when the dust settles the children run amok

The Federal Government has fallen. Rise Lord Vader. I hope, for the sake of those that pressured today’s vote, that this election doesn’t result in another minority Liberal government. Because if it does, a great deal of money will have been spent placating arrogant egos, money that could have been spent on Canadians rather than individuals blinded by partisanship.

All one need do is dedicate some time exploring the insidious world of political blogging to discover that when it comes to political punditry, convolution reigns and little else. On websites around the net this evening, a multitude of pundits are licking their lips, anticipating the mud-slinging that will consume the next month. And when the dust settles, the child poverty rate in this country will still be second highest among the world’s most industrialized nations.

How should we treat with those Members of Parliament that gleefully strutted around the House today as if school kids drunk for the first time if all of this produces the same result?

Some interesting independent polling information by way of the CBC…

“The poll suggests voters have little faith in their federal political leaders and that an overwhelmingmajority - 73 per cent - don’t really expect politicians to keep their election promises once they are in power. Almost two-thirds of those asked said when it comes to honesty and integrity, all parties are pretty much the same. Yet 94 per cent said honesty and integrity in government are either somewhat or very important in determining how they plan to vote.”

In my opinion, a real government is one comprised of representatives that can put aside their partisanship to affect real change. Unfortunately, that sort of thinking is far more wishful than realistic, which makes you wonder why we keep voting most of these people into power. Maybe this time around we should make our displeasure with government itself be the focus, and not the redundant, empty promises of people that are little better than game show hosts. One thing that should not be overlooked is that this election could ultimately determine the future of Canada as we know it.

internal amusement lead to insanity

PTSD is pretty brutal, man. I went through counselling, sought constant psychiatric help against a myriad of melancholy and over the years I’ve been gaining a keen interest in that of human psychology. I am defiantly thinking about wanting to specialize in trauma and grief counselling.

These last few weeks, I’m reminded of the terrible stress and mental fatigue that thousands of us routinely subject to during times. The other day, a US soldier contemplating suicide left a very disturbing comment in the blogosphere. He explained that he was suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder, and that while in Iraq his wife had an affair. Thanks to the diligence of long time readers and IP tracking, the location of the solder was determined and, I am happy to report, he is getting some help.

We live in a world filled with endless noise, yet one that finds many of us feeling utterly alone. All of us, no matter what others may think, have, at some time, dealt with feelings of isolation, of anxiety, and hopelessness. And that is precisely why we must reach out to those that feel that there is no way out.

This headache is still with me. I see the world in closely spaced throbs. I’m sullen about my failure. I want to play beautifully for myself, but I play badly for her, to disappoint her, and to make her angry. I wanted to practice for myself in freedom from her constant criticism, with her in a different country, or dead. It's a sad but common story. Probably upwards of ninety percent of those who are or have been in a relationship can tell it. It's true that once you have reached this certain stage, sex doesn't happen. I would be writing about recreational sex as a band-aid or the most boring waspy sort of people doing boring waspy-ish kinds of rituals, but I'm not gonna. This entire situation of mine has now become very strange.

You know, just when I start to think that the internet is nothing but pornography, hackers, and whiners, something like this happens and I begin to see the value of the internet.

Living with depression, I know that what I need, and what a lot of other people need, is someone to talk to once in a while. That’s another great thing about the internet. You don’t have to be in the same room, or same country as the person who can help you. I am often asked why I enjoy blogging so much. And my response is one that is made possible not by what I write or believe, but by those who I know, who come here.

play a lot of pinball

It's called toast because that's where the word 'toast' came from. I highly doubt some ancient guys were running around saying 'damn man, you look toasted.' Another thing that has been boggling my mind for years is, 'Why if a woman sleeps with a lot of guys she's called a slut, but guys are heroes if they do it.' It seems pretty unfair to me. The reason is, both men and women are chauvinistic pigs, out for their own incarnate. It doesn't make a lot of sense. If you play a lot of pinball you get really, really good at it. Isn't it the same with sex? It's an excellent point, sure, but it just so happens that you'll never know why because people no longer have moral fibre these days, much like the time to contemplate how they get the caramel inside the Caramilk bar. I could tell you where Area 51 is, but I'm not going to.

counter missile defence lobbyists

I have urgent news for you. In light of the recently election-minded political landscape in Canadian federal politics (and before anyone asks, I think they're all soulless scum who'll cut your throat while fucking you ass-wise and then tax you on it) we are going to leave it to you. A one vote majority, 50+1, is all it takes to win. If you don't usually comment and want to remain a non-commenter, please, leave an anonymous one. Everything was put aside to send you this letter right now.

This week the corporate and defence lobbies launched their campaign to bring back missile defence for the upcoming federal election. They are paving the way for Stephen Harper’s Conservatives to include joining Bush’s Star Wars program in their platform.

Former Canadian Ambassador to the United States Derek H. Burney told a government committee this week that Canada should contact the Bush administration and “signal our willingness to re-engage on Ballistic Missile Defence.” His comments were carried on the front page of the Ottawa Citizen and in other news media.

"I think we need to form an Election Rapid Response strategy right away to counter any push by the corporate and defence lobbies, or by the Conservative Party, to restart missile defence talks." writes Steve Staples of the Polaris Institute and founder of ceasefire.ca. "We need your support in a very critical way." Please consider making a special contribution to our Election Rapid Response strategy by visiting ceasefire.ca.

There is evidence that the Conservative Party is preparing to make missile defence part of its platform. Earlier this month at a conference in Ottawa on “deep integration” with the United States, Conservative Party trade critic Ted Menzies said he thought Canada should restart missile defence talks as a way to get the Americans moving on softwood lumber (Derek H. Burney was the moderator of the panel).

Derek H. Burney is leading this Star Wars campaign. He is an influential corporate lobbyist for Tom d’Aquino’s CEO group, the Canadian Council of Chief Executives. He’s also the former CEO of Canada’s largest defence contractor, CAE Inc., which is helping to build the missile defence system. But he is best known as a chief architect of the Free Trade Agreement when he was Brian Mulroney’s Chief of Staff.

Clearly, this is all part of a well–orchestrated and well-funded campaign to get Canada to join missile defence and achieve even further military integration with the United States.

Burney’s presentation to the government committee was on behalf of the Calgary-based defence lobby group, the Canadian Defence and Foreign Affairs Institute (CDFAI). The CDFAI receives funding from weapons corporations, including General Dynamics, the fifth largest defence contractor in the United States. The CDFAI also receives funding from Tom d’Aquino’s Canadian Council of Chief Executives.

The need to act now to ensure that our victory on missile defence holds firm and to push Canada away from Bush’s war machine. Ask tyourself now what this means to you, and consider making a special election campaign gift right now.
Here are three-point plans for the upcoming election:

~ The organization of an Election Rapid Response Team of experts and activists. This team will monitor the election and speak directly to journalists, candidates, and especially voters about the dangers of Canadian involvement in missile defence and U.S. war fighting.

~ The production of information flyers and talking points for citizens to take to candidates meetings and to distribute to their organizations.

~ Use of a newly redesigned web site, ceasefire.ca, so that people can press the political parties to make commitments against missile defence, and to promote Canada’s role in promoting international peace and security – especially through UN peacekeeping.

With your donations, research, conference calls, press releases, and information flyers for voters can be produced to help make our vision for a safer tomorrow reality. I will report back on any developments and keep you informed about the campaign. Thank you so much for your commitment to Canada’s real security.

Donations by mail and inquiries may be directed to:
Polaris Institute
Attn. Karen Craine , Program Assistant
180 Metcalfe Street, Ottawa ON K2P 1P5 Canada
Tel. 613 237-1717 Fax 613 237-3359
www.ceasefire.ca/ www.polarisinstitute.org

continuum theory of theories

"The artist seeks to destroy the stability by which society lives, for the sake of drawing closer to the ideal. Society seeks stability, the artist, infinity."

So, my dear readers may be wondering... did the good things happen yet? Well, not quite yet, but things are generally on the upswing I think. We'll assume for now that bullshit posts are better than none.

I’ve learned from my evening retail job that quantity rips quality a new asshole. There you go. Ahem. Tuckered out from a continuum of busy days along with the day job at the office and needed hours of sleep, it leave me with little trust in my ability to distinguish between things, for example.

The demons are in my head and they say things like you write to much about yourself, and your shit ain’t all that great anyway. Your house is a mess, your sink is a mess, and your life is a mess. Oh but do the demons know all the right things to say. Last night I was worse than a trucker. I’m left feeling not sad, not actually happy either, which is the best time to talk about the demons. Hardly anyone at the office and that means that I get to do paperwork all day and guess what. Not much paperwork to do today.

"We sought for that unitary state of divine harmony, an existence in which only the sense of wonder remains, and all fear gone."

True Story. The other day I had a animated discussion with someone about an ancient evil kabuki mask that had came back to haunt me after I had destroyed it. Somehow my listener found the logic behind it questionable beyond reason. There are certain widely accepted beliefs at which I snub my nose, especially about the paranormal experience I've shared. No amount of discourse or formulae can convince me of their validity. I do not believe, and this has nothing to do with my religious beliefs which are next to nil, in the Big Bang Theory for example. And why should I? Hundreds of years go by with humans of a civilisation believing and basing their understanding of the physical world on a theory which is eventually decapitated in one fell swoop by some accidental discovery: A dream had while falling asleep on the toilet could do it.

The scientific process? More malarky. What happens is this: you have an idea first, and if you think it's a pretty cool idea, and if you have FAITH in it, you scrounge around for the magical numbers to build it. But it's all based on faith and imagination first, and the logic comes later. So we have these proofs of theories that we use, like electricity and radio waves and trips to the moon, but I imagine that if our understanding of math and physics had evolved by a different set of rules, we would have a whole different set of inventions and innovations governing our lives. It didn't HAVE to be this way.

Every scientific discovery, on top of giving us a building block for more theoretical structures, imposes limits and restrictions on our understanding. Take Gravity. It's almost impossible to imagine that we could exist as a post-industrial society without the notion of gravity, yet if the idea of gravity weren't around for so long, being a curious and imaginative species, we would have come up with a different discovery that would have been equally as important to the advancement of our technology. Maybe all our inventions would be based on Standard Particle Theory.

global march for the climate with troop 666

Ottawa Area Actions, Events & Meetings: Everyone is Welcome. Join the GLOBAL MARCH FOR THE CLIMATE in Montreal, December 3rd.

A United Nations Climate Change Conference is meeting in Montreal from Nov. 28-Dec. 9. March on Dec. 3 to demand strong action against climate change. People will be marching around the world, and Montreal is at the source.Take a bus from Ottawa to the march...

Date: Dec 3, 2005

Time: Meet at 9:30 a.m., and the bus leaves at 10 a.m. for the 12 noon rally. The bus leaves Montreal at 4 p.m. should be back for 6 p.m.

Where: St. Laurent Shopping Centre (near highway 417, St. Laurent exit) in front of Sears. Meet at the north-west corner of the parking lot, at Ogilvie/St. Laurent Blvd.

Cost: $16.00 per seat

To reserve: Contact dougthorne@sympatico.ca. If you book a seat, you are responsible for your ticket so only firm commitments please! For more information on the march at 3dec2005.org/Montreal-2005-United-Nations.

I've been busy cross posting this entire entry, for those with interests held in the fight for a future, or without, please consider the fact that you are living in world of violent legacy against our planet. Take some time to consider looking up this roadtrip into peaceful protest (least not chaos) and lend your support. As for me, I only wish I could.

Really.

I smelled my girlfriends head, which I kiss often as an excuse to inhale her halo, gives me a kind of terrified joy--the simultaneous death of my own ego with the warmth of her soft temples, and a fear of uncontrollable events that could harm her in spite of my protection.

I have a morbid preoccupation with death, which was planned upon with a silly adolescent flair for romance and effecting performance, only gets bigger and more real and awful. I don't want to die, because I don't want to leave her, but my own death is a given eventuality, and I'll have to learn to accept it. Hers, however, I can never accept. She is alive now, and she will be alive forever, whether or not I'm around to nod in approval. I want to work towards giving her this imperfect world, to be sucked on by greedy leeches and drowned by melting glaciers, but she will live forever because she is good and beautiful.

Anytime I get up before sunrise and suffer through the groggy, half-nauseas feeling of being up earlier than my body wants to be, I think about those days. More than just think about them, really. It actually feels like I’m getting ready to go on a big adventure as a member of a disorderly bunch of misfits known as Boy Scout Troop 666.

Today the adventure is work.

to the unionized people of public services

Yeah I know I’m pretty lame. But in my defense, there must be like one lost person lurking here or something so, if I’m not all that entertaining at least it doesn’t matter to a lot of people. December 6th 1989, a misogynous man named Marc Lépine killed 14 young women at the Montreal Polytechnic University. This was claimed by Lépine himself through a suicide as a gesture against women and feminists.

Now 16 years later, a man has written an email to a women group saying he will finish Lépine’s job. The police have arrested him and found many firearms in his appartment. Crazy is what it is.

Amnesty’s 10,000 voices is a campaign to help stop violence against women all over the world. Please check it out. You may be saying something like, Yeah... Sometimes unions are a good thing. Much like 10,000 Voices of Amnesty. They are designed to ensure minimal comfort and keep us from abuse. But more often than not, unions turn into a mass of egotistical childish beings who seem to forget that there is a world besides their own selves. That is where unions become a bad thing.

Now, the unionized people in the public services, in this case OC Transpo, Ottawa's own public tranportation (maybe even in other cases; schools, health systems, daycare, etc) are imposing strikes (which means service is paralysed) in order to get a bigger salary and salary equity (which means that men and women are paid the same for the same job and that’s a necessary demand). But what does this mean? It means that people much like me who have to work there asses off to make ends meet, have to spend more days trying to make more money during those days to travel. It means that parents have to miss work because they cannot bring their child to daycare; it means that, except for urgent patients and surgeries, the health system is paralysed. I will have to hurl this over until the beginning of December. We'll see, won't we.

On another topic, someone jumped in front of the bus. It’s always spine-chilling when that happens. You’d be surprised how often it does though.

i have been insane in the membrane

I used to be a self-proclaimed chain-smoking alcoholic. Until I found my way through blogging about my manic depression, and my intricate escapades, my art, other worldly news, and anything and everything else that goes through my head. Some have said I have written articles on fascinating subjects, such as dealing with multiple cognitive distortions to my childhood obsession with inanimate objects. I have done this for the past few years, making development in the blogosphere, and I have no intentions on stopping; well, with a few exceptions: "...Only if I went completely crazy, so much so that I just couldn't handle it anymore, or if someone offered me a lot of money to stop doing it, or buys my blog. If one day I become famous and no longer have the time to do it anymore; I would probably still do it because I would be ten times more self-obsessed."

Sometimes you lose your mind and there’s nothing your friends can do about it or your lawyers, your loved ones or Emmanuel Lewis. You just do your thing and hope nobody gets hurt or you don't get the shit beat out of you. I’m writing this because I have lost my mind. I have been insane in the membrane.
Nothing in this is true so I can tell you about the time when someone slipped something in my drink. Someone escorted me to the beach and watched as I stared into the sunset. We each had a beer then a little elf bounded his way down the cliffs of isla vista and said

"Hi boys, would you like to have my magical balloon of love?"

I had never seen an elf before and there he was in his felt suit and big red nose and his basket of gold and pointy shoes with bells on the toes and he looked at us like a dog would, with a cocked head and blush on his cheeks. Were those whiskers?

The next thing I knew, I could see my body against the rocks down below, I could see the sea and the sunset. The beer did not work so much as dulling my visuals, digitizing the waves into pixilated forms of smoothness with digital colours of green, red, and blue. I relished the sand as my hand had released, watching as it turned into ashes like satellite feed from overseas in the middle of a night time firefight. But it was sunset. Just beige squares. Just black.

here comes a whole lot of nothing

Hang on, here’s comes a whole lot of nothing…It was pretty gray and wet out all day, last night hell froze over and within minutes I knew I belonged. So I just stayed in and tended the neglected. Watered the plants, did the dishes, and took a long nap in my neglected bed. I love my bed. And called the girlfriend.

I’ve just had the unfortunate experience of being overwhelmed. How little precious time I have – I’m becoming the worst of all ideal boyfriends. If you happen to ever consider me in anyway, just don’t bother, all of it has made me sick to my stomach. Perhaps I’m just spoiled because I live in the first world of complete standard compliance, but there’s simply no excuse for this sort of thing. Now, you might think that I’m being a pompous ass by suggesting this, but the truth is I should be hurled from the nearest bridge or doused with lighter fluid and burned.

the joyfulness of man shortens his days

The joyfulness of man shortens his days just as the misery of man prolongs them. I would say my writing style, as evident in that last quote, is a defining part of my online personality. Actually, I found that quote on a fortune cookie. Other things you’ll find other than your no friend of mine is the employed streams of consciousness in a unique format.

I am not a sentimental person in writing, at least I try not to be, just because my inner workings are so completely silly. Yesterday someone knocked on my front door sending me to my feet with a scowl. This is not a respectable way to greet me in the middle of the night, no matter how dismal, or a winged messenger, no matter how towel-tongued and murky-eyed. But when you learn to embrace my bare-footed slobber, the world will accept it and expect it of me.

I said, sorry I’m not writing you back on there but I really wanted to blog so I hope you understand.And no you weren’t rambling in your message, in fact it was nice to learn a little about you. I get a lot of emails (not really) and I always like to hear what people are up to or where they’re from. Sometimes I get questions from people who often frame the questions with "I know this sounds dumb, but..."
I need a new type of art in my life, it should involve more music and camerawork and costuming and dancing girls and midgets and elephants and etc. Meanwhile with blogging all I need is a keyboard, a blogger, electricity, and someone to write to.

Say, here’s a fantastic piece for you today entitled Canada’s Retreat from Laws of War, which makes some fantastic points. For example…

"During operations in Afghanistan, Canadian soldiers were ordered by their American commander to lay anti-personnel landmines around their camp. When the Canadians refused — citing our obligations under the 1997 Landmines Convention — American soldiers, who are not subject to the same restrictions, laid the mines instead.

The fact that American, rather than Canadian, soldiers laid the mines makes it possible for the Canadian government to argue that there was no violation of the convention. Our government interprets the prohibition on the "use" of anti-personnel mines as not extending to reliance on mines laid by others — providing that Canadian soldiers do not request the mines be laid.

In my view, this is a strained interpretation and hardly one that reinforces our claim to be the leading proponent of the total elimination of anti-personnel mines. For the same reason, I am concerned that Canadian forces at Bagram Airbase near Kabul have benefited from the protection provided by anti-personnel landmines laid by Soviet forces during the 1980s.

Then, there is the issue of detainees. In January 2002, Canadian soldiers captured suspected Taliban and al-Qaeda fighters in Afghanistan and handed them over to U.S. forces. The transfers took place despite the fact that U.S. Defence Secretary Donald Rumsfeld had publicly refused to convene the "status determination tribunals" required by the Third Geneva Convention of 1949, to investigate whether individuals captured on the battlefield are prisoners of war. Canada, by choosing to hand the detainees over, also violated the Third Geneva Convention. The transfers did not, however, violate Canada’s obligations under the 1984 Torture Convention, since there was no reason to believe that U.S. forces would mistreat the detainees."

it is quiet beneath the breeze.

I was laying down on a etch-a-sketch of grass. The Autumn deepens and the field abounds with ages red and brown. Because the grasses are sleeping they no longer right themselves after being trampled. So they give us a glimpse into the secret lives of us field animals -- where we meet up at the creek, where we go out to have a drink, and where we lie down to have some sleep. Like iron filings describing lines of magnetism. The direction of the pressed grass reveals the angles of travel to the orientation of our supine.

the words of mindless motor fixed action patterns

Our usual invisible rabbit warrens marked by bent blades. Today the field remembers every passage. The abandoned railway is a highway full of coyotes. A scat of dotted trails in favour of your cover. The wet gullies on either side of the track meant for new lumber. Like the rabbits, if you approach too close, they’ll thump this dirt into rapid staccato bursts. They are issuing a warning to us and simultaneously sounding a retreat for their mates.We are all animals composed largely of symptoms. We are seldom seen just as a shadow slipping beneath the surface of the creek. You’ll hear them thump and splash. You’ll hear them come and crash. Your teeth-marks stump.In a shallow dale we see a dormitory, half a dozen side by side. Pockets of flat grass pushed into rounded depressions by mamalian nestling. In the nearby lee of old tree is a mud terrace by the river. It is a place to congregate, with every gnarled old frame. You can see why we choose it.The birds are gone. They have flown south and it is quiet beneath the breeze.

don’t you wish that you were me?

"Foreign Children"
Little Indian, Sioux or Crow,
Little frosty Eskimo,
Little Turk or Japanee,
O! don’t you wish that you were me?

You have seen the scarlet trees
And the lions over seas;
You have eaten ostrich eggs,
And turned the turtles off their legs.

Such a life is very fine,
But it’s not so nice as mine:
You must often, as you trod,
Have wearied, not to be abroad.

You have curious things to eat,
I am fed on proper meat;
You must dwell beyond the foam,
But I am safe and live at home.

Little Indian, Sioux or Crow,
Little frosty Eskimo,
Little Turk or Japanee,
O! don’t you wish that you were me?”

born in a dead man's town

It makes no difference to the spider for whom shall die, but she'd rather be a lacewing, than a house, than a fly. After the clock was stuck at midnight, she scourged the city streets to the countryside, looking on her toes looking on her knees to whom was big enough for her glass half filled.

A very long name wrapped itself beyond the horizon, slowing down perceptibly at each of the poles, then gaining speed and doubling over at the prime meridian--upon satellite inspection it could be seen that this unpronounceable long name was actually a short, one-syllable word repeated a thousand times a minute without breath by some lost crazy girl until the earth became a ball of butcher's twine.

There’s a fire truck parked outside. Too bad I just cannot be alone out. There is this big act of not seeming completely anxious and nervous. Being alone will not make everyone notice you ten times more and the fact that you will look like the token of strange. Doesn't help much. It's probably a good thing that this place… is on fire.

I erased a few false starts after trying to write about something I’ve learned it’s better not to write about. So imagine you’re reading a beautifully written, thoughtful post full of romance and heartbreak about the gorgeous girl. If it doesn’t make you feel a little sad, then you’re not doing it right.

“I won’t be able to read your site anymore,” some would say. “Can you make it so I can’t go there? Can you ban me or something?”

“Yes.”

Please don’t ask me to explain.

Yesterday was veteran's day or as we Canadians, even maybe the Aussies or Brits call it, Remembrance Day.

I was impressed how it's not really a "day" where you put the old flag up next to the mail box, or get the day off, but I suspect in most of Canada, the good people actually think about the horrors of war and give considerate thought to the veterans who died for them.

What did you do? Apparently, we buy a red poppy from a old vet for a buck or two because we feel sorry for the guy and pin it to our jacket, shirt or cap and it's like the ribbons that we sometimes wear except not as cheesy. Dare I say, it came across to me as classy.

We talk a lot about supporting the troops but I wonder if they ever feel like sometimes the best way to support the young men and women who volunteer for the service is to *not* send them to every single war that a few men in power usher them off to as living pawns. For such an intelligent and diverse nation, I’m often shocked at how simpleminded so many can be, especially when it comes to something as serious and life-changing as war.

What I learned from the Canadians was that even though far fewer of them have perished on the battlefield, that they respect life so much that they really respect those who will give their lives in the name of their nation. Therefore they respect war so much that they would hesitate from entering into it for foolish reasons.

On Remembrance Day I believe its right to say that I think we are wrong to be in Iraq. I feel like the best thing we can do for our soldiers, who we support, is to get them the hell out of there, especially our national guardsmen who should be defending our borders.I believe that you can support the troops and disagree with certain wars, this one being a foolish one. And I believe that in a free country, especially in America, it is not only your right to stand up and disagree with the leadership when you have a valid point, but it is your duty as a patriot.

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow. Between the crosses, row on row,That mark our place; and in the sky. The larks, still bravely singing, fly. Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago. We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,Loved, and were loved, and now we lie. In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:To you from failing hands we throw. The torch, be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die. We shall not sleep, though poppies grow. In Flanders fields

i think i'm getting dumber. i'm not sure.

This is a personal "hello" to everyone who wanted to be mentioned or replied to. There are a lot of you, so I've decided to combine my efforts and put them all into one giant answer. Yes, I do read your e-mails and letters. Sometimes I rub them all over my naked body too. Did I say that out loud? I have to apologize for the slacking that's been taking place on my web site. It seems the computer guru is working away for the gum balls instead or gold chocolate coins. I mean, who wouldn't?

is so great

Shameless as the world turns. Beware as things have changed. The universe has been knocked out of submission and yet I've got this funny feeling, like I've been here before. Like we've been sick like this before. Like I've seen you naked a million times. I know what you look like pretty baby. When it rarely is. Shameless. Can you tame this?

is so divine.

The meeting was already in transition and my objectives had been already complete but without avail. When she reached the end of the sheet of paper, I took a final glance, and watched the her lift her eyebrow and snap it slightly. Afterwards, she gave one final glance in return. I returned the glance between the four of us and crossed the intersections of investigative eyes and looked out the window. I had been given a small project because they had discovered I had a knack for the arts. I had failed to chronicle anything of value and they knocked me out, two at a time

"I don't like it."

one

"You’re graphic is politically incorrect."

two

"Who cares anyway?" I thought. "What difference does it make?" But I have to admit, I felt oddly relieved.

three... you're out.

I work in the shadows of the wondrous, sensual, intricate. Above the mouse-maze of city streets. I’m shown to an empty cubicle and given some papers to sign. One of them is a promise not to talk about my work here. The window in front of me is tinted green. A flat, lifeless hue, a shade lighter than the window frame. The floor is covered with worn, green industrial carpet that probably didn’t look clean even when it was new. My desk is gray, and my chair is black.

The intercom crackles from time to time, announcing the start of a meeting, or calling someone to the phone. "Please dial extension six-six-zero, Dane, extension six-six-zero." Otherwise, it’s silent.

The day drags on, but I’m grateful to be working, and I don’t complain. I drink coffee and use the bathroom, instead. I’m hidden on the quiet side of an office that covers the entire floor, and it’s a five minute walk to the men’s room—or so it seems. I’ve gone there several times more than necessary and the trip gets shorter every time. Five minutes. Three minutes. Two minutes. Down to one by the end of the day.

I am the majestic in the dusk, standing bold and stark against the denim blue twilight. I can see inside the offices from here and inside the building is as dull as where I sit. Office workers doing office work.

Around four o’clock, I lean over my desk, and look down at the street. The sidewalks are filled with people. They cluster at the intersections, waiting to cross. Some of them can’t wait. The city busses have fat numbers on their roofs, and I watch numbers muscle their way through a pack of jaywalkers. A taxi’s horn echoes, and another answers from further away.

I believe one of the buildings next to me is much like this one. I can see easily through its sheer, but there isn’t much to see. No criminals plotting crimes, no businessmen entertaining hookers. Just a guy on the edge of his seat, watching his monitor, and another, like me, looking out his window.

I work here tomorrow, too.

I don’t expect it’ll be much different, but if it is, I’ll let you know.

start humming along with me

I am confused for everything but what I am. I had a dream I was sliding down a stair bannister that kept going, forty, fifty stories down. At the bottom was a place in the middle of Earth similar to hell I suppose. There was a dark stage, and aisles so narrow that you could not walk in between the seats. You got around by crawling on your stomach underneath the seats.

I crawled right up to the stage which was raised, and in the side of the short platform wall there was a small door. I knew that this door would offer no escape, but there was no room to turn around so I had no choice. I went in. The space underneath the stage was occupied by featureless life forms, crowded together, pinkish beating blobs. They wanted to eat my sexuality and my soul, to feed evil in the world above.

The spring-like weather squished me through a time machine and put me smack dab in the middle of the merry old town. The only thing that pulled me back was the blinding sun setting thorugh the window pane. Wondering, I found myself in thunder-dome full of mis-shaped yellow balloons. And there she was on centre stage, in her yellow dress of little white poky dots, in a daze.

A few days ago, Mooky was visiting from North Bay and he said to me there’s a party going-on and everyone is invitied. I attended the gathering of dance music with drunks screaming and laughing within their own circles. There was banging in the hallway and the people of the stairwell called to each other from floor to floor. The building can get pretty noisy from time to time, but they’ve grown used to it, but for some reason I found it particularly intrusive.

Tired, agitated, frustrated, and progressively angry.
"Relax," they told me. "It’s not that bad."

I was reminded that my hearing isn’t very good, and that the noises were, indeed, that bad.

"You don’t hear that? You don’t think that’s bad?"

"What do you want me to do?"

I mumbled to myself, "...another restless night."

"You can’t complain to drunks about noise," he’d say. "It only makes things worse."

Teeming with excitement. Feels to me at times I catch myself thinking... about other... less important forms of life such as... mutating viruses...... I feel guilty....... I am putting her to sleep..... and humming....... and she starts humming along............. with me. I love it. More is better. Less means that something is wrong.

sneakers are my new passion

Welcome home.

Made some money. Played a little music.

There is a bird. There is a nice bed.

Practised some guitar, a personal piece.

What did you do?

Man O’ Man, What did you do?

That time
change.

Dark.

It’s good to be home. Mind you I’m never there. Every time I go on the job I get a little less fond of it and miss being away from home more. Casual day at the office today. This is good, because they do it right here. Casual day means high-end business casual which usually translated to ‘wear your suit and maybe you can loosen your tie (but only a quarter of an inch)’. Sometimes people wear jeans and cowboy boots on Fridays. Incidentally, I don’t own any cowboy boots (though, it’s a rarely known fact that in grade ten I actually went shopping for some and was thankfully saved from crushing sartorial shame by a faulty magnetic strip on my debit card). Sneakers are my new passion and maybe some Friday they’ll be a lot of fun at the office, what
with all the sneaking.