Do You Feel Lucky?

(and feel free to comment! My older posts are certainly no less relevant to the burning concerns of the day.)

Friday, May 22, 2020

Fiction Friday in One Go: Enter the Narrator

The main character of the piece crossed the floor of her flat, suddenly both English and female, or possibly Australian. She was sure it was one or the other. This was clearly a "flat," not an apartment. It might be a "walk-up." Hard to tell from in here, in the foyer. The flat was basically a small foyer with key pieces of furniture, and not much opening off it. A pair of cupboards to either side, one fitted up as a kitchen, the other a bath. "Hey!" she objected.


"Why can't it be proper accommodations?"

Fine. There's a trapdoor in the ceiling with a pull-down ladder. Leads to a quite well-appointed small mountain chalet. Classy - but I warn you if you go up there, your former life will be left behind.

"Suits me," she groused, grinning. "What's my name supposed to be, anyway? 'She'?"


"Sweet." A suspicious look crossed her face; Clothilde's face. "Am I naked?"

No, though I confess you are remarkably conventionally attractive. You're wearing a fucking CLOWN OUTFIT - except it's all black. No makeup, no wig, just the outfit - big roomy coverall, one of those big doily collars, big shoes, the whole bit. All black.

"Does it have pockets?"

Yes! It has pockets. In fact, quite a number of them sewn in, some of them quite cleverly-concealed.

"Anything interesting in?"

May be. Why don't you check?

A cross look. Gasp of exasperation. Her eyes swept up, saw the trap. There was a recessed handle. One springy step and a leap saw her catch and drag it down, landing lightly and ducking out of the way as the ladder slid out and down. As she stepped 'round and mounted the stair, a narrative interjection stopped her.


"What is it?" she brightened. "Anything interesting?"

There's some sort of kill-team or monster approaching up there.

She made a face. "You're pathetic." Skipping lightly, she ascended. The steps retracted as her weight left, and the trap swung shut.

Time passed.

None of it was considerable.

The door to the bath cupboard was open. The sink was antique, with hand soap pump, toothbrush holder, toothpaste tube and a small, decorative tin perched about its rounded surfaces. It was really a cute little flat. Lots of touches. With the door closed in here, the mirror was empty. Just a blank wall in it. There was a slight, squared discoloration where there used to be a dried flower under glass in a chunky wooden frame. Had she taken it with her? Stuffed in a clown-pocket?

She was gone.

Clothilde, her former life left behind. Somewhere away up there, some kill-team or monster is about to discover brief regret. No way to intervene or assist, or even narrate.

She'll be on first-person narrative by now.

Thought of the day: is was

Is is what's left of was.

Thursday, May 21, 2020

Rejected Quora Answers #1 ("Needs Improvement"): Why do people think that beautiful girls are always dangerous?

I will tell you why. Have you read the other answers? Read them. And then come back and read this one last. And then you will judge who has told you why. I recuse myself on that one - the call is yours.

Why do people think of the danger of beautiful girls?

Because they know. They know of the danger, what if I stood up and declared to myself, in my inaudible mind-voice, “The girl is MINE. She is beautiful and has been nice to me as a regular habit!”

It would have no effect. Nothing changed. But then what if I declare it audibly, to her in her presence?

And then what if the girl (well, woman really, but this one gendersexually identifies as “girl” and has made it known, this preference is hers, and so she is) were to rise and declare, “The girl is not his. He has confused my innate habitual sweetness with one and all as a claim on my favors! No dice.”

It would feel like a broken bone in the heart. Or a bad sprain at least - and a heart-sprain, which is imaginary, can take years to heal. Where a normal sprain heals at medical rates. Which do you prefer? Spare the heart, give up the ankle. You’ll thank me in relatively few weeks.

A girl like that, beautiful and sweet and true, is like a devouring monster from the inside of a pretty sweet dude who, though, is a little on the hapless side, and lacks self-control and a certain purity of purpose (I don’t mean “puritanical,” please - get your mind from the gutter and rinse it off! Do not wash it - brainwashing is not the solution. Use tears - they smart a bit, but it rinses you clean with catharsis).

Even a bold, hard man, such as myself except bold, and hard, is in danger of heartbreak and heartache from a woman whose beauty has won him, but who will not herself be one. Or won. Whose fault is that? It is not hers. We have no claim on her but the claim she gives outright - which she is free at all times to revoke. We are all free to choose what we give of ourselves, and to whom - and what we shall keep.

In short, the only man to whom a woman is not dangerous is the one who despises women, who sees in them only an instrument for personal gratification: ego (personal or social worth) or id (the genitals). Such men have other things to worry about, though, principally repulsiveness if their hearts were known to one and all. Or the ancient ache of alienation, self-loathing growing to hatred of all, should their hearts be known to none. That’s a no-win deal, people.

Homosexual men, too, are relatively out of danger, in these dangers of the womankind. As are heterosexual women. Trust me, though, they have their own challenges in this world. Bigots galore, misunderstandings and stereotypes - you name it. Most of all, men.

But enough of the danger of men.

That is the danger of woman to man, heterosexually. There are other dangers of course - she could knife you as easily as anyone, if you’re caught unawares! But I sense the heterosexual danger to men (and the homosexual danger to women too, I suppose, but I feel as if being women, lesbians have an insight which spares them much of this weird othering of others of their gendersexual preference) is the thrust of this question! It is real. As real as doves and serpents - these are not made-up mythological figures, though of course they pull double duty there. Your only course: be true. Lead always with your own real likes, wants, needs and loves. These will ward off those who are no fit match for you, with whom match would only be misfit and misery. And it will shine up the world around you like a beacon for those whose likes, wants, needs and loves are good for you, like yours.

Basically don’t make decisions about other people, where you don’t really know. Don’t prefer some made-up thing and want that. Prefer to honor who is in front of you, to find out who she is, and so discover in getting to know each other what you could be to each other. What she thinks about that is key.

Thursday, March 26, 2020

Thought of the day: grounded

You keep me grounded.

And I didn't even DO anything!

King Unicorn Angel Sword

(please note: this is a children's book. Each line appears subscript or superscript upon a full-page gorgeous yet fetchingly casual illustration).

To be a king is a duty. A responsibility. An obligation.

Some kings deny their divine right to rule.

So long as they do not shirk their duty, I hold peace with such views.

I am King Unicorn Angel Sword.
I don't always dress this way.

Ofttimes a simple, classic, modern dress suit of clothes fits the bill.

Or to suit the occasion, I may appear in my military regimental dress. Dignity. Solemnity.

On the beach, I wear one of those 1900s getups.
It is important to our people to see that their King keeps to the old traditions.

But on special occasions of State, I appear before my people in my infamous full regalia.

The main response is a perfectly-understandable awe and deference.

Second-most prevalent response: hilarity. Also perfectly understandable.

My subjects think I'm a cool guy, pretty by and large.
I am stern of eye it is true. Yet fair of mien, to be fair.

And kindly, lordly and wise of bearing, as befits a king.

I try to be approachable.

I am very much relied upon in most quarters,

for my tact and insight in difficult personal matters,

and for my keen eye for fashion - for what truly suits, rather than what merely flatters the wearer.

Of course there will always be the occasional assassination attempt.

Generally the work of filthy revolutionaries.

Not to be confused with ordinary revolutionaries. (Note the indicators)
These guys never really bother anyone.

In a time of peace, my kingdom is prosperous and the love of my subjects is abundant.
These are the times I love best.

In a time of war, it is sometimes necessary to use war. In those dark days, my subjects rally fiercely to my call, to the defense of their country.

Results have been mixed. However, the strong fastness of my ancestral keep, Thunder Gulch Royal Fortress and Casino, has never fallen to any enemy while any remained within to defend her, which they usually do. That's a pretty good record.

Why not come live in my happy land?

Our tourism industry is nonexistent, to be honest.

Book a room at Thunder Gulch Royal Fortress and Casino while your temporary residential permit is processed, but my guess is after even only a few months here, you won't be wanting to move back to wherever you came from.

Our populace is happy and productive.

(by and large) (picture of filthy revolutionaries)

Our barter economy is thriving.

And if I may say so myself, we've got a pretty sweet King.

King Unicorn Angel Sword

Publishing Old Drafts As-Is #1: "Pre-Work Team Lunch Focus Check"


This time, Focus on
- Empathy
- free food
- goals: with shared clarity comes unity towards purpose. CLARITY MUST BE CHALLENGED TO BE ACHIEVED. It cannot simply be assumed.
- bid to power
- interpersonal journeys. Your coworkers are many roads to the same place: disalienation. Try to remember where you are upon each of them.
- inappropriate conduct-dar: questioning vigilance towards compassion with zero tolerance and the courage to speak up and out, not down.
- opportunities and traditions in a ritual meal setting

Friday, February 28, 2020

Viral Ideas #1: Next Hot New Personality Type Quiz Trend?

I want to set up one of those internet personality type quiz webpages. Only for astrological signs. WHAT ASTROLOGICAL SIGN ARE YOU? 100 questions, only takes 10 minutes. FREE

The final question would be "What's your birth date?"

Friday, February 21, 2020

Fiction Friday: Copperlocks And The Three Panties

Once upon a time, there was a medium-sized girl named Copperlocks. She was a woman, but for cultural and other reasons beknownst to her, she preferred to be identified as “girl.”

Copperlocks lived at the edge of the Ancient Yulby Forest, in a sound, cozy cottage of stout brick, tightly-packed sticks and well-daubed straw. It was just up to code.

One morning, Copperlocks brightly awoke, made her toilet (pronounced, "twa-LET") (it means “wash and prepare for the day, or whatever,” but Copperlocks loved fancy words like “toilet”), dressed in a flash, ran outside excitedly, and had her “morning constitutional.” This was what she called her customary brisk walk, to get the blood moving and such. Her grandmother had taught her the term, and a few others such as “b.m.”

Suddenly, miles already from home, Copperlocks realized what was wrong. She hadn’t any panties! She’d been noticing this for some time, and had kept meaning to jaunt down to the Jungle Mall in the heart of the Ancient Yulby Forest to forage for a pair, or two. Others had occasionally been noticing as well. Copperlocks was not that sort of girl to be above noticing what others had been noticing about her.

Filled with her chronic dismay (prone to it whenever her fits of unbelonging came on; she’d often lie down and wait for it to pass, but needless to say couldn’t just now), Copperlocks had only just noticed where she was again, when she realized it was right in front of the enormous House of the Three Panties. “Why how lucky I’ve gotten!” she cried, delightedly and wiped her face with her sleeves. “I’ll just pop in for a look-see!” And she did.

There, on the breakfast table laid out for inspection, were the Three Panties, pretty much as advertised. They looked clean and smelled fresh. “I’ll just try these on!” Copperlocks said. First she tried on the pink panties with gray ducks and polar bears - or tried to. “Ow!” she said. “These panties are much too tight! I can barely get them up and over my sweet caboose - and they pinch dreadfully!” Manfully, she struggled and labored to remove them, and finally laid them on the table.

Next she eyed the black leather panties, studded and bejazzled with steel rivets - and crotchless. These panties were much too loose. She could tell just by looking, and did not try them on. They appeared to have been made for a giant.

Soon, she came to the third and last pair. Of panties. These were of purest deep white, and had tiny little satin bows, making the shape of a heart on the backside. Adorable! Heart in throat hoping, she tried these on.

They were just right. “Find something you like?” said the giant, politely.

“Oh, yes!” cried Copperlocks. “These are just right! Ring me up, please.” He did. She paid.

And on she went on her way, skipping delightedly. She couldn’t wait for all her friends to see her panties.

And the giant came out and changed the sign.

And that about covers it. (The end)

Tuesday, February 04, 2020

Thought of the Big Day

If it's a coronation when the crown is bestowed up your regal and waiting brow, would it be a moronation when it's a dunce cap?

Monday, February 03, 2020

Suggested Exchanges #4: Remind me later

"Remind me later to tell you about the accident."




"Remind me."

Tough Topics #66: Legalized Prostitution: Did We Do This One Already?

The real reason most people oppose legalized prostitution is they know (on an unconscious level probably, but they know) where it will inevitably lead.

HMO copays.

Friday, January 10, 2020

thought therefore

Everything is real! Everything is real

It's just that some things aren't things.

Saturday, December 28, 2019

Open Dream Journal: The Security Exercise

In the dream I was Anton Chekov. Yes, from Star Wars. The dream was set at my old work, in the gigantic underground shaft room. It was - functionally - like an elevator, except there was a gigantic corridor running off from it, to a distance invisible. In the right hand wall was an angled doorway - no door, despite the elevator-like function. This was stuck halfway between floors, and you see somebody was dead in there already.

The security exercise was being conducted by someone who looked like Scotty, but who looked even more like today's James Doohan (I was Chekov in his prime). Someone we all trusted. We'd all showed up for this exercise on a Saturday because we wouldn't miss it. The guy was a world class expert on security; it was a point of pride we'd each been invited at all. Apparently in this exercise though, he was the baddie. Maybe he always was. Maybe he really was - it was part of the legendary hushed-tones fun of these exercises. He was holding forth and everyone was responding zombielike to cues.

I was ten minutes late to the exercise, and already everyone's will had been broken. In fact, I had been expressly forbidden to come, despite having been invited! Ten minutes earlier I had seen everyone else go off for the exercise while I sat in a meeting with my old boss. I was sad, and so was everyone else that I wouldn't be there. I was sure I'd be fired, but instead my boss (stern as always, no, more an affectation of gruffness, which she called "frank") opened up a padded parcel bag and withdrew a softly silvery uniform shirt - bearing Starfleet lieutenant sleeve insignia (no, I don't think that's a thing. In the dream it was)! A promotion! "Now go to the exercise," she smiled all gruff.

I interject, this was pretty much not the way promotions were handled at my old job.

It was at this point, running off doffing my old yellow shirt and making the switch to this new sleek job, I realized I was Chekov. Prior to that, I'm pretty sure I wasn't even wearing go go boots. There was zero dissonance in any of this. Ah, dream logic fluidity, if only we could bottle ya.

So I get there and everyone's will is broken. Defiant (naturally, it's kind of my character) I confronted the mastermind and he lost patience with my failure to respond to his cues. It was partly embarrassment on my part - I was late! I didn't know the cues. In fact, the quickness of everybody else's work astounded me. They didn't even seem to know me. I knew them all. Bones was like, "who the hell are you supposed to be?" as the mastermind huffed off into and down the corridor - insulted by my deft defiant repartee.

Nonplussed, unsure what my character name was supposed to be given the variety of people present, I replied brightly, "Everyone knows me!" And seeing Bones "got" that, on a level, this was undeniably so, I fixed him with a warm hug of gaze and smile. "You are my friend, 'Bones'!" He broke into aw-shucks warmth, as always. Moving to the next person, a girl I knew from the internet and loved with all the fierceness and loyalty of an old goose despite we've kind of drifted apart, "And you are my friend,"

There was an unwelcome pause, while she looked at me brightly. The name that popped to mind was not quite her forum name. Luckily, everyone was wearing name badges, but hers was not quite her real name either. Calling Bones "Bones" had been my ace in the hole. His name tag had said "Dr McCoy," but I had called him without hesitation Bones. Only I knew that. I looked at her face expectantly. She was miffed.

I moved on, but the momentum of my plan was irreparably broken if I did so. I shifted back towards her with unfeigned ease, smiling all the brighter. "Nalers!" I cried. It was a nickname of mine/ours, based on her forum name. Her mouth set in a line. Turning to the room, my voice tightening and ascending in pitch, I announced, "And of course I forgot to do the cartoon voice!" Several of the people from old work and the industry were nonplussed. They weren't from the old forum. They didn't know about the cartoon voice.

The situation was rapidly deteriorating, so I woke up and got some water.

Fucking Chekov. Oh yeah, the whole time in the exercise I was back in my yellow shirt!

Monday, December 16, 2019

Thought of the day: do you mind?

Mindful does not exclude thoughtless.


Hm. Perhaps preferable:

Mindfulness does not exclude thoughtlessness.

Wednesday, November 27, 2019

Underused Insults #1: "GROW AN ASSHOLE!"

You know what's an underused insult? "GROW AN ASSHOLE!"

Said in response to somebody's bullshit. Said with a pinched face glare of disdain or scorn. On one level it's kind of a weird, incomprehensible non sequitur, probably - but upon further consideration, the fact that they're full of shit is strongly implied.


Just a thought!

Thursday, November 14, 2019

What I would say "anonymously"

LIES, probably. That sweet, sweet anonymity would free me up for lies. BIG ONES. Let’s find out:
  • My feet - my left foot and right foot, considered together - strike me as a paradox.
  • I eat whole sandwiches in half a bite.
  • One time my DICK got stuck. Guess where?
    • HAHAHAHA nowhere! My dick has never gotten stuck! It was a lie.
    • …or was it.
  • Sometimes…at the nude beach…I picture people with clothes on.
  • At night the stars are all UFOs. They’ve just been lulling us into a false sense of security before they strike.
  • Anytime anybody tells the fairy tale about Jack the Giant Killer or the one about the Cursed Prince Bear and the Two Sisters, I am the best listener ever. On the whole wide world, I am the greatest listener to those two stories alive.
  • I have proved to my satisfaction that quantum mechanics is slightly problematic. Whaddya gonna do though? Got a better idea?
  • I have a sock puppet named Soxie. Soxie’s got the blues, people.
  • I am deeply conflicted over whether I prefer (or should prefer) “Gojira” over “Godzilla.”
  • People confuse me with Linus. A lot. Linus from Peanuts. It’s asinine, I’m clearly Woodstock.
  • I have occasionally a vast, powerfully-surging vague ambition to one day have at least one specific ambition occur to me.
  • I can empty my entire bladder while chugging the entire contents of a full beer in such a way that both finish at the same time. To the drop.
  • I practically invented the “mic drop.” Way before it became “a thing!” Totally by accident - people were jaw drop shocked. Well anyway, they seemed surprised and embarrassed on my behalf.
  • You know what? I’ll take that on. If anybody’s going to be surprised and embarrassed? Let it be on my behalf. I take that on. I can be the sort-of ersatz Christ of surprise and embarrassment. Everybody would walk around way easier and unselfconscious about their gaffes! Meanwhile, I’d be theatrically gasping and flustering under the strain: “I can take it! Sorry!”
  • I’m glamorous in ways others can’t even deal with as glamour.
  • I’m pretty suspicious about vestigial racism. Point it out if you see any, would you? In me, I mean. I hate that shit.
  • AC/DC was a rock band. I don’t care who doesn’t “get that.”
  • The kids, you know. The youth? The children coming up? I bet some of them turn out murderers. Is there something we could do to teach them better. That’s what I keep saying. Whose part are we doing, in all of this? Society’s problems are not going away at this rate.
  • Political hot-button issues like Gun Control and Abortion should have Superbowl commercials. There could be different vivid and passionate or dispassionate characters, representing all the different complex aspects. All through the game, people would perk up to see how the dialogue is playing out so far. After the game they’d look at each other and say, “This conversation needs to continue.”
  • Have you ever seen a baby like the baby I am, when my baby’s baby (that’d be me) is gettin’ babied by my baby, oh yeah?
    • That could be a song refrain but it needs a lot of work.
  • Paranoia. There needs to be a paranoid one. Okay, what if the microwave in my home (and yours?) is controlled by the British Home Office? This is a violation of the Revolutionary War Outcome I am pretty sure - I’m a U. S. American, proud and bold. Should I worry about my mind in a case like that, or trust to the loyalty and dedication of public servants on each side of the pond to tease out the tangle? I’d love an action/suspense espionage movie resolution, but maybe-maybe-not mental illness is not a topic that can reach closure so easily.
  • Santa Claus doesn’t live at the North Pole in a luxury compound, as is said. He shows up on the 23rd to take charge of a well-run operation, and gets one week’s vacation after that. Luxe and ease, for a week. He spends every other day of the year on the streets, homeless and destitute. Getting by catch as catch can. Next time you’re out and about, see if you can spot him. Whether you can or you can’t, look with kindness.
I guess that’s it.

If only I could be anonymous, that’s about what I’d say “anonymously.” Shit, I forgot the “lies” theme! Well, there’s definitely some fables and other stretchers in there.

Folks, I seriously do mean it about the kindness, though. KIND UP!

It’s the way you pretty much gotta wanna, once you try a while.

Friday, October 25, 2019


Abandoned by some lazy and distractable lumberjack on a lunch break, forgotten about in the rush to the next tree! I slept like a living log. A log that wakes, also. EXISTENTIAL HORROR LOG

See, logging is closed the next day - otherwise someone would've claimed this fine log and hauled it off to be sawn. But the area is declared an Emergency Natural Park and trails for hiking are blazed through it. One goes right by the log. The park ranger is a Buddhist who often sits on the log, lost in thought and grumbling platitudes. Others too come sit on the log. In one HOT SCENE three hikers have UNINHIBITED, INCOMPETENT SEX right on the log! Which does not leave them fulfilled. The log is like " ... "

The grumbling Buddhist talking to himself with a wet butt on a log in the forest he or she draws subpar pay to play steward to. He or she (no, "he" - all the grumbling Buddhists I've known were guys. Women Buddhists I've known tended more toward the grounded and mystical) is always come by to sit on the log and RANT, or CHANT as he'd put it. "The leaf is awake to its Buddha nature. Fuck you, leaf. The rock is awake to its Buddha nature. FUCK YOU, ROCK" - the Buddhist is comforted by the log and does not say fuck you to it, but neither does he name it or call it "awake." The log is left wondering, disconnected and alienated. The raunchy sex interaction does not make the log feel a communal part of anything. These episodes seem necessary to the log's arc.

It does seem a potentially fun idea. I have a lot to say about alienation. BUT WILL ANYONE CARE OR UNDERSTAND ME? Hehe jus' kidding. I wonder if I'm self-alienated? Too much focus on others. Self-abnegation is a different deal, that's more throwing your self under humanity's regular scheduled bus route. Like making self nothing. I feel more like...I don't get self-importance. How would I be important to me? Or more important than another? Just 'cause I got stuck behind this specific pair of eyes? Anyway I'm cool with it - everybody else is, if not in the same boat, a boat of psychologically similar make and model. Some of them have WAY BETTER sailor costumes than I do, though. Bastards.

The log would be a good, solid vehicle for these go-nowhere sentiments.

I think we need the Buddhist to teach the log that enlightenment is possible, but not plausible.

What if all the world could receive and in its way understand communication, but is incapable of response? LUMINOUS.

I doubt it's so, though. Life would have developed quite differently, and probably in a more accelerated and directed way.

Or maybe life has to cut itself off from primary perception in some way, in order to find itself again in it? Shit.

The problem is if anyone takes it seriously. It's meant as sincere, not serious.

The Buddhist would definitely puzzle out koans as one of his tics. I think he'd go so far as to ask himself "if one hand claps in the forest and no one is there to hear it, what THEN is its sound?"

EXISTENTIAL HORROR LOG might need to be a novel rather than a novella, to accommodate the growing cast of characters and lessons learned from them. Long hours even days untenanted. Listening for the sound that bedevils the Buddhist so, even knowing that it cannot report up to him where he sits. It would be a short book, about Siddhartha-length. Is Siddhartha a novella? People would compare it to Siddhartha, in length.

Wednesday, October 16, 2019

Quote of the Day: Expectation

“Expectation is the thief of gratitude and wonder; the mother of entitlement; the uncle and midwife of resentment and betrayal - those vile twins - the unfaithful lover of disappointment, dissatisfaction and dejection; and the twice-murderer of hope: first shoved from a height, then stabbed in its sleep.”

- Sir Giles Fauntleroy Gilchester Fakereference

Friday, October 04, 2019

Friday, August 16, 2019

Thursday, August 15, 2019

Word of the day: "Hi-YAH!!"

"Kiai" (anglicized as "Hi-YAH!") is a Japanese term for a short yell during an attack move. It is made of "ki" meaning "energy" or "mood," and "a" - an emphatic.

So when someone karate chops, "Hi-YAH!!!" they're essentially yelling "BIG MOOD"

Wednesday, July 31, 2019

Advice, for once.

Don't make the mistake of believing that because others oppose your truth, truth is opposed to them.

Truth don't give a shit, dude! Be sweet in it, be on its side. It's the best you can do; it's not on yours or anyone else's. It is only in holds that we oppose, it is only in grasps that we find fault.

Sunday, July 28, 2019

The government we

We don’t get the government we deserve, we get the government we inherit.

But over the course of our lives, we may get the government we earn.