Month: March 2024

rats, kenneth

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I started off today thinking things were going to be bad. I was distracted, couldn’t focus, following rabbit trails.

That bass started in Rats and suddenly, I was deep in. Pearl Jam is my jam (well, one of them), and that early work?

Shit. Follow it with a little R.E.M. and damn, son, things are looking up.

Except.

They didn’t.

Stuck drain, VPN outages, and a sinking sense of being on the way to being completely fucked… that’s my real jam, apparently.

Seriously, maybe fuck today?

Target: 400 words
Written: 280 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Welcome To Night Vale, those guys
Comics: East Of West 1-4
Music: Kiss Essentials, Kiss (judge not, sometimes, you just gotta eat some popcorn, plus God Gave Rock 'N' Roll To You is straight Tao)

yesterday

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Sorry about that. I guess maybe we’re not in a place where green apple splatters and sexual proclivities are ready to be discussed.

But…

This is the thing about this blog. I never started it intending to pretend to be someone else. I spent too many years full of shit and now, I am doing my best to transition into being someone who is honest, open and compassionate, who always makes the effort to see as many perspectives as he can, while not ignoring the simple realities of things.

A softy without blinders.

A man of honest assessment, without pretense or bullshit.

Because I don’t want to be an icon. I don’t want to be a role model, though I know, if I can live the way I would like, it would inevitably set an example. Of course, every way anyone behaves sets an example; whether it’s a good one or whether anyone follows it are separate questions.

I want to be honest, and that means warts. That means too much information. That means nothing is out of bounds, save the desires of those around me not to be discussed (filtered where appropriate). I respect the privacy of others. I am a private man myself, despite my admissions.

I don’t want people all up in my business, but neither do I want to hide my foibles.

I suppose I shouldn’t hide my successes either, but damned if I won’t try to downplay them; I don’t live for praise. I would just like people to be able to see my work.

I’m not a good networker.

These things are all true.

These things are all filtered, as is everything.

Cognitive filtration is automatic.

Target: 400 words
Written: 341 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Welcome To Night Vale, Cranor/Fink (Fink/Cranor?)
Comics: Tokyo Ghost 9-10 (seriously - maybe the best comic of all time.  It deserves to be in the conversation with Watchmen, Miller's Dark Knight, etc.)
Music: The King Of Limbs, Radiohead

sixty-nine

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It’s day sixty-nine of good ole twenty-twenty-four and you know, it occurs to me, that all the things I’ve done in my life, I’m not sure I’ve ever actually sixty-nined.

Weird, right? I mean, I’m probably too fat to be on top, but I love cunnilingus, so I’m not really sure why I’ve never had a woman sit on my face.

Huh.

Things to look into.

Target: 400 words
Written: 721 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Welcome To Night Vale, Cranor/Fink
Comics: Tokyo Ghost 5-8 (this might be the best comic series I've ever read.  Top five, for sure.)
Music: King Animal, Soundgarden (you know what, pretty darn good for a late stage reunion album)

tedium

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So, the new training is SO. FUCKING. BORING.

I like to think I’ve lived a life free of trauma, though not drama, though it often feels like a trauma lurking around the corner.

Something repressed, guiding my moods and thoughts subconsciously, ready to jump out and smash the dinner spread just as I’m about to eat.

It feels like I’m barely allowed to eat, and alternately, stuffed of the point of nausea and vomiting.

Fucking mental illness… it’s a real son of a bitch, and the sneakiest motherfucker you know.

Target: 400 words
Written: 234 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Welcome To Night Vale, Joseph Fink/Jeffrey Cranor (did I spell that right?)
Comics: Tokyo Ghost 1-4 (FUCK.  YES.)
Music: Killer Kills All & KillYrIdols, Sonic Youth

okay, this is boring

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And I don’t just mean this blog, but let’s face it, this blog is, in fact, boring.

Listening to me, a know-nothing-nobody opine about shit he really doesn’t understand and whine about everything else… how can that be fulfilling?

How can it be entertaining?

Listen, I know the whole concept of “being a brand” and all that, but I genuinely don’t give a fuck. I am what what I am. My brand is…

Fuck off and leave me alone.

But also be nice to each other.

See?

Branding.

Target: 400 words
Written: 189 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Welcome To Night Vale, the Night Vale guys
Comics: Punk Rock Jesus 3-6
Music: Kill The DJ, Green Day, Closet Monster, Killed The Radio Star

zoned out

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I hate days like that; nothing to do, then no time to do the things you want to do when you finally get the free time.

There’s nothing worse than all the time in the world tied to something boring, followed by all your free time chewed up by circumstance.

The frustration is real.

Target: 400 words
Written: 288 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Practicing Mind, Thomas Sterner (everything The Power Of Now should have been, without Tolle's excessive ego and messiah complex - simple, humble and practical - I get the same feeling out of this as I do the Tao Te Ching; they now occupy spots next to each other on the shelf)
Comics: The Wake 9-10, Punk Rock Jesus 1-2 (fuck yeah)
Music: Kill Kill Kill, Anti-Flag

full moon?

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The day was perfectly fine until I left the grocery store. First, my batteries fell out of the cart, and the box broke open, sending batteries sprawling across the sidewalk into the torrential rain.

Then, as I went to take my very full cart down the ramp and across the parking lot, a black Charger pulls up and blocks the ramp. And stays there. I had to knock on the idiot’s window to get him to pay attention to the guy standing in the middle of a thunderstorm will a full cart who probably isn’t going to be able to get it down the curb.

He moved. Grudgingly, from the look of it.

I slog out to my van, load it up, put the cart in the cart return and hustle back to my car, rain streaming off my sodden coat.

I get in, plug in my old school iPod nano and cue up some hard rock. I put it in reverse and…

A tan SUV pulls up behind me and stops.

Okay, whatever. Probably just waiting for someone to back out or something.

Except… no one’s moving. None of the other cars are even running. Plus, there are numerous empty spots because I’m one of the very few dummies to grocery shop during a storm. Like, at least eight different options within fifty feet, including on either side of me.

I look at the woman in the window. She’s screaming. Literally screaming. At me.

I can’t figure out why. I haven’t actually moved yet. Not even an inch. Then, I realize, because she rolls down her window and keeps yelling…

She wants my spot. Apparently, I’m keeping her from getting into that spot.

The spot she’s blocked me into.

Never mind that there are at least four open spots on the other side or that BOTH SPOTS on either side of me are empty. Never mind that I’m not on a bicycle, and there’s zero percent chance than my Grand Caravan is getting around her without an eight hundred point turn.

She doesn’t like my suggestion that if she wants my spot, she has to let me out first. I thought it was reasonable, but apparently, it demanded a response of slamming it into drive and tearing off into the parking lot. I think if it wasn’t raining, her tires would have squealed.

I don’t know who shat in her Corn Flakes, but I hope there’s some reason for what was clearly some kind of mental breakdown – both from a logic and an emotional standpoint.

Lady, wherever you are… smoke some weed or have a White Russian or something. Get laid. See a therapist.

Because that spot… it ain’t worth the aneurysm.

Target: 400 words
Written: 876 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Practicing Mind, Thomas Sterner
Comics: The Wake 5-8
Music: Kill 'Em All, Metallica (I swear, not planned)

the squirts

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Does anyone else feel like we’re close enough to talk about bowel movements yet?

Is anyone reading this?

If I write about the green apple splatters in the woods, would anyone hear?

I don’t do the sound of one hand clapping; I long ago learned the trick from Balki Bartokomous.

Instead, it’s farts in an empty house.

Although these days, with Alexa, Siri and Google Home, the answer is always yes.

Your X-Box is listening to you pee. I don’t mean that as a joke; they really are.

Target: 400 words
Written: 279 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: If Chins Could Kill: Confessions Of A B Movie Actor, Bruce Campbell (I mean, who doesn't love this guy?)
Comics: The Wake 1-4
Music: The Kids Are Alright, The Who

sunday relax

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Yesterday was a dream; today is relaxing, with not much on tap, but I feel already like I’m falling behind.

And why?

Most of my work is done.

The writing task I set for myself is complete. I’ve read a little. Listened to a little muzak.

I even prepped for dinner and took care of the dogs (not the walk part yet, but soon).

So, why do I feel so far behind?

Target: 400 words
Written: 241 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: If Chins Could Kill: Confessions Of A B Movie Actor, Bruce Campbell
Comics: Joe The Barbarian 5-8
Music: Kids Soundtrack, Folk Implosion

relaxing day

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Somehow, today, everything just kind of came together. A little relax time, some chores, a nice dinner, a good walk with the dogs…

I’m not sure what happened, but today came together like a fine wine. Patient, relaxed, containing a satisfying flavour that flows across the tongue and balances delicately on the lips…

It’s put me into a reflective mood, and I love it.

For once, things don’t seem quite so bleak.

That might be the wine talking, though.

Target: 400 words
Written: 417 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: If Chins Could Kill: Confessions Of A B Movie Actor, Bruce Campbell
Comics: Joe The Barbarian 1-4
Music: Kid A, Radiohead