Month: October 2017

Is being through the course of antibiotics and antacids. My mouth tastes like chokingly bitter metallic assbarf almost half the day now; I spat out water at the Aerie yesterday because it tasted terrible. 

I’ve had two sips of other people’s beers in restaurants over the last couple of weeks. Mouth says yuck, which is useful, or maybe aforesaid metallic assbarf.

Tattooed Archivist on Twitter has given me my first on line review. In response to “who is underrated?” from Goodreads.

“Midnite Moving Company by Allegra Sloman
Glorious language. Sentences you’ll want to read over & over.” 

I jumped up and down like an idjit and practically screamed. Mike was amused by my gratified reaction.

She also pronounced herself in love with George’s hair, so I gave her a sneak preview that there will be a ‘coming out party’ for George’s hair.

Me, my love is saved for Michel.

For some reason this made me want to edit Hair Sinister, who knew, so I’m armpit deep in that as soon as I hit save on this

Soon I’ll be finished this goddamned HPac of antiulcer drugs. My digestion has improved, marginally, and my liver is getting better every day if the swelling and … other evidence … is anything to go by.

Working on HOTM but I can’t settle to write, I’m jumpy as hell.

neither of my children have phoned me in days so I’m pouty (I don’t call them unless it’s been weeks – at which point they sound almost guilty)

my gut is a quiescent mass of furtive anxiety

I am having trouble performing the simplest of tasks

I feel kinda messed up but there isn’t anything really wrong with me

Keith sent me a text which inadvertently reminded me of why Paul and I broke up

The weather slurps donkey balls from a lava flow.

On the plus side

brO and I have started watching Mindhunter. Oh, what am I saying, we’re two episodes from the end of S1. It is my firm intention to go back and watch the whole thing again when we’re done.

—

brO and I have viewed Their Finest. It is a spirited defence of film-making as art, a heart-wrenching confrontation of the death and geographical disorientation raining down from German bombers, a workplace dramedy, a digitus impudicus directed at the people who, for graft, glory, the ability of the state to draft you and / or sheer moronic dog-in-the-manger ill-will *fuck* with aforesaid art, and a woman-centric gem.

I’m intending to watch it again and just roll around in the performances. Bill Nighy is delicious in a fashion I could never hope to convey unless you watch the film too and help me put words to it.

—

Two of the characters for Earbuds sprang to life in my head and had a post coital convo about work, life, religion, chronic illness and poly that just made me love both of them harder… I didn’t write any of it down and Jeff is likely scowling at me

Mike’s back from whatever work travel hell hole he was most recently despatched to

I’m not really doing too bad, but my gumption machine’s broke down

So I’m on day 4 of the Helicobacter Pylori treatment pack, and my guts are making noises like ship’s rigging in a high wind. The worst of the ulcer symptoms are already gone. I still have pain and tenderness under my right ribs so my liver is obvs still unhappy with me but it’s nothing like two weeks ago when I could imagine that I was slowly dying with no difficulty.

1726: Thomas Doulton was pilloried in London ‘for endeavouring to discover the Windward Passage upon one Joseph Yates, a seafaring person.’

Sorry, stole that from the twitter account WhoresofYore this morning.

I recently fell in love with Mike Stuchbery on twitter, a simply delightful colonial boy from Australia who’s also a historian. Because he ties his history to things like facts and evidence and modern understanding of race and colonialism, the fucking nazis on the internet have gone for him hard.  His posts about history are gold – his responses to Nazis a mixture of dreamy calm and crushing wit.

Also, he keeps liking my responses to his posts.

 

when I look across the world as it is now I find

it’s no longer capitalism that draws my ire

It’s the complete and total death

of colonialism that I desire

this is a form of blues that was taken up by whites

called talking blues and as you can hear it isn’t rap

I could say that it’s a Victorian style recitative

but over a twelve bar blues bass line

who’s going to buy that crap

May I at this time point out that settlers really should not

imitate the folks who make the money

they earned the right to rap like that

and when we do it it just isn’t funny

or topical or edgy or forward facing or cool

it’s something called appropriation

holy shit that’s exactly like

what happened in the founding of our nation

(Millenium Falcon dying noise unavailable for copyright reasons)

 

without all the death of course

 

(Bass line starts up again)

 

when I look across the world as it is now I find

it’s no longer capitalism that draws my ire

It’s the complete and total death

of colonialism that I desire

 

so that long after your ancestors

stole all that land and wealth

you seize the speech of oppressed peoples

and hug it to yourself (and your coterie of cool friends)

 

Theft becomes a habit that is really hard to break

lift up, restore and sing resolve not denigrate and take

 

when I look across the world as it is now I find

it’s no longer capitalism that draws my ire

It’s the complete and total death

of colonialism that I desire

 

I’m white for what it’s worth and I’m telling you it’s our job

Our unpaid job, our emotional labour

to quit thinking the world’s a shithole

and we don’t need to take care of our neighbours

to quit spending all our social capital

on the golden fucking age of tv

to kiss farewell the tensile promise of me me me

on a geologic scale we know not many of us will likely make it through

but I hope that temporarily someone will and I’m hoping that it’s you

you the people who will seize the peace in whatever form it takes

and lead who’s left to a better world before physics hits the brakes

 

when I look across the world as it is now I find

it’s no longer capitalism that draws my ire

It’s the complete and total death

of colonialism that I desire

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My most recent novels feature poor kids born in the nineties. The f word is part of their speech and isn’t worthy of comment. The aliens don’t curse, blaspheme or use gendered slurs, a deliberate choice by one of their more charismatic leaders that the others fall in line with.

we celebrated John’s birthday (missing Keith and Jeff alas) at the Wet Spot at 6th and 6th. I had the large portion of the ribs plus yam fries and because I am a superior sort of sister brought home leftovers. Alex had demonic possession amounts of energy and his poor mama barely had the opportunity to taste her food. Le sigh.

I have to take 8 horsepills a day for the next two weeks and fuck me but they were expensive.

A Métis woman on twitter has had four white women (over the last few days at a conference), one of them a cabinet minister, tell her that her baby is cute enough to steal.

I could rant at great length about how ignorant this is. She’s had people threaten her with child removal.

Almost all FNMI (First Nations Métis Inuit) women have.

The white women who said this to her all know about the 60s scoop (20000 stolen children, .01 percent of the TOTAL CANADIAN POPULATION at the end of the 60s), and the residential schools (who stole 150000 children and killed 6000 of them, most of whom never got grave markers).

Next time you think you aren’t racist, remember that half in jest is whole in earnest.

Did not know this.  I’ve been able to confirm the existence of the group but not that they helped 300000 people make safe landfall or aliyah. That seems a little on the high side (that’s 300 people a day almost for the three years before the establishment of the state of Israel… but I will do more research and confirm numbers unless an MOT can confirm that.)

I also learned about the Nokmim who were avengers of the shoah, who hunted Nazis right into Canada after the war. They told a former camp SS officer in Winnipeg they could kill him or he could look after it himself, and apparently he hanged himself rather than be killed by Jews, although he had just been outed by the Soviets, so who really knows. (Aleksander Laak)

As upsetting as the path to get here was, my point is that the time to punch Nazis is right now. Punching them after they’ve separated their idea of subhumans out and killed them all is too late. Nazis exist in an eternal present of punchability.

Wow. Greenland Iceberg.

No writing today which is rapidly becoming yesterday.

I think I went to bed without eating supper so if there’s any pizza left I’m going to go have some.

 

Shipped off 1500 words of HotM to mOm yesterday, always a good feeling.  Know what I am working on next, a better feeling yet. I’m at the Eyrie, and it’s darkness studded with sodium vapour lights out the window.

Went to a new schnitzel place last night and they had run out of schnitzel. Mike and I laughed and laughed, and ordered something else. The beef dip was home roasted beef – his lasagne looked like like death by cheese.

Still trying to reconcile writing supergay fanfic with the notion that this culture doesn’t treat men who are civil and affectionate to each other (whether or not they are gay) with anything like respect.

and I note a Russian fan has said the following about a scene in a show

Бляяяяяять

This is pronounced Blyayayayayayatʹ and means something. Yup, if you put in in the translator on Google you get ‘shivering’. This makes total sense in context.

Out of curiosity, which seems to constitute a large portion of whatever I’m made of, I took out one of those ya’s (you can see this coming I’m sure) and it changed the meaning of the word to Shouting. So Ð‘ляяяяяять means shouting. It’s actually quite delightfully onomatopoeic.

I decided to press on through my unscheduled Russian lesson, and carefully removed another Ñ. This still means shouting, but obviously not quite as loud and angsty.  I carefully removed another Ñ.  You have to remove four Ñs before you get to the next change in meaning.

Бляяять means blaze.

Бляять means shave.

Блять means fuck.

If there’s an English word that is this magically delicious I’m all ears. AND YES I NEARLY GOT ALL THE YAYA’S OUT. (Get yer Ya-Yas out is the name of a live Stones record.)

In other news, Jeff turned on the furnace yesterday and one of my toes is gouty.

 

At the end of the walk Paul says we really should be going I am late for getting the car back to Katie to pick up Alex and I just hate stared him and leaped out of the car at Deer Lake Parkway so he could go straight home and I took the bus because if there’s one thing I KNOW about being a mom it’s the blank terror of knowing you’re going to be late to pick up your child and you’re going to get charged and they’ll hate you, which may get transferred to your kid.

So, Jeff that’s why I didn’t pick up any treats.

I have an appointment to have my test results interpreted for me at 2 on Monday. If I was dying they would have called me in faster, so I have to assume that I’m just ‘porely.’ I got about four days of relief from the gut pain but it came back in spades the day before yesterday. She’s going to bitch at me about not quitting wheat like she told me to but I’m going to fix her with my bloodshot stare (lots of staring, so much staring) and say “Did you know that a lot of selfcare is the art of the fucking possible and given that I have not consumed so much as a drop of alcohol since you told me not to with the exception of two drops of vanilla flavouring, let’s work on what I can manage thanks.”

 

Oldfud edition: don’t bother reading the rest of this

It was national coming out day yesterday. I find it entertaining that with each passing year I find myself less interested in identifying as bisexual and more as being non-binary. There’s no place in lesbian culture for me (which is fine, safe spaces and all and I can’t complain about welcomes I’ve received earlier) and I’m anti TERF (like, they’ve attacked me online, can you believe it?) and the older I get the more I take a kind of pagan godlike ‘who gives a shit about the naughty bits’ attitude. So I’m poly and non-binary because that’s where I feel I’ve settled. Next year, who the hell knows, (this sentence deleted because it was too disgusting to be funny).

Just asking. Doin’ okay and there’s cool stuff on the pvr.

 

October in Vancouver. 8 am NOOGIES FROZEN SEND HOT WATER BOTTLES 2 pm NOOGIES SWEATING HEAVILY SEND ICE.

OLDFUD report: Who the hell knows what she’s on about but she had breakfast with Alex yesterday and is bugging Katie to forward the picture so can I go back to my paper now.

 

I’m feeling better and Mike’s back in town.

yes it is time to rant und rolle. but I’m SO LAZY AND THE CAT IS SITTING ON ME NOW AND EVERY TIME I TYPE HIS HEAD GOES UP AND DOWN

My single most liked tweet has to do with Beavis saying “Are you threatening me?” and now I feel like a big moron. But happy anyway.

 

Corrected somebody on twitter this morning it’s tenet not tenant — jesus christ now maybe the correct spelling will take up residence in your brain….

Deleted two tweets. One could have been perceived as lecturing or hectoring a person of colour, the other was a childish me too.

But what about the Intersex People? poor little SJW that I am I didn’t realize that the brand new term cisgender was going to be taking flak from intersex people but now I have to get my mouth ’round this doorknob, intellectually speaking.

I am having an interesting convo on twitter about transmisogyny though and hope to learn something before the day is done. ONE CANNOT COMPARE THE HORRORS OF CIRCUMCISION TO INTERSEX PEOPLE WHO HAVE THEIR GENITALIA MUCKED WITH AT BIRTH BY EXCITABLE PARENTS AND SURGEONS. Okey dokey then. Guess I can only do that in private.

 

 

He is three.

HE WOKE UP THIS MORNING SAYING WHY and did not stop. (I got to listen to him in the car. He did not say that yesterday. But he’s three so he’s going to DRIVE US frazzled with why why why!)

Alex and Katie and I went for breakfast at Cora’s. It was lovely and I wish I’d had the brains to take a picture, but this is my take away.

He asked to have breakfast with me for his birthday.

HAPPY SIGH.

 

Also I had no idea Zelda Fitzgerald did watercolours.