I hate moving. The physical act thereof, that is; I don't mind finding myself somewhere new, as I will in a few days, but I loathe displacing the objects currently surrounding me, shipping them elsewhere, and rearranging them. The fact that it's for a good reason- i.e. my distaste for my surroundings right now, as well as being able to live with my girlfriend again- doesn't help much, either, though I'm honestly excited about uprooting and heading elsewhere, even if said elsewhere is ten minutes north of here.

I'll be spending the next couple nights packing, and once I move into my place in the Heights, I might not have internet access for a while. If you need to reach me, email will still be reasonable, so you can get my new phone number via said medium.

I want a week wherein I can sleep as much as I want.

Good night.

Christmas Eve. I get off work at noon today, and since I've got a little cash in my pocket, I can go buy some last-minute presents for folks. I don't really have anything to report, so I'll just wish everyone a merry Christmas, even if they're not celebrating the holiday. I'm too lazy to cover all the religious holiday bases.
Enjoy your presents, your family and friends, and your boozed-up eggnog, and I'll catch you later.

My book is selling so badly it's ridiculous. I read recently that Herman Melville's earlier work (and, I believe his later books, but I haven't gotten that far into the biography yet) sold pretty poorly too, so I'm not entirely disheartened. Nothing like commiserating with a dead man who had to work a shitty job most of his life because nobody bought his books.

Buy my book, folks! Inflate my ego and bring me a few cents closer to finally getting a royalty check. It'll be fun, really.

While General Protection Fault is an incredibly enjoyable comic, it doesn't do justice to the struggle of workers everywhere. Yeah, while I promote non-work, everyone should understand that "work" means "alienated labor": bullshit, non-self-fulfilling (i.e. not fulfilling on a level you'd enjoy off the clock), labor, such as most wage slavery.

That aside, I'll continue to enjoy GPF for its narrative and character value, and urge all my fellow workers to quit adhering to the strangulatory system they continue to work under, and to organize in classic working-man/woman fashion.

For further inspiration, click here.

For some reason, this piece of shit has italicized all of my recent posts.

IT SHOULD BE A REAL WORD/DOESN'T GO

escritorial, adj. Pertaining to writing. This is quite the escritorial problem.

Nova, Chevy, 1978, n. Car I hope to purchase in the near future. Possesses 350 engine, minor rust spots, and considerable potential to HAUL SOME SERIOUS ASS. "This '78 Nova will burn your ass, dude!"

I, HYPOCRITE

I was going to bitch about how over-hyped "blogs" are (I still recoil at the taste of that word in my mouth), but then I realized that I'm writing one. Ha ha ha.

Funny how a couple measly years can change terminology so rapidly, and how internet-obsessives can turn a sea of yammering bullshit into a supposedly democratic institution. Fact is, the vast majority of "blogs," mine included, are pap, whether or not the "blogger" in question owns a cell phone-cum-camera or a shitty Pentium II. (I was going to say 386, but I'm not aiming for retro cred.)

And now, for a slightly less hypocritical finale...

"How unreasonable people are! They never use the freedoms they have but demand those they do not have; they have freedom of thought- they demand freedom of speech." -Kierkegaard

SUCH SWEET SORROW

I miss smoking cigarettes. When I got in my car wreck and collapsed a lung, I was trying to quit, and since then, I haven't inhaled a cigarette. (Purposely, at least; on at least three occasions, old habits blindsided me and I found myself sucking in a lungful, against the doctor's orders.) I've smoked a few, if you take "smoked" to mean "puffed on." In that respect, cigarettes are utterly inferior to pipes, which I still smoke, and in fact have smoked more of since my accident than I ever did. However, for sheer ease of carriage, lighting, and use as a prop, no form of tobacco can beat the cigarette.

Cigarettes, despite all their negative aspects and the fact that I can't smoke them anymore, are still one of my favorite things. I mourn not being able to whip out the ol' Zippo and fire up a Chesterfield, Lucky Strike, Pall Mall, or Kamel Red. I miss the days when I couldn't get enough smoking in, the days I would tear through a pack and go to bed feeling good about it. I miss addiction, both to nicotine and the very act of smoking. I wax nostalgic about sitting on my back porch, knocking back Lone Stars and sucking down Pall Malls. Hot DAMN, I WANT TO SMOKE AGAIN!

But I haven't. Yeah, smoking a pipe counts as smoking on some level, but fuck, it ain't really the same. I want to smoke cigarettes again- by the goddamn CARTON- but the thought of having another collapsed lung is too scary, as is thinking ahead 40-50 years, when, if I started smoking cigarettes again, I might start suffering from lung cancer or emphysema. (Part of me recalls that cancer doesn't seem to run in my family at all; sometimes this is heartening, and sometimes it smacks of mental sabotage.) Of course, smoking a pipe could ostensibly give me cancer as well, but I have much less fear of that happening.

Whenever I think about cigarettes, which isn't as often as this missive would have you think, I wonder if I'll eventually override my fears and start smoking again in a year or so. I'd like to say either "hell yeah, I'm gonna smoke again," or "nah, I'll pass," but I honestly don't know. I just don't fuckin' know.

Maybe it's time for another bowl of the thinking man's smoke, University Flake. Or not.

HASTE (ALTERATION)

I got an email a couple days ago from some dude who'd apparently read my book. He didn't seem to like it, which is fine; I suspect anyone that's not part of my family or a friend will care for it. Turns out, though, that he'd only read the excerpt on www.axismundisum.com, which he found via RPG.net.

This came as a surprise. I pitched an idea for a column to RPG.net not long before my accident, and only recently have I managed to cough up any follow-up material, which I still haven't sent them. That aside, they've already started running the column, which is about the writing and attempted publishing of my soon-to-finished second novel, entitled Critical Hits. I think it'll be published monthly. (I hope so; I don't want to spit out words more often than that.)

This column is the blip on the radar I previously mentioned. Nothing special, really, but it's nice to have a little something regularly stewing in the writing kettle. The URL is below, so check it out and let me know what y'all think.

http://www.rpg.net/news+reviews/columns/crithits04dec03.html

np: Katatonia, Viva Emptiness

FINALLY

I feel like I've accomplished something for the first time in months. Nothing particularly amazing, but better than nothing, and I'm forced to actually follow it up within the next couple of days. Whenever the results appear on the world's radar, I'll point out which blip is mine. I'm sure you'll all be thrilled shitless.

np: Hypocrisy, "Fractured Millenium"
Peter Tagtgren's vocals are some of my favorite in metal, and the keys on this song are somethin' else.