I was thinking...

There's a troubling culture of replacement circulating through our media. I think there's nothing wrong with it, per se, except that it shows a great lack of courage. For example: the new 007 replacement for James Bond is a black woman. That's exciting news, since it should breathe new life into the franchise. And, breathing new life is the problem. There's no real risk taken by trying to tout a 'woke' attitude with your franchise when you're really only doing it to look 'woke.' James Bond is already a hugely successful franchise, worldwide, so they not only have nothing to lose by replacing the race and gender of their namesake character, they also have nothing to lose because anyone who cries out against it looks like (and likely is) a xenophobe, a sexist, a racist, or all of the above. This vindicates the action from the studio if it acts like it's being martyred for being fair and progressive. In either case, it requires little courag...

Now, I have plenty of avid follower to attest to my impeccable use of modern technology. If I need information, for fun or research, my use of modern technology is the pool from which I draw to fulfill every needful thing for this blog, as well as my other blog, as well as conversations where I need to prove someone wrong. I definitely never squander this access to information, never before seen by humankind--namely, I certainly haven't spent well over an hour or five playing a video game or multiple video games; I completely stay away from articles that have no useful information; and, I have never spent an entire morning, afternoon, evening, and part of the night (let's say up till 3 a.m.) watching various TV shows, movies, and internet videos. However, our young companions in this world aren't as responsible with technology as I am, and some are even worse liars. They (we) have so much at their (our) actual fingertips, resources we had to really look for in the p...

Samhain. No, it's not pronounced 'Sam hayn.' It's pronounced closer to 'sa-oo-hwen'. That is the major pagan celebration, from what I understand, that gave birth to the eventual holiday of Halloween. What, then, was it a celebration of? First, disregard that I ended that last sentence with a preposition. It's time to let go of that rule (at). Secondly, it was a feast to celebrate the end of the harvest and the survival of those who made it through the year, up to that point. Pagans would gather all of their family and friends, light a huge bonfire, and bring a bunch of food they'd harvested, and eat, drink, and be merry.  This was an especially important time for them to do this, because what was coming was the 'dark half' of the year, when nothing grows and it's deadly cold. The dark half is where women would lose their babies, when children and the elderly would get sick, and when there was no guarantee all would have foo...

There's too much fear, now, to avoid Like bullets raining from the sun But, with so much shady cover Put on your dancing shoes and run. Under the canopies there's singing Their faces are pale, but still have fun All hum and laugh at hazards coming So, put on your dancing shoes and run. Your partner might fall as a heap in rhythm Like a jolly tree hacked from stump to none Screaming pain can sound like songbirds So, put on your dancing shoes and run. I promise seeing is not required The light will dim when the wick is done There's hair and oil from the piles to burn, though So, put on your dancing shoes and run. And, when the hailstorm breaks your shelter The dripping fire has finally come Smile! Your scalp will start to tickle So, put on your dancing shoes and run. Have you not yet kicked down your door? A curious storm has now begun! The brass band for the end is tuned So, put on your dancing shoes and run.

Ghast by Jessica Muni The house was dark except for the tiny stage-light colors shining from the family's internet of things, situated all over from the television room to the bathroom. This made it a trick to walk, since each little light didn't offer much revelation in the dark of a minefield of clothes, toys, and papers the two parents were too tired to care about by bedtime. The man of the house, Roger, was the one gently toeing through the shady minefield to the bathroom, with careful steps and careful thoughts in his periphery. As Roger was walking to the bathroom, he glanced through a window, absent of any reason to do so. Between yawning and turning his head to the bathroom door, he paused and reversed his last step. He double-checked what he thought he saw through the window in the backyard, and his uncertainty became certain. Out on the lawn, lit by muted floodlights from the garage, was the figure of a girl in a long white dress. She had long black hair...