Thursday 28 November 2019

Hindsight Is 2020 - A Political Diatribe


It's amazing just how exhausting American politics is. It always was a kind of clusterfuck ever since the 24/7 news networks pumped the airwaves with absurd controversies, needless punditry and sensational coverage of whatever tragedy came about. Politicians have been losing their grip on modern times, their constituencies, common decency and even reality itself. And corporations have so thoroughly infiltrated our lives that an uncanny valley is formed where you truly question if the person you're talking with isn't just a machine whose neural networks are unable to subliminally get you to consume the latest garbage fad. With the internet's potential for malice and mayhem fully realized, along with absolute lunatics wanting to run the government, it's no surprise that American politics is not only everywhere but in every second. In a way I am kind of sharing in this hell given we had ourselves an election this year and it felt longer than usual. It's nothing like the incessant campaigning that can't let a single year be by itself without the concerns over super-PACs being filled up or Senator Who-Gives-A-Fuck (D) doing an epic own on the latest clown to be hired by the moronic burger-loving pseudo-crypto-fascist, but it was still nevertheless obnoxious. 

A major part of it is that Canada, as I've expressed before on social media, marches along the US despite its absolute frustration in doing so. Though there are some noteworthy exceptions to the political landscape, ones which one would hope could provide for a way for the nation to truly differentiate itself from its neighbor, there is a temptation to fall into the American model. Justin Trudeau has no doubt been a shining example of this, as his charisma gave Canada an Obama-esque failson to shove neoliberal platitudes down everyone's throats as he waffled about in actually being progressive. Of course now the election has proven that he not only abides to Obama's doctrine but also seems to aspire to be like him physically given his penchant to blackface. He has provided a good counter to Trump, so much so that American liberals believe him to be the dreamboat that he appears to be but he titled to the right as soon as he came along, providing a tax cut that ended up benefiting the rich the most, helping out the oil lobby and even having his own flagrant disregard for the justice system with LavScam! Remember that? Of course you don't! We were too busy laughing at him auditioning for The Jazz Singer. 

Given that there wasn't the mirror effect that emerged from say a Mulroney-Reagan or Harper-Bush partnership, and Trudeau still played up to his faux-progressivism despite everyone clearly being aware of the prefix, ol' pretty boy JT was  seen as a socialist standing only slightly left to Trump. And so the Donald's style of populism bubbled its way to the surface. Countless conservative premiers (governors of the provinces) popped up to provide a check to Trudeau, none more spectacularly reprehensible as my boy, Doug Ford, leader of Ford Nation (once known as Ontario). This man, whose crack-smoking brother ran the 6ix until death, brought about the most Trumpism, the best Trumpism, with a man-of-the-people farce that a majority of the electorate bought up. It helped that he was competing against a long-standing establishment technocrat that wore out her welcome (with the only difference being that she actually rose to a prominent seat of power). He has been cutting everything that he can, dialing back education, infrastructure and healthcare all in the pursuit to satisfy his cronies as he further turns the kleptocracy to his favor. Best of all, he has his own absurd promise that he's failed to live up to, given that he has yet to make Buck-A-Beer a reality to his base of hockey dads that are no doubt are pissed that Don Cherry can't be on CBC ranting about fruity pansies taking over the NHL. 

On a federal level however, it failed spectacularly. The Conservative Party of Canada were flirting with the idea during their pick for leader. Kellie Leitch and Kevin O'Leary were the two parts of the fusion dance to make the proper Trump parallel as one thrived on xenophobic fervor as the other was the rich dipshit famous for being on TV. Neither of them made it through given that Leitch was laying it on a little too thick for the majority of passive-aggressive racists that celebrate the cultural mosaic before grumbling about those benefits the First Nations get and O'Leary Francophoned it in all to sell some book that would've probably been shot down if he pitched it on Shark Tank. However it was Maxime Bernier's whose razor-edge loss to the potato sack accountant Scheer would only propel him to a humiliating defeat trying to bring the nativist anger to the people with his own party. It'd be sad that his popularity didn't manage any tangible victory if he weren't such a cretin. So I guess we got lucky there.



But it's a Phyrric victory that Trudeau won. Though Trump would have certainly gotten along more with Scheer politically, he must have some grudging respect for Trudeau for playing the media the same way. He was corrupt, his scandals should've sunk him, but he was no doubt given more air-time regardless of whether it was good or not, facing off an opponent whose party begrudgingly offered support for as he failed to inspire anyone to really commit to him. I didn't meet anyone who honestly in their heart of hearts would die for Scheer, but he can at least give that Hilary humble-brag of having won the popular vote before the CPC shoots him out of a cannon in the next leadership battle. 

The media was perhaps the worst affected by American influence, brimming with much of the same reactionary rage and deep seated cynicism that acted like it was a choice between the devil you know and the devil you don't. I'm not quite surprised if the NDP gets treated like throughout its inception, but 2019 proved to be especially sickening given that Jagmeet Singh could barely break through in between discussion over whether the Conservatives or the Liberals were more morally bankrupt. They didn't bother to give him exposure, since he not only posed a greater threat to the establishment but had very little about him that was scandalous. The only scandal that could even be cobbled up was racial, and not in the comically offensive way that Trudeau was or the clandestinely offensive way it was with Scheer or the flagrantly offensive way it was with Maxime or anyone in the PPC. More in just how he was adjacent to the offensive given how many bigots he had to swat away as he was talking about the real problems that faced Canadians. It's a shame that much of his run was governed by his race and even more of a shame that Quebec damaged him further given how their on their secularism bullshit. 

Even with the election concluded a month after the fact, there is still that American logic seeping into the Great White North, as the long-standing grievance Western provinces have had in being ignored by the East has turned into the Brexit's brain-damaged offspring of Wexit, where Alberta whines about not being able to lay pipe like it used to, donning a kind of anti-intellectualism only seen from MAGAheads down in Texas that think secession would play well for them.



Of course you can look into much of the details of what I've mentioned here and think that adopting an Americocentric line of thinking towards Canada is perhaps shoving a square peg into a round hole. But Canada's rounded out its edges. It's America with social justice at 1.5x speed, but some people keep wanting to rewind (most of which are from Rebel Media who follow in Canadian entertainer tradition by trying to make it big in the States).  I studied in the same university that gave y'all Jordan Peterson. I've seen Cuckservatives stickers right about when Trump was leading in the polls. I've talked to Trump sympathizers and alt-right chuds (usually by surprise). I've even seen anti-choice groups brandishing photos of aborted fetuses around Toronto. Canadians don't like being seen as kinder Americans so they just revert to being Americans that are waaaaay more passionate about hockey and common decency. 

I'm exhausting myself with these comparisons of the most Northern American nations in part because I believe one can look to the Great White North in viewing the Great Again South. I know that for the most part yanks don't much care for what canucks are up to. As part yank I can totally agree with this assessment. Very little of what happened in the last decade seems to connect meaningfully to what' happened in the US, and Canadians can be tiring and boring in their superiority-inferiority complex with their neighbor. But watching this Canadian election I can't help but find myself reinforced by the most cynical aspects of politics over in the US. Trudeau might not be as egregious as a sorry embodiment of the current state of politics as Trump but both of them have been exposed as bold-faced liars that were fortunate to have an uninspiring and deeply flawed opponent protected by a media apparatus that opted to correct the narrative to continue their party's business as usual. The complacency bred by the media through hammering the lesser of two evils fallacy had succeeded well enough, thanks in part to a vocal ignorant minority projecting itself to be larger than it was. The NDP was unable to break through in an election where the Conservatives and the Liberals were met with immediate revulsion from the majority of the populace, and Trudeau figured he had a mandate despite technically losing. I can still wake up and look towards tomorrow with Justin despite what he stands for as a politician but seeing his victory fed into the harrowing future that may come in America.



Such is the hell of post-2016 life, where time nauseates us with how much it goes around in circles. The cynicism and erasure of better progressive candidates is not so much a groundbreaking revelation but more akin to a workout motivation to push ourselves to strive for better. One can only hope that the latest UK election, which once again feels like its results will provide a strong prediction to how the US elections will fair, ends with a Labour victory after years of the Tories tripping over themselves to fail to deliver anything positive from the mess they've created. But I wouldn't be surprised if it isn't a resounding one, much less if it doesn't come to be. Nor would I be surprised if I'm wrong to assume that the UK election might have anything to do with how the US election will end up. Jeremy Corbyn could be rocking in Number 10 with an absolute majority and Trump could still have made it through to a second term.

It certainly is weird thinking about Trump winning given that 2019 was definitely not his year. He's taken a hell of an L after losing the House in the midterms, he's been booed multiple times in public, special elections gave him and his party another L to hold and impeachment has melted his brain to the point that you could probably hear sloshing if you stood next to him when he bobs his head. He's gone from unraveled to just a mass of exposed muscle, screaming in pure rage as he digs the knife further in the hopes to drown everyone else in blood. FiveThirtyEight has yet to give him a 47% approval rating, let alone anything above 50%. But it's easy to trust the polls again. These polls are clearly fake. And thinking Trump's losing now is libtard thinking. He's clearly playing 12th dimensional chess, folks!

Much as it is silly to think Trump is a grandmaster, it is frightening that his playbook could be as effective as it is simple. He's already capitalized on the distrust in the media and the establishment among his supporters that they're addicted to Two Minutes Hate, he's got a behemoths of campaign finance machines at the ready, and Republicans have just quit pussy-footing around claiming to give a shit about civility and embraced the dark chasm inside of them. Meanwhile the Democrats a corncopia of candidates that are only suffocating the airwaves for self-promotion rather than running for local office or spending their obscene wealth on bettering the world. If we see Trump win in 2020, I want the first point of every single analysis post-election about the Democrats lost to be not setting a cap on how many people can run by wasting their time entertaining the egos of nobodies, grifters and empty personalities.



Likewise, I hope the second point focus on the glaring faults whatever DNC-approved dipshit gets the nomination over Bernie. If we have to trust the polls (which we really shouldn't given how deceptively they're constructed), they have Joe Biden in the lead, wasting his chance to primary against the Donald to ramble about Obama and how Iowa makes the best gosh-darn popsicles. He is going to gaffe his way into a loss, we can already see it as he gets publically owned in every debate. So much for not being a socialist, Joe. Pete Buttigieg's essentially just a younger, gayer, less gaffe-prone version of him, who has just as checkered of a political record and no prominent black friend to lean on to help his numbers among African-Americans. Kamala Harris is a neoliberal experiment that has backfired, no doubt in part due to having campaign staffers that ran Hilary into the ground. Speaking of Hilary, we can't forget about Elizabeth Warren, whose replacing her in the false equivalency of weighing progressive bonafides and just won't have the strength to fend off the insults the right lunges at her (though at least I can believe she could be convinced to do better in the unlikely event she wins rather than persist as a toxic tumor on society that definitely 100% killed Epstein). Oh I could go on but I already have clowned on all the candidates on my social media!

I've noticed that in the last few years I've found myself saying "I don't know" more often. Not so much to others but to myself as I question my decisions. I've certainly sighed it under my breath quite a lot in writing this. It feels redundant, needless. However getting all of this down is therapeutic as well. Not just because I'm satisfied my future self can get a snapshot of how the world was in late 2019, but because there is a rejection of obfuscation here. Uncertainty is without question the dominant mode of modern life. I cannot make a solid prediction yet that I would be willing to make an outrageous bet in favor of. But there is a clarity that has been reached here. There's going to be so much bullshit coming in the next year that will seek to fool everyone into assuming moving to the center is the way to victory or that there are elites out there with good intentions, honest! But it is as farcical as number 45. And these people know it. Christ, Obama has basically stopped pretending and exposed himself as the sham that he always was!

However things turn out in this hellworld, I'm at least confident in that the result will inspire most in abandoning convention and aspiring for their dreams. I can only hope that such will be from a renewed optimism in humanity.


Monday 14 October 2019

Joker Review


Trying his hand at a non-comedic project, Todd Phillip's Joker centers around Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix), a struggling clown/stand up comic living in Gotham City with his mother (Francis Conroy). His dream is to be on television on a talk show with Murray Franklin (Robert DeNiro) but he finds it difficult with various setbacks that life throws his way. Fired from his job, dealing with mental issues and harassment from his fellow citizens, all the while garbage piles up and people riot in the streets against Thomas Wayne (Brent Cullen), a billionaire running for mayor, Arthur finds very little to cling to apart from his girlfriend Sophie (Zazie Beetz). It's only a matter of time until something snaps in him and he becomes the titular Joker. 

There are three types of movie-going experiences out there. The first kind is watching a movie that you can walk into knowing nothing about it. If you're able to stick your fingers into your ears, quickly glance over any press on it and just watch trailers or cast interviews, this sort of experience allows you to be fairly objective on how you perceive the film. You can embrace or reject it on your own terms. The second kind is watching a movie based on what you've found. This can be as deep as you'd like, sticking to feedback from friends or looking at reviews or commentaries regarding it. While more subjective, this provides you with a context that can allow you to focus more on certain details in which you can determine your own viewpoint and make your stance. Both of these are ones that are within your control, as you can choose how you want to color your movie-going experience.

Joker meanwhile falls into the unmentioned third category, the film caught in a zeitgeist where the media will bombard you with opinions, controversies, arguments and counter-arguments that you will know most everything about the movie before you step out the door to greet the day. Even being off the grid, you can't help but find yourself having to take a stance on it. Under this, you might find yourself having to do a combination of the two previous experiences as you simultaneously purge all those takes that have been thrown your way while being so hyper-aware of them that you already have a feeling of how you'll receive the film unless it truly goes out of its way to surprise you. There was already a lot that titled my perspective. The trailer providing a classier approach to a comic book villain (as well as providing allusion to The Killing Joke). The media obsession over a psychopath committing another Aurora in the theatres. Todd Phillips's baby boomer-like grumblings over comedy being impossible in this era. Add to it some sociopolitical critique and spoilers, and my mind was made up. However, I had to see it for myself just to confirm, which thankfully I was able to do once all the attention for it died down a bit. Given that it has become such a hot topic, I feel there is no point to be wholly coy about the film's contents.

It's hard to know where to start given all the attention the film has received. I was both drawn into it by what I had seen from it and what I had heard about it. Had it been one or the other, I could have focused on my perspective or played off of the perspective of others. Instead it's this juggling act where I'm throwing both perspectives in, one at a time. For instance, much of what I've read regarding Joker's cinematic inspirations focuses on its similarities to Taxi Driver. He's a loner, he's got problems, he has a grudge with the city. Seemed to me like child's play, most any film about some troubled man who's isolated from society made nowadays could be seen as inspired from that. To me, it seemed more like one ought to look at The King Of Comedy, another Scorsese production. It focuses on another off-kilter fellow, but he's more jovial, more deluded. He's desperate to make his mark on the world. It helps that Robert DeNiro is there to pay homage to it by playing as Murray Franklin paralleling the Jerry Langford-Rupert Pupkin dynamic. Joker proved itself to be a bit of both, wearing the grimy city aesthetics of Taxi Driver while thematically sounding like The King Of Comedy with the budding romance and Arthur's efforts and delusions to be on Murray Franklin's show.


Of course, Joker has something of its own as it balances its Scorsese influence with a cinematic elevation of DC intellectual property. One has to commend Joaquin's tireless efforts in adding depth to the Joker, who is one of those characters that seems simple on paper but harder on execution. Much of the beauty of the Joker is that his end goal is easy to understand but convincing others to follow him to that goal is not. Through seeing how Arthur Fleck makes the transition, Joaquin is able to show the pain and twisted logic that leads one to side with the Joker. Coupled with masterful cinematography that captures those perfect moments of his vision coming to fruition, his performance truly can stand its own when placed next to Heath Ledger, Mark Hamill and Jack Nicholson.

This however doesn't exactly convince me enough to consider it as a proper arthouse interpretation of a comic book character. Other critics who watched the movie without begging incels to kill the normies have pointed to Phillips's stumbles in his efforts to deliver a more serious production. Hesitantly, I have to concur, as there is a lack of subtlety throughout the movie that saps it of its potential. In this day in age, I don't necessarily feel like an inability to provide any nuance is a detriment as sometimes messages need to be spelled out in bold letters so that as many people get the hint. But if one is going through all the effort to make magnificently beautiful shots or create poignant montages with songs that were practically made to play over them, the narrative elements should play into that as well. It's not so much that Joker can't take a breath to revel in some of its artistic complexity, but rather that it seems to blurt out the obvious much in the same way that Arthur is unable to control his laughter.

Much of this stumbling to achieve greatness presides over the rest. Tonally, Phillips is able to maintain a solid ground with the dramatic parts, bar the instances where it's too blunt for its own good. When it comes to his forte of adding some comedy on the other hand, there is surprisingly a sense of restraint. There are moments where the dark humor lands perfectly and gives insight into the Joker's comedic sensibilities, with many of them involving him dancing. And then there are scenes that could have been punchier, such as the joke that he delivers on the Murray Franklin talk show. It would have been better if he had delivered the joke that he was practicing but adding the 'twist' that appears in the film.



Speaking of which, the narrative has a solid amount of twists that complement the drama and comedy throughout Joker. I particularly love the development of Arthur's relationship with his mother as it correlates to their relationship with the Wayne family. She could've used a little more screen time along with better dialogue to work with though. It is much better than Arthur and Sophie's relationship, which adds nothing, especially when its revealed that he made it all up. To me, it would have made more sense to have Arthur make up having further conversation with his social worker, perhaps showing him cope a little better, have him get along with her better and provide a little bit of insight into his thinking. That way it could hit harder just how much she doesn't really seem to help Arthur in his mind when she reveals that the funding has been cut.

This brings me to the last point, the political message. It's strange that in how much of Joker struggles with the rest, its purpose is the strongest aspect. It's already been said from those that wanted to counter the mainstream agenda that much of why they're decrying the film as a tool to turn antisocial loners into shooters is that it addresses the current alienation and speaks to the massive inequalities and cruel absurdities that exist in this world. Certainly one can see that from how Gotham City faces a garbage strike, Thomas Wayne shows how out of touch he is with the people (to the point that the Joker becomes an icon of the resistance) and Arthur's path down into becoming the Joker from the indifference and antipathy of society. But Joker also reminds the audience that his reasoning and purpose are not ones to adhere to. There is the obvious fact that he is violent and cruel, but there's also how apolitical he is, that much of the people that 'aide' him are black, suffering their own setbacks in the city but he's colorblind and selfish to it, only concerned with his own demented purpose to be somebody. The anarchy carries a justified anger but requires a better focus and to let Joker be in control of that is absurd given how he is no more in tune to the realities of people's struggles as Thomas Wayne is. It's more against incels and the radical sort that inflict senseless violence than it's given credit for.

I'm hoping Joker is the first stepping stone to seeing more unique takes on comic book characters in the same vein of Logan and The Dark Knight. It might not exactly be on the same level as either one, but it has done well to differentiate itself from the MCU factory line. If future projects can learn from its faults and expand further on what it can promise, I see a good future for this new direction DC movies might take. Perhaps even Marvel might start taking lessons from them. If I could make a few suggestions I think more Batman villains should get their own projects. I would like to see a tragic romance for Mr. Freeze or a heavy film noir revolving around Poison Ivy. As it stands though, I'm quite fine with Joker, with its urban cynicism cloaked by a few sensible chuckles of the bizarre tragicomedy that we all live in.


Tuesday 8 October 2019

A Misfit Among Misfits - Let Me See You In Freeform

It was a long while ago
When I first got into jazz
I had me a horn like Louie
And got a mute to sound like Davis
Got into that idea of freeform
Freeform makes those solos
It’s all about that sound
That rhythm, that pace
Carries an emotion, a passion
Tells a story
I’d play some solos
But never got into that freeform
Too stuck on safe notes
Repeat those beats
Repeat those beats
Little bit of flavor
Repeat those beats
And there it was
A solo, but no freeform


I liked that idea of freeform
Of letting the moment take you
Would practice it on other things
Never on that horn
Too little time
When I had it
I forgot how to play
So I left it
Dropped it
Gone in some other home
A home I can’t call my own
My home ain’t my own
Too many squares, too much red
That home with my horn ain’t my horn
That home ain’t no home to me
There’s a house with my family there
But it ain’t a home
Home isn’t a conversation to the wall
It isn’t a place where you drown noise with noise
Where you’re too south in the North
Or too right for the left
You’ll think I’m a hick
But I ain’t one, no sir


Just compared to my current points
I’m more south and to the right
Geography in case you’re confused
I certainly feel for you there
Don’t know what my life is
Don’t know what it’ll be
Worries about future, fame, fortune
Sad, silly, shallow maybe
I think, wonder, ponder as I saunter
About it all as well as love
Love, passion, sex
They’re delicate desires
Dealing with them ain’t easy
I think of these and all confused I’ll be
Bemused with blues I go right to booze
And with that booze I got what I desired
Delicate as the moment may be
No names to speak of but one was sweet
Taken by the moment we kissed


That kiss was something hot
Fiery, intense, out of this world
But she was taken, as I was in the moment
Not just of the booze
Not just of the passion
I mean it more literal
I was just a hiccup
What a funny Valentine, no?
No, it wasn’t
Nor that nor any were
Only wrote one love poem in my life
It was the dumbest thing
All I felt was the sting
Of how dumb it was
That thing
That sting
It comes along each day
Cuz I see others with their Valentine
No gal to be a close pal
No pal to be a close gal
Zip, zilch, nada


Truth is I haven’t been searching too hard
So it ain’t that sad
Still can try when I have the time
But you know what I do try?
I try for “close” friends
Try to get close as I can
Not to do anything with sex
Just talk and hang
To ping them one day
And then they ping me another
Mutual respect
Mutual connection
Mutual
I don’t got mutuals
Close acquaintances at best
Each effort in vain
A strain on the horn
Trying to hit a high note
So high
But they fail miserably
Sound so sour in that vain effort
That’s what I hear


Got a lot of sins in me
Lust, pride, greed, gluttony, wrath and sloth
But envy, man, that’s the killer
I try to be nice despite my sin
Even though just pulls me out
Sicks those other sins out
Biting everyone else
And then all I can talk to is the wall
Some people just don’t give me a chance
So then I end up doing the same
That’s where it leads
That’s where I am
Got no home still
Got no horn neither
Got not much but what’s in here
In my heart
In my mind
It’s all I got to say
That right there is my freeform

A Misfit Among Misfits - Poker In The Basement

Cards on the table
Transactions take place
Smoke chokes the air
Breathing not available
Were we closer to each other
Or were we unable

I played fair
Saw through the bluff
Where there was nothing
Nothing but a stoner ace
Expected my share
Figured I was due
But those pots
I never did accrue

I wanted it straight
You gave me a flush
Seemed clear to me
I’d receive a bum’s rush
But when I had my straight
And I set the bets aside
Your eyes remained dead
Amid that tobacco fog

Was this all for fun
What fun is casual lying
Leaving soon felt wrong
But your patience I was trying
Never saw your hands
Only saw your rage
I won but lost all around
Leaving my worries
Trapped in my mouth’s cage

A Misfit Among Misfits - A Child In Two Parts

Do you ever wonder
What led up to who you are
How the path that you made
Gave you strength and made its scar

Do you ever think to imagine
What things could have been like
If you made a different move
Went away from that turnpike

Consider a child
In their homeland
Unaware of what a path even is
So aloof from reality
Simply enjoying fantasy
As much as the days can bring
For as long as they still is

Now imagine in this land
Constant strife politically
Life affected by chaos each day
Reporters with bad news on display

Time to leave! Time to leave!
While that still is a prerogative
Take what you can and go
And leave what was once your home

Still as a child
They wouldn’t know any better
Moving from home
Just means having different weather
But they can’t come back
Not for a good while
A new home has to be made
Where they reside now

Only as that child grew
To a teen with some issues
To an adult finding their way
Did they get
Why life was not the same

From there it would occur to them
What they were robbed of
Of what would complete them
Give form to their self image
Provide the whole picture for them
Rather than leave them with just a hole

But fortunately they left the home
A home now in flames by the very forces
That forced the child to leave their home
And left them with the hole
That made them half and half of who they are

That child wonders what could have been
Had they stayed back where they were
Succored by the knowledge they got
An idea emerges of what might’ve occurred

“I would be more certain of my place
More aware of my own culture
That I think would be the case
Had I not made this rupture

Yet I’d be bitter and malnourished
More passionate in my anger
In this land I have flourished
Back there there’s nothing but clangor

That me which stayed at home
Might know more of what is theirs
But feel trapped under the dome
Scrounging about to peddle wares

The misery, tragedy and horror
That embodies my alternate
Would have them an early mourner
While I hardly seen my family in that grim fate

What decisions would I make
Pressed against the nation’s wall
Death back home can be by mistake
And it’s easy to trip into freefall

If they survived by some luck
I’d doubt they would be calm
Hardened by being thrown amuck
To triumph over their greatest qualm

If I met that self, they’d hate me
The decisions that I’ve become
They had to work so hard to be free
And yet I didn’t, therefore I’m scum

They’d hate my cultural illiteracy
They’d hate my efforts at sympathy
They’d hate me considerably
They’d hate how I think so differently”

So the child wonders
Now old enough to think beyond
What can’t be changed by time
Of the fate that they were able to abscond

Though the net good remains higher
Than what is in the negative
What remains absent from the divergence
Stays gone for as long as they live

A Misfit Among Misfits - A Misfit Among Misfits

Sitting on the yellow line
One as it usually is
Couples to the left
Families to the right
A reflection in the middle
Playing the world’s smallest fiddle

Walking out always pondering
Wondering what my picture is
All puzzle pieces have their board
Or so I’ve been told
What would that be for me?
Is that something I’ll come to see?

The search for such left not much
Each attempt always came forced
Coerced to part from solitude
Oldest fiend and closest friend
Came along with me on the 6ix
Left me broke with much to fix

So I’m too jagged, too bent out of shape
Yet to complete some sort of whole
Leaving the hole inside to grow
But that is best not to show
One has to just go with the flow
It’ll all come together

In absence of groups
Misfits come together
Bearing the weather
Of whether to fit it in or not
But whether misfits work with each other
Bother with one another
Is a whole issue entire

Shutouts still shut out
Cast out each other
To cold streets to harden further
And fervor builds from rage
Of being isolated from the isolated
Isolation like that is damnation
Worst pain second to castration

It’s fine to be too weird for normal
Nebulous as that word may be
I see no reason for it lest it succeeds ab
Drab is better left out anyways
But to be too much outside for outsiders?
Who are they to be deciders?

To be kicked out to my room
Left under a cloud of gloom
To fume rather than to bloom
Better to shop for a tomb

Sometimes it’s because of comparisons
Leaving everyone to deploy garrisons
Firing out that their pain’s stronger
That they’ve suffered for longer
What does this accomplish?
This I heavily admonish

Other times it’s just by nature
So it is by nomenclature
Misfits are meant to not fit
It just seems to befit
But some seem to misfit far more
Abhorred more by those closer to their core

In this double rejection
Dejection is the direction
Taken from such disaffection
Self-affection only comes from recollection
To serve as best protection

It still can disappoint
To be at that point
I still hate it with passion
But that hate I fashion for better

I still have to be somewhere
I still have to care
I can’t just compare
I can’t whine about the unfair
I have to accept my odd flair
I know the title I must bear




Monday 7 October 2019

Freiwerk Nonanarratives - Wait

Charles Romanoff got used to his time being wasted. From an early age, he had endured never-ending lectures from adults who always took any move that he had made as being inherently wrong in some way. Much like any other teenager, he viewed school as a prison, and often found himself facing a sentence for some petty crime. He would spend hours contacting others to arrange some sort of get-together with them but often found himself stuck in the silence of solitude. Even when he did, there was always the feeling that he was a third wheel there. This would prove to be helpful when dealing with his job.



After completing an assignment last week, he was eager to hear back from his boss at the Bold & Black Bastion and hoping that he would finally leave the dreary apartment building they had placed him in.



“Hello Romanoff.”

“Afternoon, Chief.”

“How are you doing?”

“Doing as well as I can. How about you?”

“Busy. Much more than usual.”

“Ah. So you’ve got something for me.”

“Well yes and no. The other members and I have been thinking of assigning you to an operation in Europe...”

“Ravenhead?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, the department which was handling Ravenhead had recently faced a hack from Roterache which scrambled up most if not all the data involved in it. They’ve told me that they had managed to find a back-up of what they had before, but that it would take about a month or so to get back up to speed.”

“I see,” Charles walked out of his room, taking with him his jacket. “So that’s it?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“Are you sure there’s not something I could be doing around here?”

“Short of working remotely to do some upkeep, there’s not much I can offer at the moment.”

“How about elsewhere? World’s a big place.” He went into an elevator and looked for his carton of cigarettes.

“We’ve already got agents working on a variety of operations, there are no open positions there.”

“Surely having an extra man on a job couldn’t hurt.” The elevator reached the ground floor and he walked out, grabbing the carton and pulling a cigarette out.

“Romanoff, while I appreciate your enthusiasm, I do not have anything else currently that I can assign you to. You’ll simply have to manage your money better and wait until we get back up to speed on Ravenhead. That is all.”



The Chief hung up and Charles let the dial-tone hold for a few seconds as he lit his cigarette and took a puff into the cold wind. He then hung up and sat down on the steps, letting the cigarette burn a fifth of itself off before taking his next puff. The cars crawled as they passed the building and passersby strolled with the lackadaisical stride of a slacker college student. Each cloud of smoke he let out in the air branched off into snakes which slithered so slowly and intertwined with each other to form hypnotizing helixes. Whenever he felt the need to take a drag, he let it drag on so as to accustom himself for how the rest of the 30 days would feel like.



Charles was the kind of man who would tell you that he believed the sky was red and you would believe that at the very least he believed it to be so. Though he was not one to make such preposterous claims, his conviction could carry it through. That was what had made him so appealing to 3B. However, the rest of his character had to be reshaped to their liking. With a clean shave, a shorter haircut and months of rigorous classes in discipline, they had felt that they had created the ideal member with him. But it would only be until they were hanging off a cliff that they really saw what Romanoff was capable of.



After finishing his smoke, Charles figured that he could get started on the upkeep and then spend the rest of the night watching television. Instead, he just watched television and dozed off after switching to a soap opera marathon. He woke up, greeted by an Evangelical pastor telling his followers “to take charge of life with the power of God”, a comment which made Charles chuckle at just how over-the-top it was. He walked a few steps to the kitchen to heat up a couple of Chinese takeout leftovers and went to his desk to properly work on the upkeep.



Hours went by, the room feeling smaller as he remained at his desk, typing away the time. Everything seemed closer to him than it actually was, as the apartment was designed so that the bedroom took up more space than the rest of the rooms. Furthermore, the place was quite disorganized. It was more chaos than order, yet it had some sort of structure to it as piles were scattered about, but they always contained one thing, whether it was clothes, documents, devices or rented DVDs. The only items that were kept in a neat arrangement were his keys, his cellphone, his cigarettes, his wallet and his pistol, all placed on a windowsill parallel to the kitchen and taken with him when he was going out for a while. Once he was able to take a break, he figured he’d return the DVDs as he didn’t want to risk dealing with the tardy fee.



Charles decided to take the long route towards the library, as he wanted to walk around to shake off the strain of sitting on the same chair for such a long time. The day was particularly nice, with the clouds being surrounded by the sun’s aura bringing a warmth to the city but not a scorching hell that would blind someone wearing three pairs of sunglasses. Despite the imposing modernist architecture and the abundance of suits talking on cellphones, the city had the quaint calmness of a rustic town. It was pleasant, even if Charles knew of its dirtier secrets. As soon as he returned the DVDs, he stopped by a nearby convenience store to grab a bottled water and walked back to that boring building of his.



He decided to walk up the stairs this time having felt rejuvenated by the walk. The floors were about three or four flights of stairs distant from one another, which made even going from the first to the second feel more like a slog than usual. Charles didn’t feel that it was too strenuous though, jogging comfortably up the steps. In thirty seconds, he was already at the second floor, and felt like he could go up the rest of the three with relative ease. However, a glimpse of a red suitcase caught his eye as he looked out to the hallway to find a tall rugged man with a suit exiting the elevator and going to his room.



“That suitcase looks familiar…” Charles thought, waiting for the man to enter the room and take note of the number – Room 27. He went back to the steps to avoid being in the man’s line of sight. The man exited as soon as he entered, with the suitcase now gone and headed towards the elevator. The man was red-haired and green-eyed, with a neatly trimmed beard and a large silver and red watch on his left hand. It was strange that he had not seen this man before, though he wondered if perhaps the man had seen him. Nevertheless, Charles followed the man, rushing down the steps to catch up with the elevator.



As soon as the elevator reached the ground floor, Charles was on the ground floor cautiously moving himself closer to the hallway to see if the man was there. Thankfully, the man had passed him once he positioned himself to that line of sight. Charles shadowed him to his destination, with the lights growing brighter making it harder for him to hide from the man’s sight when he would survey the area. The sun was right about to set as the two finally stopped at a restaurant. “Thank god. I could really use a meal right about now.”



The man sat at a table at the darkest end of the restaurant which was where the booths were all located. Charles quickly glanced at the menu and told a waiter to bring him a burger at the booth next to the man. He waited for when the man looked away from the booths to sneak onto it and remain hidden from his sight. For added obfuscation, he grabbed the drink menu on the side of the table and opened it to see what best to pair his burger with.



“Hello, Mr. Fontaine,” a familiar feminine voice greeted the man.

“Just call me Sinclair, love,” Mr. Fontaine gnarled.

“I prefer Mr. Fontaine. It’s more clandestine.”

“Of course. Sometimes forget about these things. Quite a lovely meal we got here.”

“It’s my treat,” Charles heard something slid across the table towards Sinclair.

“Wonderful, love.”

“Did you get the briefcase?”

“Sure did. Your boy Clark delivered it to me downtown.”

“Excellent. Clark certainly is a good ‘lad’ isn’t he?”

“Quite.”

“Clark? Of course. This has got to be Connoway,” Charles thought, coming to the conclusion that he came across a conversation with the Roterache. Rose Connoway was a high-level agent in Roterache of whom Romanoff had always managed to encounter even in the most casual of situations. They often faced off with one another but never did their confrontations reach to a bloody end. Charles had come to learn that Rose loved to use Clark in most of her operations, though it didn’t quite make as much sense after Charles sliced off his dominant hand with a machete.

“I noticed a bit of writing on the bottom. Didn’t really make much sense. What’s that all about?”

“You’ll understand when the time comes.”

“Right, but I’ll need a little more info before I go on.”

“Like what?”

“Well, what I’m getting into, love? All I’ve got is the briefcase.”

“That’s your problem, not mine.”

“What do you mean, my problem? If I’m in the dark, I can’t help you.”

“You’re not in the dark. You know all that you need to know right now.”

“I swear, you lot all do the same to me. Like I’m some bloody imbecil,” Sinclair grumbled, swishing his drink around before downing the whole thing. “Can you at least answer me this…is this briefcase reusable?”
“Briefcase’s always reusable indefinitely Clark claimed bluntly.” The sentence hit Charles with a mighty force. He quickly jotted it down on his phone before putting the drink menu back up on his face, with the waiter now arriving with their food.

“I hope there’s more to this briefcase than how reusable it is, love.”

“Don’t worry, there’s a lot more to come.”



The night became uneventful after that. Sinclair and Rose talked less about the briefcase and more about themselves. Course after course came by and they continued to talk, much to Charles’s chagrin. He kept ordering food and drinks by pointing to the menu so as to not draw suspicion, but he only managed to make a mountain of cuisine that would come to sustain him for the next few days. Finally he saw them getting ready to leave and quickly brought up his phone to inform the Chief of Rose Connoway.



Then, with his finger ready to call the Chief, he froze. He didn’t know what was really going on. Was this briefcase related to Ravenhead? Or any of the operations that 3B had in order? What if someone else was working on this case and he was intervening? He wasn’t ready to deal with the Chief scolding him.



More importantly, he was sour that the Chief would not let him deal with a case involving Roterache that was so close to his proximity. To think that he would spend the rest of his time here boring himself. Whatever was happening, he was going to figure it out himself.



Back home, Charles put the leftovers away and went to hacking Sinclair Fontaine. Since they were in the same building, it was quite easy for him to access his computer files. In the hard-drive were a slew of bank transactions, most of them coming from black market accounts. There also was a handful of documents in a folder called “Greatest Hits” which were pictures of newspaper clippings of assassinations that Sinclair was involved with. Aside from that and a couple of risqué photographs, nothing gave much insight into his relationship with Rose. Charles figured that it would be more sensible to look into Sinclair’s emails. There, he found a correspondence with him and Rose.



Date: March 4th 2017

To: s.fontaine-3303@gmail.com
From: conrose@dknt.com

Subject: Greeting

Hello, Mr. Fontaine

I’m glad that you accepted Clark’s offer. It’ll be a pleasure working with you. It’s a lovely day today. Why don’t you take a walk around the park in the west end?

Regards,

R.C.



Date: March 4th 2017

To: conrose@dknt.com
From: s.fontaine-3303@gmail.com

Subject: Re:Greeting

Thx 4 the tip, luv. Got sumthin’ nice from the ice cream man. Quite a treat.
- Fontaine



Date: March 16th 2017

To: s.fontaine-3303@gmail.com
From: conrose@dknt.com

Subject: Movie?

Hello, Mr. Fontaine

I was wondering if you would be able to catch a movie tonight. Maybe I can sneak some liquor in if it turns out to be bad.

Regards,

R.C.



Date: March 16th 2017

To: conrose@dknt.com
From: s.fontaine-3303@gmail.com

Subject: Re:Movie?

Sure. Been pretty bored lately.
- Fontaine



Date: March 17th 2017

To: s.fontaine-3303@gmail.com
From: conrose@dknt.com

Subject: Re:Re:Movie?

Hello, Mr. Fontaine

Last night was pretty fun. Quite the movie wasn’t it? Certainly had a lot of twists and turns. We’ll have to do this again another time.

Regards,

R.C.



Date: March 17th 2017

To: conrose@dknt.com
From: s.fontaine-3303@gmail.com

Subject: Re:Re:Re:Movie?

Yeah. Rly wasn’t expectin’ that.
- Fontaine



Date: March 28th 2017

To: s.fontaine-3303@gmail.com
From: conrose@dknt.com

Subject: Check your mailbox

Hello, Mr. Fontaine

I hate to be so direct but can you check your mailbox? Clark wants to know if you got the packages.

Regards,

R.C.



Date: March 28th 2017

To: conrose@dknt.com
From: s.fontaine-3303@gmail.com

Subject: Re:Check your mailbox

Mhm. Got ‘em, luv.
- Sinclair



Date: April 8th 2017

To: s.fontaine-3303@gmail.com
From: conrose@dknt.com

Subject: Dinner

Hello, Mr. Fontaine

I’d like to invite you over for dinner next week. There I can clear up a few things. Clark will text you the directions as soon as you reply to this email.

Regards,

R.C.



Date: April 8th 2017

To: conrose@dknt.com
From: s.fontaine-3303@gmail.com

Subject: Re:Dinner

Alright. Gonna run a bit late.
- Sinclair





Between the vagueness of the first few and the sheer oddity that the two seemingly watching a movie together, Charles couldn’t gather much. Only thing that seemed to make sense was the packages. It was the crack in which he could slip into. After all, he knew that Clark was inquiring about whether he got them. Clark worked mostly with weapons, so there was a very high probability that the packages were weapons. However, Rose also had Clark deliver the briefcase. So perhaps there was something there that was relevant to that. Before he could think about it further, he saw a new email pop up.



Date: April 15th 2017

To: conrose@dknt.com
From: s.fontaine-3303@gmail.com

Subject: Re:Re:Dinner

Can u giv’ me more info? Didn’t quite get the msg.
- Fontaine



The message. Charles checked his phone and wrote it down. Briefcase’s always reusable indefinitely Clark claimed bluntly. Such an odd thing to say. Yet it was so critical to the situation that Charles would come to see the sun rise as he scribbled over and over on papers trying to decipher the message. Despite the ciphers, the research or the anagrams he came up with, nothing managed to be relevant to the situation at hand. It would be so frustrating if it weren’t so tiring.



Waking up from his two hour nap on the keyboard, Charles went to get some coffee and went back to his room to wait and see if Rose had responded to him. Not the case. As he waited, he heard his cell phone ring. The Chief was wondering why he hadn’t logged on remotely to the 3B system. Charles responded that he got distracted talking to a close friend. The Chief promptly told him to log on and quit messing around. But Charles could not stop messing around, constantly waiting for when Rose would reply to him.



Once he finished his work on the upkeep, he continued to look into the message, the words constantly growing more cryptic through each attempt he made. Yet again, no response would come and he would not be any closer to an answer. The days repeated in the same fashion, with him becoming more invested in the message rather than his work. Usually, it was what he was doing professionally that got him more invested than any other sort of side-task. But to spend his time waiting for the clock to bring him out of doing this nonsense upkeep was more grating to him than not coming closer to solving the puzzle.



A message finally came out after he was done doing his work for 3B.



Date: April 20th 2017

To: s.fontaine-3303@gmail.com
From: conrose@dknt.com

Subject: 202 200 012 201

022 012 110 110 120   111 200. 020 120 112 202 001 100 112 012,

011 120   112 120 202   120 121 012 112   202 022 012   121 001 010 102 001 021 012 201. 002 110 210 112 202 110 221    201 100 220   110 012 020 202   001 112 001   011 120 212 112    001 200 012 100 020 010 001 201 012’ 201.

200 012 021 001 200 011 201,

200.010.



Charles wasn’t too familiar with the code off-hand. However, he was aware of the following:

H E L L O   M R.    F O N T A I N E,

022 012 110 110 120   111 200. 020 120 112 202 001 100 112 012,



R E G A R D S,

R. C.

200 012 021 001 200 011 201,

200.010.



He looked at the C, the D, the E, the F, the G, the H and the I, how they created a cohesive pattern.

C D E F G H I

010 011 012 020 021 022 100



There, he wrote the rest of the numbers with their corresponding letters, eventually solving the Ternary Reduction Encryption System. TRES was a recent code created by the Roterache to deal with highly covert operations with their clients. It was simple, yet puzzled the 3B whenever they came across it. Often the numbers were stuck to each other, causing them to blend with one another, and there was never something so blatantly obvious that could help in cracking the code. Yet, with Rose sticking to routine, having an encryption program that spaced each number out and Sinclair being unable to solve the code, Charles had managed to decipher the message.



Date: April 20th 2017

To: s.fontaine-3303@gmail.com
From: conrose@dknt.com

Subject: TRES

Hello, Mr. Fontaine

Do not open the packages. Bluntly six left and down briefcase’s.

Regards,

R.C.



“What the hell does that mean?” both Sinclair and Charles thought. Sinclair shrugged and walked out of his room while Charles thought about what it could mean. He rummaged around his pile of discarded notes to find the message intact, but then realized that he could just look at his phone. There it was. Briefcase’s always reusable indefinitely Clark claimed bluntly. Still weird as ever. But it was now less bizarre thanks to this new message. At least he hoped. He started off by writing the word bluntly six spaces apart and below from briefcase’s.







Briefcase’s













bluntly.


“It also said left six. But putting them apart the same six spaces wouldn’t get me any closer to solving the code.” He thought for a while before then putting the rest of the words in.



Briefcase’s

always

reusable

indefinitely

Clark

claimed

bluntly.



Before he thought to move them left, he stared at the paper, hoping to see if it would jump out at him. It took a while, but once the visualization of the shift occurred in his head, he finally understood what the message was trying to say.

          Briefcase’s
         always

       reusable

     indefinitely

   Clark

 claimed

bluntly.



Without a moment to lose, he accessed Sinclair’s webcam to check if he was there. Fortune shine on him, prompting him to rush downstairs to his apartment. On the way, he bumped into a lady whose hat covered her face. He apologized quickly, later going into the apartment. It seemed a lot larger than his, but that probably could have been because Sinclair kept everything tidy there. The briefcase was lying below the packages that Rose had told Sinclair not to open. They even had a sticker that said “DO NOT OPEN YET.” Charles looked to see if he could find the blue key, inspecting each nook and cranny before turning his attention to the packages. Picking them up, he could hear something rustling in them. Was it the key? Or something else? He didn’t want to take the risk, and put them all in their place as he took off with the briefcase.



Back at home, he went into his bedroom and analyzed the briefcase. It seemed impenetrable to break through, at least with what was most available to him. Rather than try to get into it by force, he searched for that odd writing that Sinclair was speaking about. Sure enough, he found it.

SBRRNB QOEYDJ
UXSRAE AEOENC
RSVDTT EAEUOS


The phrases looked odd at first, but he quickly caught on that the first letters of each part would come to spell square.



SBRRNB

QOEYDJ

UXSRAE

AEOENC

RSVDTT

EAEUOS



Again, Charles would find himself faced to another odd message. SQUARE BOXES ARE SO VERY REDUNDANT OBJECTS. It seemed to allude to recursion in some manner, but what would recursion have to do with what they were doing? Perhaps it was the packages - after all, some of them were square boxes. “Seems the most likely, but I’ll have to deal with it some other time.” All the decoding and sleuthing had tired him. He checked the webcam again, to see if Sinclair had arrived. The place was still empty. Waiting for Sinclair would take up the remainder of his day, seeing him return from his walk, prepare himself a meal and write a response to Rose.



Date: April 20th 2017

To: conrose@dknt.com
From: s.fontaine-3303@gmail.com

Subject: Re:202 200 012 201

212 022 001 202.

- 020.



Charles let out a sigh of relief.



Date: April 20th 2017

To: conrose@dknt.com
From: s.fontaine-3303@gmail.com

Subject: Re:TRES

What.

- F.



“What an idiot.”



The next week saw Charles constantly spying on Sinclair, who would continue sending emails to which Rose would not respond. He never left the building, going so far as to order food to his apartment. Charles tried to mirror Sinclair’s insular attitude as much as he could, becoming a little more frustrated every time he had to take a break from monitoring his movements. Charles had to get out of the building lest it suck all the energy out of him.



By the end of the week, he headed out to get a pack of cigarettes in the middle of the night. The air was warm, the lights were dim. The convenience store was ready to close as soon as Charles walked out. Silence began to consume the night, easing him as he headed back. The last intersection leading to the building saw him alone, save for another person across the street. Who they were didn’t surprise him.



“A lovely night, isn’t it Mr. Romanoff?”

“Certainly is, Ms. Connoway.”

“I must say, I didn’t expect you to be around here.”

“Neither did I.”

“It’s always nice to be reminded of just how much of a small world this one is.”

“Yep,” Romanoff headed away from the apartment before getting pulled by the shoulder by Connoway, being blocked from the other side.

“Tell me, how’s work going?”

“I’m sure you’d know.”

“Would I? I’m not one to obsess over someone as unremarkable as you.”

“You love looking at the fine details though.”

“Believe me, if you were any less fine, I’d be ignoring you this instant.”

“Then why strike up a conversation?”

“Why not? I don’t have anything to do, do you?” She smirked, letting out a few chuckles while Romanoff’s neutral gaze remained untouched by her taunting.

“Not really.”

“So then, I guess there’s no one waiting for you then.”

“Nope.”

“Such a shame. Believe me, I’ve been there too. It’s always a trouble having nothing to do. Left to your own devices. You think that there’s something to do all the time, but you find yourself twiddling your thumbs more often than not. The world is a busy place…it makes no sense that there’s nothing for you to do. That’s why I like to make my own fun. That way I’m being active.”

“You could do with less activity.”

“I guess, but the pounds won’t lose themselves.” Connoway moved herself out of Romanoff’s way. “Speaking of which, I might as well keep the walk going. A pleasure seeing you as always.”

“Likewise.” Parting ways, Charles knew that he could not head home just yet. Convincing as he was, Rose caught on to his status at work. He had to shake off any suspicions she may have about him. So he went on his own walk. A walk would lead down the road of reflection.



In all the years that he had confronted Rose, he never heard her speak so directly to him. He knew of her past and how Roterache would come to seduce her, but only now did it make sense why. With his wallet growing thinner by the day, he grew anxious to find out what the briefcase had in store. It seemed to the be the only thing sustaining him while he waited. Meanwhile, whenever he had time to himself, he could only think back to other times when 3B left him to wait as others would go about their missions. His were so lackluster compared to the others. No matter how much he would come to accept the system he was in, the frustration remained, festering into his general rage on life as a whole. Then again, if he felt so strongly about the situation, he could always find a way out. And he never got out because when he was in, he enjoyed himself. 3B satisfied his need for adventure and his want for exploration. It may stagnate, but it could always be more lively when he wanted it be.



A few more days went on, leaving Charles to succumb again to the tedium of being unofficial under house arrest. It was only after a while that finally Sinclair got out of the apartment at around dusk in an angry huff, opening a window that Charles was happy to dive into. Both of them went on the elevators, with Charles taking a deep breath to prepare. He approached room 27 calmly, keeping watch of anyone spotting him. Opening the door, he looked at the packages. In the stack there were three square boxes which he opened from the largest to the smallest. The large one was three boxes deep and contained nothing. The medium one was five boxes deep and only contained a wad of cash with a candy wrapper banding them together. Finally, the small one, nine boxes deep, held a key ring with about 20 keys, 6 of which were blue.



Heading back to his room, he wondered what was his next step. Clearly Sinclair would now know that the briefcase was gone, and Rose would find out his bluff. He had to work fast. As soon as he got to his floor, he rushed into his apartment room, immediately getting slammed in the face by the briefcase.



“Evening, bruv.” Sinclair caught on.

“How’d you find me?”

“Got quite a good lad on my side.”

“That briefcase won’t be any use to you anymore.”

“It ain’t no use to you either, bruv” Sinclair swung at Charles again with the briefcase. The force of the swing brushed itself against Charles’ hair, missing him by sheer luck. With one careful punch to the gut, Charles managed to knock the wind out of Sinclair to get the briefcase and put it on the counter. Then, without a moment to spare, Charles knocked Sinclair into a pile of dirty clothes as he closed the door behind him. Sinclair slowly got up and walked towards the bedroom, slinking towards the darkest corner. Charles got a knife from the kitchen and paced towards the bedroom, later getting clocked by the alarm clock. In the daze, Sinclair took the opportunity to pick up the dropped knife and slash at Charles. Charles countered by tackling him into the bedroom, slamming him as hard as he could to the footboard. He punched Sinclair repeatedly in the head before Sinclair stabbed him near his stomach and pushed him to the back wall, digging the knife in deeper. “Tell me Charlie…what do you know about me and Rose?”

“Nothing.”

“You and I both know you know something. So cut the charade and tell me.”

“Both of you went to the movies.”

“Ah yeah. That was odd. I brought my own booze in, just in case things got bad. But it was pretty good…got a bit graphic at times. I especially loved the ending. It was quite satisfying” Sinclair approached Charles, ready to cut Charles open, but immediately felt the searing sensation of a lead bullet hitting his chest. Charles shot him again, pushing him onto the bed as he dragged himself to the bathroom. After bandaging himself, he went to the kitchen counter and got the briefcase. He tried each blue key until it finally opened. There was nothing else to kill the time now. All that was left was the upkeep. Sinclair’s phone began to vibrate. Charles grabbed it and read the incoming text.  He was done.

The weeks would go by, and the Chief didn’t hear back from Charles Romanoff. 3B was now ready to go ahead with Ravenhead, but found itself missing its most important asset. It was too risky to leave the operation hanging, so he put a second-rate replacement to cover for him. The Chief gave out the briefing and told all of the agents to be vigilant as they headed out. Within a few minutes after the meeting concluded, a message arrived to the Chief through Romanoff’s phone


100   001 111    021 120 112 012.

I am gone.

A Misfit Among Misfits - Dying Wine

Pour a glass of decay
Aged beyond its prime
That when wafted
Coughs the disarray
Of its travel through time
Lacks in value, lost its valor
An era’s error taints the cup
Tastes of dollars
Soaked in squalor
Once slithered down
The hand to drink stays up
For what’s fermented
Is cemented
Of demented bourgeoise
Who kept the liquor
Shelved indefinitely
Aware of what would come to be
Ironic a teetotaler
Opened the bottle of Styx water
Extracted from a spiteful boot
Garnished with the seeds
From history’s rotten fruit
And so corrosion is in motion
As the potion drowns one in
Erosion of emotion
And the bubbling of monstrous sin
Hate made into a liquid
Wouldn’t be nearly as bitter
To that whose punches wound
The heart and mind
Rather than remain
A simple liver hitter
Once the drink is all gone
Hate is chased as an antidote
But alas the damage is done
All that’s left is to float and bloat

A Misfit Among Misfits - The World Goes By In Waves

With the world all a mess I am dazed and confused
Of the future ahead as I am quite bemused
Each horror and scandal that is on the world news
Makes me sad and quite blue with these blues craving booze
My worries don’t lessen they just grow like long vines
And leave me quite empty trapped in downing confines
Left alone in my thoughts I recall a few words
From my mother so wise and so sweet like songbirds
“Remember my dear son this world goes by in waves
With the highs and the lows from our births to our graves”
Here we are at a low, the lowest of the lows
But it is just the thorn of our life, like a rose
Soon we will rise up to a nice peak of pure joy
To make up for the worst things that we can’t enjoy
Afterwards we will go down into a cesspool
That will get us all mad as we say “how uncool
We were just at a high so lovely in the sky
Now we’re back at a low…god damn I wanna die”
But don’t fret, calm right down, there is no need for that
See we’re now at the top, making all look like gnat
These cycles keep going and they don’t ever stop
With spinning our emotions like they were a top
It is fun and not so but one thing is for sure
The maxim of life’s waves is one that is secure

Saturday 5 October 2019

A Misfit Among Misfits - Binging On Monitors

Served inside this glass
Is liquids of our vision
A slush of pixels and poison
Crackling like static
Served for all
And all enjoy
It shares their joy
And so much more

I had this drink
And I do not regret it
Since I had it so much
I can barely forget it
To what extent is it me?
That I cannot say
I simply am, I simply be
And drink to my extent

Though the more I drank
The more I thought
More images spun through
I needed to have them down
But I never got them down
Because I drank the cup down
Life was the chaser, but still I was down
For progress never soared at all

But those thoughts, they grew
They needed homes
All I could give them was shacks
And shacks do nothing
They break and wither
With wither I’m left alone
With life I have none concrete
I was in that shack as well

No one cared for me
Aside from the shack
I was left to drink and attack
What I fought was ghosts
And this rose with every glass
I withered those thoughts
In those shacks
And for that, I am sorry

I could have done so much more
But now I’ve drunken myself low
And all I see are glitches and stops
What was on the left now resides right
Black and grey fuzzy lines
Where people once were
My mirror image is not there
The file cannot be found

Around me others speak in bleeps
But then I hear them say to me
“Why do you keep speaking bleeps?
What is with you? Are you okay?”
I’m not okay, no yes I am
Served in this glass is...wait...
Wait...I’ve said this already
I’m not fine, no yes I am

What everyone sees so common
Is mangled to mine own eyes
I’ve never felt the cables tied
Unless they bound me to darkness
My eyes display is always jade
With bars of rose from time to time
I’m short of breath, I need help
I’m stuck for no reason at all

Trapped inside with ambition diluted
By this drink I love so much
It’s not its fault, it’s merely mine
I could make much more of it
But instead I see rifts and cracks
I make sounds either artificial or not
They could be wondrous, but they are nothing
‘Cause no one seems to hear anything

I am not alone with this excess
So many others have drunk this too
But they’re alright, they’re jolly
They make use of this goop
I have not because...
Because I...I...
Why have I not?
Shouldn’t I be okay too?

A Misfit Among Misfits - Ceramic Dolls Of Porcelain

In the main square, this the domain
Lies a store of ceramics, mostly porcelain
On this domain, I walk in the light rain
Perusing down the lane with my cane
And down the lane on this domain
Is the store with the porcelain

Once there I spot on the windowpane
Lovely ceramic dolls I wish to obtain
Their colors are that of a candy cane
And it goes without say they are of porcelain

However I find that to attain them is a strain
For its value far surpasses the fanciest champagne
To even get close to obtain and contain this porcelain
Many meals I must abstain
I can no longer afford to ride on the train
All of which further my disdain

But as I survive this financial pain
I hope that this will not be my bane
For I will not left my efforts go in vain
I shall gain those ceramic dolls of porcelain

If I must, I will try chicane
Far more insane would be to have people slain
But if I have to go for the jugular vein
Then so be it, I shall not refrain

My devotion may seem to you inane
And the risks I’d take would be most profane
But I shall repeat that phrase again
I shall gain those ceramic dolls of porcelain

Freiwerk Nonanarratives - It's Like The Cold War In Your Living Room









Friday 4 October 2019

A Misfit Among Misfits - The Break I Had In Time’s Rose Garden

A day comes to mind
In weeks that I pay no mind
Of how we understand
And cherish what we have
Existence, that common miracle
Made worse from harsh interactions
But rewarding in the long run
When we are able to find
Those universal connections

On that day I felt
A great shiver of kindness
Softness enveloping my essence
Time slowly drips
From a honeypot
Bathed in the bliss of simple love
For a moment chaos was a symphony
Playing inside my subconscious
That formed a melty core of warmth

Snapped out of this stasis
A cut from reality’s sword
Broken from my ignorance
I learn the duplicity of pain -
The physical bruised
Deeply to its core
But the core of the soul
Torn by its claws
Is what makes our presence known

A Misfit Among Misfits - Be Respectful, Advises The Vandal

The vandal is a coward
A coward of the law
Defying it for gain
And leaving without a trace

Yet for all the vandal does
The vandal seems quite noble
With talks so very plenty
Of the meaning of respect

How can they have respect?
Respect is not of the vandal
Perhaps what we think
Of vandals is not enough

For Robin was a vandal
So known for his great deed
He had his own respect
Unbound by the rule of law

Some would say that’s not true
“Robin is no vandal”
And that would be quite true
Thieves are not always vandals

Vandals go to devalue
To destroy and deface
Not all carry a high motive
Most tend to have low minds

Though is not rebellion
A way to devalue?
Rebellion possibly
Can have some nobility

So can one not do the act
Of noble vandalizing
In the name of freedom
And with higher purpose?

I would not deny it
But vandals are vandals
Their methods are risky
And their words are quite flimsy

They can be pretentious
They can be dangerous
Though I know they are tempting
For we all want to vandalize
To ensure our points are fully made

Freiwerk Nonanarratives - After Midnight In Nova 6ix







Freiwerk Nonanarratives - Man Against Himself






Thursday 3 October 2019

A Misfit Among Misfits - Coward

I get it if you don’t like me
Maybe I’m not who you’d like to be
We all got our preferences
All I ask is for references
I got my flaws like anybody else
Perfect in this world doesn’t exist
But to cut me suddenly?
After all was well?
Leave me to figure it out?
As if I sprung out of hell?
Damn.

Dry ice feels warmer in my hand
And hurts less when in my fist
You expect me to throw it at you
Flinch but I ain’t near you
I’d love to have a dialogue
But nope, you let that ship sail
Dropped this shit on me like hail
So now here I am in monologue
Just like how you are
Cold.

I’d take it on the chin
If you hadn’t punched me there
You got a problem with me?
Say it to my face
Spell it out for me
‘Cause I’m too much of a dumb fuck
To understand your subtext
Behind the no texts
Ghost.

And don’t be vague if I’m to blame
Be clear and concise
It only seems fair
If I’m to pay this price
Block me online
But I can still @ you in real life
You can’t hide forever
Confrontation is due
Coward.