Category: canon

back to workin’

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I got a little ahead of myself for a bit again, with the longer edits, but now, I’m back to having to meet actual targets again.

Hence the bump in target words.

I’ve been trying to build it like a muscle. Every once in a while, bump the target up, increase the reps, the duration, the requirements for the cardio and endurance and lifting power of the thing.

Hell, it’s everything I do.

Slow increase in exercise, in meditation, in the difficulty of the material.

More beautiful desolation. More tragic pathos.

More little nobodies, thinking they’re somebodies.

More me, thinking I’m not nothing.

Feeling empty and alone, the best and worst feeling in the world.

Target: 900 words
Written: 888 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Hilarity Ensues, Tucker Max
Comics: The Magdalena: Seventh Sacrament 1, The Magdalena v4 1-3
Music: Random Thingies, Overflow

melatonin

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Not only did I not get a good sleep, I got to feel super groggy all day.

Sleep is my enemy.

Is it the Mungk, after me in real world manifestation?

I think I might be losing it.

Target: 800 words
Written: 713 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your House, Jeffrey Cranor/Joseph Fink
Comics: Monster War 2-4 (ugh), The Magdalena/Daredevil 1
Music: More Random Songs, Julian Plenti

friday, finally

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This weekend, we’ll dive deeper on the whole “ask forgiveness, not permission” thing, but for now, today, it’s migraine o’clock with a full work day ahead of me.

The seventh draft begins, like a seventh seal broken, and things can only go down from here.

Target: 800 words
Written: 259 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Tao Te Ching (Ursula Leguin edition)
Comics: Middlewest 15-18
Music: Underground Network, Anti-Flag

sadly, i know alcohol

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Listen, it’s not actually an issue. I don’t show up drunk for my niece’s recitals or sneak whiskey shots from my desk drawer at the office.

But it’s there.

It’s a part of life.

I likely don’t exceed a six pack a week, and maybe a couple of glasses of wine. Like, a drink a night (although a lot of nights, I don’t have anything).

But what I am struggling with is whether a seven year old would call Jim Beam Mr. Beam or mis-hear it as Mr. Bean.

But do I want Rowan Atkinson in this? I love the character, but the connection is incongruous with what I’m trying to do.

Mr. Beam, Mr. Bean, Mr. Beam.

Safer to stick to what you know, I guess, and Jim Beam ain’t it.

Nasty stuff, that. I’ll never understand Americans and their obsession with bourbon. It pales in comparison to true whiskey or scotch. Playdough to cement. Koolaid to an Old Fashioned. Sure, it’ll get you drunk, but damn, don’t you want it to taste halfway decent while you do it?

Target: 800 words
Written: 632 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: 'Salem's Lot, Stephen King
Comics: I Hate Fairyland 15-18
Music: Under The Bridge, Red Hot Chili Peppers

tumult

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I’m looking forward to the end, I think. I don’t want it to come until I’ve met all my goals, but I think it might be a relief.

The hope is that I don’t lose the ability to do all this stuff before I go, or turn into some mediocre shade.

Or worse, give up.

Fuck suffering, fuck with a purpose. Endless pleasure and a cacophony of orgasm is the end goal, after we get through all the awkward and uncomfortable talk about whether it’s okay to kiss or hold hands.

We’ll get to the kink when it’s time to spice things up, I suppose.

Target: 800 words
Written: 191 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Brothers Of Earth, CJ Cherryh (I might even finish this, finally)
Comics: Bully Wars 5, I Hate Fairyland 1-3
Music: Unchained, Johnny Cash

the cursing cursor

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It stares at me. Dares me. Five drafts down, and still shit.

Maybe it will never be else.

Just a pile of runny diarrhea, not even kind enough to be cohesive, splattered on the floor.

How long is ten thousand hours?

Can I training myself in the art of creating shit?

The art of defecation on the page?

These are the questions that spit at me in the mornings.

Are you nothing more than a diarrhea factory? Leaky housing for liquid shit?

Ain’t I hot?

Target: 800 words
Written: 374 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Adventures of Captain Hatteras, Jules Verne
Comics: The Crow: Wild Justice 1-3, The Crow: Waking Nightmares 1
Music: Ozzfest, Disturbed feat. Chester

remember me?

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I’m increasingly beginning to think I’m playing lute for the damned.

The seemingly unstoppable march of fascism, climate change, gun violence, bigotry, overpopulation, war, fucking microplastics…

At this point, I’m thinking I could write humanity’s single greatest work of fiction, and it wouldn’t matter, because humanity itself will be gone before my lifetime is out.

My lifetime might be tomorrow.

Armageddon might be tomorrow.

I have works of staggering genius in me, but I fear that neither I nor anyone else will live to see them.

Nor will I ever get my head far enough out of my ass to complete them.

Is it still fatalism if it’s true?

Target: 800 words
Written: 535 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Adventures Of Captain Hatteras, Jules Verne (it's nice to feel cold in this heat)
Comics: The Crow: Flesh And Blood 3, The Crow: City Of Angels 1-3
Music: Overrated, Mudmen (me?)

what’s not to love?

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It’s Deadpool & Wolverine day for me, and I am stoked.

Not only is Ryan Reynolds one of my favourite comedy actors and fellow geeks, he’s also a good Canadian boy, which I appreciate.

Weirdly, I’ve never been particularly nationalist, but I like to support the locals, especially when they’re doing cool things (sorry, Bieber, Nickelback, you ain’t my cup of tea).

Anyway, excited. The first two were great, so I can’t wait.

Also, my second writing milestone was hit this morning, so a mini cigarillo is in order, and it’s nice enough to do it, so yay!

Target: 800 words
Written: 430 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Adventures Of Captain Hatteras, Jules Verne
Comics: The Crow 3-5, The Crow: Dead Time 1 (can I just say that The Crow is a seminal work in Gothic horror/romance?  Every time I've read it, it hits me - fucking angst, anger and love injected straight into my veins.  Absolutely gutting.  Absolutely beautiful.)
Music: Outcesticide, Nirvana

the night before

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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: Origin Of Symmetry, Muse

the worst ever

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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: One Particular Harbour, Jimmy Buffett (and sorry about the Chester crack yesterday, it was uncalled for, especially from a guy who followed it up with Jimmy Buffett and suffers from depression. I should know better. In Chester's defense, the best two songs on this otherwise generic pop album were the ones written by him. They tried something different and it didn't work out. One evolves, sometimes. Sometimes, one just gets off track. Everybody fucks up sometimes.)