I Fart Online

Real Farts from an Old Fart

I will be the first and sometimes the second, or third–basically, I can admit when I am wrong about stuff in my life.

I thought I had a complete breakthrough in my life and it was changing. Everything was looking up and I was more positive than I have in ages.

Then, Thursday hit. I woke up that morning, and, frankly, I was exhausted. I felt as the famous line from the Silverhawks cartoon outtake, “I feel like I’ve been shot at and missed and shit at and hit.”

I need a t-shirt for that. You know who you are. Let’s work on that.

They don’t read these posts anyway, so I will probably text them. Oh well.

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Grammarly won’t let me put a good title to this post because it considers everything I have written to be a sentence fragment. Asshat.

Not your atypical title, huh? I wanted to put tons of other things, but to sound like a professional, I have to listen to a simple program. Mark Twain, Edgar Allan Poe, and other authors don’t have to deal with this shit.

Anyway, let me tell you how I took back my last year and did a complete 360 in just a short amount of time.

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How September 19th, 1985,​ changed my life.


Yeah. I know. I haven’t been around for a while. I have been on sabbatical, and also dealing with personal issues about my mental health, as well as fighting systemic health issues.

But, that is neither here nor there, because I have a story to tell, and an announcement to make in this post.

Sit back, relax, and let me tell you about a day that has haunted me for years, and how I plan to make amends with myself, and many others.

September 17th, 1985 introduced us to VH-1, the Internet’s Domain Name System was created, the first British mobile phone call was made, and so on. It was also on this night that I had a nightmare that has haunted me for years, and I just started to remember everything about it. I want to share it with anyone willing to read this, in hopes that others who were not aware of the coming events to happen are more knowledgeable about it, and hopefully help to give to one of two causes that I have a high respect for.

My brother and I were in a one-room building. There was no furniture and the walls were white stucco with accents of red bricks surrounding the windows. It reminded me of the old Santa Fe style homes you would have seen watching the old black and white Zorro television series by Buena Vista Studios, which is a Disney studio for those history buffs, that starred Guy Williams as the dual identity that would be a precursor to the Dark Knight, aka DC Comic’s Batman.

I used to love watching Guy Williams, this tall, handsome, Latin American—wait. Guy Williams was “whitewashing” long before other Hollywood actors and actresses were doing it. Which, in my humble opinion, is why we should not have as much of a problem with it. The only time we should have a problem with it is when the studio clearly passes up an actor or actress who is of the nationality of the character in question that could honestly do a better job at the role.

Sorry. Got off subject. Let’s get this back on track and get to the point.

In this building, my brother and I were not alone. You know when you are watching a television show, and they show all the different camera angles? I saw from above that we were surrounded by Latin Americans. Hundreds of them, standing shoulder to shoulder with themselves.

I’m about to sound very racist. I do not mean to look like a horrible person, but I feel I have a duty to explain myself before I continue with this story. The reason for this is that I was eight-years-old at the time of this event, and the only Hispanic people, other than the actors portrayed on Zorro (who were and were not of that race), was Speedy Gonzales of Looney Tunes fame.

Everyone in the room, except for my brother and myself, was wearing sombreros, white shirts, white pants, and sandals. They were all the representation of a race that I knew very little about, and that was how my eight year old mind was seeing them.

I could not see their faces. I assumed they were all male, but if a dream specialist wanted to dive into this nightmare, they would have said they were all indigenous to one’s race. So, they were just people. Faceless people who were not saying anything.

Suddenly, all of us started to hear a rumble.

It became louder. And louder. And louder, until the entire building started to shake.

My brother and I were frightened. We had no idea what was going on. People started screaming. The voices were muffled due to whatever was causing the chaos.

We looked out the window. What I saw was a black and white image of the largest tornado I had ever seen in my entire life. It was like watching a television set (there I go, talking about TV again) and watching the nightly news covering a story about a tornado that had touched down somewhere in the United States. Or, the tornado that was in “The Wizard of Oz.”

I never experienced large storms as a child. I remember one situation where my family and I went into the basement one night, and I was told to go back to sleep and that it would all be over soon. My parents didn’t want to frighten me, so they didn’t reveal anything that was going on to explain why we were spending the late parts of the evening in the basement.

In the nightmare, my brother screamed as loud as he could to drop to the ground until the erupting storm that was causing so much craziness was over. He and I dropped to the ground, he put his arm around me to keep me safe, and we waited.

In the dream, you can never really tell time, but I remember my brother saying that after everything calmed down, it had been a couple of minutes. When we stood up, we looked around the room.

Everyone was gone. The entire room was empty. And then, just as immediately, I woke up. My heart was pounding. I was shaken by the nightmare. I never called out to my parents. I never called out to anyone. I didn’t even cry. But I was confused. Why was that dream so incredibly powerful that it shook me to the core and woke me up from a dead sleep.

Two days later, I was eating dinner with my family in front of the television watching the nightly news. I don’t remember the station, but my parents always had a liking to both Channel 4 and Channel 5 through the years, but that doesn’t matter. What they were covering did.

On September 19th, 1985, at 7:19 am, the Greater Mexico City area experienced one of the most devastating earthquakes that has been recorded. The earthquake was listed at an 8.0 on the Richter scale. It lasted for two minutes, and the death toll was between 7000 to 35,000 people.

35,000 people affected by such devastation, and I suddenly started shaking.

I said nothing to anyone. I know that an eight year old Midwestern boy can’t save the world, and I know that if I had said anything to anyone no one would have listened to me, but I had a huge weight that suddenly was on my shoulders.

“I could have saved tens of thousands of people,” I thought to myself.

“I could have made a difference.”

But, in reality, I couldn’t. It was going to happen either way.

You read stories about people who have deja vu, or had a dream that something bad was going to happen, and they either changed their plans or went along with them, and something horrible happened. Time-Life used to sell a book collection chronicling such stories for $29.95 a month if you just buy now.

I have been up all night researching about another subject dealing with my disability case, and I needed a rest, and I remembered I had that dream. After countless searches for tornadoes in Mexico, I was about to give up. Then, I started looking up natural disasters in Mexico in the 1980s.

In my searching, I found an article on a person’s website, chronicling horrible events that happened in Central America and Mexico, and what things came out of it.

And then I found it.

A flood of memories of the nightmare, how I felt, the following days, and how I felt like I could have done something about it. A huge amount of guilt came over me.

Don’t misjudge me. I know it’s not my fault or that I caused that to happen. I just feel that I could have said something instead of keeping a secret because I didn’t think anyone would care what I had to say.

Because of the actions of September 19th, 1985, the political structure became quite fractured, looting was happening in the streets, hundreds of thousands of people were without homes, regular people were assisting with helping with the crisis, and much, much more.

What has come out of it though is the SAS (Sistema de Alerta Sismica), an early warning system that would warn of any earthquakes starting at a 6.0 on the Richter scale. The Civil Protection Committee, a group that helps organize rescue workers, police, hospital staff and metro workers be more prepared for crisis situations, was created. But, the part that touches my heart is a group of “youths” that, during the crisis, volunteered without anyone telling them to risk their lives and help find any survivors. These individuals risked their lives on a daily basis without any formal training or equipment to help those who were missing. In February of 1986, they banded together and created TOPOS, also known as the Rescue Brigade Topos Tlatelolco A.C. (for those not familiar with Spanish, the translation for “topos” is “moles”).

TOPOS now functions as a rapid response team of individuals who are trained to function in times of crisis. They have rescuers, medics, rescue dogs, architectural engineers, and even specialize in post traumatic stress disorder for individuals in need during those emergencies. They are internationally known, helping in Indonesia, Haiti, Nepal, and various other locations.

I woke my wife up at 4:40 am this morning to discuss what I originally had been researching all night long, because it was fresh in my mind, and I wanted her feedback. I made sure I had coffee ready, and she let the dogs out.

Yes. My wife does hate it when I wake her up early in the morning like this. I rarely do it—I used to do it all the time because I was lonely in the mornings, but I really wanted to discuss the other thing.

After discussing it and getting her feedback, I then wanted to tell her about September 19th, 1985, and the two days preceding it. My wife knew about this dream I had. She was the only person in the world I ever spoke about it with. I didn’t want people to think I’m crazy, especially with my current status. I haven’t even told my psychiatrist or counselor about it, and have no plans to do so.

I wrote everything about the dream that I remembered in a note-taking app that I paid for on my iPhone called “Bear.” It’s a wonderful app. I type so many notes and ideas into it, it has partially replaced my idea book that I had been using for years. At times I will go back to my notebook and copy the information physically so I have a hard copy, but for immediate use, it is my goto app. I read word for word everything on the screen.

When I got to the part about September 19th, 1985, I started to choke and tear up. I became emotional. I took pauses to try and contain myself and get my composure back so I could tell her the rest of the story. It was important that she heard the story again, because I found not only the date again, but what the actual disaster was and the affect it had on me then, and now as an adult looking back on it.

There is a level of guilt I have for not saying anything. But, there is also a large level of empathy. I talk about taking my own life, but I don’t talk about big things like this. September 11th, 2001 was a big disaster recently for the US, and it scared the hell out of all of us because we were being attacked by another group. The 35,000 individuals were attacked by Mother Nature. Not a group of people.

No one deserves to die, and that situation will always sit on my mind for years. Probably until I’m gone.

I want to do something about it; not because of the guilt, but I want to feel like I am helping the group of volunteers who risked their lives to save mothers, children and many more.

After I post this, I’m going to send a link to Facebook and Twitter. I told myself I wouldn’t advertise my website again, but this is not about me. This is about Mexico City and TOPOS. I want everyone to read this story.

I also want to ask for a favor.

I want everyone to donate however much they feel they can to TOPOS. I’m asking for pocket change, the money you were going to buy for coffee today, the money you were going to spend on lunch or dinner that you could have made yourself, and donate what you can to them.

I only have $4 in my pocket, and I am not expecting anymore anytime soon. I’m donating that to them. It may not be much, but it is what I can do right now.

Now, there is a reason why I made that last statement. I’m currently in preproduction for a YouTube channel. I am a creator. I always have been and probably always will be. I have talked in the past about how I have created superheroes or comic book ideas or stories. Heck, I’ve even thought of a few products that no one else has come up with (as far as I know).

I’ve always had a passion for photography and cinematography. Thus the reason I am creating a YouTube channel. I want to entertain and educate people. I have thought about having videos covering topics such as comics and movies, personal timed challenges that I would set myself (kind of like goal oriented challenges), and also talk about mental health. Almost like bringing I Fart Online, Dazzling Comics and the Saturday World brand to life. I want this to be a new and exciting step for me, and I want to get the most out of it.

The problem is YouTube has new policies. I haven’t read too far into it, but it seems like a lot of the creators that I have been following for a while suddenly are having commercials pop up in the middle of their segment. I was watching one of Pink’s music videos (shut up, she’s a great artist!), and in the middle of the video, a commercial appeared! Right in the middle of the song! I was shocked! I can’t believe what has become of our social networks and our society.

I don’t want to monetize myself on YouTube. YouTube was set up as a community of creators and has now become a “cash cow” like everything else. What I would much rather do is if I am to monetize my channel, first, I will pay bills, and then I will split the money between the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention and TOPOS.

So, please, donate to either one of the two foundations that I have mentioned, and once my channel becomes active, I will have a page setup, instead of using my personal Facebook account for things such as this.

Please click any of the links in this blog entry to donate to either one of these groups, and I will inform you and the rest of the world when my channel goes live.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to the bottom of this post.



Moving on…

I started this site as a means to get out the demons in my head.

I also started it as a means to have other people understand the hell that I am going through, or that I have put myself through.

I wanted to be a spokesperson for mental health. POSITIVE mental health. That even in the darkest of times, there is a way out if you have the means for it. I also wanted to be an extra ear for those people who needed to talk.

I would say I accomplished that, and in a small way I did, but not to the extent I wanted to.

I also wanted to throw people under the bus for what has happened to me and how I got to be the messed up person I am sitting before you this early morning, but I can’t. There would be some people hurt, embarrassed, or not even care.

What is important is that I need to move on. I need to stop using this as a place to complain about life, and find something more meaningful to write about.

I’m not writing a book (at least not yet), and I am trying to startup to websites that I have put off for various reasons. And, I am trying to get over my “scars” and try to find some work. I have placed a total of five applications, never heard back from two, was contacted by one and cancelled it because it was not a good fit for me, cancelled another one because it would cause me to be away from my family, and I can’t do that right now. So, I am going to contact this last job and find out if they have received my resume and application and try for an interview.

But, this site, which did help to have people understand me better, and allow me to understand me better, will close its doors. No one will be reading this until much later because of some Internet issue that I will have to figure out, but, yeah, it is time to close this book and start a new chapter.

You guys that have supported me have been great, even if I eventually was not back. I wish I could make some of you understand, but honestly, it is just best if I let it go.

“Good morning, and in case I don’t see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!”

Jim carrey, “The truman Show” (1998)

There is more to not writing.

It’s not just that I haven’t wanted to write, but I’m sure after a while, people get tired listening to someone complain about their problems.

I know I am.

I also don’t get a lot of feedback like I used to. That is due to the fact that I unfriended a section of people I knew. They aren’t a part of my life, and some of them were the problem.

I am an empath. I feed off of people’s problems and feelings, whether I want to or not. I have tried to stop doing it, but it led to part of the reason why I couldn’t work any longer. I couldn’t deal with life’s problems being fed to me by the masses.

I posted a video on Facebook recently. It was this:

Ahmed Best, aka Jar Jar Binks from Star Wars Ep. 1.

He talked about how Jar Jar Binks was not only the greatest thing to happen to him, but how it was also the worst thing to happen to him. In the video, he talks about the media and public backlash and hatred he received due to the character. They covered everything from racial stereotypes to just how the character was George Lucas’s worst idea. Ahmed had a hard childhood as a black individual, but what really got me was how he explained his depression. He was expected to put on this “happy face” and pretend like life was full of roses to the public, but privately, he was suffering. That’s how I feel and how I have felt for over 30 years.

But, that’s what I’m getting at. It spoke to me, and I was forcing everyone to listen to it. I got one response on my Facebook feed. It was from my wife. God love her.

So, I need to focus on the positives. I have started to work on a short story that I hope to have published by Father’s Day, if not before. I hope to have another one or a full book published by the end of the year. So, this publicly personal journal will play second fiddle to me wanting to accomplish those goals.

I’m also slowing down on my ARC reading. In three months, I read fifteen books, nine were advance reader copies to review and proofread, and six I read because I wanted to. I want to read more of the books that I like and less work with authors and publishers. Being that I only have three of my six authors/publishers that have been posting consistently, they will have to understand. If not, then I just do less of their reading and more of what I want. End of story.

About this short story I’m working on, I don’t want to give much away, but I know that people wanted me to write horror, but I had this idea for a slight horror/hard sci-fi short story that has never been done before, and I think it will do really well. I’ve already notated a lot of passages in my voice recorder that I will write down and piece together the meat of the story, but I dig the idea so much that it’s my main focus right now.

I also have an author that I may review some of his books that deal with self-help with mental health and overall health. We will see what will come of that.

So, I will occasionally post on here, but don’t expect daily posts. Maybe more weekly or bi-weekly posts…maybe the same day I do my Humira shot. That way I can sleep the rest of the day.


Authors and publishers I think people should check out are Kaleb Shad, Shadow Alley Press Inc., Odysia Press, Oliver Franks, Silas Post, and Jamie Hawke. I’m too lazy to link each one of them right now, so copy their name from the post and look them up that way. You will thank yourself.

Alright. Back to work.

I stopped on purpose.

So, I haven’t been writing. I haven’t been in a slump, I don’t have the overpowering “writer’s block”, I haven’t had anything to stop me, except for two things.

I’m wanting to write for the wrong reasons. I want to be famous and I want to make money.

Those are the wrong reasons to do something that I have been told by many of you that read my blog that I am good at.

I shouldn’t be attempting to make the next “Moby Dick” and selling it because I want money. I should be writing what I want because I want to.

I had started to write a memoir. I have a lot of baggage and I thought getting it out would be the most cathartic thing for me to do. But, if I did that, I would be throwing people under the bus left and right that has either worked hard to change, have matured over time or have had enough heartache of their own. I can’t do that to them. It wouldn’t be fair.

I could write about mental health, but there are a ton of books out there that people are releasing every day, whether it be self-help or autobiographies. I don’t want to travel with a crowd that I remind myself every day that I am a part of.

My wife thinks I should write horror. The ideas I’ve posed to her have at times been disturbing, graphics, or macabre. I also have the side of me that wants to write comics. I love superheroes, and I hope in novel form, or even short story form, that the genre isn’t over saturated.

I can honestly say that when I have gone to Half Price Books, they have not had a lot of superhero or comic related novels on the general fiction shelves. I remember seeing Spidey, X-Men, some movie novelizations, but not much anything else.

I also love the Saturday Morning cartoons of the 70s, 80s, and 90s. Also, I watched a lot of Cartoon Network before everything started going streaming. I’m a powerhouse of information when it comes to cartoons and DC Comics before they changed the line for a newer demographic.

I’ve been reading an overabundance of ebooks lately on my Kindle. I am taking a break, and I’m going to read a reference book on SF writing by one of my favorite authors, Ben Bova.

Maybe, with his help, I can find my calling there.

At least I’m writing again.

“Sound drowning.”

As I listen to jazz music — that’s right! Jazz music. Miles Davis. John Coltrane. The Bad Plus. Jamie Cullum. The driving force behind my comfort zone. My creativity jumps off each tempo. Each staccato of notes flowing in the air like mad butterflies scared off by an inquisitive “pooch”. A “mad hatter” of melodies that only stop when the instrument says “stop.”

Yeah. That’s what I listen to. Continue reading

Don’t let someone stop you from being “super.”

Mr. Justice.

I recently logged into my LinkedIn account — most of you on Facebook know this story — where this owner of this copywriting mill service was trying to hire me, and when I asked if the writers get credit, he gave me a rude response.

I was miffed, but I responded back and agreed with him that we weren’t a good ”fit,” and that he was being rude.

He didn’t stop there.

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