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: New Born, MuseThe 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: The New America, Bad Religion (I know, I know, not exactly comfort music given the situation, but hey, as a man raging against machines once said: anger is a gift.)I’ve mostly felt ill and drunk, like I’m outside reality.
All kinds of thoughts have screamed through my head, up to and including saying fuck it and snuffing it.
Who wants to live through that shit?
And I’d rather die than become one of them.
I won’t though, because that doesn’t let me protect my family and whoever else I can, even though that may not be something I’m able to do.
Focus on survival; focus on forward.
Focus on transcending.
Even if that means this life.
Target: 900 words
Written: 651 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 81-84
Music: New Adventures In HI-FI, R.E.M.I don’t know why, but I’m watching this guy talking about fashion on TV and all I can think is…
Someday, he’s going to die. So is the interviewer (which is a shame, she seems nice – they both do).
But so will I, so will my wife. So will my daughter, my dogs, my cats, my extended family, and every since animal, plant and person that’s ever existed.
Bummer, dude. I get that growth cannot be endless or it becomes cancer, but damn.
If there’s a higher power, garbage build, bro. Change is the only thing that does not die.
Target: 900 words
Written: 454 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 61-64
Music: Never Saw A Thing Coming, Gregger Botting (a friend of mine - check him out)And I’m sick. Runny, plugged nose (funny how these two opposite things go together so well when it comes to the common cold).
I don’t know where it came from, but probably karma.
Probably fucking karma.
Fuckin’ karma.
Target: 900 words
Written: 201 words, novella: The Mungk
Reading: Hunter Of Worlds, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: 100 Bullets 45-48
Music: Never Hear The End Of It, SloanMan, that granddaughter knows exactly where to stick the knife. The last time we were there, she got all pouty because we were leaving (she knows Sunday morning breakfast means we’re going home, so she does her best to avoid/delay it), and says to my wife and I:
“I don’t need you. I only need Mommy and Daddy.”
This time around, in between having bouts of wild fun, she turned and told me:
“I don’t like you.”
After a while, you know, while my heart was still oozing on the floor in front of me where it had been ripped out, it became a giggling game, where she was hurting to joke, but maybe not realizing it was hurting.
I tried to play it off, but I’d be lying if I didn’t feel terrible.
It was a bizarre weekend all around, and I feel like maybe I need to pull back a bit. The problem is we love the kid so much, but man, with everything else going on right now, it’s getting very hard not to get emotional over shit like that.
Anyway, more to speak on all this, but the memory is stabbing, so for now, don’t be a jerk to people.
It’s not cool.
Target: 900 words
Written: 88 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Hunter Of Worlds, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: 100 Bullets 41-44
Music: Never Been On MTV, Dead KennedysI have a lot to say, but I’m parsing exactly how I want to say it. I’m part angry, part heartbroken, part ecstatic, part mortified.
I love the damn kid so much, but the accoutrements, at times, can be galling.
Target: 900 words
Written: 211 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Hunter Of Worlds, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: 100 Bullets 37-40
Music: Neutron Star Collision (Love Is Forever), MuseThat’s a big one, Mazy, we always say after my granddaughter’s iconic reprimand to Mazy when they came face to face (she’s a hundred and twenty pounds – the dog, not my granddaughter).
Today was a big one for me as well, as you’ll see in my target numbers.
Someday, that will be de rigeur, but not yet.
Not yet.
Target: 900 words
Written: 4623 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Hunter Of Worlds, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: 100 Bullets 21-24
Music: Neon Ballroom, SilverchairNot my old friends, but my wife’s childhood best friend.
It’s nice to see them pick up where they left off and it’s nice to really get to spend time with the woman my wife always talks about, and her husband, who seems nice as well, and has quite the tragic backstory.
Of course, my wife presented me as the rich kid, which you know, I’m not. I’ve lived more in poverty than not and my parents didn’t really start making a lot of money until I was well into my teens.
I spent much of my childhood in awe of my cousin, who had the complete Star Wars figurine collection, including the Darth Vader head carrying case, while I had a basic Princess Leah and Luke, plus Chewy, which was cool. (And, they had cable. We didn’t have cable. We had antenna.)
I didn’t even have Han. No Landspeeder or X-Wing.
We were poor, kids.
(Kidding, of course – we were comfortably lower-middle to middle and then upper-middle, so my childhood was mostly a matter of restraint – two working parents, comfortable, without excess.)
Anyway, I went to a dirt school, and most of the people I knew and hung out with didn’t come from money, and the ones that did were like our family, stable income, some extra, nothing dramatic.
Normal kids.
So, when people say that I’m a rich kid, it bugs me, because they see how well my parents have done for themselves, but they see it from the later point of view, where that money was made largely after we were already teenagers, or out of the house.
My mom cut my hair with a bowl on my head, for crap’s sake. We never had brand name shit (and I still don’t give a fuck about that), except for one long sleeve Vuarnet shirt, the kind that changed colour when it got wet, which made sweating real awkward.
Fancy, we were not.
Target: 900 words
Written: 815 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Journey To The Centre Of The Earth, Jules Verne
Comics: 100 Bullets 13-16
Music: Neil Young Essentials, Neil Young