Simon's Manifesto...

I spoke with Simon, today, and he proceeded to lead me straight into chaos. I've written a bunch of wicked poems over the years, and I was pulling them together to see if he wants to lay claim to any, to enhance his story...and his response was to bring me this manifesto.

I want to write a simple tale about a situation that spins out of control and gets someone killed. A serious story. With a gay man at its center, and as its intended victim. Whose art and writing are used as an excuse to hurt him. But now I'm not so sure what the ending will be.

Simon started telling me about the hate he has for a man who abused him and how he controls that hate with sketches of vicious sexual encounters...mainly rapes. Where he's the perpetrator and the victim. Nothing cute about them, and his poems explain what the story is behind them. And I don't know if I can handle this.

Seriously, it's freaked me out. The poems I wrote are off the wall and meant to let off some emotional steam. What he wants is a fucking dam releasing floodwaters. So I don't know what the story is, anymore. I'm beginning to wonder if I've tapped into some part of my own insanity...

Truth be told, I've never been the most stable of people. I keep a tight control over myself for fear of what I might do...and not to me. I joke with people that I write to keep from becoming what I have written...but it's not all that far from the truth. There have been occasions where my inner self has hinted at what lies dormant within me, and I know why it's there but I don't like dealing with it.

Simon's talk with Doyle as the man is dying, where he admits he's only caring for him because he wants to see the man suffer before he dies...and does...I can't believe that came out of me. I've never done anything like that. To anyone. I can't. But Simon is basically demanding I let go and run with more of it, for him.

To where? I have no idea. And neither does he.

And therein lies my schizophrenia...or is it called bi-polar, now...

Business day...

I have a new Facebook page to promote my books, developed by a sharp young woman named Emily Jackson, whom I've also taken on as promoter. I suck at that and she's already done so much better than I could have. Keeping my original page...and trying my best to cross-pollinate the two...

It's been a strange day. I woke up from a dream that was uncomfortable. Not scary or depressing, just off-putting. I was in an office of open desks working at my laptop while being quietly berated as a leech by a guy who looked like John Barrowman, in his Dr. Who days. Captain Jack Hawking? Harkness...who's pansexual and winds up with Russell Tovey thanks to the Doctor.

When I remember my dreams upon waking, I know they are really supposed to mean something or are warning me...but I'm not sure what or how, in this case. I've been a leech, in the past. Not meaning to, at the time, but looking back I can see how I was. Same for having been an asshole more times than I care to admit.

But in an office setting? Working at my laptop and using the WiFi? Which seemed to really bug him the most? No. I pay for my WiFi...a lot. But I use it a lot. So I can't figure this one out. Symbolic, in some way?

I did finish cleaning up one of the sketches for Simon...who wants to add some to the book, when it's published. I can't do the two I worked up for him...but that does focus me on what is needed...and how he's being rather demanding.

Does my dream have something to do with him????

Realignment...

Didn't go to sleep till 5am and slept off and on till after 11am. Not great...but I just plain wasn't sleepy. I did some diagrams for Caladex and sent them over at 3:40am. Sorted paperwork that had piled up. Ate a lot of bacon and OJ. I don't do that...

Then when I got up, Simon let me know he's changing his last name to Harper. Halloran was just to unwieldy for him. He wants simplicity and clarity. So...the title of the piece is now People v. Simon Harper.

Next we did a couple sketches for him. Both of them are three-character works. The first has a buff man standing with his hands bound behind him and attached to a couple of cables. His shirt is torn open but his pants are in place. A naked young man is half embracing him, his erect dick pressing against the man's left leg. Behind them is another naked man finishing up a shower in an open area, seeming to watch them.

The second has a young man in unbuttoned jeans holding what could be his shirt. He's outside a room where a nearly naked man is undoing his shoe, his foot propped up on a bed, his stance wide. Lyig on the bed, before him...practically under him...is another young man who's been bound and gagged and exposed. Dick and balls, both. A phone is set up at the foot of the bed, on a tripod, to record what's happening.

I'd share them once I scan them in and clean them up, but Blogger would get upset.

Simon wants to make a coloring book of images along these lines. Demented Dreams of Simon Harper's Troublesome Lads. Something like that...though that is definitely unwieldy. But rather like what I did with Demented Dreams: of guys in trouble.

I've got a website, now. Nothing super fancy, but better than anything I could have done.

Library-bound...

I now have A Place of Safety set up in two libraries and sent it off for a third to consider adding it to their catalogue. This is the letter I sent:

Good afternoon,

I have written a story titled A Place of Safety. It’s about a Catholic boy in Derry, Northern Ireland during the Troubles, who is trying to live his life on his own terms. It’s in three volumes, and I am hoping the ______________ will consider adding it to their catalogue.

ISBNs and LCCNs:

Volume 1. Derry — ISBN: 979-8-9887577-1-9 LCCN: 2023922596

Volume 2. New World For Old — ISBN: 979-8-9887577-2-6 LCCN: 2024911743

Volume 3. Home Not Home — ISBN: 979-8-9887577-3-3 LCCN: 2024922801

These are for the general adult trade, and are priced at $32.50 each. All the hardcovers were published in 2024, with the paperback editions just recently coming out. They are available through Ingram Content Group, while the e-book editions are available through Direct2Digital.

I have included printouts of my Kirkus and BookLife reviews for each volume. 

As for myself, I am a writer and self-involved artist who’s lived in London and Honolulu, and a dozen places in-between. I’ve also traveled around the world, and some of my artwork has been purchased by collectors.

I used to write screenplays, which is how A Place of Safety began life—as an idea for one...twenty-five years ago. But it deepened and expanded and changed direction. In it, I’ve tried to build characters as vivid and real as possible, and have had a lot of fun doing it...mixed with angst, anger, amazement…and sometimes vicious arguments with the people in each book. I like to think I’ve done well by them.

To be up front, I’ve also written a number of other books, some of them erotic and controversial, but I truly feel A Place of Safety is in a class apart from those.

Thank you for considering my work. I look forward to hearing from you.

Dolly Parton just saved my life...

She came out with a peach cobbler and it's in the local stores!!! I'm in hog-heaven. Made it, tonight, and it is fucking glorious. OMG, you never know how much you missed something until you finally have it and it's helped you center your entire life! No other peach cobbler in Western New York. I had to make my own with Bisquik and canned peaches, and that was okay...but this blows it out of the water.

Of course, my blood sugar's going to freak out, but I don't care. I had a reading of 101 after dinner, yesterday, my lowest ever, and I felt like shit. Unfocused. Weak. Moody. Flat out unhappy. It wasn't till I went to get some pastries and scarfed them down with a glass of milk that I began to feel good, again.

I wonder if some this has to do with my Norwegian heritage? We live on milk products. Cheeses. Yoghurt. I managed to get myself down to 2% milk, but that's as low as I'll go. I also need beef. Not huge amounts, but I once did a Macrobiotic diet and nearly died. Same for Fit for Life. Both big mistakes. I have friends who are vegans and they manage fine. It's just not for me.

So I try to manage a balance...and after yesterday, that's all I'm gonna do. Veggies mixed in with meat and potatoes...and dessert. I'm gonna be 73. I'm out for quality of life as long as the MAGAt Class will let me.

Good thing is, I got a response from a library that they will take on A Place of Safety. And I'm sending out a query to the New York Public Library to see if they will, as well. I've worked up a full package of promo stuff--copies of my reviews at Kirkus and BookLife, synopses, links info--and will do that with some other libraries. Like the LAPL. And even use it for bookstores.

Powell's and Book Soup offer APoS for special order, so that may be all I can do with them unless I arrange for a signing. The Strand turned me down, in NYC.

So it goes...

Simon's both artist and poet...

He's not too full of himself. But here's a poem that ADA Dillon Warstead will try to use against him...and only make things worse.

Freddy

By

Simon Halloran

When they grabbed Freddy, they had knives. 

Which made no sense; they all had wives. 

But blindfolded, and gagged and bound 

Off he was taken, with no sound 

Down in a room, so dark and strange 

Where he received no chance to change. 

Instead his clothes were cut away 

And they took turns with him, all day. 

"We knew you'd take it up the ass 

And in your mouth, despite your sass," 

The leader said, his third release 

Inside of Freddy yet to cease. 

"The way you fit your jeans was right, 

So we'll be keeping you all night, 

Until we're done, then you will know 

We own you and won't let you go." 

This made no sense at all. The lad 

Did not know what he had done bad 

To make them hurt him. "Well, you're gay," 

One man said, "and that's why you'll stay." 

"Then so are you," our boy cried back. 

That only led them to attack 

Him harder. "Don't say we are that," 

The leader snarled. "No more chitchat. 

Since you're the one who's fucked, not us. 

So there is nothing to discuss. 

We'll keep you. Use you till we're done. 

And then we'll find another one 

Who's just like you to fuck around.” 

Then put me six feet underground? 

Is what came to Freddy’s mind. 

With two more gay men lost in kind? 

No fucking way, our Freddy thought. 

No man will treat me like I'm bought 

To be used and then merely trashed. 

I will escape. Get your lives crashed 

To stop your evil ways and means, 

And show you nothing's as it seems.

For six weeks Freddy played their boy, 

And he made sure to bring them joy 

Despite his hatred of the group. 

Till one fine night he got the scoop. 

Sometime soon he would leave this earth 

In spirit. But he had no dearth 

Of plans to get away from them 

And not surrender to their whim. 

He’d never wasted any time, 

So knowing this, he became prime. 

First, break the chain around his leg.

He’d made sure every night to beg 

Them to remove it. They would shrug 

And leave him, like he was a bug. 

But while he feigned to be so weak 

From their abuse, the little sneak 

Was working at the padlock’s clasp 

To lessen the strength of its grasp 

While doing all he could to keep 

Them wanting him. He’d cry and weep, 

Which made them laugh in ways so cruel. 

They didn’t understand the fool 

Was them. Because early one morn 

The padlock opened. Hope was born. 

So he would suffer one more rape 

Then find the best time to escape. 

That day they came, the three prepared 

To end him, but then Freddy dared 

To howl and cower...then recover 

To kick one back into another. 

Ripped the chain off, to their shock 

And beat the last one. No more talk. 

He bolted upstairs to the door. 

Burst through into a great downpour 

Of rain to cleanse him. No more kept. 

And mere days later, those men wept 

Before the courts. He told the tale 

And all of them went straight to jail. 

Then Freddy said, "I'll write a book 

And in it you can have a look 

At all the evil done to me 

Because I'm gay...but now I’m free."

Simon is a dick...

I made time to sit with Simon, nicely propped up in my bed, cozy as a kitten, and we talked. Well, sort of. He's got a real attitude, and it's rubbing me wrong...but that's good. I don't want to have to deal with anyone merely out to grow and be better or just to get revenge. I've got enough of that in my books.

Anyway, Simon is set in his ways, and I'm just going to have to work with them to build the story. Figure out what's going to happen as it happens. Meaning he's not crazy about my outline. Too restrictive.

To start, he's an artist, not a writer. Not fine arts, like Picasso or Pollock. More similar to Tom of Finland or Etienne, with their fun gay encounters and rapes. His art will have meaning and still be faggot in your face. He'll even have done some graphic novels written by someone he trusts enough to work with. 

There are Japanese artists who do serious bondage and torture work, but also do work that is just plain beautiful. Tagame is one he admires, as are Funayama, Hasegawa and Go Hirano, like this image.

Simon won't even think of trying to replicate his ability in making skin seem vibrant and alive. It had something to do with fish scales mixed into the paint. So Simon's just pen and ink line work. Coloring in is for professionals.

It's all an extension of what he did in 8th grade, which was interrupted by his time with Doyle. But now it's his go-to for settling himself. He's even doing a sketch as he watches Doyle take his last breaths before succumbing to AIDs. And smiles once it's done.

I'm also beginning to see why Simon prefers low-level jobs that provide a bare existence. He doesn't want anyone to pay attention to him. He got way too much of that with Doyle and nearly lost himself.

So now he has dozens of portfolios holding his unused work, and has it arranged for them to go to a LGBTQ+ museum in LA, when he dies. Maybe the Tom of Finland Foundation. Haven't decided, yet.

What I am doing is working up one of his sketches, now. Very NSFW.

PvSH pushing

Did a rough 1700+ words on a memory Simon's having when he thinks back on the time he was watching Doyle sleep. Struggling and fitfully, thanks to advanced AIDs. He hated the man for crushing him but is also being kind to him in many ways. He figures if Doyle hadn't been such a complete monster to him, he'd have slept around and wound up HIV+.

That memory is of when some schoolyard bullies tried to extort money from him in 8th grade, and how he refused to let them. When Simon decides no, he means NO. And even being punished by the school and harassed by other kids didn't change his mind.

I become like stone, he says. And I wait and let others keep trying to get to me, until they reveal how best to make them stop.

In this case, it was being shoved around by an obnoxious feral brat named Kenneth, who hadn't noticed Simon held a sharp #2 pencil in his hand. Kenneth yelled and called names and circled him with his pack and finally shoved him, hoping for a response...and that's when Simon rammed the pencil into his side. Hard enough to stick.

Freak outs occurred, as did blood, and Simon was threatened with assault charges, but all he said was, "He shoved me and my hand jerked. It was an accident." Which Kenneth inadvertently backed up by saying, "I didn't push him that hard."

It got shrugged off as an accident and boys being boys. But Kenneth and his pack stayed away from Simon, after that. And the next year, Simon went to a different high school from him.

Now he's facing legal bullies trying to force him to give in to their own form of blackmail...and he won't...and it's escalating beyond anyone's control...because Simon's silence is not really working to his advantage.

Cooking day, alone...

I stayed in. Didn't get dressed or anything. Made spaghetti sauce with meat and veggies for later use. A lovely blueberry/pecan coffee cake for this evening, with tea. A smoothie with Apple Brandy in it. A goulash, of sorts, for lunch. A massive chef salad for dinner, albeit without the boiled egg. I didn't think about that till I was halfway done making it. But felt good.

Not good enough to look like him, but something to aspire to...even if I am too old to change.

I did have to deal a bit with issues concerning a pickup in the UK. I didn't get to go there for it, which I really wanted to. Dammit. And now I need to work up a diagram for the handling of some folio prints so it's done right.

Also dealt with the bank being pissy about my Visa card. For some reason, a security alert that I thought I'd handled weeks ago was still on it, so they were rejecting auto charges...and dealing with those people was not pleasant. I like my credit union, but I do not like this Visa.

Oh well...on the other hand...Simon is settling down next to me. About ready to talk and lead and explain and help me plan the best way to tell PvSH. How to lead into it. And here's one possibility.

You never know what actions will wind up leading to murder. Sometimes the simplest ones can be the first steps down that path. One step after the other, never seeming like they're taking you to a deadly place until it's too late to change course. Too late to even consider turning back.

So the night Simon Holleran was arrested began as simply as any other. Aside from him being in a town he never wanted to come to, in order to do a job he'd accepted only reluctantly. He'd thought he was doing a good deed...

No, I was doing something good. For a friend. Someone I thought was a friend. He needed to have a collection of antiquarian first editions catalogued and, since I lived little more than three-hundred miles from their owner it was relatively minimal trouble for me to travel down and handle it for him.

For a price.

I like the shift from third to first person, and think this will happen throughout the story. Maybe. You never know until it's actually done. For example, Simon may wind up being an artist instead of writer. Still something to think about.

Silent world...

Sometimes silence is all that matters. Sitting with not a sound and doing nothing but letting the world whisper around you in ways that seem gentle even as they growl and threaten.

That is why I like being alone. No one to explain to. Or push aside so I can visit my quiet...quiet space whenever I want. I can seek monsters, there...and angels...and worlds I've never imagined for myself...

I don't remember the first time I visited this shadow-filled land...but I know I first used it to write HTRASG. A crude title, but of a meaning unto itself. It warned me I'd be dealing with a wounded man demanding his story be told, blunt and cold and crying for understanding.

Curt. I felt almost as if he were real. Part of me...but not. Sitting there. Waiting. In silence. Until I agreed to let him reveal his tale through me. Which I did. That book came from his world, not from mine. And it still affects people.

It wasn't until I was writing narrative fiction that I really began to understand who my people were. My angels and demons. I'd written screenplays, only with characters who were sketches to be filled in by others. I didn't know them well enough to reveal them.

Curt led me to a world I could never have visited on my own. Like wandering through a mist into a new existence, greeted by more people who welcomed me, happily. And told me things I did not want to know...but had to. Some fought with me. Others pleaded. And some merely waited until I was ready. A few were even all of these things.

I didn't like it, much of the time, but I pushed and fought to remain true. And now...no matter what anyone says about my work...my books...I did as right by them as I could.

I feel like I'm stepping into a new part of my silence. Feel like I am no longer afraid to write what I write. Meaning, I no longer have to overcome that fear. It's gone. I am who I am, and all that matters is I do not shirk my responsibility to my people.

Let it be what it is.

Blank of mind day...

I was just trying to think of what I've done, today, and aside from going into the office to drop off paperwork and expenses and get some groceries, I can't think of a thing. I considered taking a nap but didn't. Thought about reading a book...but didn't. I just wasn't here...as is not unusual for me, after finishing a writing project.

I just drifted...and let PvSH settle in around me. Let it establish its hold and filter into my creative core. Didn't do anything about it, except acknowledge Simon's wish for his story to be quiet and calm and suspenseful. Not a big order, is it...

How will I be able to make the events in the first half of his book compelling? Dunno, yet. I suppose I could work it like Shakespeare did Romeo and Juliet...

Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

So tell people up front things escalate from mundane to intense to the point where Simon is murdered, and this will reveal it, step by step. Dunno how I feel about that.

It's done...

Dirc and the Dyarvos Bones is up on D2D. I'm trying to include it with my other books in the sale, but I may need to do this one separately. I still don't know all the ins and outs of D2D. It's pretty different from Smashwords.

I think it works well as a stand-alone story. The ending suggests a followup but doesn't need one. This avatar wouldn't work as a book cover but does okay as an attention grabber. 

So here's the official deal -- if this novella makes 500 sales, I will do the rest of the book to match it. Probably in parts...maybe 5 or 6 more. Each with its own derivation of the title.

Then I'd think about doing it in paperback, as a whole. But I want some reason for that to happen, so it's on the book to get it together. I'm putting it out there...

But what matters right now is, it's done and I can take a short break then get hard onto the People v. Simon Halloran. Rework the outline...maybe...or not. I tend to do better when I don't have something I feel the need to follow exactly.

Funny...I never did wind up buying any vodka so didn't even try writing DDB drunk.

Steps forward but slowly...

I'm not asking anyone to proof Dirc and the Dyarvos Bones because I need it done now, not whenever. It also gets pretty intense with the rape and death of Molinaro. He's the asshole cop who inadvertently kills Dirc, who actually says, "If he hadn't killed me, none of this would've happened." Which is true, so the dick gets blamed for everything that follows.

Not to say any of it was planned. Dyarvos was bringing Dirc back enough to life just to feed to his spacecraft, which won't eat anything dead. It noticed he was changing, within, so tested him out as its helper...and he came back fully alive with his molestation of Molinaro.

The deal Dirc and Dyarvos work out is, he will bring it men of a certain type to feed the craft, so it can effect repairs through cloning and re-energize itself. Which takes several months. Then when they're done, Dirc will be left to live his life instead of die.

It's not until section two of the story that Dyarvos returns to make another deal with Dirc--keep supplying him with men for it to use as entrees in its intergalactic truck stop. But that gets really crazy and involved, and I'm not really open to focusing on it, yet.

People v. Simon Halloran has pulled back, massively, to where it mimics occasions I've read about through the years. A gay man says the wrong thing to an undercover cop and gets arrested, then the cop lies about what happened to make the situation seem worse than it is. When it's just the cop's word against the guy who's been arrested, the cop is automatically believed. The arrested one has to prove his innocence.

It's a lot more honest and real, now, and considering the evil Felon47 and his American Fascist Party (the AFP) have unleashed on the country, it's more important that I let it be as truthful as possible.

Truncation...

I'm prepping the first section of DDB as a stand-alone ebook to go up on Smashwords, for the sale...if I can add it in. It's pretty much formatted, and Dirc is pleased with how it's turned out.

I'm doing one more pass to proof it so it'll probably go up, tomorrow, if they accept it. I've already had one run-in with D2D about a book they felt was too much...Carly's Kills, my heterosexual one. So we'll see how it goes.

I don't know if I'll do the rest of the book; this stands alone, pretty well. This is less than 20% of the total word count -- 18,742 out of over 102K. 

But PvSH is nudging me to do something with it. So I've decided, if DDB gets 500 copies sold in the month (something highly unlikely) I'll finish it up. Otherwise, I have other books to focus on.

I also want to work on Dair's Window, which I started 5 years ago...or was it 6? And shifting all of Darian's Point into book format. DDB is fun but not as important, and I've worked out a lot of may anger in it.

I'm now working with Emily Jackson, who designed the covers for the paperbacks, to promote APoS. Got a special FB page set up and am trying to have a website set up, but that's going very, very slowly. So slow, I'm beginning to wonder if he will actually do it. But I had to do something, since I'm piss-poor at promotion and the books are not selling.

This also keeps my focus away from the growing number of insane idiots and assholes on social media. Apparently, Joe Biden is responsible for the horrific flooding along the Guadalupe River. How? They have no idea. They just know this isn't normal.

They won't accept climate change but will believe our government can control the weather. Fucking lunatics.

Avoidance redux...

It's the 4th of July and I am not celebrating. Never in my life did I think I would witness the complete collapse of America, especially not within 6 months. But here it is. We are no longer the leader of the free world, because we have become the very thing we fought against for decades...centuries.

America has never been perfect, but she was slowly improving...until that motherfucking bastard in the White House came along and yanked back the curtain to reveal how cowardly, hateful and racist half our country still is. I didn't want to see anyone, be near anyone, all day...because I was grumbling nonstop.

But...I needed DPZ so braved the madness and hit the grocery store to get some...along with a couple more things. There were so many people running around the first place I went to, I nearly came home. Instead, I drove to another one miles away, had a pair of veggie rolls and DPZ for lunch and zenned. That store had a balcony area where I could stay apart from the crowd till I was ready.

Got what I needed...except for Vodka. I was going to make a screwdriver, but don't think it's a good idea, right now. Maybe tomorrow. We'll see.

I think I'm settling in on Dirc and the Dyarvos Bones as the title for this book. It sort of settled into my brain so easily. We'll see how I feel once this draft is done. I'm through 45 pages out of 310. Not as far along as I thought. Shit.

It's going to be a beast...and I am ready for that.

Unavoidable catastrophe...

I kept my sanity, today, by ignoring the world and working on Dirc, the Cannibal Queer. A title I still don't like, only I can't find a good one for this book, yet. But I needed the space. Needed to focus on something that was at least a little bit under my control, in the face of the monsters in Washington.

The MAGAt Class is, literally, celebrating kicking millions of people off food assistance and taking away healthcare, all to give billionaire more tax breaks.

Like we told people they would. And were called liars and alarmists and fools. May they all go to hell. And Democrats practically let them do it, only fighting back when it was too late. 

The only positive aspect of this fiasco is I had plenty of anger to focus into the story of Dirc hunting men for the aliens to feed on, so he can be reborn. He was shot and killed by a cop but is re-alived in order to help Dyarvos' living spacecraft rebuild itself.

I've shifted his victims to mainly white men of the MAGAt Class...but not all. He gets stopped by a gay man he's kidnapped just as he's about to attack a college guy...which leads into him first being found mentally ill and then tried as a serial killer and condemned to die. And that's in just the first 25% of the book.

I'm trying to trim ii down, but it's up over 101K in words, right now, and I fear I'm out of my depth...because I hate to cut...

I'm going to start drinking, again...

I never really stopped, just cut it down to an occasional beer with dinner...but I think having something like a glass of wine or even a Screwdriver would help me release the hounds on DCQ. Thing is, I've never really been a big drinker...

Well, except for a six-month period in college where I wasn't sober a single day. All that achieved was me finally having a blackout and driving home drunk out of my mind. Scared the piss out of me and I stopped, right then.

But something is holding me back on this book si I want to stop that, right now, and if this works...

I did have a discussion with Simon en-route home, for PvSH. Mostly along part of the 75 heading down to Toledo. There was an eleven mile stretch where traffic was going barely 10mph...and often much slower. For no reason. Oh, there was construction and the freeway was down to 2 lanes, but at the end of it was nothing. No reason for the slowdown. 

Anyway, Simon wants to actually approach Paley and invite him back to his hotel room. Paley arrests him, claiming he offered money for sex and Simon wanted to do it in an alley close by a school...which he vehemently denies. No little tricks or convoluted events to get things going. Just a simple event.

Simon is arrested for being queer and making a pass at the wrong guy, that's all. But it escalates and expands and develops into a serious situation, thanks to several people in the city's justice department assisting in trying to put Simon in the wrong  Makes a lot more sense. Nothing loud and symbolic...just a guy living his life.

FWIW, I'm home, again, and sipping hot tea as I write this. 

Old age strikes again...

I forgot to post, last night. Never even entered my brain. And today I'm so fucking tired, I don't know if I'll make any sense.

This job finally kicked me in the balls. The truck to collect the boxes showed up on time...but didn't have anything to work with. No handcarts. No pallets. No pallet jack. Not even straps. It was empty. They had to go back to the warehouse to get what they needed.

So we got started an hour and a half late, while working under a time constraint. We had to get them to the freight company by 6pm to meet our booking.

The boxes got palletized and back to the warehouse by 1pm...then I spent the next 2.5 hours building 98 cartons into 4 D-Containers, which included cutting two of them down to fit the number of cartons in them (like the one in the image). After that was shrink-wrapping and banding them.

All in hot muggy weather. I actually drank water, I was getting so dehydrated...and I don't drink water.

By the time I was done, I was exhausted. I got to my hotel and took a half-hour nap then went to a Kroger to get dinner. I looked and felt nasty so didn't want to do dine in. Now I'm in a Best Western with crap WiFi and even my phone's Hotspot is minimal. Headed home, in the morning, and so ready...

And so wanting to get DCQ done before the MAGAt Class turns us into Gilead...