2005, Tucked into the Annals of History

I did an entry like this a year ago, only it was 2004. I never mean to sound prophetic, but a lot of what I thought would happen ended up coming to pass. I'm hoping the world has seen the worst of it though. Because if this is the worst, then we'll survive.

Looking back on this year, as trite as it sounds, it just makes me want to never look back on this year again. But I probably will, because even amidst the horror, there's been some lessons learned, and even amongst the most terrible outcomes, there were good things that happened. I've made some new friends this year, and I've let some old ones go. That's the way of time.

I've given up some old habits, and I've taken up some new ones. Playing the guitar being the most addicting one right at the moment, but that's just me. I've found myself, in a sense. Or pieces of myself, which are nonetheless critical to me developing as a person on the whole.

I've given up the mob. Like a lot of people, I just couldn't stand the social scene. Some of you are probably wondering, I never really got into it in the first place. That is true. Like Tesla, I've become kind of a harmless eccentric, withdrawn from society, but at the same time, painfully aware of it.

Political ranting, as everyone may have noticed, has been reduced to a bare minimum as compared to my earlier days. The days of civil debate are over anyway. 2006 will be a continuation of 2005 where Liberal is a dirty word, and one side of the debate will always attempt to shut the other down, rather than listening to the varying opinions of others.

I'm rambling again. I apologize.

Too much talk about me. Now, for you. There have been many new visitors to my blog this year. I can only wish that you have felt either one of two things when you visit here. Either A) Entertained, or B) Enlightened in some way. I hope to continue writing this little... saga, as long as possible, with it being a combination of my fascination with public writing, and also my outlet for when things are either bugging or entertaining me.

Things I have contemplated adding to this blog include sound clips from my infrequent jam sessions on the guitar, regular (three times a week) photos and illustrations, or perhaps something along the lines of a podcast, etc. I'd say I have options on the table, but I actually have no table, and I'm just pitching ideas out of my ass right now.

Now, for my bit of vague prophecy for the next year...
It's very likely that 2006 will be the uphill haul from the black hole of 2005. People will wake up and realize that they've just spent an entire year fucking around, and nothing has actually been done. I think there will be a major shakedown in both Canada and the U.S. with regards to the government.

I also have a sneaking suspicion that sometime in the coming year, there will be a period where nobody will hear from me. Normally, I leave all the lines open, but 2006 will be a time for cutting free. And by cutting free, I mean filing that cell phone over the side of a bridge and never looking back.

Happy New Year, and I hope everyone enjoys their over-promoted leap-second.

Time, for flying rockets, for silver jets, for surfing boats.
Surfing on a Rocket...

Breathtaking

You'll have to excuse me for being a little less than surprised by this.

Rotten people are still rotten, regardless if they are of the government, of the people, or of the cloth. It doesn't matter. This is just further proof that organizations that preach an "open door" are just a facade on the same old rejection. Difference is still different, and some people are afraid of that.

Am I angry? Yes. But that's my business. I just really feel for the people who set out to find God, and instead met the politics of the Church. Humanity is cruel. Religion is born of humanity.

Voluntary Unconsciousness

It's okay to be envious.



Sarge sleeps most of the day. At least, when he's not chasing squirrels, going for walks, or trying to mooch cheese off unsuspecting family.

Sleep is something we could all use a lot more of. Stress, something a lot less.

I could also do for some snow, and less sunlight, especially when it's in my eyes, and I'm driving. Mind me, there's a 50/50 chance that the guy I almost greased today deserved it. In my defense, he was completely oblivious to everything, including the fact that I had almost hit him.

Near-tragedy is never as acute as post-tragedy. Thank God my reflexes were with me today.

*Click*

Sit down, don't blink. A tiny flash, and suddenly you're immortal.

It's not a Hasselblad, but it works.

Yes. That's right. That is a picture. No, I haven't forgotten about you. I know how you all like pictures. They're easier to read than words. Well, most of the time.

In any event, more pictures should be forthcoming, depending on my schedule. Hopefully, the more stylistic, the better. Still haven't figured out what to do with all that extra space on the sides, but I'm sure that will come.

Midnight Haunted

I had a nightmare last night that greatly disturbed me.

There was a man, the icon of masculine beauty. He was adorned in the finest white silks, and he wore angel-feather sleeves. His boots were of gold and silk, and he talked in tongues that made people bow and obey. He was wreathed in an aura of gold that was painful to look at.

We were all there standing before this... thing. He spoke to us, and we all listened. Well, you all listened. I heard the honeyed words, and knew immediately, something was not right. He was building up to something. His fluid, fluttering words became gutteral and clear to me. This was an illusion that everyone was enraptured in. He spoke and you all listened. He ordered and you all obeyed.

And then he said it.
Bow to me. I am your master. I am your lord. I am your beginning and your end.

With that, the illusion shattered before me. Even as all of your knees and foreheads touched the ground, I saw this monstrocity for what he really was.

The angel-wing sleeves were whole angel wings, ripped from the innocent bodies of their bearers. The golden aura was a circle of fire and blood, twisting and twining around the man. His white silks and shoes were covered with blood, and his eyes were windows to terror itself.

I alone was still standing to recognize this monster. I knew the evil that stirred in that bloodstained body, and I knew it recognized me right away.

I knew how it worked. I knew that I would have to rise up to that monster and fight it. But I knew that it would never stain it's hands - those procelain hands - with the dirt of having to deal with me.

No. With a word, you all descended on me. And I awoke.
It's hard to see allies when you know that everyone is human, and only the right words, appearance, and tone are required to take them completely. All I have to offer is the truth, and that has won no wars and made me no friends.

Paranoia, paranoia everyone's coming to get me...

I've been here before

Deja vu, and before I know it, I'm awake.

I was out late, hanging with my friends. Driving home. It's cold out, and the fog over the city got too cold. It became a cloud of frost. The streets were glittering like black jewels. I was the only car out there, my headlights were the only light besides the streetlights last night. The clouds were dark and close, and kidnapped errant rays of light.

There was no sound. The sleek pavements met and departed from tires without protest, and only the modest purr of my underwhelming beast of burden spoiled the silence of the night.

Home led to sleep. Dreams of dreaming about nice things. Things that don't exist in the real world. Illusions that make me feel warm and safe. A temporary escape from the paranoia.

Waking up, it's deja vu. I've been here before. I've done all this before. Pixies grinning and stupid Christmas questions repeat themselves from past and future. How do I know what people are going to say? Why do they keep asking the same questions? Why do I keep answering with the same words?

Why can't I recognize myself in the mirror anymore?
Why am I dreaming when I'm awake? And why do people try to ease my paranoia with false comfort while they brandish their cruel knives behind their backs?

MNS: The Next Generation

More moderately new stuff. Got rid of the old link to Ryan's defunct blog, as the address has been usurped by some tool from Orlando Florida. Rest in peace, ye bloody hands.

In it's place, I added a link to The Worst Hour in Radio History. A tasteless blog full of penile rantings and humourings of one Pastor Rowe. Enjoy at your own risk. Content includes equal doses of politics and bullshit.

I've also added a link to the Neverending White Lights official website, down in the music area. I recommend checking it out, if you're at all interested in Daniel Victor's collaborative project.

I've realized that for those of you using full screen web browsers, there's two very large and annoying sections of blankness to the left of my entries, and to the right of the sidebar. Any suggestions on pictures I could throw in there to liven it up? I'd only be using black a white with some silver tones, so no flowers, womanly curves, or skylines.

And So

I figure this time of year, I must be the most boring person alive.

That aside, my guitar has been taken in for tuning, string replacement and a level setup. I figure if I can get it professionally done for free, I should capitalize on that. So, it's going to be a week; just in time for Christmas.

I've also contracted a headcold. I've been taking a very potent medication for it, which may have had something to do with my earlier scrooginess. I would apologize, but I'm just about to take another dose, so we'll wait until the smoke and debris clears before we start with the reparations.

Have I mentioned that I love baguettes? Because I do, especially when they're fresh baked and warm, and made into sandwiches.

Denial ain't a river.

Freedom... or some eulogy similar thereto

Wrapped up at the college today. For better or for worse, I'm done for the winter break. Now, everyone gets to look forward to the proverbial twelve days of Christmas. The gluttony. The singing. The systematic transferral of money from the hands of families into the hands of businesses. Family. Fruitcake. Actually, skip the fruitcake.

Come to think of it, I'm being accused of skipping the family too. See, I'm working this Christmas holiday.

Now why would anyone in at least half of their right mind do that?

You must be asking yourself. Well, I have three reasons. Reason number one, and probably the most prominant. I don't have half of a right mind. Reason number two, I can't stand how crotchety my family gets over the holidays. They get all festive, and I get all, well. I get all myself. And they can't stand that. It's too big of a raincloud for their little festive parade. So they get whiny and aggressive and invasive. I just want my peace and quiet. Reason number three, I would like very much to have lots and lots of money so that I'm not a debt-ridden deadbeat like most of my friends. Ooops. Did I just say that out loud? I'm sorry. It's true, a lot of my friends are debt-ridden, but only one or two are deadbeats. You know who you are. The rest of you can go. Yes, even you.

So then, I bet somebody out there is thinking what a scrooge. Doesn't want to spend time with family. Doesn't enjoy the festive spirit. Doesn't even like fruitcake. Aye... we're going to lynch him with candycanes.

Well, to be perfectly blunt, Christmas for me this year is like any other day of the year. The extended family isn't coming out, the synthetic tree was set up late, and of course, I wasn't here when ornaments were put up. So, come Christmas morning, I'll follow my usual routine. Wake up, try not to intrude on anyone's 10' security bubble, and try to find a vacant area in the house where I can have some "me" time.

So far, it's been a pursuit in vain.
I should have put a new house on my Christmas list.
or maybe... "Privacy. Learn to knock, numbnuts."

Anybody else working over the Christmas break?

A-Day

I can hardly feel my feet. I'm dead tired, but this is it. The last dash before classes are done for the winter break.

I didn't sleep well last night. Bothered, I guess. Between the alcohol in my system and pain in my head, it was to be expected. It's amazing how four bottles of beer can take a fearless man and make him paranoid. And then the morning comes and all he can feel is dread.

All news is bad news today. I can feel it. I'm afraid to talk to people, because they're going to tell me something I don't want to hear. I've heard enough this week. I don't want to hear any more.
But I can't help to listen if you tell me. My ears are always open, and call it an addiction, but I can't get enough bad medicine.

It's better than the cotton candy lies that are rotting people's teeth nowadays.
And nobody ever solved anything by ignoring the problem.

But alas, no more bottles!

Pickaxe to the Brain

They're conspiring against me to cause a headache.

I swear. First there was the sun, jabbing my eyesockets with his unwanted cold rays of blindness. Then there was the weather, which like an uncertain highschool girl, blows hot and cold and can't decide whether to be cool or warm. Now, outside my office door, there is an army of anklebiters, touring from a nearby elementary. None of them have learned how to control their voices. They're all yelling.

A couple are crying. Where the fuck are the teachers? Parents? Guardians? Don't tell me they let these little buggers out without some kind of supervision? Something terrible could happen to them, like being accosted by an angry editor who's trying to get his work done.

I'm turning Pony Boy up, hopefully a shock of rock right to my brain will alleviate some of the building pressure. Either that, or little skulls will be having a quick and decisive date with a nine-iron my boss left outside his office.

Gah. Somebody knock me out now. This has not been a good day.

Edit: Now somebody sprayed some kind of berry-fruit something-or-other shit, and it's making the whole house smell like poorly manufactured esters. Fuck. FUCK. Why do people have to sample fucking Fruits-o-the-sun in MY house?

Back when Angels swam with me

Yeah, I've been listening to a lot of Radiohead recently. I've also been playing F.E.A.R. Damnit D.! That shit is scary!
But not so scary that I can't bolt guys to the wall if they piss me off. In virtual reality anyway. And there's nothing quite like bicycle kicking a guy over a railing or into a steel box. Ouch.

I got my first Christmas gift last night. A new cellphone. I don't know how they could call that I gift. I had to go pick out the phone and plan, and deal with the salesman. Yeah. I had a headache about thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis big after the whole ordeal was done. No amount of painkiller seemed to help, so I just blew my plans for the evening and rolled into bed for a while.

It makes me wonder. Why must phone companies literally ream my ass with their shitty plans and poor selection of cellphones when I already have a reasonable idea of what I want? Is 200 daytime minutes and unlimited nights and weekends too much to ask for? And what's with this instant message shit? Why am I being charged $0.15 for every instant message? Why must I pay an extra $2 a month for a piddly 30 messages a month? It costs the company virtually nothing to fire an ascii line of code through their network. What's next? Charging 80 cents a kilobyte for telephony modems?

Fuck.

Anger and me don't get along well unless it's about cell phones or greedy assholes. Calgary has no shortage of either.

Crooked Crooks can't be Criminals, so they become Politicians

For those of you outside the country, Canada is on the campaign trail towards an election.

For those of you inside the country, we're fucked. If you haven't turned on the tube recently, let me fill you in. None of the main parties (Liberals, Conservatives, NDP) have offered anything tangible in terms of spending or platforms. Harper is pining for the traditional definition of marriage, Layton wants there to be umpteen billions of dollars pumped into education, likely at the expense of other programs, or another ungodly leap in taxes.

Martin is just hoping to whoever's listening that he'll be elected again.

I can guarantee you, regardless of who you vote for this election, you'll be losing out. I know some of you will vote Conservative, because you're under the idealistic notion that they will somehow "keep their word." These are trained politicians we're dealing with here, ladies and gentlemen. They'd tell you that your royalty to get your vote. None of them are to be trusted any further than you'd trust a fox in a henhouse.

Some of you will vote Liberal, simply because you're afraid of the Conservative's right wing policies. Bad idea. The Libs have been in power for a long time now, and I don't think they even really have a plan anymore, besides seeing just how far they can roll this trainwreck of a federal government.

Some of you won't vote. Which is your right, but in refusing to vote, you also lose the right to bitch about what the government's doing.

Some of you will be voting Green. Well, that's awesome. But I think it's a little late for that.

I don't know who I'll be voting for. I don't think it matters. None of the leaders have visited Alberta, likely because it's such a homogenized voting body. The Conservatives don't campaign here, because they know they've already won, and the Liberals and NDP won't touch Alberta, because they know, shy of crossing the floor, there is nothing that they can do to win anymore seats here.

Well, that's my one and only political rant for this season. Back to regular programming.

The Power of Love

And I...



will always...



love yooooouuuuuu...



They don't get it. They sing of love like it was something to save us, when look at what it gave us. Love is a force like weak atomic bonds, it holds everything together by the most tenuous grip, but is so easily shattered that it can't help but explode when the inevitable happens.

So keep on singing. Keep on praying for a better world through breeding the hate. Pass on your values, like money and piety, and hope to God that your children can somehow eke some kind of existance from the mess you've made.

Note: None of the A-bomb pictures are mine. I take no credit for them. They are the property of their respective home sites.

Not to smash your perception or anything...

Wild Thing
32 Reserved, 92 Kinky

Sex is more than just physical. It is one of the ways to build an emotional bond between two people. Sex gives adults the opportunity to act like children again. You know how to enjoy kinky sex. You may have problems finding a lover equally adventurous that isn't a slut or a womanizer. But with time and affection the nicest lady and most refined gentleman can become as wild in bed as you are. Communication is the key.


Never judge a book by a cover, a person by the noise they make, or a lake by its surface.

This, at the behest of apples, who insisted I share this kind of stuff (perhaps more often?). I dunno. I'm testing the waters here. Do you people really need to know this? No, of course not. But this kind of stuff is out there, so why do we hide it? Why do we cringe from the topic?

Roles in Life

In life, everyone has their role to play.

The optimist builds the aeroplane,
The pessimist, the parachute.

Where's your parachute?
Pessimists make better parachutes because they know what it's like.
In crisis, an optimist is worse than useless because they can't possibly comprehend that everything is not going just peachy,
and everything will not be okay.

The only downside is when you're going high and fast, a parachute tends to pull you down.

Natural Order

I've been pondering the natural order of things. How would nature work, if applied to human culture? If we got rid of all of our taboos and structures, and just lived according to our instincts and our own personal directives, how would mankind work? I can probably say with some certainty that marriage would probably cease to be. I've been seeing increasing evidence that mankinds natural state of union is not a monogamous one.

How would nations work? Well, they wouldn't. There wouldn't be any structure to protect or define rights or laws, so genocide would be a distinct possibility. Rape, pillaging, destruction. It could all be possible. But so would honesty. Ettiquette would be gone, so what would be considered rude? The truth used to be rude.

Then it would just be the truth.

Could you imagine living in this kind of world? I could. It would be like seeing my own extinction in a blaze of nothing. When the unspoken rules of society lift away, I would probably thrive to the point of combustion. Or I would just go crazy after witnessing the sheer madness that would be unleashed without the collars of society to keep it in check.

The more I think about the natural order of things, the more I think that man in its current state is an unnatural thing.

Snow

It's like the fimbulvetr out there right now.

Snow and cold like I haven't seen for years. Snow and cold and wind and cloud, all swirling around like a tempest. I can't go out there without a heavy jacket anymore. It's too cold, too windy.

I'm tempted to take a picture, but I don't know how well my camera would do in the cold and wind. I don't want to get ice crystals in the body, as that would utterly destroy my camera. It's like Christmas, except... where's the warmth?

The shoppers are still out though. Nothing save their own demise can stop them from trying to find that "perfect gift." Death could be all about them, and they wouldn't care. As long as Sears is open for another couple of hours, nothing else matters.

Nothing else matters.

Fade Away

Silly moment for the day. My ginormous headphones are on, blasting Nine Inch Nails at maximum volume. I'm sitting here, in front of my glowing screen, tap-tapping like mad on the keyboard, furiously making no progress on my news article.

Only when the song ends do I realize that my mother is standing at the door, apparently telling me something important. I still can't hear her through the bullet-proof leather covers on my headphones. So I slowly remove them from their deathgrip on my head.

"...you know? Give it some thought, you could probably make it for three months."

I guess she finally read my Christmas list.

Is it any wonder that it looks less like a list of toys, and more an equipment manifest for a theoretical sound studio?

I'm still not an artist.

Yet.

Snap

So I was unwinding, settling down to play some guitar before I went to bed last night. It had been particularly warm the last few days, so my guitar was slightly out of tune, so I was correcting them. Nearing completion, I tweaked the last string ever so slightly, first up, then down, and *ktspoooin*.

The delicate metal string snapped just below the head of the guitar and whipped across my fingers like a slave-driver's flay. Two of my fingers were cut and bleeding, but it was the psychological ramifications that hurt more.

My prized guitar, infalliable through thick and thin for the last few months, had failed. Perhaps I had tuned it too much? Perhaps I should have gotten the setup done shortly after I had bought it? What do I do now? I can't play a guitar with just five strings, can I? Can I buy a pack of Electric Guitar strings and just graft a new string on with my other five? Or must the entire family be sacrificed to make room for a new batch of harmony?

My guitar is lying crippled, back on its cradle. The tiny sixth string is lying in two pieces beside my home computer.

My piano satiated my demand to create music, but I'm worried now. In this elitist society, appearing amateurish with my instrument of choice could spell disaster.

Advice?

If - Then Statement

A friend of mine told me there's no need for an excuse to be passionate.

I thought it was quite wise until I actually got wind of what kind of passion he was talking about. I was imagining feats of exceeding valour and nobility, like curing cancer or building a great monument.
Later I discovered, he meant fighting for the exclusive rights to female genitailia, and warding off other barbarous suitors from "my girl."

Laying claim to something that is not mine has never sat quite well with me. I'm single. I lay claim to no-one, and no-one has any claim over me, despite whatever petty notions they might have in their head. Sex is kind of a touchy issue for me, but I figure it will come of its own accord, pardon the pun. I'm not one to go around looking for booty, as I figure any girl looking for a purely physical relationship would be "resigning" herself to me, as there is no shortage of better looking - and much hornier - men to choose from. More experienced, less emotional, the works.

In any event, college seems to have become nothing but a hormone-crazed sex fest, with a few classes and education strewn over top. The fall seems to have that effect on people. They can't stand being single, so they'll begin dating people they hate for nothing more than the rabid make-up sex that inevitably follows every inane argument.

So what happens when two people who actually like each other meet?

I'm Sorry?

I don't seem to recall this happening in World of Warcraft.

I mean, there were a few intense quests, but I don't seem to recall there being an elite quest for rogues leaping from balconies. I think the parents should take a closer look. Leaping from balconies is a very common form of suicide (I know, I don't like it any better than you), and maybe the young lad just didn't have the will to live anymore.

Blaming a suicide on a videogame is a stretch to begin with. Blaming someone leaping from a balcony as influenced by a game that involves no such mandatory action is just plain loco. I would shrug, but the sheer absurdity of this lawsuit would probably cause me to break my shoulders.

It's the Blame Game, I guess. But I think they'll have trouble selling that one to anyone except money-hungry parents and bloodthristy lawyers.

Open Mouth

So there's nothing to say. I've caught myself this week, opening my mouth to say something. But no words come. I've got words to say, but they hesitate. The ears, they want to be heard, but they aren't ready to hear this. So this week, I've tried talking. I've tried saying what I've been thinking. Words are cheap weapons that are easily deflected. Words are a candy that aren't sweet enough to be eaten. Words are just words. Air that was too stale to breathe.

And yet when I listen, everyone's talking. Everyone wants to be heard. Everyone wants to be in the centre, everyone wants to be the voice that everyone listens to. It's all the same in the end. I've locked myself into a permanent deja vu now, as everything I've heard, I've heard before, and I've heard before. The sun rises and sets, and I've seen it all before...

Nothing I do is new, but I've never done it before. I put my feet where I've put my feet before, but I've never been there before. I don't say anything, but I've said it all before.

But perhaps there are some things that I have yet to speak about. Things I haven't seen or felt yet that will only come with more experience in life, and more understanding of myself, and what makes me different, and more importantly, what makes me the same.

A Fair Trade

My ethics for your happiness.
My morals for your freedom.
My talents for your skills.
My music for your charisma.
My thoughts for your desires.
My mind for your matter.
My soul for your business.
My life for yours.

Life's not fair. No deal.

Gonna watch Land of the Dead sometime tonight. Should be a good watch. And Lisa, you suckered me. I picked up Talkie Walkie today, only to discover it had icky fickle write protection on it!

Grrr. I hate record companies. The only way they can make their products piracy proof is by making it virtually useless for everyone.

Consumer

The heroic stereotype is to save the Earth.
Like my dreams, I destroy the worlds.
I'm not here to save the Earth.
I'm here to consume your world.

Inside the Skin

Cut beneath the skin and the pretty eyes.

Dive between the ribs, plunge through the heart. Tear through muscles and tendons. Swing off veins, and cut through the arteries. Blast through the flesh and blood, and find yourself.

What's left?

When every bone is broken, and every capillary bleeds like a broken heart, what is there? What part of a person is left when everything is wrecked and dying?

The most important part. The spirit; the mind. It cannot be harmed by an scalpal, or perforated by any bullet. It cannot be touched by any hand, nor cast out by any force, nor changed for anything else in the world. It cannot be bought, it cannot be sold, it cannot be gained, and it cannot be lost, so long as there is an awareness of itself.

It can however, be scarred and harmed. A single word can cut it as surely as a knife cuts fingers. Betrayal burns like oil, searing away at resolve. Doubt gnaws like an infant at it's own nails.

But through it all, determination and desire prevail. The two-piece kernel to the sprout of the mind.

So what then is the body? Is it a reflection of who we are? Is it perhaps just a vessel to carry ourselves in? Or is it more?

Blood from a Stone

Sometimes my work pulls too much from me, and it gets to the point where my hands metaphorically bleed. That is, my inspiration flees, my drive dies, and I just want to go to sleep.

Journalism, it could be said, would be like being a contest with a rock, and seeing who will bleed first. I've dealt with countless good people, who have made my life easier, and I will always think highly of them, and give them the favourable side of the quill. But for every one good, there are three obstinate, rude, or self-absorbed people.

I can understand retail, where you must try to sell these people something. But relying on them for the information to complete my work, it is the bane of my life at this point. I don't want to have to rely on people who hate me because of some stupid prejudice they got from watching too much television. I'm not interested in "the big scoop," I'm not interested in getting the celebrity's face, up close and personal. I'm only interested in what's happening, what's new, what's newsworthy.

On a sidenote, somebody hooked me up with some contemporary Radiohead. It's good stuff. I'll probably pick some of their CD's up when I go to pick up Air, and Gun for my Gamecube.

Western. Mmmm...

Those on the latest MSN are probably familiar with this illustration.


Yes. I actually do look like that right now.

Planetarian for a Day in the Heavens

You may have your speck of blue,
you may keep your realm of dust.
Space is the the realm where I dwell,
I ride about on the sun's warm gusts.

Amongst the clouds of Venus,
Through the deep red chasms of Mars.
To feel the warm rays of sunlight on my walls.
To walk along the night side of Charon's deepened halls.

Sedna was a distant dream,
a blood red pearl on the lace.
Oort's cloud only rains once,
I catch the drops on my brow.

Saturn dances with the Titan,
Her rings an open dress,
mythology rewritten by her timeless waltz,
Her song does not know death.

Sol, the lonely king of this sphere,
his glowing yellow raiment held low,
his partner long since gone,
he is now left all alone.

So live your little ant lives,
On your little ant world.
You don't know the world,
you don't know the space.

You couldn't learn to share,
You aren't even that aware,
I wonder, would you even care?
If you suddenly perished in a solar flare.

A Small Place for a Lost Mind

Illustrations are great, but nothing beats a hard photo. An illustration makes a point, where a picture makes it real.



The destruction I've seen, while it is no war, is still destruction nonetheless. Part of the apathy that people feel towards violence and harm, I believe, comes from their unwillingness to go out and see it for themselves. If it doesn't come to them, it's not real, just a fantasy played out for their amusement. Everyone believes it can't happen to them, as it's just part of that scripted routine played forth on the television.



The great thing about being out in the countryside, endless roads, endless sky, and endless silence. The nearest car is a million miles behind you, and the only thing you're aware of is the feeling of pavement under wheels, and air rushing through the vents. It's not a feeling of lawlessness, rather it's a feeling of freedom, if only for a moment.



They say Canadian winters are early, cold, and brutal. While I must agree that this is for the most part true, I beg to wonder if whoever says these things have met Canadian girls. Apparently, they're supposed to be easy, but mind the knife. It has a convenient means of finding the small of the back when you least expect it.

Or so I am told at least. I have and always will respect people based on their own merits, rather than their gender or class.

For some people have no merits, and I don't respect them at all.

Dancing on my Grave

Wow.

I mean, just wow.

I wonder sometimes if this job just hates me. Last minute news is news that just shouldn't be. Nothing says welcome home like an overloaded workload and a serious lack of effective social contact.

I think the female gender is waging a vendetta against me.

What hope hath one man against such odds?

What hope hath one man?

What hope?

Edit: And they hath beat me down again. To rise. And they hath beat me down again.
Illness knocks upon my door, and they hath beat me down again.
My throat be all swollen and sore, and they hath beat me down again.

How to say it

It's back. With a vengeance. That wheezing hack that I thought I was rid of. My lungs convulsed and writhed in pain today under a fresh onslaught of dry wheezing cough. Sometimes I wonder if its the case, that even my basic health is being denied me.

Someone even told me today that I need to lay off the smokes. It's ironic, because I have a violent aversion to cigarettes. It's great how people default to thinking that anything you're feeling is ultimately your own fault. How easy it is to point fingers when it's not yourself that you're pointing at.

I feel particularly bad this week as well. I feel like an atom bomb of truth and vileness, and nobody wants to get close enough to set me off. Nobody really wants to hear what I have to say deep down, and maybe its better that way. No, it is better that way. What I think is my own poison, but it allows me the patience and understanding to deal with any type of person. In a way, I can help everyone but myself.

And yet I'm still expected to sit here and sort through my issues, alone. And find some sort of resolution, alone.

The grief of trust made by people can only be mended by people.

I am not inspired by people saying maybe.

Like I wasn't even gone

I've returned home. Yep, back in the big city and ready to start attending classes again. I've practi-cummed all that I need to for this semester, and I'm one step closer to that diploma. However, contrary to my hopes, I still have not attained the bliss of wireless internet. Something funny is afoot in my laptop and my routers, as their behaviour can only be called chaotic and unexpected.

Well, my laptop is falling apart, from a software perspective. I'm taking it in to be re-imaged tommorrow, which means good-bye all info. I've backed a lot of it up onto my home computers, but I still think it's a terrible pain in the ass, and this could have all been prevented if such a series of unfortunate bungles had been avoided. For starters, Microsoft should never EVER make a shitty unstable piece of software into an integral part of their operating system. For example, Internet Explorer. IE should never have been made the integral network tool for Microsoft Windows. The fact that it is, meant that when it got corrupted, I lost all my network modification abilities, my abilities to add new network locations, and eventually, my ability to modify net content.

I work almost exclusively through Firefox now, but seemings as how I can't magically replace the shit with the fox in all its networking roles, I'm screwed.

Indeed, yes I've returned home. To the sound of 100 questions and a million words of nothing.
Less than 10 hours, and I already want to leave again.

Wireless Woes

Perhaps the biggest downside to a wireless internet connection, is that there isn't a convenient wire to hang yourself by when it malfunctions.

Sorry about my lack of posts recently. I've been wrestling with this sack of shit that I call the internet. There's nothing quite like having six wireless connections to choose from, and having none of them work. Shy of wracking up a long distance bill of over $100, this is the only means I have to keep in touch with people over great distances.

I'm also sad to hear that Ryan is deleting his blog. It might be irony, but we finally got some fucking potatoes, and now I won't need them anymore. Sorry buddy. If you're on MSN, give me a shout, and I'll see if I can WoW it up with ya. I seem to recall you oweing me a rematch duel sometime.

In other news, when was Halloween? I seemed to have missed it. Along with all the catwomen, french maids, witches, succubi, and plainly scantly clad women. Geeezus, I miss all the good things in life.

Born to this Life

So, where do you see yourself in 5, 10, 20 years?

It seems to be the hot question for educators and employers. Where do you see yourself? What do you want to do with your life? What are your goals?

Well, would it hurt your feelings if I said I thought it was conceited to believe I would live that long?
Living is something that's so easy to take for granted. We just assume that we'll be healthy forever, and nothing bad ever happens. I prefer not to wait until tommorrow, if you don't mind. Because there might not be a tommorrow. There might not even be a today.

I don't like sitting around anymore. I've had a lot of wasted days, where I just sit around and do nothing, trying to figure out new ways to do nothing. I still like sleeping. If I'm sleeping, I'm happy. But when I'm awake, I always feel like I should be doing something, or something should be happening as a result of my previous work. I feel like I'm riding the edge of the wave of my life, and I should try to get everything done while I still have the opportunity to do so.

I know, I should have a lot of time left. But when I think about it, there's a lot of stuff that I should have, but don't. So, I'm not taking my time for granted.

Now, I'm sure my profs would have something to tell me right now about "taking opportunities," and getting assignments done, and do a respectable degree of quality. I'm innocent I tell ya!

A Small Disclaimer

I am not responsible for your reactions to the following picture. I am an artiste. You have nothing against me.

Now, gaze, at my elite camera skills.



Edit: I think there's a certain few of you who would appreciate the results of this trite little quiz.

You Are Changing Leaves

Pretty, but soon dead.

What Part of Fall Are You?

A little note to myself

Remember self, if you go to the pop machine, and you have change but not your wallet, you aren't getting back into your room.

Embarassing. Thank god it wasn't the usual morning people I see at the front desk. That would be pretty awkward.

My internet is driving me nuts. It's like they have wireless internet out here, but it stops working, if the goddamned gerbil gets tired.

I would like to thank the Chinooks Edge school district for my dinner tonight. Thank you, you've prevented another poor student from starving this day.

Also, I would like to direct everyone with Realplayer installed on their computer, back over to Intairnet. Play the music video for Surfing on a Rocket. You won't regret it.

Also of note. When staying for prolonged periods in a hotel, bring guitar. Couples will want sex all night, and the only method of retaliation a single man has is some kind of brutal sonic assault.

A Mask

The earphones are a wall to keep you out of my head.
I can hear the music playing, even when they're not around.

These glasses are a mask to hide the evil me.
I don't want you. I want to consume you.

This hoody is armour from the outside world.
Hard words are cushioned by the black warps around me.

This ring is a collar wrapped around my neck.
I have since been parted with it. May it strangle someone deserving.

These shoes are the sound of silence on rock.
Those who fear the silence, fear me.

The pen is a weapon, meant to crush your doubt.
Ignorance and apathy are armors too thick to crack.

The erasor is a bandage, to help me forget.
I can't forget, but I can be forgotten.

These keys are doors, into the places I've went.
The darkness and light that I've seen, the hearts I've felt. The worlds I've broken.

Insomnia

I hate trying to go to bed, and finding you can't sleep. I'm so fucking tired that I've zoned out while trying to write this, but the moment my head touches a pillow, I'm awake, full burn.

I'm miserable. Not because I'm out here. I'm just miserable, can't sleep, can't feel anything. My feet have gone to sleep. A million thoughts run through my head, at a million miles an hour, about a million different things a million different ways. A veritable mess of bullshit filling the space between my ears, and it won't let me sleep until I sort through it. One bloody concept at a time.

One bloody thing at a time. One bloody step in front of the other. That's all I've got to focus on. Nothing else matters right now except moving forward.

An exercise in insanity. View yourself as your friends see you. Truly, it is maddening. For they know nothing about you, and yet profess to know you.

Madness. I'm wondering tonight if I'm hearing one voice too many in my head. A friend of mine was being hussled off to the psychologist, because she was stressed from schoolwork. Wrong action. Go see a campus councellor if the school work is getting to you. Psychologists should only be seeing psycho's like me, who seem all put together until somebody tells them something they already know, and they... how did Simon put it? Snap, LOSE IT.

Nobody says anything. I can hear noise, I can see lips moving. But none of it resolves itself into my mind as something being said. I can't hear you. I don't know what you're saying.

Everyone likes to talk about someone, it's like a circle see. They talk around this person. They talk above this person. They talk behind this person. All around and around, things are said. Many of them could be true. The important stuff is false. But the person in the middle doesn't know. They don't hear anything. All they see are grinning faces, and a little voice at the back of their mind tells them to watch out for the hyenas.

Everyone wants better for themselves, to find everything they could ever want. Nobody ever sees the cost of their actions, as long as it makes them feel good. There's been a Holocaust of conscience, and we are once again looking away as their ashes fall down on us. When are they going to come for mine?

People like to look for their better half. The dating game, I guess it's called. But people don't love people. People love themselves, and what they see of themselves in other people. People love how other people make them feel. Needed, loved, warm, sexy. Whatever. It's all illusions. People don't love people.

Aspiration was what once drove us, but it's dead. We're climbing down the ladder, not up. We're digging our grave, not our future. Money and sex. With those two things, you can wrap yourself in the warm, fuzzy blanket of apathy and sail off to the never-land between here and fuck-all.

And here, the best place to put a gun is in the ground, or on your chin. Never again do I want to see a grin and a barrel within the same three metres of each other if I can help it. The best way to kill your enemy is to let him live for about 80 or so years, and then decide if he was really worth killing.

And all around, there's an indescribable brutality that everyone feels but nobody sees. Because they won't look. It's like looking at the rabid hound. If I don't see it, maybe it won't see me, and it'll leave me alone. Or at least, I won't have to look into those ravenous eyes, or see those teeth amidst the slavering foam and lolling tongue. The bite will be quick, and the end painful, but at least I will be innocent and not see it coming.

Where am I going? Where is my map?
Where is my bed?

Sleeper

I'm so tired right now. The days are long, with the work, and although the days have gone by like blinks of an eye, sleep is over before I can even shut mine. I've caught myself many times today, nodding off. Only to snap awake, trying to tongue out the bitter metallic taste in my mouth.

At least I've been eating alright. Three or so meals a day. Beats the one or two I was getting while back in school. When I'm only aligned with one job, it's much easier to get things done. Everything follows a flow, rather than having three chicks pulling at the same worm, and all are demanding incessantly.

My mystery sickness seems to have disappated too, which is a welcome relief. I've been breathing a lot easier over the last few days. I think it was the stress that was hurting my lungs, and now I can breathe a little easier. Just one less thing to be in the way, I guess. Not that it matters, anyway. People expect the same from me whether I'm pulling the whole world or carrying the Plague of Ages. It doesn't matter.

The work needs to be done. Nobody has time to care who falls where.
We haven't ever seen the sun. We don't all die by the pair, cause I'm the only one.

Edit: Not that sleepy.

You Passed 8th Grade Math

Congratulations, you got 10/10 correct!

Could You Pass 8th Grade Math?

Damnit Steph. You've even got me doing these things now.

Outward Bound

I'm out of town now, enjoying the internet through an 11.1 mb/s connection. It's like trying to enjoy a thick milkshake with a surgical needle. It's not as bad as I thought it would be. I'm rather enjoying my own space right now, two beds to myself, and all my stuff is pretty much here as well.

I'll miss my friends from home, for the two weeks that I'm out here. But I'm sure they'll be too involved with their own weeklies to care either way. I'm sure there'll be more than a few parties when we get back.

I probably won't be attending.
I've had enough partying for now, and I've got more important things to focus on.

Aural Raid

I've finally got some sound bits recorded from my guitar today. I've encountered two major problems though. The mic I was using sucks worse than a politician in a game of truth or dare, and the software I was using to record was a "trial" version, meaning all the major features have been stripped out, and they secretly made it so that one could only record for a total of 40 seconds.

Great. 40 seconds of what, you might ask? Well, basically me warming up in the guitar. And here, I encountered a third problem. I have no place to put the music on my blog.

Oh well. I'll figure something out.

In other news, I've been introduced to the band Air, by my friend Lisa. They are an instant favorite, and if you don't like the music, you can at least play pong and make-a-song on their site.

I seriously need to find me one of those monkeys. Chicks dig that kind of stuff.

The Clock is Silent

It's waaay too early in the morning, but I haven't gotten any sleep yet. I figure that can wait a little while. About nine hours from now, the clock will strike 10 after 10, and I'll officially be a year older.

19. Now there's a meaningless age, if there ever was one. A year after turning 18, and finding out that the age of majority is nothing special. Just legal. There's going to be a lot of alchohol moving around in the next few hours. I guess its about the only happiness that can be afforded. I'm looking forward to the company of it too. It's not often that my work-mates and my friends all appear in the same location.

Or at least, I'm hoping they'll all appear at the same location. It's not too late for my nightmare to come true; for me to find myself at the campus bar at midnight - alone- speaking tongues to my only friend, a shot of gin on the table next to me.

It's... birthday... my... birthday... it's... my...

*gulp*

Whyyyyyyy Ginny? Whyyyyyyy did you have to taste so good?

In other news, Jack Thompson appears to have spun his engines to zero. Stay tuned for more info.

Even on my birthday, there's people who like to steal my thunder.

Edit: Three martinis, three shots of tequila, and a beer later, I feel like my guts have been pickled, and somebody's stuffed my head with cotton. I also have a feeling that I made a monumental fool of myself, but I also have a feeling that I wasn't the worst one there.

Hot Carrot on Carrot Action

Uh oh. I don't think the Neocons are going to forgive me for this one. The poor children, being corrupted by my perverted exertions. God forbid they should stop beating each other up and oggling older women long enough to even find this website, let alone comprehend the fact that these carrots are neither "hot," nor "active."

Not that it matters anyway. These carrots were especially tasty.
I'll let you guys sort that one out.

You try to find me too late, grabbing into the mist.
But all you find is a handwritten note in a language you can't understand and the faint smell of pancakes.
I'm so gone that even my footprints disappear in the lake.

Something A Little Darker

Halloween is in a few weeks. I won't be here for it. I won't be dressing up for it either. God forbid any children should come knocking on my door asking for candy either. Because I'll eat them alive.

Well, okay, maybe I won't. Just this once. But the little dorks better get it that a patio light turned off means there isn't any candy at this house.

I remember going out for Halloween, enjoying myself. I remember going once when I had the flu, and I passed out under a tree. Best nap I've ever had in our little suburban wilderness. I remember one year somebody giving out cans of pop. Another year, is was cans of beer. Yeah, beer. Way to go, Cletus.

Sometimes I miss being a kid. But then I wonder...

Was I ever really one?

Urban Lego

More pictures for the masses. I'm sure some of you are starting to think this is pretty boring. I mean, it's like all I can take pictures of are buildings, shrubs, guitars, and my own mug.

Oh well. I'm not planning on changing that anytime soon, so you'll all just have to bear with my buildings, my macro'd shrubs, my guitar, and... well, no. I'm pretty much done with the pictures of myself.

Need to survive until Thursday.

Do we even know her anymore?

The Clock Chimes

I tripped over my own feet today.

In other news,

Happy Birthday Apples!

Err, actually, its a bit early, but when you do actually celebrate, it'll be approximately 4 a.m. here. So enjoy; another year, another excuse to celebrate. I wish you good times, good luck, and good people.

And now, for some double whammy bad news. First, the bad. I'm going to be gone for two weeks coming up. Practicum called back, which is good news for me. I get to go get job experience, but I doubt that it will leave much room for blogging, per se. And the worse news? My laptop, my portal to the wonderful, terrible world of the internet, is ill. Internet Explorer (which I never use anyway), has died, and with it, almost all of the network tools in Windows. So I need to leave my laptop in for a week for repairs and reimaging.

On top of that, the weather's gone wierd here again.
Expect pictures shortly.

Put your head to the Dirt

Celebrity Worship. It's something we're throwing around the office today, possibly for an editorial.

I remember thinking about this when I was a young, naive little boy. Being outraged at people's shenanigans when it came to the pretty faces of hollywood and music.

I can't bring that self-rightous rage up anymore. It's barely even a spark, against this kind of jaded knowledge that I've accumulated. I'm not surprised by people anymore, probably less so every day. But I still wonder what makes a celebrity, and what makes them so worthy to be oggled over?

Meaningless thoughts, I understand, as people will always follow their percieved idols. People like to worship. It makes them feel like they're appreciating someone, and I guess there's kind of a warm feeling associated with that.

Problem is, it's like booze. It's too easy to go overboard and get drunk off the feeling that you're appreciating someone. It can get way out of control, to the point that you're actually annoying the one you idolize, or worse yet. You think that they should appreciate you back.

Crazy. People are crazy.

Something Pulled Together

Wow. When I get it, I really get it.

Am I one of those bloggers, or one of these bloggers, I wonder?
Does it even really matter?

Edit: This is the equivalent to an open thread. Feel free to leave a comment, unless its spam regarding cheap merchandise, and stuff to do with my wang. Unless it's apples wondering about names. That's okay. Otherwise, chat up. Anything and everything goes.

Further Edit: Stop staring at the picture, tool, and say something.

Even Further Edit: I wonder if she's reading this thing?

Let me show you Terror

I watched The Amityville Horror this weekend. The new one, not the 1979 one. It was pretty disturbing, but I wouldn't exactly call it scary. A friend of mine, typical of most horror-movie buffs, posed the question of what would any of us do, if we were put in the position of the actors in the film (and it became a thing of real life). I'm still kind of sitting on the fence regarding the supernatural, but if I had to go face to face with a malevolent spirit, I'd show him a thing or two about terror.

The mist, blood, and deep voices of the damned spirits are but a hollow comparison to what us, the living terrors of this world have accomplished. Come, let me show you the terror that we have wrought.

When all hope is lost in the face of terror, only bravery, and perhaps a greater terror can hope to prevail.

I guess this is why I'm not afraid of horror movies. Sure, there's blood and gore, and brutal death, and the decay of the human spirit... but really, it's almost insignificant compared to the atrocities of war. And the sad thing is, the atrocities aren't a movie.

Within

Crisis averted... I guess.

I've been sitting here thinking, for quite a while actually. Normally, I'd be glad to share what I think about, but I've learned a few lessons over the last few months, many of them the crushing lessons you can only expect to learn when you reach adulthood. I've learned that what goes on in my mind is, more often than not, best left to die. That isn't a cynical comment. That is the common opinion I get.

In truth, I've been wrestling with myself, the desire to just hate everything for what it is, and the aspirations to beat that desire and see something beyond the gloom and doom. Maybe make a place for myself, and make something of a future. I've also been trying to please everyone, which I already know is a lost cause. The expectations are too damn high, and my abilities can only go so far.

On top of that, I'm trying to discover who it is that I really am, and what it is that I'm trying to accomplish. I might be a news editor now, but I can already tell that this isn't what I want to do for the rest of my life. I've been called a geek, but I can't remember the last time I spent more than an hour playing a video-game. I'm a thing of change, I think.

My plans for travelling this summer are still there... and are perhaps the only objective I have set and am adamantly adhering to right now. I'm just afraid that the places I want to go won't be what I think they will be, and the people I want to meet... well, you get the idea. The only thing worse than hate is forgetting. Unless you do both.

So, even after this post, I don't remember what it was that I was trying to say. Everything's just a fog. I know there's so much more that I want to say, but I'm not in the business of providing ammunition to those who want to hurt me.

In any event, I'm going back to work. Another constant. I just want to sleep, to relax, to feel something besides fatigue, anxiety, and resentment.
Back to work. That's where I go.

My Sincerest Apologies

I can't talk now.

I'm seconds away from losing it entirely, and I don't want to talk about it.

I won't be talking to anyone for a couple of days. I need some time to get my head back on straight, to know that I'm going to be okay.

I'm still sick.
I'm still behind on my assignments.
I'm still wasting time.

That's all you need to know right now.

That, and I'm pissed off. The leaves fell off the trees before I could take a picture of fall. Shortest fucking autumn on record. Less than 24 hours.

Edit: Now I'm pissed. Somebody's eaten almost all of my remaining strawberry marshmellows. What do I have to do to keep people's hands out of my shit when I'm not around? Bear traps? Autoguns? Jesus Christ, I'm living with kleptocrats.

To the Wits End, and Back Again

The true colours of your blue skies are the black of night, and the endless stars.

Expect no love from this uncaring planet, but give love rather, as a gift unwanted.

Time itself is a slayer and a maker, the ender and the bender and the breaker.

Change is a constant, in four seasons of change, itself never the same.

One is strong, but weak to the many, which are weak to the one and strong in the many.

The tree is ageless within your mind, for it bore no fruit until you lay under its boughs.

I am to you as the wind to a mountain. There, but not felt, nor seen, nor heard.

The depths of the ocean covet the heights of the sky.

The end is but a trite beginning among beginnings and ends of beginnings.

Fear nothing, for you are something to be feared.

One of those Days

Have you ever had a day where you just wanted to do this?

I kinda feel like doing that today.

Setting everything on fire, and posing like an idiot, because this world is MINE.

Well, actually, it's not. But it never hurt anyone to imagine it, did it?

Sucrose Dreams

I'm a diabetic's nightmare, and Wonka's dream come true.

I eat insane amounts of candy, sweets, pop, and other sugary goods. It's not healthy, it's rotting my teeth... yea, I can hear the goddamned plaque multiplying. But I love it so. Why, you might ask? Because I have some kind of crazy addiction to sugar. Like a mountain goat seeking salt, I'm drawn to candy, and now that I have my own money, I show little to no inhibitions about eating shitloads of it.

The only thing that comes even close to this little addiction I have, is my little addiciton to alcohol.

Rough.

At least I don't drink caffeine. I'm working at toning down the booze, and for the most part, I'm succeeding, but don't even think about touching my candy.

I'm what kept Willy Wonka Inc. in business after all those child molestation suits. Nerds, Runts, fuck yeah. I'll eat 'em all.

And I just found these little strawberry flavoured marshmallows.
I'd hate to be the doctor that does the stomach pump after this.

Nurse... what is this thing?

I'll be in my Room

Fall is here. The leaves have started changing, and it's looking pretty good outside.

I haven't really had time to notice until now, but I guess it was good timing on my part. I finally have some free time, and I wanted to spend it with my friends here in town.

No dice. The inconvenience of coming to my house for free pool, unlimited booze, and a bed to sleep in was just too great.

On top of that, the rhetoric continue to pile up from some of my select friends about making time, a phrase, which as of now, is officially a pet peeve of mine. Because anyone who says it, will likely follow the phrase by some asinine bitching about how busy they are.

I'd rant about the hypocracy, the double-talking, and the empty promises, but it's all old news at this point.

I'll be in my room, if anybody's looking for me.
Remember to bundle up too, guys. It's looking like there's a chance for bullshit today, with scattered fragments of faith and imagination.

So, I get it now

Don't bother getting up, I'm going anyways.

Anything less than perfection breaks after a time.

Eternally ageless in an age of immaturity.

The skin is temporary. What's underneath is more important.

A life given to save another life is worth ten. A life used to take ten is worth nothing.

The future is an endless white expanse; the past an endless void. The present is a fleeting dream before falling forward and back.

Love is an instant, a flash in the fire of lust and desire. A dove amongst eagles, a rose amongst thorns.

Only the good die young, only the strong ever live in the first place, and only the truly ambitious ever taste immortality.

A person who is alive lives every day thrice. Once in foresight, once in present, and once in regret. A person who is not alive only lives in regret.

Only when your world has been nothing and everything will you ever understand something.

Those who are blind and deaf know true beauty.

The only meaning in life is to live. The only cause of death is dying. Everything in between is your time.

Giving is not the same as using. Using is not the same as helping. Helping is not the same as giving.

Don't bother sitting down. It's just going to change again.

DeLayed at Birth

I'm posting this here, instead of over at Power-Lines, since DeLay, like many Republican crooks, really gets my back up, and illustrates what's wrong with powerful politicians in today's age. Namely, they're predominantly scheming, arrogant assholes (at least in my opinion). I know there are many politicians out there who are actually fairly decent family people, who think well of the common man, but the sad thing is, they never get elected, so that's neither here nor there.

So anyway, DeLay is indicted, on a charge of conspiracy. Aye, that's generally what happens when you get charged, you get pulled in. But he's essentially calling the whole charge "weak." It's a pretty serious charge there Tom, and I don't think it's wise to call your opposing lawyer a "liberal fanatic." When you break the law, you get pulled in. There's nothing partisan about it. Unless, of course, you're a conservative nut who thinks that everything that's bad that happens is the fault of liberals, liberal bias, and the "liberal media."

As part of that "liberal media," I must say that it's not just conservatives who get the mud slinging. I should introduce DeLay to Chretien someday, and see what happens.

Arrggg... it just pisses me off. Justice is only for the common man. When someone powerful goes on trial, they are either pardoned, discharged, or promoted.

It's like running afoul of the law is grounds for promotion. I could only wish that was the case, but sadly, I have to obey the law and a code of ethics.

Neither of which seem to bother politicians in the least. Anything is fair game, as long as you don't get caught. And if you do get caught, just deny it until nobody cares.

Hey you, in the Dark

We nearly missed our deadline this week.

It wasn't fun, it wasn't cool. But somebody really likes us. We got a little CD in the mail called Endless White Lights Act I. It's like somebody granted me a wish that I never thought I made. It's a collaborative CD with many artists contributing, like Raine Maida from Our Lady Peace, Jimmy Gnecco from Ours, and Dallas Green from Alexisonfire.

It's all produced by one guy, but his name eludes me at this moment. In short though, the CD is awesome. It's perhaps some of the best music I've ever listened to. One could say that it's a CD composed of lead singers, removed from their bands, and made good.

My little gush aside, it's going to be a bit downhill this week. A pleasant change for once, everything's in for a change, and I can be afforded some time to myself. I'm going for a swim, and then some dinner.

After that? Fuck, I'm going to sleep for once.

Company

This little bird follows people around campus, almost like a puppy looking for food. Well, a puppy that sounds like a squawky hag, anyway.

Anyway, he stood still long enough for me to take a few decent pictures. Most of them were still pretty blurry because of the low light (it was early morning). The fuzziness in this one is a post effect I added.

I kinda like it. I'm tempted to print it off and pin it up in my locker with some other pictures I've taken. It's like a mini-darkroom in there as it is.

A Bloody Mess

I was expecting to get a headache today. The winds from the west were to bring a massive low pressure system into Calgary tonight.

I didn't get a headache. I got the equivalent of an aneurized artery rupturing in my nose. Yeah. Little sniffle, little sniffle, drip, drip, drip.

So I was bleeding today, through my nose. Both nostrils. Like I had been punched in the face.

My boss thought my photographer had gotten sick of me, and decided to show me who the editor really is.

The upside though. I don't have a headache. I'm behind schedule, I need to e-mail someone for my practicum, I'm stressed, but smite me if my head has never felt this good.

And so, still alive, I cling

Wow.

What a week.

I'm still alive, barely. Somewhere between Martini night and total despair, I think I've found something. Some hole in the stress to curl up in, between shifts of stomach-wrenching anxiety, and the sickening smoothness that I pass through with.

The illness seems to have subsided to the odd case of wheezing, and the occassional bout of dry hacking. The doc said that's normal.

I know normal. Four hours of sleep a night, dying attention span, the desire to relentlessly play guitar, and the constant hunger but never eating; this is not normal.

So why then, am I having so much fun?

Longish in tooth and hair

Alright, as requested. Sorry, I blinked for the picture, and it's a little contrasty, but I don't have much time at the moment to correct it.

Many thousands of apologies, and a promise for a better picture soon.

Man, my hair is getting long.

Lips are moving, but making no sense

Sorry ladies, no picture yet. I'll get right on that.

I made the deadlines for the paper. Now I just have to get all my assignments in... today, and I should be home free. Still sick, not that that's a surprise, but I'm going for a swim today. Hopefully the chlorine and whatever other godawful chemicals they use will help to clear me up.

I haven't been sleeping well the last few days. Again, not a surprise. Generally, when things start piling up and the stress starts, its natural to lose a few hours of sleep. Well, okay, I've lost more than just a few. Not that anyone around here (where I am) cares. As long as I look normal, and keep smiling, everybody assumes I'm okay. I wouldn't really want to bother them with my stuff anyway. They can't really help much, and more often than not, they'd think I'm just complaining to hear myself speak.

I just sneezed. Not pretty.

Some kind of Random

So I woke up today, and realized I'm still sick like a dog. I've been fooling myself into believing I'm getting better, but that's just a big lie. I'm sick. My nose is still running. I'm still coughing. I'm also still behind schedule.

But I'll stick it. Like... something... that won't die. I'm going to pull this alligator's teeth out. And I'm going to keep pulling until there's no teeth left.

Wait... alligator's teeth don't grow back, do they?

I'm hungry right now. Hungry for news, food... yeah. Hungry.

Walked by somebody familiar in the hall today. I don't think she saw me though, even though I was less than four feet away. Oh well. I guess I should probably get my hair cut.

A New Path

Here, a new path opens before you darling,
into their world of light.

You are a stranger there, so expect no kindness from them. They are a covetous lot, and will seek your favour only at the cost of your body.
Do not submit to them.

All manor of creatures dwell in that world.
There will be wolves. Spiders. Sharks. Snakes.
Be not afraid. For you are of a species far more frightening than them.
They smell weakness, and you are strong.
They will submit to you.

Remember your role.
Don't be afraid.
I will wait for you here in this darkness.

Though you be not left, you will always be alone.

Do not forget.

Small Measure

I'm at home, finally. But I still have no time to relax. No rest for the... well, whatever it is that I am. I still can't have a full nights sleep. I have to be up early tommorrow to hit the streets and get some more stuff done for work. The cold still hasn't completely abated, and I've been weezing like some kind of punctured bellows. I would like to say that there's light at the end of the tunnel, but that would be a lie. It's probably going to be like this until I leave for practicum in a month.

You hear that sound? That's my social life in its death throes.

I'm still looking for some small measure of comfort, but there is none. This is the reality that's been waiting for me, and it's just me and time now.

I wonder when it will be too much...?

Edit: So, this was my 250th post on Thought Storm. Pardon me while I pat myself on the back.

Caffeine Addict Invictus

Ever find yourself on that 20th cup of coffee?

I never have, simply because that much caffeine would kill me about four times over. Hell, one cup of coffee is enough to cause me to shake life a leaf.

And yet there are people who consume caffeine products by the gallon. How do you justify this kind of addiction? It's kind of like smoking, sans the black lungs. Someone I know just hit their 10th cup of coffee today, so to demonstrate the effects of that much caffeine, I drew them a little diagram.



Yeah.

That's about right.

Edit: Fack this JPEG shit. Blogger better start supporting PNG's ASAP or I'm going to be going AFFAB.

Power-Lines Launched

For those of you who have been itching for my comments on current events, and have found my blog to be devoid of it, as a desert is devoid of water, rejoice. Today, Power-Lines has been launched, and it will be my repository for all news related commentary. I'm required to create a new blog for school, but I don't think they quite realize what monster they're letting out of the box.

From this point on, T-storm will be a largely personal database, for your entertainment, rather than your enlightenment. Just as church and state should be seperated, so too shall my work and my play. I will be linking Power-Lines on the right once I'm done cleaning up the template, and adding some content to read, so sit tight.

Kleenex makes a killing

Four boxes and 32 travel packs later, the Cold has abated... somewhat. I think Kleenex has just made their entire quarter's profit off my illness, as for 72 hours, I couldn't go anywhere without some tissues handy.

Gross.

I've got a lot of work to do before the weekend rolls in, perhaps more work than I'm able to complete, but I'm going to set my nose to the grindstone, and if it wrecks me for the weekend, so be it. I haven't got any plans, and I'm pretty sure no one has plans for me.

Virii, Snot, Coughing, and other errata

I'm sick. And I don't mean sniffly, cougy sick. I've been visited by our good friend, the rhinovirus, better known as the common cold. Only this is worse. My nose is running worse than a leaky faucet in a poor victorian home, and my head feels like a giant wad of cotton.

I'm hopped up on somethingQuil, god knows if it's day or night, I just grabbed a box this morning and downed two, and stuffed the rest in my pocket. I slept through my alarm, which never happens. Ever. I was so put-under by the Q that I even ignored the alarm on my watch, which dutifully reminds me when I should be leaving for the bus.

School's been interesting. I've about stripped my throat raw, so I have pretty much no voice left. My pallor must be so like death that nobody will talk to me. I can see the disgust in people's eyes. I should have just stayed home, but I'm not going to miss another editing period at work. I'm a news editor, I should at least be there often enough to do my job. So tolerate me for now, oh ye of the healthy world. Tolerate me, or else I will come close to you and share with you this wonderful parasite that feeds on me.

Ugh, can't focus. Room spinning. Must get rest.

Nyquil, your sneezing, coughing, stuffy-head, fever, why-is-the-room-spinning medicine.

Gah. I need to hear a comforting voice.

Tuned, but there is no Perfection

So I tuned up the guitar today. From C to E, as it's supposed to be. It's a big difference, playing the guitar with the strings tight, as opposed to somewhat lax, as they are in C tuning. Tighter strings also make for a much cleaner sound (and less rattling).

Still haven't found a reliable means of recording the noise though. My MP3 player's sound recorder is an absolute piece of shit, and I don't really have any means of hooking amp right to laptop.

I'm hoping for a better week as well. It just stopped raining outside, but the forecast calls for showers going right until Tuesday. So it looks like I'll be spending a lot of time indoors. With the family. Sometimes I think if I didn't have a guitar and an internet connection, I'd snap.

But anyway, I'm going to jam for a bit longer, before returning to WoW. Met Ryan online; sadistic bastard that he is, killing all those helpless little bunnies. At least he made up for it with drive-by blessings.

Off I go then.

I've got a friend, as his name's Roy...

Hey Ugly, Get out of Bed

Before:


It's been raining all night, and all morning. It's a cold, miserable rain. I'm looking for some kind of relief this weekend, but I guess I'll just have to settle for sleeping in. I think some bridges might have been burnt this week, and I think one of the things that should have been burnt is the Golden Rule (Do unto others as you want done unto you). It's a lie.

So, I looked like shit for most of the week. I actually had time to shower, shave, and try cleaning up. Well, regardless, I don't feel anywhere near as good as I look. You can take that however you wish, but I'll just let you know now that pride is not something I'm good at faking.

After:


I'm going to go take some pictures, and maybe play some more music.

Hey, when you get it right,
maybe we can go and hang out,
but until that time,
I'm way out here,
and I don't want to fight.

Get Out

I want to know what it is that I did that makes the world hate me so.

This weekend, I don't think I'll be online, and if I am, it will be seldom and sporadic. I want sleep. I want to be left the fuck alone. I want to stop being beaten with the same goddamned rhetoric every goddamned day.

I work. I go to school. My passions outside of that right now is writing and music. I'm not taking lessons. I'm not going to "make time" for lessons. That doesn't mean I don't want to play music, I'm just not so naive and fucked up that I can just pull two hours out of my ass and not expect this house of cards to fall down. So that means no lessons for the guitar. At least not now. Maybe in the future, when I have more time, but not now. Okay J? You got that?

As for complaints about my "attitude," deal with it. This isn't a fucking kindergarten class where I'm expected to smile and play nice. I will be civil with you. I will treat you fairly. But for the love of all that is sane, I will not kiss your ass as a matter of course. This is not a problem with my "attitude." If you want to meet a genuine asshole, there is approximately 4.8 billion other people out there who would be more than happy to fill your request.

In the meantime, I need to get out of here.

Where are you?

I can't speak. My vocal cords are pretty much shot, I was yelling so loud at that concert. I'm a day behind in my work now, but honestly, it was worth it.

On top of that, a good friend of mine got some shots at the concert, and he's willing to loan me one, provided that it be low resolution, and watermarked, and I give him proper credit. He's a photographer by trade, so every one of his pictures he protects, because it's his lifeblood.

The music was awesome as well. A good mix of old and new. They even played Starseed and Naveed, which surprised me. This was supposed to be a promotional tour for their new CD, and yet they played their oldest (and in my opinion, their best) music.

Well, more to come soon.

Change the Station

I'm back on the ball, for the time being. Got some news articles done today, so I feel like I've actually done something, whereas yesterday felt like a complete loss. A black hole, unintentional, but drawing me in until I couldn't see the light of day anymore.

Tonight, I'm going to the Our Lady Peace concert at the campus bar. No press pass. No rules. I just go, and I just enjoy myself. I'm going alone, which is sad, and ironic. Also, since I'm going as just another joe, I can't take pictures, so sorry guys and gals, but no optical candy this time, unless I can pawn it off one of my co-workers.

Now, back to work.

Update: Ever wonder why people line up for these events?

A confirmed hit on the Ego

Ouch.

I'm in such pain right now. My legs feel like they're about to fall off, and my eyes are just drums that are relentlessly beating at my sinuses. Or maybe it's the other way around. My shoulders are knotted into tight bunches, which can easily be mistaken for shoulder blades, and my feet feel like quarter-pounders left on the grill too long, and some fucker forgot the cheese.

Yeah, it was a bad day. On top of that, I forgot to pay my phone bill again.

GTFUTC, that's what I'm going to do.

Good Start to the Day that's Half Over

So, it was a good start to the day today. The family was out, so I got to crank the amp up loud enough to rattle glass. I know, this isn't a true photo. Truth be told, I had the ISO up too high, so I had to photoshop it a little to smooth out the rough stuff.

I actually put out a couple of songs today, well... maybe not songs, but little tunes that were catchy, and didn't sound like complete ass. Little progress, but always good. And no, my tunes do not involve Hippopotamus', or noodles, or any combination of the two.

There should have been more

I'm awake. I've been asleep for 10 and a half hours, but I'm awake now. The situation in New Orleans has changed drastically since the army arrived en convoy, but I'm still shocked and disgusted that it took that long for help to arrive.

I'm getting hauled away today to help move furniture for my parents and grandparents. They're supposedly going to be getting me a bed from my grandparents too, but they're going to store it in a house that's infested with mice and other vermin, so it will probably be so soiled and chewed up by the time that I get it, that I'll have no choice but to set it to fire and exorcise it.

Ain't it great? It's like somebody sending you a perishable Christmas present. It might have been good when it was new, but by the time you get it, it's all filthy, rotten, and mouldy. And you don't dare be disappointed because that would be rude.

Anyway, in light of D's dereliction of duty, I provide my own babeage today.
Behold, the face of Katie B, voice of Jakalope.

I hate being right

I said they would be comparing it to Iraq soon.

I hate being right.

I also stand corrected. Thanks to the US governments inaction on this matter, the death toll has risen from 80, to just around 10,000.

The storm wasn't the tsunami. The blatantly ineffective government was.

How Strange

Taking a break for the suffering and strife in Louisiana, I stumbled across a startling discovery.
Almost all of my favorite bands and music acts are related in some way.

We'll start from the top.

The Wallflowers are headed by Jakob Dylan, who is the son of Bob Dylan.

Bob Dylan was the inspiration to Matthew Good, who without such a musical influence, would likely have never aspired to become a musician.

Matthew Good toured with The Dears during his Avalanche tour.

The Dears have a member by the name of George Donoso.

George Donoso used to play in a band called Northstar with Sam Roberts.

Sam Roberts hails from Montreal, Quebec.

Montreal is where The Arcade Fire was born as a band.

Regine Chassagne, the piano wizard and backup vocals for Win Butler of The Arcade Fire, hails from Haiti.

Haiti is an example of a nation recieving foreign aid (among other things) and is figured prominently with Matthew Good, and occassionally with The Wallflowers.


Full circle. Isn't it great?

In the Name of Humankind

Things are bad over in New Orleans right now. Reports are coming in, the Superdome is a mess. A rescue by a helecopter was aborted after somebody shot at the helecopter. Looting is rampant, both police and military personnelle have been shot, and fires are breaking out. One does not need to look hard to find out just how bad it is there.

Law has broken down, and I'm surprised at just how easy it was for civilization to fail in the bosom of a nation that touts itself as one of the most civilized in the world. Where were the citizens banding together to save their beloved city? Gone, they fled the terror of Katrina. The only people left in the city are those who hate each other, and hate the city. And those who were sent to re-establish law, and rebuild the city. It's like a modern Lord of the Flies, as Interdictor put it in his LiveJournal dedicated to surviving in New Orleans. Bush has pledged a massive relief effort to Louisiana and the other states affected by Katrina's passing, but it is unlikely that New Orleans will ever be the same, if it even survives this blow. This wasn't just a natural disaster. It was a failing of the spirits of men and women.

When the martial prescence in New Orleans finally equals that of the looters and thugs, I can expect many parallels to be drawn between this city, and Baghdad, Iraq.

Edit: Credit should be given where it was due. Interdictor was discovered by my friend Ravuya. He's linked on the side, if you're interested in Computer Sciences, or a stiff political debate, feel free to visit his sites.

Ziing

Somewhere between here and school, I realized I had a headache today, and that I couldn't see out of one eye. That tends to happen when the weather changes suddenly, as it did today, so when I got home, I took some tylenol.

Well, that's about all that I have to report.

Except, for perhaps, a rant levelled against the Mayor of Biloxi, who said that Hurricane Katrina was "their tsunami." Now, I realize there's some controversy over who said the controversial statement, but I'm going to add to the controversy and say that this is perhaps the most arrogant thing I've ever heard a spokesperson say. The scale in damage and deaths of Katrina to the Boxing Day tsunami would be like somebody having their car shot up and calling it "their 9/11."

The last tally I saw for Katrina pegged the confirmed dead at just over 80, with hundreds still missing. Compare now to the Boxing Day Tsunami. There were hundreds of thousands of confirmed deaths, and millions missing, injured, or displaced. New Orleans is under water, and I understand that is a tragedy. But the water will recede, and New Orleans can be rebuilt. Had it actually been a tsunami, New Orleans would be but a memory, just like those hundreds of villages on the coast that were swallowed by the sea during the tsunami. They are gone.

This, is a hurricane. One of might and breadth, but it is still a hurricane, and they are prone at this time of year, in that location. There's a reason why it's called hurricane season. And it's not like Katrina appeared suddenly one morning and laid waste to a nation. There was almost a week of advance warning.

My condolences go out to the families that have lost property and loved ones to the storm, but they must know that this was no tsunami. Saying it is, is belittling those that died in the great disaster, as if 80 some American lives are now worth as much as hundreds of thousands of foreign lives.

Edit: Amended for more accurate counts.