let there be rock

I don’t care what how vapid and silly it might be, I fucking love AC/DC. There’s just something pure about the rock ‘n’ roll side of it (and they put on a hell of a show).

It’s like… innocent.

And not fake. That’s the thing about music. What draws me in isn’t really a catchy beat or cleverness or popularity – a song or band or singer can have all of these and be garbage.

What draws me in is how genuinely the band is into what they’re doing. It’s why great bands sometimes go off the rails by trying something pretentious and experimental, and simple, vapid bands like AC/DC can be glorious.

They are doing exactly what they want to do; they do it well. It’s clear there’s passion for the work there, no matter how much fluff it may be.

And that rocks.

Target: 900 words
Written: 459 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Hunter Of Worlds, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: 100 Bullets 29-32
Music: On Avery Island, Neutral Milk Hotel

revelations that we pray are not

I’m not talking about the Bible (which, by the way, is bullshit, and anyone who’d actually read it would tell you right away it’s not something to be followed), but about personal revelations.

It occurred to me in the midst of making notes about editing for this ninth draft that I could be one of those people that has a repressed memory that they refuse to acknowledge, but which has subconsciously destroyed their entire life, and sent them so far off track from normal that there’s no real return.

It would explain a lot.

The problem is, I can’t think of any instance of that. I know my downward spiral began at twelve, when I was going through confirmation classes and I decided, because I am a completist weirdo, that I would read the Bible (so I guess I am talking about it).

Keep in mind that I’d really committed myself to being a holy little roller at the time, and I will say it again and again: nothing will turn you atheist more than actually reading the Bible cover to cover. If you’re not out by the end of Leviticus and its pro-slavery, anti-woman stance, then certainly, by the time Saul and David have committed their eighteenth genocide, you’ve got to be asking questions.

Anyway, that threw me sideways, because this was the dominant philosophical framework of the world around me, and if it was not only faulty, but downright evil, well, then, what to believe?

(The burgeoning alternative scene that came along around the same time didn’t help – thanks, Matt, for introducing me to INXS, Dead Kennedys and R.E.M, which led directly to grunge, punk and any manner of anti-social glory. I’m sorry I never got into Cannibal Corpse. Rest in peace, friend. I’m sorry it fucked you up even worse than me.)

Anyway, this repressed memory. What if I’m walking around with one of these things dictating how I interface with the world through a lens of trauma I wasn’t even away I had?

The world is spinning out. Please don’t be a revelation. I don’t want it to be.

Target: 900 words
Written: 904 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Wishsong Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Once And Future 23-26
Music: Nebraska, Bruce Springsteen

kick out the james

Every once in a while, I like to go back and read old posts to see if I’m being a complete idiot or asshole or if there’s actual insight in any of them.

Reminders of when things were good or bad. Reminders that this too shall pass.

Instead, I’m finding typos and mistakes, like that classic MC5 song, Kick Out The James.

Because, you know, fuck James, I guess.

Target: 800 words
Written: 391 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: It's Just A Thought, Thomas Sterner
Comics: Ain't No Grave 3-4
Music: ¡UNO!, Green Day

brian wilson

Possibly the most brilliant song ever written.

Let that sink in.

There’s unexpected depth there, in addition to being very catchy. The interplay between the upset, relatively mindless work of the Beach Boys and the severe depression and mental illness of Brian Wilson?

Captured in song?

Brilliant.

Good Canadian Boys as well.

We love them.

Target: 800 words
Written: 660 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Grimm's Fairy Tales, Grimms
Comics: Twig 2-3, Image! 3-4
Music: Live Things I Found On My Computer, Red Hot Chili Peppers

tim armstrong is my spirit animal

Every time I hear him, whether it’s Operation Ivy, Rancid, Transplants or his own stuff, there’s just something so smooth about it. It hits me hard in the gut, sets up shop in the chambers of my hearts.

That’s the just way things are. That’s just the way it is now.

Tall cans in the air, motherfucker.

Target: 800 words
Written: 387 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Adventures Of Captain Hatteras, Jules Verne
Comics: The Crow: Dead Time 2-3, The Crow: Flesh And Blood 1-2
Music: The Undertones, The Undertones (Teenage Kicks, right through the night)

sledgehammer

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

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

sublime lyrics

I just want to write Sublime lyrics, as I listen to Saw Red while I try and figure out what I want to say today.

Unfortunately, I’ve come to the conclusion that I have nothing to say.

Sometimes, that’s enough.

Target: 700 words
Written: 339 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Elfstones Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Symmetry 8, Postal 16, Eden's Fall 3, Romulus 2
Music: John Coltrane Essentials, John Coltrane (I still don't really get jazz, but man, Equinox and Wise Man sucked me in.  You have to appreciate the man's skill.)

pop

I usually hold pop music in disdain, but especially this morning. What makes modern pop different than shitty 80s pop?

Slight better production? More revealing clothes?

Is there anything more tedious than some rapper bragging about how great a rapper he is? Would you even watch a ball player or a concert pianist if all they did was brag about how many homers they hit or how well they tickled the ivories? Or would it get old super fast, and no matter the quality of the production, get lost in the pathetic and annoying ego of its progenitor?

I don’t actually anything against love songs or sexy little ditties, but man, do it fucking right. Add some depth and emotion to it.

At least we seem to be moving past the phase where some producer takes a pithy inspirational phrase and creates a song around it, where there’s nothing but the same goddamn phrase repeated endlessly.

If your song has more writers than the road crew contains members, you’re not a fucking artist; you’re a commodity.

And for shit’s sake, The Weeknd, try not to sound like you’re completely bored with your own music.

Of course, it is boring garbage, and it bores me when it comes on, so why wouldn’t the man who played it a million times not be?

Target: 700 words
Written: 127 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Gregor And The Prophecy Of Bane, Suzanne Collins
Comics: Saga 65-66 (depending on how it ends, this may be the best comic series ever written)
Music: 18 Singles, U2

nothing finer

Than to be in a v… wait. No.

There’s nothing finer than a cup of coffee, a mix of David Bowie/Rise Against/Nine Inch Nails in your ears, as you finalize the edits on the fourth draft of your novella.

Thirteen scenes I hope to combine to six.

I know you can’t sell a novella. I’m hoping to package it as The Mungk & Other Bullshit, which I realize will be a tough sell on bookstore shelves, but it’s also an eyecatcher. It was suggested to me to call the book The Little House In The Country, but that sounds fucking boring and generic.

The Mungk is a weird name. And people love swearing.

You see the word Mungk and ask, what the fuck is that (although you might be one of those people who don’t swear like longshoremen, so you might say, “what a strange looking word, perhaps I should inquire as to its meaning” and then drink some tea with your pinky out and adjust your monocle, you fucking weirdo), and then pick it up.

Pick it up and maybe buy it. And then maybe that money goes through the various systems of skimming off the top from the store, the distributor, the publisher, agents, managers and probably some grifting professional organization that claims to advocate for authors, but actually keeps them poor and begging, like the RIAA and MPAA do to movies and music, and then finally, that pittance will arrive in my bank account, where it’s probably already been paid out in an advance and I’ll actually get nothing extra for it at all.

But if enough of you do it…

Well, shit.

Break out the fucking tea.

Target: 700 words
Written: 302 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter
Comics: Saga 21-24
Music: Out In L.A., Red Hot Chili Peppers