Decided to go to Collingwood for the weekend. Seemed like a good place to get away and finish that eighth draft.
So far, so good, in that the eighth draft is complete.
Target: 900 words
Written: 531 words
Read: The Happiness Of Pursuit, Chris Guillebeau
Comics: The Wicked + The Divine 22-24, The Wicked + The Divine: 1831 1
Music: Uptown Avondale, The Afghan WhigsYesterday, I saw my shadow stretch across the yard, a giant apparition that stared back at me with thoughts of monstrous consumption.
We stared at each other for a while; it’s said one should not stare into the abyss.
Surely, it looks back.
Target: 900 words
Written: 1736 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Happiness Of Pursuit, Chris Guillebeau
Comics: The Wicked + The Divine 18-21
Music: Upstair's At Eric's, YazSo, our new beds were a no show. I took the day off to completely dismantle and remove two beds, and the fuckers didn’t even have the courtesy to show the fuck up.
How the fuck does a company, where one of the absolutely key components is delivery, not have any kind of contingency plan if one of their movers calls in sick?
That’s bad fucking management right there, made worse by the asshole who called and said, “well, what do you want me to do about it?”, as though this were somehow our fault. What a fucking asshole.
Of course, we asked for some kind of compensation, for time taken off and aggravation. Her response: “It’s not my fault someone called in sick.”
Like… really? She offered to have the manager call back, but like a coward, he did not.
If we didn’t want to have to go back out mattress shopping again, I’d demand all my money back right now. That’s some poor goddamned management right there.
We were thinking of getting a new kitchen table and TV there, but fuck that shit now. Assholes.
Fuck the muthafuckin’ Brick. You wish there was some way to tell someone up higher, but their website doesn’t even allow for proper feedback, so you know this company doesn’t actually give a shit.
Man, I’m tired of exploitive, incompetent, uncaring assholes.
Target: 900 words
Written: 870 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Happiness Of Pursuit, Chris Guillebeau
Comics: Phonogram: The Immaterial Girl 4-6, The Wicked + The Divine 17
Music: Uprising, MuseWe’ve got new beds coming today, and I’m praying it does for my sleep what a remote mountain lake does for my peace.
I’m praying to sink into oblivion and forget everything that exists.
Until, of course, the next time it does.
Target: 900 words
Written: 1276 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Happiness Of Pursuit, Chris Guillebeau
Comics: The Wicked + The Divine 14-16, Phonogram: The Immaterial Girl 3
Music: The Uplift Mofo Party Plan, Red Hot Chili PeppersI’m okay. I’m probably okay.
I mean, nobody’s really okay, but I’m okay-ish. All my idols are being destroyed one by one, which probably means one shouldn’t have idols. The lovely men and women of the world never seem to be the ones at the forefront, the darlings; it’s always the guy nobody really realized until they were gone.
Also, again, no correlation between talent and being a good person.
(See Spacey, Kevin)
It’s easy to go off the rails, and I think we underestimate how much fame can affect a person. How when people start throwing themselves at you and it’s no longer an effort to earn things, one can become entitled to the point of criminality.
For the most part, we let them get away with it, which is why it’s such a goddamned shame when the public image is ripped away.
Fuck ’em, for the most part.
But still. The Usual Suspects, Neverwhere, The Belgeriad… still good, or even great, even if the ones that created them are monsters.
It’s a conflict that never ends; is great art made less great by bad behaviour, or is bad behaviour just one facet of an artist, to be divorced or overlooked when evaluating the content of the work?
No one is perfect; some men are far less so.
There is no answer here, only acknowledgement.
Perhaps we’re just fooling ourselves, because we want to believe. We want to enjoy. We want to love.
But humanity is complex; there are ever demons with which to be dealt.
Target: 900 words
Written: 949 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Happiest Days Of Our Lives, Wil Wheaton
Comics: The Wicked + The Divine 12-13, Phonogram: The Immaterial Girl 1-2
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.)And so I did. Let it all slide.
Everything but the writing and reading.
Meditation? Nope.
Exercise? Nope.
I even forgot to walk the dogs, and neither my wife or I noticed until it was bedtime.
Good thing we wore them out the previous couple of days.
Now, if only someone would allow me a day of rest.
My “sick” day, taken for rest, wasn’t exactly restful. I’m tired of the constant go.
I need hibernation. I need newness. I need to get laid.
I need to be out of this routine, and committed (in either sense of the word).
Target: 900 words
Written: 649 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Happiest Days Of Our Lives, Wil Wheaton (ironic, ain't it?)
Comics: The Wicked + The Divine 8-11
Music: Up On The Sun, Meat PuppetsAnd being behind.
I let stuff go off the rails yesterday. I could have done better, but I didn’t.
Blame it on lack of motivation, lack of sleep (another storm, another night up with Sofi Jo), lack of willpower, depression, hopelessness, fatalism, whatever.
But I shit the bed on everything but writing and drinking yesterday, so here we are.
Behind. In pain.
Pray for me, children. This headache shall not last.
Target: 900 words
Written: 1023 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Unholy Night, Seth Grahame-Smith
Comics: The Wicked + The Divine 4-7
Music: Up From The Catacombs, Jane's AddictionI feel like it’s such a cool idea that needs better execution. Vendors, buskers, but like what about the other public stuff? I’m sure the gala was cool, but that’s limited to whoever can afford tickets.
Beyond that, there should be dark movies in the park, dark dances, dark whatever.
Like early Hallowe’en, but crow themed.
Anyway, I had a couple of nice glasses of wine while people watching, and the dogs were happy, even when our waitress tripped over her.
On a side note: that boss clearly has a type and one must ask in this day and age, is it still okay only to hire nothing but attractive girls and put them in the shortest miniskirts possible? Like, I understand the need for uniforms in a customer service business, and she was great, knew what she was doing and seemed very nice and all that, but yeah. I hope her and her fellow waitresses don’t have to put up with a lecherous owner or manager. With all the stories that have come out over the last few years, one has to wonder.
Anyway, all in all, Crowfest, in its third year (and finally having realized that if you’re going to have people outside, you don’t want it in late October/November) remains a nugget of untapped potential, going who knows where.
Sounds familiar.
Target: 900 words
Written: 2923 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Unholy Night, Seth Grahame-Smith
Comics: Phonogram: The Singles Club 7, The Wicked + The Divine 1-3
Music: Up, R.E.M.Fuck it and fuck ’em.
My brain needs a break, so naturally, during my ONE DAY OFF, I have been tasked with cleaning the entire house, cutting the grass and taking dogs and cats to the vet.
What do people not understand about fucking REST?
Target: 900 words
Written: 671 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Unholy Night, Seth Grahame-Smith
Comics: Phonogram: The Singles Club 3-6
Music: Black Friday Rule, Flogging MollyLike this one.
Most of the time, I want to write about what I’m feeling, what I’m going through, and I know it comes across as probably depressing, or angry, or manic depressive, a bit bipolar.
I’ve never been diagnosed with anything, but that’s because I refuse to go, mostly. I suffer from depression, I know it, but like I said, nothing formal.
I went once to a therapist when I broke down at work and had to take some time off, but all he wanted to do was ask me questions about internet pricing. I wonder if he ever wondered why I didn’t come back, or why I was staring at him with abhorrent disgust on my face.
That’s a guy who should not be practicing psychiatry, not if he thinks an initial session should be to talk about how much bandwidth he might get at his place, rather than what brought me in that day.
So, that’s my experience with therapists. I’m sure there’s better out there, but fuck, who has the time or money?
That’s the thing this new touchy feely existence of ours forgets – it’s offset against the horror of unrelenting capitalism, which leaves us with neither the time nor the funds to be able to engage in any of the things they want to sell us, unless we’re rich.
And ain’t none of us rich, baby.
Target: 900 words
Written: 940 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: Unholy Night, Seth Grahame-Smith
Comics: Phonogram 5-6, Phonogram: The Singles Club 1-2 (if I ever need to point to a work of utter pretentiousness, the exact kind of bullshit clever art we should all avoid, this is it - never read fiction written by someone whose interface with music is critical instead of connecting.)
Music: Unsupervised, Mono Puff