I would like to believe this is the beginning of a great wave of enlightenment, but the stupidity of our neighbours to the south has been proven time and time again.
Are we headed back to the Stone Age, straight into World War III, civil war, an era of hatred and bigotry and the unchecked greed of billionaires over the other 99.9999999999999999999% of the planet?
Or are we finally headed in the direction of sanity?
We will not know, not likely today, not likely even tomorrow.
And as a neighbour only, I can only hope that the ruckus next door isn’t prelude to disaster.
Target: 900 words
Written: 1240 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 73-76
Music: Black Friday Rule, Flogging Molly (or Tuesday, in this case)
If it’s not clear, FUCK DONALD TRUMP. FUCK REPUBLICANS. FUCK THE RIGHT WING.
I almost misspelled that as talk. Freudian slip, anyone?
But I do mean walk. I’d like to throw some shit on, grab the only things important to me, and just start walking.
Just. Gone. Tramping down foreign roads with a backpack and a laptop, a Kindle full of books.
In peace. Listening to the birds sing.
Praying for nature to remain unsavage.
It’s savage enough out here.
Target: 900 words
Written: 466 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 65-68
Music: Unreleased: From A Basement On A Hill II, Elliott Smith
I don’t know why, but I’m watching this guy talking about fashion on TV and all I can think is…
Someday, he’s going to die. So is the interviewer (which is a shame, she seems nice – they both do).
But so will I, so will my wife. So will my daughter, my dogs, my cats, my extended family, and every single animal, plant and person that’s ever existed.
Bummer, dude. I get that growth cannot be endless or it becomes cancer, but damn.
If there’s a higher power, garbage build, bro. Change is the only thing that does not die.
Target: 900 words
Written: 454 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 61-64
Music: Unreleased Decca Live Album, The Rolling Stones
I still have an annoying tickle and my nose is a little stuffy, but otherwise, I seem to be beyond the worst of it.
Mostly, I’m just glad it’s not COVID.
Even though my experience with COVID wasn’t terrible (annoying cough for a couple of days), the tiredness never really seemed to leave.
That could be for entirely different reasons, however.
One never really knows. I only hope the afterlife is filled with answers.
That’s all I really want, at this point.
Target: 900 words
Written: 203 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 57-60
Music: Unreleased Album, Screaming Trees (so underrated, these guys - Lanegan's brilliant)
It still sucks, but at least, the running, drippy bullshit is mostly over.
Now, it’s annoying cough, hey, thanks for joining the party. Did I introduce you to plugged ears?
No?
Well, here, you two will get along swimmingly. Perhaps we can entice fever over for a little menage-a-trois?
No? Not yet? Just the tip?
Is delirium a cold symptom? Asking for a friend.
Target: 900 words
Written: 152 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 53-56
Music: Never Worked That Hard, The Tragically Hip
Like my whole life, I am plugged up. Stuck. Caught in a relentless onslaught that packs behind my skull and makes it impossible to hear or breathe.
I sweat.
Blow my nose, more comes. Autoreplicating, instantaneous snot, filling every inch of headspace.
Ears pounding, I cannot hear.
I am on a subway; I am underwater.
I am cold, and yet, simultaneously, the boiling man.
I am man-baby, trying not to let on that I suffer, while suffering audibly.
To bed, to bed.
Illness is weakness; no, to work.
Target: 900 words
Written: 507 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 49-52
Music: Cutthroat, Interpol (could I?)
And I’m sick. Runny, plugged nose (funny how these two opposite things go together so well when it comes to the common cold).
I don’t know where it came from, but probably karma.
Probably fucking karma.
Fuckin’ karma.
Target: 900 words
Written: 201 words, novella: The Mungk
Reading: Hunter Of Worlds, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: 100 Bullets 45-48
Music: The Unraveling, Rise Against (certainly seems that way)
Man, that granddaughter knows exactly where to stick the knife. The last time we were there, she got all pouty because we were leaving (she knows Sunday morning breakfast means we’re going home, so she does her best to avoid/delay it), and says to my wife and I:
“I don’t need you. I only need Mommy and Daddy.”
This time around, in between having bouts of wild fun, she turned and told me:
“I don’t like you.”
After a while, you know, while my heart was still oozing on the floor in front of me where it had been ripped out, it became a giggling game, where she was hurting to joke, but maybe not realizing it was hurting.
I tried to play it off, but I’d be lying if I didn’t feel terrible.
It was a bizarre weekend all around, and I feel like maybe I need to pull back a bit. The problem is we love the kid so much, but man, with everything else going on right now, it’s getting very hard not to get emotional over shit like that.
Anyway, more to speak on all this, but the memory is stabbing, so for now, don’t be a jerk to people.
It’s not cool.
Target: 900 words
Written: 88 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Hunter Of Worlds, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: 100 Bullets 41-44
Music: Unplugged In Sweden, Chris Cornell (talk about albums that leave you breathless - after Nirvana's MTV Unplugged, the best acoustic album, possibly ever)