Providing you've recovered from the microstrokes induced by reading the horrid GAME OVER by one Nickolaus A. Pacione, you've probably come here for the same reason people hit themselves in the head with a hammer. Because it feels good when you stop.
Today we will be reviewing I Want to See You In Black which I found online on a rather crappy internet site that looked like it had been done by a blind man pounding on the keyboard with his cane.
To preface, Nicky wrote this story after a classmate of his was killed in High School. Did he write this story because he was close to the guy? Did he write it because he wanted people to know about the tragedy of the death?
He wrote it to make his reputation better and to try to prove what a good non-fiction horror writer he is. He did it for no better reason that to toot his own horn.
Now, I'm not going to critique and review this with a complete eye for grammar, since, to be honest, I completely suck at grammar. That's why I have editors. I'm going to review this with an eye toward just how goddamn retarded Sparkle Pony's works are.
So, with that, let us examine Pacione's great early work "I Want to See You In Black" with an eye toward comedy.
The detail was vague
And here we fucking go...
but at the same time it was similar to the old horror films that are set at old dark houses.
Hopefully we'll find out what kind of horror film. But probably not. He probably just used this to try to set the tone. And failed horribly.
I kept having a premonition about the idea that some of the classmates won't survive after their graduation,
So... wait. He had a premonition of an idea, or his idea was a premonition? And seriously, that some won't survive after their graduation? No fucking shit. That's like looking at the babies in the maternity ward and saying: "Some won't survive after being born." Thank you Nost-tro-fucking-dom-mas.
I didn't know what that meant
This puts Sparkle Pony's stupidity right out there. How the FUCK can you not know what it means when you have the idea that some classmates won't survive after graduation? How goddamn stupid do you have to be to not understand that?
but when I was walking around in that building, I saw a casket placed an alter.
An alter what? An alter-ego? It's placed on an alternative what? Oh, wait, he means "
altar", even though that... well... fuck it.
It's just wrong.
In that casket was a kid wearing an I.O.U. sweatshirt and his skull crushed in,
So this kid is in the casket with a huge dent in his head so it looks like a deflated soccer ball? What? And wearing an I.O.U. shirt? I don't know about you, but at all the many funerals I have had to attend over the years the people were wearing their best clothing, and the family usually had the mortician to make them look decent.
This right here tells me that ol' Sticky Back Nicky didn't even go to the funeral. That he's just making this shit up as he goes along.
blood was all drained out of his body but in a way one can see the breathing coming into the cold air.
So the blood was drained out in a way that the person is still breathing? So he's a kind of vampire?
More proof that he didn't even go. He's never even seen a fucking dead body, or even looked at pictures of them.
Seriously, read that. What he's clumsily and stupidly reaching for is "the emblamer and mortician had done a wonderful job, making it so that my friend looked as if they were just sleeping, as if I should have been able to see the faint plume of their breath in the icy air of the funeral home." But instead we get the equivalent of a cratered head wound.
Much as how a few described how he looked before they pulled the plug.
So are we going to get a description? Of course not, this is a Sparkle Pony story. In other words, even though this is his friend, he never went and saw them in the hospital.
I've seen a note placed upon his coffin, and it read -- "Don't let them pull the plug! I have my life ahead of me and I don't want to die!"
A little fucking late. He might want to have put the note in his pocket, or maybe on the life support equipment. This is just typical Pacione bullshit.
All the former classmates from when I was at Marquardt were there; everyone clad in black and wearing something close what was in The Cure videos.
I love how he tries to make it sound heavy metal, when it's actually just funeral dress. "Something close to The Cure videos, hurrrrr..." not "Everyone clad in black and wearing their Sunday best." Why not? Because Nicky "Uber-Christian" Pacione doesn't understand what the shit he talks about and has no comprehension of "Sunday best", instead choosing to think that wearing semen and food spattered clothing on his unwashed body when he crawls out of granny's basement is perfectly fine to go to any event.
You know he showed up at this guy's funeral smelling like a bag of hooker assholes smeared with sour cream and left in the sun.
I imagined it much as what they see in Tim Burton's movies.
So right about here the corpse should jump up and start dancing while singing a snappy song?
It's a funeral, not something terrifying. Hell, The Last American Virgin is scarier than a funeral.
One of them was toting a bible under her arm, and preaching to the others about the salvation from spiritual death.
Yeah, people do that at funerals. But to Sparkle Pony, it's terrifying. The comfort that people find in the Bible, and the comfort they find in the thought that their loved one did suffer a spiritual death but rather still exists in Heaven is scary to Pacione because he doesn't understand basic human nature.
To him, everyone is just puppets that he can smear his own motives and opinions, without actual feelings or motives of their own. Because he can't comprehend how it feels to lose a loved one and how one can gather comfort from religion at such a time, he thinks everyone else is merely trying to gain some kind of advantage in the name of their God or their personal ego.
But one thing was different about the time when I was living in Iowa, and the time frame of this dream.
Please God let it be something interesting. Anything. A hobo screaming at a sprinkler. A car running over nuns. Something. Anything. Please. God.
The difference being that the dream it was echoing all that was going on during the time of December 8th, 1989.
Ummm... OK. I guess. Help? I'm scared?
It was too young for a thirteen year old to be thinking about things that dark or deep in nature but the conversation about one's own mortality never came into play, but everyone was looking at it because of the death of Brian Wallace.
What was to young? Or is this Nicky trying to explain that instead of everyone talking to him, they were paying attention to this Wallace dude?
He'd never had the conversation about death before, even though he was 13? His dog Fido had never died and he hadn't been held by his mother while he cried and she tried to assure him that it would all be all right?
Of course not, and because Spackle-Back had never encountered death or had the "death talk" from his parents by 13, he assumes that everyone else did not.
I remember the clippings about his demise all too well, it played a huge part in the nightmare when it wrote itself out in my sleep.
AH! So Sparkle Pony wrote this why sleeping! That explains the shitty writing.
And just the clippings? Only what the papers showed? When I was 12 and my friend died, I was told all the details, not only by my parents, and my friend's siblings, but by the school rumor mill and the school counselor.
The type of thing that would be the perfect set up for a Gothic novel during the age of Symbolism or Uncertainty;
A funeral? No. It wouldn't. Gothic novels contain a lot more elements, but to Cum Sticky-Nicky Gothic only means people dressed all in black.
just the way it was done haunted me for quite some time and there were different variations of the dream and they appeared at various stages when I got older.
So the kid dies, he goes to the funeral, and it gives him nightmares for years?
No wonder every time he tries to carry through with his stupid ass "horror target" threat the demises he writes for people he hates read like something written by a 12 year old. He has no idea of why things are scary, of what is actually scary, and instead just goes for "oh, you died, so now aren't you terrified and going to have nightmares?" and thinks he's completely emotionally and mentally terrified his "victims" with his shitty writing.
I would actually hear them taunting in the dream saying I was the cause of his death.
So now we get to where it is all about him. Oooh, scary. In the dream people taunt him! SPOOKY! I R SKARD!
They would taunt and say, "because of something you've said; the reason he's gone --- nothing can be done to be brought back."
::sigh:: So... um... scary? Boo?
As bleak or macabre as it appears, the dream was one of the most abstract within a shadow that was cast.
That isn't bleak or macabre, that's just normal survivor's guilt dreams.
One would say of this would appear rather blasphemous in parts,
What, that dream people teased you?
That's not blasphemous.
but it is exactly how I described it back then.
Because you didn't understand the English language?
Horrors from the fever induced dreams and sickness invoked sleep.
THAT'S his fever dreams?
Ooooh, fucking scary.
What a pussy.
In my last fever dream I played cards with Jason Vorhees and we drank shots of tequila that was dribbled into our shot glasses from the nipples of exotic looking dusky skinned women with delicately slanted brown eyes and long white hair. We sat on a shattered plate of white ice, seated on chairs of bleeding bone, our cards on a table carved of glass, while around us a thunderstorm raged and purple lightning crackled in the clouds.
Not scary, no, but still definitely a fever dream.
I was expecting something to awaken out of his grave saying,
"For the love of God, let me out!"
"You never went to my funeral! It's your fault that I'm gone. I am going to haunt you for the rest of your living days!"
So he didn't go to the funeral, despite his claims above.
Consistency in writing, thy name is Pacione.
Then in the dream I saw Ms. Jacobson walking up to the coffin with a Bible in hand.
I remember it in some detail because she was clad in a black dress similar to how she would dress criteria to how she did in 1994,
Ummm... in a Bulls jersey, pants around her ass, a pistol stuck in her belt, and Nike tennis shoes? How the fuck are we supposed to know how she was dressed based on the year? For all we know, she's wearing a black miniskirt and that's it, dancing around the funeral with her tits hanging out.
but instead of the denim blue she would be wearing everything in black.
I didn't tell her about the dream relating to this
Because that would involve actually talking to a living woman, and that makes Sparkle-Pony piss his Underoos.
but it came from that chilling revelation she made years later of me.
She made a revelation of him? Shouldn't that be too him? And what was the chilling revelation? That she stole the kid's penis and kept it in the freezer to jam up her ass while she shed blood for Bhaal by slashing the throats of hobos?
Horrors which lay as the eyes are seen for the gruesome cargo to bear;
but even then it was a time when it was a thought that came to mind that was a question of death and life. In some shape or form, it was a shadow of what was to become or an understanding that could not be studied or explored during that time frame.
Why do I have the feeling the Pacione poorly copied this from some other work, completely misunderstanding what it meant, and he has no idea what the fuck he just said?
Go ahead, parse that? When you're done clawing out your fucking eyes, get a transplant and come on back, and we'll finish reading this with the eyes you got from the little boy in Idaho.
I remembered the details as they were told about the funeral who went to class the next day,
In other words, he dimly remembers what people who actually went to the funeral said.
the nightmares that are often the penning of them are when they say -- no son shall go before their father or mother.
So it's scary because only in nightmare scary lands do children die before the parents? Fuck, this just shows that Pacione is a closeted, basement dwelling, over-sheltered loser who has zero experience in the real world.
Guess what, Sparkle Pony, people die.
But I could just see them just looking at me in a way saying, "You don't belong here."
Here's why. Because they'd be talking and Pacione would slouchingly make his way over to them, the disgusting reek of unbathed body preceding him, his panting breath from the exertion of walking upright covering them in a foul odor of rotting food particles and horrible halitosis, and he'd invade people's personal space with his foul odor of unwashed ass, moldy clothing, rotting food, and old semen to try to listen in on the conversations they were having about the passing of a friend.
I don't know about you, but I'd give the foul hunchback the same look. Probably along with a "Get the fuck out of here, Pacione." and a healthy push.
It is in this that the memory of such paints a darker detail into the mind about the dream while Wallace stood there;
So now the dead guy is standing there in his dream?
even when everyone else was watching his body in the casket I was watching him as he was drawing his finger out -- slowly with him pointing at me. It was almost if I was the one who committed the deed.
So in his dreams, everyone else is looking at the body, but the guy's spirit is standing in front of him, and now he's scared?
So, this whole story is just about how he had a nightmare about a funeral he didn't go to and a person he barely fucking knew in passing?
Pacione, you suck as a human being.
"You've killed me Pacione!"
With your stench!
"How....... I want to know? "
I squealed, my grape sized scrotum tensing up against my shit smeared taint.
"You've killed me in the sense of the way you were or are!"
It gibbered, it's brains spilling out of its head from the horrific wound.
The nightmares that play out while I was in a fever induced sleep one can only tell what kind of madness it portrays or portrayed.
This just gets shittier.
From a rational mind, it would not always be explainable --
Let's try: Nicky knew a guy that went to his school in passing, guy gets killed, Pacione doesn't go to the funeral, eavesdrops on conversations to hear about it, gets sick from an infection after shoving a plunger handle up his ass while he masturbates, has a fever dream, then writes a poorly written account of the dream.
but from a mind that is sensitive
**cough** PUSSY! **cough**
to all things that gather from one side of madness as it is drawn from memory and nightmare. One way or another, it is a darkness that becomes a painted picture which portrays a macabre distortion -- another sense as it became or was, the idea of what haunts me about his death was that all the things that he was going to be; now are going to be never.
Blah blah blah.
"I'm a tremendous man-gina who gets scared easily."
I won't say into full detail about the actual funeral,
Because he didn't go.
but some would be able to speak of the details;
And Pacione would sneak up, surrounded by the smell of mold, unwashed ass, filthy body, and rotting meat, and listen to others speak of the details.
from what I was told a lot of people showed up from the school.
Which just shows us he didn't go, despite his claims.
Just that the old demise and the dreams as they stand; the gruesome cargo that follow from them -- waiting for the perspectives seen in a pattern of distortion.
Think about this: Just hearing about a funeral is enough to make Pacione piss his pants.
This, the guy who threatens to kick everyone's asses. The guy who claims to be "the most dangerous man in publishing", the guy who insists that everyone call him Nickolaus "Wrathchild" Pacione, pisses his pants at the mention of a funeral.
Yeah, you're obviously a tough guy, Pacione.
You probably shit yourself at the sight of sock puppets, don't you?
"He did this to me! The fucker did this to me!" he shrieked pointing the finger.
And now we're back to Nicky supposedly being at the funeral, or maybe dreaming about the funeral, or maybe this is just Nicky remembering how his stench once made someone's hair fall out when Pacione walked by. Who knows?
Who fucking cares?
I felt my heart shoot up my throat when his pale finger pointed at me with that I.O.U. sweatshirt and his Cavs;
Oooh, not CAV'S! EEEK!
the thought if this when one reads this now might not sound so chilling,
Nope, It sounds like the whining of a sheltered little man-child who lives in a basement.
but this is coming from a fourteen year old who was running a high fever.
Who was a 14 year old little sheltered pussy who would eventually end up living in a basement.
The madness within the dream painted a picture described as something only Edgar Allan Poe or Stephen King would end up writing about in their works.
No. They write scary stuff.
This is just some man-gina whining about a nightmare.
Just as it would gather, a madness within a dream as the memory of someone dying being fresh within the mind.
Waaaah! I got scared!
Mortality was always a subject I wrote about for this reason because it played into one's dreams and nightmares.
Yet he has not true understanding about what is scary about mortality. Why? Because to him, other people aren't really real. They're just cardboard cutouts that either block him from what he wants, can be used to get what he wants, or can be given whatever motive Pacione assigns them. He doesn't really understand other people, because he's a selfish self-centered moron, and so he sees them all through the lens of his sheltered existence.
Which is one reason why his writing sucks.
Even the threatening emails he sends me where he threatens to burn my family alive in front of me aren't really frightening, because you know someone like Pacione would only hurt himself trying to make a Molotov cocktail.
Probably by seeing the curving nozzle of the gas pump nozzle, mistaking it for a cock, and jamming it up his own ass so that he fills his bowels with gasoline.
The gathering within the eye inside shadows.
The gathering within the eye of the fat fuck eavesdropping on people's conversations.
Things like this dream would invoke me not sleeping for days at a time,
Horseshit. Pacione doesn't have the mental discipline or the physical endurance to walk up a flight of stairs without getting winded.
namely when I would fall sick for some reason or another.
Let's see why:
Lack of personal hygiene
Pig-sty of a room
Oh, and desperate for attention.
That's why he "got sick", since this is the same man who once had everyone call an ambulance for him because he was sitting on the ground crying over an ice cream headache.
Hellish was the word to describe that dream as it was there,
Boring as fuck is actually the correct term. Hellish is something else.
the illness laden sleep or when I did sleep, that nightmare would on occasion found its way into my mind.
Years later, he still has nightmares about a funeral he didn't go to for a guy he only knew the name of.
A dwindling madness of a young teen with a mind of a now twenty-nine year old,
A clumsy was of saying "a young teen who has since grown into a 29 year old man."
sick---words to describe what was around back then.
Boring -- words to describe what was around back then.
Those damned dreams as they made themselves manifest within the eyes of a madness one was not able to find the words to document it.
Isn't he cute, trying to make his pussy-fied nightmare seem scary?
The dreams back then only played into the depths of the dreams that I have now.
WAAAH!! I STILL HAVE NIGHTMARES!
From a funeral he didn't go to for a person he didn't know.
A rather unsettling thought as it is there now, but even then if a teacher was to read about this --- it would be a promised trip to the councilor's office to find out what was gathering in my head.
Not any "darkness" as he claims, but for the councilor to try to find out why he's such a tremendous pussy.
Not even the online journals I kept when I got older can really document the type of dreams I was having back then,
Why not? Afraid the servers that it would be posted on would melt down from electronic laughter?
even the ones now weren't as gruesome as the one were back then.
Anyone else want to punch him in the head right about now?
My dreams back then were rather Gothic or grotesque,
My dreams back then were full of hot women in black clothing who usually spit on me or sprayed mace in my eyes or full of the horrible image of showering or wearing clean clothing.
but hard to describe;
I just did.
I don't think I would be able to openly write about them back then as I do now.
Oh, wait, he's referring to the dreams of his awakening homosexuality.
Back then if they only knew what were in my nightmares;
They'd know that you were a closeted homosexual who needed some serious mental health to cope with the issue that you were a self-hating gay man.
as far as some of the councilor's knowledge they would find a way to help it instead of finding a way escort someone head first into the choices that lead to their demise or madness.
And here, dear reader, is where we read about how poor Mr. Pacione, having "suffered" from dreams of hot sweaty man-love, feels that the only choice he had was suicide or madness if he acknowledged just how much he desired hard cock in his ass or mouth while he furiously masturbated his micro-penis.
Someone in the dream the councilor sat in the darkness clad in all black,
In Pacione's belief, making the dream "Gawthik"
pointing her icy finger at me -- laughing. Saying, "You will never make it past your freshmen year!"
Well, if it wasn't for special education classes, he probably wouldn't. Hell, if it wasn't for the pity of the school faculty, he'd probably STILL be in High School, furrowing his greasy and acne covered brown in a vain attempt to understand basic hygiene in Health Class.
Eyes from madness gathered in one's dreams, struggling around in the darkness to find a way out.
Help, I've fallen asleep and I can't wake up!
Hell, if there was a way to describe this --
There is, but it requires a working knowledge of the English language.
it would come close to the place of gnashing of teeth,
especially if the face of the devil was the guidance councilor.
So, Satan tore off her face and wears it like a mask, as if he's Leatherface or something?
The type of things that the nightmares were triggered will always come up in some form of debate in one way or another.
"Tonight, on Nightline, Nickolaus Pacione, gigantic man-gina or weeping infected pussy? Our panelists will debate about the triggers that make him curl into a hysterical ball, like fluffy bunny slippers, cartoon rabbits, and thesauruses."
In some way or another; one can hear God laughing at them as they've gone mad!
Hearing God is kind of a definition of being batshit crazy. Yeah.
The dream as it stands, the councilor and the deceased both staring in a darkness so piercing within a silent room -- way it is being extremely cold; the kind of cold that can be felt when touching the flesh of the dead when paying their last respects. It becomes the thought within a tormented memory and symbolism of the last respects.
Is it just me, or does this just show how little Pacione knows? The dead aren't really that cold when they're laying there at the funeral or wake. A little cooler than room temperature, yeah, but not the space cold 0 Kelvin that Pacione alludes to.
All that was living was now dead, and finally gone --
Not all, but all the potential of the young man Pacione is using to try to make himself seem like a good writer is gone. Pacione, of course, wasted any potential to be a contributing member of society by squatting in his grandmother's basement and snacking on the treats he finds between his hairy ass cheeks.
only to them in memory they live within dream and nightmare. Just they found their way to appear in the dreams of the people they've bullied,
And here we go with Pacione's Greatest Hit: Everyone's Picking Me!
as one last time to make the lives of the living hell in their sleep.
Help! Granny! They're bullying me in my dreams because I'm too much of a pussy to even stand up to someone in my dreams!
Such an ideal swimming around within the head of teen at that age, innocence penned as it was already lost. Gathered in pieces of life and demise as it was, or what it is, from a memory that already passed away. Pieces told and lost after the ways of faith had taken their souls away; waited among the chapel they stood -- the councilor and the deceased with the fingers pointed in one solitary direction.
Wah wah wah!
It draws into the points of horror and insanity, depths with them becoming the nightmare as it is told from a fictional reality. Everything within the dream played itself into one detail and the next,
More crybaby shit.
and how I envisioned it was exactly how it was going to be especially when a tall, fat bully was getting engulfed by winter immune bees.
Wow. That's is revenge fantasy? That someone who "bullied him" (Probably by insisting that he needed a shower) would be attacked by "winter immune" bees?
The type of thing that would be the makings of a horror film;
Hell, it didn't seem that scary when I was chasing people around with bees in Bioshock. It actually made me laugh my ass off.
or a Gothic tale of its kind but one wasn't able to imagine especially for a person of my age at that time to come up with something that ornate.
He can't now either.
Usually the nightmares back then for someone my age was of themselves taking a test in their underwear or
everything on the test was a multiple choice question --- everything was one letter or a number.
Only Pacione would be scared by that. I'd be more scared of a 500 question test that I had 15 minutes to complete that only consisted of essay questions.
Multiple choice? Big fucking deal.
The idea that one finds their book they've been studying had a face pulling out of their pages literary.
Best. Typo. Ever.
By the way, gotta love the image. Reading a book, and suddenly a face is pulled out of the book. A "literary" face.
Something as a death of a classmate ages them,
Naw. The death of a child, or a parent, or a battle buddy, or a best friend, that ages you. Some dude you went to school with and didn't know? Not really.
and I never cried at funerals or at a wake.
Because he's never been to one?
Or because people aren't real to him?
They always end up calling me "Stone Face" Pacione
Oh look, another nickname he claims to have.
That's a total of:
And about 20 others. All to try to convince us he's some kind of badass.
What's funny is the idea that he didn't cry at anyone's funeral doesn't really make him seem like a tough guy after everything we've learned about him, but rather it just acts as further proof he's a self-centered asshole.
because I hardly shown an emotion when someone died, as in I never cried when someone passed away.
Because he's a total douche?
I made like it didn't bother me but all this time it did.
Supposedly he's Mr. Stone Face, but he still has nightmares about a funeral he didn't go to for a person he didn't know.
Some might think I am dragging on;
EVERYONE thinks you're just rambling on, Sparkle-Pony.
but in the details as it remains, the dream that waited there wandering as a hound in the fog.
A lost mangy flea bitten mongrel wandering around in the garbage smelling fog? Big fucking deal.
I found myself trying to run out of the chapel but the doors were locked.
In his dream. Remember, he didn't really go. LOL
That was the thing they found the most disturbing about me back then.
That he was a complete and total pussy who smelled like a dead hobo stuffed with sour cream and garbage left beneath an overpass in the summer?
Some of those dreams had their way of coming forth now, but more so when I am traveling around.
From alley to alley to give blowjobs to sweaty men.
I thought I would never see this particular dream again -- let alone writing about it. I take that back, part of what was written in the short story Haunted Thoughts was from this dream too.
Blah blah blah.
Deeper it falls as the mind gathers within the corners of the dream, only as they find one answer to the nightmares are not the answer at all.
Because it has a different answer?
Even when the nightmares call up more questions and looking for that answer only leads to more questions left to be asked; the things of God and Satan are often blurred when it comes in the perspectives of the nightmare or the dream.
Wait? This is it?
So this was nothing more than Nickolaus "Wrathchild" Pacione (snicker) crying to us about a nightmare he has about a funeral he's never gone to?
As a story, I rate this slightly below the badly Xerox'd manifesto I got handed out front of 7-11 in 1987.
As non-fiction I rate this as whining drivel from a basement dwelling man-child who can't take care of himself and so has to rely on the generosity of an elderly relative.
In conclusion: Pacione, you suck. Go back to sucking dick in the bus station and quit writing, since you completely and totally suck at it.