Viral Video Vini Vici Vino Vincent Vickie, via Wiki

The colonists looked everywhere but in each other’s eyes.

Despite their knowledge, their scientific curiosity and their access to the ISSA Net database, none of them was quite willing to talk about the elephant in the room:

When the only source of protein, the flesh of a recently-deceased colonist, was known to contain stage-4 cancer, was it edible?

On so many levels — emotional, ethical, practical, moral.

Back on Earth, body parts recycled for food had entered the fictional mainstream eons ago, the food made flesh (or was that the other way around?) long before Martian colonisation became a buzzword, let alone a reality.

On Mars, though, there was not the sophisticated equipment to separate healthy flesh from diseased flesh.

Malnutrition and scurvy had swept through some of the outer settlements.

Colony No. 1 was not supposed to suffer the fate of poor planning and execution.

Burying the dead was no longer an option, had been argued and regulated out of existence several generations back.

The colonists put the decision off a day.

Sure, they were rational beings but mourning the dead was still an active part of their subculture.  Give themselves a day to grieve before making this important decision, they told each other without saying a word by leaving the lab where a dear friend, colleague and family member lay motionless, eternally unresponsive.

Learning and doing

Reminder to self no. 1000000.

While the noise of a television channel blares, filling the silence of an automobile repair shop, I review last night’s thoughts.

My wife pays for dancing lessons in order to put me in a showcase at Madison Ballroom. Thus, the dance instructors ensure they involve my wife in the choreography practice sessions (even though she is not in the showcase) so she will not fall behind. Yet, she and I never dance very often at local clubs or ballrooms.

I am comfortable in the presence of my wife but I am not desirous of dancing with her.

I find I do not feel validated as a man by her, mainly because she does not desire to make herself look physically attractive for me.

It becomes a descending cycle of loss of physical contact between us.

After 27 years of marriage and 40 years of knowing each other, the familiarity of this cycle has become the norm between us.

I continue reducing my weight anyway, a mild form of physical discipline nowhere near the old military workouts of old.

Discipline in all areas of my life may improve in response.

It’s the big picture on which I focus, allowing personal thoughts to pass through this blog seamlessly.

Mimeminemine

I’ve found myself taking for granted the professional massage techniques of Abigail who was able to work years of pentup stress out of chest muscles yesterday. Thank you, dear friend, for kneading the knots out which has opened my frame for better posture.  Where have you been my whole life?

May your Minnie Mouse dream decor become a reality!

[Recording conversation for future chapters]

“I have, and Guin agrees she has too, created my own set of rules for my life…and stuck to them.  But my boyfriend has no rules.  He believes that it’s okay for him to be polyamorous but he wants all of his girlfriends to be monogamous only to him, there when he needs them.”

“You wondered why my boyfriend made a big throat-clearing sound when you mentioned the redhead?  She used to be his girlfriend.  It just didn’t work out.  Didn’t stop her from coming to my birthday party.  You remember how she sat upfront, trying to get attention the whole time.  Well, Kirby was curious about how many people my boyfriend had slept with, pointing to one woman after another, Guin saying ‘Yes’ over and over.  As the redhead walked behind Kirby, he said out loud, ‘Sounds to me like Bai’s boyfriend has fucked every girl in this room!’  That ended things completely for the redhead.”

“You know the woman who usually takes the money at the club?  She has an emotional attachment, a ‘text relationship,’ with my boyfriend.  When she found out he was going back to France, she took it personally, asking why he was leaving her.  He leads her on without knowing it, or at least not acknowledging it.  He keeps saying that he will have time for her later and doesn’t want to end their friendship before they become lovers.”

“Two months ago, I finally realised that I am truly polyamorous.  My friends were shocked that I didn’t already know.”

“Why did I get divorced?  I had an affair because I knew but didn’t know I was polyamorous and needed more than my husband’s love.  He had an affair just to get back at me.  He left me and then he came back.  Did it twice.  The second time I got pregnant and had a miscarriage.  It pretty much ended our marriage.”

“George, my flat mate in a month, broke up with his girlfriend a few minutes ago.  She went to get beer to try to make it up to him.  She just saw me walk out of the flat and dropped the beer on the sidewalk.  She started crying that she had no place to go.  She’d have to get a hotel room because she didn’t want to move back in with her parents.  She said she would come back for her things after she cleaned up the beer.”

“She was only living with him for three weeks and had already brought her Crock Pot to the flat.  Now that’s love!”

“She spent 15 minutes writing that goodbye note.  Can you believe it?”

“The girl was crazy.  Sure, she worked in the media office on the military base, reporting straight to the highest-ranking female general in the Army.  But I’m telling you, she was crazy.  We’d been friends for two years and only become lovers a few weeks ago.  She starting talking about marriage, kids…wanted to know where I was going all the time.  I couldn’t take it.  If I want to go next-door and sleep overnight at my friend’s place, that’s my business, you know?”

Walking to the bus to catch a ride to work

Today we were scheduled to give you an update on our Kickstarter campaign but our Creative Arts department had secretly accepted a contract to make propaganda posters for a government that goes without saying and said government pushed forward its publishing deadline due to changes in global politics.

We think the real excuse is the art department’s employees spending last night and today breaking down the subliminal messages hidden in the video, I Don’t Need a Reason, by Dizzee Rascal.

However, just because our ISP has documented logs that Dizzee’s video had been viewed and downloaded more often than Blurred Lines over the Labour Day weekend does not mean proof of cause is in the correlation pudding.

For you, the readers, the bottom line is this: an empty bottom line.

Time for this author to take apart an old computer for a future yard sculpture display — he may be bad at reading signs and signals between members of his species but he can always analyse electronic messages and hug his cats to meet his minimal companionship needs.

Salami, or as they say in Gaelic, c’est la vie!