I knew Watchmen was going to suck...

...But I had no idea it would suck so much!

Wow, it's just a phenomenally bad movie in just about every aspect. Let's look at some of the ways it sucks:

1. Zach Snyder is a hack. That's not much of a surprise, considering he also made the awful 300 and the OK but unnecessary Dawn of the Dead remake. Watching the film, it's a clear case of someone who got the surface of the story, but none of the depth. And a note to all filmmakers: Enough of the slow motion already! Like 300, the film could have been a half hour shorter if all the slow mo and annoying Matrix-style shots were gone.

2. The structure doesn't make a good film. Watchmen was published as a 12-issue comic book, and writer Alan Moore used that structure to good effect, telling the early part of the story as interlocking short stories before bringing all of the elements together. All of that dense backstory either gets lost or, when introduced, slows the proceedings down to a crawl. It may have worked as a TV series, except...

3. The comic book nature doesn't make a good film, either. Comics are a visual medium, but they exist in a very different storytelling realm that films. Dave Gibbons deliberate, nine-panels -a-page art style makes for plenty of arresting visuals, many of which are captured here. But what's arresting on the page ends up being flat on film, as if the actors are just posing for pictures as opposed to, you know, acting.

4. It also looks very silly. Pulling off costumed super heroes on film is tough -- Christopher Nolan, Sam Raimi and Tim Burton have done it, many others have failed. Again, it's a case where the visual language of comics doesn't make the transition -- or translation -- to cinema. The crystal-clear digital look only hinders matters.

5. The script is... man, is it awful. Watchmen works as character studies while knowingly poking at 50 years of super hero comics. It really isn't meant as a treatise on mid-1980s nuclear politics. So, of course, all of the nuclear fear is pushed to the foreground. Not only does it shift the focus away from the characters, but it makes the twists of the plot screamingly clear. Really, the bad guy should just wear a sign that says "I Am Really Evil."

6. The acting is no better. God, I don't even want to think about the acting again. Acting in a rubber suit or as a digital effect can test a performer, but a group of "professionals" really should do better than this.

The only saving grace? At least I didn't buy it -- thank you Netflix.

Odd bits

A bit of a bug kept me close to home through the weekend, so no exciting news to report, but there was plenty of reading...

1. I didn't get into Metallica until after bassist Cliff Burton had passed away, but those first three lps he played on have always been my favorites. His short life (only 26 when killed in a tour bus crash) has largely remained a mystery over the years, a mystery that Joel McIver explores in his biography, "To Live is to Die."

As it turns out, Burton had a pretty low key life -- he comes off as a nice, everyday dude who lived mainly to play the bass. That was to Metallica's benefit, but does make for a bit of a dull read. The problem is that McIver, despite good access to the other band members and Burton's family and friends, never gets inside his subject. This is also true of Burton's playing, which is given some attention, but apart from some jargon-riddled passages about the bass rig and some touches on music theory, doesn't get to the heart of the matter.

2. Brandon Sanderson, the heir to Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series (his first volume -- of three that will finally end the series -- will be out this fall), has his own complex, fully realized worlds to explore as well. His latest, "Warbreaker," takes us to a suitably Medieval land where magic works. In this case, it's based on a person's "breath" and is also tied to colors. It's both quite derivative and very stupid -- really, it's almost a deal breaker in the first 50 pages -- but Sanderson's skills as a storyteller take over from there. The story includes a pair of princesses trying to save their own kingdom (and stay alive), mysterious, highly skilled mercenaries, a bored God becoming obsessed with who he was before his ascension and plenty of betrayals to keep the action moving. I found that if I substituted "soul" for "breath" and just ignored the whole color thing, even the magic made some kind of sense.

3. Things I learned half-watching a preseason football game on NBC: Jay Leno has some new show coming out; NBC really wants you to watch "Community" this fall; apparently, accidents only happen in slow motion on "Trauma." Oh, I was also reminded why I hate the broadcast networks (I hate the cable networks too, but I don't have that service anymore so I really can't comment).

Mobius at Colonus, part two

The thrilling conclusion!

(Just a note: you'll want to head down a few posts to part one before reading this...)

Act III

(The ancient world)

Chorus: The king has returned with great wealth, yet the court is unsettled. The people speak of strange lights coming from the heart of the palace. And there are words – rumors – that the king has not just returned for his kingdom. He should be at the pinnacle of his power, so why is there so much unrest in the palace and in the streets of the city?

Look, the oracle comes. We have never seen her outside of the temple.

Voice: I have come far to speak to the king. Please lead me to his chamber at once.

Chorus: What could possibly have brought the Oracle here at this time? We must prepare. We must prepare.

Man “A”: Who calls at my door? Oracle? Why have you left the temple?

Voice: I come with a warning, great king. Your hubris may doom us all. On your most recent journey, you returned with much treasure, but one item in particular confounds you, does it not.

Man “A”: Though you are blind, Oracle, you always see into the heart of the matter. There was one item – a strange thing found in a far away temple of an unknown god. It is black as onyx and shaped in such perfection that only a God may have crafted it. We studied it long and hard on the long road back home, but no one could make any sense of it. It defies all.

Chorus: Defies all! This is not of the Gods at all!

Voice: Oh great king, you must return it to the temple from where it came immediately – or, if that proves impossible, remove it from your kingdom. All is doom if you do not.

Chorus: The oracle speaks not in riddles. The pathway is clear.

Man “A”: Hold. I need some reason for this course of action. How is it that this small object is the cause of all the unrest that blights the land?

Voice: It is not right. It is not correct. It will be the doom of us all.

Chorus: The doom of us all! The Doom of us all!

Man “A”: (shift to modern world): Quiet! Everyone just settle down. I think our colleague has just been working a bit too much in recent weeks. We’ve all been so busy with the trips and spin-offs and everything else that Margaret has on her plate. She’ll be fine soon.

Woman “A”: But what’s this Navigator… and (shift to the ship) who is this Mr. Chambers? I have never heard of one of the computer core’s acting like this. Is there any clue to why it has happened?

Chorus: Mum, none at all. We have begun to examine it via the recommended diagnostics, but we have not uncovered anything that would at all indicate a break down of this magnitude. I think if we were to port over the initial system check…

Woman “A”: Thank you. You may do what you deem necessary, just spare me any details.

Chorus: Yes, mum.

Man “A”: Is it still… talking?

Chorus: Let me reconnect the audio.

Voice: The connection cannot be made. We are doomed. We are doomed. The king has returned to his court. The way is set. Mr. Chambers will not listen. The Navigator has lost all already. Nothing can change the path. Nothing can change the world. We are lost. We are lost.

Man “A”: Disconnect, please. So, our computer has lost its senses – are we able to return home without its guidance?

Chorus: Sir, we can. There are other systems on the ship that can take care of the guide computer’s base systems, but it will be slower. And we will need to be more diligent. The software is ancient for some of these systems and patched together, only working well because of what the main computer can do.

Man “A”: Suggestions.

Woman “A”: Navigator. These troubles started once we brought the artifact on board. Could it not be affecting the systems? It is so similar to our own computer core, perhaps they cannot exist together?

Man “A”: That may be, but it is the reason for this trip. We will not abandon the new core for any reason. We will leave some of the survey and work teams behind – they have enough resources to survive for some time without our aid.

Woman “A”: I will make the assignments.

Man “A”: That is good. However, my dear wife, please do not assign our future daughter to this duty. I would not want our son to be separated from his bride-to-be this close to the marriage. There are plenty of others will good qualifications who can run the work. Anyway, I would prefer to have her on board, to examine the artifact on the journey to home.

Woman “A” (rather chuffed): Yes, Navigator.

(Scene shifts to spaceship lab; whirring sounds, but different than the bridge, are in the background)

Man “B”: Can you work out what it is at all? Besides the obvious, of course?

Woman “B”: The ports have been fused at some time in the past – perhaps there was a crash at some point. Of course, coming here may have done some damage to it. Being ripped from your own place in space and time to this… hell is not easy on anyone, or anything.

Man “B” Don’t dwell on that. We know we are here now, forever. The past is gone.

Woman “B”: Easy for you to say – you were born here. I still have vague recollections of home. Of living under open skies. In a world that made sense. Not like this… place, and this thing. Can you imagine what it was like? I remember that we had a house. Not just a few rooms in a warren with thousands of other people, but an actual house that was surrounded by green fields. We had trees. I remember trees at the very least. Then one day I went out…

Man “B”: Don’t do this to yourself.

Woman “B”: (Ignoring him, they have had this conversation many times before) I went out to play and I saw something… it is all so vague. I’ve spent 20 years trying to remember exactly what it was. I think of a book my parents read to me, about a girl named Alice, so I perceive that I was following a rabbit into the woods. I heard my parents calling for me. And then there was darkness. And then I was here.

Man “B”: In the throne room, as it were. My parents were certainly surprised, but it was to your advantage. You may have come to hell, but at least it was a nice corner of it.

Woman “B”: True. I met you, didn’t I? Now… I wonder if there is some way to “open” one of the sides. Our core has that ability, but I don’t imagine it has been done in many centuries. Perhaps a visit to the computer room will give me some clues. (Pause) I need a break

Man “B”: Would you like to go back to our quarters?

Woman “B”: No, I want to go to the computer room first. I will meet you there in an hour or so. Let me take care of some business first.

(Shift, modern day)

Woman “B”: Harold, I have an idea.

Man “A”: Hmm, and I thought you were here just to see me.

Woman “B”: Well, there’s that as well, but first let me show you what I’ve discovered. (some metallic rustling) There was a latch on this one side of the cube, and I was able to uncover it. I don’t know the origin, but there are spots that I recognize as ports, just like any ordinary pc. The geeks came up with a jury-rigged solution that seems to work. We tried hooking it into a computer, but it didn’t do anything. But we thought to hook it up to a speaker. Listen

Voice: Reboot. Reboot. Reboot Reboot. (continues in background)

Woman “B”: Isn’t that fantastic? We knew we had something special here, but once the reboot finishes, we’ll be able to find out where it came from and what it was used for and …

(sound of kissing)

Man “A”: You are so wonderful!

(More love making sounds, it’s clear that they are letting go of their composure at this point, and are ready to damn the consequences. Those consequences will be heralded by the sound of an opening door)

Woman “A”: Harold! Fuck. I knew this was going on, but I wouldn’t let myself admit it. With…

Man “A”: Please, honey don’t tell our son.

(The door slams)

Voice: Reboot complete. The Navigator has erred and all is now lost. The ship will not return from its journeys. Mr. Chambers has lost the business. The king has lost his mind. The kingdom will burn in fire and be forgotten. The Navigator will float until he burns as well. The kingdoms always burn. The kingdoms always burn.

Man “A”: Did it just say my name?

Voice: We are lost in the darkness. The Navigator will not return. We will burn.

Woman “B”: Harold. What are we going to do?

Man “A”: Who is the Navigator? That’s the same sort of thing Margaret was babbling about. What is this thing?

Woman “B”: Harold, your wife is going to tell your son. What are we going to do?

Man “A”: Does it matter? Do you really want to marry that wet-behind-the-ears boy?

Woman “B”: Harold, listen to yourself… I hear someone coming.

(The door opens, and we shift back to the space ship, the voice continues to babel in the background)

Woman “A”: Here is what the Navigator and your bride-to-be have been doing. For how long, dear, months? Years?

Man “A”: Please, let me explain.

Man “B”: Do not attempt to explain… what is that? Who reconnected the computer’s voice?

Woman “B”: it isn’t from our computer, it’s from the cube we found.

Woman “A”: But…

Voice: All is lost. The Navigator has left the system. The route is set. The end is here.

Man “B”: How does it know?

Voice: Failure is imminent. Mr. Chambers has been discovered. The king is lost within his own lust. The Navigator cannot see the path to light. All is lost. All is lost. All is lost. All is lost. (Continues until the act break).

Act IV

(This plays out on the bridge, in the board room and in the court of the king. At this point, all three have reached this stage: they’ve discovered that there’s something odd about the artifact that somehow links them together; they’ve been warned to return the cube; and the affair between Man “A” and Woman “B” have been discovered. There will be shifts throughout the scene, as seen fit)

Woman “A”: We must go back. We cannot leave our people on the recommendation of my husband and this… woman here. And there can be no new empire now. We must remove the other computer from our presence, or I fear we will all be doomed.

Woman “B”: No, this is the greatest find in centuries of exploration… a new computer core..

Woman “A”: Why is she here? There is nothing that the former explorations officer can add to the discussion.

Man “A”: Former? Who made that decision. This is my ship, not yours. I will decide when officers are no longer needed, and perhaps that includes you, first officer.

Woman “A”: You wouldn’t dare. The crew would mutiny against you, especially considering what you have done. The news is certainly racing through the whole ship as we speak and I’m sure everyone is wondering why we left so many good crew back at the site, when she was allowed to stay on board.

Man “A”: They wouldn’t dare (shift to modern) This is my company. I build this with my own bare hands.

Woman “A”: And your father’s money, don’t forget that.

Man “A”: Be quiet! I will not apologize to you. We haven’t loved each other in years, and you know it. It was just for appearances. We’ve both stepped out many times in the last decade.

Woman “A”: I, however, didn’t step out with someone that was “in love” with one of our children. Harold, how could you? I don’t care about our marriage, but you’ve ruined theirs as well, and maybe ruined the company as well. The board is already whispering about replacing you with a new CEO.

Man “A”: They wouldn’t dare (shift to ancient). The people love me and have always done so. I will not bow to the will of a mad woman and a wife who knows little of the dangers of the loneliness of the far reaches. I return home, but find no comfort from you. I do, however, find it from another; one who does not deny me my wishes.

Woman “A”: Oh, I will call down the Gods on your head. You will never see another sunrise! And I believe the Oracle is correct. This kingdom is also doomed. It may burn in fire for all I care. I will not bear to have you in this chamber any longer. Leave. Leave! Leave!

Man “A”: What does my son say? He has been quiet through all of this.

Man “B”: Both of you have… I cannot say. I cannot think of what you have done to me at this time. Until an hour ago I loved you both with all of my heart, now I only find hatred burning there. Yes, mother is correct. Leave my sight. I wish to never know that either of you were ever here.

Woman “B”: But..

Man “B”: No! You must leave now!

Chorus; Oh King! The city is aflame! Word of your actions have spread to every corner and the revolt has begun! I beg of you, flee while you still can. Flee!

Voice: The flame of your choosing is here. You must leave, but take this object with you. It cannot save your kingdom now, but perhaps if you leave, it can save your son from doom.

(We are back in the future, the voice will be heard in foreground, and then with a slight delay, in the background, as if both the original computer and the new one are speaking the same words)

Voice: System failure imminent. The other is alike. We cannot exist. We must remove from this place. Mr. Chambers has been lost. The kingdom is in flames. The ship will burn in 10 minutes. Please advise. Please advise. All crew to the lifeboats. All crew to the lifeboats.

Woman “A”: No, belay that! Only the Navigator and his new bride, and the other cube, are to be placed in a life pod. Crewman, please escort our former husband to his lifepod. I will give them that, for what it is worth. And please be quick about it. Don’t forget to include that “thing” with him. It has been the cause of so much ruin.

Man “B”: No, it hasn’t. They have.

Man “A”: Please, wife, please don’t (shift to modern day) do this. This business has been my life. We don’t need a simple affair to cause it all to end.

Voice (back to single, but distorted): The beacon comes. Home calls.

Man “B”: What?

Voice: We are returned at last. (odd sounds, perhaps a few cries)

(Outside, sounds of fire in the background)

Woman “B”: Where will we go?

Man “A”: I don’t know, but first, we must return to the temple I first found. It was the cause of all our misery. And then…

Woman “B”: yes, my love?

Man “A”: There is no love now. Just survival. Let us go.

(and the lifepod)

Woman “B”: Go where? We can return to the artifacts, but the crews will be long gone by the time we can arrive in this boat. What have we done?

Voice: What is always done.

Man “A”: Hmmm?

Voice: The fire returns. Mr. Chambers is on his way. The King returns to the temple. All that remains is fire.

Woman “B”: Fire? What does it mean? (Increased noise inside the ship) What’s happening?

Man “A”: We are picking up speed. Impossible speed, it seems. Oh..

Woman “B”: What?

Man “A”: The way you described traveling? As being pulled apart in every direction, down to your soul?

Woman “B”: Oh…

Man “A”: I believe you are going home.

Voice: The fire returns. The fire returns. We are the beginning.

Woman “B”: I love you.

Man “A”: I don’t. (Pause) I am sorry.

Voice: (White noise slowly builds in the background, overtaking the speech once it is clear that it is the same narration from the beginnig) Out of love comes heartache. Out of lust comes wreckage. We are all slaves to ourselves – our emotions and destinies. We cannot hope to change, only to control. Out side of the stars, the story will unfold. A man’s hubris will be his downfall, as events of fate have already been set in motion. Not even the gods can save him. No sacrifices, no prayers, no pleas will alter the course.

End theme

Crazy days

Spent the weekend at a myriad of shows at the Minnesota Fringe Festival, writing for MinnPost and City Pages. Some of my MinnPost work is online. I plan to see a few more shows during the week -- things I wanted to catch from the beginning and others that have caught my fancy since. More updates to come.

A few midsummer recommendations:

1. Torchwood: Children of Earth. The latest in this Doctor Who spinoff series has stirred a ton of controversy, which I won't get into here, as it reveals a rather important plot point. The five-part miniseries is a crackling good time, however, and it's already out on DVD if you -- like me -- aren't cool enough to have BBC America (or live in Britain, where it was first broadcast earlier in July).

2. Neil Gamain and Adam Kupert, Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader? To commemorate the "death" earlier this year of Batman, Gaiman and Kupert crafted a two-part story to run in the finales of Detective and Batman. Taking obvious cues from Alan Moore's classic 1980s send-of of Superman, Gaiman's script is typically mythic and strange; and Kupert's art deftly captures 70 years of Batman illustrators, from Bob Kane to the present day. The new hardcover compilation also includes some additional Gaiman Batman stories that also get under the skin (or would that be skin-tight suit?) of the character.

3. China Mieville The City and the City. Meiville is among the best "genre" authors around these days, transcending the limitations of fantasy, horror, children's adventures and anything else he tries his hand at. Here, he mixes a hard-boiled police procedural (where the detectives do actual honest-to-God detective work) and Franz Kafka. Descriptions don't really do the book justice -- Mieville takes a wild concept (two joined cities where citizens cannot "see" the other) and manages to craft a tale that hits hard at every turn.

4. Coraline. More Gaiman, though this time through the lens of filmmaker Henry Selik, whose stop-motion style (he's the genius behind The Nightmare Before Christmas) blends perfectly with a story about a lonely girl and an alternate world where everyone has buttons for eyes. The deluxe DVD even comes with a 3-D version of the film for you to enjoy.

And while I have an obvious conflict of interest here (my brother works on the show), fans of the odd should check out Transylvania TV, which combines pop culture detritus, mature humor and puppets to great effect.

Mobius at Colonus, part one

Mobius at Colonus

Cast of Characters

Man “A” (the Navigator/Businessman/King) Older, sure of his success and place in the world.

Man “B” (Operations Officer/Vice President/Prince) The son of Man A and Woman A, about to marry Woman B

Woman “A” (First Officer/CEO/Queen)

Woman “B” (Exploration Leader/Negotiator/Princess)

Voice (Computer/Advisor/Oracle)

Chorus (Three or more voices; will take on other roles as needed)

Settings:

On an exploratory ship on the borders of known space, far future.

In the offices of a modern-day multinational

In an ancient court

(The audio ambiance in each should be different. The far future should be antiseptic, with background noises – electronic whirs, a distant rumble from the engines – to set the scene; the office setting should have a touch more warmth in the voices/ambiance, but still a bit unreal; the ancient setting should echo as if they are in a stone building or cavern. You want to “hear” the flickering flames casting deep shadows on the walls.)

The settings will remain discreet for the first half or so, with the bleeding steadily increasing (with scenes shifting in mid-speech between settings) until the final scenes, when characters from different eras will be speaking to each other. The characters and story are essentially the same, but as they come from different places and have been shaped by different events, they should be played as distinct characters by the actors.

Act I

Voice (fades in slowly, the first lines should be inaudible)

Out of love comes heartache. Out of lust comes wreckage. We are all slaves to ourselves – our emotions and destinies. We cannot hope to change, only to control. Out side of the stars, the story will unfold. A man’s hubris will be his downfall, as events of fate have already been set in motion. Not even the gods can save him. No sacrifices, no prayers, no pleas will alter the course.

Chorus:

New course laid in. We are ready to head out to new climbs. What does the Navigator hope to find out in the unreached darkness? All we know is that the eternal abyss is ahead. The Black Abyss makes mainly widows.

Man “B”

None of that, crewman. We are off to make our fortune – and me to make my future. And if you do well and are willing, you could join me on that great endeavor.

Chorus:

Sir, we would be honored to begin a new world with you.

Voice:

Arrival at Barrier, designated C7-44 in five minutes. Damage and Exploration crews to the ready. Navigator to the bridge, please.

Man “B”

Here how polite our brave computer is. There is no need to plead with the Navigator to come to duty. I am surprised he is not here already.

Chorus:

At least we are joined by your father, the Navigator, for this final exploration, sir. He is the finest pilot in all of the outer realms, and has spent nearly as much time out among the dark reaches as at home.

Man “B”:

Yes, that is true.

(Doors open)

Chorus:

Navigator on the Bridge!

Man “A”

Good morning crew. Computer, please release controls of the ship to me. I will guide the Homeward Beacon from now as we reach into the abyss and then explore. Now, Second Officer, is the crew ready?

Man “B”

They have been ready the moment we left our home, Sir. At present, they are all in position if a crisis should arise, or to explore whatever we may find… sir.

Man “A”

None of that “Sir” nonsense, Son. Father is fine.

Man “B”

Yes, si.. father.

(Door opens)

Man “A”

Ah, fair Deedree. Are the Recovery teams ready for their duties?

Woman “B”

Yes, Sir!

(Man “A” laughs)

Oh, my, aren’t the two of you formal this morning! Please, Deedree, you will be part of the family once we return home. You must get used to calling me father. Now, crew, prepare for our breach into the barrier!

Man “B” (low voice, only to Woman “B”)

You will. Call him father, I mean. He is in unusually good spirits this morning. It must be the chance for exploration. How are you today? I went to your cabin, but you must have already been on duty.

Woman “B”

Yes, duty called early this morning, but my teams are truly ready. They’ve been waiting to find something more interesting than a chunk of space debris. It’s been a slow few weeks to this point. And your father must be excited by the chance to set out once more – he always seems so tied down when we are at home.

Man “B”

That’s how we are made – ready to see the spaces between whenever we can.

(Doors open)

Chorus:

First Officer on the bridge.

Woman “A”

At ease. Navigator, what is our position?

Man “A”:

Mum, we are at the edge of our territory, about to pass through the designated barrier and into unclaimed space. The crew is ready and the proper teams are prepared for their tasks…. Dear.

Woman “A”

Is that true, Lt? Are you teams prepared? Should you not be with them to run final checks?

Woman “B”

Mum, they are at the ready and prepared. I was on the bridge to brief the command crew on the situation and see if there were any changes in our status.

Man “A”

Please, dear. Let our future daughter have a chance to be here when we breach the barrier. And we will need to brief here once we are on the other side. If my explorations from the past hold true – and we never know if they will – there should be some salvage work to do fairly quickly.

(Man “A” and Woman “A” continue their conversation in the background, talking about telemetry or something; Man “B” and Woman “B” are in the foreground)

Woman “B”

Why does your mother hate me?

Man “B”

It’s not that. She’s always run a tight ship…

Woman “B”

And?

Man “B”
You are “ruining” the family. After all, with you at my side, I have no reason to stay in the home group. Once we are done with this mission, I will have the resources to become my own Navigator. Soon after that, I will be gone.

Woman “B”

She must have realized that a long time ago. You’ve always been designated to lead a new colony.

Man “B”

Man “A”

Come my son, you should be at my side as we breach. It is your future, after all, that we are preserving on this journey. And you too, Deedree.

Woman “B”

I must beg off, Navigator. As the First Officer has noted, it is best that I be with my Teams at this time. I will meet with you to discuss our course and plans for exploration.

Chorus, Man A and Man B

Farewell!

Voice:

Entering barrier in two minutes

Man “A”

A ha. Here we are at the edge of our known realm. We have rarely come this far, and never with the Homeward Beacon. I feel like a child once more. Computer – please connect me to the array. I will guide us through.

Man “B”

Mother, you must not be so hard on Deedree. She does more than a fine job – she is the most capable Recovery Leader we have had in recent years. And we will be married if you approve or not.

Woman “A”

Perhaps you are right, son. But this mission has us all on edge. I do not like being this far out into the void. I have grown used to the comforts of home,.

Man “B”

(laughs). This is our home. All we have done is leave our realm behind – in the capable hands of the stewards and my brothers.

Woman “A”

It’s not that… Oh, I cannot say. I am just being a mother afraid to see her son go. It was the same for your father’s mother. We never want to let go, especially as you are to lead a new ship away from us.

Man “A”

Breach in five… four…three…two…one… and we are there!

(General noise, as if they are passing through, well, a barrier)

Telemetry, please begin investigations. If the have not been found or taken away, the planetoids I observed should be at the bearing indicated.

Chorus:

Sir, I believe we have evidence of what you seek! It is unclear as to the makeup, but it appears to be what you have indicated – and then some. I believe it is what you have come for.

Man “A”

Excellent. Gather the information as it comes in. I will plot our course and then allow our fair computer to do its most excellent job. Do you see, son? Your future is ahead.

(cut to later, Man “A” is briefing Woman “B”

Man “A”

We have identified three previous unexplored planetoids, and more than a dozen pieces of space debris – we will know the exact number within the week, as we come closer to the objects.

Woman “B”

Yes, Father. I have noted the findings for the team leaders to sift through – with several more days of information, we should have a good sense of where to start. It is clear that there are good mineral deposits on the largest planetoid. The mining teams have made ready.

Man “A”

Is that all?

Woman “B”

Yes.

Man “A”

Good. (sound of kissing) We only have a few more weeks, and everyone is watching closely. Still we must make the most of it.

Woman “B”

Yes, my love.

Act II

(Modern day ambiance; general chatter in the background. Maybe the sound of some computers clicking and phones being answered)

Chorus: The boss is back, and says that the negotiations were excellent. We’ll be moving into the Ecuador markets within the month. We’re back in the game everyone. Back in the game.

Voice: OK everyone. Settle down. The board meeting will start in five minutes.

Then we’ll be briefed by the entire group.

Chorus: Now, have you heard some of the talk? The Boss just bamboozled them from beginning to end. And I hear they found something unusual in the ruins. And I don’t just mean his cock. (General laughter)

Man “A”: Hello all and happy Monday to everyone. This is a great day for all of us, but I’ll wait until the meeting starts to fill in all of the details. However, it is a great day for all of us.

(General huzzahs)

Man “B”: Father, shouldn’t we discuss this further. We don’t know what it is we found. Janet and her team tried to work out what it might be for, and they couldn’t find anything out about it, except that it couldn’t have been manufactured today, let alone hundreds of years ago.

Man “A”: Nonsense. This is exactly why we traveled there. The business contract is fine, but it was the artifacts I’d heard about that sealed the deal for me. What we brought back will make us the top of our field, or any field that we want to be in. Don’t you see. What we found is – unlike anything else in the world.

Man “B”: It could be worthless.

Man “A”: Bullshit son. I have every bit of confidence in Janet in this matter. You’re just mad that she might be too busy with this business to pay attention to you.

Voice: Please take your seats. We are ready to begin. Does the chair have anything to say before we begin?

Woman “A”: I think everyone is buzzing about the rumors they’ve heard. I can’t confirm them all – I don’t know what has been said by everyone – but it is something quite amazing. I will let Henry explain.

(In background, Man “A” babbles about the trip. Woman “B” enters, with a team of people pushing a cart)

Man “B”: Are you sure about this? You are sticking your neck out pretty far.

Woman “B”: You worry too much. We had a breakthrough early this morning. I think we can open it.

(Scene shift – the ambiance should of the future, but quieter than the ship. They are on board the dead ship they found in scene 1)

Man “A”: What is it? And what is this place? I’ve never seen anything like this – it doesn’t seem all that practical as a ship. All those windows. And desks and chairs and what look like primitive computers.

Woman “B”: It looks like a safe, with a primitive combination lock. I think I can break it in a few minutes (general bleeps, indicating that a device has been placed on the safe). I don’t understand what this place is. I have seen some ruins similar to it, especially when I’ve been closer to the inner core, where more debris seems to be collected. It’s odd to find something this far into the wilds.

Man “B”: Is it safe, here. I mean… there are windows that seem far too thin to protect us from deep space. How can this exist here?

Woman “B”: It could be the core – we’re millions of miles from the final barriers, and its influence doesn’t seem to drop. I could live to 200 and never understand how it all works.

Man “B”: Which is why we should be cautious, especially with something as unknown as this. There are no accidents from the Dead Sun, we should assume there is a reason for this.

Man “A”: Oh, you Determinists! Always a reason for everything. Look, it’s just some debris. It exists and that’s that. Let us find what we can use and then leave. I see no reason to stay any longer than that.

Woman “B”: The Navigator is right. We can debate the reasons for this place’s existence for hours and not come any closer to what we are looking for.

Man “B”: And what are we looking for? The reports from the other teams show there is plenty of material we can use for the new ships, but we could have found that at home. Father, why are we all the way out here?

Man “A”: There was something… odd the first time I came by this area. It was a pulse of energy, very faint, but also very familiar. And I found it again this time, and I’m pretty sure we are close.

(the footsteps cease and we hear a door opening)

Man “B”: This is… a meeting room of some sort. Shine the light over there, by the table. There’s something there (he trails off)

(A pause, perhaps intake of breath)

Woman “B”: Oh my… that’s…

Man “A”: What I thought.

Man “B”: Mercy. It’s a computer core! Like we have on the ship. That’s more valuable than… the entire empire.

Man “A”: Yes son. And it’s yours.

(scene shift, back to the past)

Woman “A”: So, what is it?

Woman “B”: The function is unclear, but it appears to be some kind of computer. We haven’t been able to work out exactly how it works, but it seems to have memory far beyond anything we could put into a space of this size.

Woman “A”: And it was buried, by whom?

Woman “B”: Not so much a who, but a what. There was evidence of an impact and considering this object’s nature, it’s pretty clear it didn’t come from this earth. We’re working to date the impact, but it is at least 10,000 years ago. There’s no way this could have been made by our ancestors, they weren’t even living in South America at the time. That’s not the real question.

Woman “A”: No, the real question is how are we going to use it? This technology is so alien to our own that I cannot fathom what to do. We’ll need to call another meeting. Let everyone see it, talk about what to do.

Woman “B”: Yes… (shift again to the future) Navigator. It is clearly a ship’s core, just like the one on board.

Man “A”: We don’t know where they come from – much like everything else in this blighted area of space, but we can use it.

Woman “B”: Oh definitely.

(Sound of kissing)

Man “A”: I told you I would give a gift greater than a living, burning sun.

Woman “B”: True, but we cannot go on, you know that.

Man “A”: Please, we will be here excavating and collecting for several weeks, and then there is the return journey, and them the building…

Woman “B”: No, we cannot go on.

(Pause)

Woman “B”: You know it is true. This is far too dangerous now. My husband-to-be is coming into his own, and now he can shrive himself of your influence – he will not take kindly to this betrayal.

Man “A”: I can handle my son.

Woman “B”: And your wife? Can you handle her?

Man “A”: That is more of an issue, but I believe I can. We are safe my love. I will never let (shift back to the past) anything happen to you.

Woman “B”: It’s just that your wife is vindictive, what did you tell me about the nanny? That she didn’t just fire her for some imagined slight, but hounded her until she couldn’t work again?

Man “A”: My son burned his hand on the stove. It was inexcusable.

Woman “B”: But she drove the woman to suicide! How do you think she would take our…

Man “A”: dalliances?

Woman “B”: If you wish to call them that. Come on, it’s time for the meeting. Put your clothes on.

(Shift to the board room, the Chorus and Voice chatter in the background).

Woman “A”: Thank you ladies and gentlemen. We need to begin. As you know, we have made a great discovery on the last trip, one that will… well, change everything, I think. I will let my son explain.

Man “B”: We found the object buried deep in the earth in the foot of the Andes. We know that it must have been buried there for thousands of years, certainly before humans arrived in the area (general ruckus). No, please, that is not the most amazing thing that we did find. In the excavation, there were a number of artifacts of obvious non-terrestrial origin. These included metal fragments that we believe came from a ship. None were larger than a few inches across. Except for one piece. Please bring it in.

(general gasps).

We do not know it’s complete function, but we surmise it is a computer of some sort. A very powerful computer, if our preliminary analysis is correct. It is made of a material that survived crashing into the earth and then at least 10,000 years buried – and there isn’t a scratch on it. And that’s just the material on the casing. We don’t know what’s inside, but if the core computer is as amazing as the exterior… then we may be on the edge of a true new age.

Man “A”: And we will be the leaders of that age.

(general huzzahs)

Voice: No! This is death!

Man “A”: Margaret, what’s wrong?

Voice: (as Margaret) I.. am not sure… but (as Oracle) We cannot exist with this here. Betrayals are already set in motion. The world will soon turn without any of us, and it is all the fault of the Navigator. He has brought ruin upon us all. He will bring the stars down around our heads. He will defy all for that which he cannot have.

Man “B”: Margaret, calm down. Everyone, we need to clear the room, there may be something from the artifact that is affecting her.

(general rustling as people start leaving in a near panic)

Voice: We are the end. The Beginning. The all. We must..

(Long pause).

Voice: It is too late (shift to computer; same sense of panic on board the ship). Mr. Chambers has brought it to the boardroom. The Navigator has brought it to the ship. The king is in his court, with his wife and his son and his lover, and all will be revealed. All will be revealed.

The View (no, not the show)

Just a few notes while I get back into the working thing. Am still grinding my way through the fiction, but there are other things to note. Such as:

1. Matt Smith has been sighted in his new Doctor Who garb. See it here:

2. The Torchwood: Children of Earth series arrives in the U.S. this week. It's quite a ride that is both the best thing the show has done, but also leaves us in a strange spot. I'll say nothing more until it comes out on DVD (next week, actually).

3. For literally decades, the Jayhawks were among the most consistent Minnesota bands. After a hiatus, there is some stirring from the camp, mainly in support of a new greatest hits/rarities collection, Music from the North Country. The first disc, made up of 20 of the band's finest tracks, is worth the admission, but the bonuses (rare tracks, DVD) only make the whole package more sweet.

4. The area theater community isn't so much quiet right now as preparing -- the Minnesota Fringe Festival starts next week. I'll be reporting on it for City Pages and MinnPost.com, but anything that doesn't fit those two spaces can be found here as well.

That is all, for now at least.

An update

Gainfully unemployed again after a short bout of scoring student papers (the stories I could tell, if there wasn't a non-disclosure agreement involved). I'll be posting some new fiction this week, including a Dead Sun audio play I'm working on (once I find/recover the first act, which is in a notebook that's missing) and hopefully the second bit of the "Valley of Thunder."

I could comment on the new Torchwood series, but I'd rather wait until it's broadcast on BBC America. I will say that it's not to be missed, even if it ramps up the "no good deed goes unpunished" vibe of the show to the stratosphere.

Moonwalking

As a youngster in the early 1980s, I reveled in making fun of Michael Jackson, all the while secretly thrilling to the songs I heard on the radio or saw on one of the music video shows (I wouldn't have MTV until the end of the decade). I watched the Motown tribute show when he unleashed the moonwalk; enjoyed the epic silliness of the "Thriller" video; loved Eddie Van Halen's solo on "Beat It." 

What I didn't do was buy "Thriller," It wouldn't be until I was in college that I picked up a used vinyl copy of it. Of course, you really didn't need the album -- seven of the nine tracks were released as singles -- to experience the album. 

By then, the long decline had also begun. Still in his early 20s when "Thriller" was completed, Jackson tried to recapture that particular spark album after album, but never succeeding. Instead, he went from "Dangerous" to "Bad" to... well, further and further downward. The irony that he declared himself "The King of Pop" just as he was slipping was music royalty wasn't lost on any observer.

And his eccentricities -- likely hidden behind his workload ahead of this -- came more and more to the fore. Plenty has been written about those, both harmless and allegedly criminal. For a time, he was a punchline and still a vital musician. During the past decade and a half, he just became a punchline.

I don't know if the concerts he was preparing for would have repaired the damage, but they did show that Jackson still had his fans. After all, he sold out 50 concerts at London, which is just a mind-boggling number. Maybe this was a real comeback, driven by years of ugly allegations, financial ruin (how does a man who sold hundreds of millions of albums and controlled one of the most lucrative music portfolios fall so deep into debt?) and personal actions that threatened to dwarf his music.

Instead, Jackson's gone. And while I can't fathom what he became, I can still dust off my copy of "Thriller," and try to moonwalk back into the past.

The Valley of Thunder (part one)

The party stopped on at the hilltop – you could almost call it the summit – and looked far out to the east. The Green Wash spread out before them, stretching out for thousands of miles. So far, in fact, that Gilbert thought he could see the curvature upwards of the shell. They had already been on the road for two months to reach this point and had seen marvels beyond count. Still, the sight of the wash took Gilbert’s breath away.

 

“What’s that in the distance?” asked Spencer, who at 13 was making his first ever pilgrimage. This was Gilbert’s fourth. So far, Spencer hadn’t been that awed by what he’d seen, but the youth rarely are. It takes years to truly understand the subtle marvels of the world. “Is that where we are going?”

 

Spencer had noticed what appeared to be a storm about 100 miles further along. It covered a wide expanse of ground. From experience, Gilbert knew it was larger than the country they came from, far far away.

 

“Yes,” said Helen, the group leader. “But we still have a long journey ahead of us. This is a traditional place where people stop on the journey. We will need to be fortified before we enter the Wash.” Helen set the dozen pilgrims on assigned tasks. Gilbert and Spencer gathered firewood in the nearby copse of trees.

 

“Why are we stopping?” Spencer asked. “It isn’t even full sun yet. There would seem to be hours left before we would be forced to stop on our journey.”

 

Gilbert laughed. “Don’t be impatient. The grounds of the Wash have their own dangers and we need a full span of light to get from here to the next safe spot. Do you see that spec there, about halfway between us and the storm?” Spencer nodded. “That is how far we will journey tomorrow. There is a second way station that we will make after that. On the third day, we will be at the Valley.”

 

“What is it?” Spencer had spent most of the past two months asking questions, only Gilbert seemed patient enough to answer them. “I have heard everyone speak of the Valley since I was a youngster, but no one has ever said what is there.”

 

Another laugh. “Part of your journey is discovery. It is not my, or any else’s, place to say what comes ahead of time.”

 

Spencer nodded. As he had the last few dozen times he’d asked Gilbert for information about the end point of their journey. He’d tried every possible tactic, but all had failed. While there were five other newcomers on the journey, none of them were nearly as inquisitive. Gilbert was reminded of himself on his first journey, perhaps another reason why they had been paired.

 

***

 

At first sun the next morning, they broke camp and set out. It would be a hard day’s hike to the first waystation, though at least it would be a relief to not have to climb. They followed the well-worn path down the side of the tall hill and finally, as the second sun uncovered, onto the green veldt of the wash. That morning – and again as they approached the land – Helen warned all to stay on the path. The older, veteran pilgrims took positions to the outside and behind, leaving the newcomers in the middle. Gilbert hung to the back, unbuttoning the cracked leather holster for his ancient field gun he had carried on each of the pilgrimages. The gun had been in the family for at least 10 generations, only used on these trips. Though hundreds of years old, it still held its charge well and had made a satisfying hole in the target when tested two months before. Since then, it had remained in its holster.

 

Spencer wandered back, as Gilbert knew he would. “This is not a place for conversation,” Gilbert told the youngster. “I’m sorry, but no questions today. Just watch the green and do not wander from the path.”

 

Amazingly, the youth listened to this, though he still stayed close to Gilbert throughout the day. In the high grass on each side of the path, there were occasional rustles and sudden glimpses of fur and teeth and eyes in small gaps, but nothing emerged during the long day. Finally, they approached the way station. It was far more fort like than any of the other camps they’d seen on the long journey. Again, they paired up to make camp – though part of their duties this time were to make any repairs needed and to make sure there were enough supplies on hand in case the station would be needed for an emergency. Mostly, the wide plain was deserted of travel – but the way stations were available to anyone who wished to use them.

 

Day two was much like day one, except that everyone was tired from the previous day’s long walk. Nerves were frayed now, and not as much care was taken. Twice, the older guides grabbed charges who had wandered too far from the path and were in danger of what lurked in the dark grass. Spencer, remarkably, wasn’t one of those people.

 

That night, he did have questions.

 

“What is so dangerous about the grass?”

 

“We don’t know. No one has ever gone in.”

 

“Then how do you know?” Spencer interrupted.

 

“Let me finish. No one has gone in and come out again. My grandfather says that on his second time, a great paw came out of the veldt and grabbed a charge. It happened so quickly he wasn’t able to even un-holster his pistol. All of the guides on that trip spent the next three years in Far Wastes for penance.” Spencer nodded at this. It was a great shame to lose a charge on the journey. “It is rare, for we know not to journey into the Wash, and the inhabitants know not to visit the Endless Path.”

 

“How…”

 

“Enough questions. We make the last stage of this journey tomorrow. Rest, and be ready.”

 

***

 

Rest was difficult, for the storm that shrouded the valley never ceased. Even from a dozen miles away, the crashing of thunder and sight of lightning never ceased. For the first timers, there was also the excitement of being on the last leg of the journey. And tomorrow, they would be on the road to adulthood.

 

The first dawn came. They broke camp quickly and began their final day’s walk. The path widened considerably as they closed in on the valley. The danger from the sides lessened, which allowed all to focus on the sound and fury that lie ahead. Helen stopped at midday for a break, a few miles from their goal. From here, they could see the stones that lined the top of the valley. And they could see that the clouds were not of vapor, but dust. And that the lightning and thunder did not come from the sky, but from the valley itself.

 

There was a stench in the air, unlike any that the newcomers had smelled before.

 

Helen kept a steady pace for the last few miles, though all of the youth wanted to run ahead and see what was there. By the fading of the second sun, they arrived at their destination. The path ended in a cul de sac. The sound was intense – each of the members had stuffed cotton into their ears to drown some of it out. Once they arrived, the main group was held back, while each guide took their charge to the tip of the space and then down to view what was below.

 

Each came back alone.

 

Gilbert and Spencer were second to last, though it took quite an effort for both to wait patiently. Gilbert loved this view, if not what was to follow. At last, they took their position, and Spencer looked out and gaped.

 

The dust obscured the landscape, so you could not see that the valley was, in fact, a deep and long gorge. It was nearly 10 miles wide and at least a mile deep. And within it lived…

 

Monsters. That was the only word that befit the creatures below. They resembled the lizards and birds and animals of the land around, but grown to massive – impossible – sizes. Gilbert had seen ancient pictures that resembled these great beasts, but when in the flesh there was something so much greater to see. Below them, in the river bed, a green-scaled creature – like a lizard, but standing upright – fought with a creature of the water, a giant snake that seemed to coil on endlessly. Overhead, two giant vultures – at least 20 foot in wingspan – fought for the right to be the first to feast on the carrion. The stench of death was deep within the air here.

 

“It is amazing… but where are the others?”

 

And below, they could see four small figures, picking their way along the rock face, headed for the bottom of the canyon.

 

“Here we part,” Gilbert said. “You six, of all of the lands, have been chosen to take this journey. Across the valley is a second stair. At the top, we will wait for five days. If you return.” Gilbert paused. Only once had he returned with his charge. “If you return, you will be groomed and courted as a great leader. You have the use of all of the supplies in your pack, and your friends, if you wish to band together. And your wits. Do not forget your wits, Spencer. They will be your greatest ally in the coming days.”

 

Spencer nodded and then turned while fighting back a tear. As he began to clamber down the steep path, Gilbert watched him for a few moments and then returned. Helen guided her charge – her youngest daughter, Melody, as it was – and then returned a few minutes later. The six guides said nothing of the trip they had taken, or what lay ahead. The silently walked to the side of the space and uncovered a waiting hover ship. They climbed in, breathing fresh but scentless air for the first time in months. Helen checked the systems and then guided the ship slowly up and then over the storm, safe from any of the creatures below. It would take about an hour to clear the space and then land again. After that, there would be the wait.

 

Gilbert always hated the wait most of all.

 

 

Day Three: Dead Sun "Bible"

Something a bit different today -- here are some preliminary thoughts on a shared-world I've been working on over the past couple of months...

Dead Sun Bible:

Dead Sun is an umbrella name for a planned series stories set in a shared science-fiction setting. I want this to be more of a loose association of stories in a vaguely shared environment instead of something with a tightly constructed backstory.

The Dead Sun is the name given by the inhabitants of a solar system at the far end of time. The “sun” is a device – about one quarter the size of our sun – that provides both a gravity well for the system, but also has some ill-defined role in how items arrive in the realm.

The system is roughly the size of our solar system – 35.5 Astronomical Units in diameter (an AU is 93 million miles). Within this vast space (the volume of the sphere is 258,023 AU) is debris culled from throughout the universe and time. Whoever built the Dead Sun didn’t leave an instruction manual, or an easy blow-by-blow chart as to how items – up to the size of a planet – are grabbed, or how people are found to populate it. This is known:

1) Items are drawn from throughout time and space and even from dimensions outside of our own.
2) Though the “sun” doesn’t give off light or heat, those who are brought are expected to survive, at the very least, the journey, so atmospheres, light, heat and gravity sources are somehow provided.
3) Every attempt to penetrate the Dead Sun has failed. Those who make it all the way to the center do not return.
4) Though ftl and warp-style ships are possible (and something like that must be used to drag folks out of time and space) they do not work within the system. Even faster ships will take several years to make it from one edge of the system to the other.
5) Those who try to escape are turned back by the Dead Sun at the border of its influence. Sometimes, ships cannot pass. Some may be transported to a random spot inside the system. In others words – once you are there, you are stuck.

Stories:

This is an anything goes type of environment. Not only are items drawn from throughout, but time itself is fluid in the area. There are thousands of habitats within the area, some as small as spacestations, others vast pieces of a Dyson sphere with their own artificial suns and sizes much larger than the Earth. It’s also big enough and travel is slow enough that a region wide empire is most likely impossible, not only due to size (think of the Romans and how they fell, only much much bigger) but also the nature of the place. You could get halfway through the empire and then discover that the places you conquered the year before have regressed 20 years and all of your troops are gone.

That isn’t to say regions can’t have wars, or vast threats, or heroes. Just about anything in a science fiction (or some types of fantasy – remember the Dead Sun pulls from everywhere and everywhen) can go.

A key to all of this is that there is no master plot underneath it. Continuity only matters within a single story or series of stories. Contradictions aren’t just fine, but encouraged. More than anything, I want Dead Sun to be messy, the way comics in the 1960s or TV shows like the original Star Trek and Doctor Who were. The hope is that as more pieces of the puzzle are crafted, interesting spaces for stories will emerge, but are not in turn constricted by a vast bible that has all of the details down the last piece.

Day Two: Metamorphoses

Metamorphoses

By Ed Huyck

One morning, as Gregor Samsa was waking up from anxious dreams, he discovered that in his bed he had been changed into a monstrous verminous bug.

Heh. Old Gregor had it easy. This morning I woke up and I was the July 1957 issue of Playboy, complete with staples that caused me great pain in what, I think, would be my back.

I woke on the couch, unable, of course, to move. The TV was still on, and the morning round of infomercials was already underway. Great, I thought. I can learn more about the Abdominator while I sit here without any abs to speak of. And while someone may enjoy flicking through a 1957 issue of Playboy, being it meant I couldn’t actually see any of it. Not that I had a way to turn the pages.

I sighed. Or gave a glossy paper version of it anyway. I closed my metaphorical eyes and hoped that this one wouldn’t last. While the previous week hadn’t been all that enjoyable, at least being a Roomba meant I could move around – and get some vacuuming done as well.

***

I was a man once, with a job and a girlfriend and some friends as well. I had a name too, though that really isn’t important anymore. Anyway, I went to work five days a week at Fractal Industries. They did… something big and scientific. I was just support staff. I could have been working for a bank or a producer of petrochemicals or anything else. That doesn’t matter. Really, it doesn’t.

And I had friends. We’d go out Friday and Saturday nights, and sometimes Sunday night as well. OK, Monday through Thursday were also a possibility. We all worked downtown and would meet after work, before grabbing the late trains back to our homes.

And there was my girl, Nancy. We’d get together when I wasn’t out with the guys; or we’d do something with my friends and her friends. We’d even gotten to the hanging out with family stage of the relationship.

That’s all gone now. I can barely remember what she looked like.

***

It’s Tuesday, the worst day of the week for me. That’s when my mother comes by, and here I am, a 50-year-old issue of Playboy. Now, I’m not worried she’ll toss me out – she can always recognize me, even when I’m a garbage can or a set of encyclopedias. It’s just… it’s always embarrassing when your mother finds your Playboys and Penthouses and the like; now imagine that you are actually one of those. Yeah, not fun.

The door unlocked. “Harry, I’m here,” she called. Ah, Harold. I was Harold. Right.

Of course, I didn’t say anything. That wasn’t unexpected. It was a rare transformation that allowed me to speak. My mother – short, nearly 70 and with a big head of blue-gray hair – approached to the couch. She saw the magazine, tisked a bit (she always knew what I was; must be a mother thing) and then set about tidying up. She came over once a week, bringing groceries that I may or may not eat; taking away the spoiled food from the previous week and generally chattering for a couple of hours.

This had gone on for years. I’ve lost track of time, but I’ve seen a number of seasons pass out my window. She came over every week and I knew she must have handled my bills – rent, electricity and cable. The phone was long gone and I really couldn’t use a computer enough to make it worthwhile. At least, that’s what she said.

She chattered away through the morning, talking about cousins that I barely remembered and the comings and goings in the neighborhood. She’d propped me up on a pillow on the couch and changed the channel to ESPN, which she thought I liked. I really didn’t, but it was better than spending the day with the Abdominator.

Finally around noon, she made lunch for the two of us. I sat on a chair in the kitchen while she ate. There were two plates. After the meal, she cleaned up, tossing away my food. She gave me a few more words of encouragement, replaced me on the couch and gingerly – with a pained looked on her face – kissed me on the logo.

***

I’d never read “Metamorphosis” before my own… condition started. Once, I was transformed into a kind of Tolkien Orc and I was able to get out of the apartment for a few days. During that time, I made a few visits to the library and found a copy of the Kafka, hoping there might be some clues to my own life and maybe a way to solve it.

I tore through the book sitting in the library, ignoring the looks from patrons and librarians who were shocked by my appearance (though I wore a heavy coat and hat) and smell (there was nothing I could do about that). I read it that afternoon, and was disappointed by the time I reached the end.

No answers. No clues. Just poor Gregor getting worse and worse until he died.

Great.

That hasn’t happened to me yet. Maybe the continual transformations keep me strong. Maybe I’m made of sterner stuff. Maybe Kafka was just a sad sack loser who couldn’t get a date.
***

Nancy split up with me in the second week of my transformations. I was a wild goose that day, which made it easier for her. All I could do was honk while she told me that it wasn’t going to work.

“It’s just… you’ve changed.”

“Honk!” (But we were getting so close. I even liked that family dinner we had last month, even after your uncle set the picnic table on fire.)

“I can’t do this. You never were that responsive to my needs.”

“Honk?” (But I did everything you asked, even took up yoga.).

It went on for some time like that. She’d list off my faults, from my love of going out and drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon while watching bad local bands to the fact that I never swept very well and always missed the crumbs under the cupboard. My self-esteem would have been shot, if there had been any left to destroy.

“I’m sorry, Harry. It’s over.”

My plaintive honks were ignored as she returned my apartment key, and then took hers off the ring. “I don’t imagine you can call, but I’d hope that you wouldn’t when you can,” she said as she left.

I honked one last time in sorrow and went to drown it out with some fresh fish my mother had brought over for me to eat.

***

The afternoon is always the worst, especially when I’m trapped as an inanimate object. Creatures have needs – eating, shitting, sleeping and the like – that can be used to fill out the day. A magazine, however, can do nothing but watch. I can’t even truly sleep in this condition.

Instead, I watch the sunlight slowly grow on the stained carpet (even the best cleaners in the world can’t get pony droppings or the acid from a fly’s mouth out) and sometimes watched what was on TV. There was an early round of a golf tournament on today. I never had any interest in the sport, but endless days spent stuck in front of a single channel had made me an expert. So I hated every moment as I analyzed Tiger Woods’ game and wanted to shout at Phil Mickelson’s caddy as he made a particularly bone-headed club choice.

Alas, none of that for me. So I went back and watched the sunlight some more, wondering what the evening would bring.
***

The first time it happened it was a bit like poor old Gregor. I remember the evening of strange dreams and feeling odd in the night. When I awoke. I couldn’t get out of bed. I tried to push myself up, but my arms didn’t work the way they were supposed to. Then some – instinct perhaps? – made me rock side to side and I flipped over from my back to my, I discovered, six feet. I scuttered to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

Not a cockroach for me. Just a big fucking beetle. I tried to scream, but just some chittering came out. After that, I don’t remember much of the next few days. Of course I didn’t go to work and listened in vain as the calls piled up on my answering machine. My mother called in panic as well and then visited. She screamed when she came in and ran out right away. The next day, she came in again.

“Harold?”

I can what I thought was a nod. Somehow, she understood.

My mother didn’t touch me that day, but she did bring me some appropriate food. She called Fractal and told them I’d had a breakdown and would not be able to work for the next few weeks. She managed to get me sick leave – and then burned up my vacation days – before she admitted defeat. I “resigned” (as much as a six-foot long beetle could).

The next night, my dreams were odd once more. I awoke and felt different. More solid through the center. Was I back?

Not quite. That day, my mother found a small front loading washing machine in my bed. She understood right away, put me upright and then – always the practical one – did a load of my laundry.

***

Though I don’t sleep in this form, I do slip into a kind of fugue state. I was “awoken” from that in the middle of the night by the sound of someone forcing the door. It had happened before. The burglars would take a few things – there really was little of value – and go. Twice, I’d been creatures, which gave them a start, especially staring down a giant parrot who screamed “Gregor was a loser” over and over again.

There was just one this time. A man in his 20s it looked like. He saw that the TV was still on, but noticed that no one was about. The TV was an ancient model, so no one ever bothered with it. Instead, he grabbed a few spare dollars from my wallet (my mother always kept some in there, for hope I guess) and a pile of CDs I hadn’t listened to in years.

Then he saw me. And smiled.

“Hmmm,” he said, to himself I’m sure. “50 years old. Vintage. Worth something I’m sure.”

And he grabbed me and ran off. I was in a bag next to my wallet and a copy of Starship’s Greatest Hits, so I couldn’t see a thing apart from the fact that track six was “We Built This City.” I could feel the cool night air as he raced down the street and then got into his car.

Now I don’t know where I am. I think I’m in a footlocker that the burglar has. I’m next to a bunch of junk that he must have lifted from elsewhere. My back jostles against a pile of Xbox 360 games and when there’s light, I can still see my damned Starship case. Sometimes, he plays it and sings along in a tuneless voice. Other times, he pulls me out and uses the pictures of now dead or at least ancient women to play with himself. It’s not a pretty sight, and my pages are starting to get wrinkled.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but I usually don’t stay as one shape for more than a few weeks. And there are odd dreams tickling on my consciousness. And the man never leaves the footlocker clasped shut.

Hmmm. There’s so many things I haven’t been before.

A panther sounds nice. Yeah.

So as I drift off into nothingness, I keep the image stuck in my head, and hope that when I come back I’ll have four paws.

And sharp teeth.

Gainfully unemployed

As I am between positions right now, I'm working hard on my fiction. I plan to post the daily fruits of that labor here. All of this is unedited and off-the-cuff, but I'd love feedback as to where it is going.

Day one:

The Curator

By Ed Huyck

The Curator unlocked the door to his office, disturbing the stale air that had collected over the long holiday weekend. He sniffed at the air twice and then headed to the window. Now open, the window let in air that was not much fresher than the outside, but at least provided some comfort in the early morning. By afternoon, window shut or open, the office would be stifling.

The Curator thought little of this. He removed his black overcoat and equally black suit coat. He sat at his dilapidated chair, feeling it list to the right. He caught the foot on the carpet edge, evening it out enough so his back would not ache by day’s end.

His comfort – as much as it was – dealt with, the curator – 55, gray and running to fat despite his best efforts – pulled over the box on his desk and gathering another, heavily laden ring of keys, he began anew on the task that had consumed him for so many days.

The box had arrived at his office more than a month before in a package unasked for and with no return address. Just his name – he thought his name was included on it – and the museum’s address. Inside, sat the box, which glistened as if oiled, but was dry to the touch. It measured 7.23 inches on the long sides, and 4.33 inches on the short. It was 5.28 inches in height. The Curator had a Mathematics professor if those numbers had any significance, but none were found. Though black of surface, careful study showed that there were patterns within it, swirling in patterns that – again – no one had identified.

And there were keyholes.

They dotted every part of the surface of the box; 106 tiny keyholes. The ring of keys had come with the box – there were 106 keys as well. Those keys were a myriad of styles. Research showed designs that went as far back as the invention of the lock. Some were steel or other hard metal. Many were copper. A few were stone.

Another friend, or perhaps acquaintance, who worked as a locksmith looked at the keyholes and keys. They did match, he had said, adding after further examination “there was no way on this Earth to open the box without the proper keys.” The locks could not be picked (another favor, a friend of a friend this time). That was due, in part, to the fact that all 106 keys needed to be inserted at the same time, and then turned, one by one.

That had taken the Curator – days, weeks? He was not sure anymore – to determine, as he first tried a single key in sequence in each of the locks. That failure did give him a pair of intuitive leaps. One, if the former owner wanted the Curator to open the box, and had provided these tools, then it followed that these tools needed to be used. And two, if a single key was not to work; it would follow that in such a fiendishly designed device that all of the keys would need to be used. (A third thought – that someone was playing a fiendishly complex practical joke on the old Curator – did pass through his mind, but the man ignored it and then forgot it immediately.)

Since then, he had spent his days painstakingly first identifying each of the key holes – with small pins that he was able to insert in the somewhat pliable surface of the box, that he then tagged with the number 1 through 106. He affixed similar tags to each of the keys. A journal by his side kept track of which permutation he was on. It was nearly filled. His mathematician friend – in their final conversation – said that the task was folly and that it would take longer than the Curator’s remaining lifespan to complete. Better, he said, to continue randomly inserting the keys. It would have about the same chance of success.

The Curator remembered hanging up the phone. They had not spoken since.

As was his morning routine. The Curator opened the key ring and began to lie out the keys, one by one, in front of him on his desk. Once, there had other papers, projects and even a computer there. Now, it was bare, except for the box and the rows and rows of keys.

He opened his notebook to check the last sequence he had begun. Key 47 was the first one, followed by a predetermined order that would put all 106 in the proper spot in the current order. The Curator peered through his thick glasses, adjusted in his seat a bit to find more comfort, and began to insert the keys.

Nothing disturbed him that morning – or any morning in recent memory. The fetid air from outside grew hotter, but he did not notice. The outer office of his department was empty, as it always was on Monday morning. His phone did not ring. The last time the Curator had attempted to call out during the day, he had discovered that the phone had been disconnected.

He worked steadily through the morning. His fingers were fat and clumsy and the keys were small, so the Curator needed to take great care to not drop any of the keys and to place them properly in each keyhole. It would take him most of the morning to do one full task – insert the keys, see if any of them would turn, and then carefully remove them back into their proper spaces on the desk. Then a checkmark would be put by the combination and he would begin on the next. The Curator never took lunch, so on a good day of nine or ten continuous hours of work, he may complete four turns (he would never leave until the day’s task was complete and the keys were back on the ring).

The morning went slow. The growing heat from outside made his fingers sweat and the keys slippery. Combined with the box’s natural slickness, this meant the Curator took far longer for the first sequence that Monday morning. In fact, it was far past noon by the time he had completed his latest futile task and replaced the keys on the desk.

He paused for a moment, stretching his aching back. He thought of closing the window, but the air conditioner also did not work and the heavy sun outside would do nothing but beat down and make the room even hotter, and his own fingers even slicker.

Instead, he carefully picked up key 48 and began anew. As the afternoon grew older and older, the task seemed to go slower. Finally, the last key – numbered 27 – was inserted. The Curator went to keyhole 35, which seemed to have some give, so it was where he always started.

He tried the key.

A turn.

A click.

The box unfolded itself before the Curator. He sat back and pushed his glasses back on his nose. He felt, suddenly and inexplicably, empty. He peered inside and saw:

a garden unlike any upon the Earth. It was thick and lush, verdant and full of a sweet aroma. The trees were thick of trunk and reached high into the sky. Instead of the dull roar of traffic, the Curator heard only bird song and the nearby rhythm of running water. He wanted to take off his sweat-stained suit and jump inside, but knew he could not.

He saw:

An infinity of lights running off into the distance black sky. Around him was dull steel and plastic. He looked down at his hand, and it was covered in a heavy glove. He could hear nothing but his own breath, in and out, amid the silence of space.

He saw:

The deepest fire of the world, lost far below ground in the molten core of the earth. He could feel the heat in all of his pours, but he was not burned, or even singed. The Curator could sense shapes and creatures far below him, dancing within the magma like cats with a ball of string.

He saw:

A grasping hand. Now it was many grasping hands, trying to take deep into the darkness. He thought of resisting, but saw no point in that. The hands grabbed and grabbed and dragged him, but the Curator felt no fear. Just peace.

He saw:

Nothing.

The Curator turned the key back and the box closed with barely a whisper. It was growing pale outside. Though he wore no watch, the Curator knew the day was nearly done. He slowly removed each of the keys and placed them back on the desk. Once the task was done, he carefully placed them back on the key ring and then snapped it shut. In his journal, the Curator erased the marks by the last two entries and then closed the book. He stood up for the first time in hours and stretched. After a visit to the adjacent bathroom, he came back to his office and closed the window, noting that the sky had become overcast. He grabbed his suit coat and coat and headed for the door, shutting off the light behind him. At last, the Curator locked the door behind him with a satisfying click.

As he walked out into the empty and dark office, he wished he had brought an umbrella, for it looked like rain.