today’s non-events

Got into a beatdown with a bunch of one of the most self-righteous pot activists (like there’s another fucking kind) on twitter today.

Come ON I smoke, but I don’t smoke and blow smoke in the faces of the allergic and the elderly, and they’re announcing it’s their RIGHT, because this is VANCOUVER, home of TOLERANCE. Yeah I’ll believe that when Canada gives back the unceded lands, you unregenerate failure of logic. I’m like a homophobe for harshing their mellow. Srsly. Got accused of equivalency to homophobia for objecting to people dousing the entire west end in pot smoke for their stupid fucking 420 festival (which leaves heaps of trash mounded everywhere and they’re all cryface because they didn’t get a fucking permit.) F*ck me!

I realized that when you put asterisks in f*cking swearwords you’re putting a leedle asshole right in the meedle of the word and since when you’re swearing there’s usually an asshole involved, it’s mesmerizingly poifect.

I love Buster, he’s an amazing cat. And he loves me too, I know it. I don’t think Miss Margot cares if I live or die, but Buster does.

My latest piece of fanfic smut has more than five hundred likes (it’s cute and hot, so there)

I’ve written a BDSM scene in the same ‘verse but I’m not happy with it yet. I had to put in about 200 words about how the scene is ‘necessary but non-consensual’ which kinda blows (or not!) since scenes need consent if they’re to resonate with me writing, at all. So it’s like “We’ve talked about this – I hate it when you want me (and need me) to top you but I’m s’posed to read your mind – and topping when you’re angry at your partner is a bad bad bad idea” followed by “Do what ya gotta, man, just hit me really hard.” Oh, and there are minor children in the house while this sh*t’s going down, just to make it even more like real life, and our heroes must deal with the domestic consequences of Daddies fighting. I LOVE A CHALLENGE. After all, continuing to have interesting sex after kids *is* a continuing challenge in real life. People want carefree smut? they can look elsewhere; to me smut always has a cost. Who bears it depends on who’s being responsible, or not.

Not that anybody wants to know, but I’m really not into any of those behaviours in real life. Nagging at volume is sort of where I max out, ask any of my exes.

Continuing to have the poly life discussion with someone. It’s painful. Really painful. I feel like I have my nose up again a particularly interesting window. I can smell bread baking. But no. G*ddamned heteronormative uncommunicative bushwah (on their end, not mine.) But at the same time there’s NO F*CKING POINT to becoming an elder if you don’t understand that real life takes time, opportunities for growth don’t wait, and if you don’t consider who’s going to be impacted by your decisions, your years, your grey hairs and and your learning means squat. I am still 22 in some corner of my persona, for my enthusiasms still have all the joy of my youth; I just can’t write everyone affected by my behaviour out of the script any more. I do from time to time, but not all the time.

Fortunately, since I’m pushing 60 with a broom, I can contemplate my greed like the gorram caged bear that it is. Still here, but not running the show.

Katie is still having a rough time and she and Alex are both sick again.

I am not having a rough time. I feel pretty good, all things considered. I have another two weeks of full time work. If that changes, I’ll deal with it. I actually have a plan to deal with it that I think will make almost everyone happy, at least temporarily.

Rogue One is a fucking fantastic movie. Getting eaten by Disney was the best thing that ever happened to the franchise.

Now to check if my money transfer has come through.

I light a candle

For all those who bear the burden of pain
creeping upward through sleep & outward through the day
mindless & brutal
without compromise
joints locking & failing
fire-flicker of shingles
body-soaking drudgery of fibro
tooth pain from poverty & fear & never being taught self-care
old injuries, x marks the spot where you came off your bike
& broke something
& now you have a weather-vane set steady in your bone
the pain, once mental & now physical, of loneliness & abandonment
hugs that are virtual, smiles that are absent

gnawing cancer
migraines starring the heavens when there is no light
cluster headaches killing your will as an elephant throws down a shack

for all those who live in pain from noise & dirt & rudeness
& can’t find much in civility to ease it

guts knotted, cramping & sinister & tiring
the imprisonment of arthritis & the ‘overdoing it’

adhesions & keloids & the pain of being ugly, being useless
drawing tiny breaths because big breaths hurt

the pain of not being believed that you’re in pain
& then you’re given an addiction, as well as the pain
& now pivot between addiction & pain like a mechanical bird

funnybone & needlestick & central line

diffusely aching elders forcing themselves upright in the morning

itching pain, skin rashes

lying in bed with a hot water bottle
while your cervix crushes out the wine of ‘not this month’

endometriosis & you as a warrior emerging from a bath
of inconsiderate hormones

the times as a child you lay in bed & cried because you could hear your bones growing

earaches chasing all contentment from your toddler
putrid sore throats & burning bronchi

goddamned paper cuts & cat wounds gone septic
dog bites & thoughtlessly scratched-off bug bites

Foot pain as all those little compressed bones make their displeasure known
ingrown toenails, bunions, plantar fasciitis, charley horses

Knees that click & fail

Horse kicks & bites, all the farmer’s ailments
unprivileged by weather
now’s the time to do something & pain must be endured

Repetitive strains – hands & forearms, necks & backs
we are all of us little loci of hurt and debility

eyes of sand & photophobia

mouth sores, brushed against by teeth
& pinging in the sensorium like a red light on a street corner

embarrassed people who don’t want to say
it hurts when I pee, when I screw, when I poo & I don’t know what to do
& I don’t want to talk to you
or anyone about it

Pain tells you you’re unfit, & then you get the message again
& again
& again
from the TV, the city walls, the casual blunderings of friends
the sharp hashtags of your unfriends
& you, your body telling you
not today the grocery shop or the trip to the vet
not today the movie with friends and the beer at the pub
not today
not today
not today
& probably not tomorrow

The pain of knowing what you think isn’t true
& the drugs to drag the truth back to your thinking will stack on pounds
& kill your sex drive
& hurt you in all the wild free places you still have in your brain
the pain of knowing your compliance is convenience & not much else

The pain of trying to get strong enough to be independent again
& it’s never going to happen
& the choice is always, endlessly
pain or death