i get it; i’m late

For all the things I wanted to do with my life, I probably would have had to start as a teenager.

Unfortunately, the lessons I needed to learn, the skills I had to grow (and am still growing), the mindset, the life experience, all that stuff… it unfolded a little slower than it probably should have.

Maybe I could have gone a more traditional route, and maybe I could have been content with that, but when have I ever been content with anything? In the moment, I can be, in the midst of a good meal or a great book or great sex, a nice moment in the sun while walking the dogs.

But isn’t that the only time ever?

I know it will take me probably until I’m a hundred and no longer able to function physically or mentally to do the work that I want to do, to see the places I wanted to see, to have all the experiences I’ve desired.

I probably won’t make it, barring terrific medical advances. Of course, I could live that long but the growing spectre of fascism, the threat of climate change, bigotry and hatred, the complete breakdown of both civility and the willingness to stand up for what is right, in action more than words, is likely to end this planet (or at least my life or the ability to do the things I desire to do), all that pretty well guarantees that this is a fool’s errand.

But what’s the alternative?

Giving up?

I know I’m a late bloomer, but hell. Fuck it.

There’s no do-overs, so it’s now or never, and if I die in the attempt, without making the impact I would have liked, well, there’s no shame in trying.

Only in giving up.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 1479 words, short story: Late Riser

Read: The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho (also, this has nothing to do with this book, it was garbage, like Eckhart Tolle fucked Hans Christian Andersen and their baby read The Secret on the way out - stuff like this is why people get stuck in their own heads thinking they just have think things into existence, or that all skill is just natural, instead doing the fucking work.)
Comics: Chew 42-44, Chew: Warrior Chicken Poyo (POYO!) 1
Music: The New Abnormal, The Strokes

early risin’

I’m up earlier than I wanted to be, but so is everyone else, which kills my time to meditate and read and put on headphones and plow through a random selection of music on my way to the second coffee of the day.

And I’m thinking about time.

I’m thinking about how frozen I am; how stuck; how the only barrier to me getting what I want and being the thing I want to be is myself and this mental block, this block behind the tires of the trailer that is my mind.

My wheels are spinnin’.

Moving beyond is terrifying; there’s so many bad things going on in the world right now to stop it from ever happening, but I cannot control those. I can only control what I need to do to get what’s in my head out of my head.

It’s getting past that that’s the real trick.

Can I get it done before I die? How does the world find it if I do?

Geez. I guess there really was a theme to all this.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 1273 words, short story: Late Riser

Read: The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho
Comics: Chew 39-41, Chew/Revival 1
Music: Nevermind, Nirvana (in a day of uncertainty and terror, transcendence was necessary)

legacy

I want to leave behind a body of work that people can dig into and enjoy, even if it’s just in the dissection of me as a person.

I’m sure it won’t all be flattering; I’ve behaved terribly at times.

Such is the life of a drunken wannabe punk kid from the small towns of Ontario. You’ll say and do shit to regret later; apologies don’t mean it didn’t happen.

It also doesn’t mean it’s who you ended up.

I don’t know how I’ll end up.

But I’m worried I don’t have the stamina or force of will for the long run.

Please don’t let me end up one of these cozy mystery writers, or some detective or spy novel fuck, churning out the same formulaic CSI bullshit each week.

It’s always the goddamned butler.

I want my legacy to be more complex than that.

More compelling; equally pathetic, mildly horrific, one long cringe punctuated by the occasional, “Okay, he’s growing on me.”

He’s getting better.

Please let me leave it behind.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 326 words, poem: Roses And Violets

Read: Constellation Games, Leonard Richardson
Comics: Chew 9-12
Music: Never Been On MTV, Dead Kennedys

shocker

Karma actually came back on someone.

Turns out, when you keep going over people’s heads and make spurious claims about how busy you are when you have to work alone, despite the fact that no one else is even remotely busy at that time of day and you’re known to be way too goddamned slow at everything because you’re too busy going over people’s heads to bitch instead of just doing your fucking job, which screws over everyone’s schedules as the upper management plays stupid games and takes you at face value, it doesn’t actually protect you from getting cut when they realize that they don’t actually need that many people.

I’m surprised. Between this and the easy sink fix, the universe rarely works this way.

At least, not for me. The universe may be just; humanity certainly is not.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 734 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Words For Pictures, Brian Michael Bendis
Comics: The Boys 21-24
Music: Utopia, Bjork

midweek

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

plugged

Like my whole life, I am plugged up. Stuck. Caught in a relentless onslaught that packs behind my skull and makes it impossible to hear or breathe.

I sweat.

Blow my nose, more comes. Autoreplicating, instantaneous snot, filling every inch of headspace.

Ears pounding, I cannot hear.

I am on a subway; I am underwater.

I am cold, and yet, simultaneously, the boiling man.

I am man-baby, trying not to let on that I suffer, while suffering audibly.

To bed, to bed.

Illness is weakness; no, to work.

Target: 900 words
Written: 507 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 49-52
Music: Cutthroat, Interpol (could I?)

ptdr

AKA, the bane of all work’s existence right now.

Would that they could communicate changes before they expect you to endure them.

Target: 900 words
Written: 745 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Queen Of Sorcery, David Eddings
Comics: Once And Future 3-4, Die 9-10
Music: Live Things, Nirvana

crowfest

I feel like it’s such a cool idea that needs better execution. Vendors, buskers, but like what about the other public stuff? I’m sure the gala was cool, but that’s limited to whoever can afford tickets.

Beyond that, there should be dark movies in the park, dark dances, dark whatever.

Like early Hallowe’en, but crow themed.

Anyway, I had a couple of nice glasses of wine while people watching, and the dogs were happy, even when our waitress tripped over her.

On a side note: that boss clearly has a type and one must ask in this day and age, is it still okay only to hire nothing but attractive girls and put them in the shortest miniskirts possible? Like, I understand the need for uniforms in a customer service business, and she was great, knew what she was doing and seemed very nice and all that, but yeah. I hope her and her fellow waitresses don’t have to put up with a lecherous owner or manager. With all the stories that have come out over the last few years, one has to wonder.

Anyway, all in all, Crowfest, in its third year (and finally having realized that if you’re going to have people outside, you don’t want it in late October/November) remains a nugget of untapped potential, going who knows where.

Sounds familiar.

Target: 900 words
Written: 2923 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Unholy Night, Seth Grahame-Smith
Comics: Phonogram: The Singles Club 7, The Wicked + The Divine 1-3
Music: Unknown Stuff, Spacehog

/end rant

I guess I should apologize. I hate to rant like yesterday, that shit needed to get off my chest.

Not only for the release, but because we know, ultimately, we can’t do anything about it.

What are the options? Fight back, get fired? Lose our second income? Go to court for probably years in order to either lose or get less than we deserve, and not enough to pay the bills?

Quite frankly, any system that allows this is not just.

One should never silenced solely because the other person, the clearly guilty other person, has more money than you.

A system that doesn’t protect its least powerful can never be a just system. A system that allows the threat of having to engage in the system as a means to silence dissent can never be a just system.

Our system is broken.

Target: 800 words
Written: 144 words

Read: It's Just A Thought, Thomas Sterner
Comics: Ain't No Grave 1-2, I Hate Fairyland v2 14-15
Music: Another Lonely Day, Ben Harper

work drama

You’d think a place I left ten years ago wouldn’t have any power over me, but they’re still playing their same games with my wife.

What a fucking joke.

A few years before I left, the owner changed from one brother to another, and unlike the original brother, who was very hands on, and respected work, the new one brought in others to run it for him.

I gather he’s largely absent now, and has left the running of the joint to this incredibly narcissistic piece of shit he brought in who destroyed the whole “work hard, do the right thing” culture in favour of one that emphasizes pettiness and sycophancy.

One thing I am not is a fucking sycophant. Others can lick that brown, but I’m only doing that for a woman I’m trying to get off. Some ego-driven prick can go fuck himself.

Anyway, after a couple of years of busting my ass, doing all the work, the right things and watching as others, who had done nothing but kiss up move on past me and take credit for my work and ideas, of watching friends and co-workers, good people who worked hard, get fucked over and stigmatized because they didn’t lick this man-child’s boots, I left.

Unfortunately, my wife stayed.

She’d dropped into a nice space where everyone left her alone to run her team. Hell, I’m not sure they even know what her team does, despite it being kind of critical. This man, to whom she is a direct report, hasn’t talked to her in four years.

FOUR.

YEARS.

Could you imagine having a boss that didn’t bother to speak to you for four years? Well, in this case, it’s a fucking blessing.

Unfortunately, by law, they were required to create a pay equity chart, ensuring they weren’t paying women less than men for the same job and so on (they were, surprise). Mostly, they used it to reward themselves and their sycophants, but in doing so, they left my wife completely off the list, and the team she runs on the same level as the custodians (a huge slap in the face for a highly specialized group of porting experts).

Well, despite the fact that she didn’t want to make waves, because of the quiet little nook they’d found themselves, she was compelled to ask by her team and her own need for a raise, which everyone else seemed to have gotten.

She didn’t do it rudely or aggressively. She just said: hey, my team has questions about their place on the list, can you explain or re-evaluate? Oh, and also, you’ve left me off the list.

She didn’t ask for money or promotion or anything like that. But all the other leaders of specialized teams were listed explicitly; several bumped in pay. She wasn’t even on the list. Maybe it was an oversight.

Well, guess what?

This motherfucker and the other ass-kissing sycophants and petty pricks who made the list decided “HOW DARE SHE”.

I mean, dude. You fucked up. You forgot her on the list. Just put her on the list. Simple oversight. It doesn’t actually even require the bump in pay (though it probably should). Just add her to the list.

Nope.

Vindictive motherfuckers, for having the temerity to point out that they missed her on the list, they’ve gone on a hellbent drive to destroy her and her team, removing people, automating shit and screwing around her hours.

Oh, and that pay equity list? After six weeks of no answer, they came back stating your team is where it’s supposed to be, and despite you being the leader of the team and having explicitly written out a hundred things you do beyond what your team does, we’ve decided that your duties are not sufficiently different enough to require your own classification. Never mind the fact that as leader, her responsibilities are different, that she’s got more responsibility, more accountability and that EVERY OTHER LEADER HAS THEIR OWN DESIGNATION.

Nope.

Fuck you. You’re not on the list.

Everything that’s happened since she reached out has been a product of the vindictiveness of small, insecure men and their tiny… egos, aghast that someone who wasn’t an asskisser dared to question them.

Keep in mind that she didn’t even want to point it out. Her team begged her to say something. I told her she should, because maybe it was just an oversight, not reckoning on the fact that this piece of shit and his cronies were truly this horrible of people.

And she didn’t ask aggressively. She was as demure as she could be, like a timid little mouse begging for the tiniest little piece of cheese, off a block big as a house. Four years of no contact, and the first time she reaches out, they set out to destroy and punish her and her whole team.

For asking the questions they were supposed to ask about placement in the Pay Equity act. Fuck sakes, they requested feedback, specifically if they missed anyone.

That fucking place is the shits, and that man has absolutely destroyed any culture of doing the right thing or being, you know, good people. I’d love to come back one day as a consultant bent on culling the wheat, because ninety percent of upper management would be gone the first day.

Useless, overpaid, insecure pricks who contribute nothing and make everyone else miserable.

Christ, the PTSD from that place is strong; my blood pressure jumps 10-15 points just thinking about it.

What bothers me most of all is the choice being put to her now, and it’s complete shit. Stay silent, play ball, let them abuse her and punish her and her team, or fight back and probably get canned.

And as she’s said, we don’t have that fight in us anymore.

Sure, we could tie that up in legalities for years, but man, who has that kind of time and money? I know the HR guy there; he sculpts dismissals around the fact that they’ll challenge the company’s garbage behaviour in court. He makes the initial offer big enough that fighting back means losing money, for lesser reward. He’s told me this, to my face, back when I was running their tech support.

Let ’em come, he says. We’ll throw so much money at it, drag it out for years. We’ll bankrupt them before they ever see a dime or a decision, and when they get it, it will probably be less. Take that, minorities and other people we’ve bullied and/or screwed over.

Where’s the justice in that?

Is this what the Pay Equity Act was meant to do, Canadian government? To allow pieces of garbage another outlet to punish those they don’t like, to bully and silence them into subservience, with the threat of ruining their lives consistently hanging over their heads in the petty, tiny hands of a insecure egotist whose narcissism and need for constant validation overruns everything he does?

There is no justice in this world unless pieces of shit like that are held accountable for their godawful behaviour, and can no longer use their positions of power to silence good, hardworking people just trying to get by.

It’s fucking criminal.

Target: 800 words
Written: 2276 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Hail To The Chin: Further Confessions Of A B Movie Actor, Ash Williams
Comics: Untold Tales Of I Hate Fairyland v2 5, I Hate Fairyland v2 11-13
Music: Random Acoustic, Linkin Park (yep)