Polite Babies coming for Christmas

October 2nd, 2012

I have been working with a number of designers on a bunch of designs for a line of t-shirts and other fabrics as well as accessories that includes cups, bags, hats, etc. I’m releasing them through my hidden people creative story outfit that’s evolving to wherever it feels it needs to go. I hurriedly launched this last December, Just To Get It Out, since the concept had been on a major back burner for years.


Then I had to get more serious and professional about it with some long-term vision to boot. So now, after much work, I have four launches scheduled this year and into 2013 of different designs. The first batch is nearly ready and they are called the “Polite Babies” series.


It is basically for kids, but no one is stopping anyone from putting them on more adult-sized stuff.


Here’s a few (a taster if you will).











I’ll let you know when they are released (sometime next month it says here on my ambitious schedule.)


Thanks for dropping by. – Vincent

Acting in a corporate video playing a Researcher against a green screen

September 27th, 2012




Last year I played a “Researcher” in a corporate video.


I played it against “green screen,” meaning nothing that you see, except me, was there when we shot it.


More clarity. I was told where to place a finger and push, then pull invisible graphs out of mid-air, push airy nothings off screen or crush them, often pointing my finger at specific places where there was nothing to point at and all the while looking intrigued. (Much like a self-assured madman.)


Everything around me was green, because that is one the two best colors to work with when dealing with special effects (the other is blue screen). So every visual you see was added in post-production.


It was repetitive (“This time point your finger just an inch more to the left.”) and time consuming (“Let’s try that again, but say the third word looking slightly up, and then at the beginning of the second sentence glance right as though you are looking at a scientific results, and be enthusiastic but professional, and remember, point your finger a bit more to the left.”) but all seemed satisfied in the end. (This video is just a fragment of what resulted.)


YOU CAN SEE THE VIDEO BY CLICKING HERE.


Thanks for dropping by. – Vincent+

My ebooks are now available via KOBO

September 25th, 2012

ebooks + Vincent Eaton + hidden people + availability

To date, my books, when offered as ebooks, have been available mostly on Amazon. Some people don’t particularly like Amazon’s business practices or too imposing online market share and shy away from doing business there, and I understand the reasoning. So, while my books appear on a number of competitive sites, perhaps one of the best alternatives is the independent KOBO, where my ebooks are now on offer.


My books are now available on KOBO. Click here.


That’s mostly it. Prices remain the same as on other sites (I try to keep that steady across platforms.) Announcement done.


Thanks for dropping by and having a read. – Vincent

Story – Suicidal Tendancies

August 31st, 2012



Sam: I don’t really want to kill myself.
David: What changing your mind?
Sam: Lack of commitment.
David: Not a lack of desire?
Sam: Oh no, not really. I have lots of that, of desire for ending it. I know Death is just waiting for me, and I’m starting to get used to wanting to go there. Like making it a goal.
David: But not making the effort?
Sam: I make efforts.
David: Such as?
Sam: I fell in love again last month, bought some non-organic supermarket food, and decided to vote in the next election. I make efforts to go on living, man.
David: Your efforts qualify more as self-destructive, not so much suicidal.
Sam: Ya think?
David: My opinion merely.
Sam: So what would be suicidal?
David: Getting married, eating the crap food you bought and actually voting.
Sam: Right. So I have to make more of a serious effort?
David: More than you’re making, yeah.
Sam: Shit.
David: You said you fell in love. Last month.
Sam: Yeah, I fell in love but with life.
David: And life’s not in love with you?
Sam: Not a lot of cuddles, nope.
David: Oh.
Sam: Life’s got no sense of long-term commitment.
David: Feel like you’re just one more thing its programmed to do?
Sam: Man you can be depressing.
David: How’s am I worse than your suicidal tendencies?
Sam: Maybe I want to end my life but I don’t necessarily want to be morbid about it.
David: An upbeat self-killing?
Sam: Now you’re mocking me.
David: Okay. Right. So, when’s this happening?
Sam: Sooner rather than latter.
David: Time is variable when it comes to killing yourself, that it?
Sam: Making fun of me again?
David: Well, just, like, commit and have a schedule. Then it gets serious.
Sam: How can I plan when you’re trying to depress me!
David: I thought I was just helping you clarify.
Sam: You mean, like a friend?
David: Exactly. Like a friend.
Sam: Then why are you being so negative? Why don’t you try to talk me out of it?
David: That’s what you want?
Sam: No.
David: So then what do you want from me?
Sam: Nothing.
David: You got it. That’s what friends are for. To respond to needs.
Sam: Just shut up. Be quiet.
David: mmm
Sam: That’ s better. (Silence) Much better. (Silence) Peaceful. (Silence. And then more silence)

THE NICE GUY – a video concerning my new novel

July 12th, 2012




My next novel, The Nice Guy, is coming into the world today.


So I made a video which runs less than 2 minutes that tells you something about it.


So you know. And celebrate.


Oh, yeah, you didn’t know it until right this minute, but this is your summer read.





You want to see this video and hear my voice and listen to my words and see some of my images, click anywhere on this line and knock yourself out.


Thanks for any interest. This book has been waiting some years to see the light of day.


You can find more details and read an excerpt or find links to bookshops by clicking anywhere here.


Now that’s it for the moment.


Be nice.




Story – Toes in the past

June 28th, 2012




He came from more than a few thousand miles away, stepping from his current home in an obscure, dainty country and onto the rich and famous and worshiped sand of a Southern California beach where he had once met a wholesome girl when this was his home as a kid, a teenager, and standing alone on this beach he found himself vibrating with a lust for his life way back then, and he measured the years, some of its memories, as his toes disappeared into the sand, the grains, into the ocean water that came and went.


The surf was blown so there wasn’t much to gaze at, so he wiggled his fingers in the on-shore wind to feel that. He thought of what’s her name, the wholesome girlfriend’s name he knew but wanted to pretend he no longer remembered from forty years back. Not remembering her name would prove he had moved on emotionally and romantically, then again, in some fuzzy, pathetic way, he would teach her a four-decade old lesson by not remembering her name.


Turning, he looked at a place on the beach behind him and saw her sixteen year old face in his head and imagined, briefly, that face now, a senior citizen, and failed, gladly, to bring the inevitable stains and mini-massacres that had to have happened to her over time. She stayed sixteen and amazingly in like/love with him.


He recalled surfer friends, many dead, most half disappeared if not barely half-remembered. Once he had had true surfer skills, zooming on waves, agile, graceful, inventive, all his current memories waiting for him in the future, which was happening now. Never again would he be that good again with the surf for the remainder of this whatever.


His feet got covered in the sand as the sand drained from his brain. His past, his present, the sharp and dim memories. The breeze in his brain.
He felt the inoperable lump bulging from inside his throat while watching impossible clichés before him. The golden sunset. The lap of waves and rolling sand. The endless hush sound the water made coming and going.
He sat down on the beach, eyes glues to the fading gold of the goodbye sun.
He lay down on the beach and closed his eyes.
He waited for one of two things to stop first: the memories or the lump mutating inside his throat.
He knew which would stop. But not quite yet. Not yet.

Story – Another Dimension

May 24th, 2012



Today I decided to move it forward some and stuck my arm up to my shoulder into another dimension hovering just off to the right of my easy chair. I felt around, and came upon a crumbling bone of my mother. I let go and pulled my arm out. Maybe I’ll try this again tomorrow and hope for better results.


The next day.
I put my arm back into another dimension and found the grinning, sarcastic skull of my father, who had had numerous strokes and died some time ago so I took my arm back out and decided to give this another week.


A week later.
I went in and felt something that can only be described as the end of civilization as we know it. Took my arm out. This is not going as I had hoped it would.


A month later.
I stuck my hand into the next dimension again, with much less hope than on previous occasions. Someone over there shook my hand in a firm but gentle grasp. It went on for a while, and it felt good. When I removed my hand from the other dimension, my hand was gone and I yelled for my wife to take me to the hospital.


Three years later.
Got in another argument with my wife over some space-time continuum theories. She actually pushed me. I actually for the first time in years pushed her back. Too forcefully, probably compensating for my missing hand. She knocked backward into my favorite easy chair then tipped right over into the other dimension we’d been avoiding for some time. She disappeared and I reached in and felt around but she was was gone.


The next day
I reached in with my one good arm holding a note, asking someone in the other dimension for the return of my wife. I held it out for a while but nothing happened. When I brought the note back out I saw someone had spat on it.


Three months later
Moving out of the house tomorrow. The Johnsons are moving in. I’ve warned them about the extra dimension in the house but they just smiled and patted me on the back and continued thinking they were getting a great deal. They have four small children, a pregnant cat and a dog, so good luck with that. I’m taking the money, my good arm and heading off someplace uni-dimensional where there’s plenty of warm sunshine.

Story – Fifteen reasons why we should stay together

May 11th, 2012




He said to her, “I can name fifteen reasons why we should stay together.”
She waited over on the other side of the room, her arms crossed, waiting to hear his reasons.
He said, “One, I love you.”
She waited some more. She got tired of waiting, so said, “And?”
“The other fourteen don’t matter, just the first one.”
She continued waiting over there on her side of the room, arms still crossed, wondering how to tell him that that just wasn’t enough reason any more.

Reading from Brussegem, a snug hell – Chapter 1 excerpts

April 26th, 2012




I enjoy reading my books aloud.


Here’s some excerpts from the first chapter of “Brussegem, a snug hell”.


This sentence is the link.


Thanks for coming by. Vincent+


Note: For more about this book, click here: Brussegem, a snug hell.

Story – FAT CAT

March 23rd, 2012




My cat is fat. The cat used to be a he but is now an it. He has been deballed, neutralized, neutered, fixed, castrated, altered, changed, sanitized, synthesized, de-catified. No wonder he got fat. Under such circumstances, anyone would tend to get depressed and over-compensate with between meal snacks of mice-meat and sparrow heads.


Imagine being pushed into a carrier bag, zipped up in it, transported and manhandled, and upon being unzipped, exposed in a foreign shiny environment, where some stranger promptly sticks a sharp object in the hind quarters — and before a cat can shriek injured dignity and utter shock — the world turns all dreamy and it’s time for a long, unsought catnap.


Upon awakening, the world remains incredibly woozy and wobbly with something missing. Imagine the first time you as a cat bend round to clean your privates, licking tenderly to clean with care. The cat suddenly is certain something essential is missing. He looks up to stare off into some cat half-distance, mystified eyes calculating, recalling. He bends to lick again to make sure that what used to be there is no longer snug and tight and two, right there as usual. He needed those two tiny round objects to give a certain heft to his yowls, leave his smell, mark his territory, make frequent hot cat-love.


Now that will no longer be possible. Never, never, never, never, never, as Shakespeare wrote for King Lear to say. And like a more mild King Lear, my cat is in the grip of an astonishing disillusionment and barely contained depression.


When I let the cat out into the back garden, I watch it disappear into the gathering gloom. He does not run, he still slightly wobbles. He’s edgy and uncertain. There’s less of him, and he knows it. He’ll never be all there nor as big and brave as he once was. From here on out, he truly deserves all the night-time mice-meat and scraps of excitement he can hustle.


Photo: Rights lambertwm