I’m Designer

11 Aug 2022

The thing that’s real to us is fortune and fame/
All of the rest seems like work.

Never again will I repeat myself/
Enough is enough.

It’s truly aliiive.

You don’t know what love can buy—neither do I!

Father in law in ER right now for swollen feet. I don’t really know how to console my wife. You see I’m a silly man and a recent immigrant in this country to boot. I’ve always gotten by by keeping it simple and making financial windfalls last—not reinvesting. This has been good because it ultimately left me the freedom to move to the US.

I’m here now—Phoenix—and I’m in a holding pattern it feels like. I’m living with my wife and so naturally I feel like a kept man of sorts. I felt like this back in 2018 while living in Berlin with Anne, but at the time I was much less happy and much less of a man. I felt a cripple at the time; I coudn’t stand up straight. I didn’t really love my frau (although I certainly have missed her at times) and was acutely of how aware my life was bullshit.

I wanted to be in America. Not Germany.

Now, I’m in America. That shit is fucking cool.
And Phoenix? This city is cool. It’s got its charms. If you pass out on the concrete in midday for example you will die. The floor is lava.
Lots of big concrete blocks with regard to potential parkouring obstacles. Nighttime freerunning could be a cool hobby for me to try. I just looked up parkour groups in Phoenix. Figures they’d be centred around university campuses.
My physical and postural alignment is so much better relative to last time I PK’d. Curious to see how much better it goes.

I’m getting comfortable with putting out less polished pieces. More honesty and stream of consciousness is good. Creative free writing. Creative freeballing. Hardballing like the 47th Agent. Toronto Hitman. The man from Toronto. Am I a Marty or a Rusty? Perhaps I’m neither. Perhaps I’m both. Perhaps they’re not so different in fact.

One thing I’ve realized is that I have no idea what the fuck people are thinking and feeling about anything. I only need to look at myself and how I have ascribed meaning and imaginated objective events—willfully and productively in most cases—to be omens, symbolisms or synchronicities.

12 Aug 2022

I’m not in yesterday anymore.

I counterfeit myself. I think this blog is done.

Leave a comment

Filed under Blog

Reagan was a space astronaut

19 June 2022

We peein our pants yet?

How many times I been fired? Lots.
How much am I enjoying my life? Lots.

She got so low she sucked a earthworm’s dick

Ain’t found a way to kill me yet. So sleepy.
Only in America. Wonderful. An epiphanous experience of pure religiosity.
If respect is not given freely, it must be exacted.

Just gonna leave they got plenty of other girls. GO FILL THE BRITA, TONY!!

Travis Bickle is an incel who hates on Sport because Sport is a pimp. Square men hate pimps. FACTS!

Come to the commune with me. I lived in a commune once…twice maybe.
I don’t like hippies. I AM a hippie. What does this mean?

I feel disgust and shame when Ithink about the old days. The formative days. Most Iproved motherfuckers in any domain must look back on their beginnings with disdain.

Must…musthe. Like bull elephants.

Lighthouses used to use Fresnel lenses

Tight lens, bro

Ambergris comes from whale guts. And it smells tasty.
Incidentally, Moby Dick is not a British whaling novel but an American whaling novel. If you are curious about out-of-date marine zoological information then you should read it.

There are some things you find on wikipedia that surprise you. Take a deep dive. But don’t worry: if you get lost all roads lead back to Hitler.

18 June 2022

Nancy Reagan in fancy pantsuit.
El Contador. They call me ‘mujeres’ in Nicaragua

Space Cowboy Bebop & Rocksteady on the right

17 June 2022

Nancy ReAGAN IS THE THROAT GOAT . I HAVE HEARD THIS NOW MORE THAN NOCE. I HAVE SUGGESTED IT TO PEOPLE EVEN . Coversationally

J\gga jigga that nigga jigg

THE idea of the yuuzhon vong scares me more than the idea of the galactic empire because its symbolic to me of there always being a greater evil to vanquich even after yopu ‘ve vanquished the ultimate evil.And he will fuck you up in ways you cant even imagine.

Head hing in regret and.

regret and?…

crrrrtivity

I named this chipmunk

Chip$$y Hußel

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Humans in Heat

I was standing outside the wine bar feeling indignant. Ola would show up any moment and my thought to bring the dog made the place inhospitable to us.

She arrived. We hugged. I told her the situation and suggested another bar. She good-naturedly agreed. We walked at a brisk, bouncy pace both of us, and at length, when we arrived at bar 2 to find it closed, we circled back to my hostel, dropped the dog off and returned to the wine bar where we got a nice table right away, right against a wall looking out onto Real de Guadelupe’s foot traffic.

We sat close and she strongly pulled me closer at times.
She was playful and good-natured. My willingness (enthusiasm) to have sex with her was established early on. She was seeing someone and didn’t want to make it complicated.
I didn’t pout. I talked with her. At one point she got quiet and looked straight ahead paying attention, because I didn’t know what to do. She started pulling me closer affectionately and saying in a sing-songy voice, “We are friends! Can you be my friend? Ja! We are friends.” She held me around the neck and hugged me as she sang. I was under her spell.
We looked at each other’s hands. We held our hands close to each other’s.
She lamented how her hands looked aged and weathered.
We got closer. Held hands. Played with each other’s hair (*my bald head*).

The walk home was surreal. I walked her home. We were pushing each other, dancing twirling each other, holding hands, linking arms. I picked her up like a fireman when she started hitting me. She said ‘put me down’. I put her down. We continued frolicking up the street listening to ‘silly dance songs’.

Her head was wrapped in a reddish silk scarf with a floral pattern. She looked so sexy and cool. And she was playing with me! The street was our playground and she was prodding at me and my reservedness—like the little girl does to the little boy in Up.

I felt young and beautiful. Our inner children enjoyed each other. Her centre of gravity would shift into within mine and force me to catch myself or get thrown off-balance. I kept my hands moving when putting them on her. Our hips moved together in a dance that was whatever it was.

We got into her neighbourhood. I walked her down the long stretch of street before stopping short of her street. She reiterated that she had someone and then began the movements of goodnight. The gentle swaying in and out, daring the other with locked eyes. Her pupils were dilated and it wasn’t from drugs. I let my desire show, but only through my eyes and gentle rhythmic incursions of my inner toroidal field into her inner toroidal field. There was nuzzling, hugging and cheek kissing, and then, just before stepping apart, our lips touched for the briefest instant.

We stepped back from each other, and she turned, looking back once as she rounded the corner. I felt mind-fucked. It had been the most wonderful walk home. The brownie I had eaten fuelled some of the surreality to be sure, but nonetheless, we were two kids frolicking in a playground.

I never had a friendship with a girl like this.

*********************************************

This experience redeemed so many years of awkwardness around women I like. It was a challenge and an adventure; she was strong and challenged me physically. Her challenge was contending with my greater mass and roughness of movement; my challenge was staying radically present with her in the moment, staying ‘locked-in’ and not drifting off and imagining our lives together, or how she compared to other women I’d known.

In closing

We’ve been dancing around a get-together for a month, and this evening together almost didn’t happen because she was tired. I told her it was my last night, and her response was ah ok fuck it.

I liked that.

Leave a comment

Filed under Blog

Gay Bomb

Friends,

I performed last night and ate shit as hard as I’ve ever eaten shit that I can remember. The bar was Bandera Negra and the show itself was called Just One Wish Before I Die…

Cool poster, tho, rite?

It was 8 Mile bad. I choked. I was high off brownies and acid. I was perhaps tired—I’d been playing out in the streets for the better part of the previous 36 hours, and there was miscommunication with the venue (my fault) re: what kind of event it was gonna be. But whatever, I’ll eat all that. It’s my fault, all of it.

I fuckin’ bombed. It hurt. I will come back from this; in fact, I already have. I was ready to play like half an hour later and was shredding along to the Stones, but the promoter stopped me because I guess he was too butt-hurt that the initial performance didn’t go as he thought it would.

Oh, and that goes back to the title of this post—it turns out it was a gay bar (which of course throws that poster into a more interesting light) and as I was arguing like, “Let me play now, look how many people are here!” I felt this weird dom vibe like they were more wounded and angry than just business would dictate, and they wanted me humbled. Like by not putting me on they were teaching me a lesson, but by not putting me on it just made it look more and more like I was taking the piss from everyone who had come out.

The place was packed after all, and I didn’t bail, I hung around and drank with people, and schmoozed with the friends I brought. We were cool by the time I left with me making song requests and such, but as soon as the doors closed to the outside public I’m like, “That’s my cue!…” and I bounced.

Just One Wish Before I Die

I’m beginning to think this show is cursed—my final party in Mexico City last season was also called the same thing, with a similarly cool poster to boot….

….and that party was a little under-attended for my tastes and I ended up having a particularly salty spat by using irreverent humor with a Jewish female friend whom I was trying to cheer up.

Maybe I’m putting too much pressure on myself, and this lyric, Just One Wish Before I Die is part of it. Too high-concept? Too dark? Too immature, drawn from a Motley Crue lyric as it is? Maybe all. Maybe more.

One of the bright sides to me bombing was that this other Canadian dude, Vince, saw me bomb just before leaving town on a bus. I have felt distance the last few days from Vince because this girl, Shayla seemed more into me than him and I have always made good account of myself in group settings where he’s been around and so seeing me humbled might have been good for both of us.

“I’m not gay. I told you; I’m a deeply closeted gay man.”
-Norm Macdonald (rip)

I’m also beginning to think I’m attracting a lot more gayness into my life than I otherwise that I would; more specifically, I am attracting it unknowingly, naively A lot of my friends whom I took to be women are actually trans women it seems. They’re still my friends, and I feel attracted to their feminine energy, but when I find out—found out—I felt really dumb and clueless. I take people at face value, and that goes for how they present. In the final analysis, I’m glad I’m so naive, because I’ve seen dudes who are so cynical and jaded that they assume every woman is a dude, and that kind of mistrust I think is toxic, whereas I just get an occasional surprise sometimes in my relationships (before things get to the bedroom of course, because I’ve learned to take my time and get to know people before sex….thank God).

Fuck it tho—even Iceberg Slim got fooled once, and I daresay I’ve handled my friend’s gender reveals cooler than that ice-cold motherfucker.

Speaking of Iceberg, one thing I did right: If you’re gonna fail, make sure you look is on point.

Stay black!

-AG

PS Left gay bar, went to mezcal bar, left with girls. They kept looking over at me promisingly as we walked to the night club.
I couldn’t get in with guitar. Got some tacos.
Walked through park on way home. Get accosted and approached by some junkie.
He approached me from behind and I waited for his hand to touch my shoulder.
I whirled on him and forcefully, loudly screamed into his face,”No me toques!”
This caught him off guard and he stopped pawing at me for a moment, I quickened the pace and he head-butted me, hitting me in the upper arm, then tried kicking my leg in retreat.
I guess he thought that this dandy walking through park carrying a guitar and amp was low-hanging fruit.
As he kicked, I lifted my leg, evading it like a choreographed dance, and stared at him as he shrunk into the shadows.
I crowed, loudly, like a rooster. Three times, drowning out the muttered, ineffectual cursing from the shadows.
Not even on your best day.
Not even on my worst night.
Ain’t found a way to kill me yet.

Leave a comment

Filed under Blog, Review

Covid Refugee (A Blog Post)

Friends,

Greetings from Chiapas, Mexico. It’s been some 13.5 months since I left Canada in October 2020 and as it stands I’ve no plans to go back. It started with 7 months in Mexico where I more or less kept up the tempo of event-hosting I had started in Canada in summer of 2020, followed by 6 months in the United States, where I found myself a job in the Arizona wine industry. Now it’s back to Mexico to work on my visa application for re-entry into the US, then hopefully a greencard after a time, and citizenship in the longer-term.

I’m done with Canada. It’s (f/c)ucked. In fairness, it’s hard to tell exactly what’s going on there from the conflicting reports I hear, but having lived there most of my life, certain criticisms seem predictable and plausible—particularly those developments which pertain specifically to public complacency and the citizenry just rolling over to show its/their collective belly. Some people—those I reckon are most like me—tell me it fuckin’ sucks and is sliding further into communism. “Imagine getting out of Russia in 1916…” was a thought that played over and over in my head (for better and worse) during the last six months in the US.

From my series #ShredalSeerRizon; made while in Arizona

Better because it strengthened my resolve to make a clean break.

Worse because living isolated out in the desert as I was, I might have been more susceptible to a general paranoia.

Does it break my heart that I see my country of birth sliding further into communism? Especially since I spent time in the military, etc? Not as much as you might think. I’ve always been drawn to the US; particularly the deserts of the south-west. It always seemed like the place to be for me, and getting caught up in the patriotism of being in the army and then deploying to Afghanistan might have—in retrospect—delayed me from really embracing this goal and pursuing it in earnest.

Even though I don’t feel conflicted about following my heart however, there is still a weird feeling about openly speaking so treasonously. I’m afraid because my best laid plans to obtain residency and then citizenship elsewhere might be for nought and then it will be back to the frozen north for me with egg on my face and nowhere to go. That is my biggest fear in fact—being stuck in Canada.

To be Fair

Canada was a good place to grow up. There are more safety nets there and a general niceness which helps ease one into the real world. I know some friends for example in the States who went through the criminal justice system early on—in some cases upwards of 20 years ago—and they are still feeling the effects of it. Not to say, you can’t get caught in the system in Canada, but for whatever reason I never did, whereas I feel the likelihood would have been higher if I was born in the States.

On the other hand, Canada’s safety nets and collectivist leanings also mean that there is a lower ceiling for what one individual might accomplish—especially one who works in the arts as I have (mostly) have since 2013.

Do I owe Canada anything for the relative safety of my upbringing? Maybe.

If I do, have I already paid it off? I would say most likely.

The only pang of guilt/regret I feel is to the fine men and women I served with. I admire their love for the country. To one comrade (no pun intended) in particular whom I feel most accountable to, I have stated that I feel more loyalty to the US at this point, acknowledging that this might seem like a betrayal. Better to stab someone in the front than in the back right?

Canada has always had problems; Covid has simply thrown them into sharper relief. At the same time, it perhaps also gave me the push I needed.

Thanks for reading.

-Dre

PS Stay tuned for the serialized release of Covid Refugee (The Memoir)

Leave a comment

Filed under Blog

The Dervish: Overlay Lore 26 DEC 2020

Salta opened his eyelids after a deep slumber and surveyed the expanse of water before him and all around him.

He stared into the distance, seeing infinitely far with no especial effort, but then allowed his focus to relax and settle on the immediate -albeit, vast- expanse of water he stood in.

He saw ships all ‘around’ him -ragged things mostly; junkers, pirate vessels, smugglers and derelict cargo ships waiting to be commandeered and plundered. Spatially, they ranged from a dozen to several hundred kilometres away from him, but that mattered little because he didn’t exactly live in the spatial realm. Good thing too, because with his immense proportions he would certainly collapse under his own 3D spatial weight.

3D was a term he’d picked up over time from intercepting and processing every electro-magnetic (another term he’d picked up) transmission made by the 3D species on this planet (yet another term). He didn’t know what ‘D’ the humans would classify him as -if they could even conceive of a being such as he- but he was sure it was some D level that was supra-ordinate to their 3D.

So why did he envy them?

Because they hadn’t matured? Maybe.

Had he matured? He suspected he had.

In fact, he had a feeling that he had once been one of these little 3D creatures -one of these humans- but at some point the cone narrowed into a quickening spiral like a whirlpool only to an infinitesimally small threshold before beginning to grow and expand outward toward infinity in a widening spiral like a… like a….

“…reverse whirlpo-” he muttered low and slowly before catching and silencing himself. It was too late: the echo of his whispered words had caused violent upheaval in the waters before him and a large cascading impulse of water cascaded forward. He knew better than to try and stop it -if he but could with both hands meaningfully and eternally occupied. No, the best he could do would be to try and upset the wave by kicking it but that “remedy” would only cause more upset to the waters and perhaps an extinction-level-event.

So he watched the wave -the tsunami– go forth toward the central portion of the Lemurian archipelago some thousand kilometres away before turning his attention to his breath; keeping it regular but not too violent.

How long had he been here? 

For all of time by the chronology of the 3Ds. For him it had been a moment and an eternity. He remembered the quickening of the whirlpool that had abruptly ended the thing that came before this eternal existence. Had that previous thing also been an eternity? Was such a thing possible?

The memory of that previous eternity was dark, which was a stark contrast to his clear recall of everything that had happened, ever in this eternity.

No, it wasn’t ‘dark’; it was light. Thinking back as best he could to that last eternity, his only memories where vague and implicit: accelerating upward, pain, ostracism, and then a bright, all-white consuming light before he woke up here with one purpose. That purpose, holding two things together. He knew this; and his muscles felt the strain of it every day, but he didn’t exactly know what those two things were.

Still he felt it was important enough to keep doing.

He looked east to the rising sun over the seemingly endless expanse of water, and realized that it was the beginning of the human ‘day’ in this part of the world. He had a little game he played which he felt helped him understand the humans better: He would stare at the sun and meditate on it as it moved around the Earth over 24 of their ‘hours’. The 24 hour period was important to their physiology and understanding of the world, and so he reckoned that he might gain some perspective about them -and mayhaps his own previous eternity- if he could really hone in on that 24 hour period and experience every instant of it.

Easing into his silent, still meditation, he made an-ever so careful adjustment of his arm so as not to disturb the planet more than he had to, and during this gentle application of effort his eyes closed for but a moment. 

When they opened the sun was setting on this day. Or perhaps the next one. Or perhaps one further down their chronologically linear 3D road in a distant future time. Salta didn’t know, but all he could do was remain silent, keep breathing gently and resume paying attention.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

The Dervish: Chapter 2

Joe landed with a thud against the asphalt of the damp alley. His outstretched palms and right knee had taken most of the impact but his left cheek had still hit the with ground with enough force to later bruise and abrase it. He slowly relaxed his clenched eyes and allowed them to open into ‘squints’. For a moment there was quiet. Then he became gradually re-aware of the commotion behind him. There were voices yelling angrily -two were much louder than the others and seemed to be in direct communication with each other, voluminously and aggressively. The twin logos thundered back and forth and over top of each other. Within the interminably long half a second of regaining clarity, Joe noticed that at times the voices were more clear and sometimes less clear -muffled as if by exertion.
There were other voices too -probably 2- but in that instant Joe couldn’t be sure because they blended together into a consistent, supplementary whine of pathetic indignance. Still, even in that brief instant of recovering from near-semi-consciousness, Joe was certain that these were the voices of enemies.

Alertness fully restored by the sound of bells ringing internally, Joe pressed up off the ground with his hands, only slightly fumbling the attempt to hop right to his feet from a prone position. Steadying himself for only the briefest of moments and satisfied that his motor function was at least commensurate with his technically functional mental clarity, Joe whirled around with what he reckoned to be a sufficient amount of coordination and aggression to convince any adversaries present and watching that he was still a force to be reckoned with.

Casting eyes on the situation that he had been cast from like a chick being pushed from a domestically-abusive nest by sociopathic cuckoos, Joe quickly confirmed that which he’d never actually forgot; He and Elijah were in a scrape with the bar owner and two of his employees.

“I DON”T GIVE A FUCK WHERE YOU”RE FROM! YOU DON”T SAY THOSE WORDS IN MY PLACE!” screamed the bartender, grappling with Elijah, his hands hooked around the shoulder straps of Elijah’s patrol rig.

“DON’T PRESUME YOU CAN”T ‘GET GOT’ FOR SPEAKING TO YOUR BETTERS IN SUCH A MANNER!” Elijah responded, indignant and surprised that this ‘peasant’ would imply ending his life.

The two employees, who were feebly trying to wrest Elijah’s hands from the bartender’s blazer (seemingly unaware that their boss was still very much holding onto their quarry), looked at each other shocked at Elijah’s words (and then at their boss) before giggling nervously.

For his part, the bartender froze, eyes widening into an incredulous stare. The stare intensified and the faintest glimmer of a condescending smirk began to appear near-imperceptibly at the corner of his mouth

“My betters?… Are you fucking joking me, old man? Elijah looked at him for several seconds and then wearily began to feel admonished. Respect-lacking assholes like this barkeep used to never have the audacity to vent their resentments to such as him. For years and years after the beginning of the armistice, Elijah and his buddies would have gone to dumps like this and been treated like royalty.

But that was just it, he didn’t have buddies anymore -not really; every other contemporary of his he knew of -survivors of ‘the Rad-lands’, had raptured.  Any damn fool who hadn’t was dead. Except him.

Your ‘great war’ was a long time ago,” the barkeep continued, tauntingly, menacingly. You had a chance to go up in the world, so WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU HERE?!”

Elijah’s eyes widened in anger, and his indignance remembered, he screamed at the barkeep, “You SONOVABITCH! I MADE my chance!”

With his exclamation, Elijah threw his left hand from the barkeep’s chest, out laterally in the direction of the approaching Joe, and bent at the elbow to reach to the back of his belt, where he carried a concealable -though still needlessly large- combat knife. 

Fuuuuuck…. here we go again…” thought Elijah as he lunged in the direction of the fray, reaching around behind Elijah to grab and stay his forearm, and placing himself between the two quarrelling men. At his return to thick of things, the two employees of the barkeep (who had been the ones to bum-rush Joe pout onto his face in the first place) turned some of their attention toward him but remained mostly devoted to holding back the much larger (and seemingly more unreasonable…also drunker) Elijah. 

The stalemated human knot lingered in stasis for an instant and Elijah allowed Joe to pull his knife-less hand back out to his side just under the notice of the three adversaries, who were none-the-wiser about nearly needing to increase their weekly dry-cleaning budget. Satisfied for the moment that the situation was effectively de-escalated, Joe slowly turned about to face the barkeep. 

“Senor Gravacci.” he intoned with deliberate respectfulness. “I apologize the this misunderstanding…” the barkeeps eye’s narrowed but before he could protest this appraisal, Joe continued: “…that we caused. I pray you: allow us to leave. My man is unwell, but has not not had an outburst in some time. If you allow us to leave I swear we won’t return.”

Gravacci looked from Joe to Eli and back to Joe.

“You know if I kill him he wont come back either…” As Gravacci said this he pulled a stiletto dagger with a mother of pearl handle out of a forearm sheath hidden under his sleeve.

“Sir!” Joe continued, his calm tinged with urgency, “Death comes at every moment…”

At this utterance, one of Gravacci’s flunkies nodded in assent unconsciously. Joe Continued:

I just saved the life of at least one of us here. I pray thee to give me the benefit of the doubt, and assume it was you or one of yours.

At this point, Elijah and Gravacci, locked in a tense stare-down, both allowed their eyes to move in the direction of the Joe. Their faces stayed tense, teeth clenched in alert malice. Gravacci, with a view of Joe’s anterior aspect let his gaze fall from the boy’s eyes, down past his chin and to his neck. There, just barely peeking above the top button of a collared floral shirt, Gravacci could see the top of a tattoo; cursive script. Slowly he moved his dagger, pointed over Joe’s left shoulder at the face of Elijah down in front of Joe’s face, dragging the tip across his left cheek. Joe didn’t flinch, and after resting the dagger a moment near the corner of Joe’s mouth, Gravacci brought it slowly and deliberately down to his neck, and brought the length of the blade laterally across his throat.

Joe was aware of the precariousness of his position but he wasn’t afraid. Gravacci pulled the top of his collar down with the blade revealing the word truth tattooed across Joe’s neck. 

“I don’t like speakers in my bar. They’re trouble. I don’t deal in spells; I deal in potions.”

” I don’t deal in spells either, sir.” Joe responded.

“You better fuckin’ not; not anywhere around here, because next time, I won’t give a shit what God it offends…”

Joe steeled himself to maintain equanimity during the imminent blaspheme.

 “…I’ll kill you … both.” 

Gravacci watched Joe’s face as he said the words slowly and even his perceptive eye didn’t catch anything approximating a flinch. Satisfied, he quickly FLICKED the blade away from Joe’s throat, prompting Elijah to resume gazing at him, and popped it back into his sleeve with an elegant flourish. His left hand released Elijah’s shoulder-strap.

“You two are free to go.” Gravacci said with a sweet, ambiguous familiarity. 

Joe maintained his gaze at Gravacci and spoke: “Eli. Take your hands from Senor Gravacci.” Eli complied and Gravacci looked to his men. They abruptly shoved Eli and Joe out into the alley, causing them both to stumble, but neither fell. 

Gravacci moved between his two flunkies who stood at something approximating goombah attention, and took up an imperious and regal posture. He spoke:

“Good sirs! I thank you for your patronage this evening. Until there is not, there is always tomorrow.” As he spoke, Gravacci took a an exaggerated bow, and Joe, who had quickly recovered after being ‘rushed’ once more into the alley, had also taken up a regal posture and returned his bow, except Joe’s bow was deeper. He replied to Gravacci:

“The Gods and your ancestors doubtless smile upon the hospitality you have shown two weary travelers, this eve.”

At this, Gravaccinodded, whirled about and re-entered the bar followed by his jabronis. Elijah, who had recovered from the shove and turned his body away from the assembled three adversaries to face down the alley, looked at the closing door they had just passed through and spit. Joe whirled on him. 

“Don’t!” he commanded.

Elijah scowled. “Now you presume to command me? YOU are not my better!”

“No…” Joe responded, stepping more into Elijah’s personal space and piercing his soul a gaze whose intensity belied his youthfulness. “…but I will be.”

He gazed at the arrogant, foolish, troubled old warrior for a few moments longer, and Eli, for his part, looked down.At this, Joe began to slowly turn his body away but kept his eyes stuck to his companion. As he began to walk down the alley away from the scene of the conflict he gradually pulled his gaze forward, and when he did so Eli let out s sigh.

Joe neared the end of the alley and turned right. Elijah watched him disappear and contemplated going a separate way for a moment before continuing after him.

THE END

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Blog, Fiction, Uncategorized

Rapt

Friends:

I want to present a conspiracy theory which I think has as much merit as anything else I’ve seen on social:

BUT I don’t want to do it to contribute to anxiety (at least not directly) because first of all, it’s a quasi-positive theory; and second, I want to build on it to explore a darker side of something else which we’ve been hearing a lot about, but whose whole picture isn’t discussed.

I’ll get to it:

Assuming that there are strings being pulled at a high level, and that 5G, Covid, Tiger King, et al are smoke and/or mirrors, it occurs to me that the forced quarantine has less to do with safety and more to do with conditioning -priming- people for a post-employment world (PEW). For example, the benefits programs which are being enacted seem like a pilot program for universal basic income (UBI) and even staunch opponents of such government “handouts” are being mollified into accepting it when the stakes are theoretically raised by a plague. Slowly, as we sit at home and begin receiving money, we will become more accepting of the PEW.

One major objection to UBI is where the money for it comes from, however we can’t talk about that without a larger convo about central banking, FRB, fiat currency, etc., and that is beyond the scope of this post.

The second major criticism of UBI is, “What will people do with their time? (Probably become fat, lazy blobs…)” We’re seeing this answer play out now: some are catching up with loved ones, others are developing hobbies, some are venting online (🙋‍♂️), and some are reporting on their neighbours. Most notably, the cream of society is doing what it always does -rising- and, without getting too eschatological, I don’t think we would be speaking too recklessly in comparing this to a rapture of sorts. Some will rise; most will not?

But I digress, because this UBI talk should received as a blessing; our level of technology is poised to displace most workers and this is simply the first flow of that tide. S

o rejoice, right?

Well, here’s where it gets dark: If we do become dependant on governments for payments rather than earning our living, we threaten to atrophy and erode what sense of individual autonomy we still have left. Being financially dependant on an institution makes us much less likely to meaningfully challenge that institution; assuming we aren’t already paralyzed with fear by the thought.

If the hand is feeding us, we can’t bite it, and I think this is an oft-under-appreciated negative externality of UBI. What if we rely on government money and our behaviour is deemed overtly anti-state? Do we get cut off?

It’s possible.

Yet even if you think that overtly anti-state behaviour is worth cutting someone off for, that self-same technological advancement which displaced us from our jobs is also poised to passively track all of our movements, habits and purchases and rate us on an unknown algorithm as the threat we might possibly manifest one day; like boner-killing menage between social-credit, the PATRIOT Act and Minority Report.

We may very well see ourselves get “cut off” for a cumulative set of behaviours which, though innocuous in isolation, together culminate into a problematic profile. Or, if not cut off entirely, then have our wings clipped through travel limitations, higher fees for services, etc. as we see happening more and more in China.

I don’t know what I think about this whole situation but I’ve expressed the following sentiment to close friends and I hope it brings you some comfort: If our situation is shit, then know that it has never not been shit. By that rationale, it’s as good as its ever been and we KNOW it could be so much worse.

When it seems like things “above us” are pushing “down” on u, we must remember that if we are properly oriented (upward) toward our highest ideals obstacles don’t (can’t) come from above -they can only approach from the side. It is only when we take our eyes off that highest value and cower from the lateral threats that they appear to tower over and dominate us. But, if we keep focus upward then we will navigate the vicissitudes of life like we always have: in suffering, in pain, with death, and -if we keep focused upward- maybe with some success.

Don’t be they guy on the bottom. It’s rapture, baby; rise or get risen over.

Best,
-Dre

Leave a comment

Filed under Blog

I’m Never Gonna Treat You Like I Should

“You know that I’m no good/
I’m never gonna treat you like I should…
…I’m  a part-time lover.”

Friends,

Em is upstairs in my bed. I am in the living room on the couch. Neither of us could sleep. I would be lying if I said that my insomnia wasn’t partly due to her presence in my bed, but I could also blame the late afternoon coffees I had and of course all of the thoughts swirling around in my head.

The main thought swirling around in the mental morass right now is that I need to be away from my family. All of them. There’s noone I want to see right now. It’s not about them being bad, but rather that I feel bad around them. I feel inadequate, and when I’m around them all the ways I have been deficient as a member of the family are thrown in sharp relief.

Of course I recognize the flawed logic: I have been gone and so to make it better I will stay gone? –That hardly makes sense, right? Well no, not if I want to make things better with them. That’s a big ‘if’ though. I want to make things better for me.

I am so anchored by this feeling of owing something to my family. I am consciously aware of it on some level with my grandparents and ancestors, and the last few years I have been putting undue pressure on myself to have a family. Still in the last few months since my failed engagement and year in Germany which were followed by decompression in Latin America and a few other adventures, I feel like I need to prove something to my more immediate family; father, step-father and siblings. These feelings don’t serve me and I find myself full of insecurities when I’m around them. I don’t wanna feel that way anymore. I get resentful even when my sister messages me saying she is with my grandparents and asking if I can come out. She wanted to put me in touch with a second cousin whom I haven’t seen in years today and I said ‘yes’ but I was inwardly annoyed.

I had it out with my brother today. Lately every time I see him its a problem. Every time I go to his house I feel I am walking on eggshells. I don’t want to feel that anymore. En route back home after parting ways with him I was angry and resolute not to be put in that situation again. And that anger brings me to Em -hopefully now sleeping soundly now that the noise of my thoughts is away from her.

I messaged Em on the bus back home alluding to her recently-single status and in short order made it clear that I was looking to fuck. There has been some flirting and attraction since we met a few weeks back, but she had a boyfriend and I wasn’t trying to bring any drama into my life. On a more fundamental level, I know how much power I have both to hurt people emotionally and to get love-distracted from my own aspirations, and so I am very careful, cautious and even afraid to get involved with someone. However, in my state of indignant anger after having it out with my brother I wasn’t trying to be careful, cautious or fearful -I wanted to fuck.

Long story short, Em eventually did come over but she had to finish work and in the 4.5 hours that elapsed from when I first messaged her, my righteous indignation boner had mostly subsided. Plus, she had her own shit going on which wasn’t really conducive to the fuck-making I had been quite clear about wanting to do –ladies, y u do dis? We frolicked a little and sex could have happened if I had taken one of several opportunities to kiss her, but I didn’t/don’t want to kiss her. I wanted to fuck, nothing intimate. So we ended up just hanging out from like 6:30 onward and it wasn’t unpleasant but all I could think about was the work I wasn’t getting done.

I’m annoyed at her for taking up my time….and my bed, but I’m more annoyed at myself for letting it happen. I should know better than to think that I can be nice to a girl and a pleasure to be around and that she will, as a result, do anything less than take up more of my time.

I’m annoyed with my brother. Annoyed because I unquestioningly took the weekend to help him move some furniture because he has a bad back while he gave me a hard time about giving me a ride to a bus station when he knows I don’t have a vehicle and that to drive anywhere from his middle of nowhere country home is a mission. But again, I am more annoyed with myself for allowing him the opportunity to have power over me.

My family is like women in that both are time-pits. They are to time what cars are to money. I need to be hustling, grinding and saving my time and that means not only not spending time with them, but not spending time thinking about them.

Time to be ruthless 😐

Best,
-Dre

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

An Almost Complete Picture…

Friends,

A thing occurred to me.

It’s one of those incredibly circumstantial things with multiple avenues pointing in the same direction, but where the final (key) piece still eludes me. In a word, Moscow.

Moscow is the political capital of the Russian Federation.
Moscow is the home of St. Basil’s Cathedral (The Cathedral of Vasily the Blessed)

St. Basil’s towers resemble (to me) mushrooms, like Amanita Muscaria.

The active ingredient in A. Muscaria is Muscimol.
Something of Moscow is Muscovite.
There is more than one St. Basil.
The St. Basil who lent his name to the aforementioned cathedral was a holy fool.
I suspect there is a yet-to-be-discovered connection between mushrooms and holy fools.
(I myself have considered devoting myself to the mushrooms and forsaking all else…like heroin, I’m waiting ’til I’m in my 70s)
There is a connection between A. Muscaria and Santa Claus. Said connection is also HERE.

This is what a connection looks like.

The second St. Basil I mentioned is considered an inspiration for Santa Claus (#mushroomsanta).
St. Nicholas, the name often ascribed to Santa Claus, is the patron saint of (drug-haven) Amsterdam and (gasp!) Moscow!!
**********Secondary Connections************
The mineral, Muscovite is named after Moscow (duh!)
Muscovite is the most common mica (tenuous, I know)
Muscovite was first mentioned as a name for the mineral in letters to Ivan the Terrible in 1568.
Ivan the terrible was a contemporary and pallbearer for **dum dum dum* drumroll please!)….. ST. BASIL!?!

Conclusion

BASIL AGAIN!!

Short answer: I don’t know what it all means but I do have a hunch which I trust that there was oodles of mushroom fuckery in Imperial Russia. Furthermore, I’m just crazy and smart enough to believe that my noticing these connections means there is something to them.

Still, there is a key-piece missing, isn’t there? It seems like there is heaps of peripheral information but that something central to tie it up still eludes us. I’m going to keep researching this with priority placed on shedding light on the St. Basil’s cathedral mushroom connection as there is a work project I wish to write based on that.

In the meantime, can anyone help me get to the bottom of this and find the missing piece that ties it all together?

Best,
-Dre

P.S. There is only one other person aside from myself whom I know that has managed to trip off of A. Muscaria. If anyone else has managed to trip on it I would love to hear about it. My trip can be found HERE.

 

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Position, Uncategorized