Danger, Vicious Dog

TestTubeBaby

Started updating my bio Dec 31, 2023. Accidentally wrote four autofiction books. Slid from narrative into monologue—not stream-of-consciousness, more like speech-speed meaning performance. Trained my voice into AI, produced a shit-ton of pieces. Had too many. Needed a place to dump them. Saw a sign that said “Beware, Vicious Dog!” Misread it. Named the podcast Danger, Vicious Dog. Didn’t fix it. Just kept going. Queer. Cosmic. Sarcastic. Cheap. Accidentally committed to the bit. Some voice and art is AI... I don't know how I feel about that... so I'm working on figuring it out... how I feel.

  1. E5: Sepulveda Effigy; S6: Relish the Re-Leash

    5 HRS AGO

    E5: Sepulveda Effigy; S6: Relish the Re-Leash

    A city spends forty years preventing a subway from reaching its wealthy beach community because they fear “outsiders,” then spends the next forty years complaining that no one can afford to work in their restaurants, clean their homes, or care for their aging bodies. The train finally arrives empty.You install hundreds of security cameras across sand dunes to monitor danger, but every danger enters through the part of yourself the cameras can’t see. Meanwhile the footage captures hours of beautiful sunsets nobody watches.A man spends his life trying to become authentic, only to realize that the performance of authenticity has become the most rehearsed role he’s ever played. The audience applauds his vulnerability on schedule.Two dachshunds threaten to ruin a podcast by barking at the exact moment the podcaster is trying to explain the illusion of interruption. Their barking becomes the most honest thing in the episode. Who, exactly, interrupted whom?A community fights against dense housing because they want to “preserve the character” of the neighborhood, while simultaneously mourning the disappearance of artists, weirdos, young people, and spontaneity. The preserved character becomes a mausoleum wearing sunglasses.Someone spends decades learning how to explain themselves perfectly, only to discover that the people who love them never required an explanation, and the people who demanded one had already made up their minds.A raised subway line reaches the end of the track and launches gracefully into the desert because no one could agree on where the city should go next. Urban planning as Greek tragedy.You carry wheelbarrows full of surveillance equipment across wooden planks laid over dunes so unstable they erase your footprints by morning. Every effort to document permanence becomes evidence of erosion.A man says there’s “no life east of Sepulveda” while thousands of people east of Sepulveda are simultaneously saying there’s “no soul west of Sepulveda.” The boulevard remains completely indifferent to both reviews.Your partner walks toward you carrying groceries — proof of continuity, domesticity, nourishment, ordinary love — while you sit surrounded by microphones trying to explain existence to strangers on the internet. The dogs arrive first.

    17 min
  2. E4: Onomatopoeia; S6: Up for Lease (Bonus)

    1D AGO ·  BONUS

    E4: Onomatopoeia; S6: Up for Lease (Bonus)

    You’re probably noticing a pattern by now. I keep circling around the same things: responsibility, performance, authenticity, pragmatism, spectacle, care, self-preservation, manipulation, survival. Human beings constructing little wire bridges over impossible gaps and then pretending they were always there. I think part of why I’m asking these questions is because I don’t trust easy morality anymore. The older I get, the more suspicious I become of people who already know exactly what the right thing is before they’ve even sat with the discomfort long enough to smell it.   So here are a few situations. None of them are theoretical, exactly. None of them are fully real either. They’re just little pressure chambers. Ethical weather systems. Tiny social terrariums full of mold and electricity and people trying their best while also absolutely ruining everything. Anyway. Enjoy your enrichment pellets, little lab rat.   A youth centre stays open during a dangerous ice storm because the staff know some of the kids have nowhere else warm to go. The sidewalks are slippery. Someone could get hurt. Maybe badly. Closing would be safer legally. Staying open feels safer humanly. What exactly is “safe enough,” and who gets to decide?   A person spends years building an organization around their own instincts, values, habits, contradictions, and blind spots. Then someone else takes over and transforms it into something more effective, more strategic, more politically competent. If the new version helps more people, was the old version noble… or just emotionally attached to its own flavour?   You know someone who exaggerates parts of their story to survive socially. Not lying exactly. More like… editing themselves into coherence. The people around them seem happier with the edited version. Is authenticity still a virtue if it damages your ability to belong?   A community activist becomes highly effective because they are willing to obsess, push, confront, litigate, organize, pressure, and emotionally endure at a level most people cannot tolerate. At what point does admirable commitment become indistinguishable from compulsion?   Someone keeps making jokes in the middle of painful conversations. The jokes genuinely help people tolerate reality. But the humour also prevents certain feelings from fully landing. If a coping mechanism comforts everyone involved, is it still avoidance?   A person notices they are becoming emotionally detached from suffering they used to care deeply about. Not because they became cruel. Because they became tired. The tiredness feels permanent. Is burnout a moral failure, a biological limit, or just another word for adaptation?   You inherit a broken system that only functions because everyone inside it quietly bends rules to keep vulnerable people alive. Following the rules exactly would harm people. Ignoring the rules creates long-term instability. Which version of dishonesty is more ethical?   Someone creates a public identity around vulnerability and honesty. People begin trusting them because they “seem real.” Eventually, even their sincerity starts feeling performative to themselves. Can authenticity survive once it becomes part of your role?   You discover that a person you admire built much of their life around avoiding shame rather than pursuing joy. Their accomplishments are still real. Their care for others is still real. Does the motivation behind goodness matter if the goodness still exists?   A leader leaves an organization believing they’ve prepared it to survive without them. Years later, they watch it evolve into something unfamiliar but undeniably alive. Is letting go an act of trust… or just another thing people say when they lose control?

    9 min
  3. E3 Love Is a Group; S6: Lash my lashes with a leash

    3D AGO

    E3 Love Is a Group; S6: Lash my lashes with a leash

    “Love Is a Group” wanders through 1987 Los Angeles wearing a tube dress, a student body president pin, and enough contradictory identities to make an entire school district develop stress hives. This episode starts where expulsion paperwork, forged absence notes, bomb threats, student council politics, AIDS-era panic, and adolescent theatre-kid populism all begin collapsing into each other like shopping carts in freeway traffic. Somewhere between Mira Costa High School and the California Association of Student Councils conference, an openly gay teenager with bleached hair accidentally becomes both a symbol and a problem. Not because he wanted to “represent” anyone. God no. Representation is exhausting. This is more about improvisation. About survival through style. About discovering that if the room already thinks you’re dangerous, you might as well become interesting too. There are symposiums on homophobia that never happen. Principals watching “like a hawk.” Anita Bryant floating spectrally through orange juice fascism. Tube dresses. Benson & Hedges Deluxe Ultralight Menthol 100s in a hard pack. Harry Hay. Gay AA. Canadian harm reduction culture. The unbearable weirdness of marriage equality branding. Student elections run like performance art. And somewhere underneath all of it: the realization that institutions panic whenever someone refuses to make themselves smaller for administrative convenience. This isn’t nostalgia. Nostalgia airbrushes things. This is closer to rummaging through psychic debris while laughing at the absurdity of how civilizations manufacture normality. Also: Steve Buscemi dies of AIDS in an indie film review written for a high school newspaper before the writer has even officially come out yet. Which honestly feels like the most 1980s sentence imaginable. Tiny little cultural fossils embedded in asphalt. “Love Is a Group” is about social gravity. The strange chemistry of finding other people weird enough, frightened enough, glamorous enough, or stubborn enough to become mirrors for each other. Sometimes a movement. Sometimes a support group. Sometimes just a cluster of nervous systems trying to survive history while smoking menthol cigarettes outside a 7-Eleven. And somewhere in there is Dr. Carl Green, calmly agreeing to host a classroom conversation about homophobia in a world where simply saying the word aloud felt explosive. The leash snaps. The city watches. The kid keeps walking anyway. Very inconsiderate behaviour for 1987, frankly.

    30 min
  4. E2: Left In Silence (Megacolon); S5: (Un)bleached

    5D AGO

    E2: Left In Silence (Megacolon); S5: (Un)bleached

    Is this fiction? No, it’s clearly not fiction. It’s a transcript of a mind trying—and failing—to sit still. But all memory is reconstruction, so technically it is fiction. Right, but if everything is fiction, then calling it fiction is meaningless. Exactly. Which is why we keep talking. This episode begins in a windowless cruise cabin—already a metaphor you didn’t ask for—and spirals outward into a systems-level breakdown of being alive: the body as infrastructure, the brain as refinery, the heart as a pumping liability, and meaning itself as some kind of nutrient we’re not entirely sure we can synthesize. One voice argues that writing is too slow, too deliberate, too… intentional. Another voice counters that speaking only feels spontaneous because the writing already happened somewhere else—earlier, deeper, invisibly. So which is it? Performance or authenticity? Both. Neither. Depends who’s watching. Along the way: A song called Megacolon becomes a philosophical event.The blood-brain barrier becomes a narrative device.Childhood learning strategies mutate into adult identity scaffolding.Language dissolves into sound, then reforms as something suspiciously like music.And hovering over all of it is a quiet, irritating question: If your thoughts only exist now, then what exactly are you doing when you “remember,” “revise,” or “contradict” yourself? One side insists this is a journey toward coherence. The other side points out that the “journey” is just a story told by something that’s already out of time. So… do we keep going? Or do we stop and call it silence? Except—there’s no such thing as silence. Which is inconvenient. Because this episode ends there anyway. Or doesn’t.

    18 min
  5. E10: Centring the Trans; S5: Lived/Deaded (Finale)

    APR 19

    E10: Centring the Trans; S5: Lived/Deaded (Finale)

    This one starts with a headset, a wireless mic, and a person pacing around their house trying to think out loud without deciding what they think first. There are ribs in an Instant Pot. There are potatoes that may or may not be timed correctly. There is a puppy tangling itself in cords and demanding to be acknowledged as the central organizing force of the universe. And somewhere inside all of that: a youth health centre in Abbotsford. A plaque on a City Hall wall. A signature that meant very little—until it didn’t. A phone call. A doctor who didn’t tolerate b******t. A room where people started asking a simple question: what would it look like if young people who don’t trust systems could actually walk into one and not get dismissed? That question becomes a place. And that place—almost incidentally at first—becomes a hub for trans youth in a region that didn’t necessarily set out to “centre” anything except access, dignity, and not being talked down to about smoking when you came in with something else entirely. From there, the episode does what the mind does. It wanders. Into early activism. Into being a teenager in Southern California. Into AIDS-era organizing, borrowed language, and the strange inheritance of ideas about identity—who gets to claim it, who gets to question it, and who gets told to shut up about it. Then forward again: pandemic internet. Comment sections. The moment you realize you are out of your depth in a conversation that seems to demand certainty. The emergence of frameworks—TERFs, trans discourse, competing claims about what is fixed, what is fluid, what is social, what is biological, what is real. And underneath all of it, a quieter thread: What does it actually mean to “centre” someone? Is it about language? Ordering letters? Deference? Silence? Infrastructure? Proximity to power? Or is it something more mundane and harder to argue with—like building a place where someone can walk in and not get turned away? This episode doesn’t resolve that. It circles it. It interrupts itself. It forgets what it was saying and remembers something else. It admits confusion in real time. It contradicts itself. It keeps going anyway. Also: 12-step identity. The idea of being “born” something. The moment that identity stops fitting. Grooming, memory, and the unreliable archive of how a self gets constructed in the first place. Nothing is cleaned up. Nothing is finalized. It is a recording of a mind trying to hold competing models of reality while making dinner and stepping over a dog toy. Set to music, because apparently that’s how we get through it.

    49 min
  6. E9: Clickbait Debate; S5: Livin' La Vida Loca

    APR 18

    E9: Clickbait Debate; S5: Livin' La Vida Loca

    Two voices enter. Neither leaves with dignity. Welcome to a kitchen in April 2020: ribs in an Instant Pot, hands washed raw from crosswalk buttons, a new puppy doing something morally superior with its time—and then, without permission, the floor drops out. You’re in a 1991 Hollywood motel. AIDS. Meth. Peanut M&Ms as harm reduction. No transition. No narrator asking if you’re okay with this. This episode is what happens when that rupture doesn’t get cleaned up. We fed the wreckage into an AI and told it to argue with itself. One voice insists the chaos is the point—that this is what a mind actually looks like when it’s trying to hold pandemic paranoia, generational trauma, immigration limbo, Facebook gender debates, and dinner at the same time. The other voice calls bullshit—says this is what happens when someone mistakes lack of structure for honesty and expects you to applaud. They go at it. Is this a profound map of consciousness under pressure, or just a privileged guy pacing around his kitchen turning memory into content? Is the brain an archive—or a bar fight between timelines? Do you owe your past coherence, or just proximity? Expect: Jakarta. A mosque sign that does not love George Bush. Immigration purgatory. Linguistic sabotage (kantor vs. kantol—choose your fighter). Dr. Laura. Evolutionary wood. Facebook as philosophy engine. The word “trauma” doing heavy lifting while also being side-eyed. Also: dogs. Always dogs. No conclusions are reached. Several are attempted. One or two collapse mid-sentence. At least one question starts drinking. This is the debate about whether the mess is the method—or the excuse. Set to music, because apparently that helps the mayhem go down.

    19 min
  7. E8: Clickbait: Privilege, Grooming, Zee/Zim; S5: Just Kill Me

    APR 18

    E8: Clickbait: Privilege, Grooming, Zee/Zim; S5: Just Kill Me

    There’s writing that tries not to disappoint you—and then there’s writing that behaves like a shopping cart with one broken wheel careening downhill into a pile of burning encyclopedias. Remember those? Encyclopedias. Episode Eight thinks its cart started rolling thirty years ago. I’m going to indulge that, because the point here is to simulate the cognitive static of modern identity-making—the way memory, trauma, language, and cultural debris all rush the stage at once, each insisting it’s the headliner. This began as a simple, extemporaneous dinner rant. I thought I knew where it would land. I don’t anymore. The mind is built to predict; when it fails, it scrambles—opens the wrong drawers, pulls out the wrong objects, insists they belong. So suddenly: Los Angeles, early ’90s, AIDS crisis. An hourly motel. A man already outside the story of his life, riding a motorcycle between sex clubs and nowhere-to-sleep, using meth like a farewell letter. The memory doesn’t arrive cleanly. It sprawls. It refuses a moral. Then—without warning—I’m in Indonesia a decade later. Or earlier. Waiting to see if Canada would recognize my relationship as a family. Learning the language, deliberately swapping words just to see what would happen. Living beside a mosque with a sign calling for George Bush to be killed. Walking past it daily as the only white American in the neighborhood. It stayed until the 2004 earthquake took the building down. And yes, this is chaotic. It isn’t a clean narrative. It’s not trying to be. It’s closer to how a mind behaves when it isn’t forcing coherence—something like a solar system forming, debris everywhere, gravity improvising structure after the fact. Then I’m back in the pandemic. Washing my hands after touching a crosswalk button. Cooking ribs in a hot pot. Recording. Remembering how fear lingers in the body long after the conditions that produced it have shifted or vanished. Too many timelines. Too many tones. The kind of thing that would get flagged as unfocused. That’s not an accident. It’s the point. This episode became a kind of cognitive traffic jam on a highway made entirely of on-ramps—a demonstration of what it feels like when the present is constantly interrupted by the memory of having remembered something before. Not a tidy line. Not a bowl. More like trying to sort your childhood bedroom while the house is on fire and someone—possibly you—keeps handing you objects you don’t recall taking. To interrogate that mess, I fed the transcript into an AI and had two generated voices debate a simple question: is this episode sloppy, or is it honest? That debate is Episode Nine. They argue. They contradict themselves. They try to summarize and collapse under their own metaphors. They circle the question until even the question starts to degrade. What they do agree on—somewhere beneath the noise—is that the mind doesn’t experience life in clean sequences. It experiences collision, recursion, interference, improvisation, and the occasional linguistic prank. Episode Ten, then, is the thing underneath all of this: the actual extemporaneous recording. Me making dinner. Moving through it. Letting the mind run without deciding what it means. All three episodes are set to music—“a spoonful of sugar to help the mayhem go down.” You can decide whether this is a mess, a method, or something that refuses the distinction. And, appropriately enough—this ends where it doesn’t.

    21 min

About

Started updating my bio Dec 31, 2023. Accidentally wrote four autofiction books. Slid from narrative into monologue—not stream-of-consciousness, more like speech-speed meaning performance. Trained my voice into AI, produced a shit-ton of pieces. Had too many. Needed a place to dump them. Saw a sign that said “Beware, Vicious Dog!” Misread it. Named the podcast Danger, Vicious Dog. Didn’t fix it. Just kept going. Queer. Cosmic. Sarcastic. Cheap. Accidentally committed to the bit. Some voice and art is AI... I don't know how I feel about that... so I'm working on figuring it out... how I feel.