BLOGS

Being an artist is hard at times. Try being a scientist, heck, the bottles of chemicals, the clash of molecules, the expectation, the failures but damn that's fun. “Dude, it's time to take your pills!” “OK”, I say to my companion. “We doing the blood check today?” “No, all your systems are stable”.

It started innocently, a blog about PCs being too slow. People have a hunger for instantaneous response from their PCs, even talk of anticipation response. It was the topic of all conversations and being the sci- er, artist that I am, I coaxed a stem cell into boot-strapping some personal DNA. It produced a mini-brain sort of a four function calculator version a full size brain. When the paper was published I got slapped with a restraining order to cease development and ethics violations got me this house arrest. Damn those creative judges, incarcerated me with my device to learn the error of my ways. It would have worked except a near by lighting strike ramped up the energy potential in my yard. I ran out holding a Blackberry and the “Stem-D'NA device. Man, I blacked out, hit by I don't know what. I awoke in a clinic, my stuff in a box. While the nurses scurried about I cleaned the Blackberry but the Stem-D'NA device was fused to the back. I made it home and while watching the news realized only my blood was spilled. My blood, I thought, “Yeah, and you oozed all over me!”, in a muffled voice that sounded a lot like myself. I am hearing myself think, “No, not really!” My eyes open wide, taking a deep pondering breath, started to laugh. “No, wait, let me do it, Wwhhoowawaahaaaa!” Where'd you learned to do that? “It's a standard backyard sci- er, artist talk, everybody knows.....” Never mind.

Just saw this one on PBS' "The History Detectives."  Very touching story about Douglas Roach, an African-American who volunteered to fight against the fascists during the Spanish Civil War. He was killed in action in 1938, I believe it was. His touching eulogy was written and delivered by his friend and comrade-in-arms, Sol Feldman. It's a sad and wonderful story.

You can read the eulogy at www.kpbs.org 

If you Google Douglas Roach Spanish Civil War, you can read all about this formerly unsung hero who, thanks to "The History Detectives" and the InterNet, will no longer be forgotten. He was a member of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade -- all American volunteers who risked life and U.S. citizenship to fight in Spain against the DeFranco Fascist Regime.

Check out -- video.pbs.org/video for more info.

"I can't believe what they called it; Vampirism. They even equated it with mysticism and the supernatural." The Doctor stood over the supine human form in commiseration with a Technician.

"How did the therapy even get to their planet?" The technician was interrupting a virtuality session.

"We had established a base there some centuries ago during a more primitive time in their development. At that point, our stardrives were far slower and a trip between the Outer Colonies and their world took nearly a thousand years round trip. We used the gene therapy to enhance our physiology and make it possible to survive the long voyage. We had tried cryonic methods of hibernation but our water content made it too dangerous, so this was the only way."

"So, somehow, the natives got hold of the gene therapy and used it on themselves." The technician had begun the awakening sequence and monitored the slowly rising body temperature of the man in front of her. He was a big man, more than two meters tall with a powerful build. His skin was blue black and shone with highlights from the operating theater. He was covered in a variety of scars, many resembling an animal attack, his hands were large and strong with carbon-steel tipped fingernails. His full lips, partially open, showed his large, white teeth and with a set of fangs, comfortably set to the sides of his mouth. 

"From what we could tell, they had only gotten access to part of the technology, so they were stronger and faster and occasionally would be psychically operant, but without the proper activating radiant technology, sunlight or strong ultraviolet radiation could cause severe or toxic events, killing them. Those who developed psionic powers were unfortunately, not properly trained, and their extreme levels of superstition caused their powers to feedback on them due to their belief systems. Many died that way as well. Some developed other allergies to allicin found in several of their more pungent flora, metallic poisoning was common, cold iron, silver or other highly pure metals were also able to disrupt their untrained psychic auras causing more feedback."

"Did we ever trace the original event which released the gene therapy in the first place? I had read something about the event in the medical journals which caused significant restructuring of our protocols for administration of the therapies."

"Yes, they did trace it back to a containment error in one of the Great Pyramid structures used as a landing facility and research center. The material not only escaped containment but was flown between several continents before anyone was aware of the lapse. The gene therapy caused mutations depending on which environment it found itself in, so many of the planets indigenous populations have wild myths of mutated beasts roaming the countryside."

"Doctor, why would you say they were myths if there were actually such creatures possible in the literature given their rich genetic heritage? Their planet shares a strong genetic connection with all of the animals on their planet, making it possible the gene recombination sequences did affect plant and animal life on their planet in ways we had never seen." The technician was watching the doctor as she performed a series of micro-manipulations of nanoscopic surgeons within the blood stream of the human. There were several aortic tears she was repairing, and restoring them to the smooth appearance of the undamaged tissue.

"Officially, no information regarding the transformation of their plants and animals has be put on record because it would cause a scandal if it were known that our gene therapy not only worked on their primary species but dozens of their subspecies as well. The therapy was supposedly tailored to make it possible for us to survive the trip to their world and for them to make it to their new home. If it were possible for the therapy to escape, they would be consigned to their new home without any possibility of leaving in the future. Complete this regeneration, please."

"Certainly, Doctor. Why are we trying to save this species anyway, there are several very similar to it, that were recovered over ten thousand years ago. These were the weakest and tolerated the gene therapy the worst, that is why they were originally left behind."

"That's true but those other samples have shown less variability and technical acumen than this one has. All of the cities of their forebears, are simple, unsophisticated structures. We need to know, was it their home environment, that caused their jump in development or was it our tampering that made the difference. If we are the cause, it happened to benefit them now that their sun is going through a deadly radiation phase, lethal to all life on their world. Their genetic deviation and an accident may end up saving their species."

 
"He's the last one Doctor. When will we be arriving? The technician returned the black man to his slumbers and his tube slid back into the wall bearing hundreds of thousands of tubes just like it.

"We have finished all of their physical repairs from the hasty retrieval from their world, cleaned up any genetic damage and restored reproductive viability to the thirty thousand species stored within this ship. Their cellular structure is far more primitive than ours, so manipulating their genome with such a wide sample, was child's play. It is unfortunate we could not gather more of their genetic materials from their world. Most of this material will not be sent to their new home."

"I understand, Doctor, I have made the arrangements at the new genetic archive where we will scan, encode and store the samples we saved from their world until we can determine if the species is fit to deposit to a world more suited to them. We collectively only managed to save thirty million of their members, many of them in varying states of mental and physical disrepair."

"How effective has the simulation of their new habitat going? Are they adjusting?" The doctor sat down onto her cilia cluster, wiping her central brain sack with a long and multicolored tentacle.

"In the early days, most simply were unable to handle the idea their world was gone. So we have introduced a model we believe has been more acceptable. They now believe their world was invaded by aliens who have begun colonizing and terraforming it. All traces of their former existence has been eradicated. They believe they were infected with an alien parasite, common to many of the fictions of their world, and have now be irrevocably transformed into a race of vampiric humans. Forced to feast on the flesh of the aliens to live, most were revolted and many died, but subsequent genetic replacements took to the simulation and are doing well."

"I would like to call this genetic harvesting and relocation program a success, Technician. Central Command says there are dozens of other stars having a similar solar transition and the source is still unknown. If we can say with some level of assurance this species will transplant well, we can begin other operations to extend the quality of life of other burgeoning races in the galaxy which might otherwise be exterminated before becoming part of the galactic community."

"Take a look for yourself, Doctor. We monitor their development and consider this more than effective, it is a rousing success. My virtuality is so perfect, no single on of them suspects and they will not be able to tell the difference. The planet they are headed to is sending live telemetry which is folded directly into their virtuality. They have virtually lived there already for over three hundred years. Once transplanted, it will be a home they have always known."

Decker stood up, his black skin hidden in the shadows of the invader trees and their purple and red leaves. His pack stopped to look into the red sky and saw the Cintuan flying overhead. There was no way they could hope to compete with a Cintuan group this large, so they stayed low to the ground, avoiding the predator tangle-trees and the wildvines common to this part of the continent. They had just feasted on the blood, meat and bones of a Malulac and the troop was strong and vital. Decker was convinced they were making headway against the Cintuan threat and with the help of the southern tribes retake the Earth under its new terrible red sun. No one has died today, we have feasted, found a new series of organic weapons and the enemy is in retreat for a change. Today was a very good day.

Gene Therapy © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

Peace everybody, just sharing the latest illustration in a series of characters Im drawing. Was checking out Ghost Dad and had to do this one. What do you think?

 The heyday of the pulp magazines was before my time. I was born during the dying days of that era, and by the time I was old enough to read and appreciate the fiction those magazines published, they were long gone -- in spirit, at least. But I did delve heavily into paperback books, which are the modern-day descendants of the pulps.

 Some of the old pulp stories and characters were revived in the 1960s, including Robert E. Howard's Conan character, which inspired my own warrior-hero, Imaro. But of course there were plenty of other adventurers that survived the pulps' demise, such as Doc Savage and The Shadow. Of course, none of these superstars of the printed page were black. This is the 1920s-40s we're talking about here, and in the vast majority of those stories, black characters were relegated to stereotyped background roles if they were present at all.

 There were some exceptions. Jericho Druke, described as an "African giant of immense strength," was an agent of The Shadow. Joshua and Rosabel Newton were part of the team of The Avenger, who was similar to Doc Savage. In conformity with the times, Josh and Rosabel posed as servants, though they had both earned degrees from Tuskegee University. But The Avenger treated them as trusted equals.

 Maybe there were other characters like Jericho and the Newtons. If so, they were few and far between.

 Ron Fortier of Airship 27 Productions publishes what is known as "New Pulp" -- new stories in 1930s settings, minus the ethnic excesses of the past. When Ron suggested that I write a New Pulp story of my own, I came up with Damballa.  Damballa is the type of black hero character who should have been -- but could not have been -- published in the '30s. He is inspired by The Shadow, but is no more an imitation of The Shadow than Imaro is of Conan. 

 The newly released novel, Damballa, tells the story of how the mysterious African-American protector of Harlem foils a plot to sabotage a heavyweight boxing championship bout between a black American champion and a German challenger who represents the Nazis. The time is 1938, a year before the beginning of World War II. Similarities between this fictional fight and the real-life 1938 title bout between Joe Louis and Max Schmeling are entirely intentional.

 Damballa features action, suspense, a mad scientist, gangsters, beautiful women, and evocations of the highs and lows of life in 1930s Harlem. It was a lot of fun to write, and I hope readers will enjoy it. I am glad to have had the opportunity to make a needed addition to the New Pulp genre, as I did to sword-and-sorcery way back when.

 Damballa can be ordered from lulu.com and gopulp.info. On Monday, it will be available at Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble. 

I have been given the go ahead to ask NYC based Black Comic Book Artists to join

me at a proposed book signing at Hue- Man book store , courtesy of Michael

Bannerman, the manager of the shop. Located at 2319 Frederick Douglas Blvd.

near ( W.125).

We need 3 or 4 Comic Artists who write and are self- publishers of their own

Comics or Graphic Novels. Please contact me at pozitronman@gmail.com or

call me at 718-665-8099 for more information.

Let's make this a great event for all.

Thanks!!

He hadn't eaten a thing all day. Hadn't spoken with anyone since early that morning. Shared his nightmare vision.
The research laboratory had been cleared before the crucial final test. Expunged of spectators and colleagues alike. "I'll call you when the procedure is complete." he promised to one and all; ushering all humanoids past radiation-proof molybdenum /boron /titanium composite doors. Shielding ports securely locked.

Mathematical models and scaled tests indicated significant leakage of exogenous radiation far up the Gamma and Theta bands. It had been decided to limit risk. His design, his baby - his was the honor and the liability. Captain of the ship.

The robotic sensors would be there - of course. Silent sentinels - like the statues of Easter Island, waiting to greet the dawn. Waiting to greet the unknown with wonder and awe. Waiting to herald the terror!

They were the first casualties of the truth. Disabled by a single act. A circuit board, light impulse input conduit, urgently ripped from its housing. Silenced before proclaiming the advent. Perhaps, the greatest event in human history. Scuttled by a desperate captain -desperate for time to think. Time to check his facts carefully, review calculations. Consider the implications, ramifications.

A hoax! That could be it, easily explainable. But the small figure stared back at him with unblinking eyes; perched on smooth pedestal of unknown material. One which defied all analysis, except that it reeked of Plutonium 235, 237. Tri-coboltritium and even more esoteric isotopes. Complex mixtures of sub-atomic material unfathomable to his equipment. All with half-lives spanning from nanoseconds to hundreds of thousands of years.

The monochrome figurine which mocked him, indeed all the achievements of mankind was simple, almost elegant in simplicity. Epochal changes almost always were. The captain of this particular ship searched his mind in frenzied pandemonium. 'Should he destroy the lab?' 'Himself? In the process the evidence of this monstrosity?' All that he held dear had, in an instant, been swept away. Head buried in hands he was unsure of his next move.

Ironically, he thought of Charlton Heston in the last iconic scene from the original "Planet of the Apes". He remembered seeing it in the holographic imager at the Museum of Ancient Culture. The dialogue scrawled across his brain: "You did it!" "You really blew it all up!" "You damn stupid apes!"
He refused all entreaties for the remainder of the afternoon.

On the pedestal of the quantum flux generator the little image transported through the portal from the future continued to unblinkingly greet the world. The two foot high image of a cockroach standing tall, tool belt hanging proudly around its waist. Etchings across the base proclaimed a secret message.

The Keeper from Star Trek's: The Cage addressed the dreamer, "That was from a story you once heard in childhood. From deeper in the recesses of your mind there are other even more fantastic tales!"

Love the new stuff on the site!!!!  Love the Cafe Press shop, love the mag, and when I get on, im buying everything out!!!

Got many stories to share, and so much new stuff in my brain its unreal.  First things first though, This Friday its Going down!!!  New show, new attitude:  http://youtu.be/Gj1qOp8kvsE

Its good to be back....

I’ve always been a science fiction buff. From my elementary school days with Bruce Coville’s “My Teacher Is An Alien” series, to my teenage obsession with “X-Files,” to my current RSS feed of the Cyberpunk Review, throughout my life I’ve been fascinated by all things out of this world, beyond this galaxy, and foreign to this dimension. But growing up a person of color, I’ve always felt that the stories that tickle my imagination seldom speak to my identity. For a genre known for depicting obscure creatures, new concepts of civilization, and future predictions for humanity, sci-fi sure has a hard time being about more than white people.

It seems that when it comes to sci-fi, cultural experiences of the melanin-inclined are merely reserved for exotic backdrop (ahem, “Stargate”) and half-assed tokenization (ahem, the horrible Mandarin in “Firefly”). But fear not! I have scoured the cosmos and unearthed 10 fantasmic films, books, and records to transport you to the unreal—while still letting you keep it real. Keep in mind, this is no “Billy Dee in Star Wars” list—I’ve chosen stories by people of color and about people of color. So enjoy. This is for all the disappointed moviegoers who felt the title “Minority Report” was misleading.

PS: I’ve taken the liberty to step outside the zone of the obvious, by excluding from this list Octavia E. Butler. Not because I don’t absolutely love her work about vampires, shapeshifters, and post-apocalyptic telepathy, but because every other minorities-in-sci-fi list I found online is basically a cut-and-paste of her bibliography. If you haven’t checked her out, I recommend the “Imago” series.

For all the rest of my geeks in the struggle, I hope you find something new in this...

If you are looking for a new series to get lost in this summer, I invite you to try the Cybil Lewis series.

About The Cybil Lewis Novels

 Cybil Lewis is a private inspector and no stranger to loss and pain. She has three stories in the series so far-- with more to come. Join this private-eye in life-altering adventures in a strange futuristic world with her band of friends and enemies as she solves the latest whodunit. The Cybil series novels are great mysteries in the realm of science fiction.

Don't take my word for it. Here is what reviewers had to say about Cybil and SILENCED:

“Nicole Givens Kurtz is a gifted sci-fi writer with a wonderful imagination…And with the extra benefit of a strong African-American woman as the main character, this adventure captures the essence of the future.”—Affaire de Coeur, 4 1/2 Star Review

“A missing-persons case takes us into an action-packed story. Cybil is no shrinking violet, and the tale is vivid enough to keep the reader looking forward to the next chapter in this new series. This is a fast-paced, enjoyable ride.”—RomanticTIMES Book Reviews, 4 Star Review

“Nicole Givens Kurtz has written an enjoyable sci-fi mystery that displays her active imagination and her ability to build a storyline around believable characters in an advanced time setting. I found Kurtz's heroine to be interesting; however, buy-in took a minute due to the character's brashness. Once there, I was able to understand her motives and mode of operation. SILENCED is being dubbed as the first in the Cybil Lewis series. Now that my appetite has been whet, I am looking forward to the next installment.”—The RAWSISTAZ(tm) Reviewers

“For top-notch suspense, edge-of-the-seat breathless anticipation, and reeling denouements that never stop, run to your nearest bookseller and pick up SILENCED!”—Dark Angels Review, 5 Angels Review

 "Silenced" has all the hard-boiled elements of sex, violence, crooked politicians and dishonest cops and a story told by an engaging but difficult heroine. It is an excellent start to what promises to be a very interesting series." --Fred Cleaver, The Denver Post

Learn more about the four stories in this series by visiting Cybil's blogspot at http://cybillewisseries.blogspot.com/

INDIEGOGO Xmoor Studios NYC Comic Con

Help us complete the GALTOW Collected Edition for New York Comic Con 2011

Here’s the Link for Indiegogo: http://igg.me/p/30427?a=4753&i=shlk

Do you want to be a CLAN HOUSE MEMBER of GALTOW?
We are offering 12 people a chance to be illustrated into issues 5 & 6 of the story arc finale…
Xmoor studios need all our loyal fans and followers to step up to the plate… We need your support! I’ve posted up a project fundraiser at IndiGoGo and Eric and I are trying to raise some funds to finish off our indie publishing flagship title GALTOW. We have four issues completed and have compiled those into a full color trade paperback and we need help finishing off the last two issues we’re looking to make a completed trade book of the entire first story arc which will be ready in time for this years New York Con in October.

Rob: xmoor2 (@) yahoo.com & Eric: goldmane.net.

Eric will be adjusting some poster art he created a while back for GALTOW to make it into a signed pitch cover. Below is the newly adjusted line art and I will post a pic of the full color version soon being digitally colored by the uber talented Julian Aguilera. Eric has never been asked to do cover art before but we know his first shot will be well received. Thank you all for any and all support as Rob G. and I will Continue to put our best creative feet forward and strive to continually make exciting projects!

http://www.facebook.com/notes/mocha-memoirs-press-llc/an-excerpt-from-ronald-t-jones-warriors-of-the-four-worlds/199401606762572

Fox has released a full length trailer for the Steven Spielberg-produced science fiction series Terra Nova, which is set to premiere on Mondays this Fall. The new television show “follows an ordinary family on an incredible journey back in time to prehistoric Earth as a small part of a daring experiment to save the human race.”

Terra Nova is another attempt at a time travel story without time travel. In their future of 2149, the world is in terrible shape. Filter masks are worn by everyone and they are huddled together using broken technology, basically waiting to die in their overcrowded hovels. Until a group of scientists discover a portal through time, into a cross-dimensional rift to another Earth, 85 million years ago.

They are entertaining the idea once flirted with by Julian May in her much better novels called the Saga of the Pliocene Exiles. In May's novels, humanity had not quite destroyed itself but it had fallen on hard times as creativity and self determination had all but been destroyed in their future world. A team of scientists find a hole in space-time that leads them back to the Pliocene era.

While doing some research on the Marine Corps for an old space opera of mine I hope to rewrite one day soon, I discovered this fascinating piece of history. 

On August 27, 1776, a black man named Isaac Walker enlisted in Captain Mullan's Continental Marines. He was listed as "Negro," as was another recruit later that year. There may have been others, but records are sketchy and incomplete. However, when the Marine Corps was reeastablished in 1798, the official recruiting regulations clearly stipulated "no Negro, Mulatto or Indian to be enlisted." The Corps was to remain lily white until the eve of World War II.

On June 1 (my late Dad's birthday, btw) 1942, Alfred Masters and George O. Thompson became the first modern black Marines. Two months later, the first black unit was activated -- the 51st Composite Defense Battalion, at Montford Point, a new camp near Camp Lejeune. However, all the officers were white.

Early black recruits were exceptional. Charles W. Simmons held a masters degree from the University of Illinois. Gilbert H. "Hashmark" Johnson had been in both the Army and the Navy. Pvt. Luther Woodard, a truck driver from Memphis, was awarded the Silver Star, the highest decoration earned by a black Marine in World War II. 19,168 black Marines served in that war -- 12,738 of them overseas. Nine were killed during the war, and seventy-eight were injured.

President Roosevelt's Executive Order 8802 in 1941 was the first major step toward ending segregation in the armed forces. Sceretary of the Navy Frank Knox insisted that the Marines take a thousand black recruits a month.

In 1967, Sergeant Rodney M. Davis gave his life for his country and his fellow Marines, in Viet Nam. Two years later, his Mother received the Medal of Honor her son had finally been awarded for his bravery. On May 9, 1987, Davis's Mother and Widow and two children watched the commissioning of the U.S.S. Rodney M. Davis, the first warship to be named in honor of a black Medal of Honor winner. 

I know we've come a long way over the years, still have a long way to go as a nation and as a people, and sometimes I fear that we may never get to where we should be -- but the election of our first black president, and stories like those of Rodney M. Davis continue to give me hope. Semper Fidelis!

I guess I admire all the cosmic beings cooked up in the pages of comic books and such, but what rattles my cage is the kind of science fiction where technology crosses over. Technology is always an extension to man's natural talents and abilities. What happened to me is I dream and struggle to get my art in print, even print in a larger size or context. I get a wide format printer and my perception of things changes. In sci-fi I think of that movie 'Contact' where the woman has an other dimension experience for a good while but in her native dimension only a heart beat of time passed. The amazing technology that supported that opened window, did it open outside of her and she was immersed or was it opened in her mind, her spirit?

My new printer sits there waiting for me to give data and spit out words, 2d forms, vistas. What happens if it records pictures from the ether, since my PC is connected to the 'ethernet? Or I can print out a device, like the portable stargate I found in the back of a sci-fi paperback. I could print an array of them, go anywhere. Doorways, it prints doorways. Simultaneously it prints both sides, in two worlds.

If I met myself in another universe would I recognise me, like me, hate me. Would we be the same or a mirror image (why does he shake with his left hand?) or polar opposites. Would we struggle, trade places unknowingly (what I knew is somehow different sun sets in the east, toilets whirl in the other direction).

Why is it when I print the same doorway again, it goes elsewhere? Or when I find an old doorway print, go through, I am tattered and worn? Maybe it's not the printer but the ink. When I was a child, there was a story about a boy with a purple crayon who drew his world. Maybe he grew up, went digital and I stumbled upon his melted crayon in my ink cartridge.

Jack Dempsey was the last of the great actors of 2026. His dashing smile and trademark Kung Fu made him the action hero other actors wanted to be for more than a decade. His star as an action hero finally lost his luster in the last series of movies he made, Planet Raiders III: The Unforsaken. The movie, while grossing well barely covered the production costs and the injuries incurred by Jack's drinking problem caused his agent and the company Screen Brothers, to finally drop his contact.

"We love you, Jack, but we're gonna have to let you go. There is a new wind blowing and its AICGI," his agent Florence Butterman told him over the vidcam. He was sitting in his Malibu home drinking his morning Mai Tai and nursing yesterday's hangover.

"You are not serious. That stuff they do with computers and factors?" Demsey had a bit of a slur going already. Florence just grimaced and tried to ignore it.

"They are not fake actors. They are based on real people, who used to be actors. Many of the screen tests have been quite favorable and several hundred movies were released straight to the 'Net from Nollywood and Ballywood. If we want to keep up we have to do our part to stay with the times. Those Nigerians are eating our lunch in southern Africa and they have already expanded into the South American markets. I'm sorry Jack, the margins are just too tight nowadays for living actors." Florence looked down at her watch.

"What, you got someplace to be? You too busy for the man who made you rich? Everything you have in that house, I bought you Florence. How can you be thinking about turning your back on me? What about helping me out? Can you farm me out to one of your friends over at Light Industrial Films? I heard through the 'vine they are still planning on making movies with real actors." Jack downed the rest of his Mai Tai and nodded to his butler to bring him another one. The butler winced and then moved on reluctantly to bring another. There, was however, no reason to rush.

"Look Jack, I am not blowing you off. I will be putting in a word for you, but I would not get my hopes up with Light Industrial Films, they are still going to be making movies with actors, but they are going to be working in the mountains of Tibet, telling the stories of the remaining survivors of the Great Purge of Tibet in 2016. That's going to be done on location with local actors. I might be able to get you a role on the Chinese side as a consultant or as a White who worked as a servant to the Chinese."

"A slave? That is the best hope you can give me? A slave in a Chinese melodrama? You got to be kidding me. You know what Florence, I don't want your goddamn pity. I don't need you. I am Jack fucking Dempsey, the best thing to happen to Hollywood since Clint Eastwood. I will be alright." Jack stood up and pointed at the monitor. "When I make my comeback, you remember it was me who told you it would happen."

Having stood up too quickly and after having twelve Mai Tai's before breakfast, Jack Dempsey fell to the floor unconscious. Florence Butterman shook her head, watched the butler throw back the Mai Tai and signed off. She did not think about Jack Dempsey for another seven years until the Academy Awards mention his name seven years later.

"And the nominations for Best Actor in a Science Fiction Film are, Kren Davis in Sundiver's Six, Kazuo Koke in Inner Space, and Jack Dempsey in Planet Raiders: Neutron Star. No, no folks, I'm just kidding. You know scifi hasn't paid an actor in years. The award will go to the company that has created the most awesome representation of these amazing actors in their AICGI movies created completely on computer. I mean, can anyone remember the last time anyone saw that drunken bum, Jack Dempsey."

The theater explodes in laughter, that long mean laughter when you are talking about someone behind their back. The laughter that comes from an uncomfortable position that you know you might find yourself in, akin to being in the bathroom without toilet paper. The doors fly open from the side of the stage and Jack Dempsey staggers onto the stage. A security guard with a swollen eye, tries to stop him and is returned back stage with a sound kick.

"How's that," was picked up from the mikes all over the stage. "Real enough for you? You might want to put some ice on that. So how is everybody? Go on, open that envelope. No, let me" Jack snatches the envelop from the comedian who stands shocked and quiet on the stage.

"The Award for Best Actor in a Science Fiction Film goes to... Factor Jack Dempsey. Factor Jack Dempsey can't be here to get his award, cause he was made on a damn computer, so Jack Dempsey is going to take that award for him." The young woman who carried out the statuette hands it to Jack and scurries off the stage.

The director continues to move the cameras around and filmed everything as if this was what was expected. "Since I am here to take my award from my factor, yes FAKE ACTOR, I think I should say a few words. All you people sitting out there laughing at me, thinking you are better than me, and won't have to worry about this because you can really act, can kiss my ass." A collective gasp sweeps the room.

Jack reaches into his jacket and pulls out a flask, takes a hit and continues. "Once upon a time, I was just like you, thought I was something, on the top of my game and nothing could ever touch me. I had a great time, spent my money, partied all day and all night. I made twenty movies in my career and most sucked, I know that, now. I watched them when I was living in the streets, sitting outside of Electronic Huts playing my movies while I panhandled."

Jack looks down and pauses for a second. "I realized I got paid because it was what people wanted to see, not because I was any good. I got ahead of myself and didn't pay attention when I needed to. I did not see the world changing around me. I signed contracts without reading them. And all of you did too. Because if you did, you would not be sitting here today."

Three security guards came to the edge of the stage and hesitantly began to make their approach. None of them were in a hurry to tackle Jack Dempsey because while he may have been an actor, he did his own martial arts movies and those were not stunts. Many a stunt double went to the hospital and the tabloids loved talking about it. He waved at them and made the sign for two minutes and they retreated to the edge of the stage.

"I just wanted to say to Florence Butterman, I am sorry I didn't listen to you when you told me to read everything. You told me that the industry would take advantage of my stupidity. You see, I don't have anyone to blame about Factor Jack Dempsey. In my contracts, I made it possible for him to exist. In my contracts, I signed away my likeness to be used in any kind of AICGI based movie for the next twenty years. And they do not have to pay me anything because I did not read the contract well enough." His voice was bitter and sharp.

"But the best part of this, is I had time on my hands and more that a few favors. I know that almost none of you read your contracts either. So when you lose your mind, or piss someone off, or when they get tired of you getting old or weak or crotchety, they will replace you with a factor, too. So, you guys enjoy your awards, one day there won't be anyone in the theater to accept one, unless they can teach a computer to walk too. Y'all have a good night. Come on, boys, I haven't got all night."

It took twenty security guards before Jack Dempsey was dragged off stage. The Academy Awards had never had higher numbers.

And the Award Goes To...  © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved