The gates of Psycho Pasture opened after Jim ate the banana, and the whole host of pedophiles was unleashed upon the grand plane of paradise. There were some like Jim and the King, who had suffered innocently in the unlucky crossfire between the devil’s conceit and humanity’s prejudice – but most were pale and greasy and thoroughly guilty. Tens of thousands of child-raping men and women stepped out into the light and were bewildered by it. Continue reading “Escape from Psycho Pasture – Part 3 [Jim #19, Short Fiction]”
For two years Jim occupied a dungeon cell at Psycho Pasture. His leg was chained to a radiator, he used a stamping machine to make customized license plates for the non-rapist free peoples of paradise, and his cell mate was a pale and greasy man with thin hair and skin disease. Garvey was remorseless about his pedophilia, and Jim often tried to convince Garvey that he ought to feel bad about raping children.
“I mean, at the very least you know that you’re an asshole, right?” Jim said on several occasions. “All other considerations aside, all arguments out the window, in the absence of God and absolute moral authority – you still know in your heart that you’re asshole.” Continue reading “Escape from Psycho Pasture – Part 2 [Jim #18, Short Fiction] #18”
The Psycho Rapist Pasture wasn’t really a pasture. It was more like a circular prison that never came around all the way, and in the middle there was an off-limits garden. Jim figured calling it a pasture was some kind of euphemism.
“And if you’ll look over here,” said the chipper tour guide, “you’ll see the Masochist Chambers, where psychotics can torture, bind, mutilate, and rape a few lucky visitors. The facility is equipped with every known torture machine devised by man, dating all the way back to the bronze age – and a few that the angels cooked up themselves.” Continue reading “Escape from Psycho Pasture – Part 1 [Jim #17, Short Fiction]”
Abdulaziz al-Omari stood on the corner of a busy intersection in Downtown Paradise. He rang a bell and wore a cardboard sign that said, 911 was an inside job. He looked weathered.
Jim watched him from the veranda of the ice cream shop, spooning sundae into his mouth. The terrorist didn’t wear much for an expression – maybe it was sober and kind of defeated – and he just rang his bell with long steady swings of his arm. Every now and again a passerby dropped a nickel in his tin can. Continue reading “A Mile High in Paradise [Jim #16, Short Fiction]”
The Book of Jim: Agnostic Parables and Dick Jokes from Lucifer’s Paradise – finally published. Took me a few more months than I thought it would, but it was worth it. The paperback is slick as hell, the kindle works great, the illustrations are fantastic. Really happy with it. If you’re a nook-head, the nook version will be available as soon as I can get it to work. Epub is a nightmare when it comes to images. Anyway, here are the amazon links to the paperback and kindle editions:
The stories are still floating around on the blog, free as ever. Metadirt Part 2 coming soon.
Well, if you’ve been following these crazy stories at all, you’ll have noticed that there’s been a significant drop in the rate of posts lately. I finally got another story uploaded – if you didn’t see it on the main page it’s right here. It’s a two or three parter, so expect some more soon.
As for the novel, the manuscript is finished and the illustrations and cover are on the way, and all that’s left is the drudgery of formatting. The Book of Jim will be available in paperback, kindle, and nook real soon. For real this time. I promise. If it’s not, I’m either dead or insane or both, and you should probably look for something else to read.
The short film Limbo is finished. I’ve seen the final cut, and it’s hilarious. I love every second it. Fangso and Haines did a brilliant job on it. Most recently it’s been accepted to a film festival in Florida, and we’re waiting to hear from Tribeca. If you’re one of those amazing and intellectually disturbed people who put money into the kickstarter, hopefully you’ve gotten all the updates and goodies you were promised. If otherwise, get a message to me and we’ll make sure you get sorted. The film itself, you’ll have to wait a little while longer while it runs through the festivals. They can’t release it while it’s “on the circuit”. How big of a while I’m not sure. Probably a few months yet. And after that, it will be available for free online. Especially on this blog.
That’s it for now. Expect the book and some more stories soon.
There was a knock on the door. Jim opened it, expecting cake or tits or something else that was nice. Instead he got a face full of Billy Mays.
“Hey Jim! Remember me? We met at Lucy’s party. Well we didn’t really meet, you wore my head around for a while before you bashed everybody’s limbs off with a baseball bat. Of course you remember me. It’s the beard, everyone remembers the beard. You mind if I come in? I think I should come in. This is a lovely house! Wow! I love the couch! Is that Chenille?”
“Um, I don’t know. What are you doing here?” Jim wasn’t wearing pants.
Billy sniffed the coffee table. “Pine was a good choice,” he said. “Have you ever considered purchasing insurance against the eternal, Jim?” Continue reading “Metadirt – Part 1 [Jim #14, Short Fiction]”
If you’re following these Jim stories you might have noticed there haven’t been so many new ones lately. I’ve been exhausting most of my energy getting them into form for the short illustrated novel I hope to release before the year is out. Or at least by January. “From reddit comment to short film and novella in less than a year” – I like the sound of that.
The initial draft of the novella is complete, awaiting notes and a final rewrite. So far, my favorite blunder is the inclusion of Bridgette Bardot on Lay Lady Lane. Turns out she is very much alive and well. Sorry Bridgette. I heard your name in a Bob Dylan song and figured you were dead. I promise to do some research next time.
As for the short film, Limbo (here for more info), I’ve seen some preliminary cuts and they’re fucking slick. Congrats to Fangso and Haines and the cast and crew. And thanks again to everyone who contributed to the kickstarter. When the final cut is available online I’ll be posting all over this blog.
Also, when I release the novella, I plan to have the kindle version available for free for a few days. I’m doing a test run with my first novel Jarmo, and the kindle version of that book should be free on Oct. 1 and 2. This isn’t really a plug for it, I just want to make sure I know what I’m doing with this free promotion thing. But if you want to grab a free book, here’s the link. The promotion should run through Oct. 1 and 2. If you go there and it isn’t free, it’s because I’m an idiot.
Small Town, Paradise. Green yards and clean air and split-level houses. A post office, a police station, a grocery store, five bars and a set of stoplights. Autumn in the afternoon and summer in the evening, and every evening a new episode of Financially Stable and Moderately Happy Family.
Jim watched from up the road as a man mowed his lawn. The lawn was lush and smooth, already clipped to quarter-inch perfection, and still the man mowed over it. He marched back and forth over his square of grass for half an hour before cutting the engine, putting the mower in his garage, and entering his house.
Jim waited five minutes then knocked on the door. The man answered with a beer in his hand.
“I was wondering when you’d come around,” the man said. Continue reading “Cool Cogito, Bro [Jim #13, Short Fiction]”
I’m sitting with my back against the truth door. It’s a wooden green door without a handle and the Mexican that sold it to us parted with it easily. The U-Haul truck shakes at sixty and we’re doing sixty-five through eight lanes of traffic. I’m in the back on black rubber with the green door and the filing cabinets and discount drawers, holding the wire cage with one hand and wiping sweat from my eyes with the other. Through the cage – and it’s the kind a cage doomed puppies beg through – the Director is giving me a refresher on the Old Testament.
“The Bible is dirty, man. Genesis is dirty, Leviticus is dirty. Have you ever actually read through that thing? Yeah, of course you have. It isn’t Sodom and Gomorrah either, it’s the whole thing. It’s in the language and the obsessions. Circumcision and sister-fucking. Slaving. Two-dimensional characters. The stereotypes are true.”
“Are you religious?” That’s Production Design. She’s driving. The Director wanted a white truth door and she wanted a green one.
“No.” I’m loud and concise through the bouncing cage.
“You seem to know a lot about it. I mean, you’d have to.”
“It’s all interesting. I just never drank the cool-aid.”
“I’d be pretty surprised if he was religious.”
“Well you never know.”
The Director picks up where he left off, somewhere in Joshua maybe, and I close my eyes and lie down.
The Writer. It has a different meaning out here. There’s a wild and desperate energy in it, almost hopeless. Everybody is trying to get made. I think, Marketability is the god of all scripts in a city with nothing left to say – and I wonder what that means and whether it’s worth writing down.
Production Design swerves and the truth door bangs my shoulder. The cabinets rattle. She’s going to paint the cabinets black for the final scene.
“Are you okay back there?”
The Director is on his phone. There’s a problem with a dolly.
“I really like the door,” I say.
“I like the door. The green.”
“Jim’s color is blue.”
“Your character, his color is blue. He’s a really blue character. That’s why the door has to be green.”
She either doesn’t hear me or it’s a trade secret. I sit back down. The dolly problem is getting worse. I drink the last of my water.
We’re on the side of LA where it’s 5 am and the buildings are old. I’m shaking hands with DPs and PAs, the AD and the DIT, and accidentally somebody just walking through. The gate to the lot is closed and the Director has to climb it and push it open from the inside. The building looks like a loading dock.
Somebody asks me what we do for fun in Minnesota and I tell them about the airport.
Production Design pulls up in the U-Haul and parks it by the metal stairs. She’s the exhausted kind of pretty, I think, the kind that only eats not to die and only sleeps not to go insane. Maybe I should write that one down too.
“Are you excited?” she asks.
“Yeah. I mean, here we are. 1 Truth Road.”
“Is it how you imagined it?”
I look at the building that looks like a loading dock. It’s gray bricks and covered windows and smells like asphalt and farts. A black stair leading to the roof is barred by a gate and a sign that says NO HIGH HEELS.
“It’s perfect,” I say.
I help her unload the black cabinets and the table and some chairs, a lamp, scraps of wood. And finally the truth door, dirty and cracked and green, laying in the emptiness. I grab the bottom, she takes the top, and we carry it through the lot and up some stairs and into the gray building.
I’m shaking another hand.
“We’re glad you made it. I really love your story.”
The Producer is taller than he looks. He sounds like he just went to the mattresses and somebody big is about to die.
“You liking what you see?”
The set is a white floor and two white walls. The crew is taping windows and plugging in cords and setting up work stations. The DIT is on a dark stage above us with headphones and a laptop. The guy on the ladder hanging lights is a Gaffer.
“I don’t really know what I’m seeing.”
“It will make sense when it’s all set up and Talent gets here.” The Producer gestures at the whiteness. “I’m not sure, but I think a few shots for the Matrix were actually filmed here.”
“If you need anything, get it from me or the AD. Have you met the Assistant to the Director?”
“Great. Have some coffee, man. Settle in. We’re making your movie.”
There’s a problem with the door. Production Design is standing with a fist on her hip. She’s looking at the ceiling in frustration and I notice that it’s the same pale green as the door.
“Need a hand?”
“The door is too heavy,” she says.
I get a little chill up my back. The truth door is too heavy.
“Maybe – could you just hold this while I screw these in?”
We need a free standing frame and all we have is wood scraps. I hold the door flush and she drills in some hinges. When I let go the contraption leans with a strange gravity. The angles aren’t Euclidean.
“We just need something to hold it up,” she says. “Something on the bottom here. The corner. A block or something.”
I see what she means. The door is suspended and it’s falling away from the hinges. We find a suitable piece of wood and I hold the door up with my foot as she screws it in. We both take a step back. The truth door is standing.
The last shot of the day. They call it martini. We’re fourteen hours deep and a haggard excitement is going around. The Director, I can’t tell if he’s surfing or directing or just passing the time, and I get the feeling he could do all three simultaneously and everything would come out alright. The Gaffer and the Grippers work like dogs under the hot lights and they’re ready for the wrap. The PA’s and the 2nd AD are half dead and sweating on a couch and the beautiful girls responsible for Make-up and Costume are whispering in a corner. The DP rides the dolly and when X marks the spot Talent lopes in with his ancient threads and moldy beard.
What looks like one white floor and two white walls is really an infinite white space. I’m looking at it through the Script Supervisor’s iPad. The pale green door and the tired and ragged Talent are etched stark and surreal. Talent opens the door and walks through and the camera rides the dolly out, fading out, pulling away and getting small. Smaller. It’s quiet now. Momentous.
A sad knock from the other side.
“I fucked up.” The deadpan is so funny it hurts. “I fucked up real bad. How do I get back in? Is there a side entrance?”
“Cut! That’s a wrap!”
Jon Benjamin on the first day of shooting. Just a super cool guy. Low key and funny as hell.
Me and Katie Wallack in the smoky loft. She was perfect as Angel.
Me and Dan Mintz in the writer’s pen waiting to get fed.
On the left is Kate, and Aella on the right. They played Cherry and Blueberry. I think the whole cast and crew fell in love with them. Me too. Some of you redditors might know them from /r/gonewild.
A panorama of some of the crew, getting drunk after the wrap. I’m going to get some of this wrong but from left to right is: Producer, Director of Photography, Assistant to Director, Camera, DIT, Writer, Script Supervisor, Director, Random Guy in Background, PA, Camera/DP, 2nd AD.
Thanks to everyone involved. I can’t wait to see what Limbo looks like!