Today is Hermann Rorschach’s 129th birthday. Yeah, I think it’s stupid to keep celebrating birthdays after someone is dead too, but it makes good blog fodder.
Anyway, in honor of this momentous occasion, I’ve decided to psychoanalyze myself using some of Rorschach’s common patterns.
In this pattern, I see that slave girl Oola from Star Wars – Return of the Jedi, starring in an orgy porno with a disembodied ejaculating penis with arms, while the spaceship from space invaders looks on.
Analysis – My brain is filthy…and stuck in 1987
This is clearly Bigfoot getting a pap smear.
Analysis – Weirdly, I always thought Bigfoot was a boy. Guess I’m sexist.
Cockroach dance party between two penis towers.
Analysis – Anyone else think it’s weird that I’ve seen genitals in every single picture? This Rorschach guy was a fucking perv! Seriously, he was worse than those dudes at Disney.
This isn’t a Rorschach test. This is what happens whenever I photocopy my ass.
Analysis – I have a demon living in my anus.
Based on my own analysis, I have this to say. Psychoanalysis in 1921 was apparently nothing but guesswork in a lab coat. Simply stated, I don’t have a lot of faith in a doctor who can’t even diagnose his own appendix rupture.
Happy birthday anyway, Hermann Rorschach. Thanks for the entertainment.
When you ask someone what they think of as the most romantic movie scene, you can generally expect a pretty cookie cutter response. They might mention the prow scene on ‘Titanic’. They might mention Harry’s speech in “When Harry Met Sally.” They might mention Noah scaling the Ferris wheel in “The Notebook.”
For me, the most romantic movie scene I can think of occurs at the end of ‘Hannibal’.
Clarice finally thinks she has Hannibal cornered. The cops are on their way. With sirens screaming in the background, she handcuffs Hannibal Lector’s wrist to hers. But Lector has one last trick up his sleeve. He pulls out a meat cleaver. It raises high in the air…fade to black over the sound of one distinct chop.
In the next scene, we learn that Hannibal did escape. We assume that it is because he cleaved off Clarisse’s hand in an attempt to free himself. Then we see him on a train, sharing a boxed lunch with a small boy. The camera pans down and we see his left hand is missing.
Hannibal cut off his own hand, rather than hurt Clarice. Now that is fucking love.
In case you can’t tell, my opinion on love can be pretty extreme. Chasing me down at an airport, singing a stupid song to me, or sending me flowers isn’t going to win me over. If you want me to swoon, you need to be willing to sacrifice a body part.
I always assumed that my extreme nature would result in my dying alone. Then I met you, internet stalker.
We met about a year ago. I’d just posted an article that included three pictures of me. You sent me a long rambling message. You said you were a fan. You told me I was pretty. I thanked you.
The emails kept coming, and they kept getting weirder. One spanned paragraphs and paragraphs. It was long, rambling and incoherent. I have to admit I didn’t understand much of it, but I got the general gist. You loved me…and you wanted to wear my face as a mask.
It was the nicest thing that anyone had ever said to me.
Most women are freaked out by stalkers, but I’m not most women. I spend a lot of time alone. I have nightmares about dying in complete obscurity. I have dreams that I disappear and no one ever notices. Those nightmares go away when you send an email.
Because as long as you’re around, I know there is one person out there who is obsessed enough with me to want me dead…and who fears my death like the apocalypse at the same time.
To me, that is just fucking beautiful.
As long as you exist, I will never cease to matter. For one person out there, I am their whole world. I am the love of their life and a ‘soul sucking, bitch, whore cunt’ all at the same time. I am the girl sending you coded messages in all my posts. My eyes really are looking right at you in my gravitar picture…even though it’s a profile shot and I’m actually looking somewhere off to the left.
I heard somewhere that stalking isn’t about love. It’s about power. I don’t believe that, internet stalker. The balance of power in our relationship is purely one sided. I am the sun by which your universe revolves. You are the guy that sends me weird obsessed messages that actually improve my self esteem. I ignore the threats and I accept the compliments.
Internet stalker, our dysfunctional relationship might be the healthiest relationship I’ve ever had. Know that in my own way, I love you. I don’t love you like a lover, or like a brother. I think I love you in the same way Jodie Foster loves John Hinckley Jr. Through his obsession, he made an average looking girl with subpar acting skills a household name.
He made her Clarice…not the one in Hannibal, but you get my drift.
So thank you internet stalker. Most people would tell me not to engage with you, but half the reason you love me is because I never listen to people. You make me feel good. You make me feel relevant. For that, you deserve to be recognized.
And if you ever hit the Orlando, Florida area, there is an empty apartment right across the breezeway where you can see right into my bedroom.
Leaving the blinds open for you,
Since I was a kid, I’ve always loved hidden passages. I grew up in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. When I was little, there was nothing I liked more than finding those hidden mountain trails and places people set up in the woods.
My fascination with the hidden continued as I grew up. When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I never wanted to go to the party everyone was talking about. I wanted to go to the hidden parties. My weekends were spent whispering passwords to convenience store cashiers, so I could get complicated directions to some party in a run down warehouse.
The destination was never what excited me. Most of those parties were just drinking and dancing in a run down place (with significantly more X). Those places in the woods I found were usually just hidden playgrounds and swimming holes. It wasn’t the destination that was fun. It was the way I got there.
When the internet came out, and I found my first hidden webpage (it was an LSD recipe I tried with limited success), I realized that the search for the hidden, and the sometimes forbidden, never had to end.
I knew about Silk Road before it was a household name. I’d browsed their listings of arms dealers, assassins, drug dealers, hackers for hire and more, just for a chuckle. There was literally nothing that you couldn’t find on Silk Road.
Silk Road is gone now, but that doesn’t mean the deep web is dead. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth.
When you go to Google and you type in a phrase, do you realize you are only searching 3% of the web? It’s hard to get a solid number, but the deep web is estimated to be almost 500 times bigger than the searchable web.
It was hard to get my head around the deep web at first. See, in my job, my goal is to make my clients’ pages more visible. It’s to get them to the first page of the Google search results.
Deep web users have the exact opposite goal in mind. The last thing that they want to see is their page anywhere near Google. Half the reason Silk Road got busted was because they got too fucking big. Silk Road and deep web became synonymous. Silk Road was the number 1 ranking site among sites that didn’t want to be ranked. They were the kings of the invisible internet.
But just because the king is dead doesn’t mean the land is gone. The invisible web is still there, it is still flourishing, and you can still find it.
You can’t just go to Google and type in ‘deep web’ or something ridiculous like that. Any sites that do come up are not deep web sites. They’re scam sites. Deep web sites don’t allow bots to search their pages, so deep web sites won’t show up on Google. You might find a listing of links, but I can promise you that when you click on one, you’ll get an error page instead. The deep web can’t be accessed through standard search engines.
The main passage to the deep web is through something called The Onion Router, otherwise known as Tor.
Onions? What the hell do onions have to do with anything, you might be asking.
You probably are all very familiar with .com, .org, .edu and other extensions like that. In the deep web, most things are found through .onion extensions.
You can only get to these extensions though the Tor browser (or other deep web browsers that sometimes suck). Some people say it’s a bitch to configure, but I didn’t find it that difficult. It might have changed since I set it up though. Also, I’m pretty good as this stuff.
Most pages you find on Tor will be listed though another pages links, because again, these pages are not trying to be search engine friendly. Helpful deep net users will compile pages of links for users to browse. The Hidden Wiki is also a decent place to search, though many pages listed on the Hidden Wiki are actually scam websites. When it doubt, try to get to it through a standard Firefox browser. If you can get there on an unencrypted server, it’s not deep web.
Some pages are commercial, for buying illicit black market items. Everything from fake passports to escorts and high powered weapons will be found on the commercial sites. Payment is through something called ‘Bitcoin’, which is possibly the most anonymous way to spend money on the internet.
There are also groups simply for people who don’t want their internet usage monitored by anyone. I think we can all agree that I’m not just being a crazy Libertarian when I say that the government watches most of us a bit more than we’d like to think they do. Political groups, including groups that embrace civil disobedience and anarchy, can be found in the deep web.
Personally, I prefer Tor because I value my privacy. When I’m not using Tor, I’m using a VPN. What I do on my internet is my fucking business, US Government. If you’re going to spy on me, you’re going to have to put in the effort.
Also, I find that the technical people I need to reach to do research spend more time in Tor forums than they do in standard forums. Why? Because you have to be smart to get to those forums. Trolls, sexbots and idiots need not apply.
A few words of warning before you go checking out the deep web
Understand the acronyms and terms. Do not go clicking wildly, or you are going to wind up with an eyeful of something you can’t unsee. Here are some things to avoid.
- CP and Chan – Both acronyms for child pornography. Yes, Chan is usually anime, but this is the deep web we’re dealing with. On the deep web, chan is child pornography…generally extremely young child pornography. Sick fucking bastards.
- GM – Genital mutilation. Yes, there are some people that get off on this shit.
- Adult – Rarely are you going to find any kind of normal ‘vanilla’ porn when searching the deep web. Most porn sites want to be on Google. So, when you find a porn site that is actually trying to hide itself, what do you think is on it? If your answer is ‘nothing I want to see’, you are right. Keep your adult searches to the regular web unless you’re interested in getting scarred for life.
- Pedo – Seriously, guess…This is a sick, sad fucking world we live in.
- Hard Core – The deep web’s ‘hard core’ is a whole assload of different from the regular web’s ‘hard core’. Generally, ‘hard core’ means ‘snuff’ when you’re surfing the onion.
- Mechanic – The ‘mechanics’ on the deep web don’t deal with cars, unless you’re looking to have someone’s brake lines cut. Some of these dudes are scammers, some are the real McCoy. Either way, they’re all fucking nuts. Best avoided.
Exercise extreme caution. Tor is filled with hackers. Disable your webcam and microphone. Do not download anything from anyone and do not give out your personal email address. Even something as innocuous as a logo can hold a tracking cookie. The deep web is where you find the most advanced hackers out there. These are not the guys and girls that send you chain mail. These are the people that can find one tiny hole in your system and exploit it. Think of it this way. The regular internet is like walking through a park on a sunny Sunday morning in Greenwich, Connecticut. The deep web is like wandering down a darkened alleyway in Detroit at 2 am on New Years. Vigilance and suspicion are your friends.
Nothing is ever absolutely private. Once you have Tor rolling, you need to disable cookies, java, flash and cache. If you have no idea how to do this, you do not belong on the deep web in the first place. Understand that no matter what you do, if someone wants to find you bad enough, they will find you. Just ask Ross William Ulbricht.
Tor is slow and tedious to use. This is because it is the best place to search the 97% of the internet you all can’t see every day. It provides constant encryption as well, and bounces off a series of volunteered computers, which slows it down more. As a result, you might get booted occasionally. Simply stated, be cool. If you don’t need to be on Tor, don’t use it. Use a VPN instead. My personal favorite is ‘Go Trusted’, but ‘Hide My Ass’ is good too. .
If you’re smart, Tor can be a fun place to explore. Not every site on Tor is nefarious. In fact, many sites are just for people who want to avoid the idiots in the world. If you can believe it, the forums with drug users and hired assassins are actually quite a bit more civil than any book forum you’d find on Amazon.
Also, it’s not illegal to use Tor. It’s not illegal to browse the sites you find on Tor…with the exception of CP and Chan sites. If you’re on those pages, I hope you get busted. I hope you get busted hard and get a 400 pound cell mate, with anger issues, a PCP problem and a 10 inch penis.
Yeah, I personally put drug dealers and assassins on a more acceptable scale than kiddie porn searchers. Fucking sue me.
I would encourage most people to check out the deep web at least once. Not doing so is like going to a fancy hotel in Tijuana and never leaving your hotel room. It’s there. Enjoy it. Experience it.
But stay the hell off the kiddie porn sites. That’s just gross.
I think sometimes, people don’t really understand how special a real sense of humor is…
I see this phrase get thrown around a lot. I see it in internet dating ads. “Looking for a sense of humor.” I see it in employment ads. “Must have a sense of humor.” I even see it when I’m looking for new ghostwriting projects. “Need a writer with a sense of humor.”
Do you all realize what a generic requirement that is? Everyone has a sense of humor. There is no person out there that has lived past the age of 3 and not laughed one time. Honestly, senses of humor are like assholes. Everyone has one.
And every one is different.
To me, a ‘good’ sense of humor is the ability to laugh at something, even though it might offend someone or even you personally. Let me tell you a story about one of the finest senses of humor I’ve ever seen.
It’s summer in Sierra Vista, Arizona. Me and my friend Tina are on gate guard duty at the back gate of Fort Huachuca. It’s a boring duty, but we make the time pass by making fun of the tourists that pull up, after mistakenly pulling off the highway too soon on their way to Tucson.
A blue Sedan with Nebraska plates pull up. Inside is a middle aged white couple. They make immediate eye contact with me and avoid Tina entirely.
Let me explain why. I’m white as the day is long, not very big, and extremely non-threatening. I’m soft, squishy and harmless looking. Tina is a midnight black, daughter of Africa, 150 pounds and 5’8” of pure muscle type. When it comes to nervous white people, there’s non threatening black, like Will Smith, and there is threatening black, like Tupac. Tina is Tupac black with extra neck tattoos. Tourists tend to avoid her, especially the white ones.
The Nebraska couple cracks their window a quarter of an inch and screams to me for directions. Here’s the deal, I blow at directions. At this gate, I’m bad cop. I’m in charge of telling tourists to turn around. I’m not the nice one who gives them directions.
She walks up to the car and I literally see the woman in the passenger seat flinch away from her as she leans over the cracked window. She gives them directions and they drive away. She walks back to where I’m standing, shaking her head.
Tina nods. “Yeah, but I can’t wait for the letter the commander is going to get.”
“Yeah,” Tina looks ready to piss herself laughing. “The one that says what a nice, eloquent, colored girl I am.”
That, my friends, is a sense of humor.
When you advertise for a ‘sense of humor’ you might as well advertise for some who ‘knows how to paint.’ Everyone can work a paint brush, but there is only one Picasso.
When you’re a dude looking for a girl on an internet dating site, who has a sense of humor, what I read is ‘I’m not that funny, but I’m not that attractive either. I need someone to tell me I’m special by laughing at my dumb jokes.”
When you’re an employer who tells me you’re looking for a good sense of humor, what I’m seeing is “my last secretary wouldn’t screw me. So I made a bunch of mean jokes at her expense. Then she sued me. I’m really looking for a bitch that will just take it and not fight back.”
A good sense of humor is a special thing. It’s like having a special palette, where you can taste all the flavors of something, even when some are weird. It’s like having the eye for detail that allows you to create a special dress design, which is both flattering to a woman’s body and aesthetically interesting.
A good sense of humor is rare. Stop advertising for it like you’re looking for typing skills. Generally, those of us with a true ‘good sense of humor’ would rather die than work in a cubicle anyway.
Does that mean never getting offended over anything? Hell no. My friend Tina was probably extremely offended the day those people treated her like she was about to car jack them. But she found a way to laugh about it.
Does that mean being intentionally offensive? Absolutely not. I’ve never found Andrew Dice Clay funny. It’s not because I’m an uptight bitch. It’s because his act wasn’t funny. Nothing he said was actually humorous. He was just being offensive for the point of being offensive. That’s not humor. That’s just being a dick.
As far as I’m concerned, George Carlin was the only human being with a sense of humor sophisticated enough to pull off a rape joke.
When you are a truly funny person, offending people is a side effect of your act. It isn’t the goal. You make your jokes and you hope they land. But you accept the fact that eventually, somewhere, someone will get offended. When they do, you brush it off.
Because you know not everyone has a good sense of humor.
Look, I’m never been one of those ass sniffing artists who talks about my ‘art’. I don’t write angst filled poetry or paint pictures of my anger at my father, or some other such bullshit. I’m never going to be literary. I’m never going to win a Pulitzer. I’m cool with that. But I am a god damn artist. I have a true good sense of humor, and it’s a bit rarer than you all think. If you question how important a good sense of humor is, I strongly recommend you check out “A Modest Proposal.” Never underestimate the power of funny.
A good sense of humor isn’t a given…it’s a god damn gift. Stop advertising for that shit when you don’t really mean it. Generally, you can get any idiot to laugh at anything. But only the truly gifted can laugh at something that upsets them.
And only the artists can make a good joke about it in the first place.
I currently have the exact opposite of writers block. I’m working on Gio’s Gift and the story is flowing so well, I’m starting to get it a little confused with reality. I can’t really say how long I’ve been at it, because I’m not entirely sure what day it is.
But I just noticed a few things that I would like to point out. First and foremost;
I have been wearing these clothes for as long as I can remember.
A special shout out to Mark Sackler of the Millennium Conjectures on this one. One of the items I have been wearing is the Blahs T-Shirt I won a while back. It used to be white. Now it is more of a yellowish color and it has a large amount of mystery stains. For the life of me, I can’t remember what day I put it on. The only thing I know for sure is that it wasn’t today…or yesterday…or the day before.
I’m breaking out like a kid going through puberty.
Normally, I have a pretty good complexion. But today, I’ve noticed that I have begun to sprout acne like a poorly kept lawn spouts weeds. This is probably a direct result of not remembering the last time I took a shower. On the upside, my hair looks fantastic! Apparently, the best way to get bleached blonde, waist length hair shiny is to never wash it…ever.
I have the alcohol tolerance of a bull elephant
Did I really drink 16 beers yesterday? I counted the cans twice, and unless I had mystery guest I don’t remember, the only answer is ‘yes’. Here’s the thing. Usually, that many beers would have anyone on their ass. But all I did yesterday was write. I didn’t buy a bunch of shit I didn’t need on Amazon. I didn’t get into any online fights. I didn’t drunk-and-dial any of my friends. I just wrote. Also, unlike other times when I drank and wrote, my text is actually decipherable. While there is still a high error rate, I actually understood what I was saying when I wrote it…and it was pretty fucking good.
I’m a bit more violent than usual.
I’d really like to punch someone in the face. Right now, I’m working on a few more action packed scenes and they always make me a bit more action packed myself. The thing is, I don’t want to punch just anyone in the face. I want to punch someone who really deserves it. Just my luck, everyone I’ve dealt with today has been perfectly nice and completely undeserving of a punch in the face. Assholes.
I’m thinking in omniscient 3 person narration.
I just drove to the store for more beer. Sounds simple enough, right? That’s until you delve into what was going on in my head.
“Essa drives to the store, with her standard reckless disregard for human life. She pulls in front of a 97 Saab she determines to be going far too slow, despite the 35 mile an hour speed limit. She parks in front of Gas Station, and leaves the engine running. If she doesn’t, there is a very good chance her car won’t start again. Essa knows her way around cars, but the last thing she wants to do is to be forced to shove her hand under the engine block on this hot Florida day.
Florida doesn’t know that summer is over. It never knows that summer is over. Due to that, this day that should be a brisk October day, measures no less than a balmy 85.
“What ever happened to your son?” Essa asks, as she slides a six pack onto the counter. This six pack won’t be her last of the night.
The cashier shifts his eyes away nervously, and Essa knows he is about to think of a lie. “He is at college.”
“Good for him.” Essa takes her beer and knows the truth. The reason that her favorite cashier is no longer behind the till has nothing to do with college. Essa knows that he was falsely accused of stealing, but the second oldest son, who wants Gas Station all to himself, spread a rumor that his father mistakenly believed. She knows for a fact that first son never stole anything. She knows, because on a sweaty August night, several weeks before, first son got completely lost when he was handed a pile of cash. Being the day cashier, he almost never dealt with cash. He dealt with debit and credit transactions. When he did get cash, he would call his uncle over to manage the register.
That uncle is sweeping the floor as Essa leaves…and he is incredibly quick to avoid eye contact.
Yeah people, I’ve reached the point where I have decided there is a mystery EVERYWHERE! I’m not thinking like a normal person anymore. I’m thinking like Angela Fucking Lansbury.
I’m getting fat.
I stepped on the scale this morning to learn that I was about 20 pounds heavier that usual. That’s right; I completely missed the fact that I gained 20 pounds. That’s weird to me, because I never eat anymore. I drink and I chain smoke, but I don’t eat. Eating requires two free hands. I don’t have two free hands.
The real thing I’m worried about here is that I will become oddly shaped. About 5 years ago, I had a tummy tuck. As a result, the fat cells that most people have around their waistline do not exist on me. When I gain weight, it goes to my boobs, my ass and my thighs. My bras don’t fit me anymore; my pants are awful tight across the ass.
I stand a strong change of becoming an hourglass with way too much sand in it.
A week from now, I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine. However, right now, I’m not. The story is good. It’s soooo fucking good, but it’s costing me. That was one thing I never considered when I became a writer. The trade off. By letting myself get sucked into fantasy, I have completely let go of reality.
And the sick part is, I don’t even care.
This update is strictly for people who follow the Strangely Sober series. I rarely do book updates on here, because I think writing about my writing is fucking boring, but I had a few questions from people following the series that I wanted to answer.
Gio’s Gift will be the final book in the Sal series. This is for a number of reasons. First, the characters in my books live in real time. I’m not going to pull a Janet Evanovich and have characters that I write about for ten years, that never age. Also, I’m not going to stick to the same character for years and years. I love Sal, I really do. But once Gio’s Gift is finished, I will be retiring the character for good.
There will not be a prequel. People are curious about Sal’s origins, and I get that. Strangely Sober starts off several years after she got her schizophrenia diagnosis. It doesn’t delve into how she went from being a run of the mill crazy with a Gary Busey hallucination, to a full blown criminal mastermind. However, there won’t be a prequel explaining this because it is being covered in Gio’s Gift.
Gio’s Gift jumps back and forth. It tells the story of Sal at age 29 and it tells the story of Sal at age 39. It is going to be the longest book in the series. All questions will be answered and all mysteries will be revealed. While it is always sad to see a series end, I promise fans they will be satisfied with the way the series ends.
I’m estimating that Gio’s Gift will be available in December 2013 or January 2014. However, I reserve the right to pull a George R.R. Martin and take as long as I take to get the book right. If I’m going to end Sal, I’m going to do it right.
For those who loved Sal, because they were looking for a strong female protagonist who manages to rescue herself, rest assured, my history of writing strong female protagonists will continue. I myself am a strong female protagonist, so that’s all I know how to write. I currently have several novels in the pipeline that will be finished once Gio’s Gift is finished.
The first is about an aging trophy wife, who is so much more than just an aging trophy wife. Think “Anna Nicole Smith” meets “Indiana Jones”.
The next is about an Israeli computer hacker who scams Nigerian scam artists for a living. For people who love my over the top, pop culture characters, her best friend is a Bronie…otherwise known as a man obsessed with the series “My Little Pony”.
Right now, I’m really sucked into writing Gio’s Gift, so I don’t have a lot of time to answer people individually. However, I hope this update will suffice.
Also, if you want to see my writing style before you get involved in my novels, I recommend you check out The Apology. It is currently available for free on Nook, iTunes and Smashwords. I’m trying to get Kindle to make it free too, but those fuckers just aren’t participating. I just can’t justify charging people for an 85 page novella. However, if you’re stuck with Kindle, it’s still available there for 99 cents. But please let them know that it is free elsewhere.