#and I use the Dreamland Post Office for my mail

[seat-safety-switch]

Without the power of television, we'd all be living perfectly normal lives. Sure, some of us would read novels about moving to Australia and having cool adventures or something, but on the whole our aspiration would be a little lower. TV makes things happen. They make an exotic, dreamland lifestyle seem attainable. You can make your house beautiful. You can make your ass bounce pennies off it. And you can have an exotic sports car.

For years, the Porsche dealership has been doing a little test-drive event in my neck of the woods. They'll bring all of the latest beetle-shaped sports cars around and send the community's richest folks a little invitation to show up to a secret location. At that point, they let the rich folks bag on the cars a bit, shake some hands, serve some barbecue and booze, and it's a good weekend for everyone. The idea is that they sell extra cars the next week, to folks who just hadn't considered buying a new Porsche until they got all these nice gifts. They never counted on me.

While I'm not especially rich, I have managed to leverage my friend Letter-Carrier Louise's connections at the post office into knowing when and where this event is. It's not legal for me to open someone else's mail, but it is perfectly okay if I stand next to her while she sorts postcards, and read the words that say "hey rich guys come drive a Porsche at Boonies' Country Club and Horse Embalmatorium." Sometimes she has to go a little slow on the ol' letter sorting, because she knows I don't read very quickly anymore, not since the electroshock therapy.

You might be surprised that, although I'm not moneyed, I do own rich men's clothes. My secret? Estate sales, or to be more accurate, the thrift store closest to the rich part of town where they have the estate sales. Sure, they're not the latest fashions, but that means the salesmen will think that I'm an eccentric hyper-richo, and not, say, some degenerate who is only there to scare the shit out of a golf course owner by four-wheel-drifting a 600-horsepower electric hypercar around the bar until the tires explode. And they're right. I'm also there for the free barbecue, and as many cans of beer as I can stuff into the trunk of my 1978 Volare, which has been tactically parked in the groundskeeper's shed, ready to make good my escape.

Was this ethical? Absolutely not, but the acquisition of obscene wealth rarely is. They say you have to fake it until you make it, and I'm sure once that second part hits I'll swing by the dealer to make it up to them.

[kichikichiko]

Trip to dreamland

FIRST TIME WRITING FOR MY FAV PUPPET WALLY <3333

Request by : @lunarowen 🤭

Synopsis : Wally sees his beloved tired and sleepy, so the puppet prepared his Darling charm and comforts you

Pairing: wally darling x gn puppet! Reader

Cw: fluff, comfort, established relationship, slightly OOC?, sleeping together on the same bed 🥹🫶🏻, not proofread

──────•❥❥❥•──────

Sorry to bother you both, but have you seen (name) anywhere today?" The neighbourhoods favourite artist asked Julie Joyful and Frank Frankly, interupting their conversation.

"Oh sorry wally! I havent seen them at all today! Now that I think about it, they seem quite off the day before, right Frank?" Julie looked back at Frank, looking for some kind of answer

Frank nodded after a bit of thinking and looked at the yellow puppet "why dont you ask Eddie? He's probably delivering mail right now"

Wally thanked the 2 and made his way down to Eddie Dear's post office and asked him the same question.

"Sorry Wally" Eddie started, back facing Wally as he sorted out mails and packages. "I havent seen em today either, I will stop by their house later on, if you want I can report to you what I find"

Wally shaked his head "no that wont be necessary I think I'll just head over to their house instead, thank you Eddie"

You and Wally were suppose to have a painting date around the woods of the neighbourhood, but you never showed up.

After a bit, the yellow puppet arrived at your home and knocked a few times, when there was no answer he started to get worried.

He knocked again "hello~? (Name), its me Wally. Are you alright in there?" No answer

He pondered for a bit then decided to do something

"I'll come inside then (name)"

He entered your house and stood at the entrance, waiting to hear something, anything from you but again no sound can be heard.

Wally went up the stairs to your bedroom and knocked, "(name)? Are you alright?"

He opened your bedroom door slightly and peaked his head in, the sight he saw was you propped up on the floor dozing off with papers scattered around the floor.

Wally walked up to you and crouchrd down, shaking you a bit to wake you up.

You opened your eyes and groaned a bit "wally...? What are you doing here? Were suppose to meet tomorrow..."

"It IS already tomorrow (name), you didnt show up at our meeting place" He answered you with his signature smile and lazy eyes.

Once he said that did you finally gain your senses, you looked around to see the sun shining through your window, then at the clock and back at Wally

He didnt seemed bothered at the slightest, making you feel guilty. "Im... so sorry Wally I didnt- I should have set an alarm! I didnt realised I dozed off last night oh no!"

Wally placed his hand on your head and shaked his head, the smile still on his face "dont worry about it, I was worried something happened to you, speaking of which...whats with all this paper scattered about?"

You scanned the area and finally remembered what you were SUPPOSE to do the night before

"I was... trying to prepare a drawing of the both of us last night.. as a surprise gift to give to you when we meet up..." blush formed around your cheeks (if that was even possible) as you looked down to your hands, slightly embarrassed "none of them looked nice so I kept on trying to draw a better one... i guess I lost track of time and the next thing I knew, I've already fallen asleep"

The yellow puppet laughed at your words, "ha.. ha...ha" some puppets thoight the way he laughed was iffy or strange, but you never thought of it that way, in fact when he laughs, it washes your worries away.

"Oh dear (name) I think all your drawings look lovely, I would have appreciated all of them either way and Im sure you know that" he gave you a closed eyes smile reassuring you, making you smile a bit. He took your hand and stood up "lets just spend the day at your place, you seem pretty tired so lets just relax"

You nodded and lead him to your bed as you layed on it Wally following along.

He attemped to hug you, but ended up limp in the process making you laugh "youve gotten slightly better at this Wally"

"Im glad, the concept of hugging is still strange to me, ha.. ha.. ha..."

Comfortable silence ensued and you started feeling your eyelids drop, before you made your way to dreamland, Wally kissed your forehead and said the following words,

"Have a wonderful trip to dreamland, I'll see you there, Darling."

──────•❥❥❥•──────

REQUESTS OPEN

Masterlist here!

[arthur-lesters-tummy]

day 77 of the dreamlands

sorry I've been MIA, seasickness got to me. I just read the letter from @arthur-lesters-tits (not sure how we received mail while on a ship but that's the dreamlands for you...). your writing was purple, if you can believe, hope you get colours back soon!

@arthur-lesters-ribcage and I are finally at the island, Hinon! i'll see if i can find us a quicker way back because 2 weeks was a long trip -surely someone here has a speedboat- and i don't fancy going through the zone of forgetfullness again, if it can be helped (unlikely). i suddenly have a journal in my possession that i don't remember purchasing or writing in, but it looks like my handwriting, with entries saying i did terrible things when we docked for a break at Nus. it doesn't mention what ribcage did, and they seem normal, so i assume they don't remember and didn't keep a record what happened, or what they did. ah, the bliss of ignorance...

i still have a job to do: deliver a "package" to one of the residents on the island, whose house i have a hand drawn map to. it's very quiet here, reminds me of the lighthouse island with all the fog. it's a small village, 89 residents, according to the captain. only three shops: a post office, a grocery shop with an arts/crafts section, and one for second hand goods. the landscape consists of long stretches of field and forests (hopefully these ones don't move as much as the ones on the mainland).

would you like to see the shops and write back to the limbs, ribcage, or go straight to the house and shop later?

[luminumi]

hello lumi! what is your full name address and credit card number

Hello, mysterious person! You seem nice!

My full name is NO, my credit card number is NO, and my address is NO-

[buckyswheezes]

Perfectly Fine (Pt. 2)

Premise: “You know why I don’t like you? It’s because you’re a natural. You’re naturally kind, naturally good-looking; you can wear trash bags and still look perfectly fine. You’re naturally intelligent and excellent in everything you do. It’s like you naturally get what you want, you don’t have to work hard for it. You don’t have to pretend because people naturally like you.”

Or Bucky found out that the new oh-so-perfect Junior Accountant of Stark Industries isn’t as perfect as everyone thinks.

Part 1

The rays of sunlight stream through the windows, hitting Bucky’s face. After only a few hours of sleep and two cups of coffee, it became clear to him;

Bucky likes you.

Maybe it’s the lack of proper sleep plus the kick of caffeine that got him annoyed at himself for wasting the past two hours of his life trudging around his living room before coming to that conclusion, but he was sure of it now. He grabbed the car keys from the countertop. A drive around town would be better than walking around the house.

—

The blaring of the doorbell penetrated your dreamland, jolting you awake. Cursing, you glanced at the wall clock and cursed even more, when you saw that it was only 8:24  in the morning.

Clad in an oversized wrinkly shirt (that you’ve been wearing the last five days) and undies from last night - not to mention potential eye boogers and saliva trails - you begrudgingly jumped from your bed, a string of curses still running through your head.

“Who the fuck disturbs me in my beauty sleep at my goddamn rest day?”

You reached the front door and, after undoing the chain bolt, yanked it open.

“What the fuck do you wa—“

Your eyeballs nearly fell from their sockets at the person standing in front of you. It was as if you just did the ice bucket challenge when James’ bewildered face saw your inglorious form.

The beautiful, polite, and sophisticated woman they know from work —gone.

“Fucking hell” Spilled from your mouth, and as quickly as you can, you slammed the door shut.

But James’ quick reflexes caught it, and seconds after, you heard a clicking sound that can only be the sound of camera shutters. He was stronger than you -no doubt- and was able to push the door open. Now he stood in your doorway, phone in hand.

Screw being kind and polite. Screw being well-mannered. You were too stunned at what just happened. “You better delete that shit right now, James. And what the hell are you doing here, you peasant?”

“Aren’t you gonna let me in?”

“Why the fuck would I?”

You gawked when he pushed past you and let himself in. The room in disarray welcomed him; dirty clothes haphazardly littered the floor, leftovers and unwashed dishes piled in the sink. You crossed your arms and trailed after James as he observed the chaos around him.

Bucky sat on your couch and looked back at you with an amused face. “Are you really like this?” He smirked at your annoyed look. “Who would’ve thought that you’re actually foul-mouthed, hysterical, and messy? How many days have you been wearing that shirt?”

“None of your fucking business. Now get the fuck out of my house before I kill you.”

“I can’t believe I like you. You deserve an Oscar; you fooled all of us.”

You were taken off guard at his confession, but his last words got on your nerve. “Fooled all of you? So what if I pretended to be well-mannered and polite? I didn’t hurt anyone. It’s not a big deal.”

“So it’s not a big deal if I e-mail this picture or maybe post this on our office board for everyone to see?” Bucky threatened and was satisfied as your face morphed into a horrified expression. “You don’t want them to know that this is the real you.”

“You just caught in a bad day; we drank last night. I have a hangover. That’s just it.” You reasoned, hoping James would buy it.

“I don’t care; I’d still post this.” Bucky nonchalantly replied. He reached for something in his pocket at tossed the thing at you, barely catching it.

It was your phone.

“You must’ve dropped it last night.”

You grit your teeth in irritation. “Delete that god damned picture, James.”

His eyes raked your form. “Why does it matter if they see you like this?”

“Because I don’t want them to, should there be any other reason? You took that picture without my consent. Now delete that shit, or I’m suing you; that’s harassment and trespassing.”

“You’re right, I suppose.” He was silent for a second, and that gave you hope, but then he added. “But I would like to see you try.’

You groaned. “Now, you’re just power tripping.”

He chuckled, clearly very amused. “I’ll delete this, on one condition.”

You raised a brow.

“Date me.”

You weren’t expecting this at all.

Part 3

author's note: Working on part 3 so it should be up in a bit.

[hargrove-mayfields]

A Stake of Holly in Her Heart Pt. 6

Pt. 1   Pt. 2   Pt. 3   Pt. 4   Pt. 5    

Back inside the house for the night, Max avoids her nightly routine, going straight to her room to hopefully avoid any punishment until the morning comes.

There’s something she really needs to do, so she waits and waits, watching the minutes tick by on her digital clock until the house quiets down and she can be sure Susan and Neil are asleep.

She perches on the end of her bed and just listens for the TV to shut off in the living room, for her mother to pad up the steps toward her room in her fuzzy slippers, and for every light switch in the house to click off. Once she’s sat in complete silence, she presses her ear to the door so she can decide if she’s in the clear.

There’s a writing desk in Billy’s room, along with the last of his furniture they haven’t put out to the curb yet, put there because, well, he wouldn’t be using the room anymore, and Susan thought the space should be utilized instead of just being a memoir to a dead boy, so it became an office of sorts. And that was where Max needed to be right now.

Making as little noise as possible, she tiptoes from room to room, gently shutting each door behind herself, her heart stopping when the lock clicks into place.

Before she takes another step into the room, she listens for a floorboard to creak, or a voice to shout at her to go back to sleep, but there’s nothing but the sound of thick snow gently hitting against the window pane.

The lamp clicks on on the desk so she can see what she’s doing as she carefully fishes through the drawers of the bureau until she’s found a sheet of paper, the only one she could reach without making too much noise is printed with a border of holly branches, a red ballpoint pen, an envelope, and a stamp.

Max sets it all out in front of herself and thinks long and hard. What she’s about to do leaves no room for making mistakes, because she’s going to write a response to Maria.

It takes a lot of workshopping, cutting out bits of information she would rather share in person and trying to make it as blunt as possible, but eventually she decides on this,

“Dear Ms. Hargrove,

I’m not sure if Billy ever told you about me, but I’m his stepsister, Max.

I got your card in the mail Christmas morning, and I’m sorry to tell you, but he didn’t get to read it.

Your son Billy died on the 4th of July.

Please, if you get this letter, come and see him. He’s in the cemetery on 101 Cedar Street, Hawkins, IN, plot 206 B under the ginkgo tree.

I’m sorry, Maxine Mayfield”

Max folds the paper as neatly as she can manage and seals it into the envelope, copying Maria’s address from the first letter onto the outside, and sticking the little stamp, a picture of a Christmas tree, to the corner.

Putting everything back and pulling the chain on the lamp, it’s like she was never even there.

But she must’ve gotten careless, must’ve been too caught up in the moment to remember to listen for footfalls because, when she opens the door again, she’s face to face with a disgruntled Susan.

Arms behind her back, Max slowly slides the envelope into her pocket before her mother can see it. “What are you doing in here?”

“I-I was just, uh, thinking about Billy again.” She lies through her teeth, bringing her arms up to hold the door frame so Susan wouldn’t notice she had something hidden behind her back. “Wanted to be in here for a while, I guess.”

Susan frowns and rubs her eyes. “You know you’re not supposed to be up this late.”

“Yeah, I know, I just, couldn’t sleep.” She shrugs and offers a tired smile, hoping that’ll help her case.

“Well next time, just try to stay in bed.” Susan’s tired, a little tipsy, and generally unhappy with Max, and it shows in her tone, but she’s too tired for reprimanding, so she makes an attempt at advice, saying, “It doesn’t do you any good to dwell on it.”

“Won’t happen again.” The answer must be acceptable because, shaking her head at her daughter, Susan finally retreats. For extra points, Max calls after her, “Goodnight, mom.”

Max stands in the doorway waiting for Susan to start climbing the steps again, then, once she’s absolutely positive her mother’s no longer paying her any mind, she returns to her own bedroom.

The envelope finds itself in a hiding place under her mattress until she can mail it in the morning, just in case of snooping parents, and for the first time in a long while, Max gets a good night's sleep, the events of that day easing her off to dream.

It’s the feeling of hope, of having found a friend and having done the right thing that sends her off into a restful sleep like she hasn’t had in forever, her guilt no longer plaguing her in reality or in dreamland, and her grief soothed.

By sunrise the next day, she’s already up on her feet, dressed and ready to go before her parents are even awake.

She leaves a note taped to the refrigerator door explaining her absence, lying about going to help Mrs. Byers with something she had mentioned at last night’s party, and hurries out the door, letter in her pocket, before anyone can stop her.

But, as the hinges on the front door squeak, she steps out onto the front porch, hearing Neil’s gruff voice behind her before she can close it. “Where’re you going?”

“Mrs Byers. She, um, w-wanted me to come over and help El with uh, packing.” It sounded great on paper, but out loud it sounds exactly like a lie if she’s ever heard one. Neil doesn’t look upset though, so she decides to keep going. “They leave for Chicago soon.”

Neil nods, a look of complete disinterest on his face, and says “Tell her she can keep you if she wants to keep having you over there all the damn time.”

Then he turns away grumbling, and slams and locks the door in his step-daughters face.

Her first winter around snow and ice, something that never lasted long enough back in Cali to be a problem, she’d learned the hard way that her board didn’t work so well on the salt covered sidewalks, so she has to get to the post office without wheels.

She realizes though, that the walking route, unless she wanted to add an extra half hour or so to the trip, meant going right past the Sinclair’s house. Halfway down the sidewalk, when she sees Lucas' little sister outside, she knows that, after the luck she’s been having, she’s not getting off easy.

Erica is all bundled up in layers of coats and sweatpants, sitting in a pile of snow in the front yard, and rolling out a collection of very tightly packed snowballs when she looks up and meets Max’s eyes. Turning her head back towards the window, Erica shouts to her brother, “Hey nerd, your girlfriend is here!”

Before Max can even correct her or try to explain to her that she was just passing through the neighborhood and it was no big deal, the front door is being yanked open, and Lucas comes skidding down the sidewalk towards her.

He’s out of breath when he gets to her on the sidewalk, having run from somewhere in his house, and his voice is laden with concern. “Max! Where were you?”

“I was just busy. My parents said I couldn’t come.” She explains.

“We assumed the worst when you and Steve didn’t show.” He's bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “Why weren’t you on the line all night?”

Max shrugs, “Like I said, busy.”

He eyes her suspiciously, obviously trying to find some secret meaning to her words. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, they just took me out for Christmas dinner.” She appreciates the concern, she really does, but she gives him a look anyhow. “You know not everything has to be the end of the world, right?”

“Yeah, right, ‘course.” He agrees, still sounding unsure, then doubles back on it. “You’re positive you’re alright?”

Giggling at how excessive he is, Max rolls her eyes, though not really out of annoyance, and affirms, “Yes, Lucas.”

“Okay.” There’s still more he wants to ask about yesterday, she can tell, but he gives it up, choosing instead to ask, “Where are you headed, then?”

“The post office. I have a thank you card for my grandma I'm supposed to send.” She lies again, but it doesn’t feel the same as when she lied to Neil and Susan or Aunt Nicole, where she was trying to hide how she felt, trying to be someone she wasn’t. This is more like she’s just trying to protect her personal life, and she thinks that’s fair enough.

Lucas flashes her his most charming smile. “Mind if I join you?”

There’s no way she’s going to actually turn down the offer, but she pretends, turning her nose up and saying, “I don’t know. Don’t think I really want you slowing me down.”

“You just don’t want all of this,” Lucas motions to himself with a goofy grin, “to make you look bad.”

She puts a mock sympathetic hand on his shoulder, and says, “Keep telling yourself that, dweeb.” but there’s a wide smile on her face as she says it, even after Erica tells them to get a room and throws a handful of her snowballs at them.

The rest of the walk into town is only a few minutes from that point if they take the shortcut behind the neighborhood, so Max isn’t all that worried about Lucas tagging along.

Mostly though, it’s because, unless he miraculously overcame his hangover and decided to search the treeline with a pair of binoculars, there was pretty much no way Neil was going to see them together, and they were out early enough that any of the nib-nose neighbors who might’ve snitched on them weren’t even awake yet.

Besides, even if Neil was one hundred percent guaranteed to catch her, she feels in a good enough mood that she doesn’t know that she’d care.

Outside of the post office, as she opens the mail slot and lets the letter fall into the collection box, she can tell Lucas catches a glimpse of the name on the envelope just by the sudden frown on his face, the worry in his eyes as he looks over to again her.

But Max, she isn’t bothered by it. She’ll tell him later what’s going on with her and Maria, once the whole thing is over. She thinks she owes it to herself to be a little more abrasive, to not just let everyone in on every last detail of her life so they can make her decisions for her.

So she doesn’t bring it up, just smiles at him and takes his hand, and lets him walk her back home.

After that morning she checks the mailbox constantly to make sure nobody else would find any letters from Maria before she did. Lord only knows what Neil would do if he found out she’d been in contact with his ex-wife.

Day one, all she finds is an issue of the beauty magazine Susan has a subscribed to, a notice for a late water bill, and a day old Christmas card from Uncle Don down in Texas.

The next day is more disappointing, nothing inside the mailbox but spam and a grocery store catalog.

There’s no mail service on Sundays, so she spends the whole of the third day fretting, wondering if her letter her made it, and if she should try to send another.

On the fourth day, there’s finally a letter in the mailbox addressed to Maxine Mayfield. Her heart stutters as she slides the stark white envelope out and gently tears it open.

It simply reads,

“To Billy’s sister, I’m on my way.”

Read also on ao3!

[igotopinions]

Books I Read in 2019

* = Re-read Check out past years: 2012, 2013 (skipped), 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, and 2018. Follow me on Goodreads to get these reviews as they happen. 1) The Right To Be Cold: One Woman's Story of Protecting Her Culture, the Arctic and the Whole Planet by Sheila Watt-Cloutier 2) Nollywood: The Making of a Film Empire by Emily Witt 3) The Consuming Fire by John Scalzi 4) My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh Reads like a more mature Chuck Palahniuk. 5) Of Dice and Men by ME I won't be a dink and give myself a star rating or glowing review, but I gotta get that credit for my annual reading challenge! I'll also say it's a richly rewarding experience to, after all the work of writing & editing & publishing & promoting, to re-read something you wrote and still feel all the strong, positive feelings it gave as you figured out the first draft. 6) Lagos Noir, edited by Chris Abani 7) The Secret Lives of Colour by Kassia St. Clair 8) The Buddha of Suburbia by Hanif Kureishi A really fun, cleverly written coming-of-age story with just the right period touches to it. I gobbled this thing down in a couple of days, having no problem seeing why Zadie Smith spoke highly of it in her latest book of essays. 9) Moon of the Crusted Snow by Waubgeshig Rice 10) America: The Farewell Tour  by Chris Hedges   TL:DR This book is not toilet paper, but it sure is shit-adjacent. It gave me strong feelings, which you can read on Goodreads. 11) The Anatomical Venus: Wax, God, Death & the Ecstatic by Joanna Ebenstein Great introduction to the subject with fantastic photos & illustrations. My only frustration was the layout, which frequently breaks up the main text mid-sentence for two or even four pages of images with details captions to read or full page quotes, so it takes a bit more effort to read linearly. 12) The King of Elfland's Daughter by Lord Dunsany I found this through the ol' Appendix N reading list and it's not hard to see how this influenced D&D in many ways, but it has value well beyond that novelty. This is a wonderful fantasy tale in the vein of classic fairy tales, a welcome break from the kind of epics we mostly associate with the genre these days. By the final run up to the ending I was really immersed in what I was reading and I know I'll be looking up more of his books. 13) The Worst Is Yet to Come: A Post-Capitalist Survival Guide by Peter Fleming *14) A Canticle For Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller Jr.   The first third remains perfect. The middle third is better than I remember, which is to say very good indeed, despite the feeling of inevitability running through it. The final third remains a pretty obvious punchline stretched out over too many pages, something basically predicted by the ending of the middle story. But! Ah! That first third! 15) The Gods of Pegana by Edward John Moreton Dunsany In theory this was an influence on Lovecraft's Dreamlands cycle books. 16) Era of Ignition: Coming of Age in a Time of Rage and Revolution by Amber Tamblyn 17) Looking for Transwonderland: Travels in Nigeria by Noo Saro-Wiwa 18) 1985 by Anthony Burgess 19) Infinite Detail by Tim Maughan 20) Seasonal Associate by Heike Geissler,  Kevin Vennemann (Afterword), Katy Derbyshire (Translation) 21) Digital Minimalism: Choosing a Focused Life in a Noisy World by Cal Newport 22) How To Write Adventure Modules That Don't Suck Edited by Jobe Bittman 23) The Immortal of World's End by Lin Carter 24) This Is Water: Some Thoughts, Delivered on a Significant Occasion, about Living a Compassionate Life by David Foster Wallace 25) My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite *26) Idoru by Oliver Brackenbury 27) Conan by Robert E. Howard,  L. Sprague de Camp, Lin Carter 28) Heroes in the Wind: From Kull to Conan by Robert E. Howard 29) The Postman by David Brin Yes, this is that “The Postman”, the one which was adapted into a universally reviled Kevin Costner film in the mid-to-late nineties. It is, however, significantly different and far more enjoyable. It is an extremely White Straight Guy book with some curious ideas about gender in the back end, a "Rah rah, America!" through-line, and an obsession with describing horses as "steaming". It is also a well-crafted, clear, concise, quickly-moving story that avoids several obvious turns most authors would have plowed right into, and overall serves as a great exploration of the power of lies & myths. Plus, yeah, it is kind of heartwarming to imagine the concept of snail mail & the people who deliver it serving to re-unite us in the post-apocalypse. Unlike the movie, I'd honestly recommend this. Heck, I'm thinking I'll start exploring the rest of his catalog. 30) Beastie Boys Book by Michael Diamond  & Adam Horowitz If you're a fan, then you'll like this. If not? I dunno man! The whole thing feels like hearing stories from your favourite old high school buddies when they're at their most honest and interesting. Great stuff. 31) Best. Movie. Year. Ever.: How 1999 Blew Up the Big Screen by Brian Raftery 32) Return of the Lazy Dungeon Master by Michael Shea 33) Conan of Cimmeria by Robert E. Howard,  L. Sprague De Camp, and Lin Carter. As tends to be the case, the pure Howard stories are best. Carter and De Camp are mostly interested in arranging Howard's work into a larger, more coherent universe...which is fine, I guess, but it has a way of making Conan feel less a legend striding in and out of fantastic situations, more a man - a strong, interesting man, sure, yet still just a man. *34) The Hunter by Richard Stark *35) Beast by Paul Kingsnorth 36) The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline 37) It Came from Something Awful: How a Toxic Troll Army Accidentally Memed Donald Trump into Office by Dale Beran 38) Planetes, Vol. 1-4 by Makoto Yukimura 39) The Bookshop on the Corner by Jenny Colgan 40) Reawakening Our Ancestors' Lines: Revitalizing Inuit Traditional Tattooing by Angela Hovak Johnston 41) Split Tooth by Tanya Tagaq 42) Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life by Anne Lamott Part life-as-a-writer therapy, part craft, this leans more toward the latter than Stephen King's ON WRITING and that's plenty fine.  A nice, light read that holds value for writers at all stages of their career, I reckon. 43) Conan The Freebooter by Robert E. Howard, L. Sprague de Camp As tends to be the case with these collections, the pure Howard stories are best. That said, Lin Carter carries himself much better here than in some of the earlier volumes. There are no magical abstractions of good and evil arm-wrestling each other while Conan just stares at them... 44) The Heroes by Joe Abercrombie 45) The Case of Charles Dexter Ward by H.P. Lovecraft Pretty good stuff but, as was pointed out on the excellent Appendix N Podcast, this story would have been really something had it been edited down a bit. RACISM METER: Honestly, pretty okay, which is saying something for Lovecraft! No cats with awful names or race theory or any of that. Just a good wholesome story of madness and history. 46) Difficult Men: Behind the Scenes of a Creative Revolution: From The Sopranos and The Wire to Mad Men and Breaking Bad by Brett Martin 47) Swords and Deviltry by Fritz Leiber 48) The Enchantress of World's End by Lin Carter 49) The Barbarian of World's End by Lin Carter These are not terribly good books....but I keep reading them for the goofy ideas and setting. Averaging 180 pages, they're not a big investment so hey why not? 50) The Giant of World’s End by Lin Carter The first is the best. I think because it was written as a complete story, not the literary equivalent of another episode of a Saturday morning cartoon, as the other World's End books read. As with the rest of the series it is enjoyed more on the merits of the wacky ideas than the quality of prose, including a part near the end who may well have been a source of inspiration for the Emperor of Mankind in the Warhammer 40K universe. Its main drawback is the classic scifi/fantasy failing of providing multiple asides to historical background meant to add depth to the world but which is ultimately meaningless to the reader as it has little if anything to do with the story - nevermind the characters! Heck, it's only 140 pages. It's fun. The ending actually got to me a little. It's a good place to pluck out ideas for tabletop roleplaying, if you're into that. Yup! 51) Wonder Tales: The Book of Wonder and Tales of Wonder by Lord Dunsany 52) Outcast of Redwall by Brian Jacques It's a fun little story, clearly intended for younger audiences, and I've no regrets having bought it second hand. BUT You could have clipped off nearly a hundred pages if the author didn't feel compelled to give you a highly detailed account of every single meal - including many feasts - had by characters big and small. Holy mother of God do you come out of this knowing a lot about the diets of the various woodland creatures, with their meadowberry pies and etc. 53) Björk's Homogenic by Emily MacKay 54) DCC RPG Annual Vol 1 by Steve Bean, Julian Bernick, Daniel Bishop, Jobe Bittman, Tim Callahan, Colin Chapman, Michael Curtis, Edgar Johnson, Brendan LaSalle, Stephen Newton, Terry Olson, and Harley Stroh 55) Conan the Avenger by Robert Howrd & L Sprague De Camp This is one of the better collections. Only the third story is a reconstruction from one of Howard's outlines, the rest are undiluted and glorious.That said, the back two stories are a bit cringey re: race, *especially* the reconstruction I mentioned. I'd say I don't know who looks at a Howard story and thinks "Ah, this needs more complex racial hierarchy nonsense!" but I do and that man's name is L. Sprague De Camp, apparently!The important thing is now I'm all caught up for the next episode of The Appendix N podcast, which I heartily recommend. 56) Medallion Status: True Stories from Secret Rooms by John Hodgman 57) Grand Union: Stories by Zadie Smith 58) The Singing Citadel by Michael Moorcock 59) White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism by Robin DiAngelo 60) The Psychopath Test by Jon Ronson *61) Virtual Light by William Gibson 62) The Dragon Masters by Jack Vance *63) Roadside Picnic by Arkady Strugatsky, Boris Strugatsky, Ursula K. Le Guin (Foreword), Olena Bormashenko (Translator) *64) Bill, the Galactic Hero by Harry Harrison A fun little dunk on Heinlein and his ilk. Very slapstick. 65) Gonzo by Hunter S. Thompson *66) McGlue by Ottessa Moshfegh

STATS Non-Fiction: 23 Fiction: 42 Poetry Collections:0 Comic Trades: 0 Wrote Myself: 1

[greetingsfromthebottomofthewell]

CORRUPTUS

[directory]

graven images.

[source] [triggers]

If you really believe in something, it can be yours.

That's how we've been conditioned to think. Mostly, I suppose it's a coping mechanism to keep us from eating the rich. We all think we'll be rich someday if we just want it hard enough. How long has it been since there was a good, old-fashioned culling of the wealthy elite?

That probably wasn't a good way to start this blog post... I'm more than a little tired, but fuck it. I'm leaving it.

"Corruptus".

That was the subject of an email I received before my ISP dropped me. My phone turned into a brick the same day. Hell, I think it was the same precise moment, though it's difficult to know for sure since I only tried it after my laptop couldn't connect.

"Corruptus"... I'd never heard the word before, and to be honest I'm not exactly sure it IS a word at all. It could be Latin. It sounds like Latin. I haven't been able to look it up, and this is the first time I'm getting on the web since my unexpected removal from the grid.

I tried to sign on at the local library, by the way. My card was revoked... unpaid late fees for books I'd never read, much less checked out. Mostly borderline fetish material and self-help books for various mental illnesses. The apparently quite detailed tome on weapons of mass destruction seemed to be of the most concern for the librarian.

I hung around the library for maybe a half an hour, until someone left a computer logged in and unguarded. When I went to check my email, to tweet a complaint about what happened, those accounts were gone, as well. Honestly, I was a pretty huge dumbass for expecting them to be there.

It wasn't long before I noticed the computer's rightful user pointing me out at the front desk. I guess she wasn't a fan of the direct approach. I was out the door before anyone could cause a real fuss.

It's been over two years since I left Mowgli's Palace and never looked back.

The original blog post has come and gone so much... across so many different sites... that I can barely even remember the first place I tried to host it. If I'd known how far this would go, I don't know if I would've been able to hack out that clumsy, flawed account of what happened. The pressure would've been too great, and I suppose there's a certain level of comfort in the idea no one will actually see or care about your work.

It seems like a lot of sites removed the information, either upon direct request from Disney... or on their own in fear of reprisal. I know a really popular YouTuber who pulled readings of my posts from his channel. The rumor was that someone threatened to sue him, some supposed "author" of the "story". Bullshit. I know first-hand that he took it down in a bout of pants-shitting fear when he realized Disney's connection to his partner company.

I tried to keep up my "After Abandoned" blog for a while. I don't know how many people out there saw my notes on Room Zero, Club 22, and so on. They're still around if you look... at least at the time of this writing.

Yes, "Club 22" exists. No, it's not a typo of "Club 33". I later learned, from the same contact, that there's an 11 as well, and supposedly the debauchery only grows as the numbers get lower. I heard of a "Club 00", but I can't confirm that as clearly as I can with the previous contact. I also don't know if it has any connection to the "Room" of a similar name.

Yes, the door probably said "Characters" or "Cast Members" instead of "Mascots". I know, I know, I hear you all. Thank you so much for that. I'm sure your memory is crystal clear in moments of abject terror, right?

Overall, I'm glad that my words have spread so far and wide... but the down side is that so few of you are taking this seriously. I can't stress this enough... Treasure Island? Real. The Utilidors? Real. Just because you can't substantiate the rest doesn't mean it's "a cool story". Instead of picking apart the inaccuracies and making games about how cool it would be to have been in my position, maybe people can start taking this seriously and digging into what's going on.

Maybe?

I don't know. I don't want this to be a rant. I want to stay focused and make sure I post exactly what I wanted to make public. All of the stress... the stalkers, the phone calls, the broken windows... I know that's all supposed to keep me off track. They want me confused, scared, and most of all they want me quiet.

There's a team of men and women in suits that I've seen at random times. Here and there. I call them "The Focus Group" because they pop up with clipboards and pens, taking notes about everything I do. They all have the same outfits, the same thick-rimmed nerd glasses, the same red pens that just scream "we're judging you".

The first time I noticed them, they were following me through the Mall. I looped and turned, trying to be SURE they were following me... and there they were, every step of the way. Days later, I spotted them again in the laundromat window across from my new apartment.

I chased one down, once. The tubbiest one. They stayed silent through the entire chase and even the scuffle that ensued. When I wrenched the clipboard from his hand, I only found page after page of off-kilter, random gibberish coupled with crude Mickey silhouettes. All in the same red ink.

I know it sounds insane, to say that a group of men and women in black are following me and taking nonsense notes, but I think that's the point. I think the idea is that it SHOULD drive me insane, and if it doesn't, you'll still think I'm crazy just for saying it.

It's a no-win situation.

I will forever regret that trip to Emerald Isle, but on the other hand I'll always be grateful to the people who have come forward, anonymously, to share their experiences with me. Whoever mailed me the suggestion box from the resort is basically my hero at this point. To read what I'd written about the place and still brave the journey... wow. I can't imagine how that felt, whoever you may be. You even left the original, corroded lock in the box so I'd know it was legit. To do all of that without even taking a look inside for yourself must've been really hard. Thank you.

If you haven't noticed, I'm treating this post a lot like my "final installment". There's a reason for that. I don't know how long I can keep subverting Disney's attempts at silencing me before some sort of final action is taken. I have no doubt that somewhere, at this very moment, someone is using my identity to commit a crime that would discredit me. That, or the men in white jackets are about to show me a lovely little padded cell. I don't know what's going to come of this, and that's the worst part I suppose. All I know is that it's coming.

So what is "Corruptus"? Well, as I mentioned it was the title of an email I received. One that was presumably deleted along with my account. It was blank, and seemed to exist for the sole purpose of placing an attached text document in my hands.

Too bad for the powers that be... I had already printed it the moment I saw it.

Not much they can do to reverse that, can they?

I should've mentioned... remember that library? I used their copier to run off a few thousand duplicates of that letter. A few hundred are stapled in random places, a few hundred were passed out to random people, and the rest... let's leave those as a little surprise. Have fun trying to stifle THAT, you horrible mouse-fuckers.

Without any more rambling, here's the letter. Word for word. It arrived from a source whose email address I won't disclose... though I assume it's an untraceable dummy account, anyway.

—

Summation of CORRUPTUS incidents for January, 2015

For office use only. This message contains information that may be confidential or proprietary, or protected by the attorney-client privilege or work product doctrine intended solely for the use of the addressee(s) named above. Any review, disclosure, distribution, copying or use of the information by others is strictly prohibited. If you have received this message in error or without authorization, please advise the sender by immediate reply and delete the original message. All email sent to this address will be received by the Disney corporate email system and is subject to archiving and review by someone other than the recipient. Violation of this disclaimer as written will result in prosecution.

Please refer to official guidelines with relation to "known" and "unconfirmed" incident reports. Respect regulation as per ongoing and/or finalized designations.

Known CORRUPTUS incidents up to and including January, 2015

Treasure Island

Extreme agitation/inappropriate activity within Vulture population.

Mild to moderate agitation/inappropriate human activity.

Resolved CORRUPTUS: Unidentified Avian Species

Abandoned. Final.

Disney's Pop Century Resort

Misplaced and mobile objects.

Chronological Displacement/Anachronism.

Unresolved CORRUPTUS: Wandering entity.

Pending.

Disney's River County

Microorganism infestation.

Unresolved CORRUPTUS: "Clear Man" aka "See-Thru Man" aka "Friendly John".

Abandoned. Final.

ImageWorks: The What-If Labs (2nd Floor)

Multiple missing persons reports regarding Dreamfinder's School of Drama.

Pin screen fatality.

Vibrating mirror sickness.

Unresolved CORRUPTUS: "Wily Wizard" installation

Abandoned. Final.

Mowgli's Palace

Auditory hallucination and/or projection.

Misplaced and mobile objects.

Moderate to severe agitation/inappropriate human activity.

Unresolved CORRUPTUS: Inverted Character

Abandoned. Final.

The New Global Neighborhood

Resolved CORRUPTUS: Fiber Optic Worm (NGN C 1)

Resolved CORRUPTUS: Digital Howl (NGN C 2)

Resolved. Repurposed.

Room Zero

Sudden-onset mass-hysteria.

Auditory hallucination and/or projection.

Unresolved CORRUPTUS: Unknown

Contained. Final.

Please note: Nara Dreamland is not an officially licensed Disney park and no information or resources are to be shared with any responsible for containing its residents.

A complete list of suspected CORRUPTUS incidents and reports may be available.

—

It took a few readings before I could get my head around this. Essentially, if the attached file was to be believed, then the events I had experienced were not part of an isolated incident. The events within Room Zero... the Gascots... they seem like part of a much larger problem.

What is "Corruptus"?

Corruption. I mean, I don't need to run Google Translate for that, even if I felt like I COULD take a break from writing without the risk of someone finding and disconnecting me at any moment.

Corruption of what? Dreams? Ideas? Desires?

I've never been a religious man, but I was dragged to Sunday School more than enough times to know about Golden Calves. False Gods created by man... icons, graven images...

Characters. Mascots.

If you believe in the Bible at all, and I'm not sure I do, especially not after what I've seen... then maybe God wasn't angry because people worshiped other things. Maybe he was afraid. Maybe if enough people believe in something hard enough, there's a chance it will come to be. Since we're naturally flawed beings, that means there's a very good chance such a thing would become corrupted.

If you think about it, Disney's animated films have always had one overriding message.

Clap your hands and believe hard enough, and Tinkerbell will live. When you wish upon a star... anything your heart desires...

People like to say Disney has some connection to Satanism, but I never bought into that. I still don't. I think they've been trying to create that Golden Calf... a God-Idol that everyone believes in... one that everyone loves... It's almost as if any dream or idea that is shared by enough human hearts and minds has a real chance of being born into the world.

The creatures... if any exist beyond what I saw with my own eyes... I think they're the deformed half-starts. Random manifestations of some dark, unquantifiable non-life that seeped into our state of being. They're mistakes of reality. Cosmic abortions.

The Corrupted.

Did everyone in Emerald Isle harbor such a negative impression of Mowgli's palace? How potent was the fear of nuclear war on the day Room Zero became full? If you want to find Gascots and mystery voices, does that search bring about the very thing you're looking for?

How many children have been disappointed, confused, or scarred for life when they saw Mickey without his "head"?

These are questions I'm never going to be able to answer. I don't know if anyone can. Speaking personally, this will probably be the last time I talk to you about Disney and everything I've learned about them. I'm truly sorry for that, especially since there's so much more I could say... unconfirmed rumors, documents and items I received that now seem to be gone forever...

I thought they were just trying to contain that Mickey costume. I thought that's why they went out of their way to keep the public in the dark about so much. Why they coerced and bullied to get their way.

Now I realize I was wrong.

It was this, all along.

They didn't want anything like THIS getting out.

I wish you all good luck, and I know I need the same from you.

Thank you.

[previous]

[deepdarkriver-blog]

TOUR TALES # 10 - SLAYING THE BORDER BEAST

New Post has been published on https://deepdarkriver.com/2018/03/05/tour-tales-10-slaying-border-beast/

TOUR TALES # 10 - SLAYING THE BORDER BEAST

TOUR TALES # 10 – SLAYING THE BORDER BEAST If you talk to any touring band about their experiences at the border of the United States and Canada, I’m sure you’ll get a mixed bag of stories. The Canadian/ American border is a sort of legendary beast that musicians of all shapes and varieties will attempt to slay at some point or numerous points in their career. It’s kind of like that Legend of Zelda game where you can turn back time and reface the bosses in each temple again for laughs. That being said, I can’t think of many times I’ve laughed at the border. Or smiled… or anything joyous, for that matter. Pro tip: Don’t smile at the border. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.

I’m pretty sure they have these signs at the border.

Weighing in at just under 9000 km’s from tip to tip, with dozens of different crossing checkpoints, the US-Canada border can range from Kirby’s Dreamland-level simplicity to Dark Souls-level tomfuckery at any point and for no reason at all. There doesn’t need to be any reason for a border patrol officer to guide you simply and authoritatively off the rails of your dreams to spend the night (or day… or days) sitting in a dreary, windowless waiting room to dissect your every notion of who you are as a person and what little you have accomplished in your short and meaningless life. They can and will do what it takes to keep their nations protected from the many different threats that may try to infiltrate their way in. They will do it with an unseen, mightily guided hand and they will do it with as little empathy that could possibly be mustered by anything remotely resembling a humanoid creature.

Probably not the best recipient for knock-knock jokes.

This particular installment of Tour Tales finds me on that very same border, attempting to slay that bitch of a creature in the purgatory in which it resides. The year was 2014 and the road was treating my band well. We had just confirmed a month and a half of shows across North America, followed by an album release party in our hometown, followed by a mega-big European tour. We had a big label behind us and a very competent management team helming our day-to-day operations. All in all, things were looking good! I had just bought myself a house as well, which took a bit of a toll on my general health as the tour began 2 days after we moved in. My band wouldn’t let me drive the van for some reason. All the better, because I needed sleep! We played our way to the west coast and performed at the Armstrong Metal Fest in BC. We were supposed to tour back across Canada to cross into the United States at the Manitoba/ North Dakota crossing. We had spent all the time and money possible to acquire our work permits and we had a mountain of paperwork that we were one hundred percent certain would gain us access to the Land of the Brave and the Free. We could almost taste that sweet, sweet Liberty Sauce slathered atop those mountains of Waffle House pancakes.

The meals not over when I’m “full”. The meals over when I hate myself.

We aimed to cross at a low-traffic period of time; not that southern Manitoba and North Dakota get very much traffic regardless. We rolled up to the border around 2:30 in the morning with our drummer driving. I remember being fully awake, as I always am before a border crossing.

I didn’t quite catch what our drummer was being told, but I knew from the body language of the border patrol officers that we were not in for a good time. One of them was motioning us toward a massive bay garage door on a separate building beyond the border gate.

We entered and there was a team of officers awaiting us inside. They instructed us to remove our shoes and step outside of the van. We were then made to line up down the length of a massive steel table and empty our pockets for our personally assigned officers to root through. We were then taken for questioning; being escorted out of the garage with officers armed with rifles. We were told the van and trailer would both be searched with their canine units.

The best way to start a tour.

From there we were made to sit and wait in a large grey detainment area where they individually interrogated us, took our fingerprints and took mugshots of us. We were there well after the sun rose before they handed us each our belongings back, along with shiny new Homeland Security records, escorted us back to our van and then sent us back to Canada. I won’t go into details about why they wouldn’t let us across, but I will say that it is within their power to deny anyone access to the country for any reason above them just not liking the look of you or if they are in a bad mood.

Having to cancel several weeks of US shows definitely sucked and everyone’s moods were as low as they could get. We had no idea what to do as we made our way back to Manitoba.

The news quickly spread however, and a friend of the bands quickly messaged us to offer us his place to stay for a couple days while we got our bearings. We gratefully accepted his offer and got to his place where we plunked down for a few hours of sleep; completely exhausted from the entire ordeal.

I awoke to my drummer and sound tech waving burgers, beer and mead in my face. While we all slept, they had gone and prepared a massive BBQ session for the lot of us to try and get everyone back into a decent mood. What sweethearts!

So we spent the next 2 days BBQing, drinking, blasting music and going on drunk adventures around the outskirts of Winnipeg; making the best of an absolute shit situation. The bands’ morale restored, we set off on the massive 30 hour drive back to Toronto.

The moral of the story: always keep a positive attitude in every situation. Murphy’s Law will always be there to rain on your triumphs, so just know that there is nothing you can do but give your 100% regardless of the outcome.

  Thank you for reading Tour Tales! Next Monday I will be back with another installment Tour Tales. To help spread the love, share this blog with your musician or traveler friends!

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