Something Bigger Than Life


That’s right, the long-awaited reboot of my award-winning serial, The Watchmage of Old New York, is here! Click here for the Amazon buy site, or buy on Barnes & Noble, iBooks, or Kobo.  Don’t miss out on this, old fans and new will love what I’ve done with the story.


You’ve probably figured this out, but I read a lot. Books, comics, the backs of shampoo bottles, if it has words, I will consume its soul, therefore gaining its powers.

This is a metaphor, but apt.

A few months ago, I wrote about how Inside Out explored human emotions by personifying them. Instead of being something abstract, suddenly Joy was a character, a joyful one, but with significant flaws. Sadness was a pariah, but with a hidden virtue. Anger, Fear, Disgust, all given life. This is how the mind works…


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Hey-ah I’ma Da Pope-ah!!

I was getting into the whole search for the new pope thing. It’s not as cool as searching for a new Dalai Lama, but it’s close.  Now we have one, (and by we, I mean “not me.”) I was very excited.  I thought that maybe he would have a more progressive view on things.  Maybe he would even clean up the pedobearia in the church.

I doubt it.

Re: gay marriage, there is this:

Same shit, different Pope

So gay marriage is a plot by the Devil to confuse the children of God?  What is priestly molestation then?

We’d be better off with Zoidberg

Wrestling With God

It was a month since Valerie died on the 24th. It feels like so much longer, like I’ve lived ten empty, soulless years since losing her. Every day, every minute, every instance drags on forever. Everything reminds me of her, not the obvious things like her action figure collection or the poem that I taped to my wall, but little things. I took out the garbage earlier, and I passed by where she parked on her last visit. It was the spot of our last kiss. I knew that I was kissing her goodbye, but I didn’t think that it was forever.

What kind of God would do this?  What kind of monster would snuff someone so wonderful, and do it in her prime?
People tell me that it is all part of God’s plan.  God’s plan?  Plan for what?  What makes anyone think that it’s a good plan?  Look at all the suffering in the world.  If God is omnipotent, then why does he have to kill, unless he WANTS to?

So what’s the deal?  Either God isn’t good, or God isn’t omnipotent.  Or maybe God doesn’t exist.

I don’t know.

Against my better judgement, I choose to believe in God.  I do this only because the thought of never seeing Valerie again, (or my Mom, gramma, grampa, etc) is too much for me to bear.  I have to believe, because the belief that she is still with me is all that keeps me going.  I don’t care if I am deluding myself, the delusion is better than reality.

But then WHY?  Why do you kill?  Why do you cause pain?  If you are all powerful, why do you allow these things?

Maybe God isn’t all powerful.  Maybe there is evil out there just as powerful.  This appeals to the fantasy writer in me, an epic battle between good and evil with the Earth at stake.  But being appealing doesn’t make it real

Maybe this is Hell.  We’ve already lived horrible lives and died, and our existance here is punishment for the life that we led.  That explains the massive amount of pain and suffering in the world.  We all deserve it, because we are bad people.

Maybe God only watches, but doesn’t step in.  Cold and unfeeling, he looks us over like someone watching the History Channel, caring nothing for the people involved.

The thing is, none of else will ever know.  The only “proof” is “faith” and they are not the same thing.

I do know that I’ve been calling out God for weeks now, but he won’t get in the ring.


Also I am not particularly religious, I identify very strongly with my Jewish heritage.  I am very proud of our accomplishments and simply the fact that I can say “I belong to a People that have existed for 3500 years.”  Not many ethnicities can say that.

Of course, those of you who have read my writing (hopefully all of you) can see the influence there.  I recently wrote a short story (still unpublished) called “The Kid and the Casserole” about a jewish man and his shiksa goddess.  He is put in a position where he has to defend his ethnicity against the onslaught of “Whiteness” into his kitchen.  Looking at it now, it might need some revision, but still . . . casseroles and hot shiksas.

I do not have a menorah, and it is Hanukah.  I was hoping to go out and get one today, but I got bogged down with napping (I stayed over at Valerie’s last night and didn’t get much sleep . . . giggity).  I know that most of my family doesn’t care, but I care, and I am disappointed in myself.

Oh well, maybe tomorrow before the Jets’ game.

This is my first blog entry.  Let’s see how it goes . . .