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I Return

If anyone noticed my absence, I apologize for said disappearance. I am back with every intention of sticking around.

I’ve been busy being too lazy to write. Yes, that is my excuse and I’m sticking to it. Seriously, though, I simply haven’t felt like writing. I wouldn’t really call it “writer’s block” as I don’t believe in that particular boogeyman. Still, its been hard for me to think of anything I feel is worth saying. My readership here is yet fairly small, but it still bothers me to come on and ramble about nothing as I am doing now.

In any event, I always feel much better about things when I am writing actively, so here I am. Currently I am looking for a job. So, if anyone knows of some openings in the Mechanicsburg area of PA…let me know please! Haha. “Good luck” right?

Still, I’ve not lost hope that soon I might be paid to write. Hopefully, I’ll find something that allows me to exercise my creativity at the very least. If I cannot find a writing job (freelance or something, perhaps) I suppose I’ll have to be happy stumping through yet another minimum wage part time job.

Back to the topic of writing: Camp NaNoWriMo is fast approaching. I’m considering what my goal might be for it and I’m thinking it will be to actually get some editing done on my first novel. I’ve been putting off the editing for far to long and I don’t even know why. So, wish me luck in getting that manuscript edited and ready for either submission to some publishing house or self-publication!

Thanks for reading and have an unbelievable day!

In Earnest,

King Pollux ~ Adam Kristofer Walkingstick King

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A White Boy in Downtown – Part 2: At the Trashcan Fire That First Night

I drove my 2001 Chevy Cavalier with the hanging passengerside headlight bulb and smashed bumper to downtown Fresno for the first time (other than for Jury Duty) in late January of 2012.

Why? You might ask. Why would a relatively affluent male WASP (white, anglo saxon, protestant) suddenly decide to go into such a dangerous, impoverished, and crime-ridden area?

Well, I suppose the root cause, dear reader, stretches back deterministically all the way to my childhood. So, because a life-story isn’t really necessary in this context, let’s just leave it at this: I wanted to try LSD or some other kind of “mind-expanding” drug in order to increase my creative and spiritual abilities.

What did I find in Downtown? Well, let’s find out together as I cast myself back in memory and time.


After an initial unsuccessful sojourn yesterday I know pretty much how to find free parking in the heart of Downtown. Passing the drab, dark stature of the Fresno Superior Courthouse and jails, streetlights play beautifully off the white paint of my Cavalier’s butt-imprinted hood. Occupy Fresno tents and signs lay, seemingly abandoned, to my right on the sidewalk of the Courthouse park.

I continue on smoothly thanking the Gods traffic isn’t horrific this time of night in Fresno. Sure, other cars pass by, but I’m so excited and anxious about attempting to buy an illicit substance from a genuine drug dealer for the first time that I just smile and crank the radio.

Brighter lights burst off the windshield and I squint a little before my eyes adjust. “CLUB ONE,” screams the casino sign on the corner of Tulare and old Van Ness. I smile more widely as the Chevy glides past into the relative darkness of Fulton Mall.

Once to H Street, I turn right. Finding an empty parking space is easy in Chinatown. No one really wants to be there other than bangers, hustlers, patrons, residents, and the owners of the shops and restaurants it seems.

I greet and pass by the few that are out in the area at this time. On my way down toward the deep dark of the industrial park on the North I begin to feel even more excited. I walk faster, both to stave off the chill of the night and the jitters of slight fear. Eventually I come across an old black gentleman.

I mention I am looking for LSD and he waves for me to come along. We walk toward the “Pov,” the Poverello House for the homeless and jobless, and I continue to make conversation. The man claims it is only about twenty for the tab of acid and I will have to stop. He succeeds in scaring me into staying away from the Poverello house.

I wait for half an hour just around the corner, hiding in the shadows of houses and trees lining the grungy, trash-heaped sidewalks. When I realize I’ve been played, I decide to venture around the corner.

Passing around the bend in the road to the left I am greeted by a dark street with what appears to be several squat encampments. Closest to me are clearly Mexican and Chicanos. I walk down the street toward the end of the Poverello house and its gates. I am hailed by a large, tall black man who I can’t see properly in the light of a washer-tub fireplace.

Apparently wearing a black leather jacket was a poor choice.

“You a cop white boy?” the man demands in a deep, booming voice.

“Fuck no, man. I’m just trying to score some acid,” I say.

I am invited to join the huddled people around the fire. Subjected to questions and scrutiny I am shortly asked to snort a tiny bump of coke from a key to prove that I am no police officer.

The coke is somewhat gross because of the drip, but it isn’t as repulsive as I heard it was.

After taking the little hit of cocaine, Teardrop, as I now know the first tall man to be, insists that even an undercover cop might snort coke. He demands I try crack. Perhaps it was the cocaine beginning to hit, but I feel very good and invincible. Shrugging, I take the pipe and follow his instructions.

I hold the lighter a little bit from the end of the “horn” and begin to inhale. It doesn’t taste bad at all. Except for a chemical flavor there isn’t much taste at all aside from an afterglow of butteriness.

It hits immediately and I understand why people enjoy the feeling, but the hit was no where near my best of the beginning days of my travels into Downtown. I feel faster, more intelligent, and elated. This is a form of flying.

I spend a few hours with Teardrop, just driving around to various hoods and to the motels. I am not offered another hit of crack the rest of that first night. Teardrop seems to want to keep me off the stuff when he realizes I truly had never tried the junk before.

After around 2 in the morning I announce it is time to go home. Teardrop demands I drop him back off at his particle board shanty and I do so before hitting the freeways to go home.

Men vs Women | Crossing the Divide

Ohhhhh that I could send an owl!

Its hilarious because my twin sis and I sat here and read OM’s post and both had very similar or identical reactions to yours! Lmao.

GREAT POST Vic! Four thumbs up! 😀 Reblogging and sharing now!

In Earnest,

King Pollux ~ Adam Kristofer Walkingstick King

vic briggs

Man_Vs_Woman_by_joshnickerson

Let’s Talk Opinion in conversation with OM

I was rather surprised to discover today that I am not a woman after all. I may look like one, but try as I much as I may, I was unable to identify with the “typical” female behaviour described by OM in his recent post about Those things women do… Perhaps it is a matter of perspective or perhaps I’ve been too busy juggling the daily challenges of existence to find time to fit into the required mould. Or perhaps… it was an accident of birth and I was allocated the wrong gender? This will not do.

Now… I know that OM’s posts are often tongue-in-cheek, so my reply ought to be allowed to be in kind. What do women do exactly? Here are OM’s findings:

They “Ask where something is before actually looking for it first.”

Yep. My grandpa used to do this a…

View original post 1,510 more words

Why Modern Activism Is Often Merely Lip Service To Bullshit Ideals

NOTE: This is opinion,and personal analysis. I am usually a fairly accepting, friendly, respectful, and kind-hearted individual so: Take what you will from this, but watch the fuck out when dealing with me in person. If you can’t quite understand what I mean by that last…you will shortly or you won’t at all.

I am an Anarchist. No bullshit. No façades or delusions there.

366px-Anarchist_black_cross_logo

Long Live Anarchist Black Cross! Хай живе Нестор Махно! Vive la Résistance! ¡Viva la Revolución!

The problem with announcing anarchic politics is that Anarchy, true Anarchy, is not political at all. True Anarchy is the insanity of believing and espousing the belief that individual living things should have the basic right to do pretty much anything they want.

Anarchism becomes political because, and only because, we live in a politically governed system of linked sociological groups. A true Anarchist is, by the very definition, incapable of overlooking the vileness of politics imposed on inherently non-political species.

Most politicians, political analysts, philosophers, and activists want to make the ways of nature into some kind of political system.

NATURE IS NOT A FUCKING POLITICAL ENGINE YOU IGNORANT STATIST MORONS

*Ahem* Now, with that microrant off my chest we may resume this soap-box proselytization.

At some point you, reader, might wonder why I seem to take things so personally.

It. Is. Personal.

Whoever you are, no matter what philosophical, political, national, regional, or familial allegiances you might have, read carefully and buyer beware:

YOU have NO right to tell me how to live MY life. YOU have NO right to tell ANYONE how to live THEIR life. YOU have NO right to impose YOUR moral/philosophical/political ideals, rules, laws, and/or regulations on ME or ANYONE ELSE.

Grow the fuck up. Stop making things that absolutely DO NOT matter into personal attacks in your own twisted and brainwashed mind.

The next time someone with no direct authority, under the law or not, tries to enforce their own ideals on me someone is leaving either in a body bag or on a stretcher whether its me or not. That in mind: Be careful what you say. Words have meaning people. I am a snake in the fucking grass: Tread On Me At Thine Own Risk.

Human beings are human beings. Living things are living things. Regardless of any other observed status given to or accepted by an individual, everything living has a natural and unalienable right to three things: life, personal liberty, and the pursit of happiness. Your regional/national/state governments, laws, politics, and customs CAN NOT take that away from me and I will fight to the death to defend those rights in others if forced to do so.

I would rather die than live any other way.

If you don’t see things the way I do…get behind me or otherwise stay the fuck out of my way. Period. There are worse fates than death and some things more than worth enduring any possible outcome of fate.

Anarchy, libertarianism, non-Marxist socialism, anti-establishmentarianism, anarcho-socialism, anarcho-capitalism, equality, love, righteous anger, vigilante, punk, hippy, tree-hugger, world citizen, American, Native American, European, tolerance, peace, spirituality, collectivism, activism and humanism defined is me. (Assuming you must label me with anything as useless as human labels and words.) Economics, politics, and other contrived human bullshit has nothing to do with it. I don’t care what socio-politics we all end up with on this planet just keep your racism, sexism, misogyny, patriarchy, matriarchy, statism, liberalism, and conservatism away from me. Capitalist? Fine…be the best capitalist you can be. Communist? Same to you. Socialist? OK by me. Something else entirely? EVEN BETTER. We aren’t a conglomeration of labels and hash tags. We are human fucking beings. We are Alive. So live mother fuckers!

My rights, your rights, and the rights of those humans and other living things around you are divinely given. Pandora trapped Hope in the jar for all of humanity.

Stepping down from the soap box now.

Have an unbelievable day! 😀

In Earnest,

King Pollux ~ Adam Kristofer Walkingstick King

P.S. For the other activists out there:

If you aren’t willing to die for your cause and your ideals why do you have them? Think on that. Hard. And with feeling.

(Almost) Foiled Video Introduction

Intro Video now on YouTube

20 FOLLOWERS! Woot woot!

(Technically 22, but we were out all afternoon getting the iMac fixed, eating delicious Thai food, and buying cigars and other smoking supplies so I missed the 20 mark.)

Thank you ALL so much! You’re all awesome!

Wonderful experience here at Word Press so far. Thank you Word Press, you’ve renewed my hope that blogging can be an awesome creative outlet for me.

Keep checking and I’ll continue to post short fiction, poetry, writing stories, videos, music, and all manner of fun stuff! I always enjoy reading all the blogs I follow. If I miss a post or something and you want to hear from me just poke me a bit. I do follow a lot of blogs so its hard to keep up already. I am also completely open for submissions, collaborations, or anything of that nature. Let me know!

I would love to hear from all of you, so comment or email away! My phone number is also available for text or talk if you ask.

I’m on Skype under lykeios_lysios and my main email is kingadam1989@gmail.com.

Much Love!

In Earnest, King Pollux ~ Adam Kristofer Walkingstick King

P.S. This was supposed to have a video in it, but Word Press ate it. The Android app didn’t alert me to the fact that I need to upgrade to “video press” until AFTER I’d recorded and written this post. Money is tight, so for now I may have to re-record and post to YouTube. Bummer, man.

P.P.S. HA! I got the video up on YouTube finally! There I am!

Still Procrastinating

Well, no editing has been done on any of my works. Anyone surprised?

Hey, look at me! I’m the over-caffeinated, nicotine poisoned, bi-polar, egomaniac come to save you all from your doomed existence in frivolity and slavery!

On the plus-side, I did get my “laptop” up and running again after I accidentally corrupted its BIOS.

Huh? What’s that Sis? Oh, I didn’t tell them that story yet? Well, I’d better do that now. Sit down, brothers and sisters and friends, and read well. Iiiiiiiits…

Story Time with Pollux!

A few weeks ago, back in late November, I moved out here to Mechanicsburg, PA to live with my “twin flame” and her parents. She has a nice shiny iMac and I’d brought my little Gateway laptop.

So, I was playing around with some security auditing and “hacking” tools just for fun, right? I rooted my Android phone, then Admin-ed my Windows 7 OS and rooted my Ubuntu OS (both on my laptop).

I was doing simple things, you know, SSH-ing the iMac, pinging networks and gaining administrative privilege to them, and decided to backup all my systems. So, I backed up both partitions on the Gateway (that’s Ubuntu and Windows 7, keep up) as well as my JellyBean Android OS. Uh-oh! Big problems.

My “sister’s” expensive five-year-old Apple began acting up. It grey-screened. By then she was almost hysterical and I completely baffled.

“What the FUCK did I do?”

See, other than the rooting and secure-shelling, this is all stuff I’ve done safely and under the supervision of an Information Systems teacher. (I forgot to mention I dropped out of the IS certification/degree program when I left California. So, I usually know what the hell I’m doing with computers and such. I’d never broken any computer on accident before and never FUBAR’d one so thoroughly without being able to fix it almost immediately.) Cansas, my twin, used to repair/refurbish iBooks and other Apple systems, so she is also baffled as well as pissed the fuck off.

We tried turning off the network (I’d setup network boots on all systems, we still don’t quite know exactly how the hell I did all this without so much as touching the iMac) and wiping the Mac’s hard drive to reinstall/upgrade the OS. Even worse.

At this point I’m shitting bricks and my sis is beginning to calm down and say “This isn’t possible. How did you do this to an Apple system without touching it? What the hell did you do!?” My only response was “I am so so so sorry! I don’t know what the fuck I did! I showed you everything I was doing.”

Well, my laptop fails at about the time we realize that the iMac just had a failed hard drive. The thing was scheduled to go out in the near future anyway, so the strain of trying to update to Mavericks and being wiped a couple times caused it to just say “buh-bye.”

I tear my laptop apart (mind you, this was a gift from my parents, so it really sucked) and try to boot from a USB rescue disk. Its still sitting on our counter-top down in our apartment, a bare motherboard and peripheries.

frankenputer

There it is booting. Oh, my creation lives!

Finally, after weeks of stressing the fuck out and screaming at various electronics (as well as a couple of bewildered tech-support agents), I’ve got the laptop working again. Turns out…factory reset usually does the trick. Thank the Gods I had backups of all my files on the external drive.

The iMac is still collecting dust, but we have all the necessary tools and components to fix it. Yea, Cansas procrastinates aaaaaaalllmost as hard as I do. (Sorry, sis, I think I win this booby-prize.)

Moral of this story, kids? Don’t hack an entire sub-domain of Verizon fiber networks and then upload your OS…it WILL corrupt the kernel of any system it touches.

(Still…the heady rush of gaining admin power over any network I touched was freaking awesome. Mwa…ha…ha…ha. Beware the Crazed PenMonkey Rainbow-hat Haccker!)

In any event, I need to get some editing done soon.

Have an unbelievable day you all!

In Earnest,

King Pollux ~ Adam Kristofer Walkingstick King

On the NEXT exciting episode of Story Time with Pollux:

Will the two-hundred pound net of writhing stuffed caterpillars and assorted insects fall from the ceiling to crush our intrepid Hero Twins? Tune in again next time!

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