happy post-birthday, bro

Sorry, I was so caught up in poopin’ yesterday that I forgot completely – except for my post on Facebook, in which I likened your birth to a minor Biblical omen and Empire Records.

(Great movie, by the way. Not on Rex Manning Day! Also, I credit this movie with restoring my love of AC/DC, because If You Want Blood, You Got It is a spirit animal.)

Plus, whatever happened to Rory Cochrane? First, he absolutely nails Slater in Dazed And Confused, then is perfect as Lucas in Empire Records, then… what?

That level of commitment to depth and caricature deserves better.

Anyway, happy birthday, brother. I used to question your anti-social attitude (so much like my own), but you’re retired and not even fifty, so clearly, you knew something I didn’t.

I’ll be working (preferably writing), until I die. Hopefully, I won’t still be working shit jobs to that point.

Also, happy birthday Rory Cochrane, whenever that is, because you deserved better than you got. Here’s hoping for a comeback.

(Please don’t turn out to be a scumbag.)

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1702 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson (damn, this is a dense read, but should be required reading in public schools when discussing Trump)
Comics: Cloak And Dagger: Negative Exposure 2-3, Cloak And Dagger v5 1-2 (great, new powers again - and a baby)
Music: The Head On The Door, The Cure

poopin’

Hallelujah, hallelujah.

We gone from Leonard Cohen’s You Want It Darker to Hallelujah.

Normal bowel movements.

No more violently peeing out my butt.

Too much info?

Really?

God made humans, and all the awful processes inside of us, or so a character in Father Lightning insists.

Of course, he’s possessed and eats people’s entrails, so you can’t trust him.

But then, who can we trust anymore?

All our heroes are frauds.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1977 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson
Comics: Cloak And Dagger v4 4-6, Cloak And Dagger: Negative Exposure 1 (ugh, Hopeless, hopeless, it's not just the name of our former mayor anymore)
Music: Head Carrier, Pixies

must be nice to be pretty

I’m not pretty; I’m not a looker.

I’m overweight, and unkempt, and my fashion sense is non-existent, because I think fashion is mostly ridiculous window dressing, unnecessary for anyone of substance.

Why waste time on clothes if you’re not a model or going to a wedding or something?

Of course, it’s a biological thing partially, to attract potential mates, and an ego thing partially to make one feel better about at least one’s outer appearance.

Me, I’m a comfy clothes kind of guy; I can’t be bothered to tuck in.

Ever. Not since I was a child, when I would be forced to do so, and would untuck immediately, as quickly as possible.

Anyway, not pretty.

Would be nice to be.

Maybe people would treat me better.

I hear that happens for the good looking. And they get paid more.

How fair is that?

Nice jawline, bro, have an extra ten grand a year. Great butt, here’s twenty. Nice smile, bright eyes, high cheekbones?

Thirty, forty, fifty.

Great tits, six pack abs?

A hundred!

Life is real shitty for the uggos.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1522 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson
Comics: The Mutant Misadventures Of Cloak And Dagger 4-7
Music: A Hard Day's Night, The Beatles (fucking masters)

crescendo

It’s a fun word, and that’s where I’m at. Tomorrow, I’ll take on the epilogue, which, unfortunately, I know needs a metric shit ton of work.

That’s an official measurement, you know.

Look it up.

A metric shit ton.

It’s a lot.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1485 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Armada, Ernest Cline (I wanted to like this, because I liked his first one so much, but it really feels like it was just Ready Player One redux, with a storyline lifted straight out of an Eighties teen sci-fi movie and Ender's Game.  Such a shame, really, and clearly, written for sequel, even though it's unlikely it'll ever get it.  It wasn't that good, and doesn't deserve one.)
Comics: Invincible Universe: Battle Beast 8-9, Capes 6-7
Music: Hallowed Ground, Violent Femmes (is every album brilliant, or what?)

mister

There’s a moment in the scene I’m writing, one of those searching misterrrr?, waiting on the name, and it is literally killing me (actual literal, I think) that the character would NEVER do what every dad joke bone in my body is screaming to do.

“Misterrrr…?”

“Fuck off.”

“Alright, Mister Fuckoff, what can I get you?”

Every goddamned time. I might have to rewrite that whole section so it doesn’t end up my greatest regret.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 1495 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: The Stand, Stephen King
Comics: Invincible 103-104, Invincible Universe 4-5
Music: Fully Completely, The Tragically Hip (if it's not the greatest Canadian album ever, it's top five, for sure)

broken nail

I was mixing strawberry martinis for the locals when it happened.

Why there I was, in my finery, casually hulling out strawberries in the old-fashioned way, and not in this newfangled pound a straw through it method, enjoying the sweet red juice as it squeezed on to my fingers. I quartered and hulled the little red droplets, and dropped them in a stainless steel shaker with a slice of lemon and a smattering of thyme.

Then came ice, and gin.

I was on my third one when the fateful blow was struck. Muddling as I was, perhaps a bit too aggressively in my zeal for the drink, when I discovered the inappropriate nature of my grip. Indeed, thumb pointed down like a golfer, I’d mistaken speed and aggression for efficiency and muddled down, off-centre. The metal ring of the steel shaker’s bottom half, as it turns out, is a perfect crescent in the exact arc of my thumbnail, and indeed, when jamming down mightily, will slip right between the nail and its bed, and separate the two, in most painful fashion.

Don’t worry, I drank that one. The red of my blood mixed effortlessly with the strawberry mash. No one would have noticed, I’m sure of it.

Gee, Empty, this is a little saltier than normal.

Only time will tell if this is permanent, like the split in the other one, now on its fifteenth year. I don’t even remember how that one happened, but there’s a good chance it involved the drink.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 768 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Well Of Shiuan, C.J. Cherryh (this series transcends, like OK Computer or a Bernini sculpture - it's absolute brilliance)
Comics: Voodoo v2 6-7, Grifter v3 7-8
Music: Flip Your Wig, Husker Du

new ways of thinking

Or old, technically. I have a whole thing to think about involving the nature of language and culture and ways of thinking, and…

Nope.

Someone’s here to pick up my brother’s dog.

Thoughts are for tomorrow, I guess.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 998 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Castle Of Wizardry, David Eddings
Comics: WildCats 3.0 16-19
Music: The Final Countdown, Europe (why are all bands named after cities, states and countries so fucking bad?)

kindness, in mini, part 0.5

Be kind to your miniatures. For real.

The tiny clones of you running around that you whipped up in the lab? They may be driving wild like manic leprechauns, but they deserve your compassion.

They’re just wee, dontcha know?

I am terribly sorry. You have my empathy and compassion.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 2105 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Still Just A Geek, Wil Wheaton (so much to say on this, I think it'll have to be a post)
Comics: Grifter v2 12-13, WildC.A.T.S. 40-41
Music: The Fat Of The Land, The Prodigy