The World is a Fucking Torture Chamber
The world is a fucking torture chamber,
endless videos of shlock horror porn,
or, actually, it's more subtle than that,
endless cubicles of particleboard,
computer screens, perfunctory greetings.
I see people and I want to sodomize, rape them,
kill them in their sleep, or wake them up,
just to see the surprise and terror on their stupid faces
and to puncture their flesh to see the contortions of pain.
Donald Trump Declares Himself the 45th and 46th President of the United States
The Patriot Protection Act declares a one-mile radius around the White House to be “lava”.
Election 2020: Swimming in Sewage Toward a Different Kind of More Hopeful Cesspool
In a Violent World, Non-Violent Protest is the Grown-up Choice
The most effective protests are theater of a sort. Targeted. Strategic. Not a question of numbers but of intent. Where you protest matters. How you protest matters.
I Believe… [In Biden]
I believe... that Joe Biden will be the next President of the United States.
Perfectionism
How to Begin De-Fanging The Isms in the System
How to eradicate the affects of racism and classism in America is to reconfigure the tools used by bigots and the greedy.
The House on Deer Creek Road: Part 6
The final horrors await you just inside the door…
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of October 25, 2020
I don’t want us to go back to normal. I want us to go forward to better.
Holding Our Collective Breath (While Wearing Masks)
The House on Deer Creek Road: Part 5
This is what you want, isn’t it? You want to know what I saw in that house. You want me to describe it as though it were like any other organism on Earth. Well, it isn’t. What I saw is like no living creature. It was made out of darkness.
The Minutes of Our Last Meeting | It's a Wander-ful Life! Clarence's Lament
George introduced himself to Mr. Potter as Juniper P. Moneylumps. He has several different aliases, now.
Trip Report | White Sunglasses: Russell Springs, KY
I’m walking Nola through Russell Springs KOA, a park reviewed on Google as “not bad for what it is.” We drove down from my cousin’s in Paris, Kentucky, attracted by the website description. “It's water, water everywhere when you stay at this campground right next to Lake Cumberland!” But the campsite map notes, “No access to lake from KOA.” However, the showers are clean and there's 24-hour laundry. Not bad for what it is.
I Believe… [Clean Your Room!]
I believe… that being excited that Americans are voting in record numbers is like that feeling when your fat, lazy, angry teenager finally cleans his stinky room.
The House on Deer Creek Road: Part 4
This was not my mother’s house anymore. But with every room full of her memories, it would always feel that way. I had to shake whatever imprints she’d left behind. I had to remove her from the atmosphere.
Indefatigable Is a Goal in a Overly Exhausted World
To be truly indefatigable one needs to see beyond the eye’s gaze. To envision a next Thursday when things are no longer assaulting your sense of place, your sense of security, your sense of reality.
The House on Deer Creek Road: Part 3
I couldn’t look at Nyla. I couldn’t feel anything but cold all over. The shadow person stopped pacing and stood just behind us. It bent down, long arms spreading wide, resting its clawed hands on the back of the couch.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of October 18, 2020
Man’s worst invention was the wife.
Woman’s biggest mistake was thinking changing her husband would end well.
The House on Deer Creek Road: Part 2
He told me he was worried about the old guy inside the house. I felt my stomach start to harden as I told him I was the only one who lived there. “Ma’am, I don’t want to alarm you,” he said. “But there’s someone inside. I can see him moving around through the window. Tall, thin, hard of hearing? He was walking sort of hunched over.”
The Minutes of Our Last Meeting - Hammer Time! with Hammer T. Dick
We are obligated by law to use “air quotes” around “news”.
The drag of the drawer
The twist of the cap
The clink of the ice
against the glass.
A better feeling than the sounds of today’s past.