And blowin’. Ninety km/hr winds.
My glasses froze to my face and gave me a wicked headache.
Damn, sun. Rude.
Target: 1400 words
Written: 586 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Tesla: Man Out Of Time, Margaret Cheney
Comics: Fables 36-39
Music: A White Sport Coat And A Pink Crustacean, Jimmy BuffettA thoroughly enjoyable evening, after last night’s thoroughly enjoyable oyster bar.
Followed tomorrow, probably, by thoroughly enjoyable heartburn.
My scale is crying.
Why would a man eat an entire buffalo chicken and blue cheese pizza to himself?
What could possess him?
Devil’s work, if you ask me.
But don’t. The shame won’t allow me to answer.
Target: 1400 words
Written: 3020 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Complete Poetical Works, Edgar Allan Poe
Comics: Fables 24-27
Music: White Crosses, Against Me! (one of the best)Multiple meanings for that these days, as you’ll eventually see.
If there’s ever a movie written of my life, it’s going to be a lot of stuttering and masturbation, followed by a slow, tortuous breakdown in front of a computer.
I know it was a shittier time, but past generations had such grand adventures; our life is so regimented now.
You must do this. You must do that.
There’s no time for peace. No time for quiet.
Where’s my goddamned quiet at?
No, I run, and run, and run, it all just runs me down.
Target: 1400 words
Written: 1823 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Prozac Nation, Elizabeth Wurtzel (I was excited to read this, thinking I might comiserate, but this is far less a description of depression, but rather narcissism using depression as its party mask. There's a point where she reaches true depression, I think, and there's a perfect description of it, which made me think, okay, finally, she understands, but then she magics it all away with a drug, and spends the rest of the book bemoaning the fact that she did it before it was cool, like some pretentious alt-rock kid pissed off the little indie band they liked signed a deal with a major label. This book? Five percent depression, the rest about as real as the proverbial cut my wrist width-wise instead of lengthwise cry for attention. Disappointing.)
Comics: Fables 20-23
Music: White Chalk, PJ HarveySo, I suffer from depression. I don’t take drugs for it. I don’t go to therapy. I’m sure that would probably help, but the drugs I’ve tried have always made me feel worse, rather than better, and well, who the fuck has the time and money for therapy?
The thing is, I refuse to let it define me. It can run me, and it’s a struggle and fight every single day. Some days are worse than others. But I will not be labelled as the guy with depression.
I see it a lot now, and perhaps it’s a generational thing, where people label themselves with whatever damage they’ve got, physical or otherwise, and then that becomes their identity. It’s not a bone that needs to heal; it’s a bone that needs to stay broken, because it’s who they are.
It defines them.
But we’re so much more than that. Melancholy (aka depression) was just a piece of Abraham Lincoln. One could hardly say it was the primary fact of this life.
It was only part of it.
The generations behind me (and I blame my own shoegazing generation for starting this shit) seem to think it’s the only definition of themselves that matters.
I have anxiety, therefore, I am anxiety.
I have ADHD, therefore all I am is a lack of focus.
Man, fuck that. Treat yourself, do the things you have to do to get better or at least, function better within the restrictions you’ve got, but shit – it ain’t you.
Depression is not an identity; it’s just a thing that happens.
Depression is not the core of your self; it’s a chemical imbalance, or the sum total of some disparate thoughts or shitty life events.
It is NOT you.
That’s important. Remember that. You are not your depression; you are you.
And you have control over that.
Target: 1400 words
Written: 1102 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Prozac Nation, Elizabeth Wurtzel
Comics: Fables 9-12
Music: Whip-Smart, Liz PhairSeems to be a lot to think about these days.
Hopefully, that whole manifestation thing isn’t legit.
Target: 1400 words
Written: 764 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran
Comics: Youngblood v4 4-7
Music: Wheels, Foo FightersYou know, it’s really tough to write a scene-ending line about the possibility of a prostate massage.
Technically, an objection to it, a total horrifying of the moral senses.
(Except, you know, get your prostate checked. That shit’s important, fellas, both in a medical sense, and a what’s good for the goose sense.)
Polyps is no joke, kids.
Target: 1400 words
Written: 1483 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde (prostates, you say?)
Comics: Brigade v3 1, Youngblood Bloodsport 1, Youngblood Genesis 1-2
Music: Whatever Happened To P.J. Soles?, Local H (quite possible the most underrated one hit wonder ever)If there were like, only a few million people on earth. Enough so you’d have someone to talk to, and stuff to trade, but otherwise, you’re mostly left alone to do the things you want or need to do.
Also, if they could all be cool, that’d be great.
It is an issue, though, this overpopulation. We’re breeding ourselves out, and we’re ignoring it completely.
Target: 1400 words
Written: 2672 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: The Dog Who Wouldn't Be, Farley Mowat
Comics: Bloodstrike 18, New Men 10, Brigade v2 16, Team Youngblood 17
Music: Ween Essentials, Ween (ween ourselves right out)I’ve been thinking about corpses all day and it’s something I’d rather not.
It hasn’t left me with a lot to say.
I’ve seen too many, and too far gone. Death is a part of life; if you believe the anti-immortals, it’s what gives meaning to life; mostly, I think it adds time pressure, an urgency we don’t always feel.
So many of us don’t feel it at all, do we?
What a waste, man. What a waste.
Target: 1300 words
Written: 961 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: Magician's Gambit, David Eddings
Comics: Troll: Once A Hero 1, Youngblood Strikefile 5, Badrock And Company 1, Bloodstrike 14
Music: We Built This City, Closet MonsterI finally found her.
I finally found the person that can’t hit my veins.
This, from the guy who once made a joke to a nurse, “I would have made one hell of a junkie.”
Goals, people.
Goals.
Target: 1300 words
Written: 1661 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: The Last American Vampire, Seth Grahame-Smith
Comics: Bloodstrike 1-2, Youngblood Battlezone 1, Youngblood Strikefile 1
Music: Warped Tour (Ashbury Park, NY), SublimeNo more nausea, and the Imodium I took ended the diarrhea, but as it so often does, bound me right the fuck up, which will be worse in a day or two.
Drugs.
Can’t live with ’em, can’t just enjoy being high.
Target: 1300 words
Written: 1080 words, novel: Bad Neighbours
Read: The Last American Vampire, Seth Grahame-Smith
Comics: Brigade 2-3, Youngblood 0, 4
Music: Warped, Red Hot Chili Peppers