Exhausted

Is anyone else exhausted by the attempted coup everything from trumpie and company?

That above pic is Jake. Yes, he’s the best dog, a good boy, a furbaby and thoroughly spoiled in the best ways possible.

There was that one day of joy, when Biden got past the 270 mark, then…eighteen million months of trump throwing tantrums as the GOP and the Dems tiptoed around him. The waiting for Jan 20 so this current attempt to overthrow a legal election can be tucked under all the rugs ever and…ugh.

I can’t even. Is that still even a phrase??

I’m tired. I’m low, tired and pancake flat all the time now by all this happening in America. I just want to punch someone yet can’t lift my arm long enough, let alone make a fist, to do so. My blood pressure is heart attack high, frankly. I’m having all sorts of problems but won’t go into that because it’s boring and no one cares.

Hi, depression, yes, you widdle rascal. You here as well, gonna sit a spell and make sure I don’t make it to Christmas without some sort of chemical or actual intervention? Great! Let’s not be able to concentrate long…What was I doing?

I did manage to make homemade dinner rolls for the first time. I used my overnight bread recipe, and it works just fine for a two hour rushed roll job. They looked like rolls, they were cooked all the way through and I hate the holidays. Yeah. I’d rather do peanut butter and jelly sammiches at this point in time than cook ONE MORE GODDAMN FUCKING TURKEY WAH WAH WAH.

Speaking of holidays, have no plans on going to the relatives in freaking Idaho, COVID Central. I know, it’s freedom and liberty to totally ignore a raging pandemic so I can feel extra manly. I know! Spank me with an eagle already.

I’m trying to be lighthearted and fun with all the not-fun America is right now.

Even that thin defense mechanism seems broken as all get out. I just go numb anymore as a safeguard against whatever newest stench wafts out of the trump sewers.

I wait for Somebody Heroic to rise from these streets to put an end to all this. A cross between Wonder Woman and Captain America with a hint of RBG. Show yourself already! Enough not existing ever in the first place!

The cat woke me up at four. She also saw something outside, when it was yet dark, that made her hiss and retreat well into the house with an offended tail swish. What the what did you notice out there, Madam Jaws?? Neighbor dogs outside the fence? A coyote or several? What??

OMG, was it a BEAR?

You get wild thoughts at four in the AM. Though there have been bear sightings around where I live. We could have a bear or two nearby…not really or maybe, mmm. Or was that cougars? I can’t keep the sightings straight some days.

So should dive into a final editing or so read of my fourth novel, Remarkable Women of Brokenheart Lane. I just…I’m a deflated flower pot of useless golf bags. Woe is me, o Canada.

How many times can you watch Schitt’s Creek before it becomes necessary for people to step in? What is that number?

UNICORNS! RAINBOWS! AUGUST!

 

from Pinterest.

PART ONE: IN WHICH I DECIDE TO TAKE ON UNICORNS AND RAINBOWS

It’s hot. It’s smoky. There’s wildfires burning merrily away. Merrily for the fire, not so much for the men and women fighting said merry wildfire/s. Clownstick von Pumpkincunt lied about the Boy Scouts calling It to tell It what a goodly, bigly speech It gave to the Boy Scouts. Woot woot!

Um, Pumpkincunt and Racist Elfboy [Sessions] now say it’s white folks who are the real victim of discrimination. They are diverting money from actual programs set up to fight racism and segregation and etc, etc…to investigate the real victims of America’s racist climes–WHITE FOLKS! Oh my! I wish I had made that up; I’d win some goddamn writing prizes, for sure, for sure. Or maybe not. I’d have to use a different name, maybe Sally Houswifelady. Or Jellytits McFly.

I mentioned, casually and off the cuff, that I should write a happy post about…wait for it…wait….wait for it…

Unicorns and rainbows. Mostly because my last few posts have been in the Debbie Downer column. Politics. Depression. Writing about writing. Ugh! Gross me out the door already, right?

from Wired. Medieval fun with unicorns and virgins. 

PART TWO: ECLIPSE, NEW MONTH, NOT YET TO THE UNICORN OR RAINBOW GOOD BITS

And it’s a new month.

A brand spanking new month. Where anything can happen. Like an eclipse. I have no actual interest in the moon eating the sun — science is a liberal plot to get free government cheese and free cell phones for illegal pretty-girl dismemberment teams. The eclipse– is that even an ENGLISH WORD???— is a sign that Jesus doesn’t want anyone to get gay married, that women should become livestock and that tax cuts for the wealthiest is one of the Beatitudes.

I’m kidding.

Apparently, if you say ‘just kidding’ after whatever batshit statement you make…it absolves you of all blame and responsibility for whatever happens/doesn’t happen. Yay!

from Pinterest. Medieval Bestiary

PART THREE: BIG PHALLIC HORNED VIRGIN FINDERS

Unicorns. Mostly what I know about them is that they’re virgin-finders. A white horse with a big phallic ‘horn’ sticking out of its forehead goes about finding pure gals…yeah, can you say fragile male fanfiction about their own genitals? Weee.

I remember a tale about how to capture a unicorn– you find a virgin [good luck with that, eh, boys??] female and the unicorn will find her and put its head in her lap. Um. I guess if the girl is not a virgin, you find that out, too, when no unicorn shows up. A version of Medieval slut shaming, weeeee. Though, they didn’t have social media back then to slut shame, they had other methods. Like oh, burning them alive for witchcraft, woot woot, for one. We all know witches are sluts and should be burned alive, that’s just a given.

And unicorns are pretty! Big, pretty, white or golden [I’ve seen unicorns featured in other colors, with lion tails, etc.] horse-like creatures that have magical virgin-finding powers, among other gifts. What girl, with some mild or actual artistic talent, has not drawn herself an entire portfolio of unicorns? Are there any tales of evil unicorns? Mm…

 

from Genius.

PART FOUR: GOD VERSUS EVERYONE ELSE OR THE HAPPY RAINBOW

Rainbows! God’s promise, in the Old Testies, to NOT KILL NEARLY EVERYONE ON THE PLANET BECAUSE THEY WERE ICKY. Sinning. Whatever.

It’s the symbol of God saying, hey, I won’t destroy my own creation anymore but hey, I’m still gonna keep score, you fucks. That’s my own interpretation of those dusty verses, anyway. Ahem.

The rainbow is also the symbol of Gay Pride. We’re queer, we’re here! Love trumps hate! Love wins! Love love love! All of that celebration, parading and legislation to make ‘those’ into actual ‘citizens’. Which sets the Christian Right’s teeth on edge; not only on edge but shatters those teeth. [And to be fair…no, no, I don’t have to be fair. I don’t have to say Not All Christians blurgh blag bluk. They go low, I give them wedgies.]

That rainbow flag waving about versus some dusty verses in the Old Testies…that’s just good old-fashioned fun right there. If you’re sitting on the sidelines with no dog in this here hunt, that is.  [That’s an American idiom– no dog in this hunt. I understand it instantly, but I am from an actual hunting/farming/hillbilly/poor folks background.]

The rainbow is also some scientific thingie

to do with weather…or something.

But hey, let’s not bring anything so liberal elitist social justice warrior feminazi victimize the white folks into this here discussion on how the poor rainbow has been used to take down Jesus. Amen.

from the Vanishing Tattoo. 

PART FIVE: CONCLUSIONS, MEANDERINGS AND GENERAL SMARTASS-NESS

Purity and visible evidence that God won’t take us out again for being sinners. Unicorns and rainbows. Cute fantasy figure and using the visible spectrum of colors to fight for inclusion of LGBTQ folks in all walks of life. An equine symbol of purity [sorry, gals, not even Mother Teresa can out-pure a unicorn. Even the Virgin Mary looks like a grubby pole dancer next to a one-horned horse.] and a symbol of God’s divine decree that even if we’re down here lining up puppies to debauch, God won’t send a heavy rain.

God didn’t say anything about earthquakes or other natural disasters. As people, to this day, equate a local/not local earthquake or some other fun Mother Nature-ish event, with some judgment they just know is being delivered on the heads of the local/global sinners. God punishes everyone they hate —It’s just great that God hates everyone I hate, ain’t it??– with a tornado.

It’s very convenient, random punishment by random earthquake or other disaster natural or otherwise, and such conclusions of divine justice involve no actual work or use of brain tissue. Earthquake equals suffering and death for sinners. And a few innocent bystanders who probably deserved it.

Yeah. I once had a carload of elderly ladies try to tell me that earthquake in Fukushima, Japan was God’s judgment on Japan for being atheists. My my my. We humans never seem to get away from branding all happenings, good or horrible or in between, with some sort of divine agency. Yes, I came to that conclusion all on my own…I amz smartie.

 

Back to the divine symbol of God’s forgiveness--I forgive you motherfuckers for being shitbirds, even though I designed you, but I ain’t taking any responsibility for how you fuckwads turned out, no way, no how! Have a goddamn rainbow, you sunsabitches!

So, God is reduced to striking small areas along fault zones or in tornado alley or in the path of hurricanes or…yeah, instead of punishing us all at once and just starting over with new models.

Shenyang, China. Note the tequila there, kiddies? 

PART SIX: TEQUILA!

Why didn’t God just wipe out Noah and company, too, and start over? Other mythologies have just this– where the gods and goddesses had to start over and over and over again with humanity. So why didn’t the God in the Old Testies just do that with the obviously fatally flawed shits it created from dirt and probably a truly gargantuan cosmic-wide tequila bender? Yes, God created tequila before he created the sun. I know it, you know it, let’s get over it together, fellow babies.

Having been the victim of that truly evil liquid myself, I can well sympathize with God cataclysmically messing up humanity and forming them into such imperfect little shitwads of hatred, nastiness and so forth. Who hasn’t done stupid things while buzzed on tequila?? Hands? Hands? Yeah, okay then!!

Am I actually blaming the faults of humanity on God having one too many shots of demon juice AKA tequila? Yes. Yes, I am.

Oh that note!! August, it promises to be a super-hot crap-smeared slide into madness and further obscurity for yours truly. Hoooray!! If I start low, all I can go is high, right? Shhh. I think I hear a unicorn…nope, just my hopes and dreams being stomped to death by an angry horse with a plastic horn duct taped to its face.

 

late nite

Ugha bugga boo. My face is swollen, there’s no gol durn ibuprofen and I might go make some coffee. My face feels better if I sit upright. And sitting in the living room watching reruns on TV Land [Roseanne, okay, I was watching Roseanne!]  was giving me the sads. So why not turn my up all night with pain into some truly [crappy? wonderful? purloined? loined? no loins at all?] writing? Do some pages, maybe rework something that, when I read it later, I’ll hope I saved the earlier draft. Yeah, one of THOSE NITES. [Remember when Nick at Nite used to show classic sitcoms instead of…sads, uh huh. I worked a lot of graveyards in my day and NAN was my Jesus. The Mary Tyler Moore Show, Newhart, Barney Miller, Bewitched, All in the Family…pretty much a lot of shiny people having mild adventures in half hour time periods. You kids get off my lawn! That always sounds so funny in my head…hello, sads.]

Oh– the ‘skinny repeal’ of the ACA AKA Obamacare…just died in the latest vote. Three GOP senators [Murkowski, Collins and yes, McCain]  just gave a hearty FU to Clownstick von Pumpkincunt and Mr. Turtletwat. [Mitch McConnell, for those who might not be American. If you don’t know who the Bad Pumpkin is…I can’t help you.] Yes, I’m CUSSING. My face hurts. Otherwise, I’d use polite dry language in the G-rated area. Yep. Oh, did anyone see or read the interview where the Bad Pumpkin’s newest hire [Scaramucci? I am far too lazy to go check spelling right now, sorry] jumped into X-rated language and hillbilly feudin’ time with others in the current clustermess that is the ‘murican gubbermint right now?? The line about the Bad Pumpkin’s closest adviser [Stevie ‘Sucks Himself’ Bannon]? Yeah. I just got a warm fuzzy sensation around my heart reading that.

Oh but…yesterday was also a bad day for being gay or transgender in Super Straight States of ‘Murica. Yeah. I wrote a whole rambly post about the Clownstick and its Twitter announcement about who can serve in the military. So. Yeah. I can’t even— that phrase just seems so apt lately. It fits. I can’t even. And you just stop, spluttering, foam dripping from your jaws. You’ve probably released your bowels a bit [sometimes outrage loosens those muscles that hold all your poop in…I might have made that up! or even gone for a snack full of carbs, chemicals, salt, corn syrup, fats and sprinkles.]

It’s late. There’s no ibuprofen. Thanks, Obama! [He is somehow to blame for the absence of over the counter cheap ass mild pain killers.] Oh, there’s aspirin but that’s so retro Nick At Nite back when they were showing MTM and Larry, Daryl and Daryl. [If you don’t know who Larry, Daryl and Daryl are…fuck you. Just a straight up we cannot be friends and go away.] Did I mention my face hurts which is why I’m up writing these words in clumps and clusters? Have a nice night.

Note to all concerned: can someone remind me not to write middle of the night, pain coloring my world view, posts? Or maybe write more of them? Or maybe stick to posting about unicorns and rainbows? Thanks! I should write a post about unicorns and rainbows…hello, August.

 

 

 

 

A BAD DAY FOR THE DEVIL

 

 

 

First Part: Texas Preacher inspires a blog post

A Texas preacher was wailin’ and waxin’ large on how this is going to be a bad day for the devil. And naturally, on hearing this shouted from the next room, during the early hours… I had a thought of– is any day a bad day for the devil? It seems the devil gets a lot of shit done. Wars to petty little malicious gossip fun. Everyone’s getting devoured by that devil walkin’ around. The devil takes a stroll and checks things off her list.

What?? Her list??

Have I lost my gol-durn mind? Yes, I have, but that’s a whole other hysterical and barely readable blog post.

Part Two: Gender Politics

I have always wondered this. Why is the devil male? Other than patriarchal absolute control over everything from religion to nail polish choices, of course. Positions of power must always be filled with male figures! Even in legends, mythology, religion and tall tales. Women with power tend to be evil queens, evil stepmothers and witches. Or a combo thereof– an evil stepmother queen witch, such as Snow White’s dad’s second wife. Yep! There are ‘good’ witches but…they’re still suspect, because they have vaginas under those pretty princess-esque ensembles. And could go rogue at any time! We don’t get many tales of queens without there being some sort of ‘love’ story involved where she ends up secondary in her own story as a kingly sort steps up and ‘saves’ her from having to rule and make decisions or she falls into disgrace and gets tricked or…I’ll stop there. Ahem.

Other than that…why is the devil always portrayed as a male figure? We have witches, of course. But. They’re subservient and doing the will of their master…yeah. Witches went from powerful independent sorts to cringing, tricked, lied to servants of Satan. They went from enjoying their power and their relative sexual freedom to being puppets who just endured the cold sexual caresses of Hell’s Landlord. [Because why not strip even sexual enjoyment out of witchcraft, can I get an amen??] See Malleus Malificarum.

Women and power, it’s makes people uncomfortable. I get it. There’s reams written here. The powerful woman getting reduced to evil crone who licks the devil’s bottom during ceremonies held beneath the full moon. Read all that stuff. Read about the witch craze and how midwives were suspect and…yeah. But.

Part Three: A Tale of Love Gone Wrong

That rebellious beautiful angel who went against God. That reads more like a love story gone horribly wrong than some servant acting up and getting spanked, big time, for all eternity. Actually, that fallen angel gets rewarded, by being made the Big Baddie who gets to pretend to go against God. [And here, you can start screaming I don’t know anything about religion, the devil, God or blah dee blurg. That my years in the Lutheran church apparently did nothing more than give me a curious case of soul rash.] After all, does it not say, in Revelation, that God wins?

It’s right there. That’s bad storytelling. You don’t invent this great villain and then say, baldly, that that villain is going to lose. We know the villain loses, we want to pretend some actual surprise. There has to be a moment when we think the Joker is going to squash Batman and yank his wings off. That’s just how good stories trot along. We want, maybe, to even believe, for a bit, that the villain, the Big Bad, will win the day and destroy the planet, kill the tied up girlfriend/love interest/wife/some random girl; uh, get that death ray to work, etc, etc. You don’t state that so and so will win while presenting some Big Bad as the ‘villain’. Unless you plan on springing a surprise on us. Like some super-villain in the wings. Maybe her name is Mary who wraps her holy thighs around the devil and God and devours them both with her girl parts and comes out the winner of it all.

I would so watch that movie. I would even buy the over-priced gold-plated popcorn to munch as I watched that movie.

You cannot announce that you’re the winner ahead of time. It’s insulting. Why do you need an adversary? Especially one that seems on the payroll? Why is he needed at all? Oh…because the devil has a case of bitter grapes and seeks to take down as many as he can before THE END OF IT ALL. [No, seriously, that’s the answer I’ve seen to this one. The devil wants to have a game of freeze tag before the End. Yep.] Cue evil laughter, ala Vinny Price.

PART FOUR: MORE GENDER POLITICS AND EVEN MORE LOVE GONE WRONG MUSINGS

How bitter do you have to be to infect as many humans as you can before God yanks the curtains closed?? That’s female territory…that’s spurned lover territory. That’s…yeah. I’m marching out some rather tired female tropes here— the woman scorned, the bitter woman who wants to repay her ex in spades, the nasty woman who will do anything to smear her ex, etc. Entire industries chug along on that crap alone. There’s also the crazy ex who stalks the current Pretty Young Thang and there’s a catfight where boobies bounce a lot. That’s both a movie plot go-to and the newest ad campaign for Chanel Number Five. Petty revenge against a force that’s all-powerful and who announces they’re going to win no matter what happens…doesn’t seem like male on male catfighting. [Can men have catfights?? Mmm. Maybe tomcat fights? Because tomcats are both slinky and possess testicles? MMMM!]

PART FIVE: WHAT SORT OF DAY DOES THE DEVIL HAVE?

But anyway. The devil, in my opinion, always has a good day. The list of sins is long and people are stupid. You can’t even have naughty thoughts without making God’s I Saw That! list. You can’t lust in your head, your thoughts are on trial. God is literally the thought police. The devil wants you to run that hardcore dungeon daddy fantasy involving a Viking era cowboy-ish muscled up pretty boy who puts you through your paces with a small whip and a large donkey. The devil is saying, hey, baby, go for it. You say, okay! Good day for the devil. Or maybe, hey, you’re in charge of an entire country. And you’ve got pretty bombs and tanks at your disposal. Why not use them on something? Like Chicago?? Yeah, the devil doesn’t even have to do more than shrug and go, hey, baby, go for it. That whisper of permission to give in to your darkest or most silly little vices. Instead of living with your knees crossed and your mind full of amens and hallulujahs and notions that the world is burning alive.

So it makes sense, to me, to make the nemesis of the desert God who stalked about in the lands of Canaan and Judea and so forth…a girl.

And hey, if we keep the devil a boy, well…kettle of very LGTBQ fish, can I get a high five and a clobber verse, amen? [There are six, by the way, six. That’s it. There’s about six maybe references in the entire Bible about this issue. Uh huh.]  You can’t have women with power, after all and you can’t even entertain the notion of God and the also-male devil being exes…because how soon before we’re making bestiality and incest legal and letting people marry their own houseplants?? Hello!

A seductive temptress whispering, go for it, baby, as she picks your pocket and paints a target on your back. That, after all, is what women are…we’re either whores or good girls. That Madonna/Whore dichotomy. One fall from grace and we’re forever branded a sin-filled whorebeast, we gals. There’s no forgiveness for us if we tumble a bit or a lot or at all… We have to be kept covered and controlled and in our place otherwise…chaos. That’s the central core message of pretty much any major or minor religion…women are suspect. Big time. Beware. You give women any sort of freedom and they turn to the devil and become witches and try to become men and want to vote and shit. Gol durn it, not on my watch!

PART SIX: WHERE I FINALLY MENTION SOME WRITING PROJECTS OF MINE!! YAY!

Which leads me to…yes, my piddles in this area, writing-wise. Gotcha!! I wove a pretty web, I offered some sweet blasphemy and oh, viola…here we arrive at some stark PR for my products. Oh my!

Being a writer chick, I invented a character. It’s kinda what I do on occasion. She drives around in an old Caddy, seeking whom she may devour. I didn’t give her a name, other than ‘devil’. She’s a black woman riding the roads of America, offering deals. I was writing along in Alice in Oregonlandia and went, as you do, hey…what if the devil shows up.

What if the devil shows up.

And, sometimes, my mind-worms poop out some useful smeary images. One of those 50’s monstrosity cars with fins that get about three miles per gallon because gas was cheap back then. Flames painted on the black doors. An engine that can heard miles away, one of those big powerful V-8 take on all comers engines. And a woman at the wheel, a powerful woman, a woman to be feared, a woman of sadness and fierce laughter, the devil. With dark skin , a body that’s hers and hers alone, a confidence that her road trip isn’t gonna end any time soon. She suggests sins, doesn’t tell you to actively commit them. She knows you and maybe even loves you a little, but still wants to turn you inside out to watch you strangle in your own guts.

She also turns up in my third book, Saint Lysette and Bloody Alice. Which I’ve let ‘rest’ for a week, as other writing urges hooked me like a fly fisherman hooks one of those trout in a river in Montana. Must write this now! I’m mulling ideas for that third book, deciding just who and what Mr. Blue, Bong Bong and Mr. Peepers are. [If you have no idea who those characters are, it’s okay. I forgive you. Go in peace.] I’m inventing the mythology and reality of this world Alice, and her mother, Nancy, exist in. What happens if there’s devils within devils within devils? What happens if. It’s what writers do, after all. I’m not thinking Overall Literary Theme. I thinking, what if the devil is trying to fix her mistakes? What will Alice do when she finds out what Lysette is? What does Aaron know? I am thinking in terms of what comes next, not Man’s Inhumanity to Man.

The devil, after all, is in the details.

PART SEVEN: BWHA HA HA

Bwha ha ha.

The devil always has a good day. She likes to keep busy and she’s a multi-tasker, as women have been since the time they lived out in the open scavenging lion kills. God will snap His fingers and the devil might very well not even notice. She’s bent over whispering into a susceptible ear to some sexually confused young Christian man to look up three-way twink and bear porn [if you have no idea what this is, boy, are you gonna have some fun with Google today] over on porn hub [a real site, in case you thought I made that up, my innocent sweeties]…whispering in that ear to go for it, baby. God will be saying, hey, I’m ending the game. The devil will look up, from whispering sweet nothings into various ears. You do that, baby, if you think that’s best.

And God will swell up and stomp back to heaven, with a hearty string of expletives for his Ex and the devil will smile. It’s always a good day for the devil.

 

Ideal

 

from TV Tropes. Calvin and Hobbes.

 

I’m going to lower the lights a bit and muse in the land of somewhat serious.

PART ONE: Mad Obstacle Course

I have a friend. Who is painfully idealistic. Who believes the world will magically become smart about, oh, everything, and clean itself up and that people will learn lessons. And not repeat history as hard and fast as they can. Who, right now, thrums with enough anger and grief over everything he sees, reads, and experiences to fuel a Smith’s ten-CD greatest hits collection. The bitter muddy waters of the world right now have turned the inner fishin’ hole that exists in his head into a stinking drying up slick, full of those mutated creatures caused by leaking nuclear waste and farm chemicals that get into the ground water. I fear for him, that he has no armor against the monsters and indifferent nobodies that foul the planet he loves so dearly. Why can’t they see? Why can’t they understand? Why can’t they know what’s going on? The cries of those battering themselves against the giant light bulb; those human moths dying, dying as they try to deliver their earnest sermons of save the earth, people matter, be kind to one another…

Now, this person does try. Casey [I’ll make up a name to protect myself first of all] attends local town meetings and interacts with others of his ilk, trying to get something started or get something said. That takes guts, in Velveeta Twitler land. Casey is artistic in a place where the arts are regarded as something invented by Satan for lazy slackers who are commie fags on welfare stealing the hard-earned tax money of True Paytriots to get free abortions, free marijuana and free phones. The neighbors threaten Casey because he’s not of their political party. Over which he has gone to the local sheriff, just in case. Just in case. A more harmless, gentle soul than Casey I’ve yet to meet. Who wants the best for those around him and tries to find his way in the stinking darkness and mad obstacle course called life.

PART TWO: Dead Christmas Trees

Now, I won’t delve further into the clinical case of this friend. It’s unfair and Casey isn’t here to defend…it’s just my few hard words, arriving from a place of dead Christmas trees shoved into a garbage cans. Where no light shines because I cannot lift my head and find the sun anymore. I am finding other idealists, who believe so gently and completely in democracy and human decency and human intelligence…equally bruised, dripping blood from their beat up souls [I know, how precious is that image???], exhausted by the utter indifference or laughing mockery they encounter, instead of applause and head nods and agreement that ‘something needs to be done’. They tread water that has already viciously drowned them several years ago. Ghosts whispering against the bulldozing of the universe.

Part Three: Just A Cycle

Some say our current times are just a cycle. We go though periods of great darkness, great and utter stupidity, a meanness toward others, a savage hatred of those outside our tribes, little groups and tiny clans. And then something lets go. That great dark time dissipates and reason comes back to the world. Light returns. People surge forward like mighty tides and get shit done. Great books are written, new ideas seep out and infect societies, good ideas, bad ideas, ideas ideas ideas; they swirl slowly in the human collection, stretching the collective minds. We will not be like that again, the new guardians scream as they examine an age just passed.

We will stand watch against such things. We will not kill over a religion, over a skin color, over a bit of land, over an ideal. We will accept all into the brotherhood of man, no exceptions this time. Except that one group, that one…they’re still suspect.

And the balance comes back, perhaps, for a bit.

Until it all tips again and it all starts over, the darkness happy as a toxic clam and the new guardians elderly bewildered broken bits wondering how it all came to this. Why did people not see? Why did people not study their history and see? Why did people ignore? Why did people not figure out in time? Why? Why? Why?

And then the light creeping back, the balance, the fiery cries of ‘Different this time!’, the great novels written by important new voices, the energy of new invention, the linking of hands across aisles. I don’t understand how they let that happen! I would never do such things! I would stand up and say something! I would…oh.

Part Four: Shoes and Vases

Patterns of destruction and creation. A great myth being told over and over with new characters. A new Cinderella slipping a foot into whatever slipper needs to be worn at certain time and place. Until the one time the darkness cannot be beaten back with a bit of light because there is nothing left of us. That, too, is part of our human mythology, our human destroy and rebuild mantras. The shoe falls apart. [To stick with the Cinderella riff, tee hee tee ha]

The clay wears out and cannot be reformed into the lumpy vase where a generation or two will stick their sad flowers, the flowers dying slowly, the vase leaking, the clay trying to return to dust so it can rest. Yes, I’ve reduced human endeavor into a child’s art project, dragged home in the bottom of a backpack, to be set on a shelf or not even looked at or broken before it can be saved from the interior of that child’s bag. And then just thrown away as the child shrugs or weeps– ‘fix it, fix it!’.

We try and try again. That is our best human quality. And the best instinct of idealists. They keep making those lumpy vases. And do not understand how much easier it is to crush those little vases than to construct them…which is rather simplistic. But the world, now, is rather simplistic and it’s not fashionable to be too much of a smartie pants. Smart people are viewed in much the same way people view rattlesnakes– something highly poisonous that will kill you without a second thought. We don’t need no book learnin’– could very well be the actual battle cry of Velveeta Twitler’s entire campaign. I jest, a bit, because if I don’t, I’ll smash my lumpy little vase and then shove it up the nearest endangered pygmy rabbit’s ass to show those libtards a thing or two. Snowflakes, lol!

Now, I started off with ‘Casey’ so I should end there, as well. Casey will swim toward the land of his familiars and huddle in the dim cool caves of those just like him. He has to, he’s on survival mode right now. That balance swinging back will probably not swing back in his lifetime…At least there’s chocolate. And coffee. And butterflies. Always Be Positive, because otherwise, people won’t like your social media posts.

 

The Obligatory Blog Post

 

CHAPTER ONE: Opening Salvo

The sprinkler pumps out water, the birds chirp, the sky has some ominous-looking maybe clouds. Those clouds that promise action, but, in a rain shadow, rarely deliver. We might get a dust storm or the clouds might just mosey onward, as clouds do here. I am trying to think of some topic, since it’s been a week since yours truly posted something pithy or not so pithy here in Blogland.

CHAPTER TWO: The Blarking of the Fourth of July

The Fourth of July has come and gone, with a friend of mine terrorized by drunken young men shouting what patriots they were while snarling at him…Now, me, being me, I’d have probably…I don’t know. Who knows what you’ll do when others swerve out of their way to have a go at you. It depends on factors! If you’re having a good or bad day. If something has happened. If. If. If. Saying that we would DEFINITELY do such and such if such and such happened…yeah, that’s bullshit. Unless you’re trained to deal with horrible situations, you don’t know. And even when trained, things, as they say, happen that blark blark blark a blark. You know the drill here. No, I’m not going to go into why people are shits to others and how we need to take the high road [gag me with a damn spoon and then beat me with a horsewhip already].

CHAPTER THREE: Evil Lib’rals! 

 

NPR read the Declaration of Independence over the airwaves…and dumbasses lost their shit. I proclaim them dumb-asses due to these same, ahem, GOP supporters who scream how much they wuv the Con’stan’tushun and the Dekklaration of Indeepedantz…yet can’t recognize the words from either. There was an actual blowback, an hysterical ‘NPR is callin’ for Trump’s assass’nation!’. I didn’t make this up. It was rather like when War of the Worlds got read and people took it seriously, it was that level of ‘doh’. [Though, to be fair, when Orson Welles read it, in 1939, on Halloween…it probably was spooky as hell and utterly swallowable. Is that a word?] But when PATRIOTS WHO WUV JESUS AND THE FLAG can’t recognize the very words they claim are their favorite set of words ever…yeah.

And oh yes, people did suggest NPR [National Public Radio, for those not in ‘murica] do a reading of War of the Worlds. Just cause. Tee hee.

CHAPTER FOUR: Dull Dry Writing Projects Update. Look Away Now. 

I need to get cracking on my third book in the trilogy of terror. [Who saw that movie??? The little doll, omg, that comes to life. They don’t make scary little doll short chapters in otherwise hum-drum horror movies like that anymore. You kids get off my lawn!]

It’s cooking along, actually, my Saint Lysette and Bloody Alice. I’m getting hung up, though, on procedures and how THINGS ARE DONE IN REAL LIFE instead of just writing and then fixing later. I did this to myself for another novel, where I didn’t blast forward on it and instead did some research, told myself I didn’t know enough about sheep ranching and how engines worked and put it away.

But then came back to that project, Cue the Violins and went… uh, the sheep ranching stuff is like part of one chapter, your heroine gal doesn’t now anything about engines, either, so fucking write this already. And– after my current project is at least somewhat finished, I plan to rework Cue the Violins and cut the crap out of that first chapter, which I think bogs the whole freaking thing down and it’s written more for me than any reader and…yeah.

EPILOGUE: This Has Nothing to Do With What Came Before

Oh, I also read some David Sedaris and am reading a political take on why America is so into conspiracy theories these days, both sides of the aisle. Which I’ve noticed. It’s all Fake News and THEY’RE HIDING THE TRUTH, from both ends of the extremist sphincters. While those in the middle steadily shrink under the sheer weight of the DRAMA that just sucks you in…Jesus is due ANY DAY NOW and He’s going to go all Rambo on liberals, atheists and feminists versus THE TRUTH ABOUT 9/11 or the Masterminding of an American Tragedy or Demolitions of the Shady All-Powerful One-Mind Borg Powerful Supergroup.

Sorry!! I’ll end this. Are you as easily distracted and disgusted by the entire planet as I am right now? Maybe I can buy one of those slave children from Mars to clean up the yard. How much are they, NASA?

It’s the end of the world…