Technical Difficulties

I shot this a couple of months ago but had been so swamped I hadn't had time to actually cut it together.  I had an idea I had pitched to my friend Sean Hellensmith for a short B&W silent film that would be set to electronic music featuring an android having a glitch.  We never got a chance to make said film and when I was doing some further experimenting I ended up doing a solo variation on the theme.  It tends to happen.  Actually, in my first short "Sleep & Death" the idea started off as a suicide pact being carried out between two friends, which would have starred myself and Chasity Reeder.  Often times plans don't work out due to everyone's schedules and then I end up doing projects on my own.  It gets a bit lonely doing everything yourself and of course the thought of it not being as good as it could've been lingers in the back of your mind but all in all, most of these projects are educational, experimental, learning experiences.

Dr. Ernesto misc. gallery

New Update!

This busy year continues!

While Gun Control For Polar Bears continues to not be bought, I've been hard at work on everything else.  Experimental poetry isn't for everyone.

I've been tweaking some screenplays and sending them to a screenwriter friend of mine to see what we can do with them.

I've finished the edit on the horror anthology I've co-written with my wife.  It's called The Last Request of Grover Cleofus Black and we're looking to self-publish it by the end of the year if not the beginning of next year.  It's CRAZY and I hope you guys check it out.

With the Dr. Ernesto series finished for now, I hope you all are checking out my art series Coma's End.  The pieces in the series are posted on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter (you can find me at @CMC5384).

Amidst all of this going on, Dennis and myself are still hard at work on Tourniquet which you should be seeing soon.  We have several different things going on with it.

My publisher and I have been looking over the cover art for my first sci-fi novel Last Rites of the Capacitance and it's looking fantastic!  Still unsure of the release date of the book but it should be soon.  Probably by the end of the year I'll be starting on my second sci-fi novel, not a continuation of the first but its own thing.

I have shot another short film entitled Technical Difficulties which will be edited soon.

You can find stories such as Coma's End and Mr. Monroe's Nurse on www.52weeksofhorror.com.  It's the only place to find Mr. Monroe's Nurse, one of my favorite stories I've written and I feel it's one of my best so you should check it out.

All this week I've been working on a secret project for my friends at 52 Weeks of Horror and I'm hoping by this time next week they'll have it and you all will be able to see it.

Life continues to stay busy.  I hope you all are doing well and staying creative!

Dr. Ernesto

As you might've seen on my Facebook, Twitter, and/or Instagram accounts I'd been posting photos of a crazy old man doing silly things.  Welllllll let me take the time to explain.  My dad and I were always fans of schlocky late night horror hosts.  Me being an art nerd, I was always coming up with different projects.  Years ago, probably 5-6 years back, I thought of one he and I could do together.  His name is Ernest Lee Carter, though her goes by Ernie, and a common nickname I'd heard him called growing up was Ernesto.  Thinking about people like Dr. Demento I called it Dr. Ernesto.  We had him dress up in overalls, a dress jacket, and a hat, along with any extras.  Dad's like Jonathan Winters in which you could give him anything for a prop and he could do something with it.  We had him dressed up as our character, gave him props, and just let him go to town while I took the photos.  It was summer and incredibly hot so we were both sweating a TON; so much so that I had to clean off my camera in between shots.  In the lengthy time in between the shots being taken and being seen I was in a marriage that fell apart as well as other projects that fell apart in the process.  Though I'd lost some of what we shot I managed to keep an envelope full of photos.  In a new, healthier marriage and embarking on new projects, I finally scanned and posted the pictures.  Throughout that time my dad was constantly asking me what happened to them so he was happy when they finally surfaced.

Sometime soon we'll be doing some different kind of stuff with Dr. Ernesto.  We both look forward to revisiting and having some fun with the character.

The Suicide Man - short story

The Suicide Man

By Christopher Michael Carter

He cried tonight, like he has every night this week.  A week of crying himself to sleep; the first time in a long time as his disease has just about neurologically stripped his ability to do so like an average person of thought & emotion.  He's quietly fought depression for years but even then he's always been less than honest about having suicidal thoughts.  They've changed and the manor they've done so has been beginning to frighten him.  It's no longer simply a matter of wishing he were dead, but actual methodical blueprints of his end.  He lies in bed planning it down to the letter as one would a grand heist, meanwhile his wife sleeps beside him without a clue that anything's awry.

He believes "it", the push to end his life, used to scare him but these days it all feels different.  When it hits, he feels like crying, but it's actually comforting.  He'll wait for her to fall asleep and then looks at his medicine cabinet loaded with the dailies and thinks about taking everything he can and just quietly go to sleep as if it were a normal night.  He's not sure if he's fighting the urge or working up the courage to actually do it.  The thought that it can all be over whenever he wants is kind of reassuring, freeing.  He thinks about how he wouldn't have to be bitched at about the most inane things.  He thinks about how he wouldn't have to feel so worthless, powerless, alone, and in the way.  He thinks about no longer being sad.  No longer being angry.  No longer feeling unworthy.  He thinks about no longer having to live or deal with his illness.  He pictures his wife happier without him as well as his child no longer having to put up with a piss poor father figure such as himself.  Perhaps his wife and child wouldn't be so irritated or complain as much if he weren't around.  He's anxious to feel relaxed and not overstretched in any way.  Yes, all he'd have to do is take too much of something that's already long in his system.

Every night like clockwork he thinks about the freedom it would bring him.  His eyes water, his smile stretches, and the lump in his throat swells.  In the midst of the euphoria that the visions of suicide brings him, another image is sharp: his dog, the little black pup.  If this man thrives on the feeling of dying then one could easily say this pup thrives on being lively.  His youthful bounce and boundless energy are only matched by the way he stares up at him with those big doe eyes.  This man loves his dog and, more than any other living being in his life, he wonders if that love is understood or even reciprocated.  Alas, he is constantly reminded by others that he's just an animal, a beast beneath him.  'If he's so beneath me,' the man ponders, 'Why is it that I'm the one wondering if he sees me as I see him?'  

The man plans to end his suffering with precision planning but the wind has vacated his deathly sails by the innocent eyes of the little black pup.  He thinks of his wife, 'She'll be fine.  I don't think she'd even notice my being gone.'  He thinks the same of his daughter currently away at college, 'Eh, they'll get over it quicker than they'd portray.'  But the dog; this Hound of Joy if you will...  'This damn dog keeps ruining the death of a lifetime.'  This man wants to be free.  Doesn't want to be a failure.  The mere thought of the dog, this man's best friend, breaks up his beautiful suicidal cloud.  He knows how the pup is when he's not around and can't bear the thought of what he might endure if he were to actually go through with it.

Still he lies in bed, not counting sheep, but the options to which he can leave this world and find peace.  No, he's not scared or sad anymore; the tears are those of joy.  The thought, nay, the knowing that he could exit his misery at any given time empowers him, the Suicide Man.  He's stronger with that knowledge; the fear of death and the furthering of his illness subsides.  He doesn’t have to live in this world and do the things he does while in it but he chooses to.  Yes, this man has found enlightenment in suicide.  Strong, happy with tears in his eyes, he can't sleep.  He's going to wake up his dog for a late night walk.

2017, The Year That Almost Was - A Film

I made this little film about a week ago. It's simple and I do not own any of these images. I've gotten to a point in my life where I feel like if I have an idea I want to act on it. My friend Haley and I were talking about our art and living without a net. This little movie may not seem like anything special to anybody but it was simple to me: I had the idea and, regardless, I wanted to make it. I'm not going to make a habit of doing these slideshow films with images I don't own or haven't created but I wanted to do this ONE. Originally, I had used a track from a haunted house sounds collection but have since replaced it with music I played and recorded years and years ago.

Historical Journey 1

This was just a little bit I had recently written but I think I may do more for different things of today. 

It was midday as Lady Marybeth stood on the balcony of the castle with her handmaidens whilst awaiting to hear from Lord Jonathan. Alas, a sparrow was spotted. It flew close to the ladies and upon stopping it, they noticed a note tied to its foot and removed it. "It's from Jonathan!" Marybeth and her friends giggled with excitement. Lady Marybeth, surrounded by her squad, unfolded the letter brought by the messenger sparrow. Her expression changed from glee to shock to confusion to flattered and embarrassed as the young women got an eyeful of a detailed charcoal drawing of Lord Jonathan's erect phallus. Lady Marybeth blushed and her friends fanned her as they laughed all the while.

This has been a historical account of the first dick-pic. Thank you for taking this trip back in time with me.