward to this day too, Tim.

pretty sure I washed it twice this morning

Dear human condition,

What the hell, man? I don't mean to overstep my bounds, but I think you really dropped the ball here. Of all the different things that could have encapsulated the emotional baseline of our species, you chose some pretty rough stuff: loss, malaise, the ever-present feeling of want for things you can't have, etc. Why couldn't the human condition have been something a bit tamer, like "that feeling you get when you're taking a shower, and you aren't sure if you washed your hair so say aw hell and just wash it but you still kinda think you might have just washed it twice"? I think that would have been a whole lot less unpleasant for a lot of folks.

You know, it's not too late to change your image, man. Give it a thought, yeah? Lemme know what you think.

Regards,
S.

Mysteries abound

Going to Pennsic this year. Not very sure why! Right now I think primarily it is sort of a fitness goal. Also I may do the Dungus House, which is a stupid idea that may have the benefit of keeping me entertained.

What I'm trying to say is,

the events in my life feel like a big deal to me. I'm more than happy to grant you the same leeway.

Say no more

I need to learn (another) instrument so I can write catchy songs with powerful lyrics! I was listening to Black by Okkervil River (thanks, Pat) over and over (and over) again, and that is what I felt! But I am kind of concerned that my life is sort of a cushy, uneventful joke. Now, I don't feel that way - from my perspective, every third day is a goddamn struggle against my own molehills-made-mountains. Now, does "powerful" necessarily mean "personal?" I'm thinking it probably does! So that's why I need to be able to do it on my own. Maybe my mom will teach me piano! This is a very weird post, it is not my writing voice!