Review of "A Gothic Nomad Visiting Poe's Home"

Nicky's creative non-fiction story "A Gothic Nomad Visiting Poe's Home" appears in Dirty Black Winter.

This odd little tale starts with an explanation of the difference between an urban nomad and a homeless person. It boils down to urban nomads have "a debit card and a digital camera". So there, Mr. Policeman. You can't arrest Nicky for vagrancy (or whatever) because he has a debit card and a camera. The fact that Nicky includes this bit makes me think that he has been accused of being homeless before. Heh.

Then we jump into the story itself. Nicky explains that he took this trip back in March and April of 2003 "in the wake of the crash and burn interview on the radio were I got eaten alive and was interrupted every other line." I remember hearing about this, but it was before my first encounter with Nicky. I'd be interested in details if anyone has them.

From here on, I am no longer going to follow the text in the order that it's written. Nicky jumps around in time frame like a gecko on speed. I'll cover what happened in chronological order, as best I can figure it out. Unsurprising to anyone familiar with Nicky, this whole story is just one big bucket-o-fail, and I could probably post about 75% of it as lulzy outtakes. But I'll spare you.

Nicky took the train to Baltimore and arrived with "all [his] bags that [he] carried n.[sic]", "that black Kelty fleece liner, and one other thing [he] actually picked up for when [he]I went to New Orleans" and a large carton of Goldfish. He has no map. He's such a stud that he can simply find his way around by remembering episodes of "Homicide:Life on the Street". LOL. He also has not arranged for accommodations.

Then he takes a cab to...somewhere. He couldn't find Poe's grave and the house where Poe lived was apparently closed so Nicky had the cab driver take a photo of him in front of it. Then he writes that the camera died before the end of the trip and he could never get the pictures off it. That leads to the question: is an urban nomad still a nomad - and not a homeless person - if he has only a debit card and no camera? Inquiring minds want to know.

Nicky then wanders around - or perhaps stands in the place the cab driver booted him out of the cab and wrings his hands - trying to find "a  hostel or a hotel that was under $33.00 a night there. There’s nothing." So instead he "crashed for a little bit in the college." No, wait. Later he admits that he actually "pass[ed] out in the main part of Baltimore’s community college hall’s couch." Vagrant, what?

Over the next few days, he wanders around Baltimore. He takes a picture of himself with a statue of Poe because "it was one of those things I could picture Poe doing over me if he was alive to this day." I'm not sure *what* exactly Nicky thinks Poe would be doing to him but that sounds just a tad...er...suggestive. Nicky's not gay! No, no, he's not.

The statue is apparently in a "historic park" and when Nicky visits the information office, "the guard on
duty knew who [he] was from [his] website." Nicky is clearly delusional from his lack of sleep from crashing passing out at the college. The guard, a woman, takes pity on Nicky and lets him "take a nap in the area until closing". After she boots him out, he runs into the guy who offers to take him home for the night.

Yes, that guy. Who's been immortalized in Nicky lore ever since.

Short version: Naive-Nicky accepts an offer to crash at the house of a TOTAL STRANGER who hangs out around homeless people urban nomads. The guy takes him home and, if we believe Nicky's version of events, demands sex. Nicky freaks, grabs his pants and runs off with his hands over his ass as fast as his stubby little legs will carry him.

He spends the rest of that night sleeping on a park bench in the snow. More than once: "Waking up with snow covering me with only fleece sleeping bag liner on a park bench or drenched with rain was something that became the common thing for the first two days. There were times I unrolled my bedding in places where the Homeless would sleep just so I can get my medication wearing off." And the close encounter with temptation leads to much defensive "I'm not gay" whining scattered throughout this story.

Nicky also crashes at a mission one night and spends another few nights on someone's couch. Nicky says, "I was able to sleep comfortably in the living room as I’ve always been accustomed to sleeping on couches all my life." Said couch was promptly fumigated thereafter. The "someone" also apparently did not let Nicky stay at the house during the day while he was at work; Nicky had to pack up all his stuff and get out every morning.

This gem is buried in Nicky's recounting of couch-surfing: "I did this often when I was at the apartment in Justice too. My bed was two places at the apartment, my sick bed was the living room as much as Michelle hated when I did that." Michelle hated when Nicky parked his sick ass on the couch for days at a time instead of in his bedroom. How utterly unreasonable of her! To want to be able use the living room as a...living room. I can only imagine how bad of a roommate Nicky must have been. No money, no hygiene, and no common courtesy. Yikes.

Nicky runs out of money before the trip is over and has Granny wire him some money because he "didn’t have a debit card just yet."

What? He has neither a debit card or a (functional) digital camera! Guess he's not really an urban nomad, then. Just a crazy man loose on the streets of Baltimore.

He tries to find an author and "friend" named Diane, but she wisely avoids him. He eats a lot of  "street food", probably because sit-down restaurants won't let him in because he looks and acts like a crazy homeless person. He also has weird dreams about Poe being his BFF and loving all his (Nicky's) work. He writes that dream-Poe "was dressed in modern clothing almost if he was borrowing the grungy take on the Gothic community with the torn up black cargo shorts, hooded sweatshirt, and hiking boots."

Predictably, Nicky gets sick as his odyssey in Baltimore is wrapping up. We are treated to a paragraph or five lovingly describing the blankets and sleeping bags that bondage-sleepsack-Nicky preferred to wrap up in both while sleeping and while travelling on the train.

And now things get a bit confusing. I think Nicky also went to Washington D.C. on this trip, and I think he ended up back in Chicago via train with a couple of days to kill before he could catch the bus back to Granny's Basement. He stayed at "a variety of places," with "a fingernail that was falling off when [he] was in D.C. that was infected pus everything." Gross. TMI.

It gets better, though. Nicky writes, "In fact in D.C. it fell off and I was feeling very ill from it. So when I came to Joliet Union I called an ambulance to get me over to the hospital. I was x-rayed and everything. It was my bronchitis acting up, and tired as hell." He called an ambulance over AN INFECTED FINGERNAIL.

At the hospital, they take some blood, treat whatever his issue is, and kick him out. Nicky is then  accosted by a "drug addicted lady" in a station wagon who asks Nicky if he is homeless. Has Nicky learned from his encounter in Baltimore with the guy picking up homeless guys urban nomads? Of course not. She offers to let him "stretch out" in the back of her car, and he accepts and promptly falls asleep. Unfortunately, we never learn how Nicky got from there to Granny's Basement.

The story ends with more whining about the gay guy in Baltimore and how "visiting Poe’s home ended up becoming a Gothic story within itself, one that would scare more people than a work of fiction." The end.


Overall, this story is completely lulz-worthy and demonstrates once again that Nicky should not be allowed to travel on his own.

Reviews of Nicky's Creative Non-Fiction

Since I last posted, the Great Poe Museum Edgar Allan Poe Birthday Bash and Scheduling Debacle has occurred. The Birthday Bash is the fun part; the museum is holding an event on January 14th in honor of Poe's birthday. The occasion that Nicky supposedly bought train tickets to Richmond to attend, to speak at, etc. The only problem - and here is the Scheduling Debacle part - our favorite travel-challenged troll from Morris, Illinois, planned his trip for January 20th to January 25th. Oops.

In honor of Nicky's issues with dealing with the outside world, my next two reviews will be for two of  Nicky's creative non-fiction stories - "15 Minutes Before the 11th Hour" and "A Gothic Nomad Visiting Poe's Home". The first is about Nicky's close encounter with a Lexus, and the second is about an ill-fated "I navigate Baltimore by remembering episodes of Homicide:Life in the Street" trip to, you got it, Baltimore.

Fear not, though, I am still working my way through A Library of Unknown Horrors as Nano writing permits.

Review of "Blood Contender"

We now take a break from our regularly scheduled programming to discuss a different offering by Nicky - his short story “Blood Contender”, from the brain-numbingly bad Dirty Black Winter.

Nicky has stated that “Blood Contender” is a paranormal romance and “a man’s version of Twilight” (from the intro to Dirty Black Winter). It’s neither. It contains no romance, and the only resemblance to Twilight is that it has a vampire in it. And not even a sparkly one. Just a stupid one. What I do find interesting is that Nicky has chosen to show the main character, Vito, as dumb, lazy, and unethical. And a Gary Stu. I’m not sure if that is remarkable self-awareness from our favorite troll or simply an amusing display of karmic irony.

BTW, for extra fun and horrible hangover, take a sip of your favorite alcohol every time “(Gary Stu!)” appears below.

The story opens with the following Nicky-ese: “They don't know what I am, nor do I really know what I am myself these years. It was almost 80 years since I really knew what happened to me...” “I” is Vito. In 1919, when he was 22 years old, he was wandering around the European countryside after WW1. Despite joining the Army with “health issues” (Gary Stu!), Vito was a good shot with a pistol and had killed several men and one werewolf. The werewolf had Gypsy kin, one of whom put a curse on Vito, forcing him to “to wander the earth for [his] eternity” and “to live off the blood of the living without killing them.”

He was so disoriented that he couldn’t remember his own name. Although, he could remember his Army nickname. Go figure. In 1920 or 1921 (the story is unclear...go figure), Vito, being the upstanding and honorable guy that is, decides to take his supernatural speed and strength into the boxing ring (Gary Stu! for cheating) in the Netherlands. Vito “didn't have a name for [him]self at that time, but they've called [him] Vito Diablo.”

Vito’s unethical entry into boxing has predictable results: “The referees stood there in fear because the person would get up in a bloodied mess, staring at me in sheer horror because of the damage I caused. I could hear the crowd saying, “That figher, is not natural”

Then the reader is treated to a depiction of a boxing match. Vito has a physical before the match, and even though the doctors can find no pulse and think Vito feels “dead and cold to the touch”, they clear him to fight. Vito’s then-wife shows up to watch the bout “wearing a black dress and red lipstick.” (Gary Stu!) as all good Danish Goth wives do. When the referee introduces Vito, we find out he is from Chicago, Illinois (Gary Stu!)

Vito and his opponent, Igor,  exchange a bit of wimpy trash-talk and the bout begins. Vito, being inexperienced, leaves his hands down and Igor belts hits him a number of times with right crosses and/or left upper cuts (Vigo is too stunned to figure out which). Igor even hits Vito right on the fang, hard enough to break the bone if Vito were mortal. Since Vito apparently didn’t wear a mouth guard, it’s a good thing he’s immortal.

But then - oh wait, Vito does have a mouth guard - Vito hisses through it, “I’m going to get you my pretty,” “My turn,” and finally fights back, landing a few punches, breaking ribs each and every time because Vito is such a stud. And a cheater. (Gary Stu!) Tsk, tsk. Concealing his supernatural strength in a contest that relies heavily on strength.

Vito hisses again and punches some more. Then...ding, ding, ding, the round is over. Vito retreats to his corner, drinks a little blood to recharge, and then back to the center for round two.

This round is even more brutal. (that was sarcasm in case you missed it). Presumably Vito is still breaking bones with every strike, but Igor is stands fast. He’s almost as much of a stud as Vito. Igor gets bloodied. The referee, who is either a complete novice or a complete wuss and deserves to be fired, freaks out about the blood. The spectators are even worse; they’ve come to sports event known to get bloody and then faint at the sight of blood (at this point I’m waiting for EMTs to show up, but alas, that is another story with specters and exiles and such).

When the second round is over, Vito is thinking he’s pretty hot shit, just like “if a Great White Shark went in and grabbed a seal out of the water then putting all its weight in the air...” (Sharks!) The fight continues two more rounds, and Vito The Cheater is declared the winner.

Now the reader gets more backstory. Vito, clearly not the shiniest Christmas ornament on the tree, thinks that boxing “was the only way [he] could really disguise [his] age years after becoming a vampire.” His reasoning has something to do with being sick all the time before joining the Army (Gary Stu!) and after he became a vampire, he got better but he still need to test himself or stay fresh or some such bullshit. Vito and logic...they do not go together.

Vito’s father was in the U.S. Army, and Vito still keeps his (Vito’s) uniform under glass. He lifts weights to stay in shape, cheats at boxing boxes to put money on the table, moves to the Netherlands after WWI, gets married, moves back to the U.S in the 1950s to...guess where … anyone … Bueller ... anyone … Yes, you got it, the Chicago area. (Gary Stu!)

(And if my last paragraph sounded coherent, believe me, it took several readings of Nicky’s convoluted prose to extract those details.)

Now Vito is Vito Dioverde. Vito believes he has citizenship from back when he lived in the States in the 1910’s, but fortunately he doesn’t stress any employer’s credulity by doing something responsible and manly like trying to get a job to support his family. Instead he sends his wife out to get a factory job. She’s got a green card, so she’s good to go. He lifts weights, sleeps on the couch, drinks beer, belches, and occasionally fights.

He hooks up with an old friend, Frank, who now works at a blood bank and talks Frank  into stealing blood for him. Vito is such a wuss, though, about the whole vampire thing - despite the fact that he can cheat at boxing and win - that he mixes the blood with alcohol to disguise the taste of it. Frank, who is far nicer to Vito than he should be, sterilizes used beer bottles in bleach water before filling them even though germs can no longer harm Vito and fills them with the blood/beer or blood/vodka.  Vito doesn’t even provide his own booze; he just shows up at the blood bank and asks for more of the mixture. Poor Frank, he deserves better.

But it is not to be. Frank, who is “a guinus in the territory of medicine” and who specializes in “things that will keep a vampire going in sports such as wrestling or boxing” (Gary Stu!) becomes Vito’s personal doctor and then Vito’s manager. I’m unclear on the timeline of all this because Nicky’s writing rambles all over the place.

More backstory from the 1950’s follows. Poor dumb Vito changes his name to Vito Deadfall because he thinks this will keep people from getting suspicious about his age. Vito, despite his lack of brains, is a stallion in the ring. In practice sparring, he can last four hours! Although he originally fought with a shaved head, he now wears his hair longer (Gary Stu!) and in a ponytail.

Vito also has a son during these 10-14 years that he is “training”, couch surfing and living on his wife’s income. Vito laments that his son does not, upon the instant of his birth, realize Daddy is a vampire, but he thinks fondly that his son will figure it out as soon as the boy gets into a couple of fights. Daddy of the Year, he is not.

Finally, Vito gets back into boxing when his son is 14. In 1957. Or wait, that’s not 14 years... but... oh fuck it, I have no idea how long Vito was a lazy-ass, but now he’s back for his first fight in the U.S. He’s announced as Vito Dioverde and his European record is listed. 30-0.

Vito, still trying to conceal his true age and identity, is mortified at this horrendous slip. He turns to  Frank, who is still standing by his side, and rips out his throat . He is exposed! A riot ensues, and he fights his way through the crowd, killing at will, ripping off arms and heads, and... Strike that, that whole paragraph never happened. Wishful thinking.

He’s announced as Vito Dioverde and his European record is listed. 30-0. Vito doesn’t bat an eye. He swaggers into the ring to meet his opponent, an ex-Army dude (Gary Stu!) from Rockford, Illinois (Gary Stu!) The fight begins.

Vito takes a blow from his opponent that felt like “it was enough to dent a few bones.” Dented bones? Ah Vito, you big dumb ox. Then said ox punches his opponent in the kidneys even though this was a no-no in previous matches. He also knock the guy down a couple of times, but the guy gets back up before the eight-count expires. Ding, ding, ding. End of round.

Vito swills down some pig’s blood on the break. I guess with Frank being his manager now, Frank has no more access to human blood at the blood bank. His opponent, meanwhile, is far from stupid. He looks at Vito and says, ““Jesus Christ, that guy isn't human.” You got it, dude. You’re fighting a slimy cheater.

Vito gets all puffed up. He thinks about he is a GLADIATOR, just without a sword and a shield; he is most definitely not “that kind of vampire portayed in what's her faces books.” (LOL!) He thinks that the Chinese and Japanese invented all the martial arts, but forgets about the styles originating in Brazil, Israel, Korea, and the United States, just to name a few. He knows that the media knows “[he] was an undefeated boxer who fought over in Europe professionally in the 1920s” but he’s not worried. No, he’s a GLADIATOR!

He’s so lost in his self-aggrandizing thoughts that...we never learn about the end of the bout with the military dude.

Instead we get another mass of “telling” text. Show, Nicky, don’t tell.

Vito’s proud of his son as he grows up. Vito Jr. starts getting into fights in night clubs, but he wins every single time (Gary Stu!). In Vito’s words: “Yeah I am proud of the little bastard, beating people up just like his dad does.” (Gary Stu!)

Vito continues to limit his boxing because he’s still worried that someone - besides the media, that is, who already know about his European record - will find out what he really is. He hides his vampirism from his brother and sister by telling them he works the night shift and can’t attend family functions. His brother and sister apparently accept this and never visit him or plan functions on his days off.

Frank eventually dies and he leaves Vito “the details how to make the blood drink that he made from beer”. Find bottle, pour in some beer, pour in some blood until full. Duh.

And now it’s 1997. Vito knows his boxing days are over since “the boxing organization would be aski ng why I haven't aged one bit – then it would be all over. The tabloids and the journalists would be all over it.” So one night, Vito is sitting around, feeling lonely and sorry for himself, maybe a little drunk on blood or something, and he...

calls “a local hard rock station in the 1990's to tell [his] story – figured it wouldn't hurt.”

WTF? The tabloids, journalists, and boxing commission being all over it wouldn’t hurt?

And that is where the story ends.

Poor Vito. Poor dumb, clueless, cheating Vito.

I’ll leave you all with Nicky’s words in the intro to Dirty Black Winter: “Dave Summers loved the idea of the story but wanted me to do more with it, so did Misty of Withersin...” Yeah, I’ll bet they did.