Choosing to Not Share the Pain
Who in this scenario is to blame for non-striking workers (below-the-line people) feeling the pain designed to be inflicted on the Big Money class?
![I Believe... [AI is a Sex Doll]](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/579fa3912994ca0eff850271/1694284616491-6KXGJ6CC4WWN3PTPSFED/IMG_2287.JPG)
I Believe... [AI is a Sex Doll]
...that AI will eventually end up simply pretending to love lonely men and women like emotional sex dolls.
Bon Voyage, Jimmy Buffett
“Margaritaville” hit our ears in 1977 but by 1978, it was already being played to present depression and self-destruction to be as much fun as a conga line. Jimmy Buffett turned that into a billion-dollar business. Misery loves company, especially when there’s boiling shrimp, regrettable tattoos, and frozen tequila concoctions involved.
Two Kinds of Pain: Useless and Useful or What I Learned from Frank Underwood (Archived)
“There are two kinds of pain. The sort of pain that makes you strong, or useless pain. The sort of pain that's only suffering. I have no patience for useless things.” — Frank Underwood (House of Cards, Season 1)
Cicada’s Swan Song
It’s a deafening sound.
The screams of passion belted out
from the bugs with the giant eyes
and wingspan of a Prius.
The Cereal Wish | Part 8
I turned back to the window. The drones hovered only a moment, then toured to the right to spy through another apartment window like hornets trying to find their way into a hive. Some bored dudes in quarantine were probably trying to score a peep show.
The Cereal Wish | Part 7
“Those motherfuckers—spying on me again,” I said.
“Who’s spying on you?” Sarah asked.
The Cereal Wish | Part 6
Sarah was gone. All that was in the hall was a big box full of boxes of Product 19 on its side. I hate Product 19, but she wants me to eat it because it’s healthy. She must have bought it to make up for forgetting the cereal. “How is this my wish?” The genie was gone, too.
![I Believe... [Pretending to Work]](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/579fa3912994ca0eff850271/1693761598860-DYQ894DW1SSA6AZPAEU9/IMG_2569.PNG)
I Believe... [Pretending to Work]
...that there is a clear difference between being busy and working. The first is about perception, the second about results.
The Cereal Wish | Part 5
I wake up lying flat out in the entry hall closet we never use because we are too lazy to open the door. I’m lying on boxes of Chocolate Peanut Butter Cheerios I had wished into being. There are even some extras to make a pillow for my head. Melted chocolate is streaming out of the boxes like cookie blood. I can hear Maggie snuffling at the doorway.
The Cereal Wish | Part 4
As you have already learned, I am a quick thinker. Like, how I used my second wish to live inside of the classic sitcom Cheers. Yep. Everything is going to be smooth sailing from here on out.
It’s true that I’ll miss my girlfriend, Sarah, but as Dave Matthews said in a Facebook post in 2018, “What a great ending of a great tour!”
Norm walks over to me.
The Best New Eldercare
He understood this as he was in his eighties and that’s what happens to humans even when they take good care of themselves and have, as he did, top tier health benefits.
The Cereal Wish | Part 3
“What can I do for you?” asked the funnel of incense as it materialized into a small-boned woman in a red Chanel suit.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of August 27, 2023
Having spent much of my life being told I’m “too much,” being told that I should be more myself—more David in his natural state—is a strange pill to swallow. And I’m afraid I don’t recommend it. Then again, these are strange times, and perhaps it’s time for stranger things to happen.
The Cereal Wish | Part 2
And there I was, twenty minutes later out trucking with Maggie four blocks away now from our place down Algren Street. It seemed to be nap time for the rest of the world while I took the much-needed air.
The Cereal Wish | Part 1 (Again)
Thank God for the dog. If not for her, my girlfriend wouldn’t let me leave the house. When the pandemic got serious, she didn’t care about toilet paper; she b-lined it for the milk. Our freezer is perfectly packed with Swedish meatballs, broccoli florets, and twenty-three gallon-size Ziplocs of milk.
A Brief Poem About a Writer Who Doesn't Write—Revisited
They say—they being creative writing professors, esteemed novelists, and hacks with wordy Instagram posts alike—that writers write. Writers who get their shit out there—not all of it, but enough of it—are the real writers. True warriors of the pen and keys.
![[Revisited] American Shithole #25 — Can the Dying Mule Become the Butterfly?](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/579fa3912994ca0eff850271/1536676830756-VVK1IUJ1KRNLHLECNAAF/American+Shithole+Column+Header.JPG)
[Revisited] American Shithole #25 — Can the Dying Mule Become the Butterfly?
We are still in the age of clutching things. We humans like to clutch. Our belongings, our pearls. Our ideas. Our instincts to gather and protect were selected long ago — so the idea that resource collecting is at the heart of our concerns today, is a tough pickle to swallow, compounded by the behavior’s hidden influence on all other human doctrine.
![I Believe... [Tap Dancing on Eggs]](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/579fa3912994ca0eff850271/1693135079613-VMNG1OCJWO8L8JP4DXVY/IMG_2541.JPG)
I Believe... [Tap Dancing on Eggs]
...that the best response to a society hellbent on requiring the careful, nervous walk through a minefield of eggshells is to tap dance on every fucking egg.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of August 20, 2023
I should've been a plumber. At least then being covered in shit feels productive.
How do you want to be defined? By one action? By some opinion that could evolve? By a mistake, regrettable only with hindsight? Or by the sum of your parts? Okay, do that for other people. Start the trend.