Well, between strange encounters, random supervillain activity, Sludge getting put in bio-toxic zoo, and the general chaos of life we call being an adult, I know I forgot to mention so many things that have happened over the last few weeks. It’s not like I didn’t have a buttload to talk about between Doctor Quantum announcing the franchising, the rise of a new Sentinel Society, and I only have time to update this once a week (soon, my pet, soon I will tell tales and spend all day at my keyboard updating this blog and letting people see the real me in the view of this seemingly four color world in which we live. One day, I shall be a professional…. But it is not this day. BTW, anyone remembering writing at work when there was little to do at the office or when you had caught up on all your work? I heard a secret once about a woman who writes the dirtiest erotica she could think of while she was at work and she hoped that her boss would never catch her doing it. This isn’t me, by the way. I write the dirtiest erotica on my lunch break on my own laptop when people aren’t trying to read over my shoulder because they are insensitive pricks who need to mind their own business. I’m looking at you, Bubba. Now go away. Thank you. Remember when you couldn’t be sued for this sort of crap? I digress.) So the world progresses. The supervillain has made it to the primaries. I’m not even going to say the name of this whack-job other than to say it’s going to be an interesting election. And possibly our last. Choose wisely, my friends. The Economy of Bridgeton continues to boom, or more accurately, fester. There is little room for the swell to grow so it packs onto itself over and over.
There have been more and more Candy wrappers floating on the wind and that should scare me to the core. The flyers for the Church of Gravitational Constant have made their way to the TRANs station, littering the floor more than I like, but at least it’s there and not being passed out by caped wearing acolytes of his Holiness, Grand Master Grav. That’s San Niebla level of weird. GTI announced another level of expansion. They called a press conference where Xander Scope,flanked by Formosa, Thunder strike, and a fleet of ADAM units, announced the acquisition of some office park space in outer Ducklyn… right across the street from our apartment complex. Kay and I both flipped the Bird at the screen when we saw it. There went our rent or any chances of finding reasonable accommodations… ever. More on that impact later.
But there are good things around too. The Quantum Academy, people still just call it “the Hill” has been trying to promote both their efforts at community building and looking for recruits in the area. I think I saw a few people taking the tram on tryout day. However, it could have just as easily been groupies or other enthusiasts of the meta variety. Funny enough GTI also held tryouts on the same weekend so the rivalry continued. I can only hope that these two institutions never have football teams or a charity softball tournament. I doubt this or any other city would survive, and that’s just the fans! Granted if they did play a tournament of anything from dodge ball to chess, great and global powers would probably attend to keep reality safe and lesser heroes would have to step up to the plate in a big way. That many metas in one place would leave a significant gap any villain worth their sulfur would try to exploit. My bet, the next time there is a championship for best meta around, we would loose Cleaveland. This is assuming Buckeye and Brutus are willing to leave their city. I hear they do good work.
And yes, I am excited for the recent barrage of Movie trailers they released. I’m damn excited to see biopic of the Kestrel, First in Flight, but I’m worried the race card will be flung at the audience like a bad magician at a poker game. Look, I get that she was a Chinese american woman in 1920’s in a state known for its racism and that wasn’t easy. Hell, the trailers make it look positively brutal. I don’t want to make little of that situation that needs to be shown as a dark underbelly of our central civilization. I mean, I knew she started off as a washer woman when she was like 6 and all, and all harsh realities of daily life have to be appreciated for that But that’s not the past I’m interested in. This is the first Kestrel, people! Number one! This is one of the first Masked Avengers to pop up and clean the streets armed with barely more than her wits, a mask, and two revolvers. It’s was like she fell out of a pulp adventure comic and right in the middle of Bridgeton. Sure there wasn’t much of a town, not like there is today, but the crime was rampant and here she was, no backup, no special gadgets or powers, just her. And this was at the time when people like the Cane and Dread Midnight the first showed up on the scene, not long after Captain Lyons and Elizabeth Lambert both retired and the Stoker disappeared. Still, if they do any justice to the character, I’m going to be in line for this one.
Then there is the fifth Black Terror movie, which looks oddly good, and the twenty second reboot of Target and Pyroman. I love these characters so much but really, can’t we just get a few of them right. For the record, I think the Target animated series is really good and Pyroman, well, I have such a fascination of this character. I just wish those who kept doing the movies with him, you know, read the material! Of course they did get Geoffry Robins on this go round as an executive producer, which, if history is anything to go by, will either be legendary or just suck. We will find out this November, won’t we.
This world is so huge sometimes, even when galactic powers stand in the sky and call us puny. There are so many stories, so many heroes and villains and those who defy either label. So many people just making their way, engaged, blind, or incoherent to the world around them on so many levels, and yet the technicolor world blossomed with tales and legends so quickly I can barely take the time to catalog them let alone report on the strangeness of daily life. Every day, a new story, of which I can barely make a dent in telling. New saviors arrive from beyond imagining to start their quest for greater glories, like Penelope, or as her handle calls themselves, the Role Player. I can’t even tell you all the personas she has manifested with that magic die. Old legends make their presence known to remind us of what horrors we have survived and what wonders we have witnessed. Hell, Humbaba the Ogre got bored in is self imposed exile and destroyed Barstow, Arizona. Thankfully it was just a settlement of several dozen and not a major town, like the time he attacked Sin City, leveling the Augustus Palace Casino and nearly taking out the Oasis before the Paramericans finally managed to put him down. He still kept asking everyone his riddles though. I read that one 98 year old man who had lived there for most of his life answered three in a row standing up to the monstrous beast. Humbaba gave him a golden staff (Gods know where he got it or where he was keeping it,) patted his head and left. Whomever that guy is, sir, I salute you! (I don’t suppose you would let anyone photograph or scan said staff would you? Nothing so far? Ok fine. How much is a fight to Barstow anyway? There are no flights to Barstow and the nearest airport would cost me how much? So much for that plan.)
And so the world turns. The story progresses and things must change. To that end, as I mentioned before, I guess this is our way of announcing it but we are leaving Bridgeton soon. Not right away as we are waiting out our lease. I’ve started applying for jobs in other cities because of it. Honestly, and this is a post on it’s own, Kay and I have had enough. We no longer fit in this place and the sooner we find a place where we do fit, the better. And with the rents skyrocketing, the soul sucking jobs, and over all, a feeling of loneliness and isolation we feel, we can’t survive here, just as we couldn’t survive San Niebla.
For the record, I heard about the Anarchist Army building in Ashland, the GTI take over of the San Niebla city council, and the swarms of Deep Things that pretty much now own most of the Treasure Island Port. I’m not going to say much more than I wish those I know there the best. I hope they are safe, that order comes back, and that things turn out ok. If not I know several metas ready to step in and at least one house of magic dedicated to keeping Berkeley safe… and weird but that’s a different story. All will be well people.
And it’s that same feeling that we sense building here. We know that we were the accidental vanguard of invasion up here, or at least it seemed like it and we will miss many things about the area, mostly the weather, the mountains, and several local metas. I’m going to miss the Golden Grog and the casual friends I have made there as well, but we have to be where we can make a living safely and sanely. I’ll update as more news arrives.
In the meantime, people, do what you have to do in this strange and amazing world. Keep up the faith when you can, seek solice in others when you can’t. Look out for the villains in your life, and fight for what you think is right. And as always…
Keep Dreaming.
Daniel
I was reminded that this blog was originally intended to be something of a travelogue, kind of a point of view of Bridgeton from the eyes of a San Niebla/ Space City/Metroplex resident. There are more cities to add to that list, but that would be giving more about me away than I’m comfortable. Suffice it to say, I’ve been around. And I have discussed some places in and around here, and yes I talked about my feelings about the supers here. There is so much to talk about and so limited time. This is one of the reason I scream to myself at night, wanting to be at my computer spewing out stories for hours at a time just to get the good ideas out of my head where other people can hear them and yet I can only put down somewhere between 500-1000 words a day during my lunch break. Before you ask, it’s a habit thing more than anything else and there are so many distractions at home for the limited time there. The work provides me with the structure and the isolation I need to get some good work. In exchange it takes most of my time in a day and can drain me severely. (See post on Soul Sucking Jobs) But this is just rambling about books, so today, as sad as it feels, I’m going to ramble about books. No, not my own. I’m saving that rant for when I have a decent cover artist for the at least one book I have done.
Granted there are vast numbers of book stores, including a decrepit one that smells of mold, smoke, and archaic volumes of forgotten lore, which claims to be Bridgeton’s Oldest Bookstore. However, like many bookstores here, these ancient homey markets feel more like a tradition than a business, a hobby passed down, father to son, to keep a mediocre store alive with the same stock that it opened with so many years ago. I admit, I went into BOB once and thought I found some ancient grimoire of unknown and incalculable evil underneath stacks of old and crumbling Starlog magazines. Turned out it was a very nice collection of Lovecraft stories, complete with annotation from scholars and sorcerers, hand bound as an art project sometime in the late eighties. The store asked far too much for the tome and I walked away. I honestly wish them well. Every town is in need of a good bookstore or seventeen. There is a structure downtown that has spread all over the Bridgeton area. I’m not complaining about that in the least. One of the Icons of the Bridgeton
Life pages, Portal’s Books is a sight to behold. Or at least it was.
For those who don’t know, Portal’s started as an independent book store just off the center of downtown, renowned for its rare book collection, huge selection, strange pulps still for sale, and a local flavor. It has expanded to several satellite store including a massive former warehouse in Duckland mall where it hosts book signings sometimes taking over the whole mall with hordes of people trying to get Felicia Day’s, William Gibson’s, or Togrusa the Impenetrable Darkness’ autograph. Personally, I couldn’t get into Felicia Day. William Gibson was such a nice guy, and Togrusa the Impenetrable Darkness’ book was nice enough when he wasn’t getting all preachy.
They carried new and used books some imports, and other hard to find items. Across the state, it became the name to know when it came to finding cheaper books, the new hot volume, or just something no one had ever heard before just so you could tell your friends you read something they can’t comprehend, or before it was cool. No one has to know. I won’t tell.
On our first scout run, we spent hours lost in the store, enjoying the feel, the wondrous nature of being surrounded by such works. For the record, for years, K and I would love to wander around books stores, like that Half Price chain, just seeing what was available, what new flavors (and cheap prices were available) so getting lost in Portal’s felt like home to us. You just have to get used to the fact that you will get lost, but it’s not your fault unless you can handle the non-Euclidean geometry of the hyper-dimensional architecture of the building. The strangest part was wandering through the garden section trying to find the Graphic novels. It wasn’t that the gardening section was all that weird, other than the fact that it was on the east side of the river and about 3 miles away. I still have no idea how I got there. I called K to ask her about it but she was trying to work her way back from Ducklyn using the knitting section as a point of reference. She knew she was still in Bridgeton when she was flipping through the anthropology section and if she could follow along to the psychology section she might find the help desk. The help desk really was helpful, for once. We laughed and vowed to spend many of hours wandering the enchanted halls.
That was then. When we returned, we expected the new and fascinating books to come leaping off the shelves like a deranged harry potter fan fiction. But we saw the prices go up and the arrogance with it. A new upgrade to the building left it hollow. The prices (a subject for which it claims was renown) left us flat and disillusioned. For the record when we say the used was too high, we are not talking about going online for books, I’m referring to the other brick and mortar places we used to frequent. Suddenly, “Used” meant “15% off.” And “Remnant,” please get it out of our store translated to “Ok, you suckers, you have talked us down to 25% but at least look like you are getting a deal or we will fart in your latte, capeche?”
The reality, like any good magic trick, is less stimulating the seventh or eighth time. Suddenly the four primary walls of the store seemed less a limitless border like a Tardis in reverse, but the warehouse it used to be once long ago. After my third visit where I left feeling a strange malaise of disappointment, I started to wonder if someone had found the imagined magical sigils painted on the walls to alter time and space and scrawled graffiti over them, disrupting the mystic energies. It was so strange. Strange enough that K and I went back several times go figure it out, and try to find several books that other stores refused to carry. We found some of the books at least.
Years after that first visit and just as I was suspecting the spell broken, I bumped into a co-worker at one of my MANY temp jobs who told me the secret that kept me wondering what happened to this fortress of Solitude turned agent of bibliomancy. He had worked there for many years, actually espousing the merits of their employ until one day…
“They sold out.” He told me flatly.
“How is that possible?” I asked. “They are a book store. It’s not like they are suddenly like a Bucky and Donna’s or some other chain.”
He shrugged. “They found the internet. Suddenly, they found they could get better prices from people willing to pay shipping for all sorts of books. So they made a Nile account and quietly put most of those really cool books up there. Half of the rare books disappeared; including this one really cool ancient tome of Lovecraftian stories that always gives me the creeps. Four weeks after that, well, the place didn’t feel like Portal’s anymore.”
And he was right. The timing corresponded to our feelings about the place. In essence, they sold their soul online like so many others. That for me felt like another Bridgeton staple we have come to expect more and more as we get crankier and more despondent with our current situation, the illusion of greatness treated at the genuine article rather than anyone pointing out something that was once great that had fallen into disrepair. Still Portal’s like so much of the area of geeks and freewheeling spirits could be a great thing again, if anyone could see what it could be rather than what it presents itself. Gods help them see it for what it is. It might kill the store entirely.
And he made me wonder how many strange and archaic tomes of Lovecraft stories are floating around this town, let alone the nation.
[Edit: according to a reader, MrMystic93, there were 13 copies in the Bridgeton area as of 2007. He says that most were bought by an anonymous collector in New Amsterdam last year who keeps them behind four inch panes of glass etched with Enochian script. When I asked how he knew this my tea grew intensely cold. The fun part was I don’t remember making tea whatsoever let alone getting a steaming mug that went from piping hot to frost covered in a matter of moments. I also don’t own a mug that says “I Heart The Depths of the Human Soul Long Since Devoured.” So I have no idea how you did that MrMystic93, but bravo. BTW, the eldritch horror pinup girl on the reverse side was a nice touch. I say was because two days later the mug dissolved into oak leaves. Probably should have taken a picture or two, and checked on my magical wards.]
So I’m heading to the Ducklyn branch soon. I still support my local bookstore, though I get more from the comic shop than I do from the Portals. You never know, there still might be a wondrous book in the back somewhere that they have all forgotten about, sitting, waiting for us to find the magic inside. Either that or the new Black Terror book might be out.
Keep Dreaming
Daniel
Yep. It’s official. This isn’t the smallish city we moved to. Not even remotely.
I get that everything changes and cities change all the time. And I could look at the fact that traffic is pretty much impossible some days with what was once 12 minute drives now stretch double if not triple that time. On clear days, new and lost drivers rocket past, almost causing crashes in lanes normally occupied by slow and, I have to say, the most courteous drivers I have seen. I haven’t seen fingers but I have seen the aggressive tailgating.
I could look at the fact that the TRANs system is smashed in like sardines, or the lines for The Caffeinater. It’s something to behold, even more than my San Niebla days. It should be noted that the TRAN system is impressive from the outside and not quite so much now. People are hit on and screamed at by people who go from friendly to rampaging about someone being a secret communist in the amount of time it takes to check your watch. The smell is unbelievable on most days on a system noted for it’s cleanliness and the occasional medium sized wild animal jumping on board to get to new grazing fields. Now it radiates pot, people with nowhere better to be, people with very important places to be, and people evading something, though I dare not ask what.
I could look at the soaring crime rate, the new gangs that have sprung up to take advantage of the lack of bounty hunter laws and new pot growers that sprang up in light of its recent legalization. I could even point at things like the possibility of a new Questor Tower, the strong GTI presence, or the fact that at least instances of CANDY have popped up in missing persons cases involving young girls prompting people to wonder if the boogey man of all villains has sought a new flavor in our humble little berg.
Even our rent is skyrocketing thanks to some nonsense show called “Bridgetopia” acting as advertising for every comedic hack and every self entitled, green devoted, skinny jean wearing hipster who thinks that this is a great place to score concert tickets, ancient vinyl albums, and rare action figures as they bemoan how “conservative” the rest of the world is, usually before getting the 10 dollar vegan, gluten free beer from the man who bleeds elephant blood, has done so for several generations and will stick little Jesus pamphlets to the bottom of your glass when he thinks you aren’t looking. (Yes, we know these are people too. Some of them I also call friend. Also for a record, I just realize what I wrote. I know there is at least one master of the rant in Texas I know who might be proud. The rest of you are still trying to figure out if what I wrote is technically a run on sentence. It isn’t. I checked.)
These are all valid observations and true and some would argue these are the growing pains of an emerging economy and cultural center and they might be right. But I have one retort that comes to mind as I look out of the windows of commuter train that currently stands still on the Iron Works bridge:
Grand Master Grav has come to town.
I know this because I can see him out the window, hovering above the city, or more precisely, above the river that bisects this town. It’s been a while since I have seen a card carrying supervillain of his caliber this close, especially one who like the attention this one does. I for one had no idea gravity could affect sound as this one proclaimed his coming. No seriously, I can hear him through the Lexan and steel of the train. For safety sake, the conductor has told us to hit the deck and pray he doesn’t notice us. Amazing how many people don’t follow basic instructions.
Like the others on this train, I’m worried what sort of wrecking ball he might become when he lights up his gravity powers. We have all seen the footage of his fights with Dr. Quantum. When he gets into a mood it’s more than a little devastating. But of all the passengers here, I’m actually giddy and furious at the same time and for pretty much the same reason. We have become so popular as a town that we have attracted an A list supervillain, a Omega level threat. I mean I saw some of this sort of thing before but Bridgeton is supposed to be a quiet geeky town of weirdness, not the center of a possible minor apocalypse. I have seen the hero and villain scene here and it is fascinating but now it must interact with a larger world and community in general as the local heroes, and probably some villains as well, do their best against someone who can fight Most of the Quantum Family to a standstill. And I get ringside seats if I’m not dead. I still blame Bridgetopia.
"Bridgeton is a lie!” He is shouting. I can heard him through the windows as if he is in the middle of the train car asking for donations. Oh gods, he just announced his intention to elevate the town to new heights. For a gravity controller, this can not go well. Is he going to levitate buildings again or create a massive sinkhole with the city floating above it. He has been known to do all these things with the flair of a ringmaster with a god-complex. I peak my head up to get a better view and hoping I’m not about loose anything like my eyesight, my ability to breathe, or neural tissue. Again, these things have been known to happen to civilians. I can just make out several streaking forms coming towards him from the Hill. I can also see local ADAM units marching towards the river side to get a better shot, giant robot gears whirring into place as they stomp their way down Riverside. If their power neutralizers work, the cops might just do the impossible. Somehow I doubt it. Huh, I wasn’t sure how many ADAM this city could afford. All I can say is that, a) I’m a little surprised, and b) so that’s where the TRANs budget for repairs have been siphoned.
I can sort of see that with his costume looking like a strange parody of Dr. Quantums, complete with a lightning “G” on his chest in correspondance to Doctor’s “Q.” At least the quantums don’t wear the cape. But still he keeps talking. I see a signal light lighting up around the Hill. The familiar blue and silver flashing like a beacon light from on top of the tramline. I think the Questors just got the message. I hope they will make it in time before he decides that bridges are just tethers to the ground keeping up from reaching our full potentials as humans. It’s like hearing a circus ringleader explain new age doctrine. And he isn’t shutting up. He keeps referring to the Quantums as his “arch-rivals.”
I send a quick text to my wife telling her I love her and if she loves me, she will just delete my browser history and give my collection of action figures to the 501st. (The Star wars figures, that is. And only the ones she doesn’t want. The Greedo was her find after all.) My other collector memorabilia she can sell and get something good with it or just donate it to the Quantum Outreach program, or the local Hero’s league. (Don’t let the name fool you, they are amateur hero imitators, both real and fictitious who visit kids in hospitals. Nice guys.) I have no idea if she will get it in time. He’s still talking and other passengers have already brought their heads up to look at the figure looming over the river.
Holy Hot Pangolin! (Yes, I use a curse from a Douglas Adams story. Don’t judge me.) He just announced his intention to create a Church! No really! This guy has lost it something fierce. I’m almost more relieved that 4 streaks of light and flapping of cape can be seen soaring from the hill in his direction. I’ll only have to hear his rant about organized religion and his place as a power among the gods for a little while longer. With any luck, he will make a total ass out of himself and turn his attention to the now seven people I can see making their way to deal with him.
“People have lost sight of the truth of the world.” He announces, like he is trying convince a scientist Noah’s Ark is currently in Cascade Mountains. “They have lost sight of the gravity of things.”
Why do metas feel an overwhelming need to pun?
“I am Gravity! I am the will of the universe holding itself together. I will show others how to harness the will of the world for themselves. They will know the greatness within that only comes from the raw power we can all possess!”
The silver streaks are almost upon him when he holds up a red silk scarf pulled from gods know where.
“This is just a hint at the power I possess. For all who are worthy, I offer this power freely and legally.”
Grand Master Grav raises his arm. I can see the streaks of light slowing, now more clear as several Questers, and Doctor Quantum himself. The cavalry is here. But they aren’t fighting. Admittedly any sort of fight here, above the water, in the middle of downtown, during rush hour would be more than catastrophic. Hell if things went bad, Grand Master Grav would just pull the city to space. If he got high enough before they incapacitated him… well, you’ve seen the recent Avengers movie right? Not that I expect Grav to be that psychotic or willing to kill every living thing on the planet, I just wouldn’t put it past him in a moment of desperation just to demonstrate the “Awesomeness of his power.”
Wait, that didn’t come from inside my head. He actually just said that phrase, that stupid, cliched phrase. I can’t believe it. I look up again as he sniff the scarf like a lover’s token and the world ripples around him. With another wave of his hand, he sends the clutch of Questers towards the river, halting before they hit the water.
“You will understand my power one way or another, My good Doctor!” He shouts, tipping a nonexistent hat towards the Questors below. I can now see one is Doctor Quantum himself, held fast around rippling energies, none of which can penetrate his force field but they can move him around like a billiard ball.
"They will find me.” He says to the Questers, then bellows to the city at large, “You will all know where to find me if you are worthy!”
Gods, what a ham.
With that, he flies off towards a clutch of towers to the east side. I can only guess which of the neo-gothic churches and cathedrals in the city he might take up residence. Within seconds of his departure, the Questers suddenly fly skyward a bit too fast at first as gravity reminded itself was a constant, should get back on the clock and stop showing off. Immediately they pursued but as I can tell you later, they failed to find him. With his arrival, it’s only a matter of time before more and more villains come to town, probably pushing out the native monsters to other cheaper districts like Ducklyn. Crap!
So we have an omega level threat in residence. So much for our sleepy little berg. At least the donuts are good here. But it’s not enough. We may have to do the impossible. We may have to leave.
Note: Sorry for the grammar, everyone. I was writing as things were happening and uploaded later. I know at least one teacher I worked with getting ready to inform me what kind of hack writer I am. Ok that’s my take on it. I’m sure he would tell me to continue to work on my craft, the hone my skills but otherwise I was very creative in my story telling. And he hasn’t even seen my novels. Still the internal critic is speaking up and I’m going to get a drink to kill that idea before it really picks up steam.
More soon
Keep Dreaming,
That includes you Professor Bart Phillips.
Daniel
