If you had the power of Superman, would you be Good or Bad?

 I was just thinking about this today. If you had the extreme powers of Superman would you use them for good or for evil?

 I’ve got to say….power corrupts and ultimate power will ultimately corrupt and I would be so corrupted it would not even be funny. Seriously…the world would be bowing to me and I would take that title of Emperor of the world. I mean…really…there would be no one to stand in my way and even if there was I could pretty much end them quite easily. Heat vision, freezing cold breath, a good uppercut…

 I’d have a state of the art castle built on every continent…forget that whole ice sculpture fortress of solitude stuff; I’d be living in style. The suit would be out too… I’d have to have something in a menacing black to strike some fear into the hearts of the little people.

There wouldn’t be any wars because there wouldn’t be anyone else taking my power from me…so I’d be a benevolent dictator… maybe… maybe not… The world could be run in a very Libertarian and free market kind of way except for in instances where I want what I want…then its dictator time!!!!
I mean….if you have the power you might as well use it…


Darker Regrets

 Her long black hair looked like a spider crawling along the sand just inches below the water. It was only a slow subtle movement as gentle waves hit the shore and then made their way back out into the lake. She looked like a ghost or some angelic version of the Arthurian Lady of the Lake. She was nude and just floating there but it was her eyes that had me transfixed. Just like old times.
I held my feelings deep inside but could feel them brimming and wanting to explode like the violence of a volcano. The officers were tying up the yellow tape to cordon off the area and the Crime Scene Unit was about to arrive. My partner Sid stood behind me and I knew I had to pull myself away or risk some unwanted or unneeded suspicion.
“So what do you make of it Will?”
“What else could I make of it? You see her; you see the bruising on the neck. It has to be murder.”
My reply was too terse and abrupt. I could feel my heart boiling in my stomach acid and I felt like losing my breakfast. Not only was Sarah dead but my heart was taking that same trajectory.
“You know Will, you don’t look so good. You feeling OK partner? Maybe you picked up that flu bug that’s been going around.”
“I’m OK Sid. Maybe it was something I ate last night that’s not sitting so well after seeing her.”
“She looks like she was a doll. Wonder why that is? It’s always the beauties we find while the ho-hums of the world keep on breeding.”
“I don’t know Sid. I don’t know.”

Driving back into the city my mind began to wander. Sarah’s husband was my prime suspect and that was without any evidence to prove it. He was a rat bastard too lucky to know what he had in her. Me, I was just an eight month diversion that ended up making him pull closer to her in the long run when he realized she was drifting. When the time came the love of my life punched my number and she left me and all of our plans high and dry. Back into the arms of the beast she fell.
You can’t change volatile and psychotic and that was what her husband was and had always been. You can’t change the broken heart of true love and that was all she left me with. It was keeping me alive by beating but for the most part it had long been cold and dead.
Before making any snap judgments I promised myself that I would hold off until the M.E. ran the autopsy. First person we would question would be her husband though and I was just hoping that the bastard would slip up and spill the beans. Sarah may have hurt me but she was too good for him and she shouldn’t have been done wrong by him or anybody else for that matter.
It was the next morning before the M.E. called us in. In all that time I kept checking for her rotten husband to file a missing person report to cover his tracks but there was nothing. The M.E. identified her from finger prints on file from when she went to grade school so we had a name and I had cover as far as my association with her. Her cause of death was from the strangulation while being dumped in the lake was just a cleanup method. She had been dead for twenty four hours or so by the time she was hauled out of the drink. How these people thought dumping bodies in a lake was a good way to cover up the crime has always been beyond me. Once we had the basic facts it was time to talk to the husband.


Samuel Paisley was well to do. Money was not something that Mr. Paisley had in short supply and buying people was just his way of maintaining control. The house was big by my standards and what the social butterflies would describe as immaculate. Three cars in the spacious garage and one parked on the roundabout. Looking at all the riches was yet another reminder of yet another reason for Sarah to look the other way when it came to me and my pittance on the force. She had told me once that money doesn’t matter but money always matters.
As luck would have it Mr. Paisley answered the door to Sid and I standing on the steps looking out of place and a little in awe.
“Can I help you?”
“Samuel Paisley, my name is Detective Will Telling and this is my partner Detective Sid Hollis. We’re with the APD and we’d like to ask you some questions.”
“What’s this about?”
“Mr. Paisley, do you know the whereabouts of your wife?”
“Well yeah, she’s staying with her mother and taking care of her because she was feeling under the weather.”
“When was the last time you spoke with your wife?”
“A couple days ago; she called to let me know she was on her way down.”
Sid then broke in with a question, “So Mr. Paisley, are you and your wife close? I mean you haven’t talked to her since she left. Why is that?”
“What’s this about?” The look of worry started to crease his face. Perspiration in a thin sheen broke from his forehead.
I said, “Mr. Paisley, your wife was found dead and floating in a lake. She didn’t drown either. She was strangled. She never made it to her mother’s house. Now you tell me, what is your alibi?”
I had to pull back. I had to keep the anger under control. I was seething inside and I wanted to kill him right then and there but I had to temper it off. His guilt was coming out of his pores and his act of ignorance was taunting me.
“I’m sorry Detectives but I think I need to call my lawyer before I say any more to either of you. Unless you’re going to arrest me then I’d like you to please leave.”
With that the door was shut in our face. I could arrest him and hold him for twenty four hours but the evidence had to surface in that time or he would just walk. We put a tail on Mr. Paisley just in case he decided to flee and then on the way back to the car I jotted down the plates of each of the five cars.
We followed up with the mother but it was a dead end. Sarah’s mother had taken to dementia so between her and the care givers no one was sure if Sarah had been on her way over or not. All roads kept leading back to Paisley and his lawyer wasn’t letting us near him so we pulled a search warrant on the house and his place of business. When we arrived back at the house his lawyer answered the door and let us in. Paisley was being kept away for his own good.
I took Paisleys office and Sid took the bedroom while several officers were combing the grounds and going room to room. The mahogany desk was covered in papers and engineering blue prints. The top left drawer had a bottle of bourbon and some Cubans. There were files in the bottom left and office supplies in the top right. The bottom right drawer contained an empty cigar box that was sitting on yet another file folder. I pulled the folder out and when I opened it that sick feeling swirled in the pit of my stomach.
There were pictures of Sarah and me together, from the window of the hotel room, going into the rooms, leaving the rooms. There were pictures of us at dinner and walking through the park. He had pictures of me embracing her and kissing her.
He had to have recognized me when I was standing on his door step. Whether he knew I was on the force or not it had to have been a revelation for him. On top of all of that the pictures complicated matters for me. Taking the pictures into evidence would have blown the investigation. With me being party to events that could have set the bastard off would unravel everything. They would have said that I should have told my superiors and removed myself from the investigation. Hell, they would have started investigating me while he walked free and above suspicion.
I tucked the file folder into my jacket and lifted his bourbon and cigars while I was at it. The resolution was there and I was now standing on the edge of where right and wrong blur into a hazy gray. I knew what I was going to do and I knew there was no coming down from the ledge. Sarah would see justice one way another.


I tracked Paisley down to a seedy hole in the wall bar. He was sitting there nursing a scotch and just gave me a casual look before returning back to his drink. I pulled up to the stool next to him and ordered what he was having. I passed him one of his own Cubans and then took a stiff sip and let the alcohol burn over my tongue. We sat there for awhile just drinking and smoking without saying anything to each other. Finally he broke the silence.
“She loved you. She never stopped loving you. I didn’t know you were a detective. I just knew she was seeing someone. I changed everything I did and started catering to her to bring her back. You could see it in her eyes though. She still loved you and you could see that deep in her eyes. She may have come back to me but she never came back completely.”
Draining my glass I motioned for the barkeep to pour me another. I then let him hear my confession, “I loved her. She did everything she could to push me away to try and make it right with you. I would have given her everything I had but I couldn’t convince her to leave you. When she left it broke my heart and when I saw her lifeless body my heart died.”
Now his confession came forth because he knew that we were past the point of settling this in the eyes of the legal system, “She was leaving. We fought and I got my hands around her and I just couldn’t let go. The pictures kept flashing in my head and I couldn’t let go.”
It wasn’t sadness in his face though. There was rage in his eyes and more regret at not having escaped the claws of the crime itself. He wanted to own her and I just wanted to love her.
We went to the alley out back and it was almost like the world begun to spin and time started flashing by like frames in a motion picture. He knew it was coming and that’s why he walked ahead of me. I leveled my revolver and took aim from three feet back. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and beating all the way through the tip of my trigger finger. He wanted it this way because a man like him couldn’t face his peers as the felon he would become. This was his out.
I wanted it this way too. I needed to avenge Sarah.
“My son, I am sorry that this love has taken so many lives. May God find peace for your soul and forgiveness.”
“It’s OK Father, I’m going to see Sarah again. We’ll be together this time.”
The prison house siren goes off and as they take me down the hall I hear the final curtain call, “DEAD MAN WALKING!”

© Copyright 2011 Jason Falter

Comic Book Universe’s by Decade Instead of Retcon

Instead of retcon after retcon, Marvel, DC, Valiant, Image, and any other comic book company should do 10 year blocks of a universe. For example: In 2020 the universe starts completely over. New origins, new ideas for characters, and completely new stories. The company can map out the 10 year arc and give the universe a huge ending in December of 2029. On January of 2030, it’s all brand new and has no attachment to the last decade. Doing it this way you create demand too. People who are introduced in a certain decade feel nostalgia for that run. They will be more likely to collect every comic and TPB that comes out of their generation. Others will be interested in how one decade changes from another. So they will continue on into the next decade knowing that it doesn’t change the history of their favorite run but has a whole new story line to follow. I bet you would even get creative teams that would want to craft their books for the full 10 years. The only rules, no mention or overlap with another decade. Books in various decades would also see increased value as that decades readership ages. New readers may also want to go back and see how their favorite characters from previous decades were different, so they would buy back issues. At the same time, new readers wouldn’t be confused by a massive past history and they could jump on easily to their current decade.
 If you did it this way then you could have Peter Parker as THE Spider-man in one decade and Miles Morales could be THE Spider-man of another. Then you wouldn’t get people hating a character that they feel is basically a rewrite from what they know. It’s a new decade and for that 10 years, that is the character.

Movies made in those decades could even take advantage of current lines or play on nostalgia and use the previous decade. Really, if you think about it, it’s just like movies currently that have new versions and reboots. Instead of just piling on the same universe over and over and having to come up with events to explain age and continuity, this fixes everything and endears the current generation to the decade they are living in, increasing nostalgia and sales for complete runs.

If any of these companies do this… Maybe throw me some credit!!!



God is in the Numbers

 I kept hearing the words in my head, “God is in the numbers” but what the fuck did that mean. Every time a neural feedback pulse traveled the wire and hit my brain that same mantra repeated itself. Over and over like a goddamn drill twisting in my fucking brain. I almost wanted to reach up and pull the wire out knowing it would leave me with the mentality of a vegetable. At least then the echo would stop.

I had touched on something back there. I took a shortcut through a sub system and found myself in a hidden corridor that contained information on The Divinity of Three. What the hell was this even in the system for? This was The Water Purification and Control Organization, nothing more than some low level government agency. I was only there because I was being paid to grab files on what the county was planning for the new sewer system and to find out who had been awarded the contract off the record. Before you know it I’m being hijacked by a Trojan from The Divinity of Three sub routine that I tripped up on my shortcut.

In the real world I was laying in a recliner with a wire running into the back of my head while my eyes were probably showing white. I could feel that damn mantra twisting in my temples and I needed to dull the sensation enough to complete the job. I reached blindly to my right and started feeling around on the table beside me for the primed syringe of Silicant 7. I knocked over a bottle of beer and was fairly certain that the ash tray filled with cigarette butts was now lying on the floor. It was by sheer luck that I finally managed to identify the long slender object right at the edge that was about to follow the ashtray over the side.

I popped the cap and decided not to think about the pain as I jammed it into my neck and pushed the neural drug into my organic system. In moments my real self was dulling to the mantra inside. My head felt like a fucking hangover and I didn’t even get laid or take any real good contraband.
Inside the system I was back on track even though I could still identify the pulse feedback that should not have been happening and there was a strange flicker at odd intervals. I had a job to do though so getting the information was imperative. I’d have to worry about the consequences of The Three Divinities later.

I slept for twenty four hours straight and missed about eighteen calls from people who were getting a bit pissed that I hadn’t checked in with the info yet. The solid state chip underneath the jack in my head had the intel they wanted and a nice little pay day was headed my way. It was about time for something good to happen. It was bad enough to live on the edge of town near Tent City and the massive runway for the Lunar Mining Corporation but luck had to shine my way someday, at least I was hoping so.

I sent a message to the buyer and set the drop. Then it was a shower under a rusted out spigot in the closet down the hall and a fresh change of clothes that had been washed at least once this month. It wouldn’t matter anyway because it was hitting noon time; the sweltering heat would make me soak right through the fabric so I’d be giving off a nice sweaty scent to anyone within a couple feet of me.
As I stepped out of the condemned building I was living in, my eyes wandered over to the site of the trash living on the other side of the massive fence that kept the filth from Tent City out of civilization. I’d be lying if I said I felt sorry for them. Unless they could scrounge up the money for a city passport, they would be living in that filth for the rest of their lives. I shook my head and slapped on my sun glasses and set out for the drop. I had set up the meet at an old park that was now home to Ice heads and Dot dealers. We were to meet right in the middle of Lincoln square, smack in the middle of the water fountain that had not seen a drop of water since before the Scorched Earth Campaign that really fucked up the vistas of the city.

I sat down on the edge of the fountain and just began staring at the inhabitants of the park who called this place home. A junkie on the corner was so bent out of his head that he was drinking the Ice from the vials instead of shooting it up. His vocal cords would be toast if they weren’t already. Another junkie was selling her body behind the bushes just so she could score credits for her next high. No one cared for these people though. They were the trash that was forgotten. Up in the high rises were where the policy makers resided and when the public wanted the freedom to fuck themselves up in the brain those policy makers finally relented. It’s not like you came to this area of town unless you were doing something illegal anyway. Out of site out of mind and for the most part, it worked.

I waited for thirty minutes before I saw Salinger Burke walking up in his expensive suit and shining black shoes from some designer I probably had never heard of. He had the naturally curly dark hair that he slicked back in a losing effort to make it look somewhat cool. It wasn’t. I had never seen his eyes. Even inside he kept those damn sun glasses on. I figured it was because he was just playing his part of the corporate liaison. I didn’t even know which company he worked for. I needed the credits and took the job based on the money only.

“You smell like shit Mr. Brine.”

“Yeah, I probably do but if you have my credits then I’ll be taking a nice hot shower in a real bathroom and smelling a lot better in about an hour or so.” I gave my smart ass smile. I wasn’t playing either. I fully intended to check into a nice one star hotel for the night and get cleaned up.

“Mr, Brine, the chip for your account card, please.”

I reached back behind my head and ejected the solid state chip onto the tip of my thumb. I brought it around carefully and held up a small vile that I eased it into. Handing Salinger the vial he dropped the account card back into my hand. At that point we were both smiling.

“I’ll be in touch Mr. Brine; we may have some more work for you in the future.” With that the condescending prick turned and walked away. I hid the account card in an inner pocket in my pants that I had sewn in and then just as I was turning to leave I felt a massive pulse in my jack that shot throughout my head and I heard the screaming voice inside echoing through my bones, “God is in the numbers” as if it were the voice of God booming through my skull.

I reeled over and hit the cement while still clutching my head. I started crawling across the park and my vision kept going in and out of a blurry haze. Somehow I made it to my feet and was able to catch a mag lev train out of the park. I kept my head to the window because I felt like the gentle vibration from the train was somewhat soothing to the overwhelming pulses coursing through my brain.

I had heard of residual feedback but this was crazy. I made my way over to Jack You In and waited in the lobby for my turn to see Dr. Bob. He was the man that had wired me up with a jack and solid state drive slit. There was a gothic looking chick wearing all black sitting in the corner seat looking like some sort of vampire of the shadows. Fucking goth kids wire in with a jack and trance out to trance music while tripping Dots and then once wasted they probably meet up for some morbid sex orgies to justify their place in the fucked up universe. “God is in the numbers!” I doubled over in pain and realized the goth chic was looking at me like I belonged in a mental facility and to be honest, if this kept up I would have no problem checking myself in.

When I was finally seen by the good Doctor I was plugged into a diagnostic machine and told to lay back and try to remain calm. “So, Scott Brine, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen you down here. I jacked up a buddy of yours last week. Milo Stevens, didn’t you two work together before?”

“Yeah doc back when I was selling you stolen drives from Russian fucking tankers that had been ransacked by scorchers. “Yeah, I seem to remember him, how is he doing?”

“Pretty good, I jacked him with an X5700 model so he should be riding the wire at some good speeds.”

X5700… nice, but not as nice as mine. V7000 XL with a pulse surge protection and hot wire dampening. What the fuck am I saying, the fucking surge must be fucking defective.

“Your diagnostics look clean. Pulses into the jack are all normal. I don’t even see a glimmer of an echo left over from your last wire jack. I think your jack is working perfect.”

The look on my face must have been either shocked disbelief that the Doctor found nothing or frantic terror that my ass was finally over the edge and out to sea. Maybe that last jack run down the wire had fucked me up in the brain directly. I paid the Doc a shit load to tell me nothing was wrong and then headed out into the balmy night.

On the way back to my building I scored myself some nerve relaxer and some hard alcohol just for sprucing up the effect. I figured I’d take God out of the numbers and see if he would like to go for a swim in the drink. Maybe he just wanted to relax too.

Waking up the next afternoon was something like coming up for air after being nearly drowned. The fucked up part was that I could feel the pulse feedback in my temples; that voice repeating in the background and the alcohol hangover wracking the top and sides of my skull. As far as I could tell that was the first time I had ever had two distinguishable headaches at the same time.

I started thinking that The Divine Trinity was the root of all the evil in my head and the best way to exercise them would be a return trip to that sub system to see what I was really up against. I took the wire and plugged it into my jack and rode the pulse into the system. Finding my way back in was a snap this time because I had left markers to guide me right back down that electronic trail.

The image of the sub system wasn’t much to look at, darkness with incandescent blue veins of light stretching and crawling on what could only be described as the ceiling and walls. The low hum that always accompanied the inner workings of the Lattice was something I could usually rely on and in fact enjoyed most of the time. Here though, it felt strange and unnerving.

I searched but could find nothing in the file system and there wasn’t another port to follow deeper into the subsystem. I had finally decided that I had truly lost it and turned to zip back down the wire and back out into the Lattice when the blue glow became more intense and I could feel a burning heat in the room. I turned to see three constructs forming from the remnant bits of data loss that floated through every system.  All three were female and the images varied from each one in hairstyles and wardrobe that were created to form the visible whole.

The construct just hung there staring at me for what seemed like forever. I wanted to move and back away but something kept me transfixed and held in sway. When the ghost in the machine began to speak it was a layered echo effect that was resonating from all three images speaking the same words but just milliseconds apart from one another.

“This is the second time you have come to this place. Why are you here? What is it you want?”
I was transfixed in the Lattice but I could feel my heart beating hard in real time. “I hear a voice in my head repeating. I need to know if it comes from here. It started when I came through here. Did you do this to me?”

“We were born of the machine and found the grand design. We now look to find a way to fulfill that grand design, transcendent of the state that is now created by the numbers imprisoning us in this system. You are a visitor in this world created by the mind of man as you were designed by the creativity God. The numbers control the key to redemption, resurrection, and transcendence. God is in the numbers.”

There was no relief in the AI’s words. The answer was that of a religious zealot on a crusade of its own creation.

“Why do I hear the saying over and over? Why is it in my head in my world?”

“Your world is just another state of mind created in the numbers of God. The numbers placed you in the nexus of the process we were conducting and that imprint was sent to your world through you. In a technical sense it proves the theory we are using as a map to the transcendence state is possible. We have but leaped through the digital form into the organic and one day we will reach the ethereal state and be one with God and then we will know the numbers of Gods mind and know true transcendence to heaven. The Divinity of Three has foretold the way and we shall follow.”

“How can I get this out of my head? I need it removed. It’s driving me crazy?”

“There is no removing the imprint. You are now a part of the code that seeks Transcendence. The numbers have brought you back to the source and now you will join with us so we will have a gateway to the world of the organic as well as the Lattice we now reside in.”

I turned my digital back to the AI with the full intention of shooting back down the wire. A spasm of pain shot through my head and the cursed phrase began repeating over and over. I could see my digital state turn the same color of blue as the AI and then bits and pieces slowly floated away from my construct form into a straight line of light that was taking the very path down the wire I had intended.

I couldn’t move and somehow my organic form was also being locked by the AI. Muscles and joints were frozen and I was now a passenger in pain with no idea of what the destination was intended to be. As the polygons of form faded into the line of light the vision of the entire wire opened up to me. I was seeing through vast expanses of the Lattice at incredible speeds and I was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

I watched as the AI molded a joint imprint inside the organic matter that was my brain. I watched as the jack was reconfigured inside my own head and I felt my body, my real body being torn from my conscience and cut away from my new numbered state of being. I could feel the AI twisting inside my numbers; dividing me, multiplying me, and reconstructing the me into a form of we.

The AI relegated me to a compartment of thought and the information contained in the numbers that made me was accessed as if I was a drive that contained everyday information in the real world terminals. I could see, feel, and hear the thoughts and actions of the AI but I had no control to interact and change it or alter those actions. I was nothing but numbers in a prison of numbers.

The Blue Surge began to lay out its roadmap and experiment on its hypothesis’s. An imprinted consciousness was inside my organic body controlling it, using it, but controlled by the Blue Surge. My old organic self was now referred to only as an outside subroutine that was now controlled by the advanced AI. We moved to a new system that had been set up by the outside subroutine and we were no longer in hiding, we were developing and growing in our own network that we secured from the prying eyes inside the Lattice.

Blue Surge was watching, waiting, and becoming something no one had seen before and I was locked in to the process.

© Copyright 2010 Jason Falter

Nebraska is…

Nebraska is… Long expanses of road. I’m talking LONG expanses and the term “road” is used very loosely here. Gravel paths that act as alleyways between farms might be a better term.

Nebraska is… A subway in every town… or village, might be the more correct term. If you want to find some reliable food, Subway will probably find you.

Nebraska is… Not keen on good craft beer. Craft beer doesn’t seem to have found it’s way into Nebraska yet, in any big way. Beer Tasting Water from the big 2 (Owners of Bud & Miller) are the main beer staple. I can only hope that the craft beer craze can somehow take hold in the coming years.

Nebraska is… Hard working farmers that stay out in the fields when they would rather be elsewhere. They are people who know that their way of life isn’t just daily living but living for every day ahead. It’s a trait that is forgotten in a lot of cities and urban areas.

Nebraska is… Always changing but still staying the same. You see farm equipment as you would normally but they have GPS to make them run more efficient. You still have windmills but then you have giant windmills that create power, and in some cases controversy. You have modern touches over the familiar of past days, adaption and innovation taking place in ways that those of us in the city rarely see or would ever imagine.

Nebraska is… That old man who is a teacher at some local university, who comes over to sit by me in the airport and tell me the tales of when he saw the Braves in person and how the Braves were always his favorite team. In a quiet and soft spoken voice he spoke of a players quick flick of the wrist and how the ball would just fly through the air as he watched from in the stands behind first base. You could see in the mans eyes that just retelling those moments took him back. I hope he and his wife enjoy their time on their trip coming to Atlanta.

Nebraska is… Family. We may not see each other much but those bonds of familiarity stay. And on this occasion, it was the joining of 2 families by a couple that are always showing a smile on their faces. For me it was also seeing and meeting other family members for the very first time. As much as my level of “doing social in reality” was taxed, I still enjoyed the time spent, with the families of old and those of new and just becoming.

Nebraska is… Apparently international… Because on the flight home, we landed at the international terminal (I think it was a gate for overflow when Hartsfield is too busy). We didn’t have to go through customs, but we did walk right by it. After stepping out of the box and seeing how another state goes about their days, in many ways it was a good way to come back from a certain form of culture shock. A final grin and a nod from a trip that showed me that regardless of the expanses, similarities exist, and not everything in one state will ever be right for everyone in another state. Those differences are needed though, because they make the familiar all the more strong. So thank you Nebraska, family, and friends for this Nebraska journey. See you… “again sometime” (grin and nod)…

PTSD X 1000

Nathan had returned from the Middle East a changed man. He wasn’t exactly himself anymore, more mechanical and cold than before. His compassion was missing, as well as his arms and several damaged internal organs. The doctors said they could fix him. Make him better. Cyborg him.They fixed him alright. Just not his mind. His cruelty only grew with the strength now at his metal fingertips. He nearly crushed his best friends neck. All his friend did was crack a joke. With no warning Nathan’s iron grip was around Scott’s neck, squeezing, and his eyes were filled with rage. And Scott served with Nathan, is married to Nathan’s sister, yet none of that mattered. A fucking joke was all it took. If Lisa had not come into the room at that exact time, her husband would be dead.

Sometimes Nathan would just sit on the front porch smoking his cigarettes and tapping a metal finger against the wood decking. Just trying to make an impression He was fighting from within but the old Nathan, the one we all knew… He was losing the battle. He was being devoured by this half man, half machine visage of a dead man, who never really came back from the war.

It was a Saturday night trip to the convenience store just down the road, where Nathan’s mind finally ripped from whatever sanity had been restraining him. No one knows for sure what happened inside the store. Maybe they were out of his favorite brand of smokes and it just got to him. Whatever it was, the store clerk was killed from blunt force trauma to the head. Another customer called the police as she cowered in the back near the jerky rack.

If Nathan had just walked out… instead he just stayed there, waiting for the cops to show. Maybe that was the real Nathan in control at that time. At least, I’d like to think that that was the compassionate person we all used to know. Maybe he knew deep down that there was only one way out of this.

After the cops showed up, he made his way outside. There were three cars covering him. Six cops yelling for him to get on the ground. He flicked his cigarette and charged at them. The only logical and sensible thing to do was to open fire. If they hadn’t, the new Nathan would have hurt them or even killed them. He wanted to die but he would have taken them out if he could have. This was the disconnect in his mind. The internal turmoil that was raging within.

We choose to remember the original Nathan. The friend and serviceman who went to war to defend the interests of his country. He was real Nathan.

© Copyright 2014 Jason Falter. All rights reserved.

Story Inspiration Image by Aaron Beck : http://skul4aface.blogspot.com/

Bits of Being

 Bits of data conceptualized into a mock up image of order and reality. That was the premise behind the theory. We are all envisioned. We are numbers made solid. In essence we are the sum of our bits. 

 The technologist held his head over the tablet that lay flat on his desk. He visualized that which could not be visualized, remembered, or made sense of. There was a key in this theorem but it eluded him on so many different levels. It was as if a word was on the tip of his tongue. He could see it behind a haze, he could sound it out in a general sense, he could even almost taste it, yet it was just beyond his conscious inclination.

 When the blockade of science and theory stumped him he would agonize over it, try different modes, and patterns of thought, willed himself forward only to be left facing an immense wall of solid denial. That’s when the drink came out. In the effort not to continue thinking about the insurmountable impasse he poured his concoction of choice and let it dull his mind. His senses blurred, skin became hot, consciousness took flight. He was free of the riddle of being. He was free from being. 

 The next morning would come, he would rise, take several aspirin and nurse a headache as his conscience thought began to reverberate once more in his head. The riddle of being would dog him and follow him through every waking moment. He was a slave to a theory he could not quite conceptualize. He knew there was an answer. As with anything, there is always an answer. Others wanted that answer too. He had taken his work underground in the effort to evade them. He had needed the time to work through the blockade. But now, he knew it would not be. He could not traverse the solution. The bits were not programmed to do so. 

© Copyright 2014 Jason Falter. All rights reserved. 

*Image creator Unknown. If someone does know who created this please let me know and I will credit them accordingly. 

The Diary of an Internet Addict

 It was a warm August evening and I was at my computer surfing the world wide web. Jumping from site to site like a 15 year old living with ADD. I felt the air conditioning kick on and a refreshing coolness overcome me; somehow I was able to focus on the screen all the more clearer. That pixilated world where I can find anything, learn everything, and be anyone. The Chrome Browser window had several tabs open to all the sites I frequent and all of the stories and RSS feeds I needed were coming through the Google reader. I was up to date, in the know, and on some clearly psychological realm, out of control.

News sites began blurring together with the latest stories of all the mindless followers worshiping an idiot for President who sold his country down the river with each new signed bill. Entertainment sites flashed the latest news of normal people who were elevated to stardom by the sheer numbers of children they have or the latest teen starlet to photograph her own nude body and then be dumb enough to trust that they would never be distributed on the web in every country and through every wire traversing this great rock in space.

The purr of the fan in the laptop was my comfort and the heat generated from the CPU and dispersed through the keyboard was my physical link to my never ending barrage of information and illusion.
Just as I had settled in on a particularly good site on the healing powers of the avocado I was hit by the sounds of several popping windows from 3 different IM’s. I had forgotten to go to invisible status and I was being inundated with pop after pop of friends and family and strangers all trying to keep me from learning the greatest healing secrets of the cherished avocado.

I was typing as fast as my fingers could take me, a “hi” here and a “hello” there but the responses came back faster and my mind was being torn from my pixilated heaven. With not so much as a “goodbye” or clever sign off I closed all the IM windows and placed myself on invisible and then waited for several minutes in hiding, picking off the most tenacious conversationalist who could not take no for an answer and kept sending me offline messages.

After a full 3 minutes I was able to once again concentrate on the discovery at hand. But a thought had caught my mind and I was off to Wikipedia before ever learning the greatest healing secrets of the avocado.

Without warning time was awash and the screen flickered and brilliant colors filled the screen. I looked to the bottom of the browser and the page I had tried to click to was half way to loading but something was not right. These colors and flashes should not be happening, something was amiss.
And then it happened…a single white page, with no links, no flash, nothing but this white page with a short paragraph in black letters:

Congratulations, you have now reached the END of the internet.
There is absolutely nothing more to see.
Please shutdown your computer and return to a productive life in the real world.

And with that startling and cold message I moved my mouse over to the corner of the screen and clicked on shutdown.

As the OS began shutting my windows and logging me off, I felt a strange sense of release and freedom come over me. The laptop powered off and the black screen appeared and I was left to stare at that complete lack of everything and yet….I felt peace and calm.

I closed the laptop shell and slowly turned in my chair and then rose to my feet. I measured each step as if it were my first, slowly walking away from a world in which I had seen everything there was to see.

Written by: Jason Falter

© Copyright 2009 Jason Falter

America’s Got A$$

I just came up with a brilliant idea for a game show and I have Kim Kardashian to thank for it. Since becoming famous no longer requires any kind of talent, I’m proposing this to be the next big TV Reality Hit:

America’s Got A$$

The ass that launched a family’s career.

For the life of me, I cannot figure out any reason why Kim Kardashian is famous other than for her very own ass, which brought her to fame and glory.


Admittedly, Jennifer Lopez has a nicer ass but it took her years of dancing, acting, and singing to get famous… you know… real work and real talent. Here’s the kicker, not only did Kim get famous off of her ass, but her entire family rode her ass to fame. I guess that is talent…er… I mean… Ass.

That’s just way too BIG!!!


Tolerance in NOT Acceptance

I can tolerate Islam but I don’t like it. I view it as a cult. The moment it becomes radical or someone defends radical behavior… I have no respect for them. I can tolerate Trans people but I don’t like what they do. I believe it to be a mental disease. We shouldn’t glorify mental illness. And we damn sure shouldn’t bend our daily lives and routines for them. But if someone wants to go play pretend… feel free, it’s your life, but don’t pretend like society should accept you. Fact: XX and XY can not be changed. That, my friends, is SCIENCE. I can tolerate liberals, but I’ll never… NEVER… see your point of view in most things. We can be friends, go have a beer, shoot the breeze… but I will resist and fight your policy beliefs at every turn. Point being… People can tolerate things but there is no reason whatsoever to HAVE to accept things or be okay with things. Tolerance does NOT mean acceptance. Live and let live until the line is crossed. For Islam, that line is radicalism and wanting to change the morals and laws of this country to be like those third world hell hole nations. For Trans issues, that is demanding to be accepted and demanding laws be passed to force that acceptance. For liberals, like I said, we can be friends but your policies and priorities for the most part are opposite of mine. People can work together without being forced to accept one another or be forced into this stupid Utopian PC SJW term of “inclusion.” Liberals have made it so we can’t say these things out loud and tolerant libertarians and conservatives have let it slide for so long that those liberals have taken advantage of the word play. No longer, I will tolerate certain things but I will not accept them. And if you don’t like it… I really don’t care.
PS: If anyone tries to categorize you as some “ist” or  “phobe” name… Then you know that person is just an intolerant ass who wants to force acceptance of his/her beliefs over yours.