Month: September 2026

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)

muddy waters

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Who doesn’t love the blues?

I mean, it’s kind of my thing – feeling the full pain of the world, of life, of everything that goes on inside me like a relentless typhoon of crazy, and just… being with it.

Letting it be.

This is why I don’t believe in prescription drugs that numb out the emotion.

I believe in drugs that shut off the crazy, for at least a little while. Mushrooms, psylocybin, a well-made beer, a nice bottle of wine.

Whiskey, or scotch, on the rocks, in the sunlight with a beautifully-scented cigar.

I’ve tried them, don’t get me wrong.

Every one of them left me unable to feel, unable to practice the radical acceptance that is the only way through.

Every one of them made me want to kill myself, and left me without the strength of will or the faculties to stop it.

The only thing that ended that torture was to stop. Cold turkey.

Meditate. Think. Use my brain. Feel what there was to feel, fully.

Let it through. Embrace it.

Channel it.

And ultimately, let it go.

The only way out is through is the truest thing ever said about how to live.

The people versus the power.

Never forget.

Do not let them anaesthetize you. There’s nothing wrong with help, but if all they want is for you to be numb?

That’s not through. That’s stuck.

And stuck sucks.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1645 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson
Comics: The Mutant Misadventures Of Cloak And Dagger 12-15
Music: Hard To Explain, The Strokes

left/right

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Whatever political scholar created and/or popularized the spectrum of political leanings did the world such an injustice, placing it on a spectrum as though the beliefs of left/right were equally valid.

It has never been left versus right.

It’s the people versus power.

And if you look at it in that context, you’ll immediately see that that scale should always be tilted toward the people, and away from the greedy and powerful.

So, stop using left versus right, and put it in its proper context – people vs. power.

Do that, and you’ll never have a side but us versus billionaires ever again.

Billionaires are a crime against humanity.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1757 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson
Comics: The Mutant Misadventures Of Cloak And Dagger 8-11
Music: Hard Times And Nursery Rhymes, Social Distortion

must be nice to be pretty

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I’m not pretty; I’m not a looker.

I’m overweight, and unkempt, and my fashion sense is non-existent, because I think fashion is mostly ridiculous window dressing, unnecessary for anyone of substance.

Why waste time on clothes if you’re not a model or going to a wedding or something?

Of course, it’s a biological thing partially, to attract potential mates, and an ego thing partially to make one feel better about at least one’s outer appearance.

Me, I’m a comfy clothes kind of guy; I can’t be bothered to tuck in.

Ever. Not since I was a child, when I would be forced to do so, and would untuck immediately, as quickly as possible.

Anyway, not pretty.

Would be nice to be.

Maybe people would treat me better.

I hear that happens for the good looking. And they get paid more.

How fair is that?

Nice jawline, bro, have an extra ten grand a year. Great butt, here’s twenty. Nice smile, bright eyes, high cheekbones?

Thirty, forty, fifty.

Great tits, six pack abs?

A hundred!

Life is real shitty for the uggos.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1522 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson
Comics: The Mutant Misadventures Of Cloak And Dagger 4-7
Music: A Hard Day's Night, The Beatles (fucking masters)

toni

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Antonia, I only met you twenty years ago, and I spent more time with your daughter and her husband than you, but still, you always greeted us with a smile.

Your ascerbic wit and no-nonsense bluntness was absolutely endearing.

We’ll miss you. Mazy will miss you.

I know you loved her dearly, and she loved you.

Rest peacefully, dear.

You will be missed.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1002 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson (required reading to understand just how corrupt this whole Trump/Iran/Israel/Russia/Mid-East shit is)
Comics: The Mutant Misadventures Of Cloak And Dagger 1-3, Power Pack & Cloak And Dagger 1
Music: Happy Live Surprise, Sum 41