Category: politics

the pushpull

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It tears at me. This urge to drive myself forward, to drive myself into something better, while simultaneously fighting not to give in to all the shit people of the world (and there are many).

It’s the dream of free people everywhere; it’s the slavering desire of every monster to put a stop to it.

It’s those close to us who behave in ways that benefit only themselves; who’d screw over their own blood for their own sick self-interest; who are so lost in their own little world that they fail to see that other people are not simply NPCs in the game of their lives, to be slaughtered or ignored as needed (or at a whim).

My biggest concern is that I’m one of them; my biggest fear is that I’m not serving myself by consistently taking myself out of the equation.

I know I need to help more. I know I barely have enough energy to hold my insides in. It’s a virtual certainty that if I stop holding it together, my body will burst and disintegrate, spilling my entrails to the floor.

Is it too much to ask for wings to emerge from the viscera?

I don’t believe in God or heaven, in no small part because it sounds fucking tedious and hypocritical, but I’d like to think peace is the end result, rather than an eternity of regret.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 432 words, poem: Feathers Falling

Read: Constellation Games, Leonard Richardson
Comics: Chew 20-23
Music: Never Let Me Down, David Bowie (apparently, he hated this album, which, like, okay, I guess it's less lyrically poignant than most of his others, but it's not exactly horrible, which just goes to show how good he was, I guess. If the work you hated is still pretty good, you must be doing something right.)

hopeful

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I’m trying to be more hopeful in the face of a rising tide.

The forces that have colluded since Reagan to undermine freedom, integrity and basic human rights (AKA fascists, bigots and corporations) are peaking, and threatening to drag us all back to the fucking Stone Age.

I am trying to find the inner hope that says, this too shall pass.

We shall rise again, as we inevitably do.

As long as they don’t kill us all first.

Motherfuckers.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 108 words, poem: Feathers Falling

Read: Constellation Games, Leonard Richardson
Comics: Chew 17, 18, 27, 19 (what?  I swear it's right)
Music: Never Is A Long Time/Love Of Your Life, Red Hot Chili Peppers

snow market

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Technically, it’s the Dresden Night Market, but whatever. It snowed all day yesterday and is slated to all day today and tomorrow and the next and the next, etc., etc., etc., until climate change murders us all.

Assuming our new fascist overlords don’t get there first. My hope is that Trump’s ego pisses off the rich and they start using their influence to fuck him over.

But for now, it’s winter markets and praying the world doesn’t collapse before I get a chance to finish all that I desire to do.

It’s just too goddamn bad I decided to leave the starting line after most people have already run the race.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 1559 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: I'll Be Gone In The Dark, Michelle McNamara
Comics: The Boys: Highland Laddie 4-6, The Boys 48
Music: Near Truths And Hotel Rooms, Todd Snider (DB Cooper is stuck in my head; that's where you'll find him)

better already

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Man, sometimes, you just have to suck it up and take your medicine (if you can afford the medicine, which is a whole other issue, and thank goodness, I live in Canada, at least until Poilievre gets in, which he looks increasingly likely to do, the slimy, deceitful fuck).

Sofi’s better already. Two doses of antibiotic and some probiotic and she’s already pooped, slept through the night and seems so much more content.

Poor baby.

I wish she didn’t have to go through that. Would that no one would, but I suppose it shapes character.

Still, that’s kind of bullshit. We can learn through happiness as much as we can through sorrow.

We just don’t.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 1872 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Words For Pictures, Brian Michael Bendis
Comics; The Boys 17-20
Music: Use Your Illusion II, Guns 'n' Roses

midweek

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Granted, it’s a short week because of Remembrance Day, but still.

Halfway.

I feel for veterans; having been through the war to end all wars, they must be devastated to think they went through so much to end up just having it come back around in their own country.

Sickening.

I’m heartbroken for many reasons, but that’s a big one this week.

To have fought so hard and with such cost, only to have some fucking draft-dodgin’ rich fuck come around and hand your own country right into the hands of those who would have it destroyed?

Anger isn’t a strong enough word for what I would feel.

Target: 900 words
Written: 1308 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Robinson Crusoe, Daniel Defoe
Comics: 100 Bullets: Lono 5-8
Music: Uptown Avondale, Afghan Whigs

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