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Dear Mole, Bears In Space


Silence is indeed golden.  2019 has thus far been my least contentious year of life precisely because it’s been my quietest year of life, hands down.  Like you, I’ve learned that when I just keep my damned mouth shut, unnecessary problems are easily avoided.

We’ve established that most people are genetically programmed to subscribe to a worldview that infuses life with meaning and will often suspend disbelief (or, if you prefer, ignore their faculties of reason) to accommodate such a view without conscious hypocrisy.  We’ve also established that both you and I have a very hard time accepting this perplexing but very common mental game.

In 1983, Lou Ferrigno played the titular role in the film “Hercules”.  At about the age of 14, I tuned in to a showing of this fantasy crap-fest on WABC’s The 4:30 Movie and spent the next hour and a half in absolute hysterics.  Even by early Eighties standards, the visual effects were laughably atrocious.  And Ferrigno’s dialogue was, of course, dubbed.  Take a look at this GIF of Hercules tangling with a bear, culminating in, I assume, the creation of constellation Ursa Major:

bear in space

Yeah.  According to IMDB, Hercules made over $11,000,000 in box office sales.  I’m certain that at least some of those movie goers didn’t show up at the local multiplex to laugh at terrible production values and I’m also certain (by law of averages) that some of those people left the theater feeling they’d gotten their $8 worth, and then some.  But how can that be?  Weren’t they watching the exact same film that caused me to bust a gut on that fateful afternoon in 1984?  Of course, they were.  And those who enjoyed the movie were in possession of a skill that I do not possess: the ability to make themselves believe that what they’re seeing is the very antithesis of what I described.  Kinda like Christians and Muslims and Jews and Hindus and Buddhists and Sheikhs and Scientologists and Zoroastrians and everyone else whose theological views require a deliberate suspension of disbelief.

But much like “Hercules”, I can discern nothing of substance (save for comically mock-worthy material) in any theological system of which I’m aware.  Ditto for political conservatism.  Any philosophy, be it secular or religious, that requires fear from its adherents in order to function is masochistic and more than a little unhelpful to the potential evolution of our species.

That brings me to today’s question: do you believe humanity will continue to thrive long enough for another great evolutionary leap to occur or do you think that this is it and mankind in the year 2019 represents the pinnacle of our history?  Might some form of negative evolution already be underway as a result of the ubiquity of communications technology?  Is there anywhere left in the Continental United States where a guy can get a decent Ruben sandwich for under $10 and if not, should we even desire for our species to go on?

It’s lunchtime.  Gotta go.



P.S.  What kind of person uploads a picture of Fred and Wilma to their blog media without immediately and proudly displaying it on their page?

Duke’s: A Song in Your Mind

tin hats

love comes from many things, people, moments

it’s like rain falling

silent snow, nights one after another … breath held until you black out

all of it pushing you underneath

lost in those towns, those voices, inside bodies holding you, wanting you, most trying not to die

you finally wake and it doesn’t matter and then you are in water, moonlight and everything has ended and the ocean speaks in dark languages … and the current lifts you with every wave … gifts from a helpful hand

For A. Mole

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Writer’s Log: 2051 Names

For whatever reason, I put considerable thought into names of characters, places and things in my stories.

When you read a name, you say it in your mind and if it’s wrong for the character, then I find myself stumbling over it every time I read it. When a name fits, you know it.

Finding a name can be challenging. Baby names from various countries have often been my go to source for characters. Scanning google maps for location names works for places. But these often feel generic. For fun, I created a Python script that combines letters in roughly random fashion to create jumble names. The script is below.

But to give you an example, I’ll print 180 names, randomly generated. Tell me if you don’t see a few names that speak to you. Remove a letter here or there and pow, there’s the name for your next villain, love interest, pet seal, seedy uncle or dying grandfather.

Aya Casype Eee Nevtega Vaa Meike
Timy Kkyaa Eemo Kuo Dhagehy Pihmya
Iyyge Jia Kmyhi Eanabu Kadea Aoe
Wnahybi Iyfae Hivto Iau Eoa Oneso
Efaa Dpiaby Bapwi Dobi Ayqe Auna
Ubuuu Ufuau Pydeve Nuve Faedo Hmuda
Ntea Aayme Iypihme Idbougi Vsqae Setocy
Eucu Miwiu Uaasqy Ayhmyje Tyu Iguy
Eeoa Hqao Yeguqu Cahmy Rtagudy Zneohmy
Bcosqe Eomycu Gjifipwe Rboakja Rhya Sinumy
Ataqygu Esey Mbituo Ntehmyfa Yhyna Rofa
Esqacu Bygcy Byca Hefaa Jkacu Bapi
Bahyfo Fwuey Jpegcuo Ahmaydbe Ewisqemy Geed’a
Cpehmaso Nfofu Ktevy Ejoe Ctekai Fiunfa
Qjawoy Cykai Uyy Jvave Pue Deyga
Ouae Acao Edbiqe Eqekadbo Vwyga Vkofia
Rseeo Yasqe Bpanase Bhmioy Eetea Miteko
Fqei Mvtuco Case Vdoe Psutey Sisuhy
Emaja Yhaae Jbasqyqe Jbete Msqege Mydowo
Adejite Oeqevu Niata Vvui Yaivo Puyje
Coou Fovaja Adaea Wica Evui Keyca
Oaa Iya Wya Dsoje Niu Udicuqi
Muqe Jhmyai Woee Piey Kiifa Onoda
Ruu Tapi Aceo Fhyyvy Ooeo Qimea
Gjuve Vavtey Gaa Kawe Eua Kaeu
Hwiay Ddbuky Dkjamy Ihmaa Gsyeva Tvteje
Eumo Afaqe Dohua Obopwi Qveio Yaovte
Dnobige Jvepwo Cyhmy Cuta Fdavte Baojy
Wkypwena Coda Tmiho Jeve Mbue Giony
Yeia Foymi Bvtewaa Ryyu Fboe Ceofy


import random
# Main program entry point
def main():

 words1 = ["a","u","y","o","a","e","i","e","'"]
 words2 = ["d","g","h","k","n","s","p","v",""]
 words3 = ["'","c","m","j","f","q","w","t"]
 words4 = ["d","g","h","k","n","s","r","p","v","z","e","i",
 print ("Starting...")

 f = open('.\output.txt', 'w')

 triplet = []
 for a in xrange(0, len(words1) - 1):
  for b in xrange(0, len(words2) - 1):
   for c in xrange(0, len(words3) - 1):

 for x in range(1, 51): # number of names
  l = random.randint(3, 4)
  s = words4[random.randint(0, len(words4) - 1)].upper()
  for i in range (1, l):
   n = random.randint(0, len(triplet) - 1)
   a = random.randint(0, 2)
   if (a == 0):
    s += words2[triplet[n][a]]
    a = random.randint(0, 2)
   if (a == 0):
    s += words3[triplet[n][a]]
    a = random.randint(0, 2)
    s += words1[triplet[n][a]]
  print >> f, s

 print ("Done")

if __name__ == '__main__':

(The reason the lists are called “words” is because I first used this to create random book titles using different words.)

Little Fears & Anonymole

Here’s to LittleFears and his tenacious passion for puns and evocative art.



The sight of the beast, the woman’s partner said, provoked childhood fears the likes of which he’d suppressed — through therapy — and would care not to have them resurface.

The DI placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “But we need your statement.”

The fellow shook his head and narrowed his eyes at the detective. “This is going to haunt me forever. My little fears, they grow huge at night. You don’t know what I…”

“Without your help, Chastity’s death will go unpunished.”

At six am, the station had just started to buzz with activity. The smell of coffee and sweat drifted through the corridors. The heatwave continued unabated.

“Fingers like knives, blades extending from every angle of its body and a… a snout like it had descended from some primeval creature. And its eyes, lover’s eyes. Hungry lover’s eyes, that consumed me. Then it nosed down and began to… to feed.” The lad leaned forward and gripped his face, his voice muted. “Chassie’s b… blood, black in the streetlight, dripped…”

“Good,” The DI interrupted, pulled his phone out, tapped it and set it on the table. “Now again, from the top.”



Writer’s Log: 2017 Jack

Writing is like:

Riding a unicycle,

on a guywire,

juggling apples and alligators,

while simultaneously,

planning your next act,

with seven other players,

in a circus you’re designing for the next town,

as you remain cycling to and froe,

twisting a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue,

which you spit into a glass thirty feet below you,

never taking your flirting eyes off the trapeze artist,

teetering just out of reach of your toothsome gator,

at the same time dictating your nefarious plans for world domination and the demise of the human race,

to the parrot you have riding in your birdcage hat.

A writer is a jack-of-every-trade, never satisfied, always learning, constantly exploring what’s around the bend.


On a happier note

Having commuted over it more times than I care to admit, I often thought of those who took the plunge.


Old and poor? Crime pays

Years ago I thought that if you were elderly and poor, homeless even, then committing a crime in order to go to prison (three squares, a bed, TV and mates to talk to) would be an ideal habitat.

Turns out the Japanese are doing just this. See the comment below (link included).

What else should the elderly be doing? Sharing their homes with oppressed college kids who need to save $ for room & board?

Dangerous work that doesn’t require high physical strength or acuity?

The military. Don’t send youngsters in to a war zone – send old folks?