met gala

Who cares? At least, it wasn’t entirely ridiculous this year, but honestly, it always pisses me off when you see these celebrities dressed absurdly, in a stunning display of myopia toward the lesser off classes beneath them.

What’s worse is that some of the worst offenders are those who ardently support social reform in favour of the lower classes.

In words only, apparently. It’s hard to stomach a well-known bleeding heart celebrity who then turns around and dons some absurdly expensive dress to go hobnob with other similarly well-off individuals while sipping champagne and slurping caviar.

It is one of the worst displays of concentrated wealth and the whole “first class” citizen versus the rest of us, and even the most liberal of celebrities cream themselves in order to go and wear some absurdly lavish get-up to remind us how utterly vapid they are, and how little they actually care about the social causes they espouse the rest of the year.

It’s Masque of the Red Death shit, partying in extravagance while the rest of the world burns around them.

Fuck the Met Gala.

Target: 600 words
Written: 462 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Yellow Birds, Karen Green
Comics: Aphrodite IX 0-3
Music: Vision Valley, The Vines

office days

Well, every third week, my days get a little tighter, when they can no longer stand to be.

The noose scratches at my neck.

I don’t remember who put it on, but everyone that comes by seems to give it a solid yank.

To nudge the chair under my feet.

How soon we do swing.

Today’s dark musing brought to by L7 and One More Thing.

Target: 600 words
Written: 94 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Carrie, Stephen King
Comics: Tom Judge: End Of Days 1
Music: Virus 100, L7

and, we’re out

Like I said, Leafiest way possible, with a heavy helping of referees demonstrating the league’s blatant bias.

Fact: that was not a hooking call on Knies.

Fact: that was a trip on a breakaway against Knies that should have lead to a penalty shot, or at a minimum, a tripping penalty (but the rule states penalty shot).

It’s still up to the teams to execute, but other than maybe games 1 and 4, I thought they played pretty well. So, it becomes a question:

If the league calls the games fairly, and applies its own rules to both teams, and doesn’t make up penalties for one while ignoring flagrant violations for the other, how does this series go? Marchand takes, at a minimum, four to six more penalties, McAvoy (aka Marchand lite), takes at least two or three. The Leafs powerplay wasn’t doing great, but still: a goal one way or the other could tip a game in a very tight series.

If say, the league applies its own standards to the Bruins, then Brad Marchand is ejected from the game for shoving a ref, followed by the requisite and automatic three game suspension, which means he’s not in game 7. (I mean, honestly, if Brad Marchand, who would make everyone’s top five list of the dirtiest players in the game, where actually called like one of the dirtiest players in the game, I don’t think he’d even have a career. Instead, he gets a free pass and makes the league look like a joke.)

If say, the referees make a proper call on Knies’ breakaway, how does the resulting penalty shot affect the game? Certainly, if all other things remained the same, it’s 2-1 Leafs at the end of the game, and not overtime.

The fact is, this corrupt manipulation of games in favour of some teams over others has gone on long enough and becomes more and more blatant as they continue to get away with it.

I don’t know what needs to happen, but they are ruining the game for me. I used to watch all the games; now I watched a handful, only because I happened to be someplace where it was on. I tuned back in for the playoffs, but with the expectation that I was going to see exactly what I saw – the Leafs getting fucked, them not being able to play as aggressive as the other team because they know this is the case and they have to avoid the box, and ultimately, trying their best knowing they have no chance because the League won’t allow it.

Over the past thirty-ish years with Bettman, he’s taken the speed, the offense, the physicality and now, the integrity out of the game. Personally, I think #corruptNHL needs to trend so hard he’s forced to resign, or there are congressional hearings, class action lawsuits and the teams getting screwed need to hold back parity funds.

Oh, and Boston? The league wants Florida to win (they love those money-losing, small market teams that only remain in existence because teams like Toronto, Boston and New York subsidize them), so I look forward to hearing you whine about the refs are biased against you in the second round. Now, you’ll know how it feels.

#fireBettman #fireParros

Target: 600 words
Written: 128 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Carrie, Stephen King
Comics: Universe 5-8
Music: Violent Femmes, Violent Femmes

game 7, for reals

Today’s the day. Are we going to break the curse of the Boston strangler, or are going to Leaf it up in the Leafiest way we possibly can?

I don’t believe in curses, but I do believe in complacent cultures that think they don’t need to try as hard because they’re making money hand over fist.

I do believe in overwhelming personalities who don’t give a shit about that culture and drag everyone else along with them toward some grand dream.

One of these two teams has that. Tonight, we’ll find out who, and whether the NHL decides to screw them anyway.

Target: 600 words
Written: 60 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Carrie, Stephen King
Comics: Universe 1-4
Music: Villains, The Verve Pipe

game 7

Just a few days ago, my sister and I were joking that, of course, the Leafs will win game 5 and 6 against the Bruins. It’s Toronto. We’re used to it.

It wouldn’t be Leafland if they didn’t build up our hopes, get us back on board and then blow it in the Leafiest way possible.

Nice to see maybe even the refs are getting a little sick of Brad Marchand; maybe the constant public attacks on their integrity and flagrant bias and/or incompetence are starting to register?

I mean, how much different would this league have been over the last 20-30 years if games had been called fairly?

Marchand might not even have a career.

Instead, we get to watch this rat fuck bend and break every rule in the book while refs shrug and say, “Well, he ain’t wearing blue.”

Target: 600 words
Written: 145 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Gate Of Ivrel, CJ Cherryh (SO. FUCKING. GOOD.)
Comics: Inferno Hellbound 0-3
Music: View From A Backstage Pass, The Who

monstress

There are certain authors and creations that I’m in absolute awe of.

The ability of the Jasons to capture the feel of the South so completely in Southern Bastards. Chip Zdarsky and Matt Fraction’s incredible wit and compassion for their character’s rich internal lives in Sex Criminals. Chuck Palahniuk’s ability to create complexity out of simplicity, to blend “clever art” with something more raw.

The sheer fucking depth and expanse, both internally and in the world-building of Monstress.

Marjorie Liu has created something truly incredible, a world so full and dense that it’s hard to believe it belongs to a comic book. I’m not sure that Game of Thrones is this massive, and the written word allows for much greater detail, in general. Sana Takeda’s extremely detailed art gives that same sense so beautifully, that one almost might believe it’s building the mythos and the world on its own.

I love stuff that requires multiple readings in order to catch all the details, things where that second, third, fourth reading continues to add to the understanding, to improve the experience, to heighten the depth of one’s immersion into the material.

I’m so on board with this series, I kind of don’t ever want it to end (though it inevitably will need to, as all things do, save Batman).

Target: 600 words
Written: 68 words, novella: The Mungk

Reading: Gate Of Ivrel, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: Monstress 51
Music: Victrola, Veruca Salt

second draft

Hey, chipper self.

I don’t know if it was waking up to find out the Leafs actually won in OT and live to play another day, or finishing the second draft of The Mungk, but I feel marginally better today.

The deck is shuffled, time to re-deal.

My body is still “depressed”, but I’m going to fight the cognitive dissonance of a body and mind telling me I should snuff it and focus on focus.

Get things done. Try new things. Use the mind. Let things go. It’s good for the soul.

Move, maybe a little. Enjoy my cats and dogs.

Are you buying this? I’m certainly trying to.

Target: 600 words
Written: 538 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Gate Of Ivrel, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: Monstress 47-50
Music: Vessel, Bjork

directionless

I’m not sure which direction I should take.

Lay on the floor and wait for the end? Go down on my knees and beg for the end of pain?

The bed? Hiding in softness that quickly becomes uncomfortable.

I feel like my body is a prison from which I cannot escape.

Which, of course, I cannot.

We are all victims of our failing forms, our own sadistic minds, our throbbing and relentless pain.

I used to sit and drool; a pretend vacation of the mind. Master of me over mind; I too, can vacate.

Instead, here we are, waiting for the day when the drooling is incontinent and out of control.

And then, beyond.

Target: 600 words
Written: 1431 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Five Weeks In A Balloon, Jules Verne
Comics: Monstress 43-46
Music: Vespertine Live, Bjork

sheriff

There’s a line in Southern Bastards when the sheriff, a ex-high school football star whose career could have been astronomic if it hadn’t been for circumstance and bad choices, says about his opportunities, “I’ve fucked up every last one of mine.”

It wasn’t entirely true there. Esaw and Materhead took out his knee, on Coach Boss’ orders, thereby ending his collegiate career before it started (something you’d be surprised to see Boss do, maybe, after the way he was shafted on his own career for Bear Bryant).

But the rest? Everything after that?

That’s all him.

I feel like that’s me these days. Fucking up every single one of my chances. Settling for safety in fear and losing the plot.

Too scared to try. Too scared to ask. Bubbling up inside like a vat of acid set to boil, scraping out everything internal, until there’s nothing left but molting flesh.

There’s some thoughts for you.

Target: 600 words
Written: 1324 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Five Weeks In A Balloon, Jules Verne
Comics: Monstress 39-42
Music: Vespertine, Bjork

spiralizer

I use it mostly to create zucchini noodles, but sometimes, it likes to take up residence in my head, and spin me out of control, akin to a piece of fluff floating on top of a bath, that’s being rapidly drained out.

Where does all that water end up? The sewer?

Am I a piece of fluff, doomed to hang out in the shit the rest of my life?

I used to think I’d like to aspire to living in a cardboard box, but it’s a hard life, feeding yourself and begging for enough money for booze and drugs. Too responsible.

Then, I thought I’d like to be super rich, but rich people are always fighting off scavengers for their money, and there’s a disconnection and cruelty that festers beneath the freedom, and that’s not who I’d like to be.

Plus, there’s all you have to do to get there. You have to, at least, go to the convenience store attached to the gas station and buy the lottery ticket.

There’s no escaping responsibility.

The only way out is through.

Or death, but that’s a whole other topic.

Target: 600 words
Written: 725 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Five Weeks In A Balloon, Jules Verne
Comics: Monstress 35-38
Music: Very Proud Of Ya, AFI