Category: personal

sabotage

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Listen up, y’all.

There’s not a guy in my generation that doesn’t know every fucking word of this song, and immediately wants to dress up like a Seventies cop and with a bad moustache and slide over a car hood.

It’s immediate and visceral. I’m not the biggest Beastie Boys groupie, but hell, who doesn’t love that song?

Of course, followed by Come Alive by Foo Fighters, it’s a poignant, hard moment.

Makes me feel like a fucking teenager again, fucked up and wallowing, twisted about in depression and frustration, longing for something more.

And now, middle-aged and overweight, knowing it’s all a horrid lie.

Target: 600 words
Written: 447 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Awaken The Giant Within, Tony Robbins
Comics: Artemis IX 1, Apollo IX 1, Poseidon IX 1, IXth Generation 5
Music: Oh Boy - The Best Of Buddy Holly & The Crickets, Buddy Holly & The Crickets

mother’s day

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Today, we brunch and we honour our mothers, those of us who have them, and all the many things they’ve done for us, while ignoring the fairly complicated relationship we’ve had with our parents over the years.

Mother’s Day is a good time, a sticky wicket and a timebomb waiting to happen all in one.

My mother is a good mother; it doesn’t mean there’s not complexity there.

Like many GenX kids, we were largely latchkey, left to our own devices and using that time to spoil our minds with alcohol, drugs and the seedy underbelly of non-corporate living. Part of me wonders if things would be different if we had helicopter parents, but then, I’d never have the freedom or independent mind I was forced to cultivate by virtue of being left alone to figure it all out.

Perhaps a blend would be nicer; I regret a lot of my actions, but I don’t regret being able to think on my own, to be self-reliant.

So, for that, thank you, mothers. For the freedom to be, and the understanding that responsibility is inextricably entwined with that freedom.

We do what we will, and the consequences come, as is inevitable. There is no free ride; only free choice.

Target: 600 words
Written: 141 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Awaken The Giant Within, Tony Robbins
Comics: IXth Generation 3-4, IXth Generation: Hidden Files 1, Athena IX
Music: The Offspring, The Offspring (wherefore art my offspring)

jet fresh flow

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I ain’t got it.

Beck’s better at it than I. So is Flava Flav, Eminem, Ernest Hemingway, Erica Jong and Jules Verne.

I ain’t got it.

My niece raps better than I do. The other one sings better.

Everyone connects better with one another.

I am a non-valence electron, there but not involved, outside the chemical process, lurking in the outer ring.

I ain’t got it.

Target: 600 words
Written: 140 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Awaken The Giant Within, Tony Robbins
Comics: Aphrodite IX: Hidden Files, Aphrodite IX v2 8-10
Music: Of The Blue Colour Of The Sky, OK Go

second draft

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Hey, chipper self.

I don’t know if it was waking up to finding out the Leafs actually won in OT and live to play another day, or finishing the second draft of The Mungk, but I feel marginally better today.

The deck is shuffled, time to re-deal.

My body is still “depressed”, but I’m going to fight the cognitive dissonance of a body and mind telling me I should snuff it and focus on focus.

Get things done. Try new things. Use the mind. Let things go. It’s good for the soul.

Move, maybe a little. Enjoy my cats and dogs.

Are you buying this? I’m certainly trying to.

Target: 600 words
Written: 538 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Gate Of Ivrel, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: Monstress 47-50
Music: Oasis Essentials, Oasis

directionless

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I’m not sure which direction I should take.

Lay on the floor and wait for the end? Go down on my knees and beg for the end of pain?

The bed? Hiding in softness that quickly becomes uncomfortable.

I feel like my body is a prison from which I cannot escape.

Which, of course, I cannot.

We are all victims of our failing forms, our own sadistic minds, our throbbing and relentless pain.

I used to sit and drool; a pretend vacation of the mind. Master of me over mind; I too, can vacate.

Instead, here we are, waiting for the day when the drooling is incontinent and out of control.

And then, beyond.

Target: 600 words
Written: 1431 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Five Weeks In A Balloon, Jules Verne
Comics: Monstress 43-46
Music: O Tannenbaum, They Might Be Giants

sheriff

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There’s a line in Southern Bastards when the sheriff, a ex-high school football star whose career could have been astronomic if it hadn’t been for circumstance and bad choices, says about his opportunities, “I’ve fucked up every last one of mine.”

It wasn’t entirely true there. Esaw and Materhead took out his knee, on Coach Boss’ orders, thereby ending his collegiate career before it started (something you’d be surprised to see Boss do, maybe, after the way he was shafted on his own career for Bear Bryant).

But the rest? Everything after that?

That’s all him.

I feel like that’s me these days. Fucking up every single one of my chances. Settling for safety in fear and losing the plot.

Too scared to try. Too scared to ask. Bubbling up inside like a vat of acid set to boil, scraping out everything internal, until there’s nothing left but molting flesh.

There’s some thoughts for you.

Target: 600 words
Written: 1324 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Five Weeks In A Balloon, Jules Verne
Comics: Monstress 39-42
Music: Vulnicura, Bjork

spiralizer

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I use it mostly to create zucchini noodles, but sometimes, it likes to take up residence in my head, and spin me out of control, akin to a piece of fluff floating on top of a bath, that’s being rapidly drained out.

Where does all that water end up? The sewer?

Am I a piece of fluff, doomed to hang out in the shit the rest of my life?

I used to think I’d like to aspire to living in a cardboard box, but it’s a hard life, feeding yourself and begging for enough money for booze and drugs. Too responsible.

Then, I thought I’d like to be super rich, but rich people are always fighting off scavengers for their money, and there’s a disconnection and cruelty that festers beneath the freedom, and that’s not who I’d like to be.

Plus, there’s all you have to do to get there. You have to, at least, go to the convenience store attached to the gas station and buy the lottery ticket.

There’s no escaping responsibility.

The only way out is through.

Or death, but that’s a whole other topic.

Target: 600 words
Written: 725 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Five Weeks In A Balloon, Jules Verne
Comics: Monstress 35-38
Music: VU, The Velvet Underground

i go through all this

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Beeefooore you wake up.

Sorry. Bjork phase. I do like to get up early. I like the quiet. The alone time. If I can get that, and get enough things I want to get done before I engage with the world, the world and me are both infinitely better off for it.

I don’t go in rushed and angry, upset and falling behind. Frustrated and distracted.

And, the sense of peace is palpable.

That, of course, is not today. 

Target: 600 words
Written: 797 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: People Of The Deer, Farley Mowat
Comics: Monstress 31-34
Music: Vs., Pearl Jam (one of my all time favourites, I cannot believe it's been so long since I listened to it.  Indifference is my spirit animal.)

it’s not getting better

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It’s not getting worse either, but everything seems difficult.

Each and all is one calamity after the other, one hurdle after another.

If this universe is intended to be benevolent, or even just in its neutrality, then it is doing a poor job.

We have found hell, and it is life.

Target: 600 words
Written: 733 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: People Of The Deer, Farley Mowat
Comics: Monstress 29-30, Monstress: Talk Stories 1-2
Music: Voodoo People, The Prodigy (pretty much the only electronic music I consistently enjoy; the rest is mostly bullshit)

i know it’s been dark

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I feel like Allin, desperately trying to hold on to the last bit of possibility, as a nightmare drains me.

I am trying to find the light, the tunnel, the way through, but man, this is a hard, cruel, unfair world, and all the odds are stacked against anyone not born to privilege.

What a life it must be, when frictionless glides replace mob burns and quicksand feet.

Target: 600 words
Written: 339 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: People Of The Deer, Farley Mowat
Comics: Monstress 25-28
Music: Voodoo Lounge, The Rolling Stones