woo, doggie

I’m playing in the land of metaphor this morning, detailing exactly where the left coincides with the right and the metaphors that bind them, in the context of Bad Neighbours.

Ironically, it ended being filtered through the judge’s verdict on the Hockey Canada sexual assault case acquittal, in which she posited that while we are all on the train of believing victims, doing so without examination essentially means applying the doctrine of guilty until proven innocent, when our system runs on innocent until proven guilty. There was enough conflicts, contradictions and assertions that didn’t agree with established facts in the case for the judge to reasonably decide that she could not say there was a crime committed, beyond doubt.

Reading the specifics of her verdict, I would probably make the same choice.

And it’s important, the distinction of innocent until proven guilty versus guilty until proven innocent. How many of us had listened to someone make assertions about the behaviour of their ex, or a coworker, or a friend or enemy that had no actual bearing in reality, even if we didn’t know it at the time? How many of us have had someone assert that their significant other was mistreating them, or playing the role of victim, or rationalizing away bad or regrettable behaviour on their part, because they didn’t actually want to take responsibility for what happened?

Most people don’t want to be responsible for their own actions. They live in denial. They falsely equivocate, they exaggerate, they outright lie, often to the point of deluding themselves as to what’s actually real, in order to avoid accountability for what’s ultimately on them.

You say you want freedom? You want truth?

You have to accept two things then: understand that total freedom comes with total responsibility – these are inseparable – and secondly, that reality is not what you want it to be, it’s what is, and if you want truth, you have to be willing to suspend your beliefs and the little fictions you tell yourself about yourself, or about the way things “should” be, and surrender your open, empty mind to what is, no matter the consequences.

Freedom is responsibility. Freedom is accepting consequence. Truth is what is, it’s not what you’d like to to be, or how you want to frame it. It’s what is.

So, innocent until proven guilty is the better way to go, because believing the accuser means automatically accepting their version of the truth, which we all know can be a highly creative, even self-deluding fiction at times. It can also be true, but that’s what the process is meant to find out (and admittedly, that depends on the competence and relative framework of the process, whether truly fair, fact-finding mission or kangaroo court). But guilty until proven innocent It’s not about what is; it’s about what’s asserted; it’s hypothesis without testing. You claim donkeys can fly, you have to prove that they can. The people you’re telling they can don’t.

That’s the way it works.

And that’s infinitely better than someone shouting, “Donkeys can fly!” and then having everyone that heard them run around scrambling to build wings for mules to make it true.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 2749 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Odds On, Michael Lange (John Crichton)
Comics: Low 22, Black Science 40-41, Deadly Class 39
Music: Endless Wire, The Who

martyrs and charlatans

I once saw a chart that showed someone who worked super hard but made no connections versus someone who didn’t work, but made nothing but connections, and basically, it stuck them in two categories.

All work and no connection creates self-imposed martyrdom, while all connection and no work creates charlatans. Bullshitters versus drudge horses, with those that can find the balance (working hard and creating worthwhile things versus connecting with fans, with industry leaders and insiders, in a genuine, non-bullshit manner) as the true exceptions, the step above the rest. A martyr can find its work recognized and suddenly reach popularity, only to flame out over time (but still leaving behind good work).

A charlatan can become popular for nothing, and lose everything and be leave nothing behind.

I’m a martyr right now, that’s for sure.

May I never be a charlatan.

May I someday find the balance.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1114 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Odds On, John Lange (Michael Crichton)
Comics: Deadly Class 37-38, Black Science 39, Low 21
Music: Endgame, Rise Against (palate cleanser after Don Henley)

well, that was exhausting

But, congratulations to my youngest niece, now a high school grad and on her way to the big time.

Honestly, we couldn’t be any more proud of her and her sister.

We’ve watched them grow up, had them over weekly, as much as possible, since they were wee, and to have had that bond with them has been so incredible. It’s been really nice that they still wanted to, right up until they’re off for college.

We genuinely assumed that like most teenagers, by the time they hit high school, at least, they’d be too cool for us. But my wife and my younger niece have forged a wonderful bond, and even though we don’t talk as much as we used to, the elder one and I have always had similar interests (heavy readers, obscure music, etc).

Sometimes, change kinda sucks.

But I know it’s going to be exciting for them in their futures, and I hope to god, it’s not turned into a living nightmare by someone who doesn’t give a fuck.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1213 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Agent To The Stars, John Scalzi
Comics: Black Science 7-8, Low 1-2
Music: Elastica, Elastica (elastics?)

day two – back in office

I still don’t like it, and there’s even more people here today.

Zero out of ten, do not recommend.

Work from home, kids, in any way you can.

Hell is other people, as a smart man once said, but it’s also the self.

Basically, we live in hell, the darkest timeline, whatever, the world actually ended in 2012, and we’re just lost in a collective nightmare where things only get worse, no one can stop it and we’re all doomed to live out our days watching things turn to shit.

This is why you don’t put the boy back at work; he’s less likely to spiral.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1121 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Infinity Concerto, Greg Bear
Comics: Fear Agent 21-24
Music: Ed Sheeran Essentials, Ed Sheeran (fuck you, the kid seems like a dork, which is cool with me)

it’s the seventeeth

That doesn’t mean anything; it just means Trump is deranged and about to start World War 3 with Iran, all while his own country descends into total chaos.

There needs to be another vote, like yesterday. Surely, there’s buyer’s remorse.

There is such a thing as a recall vote; they need to implement that for presidents as well.

Here, I’d just like ranked voting, so I can voice my displeasure with Carney’s globalist, big business agenda while not automatically handing the election to the fascists on the right.

It’s the biggest swindle going; the gravy train never stops for corporations, and we all lose our actual choice, so that we don’t descend into authoritarianism under guys like Harper, Scheer and Poilievre.

What a fucking scam.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1275 words

Read: Metrophage, Richard Kadrey
Comics: Fathom v8 5-6, Fathom: The Core 1-2
Music: Eat To The Beat, Blondie (I think I might actually still be in love with Debbie Harry, like, you know, in a lusty kind of way)

sly stone’s dead

I’m not really sure what that means other than a continued reaffirmation of the cycle of life and death, or the misconception that I had that he was already dead.

Not that I’m the biggest fan of the Family Stone, but there was some good stuff.

Death in obscurity; life in obscurity.

Death in Cheers; everyone knows your name; in life, as well.

Which end of the scale? Do we all forget Angela Cartwright and her sister? Do you know her sister’s name?

Who ran IBM in the Seventies? Who stood in front of the tanks?

Whatever happened to P.J. Soles?

There’s a strong chance I’m losing it; obscurity within the family unit has me lost.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1510 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Blackbirds, Chuck Wendig
Comics: Aspen Universe: Revelations 2-5
Music: Izitso, Cat Stevens

live music

It’s been a long time since I went to a concert, and Avril Lavigne wouldn’t exactly be my first choice, but I’m looking forward to it.

Not only is it huge good dad/husband/uncle points, it should still be pretty fun. I’m not a huge fan or anything, but as far as bubblegum pop goes, she’s hardly the worst thing out there.

You couldn’t drag me to a Lady Gaga show, and if the word boy band has ever been used to describe it, I’d rather exfoliate with hydrochloric acid.

(The first is dramatically overrated and the second is the apotheosis of everything wrong with the corporatization of music.)

Still. Could be cool, and the girls should love it.

What’s the word for when it makes you happy to see the people you love happy?

Oh, right.

Compersion.

I’m hoping to be fully compersed.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 765 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Pilgrim's Regress, C.S. Lewis (what the fuck am I reading?  World's greatest strawman arguments?)
Comics: Fathom v5 6-8, Fathom: Kiani v3 1
Music: It's Not Me, It's You, Lily Allen (fuck you)

emergency room?

Yeah, right. I’ve been having pretty severe cramps every morning (and every once in a while we’re walking the dogs) for a couple of weeks now, so I figured it was time to see a doctor.

This “doctor”, who seemed far more interested in chatting up nurses than helping, does the laziest ultrasound ever, not even actually going over the sections that hurt the most, and then says, it’s gas. Take an extra acid reflux pill each day.

Fuck my life.

Why is it that someone like me, who spends so much time trying to be independent and so much time trying to make sure he’s there and doing the right things for others (and often failing), when he needs help, when he actually, finally, asks for help, the response is always from someone who couldn’t care less?

I’m so tired of being in the minority.

I’m so tired of being one of the few who actually wants to do right by others, even as I do wrong by myself.

And if you didn’t think I was an egotistical narcissist before and are thinking, well, duh, it’s your attitude bro, well, here’s your fucking moment.

My moment is doubled over with cramps.

If I die, I’m going total poltergeist on that doctor.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1200 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Pawn's Dream, Eric Nylund
Comics: Fathom v3 9-10, Fathom: Blue Descent 0-1
Music: It's A Shame About Ray, Lemonheads (it sure is)

let’s do it

You know, as much as I disparage influencers as a vocation, it’s hard not to watch some of them being overtly sexual and think, man, I wonder what it’s like to live with no shame at all?

Like not in a bad way, but just in a fully aware, I’m selling my body for money, and I’m fine with that because, it’s online so no one actually has to touch me, and I make a mint from it. In this economy, get yours, right?

I know I’m too much of an introvert for that (but a year in Finland taught me to strip away the stigma of nudity – hard to worry about it when every party or function you go to, you end up naked in a sauna with half-a-dozen other people of varied ages, some of whom might be your best friends or the girl you’re super interested in, or a bunch of old geezers you just met).

Still, if I were young and attractive, why not? Especially as a woman. Own your shit, be comfortable in your skin, exploit those who think faces and bodies on the internet belong to them. They might get to ogle you from afar, but you’re the one with the Lambo and the regular trips to cool places, all over the world.

I mean, I’d like something a bit less obviously transactional, but the shame-free part? That’s all right.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1316 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson
Comics: Fathom: Dawn Of War - Beginnings 1, Fathom 0.5, Michael Turner's Aspen 1-2
Music: Invisible Lantern, Screaming Trees (so underrated)

mother’s day

Happy Mother’s Day to all the mommies out there. My mom, also my wife, my sister-in-law, my daughter-in-law, fur baby mothers, Mazy and Sofi, also mothers in their own right, though their babies were long adopted before they got to us.

Anyone else know a mother in your extended circle of friends and family that tries to parse the Mother’s Day logic to eliminate as many other mothers as possible, so that they can feel justified in insisting that they are the only mother worth celebrating (except for the ones they don’t have to spend any time with or do anything for, so those ones are okay to be mothers of any kind – foster, step, adoptive, etc., because they aren’t interfering in the immediate Mother’s Day festivities)?

Yeah, me too. It’s weird, right?

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1246 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Gilded Age: A Tale Of Today (and hopefully, that's it), Twain and friend
Comics: Fathom Crossover Tour Book, Fathom 12, Fathom: Killian's Tide 1-2
Music: An Introduction To... Elliott Smith (fuck yes, also, by, you guessed it, Elliott Smith, comma, comma, comma)