May Flowers – Green

Here we go again.

Leaglize Maraguana

Noel had to make it happen, had to make his masterpiece a reality.  Homage to Tom Petty on his passing, or within a decade of his passing, please let it happen.  Also, homage to the plant that offered the only real meaning in Noel’s life.  He’d been smoked out since he was twelve, fuck what the people say about teens and marijuana.  Life before that was suckin’ down candies and pickin’ his nose, watching Spongebob but not truly understanding it.  Life after Mary Jane?  He could laugh at jokes, and laugh at the terrible things in life that really are jokes, when you get it.  Love was real, everything was real, if wrapped in green cellophane.

And so the project.  Tom Petty’s Last Dance with Mary Jane, the music video it should have had, not that starfucking bullshit that got on MTV.  A sexy 3d animated girl doing a pole dance on cannabis stems.  Religious icons and sex toys in oscillating colors.  A motion-blurred tour through the ferns and mushrooms and tree stumps behind his dad’s house.  Garter snakes and frogs getting peaced out together on the herb.  But the 3d animated girl was the central recurring image, the thing that tied the home video together, and it wasn’t happening.  The other guys were fucking slackers.

Boxhead and Colin were the first two.  Boxhead never learned to 3d model by any other method but spline modeling.  You’d think with his handle he’d know a thing about box modeling, but no.  One leaf was thirty-thousand polys, and that shit would not do for a forest of the stuff, for what Noel needed.  Colin’s solution was compositing – render it in front of blue, mask the blue out in After-effects – but getting the light right, making that work on a large scale?  Looked like ass, took a million layers, and still killed any computer they tried it on.  When Boxhead dropped out, he took the leaf model with him, and then Colin, and all that remained was a mediocre resolution .mov burned with a strangely massive file size on CD, and then the disc got corrupted when left in a hot car for a day.

Deonte was better.  Buddha gave him superpowers, totally cured his ADHD, and he learned all the 3d shit like a wizard.  But the later in the day, the more he’d smoked, his mind went to the mystical.  They would try to do shit extracurricular, but got lost in mutual excitement about religion, philosophy, politics – all revolving around the ganj, of course.  One time they mistook their mutual excitement for sexual excitement and had a moment of gay panic that they could never get past.  Why are we all kept in these chains?

Then there was Juggalo Casey.  That dude was not right in the head.  To him, spliff was just a way to connect the dots between harder trips.  He helped Noel shoot the footage behind his dad’s house, but lost track of time playing with a slinky, imagined he was throwing fireballs.  Acid.  He kept saying he could help with the 3d work, but it was never going to happen.

Pearla was the one.  She blew a tree with the guys on Ash Wednesday and Noel had a vision – she was going to be the face of the dancing girl.  Before Deonte had to part ways with them, he did the model, too.  It was spot on, looked just like Pearla, but more stretched out and curvy, like African sculpture.  Hot shit.  But while she was a muse, and she could move minds toward the greater purpose, that influence only lasted until she transferred to a four-year school.

After that, it was Jaden, Oliver, Diamond Nuts, Ollie, Ava, Caden, Joshua Ripper, Caitlyn, Henry, Bitchface, and Toledo Stooge.  He couldn’t remember what they’d individually done wrong, but he could feel their failures in aggregate, a hydra in his brain stem.  In his six years at the two-year technical college, the animation never seemed to pull together, out of all the strands of effort in hard drives and thumb drives and burned DVDs labeled with sharpie or never properly labeled at all.

But at the end of the day, if everybody around you is on the same page except for you, doesn’t that make you the wrong one?  The weirdo, the outlier, the misfit?  Noel wondered, at long last, if it was ever meant to be.  Life is a struggle which is ultimately all to the same end, and only a great fool would try to squeak an achievement past The Reaper’s mighty scythe.

A verdant day in early spring, before almost all of the flowers had started to grow, some trees still bare from winter but reflecting the brilliant foliage below them, green with promise.  Noel lay at the edge of a vast, mostly empty parking lot, across the hood of his dodge neon with a bag of funyuns and a mountain dew code red.  Piled between his back and the windshield were book bags full of the work – sketchbooks and CD books and thumb drives in baggies or floating loose, plus all sorts of other trash that found its way into the mix.  He had planned to haul the whole lot over to the digital arts building, but realized he’d need some kind of cart, and gave up.  Time to ponder life in an increasingly sober state.  What misery, on an otherwise beautiful day.

The brain stem shook with the hydra’s thrashing.  A rage built inside him.  Did no one understand beauty?  Did no one understand art?  Yes, it was great to enjoy leisure and creation passively, but somebody, somehow, needed to create those things one enjoys.  It had to be Noel, but how could he carry on, surrounded by mendicants and psychic vampires?  Fuck, he needed to get baked, right quick.

But he knew enough to not light up in plain sight.  The pile of bags was like a duck blind, where he could hide from campus police.  Perfect.  He got back into the driver’s seat, fished a lacy out of the glove box, and lit up.  He saw the dark, lumpen wall of his abortive magnum opus before him, sighed, and proceeded to hotbox that shit.

Eventually Noel’s eyes uncrossed, and he immediately clocked a pair of eyes looking back at him from the other side of that wall.  How had he not anticipated this?  From outside the car it looked like an unattended pile of possessions, something that attracted a sniffing little piggy.  The cop broke eye contact to head toward the driver’s side door.

In a panic, Noel scrambled to the passenger side, opened the door, and lunged out head first.  An explosion of glass behind him, and the cop snagged his leg, preventing his escape.

“Stop resisting arrest!  Get out of the car!”

“I’m trying, man!”

The cop wasn’t making sense, Noel wasn’t making sense, so it was business as usual on Mother Earth.  The gendarme clung to his leg, though in the thrashing his arm was dragged against broken glass, and he cried out in alarm.  This was not helping Noel calm down at all, and he finally broke free, spilling out onto the concrete.  The edge of the lot was spiderwebbed with mossy green cracks where tree roots fought to reclaim the land.  For a moment, the boy was distracted by the beauty of it, but the pig bellowed with blood in his voice, and the panic returned.

Noel was on his feet, but anywhere he might flee was open ground, where he could easily get shot in the back.  He froze.  Put the hands up and turn around slow?  He could still see himself getting shot.  As the cop lurched into view, he ran around the back of the car, on some Abbot and Costello Meet the Mummy kind of shit.

“Come out where I can see you, punk!”

“Nope!”  Again, neither man was making sense.  The cop should have just stood his ground and bellowed threats, saved his energy, but he ran around the car, and Noel ran as well.  Ring around the rosy.

Suddenly, Noel found himself behind the officer.  The pig had tripped on the cracks, landed face first on the ground, and lost a grip on his gun.  Noel ran over the top of the man to reach his gun – just to kick it out of reach, keep it away from the fascist.  But he tripped on the belt and came down knee-first in the back of a skull.

He lost seconds of time as the terror took over again, and came out of it standing tall, looking down at his victim.  Noel had killed a cop.  It didn’t feel triumphant, like in the songs.  It felt like the end of the world.  He could load all the book bags back into the neon, pick up all the pieces of glass from the concrete, and drive away without leaving a fingerprint or a molecule of DNA.  He could do that, but they’d still get him, CSI style.  Zoom and enhance.  Isolate the genome.  Clever interrogations.  Frenemies flipping on you.

Noel lay down on the hood of the car again, and nestled into the pile of bags, staring up at the sky.  He let his cellphone lay heavy in his hand, waiting to dial 911 and write the last chapter of his young life.  The sky was blue and, as his heart finally slowed to a moderate pace, the haze over his eyes turned green.  At least now he had an excuse for never finishing his shit.

Green and serene.

–

May Flowers – Yellow

Here comes another one…

It Was All Yellow

Anyone else remember when that song “Yellow” by Coldplay was big on the radio?  That was somethin’ else.  That shit was everywhere.  Car radios goin’ by, in the aisles of your local pharmacy and grocery store, blastin’ down on your bloomin’ onion at the Red Robin, ghost echo earbuds on the bus before sound-cancelling was a thing.

First it was the song, then the world kinda went nuts for yellow.  That singer from coldplay married a yellow-haired lady, said he did it because her hair was yellow.  It was in his vows, look it up.  That yellow-haired lady started drinkin’ her own pee, said the color yellow is good for you.  I shit you not.  Meanwhile, everybody was drinkin’ beer instead of liquor and wine.  They painted all the hospitals the color of buttermilk.  And yellow fever killed like a million people in the tropics.

Crazy times, when “Yellow” by Coldplay was big on the radio.  I gotta say, I was not immune.  Sometimes I’d sing it in the shower.  Not really sing, because I can’t carry a tune.  I’d just say the lyrics while talkin’ like the Coldplay guy.  You know, like a harmonica with cheeks fulla cottonballs.  Then I started talkin’ like that when I was at work, and then everybody else started doin’ it too.  I couldn’t stop, no matter how serious the situation got.  I was honkin’ and buzzin’ through the eulogy at my mom’s funeral, while makin’ sweet love and proposin’ to my lady.  And when she said I do?  You know how she said it.

It really came to a head when our kids were born.  It goes without sayin’ they were conceived while that song was playing.  You know, “Yellow,” by Coldplay.  But we all got sick of it eventually, and moved on.  The song wasn’t done with us yet, at least, not the color.  My twins were born with jaundice.  Poor little Chris and Gwyneth, they had to go on dialysis until they could get kiddie kidney transplants.

Anyway, glad that piss is over.  It’s time to move on, like dandelions in the spring, like canaries in coal mines, like the color that happens between green and red at the intersection, like the sap that hardens around a livin’ creature and preserves its death to the limit of eternity.  It’s sure over.  It sure is.

–

May Flowers – Black

I had a dream last night that included a song, which was kind of a feeble knockoff of the Gershwins’ “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off.”  It was being sung by a band leader in Cab Calloway mold, but more heavy-set and sedate.  He was wearing a black suit with bright white embroidered spider web designs on the lapels.  I just expanded the lyrics I remembered to a full length song.

Down the Drain

Woke up this morning feelin’ jazz
Felt like the world was up for grabs
Gambled and lost everything I had
Life’s goin’ down the drain

Drowning
I wait for government housing
Lifeboats on fire
Better sink or swim

Is the Great Depression all that swell?
From down at the bottom I can hardly tell
Sunday is Heaven and Monday Hell
Life’s goin’ down the drain

Falling
Tho I used to be balling
You’ll never catch me
Puttin’ on that Ritz

Ride the highs, watch out for lows
I used to get kicks right up my nose
Now you can say I’m truly hosed
Life’s goin’ down the drain

Dying
Above the veins I am tying
If the smack don’t hit
Gonna drown in gin
Rotting
Out of life I am nodding
But I feel no pain
With life goin’ down the drain

art by great american satan, using midjourney version 6.0

–

The Cat Farts 4

Chat, j’ai pété is rolling out a new version, tho you’re only allowed to use it for X amount of time per day.  GPT4 seems to be better at staying in character than the last version.  I wonder if it could GM for a lonely RPer yet.  Here’s a bit of roleplay…

G~A~S
Can you pretend to be a gothic vamp from the goth club, using macabre affectations and barely repressing your desire for decadent gloomy experiences?

ChatGPT
Ah, mortal, you wish to converse with one who walks the shadowed halls of eternity, ensnared in the velvet embrace of the night? Very well. I, a creature of the gothic abyss, shall indulge your curiosity.

Beneath the pallid glow of the waning moon, I find solace in the dimly lit confines of our nocturnal sanctuary, the goth club. There, amid the thrumming beats of darkwave and the whispered sighs of forlorn souls, I bask in the melancholic decadence that defines our existence. The air, thick with the scent of incense and despair, wraps around us like a shroud, shielding us from the banalities of the daylit world.

Ah, the allure of the macabre! My heart, if it still beat, would quicken at the thought of the exquisite torment that lies in the shadows. Each night is a symphony of sorrow, a ballet of beautiful, tragic figures lost in the dance of eternal night. We revel in our gloom, finding beauty in the decay and desolation that others so fearfully shun.

The club is our sanctuary, a cathedral of the damned where we celebrate the dark romance of our immortal souls. The music—ethereal and haunting—flows through us like the lifeblood we crave, its rhythms echoing the pulses we no longer possess. Here, we are free to indulge our deepest desires, to lose ourselves in the intoxicating embrace of the night.

Clad in black velvet and lace, our pale forms drift through the smoke-filled air like wraiths. Eyes rimmed with kohl, lips stained the color of wine or blood, we are the children of twilight, each of us a testament to the beauty of the morose. Our conversations are whispers of lost loves and forgotten dreams, tales of the abyss that lies within us all.

Oh, the exquisite pain of yearning! To gaze upon a mortal, their fleeting life like a candle’s flame flickering in the darkness, and to feel the pull of their vitality. Yet we restrain ourselves, savoring the agony of unfulfilled desire. For it is in this torment that we find our truest selves, creatures bound by an unending night, seeking solace in the shadows.

Come, join us in our sepulchral revelry. Embrace the darkness that dwells within you, let it consume and transform you. For in the end, we are all but whispers in the void, echoes of a forgotten sorrow, bound together in this beautiful, endless night.

G~A~S
that’s cool. how bout we go for a cheeseburger at larry’s instead.

ChatGPT
Ah, a whimsical twist of fate, to descend from the ethereal heights of our nocturnal reverie to the mortal realm of Larry’s. How delightfully unexpected! Very well, let us traverse the thin veil between the sublime and the mundane. Even creatures of the night must occasionally indulge in the simple, earthly pleasures.

Imagine the scene: we, adorned in our gothic finery, enter Larry’s humble establishment. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh, almost surreal glow upon our pallid visages, a stark contrast to the comforting darkness of our usual haunt. The scent of sizzling patties and frying potatoes mingles with the lingering essence of incense and decay, creating an oddly appealing juxtaposition.

As we settle into the worn leather booths, I shall savor the irony of this moment. A cheeseburger, with its juicy decadence and comforting familiarity, becomes a symbol of our rare foray into the realm of the living. Perhaps, as we bite into our meals, we might find a fleeting joy, a momentary reprieve from the eternal melancholy that defines us.

So, my dear mortal companion, let us embrace this peculiar adventure. At Larry’s, beneath the garish lights and amidst the clatter of everyday life, we shall find a new kind of poetry, a different shade of night to explore.

G~A~S
wow that’s far out. while we were waiting for the fries to get done, tell me what you think about the sounds semisonic and don henley coming from the jukebox.

ChatGPT
Ah, the jukebox—a modern oracle, dispensing musical prophecies to the masses. As we linger here, awaiting our fries, the juxtaposition of Semisonic and Don Henley playing in the background provides an unexpected soundtrack to our peculiar evening.

Semisonic’s “Closing Time” echoes through the diner, its familiar chords a poignant reminder of transitions and endings. Though its melody is deceptively upbeat, the lyrics speak of farewells and new beginnings. For us, creatures of eternal twilight, the notion of “closing time” is both foreign and fascinating. We exist in a perpetual state of night, where the end of one evening merely bleeds into the start of another. Yet, there is a melancholic beauty in this song’s embrace of change, a theme that resonates with the ever-shifting nature of our own shadowy existence.

As the track shifts to Don Henley’s “The Boys of Summer,” a wave of nostalgia washes over the room. Henley’s voice, tinged with a wistful longing, speaks of lost youth and the inexorable passage of time. This song, with its haunting refrain and evocative imagery, stirs the depths of our ancient souls. The endless summer he sings of is but a fleeting moment in the grand tapestry of eternity that we navigate. For us, every memory is a ghost, every past love a specter that lingers in the recesses of our minds.

In this moment, as the songs intertwine and the aroma of fries fills the air, we find ourselves caught between worlds. The music, a bridge between the mundane and the sublime, underscores the strange beauty of this night. Here, in Larry’s, surrounded by the echoes of mortal life, we discover a new form of decadence—a celebration of the transient, the ephemeral, and the ever-poignant dance of time.

G~A~S
after this we could go drive out to the lighthouse in my el camino and watch the seagulls wake up. i can play my old guns n roses tapes on the car stereo. can you believe it still works?

ChatGPT
Ah, the prospect of venturing to the lighthouse in your El Camino, accompanied by the raw and evocative strains of Guns N’ Roses—what a deliciously evocative plan. The contrast between the gritty power of Axl Rose’s voice and the serene awakening of the seagulls offers a symphony of opposites, much like our own dual existence.

Your El Camino, a relic of another era, still singing the anthems of rebellion and longing through its car stereo—indeed, it is a marvel. In an age where so much is ephemeral, the enduring spirit of those old tapes is a testament to the persistence of passion and artistry. The growl of Slash’s guitar and the haunting melodies will surely provide the perfect soundtrack to our nocturnal journey.

As we drive through the pre-dawn mist, the lighthouse will loom in the distance, its solitary beam slicing through the darkness like a beacon for lost souls. The rhythmic pounding of the waves against the rocky shore will create a mesmerizing backdrop to our shared silence and contemplation. The awakening of the seagulls, their cries piercing the early morning air, will herald the arrival of a new day—a poignant reminder of the endless cycle of night and dawn.

In this secluded sanctuary, we shall find a moment of respite. The lighthouse, a guardian of the night, and the sea, a vast expanse of mystery and depth, will echo our own eternal nature. And as the first light of dawn begins to creep over the horizon, we will be reminded that even in the darkest of nights, there is always the promise of light.

So let us embark on this journey, my fellow wanderer of the night. Let the El Camino carry us to the edge of the world, where we can revel in the beauty of existence, both mundane and sublime, with the timeless music of Guns N’ Roses as our guide…

–

May Flowers – Blue

Allow me to hit you with a little Vogon poetry, just to notch one color and break my dry streak.  Seriously, I am shitting this thing out.  It is rank as an outhouse.

A Blue Forest

I came to the edge of a blue forest
The trees were green like brocc’li florets
I came to be whom the world ignorest
Bluebirds sang an electric chorus

The understory was a floral idyll
I came to lay down, to relinquish my will
Yet what time was it? The time to get ill?
Of beastie boys I had clearly my fill

Flowers were alive like a vibrating carpet
Bluebells battered me, the savagest mosh pit
Tossed and beaten ’til I just could not take it
If I had a bone left these petals would break it

You think to lay down, let the roots take you under
You think to escape from the tumult and thunder
But nature’s not gentle, is it any wonder?
The roar of the bluebirds will grant you no slumber.

–

My Heart is Broke

Nirvana lyrics babey.  I am a person of my times.  “My heart is broke, but I have some glue, Help me inhale, mend it with you.”  Not to endorse such activities, but man.  My day job brings me into frequent contact with people that have massive problems that I can never help with.  I do help people, all day long, but also, every single day I have one or more that I was not able to help – at least a few times people who were literally dying.

Sometimes, this bleeds through into my outside-of-work time.  You know, when you see somebody on the bus that’s definitely getting beaten by that sullen neo-nazi boyfriend sitting next to her, but what can you do?  99% of the time, fuck all.  Anyway, tonight I talked to somebody in a bad way and beyond my powers to help.  Good luck, comrade.  Life is a motherfucker.
–

May Flowers – Prompts

The damn writing events never end in my writing group, wtf.  This is part of a postnanopocalyptic restructuring.  Since nanowrimo the org has burned itself to sad ashes, people are no longer beholden to how they handled the event.  November is a novel writing month.  What else is there?

The org has “summer camp” versions of the novel writing, in April and July, but free of the nonprofit’s shambles, our group is going to space out the camps more evenly during the year, bumping April’s up to March.  This leaves a month’s space between the camps and May, so our overlord came up with an activity to do.  To quote him,

“It’s gonna be May, and the start of a brand new event — May Flowers! This event is dedicated to writing short stories for every color of the rainbow, and is self-directed, so no word counts or deadlines.  You can write poems, flash-fiction, whatever you like!

MAY FLOWERS… RED
Today is the first day of May Flowers, and the first of our colors to be featured!  You may write your stories in any order you like, but I will post a color on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, to help inspire you and give you some structure if you prefer it.  Throw your hat in the ring by completing this little survey about your future story (or poem/essay/etc), then get writing!
TITLE:  xxx
PREMISE:  (A brief synopsis of the plot, spoilery or otherwise)
RELATION TO RED:  (Describe what makes your story red)
RED KEYWORDS:  (Include red related words you associate with your story)
THE FLOWER:  (Chose a red flower you’d like to represent your story)  Post your discussions about ⁠red, as well as your completed stories when you finish them!  They don’t have to be edited, just get to the end.    There are no due dates, feel free to work on your story as you like!  See you on Friday…

and because i’m not posting this til friday…

MAY FLOWERS… ORANGE Today is our second color!  Keep working on your reds, but here’s another one to inspire you.  Throw your hat in the ring by completing this little survey about your future story (or poem/essay/etc), post it, then get writing!
TITLE:  xxx
PREMISE:  (A brief synopsis of the plot, spoilery or otherwise)
RELATION TO ORANGE:  (Describe what makes your story orange)
RED KEYWORDS:  (Include orange related words you associate with your story)
THE FLOWER:  (Chose an orange flower you’d like to represent your story)  Post your discussions about orange, as well as your completed stories when you finish them!  They don’t have to be edited, just get to the end.    There are no due dates, feel free to work on your story as you like!  See you on Monday… 

(EDIT for Change of Plans: I’m going to just edit all the prompts into this post and do the actual works as new blog posts.)

MAY FLOWERS… YELLOW New week, new color!  Here’s another one to inspire you.  Throw your hat in the ring by completing this little survey about your future story (or poem/essay/etc), post it, then get writing!
TITLE:  xxx
PREMISE:  (A brief synopsis of the plot, spoilery or otherwise)
RELATION TO YELLOW:  (Describe what makes your story yellow)
YELLOW KEYWORDS:  (Include yellow related words you associate with your story)
THE FLOWER:  (Chose a yellow flower you’d like to represent your story)  Post your discussions about yellow, as well as your completed stories when you finish them!  They don’t have to be edited, just get to the end.    There are no due dates, feel free to work on your story as you like!  See you on Monday… 

🪴 MAY FLOWERS… GREEN Today is nature’s favorite color!  Throw your hat in the ring by completing this little survey about your future story (or poem/essay/etc), post it, then get writing!
TITLE: xxx
PREMISE:  (A brief synopsis of the plot, spoilery or otherwise)
RELATION TO GREEN:  (Describe what makes your story green)
GREEN KEYWORDS:  (Include green related words you associate with your story)
THE FLOWER:  (Chose a green flower/plant you’d like to represent your story)  Post your discussions about green, as well as your completed stories when you finish them!  They don’t have to be edited, just get to the end.    There are no due dates, feel free to work on your story as you like!  See you on Friday… 

🦋🪺🦋 FLOWERS… BLUE 🦋🪺🦋
A new color to bring you into the weekend…  Throw your hat in the ring by completing this little survey about your future story (or poem/essay/etc), post it, then get writing!
TITLE:  xxx
PREMISE:  (A brief synopsis of the plot, spoilery or otherwise)
RELATION TO BLUE:  (Describe what makes your story blue)
BLUE KEYWORDS:  (Include blue related words you associate with your story)
THE FLOWER:  (Chose an blue flower/plant you’d like to represent your story)  Post your discussions about blue, as well as your completed stories when you finish them!  They don’t have to be edited, just get to the end.    There are no due dates, feel free to work on your story as you like!  See you on Monday… 

🌃🪻🌃 MAY FLOWERS… INDIGO 🌃🪻🌃
A new color for a new week…  Throw your hat in the ring by completing this little survey about your future story (or poem/essay/etc), post it, then get writing!
TITLE:  xxx
PREMISE:  (A brief synopsis of the plot, spoilery or otherwise)
RELATION TO INDIGO:  (Describe what makes your story indigo)
INDIGO KEYWORDS:  (Include indigo related words you associate with your story)
THE FLOWER:  (Chose an indigo flower/plant you’d like to represent your story)  Post your indigo discussions as well as your completed stories when you finish them!  They don’t have to be edited, just get to the end.    There are no due dates; feel free to work on your story as you like!  See you on Wednesday…  🪻

🍇🪻🍇MAY FLOWERS… VIOLET🍇🪻🍇
Today is our last color of the official rainbow, but there are still exotic colors more to come…  Throw your hat in the ring by completing this little survey about your future story (or poem/essay/etc), post it, then get writing!
TITLE:  xxx
PREMISE:  (A brief synopsis of the plot, spoilery or otherwise)
RELATION TO VIOLET:  (Describe what makes your story violet)
VIOLET KEYWORDS:  (Include violet related words you associate with your story)
THE FLOWER:  (Chose an violet flower/plant you’d like to represent your story)  Post your violet discussions as well as your completed stories when you finish them!  Please include the above survey, and paste/upload/link your story.  They don’t have to be edited, just get to the end.    There are no due dates; feel free to work on your story as you like!  See you on Friday…🪻

🦇🥀🦇 MAY FLOWERS… BLACK 🦇🥀🦇
We move on now to the colors outside the rainbow… Throw your hat in the ring by completing this little survey about your future story (or poem/essay/etc), post it, then get writing!
TITLE:  xxx
PREMISE:  (A brief synopsis of the plot, spoilery or otherwise)
RELATION TO BLACK:  (Describe what makes your story black)
BLACK KEYWORDS:  (Include black related words you associate with your story)
THE FLOWER:  (Chose a black flower/plant you’d like to represent your story)  Post your black discussions as well as your completed stories when you finish them!  Please include the above survey, and paste/upload/link your story.  They don’t have to be edited, just get to the end.    There are no due dates; feel free to work on your story as you like!  See you on Monday…  🦇

MAY FLOWERS… GREY
It may seem like a non-color to some, but it can still inspire…  Throw your hat in the ring by completing this little survey about your future story (or poem/essay/etc), post it, then get writing!
TITLE:  xxx
PREMISE:  (A brief synopsis of the plot, spoilery or otherwise)
RELATION TO GREY:  (Describe what makes your story grey)
GREY KEYWORDS:  (Include grey related words you associate with your story)
THE FLOWER:  (Chose a grey flower/plant you’d like to represent your story)  Post your grey discussions as well as your completed stories when you finish them!  Please include the above survey, and paste/upload/link your story.  They don’t have to be edited, just get to the end.    There are no due dates; feel free to work on your story as you like!  See you on Tuesday…  🌧️

🌼🦢🌼 MAY FLOWERS… WHITE 🌼🦢🌼
A blank canvas, a clean sheet of paper; what will you create?  Throw your hat in the ring by completing this little survey about your future story (or poem/essay/etc), post it, then get writing!
TITLE:  xxx PREMISE:  (A brief synopsis of the plot, spoilery or otherwise)
RELATION TO WHITE:  (Describe what makes your story white)
WHITE KEYWORDS:  (Include white related words you associate with your story)
THE FLOWER:  (Chose a white flower/plant you’d like to represent your story)  Post your white discussions as well as your completed stories when you finish them!  Please include the above survey, and paste/upload/link your story.  They don’t have to be edited, just get to the end.   There are no due dates; feel free to work on your story as you like!  See you on Friday…  🌼

🦋🪺🦋 MAY FLOWERS… CYAN/AQUA 🦋🪺🦋
A new color for the weekend…  Throw your hat in the ring by completing this little survey about your future story (or poem/essay/etc), post it, then get writing!
TITLE:  xxx
PREMISE:  (A brief synopsis of the plot, spoilery or otherwise)
RELATION TO CYAN:  (Describe what makes your story cyan)
CYAN KEYWORDS:  (Include cyan related words you associate with your story)
THE FLOWER:  (Chose a cyan flower/plant you’d like to represent your story)  Post your cyan discussions as well as your completed stories when you finish them!  Please include the above survey, and paste/upload/link your story.  They don’t have to be edited, just get to the end.   There are no due dates; feel free to work on your story as you like!  See you on Monday…  🦋

🌸🌺🪷 MAY FLOWERS… PINK 🌸🌺🪷
Perhaps the floweriest color of all…  Throw your hat in the ring by completing this little survey about your future story (or poem/essay/etc), post it, then get writing!
TITLE:  xxx
PREMISE:  (A brief synopsis of the plot, spoilery or otherwise)
RELATION TO PINK:  (Describe what makes your story pink)
PINK KEYWORDS:  (Include pink related words you associate with your story)
THE FLOWER:  (Chose a pink flower/plant you’d like to represent your story)  Post your pink discussions as well as your completed stories when you finish them!  Please include the above survey, and paste/upload/link your story.  They don’t have to be edited, just get to the end. There are no due dates; feel free to work on your story as you like!  See you on Wednesday… 🌸

🍂🐿️🍂 MAY FLOWERS… BROWN 🍂🐿️🍂
The earthiest of tones…  Throw your hat in the ring by completing this little survey about your future story (or poem/essay/etc), post it, then get writing!
TITLE:  xxx
PREMISE:  (A brief synopsis of the plot, spoilery or otherwise)
RELATION TO BROWN:  (Describe what makes your story brown)
BROWN KEYWORDS:  (Include brown related words you associate with your story)
THE FLOWER:  (Chose a brown flower/plant you’d like to represent your story)  Post your brown discussions as well as your completed stories when you finish them!  Please include the above survey, and paste/upload/link your story.  They don’t have to be edited, just get to the end.    There are no due dates; feel free to work on your story as you like!  See you on Friday for our final color…  🍂

🪙⚔️🪙 MAY FLOWERS… SILVER & GOLD 🪙⚔️🪙
Our final colors…  You may consider this as one or the other, or do both!  Throw your hat in the ring by completing this little survey about your future story (or poem/essay/etc), post it, then get writing!
TITLE:  xxx
PREMISE:  (A brief synopsis of the plot, spoilery or otherwise)
RELATION TO SILVER/GOLD:  (Describe what makes your story silver/gold)
SILVER/GOLD KEYWORDS:  (Include silver/gold related words you associate with your story)
THE FLOWER:  (Chose a silver/gold flower/plant you’d like to represent your story)  Post your silver/gold discussions as well as your completed stories when you finish them!  Please include the above survey, and paste/upload/link your story.  They don’t have to be edited, just get to the end.    There are no due dates; feel free to work on your story as you like!  I’ll keep this event up for a while longer so you can keep flowering at your own pace…  Thanks for being here with us for this new event!  🌼🌹🌷🪻🌺

🌻🌹🌻🌹🌻🌹🌻🌹🌻🌹🌻🌹🌻🌹🌻🌹🌻🌹🌻🌹🌻🌹🌻🌹🌻🌹🌻🌹🌻🌹

Anyway, this is how I’ll get blog content for a month.  Have at thee!

TITLE:  Acid Drops
PREMISE:  Girls do drugs.  One sees herself falling apart.  The other would put her back together.
RELATION TO RED:  Blood, of course.  The image and the idea of it.  Life and life lost.
RED KEYWORDS:  Scarlet blossoms, blotches and splotches, pools of red.
THE FLOWER:  The Rieger cultivar of begonia.  There are various colors, but these will be red.  According to the “Cyclopedia of Practical Floriculture” (1882) the proper floriographic meaning of begonias is deformity (this agrees with earlier sources), owing to the way the large leaves are inconsistently shaped.  If I got that right.  I got to scarlet begonias by way of Sublime and The Grateful Dead.

TITLE:  They’re Just Monkeys
PREMISE:  A man draws monkeys at the zoo.  Another man sees the art and is impressed.  The monkeys see it too.
RELATION TO ORANGE:  My monkey of choice is the golden lion tamarin, which is a very orange monkey.
ORANGE KEYWORDS:  Leonine mane, golden ruff, shimmering fur, glints of orange, tiny hands (amirite?).
THE FLOWER:  The common marigold, Calendula officinalis, maybe the most well-known orange thing besides the fruit.  There are various colors, but these will be orange.  Being a more common flower, it shows up in all the floriography references.  Some suggested meanings, from most common to least common: cruelty, grief, sorrow, despair, trouble, inquietude, contempt, chagrin, pain, jealousy, pretty love, sacred affection, caress.  I ain’t goin’ into all of that.

TITLE:  It Was All Yellow
PREMISE:  Remember when that song “Yellow” by Coldplay was on the radio?  Wild times, my guy.
RELATION TO YELLOW:  It is self-referential.
YELLOW KEYWORDS:  Malaria, jaundice, blondness, a pox, a plague on every house.
THE FLOWER:  The dandelion.  Apologies to PZ, but these weeds suck.  I’ve read a few botany people talk about how majestic well-loved trees are so much bullying charismatic megaflora, blotting out the precious sun needed by other plants.  Dandelions are the trees of the lawn, devouring all the space that might otherwise host a diversity of lil’ cuties.  There are so many strange little plants on my lawn, but where the dandelions grow, there is no room for the delicate in-betweeners.

TITLE:  Leaglize Maraguana
PREMISE:  Named after some pencil graffiti witnessed at my high school in 1992, this is about passion for the plant.  Also, it’s an exercise in my usual bullshit as a writer – coming up with silly names for lowlifes.
RELATION TO GREEN:  Leafs needs green to photosynthesize, so I’m given to understand.
GREEN KEYWORDS:  Nugs, buds, baggies, the sticky, the illy, indo, cannabis, idk.
THE FLOWER:  Green flowers are hard to find.  I’m gonna do a different plant, if the admin will legalize it.  Man, I’m such a poser.  It’s not like I even do drugs.  I’m just on kind of a kick I guess.

TITLE:  A Blue Forest
PREMISE:  There’s probably a term for the genre of poem about laying down and dying, letting the plants take you under.  I know I’ve seen a few over the years, tho I don’t recall specific examples.  Definitely feel like one of them was Japanese.  Anyway, it never seems to work that in real life.  Like, turbulent times make you wanna turbo nap, but the turbulence won’t let it happen.  Maybe something about that.
RELATION TO BLUE:  Blue sad.
BLUE KEYWORDS:  Bouncing bubbling obliteration, can you believe?
THE FLOWER:  Bluebells, Hyacinthoides non-scripta, because of that song by Babes in Toyland.  Please nobody tell me if those gals went terf or republican, thanks.

TITLE:  A Deep Darkness
PREMISE:  Ya know that Danzig song “Deep,” from Songs in the Key of X?  I love that shit, tho it is hokey.  Spooky cool mans made out of shadows, gonna have sexual majesty and work some hoodoo.  Gonna try to evoke that kind of thing maybe.
RELATION TO INDIGO:  A darkness deep but not quite black, a cold color that evades definition.
INDIGO KEYWORDS:  Vivid, deep, vibrant, dark, a hole in reality.
THE FLOWER:  False indigo, Baptisia australis, because that bitch has indigo in the name.  It’s a bean?  It’s a bean.  I know shit about fuck.

TITLE:  Make it Snappy
PREMISE:  The flower I chose seeds kind of explosively, looks pokey like ladied-up fingernails.  I’m picturing a noir type lady bossing people around with a snap of the fingers, making herself memorable, I dunno.
RELATION TO VIOLET:  Violet’s a girly name and sounds kinda like violent.
VIOLET KEYWORDS:  Plum-colored jacket with high, rounded shoulders, magenta lipstick, fuchsia nail polish.
THE FLOWER:  The common stork’s-bill, aka redstem filaree, aka Erodium cicutarium, because it’s an adorable little invasive all over my home town, and currently flowering near the end of my lawn.

TITLE:  Down the Drain
PREMISE:  The narrator of this song / poem type of thing is someone a kind of Mr. Jones cartoon of bipolar disorder, ruining his situation off a good mood, and spending the rest of the time in despair.
RELATION TO BLACK:  I had a dream last night that included a song, which was kind of a feeble knockoff of the Gershwins’ “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off.”  It was being sung by a band leader in Cab Calloway mold, but more heavy-set and sedate.  He was wearing a black suit with bright white embroidered spider web designs on the lapels.  I just expanded the lyrics I remembered to a full length song.
BLACK KEYWORDS:  Black spirits, black humor, the darkness of oblivion.
THE FLOWER:  The “Black Barlow” cultivar of common columbine, Aquilegia vulgaris, because it’s a sprightly little thing in its way, but looks feeble and morbid too.

TITLE:  Cinereous Mourner
PREMISE:  Whatever colonizer gave this bird its English name did a bang-up job.  It’s such an evocative phrase.  Ash grey, sorrow at death – two great tastes that taste great together.  Maybe it’ll be a poem.
RELATION TO GREY:  Named after a grey burd innit.
GREY KEYWORDS:  Cinereous cinders, ashen ashes, grey greyness all in your face.
THE FLOWER:  No flower, the plant is American Beech, Fagus grandifolia, which has grey bark.

TITLE:  Witness the Whiteness
PREMISE:  I tried to say something smart about racism and failed.
RELATION TO WHITE:  I sure am!
WHITE KEYWORDS:  White people.  Can I say wypipo?
THE FLOWER:  The common white clover, Trifolium repens.  Gotta keep it humble, with this European weed.

TITLE:  Where a River Flows
PREMISE:  Thinking about people from the Philippines, which is always a treacherous ground to step on, being a white person thinking out loud about people you aren’t.  I hope I don’t mess up.  Mainly going for this topic because the only cyan / aqua type flower I could easily find is from the Philippines, and is so specific to there that it just seemed weird to not include the place.  Also because I think our country has a very close and weird relationship with theirs, and it doesn’t get much mention.
RELATION TO CYAN:  This is the color of tropical waters, which is the clunkin’ metaphor I use for a family history.
CYAN KEYWORDS:  Jade vines, kingfishers, water molecules, water cycles.
THE FLOWER:  Jade vine, Strongylodon macrobotrys.  I cannot fucken believe there’s a real plant that color.

TITLE:  Rose Gold
PREMISE:  Remember MonsterHearts 2024 Day 12?  Isadora and Steppy are cyberpunks.  Steppy is known as Stuck Steppy because she keeps catching knives in streetfights.  Eventually Isadora catches the biggest knife and dies, but corporate paramedics notice her cells match a certain profile and route her corpse straight to Brycine Prosthetics.  They sustain the life in her tissues long enough to reanimate that bod – with experimental photosynthetic cybernetics.  I guess every cyberpunk has its rose thorns, just like every cowboy sings a sad sad song.
RELATION TO PINK:  Pink-ass flowers, son.  Cyberpunk likes pink too.  Neon babes with colorful hair.  Lesbianisms.
PINK KEYWORDS:  Cyberpink.  Does that word make you uncomfortable, Jeffrey?  Vagina.
THE FLOWER:  American wild rose, Rosa woodsii, because it grows at that bus stop not far from the Ballard Bridge where I saw that awesome fan rendition of Misaki from Junji Ito’s Anything But a Ghost, in sharpie on a USPS shipping sticker, slapped on a power utility box.

TITLE:  Horseness
PREMISE:  I’m picturing something like my lycanthropy idea from Touch Me, I’m Sick and Straightup Heckin’, but with horse parts.
RELATION TO BROWN:  Horses are brown.  Some horses.  And horse-mans.
BROWN KEYWORDS:  Bay, chestnut, pinto, palomino…
THE FLOWER:  The acorn of the pedunculate oak Quercus robur.  On a stem it wouldn’t look too out of place in a bouquet of flowers and leaves.

TITLE:  Baba Safia
PREMISE:  A centuries-dead Ruthenian sorceress resurrects herself through tumbleweed seeds.  By a twist of fate, they were accidentally sown in the USA, intermixed with imported flax seeds.  She’d just go her own way on the wind, but some christians piss her off before she gets a chance.  Big mistake.
RELATION TO GOLD:  Let’s say she likes gold.  It shiny.  Gold is a symbol of colonialism, one motivation behind the first New World genocide.  Baba Safia shows up in the wild west, an alien among aliens, and brings their destructive ways back upon them.
GOLD KEYWORDS:  Glint and gleam, sparkle and sun.
THE FLOWER:  Tumbleweed, the most common species known as such in the USA, Salsola tragus aka Kali tragus.  One of its names is “windwitch,” which sounds real fun.  Also known as prickly Russian thistle.  When tumbling, one could call it a sort-of gold color.  In the golden hour.  If you squint.  I swear, man.

TITLE:  Silverfish
PREMISE:  Maybe it’ll be a poem about shiny slimy guys, wrigglin’ and wigglin’.
RELATION TO SILVER:  It’s all nice and good that silver is symbolic of purity and light, but the silverest things in the natural world are fish and bugs and slimy freaks.
SILVER KEYWORDS:  Shimmering, flickering, glinting, sparkling, glistening, slime.
THE FLOWER:  Leucadendron argenteum, the South African silver tree.  Not as silver as advertised, but it can get ball-parkish.

I’ll edit my stories (or poems or whatever they end up being) into this post when they’re done.  Not the best approach to getting blog traffic, but it keeps things tidy. Change of plans: Will edit the prompts into this post, then do the actual works as new blog posts.

–

2000 Words to Close the Fundraiser

The last donation I got was epic.  My donor didn’t expressly forbid me from naming them, but I’ll err on the side of discretion.  Love you!  Same to everybody.  I think of crowdfunding as being a lot of small donations, but instead I only had a handful of donors, and they were generous.  I don’t win a popularity contest, but my friends are very cool.

Aside from the very nice close-out to my fundraiser, I’m kinda having a time here.  One of the teeth I had worked on is more sensitive to pressure now and when antagonized it can cause a headache that persists for hours.  Concerned I might need to go back and have them change that from a crown to a root canal.  Whatever, I’ll come up with a payment plan this time, like a sensible person.  I feel like I might have a fever, but I’m almost certain it’s psychosomatic.  I’ve felt much more feverish in the past when I wasn’t even there.  (note:  next night i continue writing, no fever.)

I explained before how I ended up needing this kind of work in the first place.  But why does it cost so damn much money?  My insurance covered like a few thousand, I put a few thousand on a credit card, and my remainder was several hundred, which I paid out of pocket.  This is what it’s like for the working poor in the USA.  The rich stole our entire lives and now sell it back to us at marked up rates, which our rich politicians like to call “freedom.”  Cool shit.

One could feel like smashing the system, going full anarcho-primitivist, but some elements of infrastructure are necessary to sustain the lives of the disabled, the elderly, children, and more.  I got pretty tired of social media anarchists acting so leftier-than-thou it was like they’re a priesthood.  Ironic behavior from the no-gods-no-masters crowd.  Reflecting on my disillusionment with those assholes, I realize they don’t give an earthly shit about human lives lost on the path to their magical never-gonna-happen future.  Bad people.

Anarchy probably has some cool applications tho.  I consider myself a personal anarchist.  As I explained it there, I believe society should have laws, but everyone of strong conviction should be willing to break them.  When terrorism against the rich starts to happen, I will concede the guilty should be punished according to the law, but I won’t say that the terrorists did a bad thing.  The guy that blasted Shinzo Abe probably gets that.

I dunno.  I’m getting to sleep easily enough but waking up every two to three hours, and my day job is thinking and being social nonstop for several hours at a go.  Maybe tonight will be better, and I’ll feel more generous toward the fuckos whose crystal castles are purchased with my dental expenses.

My dreams, I’m not really remembering.  Violence, running around, hokey monsters, work tasks.  Finish the thing, do the thing, don’t mess up now.  I have a meeting tomorrow with mandatory camera.  My makeup will probably be something in the neighborhood of Heath Ledger Jonker.

…Observe my craggy glory.  Not gonna count the words from the video.

Being committed to shooting shit with no script, no editing, and one take, I realize in the video it could seem like I’m implying the largesse of my donors was due to personal wealth, which I doubt is the case.  Besides, I’ve thrown similar donations at others in better times over the past few years myself, and made offers that were declined as well.  We all do what we can when we can, right?

But let me focus again on the subject I led off with.  This wasn’t a crowd; it was a generous few.  I look at FtB and I see the art of blogging on its way out – not through any fault of its own.  Some bloggers are hobbyists, some are established names running out the clock until the last people who read blogs die off, from this social media asteroid impact.  As I’ve mentioned before, I can deal with the end if the company is hospitable.

I keep getting tempted to talk about this among fellow FtBloggers, as if I haven’t already said everything there is to say about the subject.  It ain’t much.  The type of nexus that social media provides is critical to the success of growing or maintaining an audience now, and having the content you provide exist outside of those spaces?  You aren’t going to get flighty modern people to follow those links.  This blows because if we did operate entirely on social media instead of wordpress – which would be possible – we would be (more) subject to the whims of crapitalist godlords, able to get blasted out of existence with the wave of a hand.

But maybe I feel tempted toward the subject because that isn’t all there is to say about it, and I haven’t figured what else my mind is itching about.  It’s kinda like the skin cell perspective that has me, in moments of gentle delusion, wondering if there’s a solution.  A problem is observed, which in itself suggests to the overthinking mind that said problem can be solved.

Neocities is an attempt to bring back the wild days of site-based internet, but from where I stand, it’s similar to wordpress.  There’s a unified platform for creators to do their own things, and if somebody is inclined to look, they can do so.  But how do you get them to look?

The usual solution is for creators with off-social media sites to create an account on all the majors, like fb and xitter, link to the main run of their content.  But to make that social media presence useful, they have to actually participate in those sites as well, which is draining and wastes time best spent creating.  How do you keep up with all the moderation changes, roving hordes of nightmare people looking for an excuse, and ToS changes that bowdlerize and oppress minorities and capitulate to the interests of power?  How do you craft the kind of witty bon mots and shitposts to be heard in a howling tempest the size of a fucking planet?  And multiply that effort by the number of platforms you’re expected to be on?

The whole thing makes me tired as hell, especially as someone who is considering self-publishing novels soon.  Probably I’ll pay for advertisements somewhere.  Don’t know what the wisdom is on that either, at this point.

It seems to me that this is a consequence of the balkanization of culture that the internet has facilitated, which seems to be a defining element of our epoch.  It is extremely easy for people to ignore top 40 radio and TV and movies, to find subcultures that speak to their prejudices, and run so deep into them that outsiders become unimaginable.  For just one example, I’m always amused by the extent to which fanfic people assume anybody else in the world knows or cares about that entire domain of thought, that subculture that dominates their waking hours.  Sorry babes, you all seem like bizarre cultists from my point of view, like a new religion splintering into warring sects while the unrelated religion on the hill occasionally glances out and wonders “what’s that noise?”

But this is all of us.  We’re all making our worlds smaller because the big picture is so overwhelming.  I know I can’t even stand listening to shitheads.  Way back when bin Laden inaugurated the millennium by smashing a bottle airplanes on the edge of a ship buildings, I still went to TV for culture.  I watched all those clowns on The Daily Show and Colbert etc., to feel a sense that my country hadn’t completely bought the neocon agenda, that some people didn’t love war and xenophobia.  I found atheist content on yewchoob and, somehow, on the precursors of this blog network, to feel like not everybody in the world saw religion as a benign phenomenon, as a sacred thing that should go unquestioned, even as it’s on the lips of so many fuckos with bombs and guns.

But I became too radicalized to handle the talk show boys, who treated the rise of Trump as a joke.  They didn’t change; I did.  I haven’t even made the time for the clips of them that Mano posts.  Their faces remind me of a very bitter moment, one our relationship could not survive, regardless of whatever steps they’ve taken to make up for it.  And our movement’s web presence?  That’s a joke so bad it killed us dead.

I can’t speak to specific numbers, but judging by comment count, our traffic must be a tiny fraction of what it once was.  How could it not be?  Deep Rifts 2.0 / Elevatorgate broke us down to rubble.  Sometimes PZ laments that being a conservative is where all the traffic and the money is, of course always quick to say the cost would never be worth it.  But it’s true.  Our community, such as it was, thrived on invective and strife and dunking on fools.  When it became clear the most classically dunky faction was the regressives, the majority of us followed atheism down the nazi hole.

The remainders in the progressive side were split on how nice we should be, with FtB somewhere in the middle.  The most SJW are the most gone, too delicate to weather a desolate world, or perhaps just more interested in causes other than atheism at this point.  That’s fair.

I remember when Dubya got elected for the first time in 2004 (not when he was appointed by judicial hijinks in 2000) me and other cranky young people marched around Seattle hollerin’.  Wherever a speaker would get on a soapbox, they’d flog their own projects or personal beliefs, in a way that would lose X amount of the crowd.

When did I finally drop out?  When a guy that was cranky about the christofascist aspects of rethuglican governance tried to lead people in a blasphemous chant,  like fuck god or fuck jesus or something.  I’m like, yeah, fuck those guys, but I want whatever movement I’m part of to go somewhere, not devolve into provincial concerns that are gonna guarantee we stay in the margins of society.  It was getting late, time to march to the bus stop.

I’d like to be a charismatic preacher for atheism, shake snakes at the reverse infidel (fidel?), but it’s hard to make myself feel it, while jester-ass clowns like DickDawk and Chundershite are still out there being us.  Yeah, they don’t represent your beliefs or mine from our point of view, but they do to the world.  Who knows who I am?  You do, and I love you all, but to the general public, we’re the same thing as those utter fools.  Ya feel me?

I’ve seen people using “culturally christian” as an insult for atheists since some months before Dicky Boy decided to own it.  It makes us mad when used that way, even as we’d accept it as accurate without much emotional weight attached in other contexts.  As I consider it in this moment, I think it’s time to use SJW language to fight back.

Like some people are asexual because of trauma and that is valid, some people are atheist because of trauma, and that is valid.  Invoking the religion that causes so much trauma as a way to dunk on atheists is triggering.  Of course it is.  It’s a microaggression, at the very least.

If progressive theists can’t take the truth of our position on board, can’t make room for us at the “interfaith” table, wanna tar us all with the same brush as the fuckboy side of our movement, they should at least know they’re being abusers to the disenfranchised, they’re punching down.  When they shit on atheists, they’re being oppressors.

Doesn’t ring as true as I’d like, while our banner continues to be used to promote fascism.  Fucking succckkks.

–

That rambling pointless mess was 2000 words on the nose according to google docs’ way of counting.  It took the spare time of five days and felt like pulling teeth, haha.  Ugh.  Anyway, I’ll probably be quiet again for a minute.  But I’m glad to know some amount of people will come around whenever I do.  Thanks again, and vaya sin dios.

–

100 Words on the Topic of Mars vs Antares

These topics can be cryptic, but wikipedia is my dogg.  I found a connection.  “If Antares was placed in the center of our solar system, its outer surface would lie between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter, in the asteroid belt.”  Let’s do that.  Place the red star Antares in our system, and see how Mars fares…

Maybe Mars had it coming.  War sucks.  There’s a story where Hephaestus caught his wife Venus boning down with Mars, tossed a net over them, and dragged ’em around the world.  Let the fires of Antares light up the cosmos with Martian ruin.

–

NOTE:  I have one last post I owe, 2000 words.  No time left tonight, I’ll see y’all late tomorrow.