Watch out! This post uses the word "Labia"
I went home to visit my family this weekend. I spent two days on the farm; it’s always so quiet, sometime boring. So I boarded a bus to crawl back through the slush to Toronto. I pulled out a copy of the book Ishmael that my girlfriend gave to my little bro at Christmas and started to read and we bumped and slid our way south. I very quickly was engrossed and kind of knew that something big was coming.
So as I flipped thought the pages shivering in the cold I read about a talking Gorilla named Ishmael and his thoughts on captivity. What is the nature of captivity? do we even know that we’re held captive? The Gorilla’s argument is that we’re so blind that we do not see the bars of our cage. That we don’t understand the prison we are making for our self out of this planet because we refuse to live in harmony with it but rather exploit it as merely a life support system for humans. Very interesting.
As we crept towards the city the scenery progressively changed from more rural to suburban. We moved through grassy fields and frozen marshes towards parking lots and video stores. A teenage girl sat in the seat in front of me and chattered incessantly on her cell phone. Rumors, nicknames, derogatory slurs about friends or actions at a party. We continued on. We came upon big box stores and bus shelters; it was becoming steadily more urban as we crossed through the satellite communities of Toronto. Now the Gorilla was questioning our creation theory and if the world was truly made for us.
The annoying teenage girl was replaced a few stops later buy a man in his mid twenties. I could not tell if he was drunk or mentally disabled, because he rolled his head around in circles as he held a porno mag wrapped in a newspaper inches from his face. I started to wonder about the prison as I felt the awkward embarrassment of public labia spreading to my left in the form of a young mother and child, and the guilt of being amused by the whole thing, by the elderly ladies behind me.
We were now at the end of the line. I hopped from the bus and quickly descended to the subway. On the subway I kept reading. The Gorilla was critical of man’s assumption that we need to conquer earth and manipulate nature. As soon as that happens classes are formed, people horde or are deprived of resources. It becomes not only about conquering nature but conquering your fellow man.
I rose from my seat, curled the book into my pocket and climbed the slick and slushy stairs to the street level. When I looked up I couldn’t believe my eyes. As if nothing has ever been more apparent in my life, chaos, people climbing all over each other, jumping queues, yelling and running. On the walk home I passed homeless men stumbling and fighting over cigarette butts. I saw a woman, cross-legged on the wet pavement wailing hopelessly for change. I saw building upon building, a car upon car, reaching higher or stretching further away from compassion for humans or the world around them. I questioned my own behavior as horns blared, and reflected on the choices I’ve made as I stepped over used condoms and hypodermic needles. What a shock, I was always aware of gluttony or consumerism, but I was really feeling it accost me now.
Perhaps the thing I’m most excited about is the talking Gorilla.
Where's Steve when I need him?
I was wondering what makes evil or the lure of evil so powerful. Considering there is only a finite amount of energy in the universe, I was wondering will the potential for evil grow. I suppose evil energy could consume and replace good energy thus keeping this balance in tact, or perhaps its not that evil in itself is powerful, but the people who assume evil things and lend their force to it that is powerful. This would neither add nor detract from this limited power equilibrium, just change the utilizations of the existing power.
So is it true that “evil men will wax worse and worse” as it says in the Bible? I believe the Bible to be true so by extension I believe this to be the case. But as evil grows in strength does that mean good is diminished? I suppose what I am asking is there an inverse correlation between the two? Or is there a sort of middle ground where force and energy is consumed either by evil or good? chipping away at the edges. Like a luke warm grey zone, and any force (good or evil) draws from there, rather then the opposing energy in the universe.
I don't know if this is scary or cool
I remember when I was a kid standing in my grandparents laundry room with a family friend. That alone is spooky enough. This man was a Mennonite who has broke his back in a hang gliding accident. Since he was no longer able to glide he would come to my farm and fly kites. He had all these elaborate kites with multiple handles with several sails attached by thin wooden beams and he was able to make them do loops and dive bombs and stuff. Today this may sound routine, but for a kid in the 80’s who grew up on a farm with three TV channels it was amazing.
So back to the laundry room. He laid a metal spoon across my extended index finger and balanced it. I remember him telling me to close my eyes and concentrate. I could feel the spoon wobbling on my finger as I tried to balance it and I felt it growing hot. After a few seconds I opened my eyes and the spoon was bent, more accurately it was snapped over my finger. There was a crack where the handle met the eating part (I don’t know what to call it) and blood was oozing from it.
At first I thought it had cut me and I was bleeding, but there was no pain. I real metallic smell filed the air, like I was drinking from a water fountain. To this day I have no idea what had happened and I don’t think I ever saw him again. I have never tried it again but I’ve always wondered if I had some sort of psychic kinetic energy. Weird.
Seeing as no one placed their marker on my map I now have no itinerary for my trip; hence it’s cancellation. Thanks guys, so now I’m forced to blog again and be burdened with this fake identity that I’m disappointed in. It’s been a crazy few weeks. I thought a lot. I thought about how sad piano sounds, I thought about the remarks of my roommate who say my feelings are boring and he prefers that I write about monsters. I’m sad about the lack of cohesion among women and that the primary opposition to female empowerment comes from them themselves. The only reason that I feign interest in these things is so I can keep some semblance of a functional life in tact.
If you knew the question swirling in my mind the past week perhaps you’d pardon these comments. But devotion is a funny thing; every passion is subject to something, and the most intense and abiding loyalties can be altered in a moment. Forgive me but I’ve spent the past couple days cutting people, priorities and things out of my life in an effort to make up for lost time and be able to recapture what I’ve ignored this last year. It seems the one ever-present and all encompassing aspect of my life is now the most transitory and fruitless element. I’m hopeful above all else, but fuck it comes at a price.
Consider this a public apology or recognition of the fact that I’ve been a poor son. Dad, I’m sorry.
hear ye, hear ye.
So now that I’ve decided to call it quits I think I'll go on tour. I have many a grave yard to haunt and I wouldn’t mind your help. Over the past six months I've made many friends and I'd like to visit them. I've notice I have many readers both in Kitchener and Windsor, so perhaps I will start there. They are generally sympathetic to my inability to throw a punch or be able to muster the courage to be honest. I've also discovered that I don't really like people from Northern Ontario. I find them mean and judgmental and they are always anonymous.
So to start, I want to direct your attention to my latest gadget to help locate you. On the right side bar there is a little globe, it connects to a map where you can post your location. Follow the steps to add your hometown to my travel itinerary.
Accompanying me will be all the witty commentary and insightful self examination. Gone will be the morose narcissism and nagging commitment issues. I'll show up and breeze through with my typical gusto and be gone before you know it! There's far too much world out there to be had and frankly I'm already getting itchy feet.
Time to move on!
One man's trash...
This hasn’t happened in a while. Sure I’ve suffered a little performance anxiety before (c’mon who hasn’t) but I haven’t had writers block for ages it seems. Maybe it’s time to retire el chupacabras. Maybe he’s a little old and stale and needs to be put out to pasture. I mean, he’s navigated me thus far, accomplished a lot. I moved through depression, loneness, eating disorders and back again and now I’m pretty happy with where I’m at. Maybe he’s no longer needed.
Perhaps a fresh start is in order. Perhaps a more sincere, less unabashed venue to say what I really feel is required. Perhaps my criticism of myself as of late was a severing of me from my artistic vehicle. In which case I’m sad, I did enjoy it. Through you I found a lot of self confidence, even if I didn’t show it in person. I liked being read, it made me feel good. I loved comments; I was torn apart by criticism. I got into it. I soaked it up and bumbled callously through life and spit it out.
However the greatest conversation I ever had were in my head as I turned and walked away. Only
after staring at quivering lips and eyes welling up with tears would I find the exact words to comfort some poor soul. Unfortunately they would all too often end up here, insulated far from where they could do any good. What good is a mythical creature if it can't even bring at least a little bit of joy to those around them?
For all your flare and panache, you sure leave a lot to be desired chuppy.
a sin I didn’t care for, a sin that paid my debts, a sin that feed my children
Okay here’s a resolution for you. On New Years Eve I was driving by myself in Vancouver and stumbled across East Hastings. Now I’ve heard of this place for years and had visited it already once before on my trip, but this time I was alone. Alone, a little bored, a little miffed that my girl friend wasn’t with me at this particular moment. So there I sat with the haunting guitar of the Pixies behind the apt words of Nas as I watched the residents of Canada’s poorest neighborhood. A red light afforded me a minute to watch as they ducked in and out of door ways, around corners and from behind cars, all with a posture and essence reeking of despair and humiliation.
I remember watching the documentary by Romeo Delaire entitled “Shake Hands with the Devil” and at the point where he discussed the feeling of encountering pure evil. The film showed images of rebels crawling on hands and knees up an embankment. They looked almost animalistic in their retreat, their movement, their actions; all was really reminiscent of primates as they scrambled up this hill. Through his narrative he attached an almost spiritualistic element to them. And I too felt this in downtown Vancouver. As I watched them, they appeared as specters skulking around dark corners, shadows cowering under the intense scrutiny of headlights and feeble and fragile shells blowing in the cruel and uncompromising rain of the mainland, I believe I felt a similar phenomenon.
I met the eyes of a man, no older then myself. His leather jacket, his un kept beard, his eyes that houses everything I had ever wished for, screamed for the one thing that divided the two of us. Now if only I could understand what the missing link between us was; opportunity? humility? luck? understanding? If there is one thing I resolve to do this year, it is to understand exactly what it as in that mans eyes. If I captured but a fragment of the intensity contained with his eyelids I would be a better person. Who knew that two weak and feeble flaps of skin could not only betray their owners but pronounce to others exactly how they failed their fellow man.
Peace be upon you. Where does that leave me?
A little Snapcase anyone? (looking glass self)
So surfing through some of my favorite blogs I’ve noticed a bit of a trend as of late, and I suppose it’s appropriate given the time of year. A lot of recaps of 2006/what’s up for 2007. I was considering doing the same but that would force me to reckon with a lot of what I spent the better part of the year avoiding. Furthermore it would require me to commit to something in the future, and nothing gets me down like obligation.
I went through my blog, post by post and came to the conclusion that it appears that I’m a) always sad, b) a little weird or c) hopelessly in love. So rather than counter these arguments and bore you with specifics (because we all know, no one reads this blog for an accurate portrayal of events) I’ve decided to describe it another way. I view this blog at times as independent of myself, I use a pseudonym, I convey emotion only in their most potent terms whether or not I actually feel them, and I draw heavily on themes that have nothing to do with whatever the hell I’m talking about. I like the challenge of reconciling my thoughts through beings devoid of emotion, its fun to depict events in terms of remote references that no one can relate with. Yet it works, I’ve talked to people who read my blog and they all seem to draw something from it, they search for deeper meaning and come to their own conclusions and oddly enough, they see something that they can relate to. Everyone’s got a little zombie in them it seems.
But the funny thing is as I look back and examine my own work I can’t help but see myself all over it. No matter how hard I try to distance myself from my writing, and keep an impartial attitude like it’s a science experiment or something, I identify with it. So is it that I too have been fooled by my own writting? Yes my life makes up the subject matter, but I always try to bend or manipulate it to the point it’s no longer recognizable. I fill it with reactions I am
supposed to have to certain scenarios, but again they are limited to these posts. Outside this blog I express very little of what I profess to be so central to me. My imagination is larger than my own ability to manifest what it is I claim to feel. Perhaps I’m just bored of my static life. But one thing is for certain; it’s definitely sad to live vicariously through a fictional depiction of yourself.
Don't worry, it gets better
A little less than 24 hours after writing that last post I found myself on a beach on Vancouver Island. I just spent the past ten days in B.C. and I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. Touché I suppose. So there I was on Christmas day under a weak sun that seemed to be setting too soon, watching the tide drag my foot prints back into the ocean. The entire nature of the trip and the way it came about helped me recapture a bit of what I’ve been missing- spontaneity. It was a last minute sort of thing and before you know it, there I was; musing about how the past year has altered me in terms of my ability to roll with the punches.
Everything is so calculated in Toronto, the political climate is feverish, posture and position weigh too heavily on my mind. But only in B.C., among the smell of cedar and beneath low hanging clouds that cling to mountainsides with their anti-gravitational wonder, did I realize it. I knew something was wrong, like I strayed to far from what I wanted to become. And there, thousands of miles from home it was all too apparent that the popping of my ears while descending a mountain meant something. A throw back to myself in 2002 or ‘03 maybe. A time when I shuffled through parking lots bored and nostalgic and ate $2 reverse steaks just so I could feel just like this. The moment I first realized that the world is limitless, wherever you want is just a day away and it’s my turn to visit it.
I’m still on those $2 steaks, but accompanying the nausea and disappointment at my lack of dietary prudence is something far more subtle.
