Visitors: I compose daily postings quickly, often while doing something else, and edit the various entries throughout the day. These should be considered draft until the end of the day. Any edits made to previous day's posts are notated with (last updated: xx-xxx-xx).

(WTF‽ entries dated Nov '21 thru July '22 containing embedded music may've been modestly altered if they were posted, here, on the new site host.)

14-Sep-2022: WTF posts dated before July '22 not yet moved to this site remain viewable at previous host, found here.


I cannot imagine ever concluding someone a serious intellectual—a person formulating ideas of substance & merit—an individual ready or capable of guiding or leading a capitalist society toward one with fewer imbalances, injustices & class disparities—who acts either on unthinking impulse or consciously decides to identify or label something as middlebrow, thereby implying the existence of at least two additional 'brows' (classes, levels, strata & striations, categorizations) whose purpose is simply to signify different values or worth. 

Another example of means—consciously enacted, or not—justifying ends, I suppose. Or just run-of-the-mill idiocy.

Yesterday I tweeted that my wife and I were headed to the Latino Arts Festival; I now kind of wonder how many Very Online Pinheads will eventually see that Tweet and think to themselves "Eww, cringe; he typed Latino; he should've typed Latinx!!" when the Latino Arts Festival is produced by a local organization who, as of this writing, still chooses to call themselves the Latino Arts Foundation.

Anyway, family & friends (and any strangers reading this who are in fact cool) have a great Sunday. To everyone else, consider practicing Salsa dancing and be sure to slam your hip against a wall to dislodge your head from your ass.


Requested two books (to be placed on hold) from the local library yesterday. A book of poetry, written by Maya C Popa, and EMPTY SPACE, written by M. John Harrison. Excited to read both, for different reasons. I've never read Popa, except for a few poems that I have come across online. The Harrison book I am excited about because I really enjoyed both LIGHT & NOVA SWING, but also because I failed to reread IN VIRICONIUM this summer. I tried. Started twice. Couldn't finish. Just wasn't feeling it, I guess. I am desperate to cleanse myself of the experience. He is a fabulous writer, and the negative encounter during summer looms in a Damoclesian¹ manner


¹ If I've time tomorrow I'll research the proper spelling. Damoclesian? Damoclean? I have no idea.

The Canvasssss

Watching what I assume are Republican Party canvassers roam the neighborhood in what I presume is a get-the-vote-out effort. They avoided our house like the plague, which is prescient because DeSantis's use of human beings as pawns (see post, dated 15-Sep-2022) did compel me to add two more Dems. Remember, folks, I was content to sit out this November cycle and vote only for local & state line measures—while avoiding candidates. No Dems. No Repubs. That was my intention. But Lindsey Graham decided to entertain government reaching into the lives of citizens. That added two Ds. Then the DeSantis maneuver added two more Ds. The count is now +4 to the Dems this November.

I am happy to add or subtract if any more politicians choose stupid as their dance partner.

I am the 5th Musketeer, and my name is Chocolatier

repeatedly interrupting my workflow with hot cocoa preparations; I tell myself it is to keep an eye on one of our backyard chipmunks busily supplying its den today; I am guarding against attacks by neighborhood cats; this is the same chipmunk that's been undermining a stone path in the garden; not sure I should serve as its sentinel, now that I think about it; I suspect too the delicious taste of the cocoa has something to do with a second helping...

oh bother!! what if I am, like, Winnie-the-Pooh, only a character suffering from uncontrollable cocoa cravings as substitute for honey?!

Today's t-shirt design¹:

Celebrity culture == monarchical praxis!!


¹ I actually created two slogan tees today; the second being about Autumnal Horniness Syndrome (AHS); I'll spare all y'all

The Princess and the Pea(nut Gallery)

Dear people earnestly reading (writing & publishing, too, I s'pose) the Jacobin piece who appear to only now "get it" -- Why did you ever see a people's princess? Wait, wait...Don't tell me: Hope is the thing with feathers [adorning haute couture?]

To me, this particular instance of (obvious creation &) shoehorning of a cultural icon always felt something like an AOC redux. Regardless, I love you, people... I do... the joy you bring... never change!!


A few (archived) "receipts" follow


glorious autumn, what a day!!

weather moved in right on queue with the change of seasons; temperatures have dipped; my stomach rumbles to the thought of hot cocoa

Whither Summer

Can you smell it, the scent of fall?

Yesterday or the day before I liked a tweet. A tweet whose language I felt (mostly &) positively spoke to the bravery of Iranian women and whose message, in the end, I decided had been shared in the spirit of sincerity. Admittedly, I hesitated before taking action because of the larger context: the contemporary UN meeting and the real chance that outside (western?) forces may've either instigated or will leverage or attempt to prolong protests & violence to meet ideological objectives or create advantage in negotiations.

Alphabet Soup Agencies and their media apparatchiks, they can and have engaged in serious mind fucks & created upheaval in the past.

Stay safe out there, kiddos!!

Anyway, I feel like this is an appropriate time to (again) share lyrics to a song I wrote in 2016 — "Militant P.I.G." (posted on Words page, here)

The scent of fall.


My wife has started doing these in-person meetups to try & bring the listenership of one of her podcasts together. I just instigated a slight modification to tomorrow's meetup. Step 1 of X, underway. This is how & why I get a "co-producer" title. Haha

Pondering "Need"

Is content playing well with an (obviously) intended, target audience valuable? Is it good stuff? well-made? Aren't positive reactions from an audience of cohorts to be expected? self-evident? Wasn't the intention to sway opinion? increase membership, or subscribers, to a cause? to a way of thinking?

If that doesn't happen, then was the content needed?

Club Humanities

Today's notes¹: Mini-scene, certain club members/guests engaged in sport

"What the fuck is that? I can't tell what the hell they are doing? Can you?"

"Appear to be playing a game."

"Where's all the players? All the people?"

"Doing what they can, I 'spose."

"But the goddam field's a fraction of the size!! Stands, too!! That's not baseball; they're not playing the same game; not competing in the Big Leagues at all. I've seen circle jerks with a circumference larger than that infield!!"

"Yeah, maybe so that maybe. But it probably allows one or two of 'em to occasionally hit one out of the park. They all cheer... all believe they're sticking it to the man."

"Christ almighty!!"


¹ Club Humanities taking a back seat to other work today because morning household chores ate hours. Vomited a brief scene; expand later or tweak for elsewhere. Who knows. It's all a gas.

Chores before work today

Recently overseeded the lawn and must water it today. Indoors & outdoors, running back & forth. It doesn't make for an environment conducive to getting work done. At least not for me. The birds, however, are employed fully, expressing themselves with song-as-reminder. Every time I go outside to move the sprinkler and do NOT also fill their feeders their music increases in volume.

I finally got the hint, birds!!

Land of Ahhs AHS!!

Several years ago, Kansas Travel & Tourism and Kansas state officials changed the official slogan to "Kansas, as big as you think." I attended the official function revealing the new slogan and, from the beginning, have never liked it. In fact, my dislike for the new tourism slogan existed long before cynics & pinheads unfairly & inaccurately began casually modifying it to "Kansas, as bigoted as you think," — a phrase that, to my mind, ultimately communicated only their own personal biases & prejudices regarding the Sunflower State. To evidence my claim that labeling Kansas as bigoted, broadly or generally, is horseshit, please take a looksee (or take a gander, if you prefer) at the ADL's Hate Extremism Antisemitism Terrorism H.E.A.T. map providing state-level information.

I don't mean to get off track. Bottom line: Not a fan of the current slogan; I liked & related to the previous slogan: (Kansas) Land of Ahhs.

See, every autumn, since I was a young boy, I fall for someone, get a (schoolboy-like) crush. As I aged & matured and realized & appreciated the absolute absurdity of the regularly recurring seasonal dynamic, I tried making light of it by labeling it with words speaking directly to its inherent puerility and so began describing this period of the year as when I suffer from AHS, Autumnal Horniness Syndrome. I tweeted about this last year, without context in 280-character-limited presentation, under a different account than I am now using. (Tweet is archived.)

Summer ends tomorrow, Sept 22, 2022. Fall then begins... time to buckle up, I guess... here I go... now entering (once again), the land of AHS!!

20-Sep-2022 (last update 21-Sep-2022)

According to plans made earlier in the year, my wife & I were supposed to be in Prague, as of yesterday, for a few weeks for work. Things change.

My wife just shared a story about one of our Czech friends who just returned to Prague from a family vacay in the States. While in the U.S. our friend was unexpectedly interviewed by a local news outfit after showing up at a place that has newfound, but temporary, relevance given its relation to current events happening elsewhere in the world. (Admittedly, being intentionally opaque and light on the details as a matter of respect for our friend's privacy. The locals may have seen news, obviously.)

We would have learned of our friend's encounter in-person had plans remain unchanged and we traveled to Prague. It would have been great to see facial expressions and body language as the story unfolded.

On Mermaids & Inquisitions

I have been bored with recent Little Mermaid discourse. I mean Poe kinda-sorta retconned or reimagined the Spanish Inquisition in the telling of his Pit/Pendulum (didn't he?). And that's—what?—20yrs shy of 200yrs ago, yeah?

And didn't somebody take a dump all over Poe's Pit/Pendulum? Someone of literary significance at the time? Yeats, a little later, maybe? Dunno for certain; I think so.

Too many losers & haters out there. That includes those hiding out in the "arts" too.

Remember though, kiddos, frosting with puffery or any stench of scandal can be productive when ya sell intangibles—what some call vaporware—no matter the format (software, books, politics, films, journalism, etc.).

Who ate my favorite Halloween candy? Who moved my cheese? (Sad!!)

Hell's Bells, it's telepathy!!

There are many traits and characteristics I appreciate & value, that I admire & am drawn to.

Beauty, grace & poise are three. Strength, kindness, & intelligence are a few more. For several days Twitter has been consistently serving me one account under the Who to follow heading and I'm freaking out that maybe the algo is telepathic¹.


¹ Yes, yes, yes, hyper-realists, I can hear your dead-hearted, lifeless, joy-wrenched, sensory-flattened explanatory screeds before you even mutter them.

Update: Club Humanities

All I'll say today about Club Humanities (the most recent and the 3rd creative writing project I'm developing contemporaneously) is that I was suddenly overcome last night by the realization tiny inspirational streams have been trickling in from an old favorite of mine, a film, CLUB PARADISE. Indirect & subtle, but there, nonetheless.

FYI: "I was curious to see what was going on at this perverted passion pit you're running here. This orgy bin. Whatever you call this drug-crazed nipple ranch." is one of the best deliveries by an actor (Peter O'Toole) ever.

Love it!! (RIP, Robin)

Regarding the TBR

My wife has stymied my progress by recommending a book, [TITLE REDACTED]. She says I'll have no thoughts or feelings about certain aspects of the book but believes certain other story elements will really resonate with me. Cryptic. She'll give me no more information than that, and she knows I won't snoop websites to learn more about the story because I usually—mostly—prefer to experience books, tv, and movies with untainted eyes & ears and then go back and see how my reaction fits within a larger social reception of, or reaction to, the material. So, my TBR has now grown by one which is unfortunate only because I'm trying to finish what I had trimmed down to just three remaining books on my near term TBR list before swearing off reading longform fiction over the next six to twelve months in favor of nonfiction & poetry. Currently, there's a lot about sailing & navigation I want to read or reread, as well as several specific history & horticulture & chem¹ titles. I've done this before—temporarily halted reading fiction. The longest period, almost two years, in the 90s. It was easier then, being hyper-focused on climbing (corporate) ladders necessitating an indentured state to nonfiction.


¹ This includes modern/trad chemistry titles but also nonfiction books about ancient chemistry, magyk & witchcraft


Peak Inside Today's Club Humanities Writing Effort

I like the overall direction of this morning's work on the Club Humanities creative writing project. Setting, fine. Tone, eh. I'm unhappy with the language. The words. Too blunted. Too short or shallow to effectively gore a real-world pretense discussed in the narrative. The objective of today's scene: to craft a presentation that so completely disembowels a specific communication practice & style it compels readers to pause and ponder reasons why such affectations are practiced by—and afforded to—certain specific job holders (e.g., art "laborers") in our present-day culture. Ideally the scene would also encourage readers to not only imagine entrails but see them as a tool and consider using the fictional gutted intestines to figuratively strangle any who'd continue the practice being held to ridicule.

I just want to change the world thru my art... as any other laborer does

Weekend Recap, as Breakfast

We had a great weekend, Rachel and me.

  1. Friday: dinner and a LIVE event, beatnik poetry read to jazz

  2. Saturday: annual fundraiser for the Johnson Country Library's foundation, a separate organization funding additional important programming for the community; saw many friends & acquaintances we'd not seen for a while (fuck you, COVID!!)

  3. Sunday: picnic with neighbors; various foods; I made homemade whipped cream, lots of it, so much, intentionally so, there were leftovers¹


¹ Nothing discussed above has anything at all to do with what I had for breakfast today.

I Worry Too Many Media Goons Actually Believe!! (24x7 Sycophancy Would Be More Tolerable at this Stage)

Intentionally not watching or reading "news" today. Just received an unasked-for push notification from Twitter I marked as See Less Often. It is unsurprising how routinely & willingly media—mainstream or not—reveal themselves as appendages of power.

17-Sep-2022 (last update: 25-Sep-2022)

Sorry, some men enjoy Emily Dickinson.

In fact, may be more than one reason why I bought the domain limpdickinson DOT com¹ years ago. But, please, continue...


¹ Do ya think certain folks dislike misandry as much as they dislike misogyny?!

16-Sep-2022 (last update 19-Sep-2022)

No explicit lines from Club Humanities creative writing project being shared today, kiddos. Only this general comment: Sometimes life tosses out unscheduled tests & pop quizzes, opportunities allowing (certain Ivy/Socialist-Marxist) poseurs to show themselves in possession of astounding hypocrisy, cowardice & insincerity guilefully masked by the social cachet afforded to them through (branded) educational institutions and their (over)use of 50-cent-plus words.

William Carlos Williams Impersonation

The following is me riffing on a random thought I had about both a type of poetry and a specific poem, drastically overused, to express themes (confession/guilt/shame) some readers find in the original work; only I am intentionally far more direct & less circumspect in this particular riff. Note: I'm forcing visitors to choose if they want to continue reading by using a collapsible html/css element out of respect for certain family & friends of (religious) faith so powerful certain worldly realities scorch their souls. You—these certain family members & friends—may be disgusted; you've been warned.

This is Just to Say,

Honey, while walking

your sibling's

dog as you

watched "cute boys

throw a

football on t.v."

I met

the hot, single

mom and we

made out (didn't fuck).


Found Poetry, as in: This court finds the poem evidences infidelity and in the matter of the marital dissolution of X & Y we rule in favor of the petitioner.

Surveillance God Boons

Was served these recipes via browser ad.

Definitely need to delete my search history more frequently than I do to prevent my being seduced by recipes inspiring me to join some foodie club that'll eventually lead me into the slender arms (and satin-sheeted bed) of a fellow club member who happens to be a desirable foreign agent intent on flipping me.

Listen, don't let cliched myths & stereotypes of 'Merica & die-hard, rah-rah patriots fool you fine folks. Every cornfed, broad-chested Midwestern male secretly dreams of spilling State secrets to an agent (of a former 'eastern bloc' country) riding cowgirl. The traitorous condition being an unforeseeable consequence and side effect caused by ingesting foods containing genetically modified grains.

Note To Self: Actually, not a bad story idea/element. Also makes a decent, albeit lengthy, t-shirt design: I Ate GMOs and All I Got Was Seduced into Betraying My Country by a Sexy Foreign Agent


Bit of a scene from today's Club Humanities creative writing effort

Setting: a few writers climbing out of a cave, concluding a planned adventure/eco-tourism activity coordinated by the Club Humanities staff

"No. Incorrect. And inaccurate. Better to think of me not as some common firebug content with torching a neighbor's outbuilding in some conventional act of revenge but rather consider I am a serious arsonist, an extraordinary arsonist, extremely dangerous, with the capacity to plan, the patience to wait, yet ready & willing to burn it all to the ground."

"Well, that sounds impressive as hell. Truly. But if I may, I'd like to offer you a suggestion. Before you run off and hone your plans and meditate on your patience prior to your setting the world ablaze you might wanna consider grabbing that Yale degree of yours and using it to clean up your hikers. You just stepped in a pile of bat guano."

How Are You Today, My Brother?

Recently, I drove a couple of miles down the road, again traded at our local Pak Halal market, and received a pleasant surprise.

For a while now I have—upon entering the small grocery store specializing in middle eastern fresh & shelf-stable foodstuffs—been addressed formally by the owners and employees who use the title 'sir'.

How are you today, sir?

Welcome in again, sir?

Would you like to try something new again this time, sir?

But on the most recent trip, it finally happened. It's been days—days!—and I still feel it.

How are you today, my brother?

A Chance at Some Small Amount of Progress, Missed

Sadly, the cruel act of shipping human beings to Martha's Vineyard has been revealed too soon. Such vicious treatment (a political stunt, in my opinion) may have offered a chance at a small quantity of good sprouting in the manure-enriched bed of American politics.

For example: Had the political performance art been kept secret and not reported so soon then local restaurant staff & other service industry workers, those catering to the remaining (Boston) Brahmin grazing the late season grasses on The Vineyard, could have been enlisted to secretly record the real & raw reactions & conversations of (well-to-do) residents regarding their bucolic island being subjected to migrants.

Fam & Friends, I often recall the Nantucket bus I rode in 2019. Traveling from Siasconset to Nantucket (village), I sat across from and conversed with a true & proper Liberal who met my expectations by lamenting the lack of issued work visas that "give them a chance to learn English."¹ (Did I remain calm? not shift out of leisure gear and into overdrive? Ask my wife.)


¹ My wife & I have heard similar sentiments routinely uttered by travelers & locals during our annual extended stays in Maine. There's an old motel in downtown Bar Harbor, it was explained to me by a local that the building had been converted into housing for the temporary summer help imported from elsewhere.

Antique roadside motel-sized rooms as apartments? For how many per room?

The motel may still be there and operate similarly; it may have since been demolished to make room for a new development; I don't know; it's been a couple of years since we've visited Maine. Regardless, if you explore MDI & visit Bar Harbor, I encourage you to find & view the motel and silently ask yourself a few questions; all that's required is for you to open your mind & eyes and perceive things beyond those delicious Whoopie Pies and that jamming band comprised of kind & friendly volunteer-musicians entertaining you on the lawn surrounding the quaint gazebo.

14-Sep-2022 (last update 15-Sep-2022)

A new exercise? New? Really?

The tweet (see image) suggests a 'new exercise' to be revealed in the article.

New? Really?

Um, my formal education is in business & accounting. I've no MFA. No literature degree. I am an unlicensed poet—running wild & rabid or hiding among bulrushes and inside hollowed n' rotted logs as I desperately try to avoid the poetics gamekeeper(s)—and yet, for years now, I've been writing poetry using time limits and other forced constraints to intentionally dumb things down, mute one sense or another, force to the surface otherwise unseeable clarities, uncover spontaneities, or foster peculiar unexpectedness & incongruities that fit, etc.

Literally. For. Years.

In fact, if you go to the "Words" page on this site many of the short poems shared there were created by me using a draft in under 2 minutes & targeting 1 minute constraint. Longtime readers already know this because I used to notate poems that I'd written under a time limit. (See screenshot, below Tweet image, from old site.)

So, here I am, an unrefined, untrained, roughneck poet, operating outside the confines of the poetry establishment, but I may have "invented" a poetry writing exercise before Elisa Gabbert, yeah? Is that it? Okay; cool.

Folks, you may want to consider that the tweet is from Catapult, the parent company of Soft Skull, who just happens to be the publisher of Elisa Gabbert's latest poetry collection, Normal Distance — released yesterday, as far as I can tell.

I recognize the company has a new poetry book out and wants to sell copies. I also recognize the scent of the tweet. In my opinion, it reeks of clickbait-y copy... and the odor did not entice me, did not make me hunger.

Why Blue-ticks Suck, example xxxx.xx

Platformed personalities suggesting there is something wrong in questioning the Biden camp's choice to spend what they did for POTUS to exercise his right to vote are, to put it simply, insincere assholes. Presidential pomp? Unnecessary!! Photos & video footage of POTUS voting could have been taken and shared with the public if there was a sincere objective to remind or encourage citizens to exercise their right & privilege to vote. Grandiose spectacles waft with the stench of authoritarianism, of personality cults suggesting the existence of divinity within the head of state. Regarding the inefficient use of taxpayer money: Again & again this is done, on a bipartisan basis; the cavalier attitude in expending taxpayer money has a long-term undermining effect on democracy; it is dangerous because so often the acts are only nearly visible and they should, therefore, be rightly called out whenever & wherever — regardless of which profile of the two-faced Suckfest Monster that is the Republican-Democrat duopoly being exposed or is visible to the public.

Bit of a scene from today's Club Humanities creative writing effort, pre-workday

Setting: swim-up bar at Club Humanities (think I may move it to another section)

"... I have no desire for fame and the related lightheadedness caused by the height of my social standing wherein I find it too easy to express an unreasonable & inaccurate (self-)righteous certitude and trick myself into believing I am doing good when voluntarily choosing to spread, like manure, war propaganda messaging or when, after being sought out & recruited by operatives of western imperialists who ask to me to play the part to secure the capitalist State, I agree to join the great circle of mages incanting illusions entrancing billions the world over in a complex spell..."

13-Sep-2022 (last update: 14-Sep-2022)

Two Kansas Dem Candidates Will Now Receive Votes From Me This November

As you know, Family & Friends, I wasn't planning on voting in November¹. However, for those of you eager and working for Dem votes this Nov, you'll be happy to hear that I will now be voting for two Dem candidates. I'll not say which candidates I'll vote for. (Jerry Moran, your challenger's pollsters can now put a +1 in their column).

Family & Friends, you can thank Lindsey Graham (a walking repugnancy masking as a Statesman) whose introduction of an anti-abortion bill nudged me toward the decision. If any other candidate or politician wants to do something evil, wickedly calculating (i.e., employ crass tactics to pander for votes) or that fosters, encourages, or allows government overreach restricting, dictating, or controlling decisions, behaviors, or activities regarding the most intimate & personal areas of a human being's existence, then I am happy to respond to your single vile, stupid & cruel act by casting two more votes in protest this November.

P.S. You're a putz, Lindsey. And, no, I won't address you as Senator. In fact, I am physically unable to.


¹ Recall I did vote in the August primary and the ONLY measure I voted on was to preserve a woman's right to choose.

Trying to work; however

A second computer screen is filled with inspiration guiding my hand toward a creative writing notebook adorned with a white strip with black ink—printed by a label-maker—that reads CLUB HUMANITIES WORKBOOK, in which I am scribbling notes & lines down, like:

"A mere four days ago, they were pissing on a dead Royal. On the day the monarch died. And then simpered and mewled when some suggested they were being unkind or uncouth. Now some of these very same people are crying again, filling their millennial-fit, adult diapers with their own tears over the death of an "auteur." The pendulum is fierce, my friend. The constant vacillation, between a cold fragility and a too cool irony. It's remarkable."

Fam & Friends: A Progress Report

Hey!! Had to travel, briefly. Still, I found time and made progress on both the development of the Club Humanities™ story and related, necessary things. One cover design¹ idea follows.


¹ During a phone call, after initial post, I decided to share a second cover design idea.

08-Sep-2022 (last update: 09-Sep-2022)

Just A Little Something on the Events of the Day

I am a simple man. So, I'll keep things simple.

I grew up a poor kid. I hate the deliberate policies, systems & institutions created to keep Earth's people poor and powerless while, ironically, providing some room to maneuver and a measure of cover for (certain) members of the "ruling" class to signal & suggest they are caring or are working to improve things & make change. I want oppressive systems diminished or, better still, crushed, burned & the ashes pounded into the ground. But celebrating the death of monarchies—even those in disguise—and celebrating the death of a monarch are not the same thing. Of course, I did not performatively lament the death of a monarch today like so many institutional outlets and their puppets. But neither did I performatively celebrate the death of a woman fate & circumstance made a queen. Now, I'll absolutely recognize the right of anyone who directly suffered—persons impoverished, harmed, & killed because of decisions & actions a monarch & her government made—to experience some sense of emotional relief and advance a step toward some sort of healing after hearing today's news. But I'll not extend such understanding & tolerance to the Clout Chasers, social media perma-child courtiers spewing jokes & vying for attention and desiring to be upvoted and crowned King/Queen of the internet for the day.

I may be a simple man, a dimwitted, grunt of an infantryman enlisted in the class warfare army, but even I can tell the difference & can recognize who's who and what's what.


I remember it all as though it were yesterday, because it was, in fact, yesterday when subsets from the membership of Club Humanities™ were suggesting they held degrees that were in the best position to show humanity a better way; that their educational backgrounds offered a foundation for lifelong learning (as if any degree at all is needed to engage in and pursue lifelong learning); when they, so full of passion & righteousness, intimated—via their bleating (posts)—they were of nobler mind & spirit.

Today several Club Humanities™ members seem to be chomping at the bit for opportunities to earn a little clout among the Club's peerage and are salivating over all the shitposting to be done about the health/death of Queen Elizabeth II.

KUDOS, kiddies. And bravo for evidencing so quickly & willingly.


Had an indulgent weekend and then overloaded on carbs (hashbrowns + waffles) on Tuesday night during dinner with The Moms™ and so my wife & I enjoyed a Stay-at-Home Date last night that included a simple, low-calorie dinner & a movie, OPERATION MINCEMEAT, that we both enjoyed.

KUDOS to crew & cast!!

** Operation Mincemeat (Mild?) Spoiler **

I enjoyed the love story arc—the other hidden war (of hearts, one belonging to a married person) coinciding with the hidden other war (intelligence/deception op). I don't know how much of the relationship narrative was fictionalized; regardless, the portrayal resonated with me. I found it touching, and very real. Again, KUDOS to all the crew & cast!!

As it turns out, my wife and I have recently watched several movies casting Kelly Macdonald. I discovered this only after performing a bit of research today. Most recent watch was last night, OPERATION MINCEMEAT, and prior to that NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN, in Aug. Sending out gratitude and a hat tip to the actress via music, Glasgow Kiss¹.


¹ Simmer down, behavioral police. It's an innocuous theatre kiss, here. It's not THAT kind of Glasgow Kiss. Chill TFO!!

07-Sep-2022 (last update: 09-Sep-2022)

Int. Conference Room — Day.

A meeting, in-progress. Geoff (me) sits next to a woman his age, dressed professionally and grimacing.

LAWYER: I can't believe you don't remember the differences between 501(c)(3) and (c)(4) organizations.

GEOFF: Well, it could be that I am extremely high right now. Or drunk. Or both. Or maybe... just maybe, I forgot, because it hasn't been important to me until now. Regardless, what you're saying is that it's your professional opinion it should be a 501(c)(4), because of the political slant... the likelihood of interfacing with or alongside various other political or activist organizations? Is that it?

LAWYER: I don't specialize in entity formations; so, I'd want to read up a bit and research it a bit more—

GEOFF: Well, yeah!; I mean of course you would, right?; billable hours and all; I get it.

LAWYER: I can have my paralegal, Bill, start completing some of the basic stuff. Tell me again: What is the name of your cause... the organization's name?

GEOFF: Oh FFS! Just Let Sanna Marin Dance, Dammit!!

No Bullseye, Still Pleased

Reviewing/Analyzing pics my wife took of an activity from this past weekend: I tested a bow, a recurve without sighting.

Outdoor target, set 40'¹50' off. A gentle breeze.

Goal: 7 arrows<1 minute.

Results: No bullseye. 4, red; 2, blue/turquoise; 1, navy/black.

String slap on one draw/release. (OUCH!)

Still pleased overall. (Decent grouping, LL) from


¹ typo; fat-fingered the 10-key; oops; my bad

What is good in life (cont)?

Hinted at a character in a story I'm writing with intention and watching certain members from the Read More [Bad/Impure/Unsettling/Imperfect] Characters and A Story Character's Values/Ethics Aren't Necessarily Those of the Author (i.e., hardcore Humanities degreed) crowd become discomfited, visibly squirm, and begin circling the wagons (to use an outdated phrase) when confronted with a character challenging what this cohort values & holds as precious truth(s). It's as if a subset of members from Club Humanities™ believe they have some exclusive right to hold other human beings to a different, higher standard, expecting other people to simply "grow up" or not become offended or be put off when someone from their clique creates a thing that pokes, cajoles, disrupts, or challenges certain—traditional, or not—sensibilities. But change the scenario, alter the pattern, flip or reverse the situation in a fiction-as-substitute for a truth, and move against their (Club Humanities™) shibboleths & biases and the myths they repeat to themselves like daily secular prayers and almost immediately they respond with micro-aggressions, exposing their insincerities & hypocrisies in the process.

To these, hypocrites & liars: the project will proceed. It now must. (This is going to be enjoyable!!)

From yesterday's draft, not adding any text from today's pages; RE:

"Have your opinion; think what you want. But I'm more convinced than ever. In fact let me put it to you this way: if Themis and Tiamat met and manufactured a binding destiny guaranteeing any negative consequences resulting from an offline Nord Stream 2 pipeline would impact only American citizens with Humanities degrees who are living & working in Europe, then I would absolutely throw a little money at an online fundraising campaign with the objective of buying airline tickets for their mutuals still residing in America so they all could freeze together. My money's on the genre writers surviving the longest. They'll consume the philosophy grads first — and the remaining cohort members will applaud them for it."

The Euroboros™ (Ride the snake)

Thank God! for the expanding nature of NATO, a hindrance to those ever-increasing number of serpentine segments forming The Euroboros™ from swallowing neighboring bits during constrictions.

"Ride the highway west, baby / Ride the snake, ride the snake / To the lake, the ancient lake, baby / The snake, he's long, seven miles / Ride the snake / He's old and his skin is cold / The west is the best / The west is the best / Get here and we'll do the rest"

There Can Be Much in a Short Walk to the Curb

Prepared breakfast for last night's supper. It was Tuesday, dinner night with The Moms™. Waffles with proper maple syrup and fruit were served as dessert.

I could only appreciate our (very human animal) post-meal cleanup this morning, while taking the waste & recycling bins to the curb. (Holiday weekend pushed pickup out a day.)

Squirrels have continued littering the entire yard with bits of walnuts in preparation of seasonal change, while—at some point yesterday—an unknown quantity of birds that had found nearby mulberry and raspberry and blackberry bushes engaged in a coup de main. Targeting the defenseless lid of our oversized recycling bin, birds-as-bombardiers dropped payloads of berry-enriched waste onto the bright-yellow lid, embossing it and creating a relief map of violet shades that reminded me of a violent scene captured in an old photo of Dresden, post-raid.

06-Sep-2022 (last update: 07-Sep-2022)

Q: What is funny in life?

A: Radical leftwing podcast hosts who appear to have accomplished little of substance other than enriching themselves (i.e., the few¹, the proud, the "dirt bags").


¹ Enriching the few... is that not the overall result of capitalism as currently practiced? A condition one would expect actual (true? earnest?) radical left-wing activists to oppose?

Q: What is good in life?

A: Writing¹ (WIP) dialogue.

"Have your opinion; think what you want. But I'm more convinced than ever. In fact let me put it to you this way: if Themis and Tiamat met and manufactured binding pre-destinies guaranteeing any negative consequences resulting from an offline Nord Stream 2 pipeline would impact only American citizens with Humanities degrees who are living & working in Europe, then I would absolutely throw a little money at an online fundraising campaign with the purpose of buying airline tickets for their mutuals still residing in America so they all could freeze together. My money's on the genre writers surviving the longest. They'll eat the philosophy grads first — and the remaining cohort will applaud them for it."


¹ Edit, round 1:

"Have your opinion; think what you want. But I'm more convinced than ever. In fact let me put it to you this way: if Themis and Tiamat met and manufactured a binding destiny pre-destinies guaranteeing any negative consequences resulting from an offline Nord Stream 2 pipeline would impact only American citizens with Humanities degrees who are living & working in Europe, then I would absolutely throw a little money at an online fundraising campaign with the objective purpose of buying airline tickets for their mutuals still residing in America so they all could freeze together. My money's on the genre writers surviving the longest. They'll eat consume the philosophy grads first — and the remaining cohort members will applaud them for it."

A Tale of Two Senders

It was the best of (Subject) Lines, it was the worst of (Subject) Lines, it was the Sender of wisdom, it was the Sender of foolishness...

It has been more than ten years since I enrolled in and attended the very first Modern Poetry (ModPo) course offered to the public via the Coursera platform. Ever since that inaugural course, my late summers begin with a light rain of emails that turn into a downpour of messages as the year advances into Fall. A flood without posing a danger to me, without possibility of drowning my mood and well-being. Now, any other email sender engaging in this behavior (still sending me emails ten years later) would piss me the fuck off. For example, and for some unknown reason, Brooks Brothers has started emailing me again and today I will unsubscribe and add them to a Block Sender list. But not Al Filreis. Every year, as summer wanes and the dry ground hungers to be fed a consistent water supply, the recurring annual ModPo gang's drip marketing (comms) campaign sent to this former student does not annoy. Again & again, Al Filreis & Co get a free pass and do not impel me to Unsubscribe.

Find you that someone or something blasting your Inbox with a frequency that would, in any other instance, be a nuisance-level event and yet does not bother.

Work & Play

A weekend of some work and a lotta play. GREAT! holiday weekend. The weather: close to perfect. Hope everyone shared it with someone they love.


Enjoy Labor Day Weekend

Lots going on. In and around KC? Irish Fest, kiddies. 20th year. I still recall year 1, or was it year 2?, when it was down along the river after heavy rain, a mud-fest (I stepped out of one of my shoes when my foot sank), and there was nothing but smiles & good times. Just smiles and kickass music, as I recall.

To my folks, my family & friends: Have a great Friday & holiday weekend. Look forward to seeing some of you at the vineyard, others at the Irish festival and still others of you on the backroads. ✌️ O||||||O ✌️

Regarding the Overabundance of Bullshit

Most of the bullshit is weeks-old news; however, the manure has been disturbed—stepped in, again & again, during the last 48hrs—because of the POTUS speech—and the odor suffocates.

Democrats spend millions to elevate & prop up Republicans that Democrat party elites & operatives & mouthpieces often aggregate into a monolithic opposition and refer to as (2020) election deniers or authoritarians or (semi-)fascists. Democrat insiders then write Opinion pieces¹ and engage in online punditry warning there is imminent & grave danger in America's future if a person doesn't vote Democrat in 2022.

Really, WTF?!

If these (MAGA) Republicans are such a danger, then why were (MAGA) Republicans supported with Democrat party money in August? Why are Democrats supporting people they are trying to convince me are dangerous ideologues² idealogues? Or is it that Democrat insiders & party elites don't honestly believe the dangers are of a magnitude they communicate and are simply engaged in electioneering scare tactics to manipulate voters (i.e., disrespect voter intelligence)?

I voted NO on the Kansas Amendment in August '22 '20 to uphold a woman's right to access everything modern healthcare & science offers and ensure the state could not override a woman's intelligence & freedom—her agency & autonomy. I would vote (& will, if necessary) the same way again. And although I do not plan, as of this writing, to vote for any Republican or Democrat in November '22 I could and can be swayed to vote for any reasonable Republican if only to send a strong message to Democrats that I do not and will not support the duplicity in advancing so-called fascists, authoritarians or election-deniers in primaries as a precursor to adopting & embracing scare tactics & fearmongering & paranoia-peddling as strategy for a general election.

Sorry, Democrats: you are either clueless & dangerous yourselves for supporting & bolstering actual dangerous people, election-deniers, semi-fascists & authoritarians in the primaries OR you are manipulators or liars and don't really believe the fear is that substantial (and that's why you stupidly aided them monetarily) and just need me & others to acknowledge & accept a bogus poison & then purchase & drink down your snake-oil curative.

¹ Thank you for this weak-ass Opinion piece, Secretary Reich. With this weak sauce, I find your contributions to adult conversations remain of less utility than had you arrived with Silly Putty or, say, a Slinky.

² Initial typo caused by autocomplete; not my doing—not this time.



Up working since 3:30AM. A little after 8PM now and looking like 10PM finish, at the earliest. Ugh! my ass is dragging. Did make time to get in a 4mi walk; if I hadn't, I imagine I'd already be snoozing. Starting Sept. off punching myself in the face, I guess.

RCV Pushback: Pretense v. Reality

The Pretense

"OMG! What in the hell is this Rank Choice Voting (RCV)‽ I think it's a fraud. It must be a swindle. I'm certain it's a fraud... a boondoggle! Listen, we're going to shut it down. We need to investigate this phenomenon, verify the lizard people—the ones who live underground; you know, the aliens who'll one day ride to the surface on the backs of sewer-dwelling alligators—aren't responsible for putting this system in place."

The Reality

They know a shift will occur under RCV methodologies; that the people will voice their preferences & desires, and elections will enjoy results like:

  1. Piece of driftwood (write-in)

  2. Dried cloaca of a now-extinct species used in ancient fertility rite ceremonies (write-in)

  3. Famous person's cat (write-in)

  4. Most recent viral memed image of a famous person's cat (write-in)

  5. Whatever Democrat candidate was running

  6. Satan, but as a baby, wearing a cloth nappy, and a tie-dye top (write-in)

  7. Whatever Republican candidate was running

About copper. About Chile. And, therefore, a little about us all.

With Chile the world leader in copper reserves the new, draft, climate-friendly constitution may be a blueprint, as some will frame it, that accommodates and incorporates environmental matters & conditions as human rights; however, the new constitution has strategic & tactical implications reaching outside Chilean borders when one considers the necessary pragmatisms required to implement a green economy globally. Such implications are far-reaching or intricate or both — in my opinion.

The dynamism of social, political, and economic interests & forces at play (both pro & con) with respect to the proposed Chilean constitution... wow!!


Note: I have read articles & reports regarding improving efficiencies in copper usage in design & manufacture (demand/supply). Promising. Still, while historical and more recent demand/supply calculations & forecasts are likely to change (toward the better, given innovations) I have not yet changed my position about relative importance of copper reserves should individual nations begin retrofitting existing (or developing new) economies around climate-friendly narratives & approaches in a globally coordinated manner. I have previously shared (on this website and on Twitter, last fall, I believe) 2020 copper reserves by country stats. Here's 2021 numbers, from Statistica.

Nothing in this post should be viewed as investment advice. I have no crystal ball; I can't see the future, obviously. I have been talking with family, friends & close associates about copper's place in the green economy for several years and am interested in & engaged with this aspect (and other aspects I don't discuss publicly) regarding a Terran shift to a green economy. I am as curious as the next human how it will all shake out. Cheers, Geoffrey

A Sonic Treat

I enjoyed the nicest surprise yesterday. Unexpectedly into my online orbit entered a short video of an Italian actor playing guitar and whistling & humming bits of Ennio Morricone's theme song for the film The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. The short video is a remarkable bit of lighthearted entertainment in itself; however, it ended up having a larger impact. My father's death date recently passed and so I have been thinking of him and, also, recalling a friend's father (also now deceased) who served as a sort of substitute dad to me & other teenage boys included in our cobbled-together brotherhood of mischief. Both men loved Spaghetti Westerns.

I can't whistle for shit but since watching that vid I've been humming Morricone's theme best I can do — for almost 24hrs now.

Societal¹ is fine

That's it. That's (this entry as substitute for) the Tweet.


¹ Here's me being societal-able: kindly go fuck yourself.


Laughing at the pearl-clutching public ineffectuals (again/still)

I reshare the following graphic in different venues about every six or nine months. I created & originally shared it in March 2016. A person reading the text in the graphic quickly understands why there was no way in hell I was going to waste my precious life & time enthralled to a four-plus year timeframe of spazzing. The writing was on the wall. But a shitstorm was made worse still in my opinion by certain persons willfully creating a collective, cultural paranoia & then choosing to smear it into the fabric of our society. And people are still doing it. Christ! Lady Liberty's children's need for constant drama as distraction and paltry substitute for a true, meaningful self-worth is comical.

Would be fascinating...

Given disparities in reporting certain crime statistics (lack of consistent reporting standards the FBI has, as I understand it, sought to correct and better define; murders not homicides often being the stat submitted (to FBI) for tracking/reporting; any political & administrative dynamics & pressures of localities that may impact classification & reporting; etc.) it'd be fascinating to do a long-term, robust, longitudinal study and then prep a comprehensive analysis of 'bubbles of civility' vs those communities that shall we say—in recognition of the effete—are beyond the pale.

Example of bigoted language, in my opinion

In my opinion the manner in which the tweet's language paints regions ("states & communities") reads to me as bigoted, of a tonality beyond partisanship; disgusting & repugnant in its arrogance or elitism or both; reminiscent of an Antoinette-esque us v them (others); the messaging within the text, a physical manifestation of ugliness¹


¹ no! not suggesting an ugly physiognomy or physicality but a wretched interiority

What gets measured, gets managed

Trash pickup yesterday. We're down from our Covid-era rubbish production of one bag/week. Our two-person household has returned to generating about one-half bag/week for both of us. The average will increase a bit when, later this year, I factor in and account for two larger trash day events where we'll drop off larger items at a community-owned & operated facility. I have been tracking our household waste production for many, many years now and though it provides comfort in the form of a record of our attempt to manage our ecological impact¹ it is also now producing regret or anger or confusion I can describe in the form of a question: Why are my wife & I paying as much as my neighbors for rubbish removal when we produce approximately one-half to one-fourth the rubbish per person?!

WTF‽ indeed.


¹ my recordkeeping system for this is, admittedly, imperfect; for example, it is difficult to accurately account for waste we generate when dining out, which we did less often during COVID—hence the increase in HH waste created during that period that I could measure directly.

30-Aug-2022 (last update: 31-Aug-2022)

From, dated 08.30.2022: "Stephen King’s New Book Is the Best Kind of Page-Turner"

Umm, I won't fall for iffy headlines the way Stephen King has. (See here. Here. Here. And here. Etc.)

Sex workers (as small businesses) deserve a break

I don't understand why sex workers must routinely take shit and face down social judgments & pressures when all they do is sate physical desires—ideally always under terms negotiated in an arm's length exchange—and, arguably, provide some measure of psychological & emotional comfort, too, while book reviewers working for online magazines routinely engage in the tawdry peddling of western ideology & cultural propaganda that's merchandised to society in the form of mass-produced & heavily marketed novels published by mega corporations.

(Quasi-)Kinesthetic Learning

I just tested Twitter's new Circle functionality by sending a brief Thank You note¹ to a few folks whose author/title recommendations I came across recently and were sufficiently forceful or inspirational to compel me to make a note of the recommendations & add these to my TBR list (or have, indeed, since read).

Curiously, one does not need to formally "Follow" a Twitter account to add them to one's Circle. Not sure how I feel about that; insufficient time to think through myriad ramifications. I am also interested to see what happens when I delete² these accounts from the Circle, in my case, effectively deleting it entirely via removing all members I temporarily added to test the new functionality. Will the Circle post become public? Delete?


¹ Per Twitter timestamp Circle Tweet sent at 12:36PM (my local) on August 30, 2022.

² I removed the three accounts I had temporarily added to create my Circle at 12:55PM (my local) on August 30, 2022. The Thank You Tweet remains posted; I can see it in my feed. It still contains a message: Only people in @SIXSTRINGcpa’s Twitter Circle can see this Tweet; however, there are no remaining members in my Circle after deleting the three accounts I added as a trial to test the functionality. Curiouser & curiouser.


Well, I'm totes fucked now, I reckon

No, it's not a contest to see who has it worse...

It's that time of year when I am completing registrations for various economic development conferences & tradeshows & video meetings and cursing, as an aging man, that economic development is routinely shortened to ED — as though with every attendance form submission I am, somehow, tacitly encouraging the ossified finger of some sex-organ-focused Fate or Fury to approach & then curse me with emaciating touch.

Be gone, Shade of age! Away, daemonic biomechanical clockwork!! Ba'al of Flaccidity, grant me safe passage through your kingdom, to travel your highways blessedly unharried by foul robbers & thieves. I beseech you, Asparagus, ancient demigod of aphrodisiacal veg, grant boons...

29-Aug-2022 (last update 09-Sep-2022)

You will be unsurprised to learn, family & friends, that I, once again, will not be reading either the new Rowling or the new King. And I absolutely & wholeheartedly encourage you to buck cultural norms and the social(-networking) pressures & marketing dollars employed and fight against the overly commercialized publishing establishment's book-factory approach to "art" and disregard their latest efforts.

Go! Find yourself an indie writer or a lost author recently uncovered or translated.

Update to Best Partner Ever

Awesome jam session!!

Best Partner Ever

To each their own loves & commitments, attractions & gravitations, tastes & preferences. For me, one such example is sharing a late Sunday night with my wife & partner and watching Randy Rhoads: Reflections of a Guitar Icon¹. Going to make the most of the surge of old memories & feelings and take something meaningful away from the rock doc: some time away from the internet; save for music, and it's going to be metal, and loud — and mostly Randy².

God bless ya, RR!!


¹ Link to documentary's page

² Link to music video of "Flying High Again" by Ozzy / Randy


Not going into details but the gravity & complexity & more of loving more than one person at once (situations similar to Juliette Binoche news) has me...

Good Morning

It rained last night. Morning grass glistens in cliched ways. Which is fine since I just finished spending ten minutes staring out a window and watching two squirrels and a single rabbit engage in what my mind perceived as play. Glorious.

Also, I had the dream last night wherein I stood at a desolate crossroads and met Inkwell, the demigod of literature, who granted me a single wish so I could "correct one impurity tainting any written endeavor of humankind" and I replied to Inkwell in all earnestness, "Alighieri hadn't the benefit of living in modern times, lacked the awareness of realities revealed by the application of science and technology; there are not multiple circles of Hell; there is only a single cliff from whose precipice a person may fall evermore into the darkest Abyss... and that is the JCO Twitter feed in which there is an unnatural abundance of cat photos. If you truly are a demigod, fix that!"


A story about a guy who makes excuses and won't tell HR the actual reason he refuses to return to—and work at—the office, post-pandemic.

It's because he slouched during the CoVid-19 era and spent his workdays binging Blue Velvet and then replaced his entire wardrobe and now owns nothing but tees with images of Frank Booth and text saying Baby wants to fuck!

They Are Just So Exhausting

Jesus Christ! I love seeing blue-check Twitter accounts living insular lifestyles made manifest by scarcity economics who babble like fucking morons & attempt to preach, & minister, & school the masses. It is one of the best laughs out there at present.

Strange (Ineffective) Semiosis At Work

Displaying ketchup on hot dogs is a bizarre motivating tactic. Is squeezing puerility onto frankfurters going to energize the GOP's (voting) base? Does someone think this? Really?

Mustard, of course, rules — as all hot dog afficionados know. Even sriracha or mayo or chunky salsa outranks ketchup as a meat-in-tube-form condiment. Hell, a naked wiener (no double entendre intended, promise) is better than one slathered in ketchup. The GOP would've done better to engage disaffected folks by telling them Joe Biden is responsible for domesticated cats (which are daemons prowling the material plane of existence).

26-Aug-2022 (last update 27-Aug-2022)

An example of me editing (for harsh human realisms) as I write the draft

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be fucked hard by hotties. Blessed are the hotties, for whom even peacemakers shall lust hard.

An example of me editing final draft (still focused on harsh human realisms)

Blessed are the hotties, for whom even peacemakers shall lust hard.

An example of me imagining my response to changes suggested by an editor were I ever to pursue trad publishing

"Blessed are the hotties." Modern slang, here; like, snaccs?

Stet, or I find you a secluded, forever-home in newly poured cement :)

Curiouser & curiouser

Were any & all underlying assumptions (and, therefore, any & all biases & value judgments) incorporated into Elon's thinking (i.e., formal predictive model?) explicitly communicated, such that, if they had been, such bold declaration might have read slightly different, something sounding more like: population collapse due to low birth rates is a much bigger risk to civilization, when measured through capitalism-driven economic growth models, than global warming?

What do you think; is it possible?

I mean is the suggestion that the human species is at risk if an Earth can be assumed capable of producing sufficient food & shelter for a population, say, twice its present size but oddly incapable of feeding & sheltering a human population half the present size? Certainly, the latter condition would present as "risk" or "failure" from the viewpoint of economic growth (i.e., neg. growth rates). But would the human species still be fed? Housed? Clothed? Would it stop innovating? Cease to imagine? Would language halt? What's really the underlying risk? Low, slow, or negative economic growth rates?

Curiouser & curiouser.


No way in hell I believe a person is an enthusiast (supporter) of democracy if they appear troubled by overeducating their country's proletariat. If you are an earnest enthusiast of democracy, then would you not want to overeducate your citizenry and also match such learning with employments providing adequate incomes and sufficient free/leisure time allowing as many opportunities as possible for the people to understand and interact with major civic and economic issues confronting their society, thus stripping away the excuses of ignorance & unavailability (lack of accessibility) and upholding the right of fellow citizens to expect/demand any & all individuals entering polling booths will do so as anything but an "ignorant voter"?

To whom it may concern: you're no expert; in my opinion, you're an operative of the extant State (and state of affairs) at best and, at worst, a fucking fraud.

Thank goodness I grow marigolds the way I do. Which is to say I don't. Over the years I have tossed marigold-seed to the wind after an initial purchase of only a dozen plants. (Let chaos reign; let nature run the course!!) Hundreds in the yard now, with only my reticent hand plucking and uprooting a few to ensure thicker growth where they — the plants — have decided to take up residence. Some marigolds are single dots in the garden, like lone sentinel towers, decoys drawing the enemy to them; elsewhere, thick masses secure strategic points as yellow, orange & red flowering ramparts — all now engaged, defending tomato plants against battalions of spider mites.

Last night my wife returned home earlier than anticipated, and so we enjoyed a short walk in the twilight. For the last 50 yards we were accompanied by a bat flying in ever larger circles over our heads. I'm hoping the little thing lives somewhere close; we've not seen a bat in the neighborhood for about a year now; it'd be great to discover at least one is nearby.


Bachelor night. Fried catfish or chicken from a soul food joint down the road. Me, comfort food and old school outlaw country & southern rock. Perhaps watch a movie, too. Sun shining. JEEP roll'n -- top off!!

Lunchtime. Reading. One of the three books I am presently reading I've read before. I remember it being a better book.

I'm (Pipe) Tapping Out

After a successful 13-month streak wherein I managed to repair or replace any chaos created by unruly plumbing-gremlins, my run has been halted (and my pride bruised slightly) by a non-emergency situation—I discovered a couple of weeks ago—requiring (the specialized tools of) a hired gun. I know what needs doing (mostly), too; it's just not worth the investment in unique tools. Oh well; a decent run lasting more than a year. Still, what a kick to the DIY Homeowner private bits. Called the outfit who did the plumbing at the restaurants because They obviously know plumbing, DUH!

Story ideas abound

Recently a Twitter employee was found guilty of spying for Saudi Arabia. Without presuming or suggesting such acts are numerous, do you think the instance making news is the only one? Do you think Tech Co employees might only limit themselves to "spying" on behalf of governments? Might they do it for the wealthy? For the famous with whom they may be (fanatically) enthralled? An institution or social cause they support?

I've been asking these questions for years, as family & friends & those who have lurked this site & me (also for years, across the various presentations of online incarnations) already know. Interesting (fictional) story potentialities. I think so anyway.

And relatedly (perhaps tangentially), I'm wondering if today's a good day to reshare an instance when a person, whose Twitter account(s) I'd blocked, somehow found a comment I made, screen-capped it and annotated it via a QT in 15 minutes.

23-Aug-2022 (last update: 24-Aug-2022)

Yesterday Is Here!! (¡Ayer está aquí!)

Today I got my hands on a copy of Yesterday by Juan Emar (translated by Megan McDowell). I am already reading several books contemporaneously and so, to prevent myself from becoming distracted, I have allowed myself to read only the Foreword: Juan Emar's Olympic Games, penned by Alejandro Zambra. I am engaged and hopeful and recognize I may be indebted to Hanson O'Haver for turning me on to this author (& kindred spirit?) and what appears will be a quirky, enjoyable, little book.

To any & all readers of this post: Here is Hanson O'Haver's article that introduced me to Juan Emar and impelled me to order the book. To Hanson: I am thinking it likely I owe you a beer. So, if you happen to read this and are ever in KC...

Dear very online liberals:

If you think Dr Fauci did an excellent job and want to communicate your appreciation, Venmo me no less than $1K/each. I'll send him a nice card and one of those edible arrangements with a note of thanks on your behalf. Come on... do it; let's face it, it is not your money; I bet half the accounts displaying 🌊 & the Ukraine flag are FollowBack or sock puppet or slave accounts in service to and employed by consultancies & agencies engaged in digital marketing/PR (persuasion/influence) campaigns.

Two is Too Many

Just found out one of my Guys Night Out groups can't meet this month. And earlier today, while slathering a hunk of bread with hazelnut spread, I saw a squirrel in one of the bird feeders and I went to chase it off and as I stepped on the back porch my naked foot landed on a half-eaten cherry tomato left behind by one of the chipmunks. I'm having two Mondays this week, WTF‽


Today is a Tuesday, the day The Moms have a recurring, open invite to come over and have dinner with us. If my mother has checked this website and read yesterday's post (which is possible because I unexpectedly saw her at the market yesterday and mentioned the weekend road trip) then I expect she will, at some point during the dinner conversation, challenge yesterday's description of my youthful days; specifically, she'll paraphrase or repeat the line (of course, I ran with a straight crowd and so I never experienced such things) and reply to my characterization with "Oh please; as I recall, you ran crooked for a while." Knowing she's likely to make such a comment, I'm preparing a smartass retort in advance; something like, "Do you like the gravy¹? The meatloaf mix that simmered all afternoon in homemade tomato sauce? The garlic bread, upgraded with my signature additions? You do? Yeah? I prepared all of it while tripping fucking balls on LSD."


¹ If you're a stranger to me, then here's additional context: I married into a Sicilian family; one with a strong tradition of owning food & beverage businesses; we call pasta sauce gravy; gtfo!!


Wither, Anachronism

On the way out of town this weekend my wife & I drove past the abandoned Sunflower Ammunitions site. About a month ago Kansas officials announced Panasonic NA had selected a fraction of the site's total acreage as the future home of a new EV battery manufacturing facility. My wife and I drive by the old munitions site often, on our way to Lawrence—in lieu of taking the highway—or as backroads-pathway we creep on our way further south or west via county roads. (It's a fabulous JEEP drive—for a paved road anyway.) The government site was the subject of conspiracy theories shared within certain circles and cliques of high schoolers prone to storytelling and partying and the abandoned munitions site has served as the inspiration for the setting, or near setting, in a couple stories I've written. Some folks say the nearby roads—because they were dark & empty—once served as a stretch on which 80s-era teenagers staged & performed quarter mile drag plays. I don't know and can't say anything about that... of course, I ran with a straight crowd and so I never experienced such things.

When Panasonic NA constructs their facility, I bet they'll remove those old water towers. Those giant steel structures are like stickpins tacking a couple points along the edge of my invisible Self, a thumbtack suturing an astral skin containing memories of teenage-era monsters imagined and later written by an adult.

Man, I admit I sometimes get sad when I think about how today's teens will never know what it's like to sit shotgun in a '72 Camaro roaring like a supernatural beast after defeating a rival creature yet requiring its passengers to roll up/down the windows with a pair of vice grips¹ serving as handle-in-lieu.

Wither, anachronism


¹ Pedants, word-nerds, and grammar NAZIs will trip over my spelling of vice grips. To settle and sate their incurable compulsions and obsessions they want, or need, the word spelled vise-grips; although, to be accurate, they should seek locking pliers or VISE-grip®. They are too full of themselves (i.e., shit) to understand the above caters to a certain audience and in this instance, the correct word is vice grips or vice-grips (because not everyone is a fucking square—IYKYK.) I debated whether to add this footnote. And initially didn't. However, this is the internet and, so, here I am, taking a knee, and wagging this tail and accommodating those suffering from a type of (reading) interpretation myopia.

Water towers located on the site of the old Sunflower Ammunitions site located just outside of De Soto, Kansas

The water towers (background) on the site of the old Sunflower Ammunitions plant. Photo credit: Geoffrey Allison

Regnum of Collapse

Had a great weekend, the missus & me. Blue sky freckled with cumulus clouds. Perfect temperatures. Exploring. Dining. Sharing a bit of life.

I'm writing two stories contemporaneously. The new, second story popped up unexpectedly, while I was gardening Sunday morning before we (Rach & I) reengaged in a couple's weekend. It was born of a simple sentence I used to describe (via Tweet) a photo of one bee (of so, so, so many) buzzing around me that I snapped while I pruned spent blossoms from a butterfly bush.

"With the installation of the new king, and the Regnum of Collapse, came new laws and the sentencing of the Pollinator Peoples, placed in stasis, put to sleep for a thousand years."

Superficially the story would seem to be about ecology, biology & the environment. And while the seed of story is planted in and fertilized by those concepts, I recognized my subconscious had something else in store after my eye fell upon — and my consciousness saw — one word: sentencing.

The story has unfolded as favorable commentary on communication & language and less favorable commentary on the official role of "writer" or "storyteller" as it explores the idea of ubiquitous powers that institutions attempt to guard and hold out as the exclusive purview of¹ too few of its people.

And thus unfolds the REGNUM OF COLLAPSE.


¹ purview of == roles available to or skills possessed by


I'm Disinterested

"I'll take 'I'm Disinterested' for $800, Alex," said one-half of the peanut gallery.


While I am definitely not an expert on the man, I absolutely enjoy reading Kafka. And, so, when I recently read an article in the Nation¹ about Juan Emar, and his novel YESTERDAY, alongside the word Kafkaesque, my intrigue-radar blipped. I finally got around to ordering a copy of the novel from an indie bookstore my wife & I support; it's located nearly smack dab in the middle of Kansas — a little house on the prairie, indeed.


¹ Juan Emar’s Forgotten Vanguard by Hanson O’Haver (Thanks for the tip on this author, Hanson)

Skipped reading this morning

I didn't read this morning; wasn't feeling it; watched a documentary, about the Oyler House, designed by Richard Neutra, and constructed in Lone Pine, California; current owners seem perfect caretakers; absolutely wonderful programming & don't feel a bit guilty¹ for not reading!!


¹ a smidge guilty, perhaps

A Country for Old Men?

If CNN's show 'Reliable Sources' hosted by Brian Stelter ostensibly offered analysis of the U.S. media landscape, then its editorial slant, in my opinion, possessed a tone and theme best described as A Country for Old Men. I can think of no other major media programming less effective at tackling objective analysis of the media landscape—vital and necessary in a media ravenous culture like the one extant in the United States—as a program so insecure it labeled itself Reliable Sources. I don't lament the show being canceled. And if I never see Brian Stelter in the role of talking head mouthing inanities then that will be fine by me.

What America needs is additional high-quality local journalists and journalism and fewer pundits sitting behind desks affixed to national platforms.

I would argue a wider and sturdier net of local journalism catches an improved analysis of the national media landscape and in so doing reduces America's (continued) cultural balkanization, ironic as that may seem. In addition to meaningful coverage, robust local journalism offers residents a sense of pride and identity; the knowledge that they are more than lost & forgotten satellites of a national soviet from whom they must insulate or challenge and defend themselves against; that they are more than lowly media markets too sparsely populated to engage with directly and therefore deserving only of being talked at from a stranger wielding a national blowhorn.

I don't know the new faces and names calling plays and pulling strings at CNN but if I did then I would suggest they continue offering programming analyzing America's media landscape—its processes, and its personalities—but I would suggest they experiment a bit and consider using a rotation of commentators drawn from a regularly changing roster consisting of local and regional print and television news journalists—from mainstream and independent outlets—who are given a national platform to share their particular (local & regional) voices and views about the media-sphere with the nation.


What's happening here?

I've an opinion on the theme captured by the photographer: A genius in sheep's clothing.

What do you think? Who knows, right? Tough to say, really. I mean, internet opinions are plentiful and, as a result, their trade often trends toward and settles near the minimum price-valuation.

I'm Loving It

Andrew Yang reminding the citizenry they can and should demand more from their government seems to be agitating many arrogant, righteous (this way or the highway) asshole defenders of the broken status quo. I'm digging it, if not loving it. Even the meager presence of a symbol of systemic change reveals the true character and wants and needs of those seated in present positions of economic or political or cultural power.

Website update

I'm unsure if the website host I'm currently testing is the one or not; however, I've broken free from Weebly; the sensations of freedom intoxicate!!

17-Aug-2022 (last update: 18-Aug-2022)

Iconoclasm Lacking Here?

I'm guessing the position communicated in the tweet is little different than that held by most people possessing wealth & influence. I'd place people holding it squarely in the Establishment-supporting Status Quo cohort. In my opinion, it is difficult to believe a person from such a clique successfully sends humanity into the galaxy for anything other than the banality of ego or profit.

Apropos of nothing,

LIBERTARIAN / NO TAX businesspersons & personalities & celebrities who enrich themselves on governmental subsidies (funded by the taxes levied against commoners) will be a continued source of social unrest. It is not likely to end soon; not unless shit gets real, for real.


Falling rain raises / spirits lassoed by aircon / saddled on sofas


Spider mites travel swiftly through the colour, leaving pale trails one can follow to their final destination, Gardener's Cope.

Marigolds ravaged by spider mites.

12-Aug-2022 (last update: 19-Aug-2022)

SW v MCU, which offers more? (A: WTF cares)

Alas, Timothy Rosebud¹ has been all but forgotten; little Timothy, wiry & streetwise, whom Burbage hired; unheralded impresario stoking rivalry among theatregoers of different Shakesperean tastes & favorites as tactic to boost overall ticket sales

Alas, SW v MCU...

¹ Dear Constipated Reader: Nobody named Timothy Rosebud, tasked with stoking fake rivalries as PR stunt to increase theatre ticket sales, was a member of the Lord Chamberlain’s Men or The King’s Men. I just made him up. And, maybe, just maybe, I'll drop him in a story, too. Who knows? Who can say?


We weren't our parents. And these weren't dimebags or eightballs. We sold chapbooks and pamphlets on street corners and in alleyways.

04-Aug-2022 (last update: 19-Aug-2022)


Amazing job on Aug 2, 2022. As the voices in the song¹ say:

This transmission is coming to you

This transmission is coming to you

​We've got it


¹ "High Roller" by The Crystal Method



1. No! on KS amendment (Yes on choice)

2. No to any Democrat

3. No to any Republican

4. Regarding 2 & 3: fuck them all; fuck their propaganda machines and those propagandizing for and on behalf of those propaganda machines; let it all fall; let it crumble & burn; let 'em choke on acrid smoke; let the snakes and rats feast on themselves.


The following song blared through the speakers and battled air elementals rushing like cherubim into the cabin of the JEEP while I made my way to a local indie donut shop. With the sun at my back, I spotted a fox loping along the edge of an off-ramp on the horizon in front of me. After trading with the merchant, I piloted the JEEP along the backroads through a wood bordering the golf course where Tom Watson cut his teeth and crossed a creek where a cement pass allows most other vehicles a chance to ford only at low water; there I inadvertently startled deer grazing during the magic hour under the gaze of the beautiful morning star.

29-July-2022 (last update: 30-July-2022)

Sitting here as 10PM ticks by and closing out the workweek with a zero-sugar ginger ale and appreciating my life.

Last week was all about friends: pool parties and Happy Hour socials. This week it has been about family. Cousins, early in the week. And today my younger brother rolled into town for a couple of days. Brought his daughter with him. As the child of my brother and his wife, a Guyanese woman of exacting standards and taste, there was no way this young'n was not going to know and appreciate good music.

During a trip earlier this year, her dad helped her into the back of the JEEP. She fastened her seatbelt. I then climbed in the driver's side and after starting the engine turned to look partially over my shoulder at my niece and said, "The doors and the roof are off. If I play Marley or Tosh, I'll have turn up the volume. Is that ok with you?" And, of course, her answer: a YES! shouted through a smile.

This elementary school age girl is already fluent in Mandarin and tonight just up from ATX to hang out in the 'burbs of KC all she wants is to play The Memory Game with her dad and grandma and her uncle and her aunt. A fact like that will take your breath away. Or it should. We sat outside in front of our library branch located at the Public Market. As a band played outdoors and people mulled around and grabbed food and drink from food trucks and vendors inside the public space, the five of us played The Memory Game. Category: food. We went round and round, each contributing a little something, and spun a yarn from A to Z that included appearances by durian and ube.


On the sixth day God created woman and told her to care for all that had been made. And later that afternoon, after a couple of mojitos and a Cohiba¹, concerned woman would be lonely, God photocopied her using a damaged 60s-era liquid-toner photocopier that left a smudge mark on the reproduction and unintentionally made the new thing appear as if it had one less rib. And God's newest creation then leapt from God's palm, scampered across the polished marble courtyard in the gardens of paradise, and squeaked, "I hold a Juris Doctor degree from Yale; and I am Manhood."


¹ Not one produced in the Dominican Republic but manufactured by Habanos S.A. -- a real Cohiba; this is God we're talking about here.

Note: Family, friends, Executive Directors of charitable organizations: The book should be allowed to be published and not be censored. But if you purchase it, read it, and then tell me it holds the answer, presents the definition and is, therefore, worthwhile, I will disinherit you for lying.


Beautiful but less so than last year. Some blight or something has been vexing several varieties of my plants. Including one of the butterfly bushes. Luckily, I have been propagating these the last two years. The first victims were the new growth asters, earlier in the year. Then a few tickseed fell victim. Now one of the butterfly bushes. It's not heat. I am almost certain. Have not determined the cause yet. They look as if they've been ravaged from within. Undead-like, zombie plants: wan little husks of autofictions. (Ok, I didn't see that borrowed little (italicized) bit --cribbed from a J.C. Oates tweet-- on my radar when I started writing this. Hahaha!¹) Still, bees, wasps and butterflies are plentiful. I'll not blame the foxes and possum for peeing on my flowers. Not until I know for certain.

​What evil brought forth plague to my backyard garden? I shall blame the neighborhood cats: domesticated felines let loose to roam and that are worthless and do fuck all but harry & murder small wildlife for sport until they are called back to some outer planar realm via daemonic ritual.


​¹ About 15min after publishing the above I realized I typed "Hahaha!" near the word autofiction, impelling me to recall the unnamed protag in L. Oyler's FAKE ACCOUNTS, who, if I remember correctly, burps out a HaHaHa in several places. The spelling may be different; I can't remember for certain.

Swallowtail butterfly

Swallowtail (Photo credit: Rachel Berbiglia)

Mirabilis flowers in the morning sun. Red, yellow, and pink.

Mirabilis in the morning. (Photo credit: Geoffrey Allison)


BIG poetry day here in my workspace and, although I can't prove it, I assume it is a subconscious response to wipe from the foreground of my memory the story told to me last night while having dinner with out-of-town family wherein I learned one of my uncles (now deceased, RIP, so it goes) once met Jerry Garcia on a flight and was invited to see a show gratis. Like, I know the stories of a second cousin who yanked stakes, headed west to the CA coast in the sixties and partied with members from certain Bay-area bands before they moved even farther west to live under sun and the shade of palm trees and bathe in Pacific breezes. These stories I've known for decades; I'll take them --true or apocryphal-- to my grave; I'm no fucking snitch; Hells Bells, these stories were inspirations to me; great goddamn source material for reenactment played out on a stage of rebellion. But this uncle? From that part of the family? My mind is stuttering almost 24hrs later. Poetry mellows.

Oh! to be stalked and routinely aped by that tiny hunter pretending, lying to themself (and others), desperately hoping to make real their belief and desire that I am neither consequential nor relevant. For there I am: tall, broad, and strong. Marching out from the shadowy corners of that mind -- growing taller, broader, and stronger still.

Over the last 18mos or so a lot of people have badmouthed Manchin (Sinema, too) or attributed much power to the Senator from WV but on 18-July-2022, only 10 days ago, on this very site I mentioned our plans for an extended autumn stay in WV and I wondered aloud and hinted at blaming Manchin should the great state of WV not produce a brilliant fall foliage this year. Suddenly Joe Manchin does a policy deal. Really? Hmm, is that so!? See there, kiddos, Joe Manchin doesn't have supernatural powers. I do. Best remember, fam & friends, I am a witch¹. One whose hints of curses and hexes if the purples, reds, and oranges of fall leaves are not to my liking can force a U.S. Senator to do my bidding.

category: ridiculous


¹ Deleted content of original The Penised Witch footnote I had written not in malice but (arguably) in poor taste and yes, admittedly, as over-the-fucking-top absurdity via reference to a famous POP culture role-playing game done to reflect my state of exhaustion & exasperation with certain tactics and tones regarding a present-day cultural debate topic. A few lucky lurkers may have acted fast and screen-grabbed the original content; the names of a few suspects come to mind. **waves hands in the general direction of these persons**

Were I contentedly strolling without aim and unintentionally discover certain men & women at the mending wall, with buckets of mortar and trowels in hand, among the boulders that have fallen to each, standing in the rubble of collapsed context, how would I not find some acquaintance, why would I fail to be neighborly, refuse to participate in such labor and leisure?


Late afternoon, early evening. Finished for the day. Visited the garden shed. Retrieved a couple extra-large plastic lawn bags I need for a basement repair project. Walked past the gardens. Bees. Wasps. Butterflies. Everywhere. The sedums and butterfly bushes, thick with buzzing and fluttering life. I am a suburban druid.

Kem Kem now

I perused the data feeds, absorbed news, processed the morning's modern scrimshaw: bytes etching the cultural bone. I found several people from the traditional publishing world talking about writers who have been Booker longlisted.

Personally, I found another subject more fascinating. I looked at a headline (see image) and then performed an internet search to identify better sources reporting on the topic. (The Loch Ness teaser used to communicate is tragic.)

Hmm, plesiosaurs as freshwater-tolerant¹? Intriguing.

I won't say other folks dropping their opinions about the prospects of Booker authors are "doing it wrong." But I will say I am fine where I am sitting; this nest I have built in a tree on the bank of a lake is comfortable; small water, apparently, can do, my friends; and from here my whisky is within an easy reach and tonight I am pouring some out for my homie, the plesiosaur.


¹ Fam & friends, if y'all click that above link to the Phys DOT org site, then be prepared to explain to me why you don't think that Kem Kem plesiosaur does not look like an oversized penguin when next we gather for food & fun, like some of us did a couple times last week when I dug that trench and returned fire -- reciprocating innocent flirt for innocent flirt with that red-haired waitress deftly upselling me on the G&T happy hour special; why the hell didn't one of you stop me?!



I just concluded an extended working lunch where I had my head down. (See following post, below.) I am only now reading this story --a couple hours old-- in Reuters about Kansas, heatwaves, and the disposal of dead cattle. Additional facts will come out as time passes. More details and deeper contextualization. For now, I am assuming the basics are correct (I have no reason to believe they aren't) and want to capture and write down my immediate thoughts & feelings.

As a person, a human being --yes, one who eats meat and who recognizes the irony-- I am a bit twisted in my gut. Mortified and saddened.

As a Kansan who is aware of the importance of the beef industry and familiar with the east v west (side) politics of his State, who can recognize & appreciate the argument for the importance of timeliness and necessary immediacy to act under force majeure circumstances, especially when factoring in and considering extant inflationary pressures on food prices during the period reported on, I want to understand; relate to and extend some benefit of doubt.

As a writer, one who at times is asked to don an old hat and is temporarily employed to engage in for-hire professional analysis, I immediately see the potential for a beautiful fiction of complicated and complex regionalism, of tragedy & determination, of betrayals & successes, of competing interests, ceaseless ambition & constant jockeying for power, of a broader east/west politics burnt into powder and presented to the world inside a crucible in the shape of a square "Red" state located in flyover country.



A handful of loveable idiots plan a search & rescue mission and adventure to locate the secret laboratory they've convinced themselves exists to imprison apes being cruelly objectified and exploited as (underpaid) models by NFT artists.


Notes & Footnotes

Calling dibs², motherfuckers!! I'd be willing to collaborate on the writing, with the understanding that I am not only to be cast in this deliciously romping fiasco absorbing and reflecting the hues & tonalities of PINK PANTHER films and THREE STOOGES episodes but that I also get to star in the lead role: IDIOT #1. In fact, thinking about it all a bit more, all the characters featured inside this frame of utter absurdity should be played by the participating writers. So, a team of five writers means five bumbling characters in the script's adventuring party. I'd for sure partner up with Jack Henry Robbins on this. (No, I am not calling him an idiot. His VHYes isn't entirely outside the vibe I am currently thinking fits this realism-embraces-lunacy narrative.) So, that's two writer-players sorted. (At least it is in my head.) The straight wood needs be identified. The flat board others can bounce and ricochet off -- that accommodates sudden changes in direction or pacing.

¹ A creative work made by a man (me) tugging one thread from the original 12 MONKEYS fabric to explore contemporary life through the lens of comedy

² After posting all the above I took an extended 2hr lunch today; prepared some notes & outlining for this project; fun; fun AF!!


A nonfungible token, or NFT, representing the last Choco Taco being consumed in the parking lot of a truck stop located along I-70 in western Kansas, where the ice cream treat had been purchased by Robert "Big Bobbie" Dittenkamp, a professional long-haul trucker employed by Soylent Interstate Green Internet Logistics, or SIGIL, was sold at auction today for a record $40BB. The winning bidder, a billionaire, promptly backed out of the deal.


The blockchain, broken; the apes, free; vive la revolution!!


Jotting down in one of my writing-ideas catch-all notebooks the following quote I'll use in a future story that'll be uttered by some ruthless but realistic character who sensitivity readers will not appreciate and suggest I either 1) edit and spay or neuter into a lifeless, sexless putty of moral purity, or 2) kill off to train readers into believing that terrible things happen to bad people:

"And what if I told you that any country and culture that doesn't produce an exceptional, high-quality bleu cheese merits its imported natural gas supplies cut and its people deserving of any resulting negative fucking consequences."


In fact, thinking about it a bit, the line can be tweaked for tone to fit a character in The Written History of the Era of General Dramatix and His Army of Sillies

Reviews I Value

I value this stranger's review of THE ISLAND by Adrian McKinty more than I do the promotional tweets pissed out by blue Checks who have a history of overhyping new releases. The rancorous review's conclusion made me laugh: "MANY THANKS TO HATCHETTE BOOK GROUP FOR MY ARC COPY."

Regarding Your Genius

You, a genius, walking the garden path that rings the perimeter of the courtyard in the office park where we both work as you repetitively practice German language basics and master the fundamentals: Der. Die. Das. Masculine. Feminine. Neuter. Der. Die. Das...

Me, a sunlight-tolerant troglodyte, overtaking you on the pathway, having mastered the basics of survival and so ending my studies there: Bier und Weißlacker... mit Brot, bitte.


I am thinking German language and food because it is cloudy and rainy today and so I am leaning toward making a 'heavy' meal tonight, even though it is summertime. Making Jägerschnitzel, one of my wife's favorite meals. My jaeger-style preparation tweaks the traditional. It is my own recipe. And it rocks.

Family and Friends

Rachel and I are fortunate in that our trades allow us to satisfy occasional (and sometimes sudden) peripatetic desires. We've learned a few things over the years. If you're renting a house or condo to stay in a new locale for a length of time and you find a spot certain to become a regular temporary haunt it is important to lay the groundwork and set expectations -- as mild or ridiculous as they may be -- and introduce yourself to members of the community in a friendly manner and as quickly as possible.


Breakfast, the day’s first canto. The chamber music of morning fills the airy, sunlit diner — the atonal sounds of a dozen different melodies jointly composed by café staff and customers.

A waitress grabs a towel and wipes her hands, lifts two plates from the pass-thru, and then turns toward the dining room. She cuts through the traffic and noise, rising above the many melodies like a flute solo played with confident precision, and walks toward a table where a man and woman sit patiently.

WAITTRESS: Here you are. Two waffle specials. (Placing a plate in front of the woman) One with a side of country ham. (Pivoting to the man and placing second plate on the table.) And one with sausage patties.

WAITRESS: (to woman): Can I get you anything?

WOMAN/RACHEL: Nothing for me. It looks perfect. Thanks.

WAITTRESS: Sure thing, hon. (Turns to man.) And how ‘bout you, sugar? Need anything else?

MAN/GEOFF: (Quickly rips sausage patties into chunks and drops the meat like hashish nuggets onto the waffle which he then rolls up like a spliff.) Yes, please. More syrup. A bowl of syrup. Bourbon syrup. Heavy on the bourbon, if the kitchen can do it. Thanks. Appreciate ya.


I can celeb crush on both JK Rowling & Tulsi Gabbard. I am, therefore, not only incorrigible but also unpredictable to Artificial Intelligence algorithms and could bypass its defenses and infiltrate Skynet. Humanity should really focus on doing more to keep me physically healthy and emotionally invested in the survival of my species.

Me, my physical self: (leaves chair, readies for gym)

Also me, my non-corporeal self, a tracer image, a lingering residue of willpower still comfortably in chair: No mándame mensaje, [her]mano; ¡no me molestes!

22-July-2022 (last update: 15-Sep-2022)

Reading VIRICONIUM (series, mostly) by Harrison, again. Recommend.¹


¹ 15-Sep-2022 Update: Initial recommendation was in advance of my reread and based on my previous reading. I checked out the book twice over the summer months and couldn't get back into the story or complete the reread. I recall it being a different book.

This goofball experimental writing project I am doing on-the-side --The Written History of the Era of General Dramatix and His Army of Sillies-- has been more fun and fulfilling than last time I did a real-time, current-event-driven absurdity back when Trump sat in America's Sit-n-Spin reserved for its world leader.

It's between a quarter and half past 7PM Central. I returned home from an inadvisably long Happy Hour stint about 30min ago, started perusing various online places, performed a search for 'Hawley' & 'Trot' and in my mildly inebriated state discovered that Krister Johnson beat me to the punch. Krister dropped the term Hawleytrot last night.

I wish I could say this loss means a lot to me; that I am crushed for having gone to the gym last night instead of surfing the web and regret only learning about the Hawley video this morning and only able to goof around after today's breakfast. Who knows what might have happened -- I may have gotten there first. A Kansas boy can dream.

I am glad I found out before wasting time completing the paperwork and filing it and the registration fee with the USPTO.

​Congrats, Krister. Next time maybe I'll cross that finish line first.

P.S. Let's be clear. My hyphenated version, Hawley-trot, is better. Now, if the junior Senator from Missouri had shit himself. Well, then smashing it all together as Krister did would've made a straight flush, as it were.

TGIF, Fam & Friends

Early this morning I witnessed a fox exit our yard, walk a few feet, and then turn and Hawley-trot™ down the centerline of the collector road behind our house and that sight placed me in a bliss I am about to self-sabotage by logging into Twitter to see if Glenn Greenwald has already composed a 280-character post in defense of the junior Senator from Missouri.

Example of such a tweet I would not be surprised to find: "The floors were polished and Hawley wore dress shoes. Liberals hate dress shoes. Ever since Trump the Left hates dress shoes."


Regarding Hawley-trot™ -- I told all y'all the other day I am going to go Trumpish and trademark shit I say or write. Dumb shit. Smart shit. Meaningful shit. Worthless shit. If it strikes my fancy, I am going to trademark it. And I don't want to jinx myself but I am in negotiations to license my name for use to the developer of a proposed real estate project, a JEEP-owners campground with zip-lines and an on-site laundry facility.

The bit about me seeing a fox exit our yard and then walk down the street this morning is true, fyi. #LoveIt


I understand the appeal of invoking notions of "Liberty!" "Independence!" "Democracy!" "Security!" "Preparedness!" if one is trying to poke the lizard brain of one's followers with the goal of having them slither in some desired direction.

However, I also understand that manic displays of support for an increasingly advanced & ubiquitous surveillance (State) apparatus bolstering a greed-centric culture on a day when one's nation/socioeconomic system has shit out yet another press release announcing a mega tech corporation will further engorge itself on another slice of apple pie¹ (the American Dream) is a performance done by a raging Jingoist Asshole of the 1st Order playing a homebrew wordplay game combining Whataboutism with It's Always Been Like This while hoping nobody notices.


¹ in today's case it is Amazon announcing the multi-billion dollar acquisition of One Medical


STEPHEN KING sits at a table, forlorn and weary. ATTORNEY stands.

ATTORNEY: Your Honor, I direct your attention to Exhibit A. My client was the victim of a prank most elaborate and foul.

The gallery stirs & mumbles.

ATTORNEY: And he has publicly confessed to not knowing who 'this guy Bandera was' and admits his embarrassment, albeit he saw fit to casually name -- without tagging-- other celebrity-victims, including that Trudeau fellow who is, in my opinion, a savage clout-chaser.

JUDGE: If he did not know, why then did he comment — what was his motivation?

TWITTER GALLERY: He's a writer; he needs to read widely.

JUDGE: Quiet.

ATTORNEY: (ignoring the judge's question) Your Honor, it is a well-known and well-documented fact... my client does read. He arguably reads more than most writers.

TWITTER GALLERY: Needs to read wider! He's a writer!

ATTORNEY: (still ignoring the judge's question) Your Honor... the Gallery... some decorum.

JUDGE: Quiet!


ATTORNEY turns from judge to gallery.

ATTORNEY: (continuing to ignore the judge's question) Precisely how widely should a writer read?

TWITTER GALLERY: ​Writers👏 Need👏 To👏 Read👏 Widely👏

Squirrels in the bird feeders. A chipmunk undermining the patio. Cabinet empty of toaster pastry. Only so much calamity a middle-age man can endure.


Is seeing people as cartoons for children, Glenn? Is it? Ok. Fine then. Whatever you say, Glenn. Whatever you say. You're the boss. You are the Duke, A#1.


Fam & friends, the truth of the matter is I suspect Glenn Greenwald and I hold similar opinions on some important things: the outrageousness of U.S. defense spending and the manner in which Corbyn was treated (smeared as an anti-Semite). But Glenn holds himself out as a professional journalist while he, in my opinion, marches to a reactionary rhythm. I have to ask myself: Without the mainstream western press he routinely challenges & mocks & derides & belittles, what type & how much serious game does he bring forth to improve the discourse that might actually improve the world? For me, personally, he's more divisive than valuable as a source of data & information; and I just can't and don't take him seriously any longer.

Excerpted (draft) from The Written History of the Era of General Dramatix and His Army of Sillies, a (WIP) story by Geoffrey Allison ​













me, during or after the rare occasion when I party too hard: [paul_rudd_gleefully_dancing.GIF]

me, after the too frequent occasion of my retrieving the incorrect word from my unconscious or an incorrect spelling from the HOMOPHONIC ETHER™: [limp in my office chair, dried vomit in the corner of my mouth, unresponsive to external stimuli]


The other day I mentioned my having drafted (this past March) a music video script for STABBING WESTWARD'S song "Shame" because I don't like the original video. I realize only now I could have written two video scripts: the one I wrote AND another script with a theme about typos, misspellings, sending messages to incorrect recipients, and similar

Thinking of reading Heinrich Böll's Billiards at Half-Past Nine. My copy is the one with the Afterword¹ penned by Jessa Crispin; it still holds the air-flight sick bag I used as a temporary bookmark en route and then as a permanent bookmark for the remainder of the read during a vacation. I don't know if I really want to reread Böll as much as I am just pondering the writer, the man -- curious to know if he had lived today would he have exuberantly embraced the idea of a disinformation czar.

Recalling now (and, since typing the previous two words, reread) a May '16 article by Crispin in The Guardian regarding the closure of Bookslut.


¹ Afterword, not forward as I originally typed; the error being found when I went to change the spelling to foreword and realized it was entirely fucked.

Note: Perform a Find On/Search Page using "12-Jan-22" to see a picture of my copy of the book and the aforementioned sick bag.

Seeing AOC and others in video footage where they appear to be handcuffed (but aren't?) after being arrested for protesting --rather than say maintain a maniacal focus on legislation and meeting with and hopefully influencing their colleagues, which they can do, while leaving actual protesting to citizens, who can't directly legislate and are not motivated by photo ops-- has got me wondering:

How many Ivy Leaguers are included in the membership ranks of the DSA? I can only imagine the innumerable recent DSA wins were directly attributable to that oh so famous leadership talent produced by legacy schools.


Leadership on the tiller. Smooth sailing, kids. Smooth. Reading this WSWS piece again just makes me laugh.

After that Elon tweet I finally had to block Lincoln Michel's twitter account to prevent his posts from sliding into my twitter searches. Just too damn Gawker tangent. (I'd already blocked Brandy Jensen's account; total rubbish feed, imo -- basically H.S. antics dressed up as self-professed iconoclasm.)

Visited a new website builder to initiate research and testing prior to moving this website and noticed when the page loaded that the company had a Ukrainian flag and some message at the top and I left that website so fast y'all.

Somewhat relatedly, Twitter should allow reasonable people a methodology for blocking users based on the emojis they have in the account names. Blue wave/ball cap fatigue? Click a button, make your selection, and all themed-accounts (especially those annoying AF Followback accounts) are disappeared from your timeline.

Jack Dorsey, who do I send an invoice to for my invaluable idea?

19-July-2022 (last update: 30-Aug-2022)


As it happens, today I learned that Sly Stallone is apparently fighting for (ownership) rights to Rocky.

The wording as quoted in the Times sounds eerily similar to what I wrote back in April.

Me, in a Yo, Adrian voice: So, what about my rights, Mr. Stallone, sir? What about my rights??


Fam & friends, after watching RAMBO: LAST BLOOD I swore off Stallone flicks. LAST BLOOD was violence porn, in my opinion. However, the other day I noticed a film, ESCAPE PLAN, I'd not heard of before. It starred Stallone, but also Arnold Schwarzenegger. In my opinion Ol' Mr. Muscles (Schwarzenegger) has done or tried to do interesting things in film since his stint as governor (MAGGIE, AFTERMATH ('17), KILLING GUNTHER). Because of this I decided to give ESCAPE PLAN a go. Not the best. Not even great. But not bad. And worthwhile, a film with loads of muscles but where brains absolutely lead brawn. I enjoyed the premise of the action film, too. Worth a watch if you've not already seen it. Stay away from ESCAPE PLAN 2. I had a few hours to vegetate the other day and watched the sequel. Stunk to high heaven. Bang! Bang! Bang! bullshit. The male brain all but disappeared from the sequel, succumbed to a macho narrative. Too bad, honestly. The first in the series really intrigued me.


Family & friends, the writerly set is doing beef on twitter. Don't know when the discourse started; the subject seems to be about the need for writers to read widely. Perhaps the topic is about the need for we writers to read wildly. I am uncertain. The latter would be interesting. If the topic is the former --that is to say, reading widely is necessary for writers-- I can tell you, here & now, family & friends, that I'll continue to read banal poetry spoon-fed to me as cultural curative by Papa Press & Mama Media on inauguration day or sold as societal surgery promising to excise political tumors and I will continue to consume literary fiction that goes on incessantly and rather pointlessly for the fact the writer wants me --the reader-- to know that they think themselves incredibly witty and intelligent and I will also position my open mouth at the end of the production line and swallow whole the snake that is the never-ending supply of factory-stamped genre fiction including stories about different factions of space lizards shooting each other with laser beams and written in coded WOKE language by a CIA operative working for the Deep State engaged in an op to distract me --the reader-- from the lizard people actually living in a system of connected caverns just a mile or so under the surface of the earth.

​I confess and pledge to you --my dearest, my family & friends-- that I am going to continue to read all kinds of books. All kinds of words. I am just not going to read things written by people I hate. And that list is growing at a rather alarming rate.


Me (Geoffrey), an undeniable & incurable idiot, standing under the blazing KS summer sun, hitching horses to the wagon: "Wanna make a road trip to Marshfield, Missouri? I hear some of the local businesses, like the DQ & the Mickey Ds, are battling each other -- engaged in a war of words using their signage as weapons?"

My wife (Rachel), not perfect yet among the very best persons planet Earth has ever produced, climbing into the JEEP and tying her hair back: "NO. You're being an idiot."

The horse nearest me: (silently speaking to me with its slowly blinking eyes) "She's right, ya know."

Reading Recommendations

Fam & friends, whether or not you enjoy genre fiction, I am using this single sentence to suggest you read NOVA SWING (Harrison) as an excuse to also reup my recommendation I made the other day about you reading THREE MOMENTS of an EXPLOSION (Miéville).

And Now for Something Completely Expected

Generally speaking, I don't think you could place me in the "pro" Elon camp. That said, ask me if I hold either Lincoln Michel or Brandy Jensen in any higher regard than I hold Musk. Now, for fun, feel free to ask me if I hold the two of them in substantially less regard.

​An excerpt from Lincoln Michel's THE BODY SCOUT: a novel
Lincoln & Brandy, folks. Ha-cha-cha-cha!!

Family & friends, sometimes you ask me why I don't do "X," and the most enthusiastically encouraging among you ask me this often.

I find little reason and therefore possess no desire to chase down, introduce myself to and network with (in hopes of befriending) members from the established writerly set & literary crowd -- either in its entirety or cliques and factions thereof.

Give me scientists; cowboys & farmers; single moms & dads slinging hash & burgers at the local greasy spoon; firefighters & EMTs; cruise ship buffet greeters; professors & teachers; office-cubicle slaves making bank while pissing away their time at work constantly updating their fantasy league teams; addiction recovery counselors; the women & men who day after day toil outside in the highest and lowest temperatures, employed by lawn care & grounds maintenance companies; doctors & nurses; lawyers & drug dealers; accountants; audio engineers; weekend marathon runners who provide temporary shelter to and walk other people's pets during the workweek; brewers & distillers; factory workers & distribution warehouse associates; long haul truck drivers & machine press operators. These and similar I'll happily befriend and accept and reciprocate companionship in the warmest regard & sincerity.

Family & Friends, A Brief Textual Reprise

For days now I've seen written or heard, firsthand, from personal & professional European friends, about the heat.

This incessant whining reminded me of one of the passages from the first of a series of letters home I wrote in 2013. To family and longtime friends it will ring familiarly. To folks with whom I have become acquainted after 2013, new friends & colleagues, you need only buy me a beer and I'll send you the full letter. (It's worth the price, or so I have been told.)

To our (my wife's and my) friends over there, especially those who may've briefly piddled around in the UKIP sandbox: stop yer bitch'n, eh ;)


For Stefan & Kat (for good memories)


Excerpted from "Über Berlin" a letter home by Geoffrey Allison, dated 2013.

18-July-2022 (last updated 21-July-2022)

Thinking about a past business trip to West Virginia, my first time visiting the state. I'd been asked to give a talk to a large room filled with real estate agents and property investors. At the time, my wife and I had already been regularly traveling to New England and felt in our hearts like VT & NH & ME was home away from home. While in the Wild Wonderful on that business trip, I visited a bookstore and discovered a coffee table book filled with photographs of West Virginia. There were several pictures of autumn scenes. I knew my wife would dig these photos (autumn in upper New England is what sold the place to her early in our marriage) and so I bought her the photo book. Recently, New England has felt less like a home away from home. My wife doesn't feel this way as much as I do. I now enjoy traveling via automobile more than flying. Not sure why. Age? Maybe. Regardless, driving to New England from Kansas is a haul -- a pain in the ass, to be fair. So, we have been exploring and hanging out and spending leisure time in other regions. We've been to WV a couple times and have enjoyed it. So, with a trip to Prague on hold (for now), the only planned trip on our radar is to WV this autumn. I just looked at some of the photos in that book I bought my wife long ago. The scenery is beautiful.

Wondering: If WV's autumn '22 beauty does not live up to the idyllic scenes pictured in the art book can I lay the blame at Senator Manchin's feet?

Them, an open-minded, cool-obsessed millennial embracing detached irony who lives in a major metropolitan area: You still drink chocolate milk? At your age? OK boomer!!

Me, a middling, middle-aged (GenX) man from the Midwest, steeped in sarcasm and owning a substantial financial interest in a boutique dairy operation located in a neighboring (and also Red) state: Uh huh; it's almond milk, too. Mmm, delicious!

​Fam & friends, if you haven't checked out HOW TO CHANGE YOUR MIND I'll give it a nod. I've only watched the LSD and Psilocybin episodes of the docuseries but those sufficiently impressed me to want to continue watching when I can next access Netflix.


Not going to beat 'round the bush and spin a yarn, family & friends. While hanging out with a few of you yesterday I got lit -- sunburnt while enjoying a pool party and wicked buzzed from a combo of hard cider & hazy (low IBU) IPAs. This morning my skin feels a bit like I imagine a spent match would feel -- if a cardboard paper stick tipped with a bit of chemicals could feel, I mean.

Wasting away in the swimming pool offered my mind a chance to bob up and down and gave me a chance to ponder more about the rabbit that charged toward me on Saturday evening while I watered the backyard lawn & garden. Fam & friends, allow me to formally introduce you to the newest recurring story character in my imagination toolbox: Cocaine Jones, American Rabbit.

I reckon, based on what I --to use corporate speak-- ideated yesterday while gripping a swim noodle, submerging the flotation device to work my core while performing reverse ab crunches and push-ups between swigs of pineapple-flavored cider, Cocaine Jones will exist in several formal allegories I'll write and make available for wide distribution. However, I have a sneaky suspicion the hasty cottontail, who is obviously the embodiment of the cliched ethos & stereotyped values of suburban America, may become a persistent character in my long letters to home when traveling (like those odd epics I wrote while in Germany and Sweden) and a character featured in very short stories I craft only for all y'all exclusively during/for the holidays.

​Fair warning, folks. Fair warning.




After a dozen years enjoying many rabbits in the backyard--the count of cottontails idling about once reaching 13--we've had several recent years with few, if any, rabbits. (Likely because of new neighbors moving in; neighbors that have two outdoor cats.) I am pleased that this year the rabbits have returned. I was watering the lawn last night and happened to turn my head in the correct direction so I could see a rabbit tear ass 'round the corner of neighbor's backyard and into my yard where the cottontail proceeded to run straight at me at full speed stopping only when he was within about a foot or two from where I stood. If I'd've been paying attention, mentally notated its markings so I could identify it again, then I'd've named the creature Cocaine Jones, on account of the excessive haste it displayed. As I did not make a note of its fur pattern or anything else that might distinguish it from the other rabbits, I'll not waste such a great name for a rabbit. Not now anyway. Folks, if you live in Suburbia, then you should absolutely let your children name their pets Cocaine Jones or similar.

We've a squirrel that's knocking down one of our birdfeeders. The feeder is attached to a hook that rests on a limb of a pear tree. The squirrel moves outward along the main branch and then shimmies down a twig and then releases its grip. Sometimes he lands on the feeder and dangles for a few seconds above some of my mirabilis. Swinging like a clock pendulum. Other times he misses the feeder entirely and powered by a surge of embarrassment scurries off as if he knows my wife and I have been watching him. The worst result is when the squirrel knocks the feeder off the hook. The container topples and about 50% of the time --by my count, which has not been scientific-- the top flies off and the bird seed spills into one of my garden beds. This is a problem because I cannot recover all the seed spilled. And I have no idea if it will be eaten by birds ballsy enough to alight onto the ground, what with those hideous daemon felines the neighbors conjured from some Hell dimension. This unknown quantity of wasted bird food is something I interpret as an unfair tax on my middle-class household. To wit I am thinking the squirrel guilty of knocking the feeder off the hook is a Koch-friendly Republican looking to further enrich himself and his bushy tailed rodent family.

This morning I woke before the sun came out. I did my usual thing and made my way to the coffee pot but before I could begin the process I hesitated, paused at the rhythmic sound.

What. The. Fuck!?

I ambled around the kitchen. Peeked under the sink to make sure the faucet line in the cabinetry was not dripping. Put my ear to the refrigerator to see if it was making some odd noise. Then I recalled that I watered the lawn yesterday (see above paragraph about that cocaine-fueled rabbit if you skimmed that bit).

Shit!! Is the copper line feeding that exterior faucet leaking?

So, I went to the basement, flashlight in hand, the coffee not yet made, my worry elevating -- you know, the usual shit for a CoVid-19 survivor suffering from what is, apparently, the most common, long-haul symptom: inflation. (Thanks Biden!!)

No leak. Thank God! WTF is making that noise?

Then it hit me.

Did it rain last night? Is the sound I hear water dropping outside? From some gap between the guttering and the fascia?

So, there I go, climbing up the staircase, a man who just woke up, who is overtaxed (that fucking squirrel) and fatigued from inflation and frustrated because I have yet to start the coffee.

I flipped the light switch, pulled the window treatment to one side, and looked out through the glass and found the ground wet. But I saw something else, too. An Opossum!! Now this pleases me because we have not had many opossum sightings in our backyard since last year. Last year's possum was incredibly hideous looking. Freaking ugly. So much so that it was adorable. And it spent a lot of time in our backyard -- on the ground and in the pear tree. Once time, while I was gardening, I got to see it travel back and forth from our yard to the yard of a neighbor across the street. It was carrying little possums on its back that I only saw on its return journey through our lawn. Sadly, a car hit that possum.

My wife and I have missed that little opossum. I am a bit stoked to know we may have a new regular.

So excited, in fact, I may have to celebrate by making waffles for Sunday late-morning breakfast.

That's it in a nutshell. Our wild life.



I have many thoughts and feelings --pro and con-- about both the process used to develop the incentive package and the various economic and cultural impacts (likely) produced by the Panasonic EV-battery plant to be constructed in De Soto, Johnson County, Kansas on a fraction of the acreage that was once home to Sunflower Ammunition site.

My thoughts and feelings have been and are transforming into language that I am drafting and am planning to share with KS (state & federal) politicians.

If you have thoughts and comments of your own, I urge you to organize and share them with elected officials and the various people involved.

Right now, I'll only post a comment, a quote, and an aside.

Comment: In my opinion, the local press has done a lousy job presenting critical views of this deal. Reporting critiques and oppositional viewpoints is necessary and important. It comes as no surprise to me that all I have seen broadcast on KC's televised news has been the narrative presenting only the potentialities of the deal -- the anticipated benefits, a parroting of the Eco Dev Spin. One notable exception, print media.

​Quote from a KC Star article:




The old Sunflower Ammunition plant is the inspiration for a setting I have used in several stories I've written. Some of you have caught that and recalled some of the 80s-era rumors about the area: conspiracies of government cover-ups, illicit crops, etc. Who remembers the nearby abandoned rock quarry, the earthen scar that had filled with rainwater and became a swimming hole for the rebellious -- perhaps described by parents and guardians as The Stupid/Foolish?

Fam & friends,

During the period of my business career when I performed Litigation Support services, which mostly entailed my tracing money flows or identifying gaps in money flows in support of one side or the other battling in a lawsuit, I worked alongside a woman who was from the northcentral part of Missouri. I can see her clearly this morning, both her physical image and her mannerisms -- you'll understand why I can if you decide to continue reading.

There was an important client of the firm where she and I worked performing forensic accounting services. This client, well, he used to tease the dickens out of my colleague. (She has a name but my publicly sharing it does not add sufficient depth to this brief share and so I'll respect and maintain her privacy and that of the client, too, and mean no disrespect by presenting them only as anonymous persons.)

Now my co-worker, she gave as good as she got. My memory still stands on firm enough footing that I can say, here and now, that she often fired off the first shot whenever this client entered our office.

In a Missouri drawl, "Oh boy; here comes trouble," she'd say. Or she might say, "Well, I see Trouble wears seersucker suits in summertime."

(The client, an older gentleman, had a flair for style. Flair is an understatement. There was an air of anachronism about the man that attacked all five of your senses. Assaulting them all at once. If one could personify Charisma, then that personification would kneel before this man.)

The client --for all his panache, eloquence, and sophistication-- replied to these barbs in the exact same way: He'd greet her, correctly naming her but always append his salutation and in a mocking tone add where she was from using either a wildly incorrect location or by mispronouncing the town where she had grown up.

She'd pout falsely or feign a grimace and reply: "I am from Brookfield, which is in Linn County...," and jubilantly add, as though employed as town booster or still a high school cheerleader, "Boyhood home of General John J. "Black Jack" Pershing!!"

Anyway, fam & friends, while perusing the Library of Congress website this morning I was informed today's the death date of Ol' "Black Jack" himself, General John J. Pershing, one-time resident of Linn County, Missouri.



SWING VOTERS -- homage to SWING VOTE ('08)

A long-standing polycule of six expands to ten after vetting four new members found via online communities. The group of millennials agree to meet in-person, their first encounter together, for a holiday weekend to be hosted at the vacation home owned by a couple in the cohort. Events unfold as planned but start to go astray when a debate heats up and then erupts into an argument about politics.

Notes to self:

Why ruin a story with potential by introducing politics? WTF?!

I have no idea where this idea is going; it has only just come to me; but it's roasting like a hotdog ​sitting directly over a blue flame. Afternoon could get weird. Who am I kidding? Could? It's going to get weird. Definitely. Rough story points already anchored in my imagination, though obviously not drafted. Only two detailed bits have truly coalesced. And did so almost immediately. One is absurd. No. Surreal? Yes, surreal.

1. End credits: Phantasmic image of Frank N' Furter appears, as if to bless the conclusion, the theme, the film. [Where the fuck did that image come from?!]

2. A specific scene. A few beats anyway. Something like the following.

>>> scene already in progress<<<

TOM continues talking as everyone tries to shout him down.

MITCH: Tom! Tom! Tom! Tom, will you shut the fuck up for a minute!? Please. Listen you're going on and on and on... arguing against the plebiscite... OK.... fine... we all get that... we're not contesting the risks of true democracy... certainly not when the average American can't afford the time to become more knowledgeable about the issues because the average American makes what per hour?... has how much in net worth?... but when one of us mentions our right to protest and have grievances heard given the rotted ineffectiveness of our current representative democracy you immediately caution against putting too much pressure on the politicians who are in office to represent us, Tom. It doesn't make any sense... You don't make any sense.

(Tom interrupts Mitch, starts talking over him again)

Tom! Tom! That's why none of us...

(Mitch angrily traces a jaggedly shaped circle as he points to the members of the group)

That's why none of us want to fuck you, Tom.

Does Tom change his mind? Grow? Remain incommutable? Does he redeem himself? Get laid? The hero's journey.

Excerpted (draft) from The Written History of the Era of General Dramatix and His Army of Sillies, a (WIP) story by Geoffrey Allison









Fam & friends, some of you are history buffs, possessing knowledge well beyond my own; I know this; however, if during one of our approaching summertime dinner outings you engage me, tell me you've read the above draft bit shared, that you have some thoughts, and immediately then stoke your ovens of pedantry of the Lord De la Warre variety, flexing your noted command of history, I swear to God that I'll set my (Happy Hour-priced) Rolling Rock on our shared table, find the restaurant manager, identify you as an unknown person molesting me, and have you thrown out of the Applebee's. ​(I am looking at you, C.B.)

Me, a dufus, clueless to the machinations of power, on seeing multiple job cut announcements so soon AFTER June jobs report release: Ha-cha-cha-cha


For sure, it could be that my focus is biased due to my personal interests & network of friends; however, the job cuts I am noting are office jobs; the type of employment positions Suburbanites really love to fill and whose loss could influence them -- encourage them to reconsider not what they crave (they're absolutely hooked on The Dream [snort it, smoke it, inject it]) but alter opinions about who is in better position to deliver and sate their socioeconomic addictions. I mention this not because I value Suburbanites over other voters & citizens but because '20 election data indicated Biden showed strength in The 'Burbs. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯


A series of nostalgic images transition effortlessly, fading & dissolving, one to another.

Male voice (O.S.): "Fascists" love the peaceful transfer of power.

Female voice (O.S.): So, I know they won't enact their violent plots until they win the next election.

Male voice (O.S.): And that's why I am voting this November.

Female voice (O.S.): Because this time, it is different.

Male voice (O.S.): This time it matters.

Female voice (O.S.): And, so, I'm voting.

Male voice (O.S.): I'm voting.

Female voice (O.S.): I'm voting.

Male voice (O.S.): We're all voting.

Female voice (O.S.): And we're voting Democrat.

Male voice (O.S.): We're letting Democrats know they have our obedience.

Female voice (O.S.): Our respect & loyalty.

Female voice (O.S.): (slightly emphasized; repressed anger) Even if they've done fuck all to earn it.

Male voice (O.S.): Pledge your support to Democrats now.

Female voice (O.S.): Don't give them reasons to work for you.

Male voice (O.S.): Don't hold them accountable.

Female voice (O.S.): Or demand they represent your interests.

Male voice (O.S.): Don't require them to find their spines; keep their promises.

Female voice (O.S.): Vote Blue...

Male voice (O.S.): Vote Blue...

Female voice (O.S.): No matter who.

Male voice (O.S.): In 2022.

Thank you, John Bolton

Shouting out and recognizing John Bolton for saying the quiet bit aloud yesterday and eliciting cringe reactions from war hawks who've been slyly posing as doves for several years now. It's an educational experience, witnessing neocons squirm, seeing them discomfited by exposure to their ethical & moral incongruities & hypocrisies. Awesome stuff.

Thank you, John.

All the Best.



There are many shitty freelancers writing for online media outlets (mostly catering to millennials, quelle surprise). But the shittiest among them read or scrape this ridiculous page of my website looking for ideas to expound upon in exchange for those laughable payrates. I am not merely suggesting there may be unimaginative knuckleheads or that crap ethics may be employed by some so-called writing pros finding it necessary to view some random dude's website, revisiting it repeatedly to peck and peck and peck in search of story (idea) seeds. I am talking about story quality, too. Poor writing. Limp analysis & conclusion. Written opinion so foully executed it'd be diagnosed with halitosis were it ever to be placed under that annoyingly bright light hovering above dentist chairs and tended to by experts in oral healthcare & hygiene rather than jammed into the dark abyss of the meat grinder known as digital media outlet. Just crap stuff.

Folks, the ridiculous graphics below are simply my crass response to a divisive asshole, a man-child riding his (one-trick) pony across the internet while costuming himself as a journalist, the Don Quixote of independent journalism, the...


Several weeks ago, in the month of June, I temporarily updated my Twitter Bio with the phrase shown in the block quote. I wrote it to protest a media personality's use of the term "pro-abortion" -- a word that is often if not always an inaccurate & unfair characterization of the individual realities & complexities surrounding the personal circumstances regarding abortion. I have been meaning to post this to the website since the 4th of July weekend. I got busy. Then forgot.


I just came back from the grocery store and am astonished not only with the quantity of pro-choice aligned signage related to the Aug vote in KS but also the many unique styles & distinct versions of pro-choice signs. The variety, a metaphor? Symbolic of the personal nature of the matter on the ballot?

Finally, finally, finally getting 'round to reading NOVA SWING


To those paying attention to remarks & promises I made earlier this year: I am making a few exceptions to my "In 2022 I'm Not Reading Books Published by the Big Houses" rule during the summertime. Road tripping, holidaymaking, more hours of daylight (I often read books while walking outside, an activity engrained in me by an economics professor I had when at college), etc.


Inflation: X%

GDP growth rate: Y%

Attempting to increase thread count of a nuclear armament-enabled mutual defense alliance in response to the [whispered under breath: Nat Sec/IC] realization that the fabric of complete & total global economic domination by the corporate private sectors of the individual alliance member home country States is fraying and could soon unravel: PRICELESS

or to riff on an older commercial for folks with solid memory paying attention in the 80s


​Do you know me? It's frightening how many novels of suspense I've written. But even I couldn't weave a story detailing the horrific speed of collapse the western economic domination might undergo. It's spooky. Increasing membership in NATO --a mutual defense alliance made more butch by nuclear weaponry-- is the only way to ensure the flame of freedom and liberty...


I wrote. I read. I played around with music. I took somebody to the doctor and burned just over 3hrs in drive-time and waiting. That's what I did yesterday. I didn't pay attention to the news and so (until moments ago) I had no idea what Jill Biden said when I prepared my breakfast today. The report stated that FLOTUS compared people to breakfast burritos [another article reported breakfast tacos]. Earlier this morning I made a scramble of chorizo and eggs. And I feel a bit weird having made breakfast burritos so near the point along the space-time continuum where the FLOTUS comment sits, even though my burritos didn't remind me of anybody. Corn or flour tortillas aren't, like, parkas. Even when they are wrapped around eggs & such. Burritos don't look like people. Never have. Not to me. They -- my burritos, I mean -- were delicious. I ate them with guacamole because through my appreciation of and fondness for his creative work-product I know how to identify and strip away the bitter taste & unseemliness of harsh realism, the Cormac McCarthy vibes. I know how to suburbanize life. Existence. Maximize the impact of the petit bourgeois aesthetic. For example, I spend more than necessary and purchase brand name biodegradable bags for my kitchen waste composting pail. It's a sickness, really. If America had affordable healthcare, made universally available to all its citizens, I might be cured of this illness. Therein lies the heart of the situation -- the crux of the matter. We crave attention, better care than that received by the poor schmo next door and so manifest -- and will ourselves into -- ever-improved states of disease.

11-July-2022 (last update: 09-Sep-2022)

Recommend all y'all get yourselves a copy of THREE MOMENTS OF AN EXPLOSION by China Miéville and at a minimum read "Polynia" & "The Dowager of Bees".

I adore the pacing of "Polynia"; the glacial drift of the story arc sympathetically mimicking the subject matter.

And what can I say about "The Dowager of Bees" that won't spoil it? It is a hand-crafted detour through life -- as a world of both chance and decision; a reconstruction of the gamer/gambler's den filled with the smoke of Miéville's signature weird style that does not clear until the very end of the short story.

​Go now, family & friends. Go even if you think you dislike genre fiction. Especially so. Miéville is one of a dozen or so (genre) writers whose creative results I can and will rave about.


For this current read through, I am listening to an audio book version rented from my local library.

Hey fam & friends:

Current events have had me talking lately about the nature of human beings and peace and pacifism, as many of you already know. (Sorry, not sorry.) And that, of course, has encouraged me to reminisce about "The Pacifist," one of the instrumentals I composed in 2004 for The Geoffrey Michaels Project EP record I made. Most of you, if not all, know it.

I crafted a new little graphic and made a simple vid using one of the early basement recordings, the audio equivalent to a rough draft. You know how I like to share drafts. I locked down vid share settings, but you can find here and listen to it on via the button that'll take you to my Writer's Wellness page on Vimeo. I'll be messing around & goofing with Vimeo a bit more in the future, I reckon.

To strangers visiting the site and reading the above:

The conceit and inspiration behind "The Pacifist" centers around a simple idea: Pacifism (non-violence) is a choice. And any person, committed as they may be to its principled objectives, may have their limits. The song is built from three very simple melodies: the (singular) lonely voice feeling as if it dialogues with a void that transitions into a state of confusion that wears down and succumbs to rage.

Excerpted (draft) from The Written History of the Era of General Dramatix and His Army of Sillies, a (WIP) story by Geoffrey Allison



10-July-2022 (last update: 11-July-2022)

I have been and remain very sympathetic to women who are loudly (and rightfully) questioning the vector of trans-activism, especially in the area of competitive sports. I have stated publicly I don't know if a trans-woman is a woman. I am neither a woman nor trans. As a result, I can't say and am even unsure if it is my place to participate in the discussion and debate at all.

I do have one comment based on some online chatter happening today (10-July-2022): Certain approaches are pushing me away from greater sympathies for some of the more platformed members of the group warning against trans-activists in the cultural debate.

If being an ally means I must accept or tolerate accusations that a male public figure (one I dislike) who publicly shares his thoughts about and reactions to comments made by a female public figure with respect to the gender/sex identity debate is a man engaging in policing women's speech without those filing the charge presenting inculpatory evidence establishing guilt of the sexist crime, then I must ask myself if perhaps misandry isn't simply being costumed in the noble & honorable dress of feminism.

09-July-2022 (last update: 09-Sep-2022)

I appreciate Classics. That does not mean I appreciate all Classics similarly. For example, given it is 2022 and allowing for my present age and stage of reading & rereading, the only courtesy I find myself able to extend to WASHINGTON SQUARE by Henry James is the following: three chapters of reading is the perfect amount of time to allow the sprinkler to run in one place in the backyard before having to move it to a new location; the yard-watering action thus projecting me forward another three chapters in the book at least four times an evening. It is something like a bookish waltz.

One. Two. Three. (move the sprinkler)

One. Two. Three. (move the sprinkler)

​One. Two. Three. (move the sprinkler)

​One. Two. Three.


On June 27, 2022, on this site, I posted that I had had no interest in politicians and no inclination to vote in the August and autumn election cycle here in Kansas but that the activism of SCOTUS in '22 has impelled me to vote this year. True. However, clarification is necessary.

The only thing I am voting on in 2022 is the amendment to the Kansas constitution, and I am voting to protect a woman's necessary and undeniable right to choose. That's the personal choice I am making. A decision guiding my action. You vote how you want, obviously. I am just telling all y'all where I stand right now.

I still don't give a shit about candidates, Democrat or Republican, who repeatedly fail to deliver on promises and who prioritize horseshit antics over meaningful action that will propel society forward and improve and correct the conditions many people in the many places of many races that have been left behind in America. Furthermore, the entirety of my newfound interest in voting on the one issue noted above is being doused by the usual online suspects engaging in their typical performative bullshit.

If folks want to protest SCOTUS, the decision, or its members, then I say Do It!! Make signs. Hit the streets. Animate and make ambulatory a Right of citizens. Praxis... go!!

But the blue-checks (or Wanna Be types) tossing out obvious and banal jokes about SCOTUS members eating dinner? These are mini-theater performances produced by fame-chasers feathering their nests. It is not activism. So, fuck them. And the mutuals of these "Influencers" -- other members from media & entertainment -- amplifying the performative bullshit and holding it out as something noteworthy while chasing clicks & clout themselves, even more tiresome and useless.

To these clout-chasing, egotistical, self-absorbed, attention seekers, a message:

​Keep charting the path and navigating via your ego-driven belief that you have some inalienable right & duty to constantly entertain the masses in the matter of the important politicking necessary to enact critical policy. I mean, previous efforts in this regard always work out... right? (See video below or at right.)

Christ almighty the constant need for attention and applause of the media & entertainment clique is tiresome AF. And attempts to gamify grassroots activism to feed ego with the reward of "engagement" -- that means fuck all and does not guarantee voters show up at the polls -- is dangerous. Especially with respect to the matter at hand this year.


Stephen, you just saw that ad? Really? I ask because I was surfing my screencaps folder and literally found the following image (see below or at right) about five minutes prior to your tweet. I've no clue as to why I took that screengrab in May 2022. To use as source material to draft serious commentary about Twitter's algo? Maybe. But I don't know, man; that doesn't seem like me. More than likely, I grabbed the image and saved it to support writing a joke I knew I'd create at some point in the future, one that some folks may view as crass or challenging their puritanism.

Where are you; which market; we shopping at the same grocery store? Listen, I only ask because I didn't see you in the "nasty" aisle and I'm hoping I can borrow, like, $10 to bridge the price gap between off-brand & brand name snack foods since the weekend's rolling up on me damn fast and I want to buy some of those double-stuff sandwich cookies to enjoy when I rewatch THE JESUS ROLLS, ya know? ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

It Ain't Kink® brand, double-stuff cookies for adult-sharing:

When everyone wants to enjoy the moment and agrees on the premium price, It Ain't Kink® double-stuff cookies.


Today is a day of mourning. To embrace sadness in the death of Shinzo Abe, former Prime Minister of Japan, and reflect.

It is a day of vigilance, too. An opportunity to take note of politicians and the wealthy and platformed persons and media functionaries of the State who, from one side of their mouths, publicly lament the death of a leader of an allied country (like Abe) while out of the other side of their mouths may communicate hopes and dreams that foreign leaders who these rich and powerful and connected persons consider undesirable might be assassinated by their own citizenry in the name of democracy. Today remains a day to purposefully seek out the hypocrisy in those who communicate and share noble sentiments, like attacks on political figures are attacks on democracy itself, and yet who also participate directly or indirectly, as cheerleaders providing cultural capital and cover, in the toppling of governments across the globe; who aid in the election and installation of self-dealing leaders in other countries allowing economic interests to plunder their nation’s natural resources and keep their citizenry impoverished; who silently, or not, embolden and bolster dictators and despots; who attack and ruthlessly lie and smear their political opponents as anti-Semites or manufacture limp evidence they attempt to harden via the laundering of such through legitimate channels and noble mediums and staid institutions.

Today I mourn Abe… and I mourn still more.

Optics, under the guise of duty to decorum or noblesse oblige, comes at you fast, fam


Grabbed the wrong word out of the homophonic ether™ earlier and typed clamors instead of the appropriate clambers and even though I caught the error I just know that mistake is going to pop up from the (w)hole of my subconscious all day... just like that fucking gopher in CADDYSHACK.


Going to pull a Trump move and trademark shit I say or type. Important shit. Meaningless shit. Smart shit. Dumb shit. Meteor shit. No matter. I can see it now: a fried chicken fast food franchise using transparent plastic tubs to sell family-size to-go meals; a housing development of all-glass two-story homes.

​Those products and more. All of it branded, HOMOPHONIC ETHER™

Going to get ahead of this thing and create a t-shirt that has an image of George Bush under an image of Hillary Clinton under an image of Trump all of which are under an image of Boris Johnson with a caption that reads: Do you miss me yet?

On the back of the t-shirt is an image of a smiling Putin or Boris Badenov -- I haven't decided yet.

Don't get me wrong, it won't just be T-shirts. You should know, I've begrudgingly accepted late-stage capitalism as the form and function of humanity's death. Our collective coffin. And, so, I'll be selling prayer vigil candles and bobble-heads and...

All of it made in China, of course.



Four teenagers in 80s era clothes. Two teens stand at the edge of a lawn. One climbs a tree. The fourth stares down, their head popping out of the jaggedly sawn trapezoidal shape cut into a plywood wall of an oversized treehouse spanning four trees.



BOBBIE (O.S.) "Come on!!"

Tree-climber (KIM) grips tree tighter; looks up.

KIM: "Shut the fuck up, Bobbie!! I asked them a question."

Turns attention from treehouse window/Bobbie and toward the two teens standing at the edge of the lawn.

KIM: "Well, what's your answer?"



​Kim clambers (not 'clamors' as originally typed, FFS) a foot or two up the tree. Stops. Looks down. Waits for an answer.

​KRIS (O.S.) "I don't know​... a doctor, maybe. Like my mom."

​CHAD (O.S.) "Start a company that builds robots and cybernetic implants... that leverages artificial intelligence. One-hundred percent chance of me getting laid."


Absolutely wish I could use trad screenplay format on this website. Too much effort for goofing, near impossible to do in a reasonable timeframe.

I've enjoyed watching many of the same Rotted Status Quo Institutionalists who emphatically and repeatedly smeared Corbyn as an anti-Semite spaz with glee during the last, say, 72hrs as the tragic Boris Johnson era (they in/directly emboldened? enabled? abetted? unshackled?) flickered out.

​You'll have your own reasons for experiencing joy during this time. They may differ from mine, of course.

Fare thee well, de Pfeffel. Fare. Thee. Well.

06-July-2022 (last update: 09-Sep-2022)

Excerpted (draft) from The Written History of the Era of General Dramatix and His Army of Sillies, a (WIP) story by Geoffrey Allison


Fam & Friends:

I know some percentage of the electorate who voted Trump did so not because they supported the candidate but because of partisan reasoning -- they couldn't or wouldn't vote Democrat. Still, the fact is some number of voters did support Trump. The candidate. The man. These voters actually chose him. I don't understand why. And while that reality confuses me, I admit I also don't understand why people choose to read Gawker writers.

Vapidness has been around for generations, but I'd argue certain millennials not only exemplify the condition but have elevated if not perfected it. You can often spot these certain millennials for their routinely not understanding or blaming Zoomers.


I understand ya may be thinking to yourself: But... umm... didn't you just...

​Oh! You caught that, huh? Gosh! You're quick. That's why I love ya, fam & friends.

Great cover (of "Smooth Criminal"). Crap video.

Speaking of crap videos. I've really appreciated the song "Shame" by STABBING WESTWARD since first hearing it; have always hated the video; don't know why exactly; too obvious a story being visualized?! Anyway, I hated the video so much I finally scripted a new vid for the song a few months back, while my wife & I traveled around NC, WV, & TN. I don't know if I'll ever get to do anything with the script, not directly. Writing down my thoughts and visualizing a story for the record did lay the groundwork for a fiction outside the context of the song though.

Summer of '21 was about rereading Pynchon. The summer of '22 has become, without really planning for it, about rereading Le Guin and Miéville.

Fam & Friends:

Fair Warning: The following contains unsolicited advice (couched lamely as opinion) regarding Grubhub/Amazon.

​Amazon Prime is a popular service. I know some of you are Amazon Prime subscribers, although many use your membership and shop on Amazon sparingly. There's news today (06-July-2022) about Amazon offering Grubhub to its Prime members. As most if not all of you know, restaurant owner/operator blood still flows through the veins of many members in my family. (Sure, you can exit the industry; however, it'll always stay with you; some part of it anyway; if you marry into it and catch the bug, or are born into it, it tends to burrow under your skin.) And so, I am asking that y'all please educate yourselves on how much Grubhub charges restaurants. Once you conduct some research, please consider the following questions:

  • Is it likely Grubhub adoption/usage may increase now that it has an association with one of the world's largest companies?

  • Are Grubhub fees charged to restaurants (fees over-and-above those charged to customer/end-user) steep? Excessive? Reasonable?

  • Can restaurants survive in the long term if the business model continues to move through food delivery services charging such fees?

  • Do you like seeing small businesses suffer from large businesses wrapping their tentacles around and covering more & more of the economic body? (This phrasing is the most dispassionate I could draft, no apologies.)

  • Does this deal increase the probability of food service company owners, managers and employees becoming quasi- or de facto employees of Grubhub/Amazon via the transfer of retail food-dollar purchases from restaurants to Grubhub/Amazon?

A few notes & comments to help jumpstart your research effort:

  1. Article from Restaurant Business, here. Perform a search, you'll find plenty of articles.

  2. When researching fees, a simple keyword phrase is all that's needed, like: Grubhub Fees Charged. Just be sure you don't only read headlines or skim the articles. There can be fees both to the end-user/customer AND to the restaurant, in the form of percentage of order revenue.

  3. Do your own homework. Decide for yourself.


This is another transfer of (economic) strength, a power grab in the making. A tactic to shift small business sector revenues & earnings to large business resulting in further destabilization of local economies & cultural health. I am against it. I don't use Grubhub, or its competitors. Not at all. And I won't, unless some weird fluke absolutely demands I do. (I.e., the risk of my starving if I don't order food delivered is certain.)

Yesterday I quoted a line that's included in this video clip (the song "You're the One That I Want" from the movie GREASE). And so of course I am, this morning, listening to this song again & again. Stuck in an absurdist Hell of my own making. A Tartarean circle that Virgil -- honest & true as he was -- lovingly kept from that fucker Dante. A Celtic knot of which I cannot locate the terminus and I fear I'll trace all day.

I am now craving a cigarette, too. And also an overpriced burger. Goddamn!!


I actually enjoy this song. A lot. I won't apologize. Conjures GREAT childhood memories. A Hump Day dedication to those of my era -- to those colorful, wide-stripe-topped tube socks, and the reflection of blinkering lights against the polished wood surface of roller rinks.

05-July-2022 (last update 09-Sep-2022)


The land of Plenti is known for manufacturing the finest Whoopasses; the country enjoys a competitive advantage in the production of Whoopasses, manufactures more Whoopasses than they need domestically, and exports the national surplus of Whoopasses to other nations located on the planet DXY. These international trade transactions are priced in the Plenti-people's domestic currency, Vyolents. Last year 25 Whoopasses were sold. The land of Plenti is currently experiencing inflation well above normal levels. Demand for Whoopasses is inelastic in the short run, perhaps even in the long run... who can say, really? ... not me... so it goes. Because of the inelasticity, economists project at least 25 Whoopasses to be sold in the current year.

Based on the facts presented above:

1. What do you expect the demand for Vyolents to be in the short run?

2. In what direction do you predict the price of Vyolents -- compared to a basket of other DXY-world currencies -- to move?

Please write your answers using a No. 2 pencil. Responses submitted in ink, especially red, will not be accepted.


P.S. there are times when I do miss teaching MBA classes.


A RT by Uncle Stevie... I don't know how all y'all feel, but doesn't the tone & timbre of the text in the OG tweet underscore and enhance the resonance of the symbolism in the peace sign in Little Stevie's Twitter handle.

​Yeah... a signature tone. A unique sound. That's what the pros build. That's what they create. Yeah, good stuff.

Verified accounts. Twitter says these are accounts of public interest, yeah? Noteworthy, are they? They're so cool, yeah!!


Verified accounts, gotta love 'em, folks. Even if you do so for reasons opposite of those pop culture tries to shove down your throat; fuck 'em

On Blue-checks

You, an idiot, an unthinking follower, having given up, surrendered, an amplifier for Blue-check bullshit: I WAS THINKING THE SAME THING.

​Me, an idiot, falling short in my best impersonation of Olivia Newton-John as Sandy voice, but trying still: (SARCASTICALLY) TELL ME ABOUT IT... STUD.


Wishing everyone a Happy 4th of July, especially the NatSec and IC GigaChads & Stacys and the motley crew of propagandizers hanging out in the publishing and news and entertainment industries. KaPow!! You're firecrackers. So explosive. So hot.


Excerpted from The Written History of the Era of General Dramatix and His Army of Sillies, a story by Geoffrey Allison



That so many of Elon's social media followers ostensibly "love" memes and yet seemingly none created something like I have below substantively evidences my belief that Elon's Twitter followers are mostly hangers-on, bootlicking sycophants I recall having previously described them.

With love & respect¹ for both of you, Elon & Pontifex.


¹ On God, for real, no cap. I am a true friend².

² And, speaking of true friends, a belated (relative to the initial timing of the post above) THANK YOU to my friend who informed me that Elon had posted a pic of himself and Pontifex. Couldn't have created the above without you. When we next meet, I'll treat you to a Dilly Bar -- or if I am feeling generous (i.e., flush with cash), then perhaps a Peanut Buster Parfait -- at the local Dairy Queen. Fuck!!; now I want a VT maple creemee; a good one, from Sebs Snack Bar--up South Hero (island) way!!

Original photo credit: unknown (at this time)


"Pigs in Zen," lyrics by Perry Farrell, Stephen Perkins, Dave Navarro, Eric Avery.

Pig's in the mudWhen he tiresPig's in zenPig's in zenBig and nude (or, Pig is nude, maybe??)UnashamedPig's in zenPig's in zen
Talkin bout the pigThe pigThe pig - uhPa-pa-pa-pa-pigGoddamned pig
Pig mounts sowWhen he's woundPig's in zenPig's in zenPig eats shitBut only when he hungersPig's in zenPig's in zen
​Talkin bout the pigThe pigThe pig - uhPa-pa-pa-pa-pigGoddamned pig​Yeah, so roses are redI made up the restIf you've got some big fucking secretThen why don't you sing me something?
I'm in the midst of a traumaLeave a messageI'll call you backLeave it by the bedSome people should dieThat's just unconscious knowledge
Because, because the bigger you getThe wider you're spreadYou gotta depend on meNow your vision is dead
The more your dream is deadVisionsIt gets sucked from my eyeLike an eagle's claw
Talkin bout the pigThe pigThe pigThe pigThe pigThe pigGoddamned pigThe pig - uhPa-pa-pa-pa-pig


Excerpt (Intro) from SUMMER OF COCAINE, a novel by Geoffrey Allison





I probably need to start wearing sunscreen more often; I say this having only just finished off the last tube of lotion I bought: SPF50, purchased in the summer of '18 (it was summer of '19, oops!!) at the CVS a block or so NE of the base of Pilgrim Monument in Ptown. It was extraordinarily hot that day. And sharks were repeatedly spotted along the Cape. For a moment I felt as though they'd followed us northward, stalking us from Chatham up to the tip.

Also, this is a reminder that I am happy to housesit for Ptown homeowners during the wintertime as long as the building meets two conditions.

First condition: the house has to be haunted.

Second condition: the house needs to be situated on the water; I mean a portion of the home is actually cantilevered over the water, with plexiglass flooring that's certain to be breached when the megalodon¹ ​attacks.


¹ Six months spent during the off-season living under the grey skies of Ptown seems like the perfect place and duration for me to write a script: MEGALODON vs GHOSTS. It's either write that script on spec OR author a literary work about a rather non-descript, cornfed midwestern guy who explores bisexuality after moving to Ptown for the winter to housesit the vacation home owned by the parents of his long-time girlfriend who has recently died. I see either endeavour of creative expression as a possibility. Assuming, of course, I have not already written one or the other... or both.