FOR the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence.

Yet, mad am I not -- and very surely do I not dream.


Where did the time go?

There comes a time when one must begin to think not about what is expected of them, but what they expect of themselves.

Creativity and success often seem to be polar opposites – it has been reported in the past that only 15% of writers are able to sustain their lifestyles without supplementing their income with another job.

We all want the success of the famous authors, the power and influence over culture that they possess. Unless you are Stephanie Meyer, in which case no reward is worth unleashing your childish drivel on the world. Some people want to see their names or faces on TMZ or in a magazine.

I have no desire to become famous in that sense. I want to be recognised in name only, and ideally solely by the geek community and maybe one or two enlightened types. I want my work to be discussed on message boards and on Xbox live, and I never want to meet a fan who isn’t 30 years old and still a virgin. These are my people. 

I want to work, but I don’t want it to define me. I want my words and my actions to. I want my creative output to. I know some very intelligent people working dead-end, minimum wage jobs, just as I know some absolute buffoons who are working high level jobs. There seems to be no correlation between smarts, integrity, drive, and success anymore.

The next time somebody asks me to introduce myself, I wonder how they’ll reply when I tell them ‘My name is Philip Shanahan, I enjoy reading, writing, and occasionally arithmetic. I like to open doors for girls and I try chew with my mouth closed. I say God bless you when people sneeze. I think I am a fairly polite person, and quite agreeable once you get to know me’. They will probably just ask me then what I do, and I will tell them that I work in McDonalds, or that I collect trash, perhaps that I have never worked a day in my life.

I am two books into Stieg Larsson’s Millennium trilogy. So far, so very, very good. For anyone wanting to invest their time and effort in a franchise that isn’t Twishite, I highly recommend them. One of the protagonists’ nickname is Kalle. I think I’m going to nick that. Kalle Shanahan. How novel. It’s either that or enter into an industry with 20 other people already using a variation of yours truly.

My theories on time travel are evolving; I have already identified two instances in which time travel/manipulation is part of everyday life, and now I have a third. The first; decreasing your time of arrival on your sat nav/gps. The second; turning off your alarm clock, closing your eyes for just a second, and waking up inexplicably an hour later. Both instances of time travel. 

Thirdly, and perhaps more interestingly, my perception of time is no longer linear. Last night I looked at a sandwich. It was a submarine sandwich measuring a meter in length and consisting of various meats and condiments. As I gazed on its glazed goodness, I saw myself taking the first few bites, and I just knew that upon its devourment, I would hurl. I finished eating a few minutes later, and hurl I did. That is precognition my friends.

Seeing as though I don’t smoke, nor can I imagine ever starting, can I have doss around breaks in the afternoon? Or perhaps martini breaks? Can a sex addict take breaks during the working day to go get laid? A little shelter no less than five feet from outside the building could be built if demand was high enough.

Plug the comic book, plug the comic book, plug the comic book. The Zombie Anthology, released by Accent publishing, comes out around Christmas. Buy it once, buy it twice, try even thrice.
Here’s my artist – he’s a cool dude:
Check out his gallery for a few snippets of awesomeness. He’d probably kill me if he read this. Yahtzee.

I have a competition and a prize to give out. Answer the following question, and I will personally attend an event of your choosing in drag, and give you a hearty handshake:

                A sphincter says, what?

Answers in comment or email form please. You may incur charges on any and all travel arrangements. Drag is optional.

Hey, this is my blog, and so I’m going to talk about myself pretty regularly. Get used it internets. I have introduced a word into the English language. It is lolblitz. Use it.