The Fractal Journal

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Hipster Viking (Doodle)

On May 18, 2018 By Alex V. WeirIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Since my last post was kind of heavy here’s some comic relief.

Hipster Viking

The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 4.1 – The Union Jack

On May 17, 2018May 17, 2018 By Alex V. WeirIn Sketch of Sam Monroe, UncategorizedLeave a comment

It was only a beer and a half later that my eye caught something cresting the horizon. Its size was apparent even from a distance. There was no way that a craft that large could dock at the diminutive pier which now held us.

My inner query was soon answered when the teal behemoth stopped some 5000 yards from the dock.

“Here,” Leo said reaching into a posh leather satchel and pulling out a pair of binoculars. If it wasn’t for the ease of his manner, his impeccable appearance would be unnerving.

“You see it! You see our taxi?”

I scanned the side of the boat. It was quite a sight. The first thing I panned across was the stern. It had a crane which meant that it was equipped with an ROV. It was modern. Definitely built in the last couple of decades. Ah, ‘RV Genevive’ ok so it’s an oceanographic vessel. This was hardly surprising.

I looked in vain for the dinghy. That meant it was on the side of the boat I couldn’t see. So as I waited for the ‘taxi’ to round the prow I made an inspection of the deck and wheelhouse. Which caused me to discover the Union Jack. Something vague about maritime law entered my head but it had been so long…

“God save the queen!” I mumbled in a loud sarcastic semi-whisper.

“Oho-hoho,” Leo laughed. “Yes, Senhor Reed is quite the nationalist.”

“This is a private vessel?” There was something off about the way that flag was flying.

“Si. Very much so. You are very lucky to see it. There are many companies in this part of the southern hemisphere, few of them acknowledged.”

“Crazy fuckin’ expats.” Sam murmured.

Leo continued laughing. “Yes, Senhor Reed is quite spirited. And I would suggest that you not get on his bad side.”

I had lowered the binoculars and was now looking at the ‘Genevive’ with the naked eye. I saw a small speck shining green and gold in the rays of the setting sun. I trained the lenses on the speck. It wasn’t a dinghy at all. It was a speedboat. And, I chuckled, equipped with its own miniature union jack.

It was approaching us at a decent clip. A speed for which I was glad. I couldn’t wait to explore this rare treat that had dropped itself in my lap.

I looked over at Hoyt to see if the vessel had stirred a similar nautical passion. I was still unaccustomed to the recent shortening of his leafy crown. Maybe it was this. But…no…he was still distant…there was something foreign about the tight expressionless curl of his thin lips. Here we were in one of the most stirring possible situations and all I could read in his angular features was the cold detachment of a vivisectionist. Whatever had gotten into him all those weeks prior was still very much in control.

The speedboat that had pulled up was piloted by a man with a broad nose and a heavy brow. He deftly grabbed the rope that Leo tossed him and moored the sleek looking boat with its impressive outboard to the landing.

We hoisted our gear and descended the stairs to meet the newcomer. He was an older man though how much older was indeterminate. His step was lively, despite the graying of the hair and beard, and the first thing he did was hop from his craft and embrace Hoyt with a very peculiar hug, placing a hand on Graham’s opposite elbow. Graham reciprocated the hug perfectly in a mechanical sort of way.

“Welcome, Mr. Hoyt. Welcome!” The man boomed in a decidedly American accent.

1.1 (Intro) The Sketch of Sam Monroe

1.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter One: The Cambridge Gable Scene (‘Gator is Waitin’)

1.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.4 – The Cambridge Gable Scene – (Horticulture)

1.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.5: ‘To Luckadoo Cove’

1.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.6 – ‘Is there anybody out there…’

1.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.7: ‘Jesse’

1.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.8: ‘Lungful of Bees’

1.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.9 – ‘Precedent’

2.0 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.0 -Calvinist Neuroses

2.1 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.1 – Mirage

2.2 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.2 – Estate Planning

2.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.3 – High Tech Summons

2.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.4 – Amazon Stonehenge

2.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.5 – Jung

2.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.6 – Dee

2.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.7 – Meeting 211

2.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.8 – Itinerary

2.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.9 – Fact and Fiction

2.10 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.10 -Kaffeeklatsch

2.11 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.11 – Catnap

2.12 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.12 – ‘One Pair’

2.13 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.13 – Reentry

2.14 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.14 – Phoenix

2.15 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.15 – Apollo and Dionysus

3.0 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.0 – Inherit the Wind

3.1 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.1 – Stardust

3.2 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.2 – Loyola

3.3 Chapter 3.3 – High and Dry

3.4 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.4 – One Dream

3.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.5 – Pensive

3.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.6 – Feijoada

3.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.7 – ‘Good food and good work…’

3.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.8 – A Good Egg

3.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.9 – Oregon Hill

3.10 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.10 – ‘Thick Bushes’

4.0 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 4.0 – No room at the Inn

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Ramble – Decisions, Meaning, and Craft (Vlog)

On May 15, 2018 By Alex V. WeirIn Philosophy, Psychology, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Just another little impromptu where I yet again try to whittle down what it is that makes it all worthwhile. Or something to that effect…

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Patreon – http://www.patreon.com/TheFractalJournal

The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 4.0 – No room at the Inn

On May 15, 2018 By Alex V. WeirIn Sketch of Sam Monroe, UncategorizedLeave a comment

“Welcome! Welcome to San Cristobal!” Professor Bohm boomed with the enthusiasm of a tour guide.

I blinked in the balmy saline breeze.

“Fantastic isn’t it. This place is magic! No wonder that the seed of genius that had germinated in England blossomed here!”

“Huh?”

“He’s talking about Darwin.” Chuck filled in the gap.

“Si. I love it. This is my absolute favorite place. It is…electric…do you not feel it! This is the birthplace of the whole Earth.”

“I thought that was Africa,” Schmidt said.

I grinned at his Teutonic literalism. Though it was interesting. Where did life begin? I doubted that it radiated from some central location. At least not wholly. No, it made much more sense that places like this, like the Galapagos, had spawned the great biochemical adventure that we call life.

These were volcanic islands. And there was the primordial basalt mystery whose embrace was so fertile, so fecund, in its implications. At the crossroads of sea, fire, and air there had sprung one of the most diverse litanies of flora and fauna on the face of the earth.

The stark sparseness of the landscape, the stones that jutted from the lapping ocean, and the rose-colored sky of an onsetting evening were indeed stirring.

“It is nice,” I said.

“More than nice now, I’m sure!” Leo teased. “You Americans, sometimes you are so loud, and sometimes you are so English.”
The weight of my bags was making itself more and more apparent. We had taxied to a pier from the airport. “I’m beat. When are we gonna get some grub and bunk down?”

“O! Very soon. But not so soon that you shouldn’t put down those bags.”

“What right here?”

“No. Come with me.”

We followed him past coils of rope and other nautical paraphernalia up the length of the pier.

“Ok, you can drop it.”

“Uh?”

Leo didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he bent down to open a cooler.

“Cerveja?”

I dropped my bags and eagerly reached for the crisp freshness nestled among melting cubes of ice. The label read Eisenbahn. I looked at Leo.

He extended a bottle opener.

“So is the hotel near here?” I asked, popping off the cap.

Leo laughed in his quiet way, “It’s coming.”

1.1 (Intro) The Sketch of Sam Monroe

1.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter One: The Cambridge Gable Scene (‘Gator is Waitin’)

1.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.4 – The Cambridge Gable Scene – (Horticulture)

1.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.5: ‘To Luckadoo Cove’

1.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.6 – ‘Is there anybody out there…’

1.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.7: ‘Jesse’

1.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.8: ‘Lungful of Bees’

1.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.9 – ‘Precedent’

2.0 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.0 -Calvinist Neuroses

2.1 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.1 – Mirage

2.2 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.2 – Estate Planning

2.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.3 – High Tech Summons

2.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.4 – Amazon Stonehenge

2.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.5 – Jung

2.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.6 – Dee

2.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.7 – Meeting 211

2.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.8 – Itinerary

2.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.9 – Fact and Fiction

2.10 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.10 -Kaffeeklatsch

2.11 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.11 – Catnap

2.12 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.12 – ‘One Pair’

2.13 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.13 – Reentry

2.14 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.14 – Phoenix

2.15 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.15 – Apollo and Dionysus

3.0 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.0 – Inherit the Wind

3.1 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.1 – Stardust

3.2 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.2 – Loyola

3.3 Chapter 3.3 – High and Dry

3.4 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.4 – One Dream

3.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.5 – Pensive

3.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.6 – Feijoada

3.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.7 – ‘Good food and good work…’

3.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.8 – A Good Egg

3.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.9 – Oregon Hill

3.10 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.10 – ‘Thick Bushes’

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The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.10 – ‘Thick Bushes’

On May 10, 2018May 10, 2018 By Alex V. WeirIn Sketch of Sam Monroe, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Image result for mato grosso

“Quick call Enya!” Sam exploded.

“Save all the whales, all the fucking whales…” Lucas enjoined.

We were in a large second story bedroom that had been converted into an office. In the center stood a cheap Ikea desk with a generous surface, across which were strewn aerial photographs.

“The area in question is a region of Brazil known as the Mato Grosso, which means thick bushes, though if you look at these photographs you can see that much of the area looks like Nebraska, due to deforestation.” This was the comment that had made my comrades burst into their little slapstick routine.

We were skeptical about the environmental industry that had hijacked an otherwise noble movement. Of course, we knew that deforestation of this magnitude was a legitimate concern. However, people have to eat, and who the hell are a bunch of latte-sipping first worlders to dictate a developing nation’s policies. Then again…This inner debate thumped away quietly in the background of my mind as I tried to understand exactly what all this Brazil business was about.

“Thick bushes?! Like in my dad’s porno stash?”

The NORP that had greeted us, an analyst named Mark held a palm to his forehead. “You work with these people?” The question was directed at Thornton.

“Mallum ingenium sine mixtura dimentiae fuit.”

“Come again?”

“It’s Seneca,” I said.

“Like the cigarettes?”

“Nah, he’s a Stoic, the phrase means ‘there is no great genius without an element of madness.’”

“Pfft…” Mark guffawed. “You aren’t mad, you’re just run of the mill assholes. Sophomoric little shits.”

“Sophmore year was my favorite,” Sam said.

“Enough.” Thornton interrupted. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand. We’re only here for another day.”

It was undeniable, we were on our way to Brazil, though rendered vivid through drama Hoyt’s proclamation of that trip, about a month prior now, was shaded with haze, like looking at an orchid through cellophane. I waited for clarification.

“As I said. This area is heavily deforested. It looks nothing like it did when Fawcett embarked on his final foray in ‘25. In recent years he’s been vindicated. There was a civilization there. Mounds, traces of roads, lots of pottery has been uncovered. Maybe it’s not El Dorado but it’s revolutionary alright.”

“Ok, so what does any of this have to do with us, with Hoyt and his limey uncle? I suspect the map he pilfered had something to do with this and it’s already been found. So let the eggheads mull it, yeah?”

“You anticipate way too much. No wonder you’re still a blue belt.” Thornton said.

“Ah yea! Now I’m game. Let’s go meet the fuckin’ Gracies.”

“Afraid that’s impossible.”

“Do they even live in Brazil?”

“Back to the matter at hand,” Thornton said firmly.

It was like sophomore year.

“About the matter at hand.” Lucas chimed in, assuming that Prussian coldness which ran much stronger in his father. “We’re not archeologists, or anthropologists, we’re…” he paused as the difficulty of defining PLATO loomed hurdle-like in the wake of his cross-examination. “…we’re ‘alchemical chaplains’ and I see nothing of either psychological or pharmacological interest there.”

“Nothing of pharmacological interest in the Amazon?” Mark asked, raising a disdainful eyebrow.

“We’re not field botanists, simply chemically sophisticated psychonauts, what’s the M.O?”

“Ah…here is where you will have to humor us…we have after all been very understanding with you…” Thornton said.

“Err…”

“First off, though there is much deforestation, there is still plenty of forest, and that map is…well like the rest of the mission…it will make sense in execution. Improvisation you see is key for developing the new dynamic the fresh ‘rod and staff’ that we’ve been trying to squeeze out…you’ll just have to piece the thing together as you go along.”

The rest of the evening was spent getting familiar with the topography of the region. The politics and culture of Cuiaba and a brief survival lecture. Which was going to be elaborated upon further when we landed.

I still wasn’t certain why we were meeting Leo in the Galapagos.

1.1 (Intro) The Sketch of Sam Monroe

1.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter One: The Cambridge Gable Scene (‘Gator is Waitin’)

1.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.4 – The Cambridge Gable Scene – (Horticulture)

1.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.5: ‘To Luckadoo Cove’

1.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.6 – ‘Is there anybody out there…’

1.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.7: ‘Jesse’

1.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.8: ‘Lungful of Bees’

1.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.9 – ‘Precedent’

2.0 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.0 -Calvinist Neuroses

2.1 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.1 – Mirage

2.2 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.2 – Estate Planning

2.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.3 – High Tech Summons

2.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.4 – Amazon Stonehenge

2.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.5 – Jung

2.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.6 – Dee

2.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.7 – Meeting 211

2.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.8 – Itinerary

2.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.9 – Fact and Fiction

2.10 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.10 -Kaffeeklatsch

2.11 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.11 – Catnap

2.12 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.12 – ‘One Pair’

2.13 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.13 – Reentry

2.14 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.14 – Phoenix

2.15 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 2.15 – Apollo and Dionysus

3.0 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.0 – Inherit the Wind

3.1 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.1 – Stardust

3.2 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.2 – Loyola

3.3 Chapter 3.3 – High and Dry

3.4 Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.4 – One Dream

3.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.5 – Pensive

3.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.6 – Feijoada

3.7 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.7 – ‘Good food and good work…’

3.8 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.8 – A Good Egg

3.9 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.9 – Oregon Hill

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The King of Bohemia (Short Story)

On May 9, 2018May 9, 2018 By Alex V. WeirIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

3x4 inch Czech Republic Crest Sticker - decal coat of arms ...

The room was large with a staircase leading to an indoor balcony directly ahead of me. The crowd that milled about seemed enthused with giddy expectation.

I was uncertain about what this place was or why I was here.

The floors were marble. The paneling a rich heavy wood that may have been oak. Every member of the crowd was dressed in jazz-era garb, but after the European fashion, including myself.

A woman with neatly arranged hair and a long white glove tugged at my sleeve. Her hair was flaxen, but her eyes were brown, bright brown. They glowed with excitement despite the dim light of the chandelier.

“Isn’t this fantastic!” She exclaimed searching my features for a kindred response.

As I said. I had no recollection of what all this was. It was as if I’d awoken from a dream or into a dream. Like someone had flipped a switch and I’d assumed a new reality. Past and future seemed veiled. I could not penetrate them.

She must have caught my hesitation. Because her eyes began to dim, and a crestfallen, yet oddly threatening aspect overtook her delicate features. There was a definite air of danger. Not so much from her but from the air and the crowd. She was merely a pilot light.

“I can’t wait for it to start!” I exclaimed, trying as best I could to hide any note of affectation that may have slipped through.

“I know, I know! Every time it’s better and better!”

I felt another tug at my jacket. This time it was a man with a strong jaw and resolute eyes. He stood a head above me and was older. The shocks of white that streaked his hair when paired with rounded spectacles produced a stern and fatherly effect.

“Harry. Come here, Harry. Let me look at you.”

I turned around to face the novel conversation.

“Oh, dear. That’s no good. See how pallid you are. You must drink. Come on then!”

He wheeled round and led the way to a table that sat against the wall.

There was something about being called Harry that I really disliked. It wasn’t my name. Or at least shouldn’t be. But then again I remembered nothing. So maybe it was my name. But there was something beyond the possibility of mistaken identity gnawing at the periphery of my consciousness.
“See here. Look at it, look at how it sparkles, such a cheery thing, yes. Marvelous, we shall have you sorted out here and quick.” He said as he ladled some sort of soda from a crystal punch bowl into a port glass.

“Bottoms up.” It was more command than encouragement.

I hesitated. Something I was afraid to do though I didn’t know why. There was this overwhelming sense that questions were strictly forbidden. But, I had to know what was up.

“Where’s the guest of honor?” I inquired. Forming what was the most innocuous sounding question I could muster. It did, after all, seem like we were waiting for something. Or rather someone. It did seem like expectation had been ratcheted up to fever pitch. So long as I didn’t ask who the guest was…

“He’ll appear in due time. Punctuality never fails in the House of Hours. But in the meantime, precisely for this reason, drink Harry! For God’s sake…DRINK!”

There was no resisting the command. I downed the silvery green sparkling liquid in a single swig. It wasn’t unpleasant. There was a strong, bracing sort of citrusy aspect, and a hint of gin.

Then I felt it. The effervescence seeped into my bones, into my very soul. I felt as one with every motion of every limb in the hall. Excitement overtook me. I too was ecstatic. I felt the urge to spring and dance.

“There’s a lad!” The tall stranger said, momentarily resting an iron grip on my right shoulder.

With this, he disappeared back into the foppish crowd. I didn’t follow.

“Lucy!” I exclaimed approaching the brown-eyed lady. “Let’s have a kiss, Lucy.”

She turned her face away rebuffing my advance with a light hand against my chest. As soon as she made contact something felt wrong.

“Not yet! Harry!” She giggled though with a tad of cold behind the mirth. “Have you forgotten the etiquette?”

“But you look so beautiful! I want to taste your sweet lips to hold you close to my heart.”

When I uttered the word heart I realized what had felt wrong. Though why or how I knew it was beyond me.

“Why hearts Harry? Why would we need such things as hearts when we have such fine spirits!” She said raising the sparkling port glass up to her lips and drinking.

I was confused again.

She looked at me and smiled coquettishly and with what seemed like a twinge of pity. Before I could say anything she gave me a quick peck on the cheek and disappeared into the crowd.

I stood for some minutes my mind racing. Though it felt like an eternity my frantic search was quickly interrupted.

One of the swing players had produced a comically medieval note. At this, all the revelers stood still. From somewhere on the balcony which was now to my left a loud and triumphant voice called out.

“His Majesty, the chief of alchemists, the king of Bohemia!”

From a great door directly opposite the balcony, there came a mellow creaking, as it swung open to reveal a beturbanned man of moderate stature.

He walked briskly and wordlessly into the silent crowd. Brushing shoulders, tapping elbows, nearly twirling round his congregants. All of whom were absolutely thrilled by his strange, fleeting, though purposeful caresses.

As he approached I grew yet more surprised. The turban sat atop an English face. The upturned nose, the stiff thin lip, and those peculiar broad cheeks. ‘Bohemia, more like Bristol.’ I thought to myself. ‘An Anglo with a turban has usurped Prague?’ I was on the verge of a giggle.

He flicked against me. It did feel good, sort of invigorating. But I felt that he had noted the inner slight I had just had at his expense.

Because he stopped and eyed me cooly with pale blue eyes which were no longer friendly.
“We’ve got a spy, my friends!”

He pulled a mirror from behind my lapel. In the brief moment that my eye rested on the smooth glass surface, I beheld a revolting sight. All the pretty gentry that were gathered round were rotted. Flesh sunken into bones, denuded sinews, they were all cadavers!

I ran and pulled down a drape. The mirror was huge and all the circumspectly attired ghouls got a good look at exactly what they were. This sent them into a panic.

“Cover it up, o God cover it up!” A woman shrieked between frightened sobs.

“Why do we have those damned things in the first place!”

“It’s alright, it’s alright.” The ‘king’ proclaimed as he produced an evil looking ceremonial saber from the sheath at his side.

Before I could respond he had run me through. As I lay bleeding on the shockingly cold marble he knelt down and dipped his finger in my dwindling life force.

With this crimson ink, he wrote upon the horror holding mirror a number of characters which I was surprised to find intelligible.

‘Ad va el ho ata.’ The syllables sang out in my brain.

With this, he redrew the drape and the last thing I heard was his triumph.

“We’re gonna revel forever! This perfect moment! This house in time. Its timbers so strong! And stronger with each prayer. His angels can’t hold us. They can’t hold us. No. We won’t bleed out into the inky stars to be rewrapped by His whim! Michael is bound!”

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1982 – The Button – Doodle n’ Skit

On May 9, 2018 By Alex V. WeirIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

John: But what?

Gus: But what, what?

John: What does it do?

Gus: It’s the button…

John: I can see that.

Gus: It’s not that… but the…

John: ‘The’ what?

Gus: The button.

1982

Yea. It’s not the height of wit but I had fun doodling it out. Since there seem to be some parallels between today and the early eighties I felt it funny to dabble in nostalgia I’ve heard rather than lived.

Also, doodling is a great way to take your mind off an injury.

The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 3.9 – Oregon Hill

On May 9, 2018 By Alex V. WeirIn Sketch of Sam Monroe, UncategorizedLeave a comment

Image result for oregon hill richmond north

“In the ghetto! The ghetto…” Sam sang out distunefully as we rounded a corner. Before us stood an arcane array of tarnished two-story homes, whose quaint porches seemed deceptively inviting. Like a lure for fools.

We’d been to Richmond many times but had never been this far north. The cities opulence, its position as headquarters for such dubious necessities as a Federal Reserve bank, stood in stark contrast to what met our eyes.

We’d heard about Oregon Hill largely through jokes in the rich sprinkling of yuppie-hipster bars, that littered the city proper like so many turds from some self-important cosmic hen. None of us were averse to the working class, because we had come from the working class but gnosis was also the reason that we avoided the area, even as we grimaced at the casual disdain of our foppish company.

I wondered why Thornton had decided to hole up here rather than the usual backroom of some shop. Apparently, he, Hoyt, and whoever else had decided to rough it had been out here during our two weeks of ‘lent.’

“Hey kid!” I heard somebody call in our direction.

I wheeled around. Standing on a porch a few paces off was a man with matted blonde hair that ran haphazardly over a pockmarked face.

“Hey, I know you’ve got a cigarette on ya.”

“Sorry don’t smoke.”

The expression fell. “Aww fuck!” He turned on his heel, walked through a door, and slammed it shut.

“In the ghetto! The ghetto!” Sam’s song resumed with even greater vigor.

I looked at the number on my cell phone screen. 286 A, we were two houses away.

As we ascended the creaky steps of 20th-century revival, a deep nostalgia, carried by the musty odor of well-used wood, overwhelmed me. I’d spent many evenings on such porches, sitting on their swings, leafing through whatever I could get my mitts on, embraced by magnolia scents, and serenaded by cicadas. That was a lifetime ago.

A brisk, broad shoulder, man with the air of a heavily armed boy scout greeted us with a business like, “Baird and company?”

“Nah, I’m Robin Hood, he’s little John, and the others are my merry band of thieves.”

“He told me you were an asshole…” The overgrown boy scout muttered as he stepped aside.

We entered.

1.1 (Intro) The Sketch of Sam Monroe