You Compute Me

~ howtofeedyourhuman ~ Leave a comment

I’ve been a single dad for about three years now. In that time, I’ve had the most fun responding to various scammers and bots who have been attracted to me for one reason or another. Here are a few links to some of my favorite interactions.

https://twitter.com/AnthonyLaFauci/status/1347925468977258496?s=20
https://twitter.com/AnthonyLaFauci/status/1377756782538457091?s=20
https://twitter.com/AnthonyLaFauci/status/1375838483948912644?s=20
https://twitter.com/AnthonyLaFauci/status/1180544874862522368?s=20
https://twitter.com/AnthonyLaFauci/status/1195469610646200321?s=20
https://twitter.com/AnthonyLaFauci/status/1203428243682004992?s=20
https://twitter.com/AnthonyLaFauci/status/1375931093476605956?s=20
https://twitter.com/AnthonyLaFauci/status/1173234206044020742?s=20
https://twitter.com/AnthonyLaFauci/status/1376026309755871234?s=20
https://twitter.com/AnthonyLaFauci/status/1352631408456585218?s=20
https://twitter.com/AnthonyLaFauci/status/1346801850226515968?s=20

Abduction (Super short story)

~ howtofeedyourhuman ~ Leave a comment

If they find me, it’s over. My body still aches from being on the table for so long. My limbs are weak phantoms, warm and bruised, but otherwise numb to the touch. It feels like I’m wrapped in gauze and plastic. The sterile, metallic scent still lingers in each breath, but I can finally smell the cool air. Everything is different somehow. It’s all familiar but uncanny, as if I’m seeing the world through a new lens. What did they do to me? I don’t even feel like myself. I’ve heard stories about the things that could happen. About examinations and experimentation, but it’s different when you’re the one in the room. How long was I on that table? I need to move. The street is too visible. They could be watching. I don’t know how their technology works. I’ve seen some of it, but only briefly. I don’t know what they’re capable of. I just know that I never want to be on a table like that ever again. Maybe they already know where I am. Maybe they’re already on their way. I’m going to end up getting filleted or probed. I’m dead. I’m already dead. No. The shadow of the trees is enough to keep me hidden, at least for now. The house isn’t far. There are lights ahead. Maybe I’m closer than I thought. But, those aren’t streetlights. They’re moving. Small bright circles dart from tree to tree, it’s them. It has to be. Voices call out in the darkness as I turn to run. I have to make it. I have to make it home. Something takes hold of my arm. No. I’m too weak to fight. There’s a soft whimper, that becomes a deep, wet, guttural sigh of relief as I turn. “Katie!” the woman cries. “Where have you been! Oh my god!” She wraps herself around me, pulling me into her chest. I feel her heartbeat against my cheek as she cries. “I’m sorry, mommy,” I say. “I got lost and–” That’s all she needs to hear. She takes me home and tucks me into bed. She doesn’t suspect a thing. The transformation is nearly complete. Infiltration was a complete success. May my sisters fair as well as I on this momentous day. All hail Zebulon.

Roshambozo and the eight legged hug

~ howtofeedyourhuman ~ Leave a comment

Writing, like most other (all other?) activities, often feels like an exercise in Sisyphean futility. If it weren’t for the miracle of the word processor, I would have been crushed beneath the weight of an Indiana Jones-esque boulder of crumpled pages years ago. The act of expressing a thought, written or otherwise, can be a complicated and cumbersome challenge. MLK once said that the calling to speak was often a “vocation of agony”. I don’t know about you, but I think that guy was on to something. I bet he had a few other interesting thoughts as well.

Personally, I struggle with communicating in general, but through the years I’ve at least cultivated a sort of linguistic, lexiconic, improvisational, and vernacularian utility belt of ridiculousness that has helped me to survive. (It’s a word. I mean, you know, now it is) Coming to terms with the general public when you spend most of your time alone can be like trying to shake hands with an octopus, but I think I’m getting better at recognizing which tentacles I’m supposed to jump over and which I’m supposed to roshambo. That’s what you do with tentacles, no? Writing has always been something that I’ve enjoyed doing despite my shortcomings, but when I take a step back, twist that little dial and shift focus outside of my own narcissistic pleasure and consider whether or not I am being heard or understood, I often feel like an alien. Or worse, I feel like a failure. Entire lifetimes pass in which I can’t tell if the various octopods are throwing rocks or scissors or paper, or just trying to escape my bizarre ape-man grasp, because why am I shaking my fist at them in the first place? I begin to feel uncertain. I feel as if I’ll never know how to actually communicate what I’m trying to communicate when it should be communicated, and that is scary, and lonely, and sometimes it hurts.

In the same speech mentioned earlier, MLK also said that despite the hardship of doing so, we “must speak with all the humility appropriate to our limited vision”. I think that’s important for me to remember because although I feel like I’m fumbling and flailing and failing to communicate appropriately with every tentacled creature I see, I am also just as much a weird ass octopus as they are and it’s probably best to just embrace the awkward handshake as a sort of language in and of itself. Like an improvised dance that I should enjoy and celebrate… or at least laugh at.

The Unbearable Lightness of Mixed Metaphors

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This is the closest I’ve come to understanding writer’s block. In the past, I would read of people struggling to find ideas or inspiration, motivation, time, patience, etc. but the solution to their problems seemed absurdly simple to me.

Sit down and do the work.

Start writing anything at all and gradually you will find that you are able to love and hate your way into something you enjoy by following your natural predilections. As with most other things, crafting fiction is a system of chaotic discovery, adaptation, and natural, as well as eventually artificial, selection.

And then, my orderly, simplistic, and seemingly ideal life descended into unmitigated chaos.  When you’re being dragged through a violent abyss, it’s difficult to lift yourself into a sitting position long enough to catch your breath, let alone get any actual writing done.

I’ve always preferred to write seemingly superficial, absurd, supernatural pop fiction. The idea of conveying personal thoughts, experiences, theories, and philosophies through subtext has always been more appealing to me than the usual forms of literary proselytization. It’s easy to express a heroic journey fraught with danger and peril from the safety of the Shire. The journal of a man on fire is doomed to burn with him. It’s only from a position of safety and security that I’ve been able to truly find time for reflection and poetic exploration.

In my current state, whatever you want to call this place, it seems impossible to write little more than “ouch”.

That being said, this is me picking myself up so I can sit down. And when I fall again, I will roll enough to put that fire out, and when I’m able to finally find my chair, wipe the ash from my shoulders, and shake the smoke rings from my fists, I will write something seemingly superficial, it will be absurd and full of supernatural nonsense, and it will be proof that I am alive.

 

Roommate From Hell

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I have worked on several variations of this over the years. Initially, I wanted to shoot it as a small budget, live-action pilot with a few friends. Given the scope of the idea and my limited resources, as well as dwindling number of friends, I decided to work on other, less ambitious projects. For now, this is just the first draft of something that I enjoyed writing. This version was written as a half hour, animated comedy pilot.

 

Roommate From Hell Pilot

Write What You Know

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When I was in 9th grade,  my art teacher suggested that I see a counselor after reading my final exam paper. We were instructed to write a short story using a list of specific, art related, vocabulary words that we had learned throughout the semester. My story was about an artist who would stare through a small window night after night, and try his best to paint what he would see. As the days progressed, and the scenery changed, he became frustrated that  he could never capture the world on his canvas as he saw it. And as he finished, he was forced to watch his art become meaningless as the day became night, and summer became fall, over and over until he eventually killed himself.

Yeah.

The counselor asked me a series of indirect questions to determine whether or not I needed counseling.  “What was the artist feeling?” “Did the artist have friends” “Was the artist happy with his family?” Etc. I thought it was hilarious at the time. Now, I write an array of stories, comics, novels, podcasts, and such that tangentially or superficially touch upon themes that interest me. They aren’t a perfect reflection of me or my beliefs or even how I am feeling in the moment, but instead, elevated, hyperbolic, absurd hypothetical peepholes that show a world I see glimpses of from time to time.

This is a newer draft of Episode 3 of our upcoming podcast.

 

Episode 3- You’re Killing Me

A Good Night

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I am also working on a children’s book right now. I wrote this because I need practice using my new drawing tablet, and I would prefer to learn while being productive rather than simply sketching.  This is a very simple peak behind that particular curtain.

Page 1. Playing in sandbox: Crab monsters, sand castles, shovel sword?

The brave Knight had journeyed far and away, across the treacherous desert where the crab beasts played.

With Sir Duck by his side, the Knight loved to have fun battling monstrous creatures.
Of course, the Knight always won.

Page 2. Eating Dinner: Veggie dragon? Spitting broccoli fire? pea monsters… Fighting with fork sword.

He had vanquished foes both large and small, and even defeated the worst of them all.

The Dragonus Broccolus who had the power to breathe,
the greenest, most veggie-filled fire you’ll see.

Page 3. Taking a bath: Rubber Ducky ship? Fighting with a giant hand holding a loofah.

Even when washed out to the dangerous seas, with a handful of giant- sea monstery things,

the Knight and Sir Duck always had a good laugh, because sometimes adventure is just like taking a bath.

Page 4. Brushing Teeth: Using a tooth brush sword to fight a giant, angry, tooth.

There was one last great beast for our heroes to face, so with brush-swords in hand, the Knights took off in chase.

It took only a minute, though it was quite the feat, for the knights to properly take care of the teeth.

Page 5. Comfy Armor: Treasure chest with new armor and stuffed animals

The treasure was theirs, they had earned it at last, and reflected upon the epic day that had passed.

After adventuring with beasts, raging seas, and great fights, it was finally time to turn out the lights.

Page 6. Sleep: Sleeping in bed, smiling, shadowed to look like a knight.

So, with Sir Duck by his side, our hero was tucked in tight, and he smiled as he fell asleep.
Because it was a good night.

A good night

~ howtofeedyourhuman ~ Leave a comment

Since investing in a Surface Pro, I’ve been trying to decide what my next art project will be. As far as writing is concerned, I’ve been really enjoying working on the upcoming How To Feed Your Human Podcast, but I need something that will be a long term drawing investment. I will definitely be working on a comic book in the near future, but since I’m still in need of some practice with the new device, I want to do something to hone my skills a little.

Today, I wrote a short children’s book that I plan to illustrate over the next week or so. It should be good practice and once I’m finished I can self publish through Amazon and createspace. The book is called “The Good Night” and was inspired by my first doodle with the Surface Pro (below).

 

knight

Episode 2: Self Improvment

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I finished the first draft of Episode 2 today.  Unfortunately, I’m a little behind in my writing due to my laptop screen committing suicide earlier this month, but I was able to fix it and now I am doing what I can to get back on track. This episode was fun to write, but I’m afraid a lot of the humor will come from delivery and as such it might not be a great read. Or, it’s very possible, that I am just a horrible writer. Either way, here is the first draft of Episode 2.

Self Improvment