It's a dusky Friday night. Colder than I want and rainy to boot.

Anne of green gables stares just above my head out from a streetcar ad.

I am going to use tbh e next section as a sentence generation game wish me luck

Confirming that i will be there at Five tomorrow. Thanks again for all the time I have been working with you. If you are the same thing as last week, I am a little bit more about this one. It was a good day. We will have to go back to the airport and the other one was the first place. I will be there at Five tomorrow. Thanks again in my head and shoulders the same thing happened.

Firstbutton only :

Confirming that i will be there at Five years. The one that is the only one that is the only one that is the only one that is the only one that is the only one that is the only one that is the only one. The one that is the only one. The one that is. But it is not the intended to the gym is a thing. The one that is the only one, and the other one was the first one. The one that is the only one that is the. The one that is the only one that is the only one that is the.....

Repetitive much? Les try middle autofill :

Confirming that i will be there at Five tomorrow morning and I will be there at Five tomorrow morning and I will be there at Five tomorrow morning and I will be there at Five tomorrow morning and I will be there at Five tomorrow morning and I will be there at Five tomorrow morning and I will be there. I am only available the full weekend of the 16th. I am only available the full weekend of the 16th and the 23rd. I am only available the full weekend of the 16th and the 23rd the week of the 16th......

Okay, that gets old fast. Final button... Go:

Regarding my phone 📱 📱 I will send the pic is the same as before you come home 🏡 I will send the pic is the same as before you come home 🏡. We will need the car. It will take care about me being in touch. We will need the car 🚗 I will send the pic. We will need the car 🚗 I will send the pic is the same. The other side and a little late to call 📞. We will need the car 🚗

What is this a song lyric?

Nope just another blog on a dusky Friday night.

Alright… it’s a day for today.

Not much time but lots of pep. That’s my today.

My tonight will be filled with clay.

If things go well that is.

What to say in a day like today. I feel like I am forgetting something…

IAM!

bye!

Totally Tea

As a farm boy, falling off wagons is a thing I tend to avoid. The best way for doing this is to never find oneself in a situation where one has to get on a wagon in the first place.

Side effects of this include being run over by a wagon of pumpkins… but I’ll let it pass.

I’m developing a fringe persona. He doesn’t drink, smoke or do drugs. In part he exists because I don’t smoke or do drugs. Drinking is a much more nuanced part of who I am. I do drink, but when on the road i often choose not to. Why? Well, it’s expensive. There’s other reasons, but mostly it boils down to this.  In general I spend way too much on food, and a pint of beer usually costs about half as much as my entree.

In other places in my other lives, booze was the gateway to insider/outsider status. People who didn’t drink were mistrusted. It was like a mystery religion, and once I became a member i started to generate companions. This is still a part of touring society, and by choosing not to participate, I will never become deeply entrenched.

However. The amount of people who’ve made the same choice as i have are growing. It’s becoming a mystery religion of its own, the friends who chose to not. It’s good to not feel alone.

I’m curious to see how this plays out over the years. Is this bout of temperance temporary? Or will I become straight edge long after it’s become cool?

Only time will tell. .To that, I raise a glass. It has coffee in it.

Stress and Duress

Week Four, here we go. It’s a Monday, and that’s my fin day. Apparently it’a also the day I ate too much garlic.

Garlic is a thing so horrible for me, that I avoid it like good hipsterd do wheat and wheat by-products. The time’s I’ve been Garlic Bombed have been so personally scarring to me that I remember each one as if it were yesterday.

Forget yesterday, might it be tomorrow?

Who to blame? The mother of all chaos. The evil one. My favorite.

Her name is Rock. She rocks. And her soup might roll me.

Might being the operative word. I might explode with garlic badness. I might simply go “bleh”

My probiotics might kick in. antioxidants. Do I remember antioxidants?

Welp, I might… REAL SOON

Poor Zita. It could be a long time until morning.

Once upon a time a man found profit from an unlikely wager. The end.

Once upon a time, there was a hat. It fit on a cat and then mayhem occurred. The end.

Once upon a time there was a boy named Sam. He didn’t enjoy taking risks. The end.
Once upon a time a lot of things happened when I was waiting for a bus. The end.

Once upon a time plans to end cultural differences led to confusion. The end

Once upon a time there was a food fight. The end.

Once upon a time a turtle was delusional. The end

Once upon a time an elephant made a friend the end.

Once upon a time you were at a point where anything is possible. The end

Once upon a time profits superseded environmentalism. The end

Once upon a time a terrorist had a change of heart. The e

Once upon a time, I had five minutes to blog

The end.

Something new, for you.

Hello, Friend.

You are the only one.

How does that feel, to know you’re alone reading this?

It makes me feel not alone, floating as I am, in this void.

Others may know, and not care. Others may care, and not know.

You do both.

And So… My writing will change for you. Heisenberg demands it.

I should warn you. This is a temporal project. It may end abruptly.

It often ends abrup

Just kidding. See you on the other side.

Time for a new end time

Once there was a man who ate only his money. Doing the wise thing took too much time. He believed that there was much to do, so he did nothing. Eventually the man died, but truly, he’d been dead for a while now and never remembered it until after he was actually dead. His corpse jingled, from the money he ate.

Ok, I’m going to leave this dregs for tonight. With luck, I’ll get a full night’s sleep.

Also remember… in Fresno, you wrote in blocks. When love letters you wrote in block. Here, you’re playing a totally different game.

A game without waffles.

Sorry Bossboss, I modified your work, with love and not in performance...

A princess once kissed a frog on the nose:

From a magical mist, a prince then arose

Only a fairy tale could have such a plot

In life the lie is to be who we’re not.

A Frog's gotta leap

A bird's gotta soar

A bug’s  gotta creep

A lion’s gotta roar

The leopard can’t change a single black spot

But isn’t she more than a pattern of dots?

A bee’s gonna be, as time passes by, what the bee has to be.

Then the old bee will die.

But no need to be sad,

‘cuz the old bee thinks not about the pollen she had and youth she ain’t got.

So don’t run yourself ragged trying to escape your own skin.

If you have a tail, wag it. Be your own man’s best friend.

A Frog on a Log

A Bird in the Sky

It’s a good day to jump,

It’s a great day to fly

Apologies!

Friends I am trying to do too much.

For the last hour, I have spent spinning a story out of gossamer threads, and while it’s right there… my fingers are too clumsy to make it golden today.

So I give you this brief apology… and like chad at the Nickelback Redemption Center, I am so.. So sorry.

Anticipation of a dark future

I just poured the water. What follows these words will be the sweet release of Coffee.

The smell enters my nose and promises a full day of work to come, blissfully ignoring this busy morning that preceded it. No milk, nothing sweet as sugar will sully this relationship the black brewing beans and I have.

My shoulders clench in anticipation at the mild dehydration i will soon experience, and know that after the week that I’ve had… No coffee will be strong enough. They know, even if I don’t that Coffee is but a broken promise to me. I need less, not more. More will never be close to enough.

Too bad shoulders. My time is up. Coffee embrace me. I meet you with my waiting lips…

...and promptly burn my tongue.

tap.

tap.

tap. tap.








tap.






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tap.

Zita wont like this one.

It’s been an all hands on deck kind of week, and unfortunately for me I’m not talking about fondling magic cards.

Projects that were started had to be restarted, prior commitments had to be kept and all around, I haven’t been able to stop and rest since I was on a plane from LAX.

I wasn’t all that lax in California, things have been simply picking up speed.

If I don’t stop now, you know where we’re going with this…. To explosive territory.

So with that, how is it going? Once I have some projects taken care of, I can not relax again, but I will be able to take on new commitments.

You know what they say… commit or … something else.

Folks it’s fizzling!

How is it possible to fizzle so much , like a sparkler through a marshmallow,

All I have today is style no substance. And that’s saying something, because i’m hardy abusive to  my substance, it’s my  style that gets tough love.

No coffee yet, that’s probably the thing, I can smell it brewing on the counter. Perhaps I shall get me a cup.

Perhaps peacocks  could fly out of my ears.

Perhaps, I was a fan of music.

Perhaps, friends,

Perhaps.

A spoonful is the medicine that goes down

Let me tell you, friends. Too much coffee is definately a thing. It’s how I powered my workweek….

… until last week, where my gainful prospects went weak.

But too much coffee: It all started with a bowl, a handled bowl full of cold water, can the coffee handle cold water? You better believe it.

One

Two

Three

Four?

Five? (Maybe)

SIX (THIS IS GETTING CRAZY< BETTER STOP AT SIX>) heaping spoonfulls of grounds would sit in the water overnight and by morngin I’d chug the swill and feel ill for a good fifteen minutes.

Two things would always occur. One of them is unmentionable, unless your name be Be. The other is that I was filled with enough perk to pep me through my work. Until I crashed, and took a nap. Because that’s how I do.

Except now, I don’t.

So far, flow good. If things can keep up I might be able to keep the hounds at bay. I hear them braying and I swing away before they can catch me.

It feels good to be me. Again. And now, I must flee.

Waffles!

*knock Knock*

Reality hit me like an encyclopedia salesman today.

Today I am back to work, back to the city.

I always remember how much I hate the city, my first day back to the city.

But now I am with you. and with them. so that is better.

There's so much work to be done, an entire new story to tell!

We shall move in emotional aggregates. we shall wear the faces of imagined long past family.

It shall be beautiful in all the ugly ways that beautiful things come about.

If I dance for today, can I remember to measure out the week?

If my week is set can my month be full of both rich art loam, and self sustaining grubs?

It's time to knock on Reality's door. It's time to dance for the times.

Prompt: Write the Dumbest thing I can.

I stood. He was at the door. A shovel in his hand had dirt on it. I stared at the shovel.

He said, “Get in the truck”

I did.

The truck was blue, but tonight it was black because of the sky. In the country there isn't any streetlights to show me the truck was blue. It was dark when he stopped driving.

He said, “Get out.”

I did.

It's getting cold. I ate my sandwich. The sun light is pretty. It's still cold though. Too. Cold. I want a pair of gloves. My ears and nose are itch from the cold. Now they burn. Why is it so cold?

It's dark when he comes back. I see his lights, and even though I'm so cold it hurts to move I jump on the side of the road so he sees I'm still here. The lights look away from me and there's a crunchy thud. It's a white car. It's hit a tree. No one is moving inside.

The back door is hanging open. I don't want to be by dead people, but I'm so cold. There's no snacks in the car. I'm so cold. Right now the seat is warm, so I lay on it. Just for a little while.

I close my eyes.  

North by South-ish

I've spent just under a total of three years of my life living in California. Three years,m and until Rogue, I'd never gotten south of the Bay area.

That was Northern California. Fresno is no longer north. What's the difference?

Northern California sprawls. Places are ramshackle. People actually wear beanies, neck scarves and rive VW buses I went to a coffee shop earlier this week which comprised of a shack where the barrister stayed, and a compound of outdoor shade with chairs under it. Dogs and art sprawled haphazardly around. Everything non-permanent, because it didn't have to be. You could live in a yurt in northern California and people wouldn't blink.

I've now never been south of Fresno, but everything is much more permanent here. Buildings are just as unheadad and sitting on the earth, but they're made of stone, not camping materials. Roads cut through the area instead of winding through nature. While northern California has art popping out of every conceivable nook, the are of Fresno feels more planned, less eclectic.

Both have good coffee Both have good beer (allegedly) both have restaurants named after the Sequoia that serves a decent burger. Santa Rosa is home to Tom Beland, one of my favorite comics creators. Fresno is home to what has quickly become my favorite fringe festival.

The biggest difference to me is one of the locals' attitudes. Fresno-ans dislike their home city, for reasons that visitors can't understand. Meanwhile, it's more expensive to rent in Northern California than it is in Toronto due to all the silicon valley workers moving up there.

This morning, I had a choice. Face literally 100 miles of rush-hour traffic, or take the scenic route through stunningly beautiful hills and water. Next time, Golden Gate. Next time.

As for me, if i return to rogue, I will have to make a tour out of it. Perhaps then i can see south of Fresno, and the magnificence that awaits.

Waffles!

It's not the weekend, but who cares!?

“I can't feel my face when I'm with you,” he drunkenly slurred at the mass of primordial gelatin, “But I like it. I like it!” slowly, the paralysis crept across his neck, chest and extremities. In a state of ecstatic bliss, he never noticed his lover was beginning to digest him.

This was the fate of many of suitors of Cynthia, the sexiest gelatinous cube at the disco. The pounding bass would make her quiver so enticingly, all the laser lights refracted through her. Patrons of all races and all inclinations would she her quivering on the dance floor and flock to her like moths to the candle flame. Perhaps it was the drugs that made her attractive, perhaps it was that she literally was a drug. Perhaps it was the ennui that the patrons felt which made them flock to her. She was still death. But compared to an adventurer's blade, Cynthia was sexy death.

The disco never tried to bounce her from the floor, having realized that they could collect all the inorganic belongings of Cynthia's many lovers once she finished digesting them. Besides, there was something grotesquely disco about nubile young beings floating in translucent jelly, paralyzed in a state of bliss, the strobes bouncing off their jeweled and bedazzled armor. Management actually started to promote the club with her as the main attraction. Sales were never higher.

Eventually, adventurers showed up. There was blood. There always is, with adventurers.

The adventurers burned down the club with Cynthia in it. The pitiful player characters had no idea what they had unleashed onto the world. News of the razing spread to all edges of the map, and before long outposts started burning.

Five years to the day of the club being razed, Drage, king of the Disco Orks, threw the last king humanity would ever have into a massive gelatinous cube. As the ruler was floated within the caustic jelly with the members of his court, the Orcs danced sang and did strange inorganic drugs.

Within ten years, adventurers were extinct. The world was now safe for Cynthia.

This is how the world ends. Not with violence, but with dancing.

One wekk into Lent, and these 40 Days of Blogging...

In other news, I've been in California a week. I've been here for a Fringe Festival in Fresno California. That's been going great, I've met some amazing people and my show has developed quite nicely. I doubt I'll leave with money in my pocket, but with this new show I have the opportunity to enter into new markets and reach new audiences. So that's a thing. Is it Kevin Bruce level of good? Probably not... but really, I don't know if this should could be that. Is it feel-good storytelling that the whole family can enjoy? Ayep.

This festival also reminded me of how much I'm loved. This is important, and I don't take it lightly. People have been coming out of their lives to show me support and to say things like “If not for X, I'd be there” and these people are the people who would be there... if not for X. I never asked them too, I never expected them too, it's just a “Holy cow, Myque is doing a thing!” and here they are; or would be if not for X.

If that last paragraph didn't make sense, let me summarize. People were willing to go out of their way to see this show, and people are clamoring for this show to play in Independence.

So often I feel alone, or more correctly, separated from those that loved me once. It's deeply good to find out some still do as passionately as before. It drives me forward, and makes me want to do the things I can not do on this trip... see all the people I've loved and left behind. Perhaps with this show, and others like it, I can begin to build a means to visit friends, and not fall into the traps that an excess of travel have led me to before.

Perhaps, my friends, this is the beginning of my Time on the Road.

Won't Dorris be surprised.

The Harshest Mistress

Merciful Anthonilla wept in her house.

It is not strange for this to happen. You can often find her weeping. But Merciful? There's the note worthy part.

Antonilla was rarely merciful.

She chose to have toast for breakfast, instead of beetles. The screams of children quickly bored her, so she had her doctors be quick with their work. Finally today her bath was one of Sand.... and noting else.

In the shadow of the fading Sun, Antonilla wept in shame for what she had done, and what people had done in her name.

All the pain that she had caused this day cascaded down upon her shoulders like a cloak of blades.

It wasn't enough. Antonilla promised that Tomorrow she was do better.

Tomorrow she would be a good girl.

Tomorrow there would be no mercy.

Tomorrow came, and there was no mercy. The beetles crunched, the doctors cut, the world was cloaked in blades.

Still Antonilla wept. This time she wept for me.  

Tiny timey timey for todya

At the end of my one man piece, I talk about how home isn't just a place, it's also a time.

Sometimes it's possible to hop into a time machine. If you're luck you'll have three shining days.

The first one was filled with a world in bloom, a flat road, an easy driving car, and the promise of an old friend at the end of it.

The day is near it's end, promises were kept, and promises are made. Life is beautiful this day..

Life is not only beautiful, but today it mostly is.

Waffles.

Independence: Views from the Farm on the Hill, Part 1

In the countryside, around Gatesville rests the House of the Chickens. The house is a bit shabby, it sags in the way most uncared for houses sag, but the neighbors maintain it to appease its occupants, a flock of magical chickens.

I'm sorry to use the word “magical,” but there's no better way to describe them. For a handful of corn, the chickens will tell you your fortune. For help patching the roof, they'll tell you your future. Upset them, and only he sky will weep for you.

It's not easy to tell if your chickens are magic, but it should come as no surprise that Farmer Sly realized. Once you are blessed with the birth of a two-headed cow, you start to pay attention to the weird parts of the Earth. Pay enough attention to the weird parts of the Earth, and you'll develop a gamboling addictions. To settle a bet, Sly had to buy an old farmhouse and fill it with chickens To the surprise of everyone in the neighborhood, The chickens adapted to their lodging better than expected, They soon got power established, doors functional and the old well pump back in order. By they, I mean the chickens. Farmer Sly was sleeping under six feet of dirt by the time this happened.

While owning a wondrous house where chickens live like people was a neat thing to have, Farmer Sly's son (hereby known as Farmer Sly) had other plans for the property. He envisioned a fancy farm mansion sitting proudly where the Chicken House stood, and as he was a bit of a gambler too, happened to have the money to build this palace of the prairie. However something strange happened every time Farmer Sly visited the Chicken house...

Numbers appeared scratched in the dirt. Every day, the same numbers. Soon, Sly started to notice that the hens were laying eggs in a similar pattern... the same as the numbers repeating over and over.

A normal man might have reached for the whiskey under the sink, and called up either a psychiatrist or a priest. Nor Farmer Sly. He used the numbers for the Power Ball.

Once he collected his millions, Farmer Sly tore his own house down and build his mansion on that. A couple months later though he got loose on the bottle, and spilled his secrets at the tavern. A legend was born that night, and proved true in the morning.

The children who live behind the gravestones though, sing a different song. The gist of it is that the Chickens of Death are stinky. When their mother heard it, she dropped her plate. No one had told the children of the Death Chicken., When she found out that I had not taught the children about the beast either, she grew very quiet. I can understand. It's hard to live in a place like Independence when your children pay attention to the weird parts of the Earth.

Some filler, For Friday

“Man, It's a Good Friday,” said Slim, looking out the window on Queen Street.

“If you say so,” said the Mannequin. “I can never tell the days apart.”

If Slim could have shaken it's head, it would have. “Can't you see? Friday is when the people wear black coats and booties across the street!”

“You know fully well I can't, at least in the Euclidean sense,” snapped the pale statuette. “Besides, people always walk by wearing black coats and booties. I think your perception of times is skewed.”

“You're skewed.” snapped Slim.

“I'm supposed to be, it makes me attractive to the passer-by! Calling me skewed is like me telling you that you're crooked.”

“What's that supposed to mean,” Wailed Slim, dander rising.

“It means that you ARE a window crack. It makes sense that you're kinda crooked.” The Mannequin ungraciously replied.

“I don't know why I talk to you, “ snarled Slim.

The Mannequin didn't reply. Silence spread across the window display like a creeping frost. People came into the store, people left the store. Just before the lights were turned off for the evening, they marveled at the peace and quiet below.

For them, at least, it was a good Friday.

Not In Tents, But Close Enough

Hi friends, I'm writing this blog from the world famous city of Fresno California, where I am House Camping!

What's house camping you might ask: It's when I realize how pampered I have become.

A kind man has opened an unused part of his duplex to me; the catch is that there's no hot water, no WiFi,, no laundry, and no cooking utensils It's like a permanent tent with a sleeping bag inside.

Don't get me wrong, I am eternally grateful to him for putting me up, many of the above “nos” he will cover. For example, I can shower at his place. We're going to a laundromat today and I can find internet where I can.

Two days ago, I was listening to a description of how an atmospheric emp blast would wipe out 90% of humanity who are dependent on electricity, and I scoffed. People have lived for tens of thousands of years without it. They will be fine...

I'm not scoffing now.

This is good. It will teach me a way to live that I haven't done in a number of years. My main concern is one of communications and community – how will I be able to adapt to this landscape when I can't get WiFi? How can I blog Daily? How can I social media?

Scheduling. That's how. Most apps let certain posts be put out into the aether without me hitting send, and that's what I must do. Generate ahead of time and then send it out. Which reminds me... I gotta put together more plans getting this onto my phone...

Waffles!

Hello, Far looking space cowboys!

This blog is an infinitesimal blip across the starry sky, long neglected, but for the next forty days will be sprung anew with new works and old memories!

What shall transpire? I frankly don't know. Each day of Lent (remember, Sundays are off) will sprout a new blog, as is commanded. If you have any comments, perhaps I'll oblige.

Meanwhile, I'll be dusting off my dusty style, and promising to fill you in in the least metaphorical way possible. Concrete examples make great shoes, as they always say.

Anyway, It's good to be back. It's weird feeling my voice crack under the lack of use. I almost wrote misuse... but realized that it could be taken too many ways.
|Regardless, as always,

Waffles!