and sat

Man, killed it. What a great weekend with such a cutie.

I think the best part was that I discovered in the car that her favourite new songs were Creep by Radiohead and Pearl Jam’s Even Flow, as sung by her Bop Bop.

She’s also partial to We Built This City, but hey, everybody’s got their quirks.

Mine was Warrant. I still know the words to Cherry Pie, to this day.

I know, I know. Sorry.

Target: 1500 words
Written: 1437 words, novel: Father Lightning

five hundred days

It’s now been five hundred days since I sat down and wrote the “birds fall” haiku, and said, I’m going to do this.

The number of times I’ve wanted to turn back, to give it all up and just start over, start fresh, back at the beginning?

Probably almost equal, if not higher. But I’ve been starting over, giving up and turning back since I was twelve years old. I’m done with it.

The older I get, the more friends and family I lose, my body is turning on me and life is getting to be too “life”, and not enough life.

I am running out of time. Do-overs are no longer truly possible. I’m not hip. I’m not cool or famous, nor do I know anyone cool and famous. I’m too shy, too much of an introvert, too passive to reach out to famous people.

My Nineties-era disillusionment and sneering keeps me from enjoying the cool and the new, because popularity and recency have zero bearing on quality.

Things can be unknown and be epic. Things can be world famous and still awesome.

Contrarian I, I was never the one to tell a band to go fuck itself because it got big. I stopped listening when they started to suck. And sometimes, their old shit?

It was garbage.

Someday, hopefully, someone will call me a sell-out even if I’m doing the same thing, because I got rich doing it. Someday, I don’t care if I’m rich, I’ll be comfortable and able to do what I love full-time. I’ll have the quiet life of which I dream, and the assholes can do whatever it is they want to do, as long as they stay the hell away from me.

Target: 1500 words
Written: 1315 words, novel: Father Lightning


You’d think since I wrote about Spacehog yesterday, that song would be stuck in my head.

But no.

It’s Carry On, Wayward Son, by Kansas.

Good song, but stuck in my head for twenty-four hours?


Target: 1500 words
Written: 1103 words, novel: Father Lightning


This time last year, I wrote about learning about kindness. That wouldn’t truly start until almost February, despite my protests to the contrary. 2022 would end up being a real bugger of a year, followed by a real bitch of a start to 2023.

2023 isn’t shaping up great in the first half, but the farther I go, the more I realize there’s no turning back, only giving up.

And since this is it, this is all we have, then that doesn’t really seem like a great option.

Since this time last year, I finish my novella The Mungk, wrote a couple of poems (one of which was published), a four issue crime comic (unpublished) and a trio of short stories (also unpublished). I’m working on my first full-length novel – a horror about kindness.

I’ve read more than seventy-five books, roughly fourteen hundred comics, and take ten minutes daily to meditate. I’ve built up my exercise regime, although it’s not helping my waistline, which is definitely bigger than this time last year. I’ve tried over two hundred new recipes. Listened to almost four hundred albums.

Life’s weird.

Here’s hoping forty-six runs a lot smoother than forty-five.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1423 words, novel: Father Lightning

carpe diem

It’s Saturday, and it’s supposed to rain all day. For most people, that might be a blight. For me, it means no yard work, no spending the day at my parents’ house in their pool. It means reading and writing and video games and playing with my cats and dogs.

Carpe diem doesn’t always mean taking over the world; it mostly means do the things you want to do.

And maybe that’s being a total homebody and fucking around all day.

That’s the diem I want to carpe.

I could pepper it with pop music and other such platitudes, if you’d like. Make it a little more Californian.

Of course, California’s carpe diem for the young, hot and rich. Old, fat and poor need not apply.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1967 words, novel: Father Lightning

jane’s addiction

Man, I did not know how much I needed Nothing’s Shocking today.

Sometimes, the best way to get out of a funk, or get focused, or wake up a little, is to get totally immersed in something beautiful.

And that nailed it today. Now For Plan A is probably next, maybe jumping back a little to A Northern Soul and some best of Alice In Chains.

Still. Jane’s Addiction, man. One of the best.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1487 words, novel: Father Lightning


We have a lot of clutter. I personally hate clutter, and I like to spend my money on experiences, rather than stuff. Stuff collects, doesn’t mean anything and is a waste of money. A wooden carved turtle reminds me of a trip to Antigua, and that’s fine. My t-shirts consist of bands and geek stuff and places I’ve visited. Craft brewery shirts.

Experiences. I have books galore, comics, video games, movies, box sets of television shows. A healthy collection of music from the Forties to now.


But stuff… stuff drives me nuts.

I have cigars and lubricants and sex toys. A well stocked bar, beer fridge and wine rack. (I am nothing if not decadent; the world’s quietest hedonist.)


Cookbooks, cooking supplies. Practical items like lawnmowers and vacuums.

Useful things. Experiences.

Not… stuff.

Stuff sucks. It’s junk. The kind of stuff that should never be anywhere near a house. And I know everyone’s experiences and what they enjoy are different, but if it doesn’t turn you on, if it’s not useful, if it doesn’t speak to you of something you’ve done or could do, then fuck.

What’s the goddamn point?

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1105 words, novel: Father Lightning

not feeling it today

Today, I want to sleep. Today, I want to lay down and do nothing but get sucked down a rabbit hole, or get lost in music or generally, just get lost – in silence, in distraction, in presence, in screams.

Today is a bad day.

As always, music can make it better. Books can make it better.

Silence can make it better.

Solitude can make it better.

May I rest in peace.

(Today only. This isn’t that kind of thing. I’m depressed today and down, but I know how to manage it. I’ve been doing it all my life.)

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1838 words, novel: Father Lightning


Sort of the opposite of Guns ‘n’ Roses’ Fourteen Years (great song, by the way – most of my favourites were Izzy Stradlin songs). But little pain in fourteen years. We have our ups and downs like all couples, but we don’t shit on each other, we do pretty much everything together and if I ever become a full time writer, she will be solidly in my corner, as I would be in hers if she chose to do something for herself, like that.

She’s beautiful, smart and fun to be with. There’s no real bullshit with her. She’s not mean about stuff, but you know where you stand. I watch other couples piss on each other, or play stupid games and I can only think, man, who has time for that? Why be with someone who picks on you or can’t be honest with you?

It’s exhausting to watch.

So, happy anniversary, my beautiful wife. Here’s to many more.

Target: 1400 words
Written: 1664 words, novel: Father Lightning