We spent hot days breaking our backs working sweat soaked iron in grease stained clothing for a handful of broken dollar bills, half of which got spent the same night on cheap beer and cigarettes… if we had the energy, which was wasn’t every night, but it was most nights because if you didn’t do something, the nothing would eat you alive.

While Bruce Springsteen and John Mellencamp hoisted our flag and cried our anthem, the only real glory we found then was racing super-charged, fuel-injected suicide machines up highway 69, crossing lanes and weaving through dying towns in a desperate attempt to outrun our own lives and escape the twisted grip of a nightmare holding all of us so tight we could hardly breath.

Late at night, staring at the ceiling and alone with our demons, we secretly held onto our collective but unspoken dream that somewhere beyond the stagnant chrome and scorched rubber landscape surrounding our lives there had to be something more. None of us could see it, but we could feel it just beyond our reach, on the far side of a highway to busy to risk crossing. It had to be there, because if it wasn’t, that meant nothing but dead ends and burned-out wishes—a vast nothing so big it would swallow you whole.

When the warm beer and stale cigarettes could no longer drown out the vibrating industrial beast, we held onto the hope by turning to cartoon love stories and redheaded angels looking for shining armor, but willing to settle for rusted chassis, which was good because it was all we had to offer. We looked to them for salvation but the truth was, they were just as tired and strung out and beat down as we were, and no matter how tightly we held on to each other, we would always slip away afterwards.

On it went, never ending until the great monster reared up and swallowed one of us whole—geared teeth tearing hunks of ragged flesh from the body and vomiting out splintered bones. No matter how many sacrifices we gave it, the beast was always hungry, and there was always somebody willing to climb into its jaws. Blood and oil and sin laid out on the factory floor in a stain that won’t wash away even when it’s gone.

Posted by Johnny Rockstar at 04:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

There’s a cosmic being hovering above the earth’s atmosphere. It holds the key to eternal peace and happiness for humans, but is too shy to reveal itself and deliver the message. After centuries of war, it finally musters up the courage and comes to earth. It comes down to great fanfare and delivers a speech about how it holds the secret of happiness. At the end of the speech it reveals how it had been so shy and wished it would have come down sooner because this was easier than it thought. Upon hearing that this being could have prevented centuries of war, the humans get angry and lynch the being before it can actually reveal its secret.

Posted by Johnny Rockstar at 03:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Eugene C. Perkins: Accidental Lord of Darkness

Eugene is a lonely architect hanging on to the bottom rung of the ladder at his firm. He handles the projects that the other architects don’t want, which means most of his days are spent designing gaudy doghouses for ultra-rich animal lovers. Trapped in a lonely and meaningless life, Eugene copes by hanging on to the thought that his life can’t get any more miserable. But when he is given a ring for his birthday, that grants him the power to summon a horde of impish demons all too willing to do their new master’s bidding, whether he wants them to or not, will his life make a turn for better or worse?

Posted by Johnny Rockstar at 02:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

In the beginning there was nothing. Then one day a whole lot of something mysteriously appeared, ruining the peaceful existence that nothing had had for so long. Unfortunately for the nothing, the something didn’t stop after disrupting just a little nothing; instead the something grew and spread though more of the nothing.

However, the nothing was so huge and no matter how hard the something tried, and no matter how big the something got, it could never fill the nothing. But the nothing was nothing if not giving and the something and nothing have learned to live in near harmony. Only occasionally does the nothing get annoyed when the something becomes advanced enough to hurl smaller somethings into the nothing in order to see if there is something else on the other side of the nothing. Generally the something does find something on the other side of the nothing, but sometimes the something only finds nothing.

Let’s recap—at first there was nothing, then suddenly there something. This new something was deemed to be a universe. Since the universe is something, then even where there is nothing, there is something. So there is no longer nothing but only something. Even where there is only nothing, there is something and that something is nothing. It’s all a bit confusing, but when you have nothing, you actually have something; you have nothing.

However, that is not to say that if nothing is something, then there has always been something. Just as sometimes nothing can be something, something can be nothing. In the beginning there was something, and that something was nothing. Then in the middle of all that nothing, something mysteriously appeared, ruining the peaceful existence that nothing had had for so long. This brings us back to the beginning, which in itself, is quite something.

Posted by Johnny Rockstar at 03:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I noticed him right away through the window. He came from around the corner wearing ripped and baggy jeans far below his waistline, held tight with a green and yellow belt. His black shirt, possibly one size too small, left enough space for a perfect view of his underwear. He was the epitome of youth, a scruffy, hung-over Adonis. Under normal circumstances, he would have blended in perfectly with the other disenchanted college students who flock to coffee shops. In fact, I only remember what he was wearing because it stood out in stark contrast against what he was carrying; behind his back he was holding asmall white teddy bear and two large pink carnations, stems wrapped delicately with tissue paper. Gifts which he presented to the woman behind the counter.

There’s something comforting about watching other people express their love for one another. It’s a reminder of the good still left in this world. Unabashed, I listened to their conversation, expecting either a request for forgiveness or a happy birthday message. Instead, from what I could piece together, the gift was actually more along the lines of a thank you note for an exceptional one-night stand. Apparently, he was a true romantic.

Years ago I considered myself a hopeless romantic but at some point, I finally realized the difference between love songs and real life. A combination of age related maturity and a string of relationship ending badly reduced me to what I would call a healthy romantic. I suppose it’s only fair to say, they actually reduced me to a cynic, but out of that cynicism grew a healthy romantic.

Posted by Johnny Rockstar at 09:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (11)

There are several simple questions that can tell you a lot about a person. Which do you prefer, Elvis or the Beatles? Sure, it’s possible to like them both, but not equally. Choosing one or the other will expose part of your personality. The same goes with, dogs or cats? Personally I prefer dogs. Aside from the fact that cats are constantly judging me, they’re skittish and too fickle. Now dogs, dogs are great because, if treated right, they will love you unconditionally. They don’t judge you, they won’t ignore you and I think they have wider range of personality than cats. Dogs are excited to see you every time you come home. When I went home for Thanksgiving, Saki went ballistic when I walked inside. She could hardly control herself. Why? Because after a rocky start, we had developed a close relationship and she missed me. I may not like to admit it, but I missed her too and it felt good to see her like that. The evening that my dad came home from a few weeks away at school, Saki climbed all over him when he stretched out on the floor in front of the television. She wanted to cuddle with the master she had missed. Cats, for the most part, don’t get excited to see you. As long as there is food in their dish, they don’t care if you’re never home. I guess what it boils down to is, dogs are pack animals and cats are not. Dogs need companionship just as humans do. When was the last time you came home and your cat, or even your spouse/significant other was so excited to see you that they peed on the floor? Sure, it’s gross and messy. But nothing says I love you like an uncontrollable bladder.

Posted by Johnny Rockstar at 09:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

You know what the best part of creative writing is? The freedom. This morning I spent a few hours polishing a short piece I’ve been working on over the past couple weeks. I created a fictitious magazine called Dead Poets Weekly, invented a staff writer and sat him down with Count Guido da Montefeltro, a character in Dante’s Divine Comedy. My writer interviews The Count about his allegations that Dante broke the law when he misrepresented himself and entered Hell. As the interview progressed, the motives and actions behind The Count evolved way beyond what I had originally created. Even the concept of Hell drastically changed. Then, when it was nearly done I also invented an editor and put in a brief editors note. The editor also decided if and where brackets should be used to clarify what The Count was saying. The thing about writing a story, is that the characters, the good characters, really do take on a life of their own. I’ve been upset before when my characters did things that I didn’t want them to. But if I tried to stop them, everything would suddenly feel artificial. When I get really into something, I usually find a point where I’m no longer controlling my characters, just recording what they do. Somewhere, something deep in my head must be controlling them, but it’s not a part I can touch and that’s what I like. That freedom of tapping into my subconscious and letting my characters do what they want, that’s the best part of creative writing. That best part is also exhausting though. I think I’m going to take a nap then go for a walk. What are you going to do?

Posted by Johnny Rockstar at 01:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)