The Human Volatility Index: Between Good and Evil.

I’ve realized one thing, from a life of selfless servitude. Nobody, not even me, is a good person, not whole-heartedly. In fact, according to my definition, which I shall enshrine further below, in this essay, I claim that not one in a hundred people are good. Good people are so rare that they no longer occur. The vast majority of people are evil.

You can see this all over the place. I don’t just mean vigilantes robbing, shooting and stealing for pennies on the dollar, or for no damned reason at all. I don’t mean senseless and violent crime.

I mean run of the mill, you and me, “good” people, acting in selfish and morally detestable ways.

Perhaps the entire boomer generation was evil. Perhaps younger people are more sensitive to the issues at large, and will elevate themselves to a selfless trajectory, one which does not doom all of mankind to a violent end. I’m talking, of course, about environmental issues, which many young people at least worry about.

Here’s my definition of a baddie or evil person. Someone who wants to acquire wealth. That’s it. That’s all. Want money? Then you’re evil.

Money is evil, friend. And wanting money is inviting evil into your life.

Instead of wanting money, I propose a new way of thinking: Living selflessly, and moderating wealth until you have little or none of your own.

I myself live off the very lowest amount that I can live off of. About 10-12k Canadian per year. This places me, according to statistics and the government, well below the poverty line in Ontario, Canada.

In addition to part-time work, I also take care of two elderly people at home, for which I am not paid. My family, in turn, takes care of me. I live in a selfless vacuum, in which several moderate people help me, and I help them back.

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But wait a minute, you think. Money can buy you a lot of convenience, and liberate you from work, and buy you life-saving medications and healthcare services. Money can save your life. Just how and why is it evil?

To this I respond: Make as much as you need, and nothing more. Take the very lowest amount back for yourself, and leave the rest to others. Live selflessly.

If all of us lived off the lowest amount necessary, all of us would be rich. Instead one person has more than 100 billion dollars, and the rest of us are poor.


And don’t believe the fairy tales, carefully crafted and marketed, that that person is a self-made man and that’s his own wealth. If you believe that, perhaps you’re a little too naive for your own good, friend.

That’s where government comes in. Why do we have one, if everybody is broke, rent is too high, and wages are too low? And the last thing we need is another space bail out or car company tax relief. Down with government I say, and yes to post-left anarchy. Let G-d sort out all these politicians. Why don’t they earn minimum wage, the way you and I do?

So, my friends, we’re at a crossroads. And we need to live selflessly, and care for one another. Two examples. One is our aging population. Who will take care of us in our ripe old age? The numbers don’t lie. The way things are going, every young and able body should be assigned an elderly person to take care of. And even that might not be enough. For, elderly people will far outnumber young workers in the years to come. I myself already take care of two people who are in retirement, and might take care of several others after them, if I am still able to. (note: They take care of me, too!)

The second is the environment. These billionaires want nothing but more wealth. For, you see, my friend, wanting wealth is a tell-tale sign of being or becoming evil. And the more you have, the more you want, the more you lie, cheat, and steal your way to the top. What do you think they teach at these business schools? It’s not Shakespeare, it’s things like Machiavelli’s The Prince. They teach you to be cold, callous and calculated. If you could eat your own head or that of your child’s at a profit, then you would probably do so.

But that’s exactly what the environment is. Betting against the future of civilization, the end of young people’s right to life, for a sizable sum to a private individual(s) who probably do not even need it.

Just how much money is too much? If you have a second home you don’t live in, you’re part of a growing problem. Many people don’t even have a first home. But before they buy one, it’s already been sold by several enthusiastic bidders, who have wealth. By the time you buy your condo or home, it’s already been bought and sold at a profit and the price upped by a sizable chunk. Why? Because somebody profited at your expense… because money is evil.

So what’s the solution? Just buy several homes if you have money, and who cares about the little guy, trying to put a roof over his head for the first time. And then they claim  that I am ill, and you are sane. Though I do remain, your paranoid schizophrenic friend, I do not even own one house, in this market of million dollar, fifty year old bungalows in the ghetto, I cannot, and will not accept ever owning a home, which is a luxury I cannot afford. I also never drive a car, partially because of my disability but also because of preference. And I recycle everything, keep a low carbon footprint, and want to offset my emissions with life insurance when I die. Perhaps, you might claim, I am selfless. But no friend, I want money just as much as the next bloke, I’m just not very good at making it. I’m a writer, and instead of becoming commercially viable, I post my rough drafts in the public domain, and do myself a disservice. Why don’t I chase the bag, so to speak?

Well, I leave that to your intuition.

Best of luck with that. And no to money from me.
I’m poor and live with a disability.

I’m a bum. I’ll always be a bum. And that’s alright with me.

“Steve Mini from the 6”.

note: This is a rough draft and/or notes updated sometimes. It’s just an idea.
I’m inspired by the likes Johnathan Swift’s “A Modest Proposal”. None or all of this is fiction and sarcasm. Leave me alone.

Patriklironomicon: The Man In The Black Kimono

sample #2 with notes.

The man in the black kimono waited for the elf king to die with honor, and even offered him a knife, to carve out his guts and incriminate himself.

“Here, have my dagger, it can hasten your untimely death”.

The elf king smiled. He fell to his knees and conserved his strength. He did not want to die quickly.

“For four hundred years, no elf has died in a war. Our magic and our solitude have kept us safe. How are you so certain I will die?”

At that, the man in the black kimono lifted his unsheathed sword, a great bastard looking sword, longer than the common kitana of his people. He wielded it in both hands and grasped the long, glittering, jeweled hilt in both hands.


“This sword … is magick. There is a demon in it. It thirsts for elven blood.”

The elf looked at his wounds, mere glances, yet already, black bile had magically surrounded the wounds. He thought briefly on the situation.

“What is this? Magical Poison?”
“I die without honor, therefore.”

Suddenly, there were tears in the man in the black kimono’s eyes.

“We were too cocky…” he stated, as a matter of fact.

“Tell me…” the Elf King said, suddenly strong again, though only briefly. Then, he felt rather tired, and with one hand on the ground, sat himself down to die.

“Who gave you this sword? Was it an elf? I would know his name.”

It was the man in the black kimono’s turn to smile.

“The time for talking is over. Now that you’re kneeling down, I might behead you, and save you some small dignity.”

“Tell me! Tell me his name! Who gave you this sword?”

The Elf King thought on his short reign – several millennia, during which he had not fathered a son. Ever elusive and rather difficult… He only had one daughter …

“There will be a war, a-now…” he trailed off, and spat black blood.

“Promise me, stranger. Do not kill my daughter.” Black blood gathered at the corners of his mouth. He spat.

“She is the last of her kind … mayhaps, one day, she might have a son …”

The man in the black kimono was wary.

“Promise me! And I offer you my head.”

“Very well.“You have my word. The Kuroki clan will never harm her.”

The man in the black kimono did not say these words lightly, and took his promise to heart.

But the elf was clearly dying and took no heed, though he tried to smile. He was foaming at the mouth. A vile cloud of black surrounded his wounds. He retched as the magick of the blade ate at his innards.

“Are you ready?” the man in the black kimono said, and, not wanting to spare him any more dignity, without further warning and with one brief strike, the man in the black Kimono beheaded him.


Notes: April 27-28. 12:15am+

I like the idea for this scene: but I find that the dialogue could probably use a polish. Just a grazing wound kills the elf king. I want to emphasize that a little more. Things I’m looking to work on: perhaps show the fight scene, which I tend to avoid for now. I find fight scenes awesome in movies, but awful in books. I sped up the action and only ever showed the conclusion. It’s short, concise and tries to be to the point. That’s the good news. The bad news is that the writing, well, kinda sucks. But the idea is good. On to the next scene, the next idea, and we’ll leave this for subsequent drafts for sure (I’m a man of two, three and even four drafts. I’m just getting ideas down for now and I’ll polish in the subsequent drafts).

The Good: The man in the black kimono sounds badass and should be mysterious, with a demon sword no-less.

The Bad: The elf king slouches over and dies like a wuss.

The Ugly: I write quickly, and don’t care for errors. On to the next scene, and I’ll fix this in subsequent drafts once I have a complete story of many scenes.

Written: Wednesday 27 April 2022. 11:40pm+ “Thursday Morning”


2.0 “notes for subsequent drafts”

-The elf king retched. “Die with dignity!”
-possible alternative: “His soul exited his mouth and entered the Demon Sword’s blade.”
-“This is my avatar: my host. I am older than the oldest elven king” the demon blade spoke in his head.

I like the idea of a talking sword. Many magical weapons talk in my stories, especially those of some importance. This is a throwback to old-school Dungeons and Dragons, I suppose. I might expand on this … theme?

First time: Trying to write a novel. Sample scene with notes.

She drank the tea, but not too eagerly, though she was thirsty and curious. It had been a fortnight since Nana read the cups, and what else was there to do, in these uncertain times, but worry about the future?

Perhaps the cups would bring her bad omens, and the nightmares would start again. Nana did not know of the nightmares, she never told anyone about them, for fear of being cast off as weak or insubordinate. Men didn’t have nightmares. Men were soldiers. She would grow one day to be a fine young man. She would sit on the throne of her father. She would be an elf prince and no longer a woman. Oh, how she wished it were so. For now, she must weather the storm and become strong.

Finally, the cups were drunk and nana took a peek at the bottoms and smiled. 

“A wish that is in your heart will be granted”

X smiled in secret joy. “Would that it be so”

Just then, the soldier came in from the field. His helmet was flung off in frustration, and she could see his long, lanky light hair brushing against his shoulders. For not the last time, X wondered why her father had chosen a young boy, not even yet a man, to be her lifelong companion and guard her. This boy couldn’t even properly fit into his armor.

“Why this boy?” She grumbled to nana “Why not a knight or even a soldier?” She looked at him approaching.

It was nana’s turn to smile. “When you’re older, you’ll know more of these things than the leaves could ever tell you. For now, be happy that your cups didn’t foretell nightmares!” she said wistfully, as if the old soothsayer knew far more than she let on.

But before X could question her, the boy nearly broke through the door. “We need to go. Now.” He plopped on his oversized helmet and gripped the sword at his side.

X had been secretly prepared. She always was. She grabbed her things quickly, then fled.


notes: This is my first time writing fantasy. Heck this is the first scene i’ve constructed. It has some flaws and errors, which I would hope are minor and fixable in a second, third, even a fourth draft. I anticipate many drafts, at least two, maybe three, possibly four.

In the first draft I just sort of write stuff down and hope it’s coherent enough to edit. In the third or fourth drafts I’ll connect all the dots and revise; perhaps even finish the novel. At least, that’s what I’m thinking.

Maybe I should practice writing more, and editing less. But at any rate, I’m a novice.

decades of reading and I can barely write a novel. For shame!

To Arms! For Art’s Sake!

PS: One thing I’m worried about, when posting online, is that I somehow lose the right to print said work in a novel and publish it. I would hope this isn’t the case, and that this will be deemed a “sample”. You’re welcome 😉

Steve Mini from the 6.

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I didn’t realize this, (this is how novice I am), but I was reading that each scene is supposed to have a conflict. Maybe Nana and “X” (yet unnamed) can argue a little, so I can show that there is some struggle and a scene goal. The main character aught to fail this goal, and struggle with another conflict or scene goal in the next scene or chapter. At least, I think that’s how things should work. I’m hopeless. But this is a start.

There’s only one way to learn how to write. To be a writer you actually do have to write a little, is what I’ve realized after all these years. I need to write, and fail, and write again some more. Stay tuned, I’ll post some samples with notes!