Nighttime.
The first moments that the sky is completely black.
The streetlights emanate the whitest light.
It becomes a strange alternate universe.
One where the world is light, but the sky is dark.
I thrive here.
I get a growing desire to create.
Films, books, songs, plays.
Anything.
My mind goes to the second scene in The Social Network.
Where he's walking back from the bar.
Reznor's gloomy score echoes in the back of my mind.
"I can do that" my mind says.
Then it laughs at itself.
"No you can't."
I've been writing lyrics in class.
Not good ones, not anything special.
Just lyrics.
I'm trying to make my opus.
But that’s not what I'm writing.
I'm just embiggening an already expansive story.
Nothing new, nothing special, nothing art.
Just writing.
They don't have metaphors, they're literal.
They are straightforward to a fault.
They vary between narration, monologue, and dialogue.
I can't decide which, if any, work.
They aren't deep.
Just words.
It makes me ask myself why I write.
Is it to pass the time? Is it for my own enjoyment?
Or do I want to make something beautiful?
Do I want to make something perfect?
Can I?
I can't honestly say that I believe it possible.
Not for me, not for anyone.
That doesn't stop me from fantasizing about it.
I think about writing the perfect screenplay.
I think about performing the perfect song, one that I wrote.
I think about string the perfect words together and creating a novel.
And then I write.
I've written for years.
Nothing special, nothing powerful.
Only mine.
The first things I wrote were lyrics.
But what to write about!
I was only thirteen or fourteen, never in love, never in pain.
So what to write?
So I created a fictional world.
One that I could write about.
It would be so much easier.
I wouldn't have to make up love affairs, as I tried to do at first.
I would write about characters who fought werewolves and did other things of that ilk.
It was silly, childish, but I still haven't escaped that universe.
The original story revolved around five characters: Armac, Callan, Victual, Stave, and Eval.
The name "Armac" came from a partially burnt out sign on a CVS Pharmacy.
The letters P, h, and y were burnt out.
The names "Callan", "Victual" and "Stave" were from "CVS".
Eval was named because I could spell CAVES with their names.
The story went as follows: Five heroes protected a city called Thome.
Then Eval became the villain, blah blah blah.
I eventually added a dystopian element to it.
Then I tried for the first time to escape that universe.
I wrote a five song EP about a man who is on fire.
It showed his transformation from a monster lashing out at the town that hates him, to a man who wants forgiveness.
He didn't get it of course, and they killed him.
But then I fell back into my old ways.
I turned that story into a precursor for the events of the story, entitled TCCV.
Then I tried to write a ten song concept album about a fictitious war, called WWIII.
Then that became a sequel to TCCV.
Then I wrote an actual sequel to TCCV, and then another.
Then I was done.
I had nothing left to write.
I moved on to the next few phases in my songwriting.
Thus closed, for the moment, The Noodle Minions.
The next two projects were The Dirty Hairs and Red Heart Bludgeon.
Both were silly projects. Not serious ones.
The Dirty Hairs was an improvisational project.
I'd come up with or receive a plot or premise, and then just make up a song as I play.
They were always expletive ridden and stupid.
I had a few good lines, but not enough to carry the project.
That one's been mostly defunct for a few years, with one other improv song tacked into it.
That one was serious and didn't really seem to fit.
Red Heart Bludgeon started as a joke, and finished as one.
The two songs under that guise were both ridiculous and stupid.
The only part of the entire project that I actually liked was the cover art I made for the EP.
These two are for all intents and purposes defunct.
Then there was The Ziggurat Vertigods.
The first song here was written as a joke because I had reference the idea behind it to a friend of mine.
The idea of a song whose lyrics were just "copy and paste" over and over again.
Then this project became the name for any electronic song I made.
Most of which were made with Fruity Loops.
There is an entire album of songs in this project, and I still make the occasional song.
This project has never really been creatively interesting for me, as it’s all very spur of the moment.
There are one or two exceptions to that rule, but for the most part its just improv.
This project continues, but doesn't satisfy me.
The Everyman project is my most satisfying foray in the realm of music.
It started as a project with one of my friends, and then with a few of my friends.
I kept working at it; everyone else all sorta fell along the wayside, leaving it to be my project.
When it was finished, it was a forty-five song concept album about love, loss, and suicide.
Many of the songs were just songs that I had already written about myself and my life, and then forced into the storyline.
This is the first of my acoustic albums that I can actually listen to.
This project was the first that was real for me.
Sure I continually added to it and made it more and more expansive, but it wasn't ever like TCCV.
It had a set beginning and end.
I had a specific goal and a specific idea.
It wasn't an escapable or uncontrollable monster like TCCV was/is.
I am completely happy with Everyman.
I want to turn it into a staged production sometime.
I would add characters that would be facets of EM's psyche.
There would be the ever-present EM, of course.
But then there would be manifestations of his love, hate, death, doubt, and dreams.
They would alternate with EM to sing either lead or backing vocals on songs where their theme comes up.
The staging would be simplistic; the costumes would be white or black shirts with the name of the element of EM's Psyche.
And EM's costume would go from a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans, to a casual button-down shirt, to a business suit.
The psyche and EM would play instruments.
I haven't quite figured out who would play what.
Except that EM would play acoustic guitar or electric guitar, depending on his stage.
Everyman was an absolutely exciting story to tell and project to work on.
If I could polish it to a higher degree, I would love to perform it forever.
That’s about as likely as it is that I'll ever create something perfect though.
It isn't.
Nowadays I make covers here and there.
And the one-off song.
But I don't have a real project, and I need one.
It doesn't have to be music, but it has to be expansive.
It has to be big.
I want to spend years working on something.
I want to write a story that I will be able to continue forever.
I want to create a universe with so much potential for stories that I can never be finished.
It’s like the View Askewniverse.
There are a dozen or so movies in that universe, each with their own separate plots.
Little similarities and some same characters.
I want that.
I want a giant piece of fiction that spans to Dr. Whosian proportions.
To Star Warsian proportions.
Something ever expanding and wonderful.
And that’s what I'm here for.
To begin the tale.
To provide myself with the foundations for a story bigger than myself.
Something that will exist in stories, in books, in songs, in albums, in poems, in films, in plays.
In everything I can possibly work my way into.
Where to begin though?
Should it be with the location?
For example: The star wars universe is in a location and time far from our own.
Will my location be on earth? Will it be contemporary?
Should it be with the parts of this universe that make it special?
For example: The universe in which Harry Potter dwells has magic.
What will be different about my universe? What will be the same?
Should it be with the characters?
For example: The Star wars universe focuses on the Skywalker family.
Will I have a familial focus? A single character focus? Any focus people-wise?
Should it be with the time-frame?
For example: the Coheed and Cambria story focuses on a long timeline that progresses.
Will I start at an early age and move forward? Will I have a series of events that all take place at the same time?
Perhaps I will tell a story in which each thread ends when the world does.
Each time a new facet of the world is created.
Perhaps I will begin with Mr. X, a businessman who stops for coffee and then comes home to his wife.
Then I'll focus on the wife.
Then the waitress who brings him his coffee.
Then the coffee manufacturer.
Then the laborers who get the beans.
Then the president of the country where the beans reside.
Then the president’s mother.
Et cetera. Forever.
Alternately, perhaps I could create a society.
A location and something that goes on in that location.
Something like a standard residential neighborhood where every male works at a coal mine.
Secretly, however, the mine is a spy headquarters.
Every single male in that town is a spy.
Something like that.
Perhaps to make it interesting I'll invite some of my close friends to create characters.
Perhaps I'll use their characters in the story, and when I do, I'll ask whoever created the character what that character would do in that situation.
It would be similar to a role playing game or a choose your own adventure.
An alternate simile is that of a consulting firm.
That idea sours in my mind.
I want something that is mine.
Something that I can have fun with.
Something where I control the entire world.
It becomes apparent that I have ego issues.
I think what I want is basically what I almost did with TCCV.
An ever-expanding and complicating universe of characters.
Except this time on purpose.
I need premise though, something that makes it unreal.
If the story is too life-like, I won't be able to adequately portray it.
I can't write about suburban living in the fifties, as I don't know about it.
I can write about a dystopian future, because it isn't real, it hasn't happened.
The rules aren't there yet, I can do what I want.
I probably should do something more interesting than a dystopian future though.
Everyone's done that.
Even me.
I need something that will either be able to finish, or lend itself to new and exciting developments.
Maybe it’s an X-Men type world.
Hmmmm, I actually kinda like the idea of a universe where everyone has a power.
I wonder if I could make that interesting.
I'm pumped for this, for now.
Let’s start it a bit.
Forty-three year old Graham Douring leaves his three-story house. It's raining and a Monday. Graham sighs and continues towards his work. It's a bit of a journey, especially without an external means of transportation, but he carries on. After about fifteen minutes in the rain, Graham comes to a halt outside his workplace. He shakes his feathers dry, and tucks his wings into his jacket. "Mondays," he mutters to himself. As he ascends to his thirteenth-floor office, he grumbles to himself about having an interior office, instead of one with a window that he could fly in through. When he makes it to his office and sits down, his boss is already heading towards him. "Hey Douring," Mr. Treehark begins, "I need you to finish up what you were doing before the weekend, stat. The big boys down at Sturring are getting impatient. Thanks." Then he heads back to his office to shed his skin. Yes, forty-three year old Graham Douring is in a fairly shitty place. He isn't appreciated. He isn't liked. He isn't special. He i-- BOOM! The first blast hits the seventh floor lounge area. Alarms begin to blare. Were they back? Was this it? Graham reaches into his briefcase for the gun he always carries with him, loads the six rounds, and flies to the nearest open window. He flies home as fast as he can, and avoids being seen by the assailants. He watches in horror as his office skyrise topples. Graham lands on his house and surreptitiously enters through the bedroom window. "Fucking Mondays."
The news would describe the events as the first in an inevitable series of escalating attacks. There hadn't been any attacks for years, but it looked as if now was the time to re-start. Mr. Douring sat on his couch, shocked and stunned by the day. He no longer had work to go to, or any colleagues, or any friends. Well, that last one wasn't new, but combined with the other two things, it made for a very unhappy man. He peered nervously out his window, while listening to the television report the latest happenings. He held his gun, hand shaking. His bottom lip was twitching nervously. He ducked his head out of the window's view every time someone passed, lest they be one of them. One of the assailants. Off in the distance a giant plume of smoke covered most of the sky. Graham regretted the fact that he won't be able to make a flying escape if needed. He briefly considered calling the police, but instantly realized the silliness of that idea, given the city-wide panic. Hell, it may have even been state or country-wide. He switched to the national news station and sure enough. Apparently this wasn't the only attack. Every major city had one like it. The death tolls were climbing to nearly a million people. Graham watched the news in horror.
Graham sat in his firmly middled (and therefore windowless) room watching the news all through the night. He was very paranoid that the light from the TV would escape, so he blocked the bottoms of the doors and covered the screen with his body as best he could. Every time he heard a noise at all, he would switch off the news. He had the volume set to zero, but there was still a little bit of sound coming from it. Eventually the news seemed to be giving the impression that there was a lull in any violence. None of the attackers were still around. They had left after the initial demolition. By the time it could be considered morning, Graham turned off the TV and decided he should sleep. He pulled the bunched up shirts out from the crack at the bottom of the door, unlocked it, and cautiously exited his room. He quickly remembered to draw his gun. It took him thirty minutes to walk the twenty or so feet to a window. Every slightest sound made him jump. He slowly peered out from behind his curtain. The smoke had cleared for the most part, leaving only cloud-like remnants, glistening in the sunrise. Graham sat, back against the wall. He took a few deep breaths and slumped down slowly. He was emotionally exhausted. He drifted off to sleep.
BANG BANG BANG. Graham shot up from sleep, but didn't fully wake in time to actually gather the strength to stand. He tripped, and as he landed, fired his gun into his wall. Voices outside his front door conversed. A muffled countdown ended with an exceptionally loud bang. Graham lifted his gun, and pointed it as firmly as his shaking arms could towards the door. Another muffled countdown and the door fell. Three uniformed men with a battering ram entered. They walked up to Graham and took the gun from him. Graham sat, motionless except for the shaking. The men helped him up. The next four hours do not exist in Mr. Douring's memory.
* * *
He wakes in a dingy hospital, surrounded by other patients. He has an IV and a few bandages. He was one of four survivors of the attacks in his city. They had some questions for him.
Hmmmm. I'm kinda digging this.
I like this idea.
I'm definitely sticking with it, at least for now.
Hmmmm. I need a title.
It won't be solely about Graham.
Hell, it probably won't be solely this time.
Hmmmm. What to call it...
Should it be something about the fact that no one is a regular human?
Should it be a common expression, altered to fit with that?
Hmmmm. Everyone is unique, so I think of the word "Snowflake".
Probably no way I can make it cool.
It shouldn't be anything artsy sounding, because that would be pretentious.
I wonder if it should be solely about Graham.
Then I could make a joke about him being a bird-man creature.
"Five Feather Discount"
"A Bird in the Hand"
"Wings over America"
Not really. That one is taken.
"Above the Crowd"
"Broken and Soar"
"By the Skin of My Beak"
"Stork"
Sigh. I actually like that last one.
That’s at least the name of this Graham-central part.
Yea, I think I need a more overarching title.
"Evolution"
I think I like that only because I entitled this stream of consciousness making-of essay "Creation".
Maybe a name that doesn't seem to have any meaning?
"Glue on the Edge"
Well that couldn't have a meaning; it’s a tad beyond not seeming to have one.
"A Cup of Over-Brewed Tea"
Sounds like a good final line.
It’s hard to come up with an overarching title when I don't know what is going to happen yet.
"Padlocked Memories"
Pretentious to the fifteenth power.
"As N Approaches Infinity"
I feel like that’s my favorite thus far, while it seems a tad nerdy.
"The Limit"
I'm not sure how I came to this one after the last one.
It's a lot simpler, that's for sure.
Good enough? Probably not.
"Summation"
Clearly I want a math based title?
"By Parts"
Shit, I like that one.
I think that’s the one I'm doing.
But now "Stork" seems silly.
Each sub-title should be a math term.
"Limit"
"Derivative"
"Integral"
"Dimensional Analysis"
I think I want to go with "Numerator".
The reason being that Graham is a bird-man, and therefore is 'above' it all.
As is a numerator.
Alright, you have Chapter One of "Numerator", entitled "Spontaneous Combustion" up there.
I hope you enjoyed this "Making-Of" documentary document.
Mr. H
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