December 2022 – Drip Torch Press

December 15, 2022 driptorchpress Daily Thoughts

Dailyish Thoughts #105

I used to do posts called “Dailyish Thoughts”. Each post was kind of a diary of my day to day happenings and thoughts. Apparently the last one (that I can find anyways) was way back in 2019. I guess my life got too weird to share after that.

After seeing such a gap, I’d like to start up again. Maybe people will read them, maybe they won’t, but for my sanity it might be nice to have a little place to vent. It may be every day, it may not be (hence “Dailyish”). This may mean that you will see two posts some days, but I’m sure you will forgive me for that.

So what’s up today?

Dealing with Taskrabbit and a client who hasn’t paid. I should have known there might be an issue when I helped someone moving out of an obvious eviction. Usually I’m the one delivering the eviction notices. This time I got to see the other side. Five hours of loading and unloading my van into a storage unit. So much stuff I would have left if I were them. So much stuff I would have sold to pay the rent. And now two days later no payment, yet they left a five star review…

Currently working on coasters for a convention this weekend. It’s the last one for a few months, so hopefully sales will be epic. Christmas shopping might help with that…

Fighting with a check engine light…. Scanner says catalytic converter but Google says it could be several things. With a longish trip this weekend and a much much longer drive to Virginia in a week and a half I’m hoping it’s just a case of overly cautious vehicle codes….

Cashed out my first $10 from Atlas Earth. It’s only taken four months, but for free to play that’s not bad. Plus it only compounds from here. I’m already up to $0.04 mere hours after cashing out! Here’s my link if you’re interested: https://r.atlasearth.com/WW3gj1i2Kvb or use OC2UT2

And that’s about it….

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December 14, 2022 driptorchpress Sci-fi, Story, Writing

“Document 13” A Dystopian Tale: Part 15

Welcome to Part 15 of “Document 13”, a dystopian graphic novel I’m creating with my daughter.

If you want to read the rest first, see the links below the post to catch up.

———————————————

The year is 2074, the world has been plunged into darkness. One girl, Sarah Doe, will learn the secrets of the dark forces that run the ruined world. With the help of a few friends, her family, and her own powers she will fight to return the world to an order not known since well before her birth. Will she succeed? Read to find out!

If you haven’t read the other parts, go back and read them first! (Links are at the bottom).

———————————–—————
**Scene:**
*Dr. Bureau’s office. Headmistress Matthews is impatiently tapping on the desk.*

HM: I gave you a month, what do you have to show?

Dr: I used Sarah’s DNA to track down her mother… At least I discovered that she is not in the clouds anymore. She could be dead or she could be unregistered. It doesn’t really matter but it did prove my hypothesis…

HM: Which is?

Dr: Sarah is a super soldier. She was bred in a lab by Party scientists.

HM: I remember your conspiracy theories about that program… Anyway, she’s a nightmare, having a super soldier does nothing for me if she’s impossible to discipline, and worse yet, impossible to kill.

Dr: I may be able to transfer it. I have isolated the sequences, I just need a few subjects.

HM: Transfer it? To anyone?

Dr: I don’t know for sure. You have a steady supply of orphans though. I’m sure you could spare a few. Females… I know your males are much too valuable.

HM: I do have a few troublemakers I could spare. But what do I get in return?

Dr: If I can transfer the powers to younger subjects there is a chance I could give it to older subjects as well.

HM: Ah, so I’ll be your guinea pig eventually. Will I be immortal?

Dr: That doesn’t appear to be the case. As I said during our last meeting, Sarah could burn or be shredded, or melted in acid. It is possible to die permanently. Sarah is aging normally, though it seems she reverted back to an earlier age when she died, so it’s possible her life span is virtually infinite. She could die of old age. The only way to know some of these things is to test. And I’d much rather test children first than you my dear benefactor.

HM: How long will these tests take?

Dr: Months? I should be able to see transfer results within weeks but it may take a while to determine if it creates real immortality… a whole lifetime, maybe more. With some disposable subjects I should at least be able to determine whether the regeneration and revival powers are transferrable.

HM: Fine, I’ll have some girls brought over in the morning. But if you aren’t ready in two months I’m taking back what’s left and you can dispose of Sarah however you can.

———————————–—————

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December 13, 2022 driptorchpress Sci-fi, Story, Writing

“Document 13” A Dystopian Tale: Part 14

Welcome to Part 14 of “Document 13”, a dystopian graphic novel I’m creating with my daughter.

This is a considerably longer post than the usual so hang in there,
———————————————

The year is 2074, the world has been plunged into darkness. One girl, Sarah Doe, will learn the secrets of the dark forces that run the ruined world. With the help of a few friends, her family, and her own powers she will fight to return the world to an order not known since well before her birth. Will she succeed? Read to find out!

If you haven’t read the other parts, go back and read them first! (Links are at the bottom).

———————————–—————
**Scene:**

*Interior of Dr. Bureau’s office. He is leaning over a laptop, squinting at charts and murmuring to himself.*

Dr:… Was I right? So many years ago… I must examine her DNA.

*He exits the office and walks down the wide hallway to the lab.*
*When he enters we see Sarah, asleep on the gurney, with wires attached to various points on her body.*

*He goes to a computer and starts looking through data.*

Dr: She’s 14… 2060… We were still implementing protocols then….how did she slip through?

*He continues clacking away at the computer. Sarah starts to stir.*

Dr: … list of program escapees…. Only six that year, this should be easy to narrow down…. Find DNA records of escaped subjects….

Sarah speaks softly from the gurney: Where am I?

Dr: Oh, you’re awake! You’re in my lab, I’m Dr. Bureau. I worked with your mother at one time. Now I just have to figure out who she was.

Sarah: How do you know my mother? I was orphaned. No one knows my mother…

Dr: It’s a long story. In 2060 I was working with a Progressive Salvation Party team to create super soldiers….

S: Progressive what? Super soldiers?

Dr: Yes. The Party believed the only way to reunite the world was to overpower all the other world alliances. We wanted an entire army of super humans who could destroy the Eastern Empire. Our team hoped to take advantage of genetic mutations noticed in children born in the late 2020’s. I won’t bore you with details.
Well… maybe a few. It’s been awhile since I had anyone to tell about it…
So. The Party only wanted men for soldiers, neglecting the fact that the positive genetic effects were noted most prominently in females. Needless to say we failed. Or at least we thought we did. I always told my colleagues that I believed the necessary traits would only activate between two x chromosomes, but they didn’t listen.
We engineered the conceptions to result in male children, but sometimes a female would slip through. We terminated when we could but some women escaped when they found out that they were carrying girls. It seems your mother was one of the ones who got away. Due to funding, no one tracked the mothers or the girls born to them, but I guess I know where one ended up….

S: What are you telling me? I’m a mutant?

Dr: (chuckling) Well, sort of. We never got to study the genes of positive outcomes. We didn’t have any. All the girls were aborted, save for the escapees, but we didn’t have the resources to chase them down. The program was mothballed in 2066 and the Party settled for having superiority in cloud cities. I wasn’t one of the lucky few to keep a position in the party. Thankfully I kept my life…

S: Why did the Headmistress bring me here?

Dr: She and I go back a long time. She was a Party member too, though she was working on different projects. We were purged about the same time….

S: Purged?

Dr: Yeah, there was a shift around the time you were born. The Eastern Empire collapsed and the government shifted focus from military projects to social change. I was moved to the same department as Headmistress Matthews, but after a few months they decided we were expendable. Our minds were no longer needed. Many Party members were killed but we escaped the Clouds and began our own “businesses” down here. As long as we don’t make too many waves they aren’t interested in pursuing us.

S: OK, but why did she bring me here?

Dr: Initially Matthews was frustrated that she couldn’t kill you. She brings me a lot of her problem children to work on. Usually I just pass them back after a little tweaking, usually it just takes a few pills to calm them down, but you were different. I need a bit more time with you, so I told her I can share your powers….

S: You think you can share this? (In a hopeful tone) Will it kill me?

Dr: No, Miss Deathwish, you’ll live for a long time if I get my way. Quite the opposite, you will be the progenitor of a whole race of your kind! I’m going to isolate the cause of the mutation and transfer it via mRNA encoding. If I am successful there will be many like you, and perhaps the Party will rehire me. Everyone wins.

S: What does Headmistress Matthews know?

Dr: Nothing beyond your virtual invincibility. Very few people outside of my department knew about the program. I tried to tell her about it once but she didn’t believe me. She is dumbfounded but she’s always looking for a way to keep her youth. It shouldn’t be too hard to convince her of your value.

S: Do you think my mother is still alive?

Dr: I have to reference your DNA with the subject database and then cross reference that with the census. If she’s in the clouds we’ll find her. Otherwise, who knows. A lot of them fled outside.

S: Outside? (In the safe havens?)

Dr: Yeah, not many people survived outside the cities during the ’36 eruption or the resulting famines. But some people think there’s safety out there. Didn’t they teach you anything at the orphanage?

S: No, just how to run errands and grow plants. And the boys do philanthropy duty, at least until they tried to get me to….

Dr: (laughing) Yes, I was told.

S : (Maybe I shouldn’t try to die. Ruby wanted me to get outside, maybe she knew my mother….)

Dr: I need to run tests, sit still.

*He cuts her arm with a scalpel.*

S: Ow!! What are you doing?

Dr: Just wait. How many times have you been cut in life?

S: Not many, we always had suits outside. And there wasn’t much to get cut on in the orphanage.

Dr: And how quickly did you heal?

S: I was always bandaged. If it healed quicker than average I wouldn’t have noticed.

*They both watch as the wound heals, not instantly, but over several minutes the cut disappears and leaves a slight scar.*

Dr: Curious… tell me, what’s your tolerance for the air outside? Matthews says you survived it.

S: I had my mask rip off once for a minute, I panicked and put it back on. When I was thrown out with Ruby I lasted longer than her but not more than 30 seconds.

Dr: And what happens when you die? How does that feel?

S: Pain. Then nothing. I see flashes of my life. And then darkness.

Dr: And when you wake up?

S: Excruciating pain. Then euphoria. I feel like I am completely new. Hard to describe…. I’ve only died a few times that I know of…

Dr: Fascinating…. And how are you so eloquent?

S: Ruby…. (she tears up)

Dr: I’m sorry. The cook… How long did you have together?

S: Just a month or so, it’s hard to tell in the safe room. But she taught me to read. I loved it. There was an old library at the orphanage and she would sneak me books. She said I was some sort of prodigy. I don’t know about that….

Dr: It’s possible, with your genes. Have you noticed you are better at physical activity than others?

S: I was the best fundraiser for the orphanage. Until the damn dogs… (she remembers Robin and begins to cry)

Dr: You have been through a lot. Let me give you a little something to help you rest….

———————————–—————

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December 12, 2022 driptorchpress Sci-fi, Writing

“Document 13” A Dystopian Tale, Part 13

Welcome to Part 13 of “Document 13”, a dystopian graphic novel I’m creating with my daughter.
———————————————

The year is 2074, the world has been plunged into darkness. One girl, Sarah Doe, will learn the secrets of the dark forces that run the ruined world. With the help of a few friends, her family, and her own powers she will fight to return the world to an order not known since well before her birth. Will she succeed? Read to find out!

If you haven’t read the other parts, go back and read them first!

———————————–

—————
**Scene:**
*Interior of Bureau’s office. Bureau sits at a desk with his name on it, HM Matthews sits on the other side. The office is cluttered, with stacks of paper everywhere. Everything is dirty and dingy.*

Dr. Bureau: When you told me she had come back from apparent death, I had my suspicions. I’m glad you brought her here, because my suspicions have been confirmed. (in his thoughts: and she may have just bought me a ticket back to my old job!)

HM: Enough chit chat doctor, why didn’t she die? She’s been a pain for me but I can’t seem to kill her. Is there a way to finish her off?

Dr: Well, yes, technically, she can be burned or shredded. Or you could remove her head, that should remove her regeneration abilities….

HM: Regeneration abilities? What are you talking about? You and that old Party nonsense, your little project failed, remember?

Dr:… as I was saying you can kill her. But perhaps you may want to reconsider.

HM: I’d rather see her gone. She’s been nothing but trouble. You said burning? I have an incinerator which should do the trick…

Dr: Yes, but perhaps you’d give me the time to study her first….

HM: Why would I?

Dr: Uhhhh, maybe I can make it worth your while? (shit, I don’t know if this is transferable) let me study her and I’ll give you my results.

HM: Fine, you have a month. At least she’s out of my hair for awhile.

December 12, 2022 driptorchpress Anxiety, Daily Thoughts, Life

Time Changes All Things

Less than one month until my 38th birthday. So close to 40. Still “young” but yet so old.

The picture above was taken on my 31st birthday. I don’t remember it honestly. 31 is not a milestone. Neither is 38. But every year is an accomplishment of sorts I suppose.

I don’t know what the 31 year old me would think of the current me. He’d probably chastise me for some things and maybe be impressed with a few other things. He would have much more to tell me than I him. I would keep my mouth shut mostly. He doesn’t need that kind of anxiety looming over him.

It’s incredible how blurry the past is. I remember bits and pieces out of my memory, but so much is based on photographs. And I almost seem to remember feelings more than events. They are almost always negative. I’m honestly not sure I remember “happy”.

That’s not to say it’s all been miserable. But “happy” is elusive. At 31 I was dealing with money struggles, a depressed wife, four children, a messy house, and the potential of starting a new career. Stress was ever at my door. It wasn’t miserable, but it was one long day to day struggle just to make it to the next. It was life, just average.

From other photos around that time I can guess I liked a good beer, my pipe (obviously), and I was still headlong into painting. I had pleasures. But happiness isn’t pleasures per se, it’s a state of mind.

Now that I am nearing 38 my life is very much the same yet very much different. Unfortunately, “happy” is still hiding somewhere under a rock. Most days I’m just exhausted. I have learned not to stress too much about the nonsense, but every day is a battle with my nerves ending in a stalemate.

So much of that battle is in my head, warrior brain cells are conscripted out of nothing to go fight against imaginary monsters. Thinking thinking thinking… That will solve all the problems. Nope. You’re chasing a ghost, dear synapses.

Time has taught me to stop worrying out loud. It has taught me to find solutions, not just thoughts. Physical, tangible problems *can* be dealt with. It’s the spiritual, metaphysical, and emotional challenges that have turned my beard grey. It is the time spent wondering about the state of my soul, my happiness, my love, my fears, my self-worth, etc that has wrinkled my face and worn down my bones and tone of voice.

I’m quieter and a bit less nimble now than I was at 31. But I’d like to think I’m wiser too.

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December 9, 2022December 9, 2022 driptorchpress Sci-fi, Story, Writing

“Document 13” A Dystopian Tale, Part 12

Welcome to Part 12 of “Document 13”, a dystopian graphic novel I’m creating with my daughter. I finally started writing again, so maybe I will stay ahead of the curve for awhile more.

—————————————————
The year is 2074, the world has been plunged into darkness. One girl, Sarah Doe, will learn the secrets of the dark forces that run the ruined world. With the help of a few friends, her family, and her own powers she will fight to return the world to an order not known since well before her birth. Will she succeed? Read to find out!

If you haven’t read the other parts, go back and read them first!
———————————–—————
**Scene:**

*Interior of a small cell. There is a metal slab serving as a bed, and a toilet in the corner. The room is completely empty and unembellished otherwise.*

*Sarah sits on the slab. She is wearing only a hospital gown and is softly sobbing.*

S: (I’m so sorry Ruby. Why can’t I save anyone? If I get out of here I will avenge you. You wanted me to survive, so that is what I’m going to do.)

*Two men wearing scrubs come in. Sarah attempts to resist them but they inject her and lay her on a wheeled gurney. They proceed to wheel her down a long hallway. At the end of the hall is a room with a small faded plaque reading “Dr. Stephen Bureau, Genetic Perfection Research Laboratory”. They take her inside.*

**Scene:**
*Interior of Dr. Bureau’s lab. It is poorly lit and filled with old equipment, mostly electronics which are left unpowered and some have been cannibalized. There are some pieces of newer looking equipment, mostly for phlebotomy. In the center is a small slab with a light over it.*

*Dr. Bureau is looking at a computer screen when the two men enter with Sarah. He is a stout man, with square framed glasses which contrast in a silly way with his round face. He is wearing a lab coat over a shabby beige shirt with a brown tie. His slacks are just a tad short for him.*

Dr: Put her there.

*They move Sarah to the gurney and strap down her hands and feet.*

*Dr: Leave her for now, I’ll call you when I need you. And tell Headmistress Matthews to wait for a call. No sense in having her nosing around in here before I know what I’m looking at.*

Men: Yes, sir.

*They leave the room.*

Dr.: Well Miss Doe, let’s see if you are what I think you are.

*He draws Sarah’s blood and begins testing it.*

December 8, 2022 driptorchpress Life, Poetry, Writing

What Does Poetry Mean to Me?

“What does poetry mean to you?”

That’s a tough question. @trucklife-family tagged me earlier in a post posing this quandary.

Honestly I haven’t given it much thought over all these years.

My poetry journey started as an assignment in seventh grade language arts class. It was my first year at a public school and hormones were invading my poor body. My first poems were probably about the girl I crushed on so hard in that language arts class but I can’t remember exactly which was my first poem.

I do remember that this is my first published poem:

“Their Hero”

“All the honor, all the glory,
What would they say
If they heard what really goes on?

Would they laugh or mock or cry,
At what their hero does?
Or would they pat him on the back and say,
“It’s okay.”

What he was doing was right,
But doing it was wrong,
When others are counting on him to be there.

He’s off somewhere else,
Doing his thing,
When others are in the cold,
Waiting on him.

But hey, let’s rationalize,
It was right,
But what it was, was wrong,
When there’s something more important
To be done,
His family is waiting.

But family is not important,
When there is work to be done,
Changing communities,
Changing lives.

His family waits in the dark
For him to come home,
And he does,
But not exactly.
When he’s there, he’s not,
When he’s gone,
No one sees,
Or cares.
No one knows him,
It’s been too long now,
But he goes about singing
His song oh how,
Changing lives,
Changing communities.

Why can’t he only change his own?”

I remember distinctly the night I wrote that. My relationship with my dad was a little better than my older siblings had, but it was still strained. He had missed picking me up from a scout meeting, and my Scout master took it out on me. Perhaps they were both jerks, but my dad made a better poem subject. He was heavily involved in local politics, and if I remember correctly he was at a meeting that Monday night.

My teacher enjoyed the poem and submitted it for publication in some obscure youth poetry compilation. I still have a copy somewhere.

After that, poetry became an outlet for all emotions, good and bad. At one point I even picked up a guitar and wrote full songs. Mostly to impress girls (unsuccessfully).

Once I got married and became a father life got too busy and poetry got pushed aside. Now that I think about it, everything got pushed aside. It wasn’t until I stayed home with the kids on the side of a New Mexico mountain that I started writing again.

Then life went to absolute hell. Poetry became an escape, a way to get through misery and subtly tell the world what was happening without saying exactly what was happening. One can’t call out an abusive narcissist directly after all…

Times have improved for me, which is bittersweet for my poetry writing. It’s nice to not be miserable, but my poetic mind seems to be fed by negative feelings, thoughts, and events. Hive and particularly the Blockchain Poets community has kept me going with the weekly prompts, I hope to keep participating as long as this place ia still around.

I love creating in many mediums, but poetry has a special place for me. It’s the one medium that I get to freely play with words and built a world as obvious or mysterious as I want. It also allows me to impact people and perhaps help them in their own difficulties. I don’t think I’m great at writing poetry, but even my mediocrity seems to touch others.

Thanks @trucklife-family for this question, which apparently came originally from @warpedpoetic, both of whom I greatly admire. One day I hope to be half as good as they are. 😊

Check them out and then answer the question yourself!

Thanks for reading!

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