Category: philosophy

integration bill

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I know Quebec continues to get a free pass, but come on. This is some racist shit.

Quebec is very much turning into a xenophobic state; its leadership is not compatible with the values of Canada as a whole.

I hate that men like this (and by extension, Trump, Putin, Musk, Farage, etc) are allowed to freely sow division. We as humans have been through all this.

We know these lessons.

Why the fuck do we continue to let pieces of shit like this lead?

The world needs purging of demagogues.

Target: 1100 words
Written: 1629 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Personal MBA, Josh Kaufman
Comics: Shadowhawk 1-4
Music: In A Car, Meat Puppets (yeah, this was terrible)

comfort

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I miss the comfort in being sad, as Kurt Cobain once opined.

Being sad is bad. But it’s better than in a constant of conflict. One can accept sadness as it is, live in it, find one’s way through it.

Conflict for the sake of conflict?

It’s going to be a tough go while I’m working at Bad Neighbours and it’s the constant contemplation of the incompatibility of viewpoints, left and right, and the futility of anger.

The inability of consequence. The pure rage of missing justice.

The absence of karma, or rather, its lethargic, procrastinating nature.

It may come around, but when? And how fucking long?

Quite frankly, too many assholes have died peacefully in their sleep on top of their piles of money, surrounded by a beautiful wife, successful children and a mistress with glittery fake boobs.

Karma does not reward waiting.

Justice is not automatic.

Target: 1100 words
Written: 920 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Amatka, Karin Tidbeck
Comics: The Maxx 20-22, Gen13/Maxx 1
Music: II, Presidents Of The United States Of America

spiralling again

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I’m doing it again. I feel like giving up, starting over, losing more time, more years, more precious life force, precious focus.

Christ, at this point, maybe heaven’s a better option. Or would be, if I believed in an afterlife.

In any just afterlife, we’d spend eternity finding out all the things we’d ever wanted to know, to experience all the things we ever wanted to experience, to be all the people we ever wanted to be, to relive moments of our lives in as many permutations as we choose, to see what it really would have felt like to take that stand, to try that thing, to make that move on someone special.

Much of it would be unpleasant, but without the endless self-deception, with the ability to try again and learn and grow and be better, what would there be to lose?

Lifetimes lived in an instant. Fantastical trips beyond imagination. Relationships won and lost, friendships gained, battles fought, tyrants brought low by our actions. Our dedication.

Of course, that’s speculation.

But to attempt to live life as it is, good and bad, filled with glory and tragedy, joy and pain, fully engaged with it, stripping away all our blinders?

We may have a limited amount of time to do it in, but it’s still worth the trip.

Target: 1100 words
Written: 1581 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Ready Player One, Ernest Cline
Comics: The Maxx 8-11
Music: If I Should Fall From Grace With God, The Pogues

conflict

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It’s the basis of any good story, but it’s the bane of our existence.

How much nicer would the world be if we were all just a little… nicer?

Is that really such a hard thing to do, you fucking toddlers?

Target: 1000 words
Written: 256 words, Novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Ready Player One, Ernest Cline
Comics: The Darkness/Pitt 1-3, Darker Image 1
Music: I'd Rather Be In Japan!!!, Anti-Flag/Obnoxious

we begin again

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While The Mungk was largely fatalist, and explored the beginnings of trauma without redemption more than anything (along with a slight dose of the mini-traumas that chip away as us piece by piece), this is going to be a vent.

I like funny things. I like humour.

I’m also obsessed with politics. Like, I don’t enjoy them; I just can’t look away. Motherfuckers run this world, whether that’s because they’re literal pieces of human shit (see Trump, everyone who supports him) or weak-willed do-gooders who still think that playing by the rules and taking the high road is doing anything other than handing our world to the forces of evil, who don’t give a fuck what road they take and ignore the rules, it’s largely irrelevant.

Bad Neighbours (the working title) is my way of expressing that. Of diving into ineffectuality, and how it completely fails to address the behaviour of those who could care less about custom, tradition or little things like “the law” or truth.

So, you know, going lighthearted with it, with a dose of fucking fatalism, wrapped up in barely concealed social commentary.

Fuck it. Why not?

Because fascists will hate me for portraying as the boors they are and liberals will hate me because of the mirror I hold up to them ineffectual weakness?

Fuck ’em. If the world is going down, I’ll go with it.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 979 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Radical Acceptance, Tara Brach (I'm not sure it's working, though I love the concept, minus the woo woo)
Comics: Pitt Crew 1, Pitt 17-20
Music: I Will Always Love You: The Best Of Whitney Houston, Whitney FUCKING HOUSTON HOW DID THIS HAPPEN GODDAMNIT MY EARS

fuck john hughes

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I mean it. I love Ferris Bueller, but this whole modern nice guy is entitled to the girl thing originated with him and convinced an entire generation of boys who didn’t have the qualities women wanted, or allowed themselves to be spineless doormats, that somehow, they were entitled to whatever a girl they were into wanted.

And if not, then it’s always what a bitch. Why does she always go for the asshole?

Well, maybe he’s not an asshole. Maybe he’s confident. Maybe he’s funny or intelligent or takes care of his physical appearance better than you. Maybe desperation isn’t a good look.

All I’m saying is John Hughes taught a generation of boys that it was not their fault that a woman was into them; that they were entitled to a woman’s body without putting in any of the effort to become the kind of person that that woman might be attracted to.

That they secretly held, whether consciously or subconsciously, the same misogynist beliefs that they claimed to abhor, by assuming that any woman was theirs by sole right of their maleness.

Pathetic, ain’t it. Fuck Ducky. Fuck Sixteen Candles. Fuck any of the spineless “nice guys” who think turning themselves into pathetic little bitches entitles them to a goddamn thing.

Fuck incels.

But not literally.

That’s kind of the point.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 1865 words, short story: Forest Edge

Read: Radical Acceptance, Tara Brach
Comics: Pitt: In The Blood 1, Pitt 12-13, Hulk/Pitt 1
Music: I Want Candy, Bow Wow Wow

starting to wonder

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There’s been a recurring theme in my work, mostly because as a plot device, it’s evil, but it’s always the same. I know, I know. It happens the world over, but maybe I’m utilizing it too much.

Men and women have always been a complicated thing, but the reality is that it’s not actually that complicated.

It’s the same as anything, really. Be good to each other, and things will be fine.

Unfortunately, it’s far too easy (especially these days), to be shitty to one another.

And as has always been, no matter the race, creed or culture, women take the worst end of it. It doesn’t matter what you are, if you’re a woman, it’s worse for you.

And that’s bullshit.

I mean, I lucked out, technically; I’m a straight, white male. According to most of what I see these days, I should not be allowed to comment anything on these matters, but Yes, Ma’am. I agree.

While that might sound like complaining, it’s not. I do agree, for the most part. I don’t want to mansplain shit to anyone.

I do want to demonstrate that I understood the lesson.

I’m just starting to wonder about how things seem to go in my stories, if I’ve actually taken the lesson to heart.

It wasn’t part of The Mungk (except for maybe the hints of shrewishness in Diana), but it played a big role in Get Back Again, and in my recently written, but not yet published Western Cradle series, and here it is again, in Forest Edge.

Am I really learning?

Something to think about, going forward. 

Target: 1000 words
Written: 343 words, short story: Forest Edge

Read: The Oracle Year, Charles Soule
Comics: Preacher 64-66
Music: I Palindrome I, They Might Be Giants

ridin’ off into the sunset

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I think there’s a significant portion of us that would love to drive off down the highway in a fast convertible, beautiful woman beside us, no cares, flaunting social norms, cranking tunes, mooning and flashing the passersby, outrunning the cops, and then pulling over on an out of the way back road to fuck on the hood about every couple of hours.

It’s a young person’s game, of course, and if you’ve ever paid any attention to one of these stories, they’re always freeing, but they all end in tragedy.

Because there’s no such thing as freedom without responsibility, and while I think we should all feel free to flash our tits down Main St, or eat a pussy in the grass, carefree can also be careless.

Every high has its hangover.

At some point, reality comes crashing in, and we have a choice. Figure out how to live the adventure while taking care of business, or how to go out in a blaze of glory.

Viable choices, all.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 374 words, short story: Forest Edge

Read: Tropic Of Kansas, Christopher Brown
Comics: Preacher 60-63
Music: I Might Be Wrong: Live Recordings, Radiohead

regrets

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I’m thinking a lot about what’s evil and what is not.

I’ve just written a four issue comic series, a western based on revenge, which begins typically enough for the kind of spaghetti western I’m basing it on, but takes a wild turn at the end of the first issue (unrevealed future plot twist).

I’m a little worried it pushes me into territory I’m not comfortable representing.

That is, like Get Back Again, I’m concerned some right wing fuck is going to take it and construe it as pro-bigotry or worse, in this case, pro-life.

But that’s not what it’s about (and I’m very pro-choice); it’s similar to The Mungk in that it’s about trauma, and how it can shape us for the worse, until the evil that’s been done to us becomes us abusing ourselves, and maybe others, in ways we never would otherwise.

It’s also about whether evil can be used for good, sometimes?

It’s about guilt and remorse and self-hatred.

Because listen, I know more than a few women who’ve been through it, and despite what the right wing would have you think, most of them did not behave as though they were tossing a used Kleenex.

Most of them were genuinely distressed, upset, even traumatized by it. Not one of them didn’t have strong feelings about it, even if they didn’t want to say it out loud. It was clearly visible on their face and in their eyes.

The other thing that I know about it is that not one of them has ever said they would make a different choice. They don’t regret the choice, even if there’s still remorse.

Like putting down a terminally ill pet; it sucks, you hate it, it makes you weep for days, but even years later, if asked, you’ll say it was the right thing to do.

Anyway, thoughts and feelings on this day; I can’t imagine what the poor women go through.

Even if this case, it’s a little more… extreme.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 720 words, comic: Western Cradle #4

Read: Tropic Of Kansas, Christopher Brown
Comics: Preacher 57-59, Preacher: Tall In The Saddle 1
Music: I Know What You Did Last Summer Soundtrack, Various

every inch

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Some days, it feels like a war of attrition (and we’re not talking about the cold now).

It’s just a fight, a relentless fight, one moment after the next, bloodied, beaten, without rest, without help, without anything to get us through but pure fucking grit and the sense that goddamnit, we’re gonna get there if we die trying.

This notion that life should be a dream, a dance through the tulips, it’s poison. It’s ephemeral opiate, a smoky high that keeps us from seeing what’s going on.

But the fight keeps us focused, no matter how many cuts and bruises, how many broken bones, no matter that our hearts are in tatters and we know we’ve gone far, far from the ideal person we intended to be at the start.

All that matters is the result.

And ain’t that a hell of a way to live?

Target: 1000 words
Written: 484 words, comic: Western Cradle #3

Read: Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris
Comics: Preacher 37-40
Music: I Can't Be Satisfied, Paul Rodgers & Brian Setzer