Another Day.


He wakes up. It is muggy. The air is thick like tar. It is unpleasant. Boats of migrants roam the oceans without food or water. No one wants to help them. Europe wants to wage war on them. Asian countries push them back  out into the sea. It is hell. All of it is hell. Then the Philippines agrees to take in migrants. This is a good thing. Well done The Philippines. Then he has a ginger tea. He…

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Another Day.


He wakes up. It is muggy. The air is thick like tar. It is unpleasant. Boats of migrants roam the oceans without food or water. No one wants to help them. Europe wants to wage war on them. Asian countries push them back  out into the sea. It is hell. All of it is hell. Then the Philippines agrees to take in migrants. This is a good thing. Well done The Philippines. Then he has a ginger tea. He…

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Another Day.


He wakes up. It is muggy. The air is thick like tar. It is unpleasant. Boats of migrants roam the oceans without food or water. No one wants to help them. Europe wants to wage war on them. Asian countries push them back  out into the sea. It is hell. All of it is hell. Then the Philippines agrees to take in migrants. This is a good thing. Well done The Philippines. Then he has a ginger tea. He has not had coffee for a week and a half. His head is clear. He likes his head being clear. He does not trust his head being clear. He is forgetting very simple things. He wants to blame his lack of coffee but he does not think that this is really the reason. He writes some more. He draws some more. He gets angry with a friend because he doesn’t understand the friend is joking then he feels bad about getting angry and he realizes that the anger stemmed from an uncontrollable feeling of guilt that the friend was right he was totally correct in the assumptions he made and in the way he said it even though his friend was making a joke the hard kernel of truth at the centre of the joke hurt him deeply wounded him and the raw wound caused him to lash out in anger so he apologises and the apology is accepted. It makes him feel marginally better. He drinks some Moroccan Mint tea and adds some honey. He enjoys it. A friend pays a surprise visit. It is a delight. He watches the Dances With the Stars Final. He cries a lot even as he realizes how easily his emotions are being manipulated with cheap wizard tricks. He embraces the cheap wizard tricks because weeping makes him, for a time, feel more human. He is delighted that Rumer Willis and Val are the winners. He is more delighted than he should be. He should be spending more time concerned with Important Things and Changing Lives and Making a Difference but instead he is cuddling on the couch watching manufactured tales of triumph. He goes to sleep.

Another Day.


He wakes up. The alarm is louder than normal or his ears are more sensitive. There is a new government. Some people are happy. Other people are sad. Still others are indifferent. There is an aftershock in Nepal. More die. More are abandoned. More are homeless. He buys a paper shredder. He is going to shred paper like a spy or a government employee who only has five minutes before the…

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Another Day.


He wakes up. The alarm is louder than normal or his ears are more sensitive. There is a new government. Some people are happy. Other people are sad. Still others are indifferent. There is an aftershock in Nepal. More die. More are abandoned. More are homeless. He buys a paper shredder. He is going to shred paper like a spy or a government employee who only has five minutes before the…

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Another Day.


He wakes up. The alarm is louder than normal or his ears are more sensitive. There is a new government. Some people are happy. Other people are sad. Still others are indifferent. There is an aftershock in Nepal. More die. More are abandoned. More are homeless. He buys a paper shredder. He is going to shred paper like a spy or a government employee who only has five minutes before the revolutionary guard arrive to take him away or a corporate executive who only has 2 minutes before the Feds arrive. He draws some pictures. He writes some words. He writes some old fashioned letters on old fashioned paper and sends them in the post. He is not even sure that the post still works in that way. He put the envelopes into a box on the street marked post but he is not sure if it just an artifact from a previous age a living museum piece that has been left on the street. He does not know. He really wants a coffee and he really wants some wine and he really wants some chocolate but he looks at his swollen belly and he prepares his healthy smoothie and he acknowledges that the healthy smoothie is probably the better option. His legs ache. Every muscle screams at him. He does not know why they ache because he has not been doing any extra walking. He would not do well in a post-apocalyptic situation. He would be one of the first to go to be eaten to be poisoned to get the virus to become the slave to die in the opening salvo of the alien invasion to be farmed for his tasty lymph nodes. He watches Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. the ending is certainly unexpected. Then he reads about the history of violence and religious violence. Not as intertwined as one would expect. Behind any good example of religious violence there is always a human being happy to commit violence to use religion as an excuse for those who enjoy violence to commit it always a rabble to be roused always a smiling psychopath ready to be a messiah for the people. He plays The Witcher a game about hunting monsters that deals with racism and bigotry. That was not something that he was expecting. He prepares for bed and he goes to sleep.

Another Day.


He wakes up. His nose is full of snot. There is a new government in Britain. Lots of people are angry. Even more people voted them in but they are staying quiet whether from embarrassment or fear who can say. His belly is full of tasty steak. His belly would make a tasty steak. What is at stake? His credit card debt is gone. Like magic it is gone. His legs ache from walking. He has more and more…

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Another Day.


He wakes up. His nose is full of snot. There is a new government in Britain. Lots of people are angry. Even more people voted them in but they are staying quiet whether from embarrassment or fear who can say. His belly is full of tasty steak. His belly would make a tasty steak. What is at stake? His credit card debt is gone. Like magic it is gone. His legs ache from walking. He has more and more…

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Another Day.


He wakes up. His nose is full of snot. There is a new government in Britain. Lots of people are angry. Even more people voted them in but they are staying quiet whether from embarrassment or fear who can say. His belly is full of tasty steak. His belly would make a tasty steak. What is at stake? His credit card debt is gone. Like magic it is gone. His legs ache from walking. He has more and more bald patches on his head that the hair he has remaining does a poorer and poorer job of hiding. He is not doing enough  work. He is not doing enough drawing. He is not doing enough. The marks he is leaving on this life are not being made with indelible marker they are being made with delible marker. He listens to Florence and the Machine. He laughs at SNL. They make jokes about drawing Mohammed. He still wants to know who won the $100000 from that draw Mohammed competition in Texas. Someone must have drawn Mohammed. Someone must have done some pictures and then been judged. Who won the money? He wants to know. The air is full of stinking pollen. His hips feel broken. It is Mothers Day in America. On the television everyone has a perfect mother. They are no flawed mothers. Their lives must be great with their perfect mothers. He scratches the cat scratching post and reads a little more about the 100 years war. He cannot concentrate on anything. His mind wanders from one subject to another subject he does not even remember what the subjects were. He is tired. He is listless. He has no lists. He does laundry. The sheets are clean and warm and so are the towels. Life is not so bad after all. He goes to sleep.

Another Day.


He wakes up. His back is killing him. His coffee is killing him. His breakfast biscuit is full of cancer. His meat is full of antibiotics. His clothes are full of chemicals that are slowly being absorbed into his tender pancreas. His knees are aching and the pain pills he takes are giving him cancer or at the very least thinning his blood to water. He walks along the sidewalk. Fumes from cars…

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Another Day.


He wakes up. His back is killing him. His coffee is killing him. His breakfast biscuit is full of cancer. His meat is full of antibiotics. His clothes are full of chemicals that are slowly being absorbed into his tender pancreas. His knees are aching and the pain pills he takes are giving him cancer or at the very least thinning his blood to water. He walks along the sidewalk. Fumes from cars…

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Another Day.


He wakes up. His back is killing him. His coffee is killing him. His breakfast biscuit is full of cancer. His meat is full of antibiotics. His clothes are full of chemicals that are slowly being absorbed into his tender pancreas. His knees are aching and the pain pills he takes are giving him cancer or at the very least thinning his blood to water. He walks along the sidewalk. Fumes from cars fill his lungs with carcinogens. The digging work by the road fills his lungs with dust. He is sure they are trying to give him cancer. Then he sits on the metro train and the smell of burning chemicals fills his wide nostrils. Definitely cancer. Then he is sitting in front of screens at work and he can feel the cancer beaming out from every piece of whirring equipment slicing into his squishy organs. Then he eats his lunch with its antibiotics and its processed chemical cancer taste and then he feels the airport conditioning kick in and he can taste the diseases that have been hiding in the ducts and have been waiting in the pipes and now they are in him and his colleagues walk by and their illnesses jump off them and into his pores and ooze from their pores and into his pores and his soul is an oily bag. He is now mostly sickness from his food to his clothes to his colleagues to his work place to the city to where he travels to his bed where he dies or goes to sleep or the sleep of death or the death of sleep.