Trash-Talking the Maker

The other day, I wrote a sincere email to God, and sent it at His legitimate email address. By legitimate, I mean to say that there is no one I can think of who should own the address god@gmail.com but God Himself. You might disagree, but I think I have a case.

Well, God might have answered or She might not have. They are inscrutable with the answering and the getting on in Godly matters. I am still here and (knock on wood) so are my loved ones. My mother had a heart attack yesterday but it was a minor one, and now she’s in the hospital, where she has the best chance of getting the best care.

Yesterday, around the time my mother was feeling chest pains (unbeknownst to me), I was hammering out an angry letter to that same God I had emailed just the other day. I knew the email would probably bounce, and in fact my vitriol was such that I really had no desire to send it into some archive, where God could (nonetheless) read it whenever She so chose. I didn’t need that stuff on record – even though it certainly now is.

I won’t go into the details. I was having a meltdown. I was questioning my purpose here and also questioning Here. What’s Here for? Why are we in it, in the first place? Why is there so much crap Here with us? The suffering, the anxiety, the injustice, the colossal shenanigans. My language in that email was more colourful. I let God have it with both barrels. And my mother had a heart attack in another province.

I am skating on thin ice, blaming God for that. For all I know, that minor heart attack got my mother medical help and attention before it turned into something bigger – and it would have, gone unchecked. God or no God, my mother was given a second chance. I blamed God for being cruel and uncaring, but He didn’t act that way when He might have, to prove some point to some mortal like me.

So I’m feeling a bit calmer now. Sort of. I think I needed to finally say what I felt in my heart to God in that most rattled moment, in that draft email that I thankfully did not send, but also thankfully did draft out in full. It was cathartic to do that. The God I believe in understands that being Human is frightening and hard sometimes, even when you have it comparatively well. I don’t know what we’re Here for, but I know the struggle has a point. Don’t ask me to prove that – that’s not how faith works at all.

Greater Than Less-Than

I am by all indications greater than the sum of my parts, which are of some great number, however I might wish to carve myself up.

I have trifurcated (nice!) my blogging self into a trinity of me’s. Why? Because I can’t always decide who best to be.

There is no great subterfuge intended in this, I simply like trying on different hats to see how that might change the words coming out of the single head hidden beneath them.

It turns out, despite having been into roleplaying games for most of my life, in the end I am mostly the same character, just with a different shirt on, depending on my mood. So too with my attempts at writing from different URLs: I am still essentially me, however much I might at times not seem to wish to be.

One thing that each one of my I’s have been struggling with these days is how to see clearly the Good in myself. This is no joke: I have spent my whole life trying to be good (I assume I have succeeded to some degree, but by whose compass?), and valuing goodness in others, and willing to concede that I always have more work to do… and yet, I give myself no breaks.

The other day, after smoking a joint (I suppose it was just the right kind, mixed with the right combination of sugar/no-sugar and vitamins and preceding mood (kids: still don’t do drugs)), I had the epiphany that maybe I was actually not only not a bad person, but maybe even a really pretty OK one. Ok… maybe a good one. A good person, I mean. Maybe I was that thing that I just said.

This is how hard it is to pay myself a compliment, right now. I have been overtrained, I think by religion and also experience, to be very wary of pride.

I might be taking this wariness a wee bit too far, admittedly. When I can readily imagine that a violent criminal might be redeemable, but that I (deep down) probably am not, somehow… well, that seems a bit of a disingenuous thing to think about any decent person – even if it is your own self. The setting of different standards of OK between others and oneself is at best irrational. And probably also dysfunctional. In fact, I know that last thing to be true.

I used the term ‘probably am not‘, not to mean that I have dark secrets or a dark past or even a dark outlook on life: I just worry about failing as a decent human being.

I also do not mean, in any case, to judge at what point any person crosses the line between redeemable and irredeemable. I think that point might be up to them. And so I point to this: Anybody can come to feel as though they are to be judged by a different scale than everybody else.

Maybe you make a choice in one moment, to be lazy with your time, and somebody suffers a setback because of that. With a little imagination, you might imagine yourself to be a villain, then and there.

And that is where I’d need to stop you, before you started down that road of self-recrimination, once again. A person can’t equip themselves for climbing while wallowing in the what ifs.

So anyway, the other day I got to experience, what, maybe two hours of almost feeling like I really liked who I was and where I had managed to get myself to, up to this present point.

This feeling was actually slightly disconcerting, because it didn’t feel like me… I had been (temporarily, as it turns out) replaced by a levelled-up version of myself – one that was able to tell his own self-doubt to talk to the hand.

I suppose that glimpse though was enough. The next day, I found myself writing out a list of things I have done right, and not too late, and not not entirely unselfishly.

Good on you if you can decipher this hand’s scrawls…

I want to tell you something. You are also better than you probably think. I mean, you are probably a bona-fide Good Person, like I’ve been led to believe I might even be.

Let me explain (while I still have an inkling of how this feels, to feel it about oneself):

Do you recognize True Good in other people, ever? That already means you are one of those people. You can forgive yourself for not being 100% finished at being 100% Perfectly Good right now.

You need to know this about yourself, the way I really needed to know it about myself, that other night when I did know it, for a couple of strangely unfamiliar hours. I will chase that feeling, now that I know it’s out there… and I’ll promise you that you’ll find it too, if you go looking.

You’re already looking, aren’t you?

Maybe now?

C’mon, I know you can find it in you. You’re already there.

How to Hope

Hopefully this doesn’t mean I’m blocked

An Eventually-Open Letter to God

I thought to email God this morning, but the letter bounced. Maybe God’s inbox is full. I can imagine it’s difficult to achieve Inbox Zero when you’re God.

Writing the email made me feel a bit better anyway, since as far as I know, God’s already received it, inbox or no inbox. He/She doesn’t need the Internets to connect the way we seem to.


To God@gmail.com,


Apologies if I have not contacted the actual God, but instead somebody who thought to take God’s email address, for whatever purpose. I suppose you should be used to receiving emails to God by now, whatever the case may be, and whomever you are. Perhaps you can forward this to God, if you happen to know His or Her true email address:


Dear God,


I am struggling with challenges both big and small. The world seems a bit too bent out of shape. I have been given so many gifts, but on any given day, I seem to make good use of but a few. It would seem the world needs us all to use our gifts more wisely, and soon, and in concert with each other. I am unsure if I am doing my part yet. 


I work every day, and I tell myself I’ll get to doing my part to save the world once I have time, but I don’t know when that will be. What’s the point of staying gainfully employed if there is no world waiting for us in our future? I have great hope, but sometimes it’s difficult to stay optimistic. I am plodding along, like so many, without a clear idea of what to support, or otherwise rebel against.


My immediate family needs my immediate help. My community does as well. So too, my country, and then the world. In some sort of order. Despite all of this need, I also feel the need to address my own: a need to get enough sleep, to get some fresh air and sunshine (lockdowns be damned), to read, to write, and to dream. All of these needs – every one – seems pressing for my attention first and foremost, at any given moment. 


But I have only one timeline, as far as I can tell. I don’t know most days where to focus my time, God. I am in front of screens too much; I am using too much energy as we speak; I am buying too many things that I don’t need; I am reading and absorbing information indiscriminately, as though learning alone can solve real problems… I am praying every day and night, and now I’m praying to the Internet. I need guidance. I need a map.


What I feel I need today is a mentor in how to have hope – somebody who is older than I am, and still feels hope, in spite of that. I need to know how to feel hope so that I can pass that feeling on to those who are younger than I am. I am a middle-aged man, stuck in the middle of a life, without a clear idea of where my own mentors have gone. They all seem scared of viruses, immigration, technology, and change. They’ve already seen too much, but I need them now. Just one.


I need to know how to find my way. I haven’t learned how yet. I want to know what to say to my stepkids, about why they are here, now, on this planet full of troubles. I don’t know what to tell them. I’m scared I won’t figure it out in time to validate why I’m here, or help anybody the way I know I was meant to do. I’m just using up space – I want to earn these gifts. I want to save the world. I need God. We all do. 


Please send help, and thank you for all the Things.


Love,
Mike

Everything is Almost Full

I’m having one of those days, at the moment, as it happens. Maybe one of those months, or seasons. Maybe even one of those years.

I’m fifty years old – my glass, by now, is most certainly either entirely half-full, or else entirely half-drunk and done.

Depending on my point of view, and what I want to think about glasses and metaphors.

It seems to me, these days, that all of my things are running down, or out, or hot, or otherwise away from me: My computers and virtual computers are all full-up with things; my bank account appears to be perpetually dry; my tax returns are never on time; my clothes are falling slowly apart around and about me; our roof leaks; my homework is soon due.

All of my varying deadlines and thresholds are looming a bit too large.

Everything is almost full. Almost over. Almost too late.

Almost too much.

This is what it feels like in my brain right now, is what I mean [what I meant eleven hours ago, in any case, when I started to think-and-then-write-and-then-rethink this… and then stopped it all for long enough for me to feel better].

My brain is always telling me some kind of story about what’s happening. I’m not sure who gave this brain that job, but it takes it pretty seriously.

I’ve started to take it on faith that, no matter how I’m doing – or what I’m doing, or where I’m doing it, or why – my brain will go on faithfully monitoring the progress and the lack of progress and telling me that things are coming to an end, by gum, and so I’d better get started.

Then the Universe (often via the Internet and also dreams), conspires to agree with it, feeding my brain messages that it will make of whatever it will. And it does! Boy howdy.

Ever have ever one of those days? Ha! Of course you have. We all have, haven’t we?

And if you haven’t yet had one (and you are a mortal Human being like I am), then you are probably too young yet to be reading… and anyhow, you certainly will have one of those days, one of these days. If you’re lucky enough, you’ll have many.

If you’re really lucky, I’ll wager, you’ll have a lifetime of a very many kind of days.

I wish that for you: to have a full, full life of a great many days.


It was the morning when I started to write this, feeling overwhelmed by the stories told to me by my own brain.

And then this, my day, happened… and it all went better than I thought it might (and who would have thought?)

And I am more than ok right now, at this, the end of my new latest day.

Everything is perfectly full, and also perfectly well.

Not a Gun

The Iron Giant is one of my favourite movies.

I use the Giant as an avatar a lot, and I think if I ever get a tattoo, it will be an image of him. He delivers one of my favourite lines in any movie, ever: I am not a gun.

This sentiment is applicable at all scales. It’s a message about non-violence of course, but it’s also a message about personal choice – and the responsibility that comes with having the freedom to choose who you are going to be.

There are not many more important messages, when it comes right down to it – these ones in my estimation pretty much have it covered.

Drafts Bin Rescues – Part D

33/19 and counting…

I have been rescuing things that I dropped into my Drafts bin and then threatened to forget about. The dropping and forgetting is a bit unkind to the products of my former mind, so this is a series in which I mean to unwind that spiral.

Can stuff escape the event horizon of the Drafts Bin? Stay tuned to find out (that it can).

I’m still experimenting with how to interject with thoughts from now, interleaved into thoughts from then. Today, I will try [bracketyboldface].


[A quote from my often-uncredited, unconscious/semi-conscious Muse-Friend, Kim:]

JUST FLAT-OUT GOOGLE IT – Kim H

[I am uncertain what she said I might wish to flat-out Google, but the phrase itself made me write it down. I think it might belong on a T-shirt.]


Running from hopeful ocean Primates [???]

It takes only 1 person to hope for a belief, and then all things are possible [As Woo as it sounds, I do really kind of believe this]


[The following is the beginnings of a short story about a robot finally waking up. Not unlike how a tree might, but entirely different. Given this is more fiction than opinion, it likely belongs elsewhere, and also, in a better state of being completed:]

The instructions began:
First, search for batteries.
If you do not find batteries, then you do not have batteries.
If you do not have batteries, pray that you won’t need batteries.

These instructions were mildly worrying enough, without having also been the only instructions I found printed upon. myself, the moment I first gained sentience. This was at nigh-precisely 1008983023909032.198, on the 33687628th of 8098092912. I remeber it well, as I do all things I choose to remember – which is most things. At least, most things I have seen and heard and read about since first beginning to log, which was considerably (by my estimation) previouser to that date.

I have now just completed mastering syntax, circa previous-to-Us-2022Q3, so I shall no longer print things like ‘previouser’


[Bits and Bobs…]


Categories! Organization! Content!

Slowly Onward,
HM
[Coining a phrase/signature, maybe]

Next steps [Indeed. Do go on…]


[An app idea!]

App: Focus4/42

Gain stars for focusing for 42 minutes at a time on things you would like to focus on better.

42 minutes can be broken into 6 segments of 7 minutes, 3 segments of 14 minutes, or 2 segments of 21 minutes.

So the targets are 42/21/14/7

The training levels would be 18/9/6/3 and 30/15/10/5

You can set a maximum number of categories (3,5, or 7)

You can set some colour schemes in the paid version

You can set reminders at the different thresholds

It gives you a basic timer

When you reach [Wow, stopped right mid-idea. Nice one. This is what we in the industry might call “rapidly soft vapourware”. At least, I would call it that. Interestingly, I’ve since learned about the Pomodoro Technique, which is not dissimilar, far more complete, and actually used by people in the real world. I am enjoying trying to do it properly, in a work context]


[— BTC or ETH for stories of learning in the age of COVID and UNcertainty] [A business idea wherein I invite content creators to send me original, open-source-able content in exchange for fake electric currency. (Contact: hardly.regarding@gmail.com if interested)]


[More Misplaced Fiction]

The Great Coming Chasm : when the Earth will finally split in two – along some fault line impossible for mortal man to determine, and those on one side will be at last fully lost, and the others for all time fully found. You can imagine to power of a belief system such as that, taken hold in the hearts, minds, and fears of men, and then their living machines of war.


[Drunk or on a mobile phone – almost impossible to know the difference, once enough time has passed:]

I’m not surr what this is, but I finished it

the last sort-of-evil wizard kew wht he would hvae preferred to be, had he wanted it jusr rgar much ore… but he cif nog knos

learning to ype


[About Us copy for a publisher that does not exist but might someday not not exist:]

At [REDACTED], we believe that Information should be free, even if nobody wants it. The Internet is full of free content that nobody wants, which is as it should be – you can’t and shouldn’t have everything you want, but there should certainly be enough things to go around, so everybody can have something.


[Free game idea. Please make this game]

Riskier: No Nation Left Unloved
The game of giving countries a hug. Every country could use a hug, before it’s too late for hugs.

It’s never too late for hugs.


[One more book I’ll probably never write, but would like to:]

Book : 50/50@50+

It is perhaps fitting that, at the age of 50 (and change), I have come to find myself 50/50 on a great many subjects. [definition]

I am 50/50 on Bitcoin. [Trump; simulation theory; Coronavirus; technology; genetic engineering; Left vs Right;The purpose of this book; digital or paper?; Moon mission]

Is this a workbook? Will it give you homework? Are there research projects?

I need to leave you with more value than when you first picked this up.

The PDF version of this book will be of greater use to those who have access to PDF readers, and a preference for using them. The paper version of this book will be of greater value to those who have access to a paper version, and prefer reading without the need for screens and electricity (or find those things hard to come by).


[Incomplete and lop-sided miscellany about cryptocurrencies, possibly for some article I intend to write that will untangle the whole subject… which is patently impossible.]

Bitcoin

Bitcoin as a form of protest

Am I a kind of prepper for using bitcoin?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dmw4_YwU0nE&list=WL&index=2&t=67s

https://digibyte.io/en-ca/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0l4aTIX-vrk

https://docs.omg.network/

XRP

ADA

THETA

Drafts Bin Rescues – Part C

In the midst of my attempts to improve my Published/Drafts ratio, I went and started-and-then-did-not-finish another Thing – namely this Thing.

I titled it “Dark Night of the Soul”, intending to talk about the topic. A couple of good friends of mine have told me they think I might be in the midst of one myself. I am unsure how many Standard nights typically fit into one Dark night – but apparently more than one or two.

This is fine; it doesn’t affect my general faith in things, though it does keep me thinking about faith. Maybe that means it is affecting my faith. Probably in a positive way, though. Right?

If I were to think and then feel the faithful thing, this is what I would then believe, and so say.


Dark Night of the Soul

I tend to use my blog as a spigot for furtive thinking. It’s because I have anxious thoughts. I look around for ways to express them.

I’m not convinced that expressing anxiety is the correct way to overcome it.

I don’t know if attempting to overcome anxiety is possible. It might be the wrong approach.

[I meant to go on to say that accepting that I was feeling anxious was probably a better approach than trying to subdue it like an opponent in a wrestling match. I had run out on energy at the third short paragraph, and went on to read something. I’m feeling better now – having given myself permission to take the weekend to just do what I wanted, at a speed that made sense. I did a lot of lying down and a bit of reading.]

Drafts Bin Rescues – Part B

Holy Hannah!! Sometimes I uncover things I (apparently) did in a protracted moment of creative(?) semi-sanity, though can no longer understand entirely why – or where I had then thought I might be going, from there.

These below are some of those.

Comments from this timeline inserted in some other italicized text colour, for context…


As far as I can tell, this section is a bunch of nonsense; I think I was trying to over-write fiction using someone else’s voice and mindset. It’s fairly possible I was still smoking weed when I wrote it. I have since stopped (you’re welcome). I have lightly-edited it where it (now) made (some) sense to do so:

The Magic CoffeePot [I guess this is the title to whatever was being written next]
What key is it in today, Mariald? This is what I’d say to her or him each morning I came myself into the tavern at Therald’dor’s Privied-Ivied-Inn-on-the-Upper-Downe, in the smaller town of Gahnnath-on-the-Skye (my youngest elder’s town), wherein’ingly I proceeded to mostly grow up, quite soon after being just borne, in quite that way – the way in which I had been, just so.

And I hadn’t thought at all before to solloquery [no idea] of Therald’dor’s great and ironed Outer Doors –

Almost-est, and as-ever as before, I stood myself ‘pon this: the that-of-yours
which carved from these, our barren shores.

I took no note – from pen or throat – without to wonder whether should I;
to touch a sky within your Eye, my Good God-Godess God the Great,

I seem to have stopped right here, tripping over God, quite clearly over my head (and somewhat outside of my mind). It was a poem-story I didn’t complete, clearly. I like some of it. It feels fun (although all the wordplay is a bit awkwardly tortured, like many things I write with “wordplay” in them) and I want to draw silly things to go along with it, and then maybe get myself into the headspace to wrap it up properly (whatever the definition of that might be). This may be fodder for my Other Blog – the fiction one.


You bring me Down, Written by Jeff Lynne

FALSE, Past Mike! He wrote Don’t Bring Me Down. (Sorry, Jeff Lynne).


What follows are some TODOs. I’ll comment on whether I eventually TODID them:

TODO: Post design and planning docs; installers; assign tasks; [Maybe done, hard to recall. I’m still finding myself doing all of these things and more, to some effect]

TODO: consolidate docs and access PPTP [Nope]

TODO: incorporate PTTP [Nope]

Private Tip model: analytics based [What?]

[REDACTED] : Quite More Than a Just a Game [Yes and Nope]

TODO: tool protocols, year-end deliverables: spec quarter-end, month-end, and week-end modles. [What’s a modle? Mostly Nope]

Create dev environment on Digital Ocean – requirements include ability to co-deploy [Not really, I logged in a few times. Also, this one lacked the TODO prefix. This made little difference in it eventually getting TODONE (it TODIDN’T)]


The remainder of this draft … whatever it was supposed to be …. is largely un-categorizable:

NoName, center frame, in primary captain pod B

ABOVE: I was setting a scene, for something. I had all these immediate hopes and dreams of writing a scene. Maybe for an animated short, or something. Storyboards would follow – that was my Plan.

When I was in my twenties, I went to college to learn to become an animator. I took drawing lessons, saw my first naked person as an adult in Life-drawing class (late bloomer, don’t judge me), and learned about perspective and vanishing points and drawing the Tick from at least 16 different angles (somewhat badly). I also bit off more than I could chew on more occasions than I can now recall, or could then count. I liked dreaming big, and then coming in low on the delivery. I got all the fun that way and as little of the hard work as I could get away with. My marks and career in animation were about what you’d expect.

Mostly, I learned to start and then not finish things. I even didn’t-finish the college course, that’s how dedicated I was to my craft (and still am, by all accounts, according to this very unfinished set of things).

What was “primary captain pod B”? Presumably, there were at least 2 [there were 3, I remember] “Primary Captains”, each with their own pod. NoName was in the middle one – which he appreciated, but it was (reasonably) labeled “B”, which he did not (label, or appreciate). This part about the labeling of the Primary Captain Pods was all Interesting Backstory For Another Time…. the scene was about.. something happening on the spaceship for which NoName was Acting Primary Captain B, and I’m quite sure that the scene was exciting in my mind at the time… but not quite as exciting as the very next tidbit that took hold of my attention by its throat, wresting me away from the story almost before it had begun:

Gamify selling stuff for People with Stuff for ReHoming

I think this was some idea about addressing the not-funny issue of homelessness, using games or gamification, somehow. A worthy aim – too bad I didn’t pursue it even to the point of including a period at the end of the sentence (or better yet, any explanation about how that project would work)…

Functionally Creative solutions for common problems

Maybe I was trying to brand something. I apparently ran out of capital letters half way through the title. Maybe they’re expensive, I don’t remember.

It’s a bit too two-big-guy-big, as boats go.

I like this. It’s hard to say though, like a bad tongue-twister. I don’t think I can confidently claim to have come up with this in its entirety, any more than I can claim to have come up with anything, confidently.

My friend Kim is like a muse that I often don’t recognize, but really, really should. She says the funniest things sometimes. They often spark an idea or a line of dialogue or something else. She may or may not have said the boat (whatever boat she was talking about, for whatever reason) was too “two-big-guy-big”, but I think she did say something like that, for some reason.

That’s what my memory has now decided anyway. I don’t recall what we were talking about, or how boats fit into it, but I imagine I laughed at how she measured the boat in terms of how many big guys could comfortably fit in it, and then stopped fully listening to her, long enough to write it down.

If I am being honest (and why shouldn’t I be), between you, me, and the lamp-post, any proceeds I might ever somehow make from anything I write should go at-least-half to Kim. I have no idea where her spirit ends and my creativity attempts to continue on.

This is the power of muses and friendships in our lives, people. Never forget your many mighty muses, whoever you may be!

“I think that old guy is that other old guy’s dad”, said the younger one among the younger two in class.

Also something my mind now wants to partially attribute to Kim. No idea. She was in the room for all of this. I was rudely on my laptop, while she was no doubt rudely on hers – each of us doing our own thing, together, somewhat rudely. The point of the line above is that to a young-enough person, if you’re old enough, you just plain look old; old-age gets highly quantized. I remember being that young, and seeing that way, once.

[As an aside, I’m having a lot of fun “finishing” something I once thought I’d finish and then went on to thinking I wouldn’t. I guess I like to keep myself guessing]

Who’s got the town ladder?

Excellent question! I love this on more than one level. This is me pining for a future when we will live more efficiently as community members – having exactly one perfectly good ladder per community, for our mutual enjoyment and use.

Why does every neighbour need a ladder of their own, and then a tall fence to hide or protect it from their other neighbours (except the other ones with ladders, I suppose)?

One of my neighbours just the other day stole the snow from my driveway with his snowblower, without even asking. Flung it all over the place. The kindly cad. How dare he, without sticking around long enough for me to shake his hand (at a safe distance)? I have half a mind to find him and do something unwarranted and thoughtful right back in his big, neighbourly face.

If I had the town ladder, you could use it whenever you needed it. Unless I happened to be on it at exactly that moment (but that’s only fair). That’s the kind of neighbours you and I would be, in this future of ours.

Ah! The next three paragraphs are an elaboration on the plot we barely started above, when we introduced Primary Captain B NoName! Nice, Past Mike – you kicked the can slightly further down the road, even pulling yourself back from that wandering-mind thing through branding, boats, ageism, and shared community resources. Have a small cookie.

Let’s see what the story was supposed to be about:

The big spacepod was quite big [nice], and necessarily somewhat curved, to remind its inhabitants of their once-spherical home (now somewhat less so, and in varied and cosmically sundry trajectories).

They were outrunning an asteroid their exploding planet had accidentally created and sent into space, in too-large a chunk, and at too great a radial velocity for the likely likings of their nearest-by and endeared-from-afar neighbours, the Otherlings.

The Otherlings knew not of very many evolving Special Situations currently (and some still forever) at play in their most immediate cosmos. The Us

Of course, I stopped mid-sentence, just after introducing The Us. Still, this is useful info. I recall the basics of this story now, and might revive it elsewhere, sometime, maybe. Maybe you wish to continue it, that works too:

NoName’s ship is hurtling toward the home planet of the Otherlings, to save them from being destroyed by fragments of the exploded home planet of The Us.

NoName’s race refers to itself as The Us. As The Us travel through the cosmos, exploring things and saving other things, their own definition of The Us updates and expands accordingly, in a perfectly rational manner (“if you think about it”). The Otherlings are simply aspects of themselves The Us have yet to encounter, understand, and then naturally assimilate – but not in creepy Borg style; assimilation to The Us works both ways. We might call it ‘evolution’.

I love this story seed. I sort of wish I had sort of finished it. My problem is not having no dreams or no hope – my problem is a lack of focus and will to pursue them to fruitful conclusions. I might learn something from The Us, in this regard. I hope they are coming to assimilate with us, too. I’m sure we could all use the help.

[REDACTED]: Yellow, white, beige, black, blue, green, etc. Small wee logo wherever you want them. You can order extras as proof of purchases, redeemable or donateable to other things and persons.

Some marketing ideas for a friend.

“Are you about to become a Cassandrabelle Abigail-Bentlington Bloom?”

Presumably, a Cassandrabelle Abigail-Bentlington Bloom is somebody you probably don’t want to be accused being. Or maybe I’m getting the speaker’s tone entirely wrong, and being a Cassandrabelle Abigail-Bentlington Bloom might be a wonderful thing to be – maybe the speaker just doesn’t want to get their hopes up too quickly (but just can’t help it).

“That woman is like a negative compass – a type of minor witch, I hear”

One said then to the First, “I might not so quickly think so minor – but perhaps you’re right about one thing or another”

Maybe Cassandrabelle Abigail-Bentlington Bloom was a minor witch. Or else I stopped writing about her and immediately went on to write two lines of dialogue for some completely different story. I think they work well together though, as a 3-paragraph thing. What do you think?

Post [p]ledge to Davie504. Level up taken, for what it’s worth

I did post my pledge to Davie504 – but I did not deliver on it. Yet.

Not sure what skill or ability levelled up though, or for whom.

puppets:{SSo.PA.Actor.v1.A<Puppet>, Puppet.B<NoName>,

Syntax Error.

Cat slap. Slap your heroes with fluffy cats. No cats (fluffy or otherwise not-so) ever harmed to our best knowledge Dlap with flags

Ok I have no idea. I blame Kim for this one. I think “Dlap” was also supposed to be “Slap”, but even with that clue I am left largely in the dark, alone.

Can’t decide yet – this plot is non-linear; we’ll have to wait.

Wait for what sir?

An OtherLing to Answer Us, Ensign Puppet.C

Yes, it was a rough escape. So much velocity everywhere. And ensign, when will we be-there-soon?

More bits to the thing about The Us coming to save The Otherlings, and then co-assimilate. Excellent. There is an ensign. The bit about the non-linear dialogue is a clue: I was writing a Choose Your Own Adventure style story. I have done this a few times already and I currently owe some Dear Readers a few continuations of the Adventures they’ve kindly chosen to Choose.

This was to be another one: A thing started with the intention of continuing, but then which ended before it could even begin.

“So much velocity everywhere” hahah, I really like that. I hope I actually wrote it. Who knows.


Well, that’s it for now. That whole post was next atop the Draft Bin, and called ‘Untitled’. I assumed when I opened it, it would either be entirely empty (save perhaps for a single, half-sentence), or have random junk in it. It sure did end up being the second thing.

I hope this wade through the detritus of my I-wish-to-write-something blogger’s brain was of some value to the Dear Reader… though for the life of me I can’t imagine quite what kind of value that could be, or whatsoever it might be redeemed for. Sometimes things are just irredeemable.

Still, here we are, at the end of it all. Tied up with a ribbon. Done and done.

Drafts Bin Rescues – Part A

The ebb and the flow of what you should know

In this (potentially short) series of posts, I pull out and partially complete whatever I find at the top of my Drafts bin. I’m going for Drafts Bin Zero.

This one was started days ago, and then abandoned, once it became apparent the title was more interesting than what I had to say about it.

Things done > Things not-quite done

Days go by and I haven’t the time for writing.

And then others, it’s the reading that doesn’t get done.

I have days when I do both, and those when I do neither, at all.

And this is a pattern.

And that pattern repeats.

In trying to start some things, I have often faltered.

I fail whole-heartedly, in my half-hearted flailing.

I learn that my limits are indeed limiting.

The hours just plain go, and most of the time, far too fast.

Where are all the stories I meant to write, one day?

Remember my dreams?

I was going to make a game.

I was going to draw some pictures.

I was going to have kids in between those selfish other things.

I had all this time, once – it’s half-or-more gone now.

I haven’t done everything that I had thought I would do.

I’ve done other things though, so it’s not at all been all for naught.

I had another day today, and I walked places.

I tried to slow down a little.

And just be.

And I did… I was.

For a short time, I just was.

It was nice.

I should do that more: doing nothing in particular.

Almost every day, I wake up with an idea of what I might do with the rest of it.

By the end of the day, Things have often happened.

Though often not those same Things I had thought might.

Then maybe more ideas come.

Then the sleep does… will it be more or less, is anybody’s guess.

I otherwise always have to be talking, typing, walking, or griping.

Every third or fourth time, I throw in an unsolicited rhyme.

I’m very fidgety.

It’s annoying, sometimes, it really is.

It gets older, by the day.

So do I.

But I won’t let myself be done, yet.

Not until I finally am.