Issue 10: Light the Fuse, Take In Your Masterpiece, then Live Forever

Collateral damage is inevitable. The best spring cleaning starts with fire.

Welcome to The Bluebird Paradox, a gritty MicroZine written by me, Chris Sadhill, that explores the coexistence of light and darkness, focusing on social issues and the human experiences we often overlook, presented through various short stories, poetry, and other creative arts.

The Bluebird pays homage to Charles Bukowski’s poem Bluebird, which delves into themes of vulnerability, repression, and the struggle to express oneself authentically.

Often, the Bluebird symbolizes hope, love, positivity, and renewal; however, throughout my life, I’ve observed the presence of darkness where there is light, leading me to believe in a paradoxical relationship between the two.

The Bluebird Paradox embraces the inherent contradictions and complexities of our existence and seeks to reveal deeper truths about society, emotions, and the human experience.

As always, thank you for being here. Please enjoy the read.

Photo by Connor Danylenko

March has always been a breath of fresh air—the month of purging, of shedding pent-up stress accumulated throughout the long freeze. It’s an opportunity to unclog the arteries, stretch your stiff legs, and finally step into the real world instead of hiding inside the simulation, pretending to be whatever disingenuous avatar you’ve conjured over the past few months.

It’s the beginning of spring—and spring cleaning! It's your ecdysis: the shedding of bad habits, the brushing off of layered filth, and the eradication of those toxic people dragging you down.

March is about finally removing the gas mask that shields you from the nuclear plume hanging over your life—so you can breathe naturally again. So you can encourage new healthy growth.

If you’ve been following The Bluebird Paradox, hopefully, you’ve stuck to your plans of letting shit go, staying resilient against negativity, and finding a healthy relationship with your expectations. If not, it’s a great time to make some vital corrections before the year slips away.

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This month is known for several things—Women’s History, Leprechauns, and March Madness usually top the list. Surprisingly, I’ve stumbled upon a way to connect all three—if you’re willing to imagine for a moment trolls throwing temper tantrums instead of Leprechauns spouting limericks, self-righteousness becoming the new gold standard, and Women’s History stripped of nearly all femininity, twisted into a non-binary soft serve and topped with rainbow sprinkles, all culminating in pure Madness.

For me, March Madness evokes something other than basketball. Yes, my mind hones in on the Madness—because nowadays, it’s everywhere, and few are addressing it. Mine looks more like Newton’s Cradle harmonizing in the background while someone paints their trauma onto a blank ceiling, as their therapist counts the minutes until their crazy ass goes home.

So, in this issue, while staying true to the theme of spring cleaning, I’ll also highlight the psychosis of wokeism because boy, have I encountered my fair share of woketards over the past 30 days. It’s quite fresh in my mind.

For those who know, you know. For those who don’t—let’s just say the Cancel Vultures were starving this month, circling high above a certain Writing Competition forum, with their eyes set on me and a writer friend as their next meal, and they were not going to stop until we were both picked clean.

Frankly, I couldn’t care less that they did try to cancel me—mainly because I’m uncancelable. You can’t destroy someone who’s more comfortable living in the darkness, accustomed to a steady diet of rejection rather than the circus act we call mainstream society. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for sideshows—but my bearded ladies are real women. I’m more than comfortable losing my social status. Hell, I’d probably thrive without it.

Luckily, they barely made a scratch. Now if there’s one thing these Cancel Vultures just can’t wrap their thick, unfeathered heads around, it’s that adversity makes a person stronger. When you refuse to give in to children tossing themselves about the floor because they didn’t get their way long enough, they will eventually just cry themselves to sleep. And it seems that’s what they have done for now… before this gets published.

But before I dive any deeper into the problems of extreme wokeism, I want to restate my mission for The Bluebird Paradox. From the beginning, my goal has always been to explore how darkness and light coexist. How they seem to live symbiotically, helping each other thrive in the universe. My exploration of wokeism and its cult-like followers is simple: these people think they are doing good (the light), but are instead destroying society with their closed-minded self-righteousness, and flawed extremist views (the darkness).

They are in all actuality, a walking contradiction.

A simple definition of “woke” is being aware of social injustices—awake, alert, and conscious of racial and other societal inequities. How can that be a bad thing? Frankly, it’s not. It’s a great thing. At its core, being woke isn’t inherently bad, at least by the definition above. I agree with all of it. Honestly, society should be more woke—half the battle is just understanding each other more, and the underrepresented are in much need of our empathy.

But do the Wokians hold the only keys to solving these issues, or is it possible outsiders have solutions too? Are reparations, white guilt, and critical race theory (CRT) the best answers to such a complex problem, or do they only fuel more division, keeping us locked in a cycle of tension? And who benefits most from this divide?

The more we ask, the more we unravel.

Have the underrepresented asked for help, or are these Wokians a self-appointed flock of white Karens looking to vent the steam from their pre-menopausal hot flashes? Is it racist to speak on behalf of a minority—to steal their voice under the guise of saving them? Isn’t that misrepresentation? Isn’t that a form of exploitation?

Sometimes it seems social justice is just as unjust, harming the very communities it claims to help.

And is anyone who questions these things immediately labeled a racist bigot, intolerant of the underprivileged, and misrepresented? If you ask any spiky-haired soldier of the Wokian army, it’s a hard yes.

Which makes me enemy number one. Guilty!

But is that logical? Is that fair? Is it reasonable—or mature? Is assuming the worst about those with opposing views just as oppressive as the system they claim to be fighting? Do two wrongs make a right? And why do these Cancel Vultures never want a real conversation? They don’t debate; they just scream louder and more obnoxiously than their adversaries. As my friend put it, it’s all performative—and the world’s their stage.

My situation started in a forum thread titled something like “Should Writers Write Trauma They Haven’t Experienced?” The responses were great. The discussion remained mostly cordial, and overall, the median answer was reasonable: Yes, a writer can write whatever they want, as long as it’s well-researched and they do their due diligence to respectfully tell another’s story. This was exactly my stance.

Then things escalated.

Wokians scurried out of the walls like cockroaches, insisting that writers have no right to tell another’s story. Some even suggested we consult sensitivity readers for approval, and if those specific readers found it offensive, the writer should either change it or shelve the story indefinitely. Yikes.

That got my blood boiling. On the surface, the idea of sensitivity readers sounds reasonable, but handing creative control over to anyone else based on their feelings is insanity—especially if it results in shelving your work forever. I saw this as just another cog in the extreme woke movement, a passive takeover of creativity and originality. And I wasn’t having it.

One Wokian, in particular, started throwing her self-righteous hips around, flaunting the idea that we all should be using sensitivity readers—or not writing at all. She nearly hinted that people should stay in their lanes.

Before this thread, we had already interacted, which may have fueled the later debate. She had made a point of voicing her distaste for my friend’s story cover art in his comment section. She was appalled that his story contained sexual assault, offended that the character was a Black female, and outraged that my friend “presented” himself as a white male. How dare he write from a Person of Color’s (POC) perspective, let alone a female’s?

And Honestly, what does presented even mean? And how would she know? He could just as easily be Jewish, Asian, Puerto Rican—any number of lighter-skinned identities that don’t fit neatly into white males. Did she ask, or just assume? Was that racist? Should she have consulted a sensitivity reader before writing that comment? And how was she sure he was a he? The contradictions were obvious.

She overlooked the fact that his strong female POC character was the lead protagonist, who was overcoming her painful past, by getting revenge on her oppressor. At its core, it was a story of triumph, but she couldn’t get past the color of the writer’s skin.

I found it interesting how upset she was, so I left a comment to my friend, something along the lines of: Yikes, you can’t please them all. Then I insinuated that if she had read my story When the Sun Goes Down—a flash fiction piece about two Black sisters escaping slavery, written by me, a white male—her head would explode. I then suggested that maybe she wanted to explode (as in she was looking for something to be angry at).

In retrospect, I broke the forum rules by singling her out, so sure, I was wrong for that. But the words I used? I stand by them. They were nothing more than dark humor—instigatory, sure, but in a passive, humorous way.

Back to the “Trauma” thread. I asked that same Wokian woman how I was supposed to go about asking a Black man if he was okay with my Black character being Black—just because he was Black and should know. I was hinting at the inherent racism and contradiction in that assumption.

She responded by claiming I had been highly aggressive toward her in my earlier explosion comments on my friend’s story—yet still proceeded to answer my question. Aggressive? Really? She was clearly playing a victim, yet being the aggressor herself by using my larger, white male features, as a weapon against me in front of our peers.

This was a trigger for me.

I spent hours crafting a well-thought-out, two-part response of over 1,000 words. The first part dissected her use of the word aggressive and defended my friend. The second part focused solely on my feelings about sensitivity readers.

My response was overwhelming, sure. It was a lot. But like most Woketards, when faced with confrontation, they collapse like fainting goats.

She fainted.

That didn’t stop the rest of her Cancel Vultures from flapping their wings and squawking for nearly a week and a half straight. I won’t cover anymore as you can picture the events, but just know they became a mad mob attacking any opposers because they were not getting what they wanted—someone’s head on a stake!

It’s laughable how the Wokists believe their self-righteous views are the only way forward. No one knows more about Black oppression than a white woman with blonde highlights living in the suburbs, dying slowly from self-diagnosed white-guilt disease. She has nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Not even Black people can compete with those kinds of African roots. I find it interesting how they fail to see the flaws, the hypocrisy, or the obvious racism in their own views and actions. And somehow, they’re always right—even when they’re wrong.

And then there are the extremists—the Cancel Vultures. These psychopaths will do everything in their power to shut you down, silence your voice, and destroy your reputation, your job, your image, and your likeness. They will stop at nothing until they have a head to hang on the mantle.

That’s the heart of the problem: wokeism, in its extreme form, isn’t about justice. It’s about control. Social justice, when hijacked by self-appointed saviors, becomes another form of oppression—one that silences voices rather than amplifies them.

To be clear, I have major problems with the far-right, pro-life, jam-God-down-your-throatians too! But isn’t that the case with everything? The moment you extend beyond moderation, it all falls apart.

This is why I live in the middle.

Wokism is a gluttony of justice, and these Cancel Vultures have a bottomless stomach. The all-or-nothing attitude of extreme woke culture—that’s the problem. They demand everything their way, even when it doesn’t make sense. Even when no one else gets anything. In fact, they prefer it that way.

No compromise. No discussion. Total subordination.

They are rage-blind, painting the opposition with a big red X. Suddenly, everyone’s enemy number one—a target, a racist, a bigot, a misogynistic asshole. Anyone who opposes these lunatics is labeled intolerant, etc.

There’s a complete lack of open-mindedness, an unwillingness to acknowledge opposing views. If they so much as catch wind of someone nearby forming an off-brand opinion, they throw a tantrum—screaming, talking over them, drowning them out.

This happened to me in the above situation I outlined.

And still, as I write this, no one has asked for my side of things. No one has asked how it feels to be a white male labeled aggressive by some privileged bitch in front of his peers. No one has asked how triggering that word is to me—because of my past, because of the abuse I endured, because of my childhood witnessing men abusing my mother. No. Everyone was more concerned about the woman in the Scarlet Sweater. My response to her performative Cancel Vulture act was immediately a death sentence. No one even discussed what I wrote or what I said. The actual words I used or my intentions with them.

Fuck that. Fuck all of them for that. I remember each one of them, and if it comes to it, I’d rather light the fuse and gladly watch my masterpiece burn to the ground, than give in, but I know that’s not the best answer. It’s an emotional one, and that makes me no different than them. It makes me human—flawed, and bitter. We are the problem, but we can be the solution.

Giving people the benefit of the doubt is. Discussing hard topics even when we disagree, even when the words are loaded and harsh. Asking questions is vital, not jumping to conclusions. Listening to where others are coming from is the best way to handle things. Or in my case, actually reading the goddamned words I wrote.

The way I see it. Everyone out there is suffering in their own way, but if we fail to understand that, and all snap to judgment based on a one-sided belief, the trigger will be pulled before the cause is created to pull it, and this planet is doomed.

I have yet to see maturity on both sides, however, the answer is simple. Be open to dialogue and brave enough to listen.

This month’s theme is inspired by my 2023 poem, Light the Fuse. It’s a piece about being pushed past the edge—about awakening and taking action against what is wrong, whether through direct confrontation or escapism. It explores all forms of war—internal, societal, and political—and the need to rebel, to speak up, and to challenge the status quo.

Light the Fuse aligns perfectly with this month’s issue because every side believes they’re on the right side of history. I assure you, they’re not. You are not. I am not. No one is—so long as we’re still fighting.

In many ways, the end is near. If we continue devolving into apes who fling shit, it’s only a matter of time before the planet dies or worse, kills us off.

Please enjoy.

Light the Fuse


Poke the bear.
Provoke me.
Wake me now
for I’ve slept too long.
Make my skin
lift off my bones,
and put a needle to my eye
daring me to blink
for within the beauty,
the art of war,
is where I begin to understand
or when I choose to take a stand.
Either outcome
ends the same.

Nothing is supposed to be easy.
There will be blowback.
Collateral Damage
is the casualty of war—
memories
of Innocent lives,
husbands forced
to leave their wives.
All will be lost
to the ruins
while you get lost in the paint
or dry your nose from huffing it—
both burn the same brain cells
as lighting a Molotov
because
thinking for yourself
and defending  
your rights
will dismantle the status quo
equally,

though, we can’t have a revolution
without a martyr to blame

so, light the fuse
at both ends.
Watch it all explode
around you.
and take in your Masterpiece.


…then Live forever.

 
©2023 Chris Sadhill

Sadhill’s Music Minute

Earth Died Screaming by Tom Waits is a hair-raising apocalyptic anthem that feels disturbingly prophetic of the world’s near future.

With its eerie percussion, growling vocals, and vivid imagery, the song paints a world in collapse—where death, starvation, and divine reckoning lurk in every shadow. Combining biblical overtones with social commentary, Waits crafts a haunting vision of doom that feels both mythic and foreboding.

Yet, as he suggests, Tom would sleep through it all. Would you?

Earth Died Screaming was featured in the films both 12 Monkeys, and Little Criminals in 1995.

Sadhill News

Recently, R.E. Holding with Cliff Cave Books hooked me up with some badass exclusives! Massive shout-out to her!

Hillbilly Vamp, and Reapers Gamble (old cover shown below) have now been added to my evergrowing list of reads. I promised myself I would get there one day, and hopefully, I’ll be caught up in time for the release of her third book in The Northern Roseaarde Series.

Additionally, her new cover art for the series is completely off the charts dope! They’re totally original, yet have the nostalgia of the old 80’s mystery books. I love them, and wouldn’t be surprised if she makes posters soon.

Go check it out for yourself on her fresh new site, linked above or you can find out more on Youtube @r.e.holding Instagram @r.e.holding or Facebook @cliffcavebooks or visit her substack here.

Again, Thanks so much R.E. Holding!

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Writing Battle:

I won’t be participating in Writing Battle until the fall. The main reason is that I’m taking a hiatus from most competitions to focus on my novel. These peer-judged battles demand a lot of time, and I can’t keep putting off my writing aspirations to take part. I still plan to enter the Pro-Judged Fear Battle in autumn—but even that may change. Stay tuned.

Twist in the Tale:

I’ve been done with Twisted Tournaments since last year and likely won’t return. These writing tournaments lack transparency, overcharge, and offer low monetary prizes compared to other contests. Frankly, they’re not worth my time. While competition is fun regardless of cash, I get way more value from places like Elegant Literature.

Elegant Literature:

I’m now an official partner of Elegant Literature—check them out!

They offer over a dozen contests a year, each with a maximum prize of $3K. Plus, the top ten stories get a publishing contract and are paid per word. That’s insane—and a no-brainer.

If I enter a contest, it’ll be this one. I plan to submit to their “Sinister Sanctuaries” contest by the end of March.

Wish me luck. I’ll keep you updated.

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Publications

Sorry, folks. No recent publication news—except that I’m making room in my schedule to submit more.

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Upcoming Events & Contests:

2025 Elegant Literature Monthly Writing Contest Jan-Dec

2025 Pro Autumn Fear Flash Fiction Writing Battle: Oct 5th- Oct 12th

She Left Him Series—News

Each quarter, I’ll update my progress, share parts of my process when possible, and use this space to stay accountable—both to you and, more importantly, to myself.

The Update:

Starting this month, I’ll be extending this microzone from a monthly to a quarterly newsletter to make room for writing my novel and submitting my short stories. I’ve thought about this for a while and realized the effort I put into this newsletter takes away from my progress on stories and poetry. Throw in a competition or two, and I may never write this damn book—which is why I’m stepping back from competitions as well.

I’ll keep you updated as always, but you’ll have to wait until the end of June for the next one. Unless, of course, I get a bug up my ass. Stay tuned.

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If you’re interested in joining my beta reader team, drop a comment, find me on social media @ChrisSadhill, email me at ChrisSadhill@gmail.com, or apply on my Beta Readers page at www.ChrisSadhill.com—I’ll consider adding you to the list.

Now, together, let’s write this fucking book!

Thank you for your support!

…and please leave a comment. I love hearing from you.