ER2 and WTOT4 in Previews & Prelude to 423

Friday, March 25, 2005

Elk’s Run #2 and Western Tales of Terror #4 will be in April’s Previews which should be in your Local Comic Shops’ hands right now. Problem is, most comic shops won’t know to order it unless you tell them to. Hoarse & Buggy has made it easy for you by making this little order form here. Print it out, fill it out and give it to your local comic shop to let them know you would like a copy of these books. And, to make it even more exciting, Elk’s Run # 2 will feature my FIRST PUBLISHED COMIC STORY! A six-page back-up called “All the Wrong Choices” cowritten by my friend Chris Fabulous (who also did the layouts) and illustrated by Paul Maybury. So, as if you needed extra incentive, there it is. And when you read it, right us and tell us how much you loved Elk’s Run #2 but also say how much you sweated “All the Wrong Choices” and how you feel Jason, Chris and Paul should be the regular back-up team. Because, if you don’t do that, I’ll hunt you down and fucking kill you. You should get it anyway, because it’s the best book on the stands right now. And for all my family and friends that read this blog and gives me the “I don’t read comics” line, that’s bullshit right now, that line is expired, I’m calling you out. Ok, enjoy the story:

So I managed to establish myself as a dope smoking, heavy drinking, irresponsible son of a bitch, but it all changed the summer after sophomore year in college. I still drank, occasionally, but I rarely did any drugs. I became a responsible (and award winning RA) junior year. I made a ton of new friends. I got into improv the first semester, comedy acting the second. Senior year I was directing plays, and by the second semester I cowrote a full length musical comedy that actually made money thanks to CD sales. I spent an entire year single and couldn’t care less; I was having the time of my life.

I started writing a book about that summer; outlined the whole thing and put away about 200 pages. The novel started on April 23rd and went up until September 4th; quite possibly the most eventful and life changing months of my life.

I’m sort of bringing this up now because it all started with a dream that I had around this time, about a month before the 23rd. This is the story. I’m not going to tell it all in one sitting; I’m going to spread it out. It’s too big. It involves love lost, death, friendships, circumstance, chance and perfect moments. It involves the events that cause someone to completely tear their life down and rebuild it. I wasn’t a complete asshole yet, I was just doing some stupid stuff. But I was becoming a complete asshole. Last semester sophomore year I finished with a C-. I was a straight A student my entire life and out of the five classes I took, not one of them passed a C. It was really falling apart.

But, for now, the dream.

I’m walking through a burning city, fire all around me. The buildings are charred and falling apart, the sky is red and mixed with black smoke. I can hardly see through the fire, my eyes are burning. And I say that literally, in a sense, this is one of those dreams where you feel the heat, you feel your eyes burning. It’s so unbelievably real. I’m walking through the fire, scared, not knowing where to go. I can’t breathe; I’m choking on the smoke.

The fire parts in front of me and I see this woman with long black hair, a long black dress, no eyes, a red rose in her right hand and piece of paper in her left hand. I get closer to the woman, look at the paper and see the numbers “423” scratched into it. I wake up in a cold sweat and out of breath, just another nightmare.


No big deal, just a dream. I start seeing the number everywhere, license plates, phone numbers, random glances at the clock. I tell R, my lady at the time, and she tells me that I’m seeing it because I’m looking for it and the dream is just a dream. And she’s right, people do that all the time. How often do you recognize the numbers 911 since September 11th? I look at the clock probably a hundred times a day, quick glances at most, and whenever I see it’s 9:11 I get freaked out. But in a way, I'm looking for it, not the hundreds of other numbers I see when I look at the clock. No big deal.

But I keep noticing it and, chance or not, it’s freaking me out. I was talking to my friend Max (college Max) one day, just shooting the shit. While talking, I say to him, “I’ve been seeing this one number all over the place lately.”

“Is it 23?” He asks me. Now, granted, 23 isn’t 423 but when you’re already paranoid as is, it’s fucking freaky. And like I said in the intro, circumstance and chance play huge into this story.

I just turn white. Max asks me what’s wrong. “Why would you say 23?” Max, a bit of a hippy stoner, begins to tell me that 23 is a big number for alien conspirators. Apparently most abductions happen on the 23rd day of the month or something. He tells me more but at this point I’m hardly even listening. I was fully convinced that something really bad was going to happen to me on April 23rd and it was less than a month away.

Now I’m seeing the number more. Math problems, addresses, TV shows. I’m seeing it fucking everywhere and I’m getting seriously paranoid. It’s putting a strain on me and my relationships, most notably with R.

By the time April 22nd roles around I’m a fucking mess. I don’t want to do anything, don’t want to leave. I want to stay in my room and wait for whatever is going to happen. R can’t take it anymore, she thinks I’m acting like a loon. Blame starts being placed on alcohol and other paraphernalia. We get into a fight and she leaves. Now I’m alone in my dorm room, waiting for whatever (I admit, I thought “whatever” was aliens).

I had a bench I use to sit on at night on the Esplanade where I would do my writing. It was overlooking the Charles River, a solitary street light hovering over it. I would go there almost every night and rarely be disturbed, my bench was always empty.

At around midnight I decide to go down to my bench. I had a thing for it, you know? It was my spot, I felt comfortable there, creative. If anything was going to happen to me, I wanted to be on my bench. So I grabbed my notebook, threw it in my book bag and went down to my bench on the Charles River.

As far as what happens next, well, you’ll have to wait until April 23rd. Circumstance and chance, that’s all I’ll say for now. And starting next week, back to the funny filler material involving me being an idiot.

equilibrium sucks, fanboy: Magnolia

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posted by Jason at 3 Comments


3 Comments

Blogger Jorge Vega said...

"If anything was going to happen to me, I wanted to be on my bench. So I grabbed my notebook, threw it in my book bag and went down to my bench on the Charles River."

Now, that's a cliff hanger...

I hope this Jason guy doesn't get killed by the aliens. But I do hope he gets a probe or some type of alien citrus fruit shoved up the cornhole. Always makes for good reading.

11:24 AM  
Blogger Chris Fabulous said...

No shit, man. Talk about a cliffhanger. You couldn't write better fiction. In fact, I've read your fiction, and you can't. Ha ha! Just kidding.

CF

6:53 AM  
Blogger Jason said...

Good cliffhanger?

It's funny, never thought of my life as having cliffhangers. Let me assure you, the next part of this particular story is probably unlike anything you are expecting.

As a matter of fact, it's probably even more unbelievable than you are expecting. People who don't know me say I'm lying, people who do know me say that I might have actually been a little psychotic at this time (which I won't deny).

But it matters to me, it means something to me. Not in the 423 story alone, but how it plays out in the months that follow.

It's the soul of this entire blog, the heart of my blovel (I hate yet love that word).

12:47 AM  

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