skepticlysm

Category: The Black List

  • TL;DR

    TL;DR

    • Supposed to.
    • Not suppose to.
    • The d is important.
    • …
    • Yesterday, driving back from my uncle’s 70th birthday party, I thought about the term “supposed to” a lot.
    • Specifically, I thought about it through the lens of how we’re “supposed to” operate in society.
    • You’re supposed to want things.
    • To want the same things.
    • Big houses.
    • New cars.
    • Fancy clothes.
    • You’re supposed to want to get ahead in a career.
    • To aspire to wealth.
    • And power, I guess.
    • You’re supposed to agree with everyone.
    • To follow the flock.
    • Giggle with the gaggle.
    • Goddamn, I have never been good at it.
    • I have tried.
    • I have tried so hard.
    • All my life.
    • Most of my interactions with everything professional has been me pretending, trying to fit in, trying to be liked and seen.
    • Because I don’t fit in naturally.
    • And some part of me knows that, and is desperate to not be alone because he can’t understand what’s wrong with him.
    • But trying to be what you’re supposed to be is hard.
    • …
    • Hell, I wonder if burnout is this.
    • We’re “supposed to” be more and more productive, and all the fucking media I see in my threads tries to make me feel awful if I’m not striving to be more productive.
    • (insert Peter’s rant from Office Space)
    • I wonder if this is why I react the way I do about AI.
    • I can see AI as a tool to help me refine some of my thinking and creative ideas.
    • Kinda.
    • But the flip side of that is it’s refining ideas toward the Great Average.
    • Which won’t be making me more productive, it’ll be making me more intellectually and creatively lazy in the long-term.
    • (The science on creativity says it’s a muscle, btw, and one everyone has.)
    • If you’re using AI as a tool to augment your productivity, to have it replace some of your more rote work output, why the hell are you doing that “work” in the first place?
    • Which lands us back in Supposed To-land.
    • All this shit we’re supposed to be doing is leeching our humanity and our lives.
    • Sucking all the joy and meaning away.
    • When I think about this stuff driving the car, it’s because I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with me.
    • Why can I not just do what is expected?
    • Why do I not get satisfaction from the expected?
    • (I’m aware this isn’t just me and I’m not trying to be a precious little flower, but I can’t speak for anyone else, so here we are.)
    • For three weeks after college graduation, I got to hang out with my cousins, Brandi and Josh, in the outskirts of Chicago (and also Las Vegas).
    • I bought two CDs on that trip.
    • 1) Evil Empire by Rage Against the Machine
    • 2) When I Woke by Rusted Root
    • While Rusted Root played, Brandi and I talked about something, though I can’t remember exactly what, but she paused mid-sentence while flipping through the CD-book, and said, “I’d like to hang out with these guys.”
    • At the time, I thought, Brandi, you crazy.
    • Now?
    • She was right this whole fucking time.
    • We were at Mumford & Sons last night and while I listened to the lyrics, I kept imagining them sitting around a studio strumming their guitars and chatting about life and music and how they must feel so goddamn fulfilled by what they’re doing.
    • Yes, yes, I can do those things in my “spare” time.
    • No time is spare.
    • Creation is not less than, and it sure as hell has immense value.
    • I’m not opposed to working, mind you.
    • Creating anything is work.
    • But doing something someone else has determined the organization needs is not what I’m … supposed to … be doing.
    • It isn’t.
    • I’m not wired for that.
    • I do it anyway.
    • Because I’m scared of being destitute.
    • Full stop.
    • That’s the whole reason I have worked for something else my entire life.
    • Something.
    • Because businesses are not fucking people.
    • The same as AI aren’t.
    • Think about this.
    • You have a job, your career.
    • How often do you determine what you do on any given day?
    • Are you far enough up the food chain you get to decide how to spend your day?
    • Do YOU set your tasks?
    • Sure, there are days where you’re given a task and allowed to complete it how you see fit.
    • But how much agency do you have in choosing that thing?
    • Food for thought.
    • Food for myself and my family, a roof over their heads.
    • When I look around, there’s not a lot of things I want anymore.
    • Stuff.
    • There are some. I am a consumerist, after all, but things.
    • Physical things.
    • Not a lot of those.
    • There are plenty of things I want to DO though.
    • I want to see Ghent in Belgium, and to go to European holiday markets, not to buy stuff, but to live moments.
    • Yes, many of those moments have people in them.
    • Most.
    • I’d rather trade something I wanted to make for those moments.
    • I want to make art, to sell stories built from my imagination and words.
    • I want to talk to other people in my craft about what we’re creating, and then I want to talk to the people who hopefully have enjoyed what I’ve created about how it affected them.
    • I want to learn to make and play music.
    • I want to paint.
    • And build shit.
    • I want to live doing the things that bring me solace.
    • But … living the here and now is surviving by doing assignments other people give me until I’m used up and reach that government mandated retirement age, a number chosen by those who already have enough funds to buy their freedom and agency.
    • Life’s being suppressed by “supposed to,” squashed by the consumer economy and all the tasks we’ve been assigned to survive in it.
    • I’m not making a political statement.
    • I’m talking about our entire modern way of life.
    • This is not how it is supposed to be.
    • There is plenty.
    • Your value and worth are not your assigned hourly-wage.
    • Which brings us back to that other album I bought in Chicago, Evil Empire.
    • (And I’m sitting here wondering if an examination of Zack’s lyrics is a detour from today’s theme. Maybe yes, maybe no.)
    • So … I won’t.
    • I highly recommend going to read his words on that album, or hell, stick your headphones on and listen to it audio book-style.
    • Zack’s a goddamn prophet.
    • And he’s rebelling against “supposed to” in every way.
    • I have struggled with it my whole life, wrestled with the fear of being poor, of being a failure.
    • More internally than externally.
    • I’ll go do what I need to do, but inside, it’s a maelstrom.
    • That scene of Agent Smith talking to Morpheus while the latter is chained to the chair.
    • That. That moment.
    • And before you go, “Well, why don’t you just do what you want?”
    • Goddamn what a dismissal that kind of thing is.
    • What an uninformed, unempathetic take to have on someone else’s situation.
    • We have to stop trying to make other people fit in the boxes we build in our heads.
    • We alike, but we are not the same.
    • You’re supposed to have empathy.
    • You’re supposed to have the opportunity to be fulfilled.
    • To life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
    • Not to provide value for stakeholders.
    • TL;DR: fuck “supposed to.”
    • Thanks for stopping by.
  • The Hourglass of Wasted Years

    The Hourglass of Wasted Years

    • Up until you get to the word “peace,” the bullets were written on the Word app on my phone a week ago two weeks ago yesterday.
    • So, with my thumbs. In a car.
    • I sent these to Hamby on his birthday.

    :begin transmission…

    • “Conan, what is best in life?”
    • “To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women.”
    • “Good!”
    • What? Ohhhh. Conan Gray.
    • Imma wait in the car. You kids have fun.
    • Okay, but for real, I am waiting in the car reading while they’re at the show. In Kansas City at the Starlight Theatre.
    • And I’m listening to Iron Maiden.
    • “Wasted Years.”
    • And then “Sea of Madness.”
    • I’m going back to my book now.
    • Peace.

    :end transmission.

    • I didn’t really listen to Iron Maiden much.
    • (That night.)
    • Because I could hear the crowd singing every word of every song that Gray gentleman sang.

    See video.

    • Sounded like a musical European football match.
    • They had an amazing time.
    • Steph recounted the moment where the guy took stage and all the crowd in line for swag, refreshments, and the bathrooms screamed and sprinted for their seats.
    • I imagine that’s what it was like during The Beatles era.
    • I remember us rushing the stage and pushing all the folding chairs to the ground at my first Metallica concert, but I don’t remember any outright sprinting or screaming.
    • Then again, my memory’s getting spotty.
    • Brain infection.
    • Moose out front should’ve told ya’.
    • (I get at least a year leaning on the brain infection excuse.)
    • (No, I’m not asking.)
    • I wrote 800 words about AI and military deployment on American soil.
    • You’re not going to get to read it.
    • What’s the point?
    • All this shit at the same time.
    • All my shit at the same time as this shit.
    • Can get overwhelming.
    • I assume I’m already on the List.
    • I think I’m happy that song I mentioned two weeks ago wasn’t AI-generated.
    • Much less creepy.
    • Tracy mentioned she wished she could’ve seen me when that happened.
    • I’ll tell you about it.
    • I was typing something, and then I heard my name.
    • Stopped typing.
    • Aloud, “What the fuck?”
    • Not Loud, because work.
    • And then I kinda looked around my office, maybe sorta waiting to see if anything else was going to talk to me.
    • I might’ve wished it did.
    • I’ve wanted to do one of those ARGs like depicted in Fincher’s The Game.
    • Even played a video game … 20+ years ago that did a lot of that.
    • Called “Majestic.”
    • I think about ARGs all the time.
    • I feel like a read about one where they kidnap you, drive you across town, dump you, and you have to get back to “base” without being caught.
    • I thought it would be cool to have one like that here where you have to get from one side of downtown to the other in a designated amount of time without getting shot with nerf guns.
    • Like an escape room, except your friends are hunting you.
    • Probably higher tech ways to do that, but …
    • Going to be part of the LLC.
    • Yo.
    • I forgot my earbuds … one day last week.
    • (Full admission, I keep writing lists, but not finishing, and then saving them as “unpublished.”)
    • I don’t remember what day last week I started this one, but … well, nevermind. It was a week ago today.
    • And why is “nevermind” not one word?
    • It’s said as one word.
    • I’m sure it was “never you mind” or something Little Old House on the Prairie.
    • Anyway, yeah, yeah, I forgot my earbuds, which is fucking awful.
    • That would seem to make them the second most important piece of tech I own.
    • (I guess I can include the phone, since the buds don’t really work without the phone. Goddamn phone.)
    • Another thing I hate to admit, but this MacBook Air I have is my all-time favorite thing to write on.
    • Other than journals.
    • Journals are the best.
    • And I’d be doing more of that, but holding a pen doesn’t feel great at the moment.
    • I will overcome!
    • Or some shit.
    • Okay, this is the point where I started adding new shit.
    • Consecutive Mondays.
    • I’m listening to the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 soundtrack by Hans Zimmer.
    • The music is way better than the game.
    • Been listening to it in the car, too, which is kinda funny.
    • Dramatic scores for your driving needs.
    • Makes me want the five-point seatbelt.
    • Last Friday, I got off early because I’d done back-to-back 11-hour days.
    • Sat in the recliner and read the newest issue of Wired.
    • There’s a story in there by Steven Levy about what’s happened to Silicon Valley.
    • Story’s interesting.
    • To me, anyway.
    • But it got to me in a bunch of ways.
    • There’s the presence Wired has had in my life.
    • It inspired my decision to switch from Pre-Med to Journalism.
    • Dumb, but … true.
    • No, that wasn’t the only reason.
    • Most of the writing in Wired in the ‘90s felt like a tech-addled Gonzo publication.
    • Which leads us to Hunter, who also had a huge influence on my attempt to be a professional writer.
    • I know I mentioned that memory before, lying on my side in the hallway of whatever the hell building it was (I’m looking at the map, but it’s not telling me), reading Fear and Loathing and laughing so hard I was crying.
    • I wanted to write like Hunter.
    • I wanted to be in Wired.
    • I wanted to have a column like Dave Barry.
    • Didn’t do one goddamn bit of it.
    • Sure, I was a film columnist for 11 years.
    • Sure, I’ve been editor-in-chief of four or five magazines.
    • Why did I not try to write for one of those publications?
    • Maybe I wasn’t good enough, but I don’t think that’s the reason.
    • The Why is … I never tried.
    • And as the sand runs through the hourglass, I feel despondent and desperate about it.
    • Maybe “Do Not Go Gentle” should really be “Do Not Stand and Watch.”
    • It’s so easy to be taken off track from your dreams in this world.
    • So easy because you have to make a living, right?
    • You have to be productive.
    • Produce, motherfuckers.
    • And to the hells with your fulfillment!
    • And this is the revelation I’ve had about work, and I’m embarrassed it’s taken me this long.
    • Do your job.
    • Think about that statement.
    • You have to have a job.
    • At your job, you do what they want you to do.
    • Sure, there’s problem solving involved.
    • You think about how to do that task.
    • But that thinking is about that thing.
    • Is that thing you’re thinking about personally fulfilling?
    • Most of us aren’t really asked to … think.
    • It’s to their benefit.
    • You get the check, sure.
    • And the … Benefits.
    • But the agreement is you’re there for them, not you.
    • I have felt, all my life, there’s a box I’m trying to break from.
    • My mind and desires, my limbs and sanity, pressing against some confinement I cannot see or touch or taste.
    • The fear of being poor has a crushing grip upon me, unseen chains and shackles.
    • That fear keeps you, well, me, from taking the chances I should.
    • And again, I can see the sand running short.
    • There’s a bit of spiced panic.
    • I shouldn’t be sharing this crap.
    • This bit of a journal that’s personal therapy.
    • Saw this thing on Insta today, and I’m going to retype it because I want the vid shared.
    • “Fall in love with some activity, and do it!
    • “Nobody ever figures out what life is all about, and it doesn’t matter. Explore the world.
    • “Nearly everything is really interesting if you go into deeply enough. Work as hard and as much as you want to on the things you like to do the best.
    • “Don’t think about what you want to be, but what you want to do. Keep up some kind of a minimum with other things so that society doesn’t stop you from doing anything at all.”*
    • – Richard Phillips Feynman
    • Oof.

    *Fun facts about quote marks. You don’t close them off at the end of the paragraph if the same person continues to speak. You save it for when they’re finished.

    No, it’s not a football match.

  • And On And On And On

    And On And On And On

    • What happens if you get caught picking your nose when you’re on Zoom?
    • I know you pick your nose.
    • Don’t lie.
    • Hey, what’s up.
    • Friday.
    • Hard to develop the audience if you’re not consistently producing.
    • I won’t make promises.
    • Too easy to go unfulfilled and the cost sucks.
    • I have been making lists in my notebook.
    • For real.
    • They’re mostly for me.
    • It occurs to me I’m talking to myself.
    • A list is a conversation with the other versions of me.
    • Or the inside me?
    • Anyway.
    • This morning, I clicked on a Spotify playlist of new music from, or related to, artists I’ve followed.
    • New Lamb of God.
    • New Megadeth.
    • New Royal & the Serpent.
    • New Au/Ra.
    • Anyway, played it.
    • About five or six songs down, there was one called, “IT’S WORTH IT,” by Left on Red, whom I’ve never heard of.
    • Soon as the vocals started, the singer said my name and then gave me like this whole positive affirmation message for like a minute and a half.
    • And honestly, it was topically relevant given the existential week I’ve had.
    • I found it fucking horrifying.
    • Obviously AI based.
    • Has to be, right?
    • What in the fuck is Spotify listening to?
    • My text messages?
    • F the AI revolution.
    • F the Administration taking away my rights.
    • F you I won’t do what you tell me.
    • I’m not making that up.
    • I’m actually curious.
    • If YOU listen to that song, will it plug in your name?
    • Your mission, should you choose to accept it.
    • You know how you can get your text messages in the browser window on your computer?
    • I do that all the time.
    • If you text me between 9 and 5, I’m answering with a proper keyboard.
    • Yesterday, I answered texts all morning, and then I went to look up something on my phone …
    • No phone.
    • I searched the whole office.
    • My desk.
    • The floor.
    • My bag.
    • No phone.
    • Did someone steal it out of my office while I was elsewhere?
    • Did I drop it on the sidewalk?
    • Panic, you know?
    • That first moment.
    • Motherfucking anxiety.
    • Left it in the car.
    • Two blocks and two stories away.
    • Damn phone.
    • I don’t even remember what I needed it for.
    • Panic erased the task.
    • But hey, didn’t lose my phone.
    • Woooooo.
    • I have a note that says, “Cheeto hands,” which I wrote down right before I went to the bathroom.
    • Make sure you wash your hands before and after in that situation.
    • Just sayin.
    • What else …
    • Song lyric of the week: “There’s nothing more American than starting a war.”
    • A bunch of these are from last week, which means I no longer feel that urgency I did when I wrote them down.
    • Saw this thing on Insta last week.
    • They’ve added a new ‘vert: Otroverts.
    • “They are not fueled by solitude and they are not energized by the spotlight. These individuals feel their best in the company of others, yet they don’t need constant chatter or the intensity of extroverted energy to thrive.”
    • That’s closer.
    • I believe we spend most of our time in one of the shorthand categories, but it’s situational.
    • Sorry for the hopscotchery today.
    • It’s Friday and I’m sitting in a webinar … that I sat through in person at a conference two years ago.
    • Literally.
    • Same two presenters.
    • And it’s shit I do already anyway.
    • It’s things like this that are driving me to the classroom.
    • To teach.
    • Taking my “How to teach at the College” class this month.
    • Why get a grad degree if you’re not planning on teaching?
    • Grad school, btw, is a helluva lot more interesting than undergrad.
    • Okay, what else?
    • If you followed the lists since April, you know what a headtrip I’ve been on.
    • Daily Prednisone has ridden shotgun on the Eye for three years.
    • I’ve been tapering since July.
    • Took the last one yesterday.
    • Now, we wait.
    • There are “potential” side effects when disembarking from Train Pred.
    • I got all of them.
    • Might take a couple of months to get my body back.
    • If ever.
    • Knees weak, arms spaghetti.
    • Or something.
    • I have much empathy for long-term Pred users.
    • How do you talk about a thing without it being a cry for sympathy?
    • Anyway, the road to normal aging starts now!
    • And maybe some PT.
    • Wooooooo.
    • Started reading A Night in the Lonesome October by Roger Zelazny again.
    • That’ll be three Octobers in a row.
    • I don’t remember where I heard about the book, though I’m pretty sure I wrote it into a List for work.
    • But I looked the book up on Reddit … or maybe that’s where I heard of it in the first place, and that’s where I learned there’s a whole community of people who love that book, and read it at a chapter-a-day pace every October.
    • Which is easy because the chapters are named by date.
    • It’s a good time.
    • It’s like a macabre literary version of a dog cartoon.
    • That’s a poor, poor description.
    • Cause I need a nap.
    • So about three weeks ago, I shared the draft of the Novel with a Librarian.
    • And heard nothing.
    • Wednesday, during my existential crisis, one of the haunting thoughts was about how bad the book is, how it’s not worth finishing, how I should let the dream die.
    • For those playing the home game, Wednesday, for a lot of reasons, I was down in a hole.
    • Do you understand how personal it is to share anything you’ve created with other people?
    • Especially when you’ve tied so much of your identity to it.
    • A Librarian.
    • If the Librarian didn’t like it … well, I’d be fucked.
    • They’re the book experts, you know?
    • But I did hear back.
    • And damn, talk about uplifting.
    • Like a gift, really.
    • Which brings me to this train of thought.
    • Words have so much power.
    • To uplift.
    • To decimate.
    • To inflict or incite or inspire.
    • And we fling them around like bladed weapons, indifferent to their effects.
    • I have 17 chapters left to go and a round of rewrites, but …
    • It has to happen.
    • Speaking of books …
    • I preorder stuff on Kindle.
    • Obviously.
    • I have tiered authors.
    • If I love them, I preorder hardbacks.
    • If I really like them, I preorder Kindle (though I’m beginning to contemplate a way out of that environment since I don’t really “own” those books according to that rich asshole).
    • The downside of preordering the ebooks … you’re apt to forget you bought them ahead of time.
    • Probably I should make a calendar of preordered books, or what happened in September will happen again.
    • I bought a book, The Society of Unknowable Objects by Gareth Brown on a Monday.
    • And then … three more books showed up on my Kindle the next day.
    • Or maybe it was two, and then another one the Tuesday after.
    • Either way, too much money on books all at once.
    • (Sorry, Dear.)
    • The preorders:
    • The Shattering Peace, by John Scalzi.
    • To Clutch a Razor, by Veronica Roth.
    • Thief of Night, by Holly Black.
    • And then … Nm, man. I have a problem is what I’m saying.
    • I prefer to think of it as being a Micro-Patron of artists.
    • I’m supporting those brothers and sisters living the Dream.
    • Yes, I’m procrastinating writing this List instead of the Book.
    • The Book scares me.
    • Goddammit.
    • Before I get out of here, let’s go back to that Playlist.
    • Writers are frequently asked whether they listen to music while they write.
    • Stephen King does, for instance.
    • My daughter does not (and yes, she’s officially started writing her passion project).
    • I do.
    • It just becomes something I need.
    • I cannot abide a silence.
    • Silence makes the ringing louder.
    • It can be detrimental when you’re trying to give new music the attention it might deserve.
    • Like, four or five songs played through and I heard nothing.
    • They were on.
    • I heard them not.
    • Listen.
    • Actively.
    • With focus.
    • It’ll change your life.
    • I’m not sure if this is the record for List length.
    • Gotta be close.
    • Okay, one more thing.
    • Facebook showed me a post from 11 years ago, my feet propped up on the back porch, a pint of DNR in my hand.
    • Accompanying the picture, I talked about how great that Friday, Oct. 3 was with a temperature of 64 degrees.
    • Time flies when you’re having fun, and all the things you want remain undone.
    • Do not go gentle, gang.
    • I’d pay for a proper October temperature about now.
    • Sigh.
  • Epistolary Nonsense

    Epistolary Nonsense

    • Belt
    • I don’t know why it says “belt.”
    • This document’s been open for days.
    • I mean, yes, I need a new belt.
    • Had to get one in Minnesota, and it sucks.
    • Might as well be plastic.
    • Okay, maybe I remember.
    • Facebook heard me say belt, so I’ve been getting a lot of belt ads, which is funny, because I don’t even have the Facebook app on my phone.
    • Anyway.
    • It showed me one I liked, so I clicked.
    • Pretty sure it’s coming from China.
    • Pass on that.
    • Not because I’m opposed to having China make my belt, but because I don’t want to wait on it for two or three weeks.
    • That’s one thing Prime did to me for sure.
    • NOW! GIVE IT TO ME NOW!
    • Maybe “belt” was the start of an incomplete to-do list?
    • I do have a to-do list in my journal.
    • There’s a bunch of creative projects on there at the moment.
    • I have a bunch of list stuff in there, period.
    • And I’ve lost the ability to remember if I’ve already written those up and sent them out in the ether.
    • I could go reread the old lists.
    • Scan, really.
    • But then it becomes like walking through a door and forgetting what you came in there for.
    • Let’s get serious.
    • Caramel.
    • Apple.
    • Empanadas.
    • Fuck yes.
    • The Wife actually called me on the phone to ask me if I’d seen they were back.
    • I had not.
    • We scratched the itch.
    • They are just as delicious as I remember.
    • And that marketing campaign.
    • Oof.
    • “Relive Y2k”
    • I mean, yes please?
    • The Matrix was right.
    • 1999 was the peak of human civilization.
    • Saturday, driving up Harvard, I saw someone whom I presume was homeless.
    • I also assume it was a woman.
    • Who had her backside hanging entirely out.
    • Some kind of shredded black shirt, red thong.
    • Footwear.
    • I mean, yes, it was hot.
    • I get it.
    • But I felt like probably she needed some help.
    • I get the feeling of being unsafe some might have being around the homeless.
    • 99 percent of them need help.
    • (I have hands-on experience working with this population.)
    • But we’re all convinced that despite not being asked to be born, you’re only value to society is … work.
    • Fucked up.
    • Something else that happened while driving …
    • Slayer’s “Seasons in the Abyss.”
    • I’m not a huge Slayer fan.
    • But I love that song.
    • (Okay, “love” is a strong word.)
    • And it is appropriate on a Monday morning commute.
    • “Step outside yourself and let your mind go …”
    • “Close your eyes and forget your name …”
    • No?
    • Maybe just me then.
    • Over the weekend, I saw someone post about Harry Potter night at the Driller’s game.
    • Harry Potter Night … at … a … baseball game.
    • I mentioned that to the kid.
    • She said, “What’s wrong with that?”
    • That right there is the difference in generations.
    • Sure, Quidditch, a sport, is a huge part of those books, but … in my day, magic and sports did not mix.
    • “As you go insane, go insannnneeeeee.”
    • My office door sticks.
    • Standing there with my coffee in one hand, keys in the lock, turning, and nothing happens because the door has swollen in its frame.
    • For real, if you want me to not go in, I’ll do that.
    • What if after a Zoom meeting, I can’t get out.
    • I’m on the fourteenth bloody floor.
    • There’s no jumping.
    • And don’t get me started about Zoom and Teams meetings under a no-WFH mandate.
    • Control.
    • Lately, when AI comes up, my brain sticks me into that sequence from Joe Vs. The Volcano when he’s going into work.
    • Gray and drudgery.
    • And I’m back in that spot where I don’t understand the techbro need to replace creatives.
    • You can’t smash out the creative impulse just because you want to make another buck.
    • Art is the soul of humanity.
    • Why do you think there are cave paintings?
    • Just one of the things happening today … I’m researching yoga.
    • I’ve talked about that before.
    • On the work list, not this one.
    • I need to be doing that.
    • Prednisone withdrawals are wrecking my joints at the moment.
    • I’m in this stage where they hurt so bad, I feel the need to stretch them incessantly.
    • I dropped an earbud.
    • Getting down to get it was excruciating.
    • This shit better end.
    • That’s all I’m saying.
    • From time to time, I stick Spotify in Lyric mode.
    • Today, during Anthrax’s “I Am The Law,” it called him Judge Drucker instead of Dredd, and said, “Druck it” instead of Drokk.
    • Joey’s not mispronouncing anything.
    • Spotify’s lyric AI sucks.
    • And you should not trust it.
    • It’ll have you singing “Dirty Deeds and the Thunderchief.”
    • Another thing I saw the other day …
    • This clothing company called Other.
    • Saw they were doing some Metallica apparel.
    • I followed them.
    • Yeah, $100 t-shirts.
    • Wtaf.
    • Sorry, sirs, but that’s “getting tricked by biz-ness.”
    • …
    • I came up with a new short story idea the other day.
    • First one in a long time.
    • The Book does not allow me to cheat on it creatively.
    • I’m going to have to write this one, however.
    • Might be epistolary.
    • Can journal entries be considered epistolary?
    • Whatever, that’s the format I’m thinking.
    • Only if I do it that way, dialogue might we weird.
    • (I might be overthinking that part.)
    • Bat!
  • Lunch Hour

    Lunch Hour

    • Sitting here listening to Daft Punk’s Tron: Legacy soundtrack.
    • While I write random things for work.
    • And this.
    • Obviously.
    • I can go back and forth.
    • Also, it’s lunch hour.
    • (Was. – Editor)
    • EPIC cyberpunk sounds while writing a Code of Conduct for an internal communications platform I get to launch.
    • …
    • Let’s start that over.
    • I didn’t get any further than that last Friday and didn’t pick it up over the weekend.
    • The dependable lists died that quickly.
    • Which is frustrating as fuck.
    • Which makes me want to go into the whole indentured servitude rant again.
    • I won’t.
    • There’s no point.
    • And you’re tired of hearing it.
    • I’m tired of not being able to do much about it.
    • <Insert segue here.>
    • Yesterday, the kid and I went to meet my parents at Texas Roadhouse for lunch.
    • Dad’s birthday was Saturday.
    • When we got in the car, I handed her my phone, told her to find some music.
    • She put on a Punk playlist.
    • The first song was from Bad Brains.
    • Made me proud.
    • How much do we need Punk right now?
    • That raw, scream-in-the-face-of-the-system energy.
    • I popped in my earbuds getting out of car this morning, to continue listening to my “Liked Songs” playlist.
    • Turning out of the parking garage and onto the sidewalk, Rage’s “Guerilla Radio” came on.
    • There I am, gimpy from pred withdrawal, hobbling the block-and-a-half to work feeling the lyrics of that song.
    • We need Art like that so damn much.
    • The other observation: I’m experiencing right now what I’m going to feel like physically if I make it to my 70s.
    • Fucking prednisone.
    • Fast forward 20 years, I’ll be hobbling around with my hearing aids connected to my phone, still listening to Rage.
    • The kid told me a couple weeks back that sometimes, she listens to extreme Metal when she’s frustrated or mad or getting ready to do something she doesn’t want to do.
    • The hardcore, scream-o kind.
    • Surprised me.
    • Illuminating.
    • Because there have been more than a few mornings when she gets in the car and puts her headphones on.
    • I get it, kid.
    • What’s funny is that I never really subjected her to anything harder than Lamb of God.
    • She found it on her own.
    • Hours later, I’m still playing my “Liked Songs” playlist.
    • It just served up “Pocket Full of Sunshine.”
    • Been a helluva mix.
    • But how would it not be, really?
    • They’re all songs I’ve liked.
    • Genre chaos.
    • Most of the drive to work was thrash metal.
    • Two or three from And Justice for All.
    • And this Anthrax song, “Breathing Lightning,” which I love because of how it makes me feel.
    • Has this expansive, defiant, hopeful feel to it.
    • I can’t explain it better than that, and you probably wouldn’t like it like I do, especially if you’re not an Anthrax fan.
    • I won’t try to convert you, either.
    • We don’t do that here.
    • Trying to convince anyone of anything seems like a waste of time these days.
    • Try to get anyone to do anything these days …
    • (This one’s got a high Kid Quotient.)
    • The other night right before we all crashed, she said, “I really like writing down my thoughts about film.”
    • “Yeah?”
    • “Yes. Did you like writing about movies?”
    • “Yes I did. I liked it a lot.”
    • She’s really digging her “History through Film” class (I think I have that right).
    • A whole class where all you do is watch and discuss films?
    • Sounds like college to me.
    • But that “writing about movies” bit.
    • I wonder if there’s going to be a trend back toward strong voices in the fight against the algorithm.
    • I want that to be on the horizon.
    • Stop telling us what to see. What to think. What to feel. What to be mad about.
    • Start fixing things.
    • Oof.
    • Just deleted about … 15 bullets.
    • Because oversharing.
    • Not a good idea to disclose your vulnerabilities.
    • Emotional regulation when everything is full blast all the time.
    • So …
    • One of my friends who’s faculty at the college, gave me a mug when I got back from the brainssss.
    • *See photo if you’re on the Book of Faces.
    • (I promise I’ll get the blog template updated to something with pics. I miss the pics.)
    • Anyway, for those without … captions.
    • It’s one of those that looks like it has lines in a kind of nonsensical pattern.
    • Only when you turn the mug sideways and focus can you see what it says.
    • (Which is probably a truism for surviving the world.)
    • (Turn shit sideways. Focus. Conquer.)
    • Anyway, it says “Fuck This Shit.”
    • I feel like a rebellious teenager walking to and from the break room.
    • This just happened.
    • A person in the hall shook her head at me, said, “Hey.”
    • I said, “How are you?”
    • She kinda grumbled.
    • I nodded. “Yeah, it’s a Monday.”
    • She said, “How are you?”
    • I said, “It’s a Monday,” and then gave that raised mug mock salute … with the FTS Mug.
    • Now, if you’ll excuse me, lunch is over.
    • Back to the grind.
  • Unedited For Your Amusement

    Unedited For Your Amusement

    • Again, apologies for vanishing.
    • Work sucks the words right out of me, leaving few for myself.
    • I have been trying to write lists.
    • I have two 2/3 finished.
    • They’re rants.
    • Like old-man-screaming-into-the-void full-on rants.
    • One’s about AI.
    • The other’s about loss of liberty due to executive orders.
    • I’m hesitant to make you read the ranting.
    • Yes, that would help sustain my grumpy/angry image.
    • Which is funny because I have the face of a mannequin when I’m writing.
    • Other than moving my now-weird eyebrows, I don’t smile at the screen or anything.
    • I don’t growl at it.
    • It’s all in my head.
    • I don’t do much aloud.
    • Who would be there to hear it?
    • Who wants to listen to it?
    • Besides which, having grown up with an alcoholic, I read rooms very well.
    • Sometimes, however, you need to get it out.
    • For me, that comes as writing.
    • Copilot keeps offering to help.
    • Dude, AI.
    • Buddy.
    • Bro.
    • Pal.
    • I do not want your help.
    • These thoughts and emotions are mine, not yours.
    • Real, not facsimiles.
    • (Holy shit, I spelled that word right on the first try.)
    • Seriously though, there’s a pencil icon with stars around it that stays in line with each successive bullet point.
    • If you hover it, it says, “Draft with Copilot.”
    • I have that turned off on my computers, but you can’t avoid it writing in Office 365.
    • Everything I write it absorbs.
    • All my words train it.
    • To replace me.
    • Why in the hell would I want that?
    • Like you’re going to believe an AI talking about all the shit that comes from being on prednisone for three years … and then tapering off.
    • (Oh, god, get it out me! GET IT OUT ME!)
    • I just had this vision of a … well, some sort of robot thing perched on my shoulder as I scavenge the dump for things to take back to the mud hut during the apocalypse.
    • Little guy dictating into my ear.
    • But let’s be real, that’ll more likely be an implant.
    • A HUD built into your neural interface that beams the corporate-sponsored nonsense right on the back of your eyeballs.
    • …
    • Yeah, so I looked up a malady online the other day.
    • No, I did not look at the WebMD link.
    • I chose the Mayo, obviously.
    • Nice to know there’s a reason for this, and an end to it.
    • Oof.
    • Or I’m dying.
    • Thanks, WebMD!
    • Imagine what WebMD’s AI is going to be like.
    • “That strange spot on your foot? Yes, you should be dead by the end of the week.”
    • Maniacal Laugh. Maniacal Laugh.
    • AI …
    • Struggling with it a bit.
    • Let’s do it this way.
    • Last night, we watched the first episode of Alien: Earth.
    • (Which was excellent, btw, but I’m not getting into that.)
    • In that episode, several characters have an overheard conversation about the three (four) … (five?) corporations that own earth.
    • As though nations have been replaced.
    • An implied planet of indentureds.
    • Literally, as one of the characters talks about how he’s stuck with his military medic assignment until he fulfills his contract.
    • All this exposition comes naturally through dialogue, through conversation.
    • It’s no one explaining.
    • It’s just people talking.
    • (Really good writing.)
    • Sent my brain into the chain of events that would lead to corpos outright owning all of us.
    • This is a common sci-fi trope, btw.
    • You get it in Murderbot, too, for instance.
    • You get a lot of that kind of thing in Gibson’s writing, though the corporate takeover isn’t as far along as what you’ll see in Alien: Earth.
    • That could just be because his early stuff was always about people on the fringes trying to make a living outside the system.
    • How do we get there?
    • Well, AI.
    • If AI automates everything, everyone’s going to be out of work.
    • Or back to those early industrial revolution shit jobs.
    • Or both.
    • If you can’t earn a living, and let’s be clear, AI can replace almost all the white-collar stuff if you believe the hype, then what are you going to do?
    • Saw a guy talking about how close AI is to being able to do his accounting job.
    • Which punched me in the gut.
    • Because writing seems to hold the top spot on the AI-replacement list, at least according to the tools the AI overlords have so far provided.
    • I’m going to be out of work before I’m scheduled to retire (which won’t really happen because Social Security’s going to be dead before then).
    • Yay.
    • For real, why are they trying to get rid of writing?
    • To get rid of thinking.
    • The early studies already show a detrimental impact on the minds of those people overusing AI.
    • It’s not just writing, obviously.
    • Today alone I’ve seen a couple articles on how AI is replacing entry-level coders.
    • Which, cool and all, but how then are you going to get senior coders who know when and how something is borked?
    • Oh, just use AI to get good enough to know when AI has it wrong.
    • Sure.
    • Those billionaires are not going to support UBI, not without a way for it to profit them.
    • Company stores?
    • Wage slaves in the literal sense.
    • It’s not going away, but neither are we seeking to leverage it in the best way for our species and the planet.
    • That’s the thing about greed.
    • It’s short-sighted.
    • Now, let’s wrap some greed up in reduced liberty, shall we?
    • Last Thursday, the kid and I had a whole conversation about the governor’s executive order banning cell phone use from “bell to bell.”
    • I’m sure he just texted Abbott and had him cut-n-paste over the one from Texas, which was probably written by … sigh.
    • Now, before we get started on this, yes, I imagine cell phones are the most disruptive thing to teaching/education in the last 50 years.
    • They should not be allowed during class time.
    • Demand kids keep them in mini-Faraday cages while instruction happens.
    • However, if they’re not in class, that’s something else.
    • First off, I don’t think older people understand how much phones have changed childhood.
    • Check that.
    • I don’t think older people can comprehend the impact smart phones have had on society.
    • Nevermind that social media atomic bomb.
    • Social media would not have the reach without the phones.
    • Kids of today primarily communicate via their phones.
    • That ship has sailed, to borrow a cliche.
    • You’re not going to magically make them do things the way we did in the medieval days before the internet and smart devices.
    • You won’t magically make introverts who rely on their phones into extroverts.
    • So yes, no phones in class unless given permission.
    • After that, however … infringing on their freedom.
    • At her high school, they’re not allowed to be on their phones at lunch.
    • (That’s what she told me.)
    • Bro.
    • No?
    • I’m not sure why you’d want to do that.
    • Or entertain that you have the power to do so.
    • And since he does, apparently, have the power to do so …
    • That’s another fucking wake-up call.
    • It’s another layer of control.
    • Another attempt to control.
    • Any mandate that stipulates you act the way of the people behind the mandate is an attempt to hinder freedom, a grasping for more control.
    • Goddammit, I hate people trying to control me.
    • And I’m being a little hypocritical here.
    • As an anxiety sufferer, I had to learn (and continue to learn) that I cannot control anything but myself.
    • With anxiety comes fear.
    • Or is it fear induces anxiety?
    • One of the most-used attempts to lessen fear is control.
    • What are these people afraid of?
    • Not making money?
    • Of the plebes rising up and usurping them?
    • If you ever get into a political debate with me, this is the thing that puts me on one side and gets me fired up.
    • This is supposed to be the land of the free, not the land of doing what you tell me.
    • “The land of the free? Whoever told you that was your enemy.”
    • Because we’re not “owned,” right?
    • We’re already indentureds, but most of us are distracted by all the consumer bullshit.
    • They’re chipping away at your freedom, one dollar, one hour at a time.
    • No, I do not agree with this particular executive order.
    • From the governor this time.
    • Their lunchtime belongs to students, not the state.
    •  Sigh.
    • In light of all that, again, go read Cory Doctorow’s Little Brother.
    • Dude wrote it in 2008, and there are a lot of similarities between that and our current environment.
    • He did miss on Journalism being a force for change, a voice for the voiceless, a mechanism for justice.
    • Hard for that to happen when most of the “news” people consume is propaganda propagated by consolidated media channels owned and operated by billionaires who only have their greed to feed.
    • …
    • Okay, so i combined three half-lists.
    • You probably won’t get this far.
    • It’s like 400+ words longer than what we’re used to.
    • #RAtM

  • The $5.98 Blog Post

    The $5.98 Blog Post

    • Starship ain’t what it used to be.
    • When “we” were kids, Starship Records and Tapes sat in a small, converted house off 11th & Delaware.
    • Place was yellow and blue on the outside and had a really pointy roofline.
    • Smelled like weed on the inside.
    • Full of bongs.
    • Sorry.
    • Paraphernalia.
    • I’m pretty sure I bought my “Crash Course in Brain Surgery” t-shirt there in ninth grade.
    • (Metallica cover of Budgie.)
    • …waitaminute…
    • You don’t think …
    • …
    • …
    • Nah.
    • Anyway, had fond memories of the place from the two or three times I visited.
    • A while back, they moved.
    • Kinda over by Mother Road Market off Lewis.
    • The kid’s into traditional vinyl records, so I thought we could go.
    • And she could practice driving.
    • Down Lewis.
    • Which, like Peoria, is stupidly narrow for some dumb reason, curbs adding to the difficulty rating.
    • Weren’t cars fatter in the ‘50s and ‘60s than they are now?
    • You’d kill each other going four wide in some old Lincolns, Fords and Chevys.
    • Anyway.
    • She did well.
    • Starship … didn’t?
    • Took her to Studio Records to make up for it.
    • Shoulda seen her eyes light up when we entered.
    • And yes, we walked out with records.
    • She paid for most of them.
    • They actually had The $5.98 EP – Garage Days Revisited on vinyl.
    • Which was the first Metallica album I bought the day it came out.
    • Everything before that was out before I found them.
    • I still listen to that EP all the time.
    • I love those five songs.
    • Okay, the first four.
    • I can take or leave the Misfits cover.
    • The internet’s telling me that EP dropped August 21, 1987, which makes it … jfc … 38 years old.
    • Sigh.
    • Fuckit.
    • I’m not apologizing.
    • I still like a lot of the music I grew up with.
    • And I’ll defend my roots until they play this stuff at my wake.
    • Play “The Wait” at my wake.
    • Heh.
    • I’d be worried if I only listened to “old” music, but I still find new music.
    • I know, I know, I have recited that “do not go gentle” line a million times at this point.
    • Don’t know what to tell you.
    • I’m not going to stop.
    • Fuck it.
    • Like, I’m in the middle of reclaiming my fitness.
    • I’ve ridden my bike three times in the past two weeks, increasing my mileage a tad each time.
    • And each time, well the first two times, I’ve been wrecked after.
    • Sore all over.
    • I will overcome.
    • I will be back.
    • I cannot do this any other way.
    • I can’t imagine giving up.
    • Not now.
    • I’ve mentioned the immobility, stiffness, lack of flexibility, and lack of strength.
    • Holy shit, some people just give up and age like that?
    • If this were a PT problem, I’d be at PT.
    • (I might, btw, if my heels don’t improve.)
    • I’ll give work a month or so before I start leaving for PT.
    • But … damn, man.
    • I need to be able to ride at least 35 miles (or 25 on gravel).
    • I need to be able to ride Turkey Mountain.
    • I need to be able to run a damn 5k.
    • And do 40 pushups.
    • Hell, it’d be nice to be able to run a 50-yard sprint, but … I’m trying to be patient here.
    • The point is age takes things from you.
    • Some of which are unavoidable.
    • Maybe you can affect the pace.
    • But holy shit, don’t just shrug your shoulders and go, “Okay.”
    • I can say that because it’s what I’ve been doing for three years.
    • I let this shit beat me for a while.
    • And I still don’t know if I’ve won or not.
    • I’m just no longer lying on the couch and taking it.
    • I’m working on applying that to everything in my life.
    • Anything I feel deficient at.
    • I’m coming for you.
    • Okay, the “Green Hell” portion of the Misfits song is pretty great.
    • (Of course I put the EP on when I started typing. After the fifth bullet point.)
    • I can’t actually imagine hearing Danzig sing it.
    • I was never into the Misfits.
    • I know Cliff wore the shirt, but …
    • We didn’t have streaming back then.
    • What you gonna do?
    • I only owned like a dozen tapes.
    • Maybe a few more than that, but not much.
    • Got what I could from Columbia, got out.
    • I still have some in a red metal lunchbox in the upstairs closet.
    • One of them’s the “Creeping Death” single.
    • I wrote a list on Friday.
    • Facebook did not like it.
    • Gave me an “error” each time I tried to post.
    • It’s over on the blog if you want to read it.
    • I liked it.
    • For what that’s worth.
    • My favorite song on that EP was “The Small Hours,” which apparently belonged to a band called Holocaust.
    • Didn’t remember that.
    • I’m sure I knew back when.
    • Cause I sat on the bed and read the jackets for everything I had while I listened to it.
    • According to the Internet, Metallica’s played that song live a whole seven times, the last being in 2009.
    • I always imagine bands whose songs get covered by modern acts are grateful, because there’s money involved.
    • Each time a song gets played, someone gets a royalty check.
    • Unless it’s by Spotify, then they get screwed.
    • Another example of some rich asshole getting paid for something a creative person created.
    • We watched Argo again this afternoon.
    • They kept showing scenes of Iranians burning things in effigy.
    • Future flashback.
    • And now we’re at the end of  the EP where they butcher the beginning of Maiden’s “Run to the Hills,” which seems a fitting sentiment to end on.
    • Better than sitting here letting the Monday Dreads win.
    • F it.
  • I Mean, What the Hell

    I Mean, What the Hell

    • Yeah, this work stuff.
    • Tomorrow’s my last half-day before resuming full-time on Thursday.
    • There’s not been one day in the last almost two weeks where I haven’t come home and fallen asleep in the … den?
    • Is it the den?
    • It’s the TV room.
    • The room we spend most of our time in.
    • That’s why they’re called Living Rooms, I guess.
    • Our house is weird.
    • There’s one room that’s like a wide hallway with a fireplace.
    • Anyway, the point …
    • You haven’t been getting lists because of work.
    • Ironic.
    • Maybe Alanis’s version.
    • Maybe the actual version.
    • Who can say.
    • I have notes in my notebook.
    • Those were relevant at the time.
    • And looking at them now, I’m not feelin’ it.
    • Them.
    • Feeling them.
    • Which would …
    • I mean, rehashing my anger toward our lives of indentured servitude … done it already, and I’m too tired from my job to try again.
    • Which is all you need to say.
    • Those notes were from July anyway.
    • Barely.
    • The day before the end of July.
    • I did spend that particular afternoon listening to Twenty One Pilots.
    • That shit should be hyphenated, by the way.
    • Twenty-One Pilots.
    • Compound adjectives are hyphenated.
    • And judgment is not spelled with an E before the M.
    • I did have a note about grammar, so … that written list might be paying off a tiny bit.
    • A tad, as it were.
    • Also from the notebook:
      • Parking garage
      • WFH
        • Idiots
        • Interview
      • Virgin Islands
      • Negative Inertia
      • Tai Chi
      • A/C guy
      • Read Wednesday’s notes
      • Walgreens
    • The other day, the kid and I went to Walgreens for dessert.
    • She offered to drive.
    • Alas, we did not have the Pilot because it was in the shop.
    • And I haven’t taught her to drive a manual yet.
    • Anyway, we walked into Walgreens and saw a Reese’s display of pumpkins and bats and ghosts and whatnot.
    • You know, the Halloween stuff.
    • And I thought, “Of course that shit’s on sale, it’s olll … oh, shit.”
    • I have time warped.
    • 2026 is going to have to be my year, because I missed a quarter of this one.
    • Woosh.
    • But yes, it’s too damn early for Halloween stuff.
    • Three solid months.
    • At least two months early.
    • Right?
    • We’re willing to give stores a month before a holiday to sell the shit for that particular holiday, right?
    • Virgin Islands?
    • Ooh, right.
    • Bought this book about how to refine your writing/research process, and at the end of the introduction from the author, he signed his name and followed it with … “Virgin Islands.”
    • Bro.
    • You sonofabitch.
    • Rubbing that shit in.
    • “I wrote this book and self-published it and now I get to live in the Virgin Islands while you buy my book and daydream of breaking free of your indenturedship! Sucka!”
    • It’s like that meme of the dude flashing the Peace sign from someone’s freshly dug grave.
    • At least he didn’t use AI to write it.
    • (Because then anyone could repackage it and sell it with a different name and get their own Virgin Island residence.)
    • (Or maybe he got to write the book because he already had money in the first place.)
    • I collect books about writing.
    • My three favorites are probably Hemingway’s, Stephen King’s, and Elmore Leonard’s 10 writing tips, which is a … list.
    • Last week, the kid told me she was reading the intro for King’s The Life of Chuck, and said it sounded like my writing.
    • I told her his book, On Writing, was really good and that she should read it.
    • She said, “Perhaps.”
    • The really odd part of that … I haven’t read a lot of King.
    • Fewer than five.
    • A few days ago, we were talking about work/school and trying to be creative afterward.
    • “I want to work on something creative, but when I get home from being bored all day at school, I can’t do it.”
    • “It’s difficult.”
    • That’s not my real problem.
    • Yes, it’s true, but …
    • Wait.
    • I’m about to overshare.
    • …
    • Nevermind. Not doing that.
    • Authenticity.
    • Gross.
    • It would smell like excuse refuse.
    • Funny how that is, right?
    • Your feelings about a thing are legitimate.
    • Your struggles to overcome a thing are real.
    • And yet, say them aloud they become excuses.
    • Oof.
    • Do your therapy.
    • Do the work.
    • Overcoming the thing is the goal.
    • Avoiding the thing is the problem.
    • Blameshifting is the problem.
    • Own your shit. Conquer it.
    • You go to therapy, right?
    • No?
    • “You think that air you’re breathing is real?”
    • Again!
    • “Fear is the mindkiller.”
    • Inertia is the worst.
    • Trying to write from a recliner in the … TV room … while the kid’s watching The Office (which I never got into) …
    • (We can still talk about tacos without them being Trump, right?)
    • (Nevermind.)
    • I started getting ads for tai chi.
    • Which I want to do.
    • Finding a place though.
    • Do you know what that’s like for introverts?
    • Going to a class of any kind?
    • But especially those martial arts classes.
    • (It is a martial art, but not one where they punch each other in the head; doing that when you have a titanium plate in your dome and a rescabbed scar is probably a bad idea.)
    • I want the habit, though.
    • I get tired of push-ups, you know?
    • (This is what I get when I write when I should be napping.)
    • (Seriously, this one’s a sack of cats.)
    • (Imma stop now.)
    • (You’re welcome.)

  • You Are Our Last Hope

    You Are Our Last Hope

    • Last week, on my first half-day back at work, I fired up the laptop, started typing on my wireless keyboard.
    • The E key did not work.
    • How does that happen?
    • The keyboard, far as I know, was not touched while I was gone.
    • dEad.
    • …
    • I’m actually in a bit of a quandary.
    • Writing these during recovery was a bit of a different experience than writing them for work.
    • I’m not sure I want to go back to doing them the other way.
    • The work way.
    • Unfiltered feels better.
    • I haven’t ruled it out yet, but I’m on the “no more for work” side of the fence at the moment.
    • Let me tell you a story. I started a journal entry this morning where I lamented the fact that most of my writing these days is lists of random thoughts. Five years I’ve been communicating that way on a regular basis. I’m out of habit making paragraphs. Maybe even coherent arguments, or expounding upon the paragraph’s subject to a logical conclusion (provided you believe I have any logic at all).

      Like everything else, I beat myself up about it. My writing skills are somehow suffering. I can’t stay on topic to write a proper essay. A visual representation of a hyper-active brain. Not that mine’s hyper-active by diagnosis.

      Not sure any of that is true, but it’s the current mental narrative.
    • I dunno if you know this, but I am hard on myself.
    • DID YOU KNOW: Journalism schools coach you to keep paragraphs to one idea.
    • That might be one sentence or a few.
    • Definitely not those epic ones that create giant blocks of copy labyrinths where eyes get lost, take wrong turns, wander off, lose the train …
    • I often wonder who really pioneered the style of writing.
    • (We didn’t really study the history of the mechanics of journalism writing in school.)
    • (Only best practices.)
    • Write clearly.
    • Fast.
    • Small words.
    • Objective words.
    • Truths.
    • I felt, at the time, it made my fiction better.
    • Because when you use objective descriptors, you create a better picture, something shared between you and the reader, and your intent is accurately conveyed.
    • Trying to narrow the gap because there always is one.
    • Reading is a subjective endeavor, after all.
    • …
    • Recuperation still in process.
    • Came home today, sat on the couch.
    • Put my feet on the coffee table.
    • Snoozed.
    • Typing now, but I’m still tired.
    • Could nap some more.
    • Oof.
    • On the other end … well, in the corner of the sectional, the Kid is reading Plath’s “The Bell Jar.”
    • I never have.
    • She reads more Lit than I do.
    • Makes me proud.
    • “What’s that about?”
    • Her: “A girl who goes insane.”
    • “How is it so far?”
    • “Good so far.”
    • “Is she insane already?”
    • “No, but she’s very weird.”
    • Kinda makes me want to read it.
    • In other fun news, I hit my head on the corner of a thing taking a bite of a taco, stabbing my scar.
    • Bled into napkins.
    • Currently, I have a new scab.
    • The wound’s covered by a layer of Neosporin and a Band-Aid.
    • Gifted.
    • Makes me wonder if I am, in fact, clumsy.
    • I don’t think anyone would’ve ever described me as graceful.
    • But I’m not uncoordinated.
    • You don’t get to start teaching knife fighting classes after a year if you’re uncoordinated.
    • Yesterday, the new boss scheduled a department bonding activity.
    • Axe throwing.
    • Never done that before.
    • Got there.
    • Had to sit and watch for a few minutes and listen to people going, “Are you going to throw next?”
    • C’mon, man.
    • Don’t rush me.
    • A) Still not comfortable having a room of people watch me do a thing.
    • 2) Still hate being bad at things.
    • ii) Especially new things.
    • Half the crew threw with two hands, like a wind-up behind their head.
    • I think the old man in Last of the Mohicans threw that way?
    • I envisioned whacking myself in the back of the head with the axe.
    • No, thank you.
    • Took me a bit.
    • Had the armed goth manchild babysitting us show me the technique.
    • Started chucking.
    • I ended up with three or four bullseyes, but the one in the pic was the best of the bunch.
    • Could totally get into that.
    • First, it’s hella cathartic.
    • And then it’s a skill for post-Trump America.
    • And also they did not teach us to throw our weapons in Kali class, because … if you throw your weapon, you no longer have it in your hand.
    • Duh.
    • I’ll go back is what I’m saying.
    • To your unasked question: yes, my shoulder is sore (in the good way).
    • So is the rest of my body.
    • 11 weeks of lethargy will kill a 50-something.
    • Oh, fuck. I’m a 50-something.
    • Seriously, I wish they’d just rebuild me like the Six Million Dollar Man at this point.
    • My heels hurt (so they need stretching).
    • My shoulders, neck, and thighs are sore from the bike ride three days ago.
    • Four?
    • My hips are still sore from the trip.
    • My IT bands are making my leg go numb.
    • What.  The. Actual. Fuck.
    • Do Not Go Gentle … or go Nap.
    • Whichever.
    • I’m wearing a t-shirt featuring a Molotov cocktail drawn by one of my great friends.
    • I love the sentiment behind that.
    • Create a work of art based on a poor-man’s explosive typically used in riots and social upheaval.
    • I sometimes want my words to be a hand-made, hand-tossed explosive.
    • We’ll get back to a regular schedule soon.
    • Until then …
    • Never give up. Never surrender!

  • Trepidatious

    Trepidatious

    • What a long, strange week that was.
    • And now we sit on the Wall of Trepidation, the Precipice of Return.
    • I haven’t missed work.
    • I didn’t think I’d be out this long, but … apparently recovery from a craniotomy and treatment of a brain growth takes longer than you expect.
    • Even sick, even with all the health nonsense wrapping up, I enjoyed my time of freedom.
    • It gave me perspective.
    • I won’t get into that because some of my TCC people are on here.
    • But once you’ve had daily freedom for a substantial amount of time, combined with a nearish-death experience, well …
    • Epiphanies occur.
    • I had two for my book, for instance.
    • One of them means I have to go back and rewrite almost every interaction between my two mainish characters.
    • The other is probably for book two, but … might make it into this one.
    • Then there were the self-revelations.
    • The elation of not being told what to do.
    • (I cannot overstate the feeling of that; I could do so much more without that in my life.)
    • Sigh.
    • At least I’m returning triumphant.
    • The enemy might be vanquished.
    • Or it might be regrouping like Sauron, the eye ever watchful.
    • We’ll wait and see.
    • I’ll battle my hope, keep it battened down.
    • I’m not sure if I’ll have time to continue the Black List here.
    • Okay, that’s horseshit.
    • I’ll fit it in.
    • It might not be every day.
    • I need it to be every day.
    • Good habits are only good if you keep them.
    • Another aspect of my return to work, especially as it relates to this … I’m not sure I want to go back to writing sanitized versions for work.
    • Sure, that’s where this all started.
    • And most of what I write here is fine.
    • But I like the NSFW bits.
    • I like not censoring myself.
    • Though, frankly, I have still avoided politics and I’m not sure why.
    • I have a list of unrelated-to-work To-Dos.
    • Get the LLCs done.
    • Get the mic I need for the podcasts.
    • Get the websites built.
    • Get the merch train rolling.
    • Keep writing.
    • Get back in shape (already kinda started on that one).
    • Lots to do.
    • Time moves pretty fast.
    • If you don’t make moves to control yours, someone else will.
    • I have taken advantage of the convalescence.
    • Or let it take advantage of me, anyway.
    • Move it.
    • Walking around last week, I lamented the fact I’d forgotten my pocket notebook.
    • Things would pop into my head and … what to do?
    • Sure, I could use a Notes phone app.
    • But then I have to remember to check it because that’s not part of my routine.
    • (FU, computer grammar police; I mean “have to,” not “must.” This isn’t a fucking period piece.)
    • Here’s what I did: I emailed myself the note.
    • From Gmail to my primary.
    • One of them was an Insta post.
    • One of them said, “Metalhead.”
    • Which, yes, obviously.
    • But in this instance, not what you think.
    • LWIL: I have a titanium plate and screws in my head now.
    • Had no idea.
    • No one mentioned it before.
    • Beforehand, the neurosurgeon said she’d be putting the bone they removed back.
    • We’ve spent 11 weeks thinking the bone spot was just in there regrowing, fusing back with the rest of the skull.
    • And she said she did that, but also … plate in my head.
    • “Don’t worry. It won’t mess up any MRIs.”
    • Got that, lady. Already had three of those since the surgery.
    • There were other revelations in that appointment, like the size of the tissue she removed (think diameter of a dollar coin).
    • Anyway.
    • Metalhead.
    • Accurate.
    • Again.
    • And literal this time.
    • One of the other emails says, “311 drums.”
    • The drummer for 311 is a badmotherfucker.
    • So was Green Day’s.
    • Sublime … isn’t.
    • No, I’m not going to elaborate on that.
    • At the time of this writing, Snacks is standing on my chest, Kong in his mouth, begging me to save him from Emmy.
    • Because she takes his away every time, obviously.
    • Nevermind he’s bigger.
    • She’s meaner and more tricksy.
    • Yesterday, I stood by the backdoor and watched those two take care of business, and I could feel the inferno with my eyes.
    • (Steph was trying to nap, and our doors beep when you open, so … monitoring it because I didn’t let it fully close.)
    • While I watched, nearly napping, suddenly I felt a touching, touching of my little toe.
    • Looked down and Ginny had settled next to my foot, extending her paw to lay atop my toe.
    • Then she climbed up on the couch arm and asked for pets.
    • One of the cats missed me.
    • The other attacked my leg because I did not hold her long enough.
    • And probably for being gone for a week.
    • She’s still not talking to me.
    • Cat, sometimes we have to leave home for a spell.
    • Doesn’t mean we’re leaving you.
    • Don’t be a clawing shithead about it.
    • Thanks.
    • – Mgmt
    • On the way home from Minnesota Monday, I put on my “Liked Songs” playlist.
    • It literally played the entire time with no repeated songs.
    • Well, maybe a couple, but only because I’d liked two different versions of the same song.
    • I don’t think the women hated it.
    • We rolled my Dad’s Subaru Forrester.
    • … Okay, I have trouble reconciling that in my head.
    • He’s a Chevy guy.
    • It’s his first-ever brand-new car.
    • I’m used to him tooling around in a GMC 4×4 extended cab, extended bed, monster truck.
    • Still not sure how he ended up with the Subie.
    • (His doesn’t blow holes in its engine block walls like mine does.)
    • Anyway, he loans it to us for these Minnesota trips.
    • It is the best road trip car ever.
    • (Except for napping in the passenger seat; so I’m told.)
    • Android Auto is awesome.
    • Better than Apple Carplay.
    • What I’m saying is … I guess I have a shitload of “Liked” songs.
    • I did spend an afternoon in Minnesota adding songs to it, so there’s that.
    • Want a taste?
    • “Francesca,” Hozier
    • A ton of Metallica songs (because I had not liked them individually).
    • “Eruption,” Van Halen
    • “Enjoy the Silence,” Lacuna Coil (cover of DM)
    • “Santa Monica,” Everclear
    • “Brain Stew,” Green Day
    • “Prayer of the Refugee,” Rise Against
    • “The Distance,” CAKE
    • “Slither,” Velvet Revolver
    • “Judith,” A Perfect Circle
    • “My Hero,” Foo Fighters
    • “Float On,” Modest Mouse
    • “Shame,” Stabbing Westward
    • “Highway Tune,” Greta Van Fleet
    • “Personal Jesus,” Depeche Mode
    • “Break Stuff,” Limp Bizkit
    • “Even Flow,” Pearl Jam
    • “Creep,” Radiohead
    • “Bleed it Out,” Linkin Park
    • “Hash Pipe,” Weezer
    • “We’re Not Gonna Take It,” Twisted Sister
    • “Song 2,” Blur
    • “Let’s Go Crazy,” Prince
    • “I Wanna Be Sedated,” The Ramones
    • “Need You Tonight,” INXS
    • “Could Have Been Me,” The Struts
    • “Back in Black,” AC/DC
    • And we’re stopping on that one, because it’s thematically appropriate (and sets off a whole bunch of summer memories in someone’s Camaro).
    • There’s a fuckton more, obviously.
    • I guess I could share it, but … feels kinda personal.  
    • See you tomorrow, probably.