Tuesday, February 27, 2007

To Divide Assunder the Soul and Spirit

When I was a kid I found a dinosaur bone in my field. I was maybe 6 and the soil had just been tilled. I stomped around on the stiff corn stocks that remained from the year prior and turned over stones and squished pill bugs as they lay prone in the crater of the rock. It was then when I stumbled upon it; it was a hipbone of a small dinosaur, still a baby when it died. I took it to my barn and kept it in a pen. I built the rest of its body, a 2L pop bottle for it torso, a race car for its head. I gave it legs made out of screwdrivers, one Philips one flathead. I fashioned terrifying arms with rusty and bent forks and bound it together with electricians tape. I stared into my monstrous creation and pitied its awkward body, all crooked and off centered. I watered it and sat it in the sun and waited for it to grow.

I was sad when I returned the next day and the day after that, each time to see its poorly cobbled together bodies remain unchanged. I took out a book from my school library about dinosaurs to learn how to reanimate it. I discovered that dinosaurs moved in herds, so very diligently I made him companions. One after the other the same species, my mom was worried about my pop consumption and wondered where all the cutlery was going. Soon I had a vast army of viscous dinosaurs, separated into groups according to ferocity. The meanest were upfront, protecting the others, the more thoughtful and docile ones remained surrounding the children, to teach them about survival in their new and uncertain environment. I ruled over this inanimate army, and was disappointed that more dinosaurs weren’t the key to resurrecting my original dead one.

It was nearly winter and the cold wind was seeping into the old and creaky barn, when I first discovered a change. At first they were only moved a bit huddled together and turned inward toward the group, gradually they moved en masse toward the furthest corner from the door. It was then I realized that they were trying to avoid the same fate that befell them millions of years ago. I took some tarps from my fathers’ workshop and plugged a lamp in by the group. I created a greenhouse or a terrarium there in the barn to keep them warm and greatly anticipated the day when they would spring to life. Yet all the science I knew wasn’t enough to bring them back to life.

Monday, February 26, 2007

"I Fucking Need You Now!"

I had a reader ask me when I was going to post again. She said she missed my posts and this must be what happiness does to you. So I started to wonder, a) am I really that negative? and b) why the hell do people like negative stories about me? So in an attempt to counter this and remain funny and appealing while still positive I will share with you a current story.

I waxed my ass the other night. After the required amount of beer, and enough karaoke to bolster my spirits. (I haven’t stopped singing “total eclipse of the heart” since) we swung by shopper’s to get the home waxing kit and headed up to my apartment. So there I was with my girlfriend behind me, her friend RLC to my right holding my hand and my friend JM trying not to puke in his mouth. I was propped up on a pillow with my ass in the air doggy style preparing for the pain. I felt awkward talking to RLC as my girlfriend gently applied the first strip. JM kept muttering “what are you doing?” and my girlfriend was quietly shushing him. A loud rip filled the air and my eyes rolled back, and everyone erupted with laughter and a lot of “oh Jesus”. I didn’t have strength to respond and sort of just clucked my tongue. I buried my head in RLC’s lap and chewed her jeans as strip after strip was pulled off my ass. By this time JM has left in disgust and RLC had started filming. The video shows a pathetic version of me, my face contorted in pain, and humiliation.

This continued for 10 or 15 minutes and reviewing the video the next day was hilarious. After it was all said and done, I was pleased with the result and my silky smooth ass, but couldn’t stand. I no longer cared that I was naked; I couldn’t formulate words, just mumbled and stumbled around, my balls flopping all over like crazy. All in all it was worth it, and would definitely do it again. I may have lost a lot of ass hair but gained a profound appreciation for the lengths women go to “perfect” their bodies.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

The Nature of Things

I was kind of reluctant to come back to Toronto after spending so much time from home. I call it a 10 day vay-cay, but really I spent the better part of the last two weeks recovering from tape worms or something. Fortunately for me the entire city is insulated in a thick layer of deafening snow. Everything's so quiet, you can sneak up on people or get hit by cars that you don't hear, its great.

It’s like the entire city is on mute, people are to cold to grumble, they just exhale thick mist into their scarves. No one runs, they just sort of wobble through the snow. I suppose this is what it would be like if Harrison Bergeron was cremated and his ashes sprinkled over the city. Everyone equalized by the crushing force of nature. There’s affirmative action in each and every flake. Opportunity glitters on branches and sidewalks. Long sharp pieces of hope dangle from eves troughs and window sills.

The law of the jungle gives way to a kinder gentler community where our ambitions are frozen before us and the air sucked from our lungs in icy bursts.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Are there dark days ahead?

So now that I’m back in Montreal I had fully expected to run into my Alien friend again. I haven’t yet and I have my suspicions that it’s because I’m stuck in doors with food poisoning or ulcers or something. But it’s not like this dude wasn’t able to appear in the most unusual of places before. A restaurant, a park, why not my beside my cold and empty bed? It’s not as if the matter is settled.

Last time we spoke he departed in a huff, unable to convince me about the fallibility of love. What he claims to be a perversion, I hold to be fundamental to all of human history, for we have always been inspired, humiliated, or subjugated to it. It wasn’t so much a face that launched 1000 ships to spawn one of the most heroic and treacherous battles of human history; it was an aura, a presence, something that couldn’t fully be comprehended and thus the sentiments of a king had to suffice to launch two mighty kingdoms into battle. I wonder if my Alien friend has ever endured war, in the future there is probably no need for them. If every one is assimilated and has reached perfection, what could your neighbour possibly covet that you yourself don’t possess?

So perhaps love is the one last limited resource on earth, more important then ancestral land rights or oil or water. Then maybe once loneliness is conquered, mindless bloodshed will cease and harmony will prevail. I suppose then that Bush Jr. Jr. Jr. will go to war in the future to find the “one” who can capture his heart and thus liberate the world from this cycle of taking up arms to posses the one thing that can sustain human life and peace. Acceptance, knowing that you are in fact loved and there’s no need to feel any better or worse off then anyone else, because they too share this sense of fulfillment, and are comforted in that fact. Then possession isn’t so much an issue because there is no need to squabble over it if everyone is completed and satisfied in what it is they have.

If only my Alien friend was here to help determine if this is in fact the case, perhaps I would be comforted knowing that my girlfriend eye fucking someone on the street isn’t so much an invite but a celebratory glance at the fact that we all share a common bond.

Sunday, February 04, 2007

The simplest task

I’m sitting in Montreal at great expense to myself. I faced terrible danger traveling here, and was threatened by peril and adventure all 500 miles of the journey. I found a guy on the internet willing to drive me here for $30. I met him in a parking lot and climbed into his delivery van. He runs to Montreal everyday to deliver Chinese newspapers, so there we sat, me and one other passenger, on a stack of papers as he careened around corners and slid in the deep slush.

On the 401 East we were trapped in a dense blizzard, big swirls of snow wrapped around us, and we jostled as he geared up and down. The van shook in the wind while his Chinese DVD’s blared through a tiny monitor. Cars, trucks and vans spun out in front of us and we weaved through the wreckage with out slowing down. I thought our choice of movie “Hostage” was fitting.

Snow piled thick and heavy on the wipers and visibility was reduced to next to nothing. I was soon comforting my fellow passenger, a middle-aged Chinese accountant woman with the same name as I have. It has broader appeal then I had realized. Chinese papers rained on us and slid below us, and I started to wonder if all this danger was worth it for a few papers.

As the ride intensified, and the contents of the van were further rattled I saw some papers fall to revel the real cargo. A course wooden crate with round holes punched into the sides, covered in chicken wire. All the time our driver ensured us that he has adequate commercial insurance, I couldn’t help but wonder if it covered illegal snake bites!

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