#j caps

[veganarchopunk]

Okay. Just had another night out with Lindsay. Uhm. Yes, she's the loveliest... and I want to spend much more time with her. I even carry enormous boxes up to her apartment already. WTF.

Even if the flick was weird as shite.

Anyway, happy and wanted to report it!

Cheers!

[veganarchopunk]

Laundry Novel.

While I was off doing laundry (thankfully by myself, as it were), I very abruptly found myself very excitedly remembering an excellent scene in a book I read once. One of those that really makes you appreciate literature for how engaging it can be.

And then I realized that I had written that book. Whoa.

Mind blown (the the dryer is still tumbling).

Cheers!

[veganarchopunk]

My life has been extremely stressful and draining lately. Wah wah.

[veganarchopunk]

Achey breaky Thursday.

The lovely UNIV instructor I'm quite taken with (as you lot know by now) normally works with me proctoring Study Tables on Thursday evenings - sort of makes the eleven-hour workday much more pleasant, you know?

Anyway, disappointment city, she isn't going to be there today. Wah wah.

Oh my achey breaky heart, am I right that-guy-who-is-one-of-those-Disney-channel-star's-father?

On the bright side, she did come see me this morning to let me know. Guess you have to weigh these things.

Anyway, I've got another curry night tonight and an ink appointment tomorrow! Comfortsoflife.

[veganarchopunk]

New Ink Outline - Ypsi.

Got the first stage of my next piece of ink done today, with the wonderfully talented Zera Anderson of Brite Idea Tattoo. She's easily the most talented tattooist I've ever met. Also, I bloody love how this turned out.

Here's a sneaky photo of the business happening, compliments of Chelsea.

The rest are snapshots around my arm of the new ink outline.

Cheers!

[veganarchopunk]

Secrets of the Caps - 01.

This just occurred to me earlier today for the first time.

Upon reflection of many, many similar instances, I realize that the observed behavior - in myself, interestingly enough - is exactly the same.

Apparently I've been doing this a long time. I have been completely unaware of it. Hence the term "nonverbal behavior," right?

Anyway.

Apparently, if I'm speaking with a lass* that I find myself quite taken by, who I'm genuinely attracted to**, I unconsciously and periodically tug on one or the other of my earlobes. You know, the little cartilagey bit that you pierce to stick rings and plugs in? That. Talking with a lass I am honestly into, I lightly tug at one of my earlobes now and again throughout the conversation, with thumb and forefinger. And I have no idea that I'm doing it, either.

So, signstowatchoutfor?

Anyway, just had a profound personal revelation and I wanted to document it.

Cheers!

.

.

*(read: lady, female, girl, young woman, etc.) 

**(read: more so than just recognizing that person as physically appealing)

[veganarchopunk]

Retrospective Mischief and Speed Dating.

So, once upon a time, our hero was thrown in jail. Some acts of mischief, ladies and laddies, just cannot be ignored. Anyway, it was a time in his life, and lessons were learned, and other lessons were not learned, but the important thing is that something about the experience sticks with a person.

I'm sure many folks could corroborate this: anyone who has had some sort of actual run-in (read: waving at the neighborhood patrol car on a lovely autumn afternoon isn't what I mean) with the police (or, for that matter, even if not - growing up in a low-income area does it all its own) learns to lock things down. By that I mean, you don't talk overly about yourself, don't volunteer unnecessary information, and absolutely don't like being interrogated.

For example:

Someone asking how your day was is fine. Someone prying into what you did, unless you've offered it up already, tends to cause a strong urge to cease communicating. Or possibly deface property. But mostly the former.

ReasonsIcouldn'tdospeeddating. But it's damn funny to think about:

Girl: What do you do for a living?

Caps: (Eyes narrowed.) What's it to you?

Girl: What are your favorite restaurants?

Caps: (Worried about his alibi.) Not too picky.

Girl: What do you do for fun?

Caps: (Worried about self-incrimination.) Nothing too crazy. The usual.

Imagine how fun that scene could be to watch in a rom-com (romantic comedy). Of course, that also means it would be wholly not fun to have happen in your life, but whatever. Details, details!

Actually, that's a golden idea for a scene. I should write it into some creative piece or another (note to self).

Here's the short of it: mischievous folk generally prefer not to divulge and definitely don't like reporting in. We're rubbish at speed dating. Unless we happen to be in a rom-com. Choose your speed dating pal-along wisely. Unless you're in a rom-com. If that's the case, nicely done! Also, choose unwisely for comedic value.

[veganarchopunk]

1200 Years Old.

Watching Doctor Who this week (don't worry, Chelsea, I won't provide spoilers) put me face-to-face with some pretty fundamental issues surrounding everyday self-identity, but most especially in the context of some literary medium. Fiction, as it were - or science fiction, really, because that's what this whole thing is about.

Running through all this, I'm really thinking about myself, and the stories that I have written or am writing. Or will write. It's all about tone or mood, about pace, about symbolism and meaning, and also realism. Without connection, a story is just a story; done right, a story is an experience.

Toby Whithouse (I've heard him, appropriately enough, been referred to as the "Joss Whedon of British television") knows how to create a story that is not only exciting and fantastic, but also (sur)real - I mean, A Town Called Mercy was something that had a much more grounded-in-reality feel than Dinosaurs On A Spaceship (which, while utterly brilliant (thank you Chris Chibnall, as usual), was also so fantastical that we really loved it BECAUSE it was blatantly impossible and beyond us. We LOVE that the Doctor can take us on these journeys because we never can.) in that it had the sort of edginess and burden of something we could potentially face in real life. Like Firefly and Serenity, A Town Called Mercy combined the wonder and excitement of fantastic possibility, and grounded it all with a very un-jazzed-up depiction of real people getting by, no unrealistic pomp about it. Well, unless you count the cyborg (part technology, part man - think pacemakers, artificial limbs... we're working on it). Details.

We have a man expected to provide all the answers, to make everything right, to face down every manner of evil and immorality, and all the while keep a collected head and maintain a saintlike dedication to flawless morality. No matter if those around him or against him do murky or sketchy things, even the slightest variation from the path and he's seen as a monster because it contrasts so sharply with the moral prison he's chosen to entomb himself in the rest of the time. And he's chosen to do that because, deep down, he IS a monster - or, at least, was, and no one ever psychologically recovers from that. But talk about pressure, and to still make everything okay, without sacrificing the moral ground, time and time again, for 1200 years (or however long your character, or person, has).

And he does it.

But he doesn't do it because he is morally superior, he does it because it's right, and the people he cares about are there (whether actually or just in spirit, in heart, in mind) to remind him (without their even realizing it) why he wants to do the right thing.

Without love, the lives lived and places visited lose their flavor, it all turns to ash, and eventually the moral ground recedes because doing the right thing incurs just as many losses and failures as doing the wrong, and it's several times more difficult. Being selfish or spiteful, treating others harshly, or choosing NOT to act are all easier paths, all of which will only damage love.

Without love, breathing's just the ticking of.