>Depot Maglev Train

>

>Nexus Maglev Train

>

>Synchro Point Spire

>

>The Phoenix Crest

>

I had this in the book for some time, but hadn’t gotten around to conceptualizing it. To be honest, I wasn’t sure whether it would work or look good. I’m happy to say I’m pleasantly surprised, and adds more of a mythological mystique to a Cooper, who is supposed to be something divine and beautiful in a dilapidated, post-apocalyptic world. In addition to being a bit fanciful, it operates to help connect Cooper to the rebel forces’ network, command and control, communications. Her visor also links up to different sensors and optical devices she’s able to attach to her bracers.

>Falling Out, Part IV: The Crucible

>

“I cannot persuade myself that a beneficent and omnipotent god would have designedly created parasitic wasps with the express intention of their feeding within the living bodies of caterpillars.” -Charles Darwin

The southern, most populated areas of Iraq are the marshlands. The conditions, if I may use an ironic pun, are Biblical. Were it not for the occasional rusted out automobile, the appearance of non-functioning powerlines, automatic weapons, a periodic industrial structure, everything here is straight out of the Old Testament. Most of the people lived in small mud brick structures, roofed with thatch, with no running water, electricity, or ready food supply.

Golf Company rolled into this area using the dirt roads on raised berms built up through the marsh. The population lived on these areas the most of course. We sometimes threw out spare MRE’s, but didn’t have much to give. The CNN camerman hitching a ride on our IFAV (Interim Fast Attack Vehicle), knew the most Arabic of all of us. One of the men shouted something at us and we asked what that was about. The camerman looked at us, “He said he’s hungry.”

I read later in Generation Kill, the most accurate book to be had on Iraq, at least for the time period I was there, the author remarked on what he thought of the locals. “One of the few comforts I have when looking at images of distant suffering is the hope that the starving child with flies on his face doesn’t know how pathetic he is. If all he knows is misery, maybe his suffering isn’t as bad. But this farmer has shattered that comforting illusion. He’s wretched, and he knows it.” At that moment I felt the same thing.

And it didn’t bode well for a belief in a God of Justice, a righteous and all-knowing king, loving and benevolent. All my life I had believed that God was love. This didn’t shatter my faith outright, but it certainly put in another dent. There were other things in Iraq, involving the people, and some of friends, that I won’t go into that also stirred troubling thoughts to my still theistic mind.

Before then, however, as stated in Part III, the men of faith I believed in had already cracked the shield with their blissful, proud refutation of established scientific fact. But even if they were wrong, I knew God would still be right. How could he be wrong? He knew everything. And I always took comfort that he was just, and would look after those who were humble and penitent. Yet, I couldn’t square the exceptionally beneficial life I had been bestowed and that of the suffering in the rest of the world. Nor could I, nor have I ever, made sense of how I went through the same experience of a million other American and allied servicemen, and never got a scratch on me.

Was I lucky? If so, why weren’t the others. I saw myself as part of a right and just cause. I still do. I have nothing but hate for Saddam Hussein, his sons, and his legacy. You can’t look at the people of Nasiriyah and not feel nothing but contempt for the scars you see in their eyes and on their flesh. When the statue fell, and word arrived in the city, thousands of people flooded the streets, tearing up sewers, digging up soccer fields, and storming abandoned buildings looking for people they had not seen in years, people long ago disappeared by the regime.

Should I thank God I was not born in Iraq? How does he determine this? How could a just being bestow such prosperity on one people and their descendants, and not others? We could say it’s because we’re all sinners, and the whole lot of original sin, but I already knew too much. I was a history buff, and knew that our prosperity was born in the blood and sweat of our achievements and crimes. We had won our battles, settled our land in spite of the native tribes, and advanced our own ideology in the face of long odds and in the shadow of our own commitments of genocide and slavery. We tried to be righteous, and for the most part the good people won, and that’s how I came to be where I was.

God had nothing to do with it. And I started to realize, God either had little to do with anything, or didn’t need to be involved at all for things to be the way they were. On my second deployment I didn’t bother much with the on-ship Bible study. It wasn’t as interesting or energetic as the one before, plus when I said the words I normally said during intros, “Hi, I’m here to study the Bible and learn more in my walk with Jesus,” it sounded hollow. I couldn’t even speak it loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Shortly after our return from my second deployment, I began a very quick outprocessing from the Corps. My end of active service date was three weeks away, and I was going on terminal leave two weeks before that. Everyone wanted on leave. When I got home, I went to church at a local Catholic parish. I remember sometimes how much I loved going to church, but those would be the last two times I ever went.

Let me just say at that time I had plenty of experience dealing with the Protestants and Evangelical criticisms of Catholicism, and having learned their theology and rejected their “6,000 year old” Earth, or universe actually, I felt pretty confident I would remain Catholic. Then there came news, something about many young boys, who had been entrusted to the care of these celibate and holy men, having been sexually abused by priests and others in the church hierarchy. I had heard of a random case here and there over the years, but this seemed too far widespread. These weren’t some aberrations. And the way the upper level leadership handled the situation perhaps disgusted me most of all.

Had this come out two years before, at the height of my theism, I would have felt deeply betrayed. But after Iraq, after the Corps, this didn’t surprise me. I think that fact is what mattered most of all.

Add to that, this whole time, I had been fighting or waiting to fight Muslim extremists. The actions of Muslim extremists had been no less heinous. 9/11 definitely shattered for me the belief that Islam, while most of its adherents are decent, peaceful people, is not the religion of peace. I studied it as well, and it is probably one of the most expressly violent religions, having standing orders to commit acts of violence against non-believers as well as having a history of spreading its word by force of arms.

All in all, the world of religion began collapsing all around me. It took more time, but for the next five or so years, I remained pretty nonchalant about most religious affairs. I often defended the side of the Christian arguer, though not particularly espousing it. Yes, I voted for George Bush in 2004, but that had mostly to do with John Kerry being a sniveling, backstabbing piece of crap than anything I liked about Bush.

During that time, however, I was slowly building up a repertoire of knowledge in a subject I had not studied for a long time, at least not intensely since I was a child. In my pre– and post-military years, politics, war, and military history had been my subjects of choice. I didn’t draw particularly intensely, or well, for that matter, and exercised my creativity in writing.

That started to change when I filled up my science credits for my journalism degree in community college. I ran into an exuberant, energetic teacher named Mark. He taught Geology.

>

Sketches for the neo-skins. Bout time I got around to conceptualizing them.

>Falling Out, Part III: The Age of the Earth

>”A common way to compute density is, of course, to take the ratio of an object’s mass to its volume. But other types of densities exist, such as the resistance of somebody’s brain to the imparting of common sense . . .” -Neil DeGrasse Tyson

So there I was, as most veterans’ stories begin, aboard USS Boxer for my first deployment (Western Pacific, or WestPac). I was still within my first two years of the Corps. It went from March to September, about six months is normal for a WestPac. As a young man, on a journey into the world, literally, it was a time both filled with excitement and uncertainty, and lots of boredom. Navy ships are built for combat, not comfort. And of course Golf Company didn’t want us slacking off, so there were plenty of classes, PT, and other training. It’s amazing what you can do in those confines locked in with about 1500 Marines and probably 400 sailors.

I spent many hours in the ship’s library, and heard about the Bible study being conducted by the Protestant chaplain. So, I stayed for it, eager to learn more about my faith, even though I was Catholic. A fresh view never hurt. Especially since I was already experiencing a bit of frustration. Most of the reading material on being Christian was for children. Almost all of it, actually. I had trouble finding anything real about Christianity for adults. Everything seemed geared to snagging up the children’s minds, and I knew the world was much rougher than that. Hell, the Bible was rougher than that.

So, there were two Protestant Chaplains, one for the ship, one for the Marines, who used to be a Marine and Drill Instructor himself (though his uniform now read Navy as is customary). Navy provided all of the services MOS’s, including medical personnel for those unfamiliar with the Jarhead Clan. Being Christian was very important for me in that time. It provided a sense of purpose, an identity, a sense of self. But in the end, it was my own Christianity. History was my big subject then, and that’s where I learned more about Christianity for adults. Wars, crusades, self-sacrifice, the place of the faith in the world. I wanted to learn more about the faith itself, so here we came to the Bible study.

For months it went well. I also went to the Catholic faith studies course, where I was prepared for Confirmation (which I hadn’t gone through as a kid). The Protestant study was very interesting, though. We dissected the gospel of John, then went on to Matthew. And I got what I wanted. Of course, there wasn’t a child at this study. There were two aircraft crewmen (one of which was black woman I found kinship with, though she was taken), a couple Marines from a unit, a Recon Marine, and three Navy chiefs. There was no sugarcoating. Something I found fresh, and a couple of hard questions were answered, with rather disturbing results.

The first question I remembered the answer to was about the slaughter of the Amalekites by Saul. Saul was commanded by the Lord to slaughter the Amalekites, every man, woman, child, even livestock. The question posed was how could a just god of love and mercy order such a thing? Answered the Navy Chaplain: “God knows all and sees all. He knows which person will spend an eternity in heaven or hell, therefore, if God commands you to kill someone, as he did Saul, it’s okay for you to do so. We think of the momentary pain, but if a slain child spends an eternity in heaven for it, than it is just.”

That answer always became more shocking the more I grew a brain. But at the time, I just thought, “I hope you’re sure God’s the one telling you to do it. Of course, anyone doing it today would be crazy.” What a stupid thought and I can’t believe I thought it. If anyone does it today? Anyone doing it back then, or any time, would be crazy!

Interestingly enough, the second question and answer made me do a double-take. I can’t recall the conversations that led up to it, but it was towards the end of the deployment. I remember being mentally exhausted and unmotivated, it was time definitely, for a break. After heat exhaustion in Kuwait, and an endless period on the water with no port, we could feel the stress on the boat. But this got a rise out of me. Put simply, Bible study person asked, “How old do you think the Earth is, Chaplain?” Answers the Chaplain, “Well, I would have to say the best estimate would be . . .” he paused, and my mind said billions of years minimum. The dinosaurs died out 65 million years ago, and the Triassic started around 275 million years ago, I knew from my interest in dinosaurs as a kid. So of course, believing in the knowledge of the living God, who knew everything, the Chaplain would naturally have an answered in the range of, “6,000 years would be the best answer.”

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. I said nothing. I just watched as the colleagues I had studied with over the last six months silently nodded, confident. Not me. My gaze shifted left and right, looking over all of them. No one questioned it. No one even looked like they were questioning it. Something clicked off then. I immediately felt ejected from this circle. I’m not sure if I ever went back, but that started a downward spiral from their ranks that never ended until I stepped onto the shores of rationality.

There were times I thought myself an extremist. I was very extreme in the views on money, greed, personal honor, and lust. I felt shame for my addiction to strip clubs, but then the taboo of it is what probably made them so addicting. I always sought forgiveness for many sins, and acted out my penance to a T. It was an incredible mental stress to be human and then hate yourself for it all of the time. Nowadays, whenever someone says they hadn’t believed in God since they were 10, I feel like an idiot. It took me till 27, even in the face of this garbage.

I guess I stayed Catholic for longer because when I asked the Catholic Chaplain of this question and answer, he shook his head and laughed. Catholicism had made nice with science, apparently. And that made me feel better, because I was Catholic in the first place. But I was introduced to a method of thinking, in my own country no less, that I thought was dead in all but the most undeveloped parts of the world.

I would learn later that the world was in a much worse state, even after having traveled Asia. On the cusp of the end of the WestPac deployment, a buddy shook me awake in my rack and said, “Hey, dude, a plane just crashed into the World Trade Center.”

Remembering a story about a B-17 crashing into the Empire State Building on a foggy day during WWII, I cocked my eyebrow and said, “What? Was it cloudy?” Then I rolled over and went back to sleep.

I was awoken again, and this time he said, “Hey, another plane crashed into the other tower.”

Then, I got my ass up. First deployment over. And I never got Confirmed.

> A sketch for Judicator Colonel Kul-man, named of the Guardians, a villain and leader of neo-skin soldiers from my book, Black Phoenix. Was a rather quick sketch, bout two hours.

>One Hell of a Thing

>So I went to my writer’s meeting and got a pretty fresh critique on Black Phoenix. It was well, something. By the end I could divide the submissions pretty evenly between those who liked and hated it. Two people said they loved it. More liked it but had reservations about the outfit, and two utterly predictable folks said they hated it. A third admitted he didn’t finish it, or more over, quit reading it because of all the distractions with the technology. He can suck a dick.

One female member said she had no problem with the outfit, just cover the butt. Weird. Another woman, whom I didn’t expect, said she LOVED it with a big smile. She identified Cooper’s (the main character’s) scanty outfit as a representation of a fertility goddess. I never applied those words to it, but it’s apt and kind of the point. That’s what I call a happy surprise.

Overall, I have no incentive to change what I’m doing. I took my hits, examined them, and have since fixed a number of issues. I did my research and fixed some things, which didn’t interfere with certain designs as some people wanted. And that’s how critiques roll. I don’t understand accusations of how I don’t have empathy for my characters “like I did in my older works.” Which is something I get tired of hearing. I care as much for my characters now as I did then. “I know you love your characters but you don’t have empathy for them,” he tries to clarify. Still don’t get what he means.

I actually feel a lot of the emotional reactions of my characters as I write. It’s quite the whirlwind, and in the end is what makes it fun and worthwhile. Of course these couple of people have been saying the same thing about my work for the last three years. I used to value their opinion. And I continue to write as I have, and I think much better as well. I go back and read the stuff they constantly reference and just think how boring and bland and clean it is. No edge.

Frankly, if your work doesn’t make someone uncomfortable or challenge someone in some way, it’s not something I’m really interested in. I’ve gotten to where I’m at by constantly moving forward, by pushing the comfort level, by getting outside my own head. I used to divide deep personal thoughts and the outer work. Now, I don’t. It’s had quite the reaction. The problem is, this is me. Keeping things bottled up and not pushing the envelope in a public forum was wearing me down. I was an insufferable prick. An asshole, prone to anger and a moralistic, hypocritical piece of garbage. I don’t want to be that guy.

So this is it. This is me. Deal with it.

>Beauty and the Beast

>I never had much stock in fairy tales, but the one of Beauty and the Beast I always found interesting. Mostly, it gives me hope. It gives me hope that a beastly thing like me could find a beautiful woman who could tolerate this “slimebag“. Preferably one that isn’t Asian. But that’s a whole other issue.

I kind of like the idea though, that a woman could be that nice and that pure to love something like a beast. The one problem is the ending. After spending all that time learning to love the beast, after getting him to warm up and to show the humanity within, he’s turned to a gorgeous prince by one kiss. What a cop out.

That’s also why I hate fairy tales. Even as a kid I don’t like them, and I reject even more how people keep stock of them even in their adulthood. Especially being in an art school and being part of a writer’s group, this whole happily ever after bullshit just drives me up the wall. Cause, here’s the reality ladies. You fall in love with a beast, he’s going to remain a beast. He’s not going to suddenly one day turn into Eric Bana or Christian Bale.

As such, the Beauty and the Beast mythos is flawed, despite how much I like it. Of course, in both of my major projects, some maidens fall in the love with the beast, but they stay that way. So I guess I’m doing it the way I want, but then my beauties are far from pure or innocent. One’s a dark-haired, dyed in the wool killer bent on revenge and borderline sociopath. The other’s a blonde superhuman warrior hopped up on Aphrodisiacs and she was promiscuous to begin with. But they are hot. Never said my writing was for everyone.

So in the end I guess that just falls into the “write what you want to read” rule. I’m not a big fan of the handsome prince at the end, cause in the end the beauty just falls into the same shallow category as every other ditz in a fairy tale. Besides, as the beast, his dick was probably bigger anyway. Sometimes you have to cut your losses.