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Two Negative Gnomes

Dolagnome: ‘Why. Do. You use so many double negatives? Just say what you mean.’
Numba: ‘I do say what I mean. I meant: Not, fucking, far. Any qualifier that is a spectrum, that is to say, not binary, may benefit from a double negative.’
Dolagnome: ‘That’s just near.’
Numba: ‘No. It’s not far. If I say, near, and the walk is actually, ‘not far,’ in terms of time or distance — which we didn’t fucking qualify — you might be upset with me. There is a context of fuzzy logic, of a shared understanding of distance as it relates to us in practical terms. We’re talking about whether something is easy or difficult in the abstract and applying it to the concrete. It’s complicated. The one thing I know for sure is that if I tell you something is, ‘near,’ and it turns out to be farther than that, then the next time I see you, if we argue about it — which I’m sure we will — and I defend myself saying, ‘Well I didn’t want to use a double negative. I know how much you hate that.’ Your response will invariably be, ‘Well, I don’t know how far it is, but it sure as fuck is not near!’
Dolagnome: ‘Are you done?’
Numba: ‘Yes.’
Dolagnome: ‘Here’s your sandwich.’
Numba: ‘Thank you.’
Dolagnome: ‘Might be a little cold.’
Numba: ‘Fuck you.’
Dolagnome: ‘Kisses.’

New Interview on Self Publisher’s Showcase!

I answer questions for Self Publisher’s Showcase about my year as an author!
Check it out!

A Response to Hate

Almost 120 million people voted. No matter what your political stance, that’s 120 million citizens, including your friends, family, and neighbors, that stood up to make a choice, each casting a vote for hope, a vote to improve this country. At 60 million a side, the fuzzy edges of our political system have been brought into sharp focus: we’re uncertain about our leaders and their methods, our present and our future, and now we’re uncertain of ourselves as a collective. Let’s not fracture our society further by building a wall between us, when it’s never been more obvious how important it is for us to work together. Irrespective of the tremendous promises made to the contrary, the issues that led to this result will not disappear tomorrow, in seventy days or the hundred that follow, or even in a single term. Working toward meaningful, lasting change is something we do every day, and something we’ve been working on for more than 238 years. We’ve made a lot of mistakes, and I like to think, some progress, and maybe even learned some things. One of the most important lessons is to not hate or wish violence on someone for not sharing your opinion. I strongly oppose Trump for many, I believe, rational reasons, but that does not mean I oppose my fellow voters, or wish them ill. It’s the opposite. I’m just afraid they’re wrong, but I hope for all of us, that I’m the one who’s wrong.

Voting

I am frequently frustrated by the propaganda around the importance of voting — no emphasis is placed on knowing anything about the measures, issues, or candidates. Is a vote cast in ignorance better than no vote? Social pressure puts you in a booth, ego kicks in, and it’s like you’re taking a test? If that’s the case, I think it’s like the SATs, and answering wrong is worse than not answering.
Maybe that analogy doesn’t hold, I’m not even sure how to test it. :-) But I do feel like voting for voting sake, thoughtlessly, makes you an extension of whichever arm of the political machine paid the most in your area, where you spend your time both physically and virtually, and encourages the buzz-wordy, nonsense driven propaganda to continue every year.
Inform yourself. Be skeptical. Question the issue as though you hold the opposite opinion. You don’t have to research every issue, but there is a high likelihood something on the ballot matters to you. Find out about it.
Punching a hole, filling a circle, or drawing a line on a ballot? That’s the easy part.

Sharing means caring. ;-)

During creation, an artist must not worry what the audience will think; it is that mentality which differentiates art from entertainment. Although, each can certainly fuel the other, and are by no means mutually exclusive, art emerges from an overwhelming desire to share something so profoundly personal that the recognition of the work, the reflection in a stranger’s eyes, forges a deep, intimate, and irrefutable connection, and through that conduit, we are no longer alone. An artist chases that connection at the cost of all else. It is the only drug of consequence.

Imagine Flight

I can’t be all of me anywhere I go

So parts of me that need to show

Rise up

To overpower the me’s in view

But I’ve maybe found another way

A way not to burn the bridges but instead

Escape their existence

Take flight

But I can’t break free of you

You’re the only thing

When I’m looking back

In time, in the mirror

You’re the only thing

I regret leaving behind

And I scream, hand to the glass

And I scream, but there is no relief

And I fall, I’m all out of sound

But the other me’s are here

Staring down the future

Claiming no other way out

But maybe they’re wrong

Maybe they’re scared

They’re wrong

Maybe they don’t know

They’re wrong

Something has to give

Even if they’re wrong

Or I’ll be gone from me.

Gnomish Letter from Mars

K.

How are you? It’s been way too long. I wish I had more to report, or something specific to say, but I really just wanted to say hello and I’ve done that, so now I’m just rambling, aimlessly wandering from one word to the next with no sense of where I’m going — so, you know, me being me.

I’m still writing, though not as much as I’d like. I’ve discovered a “place” that I go, not always for writing but probably when I’m enjoying myself the most, that is kind of an abstract perspective? A head space more than a place. Er. I’ve never really tried to describe this to anyone.
Somewhat awkward.
Anyway, if we consider thought itself to be the navigation of a rather labyrinthine structure of millions of connected pathways, then I have effectively arrived at a cul de sac, or dead end. LOL I knew I should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque! A hoofed and horned native with murder in his eyes greets me, and well, if you’re not armed with Bugs Bunny’s wit, you could be in some kind of trouble. It’s scary in here. And people may die. 😛 And I’ve gone a trifle off topic yet again.

The cul de sac of my mind; I find myself there no matter what life I choose, no matter where I live, no matter my income or other pragmatic features of existence. I find myself trapped in my own mind, only, more diabolical than hooves and horns, I’m alone. It’s not worse or better, it’s just that the devil, an adversary of any kind, gives you purpose, and being without one is safer, but also presents it’s own kinds of challenges, like avoiding creating monsters… wow. Off topic again.

None of this is sad or depressing 😛 . I found myself trapped in this place again and again, and I stopped trying to get out. I started to simply observe it with childlike fascination. I played in the oddly orange soil, enjoyed the earthy and rusty smells it gave off. I found a garden, untended and in dire need of attention, but clearly a place for things to grow. I looked deeper and found tiny gardeners, insects keeping up as best they could in a relatively barren expanse. I mean, the sky, the horizon? Goes on FOR ever, formless clouds of color limned against an eternity of dusty orange hued blue. All of that, yet, there are mountains, a garden, and an army of attendants. Empty but not. Empty, but full of waiting, brimming with expectation that the gardener will return. I look around at it, and begrudging realize I sorta like it. The limitless trap, this nebulous cul de sac, this dead-end that defeats escape with size alone? Maybe it’s not a prison? A boundless space; the perfect prison, or the universe itself? Does it even make a difference?

And I realized that I keep returning to it, because I’ve never actually left. My comings and goings have been illusions, delusions to help me cope with the trap — but the trap is me. This is my world. I am the gardener. I made myself the monster, and I’ve been running away ever since.

Sounds like a self-help thing! LOL. Maybe some of it is, I don’t know. Why share this? Well, it sounds strange to write it, out loud so to speak, but I think the delusional part, those illusory views of Michigan, California, friendships, finance, job security, contributing to society — you know, the quotidian dogma wielded as a rational measure of accomplishment and ultimately existence? Those delusions released from duty, recognized and eliminated without even the satisfaction of magic green smoke and witchy fingers? Yeah, when those schemas evaporate, I think I’ll be me, really me, and I’d like to try being me for a little while 😛 . Likely, I’m quite mad. Not in a harmful way, but you know, non compos mentis and all that — I may be difficult to reach in a meaningful way. I’m really not sure. Probably nothing changes except the glint in my eyes, but over time, I think it’s going to make a huge difference.

I really wish that asshole hadn’t published, Men from wherever, Women from somewhere else, for innumerable reasons that I can’t possible begin to discuss here. I hate the entire concept. It’s Earth, fucker, and we’re all human beings living here together, and it’s not always easy, especially because of the inherent contrasts among individuals, and no one needs you drumming up false gender associations, gumming up the already messy works! Screw that guy for capitalizing on people’s fears and confusion. Mostly, I hate the book because I’d refer to my place, this head space, as Mars, if he hadn’t ruined the name. #marsismine

-Gnomish Explorer

From the Gnomes

I’ve had to create complex locks and seals to keep my consciousness in this reality with everyone else. I’ve had to hide the combinations and keys from my self to prevent me from leaving at every opportunity–the secrets of opening obfuscated by madness and misdirection. But they work. They keep us all here. The author asks me to let him through, and I say no. The shadow beast threatens me, but he knows I don’t know the way through either. I am the master of locks and barriers. I create puzzles. I do not solve them. The author returns with the keymaker, “This reality has asked for more from another. The request must be fulfilled. I’m going in.” And I step aside. It’s always like this. What the author doesn’t know is that it is my locks that make the other side so desirable and the key is always a test of an author’s willingness to lose herself. The tumblers fall into place and I miss her. I don’t know if she’ll ever return, but when she does, I’ll have better locks. -Gnomish Keeper of Sanity

Paris Je t’aime

Quoting a great friend of mine,

…the immediate destruction and loss of life is horrific, but I think the real attack is worse because of how widespread and insidious the effects are…
and that’s the fear it generates which leads to hate and willingness to sacrifice freedom.
We cannot allow our freedoms to be sacrificed. Decisions forged from steel resolve not from fear… and no quarter for those responsible.

Quick Update

Haven’t said much about it, but I’m actively working on a illustrated novel for children. I’m really proud of it:-). Looking at a release in the fall of next year. The hardest part is scheduling some short story time–I’ve released a few recently on my website–and novel writing time for Clay. It’s an amazing feeling to have so many different creative projects working at once! Scary too… but mostly amazing:-P

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Welcome , today is Saturday, July 22, 2017