Category: culture

in office days

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They are the worst. There’s really no reason to be there. All it does is raise my tension levels, trigger my natural introvert’s social anxiety and make me work slower and worse.

I will not understand the reasons they want us to go in more often; the reason given was “camaraderie”, but fuck that. I’m not trading the peace and focus of quietude at home for a fucking high five from a co-worker.

Seriously. That was used as an example of why it’s worth coming into the office.

A fucking.

High.

Five.

Fuck that shit, Treasury Board. You’re either drunk, incompetent or power hungry.

None of these things qualify you for making decisions about other people’s lives.

If anything, they disqualify you.

Time to replace the leadership, methinks.

Target: 800 words
Written: 1230 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: 'Salem's Lot, Stephen King
Comics: I Hate Fairyland 19-20, Middlewest 1-2
Music: Live Shit, Green Day

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: More Live Random, Guns 'n' Roses (you wanted the best, but they didn't make it... so here's what you get.)

anyway, back at work

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Perhaps we could just do away with the whole work thing and just kind of live?

I know that’s not really practical if we want, you know, stuff and food and shit.

But maybe we could make it less horrible, so it’s, you know, less horrible.

Less life stealing.

More enjoyable.

Better.

Please make it better.

Perhaps if we remove the profit incentive and just focus on making cool stuff that’s actually useful and providing for our needs?

Target: 800 words
Written: 654 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Brothers Of Earth, CJ Cherryh (finally, a bit of progress - it should never have taken this long for a 250 page book)
Comics: Bully Wars 1-4
Music: Random Covers, L7, Mudhoney

the long drive home

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I’m going to miss it up there; I think it might be a final residence for me, if ever I can get to a level of independent wealth to be able to leave this situation.

My family may not relocate and what family I have there will probably be long gone by the time I get up there.

Hell, Torontonians will probably have invaded the place and ruined it, as they do with pretty much everything. Fucking Torontonians and their goddamn egos.

The older I get, the more I take issue with the presumed fact that cities are somehow more actually enlightened and their residents automatically better people than everyone else. The older I get, all I see is a sense of false superiority and unearned entitlement, over a desperate and sad posturing over status and cool.

How terribly boring cities must be, with their cookie cutter nervousness and template anxiety. Give me the calm and cruel quietude of nature any day. No bullshit in nature; only peace.

So, naturally, we’re killing it.

Everything humans touch dies.

Target: 800 words
Written: 483 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Brothers Of Earth, CJ Cherryh
Comics: The Crow / Hack/Slash 1-4 (ugh, I hate it when writers don't understand characters, and use them to push their own uninspired creations)
Music: Random Covers - Anti-Flag, CKY

morning walks

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There’s something glorious about the Canadian Shield.

It seems almost immovable, grand on a scale that begs one to try and change it, but change it one cannot. Only in the most meager of ways.

It feels like a piece of me. It feels like home. Hard, but teeming with life. Gentle, but dangerous.

Unexpected depths. Untapped resources.

Like a good Canadian should be.

Target: 800 words
Written: 614 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Brothers Of Earth, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: The Crow v2 2-5
Music: The Universal (I and II), Blur

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: Undisclosed Desires, Muse (apropos, I suppropose) <-- that's the staggering genius I'm talking about.

change for the sake of change

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I’m all for change; things change. It’s the only thing we can’t change.

But change for change’s sake, as pushed by tech companies and corporations filled with individuals who may have had a purpose at one point, but have now accomplished that task and are just trying to justify their existence?

Enshittification is a real thing, partially driven by greed, but partially, but idiocy and ego.

You design an app; it’s easy, it’s clean, it does what it’s intended to do and very well, all it requires is maintenance after that.

But then comes the lull. The people who built the app aren’t really necessary at that point; they’re really just there to fix bugs and security flaws. That means most of them can go. But they don’t want to lose their jobs, their prestige, so they start tweaking. This needs this unnecessary feature. What if we update the look?

Cornflower blue?

And next thing you know, the app is a mess, your users are disenchanted and the only thing you can do to keep them is to create more restrictive systems to try and lock them so they have no choice.

But all you had to do was maintain.

Someone should tell the bosses they are no longer needed. Coast, bitches. It’s fun, and it’s easier on everyone.

Target: 800 words
Written: 408 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Regiment, Farley Mowat
Comics: Postal: Night Shift 1
Music: Underground Network, Anti-Flag

sledgehammer

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I don’t know why, but every time Sledgehammer comes on, I want to get angry. It’s not that the song inspires that in me, it’s that, no matter what I do on my shuffle, it somehow manages to come up.

Like, every time.

I’m not that big of a Peter Gabriel fan; in fact, I think that’s the only song in my repertoire, and I think it came as part of a new wave playlist or something.

But the sledgehammer keeps returning, and it’s not cool, like the 80s TV show.

It’s just a bludgeon, one more little way for the universe to throw tomatoes at my face.

I am a Shakespearian actor playing poorly on an off-off-Globe stage.

And I’m not even in one of the good ones, or playing the juicy part.

I am the walk-on; the Sir Andrew Aguecheek of middle-class Canada.

Forever pursuing; forever the joke.

Target: 800 words
Written: 262 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Regiment, Farley Mowat
Comics: Postal: Deliverance 5-8
Music: Underground 6, Linkin Park

remixes

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I think I finally know what it is that I hate about techno remixes of other songs.

It’s the missing emotion. They often take the passion with which a singer or band carries their vision across and chop it up in a way that isn’t the same as a cover.

If one covers a song, one has to connect with the music, find a way to tie it into one’s own emotions and then to reproduce it in one’s own inimitable style.

A remix isn’t about finding the emotion and finding a way to channel it; it’s a purely intellectual exercise in chopping up something beautiful in a way that makes it seem like the person wielding the axe is hip.

And if creating something hip is all you care about, then, well, you should just stick to generic pop, because that’s all you’re good for.

I’m not saying a good remix can’t be done, but more often than not when I’ve found one (which is rare), it’s because it a minor variation on the original or because they’re brought their own emotion to the party (either distilling the original into its ultimate emotion) or adding something particular (like a new rap).

Anyway, kids, remember. Art is about conveying emotion, not just showing how clever or cool you are. Music isn’t about the appearance of abs and tits and asses; it’s about tapping into a feeling and carrying it across, whether it’s joyous, devastating or silly, it doesn’t matter.

Tap that, and leave the abs for Instagram models.

Target: 800 words
Written: 466 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Regiment, Farley Mowat
Comics: Postal: Deliverance 1-4
Music: Undercover, The Rolling Stones

of icons and disappointment

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I think I liked life better when my idols weren’t being constantly accused or exposed as total creeps.

You expect it from Republicans, but man, I wish so many of the people who I grew up thinking as good people, people to pattern oneself afterward, turn out to be assholes.

Or not.

So much of it is speculation and hearsay, so much of it divorced from reality and put upon with one’s own prejudices, that a person has no choice but to take it with a grain of salt.

It’s one thing when accuser after accuser comes out of the woodwork, because this shit tends to be serial among the rich and famous, but when it’s isolated, without evidence or corroboration… do we still believe every story?

I’m all for believing survivors, but to assume that every accusation is the god’s honest truth is downright naive, and actually malicious when put into practice. Weaponized outrage.

Some of the stuff coming out of all this has been truly horrific; some of it much more complicated than its rage conductors would have us believe. Blind belief never serves anyone. Wouldn’t it be more beneficial to be certain, as certain as one can be, and thereby discourage those who would wield outrage for personal gain, revenge or whatever against trotting out lies and thereby destroying someone’s life and career?

Anyway, thoughts on the day; I still side with women, in most cases, with the caveat that blind acceptance is always a bad idea. Myopia is never a good look. We owe it to ourselves and the presumption of innocence to at least wait for the facts before we condemn.

Target: 800 words
Written: 402 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Regiment, Farley Mowat
Comics: Postal 24-25, Postal: Mark 1, Postal: Laura 1
Music: Underclass Hero + Sampler, Sum 41