Mike Falconer

Dead Computers

The hopes and dreams of fantasy realms
Full of un-potential
Snake skin remnants of working lives
Now just sharp edges and dirt

Dead computers; totems of a different age.
Relics of an hour ago
Forgotten exuberance transferred like data
Rehomed, like the homeless

Value only in magic
The house lights glare of “time to go home.”
Heavy metals, plastic, and silicon
Toxic in death, like in life

Dead end portals
Awash with loss and age
Lives approximated and abandoned
The saddest of detritus

The once prized, now less than forgotten

Fracture

Words have power.

Meaning.

Consequence.

The dialog becomes about ownership of facts

Our facts versus their facts

Their source versus ours

Is trolling, to question and debate?

Since when did “I think you are mistaken,” become “how dare you interact?”

To fracture a society, is to disagree not about fundamental principles of what is right and what is wrong.

But to disagree on how, or if, to discuss them.

To argue over the appropriateness of citing a source

Or one’s willingness to be blinded by belief.

Ownership of bias

Emotion.

Truth.

A Friend on Facebook

A friend told me of crying, fearing for her life, over being arrested for a broken tail light.

A friend told me of losing followers over her support for the killing to stop.

A friend told me of the fear of the violence reaching her business and of searching for a plan.

A friend told me of watching demonstrators being tear gassed on the Strip.

A friend told me of strangers cleaning graffiti, from stores during the day.

A friend told of the police attacking a peaceful demonstration so that the President could have a photo op.

A friend told me that from their position of privilege they could not possibly understand, but that they would still stand up and support.

A friend told me of threats of violence and rioting over twitter, and of how they were scared.

A friend told me that white men with guns in a government building protesting the lack of a haircut was not the same as black men rioting over a lack of hope, a lack of opportunity, and murder due to indifference.

A friend told me of their broken heart.

A friend told me that posting on social media was not enough, and to f*cking do something.

A friend told me of art being looted.

A friend told me of police taking the knee in solidarity.

A friend told me of police driving into protestors.

A friend told me of buildings burned to the ground, of people shot, and stores looted.

A friend told me protestors protecting an officer separated from his team.

A friend told me that looting and burning of property was just a crime.

A friend told me that the cost of peaceful protests was football careers, ridicule, and a lack of change.

A friend told me of civil war, marshal law, and the national guard.

A friend told me that they are emotionally drained.

A friend didn’t have to tell me that black lives matter.

The Toxic You

I thought I knew what being around toxicity was like.

I was wrong.

Toxicity, for those that have not tasted it does not taste like poison.

It tastes like nectar. It is oxygen to a drowning man.

If you have not been there, you don’t know.

You can’t.

It blinds the senses, rewrites your thoughts, changes your environment.

Facts don’t matter, to either side. What matters is the distortion field. The alternative reality created by people with twisted perception.

Was I also toxic?

Almost certainly.

Both sides went into this with our eyes open and plucked out our eyes in the process.

I can feel a piece of myself dying, as I lose myself in someone else.

It is the nagging doubt, the itch you cannot scratch, the slow death of one’s identity and soul.

Toxicity is the last hit of smack before the promise to quit, huddled in a city center shop doorway.

Toxicity is a shot whisky in your car at 10AM in a parking lot.

Toxicity is the entire tub of double fudge ice cream, eaten in a single sitting, on the couch, with a spoon, and after dinner.

What is often forgotten is that the lack of toxicity does not mean that a healthy world view is left.

What is left is a hole.

A void where personality, interaction, and what felt like love

lived.

Do they think they are toxic? Are people just people?

Like mixing ammonia and bleach, some things just don’t go together.

And like chlorine gas, we drive others away.

We can’t be told what everyone else knows.

“But…”

there is always an excuse. A reason why reason does not apply.

At rock bottom, all one can see are stones.

Days of Jet

Day 460:

Goodbye my old friend.

Through it all my only regret is that I met you, and got to know you, when there were less days in front of you than behind.

All time is precious and we made the most of it.

Even near the end when you did not walk so well, and eating had become difficult

(although it did not stop you almost taking my finger off when I fed you some chicken nuggets this morning),

you looked at me with the love that only a dog can provide.

The look that says I will follow you anywhere,

do anything with you,

because I am your dog and you are my human.

You came to me as thrown away trash, you leave me loved by many who have been touched by your story,

and leaving a hole in my heart.

Rest in peace Jet.

Unlucky

There is a book that does not get the recognition it deserves…

It predicted Trump and his team’s downfall, due to his complete lack of interest in the job of government. That they would cause serious damage to the United States, and possibly the world, due to apathy.

Due to a lack of humility.

Due to a lack of competence.

Due to a lack of understanding.

Due to a lack of curiosity.

Due to a lack of history.

Due to a lack of education.

Due to a lack of care.

Due to a lack of preparation.

Due to a lack of vision.

Due to a lack of imagination.

Due to a lack of faith in others.

And not in any way whatsoever due to a lack of luck.

It did not have to be this way. “Some people just want to see the world burn.”

Enjoying the flames?

(This originally appeared on Quora in response to: Is President Trump the most unlucky president of all time?)

The Deep State

Do you know what “failed” nation states all have in common?

Weak institutions.

A Supreme Court that cares more about political allegiances than the law or what’s right or wrong.

A high level police force that can be manipulated, or dismissed, when those in power find it convenient to do so.

A press that cannot get access, or answers to basic questions, unless they turn into propaganda mouthpieces with no critical thought allowed.

Scientific advisors, and agencies, who are contradicted, see their advice ignored, or even suggested that they are falsifying data because it is expedient to do so.

No protection for whistleblowers, or those who contradict the regime.

The pardoning of criminals because they are friends, or fixers, and the persecution of those who would dare to cross those more powerful.

The gifting of contracts to friends and friendly causes, and the sacking of the public purse.

Second chambers of elected officials who forget that their responsibility is to those who elected them, not to the people they are supposed to be holding accountable.

Any of this sound familiar?

The “Deep State” is people who have chosen to serve their country and believe in institutions are important. They are highly competent, professionals, who believe the work they do matters. That it is important. And that loyalty to the people is more important than any one “leader.”

(An answer, originally on Quora, to the question: “Does the “deep state” that Trump and many conservatives believe opposes his presidency actually exist? Isn’t it just part of his Administration? What specific actions does Trump accuse this “deep state” of taking against him?” Original post here. )

What Made Battlestar Galactica so Important?

This is a complex question, with way more than one correct answer.

As has already been mentioned, it was made in the aftermath of 9/11, and in particular the American reaction to 9/11. It is hard to not see almost all of it as an allegorical tale of the Bush years.

It was not afraid of very difficult subjects.

It is hard to think of another TV show that made a sympathetic argument for suicide bombers.

It dealt with military overreach, torture, and war crimes; while still acknowledging the need, and respect for the military and the people who embraced it as a way of life.

It dealt with genocide, compromise with the enemy, religion, the abuse of religion, suicide, drug and alcohol abuse, and fate.

Workers rights, the rights of succession, and political system were all dealt with in depth with an intelligence rarely seen on television and never seen on a science fiction show.

On the production side it embraced a much grittier type of science fiction. There were no lasers, aliens, or “heroes.” The characters were all flawed, they committed crimes, they were selfish, and could be wrong for the right reasons and right for the wrong ones.

BSG was also a flagship show for a very poorly thought of network – Sci-Fi as it was then called. It brought the network a lot of credibility in the shape of reviews and awards. People who would have never watched the Sci-Fi Channel tuned in every week. There probably would not have been a Walking Dead, or even the current form of AMC if it were not for Battlestar Galactica.

In addition, and remember this is before twitter and Facebook became mainstream, the show makers – in particular Ronald D. Moore – embraced communicating with their audience. Ron Moore posted a Podcast commentary for all the episodes of the latter seasons. They also developed two webisode series which lead directly to the Hollywood Writers strike which almost torpedoed the final season of BSG. They were also okay with poking fun at themselves – the “What the Frak” series recaps pointed out the flaws in the show but it did not matter.

Finally, the show was just well made. It was very well written and directed. Many of the writers finished on BSG and moved on to Game of Thrones (it is hard to imagine GOT getting green lit without BSG). When Lost had literally lost its way, BSG had the same writers room freedom but was coherent and cohesive.

Battlestar Galactica ignored the usual tropes and talked about what mattered to people at the time. It showed what television could be.

(This originally appeared on Quora as an answer to: What made Battlestar Galactica such an important television series?)

Do You Still Go To Concerts?

Yes.

In Las Vegas.

Why?

Because.

Fuck.

Him!

How dare he do that to our town.

How dare he attack people who live here, who visited here, and people who just wanted to have a fun evening out.

How dare he use our town and then abuse it in the worst way.

I went to Life is Beautiful, a huge outdoor festival in Downtown Las Vegas about 10 months after the shooting. There was a tangible police presence during the festival. Police on every rooftop. Police on patrol, police in golf carts.

And guess what?

Everyone had a great, safe time.

So fuck him. We will not let him damage our town and the people who visit to have good time.

This originally appeared on Quora in answer to: Since the shooting at Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas, do you still go to outdoor concerts?

This is Jet

This is Jet

Jet’s owners brought him into their vet and told the front desk that they wanted to “donate” him.

When they were informed that “donating” a dog was not a thing they left. They returned five minutes later and said that they wanted to euthanize him. “He’s old, he pees in the house, and we are going on a trip and he can’t come,” was the reason that was given.

I was working “on the floor” at the time and I was vaguely aware of this interaction going on, and I asked one of the staff if the owners just wanted to surrender the dog to animal control so that he could go to the pound? We do get this request from time to time, and while we don’t like taking them, it is better than the pet being put to sleep.

The answer came back that yes, that was what they wanted to do. The handed over his leash, patted him on the head, said “goodbye puppy” and walked out the door.

Jet was brought back through the hospital and what I saw was a sad, confused, lost, and in poor shape twelve year old dog that nobody wanted.

It broke my heart.

I told the staff to get the reference number from animal control when they came to pickup. Two days later I went to the shelter and picked up Jet and took him home.

In cases like this we require that animal control take legal possession before any staff member, including me, adopts them.

Jet was in pretty poor shape. He was thin, his coat was coarse and in clumps. The photo above, unfortunately, does not really show how bad he looked. He got on fine with my other dogs, however, so he had a home. Initially, I thought that we might be putting him down in a few days due to ill health – I was pretty convinced he had diabetes. But I wanted to give him a chance.

His first night at my house, Jet did indeed pee in the house.

It was the first and only time he did this.

The next day I took him back to work and got him medically checked out. Much to my surprise, he received a clean bill of health.

Today, Jet looks a lot healthier and at times looks like the world’s happiest dog.

He eats well, regularly goes to an amazing dog park, sits on the couch to watch movies and, from time to time, sleeps on my bed.

He has his own instagram and goes on lots of adventures.

(Yes, that’s Jet and Jill Sobule)

I have no idea how long we have together, but there is not a day that goes by when I don’t think, not how lucky Jet is, but how lucky I am to have him in my life.

(This originally appeared on Quora in answer to: Have you ever adopted a pet from a shelter?)