wine and assassination attempts

On my sister-in-law’s birthday, Trump supporters stormed the capitol, nearly completing their insidious coup.

Now, on my birthday, some idiot takes a potshot at the asshole, leaving us all to wonder, just how bad is this going to get?

Staged or not (and I am in the camp that fully believes there’s a very good chance this shit was staged – I mean, the guy has followed by Nazi playbook step for step and is surrounded by Infowars believers – don’t tell me he doesn’t know the Reichstag fire and what a false flag operation is), it doesn’t bode well for freedom and democracy in this world.

So, happy birthday to me? We don’t know where this is going, but I’ll guarantee nowhere good.

Target: 700 words
Written: 551 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Elfstones Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Symmetry 4, Postal 11-12, Think Tank: Creative Destruction 1
Music: Unbridled Funk And Roll 4 Your Soul!  Red Hot Chili Peppers!

forty-seven

Man, what a fucking waste.

Target: 700 words
Written: 336 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Elfstones Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Symmetry 2-3, The Tithe 8, Postal 10
Music: Ultramega OK, Soundgarden (that's me.  Ultra-Mega-OK.)

the night before

Tomorrow, I’m turning another year older. Almost half a century on this planet, and I don’t know a goddamn thing.

The Mungk got me when I was a child, and has scraped me clean.

I am a shadow, visible, but without substance.

Target: 700 words
Written: 470 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Elfstones Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Postal 8-9, The Tithe 7, Symmetry 1
Music: Ultra Rare Trax, Volumes 2 and 4, Lou Reed and The Velvet Underground

dogsitters

I wish there was time.

I wish I didn’t love animals as much as I did.

Fuck that. I love my animals to death. I love all animals, even the ones that slither.

Doesn’t make me a vegan, though.

I have too much respect for nature and the environment for that.

The history of agriculture is the history of imperialism.

Target: 700 words
Written: 855 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Elfstones Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Postal 7, The Tithe 5-6, Postal: Dossier 1
Music: The Ultimate Tribute To Linkin Park, Various Artists (man, this Various Artists band gets around)

one down

One night of sleep down. Now, for more. Many more, all in a row. Broken up by the occasional sudden noise, the caught breath, the whispers suggested beneath the steady hum of a blurring fan.

Is that noise? Music?

Someone talking?

What was that creak? Is it the dogs? Is that lump a dog beside me?

Sudden kisses, licks of the face, a French touch unexpected, smelling of licked assholes.

Reassurance.

There is love where there is no noise.

There is no sleep where there are licks.

Target: 700 words
Written: 372 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Pawn Of Prophecy, David Eddings
Comics: The Tithe 3-4, Postal 5-6
Music: Ultimate Survivor, Survivor (again, why?)

exhausted

I don’t know how I did it today.

I nearly fell asleep about eight hundred times (roughly, give or take a couple hundred).

I need sleep.

Please, let me sleep.

Nothing is right.

Target: 700 words
Written: 407 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Pawn Of Prophecy, David Eddings
Comics: Postal 3-4, The Tithe 1-2
Music: Ultimate Collection, The Who

tired

I’m getting pretty tired at being woken up way too early by dogs, cats and work.

I love my pets (and my job less), but man, if I’ve gotten more than six hours of sleep in the last week in a night, I’d be surprised. Usually, it’s been four or five.

That’s not enough.

My health is in freefall.

I might have to take up napping, or go to bed way earlier.

I’m already going between 9:30 and 10.

Target: 700 words
Written: 615 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Pawn Of Prophecy, David Eddings
Comics: Wildfire 3-4, Postal 1-2
Music: The Ultimate Collection, The Pogues (fuckin' Shane, eh?)

ribfest

Every year, I think there’s a story in the subculture of Ribfest.

Every damn year.

There’s a raunchy comedy in there somewhere, and at some point, I’m going to write it.

Hell, maybe I’ll make a comic out of it. That could work, although it screams crude sex comedy with lots of butts and boobs and random dicks.

Maybe the return of the batwing, a la Waiting.

I don’t know. There could be a book in it, but hell, it’s hard to make a book that funny. I do have ideas for another book that’s funny. Several, actually, but they have heart.

Can I add heart to Ribfest?

Is there a book in this? Who would be the villain?

Vegans?

Yes. Vegans.

Target: 700 words
Written: 944 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Living Dead In Dallas, Charlaine Harris
Comics: Think Tank 12, Think Tank: Fun With PTSD 1, Wildfire 1-2
Music: The Ultimate Best Of Queen, uh, Queen (so hit or miss - the best Queen song is Under Pressure, by David Bowie.  That said, the good is really good, the bad is... well... Bicycle.  Prog rock shite).

echo chamber

There’s one in my head, and it rings with hopelessness. It sees the march of fascism, the flagrant entitlement of the world’s insipid victim mentality, and it knows the end of us is near.

There’s an external echo chamber as well, harming right and left, cutting off the ability to see any other perspective at all, let alone try to truly understand the other, which is the only method of finding resolution and peace.

I try to limit my external echo chamber. I don’t wish to be like my stepson’s friend who was heavily radicalized during the pandemic, to the point of losing a very good teaching position at an Ontario college because he bought into all the “vaccines are poison” nonsense.

Yesterday, he was posting about how a woman in Tennessee won her case and received three quarters of a million dollars for being fired for not getting one, making it sound as though a litany of similar lawsuits were about to bring the corporate world and government to their knees.

Of course, for a guy that I used to think was fairly smart, he sure didn’t much think it through. I’m not even sure he read the article he posted.

First, the woman won in deep red Tennessee. That has jack to do with Canadian law, and second, in the ruling, it specifically noted that the award was given not because the woman didn’t take the vaccine, because she’d had other vaccines, but rather, her religion opposed abortion and there were rumours (that at the time apparently had yet to be debunked) that the vaccine was made using fetus cells, and she felt, on religious grounds, she couldn’t inject that into her body.

Regardless of where I fall on the abortion issue (pro-choice), I can see why she’d be opposed to it.

It was noted in the article that the case was different than most other cases wending their way through the system, because the documentation proved without a doubt that the woman was doing it on religious grounds, not political or ideological ones. The vast majority of vaccine deniers can’t say that. All they can say is they were being selfish and stupid and would rather endanger other people’s lives than do something a liberal might support.

This was a one-off. Hardly the landslide this young man was celebrating.

It’s a weird thing to me, that prior to Trump and the Putin-pushed (and social media and mainstream media endorsed) disinformation pandemic, that perfectly intelligent, otherwise logical individuals could have gotten so locked into their echo chambers that the ability to reason, think or even want to question the information being presented to them has completely disappeared.

I understand the celebrities that do this; they’d been irrelevant before, and this buys them a fan base. It’s a grift.

But the average individual? Even the ones that had previously shown no hate in their hearts?

It’s terrifying to know how quickly someone can abdicate their own mind.

Garbage in, garbage out, as the saying goes.

Unfortunately, their willful myopia is likely to kill us all.

birds fall down upon / weighted wings they choose to fall / blindly into night

Target: 700 words
Written: 254 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Living Dead In Dallas
Comics: Think Tank 8-11
Music: Ultimate Air Supply, Air Supply (why would I do this to myself?  Must be a masochism day.)

the worst ever

I mean, there’s room for improvement, but seventeen words?

Can’t do much less than that.

Target: 700 words
Written: 17 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Living Dead In Dallas, Charlaine Harris
Comics: Think Tank: Military Dossier 1, Think Tank 5-7
Music: Ukulele Songs, Eddie Vedder