the fifth was a monday

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And a day of reckoning. Do I give up?

Do I move on? Why is every day an existential crisis?

At least, every work day.

How do I move beyond it?

This is the point where the lesson of kindness I sought in Father Lightning should kick in.

Unfortunately, the lesson I’ve learned out of that has become something else. It’s a story about men and women, and how even the best of intentions can blind us if we don’t address the reality around us.

It’s one thing to say you support women and you’re an ally in the face of sexual aggression.

It’s a whole other thing to actually pay attention, and help where it’s needed.

And sometimes, boys, that means leaving it alone. This has nothing to do with the book; our hero should have done more sooner, but with trauma, sometimes, your support must be indirect.

If a women has been abused by a man, is a man who she wants to comfort her? There’s an inevitable mistrust there, in many cases, whether it’s warranted or not. It doesn’t matter.

Sometimes, you need someone who knows what you went through to offer the helping hand. You don’t want to hug someone who might just be your next abuser.

So, do what you can boys, jump in where needed. And if you see any of those boys from Cornell (or their enablers in the police or the administration, feel free to let ’em know what’s what. Fucking garbage people, every last one of ’em.)

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1698 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson
Comics: Cloak And Dagger v5 3
Music: Healthy In Paranoid Times, Our Lady Peace

happy post-birthday, bro

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Sorry, I was so caught up in poopin’ yesterday that I forgot completely – except for my post on Facebook, in which I likened your birth to a minor Biblical omen and Empire Records.

(Great movie, by the way. Not on Rex Manning Day! Also, I credit this movie with restoring my love of AC/DC, because If You Want Blood, You Got It is a spirit animal.)

Plus, whatever happened to Rory Cochrane? First, he absolutely nails Slater in Dazed And Confused, then is perfect as Lucas in Empire Records, then… what?

That level of commitment to depth and caricature deserves better.

Anyway, happy birthday, brother. I used to question your anti-social attitude (so much like my own), but you’re retired and not even fifty, so clearly, you knew something I didn’t.

I’ll be working (preferably writing), until I die. Hopefully, I won’t still be working shit jobs to that point.

Also, happy birthday Rory Cochrane, whenever that is, because you deserved better than you got. Here’s hoping for a comeback.

(Please don’t turn out to be a scumbag.)

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1702 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson (damn, this is a dense read, but should be required reading in public schools when discussing Trump)
Comics: Cloak And Dagger: Negative Exposure 2-3, Cloak And Dagger v5 1-2 (great, new powers again - and a baby)
Music: The Head On The Door, The Cure

poopin’

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Hallelujah, hallelujah.

We gone from Leonard Cohen’s You Want It Darker to Hallelujah.

Normal bowel movements.

No more violently peeing out my butt.

Too much info?

Really?

God made humans, and all the awful processes inside of us, or so a character in Father Lightning insists.

Of course, he’s possessed and eats people’s entrails, so you can’t trust him.

But then, who can we trust anymore?

All our heroes are frauds.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1977 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson
Comics: Cloak And Dagger v4 4-6, Cloak And Dagger: Negative Exposure 1 (ugh, Hopeless, hopeless, it's not just the name of our former mayor anymore)
Music: Head Carrier, Pixies

the day after cleanout

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I’m still pooping.

It’s still water.

I thought the Purg-o-dan should be done by now.

It’s what they claim on the package, and online.

Why the fuck am I still filled with wet diarrhea, forty-eight hours hence?

Damn you, Purg-o-dan.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1866 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson
Comics: Spider-Island: Cloak And Dagger 3, Cloak And Dagger v4 1-3 (fuck sakes, I hate when writers take on their supposed 'white whale', but then demonstrate they don't even understand the basics of the characters, how their powers work, whether one has a corporeal body and then, of course, let's fucking make them hate each other over petty shit, thereby ruining the entire premise of their complicated relationship.  I'd heard Dennis Hopeless was a good writer; apparently, I was mistaken.  He's a hack who couldn't be bothered to do even a modicum of research to understand the characters he's been given to write, and for fuck sakes, it's not like they have a thousand issues of history to go through - a dedicated writer would have plowed through them in a day or two.  How disappointing.)
Music: He's The DJ, I'm The Rapper, DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince (uh, anyone else ever relisten to this and think, wow, those are some seriously questionable lyrics in Parents Just Don't Understand)

cleanout

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It’s Purg-o-dan day, and I’ve had nothing but broth and Gatorade.

Some Jello.

There is a flip side to be had, and it runs watery and sudden.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1338 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson
Comics: Marvel Knights Double Shot 1, Cloak And Dagger v3 1, Spider-Island: Cloak And Dagger 1-2
Music: Have It All, Foo Fighters

reconciliation, and back to worry

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I get my throat check, and my butt, this week. Unfortunately, it’s distracting me from truth & reconciliation, although there was a wonderfully powerful concert on the television at lunch. You can feel the land and heritage in the music, and that’s wonderful.

But my guts hurt.

I’m about fifty percent sure that it’s prostate cancer, and fifty percent sure I’m being ridiculous.

It’s probably the latter, but we wouldn’t be human if we didn’t worry about the consequences of our actions.

All that clean livin’, you know.

Moderation in all things.

Including moderation.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1823 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson (goddamn, this is a lot to take in, but required reading if you want to understand the Trump era, and just how dangerous and grifty it is)
Comics: Marvel Knights 12-15 (thank god that's done.  Marvel Knights sucked monkey balls.)
Music: HAVE A BALL PLUS BOWLING TIPS FROM THE GUTTER PUNKS, ME FIRST AND THE GIMMIE GIMMIES (is grifty a word?  Griftery?  Griftodacious?)

a post-hutch day world

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I’m bummed. Like, really bummed.

I was looking so forward to meeting the little guy.

I know it’s possibly a delay, not a denial, but it sure doesn’t feel that way right now.

Anyway, wah.

Poor me, it’s nothing to what this little guy’s been through.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1480 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson
Comics: Marvel Knights 8-11
Music: Havana Daydreamin', Jimmy Buffett

hutch

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We were supposed to get another dog today, a rescue from Louisiana.

They called him Hiccup. We were going to call him Hutch.

Unfortunately, he was pulled from the transport because of a cough, which for a pup getting over heartworms (at the end of his three months’ rest), and now, it could be months, and possibly never, for us to give him a better life.

This is probably controversial to say, and people who don’t understand what animals bring to a relationship will probably crucify me for this, but my wife agrees, it’s like we’ve lost a child.

Intellectually, we know he’s probably still coming. He’s probably going to be fine and we’re going to love him and squeeze him and call him Hutch.

But in the moment…

I’m sorry if that’s offensive to you; it’s how we feel, and we’re not inexperienced in that area.

It’s silly, probably, but it still sucks.

Get better, Hutch. We’ll come get you if we have to (and that’s saying a lot, because we refuse to cross the border, until America smartens the fuck up.)

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1299 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson (recommended reading - puts all this Iran shit in a very different light.  This was not a Donald Trump, spur-of-the-moment, I need an Epstein distraction thing.  This has been on the books since his first term, courtesy of Putin, MBS, MBZ and motherfucking Netanyahu.)
Comics: Marvel Knights 4-7 (this is such a sad era for Marvel - and why does every writer that takes on Cloak & Dagger immediately want to either make them hate each other or swap their powers?  Why not lean into what made them so compelling in the first place?  Their co-dependence, mirroring their creation - their addiction to one another.)
Music: Haunted Cities, Transplants (so great)

one thousand and one

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A new local brewhouse opened up this year, downtown, near us.

We thought it would be fun to go, plus you know, we’re beer people.

It turns out, we had to eat at the Thai place down the road (which is fine, their General Tao’s is fucking amazing).

See, we went, and not only do they have a terrible selection (they literally list OV as one of their featured beers, and in quotes beside it, wrote “old vagina), their kitchen decided fuck it, it’s Sunday, let’s go early, ignoring all the people coming in with reservations or watch a game or whatever.

And there were a few people. It probably was worth it to stick around for a fledgling business.

But whatever. Shit happens.

The weirder part was the vibe. It was a weird cross between typical hipster and neo-Nazi. Like, there’s beardo with a beanie when it’s eighty degrees out and the WNBA playoffs are on all the screens. So, you know, typical liberal hipster.

But then, there was all the dudes with the neck tattoos, and the street thug vibes (which are honestly, probably just normal things for kids these days, poser shit because tattoos are whatever and kind of boring now).

It wasn’t so much the style of dress, but the way these guys carried themselves, like if I went to the back, I’d walk into a Second Sons rally or something.

Anyway, weird vibe, no food, bad beer.

It’s a shame when things disappoint, but hey, that’s why we’re actually the Maple City, and not Crow, like these out-of-town Johnny-come-latelys want us to be.

Because it was considered cool in Toronto doesn’t make it good, bro. City folk have the worst opinion of themselves. Maybe lose the animal heads off the wall. It’s conflicting with your WNBA vibe.

Maybe I’m just hungry (nah, I hoovered that General Tao’s like it was lifeforce.)

Target: 1700 words
Written: 2007 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson
Comics: Strange Tales: Dark Corners 1, Marvel Knights 1-3 (what the fuck is this crap?)
Music: The Hard Way, Cameron Whitcomb (I like Options, so shoot me)

one thousand

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You believe that shit?

Yesterday, I crossed the last milestone before the manuscript milestone for Father Lightning and today, I realized that it’s been a thousand days since I laid out this gigantic series of goals and focus and wrote a little haiku called Birds Fall.

Now, I’ve written a novella, a novel, most of another novel, five more poems, eleven short stories and eleven more comics.

Man.

A few days ago, there I was, ready to give up.

And now?

I guess I’m on it.

Golf clap for me. I’m not doing too bad.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1771 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson
Comics: The Mutant Misadventures Of Cloak And Dagger 16-19
Music: Hard Volume, Rollins Band (holy fuck, when I say something is genius, or that it sucked me in, or is absolutely transcendent, I'm talking about Joy Riding With Frank - what an experience hearing that for the first time)