It's early to be posting this, I know. But I just want to do this now before I put it off, or forget, or whatever. Or maybe I just wish the year would be over already.
It's been utter shit, pretty much from start to finish.
I'm not even sure if I have it in me to give a thorough rundown, but maybe I'll try. We'll start from the beginning, I guess.
2009 ended on a sour note. Of that, we're all in agreement. 2010 was supposed to be the year when everything got better, when the economy picked back up and work and life resumed. The eggheads that made that prediction couldn't have been more wrong, at least for the first part of the year.
I watched as hours at work dried up, eventually a co-worker and a good friend of mine just quit because they were giving him weeks and weeks without scheduled work, instead using him as a call-boy to pick up odd spots here and there. After working for a company for five years, he figured (rightly) that this kind of shit isn't right. And so he left, and I wondered who'd be next on the block.
Spring was a dry time. Relationships collided and ended in spectacular fashion. I wasn't part of any of them. I was mostly driven to focus on my impending school in the fall, but come June, I had no idea just how hard it was going to get. My boss at work was transferred to a new store, and his replacement had an... unorthodox way of running things. I watched as hours shrank more and more, until finally I was practically unemployed, picking up a token shift that didn't even cover gas money to get there, while employees two years my junior were picking up 12 to 20 hours a week. My value and self esteem at this point were just flat bottom, so pretty much throughout summer, I was more or less unemployed.
Bad enough without more bad news on other fronts. My uncle, who's always been the kind of voice of the family, was diagnosed with throat cancer over the summer. It was already rough because his daughter was diagnosed with lung cancer about a year ago at this point, and when we went to go visit him, his daughter (who is also a nurse now) was the one running the machines that injected the drugs and stuff. There was something horribly wrong about the whole thing, like I was living a scene out of some medieval plague painting where skeletons were feeding other skeletons, and everything was all just death under the reaper's scythe.
By August, things had reached a breaking point at home and at work. I reviewed my application for school, and figured if work wasn't going anywhere I might as well go back to school, even if it took a loan and a lot of belt tightening to do it. So I printed up my resignation letter and resolved my self to put to bed this shit, so that I could focus on my family and my future.
But I figured I should track down my old boss and let him know what was up, because he'd always done right by me and everyone else, and to this day, remains a model manager and leader. I guess this is one of the few good points for this year, because he pretty much offered to transfer me on the spot, with a few hours a week to start, and more if business picked up.
Business did pick up, and I'm quite satisfied by how that situation resolved itself, but the issues of family were still bad. My grandfather suffered a stroke about a year and a half ago, and has gradually progressed into a state of dementia. This year was the worst. He was frequently paranoid and angry, often yelling at my grandmother because he would get frustrated with day-to-day activities. Eventually he fell down some stairs and hurt himself pretty bad, but when grandma brought the paramedics in, he waved them off and proceeded to rage for the rest of the week because his hip hurt and he couldn't remember why.
Eventually we managed to con him into a hospital for treatment, which has been a debacle that's still too painful to account properly. I can't stand the thought of my grandfather, the most hard-bitten upstanding individual I've ever known, reduced to a drooling invalid because they couldn't control him without sedating him nearly to death. And as if that wasn't hard enough, my grandmother had a stroke two weeks after grandpa was admitted. So in the span of a month, my grandparents were both hospitalized, and the realization came on that they wouldn't be returning home, so we were left with the task of cleaning everything out, selling what we could, storing what we could, and then finally selling the house (itself a painful task, because every asshole in Spruce Grove showed up for the private sale to offer insultingly low-balled bids).
Probably the most disquieting thing about the whole affair was the knives we found while clearing the house out. Every room had a knife hidden somewhere in it. Army knives. Steak knives. Butcher knives. Cleavers. We didn't know why, but in his paranoia, it was likely my grandfather was stashing them in case some unseen threat broke into the house. But given his state, he could have just as easily turned them on grandma. It was a sorry state of affairs, and even now, it doesn't feel like everything's settled, even though the house is sold and grandma and grandpa are both in hospital facilities that are looking after them (finally).
University has been okay, but at every turn, I'm questioning the value of a degree. There is such a culture of idiocy surrounding post-secondary education that I, for a few weeks, considered dropping out and just hitting the road for a few months. We'll see if my ultimate decision to stay was the right one.
Do I want 2010 to end? Definitely. Do I wish 2011 would be better? Yes.
Will reality bend to my will? Probably not.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Monday, November 01, 2010
Humanity
I've been listening to a call from the past, going over and over, and all it says is this:
What have you done?
I'm reading current events, and picking apart the news, and I'm seeing throwbacks to the 1940's, where Hitler's regime, insidious as it was, has infected the present. It spreads like a disease, and even the victims start carrying it. The belief in races and purity... it's all wrong.
This madness is older than I am. And it's almost funny in a way, that all of the worst opinions and beliefs spread like wildfire. But give a little hope and it's scorned, politicized, trodden over, and eventually destroyed.
"No straight thing ever comes from the hands of men."
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Two Rods, A Gear
Caymen is done. It's been two weeks now, and I still can't believe it. I've done cursory editing and I'm about half done my second draft.
I suppose now's a good time to say that I'm working on a second short, so far named The Silencer. This title may, or may not, tie into the story. This one is a bit more of an aggressive story, but I'm still trying to focus on people rather than their actions, which considering the material and the timeline I've chosen, may prove to be difficult.
Whereas Caymen focused on an almost dreamlike surrealism, the underlying feel for Silencer will probably be a feeling of nostalgia on a global level, as in the first chapter alone, one of the characters has stumbled across two veritable "bone-yards" of relics from our day and age. I want to generate a feeling of almost stark contrast between sterile cleanliness and decay, kind of like a scrubbed too-blue sky held taught over the moldering ruins of society (an image that actually plays heavily in the first chapter).
There will also be an elemental of personal decay. Whereas Caymen focused on the capability for a so-called "dependent" to function and behave as a compassionate human being, Silencer will look at the opposite - how social influences have produced human beings incapable of connecting on a personal level outside of a mediated environment. It will also deal heavily with concepts of alienation, and how no matter how enlightened humanity gets, it will never be all-inclusive or united.
I'm pretty excited.
I suppose now's a good time to say that I'm working on a second short, so far named The Silencer. This title may, or may not, tie into the story. This one is a bit more of an aggressive story, but I'm still trying to focus on people rather than their actions, which considering the material and the timeline I've chosen, may prove to be difficult.
Whereas Caymen focused on an almost dreamlike surrealism, the underlying feel for Silencer will probably be a feeling of nostalgia on a global level, as in the first chapter alone, one of the characters has stumbled across two veritable "bone-yards" of relics from our day and age. I want to generate a feeling of almost stark contrast between sterile cleanliness and decay, kind of like a scrubbed too-blue sky held taught over the moldering ruins of society (an image that actually plays heavily in the first chapter).
There will also be an elemental of personal decay. Whereas Caymen focused on the capability for a so-called "dependent" to function and behave as a compassionate human being, Silencer will look at the opposite - how social influences have produced human beings incapable of connecting on a personal level outside of a mediated environment. It will also deal heavily with concepts of alienation, and how no matter how enlightened humanity gets, it will never be all-inclusive or united.
I'm pretty excited.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
An Education on the point of futility
I'm now a university student, and it's not even been a week and I'm already growing bored of two of my classes. High school was six years ago, but a lot of this stuff is still fresh in my head. It's like I've come full circle and the interregnum never existed.
It feels kind of good, in a way. Also, I'm a "mature" student, which puts me about four years ahead of most of the other students in my classes. Four years of hard work and strife, and I've already put a boot down for one professor, who started to lecture me on the real world.
I'm willing to listen and learn, but nobody gets to tell me about how the real world works when they're cloistered in an educational institution for eight months of the year.
Just a small rant there.
Otherwise, things are good.
And I'm glad I went this year. If I had waited any longer, I would have probably ended up feeling a bit like a pedophile, ogling the young girls.
It feels kind of good, in a way. Also, I'm a "mature" student, which puts me about four years ahead of most of the other students in my classes. Four years of hard work and strife, and I've already put a boot down for one professor, who started to lecture me on the real world.
I'm willing to listen and learn, but nobody gets to tell me about how the real world works when they're cloistered in an educational institution for eight months of the year.
Just a small rant there.
Otherwise, things are good.
And I'm glad I went this year. If I had waited any longer, I would have probably ended up feeling a bit like a pedophile, ogling the young girls.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
11/09/2010
Happy Justification Day.
September 11th is still giving us cause to do shit, even some nine years on.
September 11th is still giving us cause to do shit, even some nine years on.
I've died and...
...ended up in Limbo.
Fuck embedding. Just click the link and watch the video. I'm officially pissed that this shit can't size itself on the page.
Nearly a decade of internet standards, and the prisses are still only concerned if their fucking textboxes are to some obscure measuring standard.
Fuckers.
Fuck embedding. Just click the link and watch the video. I'm officially pissed that this shit can't size itself on the page.
Nearly a decade of internet standards, and the prisses are still only concerned if their fucking textboxes are to some obscure measuring standard.
Fuckers.
Thursday, September 02, 2010
Lexicon
In the story of the Priest, the religion/government of the land is known as the Dogma. I thought this a fitting term until a friend of mine, a stiffly-raised Christian, told me that a faithful follower of a religion will never call their faith a dogma, that such a title is reserved only as a title of derision for a heretic to refer to his old religion.
I was enlightened by what he told me, thinking that what I had chosen was a neutral term for religion by rote, a system of control. And indeed, to unbelievers, dogma is a term without connotation. But to believers, it's completely different.
So I hunted. I tore through the English language, looking for a term that describes a faith, but connotes a rigid control - a kind of governance by the Book, by the reigns of power. I tore and I shredded and I compared and I sought.
Nothing.
I even searched latin, greek, french, and spanish for a term.
Nothing.
This is the first time a word has honestly eluded me. The meaning is there. But can it be that English has not a term for what I seek?
I was enlightened by what he told me, thinking that what I had chosen was a neutral term for religion by rote, a system of control. And indeed, to unbelievers, dogma is a term without connotation. But to believers, it's completely different.
So I hunted. I tore through the English language, looking for a term that describes a faith, but connotes a rigid control - a kind of governance by the Book, by the reigns of power. I tore and I shredded and I compared and I sought.
Nothing.
I even searched latin, greek, french, and spanish for a term.
Nothing.
This is the first time a word has honestly eluded me. The meaning is there. But can it be that English has not a term for what I seek?
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
A New History
History is there for all to see.
But that shouldn't be all that we see.
A nation builds a wall and we call it apartheid again.
No, friends, you're missing it.
This is a brand new kind of terror and misery.
But that shouldn't be all that we see.
A nation builds a wall and we call it apartheid again.
No, friends, you're missing it.
This is a brand new kind of terror and misery.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Short-handed
I'm reading three books as I write three stories simultaneously. Insomnia has its benefits, as does prolonged bouts away from the drink.
I stopped writing for a couple months because I thought everything I put to paper was shit, and nobody would ever read it. Then one day, I was hanging out with some friends, and it came up that I was, once upon a time, a writer of fiction. I kind of dragged my feet and did my customary "Yeah," followed by about five minutes of navel gazing.
It got me thinking though.
And on a lark, I went through all my current and old stories and printed off the best of each genre I'd been working on.
I took it a couple of weeks ago and shared them with some friends, and I was rather shocked by the reaction.
These aren't people who are themselves writers (or attached to writers) or media-gears, or enthusiasts in any respect. And they enjoyed each story, each completely different.
And so, every night for the last week, I've been staying up until 5-6 a.m. and just writing. It's like walking into a world, half-finished. Details hazy, but distinction is only two or three paragraphs away. I'm hoping I don't drop the ball again, but with all the responsibility coming my way in only a few short weeks, I can't guarantee anything will get done (as usual). Still.
The three I'm working on are these:
Scott Bentley, whom most of you are already familiar with. I've decided on an end-state, and the story will be something of a short story or novella. Probably not more than 200-300 pages max.
Priest, a high political fantasy rife with existential concepts of faith and ambition. It was started in a drunken haze one night, and has gradually grown into a thriving concept that scales well both in detail and scope. The notion of a religion that strives against organized religion and tyranny played a huge part in scoping the concept, as did the idea of power and celebrity raising one above concepts of justice.
Old Earth, a story of post-post-humanism, set thousands of years in the future, long after a cataclysm that changed the face of the Earth, and humanity. Humanity has undergone the singularity, albeit in pieces, and the post-humans have since left Earth behind for thousands of years. Now, they're coming back. Some say they're looking for something. Others say they're fleeing a war gone wrong, and are seeking to recruit more into their ranks of so-called Immortals.
I stopped writing for a couple months because I thought everything I put to paper was shit, and nobody would ever read it. Then one day, I was hanging out with some friends, and it came up that I was, once upon a time, a writer of fiction. I kind of dragged my feet and did my customary "Yeah," followed by about five minutes of navel gazing.
It got me thinking though.
And on a lark, I went through all my current and old stories and printed off the best of each genre I'd been working on.
I took it a couple of weeks ago and shared them with some friends, and I was rather shocked by the reaction.
These aren't people who are themselves writers (or attached to writers) or media-gears, or enthusiasts in any respect. And they enjoyed each story, each completely different.
And so, every night for the last week, I've been staying up until 5-6 a.m. and just writing. It's like walking into a world, half-finished. Details hazy, but distinction is only two or three paragraphs away. I'm hoping I don't drop the ball again, but with all the responsibility coming my way in only a few short weeks, I can't guarantee anything will get done (as usual). Still.
The three I'm working on are these:
Scott Bentley, whom most of you are already familiar with. I've decided on an end-state, and the story will be something of a short story or novella. Probably not more than 200-300 pages max.
Priest, a high political fantasy rife with existential concepts of faith and ambition. It was started in a drunken haze one night, and has gradually grown into a thriving concept that scales well both in detail and scope. The notion of a religion that strives against organized religion and tyranny played a huge part in scoping the concept, as did the idea of power and celebrity raising one above concepts of justice.
Old Earth, a story of post-post-humanism, set thousands of years in the future, long after a cataclysm that changed the face of the Earth, and humanity. Humanity has undergone the singularity, albeit in pieces, and the post-humans have since left Earth behind for thousands of years. Now, they're coming back. Some say they're looking for something. Others say they're fleeing a war gone wrong, and are seeking to recruit more into their ranks of so-called Immortals.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Update
Well, it's been about a month, and so much has changed lately, I don't know really where to start.
Not even a month ago I was on the verge of walking out of my job, and probably just coasting for the rest of the summer until university starts. It probably would've bankrupted me, but at that point, I didn't really care. I canceled all my plans (including camping, travelling, and heading out on photo excursions), and pretty much went into bunker mode. I just dropped off the face of the earth, focusing on just saving, saving, saving as much as I could.
It's now a month later. I transferred stores, kept my job, and just recently got a sidemotion into a tech position, one of the most lucrative places to be. Money's started rolling in again, and I'm now feeling more crestfallen than ever. I'm working double hours to make up all the time this summer I spent just dragging my feet. I'm thinking now, what a waste. I could've gone camping, fishing, or who-knows-what if only this little break had come along a little sooner.
And now I'm in a position where my job might start conflicting with my education.
I swear, without bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.
I'm also going to be selling the Jeep soon. An endeavour I'm not looking forward to, since it's had a lot of kilometres put on it, and despite being pampered like a luxury car, selling anything over 100k on it is just like sticking a razor in your mouth and giving the 'ole heave-ho.
That all said, I'm back on track for 2013. A small goal, but an important one - if all parties involved are still interested. I've even started narrowing the search for a bike.
I think it'll do just nicely.
Work on the new site is slow. Right now, I'm just exploring options for animation and design. It seems like a showdown between Flash and HTML5 at high-noon is imminent.
I'll write more about that later though.
For now, I've got about a three-foot stack of videogames that need playing.
Not even a month ago I was on the verge of walking out of my job, and probably just coasting for the rest of the summer until university starts. It probably would've bankrupted me, but at that point, I didn't really care. I canceled all my plans (including camping, travelling, and heading out on photo excursions), and pretty much went into bunker mode. I just dropped off the face of the earth, focusing on just saving, saving, saving as much as I could.
It's now a month later. I transferred stores, kept my job, and just recently got a sidemotion into a tech position, one of the most lucrative places to be. Money's started rolling in again, and I'm now feeling more crestfallen than ever. I'm working double hours to make up all the time this summer I spent just dragging my feet. I'm thinking now, what a waste. I could've gone camping, fishing, or who-knows-what if only this little break had come along a little sooner.
And now I'm in a position where my job might start conflicting with my education.
I swear, without bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.
I'm also going to be selling the Jeep soon. An endeavour I'm not looking forward to, since it's had a lot of kilometres put on it, and despite being pampered like a luxury car, selling anything over 100k on it is just like sticking a razor in your mouth and giving the 'ole heave-ho.
That all said, I'm back on track for 2013. A small goal, but an important one - if all parties involved are still interested. I've even started narrowing the search for a bike.
I think it'll do just nicely.
Work on the new site is slow. Right now, I'm just exploring options for animation and design. It seems like a showdown between Flash and HTML5 at high-noon is imminent.
I'll write more about that later though.
For now, I've got about a three-foot stack of videogames that need playing.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
The beginning of the end
Staring at this blank page, I suppose I should just stop being cryptic and just say it.
This is the beginning of the end for t-storm.
I'll continue to update it from time to time until "The End," but know that this site hasn't got the full focus of my attention, and hasn't for a long time.
Is this the end of my often random, uncomfortable, or pointless entries? In a sense, yes.
But I suppose I should also stop being cryptic about what comes afterwards either.
It's still a long way off, but I'm working on a concept for a multimedia project/site/experience. It's going to be the end-game evolution of everything I've tried to achieve, media-wise.
Words, pictures, music. Movies.
It's going to be the new means of telling a story. But I need the story, I need the space, and most of all, I need to finish the design.
Everything that I've done creatively has fallen into a black hole for the last three years. I've followed it, and what comes out over the next few months will be product of that descent.
Until then...
This is the beginning of the end for t-storm.
I'll continue to update it from time to time until "The End," but know that this site hasn't got the full focus of my attention, and hasn't for a long time.
Is this the end of my often random, uncomfortable, or pointless entries? In a sense, yes.
But I suppose I should also stop being cryptic about what comes afterwards either.
It's still a long way off, but I'm working on a concept for a multimedia project/site/experience. It's going to be the end-game evolution of everything I've tried to achieve, media-wise.
Words, pictures, music. Movies.
It's going to be the new means of telling a story. But I need the story, I need the space, and most of all, I need to finish the design.
Everything that I've done creatively has fallen into a black hole for the last three years. I've followed it, and what comes out over the next few months will be product of that descent.
Until then...
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Friday, June 04, 2010
Can't read it
Moments of insecurity.
I'd love for my family to look at me and see something to be proud of. I've taken courses and grown from a kid, but what do I have to show for it? Nothing.
I'm working retail. It's a job, but hardly one now. The economic decline, that great catch-all excuse for everything, has almost put me on the street. Two more weeks to see, and then it'll be time to decide to stay or go.
It's a shame that this moment didn't come two weeks ago, or else there'd be a wedding for me to attend.
This is a disaster in slow motion. Perhaps soon I'll just quit. Quit. Quit. Quit. And travel. Hit the road. Throw my phone into a ditch (first thing it'll be good for besides a paper-weight), and just disappear for a few weeks. Or months. The whole summer, maybe.
I'd muse if anyone would even notice, but I already know the answer.
No. No they wouldn't. And I wouldn't care much either.
I'd love for my family to look at me and see something to be proud of. I've taken courses and grown from a kid, but what do I have to show for it? Nothing.
I'm working retail. It's a job, but hardly one now. The economic decline, that great catch-all excuse for everything, has almost put me on the street. Two more weeks to see, and then it'll be time to decide to stay or go.
It's a shame that this moment didn't come two weeks ago, or else there'd be a wedding for me to attend.
This is a disaster in slow motion. Perhaps soon I'll just quit. Quit. Quit. Quit. And travel. Hit the road. Throw my phone into a ditch (first thing it'll be good for besides a paper-weight), and just disappear for a few weeks. Or months. The whole summer, maybe.
I'd muse if anyone would even notice, but I already know the answer.
No. No they wouldn't. And I wouldn't care much either.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Humane
He probably represented humanity, in hindsight. He even said as much.
It was preternaturally dark, and when I asked him if he was afraid, he replied "Why would I? T'is only the dark."
And he was at home in the dark, and with all the things that dwelt there. Great terrors reached out to grab at us, but when they felt him near, they recoiled, for even the great Evils of the Dark feared his touch and his passing.
And then Dawn came, and light pooled down upon us, dewy and fresh. When I asked him if he was sickened, he replied "Why would I? T'is only dawn's first light."
And he drank it like a mead, and was heartened. And all of the Light's creatures withdrew from his gaze, so great was his hunger, his thirst. All of Nature hid from him, and grew to be wary of his passing, for he was a great predator that was always hunting.
When I asked what manner of creature he was, that feared neither dark nor light. That held and beheld fire and was not afraid, and knew and contested of Good and Evil, and he replied:
"I am Man. I am all these things, and more."
It was preternaturally dark, and when I asked him if he was afraid, he replied "Why would I? T'is only the dark."
And he was at home in the dark, and with all the things that dwelt there. Great terrors reached out to grab at us, but when they felt him near, they recoiled, for even the great Evils of the Dark feared his touch and his passing.
And then Dawn came, and light pooled down upon us, dewy and fresh. When I asked him if he was sickened, he replied "Why would I? T'is only dawn's first light."
And he drank it like a mead, and was heartened. And all of the Light's creatures withdrew from his gaze, so great was his hunger, his thirst. All of Nature hid from him, and grew to be wary of his passing, for he was a great predator that was always hunting.
When I asked what manner of creature he was, that feared neither dark nor light. That held and beheld fire and was not afraid, and knew and contested of Good and Evil, and he replied:
"I am Man. I am all these things, and more."
Monday, May 24, 2010
Je suis un mur, et c'est tout que je serai toujours
There is nothing between us.
Except for a hundred million miles of inexplicable alienation, and an unwillingness to row forward together.
Je veux hiberner.
Except for a hundred million miles of inexplicable alienation, and an unwillingness to row forward together.
Je veux hiberner.
Saturday, May 08, 2010
800
Words.
Three. Ten. A hundred. A thousand. Four thousand. Ten thousand four hundred and forty four. One hundred eighty thousand, three hundred eight.
Words are my refuge. My tool. My crass addiction. Words are my prize and my gift, my offering and my withdrawal. Words are my illness and my cure. I can never have enough, but I always have too many.
It all comes back to me, and the realization is stark. This is it. This is what I've been looking for. More words. Descriptions. Dates and times and people and places, nouns and verbs. This is the inspiration I've been missing, and the truth becomes clear. A metaphor. What's called inspiration is, to me, not a pleasant affair. The definition is clear.
What you call inspiration, I call an anxiety attack. A period of prolonged feelings of unease, of unwellness. Depression. Fear. Anxiety.
I can't imagine another hour of this. Every minute's like a held breath. How did I make it this far?
The answer's clear. In fact, it's spread out before me. Pages and pages of it.
Three. Ten. A hundred. A thousand. Four thousand. Ten thousand four hundred and forty four. One hundred eighty thousand, three hundred eight.
Words are my refuge. My tool. My crass addiction. Words are my prize and my gift, my offering and my withdrawal. Words are my illness and my cure. I can never have enough, but I always have too many.
It all comes back to me, and the realization is stark. This is it. This is what I've been looking for. More words. Descriptions. Dates and times and people and places, nouns and verbs. This is the inspiration I've been missing, and the truth becomes clear. A metaphor. What's called inspiration is, to me, not a pleasant affair. The definition is clear.
What you call inspiration, I call an anxiety attack. A period of prolonged feelings of unease, of unwellness. Depression. Fear. Anxiety.
I can't imagine another hour of this. Every minute's like a held breath. How did I make it this far?
The answer's clear. In fact, it's spread out before me. Pages and pages of it.
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
Saturday, May 01, 2010
Graces, and how to be a giant dick
Small talk is something that I can't fathom as a function of mine, which is ironic, I suppose, as people often find me humorous to be around.
It's a defense mechanism, or so I'm told. I make people laugh to ease tension and to allay anxiety. My anxiety mostly. But now that I've been told this, every time I crack wise, I picture one of those little lizards that pops their tail off at the first sign of trouble.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand. I'm in a strange situation. A... friend of mine and I are somewhat close, and every time we talk, she finds something either new or amusing out about me. I play music. I cook. I write. Fucking amazing, I know. Or I would. These are all fantastic skills I've acquired in an effort to avoid people. Or more directly, their criticism. Incapability and evil are the same thing in the average person's mind - remember that. I digress (again). So, we're talking away. She's being flirtatious. I'm just being a right goober. All's well, as I'm more comfortable as a singing, dancing, talking, cooking, writing monkey, than as an accomplished suitor.
Or would be. On the flip side of the "mirror", there's another guy (not me), talking to another girl (not my friend), and it's a completely... well. It's a negative image. Whereas I crack jokes and stumble around in a conversation like a drunken sailor, this fellow greets curtly, and then goes back to what he's doing. The girl he's speaking to is his girlfriend, whom he alternates between browbeating and ignoring. She's in a bad mood, and gets snarky. There's a bit of back and forth, then suddenly the mirror breaks.
I spent the next two hours going around with my foot in my mouth. That is, ladies and gentlemen, how to be a giant dick. Pull your best friend into a feud with your woman and you will - without a doubt - find yourself in a world of such verbal lye, your skin will start flaking off.
My own personal lesson from this event is twofold. One, never joke when somebody's furious. Two, have a car. Every single trait a man can have, short of a horse cock, is secondary to transportation.
It's a defense mechanism, or so I'm told. I make people laugh to ease tension and to allay anxiety. My anxiety mostly. But now that I've been told this, every time I crack wise, I picture one of those little lizards that pops their tail off at the first sign of trouble.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand. I'm in a strange situation. A... friend of mine and I are somewhat close, and every time we talk, she finds something either new or amusing out about me. I play music. I cook. I write. Fucking amazing, I know. Or I would. These are all fantastic skills I've acquired in an effort to avoid people. Or more directly, their criticism. Incapability and evil are the same thing in the average person's mind - remember that. I digress (again). So, we're talking away. She's being flirtatious. I'm just being a right goober. All's well, as I'm more comfortable as a singing, dancing, talking, cooking, writing monkey, than as an accomplished suitor.
Or would be. On the flip side of the "mirror", there's another guy (not me), talking to another girl (not my friend), and it's a completely... well. It's a negative image. Whereas I crack jokes and stumble around in a conversation like a drunken sailor, this fellow greets curtly, and then goes back to what he's doing. The girl he's speaking to is his girlfriend, whom he alternates between browbeating and ignoring. She's in a bad mood, and gets snarky. There's a bit of back and forth, then suddenly the mirror breaks.
I spent the next two hours going around with my foot in my mouth. That is, ladies and gentlemen, how to be a giant dick. Pull your best friend into a feud with your woman and you will - without a doubt - find yourself in a world of such verbal lye, your skin will start flaking off.
My own personal lesson from this event is twofold. One, never joke when somebody's furious. Two, have a car. Every single trait a man can have, short of a horse cock, is secondary to transportation.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Grandfather
Where's your pride gone? You can't remember, it's the disease.
We jest about old age, but it's home to the one thief we cannot catch, cannot cure.
Where's he taken your mind?
We jest about old age, but it's home to the one thief we cannot catch, cannot cure.
Where's he taken your mind?
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Cold Midnight
I don't remember where it was, exactly. Somewhere well beyond rural Alberta, but not quite to the mountains. This whole place is foothills, so I can't exactly be surprised if I don't remember the precise location, or if it even mattered.
All I remember is the feeling. A moment of being torn from time, a moment unto itself an entire eternity. I can remember every single feeling of that evening, from the chill in my nasal cavity, right down to the butterflies in my stomach.
In the grand cavalcade of history, it was a moment without relevance, an instant passed over and passed on. But there, looking over that lake, I remembered so many things.
And, looking over that lake, I remember. The water was still - barely a ripple. The only smells were pine and the chilly dampness of fresh water. Frogs croaked. Dragonflies hummed. The sun was well past, but a faint glow was still on the horizon. Deep, electric blue. Just a hint of blush.
Everything just kind of... condensed, start to finish. My entire history, unwritten, boiled down to a single, eidetic, lakeside moment. Happiness. Sadness. And a lingering feeling of loss. Of passing.
It all moves forward, whether we want it to or not. Moments like that are precious few, reminders that we should reflect between lifetimes of riding the wave.
All I remember is the feeling. A moment of being torn from time, a moment unto itself an entire eternity. I can remember every single feeling of that evening, from the chill in my nasal cavity, right down to the butterflies in my stomach.
In the grand cavalcade of history, it was a moment without relevance, an instant passed over and passed on. But there, looking over that lake, I remembered so many things.
And, looking over that lake, I remember. The water was still - barely a ripple. The only smells were pine and the chilly dampness of fresh water. Frogs croaked. Dragonflies hummed. The sun was well past, but a faint glow was still on the horizon. Deep, electric blue. Just a hint of blush.
Everything just kind of... condensed, start to finish. My entire history, unwritten, boiled down to a single, eidetic, lakeside moment. Happiness. Sadness. And a lingering feeling of loss. Of passing.
It all moves forward, whether we want it to or not. Moments like that are precious few, reminders that we should reflect between lifetimes of riding the wave.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Good Tech
Discuss work, or the weather, and you're fine. You're normal.
Discuss computers, technology, and gadgets, and you're a geek.
Normally, I wouldn't be so bothered by this, except current trends continue to move technology more and more into the mainstream. Things like processors, graphics cards, and intelligent software are pretty much staples of every day life in North America. But discussing these day-to-day pieces of technology elicits little more than blank stares most of the time. It's all geek to most people.
This bothers me for two reasons:
1) Almost every person has or will at one point, rely on computers to accomplish something. The amount of understanding people require to use a computer is surprisingly spartan, but instead of pushing for education, trends are moving to greater levels of obfuscation - actually hiding the machinery behind the scenes, and presenting technology as something people can use without any understanding of how it functions. You don't need me to tell you that using something with no inkling of how it actually does its job is bad.
2) I actually like technology, and I dislike having a conversation about what I do, where I have to use grade 6 language to spell it out. Everyone who uses a computer should know what a processor, RAM, and an operating system does for them. I've yet to meet someone who drives a car and doesn't know how gas, oil, and temperature are factors in their cars correct operation. I'm completely blown away by how two pieces of technology can go in so completely different directions in the public mind. Almost everything about cars is common knowledge. Everything about computers remains techno-mumbo-jumbo. Smoke and mirrors behind swirling veils of conspiracy.
I'd like, one day, to be able to tap my watch to answer a telephone call. I'd like to be able to access the internet anywhere on the planet earth. But these are all just geek-think for this guy. Trying to explain how it would all work to other people usually just results in a blank stare, a "yeah, whatever," or a "I love my Apple."
Computers are, bar none, the single most powerful piece of intellectual and communication technology available to human kind right now. We might as well start treating them as such.
Discuss computers, technology, and gadgets, and you're a geek.
Normally, I wouldn't be so bothered by this, except current trends continue to move technology more and more into the mainstream. Things like processors, graphics cards, and intelligent software are pretty much staples of every day life in North America. But discussing these day-to-day pieces of technology elicits little more than blank stares most of the time. It's all geek to most people.
This bothers me for two reasons:
1) Almost every person has or will at one point, rely on computers to accomplish something. The amount of understanding people require to use a computer is surprisingly spartan, but instead of pushing for education, trends are moving to greater levels of obfuscation - actually hiding the machinery behind the scenes, and presenting technology as something people can use without any understanding of how it functions. You don't need me to tell you that using something with no inkling of how it actually does its job is bad.
2) I actually like technology, and I dislike having a conversation about what I do, where I have to use grade 6 language to spell it out. Everyone who uses a computer should know what a processor, RAM, and an operating system does for them. I've yet to meet someone who drives a car and doesn't know how gas, oil, and temperature are factors in their cars correct operation. I'm completely blown away by how two pieces of technology can go in so completely different directions in the public mind. Almost everything about cars is common knowledge. Everything about computers remains techno-mumbo-jumbo. Smoke and mirrors behind swirling veils of conspiracy.
I'd like, one day, to be able to tap my watch to answer a telephone call. I'd like to be able to access the internet anywhere on the planet earth. But these are all just geek-think for this guy. Trying to explain how it would all work to other people usually just results in a blank stare, a "yeah, whatever," or a "I love my Apple."
Computers are, bar none, the single most powerful piece of intellectual and communication technology available to human kind right now. We might as well start treating them as such.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
A blank slate
Normally, I'm a huge fan of change.
But lately, not so much.
Guess I'm just like any other person then. Change is great, as long as I'm the one making it.
Where will I fit in now? This complex skein doesn't seem to have room for me.
Though then again, neither did the old one.
But lately, not so much.
Guess I'm just like any other person then. Change is great, as long as I'm the one making it.
Where will I fit in now? This complex skein doesn't seem to have room for me.
Though then again, neither did the old one.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Irony
His face was lit in the doorway like a sculpture - something that spoke of emotion and history, but remotely. As if accessing any of that required a hammer and chisel, and plenty of time.
He stared down, eyes unmoving.
"Andrea," he said. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you."
She looked up at him with a face that was a mix of curiosity and irritation. He'd waited so long. Maybe now he'd open up.
The reaction was formulaic. Men always waited until the last moment before their conscience won.
He'd be hers tonight. Maybe forever.
"I want you to go." He said, voice soft. Calculated. As if the decision was as old as that stony face, but only now was it being told.
The house of cards came down.
"But... you don't... I thought..."
His face softened somewhat.
"You thought I was going to try and stop you."
"Yes."
"I won't."
"Why not?"
"Why would I?"
The illusion failed completely.
The loop had closed, and Andrea had found she'd fallen outside of it.
There were words, then. Empty words. The conversation had essentially ended with that question. Why would he? Why would anyone?
The human machine failed, then. There was no answer. At least not one provided in words.
Years later, she would stumble across the crux of it. All of her doubts came down to one simple statement of fact.
Because.
Because I choose to.
He stared down, eyes unmoving.
"Andrea," he said. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you."
She looked up at him with a face that was a mix of curiosity and irritation. He'd waited so long. Maybe now he'd open up.
The reaction was formulaic. Men always waited until the last moment before their conscience won.
He'd be hers tonight. Maybe forever.
"I want you to go." He said, voice soft. Calculated. As if the decision was as old as that stony face, but only now was it being told.
The house of cards came down.
"But... you don't... I thought..."
His face softened somewhat.
"You thought I was going to try and stop you."
"Yes."
"I won't."
"Why not?"
"Why would I?"
The illusion failed completely.
The loop had closed, and Andrea had found she'd fallen outside of it.
There were words, then. Empty words. The conversation had essentially ended with that question. Why would he? Why would anyone?
The human machine failed, then. There was no answer. At least not one provided in words.
Years later, she would stumble across the crux of it. All of her doubts came down to one simple statement of fact.
Because.
Because I choose to.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
The Zone
Gentlemen. I'm going back in.
Of all the games I've ever played, the STALKER series is still probably one of the most intriguing, if not one of the best. The first two games suffered from horrific crashes and bugs. But it seems like Call of Pripyat has all that under control. I've been in The Zone for the last three days, and so far, so good.
I think one of the reasons this franchise has survived is because of it's intriguing take on something both familiar and alien to us: the Zone of Exclusion around the Chernobyl reactor, but with a sci-fi twist that makes it so much more awesome.
The game could have no story-line whatsoever, but I'd still keep coming back just to be free to wander the zone and see what fucked-up marvels crop up next.
Monday, March 08, 2010
Toaster Boy
"My place, my definition, is entirely composed of my usefulness. I am akin to a toaster or dishwasher. I am appreciated solely for the service I render. Nothing more."
I fulfill a role. I do a task. If I can't perform, or if the job's finished, so is the relationship - usually.
This isn't my choice. But this is the world we live in.
I fulfill a role. I do a task. If I can't perform, or if the job's finished, so is the relationship - usually.
This isn't my choice. But this is the world we live in.
Saturday, March 06, 2010
Defect & Design
Threads err like steel cable,
a will made whole.
Into this form cast,
I am made sole.
The masters hand slips,
strings cut - fibers fail.
Whether by defect,
or by design.
This life is ending,
premature goal.
I am I are broken,
I am unwell.
Growth unheeded soil,
a fertile ore.
I am I are broken,
begin to swell.
Fear nothing toward,
the masters' quell.
I am I are broken,
by design fell.
a will made whole.
Into this form cast,
I am made sole.
The masters hand slips,
strings cut - fibers fail.
Whether by defect,
or by design.
This life is ending,
premature goal.
I am I are broken,
I am unwell.
Growth unheeded soil,
a fertile ore.
I am I are broken,
begin to swell.
Fear nothing toward,
the masters' quell.
I am I are broken,
by design fell.
Monday, March 01, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Overseas Castle Dashboard
It's been a bizarre two weeks.
A long road-trip, followed by what seems to be a never-ending list of bad news. I'm wondering when it's going to end.
I go back to work this week, and I'm not sure I'll be able to slip back into the old routine - at least, not as easily as I'd like.
Having two weeks off let me look forward somewhat to school, and beyond. The more I think about it, the more I get into my old mindset. Namely, I don't want to stay around here forever. It almost seems like every other minute I catch myself thinking about the road again.
And that's mostly what I've been doing lately. A lot of thinking. It's almost strange that I'm at a point in my life where I've got so much to look forward to. There's almost no time to look back and reflect. Or re-live, as the case may be. It's all just a furious charge uphill to something unknown, and only when I get there will I see if it was all worth it.
...that is, if I haven't passed it by completely.
A long road-trip, followed by what seems to be a never-ending list of bad news. I'm wondering when it's going to end.
I go back to work this week, and I'm not sure I'll be able to slip back into the old routine - at least, not as easily as I'd like.
Having two weeks off let me look forward somewhat to school, and beyond. The more I think about it, the more I get into my old mindset. Namely, I don't want to stay around here forever. It almost seems like every other minute I catch myself thinking about the road again.
And that's mostly what I've been doing lately. A lot of thinking. It's almost strange that I'm at a point in my life where I've got so much to look forward to. There's almost no time to look back and reflect. Or re-live, as the case may be. It's all just a furious charge uphill to something unknown, and only when I get there will I see if it was all worth it.
...that is, if I haven't passed it by completely.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Traveller
I left with the sun behind me, barely risen. It was early, yet I was wide awake, and yet had been for most of the night. I always feel like that before a new journey, a new adventure. Even something as mundane as driving takes on new dimensions when it's pushed to new limits.
I go over potential routes, shortcuts, stopping-off points, rest areas, and points of interest. The route is laid out once, twice, three times. But I never end up following it anyway. Secondary highways are my guilty pleasure. Little to no traffic. Nothing but farmsteads and median lines.
Gas is always a concern, and it's times like this that I'm reminded that my current vehicle, though trusty and powerful, cannot last in these new times. Gas is too expensive to be filling up every three or four hours.
It's always amusing to pull up to gas stations in small towns and old settlements. Often times the gas pumps were installed in the 70's or 80's, and still operate a manual switch. Most people are completely perplexed by the simple machinery. What hath the digital age wroth? Cannot we pump our own gas?
Whitecourt was a new experience. Divided highway that seemed to run forever. The nearest vehicles were a hundred clicks behind me and a hundred ahead. The only landmarks were bumps in the road, and the odd industrial mega-complex. The further north I went, the more garish they became. I suppose, in their drive to promote business, many of the more remote towns allowed big industry to set up shop wherever they could find the room.
I don't think they understood that seeing a belching, steel monster upon entering a town for the first time is not a good way to promote tourism.
Desolace followed. Unending fields, trees, valleys, and of course, the road. Despite my assumption that I was going somewhere remote, the road stayed constant, and in good repair.
Six hours in, fatigue was starting to set in, but the worst was over. Valleyview, then Nampa passed on my way to my destination. Finally, I arrived in Peace River, an unexpected jewel, hidden on the riverside. Grimshaw, upon the other side of the river, lay a mere half-hour away, but it would be here where I'd have my first proper meal away from home.
A weekend of laughing and drunkenness ensued. I'm reminded in my sobriety that good friends, despite distance, are always friends. We all grow old, but in a way, that just makes our old jokes even funnier. And allows for some new ones too.
The time to go came too soon, and again, I was packed and on the road. This time the sun was on my face, a final good-bye before it too was swallowed up by an endless wall of fog, starting around Ponoka and dogging me the whole way home.
I was thinking the weather was about to fail when, just before the city limits, the fog broke, and between to jaws of clouds, the sun sat, red and blazing, staring down right on me as I rolled in home.
What a trip.
I go over potential routes, shortcuts, stopping-off points, rest areas, and points of interest. The route is laid out once, twice, three times. But I never end up following it anyway. Secondary highways are my guilty pleasure. Little to no traffic. Nothing but farmsteads and median lines.
Gas is always a concern, and it's times like this that I'm reminded that my current vehicle, though trusty and powerful, cannot last in these new times. Gas is too expensive to be filling up every three or four hours.
It's always amusing to pull up to gas stations in small towns and old settlements. Often times the gas pumps were installed in the 70's or 80's, and still operate a manual switch. Most people are completely perplexed by the simple machinery. What hath the digital age wroth? Cannot we pump our own gas?
Whitecourt was a new experience. Divided highway that seemed to run forever. The nearest vehicles were a hundred clicks behind me and a hundred ahead. The only landmarks were bumps in the road, and the odd industrial mega-complex. The further north I went, the more garish they became. I suppose, in their drive to promote business, many of the more remote towns allowed big industry to set up shop wherever they could find the room.
I don't think they understood that seeing a belching, steel monster upon entering a town for the first time is not a good way to promote tourism.
Desolace followed. Unending fields, trees, valleys, and of course, the road. Despite my assumption that I was going somewhere remote, the road stayed constant, and in good repair.
Six hours in, fatigue was starting to set in, but the worst was over. Valleyview, then Nampa passed on my way to my destination. Finally, I arrived in Peace River, an unexpected jewel, hidden on the riverside. Grimshaw, upon the other side of the river, lay a mere half-hour away, but it would be here where I'd have my first proper meal away from home.
A weekend of laughing and drunkenness ensued. I'm reminded in my sobriety that good friends, despite distance, are always friends. We all grow old, but in a way, that just makes our old jokes even funnier. And allows for some new ones too.
The time to go came too soon, and again, I was packed and on the road. This time the sun was on my face, a final good-bye before it too was swallowed up by an endless wall of fog, starting around Ponoka and dogging me the whole way home.
I was thinking the weather was about to fail when, just before the city limits, the fog broke, and between to jaws of clouds, the sun sat, red and blazing, staring down right on me as I rolled in home.
What a trip.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
I dream I leave I travel
I booked two weeks off from work, starting this past sunday. I'll be hitting the road soon, though I don't imagine I'll be stopping anywhere for too long until I get to my destination.
The camera's in tow, as is both laptops and enough clothes for a week.
It already feels like I should be driving. The only hard part now is tricking myself into sleeping long enough that I'm not exhausted when I wake tomorrow.
The camera's in tow, as is both laptops and enough clothes for a week.
It already feels like I should be driving. The only hard part now is tricking myself into sleeping long enough that I'm not exhausted when I wake tomorrow.
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
Some Days
Some days, it's seems that I just walk in half-way through. I'm a stranger in everything. I walk in, unannounced and unwelcomed, turn everything on its head, for good or ill, and then leave.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
Madness
I've been called a lot of things in my life. A coward. A prude. An idiot.
But the one thing I'm proud of being is consistent. I don't turn my back on things easily. I'm not easily swayed. Bullheaded at times, yes. Untrusting as well, true.
But in my adult life, I've never turned my back on my friends or family.
And yet. And yet.
It's utter madness to even entertain the thought... but it's bizarre that a complete stranger can accost me in my place of employ, a place where I've served usefully and purposefully for years, and tell me I'm a good-for-nothing liar, a predator, and a cheat.
I really shouldn't even let it bother me, but I'm a bit of a history prodigy, and I can recall reading about a time when people would be shot and killed for uttering such horseshit.
Sanity is something I grapple with, sometimes on a daily basis. But looking out at the slice of this city, and indeed the culture of my people, I'm sincerely beginning to think that moderated insanity is the norm. Any aspirations for respect or normalcy are the exceptions.
I've been considering visiting a councilor. But from what I've heard, I would likely end up counseling the specialist, rather than the other way around.
It's madness. An inconsistent dance of two-faced juxtapositions, bi-polar ambitions, and a seriously lack of conscience. But I'm really the only one who sees it that way. Everyone else is alright with being a hair's-breadth away from being a walking contradiction.
Madness, I say. Madness.
But the one thing I'm proud of being is consistent. I don't turn my back on things easily. I'm not easily swayed. Bullheaded at times, yes. Untrusting as well, true.
But in my adult life, I've never turned my back on my friends or family.
And yet. And yet.
It's utter madness to even entertain the thought... but it's bizarre that a complete stranger can accost me in my place of employ, a place where I've served usefully and purposefully for years, and tell me I'm a good-for-nothing liar, a predator, and a cheat.
I really shouldn't even let it bother me, but I'm a bit of a history prodigy, and I can recall reading about a time when people would be shot and killed for uttering such horseshit.
Sanity is something I grapple with, sometimes on a daily basis. But looking out at the slice of this city, and indeed the culture of my people, I'm sincerely beginning to think that moderated insanity is the norm. Any aspirations for respect or normalcy are the exceptions.
I've been considering visiting a councilor. But from what I've heard, I would likely end up counseling the specialist, rather than the other way around.
It's madness. An inconsistent dance of two-faced juxtapositions, bi-polar ambitions, and a seriously lack of conscience. But I'm really the only one who sees it that way. Everyone else is alright with being a hair's-breadth away from being a walking contradiction.
Madness, I say. Madness.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Not sure what to make
I'm now applied for a post-secondary degree.
I'm still not quite sure what to make of it, if anything at all.
Communications? History and Philosophy of Science? Sounds good. Let's go.
I'm still not quite sure what to make of it, if anything at all.
Communications? History and Philosophy of Science? Sounds good. Let's go.
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