If anything else, it beats F5.

[LMNO]

A cloud.  I'm a cloud.  A miasma of chilled water vapor, suspended between the sky and the ground.  No substance, no form.  Pushed and shaped through no action of my own.  There is potential, but that potential is absent.

There is no moment of condensation.  There is nothing to gather myself around.  Nothing that causes me to fall back to earth.  Rage? Anger? Hate?  All absent.  Maybe I've been rechanneling to such an extent that the words aren't there anymore?  Maybe its because I've been having three or four Saturday Nights a week?

Maybe that's the secret.  Any night could be Saturday night, if you remember what that is anymore.  I give 40 hours a week away, but the remaining 128 are mine.  Secret? Problem?  Is...

What's with all the complaining?  I hope that's not what all this comes down to.  I opened up the page and started typing, and this is what comes out?  First World Problems?  Holy shit.  I'm trying to rant about having too much fun to rant about things.  That's pretty fucked up.

Maybe taking a left turn to absurdity... Or maybe I should dabble in horror again.  Perhaps conjuring up false mythos?  The only way to be creative is to be creative, as I don't know anybody ever said.

Let's see where this goes.

[Doktor Howl]

What's with all the complaining?  I hope that's not what all this comes down to.  I opened up the page and started typing, and this is what comes out?  First World Problems?  Holy shit.  I'm trying to rant about having too much fun to rant about things.  That's pretty fucked up.

At no point do I suggest or advise impinging on Saturday Night™ with online activities.  No, far from it. 

Instead, I am talking about taking some of that stored Holiness™ and venting it here.  Rants don't always have to be about BAD things, after all.  Hell, I'd love to hear what people do in Cities that aren't actually giant mausoleums.

[LMNO]

Leaves gathered beneath his feet.  The night's air was heavy with thick, greasy smoke, a combination of rotten wood and meat.  He held a railroad spike in one hand; the same one he had dug in the ground all those years ago, back in Montana.  A different time, a different kind of day... a different life?  He bent down to trace a shape in the earth, a curled, sinuous design that looked like something reptilian, but at the same time something you would find deep in the ocean.  Dirt caked around the chiseled edge of the spike, moistly adhering to the shaft as he worked.  He glanced over at the figure next to him, lying supine, still.  There was a good reason for her immobility; one was several spike-shaped holes where her left breast should have been.  The other was that her head was laying directly on the fire, the heat of the flames charring and melting her skin.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

What is F5?

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I JUST HAD A CONVERSATION WITH MY OLDER 2 CHILDREN

oh fuck, caps lock

about whether they are black.

Is this related? in a way?

[Doktor Howl]

What is F5?

Refresh.

[LMNO]

What is F5?

On an expanded PC keyboard, "F5" is one of the "shortcut" buttons included as an additional row of keys above the QUERTY keyboard, numbered F1 to F12.  I believe it stands for "function".  F5 acts as a "refresh" function.  It what a lot of us seem to be doing to see if anyone has posted anything new.

[Doktor Howl]

I JUST HAD A CONVERSATION WITH MY OLDER 2 CHILDREN

oh fuck, caps lock

about whether they are black.

Is this related? in a way?

Not really.  If you sat there and explained it to them, and then they wordlessly wandered away to watch Cribs, then you'd have the PD home game.



And the answer, by the way, is "yes".

Because what most teabaggers, etc, don't understand is that despite their loathing for a Black president, they themselves have at least on an economic level, become Black themselves.

Millions and millions of Uncle Ruckuses, all chanting how much they hate "the Kenyan".

I don't care who you are, that's funny.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Do we have time to explain? Do we explain?

Seriously, I am a nigger in search of the new nigger. I am pretty sure I've found it, which is what fuels my drive to get into a field of academia which allows me to support my thesis. Which I can't name because I can't allow anyone the opportunity to refute it before I publish it. which is a fucking game of holy shit this is so obvious...

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Although, I more or less texted it to you earlier this evening, and I cannot BELIEVE no one has written that paper. Seriously? WHAT

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

What is F5?

On an expanded PC keyboard, "F5" is one of the "shortcut" buttons included as an additional row of keys above the QUERTY keyboard, numbered F1 to F12.  I believe it stands for "function".  F5 acts as a "refresh" function.  It what a lot of us seem to be doing to see if anyone has posted anything new.

huh

[Doktor Howl]

Do we have time to explain? Do we explain?

Seriously, I am a nigger in search of the new nigger. I am pretty sure I've found it, which is what fuels my drive to get into a field of academia which allows me to support my thesis. Which I can't name because I can't allow anyone the opportunity to refute it before I publish it. which is a fucking game of holy shit this is so obvious...

The average American makes a mode wage of $19,800 a year - about $9/hour - and has no benefits plan to speak of.

Their masters make tens of millions per year, and have Americans beaten by cops if they don't like the disparity, or don't like their situation.

You tell me who the new Blacks are.

Because I can't help noticing the similarity between a preacher getting slammed with a firehose in 1968, and an 80 year old lady getting gassed in 2012, both for insisting that they are more than a draft animal.  The skin color may change, but the results are the same.

[Doktor Howl]

Although, I more or less texted it to you earlier this evening, and I cannot BELIEVE no one has written that paper. Seriously? WHAT

Is that what you texted me?

And it's not evening.   

[LMNO]

Out there, out in the darkness, were eyes, and movement.  There was a sound, a sound of weight, matched with a snuffling sound.  He knew they were drawn to the smell of burning flesh.  He stood quickly, and retreated beyond the ring of light the fire made.  Moving quietly, he listened for the telltale sounds: Muffled thuds like mailboxes being tipped over; branches shivering from the tremors; a damp wheezing as if from an obese asthmatic.  Using these telltale signs, he deftly circumvented the inevitable unfortunate event of a face-to... well, an encounter.  He stopped for a moment, and heard the crunch and pop of the young woman's bones and joints as the feeding began.  He adjusted his thick leather coat against the sudden chill, and made his way back to the road.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I do not remember writing any of that.

I remember getting up, and I remember being in front of the computer, but I don't remember going back to bed.

I remember waking up a second time, and then I made soup and took it to E.O.T.'s house, and then there was an eternity of vomiting and everything hurts.

And then sleeping, and now I'm all shaky and sweaty but I feel relatively normal.