May I introduce you to the far flung collective Salmon Nation?
Give if you feel moved.
Is it time to re-read the recommendations of the Reconciliation Report? It’s a time commitment, but so is reconciliation.
May I introduce you to the far flung collective Salmon Nation?
Give if you feel moved.
Is it time to re-read the recommendations of the Reconciliation Report? It’s a time commitment, but so is reconciliation.
Yup, gonna spend my twilight years watching fascism and climate change destroy the planet. But I’m going to keep singing, I guess. Booking another recording session.
Jeff and I went to ratlands for drivethrough brekky; I have ingested enough salt for two days’ worth of consumption but damn I enjoyed that, and I skipped the coffee. We know we’ll never break our addiction to coffee, not really, but we can choose not to drink it today.
I don’t want to talk about the Trump Coup, which is still, just as Sarah Kendzior promised, hiding in plain sight. He still has the nuclear codes. He’s an evil, vindictive and ingloriously ignorant human, and him lashing out has real world consequences for all of us, not just the marginalized upon whom most of his ugly behaviour has been unleashed. So that’s in the back of my mind as I say anything these days.
Called Paul and Keith yesterday to find out how they’re holding up and Paul came and took me for a walk (finally mailed those letters to the Daves) and we walked out into THE MOST GLORIOUS SUNSET and it was a stripe of brilliant butter yellow rectangular sun between layers of gold, grey and pink cloud. ABSOLUTELY EYE POPPING. My brain reset to considerably more cheerful.
850 words on BRITW today. I just don’t know what to do with myself, so I threw in a plot complication.
written about toronto but could be anywhere
Despite all of this I remain hopeful.
I found a place to donate books to, I’m going to talk to Paul about it.
All I can see is a smokin’ hole
an’ I can only see that
cause all the shit you stole
You’re gonna have to move out and take the sign down
Too bad that all of your friends get paid to stick around
You’re the clown
we’re gonna run out of town x2
Shoulda listened to Sarah* in 2016
she was right on the money
and her instincts were keen
Think of the world of hurt you could have saved
the way you came to power
was obscene and depraved
You’re the clown
we’re gonna run out of town x2
written December 2020, more verses probably coming, hoping I recorded this on January 4th lol.
*Sarah Kendzior, who predicted 85% of what 45 would do in office years before he did it, and is still among the top ten political commentators in English in the US (please subscribe to Gaslit Nation if you can or donate to her Patreon.) AND SHE’S SO YOUNG! she’s only 42, with a young family…. and yes, I’m combining song of the day with Follow Friday.
You start helpless. You may end helpless. It is one of the arcs of a human life.
The arc is about autonomy.
I think.
If story is the underpinning, then you are a story and there is an arc. You may define your autonomy in terms of ‘what I can meaningfully achieve for myself as framed by the customs and traditions I was raised on’ or you may define it as self-will, which (candidly) never seems to play out quite as well as including others in your self-definition.
Part of the arc is your contribution to the lifestream – whether you have children, and your children have children. But it’s not the most important part. Everyone can make a contribution to the human family, it doesn’t have to be genetic.
The persistence of saints that I speak of today is not the virtue of persistence, or steadfastness to duty which is customarily among the reasons they are saints at all. Nope, it’s the fact that those suckers stick around.
The persistence of saints has to do with their value to people after they are dead, for gain and the glory of a deity (or deep conception, or, since my religious and ideological tent is quite immense, even mere curiosity).
Where people are squeamish of god, they are rarely squeamish of saints, a fact I attribute to how you can meet a person any day of the week, but gods are so scarce that it’s easy to believe they’re not taking appointments this year, or any other. Even very secular people, folks with no religious affiliation, will follow cultural folkways about where to put pictures of important people in their moral formation; existential authors, rappers, midwives, farmers or dive instructors.
If I were to put a pin through any picture of an existentialist to suspend it in a saintly niche I suppose it would be de Beauvoir. She really cuts the crap on things especially on this whole evil thing. -“Insisting that the future is undecided and that its form will be shaped by our present decisions Beauvoir argues that it is only by insisting on the dignity of today’s human beings that the dignity of those to come can be secured.” – Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. I would put it over my desk. Or at the end of my bed, where I’m more likely to actually look at it.
[T]he greatest efforts made by the defeated insurgents since the close of the war have been to promulgate the idea that the cause of liberty, justice, humanity, equality, and all the calendar of the virtues of freedom, suffered violence and wrong when the effort for southern independence failed. This is, of course, intended as a species of political cant, whereby the crime of treason might be covered with a counterfeit varnish of patriotism, so that the precipitators of the rebellion might go down in history hand in hand with the defenders of the government, thus wiping out with their own hands their own stains; a species of self-forgiveness amazing in its effrontery, when it is considered that life and property–justly forfeited by the laws of the country, of war, and of nations, through the magnanimity of the government and people–was not exacted from them.
Proud Boys on Parler (above typed out)
Extremely embarrassing to spend months mocking antifa and licking cop boot only to go out there and get absolutely rinsed by cops who were barely even trying. Weak stuff. Those teenage commies managed to take on and beat whole armies of cops (and proud boys) and they’re all skinny wimp soyboy betas, but we got scrubbed like it was nothing. And all for the sake of some rich oranage pedophile who doesn’t give a shit about any of us? Sad.
So despite preparing for the mob, the mayor of DC, Muriel Bowser, and the Chief of Police, had a victory over the mob taken away because the Capital Police let the mob into the White House, and then the federal prosecutor refused to prosecute anyone, on 45’s orders. (This according to Racine, whom I heard interviewed.)
I’m going to keep the news turned off, this is some bullshit.
I remember going to Wreck Beach on a Tuesday, and that’s the mood it put me in.
This was in 2007. That sweet little tyke is a grunting ado now!
I love how Gerald’s livingroom at the time looked like the most comfortable place on earth, as evidenced by…. well…. the comfort.
I’ll call the clinic again next Monday. Many things slow down over the festive season so even though it was supposed to be ready it probably isn’t, yet.
You know Hudson & Rex is a terrible advertisement for St. John’s, right? One percent of the population is Black and that’s not how the show demographics works…. also…. you know that they have like a murder a year and so in the first episode they blow through the murder rate like theysa going backwards.
Georgia turned blue, but it was the rest of us holding our breath. FUCK MITCH MCCONNELL.
While I’m in the mood, FUCK AIR CANADA.
If that link disappears, it’s to a story claiming that Air Canada is sending influencers on holiday to sunny places to pad their advertising budgets during A GODDAMNED PANDEMIC ….I mean I knew they were slimy bastids but that’s low.
Buns dough is in the bread-maker. I really am fine with never eating white bread again if I can have yummy brown bread buns fresh out of the oven within 2 hours of conceiving the notion.
In 774 AD the biggest coronal mass ejection in 10k years hit the earth. (Per Phil Plait the Bad Astronomer.) If the same thing hit the earth today satellites would plummet, the grid would fail, the internet would fly up its own asshole and choke and it would be weeks in many places and years in others before the power came back on. So thank your lucky stars you only live in an earthquake zone, lol
I’ll be wandering over to Planet Bachelor later today.
Letters to two Daves in the mail today. pOp’s getting a very big sketch of Baby Yoda.
No progress on UPSUN.
Not going too far from home for this first pic.
Here’s Keith, up at Pemberton, about to get into this total stranger’s car (actually he was a buddy of the guy who ran the soaring club, Rudy, now sadly passed in a midair collision in 2013) but I love his posture… he is GOING PLACES, and I love his hair, and the scenery is quite something.
Paul and the kids used to spend weekends up at Pemberton camping just off the runway. He’d bring water back from the spring at Nairn Falls, which is really wonderful tasting water.
and all the way up there is still MST country.
I wrote another Deadwood filk, Load On, but I’ll post that one later
We didn’t get the wind in Burnaby that was forecast yet; I’m assuming the coast got it.
It’s the kind of day when you feel good about grating beets and finely slicing cabbage for borscht.
It’s a dead simple recipe: boil six cups of water (less if you want it SOLID, more if you’re liking more broth), peel and grate three medium sized beets, finely slice a quarter of a head of cabbage, (adjust balance of veg for preferences) & throw them into the water, add a heaping teaspoon of Better than Bouillon vegetarian salt paste, a quarter teaspoon pepper, a quarter teaspoon garlic powder, a little hand ground basil, and it’s food in half an hour of a steady low boil and ambrosia nuked the next day. I chopped some scallions, parsley and yellow pepper to throw on top, and there’s greek yogurt in the fridge.
brO and I were dreading the season opener of the Rookie but it kicked ass. We heard lines of dialogue we never expected to hear from the show. Very welcome change from the overwrought magical bad guy shit at the end of the last season.
I knew I’d have lunchbag letdown from yesterday so I’ve been babying myself today (CBD gummy early in the day – I don’t take them every day) and it’s worked well. I’m halfway through a letter to Dave, finished all my Trotsky Tuesdays for January, am making song lists for stuff I can record and post in two seconds when I’m behind the eight-ball for deadlines, and contemplating the fifty stamps I just bought, uncoiling like two misshapen tentacles over the dishwasher, with a lazy smile.
I can hear Jeff getting borscht, I’ll join him.
LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE