JAYWORKS

ANI-MIA

2012-02-02T23:33:00.000-08:00

Ani-Mia is a fantastic cosplay model from my old home town Seattle. She is going to be portraying the character: Harmony from "Bazzy and Mint ~American Metaphor" this spring. Her work is phenomenal and meticulous, and I can't wait to see what she does with this character. She is also entered in a contest to become spokesmodel for "Gothic Lolita Wigs" Follow the link or paste it into your URL. Vote for Mia, and I will send you some Jaybird Dynomite S.W.A.G. and I may even give you a free copy of my book that will be released in May. Writing is a funner gig than people think. Keep at it! ~Peacehttp://www.facebook.com/GothicLolitaWigs?v=app_135636729827676&app_data=cid_989

HOPKIN'S REVIEW

2012-01-29T11:36:00.000-08:00

Bazzy and Mint is vibrant fiction with colorful details, imagery, and characters, that brings the author's imagination to life, while holding the reader's attention and allowing their own imagination to join in. From the very first page, heroes and their adversaries are immersed in action, betrayal, fear, hope, and even love. With it's playful twists and turns, this fast paced adventure will leave you wanting more... and wondering if such a fantastic and terrifying future just might be around the bend. Post World War III America is torn by economic collapse and civil war. Devastated by fighting and ruthless power struggles, the living are caught up in an array of extreme fanaticisms and rebellion, and on the brink of total annihilation. An unlikely duo, veterans from long ago, findthemselves alive and well, and in the most unusual forms. Their mission, to aid and relieve human suffering, takes on an even nobler cause when they stumble across an unlikely hero, and set a chain of events into motion that will ultimately determine the final outcome of this post apocalyptic rebellion.~Rebecca Hopkins

ARTSY FARTSY

2012-01-13T08:55:00.000-08:00

SHOW ME THE ARTSY FARTSY IN YOU. $50 PRIZE TO THE CHOSEN ONE. SEND A REQUEST TO MY EMAIL: Jbdynomite@gmail.com WITH ARTSY IN THE SUBJECT LINE. I WILL RETURN THE EMAIL WITH A CHAPTER FROM MY BOOK. YOUR CHALLENGE IS TO CREATE A SCENE FROM THAT CHAPTER WITH YOUR ART SKILLS. THERE IS NO ENTRY FEE. DEADLINE IS FEB. 15,2012YOUR ART WILL REMAIN YOUR PROTECTED PROPERTY, BUT IS SUBJECT TO BE POSTED ON MY BLOG FOR ALL TO SEE. ONLY ONE WINNER WILL BE CHOSEN. GOOD LUCK!

REBBECA HOPKINS

2011-11-14T15:41:00.001-08:00

Thank you Rebecca Hopkins for critiquing my work. Your feedback has elevated my plots, and given my characters life. My latest novel is soaring into a state of bad assery! This means a lot to me.

MOCK COVER

2011-10-27T06:54:00.000-07:00

My son helped me create the likes of the new main characters from my latest epic story: "Bazzy and Mint" I thought his feedback was really amazing, and together we came up with a mock cover for our publishers to gander upon. We have also successfully contacted an animation studio in Japan that we are excited about. After some consideration I was convinced this story would actually make a decent cartoon. Thanks Jayden for all your help. You are the greatest to work with!

TRANSYLVANIA FREE

2011-10-06T09:24:00.000-07:00

So I'm basically an obsessive writer. I have over ten novels written, and only one published to date. One is on the table with a publishing house in Canada. Having all this excess creative experimentation, I felt it would do no harm to release one of them for the hell of it. Without trying to make something of it. You catch my drift? Everything has to be something these days. I'm tap dancing for a bunch of prune-headed snoofs to make a dollar, and the truth is, all I care about are the quality of my stories, and the value they possess as a good read. So that being said, I am giving away a manuscript. Yes, all you have to do is follow my blog and I will send you a copy of "Transylvania" through your email. After signing up, send me an email with DRACULA in the subject line, and i will blast it over to you for your Halloween reading enjoyment. To my North West writer's group, keep perfecting your voice through the element of phrasing. There is a rhythm, and we all have one. Find it, and jam on it.My Email: jbdynomite@gmail.comPeace~Jaybird Dynomite

2011-09-26T06:23:00.000-07:00

Here is a picture of Hugh McKinlay. He is the 18-year-old protagonist of the epic tale: Bazzy and Mint. Bazzy and Mint is a story about a post apocalyptic America in the year 2050. The world has convened after a global conflict, but has no luck creating a treaty with the seceded United States. America is in a civil disruption of its own as imperialists, and rebel civilians try to resurrect balance in a scattered land of militias and an unpopular republic. Bazzy and Mint are two WWII medics that have been reincarnated as a bear and a kangaroo to either heal or release spirits that have been trapped in a state of transcendence due to nuclear phasers (A WWIII liquidating weapon). They come across Hugh and discover that he is in line with a profound mission to find a girl that can help put an end to the conflict once and for all. [Bazzy and Mint Copyright 2011 is protected intellectual property of the author: Jay Agnello]

BAZZY

2011-09-24T08:52:00.001-07:00

Join my blog and I will draw you a cartoon. Send an email with a request to jbdynomite@gmail.com and I will send one within 2 to 5 days. Make sure that you put JAYWORKS in the subject box. Leave reader reviews in the comments and I will keep your address in my log for some free swag, and perhaps a copy of my upcoming books even! Thanks for joining.

2011-09-24T08:51:00.001-07:00

2011-06-17T14:50:00.000-07:00

Captain Coe's Vacation

By Jay Agnello

Copyright 2011

Chapter 1: An Hour Later

An Hour Later:

Musky- muggy.
The milky air was tougher to breath.
The luggage handles, slippery with sweat.
Captain Coe looked at his hairy feet in his sandals and nudged Kias, “I should shave those. Don't you think?”
Kias snickered in disbelief. “Come on now. Elves don't shave their feet. You know that. That's for Earthlings and Pinthlings, and Andromeda folks,” said his long time friend, devoted assistant, and logistics coordinator.
Coe leaned into a dyspeptic sighed. His shirt was beginning to stick to his chest..
A prism split down through sliver windows into the dome of the Wombert-Trans-Galaxy-Express-Station.
The massive head of an aquatic Wombert specie, sculpted from the rare green marmellite meteor stone, arched its fish-like face high into the atrium, with a fountain of blue nebula water spraying from the blow-hole.
“I've got some human in me. You don't think the club will care do you?”
The Captain stood in a line five bodies wide, packed with traveling aliens. The multifarious bunch was strange, almost wacky, though most were vertebrates, and their appearance was mainly of retired couples, and families. Very few species had motivation to travel to the LX System, also the Milky Way, for anything other than vacation.
“Did you pack your solar cream?” asked Kias, like a father, or mother more like.
Coe sneered. “Kias, we've been to nine galaxies and I've never had to use that stuff. Why would I...”
Before the Captain could finish, Kias had smeared a handful of the green frosting down forehead and cheeks. “There!” he said. “Now you won't get star blisters.”
A sonorous voice reverberated across the station,“All Szarglopians report to level 15 for mandatory vaccinations.”
“That stuff stinks! You got some in my mouth.” Coe griped. He sneered. As he wiped the bitter goo off his tongue, his eyes became entranced with a striking and pleasing vision. It was the smooth, curvy, and creamy legs of a female in front of him. He followed the enticing line of her Achilles heel, up the back of her calf, where the glossy highlight seemed to follow along with him. He continued up the back of the thigh, and relished on her voluptuous hind-quarters that provoked the creeping of a grin from the corner of his mouth. He was hypnotized by the smooth skin and crevice from her tailbone, until Kias popped him in the rib with his elbow. When Coe looked up, the face of the female was staring directly at him, her head turned 180 degrees on the neck like a barn owl. She had seven eyes like a spider, a scaly forehead, and whiskers that draped down like fu-man-chu. She smiled at Coe with a hefty yellow grill.

An hour later:

Finally, at the ticket booth, there was some confusion about their route. Coe, with his elbows propped on the counter, patiently endured a volley of frustration that transpired from both Kias, and a frail, decrepit, big-nosed alien behind the desk. The argument went on-and-on, and Coe became sorely disengaged, until he was tapped on the shoulder. He looked over at an intimidating and Goliath alien. It was something like a crocodile, known as a Nimbus Monitor. Years ago, the elves of Galoo were at war with this strange nation, but here the creature was wearing a bright red floral vacation shirt. One that was almost identical to Captain Coe's. He was urging the Captain to take a picture of him with his family. Coe reluctantly agreed and made an effort to figure out the Nimbus camera and its strange design. It was made for the fingers of a Nimbus Monitor and had strange curvatures, and multiple grips.
The scaly beast fussed with Coe's hands on the device, and complained in his own bizarre language. His voracious temperament began to match that of the escalating argument at the booth, and Coe sensed a headache coming on, when unexpectedly, a large powdery explosion and flash erupted from the camera.
Coe choked a little, waving the smoke from his face. The strange posing lizard family stood like statues, stunned from the light, with charcoaled faces.
Kias waved to Coe. “C'mon. Let's go! We've got our tickets. Let's hurry before they screw something else up!”
Coe politely placed the camera into the hand of the paralyzed Nimbus Monitor, and scampered off to catch up with Kias.

An Hour Later:

Kias and Coe now stood at a security gate that filtered bodies through like big Wombert livestock.
A stickman, in a plastic spacesuit, tapped on a sign with a diagram. The instruction was to remove shirt and shoes, and place them on a conveyor.
Coe exhaled with subtle fury and carried out the procedure. He felt foolish standing around with herds of half-naked aliens staring at him.
The stickman escorted him onto a platform where a large cylindrical scanning device rotated around his body.
“Is that it?” Coe asked.
The stickman waved him onto a moving pathway that carried him along. A row of tiny alien inspectors peeped over a wall just eye level to his waste. Coe covered his crotch and backside, extremely irritated.
“Are we done yet!”

An Hour Later:

They now stood with their luggage on a freeway-sized elevator, packed with Jupra-Rogs. It ascended into a vast glass tube that seemed to be suspended over the planet Jupra-Tor-Ting-Soss, a planet that some considered the dark blue twin of Jupiter. A serene, generic, instrumental song echoed through the globular shaft, as they rode upward toward the terminal docks. The orange glare of a nearby star illuminated the cool cosmic venue with afternoon shadows. A soothing drift of fresh filtered oxygen hissed in from the floor panels, and for the first time on this adventure, Coe began to feel like he was on vacation.
Kias looked down and smiled with his old wrinkly eyes at an adorable young alien girl.
Her eyes were like bowling balls and even reflected the constellations outside.
Coe glanced down and noticed the girl at knee level in front of him. There was slobber dangling from her lip. She held onto her mother's finger, gazing up at Coe, mesmerized by his foreign elf/human appearance.
Kias Glaboo loved the little creature and waved with charm, tickling his fingers in the air.
Coe just stood glaring with an untrustworthy disposition.
The sweet little thing pushed one of her fingers deep into her flaring nostril. She dug around as if she were trying to scratch her brain, and then found what she was looking for. When she pulled her finger out, a large knobby and flaky bright blue booger gooped out on the end with a thick glossy string of wet mucus oozing to the floor.
She exchanged a wondrous expression with Coe.
Coe shook his head with disapproval.
She looked at the booger, then back at Coe.
The Captain's face froze in suspension-of-disbelief.
She wiped the gooey glob right onto Coe's shirt. Ironically, the booger matched some of the blue leaflets in the design.
Coe gazed forward as they continued to escalate, repressing his frustration in silence, with every fiber of his being.

An Hour Later:

Now the Captian dozed off in the terminal, while Kias went over the remaining passports and documents.
It was an indulgent catnap on a great soft pillow. The noise and madness of the bustling station seemed to wash away in his fuzzy subconscious heaven. He saw himself sailing on a boat with his father, in the realm of a great earthly harbor, of a great glassy metropolis. Seagulls and other aquatic species of Earth, that seemed strange and extra-galoostrial to him, followed his vessel into a blazing plasma sunset. It felt as though he were there. The gusts and breezes flowed through his long red bushy beard, and soft thick dreadlocks. But the peaceful sail and sleep began to dissolve abruptly, as the waves of the sea became large and rolling. The captain tried to steer the vessel toward the city, but became overwhelmed with the turbulence. He found himself waking up on the bulky cushion that was now writhing and jiggling beneath him. Coe scooped up the pillow and pulled it closer to his face, trying to adjust and recreate the blissful slumber he had achieved, but when he lifted his head and wiped the slobber from his mouth, he made a grave discovery. The pillow was not actually a pillow at all, but the giant gelatinous boob of a female Jupra-Rog. She looked at him with her beady eyes, and her wavy frog-like mouth was stretched in an expression of shock and awe. Her husband, who was only a quarter of her size, leaped from his seat and began shouting strange alien expletives at the Captain.
Kias pulled on Coe's shirt, urging him to hurry to the terminal. They were being summoned by one of the spaceflight attendants.
Coe looked over his shoulder with a foggy glare at the angry Jupra Rog couple, as he scurried away with Kias, still trying to digest the reality of the experience.

An Hour Later:

Finally, detaching from the dock of the Wombert-Trans-Galaxy-Express-Station, Kias and Coe were on their way to the LX system to meet another consort of space-elves that were given time off and per diem for up to 150 days- Galoo time, an equivalent of one Earth year. Coe looked out the window and relished every second of the station becoming smaller in the distance. He looked over at Kias with a smile of exhilaration and gratification. “Thanks for getting us out of there, Old Glaboo. You know how much I can't stand space stations.”
“Logistics are my specialty,” said Kias, smiling back. “Here. You'll need some more of this.” He reached over and wiped another load of green frosting onto the Captain's face.
Coe put on his sunglasses, laid his head back, grinned wide, and simpered in defeat.

THE SONG THAT I NOW SING

2011-04-22T14:07:00.000-07:00

The Kelson’s Song

There is a family that resides in Salt Lake City that possesses the most characteristic and impressive balance of unconditional love I have ever experienced. Having met their father and mother in 2002, I had the short lived honor of writing and performing music with the man of the house during a phase that established a fairly stellar, local, prolific alternative -rock universe.
The world shifted dramatically in the decade that followed. Not just the on-ramp to life's fast lane, but our experience as poets and dreamers became overwrought with the drama of new political overtones, terrorism, foreign policy, etc. Society seemed to become more imperial in thinking and lost some of its hunger for artists and creative life-seekers, making our endeavors far more technical. Though shifts are demanding, Jawn Ben (John Kelson) remained steadfast as a music innovator, raising his family with his endearing wife and queen, Emma Walkingshaw. His encouragement for me as a writer and seeker during the long cold hardships I endured, kept me alive and believing in myself, with no political, religious regiment, or imposing inhibitions. This unleashed the authentic spirit that I possess, and though I try to stay consistently and spiritually conscious, his philosophy was like a roaring sonorous mental vitamin.
Condensing the last remarks, all I have to be is myself around these people, and that's good enough- a Taoist implementation. I seemed to maintain my core principals when I was with them, without losing my rambunctious jovial character. Principals that are by no means contradicting to any spiritual practice that installs truth and happiness.
Jawn and Emma are loving parents to 5 children that I will list. James the oldest, fifteen, is a quiet intellect with a calculating stare, but he does animate quite abruptly, and has a great sense of humor. He is a great spearhead to the group. Devon is a devoted engineer and master weapons manufacturer. Mazzy- is a beautiful, bright young girl with much of the dreamer and artist mentality bursting at the seems. Young Jonathon Sage (The John Prodigy in motion) is a 5-year-old-super-hero often fighting for justice in his cape and undies. And last there is baby Scarlett (The Emma prodigy in motion) an excellent sequel to a beaming kind spirit, and priceless loveable bounty. She also resembles Pebbles from the Flinstones.
In 2010 Jawn encouraged me to regroup as a potentially capable composer, and continue my quest to showcase my relentless angels and demons with him through bass guitar rhythms, and novice vocals. He established a project that we named “Stones and Stars” The battle to resurrect our ambitions began with me trying to acquire a steady work schedule (9-5), the design and construction of an in-house recording and practice studio, the establishment of further publications in my feeble writing career, and the end of a very deep two-year romance for myself. All was marked off the checklist within time except one item- my steady employment. It was a dark year for job searching, and I don't care to think back on much about that. It imposed a grim vortex for me, as my heart was committed to the success of our duty to preserve what I know we were truly created and inspired to do.
In closing this article, the love and structure of the Kelson household was nothing short of a phenomenon. Their riveting inspiration to me was nothing more than the priceless bond between them. Love is a miracle. The two words are inseparable. My envy of their magical threshold sent me whirling into a more deliberate and noble pursuit, my role as a loving father. I have moved just blocks from my twelve-year-old son, Jayden (The Jay prodigy in motion) and made some very dynamic and challenging moves to fill the next chapter with conscious parenthood. Oh...and I found a 9-5.
At the end of this cycle, the greatest composition of all was the experience of being with a non judgmental, proactive, musically embellished tribe. The Kelson's song is being sung with great harmony, and can withstand the criticism of traditional religious oversights. Their love has saved my life, kept me in tune with my Source, preserved the Taoist nature in me, and restored my faith in the modern American family quest. I will strive always to be a Kelson. I'm off to write a new life-song with the theory they have installed in me, savoring my attention to miracles, and indulging in the most pleasant melody of all, the gemstone that is my son~

Don't kid yourselves though. There is a greedy narcissist still lurking in my soul. I will not go easy. Writer's and composers like Jawn and I don't come along that often. We just lack the resources that would inevitably catapult us into the realms we deserve to be in. I'm like a dumb dog. I'll always chase the end of the rainbow- probably till I'm dead. People hate me for it. Oh well. My heart is still beating, and I'm filled with “Songs Yet to be Sung”- Perry Farrell

Eventually they will be “Songs I Used to Sing”- Stones and Stars

YO SPIELBERG! ©2011

2011-03-31T10:41:00.000-07:00

All right kids. I'm running another course on creative writing and screenplay this spring. If you are interested in attending our first meeting- it is going to be on THURSDAY APRIL 7TH 2011 @7:00 p.m, and will be held at:

141 West Forest Street
Brigham City, UT
84302

I know this might be a little out of the way for some of my former students, but rest assured we will have some rockin' times, and creative adventures that are sure to be prolific and exciting. I don't have the biggest facility for this class, so spots are limited until further notice. We will have guest speakers from the film industry and local Universities attending, and there will be field trips and movie nights as well. We will also collaborate on script ideas and practice pitching together. Get your imagination greased up and get ready to WRITE!

Szarglopian Cuisine ©2011

2011-03-08T22:48:00.001-08:00

Chapter 14: The Truth Revealed

Three days had passed, the equivalent of 140 earth hours, in the massive musky underground dome since Gabe and the children were deposited by their ruthless abductors. A small hovering craft that resembled something of a lawn-tractor sped across the dirt. It was being flown by a hefty and more portly Terra-Toga. The ship deposited large heaps of cooked Szarglopian rice in corn rows across the plane. The human cattle approached on all sides of the rice, and knelt down to scoop handfuls of the sandy red grains into their mouths.
Gabe knelt down and participated in the feeding. Hameed reluctantly scooped some into his finger tips, and nibbled. Kim was standing with her arms folded behind her father.
Gabe, beginning to look weathered from this predicament, used one of his faint breaths to encourage his daughter, "You should eat Kim. You need to eat something."
"I already told you. I don't think it's a good idea."
"We've been over this."
"And you know that I'm probably right."
"Is it true Mr. Fulton?" asked Hameed with rice on his lips.
"Is what true?"
"Dad. Why won't you just admit it?" asked Kim with a ferocious attitude.
"We don't know anything!" shouted the old man.
Kim turned and looked away into the ceiling of the dome, "What else could they be planning with us then?"
"I'm telling you that we don't know enough about anything to make any conclusions. If we start making things up in our heads, it's just going to make us lose hope."
"If we start thinking about what could really be in store for us, it might give us the motivation to get the f…!"
"Language, Kim! I'm still your father!"
"We should not be eating that stuff. We should be looking for a way out of here."
Gabe stood and turned his daughter's cheek so he could look into her eyes.
"I'm really impressed with your bravery, Kim. But we need to be patient. Making irrational decisions could get us hurt, or even killed. I don't want anything to happen to you."
Kim's large pouting eyes consoled her father, and let him know that she understood his duty as a parent, which she respected, unlike a lot of adolescents, but she was still defiant in her stance. "They're going to eat us dad."
Gabe shook his head and would not have it.
"They're going to eat us dad!"
"Kimberly! Calm down," he said grabbing her shoulders.
She pulled out of his grip, and shouted at the humans in her space, "They're going to eat us! They're going to eat all of us!! You know it's true! We need to get out of here!! We need to get out of here! They're going to eat us!!!" Kim caved into a maniacal scream that wailed out into the venue, turning the heads of a hundred or more humans feeding. She fell to the dirt. Gabe grabbed her arm and her gnashing pulled him clumsily onto the ground where they both collapsed on their backs.
"Damnit Kim! Get a grip. We need to stay calm!"
The girl beat her fists against her father, as they struggled, side-by-side. She ran out of physical strength quickly, as it all seemed to be absorbed by her psychological surrender. Her dark red hair fell into her face and mouth, and the tears fell into the dirt next to her.
"Wait a minute," said Hameed. "I know that lady." The boy stood slowly and tried to focus on an older woman that was feeding not far down the line. "Yeah! I know that woman. Hey Kim, it's the woman we saw in the alley." His face coiled into a characteristic Arabic grin, and he automatically walked over to the lady.
She looked up at him where she crouched. "Do I know you?" she asked with a kind regard.
"I tried to save you in the alley."
She stood slowly and made the connection, "That was you?"
"Yes," smiled Hameed.
"My dear boy," the fifty-year-old wrinkles of her face turned upward into a charismatic glowing grin, "You are so brave. Thank you so much." And she put her arms around him, and wept for a moment.
"Miss Baker?" Gabe's voice called from behind the hugging couple.
The woman pulled away from Hameed, and cast her eyes on Mr. Fulton. "Yes?"
"Ruth Baker?"
"That's me."
"Gabe Fulton."
They're exchange reeled back to the 1960's, and soon they were overcome with a dozen vivid recollections.
"Is that you?" the woman cried out.
Hameed put his arms around Kim who was holding her father's hand.
"You know each other?" asked the boy.
"We sure do," said Gabe with some sly regard. "This is my daughter Kim, and her friend Hameed."
"Kim was with me in the alley also. How is your hand doing?"
The woman lifted the hand that was pierced by the Marmell hook. There was something of a scar, but the flesh was healed over quite impressively.
"Wow! You're a fast healer," said Hameed.
"They fixed it with some kind of heat ray," said the woman. "I'm not sure how they did it."
"So they do care about us?" the boy asked preconceiving the nature of the aliens.
There was a long stare that took place between the adults. "I'm afraid you're daughter is right, Gabe," said Ruth.
"What do you mean?"
"They're going to eat us," her eyes, a pool of wisdom and compassion did not lose contact with Gabe's.
"How can you know this for sure?" he glared back.
Kim began to weep silently again.
"I'll show you."

______________________________________________________________________________

Moments later, their new acquaintance took them on a steep hike up the dirt terraces that led to the dark yellow transparent ceiling of the dome. When they got there, she used the sleeve of her bathrobe to wipe a circle on the steamy glass-like dome wall.
Kim and Hameed shuffled close to her to see what was outside the foggy window.
Gabe pushed them back. "No!" He said. "You two stay right where you are." The old man took his first look at the exterior of this venue, and beheld strange visions. There were rivers of bright green lava that lit up the atmosphere. This was the yellow-green light that illuminated the stadium. It was evident that there was a ceiling above the ceiling they were under. But this was made of rock.
"We're underground?" he asked.
Ruth Ann was coy for an older woman, and smiled with affirmation shaking her head.
"What is that over there?" The old man was referring to another venue that seemed to project from the rock wall in the distance. This one was dismal, and had the frightful presence of a demonic temple almost. It even sloped out of the chasm like the side of a pyramid that was jammed in. There were windows on the building, and red lights seemed to strobe the shadows of an assembly line; an industrial facility, without a doubt, that may have belonged to Satan himself.
Gabe looked over and saw the faces of Ruth, Kim, and Hameed studying the same hellish structure.
"What's going on over there?" he asked. "What are they doing?"
Ruth continued to grin with intelligence at Gabe, suggesting that he already knew the answer.
Gabe's mind ruminated over the reality; a lifelong butcher stuck on the opposite end of the dilemma. His face became long and his eyes began to accept this scenario with great worry. He flinched when a man tapped him on the shoulder. It was a Hispanic. He turned quickly on the dirt and noticed several of them sitting close by.
"You guys planning an escape, hombre?" the mustached man asked.
"What?" asked Gabe, still in a funk.
"Looks like you guys is up here planning an escape, yo!"
Gabe stuttered, "Uh?"
"Do you guys know a way out?" asked Hameed, not bashful.
The Mexican's nodded.
Kim finally reincarnated from her emotional vent. "Where is it?" she asked deliberately.
"We can show you," said the Mexican, "but you can't get out with these damn bugs on our ears. If you could figure out a way to get them off….maybe."
Gabe reached around his back, and retrieved the small pair of garden shears that he had salvaged in the Marmell capsule. He held them up and looked at them, almost hypnotically.
The Mexicans all beamed out a series of toothy grins.

Black Diamond Ghost ©2009

2011-03-02T13:52:00.000-08:00

Chapter 30: Jack and the Bossman

Gypsy sulked in the corner of Bossman’s office with saddened eyes, and a pale soggy face. She was covered in a first aid blanket.
Mr. Stephen’s offered the girl water, and coffee, and warm milk, but she did not respond.
Jack sat close to her on the floor. He pulled her dreadlocks out from the blanket away from her neck, and held a warm wet rag on her forehead. Trying to console her seemed futile. After watching Neelam get carried away by the black bird, the girl was entering a state of posttraumatic stress disorder. It was beginning to have an effect on Jack as well.
“What a mess…huh?” Bossman ran his fingers through his Santa beard. He leaned against the window, and watched a gentle snow shower come down on the slopes. His breath fogged the glass.
“A mess? Three of my friends are dead. Snooter is dead. Did you see what chased us into the lobby?” Jack replied. “This is an all out freak show!”
Bossman glanced over at the boy then dropped his head down with disappointment.
Jack stared up at the ceiling. “The strange thing is,” the boy sighed, “I knew this was going to happen. Or, at least, I was warned about something like this.”
“What do you mean by that kiddo?”
“I had premonitions.”
Bossman stepped away from the window and studied the kid. He took a moment to soak Jack in. Jack didn’t seem like one who had any extraordinary abilities. Bossman squinted with interest. “What kind of premonitions?”
“I don’t know. Like, dreams where people warn me about stuff…sometimes animals.”
“You don’t say?” Bossman was intrigued. The portly man walked over to his coffee corner, and poured a mug. “Want some?” he offered Jack.
“No thanks,” the boy answered disheveled.
“So you telling me you received some kind of warning about all this?”
“I guess so…but not enough to save my friends. Thing is…I never thought they could be that accurate. Just seemed like a coincidence…some of it.”
“Wanna talk about these premonitions?”
“You wouldn’t buy it anyway.” Jack said quietly.
“Well now…maybe we can help each other out.”
“What do you mean?”
“Boy, I’ve seen some pretty interesting things in my day, nothing as caustic as today’s events…but enough to take your words into consideration. Suppose I told you that I know a few things about the bird?”
“The eagle?” Jack became interested.
“That’s right. Goldie.”
“You mean…Hakan Iye?” Jack was in suspense.
“The Black Diamond Ghost.”
“So you know the story?”
“Know it?” Bossman paced over to one of his large mahogany cabinets. He opened one of the tall doors and revealed an assortment of wine and liquor bottles as well as a very organized stack of shot glasses and steins. He snatched up a bottle of Irish cream and poured a lethal dose into his coffee. The old man used his chubby fingers to cap up the bottle, and took a good swig of the steaming brew. The cream stayed in his mustache. After the warm potent alcohol made down his gullet, Bossman set the mug in the case and scratched his nose beneath his spectacles. He popped open the left door to the cabinet. It snapped away from the magnet that held it closed on the bottom. He hesitated to open it. After a deep breath, he swung the door away from himself. The inside was a series of shelves, all labeled and tagged with post-its and ripped up pieces of college ruled paper scripted with phone numbers and literature references. It seemed like some type of science exhibit, but looking closer, Jack could see that this was a personal forensic vault. On the inside of the door were photographs of the eagle. Some were faded polaroids, indicating that this investigation had been underway decades ago. Large thumbtacks pinned an assortment of dated eagle feathers across the top of the door. Some of the feathers were in Ziploc bags.
Jack stood up. He was mesmerized by the revelation. He approached the cabinet and studied the shelves- a treasure chest of physical history. Arrowheads and stones were placed about with special markings. An old photo of Walkara, the chief of the Utes, was on one shelf, next to a picture of Arapeen, the chief’s brother.
“This was Hakan Iye’s tribe. The Ute’s,” Bossman informed the boy. The man took his drink from the shelf. He plopped down in his diamond-knit leather desk chair, and put his boots on the desk.
Jack found something archaic and almost surreal on the bottom shelf. It was a small tomahawk, wrapped with a rainbow of beads, and decorated with owl feathers. The boy hypnotically picked up the weapon and studied it.
“We don’t actually know.” Bossman stated.
Jack slowly put the tomahawk down, and studied the photos on the door. There were twenty-two photos of skiers and Snowbird employees that were marked missing. Finster and Motorhead were at the bottom. “Know what?” the boy asked.
“What pissed him off.” Bossman took another sip of the brew, “Some say he was pushed into a rock slide by Aaron Johnson, an old mayor who chased him up the canyon. Others say he was tied to a tree by white settlers, and burned alive for stealing cattle.”
Jack inspected the feathers.
“All we really do know… is that he was killed at the top of that hill.”
“Which hill?” Jack inquired, stoned with attention deficit.
Bossman burped in his fist and answered, “Mount Baldy.”
“So Finster and Motorhead…my friends were killed by Hakan Iye after all?” Jack turned and looked Mr. Stephens in the eye.
The naturally cheerful face of Bossman became sullen, “I’m sorry son.”
“What have you guys done to get rid of him?”
Bossman sat up and put his elbows on the desk. He rested his chin on his knuckles. The question was a patronizing one. Mr. Stephen’s had been trying to exterminate the ghost since 1972. “Everything we can think of.”
“So how can you stop him?”
Bossman looked at Jack with mild agitation. It was a question that haunted Stephens for years. “We’re not the goddamned Ghostbusters kid.”
Jack was confused. “There must be a way!”
Bossman sat back again, and put his hands on his potbelly. “Alright…pay attention. I hired a Lakota chief two years ago to come in here. He brought in some tribesmen and they did a ritual that apparently weakens the demons they claim Hakan Iye is possessed with.”
“Yes?” Jack was now like a child at a campfire.
“According to this chief, if we burn the nest, it could send him back to the spirit world.”
“So why haven’t you?”
“Gee, I don’t know,” Bossman became sarcastic as the alcohol went to his head, “probably because we can’t find the damn thing. I’ve had crews comb that mountain peak a hundred times. My powder-birds have surveyed that hill over and over, and it’s just not there.”
“Maybe it’s not up there. Maybe it’s on another peak somewhere.”
“According to the Lakota chief, the wraith has to live close to where he was killed. We suspected that his death occurred somewhere close to a rock slide off the brink of Jaws, but there’s just nothing there, other than the rock slide…that you can see.”
“So that’s it? We have to burn the nest?”
“There is no nest.”
“There has to be.” Jack insisted.
“How would you know?”
“Because, I saw it in my dream!”
Bossman sat up and reached into Jack’s authentication.
“A premonition?”
“This one I saw clearly.” Jack stated.
“Was it in a tree?”
“No, it was in some kind of cave.”
Bossman tapped his finger, “I’ll be damned.”
“Is that the only way to get rid of this thing?” Jack sat on the corner of the desk.
“Well…there was one other suggestion the chief made.”
“What is it?”
“If we pour water into the eyes of the eagle,” Bossman smiled through his beard, perhaps he was amused by this theory, “that would finish the bastard.”
“Have you tried?” Jack hoped for a proactive response.
Bossman pushed his chair back, reached under his desk, and pulled out a jumbo-sized plastic super-soaker water gun. “Here’s the problem…we’ve only come across that son-of-a-bitch twice on our watch. Thing is…you take a shot at him, and he turns to dust…ashes…just sort of floats away with the breeze.”
“Your joking.”
“That’s no joke. Wanna see something really weird?” Bossman’s eyes opened up with a crazed glare.
Jack was almost reluctant. It was beginning to get creepy in Bossman’s lair, especially being so close to Hakan Iye’s personal items. They had a bad ambience about them. Jack was not excited, but he felt the need to gather as much information as he could.
“O.K.” Jack nodded, “What is it?”
Bossman stood up and smiled. He pulled his pants up by the belt, and reached in one of the pockets, pulling out a small silver zippo lighter. “Look out.” He pushed Jack away from the cabinet. Mr. Stephen’s snatched one of the eagle feathers from a tack. He grabbed another in a Ziploc bag. He snapped open the lid to the zippo and proceeded to light the tip of the open feather. The small flame singed the feather easily, sending a pungent odor of burnt hair into the office, but that was all.
“That’s awful.” Jack plugged his nose. “What’s the point? One stinks more like Hakan Iye than the other?”
Bossman waved the flame of the feather out, and set it on the desk. “Watch this.” he said in a taunting pitch. He retrieved the feather from the Ziploc and set the flame at the base of the quill. The feather erupted before their eyes as if it were doused in butane. Bossman let go of the small inferno, and let it drop to the floor. Before it hit the carpet, it had disintegrated, and turned to ash.
Jack choked a little on the smoke. “That was weird.” Jack agreed with the man’s experiment.
“Wait.” Bossman insisted. “Give it a second.”
Jack watched patiently. For a moment there was no activity whatsoever, but then something strange started to happen. The ashes began to swirl up from the floor close to their ankles.
Jack was now frightened. He did not know how to respond to the phenomenon.
It only took a moment for the funnel to reach a high speed, and just like that, the feather that Bossman had incinerated twirled up into the air, and fluttered to the floor.
“Is that…?” Jack was mystified.
“That’s the same feather.” Bossman chuckled. “You can’t make it go away. I’ve tried chemicals, I’ve chopped it into powder, I’ve put it in the coffee grinder, run over it with my car. It’s useless.”
“We have to find that nest!” Jack insisted.
“Kid, you don’t get it.” Bossman showed signs of becoming tipsy. “I’ve been working on this since 1972…way before you were a twinkle in your daddy’s eye. We can’t find it. Our best bet is to water the eyes.”
“But how? Especially when he can turn to ashes, or whatever he does!”
“He’s upstairs junior. We might be able to sneak up on him somehow.” Bossman hiccupped.
Jack looked down at Gypsy. His girlfriend was now curled up in the corner asleep. After dwelling on her safety, and getting his friends home, the answer was simple.
“O.K.” Jack said boldly. “Give me the gun.”
“Want a shot of liquid courage before we go?” Bossman offered.
“Sure…why not?” Jack replied.

ART CONTEST

2011-02-27T08:48:00.000-08:00

I'm rendering the rules for an art contest that will take place this March. Feel free to read some of the materials in my blog if you want a head start. The winner will get to attend some stellar events, including the Alt Press Festival on June 19th, in Salt Lake City.

Transylvania ©2009

2011-02-26T15:52:00.000-08:00

Chapter 8: The Enigma of Dracula

Late into that evening, when the banquet chamber orchestra had retired for the night, Dracula’s butler escorted them down to the main floor to their sleeping quarters, only to greet a new orchestra at the gate in the courtyard.
A radiant October moon lit the premises bright blue.
“My apologies, we were just finishing a royal banquet,” he said to the freezing musicians. “Follow me.”
The group shuffled through a small door, following the butler down a long torch lit hall. At the end they turned a long corner and moved up a steep narrow staircase. At the top they crossed a wall-walk that overlooked the courtyard, and at the end of the walkway the butler stopped them.
“We are about to enter the prince’s nighttime music chamber. It is important that none of you talk during the time you are inside. If you need to use the latrine, it is located down this walk way to your right. It is recommended that you use it now so that you don’t have an emergency during your all-night performance. I say, will the conductor say here?”
“Da, sir. I am here.” A small Hungarian man with a pointy beard raised his hand.
“Ah, yes. I have a few important instructions that may save your life…”
“Uh?” said the man, “Save my life?”
“Of course…I meant, make your life easier.”
“Ah!”
“If I could meet with you privately for a moment I can explain some last minute preparations. Before we separate, are there any sick among you?”
“Da.” said one man, “A bit of a cough.”
“I’m sorry, but you won’t be allowed to perform tonight. Any interruptions would only upset his majesty. This way conductor.” And the two men entered a small room next to the music chamber to work out the arrangements.
The music room was designed and equipped with all the necessary paraphernalia to keep a chamber orchestra playing perpetually. It was a cylindrical venue with a low ceiling. The walls were insulated and soundproofed with Persian rugs, the ceiling and the floor also. There was a decent fireplace installed to keep the musicians comfortable. On the opposite side of the fireplace a giant brass funnel was imbedded into the stone. Connected to the brass funnel there was a pipe that ran its way through the castle intricately, until it reached the private chamber of Dracula. Here it projected from the wall above the headboard of the prince’s bed. From this, a small tube snaked down among his black silk pillows, and connected to that was a tiny wooden reed that he placed in his left ear. His right ear had one also, and was connected to a tube that was connected to a pipe above the headboard next to the other- a pair of dark-age headphones. The pipe on the right led to another chamber, far beneath the foundation of the castle. It was a dreadful room operated by several men in black robes and black hoods. Strewn about the chamber were prisoners, all connected to barbaric and inhumane torturing devices. One set of chains held a man over a large cauldron of boiling water. A rack next to that locked a man’s head in a board. The victim’s hands were bound together and placed in a small empty cage where hungry rats would soon be placed. Another man was laid up in an iron casket vice, where he would be slowly and systematically crushed over the next six-hours. It was a chamber where all the worst possible wailing and howling of pain could be emitted.
At midnight, a large bell in the north tower rang and could be heard all through-out Transylvania. When it stopped ringing, Dracula’s nighttime chamber music began, as well as the sounds of torture. It put the prince into a deep trance almost instantly. Tonight, however, there was much rumination going on in the prince’s head. He went into a dream that had many sour revelations in store.

The Dream: It began with a long spiraling tunnel of fire. Dracula hovered into the core of the inferno in his night robe. He immediately began to fly ahead, curving and looping and traveling into the mysterious hall of flames with great speed. It seemed as though it was taking him into an unknown corner of his mind, but the flight through fire was not enough to shirk his emotions until he came to the end, where he stood in front of three powerful men on three daunting thrones. Behind the thrones there was a wall of black smoke rising constantly.
Sitting on the throne to the right was a man that Dracula had recently put on trial. It was a monk who was quite popular, and his name was Vicini Patrocelli. He had fine white hair and an icy white beard, but his eyes were not normal as the prince knew them in the real world. Here they were white as an albino, and they looked upon Dracula with much vendetta, and even more astounding to the prince was the expression of the face that beamed a distraught phantom glare seeking justice for his injustice.
On the left throne sat Ivan III the Great, who was the czar of Russia. This was a man who had great interest in Vladimir’s accomplishments. Someone he looked up to, and trusted, and often sought council for in his plight against the Sultan of Turkey, but also all other foreign policies. Ivan the Great sat in a dark burgundy robe with a thick beard and headdress comparable to Zeus. He gazed down on Dracula with much disappointment.
And finally, sitting on the center throne the Pope himself, Pope Paul II of Rome, someone Dracula had confided in a number of times. The small man sat in a dark purple cape with shining gold trim. The cuffs were bright and illuminated gold, and his hands were glowing white. He had a small brown beard, and his head bore the ovoid tiara crown that all popes’ received upon coronation.
Dracula had made several large donations to the Vatican, hoping to solidify a bond with the Patrimony and receive support for his protection of Wallachia. Alas, he was never given what he needed to protect himself against the Turkish military.
“Why have you failed Prince Vladimir?” the voice of Ivan the Great thundered.
“I have not failed, czar. I am only delayed.”
“Da?” said the czar.
“I’m awaiting an answer from his holiness.” Dracula nodded to the pope.
The pope shook his head and looked to Monk Patrocelli on his left.
“Tut, tut, tut, Prince Dracula,” the monk said. “Why did you incarcerate me? When I came to Wallachia, I was seeking a message for the pope? And what did you do to my three assistants?”
“Speak up.” The pope said waiting for Dracula’s answer.
The prince was silent, and looked down.
“When they knelt before you, they took off their hats in honor,” said the monk.
“Was this a problem for the prince?” the pope asked.
“Na,” said the monk, “but when he saw that they were still wearing their traditional zucchettos he became offended.”
“Da?” said Ivan the Great.
“Da, and when he was told that it was their tradition to wear them always, he became offended.” The monk’s voice echoed over the rumbling wall of smoke.
“What then?” asked the pope, “An answer prince?”
Dracula looked away.
“He had their caps nailed to their skulls saying- Now you can keep your traditions forever.”
“Vladimir Dracula, look me in the eye!” said the pope.
When Dracula looked up he was immediately vacuumed into a bright light that sprayed out of the pope’s eyes. He was taken into a celestial vortex screaming and kicking but when he landed he was suddenly in a cold swamp outside the Transylvania castle. It was frosty, dark, and serene. At first there was only the sound of crickets, but then came a subtle growling sound behind him.
When he turned he was staring into the face of Monk Patrocelli who had now mutated into a nine-foot werewolf.
“Mercy, your holiness!” Dracula said putting his hands up.
Patrocelli locked his jaws onto Dracula’s torso and began to eat the prince.
“Na, na, na!” cried Dracula screaming in horror and resisting.
He was chewed up and swallowed only to be regurgitated on the ground into a bat.
Dracula beat his wings until the saliva of the werewolf was shaken off. He then set flight into the night air above Transylvania. When he was high above the terrain he saw the villages of Wallachia burning in the distance. He swooped down quickly into a hillside of oaks that led through an orchard that led to the cave beneath the spire of Transylvania castle. He flapped his way into the dark chasm where he found Patrocelli again. This time the monk was back in his human form standing near Dracula’s secret holding cell, where dozens of prisoners moaned and blahed in agony.
The monk was staggering in pain with only one hand. The other was spurting blood. The monk had bitten it off at the wrist.
Dracula gazed down at his bat-clawed feet and noticed that they were transforming back into his human legs. The souls of his bare feet touched the floor of the cave, and now he was standing bare naked in front of the cage.
The monk’s face mutated into a spider’s and long wooly legs burst out of his torso.
Dracula was terrified.
“No, your holiness. Please!” he shielded his face from the vision.
The spider moved toward the prince.
Dracula ran deeper into the cave until he came across the cavern lake at the end. There he fell in, gasping for air. The black water was infested with eels that began to sliver all about his bare body. The spider entered the room, and its ten eyes gazed down at the prince- all of them, the white lifeless eyes of the monk.
“Please, your holiness,” cried Dracula. “Spare me! Please!” He looked up and noticed a family of five climbing a mighty scaffolding built into the wall.
The Spider, or Monk Patrocelli, lifted one of his long spider legs to the top of the tower, and created a bridge for the family to climb onto. When they were on his leg, they crawled across and exited the cave through a small doorway at the top.
“Who’s this?” Dracula asked, watching the family escape.
Underneath the giant spider’s abdomen came running hundreds of dead prisoners, the victim’s of Dracula. Some missing limbs, others missing eyes, and noses, and tongues, and ears, and chins. Some were burnt to a crisp, and others crawled across the ground with no legs, charging Dracula for his life.
When they reached the pool, the eels began biting Dracula and peeling off his skin. When his muscles were revealed, the prisoners ripped them apart along with his bones and organs. He awoke screaming in his bed aloud. “Your holiness, your holiness! Spare me! Spare me!” he shrieked.
The baron was standing at the foot of his bed.
“Aye, sire? Were you having a bad dream?” Razvan asked.
Dracula’s face was drenched in sweat. “Razvan?” he panted heavily taking the reeds out of his ears, “Is that you?”
“My apologies, sire. We have a bit of a problem,” the baron said.

Szarglopian Cuisine ©2011 Chapter:12

2011-02-16T17:37:00.000-08:00

Chapter 12: Terra-Toga Ralley

High on a soft blue slope, under the shade of a miniature Parthenon, a cluster of Terra-Togas gathered about a podium preparing to make an address to an eager and chaotic congregation. The figures were, in a frenzied bustle, sorting out clear graphic plates that looked similar to glass. The plates were animated with tickers, symbols, and holographs that represented the Szarglopian media.
One Szarglopian, her back to the crowd, was hunched over a series of partitions, going over last minute preparations for her speech. She was a meek and ordinary Terra-Toga, according to Szarglopian standards, but her reputation on this planet was half-bête noire, half-icon, and with no doubt galactically-apocalyptic. Her name was Elzwa, and she was the chairman of a special collegiate organization called the Szarglopian Zlib Zoftnans, which interpreted meant: Glopian Life Regals, but for this story they will just be referred to as the Regals. This particular group was here to present an organized rally to raise awareness and stop the consumption of various black-market meats. The most discerning product they were committed to obstruct was none other than Processed Human.
The mob at the stand carried out tedious details such as; attending Elzwa's wardrobe, cleaning the aqua robust leaves on her wreath, placing holograph projectors at each end of the stage, adjusting the drapes on the podium and tapestries of the eaves, shuffling rally-criers back on the top steps, and adjusting a small transparent microphone wire around Elzwa's neck. The scrambling staff began to slither apart when Elzwa rotated toward the rally, and a roaring volley of raspy alien cheers exploded across the campus.
Her thin branchy Szarglopian arms reached up, and she placed her hands on the polished concrete podium. Her well-read eyes looked on with conviction at the chanting snaky humanoids, not revealing the slightest twitch of flattery. After two large holographic projections of her, from the shoulders up, beamed out over the left and right corners of the Parthenon, she began the delivery.
"My friends!" her voice echoed over the mall.
The rumbling chants were still vivacious, but soon began to dwindle, as she continued.
"My friends! You know why we are here today."
A rogue radical scurried across the steps screaming with a holographic picket in his hand. In Szarglopian it read: "EAT MORE WAMBERTS FROM GALOO! HUMANS HAVE SOULS LIKE YOU!"
The student was immediately gripped by the toga and dragged off the steps by gargantuan Terra-Togas.
"This is our fourth annual rally to stop the consumption of human meat, and what has changed?"
The crowd, a veritable earthquake, racked the air with discontented howls.
"Four years on our planet. 5,655 days, and nothing has been done to stop the trade and commerce of human flesh."
Another eruption.
"It's time for us to take action. It's time for us to do what we as Szarglopian's rarely have to do. It is our nature to confide in the higher officials and policies of the galaxy. It is our nature to demonstrate against any immoral practices of our world and that of the galactic order. But I am afraid that our voice and our demonstrations are not enough. No, my friends. We are being beckoned by tens-of-thousands of innocent Earthlings every year to do something. They are obviously incapable, and lacking in the advancements we possess to resolve this insidious and illegal activity. That is why it is going to require all of us to put an end to the nightmare for these poor creatures."
More thunderous cheers, and when they died she continued.
"I want you to watch the following recorded documentation of an interview I recently had with a human that escaped the Zept Meat Processing facility that is currently operating in a secret bowel of our planet. Please remain quiet, and pay attention to my transaction with the being."
The giant holographic images on each side of the venue flickered, and Elzwa's interview began. The Terra-Togas were silent, and the swaying crop of their hammerheads gazed up.
"How long were you in captivity?" the program echoed across the campus.
"I don't know," answered a frail young sobbing human girl. She sat in a small red toga. Her head was shaved, and all the hair of her body had been removed.
"Can I see the tag that's in your ear?" asked Elzwa.
The girl wept silently, and turned her bald head.
Elzwa lifted the blinking metal cone that was stamped into the rim of the human's ear. She looked at the recording device, as if she were addressing the crowd in person.
"Can I see your arms and your neck?"
The girl, although traumatized, was very compliant. Elzwa lifted her limbs and pointed out dashed marks on her skin.
Elzwa paused the program, and spoke into her microphone, "These are the marks the processors apply to the humans before they are sent to the saws."
The program resumed.
"Where did they take you after you were marked?"
"We were," the girl's respiration refluxed. She spoke into a tiny device that translated her speech, "we were taken to an area where they…"
"Go on! You're so brave. Go on!"
"They locked our wrists and our ankles into some cold metal cuffs."
"Were you locked onto a table or a belt of some kind?"
"No we were suspended in a ring."
"Suspended?"
When Elzwa asked the question, the large holograph on the left of the stage changed into a graphed image of a human suspended in a ring almost resembling a crucifixion, with the exception of the ankles being spread apart.
"What then?"
It became more complicated for the girl to relive the scene, but she mustered the strength to continue. "And then we were rushed through a series of tunnels and we went through a strange red room that was full of steam."
The image paused. Elzwa addressed the crowd, "This is to soften the skin for cutting."
It continued.
"Then we were rushed through a giant room."
"How big?"
"There were hundreds of us."
"Hundreds?"
"Yes. The cuffs on our ankles were released."
The image on the left showed the diagram of the human's feet dangling in the ring.
"What happened then?"
"We were being sorted somehow on a track that took us into either an exit at the top, or an exit at the bottom."
"What happened next?"
The girl doubled over in agony as she reminisced.
"It's O.K. You're being so brave. Please, when you feel ready, tell us what happened next."
After a moment, the girl continued, "The next room was the last one." She relapsed as before, but soon found some strength to carry on, but it came out of a frightful lobe and heightened hysteria; the fluctuation of a buckled mouth that dripped with mucus and tears.
"What happened then?" Elzwa asked tenderly.
"There was a laser. They cut us in half!" she burst into a jerking cry.
"Down the middle? At the waist? Where?"
"The waist," the words spit from one of her choked sobs.
The graphed image on the left showed the suspended human run through an open socket like a piece of wood through a band-saw.
"Did they put you to sleep? Did they use some method of killing or numbing you before they began cutting?"
"NO!! NOOOO!!!!" the young victim was beyond her realm of control, and the program stopped.
The crowd was stunned, and a dismal morbid silence seemed to penetrate the lime green sky. After a long moment; a sad suspension-of-disbelief, Elzwa re-approached the podium, wiped her eyes, and went on with her address.
"This girl's name is Kindra Cole McNichol. She is an inhabitant of Earth, and was illegally uprooted from her home and human family by the Marmells of Marmellia, the covert operators of the Zept Processing Facility. Her wrists slipped from the cuffs, and she fell from the ring into a waste slide that emptied into an exterior facility of the processing complex. She was then pushed by a large runner in the discarded bowels, limbs and bones of her fellow human beings into the ocean. The plant keeps a large school of Zeptol Sharks in a contrived bay to get rid of the evidence. How she escaped the sharks, we're not clear on yet, but as you can see, this creature suffered an unbearable trial, and to let this continue, or even worse, continue to buy processed humans, we may as well be assisting these fiends. My fellow Regals! I ask you as a living breathing being, and bearers of your beloved children. Would you let this happen to them? Can we let this insidious and unacceptable practice carry on in the world we love?"
Still stunned from the presentation, in a realm of intake and impregnation of stupefied enlightenment, the campus sat in a warm contemplating breeze, absorbing Elzwa's stone-faced glare in the massive holographs. Hollowed hisses moved the trees and seemed to prelude the Regals, as sonorous rolling waves followed with loud radical expressions of passion and outrage; a deafening collective and thunderous howl.
The cratered ghost of Szarglopia's ringed moon could be seen secretly crouching behind the variation of college structures.
At the back of the rally, in a pointed tower, high in a dark, airy, ivy covered loft that was draped by a tuft of tropical foliage, sat a powerful and devious entity. His name was Beelz, one of Szarglopia's most respected economic advisors. This was the same Terra-Toga that purchased Gabe and the children at the depository. His reputation, stature, and careful demeanor had been rarely challenged by the representatives of Szarglopia, save the Regals. This protective shell that encompassed his existence gave him leisure to maneuver and manipulate the surrounding collegiate and media moguls. But the percussive outbursts and rippling enthusiasm of the masses he was witnessing started to concern the seedy bureaucrat. He turned to an assistant in the shadows and gave some very quiet but particular orders.
"Have my table ready to leave for the compound as soon as you can. Contact the concierge, and inform him that I won't be able to make the Regal Gala. Tell him that I had an urgent call from the Treasurer, and that I had to get away on Intergalactic matters."
"Yes master," a demonic whispering reply came from the dark.
"When you are done with that, contact Szarglo Zept and tell him to maximize production. We may need to execute the emergency evacuation. Notify the Marmellians and have all drone capsules on standby."
The cryptic wrinkled face of the scowling hammerhead turned toward the bright teal and aqua colors of a borealis sunset that seemed to bathe Elzwa the Regal, as her congregation looked on at her with loud loyalty and devotion.
"Go now!" said Beelz to the silhouette behind him.

Szarglopian Cuisine ©2011

2011-02-11T10:25:00.000-08:00

Chapter 13: The Roast

The Szarglopian dawn was delivered by a psychedelic cast of rays that pierced through a low rolling cornucopia of shamrock clouds. Dack and Lester marveled with their noses smashed against the glass, their eyes almost swirling as they took in the majestic island and ocean-scape below.
The Wicked Banana banked high in the sky, and circled a desolate kidney shaped atoll like a vulture. The ship was cloaked.
Captain Coe went over information in his data readers scrupulously, with Pigmai now sitting in the copilot seat.
"This has got to be it," he said to Pigmai with a slightly confused curl in his brow.
"There isn't one registered structure coming up on this island. There are no infrared signals," said the stickman, indexing his eyes over a holograph of data that spun on the control panel like a rolodex. "How can it be? There's nothing cloaked on the surface."
"It's there alright."
"How can you be sure?"
"Look how remote this location is. It's perfect. Besides, why would the signal lie?" asked the Captain tapping his finger on the dash.
"Well, you are right about the signal Captain, but…."
"But…what?"
"I'm not detecting any living emotions with my own senses, other than the mild consciousness of the plant life, and some variation of marine life that is obviously down there."
Besides the teens, who were mesmerized, the mood of the ship's mates took on a somber and dramatic silence.
Coe broke the quiet by opening a wrapper. It was a jumbo Granny-Smith cookie with a half-inch of pink frosting and rainbow sprinkles. He shoved half the treat in his mouth.
"Holy Hunglaboo!" he said with his mouth full.
The stickman became concerned, "What is it Captain?"
"You gotta try one of these! I gotta say man. Human's aren't the brightest creatures in the galaxy, but they got food right man!" he expressed in ecstasy as he chewed the doughy goodness. He licked the sticky sugar off his fingers.
"About the matter at hand sir?…." asked the discerned Pigmai.
"I'm telling you man. You should try this…" Coe handed the other half to the bewildered Pigmai, as if he could eat it through his glass helmet.
He refused, "Earth food has proven to be toxic to my specie. As I assume it would be to their own. It's proven to have high volumes of fat, and acids that deteriorate vital organs."
"Oh, you're kidding man! Intoxicating? Maybe, but you don’t know what you're missing. What does you're specie eat? Come to think of it, I've never seen a Bogsmire, (he referred to Pigmai's race) eat anything. What's up with that?"
"We migrate to the X-3 regions twice a year and feed on Zinc Crystals."
"Well that explains your monster build," he said facetiously, "Hang on…I think we got something," said Coe getting to the edge of his seat quickly so he could look at the world below.
Pigmai's four hands tapped away at digital devices on the control panel. "You're right! -Down Y - 3/4…to the right 6 increments."
"There it goes!" Coe pointed.
The boys could see nothing, but to the trained eyes of these alien pilots there was a cloaked capsule moving out from the indigo tree tops.
"Lock on to it!"
"Got it Captain!"
A high pitched indicator beeped on the panel.
Coe handed the other half of his cookie to one of Pigmai's free hands.
"Hang on!"
He gripped the handles of the steering column and sent the ship ripping across the sky toward the invisible craft.
Pigmai kept his finger on a dial that helped track the racing ship, "They're speeding up!"
"I got'm."
"Where do you think they're going?"
"I don't know, but they're not leaving the planet, and that helps. See if there is a civilization in their route."
"Affirmative, Captain. I just picked something up…a city."
"Small? Big? I don’t wanna lose these guys in a metro. Or come in contact with Szarglopian authorities, yet."
"Still waiting for a reading…Wait! Here it is. Densely populated, I'm afraid."
"Damn!"
"A city called Grand Szipio."
"Well that's one of the damn capitals," said Coe.
"Affirmative," said Pigmai.
"How far?"
"We have more than 500 increments."
"I got these bastards," the Captain grinned.
"How do you plan on apprehending them, sir? If I may ask."
"Leave the dirty work to me Piggy. Keep that dial locked. Boys…" he called to the teens who sat at one side of the plush couch, still gazing out the window. "You're gonna wanna check this out."
Dack and Lester shuffled toward the front of the cockpit. Their Patriot's war paint was faded now. They huddled up behind the Captain and Pigmai to watch the enthusiastic work that was being done.
"Pigmai?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Set that rail indicator on your right? Adjust the holographs, and set them all lower on the panels so we can watch this. This is really cool. Change the tones to red. They have less glair."
"Finished sir."
"Now, open that panel on your right, and turn on the monitor by your elbows."
"Exactly what is this, sir?"
"Holographic army! I've only got to use this once. I've been looking so forward to this. You're gonna love it."
Pigmai switched on a wide monitor that had a graphed display on it. It was a carriage of ships that resembled the Wicked Banana.
"Now just detach those from the rack in the display and put them in a circle. I'll do the rest."
Pigmai moved the digital pictures around with his fingers on the touch-sensitive display.
"Now what?" he asked.
"Pull in the image of our buddies up ahead."
Pigmai moved a holograph of the ship they were chasing over the screen and dropped it right into the display.
The Captain glanced quickly at Pigmai's work. He was piloting the ship close to the surface of the ocean now, and a brilliant teal wake ripped across the green sea.
"O.K. What you're going to do is bring those ships toward our buddies from the opposite direction."
Dack was amused, "This is like a videogame."
Lester was curious, "So those ships are going to appear in the distance ahead?"
"Exacto!" Coe smiled.
"This is rad!" said Lester.
"Here we go! Switch'm on Piggy."
"Do you have to call me that?"
The assortment of holographs appeared far on the horizon ahead. There were six of them, and they had the most deceptive, but realistic visual appeal.
"They're already slowing down Captain," said Pigmai.
"This is too easy!"
The invisible ship slowed to a stop as the oncoming holographs closed in around it.
Captain Coe slowed down and closed the gap around the craft, so that it appeared to be completely surrounded.
"Guess who? Ya bastards," the captain laughed. A cable shot from the front hull of the Wicked Banana, with a flat magnetic disc attached to it. The disc smacked into thin air, still leaving the boys curious as to what the Captain had just captured. Soon, the cloak of the ship dissolved, and the crew all gazed at something that resembled a big black potato-bug; a Marmell drone capsule.
"I'll be damned! We caught our Marmells boys!"

_____________________________________________________________________________

An hour past that required locating another pocket of land that jut out of the Szarglopian Sea. It was a reverse ride, as Captain Coe was required to tow the craft backwards by the cable at the hull. They were fortunate that the Marmell ship was low on photon fuel, and didn't have the capability to fire their cannons, but this was an assessment that Coe had already made knowing that they had used most of the resource on their long journey from the L1 Fuel Station. After descending onto the blue sandy isle, Coe pulled the Marmell capsule until its hull set onto a beach. He then proceeded to park the Wicked Banana right on top of the drone capsule pinning it to the isle.
Pigmai became nervous, "Now what Captain?"
"Now I need you to go down there, open up the ship, and pull those Marmells out of their!"
"I beg your pardon sir, but I…." the stickman quivered.
Coe busted into a laugh, "I'm just shittin' ya Piggy! Man, you get worked up sometimes. You guys stay here," He said pulling a laser pistol from beneath his pilot seat. He examined the weapon, and contemplated. "Nah, I'm probably going to need something bigger," he sniffed.
The boys were dumb with excitement.
The Captain got up and moved behind his royal bench into the center of the ship. In the curved panel of the wall, he entered a code that opened a sliding lid. There he gazed at a lighted rack of advanced Galoo combat weaponry.
"No way!" Dack became animated.
Coe placed his hands on his hips, "Think I'll go with the TX2 Over-Loader."
"Sounds messy!" Pigmai interjected.
"Yeah…you're right. Should probably just microwave'm outta there, ey?"
"Even messier."
"Here we go," said Coe fixing his smiling eyes on a small cylinder. "These work great on those rat-bastards."
"What is it?" asked Lester.
"This, my friend, is a shock-phaser…ought to put'm on the floor pretty fast."
"What about my family?" asked Dack. If they're in there, will they be alright?"
"Precisely why I've decided to phase these vermin. Man, Dack! You keep this up, and you're gonna find yourself a Galactic Marshall someday."
The comment sent Dack's ego on fire. He was intensely inspired by this spaceman.
"Alright now. I'm gonna head down there and take care of business. You guys keep a lookout. If something goes screwy, feel free to grab one of these smokers on the rack and finish where I left off."
With that, Coe opened the side door of the Wicked Banana holding his pistol in one hand and the phaser-stick in the other. He took one last look at his anxious crew. "Be back before supper!" he grinned, and jumped out of the ship onto the warm beach below.
Pigmai, Dack, and Lester all scurried to the open door and looked down at the captain who was preparing to blast open the Marmell craft.
"Do you think your family is in there, Dack?" asked Lester with the most dazzled expression on his freckled face.
"I hope so."
Captain Coe pulled the trigger on his gun and sent a hail of rapid repetitive shots into the black armadillo craft. A purple smoke filled the air. Pigmai, and the boys were now blinded by a plume of the billowing cloud, and the teens coughed on pungent fumes. The sound of lasers returning fire from the craft screeched out sonorously- then the sound of the phaser erupting in the catacomb of the ship; it had a rippling static echo- the noise that a Jacob's-Ladder makes when the electricity crackles along the rods. After that, there was silence, and the violence had seized as abruptly as it began.
Dack waved the smoke out of his face. His eyes stung, and he could smell the foreign fumes that reeked of alien battle.
"Is it over?" asked Lester.
"Captain? Are you there?" called out Pigmai.
"Captain Coe?" shouted Dack.
The smoke began to thin, as it rose into the strange inverted Szarglopian pines.
Soon they could all see the Captain lying on his back, unconscious on the beach.
The sound of the tide was the only thing heard for a long suspenseful moment.
Lester's face wrinkled into horror, "Is he dead?"
Pigmai shook his head with dismay.
"HA! HA!" cackled the Captain, leaping to his feet in the sand. "Got you guys!"
Dack fell in with laughter.
Lester and Pigmai remained confused.
"Nah! There dead," said Coe. "Come help me drag these toasted bagels out of here, and let's get your family kiddo."
Dack jumped down into the bright blue sand, and followed the Captain into the smoking ship. They pulled the charcoaled remains of three Marmells out, and piled them on the beach. Dack pulled the collar of his shirt up over his nose to create a mask while they worked.
"These things smell better barbequed then they do alive. Trust me kid," the Captain laughed.
The smoke continued to rise out of the ship like a nest of wild serpents. Coe returned inside with Dack and they examined the transparent prison cell bubble. It was empty.
"There not here?" asked Dack becoming frantic.
Coe cut a circle with a perpetual laser that buzzed from his pistol like a thin jet-stream. The wall seemed to melt away like a plastic bag over a campfire. They entered the cell.
Dack looked at their feet and found a pair of spectacles. He held them up and examined them.
"Recognize those?" asked the Captain.
Dack looked over with a numb response, "They're my dad's."

My Entries Become Short but Sweet

2011-01-18T12:11:00.000-08:00

Gaining ground in the world of prolific thoughts and spiritual intunement. Understanding value, and time. Two very strong elements.

TIME

2010-12-14T10:08:00.000-08:00

The word I am getting use to lately is "Endurance". Anticipating a great pay-off, but only hearing crickets. And then there is the ultimate test that could make or break us.............TIME.

A New Jaywork in Progress

2010-11-04T22:11:00.000-07:00

Hey folks. A new novel on the way. I finished a drama this summer, but I am going to release it with a small publisher, possibly under an alias, but I will be sure to let you know when and how you can get your hands on it, if you desire. The new work in progress is back to my science/religion punch-out. Yes I've started another element that ties into the "Marching with Elves" saga. No it is not the sequel yet. I am gearing up for that creation this spring. This one you might call a spin off. A story about more secret Marmell invasions. These are far more consequential than using humans as zoo exhibits. This is a story about the fate of unlucky humans that have been chosen to end up on upscale extra-terrestrial dinner plates as a rare and expensive delicacy. There are some great new characters in the works, and there will be an exciting development with one of the "Marching with Elves" heroes. I will probably throw a chapter on the blog next week.
Cheers
Jay

CLEAR FOR TAKE-OFF

2010-09-19T20:03:00.000-07:00

Hello friends!

I'm Jay Agnello C.E.O. and Co-founder of JBDynomite Events Management, L.L.C. Together with fellow C.E.O. and Co-founder Braydon Harris, we have designed a business that promises to unveil great talent and live events of a massive stellar variety.

We are excited to release our calendar on Friday October 1, 2010.

Some things to look forward to:

Live Concerts
Drum Competitions
Short and Feature Film Premiers
Movie Nights
Large indoor and outdoor events

We are devoted to bringing the best entertainment possible to the Salt Lake area, but we are also cause oriented. In our first year we will be dedicating a percentage of our profits to create awareness and prevent child abuse. We are authentic and passionate about the message and contribution to a growing national epidemic. We will be giving proceeds to "Stop It Now!" and "B.A.C.A." (Biker's Against Child Abuse)

We strongly encourage making a donation, and you may come across our street team in your community.

I will be posting a journal of our efforts, and share the high and low points of this adventure every Friday. So stay tuned!

We are alive and all fired up! Ready to rock this Salty City!

Feel free to contact me personally for any other information at:
801-856-6020

See ya soon!

THE CONSCIOUS SURRENDER

2010-07-28T16:33:00.000-07:00

As pivotal moments arise we humans can take some big risks. I am coming into a deep connection with a lesson called surrender. It has been an insidious cycle for me to try and claim the "No guts, No glory!" agenda. Still, it has also gotten me into a lot of trouble. For those of you who are facing a current economic melt-down, and I am sure there are a few of you who can relate- after two Bush era's and a current political sloth, here is some advice that may help you reconnect with internal value. It is important to connect with the energy of the word "Surrender". This is a deceptive word for many, because it can release a connotation of giving up, or giving away. On the contrary, surrender is a more savory word for "acceptance". This is a key element when dealing with our current scenario. Many of us are losing houses, getting divorced, losing children, selling our last items to keep the roof over our head, these action being engaged even after working a full and part time job. This is not the America our parents knew by a long shot. And so I would encourage you to avoid any negative rhetoric you recieve from anybody who is twice your age. Some of the older folks don't understand the Indiana Jones routine some of us are experiencing, although I hear enough about their current tax problems, which is nobody's fault but their own. They had a chance to change things when they were young. Now it's our turn to get Conscious and step in. It requires synergy, and of all things that word I keep repeating: Surrender! Again, this is a word that gives you the ability to accept your current situation, and determine a creative solution. The best option for all of us is to synergize. The amount of resources we are all using each day- seriously. It is important to discover a solution for consolidation, and then act upon synergy. Our neighbor is getting his power shut-off (hypothetically) and he uses one third of the power we are wasting. If we actually cared enough about our neighbor to even know his predicament, would we engage in the conservation and assistance to him? There is a lot of room for synergy in America, so why are we so damn inexperienced at it? I need to look into myself, SURRENDER, and become aware of the world around me. We can change the future by "Conscious living" and trusting our instinct to help those people that we wouldn't normally talk to. It is another illusion that "Conscious Living" will require work and sacrifice. Again, it is like surrender- there is really nothing to it, but to do it!

ALASKA

2010-07-04T18:43:00.000-07:00

Alaska:
I have always been a fan of Jack London. Although I spent much of the last seven days on a cruise ship, I did have the opportunity to do some random offshore excursions that revealed some of the inspiration this writer may have experienced. I kept taking notes for a new novel, and writing lyrics for “Stones & Stars”, but every time I settled in my cabin at night I passed out from over-excursion…that and a daily gorging of cruise food.
I was perplexed at the fjords we channeled through, and was mesmerized by spaghetti waterfalls cascading down arctic rainforest monoliths.
We made a journey into a glacier bay, but due to global warming it was quite dangerous for us to get close to the actual glacier because of random icebergs floating about mischievously. It was an impressive ancient piece of ice to look at, and doing it from a luxury dining room and having dinner with Victoria Wynn was even more inspiring.
On our way out form the fjords, I sat in a hot tub near the front of the ship. The mountains dwarfed the ship on each side. It was a great experience sitting in perfectly warm water drifting through subarctic passes. I found it strange that I was the only one out there. It was like I had the whole ship to myself. I am looking forward to infusing some of the dreams and visions I experienced on this journey into the “Stones & Stars” music machine.
I hope to have a new novel started by August. No idea what this story will be, but I already know it will be something wild. Thank you to all my family and friends that have made my creative aspirations come to life.

Pollution Evolution?

2010-05-28T14:10:00.000-07:00

Here we are at the doorway to summer. Many great seeds have been planted, and many great things have been fertilized. The earth is blossoming again with life, only to wake up to a filthy sewer vein billowing into her natural blue body. I really like the recent BP oil fiasco myself. I'm sure the watchdog groups are polishing the megaphones for a long-winded environmental 2010 rally. It's about time. We need to get ready for a big shift. Bio-fuels and Solar Batteries are ready to power the flying cars and hovering cities of our future world. We have had the technology for decades, and I'm afraid our Big Oil Tycoons are going to have to start sharing their wealth with the rest of the planet, and deal with a healthier outlook.

I wasn't much for the anti-tobacco campaigns I'll admit. It felt condescending in so many ways, and even though I didn't smoke my retort was simply, "Let the bastards smoke if they want. It is just as obnoxious of a habit going around badgering people about your expectations. Go find something to do."

However:

My concsious-living awareness has converted with the clean air acts and now I really appreciate taking a bite of pancakes at Denny's knowing I don't have to inhale a carton of cigarettes from the table next to me.

Well Big Oil, I'm afraid it is time for people just like me and my premature clean air act ignorance- to start stepping up to give you the bad news. We are ready for change. And if you aren't capable of giving it to us, then your robust and escessive salaries are about to take a hit.

It also baffles me that I have not been very pro-active about our environment until now. I've done my part. I was a boy scout. I try to treat Mother Nature with the utmost respect. Now I am becoming aware of Mother Nature's cries of distress. I realize if I don't do something, my grandchildren are going to be eating their dinner on an island of shit, surrounded by a sea of Texas Tea.

I'm jumping in this game for the first time ever. If that means just raising awareness through my music or novels- so be it! It's time for me to actually do something.

I love this planet. She is a great provider. It is the least I can do. There's got to be something you can do to. Think about it.

Stay tuned.

~Jaybird Dynomite

Gratitude in Abundance

2010-05-20T10:55:00.000-07:00

I have words of inspiration building inside of me. Usually when I get these goosebumps it means I have a novel ready to come out, but today I would like to use the spiritual energy to thank a few people for their priceless friendship. I have been partially wallowing lately in my monetary demise. I am not making enough income to absorb the expenses of my existence here in America. Ironically the thougt of joining the peace corps or finding work in Canada has crossed my mind. After careful consideration I have found that conclusion irrational, as much as I love to explore new places. I know that something of a grand scale is in the works for me. If I am temporarily committed to the local Weinershnitzel or Hot Dog on a Stick for a while, I have absolutely no trepidations. A writing career involves a lot of persistence, like any trade you would like to accelerate in. I know that I have planted all the right seeds in all the right places. With any luck, the sun and moisture of our culture will nurture my work, and I will be able to share in the abundance with those I love and even many who are in need. I would like to personally thank the following people on my blog. I hope you all have a remarkably spiritual and uplifting day. Here is my list:

Victoria Wynn
John Kelson
Chuck Mitchell
Mom and Dad
My family
Scott Maruri
Levi Nielson
Duane Smotherman
Analee McDonald
Johnny Barfuss
All of 265
Elisa Celli
Thomas Valentine Hollick
C.S. Lewis
Geddy Lee
Laura Chappell
and my dear son Jayden Ryan Agnello

You have all touched me deeply and set my ship asail. I love this world because of you, and wouldn't know it without you. Thank you again for your priceless love and good energy. Great moments await!

Awakening

2010-04-15T19:51:00.000-07:00

A crisp 2010 spring time slate has got me excited. I am roaring into a new episode of life, and taking all my powers with me. I had a chance to experience something that was life altering, riveting, punishing, and clarifying, all at the same time. I am now a member of the Great Life Foundation's 265th group. We had experiences that were so triumphant, so intense, and so vital to the lives of those who experienced it, not to mention everyone who surrounds them out in the world, I can only say that it was condensed love and energy in all its glory. You could compare the atomic human connection to that of Niagra Falls, or the biggest roller coaster you have ever been on and reconstructed to consume the entire state of Texas. Serious stuff! Imagine getting high, smoking on your own inner strength and love. Holy Moly! What a ride! I would suggest that anyone who has not heard of the Great Life Foundation check it out. It is the fastest way to get to the authentic core of your life, and own it! 265- We are more than alive!

Regarding Victoria and the inmate!

2010-04-02T12:29:00.000-07:00

Go to www.artistrybyvictoria.com and enter the blog link "Letter 1 to Ryan" to read the preface for this entry. Feel free to leave comments as well.

My name is Jay Agnello (Author, Screenwriter, and Musician), and I have been involved with a number of projects with Victoria in the arts and world of humanities. There was a moment when Victoria first explained this endeavor that I felt she was exhausting a lot of time and resources to this idea. I am, by all means, a humanitarian, but I felt that this man had made his choices and now it is time for him to pay the consequences. Alas, her persistence was something of a beacon, and it occurred to me that she is right in so many ways. There is nothing correctional about our correctional institutions. There is nothing rehabilitative about our rehabilitations. These people are in fact very deprived, and very needy. Now "needy" is a term that turns a lot of us off. Those of us who are already bombarded by our own middle or middle-class plethora of issues to sort out. However, with some exceptions, these people are starving for truth, and starving for reconciliation that they would not get, otherwise, were it not for people like Victoria Wynn. There is not enough reaching out. There is not enough care. It also occurred to me that it is preposterous to see the amount of resources that go into convicting these people who are "teetering on the brink" of normality, so to speak. The tax money, the life-force, the energy, the gas to transport convicts, to feed them, to operate the high-tech doors and devices to make sure they are "Shut-off" from the rest of us. There has to be a way for us to fix this problem in our own home, (America) a house that is dysfunctional. I already know that it starts with our sorely neglected education system, but before we can even sink our teeth into that, we need to come to the conclusion that our system is doing the opposite of what it pretends to be doing. These people simply need love and true connection, as well as mentoring. I would inspire you to look into an inmate penpal, and see what you can do as well. Victoria Wynn has set the bar for actually engaging true spiritual connection to this inamate, and trying to help him swim back to the surface, where he truly wants to be. I was one of the people that attended his trial yesterday, and Victoria was right. When he saw us in the room, he delivered a smile that said it all. I have no doubt that whatever small influence we have had, he is rising from the dust!

THE BIG COMEBACK IS HERE

2010-02-10T16:08:00.000-08:00

Today is a good day. For years I have been dedicating myself to the grand scheme of music and the science of it. I came to the realization one afternoon, in British Colombia (2006)- a warm and earthy day- that I needed money to accomplish creating the ultimate compositions that were stirring in my soul- a perpetual frustration as I realized that I needed a plan to get the money. Like Pinky and the Brain, I began to build a blueprint. That blueprint involved a number of projects to get the ball rolling- one of which- a novel. I decided to take a novel I had written and try to get it published. This work, although it seemed unrelated to my musical aspirations, was in fact a compilation. A compilation of songs I had written through-out my youth. My failure at rock n' roll stardom was basically chopped up and boiled into one big story- a space saga- no less. I had to let the angels and demons, and nerds come out and play somehow, and if I couldn't do it through music, why not a story? Now I can speed things up a bit. I accomplished what I set out to do. In my newest life voyage I am preparing to unleash harmonic and fusionistic funk and metal masterpieces with a musical mastermind partner. As I awoke this morning, I was reminded of the musical treasures that lurk inside of me. A nostalgic lethargy overtook me as I felt a wave of emotions I hadn't felt in many moons. I realized that I have been on such a long and epic quest to get back to this point, I may have forgotten my previous identity, like a grown up Peter-Pan...I guess. It was a revealing sensation, and I knew that today was the day that I could set foot into that threshold I once owned- MY DESTINY IN MUSIC!

Transylvania Complete

2010-01-19T11:19:00.000-08:00

Transylvania (copyright 2009) is now complete. I have worked really passionately on this piece to create a scenario where a reader could say, "Holy-crap! Could it have really happened like this?" Alas, my stories are filled with a lot of comedy and everyday life-situations that I hope readers will enjoy and relate to. This piece is more of a family perserverence saga, and carries a stronger moral than most of my other adventurous works, and it is built into a historical scene that was challenging for me to stay tied into, being a science-fiction hyperbot. I do, however, find a way to release my angels and demons by wandering through Dracula's dreams, and there you will find some of the stereotypical romance built around Dracula, especially those who are fond of the modern-day Bram Stoker's nuance that I feel, for lack of better terms, has been bled to death. I am still awaiting confirmation from publishers reviewing "Black Diamond Ghost" and anticipate a re-release of "Marching with Elves" that should be promising and progressive. I have been getting a lot of requests for a sequel to "Marching with Elves" and I am considering a plan of attack somewhere around Spring of 2011. In the meantime I am putting together some short screenplays to practice writing intricate dialogue for film. I will let you know how it goes. Keep an eye out for "Black Diamond Ghost"
Cheers,
Jay Agnello

Happy Progressive Choice Making in the New Year

2009-12-31T15:36:00.000-08:00

I'm glad this decade is basically over! What a strange transition of human conciousness. It's time for all the good people to resurface now. We will see a radical spawn of new talent, and music. More great medical advancement, and space travel. Hopefully- Education, but I'm not holding my breath. Plenty of great things to come, and great people evolving. Now if we can just stop everyone from beefing up this end of the world scenario we can all move on. As you know I am (ANTI- APOCOLYPSE) I'm all for non-genocide-suicide. I am pro-life and I believe in a positive future for our race. The New Renaissance has definitely begun. We are attracting a more powerful need and neccessity for transitic spiritual conciousness. Having said that, I hope you all have a safe and rockin New Year's Eve. I would encourage everyone to pick up a copy of Eckhart Tolle's "The Power of Now" A lot of spiritual self-help books deliberate endless techniques on how to change your "Life Situation" Alas, I feel that some of these are making too much emphasis on self-indulgence. "The Power of Now" does an outstanding job of enhancing your mental and spiritual clarity. It's almost like yoga for the mind, but you find that there is no exerting technique to it at all. You can trust your feelings more than your thoughts. In fact it is your thoughts that are creating the problem. The ego-self is dominating your presence, and by releasing this it turns out that it is as simple as setting down a heavy bag of concrete. The transition happens so easy, and it is so profound when you realize how simple it is to be "YOU" the insight in Tolle's work is priceless. If you have any connection to Taoism, you will really like this book, and find something new and spiritually awakening every time. Well, good luck everyone. I Wish you all well. See you all in the new year!

2009-11-13T09:40:00.000-08:00

I am excited about my latest work in progress "Transylvania". There is an over abundance and devout hunger for the vampire scene thanks to Anne Rice and Stephanie Meyers. Alas my composition has nothing to do with Dracula being a vampire or any of the other stereotypical romance that I feel has been exhausted. In another setting I have managed to implement the same elements in a story that contrives the use of werewolfs and rabies infected prisoners as well as apocolyptic figures in the realm of Dracula's dreams. It is a story about a Wallachian family that has been forced to evacuate their village after Dracula's soldiers burn them. The soldiers also poison the wells to opress an advancing Turkish army which forces the family to move closer to Transylvania. They are thrust into an unexpected confrontation and adventure that eventually leads them into the bowels of Draculas Castle. The eight-year-old baby sister Ramona is forced to hide in Dracula's room for an evening, and the family makes an attempt to rescue her.

I have been doing avid research on Romania and the actual life of Prince Vlad III the impaler, "Dracula". He had quite an extraordinary life as a Voivod ruler of Wallachia. I have no doubt that he was slightly insane, but I think that it was due to the exposure he was given from his families hardship with the Turkish opposition at a very young age. He was held hostage for a number of years with his brother and witnessed unspeakable horrors done to prisoners. Later his father and brother were buried alive by the Boyars of Wallachia. So cruelty was an accepted trademark of the dark ages. None-the-less I feel that Dracula out-did everyone in his time period. I'm sure you have all seen or possibly read Bram Stoker's Dracula, which is the famous version of Vlad's story actually written in the late 19th century. Contrary to this popular novel, there was never any historical evidence that people believed Dracula to be vampire. In putting this piece together I have found that some of the facts about dracula's life and lust for torture prove to be alot scarrier than your comic book vampire. For one thing, these atrocities actually occurred, so in a sense I'm not making a lot of it up. I refrain from glorifying Dracula's sedistic deeds in anyway, however they do happen throughout the novel. Some of the research I did was quite revealing, and there were things far too grotesque and disturbing for me to implement.

For those of you that are not in favor of horror novels, I have tried to accomodate your reading pleasure as well. I try to infuse as much comedy as I can into my books. I find that it actually complements the drama of a story. When there are characters that have a real human side to them, you seem to fall into the fiction easier and it makes for a great story. I think it is important to create characters that people you actually care about, and I feel that is a missing element to most vampire novels. I just never really care enough about the main characters, so when they end up in trouble I kind of think, "Well they sort of deserve it!" You know what I mean? I promise you that this upcoming publication will keep you on your toes, but it has warmth and human regard built into characters that try to successfully prevail. I have no qualms about sharing excerpts from the story also, if you are interested.

Jay Agnello
Author: "Transylvania"

San Francisco

2009-09-22T19:58:00.000-07:00

I had the pleasure of doing business in one of my favorite enchanting cities last weekend- San Francisco. SF is a bouquet of endless dimensions,cafe's,great drinks, authentic art, music, and vibrant hospitality. I remember coming to this town when I was nineteen-years-old and being dominated by the awesomeness that overtakes a kid that age. On my return that awesomeness seemed to possess me again.

My long time friend Dave Coe played host to a sunny afternoon on Union Street, then took Victoria and I on an epic sail around Alcatrez that gave us a spectacular view of the bay and city. Thanks again Dave!

That evening we were invited by our good celebrity and friend Elisa Celli to a formal gathering at Le Colonial near the heart of the metro. After dropping off Elisa and Victoria at the front door, I spent a good twenty-minutes bustling around the chaotic central searching for a parking place. This part of town was nothing less than a slice of New York, with people honking at me, homeless psychotics with tourette's-syndrome falling on the bumper, smoke rising from man-holes, and a general sense of rat-race. My hopes for finding a spot less than twenty blocks from the party were deteriorating. I happened upon a car that drove out and left me just enough room to parallel next to a dark ally. I had no idea where I was in the city, until I looked down the ally. Le Colonial was tucked in a cul de sac of brownstones just twenty-yards away. What are the odds, really?

The party was an elegant Italian gathering, and Elisa was a popular center piece to the social. Victoria presented herself well and made me see why I was convinced she would be the perfect manager for my career. Thanks again Victoria for your representation and brilliant networking skills, and thank you Elisa for your strong direction and cordiality.

San Francisco is an inspiring wonderland- a powerful enigma!

More from Maui

2009-09-16T10:20:00.000-07:00

Here are some more digitally recorded magical moments from Maui. The Maui Dive Shop guru in this picture with Victoria and I, is Adam. We had an intrinsic talk about metaphysics and spirituality that was quite profound in many ways, and went on for quite some time. There are times where I feel that I have had this conversation over and over again, and made contact with the enlightenment imbedded in the translation, therefore absorbing all that there is. Alas, Adam had information ,and his own way of conveying it that brought new spiritual enlightenment to my attention. My recommendation is to never shrug off these encounters, because hidden within them are messages from your future. It will magically bring the next best thing into your life I guarantee, almost effortlessly. Just carrying around knowledge of who you are and what your impact is, even on a bee, will make the next moments of your life a miracle.

The other picture is of Victoria and I on Kahana Sands. There is no place I know as serene and comfortable to the spirit as Kahana. I meditated in these waters daily and you wouldn't believe me if I told you what magic was revealed in my life.

I would like to take a moment to personally thank my manager, Victoria Wynn, for all her drive and support. She is the one making all of this happen, and she is an outstanding spirit with lots of character and a great sense of humor. Talk about a role model. She is a tough example to stand next to, but I consider her an angel and a best friend. Thanks again Victoria for all you do!

Today's Special

2009-09-12T10:58:00.000-07:00

Today I am examining my girlfriend's room for ambush makeover feng shui zenification. If you have any suggestions to make a room more nature like, please let me know, with the exception of birds. I don't think she would want chirping birds in her room.

I am about to officially start "Transylvania"©2009 and I have also found my notes for "Amoeba-Man"©2009 so I am happy to say that I will be finishing the draft for it by March 15, 2010

Write on folks!

2009-09-10T18:30:00.001-07:00

Here are some memories burned from the world onto a digital recording computer camera device for preservation. Victoria and I. Me with Thomas Valentine Hollick, Spiritual Healer.

Final Days in Maui

2009-09-10T18:14:00.001-07:00

Maui was an experience that I would have to rank up there with seeing my son born, getting my first book published, and falling in love. It was exilerating on many levels.

We took a luxury catamaran out toward the world class Molokini island one morning, but it was too windy for us to approach the reef. Instead our captain took us close to our own beach where we were staying, to a place called "Turtle Town"

Victoria and I spent the entire amount of time alotted- snorkling over the reefs. They had to send someone out to get us, as most of the patrons couldn't swim for more than ten-minutes. I think we were out there for over an hour.

The turtles were a mystic and spiritual encounter all on their own. I remember searching for them on the sand maybe twenty or thirty-feet below me. There would be three or four you could see easily in the aqua-velvet liquid, and behold, there would be one floating right next to me- greener than spring grass.

They were like little gurus or yogis the way they would slowly come up to you, and peer into your soul. I thought of all the great things Master Ugway said.

Valentine is a spiritual leader and Maui icon of sorts. I met him on our first night, and he became a close friend to us immediately. He shared a vibrant and charitable energy with us, and even took us near Kuluhei to a doctor who gave us a back adjustment. That is just the kind of guy he is, much like Victoria. I have been blessed to be surrounded by such strong products of God and his Universe.

Maui is noted for having more rainbows than any place in the world. I will never forget the two I saw.

Aloha Maui

The Magic of Maui

2009-09-09T21:48:00.000-07:00

The following notes were taken previous to the blog date.

The Maui Connection

(Day 2)

Thursday September 3, 2009

Waking to the sound of Maui’s blissful mantra made the pains of the previous day wash away almost entirely, with the exception of my right shoulder, which was beginning to feel like I pitched for the Yankees.

It was more paradisiacal and enchanting than I could have hoped for, and suddenly I felt as if something I was doing in life must be right.

We were supposed to be attending the Hawaii Writer’s Conference and retreat in Waikiki, but due to some elements beyond our control, we were not capable of registering on time. This was not a huge let down for me, as my girlfriend and I have been making vast connections in the business world, and in general the world I now call “The New Renaissance”, gaining vital knowledge of this career I am in pursuit of, and the interest of people reaching out for new modern causes of their own. We deemed this journey worthy of embracing perspective, and whatever else “it” wants us to do will happen.

The day was quite relaxing, and I was much more enthusiastic than my girlfriend to find out about $2.00 happy hour at the Sands of Kahana next door. Victoria is a firm believer in naturopathic thinking and dieting, which at first, I will have to admit, gave me the intuition to run like hell when I first met her, but after nourishing me with spiritual insight, and herbal licorice, one-year later I have reduced my insidious addictions to an occasional beer or two every month. The benefits are: reduced acid-reflux, clearer vision, less turbulent choice making, and generally a much more pro-active approach to acquiring the abundance of the Universe. That being said, I slammed three wonderfully refreshing Long Beach Lagers, and felt like I was in heaven.

I went for a swim in the ocean that day, and felt younger immediately. We found a McDonald’s close by. We don’t eat McDonald’s food, or what I have coined, “McExlax” but we do enjoy their Chocolate Sundaes.

We checked in with one of the local snorkeling outfits, and we are preparing for a turtle-encounter of the third kind in the coming days. I will let you know how that goes.

That evening, I couldn’t resist going down to the water for one last plunge. The sun had exited, and I was kneeling in the shallow waves meditating on Maui and the powers of the ocean. It occurred to me that I was immersed in the same liquid as all the whales, and all the dolphins, and all the turtles, and even all the sharks in the seas of the globe, and fathoming how this element connected to all the continents and landmasses of the world. A sense of oneness came over me that was hard to describe. As a writer I should accept the challenge of explaining it to you, but it is one of these experiences that you just can’t convey with words.

Upon standing in the waves, I noticed a man preparing to plunge into the dark water. He yelled to me,

“Just had to go for that last swim my friend?”

I didn’t reply.

“This is when all the sharks come out.”

I was sure he was joking, and then the surety wore off, as his smiling eyes told me he wasn’t. I have an enormous shark-phobia.

“What kind of sharks, tiger sharks?” I ask.

“Oh, all of them!” he laughed.

I’m not sure how we connected, but it was quite instant. I explained how I was with my girlfriend, and that I was a fiction novelist here with the intention to attend the writer’s conference. After- I explained that we diverted our mission to Maui for some much needed spiritual insight.

Tom Valentine gripped my hand like a linebacker, and looked me in the eyes. “My friend, I am a Literary and Entertainment manager.”

We talked for about thirty-minutes in the lounge of the Kahana, after which we exchanged information. I warned him that my girlfriend was going to talk his ear off when she meets him. He was a colorful and animated character. For his age, he did not seem lacking in energy, and health and he insisted that we had a lot to talk about.

I informed Victoria that he was downstairs, and she immediately went down to meet with him. They had a marathon of insight to share with each other, and Victoria being the consultant she is dove right into the business repo ire. I knowing that this was a very Taoist encounter, decided not to elate myself in the excitement of the coincidence, decided to cash in for the night, and let the business people do business.

Maui is unfolding great works before us, almost effortlessly.

Mission to Maui

2009-09-09T21:36:00.000-07:00

The following notes were submitted previous to this date. I have decided to share some moments from Maui.

Mission to Maui
(Day 1)

Wednesday September 2, 2009

Today started at 5:30 a.m. It still hadn’t hit me that I was about to voyage off with my girlfriend, Victoria Wynn, to the Hawaiian Islands- Maui, Kahana Beach. I was still under the funk of my mundane local residence Salt Lake City, or as I sometimes call it: The Salty Cracker.

I was fighting off, what I believe to be, some strain of the infamous swine flu, or H141 virus that was announced as a pandemic crisis six-months ago. The reason I was convinced that this was my clinging ailment was the similarities to the common diagnosis. It attacks the respiratory system. For the longest time, I was certain I had walking pneumonia. I was up late coughing and vomiting for five-weeks. It seemed like it was never going to end. At one point I thought I was developing something cancerous- the kind of thing that crosses one’s mind as they sit hopped up on cold medicine hallucinating next to the toilet, but alas, the virus was depleting on this morning, as the coughs began to sound much healthier, compared to the choking-old-trucker-hack that went on for weeks.

We started with some tedious errands that I was not pleased about. Forgot to get cat food the night before, had to drop off the kids, attempted to acquire some last minute cash. All this took place as the clock ticked closer and closer to the opportunity of missing our flight.

Arriving at the airport, we ran into the common hassles of preparing to board, one of them being an assistant that insisted it was too late for me to check in for my flight.

My girlfriend, Victoria, has a cool sense about her, and never seems to fight anxiety, where I, having studied the Tao, and the laws of control, couldn’t seem to repress my Italian-short-fuse. The profanity was leaking out all over the place, as I pulled items out of a fifty-seven pound suitcase that we were trying to deflate for check-in.

After racing up escalators, through security, repacking my freshly searched carry on, and charging to the terminal, I boarded our flight drenched in sweat, but extremely relieved. I didn’t sit next to Victoria on this flight. She was in first class. She was thoughtful enough to send her free cocktail back to me, and have the flight attendant apologize: “She says sorry for making you late.” I was suddenly overcome with the happiness I experience when I think of her. Though I don’t find a lot of her ways systematically accommodating, she has a way of pulling life off, something I relish, and in the aftermath laugh to myself about on the inside.

From Salt Lake we landed in Seattle, a place I consider to be my old home. I once lived in Seattle, in another life, many years ago. I have rich memories in the city, and in the North West. I had the luxury of taking Victoria to many of those places during our layover at Sea-Tac.

I made the same mistake as I always do when I bus into Seattle. I always forget to take the transit to Westlake Center. Instead, I get off around Pioneer Square, and routinely huff it to the Pike Place Market. It really isn’t a bad hike, unless you are packing fifty-pounds of crap on your back, and lugging a loaded laptop bag around.

Last time I came into the city was two years ago on my way to Vancouver, CA. I had an even heavier pack on. Sure enough, I get so excited to be in Seattle that I get off at that same damn stop, and end up killing myself up those hills.

We had a lovely walk through the market, and enjoyed some savory smoked salmon lochs, on what started out as a typically overcast Seattle morning. The sun washed all the fog out by 10:30, and Seattle was a rainbow of fruit vision and floral ambience.

We caught the monorail to Seattle Center then bussed back to Sea-Tac, where we stood in a line longer than “Pirates of the Caribbean”.

Our flight to Honolulu was a long one. I made my way to the bathroom line at the back of the plane. After waiting for three people to do their best work on these miniature poop-closets, the guy in front of me leans toward the door. I thought he was putting on some kind of sarcastic show, a reaction to many of the air-travel nuances that take place, (believe me, if you want to study cynical sociology, go to an airport sometime) the kid falls over like a drunk on St. Patrick’s day. How timely! “Is there a doctor on board?” came over the intercom.

We arrived in Hawaii at 8:30 Hawaii time- 11:30 our time. My body was not digging this. We had one more flight to catch to the island of Maui, another jog through airports with our stuff- a moment where I could have really used a forklift.

Then a final surprise- a one-hour drive to Kahana from Kahului. The night ended when we walked into our suite on the top floor of the Kahana Beach Resort Condominiums. The sliding glass door was open at the back of the room. The serene chant of Maui waves could be heard breathing into the night air. The view was spectacular, but an even more breathtaking mindset as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes the following morning.

Maui is a whole new oyster about to open for me.

The spirit of Don Ho is with me

2009-09-01T14:51:00.000-07:00

Just moments away from my trip to Hawaii- Sponsored by Artistry by Victoria our own company. Feel free to check out my blog on www.artistrybyvictoria.com . Any suggestions before I voyage into the Pacific? Hope all your creative dreams are in motion. See you all soon.

TRANSYLVANIA

2009-08-27T09:24:00.000-07:00

Hello people of the blog,

so I have had some form of H141 Pig-flu malaria that has kept me low for the past month. It has been impossible to be creative, but suddenly I'm feeling some strange tingle in my brain. I was about to finish my work "Amoebaman"©2009 that I had promised my readers, but can't seem to find my notes. I know there in a big box full of other important documents I can't find. So instead of overexerting myself on that masterpiece, I have decided that the course of nature wants me to complete that when the time is right. To make up for this capricious lack of organization, I have decided to deliver something I've been excited about for a long, long time, and with Halloween coming up, I've got that spooky, evil chill in my bones.
The next release will be:
Transylvania

I have been studying Romania for sometime, and was waiting for the right moment to pounce on this one. I will keep you posted, and even share excerpts from the novel as I go.

That's how cool I am!

Talk to you soon- your pal,

~Jaybird D

2009-08-24T14:21:00.000-07:00

I am finishing a story that I have been working on over the summer. It is another elaboration of a song I wrote many years ago with the band "Animation". It is called "The Seagull and the Stingray"© and I am not interested in going commercial with this piece, because it is more of a sentimental work, so if you are interested, I will send it to you personally via email. Just send an inquiry to Jbdynomite@gmail.com

2009-08-21T16:08:00.000-07:00

Off to Hawaii Blokes!

2009-08-21T16:01:00.000-07:00

So we are off to Hawaii next week in an attempt to conjure up a major league player for my new creation- "Black Diamond Ghost" ©2009 before I delve into the screenplay.

I'm really hoping we get a chance to do some body surfing, as I am hardly in shape to brave actual surfing. On top of that, I have an extreme wuss-factor of 10 when it comes to the whole shark thing. I'm sure it's not a big deal, but I have stayed up watching Discovery channel too many times to take a chance. Last week I saw an episode where a sea-captain and his buddy decided to drink seawater, and they went looney-tunes! They walked off their life-raft to go get their car, and the sharks went to town on them. I'm sorry, but that was kind of funny.

JAYWORKS

ANI-MIA

HOPKIN'S REVIEW

ARTSY FARTSY

REBBECA HOPKINS

MOCK COVER

TRANSYLVANIA FREE

BAZZY

THE SONG THAT I NOW SING

YO SPIELBERG! ©2011

Szarglopian Cuisine ©2011

Black Diamond Ghost ©2009

ART CONTEST

Transylvania ©2009

Szarglopian Cuisine ©2011 Chapter:12

Szarglopian Cuisine ©2011

My Entries Become Short but Sweet

TIME

A New Jaywork in Progress

CLEAR FOR TAKE-OFF

THE CONSCIOUS SURRENDER

ALASKA

Pollution Evolution?

Gratitude in Abundance

Awakening

Regarding Victoria and the inmate!

THE BIG COMEBACK IS HERE

Transylvania Complete

Happy Progressive Choice Making in the New Year

San Francisco

More from Maui

Today's Special

Final Days in Maui

The Magic of Maui

Mission to Maui

The spirit of Don Ho is with me

TRANSYLVANIA

The Seagull and the Stingray©

Off to Hawaii Blokes!