full moon?

The day was perfectly fine until I left the grocery store. First, my batteries fell out of the cart, and the box broke open, sending batteries sprawling across the sidewalk into the torrential rain.

Then, as I went to take my very full cart down the ramp and across the parking lot, a black Charger pulls up and blocks the ramp. And stays there. I had to knock on the idiot’s window to get him to pay attention to the guy standing in the middle of a thunderstorm will a full cart who probably isn’t going to be able to get it down the curb.

He moved. Grudgingly, from the look of it.

I slog out to my van, load it up, put the cart in the cart return and hustle back to my car, rain streaming off my sodden coat.

I get in, plug in my old school iPod nano and cue up some hard rock. I put it in reverse and…

A tan SUV pulls up behind me and stops.

Okay, whatever. Probably just waiting for someone to back out or something.

Except… no one’s moving. None of the other cars are even running. Plus, there are numerous empty spots because I’m one of the very few dummies to grocery shop during a storm. Like, at least eight different options within fifty feet, including on either side of me.

I look at the woman in the window. She’s screaming. Literally screaming. At me.

I can’t figure out why. I haven’t actually moved yet. Not even an inch. Then, I realize, because she rolls down her window and keeps yelling…

She wants my spot. Apparently, I’m keeping her from getting into that spot.

The spot she’s blocked me into.

Never mind that there are at least four open spots on the other side or that BOTH SPOTS on either side of me are empty. Never mind that I’m not on a bicycle, and there’s zero percent chance than my Grand Caravan is getting around her without an eight hundred point turn.

She doesn’t like my suggestion that if she wants my spot, she has to let me out first. I thought it was reasonable, but apparently, it demanded a response of slamming it into drive and tearing off into the parking lot. I think if it wasn’t raining, her tires would have squealed.

I don’t know who shat in her Corn Flakes, but I hope there’s some reason for what was clearly some kind of mental breakdown – both from a logic and an emotional standpoint.

Lady, wherever you are… smoke some weed or have a White Russian or something. Get laid. See a therapist.

Because that spot… it ain’t worth the aneurysm.

Target: 400 words
Written: 876 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Practicing Mind, Thomas Sterner
Comics: The Wake 5-8
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.)

the squirts

Does anyone else feel like we’re close enough to talk about bowel movements yet?

Is anyone reading this?

If I write about the green apple splatters in the woods, would anyone hear?

I don’t do the sound of one hand clapping; I long ago learned the trick from Balki Bartokomous.

Instead, it’s farts in an empty house.

Although these days, with Alexa, Siri and Google Home, the answer is always yes.

Your X-Box is listening to you pee. I don’t mean that as a joke; they really are.

Target: 400 words
Written: 279 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: If Chins Could Kill: Confessions Of A B Movie Actor, Bruce Campbell (I mean, who doesn't love this guy?)
Comics: The Wake 1-4
Music: Karma Police, Radiohead (I mean, these guys... not so much the later, more pretentious stuff, but everything up to OK Computer, right?)

sunday relax

Yesterday was a dream; today is relaxing, with not much on tap, but I feel already like I’m falling behind.

And why?

Most of my work is done.

The writing task I set for myself is complete. I’ve read a little. Listened to a little muzak.

I even prepped for dinner and took care of the dogs (not the walk part yet, but soon).

So, why do I feel so far behind?

Target: 400 words
Written: 241 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: If Chins Could Kill: Confessions Of A B Movie Actor, Bruce Campbell
Comics: Joe The Barbarian 5-8
Music: The Karate Kid (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack), Various (don't ask)

relaxing day

Somehow, today, everything just kind of came together. A little relax time, some chores, a nice dinner, a good walk with the dogs…

I’m not sure what happened, but today came together like a fine wine. Patient, relaxed, containing a satisfying flavour that flows across the tongue and balances delicately on the lips…

It’s put me into a reflective mood, and I love it.

For once, things don’t seem quite so bleak.

That might be the wine talking, though.

Target: 400 words
Written: 417 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: If Chins Could Kill: Confessions Of A B Movie Actor, Bruce Campbell
Comics: Joe The Barbarian 1-4
Music: Just For College, Radiohead (still, so good)

back to training

I guess I’m doing something right, because I’m being trained on special tasks yet again.

It’s funny, when I was younger and more oblivious, I knew I was a hard worker and a smart guy, but I didn’t believe in my own fallibility; it was a problem.

When you won’t accept that you’re a fuck-up who can be lazy at times, no amount of nose-to-the-grindstone and feeling responsible for everything around you will help.

Now that I am older and officially know that I am imperfect and know very little about pretty much everything, I feel like I’m not being responsible enough.

And now I feel like it’s okay not to be responsible for everything.

Is wisdom actually saying fuck it? Let’s do what we want and let it ride?

Is true wisdom giving up control and accepting the peace of kicking back with a whiskey sour?

As the song says, “All I know is that I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t know nothing.”

Target: 400 words
Written: 2296 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: If Chins Could Kill: Confessions Of A B Movie Actor, Bruce Campbell
Comics: Chrononauts: Futureshock 1-4
Music: Just Can't Get Enough New Wave, Various (my jams)

the new dog and thunderstorms

They warned us she didn’t like storms, but the warning was largely that she’d hide under the covers.

Except… she’s under the covers most nights.

During a thunderstorm, she hyper-ventilates and jumps all over us, relentlessly, until we go downstairs.

She was from Texas originally, so my working theory is that she was in a tornado zone, so storms meant basement. The fosters’ bedroom was in the basement, so she just hid under the covers.

But on our second floor… well, that’s just too damn high.

Welcome to two hours of sleep, Empty. Lord knows you didn’t need that.

Target: 400 words
Written: 334 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Fire Starter Sessions, Danielle Laporte
Comics: Nailbiter Returns 10 (where's my Son of Nailbiter, damn it?)
Music: Just, Radiohead (may be one of my all-time favourite songs, if only for the moral of total and complete freedom and responsibility)

sorry about that

I know things got a little dark yesterday. Darker than they should after ten days of vacation.

Sometimes, excess food and booze can cause a depressive crash in me. Usually, if I have more than one or two on an evening or weekend, a couple of days later, I can feel the crash. It’s Tuesdays, usually, though Mondays aren’t better. If I don’t overindulge (or indulge at all in the case of alcohol), I usually feel pretty good by Thursday.

Bodies are weird, and even though I love a good beer, wine or cocktail, I’ve started wondering if I shouldn’t abstain for a while and see what it does for my mood, my motivation levels, my depression and my physical health.

Of course, that would run contrary to my self-destruction, but hey, what can you do?

Hasten the inevitable, probably.

Target: 400 words
Written: 365 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Fire Starter Sessions, Danielle Laporte
Comics: Nailbiter Returns 6-9
Music: Jump Back, The Rolling Stones (you know, you forget, sometimes, just how many great songs these guys have and you have to wonder... is the devil real? Did they make that deal? Is that how Keith Richards is still alive?)

back to work

No rest for the weary. No breaks for the forlorn.

No quarter given to the depressed.

Life is a cruel motherfucker. Part of me wonders if I died when I was younger and this was my own personal hell, offering me chance after chance for happiness, but then inflicting such insecurity and depression to fuck them all up.

Life gives us joy only so we know the pain of taking it away (thanks, Kelly).

Life shows us joy so we know what we’re losing.

Target: 400 words
Written: 1030 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Fire Starter Sessions, Danielle Laporte
Comics: Nailbiter Returns 2-5
Music: Julian Plenti Is... Skyscraper (love, love, love the atmospheric nature of this album. Skyscraper is definitely getting use in the Mungk playlist)

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: Judgment Night, Cypress Hill et al

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: The Joshua Tree, U2 (yeah, Bono might be a self-important shit, but this is still one hell of a fucking album - next to Kick and Out Of Time, one of my earliest exposures to truly great alternatives to the garbage on the radio).