The Bog Hunter

I finally got down to my scanner today. This is a little sketch that I did a few weeks ago. I roughly fleshed out a race to play the Templar in the book I'm rolling around in my head. I had the general build, but I wanted to see how the body form works in action, and thus, this scene.

Before anyone asks any questions, let me lay forward some facts about this guy, and the critter he's hunting. The guy is not human, human tongues cannot pronounce the name of his race, so they're simply called Templar, for now. You don't need to know what those things are coming out of his chest, suffice to say that all Templar have them, and they get more, the older they are. The reason that his legs look wierd is because they aren't like our legs. There's an extra joint, giving the Templar a very different anatomy. Templar only have three fingers; a thumb and two hensile "graspers." All Templar are skinny by human standards. All Templar wear either masks or helmets when hunting, or in the prescence of humans. Seeing a Templar's face is considered an act of trust.

This scene is a sort of "preamble" to how the characters will play out in the story. This is a primitive hunter with a crude spear. He's baiting a reptile that (in the book) is the most feared predator of rivers and bogs. Similar to crocodiles, these creatures are incredibly smooth compared to their reptilian cousins, and their flesh secretes an oil that prevents the reptile from breaking the surface tension of water when exiting or entering a body of said water. In essence, this means that the reptile doesn't splash, and thus, is very quiet when hunting it's prey. It's considered a test of skill and patience to be able to bait one of these creatures, as usually its the creature that makes the first move, and its intended prey doesn't even have time to act before it's soundlessly drawn into the water to be eaten.

Weekday Windup

Everybody's gone for the weekdays, working, schooling, sleeping. I've finally got two days off from work to stretch out and recoup. Went to my friend's in Strathmore last night, and we hit the beer and wine. The beer wasn't bad, but the wine was pretty funky, and by funky, I mean a bottle of rancid malt vinegar would have tasted better. It was home-made, so I think it was just a bad batch; usually, the home-made stuff tastes awesome.

I've gradually slipped out of my dark mood, I just needed some rest and refreshment. Nobody can go for too long without some unwinding, or else they just snap and start cutting stuff. Later tonight I'm going to fire up the scanner, and get some scans of my latest foray into the world of pencil sketches. It won't be HH this time, it's something new, and hopefully everyone finds it, at very least, interesting.

During my short journey, upon watching a movie, called The Shape of Things, a quote struck me as insanely funny. It might have just been the wine, but I'll share anyway.

"Those are very wise words, coming from one with such a great ass."

Tree of the Reading Rock

Another old picture. This is a gnarly little berry tree in Reading Rock Park, a little walking park near the centre of Calgary. It's been slowly dying over the years due to the dry conditions, prompting them to install irrigation. Thanks to man-made nature, the grass here is green, while everywhere else, people are drowning in a sea of brown.

I took this picture for a friend of mine who wanted to see how good of a picture I could get of said tree. Needless to say, I think I impressed her (the beauty of nature is ignored until it's captured forever). Right now, this tree is in full blossom, and is a literal bee magnet. It hardly ever gets any leaves, just flowers.

I apologize for the lense flare, but this was a lose-lose picture with surprising results. Had I taken the picture from the other side, I would have caught the reflections off of the glass buildings downtown, getting the same effect. Bright sunny days are the bane of photography in the downtown area.

Erratics

I still can't sleep. So instead, I decided I would go though all my old photos, and try posting some of the better ones. This is one from the Okotoks Erratics. It's a big stone that was deposited out on the praries by a glacier, hundreds of thousands of years ago. It's already broken down into two rocks, and in a few thousand years, it'll probably be just a pile of rubble.

I really like this picture. I'm still waiting for some random jerk to leap out of the woodwork and tell me that it's not mine, that I ripped it out of a textbook. Well, I didn't. I shot this one way back in March, when it was unseasonably warm. It's a perfect shot, everything turned out, despite how windy it was that day. I'm just glad I didn't catch the dorks who were clambering up the backside of the Erratic when I shot this picture (the erratic is protected by laws, no touchy).

I would like to go back out there some time this summer. It's less than an hour's drive from where I live, although ironically, it's a three hour drive home from there. I doubt there'll be a chance to though, too much work, and despite my desire to go, there are other commitments that demand more immediate attention.

Amiss

I couldn't sleep last night. I was tossing and turning the whole time, I flipped my pillow, tried sleeping without the blankets... I tried everything. Still no sleep. So I just lied there awake. Something in my brain just refused to be quiet for a few hours.

I sat in bed, thinking, for about six hours straight. Maybe not so much thinking, as arguing with myself. I am my own worst critic, and I guess I had a lot to critisize last night. I don't know any of these people anymore, and I'm wondering if it's me that's changed, or if everything has just joined the world in its mad dance.

I keep finding myself further from everyone, and not where I want to be. It's like paddling at a steady cadence up a river, but still ending up downstream. In the span of a blink of an eye, everything I knew or was familiar with, changed. Or maybe it was me that changed, and I'm only paying enough attention now. I can never tell, and its not that it really matters either. Another blink of the eye, and things will have changed yet again. My own memories taunt me now, as I think back. Things and people that I knew back in time are now impossible. There's nothing left of the times past, except for me (and lets face it, that's the part that everyone wishes would get up on the times).

I'm going to stop and rest for a bit.
And then I'm going to work.

I haven't got it

Sorry, no photos or drawings today. Family flew in from Texas, in the old US of A. Naturally, as all avoidant people do, I made myself scarce. I can't stay in the prescence of ignorance; it pains me. My scanner room was occupied by my cousin who decided that she would sleep, and the penalty for waking anyone in this house is swift and painful death. So again, my apologies.

I feel I should say something witty here, but lately I've been at a loss for words. I would say depressed, but the word and state of "depressed" is so overused by angsty teenage males that I'll spare the pity for someone who needs it. I just haven't been myself, for a while now. I'm wondering who this imposter is in the mirror, and why he's got my name, but then I just stop and realize that it's just me.

Maybe I'm just tired. Lots of work, very little social contact, and just the general rudeness of the people I deal with on a daily basis has impacted me in a subtle way.

Out somewhere on a blasted heath

It's raining, and I don't know why. The clouds are so small and wispy that any moisture they deliver is like a mortal sacrifice on their part. There are times when I think I'm like these wispy clouds. Angry, dark, but ultimately insubstantial. You would never think that such a piece of insignificance can do anything, but you can't stem the tide of surprise when you find a cloud that can do anything.

Lightning flashes, electrons leap from cloud to cloud, dark blue and black mingle like cold tides in the ocean. I can sit here typing for hours about it, in front of my little blue and white screen, I could even take a picture, but it's too dark to do the storm the justice it deserves. Among mediocrity I am a trivia, as is anyone who can determine that they are something other than mediocrity, but to the storm, we are but pathways. We send electrons as well as the next metal rod or pine tree, the storm cares not for the miniature storms we hold in our heads, demure and timid compared to the white-hot wrath and spontinaety that dwells in the evening dark. Our thoughts are but mere emulations of the brilliance up above, and yet we think so highly of our abilities.

The lightning, that stirred the soup of our creation, has now lost its favour with us. It now seeks to strike us down when we grow too bold, and reach too high among our terrestrial peers.

Poetry and philosophy aside, I'll have more pictures and drawings to put up tommorrow, when I have a day off from work. Till then, keep cool and don't listen to the angry voices.

Raine's Guide on how to Emulate a Human

This is a short primer guide on how to emulate human behaviour, if you ever find yourself wondering, or perhaps learning about the culture of Homo Sapiens.

Behavioural Development:

Maturity is rare in humankind. Often, maturity is mimic'd by those seeking to improve their social or business standing. Make no mistake, any attempt to behave beyond basis is usually so transparent that any critical eye can seperate the pretenders from the real specimens (who are so rare and elusive that many call them myth).

Society is a catchall used by those who want to shift blame from their own concious choices to the collective choices of the whole. Many don't feel guilty of their actions because "everyone is doing it," and thus, all Homo Sapiens are guilty of mob mentality at some point in their lives. Such thinking can even apply to atrocities as mass murder.

Blame is something that is given to everyone else, but never to the real perpetrator. The self is never guilty. Someone else is always to blame. Homo Sapiens has an obsession bordering on fetish in blaming everything on someone else. Be warned that being in a position of power makes you liable to be blamed for the actions of the constituency.

Aggression and Anger are the default reactions to unfavorable conditions. The average human male will immediately resort to loud threats and violence when provoked, while the average human female will also resort to loud violent threats and inane clandestine activity in the presence of adversity. Reasonable thought is non-existent during times of duress, expect only base behaviour. Despite the commonality of such beliefs as forgiveness and understanding, the average human will quickly seek revenge and reparations far exceeding the initial act.

Hypocracy is the basis for which reasoning is deducted in the average human being. Being able to control others through rules, which the self ultimately does not have to comply with, is the basis for power and control, starting in the parent-child relationship, and working its way up the power ladder to the point of international relationships. Fairness and equal Justice are illusory terms put forward by those seeking the power to influence our perceptions of said concepts.

Action and Response:

The Initial Response to danger or stimuli will always be the least logical and least effective approach. Mankind has had the exceptional luck of being immune to the process of natural selection, or else the race of Homo Sapiens would have ended in its infancy.

The Knee-Jerk Reaction is the most common and basic reaction to sudden and damaging action. Rather than thinking through an acceptable course of reaction, humans are prone to snapping like clams at whatever bothers them, being so predictable in this nature that goverments and other sources of authority now use the basic response in elections, inquiries, and court cases, where sudden and mindless outcry from the public is needed.

In times of intelligent thought, the average human being will always default to working towards their own best interest. The effects on others, or more vaguely, the planet and environment, are only ever factored in once every 13 days, and only then, by accident. The wholesale destruction of peers and usable land is quantified as the cost of doing business, as every potential human being seeks the end-game of being rich, materialistic, and unhappy.

Money is worth more than the actions or lives of humans. Lives are snuffed and forgotten. Profit is forever.

Humanity's Goals:

Subjugation is the basis for business. If the slaves rise up, move out and subjugate elsewhere. Cheaper is better. If the workers will work for free, then humanity has reached it's goal of effective business.

Annihalation is the final path of our evolution, contrary to common belief. With the ability to do anything, humankind has become fixated on weapons, destruction, and violence. While many chalk it up to human nature, human nature is enslaved to our concious thought, so therefore, humanity as a whole has made the choice to stare its own extinction in the face.

Sex is the pinnacle of the human male. Males go to extreme lengths in their early lives to breed, sometimes sacrificing everything, including people, simply to have a chance at procreating. While it is important the species continue, the human gene pool is becoming a non-topic, as genes do not contribute the basic intellect that humankind has suddenly started to find lacking.

Apathy is unto itself its own victory. People become impassioned over asinine details and vapid dramas, whilst true trouble brews. When real catastrophe strikes, human beings are too "bored" to take interest, and instead dismiss whatever dark cloud appears on the horizon. It is easier to face the blue sky and be struck by lightning from behind, than to stand prepared and open-eyed in the face of danger or adversity.

Sleepwalk

I went sleepwalking last night. Nobody was at home, so naturally, when I'm doing embarassing things, I tend to get luck. Well, I went to sleep in my bed, and I woke up several times during the night in different parts of the house. I woke up once on the sofa in the basement, I woke up once on the chair in my room, halfway through an attempt to fit a pair of jeans over my head like a shirt (they were clean). I also woke up upon opening the front door, the blast of cold air coming in woke me up with a start. I ended up closing the door on my bedroom to halt any more midnight adventures.

I rarely ever sleepwalk, and then, only when I fall asleep when there is no one home. I've been known to do strange things in my sleep (aside from dreaming). I've been known to recite poetry in French, knock sense into invisible foes, and last but not least, hold intelligent conversation with someone while actually not even being awake. If I could master the arts of action while sleeping, I could go through life resting at a whim and never being worse for it.

No words to describe

Mistakes are a human piece of life. All people make them, and yet many people feel compelled that mistakes should not be forgiven, that whoever fails once should never be given a second chance.

In essence, it's a matter of welcoming those back with either open arms or a closed door.

My love came back to me, and it would have been callous and blackhearted if she had found nothing but a closed door and hard feelings. She made a mistake, and she has learned from it. It's now water under the bridge as far as I'm concerned. I've heard from many of my friends, that I should just shut my ears and move on, but this love is not like the shallow bunking that my peers lust after. When everyone else just talked and fucked, my love and I connected on all the right levels, and we were happy together. Nobody can compare what we shared together, and come hell or high water, there will never be a time when it is more true than it is now.

Sore feet.

Eight hours. Eight hours of standing in one place, feeling like a tree. My feet have tried putting roots through the concrete, and have been painfully rebuffed, like a stranger. New shoes, new socks, new exercises. Promotions are nothing new, but gravity eats up empty promises like a whale consumes plankton.

The arches, the balance of the foot, are going on the level. I'm forced to walk doglegged to keep from permanently feeling numb from ass to toenail. My back, strong as it is, is starting to feel the wear. It feels stiff and cumbersome by the time I return home.

I always considered myself unfit, but by working, I prove myself wrong. A hundred pound Karcher was lifted into a pickup truck today, by one guy, several muscle groups, and a little help from the laws of physics. A small accomplishment, but no journey was ever completed in a single bound, and no war was ever won with a single bullet.

Sleep from boredom and sleep from exhaustion are my two most familiar states, one last for days, the other lasts for hours. I think of sleep now as some kind of reward, I only get it when my work for the day is done and I'm unable to give any more. I can think of a few people who toil as hard as I do, yet they should not be allowed the reward of sleep, for they toil for all the wrong reasons, and to all the wrong ends.

Dreaming of dreaming

How weird is that? I fell asleep last night, and dreamt about getting home to go to sleep. Only the world was screwed up. Nobody could get anywhere without getting in a multi-car collision (likely a play in my brain on the three fatalities in the last week, two of which were caused by retarded drivers going too damn fast). My car got trashed by a middle aged woman, threatening me with lawsuits innumerable. So I started walking.

It wasn't such a bad walk home, in my dream. Somewhere along the way, dinosaurs appeared, and started eating people. Only the stupid people who were afraid though, dinosaurs, like dogs, can smell fear, and will promptly eat the weak-of-spine up. Otherwise they leave you well enough alone, at least in my little 20 minute world.

Just outside my block, the army showed up and started fighting the dinosaurs. Nobody died, but there were lots of big guns and explosions. Interesting stuff. I got home, shucked off my work duds, and coiled up in bed.

I woke up this morning in the same position, my mouth hanging dry and open, and my pillow was soaked in drool.

Lovely picture, I know. The most embarassing moment's in one's life occur just moments between sleep and wake, when they're still too torpid to close their mouth, and think nothing of the cold dampness on the back of their neck.

Home is not what I've known

Continued from my earlier post.

I've never really felt at home, here in Canada. I've never quite fit in (a fact that has likely become very prominent in this blog). I've always felt that I'm a bird of another feather, or quite possibly, not a bird at all. A thought that has a great many people confused, irate, and sometimes just dazzled. I've always had the notion that I'm either the first or last of my kind, and no matter how many times I find someone like me, it almost always ends up being either emulation, or religion, that drives them.

If the world doesn't provide answers to the questions I have, I'll be at a crossroads. Return home, defeated by the truth that I was afraid of all this time, or disappear, only to work this world from a place outside the nail-head minds of mallgoers and pundits. I've always feared that there is no place for me in this world, and that there will never be a place that I can call home. I've always hoped that there's a little piece of heaven out there, waiting for me to pass some great trial, to cross the threshold and finally be home. Such would be a reward too long dreamed of to ever be reality, but a man can dream, can't he?

A little place where the wind whispers, but never blows. The trees shelter, but never suffocate. The grass is any colour, except brown.

Someplace that will take me, suit me, and be mine.

A flash of recognition.

I saw an infant at work today, sitting in one of the carts. The kid wouldn't stop crying, no matter how hard the parents tried. They picked the poor kid up, sang, hugged, and even did that parental thing where they sniff the kid's behind to check the storage. Nothing. The kid was just having a really bad day. Staff members were bringing all kinds of doodads to try and calm the kid down. In the end it was fruitless, so like all "good" parents, these two decided to just ignore the noise, and go shopping. First stop, my table.

They turned the cart just so that the kid could turn his head just far enough to see me. I wasn't paying much attention (trying to ignore the noise), but looked up, and the moment our eyes locked, the kid quieted down. I swore it was a look of recognition, and perhaps interest. Creepy. Anyway, the parents had their look at the cameras. The kid's quiet the whole time. They decide they've seen enough and move on. The moment the kid can't see me anymore, the noise begins again.

Even more creepy.

My explanation for this resides in what my real name meant in historical times.

"God's Peace."

Home is not where I've been

Have to work again today, which means another day without any pictures. Sorry everyone. I thought instead, I would rant about what I'm going to do after I'm done my schooling here in Calgary.

Provided I have enough money, I'm leaving. At least for a time. A lot of people wonder why I would leave Canada to journey elsewhere, when our nation is so great. I believe Matt Good summed it up best when he said "European countries have more culture in a sqaure inch than Canada has across it's entire landscape." Or something to that effect, don't take it verbatim. In reality, I've grown quite sick of Canada's culture of shopping malls, retarded drivers, and in general, the North American pursuit of everything in gross excess. It's disgusting. And for me, it's not home.

I'm wanting to travel a bit of the world, once I'm done here, so I can find, not just a home, but my home. There really isn't a whole lot to offer here for me in Canada. I don't fit in to the vice, and I'm sure everyone would be happy to see me go, so they can enjoy their drinking and smoking and not have an embodiment of conscience.

I don't know where I would go. Apples suggested Bergen, which is a very possible stop. I'm also tempted to visit my ancestral homelands in England, and on the border between Germany and Poland.

I was tempted to visit Australia, but I don't have enough money to make it there, explore, and then come back. And I don't do well with animals that are poisonous.

Well, I have to prepare for work. More on this when I get home tonight.

Fury, my lifeblood.

I got the job, and worked my first shift today. In "Majors," short for Major Appliances. Incedentally, digital cameras are considered majors, and it was my job to supervise and sell them. I didn't get any real food today, and as anyone can imagine, it makes me pretty irritable. I think I bear it fairly well, I never shout, I'm just snippety. Bad day style.

Well, by my mother's glowing example, it would be better to just start yelling and throwing things. I "am nothing special," in her words. Apparently not deserving the space or time to relax and ease off the high-stress day I've had. It takes almost too much to hold a straight face and just breathe. Her idea of understanding is reinforcing the opinion that I'm inferior in some way. Fury, like hot lead, is what keeps me awake tonight.

I need out.

I need sleep.

I need peace.

Fiction, it only needs to be believed

100,000 people were taken from their homes, and by the order of the Emperor, executed. Their heads were to be put on pikes to display outside his fortress.

100,000 lives, ended. The Prophets, their coffers full of the Emperors gold, turned the other way, while their flock was slaughtered. They prayed for better lives and power overwhelming, while their fellow people were drug out into the street. The Prophets believed in absolution and heaven, while they ignored the bloody murder occurring right under their very noses.

100,000 headless bodies were dumped into a pit, and covered with lime. Their skin left to the caustic effects of time and alchemy. The Emperor decreed that there would be no headstone for the villagers, that they would not have the honour of being remembered. The only bastion of their passing would be a blasted scar upon the land, where lime had met soil.

What had these people done to earn the Emperor's wrath? They had provided all their tributes, they had all praised the Emperor's name. What had they done wrong? In the middle of their village, was a statue. A statue of a little boy, holding a sword. The statue was a relic, from a fairytale story of a boy who had fought off brigands in the town's defence.

The Emperor had decreed that all statues be only of him, in his greatness, and his lasting impression upon the land. He ordered the boy's statue destroyed, and his effigy placed in it's stead. When the townspeople refused, well... you know what happened.

In the last act of defiance, the Guardian of the village etched something underneath the boy's statue. With his last breath, he shouted at the Imperial forces to look at the feet of the child hero, and learn the future.

"One man remembered for 100,000 years, 100,000 people forgotten in the span of an hour."

It was true. Within an hour of their execution, the sovereign kingdom of Ahlweria invaded the holdings of the Emperor. The Emperor, the Prophets, the Nobility. All were put to the axe. Their heads joined the villagers on the fortress walls. The library, archives, and bureaucracy were all burned. Villages and townships were razed to the ground, and their inhabitants were shuffled off back to the homeland. There they were forced to learn a new language, and a new culture. They quickly forgot the losses of their kin, and instead focused on suviving in a new home, a new world.

Over time, the people forgot of their old ways. The Prophets were largely forgotten, their betrayal was instead conglomerated into the Emperor, who was indeed remembered, but not as he had wished. His statues remained intact, but their purpose had changed. Every year, millions make the pilgrimage back to the razed villages to lay curses and "bad luck" at the Emperor's statues, in hopes that his damned soul will carry their ill fortunes back to hell where they belong. The name of the Emperor is commonly regarded as a curse, and even to those who are still supportive of the Empire, the Emperor is like a salted wound that will never heal, and never be forgotten.

- Eziekiel "The Owl" Foriander
Witness of the fall of the Empire, and Recorder of its History

Some kind of Nightmare

I jinxed it. Shortly after my last post, the skies opened up and the rain poured for over two hours. It seems pretty clear now, but the forecast still calls for more showers.

I stayed up and watched most of the rain. It was too dark to snap any pictures, but I thought I would stay up and watch it anyway. Normally, it's relaxing. This time, though, I got no peace from it, and the thrumming on the roof matched the rate of thoughts in my head, and none of them were good thoughts.

Upon going to bed, I had a dream. When I was a child, I would have called it a nightmare, but now it's just a dream. The nightmare starts when I wake up. In the dream, I was with friends. Everything is more apparent in my dreams when compared to the living world, so naturally, whenever they spoke to me, it was pretty obvious that most of them were lying. I played along. We travelled a bit, through Fish Creek, a place I used to frequent.

We were ambushed. A man with a gun opened fire, but the decision for life was mine. He had no quarrel with me, but rather my friends. I could take the bullet for them, spare their lives, and likely end up losing my own, or I could let him have his time, and watch and see who would be spared.

When friends lie to you, and prove to you that you are there for show or purpose, rather than as an actual friend, you feel compelled to let whatever ill fate they earn reach them.

I don't know why I did it. I remember jumping in front of the bullet(s). I remember the sharp pains in my chest. I remember hearing the sounds of feet, running. And then there was a blackness.

I woke up, in my dream, a few minutes later. In a pool of blood, and sadly alone. Everyone had fled, even the shooter. I had been left to die, after making a sacrifice to ensure their survival.

And then the phone rang, waking me up. Naturally, that's not the best of moods to wake up in.

My reward for being an honest person has been naught but pain and loneliness.
But I continue being honest, because of hope, and the foolish belief that being honest is a virtue.

Summer Sledgehammer

The weather's changing. I can feel it in the slow, aching throb in my sinuses. A built in barometer, if you will, which seems to be innate in people living on the foothills. It's actually a bit more than a throb at this point. As stated in the title, it feels more like I got socked in the face with a Sledgehammer. I can hardly see out of my left eye (it's okay, I don't use that one anyway), and everything seems to be painfully bright. It's like a migraine, except it happens whenever the pressure, and thus the weather, changes.

Add on top of that the 20ºC temperatures we hit today, coupled with a humidex warning... the evening is sweltering. I'm sitting in shorts, with no socks. I feel like I should be sweating, but its so humid that I feel like I don't even have to blink. The sky is darkening outside with clouds, but I doubt we'll get much rain from them. Calgary is a desert in denial. It's been dry for almost four years, but everyone's still too stubborn to realize that they've built a metropolis on a centennial desert.

My job interview went well, or so I hope. I think I passed myself off as something servicable, and I only hope that my would-be employers agree. They won't regret it if they do.

If they turn me down, that just leaves me time to draw more twisted sketches.

Everything's fine. Everything's good for everyone. Lies, it's all lies.

HH Second Sketch

By popular demand, HH Second Sketch. It's a bit more defined (read: darkened) than the last one, and it's not my style. I had to improvise because my Sh@tty Mcwondersh@t scanner didn't even pick up the original lines the first time through. I hope you all enjoy, and may none of you ever find youself in poor Harold's shoes in the near future.

I have more sketches yet to come, but I don't want to dull the knife on this one, so to speak. If you haven't noticed by this point, our poor Harold isn't just a normal lad.

The Morning

Dawn, yesterday in Calgary. 5:00 in the morning is an ungodly hour, and it has officially screwed up my sleep cycle. Everything will be arse over elbow until I start getting to bed at a decent time. The picture has been modified to better show the morning colours, and the wavy, meshy thing (it's barely visible) is the screen door that I shot the picture through. Yeah, I know, I'm lazy.

I've finished two more sketches, and I've darkened a couple of my previous ones for scanning. My "1337 Skillz" in drawing grow by the day, but I find that I can only draw when I can't write. I'm funny that way. They will be up, likely sometime tommorrow, where I can covertly sachet my artwork down to the scanner, without any prying eyes and 100 questions.

Edit: Sorry folks, I have a job interview tommorrow morning, so the sketches will have to wait until the afternoon.

Too Early?

Waking up too early, I look like this. It's actually 4:30 in the afternoon, and I've just rolled my lazy ass into the computer chair. Two days worth of stubble, and a half-assed attempt to keep my hair in check. First impressions are everything, which is why I'm a social failure.

Pictures of the early dawn to come, as well as the possibility of some more sketches. I really need a job, but alas, my specialty is naught. I'm not the best.

4 a.m.

When the fools sleep, I travel through the night. It is 4 in the morning, and I'm just settling in to rest. I went for the night to play some videogames with friends I seldom see, but perhaps the friend I see the least of is the darkness of the early morning. The birds are singing, but the sun has yet to rise. I won't see it again today until it has already begun its decent back into twilight. The roads were empty, leaving me plenty of space to think, and to reflect.

Darkness and night have often been associated with evil and chaos. I find this ironic, for a human has never been burned or entumored by darkness. A war has never been won, fighting in the night. No, night is not evil. Night is the veil drawn across mankinds ambitions, a respite from the ever pervasive destruction we wreck upon this world. Night, and the sleep that we pass through it in, is the time of recouperation, and rest. Evil afoot in the darkness is just the restless spirit of evil itself, which is afoot always, whether it be light, or dark. Crime waits for neither sun nor moon, and neither does the Justice that follows it.

I'm going to sleep now. I will likely not recall this post, nor be able to support or recreate it in the near future. Good day, and good night.

HH First Sketch (Warning: Morbid)

This is one of the first "real" pictures I drew, aside from just doodling. It took me about half an hour per person, and an extra 25 minutes for the right hand of the guy, whom I named "Harold," because he has a british nose.

I know it looks morbid. In fact, I've been told to my face that it's morbid. That's okay, so is life. I wouldn't have a career in journalism if people didn't like the occasional spot of violence. I still need a name for Harold's female counterpart, and I'm open to suggestions.

The sketch was cleaned up and slightly modified in Photoshop, after the wonderfully shitty scan that my all-in-one scanner did. Honestly, I think the damn things were designed to do all their tasks equally poorly. I'm continuing to draw a bit, but most of the stuff I've drawn of late is either concepts, or they aren't fit for posting online. Sorry apples, but this is all for now.

You don't need this, do you?
No, that's alright. You can have it.

The Pencil, Ultimate Weapon

I've been in a flurry of pencil activity, and I thought that I would mention that my handwritten novel is almost done. I've also take up sketching again (something I only do when I'm in a mental state somewhere below nominal). It's incredibly difficult for me, since my hands shake something terrible. I have to draw every line at least three times, and even then, everything looks odd and shaky.

Someone once said that I draw how I look, awkward and disturbing.

Something Wrong

My nation is falling apart.

There, I said it. With as much patriotic fervour as I can muster, I still have to say that everything here is a mess. The Federal government is in the throws of a childish tug of war, with partisanship tearing the Canadian people apart. In typical Canadian fashion, the House of Commons has become a tiny, bloodless civil war. The representatives are behaving like children, but I cannot blame them. In a country where maturity is as rare as wisdom, they are merely acting on the wishes of their constituents, namely: "ME ME ME."

It brings me a most twisted form of dolor, to have to listen to the filth that our government system is creating. We have elected representatives, who are even now, failing to do their job, and are bringing the already unstable government to a grinding halt. All parties, every last one of them. Every last member of parliament, every last civil servant in the House has failed to uphold the one overriding rule that has governed our nation's politics since this nation's creation:

"Peace, Order, and Good Government."

Even now, the provincial governments are getting caught up in this maelstrom of bullshit and name calling.

I've been trying to ignore whats going on with this system, and I would be marginally successful if I was like 90% of the people my age, namely drunk, apathetic, and self-centred. Unfortunately, I have failed at being a failure of a human being, and now find myself mourning for the loss of a seemingly good system. Whether or not our system was a true democracy is moot. The system worked, and we were free to live. Now, I can forsee election after election, minority after minority. The bickering in the House will not cease as long as there is such pettiness.

Say Rain

When they said that we would be getting rain, they lied. They lied right through their teeth.

I awoke at 8:00 this morning to the sound of raindrops on the roof. Within 20 minutes of rolling out of bed, the rain satanically transmuted itself into wet, clumpy snow. Snow, of all things, during my summer break. On top of that, it snowed for over six hours. Six hours of time travel back to December. I had to put my resumé in today, amidst the blustering white stuff. The heavy manilla envelope that I was carrying the precious cargo in soaked through, and one of my copies was... shall we say, modified to the artistic. Nevertheless, I got my resumé in and considered, I'll probably be called for prospective employment in the next two or three days.

At around 2:45, the snow stopped, and the sky went from slate grey to painful sapphire. I've never seen a clearing happen so quickly. Naturally, I'm expecting thunderstorms in the coming days, as whenever we get moisture, followed immediately by warm temperatures, the storms just seem to come and never end.

Provided the temperature doesn't drop again.

People have been telling me to get out more. Let this serve as an example to you naysayers. The weather turns ugly when my intentions leave these four walls.

Come in Pot, this is the most charred and retarded Kettle ever

When someone makes a blog to critisize how boring other people's blogs are, you know the world has allowed a new and asinine form of hypocracy to form. I know I had my Blogosphere Down entry last month, but that was tongue in cheek. I understand that blogs are unique to their writers, and they are, in fact, a reflection of their writers.

When someone makes a blog, generally, its to outpour what is in their minds, into a coherent (or close to) and written form. It's relaxing.

Nobody said blogs had to be entertaining. Expecting them to be so, is desiring the flying pony to secrete beer from its every pore, while it simultaneously flies you from locale to locale.

Blogs are indeed a flying pony, because they take you to places that are otherwise out of reach. The thought process', or in some cases, the thought storms that take place inside of people's heads.

Making an argument designed to critisize "boring" blogs sounds like little more than an attempt at self-gratification at the expense of other writers.

J, you should be ashamed of yourself.

Edit: Despite my scathing treatment, J is still one of my friends, so I would appreciate it if you (the readers)could all exercise polite restraint, if you decide to post a comment on his site.

Ethanol

My day started at 1:00 in the afternoon today. Not by my choice today, but I got to bed around 2:30 last night, after indulging in six shots of rye, and a glass of rye and coke. I didn't make the conscious effort to say "hey, I'm going to drink tonight," but rather, some of my brother's friends were here and they poured more alcohol than their poor livers could handle. I wasn't doing anything, and figured I could be a hero and prevent the wasting of precious alcohol.

Unforseen consequence: Sleeping for 11 hours.

Let that be a lesson for you.

Madness

The social definition of insanity is when one no longer conforms to accepted societal norms and behaviours. In essence, the rebellious teenager stage is a temporary madness (actually, it's an excuse). But what happens when a grown person starts behaving strangely? Perhaps walking down the street, telling everyone that the end of the world is coming, and that the blood of innocents is on their hands.

I myself have often been accused of being off the kilter. I don't see a problem with that, despite that being accused still bugs me. I figure, the whole goddamned world has gone mad, so what's all the fuss about my social awkwardness?

I find it funny, and at least slightly ironic, that we still have to abide by an unspoken social code, when said social code is absolute rubbish and bullshit to begin with. Why are we abiding by it? Who knows. I guess it's wired down from our governments and our neighbors that we should:

Not speak unless spoken to.
Not make eye contact.
Not stop for help.
Not share our property.
Not walk outside after dark. (We all might be criminals, you know)

Always seize an opportunity.
Always serve ourselves before our others.
Always drive 10 km/h faster than the speed limit.
Always be suspicious of police.
Always be suspicious of lawyers.
Always be suspicious of doctors, dentists, and other medical professionals.
Always default to guarded suspicion rather than open honesty.
Always shoot the messenger.
Always kick the messenger after shooting him.
Always judge people by the music they listen to.
Always judge people by the clothes they wear.
Always judge people by the money the have.
Always shoot from the hip, and jerk the knee.
Always raise your voice when you have an inane point to make.

Never discern between a good and bad business agreement.
Never discern between right and wrong if there's money involved.
Never look at the government, unless the government is looking at you.

If the Nazi's took power today, half the population would support them, and the other half would be so busy accusing each other of being Nazi spies, that the world would burn under the Swastika before we got anywhere.

I feel profound guilt and unrest over this. Having spoken to veterans who fought for us, and would have died for us... This, this is the legacy that they fought for, and some died for.

The S-A

Stephen Avenue. Considered by some to be the heart of tourism in Calgary. I frequently walk down this little stretch of sidewalk, and find it barren of most forms of life. When I shot this picture, it was one of the few times the the old S-A has had it's show face on. Just goes to show you how quickly the face of an urban setting can change.

Storm's Edge

This is the edge of the storm that blew through two days ago. Sorry about the graininess on this one. 800 ISO does horrible, horrible things to otherwise good pictures. There's going to be lots of rain moving through my vincinity over the next three days, and my objective will be to freeze a raindrop as it's falling. Wish me luck.

9th and Curb

9th Avenue, in the downtown core. This is perhaps the coolest building ever. I've always wanted to take pictures of urban buildings. Especially the glass ones, during moody days. People wonder why, but I already know. These glass behemoths will be around long after humankind has left, and I want to get the architecture in its glory days.

I know I promised pictures of the thunderstorm yesterday, and I'll get them up eventually. Upon processing, I realized that about half my good ones were blurry because of my overly shaky hands.

Trouble

Honestly, if I had hair long enough to pull, I'd be bald by now. My wireless has been fritzing out. It will, inexplicably, drop my connection, and refuse to allow me to reconnect until I pull the (router's) power cord. Doing this causes huge problems with some of the other computer setups, but its the only way I can return to the internet. This is the second time this has happened. I don't know the limits of my tolerance, but needless to say, if it keeps occuring, I will be returning the router to D-Link using nothing but my unbridled rage, and a golf-club. The weather last night was wierd (I'm sure it was the same all over Alberta), quasi-thunderstorms that dribbled a bit, rumbled a bit, and then moved off. I snapped some pictures, and there is literally nothing scarier than listening to the prelude of Matt Good's Tripoli when you're sitting out on a deck with God's wrath hovering a few kilometers above your head.

Wild.

Still no job. I was supposed to get out of the house tonight, but alas. The infamous third wheel must not be wanted. Maybe I'll borrow the car and go get some more computer games to waste time with. Oh, and look for a job.

I'm hoping I'll never have to return to the mall for a job. That place is the epitome of retarded retardedness, and capitalism. Two principles that have never really sat well with me. I left work a few months ago feeling like every third shopper was a scammer and didn't realize it, and every tenth shopper suffered from a mix of aggression and denial (I must be the one with an attitude problem when I don't want to deal with their crap. Yeah, fuck you too Ms. K).

I can't wait until the weekend. I don't even have school and yet I still find myself anticipating the weekend. I had to check my watch three times today to finally get that it was Wednesday, not Thursday. Sleeping all day and being cloistered in a room works horrors on a person's perception of time.

Worst comes to worst. I'll be getting on a train and just going. Fuck this room. Fuck this house. I need out.

I'll probably be out for near an hour before I return home, embittered, and angry.

It's not supposed to be like this

Summer holidays aren't supposed to be like this.

I've spent nearly a week and a half at home, believe or not, asleep. Something about this illness has sapped my energy, and I find it very easy to sleep from 12 to 12 nearly every day. I tried waking up earlier today, by about two hours. I felt like I was lifting bricks, only the flats were my feet, and the bricks were my legs. Not cool.

Things have finally warmed up outside, but I'm hesitant to go outside. I don't go "for walks" that often anymore. I hate casual biking now, because the Bow River pathway is nothing but hills and fucking headwind in all directions. I like biking per se, but when it gets to the point that you get on the damn thing, and you're going backwards, there's really no point to the exercise. My camera, sadly, has been gaining dust. I made an excursion out to Reading Rock, a couple weeks ago, before I fell sick, and I haven't gone out since. I feel like society would judge me purvy if I went out alone and started snapping pictures (I've been hassled before. Guy alone + camera must = creeper).

On top of that, my summer employment hasn't called back in. I don't know whether this is a blessing, or a curse, as I am now unemployed, looking for work, skilled, and experienced. I'll be lecturing in my old high school over the next week or two, so that will pass the time, but I want money, too.

Now, to counteract this little rant I've made, along with the general negative vibes I tend to throw out, here's a little humor.

Jennifer Lopez is going to run for President.

Woe be to us, the end of the world is at hand.

Can I borrow your life for a moment?

Well, it's been a sort of harrowing week. I know I should be scared, or worried, or something like that. Frankly, I've been kind of happy. There have been a few more hits on Rav's game, thank you guys a lot for checking it out. I'm tempted to make a permanent spot for the download links on the side of my page, so people can get it whenever they want.

I know, likely, some time this week, I'm probably going to have to visit a doctor. If I don't manage to weasel out of this one, I have a feeling that I'll be coming home with a new prognosis on an already lackluster life. My mother revealed to me this week that there is a rather significant chance that I might have inherited a disease from my dad's side of the family. I'm not going to go into details on what the disease is, with the exception that it would explain a lot of the problems I've been having over the last few months.

On top of that, I've had a sore throat like nothing else this past week. Screw the disease, I hate feeling like I have a hedgehog crammed in between my lungs and stomach. All this sick time, and being home alone has given me time to reflect. Reflect on what it is I'm working towards, and what my future is supposed to be like.

It made me think about those bastards who have it all, and still want more. They're oblivious to the fact that kids kill themselves because they can't live like that. People are actually dying out there because they can't touch something and make it theirs, while other people, seemingly regular people, are allowed to own anything their dear eyes rest on. People included.

I went to see Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy on opening night with some friends. There were supposed to be more, but I ended up third-wheeling with my buddy Jason and his girlfriend Danielle. Oh, and my ex was there, all her friends in tow.

Wow, what an awkward night. And I was sooo damn thirsty, a large pop wasn't even enough to slake my eternal thirst for the carbonated soul of this planet. I ended up driving home in a daze, wondering where I had just been, and why the fuck I had left home, just to be coming home three hours later none the wiser for it. I always make a point that I rarely leave the house if I don't have to, and last night was the perfect example why.

I was tempted to break out the Smirnoff's I had stashed in the basement, and then I thought better of it. There's going to be a darker night to make use of that stuff. Oh, and whoever said that getting drunk makes you more appealing should be drug out and beaten with their own beersteins. Being a fucking moron does not make you cool.

And then there's the angry drunks who will want to fight all five of me to prove that being a drunken retard is actually the hip thing to be. Way to go guys, my faith in societal influence rests well with you.