ridin’ off into the sunset

I think there’s a significant portion of us that would love to drive off down the highway in a fast convertible, beautiful woman beside us, no cares, flaunting social norms, cranking tunes, mooning and flashing the passersby, outrunning the cops, and then pulling over on an out of the way back road to fuck on the hood about every couple of hours.

It’s a young person’s game, of course, and if you’ve ever paid any attention to one of these stories, they’re always freeing, but they all end in tragedy.

Because there’s no such thing as freedom without responsibility, and while I think we should all feel free to flash our tits down Main St, or eat a pussy in the grass, carefree can also be careless.

Every high has its hangover.

At some point, reality comes crashing in, and we have a choice. Figure out how to live the adventure while taking care of business, or how to go out in a blaze of glory.

Viable choices, all.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 374 words, short story: Forest Edge

Read: Tropic Of Kansas, Christopher Brown
Comics: Preacher 60-63
Music: Nina Simone Essentials, Nina Simone (probably the only good thing that'll happen all day)

regrets

I’m thinking a lot about what’s evil and what is not.

I’ve just written a four issue comic series, a western based on revenge, which begins typically enough for the kind of spaghetti western I’m basing it on, but takes a wild turn at the end of the first issue (unrevealed future plot twist).

I’m a little worried it pushes me into territory I’m not comfortable representing.

That is, like Get Back Again, I’m concerned some right wing fuck is going to take it and construe it as pro-bigotry or worse, in this case, pro-life.

But that’s not what it’s about (and I’m very pro-choice); it’s similar to The Mungk in that it’s about trauma, and how it can shape us for the worse, until the evil that’s been done to us becomes us abusing ourselves, and maybe others, in ways we never would otherwise.

It’s also about whether evil can be used for good, sometimes?

It’s about guilt and remorse and self-hatred.

Because listen, I know more than a few women who’ve been through it, and despite what the right wing would have you think, most of them did not behave as though they were tossing a used Kleenex.

Most of them were genuinely distressed, upset, even traumatized by it. Not one of them didn’t have strong feelings about it, even if they didn’t want to say it out loud. It was clearly visible on their face and in their eyes.

The other thing that I know about it is that not one of them has ever said they would make a different choice. They don’t regret the choice, even if there’s still remorse.

Like putting down a terminally ill pet; it sucks, you hate it, it makes you weep for days, but even years later, if asked, you’ll say it was the right thing to do.

Anyway, thoughts and feelings on this day; I can’t imagine what the poor women go through.

Even if this case, it’s a little more… extreme.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 720 words, comic: Western Cradle #4

Read: Tropic Of Kansas, Christopher Brown
Comics: Preacher 57-59, Preacher: Tall In The Saddle 1
Music: Nimrod, Green Day

no time no time

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Did I mention no time?

Target: 1000 words
Written: 607 words, comic: Western Cradle #4

Read: Tropic Of Kansas, Christopher Brown
Comics: Preacher 53-56
Music: Night Time, Killing Joke

marathon

Well, that was a run. Very little time today, but I managed a rough draft of the conclusion of Western Cradle.

I like it a lot, minus the obvious criticism of first drafts and the last few lines being meaningful, meaning I need to expand on that a lot more during the first three issues.

Well, fuck.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 2011 words, comic: Western Cradle #4

Read: Tropic Of Kansas, Christopher Brown
Comics: Preacher 49-52
Music: Night Music, Tones On Tail

back in the office

It’s been five weeks since I was there, and it still sucks.

Man, do I ever prefer my cozy home office. One can practically feel the stress melting away when I think of it. Plus, I can get more done on breaks and lunches; I don’t have to try and jam it all in before I leave for work or after I get home. It’s like gaining an hour a day.

My writing only takes roughly that; it’s a great time to do laundry or dishes or prep a meal.

Why anyone would ever want to be in an office in this day and age, if they didn’t absolutely have to…

Fucking ridiculous.

(Plus, I’m actually more productive at home; I’ve too much social anxiety to like sitting in a crowd all day).

Target: 1000 words
Written: 370 words, comic: Western Cradle #4

Read: Tropic Of Kansas, Christopher Brown
Comics: Preacher 45-48
Music: Night Crawlers, White Zombie

my annual dose of ptsd

It’s the Christmas party of my former place of employment, which drove me to the brink, out of my mind, and into crippling debt in trying to think there was a way out of it all.

My wife still works there. It’s still awful.

On the plus side, they fired a bunch of people, so it looks like they’re paring down to sell.

So, maybe ten years of this annual reminder of workplace PTSD can be fucking done.

But not yet.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 242 words, comic: Western Cradle #4

Read: Tropic Of Kansas, Christopher Brown
Comics: Preacher 41-44
Music: Nico, Blind Melon (talk about sexy)

every inch

Some days, it feels like a war of attrition (and we’re not talking about the cold now).

It’s just a fight, a relentless fight, one moment after the next, bloodied, beaten, without rest, without help, without anything to get us through but pure fucking grit and the sense that goddamnit, we’re gonna get there if we die trying.

This notion that life should be a dream, a dance through the tulips, it’s poison. It’s ephemeral opiate, a smoky high that keeps us from seeing what’s going on.

But the fight keeps us focused, no matter how many cuts and bruises, how many broken bones, no matter that our hearts are in tatters and we know we’ve gone far, far from the ideal person we intended to be at the start.

All that matters is the result.

And ain’t that a hell of a way to live?

Target: 1000 words
Written: 484 words, comic: Western Cradle #3

Read: Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris
Comics: Preacher 37-40
Music: Nice Guys Finish Last, Green Day (ain't that the fuckin' case)

sitcoms

Good lord. Watching Reba’s new show and all I can think is (and I never watched her old show, but the bits I’ve seen seem about the same)…

How fucking stupid do they think people are?

And what happened to all the good writers out there? So many are supposedly struggling, where the fuck were they when this shit was made?

Good Christ, fuck.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 836 words, comic: Western Cradle #3

Read: Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris
Comics: Preacher 34-36, Preacher: One Man's War 1
Music: Nice, Rollins Band (I saw this listed as their worst album, and all I could think was, "if this is their worst, how fucking bad is everyone else?" Rollins is the shit.)

fighting back

Well, mostly. I’m holding my own, but also partially drowning in phlegm and mucus.

This may be the birth of the Anti-Cold.

It’s like the Anti-Monitor, but against all things cough and snot related.

Snot robbed my mother, and I must avenge her! Mucus kicked my dog! Phlegm killed my Uncle Ben!

Can cough medicine make one delirious? Asking for a friend.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 2217 words, comic: Western Cradle #3

Read: Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris
Comics: Preacher 31-33, Preacher: Cassidy - Blood & Whiskey 1
Music: Next Year, Foo Fighters

nope

Coughing should not involve chewing.

Yeah, we’re going full manbaby.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 320 words, comic: Western Cradle #3

Read: The Autobiography Of Malcolm X, Malcolm X/Alex Haley
Comics: Preacher 28-30, Preacher: The Good Old Boys 1
Music: The Next Day, David Bowie