The Purple Pinup Guru Platform

When purple things are pulsating on your mind, I'm the one whose clock you want to clean. Aiding is Sparky, the Astral Plane Zen Pup Dog from his mountain stronghold on the Northernmost Island of the Happy Ninja Island chain, this blog will also act as a journal to my wacky antics at an entertainment company and the progress of my self published comic book, The Deposit Man which only appears when I damn well feel like it. Real Soon Now.

Tuesday, September 30, 2003


It's starting to get cold out in California.

Nothing much I could observe tonight on the Constantine action. By the time I got there, around 6 PMish, they were shooting on a stage - but a red light was flashing above the door and that usually means no admittance AT ALL - plus I overheard someone walking around outside saying that they were wrapping for the night at 6:30 sharp and had to go to his trailer and fill out some logs. Chances are that I'll probably be inputting some of those logs into the system before too long. I also happened to stumble upon ''John Constantine's" trailer and the door was wide open, but I didn't see anyone inside or anything.

Everything I feel comfortable with concerning the new book is now entirely in Oliver's hands. I spent all last week when not blogging, writing both the inside front and inside back covers and that includes items such as the indicia (the indicia is a little area that supposed to hold all the publishing and subscription information for the publication you happen to be reading- and since I don't offer subscriptions like most independent comic book people don't- I take the opportunity to ham it up.) and a little recap summary of what went on in the previous books before Last Great Gate of Mortality. I also wrote a section to give thanks to people who have offered aid and insight to my self-publishing past and dedicated a sentence to my one-time roommate and my former editor's brother, who passed away almost two years ago.

So with the next two parts already scripted which should keep my little crew busy for the next six months or so ( I'm trying to adjust to a quarterly schedule once I hear Larry is ready to do breakdowns ), I'm starting to look at polishing off the last four books in the series which will be subtitled PLAYGOD. One particular story that will open up this arc was originally supposed to be the third book instead of what became the Survival Guide to the Afterlife. I held it back due to an joint decision between former editors Scott Goodell and Rebecca Robbins that it would be a mistake to release. And looking back, I could see why. There are a lot of ideas that weren't fleshed out enough. But the main gist of the story and the inspiration came from an actual incident that happened to me while I was in the process of execution in my very first draft of the Deposit Man (which I swear, somehow made it into the Malice issue without my knowledge) in the little white trash beach town of Ocean Beach, Ca - that serves as part of San Diego right near a naval base in Point Loma.

It was eleven summers ago, where the first Bush Administration was fucking over blue collar workers left to right, and I got laid off so many times in a two year period when I first tried to make it in Los Angeles, that I was forced to break a lease on a house with some former friends from Parsippany, N.J. and nearly went homeless for the entire summer of 1992. Smart enough to realize that I'd be easy pickings for gangs and the other deranged assorted people in LA - I went down south because I' figure it would be a easier chance for survival. I made arrangements to shack up with some acquaintance that I knew down there but we got our signals crossed and I misunderstood that she wanted to move up and stay with me rather than have me come down there- so that meant my unemployment checks went straight to limbo because my checks weren't arriving at the address I forwarded them to. It took well over a month for them to change everything to my aunt's address in North San Diego County and I was forced to sleep on the beach and behind churches for nearly a month and then when I started receiving the checks, I couldn't afford to stay in nothing but swanky dives and roach infested motels for another month. This drove me to start hitting the bottle a little bit, as I was beginning to comprehend my own demise until an old supervisor I used to work for at a software company put me up at his place for the rest of the summer, but I had to be out by the time he went back to school. It boggles me to this day how I don't remember how I found out he lived in Ocean Beach, when the company I used to work for went out of business in North County.

So with that background material set in place- it wasn't long till I was ready to move out on my own. I'd been getting temp work and helping out doing some roofing - and living with the knowledge that my roommate was a heroin user didn't seem to bother me too much- heck, my entire block was rifed with heroin addicts and for some reason they welcomed me, even though I flat out refused to take part in any of their rituals, but I couldn't help noticing that neighbors kept coming in and out as mysterious as if they were Soylent Green or something of the sort.

One day, I could've sworn that Al Pacino moved right next door to me..

....and this one will be continued on Thursday.




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