Everyone has at least one memory or two in their lives where all thinking, all worries, everything in the world both good and bad ceases to exist except for the one moment and the overwhelming feeling of just existing. The last time such a feeling came over me was nearly 18 months ago. I was walking home at around 2 AM. It was winter. I remember the heavens opening up, and it desperately pouring snow onto the ground with as much haste as possible. I don’t recall what I was doing at the time, but I do remember a silence so profound that even time itself seemed to have stopped. All that was heard was the steady rush of snowflakes colliding softly with the ground. It sounded like a roar to my soul. The snow was untouched, unspoiled. Even the streets themselves were devoid of tracks made my cars or humans. It was dark, but the sky was blood red. The odd lighting meshed weirdly into a reddish glow like some kind of soft-core house of ill repute. It was both demonic and heavenly at the same time. Scary and serene, but either way beautiful. And I remember being absorbed into a sense of perfection so perfect. I felt alive. All my senses were stimulated. My touch felt the snowflakes and the cold weather, my sight the beautiful scene, my ears the roar of a blanket being laid out one molecule at a time, my taste and scent, the snow falling, and the clean clean air. However even more profound was the sensation of being part of life. In this moment all that mattered was the moment. It was beautiful and it was perfect.
Today I once again came across the same sensation.
I was at the gym with Calvin. I was pleased to discover that my quest to get back into shape had started producing results. I’d managed to spend more time on my cardio than before, and I was lifting heavier weights for longer repetitions. We topped off the workout with a game of “cat and mouse” which consists of trying to tap your opponent’s shoulders in sparing fashion. When I exited the gym I was soaking wet with sweat, high on endorphins, tired, and content. I bade Calvin goodbye and began walking home. It was raining this time.
I had no umbrella, and my earpieces were playing “Everywhere to Me” by Michelle Branch. The rain was hard but not too hard. The air was cool, perfect for a cool down after a hard hour and a half of training. The rain was slightly warmer, and dribbled down my face, into my beard, my t-shirt, my arms, my shorts, my socks. My first reaction was fear of my ipaq in my pocket getting damaged by the rain, but after a few short moments my body gave into nature’s massage, and a feeling of euphoria came over me. I was walking, breathing deeply, absorbing the sensations. Jerry Lewis “Great Balls of Fire.” As I continued my walk, I saw people with umbrellas and a few who like me were braving the rain. I saw two souls on the way home with whom I shared the same stupid grin. I realized that I wasn’t the only one who had reached this temporary state of perfect existence. Again time stopped. Cars passed, but they didn’t exist more than was necessary in the reality which I had achieved. Traffic lights changed, but did not hinder me, the people in my way parted. I was at the center of the universe, and it felt great.
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
What falls off the tidbits of imagination are gleanings of real things which only seem to be what they truly are. Thus in the presence of this knowledge, I come to wondrous conclusions aboot the way things should have been. I ponder upon events in the past, the things which will shape the present, the future. I think of a mishmash of chaotic images which float violently in the recesses of existence as I perceive it. And as I assemble these pictures, these flashes, this pain, I realize that there exists an extreme in the domain of thoughts. Indeed the extreme exists in the fashion that time spent on thoughts, have a tendency to creep into hours better spent conducting other useful activities, such as sleeping, eating, enjoying life. Other solutions for these scenarios are found in the fact that, writing as dubiously as the human heart is capable of at its fullest potential, brings nothing but pathetic literature into the world. I believe that my grasp of grammar in the English language is flawed. Fetcher la vache.
And so with that I think I’ll trash this ridiculous exercise in the absurd.
And so with that I think I’ll trash this ridiculous exercise in the absurd.
Saturday, July 24, 2004
My eyes opened, and the remnants of a hazy dream involving sex and forgiveness fled into the dark corners of my memory where it would be remembered someday or forever lost. I blinked. My head was woozy. 5:22 AM. The alarm was set to go off in eight minutes. I’d beaten it. It was going to be a good day.
As consciousness began to reinstate itself I began my morning routine. Halfway through it the phone rang, and I answered it.
“Outside in thirty.” Right.
I finished the business of the morning, and packed my bag. I opened my front door, and exited. I was met at the stair. No words were spoken. We descended.
The air was cool. The sky was mostly clear and blue. Observations about this optimal weather were made. Light chitchat. Our ride was late. I took advantage of the moment to return briefly to my apartment for a last minute defecation. My stomach informed me that this might be a difficult day. I took note.
Our ride apologized for his tardiness, and we were on our way. We would have been on time if not for the city worker bus parked at the entrance of the park. It was moved, and in we went. Our teammates arrived. Our’s was the first race. A feeling of sleepiness overtook me only to be broken at the start of the race where I awoke with passion and fury. I paddled furiously, angrily. I paddled fast. I paddled hard. Thus it was with all of us. Our resolve heightened by the beat of the drum. Muscles working furiously. Burning. Our rowing was chaotic. Our technique uncontrolled. As we crossed the finish line all of my energy was expelled in a violent shriek of a war cry. It was half a cry of victory, half anger. We came last. Our time sucked.
Our next race was to be in the afternoon. I went home. Bought and took some Imodium AD. Had breakfast. Passed out.
Forty five minutes later I was awake again, and it took me time to shake off the fatigue. It was only when I got off the metro that I began to feel awake enough to do this again. The sun was out, and began beating steadily against my body. The temperature was cool, but it was harsh.
It was then that I found out that the morning race had been more successful than anticipated. I was pleased. One of my accomplishments had been fulfilled. I still had a few more to accomplish. A new resolve instituted itself. There was hype.
We discussed technique and strategy. This time we were going to do it slower. More controlled. Try to push more water behind us with each stroke. The tactic was a dubious one to me, but my experience in the boat was much less than the others so I had no say in the matter.
We got in the boat. I was calm. And the race began.
Once again my body was a machine working furiously, pumping hard, but this time as instructed, slower. More controlled. More emphasis on the precise motions which had been instructed to me. It made sense, and I felt the boat glide further with less effort. The wind was against us but it blew with futility. We rowed hard. We flew. We came fourth this time, beating our previous time by three and a half seconds. It was a great feeling, and the scream which escaped my lungs, was one of genuine triumph. I was certain that objective number two was fulfilled.
Now I am at home. I am tired. I was not programmed to wake up this early in the morning. I have some remorse at the thought of having to give up my Saturday night to my weariness, but I am left with a feeling of contentment, satisfaction. Dragon boating is fun. I’m glad to be doing it. I hope we continue to improve.
Tomorrow is the final. We will race in heats. Tomorrow we will be placed with people of our level. Tomorrow will be harder. Tomorrow will be fun. I just hope I don’t have to wakeup so early.
As consciousness began to reinstate itself I began my morning routine. Halfway through it the phone rang, and I answered it.
“Outside in thirty.” Right.
I finished the business of the morning, and packed my bag. I opened my front door, and exited. I was met at the stair. No words were spoken. We descended.
The air was cool. The sky was mostly clear and blue. Observations about this optimal weather were made. Light chitchat. Our ride was late. I took advantage of the moment to return briefly to my apartment for a last minute defecation. My stomach informed me that this might be a difficult day. I took note.
Our ride apologized for his tardiness, and we were on our way. We would have been on time if not for the city worker bus parked at the entrance of the park. It was moved, and in we went. Our teammates arrived. Our’s was the first race. A feeling of sleepiness overtook me only to be broken at the start of the race where I awoke with passion and fury. I paddled furiously, angrily. I paddled fast. I paddled hard. Thus it was with all of us. Our resolve heightened by the beat of the drum. Muscles working furiously. Burning. Our rowing was chaotic. Our technique uncontrolled. As we crossed the finish line all of my energy was expelled in a violent shriek of a war cry. It was half a cry of victory, half anger. We came last. Our time sucked.
Our next race was to be in the afternoon. I went home. Bought and took some Imodium AD. Had breakfast. Passed out.
Forty five minutes later I was awake again, and it took me time to shake off the fatigue. It was only when I got off the metro that I began to feel awake enough to do this again. The sun was out, and began beating steadily against my body. The temperature was cool, but it was harsh.
It was then that I found out that the morning race had been more successful than anticipated. I was pleased. One of my accomplishments had been fulfilled. I still had a few more to accomplish. A new resolve instituted itself. There was hype.
We discussed technique and strategy. This time we were going to do it slower. More controlled. Try to push more water behind us with each stroke. The tactic was a dubious one to me, but my experience in the boat was much less than the others so I had no say in the matter.
We got in the boat. I was calm. And the race began.
Once again my body was a machine working furiously, pumping hard, but this time as instructed, slower. More controlled. More emphasis on the precise motions which had been instructed to me. It made sense, and I felt the boat glide further with less effort. The wind was against us but it blew with futility. We rowed hard. We flew. We came fourth this time, beating our previous time by three and a half seconds. It was a great feeling, and the scream which escaped my lungs, was one of genuine triumph. I was certain that objective number two was fulfilled.
Now I am at home. I am tired. I was not programmed to wake up this early in the morning. I have some remorse at the thought of having to give up my Saturday night to my weariness, but I am left with a feeling of contentment, satisfaction. Dragon boating is fun. I’m glad to be doing it. I hope we continue to improve.
Tomorrow is the final. We will race in heats. Tomorrow we will be placed with people of our level. Tomorrow will be harder. Tomorrow will be fun. I just hope I don’t have to wakeup so early.
Thursday, July 22, 2004
Over the last several days I have been overworked and under-sleeping. I was even too tired last night to go out dancing with a cute girl who I was getting along with (quite unprecedented). Anywho I’ve been working at the Immunology Conference 2004 as a tech and punching bag for people using the internet. The tech part is easy. Walk around, remind people to hit the refresh button if the page doesn’t load, reboot computers, bullshit people with technical nonsense if I can’t solve their problem, try to look like a badass. Pretty easy stuff as far as responsibility is concerned. Lots of cute girls, free breakfast, sometimes free lunch, and all for decent pay. The only drawbacks were ten hour shifts, and chronic boredom. The past few days have been an exercise in self amusement and let me tell you that desperation drives one to the borders of their own imagination. I was having imaginary conversations with just aboot everyone I saw, destroyed the network at least five times in my head, and saved hundreds of attractive horny young females from certain death when that fire broke out. Just as I was getting to the good parts I’d find another broken computer or angry customer. My fantasy would glitch, reality would re-impose itself, the problem would be solved, and I’d have to start all over again. Ohh well.
On the plus side I seem to have acquired some minor initiation in the art of swiping pens. I think I’ve acquired over ten different ones. I lost count. Some of them are really cool.
Anywho the conference is over, and this day I found myself pulling a 15 hour shift since I had to help pack up. It’s all aboot money so I won’t complain.
Tomorrow I believe I will set out on a quest to acquire a record player to boost my coolness index. My father left me some of his old jazz LPs and I’m looking forward to listening to some quality static.
In other news I feel like I’m getting over something big. Now all I need to do is solve life’s greatest problems and I will have achieved the optimal existence. Alas, I feel that until I achieve this goal my complaining won’t cease. Most likely I’ll find something else to bitch aboot if I ever do solve it, but I digress.
Dragon boat competition is Saturday and Sunday. Apparently I have to be at Le Basin Olympique by six AM. So much for celebrating the end of a hard week.
And so with that I’ll end this rant, and do that which has not been done in days due to extreme fatigue and responsibility. Goodnight sweet ladies. Goodnight.
On the plus side I seem to have acquired some minor initiation in the art of swiping pens. I think I’ve acquired over ten different ones. I lost count. Some of them are really cool.
Anywho the conference is over, and this day I found myself pulling a 15 hour shift since I had to help pack up. It’s all aboot money so I won’t complain.
Tomorrow I believe I will set out on a quest to acquire a record player to boost my coolness index. My father left me some of his old jazz LPs and I’m looking forward to listening to some quality static.
In other news I feel like I’m getting over something big. Now all I need to do is solve life’s greatest problems and I will have achieved the optimal existence. Alas, I feel that until I achieve this goal my complaining won’t cease. Most likely I’ll find something else to bitch aboot if I ever do solve it, but I digress.
Dragon boat competition is Saturday and Sunday. Apparently I have to be at Le Basin Olympique by six AM. So much for celebrating the end of a hard week.
And so with that I’ll end this rant, and do that which has not been done in days due to extreme fatigue and responsibility. Goodnight sweet ladies. Goodnight.
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
This last weekend found us in the not too far away land of St. Julie where we were teleported away from reality to create our own. The game is called Le Domaine du Createur and the goal is… well whatever you want really. What I’m speaking of exactly is a live action role playing game (LARP) where people dress up in costumes, assume a different personality, name, history, etc… and pretend to be in a fantasy world. We have foam covered weapons, and incantations to memorize for spells. It requires some imagination but it’s tremendous fun. We also have people playing the roles of monsters and other important characters to the story line. All in all, it’s quite fun if you manage to get into it, however I can understand those who have trouble relating to this game.
Every time I've played Domaine I’ve had this overwhelming fear of the dark and getting jumped when I least expect it. However in my own defense I'm pretty good with a blade and my reflexes are on the ball. In any case I’d decided to use this opportunity to challenge my most serious fears and address an issue that I have been pondering upon for quite sometime. That is the classic notion of chivalry and the medieval fantasy novel according to King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. I’m a big fan of the Arthurian myths, and even have some formal education concerning some of the more influential versions of the legends. Whilst every author is inconsistent and took liberties in twisting and bastardizing the stories to suit the times, the typical Arthurian knight always possesses certain attributes. One great physical prowess. Two courtly respect to women. Three respect to God. Four fearlessness. Five gross stupidity, with some exceptions. In any case all of the men who show up in the tales are portrayed as prime examples of humanity and the incarnation of heroism.
Modern fantasy novels, however, tend to break these rules. Furthermore not too many people play stupid characters in say D&D, or LARPs for that matter. So I figure I have a unique intelligent concept relating to a subject which has fascinated me since I was but a wee lad, and I get to fight like crazy. Furthermore I get to confront one of my great fears. The only drawback to this is that in Domaine, such a character typically wouldn’t last very long. Bingo. A short term character who I’m not afraid of losing. I would go down in a blaze of glory and fire, probably in one game. Domaine gives you six lives per character.
The only thing I hadn’t calculated was that I was sleeping close to the healers of the game and ended up getting my ass saved one million times. Nevertheless I managed to lose three out of six lives, and had a terrific time challenging everything. I was speaking in a bad rendition of a Shakespearian play. In short it kicked ass. At the end of the game I was voted second most implicated character in story line, and third best for role-play. I will now attempt to relate one of my deaths, in my mind the most exciting of the game.
The wolves howled in unison, and it would have brought a slight prickle to the back of Sir Edmund’s neck had he not been warmed by a feeling of comfort in his heart. Sator was ever with him, and as such he could not fail. Sator had already denied him rest twice since his arrival in Terra Nova, and Edmund was convinced that he would not reach the arms of his God before the task which had been laid before him was accomplished. Right now however, his mind was only on how to bring back his friends who had been turned into beasts.
Edmund followed the raiding party which attempted to track the animals in vain. Their prey was too fast, and too cunning in the darkness to be jumped by the clumsy loud crowd. The wolves were intelligent, they would pick out single targets and slowly wear them down. Edmund was not afraid however. Sator would guide him.
In a moment three women showed up declaring an attack by the wolves on the Inn. The women had also died but been brought back by the grace of God. They announced that they would return to the Inn and guard it.
“Nay my lady,” replied Sir Edmund. "The wood doth reek with the villainy of foul beasts. Mayhaps t’would be best that thou abide here awhile whilst I slay the creatures.”
“I’m sorry sir but my boss will fire us if we don’t get back to the Inn, and the magics of this land keep us alive even after death,” replied the old one.
“Then my lady I shall accompany thee and thy friends for tis my duty and honor as a knight to protect and guide women in need of assistance.”
“But sir, there are wolves about.”
“Indeed, and tis not in my nature to allow the weak to walk about unattended. Come fair one and I shall deliver thee unto thy Inn and guard thee with my life. This I swear.”
“Then you are welcome sir,” and off he went, sword drawn, his chain mail glistening in the twilight.
In a few minutes they had reached the Inn which had been put into disarray by the attacks of the evening. The women went about their cleaning whilst Sir Edmund remained at the door his eyes vigilant. Minutes passed and nothing. He turned his eyes away from the firelight so as not too lose his night-vision.
They came on him fast and hard. They must have been ten in number, and at their approach one of the women screamed. He drew his sword and charged the closest wolf felling it quickly with a few smart blows. He then turned to the second.
“Back foul beast. Back to whence though camest from, for the light of Sator is with me and thy assault will not avail thee. Back, or I shall be forced to cut thee down.” The beast merely snarled and pounced at him forcing him back but not before his sword connected cutting deep into the creature’s thigh. Suddenly he was sized from behind as another wolf wrestled him onto a table. It’s jaws flashed in the fire and bit deep into his armor. Edmund pushed with all his might but to no avail. Sator was going to demand yet another sacrifice of him. “Well then beast finish it. End it now so that I may continue my given task.” The creature slashed at his face and jumped off.
Meanwhile the remaining wolves circled. Edmund regained his footing despite the blood dripping into his eyes, obscuring his vision. He noticed the women huddled in the corner and he interposed his body between them and their assailants. He hurled a cry of aid to Sator and charged.
They left him in pieces, blood no longer pouring onto the ground for there was little left of his body for the wounds to bleed from. A fat wolf licked the blood and howled at the sky. Her brothers followed suit, as they retreated into the twilight.
T’was truly a kickass way to die I say.
Every time I've played Domaine I’ve had this overwhelming fear of the dark and getting jumped when I least expect it. However in my own defense I'm pretty good with a blade and my reflexes are on the ball. In any case I’d decided to use this opportunity to challenge my most serious fears and address an issue that I have been pondering upon for quite sometime. That is the classic notion of chivalry and the medieval fantasy novel according to King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. I’m a big fan of the Arthurian myths, and even have some formal education concerning some of the more influential versions of the legends. Whilst every author is inconsistent and took liberties in twisting and bastardizing the stories to suit the times, the typical Arthurian knight always possesses certain attributes. One great physical prowess. Two courtly respect to women. Three respect to God. Four fearlessness. Five gross stupidity, with some exceptions. In any case all of the men who show up in the tales are portrayed as prime examples of humanity and the incarnation of heroism.
Modern fantasy novels, however, tend to break these rules. Furthermore not too many people play stupid characters in say D&D, or LARPs for that matter. So I figure I have a unique intelligent concept relating to a subject which has fascinated me since I was but a wee lad, and I get to fight like crazy. Furthermore I get to confront one of my great fears. The only drawback to this is that in Domaine, such a character typically wouldn’t last very long. Bingo. A short term character who I’m not afraid of losing. I would go down in a blaze of glory and fire, probably in one game. Domaine gives you six lives per character.
The only thing I hadn’t calculated was that I was sleeping close to the healers of the game and ended up getting my ass saved one million times. Nevertheless I managed to lose three out of six lives, and had a terrific time challenging everything. I was speaking in a bad rendition of a Shakespearian play. In short it kicked ass. At the end of the game I was voted second most implicated character in story line, and third best for role-play. I will now attempt to relate one of my deaths, in my mind the most exciting of the game.
The wolves howled in unison, and it would have brought a slight prickle to the back of Sir Edmund’s neck had he not been warmed by a feeling of comfort in his heart. Sator was ever with him, and as such he could not fail. Sator had already denied him rest twice since his arrival in Terra Nova, and Edmund was convinced that he would not reach the arms of his God before the task which had been laid before him was accomplished. Right now however, his mind was only on how to bring back his friends who had been turned into beasts.
Edmund followed the raiding party which attempted to track the animals in vain. Their prey was too fast, and too cunning in the darkness to be jumped by the clumsy loud crowd. The wolves were intelligent, they would pick out single targets and slowly wear them down. Edmund was not afraid however. Sator would guide him.
In a moment three women showed up declaring an attack by the wolves on the Inn. The women had also died but been brought back by the grace of God. They announced that they would return to the Inn and guard it.
“Nay my lady,” replied Sir Edmund. "The wood doth reek with the villainy of foul beasts. Mayhaps t’would be best that thou abide here awhile whilst I slay the creatures.”
“I’m sorry sir but my boss will fire us if we don’t get back to the Inn, and the magics of this land keep us alive even after death,” replied the old one.
“Then my lady I shall accompany thee and thy friends for tis my duty and honor as a knight to protect and guide women in need of assistance.”
“But sir, there are wolves about.”
“Indeed, and tis not in my nature to allow the weak to walk about unattended. Come fair one and I shall deliver thee unto thy Inn and guard thee with my life. This I swear.”
“Then you are welcome sir,” and off he went, sword drawn, his chain mail glistening in the twilight.
In a few minutes they had reached the Inn which had been put into disarray by the attacks of the evening. The women went about their cleaning whilst Sir Edmund remained at the door his eyes vigilant. Minutes passed and nothing. He turned his eyes away from the firelight so as not too lose his night-vision.
They came on him fast and hard. They must have been ten in number, and at their approach one of the women screamed. He drew his sword and charged the closest wolf felling it quickly with a few smart blows. He then turned to the second.
“Back foul beast. Back to whence though camest from, for the light of Sator is with me and thy assault will not avail thee. Back, or I shall be forced to cut thee down.” The beast merely snarled and pounced at him forcing him back but not before his sword connected cutting deep into the creature’s thigh. Suddenly he was sized from behind as another wolf wrestled him onto a table. It’s jaws flashed in the fire and bit deep into his armor. Edmund pushed with all his might but to no avail. Sator was going to demand yet another sacrifice of him. “Well then beast finish it. End it now so that I may continue my given task.” The creature slashed at his face and jumped off.
Meanwhile the remaining wolves circled. Edmund regained his footing despite the blood dripping into his eyes, obscuring his vision. He noticed the women huddled in the corner and he interposed his body between them and their assailants. He hurled a cry of aid to Sator and charged.
They left him in pieces, blood no longer pouring onto the ground for there was little left of his body for the wounds to bleed from. A fat wolf licked the blood and howled at the sky. Her brothers followed suit, as they retreated into the twilight.
T’was truly a kickass way to die I say.
Thursday, July 15, 2004
Trying times are at and end,
Fleeting thoughts to make amend,
Entropy bending power true,
Nothing which is miscontrued,
Falling false lies the cure,
Freeing memory will endure,
Falsely thinking it was done,
Mainly manly it's begun,
Winter heat commences hard,
Waking windows in the yard,
Booming banging on the beach,
Longing loving to beseach,
Vainly vaining valiant love,
Cowards flee the crystal dove,
Tables drop and crash to bits,
Pianos bend in the abyss,
Curdling crying cracking cross,
Rememberance of loss,
Memory is a hard'ning thing,
Sloftly singing suffering,
Careful indifference calculated cold,
Twists that which eye behold.
So run, shout, jump, dance, row,
Welcome my abode.
Fleeting thoughts to make amend,
Entropy bending power true,
Nothing which is miscontrued,
Falling false lies the cure,
Freeing memory will endure,
Falsely thinking it was done,
Mainly manly it's begun,
Winter heat commences hard,
Waking windows in the yard,
Booming banging on the beach,
Longing loving to beseach,
Vainly vaining valiant love,
Cowards flee the crystal dove,
Tables drop and crash to bits,
Pianos bend in the abyss,
Curdling crying cracking cross,
Rememberance of loss,
Memory is a hard'ning thing,
Sloftly singing suffering,
Careful indifference calculated cold,
Twists that which eye behold.
So run, shout, jump, dance, row,
Welcome my abode.
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
A Bedtime Story
Once upon a time in a land far far away there lived a lovely young woman named Sandra. Sandra was short. Sandra was tall. Sandra was thin. Sandra was large. Sandra was whatever she wanted to be, whenever she wanted to be. Because of her power, Sandra was able to do anything she wished, and she became very wealthy from being a rock star one day, a doctor the next. Sandra could do anything. Sandra could work. Sandra could play. Sandra would be famous. Sandra would be unknown. Sandra could be rich. Sandra could be poor. And each day Sandra did something different. And Sandra was happy.
One day, however, Sandra grew ill. She tried every remedy she knew. She tried all the things she liked. She made all the things she wanted, but she could not feel any better. She asked everyone she knew. She called everyone they knew. She saw all the doctors in the world, but no one could find what was wrong.
And then one day Sandra met a girl. The girl was small. The girl was skinny. The girl was dirty. The girl smelled bad. Sandra wanted to go away, but she didn’t feel well at all. And so the girl came up to her. And asked her why she was crying. And Sandra couldn’t answer.
Sandra was weeping. Sandra was shaking. Sandra didn’t feel well at all. And so Sandra took the girl back to her big house. And Sandra put the girl in her bed. And together they fell asleep.
Several day’s passed, and the girl stayed with Sandra. She would follow her around. She would watch her. She would smile. Sandra didn’t know what to think. Sandra wasn’t scared. Sandra wasn’t mad. But Sandra felt better, so Sandra let her stay.
Many years passed, and Sandra and the girl became friends. Sandra told her things. Sandra went places with her. Sandra liked the girl. And the girl liked Sandra.
Sandra’s friends were mad. Sandra’s friend grew jealous. Sandra’s friends were mean. They didn’t like the girl. She was small. She was skinny. She was dirty. She smelled bad. And then one day they lied to Sandra.
“She just likes you because of your power.” They said. “You don’t need her. Sandra is the best. Sandra is strong. Sandra doesn’t need the dirty girl.” So Sandra made her leave. And the girl left.
And soon again Sandra got sick. Sandra was ill. Sandra was empty. She asked everyone she knew. She called everyone they knew. She saw all the doctors in the world, but no one could find what was wrong. It was much like the last time she was sick.
So Sandra went back to the place where she had met the girl. And Sandra found her. And Sandra began to cry. Sandra didn’t feel well at all. But she was happy to have found her. The girl was small. The girl was skinny. The girl was dirty. The girl smelled bad. But the girl was beautiful. And Sandra loved her. And Sandra was better.
And they lived happily ever after.
Once upon a time in a land far far away there lived a lovely young woman named Sandra. Sandra was short. Sandra was tall. Sandra was thin. Sandra was large. Sandra was whatever she wanted to be, whenever she wanted to be. Because of her power, Sandra was able to do anything she wished, and she became very wealthy from being a rock star one day, a doctor the next. Sandra could do anything. Sandra could work. Sandra could play. Sandra would be famous. Sandra would be unknown. Sandra could be rich. Sandra could be poor. And each day Sandra did something different. And Sandra was happy.
One day, however, Sandra grew ill. She tried every remedy she knew. She tried all the things she liked. She made all the things she wanted, but she could not feel any better. She asked everyone she knew. She called everyone they knew. She saw all the doctors in the world, but no one could find what was wrong.
And then one day Sandra met a girl. The girl was small. The girl was skinny. The girl was dirty. The girl smelled bad. Sandra wanted to go away, but she didn’t feel well at all. And so the girl came up to her. And asked her why she was crying. And Sandra couldn’t answer.
Sandra was weeping. Sandra was shaking. Sandra didn’t feel well at all. And so Sandra took the girl back to her big house. And Sandra put the girl in her bed. And together they fell asleep.
Several day’s passed, and the girl stayed with Sandra. She would follow her around. She would watch her. She would smile. Sandra didn’t know what to think. Sandra wasn’t scared. Sandra wasn’t mad. But Sandra felt better, so Sandra let her stay.
Many years passed, and Sandra and the girl became friends. Sandra told her things. Sandra went places with her. Sandra liked the girl. And the girl liked Sandra.
Sandra’s friends were mad. Sandra’s friend grew jealous. Sandra’s friends were mean. They didn’t like the girl. She was small. She was skinny. She was dirty. She smelled bad. And then one day they lied to Sandra.
“She just likes you because of your power.” They said. “You don’t need her. Sandra is the best. Sandra is strong. Sandra doesn’t need the dirty girl.” So Sandra made her leave. And the girl left.
And soon again Sandra got sick. Sandra was ill. Sandra was empty. She asked everyone she knew. She called everyone they knew. She saw all the doctors in the world, but no one could find what was wrong. It was much like the last time she was sick.
So Sandra went back to the place where she had met the girl. And Sandra found her. And Sandra began to cry. Sandra didn’t feel well at all. But she was happy to have found her. The girl was small. The girl was skinny. The girl was dirty. The girl smelled bad. But the girl was beautiful. And Sandra loved her. And Sandra was better.
And they lived happily ever after.
Monday, July 12, 2004
Concerning the weekend.
This last weekend found us in the not too far away wilderness of St. Donat on which there is a fabulous lake. The weather Friday was warm, cloudy, some light rain, but not enough to bring down the mood. Upon arriving, an aura of austerity was felt, and all of us lapsed into a comfortable sense of blah. A fire was built to add to the feeling of meh, and dinner was cooked.
At everyone’s insistence I will attempt to do justice to the salad which was eaten after our pasta with vegetarian tomato sauce. And so with what little skill I possess I will attempt to put into words that which was ingested by the females, but not by the males (there is a deeper connotation to that statement, but I digress). The salad in itself was normal, green. I remember it consisting only of lettuce. The sauce which went on top of the salad, however, was smooth, slimy, electric pink. It was a grand pink, a majestic pink. A kind of a pink which would make wrestling costume designers swoon in ecstasy. A kind of a pink which made porn stars, showgirls seem classy. It was a kind of a pink that even Vegas casinos would kill for. A pink so bright that the even human retina could barely behold its glory for more than a few seconds. And so, as I am not one to back down from putting comestible things down my esophagus, I too shielded mine eyes from the neon bright substance and chewed…. I tell truth when I say it wasn’t that bad except that this mental block instituted itself. Hence I backed down from the challenge and abstained from further consumption of the organic thing. Soon it was all eaten, and the women got sick. God bless the masculine instinct.
The remainder of the weekend was spent out in blissful uselessness and unproductivity. We swam, we canoed, we wrestled. The water was cold even after getting used to the temperature. I know this from the masculine thermometer concerning size and hardness. It was fun.
On Saturday evening we temporarily left our sheltered world for a game of mini golf. I was defeated in the first round, but round two favored me when we allowed for “psyche outs.” I highly recommend this adaptation of “Baseketball” rules to mini golf. For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking aboot, rent “Baseketball.” It’s a movie. It’s hilarious.
Saturday night found us with two additional guests. We drank, we ate, we spun fire. The evening ended with us climbing up on the rooftop of the cottage, watching the stars. The clouds had parted. It was a beautiful evening.
I would have liked to stay longer but alas, all good things must come to an end.
Going back to a few weeks ago I remember blasting nature and declaring myself a city lover. I stand by what I said, however wish to point out certain differences aboot this trip. Firstly we were in a warm cottage with working, comfortable toilets, and running hot water. The showerhead in particular was extremely effective. Next, there was the lake in which we swam. I love water. Finally the presence of bugs was not nearly as abundant as the last trip. Hence I declare myself a slave to civilized living.
Thank you, thank you very much.
This last weekend found us in the not too far away wilderness of St. Donat on which there is a fabulous lake. The weather Friday was warm, cloudy, some light rain, but not enough to bring down the mood. Upon arriving, an aura of austerity was felt, and all of us lapsed into a comfortable sense of blah. A fire was built to add to the feeling of meh, and dinner was cooked.
At everyone’s insistence I will attempt to do justice to the salad which was eaten after our pasta with vegetarian tomato sauce. And so with what little skill I possess I will attempt to put into words that which was ingested by the females, but not by the males (there is a deeper connotation to that statement, but I digress). The salad in itself was normal, green. I remember it consisting only of lettuce. The sauce which went on top of the salad, however, was smooth, slimy, electric pink. It was a grand pink, a majestic pink. A kind of a pink which would make wrestling costume designers swoon in ecstasy. A kind of a pink which made porn stars, showgirls seem classy. It was a kind of a pink that even Vegas casinos would kill for. A pink so bright that the even human retina could barely behold its glory for more than a few seconds. And so, as I am not one to back down from putting comestible things down my esophagus, I too shielded mine eyes from the neon bright substance and chewed…. I tell truth when I say it wasn’t that bad except that this mental block instituted itself. Hence I backed down from the challenge and abstained from further consumption of the organic thing. Soon it was all eaten, and the women got sick. God bless the masculine instinct.
The remainder of the weekend was spent out in blissful uselessness and unproductivity. We swam, we canoed, we wrestled. The water was cold even after getting used to the temperature. I know this from the masculine thermometer concerning size and hardness. It was fun.
On Saturday evening we temporarily left our sheltered world for a game of mini golf. I was defeated in the first round, but round two favored me when we allowed for “psyche outs.” I highly recommend this adaptation of “Baseketball” rules to mini golf. For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking aboot, rent “Baseketball.” It’s a movie. It’s hilarious.
Saturday night found us with two additional guests. We drank, we ate, we spun fire. The evening ended with us climbing up on the rooftop of the cottage, watching the stars. The clouds had parted. It was a beautiful evening.
I would have liked to stay longer but alas, all good things must come to an end.
Going back to a few weeks ago I remember blasting nature and declaring myself a city lover. I stand by what I said, however wish to point out certain differences aboot this trip. Firstly we were in a warm cottage with working, comfortable toilets, and running hot water. The showerhead in particular was extremely effective. Next, there was the lake in which we swam. I love water. Finally the presence of bugs was not nearly as abundant as the last trip. Hence I declare myself a slave to civilized living.
Thank you, thank you very much.
Thursday, July 08, 2004
The Man wore beige shorts, brown leather sandals, and a black shirt. The sun was out, hot, humid. He was sweating slightly. He wore a Panama hat. He waited 5 minutes at the stop for the bus. He got on. He moved towards the back of the bus, and noticed two of them. He also noticed that they weren’t sitting together but at opposite ends. He wondered why.
The first one was tall, blond, muscled. His was hair short, well kept. He must have been no older than 25 years of age. An all American boy. Jimi Hendrix began playing ‘Castles made of Sand’. He was seated. Within minutes an Asian woman came on the bus. She wasn’t pretty. She dressed in a soft pink t-shirt and blue jeans. It was a conservative style of clothing. She was slightly overweight. When she passed him he got up and offered his seat. She declined and moved further towards the back of the bus. He sat back down for a moment and assumed an expression of consideration. Credence Clearwater Revival played ‘I put a Spell on You’. He got up and sat down next to her. Began to speak to her in Mandarin.
Meanwhile the second one closer to the front of the bus assumed his companion’s empty seat. He wasn’t as attractive. When an old woman came on the bus he got up and offered his seat. She declined and so did the woman behind her before another younger, attractive girl, assumed it. He looked at her, hesitated, and withdrew to the front of the bus.
Meanwhile the first one was attempting to engage in conversation. The Asian woman’s replies were short, but polite. It was obvious he was asking the questions and she was giving him short responses. Phil Collins, ‘Jesus He Knows Me’ began to play.
The Asian woman says the longest sentence in the conversation, gets up and moves towards the door. Descends. He throws a glace at his companion and shrugs. It is met with the same facial expression.
He notices Him fixing a stare, he meets it, moves back towards his original seat, sits down, and begins to scan the bus again.
The first one was tall, blond, muscled. His was hair short, well kept. He must have been no older than 25 years of age. An all American boy. Jimi Hendrix began playing ‘Castles made of Sand’. He was seated. Within minutes an Asian woman came on the bus. She wasn’t pretty. She dressed in a soft pink t-shirt and blue jeans. It was a conservative style of clothing. She was slightly overweight. When she passed him he got up and offered his seat. She declined and moved further towards the back of the bus. He sat back down for a moment and assumed an expression of consideration. Credence Clearwater Revival played ‘I put a Spell on You’. He got up and sat down next to her. Began to speak to her in Mandarin.
Meanwhile the second one closer to the front of the bus assumed his companion’s empty seat. He wasn’t as attractive. When an old woman came on the bus he got up and offered his seat. She declined and so did the woman behind her before another younger, attractive girl, assumed it. He looked at her, hesitated, and withdrew to the front of the bus.
Meanwhile the first one was attempting to engage in conversation. The Asian woman’s replies were short, but polite. It was obvious he was asking the questions and she was giving him short responses. Phil Collins, ‘Jesus He Knows Me’ began to play.
The Asian woman says the longest sentence in the conversation, gets up and moves towards the door. Descends. He throws a glace at his companion and shrugs. It is met with the same facial expression.
He notices Him fixing a stare, he meets it, moves back towards his original seat, sits down, and begins to scan the bus again.
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
Written yesterday.............
Today was an interesting and cool day. Following a conversation and slight persuasion from the Minister of the Interior, I have decided to join a Dragon Boating team. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the sport, Dragon Boating is comprised of a team of 20 people in a long boat paddling furiously in hopes of moving fast and winning a race. There are over 100 teams registered in the race which takes place at the end of July. The winners win a trip to Hong Kong, but we have no such illusions. Some of the teams competing are professionals. We’re just doing it for fun. The only other person I know on the team is Assgrabber so you know we’re never bored. Ohh one more thing. The team is called The Gingerbread Crew. Don’t ask, I don’t know.
My primary motive for competing is the knowledge of the existence of another team comprised of a human being I would like to defeat. Maybe it goes a little further than that but I won’t discuss it here.
Side effects are soreness, extreme fatigue, fun. I went to my first practice today and although my body is only just beginning to feel the negative effects, I found the exercise exhilarating, motivating, extreme. Looking back on the past few days I come to the conclusion that I’m doing more physical activity than I have in a long time. Firstly Calvin and I joined a gym last week, followed by a move, heavy painting over several days, scrubbing floors, etc… I think it was pretty intense, and until this morning my left wrist was giving me grief (The right one isn’t… I wonder why?) Anyways, Dragon Boating twice a week, gym three times, and I’ve just accepted an under the table job ripping down my old residence (Landlady’s idea not mine). Plus I’ve stopped smoking up every other day. All in all I am rather proud of the way things are going. Maybe I’ll be back in shape by the end of the summer.
Went to first training session of my volunteering today and learned how to tackle the software. I’ll start part two on Thursday, where I get to work with a counselor to see how things are done. I think I'm going to enjoy myself doing this, and so far all the people I’ve met are super friendly. Concordia job sucks, but it’s consistent at least.
So all in all with the move and stuff no one could accuse me of being bored. On the other hand I still have loads of work to do in the new place. Paint must be removed from the dinning room floor, the kitchen cleaned and repainted, the bathroom likewise. There is much to accomplish and lots of time to do it. I am content.
This weekend I’m going up to St. Donat with an assortment of people. Let’s see if I can bring back the car intact this time. I’ll be taking full insurance.
Booyah
Today was an interesting and cool day. Following a conversation and slight persuasion from the Minister of the Interior, I have decided to join a Dragon Boating team. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the sport, Dragon Boating is comprised of a team of 20 people in a long boat paddling furiously in hopes of moving fast and winning a race. There are over 100 teams registered in the race which takes place at the end of July. The winners win a trip to Hong Kong, but we have no such illusions. Some of the teams competing are professionals. We’re just doing it for fun. The only other person I know on the team is Assgrabber so you know we’re never bored. Ohh one more thing. The team is called The Gingerbread Crew. Don’t ask, I don’t know.
My primary motive for competing is the knowledge of the existence of another team comprised of a human being I would like to defeat. Maybe it goes a little further than that but I won’t discuss it here.
Side effects are soreness, extreme fatigue, fun. I went to my first practice today and although my body is only just beginning to feel the negative effects, I found the exercise exhilarating, motivating, extreme. Looking back on the past few days I come to the conclusion that I’m doing more physical activity than I have in a long time. Firstly Calvin and I joined a gym last week, followed by a move, heavy painting over several days, scrubbing floors, etc… I think it was pretty intense, and until this morning my left wrist was giving me grief (The right one isn’t… I wonder why?) Anyways, Dragon Boating twice a week, gym three times, and I’ve just accepted an under the table job ripping down my old residence (Landlady’s idea not mine). Plus I’ve stopped smoking up every other day. All in all I am rather proud of the way things are going. Maybe I’ll be back in shape by the end of the summer.
Went to first training session of my volunteering today and learned how to tackle the software. I’ll start part two on Thursday, where I get to work with a counselor to see how things are done. I think I'm going to enjoy myself doing this, and so far all the people I’ve met are super friendly. Concordia job sucks, but it’s consistent at least.
So all in all with the move and stuff no one could accuse me of being bored. On the other hand I still have loads of work to do in the new place. Paint must be removed from the dinning room floor, the kitchen cleaned and repainted, the bathroom likewise. There is much to accomplish and lots of time to do it. I am content.
This weekend I’m going up to St. Donat with an assortment of people. Let’s see if I can bring back the car intact this time. I’ll be taking full insurance.
Booyah
Tuesday, July 06, 2004
Some people who read one of my early posts may recall a Spideresque rant concerning the hypocrisy of man towards his starving fellow brothers. On Thursday evening I was shamed and given hope.
After a long and tiring day of painting, cleaning, and trying to organize some semblance of order in our apartment, I took Sucky, Assgrabber, The Wyfe, and their daughter out to Subway for dinner. The joint was empty except for a couple of bored employees, one of whom I tried being friendly with. I ordered a tuna sandwich with honey mustard. It was good.
In mid-meal, a man came off the street with a backpack and a hand luggage bag. Both looked heavy. The man obviously hadn’t had a shower in quite some time and looked hungry. He moved slowly as if disoriented, maybe high on some drug or drunk or both. He asked for a paper cup, filled it with ice, water, and proceed to drink. He then exited with the same slow deliberateness, returned, disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes, and came back out. As he was leaving for the second time The Wyfe, got up and asked him something. He shook his head and left.
My first reaction when I saw this man was one of discomfort and fear that his presence would mean the temporary shaking of the sheltered, impregnable wall which I have built up against this sort of thing. Since I have left Africa I try to forget that such people exist, but there are unfortunates even in Canada. I don’t want to get into a discussion about what might have brought this man to his current state, but rather how threatened I felt by his presence. On the other hand I asked The Wyfe the content of her short discourse with him. She had asked him if he wanted a sandwich and he refused. She felt sorry for him and wanted to help. Now Assgrabber and The Wyfe are not nearly as well financially endowed as myself, and I was ashamed by how easily they were willing to give, when all I wanted was for him to disappear. I have been called generous on several occasions, but most often my generosity is a bribe at some kind friendship. I would never have considered approaching this fellow on my own. Sometimes when someone asks me for change on the street I give it, but I hardly ever approach someone to give. Most often it is asked for, and I want to buy forgiveness from a sin or some sort. I feel ashamed of my negative reaction. My first instinct was threat, her’s was compassion.
I realize that I have much thinking and reordering to do in my mind before I can go on criticizing the human race for the way it treats itself. Even though my post was more of a self-critique, I have no right to condemn, when I too am at fault. I want to eventually do something, but I am not prepared to do it now. I am too selfish. I have been working on a plan to buy forgiveness from whatever greater power, society, or myself, but I haven’t the means to implement it as of yet. This will take several years. However in the mean time I will strive to suppress my negative reactions to the presence of the unfortunate. I used to feel compassion, but it has turned to fear. I don’t want to be this way. I’m not proud of myself.
After a long and tiring day of painting, cleaning, and trying to organize some semblance of order in our apartment, I took Sucky, Assgrabber, The Wyfe, and their daughter out to Subway for dinner. The joint was empty except for a couple of bored employees, one of whom I tried being friendly with. I ordered a tuna sandwich with honey mustard. It was good.
In mid-meal, a man came off the street with a backpack and a hand luggage bag. Both looked heavy. The man obviously hadn’t had a shower in quite some time and looked hungry. He moved slowly as if disoriented, maybe high on some drug or drunk or both. He asked for a paper cup, filled it with ice, water, and proceed to drink. He then exited with the same slow deliberateness, returned, disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes, and came back out. As he was leaving for the second time The Wyfe, got up and asked him something. He shook his head and left.
My first reaction when I saw this man was one of discomfort and fear that his presence would mean the temporary shaking of the sheltered, impregnable wall which I have built up against this sort of thing. Since I have left Africa I try to forget that such people exist, but there are unfortunates even in Canada. I don’t want to get into a discussion about what might have brought this man to his current state, but rather how threatened I felt by his presence. On the other hand I asked The Wyfe the content of her short discourse with him. She had asked him if he wanted a sandwich and he refused. She felt sorry for him and wanted to help. Now Assgrabber and The Wyfe are not nearly as well financially endowed as myself, and I was ashamed by how easily they were willing to give, when all I wanted was for him to disappear. I have been called generous on several occasions, but most often my generosity is a bribe at some kind friendship. I would never have considered approaching this fellow on my own. Sometimes when someone asks me for change on the street I give it, but I hardly ever approach someone to give. Most often it is asked for, and I want to buy forgiveness from a sin or some sort. I feel ashamed of my negative reaction. My first instinct was threat, her’s was compassion.
I realize that I have much thinking and reordering to do in my mind before I can go on criticizing the human race for the way it treats itself. Even though my post was more of a self-critique, I have no right to condemn, when I too am at fault. I want to eventually do something, but I am not prepared to do it now. I am too selfish. I have been working on a plan to buy forgiveness from whatever greater power, society, or myself, but I haven’t the means to implement it as of yet. This will take several years. However in the mean time I will strive to suppress my negative reactions to the presence of the unfortunate. I used to feel compassion, but it has turned to fear. I don’t want to be this way. I’m not proud of myself.
I apologize in advance for my apparent lack of presence on the net. I am moving and have been without access to a computer for the past several days. I should be connected again soon.
The past few days have been illuminating in the sense that I have discovered just how loyal, or whipped, my friends really are. Last week, Thursday, we went into our new apartment with the intention of re-painting. Our living room/dinning room areas were covered with a vomit yellow color which simply did not inspire greatness. Painting began along with some light moving. Within a few short hours our place had become a bastion of people seeking to aid us in our struggle. The following day, the same people returned to paint/clean even though my brother and myself were not present in the apartment. My brother is studying hard for exams. I was finishing up the final boxes. Yesterday we moved everything, yet again, with the aid of people from the same circle. The place is still a mess and needs some deep cleaning, especially scrubbing of paint residue on the floors, however once again, today, more people are coming to help. Some of these guys helping have been coming back 3-4 days in a row. I feel overwhelmed. The turnout has been great, and I have come to the conclusion that I have the best friends in the world. I dare anybody to try and find better ones.
So this Bud’s for you Mr./Mrs. really really bored person who associates with the Admiral. For your meticulous abilities at painting walls, cleaning dirty old refrigerators, scrubbing soiled toilet bowls, moving heavy boxes, and all under my expert supervision. Placated by a few beers and pizza slices, you bring light to the countertop under that patch of organic matter, a soft citrus smell to the moldy growth in some obscure crack in the wall, a smile to my unhappy face. So kick back and have a cold one Mr./Mrs. really really bored person who associates with the Admiral. This Bud’s for you… and when you finish you can start priming the bathroom.
The past few days have been illuminating in the sense that I have discovered just how loyal, or whipped, my friends really are. Last week, Thursday, we went into our new apartment with the intention of re-painting. Our living room/dinning room areas were covered with a vomit yellow color which simply did not inspire greatness. Painting began along with some light moving. Within a few short hours our place had become a bastion of people seeking to aid us in our struggle. The following day, the same people returned to paint/clean even though my brother and myself were not present in the apartment. My brother is studying hard for exams. I was finishing up the final boxes. Yesterday we moved everything, yet again, with the aid of people from the same circle. The place is still a mess and needs some deep cleaning, especially scrubbing of paint residue on the floors, however once again, today, more people are coming to help. Some of these guys helping have been coming back 3-4 days in a row. I feel overwhelmed. The turnout has been great, and I have come to the conclusion that I have the best friends in the world. I dare anybody to try and find better ones.
So this Bud’s for you Mr./Mrs. really really bored person who associates with the Admiral. For your meticulous abilities at painting walls, cleaning dirty old refrigerators, scrubbing soiled toilet bowls, moving heavy boxes, and all under my expert supervision. Placated by a few beers and pizza slices, you bring light to the countertop under that patch of organic matter, a soft citrus smell to the moldy growth in some obscure crack in the wall, a smile to my unhappy face. So kick back and have a cold one Mr./Mrs. really really bored person who associates with the Admiral. This Bud’s for you… and when you finish you can start priming the bathroom.
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