Originally published at benchiladaland. You can comment here or there.

I’d apologize for letting you down on content last week, but I’m not sure that any of you give a shit.

And that hurts.*

I’ve got two pages of The Wizard’s Tale ready for scanning tomorrow, and may be able to finish a third before heading to Oakland for nine days. You’ll be getting some content those days, but likely in the form of photos and stories about how awesome it is in California.

Don’t try to rob us, though; our home will be guarded by a ferocious old cat and a friend who is staying there and being afforded an exception to Stone Robot Enterprises‘ “NO GUNS” rule.

A few weeks ago Nadja figured out what her Halloween costume would be, and a few days ago I figured out mine.

This is important, because Halloween is my favorite holiday. It even beats out Van Riebeeck Day, which is a VERY close second*.

While I’ve had a few years where Halloween costuming was superceded by extenuating circumstances, generally, when I actually do Halloween, I don’t believe in pissing about.

Here’s one of my favorite homemade costumes:

[pic--and most of the others--by Nadja Robot]

I really hope you recognize it or can figure it out. No worries if you can’t, though; I’m here to help.

You can find more behind the jump at the bottom.

Did I mention I’m getting a new tattoo in California? I didn’t?

The hell I didn’t; go back two sentences.

Anyways, time to get back to the culling. These rabid [REDACTED] aren’t going to [REDACTED] themselves, after all.

Love,

benjamin

*Not true

MOAR COSTUMES!

Sorry, eyeslikesugar, it seems that I had a hard time narrowing three of your FIVE QUESTIONS down to a single answer. That having been said, I really liked them.

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1) What author has influenced you the most in your life and why?

Wow, that’s a fucking tough one, but I’m gonna have to go with three, sorry.

Ray Bradbury: Starting reading him in about 5^th grade, tore through every book he’d written that wasn’t impossible to find. Showed me that you could write about crazy shit and keep it human at the same time. I think I started rereading The Martian Chronicles as soon as I finished it for the first time.

H.P. Lovecraft: Yeah, I’d read some Stephen King, but when I got to this crazy motherfucker, and realized that horror didn’t have to involve slicing up eyeballs, and that just describing a place could scare the poop out of me? Changed forever.

Daniel Pinkwater: Especially Lizard Music. Wow. I wanted that to be my life. I’m still trying.

2) What comic book/series/character/etc has influenced you the most in your life and why?

Dr. Strange was the first comic character where I thought “Wow. This is a great story, and he’s so fucking cool, and he looks so fucking cool, and this is some crazy fucking surreal-ass shit right here. He remain one of my faves, but influence?

Influence would be Grant Morrison's The Invisibles. Mind-shifting, thought-provoking, you-gotta-read-it-to-understand. Interesting that these two are ones that both deal with magic and completely non-traditional mindsets.

3) What pet that you have/had in your life did you bond with the most?

Wow, that’s tough, as I’ve had a LOT. I’d really have to say my cat Isis. Even though I’ve had other cats for longer, and she really is disturbed—she was taken from her mother at a week or two, and abused as a kitten—and can go psycho, she is so loving to Sara and I that it’s insane. She’s pretty, she sleeps between my feet every night, she always stretches out her paw to touch us when she sits near us. She even has a leather glove that she fetches.

4) Favourite snack food?

I don’t really have a favorite. Some things I love to snack on: wasabi peas, beans, tuna, kimchi, corn. Yeah, I’m weird.

5) If you could invite all of your LJ/internet/irl friends to a party, and they all could go.. where in the world would it be held at? What would happen? And would hilarity ensue?

We would hold it in the TARDIS. 

We would have a fucked-up range of musical genres--because that's how I like my music--and there’d be something for everyone, from dancing to games to computers to…everything. Hell, there'd be a legion of fuckrooms.

We would love life like tomorrow never comes.

Hilarity would be guaranteed, money back if you’re not satisfied.

What would happen would change the world.

        I apparently cannot, as usual, sleep for shit. My weakness for melodrama caught me again tonight, so as Sara slept peacefully beside me, I watched ME AND MRS. JONES on PBS. Apparently it was some British television film from just a year or two ago . It wasn’t actually so very bad. Indeed, I thoroughly enjoyed it. British melodrama about a smart, pretty Prime Minister and her husband who’s having an affair and the reporter who starts out getting a story and then falls in love. Good God, what is wrong with me?
        And so now I sit, eating three day old Chinese soup and drinking milk and kahlua and wishing to God my DSL line wouldn’t keep dropping its signal. SBC assures me that they’ll eventually find out what’s wrong with it, but I suppose we’ll eventually find out who killed Kennedy, too.
        So, as promised, here are a few pages of my adaptation of Ray Bradbury’s DEATH IS A LONELY BUSINESS.

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"DEATH IS A LONELY BUSINESS"

FADE IN:

Ext. Shot: Venice California, 1950’s, in the fogGY RAIN.

The moaning of oil well machinery can be heard in the distance, as well as the slap of dark water in the canals, and the hiss of sand every time the wind blows.

As we pass along near Venice Pier, a “loud avalanche of big red trolley car” skirts the curve of its track and the wires above it spark and away it runs...

We pull up to the trolley car, and in through the window, where the KID (in reality, in his mid-twenties) is reading a crumpled book, rocking in time with the bumps of the Trolley’s ride, the window open next to him.

As the ride continues, and the conductor makes his mad motions to control the trolley, and the air brakes scream... we realize that there is suddenly a person standing, swaying in the aisle a few seats behind the KID.

He is wearing a trenchcoat and hat, soaked with rain, but we can only see him from behind, and the baggy coat and droopy hat make all characteristics indistinguishable.

CLOSE UP on THE KID’s face.

He seems nervous. He is looking at his book, but is clearly not reading. We both hear the man sit behind him at the same time and the KID closes his eyes.

STRANGER
(moaning)
Oh...

We can hear the man leaning forward in his seat, smell his breath on the KID’s neck. the KID grabs his knees and looks away.

STRANGER
(louder)
OH! AH!

Pause

STRANGER
Death!

The trolley’s whistle cuts across the rest of the man’s sentence.

STRANGER
Death...

Another whistle.

STRANGER
Death...is a lonely business.

He makes a sound like he is about to cry. Suddenly the trolley slows, and the man leans even closer, we can make him out, but again, no distinguishing characteristics. THE KID clutches the seat in front of him.

STRANGER
Oh, death! Is a lonely business!

The trolley comes to a stop and we hear a shuffling, a scampering of feet, the back door opening and closing, gravel underfoot outside. THE KID looks back out the window, but it’s too rainy and dark and foggy for him to see a damn thing. He slams the window shut.

cut to

THE KID at a bar, HOPALONG CASSIDY playing on the TV in the corner.

KID
One double vodka, please.

He knocks back the drink too quickly for anybody who knows how to drink.

BARKEEP
Jesus, you like you never had booze before!

KID
I never did.

BARKEEP
You look horrible.

KID
I feel horrible. You ever think something awful is going to happen, but you don’t know what?

BARKEEP
It’s called the heebie-jeebies.

The KID takes another drink.

KID
No, no, something really terrible, closing in on you, is what I mean.

BARKEEP suddenly looks over his shoulder, as though he expects someone to be behind him.

BARKEEP
Did you bring it in here with you?

KID
No.

BARKEEP
Then it’s not here.

KID
But he spoke to me...one of the Furies...

BARKEEP
Furies?

KID
I didn’t see his face. God, I feel worse now! Good night!

BARKEEP
Lay off the booze!

The KID goes out the front door, but not before pausing briefly with his hand a few centimeters from the wood. Outside, he turns towards one of the canals.

This canal has circus wagons in it, overturned, enamel paint flaking and their iron bars rusting. You can tell they were once beautiful. The KID makes his way along the canal, then crosses a small overpass bridge. Halfway across, there is a crash of water beneath him. He lunges to the guardrail, grasping it in his hands.

Inside the cage beneath him we can see a hand just poking out of the water. The hand moves, slowly, as though the person is still alive. Then the water moves again, and the hand moves, and the body rolls, become plainly visible in the moonlight. “A pale face, with empty eyes which took light from the moon and showed nothing else.”

The water lowers him back below the surface. The KID leans farther over...the water raises the man again...and we hear a scream. It takes a moment to realize the KID is the one screaming.

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Maybe tomorrow you’ll hear about Alex the hitman. Or maybe we’ll go back to the League of Nations fellow. Christ, I thought this was going to help me ORGANIZE my writing. Wait, why the fuck am I surprised that one of my ideas didn’t turn out quite right.
Oh well, I’ve only just started this. Still time to make it work even better. And remember, if you like what you’re reading, tell your friends to subscribe, or at he fucking least check out the Live Journal version, with its shitty formatting.

Hell yeah, I’ve no bloody shame at all.

benjamin sTone
Urbana, Illinois
3:10 a.m.

LAST MOVIE: Me and Mrs. Jones
CURRENT MUSIC: Queen of Japan melancholy remake of “I Was Made for Loving You,” then “Trans Europe Express” by Senor Coconut, then “Save Me” by Remy Zero.

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benjamin speaks: compositemolecules@yahoogroups.com
everybody responds: dead-horse@yahoogroups.com
Also available online at: http://www.livejournal.com/users/benchilada/