the conflagration of boor and aghast

This took such a weird turn.

The idea took hold about a dozen years ago, after watching Grumpy Old Men. This was pre-Trump. We all knew George W. Bush was an asshole (as was his father and his father’s predecessor), but we were in the Obama era. Things were still not completely insane.

It was meant to be a lighthearted affair, a joke. The Odd Couple, escalated.

Then fucking Trump. Right wing, left wing, everyone went crazy.

And while I’m firmly left wing, I’m not outrage left wing. I don’t believe in the performative aspect of the left. I know way too many lefties who are, at least in part, what right wingers accuse them of – virtue signalers more interested in looking like they’re on the right side of history than actually being on the right side of history.

Way too many people. People who are ostensibly pro-universal health care and trans rights, supporters of marginalized communities, but behind the scenes, sexually harass or assault women, refer to their child’s homosexuality as “just a phase” or in my person experience, how almost all lefties, performative or otherwise, ignore physically disabled people.

Oh, they love to support disability, but only mental health, because it’s just like social media, you only have to look empathetic, and you’ve done your part. God forbid you actually go build a ramp, or fix the automatic doors in your store.

And disabled people aren’t supermodels; it’s so much more fun to support someone pretty who’s in crisis (or who wants to pretend they’re in crisis online for attention).

Also, a vegan will always tell you they’re a vegan, to demonstrate that their well-meaning, but entirely misguided notion of environmental and biological ordering.

Regardless, the point of this, and the book (formerly Bad Neighbours) is that even with this hypocrisy in place, it is nothing compared to the egregious nature of the right winger. Look at what’s happening with Venezuela and Ukraine and massive corruption and ICE and Alligator Alcatraz and Epstein. The left is guilty of being a bit disingenuous at times; the right is committing murder, torturing immigrants, raping children and robbing the people blind. They are making the world an actively worse place.

A hypocrite’s got nothing on a fucking Trumper.

And yet, for some reason, we equivocate the two.

It’s absurd. That seeped into Bad Neighbours and turned it into The Conflagration Of Boor And Aghast. Sure, Walter’s a bit of a ponce; Shelley’s a goddamned nightmare.

These things are not the same, yet we treat them as they are.

In any case, I’m excited for this to get out there; it’s not perfect, it’s ugly, maybe a bit too topical, but you know what?

Fuck it.

It says something about our current headspace, and how we need to move beyond it.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 319 words, novel: Bad Neighbours (The Conflagration Of Boor And Aghast)

Read: Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, Shunryu Suzuki
Comics: The Literals 3, Fables 86-87, Jack Of Fables 36
Music: Wide Awake In America, U2 (ha!)

sunday, sunday

Today, we feast.

Not for Christmas or whatever, but just because.

Tuscan chicken in a sun-dried tomato cream sauce, garlic spinach, arugula with a high quality balsamic vinaigrette, Italian vegetable soup and marinated mozzarella cubes.

I do like to cook. Would that I had the time and money to do it right, on the regular.

Fucking cost of living bullshit.

Fucking time of living bullshit.

Why can’t we all just be dead, happy and full?

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1220 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Zombie Survival Guide, Max Brooks
Comics: Fables 67-68, Jack Of Fables 17-18
Music: Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses?, U2

alone time

There’s rumours we’re going back to the office full-time, and I think with all the changes I’ve endured, and how much time that’s cost me (and killed me, as far as getting shit done), I think it’s going to kill me.

Something will have to give, and I’m afraid it will be me and my sanity.

I don’t want to switch jobs again.

Unless it’s full time author.

Fuckin’ hell, Carney. You’re a real piece of shit, you know. First all the globalist bullshit, now this.

I’ll still never vote Con, but damn son. I was already on the fence on the Liberal Party the last few elections and only voted that way to avoid garbage like Scheer and Poilievre.

But if you have another one, I’m going hard left. NDP or Green, the whole fucking way.

Enough half-measures, done from fear of the right. It’s time to dump the centre, if the centre won’t listen either.

And it’s your fault, Carney, for being an unnecessary dick.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1105 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Tesla: Man Out Of Time, Margaret Cheney
Comics: Fables 44-47
Music: White Trash, Two Heebs And A Bean, NOFX (hey, I don't name 'em)

we are all going to die

I mean, probably. Well, definitely. The question is really when and how.

Is it when Trump starts the end of the world? Is it a pandemic exploding through us because morons think vaccinations are somehow worse than the disease they’re designed to protect against?

Is it climate change?

When I write, I’ve often dreamed of it as being read still hundreds of years hence (I imagine that’s true of many artists). At this point though, hurtling toward climate collapse at least, I’d be happy if we still had books at all in twenty years. Or if anyone was around to read them.

Maybe someday, aliens will settle our barren, self-destroyed plant, and find our written missives and using supercomputers we haven’t dreamed of, translate them and think, Jesus, what a bunch of fucking assholes.

And they blew it all up.

Damn, dirty apes.

(A story, as told by a fatalist, using cultural references aliens probably won’t get, because I don’t think we ever beamed Charlton Heston to space. We are the monkeys, man! The monkeys are us!)

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1071 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Tesla: Man Out Of Time, Margaret Cheney
Comics: Fables 40-43
Music: The White Stripes, The White Stripes

truth telling

I mean, I know we all think we know the truth, but the reality is that the truth is what it is and we are not always aware of all of the aspects of it. Multiple things can be true at any given time.

I have not lived an exemplary life. I’ve lied, I’ve cheated (my family and all my friends banned me from playing Monopoly) and probably worse, if I’m honest about it.

I am still not entirely honest with myself and the people around me, because I feel rejection. I have issues with insecurity and depression.

None of these things means I’m a horrible person by necessity, but neither do they make me an exemplary one.

Truth and perspective are the two things I chase most in my life, and as I get older and open myself up to that more, instead of living in safely comfortable fictions and denial, I find the truest thing I know is that truth and perspective are often not in accordance, but more of one inevitably creates more of the other.

Enough perspective and truth is revealed; how could it not be?

Truth knocks us out of our fictions, our blind spots; it provides perspective where none may have existed.

More truth. More perspectives. These are the only things that matter.

There is truth. There is perspective.

These things are not mutually exclusive. But one perspective, held without truth…

Well, there’s the rub, isn’t it?

Target: 1400 words
Written: 791 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Prozac Nation, Elizabeth Wurtzel
Comics: Fables 5-8
Music: While You Were Out, Soul Asylum

well how about that

I’m still writing about feces and doormats.

Steinbeck wrote about the Great Depression. Fitzgerald about the vapidity of the rich.

Shakespeare wrote of love and loss and tragedy, of empire and family.

And I’m writing about feces on a doormat.

Perhaps I’m not really cut out for this whole literary genius thing. I’m the Meatballs of the Great Canadian Novel. This generation’s A Clockwork Orange is actually a rendition of Porky’s, by way of American Pie.

Porky’s did bring us Kim Cattrall, however, and that’s a fucking gift.

Screw Sarah Jessica Parker. I never liked her anyway.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 2321 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Never-Ending Present, Michael Barclay (and now I'm crying, damn it)
Comics: Fables 1-4 (finally, something good)
Music: Which Side Are You On?, Anti-Flag (something we all need to decide)

westworld

See, these are reboots that I can get behind, because the movie was whatever. The series though…

The problem is, we don’t need to need to reboot everything. Where’s our new ideas?

Where’s the innovation?

No wonder fascism is on the march.

Everything old is new again, and we’ve apparently run out of ideas.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1392 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Never-Ending Present, Michael Barclay
Comics: Bloodstrike Brutalists 23-24, 0, Bloodstrike Battle Blood 1
Music: Where The Fuck Is The Revolution?, Closet Monster (RIGHT?)

happy birthday, father

Usually, we do this somewhere southern, but hey, Texas is fucking out.

Hopefully, the best birthday gift will come today, in Trump’s sudden downfall.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1117 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Never-Ending Present, Michael Barclay
Comics: Bloodstrike 27-28, Youngblood v5 71-72
Music: When I Was Born For The 7th Time, Cornershop (featuring one of the catchiest tunes in 90s alternative history, but also, one of the catchiest tunes that carries on WAY TOO FUCKING LONG)

remember, remembrance

I’ll be honest. I grew up on tales of World War II. My grandfather was in the army, although he didn’t talk about it a ton.

He did tell me a story I turned into a book for a project in public school; years later, I’d find it and discover he’d related the Great Escape. He was proud of his deployment though; I believe he was a medic. He still had his uniform folded and pressed in the attic, along with a number of commendations, letters from my grandmother and pictures of him in gear.

I should probably look into that.

Anyway, thanks, Grandad, for either punching Nazis or healing the ones that did, whichever it was.

I’m sorry we’ve let them come back into power. I am ashamed for us.

We will do better, I promise.

At least, I will. I can’t make any promises for these other assholes.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 2203 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde
Comics: Youngblood Imperial 1, Youngblood v4 1-3
Music: Wheatus, Wheatus (fuck, earworm - it's going to get me days to get rid of Teenage Dirtbag)

rosemary’s baby ii

You ever think Donald sees that baby and thinks, man, I wish I could have that kid’s life?

Or do you think he’s just so worried about if Daddy loves him that he’s just jealous Satan actually thinks his son is cool?

Target: 1400 words
Written: 906 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde
Comics: Youngblood v3 1-2, Youngblood GT Interactive Special 1, Awesome Adventures 1
Music: What Hits!, Red Hot Chili Peppers!