thanksgiving

What am I thankful for?

My dogs. My cats.

My family.

My job, unsteady as it is right now with Carney’s cuts looming.

A world on the brink that hasn’t quite made it there yet.

I can still write.

I am not banned.

I may be in the future.

Fuck ’em. I’d want nothing more than to be censored.

Call me A Clockwork Orange.

Madmenny and a malenky bit of the old in and out, right, me droogs?

Fuck it. Banned books for all.

I am thankful there’s still outrage over that.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1476 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Magic Kingdom For Sale - Sold!, Terry Brooks
Comics: Youngblood 9, Youngblood Strikefile 7, Brigade v2 13, Badrock And Company 3
Music: The Very Best Of The Original Dubliners, The Dubliners

in the weeds now

I mean, I’m working harder than ever, and tomorrow’s a holiday, so we can sit and think about what we’ve done, which admittedly, is a weird reason for a holiday, and I’m not sure it’s tangible help to native communities, but here we are.

It’s probably better to ask them than me, but I suspect the answer is that we’re not doing enough to reconcile the sins of past with creating a better future for the indigenous.

In any case, not to make light, but I’ve spent the last fifty minutes trying to have a character explain why he’s still consider liberal if he’s opposed to butt stuff.

It’s a hygiene thing, not a commentary on homosexuality.

(The character, not me. You get your freak on, boys and girls. As long as it’s consensual and doesn’t involve children, animals or those not capable of making that decision, then you get on getting on.)

Anyway, life’s weird and horrible things that require solemnity often overlap with the absurd.

I think we’d die if we had to take it all so seriously (which ironically, sums out how we got to our current edge-of-Armageddon political apocalypse). We all got too sensitive, hunkered down, doubled down, doubled down again and instead of letting shit go a little and talking it out, we’re about to have a civil war a hundred kilometres or so to the south of us.

Lighten up, jerks. Drop the militants, and get back to using your words.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1249 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Born For This, Chris Guillebeau
Comics: Brigade v2 0, 3, Team Youngblood 1, Bloodstrike 4
Music: Where The Fuck Is The Revolution?, Closet Monster

i’m probably going to take some heat for that

Yesterday’s post, but I truly believe that innocent until proven guilty is the way to go. I don’t know the reality of what happened that night but what was presented in court (and I’ll fully admit to reading only the final verdict, because I always like to withhold judgment until I know enough facts to make a decision), but I do know that those boys were convicted in the court of public opinion way before there was even a trial.

Before anyone even knew anything beyond the broadest strokes of the allegations rendered.

And that’s not right. If they were guilty, fuck ’em, but as a society, we are beholden to be better than this. We need to be better toward the victims, less instantly assumptive about the presumption of guilt.

An accusation does not equal guilt. It doesn’t guarantee innocence.

It’s a statement, like a hypothesis in science. We believe this is what happened; now let’s check the facts and parse the logic to see if that adds up.

The law must be dispassionate; I know we’re all into victimhood these days, and certainly, underserved communities and minorities are due a major review and reconstruction of the social contract.

But innocent until proven guilty is not one of them.

If you don’t understand that, if you would rather presume guilt and refuse to change your mind, no matter the evidence against, well, then, I’m sorry. We are going to disagree.

And for that, I will be crucified.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1838 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Odds On, John Crichton (Michael Lange)
Comics: Black Science 42-43, Deadly Class 40-41
Music: War On The Blvd, Sublime

woo, doggie

I’m playing in the land of metaphor this morning, detailing exactly where the left coincides with the right and the metaphors that bind them, in the context of Bad Neighbours.

Ironically, it ended being filtered through the judge’s verdict on the Hockey Canada sexual assault case acquittal, in which she posited that while we are all on the train of believing victims, doing so without examination essentially means applying the doctrine of guilty until proven innocent, when our system runs on innocent until proven guilty. There was enough conflicts, contradictions and assertions that didn’t agree with established facts in the case for the judge to reasonably decide that she could not say there was a crime committed, beyond doubt.

Reading the specifics of her verdict, I would probably make the same choice.

And it’s important, the distinction of innocent until proven guilty versus guilty until proven innocent. How many of us had listened to someone make assertions about the behaviour of their ex, or a coworker, or a friend or enemy that had no actual bearing in reality, even if we didn’t know it at the time? How many of us have had someone assert that their significant other was mistreating them, or playing the role of victim, or rationalizing away bad or regrettable behaviour on their part, because they didn’t actually want to take responsibility for what happened?

Most people don’t want to be responsible for their own actions. They live in denial. They falsely equivocate, they exaggerate, they outright lie, often to the point of deluding themselves as to what’s actually real, in order to avoid accountability for what’s ultimately on them.

You say you want freedom? You want truth?

You have to accept two things then: understand that total freedom comes with total responsibility – these are inseparable – and secondly, that reality is not what you want it to be, it’s what is, and if you want truth, you have to be willing to suspend your beliefs and the little fictions you tell yourself about yourself, or about the way things “should” be, and surrender your open, empty mind to what is, no matter the consequences.

Freedom is responsibility. Freedom is accepting consequence. Truth is what is, it’s not what you’d like to to be, or how you want to frame it. It’s what is.

So, innocent until proven guilty is the better way to go, because believing the accuser means automatically accepting their version of the truth, which we all know can be a highly creative, even self-deluding fiction at times. It can also be true, but that’s what the process is meant to find out (and admittedly, that depends on the competence and relative framework of the process, whether truly fair, fact-finding mission or kangaroo court). But guilty until proven innocent It’s not about what is; it’s about what’s asserted; it’s hypothesis without testing. You claim donkeys can fly, you have to prove that they can. The people you’re telling they can don’t.

That’s the way it works.

And that’s infinitely better than someone shouting, “Donkeys can fly!” and then having everyone that heard them run around scrambling to build wings for mules to make it true.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 2749 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Odds On, Michael Lange (John Crichton)
Comics: Low 22, Black Science 40-41, Deadly Class 39
Music: War On Errorism, NOFX (legit one of the best punk albums ever written)

watching my wife work out

I mean, I don’t know what it is, but watching her do her exercises for her arms and wrist, as part of her rehab.

Yeah. I’m into it.

Like, waaaaay into it.

It’s nice to know that the magic still lives.

If you need me, I’ll be busy ogling the woman I married.

Damn.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 706 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Dragonflight, Anne McCaffrey
Comics: Deadly Class 17-18, Black Science 19-20
Music: Exile In Guyville, Liz Phair

happy birthday, sis

Sly Stone dies and my sister lives another year. Good for her.

Not that she shouldn’t live another year. Like all the people I love, I hope she lives until I die, at least. After that, well, I hope for her sake she lives a long time, but hell, I’ll be dead. What would it matter to me?

Then again, there’s always reincarnation. Maybe I’ll come back as a vibrator.

Assuming I’m bought by a Hollywood starlet, that’d be cool, I guess.

Or a carrier of the Republican virus, in that it only targets individuals who voted Republican, and rewires their brains to be permanently set on Mr. Rogers.

Now, wouldn’t that be a nice cleanse?

Sometimes, I think the stars aligned and decided: there is something truly, profoundly wrong with this guy.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1715 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
Comics: Fathom v6 1-4
Music: Equal Strain On All Parts, Jimmy Buffett (fuck you, it's better than you think)

goodbye, weekend

I’d hoped to find you lazy and unfilled, but instead, it’s a fucking free-for-all.

Again.

On the plus side, I found the time to really hammer down a particularly major scene in Bad Neighbours. If it all works as I planned, it (and one other particular scene) should be absolutely iconic.

There’s another scene that could also be considered iconic, but I actually left it out as an actual scene, only doing a videotaped callback to it later on.

Not sure that keeps iconic status, and becomes more plot device, played for anger and for laughs (and maybe a bit of titillation, which is a fun nod, now that I think about it.

Foreshadowing.

Doesn’t come up too much in the gross-out, cringe comedy genre.

Or does it?

Target: 1200 words
Written: 890 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Casino Royale, Ian Fleming
Comics: Fathom v4 8-9 (fuckin' Lobdell), Fathom: The Elite Saga 1-2
Music: End Of Days Soundtrack, Various

tangents

Sometimes, when you’re writing, or making notes about your writing, you can veer off into directions you never expected. And while, yes, technically, I was writing about the contents of this particular scene, I’m not entirely certain that it warranted thirteen hundred words.

Thirteen hundreds words on the nature and placement of a money shot is a lot, don’t you think?

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1308 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Thieves' World, Assorted Chocolates
Comics: Fathom v3 2-5
Music: Eminem Essentials, Eminem

let’s do it

You know, as much as I disparage influencers as a vocation, it’s hard not to watch some of them being overtly sexual and think, man, I wonder what it’s like to live with no shame at all?

Like not in a bad way, but just in a fully away, I’m selling my body for money, and I’m fine with that because, it’s online so no one actually has to touch me, and I make a mint from it. In this economy, get yours, right?

I know I’m too much of an introvert for that (but a year in Finland taught me not to strip away the stigma of nudity – hard to worry about it when every party or function you go to, you end up naked in a sauna with half-a-dozen other people of varied ages, some of whom might be your best friends or the girl you’re super interested in, or a bunch of old geezers you just met).

Still, if I were young and attractive, why not? Especially as a woman. Own your shit, be comfortable in your skin, exploit those who think faces and bodies on the internet belong to them. They might get to ogle you from afar, but you’re the one with the Lambo and the regular trips to cool places, all over the world.

I mean, I’d like something a bit less obviously transactional, but the shame-free part? That’s all right.

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1316 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson
Comics: Fathom: Dawn Of War - Beginnings 1, Fathom 0.5, Michael Turner's Aspen 1-2
Music: Electric Larryland, Butthole Surfers (terrible live, by the way, at least when they came to Sheridan they were)

rocky horror

I know, I know. Parking lot story.

Thoughts about my brain stuff.

F U Rat Ass Town.

It’s all coming, when I get time.

But tonight, it’s Rocky Horror, and well, since I’m still very much in lust with young Susan Sarandon, I had to go, and hope that the woman playing her is her equal (not to mention Magenta).

Columbia was never my jam.

(And of course, Tim Curry is everyone’s jam).

Target: 1200 words
Written: 919 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Veniss Underground, Jeff Vandermeer (body horror isn't ever really my thing, but body horror sci-fi that channels Lovecraft?  Pretty good.)
Comics: Hawk And Dove 20-23
Music: Echoes, Silence, Patience, & Grace, Foo Fighters (why is every album so good?  A deal with Satan, for certain)