Jarce ArtThor

As a traveling caricature artist, author Jeffrey Arce (a.k.a Jarce ArtThor) has witnessed some very strange things. From the opinions, and liquid perceptions of fun-drunk carnival patrons he drew inspiration. A writer, an artist, and a dark thinker, he weaves a visceral web of twists, terror, and wonder. His tales are filled with dynamic environments, vividly portrayed, colorful characters with dangerous talents, and mind bending artwork to feast the eyes of his audience. A touch of comical mischief follows his every step as he journeys the unknown wilderness in search of another scary story to tell round the campfire. Join him in an adventure that spans across uncharted universes, swelling in his own imagination. Witness the cartoon fantasy, and nightmarish reverie that unravels behind the mind in front of an easel. Welcome to my literary/artist blog, my own personal cauldron of mischief. 

OtherWorld Caricatures

I hit the ground running, but kept tripping...

I started my own business in my fashion of “just do it already!” I spent almost all of my money on equipment, and then lost my car, and then lost my beloved computer. On top of all that it rained here in the north east and did not stop for months. We went from winter, to spring, to 

“Well what about second spring?”,

and then we jumped over Summer and landed on early Fall. Strange times. 

Being that I am a caricature artist who depends on good weather to make a profit, that hurt. But it only took a few good shows to get from a grueling 0 to a happy 78%. My set up looks better now, and I’m learning from experience what I need next to succeed in this buisness. Also started making more pet caricatures on display as I have discovered that pet events are big up north during the death-trap winter season. Got new banners, and got some great new appreciation for what I do for a living. And since this blog is primary meant to share details about my writing, I am also developing an anthology of short stories that will tie into my adventures as a carnival caricature artist some. Until next time! Take care friends.

Human

When I lived, I could never die. 
From the deep abyss to the heavens above, there was no realm I could not claim. 
I shaped mountains into my image, I built spires to challenge the gods, and I subdued even the fiercest of beasts. 
When I lived, everything was mine. 
I bled the earth. 
I despoiled her. 
I told her that my gluttonous intrigues were sacrosanct. 
I told her that I was divine. 
She did not listen. 
I could not cozen her. 
When I lived, my hubris deceived me. 
But that was when I lived, long before my decline.

Jurassic Caricature (a fanfiction)

(((The following is a fanfiction not meant for reproduction. It is simply made as to honor a franchise that I love very much, and for free fanboy entertainment. The story features mention of iconic characters created by Michael Crichton, Rick Jaffa, Amanda Silver, and brought to life by legendary directors Stephen Spielberg, Colin Trevorrow, and J.A. Bayona. Enjoy!)))

#fanfic

#dinosaurs

#raptor

Even the helicopter ride there felt exotic to Jared.

Since the spectral silhouette of the island began to materialize across the hazy horizon he had his face pressed eagerly against the passenger window and never dared to miss a single moment of this very special moment. The dense forest that threaded over the island came to him like the opening of clouds toward the gates of heaven. He always dreamed of having the chance to work there. As a kid, paleontology was an obsession for him. He drank up every book he could on the subject, especially the ones that focused on the Cretaceous period, but he never dreamt in sixty five million years that he might actually get paid to perform only moments away from any of those ethereal creatures. 

Jared was an artist with big dreams. Those thirsty ambitions led him to a comfortable career drawing as a caricature artist in the carnival circuit. For years he has spread his talent across the country, earning for himself quite a respectable reputation along the way. But OtherWorld caricatures... they say OtherWorld caricatures was impossible to break into. They were the leading contracting company in his profession, serving the art Shoppes at some of the most high profile locations across the planet for many years. And though they began as a small seed, pushing their roots in the same industry that Jared had come up in, they have grown prominent to enjoy such a powerful position in the industry that he just knew applying for this particular park, with his meager status was a dreamers fantasy. But apparently it was enough.

He got the return letter in the mail in surprisingly expedient timing. Seeing the celebrated logo of OtherWorld, and the ever more iconic brand of the most famous Park in the universe emblazoned on the heading of the letter, he was certain it would be a rejection. But it was not. He unfolded the letter and read. It simply asked: “Is this your work?” And then there was a photograph of an artfully exaggerated caricature drawing. He was pretty proud of that one and knew it well. Indeed it was his: a Cartoon illustration of the late and great John Hammond. So he wrote back simply, “Yes it is.”

His invitation came with an emphatic phone call from the manager of operations at the OtherWorld Art Shoppes, who asked him quite dramatically, “we like your stuff, and we are very interested in having your talent with our team. So this said, I must ask you: How soon can we welcome you to Jurassic World?”

The answer was “Immediately!” And the flight was the next day, all expenses paid. 

Jared wasn’t really sure what he was getting himself into. All he knew for certain was the acclaim OtherWorld got in his line of work, and that the park was the notorious home of living, breathing dinosaurs. That was all he needed to know. 

He never flew in a helicopter before, but it was no more dangerous of an experience than half of the things he naturally ran into in his business as a transient artist. OtherWorld was offering gracious accommodations. They provided him fancy dining and housing for free just to have his slightly famous sketch at their park, and he was quite flattered by their generosity. They did let him know that it would only be for a few weeks until he was on his feet without assistance, but it was all so much more than he could have dreamed to ask for. 

The helicopter ride was long and grueling at times, but the reward was far too big to pass. There was so much to earn and nothing to lose. He bragged about the opportunity with his peers, and knew with an ounce of over-confident certainty that none of it would ever turn around to bite him in the ass. At least he hoped for that. God forbid if any of those things stepped out from their cage to run amuck. 

He was settled in to his suite quickly. Every day between the hours of 9:am and 7:pm was prime time at Jurassic World, and they rushed him to work almost instantly. It was strange how easily Jared had slipped back into his work mode. He was in a foreign, unforgivingly oppressive climate, drawing in harsh, humid weather, on an island housing genetically reproduced extinct creatures as it’s primary attraction, yet he drew his guests as deftly, and comfortably as if he was back home in his own preferred environment. Everyone loved his work. His superiors loved having him. However, all that Jared could focus on was: just get through the day, and soon you’ll get paid, and you’ll get to see these things you’ve read in wonder about all through childhood. 

The Jurassic Park fiasco was an infamous story that began as an urban legend, which turned out to be a horrible truth. InGen had tried to cover it up, and that only made things worse for them. The mad-scientist genetics Mega Corporation would have since fell into darker works, focusing mostly on weaponry and other controversial intrigues. But as a bright shining star in the future of science, turned super evil villain deserving public scorn, they at least knew how to accept their new role with pride and success. The Ill-fated story of the fall of Jurassic Park was soon promulgated as a way to deter further advancements in the fertile field of genetics; also to keep people away from the islands. But instead, it only proved the opposite: genetic science boomed more fiercely than life had sprung from the Cambrian Explosion, and rambunctious paleontologists, and would-be explorers seeking a precipitous new high sought out the forsaken island resorts. After some time, and passionately fought legal wars, the corner stones for Jurassic World were at last set again, and the greatest enigma on earth was finally opened to the public. It has become the most profitable amusement part on the planet since those archaic days before, and now Jared has become a part of their growing legacy, even in his very small capacity. He was excited. 

His first shift went fast, but it felt like an eternity, anxiously waiting to reap the spectacular benefits. He must have drawn a hundred guests. The register read two thousand, fifty-three dollars in sales on his behalf, and his manager was quite pleased with his outstanding performance. Jared clocked out at 3:30 and saw that the market circle where his caricature station was located was still packed with giggling, querulous children wanting their cartoon image riding the backs of their favorite dinosaurs. Jared felt a pang of guilt he would leave all that potential money to his colleagues, but that was just hard-woven into his nature from years in the carnival business. Besides, he had monsters to see.

There was some wild rumor going around of a potential new dinosaur attraction being conjured up in the laboratories. Signs were plastered everywhere hinting at some clandestine beast that Verizon Wireless would soon unleash upon the world. “Something Is Coming,” the advertisement read, red demon eyes smoldering in the dark womb of a gripping green forest. “Something Of Nightmares will be unleashed from Verizon Wireless...” Everyone was wowing over its mystery on the monorail into the heart of the resort. He didn’t care, he was slipping his way through the crowded car to get to the nearest window so he could catch a glimpse at the most iconic gates built by modern Man. The massive doors were painted to look like weathered, and splintered wood. They flung open with a fabricated clamor. The soundtrack clashed from the speakers inside the train, imitating farcically the crash of castle doors banging open. Than an orchestra ran their intense strings, and a tribal drum line enraptured its new guests. 

One animal was on his mind most prominently: their genetically enhanced Velociraptors! As a kid he had fallen in love with the creature’s more famous fossil, as it was forever captured ensnared in battle with the horned Protoceratops. That was before anybody really knew much about what happened at the Jurassic Park facility. Then, the Raptor was known only to be about the size of a turkey, and experts were only beginning to suspect it to have been covered with feathers. But the geneticists at InGen changed all that. Their obnoxious DNA mascot at the visitors’ center claimed that the absence of some well established characteristics was the unfortunate side effect of splicing genomes in order to thread the missing parts in their genetic code. But that would soon be revealed as an embellished lie. They did not like the feathers, and their size didn’t seem menacing enough. They were looking to attract a new audience to dinosaurs, and so, they only wanted the biggest and the baddest, but the Raptor was too well loved to ignore. Some speculation arose to argue that the animal’s fossils were incomplete, and perhaps these creatures were in fact more robust in their size. Jared read an article adding fire to this debate, using the famed paleontologist Dr. Grant’s earth shattering discovery of a velociraptor skeleton that was almost eight feet in length to support their argument. But after careful scrutiny even this would be debugged, as the species he had discovered turned out to be some new beast more closely related to the Tyrannosaur than the Raptor. With a hefty reign of near two hundred million years, the genus of Tyrannosaurids was a big family that varied in size, shape, and weight. The bottom line was, Dr. Grant did not find evidence of a freakishly large Raptor, and the Jurassic World creatures were just man-made monsters with synthetic DNA flowing in their veins. Still, Jared wanted to see them. 

His illustrated map was hard to follow, but he found a tour guide that was leading the way he wanted to go, so Jared jumped in with her group. She was pretty, tall, smart, and a loquacious docent. She didn’t just know her Park, she knew dinosaurs, and she adored her raptors. Her eyes were a deep green, and her hair was thick, brown, and turning goldenrod along the edges from the sun. She spoke perfect English, sweetened with only a touch of her native Spanish accent. Jared was in love, but he kept that to himself. As a nomad artist he has lost his touch for social engagement. Outside of his comfort zone behind his easel he was shy and taciturn, fearing saying the wrong thing and making a fool of himself. But she saw it; he could tell by the way flush colored her cheeks ever darker. She flashed him a flattered grin, but continued their tour. He had questions about the animals, but locked them up behind tight lips, waiting for her to answer them naturally as she went on with her routine presentation. Most all answers will unveil themselves to those who are patient, and paying close attention. 

The paddock was a fortress, and perhaps the most uninviting exhibit in the whole park. But these animals were dangerous, intelligent, and required the highest security money could buy to contain them.  Watchtowers guarded all corners of the walled facility, and the personnel mounting those stations were armed with high-powered tranquilizer rifles. It seemed more of a maximum-security state prison than a tourist attraction. Jared was impressed. 

In the guest lobby, Laura—the pretty tour guide—first introduced them to the brave team that helped to keep the raptors healthy and happy throughout their young lives. The top man on the acknowledgment board was a rugged, handsome gentleman named Owen Grady. In his photo he had this kind of amused Mona-Lisa-knowing grin turning at the corner of his mouth; it somehow alluded to a potent charm rather than haughty arrogance, though Jared suspected he had some of that in him too. But what grabbed his attention was the man’s job title: Chief Specialist/Raptor Trainer.

They have a raptor trainer? He couldn’t help but to wonder what that could entail. Fetch, heel, don’t claw my guts out? Seemed a bit brazen to think a human could tame a quintessential killing machine. But of course anything was possible when animals that have been dead for sixty five million years walked the earth again. 

Laura brought them next to the nursery where the infant raptors had been raised to trust their captivity. All of them have been moved to the maturing stable, and all that was left there was some scattered straws of hay, and gnawed dog toys behind very thick viewing glass. There were pictures of the baby dinosaurs. They had big heads, bright and wide snake-like yellow eyes, and tiny, agile serpent bodies. They were strangely adorable, and hauntingly terrible at the same time. 

The primal stink of rotting decay was strong, venting through the walls to pervade their senses. It made all of them in attendance to wrinkle their noses. But that was a small price to pay to see the master-class of flesh-eaters in true beautifully brutal reality. 

Jared thought it odd how many kids were surrounding him at the exhibit. There were warning signs posted everywhere about what horrible things they might witness, but somehow when it came to animals, the imminent carnage waiting on the horizon was made a surreal experience, and parents practically pushed their kids in to learn a cruel lesson about humility. But these kids were smiling, and anxious to see, with a sort of sickening bloodlust. They were like snot-nosed pro-wrestling fans, cheering, and hooting for violence. No matter how civilized we think we are, Ancient Rome was never too far from our hardwired instincts. Jared couldn’t help them though, he was just as sick with gleeful anticipation. 

Genetic manipulation in some small way was sort of like caricaturing. An artist had to think fast to solve big problems. He has to capture very complicated shapes in a matter of only seconds, in order to finish a face in fewer than five minutes. The Cartoon is supposed to be exaggerated, but it also has to resemble his subject in some recognizable way. Jurassic World scientists with their gene splicing, and biology mashing have worked that same concept in to creating their prized beasts. But their raptors were something of a masterpiece, outshining what God had originally made in a few bold strokes that could melt Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. The revered chaos theorist Dr. Ian Malcolm would probably designate it as the art of forcing order from entropy, and then he would go on to argue how such an approach is destined to collapse in extraordinary fashion. But that guy was a nihilist in Jared’s opinion: a rotten egg who just like to role in to spoil everyone’s fun. 

Laura’s voice was suddenly drowned out by his elevated heartbeat. He had expected the pack to tool with the guest some as they entered the main viewing chamber. But they didn’t. They weren’t hiding, or sneaking. They were right there in plain sight, waiting for them. They lined up, stalking the glass. Laura assured her group that they could not see them. But Jared could tell that they knew. The one with the blue stripes marking her hide crept in, sniffing with a wet snout, her sharp tail erect in attention. Flies buzzed over and around it’s blood stained jaws. Its serrated razor teeth curved inward, designed to hook in deep into leathery flesh so she could easily tear away at her meat. Her signature curled foot claw twitched, and she held low to the ground, like a wrestler coming in for a clinch. She slunk in, and bobbed her head. The others flanked her dutifully. The audience gasped. The palm trees and dense foliage swayed, and sang under a gentle breeze behind them. The group was mesmerizing. The way their tendons stretched and tightened in their long necks, the way their sinuous muscles moved beneath tough tubercle spotted skin, they were poetically graceful and brimming with alacrity. Their eyes shifted, inquisitively, calculating. It challenged the human spirit. Nature grew their roots, and stemmed their powerful brains, but human hands planted the seed. This intelligent monster understood more than we can possibly comprehend, and they were with a mind that was weighing its place in the world. Jared could see it thinking. It was painting a picture of her own what the creature she smelled through the glass was thinking. She could taste his fear. Slaver fell from her lips as she rolled them back to show those feral teeth again. As though entranced Jared drifted closer, staring wide-eyed. Perhaps it was their dangerous beauty that killed their prey. The Raptor suddenly lashed at the glass, snapping its teeth, smearing the transparent barrier with slaver. He jumped back. The kids erupted with laughter, and the beast’s dinosaur companions began bobbing up and down, trilling excitedly, like birds jeering at him. Jared got the impression they were toying with him after all.

Laura smiled ruefully at Jared and said, “ I think Blue likes you.” She winked at him, playfully. 

He blushed, and tried on a frantic smile even though his heart was screaming in his chest. 

Still, it was the most exhilarating thing he had ever experienced. The raptors went about their tribal animal business, hunting and coordinating. 

In private hearing with Laura, Jared remarked, “They need feathers.”

Laura fell in close beside him. She showed him an all-knowing grin and whispered, “yes, and they should be smaller... I know... you can ask me any time now.”

The group sprawled out to study some of the pieces of information hanging on the walls everywhere. 

Jared was nervous. “Ask what?”

She nudged him, that smile of hers never fading. “How about what time I get off tonight.”

He definitely wanted to ask just that, but his inquiry broke apart in his throat, “I...I”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m off at the end of this last tour. Meet me an hour after. Be dressed nice.” 

Then she went back to treat her guests. 

The tour moved on. Jared met with Laura for lunch and made a new friend. He was having the night of his life. He couldn’t wait to see the T.Rex after his shift tomorrow.