We are the United States because we are united.”  ~ Kamala Harris

Today is, at long last, the final day of summer.  Good riddance!  Enough of this ridiculous heat!  To be honest, dear reader, the summers are getting less impactful and torturous, and this year was decidedly so, despite actual temperatures were higher than previous summers.  This has nothing to do with any acclimation on my part, nor does it have anything to do with any climate change nonsense, but can be directly attributed to the grotesque perception of the speeding up of the passage of time in my wine-dark psyche.  The summers here used to be so completely wretched simply because they used to last an eternity.  Now that weeks are passing as days used to, months are passing as weeks once did.  So three-month summers that used to last an eternity now pass in what used to be a month.  So even though July was intolerable by any metric, with more consecutive 100+ days than I can ever remember, this entire summer flew by relatively painlessly.  Which is great, except for the reason that my perception of the passage of time is changing significantly as I get older.

Today not just significant meteorologically, but also literarily.  September 21st is a day when the literary starts align and open the portal to some pretty fantastical worlds and historical escapades.

First up, we have the original “time traveler” himself, H.G. Wells, born in 1866.  Wells practically invented the “what if?” genre, taking us away to Martian invasions and time machines.  Most of us would have been satisfied having written “The War of the Worlds” and “The Time Machine,” but not Wells.  He penned a lesser-known but awesome novel called “The Island of Doctor Moreau,” which would go on to be made into a movie in 1977, which movie I saw in the theaters as parr of a double-feature with something called “She-Beast” as the second feature during a grade-school slumber party.  Also, Wells totally predicted the Internet.

Fast forward to 1947, when the world welcomed Stephen King, for better or for worse.  With classics like “Carrie,” “The Shining,” “The Stand,” “Salem’s Lot” and “It,” King has made us all a little more cautious about prom nights, isolated hotels, and red balloons.  Then in 1999, King was walking on the shoulder of a road in Maine when he was run over by one of those wretched Dodge Caravans.  As happens with all authors who are run down by minivans, King was reduced from a horror-literature powerhouse to an insufferable twat who is now content to express his oddly womanly opinions on social media.  Alas.

On a more upbeat note, today we also remember Sir Walter Scott, the granddaddy of historical novels, who bowed out of this world on this date in 1832.  Scott wrote books about chivalry and adventure, namely “Ivanhoe” and “Rob Roy”, which you likely didn’t read unless you were an English major.  But you should have: they were damn fine books.  Despite financial woes and health struggles, Scott never stopped writing (the true artist thrives in conditions of poverty and suffering).  He finally died from a series of strokes.  His health, as just mentioned, had been declining for some time, exacerbated by the stress of the financial difficulties (also mentioned supra) and his relentless work schedule.  Despite his ailments, Scott continued to write and manage his affairs until his condition worsened, leading to his passing at his home in Abbotsford, Scotland.

In summary, a very happy birthday to H.G. Wells, finger to Stephen King, and pour some out for Sir Walter Scott.  Alright…enough of this bilge, dear reader…time to get back to work.

N.P.: “Crazier” – Numan and Rico

Let’s come together with the character that we are so proud of about who we are.  ~ Kamala Harris

A double-barrel of literary birthdays today, dear reader!  Today, we celebrate the birthdays of Upton Sinclair, who entered the stage in 1878, and George R.R. Martin, who graced us with his presence in 1948.  Both men gave us stories that linger in our minds, albeit for very different reasons.

We’ll start Upton Sinclair, shit-disturber extraordinaire.  His most famous work, “The Jungle,” published in 1906, shone (shined?) a light on the meatpacking industry that would lead to the passage of the Pure Food and Drug Act and the Meat Inspection Act.

Fun fact: Sinclair ran for governor in California, promising to “End Poverty in California.”  He didn’t win.  As an apparently permanent resident of this shithole, I kinda wish he had.

But never mind that.  Fast forward several decades, and we have the man who brought White Walkers and political intrigue to our living rooms: George R.R. Martin.  Born in 1948, Martin is obviously best known for “A Song of Ice and Fire,” which, I don’t need to tell you, informed reader, inspired HBO’s “Game of Thrones.”

Where Sinclair showed us the gritty reality of industrial American, Martin introduced us to the equally cutthroat world of Westeros, where winter is always coming and weddings are never boring.

Happy birthday, gentlemen.

N.P.: “Walkin’ Shoes” – Tora Tora

We are expanding access to transportation. You need to get to go and need to be able to get where you need to go to do the work and get home.  ~ Kamala Harris

A very happy birthday to William Golding, an author who could unravel the human psyche with as much finesse as a tiger unraveling a ball of yarn.  His was the first significantly anti-Disney voice I was exposed to, and I ate it up.  I knew Disney was full of shit.  I knew their version of the world was, entertaining to little children as it may be, was moronic bullshit.  So when Golding came along with the question, “What happens when you leave a bunch of kids alone on an island?” and his answer was not s’mores and campfire songs and everybody getting along and living happily ever after, I was on board.

Golding’s magnum opus, “Lord of the Flies,” wasn’t just a book; it was a rite of passage in high school.  That book didn’t just explore the darker side of human nature…it built a summer home and started receiving mail there.  The story of stranded boys descending into tribalism and chaos scratched a lot of psychological itches…at least for me.

Contrary to contemporary opinion, Golding wasn’t a one-hit wonder.  He wrote “Sea Trilogy,” beginning with “Rites of Passage,” which won the Booker Prize.  I’ve always found it amusing that Golding was once a schoolteacher (which likely informed his opinion on the truly dark nature of children).

And for you frustrated novelists: Golding was initially rejected by 21 publishers before “Lord of the Flies” was finally sold.  The establishment wasn’t quite ready for the lesson that the scariest monsters are the ones we see in the mirror.

N.P.: “Run Like Hell” – Soulidium

I grew up understanding the children of the community are the children of the community.   ~ Kamala Harris

Today, most attractive reader, is Samuel Johnson’s birthday, born September 18, 1709.  If you don’t immediately recognize the name, I will include you in my nightly prayers.  But, also understanding not everyone majored in English, here’s a very brief breakdown of this badass.

Johnson’s most well-known work, his magnum opus, was the “Dictionary of the English Language.”  Yep…he compiled the first truly comprehensive English dictionary.  And he did it with style.  Published in 1755, the Dictionary was compiled in nine years, which is pretty much warp speed in writer years.

I actually got significantly drunk in a bar in London where Johnson would drink at night whilst working on his dictionary almost 300 years prior.  I’m pretty sure he did some drinking as he was working…Johnson knew his work was going to be literally definitive for a long time, and knew the power that gave him, and took full advantage of his position to imbue his definitions with his own completely subjective opinions.  The weak are sometimes offended by this, but it’s important to remember he was always rather self-deprecating: he described a lexicographer as “a harmless drudge.”  In another instance, a lady exclaimed she couldn’t believe he had defined “oats” as food for horses and Scotsmen, to which Johnson retorted, “Yes, madam; and where else will you see such horses, and such men?”

Beyond his dictionary, Johnson was a prolific writer, essayist, and a poet.  His works include “The Lives of the Most Eminent English Poets” and “Rasselas,” a philosophical novella that explored things like happiness and purpose.  Because there were no phones or internet in the 18th century…the only entertainment was pondering existential crises.

We can’t talk about Samuel Johnson without mentioning James Boswell  Boswell was Johnson’s wingman.  Boswell was the Watson to Johnson’s Holmes, chronicling his life with an enthusiasm typically reserved for Instagram influencers documenting bottomless mimosa brunch.  Boswell was the ultimate biographer, and if you’re going to do any reading on or study of Johnson, you must start with Boswell’s biography.

Samuel Johnson was considered eccentric in his day.  He wore odd, mismatched clothes and was notorious for his tardiness.  And he talked to himself in public.  But who hasn’t?

Happy 315th Uncle Samuel!

N.P.: “Rooster” – Howling Giant

I grew up in a neighborhood of folks who were very proud of their lawn.  Ya know?  ~ Kamala Harris

There is a new name on my People I Want To Fight list: I want to fight the Pope.  Not just whomever happens to be the Pope at any given time…no.  The current Pope Francis.  I wasn’t a fan of his predecessor, Benedict either, but I don’t recall really wanting to fight that guy.

My contempt for the present pontiff is only a symptom of a larger disease that has been eating away at and weakening the Church for several decades now.

For decades, former “true believers” in the Holy Roman and Apostolic have dropped off of the  rolls as the Church pathetically lowered its standards and expectations and completely eliminated any real strictures in a woefully misguided attempt at “inclusion.”  The Church is weak and almost completely irrelevant.  The world has become completely comfortable insulting, mocking, and blaspheming against the Church and all that is holy.  This is unacceptable.  A church says, “We believe in a, b, and c, and this is how we put that belief into practice.”  It is not for the people to dictate those things to the church, and then have the church conform!

In an effort to be reasonable, I will agree to not fight the Pope if Pope Francis resigns immediately.  As soon as the Conclave picks a better Pope (I am available), the new Pope should order the following:

1. The entire Catholic world immediately reverts to the Latin mass.  Conversational Latin should also be pursued.
2. Any Catholic who has not attended mass in the last year is excommunicated.  These excommunications can be appealed if the defendant agrees to immediately conform to the new strictures.  A five-year probationary period would begin.  At the end of that five years, if the defendant has properly adhered to all rules, full membership can be restored.  If, at any time during that five years the defendant lapses and/or breaks significant rules, the excommunication stands, without possibility of return.
3. Opus Dei will be militarized and every parish will begin training a militia: they shall serve as  Defenders of the Faith against heretics and to provide much needed but noticeably absent security for mass attendees.
4. The Second Crusade.

If these measures are implemented, the Catholic Church can return to its former glory and power this time next year.  You’re welcome.

N.P.: “Better” – Infidel inc.

This is an extraordinary testament to the importance of having a president who understands the power of diplomacy, and understands the strength that rests in understanding the significance of diplomacy and strengthening alliances.  ~ Kamala Harris

Happy Birthday, Mary…I miss you always.

Dream #783

As usual, the sun doesn’t shine in my dreams, even though it is daytime.  I’m waiting for The Bus, which pulls up.  William S. Burroughs is driving.  We don’t speak as I board…he nods slowly at me, I nod back at him.
I make my usual way to the back of The Bus.  This time, I find myself sitting next to Charles Bukowski, who is writing.
“Whatcha writing?” I ask, looking nosily at his notebook.  Without stopping writing or looking up, he replies, “I’m writing a letter of apology to my penis for last night.”
“What happened to your penis last night?”
“I stuck it…pretty much against its will…into this ugly Mexican whore.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Just awful.  And I gave her way too much money.”
“How much is too much?”
“For that nasty trick?  I gave her 60.  Maybe worth 20.”
“It’s important to not overpay in those situations,” I say, having no idea what I’m talking about.
We drive on in mostly silence…Burroughs is up front mumbling darkly about orgones or something.
“The whole scene was just derelict,” Bukowski finally says.  “It was this awful cinderblock building, I think it used to be a smog-check place, and now it’s a whorehouse.  The whole vibe was off.”
“Proper ambiance is absolutely critical in those situations.”
Bukowski looks up for the first time, and starts laughing raucously.  “See…you get it.”
He punches me lightly in the arm and then returns to his notebook.
“I hope your penis forgives you,” I say.
“Always does,” he says.  “Little fucker always does.”
Burroughs slams on the brakes and shouts, “Motherfucker!  They moved it again!”
“What did they move, Bill?”
“The End.”
“The end of what, Bill?”
“The End of the Woooooorld…they moved it.  It’s supposed to be 10 miles up, but it’s here already.”
I bend down next to Bill to look out of the windshield: the road suddenly ends, drops off into infinity…then there is just nothing.
“Then this is probably my stop,” I say, far too jauntily for the occasion.
The dream ends when my puppy wakes me up by sticking her tongue in my ear.

This is it.  This has to be it, dear reader.  Ten days of meat and water.  I’m ready for it to be over.  I’ve proved whatever it was I set out to prove…I guess mainly that I can, in fact, survive and even thrive without caffeine or sugar.  Actual noticeable benefits: most significant is probably this feeling of steadiness or constantness (that’s not a word, so I guess “consistency
would be the closest available option) with each day, as opposed to constant ups and downs, highs and lows, of energy and focus.  I just wake up at a certain energy level, and that pretty much maintains throughout the entire day and evening.

I don’t know if I’ve adapted to this and just gotten used to it already, but I think I might be having a hard time stopping the carnivore diet.  I fully intended to have a huge sugary coffee drink this morning, but I didn’t.  It just didn’t happen.  I guess I didn’t really want it.  Which is kind of weird.

UPDATE: Okay, officially off the diet.  Had a sugary drink with lunch, and then I had an ice cream cone and good Christ now I feel like I did an entire Scarface-mound of coke.  I don’t even want to sit down.  Feels kinda gross.  No more sugar today.

N.P.: “California Sober (feat. Chris Stapleton)” – Post Malone

Today is today.  And yesterday was today yesterday.  Tomorrow will be today tomorrow.  So live today.  So the future today will be as the past today as it is tomorrow.  ~ Kamala Harris

One week, dear reader!  Seven entire days consuming nothing but meat and fish and water.  It’s Saturday afternoon, and I’d usually be well into my second Jack & Coke by now, but now…just water.

The sugar- and caffeine-withdrawals are finally over, thank God.  I was unbearably grouchy for a couple of days there.  Now that I’m on the other side of it, I can’t say there have been any tectonic shifts in anything.  Probably a bit more clearheaded, which is great, but nothing life-changing.

I think I’m going to give it another week and then revisit.  There will be a couple of social challenges this week…we’ll see how those go.

Got a scheduling meeting this week about two books.  Gotta get out the calendar and figure out when these things are going to be finished.

N.P.: “Burn” – Stabbing Westward

So, Ukraine is a country in Europe. It exists next to another country called Russia. Russia is a bigger country. Russia is a powerful country.  ~ Kamala Harris

Day 5 of this all-meat-and-water nonsense, dear reader, and I’m afraid things have taken a turn for the tolerable.  Certainly better than yesterday.  Yesterday was preposterous.  I felt like I was turning feral.  This morning I woke in a far more decent mood, and didn’t even start lusting hungrily for flesh until almost 9:00 am.
I was secretly hoping today would be another bad day, because I was about ready to call it quits.  But now I might as well go at least a full week.
I do feel good overall.  And I’m saving a fortune on food.
And I’m writing a bunch, which is good.  Friends say that this is when things should start to get interesting.  We’ll see….
In other news, I’m increasingly convinced we’re going to be hit with at least one black swan event before the new year.  And I think this winter is going to be dark and rather violent.  Again, we shall see.

N.P.: “Drop It Like It’s Hot (Metal Version)” – Leo

We will work together, and continue to work together, to address these issues, to tackle these challenges, and to work together as we continue to work operating from the new norms, rules, and agreements that we will convene to work together on.   ~ Kamala Harris

Hot damn, dear reader…Day 4 of eating nothing but steak and water.  My mood is a bit dark.  Which is not bad for full-blown sugar withdrawal.  There have been a couple of minor physical changes that may or may not be attributable to the carnivore diet.  Last night I did my full training, but I sweated less than I ever have.  Like, noticeably, dramatically less.  Less than I do in the middle of December.

Then, last night, I dreamed I was running with the wolves.  We were chasing a rabbit.  I caught the rabbit and ate what I wanted, then threw the rest to the pack.  When I woke up, I noticed I had some pain in my gums around the canines.  I looked in the mirror…I think they’ve gotten longer since Sunday.  Seemed like even the puppy was giving me an unusually wide berth this morning.  Weird.  But other than that, no real changes to note yet.

We kid.  Thought a few times about quitting today.  But I’ll give it a few more days…see how it goes.

N.P.: “Heavy” – The Glorious Sons