NaNoWriMo 2017 : Chapter 14

(For this evening’s performance, the part of “Reg” will be played by Robert Picardo. ) 

He’d been the perfect houseguest for the whole two weeks.

He’d charmed them with his sunny smile and elegant good looks. He’d amused them with his dry witticisms and uplifting anecdotes. He had flattered them with his highly obervant compliments and artistic appreciation of theri mansion’s architecture. He’d impressed them with his archery skills and top notch horsemanship. And he had soothed their ills with his alert listening and sympathetic advice.

Now it was time to see if it all was worth it.

Because one of them was about to invite him to do what he had been fantasizing about fdoing or the whole time he’d been at Broadmoor Hall.

“Speech! Speech!” cried Uncle Billy, aka the Reverend Billy Thorpe of the Church of God’s Golden Glory, Incorporated.

Soon, everyone else joined in – even the icy Danera Thorpe, whose name from her father’s expecting a boy he would name DeNiro.

“Yes, give us a speech before you go!” said Bradford Thorpe, asserting what he thought of as his paternal authority.

“You simply must!” said Heather “Mommy” Thorpe, not willing to let her husband get ahead of her on this.

“How could I refuse? ” said Reginald “Reg” Tolstead as he rose to his feet. In his mind, an archer smoothly nocked a thick hickory arrow into his sturdy yew bow.

“Well the first thing I’d like to say is that this had been a wonderful two weeks.”, said Reg, ” I have never been treated better in my life. Everyone here has been very good to me, and for that you will always have my humble gratitude. ”

“Think nothing of it, dear man. ” said Bradford, grinning ear to ear.

“You’ve been a most delightful guest!” said “Mommy”.

“It’s a damned shame you have to go so soon! ” said Billy.

Danera, as usual, said nothing, but blushed prettily.

“Thank you all. ” said Reg. “But I wouldn’t feel right leaving you without one last bit of observation from little old me, so here it is.  ”

The archer drew back the arrow.

“You are all terrible, terrible people. ”

The arrow flew through the air.

“WHAT? ” roared Bradford.

“How dare you!” said “Mommy” with poisonous vehemence.

“That’s not funny, buddy. ” said Billy.

Nenara cried into her lambskin gloves.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true. ” Reg said in a tone of mock sympathy. “Over the last two weeks I have gotten to know each one of you quite well, and you are, quite simply, the most repugnant bunch of dirty filth sinners I have ever been unfortunate enough to meet.

“Now you see here, you ungrateful son of a bitch… ” said Billy.

“Yes, let’s start with you, the Reverend Without Being Revered Billy. First of all, you need to drop that corn-pone accent of yours. If you’re Southern, I’m Martian. ”

“See here! ” said “Mommy”, “There’s no need to be so… ”

“Personal? ” said Reg. “Oh but there is. I said you were horrible people, and I intend to prove my case. And while we’re on the subject, you need to lose your phony accent too. You talk like an idiot’s imitation of the Queen of England, and you’re not even British. ”

“Now then, where was I? Oh yes, the Most Holy Reverend Billy. I want to ask you a question, and I mean this sincerely…. have you even read the Bible?”

“Read it? ” Billy yelled, ” you son of a bitch, I got a doctorate in divinity! Of course I’ve read it! Have you?”

“Extensively, and with great pleasure. And your doctorate is from the Pine Hills Institute of Theology, which operates out of the back of a van and whose final and only exam consists of one simple question : How much money do you have? ”

Billy grunted but didn’t deny it. That arrow hit home.

“But you can prove me wrong by just answering this simple question : what is the lesson a thoughtful Christian should learn from Christ’s storming of the temple?”

Billy glared at Reg as he tried to think of an answer.

“Uh… that people should be nice to each other. ” said Billy defiantly.

“Wrong. ” said Reg. “So very wrong. But I don’t blame you. A lot of rich people are stupid. The lesson, Billy Boy, is that it’s wrong to make money from religion. That’s what made Jesus so angry. The merchants and money-changers were profiting from religion, and that was so great a sin in God’s eyes that the Prince of Peace was driven to commit acts of violence. ”

“So? ” said Billy truculently. “So what?”

“The ‘what’, you ass, is that your little corporate empire makes all its money by promising poor people that God will make them rich. That is about as un-Christlike as it gets. In fact, if you look up ‘Jesus’ in the dictionary, it says ‘the opposite of that'”.

Billy glowered at Reg, seething with hate. “Are you let him talk to me like that, Dad?”.

“Hmm? ” said Bradford. “Actually, I think he makes a rather good point. ” Then, upon seeing the look on Billy’s face, he harumphed, and said “I mean… listen, you are a guest in this house and as such, you are expected… ”

“… to toe the party line?”, said Reg, ” I’m sorry, that’s the one thing I have never been any good at. But let’s take a good look at you, Pater Mi. In my prescene, you have ordered illegal drilling in environmentally sensitive areas, authorized the theft of over one hundred million dollars from your employee’s pension fund, fired an underling for not knowing that when you asked for toast, you meant melba toast, and chatted with a friend about how poor people are the worst and the country would be better off if they were all gassed. Now does any of that sound like something Jesus would do?”

“But… that’s just good business! ” Bradford protested.

“Yes, and I am sure the merchants and money-changers at the Temple were doing ‘good business’ too. I’ve noticed that rampant sociopaths like yourself always bring up ‘good business’ when confronted with your evil deeds. As if the only justification needed for the even the most unspeakable of acts was ‘I get more money that way'”.

“Well…. ” said Bradford, flatering. But he soon rallied. “That certainly doesn’t make me a god damed sociopath!”

“Doesn’t it? ” said Reg. “Well there’s a simple test. When was the last time you did something that was not to your advantage? ”

Bradford tried to form syllables but did not reply.

“That’s what I thought. ” said, Reg, “Normal people do it all the time, Bradford. They take their turn, make sacrifices for the betterment of others, and behave morally even when there is nobody watching. That’s because they have a conscience, Bradford. You do not. That’s what makes you morally defective. ”

“Listen here, I have a fidu-” said Bradford.

“Fiduciary responsibility to maximize profit, yes, we’ve all heard that before. It’s bullshit, Brad the Dad, and poor quality bullshit at that. Your bunch is fond of saying that coporations are people. Well there is a word for people who maximize their gain at all times, Bradford. Can you guess what it is?”

“Sociopath. ” said Denara. At first, she looked guilty about her outburst. But then she responded to her family’s outraged looks with her usual icy indifference,

“It speaks! ” said Reg, “Welcome to the conversation, o Queen of Winter. I was just about to give you your turn. Don’t think that you are off the hook merely because you don’t say much.  ”

Denara did not visibly react except to grow even frostier.

“Too dead inside to react, eh? ” said Reg. That’s understandable. Well then you won’t mind me telling you what a malicious, malignant, vile, vituporous, and downright evil person – and I use that term loosely – you are. ”

Denara turned a very cold shoulder to Reg, pretending to ignore him.

“Oh no, now I won’t be able to bask in the glow of your affection any more. ” Reg said sarcastically. “Listen, Miss Prissy, in my presence you have broken up one “friend”‘s relationship via misleading texts, sabotaged the wedding of another “friend” by sending a gift you knew she would hate, and punished a third “friend”  for paying attention to her child and not you by waiting till she was out of the room then teasing the poor child till the boy was crying his eyes out, then pretending you had nothing to do with it when your “friend” came back. ”

“You, little lady, are just plain mean. “, said Reg, “The men in your family might be  horrible, but at least they don’t do it out of malice like you do. You are a cancerous poison and all who meet you are the worse for it. Do the world a favour and bite yourself so you can die from your own poison, you ghoulish ghost. ”

Denara didn’t react. Or at least, didn’t think she reacted. The venom in her glare at Reg was so palpable an autistic child would have felt it, and Reg could tell that she really wanted to unleash her verbal venom on Reg, but was too committed to her ice queen persona to do it.

Choke on it, thought Reg.

“Mommy” cleared her throat.

“Do you have something you’d like to contribute, “Mommy” dearest? ” said Reg.

“No. ” said Heather in a tone so cold one could almost see the icicles hanging from the words.  “I just wanted to ask for the salt. ”

“Oh, good one. ” said Reg in the exact same tone. “That sure shows me. And to think, for a second there I thought you might actually be ready to jump down my throat in defense of your poor little girl. But I should have known better. Any maternal act like that would be your first. You’re about as maternal as a guppy eating its young”.

“I will have you know… ” she said, “that I happen to be the chair of… ”

“About a half dozen children’s charities, yes, I know. ” said Reg. “But those aren’t really charities, are they? Surely you know this. They exist entirely to assuage whatever dull twitch of the mind you call a conscience when it bothers you about how little you love your own children, and apart from that, “Mommy”, you couldn’t care less about the children. And God knows, you’ve tried. ”

“Well if I am such an awful person, ” said Heather hotly, ” then why have I spent so many hours working on… ”

“…throwing parties for your friends? To show them how much better than them you are, of course. That’s the whole point of those little luncheons, isn’t it? They certainly aren’t about helping children. Do you know how much those events cost?” said Reg.

“I’m sure I have absolutely NO idea. ” said Heather haughtily.

“Exactly. ” said Reg. “you don’t know and you don’t care. And yet, you are perfectly willing to spend the charity’s money on them. Which means you don’t care about how much money actually goes to the children, and that means you don’t care about said children. See how simple that is? It’s easy if you care. ”

“And to think I actually went to church with you demons. To be honest, I was half-expecting you to burst into flames upon entering. ”

Reg walked to the door, then turned to face the room one last time. “Well folks, I’ve had a wonderful time, but this wasn’t it. Spending two weeks with low trash like you without going on face-slapping rampage has been the hardest  thing I have done in my life. But don’t worry…the looks on your faces right now made it all worth it. You are all horrible, horrible people, and all I want to do right now is to go home and take a thousand showers to get the stink of you off me. I’d say farewell, but I’d prefer you didn’t. So I will just tell you this : save God some trouble and go directly to hell. Bye!”

And with that, Reg got onto the back of a waiting motorcycle, and sped off into the crisp air of that fateful November night.

<—————————————————————————————————————–>

“So how did it go? ” asked Shirley as she massaged Reg’s back.

“Mmmm. YOu do that so well. ” moaned Reg. “Have I mentioned lately how you’re the best girlfriend in the world?”

“Only around seventeen times. ” she replied. “Tonight. Now answer the question. ”

“Oh, it went perfectly. Flawlessly. In fact, it went better than I could have dreamed. They all hopped on Twitter to bitch about how mean I was, and what I had said to them. Now all my deadly memes are circulating freely for anyone to use against the billionaire class. And when their friends read about it, they will get infected too. I never dreamed it would go so well. I have truly set the cat amongst the pigeons, and I don’t feel even the slightest bit bad about it. ”

“Well I feel bad for one person. ” said Shirley.

“Who?” said Reg.

“The cat. Can you imagine having to eat a pigeon that dirty? ”

They both laughed, then made love, watched some Netflix, then called it a night.

 

 

NaNoWriMo 2017 : Chapter 12

Bumper and Eric’s eyes boggled.

And it wasn’t the pulsing, throbbing music played at bone rattling volume. Nor was it the bizarre lighting seemingly designed to keep you from ever seeing clearly by always being either far too bright or far too dark. And it’s wasn’t the crush of every sort of animal possible (and some that were clearly the product of an animator who’d been weaned too early) heaving to and fro with the beat.

They’d both been in dance clubs before. This was par for the course.

It was the bizarre way they were dressed. And… not dressed.

Their level of attire was completely random. From a nanny goat who was dressed in so many layers of clothing that she could have fallen into the Arctic Ocean and never even felt the cold to a pair of mares naked from the waist up and showing off their chestnut brown baby feeders to all assembled, to a stark naked ibex wiggling his man thing around and giggling to himself, every possible level of nudity was represented.

Furthermore, a lot of the time the level of nudity was rather unique because of the seemingly arbitrary area of exposure. There was the Kodiak sow bear with one breast exposed and nothing else. And there was a boomer kangaroo with one bouncy butt cheek exposed to the breeze. And most bizarrely of all, there was a bull elephant dressed in a severly conservative business suit but with one ponderous testicle dangling free and clear.

“Shame about the elephant. ” murmurred Bumper. “Should have finished the job. ”

“What?” said Eric. He’d been mesmerized by a snake lady’s sinuos wriggling of her scientically inaccurate tits, and hadn’t been listening.

“Nevermind. ” said Bumper. “Have you taken a good look at the ladies’s breasts?”

“It’s hard not to. ” replied Eric.

“Noticed anything peculiar about them? ” said Bumper.

“Besides the fact that some of them are attached to creatures that aren’t even mammals?” said Eric.

“Besides that, yes. ” said Bumper. “Note the lack of nipples. ”

Eric peered intensely at the ladies’ assets. It was hard to do because so many of them were in complex motion. But it was true. The ladies boobs moves fluidly and realistically, but lacked nippled entirely.

“That’s strange. ” said Eric. “Almost as weird as the penis thing. ”

“What penis thing? ” said Bumper, a little too sharply. He felt like if there was any sort of “penis thing” going on, he should be the first to know. “They all look fine to me. ”

“But that’s my point. ” said Eric. “They’re all fine because they are all the same penis. ”

Bumper boggled. He did a quick survey of all the male crotches in the vicinity and it was true. Every male animal had the exact same penis. The only difference was in color.

“That’s bizarre. ” said Bumper. “And rather distasteful. But that is nothing compared to what the ladies have going on between their legs. ”

“Which is?” said Eric.

“Nothing. ” said Bumper. “No vaginas. ”

Eric stared hard between the legs of a curvy rhino lady. By gosh, it was true. All she had was a vague outline of a vagina. It was as though she was still wearing a layer of clothing between her legs despite her total nudity.

“That’s… insanely fucked up. ” said Eric.

“Now fellers… ” cautioned Jake, “remember that you promised to be cool. ”

“We’re just looking. ” said Eric absently, eyes still trying tomake sense of things.

“And observing. ” said Bumper, eyes fixed on the rump of a gyrating giraffe. Suddenly, he cried out in surprise.

“What’s wrong?” said Eric.

“Oh, nothing. ” said Bumper. “Except that nobody here has an anus.”

Eric looked under some tails, and wowed. “You’re right. No anuses and no vaginas. It makes me wonder whether they even have a ladies’ room. ”

“Good point. ” said Bumper. ” From what I can see, all they need is urinals,.

“Wait…. some of them do have assholes!” said Jake. “it’s the quadrapeds!”.

Bumper solemnly looked around for a four footer, then squinted as he checked out what was going on under the tail.

And sure enough, the non-anthro animals had buttholes. Identical buttholes. Bumper risked a quick and subtle peek at Jake’s south end. Yup, even Jake.

What made it even more confusing was that none of the non-antho males had penises.

“None of this makes the slightest bit of sense. ” said Eric.

“And yet, I feel like there’s a pattern. ” said Bumper.

“Wait a second… have you noticed what is NOT happening? ” said Eric.

“Is this one of those Zen trick questions? Because I hate those. ” said Bumper.

“What is NOT happening is sex. ” said Eric.

And it was true. Nobody was fucking. Nobody was even so much as copping a feel. There were lots of critters showing off their assets to appreciative crowds, but that was as far as it went.

Nobody was even erect.

“Now if you two rubes are done gawking, ” said Jake, “it’s time we got down to having some serious sex. ”

Bumper and Eric looked at each other.

“Uhhh….. sure thing, ” said Eric.

“You first. ” said Bumper.

“No, that just wouldn’t be right. ” said Jake firmly. “You two are my guests, and guests always go first. I will just hang back and observe; ”

“You know…. just to make sure you’re doing it right. ” he added.

“So you young bucks go right ahead and sex it up any which way you like. I won’t say a thing. I just want to see how they do it in the big city. ”

Bumper looked around. Well, where there’s a penis, there’s a way. Thne he noticed something that shocked him to the core.

Why the hell were there children here?

“Why the hell are there children here?” Bumper demanded,  grey fur puffed out and bristling in outrage.

“What children?” said Eric. “Where?”

“Over by that fire exit. ” Bumper growled. “Between the lioness with the pierced ears and the stallion in the buttless tuxedo. ”

Eric looked, and sure enough, there was a whole family of nudist coyotes sitting there. including Ma, Pa, two little boys, one little girl, and an infant crawling around on their table . None of them were wearing a single stitch of clothing, and all of them seemed to be having a great time.

“Aw shucks. ” said Jake. “I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t notice them.”

“Well we DID notice them. ” spat Bumper. “Now explain yourself!”

“Whoa, chill, Bumper buddy. It’s not like he’s the one who let them in. ” said Eric.

“Isn’t he?” said Bumper. “Tell me, Jake ol buddy, who owns this club? ”

Jake sighed resignedly. “I do.

“And who populated with all these jokers? ” Bumper said, gesturing at the crowd.

Another big sigh. “I did. I guess. ”

“But how could he…. ” said Eric.

“Well then could you get rid of them, please? Except for the coyote family. They can stay. ” said Bumper.

Siiiiigh. “Well okay. They’re not activated, so it’s not like they count anyhow. ”

Jake gestured dismissively at the crowd, and the crowd melted away, the music died off, and just like that, there was nobody in the club but Jake, Eric, Bumper, and the clothing optional coyote family.

Bumper hopped up to the coyotes’ table and smiled his very best Disney smile.

The adults awwwwwed and the kids squealed. Even the infant reached out towards Bumper’s soft fur.

I’ve still got it, thought Bumper.

“Hi there folks. ” said Bumper. “Sorry to interrupt your evening, but I’m gonna need your help with something real soon, okay? ”

They all nodded, happy to help the cute little bunny.

Bumper hopped back to Jake and Eric.

“Don’t make me get rid of the club. ” said Jake dejectedly. “I like it here. I feel almost… normal when I’m here. ”

“Don’t worry, Jake. I’m not trying to hurt you. I just need you to be honest with us, okay? Then everything can go back to normal. ” said Bumper.

Is he getting smaller? thought Eric. He is! And his hooves are turning into hands and feet. WTF was going on here?

Jake nodded glumly. “Okay.

Bumper padded back over to the coyotes. “Now tell me, Jake. Which one is you?”

By this time, Jake had shrunk into a blob that vaguely resembled an anthro unicorn. He pointed at the smaller of the two boys without making eye contact.

Bumper smiles that amile at the boy, and said “Can you come over to our table for a little while? Your Mom and Dad are right here to keep you safe. It’s okay. ”

He looked up at the coyote parents, who nodded.

The coyote boy nodded too, and accompanied Bumper back to Eric and Jake.

Jake had finished shrinking, and was now a human boy who looked exactly like the coyote boy, only human.

“Do we still need…” Bumper asked, head tilted toward the coyote boy.

“Yes. ” said the coyote boy in a voice just like Jake’s. “Please. Don’t make me send him away. He’s been so lonely. ”

“Okay, I won’t. Now Jake, was this whole trip just a trick to make us show you what sex is?” said Bumper.

Both boys nodded. “I figured that if you thought sexy stuff was happening all around you, you would lower your guard and just… do it. And I’d finally know what it is. ”

Bumper nodded. “That’s okay, Jake. We’re not mad. ”

“We just wish you’d been honest with us from the start. ” said Eric. He had finally caught up with what was going on and he was eager to contribute.

“I’m sorry. ” said Coyote-Jake. “it’s just that it’s been so long and I want to grow up so bad that I didn’t want to risk you refusing to tell me like all the other grownups. ”

“About that. ” said Bumper. “Does it feel like you have been a little boy for a really, really long time, Jake? ”

Boy-Jake nodded. “Like forever and ever! It was great at first, living in a clean safe world where I never had to grow up, and where I had a real family that loved me all the time, and there were always fun friends around to do things with. ”

Bumper nodded. “But that turned sour, didn’t it?

Coyote-Jake nodded emphatically. “Uh huh! Sour like sour milk. And when I finally decided I was sick of it, I found that I didn’t know how to go back any more. ”

Bumper patted the boy’s shoulder. “It’s okay, son. It will all be okay. I promise. ”

“But… but… you’re a grownup, right?” said Boy-Jake with desperate hope. ”  So you can show me what sex is and then I can finally grow up again. Right?”

“I don’t think so, Jake. ” said Eric. Then, in response to the tears welling up in both boys’ eyes, “Not that we don’t want to. We just can’t. ”

“Why not? ” demanded the boys, in stereo. “Don’t you like me?”

“We love you, Jake. ” said Bumper, with a sidelong glance at Eric. “That’s not the problem at all. The problem is that, well…. wanting something and being ready for it are not the same thing, Jake. ”

“I don’t understand!” said the Jakes, voices cracking in frustration and sorrow. “What does that mean?”

“It means you became a kid for a reason, Jake.” said Eric. “You must have had some very big problems that you didn’t think you could handle, so you went back to being a kid so you wouldn’t have to. ”

“That means that you won’t grow up again until you think you can handle those problems. ” said Bumper. “And all the sex ed in the world won’t change that. ”

The two Jakes had merged now into one lightly fuzzy kid.

“I guess not. ” said Jake.

“You’ve never seen a girl naked, have you? ” Eric asked gently.

“Never. ” said Jake. “I mean, I had before but… not any more. ”

“And all those penises… they were just like your own, right?”

“Well it’s the only one I’ve ever seen!” said Jake.

Bumper decided to leave the issue of the buttholes aside. Presumably, the boy had seen them on animals but not people. And he didn’t think of animals as being sexual, so of course they had no genitals.

“Shhh, it’s okay, Jake. ” said Bumper soothingly. “Everything’s okay. The hard part is over. Things can go back to normal now. ”

“But I don’t want them to go back to normal!” Jake cried. “I want to grow up! I’ve been a little kid for so long and it’s been so lonely without anyone real around and you guys aren’t going to help me and you were my LAST HOPE!”.

Bumper stroked the boy’s shoulder. “Better than normal, then. Because you’re not alone any more, dear Jake. You have us. We’ll be your friends. Isn’t that right, Eric?”

Eric nodded, and smiled warmly. “The best friends you ever had, dear Jake. And together, we can help you grow up. ”

“Promise? ” said Jake.

“I promise. ” said Eric,

“As do I. ” said Bumper. “Now, would you like a hug from the cute little bunny?”

Jake nodded, and Bumper hugged him close. After a few seconds, Jake hugged back, hard enough to knock the air out of Bumper. But he didn’t mind. After a few minutes, Eric hugged the both of them, and for a long time, they just stayed there in that big warm hug, sharing the simple warmth of human affection.

When they stopped, they found that the club was gone and they were sitting in the exact same place where they had first met Jake the Unicorn.

“Will you still love me when you’re all grown up?” asked Jake.

“Of course we will. ” said Bumper.

Jake thought about this for a long moment. “Then I guess I’ll do it. ”

And the three friends played in the meadow all day long.

 

 

 

 

NaNoWriMo 2017 : Chapter 3

“So how many seeds do we have so far?” said Eric.

“A little over 18 million, Commander. ” said Efrom “Eegee” Gorham.

“Right, right. And how much are we getting per seed?” said Eric.

“One and a half cols, Commander. ” said Eegee.

“So that’s like…. 27 million cols… which is what….something like 1.8 AMU’s. Right?”

It’s actually 2.2 million, you ass, thought Eegee. You’d know that if you had bothered to check today’s currency tables. But you never do that kind of thing, do you? You just make your best guess and go with it, even if it would literally take you two seconds to get it right!

“Right on target, sir. ” said Eegee.

“Wow. ” said Eric. “That’s a LOT of money. Right? THAT is a LOT of MONEY. ”

Egee waited patiently while the commander ruminated.

“That’s a lot of money!” he barked suddenly. Then nodded to himself.

There’s always three, thought Eegee. God, you’re predictable.

“Approximately how many do you think we will get with our magnetic net thing before we have to return to base for fuel?”.

MAGNETIC NET THING? thought Eegee. You designed the thing! If anyone should know its proper name, it’s you!

The fact that Eegee didn’t remember its proper name either proved nothing.

“At least one hundred million, Commander. ” said Eegee.

Wow, thought Eegee .

“WOW! ” said Commander Eric with the wide-eyed incredulity of an idiot child who’s just been told how long it would take to drive to the Moon. “That’s so much money! What do you think we will do with it?”

Whatever you tell us to do with it, thought Eegee. This is your ship! You own it! You command it! And that so-called “miracle drive” in the engine room that lets us move three times as fast as before for ten percent of the fuel? YOU INVENTED IT.

How can you NOT KNOW THESE THINGS? seethed Eegee internally. These internal tirades were growing more frequent lately and there seemed to be nothing Eegee could do to stop them.

If anything, they were getting worse. This one was accompanied by a loop of himself six incredibly long weeks ago telling his commanding officer and the rest of the unit how he wasn’t worried about being assigned to being second in command to the notoriously eccentric Commander Eric because he could  “get along with anybody”.

The whole thing was corroding his mental health. He made a mental note to visit Medical for a checkup and maybe a long session with their psychocomp.

Externally, though, he was the very picture of cheerful, competent helpfulness. “Will that be all, Commander?”.

“I guess… ” said Commander Eric. Then, offhandedly, “Oh! Except that the front starboard ignition fuser needs to be re-aligned, Busker and Tank need to be rotated out of their current assignment early so they can have their Ubeban Musk Ceremony before the autumn leaves change back on Ubebob, the music for tonight’s mixer has to be changed from bosco to sine-core because bosco will only make people more tense given the current situation, and tell the Offloaders Union that we give in, we will pay their inflated rates, because fuck it, we can afford it now. ”

Commander Eric nodded in a self-satisfied manner. then turned to leave, only to stop himself at the door to the cabin.

“Oh!” said Commander Eric. ” and for Grot’s sake, go to Medical for a checkup and a long session with their psychocomp. I’m worried about you. ”

And that was the absolute worst thing about Commander Eric Lecroix, thought Eegee. Just when you had settled in to feeling smugly superior to another top brass idiot who couldn’t piss without a spotter and three hardy Marines,  he did something like… that.

Because the truth was, despite almost everything the man said, thought, or did, or how pathetic he was in demeanor and attitude, Commander Eric was the most brilliant and effective leader the Third Wave Merchant Guardian Force had ever known. He routinely did things that revolutionized fields as diverse as labor deployment, superspace physics, agricultural biology, and of course, battle tactics. Everything Commander Eric  did was studied intensely by cadets and scholars alike. People were still finding new uses for his “spanner-ladder-cog” nanomaterial today and he’d invented it ten years ago. He had a service record so exemplary and extraordinary that it made ambitious young officers mad monkey horny just thinking about it, and had so many commendations, accolades, awards, medals, trophies, and gold stars that people were joking about giving him a trophy that read “the best at everything” and calling it a day.

But that wasn’t the worst thing.

The worst thing is that he seemed to do it all without trying very hard.

And that just wasn’t fair, thought Eegee.

It just wasn’t right.

And it was the main reason that Commander Eric went through seconds in command faster than Torg went through whorebots.

According to Eegee’s research, the record for how long a second in command lasted was seven weeks, three days.

And Eegee was just five days from breaking it.

Just five short days. Eegee told himself. It wasn’t that bad, really. I mean, it’s bad. Really REALLY bad. Like, that which breaks sentients’ minds and drives good men to evil deeds bad. But still. It wasn’t all THAT bad, really.

This line of thought was interrupted by Eegee’s sudden realization that he had assumed the fetal position and was rocking back and forth while clutching his knees.

That’s it, he thought. That was the solution. He’d just go crazy. Crazy people don’t have to deal with gifted idiots who could rule the Universe if they could be bothered to pay attention to it.  Crazy people got to go away to nice quiet places where everyone was a qualified professional and people were paid to be very gentle and nice to them.

It was when Eegee realized just how good that sounded to him that he finally made the decision to do as ordered and go to Medical to get a checkup and talk to their psychocomp for oh, no more than a week.

And so, it was with a mind filled with happy thoughts of all the “disqualifying for duty” diseases and disorders that Medical might find during his checkup that Eegee embarked upon his now-epic seeming journey to the comforting arms of the stainless steel Meditron diagnostic machine.

He could hear the soothing sound of the diagnostic alarms already.

<—————————————————————————————————————–>

[Commander Eric’s personal log, entry 12,663.] 

You know, I am really starting to like that crazy kid.

Sure, the lad’s a little tightly wound and pent up. Like my father used to say, the kid needs more orgasms.

But he’s the nicest one they have sent me so far. Always cheerful, always helpful, hasn’t tried to strangle me, started laughingwithout being able to stop, or pooped in or on anything I own yet, and that means a lot to me.

In fact. I think I will ask that he be permanently assigned to my crew. I am pretty sure I am allowed to do that. No more of this “on loan from” this department and that. I want young BeeGee to join our happy little family here on the starship Enter Ship Name Here. I am sure he will feel right at home here.

After all, he gets to work directly with me, and I get the impression that this means a great deal to young ambitious types like him. In fact, from what I understand, getting where he is requires a lot of pushing and shoving and putting people forward.

Imagine how happy he will be when he learns that all his hard work and patience has paid off and he gets to stay with me on a permanent basis!

I can’t wait to go tell him the news. So this is me, signing off.

How do I turn this thing off oh wait now I remember press here no that made the screen small oh dear and this one made everything go all purple well there is only one button left so this must be it here goes nothing and PRESS

[End of log entry.]

<—————————————————————————————————————–>

“You want me to LOOK at that… that..  ” said Erik.

“Vomit, dear. It’s called vomit. ” said Mother Mayhem.

“…STUFF?” finished Erik incredulously.

“Yes I do, darling. And why not? It’s out of you now and can’t do you any more harm. And we can learn so much about you from it!” said Mother Mayhem.

“But it’s so vile and disgusting!” said Erik.

“Is it? I can’t always tell. As you can imagine, a lifestyle like mind tends to widen one’s perspective on a lot of things. I know people for whom this would nothing but foreplay. So I will have to take your word for it. ” said Mother Mayhem.

“Say what you like. ” said Erik, crossing his arms. “But I am not going to look at anything that came out of my body unless it cries and needs its diaper changed. ”

Mother Mayhem sighed. “Very well then. Close your eyes. ”

Erik looked at Mother Mayhem owlishly. “Why?”

“Because I am going to fix the situation in a way that will work best if you do not watch the sausage being made. So close those beautiful eyes of yours, darling. ”

Erik hmphed, but complied.

“Now keep them closed till I tell you it’s safe to open them. ” said Mother Mayhem.

Erik did so, despite the temptation to see what was causing those rushing waters sounds and why Mother Mayhem was humming to herself.

“There, you can open them now. ” said Mother Mayhem.

When Erik did so, Mother Mayhem had a neatly arranged and sparklingly clean set of artifacts in front of her, all sorted into neat little piles, like something from an especially tidy archaeological dig.

“So all of this was… inside of me?” said Erik, not quite believing.

“Until quite recently, yes. ” said Mother Mayhem. “But now it’s all so clean you could eat off it. So to speak. ”

“I think I’m going to be sick again… ” said Erik.

“No you’re not. ” said Mother Mayhem. “It’s the Astral Plane, dear. I can literally see right through you. And you are empty. Now you have to believe me when I say… ”

“Yes?” said Eric.

Mother Mayhem put her hands on Erik’s shoulders, squaring them towards her,  and looked directly into his eyes. “THERE ARE NO DRY HEAVES ON THE ASTRAL PLANE. They’re not metaphorical enough. ”

“Oh ha ha. ” said Erik, with a smile. “So now what do we do?”

“We take a good look at what you-”

“I TOLD YOU. I’m not doing that. ” said Erik impatiently.

“Not even after I went to all the trouble of cleaning it up?” said Mother Mayhem. “Well okay.  But at least tell me if any of it seems familiar. ”

“Now that would involve me actually looking… at… it… ” said Erik, trailing off.  He picked up a small paper cutout doll which had been painstakingly colored to have blonde hair and green eyes and pale skin, just like Erik himself.

“I remember this…. ” said Erik softly, eyes distant and unfocused. Around them, the years slipped by like bow waves. until they were standing in a nursery school in a quiet suburban neighborhood. Frozen in time, a stern but kindly woman was admonishing a little boy who looks a lot like that paper doll. The boy looked very angry.

“This…. this is a bad place to be. ” said Erik quietly.

Mother Mayhem put her arm around Erik’s shoulders, and tsked sympathetically. “I can tell, dear. But look, it’s all frozen in place. It can’t hurt you. It’s just like a photograph. Photographs can’t hurt us, can they? And besides, this has already happened to you, dear. It’s in the past. So it’s safe to take a look at it now because it’s already over. Do you undertand, dear?”.

Erik nodded, and said “Do you want to know the story behind it?”

Mother Mayhem smiled, and gave his elbow a reassuring squeeze. “Only if you want to tell it to me, dear heart. Do you want to tell me?”

Erik nodded again. “Yes. I do. ”

Erik thought for a long quiet moment, then began : “In a way, it was my parents’ fault for raising me the right way….

 

 

 

 

 

The core of my evil

Your regularly schedule blogging will be resumed after these messages.

First, my deepest apologies for not telling you that there would be no blog entry for Sunday. I was at VCON.

I will pause a moment while you get over the pain.

Secondly,  I have to warn you that I am going to be doing the National Novel Writing Contest this year, and that means that this space will be filled with my daily 2000 words[1] of whatever the heck I end up writing.

No rules. No plans. No restrictions. I am going full Douglas Adams this time. I’m going to write with such wild abandon that the English language files a restraining order.

Anyhow, that’s my warning. I might also do some of my more usual type of blogging, if I have any energy left.

But the main thing is that this space will go crazy as of tomorrow.

I’m going crazy and taking you all along for the ride!

And now, back to the usual mental meanderings.

<—————————————————————————————————————–>

Bear with me, foilks, because I have no idea where this is going.

I’ve had this feeling lately that I am slowly becoming aware of the true core of the evil inside me known as depression. Like some foul and fetid beast one fights at the end of a video game, it is finally lifting up its mighty head and making itself vulnerable to my sniping its fucking brains out.

That won’t be an end to my problems.  I will still have decades of toxins to purge from my psychological bloodstream. Forty years of depression do not disappear overnight.

But it mighjt, at least, stop the production of new toxins. Or at least slow it down.

The secret now is to pull back and let it emerge without a hint of danger for it to suspect. That’s how hunting works : you prey should feel totally safe till the moment it dies.

That’s not just more effective, it’s also more humane. It goes from safe to dead so fast that there is time for neither pain no panic.

It’s almost beautiful, in a very sick way.

In a sense, he said switching metaphors with his usual disregard. it feels like I am about to throw up. And that’s good. Throwing up is a good, healthy, normal, positive reaction to invasive bodily toxins. Throwing up makes a very clear distinction between what belongs in the body and what has to go. Between what is me, and what is merely something that I happened to ingest along the way.

I say this more to myself than you, of course. I inherited my mother’s nausea resistance, and so “letting it happen” is a factor for me, whether the act is metaphorical or literal.

And I think you’d agree that taking the whole self-control thing so far that you are overriding your urge to vomit is taking things a tad too far.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the paradox of self-control and the inhuman level of it I demand of myself lately.

The paradox revolves around the fact that by trying to control oneself past a natural and healthy point, one actually loses control. All the suppressed natural reactions and the patently absurd pressures that build within oneself as a result enbd up play merry havok with one’s psyche, and so long as they remain repressed by a far too brittle and rigid superego. you will never actually be in control of yourself.

I think I may have accidentally cured Britishness somewhere in that big ol sentence.

My point is that self-control is a dynamic rather tha a fixed process. You can’t just set static limits then enforce them, especially if said limits are impossibly strict. The only true route to healthy self-control is to have a fixed result in mind but to do whatever it takes to maintain that result, including letting some things take care of themselves without your micromanagement.

I’ve veered into intellectualism again, haven’t I? Explaining something rather than expressing something. In love with the sound of my own virtual voice. Sigh.

I feel like something is rising within me. That’s what I am getting at. And I am perfectly happy to just watch what happens, knowing I will only intervene if things go really wrong. Otherwise, I will sit back and watch the mental fireworks show.

Not unlike the real one happening as I type this. I swear, I will never get used to the fact that Halloween means fireworks around here.

Where I come from, fireworks are for July 1 and that’s it.

And I am not, in any way, objecting. Fireworks are freaking awesome. We can write on the SKY with FIRE. That’s inherently awe-inspiring and appeals to both the strong effect sky imagery has on me and my latent pyromania.

All I am saying is that I have lived in this region for 18 years, and I still haven’t gotten used to it. So I think it is fair to say that it is not going to happen.

Vcon was fun! As always. It was a stripped-back version that ran only two days instead of the usual three because of a gap in budget and personnel, but it was still hella fun and I felt great coming out of it.

It’s honestly the place where I am the most extroverted all year.

And then, when I had to return to reality, post-convention depression sank in. It’s a lot like post-Xmas depression. But I have been working hard to make sure it doesn’t turn into regular depression.

So I fight the waves until the day I finally learn to surf them.

I get the feeling that I will have to do a lot of relaxing and not taking things so seriously before I get there.

But hey man…if it swells, ride it.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

Footnotes    (↵ returns to text)

  1. Technically, the requirement is actually 1,667 words a day in order to write 50K words in 30 days, but I am going for 60K this time in order to both challenge myself and to make the math easier.

Crossing the streams

Been pondering my interdimensional powers lately.

It started when I suddenly realized that I truly did move on a plane perpendicular to most people because when the herd is going south, I am cutting across it to the east ir the west in order to get a clear look at whatever scared the herd in the first place.

I’d love to say that my ability to do this arises solely from my towring mental integrity and a rough and ready individualism that refuses to back down EVER, but.. no.

The truth is that I am so poorly socialized that I don’t even see the herd most of the time. And when I do, I don’t exactly give its activity a lot of weight.

I love reading about trends and such but it would never occur to me to apply said trend to myself unless it happened to match something I like doing anyway.

I am the sort of person who is a lot more likely to lead a trend than to follow it.  Trends are started by people who are just doing their own thing in a genuine manner that just happens to appeal to the public because they want to be like said genuine person.

Obviously, not all of us independent types start trends. When it happens, it’s more or less a fluke. A meeting of individual lifestyle connected with the zeitgeist and with the sheer luck of crossing paths with a Second Adopter type person.

That’s the kind of person who is extremely keen on spotting the Next Big Thing before everyone else does so they can be the one who introduces it to their friends and then basks in their fascination and kudos.

This person is not necessarily as shallow as I am making them sound. It takes some very sensitive antennae to tune in to the public wavelength that way.

Anyhoo, back to me crossing streams. I have known for a long time that my mind automatically seeks the places nobody else is looking. It’s not a conscious process at all. It’s entirely pre-conscious, which is kind of nice.

Pre-conscious processes don’t feel like work at all!

I am also the sort of person who has to exert himself in order to see the social reality that the rest of the human race lives in. I can do it, but I have to abandon my own perspective to do so.

And even then, I tend to deduce it logically more often than I just “feel” it.

Don’t get me wrong. I have extraordinary intuitions sometimes. And not just the “logical leap” type that is basically intellectual, or the “you develop a feeling for this kind of thing after a while” type either.

I mean sure and certain knowledge popping into my head fully formed without the intervention of the conscious mind at all.

I just suddenly know things.

Now being the rationalist scientist type of guy I am, I don’t make any announcements or decisions based on that intuition until I have worked it out logically. The startling thing about it is how often it does.

The intuition turns out to be correct. For a rational type like me, that’s astounding. It’s like magic. Watch me pull this knowledge out of my hat. How could I have possibly known that? It’s a mystery.

Sometimes, I will at least get a sense of it being the product of a long chain of logical deductions that went too fast for the conscious mind to register. I can’t remember them in detauil, of course, but sometimes I get a feeling of something in my mind using the new information as the last piece in a pattern I had no idea was even there.

And once that last piece is there, the circuit is complete and powers on, which I think accounts for the euphoric feeling such activity brings to me. Something that I was unconsciously straining to make fuit together finally does and the sheer relief of it floods my mind with happy floaty feelings.

And then the pattern collapses as the new knowledge is kept but the pattern cleared, and the new knowledge is always much smaller than the pattern, so I also get the pleasure associated with freeing up a chunk of mind space for other tasks.

It’s friggin’ awesome.

Part of my struggle with coping with reality and life and so forth stems from being extremely internally driven. By this, I mean that my mind is constantly, but subconsciously, full of internal processes working on various problems I have “set and forget” style posed it.

And it is towards these problems that my mind is strongly prioritized. The deep processes come before everything else.

And if I was some supercomputer chugging away somewhere, that would be fine.

But as a human being, this means that the amount of mental bandwidth left over for my conscious mind varies wildly. The subconcious problems can grab as much memory and mind power as they want at all times, and so one second I might have 12 percent of my mind free for dealing with reality. and the next second I have 2 percent.

This explains my “getting lost” sometimes. For my whole life. I have experienced moments when I completely lose the thread of what is going on, and plunged into confusion and a feeling of helpless weakness and stupidity.

All because some process took a big chunk of my working resources away and everything I was storing in that space is deleted and I find myself in an all too familiar hell where it’s like someone stole my mind.

As it turns out, that someone was my subconscious mind.

Now clearly I have benefitted from this system. It brings me the sorts of deep insights into things normally associated with the word “genius”. It lets me make the sort of unique connections needed for creativity. And it processes some kind of information in such a way that I can remember it decades later.

But it would be nice if I could reserve a section of my mind for the conscious mind’s use exclusively and therefore make my reality more consistent and reliable.

Until then, I am stuck dealing with all the fluctuations.

It can be very, very disheartening.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

 

What I feel like doing

Fucked if I know.

I find that to be a very hard question to answer, at least for myself. It’s one I am never prepared to answer. When someone asks me that – even if it’s me doing the asking – my mind immediately plunges into the roiling chaos of infinite possibilities and is torn apart.

But it’s more than that. I react to the question almost like it’s an attack. Like someone pulled me into a dark alley and said “We’re going to rip you away from your warm safe place and drag you into the world. CHOOSE HOW. ”

That’s clearly not a healthy response. Not only is it maladaptive, it’s also delusional. The person asking – even if it’s me – just wants to know my desire so they can help me act on it. They are actually being very nice.

And it is a question that would not induce panic in a healthy person. In fact, I assume that most people, more often than not, would like being asked what they want to do.

But not me. Because I never have an answer. Either I have no plans or intentions whatsoever or I have some and I am in the middle of putting them into action by myself.

The idea of involving other people in the process is foreign and alien to me. All my life, whatever I have done I have done alone, and so I have never learned to collaborate and cooperate on coordinated actions.

The only group thing I have done and enjoyed that I can think of is take part in a theatrical production. I liked that because it’s exciting being part of something while also being given a clear task and role and being left alone (in a sense) to do it.

Otherwise, my lack of kindergarten experience leaves me in a state very similar to those poor monkeys that were raised in captivity way back when. I treat other people as a threat and freak out around them.

Not all the time, of course. But it’s always there. It’s something I have to actively suppress in order to act in a more or less normal way around people I don’t know.

And that takes its toll.

So I can’t answer the damned question. And I get the feeling I am going to have to dig deep down through many layers of dirty ugly scar tissue in order to fine the spark of will necessary to be able to answer it some day.

I’ve tried gettting around the question by imagining that I have infinite money and therefore do not have to worry about expense at all.

What would I do if I was a billionaire?

You know the first thing that comes to mind? Getting a massage. I store a hell of a lot of tension in my muscles and I would love to find out what happens when all that tension goes away. Plus, of course, massages feel wonderful.

Now that I am thinking about it, I am pretty sure a good deep massage would do wonders for me psychologically. I should ask my therapist if that’s the sort of thing the province would pay for if he referred me to a massage clinic.

After that? Sex. My god, sex. SO MUCH SEX. A very luxurious hotel room, room service done buffet style, and so much the sexing times.

I would get me a half dozen super hot male prostitutes and spend an entire long weekend fulfilling my wildest desires.

The legal ones, anyway.

After that? Real estate. I have a deep desire to own some. I would get myself a grand, cozy house with lots of room for guests and facilities for my entertainment etc. It would be out in the country both because it will need the room and because I want peace and quiet away from the rest of humanity almost as much as I want sex.

Then I would buy a luxury apartment in the city for when I want to go into town and be urban for a while. Someplace on Commercial Drive or maybe the Davie Street area.

Then, travel. Luxury travel. I’d see the world.

Although, my idea of luxury travel has a lot more to do with freedom and autonomy than opulence or overt displays of wealth.

As long as I am reasonably comfortable and relaxed, I would be just as happy hitching a ride in someone’s beat up old van with some college aged backpackers as I would riding in a private jet that’s like a luxury apartment on the inside.

The money would be there to make me feel secure, not to inflate my pretensions. If I knew I could get myself out of whatever mess I get myself into, I would be far more willing to take risks and have wild adventures and be spontaneous.

Remember, it’s the performers with safety nets that do the best high wire acts.

Once I had thoroughly exhausted my travel bug, I would go home and work on building a life for myself. Go husband hunting. Set up a home studio for making the kinds of wacky funny videos I want to make…. written, directed, and produced by yours truly, of course. And possibly starring me some of the time too.

But to be honest, I don’t see myself as broadly castable.

I would love to develop my own little troupe of hilarious people who crack each other up constantly and who would have a grand old time working hard at making amazing stuff.

Now at this point, one might ask, “Couldn’t you do some of these things right now?”.

Yes I could. But without the money to aid in my feeling of security, it’s just not gonna happen. It’s truly amazing what cash can do for one’s confidence and self-esteem.

If only my therapist could refer me to a whole lot of money.

That would really aid my recovery.

In fact, it would probably cure me.

But that just ain’t gonna happen.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

Dirty ugly scar tissue

It is time for me to  to give birth to all that’s ugly and horrible in me so that I can, at long last, be clean.

Don’t worry. It’s won’t be like, all at once, like explosive diarrhea.

But that is what it is going to take for me to become who I really am. I can see that very clearly now. There will have to be a very big purge of negative thoughts, old tapes, personal demons, ghosts of the past, and deathly chill of the grave.

So less of a purge and more of an exorcism. Hey, it’s almost Halloween, I’m allowed to get a little ghoulish.

Isn’t that right, Vincent Von Ghoul?

I’ll that that as a yes.

Anyhow, it has occurred to me that I will need to go through a lot of emotional emesis [1] in the next little while if I am to disinter me true self from under all the accumulated rubble of the last forty years or so.

And, like actual emesis, no matter how necessary it may be and how much better I will feel afterwards, it will still be a painful and disgusting and disturbing experience.

But I am ready. I am sick and tired of my depression and I am good and mad enough to do something about it. A large portion of my energies are being directed into shoring up and inflating my self-worth to at least normal healthy dimensions, and anything that gets in the way of that has got to go.

Not sure exactly what form that will take, but you can be fairly sure writing will be involved, and therefore, so will you, my dear and patient readers.

That’s nothing new, I suppose. I’ve been coughing up the badness on these pages since 2011, after all. But it might increase in intensity and vividness, and might come in the form of fiction.

Probably horror via some easy metaphor.

Exorcism and such.

Had therapy today. Another Therapy Thursday. Session went reasonably well. I did most of the talking, which is usually a good-ish sign, because it means I had both a lot on my mind and the energy to spit it out.

My therapist has trouble keeping up with me when I am like that, sadly. But so would most people. And I wasn’t even going at full speed.

If I expressed myself at full speed and maximum density, people would think I was insane. Or possibly that they were.

Either way, not good.

I told him about my recent uptick and explained some of the stuff I have written about it in this space to him as well. And of course, by talking out loud to a sympathetic audience about it, a bunch more stuff that I hadn’t thought of before came up.

I have so many issues that they pop up like tissues from a box of Kleenex. Take oneout and up pops another, and another, and another…. till the box is empty, I suppose.

I have no idea what having that box be empty for the first time in my adult life would be like, but I am keen to find out.

The most important thing is to remember that I am awesome. I am an amazing dude with boatload of talents both general and specific, and I have a lot – and I mean a LOT – to offer the world.

And I am confident that, sooner or later, I will hook up with some way to unleash my talents upon the world, especially after getting rid of all that dirty ugly scar tissue.

See how I brought it back to the topic like that? Classic.

Because the thing is, none of that garbage is me. It’s just stuff that has happened to me. I’ve made the mistake of thinking its dirty and disgusting nature means I too am dirty and disgusting for far too long and it is high time I flushed it out of my system.

With some kind of…. soul laxative.

And to that end, I am now, at last, to accept my own awesomeness as an a priori fact which requires no proof. In fact, I am shifting the burden of proof entirely onto reality.

It’s up to the world to prove I am not awesome. And the evidence to do so will have to be pretty thorough and complete.

As in “extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof” level thorough and complete.

As far as I am concerned, all the evidence points to my being a great guy. Not perfect by any means, but high in awesome things like kindness, morality, empathy, sympathy, nurturing, and the urge to shelter and protect people.

And that’s just my “nice guy” assets.

It’s possible that, in the past, one of the things people liked about me was my humility. That’s going to change, sorry. It’s not going to go away – I will always be someone who believes in keeping it real and not being a dick to people no matter what.

But I might come across as more brash and confident now and that is sure to distress some people who know me.

Sucks to be them! Because I sincerely do not care. Life’s too short to cater to people who preferred the sick version of you.

I was sick. Now I’m better. This is the real me. Deal with it.

I am also done with worrying so much about whether I will become an egotistical asshole. If it happens, it happens. I will do my best to avoid it or at least to keep it within reasonable, tolerable levels, but if that’s the price I pay for my happiness, fine.

Because the truth is that I am amazing. A big ego is justified. I haven’t had one before now because I was sick, but now I am ready to claim my throne at last.

This is my kingdom and I shall rule it as I see fit.

Bring on the dancing boys!

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Footnotes    (↵ returns to text)

  1. This is actually a completely digusting image, but I’ll allow it because most people have no idea what emesis is.

Tonight’s fight : Me versus Oops

So, my wallet went through the washer today.

Totally my fault. Didn’t check the pockets like I should. Also, put my pants in hamper with wallet still in the pocket.

And I can feel that old familiar chasm opening up inside me, ready to stuff my self esteem in its cavernous mouth, chew on it messily, swallows, then poop out depression so fast that it’s universally hailed as a triumph of metabolism

But I’m not going to let that happen this time. This time I’m going to put a stick in that mean ol alligator’s mouth so that he can’t bite down on me.  And then I am going to pull myself out of its jaws and walk away unscathed.

Because really, it’s no big deal. These things happen. To everybody.  Maybe they happen to me slightly more others, and maybe they don’t.

The body of evidence is wildly insufficient to support either claim.

And so it is my choice whether I want to see this as yet another example of behaviour that fits into an overall, damning pattern of unwise actions.

In other words, I can see this as me being a dumbass again and having that spiral into an all encompassing self-loathing that makes me question my right to live.

Or I can see it as one of life’s speedbumps and gaily motor onwards.

Because really, how much does a thing like this really matter? My money is fine. I take back every bad thing I have ever said about Canada’s switch to plastic money. It’s saved my ass two or three times now.

However, I am keeping the smack I talked about Stephen Harper. Fuck that guy.[1]

And my ID seems to be fine too. Once again, yay plastic. The stamp that won me that Xbox One S looks a little worse for wear, but the website said I probably won’t need it anyway. And that makes sense, seeing as they are taking 6 to 8 weeks to verify my identity for some reason.

Surely in that amount of time they can get all the information they will ever need in order to prove that I am, indeed, that guy that entered the winning code into the website and that said code is, indeed, a winning code and the odds against me having just made a lucky guess are astronomical.

The actual game piece is merely the delivery mechanism for the all important code.

So really, no harm done. Yeah, it made me feel kinda stupid, but that’s as far as it needs to go. I did it, it was dumb, but no harm was done, so it’s over.

Conclusions drawn from this data point about my fitness for being alive and other negative extractions from the date are neither warranted nor justified.

And really, what do incidents like that matter compared to the beauty and magnitude of my abilities? It’s not like a prediliction for certain kinds of mistakes invalidates anything else I can do.

I mean, think of any person known to have an extraordinary talent. As an example, I choose Tiger Woods. He’s arguably the best golfer there has ever been. Sure, his career ended on an embarrassing note, but nobody really gives a shit about that in the long run. He will always be the greatest.

But for all I know, he’s even more absentminded and clueless than I am,. I don’t know what he’s like at home. I don’t know what kind of shenanigans his loved ones and servants have to put up with. I don’t know if his personal assistant has to juggle like a madman just to keep him from wandering into traffic.

And the thing is, it doesn’t matter. He’s an extraordinarily talented golfer and made a lot of money for a lot of people, including himself, with his skills.

Compared to that, whether or not he has top notch life skills is so trivial it barely exists.

So yeah, I’m a bit of a goof because I’m a head in the clouds thinker and dreamer who is too absorbed by the world inside his head to pay sufficient attention to the world outside it. So what?

So was Sir Isaac Newton, and he practically invented modern science.

So really, what is needed here is perspective. One of the many ways depression fucks with you is that is shrinks your perspective down to a pinhole size, and that can’t help but make small problems look very large and keep you trapped in a world where the simplest of things are enormous challenges.

And it is possible to fight that, but only when you are ready. It’s not a step the average depressive can take until they are quite a long way down the road to recovery like I am.

But me, I am crazy for perspective. I want to see things from all the angles so that I can get a sense of what is really going on and, most importantly, get a sense of the true scale of things so that I can prioritize.

And so it is good for me to gain some perspective at this point on my journey. These little errors of mine are not important enough to even count against my self-esteem, let alone devour the whole thing.

I will continue to be my sweet and  funny self no matter what, and in view of thing, my error prone nature is merely a charming eccentricity.

Nobody cares if a person of great talent can balance their checkbook.

So who cares if I launder my money now and then?

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

 

 

Footnotes    (↵ returns to text)

  1. Theoretically, if asked who I would rather be in charge of Canada, Harper or Trump, that should be a no-brainer. Harper was horrible but Trump is a nightmare. It’s like Harper is King Kong to Trump’s Godzilla. Sure, King Kong is a terrifying monster, but he’s a monster that climbs skyscrapers and Godzilla is taller than most skyscrapers. And yet, the question gives me pause. Because I had way too many years of Harper’s smug fucking grin that made him look like a toddler who just pooped on something and knows he will not get in trouble with it. So it’s a tossup.

I have something to say

At least, I assume so. I usually do.

Still developing this new path of radical individuality and artistic purity. It feels good, and it feels right. But I am also scared.

This was to be expected. It’s a much braver path than any I have taken before. And I don’t know where it will lead. It might lead to disaster.

But at least it would be my disaster. I would finally be living my life instead of hiding from it I’ve reached the point in my life where I would rather die trying than live merely surviving until I reach my meaningless end.

I’ve realized that I have been living my life curled up in ball with my eyes squeezed shut and my hands over my ears to shut out the world. More importantly, I have, by doing so, endorsed all the harm and deprivation that would come to me as a result.

The rule, as it were, is that it doesn’t matter what happens to me (or more importantly, utterly fails to happen to me) as long as I don’t have to break my fetal-position self-hypnosis that makes all the bad things go away… in my mind, that is.

In reality, they’re running the joint.

Once more, I find myself telling myself that it’s okay to do something purely because you can do it and you want to do it. That the world is not boobytrapped, nor is it malign, and there are no bullies waiting for an opportunity to make you suffer any more.

And even if there were, I would freaking devastate them if they tried anything. I am not the scared wimpy little fat kid I was back in the Very Very Bad Old Days. I have iron in my soul, raw molten steel in my heart. and a mind full of lightning and spiders. [1]

And it would not take much for me to unleash fifty different layers of hell on someone for daring to fuck with me.

A certain person who teaches standup to people with mental health issues learned that the hard way.

I feel kind of bad about that now. But he failed me. And my best friend.

So I tore him apart with my mind. So to speak.

Anyhow, the point is that I have no reason to be afraid. I am more than capable of protecting myself. If anything, I should worry on behalf of others.

But my deep timidity has very little to do with reason and everything to do with having been brutally violated when I was barely out of diapers.

That leaves a mark.

But fuck all that. I am going to make working hard on being myself my full time job. I’m going to pump out the voltage 24/7 and deal with the result.

It could be great. It’s not like the real me is a raging arsehole. Back before the trauma, I was a very charming, personable, and lovable kid. If I can go back to that state, I would be doing fine.

Sure, a lot of people would find me to be somewhat obnoxious. But fuck’m. The cool people will get me. Some people can handle a megawatt personality, some can’t.

And I have been practicing for this shit for decades now by being Fruvous. He’s basically an idealized version of myself and when I am RPing him, I am not at all shy and I am not ashamed to be my outrageous and amazing self. As Fruvous I’m flamboyant, adorable, hilarious, and most importantly, loved.

People love Fruvous because he’s so vibrant and funny and sweet and cute. I have every reason to believe that the same thing would happen in real life if I gave it a chance. I have seen how people light up on those rare occasions when I am feeling up enough to let the heavy wattage flow.

I hqave the power of charisma. I can make people feel good just by paying attention to them. What’s more, I am a sensitive dude who is a good listener and who has enough flexibility of ego to be perfectly happy praising others when I feel it is due.

And they will believe my praise because I am also a very sincere and honest dude who truly cares about others. It makes me happy to make others happy, and I sincerely want to help people find a way out of their own personal hells.

After all, I have spent a looooong time in one of my own.

So my mission now is to go out in the world and be powerfully myself. To hell with caution, hesitancy, timidity, and self-doubt.

There is great wisdom in learning by running into the walls instead of simply assuming the walls are there and hiding from them in a prison of your own making.

I’m through with apologizing for being alive. Like it or not, world, I am here, and you are going to have to deal with me.  And the real me, not the shy critter who does his level best to act like he thinks people want him to act. namely that he does not exist.

I’m sorry, Mom, Dad, Anne, Catherine, and Dave, but I am here now, wanted or not, and I am going to fight as hard as I can to be treated as equal to the other kids and not some unwanted afterthought whom you would prefer to pretend never existed.

And that’s true for the goddamned school system too. I’m going to insist on my right to exist there as well. I don’t give a shit whether you know how to deal with a kid like me. You’re going to have to learn real fast.

But that shouldn’ be a problem for you. After all, you’re educators, right?

I am here, IU have a right to be here, I have the same right to exist as myself as everyone else, and I am through living according to the convenience of others.

This little light of mine is going to be let shine like a million stars.

And if people don’t like it, they can put on some fucking sunglasses.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

Footnotes    (↵ returns to text)

  1. Sorry for the spiders,  Felicity. But it works too well for me to change it.

One day in Generic Fantasy Setting

One day in Generic Fantasy Setting, the mighty heroes of A Number Of Characters Banded Together To Defeat Evil came upon a touching scene.

The mightiest and noblest hero of them all. Nerd Back Home, was giving a rousing and inspirational speech to a Grebling, a small creature known mostly for it timidity.

“… so you see, Little One, there is nothing you can’t do if you set your mind to it, work hard, and never., EVER, give up on your dreams. ”

“Aww… ” said Self Insertion Character, the wizard. “See how noble of spirit he is? He shares his wisdom with even the lowliest Grebling. ”

“You’re right, as always, ” said Thinly Disguised Chick the Author Has The Hots For. “And your esoteric knowledge and academic excellence really turns me on. ”

“Duh,. ” said Hot Chick’s Dumb Jock Boyfriend. “I I suck my thumb after putting it up my bum because I’m so dumb. ”

Everybody laughed uproariously at the Jock’s blatant stupidity and viewed him with nothing but pity and contempt. Mostly contempt.

“Quiet, everyone!” said Authors Bicuriousity Elf. “I want to hear the rest of what that GORGEOUS man is saying. ”

“So take heart, Little Grebling. Some day you WILL lick the horizon. ”

“Say what now? ” said SIC, and watched as Nerd Back Home patted the Grebling on its tiny slimy shoulder, then strode off, fulfilled and inspired by the exchange.

“That’s…. not possible, is it? ” said the Hot Chick, looking to SIC with a wide-eyed, trusting look that spoke of her total faith in SIC’s intelligence and wisdom’s ability to make the world make sense again for her,

“No, it’s not. ” said SIC in a strong male voice that was clearly the product of his getting LOTS of puberty. “The horizon is not a physical object, and therefore cannot be licked. ”

“Me try now! ” said the Dumb Jock. He immediately began hopping and licking at the air with great intensity and enthusiasm.

“Wow. ” said the Hot Chick. ” Once more, he has proven how worthless all that muscle and height and handsomeness is in the real world, and how therefore anyone who found him even slightly sexually attractive is undoubtedly a mentally feeble primitive ruled by their glandular secretions and not logic and reason like YOU. ”

“That’s something that should be obvious to everyone. ” said SIC. “Oh god, now the Grebling is doing it. ”

The Grebling was, indeed, hopping and slurping just like the Dumb Jock, for Greblings, like Jocks, are a species know for their stupidity.

“Shouldn’t we, I don’t know. Stop them, or something?” said the maddeningly pretty and ladylike Bicuriousity Elf. “It’s sad to see them trying to do something that’s impossible. ”

“But they seem so happy!” said the Hot Chick in a voice overflowing with the strongly femine virtue of compassion. “Why ruin their fun?”.

SIC stroked his long thick very masculine beard thoughtfully, knowing his very wise and grownupo wisdom and judgement could resolve this conflict.

“I agree with you, Hot Chick. We should leave these poor fools to wallow in their own empty headed joys while we grown up adult people go do important, adult things. ”

Everyone, even the Dumb Jock and the Grebling, nodded in deference to SIC’s clearly superior wisdsom and maturity.

“After all,” said SIC, “there’s more stupidity than hydrogen in the universe. ”

Everyone laughed at this clearly completely original and brilliant joke, then the Quantity of Heroes strode off into the sunset, and went on to do many exciting and important things, some of which even involved their bathing suit parts in some way.

(——————————————————————————————————————)

Well that was a heck of a lot of fun to write. My original gag – the lick the horizon thing – kind of got lost in the forest of my comedic indulgences, but whatever.

As I was writing it, I realized that I have been a rather timid writer, in a sense. Practically a Grebling. Because as I wrote, I found myself thinking of this kind of writing as something I am surprised that I can “get away” with.

Like I was doing something shocking and embarrassing by stuffing my prose with so much of the sort of writing I enjoy and thereby putting so much of me into it.

As if writing like that is somehow equivalent to parading around naked screaming “look at me! LOOK AT ME DAMMIT. ”

Mental note : new Halloween costume idea.

But why shouldn’t I write like that? What do I have to be ashamed of? I think I have been limiting myself by what the audience will “get”. I have such a strong desire to communicate and connect with people that I subconsciously installed a governor to keep me from being TOO weird.

But fuck it. I’m going to draw with all my goddamned crayons from now on, and if the world can’t handle it, it can go fuck itself.

I will make better art being true to myself and writing what I enjoy writing than I ever will being a timid populist anyway.

I choose the artist’s path over the entertainer’s path. That means I am prioritizing my artistic enjoyment and integrity over my very strong desire to make the audience happy, whatever it takes.

So, from this point on, I am a writer in a garret working on powerful and unique art that could rewrite the rulebook if it ever caught on, but probably won’t be appreciated in my lifetime unless I somehow get an agent who is very, very patient and persistent.

Or even better, a patron.

I will never lose my desire to entertain and get the love I seek via laughter and applause, but I am going to pursue that goal through artistic purity and the full expression of my authorial voice rather than trying to learn how to get through to people, like I have been doing.

Screw that. I’m a unqiue individual, with my own idiosyncratic way of doing things. If I achieve success, it will be by being boldly and defiantly myself and thus creating original, vibrant, living art o such power and heft that it defines its own reality as it creates it, then fill said reality with amazement and magic.

And if people don’t get it, they don’t deserve it. The sharp people with get it, and that’s enough for me.

I’m going to have fun, god dammit.  If the product of that fun appeals to others, that’s great and all.

But no matter what, I will have had a good time writing it.

And that’s the bottom line.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.