Category: health

roses and violets

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Roses are red
Violets are blue
Hearts are black
And lungs bruised
Legs are weary
Head aches
I’ve gone too far
Before I wake
The road behind
Is trampled waste
Lessons learned
And lost in haste
Roses red
And dipped in black
Falling slowly
Down my back
Burning muscles
Acid lungs
I’ve come to know
My race is run
And if I die before I wake
May someone find
What I meant to make

Target: 1000 words
Written: 80 words, poem: Roses And Violets

Read: Constellation Games, Leonard Richardson
Comics: Chew 13-16
Music: Never Hear The End Of It, Sloan

legacy

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I want to leave behind a body of work that people can dig into and enjoy, even if it’s just in the dissection of me as a person.

I’m sure it won’t all be flattering; I’ve behaved terribly at times.

Such is the life of a drunken wannabe punk kid from the small towns of Ontario. You’ll say and do shit to regret later; apologies don’t mean it didn’t happen.

It also doesn’t mean it’s who you ended up.

I don’t know how I’ll end up.

But I’m worried I don’t have the stamina or force of will for the long run.

Please don’t let me end up one of these cozy mystery writers, or some detective or spy novel fuck, churning out the same formulaic CSI bullshit each week.

It’s always the goddamned butler.

I want my legacy to be more complex than that.

More compelling; equally pathetic, mildly horrific, one long cringe punctuated by the occasional, “Okay, he’s growing on me.”

He’s getting better.

Please let me leave it behind.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 326 words, poem: Roses And Violets

Read: Constellation Games, Leonard Richardson
Comics: Chew 9-12
Music: Never Been On MTV, Dead Kennedys

the mungk

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It started off as a riff on a couple of classics, as so many of my things do: the monster under the bed and it was a dark and stormy night…

I can’t seem to help postulating on other ways to see things; it’s a gift and a curse. The need to play devil’s advocate and constantly ask what other ways a thing can be seen is so ingrained in me, it’s just about impossible to keep from indulgence.

The monster under the bed merged with the concept of little things draining the life and verve you’re born with, and grew to encompass loss, abandonment and trauma.

The Mungk is a meditation on the birth of resignation, of fatalism.

Hopelessness, as seen through the guise of a children’s story.

It’s an exploration of how, as we grow, the world reveals itself to be far less well-meaning and static than we presume as children, where parents are gods, friends are forever and it’s one adventure after the other.

I won’t claim to have been abandoned or abused or any of that good stuff. My parents were pretty good. We had our fights, but nothing like what other poor souls have been through. I was disemboweled by a tree when I was eight; it didn’t make me grow up vowing revenge against improperly cut stumps.

(What a shitty superhero that would have been – the Leveller!)

I was more traumatized by the loss of faith; as I’ve said before, if you want to lose your religion, read the Bible. If you’re not out by Leviticus, there’s something wrong with your basic human decency.

The Mungk is trauma on trauma on trauma.

It’s overwhelming, it’s so much bigger than something we can deal with, in a child’s parable.

I’m sorry to unleash this on the world, but well, it’s the thing I’m most proud of, to this point. It’s good.

I think it’s great.

I could be wrong.

That’s the risk a person takes in creating anything. We build, we create, we connect the dots. We put it out into the world and now, it’s something for the jackals. Their noses twitch, their lips pull back from their teeth.

They pounce.

Anyway, the Mungk is born, for better or worse.

Only time will tell if this post is the beginning of something huge, or just another whisper in a storm.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 1618 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Mindset: The New Psychology Of Success, Carol Dweck
Comics: Chew 1-4
Music: Neutral Milk Hotel Essentials, Neutral Milk Hotel

falling asleep

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Falling into skyrocketing blood pressure.

It’s like being so drunk you lose all balance and suddenly, tip sideways into the snow, but you’re stuck in the moment where balance fails and you’re just about to tip uncontrollably…

Without even the good time first.

Well, technically. I’m sure the abuse I put my body through was a good time at the time. I just don’t remember any of it.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 1549 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: I'll Be Gone In The Dark, Michelle McNamara
Comics: The Boys 57-59, The Boys: Butcher, Baker, Candlestick Maker 1
Music: Necessary Evil, Deborah Harry

snow market

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Technically, it’s the Dresden Night Market, but whatever. It snowed all day yesterday and is slated to all day today and tomorrow and the next and the next, etc., etc., etc., until climate change murders us all.

Assuming our new fascist overlords don’t get there first. My hope is that Trump’s ego pisses off the rich and they start using their influence to fuck him over.

But for now, it’s winter markets and praying the world doesn’t collapse before I get a chance to finish all that I desire to do.

It’s just too goddamn bad I decided to leave the starting line after most people have already run the race.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 1559 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: I'll Be Gone In The Dark, Michelle McNamara
Comics: The Boys: Highland Laddie 4-6, The Boys 48
Music: Near Truths And Hotel Rooms, Todd Snider (DB Cooper is stuck in my head; that's where you'll find him)

ticklish throat

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Luckily, it’s not from a cold or COVID or strep or whatever.

It’s from fucking potato chips.

I know better than to eat those things, because no matter how delicious, their deep fried goodness makes the bile rise in my throat as I sleep, causing me to rush to the washroom, down half a dozen or more Gaviscon and a couple of gallons of water, none of which staves off the dry tickle that will now relentlessly haunt me for the rest of the night.

So, here I am, again, sleep-deprived, coughing, wondering why the world won’t let me sleep.

Oh, right, potato chips.

Yeah.

I did this one to myself.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 2432 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Uncertainty: Turning Fear And Doubt Into Fuel For Brilliance, Jonathan Fields
Comics: The Boys 29-30, The Boys: Herogasm 1-2
Music: Naked, Talking Heads

maybe i’ll just focus on enlightenment

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Like, let the world burn.

I’m just going to write and read and figure out how to be happy.

Maybe I’ll get it by the time I die of old age.

Maybe I’ll die before then and never know, but then, at least it will be over.

Target: 900 words
Written: 832 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Hepatitis Bathtub And Other Stories, NOFX
Comics: 100 Bullets 89-92
Music: Up To Here, The Tragically Hip (fucking seminal, man - if Gord Downie is ever outed as a rapist or racist or whatever, I will lose all faith in humanity.)

taking a break

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The knowledge that we’re about to plunged into a hellscape has made me withdraw a little.

I was hoping we were finally done with these assholes, but nope. At least another four years (and who knows how much longer because the fuck wants to do away with elections) of them.

So, I’m taking a break. I’ve got probably a month or less before I’ve got a presentable version of The Mungk (at least, that’s the target). I’m going to focus on that for now before rejoining the fight in the only way I know how.

Writing, and not being a complete piece of shit.

I mean, I’m a little turd, but maybe there’s some leftover corn in me?

Anyway, not a total piece of shit, like those guys.

Fuck ’em. Fuck ’em forever.

Target: 900 words
Written: 331 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Hepatitis Bathtub And Other Stories, NOFX
Comics: 100 Bullets 85-88
Music: Up On The Sun, Meat Puppets

the end of the cold?

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I mean, it’s not horrible today. I’m tired still, and there’s still some guck in my throat, but other than that, it’s not terrible.

The coughing has stopped. The sinus headache has dissipated into the air.

I’d like to disappear into the air.

Who knows where I’d land?

Target: 900 words
Written: 640 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 69-72
Music: Unsupervised, Mono Puff