'Roulette City' - A huge sci-fi project I've got going with a talented local artist. I have had a terrific time co-plotting this with him. This thing will take every ounce of imagination I've got. It's a cross-time cross-genre saga that will be legendary if we can pull it off.

The Creator of the series and Co-plotter is Matt Grigsby. He's a local artsist. My hope is to have some sketches up on here fairly soon. This will be quite the project; and may take a lot of time to put together. The scripts have started, but we both want to know exactly where we're going with this before taking it too far.

"It would be a cold sweat if it weren't so damn hot.

So warm that it doesn't bead up, it covers you like a film. It gets everywhere. In places you didn't think you had sweat glands. It drips from your fingertips. It falls from your nose.

The only place that's dry is the inside of your nose. It cracks and breaks. It itches. Moments from bleeding, so you don't scratch it. You don't dare touch it.

Nights like these make you restless. You couldn't be comfortable on a mountain of feathers.

The night brings things out of you. Memories you didn't remember. Points you never saw. Angles you couldn't see.

And sometimes in dreams, you know it's a dream. You can tell when you see yourself. You're watching the movie of your life. Always in slow motion, but skipping tracks at random.

The painful part is the score. The music is beautiful. Serene. Better than you remember it being, and always reflecting the mood. But only during the fun parts; The good memories.

Nightmares have no music. No striking chords. No high note to let you know that something is coming.

It happens.

No warning.

If there's any sound at all, it's voices and muddled, surreal sound effects. The voices are always lower. Never high. Blunt like a baseball bat and always clearer than they should be. The sounds, always clapping. Like bare feet against the ground, or skin hitting skin at high speeds. Vivid. In Technicolor with earth tone flashes. Lights are closer to white. Shadows like still puddles of the darkest inks.

In nightmares, doors are always closed. The hinges, always on the inside. Never the green glow of the strategically placed, fire coded exit signs.

It's the sign you're looking for."