sat/20250201

Temp dropped below freezing last so the mud bog backyard of the last several days is under a frosty coat. Nice to not sink on my walk to The Shed to plug it in for its post-nighttime heating recharge. Little victories, little victories – which, speaking of, I'm continuing to celebrate yesterday's homemade record cabinet and subsequent recognition of what Lon's final form will be. Looks like I will, indeed, get to get him there later.

Haven't been writing or thinking much about politics here because, like the first go-round with King Tumor, everything is so on-the-surface horrible there's no meat on the bone to write about. I donate to where I can (recurring contribution to the ACLU) but am holding off any and all donations to Dems until they grow a pair and act like a fucking opposition party (AOC is doing great, but she can't do this alone forever) and not the kumbaya party of reconciliation and ass-ring-kissing. I mean, come on.

fri/20250131

Backyard and, especially, the path to The Shed are mud bogs. Melting snow, increased temps, and general foot traffic have combined into a muddy hellscape which have inspired me to consider constructing a walkway from the house to The Shed. Shedwalk. Out of wood, probably – and while I'm not averse to poured concrete and brick though I'd just as soon throw a bunch of palettes into the yard and reenact WATERWORLD. But I'll probably stick with a nice wooden walkway.

In spite of falling under the auspices of the Great Schism (which if I haven't written about it yet, involves me throwing out every writing project – no matter if it's a seed or 7/8 complete –  that didn't work or that I didn't see through to fruition before this year), J's enthusiasm has brought one project back from the dead. And I'll grant you, it's a pretty cool idea. Cool enough that my desire to make it something real has overtaken my desire to branch into the entirely new. Everything old – or at least this bit of the everything (and oh shit now another thing too because I still want to know how it turns out – until it wears me down and I never look at again for another two months – +2 back from the dead, I guess ok that's it really) – being new again? *

I want to be more overwhelmed with the stakes in THE MADNESS than I am. Otherwise, solid show. Colman Domingo is fantastic.

thu/20250130

Trying out a bit of a new thing that I thing I tried once before, little bit of a timeshift, words first thing, then Informalities at midday. Occasional thought-meanderings throughout. Waking, recovering, the skin-scream of fresh ink continues to abate, mercifully. Most color I've ever had one – usually go for black, but when J wants to use color, J can use color. Other than that, nothing too exciting though my addiction to HISTORY'S MYSTERIES on History / Hulu grows with each episode (Shroud of Turin episode particularly intriguing): Laurence Fishburne makes everything awesome, even though the answer to every mystery is always "🤷 – it's a mystery."

Plan for today being the same as most days: yoga, run, write, eat, box, draw, weld, stare blankly into space as I get minor high from the flux and the joy of doing that particular work all while avoiding, as much as I can, the clusterfuck parade ensuing from the federal side of things. Still digging about for the right words to one thing or other, though.

I'd also like to get around to putting up the new freestanding heavy bag though I don't know that I have it in me today to go buy 400 pounds of sand to keep it standing as I definitely don't have it in me to fill the base with water in the backrook that tends to flood anyhow, the backroom that houses The Collection.

Slowly, slowly returning to the mindset that this writing thing is less a cosmic joke that I've borne the brunt of for the last 20+ years and more an essential part of who I am, for better or for worse: part of the frustration – and this need (rational – though perhaps too rational) for some nebulous "else" – is that I get up so early (which I prefer) that I'm mentally tapped out (read: old and tired) by lunch if not by the end of the morning run and that I'm incapable of mustering the requisite focus and/or willpower to push ahead creatively through the remaining 10-13 hours of of my waking day which – while the smart thing to do would be to view those 10-13 as a time for replenishing and restocking my creative well – nonetheless feel more like a further drain on my limited-to-begin-with mental and creative acuity but hey, at least I'm not using this space to bitch about how busy I am (which I'm not which might be part of the problem though I'd never bitch about it because that's just fucking lame): no, I get to bitch about other things (like how T1D is nothing if not a disease of damned if you do, damned if you don't) so IDK pfffbt, fuck it, the day awaits.