Monday, December 26, 2016

holiday post 2016 dec 26 2016

brainlick /and  ocm
xmas transmission 2016.
ATARI 8 Bit computer games emulator and stuff-
http://atari800.tistory.com/category/Download
TEXTFILES:
http://www.textfiles.com/
SOME INDIE AND RETRO GAMES:
http://www.indieretronews.com/
Spooky Paper Toys:
http://ravensblight.com/papertoys.html
SOME MORE INDIE GAMES, TOOLS, Books, and More:
https://itch.io/
SOME OF MY STUFF:
https://ocm.itch.io/
TURN AN OLD PC INTO A CHROMEBOOK, With NeverWare:
https://www.neverware.com/freedownload
Turn An Old PC Into A Raspberry PI, With PIXEL:
https://www.raspberrypi.org/blog/pixel-pc-mac/
Internet ARCHIVE:  Console Living Room:
https://archive.org/details/consolelivingroom

Internet Archive:  Internet Arcade:
https://archive.org/details/internetarcade
pokefinder - Commodore 64 games:
http://ftp.pokefinder.org/
Games That Weren’t - Commodore 64 :
http://www.gamesthatwerent.com/gtw64/
Games That Weren’t - (C-64 mainly):
http://www.gamesthatwerent.com/
Dungeon Crawlers:
http://www.dungeoncrawlers.org/

xtdos:
http://www.xtdos.com/

LaunchBox
https://www.launchbox-app.com/

Brainlick:
http://brainlick.blogspot.com/

Monday, January 18, 2016

DOCTOR ZOMBI ONLINE EDITION





AGES 35 AND OVER -

AVAILABLE ONLINE UNTIL PRINT-


free here- 

http://www.mediafire.com/view/8zs7au4v98gsd53/DOCTOR_ZOMBI_DIGITAL_EDITION__.pdf


or for purchase on like right here-


http://obelisksound.itch.io/doctor-zombi

low 6.66 price for 113 pages.  or 9.99



8  months of work.

COME.

ON.


started as a joke on my pal's radio show, called The Spoon.

go listen at -

thespoonradio.com

-+ O +-

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Friday, October 30, 2015

Robbie Rist and Oliver C. Mattson RE-start A Production Company





 Robbie Rist






 and me....






 




 Oliver Mattson ... Are starting a Productions Company. We wish to expand our horizons creatively via providing to the public; Comic Books, Games, Toys, Pocket Games, Posters, T Shirts, Yo Yos, Video Games, Music, Music Videos, Films, covering everything from Horror to Romantic Comedy as well as series for web or TV release,as well as live performance DVD's, Blu Ray, 8 Track... LP, Cassette, etc... access to said performances (You Could Go, TOO!), Books, Motivational Stuff (cards, Posters, etc), Spoken Word, and maybe some cartoons, ... as well as other merchandise.

 Robbie will be in charge of most of the Music, I, Oliver C. Mattson will be in quality control and concept engineering as well as some Production work, Direction, consultancy and more. He asked me to run a Production Company.

 OKAY. Done... It's on like Zaxxon and or TRON, now...

 not Donkey Kong...

 even if Donkey Kong has more commercial influence due to play and sales and the continuing success and presence of "Mario"???, There's a "G", at the end. we could say, if upset, "that was Was Wrong, like losing at Donkey Kong, or a Bad Game of Donkey Kong", and be more phonetically correct.

 Robbie Rist has appeared in TV and Film as well as performed Music since the 1970s. He has appeared in such shows as The Mary Tyler Moore Show, The Brady Bunch, CHiPs, Kidd Video, Battlestar Galactica (version 1), commercials for TONS of stuff, was the voice of Michaelangelo in the first 3 Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Movies, and as Mondo Gecko, in the new TMNT Show on Disney XD. He's also the voice of The Blue Dragon, STUFFY, On Disney's Doc McStuffins.

While not playing rock bands and doing shows and touring Spain and Africa, with Seth Gordon of The Mockers. Robbie also hosts "THE SPOON" http://www.thespoonradio.com a radio show unlike any other with co hosts Thom Bowers and Chris Jackson. He also appeared in films like Stump The Band , and the Syfy Channel hit, Sharknado, which he did the music for.

 His work as a musician and a producer are detrimental to the operation.


I/  ME.../   Oliver Mattson (is) a former kid actor from Los Angeles California, who appeared in commercials for The Love Boat, and did stage stuff later on. I was born in 1976,  I  lived on Willoughby Avenue across from Tom Fitszimmons from The Paper Chase series, Dad, Dale T. Mattson worked for and with Aaron Spelling, MGM, and many more companies, I went to college majored in business and computing as well as doing stage stuff, and writing, i started doing my fanzines in the 80s and 90s, and composing music and writing lyrics around age 10. I started college at age 8, mostly wrapped up at about age 20. I've personally worked for David Packard Junior, did projects with people from branches of XEROX PARC, Started the Print version of brainlick in 1993, after the digital (diskette and BBS) version was up in between 88 or 89 to 93 / 94.

 Our Vision is for performance to happen and our work to be enjoyed. We have bands, and an Intellectual Property Pool that we are evaluating, stirring, and cleaning up. Similar to a Witch's Brew - Pot/ Kettle / etc. Our Name will come soon, for the company, as well as business license, website, blog, ads, and etc..

The Future Is Now.


Oliver Clinton  Mattson II / Oliver Clinton Trinidad Espinoza Mattson  /  Ollie Nitro / Olly Bralinlick / Oliver Brainlick

 707 376 8896 voice mail (it will say house of games when you get the machine) 

mattsonmechanicals@gmail.com

Mattson Mechanicals

mattsonmechanicals@gmail.com


for the time being, dave.

Saturday, October 10, 2015

Monday, June 15, 2015

off and on 6 15 15

OFF = before you were born
ON = The Time You're Here
OFF = Death and after
do stuff today
also
yesterday = not now
today and now = you're in it.
tommorow = uncertain
we can cry and bitch and moan and scream about the pain of the past, as much as we want to, but --- one thing i realized, after losing all my posessions damn near, my girl, and my ability to drive.... --- as well as some of my "brains", as they call them... --- if i had just got the fuck up in the morning, had a bath, made breakfast, coffee, etc. - and got the fuck back in bed with c. none of this shit would have happened. also- if your cousin is a bitch, and her BF is a prick, don't let them move into your home and fuck up your shit hardcore. happy b day grandma, your family is not cool.
yesterday, we can hold much pain and cry from you, but we can also learn from you and try to walk, if not strong, if not tall, just walking, moving, and living, the thing of the self is that the self can cry, and fight, and scream, and break things, if mad about their spouse's adultery, or a friends passing, or loss due to robbery or bad decisions, but, the self can also, - in time, learn to dismiss the anger that creates not good moments, and creates bad feelings. feelings that can cause one to be self-destructive and outwardly destructive. If we do not accept emotion, we do not accept the mind and body and what we call "the soul", all getting together.
We are free to feel. All of us, Person, and Spirit, no matter what age, race, religion, or nationality or place. --- if we remove feeling, we are removing us, when we remove us, we cannot be us.
But for us to also feel guilt due to not "being enough", doing enough", "trying hard enough", having enough, especially if in a rut, mentally, economically, support - wise, all are parts of this thing that we call life, and they are things which cannot be ignored, denied, or shut out, these are facts.
I learned through time that people who live right by you, or even under your own roof, can ignore you with the most cold and distant soul, and heart, mind and mannerisms and actions. Some people from half a planet away can treat you as a friend and listen closer than the people you live with.
- in closing -
keep it light. and keep moving.
you have every reason to cry if you are sad from someone cheating on you, you have every right to be upset at the crime you might be a victim to at the time and place you are, you have every right to be frustrated with things you have no control over.
you also have a right to be happy, and safe, free, and able to transcend from where you were or are, to where you want to be. every single person has.
let no battle be un - glorified. if you can only write one poem a day, due to your depression and sadness or ptsd, do it, no one else walked in your shoes, boots, or pants, thank you for being here.
as a person with what i have, and the damage i have....
all i can say right now is
life is war - if you're breathing, you're winning,. march on.
-om-

Sunday, May 31, 2015

poetry club 90 - or 9 to 92 or so

poetry club 90 - or 9 to 92 or so


1990 or 1991- to like 92 or Ninety Three-



- POETRY CLUB -

free form jazz is being belted out of a small record player tape deck, - 6 or 7 small speakers sit on

shelves wiht taped together wires holding them in action, all daisy chained.  -  the sound is great .


there are hung flowers -

there are three types of tea -

two hot, one room temperature.

there is water.


there are televisions painted with

pictures.

two pictures are regarding fish.

some regarding wars.

one with

a car, carrying a fish tank on the roof.




on the top of the tv- was the word “detroit”.  in small letters, in blue glitter paint.

I was introduced to Bob Marley and Bob Dylan records there, and Sade, and jazz.

Different styles of writing, modes of thinking.

They supported my thirst for knowledge and helped me get the clarity together enough to start on “The Nocturnal Voice”, fanzine / newsletter...  and then “Brainlick”, as well submitting my stuff to independent bay area troupes to perform, and do video filming to ask the audience how it went.

More than half the time it was at least accepted, sometimes, people thought it was far too
wierd, and some didn’t stay half way.

Oh well, thats the biz.

By the time i was 17 or so, i had moved on from Poetry Club.  I had started to make my own stuff.  Not just read everyone else’s stuff.

****AS A NOTE - / post note, ****for your data, we didn’t do any drugs in poetry club.  we got fucked up after by ourselves, seperated,  away from the group, like professionals.  all i really did was drink coffee and pop the occasional pill, a beer, or a joint back then, it wasn’t until my 20s did i really start tying it on.




Saturday, June 7, 2014

WTF happened to 2 yrs of writing.

Monday, December 10, 2012

Friday, November 16, 2012

EMULATION

Emulation.  We think of it now as a nifty way to keep the memories alive, and have some fun at the same time. Fact is, Emulation started in the 80's.  Yep.  Even with the older hardware, there were emulators.   Most of them required hardware add-ons.  Memorable units and Emulators that I can remember were the notorious Atari 2600 add on for the ColecoVision Video Game System, and an add on unit that turned a Commodore 64 into an Apple 2.  There were emulation add ons for The Intellivision too, that turned it into a machine capable of playing 2600 carts.

I imagine that they would have different imputs due to key-layouts and voltage in the ports, plus pin-out adaption. and the Intelivision had Hard Wired Controllers if i remember correctly.

Emulation, it makes me happy.  Also, all the new Fan Patches and Trainers and new translations of previously unplayable Japanese games enable me to enjoy stuff i'd otherwise have no access to (or understanding- due to text issues), more Dungeons to crawl in, and adventures to have, still waiting on the first Megami Tensei to be fully translated and playable for the famicom.


Thursday, November 15, 2012

retro city rampage

PC REVIEW:Retro City Rampage / Hotline Miami
Platform - Windows


in the last few months we had 2 "GTA-Likes" come out that i'm familiar with.  the first is Retro City Rampage, and the 2nd is Hotline Miami.  Hotline Miami, for me, was a little short, and i wanted more of something that ...  i don't know, violence, costumes, and psuedo open world style aside ... ...  ...  just wasn't there for me, and it just didn't really ... "click" with me, it was trying too hard to look like..  i don't know, something i guess  i wasn't digging.

Retro City Rampage, on the other hand, I've dug, a bit at least.  The game-play is similar to Vice City, with a "Retro" (8-16bit) appearance , that everybody is doing nowadays.  The writers of the game wrote most of it in Parody and in Honor of the 80's and early 90's, in everything from Film, music, Cartoons, popluar culture, and of course, video games.  You have to kind of take it really lightly, because it can be a real turn off for those not familiar with back then.  If you were a kid in the 80s you'll love the little references, and smile, at some of the (albeit overbearing), humourous overtones and pop-culture jokes.  It also parodies the Grand Theft Auto series heavily, as the "Player",  has to go on "Missions", and complete tasks in timer activated sequences, covering everything from Mowing Down pedestrians, (similar to the GTA games), to playing mini games similar to Tapper (1982 SEGA), and a mission  level that directly parodies the Teenage Mutant Ninja Tutrtles first NES game's notorious UNDERWATER stage.


CORE COMPONENT REVIEW:

SOUND:  4.75 / 5
Chip-tunes, Ahoy!!!  Great work on the tunes, no Voice Actors were really needed.  I preferred having bypassable text, and not having the weight of all those WAV and audio files on my hard drive when i just wanted a little fun. The original music is  Spot On and brings back a lot of memories.  Worth checking out for the soundtrack alone, if you're into chip tunes and NES music.

What could have been better?  - I dunno, maybe a selector for multiple audio layouts in a future version, similar to the graphic layout seletion options,  to respect sound architectures like the Atari 2600, Commodore SID chip, etc.

GRAPHICS:  5/5
Perfect for what it needs.  Tight sprites, smooth, quick animation that flowed with the control and my movements.  The enemies movement and bullet drawing are great.  Easy on the eyes, and with multiple layout and video options, No two games are the same, period.

What could have been better? - i don't know.

CONTROL: 4.5 / 5
Took a little getting used to, but after getting used to the Vice City like controls i was hooked, bad.  I've tried to play this game on keyboard + mouse, but it didn't feel good to me..  Tried using a NES style USB joypad..  no dice - period.  tried using a Sega Saturn style USB controller with it, and that didn't really work out that well either.  The only real thing that worked (for me, anyways),  was / is PlayStation style and xbox360 style controllers with analog sticks worked best - for me- anyways..  please comment or message - stokernumberfive@gmail .com for exact controller data. 

STORY / WRITING 5/5
its fun.  it is what it is, and pulls no punches, nor tries to pull any bullshit, younger players will be either A- totally lost, or B, asking about stuff from an older family member, friend, or fellow player or googling the hell outta stuff in order to get all the referrences.  People of a certain age, though, will pick up on some of the over the top parody instantly, and realize ... this should not be taken heavily.

OTHER ?  4/5


Revisions and updates have only removed bugs and helped out playability and ease of gameplay, want a harder game...?   play an earlier version, or Dwarf Fortress.  I hope that a few more palettes become available, (LIKE i dunno...  nightclub to make it all purple and pink and blue, and RAVE...  to make it hell of psychedelic) as well as some new weapons, missions, mini games, music and modes, and some more map space to run around in and destroy stuff.


WRAPUP?

Total Score - an in-betweener of 4.6 out of 5 to Stars

the action is fast, the story is fun, the way it feels is UN-explainable.  Even when you don't win a mission, or fail at a task, it drags me back in, and tells me hints, and gives me that "DON'T GIVE UP", feeling.  I need that feeling right now more than ever. 


4.6  TO 5 stars  -

11/15/2012

-o-


Wednesday, October 10, 2012


There's no time anymore. 

no time to go take a little ride out a ways to go and pick up games.

not since GameStop came in.  Why go out to Calpella when ./...

 I hear this from Parents at the GameStop....

"Oh just hurry up and pick something, or get what you're getting ... we need to go to WalMart, or Verizon, or Starbucks... ". 

 which are

conveniently located within a couple blocks of GameStop.

No More stopping for coffee  on the way out to go pick up a Gameboy Cartridge.

No more stopping by what used to be the old arcade and Laundry to drop a quarter in an old but still

kicking Pac Man machine.  I can hear the sound in my head, and see the worn overlay under the joystick. 


Traveling out to Werner's House of Games was a nice little ...  a trip.  a dedicated break. 

It was the smile on his face when i saw him every time, and the joy in his voice and his laughter and our

joking.  Sometimes I'd go out there and relax and party.  My ex-wife and I used to go over there and party

and goof off.  Over the last three years, since I moved back to Mendocino, i had been spending more and

more time with him.  I wish i had spent more.  It was my full and just intention of providing him with

flyers and the footwork to put the flyers up and out.  I was also going to get a cell phone to take in orders

for games and set up sales.  I was working at a friends house doing dishes and cobwebs and sweeping

and the like for extra money to help with food and bills at my mom's house, and to try to get the Cell

Phone and a first batch of flyers.  Not fast enough.  Too damn late.  Spent too much time out there

goofing off and  fucking around that i let slip through my hands the time itself, and resources necessary

to assist my friend who needed me. 


Tuesday, October 9, 2012

why am i so sad?

i am selfish.  i feel so guilty re: werner's passing.  His health wasn't doing all that good and he asked me for my help to put up flyers to advertise his little shop.

I didn't do it.  i got wasted becasue of c.  i didn't tell my fereinds to stop by on our way through there enough.

i feel so awful i can not explain.  my due dilligence in being an asshole and a prick are beyond heavy.  i hate my self right now.


Friday, October 5, 2012

is the gaming industry dead?

is the gaming industry dead?


i dunno.

to me it is.  my mentor and friend, Werner Deinemer, from Calpella CA passed away on 9/26.  He ran Werner's House of Games.  He was smart, ultra cool, played poker and was very kind to his customers.  I was his customer for 17 - 20 some years, i guess, can't remember....  so long.  I feel an unfathomable level of guilt in regards to his passing.  I was supposed to be putting up flyers and helping his little shop stay afloat by buying more stuff and getting his web presence up.  My girl of 11 years leaves on July 21, a month from our anniversary and start of 12h yr together.  Heavy depression ensues.  Heavy drinking, skirt chasing and Dwarf Fortress.  Lost / fucked off a chance at a job.  More depression.  more bad.  more dorf. 


after basically locking myself away from the world.  No Phone to check on people, no going out to talk to him, no forcing my friends to stop by or check on him. i basically think everything's fine...  hunky dory.

on 9/21 I damn near got in a fucking car wreck on the coast.  but i save me and my bro's asses.  this fucks shit up even more.  i've been through beatings and shit, and have mental problems and a hereditary heart condition.  so, i'm back at mom's and going back and forth to watch a fn house, and all the while ...  i'm thinking everythings fine with him.  of course i'm having an adrenaline high at the time that could knock out an elephant.  so i'm doing anything and every substance that i can come across to get rid of the rush and the madness and anger and fear and more and more flashbacks. 


so, more and more beer, more and more Dwarf Fortress.  more and more pot.  more and more bar hopping.  .  my muscles are still un cramping as of this moment, and my stomach is finally letting in water and human food.

and my ego is bruised, and i'm  a former child actor and my freinds are in bands and they're not insane and 86'd from bars and can play and get chicks, but sometimes they can't and their egos get bruised and they didn't paid at that gig, and they don't really make any money, ...  okay ....   enough about the band.

this

so...   i partied.  i lived it up more....

i had a chick up for a couple of days, we had some fun...  partied, fooled around, watched trailer park boys, discussed the occult. etc. 

i didn't check on Werner. 
the chick leaves.  a day or so later i call to check on a controller and a 360 he had for me, set up a drop off and pick up with a bro of mine.   no luck at the house.  maybe he's at the bar, maybe he's at the store.  maybe he had to go to the hospital.  ...  I try his cell phone.   it rings ...  and rings...  and rings...  like 7 times.  then picks up... a woman whimpering picks up the phone...  shaking...  "hello"...  "hey, it's anon...  can i talk to werner i gotta get the 360 nd im sorry i havent't ..."  interrrupted by her screming and crying...  "HE DIED"...  blurrd after that heart sunk.  i haven't touched a controller since.  there's no money to bury him.  He wasn't eating right since gamestop moved into Ukiah, a couple years ago.  he was a diabetic and needed a special diet and medicine.  his sales droppped so low that he was selling knives and art and films to get by sometimes.  this hurts.   i fucking hate myself.   i despise gamestop.

HOIST THE COLORS

My heart is in a deep state of disbelief, shock,  and other yucky emotions.

 guilt.


My friend Werner Deinemer (not sure of spelling) passed away on 9/26.   had i not been reeling from nearly dying on the coast on 9/21 i might have been able to see him.  i hate myself for just sitting around  getting drunk and playing dwarf fortress
 instead of putting out flyers for his little shop.  that little shop that i had gone to for about 20 years or so.   when C left in July it created a whole in my heart that i can not explain.  i need to help to get my friend buried.  i hate my self.  i feel so bad,.  i feel  so low right now.


the bringing in of GameStop brought good deals into the area, but it shut down Werner's shop hard.  He was forced over the last year or so  to even sell knives and crossbow devices to make ends meet out in Calpella.  I have no car and going on the bus isn't that easy, as people tend to pick on me because of my debaucherous past.  I was depressed.  I was drinking heavily after my girl left.  i mean,...  11 years.

the rear view sucks.

FUCK


Friday, September 7, 2012

listen to the self.
if your body and or something tells you to not go out because of whatever reason.  call a mental health day and don't go anywhere.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

10 commandments of gaming


I.
Thou Shalt Not make a console that i only buy 1 game for and put it in storage, sell, it, or forget about it within 6 months to 1.25 years. 
II.
Thou shalt not behave like NEC or Sony.
III.
Thou shalt not make DLC.
IV.
Thou shalt try to emulate the days of old wherein you had no pause buttton nor Princess to save.
V. Thou Shalt Not stop giving us hot characters to masturbate whilst adoring and or fap to and or to enhance our sexual experience with a partner or device.
VI.
Thou Shalt Stand dumbfounded when Indie games and consoles get hotter than the trash that the big three kick out like the Pac Man clones of the 80s.

VII.
Thou Shalt Speak the words of the players when they say to release only complete and full titles, like the past generations. yes they were primitive, but they were COMPLETE!

VIII.
Thou Shalt stop giving us "Princess To Get", "Go Forward and Shoot", "You Are Our Only Hope", "Violent As *", "Sexier Than *" "Kill The Dragon", "Get Up and Move", etcetera garbage.

IX or VIIII.
Thou Player Base shalt stop using Microphones and stop talking Trash, Thou Companies Shall Start respecting older gamers who do not need, want nor enjoy online gaming one bit, due to the fact that they were around for a while and don't necessarily like being talked down to by 12 year olds.

X.
If thou a younger Player, Thou Shalt Not talk down to players of older generations, If thou an older player try thine best not to lose one's Wife, love, Job, or partner due to too much Dwarf Fortress.

amen.

Monday, August 13, 2012

okay, herer's some hard s*** NSFW /Ages 30+ only.

i like singing.  i just hate how low my voice is and and how is sound dumb sometimes.  thanks, english fucker who busted a full with cap on Stella Artois at me  and busting the fucker on the back of my skull and tazing me.   it fucked my vision up nice n good.  oh, and before anybody says, "why didn't you call the cops?", i did , they couldn't do anything because "there was alcohol involved".

I'd love to do poetry, ...  but am...  very weary because of the labeling that goes on with poetry.
i write it.  it's hard for me to act, sometimes, it's hard for me to sing because of my short term memory, inability to cycle some practice stuff is slightly frustrating a bit.  notice how i didn't say that i can't do stuff.  just think outside the box, when dealing with me.  for me, there is no box, really, or at least the box was damaged in shipping, and the contents wherein are spilling forth into and out of the said "box".  and what of poetry readings ?  what kind of people currently go to readings?  i'm afraid to go, myself.  they won't like me because they'll see the fear.  i'll get horny and distracted.  i'll fuck up and look like an idiot.  a room full of no-breast lesbians will laugh at me and talk shit about me to their straight chick friends.

  


Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Reasons why I really didn't like 8th Grade after Moving to Lake County

In summer Of 1989, before moving to Lake County CA. when we were still living my mom and I were living in Ukiah, we went to Los Angeles to visit friends and family.  While down thee, we went to Burbank.  While in Burbank, I entered a building with a bunch of animation studios walked my self right through the door of DIC Animation City.  I told the receptionist that I would like to begin doing voice overs for some of their fine series available, that I was a huge fan.  The lady called someone from an office.  Two people came to reception area.  The people came out and asked me what I did.  I told them about my screen stuff and about the acting classes I was taking, an that I wanted to be in cartoons so badly.  My friends and classmates all had told me that with the weird voices I did and cartoon voices that I did to distract bullies, make people laugh, and make girls smile., that I had "something", and that I should be in Cartoons and on TV.  I told the suits this, and they asked me if I could do a few voices for them, right there, right then, cold.  I got tense, told them i needed some air and be right back.  They said cool.  I jogged downstairs and outside to smoke about a third of a cigarette and calm my panicked nerves.  I relaxed, went back up using the elevator and sat down.  I did a "Spot On" (according to them) improv of "Slimer", from "Real Ghostbusters", and some "Heathcliff", characters, while I had a chance to talk to them.  They asked if I did any "On Camera", stuff, and I told them about Romper Room, and the plays I did.  I was given smiles, and a positive visit with these executives, and they gave me Business Cards, to call when I was done with my classes, and had a "B" or above...  "we'll talk".

(STORY BREAK SEGUE WAY  / WENT TO WARNER BROS Animation, Went to Warner TV / Film Lot, GOT caught walking around by Security, Got 1st mug Shot, Crying....  between summer and moving to lake county, I saw "Who Framed Roger Rabbit", went to  a cool school called "The New School", had a blast in mendocino county.  I told my Mom i was scared to move to Lake County because I was scared of everything getting messed up.    I was on the cusp of teenagedumb, and was comfy in Ukiah.  People knew me, and I knew them, I had a few friends, a few crushes, a local arcade, and a place to rent NES games from within walking distance of the apartment.  I just got a new bike, and was doing well in classwork, my confidence and stability, i guess....  were pretty good back then.  Interesting.



Thursday, April 5, 2012

change in the colours of life

Unjuns of ZYDYS

"They Fell"  part One A One

2012 A.D. Willoughby

(c) 1989 - 2012
-olmaco-
Rights Reserved 


"There are no more Dragons, here", a plain Cloaked Towns-person said to us as we asked about the nearby Caves and rumored tunnels and Temples in the area.  "No Dragons, No Treasure, No Nothing...  "

they continued,

"You're just wasting your time around here, Venturers. 

You can stay at the INN, visit the ALE-HOUSE, Eat at the FOOD PLACES, visit the SHOPS.

Do not snoop around the Cemetery, or crawl around in our Wells.  If you find something 'out of place', leave

it alone and don't touch anything.  Oh, and, by the way....  the town is heavily observed at night by Guards in

Observation Towers and on Foot.  They keep good eye on places like the Musician's Quarter, Artist's

Block, and of course the Taverns and places of blue lamps to keep the kind of peace we need." 

They said, with clear and present defense regarding their hometown, the place of his family, friends, and

loved ones... past, present, and future.

We agreed to the person, that we would keep our revelry to a minimum, and that we would keep our

celebration to a low at the INN, we would be dropping our Weapons and 'Magiquipment', as well as our

Goofs, Ner'Duh-Wells, Spooks, and other unpredicatbles, some stored Entities and Artifacts there, too,

before making our way about the small town.

The people supported our choices and we set our troop to the town to get going on some celebration, after

making sure every one, spirits included, that were needed to stay at the room had everything that they

needed, extra and special attentions included.  Some of the Pentine had wounds that needed observation,

some of the Spild needed hydration, some of the Spooks needed new altars and lights.  All needed food,

rest, and a chance to re-fill on basic gear and outfitting.


 We bartered a few good deals for all involved with some of the MED SHOP Students, Spook Agents,

Dancing Girls, Eatery Workers, and Shopkeepers.  They arrived right on time and well equipped to assist 

our team that was ostracized due to the towns main laws, but, as anyone knows, money does a lot.


-

352pm 4/5/2012








Monday, January 2, 2012

how to make a 7 sided dice out of a 6 sided dice -
by oliver "Haddo" mattson (c)2012

1  VALUE1
2  VALUE2
3  VALUE3

4  VALUE4

5  VALUE5
6  VALUE6
7  VALUE 7

ROLL  [ 1 - 6 ]
IF
 1 - 3 then

allow value 1 - 6

IF
4 - 6 then

allow values 2 - 7

the purpose of this is that when one rolls a dice, it is to obtain a random number, if we open the parameter of possibilities with a coinciding amount of values in a table or relative structure which, in effect becomes the seventh side, if looked at i n a weird way.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Dear Colonel;

I don't know if I'll be able to view the new film right off the bat for a few reasons.

1/ A - Low Funds.

2 / B - Recovery.  It will be 15 years since I began to seriously go down a dark path.  I emulated madmen, I tried to be "tough", I tried to be a "loadie", it didn't work.  I failed myself, my family, my possessions, my responsibilities, my dreams and goals and forfeited more than i can fathom.  I ruined friendships, and caused great harm.  I've broken every rule and threw away the warped morals and sensitivities that I had for a coarse lie that i perpetuated through the course of those wasted years.  My skull hurts.  I can feel the pain.  I am coming down from something about one thousand times stronger than methamphetamine and cocaine was pumping through my pathetic body.  My knuckles are finally popping and the feeling in my hands is returning.

I began to be violent, i am so very bad at that.  I hate violence.  I don't like football, even.  I am a bookworm.  I am a "nerd", not like those on "TV", or anything else, I may seem minimalist, and abstract and strange, but i warped myself and corrupted myself into a pit that i have no idea if i can, but i need to get out.  I like Role Playing Gmaes, but I do not get along with players.  I dislike online video games because I think that the code and story should be able to stand on its own.  i like function, not competition.  i don' compete well.  i do not play well with others.

The time that i spent trying to make people happy and throwing my self and everything i was and had away was far too long.


here are the things that i am wanting to work on-

1.  Zydes Franchise
2. inventions -
hyperfarming
iVend
MUTS
3. Book(s)

Ghost Stories (As I Remember Correctly - Stories, Poems, and Legends, of Horror, The Macabre, and Strange by A.D. Willoughby)

- 55 MPH Notes - Free / Finished
- Brainlick Drips free/ done



OF Heaven and of Hell.

They are real.

The Bible isn't just a thing about Jesus.  It's a guidebook for simple and safe living. 
The things about not coveting another man's woman and to be mellow and strong and safe are all good things.  I wish I never even got into partying and all the bullshit that went along with it.  I've lost and destroyed far far too much.   Gluttony is bad, drinking too much is bad.  All the stuff that they talk about in there is pretty on the ball and simple.  You don't even have to really be all the Christian to really dig it, you know.  If you go out and start fights with people when you're drunk, you will get your ass beat,  you will get your ass beat or killed.  Hell is real.  Hell is not working and being a clean and straight minded individual that people can trust and feel safe around.  Hell is being in skin that doesn't remember what has happened for years at a time.  Hell is looking back at the realization of wrong doing and feeling incredible guilt and sorrow.  Hell is being so high that one couldn't feel even the pain of a severe beating and not knowing when it happened or why for months at a time.  Hell is coming back from a bender and realizing that almost over two years of time, people have been stealing your posessions from your own home and bedroom while you were out bar-hopping and destroying yourself and blaming others.
Hell is losing friends, contact with family, access to places of Business and activity and respect from the community.  Hell is knowing full well that I've been chasing NOTHING BUT AN IMAGE ALL OF MY LIFE, IT SEEMS.  THE PICTURE OF EVIL,  REBELLION, DESTRUCTION.  I feel it was strong, it was strong in the wrong ways, it drew me in, it drew me in like a fish on a line.  I kept getting more and more and more drawn in and i fell off the side of the planet and I feel so bad about the things that I have down while in my altered states of mind that i find it ridiculous.  My once bright and young and shining eyes have gotten dull and strained from the whacks to my skull.  My vision is strained from the years of drink and debauchery.  I have lost.  I have lost.
My wish, when I was younger, was to write, and to act , and to perform music and do art.  I have done all those things.  I am NOT a GOOD ROCK SINGER.  The Image ATE ME ALIVE.  I was being exploited and I let demons into my very soul, heart, mind, and Body.  I corrupted myself so very much and I hurt the people I love and cared about very much.
I should have just stayed home and read my comic books, I should have just stayed home.  I wish I never ever did one line of Speed.  October 30, 1996...  15 years ago TONIGHT.  I've failed for 15 years.  FUCK GOING TO PARTIES.  I suck around people because i don't think like them, I think about computers all the time and video games and my game and my empire and the music I enjoy.   IM NOT A GOOD PUNK ROCKER.  NO EFFING WAY.  FUCK THAT SHIT.  DONE.  LET ME HAVE MY BOOKS AND MY DICE AND MY VIDEO GAMES!  LET ME HAVE WHAT I HAVE LEFT.  I LOVE CHERYL VERY MUCH.  SHE IS MY DARLING AND I DREAM ABOUT HER STILL WITH EVERY DRIP OF MY BRAIN. 

Heaven... what is heaven?

Heaven is spending quiet time at home with family.  Heaven is being Nice.  Heaven is having a nice reputation.  Heaven is being good to oneself.  Heaven is Not being mean.  Heaven is knowing that you are safe, with roof above one's head, food in stomach, and positives in ones head.  Heaven is feeling good about oneself without having to use drugs to do so.  Heaven is making the one you love smile.  Heaven is having good friends and doing good in life, without having to do drugs to be "cool".    COOL IS NOT REAL.  YOU CAN ONLY BE YOURSELF.  YOU CANNOT BE "COOL".  IT IS A FARCE.

Heaven is being strong in the face of difficulty and confident about challenges ahead,.

I will try to make sure, that if I have children, that they never get to low or hard on themselves, that they never ever do any powder drugs or shove anything up their noses.  Or pills and to not run around like I did and terrorize the town I once loved as a child.

I will TRY to teach them to not drink, and to not hide in bottles and hide in drugs.  it isn't right nd I did nothing but mess up my life for the last decade and a half.  I tried to be a badass, i tied to be cool.  It didn't work.  I hate what I've done and want to flip around my life./   The stuff I start is far far too much.  I did not mean to harm or terrorize the people of this planet at all.  My aim got lost, I suffered from depression and instead of asking for professional help, I medicated myself to a point that i don't know where the hell I was for the last two decades.

I have my mind, what's left of it.  I am not in jail.  I have my Mom.  I have what's left of my belongings.  I can breathe.  I can use my computer, I can play video games.  I can read.
I can sip a glass of water.  I can  pet the cats.  I can take a nap.  I can write.  I can eat a snack.  I can make a baked potato.  I can  make games.  I can smile.  I can make a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich.   I can make a cup of tea.  I can recite poetry.  I seriously dislike what I had to do to feel good about who I am, and that it's okay to be ME, finally.
I would rather cry, hide inside at home.
My knuckles are healing as well as my skull and the rest of my body.
I was an ass for far too long.


So, In closing.  Colonel Depp.  It is my honest wish that I see this film,, but, in my present state of mind I fear for the safety of the people of Earth, and must postpone said viewing of said film until relocated away from the vicinity of this City and away from any people living, dead, or otherwise  thinking beings or entities that I may do harm unto in whatever triggered state this film may or may not summon in my brain.


Best Wishes-

A. D. WIlloughby

Sunday, October 23, 2011

eyes
-

A while back, Years ago, some of my friends used to run a Computer Store, they ran it for about seven years, all together.   I used to help with taking out the trash once in a while for pocket change when I was
 bored and take it to the local arcade.  One day, one of our close friends who worked in the shop and helped with the customers passed away from a heart attack.  Months went by before any of us went into the store, we were all very very sad, and very angry at the entire situation.  You see, he was very young, he had just turned twenty four.    About three months after our co-worker and friend passed, we had to close the
shop completely due to the overwhelming bills, and the fact that none of us could see spending a day
working there without him there with us.    We Closed all the customer accounts and the computers were
finished, delivered and set up.  Networks wrapped up, the Internet Service disconnected forever.  Receipts
organized, Taxes Finished up and closed.  Suppliers notified, goodbyes were said.  Papered the windows
with newsprint.  I spent the majority of the very last day, about 6 hours cleaning the walls of dirt,
breaking down the shelves and doing the windows.  Last trash barrels filled.  Last sweeping loaded from
dustpan in to waiting bags, to be taken to off and away forever.  Last bent paper clips and fast food
receipts tossed.  Last Vacuuming with the old old vacuum.  Last Carpet Sweeping the porch rugs.  Last
cleaning out the drawers.  Last ID'ing wires before final marking, packing, storage and disposal.
Co-workers, friends, and others said their  last "Check-Ya-Laters" and picked up gear left behind from
gaming nights. 


Just before taking the last trash bag out, I felt deeply sad, but I also took time to think about how nice of
a  time it was to have spent with him there, and feeling very glad and blessed by the forces in the world
that gave him to us.  I wiped the fresh drips of tears that had been falling onto my cheek off and on during
that day, and felt all of a sudden, that I had to go forward, from now on, no matter what.   Jut after that,
as I felt upset, and forcing myself to miove forward, I remember now something I blocked out of my
mind for years.  A pair of eyes, I saw them for about a quarter of a second, but it seemed as if a half a
minute went by.  The situation held my attention like a steel grip.  They popped out of thin air, black.

The position was in one that he sat at, and the height matched just about right, for someone of his height
to be sitting in the chair he sat in normally, at that exact spot.  They looked right at me, it felt as if they
were looking into not just my face, but my very being, my past, my thoughts, my future, perhaps.
Knowing full well that upset spirits can do some very serious damage, my brain broke free of the grip.
Maybe they were our friend's eyes, checking on us at the shop.  Maybe another entity acting in his behalf
was tricking us, though, too perhaps.


As moments collided with one another, my state was changed as Nick, the main Manager, walked
through  the back office into the front service area, where I was.   "You don't look too hot, man,
you look pale, You okay?", Nick said.

"Umm, I don't really know man, yeah, eyes right over there.", I said, gesturing to where his old chair was
parked.  "Okay, let's get outta here, man.", he said.  We both cleaned the rest of the mess and belongings
 out in about two to five minutes flat, moving quite quickly, shut out the lights and did a day end walk
through, saying Goodbye to the Shop and Business itself, saying "it was fun", before arming the security
system and bolting the doors up for the final time.
 Nick gave me a ride back to my house, where I cried for at least a week.  Before I got out of the car, 
I choked up and almost said see you in the morning, Nick and I told each other good night, and to be
strong, and he told me, "Hey man, you're not nuts... I saw them too."


-the end-

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Not Here, Not Tonight- A Tale of Pie and Coffee

Not Here, Not Tonight-A Tale of Pie an Coffee

After the dust bowl  in the 1930s, a young man who wished nothing much more than to read books and write poetry was making his way West by helping with the things he was good at, like tidying houses, helping on the  Farms, setting tables, assisting with homework, and doing any thing he could, just for a spot to lay his sleeping bag, like a shed or a side house, park his typewriter, and perhaps grab a bite to eat for a day or two, before heading off to the next place.

One night, around or in Oklahoma, on the out-skirts of a small rainy muddy town, with some change in his pocket, he entered a coffee shop and put his last bit of change on the counter for a coffee and slice of apple pie before venturing into the evening’s icky weather, seeking shelter.   He sipped his coffee slowwwllly...  he ate the pie slowwwwwlllly as well, wrote in a journal, read the newspaper and a book from his bag and listened to the AM radio’s news and music fade in and out as gusts of rain and wind rushed by the tiny coffee shop.  “Another Slice of Pie, Sir?”, the attendant, who was about 15 asked.  “No thanks, said the writer, I don’t even know if i can get another coffee”, he said, spilling a few pennies on the table from his pockets and checking and double checking the rest, hurriedly.    “No Problem, sir, we’re closing soon, another pie and coffee are on the house, they would have been thrown out anyways, it’s no trouble, the Shop’s our Family’s”, the  attendant said.  “Thanks, SO much”, the writer said.  The attendant talked about the shop, and how his family owned it, during the time that he was finishing the cup of coffee, the writer explained that he had nowhere to stay and that he was weary of leaving and apologized for making the attendant lake as it was 5 minutes after closing.   The Attendant told the writer it was a good Five or so miles to the next town, on the main road which was a straight shot and easy to navigate, and he would be going up hill, mostly.  OR, Four miles on a back road that had more branches off of it than and old Oak tree or a lightning storm in October.  As a third option, the Attendant offered the use of an old study, and storage room just in the back yard of his grandparents house, where he was living with his family, except that there were spiders, and a bit of dust as it was rumored to be quite haunted, the Attendant didn’t even go in the room due to the atmosphere, and the fact that he thought he heard noises in the small off building.  In the blink of eye, the writer accepted the challenge with a grin from ear to ear, exclaiming how he feared no spirit at all, and how nice it would be to talk to a Ghost, and laughed at it all.  “You should not do that, Sir.”, the attendant said, shaking his head a bit and sounding frightened.  “You see, when you make fun of Ghosts, they can Get You, they can hit you, or steal from you or take you away into the place we can not see and you become one of them.”, he said, matter-of-factly.   “Fine, I’ll laugh when they do that to me, I accept your challenge, (he nodded at the attendant, grinning) Mind if I take the newspaper? I’d like some reading before turning in.” Said the writer.  “Yeah, Sure...  Man, I hope you know what you’re in for.”  said the attendant.  And with that The attendant began shutting down the Coffee Shop, and the writer gathered his things and finished his coffee, helping the attendant place chairs up and prepare for the next business day. The attendant thanked the writer as the Lights were shut off, locks were set, and Open Signs were flipped to “Sorry We’re Closed”.  They hurriedly got into the attendant’s car, trying to escape the storm that was still going strong.

Upon arrival at the attendants family residence, the writer began to let the stories that he heard earlier sink into his brains.

The darkness of the evening and the full moon’s eerie light occasionally peeking down from a crack in the clouds, combined with the grey exterior of the buildings on the site combined with the rain and the bad reception on the radio on the road there made the scene even more creepy.   
“Just to let you know, one of my Grand Uncles passed away in there, he was very sensitive, don’t curse or yell in there, or at him or anything, if you see his Ghost, especially, please.”,  the young attendant told his guest while handing him a canteen of water, to drink in the night and flashlight to help down the pathway.  The writer thanked him again, and the two said good night as they went off to sleep.

The writer got to the dusty room very quickly, as the chill of the weather ran through his bones in every step he took.

Upon entrance, the writer found a small fireplace, with kindling and some firewood, not enough for the night, but enough to keep the cold away before he went to sleep.  He lit  a small fire and the chill left the little room.  He took off his boots and socks to dry near the hearth grate,  on a large stone.  He read the newspaper, and made more notes in his journal.  About a couple of hours or so later...  the fire was out, the rooms was cozy, and the writer was nodding off.  As he lied down on the sofa near the windows, the writer listened to the wind rush by the building’s sides, and the rain go from heavy to soft, and then back to heavy again.

The embers in the tiny fireplace faded and faded and faded.  Soon, only the cloud covered sky, with sparsely flashing lightning, and what became almost a drumbeat, the rolling thunders, the rain and wind... were the sights and sounds of the night.  

Sleep started surprisingly smoothly, but was sometimes jarred at random, the thoughts of Ghosts jumping in and out of his dreams.  He closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to come again.  Wind making noise, the old building chilling again.  In one strong moment something told him to open his eyes.
He did.   There, down at the foot of the Sofa were two eyes looking right at him!   He Grabbed one of his shoes and threw it has hard as he could at the thing looking at him.  WHAM.  Something hit his foot.  He jumped up and ran as fast as he could up to the main house, barefoot.   He pounded on the door, the attendant answered the writer yelling for help.  “IT’S Haunted!, You were right.”, yelled the writer, “Come see, the eyes They looked at me from the foot of the Sofa, IT HIT MY FEET!”, ...  I don’t know what to do!”, said the writer in a frenzy.
“I need my things, my journal and my bag, my works are in there, can i stay on the covered porch of the main house?”, asked the writer.  “Of course, you can stay in the main room, fireplace is warm, no spooks there, hold on, I’ll, get my Boots and jacket, come out of the cold to dry off bit, i’ll get you some other shoes too, What size, nine, ten?", “Nine.", the writer replied.
With that, the two went into the dimly lit house, the wet visitor taking a moment to sit by a window in a porch room, and dry off his feet, face and hair with a towel provided by his host.  After a couple minutes of the young attendant going out of his way in so many ways, he arrived back from a walk on what seemed to be the second and third floors, opening drawers of dressers and shutting them quickly, opening closets and shutting them as well, he jogged downstairs, wearing jeans, boots and a raincoat, with another towel, some socks, and a pair of brown boots in very nice condition. 
“These’ll keep ya dry.”, the younger man said to the writer.  The cold and frightened visitor put them on  quickly as the night air began to chill his feet quite quickly.
Out they headed again, down the path to the side building.   The wind whipped around them as they shut the door and looked around for the travelers belongings.  “Too cold in here, let’s make this snappy.”, the writer said, both grabbing and bagging the writers things as fast as possible.  “How were you sleeping, I mean, Which way were you facing when you saw the Eyes, mister?”, the younger of the two asked.  “Right over there,”, he said as he pointed to the Eastern most window.  “Uncle is usually seen over here, the kid said, pointing to the Northwest corner of the room.   “AHA!”, the writer exclaimed, trying to analyze the situation scientifically.   “I must have seen the reflection of my toenails at the foot of the Sofa in the moonlight or under a flash of lightning and when I threw my shoe at it, it hit me, and i thought it was the Ghost.  HAH, How Foolish of me, to believe in such things.” said the writer.
And just as he bent down to grab the shoe he threw at what he thought was the Ghost, an invisible force grabbed it right out from under his fingers, as well as the other one, opened up the door, and threw them far up the pathway.  The two stood speechless for a moment.  “IS that all your Stuff, Mister?”, said the kid, “You Got it, let’s split.”, said the writer.  Both nodded their heads”, with  arms full, they made it up the pathway quite quickly.  Once inside the screened porch, they put the writers belongings in a pile, and latched the screen door while catching their breath.   The writer packed up and organized his journals and books and pencils and pens and put them into his ruck-sack while the wind picked up again.   “That was crazy.”,  the writer said.  “I don’t know if I can sleep, now”,  said the younger attendant, looking quite frightened.   “Nor I”, said the writer.
Over the next hour or two, in the kitchen, the two ate leftovers and listened to the radio’s poor reception fading in and out as the clouds passed above them, candles were lit, as the power had been occasionally dropping off and it going entirely flat out dark in the old house, so dark, that you could not even see a foot or two in front of your eyes.  They talked of the ghost in the study, they talked about local legends and then about life in general.  As the writer again began to droop off and begin to start to sleep, the thunder and lightning came rolling back through, Jarring the writer.  “Come on, you can sleep on the couch in the main room”.  Just before slumber, the two talked more, just a tad.  The writer told the young gentleman thanks very much, and where he could access the main road again, as the next town might have more work for him, and possibly might have to be up before Dawn to make it to the next job on time.  The young host gave the writer directions, and the writer wrote them down, bagged his notes, thanked his friend.   Good nights were once again said.  The writer, with assistance of a wind  up alarm clock, left the house before dawn, and dropped a thank you note on the table before leaving, stating that he would be back for his shoes.  

Months passed, the writer got out west, rented a room, and landed a job in the films, just like he said he wanted to.  He took a car ride with driver and everything out to the house to thank the Attendant for giving him shelter that night with all the weird things that went on, and to return his boots, if he was at home.

Upon arrival, the writer was shocked in less than a moment.  the house wasn’t there.  ONLY a foundation... looking at the yard... NO Side buildings... the truck of a surveyor stood next to that of a Real Estate company, in the area that would have been the screen porch.  “What Happened?...  Where’s the house and the Kid that lived here?!!”, the writer asked the Real Estate man standing next to the Surveyor sipping coffee from mugs on the front of their trucks.  “What do you mean, Kid that lived Here???, man, That house burnt down 20, 25 years ago, all the buildings on the property got burnt down.  everyone died, lightning storm knocked out a transformer, bad wiring.  Real sad.”  The two looked very sad and looked down at the ground.  All of a sudden a whirlwind of thoughts hit the writer at the same time.  In his lost state, he became speechless, and dizzy...  he walked around the property, where the living room was, he walked around in the space where the kitchen was, where he knew he was. 
He told the workmen sorry for any inconvenience, and headed toward the driveway. 

Just then on the ground, he noticed something, from the corner of his eye in the same spot, just like they had been thrown there by whatever it was that night, were his shoes.
He left them and ran, to the car, sped off,never to come back again.
THE END
-om- 10 - 6 - 2011

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

6 - 8


cont'd

After four or five years or so, the young man came into the shop in September once, to the shop guys surprise. This time bringing a truck load of Carving Pumpkins for Halloween. They were perfect, heavy, huge and wonderful sized. The guys again sat down, worked out a plan for the sale of the goods, and quickly signed a new contract. Hauled the gords out of the truck, sold them that fall, and made good money.

A couple years later...
he didn't come back late that may.
They called him, they tried letters.

Worried the kids wouldn't be able to get fireworks that year, and some of their best customers off to work, and college that fall, the men went to Atlanta to try to find the young man at the address given.

They saw the red car.

They knocked on the door.

No one answered.

They knocked again... no reply.

They found a small piece of paper in their truck and walked up to the door, to put it on the pushpin that sat by the door knocker.

Just then, a light turned on inside the house.

"WHO IS IT?", an older man yelled out.

"We're from the auto shop, we're here to see Luis", which was the young man's name.

"Auto Shop, AH... Come in guys, I have the keys for you, been waiting a long enough time."

"Here you go, just as he asked", he held up the keys and dropped them into one of the shop guys hands. I hope everything's gonna be okay."

"You gonna be able to drive?, or you want me to tow it out there?" the guy at the door asked.

"We'll manage", the guys said. The guy who opened up the door and gave them the keys shut the door and walked to a Black Cadillac, got in and drove away.

After returning to the Auto shop, the guys decided to look under the hood of such a nice car.


6/?

>>

cont'd
The engine looked nice, most of the parts were stock, some were not familiar to them, but they knew they loved it.

After shutting the hood and giving one another a high five, the decided to peek into the trunk.

One more batch of fireworks perhaps.

BANG! Sure enough it was. a huge box of everything inside. upon lifting it out, they noticed Luis' briefcase.

"MAYBE there's money inside, who knows, this guy was maybe nuts to help us so much with all the stuff, and he gone and left us his car, what a weird kid.", one said matter-of-factly.

"only one way to check".

They pushed on the latch, and "POP", it opened right up.

7/?

>>

upon opening it they found a folder with the transaction notes for the fireworks and pumpkins, as well as some toy sales, and video game sales which were new at the time, as well as their contracts., and set them aside quickly to look for money.

A couple dirty magazines and a music magazine.
no money.
a couple of audio cassettes and more receipts.
no money.
an old newspaper, some poems.
no money.
an envelope.
AHA!!
They opened it.
A stack of 20 dollar bills about 240 dollars worth, and a note which read,
"Dear Gentlemen, here, enjoy, thank you so much. For Everything, Lu."

The two went out and partied in Luis's car that night like they were in High School again, raising hell and having a blast.

The briefcase remained shut as far as I know.

Life continued for the two, enjoying the shop and life, selling off the last fireworks from Lu, and generally feeling fine.

Sad thing they didn't read the old newspaper.

It was from about 10 years prior, in 74, it talked of a young man who accidentally killed a bunch of his friends while making fireworks, who then dismembered their bodies and put the body parts in a pumpkin patch, only to be found himself, beheaded in the same field.

Oh, and the contracts... those were for their souls, signed, Billy and Steve - the shop guys.

Co signed by Lu C. Ifer.

The end.
8 of 8

4/5?

cont'd


They asked the young man how they could obtain such wonderful devices, and how money could be made.

The young man and shop guys went over the details over coffees. The young man explaining how the profits were made, and how much they could make if they did things in the right ways and at what times.

With May nearly over (change late 1978 to may 1978), the promise of fireworks for sale made the two very happy. The young man, after signing a contract with the two, walked off, jerry can in hand, headed towards his car, down the abandoned roads, with a jog in his step he waved and smiled in the fading light of the shop. Pepsi Sign still blinking, his flashlight, now fully lit, moving swift into the night.

Only a few minutes had passed when a car approached, it was bright red and beautiful. The tires looked brand new. The windows were dark. The young man got out of the car, opened the back door and walked towards the shop after grabbing their jerry can, and the first batch of fireworks.

After returning the can to its owners and thanking them for their assistance, and exchanging contact information, the young man gave them more instructions and headed off into the night.

The instructions were followed to the "T". The guys had enough money after that 4th of July to re open the shop. They made their payments and the young man helped them out every year for a few years. Every fireworks sale was a great success for the shop guys and the young man.

5/?

part 2


illegal fireworks
cont'd

The gentleman returned with a steaming cup of black coffee and a pack of marlboros. Sat across from his friend, grabbed an ashtray and lit up. They heard footsteps, quick ones, jogging almost. At the far end of the northern entrance to the parking lot, which had not been used in so long there were weeds and trash as well as debris were scattered.

Some of the surrounding houses had been boarded up due to the need of families packing up and leaving that used to work for the station, and surrounding enterprises. The appearance of someone coming from that area made them quite awake. The flashlight's red front piece rim and headlight were fading quite fast, and blinking out, just like the Pepsi Cola sign. They also saw in the person's other hand, a red jerry can for gas, and a briefcase.

The person came up to the porch, upon noticing the closed sign, looked down and shook his head. "You open in the morning, then, what time?", he asked. The attendants told the gentleman , who looked in his early 20s, thin, wearing a grey suit jacket and blue jeans.


2/?

Monday, July 18, 2011

part 3
contd-

They told him that it was closed up, no bucks.  They could trade out the jerry can at twice the price, though, and they had batteries for the flashlight.

The traveler agreed and paid in cash for the jerry can of gas, a couple D batteries for the flash light, a pack of smokes from the left over stock and if they had one, a beer. The order was complete, the gentleman smacked on a cig and lit it on the porch as one of the shop guys went to a locked room to fetch the gas.

While the traveler cracked open his beer, the car guy coming out side asked him, where did you come from and what the heck are you doing here?  Nobody's out here, at all, man."  The shop guy said.  "I saw the lights on, the gas gauge is screwy on my car, it's a clunker, a real piece of work, you could say, as it died i saw an access lane back here and tried to get here before you closed up, but...  i'm so so sorry." The young man said, sheepishly, while snuffing his cigarette out in the ashtray on the table on the porch.

"Not your fault man.", a shop guy said.  "we just kinda try to get by, we had a um, ... lemonade stand here, only got enough for beer if we're lucky on the weekends.  I'm here all the time, i used to sell TV's, record players and radios in the old auto repair building.  Sold Out, no more stock. 

The young man's eyes lit up.
"Well, i could maybe help you guys out, seein's how you did the same for me."

"what's the catch?" Asked the shop guy.

Not much, i just sell fireworks.  They call them illegal, but they ain't, they're just as safe as the other ones form the roadside, and it'll help you get some money together and maybe open up all the way."

The shop guy listening sounded interested.

"Hey, Here, want me to show ya?", the young man  asked energetically.

"GO Across The Street, Restaraunt's Parking Lot over there's okay, ain't had a car on that asphault in years."

"Far Out", the young man said, opening his briefcase, and grabbing some fireworks",

"be right back to talk business, enjoy the show."

the young man then walked across the street and lined up the fireworks on the pavement, and lit them all up, and quickly jogged back to the old gas station.

"CHECK IT OUT, MAN!", the young man yelled walking up to the shop guys, the light show just starting up behind him, spinning jumping sparkles and colors of flame lit up the abandoned parking lot, POPS, POWS and crackles filled their ears and smiles lit up all three's faces.

The show seemed to go on for minutes, far longer than regular fireworks, and they seemed just as normal if not better than the ones they were used to.

The shop guys were sold.

3 /?

-illegal fireworks-

-illegal fireworks-
in late 1978
about 18 miles + on the south of atlanta
GA, there was an auto shop in the middle of nowhere.

the auto shop closed up and due to financial struggle the former mechanics that still lived on site still decided to try to get money together to try to open the shop again.

The did everything from Lemonade stand sales yard sales sales to selling grass to the local kids at night after the days meager work was done.

After counting up the days' change, sipping on a Colt 45 in the sunset on the porch of the service station, with Pepsi-Cola neon sign blinking out on the PEP and LA at the end on occasion.  Bugs zapped by a zapper in the distance.  The metal screen door to the office with slightly worn springs clacked against the wood frame.

Another night.

The small PHILCO AM / FM radio's reception was good once in a while, allowing rock and roll and mowtown to slide into the night air.  They talked about cars, TV, sports, being broke.

From the corner of their eyes they saw something.
It looked like someone was coming from the back factory road, towards the station.  They swore they had saw the red outer casing light from a flashlight.
Then it faded away.

They both looked down the road.

Nothing there.

"You wanna walk down there with me with a flash light?"  one asked another.

"Nope", the other responded.

"I'm grabbing my smokes, you want anything?" The first said, heading into the office.

"Gimme a coffee and my pack by the desk."

-illegal fireworks-
in late 1978
about 18 miles + on the south of atlanta
GA, there was an auto shop in the middle of nowhere.

the auto shop closed up and due to financial struggle the former mechanics that still lived on site still decided to try to get money together to try to open the shop again.

The did everything from Lemonade stand sales yard sales sales to selling grass to the local kids at night after the days meager work was done.

After counting up the days' change, sipping on a Colt 45 in the sunset on the porch of the service station, with Pepsi-Cola neon sign blinking out on the PEP and LA at the end on occasion.  Bugs zapped by a zapper in the distance.  The metal screen door to the office with slightly worn springs clacked against the wood frame.

Another night.

The small PHILCO AM / FM radio's reception was good once in a while, allowing rock and roll and mowtown to slide into the night air.  They talked about cars, TV, sports, being broke.

From the corner of their eyes they saw something.
It looked like someone was coming from the back factory road, towards the station.  They swore they had saw the red outer casing light from a flashlight.
Then it faded away.

They both looked down the road.

Nothing there.

"You wanna walk down there with me with a flash light?"  one asked another.

"Nope", the other responded.

"I'm grabbing my smokes, you want anything?" The first said, heading into the office.

"Gimme a coffee and my pack by the desk."

as

= INTERNAL NOTE

MOST STORIES START OUT ...

ONCE UPON A TIME.

WELL,

THE TIME IS NOW.

THE PLACE...
IN DREAMS,
IMAGINATION
AND
OTHER WIERD PLACES.



ZYDES:
-BEGINNINGS-

-an abstract journey-

OBJECT OF THE SUB-SIMULATION-

get as much stuff as you can and live as long as you can.


IS THERE A PRINCESS:
Yeah, sure there’s Princesses, but they don’t need saving, at all.
They have the Princess Liberation Front.

Q: Is there Evil and Good? 
A:
What am I fighting against?
I dunno, confusion, madness... here you’re just trying to run around in an arena for a while. and survive, and go froward, just like in life, I guess.   Some of my friends like to collect the shiny thingz or glowy thingz, and colorful thingz.  Some like to try to advance their entity’s

Q:
What is the name of the thing there that just showed up?
A:
if they have they are