#Monday Morning Commute

Monday Morning Commute: The Stalking Truth of Michael Myers

monday morning commute stalk you

Hey, folks! What’s going on? It’s Monday? Again? That soon? Well, time don’t stop! And neither shall we! Until, of course, we do stop. The lightning, the electricity done. The metaphysical whatever-whatever either not existing, or taking over. Man, this got away from me quickly. Where was I? Oh yeah!  It’s time for Monday Morning Commute. The weekly wank-off where we all gather, sharing what is getting us through yet another week on the Blue Marble.

What are you fucks up to this week, as you suck air? What are you folks looking forward to this week, as your synapses still sizzle?

I wanna know!

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Monday Morning Commute: War Forged

monday morning commute war forged

Oh, you thought you had seen the last of me? You know, me. Not the cavalcade of memes and occasional pop culture bursts that I post. Rather, the man-behind-the-man-behind-the-man?

Or, maybe I’m just bleeding banality and self-importance into a WordPress document for the ninth-year running.

Or, maybe you’re an OL regular who just sort of expected me to return when I found a moment in the existential rip tide. You know, a moment where I can stick my head briefly above water. A moment where I can share what I’m up to in this weird wild world.

Well, that moment is now, my friends! And, I must confess that I’m pushing through considerable fatigue to puke this up quick! This Monday Morning Commute! The weekly column where I share the arts and farts I’m currently enjoying. Or anticipating. I hope you’ll join me in the comments section, letting me know what you’re up to this week!

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Monday Morning Commute: it’s that summer time magic

mmc its that summer time magic

Bet you thought you had seen the last of me, fuckers! It’s been a hot minute since I cranked out one of these Monday Morning Commute columns. I’ve returned, though. Full of vim and vigor, ready to golly gee knock this one right out of the fucking park! The fahhhkin’ pahk, kehd! Actually, that’s a handful of goose shit. In fact, I was laying on the futon in my office nary two hours ago just fucking zoning out, man. But here we are.

I’m still sucking wind, thankfully. My summer course is winding down, thankfully. And, OL still exists. Thus, it seems clear that I must carry out the car-crash that is the column! Give you folks, you fucks, the ole rundown of what I’m up to this week. You know, the games I’m playing. You know, the books I’m reading. That sort of tomfoolery.

Then, if you’d be so obliged, join me in the comments section! Tell me, what you’re cranking it to this week. Be it literally, be it figuratively! Both!

I’ll go first.

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Monday Morning Commute: No Escape Velocity

No Escape Velocity

“There’s no escape velocity.”

Arnie’d just spent the last seven months workin’ on the Plutonian big rigs. Five moons, five drills, five crews. Zero contact, zero support, zero fucks given. Dangerous math no matter how it’s calculated.

But he’d just done it — a seven  month tour of duty, a seven month tour de force, that’d seen plenty of limbs and lives and love lost — and now it was over. Arnie’d fattened his bank account and his calluses and his belief that he was far from the baddest motherfucker in the solar system but he just might be one of the scrappiest.

A blessing and a curse.

`Cause when we see him right now, Arnie’s two feet are firmly planted on terra firma. He’s at his father-in-law’s annual Fourth of July barbecue. And he’s surrounded by friends and family and the afterglow of a job well done. Sparklers dancing through the purple dusk and laughter cutting through the cooling silence.

But he’s not really there at all.

`Cause when we see him right now, Arnie’s eyes are gazing towards the heavens that give him hell, towards the stars that brighten the sky and pierce the spirit. Towards the next mission that he’ll have to run because, well, if not him…who?

So when we see Arnie in this moment, he’s respondin’ to his wife Lola who’s askin’ him what he’s doin’ here all alone and why he’s so quiet and what he’s thinkin’ about. And, for the life of him, Arnie’s only got one response.

“There’s no escape velocity.”



This is the weekly(ish) feature that sees me throwing some drivel fiction in the general direction of anyone who’s willing to catch it. Then, I present some of the stuff I’ll be checking out this week. But wait! There’s more!

The best part is when you hit up the comments section and share what you’ll be doing this week.

So let’s play show and tell!

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Monday Morning Commute: Nervous about not being nervous

monday morning commute nervous about not being nervous

Pop-quiz, dick heads! What does a tranquil, peaceful weekend mean, after a tumultuous spring? Does it mean that I’m feeling good about my mental health? Or, does it mean I’m incredibly skeptical, and wondering when the shoe will drop? If you guessed the former, you are beautiful and give me too much credit. Anyways, yeah! I feel good. It’s nice. It’s fleeting, oh I’m sure, but it’s nice. Thankfully, I have a good amount I’m either enjoying or going to be enjoying this week, and I’m about to drop them on your ass. After all, that’s the very point of this here Monday Morning Commute. Then, I hope you’ll share your own haunts and happenings in the comments section!

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Monday Morning Commute: Pain is Part of the Path

monday moring commute pain is part of the path

If pain is part of the path, I’m fucking crushin’ it, my dudes! I’m a real fucking pathfinder! Just dinging into things, physically, emotionally, and existentially! Bumping my shins, cursing loudly! But, I’m also doing deec as the kids say. Said! Probably said a long time ago. And, I’m here with you, my VirtuaFriends.

Spending some time in Monday Morning Commute! Showing you what I’m looking forward to this week! What I’m interested in. What I’m enjoying.

I hope you’ll share your own happenings and hype-beasts in the comments!

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Monday Morning Commute: I’m Trying My Best

monday morning commute i'm trying my best

I’m like, really bad at relaxing. Really, really bad. So bad that despite the fact that I’m supposed to have this week off from work, I still went in yesterday. Better yet, I ended up tutoring, too! It’s just, just difficult for me to wind down from teaching a class (or four) and tutoring thirty hours a week, and segue into not burning out glorious upon the Fury Road. I mean, today, my wife had to talk me out of going to the gym before I go to spin class tonight. I’m trying! I’m trying my goddamn best. I mean, I gave up on two trips to the gym today! That’s gotta…that’s gotta be progress, I think?

But, I’m here now! Connecting with you, my fellow trash-blesssed folk aboard the Space-Ship Omega! Inviting you to join me here in Monday Morning Commute! I got, I got a serious fucking caffeine buzz going, and I’m about to enumerate the various bullshit I’m excited about this week. The happenings that are happening that will happen to help me to enjoy this week off from work.

Then! If the Eldritch Ones hear my prayer, you’ll share your own weekly musings in the comments section.



Et cetera!

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Monday Morning Commute: a life anything but prescribed


He’d been told that as long as he maintained his regimen, he’d be able to keep pressin’ them down.

The flashbacks, that is.

When he was faithful, really faithful, to the routine his doctor’d advised him to keep, they weren’t that bad. Just sort of bleaked-out, occasional billboard-spotted-through-fog-on-a-lonely-highway memories. They’d light up quick and fade away quicker, like the business end of a cigarette in a rainstorm.

A moment of unpleasantness, for sure, but a moment. Just a moment. Without doubt.

But when he strayed? When he’d decided to listen to everyone who’d told him that he’d be a fool to keep listenin’ to a doctor who’d had his license revoked? When he’d had a lapse in conviction, cavin’ into the temptation to follow the advice of the squares and mouthbreathers and so-called respectable folks who’d never condescend to put their feet in his shoes, much less walk in them?

What then?

Well, the unpleasant moments felt like minutes and hours and days. The rainstorm that’d snuff out a cigarette would become a monsoon of memory, a typhoon of nausea. The fog’d part on the highway to reveal splatter-remains, and he’d be astrally-projected back into his younger self to relive the horror over and over and over and over.

Worse than you can imagine.

So he’d taken kind to dutifully following the orders of a doctor who’d had to flee the country. Long, long walks in hot, hot heat. Lots of water. Micro-doses of LSD before viewing Mel Brooks movies. Beer — never lite — in the early afternoon. Avoid ice cream. Avoid pharmaceuticals. Weed at nite only. Daily yogurt. Weekly trips to the demolition derby.

And it’d all helped. It didn’t make him better. But it’d made him better.



Now that you’ve endured a bit of my drivel-fiction, it’s time for us to discuss what we’ll all be up to this week. I’ll start, and then you hyperspace into the comments section and share what boredom-destroying, life-improving, depression-suppressing activities you’ll be rockin’!

Let’s go!

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Monday Morning Commute: CLONE v. TULPA

clone v. tulpa
I’d never felt more torn in my life.

On the left, brandishing a butterknife still covered in sow’s blood and screaming the Lord’s Prayer in Spanish, was my clone. My genetic duplicate who’d been paid for with the sex-worker money I’d earned during my gap year in Amsterdam. He’d been a good friend, in spite of the the booze and pills and the gambling he’d foisted onto me.

I really didn’t want to see my clone die.

On the right, wearing a bullskin loincloth and spitting out kerosene he’d been swigging from an old tin can, was my tulpa. He’d been there for me when things got really tough with that woman in the Amazon. He’d been more than an ayahuasca fever-dream come to life, he’d been a confidant, even if he’d had a thing for midnight-slaughterings of local villagers’ livestock.

I really didn’t want to see my tulpa die.

But when you’re feelin’ like you’re watchin’ the best parts of yourself tear each other to shreds, I find that — even if it hurts — it’s best to just step aside. Watch out for the splatter. Crack a beer. Wait for it all to be over.

And take solace in the fact that no matter how it all goes down, you’ll get to walk away.



We’ve got my drivel-fiction out of the way, so let’s move onto the real task at hand — sharing the stuff we’ll be checking out during the week! I’ll go first, then you hit up the comments section and tell everyone what movies, TV shows, podcasts, video games, bottles of booze, pinball tournaments, or other ephemera you’ll be using to curb the sting of the workweek!

Rock? Yes! Roll? Forever!

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Monday Morning Commute: The Least Prestigious Blog

monday morning commute people care what i think

Welcome, to another installment in Monday Morning Commute. It’s a barely-fair-to-even-call-it-regular-let-alone-weekly column here on the Space-Ship Omega. Within it I, a purveyor of poor taste and poorer morals, share what I’m up to during a given week. You know, what I’m enjoying. What I’m looking forward to at the end of the week, utilizing said anticipation as a rip-cord to pull me through the doldrums of the M-F Grind.

I’m sorry I’ve been in absentia. I’ve just been fucking busy, man. However I’m here now! And this is what I’m fucking digging this week! And this is what I expect from you: to join me in the comments section.

Let’s go!

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