top of page


For the past few years I've had the pleasure of playing the character of Detective Joe Carr for writer/director Justin R Diemert in his Mystery/Noir Independent Film Series, Memoirs of Wroth City.  I play a crooked cop in a crooked city.  Wroth City is populated by many criminals, most of which work for the "CharmIng Man" as the criminal boss is affectionately called.  There is a dangerous rogue bail bond bounty hunter getting in the way of the cops.  "Sam" is a thorn in the side of police, and a deadly enemy to the villains preying on the citizens.  Classic stuff.  I'm surrounded by superb actors and a dedicated crew on every shoot.  Looking forward to episodes and shorts to begin being released.  Stay tuned for information as I get it. 


Memoirs of Wroth City - Interception



Behind the Scene Stills, Production Photos, and all other photography on this page are the work of top notch artists on the set: * 




* To the best of my knowledge.  If anyone else sees their work on this page, please contact me through the link below so that I can give you credit here.  I so appreciate everyone who worked on the project.  I never mean to overlook someone's contribution.   -Dave



Official Facebook Post Article
Detective Joe Carr
Installment 1

June 17, 2016

For the hundreds of readers in the city who have moved to Facebook with me from the Wroth Gazette, glad you found me. For new readers seeing this, welcome. I am happy to continue my city journal opinion column as a series of posts on social media. Had to have this explained to me by one of the computer kids over at the precinct. Seems like a good way to continue civic involvement in my retirement – you know, now that the Gazette decided I was “too frank.” (What they meant to say is I was too frank about who the jerk wad was that took it over.)
I am happy that my first post on this format is a positive one. The city is dirty. The city is dark. But there are always a few who want to shine a light on the past in order to clear the way for the future. So it is for a group of film makers that have come in calling themselves Broken Television Entertainment. I was invited to a production meeting recently, where they are planning to tell the story of Sam, my former partner on the force. The meeting was led by Justin Diemert, some young hippy, dippy kid that takes his grooming cues from 1950’s portraits of Jesus. Bright guy though, and he seems to have an appreciation for what went on in our city’s dark times.
I had to sign some things so they can do this without too much scrutiny. After having read a few episode scripts, I can see why. I know a few people who might want to shut them down. Don’t know how, but Justin and his crew have most of the story exactly right. This is going to scare up some very bad people.
It was a very strange experience reading dialogue in the script based on moments in my life I thought I could bury. They better have some damn good actors – with their insurance paid up.
Anyway, after I heard and understood their approach, I am fully behind this project. Someone like me usually fades into the sewage of history without a footnote. Looks like this is my chance to leave a mark. Justin has asked if he can run things by me once in a while to make sure he gets them right. Happy to do that. I look forward to being a part of the project. He said final touches are being put on the script, but that character shorts and a pilot are scheduled for shooting this last quarter of 2016. I’ll be hanging around, and will let you know how they are doing.
Look for an announcement here once they are ready to premiere the story. I hope they are able to get that far without being wiped out by some who will not like how their friends have been portrayed. So be on the lookout for activity associated with “Memoirs of Wroth City.”
As for me, I will continue to be around every corner. I may be a little old to chase down scum, but I can witness evil from the very darkness cowards count on to hide their actions. My flashlight is this column, and it will be pointed squarely on crime.


Official Facebook Post Article
Detective Joe Carr
Installment 2

July 1, 2016

I am liking this format. Sit at any desk anywhere. Write what I want and turn it into….oh yeah….NOBODY! Just press post. Nice.

Oh, and to you morons who left messages on my old phone number spewing and chuckling about finally seeing what I look like after all these years – can it. The mug shot is of Dave Durham, the guy who will be playing me in “Memoirs of Wroth City” over at Broken Television Entertainment. He’s lending me his page to post on. Speaking of that – just saw something from them announcing the project officially. Guess I jumped the gun in the last column. I got full of myself after peeking at a few scripts that involved my cop partner Sam. Like re-living those times. I tried to learn how to use what they called a “hashtag”, but I’m giving it up. Still, kind of welled up a bit when I saw it was #whoissam. It’s about time people found out. Damn it.

I’ve had a chance now, after moving again, to get back where I belong. For too long now I’ve been working for survival – in the daylight. Hard to do when living down under - no driver’s license, no credit cards, nothing on me revealing who I am. Funny. I did nothing to get famous, but I have to live thinking the next guy who figures out who I am will be the last guy I see. So I assume everyone knows me. Anyway, back to staying up late and passing through the city folk. Someone’s got to. Someone’s got to get their feet on the chipped, buckled sidewalks of this town and see what the underbelly really looks like. Only then can we try to purge what once was good neighborhoods of creepy crawly vermin calling themselves “bad”, as if that’s a good thing.

While I was up for air, I filled myself plenty with how the current city suits are handling things. Seems like all they’re doing is shifting money from schools and city upkeep to business incentives and the promise of never appearing jobs. And any good law passed gets nixed the following year with new people trying to be a hero with the budget. You know what happens when you keep putting a band-aid on a wound and ripping it off just as a scab is forming? You make it worse! Eventually you die! Cut it out!

So glad to get back to basics. And now, thanks to the last post, I know you are reading this – you common scum. Actually, you write this stuff for me. You keep writing the same story over and over again. Once “Wroth” is out, take a look. Even though these meatheads were before your time, I bet you see yourselves on the screen. Spooky, huh? Not as spooky as who’s behind you. “Boo!” LOL!

Later people. And remember, the shadows are never empty.


Official Facebook Post Article
Detective Joe Carr
Installment 3

Good things have been in short supply in this city. There are a few of them showing up now and again. Even a forest ravaged by fire will show life given a little time, and even a thimble of peace. But to the citizens who now are finally able to get out a few hours for something other than work, food, or survival, good things are foreign. As I watch them, I fear for a return to the ditches of despair based on forgotten consequences of poor habits. Have they forgotten how much of a good thing is too much? We like our good things. An evening of pleasure is fine as long as it comes to an end. Too many want it to continue, and they find a way, either through alcohol or drugs or anything that will prolong the escape from tomorrow. Wanting it to continue is a personal problem. Needing it to continue is a problem for all of us.
Got a taste of it on a recent Friday night. Thought I’d give myself a treat and take in a local favorite band of mine. As I left with the local crowd, their hearts still racing from “Rio and the Rockabilly Revival”, it lifted me for a moment. Smiles, couples hugging, young people actually skipping, and friends carrying their conversations into the night. Then I hunkered down behind the wheel of my crapmobile, and headed down the main spoke into the center of the city. The closer I got to the river, the more I saw the storybook pedestrian traffic turn to people who do nothing but chase the good thing they’ve long forgot how to obtain through living. So they lie, cheat, steal, and kill to get a wisp of it.
There’s no music in their lives. It may be playing, but they are not hearing it. They hear voices. They listen to them. They act on them. As much as I understand these wraiths of emptiness, I feel the need to step in and do something. Give them a choice. Whatever they call it – salvation, redemption – pick a word. But if they choose to continue hurting my city, I have to hurt them. Bad. Bad enough so they won’t be seen again and so I can get to the next hallow eyed wolverine needing attention.
How about you? Do you still know how to access the good things as you live life? Or do you want more than your fair share? My advice to you is to find it somewhere else. This city is starting to grow good things organically – and I’m not going to let them be destroyed before good citizens reap the harvest.
Until next time. JC.


Official Facebook Post Article
Detective Joe Carr
Installment 4

July 16, 2016

Watched a total of 20 minutes of the political conventions these past two weeks. Couldn’t stomach them. Hard to find a connection to what is really going on in the lives of people.
I have to admit, though, that I indulged in an exit from the present myself. Hung out over at the shoot for “Memoirs of Wroth City”. Justin Diemert (director) had a couple of detail points he wanted to discuss. I arrived late – thank you pothole city – so just took a seat in the corner to watch the scene. Flashing in front of my eyes were recreations of both the bright hope of youth, and the endless depths that despair can plunge someone into if they give up on life. Gotta hand it to the main man on camera – Mike T. Tremblay. He is portraying a guy who quietly spilled the code on the crazies who ran this city for too long. I saw the forgotten joy and the all-too-familiar trauma in his eyes. We all had that. I had to be reminded people weren’t born with it, but had to have it beaten into them. The price we paid was tailored to our own hell. This guy had guts. I’m glad his story is going to be part of this.
When I left the undisclosed location – in case any of the current crazies are reading – I emerged into a classic summer day in the city as the sun went down. The pavement seemed to move on the horizon, dancing with a vibration that makes you question whether you are in the real world. Only the heat and humidity sticking to your pits confirm that you are, indeed, still living life. That and the stench. Rubber, diesel, sweat, fast food waste, urine, and over baked dreams. Some call this the odor of death. I like to think of it as our version of fertilizer on a farm. From this ooze can spring the most powerful resilience and sheer will any human could own. I know he wouldn’t approve, but it also reminds me of Sam. He thrives in this bayou of stink. The only thing missing is that damn cigarette smoke.
Well, time to put on my waders and get back out in it. Some parts may be covered with smudge, but more and more I see the suppression of fear, creating pockets of souls ready to take this city back. When it comes to my politics and my future, I’m with them.
Stay cool. JC.


Official Facebook Article
Detective Joe Carr
Installment 5

August 12, 2016

As the summer comes down to it’s last few weeks here in Wroth City, it is hard to imagine what kind of “life” has been gestating in the bowels of it’s underground. I’m a believer of taking things as they come, but I’ve noticed a cycle of crime that lately I think I just may prepare for this year. When the humidity drops to below choke level and I can wear a shirt more than one day because the sweat smell ain’t too bad, a wave of crime wells up around me. Somehow those who have found themselves ignored or omitted by government and society feel a need for easy payback. The longer they can roam the streets, the more chance for opportunity of the twisted kind. My job is to find them and remove them from the grid. Yet while I am alone myself on those same sidewalks I feel an affinity for some. I understand the temptation to take from and hurt those who seem to have more opportunity and power. You can only be refused assistance and dealt indignation for so long before you feel a need to break out. Easy to say, “Don’t do that!” to someone who sees survival through crime, but more difficult to point them to what they CAN do. Used to be I could drag them to a church or a soup kitchen or even their own family. Now that doesn’t seem to be enough. With today’s technology life has hit the gas pedal, and is now screaming down the expressway. Even if they work their ass off getting over the chain link fence, how do you ask someone on the side of the road to step out into traffic going 80mph? Lately I’ve been visiting the shelters and asking the “customers” to tell me their stories. Seems as though there are hundreds of ways to exit the freeway of life. Sometimes it’s because you are forced off by a detour sign put up by ignorant, unfeeling politicians. But these same button-ups never install or replace on-ramps for people to get back up to speed. To all those who have written me saying they are part of lifting this city, how about getting out there and clearing a few entrance ramps for these people. That way I don’t have to look them in the face after I cuff ‘em, and see that same bitter, hateful look of an ignored child. One only tended to when they get so bored they burn the house down. Much appreciated. In other news, Mr. Diemert is moving full speed on “Memoirs of Wroth City.” Sent me the attached pic featuring the character they based on me. In a way I like the fact that the story is getting out, but looking at this my lunch is beginning to rumble with dread at the dirt it will churn up. Stay safe everyone. JC


Official Facebook Article
Detective Joe Carr
Installment 6

August 26, 2016

Back from some time away from the city. Some of my fellow retired officer friends invited me to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. They thought I’d enjoy an extended time outside the oppressive environment of Wroth City. I know they meant well. But the city is more than just the physical environment, and I found as I hiked the North Woods and visited Pure Michigan jewels, that I never really can escape Wroth. Yep. Didn’t work for me.
I tried to lose myself up there, honestly. Would love to know what it is like to walk free with a wide open sky that goes on forever rather than always feeling I’ve got a ceiling over me. Most see the naturally red brown late summer waters of the Tahquamenon Falls propelling down and crashing into the mud below, only to swirl into a peaceful river again as it continues its journey into Lake Superior. It triggers for me a case memory. That time we finally had a sloppy hit made by a territorial stooge, and I was carefully combing the massacre scene with my guys for smoking gun clues to get my hands on his boss. He’d been able to ooze out of months of killings through meticulous “hands-off” attacks. This time he knew his guy probably screwed up. So here it came. One of those military armored vehicles with a mega gun strapped on top. With us shooting at it as it came down the street, it made four shots – all taking out fire plugs. The street turned into a river of reddish brown water, splashing and rinsing the place clear. We lost whatever bullet shells, footprints, cigarette butts, or lucky whatevers that might have been there. Hell, we even lost one of the bodies that was flushed into a sewer never to be seen again. That was the last time I saw water that color before Tahquamenon. The color of blood and street oil. Yep. Didn’t work for me.
I also took in the Pictured Rocks up there. Amazing really. Erosion of the different layers of soil made for some interesting shapes and modern art outcroppings. I was actually enjoying that. Then the pictured part. The tour boat captain slowed the motor so it sounded like the hum of air conditioners on nearby buildings. We saddled up and cruised parallel to the cliff sides and they were amazingly covered with nature’s artwork. The groundwater seeps out from the many elements in the soil to stain the cliff sides with different colors. His voice faded to mumbling like a late night drive through order taker, constantly in the background as my mind picked out scenes from Wroth City, right there on Michigan walls of dirt. I could see the office building the worse of it all came down in. I could see street scenes and night time haunts of some of the characters that still occupy my mind. I could even see Sam’s apartment window, complete with a silhouette of him hunched over his rocks glass, smoke swirling around his head. Then I heard my buddies asking if I was OK, and did I plan to stay on the boat, or leave with them. I felt out of place among the multi-cultural visitors all in brightly colored summer clothing excitedly chatting about the cruise. Yep. Didn’t work for me.
The trip was not a total loss though. In the back seat of the car as we drove back I discovered something I could use as I continue to find ways to function outside of the department. It occurred to me that the reason it seems harder and harder for most people to find their youth as they grow older, is that they have too many old case files. That’s right. As a kid, there is no experience to filter new travel or relationships through. It’s fun just for what it is. Then, just like those rusty three drawer metal files full of old cases I have stashed in my apartment, my brain fills up so that everything can now be related or contrasted to something else I’ve been through. In my case, these files are filled with putrid gut fermenting stories of cruelty and injustice. Kind of takes the fun out of life, ya know? But sometimes you don’t go on for fun. Sometimes you go on because you know you have a purpose. Sometimes you know other people depend on a few who use what they went through to prevent it all from happening again. I like that. Makes me smile. Yep. Works for me.


Official Facebook Post Article
Detective Joe Carr
Installment 7

September 9, 2016

After seeing this promo pic, I went back to sifting through old case files. Thinking I might find something that could be useful to young Justin Diemert as he puts together his film series, “Memoirs of Wroth City.” As I got down to it, all I could think to myself is, “I couldn’t have lived this long – seriously!” In some ways it is good – finalizing and putting to bed memories that have been weighing me down. In other spots I spend two hours on one piece of paper. I stared at a court document forever because one of my answers on the stand threw me on a tangent. The prosecutor asked me if I remembered seeing the pair of goofballs that were on trial on a certain day. I told him I had, and that the guy and girl acted like they were on some sort of honeymoon vacation after torturing and killing some harmless low level crook. Asked what they were wearing, I told the jury the guy was dressed in a suit, smiling real big like a demented car salesman. And she was in a lighter baby-doll type dress. Would have thought she was a little girl from a distance, but she had the kind of face that would instantly chill the power from a locomotive. Stopped me in my tracks. You instantly knew this lady was bad news. When she formed that evil grin and glanced up through empty eyes, you knew someone was going to die. Then I was asked, “What color was her dress.” I couldn’t remember. Court records even show the word “pause” right after the question. Musta been a real doozy of a delay for them to have to write that in. My answer was, “I think it was white.” Here came the tangent. Do people really experience the world we all collectively live in differently? Of course. But I hadn’t considered the actual visuals being different. For me, I can remember license plates, the pace someone was walking, even the smells in the air from a certain moment. But it is almost all gray in my mind. I know I don’t live in a 1950’s Zenith TV set, but my memories apparently are being stored in one. Maybe a splash of crimson blood here and there – but the water of the river, the daytime sky, and even the murals over at the outside city market – are all in there as tones of black and white and gray. Wonder what it would be like to have memories in color. Guess you have to appreciate color first. Color, for the most part, is one of the greater spiritual pleasures offered for our senses. It can foreshadow taste, it can paint pictures with nature. Wish I had picked up some more of those memories. And just like that – zip, zap, zam – I had been holding that trial page for three hours. Well, I don’t know how much time I have left – but I am going to make some room for color footage up in the ol’ noggin. That’s for damn sure. Oh, and for those of you that were out last week doing something you know you ought not be doin’ – that shuffle at the corner of your eye? That little sparkle or glint of something you thought you saw? Yeah – that was me. I saw you. And my memory’s getting better.
Later - JC


Official Facebook Article
Detective Joe Carr
Installment 8

September 23, 2016

Butterflies in my stomach is an understatement. I’ve been working with the people over at Broken Television Entertainment, as previously reported here, and up to now it has felt more like research for a book, or maybe background on a case. I seriously thought once Justin Diemert found out what he was playing with he would chalk it all up to a great learning experience and go on to safer film projects. Instead, he is on schedule and this week released actual clips of the series, “Memoirs of Wroth City.”
It took a turn last weekend when they let me sit in on their latest production meeting. They previewed the teaser trailer, some of the underlying musical score, and the first poster. I’m not sure what I was hoping for. Maybe a cartoon comic book brought to life? Maybe more of a harmless tribute to the stories as they were released to the public? Definitely not what I saw. Somehow – these people – these next generation film makers inspired by hearsay and led by solid research – have captured my city. They’ve captured all of it. When I saw all the character shots and watched the clips from some initial shoots, I could feel the thick air I used to wade through. I could feel the dread in the lighting, and I could hear the sinister anticipation of danger in the music. Took me back. Not to a good place for me; but according to Justin, exactly where he wants his audience.
I agreed to help with this project more to protect my memories than really to own any of their final product. But things have changed. I truly believe these kids are playing with dynamite. Now I plan to stick close because I may be the only guy around who realizes the danger they have put themselves in by insisting on exposing the undercarriage of the news stories. Looks like they will show the people who brought this city down in all their festering glory – then tell the story of how some dug in and swung the pendulum back toward recovery. People like Sam. Gonna have to have a few words with him over this. I have a feeling this version of what happened fits more with his perspective. He was embedded. He was melded to the worse of them.
Speaking of Sam, seeing his character up there was a shock. I almost jumped from the back of the room to discipline Justin on what he’d done – but I choked it back. Gave it a minute to sink in. Took another look. Is that Sam? The soulless rage-filled eyes piercing the screen, the gravel bass voice introducing the city, the distorted pale of a face under a demon’s brow – why is all of that so familiar? I didn’t work with a monster. But as I sat there I realized, Sam was living with one. Himself. Although I’m going to re-live memories in this series, they will not be mine. They will be his. And this look was part of it. Gonna be hard. So instead of rushing up in his defense, I found myself hugging the back wall and fighting back - well, you know. That’s enough of that.
At any rate, I have come to the conclusion that all of this is going to come out once I’m gone and the case files become public anyway. I’d rather have BTVE run this series before today’s scum get ahold of my stuff and twist it again to hide behind or downplay their intent. JD and his team are good at what they do. I trust them. I plan to see to it they are safe while they work. So although the cast and crew may see less of me, I will be around. To anyone thinking of stepping in on behalf of a rotten ancestor about to be exposed – just step back. They need exposing. Do better in your life so you don’t end up in someone’s memoirs.
This week the new poster is attached to my column. Brave people. Great series. Bad memories.
Be good everyone. JC


Official Facebook Article
Detective Joe Carr
Installment 9

October 7, 2016

There have been clown sightings around the city. To some this sounds ridiculous. To others it brings up base fears that shake their inner child into a horrified coma. For me I immediately return to a case that showed me the line that is crossed when entertainment becomes violence. Or was it the other away around? Entertainers are in a unique position. While plying their trade, displaying their talent, there is a constant flow of strangers curious to see something amusing, fascinating, or in some cases frightening.
Therefore, if one of these creatures of the stage, screen, street, or even tent becomes dead set on carrying out a demented act, they have a ready pool of victims available. No need to stalk car washes, the edge of woods, or alleyways in the city. Just bring your act to a secluded area and separate your “private” audience members for their special show.
Sam and me worked on a case that involved such a twisted soul. Someone who once was a wonder to behold, polished and talented with a future of adoration ahead of him. Then life happened. I understand some cope well against adversity, and some aren’t quite strong enough, turning instead to the dark side. But when someone as talented as this uses his charisma to inspire a circus of cast-offs to do what they did – you have to wonder what pushes someone down the crapper like that.
I kinda get why folks cringe at these stories. My mind flashes to the last time I saw him. His face covered in cracked yellow stained whiteface make-up, the black and red grease paint that once outlined his features now melting, pooling in the hollows of his eyes and cheeks, then trailing down his chin like blood tears. His once perfectly groomed mustache, fit for a barber shop advertisement, now limp and singed against his bubbling skin. His eyes were fixed on nothing, glazed into a milky mirror reflecting the flames before him. It almost kept me from seeing – that smile. Always that foaming, splintered smile. And always that laugh. I heard that laugh for days after the fire. Long after the de-animation of its owner.
I pity the crew who works with Justin Diemert on that episode of “Memoirs of Wroth City.” Getting those visuals out of their heads will be quite the magic trick in itself.
I am so jealous of those who enjoy being frightened. Who enjoy the fun and games of the season coming up. I’ve had enough. For me, I think I’ll stick to cartoons and sitcoms.
Have fun out there – but please don’t get too crazy. You don’t want me at your show. - JC


Official Facebook Article
Detective Joe Carr
Installment 10

October 21, 2016

You see what you want to. Whether it is in politics, relationships, or everyday life – you may have the blessings of a full range of vision – but you select what you see. I’ve come to this conclusion after many years of trying to explain why different people seeing the exact same crime come away with different accounts. Defense attorneys love this fact of human nature. Reasonable doubt can be created simply by getting a few doofuses up on the stand to counteract a credible prosecution witness with cloudy accounts of the same scene.
I began realizing this during casual discussions at my favorite coffee shop every morning over the latest news headlines from the night before. I was all ready to get all up into something that was obvious and although my buddies saw the same news show, they didn’t know what I was talking about. Really? Did they get up to take a crap right in the front of the show during the headline story? Every time? Doubt it. They just wanted to ignore what they didn’t want to see.
What’s that? Not you? You see everything? Don’t be so sure. What about the homeless person you see coming up at the end of the exit ramp. Your eyes go everywhere except into their eyes, or to the words scribbled on the cardboard they are holding. Or maybe you pull up just where your visor can block them out. Or when you are driving on the highway and you see a mound of road kill ahead in the distance so you avert your attention, not wanting whatever poor creature met its end to imprint on your mind and poison your good mood? Your eyes go to the horizon and stay there until you pass. Yep, we all do something like this.
I drag this up because these dredges of society, the likes of which are being toyed with in “Memoirs of Wroth City” only exist because they know how to avoid the sight of lawful society. They know where people don’t want to look, and they live there. We pay police and others to open their eyes and look where we are afraid to. Nothing scares evil like exposure, and they will do every horrific thing they can to avoid it.
I should know. Maybe I’m hyper sensitive to how sick minds work because I have one. When I lived in the city according to the damaged rules imposed on me by a resentful, deeply vengeful inner monster, I hid behind the walls of apathy put up by the general public. I knew who I could get to without anyone noticing. If I was wrong, and the person of interest squealed to someone about me, I went ballistic. I was the type to put my brights on to burn the eyes of some homeless wretch begging on the side of the road, or swerve intentionally to hit a squirrel trying to cross the road so at least something would have a worse day than me. What? I never said I was perfect. Hey, I’m not on the force any more, and I came around. Mostly. But not before I racked up a few shameful skeletons in an already loaded closet. Truth be known, I’m closer to the scum I hunt than they may know. That’s what should scare them. Can’t hide from yourself. You can screen what you see outside – but it is harder when you are looking inside; 24/7. Reminds me, I need to sit down with Justin and make sure he doesn’t go off the rails into this Wroth City expose’ thing. None of anyone’s damn business how I got my scars, and who I held accountable for them.
So after Halloween this year, sometime in early November, take a good long walk. How much of the seedy holiday never went away? How much evil lingers as reality, and how much is not part of the fading festive hauntings? You can see it – if you want to.
Meanwhile, it looks like Diemert and his crew had a full weekend. I’ve attached a behind the scenes picture of them at work. Aside from triggering my brain to vomit the rotten memories of a putrid time, I’m glad they are documenting this. My third grade art teacher, Miss Spelvin used to say, “There can be no question an art object stands for something if you show your work. The journey to what people finally experience is the artist’s greatest compensation.” I guess that’s why most independent film makers are all contestants on that great game show of life, “Scraping For Dollars.” She’s dead now.
Stay alert – and I will type at you in a couple weeks. For now, I want a shower. JC


Official Facebook Article
Detective Joe Carr
Installment 11

November 4, 2016

Happy November everyone. My favorite time of year. No matter what miserable crap is going on, nature inserts color and a burst of cold air up your pants to keep you from bogging down into any kind of malaise. I’m so happy to report that these past couple of weeks were uneventful. Yup, that’s my bar for satisfaction – nothing happened. Hey, it’s a big deal to have gotten to that level!
With all the multi-dimensional weather November offers Wroth citizens, I can’t help but pity those poor souls still arriving to a desk to spend their daytime hours. The weather is controlled and the light is steady. To me, life is supposed to be a ride, and those folks are stuck in the middle seat of an old jetliner.
I can hear my buddies at the bar now. Yes, I may have crashed whatever I was riding in years ago, but I’ve still been on my journey. I’m due for some “ups” from all the “downs” I’ve lived through. So bring ‘em on!
Looking forward to sitting in on some more filming over at Broken TeleVision Entertainment. The scene I think they will be shooting will be at Charmaigne Industries. Haven’t set foot in there since, well since I shouldn’t have set foot in there. So much went down in that building, they could do a full length movie in every room. This was Trump Tower to the guy they are highlighting this time. The attached promo shot is of this character as he will appear in "Memoirs of Wroth City." A real slick sleaze. Sat up there like the anti-Saint Peter, deciding who gets to live in peace and who will be plunged into hell. Yeah, I got close to him. Too close. And not just once. We will see how Mr. Diemert handles this. I suspect I’m not going to be cast in the best light. Fair enough, I had no business putting myself in such near proximity to Mr. Manure In a Suit in the first place. This guy – groomed to the max, dressed to kill, and the kind of stare that dares you to look away – this guy controlled more slime than the city sewerage department. He thought he did it without getting dirty. But let me tell you something – when you execute evil on the scale he did – you can’t avoid the splash back of karma and sludge it kicks up. Your fancy tie knot may be pristine, but your mind collects the black tar of guilt until it consumes you.
Nonetheless, I’ve learned to keep my distance and see this for what it is – a film adaptation of events that may otherwise be forgotten. And I fully support not letting that happen. Anything I can do to prevent another era of despair like that, I stand ready.
So get out and take a walk, wouldja? Kick up some leaves and smell the pre-arctic wisps of fresh air. Look up and let the Autumn sun warm your face, or the ice cold drizzle shock it a bit. Whatever the weather, it is good. Get some on you. Just watch for traffic - JC


Official Facebook Article
Detective Joe Carr
Installment 12

November 18, 2016

Yes the election is over. Somebody won. Somebody lost. Some people are happy, and some are not. Arguments can be made that there is a higher degree of conviction between the two this year, but the fact is basically the same as it has been after each election.
Meanwhile life goes on as Broken Television Entertainment builds its “fictional” world and creates the characters who live in it. It has been a very busy couple of weeks out there in Diemert land. I was only able to make one of the shoots. It was as I described in the last article. The location was the old Charmaigne Industries complex. Although I was spooked as I drove up and trudged through the rusting frame of a building, I wasn’t transported back until I saw the BTVE gang swarming around one room they had resurrected. That office. Where a very important turning point clicked. Saw the script and yeah, it’s in there. Once I got a cup of coffee and mingled with the crew, the actors began morphing into their characters. No more mingling. I may as well have been part of one of those mannequin parties, or whatever the kids are calling that thing. People walking around me as I studied the people taking their places. Now I realize that “Memoirs of Wroth City” will be sort of “noir-esque”, but even in person these faces lacked color.
I thought I’d be fixated on one certain high level pain in the sphincter who reigned over my “dark years”, but instead I was taken with the way they nailed his first-hand man, who in this case is all woman. With all the activity swirling, and with all the chatter and murmur, the actor stood out as a white marble in a puddle of oil might. Just sitting in the corner, a porcelain and proper white snake, sharply perched, sizing you up with her over-lined eyes before baring her teeth in a tepid, taunting smile framed in fresh wound red. Just as I remembered, and it gave me the same shiver and shakes I associated with her. She’s bad. In a bad place, surrounding a bad person doing bad things.
So yeah, we’re off on yet another story about bad people rising to power. But in Wroth City it played out no differently than it plays out every century elsewhere. They don’t stay in power. It is unsustainable. Evil needs good people and peace to torment and disrupt. So very odd they surround themselves then, with their own kind. Like this little ice covered piranha. Controlling the controllers. Doesn’t sound feasible. It’s not. Eventually, the wall breaks, and the sun shines in, driving back the black souls to allow the light to frolic for a few precious minutes. Like water and land on the earth, where there isn’t one – there’s the other. And as we know from archaeological studies, where there once was one, the other exists. Bad becomes good, good was always bad……you get the idea. Judging can be tricky. It wastes a lot of time for those who must do it before they can live their day.
So anyway, I wrote all that while I was on the can. Could we just come back to reality people? Gotta go get my $10 groceries, put some gas in the crap-mobile, and see who’s wandering the streets. I loves ya all – now get some sleep.



December 2, 2016

As I began this article, I noticed it would have been “Article 13”. Just couldn’t have one of those. Superstitious.
Are ya done smirking? Cause I don’t care what you think. I dare you to deny there has not been clear times in your life where a correlation could be drawn between an event and some sort of “coincidence”. And our reactions run the gamut, don’t they? Anywhere from “That was weird” as you go about your business, to “Oh my god, that was a sign for me to give away all my belongings and join a nefarious church in California!”
I have messed up a good part of my life, but even during the worse times, I always had what made me a good detective from day one; intuition. Call it what you want, but my investigations were always driven by what I felt in my gut. And those inklings, those feelings, those inner voices never steered me wrong.
Before you dismiss my assertions, and your own hair raising moments to anomalies of nature, consider this: There have been real scientific studies proving that humans can perform better than chance in predicting a 50/50 choice under many scenarios. Granted it is maybe 53% instead of 50%, but that is a thing. If you are taking aspirin to prevent heart attacks or choose calcium enriched foods for strong bones – you can thank studies with just about that much proof for you thinking those will work.
And how many times have you stopped to think you know what will happen in the next few seconds because you recognize your surroundings at that moment? Deja Vu? They’ve done a good job of disproving this one – but they can’t explain why it is a clear indication that an individual experiencing déjà vu has a higher ability to remember things.
How about all the other little things in life that give you that brief fuzzy tingle of the strange kind? Feeling your furry pet Cuddles jump on the bed and nuzzle up as usual, just like when she was alive? Knowing there is bad news in a phone call before you even answer?
Visited this next one officially during a case. After tripping up and getting shot by Slime Ball #417, I was rushed to the hospital meat table. I woke up knowing that the doctor left his glasses on top of the 6 foot high filing cabinet in the operating room, because I saw him leave them there while I was floating above the procedure. Once I got up enough nerve, I called the doctor the next day, asked if he was missing his glasses, and when he said he was, asked him to go look on top of that cabinet. Him thanking me for finding them was all I needed. After a search warrant issued as a call-in on a favor, we ended up arresting the bastard for withholding evidence. Besides the glasses, I also saw him take out two slugs from my arm pit, which were not listed on the report to the police. They found them in the wads of gauze still in the trash waiting to be tossed out with chips from my ribcage. Dr. “Loses A Lot” was on 417’s payroll.
So I hope you enjoyed Installment 14. And to Slime Balls #1 through whatever damn number we are at now, don’t ignore the lesson. The penitentiary is full of people who thought no one could guess where the evidence is. Sometimes we just know.
Sweet dreams everyone. Remember to make room for Cuddles.



December 16, 2016

Style. This is something that evades me, and gets in my way more times than you would believe. It is beyond me where the piles of influence come from that creates a person's own personal style. One day they are lanky teenagers, the next day out of the blue, all their belongings, clothing, accessories and sometimes their skin become a “brand.”
There have been many on the dark streets of Wroth City who have carried their own style into crime with them. I guess the one I remember most is this shady dude who liked to wield a knife to terrorize people. My theory is that he got his jollies from watching people squirm and squeal with pain, so he made a profession out of it. With sensible shades, non-biker leather jackets, and an intense stare, he breezed through throngs of junked up, booze laden masses to find his recreational victims. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be contained in all that hate and all those compulsive style boundaries. What was he thinking as he stepped in God knows what on the floor of those places – mashed up cigarette butts, rotten fruit from last night’s cocktails, or any number of bodily fluids. I don’t think he noticed or cared – just going over and over in his head what his plans were for the poor victim on the other end of his stroll. From the very few survivors I interviewed, he did smile – but only for the finish. A brief flash of teeth before the blinding pain, a muffled, teary-eyed scream behind the duct tape, then finally a black out.
Engaging someone like this to do the unthinkable must carry some heavy baggage. Making deals with monsters is not a one-time, drive-thru event. You have that tar of guilt that you wear for the rest of your life. And knowing how to see that black coat of gook in the soul of someone takes practice, but it is worth accomplishing. Sometimes I can see it by asking some guy the time. Just another tell in the long list of things criminals can’t hide.
Epic scene shot last weekend over at BTVE on the Wroth project. Many of the more colorful case lead characters were assembled. As I looked at the stills posted on Facebook, I could pick out each and every story behind those faces. Now I know more about the string of stories that are about to come out from that time. Won’t be safe for me to stay in town when that thing comes out. Better pack my bags just in case.
I hope all my readers enjoy the next couple of weeks in whatever way floats your boat. I haven’t celebrated the holiday season since joining the force. But I love the environment in each and every neighborhood – a city tapestry of cultures. Reminds me that there are good things happening in spite of those who spend their lives choosing to spin out in the dirt. For me, I look forward to celebrating the New Year. Usually giving thanks more for making it through the last one than making plans for the next. Thanks to all who have messaged Dave to comment on the articles. I get them. I don’t respond because I’m not real. As far as you know. Ho, ho, ho everyone. JC



DECEMBER 30, 2016

Writing this one from somewhere warm. Thought I’d end the year away from my collection of case files and invest my thoughts in the future instead of calling up the past. Diemert and the “Wroth” folks are doing a fine job of that lately.
I am thinking I should do this more often. Really builds a sense of purpose and I’ve slept through the night twice since I’ve been down here. Don’t know whether it is because of the ocean air or because my mind has a break from the city. In any case I can actually see the sun and sky. Walking through Wroth City, I forget that they are there. Moving from one miserable situation to another, asking how people can live like they were living back in the day, and what turned them into the scum I hunted. I never gave the sky a second thought, spending most of my waking hours working at night. That’s when shameful acts usually happen, as if the dark will make it more anonymous.
I came to understand eventually that using the night to cover up heinous activity is futile. The light will come – as long as the Earth keeps spinning. All it does is delay a victim’s justice. And for the criminal, it gives a time to be in limbo – that space between committing the evil and answering for it. I’d hate to be trapped in a mind like that. Like a coma with nightmares. Any minute a tap on the shoulder could be the end of your life as you know it. I’ve had plenty of crazies thank me when I finally slap the cuffs on after a lengthy investigation and pursuit. They say they were about to crack anyway, living with their unknown futures. Like I’ve said before, many crimes are committed because they appear to be the easy solution. Only after the point of no return does a poop bag realize how hard it is to live with that.
Now I do have to mention that in Wroth City, we had more than our share of extreme criminals. Those who live in that crime-prison-death limbo for decades with not a care in the world. They fill my nightmares and those of their surviving victims, and of course the families of those they took. As long as they remain at large, no one in the city is safe. For a while, I figured it was a fact of life. I even exploited that myself a few times, dealing with them to try to keep from being a target. Bad idea, and I’m not proud of that.
So as I dig my feet into the sand and sip my beer with a lime wedge shoved into its neck, I realize I am getting to the age where I have too few days left to climb into dark minds and lay in wait for vile vermin to slip up. I’ve done all that, and for the most part, I’m satisfied we’ve handled the worse. But there is always new trouble brewing. Much of it is our own making, fashioning laws and policies around money, and not people. But in the end, it is the individual who chooses the wrong path because it is the easiest to see.
I like it here. Looking at apartments on the beach. Gotta find somewhere to go next year once “Memoirs of Wroth City” premiers. Those BTVE kids have given me the perfect excuse to get out of town. I hope the stories they tell in 2017 strike a chord with people. Evil exists not only in villains, but in all of us. Managing it is a lifetime job, and you can’t give it away. You can try. You can volunteer. You can find a religion. You can meditate until you starve. But it always comes back to your own decisions.
No one can see their future. But if you dream one, and live as if you will reach it, you will surely have a better chance of living in it.
Or the Earth may stop spinning.. Who knows?
Happy New Year everyone - JC



January 13, 2017

Posted a week late because of the aforementioned glitch with Dave Durham’s facebook account. -JC
Ah. Friday the 13th. Anyone up for some superstition? I continue to be amazed that as our world becomes more sophisticated, more digitalized, and more connected; superstition persists as popular as ever. By now we are told the reasons for any superstition we care to bring up. We can track their origins, and that they are statistical or factual nonsense. So I read up on this Friday the 13th thing, and turns out it has a name: paraskevidekatriaphobia. (Never ask me to say this out loud – I have a fear of biting my tongue.) The origin they give mostly is from the last supper, where there were 13 in the room, and the event took place on the night of the 13th, actually a Thursday before Good Friday where – well you know. Yeah – bad luck there for sure. But there has never been a credible study that finds this day any different statistically than any other day. For most of my stint on the Wroth City Police Force, I disregarded superstition as a mechanism for ignorant people to place the blame for bad decisions or negligent acts on some kind of supernatural hoax. I may have changed a bit on that. Not so much my position, but my previous assumption that I was not included in that “ignorant” category. Imagine how far I fell when I discovered I didn’t have all the information – on just about anything. I found a little comfort in simultaneously finding out the entire human population is ignorant, therefore entitled to use superstition freely and it may not be a bad thing. If a superstition gives you a reason not to take unnecessary risks, why not give in to it? I’ve had cases where avoiding the underside of a ladder or stopping in my tracks when a black cat darts out from the shadows actually saved my life. I have a friend who, on any given day, will tell me how many times he has seen the time or numbers 11:11 or 666, explaining a feeling of doom that something horrible is on the horizon. Any time I begin to figure out a way to carefully express my disbelief, he comes back to say that the event he expected has happened. A death, a natural disaster, some other event that aligns with the frequency he had been seeing that number. I’m telling you – very compelling stuff. My younger self would have claimed confirmation bias, but having lived the life I have lived now, not so quick to dismiss this stuff. What does all this have to do with detective work? Just another common aspect of the criminal mind. We can often play off of superstition to knock some scab bag off his game. Had this guy once who wouldn’t step on a crack in cement. I found this out and when I finally got close enough to chase him, I reminded him to watch those cracks on the sidewalk. Once he looked down, he lost his footing and he was fresh meat for the local canine unit. So my humble advice (as if you asked for it) would be not to give up your superstitions. Just use them to support your best habits, and don’t let them take over your life. Now if you will excuse me I will head carefully outside under the glare of Dave’s black cat, into a rainy Friday the 13th, where I hope to have a light day because so many Wroth scum will stay inside to be safe. Catch you all next week - JC



January 27, 2017

As I settle back into going through my case files for material to hand over to Justin Diemert for his series, “Memoirs of Wroth City,” it strikes me that this file cabinet is a place where more than papers reside. People live here – in the recounting of their actions, in the tracking of their whereabouts, and in the documenting of their fates. Just about half way through now, and I am picking up files with names that float silently in my memories, not making a sound or casting a shadow. Then they open a floodgate when I see their name on the folder tab.
Case in point; just waded through some of my bible thick folder on Jason Kent. Had actively placed him on the inner edge of my mind. Whenever I see a ceremony honoring a uniformed or military officer, then I think about Kent. All those comic book heroes have nothing on him. Should have worn a cape, this guy. I see those officers getting medals, and I respect them when they acknowledge others that put them there. Heroes don’t get the opportunity to be their best without careful and diligent support from those around them. Sometimes without their knowledge.
Kent was a close buddy’s kid, so when he moved up the ranks I sort of kept an eye out. Moved files along that he was working on, put in a good word with the DA, that kind of thing. Sometimes more, but I will let Justin tell that story. I still have a trace of a burn scar on my left hand from one assist. We had a lot in common on how we approached our job. It was more about how to make things right after some Wroth slime pie screwed things up. Something we would do whether we had the uniform or not. I always thought we were kindred spirits, wearing that uniform, but never really inhabiting it. For some reason, though, the bromance was one sided. He didn’t think much of me, and looking back, I don’t blame him. He only saw what I let him see. Should have probably let him see more. Kent worked like this for a while, people around him clearing his way and sometimes picking up after him. The results were heroic, but I started to realize he thought he was invincible – that all these cases were solved without help. Yep, went all the way up. A lot of us were glad to be rungs on that ladder.
So I closed the file before I saw over the hill and saw the other side of Kent’s story. It will be shown, soon enough, on a screen near you, when Diemert and his clan get thick into filming. Let’s see how a hero flies when gravity kicks in.
So now he has traveled from my file cabinet up into his vacation home, my over-kneaded brain. Not sure how long he will stay there. I’ll ask him tonight. Pretty sure he will show up in a nightmare.
Sweet Dreams - JC



February 10, 2017

A day late. Busy day yesterday. Kept me out on the streets through the night.

The storefronts downtown have occasional splashes of pink and red these days. Valentines Day coming up in Wroth City. To me it always seems forced and out of place here. Flowers in a window. Really? I guess one day they may actually make a profit from them, but it is still too soon I think. People haven’t healed to the point of optimism and affection yet.

Having lived my years, I see love so differently now. When I was young I fell for the bait and switch. Love offers a promise of stability and safety with another familiar soul for all time. What it delivers is most always different. I thought one of my best friends had found it. He had everything a storybook marriage would include. I had never seen him happier. He so loved his family. But he, like so many others in Wroth City, had the challenge of maintaining that picture perfect situation while everything and everyone around him ate away at it. Even using a smartphone, a picture is simply a point in time. Inherently life changes you. It scrapes at the edges, grates at your feet, messes with your mind, and encroaches on your loved ones. Pictures fade, along with the life they depict. That kind of bliss is hard to keep in this city.

There are people who have devolved enough to enjoy a lasting love here in this asphalt covered cesspool. Of course the maddest and most definitive love story has to be that of our own version of “Bonnie & Clyde.” Once these two hooked up, it was pretty obvious they were into each other to the end. They would feed off of each other’s twisted kicks. It was like power and spreading misery were aphrodisiacs to this coupla nut cases. Seeing them side by side during a standoff with a firearm involved was like looking into the eyes of a lioness just before the kill. Excitement, anticipation, natural passion, and lust for blood. And they relished being in each other’s company during it all. I know, not the princess story love is supposed to be. But isn’t that the essence of any romantic relationship? Sharing passions, relishing life together, feeling stronger as a pair than as one? Never mind the fact that this relationship was one of the few successful match ups I’ve known. You can argue all you want, but I am convinced love has a universal structure that transcends righteousness. So, be careful. Sending a Valentine to the wrong person may set you up for a thrill that might kill you.

It’s just another day to me. No time for that stuff when you have given yourself to the city. However, I do like the week after Valentine’s Day. Leftover chocolate samplers are just $1 at the drugstore. I read the legend inside the top of the box. With all due respect to Mr. Gump, I like to know what I’m gonna get.

Have fun you lovebirds. Just watch where you nest. - JC



February 24, 2017

And now it’s real…..
Had the opportunity to sit in on a shoot for a scene intended to be part of the pilot episode of “Memoirs of Wroth City.” It’s a scene between two huge influences in my life. It’s a scene imagined by Justin Diemert, since no one could possibly have been in on this conversation. I prepared myself for some play acting and colorful hyperbole meant to thrill and entertain an audience. Before I arrived I had a talk with myself in the rear view mirror of the crapmobile. (Wipe that smirk off your faces – you know you do the same in similar situations.) I promised no matter how disrespectful and wild his little film project seemed to me, he was a genuine, trusted friend who has taken a sincere interest in telling the heretofore untold story of the city. I intended to say nothing – just be a witness.
It started out as if we were assembling for a family gathering. The crew was friendly enough. Our hosts had prepared real Italian pasta and sauce and had brought in a pizza. The place smelled like heaven. And that sauce was memorable. Best I’ve had in years. Chatted up some of the crew – what a diverse crowd of kids! I heard about past shoots, their dreams for the future, and their other hobbies. I even learned more than I ever would have thought I would about scuba diving. I have concluded I could never dedicate that much time and effort to placing myself that far below water. I’ve been submerged in the sewage of Wroth for most of my life, and would rather be free to breathe when I want to. Then, at a certain point, we all filed into a side bedroom set up as an office. I knew that office. How did they know that office?
Turns out, I could not imagine what kind of unearthly, out-of-body experience I had set myself up for. They set me against the wall in a room that seemed full of hot, bright lights, cords and microphones, and a crew that now had intensive purpose smeared across their face. This guy Tremblay sat at the desk, and had his script out looking over it one last time. One person I hadn’t seen yet – Justin – finally swept in to get his final marks and discuss camera positions. His face etched with makeup that is starting to make sense to me. The two actors were relaxed and friendly, talking as if they were about to sit down to watch a game on TV. All at once, the room fell silent, Tremblay set his script out of frame, his face contorted as if the whole weight of the world sat on his forehead, and Diemert stepped outside for his entrance. With purpose and direct intent, the clapboard smacked, clear announcements that camera and sound were rolling, and finally the word “action” came from an unknown corner of the room.
Suddenly I am no longer in Suburban Wroth. The smell of sauce simmering on the stove is replaced by cigarette smoke. The bright lights have stepped from my peripheral vision. And there I was. Back in time standing across from a desk I’ve been on the other side of many times. You could see the specs of dust floating delicately through the light that peeked through the slats in the blinds behind him, forming shadows of what looked like prison bars across the top of his desk. The door opened and my heart fell. The persona of my partner Sam escorted Diemert into the room. I don’t remember much of the scripted conversation. All I know is that these people have cracked the time barrier. They have taken everything I’ve shared with them, and everything else they’ve dug up, and have pieced together the shattered past, in all its nuanced glory. The places, the people, the oppressive feel of the air – like moving through mud.
After doubting the reverence and ability of this team to do these stories justice, I came out of that house with a corrected respect for all involved. They know the gravity of the saga they are telling. And they are in with both feet.
Got home, and went through the same ritual shower and airing out of my coat as I would have done after spending time with Sam. That damn cigarette smoke had filled the film set just like it had filled our car on stake outs. Yep, just like spending time with him. Like a visit. Like a cursed visit to the darkest part of Hell.
Whatever. - JC



March 10, 2017

Too much time on my hands this week. Seems like the underworld had a strike or somethin’. I don’t like it. Too quiet. Plus it forced me to spend too much time with myself. In one case, literally.
Humans are funny. We thrive on conversation and companionship. When neither are available, we have a running narrative with our “inner voice” to fill the void. What does yours sound like? Mine sounds like my second grade teacher. He was the first to help me connect words I heard with words printed on a page. The first to challenge me on an intellectual level, rather than an authoritarian one. So his voice and pattern of speaking is what I have heard running through my head. I guess it is like, “What would Mr. Jenkins have to say about this?” for my whole life. It is the voice I hear as I read things. (Like right now as you read this - how do these words sound inside your head?) And we have had our ups and downs. That voice has tried to warn me about so many things, but do I listen? Hell no. As I grow older I listen to it more. It has saved my life a few times, and more importantly, it has saved the lives of those I cared for. So I have to wonder, what kind of nutcase do these swamp weeds carry around in their heads when they unleash their crazy on the city? What are they being told? Or – even worse than that – maybe they have no inner voice to guide them. They may have had no one to base it on, or it may have been killed off by tragedies none of us will ever understand or know about. Either way, can you imagine walking around with only the input of those around you? Even if those around you are intent on using you for whatever sick game play they have in mind? I wanted to know what that was like, so recently I tried to create the quietest, darkest environment I could get my hands on. Turned out to be the padded cell downtown. It was open for once, so I had a pal put me in for a half hour. Tried to lose Mr. Jenkins. For a while all I could hear was my breath. In – and – out. In – and – out. But I couldn’t get three breaths in before that voice said, “Well, I guess this is what it is like.” Which of course is not what it was like because I would have never thought that as an audible sentence. So the experiment crapped out. Made it even further incredulous to me that these poor saps may be more vacant than we know.
Seems like Broken Television Entertainment is filming every weekend these days on their series “Memoirs of Wroth City.” Dropped in again on them this past weekend, mainly just to say hello. Secretly, I really wanted to see what they set up this week. Nosey as usual. They were doing two scenes that day. The first was based on yours truly. I had a chance to talk in person with Dave Durham, who will be playing me in the series. He had some questions on motivation. Had to pretend I had some. Sorry Dave, when you read this you will find out I fed you a full and proper load. Hope the scene went well kiddo.
And then there was a scene I cannot describe without creating a spoiler. I think I can say it reflects what we have been talking about here. When alone with your voice, can you picture him or her? Or when you get that picture, should you just stick with saying “it.”? This was an “it.” Dark, faceless, barely there physically, but more than there mentally. Expertly done, and I had to leave before I heard too much of the dialogue. I may skip out to the john when viewing this part at the premiere.
Well, you and your inner somethings have a great couple of weeks. Jenkins and I will join up with you then. - JC
(picture of Current Day Carr speaking to Dave D)



March 24, 2017

Been doing a lot of introspection these days, in the final few months before the wrap on filming for “Memoirs of Wroth City.” I know that when they release the series, who I am becomes irrelevant. At the moment, I’m the only person who has kept the stories of the city’s darkest era. A populace tends to tuck away trauma and abuse as time moves on, to the point that actual horrors become legends and fodder for horror/suspense plots. And this defense mechanism takes form on a very broad scale. Some bury their heads in the sand and simply never think of it again. Some know it happened, remember the pain, but now pass over it like a wound with that final piece of scab that won’t fall off. Then there are the ones who came after the events. These people did not live it, or experience the suffocating fear that ran rampant as self-absorbed pricks and prickcesses held unchallenged power. They only heard stories from people living on that denial scale, complete with the white-wash of what they prefer not to remember or re-live. So it is not surprising that eventually, the evidence seems weak that the nightmares ever took place in the first place.
That’s why that trip to the moon is now just a footnote to a space program that once considered it the greatest achievement of mankind. That’s why cops in the city don’t turn corners as cautiously and slowly as some of us older flatfoots do. That’s why there has to be museums filled with the horrors and atrocities that defined our country in the years leading up to the American Civil War, or shocking images and recounting of the Holocaust.
I know. Heavy handed there. But live as long as I have, and you see it over and over. Suppressing just one of these events fogs up the mirror that shows the weakness of our species for false leaders that solicit trust in return for rumors of loyalty. This series will show you some real doozies from our files. They had their followers, and truly believed they would rule forever. But depending on sewer rats to hold you above the toilet sludge is very dangerous. Eventually even those rats can’t stand the smell of you and trail off one by one. Until finally the few that are no longer strong enough to support your filth scatter like the cowardly rodents they are. “Memoirs” looks like it will show these pinheads in their glory, before their skulls hit the pavement or were driven back into the shadows.
That’s why I still have hope that I can retire in peace, having done all I could to open the shades and crack a window on what can happen if vigilance is dropped.
Here’s wishing you and yours a great Spring season. Remember to keep your rear view mirror clean and free of haze, so you are always sure you are moving away from the potholes of the past. I’m off for an intense evening of rat hunting. - JC



April 7, 2017

Spring is in the air. The slightly less than hurricane force air, filled with splashes of sleet, snow, and rain. Winter isn’t giving up easily in Wroth City. Do you know that if the wind is a certain speed, screams can be heard almost twice the distance downwind than on a quiet night? Of course there is a distortion. Hard to tell if it was a scream, or just the wind gusting too fast between buildings. Most nights I’d put my money on the scream probability.
These days I’m just glad I’m in a position to notice my environment. The seasons, the holidays, the weather, or even when it is night and day. With police work, solving a case often puts you on a concentrated trajectory toward the dark personality that is playing hide and seek with the law. Compromising your focus on any element of your surroundings not relevant to finding said personality is not worth your time, and may make room for the worm to slither away. I have memories of waking up after a multi-week pursuit, going to the fridge, and finding it absolutely empty. Getting myself together, I fished through piles of used laundry for the least offensive items to wear, then threw on my coat - bracing for the chill wind outside. I opened the door, and found myself stepping into a warm, breezy morning full of pollen and people in shorts and tank tops. A neighbor was even mowing his postage stamp patch of city blackened lawn. When last I stepped out for groceries, I could see my breath, and had cursed that the city still hadn’t salted the ice covered roads. As disorienting as that is, I was more than happy to join my fellow city dwellers in a full day of just concerning myself with daily chores. (Oh, I still wore the coat. Always do. And my hat too. What?!) I noticed everything that day. Mostly I sought out pockets of pedestrians to walk with. To feel what it is like to mingle with the innocents, now able to carve out a life here. Socked it away to recall when I am buried in my next case. To remember why I fight. Why I protect and serve. Why I ….well, ….why I’m willing to kill.
To those who have stepped up the death threats, and have already started squirming with guilt at the prospect of Diemert releasing “Memoirs of Wroth City”, I advise you to get out and get some fresh air. Because once you become more relevant to me than the weather, you won’t have that opportunity again.
I love the smell of justice in the morning. Deep breaths everyone. - JC



April 21, 2017

Today was a day I thought would carry more weight. Meh. I delivered the last of my case files and notes to Justin Diemert for use as background material. His series, “Memoirs of Wroth City” is in full production. The location shoots are about every week. The rushes and first edits are being thrown together for context and perspective. The music score for each scene is being planned and composed, with little snippet samples surfacing now and then to tease the already fans. Actors have congregated in studio surroundings to refine dialogue and vocal color. The final days on the shoot schedule are known. This detective has learned more than he thought he’d ever know about throwing a story up on a screen. But now I too, have to pick an exit window. Like I’ve written here many times, as files and notes are exposed in the episodes of the series, the bounty goes up on my hide. Time to “go dark”. As if I haven’t spent most of my career there anyway. Harder to do nowadays. Any computer can be hacked. Credit cards can leave a trail. You never know which security cameras have face recognition. But I think I have it figured out. I will be able to pick and choose when I interact with those I wish to. Some of it I’ve learned from criminals and politicians. (sometimes the same people, by the way) Some of it I am proud to say, are tricks I’ve figured out for myself. But no matter what shadow web I weave, there will always be a line attached to Wroth City. I can’t explain it, but the city itself has become like a housemate I’ve synced with daily. It holds my secrets and those of my closest friends. Well, friend. I used to look in and visit with the city through the pages of a newspaper. Lately, by tripping through the internet. I have a new way of surveillance figured out for the rest of my years.
I saw a bus unloading the other day. A parade of schoolchildren filed off full of excitement and interacting with each other like they were all born in the same house. We need more of that. As they paired off and rounded the corners of the block, and the sound of the gears on the departing school bus filled the neighborhood, I caught a flash of my own youth. When walking didn’t hurt and there was no danger in smiling at people.
Only a few more weeks on the grid folks. If I see you out and about, don’t worry. I’ll still help you pick up your books when you happen to get shoved. And I’ll still get you an apology – even if it is garbled from the blood. - JC



May 5, 2017

Some of you may have noticed I have not included comments on today’s political climate in my space here. In fact some have asked why. Although I, like anyone, have my opinions, I try to consider the purpose of what I am posting. These final musings are meant to chronical my exit from a city I considered at different times my cocoon, my curse, my salvation, and my responsibility. Wroth had been a target of the criminally insane for far too long because they banked on the rest of the country writing it off as having died of hatred and decay years ago. They settled in and set up shop; these lazy, no good SOB’s who thought “work” was finding new ways to extract power and money from those who have only enough to survive. People who lived here let them. Yes, I was one of them. As many will see when “Memoirs of Wroth City” is completed and sent out into the world, my part in enabling these weak and demented freaks will no longer be my gut rotting secret.
This zip code has been my penitentiary ever since I sentenced myself to as many years of hard labor as I could physically give. Not splitting rocks or making license plates, but cracking heads and feeding pistol barrels to those who thought they’d found the maggot parasites’ version of the promised land. Seeking them out was easier while I was integrated into the police force. Had a partner who had his own ideas on which dark road to take, but usually kept a life line hanging there for me. I tried to throw him a line or two at times, but without fail, he would double down on his intentions – and disappear into the pitch, dead set on plucking another tic out of the scaly underbelly of the city.
So, yes, I hear stories referencing nanny-states of “snowflakes”, or a White House turned into a romper room for billionaires and Soviets. And it is not that I am turning a blind eye to it. I will likely show up at the appropriate rallies of outrage, and I will definitely be in line to vote every chance I get. Plenty of chances to voice my opinion. But not here. Not in these paragraphs. Not while I am still on my beat. While many of you deal with the consequences and victories resulting from your elections, I am here to create a space for those who do not have a vote, or do not have the means to exercise it.
Walked by a park the other day at dusk. I remember that park when it slid into being more of a zoo, showcasing human vermin and filth. Never were there kids around – most certainly not as it got dark out. But there I was on a Wednesday night, watching kids on swing sets and parents on benches. Felt good. Caught sight of a young kid with thick black framed glasses sporting a bath towel on his back safety-pinned around his neck. As he dawned the vestments of his imaginary super hero, and set out to defend his imaginary city, I couldn’t help but hope he will trade that towel in for a badge someday, and bravely become an officer of the law. I could go into retirement knowing I had a hand in helping create his chances to become a real hero.
I whole-heartedly encourage you all to get to a park soon. Look around and soak in the sounds of whatever life you find there. It will re-charge you after a week of news cable Kryptonite.
- JC



May 26, 2017

Filing the post a little late – sorry about that. Been down south putting the final touches on my new place. Retirement is a lot of work.

The more time I spend away from Wroth City, the more I realize what a barbaric bubble it is. When “Memoirs of Wroth City” debuts, I’m pretty sure audiences will feel as though they’ve visited a darker, more oppressive world. (attempted to paste the link to a trailer at the bottom of the article) Hopefully they know that world exists in real life – in pockets of puss dotted across the country. With no one willing to go in and clean them out, those places just get darker and more rotted. Crawling out of there for a time sure changes ones perspective. I guess it is like being trapped in a sealed space – hard to live when you are breathing the same air all the time, with no fresh intake for oxygen. And if you can adapt to that, you have the psychological danger of going stark raving mad at the prospect of losing hope completely in the dark.

So I’m happy to see the next generations actively planting themselves into the city. They bring the oxygen. And they bring the light. From these “Memoirs” film makers, to those on the East Block of the city starting co-op vegetable gardens, to the old Charmaigne Industries warehouses being re-purposed as artist studios, a brighter vision is being shared. The only thing to bring concern will be wondering where all the creatures of the ink black night go when they retreat from any brightness encroaching on their shadows. Sure, some will seek out another puss bucket city. But there are others that know that life is cyclical, and laying low for a time may pay off with future opportunities for exploitation and delightful mayhem. They will quietly take their place in the new society, following rules – observing – connecting with unsuspecting future victims around them. They will hoard all that they learn about what weaknesses trust and freedom inherently foster, with the assumption that they will be able to shatter society again and bring back the dark cast Wroth City has long been associated with.

I, however, will be sipping on a sweet whiskey manhattan somewhere, knowing that this time a story will have been uncovered that brightens the light and reinforces the winds of change. I’ve come to see that trust and freedom are actually signs of strength. I am pretty sure those real life vampires will be waiting a f*#’ng long time before this city drops its guard enough to be overtaken by weak minded jerks again. When the people of the city see what has been going on, when they watch this uncovered truth that has been kept from them, I don’t see how they will walk around with blinders on any more. Who knew that the light that saves the city’s future would come from a movie screen?

Wrapping things up these coupla weeks. My next article will be my last, officially, before I fade for my life. Might do a little garden weeding, or spruce up a precinct bulletin board or two in my last few days here. You know, peaceful tasks. I’ve earned that at least. - JC



June 9, 2017

It seems like I just started writing these. A year goes by fast when you aren’t buried to your nuts in crazies. I’ve enjoyed not being “managed” by a newspaper editor. Been able to spew whatever I felt like here, and it has helped.
I feel I should respond to some of the more frequent feedback subjects – here goes:
“Who do you think you are?” Fair enough. For a few years there I really had no grounds for expressing myself to anything higher on the food chain than a roach. If you don’t care, and you don’t do anything, you don’t get to think you are anything. But to answer this directly, I am someone who cares now, and who has vowed to live a life to show it.
“You can’t prove all this “stuff” you gave to those movie kids.” Although I can – I don’t have to. I know it is true for me, for what I lived, and for who I lost.
“If you told about (insert name here), I will hunt you down and turn you into sausage.” Nice. Only that won’t stop your scum buddy from being exposed. And it won’t stop making it damn near impossible for you to carry on his sick idea of a business. Go away. Before a squad car falls on you!
“Why do you wear a hat and coat?” - Why don’t you?
“Where can I see this?” Stay tuned to your Facebook feed. Announcements leading up to the premiere of “Memoirs of Wroth City” will be widely reported when the project is ready to be shown. I imagine not before security can be procured for the venue.
“Have you killed anyone?” I’ve been asked this so many times. How many times has it been? – oh yeah – THE FIFTH!
“Tell me more about your partner.” More has to be told about Sam. He is a major player in “Memoirs of Wroth City.” I will let Diemert tell his story.
“Will you be at the premiere?” Wouldn’t miss it. You shouldn’t either.
For centuries people have been looking to stories of antiquity and the past for guidance. It would be interesting to see what guidance our descendants pick out of the stories we tell today. Not sure – but I know one thing – their gonna need some popcorn!
I’d like to thank Justin Diemert for all his work in bringing the Wroth City stories to life. Dave Durham for letting me haunt his Facebook account, and for his gall to play me in the series. Thanks to all the wonderful artists, actors, and crew that worked with a clear sense of respect for the material. I look forward to finding a seat in the shadows at the premiere.
Time to get in the crap mobile, and rumble down the interstate. Think I will swing by a good friend’s apartment for one last visit before I go.

bottom of page