Tuesday, August 31, 2004

I have no recollection of writing last night's post. I was definitely drunk, but I didn't think I was that drunk, and certainly not drunk enough to produce what in retrospect look like some pretty good sentences.

On an unrelated note, I am possibly more aware of the implications of personal responsibility than I ever have been. It is a debilitating feeling.

Monday, August 30, 2004

Another late hour, the skull swims with beer and conversation and last-minute Alan Moore dialogue. So happy that I can even consider myself a writer, yet so angry, so bitter at the silent times, the days and months when nothing appears on the page. Which is the true love, writing or reading? Of course, both feed upon themselves, but damnation, I cannot sacrifice either, even when it's so much easier to read than write. I love these times when I feel just removed enough from quotidian life to exalt my own existence, all the utter shit down in the gutter where it belongs, synapses sparkling like the stars in the firmament.

Dawn will come soon, breaking against the alcohol-enriched shores of my consciousness, which I will escort out of waking hours with old Dungeons & Dragons books and a melancholy I cannot explain to anyone. So alone, so crippled, so hopeful, so full of fleeting love and desire of a world that will never be, and never should be, if only to guarantee that art will always have a place in the grey and misguided existence we all share.


Thursday, August 26, 2004

"Twenty-five year-olds should be locked away and denied ink and paper."
-David Foster Wallace


A triumvirate:

The Girl, The Old-Timer, and the Writer As Of Yet Unread.


Tuesday, August 24, 2004

Huzzah. Critical Hits has received its first rejection from a literary agent. One down, thousands more to go. On the good side, at least my next monthly rpg.net column will have something to do with writing for once.

Sunday, August 22, 2004

This is my third post, I believe, of the night/morning. Not having anything better to do, and not really wanting to write fiction at the moment (although I was pretty gung-ho about it a couple hours ago), I will now comment upon Bal-Sagoth.

Simply put: FUCK EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU WHO DO NOT APPRECIATE THE SOUNDS OF EPIC METAL BARBARIAN FANTASY!

Bal-Sagoth discography and related commentary:

A Black Moon Broods Over Lemuria (1994)
I have some MP3s of this album, but to be honest, I don't know that I've given them much attention.

Starfire Burning Upon the Ice-Veiled Throne of Ultima Thule (1996)
Bad-ass, but not my favorite. That said, songs like "To Dethrone the Witch-Queen of Mytos K'Unn (The Legend of the Battle of Blackhelm Vale)" are epic, head-banging, sword-swinging masterpieces.

Battle Magic (1998)
The first Bal-Sagoth album I bought. While the home of some true gems, it's not as consistent as I'd like, though the title track, "A Tale From the Deep Woods," and "Return to the Praesidium of Ys" are incredible.

The Power Cosmic (1999)
Solid, but it cannot compare to....

Atlantis Ascendant (2001)
Theatrically Lovecraftian in scope, this album contains such brilliant songs as "The Dreamer in the Catacombs of Ur," "In Search of the Lost Cities of Antarctica," and the creepy instrumental "The Ghosts of Angkor Wat."

I can't wait until Britain's most bombastic outfit puts out another record. I can't really pick a favorite from their existing albums, but suffice to say that playing favorites isn't necessary. Bal-Sagoth is a totality, and should be experienced as such.

For a writer, I sure spend a lot of time talking about music.

I failed to apply for a job in Antarctica this year, and I hate myself for it. Now that I check it out, however, polar.org is still hiring for the worst-paying but, as I hear, best position possible: that of general assistant. I think I'll throw in ASAP and see if I can get shipped to the South Pole, which I've been dying to do for a long while. Even if it means I have to quit smoking to pass the physical, so be it. A trip to Antarctica is, I dare say, worth sacrificing a testicle for.

I'm such a damned romantic.
See:

Big Bad Love. Thanks to Bob from work for lending it to me; he was right when he said it's a movie for writers.

Hear:

"Chaw" by Spirit Caravan. Fuckin' A, Wino's guitar is sick.

Read:

"Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad. It's sad that more people have seen Apocalypse Now than have read the story that inspired it, but since it wasn't a bad flick, it's almost forgiveable. Conrad makes colonialism look as bleak as it truly was.

Drink:

Pilsner Urquell. As much as I love Lone Star, sometimes you just need Old World quality, even if the cost doesn't stop you from drinking six in less than three hours.

CRANK THAT SHIT UP, CUNTS! VOLUME IS THE FOURTH MEMBER! NO GOATS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF THIS POST!

-Dave
P.S. One day I'm going to have a fuckin' party that will require all attendees to show up dressed in metal t-shirts and toting sixers of cheap beer, and we will go fuckin' nuts listening to metal. If Sara can admit to enjoying Iron Maiden's "Number of the Beast," then anyone can!

Friday, August 20, 2004

Dear Scientist,

The bottle of 18-year-old Glenlivet you so thoughtfully purchased for me on the occasion of my birthday is as excellent as we hoped. Rest assured that I'm not pounding it like Jim Beam, so the next time you stop by the house, it'll be here for you to sample. Keep it Taoist, brother.

Honored To Be Your Friend,
Dave

P.S. to the world at large: It appears Jay is planning on going to Malta next spring. I'm envious, naturally, since I've had my sights set on the former home base of the Royal Navy's Mediterranean Fleet for some time; however, I'm curious as to why he chose the island as his destination. Does he care about Maltese history? The syncretic native language? The fact that one of the greatest novels of the 20th century partially took place there? And who's he taking that makes him gloat about "schooling someone on international travel," which sounds like a poor reason to go anywhere? I'm stumped, and, as previously stated, envious, because, as far as I know, I'm the only person who's wanted to visit the history-soaked flyspeck between Sicily and North Africa. Curious indeed.

A typical Friday morning: drinking, the Almighty Riff (courtesy of High on Fire), and expectations for the weekend that I fear may be dashed upon the jagged, barnacle-covered rocks of reality.

As always, the only legitimate response I can offer is to say that it's casual, because that's exactly what it is.


Wednesday, August 18, 2004

I truly believe that my brother and his (most likely) defunct band, Last Eve, were a force to be reckoned with. Everytime I listen to "Remember" (click the aforementioned link and download the MP3 from the 'music' link), my soul aches, and if that's not a sign of good music, then I don't know what is. (And no, you cunts, I'm not saying this because half of the driving force behind Last Eve is/was my brother; if any of you had any taste, you'd be able to hear the song on your own and see the inherent beauty.)

I wish nothing but the best for my brother, whom I love dearly and believe has far more talent than I ever will. Axis Mundi Sum, or even Critical Hits, once it's published, will never have the emotional impact that Last Eve does have to someone who hears it with open ears. This may have to do with the difference between music and literature, but as far as I'm concerned, that's beside the point. I cannot live without both music and literature, and seeing as how one fuels the other, and vice versa, in my mind, debating the importance of one over the other is a moot fuckin' point.

I know that my brother, in all his self-deprecating genius, is destined for great things. He is an incredible human being and artist, and he deserves all the laurels that life may lay upon his head. If it came down to it, I would sacrifice my own life, and/or my own art, for his in a heartbeat.

Simply put, being able to claim Michael Scott Smith as as my brother is one of the greatest honors I can imagine. I love the boy more than life itself.

Here's to you, bro.


Monday, August 16, 2004

I just noticed that the entry for my birthday marked the date of writing as August 14, 1979, and not 2004. I'm not going to bother correcting it.
My new RPG.net column is up. If I'd had internet access last week, it might've been a little more timely, but I think it's nevertheless a decent piece of work. Read, enjoy, and comment.




Sunday, August 15, 2004

My birthday was quite pleasant, and today has been no different. Yesterday I bought, courtesy of the Borders gift card Sara got me, Umberto Eco's Serendipities, Conrad's Heart of Darkness, and Melville's from which I took the name of my newest ferret, Dr. Long Ghost. After everyone left, I drank some beer, discussed the apparent tragedy that is Aliens vs. Predator with my brother when he stopped by, and read. Today has consisted of two activities: listening to Black Sabbath (and now Motorhead) and more reading. The weather is beautiful, the beer is cold, and my brain is active, so as soon as I'm done writing this entry, I'm going to work on what may be my next novel.

Thanks to everyone that made my birthday as good as it was, either through dropping me an email, calling on the phone, or showing up to knock back a couple cold ones. I hope that I can return the favor sometime.

I'll leave you all with Julian Cope's brilliant review of what has to be one of the most mind-blowing albums released in a very, very long time: Sleep's Dopesmoker. Everyone should own this religious monolith of a record.

Saturday, August 14, 2004

It's 5:36 AM, the 14th of August, 1979, and today I turn twenty-five. I have emptied numerous Lone Stars, Shiner Summer Stocks, and Pilsner Urquells down my gullet since yesterday afternoon; I am listening to Venom; I am out of cigarettes; and I am tempted to drive to Spring tomorrow to purchase the (seemingly) original copy of Venom's Possessed on vinyl, and other metal albums, should the mood strike me.

If any of you dear readers wish to celebrate the birthday of a relatively anonymous chump, you can email me at dave at axismundisum.com for details re: tomorrow night's shindig, and/or purchase my novel. Either way works.

HAIL VENOM!


Friday, August 13, 2004

And the Riff of the Year Award goes to...

GOATSNAKE, "BLACK CAT BONE!"




Thursday, August 12, 2004

I've finally got internet access again, after a little less than a week of having to go to the library every now and then for a thirty-minute allotment on a computer slower than mine. I didn't really mind not being able to sit down and waste two hours here and there doing nothing on the internet; I was, however, frustrated by not being able to keep up correspondence. Now that I'm back, I think I'll try to use my time a little more wisely, by reading, writing, and so on. The internet doesn't need as much attention as I'm used to giving it.

I saw Brant Bjork and the Bros last night, and they were great. I asked Brant if he'd read any of Axis Mundi Sum, and he said yes, he'd been working on it and enjoying it. That made my night.

One more night of work, and then the week is over. Come Saturday, I'll be 25, and I intend on celebrating by taking it easy with anyone who wants to stop by the house with beer and food. I'll hopefully spend Friday writing, Saturday kickin' back, and Sunday doing some more writing, so it should be a pleasant weekend. If you want to make today a good day, read this excerpt from Tom Hodgkinson's upcoming book, and see why I wish I could find his magazine, The Idler, here in the States.

Adios, folks. If you've emailed me recently, I'll get back to you within the next couple days.


Friday, August 06, 2004

I very much enjoy listening to Garbage. While I no longer possess any of their albums, I recently downloaded "Kick My Ass," which is probably my favorite song of theirs. I first heard it at the home of one of the finest human beings I know, Peter Swulius, during the summer of 2000. While living in Dallas for a month, I spent a few days at his place, working on Axis Mundi Sum, smoking cigarettes, drinking Mountain Dew and soy milk, and generally enjoying the final days of the curious, energetic dot-com era. Despite being four years late, I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to Peter for those few days, and more importantly, the friendship he and I have shared since our meeting in AB1 215.

In fact, I would like to acknowledge everyone that has done their part to make this world a better place, not by any particular action, but by simply being themselves. I do not mean "everyone who asserts their individuality," as that is not always impressive in itself, but those whose humanity, in the strongest sense of the word, is radiant to the point of impressing itself upon others without any hint of aggression. I am extremely fortunate to know many of these people, and I thank God that a common fool such as myself has been given such a privilege. You know who you are, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It is people like you that make being a human being an honor.

Nota bene: I am not writing this as some sort of drunken paean to friendship and Settimbrinian humanism, but in complete sincerity. Again, my deepest thanks.



Wednesday, August 04, 2004

What a day. I got my first-ever letter from a collection agency, regarding my unpaid hospital bill. Turns out that the county's temporary insurance plan for poor fucks like myself didn't cover my medical expenses... because I didn't turn over the $2,500 I got from my personal injury protection plan associated with my car insurance. Why didn't they tell me back in, say, October or November, or January, when I actually got the card, that I would be forced to hand over money I needed to live?

Thanks to the sins of omission of the county, I now owe somewhere around $4,300. I'll sort out payment options with the collection agency tomorrow, because I didn't have time to do so today. I don't believe there's a minimum monthly payment, so those greedy fucks are going to get nickel-and-dimed if I can get away with it.

Fuck this country for not providing free, or at least reasonably priced, health care to its citizens. Fuck all the politicians whose pockets are lined with pharmeceutical-lobby dollars, fuck the employers who shove their workers into shitty health plans to save money, and fuck all of us for not doing a damned thing about it.

My sinuses are haywire and I'm out of beer, which makes for a fitting end to a travesty of a day.


Sunday, August 01, 2004

Friday night I found out I was supposed to go to my uncle's place the following day, since my pops is leaving for Mexico City shortly. I was not aware of this before then, and I'd already made plans with AJ. I ended up staying in Houston, and did see her for a little while. When I woke up on Saturday, however, I felt pretty bad; some chills, a general lack of energy, and a swimming head. Needless to say, being ill killed my plans with AJ, so I ended up missing out on the company of two different people and feeling like a real dick about it.

I got some rest, drank some tea, returned my long-overdue library books, and watched a movie with Sara and Matt (Bowling for Columbine, incidentally- not bad at all, I must say). By the end of the night, which came at four AM, I felt better than I had twelve hours earlier, and this morning, er, afternoon, I feel pretty much back to normal, although there are lingering traces of whatever hit me yesterday.

Aborted plans and illness aside, yesterday was unexpectedly satisfying. Ever since I began working nights and being forced to spend long stretches of time alone, I haven't often felt very content with life. Partly forced isolation from my friends, partly not having done any writing or anything related to it, and partly a low-level feeling of disappointment with myself for not doing what needs to be done with myself, the past month has been kind of rough, but I haven't succumbed to despair, or even drunk more than I usually would during psychological dry spells. I'm happy about this, as it implies that I'm slowly moving in the right direction. I don't know what direction that is, but as long as I'm on the right road, I'll be all right.

Next Saturday I'm going to play Call of Cthulhu with Sean and Ted, and next Sunday I'm going to see Judas Priest, Slayer, and Black Label Society with my brother and AJ. In the middle of next week, Brant Bjork and the Bros are coming to town, so I will see them as well. The following weekend I will turn 25, and despite having doubted the personal value of the past year at times, I think being 24 hasn't really been that bad. 25 should be better, given that it's a multiple of five and I'm aware that I need to recalibrate my sense of idleness so that it doesn't seep into places it doesn't belong all the time.

And now, a beer.