The following is a direct response to what was written here...
http://www.nicolavincent-abnett.com/2016/06/twenty-minutes-of-action.html
I have to admit, I hadn't heard about the Brock Turner case yet. Praps I'm a bit out of the loop or mabes its because these sort of crimes happen all the time; everyday the news is full of 'em right.
I can't type much about being raped because I'm a male and it feels really hard for a male to imagine being raped and the horror that ensues for some reason. That is, unless it's happened to you, or me.
I can address my friend Nik's spelling of the word "jail" however. As in, what the heck is that, jail with a "G"..?
I think as humans, our common sense tells us enough about the way the world works. Rape is bad, rapists should go to jail, even the one with the "G".
Rape is even worse when people attempt to cover it up, when they fail to punish appropriately, when people don't believe they did anything "wrong".
I can't type much in the way of "new" thoughts there. It's been a problem in our society for so long, that my little voice doesn't seem to have enough oomph to make any real dent in the depravity of male humans.
I can type about jail though. Prisons, incarcerations of any kind, they're all the same. When you take a human and stick 'em in a cage, well the reaction is all the same.
That human fights for every little scrap of "everything". Any comfort is strongly desired and sexual pleasure, well it might be the most desired, mabes a second close behind drugs and alcohol.
Lock a human in a box and it'll start masturbating when bored enough. It could almost be a science experiment. How long does it take a human to...
So the thing we have to realize, is that there's a secret little society in jails and prison centers.
There are people that have been there longer than others, people who have organized partnerships and gangs, people who find loopholes and guards that can be affected, bribed sometimes.
It's a nasty little society in there and there's nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. Perchaps some occupants beg to be unconscious.
At the top of the totem poles, the "thrones" if you will, are the murderers of other humans. The cop killers, the bank robbers, the assassins for hire.
You know, the real animals. The ones with the big fat life sentences. The ones with nothing to lose.
At the very bottom of the pole, are those that preyed on the helpless. The child molesters, the rapists, the kidnappers.
They even have cute nicknames for the bottom dwellers. They call them "chomos". It's short for "child molester".
If you're one of the newly arrived chomos, you try your hardest to convince everyone else, that you had a different crime, praps you were a common thief or a music downloading pirate.
Because to admit, or to have it discovered, that you are a chomo, means you now have a giant bullseye on your forehead. Or other parts of your body...
And the guys on top, the ones with all the internal power, well they like to think that it's their responsibility to help "reform" the bottoms. They look at it like it's a form of redemption, to help punish the bad people of the world, even if they themselves were "once" a bad person.
A chomo has no friends, no one that will stick up for them and most guards will turn the other way while the beatings (and other activities) commence.
Look up some of the reports from the inmate Jared Fogle, the Subway spokesguy who turned chomo.
If you're a famous chomo, they pass you around like a special desert at a rich white-people's party. As in, umms, that's some good chomo huh.
I do believe Brock Turner's sentence could have been much worse. I'm not sure if I'd go castration or just execution but that's because I believe in teaching by example and if rapists were given the guillotine, I think the world would have a lot less rapists eh.
I also believe that he'll receive his fair share of rape education in whatever cage he finds himself in.
It takes less than twenty minutes to kill oneself and six months is a long time to a little rich-kid white boy.
Should he survive, praps he will have truly learned his lesson.
Ariel Castro didn't last one month and that guy was a true animal monster.
Great article once again Nik, even with your soft "G"s huh.
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
Monday, June 6, 2016
For all to see...
I want to type about my son.
If there's a gigantic wall the size of the interweb and my words can be wait, theoretically, is that how you spell that one, jeeze..!
If my words can be written for anyone and everyone to see, for possibs, "the duration", I suppose I could some day erase it, or possibs the Blogspot I use, could go out of business...
Think about that for half a second. In the old days, humans had to build statues and pyramids to leave their thoughts for all to see, for eternity.
But now, all we have to do is have an internet connection, and a clunky keyboard to bang away on.
And we can say our piece, forever.
Huh.
My son dislikes confrontations. He thinks that everybody should just be friends and try to understand one anothers differences.
He's seen his mother and I argue, he tries to get in the middle and shout us both down.
He's grown up with violence in video games all his life, he's seen it on the tele and he believes, strongly, that it is not real.
And that his real life, should not contain any sort of violence, unless it's in his video games or as super heroes in movies with people in cool costumes.
He does enjoy a good verbal sparring however.
At every opportunity, when someone says something to him, his natural reaction, before his conscious mind ever contemplates it, is to disagree.
And sometimes its a rather poor disagreement because again, it's not his real mind thinking it.
He tries to elaborate when I challenge and his front brain usually has something clever or weird to say. Because he wants to be a better speaker, he knows that there is no real "ceiling" to this talent and that the more efficient he can speak, the more he might accomplish in his lifetime.
He reacts to audio stimuli on autopilot. Then, once the opponent is engaged, he brings out his weapon and hopes that whatever he reached into and pulled outta his bag first, is a little bigger than a popsicle stick.
I try to teach him that he should not be on autopilot, like ever. Because to improve, means he must not grunt in a knee jerk reaction and have to "recover", someday.
That praps he could have a decent weapon ready first, mabes even keep that weapon on the standby, always.
He laughs a little bit and I have to remember how proud I am of him.
In my bag, there's only popsicle sticks.
If there's a gigantic wall the size of the interweb and my words can be wait, theoretically, is that how you spell that one, jeeze..!
If my words can be written for anyone and everyone to see, for possibs, "the duration", I suppose I could some day erase it, or possibs the Blogspot I use, could go out of business...
Think about that for half a second. In the old days, humans had to build statues and pyramids to leave their thoughts for all to see, for eternity.
But now, all we have to do is have an internet connection, and a clunky keyboard to bang away on.
And we can say our piece, forever.
Huh.
My son dislikes confrontations. He thinks that everybody should just be friends and try to understand one anothers differences.
He's seen his mother and I argue, he tries to get in the middle and shout us both down.
He's grown up with violence in video games all his life, he's seen it on the tele and he believes, strongly, that it is not real.
And that his real life, should not contain any sort of violence, unless it's in his video games or as super heroes in movies with people in cool costumes.
He does enjoy a good verbal sparring however.
At every opportunity, when someone says something to him, his natural reaction, before his conscious mind ever contemplates it, is to disagree.
And sometimes its a rather poor disagreement because again, it's not his real mind thinking it.
He tries to elaborate when I challenge and his front brain usually has something clever or weird to say. Because he wants to be a better speaker, he knows that there is no real "ceiling" to this talent and that the more efficient he can speak, the more he might accomplish in his lifetime.
He reacts to audio stimuli on autopilot. Then, once the opponent is engaged, he brings out his weapon and hopes that whatever he reached into and pulled outta his bag first, is a little bigger than a popsicle stick.
I try to teach him that he should not be on autopilot, like ever. Because to improve, means he must not grunt in a knee jerk reaction and have to "recover", someday.
That praps he could have a decent weapon ready first, mabes even keep that weapon on the standby, always.
He laughs a little bit and I have to remember how proud I am of him.
In my bag, there's only popsicle sticks.
Thursday, June 2, 2016
The Price of Life...
The following is a not so direct response to what was written here...
http://www.nicolavincent-abnett.com/2016/06/incidents-and-accidents.html
We live in a world where life is cheap.
Sometimes there are sales, a coupon here or there, you can occasionally get ten lives free with the purchase of one, they even throw in a kid's toy.
When it comes to the lives of animals, the price drops even further.
If you know me at all, you know that I am a strong supporter of fairness and equality. I try to speak loudly and proudly for those that can't speak, can't organize their thoughts as well perchaps.
Kids in general, get my support as I believe they are innocent.
Animals, across the board, get my support, even though it might not be extremely helpful.
In the news recently, I was stunned by the four year old boy in the Gorilla cage in Cincinnati story.
Reading those words hurt me deep inside and thinking about what must have happened, it scars me.
It makes my faith in humanity shrink to almost "unrecognizable".
I can't see how a zoo, or any other organization, can pay to train and maintain, a "threat and emergency response team".
I mean they're spending money! Remember the cost of a life..?
They're spending MONEY! Above and beyond..!
Is this not absolutely crazy, does this not reach into your mind and squeeze until gooey bits leak from your ears.!?
But wait, mabes my holiday weekend and all that entailed has sun burnt my brain noodle a bit. Let me try to elaborate...
A zoo has a trained staff that try to protect their animals and the humans that come to visit those animals. They spend lots of money building huge enclosures, there's bars and fences and "protective" measures right, "lots" of money right there eh.
Then they go above that and train their people, people who become "specialists", to react and respond to any type of unpredictable happenings.
As in, if something should "come along" and threaten the well being of their animals, they should respond and do what they can to protect their investment.
What was their investment again, you're going too fast, flying too low Bishop, even it out a keel or two huh.
Okay, okay, where was I. Ah yes, their investment. The cost and time and energy required to build and maintain those bars and fences and protective measures.
Not the animals within, nah! Animals are everywhere and people can look at them all they want. All it takes is some cable television or an internet provider. People can watch videos of animals all day, every, should they want.
What keeps a zoo in business is the bars and the cages, that's where the juicy money's at.
So when "an event" happens, the emergency response team scurries out of their little bunker, they see a kid being dragged through the water by it's leg, by a four hundred pound gorilla...
And they do what they're taught. They shoot, repeatedly, until the gorilla is dead.
They save the human.
Because to them, the human life is worth "slightly" more.
It makes me wonder how they would respond if someone threatened to destroy their precious bars, their concrete walls, what if someone drained their moat...
So I know, here comes one of Nik's patented Snarky Rants. Here comes the fourteen paragraphs about what the Bishop would have done, how many humans would have been shot and how the gorilla would have had years of intensive therapy to repair the damage done to it, having witnessed all those messy executions...
But I think I will skip it today, no offense to Nik.
It's easy to criticize and see the stupidity in zoos, any smart human can do it. I can go on for days about the standards in circuses and don't even get me started on the western rodeos or even pet stores for that matter.
I think instead, I'll focus on what really matters. The money.
As in, are we really, as a race or a species, too simple minded to see the profitability in animals..?
I think in the future, looking forward with a positive, hope-filled vision...
We should make zoo customers take an entry test, sit at this desk and fill out the following questionnaire.
If you pass the test and are found too competent, you don't get to enter, sorry about that.
If you are just that kind of ignorant human, ding ding, you get to enter.
But this zoo is a little different, the cages are larger and there's no bars nor moats. No "walls".
Instead, there's a little door with a latch on the outside. And a sign that says "gorilla petting".
And if you want, you can waltz right in. There's even a smaller door next to the regular one for "kids entry". Praps there'll be a smaller, younger gorilla inside.
Cameras posted at every angle will capture your interaction with the animals and broadcast it on the big bad interweb, for a price.
Monthly subscribers can log in, pay their dues and watch as human after human gets the "toy doll" treatment. You can even leave comments or vote for your favorite animal, mabes make an extra donation to have the next human smothered in honey before entering.
Because I know I'd watch, I'd pay.
I wouldn't worry either because I'd know that the staff of this kind of zoo would be well trained and well prepared, should a mangled human not be able to remove itself from a cage.
I know that they'd come a'runnin' and that poor human would be tranquilized, mabes even tazed a time or two...
But that in the end, the carcasses would be dragged off site so that more stupid humans and their offspring could be allowed entry.
That right there is what I call a positive message Bishop.
And what others call a financial gold mine which is the opposite of, a life.
http://www.nicolavincent-abnett.com/2016/06/incidents-and-accidents.html
We live in a world where life is cheap.
Sometimes there are sales, a coupon here or there, you can occasionally get ten lives free with the purchase of one, they even throw in a kid's toy.
When it comes to the lives of animals, the price drops even further.
If you know me at all, you know that I am a strong supporter of fairness and equality. I try to speak loudly and proudly for those that can't speak, can't organize their thoughts as well perchaps.
Kids in general, get my support as I believe they are innocent.
Animals, across the board, get my support, even though it might not be extremely helpful.
In the news recently, I was stunned by the four year old boy in the Gorilla cage in Cincinnati story.
Reading those words hurt me deep inside and thinking about what must have happened, it scars me.
It makes my faith in humanity shrink to almost "unrecognizable".
I can't see how a zoo, or any other organization, can pay to train and maintain, a "threat and emergency response team".
I mean they're spending money! Remember the cost of a life..?
They're spending MONEY! Above and beyond..!
Is this not absolutely crazy, does this not reach into your mind and squeeze until gooey bits leak from your ears.!?
But wait, mabes my holiday weekend and all that entailed has sun burnt my brain noodle a bit. Let me try to elaborate...
A zoo has a trained staff that try to protect their animals and the humans that come to visit those animals. They spend lots of money building huge enclosures, there's bars and fences and "protective" measures right, "lots" of money right there eh.
Then they go above that and train their people, people who become "specialists", to react and respond to any type of unpredictable happenings.
As in, if something should "come along" and threaten the well being of their animals, they should respond and do what they can to protect their investment.
What was their investment again, you're going too fast, flying too low Bishop, even it out a keel or two huh.
Okay, okay, where was I. Ah yes, their investment. The cost and time and energy required to build and maintain those bars and fences and protective measures.
Not the animals within, nah! Animals are everywhere and people can look at them all they want. All it takes is some cable television or an internet provider. People can watch videos of animals all day, every, should they want.
What keeps a zoo in business is the bars and the cages, that's where the juicy money's at.
So when "an event" happens, the emergency response team scurries out of their little bunker, they see a kid being dragged through the water by it's leg, by a four hundred pound gorilla...
And they do what they're taught. They shoot, repeatedly, until the gorilla is dead.
They save the human.
Because to them, the human life is worth "slightly" more.
It makes me wonder how they would respond if someone threatened to destroy their precious bars, their concrete walls, what if someone drained their moat...
So I know, here comes one of Nik's patented Snarky Rants. Here comes the fourteen paragraphs about what the Bishop would have done, how many humans would have been shot and how the gorilla would have had years of intensive therapy to repair the damage done to it, having witnessed all those messy executions...
But I think I will skip it today, no offense to Nik.
It's easy to criticize and see the stupidity in zoos, any smart human can do it. I can go on for days about the standards in circuses and don't even get me started on the western rodeos or even pet stores for that matter.
I think instead, I'll focus on what really matters. The money.
As in, are we really, as a race or a species, too simple minded to see the profitability in animals..?
I think in the future, looking forward with a positive, hope-filled vision...
We should make zoo customers take an entry test, sit at this desk and fill out the following questionnaire.
If you pass the test and are found too competent, you don't get to enter, sorry about that.
If you are just that kind of ignorant human, ding ding, you get to enter.
But this zoo is a little different, the cages are larger and there's no bars nor moats. No "walls".
Instead, there's a little door with a latch on the outside. And a sign that says "gorilla petting".
And if you want, you can waltz right in. There's even a smaller door next to the regular one for "kids entry". Praps there'll be a smaller, younger gorilla inside.
Cameras posted at every angle will capture your interaction with the animals and broadcast it on the big bad interweb, for a price.
Monthly subscribers can log in, pay their dues and watch as human after human gets the "toy doll" treatment. You can even leave comments or vote for your favorite animal, mabes make an extra donation to have the next human smothered in honey before entering.
Because I know I'd watch, I'd pay.
I wouldn't worry either because I'd know that the staff of this kind of zoo would be well trained and well prepared, should a mangled human not be able to remove itself from a cage.
I know that they'd come a'runnin' and that poor human would be tranquilized, mabes even tazed a time or two...
But that in the end, the carcasses would be dragged off site so that more stupid humans and their offspring could be allowed entry.
That right there is what I call a positive message Bishop.
And what others call a financial gold mine which is the opposite of, a life.
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Stupid Internal Voices...
I sometimes wonder if there's a way we can judge or "score" our decision making skills.
When it comes to the old classic "what's for dinner", the obvious choice is of course, "pizza!"
But there's this little debate on the inside of our noodles. One where this one voice says "hey, no dishes is nice, not standing over a hot stove is nice, no oven needed and that's gotta be nice, I mean it's like ninety degrees in the shade tonight..."
And another voice that says "jeeze, pizza is not so friendly to my thighs, the cost is the equivalent to almost five home cooked meals, my kids are gettin' too fat from sittin' on the couch staring at their devices and eating crap food all the time..."
And I don't so much wonder who wins these little internal arguments. I wonder why they win and how often.
Could we possibs find a way to "measure" our ability to make decisions and if so, could we also find a way to measure our abilities to make what most people would consider "the right decision".
Because the pizza makers of the world want us to order their food. The delivery drivers want to bring us that food so we can stay on our couches and look at our devices more. They really want the little extra "tip" too right.
So this weekend, Memorial Day, a holiday, found my wife and son sittin' on the couch, bein' bored, lookin' at their devices.
The sun was shining and we had a full tank of gas, the possibs were endless right.
We discussed "things we could do" and how we needed to be outside more, how we need to get more exercise and this conversation is not a new one.
The beach was brought up followed by the checking of the water temperatures.
My internal voice says "hey wait a minute, the beach, on a national holiday, on one of the first really hot days of the season..."
And my external voice says "hey, you know it might be busy at the beach. Like, really busy..."
And my son's voice which is always the most sincere and "innocent" because well, he's still a bit of a child inside, says "oh hey daddy, they have Pronto pups, you could have your first Pronto dog..."
Now, for those of you that don't know, a "Pronto dog" is an especially delicious (so I'm told) corn dog only sold on the beach "strip" of Grand Haven (it's in Michigan).
There's a little "stand" and no place to sit, no bathrooms because hey, corn dog consumption doesn't need bathrooms.
But it's the beach and its a motivator for walking, you burn some calories, you get a Pronto pup, everybody's happy.
So I consent and soon the fam is piled into the ole wagon, headin' west into the brightly shining sun.
After a half hour or so, we're "there" and, it's busy. Not the kind of busy where you've cut yourself and have to rush to the emergency room only to see not a single empty chair in the waiting room.
No this is the kind of busy where the streets of Manhattan look calm during rush hour. People "everywhere", sidewalks overflowing, bodies walking so condensed that during a whole intersection light relay, not a single car advanced.
So after sitting in the road pretty much indefinitely, I took the first opening I saw and bolted for a parking space. It wasn't really a parking space, more like a rapidly filling field of abandoned grass.
We weren't really anywhere "near" the beach or the Pronto Pups but that was okay. We had accepted that there would be "some" walking so we set out on our mission, ignoring the press of bodies we were soon enveloped in.
I brought my bottle of water, the wife and son had their tea. Sunglasses on, sunscreen covering, we walked. And walked. And... walked.
When we could finally see the Pronto sign on the horizon, much joy was had. I mean, my first ever Pronto pup right, this was to be an occasion never to be forgotten and the torturous journey only making it even more memorable.
When the crowd parted, we then saw "the line". And I don't mean to exaggerate, no one likes to read a story with too much "fiction" huh.
Fifteen minutes later, we reached the end of the line and when I say "the end", I don't mean we got to tell the people in the stand what we wanted. I mean, we fought through the bodies to discover where others were "lining up" for their hopeful pups.
Then, if you couldn't imagine it already, we waited. And we waited. And guess what, we waited some more, occasionally taking a couple of awkward steps forward and trying not to smell the neck of the person in front of you while not allowing the person behind to smell your own.
And I think around this phase, I forgot all concepts of "time". Life seemed to gellify and ooze around my melting shoes like a child's dropped ice cream cone.
We waited, and we talked about waiting and we tried to keep our eye on the prize. Or, prizes, you know, Pronto pup prizes.
My son insisted that one hour worth of standing was the equivalent of twenty minutes of walking and I conceded. Praps he was right.
Then the window! I could not quite believe it but the blast of air conditioning coming from inside only confirmed it. We had made it!
I calmly wiped the sweat from my dripping forehead and asked the nice young lady inside for three Pronto pups. I even added a "please" at the end of my request, you know, you have to try to be friendly to people that are making your food huh.
The lady smiled and asked for my five dollars and change and I handed her my card.
She looked at my card a little funny then said, "um, we're cash only".
I accepted my card feeling a little embarrassed for handing it to her in the first place. I mean, the sign was clearly posted, right next to the little window. In big red letters, it read "CASH ONLY" huh.
So I ever so calmly opened my wallet, praying to the small bills gods that I would have enough to cover it...
And nopes. Two one dollar bills were my only other possessions.
To the wife's purse and, nopes. She left her purse in the vehicle because she thought it would not be needed.
My head drooped and the people behind us in line grunted their understanding.
My son was quick to pipe up with his optimistic, "but you can get one pup daddy, you have enough to try one..."
But his voice was drowned out by that little voice inside my head from a couple of hours ago. The one that said "hey, holiday weekend, it might be busy..."
I walked away from the pup stand, no Pronto dog in hand.
My wife and son followed and it was a fairly quiet walk back to our vehicle.
Wait, actually, there was some talk concerning how our water was gone, our tea was consumed and we were thirsty. But that was about all.
I won't mention how we sat in a couple of highway traffic jams on the way home. Or how we really had to use a bathroom from all the drinking we had done.
I will mention that whatever skill or talent that is, to be able to make "the right decision" when everyone else around you is encouraging the "other" decision...
I will say that I wish mine were better. I wish I could just "know" the best decision and make it, even if I chose not to on some occasions.
It's not that I don't want to hear that other voice, the one with the "not so good" decision.
That voice is occasionally right, it was a memorable trip.
I will never forget, the time I almost ate a Pronto pup.
When it comes to the old classic "what's for dinner", the obvious choice is of course, "pizza!"
But there's this little debate on the inside of our noodles. One where this one voice says "hey, no dishes is nice, not standing over a hot stove is nice, no oven needed and that's gotta be nice, I mean it's like ninety degrees in the shade tonight..."
And another voice that says "jeeze, pizza is not so friendly to my thighs, the cost is the equivalent to almost five home cooked meals, my kids are gettin' too fat from sittin' on the couch staring at their devices and eating crap food all the time..."
And I don't so much wonder who wins these little internal arguments. I wonder why they win and how often.
Could we possibs find a way to "measure" our ability to make decisions and if so, could we also find a way to measure our abilities to make what most people would consider "the right decision".
Because the pizza makers of the world want us to order their food. The delivery drivers want to bring us that food so we can stay on our couches and look at our devices more. They really want the little extra "tip" too right.
So this weekend, Memorial Day, a holiday, found my wife and son sittin' on the couch, bein' bored, lookin' at their devices.
The sun was shining and we had a full tank of gas, the possibs were endless right.
We discussed "things we could do" and how we needed to be outside more, how we need to get more exercise and this conversation is not a new one.
The beach was brought up followed by the checking of the water temperatures.
My internal voice says "hey wait a minute, the beach, on a national holiday, on one of the first really hot days of the season..."
And my external voice says "hey, you know it might be busy at the beach. Like, really busy..."
And my son's voice which is always the most sincere and "innocent" because well, he's still a bit of a child inside, says "oh hey daddy, they have Pronto pups, you could have your first Pronto dog..."
Now, for those of you that don't know, a "Pronto dog" is an especially delicious (so I'm told) corn dog only sold on the beach "strip" of Grand Haven (it's in Michigan).
There's a little "stand" and no place to sit, no bathrooms because hey, corn dog consumption doesn't need bathrooms.
But it's the beach and its a motivator for walking, you burn some calories, you get a Pronto pup, everybody's happy.
So I consent and soon the fam is piled into the ole wagon, headin' west into the brightly shining sun.
After a half hour or so, we're "there" and, it's busy. Not the kind of busy where you've cut yourself and have to rush to the emergency room only to see not a single empty chair in the waiting room.
No this is the kind of busy where the streets of Manhattan look calm during rush hour. People "everywhere", sidewalks overflowing, bodies walking so condensed that during a whole intersection light relay, not a single car advanced.
So after sitting in the road pretty much indefinitely, I took the first opening I saw and bolted for a parking space. It wasn't really a parking space, more like a rapidly filling field of abandoned grass.
We weren't really anywhere "near" the beach or the Pronto Pups but that was okay. We had accepted that there would be "some" walking so we set out on our mission, ignoring the press of bodies we were soon enveloped in.
I brought my bottle of water, the wife and son had their tea. Sunglasses on, sunscreen covering, we walked. And walked. And... walked.
When we could finally see the Pronto sign on the horizon, much joy was had. I mean, my first ever Pronto pup right, this was to be an occasion never to be forgotten and the torturous journey only making it even more memorable.
When the crowd parted, we then saw "the line". And I don't mean to exaggerate, no one likes to read a story with too much "fiction" huh.
Fifteen minutes later, we reached the end of the line and when I say "the end", I don't mean we got to tell the people in the stand what we wanted. I mean, we fought through the bodies to discover where others were "lining up" for their hopeful pups.
Then, if you couldn't imagine it already, we waited. And we waited. And guess what, we waited some more, occasionally taking a couple of awkward steps forward and trying not to smell the neck of the person in front of you while not allowing the person behind to smell your own.
And I think around this phase, I forgot all concepts of "time". Life seemed to gellify and ooze around my melting shoes like a child's dropped ice cream cone.
We waited, and we talked about waiting and we tried to keep our eye on the prize. Or, prizes, you know, Pronto pup prizes.
My son insisted that one hour worth of standing was the equivalent of twenty minutes of walking and I conceded. Praps he was right.
Then the window! I could not quite believe it but the blast of air conditioning coming from inside only confirmed it. We had made it!
I calmly wiped the sweat from my dripping forehead and asked the nice young lady inside for three Pronto pups. I even added a "please" at the end of my request, you know, you have to try to be friendly to people that are making your food huh.
The lady smiled and asked for my five dollars and change and I handed her my card.
She looked at my card a little funny then said, "um, we're cash only".
I accepted my card feeling a little embarrassed for handing it to her in the first place. I mean, the sign was clearly posted, right next to the little window. In big red letters, it read "CASH ONLY" huh.
So I ever so calmly opened my wallet, praying to the small bills gods that I would have enough to cover it...
And nopes. Two one dollar bills were my only other possessions.
To the wife's purse and, nopes. She left her purse in the vehicle because she thought it would not be needed.
My head drooped and the people behind us in line grunted their understanding.
My son was quick to pipe up with his optimistic, "but you can get one pup daddy, you have enough to try one..."
But his voice was drowned out by that little voice inside my head from a couple of hours ago. The one that said "hey, holiday weekend, it might be busy..."
I walked away from the pup stand, no Pronto dog in hand.
My wife and son followed and it was a fairly quiet walk back to our vehicle.
Wait, actually, there was some talk concerning how our water was gone, our tea was consumed and we were thirsty. But that was about all.
I won't mention how we sat in a couple of highway traffic jams on the way home. Or how we really had to use a bathroom from all the drinking we had done.
I will mention that whatever skill or talent that is, to be able to make "the right decision" when everyone else around you is encouraging the "other" decision...
I will say that I wish mine were better. I wish I could just "know" the best decision and make it, even if I chose not to on some occasions.
It's not that I don't want to hear that other voice, the one with the "not so good" decision.
That voice is occasionally right, it was a memorable trip.
I will never forget, the time I almost ate a Pronto pup.
Sunday, May 1, 2016
The Write Time...
Friends..!
The Black Bishop has written a book!
I feel a little bit weird, typin' about it here. In truth, it has been my dirty little secret for some time now.
I'm not a very "proud" person but I don't know how it (the pride) can be measured. How do I know if I'm a "proud" person..?
I don't like creating "hype", I'm not a marketer and I seem to have a problem with drawing attention to myself.
I suppose if nothing else, I learned some things about myself during this "experiment" so mabes I can share some thoughts, mabes you can learn some stuff about you, too huh.
They say "type what you know" and I think I know "feelings of failure". I must have created this perspective of myself when I was younger.
I can remember my dad leaving my mom, younger siblings and I when I was about fifteen and "the event" seemed to scar me in ways.
I had always been taught, by my father, to be the best I could be. He helped me learn to read at an early age, he played with me constantly, he was my whole world and I can remember wanting to be just like him.
I was always good at school (possibs because I had some caring parents at home who took the time to know what I was accomplishing, or not accomplishing)...
So I grew up with this feeling of being "talented" or "gifted". I was the smart kid, the creative, the imaginative. I was the dungeon master in role playing games with my friends because I was quick on my feet, lightning fast with my mind and tongue.
I had that thing that we like to label kids with, "potential".
Then the divorce and the pain of losing what you think is reality. The withdrawing from emotions, the disappointment, the sadness turning to anger.
I rebelled, I didn't want anything to do with my mom or my dad because if they hurt me with their decisions, well I was gonna do my share of hurting back eh.
I started smoking just to piss them off, I ran away from home countless times, just wanting to be away, wanting to be left alone.
Ah the stories I could tell...
In short, I became the bad kid. The one that people saw as a bad apple because I took all of my potential and held it hostage, demanding a ransom that I didn't really care about receiving.
And ever since, I thought that I was no longer creative, not imaginative. Not smart.
I drowned myself in drugs and later, alcohol, numbing all the negative emotions. And the positive ones...
So, ever so slowly, over the years, I've been tryin' to accept that my creative side is still in there. It's been ignored and neglected for a long time but it's in there, somewhere, I can feel it sometimes.
Now that it's officially "out" there, on a screen, well it conflicts me, inside.
I know I want to feel some sort of pride but...
Wait, I have to back up a bit, where is that rewind button...
I thought, back when I was crankin' out page after murderous page, that when it was "done", when I had given it my all...
That a big church bell would 'gong' all loud and clear and I'd know, deep inside, that I was "done", that I had done it, finished it even.
But there it was, sittin' on my hard drive, lookin' at me funny as I looked at it funny.
What are you doing there little story, I would ask it.
The same thing you are Bishop, it would say. Nothing.
And that sorta bugged me for a bit, I'm not sure why. Perhappers it was the lack of the church bell sound...
So I waited a while, expecting the bell sound at any moment. Yeps, any minute now. Whenever you're ready big bell, I'm here, I'm ready.
Aren't I..?
I had to accept that there was to be no bell sound. No finish line.
And that if I was wanting to share my story with anyone, anyone at all, that I would have to find a way to put it into a readable format. I can't just give out flash drives (these are like little storage devices, similar in use to an old DVD, remember those..?)
A real live book with paper seemed desirable, mabes a fancy cover, you know. But that would take a publisher, an "investment" and dollar signs. I should probs try to find a proofreader, an editor of some sort, you know, the things authors do before calling their book "done".
But the more I looked, the more I learned and investigated, the more I saw just how much more was required.
Writing a story wasn't the easy part. I mean, all of us are writers right.
The whole "getting it out there" became the hard part. And I struggled, oh how I struggled.
I tried to learn a whole industry when learning new stuff might not be a positive trait in my character make up any more.
And in the end, having no resources and finding no help, I succumbed to the only option left. I submitted my story to the giant Amazon Kindle self publish people.
I haphazardly threw together a cover, it's black and white and extremely plain.
I filled out the required boxes, clicked "permission granted" and named a price (five bucks or about three and a half pounds for my British friends).
But still, no bell.
A weird thing happens to us when we're reluctant to do something. We know we "have to" and it's not something we really want to do and we try to make excuses, we try to rationalize, justify...
And it seems like there's a really grey line between positive and negative perspectives sometimes.
How do I feel, how should I feel and who really cares how I feel in the end anyway. Do I care?
Well, yes. Yes I might care. But it's in the labeling my care, that I seem to get stuck.
If a consequence just up and "happens", must we identify it before moving on?
Let's say I accidentally knock a woman up. For my feminist friends, this is the derogatory phrase meaning, "I've impregnated a woman with my baby making seed" (no offense intended, it's humor huh).
If I don't think the world is a great place for a new baby to live in, I can identify my feelings as "horrible". Praps "guilty" or "worried", mabes a whole slew of others but "negative" sure, undeniable.
If I think the world is a wondrous place and a new life will surely enjoy every second of it's time here, then blamo, my feelings can be all positive, full of "hope" and "aspirations". I can instill in my child the same "gifted" curse my father imprinted in me right (don't tell me that's not positive!)
Or sometimes, there might be a third option. Perhaps that baby making episode was so insanely awesome that no consequence was too good or bad, that orgasm (or three) was worth it huh.
So it has become with my first literary baby. I don't know if I should be happy, proud and positive. I mean, not everyone can describe the same "somethings" for more than sixty thousand words eh.
I don't know if I should be sad, angry and negative. I mean, I could have done so much "more", couldn't I..? I should have, I could have...
I don't know, I've asked myself that for quite some time now. What else could I do...
I'm aiming for the third option because that one feels easiest to me. Not angry, not happy, just...
An explosion of emotional quaking and vomiting on my screen. An orgasm of sorts, one that left me numb and a little exhausted.
But one that was well worth it.
I had ignored the beast in it's cage inside me for too long. I didn't mean to let it out, at least, not on purpose...
I must have, at some point, dropped a hack saw within reach and just sorta turned my back while it sawed at it's bars.
I hope to work on a sequel in the near future. There are some plot holes I left on purpose, that I want to fill in "someday".
If you are curious or compelled, I will leave the link. There's a "free sample", I think it's like the first five pages and if you like it, hey it's not all that expensive. It might be worth it...
Do leave a review if you're able, I'm won't ask for favors, if you didn't like it, that's okay and share your thoughts and criticisms freely.
I think I'm a huge criticizer of others so it just wouldn't be fair if I didn't accept (an encourage) others to criticize me.
Here's my cover in case you're "unsure" and hey, thanks for readin' you know..!
the Black Bishop's first book..!
The Black Bishop has written a book!
I feel a little bit weird, typin' about it here. In truth, it has been my dirty little secret for some time now.
I'm not a very "proud" person but I don't know how it (the pride) can be measured. How do I know if I'm a "proud" person..?
I don't like creating "hype", I'm not a marketer and I seem to have a problem with drawing attention to myself.
I suppose if nothing else, I learned some things about myself during this "experiment" so mabes I can share some thoughts, mabes you can learn some stuff about you, too huh.
They say "type what you know" and I think I know "feelings of failure". I must have created this perspective of myself when I was younger.
I can remember my dad leaving my mom, younger siblings and I when I was about fifteen and "the event" seemed to scar me in ways.
I had always been taught, by my father, to be the best I could be. He helped me learn to read at an early age, he played with me constantly, he was my whole world and I can remember wanting to be just like him.
I was always good at school (possibs because I had some caring parents at home who took the time to know what I was accomplishing, or not accomplishing)...
So I grew up with this feeling of being "talented" or "gifted". I was the smart kid, the creative, the imaginative. I was the dungeon master in role playing games with my friends because I was quick on my feet, lightning fast with my mind and tongue.
I had that thing that we like to label kids with, "potential".
Then the divorce and the pain of losing what you think is reality. The withdrawing from emotions, the disappointment, the sadness turning to anger.
I rebelled, I didn't want anything to do with my mom or my dad because if they hurt me with their decisions, well I was gonna do my share of hurting back eh.
I started smoking just to piss them off, I ran away from home countless times, just wanting to be away, wanting to be left alone.
Ah the stories I could tell...
In short, I became the bad kid. The one that people saw as a bad apple because I took all of my potential and held it hostage, demanding a ransom that I didn't really care about receiving.
And ever since, I thought that I was no longer creative, not imaginative. Not smart.
I drowned myself in drugs and later, alcohol, numbing all the negative emotions. And the positive ones...
So, ever so slowly, over the years, I've been tryin' to accept that my creative side is still in there. It's been ignored and neglected for a long time but it's in there, somewhere, I can feel it sometimes.
Now that it's officially "out" there, on a screen, well it conflicts me, inside.
I know I want to feel some sort of pride but...
Wait, I have to back up a bit, where is that rewind button...
I thought, back when I was crankin' out page after murderous page, that when it was "done", when I had given it my all...
That a big church bell would 'gong' all loud and clear and I'd know, deep inside, that I was "done", that I had done it, finished it even.
But there it was, sittin' on my hard drive, lookin' at me funny as I looked at it funny.
What are you doing there little story, I would ask it.
The same thing you are Bishop, it would say. Nothing.
And that sorta bugged me for a bit, I'm not sure why. Perhappers it was the lack of the church bell sound...
So I waited a while, expecting the bell sound at any moment. Yeps, any minute now. Whenever you're ready big bell, I'm here, I'm ready.
Aren't I..?
I had to accept that there was to be no bell sound. No finish line.
And that if I was wanting to share my story with anyone, anyone at all, that I would have to find a way to put it into a readable format. I can't just give out flash drives (these are like little storage devices, similar in use to an old DVD, remember those..?)
A real live book with paper seemed desirable, mabes a fancy cover, you know. But that would take a publisher, an "investment" and dollar signs. I should probs try to find a proofreader, an editor of some sort, you know, the things authors do before calling their book "done".
But the more I looked, the more I learned and investigated, the more I saw just how much more was required.
Writing a story wasn't the easy part. I mean, all of us are writers right.
The whole "getting it out there" became the hard part. And I struggled, oh how I struggled.
I tried to learn a whole industry when learning new stuff might not be a positive trait in my character make up any more.
And in the end, having no resources and finding no help, I succumbed to the only option left. I submitted my story to the giant Amazon Kindle self publish people.
I haphazardly threw together a cover, it's black and white and extremely plain.
I filled out the required boxes, clicked "permission granted" and named a price (five bucks or about three and a half pounds for my British friends).
But still, no bell.
A weird thing happens to us when we're reluctant to do something. We know we "have to" and it's not something we really want to do and we try to make excuses, we try to rationalize, justify...
And it seems like there's a really grey line between positive and negative perspectives sometimes.
How do I feel, how should I feel and who really cares how I feel in the end anyway. Do I care?
Well, yes. Yes I might care. But it's in the labeling my care, that I seem to get stuck.
If a consequence just up and "happens", must we identify it before moving on?
Let's say I accidentally knock a woman up. For my feminist friends, this is the derogatory phrase meaning, "I've impregnated a woman with my baby making seed" (no offense intended, it's humor huh).
If I don't think the world is a great place for a new baby to live in, I can identify my feelings as "horrible". Praps "guilty" or "worried", mabes a whole slew of others but "negative" sure, undeniable.
If I think the world is a wondrous place and a new life will surely enjoy every second of it's time here, then blamo, my feelings can be all positive, full of "hope" and "aspirations". I can instill in my child the same "gifted" curse my father imprinted in me right (don't tell me that's not positive!)
Or sometimes, there might be a third option. Perhaps that baby making episode was so insanely awesome that no consequence was too good or bad, that orgasm (or three) was worth it huh.
So it has become with my first literary baby. I don't know if I should be happy, proud and positive. I mean, not everyone can describe the same "somethings" for more than sixty thousand words eh.
I don't know if I should be sad, angry and negative. I mean, I could have done so much "more", couldn't I..? I should have, I could have...
I don't know, I've asked myself that for quite some time now. What else could I do...
I'm aiming for the third option because that one feels easiest to me. Not angry, not happy, just...
An explosion of emotional quaking and vomiting on my screen. An orgasm of sorts, one that left me numb and a little exhausted.
But one that was well worth it.
I had ignored the beast in it's cage inside me for too long. I didn't mean to let it out, at least, not on purpose...
I must have, at some point, dropped a hack saw within reach and just sorta turned my back while it sawed at it's bars.
I hope to work on a sequel in the near future. There are some plot holes I left on purpose, that I want to fill in "someday".
If you are curious or compelled, I will leave the link. There's a "free sample", I think it's like the first five pages and if you like it, hey it's not all that expensive. It might be worth it...
Do leave a review if you're able, I'm won't ask for favors, if you didn't like it, that's okay and share your thoughts and criticisms freely.
I think I'm a huge criticizer of others so it just wouldn't be fair if I didn't accept (an encourage) others to criticize me.
Here's my cover in case you're "unsure" and hey, thanks for readin' you know..!
the Black Bishop's first book..!
Friday, April 8, 2016
The Human Truth...
As humans, we long for a purely good idea in our lives.
We crave a purity that cannot be corrupted or tainted and we look for it everywhere, we may have always done this.
We define gods that are completely "good" but if they can't be one hundred percent "good", we aim for "fair" at the least. Then we make excuses to preserve our desire for that all powerful "good".
Or at least, to shun evil and deception.
I can remember not long ago, the big bad internet stunned us all. I mean, a collection of human knowledge, all at the tips of our fingers and all we had to do was ask.
It was good, almost purely good and we began to struggle with just how to ask it a question, to get the results we wanted.
But we trusted it, oh how we trusted it. We wanted to tell people that we "knew" because we had learned. From reading it on the internet.
It was something we held special, sacred, an idea that there was a thing in our world that would not deceive us.
If we needed to learn about malaria, all we had to do was type it (we didn't even need to know how to spell it because our all good internet would help us with that too).
It was perfection and for a while, we bathed in it's glory. Life was good.
Then somehow, some way, we turned that good into something "less than good". Less than honest. As in, merely being in the proximity of a human for any length of time, was to corrupt.
But perhappers that is natural, normal. If we do not test our knowledge against claims of the opposite, how can we solidify what we believe is truth?
Nowadays it seems, the big bad internet has become something of an abomination. If you look, you can find not only information about malaria, but somewhere, someone has probs posed a convincing argument, about how malaria is good for humans and how you should seek it out.
And for whatever reason, the internet is no longer pure. It can no longer be taken as "factual".
But mabes I'm being too small minded, it is a Friday and the end of a long week of spring break for the kids (a spring break where it's been cold and rain-mixed-with-snow all week nonetheless)...
If I open my scope, I can see that we once believed in the television as "good". It brought us news and weather and information we needed and wanted.
But my scope's opening too far now. I can see the newspaper back in "the old days". I can see that people put faith in it and in other written words.
People believed in books once eh.
Then, oh poor scope, I needed you once just like the internet, you had a good run...
Then I can wonder about cavemen, sitting around their cave fires, telling stories to each other as they snuggled beneath woolly mammoth skins.
Did one caveman suddenly need to deceive his fellow cave people with his story about how he killed a saber tooth tiger? Was he an elder cave person and was his society about to abandon him if he did not "contribute"..?
For whatever reason, we have a real need in ourselves, to lie, to deceive. And it's so powerful that we constantly long for something that is impossible to lie to us.
If you think I've gone a bit too crazy bein' stuck in the house with my kids too long, consider this...
If your wife has grown old, wrinkly, grey haired...
If she has gotten rather large around the waist and her boobs have sagged to their breaking points...
If she has a big old zit above her left eyebrow and it's seeping yellow nast into her brow hairs...
If she puts on a fancy dress and asks you how she looks...
Do you tell her she still looks gorgeous?
If your wife wants to go on a diet, wants to loose weight and be healthier but she needs to remove all the good food in your house, nothing with sugar in it, no milk, no pop, no juices, no potato chips, no ice cream, no chocolate, nothing but untainted meats and fruits and vegetables...
Do you support her decision and tell her that's a great idea and let's all get healthier..?
Or do you tell her she's crazy and you need your sugars, your coffee, your beer.
If your husband tells you he wants to be a writer, and that he's written a book that he wants to try to get published and he wants you to read it so you can tell him how good it is...
Do you read, get to the end then stomp that dream into a coma by telling him that it sucks and it's a complete waste of time? That no one will ever want to read anything he's written or will ever write?
It seems like sometimes, we are not meant to have a universal, constant truth. That if that truth comes from a human, is transported by a human or is anywhere near a human's touch, that it simply is not true. It can't be, by definition.
But then, you're reading this right now and I'm typing it huh. We're both humans aren't we.
We crave a purity that cannot be corrupted or tainted and we look for it everywhere, we may have always done this.
We define gods that are completely "good" but if they can't be one hundred percent "good", we aim for "fair" at the least. Then we make excuses to preserve our desire for that all powerful "good".
Or at least, to shun evil and deception.
I can remember not long ago, the big bad internet stunned us all. I mean, a collection of human knowledge, all at the tips of our fingers and all we had to do was ask.
It was good, almost purely good and we began to struggle with just how to ask it a question, to get the results we wanted.
But we trusted it, oh how we trusted it. We wanted to tell people that we "knew" because we had learned. From reading it on the internet.
It was something we held special, sacred, an idea that there was a thing in our world that would not deceive us.
If we needed to learn about malaria, all we had to do was type it (we didn't even need to know how to spell it because our all good internet would help us with that too).
It was perfection and for a while, we bathed in it's glory. Life was good.
Then somehow, some way, we turned that good into something "less than good". Less than honest. As in, merely being in the proximity of a human for any length of time, was to corrupt.
But perhappers that is natural, normal. If we do not test our knowledge against claims of the opposite, how can we solidify what we believe is truth?
Nowadays it seems, the big bad internet has become something of an abomination. If you look, you can find not only information about malaria, but somewhere, someone has probs posed a convincing argument, about how malaria is good for humans and how you should seek it out.
And for whatever reason, the internet is no longer pure. It can no longer be taken as "factual".
But mabes I'm being too small minded, it is a Friday and the end of a long week of spring break for the kids (a spring break where it's been cold and rain-mixed-with-snow all week nonetheless)...
If I open my scope, I can see that we once believed in the television as "good". It brought us news and weather and information we needed and wanted.
But my scope's opening too far now. I can see the newspaper back in "the old days". I can see that people put faith in it and in other written words.
People believed in books once eh.
Then, oh poor scope, I needed you once just like the internet, you had a good run...
Then I can wonder about cavemen, sitting around their cave fires, telling stories to each other as they snuggled beneath woolly mammoth skins.
Did one caveman suddenly need to deceive his fellow cave people with his story about how he killed a saber tooth tiger? Was he an elder cave person and was his society about to abandon him if he did not "contribute"..?
For whatever reason, we have a real need in ourselves, to lie, to deceive. And it's so powerful that we constantly long for something that is impossible to lie to us.
If you think I've gone a bit too crazy bein' stuck in the house with my kids too long, consider this...
If your wife has grown old, wrinkly, grey haired...
If she has gotten rather large around the waist and her boobs have sagged to their breaking points...
If she has a big old zit above her left eyebrow and it's seeping yellow nast into her brow hairs...
If she puts on a fancy dress and asks you how she looks...
Do you tell her she still looks gorgeous?
If your wife wants to go on a diet, wants to loose weight and be healthier but she needs to remove all the good food in your house, nothing with sugar in it, no milk, no pop, no juices, no potato chips, no ice cream, no chocolate, nothing but untainted meats and fruits and vegetables...
Do you support her decision and tell her that's a great idea and let's all get healthier..?
Or do you tell her she's crazy and you need your sugars, your coffee, your beer.
If your husband tells you he wants to be a writer, and that he's written a book that he wants to try to get published and he wants you to read it so you can tell him how good it is...
Do you read, get to the end then stomp that dream into a coma by telling him that it sucks and it's a complete waste of time? That no one will ever want to read anything he's written or will ever write?
It seems like sometimes, we are not meant to have a universal, constant truth. That if that truth comes from a human, is transported by a human or is anywhere near a human's touch, that it simply is not true. It can't be, by definition.
But then, you're reading this right now and I'm typing it huh. We're both humans aren't we.
Monday, March 21, 2016
The Price of Pride...
The following is a direct response to what was written here...
http://www.nicolavincent-abnett.com/2016/03/a-fair-days-wage-for-fair-days-work.html
Wow, firsties, super glad you're back Nik..!
I've taken large breaks so I can't get upset when others do it but I gotta say, I have missed your words (I checked your blog every day huh...)
This topic, about writing and being paid for it, boy does it compel me to want to study it, to want to throw thoughts on my screen...
And after my brain has churned for a smidgey, well I can see that it sorta breaks down into perspectives (doesn't everything..?)
So let me dig through my satchel for my perspective shotgun a second, let me load that puppy with opposite sides of the spectrum and hey, since you're there with your walls so high and mighty, let me take some practice shots no?
(I don't mean to insult as usual, your walls appear to be so high and mighty because that's the way I want to envision them, that's my perspective and I cherish it... It's just that so much of what I write is like one millistep away from being offensive and rude and about three thousand other negative adjectives and I have to specify that I don't use my words like that, I have too much respect for my heroes.)
We have two things in our worlds. Products and desires for such products. Those two elements will probs never change, that equation is solid and not goin' anywhere.
We can either be a product haver or a product wanter and sometimes both, although usually not for the same product. Either you want something you don't have or you have something that others want, still with me?
Now, if you happen to have the thing that others want, well it's a magical special place and good things usually happen huh. Most of the time, you hold your hand up, tell the world that you have this special "thing" and wait as the offers line up, hopefully in a nice neat row so you can see the order of things, particularly the large end first.
And if you don't have the thing, well you're one of those standing in line with your wad of cash (or other offerings) and if you're not quite lucky enough, you're somewhere in the middle or the back.
The next part of the equation is how super cool and awesome your product is. Now insert this right before the equals sign, if your product is the only one on the planet, if it is in high demand and only usable once or, if it is replaceable and able to be sold to all those in the lines behind you, well you need a gigantic multiplier huh.
Whereas if your product is none of the above, your multiplier is almost nothing, makes sense?
So I think that was enough math for a Monday. My noodle's all kinds of swirled...
Let's say you're one of the product holders, one of the really super cool, super awesome, can be sold down the line in the trickle downs.
How does it feel when someone straight up steals it and doesn't even say thanks.
With a quick check, I can see that the first four Wild's End comic books are downloadable as "torrents". If you're not sure what a torrent is, you probs haven't been one of the product desire-ers in a while eh.
Torrents are what the pirates of the world use to download illegal content from the big bad internet. They download movies, music, tv shows, books, comic books, porn, cookbooks, video games, self help books and the list really is monstrously gigantic and there seems to be no method, for stopping the pirates anytime soon.
Basically, once one person has purchased your product, captured it with a digital scanning device and shared it, anybody else can come along and take it. For free. For pretty much, forever.
So again, shotgun smoking, I ask, how does that make a product holder feel.
To me, well it stings a bit. Not only did I not say they could come and take my product but they didn't even say thanks. Or that they wouldn't use my work to sell to others in their trickle down.
They didn't even encourage me to produce another product so they could steal that one as well.
Given this equation, why would anyone choose to be a product maker..?
Is product making a dying industry just like the Blockbusters of the world and the third party self publishers?
Or is there another position we could take. Is it time for Change to rear it's ugly head and stomp us into submission?
I don't know exactly but I have another blast loaded, ready?
In the past month or so, a video game has surfaced from a one-man-band creator. This person pretty much created a new game that has become exceptionally popular despite it's very small size and budget.
The game is called Stardew Valley and if you type this in your Google, you can find gobs of stuff written about it.
I'll leave a link at the bottom in case you need some proof but here's the scenario.
A product maker sells his product for fairly cheap, making it relatively easy to afford compared to others.
The product is so loved and so cherished that the pirates that downloaded it, played it for a day then went and uninstalled it, paid the full price for it and thanked the maker.
Then, these same pirates turned around and, on the very pages that they used to steal with, they praised this game, they told others that they spent their money on it and the trickle down, became a trickle up.
Now before you accuse me of firing blanks with my shotgun, I'll shoot once more...
This game has broken the system so graphically, that others are offering to pay for the game, so that those who are still pirating due to the cost can show their support. You know, for those that truly can't afford the fifteen bones (about ten pounds for my British friends).
Yeah, stick that one in your Monday morning breadbasket and shake.
A product that changed the way people pay for it.
A product that could not be controlled by it's maker, could not be "secured" and was entirely dependent on the people in line...
Became a donation.
It was given to the world knowing full well, that it would be stolen, that it would be copied, abused, left out at night next to the trash bin.
But it was so cool and so moving that people walking by, stopped and picked it up, they brushed it off and went to the door, knocked and slipped a ten dollar bill under the door as thanks.
I think that's how I want to do it. I can't stop the pirating, I can't stop the sharing and I don't seem to be able to prevent the poverty.
But if I create a product someday, something that is so special and awarding... Well I think I will give it to the world's people and ask for nothing in return.
Should they feel compelled to reward me or send me ten bucks, I will thank them.
But I'll also have to understand if they don't.
If a big, or small, publisher wants to invest in a writer, how do they know that they won't sell one copy and watch as fifty thousand others ignore their price tag?
The burden on the creator is sorta minimal. If they don't want to produce something, they don't have to. They can choose to stop being creatives.
But the burden on the middle people, the ones trying to profit from a system that no longer supports them, their burden is about as large and heavy as those castle walls around your position.
I so love the way I must think when contemplating your topics Nik. Its such great brain exercise and while it might seem like I'm blasting away without a care, the truth is much different.
I can't criticize if you don't start the conversation and I hope that one day, I can start conversations and others will fire at my walls with both barrels.
http://kotaku.com/stardew-valley-players-fight-piracy-by-buying-pirates-t-1763316633
http://www.nicolavincent-abnett.com/2016/03/a-fair-days-wage-for-fair-days-work.html
Wow, firsties, super glad you're back Nik..!
I've taken large breaks so I can't get upset when others do it but I gotta say, I have missed your words (I checked your blog every day huh...)
This topic, about writing and being paid for it, boy does it compel me to want to study it, to want to throw thoughts on my screen...
And after my brain has churned for a smidgey, well I can see that it sorta breaks down into perspectives (doesn't everything..?)
So let me dig through my satchel for my perspective shotgun a second, let me load that puppy with opposite sides of the spectrum and hey, since you're there with your walls so high and mighty, let me take some practice shots no?
(I don't mean to insult as usual, your walls appear to be so high and mighty because that's the way I want to envision them, that's my perspective and I cherish it... It's just that so much of what I write is like one millistep away from being offensive and rude and about three thousand other negative adjectives and I have to specify that I don't use my words like that, I have too much respect for my heroes.)
We have two things in our worlds. Products and desires for such products. Those two elements will probs never change, that equation is solid and not goin' anywhere.
We can either be a product haver or a product wanter and sometimes both, although usually not for the same product. Either you want something you don't have or you have something that others want, still with me?
Now, if you happen to have the thing that others want, well it's a magical special place and good things usually happen huh. Most of the time, you hold your hand up, tell the world that you have this special "thing" and wait as the offers line up, hopefully in a nice neat row so you can see the order of things, particularly the large end first.
And if you don't have the thing, well you're one of those standing in line with your wad of cash (or other offerings) and if you're not quite lucky enough, you're somewhere in the middle or the back.
The next part of the equation is how super cool and awesome your product is. Now insert this right before the equals sign, if your product is the only one on the planet, if it is in high demand and only usable once or, if it is replaceable and able to be sold to all those in the lines behind you, well you need a gigantic multiplier huh.
Whereas if your product is none of the above, your multiplier is almost nothing, makes sense?
So I think that was enough math for a Monday. My noodle's all kinds of swirled...
Let's say you're one of the product holders, one of the really super cool, super awesome, can be sold down the line in the trickle downs.
How does it feel when someone straight up steals it and doesn't even say thanks.
With a quick check, I can see that the first four Wild's End comic books are downloadable as "torrents". If you're not sure what a torrent is, you probs haven't been one of the product desire-ers in a while eh.
Torrents are what the pirates of the world use to download illegal content from the big bad internet. They download movies, music, tv shows, books, comic books, porn, cookbooks, video games, self help books and the list really is monstrously gigantic and there seems to be no method, for stopping the pirates anytime soon.
Basically, once one person has purchased your product, captured it with a digital scanning device and shared it, anybody else can come along and take it. For free. For pretty much, forever.
So again, shotgun smoking, I ask, how does that make a product holder feel.
To me, well it stings a bit. Not only did I not say they could come and take my product but they didn't even say thanks. Or that they wouldn't use my work to sell to others in their trickle down.
They didn't even encourage me to produce another product so they could steal that one as well.
Given this equation, why would anyone choose to be a product maker..?
Is product making a dying industry just like the Blockbusters of the world and the third party self publishers?
Or is there another position we could take. Is it time for Change to rear it's ugly head and stomp us into submission?
I don't know exactly but I have another blast loaded, ready?
In the past month or so, a video game has surfaced from a one-man-band creator. This person pretty much created a new game that has become exceptionally popular despite it's very small size and budget.
The game is called Stardew Valley and if you type this in your Google, you can find gobs of stuff written about it.
I'll leave a link at the bottom in case you need some proof but here's the scenario.
A product maker sells his product for fairly cheap, making it relatively easy to afford compared to others.
The product is so loved and so cherished that the pirates that downloaded it, played it for a day then went and uninstalled it, paid the full price for it and thanked the maker.
Then, these same pirates turned around and, on the very pages that they used to steal with, they praised this game, they told others that they spent their money on it and the trickle down, became a trickle up.
Now before you accuse me of firing blanks with my shotgun, I'll shoot once more...
This game has broken the system so graphically, that others are offering to pay for the game, so that those who are still pirating due to the cost can show their support. You know, for those that truly can't afford the fifteen bones (about ten pounds for my British friends).
Yeah, stick that one in your Monday morning breadbasket and shake.
A product that changed the way people pay for it.
A product that could not be controlled by it's maker, could not be "secured" and was entirely dependent on the people in line...
Became a donation.
It was given to the world knowing full well, that it would be stolen, that it would be copied, abused, left out at night next to the trash bin.
But it was so cool and so moving that people walking by, stopped and picked it up, they brushed it off and went to the door, knocked and slipped a ten dollar bill under the door as thanks.
I think that's how I want to do it. I can't stop the pirating, I can't stop the sharing and I don't seem to be able to prevent the poverty.
But if I create a product someday, something that is so special and awarding... Well I think I will give it to the world's people and ask for nothing in return.
Should they feel compelled to reward me or send me ten bucks, I will thank them.
But I'll also have to understand if they don't.
If a big, or small, publisher wants to invest in a writer, how do they know that they won't sell one copy and watch as fifty thousand others ignore their price tag?
The burden on the creator is sorta minimal. If they don't want to produce something, they don't have to. They can choose to stop being creatives.
But the burden on the middle people, the ones trying to profit from a system that no longer supports them, their burden is about as large and heavy as those castle walls around your position.
I so love the way I must think when contemplating your topics Nik. Its such great brain exercise and while it might seem like I'm blasting away without a care, the truth is much different.
I can't criticize if you don't start the conversation and I hope that one day, I can start conversations and others will fire at my walls with both barrels.
http://kotaku.com/stardew-valley-players-fight-piracy-by-buying-pirates-t-1763316633
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