Category: politics

100 bullets

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Why isn’t this a show on HBO yet?

Other than maybe Y: The Last Man, I’ve never read anything that doesn’t so perfectly beg to be made into something onscreen.

Of course, they fucked up Y: The Last Man apparently, because it was cancelled after one season, but hey, gender identity politics do kind of make that a tough sell in the current climate. Dichotomy was sort of the thing before; spectrum doesn’t really play to the story as well.

But still.

100 Bullets.

Are you fucking kidding me?

GET IT DONE.

Target: 900 words
Written: 983 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Hepatitis Bathtub And Other Stories, NOFX
Comics: 100 Bullets 97-100
Music: Uprising, Muse (what we need right now)

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

election day

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The make-or-break for world freedom.

Hopeful, and terrified.

I would like to believe this is the beginning of a great wave of enlightenment, but the stupidity of our neighbours to the south has been proven time and time again.

Are we headed back to the Stone Age, straight into World War III, civil war, an era of hatred and bigotry and the unchecked greed of billionaires over the other 99.9999999999999999999% of the planet?

Or are we finally headed in the direction of sanity?

We will not know, not likely today, not likely even tomorrow.

And as a neighbour only, I can only hope that the ruckus next door isn’t prelude to disaster.

Target: 900 words
Written: 1240 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 73-76
Music: Black Friday Rule, Flogging Molly (or Tuesday, in this case)

If it’s not clear, FUCK DONALD TRUMP. FUCK REPUBLICANS. FUCK THE RIGHT WING.

me

thanks

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I’m still alive. I’m not broke (yet). I’m not American (hallelujah) or Russian (even more hallelujah). I’m not some hateful right winger.

I’m not done.

Not yet.

Also, it’s Thanksgiving in Canada.

Target: 900 words
Written: 303 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Wishsong Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Once And Future 16-18, Die 16
Music: Unknown Live Things, Sonic Youth

the yankees are still a thing?

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I didn’t think they were any good anymore. Like not terribly, but comfortably mediocre, like most teams.

I like baseball, but do people actually care anymore?

It requires a patience and attention that doesn’t really exist in our Instagram/Snapchat/TikTok world.

After all, why have a long-lasting memory when it can just disappear in twenty-four hours. I wonder if this generation’s instances of Alzheimer’s are going to spike because of the lack of long-term memory-making abilities.

Everything has to be a filter; nothing real, nothing dirty.

Unless they want to cancel you, then even the hint of an accusation can destroy a person’s entire world. That’s something I struggle with; where’s the line between believing victims and voiding one’s own ability to determine bullshit?

Because let’s face it, in this era, everyone can make themselves a victim in a heartbeat, by referencing feelings. I hear it all of the time, and while in many cases, there’s legitimacy, in a lot of cases, it’s herd mentality, jumping on a trend to abdicate one’s own responsibility in one’s own life.

Framing is everything, and I think it behooves us to be both harsh in the judgment of those who would exploit others and open-minded to the possibility that maybe not all accusations are legit (intentionally or otherwise – sometimes people just can’t see that their hurt or spite isn’t the whole picture).

Anyway, how we got to me treading the line on cancel culture from baseball, I don’t know. 

Target: 900 words
Written: 192 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Wishsong Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Once And Future 8-10, Die 12
Music: Live! The Ramones! Woo!

return from blue mountain

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Sounds like a cheesy Eighties find yourself adventure or maybe even a horror movie, where the kind of geeky lost soul goes somewhere, has an adventure, realizes it was all bullshit, and then comes back to sweep the girl of his dreams off her feet.

You know, the girl he’s only ever really known in passing, and who, in reality, would never date this guy who comes out of nowhere with his newfound perspective on life, all based around love (love he has for her, but she’s never really thought about him; she’s too busy diddling over the football star).

He’d have had some partying fun, met a girl who was maybe manipulative, but who would have taken him through his first real sexual experiences, but then betrayed him unexpectedly, making him realize he didn’t actually want what he thought he wanted, and so, he comes down the mountain, proposes to the girl, who is (because this is all about him and not her) expected to swoon and drop everything to be with this brand new bodhisattva/reformed bad boy, because love, and we all jump onboard and presume happily ever after, but really, what do these people even know about each other?

There’s likely some gratuitous nudity, because in this world, women are objects, not people, so making lewd jokes at their expense and paying some struggling actress to doff her top (and probably threaten that she’ll never work again if she doesn’t, or promise that the big studios will come running, and other big stars did it, and also, other stuff, behind the scenes, you know how it works, wink wink nudge nudge), and we’re all just fine with it because we love sexual freedom (which we do), but we also love the exploitation of women as a secondary class, and if we can combine the two… Hollywood!

Anyway, we’re back from Collingwood, and let’s hope that movie never gets made.

It sounds positively horrid.

Target: 900 words
Written: 247 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Gregor And The Curse Of The Warmbloods
Comics: The Wicked + The Divine: 455 AD 1, The Wicked + The Divine 29-31
Music: Random Covers, Spacehog (I've hit a very strange area of my playlists)

caught up, okay

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I’m okay. I’m probably okay.

I mean, nobody’s really okay, but I’m okay-ish. All my idols are being destroyed one by one, which probably means one shouldn’t have idols. The lovely men and women of the world never seem to be the ones at the forefront, the darlings; it’s always the guy nobody really realized until they were gone.

Also, again, no correlation between talent and being a good person.

(See Spacey, Kevin).

It’s easy to go off the rails, and I think we underestimate how much fame can affect a person. How when people start throwing themselves at you and it’s no longer an effort to earn things, one can become entitled to the point of criminality.

For the most part, we let them get away with it, which is why it’s such a goddamned shame when the public image is ripped away.

Fuck ’em, for the most part.

But still. The Usual Suspects, Neverwhere, The Belgeriad… still good, or even great, even if the ones that created them are monsters.

It’s a conflict that never ends; is great art made less great by bad behaviour, or is bad behaviour just one facet of an artist, to be divorced or overlooked when evaluating the content of the work?

No one is perfect; some men are far less so.

There is no answer here, only acknowledgement.

Perhaps we’re just fooling ourselves, because we want to believe. We want to enjoy. We want to love.

But humanity is complex; there are ever demons with which to be dealt.

Target: 900 words
Written: 949 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Happiest Days Of Our Lives, Wil Wheaton
Comics: The Wicked + The Divine 12-13, Phonogram: The Immaterial Girl 1-2
Music: Random Cover, CKY