falling over

I feel like I’m about to collapse.

It’s been thing after thing after thing, and trying to find time to write anything has been next to impossible. I’m stealing sleep to do it.

Fuckin’ hell, I don’t know why all of a sudden, everything, for months, is so fucking busy.

I hate it.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1496 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Magician: Apprentice, Raymond Feist
Comics: The Sacrificers 8, Napalm Lullaby 3, The Holy Roller 6, Grommets 1
Music: Wave Of Mutilation: The Best Of Pixies, The Pixies

thirteen again

Would that I was. Fresh off reading the Bible all the way through, about to have my first drink, my first drug, my first real make-out session (my first kiss happened in grade one with a girl named Jessica, who ironically, was not my childhood sweetheart – that was Shelley, who my parents tell me is now some kind of super junkie, so, uh, I guess I had an early type), my first summer love, my first experiences with weed, mushrooms, acid and sex (not all at thirteen, of course, though it was a close thing).

I was told how smart I was; they made it sound like natural talent, so I never felt like I needed to learn how to put effort in. Things came too easy, and that fucked me later on, when they didn’t, and I didn’t know how to buckle down and study.

Classic fixed mindset, that didn’t shift until my mid-thirties.

I backed up that insecurity with bluster and bravado.

Bullshit.

And now, thirty-five years later, I still fight the demons of youth.

I’m not a junkie, not yet. I’m quite possibly an alcoholic, though I’d disagree with the sentiment, given that I’m rarely drunk and don’t actually have more than about a six-pack in a week.

I just like it, okay?

Leave me alone, dad.

Fuck.

Labatt 50 was my first sip of beer, and goddamnit. It sucked.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1140 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Magician: Apprentice, Raymond Feist
Comics: Napalm Lullaby 1-2, The Holy Roller 5, The Sacrificers 7
Music: Wave, Patti Smith Group

mary, mary, quite contrary

I’m a contrarian. I don’t do it on purpose. There’s just something in my brain that hears an opinion or a thing accepted as fact and can’t help but play devil’s advocate and ask: what if it wasn’t?

It’s an absurd desire to see the other, that I can’t quite avoid. I used to call it opening worlds, and that’s a good an explanation as any, but it comes down to this. Whatever the view is, I want to see the other one.

Or another one. There’s rarely just two. It means constant growth, and it avoids dogma, but it does tend to put one on the outs with everyone else.

Always asking the question: what are the other ways to look at this? What if it’s not?

What if there’s another way?

What if there’s a hundred?

What about a thousand?

What if it’s infinite?

It’s taken me a long time to get used to the idea that this will never end, that there can be no end to perspective and questions.

And if puts me at odds with humanity, well, so fucking be it.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1026 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Hammered, Elizabeth Bear (finally, enjoyed it, but too much interference)
Comics: The Sacrificers 6, The Holy Roller 2-4
Music: Wasting Light, Foo Fighters

oh, exhaustion

Our little pup still isn’t pooping. On top of that, we’ve had non-stop storms all night, which scare the shit (not literally in this case, though that would solve one problem), so she’s been freaking out and keeping us awake.

Nice to come home to – an exhausting week away followed by a night of three hours’ sleep, before you have to go back and pretend like you wanted to come back to the office.

I’m too tired to pretend.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1928 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Hammered, Elizabeth Bear
Comics: The Sacrificers 3-5, The Holy Roller 1
Music: Wasted... Again, Black Flag

home again

I was praying for peace, but, uh, yeah. Nope. Sofi’s not well (hopefully overkill from the week gone), and coming home to no Isis, and Raiden (her twin) being weird.

It’s hard.

Why doesn’t everything suck so much all the time?

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1344 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Hammered, Elizabeth Bear (finally, some progress)
Comics: A Righteous Thirst For Vengeance 11, Deadly Class 56, The Sacrificers 1-2
Music: Washing Machine, Sonic Youth

introspective return

Being up north, as frustrating as it can be at times (family, am I right?), always leaves me introspective, and as we wound back down highway 11 toward home, I could help but think:

Has chastising someone for saying something politically incorrect ever actually worked?

My mom said Indian; my sister-in-law barked INDIGENOUS at her, with vitriol, like my mother was some raging bigot who wasn’t just stuck in the habit of saying Indian for over seventy years.

I see this all the time online and every time, I think, and you wonder why people radicalize away from you?

One could say, “I think they go by indigenous now,” in a nice, non-condescending tone, thereby sparking a conversation and education that ends amicably with at least one party elevated with an updated viewpoint, to hopefully, do better the next time around. If that party still resists at that point, and won’t listen to an updated viewpoint, well, then, yeah, okay. Maybe you got a bigot.

But most people aren’t that bad, and by escalating so quickly, and implying that they are horrible people right off the hop, well, you’re invalidating everything they are in favour of a label of bigot, fascist, whatever other horrible thing you’d like to use, over something that more often than not, is more micro than macro-aggression.

Think of it like this: you probably don’t think you’re a bad person. You likely don’t think you’re perfect, you might even think of yourself as being flawed or broken or screwed-up, but you probably don’t think you’re evil. You might think you make everyone’s lives worse, but that’s because you’re a fuck-up who can’t get their shit together, and not because you’re, you know, Hitler.

But let’s say one day that you use the word (and let’s keep it kind of ridiculous here) “ginger”.

And maybe a family member immediately turns to you and escalates, labelling you an absolute bigot, and telling that they go by “rouged” now, and that using ginger makes you a horrible racist and probably supportive of all the anti-trans, homophobic, sexist nonsense out there, and a Republican while you’re at it.

Now, you, even thinking you’re kind of a loser, probably don’t think that of yourself. And so, how do you respond?

Like pretty well everyone does when they feel they’ve been unjustly accused – defensively.

You get your back up. You get defensive because this person is trying to invalidate all the good parts of you, that no matter how screwed up you are, at your core, you know you’re not that, not EVIL, and reduce you down to this one thing – rougephobic.

And with that, all the other nonsense that gets conflated with one level of bigotry. If you’re transphobic, you must be anti-gay as well. You must hate lesbians and black people and Latinos and women. If you’re a women, you must be a TERF and probably pro-life as well.

Of course, you know you’re not that, so even if you don’t say it out loud, you push back. You internalize your indignation and all of a sudden, all these disingenuous assholes talking about the elitist left looking down their nose at you, start making a bit more sense. And you’re sucked in, a little more each time it happens, until you’re a full blown Trumper (I mean, hopefully not that far, but imagine this isn’t just one person doing this to you – it’s a million people, a literal million, in some cases, online, constantly, without cease. How far down the rabbit hole might you go in your anger at being unjustly labelled Evil).

And all this is knowing that if they’d just said, “I think they go by rouged now” in an informative and non-judgmental way, sparking a brief, but important conversation, you might have avoided any of that, avoided the defensive trigger response and even possibly, gained an ally.

Education, not condemnation. These are the keys to winning back those on the edge, those that just maybe need a little bit of knowledge, rather than vilification.

These are the things I think about as I drive.

And they’re the things that are killing the left – why we get smaller every day, while the lunatics swell in size.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1256 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Hammered, Elizabeth Bear
Comics: A Righteous Thirst For Vengeance 10, Deadly Class 54-55, The Scumbag 14
Music: The Warrior's Code, Dropkick Murphys

last day

I spent much of the day on the water, trying to ignore everyone. I could float forever.

The sky was giant blue; there was beer on the shore.

My dogs seem tired, but happy, a little nervous.

The water is cool and refreshing. How nice it must feel to go deep.

Would that I could settle into a soft buzz.

Sadly, I don’t do drugs (anymore).

I do kind of miss them, though; just not all the shit around them. A whiskey to sharpen the edges, a cold beer to take it off. A nice glass of wine to sparkle, a long, low rum to get happy, man.

Nothing beats mushrooms.

Except mushrooms while staring at the great white North, falling into endless stars, rapt with aurora borealis.

I will miss here.

I hate the fields.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 256 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Hammered, Elizabeth Bear (maybe someday, maybe someday)
Comics: Deadly Class 52-53, A Righteous Thirst For Vengeance 8-9
Music: Everything Will Be Alright In The End, Weezer (how did I somehow miss, like, seven albums?)

temagami, twenty-twenty-five

I’m so glad to be up here. I still dream of being buried in the lake.

When I die (or preferably, about to die so I get to see it all again), no Viking funeral, just take me to the deepest part of Lake Temagami, fold my hands on my chest, and let me go.

Tell them never to raise my bones.

I can find no greater peace than to lie still in the frozen waters of the great Canadian Shield, in my home.

Tell them.

These are my wishes for disposal.

(Spread my ashes if you must, if the authorities won’t allow you to sink a body without dredging me out of the lake. I would, however, prefer to be whole and at the bottom, to feed the lake with my corporeal and spiritual essence. I’ll settle for spiritual, if required.)

Otherwise, under cover of night…

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1368 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Hammered, Elizabeth Bear
Comics: The Scumbag 8-9, Deadly Class 46-47
Music: Warped Tour (Camden, NJ), Sublime (it's bootleg season, if you care)

off to the north

We run now, away to my homeland, because the pain of being here is too great.

The pain of being anywhere is too great.

Except north. Up north is peace. Up north is meditation.

Up north is my home.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1060 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Hammered, Elizabeth Bear
Comics: The Scumbag 3-4, Seven To Eternity 16, Low 26
Music: Warped, Red Hot Chili Peppers

isis

I bottle fed you and your brother when you were four weeks old and your mother had abandoned you. Your brother suffered from seizures; I remember sitting up with him at night, curled in a blanket in my chest, hoping he would snap out of it, praying I didn’t have to do the thing the vet wanted us to do and put him to sleep.

You, you sat on my knee, head cocked, watching Woody Harrelson and Emma Stone battle the dead in Zombieland. You were hyper-focused on it.

Your brother made it, and so did you, and just like your other sibling, Magnus, whom several different vets told me to put down due to his heart murmur, your brother has persevered. Magnus made it to twenty. Your twin is fifteen and counting.

It kills me that you went first. Both of you were so malnutritioned. You looked like kittens in face, if not in weight, right to the end. Your eyes peered into me as we came to your final hours, in a way that Magnus, or Cassie, or Loki, didn’t, who seemed to disappear before their bodies did.

I can barely forgive myself, even though I know it was the right thing to do. I refused to let you suffer the way Cassie did, when we thought she was getting better, recovering, even as it became clearer and clearer that she was not.

Still, we waited as long as we could, gave you every last minute. Like with Cass, we pray we didn’t do that solely for us.

I’m going to miss you, beautiful baby girl. Your brother already does. He just about broke me, standing up on his back paws, his front paws reached out on the glass of the back door as he watched us lower you into the ground.

I’m not a spiritual man, preferring the Degrasse Tyson’s merging atoms to an ever-present afterlife, but your mother has always believed that souls return as animals to visit the people they loved. She talked about you meeting up with your beloved Cassie, with Magnus, now much nicer to you than he ever was in life, with Loki, your fellow white kitty and protector, and Nyka, mother of the brood, and gentle giant.

And as we dug outside, talking about what you might come back as, five freaking blue jays, FIVE OF THEM, came flying in, squawking and carrying on, flitting about our deck and tree, the roof and the fence.

When’s the last time you’ve seen five blue jays together? I don’t think I’ve ever seen more than two. They’re a bit of a lonesome bird.

In that moment, I believed. There is more to this world than dirt and stone. There is love, and pain, and hearts connecting in ways unexplainable by rational thought.

I’m going to miss you, girl, and I pray we’re a long way away from another.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1508 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Rocket Ship Galileo, Robert Heinlein
Comics: The Scumbag 1-2, Seven To Eternity 14-15
Music: Warpaint, The Black Crowes