Category: personal

given up

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I guess we’re just abandoning the bathroom sink.

Moving out probably.

Whatever’s stuck down there is stronger than me. Possibly primordial. Almost definitely of the Seventh Circle, or some ancient mystical Lovecraftian shit.

Crap.

Is the Mungk in my pipes?

No, that bastard would never be so goddamned silent.

Target: 900 words
Written: 410 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Swiss Family Robinson, Johann David Wyss
Comics: The Boys 1-4
Music: Us Against The Crown, State Radio (me against the plug, really)

still stuck

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I’m blowing this thing up like a goddamn volcano at an elementary school science fair and it still won’t budge.

What the fuck is down there?

Fucking pipes existing as real goddamned life metaphors.

What the fuck is stuck, so deep down inside?

Target: 900 words
Written: 1193 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Robinson Crusoe, Daniel Defoe
Comics: Angelus 4-6
Music: Urban Hymns, The Verve (one of my all-time favourite albums... simply one of the best)

stuck plug

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My bathroom sink is suddenly completely plugged. Like, no drainage whatsoever.

Tried Drano, tried boiling water, snake, plunger, nothing but silt and shit coming up.

I’m not sure how; all that ever goes down there is toothpaste, and the occasional whiskers (and long blonde hair that I try to clean out of the trap.)

And yet, suddenly, today, like the rest of my day. Totally fucked.

Totally stuck.

Like me, seemingly forever.

Target: 900 words
Written: 1065 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Robinson Crusoe, Daniel Defoe
Comics: Angelus: Pilot Season 1, Angelus 1-3
Music: Uptown Special, Mark Ronson (my attempt to find something upbeat - it didn't work)

serial

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So, I’ve been writing for a long time. I’ve published a couple of things, written many that I’ve never sent anywhere, but I’ve never run into a piece that I wrote, but of which, I have absolutely no recollection.

Like none.

And here’s the thing. It’s fucking tight. It’s polished. It’s not revelatory or mindbending or anything, but it’s very good, for what it is.

And I remember absolutely nothing about it.

Even the topic isn’t one I’d usually write on – a serial dater who falls madly in love, then loses love, goes into a Young Werther style depression, then meets the next one and does the same thing.

It’s not long, but the characters are well fleshed out, the story has solid details and telling moments. The whole thing comes a nice full circle.

And as far as I can tell, I went into a fugue state to write it, printed it off, gave it to my wife to read and then wiped it from my memory so completely, I might as well be one of those walking, tired tropes from a Hallmark movie, that gets bonked on the head and loses the ability to remember anything except the skills they had and how to speak English.

Fucking. Weird.

And yet. Still somehow good enough to be published?

What. The. Fuck.

Target: 900 words
Written: 921 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Hepatitis Bathtub And Other Stories, NOFX
Comics: 100 Bullets 93-96 (so close, I'm practically giddy)
Music: The Uplift Mofo Party Plan, Red Hot Chili Peppers

maybe i’ll just focus on enlightenment

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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: 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.)

taking a break

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The 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: Up On The Sun, Meat Puppets

still processing

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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: Up From The Catacombs, Jane's Addiction

everyone’s going to die

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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 single 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: Unreleased Decca Live Album, The Rolling Stones

cold

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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: The Unraveling, Rise Against (certainly seems that way)

heart ripped out

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Man, 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: Unplugged In Sweden, Chris Cornell (talk about albums that leave you breathless - after Nirvana's MTV Unplugged, the best acoustic album, possibly ever)