aroslav: Blog

We're all a bunch of Yahbuts. I don't care how far right or left or center you are, you're a Yahbut. How religious or pagan you are, you're a Yahbut. How Black, White, Brown, Red, or Yellow you are, you're a Yahbut. How straight, gay, bi, or trans you are, you're a Yahbut. How rich or poor you are, you're a Yahbut. Our nation is populated with Yahbuts.

Name any social, legal, religious, or political issue and the person next to you will say "Yah but…"

"Black lives matter." "Yah but all lives matter."

"Beach parties have been spreading CoVid-19." "Yah but riots expose people, too."

"White male patriarchy is keeping women and people of color under their thumbs." "Yah but not all men."

"Racism is worse today than in 1965." "Yah but Obama didn't help it."

"Police need to step in and quell the riots." "Yah but they started it."

"A policeman killed a black man by kneeling on his neck for nine minutes." "Yah but a policeman killed a white man by kneeling on his neck for thirteen minutes."

"Hillary was responsible for Benghazi." "Yah but Trump colluded with the Russians."

"He's not perfect, but we need to get behind Biden." "Yah but we could all vote for Jo."

"The Bible is against homosexuals." "Yah but we don't stone divorcees."

"You need to wear a mask to stop the spread of CoVid-19." "Yah but a virus is smaller than a fart and your jeans don't stop that."

"Black people were held in slavery here for over two hundred years." "Yah but white people were enslaved in the Middle East."

It's almost as if people actually believe their apologetics (systematic argumentative discourse in defense (as of a doctrine). Merriam-Webster) mean anything. All they do is avoid responsibility for the current situation. They don't justify it and they don't offer a solution. But if you can find some shred of implied contradictory 'evidence,' then the problem stated isn't really a problem. Sometimes we even contradict and minimize our own evidence so we don't have to deal with it.

"There was a peaceful protest of a dozen students carrying BLM signs outside the store." "Yah but there wasn't a single person of color among them." (0.95% of the population of that town were Black, according to 2010 census data. Therefore, at least 11% of one of those people should have been Black???)

We just point out an unrelated, if factual, observation and assume that negates the problem presented or turns it into an irrelevant factoid.

"CoVid-19 has killed over 130,000 Americans this year." "Yah but abortion kills millions." (650,000 in the most recent year statistics are available.)

Look! I did it right there! I negated an abortion factoid by correcting the number to a much lower number. I didn't address abortion at all, but simply negated the assertion as irrelevant and exaggerated. We are all a bunch of Yahbuts! I have never met a person who didn't engage in this four-year-old's behavior. "He hit me!" "Yah but she called me a name."

It's really time for all the preschoolers running around in congress, the senate, the white house, the judiciary, the community councils, the police force, the churches, and our individual neighborhoods to grow the fuck up and start dealing with the problems instead of justifying them with irrelevant nonsense.

"Yah but…"

I've been excited about the new story by J-Hop I'm writing and posted about yesterday, but completely overlooked the fact that the book he was introduced in, Double Take, was voted Best Erotic Do-Over 2019 in the Clitorides Awards. This is Book 1 in "The Transmogrification of Jacob Hopkins" which continues to post currently with Book 4, Double Twist. Thank you to all who voted in this year's Clitorides. As the only awards for erotica I know of, the Clitorides are obviously the industry leader!

I'm putting that virtual trophy right there on my virtual mantle. I'd like to thank my mother, rest her soul, who is no doubt spinning in her ministerial grave and pleading with St. Peter for mercy on my soul.

Good intentions but I got a little sidetracked.

I managed to finish and get edited Adams' Apples early this week and it will start posting on my Patreon today. Not sure when it will release here, but I'm guessing by mid-July. Pixel wanted to take one more pass through the story because I rewrote it and he knows I missed some things and introduced some errors. I made a lot of corrections to the first five chapters before making the upload to patrons today, but I'll correct anything else he identifies as well.

And I got another chapter completed of the rewrite of Wayzgoose's American Royalty that I'm currently calling Rise and Awaken. This is such a completely different story than the original that I expect I'll post it here under the new title as a new story.

And I managed one more chapter of my Swarm Cycle story in which the Pussy Pirates actually get to engage in battle. I thought I'd write the concluding chapter this past week, but things got in the way. And that story won't appear here for at least a couple of months as it needs to be reviewed by the Swarm Authors Guild before it can be approved as a story in that universe. I'm sure they'll be able to suggest extensive changes as I know nothing about technology, weaponry, military, or battle. I'm looking forward to learning more than I ever wanted to know!

But I didn't get it finished and I have a 'good' reason. I wrote a different story!

Let me also explain that I was on the road a couple of days and had to cope with incompetent trailer repairmen, a broken refrigerator that thawed all my meat and left it to rot in the sun for ten days, buying groceries, cleaning, and trying to get my campsite up and running. So, I've been pressed for time.
But driving always puts me in the mood to write because characters talk to me and I had seven hours of inspired thinking as I drove from Seattle to Spokane.

"Why inspired?" you might ask.

Well, on my way out of town, I decided to grab an extra cup of coffee for the drive and instead of sensibly driving up to the nearest Starbucks, I made a U-turn and pulled into our version of the 'bikini barista' to order a coffee. I don't often go there, but I have stopped by before and learned not to expect much. The baristas are mostly not worthy of what they are showing or the price they are charging. I was surprised this time.

The young woman serving me Thursday was beautiful in a way that went slightly beyond most twenty-somethings. She wasn't in a bikini, but rather a one-piece. She was at the espresso machine when she took my order and so the first thing I saw was an absolutely magnificent butt! I couldn't take my eyes off it and when she noticed, she began dancing a little and making those round globes do all kinds of tricks. It might be a little bigger than some guys prefer, but all I could think about was waking up in bed with that butt spooned against my cock. And I could see it all because the back of the suit consisted of a piece of butt floss that split at her waist and went over her shoulders to hold the front up.

We had a pleasant conversation and she came up close to the window to be sure I got a good view of the tits that showed through the nearly transparent fabric. Having done some research on the Wicked Weasel website, I've determined that she was about 5'3", 33/26/37. That fuels my fantasies, anyway. I wasn't five miles away by the time a storyline was developing!

But I had no idea how to set it until I happened to think of my currently running story, Double Twist, book 4 of "The Transmogrification of Jacob Hopkins." If you've read the story, you'll know that before Jacob discovered his talent on the guitar, he'd been contemplating becoming a writer. In fact, that was how he seduced his English teacher into his pod as she read his fiction and erotica to help him improve. I'd mentioned it frequently, but I've never exposed one of his stories.

I've taken out an alternate author name as J-Hop, the name Jacob uses for his online presence. And I've written over 6,000 words of this 'short story' that Jacob writes for Donna involving a bikini barista. I don't know exactly how long the story will be, but I'm guessing somewhere in excess of 10,000 words that I'll post under J-Hop's name. No real title yet, so I'll make multiple announcements when it's edited and up.

In other news, I hauled my old and broken down recliner out of the trailer yesterday and installed my brand new comfy La-Z-Boy recliner. When I was visiting back in Seattle as the trailer awaited its repair, my daughter decided she wanted to give me a new recliner for Father's Day! Not only that, she took it beyond the level that I would have purchased and made sure I got the chair I really wanted and not one I'd settle for. It's fabulous! I plan to write many words while sitting in this chair!

It was a little strange to see my daughter, her boyfriend, my ex-wife, and my step-husband for 10 days and not have had a single hug. Even in the house, we maintained social distance and only air hugs. We ate meals outdoors where there was room to spread out on the deck further. Whenever I left the house, I wore my mask and stayed well clear of people.

I'm interested in some statistics as I try to stay healthy and keep from exposing others to anything I might pick up and not be aware of. As the US has now climbed to the most infected area of the planet and the European Union has openly declared they won't allow Americans in when they re-open, a couple of stats have emerged.

First, The US has climbed to 30,000 new cases per day with Florida leading the way with 9,000 new cases on Thursday this week. The EU, which has a population 30% higher than the US, is now reporting about 4,000 cases daily. And it shows clearly that it is not because they aren't testing as many. They are testing more.

Of course, everyone was expecting the rise in American cases because of all the protests, right? Except that contact tracking of infected people has shown that few have come from the protests where, aside from the police, people have been quite respectful of each other. Instead, the new cases are coming from other large gatherings (like beaches), family gatherings, restaurants, and public entertainment. All the places people have been complaining they couldn't go to and wanted the lockdown lifted from. Houston reports that it has exceeded its ICU capacity and hospitals in several other areas, especially in the south, have said they won't be able to take many more patients.

But let's all remember, none of this is real. It's all because of the deep state and 5G coils they are transporting around on trucks broadcasting 5Gs all over. 5Gs get inside your mask and get trapped there like CO2 and other toxins and give you CoVid 19 because Bill Gates took money from Soros to develop it on Hillary's email account which is why Obama wore a tan suit. Got it?

Right. To find out what I really think, check out my First Exit blog. Happy reading.

This week, at chapter 176 of "The Transmogrification of Jacob Hopkins" (Double Twist), 84-year-old Jacob in his 18-year-old body made his stand. He saw and felt real injustice and made public his stand in front of the National Service Reform Commission. I'm surprised that it only took the old man in him eighty-four years before he could speak out against injustice. And you can bet, that decision will affect everything in Jacob's life and his pod from this point forward. The story is a total of 239 chapters by the time we reach the end of book 5, Double Team.

Comments and email were a bit reserved, perhaps because we are all torn about making a stand regarding today's injustices and social issues. I know I am. I find I know where I want to stand but there are many effective arguments to the contrary. Most promoted by people who are far more vociferous in their arguments than I am.

On the other hand, I got this comment by an elder statesman that seems to support Jacob completely: "As for 'Jacob, you need to be polite', I cry =Bull= =Shit=!!! -Some- things need to be said as they -are-! The 'commission' =needs= to face up to what is happening ... and that includes the high suicide, et al, rate! The people 'in charge' of what is going on, =especially= in the agro fields/areas, should be yanked out of their (relatively) cushy positions and have =seeeerious= disciplinary measures taken for their incompetence and/or corruption [she =slept= her way to help her friend?!!]. There is =no= call for all those suicides. Spin it any way you want, but I'm not backing off. ((Yes, I'm well aware that that sort of thing goes on =today=, too!))"

If I make a cogent argument about something in one of my stories, it is because I have spent days crafting how I want to say it and then my characters toss the argument off as though it was spontaneous. And I still miss the mark at times.

Here's an example. I've been in relative isolation for six months. It wasn't because I was afraid of any disease. It's because that's the way I live. I often go days on end without speaking to anyone when I'm camped, and that period of six months saw me camped in single locations with little contact for longer periods of time. As soon as the lockdown started, I started wearing a mask on my two trips a month to get supplies of groceries and medication. Then I got up to my Idaho summer camp and wore a mask whenever I was near people.

But one friend chose to argue that masks weren't effective, and ridiculed their use. His argument? If your jeans can't stop a fart, how can a cloth mask stop a virus? He argued with evidence presented by a doctor supposedly significant in the discovery of mad cow disease and getting a cure for it. Viruses are smaller than fart particles, a mask won't stop them.

I had no answer for days as I studied and asked myself if masks were not effective because jeans couldn't stop a fart. He's right-as far as his analogy goes. But a single cough releases about 3,000 droplets at about 50 miles per hour. A single sneeze may release 30,000 droplets at about 200 miles per hour. Either could contain as many as 200,000,000 viral particles. It takes about 1,000 to infect a person. And a cloth mask doesn't stop the particles. It stops the propulsion. If I blow on my hand, I feel the air move on my hand. If I blow through a cloth toward my hand, I don't feel the air move. The viral particles are airborne and at 200 miles per hour can be across a room in less than a second. A large room. If I cut the air movement to 5 miles per hour, I reduce the chance of that particle reaching you before the droplets fall to the ground.

So, I keep wearing my mask when I'm in proximity to other people. Not for me. It's so I reduce the risk of infecting you with something I don't know I'm carrying. I don't expect the same courtesy from you.

Equivalent of Jacob's stand? Hardly, but I've already offended my quota of people with my stand on black lives, anti-fascism, and anti-racism. Unsurprisingly, the same friends who won't wear a mask are the ones who think the police should just start shooting the protesters and rioters and get rid of them all. Add to the violence. We should know how well that works.

Some time ago-greater than two years-I made a statement on my First Exit blog that there was no longer such a thing as truth. Social media has made certain of that. People can't even agree upon the facts regarding something they personally witnessed. So, when people cite facts and data and tell me what the truth is, it really doesn't tell me anything about truth. It tells me what kind of person he is that wants to believe that is truth. It's been that way for thousands of years.

Jesus answered, "You say that I am a king. In fact, the reason I was born and came into the world is to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me."
"What is truth?" retorted Pilate. (John 18:37-38 NIV)

I finished the first draft of Adams' Apple this week and am awaiting the last two chapters to be returned from my fine editors. In the meantime, I completely rewrote it. I probably undid some of their hard work, but not much. The question is whether I should release it now, or wait until I have run down on other projects a little. It's timely, since it deals with a virus that threatens to end humanity. But at the same time, I hate to keep overlapping stories when there will come a time in a few months that I might not have anything running.

That's not such an issue here on SOL as it is for my Patreon subscribers because they get things earlier than they are offered here. Currently, they are reading the last book of Jacob's story, as well as a re-release of American Backroads complete with pictures from my travels, and a Wayzgoose story named Willow Mills that will probably never make it to these hallowed pages because it has limited audience and a complicated format that is not conducive to the SOL reading experience. I'll get another story ready for release by my alter ego sometime soon. Once again, I'm deep in rewrites.

This week, I'm visiting my daughter in Western Washington while my trailer is undergoing what I thought were minor repairs but are taking more time than they take, of course. She has just told me that for a Father's Day gift she plans to give me a new recliner for the trailer. So, we're about to go shopping. My current recliner is suffering from wear and tear and is in crippled condition. There's at least one broken spring and the seat sags so far that I'm afraid I'll double up and slide out the back.

Did you know a recliner won't stop a fart?

I've just finished rereading Double Team, the fifth and last in "The Transmogrification of Jacob Hopkins" series. I released the eBook version to my patrons today and decided to just re-read the book from front to back this week. It brought a lot of things home, including the social strife we are currently undergoing in America. Some of it was painful to read but it is a message of hope and possibility. I've been reminded of late that nothing I wrote, sadly, is beyond the realm of possibility. I hope it's not a reflection of reality.

In addition to making me think about our current situation, it made me think about my situation last year when I was writing the story.

First of all, let me just get this out front right now. I am ANTIFAscist, ANTIRAcist, and believe with all my heart that Black Lives Matter. If you tell me 'All lives matter,' I can only respond by saying thank you for agreeing with me. You cannot believe all lives matter if you don't believe black lives matter. All lives aren't currently in danger. Black lives are. Focus on the problem or be the problem.

Now that I have that out of the way-and I cordially invite all fascists, racists, and people using 'all lives matter' as a means of trivializing the present threat to black lives to stop reading both this post and all my stories-let me get back to when I was writing Double Team. There's more on this subject in my First Exit blog.

I keep surprisingly good records of what I write. I don't know why I can't keep such good records for my taxes. I began writing Double Team on June 30, 2019. From the first of April until the end of June, I wrote and posted for patrons, a chapter of the Jacob Hopkins saga every day. (It's a total of 237 chapters.) I began this book at that pace. On July 5th, I walked off the pickleball court where I played every morning and said I couldn't play any longer because I couldn't catch my breath. That began the summer of hell.

I managed to get a doctor's appointment at my home clinic (a 350-mile drive from my summer camp). I stopped at every rest area to take a nap because I couldn't stay awake for the whole trip. After an examination, my doctor declared I had late-developing asthma. She prescribed albuterol and a steroid inhaler and sent me back to Idaho. That was July 26th. I attended a wedding that evening and driving from Lakewood WA to Lynnwood WA after the wedding (about 50 miles) I had to stop after 20 miles and take a nap. And I left the reception hours early.

My writing productivity declined. I was managing maybe three chapters a week instead of a chapter a day. And it kept getting worse. Twice, I went to the local clinic after spending a sleepless night in a panic attack because I couldn't breathe and expected to die. After the last visit, I booked a flight back to Seattle because I knew I couldn't drive that far and I needed to see the doctor. A friend took me to the airport. When I debarked from the plane and walked to the terminal, I had to stop and rest twice. My ex-wife, with whom I have a very good relationship, took me to my doctor on Tuesday, August 20. The doctor poked, prodded, and prescribed a more powerful (and expensive) steroid for my lungs. Then, as a last-minute check, she ordered an EKG.

When she came back into the examining room and told me my heart rate was 167 beats per minute and the cardiologist in Seattle wanted to see me right now, everything changed. I found out I was in a-fib and had been for two months while taking albuterol-known to cause the heart to race. The cardiologist ordered an echocardiogram, prescribed a heart regulating drug and blood thinner, and told me to be back on October 12 for cardioversion.

By that time, I'd already been in a-fib for more than two months and the drugs didn't seem to be helping. I wasn't sleeping more than an hour at a time, but fell asleep after fifteen minutes of attempting to do anything. Like write. My pace had gone down to 100 words and then sleep. 100 words and then sleep. I knew I didn't have much further to go to finish the book, but I was having a hard time getting there. And that is how the month of September went as I lost appetite and should have lost weight, but retained water pound for pound. My legs looked like tree stumps.

On September 22, I finished the Double Team manuscript and sent it off to my editors. September 27, I turned 70 years old. The next day, a friend drove me back to Seattle where I stayed with my ex and my daughter. When I had difficulty breathing and threw up the hardboiled egg it had taken me over half an hour to eat, on Monday, my daughter called my doctor and they told her to bring me directly to the emergency room. I had cardioversion the next morning on October 1, eleven days before I was scheduled.

My heart was back in correct rhythm, but I still couldn't breathe. I had so much water in my system that I was coughing non-stop and nearly suffocating in my sleep. Lung capacity tests showed I was breathing at about 35% capacity. Enter diuretics. A big dose. I dropped thirty pounds in the next two weeks. I weighed less than I had since I was a sophomore in high school. But I could breathe at last.

There was one more step and that was an ablation where they burned out the bad part of my heart on November 4. Two weeks to make sure everything was stable and I was on the road again.

My writing is not back to the frantic pace of a chapter a day again, but it is moving along nicely. When I read what I'd written during that time of illness, it brought back the pain I was in, the horror and panic over not being able to breathe, the inability to eat, the impossibly long walks from bed to shower. I remember what was going on in my own body as I wrote the climax of "The Transmogrification of Jacob Hopkins." I'm happy to say, we both survived.

I released Double Team to my patrons in eBook today. They are already well into the story in the online serial.

I took and take the pandemic seriously. I still wear my mask because even if it doesn't save me, perhaps it will save someone else. I maintain my social distance. I sit in my trailer and write yet another story (or three) to give to my readers. And I weep for the fact that in sixty years, since we marched for civil rights, protested on campuses and in the streets, and yes, even rioted when forced back by police or National Guard, we have learned nothing. We have turned back the clock on civil, gender, and individual rights. We have become less for having been here before.

Be well.