Interview With a Sad Clown.

I had the chance to sit down with Carla Rene, author of The Gaslight Journals. Her journey has been long, filled with downs and downs. Somehow, Carla always finds a way to bring comedy into her writing. Read about this Sad Clown; come scrape below the surface of a discarded woman. She deserves more than an interview can offer.

What do you write?

My passion lies in historical fiction (Victorian, Edwardian and some Empire)[Just released my first full-length novel The Gaslight Journal on Thanksgiving Day to Kindle], with my favourite being comedy. I have written my own one-woman shows and been a professional stand-up comic since 1994. They sort of encourage you to write about your own life and mine it for comedy, and with my trainwreck of a life, I’m in absolutely NO danger of running out of material anytime soon. In 2000 I got a scholarship to study with Second City in Chicago, and improv comedy is my favourite to perform. I also have some folks waiting for a spec script at CBS-TV for The Big Bang Theory, if I can get off my ass and write it.



Now my 2010 NaNoWriMo novel, A Most Devout Coward is nearly done. Jack Ryan O’Hanlan, a lifelong Atheist who suffers with severe social anxiety and OCD witnesses a mob hit in a Manhattan diner and is forced to enter WITSEC where he becomes a Priest. I think it’s my absolute best work to date since I let myself go and just do what I do best: barf from my fingers. Comedy author and how-to comedy writer John Vorhaus will be giving me a blurb for it and hopefully writing the forward (if I can extort enough money to pay him), since he laughed his ass off when I sent him my pitch. I also received permission from famous UK comic writer, Graham Linehan to reference his brainchild, Father Ted in the book. One of my absolute favourite comedies. It was like meeting God. But with more pratfalls.



What are your political views?

I realise it makes me sound like someone perpetually stuck in high-school, but I detest politics with a passion, except to make passing mockery of them. They tear more people apart. I realise the base definition of this word deals with social interactions and the viewpoint we hold about them, and to some degree we need a little PC around or else we’d all constantly be needing to be bailed out of jail for spouting off to the cross-dressing gang banger at the stop light. I detest the part of that definition that centres around the cult-like obsession that’s recently developed with the onslaught of 24-hour news stations. I think our cultural obsession with following political office has less to do with wanting to be better informed and more to do with the cult of celebrity, without the straight-forward admission, natch. I guess it’s way cooler to criticise what Dick Cheney’s wearing than it is to admit you’re a closet Kardashian fan.


What the biggest problems you see with the world?

You mean besides the politics? *chuckles* I think there are too many world leaders now in the throes of their mid-life crises who think that suddenly ruling the world would somehow be cooler than simply doing what the rest of us do: Dying our hair and buying red sports cars. Greed is a bitch and irony an evil mistress. The world’s fecked up for a variety of reasons, none of which I’m either versed enough in or can be arsed enough to actually make comment. But a nice short answer would be we are and always have been victims--victims of the human condition in the purest sense. Of course, that’s not a very popular viewpoint because who in their right mind actually wants to admit they’re shallow and selfish? Well, I mean, who here who’s sober will admit to such a thing? Because we’re too proud to admit that we’ve not been intelligent enough to fix ourselves like humanism said we could, we then parade ourselves as being somehow more enlightened than the rest of the schmoes in other countries, but the truth remains, we’re all hopelessly flawed and until we cop to that, we’re going to screw up a lot more lives.

Pride indeed, goes before a big-ass fall. I believe Jesus quoted that in the New Testament.



What would you change about the education system?

The serious answer is that I’d dump more money into hiring teachers who actually give a good feck about the students, get the beaurocrats out of it who only think they know what’s going on, and stop cowtowing to parents with serious control issues. See? This is a great example of being too politic for any effective use. Parents should be held more accountable than they are for their children’s lack of deplorable education. Schools should not have to be teaching sex education. That is, and always has been, the responsibility of the streets. Or, to save the budget, we could combine driver’s ed and sex ed into one class, and just hire hookers to teach from the back seats of the cars. I can’t see there being many complaints from the kids.

What crafts do you do?

I was a Front End Supervisor at a DC Michaels, so really honed my interest there, playing in the aisles during my breaks. That’s where I taught myself jewellery design. I specialise in wire-wrapping and polymer clay, but also incorporate unusual items into my jewellery designs like used CDRs and common junk. My desire sort of came from my mum, even though I was a child prodigy in both music as well as fine art. I’ve just been hard-wired to be creative, and I can pretty much do anything I wish. And if I can’t, give me an hour and I’ll go and read up on it and then be able to teach it. Srsly. I’m a freak that way. I used to love the NBC show The Pretender, because I could always identify with his freakish ability to simply decide to do something and then be able to do it with a high-degree of technical skill, enough to fool everybody.

That's what I am...a huge fraud.

I draw and paint, do scrapbooking, card-making, taught myself floral design, decorated my own wedding cake from a magazine (I’d never even picked up an icing bag before that), they gave me the nickname The Adhesive Queen while at Michaels, I use glitter on everything and have even tricked out my Chuck Taylors, I’ve done digital design work for many years (I design book covers, do web-design and other graphics work and AM available for hire), I have a real eye for colour, and really, if you know your colour wheel, you can pretty much cross-pollinate into a variety of craft areas.



You were homeless, right? Could you explain?

This one’s still painful for me, and SO much frakkin’ crap has happened to me, truly--it’s the stuff nothing short of epic movies that last five-hours and need dinner breaks and frequent rub-downs. But, I’ll try and keep it short. And not cry. Very raw, still.

On Dec. 1, 1990 at 8:00 AM, I collapsed on the way to German class with chest pains. Was in hospital four-days, but after many tests they couldn’t tell me what was wrong. Fast forward to 1991, I’m now living in Nashville and attending Belmont University on a Trumpet scholarship. Again, my chest muscles seized up and I was having trouble breathing, and as a trumpet player for all but ten-years of my life, that was devastating. I couldn’t put enough PSI through my horn anymore. After a trip to my internist in 1993 and many more tests, she threw a pamphlet in my face and said, “You have Systemic Lupus.” She referred me to a rheumatologist who told me I also had Fibromyalgia with costochondritis and would never play my horn again. After ten+ years of research on my own, I discovered the two go hand-in-hand a lot. And the bad part is that both Lupus and Fibromyalgia are chronic pain illnesses. Oh, joy.

On November 4, 2008, I lost my job at Michaels due to my illnesses. I was able to finish a second job as a seasonal floral designer, but on December 16, 2008 that one also ended. I’d also had my disability turned down once already and awaiting the decision from that appeal (which finally came in January of 2010 with a final denial). With my being four-months behind already on the rent and the rental guy not willing to work with me, my three cats and I officially moved into my Volvo on January 9, 2009. A friend let me stay on her sofa for the next three-weeks, but during that first week, I lost my 13-year-old brown tabby who was my heart. The change proved to be too much for her little system. And I still blame myself for Isabella's loss. I was so poor when she died, I couldn't even pay her vet bill and pick up her ashes. I still cry major painful tears over that one.

In February of '09, I found a temporary lease situation from Craigslist and I couldn’t have been happier. However, I was still having difficulties locating a job and paying my rent. I finally got my unemployment, but it wasn’t enough to take care of my new rent. Add to that two 20-year-old children for landlords, convinced they had the world figured out, the girl whom of which absolutely hated me for having an IQ at least 40-points higher than her own. (I’ve been a MENSA member for many years.) Trouble with her began and one day when she tried to let my cats outside for spite and I walked over to the door to close it so they wouldn’t escape (they had six of their own, so I’m not sure what crawled up her arse), she told her mum on her cell phone that I had just assaulted her. The cops were called and I was arrested and jailed for two days before I could get through to my dad so he could contact someone here to bail me out. And to add insult to injury, she filed a restraining order against me, which automatically evicted me, which again, left me homeless. (I’ve never shared this with anyone other than those who went through it with me, so this is very difficult for me to write right now.) My cats had been left in their home for two days without food and I was convinced they would be dead. I was a mess, because they are all I have. My ex and his wife bailed me out on the second night and allowed me to spend the night I got home on their sofa, and the next morning we contacted the local police to find out how to retrieve my cats, my car and my things, since, according to the terms of the restraining order I wasn’t even allowed to call and set up a time to pick up my things--that would be considered indirect contact and it would’ve landed me back in jail. Jail. Damn, I still have a hard time with that. I was raised a very moral person, taking care to always follow the rules, and to think I had a record is still something from a nightmare.

But, anyway. The cops tried to retrieve my medication and my cats but no one was home and they couldn’t break in. They were able to finally get through and ordered them to not touch anything of mine. Did they listen? Hell, no. My ex was able to retrieve my car the next morning and that’s when we found out my cats were no longer there. I was crazed. So as soon as I got back my car, I called the local shelter on a hunch, thinking maybe she’d taken them there. She had, against the orders of the officer that had spoken to her. I remember driving at 100-miles-an-hour to get to the shelter. Literally. I drove so fast I ended up tearing off the left headlight of my car--it had been loose. And I’m so glad to say that while they were scared, Playdoh and Honeybump were glad to see me and I couldn’t stop hugging and kissing them for two straight days. Or crying.

So, I was again living in my car. Until my pastor told me about a boarding house situation. I was there for the next year on a government grant, until the grant got illegally pulled and several of us were evicted. I was to move out on May 9, 2010, and exactly one week before that, my Volvo was repossessed because I was one day late with the payment. That time I landed on my ex’s couch for a week until I attempted suicide. I couldn’t handle anymore, and I’d been assaulted on a blind date. I was at. the. end. After being released, I lived out of an extended-stay hotel for the next month or two (thanks to my unemployment and benevolent friends--I now owe more money to friends than I ever did to the mob), until a friend told me that one of his friends in a very affluent neighbourhood wanted to rent an extra room in her home. I moved in here July 1, 2010 and have been here ever since. With my cats. In one room that’s bigger than my original apartment ever was.

However, thanks to my unemployment running out in the middle of February, my time is again limited. As of today, I have one-weeks’ worth of rent left and then it will be me on the streets, having to put down my cats. Years ago after being in college the first time, my federal loans were discharged due to my disability. Except for one. Here we are, so many years later, and I’ve just learned that the final loan is about to be discharged, thus enabling me to return to college in June. It’s about the only way I’m going to be able to get back on my feet since they offer services for disabled students. And btw, they turned down my disability a final time last January, so even that avenue is out. So, if I can just find some way to hang on until June, then I will finally be on the road to getting my life back.

Y’know, close friends keep telling me that only good can come of this hot mess I call my life and that I should write about it. I don’t know if that will happen, though. It took me three-weeks of putting this interview off until I was finally able to deal with the reality I’m now sharing with y'all now.



What are your favorite movies?

Comedies, natch, and anything where the stories centre around realistic space travel or airplanes; anything scientific that isn’t fantasy. My uncle Keith (RIP) was on the team of original aerospace designers that created the Space Shuttle. His brother-in-law and sister were both Chemical Engineers. His brother was head mechanic for San Francisci Int’l Airport and now his son is retired from the same position. My dad’s cousin in Frederick, MD is a private pilot also (he calls he and I a couple of fixed wing nuts) who is retired from both the government and private sector as air traffic controller. My dad had a dream of flying rotary wing aircraft. So my absolute favourites are Space Cowboys, Pushing Tin, Armageddon, and The Day After Tomorrow come to mind. I also adore Enigma--one of the most original movies I’ve seen in quite a while. I also love Harry Potter and anything period like Jane Austen.



What are your plans for the future?

To hopefully have one.

To become an Emmy-winning and gorgeous comedy writer for television, stand-up and land on the NYT best-seller list for fiction; to complete study so I can get my Commercial Pilot’s License and complete my double doctorate in both Applied Mathematics as well as Theoretical (possibly Astro) Physics. I already have the topic of my physics thesis and would like to teach Theoretical or AstroPhysics in a University. I’ve been fascinated with the topic of Cosmology and that’s thanks to my dad. Growing up on a farm we used to sit outdoors in the lawn chairs during hot summer nights and simply stare at the stars, discussing God, where we came from, where we're going and how we can catch a beam at the speed of light to get there. I want to prove that a benevolent God and the laws of Physics are no longer mutually exclusive.

I also hope to land on my feet, meet my future husband (as soon as he divorces his current wife) and move into a real home again with my two whiny, codependent and self-absorbed cats, who drop acid behind my back and treat me as if I’m the hired help.



You say you’ve been an actor. Have we seen you in anything?

Yes. My work has been seen on The Discovery Channel with Sir Ben Kingsley as well as a sitcom on NBC in the late 90s for a few years, not to mention being the first-call comedic actress for video work here in Nashville. I’ve performed comedy at The Kennedy Centre in DC, as well as stand-up clubs here in the mid-south and DC as well. I studied improv with Second City in Chicago and love writing/performing comedy.



Frustrations about writing?

The business, period. Just because you have a well-crafted and original story doesn’t mean that’s what the market will bear. If you go the traditional publishing route, then you must get your book through the gate keepers, and that’s tough. Even if everything is right about your manuscript, it may not be what’s currently selling and the gatekeepers represent business, not art. I've learned that it doesn't matter how good your story is, unless they think they can sell it, they'll take a pass on it.

And if you go the Kindle Direct Publishing route, again, you are selling your book to potential readers, and if the hot topic is cats and your smoking-hot manuscript is about culottes, then no one will be interested. And all I can add on a personal note to that, is thank GOD that vampires are now falling out-of-fashion.

So, like anything else, it boils down to a big numbers game. As in acting, only 10% is about talent, and the other 90% is about tenacity. It’s a business not meant for the faint of heart.

And requires lots of self-medication.


Where have you been published?

My first publication was for a now-defunct writing web-site and was my short-story called Zen In The Art of Absurdity in 2002. Then in 2004 I published a flash fiction of 500 words entitled, Bitch that was published in the Small Bites Horror Anthology. Rob Walker and Joe Konrath (I was Joe's first web-designer) also had stories published there. In fact, it was due to Rob that I found out about the Anthology. I was Rob’s web-designer (thanks to Joe's recommendation) at the time and he mentioned he was submitting a story. He’d been helping me with edits on a story of mine about a UK serial killer called Blood Alley and said, “Why don’t you submit something?” Bitch, my story about a female werewolf was born. Wrote it in an hour and took six to edit and make it perfect. An hour after sending it off, it was accepted. And it’s never been that easy again. :D Then I didn't submit for many years while being married, mainly because I'd convinced myself I had no talent for writing, and have begun submitting again recently. In September, HerNashville was interested in a comedic essay of mine called Freaks and Geeks, in January I published a historical fiction short-story called Secrets with the prestigious Copperfield Review, and in April will publish my second comic essay about living in my car entitled, Pardon Me Miss, But Are Those Your Knickers In The Sink? for Dark Comedy Hour Journal.

Draven, you’re an absolute sweetheart and a doll for making me drag up all this repressed pain. I’ll be sending you my psychotherapy bill.

END INTERVIEW






Carla is one of the unheard voices out there. Before you read past this interview, think of what you would want from someone else, if you were walked on, chewed up and spit out by life. She is a warrior striving to live in a world that is upside down to her. We have all felt at our lowest before.

Thank you for helping lift her spirits. Now, you can find more about Carla here:

Her Official Web-site: http://www.carlarene.com

Her Official blog: http://carlarene.blogspot.com

Her Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/carlaauthorpage

Where you can purchase her jewellery designs: http://www.etsy.com/shop/0pus

Become a 'Twit' and tweet with her: http://www.twitter.com/carlarenecomedy

And here is her official mugshot:

A Prayer Before Dying

Almost five percent of the nation has panic attacks.

Are other writers coming out about having this horrible problem? Panic attack have been bothering me for a while now; in fact, one is really doing a number on me right now. But my kids are taught to man up and accept their responsibilities, so here is what plagues me.

At first, fear said some people might attach panic attacks to me, as if there I have a defect. Readers may see my name and consider there to be a problem with me as a product.

It seems that many horror authors are thought of as being depressed or demented in some way, so coming out about any mental problem sounded like a bad choice. Hopefully, those anxieties were nothing more than misguided paranoia.

While lying up stairs and watching Deadwood, rolling ideas over in my mind, my chest started beating quickly. My pulse began to rise until it drummed inside my head. The more rapid it felt, the more my senses tugged me toward the heat in my arms, the pain in my head, my shortness of breathe and inability to concentrate on anything else. As those sensations threatened to drown me, the fear of death overwhelmed my thoughts.

This is it. I'm really going to die this time. Oh God, make it swift and painless.


Will anyone read the message in my novel? But what will my friends think? Will my kids be okay? Will their mother miss me? Will they be able to pay their bills? Will they have love? Please give them love... Did my life mean anything? 

Will anyone remember me?

After those thoughts, my usual prayer began to roll out. Well, not really a prayer, more like a thought process that helps me sleep or die. While breathing in through my nose, my mental mind tried to visualize a stream of air coming from a point on the wall, near the television. When air shot out of my mouth, the focus was to picture a stream of air retreating.

But the only picture that came to me showed me dead..

So I've come downstairs to write this, not knowing where it would lead. Perhaps my writing can be a form of therapy. Maybe not.

But there is a speech, sort of an internal dialogue if you will, that goes on in my mind. It helps me relax when I am afraid of relaxing.

Maybe death is here, knocking on my door. Perhaps I've lived long enough, or my meaning for being is already served. That would be comforting, at least. 

But I am afraid we blink. We blink and we are gone. There are no strawberry fields, or trains to nowhere. There is just this and we are dust in the wind, as the song goes.


But I hope your real, whoever I'm speaking to. God, my dreaming self, or maybe just delusions... perhaps all of them are connected.

Either way, I've had a good life. If life is done with me, at least there will be no more pain. Worry will be gone, and I never did care too much for that emotion. 


No, it is time to close my eyes and sleep, even if I may not wake up. Death is preferred over suffering, mental or not. How cruel is it, to make a man feel like he is dying and tell him that it is all in his mind. How cruel is that to create?


Whatever waits for me, gather all of the karma and goodwill that may have been amassed in my lifetime. Pool it together let it feed my children. If goodness brings goodness, let it be. I can not rest without that promise.

And I need that rest; it hides not far beyond these empty walls. So let my heart race, the finish line is near. It may be scary, but it is an inevitable destination. Just help me face it like a man.

By the time I finished this, I've felt much better. My new medicines help, but this certainly did. Talk about hard edits! 

Draven Ames

 

Singularity

When you look at the singularity movement, written about in last months Time Magazine, there are so many questions that come to mind. There are moral implications that have to be explored, social issues and a host of other questions. Some religious people will go so far as to say that it must mean God is coming soon, because he would certainly never grant man eternal life.

For those that don't know what the singularity movement is, I suggest you pick up the article and check it out. In short, it had a prediction by the man Bill Gates says is the foremost authority on the future of transistors and computers - the very same kid who invented the first computer that created its own music. His prediction was that humans would create real AI within 40 years, and that we might be able to download our brains into androids. Could it be true?

This was something only thought about in scifi novels and movies, right? Time Magazine said we better start thinking a little differently. There are universities devoted to bringing us just this kind of future.

What happens when our brains can be mapped? Mice are already being studied for dreams, their brains are being mapped out and reconstructed with computers. We are getting close to being able to recreate an animals brain - without any tissue. What does this all mean?

We talk about how imperfect humans are all the time. What happens when our brains can be sifted through like an index? Who controls what? Will thoughts be outlawed? Who decides who can have this? Does this solve our problems with space exploration? Is race forgotten? Will things be like Singularity, the movie? Or will humans surpass our prejudices and move onto thought crimes and brain mapping?

Do we want to live forever, and could we even deal with it, if we did?

Our brains are being mapped out as we speak. Soon, scientists hope to be able to decode the way we think and, perhaps, what we think. What does that mean to you? What will that change in the world?

This can't be true! I thought so, at first. But in a world where companies patent life, mess with the DNA of animals and plants, then pass it on to us without long-term testing, what won't science do?

The Delusional Doom Blogfest

   Predictions of my own death are easy for me; lying on my bed each night, those thoughts are pushed away. You see, my body has felt like it is dying on me for a long time. My heart pulses in my head and it's beating too fast; each of my vertebra crack and pop, along with every joint in my body; something burns in my stomach, as if a monster is inside and it's trying to eat my intestines. There are so many other things, but... well, who wants to be bothered with the particulars?

   Hopelessness plagues me and can make sleep almost impossible to find. Do you know how scary it is to feel finite?

   The only way darkness will carry me off to that place of rest is if, somehow, I can convince myself that death is preferable; the end of my world sounds comforting, compared to the pain. Like Nirvana, I sometimes want Penny Royal Tea, but it has always seemed far too selfish to go out like that.
 
   Hopefully, the time of my departure is far off. There are so many things that have been left unsaid, stories that have been left unread, dreams that have been left undid, and novels that have been left unwrit.

   So when everyone looks at me like I'm crazy for putting up my music, writing out my songs, editing and re-editing my novel, doing comics, movies, poems and short-stories, they just don't know... I have to leave a legacy. There has to be some kind of mark to say that my existence will be remembered.

   Someone has to care.

   I was a soldier in life - now, just a soldier in strife. Laying flat on my back, it hurts to do anything else. The computer wants me, calls me, letting me know that a story is ready to bleed out. But it's painful to sit for too long, so it seems like today will be comics. No matter what the doctors offer to take away these feelings of death, pills will never take control of my life. They would only serve to slow me down, and there is such little time left to run. I may not control my death, but my life's mine to live - damn it.

   By the time my novel is ready, the world will probably cease to exist and the truth of black will be revealed. These four white walls that have trapped me for so long are falling down, but they only fade away after it's too late to live a life. Let it be a warning; let my life mean something; please, if there is a God, let my story change one person before they become me.

   Don't let them be trapped.

   Only when faced with the true possibility of my death, after staring it in the eyes on my way to the hospital, did the strength for change ever reveal itself. They like to call this new power of will 'Self-Actualization.' It feels about right, too.

   My death is coming soon, I can feel it; hopefully, my life will have meant something. There is so much more to write here, but my back hurts and two hours of sleep just isn't enough. Maybe, if luck will serve me once, I've exhausted myself enough to dream of a better life.



Link to blogfest.

When: The Ides of March (March 15) obviously
WHAT: SOMEONE WILL DIE!

You can do ANY (or all) of the following:

Predict your own death

Predict someone ELSES death

Write your own obituary

Write someone ELSES obituary

Plot a murder of someone sorely asking for it, step by step

I don't care whether you do it by story, plot list, news article, PROPHECY (any seers in the group?). All I ask is that SAID DEATH be either very strange, unusual, bizarre...conspiratorial... or that the reporting be entertaining.

Save the Reader, Save the World.

You were trying to run as fast as possible, but the train always seems to come a few minutes early, and you are always a just a little bit late. Every time you leave your house in advance, thinking to beat the system, the train would be extremely tardy. Don’t things always work out that way? The ironic circle of life always made you feel like God might just be a writer.

But you're not sure there is a God anymore, are you?

Little coincidences fill every page of your life, the way sadness filled Anne Frank's diary. Sometimes the strange things that happen to you even make you question reality. When you read a good book or watch a movie that ends up being a dream, you think it could just be your subconscious trying to tell you something; existence is questionable.

In fact, you see little things that are off center, or too coincidental, every single day of your life.

Like you could really be that special.

Looking down the aisles of the train anytime you travel, you notice that you are the only one who is usually talking. Does anyone speak to each other anymore?

In the world of cell phones, where communication is so easy and accessible, no one remembers how to use their lips anymore. People look at you like a murderer if you speak out of turn. Are you trying to rape them? Do you want their money?

It is all just another quirky turn of fate that makes you question the world you exist in.

You don’t get off on your stop, knowing that you will most likely be late for your next train. You haven’t given up; it’s just how the world often works.

Sometimes you think of buying a new car and driving to all of your appointments. But you wonder what good that would do, with the rising cost of oil and gas in the world.

And isn't that another thing? The whole world seems to be fueled by old dinosaur bones – fragments of a forgotten time, left over by a race that once ruled the planet the way we do now. Scientists say the ozone is being ripped apart, which will lead to everyone's eventual death by destroying the remains of the life that was on this planet before us. And we bury all of our dead together in huge cemeteries that might one day provide fuel to the next generation of monsters to take control of this rock you live on. Eventually, they will advance enough to burn themselves out like a virus. They will vaporize the world again, the same way that tear open the roof of our kingdom to wither below the magnifying light of the sun that holds more energy than we could even hope to attain.

You think of talking to people about your worries, your concerns, but you know everyone will label you as insane. They will throw you into a category with Charlie Sheen and the mountain men, labeling you as one of the insane conspiracy theorists. Who wants to be labeled as one of those? They always die first in the movies.

So you sit on the train, watching the people not talk, thinking about not buying a car, dreaming about dreaming, when the weight of the world falls on your back like a load of bricks. Old clichés aside, thoughts of the 2012 mark burn into your brain.

It seems they are always trying to sell the end of the world, but right now it seems real. It feels plausible, even if it’s a prediction or a prophecy from beyond the grave. Nostradamus said that this world would depart from existence on December 27th, 2012. Maybe he got the date wrong. Maybe you’re not remembering it right. Do the specifics really matter?

The food shortages in Haiti, the fights in Darfur and the Congo, the push for more resources around the world, the genetic modifications of plants, Time Magazine talking about the Singularity movement, the wars overseas and talk of a world superpower known as the World Bank… it all makes everything look so hopeless and close to the end.

No has to sell you this. You have eyes; you have ears.

You have Netflix.

If it is true, and your future is set in stone, then God must be a writer, you assume. What other kind of person would create such a lush back-story with things that come full circle like a big joke? This is our human tragedy.

You spoke with your psychologist about it; maybe you didn’t, but you think you should have. But they would just say you should take two of these and not worry about it. If you dwell on it, you will drive yourself insane…

But that feels insane, doesn't it?

So what do you do?

Maybe you take your pills, get on your cell phone and ignore the world like everyone else. You sit on your train that is always late, bringing you to another train that will always be late, while knowing that you’re on a career path to nowhere. You watch sports or entertainment, or E! True Hollywood Stories and MTV, so you can see the people that dare to live their life the way you could only dream. You spend so much time idolizing them that you never realize, if you were to put that same energy into doing something you love, you could be them.

But it is so much easier to lay back and watch.

It’s so much easier to just be complacent.

But as the deadline for the world approaches closer you begin to wonder; should you tell fate to kiss your ass and choose your own way out, your own exit? What would stop you? You can do anything you set your mind to.

If only you had known that before.

Yeah, everyone's parents said that line. But it was different when they were talking about other people; you’re special; you always were.

Why did it take so long to realize that? Why did you have to fail before you realized that you could succeed? You had to choose to fail, didn't you? That seems to be the ultimate, ironic twist of life.

Looking back, you sometimes wonder if you ever even lived in your own past. Did you wake up a few months ago, in a world that wasn't your making, seeing everything through different eyes? Maybe you just now became aware of yourself. Was it because you’ve become knowledgeable of the world at large, or are you a simply a character who doesn't agree with your back story and the script that was laid out for you?

Are you destiny's child?

Destiny already has enough bitches; someone has to be impregnated from time to time.

As these thoughts, so many other ideas, and all those funny coincidences tumble around in your brain, you wonder if the writer of this story you read could be speaking to you. Are they reaching through the cables and trying to slap you awake? What are they trying to say?

You wonder if they are preaching, or if they’re trying to say something in particular. You come to a notion, perhaps because you were so late to arrive on this train of thought, or perhaps because it is typed out in this story, but regardless, you end at a destination of wonder. It may not be the only destination, as there are many stops on every train. Your train has passed so many stops already, but it is a destination that you have to see. You look at the exit and realize that they might only be trying to tell you that you have a choice.

Or this could all just be a dream, an illusion or a story that is trying to teach you something. It might be trying to explain to you what love is. It might be trying to show you how to hate. But it is probably really just trying to teach you that you have a choice in all things.

Everything in this world seems bad for you if it is something you desire. You want the person who doesn't want you. You bore of the person who loves you.

You realize that you are not the devil on your shoulder, nor are you the angel on your other; you are the perception and awareness of the two. You are the one who justifies the things that you judge others for. You condemn one person to die, but hope and pray for your own survival and redemption.

You begin to wonder what everything could mean. Could this really be a illustration of your mind?

Does that mean you will go to hell if you perceive there to be one waiting for you? Will you blink out of existence if that is what you expect to happen when you die? Should you let 2012 define you, as many let Y2K, greenhouse gasses and so many other things define them before?

You get off of your train of thought and stand at a crossroad. The train will come again, but you don't know where it might take you. Should you get on another, or should you jump in front of the next? Maybe you should walk away from the train altogether, simply smiling at the witty words or downplaying them as a failed attempt at a badly written second person story.

Or should you take a moment and reflect?

Are you the one that this written about? Could you really change the world by deciding to be whatever you want to be? Can you break down the walls of illusion and chaos? Do you realize that you can make changes in a reality you see as wholly fallible?

As narcissistic as it sounds, the world might really revolve around you. Or is that just another dream they are trying to sell you, so you won’t look around and try to change things. So you won’t reach out and attain what they want to keep.

You realize this, if you have taken nothing else from this story: You have a choice.

In that, you have a semblance of power.

Hopefully, you see how special you really are.

Save the reader, save the world.