‘Ello Govnah…

So I snagged an invite to join Ello (courtesy of the super cool, very talented Bracken MacLeod). You can find me there as @angelluiscolon, but since the search function doesn’t work, you’ll wanna click my user handle.

Ello is interesting. It’s buggy, super pared down, doesn’t explain itself, and seems incredibly hard to even navigate.

I think I might love it.

It’s easy to fall in love with new, trendy tech/social platforms. Friendster begat MySpace begat Facebook begat Twitter and on and on. It makes sense. We may hate change, but there does come a point where we demand it. Maybe its a means of ensuring we don’t devolve (a term with no real basis, I know) or we’re built to prevent mental stagnation (something a lot of the world seems to disprove – see Ferguson, Duck Dynasty, the popularity of the Palin family).

Anyway, Ello.

Ello (willfully or not) forces us to interact again. We need to put effort to comment or find specific information. There’s no more passive single click (and I sincerely hope it remains that way) no more bullshit validation for dumbest thing. Sure, we can stay shallow and say, “That’s cool!”, but compared to the level of effort Facebook and Twitter doesn’t demand of us now, it’s massive.

Beyond that, Ello seems to speak to the artistic community. It’s quiet, allows us to speak our mind in ways we haven’t in a while, and that empty space really complements posting of art and beautiful photos. Memes just aren’t enough here (though, hey, the funny GIF is always welcome).

Overall, I look forward to seeing what’s next. I like Ello and I like the community I’m a part of so far. That can all change in the next month, but that’s the risk with anything somewhat “new” or different.

Be easy,


What’s My Damage? Nine Inch Nails – Wish

You’re 12 going on 13. You’re the product of divorce. Live in a town filled with assholes. You might even be the smartest kid in your classroom.

You are fucking angry.

It’s not easy to make sense of it. There’s no solid foundation for the anger. It’s just there. You’re taught about puberty – read books and see pictures. You’re gonna grow hair in funny places. In some cases, your voice will drop an octave, like your balls. Still, there’s this boiling, irrational rage that you can’t control. It’s like an abused pit bull loyal only to you and completely unleashed.

So this is your adolescence. Anger, confusion, loneliness. It ain’t much different, but at that age our heads are so deep in our own holes, it’s not like we take enough time to come up for air and realize everyone else is in the same place – or worse.

We are a universe of shallow, boiling water. Every minute leaves the pool an inch lost.

So you search for something. You find common bonds via media, a show, a song, a book. Me? I watched Beavis and Butthead. Sort of get it. The music is new for a Bronx kid in a school where WuTang is now king and A Tribe Called Quest is the only tape he’s burning in his walkman.

Then this happens:

That anger – the rage – has a voice?

Trent Reznor found me at the exact cosmic moment I needed to be found.

Reznor begat Keenan begat Patton begat Murphy begat Bowie and on and on and on.

An eternity of music.

I swallowed it whole and remained hungry since.

Thank you, Trent.

What’s My Damage? – John Carpenter’s The Thing

The Thing 2

                        I don’t feel like I need to say anymore, but I will.

Put yourself into this scenario.

You’re five. Bit of an “indoor” kid. You have two older cousins who are sort of ahead on the mature movies sliding scale and an uncle more concerned with keeping us shut the fuck up so he could play conga than in entertaining us himself.

What happens?

The kids watch Scarface, Nightmare on Elm Street, Invasion USA, The Last Dragon, Alien, more Scarface.

You get the idea.

Then one day HBO comes on. Their old theme music plays ( see here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1NKoMNy5bY). Real quick – that still gives me the fucking heebie jeebies.

Anyway, that theme ends and The Thing starts.

You’re five.

You watch a solid forty five minutes and nearly shit your pants.

You run upstairs WEEPING.

Your cousins laugh.

You can’t be in the room when that HBO music starts for two more years.

You don’t watch the movie again until you’re fifteen.

It still scares the living shit out of you.

I consider Carpenter’s version of The Thing to be a masterpiece of scifi horror. The only movie that beats it is the original Alien. The imagery, the tension, and the cast – top notch.

That imagery, though. The first time you see a dog’s head split open. The “test” with the wire. That final dog/Brimley/Diabeetus monster – good lord.


They TOTALLY killed it with fire.

To this day, The Thing scares me. The imagery, the body horror. It all totally bleeds into a lot of my writing. Between this and Cronenberg’s version of The Fly, I had an immense fear of metamorphosis.

I wouldn’t give that up for the world, though.

So, if you’ve never seen The Thing (Carpenter’s version – the original and 2011 versions are GARBAGE) please, please, please change that.

Especially if you’re the type to be easily scared. This is one of the gems customer built to give you a proper, traumatizing scare.

Be easy,