The worst thing about being hung out to dry by someone is that they've often pre-meditated it and have thus lied themselves to the point where they believe they're not to blame for any of their actions.
Accountability. It's what's for breakfast.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Low Key
A smiling snarl, a laughing rictus of joyful betrayal.
This is the future.
The distinction between your love and hate is as pointless as elementary semantics.
The knife cuts both ways.
Plunge it into me and I'll cringe, because it doesn't matter which direction you choose.
Humans are only good for one thing.
Breaking everything they've ever made.
This is the future.
The distinction between your love and hate is as pointless as elementary semantics.
The knife cuts both ways.
Plunge it into me and I'll cringe, because it doesn't matter which direction you choose.
Humans are only good for one thing.
Breaking everything they've ever made.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Full Circle
I've gotten out of the habit of writing political shit on this blog. Most of it should be for obvious reasons. After actually getting my nose bloodied in the "real world," I've discovered that, though I don't like politicians, I like the public even less, and they can have everything they deserve when it comes election time.
And it might just be that time again this fall.
This isn't an entry about the potential election coming up. It's about peoples' reactions to it. Canadians don't want an election. It's a horrible waste of taxpayer dollars, etc. etc. etc. ad nauseum. Whatever.
What Canadians want isn't another election. It's a dictatorship. People have fought and died for this notion of democracy, and if all my countrymen are going to do about it is bellyache about how often they have to exercise this right - payed for in blood - then so be it. We'll oust the government, instate a dictator, and all will be to rights in the eyes of the public.
No money wasted on yearly elections.
No political boondoggling through the media.
And best of all, people won't have to get their asses out of their chairs to go vote.
Just yet another reason why we can't have nice things.
And it might just be that time again this fall.
This isn't an entry about the potential election coming up. It's about peoples' reactions to it. Canadians don't want an election. It's a horrible waste of taxpayer dollars, etc. etc. etc. ad nauseum. Whatever.
What Canadians want isn't another election. It's a dictatorship. People have fought and died for this notion of democracy, and if all my countrymen are going to do about it is bellyache about how often they have to exercise this right - payed for in blood - then so be it. We'll oust the government, instate a dictator, and all will be to rights in the eyes of the public.
No money wasted on yearly elections.
No political boondoggling through the media.
And best of all, people won't have to get their asses out of their chairs to go vote.
Just yet another reason why we can't have nice things.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Jaghut
I should have honestly finished writing this yesterday, when the message was a bit more... poignant. But you'll just have to settle for it now.
Yesterday was the eleventh of September, a day of auspicious remembrance. A day when we drown our individual thoughts in favour of one mass generational act of remembrance and grieving.
Every year, I'm reminded of what happens when the thoughts of madness are given voice in more than one head. Whether through one horrific act, or the countless horrific acts commited in answer, I'm reminded that none of this would have happened if the gnawing, crazy thought in one person's head had stayed locked up there. Each person, as an individual, is an island of thought and reasonable in their own right.
Put enough people together though, and that thought, that idea, cuts loose. Expanding like a ripple at first, and then a wave. The actions of one person are easily quashed, but the moment that will, that desire for action is taken up by many arms, by many wills, it becomes a real force, and one that's difficult to stay. For every person that takes up the call, it becomes harder for others to ignore it. To avoid also being swept up in the tide.
If, for 24 hours, every person in the world had been cut off from every other person on the eleventh of September, two-thousand and one, who knows where we would be on this eleventh of September, two-thousand and nine? Who knows where this wave of violence would've stopped?
Indeed it was horrific, but if we're to answer every cruelty with a greater one... well, then only the reaper stands to win.
On September 11th, I am keen to remember only one thing. It's my sister's birthday, and despite the paranoia and calls for renewed violence, I'm only interested in that one detail. Else it's a day like any other.
And like any day, if we're going to pick and choose which atrocities are remembered, then we should remember every one.
Yesterday was the eleventh of September, a day of auspicious remembrance. A day when we drown our individual thoughts in favour of one mass generational act of remembrance and grieving.
Every year, I'm reminded of what happens when the thoughts of madness are given voice in more than one head. Whether through one horrific act, or the countless horrific acts commited in answer, I'm reminded that none of this would have happened if the gnawing, crazy thought in one person's head had stayed locked up there. Each person, as an individual, is an island of thought and reasonable in their own right.
Put enough people together though, and that thought, that idea, cuts loose. Expanding like a ripple at first, and then a wave. The actions of one person are easily quashed, but the moment that will, that desire for action is taken up by many arms, by many wills, it becomes a real force, and one that's difficult to stay. For every person that takes up the call, it becomes harder for others to ignore it. To avoid also being swept up in the tide.
If, for 24 hours, every person in the world had been cut off from every other person on the eleventh of September, two-thousand and one, who knows where we would be on this eleventh of September, two-thousand and nine? Who knows where this wave of violence would've stopped?
Indeed it was horrific, but if we're to answer every cruelty with a greater one... well, then only the reaper stands to win.
On September 11th, I am keen to remember only one thing. It's my sister's birthday, and despite the paranoia and calls for renewed violence, I'm only interested in that one detail. Else it's a day like any other.
And like any day, if we're going to pick and choose which atrocities are remembered, then we should remember every one.
Monday, September 07, 2009
Don't follow, please
Scott Bentley.
You're the strangest character I've ever written. I sometimes wonder which of us is holding the mirror, if you're the one that's sympathetic, and I'm just the hollow reflection.
Lately that's about all I've been feeling. I keep writing and writing, and page by page, your world comes alive. The people you know. The friends you have. Your heart alive with emotions, worries, fears, and jubilation.
I'm quickly becoming just a machine, rapping this story out. Nothing I've done seems to have been of any meaning, of any consequence. Every tiny change I've tried to affect has been a nothing-moment. A blank instance of lacking.
One by one, my ties are cut. Frayed, or severed. It doesn't really matter, as this is about the time when everyone goes about their own ways. Tired of each other. Tired of me.
Scott Bentley. Let's finish your story. So that I might start mine.
You're the strangest character I've ever written. I sometimes wonder which of us is holding the mirror, if you're the one that's sympathetic, and I'm just the hollow reflection.
Lately that's about all I've been feeling. I keep writing and writing, and page by page, your world comes alive. The people you know. The friends you have. Your heart alive with emotions, worries, fears, and jubilation.
I'm quickly becoming just a machine, rapping this story out. Nothing I've done seems to have been of any meaning, of any consequence. Every tiny change I've tried to affect has been a nothing-moment. A blank instance of lacking.
One by one, my ties are cut. Frayed, or severed. It doesn't really matter, as this is about the time when everyone goes about their own ways. Tired of each other. Tired of me.
Scott Bentley. Let's finish your story. So that I might start mine.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Mother Dark
Well, I've finally got around to working on some more of these, so enjoy.
Ryan and Dan, by the fire.
Tracy, chilling out in her rocking lawn chair (no really, it literally rocks!). I'm fairly sure those two chairs were the only ones that didn't spontaneously deconstruct during the trip.
The gang, again by the fire. Notice the spirit flying up from Trevor's pants.
Ryan, by the firelight.
Trevor, by the firelight.
Dan, by the firelight.
And I think that's all of them for now.
It felt good having the camera out for a while. I'll have to see if I can get more like this in the future.
Later gang.
Ryan and Dan, by the fire.
Tracy, chilling out in her rocking lawn chair (no really, it literally rocks!). I'm fairly sure those two chairs were the only ones that didn't spontaneously deconstruct during the trip.
The gang, again by the fire. Notice the spirit flying up from Trevor's pants.
Ryan, by the firelight.
Trevor, by the firelight.
Dan, by the firelight.
And I think that's all of them for now.
It felt good having the camera out for a while. I'll have to see if I can get more like this in the future.
Later gang.
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