takes 15 seconds to log in to this site

It’s really quite irritating.

Anyway, thanks to a strange Forcemeld, Paul was actually HERE yesterday to watch with us when SN10 stuck the landing (and caught fire, but the mission was a complete success). I am not a fan of Elon Musk, but that was nifty.

r/pics - Keanu Reeves wearing a skirt in the 80s.

Is there anything Keanu Reeves can’t/couldn’t do.

Best Roommate in the World is now 24K words, I’ve been sending updates to mOm every day.

Possibly the best science of the day. When that link is gone, check here. When I’m talking to my pOp I always assume that he wants to get off the phone way, way way way earlier than me. When I’m talking to my mOm we generally talk until one of us needs the bathroom. what a life…


Dandelions dreaming


The international symbol of filking (well, Kathy Mar’s, lol) is the dandelion. I wrote this after John died, so it is in part in remembrance of him.

Blow you winter winds
blow where you please
hang your icy bunting
on the barren trees
decorate the windows
with capricious lace
send your storm clouds flying
cross the lunar face

Dandelions dreaming
underneath their banks of snow
Soon they will be blooming
Soon enough the seeds will blow

Blow you winter winds
gales and chills
howl around the hollows
echo through the hills
Bringing snow and fog
bringing ice and rain
A moment of the sun
then all is dark again.

Blow you winter winds
blow where you will
Now my spirit feels
oh so small and still
Soon we’ll close the door
on your bleak refrain
For we will rejoice
and we will sing again

Blow you winter winds
mark my skin
Soon I will be warm
with my loves and kin
Two foot and four foot
All will be within
There’s a roaring fire
at the Dandelion Inn

Dandelions dreaming
underneath their banks of snow
Soon they will be blooming
and soon enough the seeds will blow

a possible tombstone

AW, RIGHT I actually am being fried (CREMATED) for my deathday, so nope, but here ya go anyway.


Jeff took me to Micky D’s this morning; ahhhhh coffee.

Now on deathwatch for Prince Phillip.

Happy belated birthday Tammy!

Letter off to Dave D this morning.

Lots more work on Bih-bah. Doot errungk! = no problem (literally: no blockage)

early catbus design – a Scythian king’s armrest.

nekobus! :) | Studio ghibli tattoo, Cat bus totoro, Totoro art



Good morning mOm

Check out the masks that Jan made with your fabric that I sent her!!!

VERY SOGGY and abbreviated walk at Oakalla yesterday. Brought Paul back here for Ciabatta/pulled pork and tea.  The snow was all slush. No otters. Towhees though.

Paul wanted to make sure that you knew mOm, that we were walking out of the park, and talking about you, and just as we did so a pterodactyl (Dryocopus pileatus) called to my right, and its mate called from the other side of the woods, to Paul’s left. We both burst out laughing at the idea that you and p0p got represented for our walk… and as I say, Paul was adamant that I advise you.

Coming up to a romantic and emotional writing session but I’ve been working on it for about a week now in the background (thinkita thinkita). I am trying to write it without using ‘love’ or ownership words which is going to be brutally hard, but I hope to manage.

Radam Ridwan’s message on instagram this morning about beach bodies and fatphobia GIVETH ME LIFE. I love them so.

Learned this morning that a NYC police officer assaulted one of the Capitol police on Jan 6. You know that what we’re looking at is a civil war; it hasn’t been declared, but there are 500K in the ground already.

This starfish, snapped by @figureoutthesea on Insta, appears to be saying ‘fuck you!’ to the juvenile glaucous winged gull.

not much to report

Bih-bah project continues. Advent calendar of Christmas carol parodies continues (the time to work on Christmas stuff is February – I will post them during Advent this year, and some of them are quite funny, so I hope you enjoy them – I did We Three Kings and I saw Three Ships this morning.) I have written about 350 words on Best Roommate since last report. I am working on a song with no name, but it’s about Vancouver, and the land ack is built into it, so I’m happy with it, also it’s on the ukelele and I hadn’t composed anything on the uke in ages, so that was good. I’m particularly liking the accompaniment, it’s not exactly unique but it’s distinctive.
I am possibly working on some more kidney grit, so no black tea for me for a while, and I should probbly lay off the almonds, but that frenz is la super hard to do when your buddy heaves two kilos of organic Australian almonds (plump, unblemished, like a lifestyle ad) onto your front steps thank you TOM!
KAOSSILATOR NOTES GAte 49, S61, 90 bpm, turn the volume up all the way, 5ths, C_; hold left thumb in bottom left corner until the gate arpeggiator drops tick tick tick percussion like noises into the mix and then slide your right index finger slowly back and forth along the bottom. Occasionally deke upwards for an other worldly yipping noise. At the end let go for the fade. Gives a very atmospheric creeping through a darkened building/alley/tunnel feel.

Waiting for a CT scan to find out if I really do have brain damage and how bad it is…. YUMMY. Not recommended.

“G-d made me trans for the same reason he made grapes but not wine and wheat but not bread. So that man may participate in the act of creation” -some wise Jewish trans person whose name I don’t remember – @zfreinstatler on twitter this morning

The Splendour of the True

this got written on the same day as Catnip on my Shoe. I had the date written down somewhere and I imagine if I tear my room apart I could find it but it doesn’t seem that important candidly. I was making fun of Bob Dylan’s writing style all the way through this. That no good lousy son of a seacook Dave Dowker (/s) said BUT ALLEGRA YOUR SONGS NEVER HAVE BRIDGES and I thought I’ll fix you, you fucker, (Dave, man, you *know* I love ya past the edge of time and words) so note the bridge. IT’S A LITTLE ON THE NOSE but that my dears is a feature of the true Allegra style.

Please also note that the line about ‘gave me all her money’ IS TRUE. A friend was experiencing mental health problems and she gave every dime she had on her to a street musician. She had no way to know that he was about to be evicted; she prevented him, his then girlfriend and infant child from being thrown into the street. YEARS LATER all three of us met in the friend’s apartment – he was now an IT wrangler in Vancouver – and I GOT TO PLAY THIS SONG FOR HIM. That is one of the many extremely spooky song magic things that’s happened to me over the course of my life (you would NOT BELIEVE some of the strangest of it, but this example is nice and family friendly) but it’s amped up since I moved to MST country. My song magic is powerful enough to reach into the future and be there waiting for unforeseeable events.

He left me in a dimestore
with a book and half a shoe
I said I can’t believe this
it’s so very good of you
and we’ll have some words before we’re through
Oh I bless the man who wastes no time debating
the splendour of the true

The truth is broken furniture
you can leave it in the street
right next to the newspapers
the hoboes need the heat
I’ll lay my empty pack at your feet
Oh I bless the woman who gave me all her money
and made my set complete

I’ll be to hell and gone before I find another friend so good
she went to the dictionary and tore out the word should
Half a paycheque gone, just to be misunderstood
Oh I bless the woman who listened to me
Just because she could

A bridge, a bridge is what I see
no more analysis, one more river to cross
A bridge, a bridge is what I see
no more analysis, one last river to cross

Sometimes I’d rather sit in darkness
than see a single light
and see so much that needs healing
and being put to rights
better to be broken than never to have tried
and now the dawn has come
and the dark gets swept aside

she’s on that poetry thing again – The people they chose

the endearing fascist is everywhere


the words are a smear of nice, a pretend of nice, a klieg light of nice that burns everything
that’s good and makes it nice, nice, nice
everything orderly

this is a map and these are the lines
and inside these lines we are nice

and I with disrumption have come
have come, and ev-e-ry niceness is glum, was glum.
Tripulations and farkakte derivations of bad things
are apiece with nice,
one of van Meegeren’s canvases

hanging in a steady machine tic of nice


but if you test it, it is not

so apt is my example

Nice is a mill that grinds little Black girls into powder
or tries, and fails to succeed in a vale of Death
just so she doesn’t forget what she’s up against
Nice is the good white girl with almost perfect teeth
who has Done Something Nice
in a perfectly recursive way,
at this point it hardly matters what ; those
people on the receiving end of nice
normally do not get
an opinion

Nice is the nun
educating Cree boys

into a nicer understanding
of their true place in the real world

It’s not for me to say which way is nicer
I already know and you don’t much care, being at the end of the poem

but as for me and the tirelessly nice and
clueless gallery of my colonial foremothers
whom I am pressed to carry now that I have grandchildren
I will choose the lands, and the people they chose
and stay out of your very nice heaven

Spoke to Mike

The letter to Barry is stamped, but I hope to accompany it with at least four more letters, I’m quite behind after my weeks of inertia. Mary, gAlex, mOm and pOp are all in the queue. I like looking at a spray of fifty stamps on the kitchen wall, and every time I send a letter, it erodes away, showing that pandemic or no, I can brighten someone’s day with a few scraps of paper. hope Barry likes his, it’s almost 1500 words long, lol.

Mike is not great, but who the hell is. He gets to prepare the orientation and training documents for the people that he’s going to be training to replace him, isn’t life nommy. Learned from him that there is a global shortage of breakers? weird.

I wrote 700 words in the UPSUN universe to day on one project and I’m still having fun with the conlang – poor Dave, bent his ear off with it the other day.

I am not doing all that great, but as long as I’m writing contentment is in arm’s reach.

Tammy’s in town

Off to have a social distanced visit with her this morning.

Two letters in the mail yesterday; one to Tom, one to Alex.

Managed to shake off my blues long enough to go get some food and reserved library books yesterday (Jeff gave me a lift). The sun being out did not hurt.

Time Team episode was ‘Hadrian’s Well’ which I like because experimental archaeology is always a favourite with me. (They reproduced a Roman waterworks in Roman Britain.)

Work on UPSUN and the destiel fanfic has ground to a halt. I have posted songs to the end of February and well into March (with scatterings later in the year).

mOm will be happy to hear that I FINALLY HAVE AN APPT with my doc, since the neurologist finally read the EEG this week, I don’t even have to wait that long.

Caspell Junction (new name for Planet Bachelor) remains quiet on the news front. Don’t know what new school rules for the pandemic will do. Hope Alex likes his letters.

Leah Feldman AND Nestor Makhno

warning this gets weird

Here’s a bio: Leah Feldman who worked with Nestor Makhno. He stole my rellie’s watch, he won’t get his own page even if I read that dreffle book. (History of the Makhnovist movement.) (ALSO THIS ***IS*** HIS OWN PAGE, THIS POST IS ALMOST A THOUSAND WORDS LONG AND I HARDLY MENTION LEAH FELDMAN, WHO WAS A MENSCH.)

I almost want to translate it (History of the Makhnovist movement) into internet-friendly contemporary English ’cause the translation verbs the galactic noun into a state of noun. Why am I compelled to pay attention to him? is it because he was one of John’s special favourites?

check out the turgid first three paragraphs, administered first aid by yours truly in italics.

As the reader approaches this book (When you first pick up this book you’ll want to know, is this serious shit, or serious horseshit?) he will first of all want to know what kind of work this is: is it a serious and conscientious analysis, or a fantastic and irresponsible fabrication? Can the reader have confidence in the author, (Is the author tripping balls, or are the dates, facts and maps straight?) at least with respect to the events, the facts and the materials? Is the author sufficiently impartial, (Is he telling the truth with some understanding of his own biases) or does he distort the truth in order to justify his own ideas (and piss on his opponents?) – I went a bit off the rails there but I hope you can see why I’d want to rewrite the book in a light hearted and humorous vein.

These are not irrelevant questions. (This subject is important enough in terms of anarchist and world history that you should care if the author got it right. which is not a direct translation and couldn’t possibly be, this is a gloss.)

It is important to examine the documents on the Makhnovist movement with great discretion. (Good luck with that they’re all in Russian and Ukrainian and did anyone ever tell you that translations are political? yes they are.) The reader will understand this if he considers some of the characteristics of the movement. (THE READER IS A FUCKING GIRL and I’ll understand more if you blow less.)

a hunnert pages of this…. I have to finish Moloch and UPSUN’s HOTM before I even touch that as a side project, that seriously would be something I’d do in jail.

So I continued anyway…..

On the one hand, the Makhnovshchina (Mack NOV shin a)  [Makhnovist Movement.]  – an event of extraordinary breadth, grandeur and importance, which unfolded with exceptional force and played a colossal and extremely complicated role in the destiny of the revolution, undergoing a titanic struggle against all types of reaction, more than once saving the revolution from disaster, extremely rich in vivid and colourful episodes – has attracted widespread interest not only in Russia but also abroad.

EXCUSE ME while I enjoy someone who can put titanic and colossal in the same paragraph without even a hint of jocularity!


The story of the Macknovshchina is so powerful, colourful and historically important that interest in the story is not confined to Russia. Fascists and reactionaries hate its truths, deride its outlandish tales of luck, betrayal, revolutionary fervour and derring-do, and cast doubt on its morality, as well as that of Makhnov himself, in an effort to dislodge him and it from the collective memory. That’s mostly because he kept the fucking revolution alive along with his anarchist principles and when he diverged organizationally from the soviets, they didn’t want to be beholden or get into it ideologically so he had to go – and to the horror of those who loved him he ended up drinking himself to death in exile. But we’re not going to talk about that part of his life in this book, that’s for the Netflix series. NOW THEN, IS THAT NOT BETTER AND MORE USEFUL THAN THE TWO PARAGRAPHS I COMBINED INTO ONE ??? (ie the foregoing paragraph and this next one, which is clunkier than a 30 year old Corolla.)

The Makhnovshchina has given rise to the most diverse feelings in reactionary as well as revolutionary circles: from feelings of fierce hatred and hostility, of astonishment, distrust and suspicion, all the way to profound sympathy and admiration. The monopolization of the revolution by the Communist Party and the “Soviet” power forced the Makhnovshchina, after long hesitation, to embark on a struggle – as bitter as its struggle against the reaction – during which it inflicted on the Party and the central power a series of palpable physical and moral blows. And finally, the personality of Makhno himself – as complex, vivid and powerful as the movement itself – has attracted general attention, arousing simple curiosity or surprise among some, witless indignation or thoughtless fright among others, implacable hatred among still others, and among some, selfless devotion.



anyway you can understand why the project has some appeal, it’s essentially a complete gloss / rewrite, but it could really be fun. It’s also fanfic in a really hilarious way. Oh, oh, oh I just had a story idea.

I posted this in early January, and on the 18th I woke up from a sound sleep with THIS in my head

TTTO Battle Hymn of the Republic

Nestor Makhno stole my great great uncle’s watch
Nestor Makhno stole my great great uncle’s watch
Nestor Makhno stole my great great uncle’s watch
He sold it to buy beer (or guns, that works too)


RIP recording artist Sophie

And they died
climbing up to see the moon
in Athens
and their life
was a goodies reel of cool
the patterns

they are not
for everyone to see
and our lives,
the red carpet,
will never see their light again
pop that bubble in the rain
and dance while you can
remember their joy
remember their name

They made very entertaining bubble gum dance pop.