Ray in his own words
As of late I haven’t been able to rag on my friend Ray enough. He has been one of my abiding fan, but also one of my harshest critics. So here is a collection of some of his dumber rants on my blog.
Ray in response to partypoker.com Thursday, July 20, 2006
“bcuz of these assholes I have to fukin get anti spy and yahoo tool bar or pop up blocker to stop these fukin god forsaken ass pirates who got nothing better to do than to piss me off”
Ray commenting on his love for men Wednesday, August 30, 2006
“the first dick i see....oh tender sweet dick, i like it with mustard....mmmm oh so bloody!”
Ray on the nature of his ass Friday, August 18, 2006
“i am soffffft like horses bladder!!! plow experience for all that land i have....’
Ray on being a virgin Tuesday, August 15, 2006
“first off, I’m not a virgin!”
Ray on getting his first blow job from a man Monday, October 30, 2006
“today i felt reallly wierd as if someone just sucked the energy right out of me”
The Price of Infamy
So my theory on evolution has sort of been a red herring for me. I try to reference it as much as possible in professional situations just to see people squirm uncomfortably at my foolishness. I mentioned it when applying for a government job and didn’t get hired; I put it in an application for a junket to Israel, so let’s see what happens. Its not that the theory itself is weird, it’s the premise I work it into. No one wants to hear about my exploration into the wilds of Africa searching for the world’s last surviving dinosaur, or my genetic mutation postulation that makes it all possible.
But to be honest, I’d rather be able to captivate people with a story than be gainfully employed. To have people submit to my imagination no matter how farfetched means something to me. I supposed all this taken together disproves my own theory because apparently my selfish genes aren’t really lending themselves to survival of the fittest by putting a higher premium on creativity than sustenance.
And if you need any further proof that humans are not getting smarter, just take look at my killer new beard. I look like a civil war general or Leny from Motorhead or some shit.
Kiev 2004
I went to Ukraine at Christmas 2004, I was part of a diplomatic mission that went to monitor the election. Its election time in Ukraine again and I’m sad I’m not there. The dynamic is different, the people now encouraged as they are finally aware that they hold the balance of power. The sense of desperation that brought people to the streets and the army to defect is gone, now it’s replaced by a sense of urgency and trepidation to get it right this time. Their first foray into democracy was largely a failure, insomuch as they just elected another corrupt leader, but it was the corrupt leader they wanted.
I got stuck in traffic as protesters crammed the streets. I strolled through underground passageways lined with cripples selling orange roses and military personnel cloistered in circles that billowed smoke. You could buy beer under there, with the ceiling hovering just inches above your head. Your hands would freeze as you would hold the bitter lager and your eyes burned from the smell of diesel and the bright light coming from the heavily fortified stores.
It was always grey, cold and moist. My feet blistered in my stiff new boots that filled with snow. My lungs ripped apart under the weigh of $0.30 packs of cigarettes. Everyone argued and eyed you suspiciously. I must have been the only person in the entire country with a red sweater. Oops! As I write this I recognize it sounds awful, but it was both the most beautiful and tragic scenes I’ve laid my eyes on.
Hope never really had a physical manifestation, so it was hard to determine. Even when people were happy they would rarely smile and never laugh. I heard Yuschenko speak at a rally of thousands. The sky burst with color, and the air boomed with the chants. Flags swirled, mostly orange or the yellow and blue of Ukraine, some from other countries where people traveled long distances to show their support.
I wondered where my friends were half the time. I wondered if those back home knew what a revolution felt like. I wondered if those in the revolution knew what back home felt like. Did they have what I did? And more importantly, were they about to come across it?
Please, please, please
Sometimes I wonder if the reason I love tremolo in a singing voice is because it conveys all the anxiety or emotion of when the song was originally penned. What better way to capture the desperation unleashed hovering over a pad of paper late at night then to have your own voice betray you and reveal your vulnerability.
“I haven’t had a dream in a long time” sure sounds better when it’s self conscious, “Lord knows it would be the first time” is all the more poetic when you couple it with the fear of wetting your pants, being bad or feeling the hope of love slip through your hands.
Instead of shaking my tiny fists towards heaven I’ll just let my feeble voice vibrate and flutter calling attention to the fact that, for starters, I’m scared of my own voice.
March of the dogs…
Just got back from seeing Resident Evil: Extinction, don’t even get me started. I’m going to fast track my work on my screen play. The world needs a good zom/rom/com and guess who’s gonna give it to ‘em?
Picture yourself in the tender embrace of your girlfriend; imagine the wonder and amazement thats isolated from the world that’s destroying itself beyond your door. Your family is dead, the worlds gone to shit, mass suicides claims your friends in a fit of religious fervor. As darkness descends upon the globe and its cold fingers extend over the face of the earth, you’re pleased with a little alone time with the one you love.
So fill up the tub, grab a shot gun and wait it out with the one person who was by your side long before the first zombie took its first mouthful of warm human flesh. The worlds been consuming itself for ages, zombies are nothing new; we’ve been in a siege mentality since birth. The fight over limited resources, coveting you neighbors wife, life, oil…
Feel compassion for those beating down your door, they’ve already lost everything.
Consider me a safe bet
It’s becoming increasingly difficult for me to blog these days. I’m unemployed and have no access to a computer. I lounge around in the sun most mornings, grab a coffee, read a paper. Move from city to city to the point that I only remember the last address at which I rested my head so I can drunkenly tell a cab driver to grant me safe passage home. The market in Ottawa bathed in orange light, the cold vistas of Montréal, the anonymity that Toronto affords- the best of each destination.
I thought about the place I occupy in each of these cities. The fact that you could blow a molecule up to the size of St. Peters Basilica in Rome and its neutron will still only be the size of a grain of salt. So yeah, I literally meant the space I occupy. I’m not dense (in a physical sense) yet I don’t slip through cracks or walk through walls (again physically). The manipulation of empty space, packing space in and on top of each other towering vanity higher and higher. Trying to see between mitochondria and vacuoles only yields a distain for the mater that I can’t manipulate to my own desire.
If I can’t master that which isn’t there, then what mastery do I have over my own body? My skin is taunt, my guts in place, is this weak and unassuming frame only a delivery system or temporary store house for wayward molecules that haven’t yet begun to organize themselves in the harmonization of their own destiny?
Nowhere bound...
Whoa, I’ve been better. Back in Montreal, and I spent the day climbing stairs and running from house to house wearing a garbage bag to guard against the rain. I’ve got a pretty bad head cold and now I’m hiding inside my hotel room alone. I spent a long time staring at a cloud slowly creep behind a building. It moved along all purpely and it reminded me of the slow progression of a tape worm inside and intestinal tract or a sausage factory. Sometimes it would halt like it ran up against some baraometric friction. I’ve been curious about clouds for sometime now and I wonder about their motivation. What pressure is exerted on these most delicate yet in tactile objects?
It reminded me of the pressures on my own life, I’m ethereal, I’m light and lessier fair, yet what can stop me?
A Walking Disaster
Some of my friends are trying to recruit me to run for political office. So I mused about my platform. So far all we’ve come up with is more jerking off. So we were batting about slogans like “masturbation for the masses” and “believe the bukake”. I guess it’s good because my platform is pretty easy to understand. Step 1, step 2, repeat.
I have a long and promising career ahead of me. Sorry Jason, I practiced my “stump speech” on your futon this morning.
We are called to be sufficient but still to suffer want
Once again there has been an el chupacabra captured. This time in Texas, it had drunk the blood of like 80 chickens and was probably pretty sluggish. Typically these things are fast and if you get too close they can stun you with their googly eyes. Not so for this poor bastard, he got decapitated and then they stuck his head in a freezer. Sucky.
They’re gonna run some tests on it to see if it is in fact a chupacabra or just an ugly dog. Well guess what scientists? You can extract any DNA from it. El Chupacabras don’t get their strength from a cellular level; they get it from the devil, everyone knows that. So don’t be alarmed when your Petri dishes and microscopes get engulfed in flames. Satan’s work is a dangerous thing; and even in death it has a funny way of exacting vengeance.
Keep up the good fight chuppy…don’t let that no head thing get you down. They’ll get theirs and you can ram their bodies down the gaping hole in you neck as you lazily drift down the river Styx.
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As an addendum to that...El Chupacabras also don't require DNA because they don't breed. Each one is a unique creation of the Devil. Like a little, blood thirsty snowflake...each one's completely different. They are delivered full grown and only develop in their ferocity and disdain for humans.
Market price for fresh faces
Years from now I suspect people to remember me but only vaguely. Like there’s something transitory about me. Memories are like out of focus photos, and sounds are like deteriorating cassettes. Can you remember the gentle weight of my body against yours, or those simple words that caused your flesh to tighten? Probably not.
I assume the same is true for other people, so at any moment it’s as good as it gets. Like there is always diminishing returns on any one memory. I love you today, but less tomorrow, and even less the day after that. That kiss, that move, that thought, simply vanishes in time. Our cells repel each other; your vision is literally burned into my mind as synapses do their thing.
If only this body didn’t fail me. If only….
This post has three titles
1. To infinity and beyond part deux
2. Cheers to infallibility
3. This is me with one eye
The streets seem quiet tonight, it’s sort of eerie. I got to take the long walk home tonight like I always did and enjoy the sights and sounds. By sights I mean the inaction of the familiar buildings with nothing much going on. They sort of just stand there and mark my place, like landmarks that remind me of last year’s progression. Past the Ethiopian place that I regretted going to but reminds me of Ray, past the sex trade workers that made me blush. Past this past that, I’ve never done this walk in summer. I did it from memory even crossing the street as I usually did but that wasn’t necessary this time around.
Back roads with wind tunnels? got it. Creepy churches with homeless people on the step? I got it. Sense of despair and self deprecation?…working on it. Oh the burden of happiness, I don’t fit in among the dark and cold concrete.
I squint at distant stop lights and think of my direction, or as I prefer- trajectory….there’s no where to go but up.
Fishing with Dynamite
Montreal was just what I needed. Its squat houses, its cobbled stoned streets, your voice echoing off its old stone buildings. Romance returned with a flourish of intrigue and gusto. I was glad to be back. I didn't run into any aliens, my old friend seemed to be missing, but our conversation sure reverberated in my head. I actually got to stay in my girlfriends old dorm room. It was great to recapture the initial feelings and transformations of last fall. The same light streaming through the window and softly illuminating her gentle face. The trees still visible while on your back over the balcony. The sound of tennis far below pitching the metronome of our romance.
It truly was great, to walk those same streets and duck into those same bars. Its always changing but remains classic, sort of like me or my girlfriend or us.
Once again I’m off to Toronto. But then I’m off to Montreal. It’s about one year since I first went there to visit who is now my girlfriend. We saw each other a few times since PEI and things got increasingly cool. I felt better with her, better about myself…some weird acceptance that I was seeking night after night in the arms of other women. We talked a lot and I never won a debate. I taught her about air guitar and she taught me how I was already a feminist, just a little misguided.
I’ll tell you more when I get back. I’ll tell you if the smell of the St Lawrence brings back memories. Or if the tingling of the cold wind refreshed my mind.
To Liberte
So I’m unemployed again. This seems to be a common theme in my life. I’m cool though, when I first came to Ottawa I came from the sidewalk in front of my girlfriends’ apartment. Her lease had expired and we were on the curb with all of her furniture. We had no car and no where to go. So we hustled, we grinded a bit and before you knew it we were cool again. So I’m in a significantly better place now then I was then.
I have a street and it’s nothing like Toronto. The leaves are turning in the park across the street. The air is crisp the streets are picking up a bit with students. Frosh cheers drift over the city and first years with braces laugh and cavort around every corner. Its pretty fun, I’m starting to take ownership a bit over Ottawa, starting to make it own. After the romance and adventure of summer fades I’m settling in and finding myself ready to live here and experience it for all it’s worth.
I’m happy to be far from home. I’m happy when people tell me about how cold it gets and that you can skate to work. Maybe its because their mascot is a snowman or little french kids always wear touques, but snow always reminds me of French people or French stuff so with every flake I’ll feel more cultured. I’m gonna grow a bear and wear tight clothes and speak out of the corner of my mouth and raise endless glasses of wine in celebration of my new city.
Salut!
