If Politics Were A Video Game, I’d Rage-Quite Right About Now…

Nothing is more unreliable than the populace, nothing more obscure than human intentions, nothing more deceptive than the whole electoral system.

–Marcus Tullius Cicero


It’s Election Day. Again.


I guess it’s rather surprising in someone who loves the cut & thrust of politics in history, but I just can’t stand the idiocy of the modern US system at this point.

Both the Rs and Ds scream at each other, painting the other as the harbinger of death and destruction, and insisting that they and they alone are able to keep the world safe for puppies and babies.


Both are part of the problem. Both exist only to promote and benefit the entrenched special interests and political/social elites who are their donors, and who drive their respective agendas. And both, in all candor, push the same, carbon-copy shit they have been pushing for decades. And, yes, I use the phrase “same shit” very, very intentionally: both (supposedly antithetical) parties/factions represent exactly the same uselessness. Boil away the fluff and tissue-paper decorations, and you are left simply with two ostensibly separate groups pushing the same agenda to benefit the same people.

Bah, a pox on both their houses! And by pox, I mean the nastiest, most incurable strain of syphilis the universe can dream up.

Einstein very famously said the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over, and expecting a different result. Well, welcome to United States politics, Al. Not a single idea comes out of any of these idiots that is in any way original or useful.

Nope, it’s all the same tried-and-true prescriptions that helped fuck everything up in the first place.

–No, Rs, I don’t want a goddamned thing to do with your sanctimonious pseudo-morality and regressive socio-cultural indignation.

–No, Ds, I don’t want a goddamned thing to do with your social engineering, or your dangerously naive views on economics and security.

–No, “establishment”, I don’t want a goddamned thing to do with your politics or your myopic, fratricidal squabbles.

No, just…no.

What I want is someone — ANYONE — who gives more of a shit about the good of the country, and of the people who by any definition ARE the country, than the petty maneuvering for advantage of their own “team”.

What I want is someone who gives a damn about regular folks: about those of us who would rather remove our own organs with dull spoons than go to a political cocktail-party/fundraiser…about those of us who have more on our minds than worrying about scoring points against “the other guy”…about those of us who can only lose in a rigged game played by folks with whom we have nothing in common…

Yes, I do realize I’m ranting; sorry about that.  Although, personally, I’d actually rather call it “venting”…that just sounds better. Kinda like saying your house is “alternatively heated” rather than “on fire”.

The simple fact of the matter is that I’ve had enough. Enough of the petty bullshit that makes up politics at every level, enough of the prioritizing of “red team” or “blue team” over real people, enough of arguments that are literally so old and repetitive that no one actually pays attention to the merits anymore.

I’ve been asked why I write such dark material…

Well, the answer to that is fairly complicated, both on personal and intellectual grounds — and may see some attention in future posts — but one little clue can come from simply watching/reading the news for a half-hour.


Nothing I write could be darker or more depressing — nor better illustrate the inane futility of it all — than that.

NaNoDrinkMo … Err, Maybe I Just Don’t Get It

IMG_0163Sooo…it’s NaNoWriMo time. Again. Now, maybe I’m the only writer in the world who feels this way, but…really? What the hell is that syllabic mishmash supposed to be?

If I can’t be bothered to write during the other eleven months of the year, why would November be any different?

Shit, November is the last month in which I should be writing seriously. October is home to more beer-focused events and festivals than any other time of the year. And December? Well, what the hell is Christmas except family stress and waaay too much booze? I don’t know about your family, but with mine…well, let’s just say that family harmony starts and ends at the liquor cabinet.

Honestly, November ain’t for writing, it’s for giving my liver a fighting chance to survive.

If I haven’t been clear enough: I barely know NaNoWriMo is a thing, and I certainly have never taken part.

I know, I know, there are a ton of other writers out there who love the damned concept. Giddyup, yippee-ki-yay, have-at-it….I’ll never really get it, but boats are floated by many, many things.

Okay, so enough venting and griping. But…but…NaNoWriMo…really? Why is this a thing?

I can only put this in personal terms: writing is who I am, not what I do. If ever I am not writing, there is a problem. If ever I go more than a few days without keys clicking, or pen in hand, then my life has very much taken a turn for the worst.

I can’t think, can’t process, can’t function, without writing. How the hell could I ever say, “No, let’s wait until November”…? Even in Yellowstone, amidst all that distraction, I wrote better than 25,000 words…more like 35,000 if you count the blog posts and other stuff I wrote up there. And still there is a backlog of stuff in my head — and in my soul.

So, to answer the IWSG question for this month: no, I have never written anything for NaNoWriMo. Or, more accurately, I’ve written a shit-ton in November, but because those stories — those words — demanded to be written, not because some artificial Twitter-drive told me it was time to “buckle down”.

What spurs me to write is, more than anything else, an internal thing. I write for me. If others like my stuff, then I’ll do the happy-danceIMG_0443…but even if I end up exactly as my family expects — and let’s not get started on that particular demon, shall we? — still will I write.

To (mis)quote a song: I don’t stutter when I write.

The thoughts and the words, well, they carry and express themselves…and that is, for me, how it has to be. That is the how and why of writing for me — not because the calendar tells me it is time, but because I simply can’t stop. Not and stay “me”.