This is a Reality Test

Just trying to see if this whole dual core shenanigan is really as cracked up as it's supposed to be.

Yep, I guess it is. This is a shot I took shortly after arriving in DV. Foggy as hell out, and it stayed like that for the whole week. This one's photoshopped quite heavily to give it more of a dreamlike quality. Otherwise, the fog on the playground just reminded me of 28 Days Later. You know. Zombies. British. You get the point.

Action Addicts

Well, so here's a section from the story I'm writing. I promised myself I'd never, ever let anyone read my works in progress again, but I don't see any harm of putting it up here. The gist of this section is one man's anxiety over the role of money in this little fictional world I've created.

Money is important in anyone's life, but in his, it's even more so because there is no one type of accepted currency that he's trying to earn. The nation he works in is currently in a low-level civil war between a Democratic faction and a Monarchist one, each with their own style and philosophies towards currency.
Anyway, here it is. Sorry for you action addicts, this section is pretty much strictly internal dialogue. Action doesn't come until quite a bit later in the plot.

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The phantasms and haunts of his past life never seemed far away, like shadows cast by the candle of consciousness. He lay awake, thinking over his next course of action. His last job had not paid well, but at least it had paid. However, it had forced him into a position he’d rather not be in.
He was fast running out of loyalist currency, and the nearest substantial settlement of Democratics was at least a week’s ride to the west, near the coastline of the Inland Sea.
He had no horse, nor any means of securing one, and his emergency fund had been severely hindered in only a single night. He considered the idea of traveling south and looking for work at the numerous forts and outposts that dotted the roadways, but he disliked the thought of not knowing what kind of payment form he would be receiving.

With the Revolution coming into vogue, more and more manors and castles were turning over to the Democratics and their ideas of equal say and metal currency. Meanwhile, the royal family of Ahlweria strained evermore to maintain the power that they believed, by right, belonged to them. The system of money they used was based on the same faith that gave them their power.
If there was faith in the royalty, then the royalty would function, and therefore there would also be ample faith in the currency of the royalty, when otherwise it would just be worthless parchment.
He thought over and over, and his thoughts kept stopping at money.
It troubled him deeply, especially since he had still not forgotten when he cherished less tangible things, like love, honour, and nobility. Now it seemed that all those things were simply luxuries afforded by the amplitude of money, and now that money itself was becoming worthless, life seemed impossible to live. It all seemed to be a downward spiral.

He understood the system, but he also understood that he was considered poor by mercenary standards, simply because he refused to press himself into the role of a paid hitman. Ethics were rare in mercenaries, but part of The Storm’s reputation was that every life was worth more than any money, and should one be ended in his line of duty, The Storm would accept no payment for it.

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Naturally, anyone I catch lifting my work or photos will be brutally vivisected with a pen-knife. Also, there's quite a bit of history behind this "The Storm" character, which I will likely relate at a later time, once I get around to rewriting the prelude to the story.

Your turn D.

Strange Week

Internet has been restored to my residence, for the time being at least. So I can once again shoot the shit and ramble on as I once did without fear of reprisal.

First on my agenda of things to mention is the Miniseries "Band of Brothers." I picked it up the other day at Wal-Mart, at the insistence of one of my friends back in Calgary. We're both pretty avid Company of Heroes players, and it only made sense to get the series that Relic claimed as inspiration for their (and in my opinion, one of the only true) WWII game.

Hot damn was it good. Brutal at times. Comical at others. But holy hell, it's a good series. Every episode is shown from the perspective of a different member of the 101st Airborne's "Easy" Company. Pretty heavy stuff, but well worth the 60 bucks I dropped on it.

Since World War II, I'm kind of disgusted that war's become a tool of politicians again. An overused trowel of militant foreign policy, where instead of bartering and co-operation, nations are telling each other what to do at knife point. I don't remember the philosopher, but he said that ruthless deeds erode the conscience, so the more they are done, the easier they become to commit.

I wonder what battered and frightened spectre the conscience of the American congress is then? And Russia's for that matter? Israel? Hamas? Do we have a bunch of heart-dead megalomaniacal tyrants running loose in the world?

Just watch the damn movie, Geoff.

Cold Virii

I've been sick lately. Some kind of mild cold or flu. Not enough to really cramp me, but it's been a pain in my ass, and it's been a real hassle getting out of bed in the morning.

I'm still without internet, and I'm sure my new ladyfriend is going to be ramping my phone bill through the hundreds with the sheer quantity of text messages she's been sending me. Not that I can complain. It's been a nice change. For a while I was thinking of tossing my cell phone. It's rare anyone calls me on it, and now that my car has been... erm. Maintained, I really don't need to call home everytime something starts gyroscoping and making weird noises.

I've also been kind of musing lately, how naive must've felt. Thinking that by force of will alone, I could shape the future and the people in it. Silly. The future is something greater than you or I or any of us. We can influence it, but we cannot change it. Everything arrives at the same destination, if only by vastly different means. Throwing tantrums, crying about it... yeah. Being a kid was fun. But how tired am I when I can tell someone I care about that 5 years down the road, I hope they'll think about me while they're thousands of kilometres away?

Pretty tired indeed. Now, I just wish I could final-destination this goddamn infection and get a good night's sleep. I've got to work this weekend, and there's no way I'm doing it with a leaky faucet.

Working, Stiff

I'll be leaving the city again tommorrow morning, and in doing so, I'll be leaving behind my only reliable internet connection. I just wanted to let everyone know that, when internet is restored, I will have pictures and stories to share. But I know all you really want is the pictures, so not to disappoint, they shall be the first things I post.

In the meantime, I'm still fighting a cold, and I've discovered the only beer known to man that has defeated me.
It goes by the name of Weisbeir. And it, along with low-tolerance food, rendered my liver helpless last night.

God help you Ryan, if you should ever get your hands on that stuff. Just the smell of it still makes my stomach churn.

20

I didn't think I'd live this long.

But anyway, I've been on this planet for two decades now. Tommorrow I'm planning on introducing my brain to the concepts of alcohol and gravity, although hopefully not in that order.

The office surprised me today. Cake, and all that jazz. They all shouted "Happy Birthday!" and I kind of half turned, startled and yelled "JESUS!"

It was kind of funny.

Anyway, I've got some phonecalls to make. And yes, I am still alive. The house I'm staying at in Drayton Valley has temporarily lost access to the internet, but I still read everything in my spare time at work. I just can't reply or post new content.

Sin, Sin

Drive, by our country.

So, I've been working for more or less the entire weekend. Minus a few hours here and there to eat and to check the office, I've been on the road, and my camera's had a rather thorough workout.

I'm rather tired, but looking forward to my next weekend off. Which also happens to be my birthday. I'm heading back to Calgary to celebrate, and perhaps also collect some debts that people owe me back there for food and pizza. Should be fun times. Should, being the operative word.

Next month, I have the first and third weekend off. The first weekend, I'm hoping to get Ryan lu- errr, I mean, drunk... for his birthday, and then the third week, I'm off to the unexplored wasteland that is Saskatchewan.

Being this forward thinking is very unlike me.

Step Three: Explode Brains

So, my new computer is here, and I just got my music loaded back on it. The sound test was a... how shall I say it? A shattering success.

On top of that, I got my first real non-McDonalds meal tonight. It's been about... since Thanksgiving, hanging with the Trilogy since I last ate any substantial amount of food.
I really should take care of that. Breakfast tommorrow? Multigrain cheerios.

Mm mm.

I'm going to bed.

It's been one of those days

I feel like a piece of shit. And I'm not saying that just for effect.
I'm tired, but it seems eight hours a night just isn't enough. I almost miss the insomniac nights, followed by a 12 hour sleep marathon where I'd just snooze the daylight hours away.

On top of that, I feel that I'm a humanely human piece of shit. Reasoning behind it? I don't know. But it feels like I can't open my mouth without somebody trying to reach down my throat and ripping out whatever is making that noise that issues from me.

Oh well. It never said in the job description that I'd be popular. At least my corn dog was cooked this time.

'Cause you know, half-cooked corndogs are the fucking worst.

Who's up for Chicken Fingers?

Well, it was a fun night. I'll skip the shit and say that hanging with D, Trevor, and Ryan was the shit. While the movie was kind of ho-hum/needless dismemberment/TnA flappin' in the wind, it was still nice to get out with some people other than the newspaper staff and just chill for a while.

To answer your question Trevor, yeah, West Ed is pretty fucking spectacular. I don't know where that rant about my shit came from, but it was pretty spectacular too. Must've been almost ten inches long, goddamnit. Not every day you drop a log like that.

In any event, I'll be incommunicado in person for a while guys, but get in touch the weekend of Ryan's B-Day and I'll see if I can make a swing out there.

And Ryan, you motherfucker, lay off the motherfucking cigarettes! They smell like shit! And as a result, I smell like shit!

Shit!

Three Reasons I hate Kids

So, the landlord's daughter just got back today. Nobody told her I was staying here. Next thing I know, there's a house party going on, and some little shit named Josh has my guitar in hand and he's trying to impress the ladies with it.

It was all I could do not to charge across the room, rip his head off, and then shit down his impudent little throat. That guitar... That motherfucking guitar... is mine. Not a hand lays on it without my permission. Not a string moves, unless I wish it so. And I'll be struck right the fuck dead if somebody uses my fucking guitar to pick up chicks, while I'm not even in the same room.

On top of that, the little shits ate all my bread that I bought for food this week. Don't I feel good, knowing that I forked over some 50 bucks for food today, not knowing that some greasy little emo motherfucker was going to wad it down with No Fear energy drink. Once again, head ripping and throat shitting would've commenced if I'd only been there to catch the little bastard.

Next, comes the cleanup. I had my 'cube all nicely stashed. I went and checked to see if anybody had stashed any pizza in the drive, but luckily, it was only a post-it note, reading "Resident Evil rocks." Well, at least the little SOBs have good taste in games. But why the fuck did they have to put the post-it in the disk drive of my 'cube? On top of that. Why the fuck did they have to put post-it notes in my goddamn breakfast cereal?

Well, needless to say, the house is a disaster zone. Ironic, considering I'm supposed to have place spotless while I'm living here. If the little wench leaves a huge mess, I'm just going to burn it down.

Well, not really. But I'll be very angry.
Hell. I'm angry enough right now, I'm probably able to spit acid.

Oh, how I wish I could spit acid.

Here's an Idea

So. The 'Valley's pretty nice. The folks are real cool here. Well, the one's that live here and aren't just here for two weeks to man the oilfields that is.

I have just one complaint. It would help greatly if the Town put street signs on all of the intersections, instead of just a couple of the more busy ones, so I know if I'm at the intersection of Buttcrack Avenue and Bosom street, rather than just a set of lights at a nondescript corner of the town.

As far as I can tell, I'm still good for Monday, although word is there's a bug going around. I hope I don't catch it.

See you on the other side.

Morning comes, then I'm outta here.
The guitar is coming with me, as is the cube. Should be good times, provided I don't, you know... die, or anything.

Otherwise, share a pint. I'm on the move.