Roots.

They say when you feel yourself drifting too far, taking on too much you only need to remember, where you started. I couldn't figure out how, but in an early morning fit of grasping at the last straws of my muse, I found an old gem. A composer who used to be a distant friend of mind back before I even went to High school. To me music is by far the most powerful thing on earth. It reminds me of everything, specifically these songs reminded me of why I started writing. It takes me back before I wanted to change the world, before I even knew what the world was. It took back before my first love, first break-up, before this feeling of bitterness ever brisked my heart. All I wanted then was to express these intricate stories and worlds bouncing around in my head. I just recently found an escape in writing, and words. Experiencing for the first time the entrancing grip an author can have on his reader through Eric Nylund. I stumbled into being a writer, it chose me. Then I started to write, always to the entrancing melodies created by Justin Durban. All I wanted then was to help others feel what those two helped me feel. I've grown and been through a lot since then, sometimes I feel too much, but through all the hardships I have become a stronger man; a better man. I think Tanta would be proud.

I owe eternal gratitude to the people I have in my life, I am truly blessed with great friends and family. You guys are the thing that drives me the hardest, and I won't let you down.

Defining an Era.

What do we have that defines us as an era? Civilizations are judged based on their art, in the past ten years we've gained an amazing way to share anything with anyone around the world. The stage is bigger than ever before yet I feel like it has never been emptier. I feel like we lack a rallying cry for change, we all have opinions but what we are lacking is expression. Something that changes the landscape of how we see things. Challenging philosophy, religion, morality,society. It feels like people are too busy to survive than to stop and feel. We live in a society where feeling has been deemed irrational. How do I change it?

Death.

The life of a writer is often a lonely one. No one quite understands where your mind wonders or why. It's hard to tell others, because the ideas that go through your head are quiet often grandiose and frankly insane. The ones you want to listen are the ones who shy away, and the ones who are open are the ones your not sure you want to tell. My mind wanders and broods today, and I came to a crossroad in my story telling that I'm not sure if I want to explore. The character in my adventure story that I tease here is a part of me, the young minded boy who wants nothing more than to achieve his dream. He takes the steps necessary to achieve that dream and is taken in a direction he didn't foresee. Through him I take upon my biggest challenge: stay the course, strive, achieve, in the face of scrutiny and personal guilt. I may want to give him more than that, to tackle my biggest fear, death. I am desperately afraid of dying, to fizzle out before I'm able to accomplish the things I want to. The anxiety of sands running through the neck; unseen through the opaque exterior of our hourglass. Would I kill this portrayal of myself? All the things I have had planned for him, the grand journey. People would never experience it, nor would they know what they are missing. Such is the fashion of death. I always frowned upon resurrection in stories. There is no coming back from death. It's permanent, if the reader doesn't fear death, there is no consequence for the characters. Any sense of adventure becomes null. Some resurrections are tasteful; like Harry's in "The Deathly Hallows". They way it was handled didn't cheapen mortality but instead gave it more purpose. Just like actual life, we'll see it where this story takes me.

Love.

Love can never be fully defined. Sometimes you just meet a person and they take your breath away, and no matter how much you try that feeling never goes away. It's sickening and maddening. Your reason tells you that's there is no chance, that love is a chemical reaction in the brain, that if by some off chance that maybe, they would even listen to the stammering words that come out of your mouth; and not think your crazy, who says that they won't hurt you. Won't decimate your heart like the rest. Who says that you even deserve to call it love; the most fragile of all words, yet the most empowering? You do. Love is irrational. Love is what you make it.

The (Odd)ssey

I'm often asked the question, if I believe in God, or any god. I often ask myself what I believe in, if it can be categorized at all. Buddhism,Confucianism, or any other ism. I've come to the conclusion I don't like being told what to believe or how to believe it. So far, what I've learned by myself is, there are things that are unexplained, things that can just be chalked up as “what are the odds?”, and things where you just can't help but call a friend and say “You're never going to believe this!” and then there are moments where you sit back and you can't say anything at all, your in awe. Your not sure what happened, how it happened, or why. You just know it did. You rarely tell anyone, you just know that it was something. Today I had a “You're never going to believe this!”. And after this incident no matter how shmaltzy or overdone something looks in a movie, or reads in a book, I'm giving that writer the benefit of the doubt. Being the long winded man that I am, I'll tell you the long version of the story.

It was the day after Thanksgiving and as much as I love my family, I can't be around all of their “unique” personality quirks for too long. For those of you who don't know; the Zabinski/Thompson/ Bishop clan consists of my brother, sister, mother, grandmother, Buddy the cat, and Bella the “dog”, and my six foot-four, two hundred and fifty pound self. Now imagine all of us sardined into a one bedroom apartment. So to combat my cabin fever I talked my brother into coming with me to drop off the library books (that they never read) and to maybe sit down with him to figure out a way to get him into any kind of literature. Little did I know, the city of West Allis apparently observes Black Friday as a holiday and was closed. Since I didn't feel like going back we took a tour of the downtown shops, seeing if we could find a book store where I could accomplish the aforementioned task.

We stopped at a little shop that, frankly had one too many gun magazines, posters, and paraphernalia for my comfort. The cherry on top was a “We don't call the police.” wooden sign, complete with a hand carved revolver. Oh, and the science fiction was next to the adult section. “Ender's Game” was three inches from a Playboy that featured ex-WWE wrestler Chyna on the cover. Social profiling! I was also disheartened by the best sellers rack: does anybody read anything that doesn't have to do with Vampires? I guess I should be happy people are reading at all. Anyways, I asked the lady at the counter if she had John Steakely's “Armor.” I've been having problems finding that particular book off my reading list. She told me check out this half price books and records store a few blocks down, she also warned me it was a bit “cluttered'. The look on her face when she said “cluttered” should have been a red flag. Her lack of hesitation or any other kind of warning gesture was comforting, so I avoided the obnoxiously loud man on the phone, talking about how he's “gunna make Jimmie's fight look like a kiddie fight if he doesn't shut his damned mouth .” and was on my way.

No words of warning would have prepared me for what I was about to walk into, admittedly none of those words would have kept my stubborn self away anyways. The first thing we see before we even get into this place, is a man staring us down as we approach the door. He had that odd look certain people exude, the “I probably shouldn’t leave any valuables, and/or small children unattended.” type of vibe. He looked like a chimney sweep from Mary Poppins, except he didn't do any kind of song or dance, he just blocked the door. We assumed they weren’t open yet because the lady on the other side of the door just stared at us blankly. We started to walk away and the chimney sweep yelled “She's open!” and opened the door a lot like he was possibly a bellhop before his current occupation of unsettling guy in front of the not yet known to us even more unsettling store. So Zach and I literally squeeze past this guy and the blank expression lady. Only to have her flag us down.

“Leave your bags at the counter.” Me, being the sensible man that I am, looked for some sort of desk or table. If there was one it was very possibly covered by a guesstimate of eight hundred books.

“Where?” I asked.

“Oh, just leave them here.” she said sweetly. So we did. We finally departed the entrance way 'o' books and stumble into the “store” if you can even call it that. I did some neandering as I usually do, letting my ADD get the best of me. Until I noticed there is no rhyme nor reason to the organization: the VHS version of “Uncle Buck, was bungee corded to a bookcase housing a couple dozen vinyl records, which was also happened to reside next to a stack of Stephen King novels (and books written under his Richard Bachman alias that I thought was pretty neat.) I fought it hard not to be cliche and do the whole “this place is strait out of one of these” joke, but alas I couldn't resist. Ok, I thought. This can't be as bad as it looks, there has to be some catalog, or system I'm missing.

“Excuse me, how would I go about finding a particular book?”

“You'll just have to look.” She answeres. I gave her my blank, single-blink “are you joking?” face, it was the least rude thing I probably could have responded with at that point.

“It's a science fiction book.” I tried to clarify.

“There are some books there, there, behind me and over there.” I would like to say she gestured but she really didn't. It was then I got a decent look at her. Her body was small and boxy, she wore her hair like she was the bride of Frankenstein; minus the hairspray, and her wardrobe was mix between gypsy nomad, and a seventies burnout. She was definitely to old too be a hippie, so the only logical conclusion my brain could fathom was she was indeed the pioneer of acid.

“Uhmm, Ok, Thank you.” I replied. She smiled at me with missing teeth, her eyes peering through her rose tinted glasses, as I partook on my wild treasure hunt. I found my brother playing with a giant stuffed dog and pony; that happened to be right in between a slew of random fiction novels, and by slew I mean stacked a few rows back and meeting me at eye level. Leave it to my brother to find the most non-book related thing to do. Until of course the horse started randomly playing music. Needless to say we left that corner fairly quick. Something else that was weird during our excursion was that we kept passing the front end, wandering through the vast clutter of the store, and there was an ever cycling single dirty magazine that kept changing as we walked by. Not Playboys either. Hardcore, full frontal, bondage, all of the above; a different one every time we walked by that same same spot. My brother couldn't help but mention the revolving door of porno, and I couldn't help but quietly laugh my ass off. We quickly realized we weren’t going to find what we where looking for when the proposed sections to search where all three books deep, where blocked by heaps of text on the floor, garbage bags full of stuffed animals, random artifacts of clothing, and step ladders. We did find some interesting books tho, she had an immense collection of Isaac Asimov, and most of the “Dune” series. I took a quick video of one of the rooms, which was probably the most organized of them all. I honestly wish I could rent that place out and film something, anything. The longer you spent in that place, the more unsettling it became.

So we decided to leave, finding nothing we wanted at that moment. We where leaving empty handed, and had slung out backpacks; ready to walk out. The storekeeper was having none of that. She proceeded to try and sell me something, her body language showed she was nervous. I felt bad, I really wish I had the money to take a few books off hee hands. But, then she brought out the big guns.

“Are you into adult magazines?” she prodded. I didn't responded. Zach let out his signature laugh-scoff

“I got adult movies too.” I began to say no thank you, but she kept insisting, and she was blocking the door. So I obliged. She pointed at the flimsy plastic file cabinet. I went to grabbed the top drawer and it was definitely stuck.

“Just tug it real hard.” I saw the cabinet sway from just my light pull. Just what I would need, a hundred dirty movies falling all over causing a catastrophic tidal wave through out the store. So I smartened up and yanked a different drawer. To the comedic delight of my little brother, it was titled something to the effect of “Takin' It to Brown Town!” or “No Place like Brown Town!”. Either way I shut the drawer and expressed my gratitude for her hospitality, until she gave us enough to wiggle past her and out the door. Fresh air blasted our nostrils clearing it of the overwhelming sandstorm of dust that we kicked up during our needle hunt. We laughed and commented freely on our way back home. It was the most ridiculous moment that I've had the privilege(?) of experiencing the past year. But, as outlandish as it was I really wish I could have helped out the poor lady, burnout or not. It would take the better part of the decade for any system of organization to be developed, and I'm sure anyone with the slightest of allergies would be at a major health risk. It's just oddly inspiring that amidst the likes of Barnes and Noble, Amazon, and the advent of E-readers that she's can even stay open, although I don't know for how long.

Truth is at the end of the day, the thing that I believe most, is people will never cease to amaze me. Our intricacies, our flaws, our accomplishments. How we can take things to new heights, innovate, conceptualize, or we can be destructive, selfish, and malign. Humans are as unique and breath taking as anything you'll see in the most exotic of places. You just have to open your eyes.

Hiatus

So I haven't posted any blogs in a few months. Life just has that ability to test how committed you are to your dreams. Turns out I was a lot less committed than I thought. Life also it seems to like having everything fall apart just as soon as you have it figured out. As much as I strive for comfort, it seems to elude me. I would love just a room somewhere, a room with a desk, where I can sit there and write. Do what not only what I do best, but the only thing I can do right now. The thing about me is I'm obsessive. This sickening feeling I get in my stomach when in not making progress. I'n not content working a dead end job, I need to have that visible improvement. I'm twenty-two years old, I see people living their dreams everyday. They don't listen to everyone telling them that it's not probable, that for everyone that succeeds there is a hundred that fail. I have the focus, the desire. I just need to find a way, a way to clear my head. A way to get my head around being virtually homeless. Even when I have a place to stay; it's been a long while since I had a place I can call home. I'm done venting for now. Time to step up and find some inspiration somewhere, anywhere.

Weekly Short 1: The Storm

This is the first entry in my weekly blog fiction shorts. This is for me to get feedback on my writing; and to get more noticed as a fiction author. It would be greatly appreciated if you would either leave a message on here using your Google account; or let me know what you think on Twitter! Every little bit helps, and as always thank you for reading.

                                                                                                                            

Part 1: Not So Calm

Stress? Fuck stress. My girlfriend, who I don't even like; says she late. I wrapped up, she's on the pill and she's late? Either there's a higher power that hates me, or I spurt some kind of super seed. I don't have a job to support myself; much less support a kid. I don't even have family to help out. I'm fucked. Yeah, that's what got me into this mess.

“Ben you good bro?”

Bill caught a glimpse of Ben who was staring out the window of the car as it drove on the freeway; watching the radiant pink and orange fading into the dark of the night; while his mind writhed with tension.

“Yeah man, I'm great.”

“Alright, you just look really out of it today.”

“I'm just tired. Working on music all night will do that to ya.”

In reality Ben spent all night staring at a half finished resume wondering what the hell he's doing with his life. He contemplated everything from quitting his job and playing on the street corner for cash, to saying fuck his dreams and working full time somewhere he hates just for the money. His newest line of thought was quickly interrupted by Chris calling from the driver's seat.

“Which reminds me when are you gunna have that piece for my cousin done?”

Shit, I forgot about that. Should have had that done weeks ago. The guy's offering me money to advertise his movie and all I can do is sit back and grovel. I'll do it tonight.

“I'll have it done by the end of the week.”

“Alright, he's pretty excited, he talks about it every time I see him. He thinks you have real talent Benny.”

Chris was one of his longtime friends and one of the only people who he could bear calling him “Benny” It reminded him of high school when his teacher though it was clever to call him and his friends “Benny and the jets”.

“Yeah I know, I'm just a little swamped right now.”

Swamped, Yeah. I wish I never had to sleep. I could get so much more done. I don't honestly even have that much on my plate. It's just that It's so hard to get everything done with everything going on in my fucking head. I just need a place to rest a place to...

“Holy shit, did you see that?”

Charlie had been quiet most of the night, he had just gotten back from his first tour in Iraq and was feeling a little awkward. The car began driving through a half tunnel; the driver side was held up by pillars so Ben could continue his gaze at the setting sun. They only one to seem excited was Bill, who happened to be photographer and loved to catch things on camera.

“What?”

“There was like a bunch of orange flashing going on to the east of us behind those buildings.”

The car pulled through the tunnel and out of curiosity everyone shuffled around to check what Charlie had caught a glimpse of; the clouds where setting in from the west. hovering in frenzied, and malevolent. The stratosphere twisted and contorted struggling to keep back the setting suns golden rays. The struggle seemed to cease, the human eye struggling to see the black bending on itself. The split second calm was interrupted by flashing streaks running through the clouds; startling wicked veins of gold, their reaching tendrils expanding across the sky. Charlie interrupted the moment of awe leaning over to Chris.

“Are we going that way?”

“Nope”

Charlie nodded his head with a smirk. “Good.”

Bill grabbed his cell phone and started taking as many pictures as he could.

“Dude, this is some Thor god of thunder shit right here, I wish I had my fuckin' camera.”

Ben watched intently; the display of power was inspirational; lyrics seemed to form instantly in his mind. Everyone else joked on as Chris turned up the music and sped up to reach the theater in time for the previews; it was generally agreed those where the best part of every movie.

                                                                                                                               

Part 2: Fire from the sky

Man, Scarlett Johansson is the hottest girl to ever walk the earth. I wish my girlfriend would kicking my ass, throw me on the hood of a moving car; only to straddle me as the driver freaks out.

“Aww c'mon!”

The lights dimmed, flickered and went dark, along with the screen. Only once the roar of the sound system died did they hear the intense hail beating on the theater's rooftop. Chris was clearly displeased.

“Really? My Fuckin' Car is out there.”

“Well there's no use staying squashed, there's not even any air conditioning. Let's head to the lobby.”

They boy's collectively grabbed their soda's and marched down to the lobby, along with the majority of spectators. The sounds coming from outside where ferocious; thunder rattled away as if angels had been waging war with automatic weapons. They entered the lobby with the already growing mob of the theater's customers. The manager mentioned that everyone who had their ticket stubs would get free admission upon their next visit. Bill felt around his pockets.

“God Damn it, I always throw those out. Who keeps those things?”

Ben held his up while taking a sip of ultra sized soda, and the other two had theirs as well.

“Fuck you guys.”

Thunder rattled the glass doors lining the front of the theater. Painting a grim picture; rain was gathering on the ground faster than it could drain. The hail bounced off the pavement, and chinked off the cars in the parking lot. Chris' anger swelled as he yelled obscenities, until Bill tried to calm him down.

“You wanna make a run for it?”

Charlie and Ben quickly voiced their disdain for the idea.

“Definitely not, do you see how bad it is out there? It's like Armageddon came six months early!”

“He isn't kidding it's bonkers out there.”

Chris retaliated for idea he now clearly supported.

“Then you guys can fucking walk, I don't want to sit here anymore. We'll go to my place and wait it out.”

God, he can be such a dick when his precious car is involved.

“Alright I guess.”

Charlie just sighed.

Chris counted and lead the way, Ben brought up the rear and they sprinted to the car, until Ben slipped face-first onto the pavement. Taking a moment to pick himself up; he heard the full wrath of nature, no longer muted by the sanctuary of the theater. He took a moment to listen as the hail and rain fell upon his head. Charlie came back to help him up extending his hand for support. Ben saw the hairs standing straight up on his arm, and quickly looked Charlie in the eyes. By the look on his face; he seemed to have noticed as well. Ben thought ears where buzzing from the fall but it amplified exponentially as he came to a knee. The pole beside them began to radiate a dull blue light that flickered like a dancing flame. Ben's focused shifted to Chris and Bill, who had reached already the car. Bill was in the passenger seat while Chris held the door open yelling for them to move their ass. If the pole was a flame, the car was an inferno.

“Chris!”

Ben and Charlie yelled, but it was too late. The buzzing snapped in their ears and became an explosion; as a giant blazing arc came from the sky and struck Chris's car in a blinding flash. Sparks fell to the ground and the impact shook the car, and sent Chris tumbling through the pavement. Charlie took off full sprint towards Chris; whose body thrashed and yawed. Ben was frozen in place, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He saw Bill stumble out of the car door, crawling with his forearms through the river forming at the base of the car. Ben still sat on one knee, observing as always; noticing the smoke against the black sky, hearing the faint sound of sirens being drowned by the bass of explosive thunder. He stood and walked in shock towards his friends, the road came into view. Cars lay dead in the street, raging fires and the spinning lights of emergency vehicles overwhelmed his retina. His zombie state was interrupted by Bills hand grabbing at his pant leg with one hand and grasping one of his bleeding ears in the other. Only then did he hear Charlie's shouts; standing over a calmed Chris. There was a fire in his eyes, his training kicked in, and it rested on his shoulders whether they would perish or survive.

Ben picked up Bill by his waste and helped him for a couple steps as they began their rush back to the theater. Ben watched as Charlie hefted Chris over his shoulders, and began jogging towards the door, something straight out of a Saving Private Ryan. Bill stumbled after and once again Ben brought up the rear, and once again he stopped. He felt it against will; his muscles tightening; his heart constricting. He looked past the theater. Strikes three times the size of the one that hit his friends. They followed in succession, causing explosions, and havoc in their wake. It was inevitable. It was going to hit the theater. There was no quarry in which to run. The hair stood up on his arms. He felt the pressure well up in his head and his eardrums began to reverberate. The blue flames enveloped everything around him, the light poles, the cars, the theater. He was wrong before. This was an inferno. His blood began to boil and then, there was a flash.