#Monday Morning Commute

Tuesday Afternoon Commute: The March of the Monsters!

here they come

The March of the Monsters.

It will reach its first crescendo, as they slither into the symbolic house of power this week. Here they come! Ancient ones! With gnarled fangs protruding from ruptured sockets. Here they come! With blasphemous sores upon oozing phalanges! Gnashing and beying for the life-force of the wounded, the wearied. Here they come! Tentacles and ill-intent! Here they come! Smashing and ripping and devouring. Here they come! Blood in their eyes, death in their mouths! Here they come!

What can you do? Shelter-in-place! Here! At the Space-Ship Omega! In this here post! Monday Morning Commute! By way of Tuesday Afternoon. Where we share what we’re doing this week, what we’re looking forward to this week. You know, when we’re not preparing the survival kits, building the house-sized umbrellas to shield our domiciles from the shrapnel borne out of shorn blood-meat from conquered deities.

The March of the Monsters.

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Monday Morning Commute: the guy in the moderately tall skyscraper

the-man-in-the-moderately-high-skyscraper

Oh what a day, what a lovely day. The terrifying, inevitable transition from cultural entropy into the feigned doubling-down of effort and self-disciplined. Yes, yes, friends. Comrades. Frequenters of Space-Ship Omega. It’s the beginning of a new year, the cessation of the end-of-year celebrations. Darkness looms. Deadlines loom.

Hark, hark, may the Ennui strike you more as a honeyed blanket of anaesthetization. And not, oh dear god, and not as the sort of bowels-liquefying anxiety that plunges you through your corpus, through your bed, through your plane of existence and onto the bottom of the bottomless chasm of existential dread.

Oh, you need a lifeline? Oh, you need something to help with this transition back into the wild world of labor extraction? Well, buddy. Well, pal. Well, comrade. I got you. I got you.

See, this here jam is the Monday Morning Commute jam. And here at this here jam I list the various things I’m using to get myself through a work week. The TV I’m watching to close my third-eye, the music I’m using to block out the droning clarion call of Listlessness. The video games I’m employ for the total deinvigorating oculuar-auditory shutdown I just may need.

That uh, pal, that uh. Got a bit dark. But fuck it, fuck it with gumption and assertiveness.

We get can make it through this reentry together.

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Monday Morning Commute: Dunkin’ On Life’s Responsibilities This Week

dunkin

Man, I ain’t got nothing to do.

Wife’s home. Wood stove pumping a pleasant, hearty heat. Admittedly, an unobtrusive but steady current of holiday corpulence-fueled diarrhea getting me up off the couch. But as I said, unobtrusive. A marginal push, a half-hearted wipe, and I’m back on the couch. Lounging. Admittedly, stank ass’d.

But hey.

Man, I ain’t got nothing to do.

It’s that wonderful liminal state between Christmas and January 2nd. Where the entire world seems slumberous, if not not working.

So let’s spend the hour, the day, the week together. This is Monday Morning Commute! Where we share what we’re enjoying during a given week! So, hark! The Calories and Diarrhea Golems sing! What are you up to? Let’s hang.

‘Cause.

Man, I ain’t got nothing to do.

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Monday Morning Commute: A new life awaits you in the off-world colonies!

off-world-colonies

It’s one of those lazy liminal states for a lot of us here in the Empire. They strike every so often. The early summer. The beginning of fall. The end of the year. Where the great masses of us march to work. Going through the motions as holidays loom. Christmas. The New Year. Oh sure physically we may be there. Oh sure, oh sure.

But mentally? Checked out. Checked out more than usual. Those without vacation days, those not wanting to spend vacation days, attend their vocations. Their corporeal and astral forms in disharmony. One sitting in a shitty, non-ergonomic chair (if so lucky). The other surfing the metaplanes, everyone else’s lethargy giving license to their own.

This here is Monday Morning Commute. It’s a lazy week for many. A liminal week for more. So why not, why not spend it here at the Space-Ship OMEGA. Share what you’re looking forward to this week. Be it the arrival of your Christmas break. Be it the arrival of a movie in the theaters you want to see.

Anything. Everything!

Let’s traverse the linear-liminal time-plane together.

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Monday Morning Commute: Drink of the Chalice and Dream of the Sun

drink-of-the-chalice

Standing in front of the starcruiser’s big bay windows, Lonnie stared into the abyss of the chalice in his hands.

“G’head now, m’boy, no needsfer delayin’.”

“But, but, Grampa…I…I don’t wanna. It smells bad.”

“Maybe so, maybe so. But if we’re gonna kick this baby into hyperspace, we needta go to sleep first. So be a g’boy and drink up.”

Lonnie’s gaze shifted from the chalice to bay windows and then back to the chalice. He thought, just for a moment. A single moment. Just long enough to remember Momma and Poppa and Brother Reggie and how good it felt to be on terra firma, grass between the toes and sun upon the brow. How good it would feel, again.

And then he drank.

“Thazzaboy! Okay, Lonnie, y’goan to your sleep-pod now and I’mma set the coordinates!”

“Sweet dreams, Grampa! Hope you dream of the sun like I’m gonna!”

“Thazz right! Thazz right! Dream of the sun!”

And with that Grampa took a swig deep enough to empty the chalice. And then he sat down in front of the big bay windows of the starcruiser. And then he started to dream of the sun. And then he dreamed of his son, and dreamed of his son dreaming of Lonnie. And then he wept and wept and closed his eyes tight.

`Cause when you’re two hyperjumps away from home and you’re out of fuel, all you can do is dream of the sun.

—-

This is a public announcement. The MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE has been commandeered. My name is Rendar Frankenstein and I mean you no harm. Join me and we’ll discuss what the fuck we’ll do in the hopes of getting out of this workweek in one piece.

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Tuesday Afternoon Commute: A Copy Of A Copy Of A Copy

a-copy-of-a-copy-of-a-copy

I’m just fucking done, man.

The semester has unravelled my precariously knitted-together psyche, spooling it across the OMNIVERSE. If you’ve randomly tripped today, know that it was probably a shredded, knotted, bloodied-strand of my former-consciousness. What was formerly an ebullient, marginally sarcastic whelp has been transformed into a quick-to-fret, foggy-headed nightmare.

I’m just fucking done, man.

This here is Monday Morning Commute, by way of Tuesday Afternoon, sponsored by Ennui and A Colossal, Albeit Ineffective Amount of Caffeine.

This is what I’m looking forward to, this is what’s on my mind, this is what’s simmering in my soul, this week.

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Monday Morning Commute: As Cold As You Let It Be

As Cold As You Let It Be

Sweatpants, Diet Dew, a fire, a furry dog at my feet. Life ain’t bad, life ain’t bad generally. Going to keep this simple, on this simple evening. This is Monday Morning Commute, the column where we share what we’re up to during a particular week. The new movie we want to see. A comic book dropping on Wednesday we can’t wait to read. Et cetera et cetera et cetera. Going to keep this simple, on this simple evening.

I’ll go first, you’ll follow in the comments section. Fair? Fair. Fair!

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Monday Morning Commute: The Next Node Over

the next node over

The next node over the next node over >>

It’s Monday. The next node over the next node over >> This is Monday Morning Commute, the column where I run down a list of what I’m anticipating during a given week. The next node over the next node over >> This week? Eh, I don’t know. The next node over the next node over >> I’m still struggling to accept a world wherein the next four years are going to be lead by a God-Emperor Trump. The next node over the next node over >> I had a good weekend, hanging out with a good core of the Space-Ship Omega Crew. The next node over the next node over >> Drinking, eating, smoking, watching Arrival, eating, drinking, dancing.

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Tuesday Evening Commute: I Hate It Here

i-hate-it-here

It’s Election Night in America. In fact since I’m tardy writing this (I’m always tardy writing this, this semester!), I’ve had the distinct pleasure of turning off Early Results, closing my Twitter, and instead retreating here. To what has been so admirably dubbed my Space-Oasis, the Space-Ship Omega.

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Tuesday Evening Commute: Born Of The Bomb

born of the bomb

It’s Tuesday, Tuesday Evening. I’m writing what was supposed to be Monday, Monday Morning Commute. The clock ticks towards quarter of 6pm, Eastern Seaboard of the Empire Standard. I have approximately 23 minutes to file this, to fart it, to fecal-blast this shinformation onto your digital face. Before! Before my next obligation. I’ve been wearing the same dress pants for ten hours, I’m tired, my caffeine levels are precariously low, and I have so much goddamn wood to chop before I sleep.

But I’m happy, happy to generate this minuscule bubble of textual diarrhea. This minuscule raft in the shitty seas of oblivion that seem to constitute this year, this 2016 A.D. Come friends, come quickly. Ignore my purple-headed boner, I merely have to pee. Come friends, come quickly. Ignore the wild look in eyes, I’m merely between my past caffeine fix and my next.

Come friends, come quickly. Join me on this raft, cling to it with me. Nay, cling to it for me.

This is Tuesday Evening Commute. This is what I’m looking forward to this week. Please, I implore, I beseech, I cajole. Please, join me in the comments section. Let me know what you’re indulging in this week.

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