Situation Normal. Atmosphere Breathable. Brainstem Injected. Dialogue Engaged.
stg-roadrunner-gfx
Friday, July 08, 2005

Galactic Bio-Electrical Chemistry

Dear Steve,

It's been a long time! Since we last spoke, I got a job in Seattle beta testing video games, caught pneumonia, accidentally burned down three McDonald's, got married to a hippie girl, got arrested for trespassing, got divorced, and moved to a trailer park in New Mexico to contemplate my place in the universe.

That's where I am now. I'm writing for three reasons. The first? I decided to write to forgive you for the way our friendship ended. I'm sure you remember telling me "Call me when you've had your fiber" and "Everybody else only needs one day to celebrate his birthday, why are you so special?" I was an uptight, angry guy back then, and I took everything far too seriously. Sure, you were an asshole, but who else would help me move back to my mom's house after my suicide attempt? You didn't flinch when you walked into my filthy Chicago apartment and saw the dark blood stained on the mattress and the walls. You didn't laugh (too much) when I shit my pants after you and your other friends goaded me into drinking all that gin during that game of spades in your garage.

The second reason I'm writing is to kickstart our friendship. I'm going to return to film school, and I'd like to start a correspondence with you. You're not as good as I am at dissecting films or understanding directors, but you always had a weird take on films that helped me see them from a different perspective. In addition to my technical work and short film directing, I could use your help with the comedic aspects of scripting. You always had something sick, deviant, or bizarre to say, and I need to inject an added element of absurdity into my screenplays. I'm trying to go for something like David Lynch, but I need more than strangeness for its own sake. I want my weirdness to be funny and revolting at the same time. That's you exactly. Would you mind if I sent something your way for suggestions? I would appreciate it. My vulgarity is depressingly pedestrian.

The third reason is the meteor. It crashed about six miles away from my trailer. It was about two in the morning on a Tuesday night. June 21st, to be specific. Everybody else in this park was drunk, fucking, or dead at the time. I was outside staring at the sky, like usual.

At first I thought it was just another shooting star. It wasn't until the arc of descent angled sharply earthwards that I realized it was plunging straight for the ground, seemingly right at me. I could see the fire around it, and when it reached the horizon, it landed with a low rumbling "THOOOOMSH!" sound. I hopped in my VW bus and made straight for it.

The crater was pretty big for a rock so small. The meteorite lying in the center was still glowing hot, but not the usual reddish color. It was a strange blue light that oscillated from it in pulses. I didn't want to touch it and burn myself or catch space flu or cancer or anything, so I went and got some water and a tarp. I poured the water on it. It didn't steam. I guess it had cooled. It was still glowing blue. Next I rolled it into the tarp and brought the malformed chunk back here. It's out back next to my grill. I've been tempted to crack it open several times, but prudence holds me back. I don't want to be the guy that released space AIDS spores into our atmosphere.

I just thought you might be interested to hear about this. You were always the whackjob going off about evil extraterrestrials. I never took you too seriously, thinking you were putting us on, but sometimes you did seem halfway serious about it. I'm curious what you'd make of this. It's a tad strange.

Anyways, I hope to hear from you soon, and I hope all is well.

Sincerely,
Jim Fawler

---

Dear Jim,

It's great hearing from you! I'm glad to hear that you've had a lot of excitement and done plenty of travelling up and down the west coast. I must admit I'm jealous. I've switched from working for a big corporation (Compaq/HP) to working for a small company in Schaumburg that does touchscreen restaurant registers and closed circuit cameras. I'm still single and I live on the edge of Chicago in River Grove, which is sandwiched between Elmwood Park and Franklin Park. I still spend a lot of time drinking to excess, often in public. I started writing again and I've forayed into fiction recently. I'll send you a few favorites of mine. I'm sure you'll enjoy my stories. They're right up your alley.

I'm sorry about the way our friendship ended. Thanks for forgiving me. What can I say, I've always been selfish. I'm glad you tracked me down and sent me a letter, and furthermore, I'd love to take a crack at your scripts. Send one or two along and I'll do my best to make them meaner.

As for the meteor, I have good and bad news. The good news is that you're probably not in danger of radiation poisoning or space flu. I believe the meteor is merely a vessel, and that if you were to crack it open, inside you'd find a glowing blue orb. The orb contains a chemical not found on our planet. I've found cracked open meteors in a dumpster behind some restaurants near my house. In the same garbage are empty orbs that fit exactly inside the center hollows of the meteors. I've seen the translucent blue residue lining the inside of the empty orbs. Also in the trash, strangely, are dozens of used hypodermic needles, all of which look slightly melted. More on the meteors, orbs, and needles later.

The bad news is the reason it was dropped to the earth. There's an army of extraterrestrials disguised as humans here on earth. They use this stuff in conjunction with brain chemicals they extract from captive humans. Different emotions create different flavors. They capture us and tinker with our perceptions to produce different emotions, and hence, different extractable fluids and electrical impulses.

They monitor us with remote devices, radios of a sort that tune into emotions instead of broadcast frequencies. When they find a person with they right mental makeup, they kidnap the vulnerable victim and spirit him or her off to their hideout. There they hook their machines into the brain, using certain nodes and lobes for input, others for extraction. They combine whatever they extract with the blue chemical, creating a potent injectable. (I think, based on the needles) I'm not sure if the end products are different flavors of galactic heroin of if they are used for something else completely, like medicine or fuel. They might even use the stuff on people. I don't know. I'm still investigating that.

I've been procrastinating on assaulting two local restaurants here in River Grove that are both closed on Mondays. I believe they're making their blue combo serum weekly in the adjacent basements of those facilities. I've been a tad cowardly and haven't gone in yet.

I will soon. I need to know what's happening. I want to see their machines. I must learn how widespread their presence is, and whether they pose a longterm threat to our species. Plus, you know me. I want to try that blue stuff, if it is, in fact, a drug. I'll try anything twice. My motto.

The fact that they're hiding and being sneaky gives me hope, because it follows that they don't have the power to subjugate an angry and aware human population. As for your situation, I'm guessing that they miscalculated a trajectory, or some butterfly wings altered conditions, and one of those suckers got flung the wrong way and happened to land in your patch of desert. I'm not sure if it has a transmitter or not. Maybe you should bury it. I don't know. I'm going to attack these aliens locally. If I survive, I'll tell you all about the blue goo.

Great to hear from you, Jim.

Be good,
Steve
8:10 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm

20 Comments:

July 08, 2005 9:37 AM, Blogger Kerouaced said...

We must get to the bottom of this blue substance. There are world domination possibilities at stake and like George W. Bush I want it all for myself. That said, I guess I would be willing to share the world with you if I could have the Playboy Mansion on weekends. Give me a call we need to work out the details and by the way damn entertaing piece...keep cranking them out. I don't know how you continue to keep so many good ones coming...

 
July 08, 2005 10:07 AM, Anonymous red said...

Steve, two words, "start publishing". trust me.

 
July 08, 2005 10:21 AM, Anonymous red said...

I'm serious, you need to be paid for this, although i do enjoy the freebies.

 
July 08, 2005 10:42 AM, Blogger Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm said...

Steve, thanks again! I've always promised my subjects that I would be a benevolent and generous dictator. You are no exception. I will glad allow you the Playboy Mansion.

How do I keep cranking this stuff out? I don't know. I just start writing. Mischief ensues. Frequently I have no idea where something is going until it's done.

I had no idea where the hell I was going with that raccoon thing. I tried all weekend to think it up, but nothing came to me. It wasn't until the keyboard was clacking that I found it.

Thanks, Red! I don't know who would publish it, or if I could do it myself, how I'd distribute, but I suppose I should do some research and figure out where I should submit. My stories are awfully short little things. There's probably a publication or two somewhere.

 
July 08, 2005 10:45 AM, Blogger Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm said...

For some odd reason there's lots of folks showing up today from all over the world to read this blog. None have referring links, and none have visited before. Must be a copy & paste to the linkbar.

In the last two hours, I've had people from Greece, Ireland, Israel, The Netherlands, and a couple more new ones from the usual nations: UK, US, Canada.

Anyone care to share?

 
July 08, 2005 11:35 AM, Blogger EcamirG said...

and here i thought it was airplane poop.

 
July 08, 2005 2:07 PM, Blogger OldHorsetailSnake said...

Any mention of New Mexico drags the foreigners right in, Steve. They hate it that New Mexico gets all the alien action, and Luxembourg doesn't get any.

 
July 08, 2005 4:01 PM, Blogger Lostinspace said...

There are days, like today, when you write, that I want to pick your brain. I think, what the fuck is going on in this boy's mind, that the flow of words like "I don't want to be the guy that released space AIDS spores into our atmosphere" comes out of you...
of course, you know, I will always credit myself as being your biggest Asian-American female fan off the west coast, ha ha.

 
July 08, 2005 11:58 PM, Blogger Cav said...

I am not sure what the back stories are on this...but I find these letters hilarious.

call me craxy.

 
July 08, 2005 11:58 PM, Blogger Cav said...

craxy...that is crazy in the dictionary of cav.

happy to translate.

 
July 09, 2005 11:34 AM, Blogger Nobody special said...

Good stuff. I agree with everyone about trying to get these published. Don't worry about them being short. You'll think of a great way to put it all together.

Lately, I've been going back and reading your earlier stuff. I can't seem to get enough. :)

"I'll try everything twice."

Gotta love that.

 
July 09, 2005 4:59 PM, Blogger alix said...

i linked ya, but i doubt i'm responsible for the traffic. i was born in NM, though, so maybe there's some connection. LOL

i really really enjoy reading your stuff.

 
July 09, 2005 6:50 PM, Blogger The Everglades said...

I honestly couldn't tell if the first letter from Tim was real or not. Guys have falling outs. Dudeds get divorced. Shit falls out of the sky and lands in New Mexico. Totally believable.

Then I read your response to Tim and I loved the fact that for a couple of paragraphs the line between reality and ficton was completely blurred. You had me going and when that line is blurred, people get hooked. Like me. My girlfriend will love this post--I e-mailed it on to her.

Blake

 
July 09, 2005 10:55 PM, Blogger Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm said...

Cav, some of this stuff is journal blogging, and some is fiction. This one is both.

Thanks Alix! I'll get you added to the linkbar next Monday. I'm all about reciprocation. I've visited a couple times and I'll be sure to drop you a line over at Wunderland.

Blake, I used to have a friend named Tim Waller. He didn't actually send me a letter, unfortunately, and the end of our friendship detailed here is accurate. I used his real name. Since he already despises me, what the hell, right? I wonder if he ever returned to film school.

 
July 10, 2005 1:04 PM, Blogger Ectoplasm said...

I think the blue stuff at your local restaurant is likely martini mix. You should refrain from fragging the locals over a misunderstanding.

 
July 10, 2005 1:33 PM, Blogger Cindy-Lou said...

I like this, the letters are a great way of expressing yourself without saying "he said" a million times. By the way, Tim says hi.

 
July 10, 2005 11:53 PM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

Everyone wants to be the unusual sidekick, the creative injector, the ace-in-the-hole, the Matt Stone, (christ knows I do) it's a goddamn cushy job.

Unfortunately there's a lot of competition. It's figuring out how to write the long-form, (how to be the Trey) that's the ticket.

 
July 11, 2005 12:24 AM, Blogger daniel said...

Excellent, just excellent!

 
July 11, 2005 8:34 AM, Anonymous red said...

Steve, magazines are a start, matter of fact, you're buddy Stephen King published some of his novellas in magazines (i have a list of them somewhere, i'll get back to you on that), until his publisher talked him into throwing them all together in "four seasons", i'm sure you're familiar with that.

 
July 11, 2005 10:40 AM, Anonymous sarcastrix said...

When I grow up, I want to be just like you.

Except, you know, without the boy bits...

 

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