Memo to the Globe and Mail: "What happened to our ‘feminist’ Prime Minister?" We never had one.

Silly, silly questions.

The Globe and Mail has a column that seriously asks this question as a headline:

What happened to our ‘feminist’ Prime Minister?

SIllies, we never had one.

This is what privileged boys say to the gullible girlies to get what they want.

They will whisper all sorts of a sweet nothings in your ear, and then, once they get the goodies, behave the way they really do as they openly disrespect you and blame you for being naive. The second a certain cabinet minister stepped out of his line, she was kicked to the curb and brandished as being “difficult.”

But if you were real feminists yourselves, you would have seen the glaring warning signs a hundred miles away.

Even in the article, the blaring warning sign was there, and the columnist still doesn’t see the significance of the statement I underlined:

In September 2017 I was in the audience at the Women in the World Summit in Toronto, and listened to Prime Minister Justin Trudeau talk about his feminist bona fides. Well, first we had to watch a video – many clips set to a pumping rock score – on that subject.

…Then he made a very interesting point about how it was relatively easy to recruit women into politics, compared with keeping them there, which he called “a challenge around retention.” Women would be elected, he said, and after a couple of years wonder if this business was really for them, “because of the nastiness, because of the negativity.”

What? Are the womenfolk so weak and feeble they can’t take the heat and we need a man person to make it all nice and comfy for us? We needed Justy to give us all pats on the head and lollipops and balloons?

And you didn’t call him out right then and there? That’s as misogynistic as it gets.

Y’all are so hopelessly oblivious and naive, it’s too funny…

The Internet as Disruptor, Part One: Princes, Princesses, and their failure to compute the battlefield.

I always said that politicians should be drafted, not elected. If you want to be a politician, you shouldn’t be one. The ideal politician is one who is weeping as they are being dragged kicking and screaming to the highest level of office because they are too smart to run in the first place.

And it would shut up the Troll Scroll and the armchair bullshitters because they picked that person in the first place. It would be on them.

It would force people to be informed. There would be no passively marking an X on the ballot and expecting some They to give them goodies. Decide what is the most pressing issue, hold a referendum, and the sky is the limit of which citizens can be leader for a fixed term, but once they are in, what they say goes. No sass, no lip. Referenda for other issues, but the directional issues are entirely up to the one conscripted for the job, and once that job is done, they are honourably discharged and the next kicker and screamer is dragged up that hill.

When people ask me why I don’t get excited over politics, I point out we have a rigged system that favours the same kind of people. It is a never-ending rerun.

And in Canada, the people who run are bolstered by nepotism. We just recycle the names.

And there is a chasm between the roles of nepotistic politicians that few even see, let alone be able to make the leap.

Maclean’s has an interesting take on the Jody Wilson-Raybould-Justin Trudeau slapfest that is very instructive.

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The problem is both see themselves as a prince and princess, when the second they won the election, their roles radically changed.

When you win an election, you are on a chessboard. You are no longer a prince or princess. You may be a queen to your roots, but when you enter cabinet, you check your tiara at the door because you serve a bigger purpose.

Both forgot to check their tiara at the door.

Trudeau was elected prime minister, and he ascended from prince to king. That position is carved in stone, and that means you have to think like a king in battle. Not Buckingham Palace tourist attraction kind of king, but a king who has to think in terms of strategy and get the job done without making the Middle Class jittery because they are of a Zero Risk Mindset.

But Wilson-Raybould wasn’t in the queen position on the chess board. That was reserved for Chrystia Freeland, and at least she comprehends it as she follows order dutifully on behest of the king, never rocking the boat as she clumsily struts beside him giving him goo-goo eye stares. Her tenure is crap, but she knows she is on a chess board and moves as such.

Raybould was a knight on this board, not a princess. There are no princesses on a chess board. She was to fight on the king’s orders without hesitation. A knight doesn’t pick and choose her battles, merely her weapons and her strategy.

In that, she was woefully miscast, given the parameters. She had no clue she was on a chess board until she was demoted to mere pawn.

And then she snapped out her slumber and turned on the king with a series of very strategic moves the king never saw coming and was spectacularly blindsided, proving she is a highly proficient chess player when unleashed. He picked his chess pieces based on virtue-signalling and optics, and then did nothing to ready the board to battle a specific target because the cabinet was very Justin-centric and all about making him look good like a tourist attraction prince charming.

Because he had no idea he was on a chess board. He had no idea who his chess pieces were, what their reality interpretations were before being elected, and how to re-align those perceptions to fall into place.

If he were a capable strategist, he could have easily kept Wison-Raybould in her position, but used a vastly different strategy. She was no problem before the clash. She is obviously capable. The fault lies with the king who didn’t know his place, and hence, misaligned the board.

Part of the reason is that luxury brand names don’t make good leaders. They are always protected and shielded. Very few are thrown into a gladiator’s arena and made to fight for real. It’s a pity Wilson-Raybould’s talents were misused in cabinet. She can fight politically, and should have had Freeland’s post instead, and should have. USMCA would have been a better deal if we had someone not afraid to outmanoeuvre a world leader.

But the climate has changed where these kinds of gaffes are more common. Once upon a time, you would never had a regime this oblivious, and certainly not this soon. Canada thrives when it flies under the radar, but with the Internet giving the world free attention, when you have a prince used to getting all of it, he can get competitive and start focussing on too many selfies, not realizing how patently worthless they are as political currency.

The Internet has too many distractions, and is a warehouse of endless and worthless complaints. It has devalued criticism to the point of becoming mere noise, and devalued accolades to the point of creating ennui.

Princes are used to getting attention, and will even run for highest political office to get it. The problem is, if not properly groomed, they still keep thinking they are princes. It is just a paper crown, and an illusion.

And the Internet is the incubator of infinite illusions that turn into traps for people to fall into. Most do not have lofty positions where it actually matters.

But once you step on a chess board, you have to watch every step — and king’s must make as few as possible if they don’t wish to be checkmated, and the current king is two steps away from it…

First Julie Payette, now Jody Wilson-Raybould: Slag the Female as a political tool.

When Julie Payette was slagged in the pages of the National Post, you knew that she was behaving according to what her overlord thought she should, and then employed journalists to chasten her.

She was difficult! She is in for herself! Really, she is just not a nice person, and poor us for having to put up with the likes of her.

And we see the same playbook used for Jody Wilson-Raybould.

The Canadian Press was employed this time to do the public shaming:

Several Liberals approached Friday said they were confident the story came from Wilson-Raybould herself.

“She’s always sort of been in it for herself,” said one insider who didn’t want to be identified. “It’s never been about the government or the cabinet. Everything is very Jody-centric.”

Not a team player. Not a good girl.

Here she is, just an average schmuck, who got a visit from the political fairy godmother, and gave her a posh cabinet post, and then, she let it all go to her head and gave Prince Charming sass and lip, and she just ruined the Sunny Ways Narrative! How dare she?

Yeah, imagine that. A woman with her own convictions and stands by them.

I thought the hatchet job on Payette was calculated. I have the same thoughts on Wilson-Raybould.

Mind you, I do think there is some misunderstanding of the political process going on: people think a cabinet minister has autonomy: sure, just so long as you do whatever the reigning PM dictates you do. You get marching orders along with your paper crown or plastic tiara, and you march.

It is the reason I don’t get giddy over politics. It has always been about optics. Those optics are there to placate the Middle Class who think fairytales are reality and they can ignore how they are being played because some They is looking after them.

Now that the curtain has been lifted, it is making people very uncomfortable, and the more the PM tries to spin this, the worse it becomes. I seriously doubt this will be the only scandal to smack the Grits before October…

Jody Wilson-Raybould resigns from Cabinet. The Wild Ride continues.

She excuses herself from Cabinet, lawyers up with a top gun, and that is a very interesting turn.

The Ethics Commissioner is started to nose in this affair just before, and while the Prime Minister tries to back away from the stench, either way, his leadership is shoddy: you either were a leader a screwed up, or you lied and pretended you were a leader. Can’t have it both ways.

Is the treatment of Wilson-Raybould racist and sexist? Yes, it is, but politics is an ugly beast that will lure you will promises that it is neither. Sooner or later, that reality has to click in.

The decay of this regime has picked up speed and reminds me of Brian Mulroney’s final lap as PM. It is shocking how much sooner these little eruptions have been having for the Grits…

Jill Abramson getting pummelled by corrupt hypocrites: Just another day in the trash can called journalism.

For a profession that criticizes people viciously, journalists certainly do not like when people criticize them.

Oh, what a shock.

They either suppress information or try to tear into someone if their profile is high enough.

So when former New York Times editor Jill Abramson dissed on the corrupt and dead profession of journalism, the book couldn’t be ignored; so journalists went to attack her credibility like a rapist attacks the victim, blaming her and saying she deserved it.


Make no mistake: the level of vitriol has more to do that a woman dared call them out for their sins than the actual content.

Also note, it was the white boys who instigated this very coordinated hit.

So before discussing the guts of the allegations, let me point out that Jill Abramson made it all the way to News York Times editor.

A very lofty position in the profession. That’s as prestigious as you can get. 60 Minutes correspondent or head of a network news outfit possibly trump it.

Back then, she was doing the basic same things she did for her entire journalistic career, and she was employed and got promoted.

And that was just dandy keen for years.

But then she was a cheerleader on Team Journalism.

Now she isn’t.

I wrote a book on journalism’s ethics last year and that book was exhaustively researched.


I had no assistant. I did the entire researching and writing all by myself up in a cottage in Selkirk right on Lake Erie in the winter in the middle of nowhere because it was always my dream to write a book that way.


For five months, that is what I woke up to seeing every morning while drinking Turkish coffee. I wanted absolute solitude, but The Fabulous Ladies drove up every Sunday for brunch and mischief, and I am grateful. I did take some time out to go to Chicago to get semi-precious stones for my jewelry-making. I stayed at the fun and posh Virgin Hotel and dined at Miss Ricky’s and The Gage, but still brought my laptop to work on my book. I still have my little shower lamb from the Virgin Hotel


My book was ignored by journalists in public, though people are still buying it, despite the shut out. So much for free speech. As usual, word of mouth can break through any blacklist.

I still did an interview here and a funky one here.

But journalists couldn’t do that with Abramson. They had to stomp on her and stone her to discredit her work.

You cannot discredit mine, however. I did not go into journalism with stars in my eyes, and then turned into a bitter and disgruntled failure. I went in knowing exactly who they were, and wanted to study the profession by being a journalist for real. I conducted unprecedented and exhaustive experiments. My beat was the business of journalism and my audience were people in the profession.

When I had enough information to write an informed and empirically-sound exposé, I walked away.


I also wrote one on Fox News, and then over a decade later came When Journalism was a Thing.

Abramson was in deep, and as much as she knows about the people in that sketchy profession, those in the profession know all about her.

So those trolls knew where to look and how to strike.

And then went batshit crazy on her in a frenzy tirade, hoping to nullify her revealing of their disgusting dirt.

They nitpicked on a few facts, but even that is under debate. Journalists fuck up on facts all the time. They do not use empirical methods.

But then came the “chargeofplagiarism! Oh, no! Run for your lives! Don’t listen to the scary woman with the book that exposes us!

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It is a pathetic ruse.

The poseur “journalists” at the garbage publication Paste really overplayed the melodramatics:

Jill Abramson Is a Disgrace to Journalism

Yeah, as if you grifters know what this “journalism” is. You are not fooling anybody, you twits. Stop using the movie Reefer Madness as a guide on how to behave. You come off as disingenuous nerds.

The only publication with any sense here is the National Review that has a more accurate take:

Jill Abramson Is a Hack, Not a Thief

I am currently reading the book. She knows who she is dealing with. It is kind of a stretch to call it “plagiarism” because the writing for both are so banal and unoriginal, that really, it is like writing, “Bob likes his new job” and then someone else writes “Robert has positive feelings toward his most recent career” and then make some over-the-top tirade because you both are writing about the same damn thing.

Seriously, no winners here. I would not classify it as a “sourcing error”, either. I would classify this as typical journalism nincompoopity, and it needs to be replaced with a more responsible alternative.

Vice is pure garbage. Sexist pretentious trolls with one who got nabbed for being a drug dealer, and Vice got Canadian government money to boot. What does Vice know about journalistic ethics?

I wrote about Vice in my latest book. They are to journalism what a soiled jock strap is to journalism.

And they’re ranting about Abramson?

And other outlets are parroting their meltdown?

I can tell you straight up my book is exhaustively researched, and I didn’t plagiarize. I don’t need to because my writing is superior to Vice hacks or anyone else in that dead profession. It would be a serious step down from my own abilities.

So yes, the pot is calling the kettle black, but who is the pot and who is the kettle is your choice.

If you want to read a book that tells it like it is that doesn’t pull any punches and fears no angry mob of hacks, read When Journalism was a Thing.

You can even read while enjoying a cup of Turkish coffee — because you haven’t lived until you had a cup…

Actrivism, Part Five: A long and complicated journey into Mindwild.


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I was extremely fortunate that I was photographed by Villiam Hrubovcak and the picture is one of several from that photoshoot. He has shot everyone from Bjork, Elvis Costello, Billy Idol, to John Waters, and if I recall correctly, Ollie North.

I have this one he shot of me hanging in my living room.


It is still my favourite photograph of me.

Because I usually do not pose that way. I like my face in front, but he suggested it to show off my distinctive nose; so I did, never thinking that would have been the photograph I would have selected after. I like to break my own rules, decrees, truisms, routines, and theories, but in this case, someone made the suggestion.

I do take advise. I do take chances.

Because I am not afraid to question things or people, including myself.

I test my own theories, but every once in a while, someone shows you a place where you didn’t think of testing your own rules.

But when you are intellectually uninhibited, you can question everything and eventually figure out that’s how you find the facts of reality to find the truth.


Percentage-wise, Twitter brings me very little traffic to this site. I can easily deactivate my account, and my numbers would remain untouched. I have a modest, but steadily-increasing international base here, if I believe what the analytics are saying to me.

Wordpress wasn’t as accurate, and there were strange things happening. For long stretches, it would claim I had no traffic from Google searches, which I did not believe, and tested it myself on my other devices, and lo and behold, those didn’t register, either. Nice try. I cannot say the same for my current host Squarespace. So far, I am very happy with them. They are helpful, prompt, thorough, and I have never been left frustrated or have something I could not figure out on my own unresolved. I wish I came aboard sooner.

But I cannot say the same for Twitter. Is there shadow-banning of me? I don’t know why there would be, but it wouldn’t surprise me, either.

I have been on Twitter for years, and I have been hover at 1790 followers for as long as I can remember, according to them, which is low. I am also on Ello, a smaller social media site, and though I have not been there as long and don’t post as often, my followers have increased steadily to over 3600, more than double what the Twit nets me.

And I do not make the first move to gain followers. People come to me first. So that’s quite a difference where the pool in one site is far greater than the other. By mere chance alone, I should have more than double on Twitter than I do on Ello.

Maybe the difference is that I don’t trust Twitter. There is no proof that any organized groundswell of reaction is organic, spontaneous, or genuine, and I doubt that it is any of the above. It is way too easy to game the system. It has become social propaganda for various advertisers and political groups that is intermingled with naive people who are followers by design, and believe everything they see on the Troll Scroll.

There is no respect for people. They don’t call it Twitter for nothing.

And there is nothing more deceptive than that Blue Checkmark. It does not signal what is being said is true. It does guarantee that the person writing that tweet is actually there person, it could and most likely is an assistant or PR firm.

Nor does it guarantee that the person isn’t being paid by an outside party to shill.

It doesn’t have any safeguards. The same can be said of Wikipedia, and I do not see it as a credible source of information, either.

And often who gets the blue checkmark mystifies me. They aren’t actually well-known. You can do a basic search on them and virtually come up empty-handed. They are not always people of note, let alone “social influencers.”

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Google has my verified profile, however.

My Twitter profile is there, even though I am an author of several books and do not have the little blue checkmark. I didn’t put my Twitter account there. People do look me up by name because Google’s own analytics let me know.

So across various platforms, there is a real inconsistency. Google has me verified, and directs people to my Twitter feed, yet Twitter will not give me the verified status, even though I worked as a journalist, and have several books under my belt. I had one late last year, and one coming out next year.

By all accounts, that should be more than enough, especially considering how low the bar is.

But it is hard to justify lobbying for something that I know is rigged and filled with propaganda spewed from behind a curtain.

It is more than fake news. It is fake followers. It is just fake.

It is not an informational portal. It is an advertising vehicle to push ideologies just as Facebook is amateur press release.

And whenever you challenge something on that platform, the vipers come out to intimidate with insults.

Don’t give me lip.

Give me proof.

But when you cannot verify who is writing the tweet is who they say they are, nor whether or not they are being paid to say it, you won’t find any proof there at all.


Twitter wasn’t build to prove. It was built to bully. It was built to foster groupthink. It was made to prime, groom, and deliver audiences with the right mindset to build clusters of thought.

The word count is too low for anything rational to transpire. At least Facebook talks about connections as “friends” and LinkedIn uses the word “connection.” Twitter was the one who used the trigger word “follower.”

It is brazen enough. They might as well use a pigeon over the Mountain Bluebird they have as their logo.

But it gives the illusion of control and genuine interaction. You think you know what you see, and that is its strength. You don’t know what’s on the other side of that missive or the motive for it being there.

It makes it a prime breeding ground for manipulation.

But it also weakens and devalues words and opinion. There is too much clutter.

Because everything is virtual, the impact is not as great as it appears. The turnover is fast for anything to take root and grow. People let off steam with slacktivism. People try to one-up others. There is petty rivalry, but few real tangible results that hit their targets.

For example, #MeToo. It seemed as if it did its job, but what did the faceless movement actually net?

It took down a lot of men on the Left because they could not live up to the book of rules. They were done in by a misfiring of Alinksy’s Gun.

But that’s not who that gun was meant to shoot: it was men on the Right who were supposed to crumble and fall.

Brent Kavanaugh was supposed to have fallen. While the damsels-in-distress marched in their cosplay red robes, he ultimately got issued a Supreme Court black robe.

Twitter is not a precise weapon. So far, Donald Trump seems to have known how to use it.

Digital media doesn’t know how to use it. They crashed. Traditional media also was clueless and collapsed.

For a social media site that is all about communications, it doesn’t actually work the way people think it does.

Just one septuagenarian. This quadragenarian has no use for it.

Because Twitter is like a bad psychic: you can see the rigs a mile away.

It’s that transparent.

And the motives for people’s continued gullibility when using it.

It doesn’t interest me.

I prefer a more instructive challenge.

Which brings me to Mindwild.


I always thrived with a challenge. I like puzzles. I like when things are not obvious to me.

I when I can challenge my own rules, turn them over, see them break, and then find the atom of truth.

Knowledge is flexible, not static. It evolves, changes, and grows, and why I like to revisit past knowledge and update what I know.

So when I decided to go into journalism to study it, I had to think about a lot of things very carefully.

I had to define what I was doing, and if I didn’t reach certain milestones, or things didn’t go to plan, I needed plans and counter-plans.

I called it Method Research. I was taking my laboratory into the real world. It was like a scientist placing herself into an atom to study it.

My job? Being an actrivist — being actively inside the world I was studying.

These terms were my shorthand to remind me what I was doing. It is very easy to get lost in the moment and forget what to do. It’s like sparring with someone in the boxing ring and then forgetting to keep your guard up.

And what about the experiments I was conducting?

I dubbed those Mindwild. The point was not to think I was confined. I was out in the wild. I was part cavewoman fighting for survival naturally, and part android, carefully analyzing the natural elements to process information empirically.

And my experiments had to reflect these two extremes, bringing them to the radical centre: don’t take sides. Take notes. Take facts.

That meant my experiments could be as wild as I come up, but my analysis had to be as disciplined as they could be. Chaos and order at the same time.

I was methodical but took advantage of any opportunity presented to me.

It was all about taking snapshots of reality, all while remembering who I was and what I was doing. It is not as if there was a roadmap.

I was the cartographer, and I wasn’t just mapping out the profession, but who I was in it because as much as I was an experimenter, I was also the test subject.

And I learn a lot about journalism, myself, how to conduct experiments, and also the nature of truth, reality, perception, and interpretation.

For example, I learned how we define out terms confines the outcomes of what we reap from its definition. The more ill-defined it is, the less we get out of it.

And journalism is a profession with no desire to define any of its terms.

How do you define “fact-check”, for instance? It is doublespeak and a nonsense word that is suppose to give false reassurance to the believers and shut down and psych out detractors.

How can you even have an imprecise and folksy term for something that dictates specialization and precision?

It’s a scam. Worse, it is a patronizing scam.

It’s no different than saying someone is a doctor: what kind of doctor? What is their area of expertise? An oncologist or internist? And even then, they have their specialized area.

Or lawyer. What kind of lawyer? Criminal? Divorce? Real Estate? Corporate?

So the word “fact-check” is pure bullshit.

It’s just an arrogant bunch who use the word to snow people who don’t know the industry.

But that doesn’t work on people who know because they worked in the business, never falling for its alleged prestige and bragging rights.

While society moves towards AI and conducting research with cold arbitrary logic, they are losing the wild part of the equation.

The part the develops instincts. You can teach someone to box with a textbook, but put them in the ring, and they will lose to the person who had to fight in real life for their survival without a trainer.

But, have someone fight in the real world for their survival as they have a trainer and a textbook and war manual, and they understand the theory and the practice.

That’s what I called Mindwild.

I didn’t just use it working as a journalist. I still use it to this day. I can look at something, and see the rigid thinking and assumptions its structure and content is based on.

And it can do a lot to your thinking.

I became a political atheist.

I believe in peace. I believe in progress. Neither can be found using an antiquated model of governance or journalism.

I also became a radical feminist, but not in the traditional sloppy definition of it.

But that means that (a) you do not expect an Establishment will change because you shamed them, and (b) you have to have active strategies to building new systems and not rely on old patriarchal models.

Most importantly, I learned as much about myself as I did about the world around me.

The world chose to stagnate and to old on to toxic security blankets.

I chose to flourish and grow without worrying about myself because I know who I am.

Someone who doesn’t worry about memorizing a script.

Because I don’t hide behind a script, I have allowed myself to mature and blossom, and I know who I am.

And it’s not any established role someone else has rigged up to keep people from succeeding.

I have learned to challenge the rules of anarchy and enigmas because I become both, and broke more barriers because I knew that even anarchy masks something beyond it.

And that means there are new frontiers we haven’t even seen yet.

The world is never a bore — there is always some new thrilling truth to learn, and yet people still cling on to the same old boring lies.

The world is beautiful. The future is exciting.

But you’ll never know it until you explore it, study it, nurture it, love it, listen to it, and unleash yourself in it.

That’s Method Research.

That’s Actrivism.

And that’s Mindwild.

Every atom is an omniverse of excitement and thrills just ready to be unleashed itself.

If only you are brave enough, loving enough, and truth enough to open it…

Why did US female politicians wear white to the State of the Union? Obviously, they were part of a polygamous sect as their Husband-in-Chief got the spotlight. Faux feminists strike again.




Don’t you just love a mindless cult where women all have to dress alike and rely on cheap and empty symbolism because they have no power or substance?

I know I sure don’t.

This is cosplay for people who don’t have an original idea, but want attention without having any accomplishments to earn it.

It looks like a polygamous cult of unoriginal dressers as they shrewishly stew that their big shot husband gets to talk and be in charge.

Hollywood actresses wore black to the Golden Globes during the beginning of #MeToo.


No better than the aimless protestors all wearing red cosplay.

All we need is some women to prance and vogue with stink face in a group wearing yellow outfits, and American women have summoned the Apocalypse upon themselves to be devoured by reality. Well played.

How about all going as a dancing banana?

Women choosing their outfits in reaction to a man is as un-feminist as one can get.

You are telling the world you are a follower, like a good little woman. You are interchangeable, faceless, and disposable. Individuality, independence, and originality, please.

And no feminist would go along with that farce. Ever. It is the reason why we needed feminism in the first play — to break away from shackles and prisons of uniformity.

You wear what you want, when you want, how you want, where you want, and why you want it. Not what the high school know-it-alls decree as they’re smoking pot in the girl’s room.

You are just confirming that you are nothing but surrounded stones in a game of Go.

And the Atlantic, that partisan rag that always justifies leftist delusions, think those minions upstaged Trump.

No, they didn’t.

They served as a contrast. He has power. Nancy Pelosi looked like she needed to change her underpants.

They actually did their rival’s propaganda for him. A sea of faceless enemies can band together, but the Hero can stand alone.

Do you not know what you all look like?

Villain minions.

The Force is not with you.

These dress-up games should be very concerning for any woman in the US right now.

Whenever there is a reliance on theatre, it is a misdirection used to hide the fact that the person doesn’t have a plan nor power and is relying on stunts.

There is no maturity among the female politicians and it explains a lot. It is petty high school mind games in a place where you are supposed to, you know, have tangible results for the people who elected you.

If the government had genuine feminists, firebrands, trailblazers, rebels, and visionaries, there would be actual results. You can’t dine on symbolism. You are just buying time, hoping some They will do away with your enemy, and then you can lie and say your garbage contributed to it.

And the grifters wore white.

My teenaged self would be devastated that women’s rights were being thrown away in this horrific and childish way, but at least my adult self doesn’t put up with tricks like that…

Amateur Hour at the Ontario NDP. Leak at your own risk.



As an official opposition, the NDP really don’t know what they are doing. They did rule this province once and have been elected as politicians for decades; so there is no excuse for their colossal fuckery of leading a trail of huge, radioactive breadcrumbs straight to the computer of their leaker:

Ontario NDP’s improper redaction led Ford government to leaker: Sources

Oy yoi yoi.

This is how n00bs function: they get a piece of dirt, vogue and posture in front of rolling cameras filled with ego and bad acting skills, forget the basics of trying to protect people who are going out on a limb, fuck up the message, and watch as the government fires the leaker, gets the OPP unleashed on said amateur leaker, and then no one talks about the scoop, but of your nincompoopity as you conveniently try to dodge the questions, proving you are no better than the man in charge.

The leaker was naive. The NDP were oblivious and self-serving. The Ford regime had no choice but to come down hard, and it helps greatly that this fuck up happened so early into the Tories’s tenure: because the trail was coloured with loud neon green bread crumbs, they can see how to fortify their defences, and the other potential blabbermouths are going to know that the NDP are not professionals, and they won’t give them goodies to spew for press conferences.

This thwarted headache is now a gift to Ford.

When I worked as a journalist, I tried to avoid using anonymous sources as a general rule. There often is a good, but not noble reason for someone wanting to go incognito. If their identity is made public, someone is going to blab what this person is really up to. I preferred getting information, and then going off to independently verify things through some more open and forthcoming channels. My job is to give facts in context, but I am not going to tell you what to think of those facts.

When I was asked to write the companion book to the documentary OutFoxed, I was presented with three anonymous sources, but I wasn’t told their identities, which posed a dilemma for me. The book has to reflect the documentary, and I had no say over a canned movie not of my making. The vast majority of the interviews were not anonymous, but some very important details came from those three sources.

I have a rule: I need to verify information to my satisfaction, and I have to know who I am dealing with. It is not as if I expect perfection from sources or else they are completely tainted, but if you weigh your facts and sources, eventually the scale will tip one way and you can use the intel, or it tips the other way, and you know the intel not true — and then you have to find out why you were told an untruth and what it is hiding, meaning there is more to the story, or just a completely different story than the one you were given.

It is like being Anubis, and figuring out if you are going to feed Ammit and unleash him to the person who tried to con you.


So, I could not add anyone that wasn’t interviewed for the film (whether or not they were featured in it) to replace the three anonymous sources.

But I then took each interview and in very short order, managed to figure out the identities of all three.

And I could also verify what they said, meaning what I used was good intel. People can chose to use their own scale and dismiss an anonymous source, but the book didn’t pin everything on those three sources, either. There were the memos, other sources, and the breakdown of the actual transcripts, among other things. I offered a huge buffet of facts, you want to skip three dishes, you have hundreds of other options to choose from.

But I shouldn’t have been able to figure out who they were, or as fast I as did. If you are using anonymous sources, they have to stay anonymous. With Watergate, Deep Throat’s identity was safe for decades.

In the gossip, surveillance-happy Beltway filled with operatives, lawyers, journalists, politicians, and lobbyists.

This was extraordinary, but fair to the source who gave enough information to take down a president, but not enough was revealed to figure out who he was.

But Bob Woodward is an actual journalist. So is Carl Bernstein.

And this was back in the day when the Washington Post was a real newspaper.

But the NDP bungled this badly. It reminds me of the “Eyewitness Ed'“ episode of the cartoon The Completely Mental Misadventures of Ed Grimley.

All Horwath forgot to do was don an Astroboy hairdo and play the triangle…

Unreadable Narrator: Just get to the point, New Yorker.

The New Yorker has a rambling piece on how author Dan Mallory is full of it. Bottom line: if someone is a liar, they aren’t all that interesting or warrant that much colour and filler.

That we have fiction authors bullshit about their lives is hardly anything new.

When you go for melodramatic bullshit stories, you are going to get hosed for eternity. The end.

Spinning yarns gets you lucrative contracts, and Mallory knows the game well.

He also knows that you can spin a story to deflect the accusations, and go on.

Vox, a publication for morons addicted to sophistry, loved the New Yorker puke-a-thon,

The greatest thriller I have read this year is not a book. It’s a new article in the New Yorker by Ian Parker about the editor and author Dan Mallory, and it is filled with so many twists and turns, such scheming and brazen lies, that it eclipses fiction. It definitely eclipses Mallory’s 2018 novel The Woman in the Window — written under the pen name A.J. Finn — which is a competent but paint-by-numbers thriller that is substantially less interesting than Mallory’s real-life story appears to be.

Honestly, if that is the “greatest” anything you have read so far in 2019, you are sheltered idiot. Go get some real life experience.

This isn’t a story to build up: this is a story to tear down. A man gets ahead in a lucrative career by conning people at work. Just the facts. Figure out how it happened and where the breakdowns are.

There is no “thriller” here. What you have is deceit.

This is the precise why journalists constantly get conned: they honestly believe sophistry, color, and babbling make a good story.

You are building up destructive people, making them sound more interesting than they are, and that makes you no less deceptive than the subject you are rambling about.

Please shut up, and try you article again…

Famous Bullshit Stories, Part One: Marrying a Billionaire is a really good idea!


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—George Carlin, from A Place for My Stuff


Patriarchal Fiction Narratives must be one of the “Famous Bullshit Stories” form George Carlin’s Book of the Month Club.

I was a teen when I got the cassette, and my family and I listened to comedy tapes on long car trips. I remember this sketch well because mom had to stop on the side of the road because she — grandma, and I were laughing out loud with tears in our eyes. We couldn’t stop or catch our breath.

But “Famous Bullshit Stories”, got the biggest howling from us all.

While we laughed at other sketches and tapes, nothing beat Book of the Month for us. We were uncontrollable.

But back to Famous Bullshit Stories.

That is a classic.

I actually wanted to call my first book, Don’t Believe It!” How lies become news, Famous Bullshit Stories, but didn’t. That’s Carlin’s gem.

But fiction is nothing but famous bullshit stories.

Like indoctrinating women into thinking that marrying a rich guy is a good idea. He is a hoarder and a bully by default. He has to be on top of a pecking order.

I know this to be true in too many instances. I have known women who married rich men, and they are not allowed to have money on them. They cannot do chores when they want. Their husbands determined every aspect of their lives, and are abusive.

But I also knew it from other places — such as high-end boutiques where husbands doled out money for both the wife — and his slew of mistresses. Many women hid what they bought and owed money to those boutiques, terrified that their husbands would find out she spent more than he decreed. She would buy it on store credit, then tremble in her boots.

I knew as a journalist just how horrific a wealthy husband could be.

Lately, it seems that more women are speaking out about that kind of abuse, from being forced into degrading sex acts with their mates for basic food money, to being starved while the husband buys himself whatever toy he wants.

And let’s not pretend these women didn’t earn that money. Often, the men need the woman to sell all her assets for seed money. She often came up with the idea. She did work in the business. She often financially supported him and his dreams.

And then he repays her by imprisoning her.

I have always said do not waste your time and money playing king-maker. Don’t mom your husband. That takes away from your focus, and while you are too busy making him a Great Man, he has free time to procure mistresses to prove to his business buddies that he is capable of getting women into making bad personal deals where he gets more out of them than they get out from him.

And then the wife and the mistresses must make appointments to clothing stores so they don’t run into each other and have a catfight in the evening gown section.

I am not making this up.

A lot of gender inequality comes from women spending more time on their husband’s careers than their own. I used to make mental notes to myself: Memo to Alexandra Kitty: It’s all about you. Adult male can look after his own ass, and can rely on his Mommy should he be deficient.

I am not married. Footloose and fancy-free. I have had men try to control me, and the odd part was some of them I wasn’t even dating. I have had my own labour of loves and eccentric endeavours, and had men bring me to task that I wasn’t making money, I should do this instead, why I am spending money, literally priming me and grooming me to curb my indulgences and experiments.

I wasn’t hitting them up for cash. They didn’t pay my bills. It was none of their business. Yet they saw nothing wrong with their indulgences and experiments, even if they were losing more money in the bargain.

Correction: losing their wife’s money.

When I started A Dangerous Woman Story Studio, I made certain none of those famous bullshit stories were in there. Sometimes a man was unequal to the female, but she never supported him or used her connections to help him — dude was capable and he equalized himself without his wife having to appease an ego. She had her career and freedom just as he did. If I am writing about a rich man falling in love with a woman, you better believe that she’s a tycoon in her own right. I like ultimate sexy power-couples, but they will be running their own empires, thank you very much.

And I skewer the they billionaire-is-a-good-husband trope every chance I get — always using real-life cases in my stories. The World’s Most Dangerous Woman stories have a lot of billionaires who are wicked husbands. The Detective stories also have bad husbands who think money will control everyone. Those who have power didn’t get it by being nice or generous.

And then there is the Doyenne Assassin.

Not only does she whack the Dreadful who often are rich and powerful, she is also the author of ridiculous books of women sleazing it up the sex ladder to marry billionaires who rescue them — except these trashy books are coded reports of her success hits.

After all, she is the best hitwoman who ever lived. The steamy novelist is just a cover for her.

You don’t mess with the Doyenne Assassin.

Wealth is a nice thing to have. Morals are even better. Our world is one where we reward the tyrants and willingly so. We teach young boys how to be competitive and win at any cost. That’s on society.

If you want a better world, then the story you tell children has to radically change.

Don’t teach little girls to invest in their husbands. Don’t teach little boys to see their families as their means to an end.

Teach both to be self-reliant and confident. Show them how not to get on a hamster wheel. Don’t compete with your neighbours because when you die, no one will bother remembering the big mansion you had.

People have lives and better things to do than be impressed by you or your mate.

If they are like me, they have their indulgences and experiments, and prefer their own eccentric creativities over your gaudy trinkets any day...

Personal freedom in an Age of Propaganda: The shackles do not exist. The magic is just aligning your perceptions with reality.





People who think they have me figured out would be very surprised to know that I have a soft spot for Bettie Page. I have a very cute vest with her pin-up photograph on it. I always found her career interesting: a very cute and perky woman as a fetish model, looking as if she had no idea she was in bondage skivvies. There was always an element of Candid Camera to it all (or, the raunchier Candid Candid Camera that I discovered existed when I was a kid and video rental place had the VHS tapes mixed up. No naked men, just women. Of course). She is the original perky goth, and good on her for it.

I stumbled on Bettie Page as a teenager. I was doing research for something in school, and came across a reference to her, and was very surprised when I found out what she did for a living. This was pre-Internet days; so it wasn’t that easy for me to find, and when I asked who she was, the males either smirked and wouldn’t tell me, or went all Victorian on me, and wouldn’t tell me because it was a “bad” thing to know.

I could pretty much figure out things just by the refusal to tell me that she was a pin-up girl. You have Playboy, Penthouse, and Hustler in the same variety store that sold kids candies, but I am going to fall apart knowing that are such things as fetish models?

I think David Lee Roth gave an interview of his affinity for her years prior to his album.


And then, when I finally knew who she was and her place in popular culture, whenever I mentioned her, guys my age flipped their lids. How could I know about Bettie Page?

I also knew about G.G. Allin, which I would then bring up, creating a bigger flip out as if no young woman could possibly know about both Bettie Page and G.G. Allin.

I also knew about obscure comic book characters, the ribald version of Chuck Berry’s Reeling and Rocking, which I owned, and I knew lots of very dirty jokes, too. I may be prim and proper, but I am still a punk.

I found it strange that there was some sort of expectation that my knowledge bank should just include My Little Pony and Revlon.

My reach is global and goes back to ancient times because I am inquisitive by nature, and always up to learning and embracing different things.

I am not petty or jealous. I will learn from all sorts of people past, present, and future, nor do I hoard knowledge or draw artificial lines in the sand.

And if you think you are going to draw a line in the sand and think I won’t cross it, think again. I will not be shamed in some bid to hold me back or frustrate my journey of finding all the deepest truths of the universe.

But it isn’t just Bettie Page I like. My co-favourite queens are Queen Victoria, and the mighty Queen Nzinga, who happens to be Person #32 on the List of People Everyone Should Know. Queen Ana Nzinga was as liberated and badass warrior queen as you can get.


You did not screw around with her.

And that’s an inspirational mindset to live by and I do.

I may get inspired by all sorts of people — notorious, obscure, or even reclusive, but I am not a follower.

Your life must be your own. No one is you nor has the right to set the terms of what you are or are going to be. They will never be you, and drawing lines in the sand is just a game because people think they can shut down any competition because if they don’t, they will “lose” to others.

I am not of that ilk. I never have been, and never will be.

I always respected people who did not heed to authorities or mobs, and could stand alone because they knew what they were doing or saying was the truth.

People will praise you one day, and want to burn you into the ground the next.

So be it.

Their decrees are not mine, nor should they be because people are governed by fear — and do you really want that to be what defines your life?

It doesn’t define mine. It is a wasted emotion.

And I have better things to do than that.

Because in an Age of Propaganda, there is an attempt to shackle people with invisible chains.

They don’t exist. It is a ruse and a scam, just like the line in the sand.

The visionaries see the game and perform a simple, but powerful form of magic.

They align their perceptions with reality, and then see the shackles do not exist, and when you defy the fake shackles, there is no stopping you.

And that’s how new worlds are created…

Piaget, Pandas, and why there is absolutely no "war" on men or boys. As usual, the National Post is afraid of women with self-respect.






When I was in my early twenties, I had a rabbit named Trixie, given that name because I got her on Halloween (trick or treat), not because of Beatrix Potter.

Screen Shot 2019-02-02 at 3.41.29 PM.png

Trixie Pixie weighted 900 grams.

She was a tiny little thing, but had a heart of a lioness. I also had a red canary Ben who was free and the two were inseparable. When Ben passed away because the vet gave the wrong antibiotic twice instead of once, Trixie was very sad. I rescued another rabbit Susie, and the two also became inseparable.

Trixie had numerous operations because her jaw was too small for her teeth. She went to the University of Guelph constantly, but she lived about six years. She was loving, bossy, nosy, and very brave.

Particularly when it came to standing up to humans that rubbed her the wrong way.

There was one man who was a family friend who was not the most sensitive person in the world. He thought it was funny to make loud nonsensical noises when he saw Trixie, and tried to twist her nose repeatedly. She’d run away, I would tell him that wasn’t acceptable, he’d dismiss me as some sort of snowflake, and do it again.

But Trixie always got her revenge.

Because she knew which pair of shoes he wore and then promptly pissed in them. Only his. Never anyone else’s.

Then he’d put them on, complain they were wet, but never quite hit upon the fact that he was mucking around in rabbit urine.

And then he’d come for the next visit, where the cycle went on without deviation. I never went to hide his shoes from Trixie.

That’s what you get for intimidating a 900 gram herbivore.

Trixie was a smart little bunny. I had to euthanize her when she developed a brain tumour. I think her passing hurt me the most in the fuzzy kid division.

She had an unbelievable sense of fairness. I had been dealt a serious blow in my professional life, and one that would have been a breakthrough. I can count on one hand the number of times I have cried in my life, and that was one. I was blowing off steam on my sofa in the living room with my mother on the love seat that was in front of a ledge with potted plants on it. Trixie ran to the ledge, and promptly knocked flower pots right on my mother’s head by pushing them with her own little noggin.

What can I say? She thought mom was responsible for me getting upset and was going to level the playing field. She was a righteous little mini-lop.

She was protective of me, and I always returned the favour. I did not take kindly to people trying to abuse her, but it seemed every time I told a male — and it was always an adult male — to knock it off, they would fly off the handle, and keep doing it. I had a male relative do the same thing, and neither one of those people are in my life anymore.

They were both ill-behaved and unteachable. When someone tells you not to make loud and stupid noises and try to twist their pet’s nose, stop doing it. You are being a swine. There is no benefit in frightening a small animal. There is no benefit in bad manners that net you no rewards, but impede your social standing as you alienate people who just want you to stop annoying them and their pets.

It is not a “war” if someone tells you to stop being uncivilized. It is the inevitable byproduct of feral behaviour. I never went to these men’s houses to molest and disturb their animals.

But it wasn’t just my pets. These were the same people who belittled every one of my achievements, called me names, tried to gaslight me as they patronized me, telling me what to think regardless if I had expertise and they never heard of the subject before in their lives, and thought they had every right to tell me how to dress, dye my hair, put on my make-up, and that I should stop having a career, and do something of value, like get married and have children.

I never stood for it. I told them off, even as a kid, and then they got upset with me, calling me rude.

Excuse me, I just said, “Hello.” You made lengthy comments about a pimple on my chin. That is a deliberate attempt at establishing a pecking order by making me feel inferior to you and be too consumed with my alleged deficiencies to see what you are doing.

I am not a moron. The fact that I push back doesn’t mean there is a “war” against snowflake you.

Instead of getting your knickers in a knot, you can sign up for some etiquette lessons.


They really are miracle workers. Bless the Brits for their centuries-long dedication to sensitivity to other people’s feelings.

They didn’t write a silly column in the National Post whining about some non-existent war on boys and men, and then try to impose a narrative about it being “ideology versus science” because it isn’t.

So what’s really going on here?

Simple: communications technology finally caught up to reality, and what was always happening suddenly could no longer be suppressed by a patriarchal news media.


In Canada, men are a minority, and have been for at least thirty years. 50.4% of the population are women, and yet men are vastly over-represented in positions of power in both business and government. We have always had rigs that favoured men, and biology has zero to do with it. White men, who are even a smaller piece of that demographic pie, are even more over-represented based on the population make-up.

So here is a single minority group among a mosaic of minority groups, who are upset because the Internet finally allows us to hear what everyone around us is thinking. Stop mansplaining is not throwing a grenade; it’s feedback that the individual does not need to be treated like she is in kindergarten when she has a graduate degree and has expertise in the field under discussion.

Before, the press would either ignore the complaints, or worse, spin them to make it sound as if some lunatic fringe was spewing insanity. That is a crying shame. If people understood that in a planet of 7.4 billion people, you will have a sea of disagreement, outrage, support, and differing opinions decades ago, they wouldn’t take the peculiar stance that they are.

Fox News exploits this demographic: they target frustrated white men and then tell them nothing in their lives is their fault, which is ridiculous. Sometimes you are the architect of your own misery, and the sooner you see it, the sooner you can do something about it and get yourself out of your slump.

A big problem for men is the fairytales they have been told where there can only be The One, and if someone opposes you, that they are the Villain to be vanquished and women are just there to be saved because they are inferior to you and are made to drool all over you.

That is a fantasy.

And a horrible lie. If we reversed the gender roles, it would be no less horrific. No one should be following this destructive rigged script.

A more sensible map is that we all have hopes, dreams, and goals. We all have different life requirements. We are all flawed and make mistakes. We have rights, but also responsibilities. Life isn’t always looking for an entourage to drool all over you, nor find an inferior ditz to relieve your crude urges. People who have different ideas have the same rights as you do.

Cooperation and negotiation to coordinate our competing interests is far more profitable and liberating than some competition where it is all-or-none. A shrewd person makes alliances, and ensures that there is a balance for everyone in terms of work, risk, responsibilities, and payoffs. Jealousy, greed, laziness, and ego are very destructive forces, but they are not some static force that chains us forever to ruin our lives. We have to face our worst traits, acknowledge them, realize they manipulate our perceptions of reality, and then do something about them.

Men shouldn’t feel threatened if a woman is a visionary who is ambitious. She has every right as does he to aim high, but the second a woman does break through as a man is called on the carpet for trying to sabotage her, other men get scared and then make up a propaganda tale of there being a war on men.

No, there isn’t. There is a man person who is prime minister, just as the other two political parties have man people in charge of their party. The only party to have a woman person is the Greens and they have one seat.  The world’s most powerful players are men. That hasn’t changed. And those men have their fans and many are seen as visionaries.

There is no war just because someone calls you an asshole. You are an asshole.

That Fox News can tell bedtime stories to men who are silly enough to believe them is not a surprise. The sad thing is that those men don’t realize that the FNC gets rich by keeping them running on a hamster wheel of hate, and keeps them in a very unhappy holding pattern because that’s how they create audiences. MSNBC plays the same propaganda for losers on the left. Both sides would be wise to look inward, get off the fucking wheel, and break old habits and modify their behaviours to make them prosper.

But the National Post is playing a similar game, recruiting Jordan Peterson into their web, which I find utterly fascinating. Peterson is a psychologist by trade, and this pop psych narrative has many of his detractors unnecessarily stymied. Their counterarguments are too cerebral. They are over-thinking things and not addressing the audience that has had a spell cast on them as they have been primed by the FNC into thinking they are victims.

What’s interesting is that Peterson’s pop psych arguments do not go anywhere near the logic of Jean Piaget’s Stage Four of Cognitive Development (Piaget is Person #31 on the List of People Everyone Should Know). The Formal Operational Stage is one that many adults never attain, but you cannot be an experimental psychologist and not be in that very stage because that’s the very stage where experimental psychology depends on for its very purpose and methods.

So Peterson isn’t someone who could possibly be devoid of a Stage Four mind, yet his pop psych is clearly at Level Two and Three.

That’s quite a feat.

Journalism was never in Stage Four, and I have said that is the reason it collapsed, but Peterson made a career of intellectual regression. It is a cagey move: for one, your detractors will never reach the people who are being beguiled because they will use Stage Four Arguments, and those under the spell have been stymied by their Stage Three prison, and can’t see it.

They very well may be capable of making the leap to the Fourth Stage — but they were led to believe that they didn’t need that leap because the narratives they were told are of lower stages, and they cling on to those stories, thinking it is the answer for Winning At Life.

It is a recipe for self-destruction.

So if there is no “war” on men, why are they stuck in a slump that distorts their perceptions of reality?

The answer lies in pandas.


Many ambitious white collar types — and even the entire profession of journalism — have the same problem, regardless of gender, race, nationality, religion, or age. They make it so far, and then they can no longer move upward in a company or career. They have the right education and experience. They are smart and even social.

Are they victims of outside forces?

No, but they are a victim of their own panda.

A panda is a term for a seemingly benign personality trait or mindset that is more destructive to you than you realize.

Such as indulging in aggressive behaviours and ignoring repeated requests to knock it off. You may feel as if you have power to thwart and emotionally upset people, but if they push back, they aren’t going to give you another inch. They can retaliate.

Do you want short-term thrills — or do you want long-term viability?

In business, being passive-aggressive can get you up so far, but then when you hit a certain level, the rules change and what what worked for you begins to work against you.

Adherence to The One Rule That Explains Everything is a losing gamble.

And if your rule is that you can bully other people and they’ll just sit and take it, you are in for the surprise of your life. There are people like me who don’t care about your gender, race, sexual orientation, religion, wealth, education, nationality, connections, fame, or political affiliation.

You pull some bullshit stunt on me, and I will unleash my righteousness on you. Fuck you.

Treat me with kindness and respect, and I will go out of my way to help you if you should ever be in need or want of it.

No war.

And we in an era right now where we have arrogance and temper tantrums where everyone is accusing everyone else of waging some “war” on them.

No, what you are experiencing is the technology that lets you hear the world’s thoughts at once.

People have agendas. They bully. They try to get things they did not earn. They try to impress people with some image. They hedge their bets on a side they think will reward them.

The fuel of arrogance is messing with a lot of minds, but that’s easily remedied with a good dose of humility.

The only problem is when you chose the medicine, it goes down very easy — but when life rams it down your throat, the cure is often more traumatic than the disease.

And it’s coming a lot sooner than people think.

It’s not a war, but reality people need to worry about.

After all, if we just give in to “biology”, remember, people sure did love to kill, rape, and pillage, and enslave other people.

And they went to watch the slaughter of gladiators, imprison foreigners to serve as their slaves, and spark wars for pure financial profit.

Eventually, people started to become civilized and learned something called empathy.

And they sublimated those biological drives into something creative and productive.

So the biology excuse is pure nincompoopity, and it’s time to go up a rung in evolution — not down…

Actrivism, Part One: What is an Actrivist?

I call what I did to study journalism Method Research: it is like Method Acting, only you are not acting but Researching and making your life the subject of what you are studying.

But what is a person who does it?

They are a Method Researcher when they are analyzing data, but when they are walking among those you are studying, you are an Actrivist.

An activist actor, but not in the theatrical sense, but in the literal sense of not sitting there passively observing, but actively experimenting with the subject matter at hand.

I have talked about Activism previously, and how it came to be. The origins are of me loving Shakespeare as a kid, but having to improvise Romeo and Juliet because no other kid wanted to be Romeo, but also wanted to be Juliet, boy or girl.

No one wanted to be below in the living, but above in the dining room overlooking the “balcony” overseeing the living room.

I learned that it was more fun not to parrot lines and just let the play happen.

Because the script does not play in the real world.

The psychology and the journalism came much later.

But the concept that you can explore the secret big thoughts and emotions of a makeshift stage to curate it came from there.

A big idea from a little girl.

But when I use the word “Actrivist”, I have no shortage of people telling me that I made a “typo.”

With no regard that I am describing the word and explaining it, and that there is no possible way that I have “misspelled” “actress.”

I am not a moron, and you should not have some misogynistic assumption that a female cannot create a new word, concept, or invention.

And actrivism is all three.

It is the method of gathering empirical data by removing the barrier between observer and environment.

So, for example, a researcher might give a questionnaire to cancer patients on how they are feeling or set up an experiment to see how this demographic reacts to unintentionally insensitive comments.

The researcher will get usable data, but no context.

Now let’s say he also has cancer.

He will have context because he will create a questionnaire that goes to the heart of the issue, and can measure his own responses to unintentionally insensitive comments.

But then has to account for his own biases and situational blindness by comparing and contrasting with other people in the same boat — but them compare it to those who don’t have cancer.

He can see the hidden nuances that a naive researcher couldn’t possibly think up.

He is not at arm’s length from the issue: he is living in its core.

That’s the utility of Method Research. You are not making excuses for skirting around what matters the most by making up a lie that you need to be “objective.”

That is an excuse for acting like a psychopath.

And just because you are emotional, doesn’t mean that you are irrational — nor does it mean that you cannot conduct experiments or observe, and then later analyze when you are away from it.

Nor does it mean that someone else can’t do it, nor does it mean you do not use traditional empirical methods to put everything together.

From the inside to the outside.

You study the whole, and academia’s biggest problem is they know a lot about the outside, but nothing about the inside because by their very rigs and rules, that kind of knowledge is not seen as knowledge but an impediment that gets in the way.

I remember taking an AI class in university, and seeing that kind of thinking in papers, and how pathetically easy it was to trip up systems by putting in various monkey wrenches. Salvador Dali paintings did in those theories every time.

Even now, with AI, all I have to do is study it, and it is still a simple matter to muck it up, despite the press release-like article the press parrots from tech companies.

People who fear emotions want to prove they can be emulated and bypassed, never understanding why feeling are more important than thoughts. Unless you have the feelings, you don’t know what you should be thinking, and you waste your life coming up with excuses as you cower in the corner because all of the solutions you thought up never took reality into the equations, and then they never work out.

And yet, academia consistently looks down on emotions. You look in the wrong direction, that’s where you are going.

If you want to know what’s what, treat emotions with respect. Look up to them, not down.

That is the reason we need Method Research and Actrivism.

So we can finally explore that uncharted frontier, and then come up with answers that actually work…

People want you to apologize for speaking the truth so they can dominate with lies. Welcome to the new Art of War.



John McCallum has nothing to apologize for in that he had no almost no wiggle room to do his job. The useless postmortems imply that he did something “wrong” when the truth was there was no right answer. When you superior is an arrogant bungler without true experience, savvy, or gravitas — and you’re not, it is hard to just sit there and watch the train wreck.

Worse, the propagandistic press are already priming people to blame McCallum for the federal regime’s failures. For all the posturing that McCallum should have not said what he said in public and the regime had to fire him, they would be hypocrites for doing so — they set the terms of engagement when they used Twitter to babble abut Saudi Arabia. If McCallum was fired for his China remarks, Chrystia Freeland must step down from her post for pulling the same stunt on Twitter. At least McCallum was meddling in his own country’s affairs; Freeland’s Ministry stuck their nose in something that had nothing to do with Canada. Do as I say, not as I do?

No consistency.

And what is this bullshit story about “rule of law”? Since when did Canada worry about the “rule of law”? What law? Child molesters, rapists, and killers go free all the time. Ask First Nations people how well the “rule of law” did for the fortunes of their people here. Embezzlers, money launderers, child porn makers, pedophile rings, slave owners, and human traffickers all thrive here. Gang violence flourishes. Grifters and mobsters have mansions in Canada in places such as Waterdown, Oakville, and Ancaster while honest people are homeless on the streets.

I ask again, what rule of law?

I was the victim of identity theft and I had to fight with the police officer to take my report because he just didn’t want to do it, and flat out said it. I had someone throw a huge rock on my windshield from a bridge as I was driving (luckily the windshield cracked, but didn’t shatter) , and the police officer tried to make every excuse not to take a report to the point of making veiled threats that perhaps I broke my own windshield — until I had to holler that there was no financial gain when I had to pay for the deductible. How many women try to report rapes and the police just won’t do it?

And then we have human garbage at the National Post take their she-trolls from the dumpsters to puke out bullshit that women are horrible people for saying they were harmed by men.

What rule of law does Canada actually abide? None.

And you then get on McCallum for what? Worrying about his citizens and his country and try to do something all by himself even though he has no cards to play?

He has nothing to apologize for. If he was a diplomat and he tried the diplomacy and it couldn’t work, then he threw his last grenades because he had nothing to lose.

He spoke the truth among liars, and got whacked for it.


When you speak the truth, mobs will go after you and demand you wave a white flag by apologizing, and then they see your weakness and then want to destroy you.

They don’t want an apology. They want blood. They want to take over your position of power.

Contrition is the emptiest of words. It is actions that prove it, not words.

People look for any excuse to install a lie over a truth.

The problem is that people offend with telling lies as well.

And in this quagmire, we have a dilemma.

I believe in free speech. I believe in truth.

And I will never apologize because I do not lie. I tell you what I think and what I feel. Deal with it.

People can get offended with me. That’s their loss. They have an agenda and I stand in the way by providing another perspective.

People want surrender. They think they can be greedy and take everything and then stomp you to the ground as they forever taint you and your perspectives. That’s how mobs work.

It is a form of meta-propaganda. They will misapply morality, turn into convenient snowflakes, and then keep up the siege.

The person who speaks with conviction cannot back down. Society needs controversy. It needs to be shaken, challenged, rattled, and offended.

You say what you say with truth and good motives, you tell the mob to go fuck themselves. They are offended? Good. They need to have their chips on their shoulders knocked to the ground so they can see all the horrible things they are doing to other people in the name of morality.

Like Catholic priests. They shamed people. They maligned them and destroyed them in public and then went and raped nuns and children and got rich on other people’s back-breaking labour as they ran concentration camps in the former Yugoslavia in the Second World War.

That was their method of combat and deflection.

So you are not going to use the same schoolyard ruses on me on Twitter.

You stand your ground.

If people wish to negotiate with you so that you both can what you want and need, that’s another story.

They can be adults you understand that they are not getting everything or everything on their own selfish terms.

You are not going to dismiss things by labelling criticism whataboutism.

No, it’s not. You are not going to pretend you are enlightened by tricking desperate displaced people to come to your country illegally and then scrub your toilets, but then get huffy when I call you a bigot because you asked about my “accent” because you see I have Eastern European features and you think you are smarter than me by ethnic default and are going to trick me and blind me from seeing your ugly truth.

Not happening.

And don’t think your will deflect my attention by throwing a neo-Victorian temper tantrum.

Or talk in a slow patronizing tone how there is no such thing as truth.

No, that’s a lie, too.

You just want things your own way without earning them or having to put in effort or investment. That fantasy world where people give you everything because you are innately special is pathetic and not aligned with reality.

The Internet’s inherent flaws enabled that kind of delusional thinking. People stopping working and thinking, and the humbling they needed to transmute into decent and compassionate human beings was deny to them, and then their ugliness spiralled out of control.

You can be wronged, but still be a creep. You can be a victim who turns into a villain. It doesn’t justify your cruelty, and it gives you less of an excuse to be cruel.

But the humbling is coming. The arrogance and the self-aggrandizing theories that festered as a result of the mass spoiling will compel people to think their theories are reality and then try to prove it.

It will all collapse at once.

There is no quick fixes. There is no fix where some They does it all for you.

There will be a lot of crash and burn casualties out there. We are already seeing the implosion of digital news outlets who thought they could wing it and fake it by being cocky and garish.


That’s not useful. That’s not reality.

And that’s the truth.

When you speak the truth, you have nothing to apologize for. If people do not like that truth, it is up to them to consider the reality of the situation and then put in thought sensitivity, and effort to improve the situation.

Not holler at the messenger who should never back down or apologize for exposing a reality that makes cowards uncomfortable…

The Art of War, 2019.




I feel sympathy for John McCallum. When I was a kid, we had a class trip to watch a play of Robin Hood, and the evil Sheriff of Nottingham told the audience he was going to trap Robin by putting a note on the tree, and when he read the note, he’d catch him.

I took this so very seriously.

So when the actor who played Robin went to read the notes, I screamed, “Don’t read the note, Robin!” from the top of my little lungs.

And then so did the other kids.

I am sure the actor was used to it and was either amused or annoyed, but he was a good sport, pretending he couldn’t hear us — and the play went by the script, pissing me off no end, and after that, I just didn’t care what happened to Robin. You don’t take advise, you deserve to be caught by the bad guy. So there.

I am certain McCallum, who is an accomplished politician and academic, is not a stupid man. Watching the political buffoonery must be maddening. I feel the same way about journalism.

So here is a former cabinet minister, professor, economist who is privy to far more of the current federal regime than most people are, and he had become unleashed for a reason.

He wouldn’t risk it just because he is a silly man. He managed to have a long and impressive career all on his own with incident. That is not something to ignore or dismiss to fit a narrative. Something else is going on to the point where a seasoned politician makes an assessment and lobs two grenades in a guerrilla attack.

Welcome to the new Art of War, 2019.


The Art of War is an interesting text that has held up so well because people who fight wars tend to follow scripts. It works because we have relied on patriarchal structures and have never once truly challenged them — and even when critics think they are, they always present another patriarchal structure with the lone difference that is it s rigged to their own favour.

Like how the American Left have been pretending to be enlightened with their “socialism” to go up against capitalism on the account that it is rigged to favour the privileged white boys…except socialism was created by privileged white boys, too.

If you want equality, then you better provide tangible evidence that you, too, can come up with your own model to replace the Gold Standard. Otherwise, shut up and go back to the drawing board — this time without cribbing from the very people you condemn.

Current ideological warfare has been reduced to an infantile joke: the point is not to take money from other people to fund your fantasies. Fight for the opportunity to make your own on your own terms.

And I practice what I preach: I created my own writing structures. I created A Dangerous Woman that is nothing like what’s out there. I was influenced and inspired by others because I do not believe everyone before me is horrible, but when I started to write, I did my own thing.

And when I started Chaser News before that, guess what? I took an epistolary style. No other journalism outfit was doing it, and they still don’t get it.

I have come up with an alternative to journalism — F.R.E.E.D. defies conventions of the old guard.

That is what true equality means: having a diversity of visionaries and creators who create something different. We have people howling about “cultural appropriation” even if their own culture appropriated it from someone else — but have no trouble ideologically or structurally appropriating things from others.

So in 2019, the Art of War is not about just deception, but a specific kind of deception: hypocrisy.

This is the reason everything is upside down. You have Right-leaning publications decrying sexual harassment and Establishment meddling in ways they never did before. You have Leftist politicians cribbing from those on the Right, except the Left miss the nuances that will ultimately trip them.

Because in this new ideological war, the misdirection is Left-Right. They are both the same. One is not superior to the other in any way, shape, or form.

And both are hypocrites.

War is hypocrisy. War is preventing your opponent from doing the very things that you do or want to do. Never in modern history has Saul Alinsky been more critical.

Make the enemy live up to its own book of rules.

That’s the starting point to this current ideological war. Both sides are now forced to present a narrative that they are, in fact, doing it, when they, in fact, are not.

This is their fatal weakness, and this is the precise place where it will all break loose. Both the Left and the Right have the same problem that compels them to have the same strategy. They cancel each other out.

Because they are cribbing from each other, but as they are in the Zero-Risk Society, they have to be careful how they do it.

You see it in Canada. The Liberals won in the last election with a leader who is a bland and unremarkable middle manager; so the other two parties got their own version of a bland and unremarkable middle manager. It’s as if these three parties are begging for a minority government and a three-way tie.

The battleground now has a single rule: fight with Zero-Risk, but that is inversely proportional to the amount you gamble.

So here we are in a Zero-Risk War Zone, meaning it is a 100%-Gamble Zone. There are huge differences.

A risk is when you plan, research, practice, and test before trying something different in a trying circumstance, with a back-up plan if the first try fails to produce the desired results. You are confident in your abilities, but realistic as you rely on facts, logic and emotional literacy.

A gamble is when you do not plan, research, practice, or test but have an idea and go into something unprepared with no strategy or expectation of something going wrong. You are overconfident in your luck, and rely on gossip, sophistry and fantasy.

That is the war being waged right now. We have people who think opinion-shaming will force people to surrender.

No, that just makes your enemies look closer at you and see that you aren’t living to your own rulebook.

Because the Internet took away that one rig.

And is turning the Art of War on its head…

Method Research, Part Eight: This girl can't help it. I study with my mind and also my heart.





“The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care”

Emily Dickinson


There is mindish logic. There is heartish logic. People who are brave, honest, truthful, and authentic can find the right answers by using mindish logic or heartish logic. They see reality. They see truth. An angry mob is not going to manipulate them. Authority won’t do it, either. You can be an elite, you have no power to sway someone who follows truth and love in equal measure.

But what frightens manipulators are those who do not need mindish logic to find truth or see reality. That is instinct and trust of you innate feelings. Often, heartish logic finds it faster, but then to make your case, you have to go bak and use mindish logic to show what is obvious to you.

When you are dishonest, a follower, and an ideological fraud, you have a problem.

You fear emotions. You try to stomp them out and demand people follow a predictable script that is rigged in your favour.

You do not want people to explore their gut instincts. You want them to follow your dictates or get slapped around.

But then something happens. You end up having to follow the same script, and then outwit yourself because you bought the lies you told yourself as you swallowed your own hype.

You never get what you want or need at the end because if you do not follow your instincts but someone else’s you’re always going in the opposite direction of where you need and want to be because that’s the point of misdirection: someone sees you are a resource to be exploited, and then push you toward their siphoning machinery to suck you dry.

But when you follow your own instincts and not those of a mob, you may go to eccentric and enigmatic places, you find what you want and need.

Because the heart wants what the heart wants, and nourishing your mind and body is something we understanding, but nourishing the heart isn’t something we feel compelled to do.


Not all love is the romantic kind. Sometimes your heart wants to know bigger issues, such as why is there injustice in the world? Why do people fall for lies?

I wanted to know why journalism was prone to spreading lies.

So I followed my heart and became a journalist.

Because I wanted to know the truth.

And when you want to know something, you are primed to gather truths about it.

It is a matter of focus. You can gather information from a logical and intellectual standpoint, but if your heart isn’t in it, you don’t process what you see. If you fear reality, then you can never focus on it. It is the reason emotional literacy is equal to its intellectual counterpart.

People who shun emotions are never trustworthy. Emotionality doesn’t mean irrationality, but a lack emotions is a sign of a psychopathic or apathetic disposition. If you don’t have feelings, you never have an understanding of truth, reality, life, or anything else.

It is like having a thermometer that doesn’t work. People who try to pretend that being emotional makes you intellectually defective try to use a sleight of hand to argue that an unresponsive thermometer is the superior method of measuring the health of any situation.

Emotions are like mercury in a thermometer — if the mercury rises to the top, are you trying to tell people the thermometer is defective and you cannot trust its reading?

No: it means the conditions are boiling hot. The mercury isn’t defective. It is giving you information that something in the environment is harmful to certain things and people.

People who do not understand the purpose of emotions are always off. Their solution is for everyone to become emotionally dead and to remove all the mercury from the thermometer and then claim that measuring device is now functional.

It is insane thinking disguised as rationality.

Intellectual intelligence is the measurements on the thermometer. Emotional intelligence is the mercury.

If you do not have the balance — the proper calibrations and the material that responds to the stimuli — you have a problem.

Yes, and it’s you.

But you can do something about it.

Don’t try to see your defective thermometer as being superior because that’s a lie.

So when I decided to study journalism, I paid close attention to both my calibrations and my mercury.

And analyzed them.

Once I analyzed my own personal feedback, I could rationally examine that area to see why I was reacting in a certain way, and what it meant.

And it didn’t take me long to see the truth about journalism.

If I could find truths that way, then why didn’t the profession I studied do the same?

And it isn’t some cannot, “Our hearts go out to the families of this tragedy” phrasing because that’s a script.

It is the genuine emotions of gathering and hunting information. What is working? What isn’t why? How do you overcome this obstacle? Has there been improvement since its removal? What is the difference between the two?

I had the balance, and I could understand what was happening with ease. When, for example, I received a rejection to a pitch, sometimes I would shrug it off, but other times I would be angry.

Okay, what’s so special about this one?

I’d start doing research about that publication, and its editor, and find out each time that there was a very good reason why that response made the mercury rise.

Of course, I would do the same with one that didn’t, comparing and contrasting, and the interesting thing was that there were differences and patterns between the ones that gave no reaction versus the ones that did.

Sometimes it ended up that there was a culture of misogyny. Sometimes, it was just a dysfunction and abusive outfit. Other times, the publication was about to fold.

That’s workable data.

That reaction hinted that if I looked into the outlets that took pains to belittle me, there would be a wealth of information for me to analyze.

But so did the ones that ghosted instead of give a reply.

The types of rejections told me a lot.

But so did the ones the accepted my pitches. They gave my other data. You compare and contrast. It was nothing personal.

I could have been a psychologist asking people to answer a questionnaire about the weather. I was looking for responses to understand my profession.

We see this sort of thing from experimenters all the time. The Harvard Business Review had one on how “pandas” impede executives in their careers.

If we study executives in various settings to understand the reality of their workplace, we can do the same for journalism. We don’t assume that questioning journalism means to undermine democracy.

That journalism has not been questioned or challenged properly is a huge impediment to the democratic process. It is like having an unruly child who is neglected and enabled.

And then reporters can’t help it but destroy their own profession and then blame everybody else for it.

They don’t want to know the truth about their own culpability, and that’s why they never see it to their own detriment.

I did want to see it, and I saw it.

I can’t help myself: I am a big fan of Truth. I am on a journey of exploring the deepest truths of the universe.

Because when you see the truth of the problem, the truth of the solution comes to you, and when you open up your heart and mind to the truth, it is beautiful as it sings its answers to you…

Memo to the Conversation: The Gillette ad is not a sign of a "cultural shift". It is a sign that corporate pandering is as deceptive as ever.




Boy, are some people gullible rubes.

You can fool all of the people some of the time, but it is the ones who can fool all of the time who can babble and puke sophistry thinking they know something.

Look at this piece of propaganda from the Conversation:

Gillette’s #MeToo-inspired Super Bowl ad represents a cultural shift

No, it doesn’t. It represents patriarchal misogyny repackaged to appease pseudo-feminist followers of the Middle Class who want hasty solutions to inconveniences by having some They do all the work to sweep it under the rug, and that has been going on for decades.

The Middle Class love to fly under the radar. They detest work, independent though, or real change. Just give the crib notes of what is acceptable thinking and cocktail party chatter and they will take those marching orders and march straight off a cliff.

The Gillette ad is pure bullshit and typical corporate propaganda. It doesn’t actually do anything but co-opt palatable feminism. Their sales were declining, mostly thanks to lazy men ditching shaving or basic hygiene because that is too hard compared to app swiping. Those men aren’t thinking about the women; they are thinking about their own lethargic asses and then trying to spin a narrative of individuality and self-expression by doing what everyone else is doing.

So Gillette is trying to sweet talk women into buying their junk.

The end.

No cultural shift. The difference is before their ads were targeting men and now they are targeting women to buy a product by providing their dream men who puke what these women want to hear.

No cultural shift. This is how advertising rolls.

The core message hasn’t deviated. It reminds me of a Han Hoogerbrugge print I have hanging in my bedroom called Hey Boy Hey Girl.

I love that picture, but apparently, I am in the minority. My mother always cursed and made horrid comments when I had it in my office. People look at it and wonder what the hell do I see in it.

Simple: A satiric take on typical Western thinking.

The girl is just the guy wearing a girly wig. If you watch the animation on his old site NAILS, it is animation #12. Click the “girl”, then the “boy”, then click the boy again to get the girl’s giggling.

This is how Western thinking is built: everything is patriarchal and male-centred, even when it purports to be enlightened by more feminist thinking.

It is an epic bullshit story.

It is no different than when when a kid asks dad for money and he rejects the request, and then the kid remembers there is mom and then goes appeals to her, hoping she’ll oblige.

Acting like a kid is not a cultural shift. That is knocking on doors until someone lets you in.

Gillette’s problem isn’t that men have gotten more “sensitive”: they (a) have more artisan options so they can be snooty and express their specialness with the brand of razor they use, and (b) have a more rugged option that trumps Gillette’s schtick by chucking their razors in the first place.

Whoop di do.

This isn’t a watershed moment.

Screen Shot 2019-01-22 at 12.26.14 PM.png

So don’t overthink the corporate press release…

Why read the New York Times when this website has already said months before?






Gotta love those unoriginal thinkers at the New York Times when they have reruns such as this piece:

In Business and Governing, Trump Seeks Victory in Chaos

Gee, New York Times, where did you get this idea?

Perhaps from my last book?


Or maybe from my website, in countless entries?

Like this one in June of 2018?

For people who read this site frequently, you know the Chaos Narrative and that I have said here and in my book that Trump plays Go and thrives in chaos.

Yes, the New York Times obviously has to scrape my site for ideas.

I have been thinking about things very carefully, and what I am going to do with Chaser. Until tonight, I was at a crossroads; now, I have had a revelation, and combined with my intellectual transmutation, I have a very clear idea of what I am going to do next.

That means that now my third arc is coming first, and that should be in two weeks. It is a One Shot, and it has to do with a notorious case from another era that would be seen differently in a #MeToo era.

Then I will have something on Postmedia, and then comes a geo-political story. 

And then a hiatus for me to finish writing my book.

Come summer, I am taking a vastly different track. Journalism and old school elites play chess. Trump plays Go.

Alexandra Kitty plays something else entirely. It is a game called Chaser, and the object of the game is to turn over rules that shred scripts one page at a time.

And that is your message from…


Matriarchal Storytelling builds on the personal.








The first two pictures are of me when I was sixteen and seventeen, several months apart. Glamour shots were all the rage and that second picture was my birthday present. I had colour and black and white, and truth be told, I prefer my black and white pictures.


That era of my life I represent in my fiction writing with my Sparrow: Dream Detective stories.

The Sparrow is a little older than that — she is about nineteen when she gave away her birthdays, and she stays at the age when people do fall in love and feel strongly about true love and soulmates. Much of the logic for those surrealist stories comes from what was popping in my head way back then.

And I was an active fiction writer even back then. I just discovered Salvador Dali and was an avid reader of Agatha Christie and Dick Francis. When I started to write The World’s Most Dangerous Woman, there was no Sparrow, Doyenne Assassin, or Women of Orchid.

There was a Phil Lipton and Marigold Wesley kicking around because I had written an unpublished book that I was never happy with. It was clever, outrageous, and witty, but it was too harsh. I abandoned it, but re-read it because I could never figure out how to fix it. Sometimes the story actually works, but you know it’s not your best because while it is polished, the core isn’t what you want it to be.

Magnus is a character I have had kicking around a lot longer. In a way, since my teenage years. She originally was a concept for a superhero, except her name was Francesca Magnus Lyme. You didn’t mess with her, but I eventually dropped the idea. I had sketches of the character — with a black turtleneck top, but while I liked the look of her, she was too harsh.

Eventually, Magnus was reborn as Magnus Demeter Lyme, and I had a book called Chaser — she had her friends, but she was a smart-ass. I wrote one manuscript, it didn’t thrill me. I wrote another in the present tense — the mystery was great, but she wasn’t.

I scrapped that, too.

Then she appeared in a short story that did get published in 2008 in my short story anthology from bluechrome. She came off as a cunning jerk, but as she wasn’t the main character and the story was told from the perspective of a rival, it is up for interpretation.

Then I wrote a new manuscript with her — but while I was trying to soften her, she still wasn’t working out for me.

But I remembered Phil and Marigold, and it was time I revisited the characters with the same base, but with Phil and Magnus being former colleagues. Phil transmuted, became kinder and more secure, and I had fun with the character, not worrying about snark and crafting an immaculate plot.

Suddenly, Phil worked out, but Magnus didn’t; however, I started developing the characters of Queen’s Heights, including Holly Lake — her mysteries were a story-within-a-story, and the purpose was to give Magnus perspective — and each chapter was a self-contained story of her cases.

And then I scrapped it.

But not entirely.

Parts worked, but the mysteries were perfect for Phil and Marigold, so I tweaked them.

Magnus would go through a final transformation.

And then I found my Magnus.

The prim and proper punk.

The World’s Most Dangerous Woman.

I wrote two short stories that were published in an online literary journal. The Queen’s Heights angle was expanded and kept. So were Phil and Marigold. The short story angle was also kept.

But Magnus was still ahead of her time. No publisher wanted to touch her because she wasn’t slutty, nor was she insecure. That was the feedback I got. One publisher didn’t like the fact that she didn’t fall for one of the cabals and got burned.

That was in 2011 or so.

But it was just as well.

I suddenly wanted to tell stories of other characters, and I couldn’t do it with a traditional publisher.

So came A Dangerous Woman Story Studio.

So why didn’t Magnus work for about twenty years?

Simple: she wasn’t personal. She was my idea of what I thought a tough female character would be, but she wasn’t me.

She wasn’t personal.

As soon as I started to open up and base her on my essence, it was easier to explore the character. There was no mask or fortress between my character and me — or one between me and the audience.

Then suddenly, it wasn’t just Magnus, but a world of characters with a Matriarchal structure. The third picture was taken right after I finished my magnum opus Dr. Verity Lake’s Journey of a Thousand Revelations. It clocks in at almost 1600 pages. I have had people who read it tell me they didn’t think they could endure a book that big, but had no problem doing so because it feels like four books, not one.

That I could write 1600 pages in a few short months during a very trying time in my life happened strictly because what I was writing was personal.

Because Matriarchal builds on the personal. It is intimate in its design. You cannot nurture from a distance. It is up close to the heart or it is nothing.

I could write about characters from different times and places. Once you connect with one character, the spread of activation happens, and you become connected to them all.

What part do I wish to explore today? That’s the joy of the Matriarchal. You are putting your cards on the table. Not everyone will appreciate it, and there will be people who will do everything to try to silence you, but that’s not your problem.

I solved that problem, and now I am thinking how to take A Dangerous Woman on a different platform. I don’t know what, however.

But whatever it is, it will be personal…

Method Research, Preface.












Each one of those pictures represents a milestone in my life. The first is my first profile on me when I was operating Chaser. The second was my undergrad photo where I was on the cusp of creating something called Method Research. The third was at the height of said Method Research. The fourth was taken on my first day in j-school when I was in my first year of Method Research. The fifth was taken when I won the Arch Award at McMaster University where it all began and it came full circle less than a year before my two books of my results of Method Research would be published by Disinfo.

Those were taken years ago, and I thought my work was done.

But sometimes there is a new picture, and a new revelation that brings old ideas into a new light…