Life and Soul

In my opinion, gallows humor is not callous humor. As much as I miss my parents, I have a distinct irreverence towards their current state (dead) and their current activities (not much), so a dark joke at their lack of expense isn’t out of the question. It’s how I’m wired. Indeed, my dad used to joke with friends often that he had purchased “property in Kentucky”. When they’d ask him where, he’d mention the cemetery plot where his mortal remains currently reside. Dad was a paramedic and would sometimes come home with stories of having picked up some poor soul who eventually became a DOA on the way to the hospital. His kids, especially me with my proclined attitude towards a morbid curiosity, would often ask how this particular person died. Dad’s response was, “his heart stopped beating”.

This is all to say that my humor tends dangles in the dark, crossing from time to time into the nihilistic. In most extreme cases, there’s a distinct antinatalist. One of my favorite Bill Hicks quotes is “We’re a virus with shoes”. In the election that would doom us to the wiles of Trumpian ignorance and bombast or to the Not-Quite-As-Evil yet surely to be obstructed to tedium Clintonian neo-liberalism, I considered throwing my support towards Asteroid/Plague 2016. It’s how my mind works.

Life and soul of the party, I am.

These last few weeks have been rather stress-based. I work a job where I’m underemployed and even further underpaid. We work a rich man’s hobby and, frankly, I’m better than what I do there. Heck, all of us are, but no one wants to pay in this economy. My brain is run through with ruts trying to get out of this problem — because I am still yoked to a capitalist’s thinking. For all the railing and distrust of a system generated to keep most of us indebted and in-debt, I still have that hangover. It was like when I walked away from Judeo-Christian (ie, “religious”) beliefs. Even though I knew I was getting away from a system that was harshly authoritarian and patriarchal, I still had doubt in my doubt. Anyways, it means that I have a hard time taking step one, meanwhile, I grow bitter and resentful of working for a company that has only slightly less disregard for their clientele as they do their employees. That’s my bridge of matches to burn later, I guess.

It’s hard to stay funny in a universe in which everything is programmed to deteriorate.

Poem: So You Don’t Have To

I beat myself so you don’t have to.
I lash my back, I give myself the pain,
Upon my body I inflict this beating
So you don’t have to.

My flesh opens wide for your convenience
My blood drips from wounds torn by my hands
I break my own skin, I expose myself
So you don’t have to.

I end myself, I disappear into the abyss willingly.
Freely, I fling myself into the void, the absent.
I crush my heart, my self, into self-annihilation.
So you don’t have to.

I See Nuzzink!

Change is a part of life. Change is life itself. If I’ve been trying to hold on too long to a moment, to a place, even to my… friends, well… then I’ve been guilty of… holding my world in stasis… of not trying new things and letting myself… grow. Then you run the risk of just doing what’s expected of you. Of looking at yourself in the mirror and seeing nothing
Or you can experiment, take a risk. Honor the familiar with one last hurrah, perhaps. Then leave the familiar behind. And go forward, into the future.

— Paul Cornell, Doctor Who: The Third Doctor. “The Heralds of Destruction” #5

Hello. My name is Brian. I’m in my mid-40’s and I still enjoy reading comic books. But just, the old favorites eh?

It’s been a while since I’ve written here so it’s best to get you up to date: Absolutely nothing has changed. I’m still mostly struggling, I’m still fighting a double-dose of depression, and I find my odd, Bohemian lifestyle not so much interesting as decrepit. It seems I’ve spent the last few years recapturing moments from my lost youth, a time when I became a young husband and father, as all of my current friends were sowing oats, wild, machine cut, or otherwise. With sugar, naturellement.

If we move the Time Scope about twenty years, oats are good but are high in carbs, my friends have settled down, passed away, or disappeared into the past memories. Meanwhile, muggins is working a tolerable job for not a lot of pay, living in someone else’s house, and otherwise being not quite what most people expect of a 40-something White Guy.

Alas, my succor is escaping to fantasy worlds and writing little bits of interesting things. But otherwise, I am not doing much of anything. My social life has diminished and I feel a bit of a hermit. My diet is passable — I get the fruit and veg — but also stuck in a rut. I am going… nowhere. As the Doctor says above, guilty of holding my world in a stasis.

Some has changed. I’m working on getting a podcast on, what else, Doctor Who up and running and I’m writing my days’ events in my battered yet reliable brown journal book. Maybe I can make this my online battered journal, yes?

Time was, I felt like I was an interesting person who could have had some adventures but out of fear, duties, and living to other people’s standard, I’ve lost the spark. I do what’s expected of me and the reflection is see in the mirror is a man tired and frustrated. Someone beaten down and feeling beaten. Alas, this is old news.

The new news, should there be any, may be told here. Stay tuned and keep your nose clean.

Bus Stops Are Places, Too

It’s been a while since I’ve sat down to write anything creative. Even now, I’m typing, deleting, retyping, fretting over whether I start my sentences with too many vowels, and generally not feeling a huge vibe to write. Mayhaps, it’s just the creaking writing bones, the flabby muscles crying out myriad curses. All I know is, right now, generating even five sentences in this paragraph is a chore. There, I did it.

For the better part of a year, I think I’ve been dwindling intellectually, creatively, and spiritually. Most days, I just feel as if I’m a gear in a machine, one that serves no real useful purpose except in some sort of quirked out Rube Goldberg monstrosity. I think a Rube Goldberg Machine is a very fitting metaphor for society: perform a simple task but do it in such a inefficient, complicated, and baffling method that you’re just amused with the small job it accomplished. Well, you say as a bureaucratic twat cracks a knee up your nose, at least I got a demonstration of mechanics.

Consider for yourself. Agree? Disagree?

I’ve been in a depressive mood for almost two weeks. It’s the usual melange of feeling alienated, low energy, and no real drive to do much more than what I do most days, which is not much. I work, eat, internet, sleep, and that’s mostly it except for a standing Thursday invitation and the rare Saturday night out. So yeah, I’m in rut and that is a huge factor.

Also, let’s be honest,, since El DuCheeto took office, it’s been one nightmare after another. So Jerry Falwell’s son and a member of the Amway scam family are in charge of education? Fantastic! Privatize the Corporation for Public Broadcasting? Tier the Internet? Our lives becoming the mutant, bastardized incorporation of The Handmaid’s Tale, 1984, and Brave New World? Even if these are things that never come to fruition, the idea of living on this sort of knife edge can make anyone loony.

And I’ve been a card non-carrying member of the Loony Society since lunchtime. Take a seat and enjoy the performance art.


Note on the title: I apparently have taken the New Order method of naming posts. Enjoy!