(no subject)

I can't lie. It irks me. I hear there's a mini-series about Jack Parsons by Ridley Scott for AMC in the works. All I can think is how close I was, how close some of my closest were to making our own take on his story possible. Rock Opera Thelema and the Bohemian American Dream bursting across a live stage. A cross between William Burroughs' 'The Western Land' and 'Mad Men'. Now...? Just another first draft lost somewhere in my scattered possessions.

That and as cool as Constantine was I know in the back of my head that there's no way I'm going to be able to do the story arc I have about a drug dealing ceremonial magician in Terminus. A city that's name now conjures images of Walking Dead as it is.

And I can't bitch about any of it, because I had time to get the ideas out there but didn't. Some for reasons of my own undoing, some for reasons out of my hands.

Bu what it does mainly is make me throw myself harder into my 'night job'.

Three pages filed tonight. Good ones at that. Enough to end the chapter with a bang and open up the next one swinging.

There's a little bit of resentment in me for a chance squandered, for ideas too slowly expressed, but more than that is the need to beat the invisible clock with the idea I have at hand.

Don't wish me luck... it's time that I need and desperation that I've found.

Terminus: L5P

Comic Book Wednesday: Beware the terror of... The Wind Puppet Cactus!

The Devil You Know

I always liked the idea of the Son of Satan not so much as a sentry against the forces of darkness but as a regular crime fighter. Cops would be like - "Oh no, there's a bank robbery in progress. I know let's call that bare-chested dude with a pentagram on his chest and who has the power to incinerate people with a magic pitchfork. I bet he could help."

Then I guess they'd have a spotlight with a pentagram on it to summon him at night while the Christian Right just end up shitting their pants in terror.

How I met your Mother: