I’m exhausted, poor and in physical and mental anguish.
I just want connection.
Love.
Time alone.
Time to relax, recharge, catch up.
The most love a person could show me would be to allow that to become true.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 727 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: The Pilgrim's Regress, C.S. Lewis
Comics: Fathom v5 2-5
Music: End Of The Century, The RamonesYep.
It’s fucking Thursday.
Jerks.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 1277 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Pawn's Dream, Eric Nylund
Comics: Fathom v4 5-6, Fathom: Kiani v2 0-1 (who the fuck let Scott Lobdell take over this franchise; the man clearly didn't get the subject matter and just wanted to write another fucking DC or Marvel superhero book)
Music: End Hits, FugaziThat used to be my motto for writing, or learning, exposure to different things, methods of storytelling, experiences, etc., but sometimes, it’s nice to fall into an old comfort.
Especially now, when you’re convinced you have bowel cancer or an impending appendix explosion, and the idiot doctor that just provided you with substandard care blew it off as gas.
Old comfort. New discomfort.
Familiar discomfort.
Crippling depression.
What’s old is new again. What’s new is ultimately old.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 1248 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Pawn's Dream, Eric Nylund
Comics: Fathom v4 2-4, Fathom: Blue Descent 4
Music: Empty Glass, Pete TownshendThis doctor thing has me spiralling. I don’t really want to get into it, but for some reason, I’m out of control depressed.
Fuck.
I hate this point.
It always makes me want to give up, begin again, or maybe not even bother with the second half.
Fuck.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 1250 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Pawn's Dream, Eric Nylund
Comics: Fathom v4 0-1, Fathom: Blue Descent 2-3
Music: The Empire Strikes First, Bad Religion (angry music sometimes helps)I don’t think I’ve felt this down in a while. I feel like everything is collapsing, and my usual techniques are not up to par.
I am working on it.
Part of me wants to burn it all down and start over (a-fucking-gain), but I’ve come too far and have too little time left to begin again.
At this point, it’s finish the chore of living or give the whole thing up.
I’m not sure what’s worse – trying constantly to make it and failing, or not bothering with it at all.
At least I’d have more free time if I gave up, more time for my family.
But this is the driver; I feel like walking death when I don’t let it out.
Let it fucking out, or let them fucking in. I don’t know which one is worse.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 1084 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Thieves' World, Assorted Authors
Comics: Fathom: Kiani 4, Fathom v3 0-1, Aspen Showcase: Aspen Matthews 1
Music: Emigre, Anti-FlagI don’t believe in God, and the fact that Trump got back in and there’s still a significant portion of the population that supports him has me questioning humanity, but it’s election day, and I can only ask the universe to do something just for once, instead of just repeatedly indicating we’re actually in hell, but it’s not fire and brimstone, it’s just a slow descent into hopelessness, where every avenue gets blocked, every bit of optimism or glimmer of encouragement is choked off, until we all just say, fuck it, it’s too much, and write monstrous run-on sentences on our blogs before giving up completely and laying down to await the crush of our bodies beneath the tanks of bigotry, hatred and greed.
As you can tell, I’m having a good day, fighting my brain and trying to hold on to some slender sliver of hope, even as I jump to conclusions about the inevitable.
Sorry. I’m a real bummer, and I’m tired of the fight.
Target: 1200 words
Written: 739 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Look Homeward, Angel, Thomas Wolfe (the bleakness of this, admittedly very well written book is not helping)
Comics: Hawk And Dove v2 5-8 (even here, the spectre of right versus left, liberal vs con, looms large)
Music: Echo & The Bunnymen, Echo & The BunnymenTake me away to paradise.
Please.
Target: 1100 words
Written: 948 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: The Last Wish, Andrzej Sapkowski
Comics: Kick-Ass v3 1-4
Music: It's Alive, RamonesIt’s over. Put me out of my misery.
Put us all out of our misery.
On the plus side, I found a good book, that’s really lighting up the old brain sockets.
That’s right.
Brain sockets.
Target: 1100 words
Written: 1115 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Joy, Osho
Comics: Strykeforce 2-5
Music: Introduce Yourself, Gord Downie (The North is just fucking... ethereal)It’s amazing how quickly one can go from totally caught up to completely off the rails.
I expected it when we go away next week for twelve days, but fuck.
The last three days have been a nightmare of busy with “not-my-own-shit” and everything went straight off the rails.
Why can’t people just leave me fucking be for once?
Target: 1100 words
Written: 1032 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Digital Fortress, Dan Brown
Comics: Cyber Force 31, Devil's Reign 0.5, 5-6
Music: Interview Thing, Lisbon, Beastie BoysI guess it’s something I really don’t give a shit about, and I can’t help but wonder what’s wrong with people who do care so deeply. Are they so insecure in themselves that they can only feel important by dropping the names of people they know or have tangential relationships which, most of which consisted of being in the same room and uttering a polite hello, if that?
Sometimes, it’s just in the same room and knowing the person’s name.
But, I mean, there’s a limit. When you’re throwing around local names like they’re big celebs, maybe you ought to consider that other people know these people. It ain’t that big of a town.
That one’s white trash. This one was a bully in high school. I applaud the work that one’s doing, but my experience *of years* with them is that they are a consummate complainer, more interested in tearing down than building up, and definitely overestimating their relative skillset.
I’ve never even heard of that one, so why do you think it’s important that I know it and conflate this complete unknown’s relative “importance” with you?
Anyway, status, status, status… what’s the point? Spending so much time on it only makes you look desperate and kind of pathetic, and lowers any status or reputation you might have.
I’m certainly no paragon, and I have many, many (oh my god, so many) faults, but one thing I will give myself is that I have no interest in status. When I was younger, sure, I inflated my ego with bullshit stories to feel better about my importance in the world, but now that I’m older, have been through shit, and thoroughly tore myself down, man, who has time for that shit?
And at our age?
Life’s too short for the front.
Target: 1100 words
Written: 2124 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children, Ransom Riggs
Comics: Cyber Force v2 26-29
Music: Interpol, Interpol