It Begins

Visit my new website at www.morbidtoybox.com to read the continuation to my original #sciencefiction #horror #bassysbasilica

Moving to new website

I will begin transferring all of my original art and story content to my new personal blog and web page at Morbidtoybox.com
My new blog series ParaVice will also be going there as well and I still plan to publish chapters later in October. See you there!

www.morbidtoybox.com

Super Caricatures

Had this awesome Father and Daughter who wanted to be #WonderWoman and #Deadpool combining the #dccomics and #marvelcomics Universe. This is what I came up with... #caricatures #art

Our booth at last year’s Scare-a-con

Some Caricatures from 2019

ParaVice delayed.

I’ve been a little too busy with work and had next to no time to work on this project are the artwork I had planned to share with each chapter. So I have no choice but to delay this project. Luckily I have no real deadline. I want to make the story as fun as possible, but I’ll need more time than I thought to do that. I’ll post more info as the project develops. My plan is to isolate myself and work on this all winter. Lots of artwork will accompany the final. If I lose you on this, I’m sorry. But art and artists is a capricious thing. I’d rather delay it than to throw it out on display half baked. 

No where else to run but to the canvas

The day we live in now is darker than ever before.

Our climate is the hottest it has been since before written history was ever invented. Out nations are ruled by narcissistic tyrants who are afraid of everything that exists outside of their self-absorbed bubbles. Mental illness is left untreated to reek havoc, because insurance carriers can’t figure out how to tax such a volatile issue to their benifit. Drug use is rampant, wiping out thousands in a heart beat, and destroying families, communities, even entire cities. Homeless populations are climbing, housing is declining. Desperate, vulnerable children are manipulated by evil, powerful forces and taken advantage of, sometimes made into slaves. We are at brink of war on all sides, even with ourselves. There is nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide but to the canvas. Now is the time for an artisans’ renaissance. We need to stop exploding on each other and throw that energy into art. We need to create, we need to vent, we need to express ourselves. Whether it be through writing, music, painting, drawing, or poetry it’s time to pick ourselves up and start a revolution of creativity. Get out the poison, get out the dark, or make a remedy of compassion, and love. Art is how we mend these broken wings and fly again. Whether it is only to vent, or to promote optimism, we have to do it. The canvas is only empty and forlorn before a great calamity of pent up energy and emotion erupts onto it. The canvas is our new frontier, our great escape, our sanctuary, our refuge, our unchartered waters, our unwritten future... our fertile earth waiting to be seeded by imagination. Go there and be rescued. Take a vacation from the fallout of a savage era and rebuild, and dream, and be free again. The canvas longs for your artful hand. We can find peace there. Or at the least we can find a punching bag there to get out the rage.  Whatever medicine you need, the canvas will provide. Keep arting! And be healthy. Share, and reshape the world. 

GOT season 8 review

I absolutely love it, and can’t wait for the final episode! When the Dothraki were wiped out in ten seconds, after building up their fierceness for 8 seasons, I was literally pulled in with horror like “dear god, what are they gonna do?” 

It was great.

And ARYA is a goddamn legend now. And so is the Lady of Bear Island.

When Khaleesi decided to burn up King’s Landing, I laughed sinisterly. That, to me, was a great turn for the better for this character. I always liked Khaleesi, but I never trusted her motives. Turning bad makes sense. Now she can finally be interesting again.

I also want to point out (though I am not entirely convinced that it was intentional) that Jamie and Cersei came into this world that they would soon destroy from the same womb together. And now they left it under a crumbling body; the fruits of their labor crushing them inside the womb of their keep, and the place where the game kind of began. 

Now on the critical response to the season. 

I knew everyone was going to hate this last season of GOT before it even started. Wouldn’t matter the outcome. There were too many possibilities, and too many stories to wrap up. Somebody was not going to be happy either way. Plus with a fan base of this magnitude you are destined to have critics who think they would have done something better, and activists who want more out of a fiction than can be delivered without sacrificing entertainment, or the shock value, which we all loved about the show in the first place. In the real world I want the hero to prevail, but in pretend world I just want the good guy to turn dark. We get so emotionally invested in these characters and their plights that sometimes we forget that in the end it’s just a fantasy that is known for breaking the rules. And as the great J.R.R Tolkien once said: “There is no allegory here! Now stop camping in my yard, hippies!”

Otherworld Caricatures Stories!

True customer encounter today.

She kept asking "what character are you gonna make me?"

So I explained that it is a "caricature" like a cartoon depiction of you."

She says "I think I'll get head and shoulders so you can get more of me."

I draw it. I show her.

"I thought you were gonna make me a character, that's not a character."

I say, "no, ma'am, it's a CARICATURE of you."

She points at the theme examples.

"But all those there are characters, there's a princess"

I tell her, "those are theme drawings. You read the sign and said you'd rather have head and shoulders in color."

She says, "the sign says characters."

"It says caricatures, ma'am."

“Well, what’s a caricarter?”

“Caricature, ma’am. It’s what I do.” ;-)

She gives me a drawing and says, "well I wanted a character."

Moving on

It’s been a full year now, since the journey began, still I’ve only just found my path. 

Easter Sunday, 2018

I was slow to get up off my ass that morning. The night before I decided to stop by at my moms and just be lazy. I started my business, ordered all the tools I needed, they were on their way. Bought show insurance, had the truck, had the supplies, and my first official show on my own was only a week away. Life was good and promising, though, I hardly knew what I was doing or how things would ultimately pan out. Still, through Hell Fire and on I go. But for the moment, it was time to be lazy. Haven’t been home in months. Was just 40 min away from home for a few weeks but I felt like lounging out at my moms house. After a time scanning my Facebook wall for something interesting to laugh at besides Easter, and jesus memes, I finally decided to head home. First I accidentally bumped into the basketball net that was lost in my blind spot and I ripped out my turn signal light. That sucked, but Gorilla Tape and Me is the name of my Life Time movie. So I fixed it the best way a scrub possibly could. Then I was on my way. I was feeling good so I decided to swing by my landlord’s place and drop off my rent. But upon making my grandpa-slow move to park... SURPRISE! Here comes speed racer fresh out on a bright sunshine ride to throw his crochet rocket into my axel. He lost control, doing what best I could tell was a speed not recommended for a residential back country road. He jumped off and went tumbling. He was fine, thank god, and refused an ambulance. But I broke his toy, and it in turn broke my work horse. I was back to ground zero.

I scrambled. Had to find a new car fast, but now I was broke having put all in on my new business. Funny how I was out of funds trying to get funds, and now I was out of a truck to get me to the place where I needed to make my money. I got lucky and found a place to get me a loan on this old crummy cargo van. Fast forward to a full year later, I have a very successful caricature art company, a paid off van, and a brand new truck. And all my debt that has plagued me for years is flattened. I am very grateful for my strange luck and fortune. But the road has only just begun. Soon I’ll be publishing some writing here on my blog, perhaps even get some legitimate novels done, and I’ll be expanding my business within the next few weeks. Busy times, and great sacrifice, but it’s all worth it. 

Wish it all could have come a different way, but accidents happen, and some times the worst accidents are the beginning workins of something good for you. Maybe that guy won’t go flying down a back road like Tom Cruise in a mission impossible movie anymore. And I will certainly take even longer than I had before to park my truck and switch lanes. 

News (April 2019)

Happy April!
I am working on a lengthy follow up to my short story #bassysbasilica 

Season 1 will be presented with a wicked noire themed title that is just the longest title ever. I was inspired by Rob Zombie to make these ridiculously long titles to break up part 1,2, and 3. They all have meaning, and they are all like twisted riddles that I hope will engage the quriosity of my audience before the stories are posted.  Kinda like a puzzle for everyone to try and decipher before show time. The universe I am building is called ParaVice, which is the nickname of my fictional city where these events will come into play. My ultimate goal is to have a chapter ready every Thursday starting in the month of October. I want the segments to be short enough to enjoy by reading from digital tablets and phones, leaving every installment with a cliffhanger that will hopefully inspire my friends and followers to continue coming back to see what happens next. I am really having fun creating this world and these characters. But it is a challenge. This is the first time I am trying out world building, and I'm moving through the project as quickly as I can with my free time. So this is my Toy Box. These are my kickass action figures. And come Fall it’s time to play. 

Movie Review: Green Book

Well, Green Book was an enjoyable movie. But Best Movie of the year is a lot of a bit much. There were too many scenes with really bad acting in it that bothered the hell out of me. And the movie moves through them a bit fast too. Also the movie was produced and co written by the son of a very successful “bull-shit artist” (his words, not mine) making it hard to trust. Also again, that same writer stresses that Don Shirley wanted him to wait until he was passed away before sharing this story, which seems suspicious to me. Plus that guy put himself in the movie, so it’s all shades kind of shady. Still, the movie is fun to watch. It reminds me of a few things. I stayed at very bad hotels for one. It reminds you how rough that time was. And it makes me realize how goddamn lonely I am in my career. So does it remind us that there is a big gap between poor, and the idealism of class. But it also shows us how we still have a lot of work to do as a nation, as there are still parts and people that are like that. I’ve been all over the country as a carnival patron, I’ve seen many different walks of life. The fact that some of this movie seems familiar to me still in 2019 is concerning. I get the time period, and the racism was thick in it, yet sadly, some of that is still around. A lot of it is so ubiquitous in some areas that folks don’t even bat an eye when such a slur or statement is uttered. I’ve been guilty of ignoring it in my early years as I was too dumb to know better. Took traveling to get it clear in my head. And still I’m learning. I recommend this film as a must see, but still a rental. Not a buy, but a rental is good enough. Don’t shit on this one completely. Maybe just a poof and a squirt, but not a full shit. This message brought to you tonight by Redbox and Crown Royal, the Rye kind... it’s on sale for Saint Patricks Day... it’s a damn deal. I should stop this review now... right! Sorry! Till next time!

News (March 9)

March has been good for me. Was struggling to find a some gigs out here in this cold season. We stumbled upon this company that brought us to a lot in Florida that appeared frighteningly penurious. But the weekend came and it was a blessing. We are making lots of money drawing caricatures which will help me to invest in my business, and my love: writing fiction. The new story is a possession. I plan to share it on my blog as soon as possible. A nice, sexy, scary, cool, and just plain fun horror series. I’m building a world strictly for my blog, and to explore strange demensions in my morbid fantasy. My goal is to break all of the rules. The project is inspired by all the things I loved about 90’s action, suspense, horror growing up. If you are a movie goer, you will enjoy what I’m making here. The project is a direct sequel to my short, Bassy’s Basilica, so be sure to check out that piece when you can, though you won’t need to in the long run. More details coming soon. 

Clinch (Sports Fiction)

This story came from a 1000 word "prompt" challenge that I participated in a couple weeks ago. I have since added some words, and changed a few things. I had a lot of fun writing this one, especially being that when I first heard the prompt I was immediately inspired as I knew exactly what I wanted to write, which doesn't normally happen so easily. Usually it takes me a few hours, sometimes even days to land a solid idea. But the beauty about this challenge is that you only get three days to think it up and write it down. Makes you use parts of your cold brain that you normally don't. A great exercise. Well here is my story...

Prompt: Matchmaker
from the Fiction War contest of Winter 2019

Hecklers jeered raucously in the back. Another adrenaline-fueled fan taunted them, and a barbaric contest of unruly language erupted in the audience. Andy Brooks went to the podium that separated his featured fighters to staunch their bleeding passions. Spectators of combative sport were always the most spirited sort. More often than not a simple press conference could just as soon become a sugar-frenzied day care center in desperate need of a tranquilizer gun. 

     Their balding host was a robust man with a flat nose and a rich taste for foppish attire. His broad shoulders came high around his thick neck—lingering features that hung on to him from a time when he was a boxer and weightlifting enthusiast. But now he looked like a pretentious Humpty Dumpty that let a few too many jabs slip past his guard. Andy whispered to the muscled athlete seated stoically to his right. He was dark of complexion, sporting black sun glasses that were beyond gratuitous in this low-lit setting, a spongy black beard trimmed neatly, and a black shirt emblazoned with the logo of his training camp. He listened closely and chortled at what was shared, apparently enjoying whatever quiet jest his boss had to share. More likely he didn’t give a fuck, but good business is often sold with good humor and amiable relations. Andy then returned his attention to his guests and selected one to share a question for his fighters. 

A vivacious young journalist stood up with a jolt of alacrity and said, “Kendra Felix, Clinch-Zone.Net. My question is for Axel.” The burly black man on Andy’s right reached lazily for his microphone to ready himself. “You are called the Bad Boy of MMA for your witty commentary and indecorous disposition.”

The fighter grimaced as he scoffed, “Indecorous?”

“…Now that you have earned a title shot, I wonder: will you be more inclined to act as a better role model for the young kids that may look up to you.”

Axel paused, rubbing his chin with pensive consideration. Then he sucked his teeth and said, “Man, who letting these kids up so late to watch cage fighting? I ain’t no role model, ya know what I mean? I’m just a dude from the street tryna get paid.”

A surge of laughter rolled through his audience, as well as some more taunting mixed in. 

Andy quieted them and then picked another.

A tall, lanky gentleman wearing business-casual denim pants and a loosely worn plaid shirt took the microphone. Adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses, he said to the challenger and star guest left of Andy, “Fight News Media, Ryan Holt. There are some who seem to believe that you have returned to the cage, a different fighter from your golden days. Are you?”

The wrestler opposite from Axel and Andy glared at him darkly. He had a blond goatee, close-cropped hair, and cruelly callused cauliflower ears, and protruding brow marked with indelible scars. He offered the reporter a long thoughtful gaze. It was a bone chilling gesture. Then the muscles in his square jaw flinched anxiously, as he seethed through his gnashed teeth, “Am I what?”

“A different fighter?”

The pale beast of a man glanced over at his boss. Andy set an unhappy glower on him in return, remembering.

     Mark Stroeman was only five minutes alone in his locker room at the end of a rigorous judo session when Andy Brooks stormed in. He snarled at his prized heavyweight contender—newly redeemed after serving a yearlong suspension that had marred his once perfect reign over the division. Andy hurled a file of papers at his wide chest. The haughty fighter spared only a perfunctory glance through its contents. Recognizing exactly what it was and knowing all too well what devil was in those details, he tossed it aside and went back to disentangling his wrist raps. 

     Blithely, he said, “A mistake.”

     “A mistake?”Andy’s eyes were just about bulging out of his red face. “After everything you went through…why would you do it?”

     Mark dropped his heavy arms in his lap and asked, “Do what?”

     Andy could only gawk at him, nonplussed.

     “If I am not mistaken, the anti-doping agency is in your pocket, is it not?”

     “You expect me to just sweep this under the rug?”

     “Yes, I do,” Mark said coldly, peeling his gi-top off his stout shoulders. “You can’t afford another blow like this. You are praised as the king of money matches. You know exactly who should fight who and when. That is your talent. Yet somehow, your brand is fading. Youneed this fight. You need me. I made well enough to live out three lifetimes even with my lofty penalties. And I have no doubt this admonition is only for show, as I am sure you’ve already paid the right people to make this unfortunate setback go away.”

     To this he could say nothing. He was absolutely right. There was no point denying it. Still, “Why then? Why come back?”

     Mark gave an insouciant shrug and said, “Because I like to hurt people. Here is the only place I can do it. Butcutting weight is hell. So, there’s your answer.”

     “So is prison, Stroeman.”

     The big man chortled and said, “Well then, best you make sure it all goes away well and good.

     The next three weeks before competition were spent smiling on television with Andy’s top man at the Anti-Doping agency assuring the world that their fighters were clean, healthy, and ready to battle with no qualms.  

     The champion wrestler sneered at this reporter in the denim pants and loosely worn plaid shirt as he answered him at last, “You’ll have to wait and see.”

***

     What they would see in time is a record-breaking attendance, with spectators fired up to see the most popular martial artist in the world reclaim his long lost title. 

Five grueling rounds of merciless punishment feasted their primal hunger. Axel evaded near certain defeat three times early in the contest, but Stroeman was unstoppable. Every moment that Axel had him well out of gas, he unchambered another burst of tainted energy. He frustrated the kickboxer in a tight clinch before slipping under and suplexing him as though he were weightless. In the third round Axel caught the dexterous wrestler in a corner, seemingly depleted of vigor, and undone. He snuck in a gorgeous combination that sent his wayward opponent careening. Stroeman was beaten bloody and panting heavy. But he survived. Somehow, he always survived. The next two rounds he was like a man possessed with rage. Slam! Trip! Slam! Axel was good at getting back to his feet in bad situations, but mortality was in him. He saw the light drain from his eyes when Stroeman trapped his back and snaked an arm firmly beneath the chin. He held on until the man in his clutch went limp. Then the referee intervened. But Stroeman would not let go. He squeezed on, gnashing his teeth like a feral creature possessed by a species of wild anger. The referee tried to separate them by force but could not break them apart. Hard muscles vied for control. When he at last loosened the hold, it was too late. They pulled the thrashing monster away from the still body of his opponent. The ravenous spectators were no longer cheering but fell silent with disillusion. Then a trumpet of boos filled the air. Cups and balled up cards were hurled into the cage. Stroeman writhed violently on the canvas floor, as officials poured in to restrain him. Axel was dead, and Andy Brooks was on his feet staring with stunned eyes. The color had gone from his face. He was finished—the matchmaker made his last match and gambled away his life for one final money fight that would cost him everything.    

Unraveling (short fantasy)

In a world of strings there is a story I know.

Trixy was a simple doll, who liked simple things. She was woven together with a rich ball of yarn, threaded with values; threaded with love and care. But her brother Mischief, he was a troublesome thing. Neglected by his forbearers, but fat with ego. He was made of material from a dusty drawer; a very old and forgotten drawer. Petulant and querulous, he was as rotten as the yarn that forged him, stuffed with hatred, and hemmed by impetuous hands. Hard times would draw him apart. Trixy tried to keep him together. She wrapped him up, and she closed his wounds. But no matter how hard she worked, Mischief would pull apart again and again. After some time, Trixy left him. He needed too much, and she could give no more. All of the needles and yarn in the world would not satisfy. But Trixy was convinced that her brother was fine. He was just how he was, and that should not be her problem. 

He came undone. And Trixy could only watch in despair. His strings spilled out, and he caught others in the tangle of his mess. He pulled them along and they went with him subserviently. He ripped the fabric of their kingdom and drank their souls. Trixy couldn’t bear to look at what he became, and so she turned away. She went about her days blissfully ignorant to the disaster closing in around her. Mischief rolled and rolled and grew and grew. Before long, all the dolls in all the world were trapped in his web of loathing and grasping indignation. The bad yarn, from the old, dusty drawer, forgotten long ago had strung up everything they once loved as Mischief continued to unravel. Soon there was nowhere Trixy could go to pretend that her brother was just how he was and that was his problem. Soon she was caught too, stuck in an impossible knot no one could ever undo.

News (February 2019)

Back from my hiatus!

The past few months have been a challenge. I finished my season (in case you don't know, I draw caricatures for a living) and scrambled to find a job to cover me as I attempt once again to survive the always grueling winter season. I landed on a maintenance job thanks to a good friend, where I was employed primarily to handle snow removal duties. Needless to say, that job got hard quick. The hours went from too short, to too long in a heart beat, and my old knees just weren't cooperating with me. Throwing 50LBS bags of salt rock all day for fourteen hours starts to breakdown any immortal fantasy I might have had about my age and abilities real fast. I went from being excited to have a regular job, to finding out just how much work is required when the snow does finally come down, to somehow dismantling a snow blower (which I never used before in my life), to getting a golf cart stuck in the mud, to trying to give my job away to some random guy, to quitting, to feeling bad about quitting, to getting back at it, to not liking it again, to discovering I can make more in two days drawing cartoons, and to quitting again. It was quite a trial. So unfortunately I had to move on from that business. Good job, but one for the young, and not me anymore. However I did score a couple of pet expos, and dog shows to draw at, and that was a lot of fun. I hope to do more of those soon.

As for writing, I have been working very hard on that. Been studying and practicing my craft every day. I have some stories set aside, made specifically for my blog, which I do plan to share in the very near future after some touch ups are made. I also have a continuation to my Bassy's Basilica sketched out. That will go up probably closer to Halloween, though, as it is a horror and I want everyone to be in that sort of morbid mood when reading it. I have also begun to write some stories I want to send in to competitions, and started a new fantasy that I will be taking very seriously. I am 34 now, and I have been writing since I was thirteen years old. It is well past time I had a book listed in my achievements, so that is my main focus right now. Getting one done, and doing it right. But writing well is a learning process and I have a lot to learn. My biggest revelation this year is finding out that I was never doing enough to get better at it. Now I am, and already I see big changes. For now, Its just going to be a lot of senseless babble until I have the story I was born to write in an agent's hands. Until then, Just got to keep on working at it. Write every day, and don't quit.