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I miss having real friends.

Well, not really. I never had any friends. But these Internet Intimates, Coded Companions, or Digi-Friends seem strange and unfamiliar by comparison even though I don’t have anything to compare them to. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to meet up with one of them. Not in any funky sexual kind of way. You sick pervs should wash your minds out with soap. No, wait. Bad idea. That will probably do some sort of irreparable damage. Just stop thinking dirty thoughts.

For the Digi-Friends that I have profound conversations with, would our conversations turn to mundane comments about the weather in the real world. Or would the insights into the depths of human understanding be retained and indeed expanded by our corporeal interaction. I fear that the most amazing conversations would quickly turn to silence. The quick wit and amazing wordplay would be lost to fumbling stutters or long breaks in-between trains of thought. Oh. Woe are those who converse through their fingers in 140 characters or less only to meet at another moment to find themselves still holding their breath but with no device through which to speak. Digi-Discourse? The clicks of keys replace the clicking of the tongue betwixt syllables. Radiant glow of liquid crystal replaces the visage of an interlocutor.

Digi-friends will never be bother by a stutter. True. But what is lost with the breath between friends. The crack of a smile that follows a sarcastic comment is left only to emoticons and the parenthetical. I can only show my excitement, anger, or frustration with CAPS LOCK AND EXCLAMATION!!!!!! Dialect is replaced with use of acronyms. Lol or lulz? Context is everything! LMAO, ITT, WIN, CTOP, PWNED, LEIK, OP. Why is OP always a fag? And if everyone is Anon, then I guess no one really knows anyone and therefore the “friends” in digi-friends is left with just digi. Which is somewhat of a relief if you ask me. Since I never had any friends, but remember  reading somewhere about what they’re supposed to be leik, the comparison between what could’ve been digi-friends and friends was  a country that I would’ve much rather left undiscovered for fear of what I could’ve missed out on.

There’s going to be a war. This war is going to be fucking awesome. It’s going to decide the fate of the world and the gods that inhabit it. It’s going to be fucking choice! Blood, piss, guts, death raining down from above in splatters of matter and bone fragments. Never in the history of time, space, and everything has there been a battle like this. Not only that, there’ s a fucking mystery that needs to be solved too. This guy, Shadow, who just got out of prison, but it’s OK because he’s really a nice guy, is going to find out he’s the badest motherfucker in the world. Sure his wife died blowing his best friend, and her walking corpse is following his every motion, but that’s only adding to the fucking mystery, right?

For those of you whom may have read the book may know where I’m going to go with this.

Nothing happens.

Nope.

Nothing at all.

Many will probably say something like, “but the characters are so rich and intricate!” To which I wholeheartedly agree. I’ll also respond with a “So what?” If an entire book is building up to this promise of hell on earth and death and destruction to decide the fate of the gods, it better have a damn good reason on not delivering on it. I understand that the gods, having become twisted from their original incarnations, were only seeking the war for their own selfish means, which could come from the desperation of being in a nation that has become so ethnically mixed that no god can claim power or dominance without destroying the rest, and/or could even be understood as the constant tension that lies within the nation itself. But, don’t be a dick tease with the blood and death.

I’m told that HBO has greenlit an adaptation of American Gods into a series ala True Blood and Game of Thrones. My only hope is that the first season doesn’t climax with Shadow eating a Pastie in a small town in the Central Midwest.

If I want to read a book with beautiful prose where nothing really happens, I’ll read some Cormac McCarthy. See, I loooveeee McCarthy, but I expect him to describe in minute detail every plate full of beans that his protagonists eat or cup of coffee that they drink. And I’m fine with that. I could listen to him illiterate beans, tortillas, and coffee in a myriad of settings. But Cormac doesn’t promise a war to end all wars. If anything, he down plays what’s going to happen, making it all the more shocking when it finally does.

All of this being said, I can’t say that American Gods sucks. It doesn’t. All of the characters are interesting and amazingly well-developed. There are plenty of notes of Neil Gaiman’s wonderous wordplay. The concept of Gods walking amongst us in a sort of melting pot of lost deities trying to find their place in the world is both exciting and carefully crafted, even if the main character is kind of a dud – I mean, the guy finds out he’s the son of a god and the coolest thing he can manage to do is ride a fucking bird.

American Gods is a beautifully written, intricately plotted novel with amazingly well developed characters. But it is also really fucking boring.

 

I was expecting this….

 

 

 

 

 

 

And I got this…

Keep your teddy bears close! But not too close.

For those of you who don’t know, I moonlight as a guitar god. Well, maybe not a god. But maybe an Daemon at least. Check out the video review I did for TheToneKing.com

 

She moved ahead and kept the watch for her brother and his burden.

They moved toward the setting sun, keeping away from the cities and their broken towers. The burdening man still slept. Even when his body began to heal, shedding his blackened flesh and growing new, he still slept. They kept him as their own, forcing him ground food and water to keep him fed. Ewald wasn’t convinced. He still thought his sister’s decision to save the man was foolish. Other than his weapons, which worked well for hunting if nothing else, the man served no other purpose. He was a burden.

“Why won’t he wake up?” He held the knife in his hand, rolling the tip against his finger. She didn’t answer. She kept her gaze to the west. They had come far without any trial and she seemed to become more and more cautious with the shortening days. “Maybe he won’t wake up.” He broke his skin. She didn’t answer. “You won’t change your mind?” He put his finger to his lips. Still, she didn’t answer. Her words were less and less with her brother as they moved. He kept to his questions, but her answers were brief if they came at all. “Well, we have enough food for now so…” He pulled the cart he had made as it creaked under the burden of the man and their supplies. He had already replaced the wheel of the cart twice because the wood was always too soft. He hoped to get some more distance out of this one before he had to replace it again.

She moved, and he followed. She looked to the man who swayed limply with the movement of the cart. His face was buried beneath his long dark mane, portions of his dark face barely peeking through. He moved from dark and shadow, and an impetus forced him through the black veil. The veil bowed aside in his presence and released him from its hold. He was free of it. The veil flew apart in long shreds as his form flew from it. Even now, he still lied in greatness. Torn from his roots and from his glory, she knew him still to be unequaled.

He was legend

He was man

He was…

How come it’s taken me 5 years, one novel, numerous short stories, poems, and articles, and over a thousand pages to figure out the shortcut for spell check!!!!

For mac users: opt + command + L

Much love my peeps,

M