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: New Adventures In HI-FI, R.E.M.

election day

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The make-or-break for world freedom.

Hopeful, and terrified.

I would like to believe this is the beginning of a great wave of enlightenment, but the stupidity of our neighbours to the south has been proven time and time again.

Are we headed back to the Stone Age, straight into World War III, civil war, an era of hatred and bigotry and the unchecked greed of billionaires over the other 99.9999999999999999999% of the planet?

Or are we finally headed in the direction of sanity?

We will not know, not likely today, not likely even tomorrow.

And as a neighbour only, I can only hope that the ruckus next door isn’t prelude to disaster.

Target: 900 words
Written: 1240 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 73-76
Music: Nevermind, Nirvana (in a day of uncertainty and terror, transcendence was necessary)

If it’s not clear, FUCK DONALD TRUMP. FUCK REPUBLICANS. FUCK THE RIGHT WING.

me

the end of the cold?

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I mean, it’s not horrible today. I’m tired still, and there’s still some guck in my throat, but other than that, it’s not terrible.

The coughing has stopped. The sinus headache has dissipated into the air.

I’d like to disappear into the air.

Who knows where I’d land?

Target: 900 words
Written: 640 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 69-72
Music: Never Trust A Hippy, NOFX (it's true, you know)

i think i’d like to walk

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I almost misspelled that as talk. Freudian slip, anyone?

But I do mean walk. I’d like to throw some shit on, grab the only things important to me, and just start walking.

Just. Gone. Tramping down foreign roads with a backpack and a laptop, a Kindle full of books.

In peace. Listening to the birds sing.

Praying for nature to remain unsavage.

It’s savage enough out here.

Target: 900 words
Written: 466 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 65-68
Music: Never Surrender (From Kickboxer), Stan Bush (if this is the best you got, surrender, immediately, because you suck)

everyone’s going to die

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I don’t know why, but I’m watching this guy talking about fashion on TV and all I can think is…

Someday, he’s going to die. So is the interviewer (which is a shame, she seems nice – they both do).

But so will I, so will my wife. So will my daughter, my dogs, my cats, my extended family, and every since animal, plant and person that’s ever existed.

Bummer, dude. I get that growth cannot be endless or it becomes cancer, but damn.

If there’s a higher power, garbage build, bro. Change is the only thing that does not die.

Target: 900 words
Written: 454 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 61-64
Music: Never Saw A Thing Coming, Gregger Botting (a friend of mine - check him out)

out of cold

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I hope.

I still have an annoying tickle and my nose is a little stuffy, but otherwise, I seem to be beyond the worst of it.

Mostly, I’m just glad it’s not COVID.

Even though my experience with COVID wasn’t terrible (annoying cough for a couple of days), the tiredness never really seemed to leave.

That could be for entirely different reasons, however.

One never really knows. I only hope the afterlife is filled with answers.

That’s all I really want, at this point.

Target: 900 words
Written: 203 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 57-60
Music: Never Mind The Bollocks, Here's The Sex Pistols (it's such a shame that Johnny Rotten turned out to be a nazi punk, instead of, you know, the good kind.)

still working on a cold

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It still sucks, but at least, the running, drippy bullshit is mostly over.

Now, it’s annoying cough, hey, thanks for joining the party. Did I introduce you to plugged ears?

No?

Well, here, you two will get along swimmingly. Perhaps we can entice fever over for a little menage-a-trois?

No? Not yet? Just the tip?

Is delirium a cold symptom? Asking for a friend.

Target: 900 words
Written: 152 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 53-56
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.)

plugged

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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: Never Is A Long Time/Love Of Your Life, Red Hot Chili Peppers

cold

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And I’m sick. Runny, plugged nose (funny how these two opposite things go together so well when it comes to the common cold).

I don’t know where it came from, but probably karma.

Probably fucking karma.

Fuckin’ karma.

Target: 900 words
Written: 201 words, novella: The Mungk

Reading: Hunter Of Worlds, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: 100 Bullets 45-48
Music: Never Hear The End Of It, Sloan