Wow. A lot of you voted this time around, I guess you all feel pretty passionate about your artwork. My artwork. Well, in this case, two people’s artwork which will be used to wrap around my artwork. Now I’ve just confused myself.

Anyhoo, behold, the winning album art design for The Democratically Elected Best of Matthew Ebel! Courtesy of Maria Priestley, this design took a narrow first place with 49 votes. I’ll be working with her and this design as I put together the first album I’d ever dare call my “Best of” collection. Stay tuned for the finished product!


In the mean time, here are the runners up… Taking second place with 48 votes, Steven Dougherty’s entry:

And another entry from Maria took third with 34 total votes:

Earlier this year I ran a series of polls to ask you what should go on my “Best Of” album. Boy, did you answer that call. Without further ado, here is the track listing for the soon-to-be-created Democratically Elected Best of Matthew Ebel:

• “I Wish I Were” from The Lives of Dexter Peterson
• “Everybody Needs a Robot” from Goodbye Planet Earth
• “Prayer For Danny” from Songs from the Vault, vol. 3
• “An Ordinary Guy” from Songs from the Vault, vol. 2
• “Night Train” from Songs from the Vault, vol. 1
• “Merry Christmas from Cell Block 2″ from The High Orbit Holiday Special
• “Latté Days & Porter Nights” from Beer & Coffee
• “Rain” from Filling The Pages

Not to be completely cut out of the process, though, I decided to add my own side: The Unilaterally Mandated Best of Matthew Ebel. While I may agree with some of the decisions you guys came to, I wanted to cherry pick my own from the remaining pool of songs:

• “The Last Pirate” from The Lives of Dexter Peterson
• “I Will Wait For You” from Goodbye Planet Earth
• “Let It Rain” from Songs from the Vault, vol. 3
• “On and On” from Songs from the Vault, vol. 2
• “Lost on Block Island” from Songs from the Vault, vol. 1
• “Trees” from Beer & Coffee
• “Sally Went Down” from Filling The Pages

Yeah, I didn’t add my own pick from the Christmas album, but since there are only 5 actual SONGS on that album I didn’t want to give away the store, you know? Besides, most of the fun of that project was the adventure anyway, and that’s just difficult to translate into a “Best of” format.

Now comes the tricky part… album artwork. Expect voting sooooooon…

Entry by Joshua Hanson. This entry needs artwork!

My name is Dexter Jared Peterson. I am 26 years old and live in New York City. In the last seven years I have lived as 11,577 different people.

A sudden flash of light opened my eyes to the next life. In the first five seconds I determined that I had no clue what was going on. No big surprise there. I stood in a large dark room holding a small blowtorch. Ahead of me was an ornate mahogany box, surrounded by thick ballistic glass and a cage. I looked around for a moment, most of the building was dark but I could see some roped off areas and a few more glass boxes with assorted bits in them.

I looked back at the box in front of me, my thoughts interrupted by a man yelling, “Come on Dex, grab the stupid thing and get the HELL out of there, we can’t keep the security off forever!”

A Thief. Of all the things to be, I had to be a thief. I decided not to question the man and instead reached through the cage only to be blocked by the ballistic glass. “Alright, use your torch on the upper left corner, and the lower right. This should free the pins on the case. Don’t burn that box!” the man ordered through the earpiece.

I did just that, causing the front of the glass box to fall onto the stand it was sitting on with a loud thud.

“Easy, easy! The cameras might be off but the mics on them still work! Just grab that box and get out, we’re already past the deadline,” the man said, slightly frantic. I grabbed the box and slid it into a felt pouch, then started for the door. Just past halfway to the door a heard the automatic locks click into place. If I didn’t have the sense to take this seriously I would have guessed I was on a movie set.

The radio crackled and a woman’s voice came out, “Dex this is Alexandria, we’ve lost the frequency for the security system and everything is reactivating! GET OUT OF THERE NOW!!!”

Alexandria… I half hoped she wasn’t part of this, but then I wasn’t surprised that she was. I didn’t have to be told twice, I booked it to the next exit. I grasped at the handle only to find it locked. As I heard the next door lock I leaned up against the door and sighed. Completely trapped now. At this point I was pretty sure I wasn’t making it out of this life, alive. I guess it isn’t that bad though, thieves don’t really deserve any better do they?

The door behind me suddenly swung open, tossing me onto a flight of stairs. There was a sudden rush of panic as I fell back, but as I landed on nothing but my own ass it subsided a bit. I quickly scrambled to my feet as the radio once again came to life.

“We got one door unlocked but it’s not going to stay that way for long, it’s on the East side of the building, go!” Alex yelled. I heard faint sirens over the radio and somebody else yelling. Seems luck was on my side for once. I started down the stairs three steps at a time, pivoting on the railing at each landing. There was a muffled screeching of tires below me. Something caught my foot and I went head first down the last flight, slamming into the door at the bottom.

The door burst open and I was delivered onto the cool pavement of the sidewalk. I really should watch my step. As I collected the box and took a moment to make sure nothing was broken a grey windowless van came barreling down the street, screeching to a stop a few meters past me. The double doors on the back swung open and Alexandria ushered me toward them.

“Dex hurry up, they’re not far behind!” she yelled to me. Her voice sounded so soft even in the desperate situation. I ran to the back and jumped in as a pair of police cars came flying around the corner.

“Pedal to the metal, we’re getting out of here!” ordered the man who had been talking to me on the radio as Alexandria pulled the doors shut. “Alright Dex, let’s see the prize.

“The man grabbed the bag from me and pulled out the box. In the light of the van I could see small carvings in the wood, which was polished to a mirror like finish. He almost fainted at the sight of it.

“Fantastic! I can’t wait until the client sees this, we’ll be rich!” he sang in excitement. Alexandria took the box and examined it before handing it back to me. I looked it over for a moment then turned to her to ask if she recognized the carvings when everything froze. The image of her face slowly faded into black as I was pulled from the life of the thief.

Video from Eliaphir, shot during our recent Further Confusion concert in San Jose.

Entry by Nathan Rill. This entry needs artwork!

My name is Dexter Jared Peterson. I am 26 years old and I live in New York City. In the last seven years I have lived as 11,556 different people.

That thought… that one thought is all that’s letting me hold onto my sense of self right now. Whoever this person was before I took his place, he was not a lucky man. He found something, some secret that he wasn’t supposed to find. A secret hidden from the public, from the world, maybe even from God Himself; but this poor soul found it. I don’t know what it is, I don’t want to think about it, thinking about the secret makes it so much harder to hold on and write this down.

the secert thinking abou out it I can’t focus, it’s starting to affect me physically; I feel hunger that I can’t satisfy, I thirst even as Idrink anythin I can find. I know he hadn’t slept for days before I took the weel for his life; but I’ve come to feer the darkness behind my own eyelids. I can feel it, I can hear it; it’s always there, ever waking moment, even tick-tock of the clock, it’s there; it’s always there. I don’t want o know what it is, I don’t want to know the secret, the secret haunts me; it sings it’s sweet song of lies in my ears and tempts me to think about it and worn it’s way into my mind.

It would stay with me, I know it would; no matter how many lies I jumped into, no mater how far I run from it, it would stay in my mind until it had done to me as it had done to him.

Tempt-tempt-tempt; it’s rinng in my ears; it wants me to think, it wants me to focus on it’s secret existance. Why haven’t I left, why am I still here? I should hav gone, should have lept out of this night mare by now. It’s keeping me here, it’ll hold onto me until mind is gone. But I’m smarter, I’m so so much smarter; it can’t get into a mind that’s not there; see how smart I am? I’l get rid of the mind, Ill make sur it cant get into me I

My name is Dexter Jared Peterson. I am 26 years old and I live in New York City. In the last seven years I have lived as 11,556 different people.

I… I can’t believe I nearly did that. I don’t know who the hell gave this guy a gun, but he doesn’t have it anymore. Maybe he stole it, maybe he had the same ideas I had and was about to blow his brains out before I took over. It doesn’t matter anymore, I’ve gotten some control over my thoughts again and I’m not going to let it beat me. I’ve had some times that were longer than others, this isn’t any different; I’m not going to let it kill me!

I stepped outside today; I don’t know how long it’s been since this guy last saw the sun, but it had to have been a long time from how pale his skin looked. It’s pretty close to my area of time, only a few years more advanced. There’s some rumors of a political tensions here and there, but I didn’t really pay attention to them; it’s becoming an active effort to not think about It. I can feel the secret of it’s existance, the great and terrible truth of what It is constantly niggling in the back of my mind; I can’t wait to leave this behind.

Part of me knows it’s selfis to think like that, that this guy- whomever he is- might actually be feeling sane for the first time in God knows how long somewhere and I want to take that away from him again. but I don’t care right now; I can’t take this, I’m not going to be a martyr for some guy I’ve never met. It’s almost disturbing to know that I can think like this if I’m pushed to this point.

My name is Dexter Jared Peterson. I am 26 years old and I live in New York City. In the last seven years I have lived as 11,556 different people.

It’s been nearly a week. I haven’t slept, I’ve barely eaten; I can feel this body wearing itself out, it’s not going to last much longer. part of me wonders what will happen to me if I died in this body; if I’ll leap into the next one like normal, or if this is it. I haven’t been back outside; it’s not safe anmore. It’s out there; in the faces of those strangers, in the darkness of the alleyways, in the middle of the crowded streets; they can’t see It, they never could, but I see It. I can’t see anything but It; and I still don’t know what It is.

I’m still holding off the secret, I still refuse to think about it now; not out of willpowr, that ran out a long time ago. This is spite; pure and simpe spite. If it does all end here, if this thing kills me by forcing me to live like this, then I want to have something to hold over It. I want to be abl to laugh at It wih my last breath and say that it couldnt make me think about It; its a stupid thought but I dont care. It makes me feel better.

My name is Dexter Jared Peterson. I am 26 years old and I live in New York City. In the last seven years I have lived as 11,556 different people.

Tired I’m so tired. It is still there. It still wants me to think about It. I wont think about It. tired so tired I wonder what will happen to this thing when it die. This journal has away comes with me. Will it come into death to? what is after death? will it be itneresting to write about? will they find it and just toss it out? I dont want them to throw away my journal. so many stories in it they should read it they should know. they should no not to think aout It.

My name is Dexter Jared Peterson. I am 26 years old and I live in New York City. In the last seven years I have lived as 11,557 different people. I am so tired. so ver

Entry by Chris Reid. This entry needs artwork!

My name is Dexter Jared Peterson. I am 26 years old and I live in New York City. In the last seven years I have lived as 11,577 different people.

I had the sensation of falling again, but this time in the dark. I tried to flail my arms to reach out for something, but resistance told me right away that I was in the water. A gasp of breath filled my lungs with sweet air, and I realized I was in a diving suit. I tried to calm myself. A wave of vertigo washed over me when I felt nothing under my feet but unknown fathoms of water. I was floating free save for the cable attached to me from the surface, a realm that was very far away judging by the stark absence of light.

A voice crackled in my head. “Dexter, you all right buddy?”

If I could hear them, then they could hear me. “Yeah, I’m fine, just… getting my bearings.”

“Ok. When you’re ready, just keep going along the hull. We’ll find it in soon. We have to.”

I peered through the thick glass in front of my face. A beam of light from my helmet lanced out tangibly in the murky water, and I saw a gray wall in front of me. I reached out to touch what must have been the hull of a large sunken ship. I could almost feel the cold through my thick diving glove. I began to move along the side of the ship, not sure where I was going nor even how fast thanks to the unchanging scenery. I heard the radio crackle again as my cable moved with me, and I hoped it didn’t go out. I had no idea how to get myself out of this without the help of those above me.

A hole in the ship faded into view; an ugly anchor port, its pulley a misshapen tongue belching its huge chain out into the sea. There was apparently a camera on me somewhere because it sparked some interest from the other end of my cable. I waited while they discussed the discovery, and soon I was given the order to proceed. As I left the anchor chain behind my hand touched the side of the ship, roaming along the hull as if the contact might help me find what I was looking for.

As I moved on in the mucky water, my mind drifted back to her. It was almost like I could feel her close by, just waiting for me to see her. Why I would feel this connection while I was alone at the bottom of some ocean, I couldn’t say. I tried to put her out of my mind to focus on the task at hand. The hull began to curve outward above me here, like it might at the bow of some of the large ships I’d seen before. I traced the contour upward, careful not to hit my head on the hard steel of the ship.

I felt like I was close to something, but I couldn’t say what. As I pushed onward I strangely began to enjoy my silent time with the ship as if we were old friends getting to know each other again. Then, as my hand brushed the hull, I saw a different color than the steel gray I was used to. I stopped and began to rub the grime from the steel. Letters began to fade into view before my eyes. I must have found the name of the ship! There was a D, an A, an I, and then I found an N, an E. Finally I’d exposed the whole word, and I took in a breath when I saw what it said.

“Oh my god.” The silence in my helmet was broken when my words reached the surface.

“Hey Dex? The camera’s on the fritz again, buddy. What’d you find?”

I stared at the letters for a moment, confused and surprised at the same time. I didn’t even try to say the name yet, for fear that I might wake up in some new reality and start all over again. Finally I made my mouth work enough to pronounce the name. “Alexandria!” Judging by the reaction, I’d obviously found what we’d been looking for. The words of my contact on the surface were drowned out by the cheering of those around him, but all I could do was stare.

I reached out again to touch the name, and took a deep breath as I shared the quiet deep with Alexandria.

Entry by Nathan Bedrick. This entry needs artwork!

My joints locked. My eyes itched. My hair bristled. For the first time, she was within reach, and I was me. The first sight I saw was Alex.

I grabbed the fabric tape railing to my side and tightened my throat muscles. My hand hurt. I was in the middle of a coffee shop line. Looked like about the time when I left. I spotted lemon squares- nothing compared to Betti’s cooking. I spied some miniature cupcakes at the end of a stick, and flashed back to one of my last memories before our lives. Seeing the pastry pops reminded me I had just walked in here and spotted the chocolate kind.

My throat was dry. I could use a lemonade, too. I was in the mood for some coffee-shop sweetness after eating Ugali for a week. I didn’t care about artificial ingredients, a lack of home-style love, or even the fact no expertise made it. It was then that I noticed they had a summer-flavored kind of cupcake bite. Didn’t they make that flavor right around when this all began? Did they make it again? Was I back? Was it over?

I restrained my quivering. Was it pain? Was it excitement? It’s been so long since I saw a familiar sight, and even longer since it was in English! I felt like me, I felt at home, and I felt like the chance to talk to Alex was right in front of me. I was certain it was Alexandria. She looked quite different without the burqa, and I’ve mixed her up a few times, but I wouldn’t forget how she held her Diane Goldfarb purse, just like the imitation-Coach bag she toted with her today. They all held their bags the same.

My sunglasses didn’t help, but my gut pushed me. I walked past the cashier and raced to her table. Would she recognize me? She sat beside the window, looking out. It was so quintessentially ‘Alexandria’. I paused, to relish that thoughtful look in this lady’s eyes. Then, I moved. I anxiously looked at her before pulling the seat back. I seemed a bit thin, as the bright, arm-length shirt and gloves didn’t help.

All I could yelp out first, was “Alex!” Her eyes widened, and I felt anxious for only a moment. She looked anxious, as if I solved Rumplestiltskin’s riddle without having been asked.

“Do I know you?” she replied. I felt overwhelming loss and anxiety. How could she forget me? Haven’t we been through this enough? Doesn’t she recognize me? Maybe it’s my hat? Or the sunglasses? Or the gloves? I hastily take them off, whispering a shout as well as I could.

“It’s me, Dexter! Dexter Peterson!” My heart stopped. Her eyes were fixed upon me.

She uttered a shuddering surprise, “That’s quite strange for a woman’s name.” I could feel fate’s cruelty chilling the back of my neck. I looked to my exposed hand… Burned, but feminine.

Coming down from the excitement, I notice pain all over my arms and back. My head was aflame. Pushing back my sleeve, I share with Alexandria a first sight. Burns. Everywhere. My body ignited, as if I was tossed back into the flames for a second roast. My eyes welled up as my strength left me.

I wasn’t me. I wasn’t Dexter today.

Seeing Alex shocked me away from this pain, and now it left. I was defenseless. I fell back into agony. My silent tears ran down to the table. A man whose warm, concerned smile touched me came over and asked about whom I sat down with. He asked why I took off my protection. He introduced himself to Alex, but she excused herself and left. He could see the worry in my eyes, and the pain. He could see the confusion and sadness. He reached out to my shoulder and touched me.

I felt his love, and I felt the scraping of my burn. He told me that fate was cruel, but he still loved me no matter what. I cried out a little bit. He was concerned, and he had a right to be. My gut tumbled, like a washing machine cleaning out the stains this experience left on me. It was then that I noticed me, walking down to take the A train outside the window. Cake pop in his hand.

Who were we?

Entry and artwork by Coyoty.

Once again, I find myself reading entries in my own journal, some of them accurate accounts of lives I’ve had, some of lives I may have in the future, and others that are obvious fantasy. I hope.

I’ve experienced some strange things, but I don’t look forward to being an Elvis-impersonating ostrich, if that’s to be an eventual incarnation. At least I’d be prepared for it. “Review” incarnations have come in handy for avoiding physical danger and personal embarrassment. They’re also very frustrating.

I’ve yet to read any clues as to why this is happening to me or how to bring it to an end. Or if I should end it. Am I to be a great hero who needs these experiences to defeat a threat to all these worlds I’ve passed through? Am I dead and in Purgatory? Just a brain in a virtual reality rig?

Or maybe I’m a false person with false memories in a simulation created by a Solaris-type entity. (I really hated reading that book and concept.) Worse yet, am I really just a round-robin shared-universe character doomed to live out the scripted whims of my “fans”?

Having been celebrities and series authors, I can see the satirical commentary opportunities for that. The catalyst for this world’s “Dexter’s Journal” is a musician named Matthew Ebel. As usual, I’ll submit an entry with the hopes that he would actually know the answer to my questions and be open enough to the possibility that I’m actually “his” character to give me some answers before I

Editor’s note: I don’t know either, Dexter, just keep moving. Nothing to see here.

Entry by Menokh. This entry needs artwork!

My name is Dexter Jared Peterson. I am 26 years old and I live in New York City. In the last seven years I have lived as 11,577 different people.

I wake up with a sudden rush of adrenaline. The building I’m in, whatever it is, feels and sounds like it’s exploding. I grab the gear next to me and run outside. I’m surrounded by who must be my comrades in arms. I get the armor and assorted gear on long before I notice that we’re not human. We stand upright as humans do, but we have fur, muzzles and tails. We almost look feline.

I don’t have time to be surprised.

We take off running. The building was our training barracks, and they’re being bombarded from orbit. I’m told several dozen soldiers are missing and presumed dead. Several of us have no armor, and many did not think to grab their gun in the chaos. We’re heading across base to arm ourselves for the presumed ground invasion. My mind is swirling.

I wonder, as I have before, what would happen if I were to die when I am someone else? No time for that. Feigning forgetfulness from the attack I ask what is happening.

“We’re being attacked. Other worlds in our Kingdom have been fully burned from orbit, totally wiped out. This is different, they’re attacking. They must want this world.”

I do not respond. We get to the armory just in time to see an enemy warship descend over our capital city a few miles away. I’m terrified, even as the ship hovers over the city it is bombarding targets miles away. Plasma blasts blow overhead and strike our command center. We’re screwed.

I grab a rifle and take of running into the hills with my comrades. We aren’t prepared, and we fear we’ll lose against such an advanced enemy. Crouching in the bushes we see landing pods launched from the ship by the hundreds. Just then my suit radio crackles into life. It’s a General Tsune Murasame from some place called Owara. I have no idea who he is any more than who these people are. He says his ship is in orbit and ready to lend its assistance as required. He tells us to hunker down and wait for word from Central.

Entry by Steven Shiroma. This entry needs artwork!

My name is Dexter Jared Peterson. I am 26 years old and I live in New York City. In the last seven years I have lived as 11,577 different people.

When one awakes it is often to the sound of an alarm clock, a cell phone, a door bell, or some other device designed to grab attention; however that luxury is lost when the time and place one wakes up in lacks the technological advancement. As such I woke up today not to an alarm, but to a person “asking” me a question.

It was rather startling to wake up from a rather pleasant dream of flying (or was it memory?) with a person, he looked to be military of some sort, dressed in thick plate armor topped with a winged and battle scarred helm hiding his face and accompanied by a rather viscous looking blade on his side. The stranger stood in front of me “asking” a question. I stress “asking” because it was not in the normal sense that someone would verbally communicate a question.

You see he never spoke a word, nor did he make any physical gesture. But as soon as I felt him “ask” his question I found myself spouting words unbidden but unable to be held back, my mouth vomiting forth with an overly cheery and car salesman-ish gusto, “Welcome back adventurer! Your reward for that bounty is five royal gold pieces as well as five hundred ee-ex-pee!”

There was a sudden flash of light surrounding this soldieresque figure in front of me before he took off at a full sprint. I don’t mean like a brisk walk or something befitting social standards, this guy RAN out of the room. After he left I felt a little more comfortable, what with no longer being stared down by an nonspeaking, seemingly unsocial character. Even after what I would call the “soldier’s” departure autonomous movement had yet to be granted to my limbs.

Seemingly of their own accord my hands suddenly sprung to life. One which was holding an empty mug the whole time was held firmly still while my other hand which had also been holding a cloth began to polish the already polished mug and kept polishing…and polishing… It seemed in this life I was to remain rooted for the however long it lasted. Thankfully my eyes and head where somewhat motor functional, allowing me to turn my head and direct my vision but speech was still lost to me. Not too long before I figured whereabouts I was.

If the constant glass polishing wasn’t an indicator, the large bar I was permanently rooted behind hinted to the fact that in this life I had become a bartender. The multitude of colored, unlabeled bottles behind me seemed to all be full, all the glasses that sat in rows below the bottles where so spotless and picture perfect it hardly seemed to me that they had been used. There were no patrons currently at the bar and only a few other guests lingered about the dining area of the bar, all standing, a few pacing but they never went very far.

These people gave me the creeps to be honest, they moved in short, repeating movements.

I doubt that those people where as conscious as I was, or maybe they where and like me where unable of vocal communication short of pre defined scripts it seemed from my earlier monologue. Just as I was getting accustomed to this new setting, a female figure ran into what I came to a conclusion as Green’s Tavern, boasted by a large wooden sign I noticed hanging above the bar. As she approached at the same break neck run as the soldier, there was no missing that her manner of clothing was much simpler than that of the previous patron.

She wore leather armor which I presume was homemade, a pair of riding boots, worn gloves and a tattered dark red cloak fluttering in her wake. Instead of a sword a strung bow seemed to be the preferred weapon of this newcomer, firmly grasped in her hand while the quiver was firmly strapped on her back, the flights of the arrows seen poking above her right shoulder. Sadly the hood of her cloak obscured her face this time simply a dark recessed shadow. I just so happened to notice something that had slipped my attention before.

Above this newcomer’s head floated what I could only explain as a small…text box, but in real life. The text written there was simply a name. Alexandria.

She was here and soon she was standing right there in front of me, only a bar separating me and her. I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout, ask her who she was, where she came from, why she was here but nothing came out. Then to my dismay I felt it happen again… I was getting “asked” a question and before I knew it I was gushing with that overly zealous tone, “Welcome back Adventurer! Your reward for that bounty is five royal gold pieces as well as five hundred ee-ex-pee!”

That same golden light enveloped Alexandria, a small “ding” was barely audible but was soon accompanied by more floating next, this box rising with the words “level up!” in it. Before I could even compose myself she was off like a shot, sprinting at full speed out the door and like that she was gone again. All I could do was go back to polishing that glass and await the next patron.