The biggest dick in the west

Before CIA and JSOC operators come busting through my door, I just want to say that I’ve been blowing through the Blowback podcast. If you’re a dork for the history of US foreign policy since the end of World War II, it’s a must listen. The United States is an empire. Let’s not kid ourselves on that. But it’s one that differs from empires of the past. The United States of America is more than just a geographical territory. It’s also a cultural and ideological one. It doesn’t need to unleash a legion of troops and rain down bombs from the heavens. Instead its weapon of choice is a far more sinister one: it’s Pepsi, it’s Apple, it’s Hollywood, it’s the movement of capital into the hands of the few. Armies and navies and cults of personalities don’t make a nation. It’s the hearts and minds of the people that do. And nothing eradicates the soul greater than a nice sugary drink from Coca-Cola to bring us to the precipice of diabetes. That is the true might of America.

If u love it let it go

This is the great dying of beloved franchises. And while I can sit back and laugh at Star Wars and LotR fans for their respective enshitifications, I too have witnessed the sad decline of the much loved series Star Trek, which had as much of an impact on me as James Bond. Luckily for me, I had Redlettermedia guide me through the mourning process and now I hardly think about Star Trek at all. In fact, in my head canon, Star Trek effectively ended with Enterprise in 2002. Fans can gloat on about how under appreciated Discovery was, or how good Lower Decks and Strange New Worlds is, etc, etc. But it’s over for me.

This is the way it should be. For something to be truly appreciated, its very existence has to be jeopardized. But this also allows us to pave way for the future.

I could have bitched and moaned about Denis Villeneuve and Amazon’s decision to focus the next Bond movie on 007’s early adventures in a 3+hour action romp, but whatever. That’s out of my control. I’m an old Bond head and the next film is not being made with me in mind. I turn 109 next summer. It’s time for some new blood. But unlike with Star Trek, there will be no one to help me through the mourning. James Bond doesn’t have that kind of fan base. I have to sit alone in a garage with a bottle of Taaka and a loaded .38 and weep alone. At least that’s the way James Bond would have wanted.

But in the words of megalomaniac Paul of Tarsus, it’s time to put childish things away and accept that James Bond died by a brutal missile barrage in No Time To Die. That’s the way he would have wanted it.

Shit. BULL shit

The only thing that sucks more than writing is rewriting because I exclusively receive satisfaction from the creative process when the product is finished. Unfortunately some people tell me that a story only comes together in editing. But in return, I tell them that they’re fucking cucks. The story comes together by DOING; by putting pen to paper. NOT dilly dallying around with it afterwards. I say this because nearly every story I’ve written gets altered dramatically once rewriting commences and almost every time it becomes a story a didn’t originally envision.

Of course this is bullshit too. It’s a lie I tell myself to justify my laziness. The term “ADHD” gets thrown around a lot but I think it’s accurate in my case here. I have too many ideas running around in my head and I try to rush through projects to get to the next one. You can’t do that. If every writer did that there’d be no good writers. A story needs to be cared for and incubated like a newborn child. And that’s where I find myself now with Anaideia (working title).

Right now my heart is with kingdom of god. It may look like shit currently but once finished it be a fully presentable and coherent story. The problem is I have another child, the aforementioned Anaideia, that desperately needs my attention and I gotta whip her into shape and get her ready for publication before November.

Kingdom of god will be put on hold in consequence. It’s bullshit, I know, but there’s only so many hours in a day.

Ow my bowels

I think I ate too many pizza rolls yesterday so I was busy shitting out my doo doo ass to write anything. But a dark cloud is hovering over the real world right now. It’s like the feeble dam that separates the eccentricities of the internet has broken down and now all the groypers, paranoia, and post-irony is bleeding out into reality. It’s really hurting my brain. And as a so called “writer”, it sucks. The moment you put pen to paper, it’s too late. Reality has jumped 10 steps ahead of you and you’re left scratching your ass wondering what to do next.

How is it possible to have a reality where everyone is out of touch? There is no center of gravity. Whatever anchored a shared basis of perception for thousands of years has withered away. We’re all raving lunatics in a boundless asylum. But I have to remind myself that the world has always been shit for the vast majority of people. Which doesn’t make me feel better if I’m being honest. But it does remind me that progress and regression are historical constructions.

The truth is humanity is stuck in perpetual purgatory.

kingdom of god 25

Telas tepidly approached the Shepherd’s bedside. With glazed eyes focused muddily towards the heavens, the old man was as motionless as death. The high priest pondered. Whatever was left within this cold vessel was a perpetual hostage suspended in the spaces between the living and the dead.. then monitors and machines beeped and dinged wildly as nurses rushed to his aid. There was a faint gagging. The mush that counted as the old man’s sustenance was lodged in his throat. While alarming to witness, Telas hoped that this was the sweet relief that the comatose man was looking for. But they pried open his mouth. Suction tubes were shoved in. Bill Wilcox stood calmly, almost disinterestedly, as the calamity unfolded. The suctioning screeched a loud scraping sound and the Shepherd jostled lightly as if to cling on to the last vestiges of life. But then the machines resumed their usual sounds. The obstruction was cleared and the old man glossed up at the ceiling as he did before. Then Wilcox continued his briefing.

“If this is a bad time, we can do this another…,” Telas began to say.

“Nonsense,” Wilcox interrupted. “The Shepherd wants you to know that he admired Jonny, and he is very thankful for your support.”

“Thank you. And you can tell the Shepherd that I’m thankful for his hospitality.”

“No need to tell me,” said Wilcox. “The Shepherd is perfectly capable of hearing your gratitude.”

Telas looked awkwardly at the old man and nodded. “Thank you sir,” he greeted.

“Now onto more pressing matters,” Wilcox continued. “The temple at Nisan will need to be dismantled. Once when the city’s population has been relocated to the south, you will be permitted to reestablish it with certain caveats.”

“Such as?”

“The followers of Jonny and others within the Alcain religion must not be granted pilgrimage to the Nain. That region will be off limits.”

The high priest shook his head. “The Nain has been a part of our religion for generations. While pilgrimages can be prohibited by temple decree, it will be impossible to stop them entirely…”

“That may be true,” Wilcox warned, “but by the end of the year, any trespassers in the region will be executed.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

#neverforget

I’m not a monster. I’m not some goddamn alien that’s incapable of human empathy. Like many Americans, I’ve been processing some conflicting emotions. Because it’s weird. It’s surreal seeing a guy who dominated Internet spaces get VIOLENTLY shot down. I don’t think it’s helpful to dismiss that experience. But better people than Charlie Kirk get gunned down daily without hardly a blip on the radar.

What’s ironic to me though is that Kirk was a victim of his own zeitgeist. And I’m not talking about his politics. I’m talking about something more broader. The movement that Kirk championed found its success in the “flood the zone” strategy, or hitting apathetic voters with cheap content made to obfuscate the specter of late stage capitalism. Donald Trump used this media landscape to his advantage with Charlie Kirk acting as his “vanguard”. What we have today is a meltdown of meaning, of shared common reality, of the desire for consistent ideology. Or worse, we’re witnessing the deconstruction of memory and the forward progression of time. Information and life itself is cheapened. Expectations for a better destiny eradicated. As Mark Fisher said, it’s the “slow cancellation of the future.”

And because the future has been canceled, there will be no climax to Charlie Kirk’s death. No retribution. No promise of a coming civil war. The administration will heap on posthumous accolades and bury him with honors but that will be his story. The end. In two weeks, the vanguard will have a new savior and perhaps one that will carry the water better than Kirk ever did. We will forget that yesterday’s events happened.

It will be just another tragedy.

It’s what Kirk would have wanted. Or perhaps he’s a victim of his own success.

The sum of all fears

If you ask me what my greatest fear is I’d tell you that it’s being caught by the Colombian cartel, lit on fire and getting tossed from a helicopter into alligator infested waters. If you ask me what my second greatest fear is, I’d tell you that it’s Jeff Bezos and Denis Villeneuve fuckin up the James Bond franchise in the grandest way possible.

You know that they will. And there’s nothing we can do about it. Not one goddamn thing.

I’ve made several pitches on this blog about how to revive the franchise. And all of my calls have gone unanswered. So I’ll make my final stand here.

To Jeff Bezos. To Steven Wright. To Denis Villeneuve: all of you better listen and you better listen damn good. My advice to you is to not overthink it. Just send James Bond on a regular ol mission like they used to do in the olden days.

But you and I both know that’s not happening. A two hour runtime just isn’t how tentpole movies are made anymore. Additionally, no one wants a James Bond backstory. He is an inexplicably broken man between the ages 35 to 55 and there’s no need to go deeper than that. But you will.

So you want to fuck up the franchise? Fine. It’s your money. But here’s how you do it:

Cold open. A young 20 something James Bond 007 is on a mission. We don’t need to go into the backstory. We need to go back to the days of Goldfinger. The cold open should be a beautiful piece of nonsense: Bond infiltrates a compound, blows it the fuck up, and then beds a woman. Show the audience what this movie is capable of. So Do what they did in Goldeneye. You wow the audience with not ONE incredible stunt. You do TWO. And you do it all in seven minutes or LESS. The days of 20 minute cold opens are over. And once the final stunt is complete, it rolls over into the title sequence. And I cannot stress this enough, DO NOT fuck this up. The title song needs to be Goldfinger, Nobody Does It Better, and A View to a Kill all in ONE. You need to get to work on this yesterday!

With the title sequence over, it’s time to roll over into the plot. It’s 10 years later. M is played by Idris Elba. He’s sitting behind his desk and he is bored AS FUCK. Everyone keeps coming into his office telling him that the latest drone strikes have been successful and he waves them off. Tanner comes in with yet another boring ass report and M loses his shit. “Remember when this job used to be fun?” he moans to his chief of staff.

“No sir,” says Tanner.

Meanwhile, who exactly the bad guys are has become less clear and the world is mired in rising tensions between the US, Russia, and China. But a strange eccentric billionaire has come on the scene (we’ll call him Beff Jezos) and he’s doing some weird shit while world leaders are looking the other way. M keeps his eye on him and he keeps warning the Minister of Defense but the Minister waves him off. Then M gets a call from his counterpart in US intelligence. He tells him that Jezos is stepping up his weird shit and that he wishes they can go back to the olden days. “Remember James Bond? That guy was cool as shit. He could get to the bottom of this,” the US intelligence chief tells M.

“That was a different time,” M says.

He hangs up the phone and pours a scotch. He takes his glass to the reception area to discuss matters with Moneypenny. She briefs him on the day’s usual bullshit and he nods and takes a drink. “What ever happened to Bond?” he asks her.

“James Bond? Last I heard he was back in the Navy,” she says.

“You haven’t spoken to him since?”

“As far as I know he still plays baccarat at the casino.”

“Do you mind paying him a visit? Ask him if he’d like to come visit me. I just want to catch up on old times.”

Moneypenny raises an eyebrow but agrees. That night she goes to the London casino. She enters and in the faraway corner she sees James Bond, not in a tux but dressed casually, throwing down some cards. He’s playing across the table from Sylvia Trench. Moneypenny is stopped at the door and she asks to speak with Bond. The receptionist retrieves him and he steps out into the lobby to talk to his old colleague. He’s clearly three sheets to the wind.

“M would like to speak to you,” she says.

“About what?”

“He wants to catch up on old times.”

Bond laughs and lights up a cigarette. “Tell M I’m now a commander in the Royal Navy. They’re about to give me my own ship. Tell him I’m never coming back.”

“You know he won’t take no for an answer.”

“Yeah? Well if he wants to talk to me, I’m sure he can find me.”

A few days later, we see Bond in his sharp Naval uniform as he’s reporting for duty as an XO on a battleship. He shows up, gives out a few orders, and then he gets ripped out by his captain for showing up late. In the middle of this asschewing, an admiral steps in. The Admiral is M, now wearing his naval uniform. The captain jumps to attention and salutes. “Sir, had I of know you’d be here…,” he pleads.

“This is an unscheduled visit. Now if you’ll excuse us, I’d like to speak with Commander Bond alone.”

The captain nods and departs. It is revealed that James Bond’s last mission as a 00 agent went sideways and he lost his confidence. M then proceeds to give him a Colonel Troutman like speech about him being the best and that the world, and England, needs him. M hands him a Universal Exports business card. “If you need me, you know where to find me,” he says.

Bond takes the card and spends the next several days in agonizing pain as he considers his career options.

Meanwhile, shit gets real with Jezos. He steals nuclear weapons or some stupid McGuffin and threatens the world with it. The Minister of Defense calls M. “Activate the 00s,” he orders.

“About bloody time!” M beams.

James Bond shows up at the nick of time and is given the rundown. He goes to Q to pick up his gadgets and quips “just like the olden days,” and then he’s sent on his mission. Early on, Bond stumbles a bit while he tries to shake the dust off. But while he’s tracking down a henchman, he dons his signature tuxedo and he does some badass shit with his gadgets, and the audience cheers just like when they saw Batman again in the Dark Knight Rises because James Bond is BACK!

And that’s just the first hour and half of the movie!

kingdom of god 24

Telas gawked at the old man as mounds of apple sauce were shoved into his mouth while nurses shuffled in and out of the sterile and cold penthouse overlooking the sprawling megalopolis. It was nestled safely thousands of miles away from the war ravaged Nain. Bill Wilcox, the aide de camp, was at the Shepherd’s beside. Hundreds of tubes and wires were connected to the old man’s decrepit body and they interpreted signals from his brain. Bill was there to elucidate every word to Telas, who along with the commandant of the Nain territory, Brigadier Hilas Philemon, was there to receive the latest decree from the Shepherd. Wilcox looked up from his interface to receive them.

“The Shepherd would like to thank you for being here,” the aide de camp explained. The old man looked motionless and infirm towards the high plafond seemingly unaware of the bustle surrounding him. Wilcox continued. “The Shepherd and the Chancellor commend you both for your service. You have both performed remarkably.”

“Thank you, sir,” the stern Brigadier responded. But the High Priest said nothing.

“The good news is the lands south of the Sianna have been cleared,” Wilcox declared. “But General, have you made any progress in clearing the Yorkin Pass?”

“It’s rough terrain sir,” Hilas explained. “The group occupying the pass have been harassing the operating posts south of Nisan and then retreating back into the Urbanas. It will take some time to flush them out.”

“You need to do it quickly,” Wilcox warned. “Contractors will be in the Nain basin within a month.”

“Aye sir.”

“The political situation with the Chancellor has changed. While his constituency might find a degree of loss of life acceptable, too much may be unbearable. Please handle this situation delicately and discreetly. The people of Nain must find safe passage to the south.”

“Of course sir.”

“You are dismissed.”

The general bowed his head and departed the penthouse then Wilcox turned towards Telas. “The Shepherd would like to speak with you alone,” he said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Whatever dude

Anywho. I fell off my Ducati and sustained a massive brain injury. Brain ain’t workin too good so I writing today.

Duces ✌️