drinks with rednecks

I think it’s good to share a drink with the enemy sometimes.

See, the thing is that in the media, and particularly in social media, it becomes very, very easy to paint everyone with a particular brush. If you believe the right wingers on social media, all lefties are part of a millions-strong conspiracy to use fake science to push an agenda of… ending pandemics and climate change (it is unclear how we profit from these deceits), while using immigrants as fake voters to protect our ability to do so. Of course, if you listen to most right wing bloggers (and their bots/commenters), lefties are all pedophiles, and somehow, vaccinations and green energy helps with that? I’ve never understood the logic of what they think our motivations are. I’ll guarantee it’s not pedophilia, and there are an awful lot more headlines of right wingers getting busted for that stuff than there are drag queens and other lefty icons (Bill Clinton aside – sorry, Bill, but that’s fucked up and you should go down for it).

On the left, however, we tend to think of right wingers as hateful, uneducated, mindless boors, Nazis slavering over their chance to cleanse the population of all but straight, white males and their subservient women, but the truth is more complicated than that. If all you ever read is left-wing bloggers and newspapers, I’ve got news for you. You’re only seeing the worst of the worst there. If you’ve ever actually spent time with a southerner, for example, you’d know that despite their political views, most of them are pretty genial. They don’t spit racial slurs in the faces of minorities (although they will probably say it behind their back, in couched terms), and the majority of them, split off from the rhetoric, are actually quite nice. Even kind of fun. There’s a good natured, joshing camaraderie that’s a breath of fresh air when compared to the pearl clutching culture of non-offense and victim identity often experienced in my usual left wing circles. Despite the fact that I completely disagree with Trumpism and the politics of bigotry, I do agree with one thing: we’re too fucking precious here on the left.

Being offended is good, if it’s something really, truly to be offended by. But tiptoeing around everyone because we’re afraid of the constant threat of labelling and outrage, of possible cancellation, for even a perceived (not actual) slip? It’s a poor way to live, if only for our own mental health.

I miss the Nineties, when we young, grungy punks opted out, opposing bigotry and authoritarianism while declaring no topics off-limits, no subject too dirty. We all got to be fucked up in our own ways, but if we were being whiny little bitches about it, we got called out. If we weren’t, we got hugs and sympathy.

It’s good to eat shit every once in a while. It’s good to poke a hole in the old ego, the identity, especially if it’s one that disempowers us and makes life miserable for those around us.

Fucking have a drink. Have a laugh. Get off the high horse, and don’t engage the bullshit. Find common ground. Forget the stereotypes and take them as they are – imperfect representations of things that may or may not resemble them.

Because that’s the problem with stereotypes: at some point, you have to deal with the actuality of the person or people you’re trying to stereotype. If you can drop the stereotype and find that common ground, all the bullshit goes away, and you can have a pretty decent time. You may not agree on everything; you may vehemently disagree on some things, but if you set the preconceived notions aside…

Well, shit. It’s almost like we’re all human.

Target: 400 words
Written: 227 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Aesop's Fables
Comics: Nailbiter 24-27
Music: Katy Perry Essentials, Katy Perry (don't judge me, I love the tongue-in-cheek aspect.  I appreciate someone who doesn't take herself too seriously.)

return to the cape

I can’t lose the sea legs. Every time I sit down, my head feels like I’m still on the waves.

I am not looking forward to sleeping.

I am also looking forward to sleeping.

Is that a metaphor for life or what?

Target: 400 words
Written: 247 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Power Of Now, Eckhart Tolle (so, so much to say about this fraud, but again, it's for a book idea)
Comics: Nailbiter 20-23
Music: Karma Police, Radiohead (I mean, these guys... not so much the later, more pretentious stuff, but everything up to OK Computer, right?)

bimini

It’s hot here. There is sun and sand and the water is a velvet blue that’s almost unreal.

Naturally, I’m thinking about death.

Well, an afterlife. I don’t believe in religion or God or any of that, though I won’t entirely rule out the possibility of a divine intelligence. I just don’t subscribe to anything specific. For me, anyone who claims to know the mind of God is full of shit; if it’s truly an omnipotent, all-powerful being, then our ability to understand it is equivalent to that of an amoeba grokking cutting edge physics.

Times a million.

Anyone who claims to know otherwise is trying to take your money or control you; that’s it, that’s all.

I know, logically, we decay and separate into atoms which then float out into the world and become part of the fabric of the universe around it (stardust!).

I would like to think our consciousness goes to another place, a new “heaven”, where I get to live out an entire life at each crossroads. Every decision that could have been, how would that have been. Every potential friend, potential lover. Every potential job. What if I took the time to become a botanist, a doctor, a sculptor, a mechanic, a ditch digger, a porn star?

What would it all be like?

Imagine getting to know, really, really know, the people that passed through your life, no matter how minutely. How that girl you saw crying on a bench from the bus window’s life went. What was she crying about? What if you had taken that chance? What if you had made that mistake? What if you did everything right?

You could live an infinite number of lifetimes; the joy isn’t in exploring what would have been different, but in really digging and discovering what was going on around you when it was the same, and how your perspective was coloured by or ignored it. It’s not about the sex you’d have with all those random hot passersby, but taking the time to really understand who they are, what they want, what their past was like, how they think, how they feel and how to connect so completely with them that growing together into something wonderful is inevitable.

It’s about opening up the entire world; in infinity forever. And once you know all you want to know, when you’re done learning, when there’s no more curiosity, then, you can step out the door.

Target: 400 words
Written: 602 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Power Of Now, Eckhart Tolle
Comics: Nailbiter 16-19
Music: The Karate Kid (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack), Various (don't ask)

mom’s birthday cruise

Well, onto the boat for my mother’s birthday. It’s been thirty years since I was on a cruise ship, and unlike when I was teenager, there will be less drunken idiots fucking around and falling over than before. Of course, there’s still hundreds of middle agers that don’t realize that and getting pissed up anyway.

At least there’s a nice steak dinner at the end of it.

Or would be, if this boat wasn’t rocking so much. I don’t remember the disorientation of sea legs from when I was seventeen. I do remember a friend of mine being terribly ill and asking me incredulously, “You don’t feel that?” to which I replied, honestly, “feel what?”

I thought he was being a pussy (which is a teenage euphemism for anyone suffering who is different than you and is a terribly inappropriate word to use, as anyone with half a brain knows a vagina is both tough as hell and sensitive as shit, which is a wonderful metaphor for something, probably).

Anyway, my head feels the pitch and roll now and so, Adam, sorry, dude. I thought you were being weak; turns out, I was just lucky enough not to suffer the same fate.

Until now.

Target: 400 words
Written: 374 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Power Of Now, Eckhart Tolle
Comics: Nailbiter 5-8
Music: Just A Friend, Biz Markie (I still know every single word - to this day, this cannot come over speakers without me belting out the chorus)

wait, blowdryers cause cancer?

This is a new one on me, that I just heard today.

How? Too much… air?

Heat?

Do your hair release dangerous radioactive particles under pressure of wind and fire?

Is there some kind of magnetic field like a microwave?

Are people that blowdry their hair more likely to smoke and eat fish filled with mercury?

How is this possible?

Jesus, this world is the shits.

Target: 300 words
Written: 733 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Sex Rx, Lauren Streicher
Comics: Sex Criminals 25-28
Music: John Henry, They Might Be Giants

end of training

And I’m on my own.

Spreading my wings. Still learning, taking tentative steps, shaky in the knees, and all that.

But luckily, I have a headache and exhaustion to go with it.

Target: 300 words
Written: 146 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Sex Rx, Lauren Streicher
Comics: Sex Criminals 21-24
Music: Jimmy James - Single EP, Beastie Boys

spent

It’s 7:34AM and I feel like I’m already spent.

Granted, my day starts typically at 4:50AM, so I’ve been up almost three hours.

I’ve written a bit, did some yoga and some meditation, thought about the state of world, wondered why the hell so many of these insane right wingers continue to get away with shit that is clearly illegal and no one appears to be even considering charges, wondered if I’m capable of writing humanity changing works, but it won’t matter because climate change and divisive, authoritarian politics will kill us all before it can make an impact, wondered if aliens would find these pages years later and not be able to understand a damn word, showered, maybe thought about sex a little (because I do so roughly every three minutes) and then peed, ate breakfast, made coffee, fed the dogs, let the dogs out, gave the dogs their joint medication, fed the cats, unloaded/loaded the dishwasher, played Wordle and Worldle, a game of Go on a 9×9 board with a 8 stone handicap (because I need it, apparently), then sat down and went over my to-do list, what’s left of it.

And I’ve a whole workday ahead of me.

Shit.

Target: 300 words
Written: 227 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Sex Rx, Lauren Streicher
Comics: Sex Criminals 17-20
Music: Jimmy Buffett Essentials, Jimmy Buffett (fuck you, Jimmy rocks)

post scene one

I was really hoping, thirty-seven days into this new year, that the first draft of the first novel (well, novella) I wrote in the canon of me would be a real banger.

Instead, it’s a steaming pile of dog feces.

I suppose we must walk before we run, crawl before we walk, and lay around screaming incoherently before that.

Weirdly, we end that way as well, most of us. We come in screaming, and go out spent, withered husks.

Hump day positivity, folks.

Target: 300 words
Written: 193 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Face It, Debbie Harry
Comics: Sex Criminals 13-16
Music: Jesus Of Suburbia, Green Day (like 3 separate singles)

in training

Back into it. I guess I must be doing okay at work, since they’re offering me extra work most people don’t get (or want, perhaps).

It’s not the greatest job, but as I learn more about who does what in the government and our division, I’m beginning to see that there may be other options.

I mean, as long as this writing thing isn’t paying the bills, which it’s not.

I’ve made exactly zero dollars thus far.

Of course, I don’t expect to make anything off poetry and short stories. Maybe comics. Maybe the hip little ditties if I compile them into a larger volume.

A book of short stories or poetry might work, but I’m a long way from that, and let’s face it – it’s not going to land me on the moon.

That’s the novel prerogative, and even then, it’s dicey. You gotta be good to be great and great to make any cash, which is bullshit.

We massively undervalue art in this world, always have. The absolute cream can make a living; the rest of us are scraping by.

And I don’t believe in the starving artist. I do believe that too much wealth corrupts.

But making a living?

That shouldn’t be something we have to fight for.

Target: 300 words
Written: 176 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Face It, Debbie Harry
Comics: Sex Criminals 5-8
Music: Jeremy - EP, Pearl Jam (have we deciphered the actual words to Yellow Ledbetter yet?)

home again

Quick’ems.

Fun weekend, too much food, too many snacks. My blood pressure and my waistline have suffered.

My soul has not.

Children are good for the heart.

Grandchildren even more so.

Target: 300 words
Written: 239 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Face It, Debbie Harry
Comics: Sex Criminals 1-4 (I wish I was Fraction)
Music: Jello's Revenge (Bootleg!), Dead Kennedys