He Doesn’t Care If You Live, Die, Or Anything In Between, Unless Of Course You Pay Him

People Equal Shit

When all of this is over, there are going to be people who will talk about how it was this person’s fault, or maybe that country’s. They have already begun to point the fingers in the halls of power in many countries and I thought it prudent to remind people of a few things because I like to write and I have a lot….I mean like, a lot, of free time on my hands lately, even for me.

How the virus started is, as far as I am aware pretty much codified at this point to the wet markets in Wuhan. Pangolin, bat, something like that. it made the jump to humans as these things do and that is the only even remotely scientific thing you will hear me say for the rest of this.

What is important is the cover of the Los Angeles Times for Monday, January 27th of this year. If you can see if the picture I have linked here you will notice down in the bottom left-hand corner, below Kobe Bryant’s death, squeezed in next to the Grammy’s, you will see a story about two cases of the “new virus” from Wuhan, China.

January 27th.

Now, if you listen to the Orange FuckWaste, you will know he started the Coronavirus Task Force, or whatever the fuck it was called a few days later. However, if you recall he did not give his first big briefing/campaign rally talk on the virus to the American people, those who voted for him, and the rest of us who are smart until the 12th of March.

So, in those days between, nothing of particular substance was done at the national level, and quite frankly nothing has yet, to help stop the spread, flatten the curve and curtail the now growing death count of the virus.

He turned down the testing kits is what some say, although there are articles that say the opposite. So, for a moment, let us pretend the bumbling fuck never had that blemish. Not say he accepted, let us chalk that one up not at all.

Even with that having been said, there is the fact that he, repeatedly, has accused hospitals of hoarding supplies and falsifying numbers.

Why…Oh Why…Would a hospital want to inflate the numbers of dead and sick? Unlike the vaguely memorable, quasi-reality TV “star” Trump thinks he is, doctors don’t pretend to have things they do not have. They instead rely on things like science, and numbers, things he ignores on a nearly second by second basis.

I don’t write my politics very often, everyone knows I am as gay for the liberals as you can get, but you know what, when the orange-faced shit gibbon endangers the lives of my children by his not even half-assed attempts at containing a deadly virus, I get a little testy if I can be so direct.

So while he is being a racist and calling it the China Virus, a vile and stupid name from a man who shares the same characteristics, the people he is supposed to be governing are dying. New York is not the last of the hot spots, we all know this. This thing won’t “be over by Easter”, this is the long, fucking, haul people.

Stay safe and take care of each other the best you can, from as far away as you can, because I guarantee you he doesn’t give a fuck how many of us die as long as he gets to buy another election.

The Card – Rickson Finale


Rickson stared at the damn screen for at least twenty minutes before he shook his fucking head and decided to play with whatever fucking idiot was running this con. He typed, well, henpecked more than anything, and when he was done he was as proud of himself as he ever had been.


He hit send without thinking about it and went about the real work of the day without giving what he had typed another thought. However, had he been even vaguely observant he would have noticed that the phone had buzzed mere seconds after he had typed up the email and hit send. It was a single line, a single word.



Three weeks later and Rickson was sitting on the porch of his house. There was no noise, no cars going back and forth, absolutely nothing but a light breeze high up in the trees that he ignored because it seemed as fake as the rest of this thing.

Three weeks and there hadn’t been…anything.

Not a mugging, a rape, a murder. Not even a speeding ticket was given in the entire City of London proper. The Mayor was talking of reallocating the police force to the outer parts of the country, where there had been a dramatic rise in crime in recent weeks with as many as 65 murders in Oxford alone. The world was going mad, but London was quiet, serene. People walked instead of taking cars, they smiled at each other and all but ignored The Tube, relishing the fact that they could safely walk anywhere they wanted to and not be molested by anything.

Mayor Khan had as much as got up in front of the city and guaranteed them that the police force was such a threat to the criminal element they had tucked their tails between their legs and they had run away to leave the righteous and beauty of London be as was it’s historic due.

Yeah, he really said that.

Rickson knew that wasn’t true. he knew the truth. He couldn’t believe it, but he knew the truth. That damn card was nowhere to be fucking found anywhere. he knew he had left the damn thing on the desk and someone had come by and bloody nicked the thing. After he says no crime there is a theft. Bullshit promises.

What he wanted to know. What he NEEDED to know and what kept him up for hour after hour the last few days is what would happen when the month was over and the crime returned. The police dispersed over half the damn country, there was going to be a…he couldn’t even think about it without going half-mad from the guilt of a thing he had thought a damn lark.

Nodding his head he walked back into the humble house he had inherited from his mum and dad when they passed a few years ago. He had never been married or even really dated. The job had been his life for more years than he was comfortable admitting and he knew, HE KNEW, that what was to come was directly his fault.

He sighed and stepped up onto the chair in the kitchen. It was a hickory chair his dad had bought when they had a holiday in America. It gave him a smile as he wrapped the bedsheet around his neck and tied it off nice and tight so that he wouldn’t fall out of it when he inevitably started to kick in a few moments. He had left a note on the table and that should be enough.

With a final sigh, he simply tilted the chair and fell into his noose, his neck breaking perfectly at the C2 vertebrae and killing him instantly. He didn’t kick at all it turned out.


The letter was in some kids’ hand now, he had heard the old man next door make a lot of noise and had peaked in just as he had hung himself.

He walked in just as free as you please and loaded up his pockets with anything he thought might fetch a price later and pocketed the letter without reading it just in case it had some account number in it he could use.

There were no words on the paper when he opened it though, just a shiny black card with a .onion address on it and nothing else.

Music Soothes The Savage In Us, Releases The Primitive, Cages The Demons And Is The Memory We Can Always Count On


It is ironic what can make your heart bleed, isn’t it? For some people it is things that bring happiness and joy, for others, it is that which devastates and brings agony. Most of us are a combination of these things, however. For me, it is music. Music is that which does both for me. I have songs for virtually every mood I am in and the mood that I want to be in. What the music is isn’t so important to this as knowing there is a medium that conveys, nearly perfectly, everything you feel in life. Not everything, no, but enough to call it a majority by a landslide.

The plurality of the available options is staggering, even from the most modern artists. The farther back in time one goes the more exponential the number of things that can be conveyed. Or, and this is a thing that I think is wonderful beyond words, two people can listen to the same song and have diametrically opposite feelings towards it. You can hear me laughing over your weeping and you can see my sobs even as your skin crawls in ecstasy.

Words, while directly describing the feelings from time to time, are not a necessary element. Anyone who has ever listened to Adagio for Strings as arranged by Samuel Barber and felt it the way a great many do knows precisely what this means. Or when you are listening to the bass of the 1812 Overture as the cannons fire over and over or even when you hear the synthesized bass drops of Dubstep. Words may make it easier for things to be understood, but when you feel a song in the center of your soul, you will feel it whether or not it has words or not, I promise.


When I listen to Cry Baby by Janis Joplin, even as I type it in fact, I start to tear up because, of all the demons my mother had in her life, and they were nearly infinite, that woman had a phenomenal taste in music and she passed it to her children. Being the hippie of the family, the folk and acid jazz from the sixties were my birthright and it is one of the few things I can thank my mother for without shaking my head in pain or rolling my eyes with sarcasm. Now while every song in the ten years that were the sixties is not known to me of course, enough are that I can close my eyes and remember the scant memories of childhood that are not contaminated with the foulness of everyday life they were dispersed in.

Couples have songs that they call their own. Whether it is in a laughing way or a way that makes you nearly see their love for one another, they are foundational characteristics of the relationship. My own are near and dear to me and I will not name them, it is one of the few things I keep very safe in a very clean room in the back of my mind that I go and sit in at least once a day with my eyes closed and allow myself to remember and feel everything and anything that was Naomi. I cannot do it all day or else I would be nearly catatonic, but when I need to find respite, even for a moment when the world has told me I am a failure for the hundredth time that day, I think of that room and I crawl to it and listen to these songs and smile with a purity I do not deserve.

I did not forget the anger. Music is a very good conductor of this often misunderstood emotion. It is not good to be violent at all times nor is it healthy to be angry at all times. However there are times when you can release that anger into the world, sometimes even by putting the headphones a little tighter, turning up the music a little louder and letting all of your emotions flow as the music takes away from you the foulness that you do not need and have never deserved.

So I ask you, all of you, during this time when we are all, hopefully, distanced from one another physically to tell me your songs that are the balm for your soul if you are comfortable sharing them. Or, if you are not, then simply listen to one of them when you can and find yourself in your own clean room in your mind and heart remembering that which deserves to be remembered the very most.

Leader – Introduction


From the top of the hill, they looked like so many ants, scurrying to do the tasks he had set them to do and coming back to him for more, and more still. it was an easy thing, sitting and telling them what to do because all these people wanted, was someone to take control of the chaos of their lives and give it some meaning, who was Peter if not a man to help these people get precisely what they desired so very much?

It had been so very easy. Park benches at first. he would come up to the solo people there, male and female, and he would simply talk to them and tell them what they wanted to hear in return. he was positive that they knew that was exactly what he was doing. No one person in the world knew everything. Soon park benches became speeches on the unused baseball diamond and later than that, the rec center in the park that someone would rent out so as many people could come and hear him say these wonderful things he was saying. Five became dozens, dozens became hundreds and because of the joy of the Internet, the numbers were impossible to accurately tell now.

He sat up on the hill in his smartly designed suit, feeling the warm breeze of the devil winds of the Santa Ana that were barreling down the coast to where they were in Baja California. He was completely alone up on the hill and it was a magnificent thing. He saw the builders making homes, the cooks making food, the children playing in the grasses of the valley floor and not a single person was unhappy or out there against their will.

Much to the consternation of the young ladies, and some gentleman, of the group, Peter was a celibate man. Having made the decision in his early youth and never once questioning it or being tempted towards leaving these self-made vows. He did not want their money, he did not want anything from them except their ears to listen to the things he had to say. They were free to go, in fact, Peter had bought them plane and bus tickets when they thought they needed to be elsewhere.

The world was so vast, pennies slipping from a bank vault would not be noticed. He was not planning on making them all drink Kool-Aid, collect assault rifles or have all the women become sister-wives.

No, no that wasn’t the plan in the slightest.

Ignorance Is A Lot Of Things, Blissful And An Excuse Are Not On The List


I have been doing a lot of thinking the last few days and when I wasn’t in agonizing pain yesterday I did more. I have been thinking that this is as a good a time as any for a mid-life crisis, so I am pretty sure I am having one, but not in a particularly bad way, more of a reevaluation of how I want to live my life and influence those around me in their lives. I know I have many faults and while I am going to address those as they need to be addressed, I am not a few things that apparently some people seem to think I am. I thought I would take a second here and share with you the things I am not so that you, dear Gentle Reader, would not be in a position where you wanted to ask me about a thing only to find out that, gasp, I know it not.

Yes, I have done bad things in my life and have spent time in the correctional system to repay the debt to society I had accrued. I will never deny it and in fact, probably talk about it far more than I should. However, what I am not is a how-to book. I did my bad things almost twenty-five years ago. I did them before 9/11 changed the world and before the government of this country started reminding us all of a government from another. So my “knowledge” of the correctional system is so dated as to be laughable. I can guarantee you that I have no idea how modern things work and while, yes, I can still tell you the guards’ names at County, the fact they most of them have been retired for a decade or so should be a telling statistic, to say the least.

Yes, I did a fuckton of drugs. I still call my self an addict, just one in recovery. That having been said I will not give you the names of “dudes who can hook you up with the good shit” or, even better in my opinion, “tell you stories about it so you can say they are your stories and let me people think you are the druggie without being one”. For starters, you are an idiot. Secondly, why would I tell you where to get things that might kill you, and that almost killed me? Thirdly, do your REALLY think the people I associated with have the same PAGER numbers that they had in the late ’90s. I mean, a little common sense needs to be applied here. Not only do I not remember anyone that I used to associate in that way, but I am also so very happy that is the case. It is not a part of my life I am particularly proud of and while I am not going to try and forget it, I do not need every moment etched into my soul, I assure you, there are enough things in there.

I will do the best I can to help my friends and chosen family, and yes there is a group of people who are on a list that is more important to me than the others. I do not apologize for this and you telling me that I need to “stop prioritizing human beings like they are cattle” is not only ridiculously insulting to your own intelligence, it is trying to infer that you or anyone else can dictate how I run my life and how I associate with people.

Yes, this was a ranting kind of thing. Yes, I am going to be writing more today. Yes, some of it will be angry.