Also I haven't smoked in 21 days
Just wanted to give a quick shout out and congrats to my dad who just beat cancer. It’s been a long hard year. Typically I remember very little of day to day life. Conversations are lost, meetings are forgotten etc…but if it’s about my dad it is so vivid.
I remember the time and temperature of when I first found out. I remember the ingredients in the juice I processed fore him. I remember who I was facing on the bus to the hospital or the cover of the magazine I brought him.
I’m very thankful for all of that. Fuck I love him and am so proud of him. Cancer will think twice before trying to go after a Hungarian again. Get your strength back up pop!
This is my second post about the Saskatchewan Sky...and maybe my third about bukakke
Just to get this out of the way I thought I’d tell you that the air outside actually felt like absolutely nothing today. Like I was walking through something that wasn’t existing. There was no temperature, no wind, nothing. I just slid seamlessly between whatever molecules are strung together that holds outer space at bay from encroaching on our earth.
I stumbled across the secondlifeslut blog recently. Some weird stuff happens and it usually ends in bukakke, but I still like the premise. Writing about stuff that didn’t really happen but sort of impacts your life because you worked hard faking it all day.
Sound familiar
You got that “Calgary Suck”
That’s what I heard at a kegger last night and instantly became jealous. I like the west and its funny rivalries; everyone is always visiting each others cities and teasing their occupants. People say “You’re so Alberta” or they recite entire rosters of football teams from memory. I’d like that sort of situation myself, a demented sort of camaraderie based on locality. I’d tell Montrealers to lick my sack but they’d spend half an hour trying to decide on a wine to go with it.
I tried walking to Regina last night. I think I was abducted by aliens the night before and was pissed not only at the six hour gap in my memory but the experiments that were performed on my unwilling body. So in an effort to exert sovereignty over my own life I went out to master my surroundings. With so many variables out of my control influencing my life, I felt that this was the best way to combat that. So armed only with a bottle of vodka I headed out into the wild. I crossed endless expanses of land that looked like the surface of the moon. I carved an indiscriminate path across a hostile terrain where the city had turned up the surrounding earth just beyond its limits. The ground gave up its soul in preparation for the rapidly expanding suburbs, natural gas wheezed beneath my feet as the earth exhaled its frustration.
Once clear of the city and its lights just specks in the distance I sunk to my knees and plunged my hands into the dirt. I torn fistfuls of earth from the ground, grass roots snapping as I raised my tiny fists to heaven. It buried beneath my fingernails, and sunk into every ridge and crevice of my hand. I shook it violently and the breeze carried it off into the darkness. I thought what better way to exhibit mastery over my surroundings, to show absolute domination over something then to eat it. I swallowed mouthful after mouthful of delicious fuck you to anyone who ever pissed me off. I chewed in spite of its loose consistency to emphasize the point that I can handle any accuser, prevail over any miserable comforter and stand resilient against an army that made me what to run all the way out to the prairies to hide in the first place.
I took one last swig of vodka and lay my trembling body flush against the ground. I thought it was really cold and Regina was an awful long way away....
When I woke up I was surrounded by Hudderites, the amish-esque rejecters of society who populate the prairies. They took me in to their underground colony and explained their way of life. Originally they lived in houses made of bread like the Doukabours but they would never last through the cruel Saskatchewan winters. They spoon fed me gobs of Saskatoon berry jam and told me tales of the last Saskatchewan pirate and how the inaugural pirate hunt drove them into isolation. The pirates dominated the mighty shores of Regina and eventually the townsfolk took up arms and culled the pirate population. It’s been a black mark in the history books of the province and they’ve been met with much criticism similar to the seal hunt in Newfoundland. Afterwards, we rejected sin long into the night and I fell asleep not wishing for anything beneath the very soil that I had just ingested.
On the minibus back into town I felt a little freer, a little less subordinate to the world around me. My frost bite just a simple complication associated with the conquering of your own dissidence, my tormented stomach a mere by product of being ruled by none. I felt romantic and unburdened, more importantly I felt. Period.
Huck Finn meets R. Kelly
After hours in non-descript subdivisions I emerged out on to the Saskatchewan River largely by accident. I stood there watching the moon shimmer on its icy surface and admired its silent progression across my field of vision. It was tranquil and the sort of moment that I had been waiting to happen out here. Then I promptly pissed down my leg.
On its steep bank I stood and watched as a heavy train ruined the silence. Its loud clunks reminded me of heavy bicycle chains failing into their rusted gears. You could feel it pass in your chest and it was like you were clasping your hands over the ties, your fingers meshing with the wheels and tracks. With nothing else but a cool breeze in the air, it dominated the entire landscape so much that you were apart of it.
Under that flat moon and across from unknown expanses of prairie I thought about the time I predicted the future. I saw it moments before it happened and watched as a young woman suffered pain and humiliation tripping on the street in Sydney. I wonder if anyone would have predicted that I would have pissed all over myself by the gentle waters of the Saskatchewan River.
Saskatoon Day 2- Not sure what to think yet
Every house is a bungalow, it’s kind of weird. It’s like you’re always in the suburbs no matter where you are. I walked through a large(ish) intersection and could see an endless stretch of empty road. Then the town just sort of stopped, and then there was nothing for miles. I wonder why they settled here, there’s literally nothing around. I’ve heard about the potash and uranium, and there is a river but it just seems strange. Like some ancient pioneer was just tired of walking through the endless plains and gave up.
Don’t know if that sounds rude and I don’t mean it to be, I just don’t get this city yet. I had a nice beer last night that tasted like chocolate. I saw a piranha and that was cool. Insurance is cheap and people have a pleasant phone manner but none of that seems to be enough to give a city meaning.
I’ll keep looking.
Saskatoon Day 1
Contrary to popular belief, Saskatchewan is pretty fast paced. Well maybe not, but I’m staying busy. It’s pretty grey, and there are no tall buildings where I am. All the trees are bare and I’m reminded of the crappy town in Michigan where my cousins grew up. Not the whole city, just this strip of land. Flat streets that look cold, chipped up sidewalks that need repair, old stores that I haven’t seen since I was a kid. All right out my window.
I ran out to get a coffee, it's chilly here. Didn’t know how to negotiate the traffic with the one lane closed. I was surprised that they have vanilla lattes here.
I don’t really know what to expect dragging their feet up and down the road, but I like it. People are really friendly, no matter how damn old they are…
Another self important update.
I’ve had quite and exciting few days.
- On Friday, just 12 hours before the deadline of a contest that’s been running for a year, I was nominated for two bloggers choice awards. Needless to say I got smoked and won’t be going to Vegas but cool none the less. You can still vote for me on your right.
-Also haven’t smoked in 11.5 days. Feeling good and even doing pushups.
-Going to Saskatchewan tomorrow for about 3 weeks to work on a campaign. Really excited, except for the fact that it’s minus 10 and snowing. Don’t know how much posting I’ll be able to do out there. But I think I’ll hit Alberta up afterwards.
-These monsters I’ve been seeing are starting to suck. Before we’d have fun and do giant lap sits and laugh as we tumbled to the ground in a tangled mess. Now it’s just scary. One cornered me in the grocery store and blocked my chic peas, I couldn’t move, I just stood there pretending to look at juice. Another stood under a street light on my street, mouth gapping open in dumbfounded surprise. I brushed past her in a hurry, and wondered who jogs with car keys in their hands?
Hope I’ll be able to keep you abreast of the latest out west.
cul-du-sac of horrors
I have to write an article for my old university paper about dropping out and how that’s working for me.
Great. I love the fact that I’ve learned so much that it goes beyond words. Unfortunately no one understands really what it is I do and prospective employers hold no value in it. I waste probably 80% of the day wondering about what different streets in France looks like, or if those monsters I saw last night are actually real.
I plan ways to trap them, to expose them and ridicule them for stalking me. Of all creatures you think monsters would be the least judgmental. And worst of all, having to hide all this from my girlfriend who is growing suspicious of all the booby traps lying around the apartment.
And if you think that’s weird you should hear what a think about French thoroughfares…
So this Saturday is the 40th anniversary of the Paterson-Gimlin film. This is the tape that first caught a sasquatch on video. In honour of this occasion I was thinking of throwing a party. I was gonna make a montage of all the best footage, make people dress up, maybe even put one in a cage.
Then I though of starting up a Bigfoot costume company so that all those attending my event would have to rent from me, and then I’d be rich!
Watch for the fbook invite.
And here i thought i was an asshole all this time
I got an invite to the hottest ticket in town last night. I met the Prime Ministers wife; I pissed off an entire Middle East country and leaked the wrong stuff to more than one reporter. I was a mess; don’t entirely remember what I did last night, something to do with rape. It’s not as bad as it sounds.
I was at my finest though. After this one girl discovered I had a girlfriend she totally stone walled me. And here I though being taken made you more attractive. So I started to talk shop with everyone I could. By the end of the night I had the entire place talking about zombies. There were people in tux’s and ceremonial getup with medals and 18th century hats all discussing the undead. I woke up with a pocketful of business cards from all sorts of distinguished persons that I had no business talking to, much less talking to about zombies.
And I only blacked out twice!
Ps.
this is cool
If its half as bad as you say it is, I'm in!
In December I will be going to Israel. I am one of 14 people across the country chosen to be sent on this junket. So I guess my dinosaur story paid off. Pretty cool I’d say.
I also had a pretty interesting job offer come my way, so things seem to be looking up.
Now only if I could get a grant from the government to continue my research on paranormal activity, I’d be set.
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I remembered when I met Kylie Minogue in Australia. I remember it was at the bar I used to pass on the way to my hostel across from the empty lot towards the mall. I have forgotten its name. Drunken Abos used to fight outside of it and it was made entirely out of wood. It had a peculiar smell resembling vomit from the disinfectant all the bars used there. There was sawdust on the floor to soak up all the beer and I stood in the doorway, a small pile at my feet where I slide to a stop. I remember the walls curling away from me in round pillars and I remember wondering who made pillars out of wood and why were they leaving me exposed like this?
I couldn’t move or speak; I could see nearby TVs flicker and projected light onto my cheeks. Behind me to my right was a round table that people used for racing frogs, I hadn’t bet again since I lost on that sticky night in the bush. Meghan was at my side tugging me for something, I can’t remember if I had one in my hand, but we were drinking snakebites that night. I was in complete surprise at her beauty, her skin was so fair. She had incredible feline eyes and I stood there in my dirty Charolettetown Hornets jersey that I stole from Jake.
I didn’t want to speak to her; I was content just to stare. I had a soft fuzziness from the alcohol, but the light soothing chill that accompanies light headedness. I felt like floating and pirouetting upwards like cigarette smoke. And I didn’t remember that I had a perfect photographic image of it in my mind until now.
150th Post. Raise your tiny fists to heaven once again...
I’ve been thinking a lot about aliens these days. I kind of want to meet one, and I really want to go on their ship. I kind of like the idea of speeding across the face of the earth and carving intricate drawings in farmers’ fields with my mind. What a better testament to someone you love then to will the crops to bow in submission to your emotion?
I find a lot of people believe in them but only in the vaguest of terms. Like on the balance of probabilities given the infinite vastness of space something must be out there. As if people have some sort of inferiority complex that there is no way that we are that unique.
The other day as I came back from my first ever Oktoberfest I watched as a car merged onto the highway. A small child sat staring out the window off into the distance. I thought how I will never posses the same vision, I will never hold that particular vantage point, so that person and their experience is unique simply based on position. What magic did those retinas absorb? What secrets were contained by her eyelids? So does this mean that it is in fact possible to be this unique and lucky to occupy the position we do? Or are we just staring into the distance waiting for a different perception that is better than ours to unseat our enviable position?
Wink if you hear me...
Ella, Ella Eh...
I ran into this old women Ella the other day in the Zesty Mart by my apartment. I had first met her on the train from Kiev to Odessa back in ’04. Ten of us were crammed into a small sleeper compartment drinking lemon pepper vodka and chewing raw pig fat called salo. In that tiny compartment we had Ukrainian carolers stop by our cart and sing to us and we Canadians returned the favour, except we didn’t really have any national anthems aside from our well…national anthem, and the Stompin’ Tom Conners Hockey Game.
Ella lives in Winnipeg and it was a total fluke that I ran into her. She was in town for a UN Peacekeeping Security of the Individual training course, and I joined her for tea in her hotel room. As a child she was exiled from her native Ukraine to Tajikistan for being a Mennonite. There she grew up a slave picking cotton and her whole family starved to death. She managed to survive and was industrious enough to go to college, which was rare because those in the refugee camps were considered lesser humans and enemies of the state. But none the less she was able to earn her masters and get a job in a hospital.
She was granted provisional freedom, and after living in exile for 30 years in Tajikistan she left for Winnipeg on the condition that she would never return to Ukraine. So I was very excited to be with her as she monitored her country of births’ transition to democracy. I can go on and on about her views on being bought and sold in the forced labour camps in central Asia or being bought and sold by pharmaceutical companies in Canada with wave after wave of corporate takeovers.
In any event she is one of the most amazing women I ever met, and I thank God that I ran out of spaghetti sauce and had to run to Zesty Mart.
Hoping for the best, just hoping nothing happens
...
ec
im not even entertained by this
Sometimes I wonder if the evolutionary process imbued humans with remnants of prehistoric knowledge concerning impending doom. I’m kind of curious about my live fast, die young mentality; I make no preparations for the future, have little or no regard for my well being, and I’m fine with that. However, I have this idea gnawing at the back of my head that something is about to happen.
Did dinosaurs have any inclining of what would happen hanging out in the shadow of the asteroid? Did cave men realize the destruction they would bring upon the earth when they invented fire or discovered the division of labour? Was there one enlightened soul among them that had a clue and passed this knowledge on as he impregnated a monkey?
Is my lazy attitude just me picking up the sign of the futility of life and the general vanity of existence? Is there a piece of Paleolithic data clinging to my DNA that’s coaching me along telling me not to worry because we’re all fucked anyways?
Maybe this is why I drag my feet or never write instructions down.
I'm not old, just dying...
A year ago today I wrote about my return home to the farm. That weekend, I got in a fight with my buddy Ryan who decisively kicked my ass. Prior to that we had a morose exchange about life and living that provided a nice juxtaposition to the beating that was to ensue. So this weekend we raised our glasses and it wasn’t 2 minutes before we were at each others throats again. I asked the guitar player to dedicate the saddest song he knew to Ryan cuz he just got diagnosed with aids. Not a great start.
I felt big driving my brothers’ new truck. I felt larger than my accusers; I could careen around or simply drive over impediments to my health and happiness. It was like Viagra on wheels. I recently spread a rumor that my dong could stop a rhino from charging, it was like that just faster.
But alas it was short lived. A trip to the local bar made me realize that I’m far too old. Having your favorite haunt over run with minors snaps you back to reality pretty quickly. Oh how I wished for their faces to decompose before my eyes as the grip of aging visits the same horror upon them.
In the not so distant future…(day 5)
The daily algorithm intercept broadcasted the news directly into the minds of all humans. Every person was equally informed with knowledge obtained and rendered by giant computers run out of Toronto. Robots in quadrant 5 locale 6 had been successful in emotion replication. For years they had been experimenting with extracting emotion from the human DNA. Because jealously was the most potent of these they now announced (in a display that resembled pride) that several robots were running around not sharing and exhibiting selfish behavior.
The implications of this troubled our scientist. Each person receives an inoculation against selfishness inutero and it had lead to a general harmonious planet. The reintroduction of selfishness certainly wasn’t needed, especially among robots. Robots were there to tend to humans needs; it is because of their discipline that humans could afford their lackadaisical existence. If they were to elevate their own concerns above those of humans the consequences would be disastrous. With the selfish gene now absent in humans they would not be able to fend for themselves, even so far as to grow their own food. They would simply wither away without the slightest complaint even during the most painful throes of starvation.
The scientist quickly scanned the room to determine who among her motley crew of clones would come in handy in such a scenario. These were among the only full grown humans on the planet who still contained the selfish gene because it came part in parcel with the rest of their genetic makeup. Because of her inability to determine who would be best suited to lead because that would involve a statement of preference she simply announced that the clones would have to determine themselves who would be their leader.
In the not so distant future…(day 2)
With William Shakespeare properly disposed of after obtaining a urine sample, our noble scientist was adjusting to the new form his body had taken. After the dirty work associated with failed cloning attempts, he ingested a vial full of nanobots that underwent the process of trans-genderfication. Our now female scientist sat rubbing her smooth legs and squeezing her breast in amazement to the delight of Yoda who remained sitting on the couch.
Yesterday was spent adjusting apertures and chemical combinations as he added to his cohort of famous individuals. A host of reincarnated stars loitered around the laboratory introducing themselves to their fellow clones. In awkward gestures they attempted to greet each other, with much bowing and a litany of genealogies. Plato had run off with Scarlet Johansson and wouldn’t be seen for hours. A dark skinned Michael Jackson stared in horror at his light skinned compatriot.
Carl Jung joined Madame Scientist on the couch to go over what was known as the “exit interview”. Jung expected he would soon be leaving, eager to explore a world where gadgetry had made nearly every human endeavor obsolete. The scientist, however, had other things in mind.
“It is an absurd prejudice to suppose that existence can only be physical” Jung said, as if this realization hadn’t dawned on him centuries before. “We know matter in so far as we perceive physic images mediated by the senses.”
“So things can still exist even if they are amputated from their physical self?” questioned the scientist.
“Absolutely” stated Jung.
“Good, that’s what I was counting on. Now can you please fill this up?” said the scientist passing him a hermetically sealed container.
In the not so distant future….
A scientist sat tinkering in his laboratory. Slightly annoyed, he blended molecules as beakers all around him smoked a bubbled. On the couch sat William Shakespeare who was cloned for the fifth time earlier that morning. William was highly critical of the scientist methods, which were of particular annoyance since an error had occurred once again in the cloning process. Gone was his eloquence and wit, replaced by a disjointed and dyslexic vernacular. He ended up speaking much like Yoda, which pissed Yoda off who sat quietly across from him, who was largely silent all morning because of his peculiar cadence of speech was being ripped off.
Now the scientist was biding his time until Shakespeare could provide an adequate urine sample so that he could resume the ugly task of killing and disposing of the body before attempting to clone him again. William complained of the bitterness of the tea and the by and large unrefined nature of the future. “You’ve come a long way from Canterbury” though the scientist as he put on another kettle.
Earlier that morning he had killed Shakespeare and had to deal with the awful mess of sonnets pouring from the open wound in his neck. They seeped under the couch and into crevices, poems were stuck beneath the scientists fingernails, and rhyming couplet’s had stained his lab coat. Cloning is difficult business made all the more taxing by the messy extermination of test subjects. Yoda remained silent, choosing not to inform William of his impending doom. He has seen many like him come and go in the course of the morning and had no intention of getting attached. The fact that he too could be next didn’t faze him because the peace associated with being a Jedi pacified his already docile spirit. Besides Yoda was good company, he was perfectly fine occupying himself through meditation and generally didn’t get in the way.
The reason for such experiments stemmed from the general dissatisfaction of the scientist of futuristic life. Machines had taken over every task from the most mundane to the most sophisticated. Super computers run most government agencies and some had even been elected into the House of Commons. Because machines have made daily living so easy many humans had descended into a life of leisure and lethargy. Not so for our noble scientist. He has been diligently working on rejuvenating society with a much needed dose of culture. Museums had closed; personal historian robots were available to recite all required data. Galleries were empty; people opted for downloading fanciful images directly into their brains. It was the scientist hope that the living incarnates of historical theatrical and artistic figures would aide in this process. He was filled with the thrill of discovery.
As the kettle whistled the scientist went about preparing another cup of tea.
