So I've been trying to write more lately to varying degrees of success and failure. Most recently I've been writing a story told from the point of view of Gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson as he travels to the afterlife after his suicide by shotgun to the face. Here's what I have so far. Please rip it to shreds. Its not much but its mine dammit!





"I have reached the off season. There goes any chance for more punts or more first downs. All the old pigskin pushers have been put out to pasture. There is only the after party now and the inevitable stench of morning hangover. Welcome to the eternal reception.
It took me a while to settle into my new surroundings. After the initial blast of the shotgun I could only taste metal in the salivary glands and there was a great howling like a fisher cat in heat. I could feel my eyeballs retreating back into the skull until the sockets looked like two white windows in the dark. When you die you can literally feel yourself fall back into the cool embrace of the beyond. Surely, I thought, I would be roused out of my death sleep by scores of naked sweaty virgins ready for the sideways shuffle while I ate grapes on satin sheets and watched angels play baseball. There would be no pain but a constant stream of contentment that not even the best drugs in South Beach could secrete. This was the escape from the daily stomache pains of my living life. It would be smooth sailing and shirley temples from now on. Beautiful.
I woke up on a fucking rusty steamship. Huge. Crawling. Massive. It was like a giant fucking cow tongue licking the back of the water in some strange game of coitus. Holy monkey Jesus. The ferry to farewell town. Ticket bought. Ride taken. Where are my grapes and virgins dammit? This was not part of the contract. Someone was going to answer for this."

Thats just a random song I stumbled across lately. Good stuff.

Greetings from the fringes

Hello World! Its me Nicholas! Glad to see you have been spinning at your usual glacial pace (trust me, you don't need to spin much faster. You look svelt.) Where have I been this past week or so? Good question. Booze is a wonderful thing my friends. Here's to Bacchus!
I must say, not having a phone, while at times frustrating, is the greatest thing ever. I can relax and get much more thinking done. I've also had limited to no internet access. Yeah I know. I like to live in on a little place I call "the edge".

The days have been filled with visiting sick and injured friends, work, work, work, and 48 hours of insanity while making a movie with friends. This has lead me to believe that madness is contagious highly potent when you're surrounded by your buds. Or in the immortal words of one man I shall only call Ballou: "Tits or get the fuck out!" Brick babies indeed.

In other news, my mind has been racing at a fever pitch. I've been coming up with more ideas for books and stories and plays than i know what to do with. So far i've thought of creating:

-a graphic novel that takes place during the Chicago World's Fair and follows a group of travelling circus performers who have to solve a series of killings happening around the city. It would end up being some sort of social commentary in the vein of Alan Moore or Iain Sinclair.

-A play centered around the true story of Lope De Aguirre, a conquistador in the 1500's, who embarks on an expedition to find El Dorado, the lost golden city. He ends up killing his 15 year old daughter Elvira and rebels against the rule of King Philip of Spain. Think Macbeth meets Richard III meets Heart of Darkness and Apocalypse Now.

-A comic book/novel depicting the afterlife. I started thinking about the land of the dead as an ever expanding universe where dead and extinct peoples and cultures are stacked right on top and next to each other. This would make some kind of huge metropolis where you could look at different cultures bumping up against each other. It could be a bunch of short stories connected only by their location. I've also thought of a very intricate story of Napoleon deciding to take over the underworld. This all came out of a play a abandoned writing last year that was much less science fictiony and more philosophical.

-Baby Noir! started off as a joke between me Oreilly and Jonny after we were insane for two days but I'm starting to think it could be a really funny story. And strange. Very strange.

Various other things. Thinking about how I would play Hamlet, Macbeth, or Richard. Its got to happen someday.


I've also been reading a great book called "The year of the King" by actor Antony Sher. Its a journal he kept detailing his life during the year that he gave his breakthrough performance of Richard III at the Royal Shakespeare Company. I've begun an online correspondence with him and he has been a wealth of inspiration.

I'll probably edit this later for details but so far thats my life as of right now!

Alan Moore knows the score.

In this little video writer, philosopher, and comic book creator Alan Moore expounds on his ideas of art, writing, science, magic, and a host of other topics.

So I know its long but this guy is a genius and one of my favorite authors. There's plenty of weirdness in there but some genuine good stuff as well.

Random Rant about stupid shit.

If you're a hateful, piss and vinegar filled maniac like me or just a guy, there's one thing on this rocky planetary protuberance that you can't stand: talking on the phone. Here's something I get quite frequently: "Nick I TRIIIEEEED calling you and you didn't answer ME!!! WHAT THE FUCK MAN!?" Oh I'm sorry Mister President, I didn't realize the missiles were being fired while I was out filling up my life with the mere trifles I call an existence. I apologize that I don't sit in my lazyboy touching myself all day in the hope that you might decide to call my cell phone. Just because I have a cell phone doesn't mean you can reach me anywhere, anytime. I own a cell phone for my convenience. Not yours. Amazingly, I am not sitting around keeping my plate clear so that we can chat whenever you get the notion to call. I have a life. I occasionally go into cars, bathrooms, tunnels, the dentists, auditions, dwarf tossing competitions, great drunken debauches and other places I don't want to talk to you. That's why voice mail was invented.

If you get my voicemail, it does not mean I hate you. It means exactly what it says "leave a message and I will call back". That's not "hang up and I will psychically deduce it was you and call back in the next 3 nano-seconds". Calling six times in a row does not magically summon me. I am not a person who needs to have my mastication muscles constantly gabbing away into oblivion. I need my "me" time (after all I AM a scorpio. Oh yeah and fuck astrology too!)

So yeah I just felt like typing something and there it is. I could have just called someone to tell them all this but, well, you know...

BOREDOM!

Ambition: To own or build a castle


Bad Habit: I have a real mean streak in me I suppose.

City: Well, born in Boston, raised in Boston. Moved to the good ol' prison town Walpole. Go to school in Franklin. Work in Norwood. If you're dedicated you can now stalk me to your heart's content.




Drink: Chocolate Milk. I could seriously drink that stuff all day every day and I frequently do. When I feel like imbibing liquids of the more alcoholic variety I can really dig the guinness and bailey's. I also like grateful deads THE stereotypical college drink in the parlance of our times.




Education: AA in theatre and about to receive my Bachelor's in theatre as well. Did a short stint as a psychology major at Suffolk University where I had to attend and give advice at group therapy sessions. I've probably left irreparable scar tissue on the souls and minds of many a mental patient.

Food: Tacos. As soon as you even mention tacos my mouth waters. I also love corned beef and cabbage and potatoes. Also breakfast food. The best meal of the whole goddamn day. Eggselent!


Guilty Pleasure:

Hometown: Boston Mass. Specifically Jamaica Plain in my mom's old apartment next to the baseball field.

Ice Cream: i'm a simple guy when it comes to dairy. chocolate or vanilla. Fuck off all those other pansy fruity mintberry fucko ice creams.


Jonesing For: a sword I can use to practice. A night of drinks with the friends on friday. The forth of july.

Kryptonite: Can't resist: Candy and sweets. I have a large and in charge sweet tooth.

Shit that brings me down: Nothing. I'm' invincible.


Look-A-Like: Okay like most people I will say that I do not agree to any of these but I've been told I resemble Tobey Maguire, evil James Dean, Steve Mcqueen, and Jack Nicholson. Meh.


Movie: There's too many to name but my absolute favorites are: Brazil, The Long Good Friday, Snatch, A Clockwork Orange, Once Upon a Time in the West, and Inception. I could go on and on.

Nickname: Nick, Wakely, Wakels, Nicky, Sir Nicholas, Kenny, Nico.

Obsession: anything. I'm an obsessive person and once I'm hooked on something I will pursue it to its utmost. Over the years this has involved everything from drugs to books,to music, to acting, and beyond.


Perfume: excuse me? Fuck you. Perfume.






Quirk: I have to constantly be moving. I can't think unless I'm walking around or doing something. This office job i'm currently at is driving me crazy.


Regret: not joining the military. But oh well.

Starbucks:ehh I don't really like the gourmet coffee shit. Regular or black from dunkins is fine thanks.



Thrift Find of the Year:

University: Deanie beanie. In the future? Who knows? I've been looking at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London but we'll see.

Vacation: my perfect vacation would have to be just driving around in like Europe or something. Just by myself.

Wine: is for when you run out of the good stuff.

X: Hmmm can't think of x words. Sorry!





Years: 22 of em!

Zen: I met my former Sociology teacher in high school, Mr. Waisgerber, at a coffee shop during this summer. He is indeed the wisest mofo on the planet. I asked him what the meaning of life was and as he was paying for his beverage he said: "well Wakes, lots of cream; lots of sugar. Ciao!"

Super Important!!!!! (not really)

Okay lords and ladies after quite the absence from this godforsaken hunk of blogness adrift in the maelstrom of the interwebs I've decided to post something new. I mean I'm sure no one reads this thing anyway so I'm basically talking to myself. Frightening! Okay so as you know acting usually requires the actor to change his appearance to suit the needs of the character and this time its no different. "What does this mean Nick!?" you just asked yourself loudly. It means mustaches. Yes bitches I must grow that emblem of manly machoness for the sake of the part. But a bigger philosophical question remains: what KIND of mustache? I present to you, the reader, a bevy of beautiful face rags and invite you to choose which one I should end up growing.

The frank zappa 'stache. For those with a penchant for the avant garde. Nothing says "fuck the man" quite like a "Mustache of Invention".

Adventure away!! This mustache, worn by the late great actor Errol Flynn, epitomizes the swashbuckling savois faire of a gallavanting gascon. Live by the sword, die by the sexy stache!

Hello, Dali! The surrealist painter sure knew how to sport a foxy facial piece thats as striking as his painting of melting clocks (yes its THAT guy). Can also be used to impale and hunt for food.

Who needs to speak softly and carry a big stick when you have THIS hot mama of a mustache? Teddy Roosevelt the 26th pres of the US of A ladies and gentlemen. If you want a true illustration of badassery look no further than those presidential set of mouth curtains!

The Groucho Marx mustache! A stache so wonderful it wasn't even real! This one would definitely save me a ton of time and energy. And dignity......oh god the shame.


And now for some more!

Did someone say mental floss?

Its like it wants to give you a hug.

OOOOO!!!! :)

AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!! :)

Oh ummmm......oh god this is awkward.....

Much better! :)





Choose wisely cautious readers! My facial fate is in your hands!