I’m out in space… I’m not sure I even see stars anymore.
At this point, I’m praying for a black hole to suck me in and show me what’s on the other side.
Target: 600 words
Written: 1641 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: People Of The Deer, Farley Mowat
Comics: Monstress 21-24
Music: Volunteers, Jefferson AirplaneIt’s the science of impact, not influence, but impact, IMPACT, something smashing into you so hard, like a monster asteroid that slams you off course, out of your steady elliptical orbit, to plummet out into space, away from your neighbours, away from the source of your light and heat, away from where you’re supposed to be, out into the endless void, where it is dark and frozen and immensely lonely and the only hope is that somehow, there’s something close enough, large enough, with enough gravity to suck you in and put you back on your axis, but the void is so big, and so empty, and there’s no guarantee you’ll be close enough to centre in your new rotation, that you’ll be in that sweet spot where life can bloom, but instead you’re cold, cold, cold, shivering without relent, or on fire, burning, bleeding, blisters bursting in poison gas…
This is the nature of trauma, and it pays to remember: there’s a hell of a lot more void than stars.
Target: 600 words
Written: 269 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: People Of The Deer, Farley Mowat
Comics: Monstress 17-20
Music: Volumen 1993-2003, Bjork (I don't know what it is about her, but there is no female artist on the planet I connect with more; something about it - there's an innate empathy, an honesty, an innocence that's somehow all mixed up with sex and love, but in the sweetest way... Maybe it's youthful memory, but there's love in them there words)I know people don’t care and they sneer at people when they’re suffering, the whole “suck it up, princess” thing and sometimes, that’s a valid requirement for getting out of the shit, but sometimes…
Fuck you. Sanctimonious fucks.
Those same people often rip open their chests to show us their bleeding hearts when the sum total requirement of their action and empathy is a post on social or an off-hand comment about those poor people.
But when it counts?
When it’s people they might actually have to deal with in their lives, rather than just people they can posture around? When the reality comes in?
Suck it up, princess.
Useless.
Eye rolls.
“They just want drama.”
Absolute dismissal.
If your empathy and ability to understand the struggles and needs of those around you ends with a couple of lines on Facebook or an off-hand comment about how hard someone has it to friends to forgive behaviour that doesn’t affect you in the slightest?
You’re not empathetic. You’re not compassionate. You’re not an open-minded person who wants to help people. If you can’t hold that same empathy and understanding for the people actually in your life, whose behaviour influences your world?
Well, then, fuck you. You’re just another self-important prick, more interested in looking good than being good.
Target: 600 words
Written: 369 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: People Of The Deer, Farley Mowat
Comics: Monstress 13-16
Music: Volume 2, CKYMetaphorically speaking.
It’s a Sunday. I don’t know how it got so far away from me. Being completely caught up yesterday, doing all the things I’ve wanted to, in order to get where I need to be and now, here I am; back behind again.
My face is bruised, blood spews from a cut over my eyebrow; I think my orbital bone is broken.
Metaphorically speaking.
My face swells, my brain too, inside my skull. I swirl, lurch and stagger.
The tasks are piling up.
This is the thing I didn’t want.
This is the pressure I was trying to avoid.
I don’t want to reevaluate.
I want to push through.
I want to make it all mean something.
But it means nothing, like a Wes Anderson film, without the whimsy and quirk, and Scarlett Johansson flashing her naked form.
Yeah, we watched Asteroid City, so I guess, technically, it does include that last thing.
Literally speaking.
So, it’s not all bad, I guess.
Target: 600 words
Written: 498 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: People Of The Deer, Farley Mowat
Comics: Monstress 9-12
Music: Plea For Peace/Taken Action, Volume 2, VariousNot that I don’t love my niece’s dance recitals but they are all day affairs, so I’m somewhat happy that I didn’t end up having to go.
It’s given me time to catch up on all the things I fell behind on as this week spiraled out of control.
It seems like a great deal is spiraling these days.
Drains and lives, swirling, sinking, disappearing into the void.
Target: 600 words
Written: 1383 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Sword Of Shannara, Terry Brooks (the man can be tedious and expositional, but he knows how to write an ending and a battle)
Comics: Monstress 5-8
Music: Volume 1, CKYIt’s funny how this seminal alternative band from the Nineties has such an influence on modern pop, but no one seems to ever mention them.
I mean, if you can listen to Olivia Rodrigo’s Guts and not hear Veruca Salt channeled through her, I have questions about your hearing and your mental state.
I try to tell my nieces these things, but they’ll, like me, have to figure it out for themselves (although I went through phases growing up that exposed me to a lot more great classic stuff, as filtered through a modern lens, than they seem to. Big band, underground Seventies punk, classic 60s acid rock and the original Fifties jump rock – crooners, The Beatles, The Doors, hell, I even went through a Michael Jackson/New Kids On The Block era – though not after I heard my first alternative – INXS and R.E.M. are forever my gateway drugs, as was The Joshua Tree).
Anyway, great band. Listen to them more, if you can. L7 too – nobody rocks harder, except maybe Lemmy.
Target: 600 words
Written: 556 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Sword Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Y The Last Man 53-56
Music: Voices Carry, Til TuesdayIf you know anything about me, it’s that I hate being late.
HATE IT.
I’m late for one thing and it’s like a Rube Goldberg machine of frustration, a fucked-up domino of cascading destruction that leaves me absolutely fucking enraged.
And I’m the chill one.
Target: 500 words
Written: 549 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Sword Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Y The Last Man 45-48
Music: Vivida Vis!, Against Me!Sometimes, I wonder, why is this my life?
Why am I sitting on a couch, searching French asparagus recipes in a pair of swim trunks and an old St. Patrick’s Day t-shirt?
I should be sunning on the beaches of Ibiza or sauntering around Vienna or Santorini, or sharing drinks with Jimmy Buffett on St. Lucia. I should be enjoying the isolation of Lapland or the bustling, noisy markets of Marrakesh or the flowing drift of the Yangtze.
I should be surrounded by people I love, not people I haven’t let get close enough to really truly be myself with.
But, then… asparagus is pretty good. I’m a big foodie, I have a nice family, I’ve done plenty of travelling, to beaches and rivers and cities and tundra and so forth.
And Jimmy Buffett is dead.
Today is about wanting what you don’t have. Today is about appreciating what you do.
And thinking the world is a worse place without the margarita man. Rest well, Mr. Buffett. I too don’t know where I’m’a gonna go when the volcano blows.
Target: 500 words
Written: 400 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Sword Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Y The Last Man 41-44
Music: Vivid, Living ColourI used to be a party person. I could go until all hours, consume copious amounts of drugs and alcohol and make an unbearably obnoxious fool of myself.
It’s a wonder I ever had any friends at all.
Pity, I assume. I’m not blind. The cool kids all had deep connections; I was just kind of there, filling space and being an idiot.
That said, now, I made it to midnight last night and today, I’m a wreck.
Getting old is the shits, which is different than being the shit.
Much, much different.
Target: 500 words
Written: 873 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Sword Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Y The Last Man 37-40
Music: Viva Wisconsin, Violent Femmes (I don't know what it is about these guys, but I connect so completely with literally everything they've ever done, except Vancouver, which sucks)