In that blank stare, I see myself

There are some days, where I wake up and think to myself that I'm done holding hands. Adults, they pretend to be. Adults. Grey hair adorns their weathered heads and faces. And yet they are like children. They require everything to be explained in triplicate, and even when the information is presented broad-faced, they require someone to hold their hand.

Everyone needs guidance sometimes. But in such a manner... it's unbelievable. It's unbelievable how people are. Not that you need me ranting for three pages about it to understand it, but it just makes me think to all the times in my life that I've been dense. It makes me wonder if, at any time, I've been like these people.

Half of you won't answer, but I'd want you to. Half of you will, and I'll wish you hadn't.

Of all the things I would write here, I don't know why but they all sound tired and boring, like I've said them all before. To say that repetition is necessary is an insult to your intelligence, dear friends. I can only imagine how boring it is to crawl the blogosphere, listening in on the white noise of people complaining about their own - by comparative standards - excellent lives. Squandered. Wasted. Because... because why? Because the retail outlet charges too much for clothes? Because everyone's boyfriend is a callous douche, yet you still groom him to be? Because every woman is unfaithful, even those sworn to the opposite?

When I look into those dull eyes, that endless expanse of ignorance, it's like looking across a misty lake, and on the far end, seeing myself staring back. Perhaps this is why I haven't written much in the last few months. Because I can't stand to see myself, let alone hear what I write. As I imagine it, this, long ago, is how others wanted me to be. But now that I see it, I'm disgusted. I'd spit, but such is impossible when I'm just words on a screen.

I think I'll have more to say, but in a while.

Find my shade, step under

Is it any surprise at all, that from the cold black surface of the moon, the Earth appears to be sheathed in red, bloody light?

And Again

It's kind of a big thing this year, the lunar eclipse. Never mind it happened just last year. Never mind that I spent nearly three hours out in near-freezing temperatures photographing the whole thing. I should... I must photograph it again this year. Because. Because it's this year. Oh well. I complained about having camera gear ready but nothing to shoot, and so here's my poetic justice.

In other news, there may also be a federal election coming up soon. I suppose it would be a good thing, but the fact that, like most things on this continent, our democracy is only democracy in name only. I've yet to meet a politician who was anything but a politician, but I suppose that's the game. Since this country's taken it upon itself to sit on its hands while the political landscape quickly became a scene of smoke and mirrors, I've got no one to blame but myself for failing to inspire one of my local representatives to do the right thing. I mean, it's not like I'm ignored when I've got something valuable or critical to say. Or am I?

Lately, all I've wanted to do is sit around, strumming guitar or doodling a bit. Hardly productive. In fact, given the fact that I'm also taken to playing the odd video-game, one of the ultra-conservative bent could call me a failure, and an urchin that isn't contributing anything to society.

Well, lets make one thing clear. Given the means and the resources, the only thing I'd give society is the swift boot up its ass that it so clearly needs. My time in the press taught me that.

So many people go about life with their nose in the air, never once admitting that they need to be told when to stop or to back down. People are a train wreck. But I don't tell them that, because it's rude, and it's hard to make inroads when you point out to someone that their behaviour is destructive.

I guess, in a way, all human behaviour is destructive. Even the efforts to curb that behaviour, in the end, become destructive - perhaps even self-destructive. I once read somewhere that no straight thing has ever come from the works of man. I took it then to believe that despite whatever good intentions humanity has, its works inevitably end up getting abused for whatever power game happens to be in vogue. Whether its war or subversion. Or both.

Using my previous example, one only needs look at democracy. A good idea, sure. But we're using a representative system, which lends power to those who quickly become addicted to it. Democracy will, as the historians dictate, become the new face of tyranny. We elect our tyrants, and they in turn use our right and freedoms as tools, as leverage, to gain our support. Our beloved freedoms, paid for in blood, will be, and have been, used to shed blood.

And even as I write this, I have to stop. Already I'm sounding like a partisan. This isn't what I intend, since quite simply, I'm frustrated. I don't like where things are going, and even with a hazy outlook, anyone can see the future is not a happy place, if events continue down this particular path.

People will become smaller and smaller, until they are just themselves, and then they will be as nothing. All motes of selfishness and apathy.

The Unthinkable has Happened

Aye.

I've been watching a few movies. The first one that comes to my mind is MirrorMask.
I honestly didn't think they made movies like this. Little fantasy tales - of astounding quality - that sound a lot like the stories that I read when I was a kid. None of this Harry Potter bull. Something a lot more subtle and sweet.

Anyway. I have a hard time talking about movies, so I'll just say that I enjoyed this one.

Now. On to more pressing topics.

Provincial election? Not worth the hot air.

I've become a bit of a sleeper of late. My camera sits primed and ready for use, but lately I just haven't had the drive to go out and shoot anything with it. The snow's already begun to melt, so hopefully that'll change soon. Or maybe it won't. I don't know. I'm still reeling from the fact that it's only been five months since I moved back home. It feels like year, and every day feels like another world away from what now feels like a prolonged nightmare. I'm not overly eager to dive back into a world of such insanity, but even so. I can feel the desire to travel coming on again.

So far, it's looking like Montreal in April and the Isles in June. Hopefully with a bit of camping interspersed through the intervening days.

Sigil's Landing

I haven't seen the sun in weeks. It's no surprise then that what I'm writing at length about is a world where only half the planet ever sees the sun rise.

I've seen faces this last week that I haven't seen in years, and just recently I had been telling myself that I would never see them again. It is, perhaps, a sign that this world really is starting to shrink, and even while we are glad of it, too soon will I become claustrophobic.

It snowed today. I know, because I just looked outside and noticed that the entire world is covered a blanket of flaky, crunchy, glittering white shit. There's no tire treads on the road, which means tomorrow is going to be hell. The roads were already polished to a mirror sheen, thanks to the wonder of (nonexistent) road maintenance. Adding a layer of snow on top of glacial ice will only make for fun tomorrow when I attempt to negotiate my way to work, amidst dumb fucks driving with only half their windshield brushed off, a café au lait straddled on their lap, and the cell-phone plastered religiously to their one deaf ear.
Nevermind the youth in this neighborhood which seem drawn to commit suicide by wandering around in the middle of icy streets, oblivious to the cars swerving and skidding around them.

Sigil, I call it. One of three. It's a craft that cuts holes in space, makes point A into point B. In my story, you could almost call it a character. If I had one, no doubt going to work would not longer be a problem, as I would only have to spin up the drives, and voila, I'd arrive. Nevermind the fact that each jump would release energy equivalent to several pounds of TNT. The way I see it, this place needs a few good sinkholes to drown our worries in. Or were those watering holes?
I can never tell anymore.

And of all this, I can never tell if it's me going insane, or if it's the people talking to me who are all given to fits of madness. It's contagious like a disease, but likewise, so is the cure. One dose of reason resounds like a clap of thunder, dispelling the rancid plaque of ignorance that, over so long, built up around us.