Five days before Christmas, I learned that my 26-year-old cousin was shot and killed. This person wasn’t just any cousin. She wasn’t just any family member. Ever since she was a baby, she was like a little sister to me. And apart from her surviving sister, I don’t think I ever loved anyone more than Autumn.
amwriting
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This one delves into the criticism many have voiced about the “Mary Sue” and Hollywood continually pushing the “strong female protagonists” in which most of those women act like men.
These opinions…don’t worry, they aren’t feelings that I’m super passionate about because there’s not much I can do about it. But I have held them for a long time. Even when I was in film school, my instructors used to tell me, “Rock, you have to play the game to win it.”
Continue ReadingI had a conversation with Marisol…the 34-year-old Atheist on my boss’s old radio show. I said I’d be willing to date a woman as young as 18, not that I’d prioritize dating someone so young, but that I was willing to. She was shocked.
That’s when Marisol said, “wouldn’t you like a woman with more experience, and someone you had more in common with? I mean, don’t you like intelligent women?”
The thing is…more and more, intelligence is starting to sound like a subjective matter. A career bank-robber can have intelligence to successfully pull off a heist but is incredibly stupid when it comes to thinking the law won’t catch up with them and they’ll have to serve time.
In regard to Marisol’s question…this is going to sound extremely vain, but it’s my honest thoughts and I don’t particularly think I’m wrong.
Continue ReadingWhat I’m about to reveal will probably make me sound like a sociopath. Method Actors do it all the time and it seems accepted. However, for an author, because projects we work on can take months if not years…I understand why it might be difficult to maintain a relationship with us.
It’s been over a year since I’ve created a new story. In 2019, I was 32-years-old and after committing myself to books and screenplays for a decade, decided to commit myself to other aspects of adult life…like advancing in a corporate job, becoming a homeowner, and building relationships with real people. In that, 2019 was a success. I’ve progressed and accomplished everything I set out to do.
But still…Despite everything I’ve done, I confess that nothing on earth has given me greater pleasure than escaping to another world and writing down everything I see. I can’t overstate this enough. 2019 has been the longest I’ve gone without creating anything new, and while I am happy…I don’t feel fulfilled. Yes, I’ve written critical essays here and there…but fiction is where it’s at.
Everything else just seems ephemeral. I know that one day I will die and memories of me will fade. I’m just a tenant on this earth. The condo I bought will belong to someone else. My money and possessions will be given to someone else or discarded. And if last summer has taught me anything when a co-worker took his own life…people’s perception of who you are, is pretty much whatever they want it to be, regardless if it’s true. Continue Reading
Anna Marie and Gladys are terrorists on the run…but its not the government they fear. They betrayed a deadly society of feminists. The Swords of St. Catherine have come for payback.
Lightning from Final Fantasy XIII
I opened my eyes to a gray ceiling fan with cracks in the wood. Everything looked old, as if the house was taken straight from a post-civil war documentary. The windows were milky and stained. The dresser looked like a device for splinters. My bed was twin size with a rusty iron headboard. Even my pillow was stuffed with real feathers. I could feel the stems pricking through the pillowcase, scratching at my neck.
My bullet wounds were patched up. Someone had sewn me shut and dressed me in a faded pink nightgown. There was a table on the other side of the room with a pitcher and two tin cups. I was thirsty like you wouldn’t believe, so I got up.
Anyone wondering if I was awake wouldn’t have to wonder long. I was so weak. My bones felt brittle. As soon as I tried to stand, I crumbled to the floor with this wooden crash that probably sounded much louder than it was. The problem was, I couldn’t hear anyone else. I was on the second floor and sound carried.
Not wanting to break anything, I hugged the wall and hobbled to the table like an old woman. There was nothing in the pitcher. I expected water.
Timed perfectly with my groan was a howling wind that rustled through the last leaves of a withering tree just outside my window. And through the branches, I saw the distant figure of Anna Marie all dressed in black. She was deep in the woods and her long hair shrouded her face, but I knew it was her. I grabbed sheets from the bed, wrapped up, and left.
The Perennial War of Paramours
Gladys Vandelay – For the Living
By Rock Kitaro
…
In the downstairs kitchen was a family of African-Americans. A mother, a father, and three toddlers. They were all so quiet as fuck that it creeped me out. I could sense the feeling was mutual. They stared like I was a ghost wandering the halls. No one said anything, not even so much as a greeting.
Finally, I just shuffled over to their breakfast table and grabbed about four strips of bacon. “Thank you.” I whispered before scurrying off. But of course, my bed sheets got caught on the crease in the floorboard. I tripped, scraping my knees and the children laughed. I whipped around to see which ones, but only caught the tail end of the mother snapping her fingers at them.
“Who are you people?” I asked.
“The owners of the house you’re staying in.” the father told me.
“I don’t suppose you have a name?”
“Just call me the caretaker.”
I squinted at him. “Did you put me in this nightgown?”
The mother rolled her neck with spiked brows, a matrimonial warning, not worth ignoring. So I threw up my hands and whispered, “Sorry.” Continue Reading
The Andalusian recalls how she was recruited by the Swords of St. Catherine, a deadly society of underground feminists. She used to be carefree and spirited. Living life to the fullest. But when she kills her would-be rapist, everything changes.
Anna Marie – The Cult
By Rock Kitaro
My life begins every time he dies and I’m getting sick of it. I thought he was dead. I thought I had killed him. This time I know he’s not coming back. I suppose the only solace stems from the fact that he finally learned the truth. The truth is, I loved him. I’ll always love him. That’s all there is to it.
I don’t want everyone to know all about my family upbringing or whatever. It’s nobody’s business. So I’m going to skip all that.
I met Marcus in my early twenties. We worked together in the same building, at the same company, an up-and-coming media outlet focusing on entertainment. He was a journalist writing op-ed pieces on the ever-changing culture, while I made my bones on the forecast projections of upcoming album and box office sales. I heard he gave me credit for how much I changed him, inspiring him to grow. I suppose I should do the same.
…
I dunno… Marcus was really shitty at small talk. I think our first conversation was about God. That’s how deep and straight to the point he was. It was kind of annoying at first. I thought it was creepy and invasive. I was like, “who the hell are you that I should tell you all these deep and personal things?”
But after a while, I dunno. It kinda grew on me. I found myself thinking about crap I never would’ve even considered.
He talked about stuff like North Korea or the slave trade in Africa that still persists to this day. And when he spoke, he was so full of passion. Like, he honestly cared, as if he had a family member there or some stake in the matter. It was a spectacle, actually. Always so dramatic and full of histrionics. Caught myself smiling a couple of times. He’d notice, turn and blush. If black people could blush. Then he’d ask for my opinion. I wouldn’t have one. I just enjoyed listening. But he encouraged me to think. He was in my head. That’s how the bastard got me.
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She Hates You Because She Likes You – A Romantic Theory
By Rock Kitaro
Before you get the wrong idea and think that this is dating advice, let me clarify that it’s not. The following is yet another observational theory in which I explain a romantic phenomenon that’s been told since antiquity.
Also, warning! This is one of those blue-pill, red-pill moments. Once you read this, your thought process will probably never be the same. Your eyes will be opened and there’s no going back.
This is an idea that I came up with back when I was 21. I’ve said it to several friends but I had no idea the concept would apply to senior citizens. When my grandmother heard it just yesterday. She told me, “I gotta give it to you, Rock. You really are one smart dude.”
Let me explain.
My grandmother, in her late-70s, was telling me about a pastor at her church who seems to despise her. Always making backhanded statements and displaying a bitter attitude. She goes to shake his hand, and he doesn’t even make eye contact with her. He talks about her behind her back and even goes so far as to make esoteric statements in the middle of service, insults directed solely to her.
As she revealed her agitations, I couldn’t help but smirk. This is what I told her.
“If a person who’s attracted to you can’t receive your love…then they’ll settle for your hate. Because whether you love or hate the person, the thing they both have in common is that you got your object of affection thinking about you. And sometimes, that’s all we really want. All we really need is to know that our crush is thinking about us. So we’ll piss you off to the extent that you’re so angry you’re venting to others about us. Thus, mission accomplished.”
To be honest, it’s kind of why I get irritated (jealous) when girls I’m interested in complain about other dudes. I’m thinking to myself… “Come on, missy. That guy isn’t worth your thoughts.”
When I told my grandmother this, you could hear how impressed she was. Not just from the compliments but by her laughter. She was genuinely thrilled and proud of me for making such a revelation. No doubt, she’s heard the cliché of people “antagonizing those they actually have crushes on”…but in her long life of knowledge and experience, I don’t think she’s ever heard anyone explain why it’s like this.
This theory doesn’t apply to everyone, especially if you’re mature, content, of self-confident. However, everyone is susceptible of being on the receiving end of such abuse where you’re like, “damn dude. What did I do to her?”
Think back to when you were a kid. The plot of so many TV programs always showed it. From “The Rugrats” to “Charlie Brown” to freaking “Hey Arnold.” These TV shows had at least one or two episodes showing a girl or guy making fun or antagonizing another character who turns out to actually be in love with their victim. Is this healthy? Is it normal? I don’t know. Maybe I was just one of the lucky ones where the girls who liked me were intrepid enough to lash out and make me feel like was an evil monster that needed to be slayed, for the sake of the towns folk who were our peers and classmates. Continue Reading
Stage In The Sky 