Rearing anecdotes

2007-07-25T18:00:00.000-07:00

I haven’t ranted in awhile, but I have some stuff I’ve figured out recently.

Observation 1.

I managed to score a really good job, and all indications are that things are going well. I am deliriously happy about this fact, and for a short time, things couldn’t have been better. But then my usual old self set in, and I started focusing hard on getting good at what I do. As this happen all the seemingly mundane worries and unhappiness returned.

Then it hits me. I’m not nearly proud enough. My friends will laugh for I deliberately come off an super arrogant simply cause I think its hilarious, and anyone with a sense of humor will agree that more often than not, I pull it off fairly well. This, however is a façade, and all will know that I’m not really taking that side of my personality seriously.

Maybe I should!

I’m so obsessed with trying to become a better person that I often forget to give myself credit because I take my accomplishments for granted. How can someone, anyone, be happy with themselves if they are always focused on the next challenge, and never take the time to bask in the glory of what they have managed to do?

Recently, I’ve been learning how to write informative articles in the form of news. I’ve never had any formal training in writing, and prior to taking this job, my only experience were these very same creative explorations which have formed the backbone of my writing style. This time however it is not sufficient to spill my guts on the keyboard with some pretext of eloquisims.

Getting back to the point, I confided to one of my coworkers that I am dissatisfied with my weakness in business writing, and am working hard to improve it. She thinks my stuff is good, and getting better. She offers plenty of encouragement, but whenever I feel like I’ve screwed up, I become obsessed with my failures and freak out about how I mustn’t repeat the same mistake. On bad days I make the same mistakes multiple times and the whole card castle disintegrates before me.

However it’s come to my attention that perhaps I’m being too hard on myself. Looking subjectively that seems to be the case. Even worse is the realization that I cannot pride myself in my work because I never give myself the luxury of basking in the glory of my accomplishment and walking away with a sense of pride because when I don’t screw up, or when I do in fact merely do a good job, I don’t reward myself or clap myself on the back. Instead I focus on my next weakness and feverishly work on how I’m going to resolve the next challenge.

My quest for perfection depresses me, especially when trying to defeat those small self- sabotaging destructive indulgences which everyone allows themselves from one degree or another.

Observation 2.

I’ve been reflecting on those personal realizations which we all undergo as we progress through this existence, most particularly the life changing ones. Everyone has many of these life-shaping experiences which inevitably shift the direction which they take.

Looking back on my own brushes with destiny, it occurred to me that many of the most profound realizations were actually quite simple and sensible to begin with.

Those who know me know that in the last several months I’ve been obsessed with masculine literature and the quest to bring out the man in me. This was another ground-breaking realization I had hit earlier last year. Having embarked on the quest to embrace my new found manliness, I began drinking more, eating hot-sauce, making off color jokes which anyone with a sense of humor and a brain would find funny.

I know that this exploration of myself was a direct back-lash of my not being happy with my ability to appear sexy to women. I naturally concluded that certain behavioral patterns of my personality lean to the wet noodle persona. Traditionally I have been the shoulder, the good friend, the confidant, the cry baby. Not satisfied with that role I decided to change a bit.

Perhaps I jumped to the opposite extreme because in the past year or so my level of nookie hasn’t appreciatively improved and I’ve turned more into an obnoxious drunk when I whip out this facet of my personality.

Then it hits me. Drunk is not sexy. Not even on women. Wow. It may make the world beautiful, and cause you to consider doing people you’d never give a second glance (or frightened look) to. Bottom line, women don’t dig drunks! Wow.

Another example I will use my physique. Many know that in the past seven months or so I’ve radically changed my eating habits and exercise patterns. In this space of time I’ve lost an awful load of weight and brought my blood pressure down to reasonable levels. This move was a direct result of finally realizing that I wasn’t happy with the way I was. Sounds kind of stupid, but I’ve been moping about my obesity for years, and all of a sudden it hits me. Do something about it. Wow!

I was talking to an old buddy of mine who back in the day tried to convince me to take better care of myself. Him and another friend spent years trying to drill the logic in my brain. When that didn’t work they tried my self-esteem, but obviously that back-fired. Then all of a sudden, years later it hits me.

Isn’t it odd that as simple as these life changing relations are, they take an eternity to learn and they are so personal that in many cases even your friends cannot show you the logic until you are ready to receive it?

Man is weird. Unless of course it’s just me.

2007-03-26T20:17:00.001-07:00

This is going to be another one of those discussions where I’m going to make rampant generalizations which are perpetually disproved, but nevertheless contain some measure of truth. Therefore before commencing I herby absolve myself from offending anyone, and any objections which anyone could raise against anything I might say. Citing single examples doesn’t prove me wrong.

Now that I have that out of the way, let us discuss the transgenderal friendship. Speaking from the masculine perspective there is absolutely no such friendship which has ever happened between a straight male and female, where at some point, usually near the beginning, the guy doesn’t have some sexual interest in the female in question. Following this early phase, the man has a decision. He either faces up to the fact that he actually wants to pursue a close friendly relationship with the female in question, or back-off and allow it to either wilt under the strains of time or other miscellaneous obligations. The former usually stems from the type of guy who continues to harbor some small hope that somehow, someway he will be rewarded with nookie for his unwavering willingness at friendship. Although it is not unheard of, this sort of story seldom concludes with nookie, and therefore most males should be advised that stepping into a friendship with a female, given this frame of mind, is more often than not a waste of time. I won’t even mention how lame it is to perpetuate a false interest in a girl strictly for fucking, when you know in advance that you will never fuck. Now I wouldn’t presume to say that this logic applies to all friendships. In this case I’m talking about the very close personal friendship which sometimes develop between man and woman. For women, such friendships are genderless. We men are perpetually blinded by boobies.

“We will never go out cause we’re such good friends!” Every male at some point in their lives, usually when they are quite young, will have heard those painful words. What many males don’t realize is that the phrase in “woman talk” essentially translates to, “I see you as genderless, and so we can never sleep together.” A man who allows himself to become castrated by his “friend” will hardly ever have sex with her. In many ways this is the fault of the man. See women like their men manly, and manliness seldom allows for traits such as, “understanding” or “empathy”. These are womanly traits to both men and women, and therefore do not fit in the archetype male which all women are seeking. Many males would become offended, even angry at the girl for rejecting him, when clearly he is the one at fault for putting himself in this situation.

Maintaining a masculine image is critical in any liaison where the man wishes to get sex from a member of the opposite sex. I will assume for simplicity that I am speaking of straight relationships since honestly I haven’t discussed the topic nearly enough with my gay friends in order to make any kind of generalizations on homosexuality, so lets stick to straight people since that’s who I know best. The unmanly man is not challenging to the woman who wants to fight for something special, nor is it biologically an appropriate choice since an unmanly man is less likely to produce good offspring. Women simply aren’t attracted to that. True our jaded mothers will try and preach to us about sensitivity and kindness, but a mama’s boy is not a manly boy, and won’t get laid.

That being said, I am not trying to discourage men from having close friendships with women. Friendships are all rewarding in their own way so long as they are seen as just that. Friendships. Keeping that in mind is important in order to not be a hypocrite. If you insist on trying to sleep with the girl you are beginning to become close to in a friendly context, my advice to you would be to back-off a bit and display some manly traits. Make sure you don’t lose your dick, by getting too close. You can do this without being an asshole, although being a bit of one is likely to help your chances. Find that balance which makes you interesting enough to pursue, but not revolting enough to push away, and you will strike gold. Otherwise give in to the fact that you won’t fuck the chick, and take the friendship for all it’s worth. One thing to keep in mind though is that if you reveal too many vulnerabilities to this person, she will likely castrate you to her friends as well so be careful about becoming too close if you are thinking about banging one of her girlfriends. On the other hand don’t be a total dick or you will be branded as an asshole before you even have a chance to prove how big of one you really are. As with all things, balance is the key.

2007-03-15T09:05:00.000-07:00

It time to talk about strippers again. And weight loss.

In order to best set the context for this story the first thing I must do is set a bit of background information. This background story concerns my very good friend Number 65, at strip club which we frequently frequent. I must also add that although I was not actually present for this background story, I did have the honor to witness one of Number 65’s many masterful retellings. I doubt that my prologue will do justice to.

The scene is set, once again in this very same club of which I speak. Most unusually Number 65 was approached by a female, who, after extensive verbal foreplay, “hello my name is so and so, where are you from, what do you do etc…” quite literally asked him if he wanted to watch her “get hot and horny.” I myself am no novice at the whole strip club experience, and know that this aggressive method of picking up a customer is quite unusual. As Number 65 is a true connoisseur of the customs of the gentlemen’s club, it was only natural that his interest be piqued by this female’s direct methods. Since she was hot, he naturally accepted her offer to go upstairs for a feel. Now understand that in the Montreal strip clubs, during a lap dance, customers are allowed to touch the stripper anywhere with exception of the g-string. Furthermore, no contact is allowed involving tongue, nether-regions, etc… The stripper of course is allowed to basically do whatever she likes.

Number 65’s experience was unusual, firstly from the forwardness of the stripper in question, and the fact that during her “dance” she asked him to spank her again and again, pleading that he hit harder and harder. Obviously he found the experience, uncomfortable, and so he did what anyone with a naked woman in front of him, who he is paying to be there, does. He laughed his ass off. I might add that whilst the males find the story quite fascinating, a female or two has been rather shocked by this story, but I am digressing as usual.

I should also add, before proceeding that several months ago I found myself in conversation with a male and female acquaintance of mine, who’s fake names I’ll not mention, discussing the etiquette behind the lap dance. The feminine friend of mine related that she had received a lap dance from a girl who proceeded to ask her for her telephone number. Whilst I asked her weather or not the stripper had in fact de-clothed herself completely, my masculine friend and female friend both looked at me like I was asking them something unusual. Turns out they had never received lap dances which didn’t involve complete nudity of the stripper. I admit that a small part of me was saddened by this fact. After all no stripper removed her string for me.

Since then, I’ve lost 14 kgs for unrelated reasons, which I’ll not go into right now. My story begins several months later; this past Saturday night in fact.

Number 65 and myself found ourselves out, as is our custom during the weekend, consuming various alcoholic beverages. A few drinks later, we both had the same idea on our mind, but neither of us gusty enough to go beyond the odd joke about frequenting the peelers. Several drinks later, found our courage, and we promptly exited out watering hole in search of another kind of hole. This we found in our friendly downtown strip club which we so do adore.

After sitting down, and discovering that straight alcohol is much cheaper than the carbonated alcoholic beverages which these institutions try to pass off as beer, we were approached by a rather attractive, tall platinum blond, who introduced herself by some name which I do not recall. When she asked Number 65 if he came here often, he responded with a, “Nope, this is my first time here, but it looks very nice!” I know my friend well enough to know that he was being sarcastic, and just as a tomahawk missile slams into an unsuspecting Muslim dude, I knew that this was the, “Spank me” chick.

Her approach was very smooth. She made light conversation, and then showed us this neat little trick involving flexing one boob at a time. Number 65 related that he had once seen a clown do the same thing when he was a wee lad of a mere ten summers. He also added that the experience had scarred him for life. I was reeling with delight at his wit. He was truly on the ball, so to speak, and I had consumed just enough vodka to find his shit not only funny, but outright hilarious. Finally the girl quit her small talk and outright asked us if we wanted a lap dance. I think her exact words were, “So which one of you two is hornier?” His answer went something like this. “Well you know when I’m in a grocery store I don’t like buying the first this I see on the shelf. I like to browse around first.” BOOM. I must say I am still in awe of my friend’s balls. The girl recovered quickly, having the good taste to eschew a token giggle at my friend’s burn, and turned her attentions towards me. She was hot, and I wanted to see if she would let me spank her. I like spanking. I was game.

The platinum blond got completely naked. Score! Unlike most of my previous lap dances she spent a long time complementing my physique, and licking my ears. Now I’ve been known to hit the peelers from time to time, but this was way unusual for me. She asked me to spank her. I asked her weather or not she was trying to get me kicked out. She insisted. I obliged. Without offending Number 65 I will say that after the first slap she didn’t ask me to do it harder. Likewise I didn’t wait for her to ask me to do it again. She asked me if I was single. I said yes. She asked me why. I said it was convenient for me to be single. She said she that explained why I was in a titty bar. I said that relationships never really stopped me from frequenting titty bars. She said that was good, since the last place a man was going to get sex was in a strip club. I agreed, with her at the time. I later discovered that she was wrong. Perhaps she was on the defensive. Eventually I lost track of the number of dances I had had. I seemed to have been sidetracked. She lied and told me I had had five dances instead of four. Number 65 later confirmed this to me since I genuinely didn’t know at the time. I paid, and returned to my table reeling at the unique experience. Totally worth it.

Number 65 and I then began discussing prostitutes, and he confided in me that he was not accustomed to being propositioned by sex workers in general. This is the sort of thing which happens to me all the time. I’ve always had this feeling that women look at me and see sucker written on my forehead, since they’re always coming to for some favor or demeaning proposition or something rather. I’m probably reading too far into it, but I am slightly bitter. Following this conversation I ordered another vodka, and Number 65 went off to hit a girl who had caught his fancy, leaving me all alone to fend for myself.

After bouncing two strippers a skinny black chick comes up to me. She outright asks me if I want a dance, to which I reply, “I’m good.” She says, “I don’t think you are.” I say, “Ohh?” She says, “You’re not good until you’ve had some chocolate baby, and you haven’t been with me yet.” I say, “Sounds like a challenge.” She says, “Yes.” I oblige.

She begins talking about how horny she is, and how hot she finds me. She asks me if I’m single. I tell her yes and she moans with delight. She strips her clothes and starts feeling me up. She pokes a my pocket. “Ohh that’s your wallet. I thought it was something else.” Actually it was my ipaq, but I don’t correct her since I don’t wanna appear too geeky. Then she grabs my crotch and asks me how big it is. I consider telling her she should find out, but realize that I am paying for a fantasy here. My silence is rewarded with her asking me if it is bigger than her wrist. It is. It tell her. She gasps. I tell her she has small wrists which was true. I’m laughing on the inside. Then she tells me how horny she is and takes off the g-string. She starts fingering herself and says she wants to get fucked. This sort of thing never happens to me, but I take it all in stride telling her she is trying hard to get me kicked out. I’m desperately trying to appear smooth. She tells me she wants to go to a hotel. I coyly tell her that a hotel is beyond my means. She is still playing with herself, and I’m grateful for the black light which is hiding my furiously blushing face. She makes me spank her. She grabs my hand and forces me to choke her. She grinds her string-less crotch against mine. I’m trying very hard to look comfortable. When I finally tell her that I’m ready to stop she plays with my hair and begs me to leave with her. I’m not stupid enough to think that she’s not trying to make more money. I thank her for the lovely time and move… quickly.

I ran into her a little later and she bit my left nipple through my shirt with a smile. I’m still sore.

So that was my very unusual stripper experience. I completely blame the fact that I’ve lost thirty pounds. Now I’m not going to suggest that I’ll be going to the peelers more often because truth be told, the whole thing did make me a little nervous, and to tell you the truth I wasn’t really turned on by the whole thing. On the other hand my ego did take a bit of a jump because of this story. Guys are weird that way.

2007-03-12T11:13:00.001-07:00

I am now going to make all sorts of statements and observations. Almost all of them are generalizations. I’m going to use phrases like “Women tend to do this,” “more or less,” or “In general.” There are a huge number of exceptions to these statements so I don’t want to hear about isolated cases which disprove what I’m about to say. Isolated cases are just that, isolated. I will also state that this essay deals with Attraction and Attraction only. The Relationship, which often hailed as the next step after Attraction, is a more complex beast, and as such will not be explored too thoroughly here. Now, on to the next part of this exercise.

I am a big fan of this movement going on called Fratire. Fraternists are of the opinion that some feminists took the idea too far, and that in addition to demanding equal rights, they also pushed for the dissolution of gender differences, lumping everyone into either an androgynous being, or for men to be put beneath women. Naturally many obnoxious male qualities are nixed. Heavy drinking, whistling at a hot babe, hot sauce, staring, smiling under certain circumstances etc… Fraternists believe that men and women are indeed quite different, and as such can never be lumped into the same category. Men are men, and we should embrace that fact rather than making apologies for being what we are. We don’t imply that men are better than women in any way, nor should they be treated with any less respect. We just feel that boys will be boys, and girls will be girls. Embracing that, and accepting our differences, rather than trying to deny them, is a healthier thing. We violently oppose those who try to make our manliness a negative thing, and usually will go out of our ways to be extra obnoxious to anyone who demands we make excuses for what we are.

Lets face it. Men and women are different. We have different hormones which affect our brains and bodies in different ways. Women menstruate, which will most of the time affects how they act and feel, and I’m not even going to begin to explain what goes on around pregnancy time, both before and after, since I honestly, have no inkling of the science involved. They don’t lose sight of logic. They know that most of the time they shouldn’t be feeling the negative emotions they feel when they are PMSing. Depression is natural phenomena for both genders except that it hits women more frequently due to the violent raging hormonal shifts they experience. I don’t claim to understand women, and there is no man alive who can honestly understand some of the things which to other women seem obvious.

Guys are less discrete than women. A guy will stare appreciatively without realizing it, and we like to hangout among boys, and drink beer, and tease people, and be assholes sometimes. That kind of behavior is fine so long as no one gets hurt… well seriously hurt anyway. We tend to get less depressed than women because we don’t have the bodies women do. I’m talking specifically about chemical depression, and not the kind related to stress. This is why we have, more often than not, been described as insensitive, or just plain stupid sometimes. Women tend to be more empathetic than guys. Ever wonder why more women have fooled around with women than guys with guys? It’s science. Our insecurities stem from simple things such as other people scoring more than we do, or being physically weaker than another. Simply put, we want to be manly men. And nothing is more unmanly than having sex with another man. On the other hand women having sex with each other is most womanly. At least to us.

The other major differences between men and women lie in the fact that women tend to be better suited to taking care of babies by virtue of the bond which is formed during pregnancy, birth, breast feeding, and overall more physical contact. It is something which no man can ever truly appreciate. We note that women tend to be smaller than men and overall usually have to work harder to achieve the strength which males seem to acquire naturally (Usually athletic females take testosterone and turn into Venus Williams, the true symbol of andogeneity). Since guys can’t get pregnant, it was up to us to take care of the perpetually pregnant wife (lets face it, throwing a spear at a wild boar when you’re 8 months pregnant can’t be easy, and early woman was almost perpetually cracking out babies. No birth control remember?). Therefore, natural selection dictated that we evolve in such a way which granted us better aptitudes to physical strength and speed. Since guys were stronger and not as well suited to raising children, we became the providers, and women the managers of that which we provided.

Then one day someone invented birth control. Suddenly society became such that women began to realize that there were certain rights which they should have been originally entitled to (Maybe it was the violent hormones of the birth control pill which made her this way). When we figured out a way to enjoy sex without having to worry about pregnancy, women became truly empowered because finally the consequences of choosing between a career and a family were not so unforgiving. I admit that a lot of people did indeed have to make severe mental readjustments to allow women into “man affairs,” and I am certainly not implying that it wasn’t necessary. Everyone fucked up good denying women these rights, but I see why it happened the way it did, even thought it was wrong. However, in spite of everything I have just said, the biggest argument for gender differences are plain and simple. Women like their men manly, and men… like women.

Most of the people I know both men and women, like having mates who are confident and proud (proud does not imply arrogant, and hurtful, although you could probably get away with a little of that if you’re playful about it). We like men and women who are strong and independent. A soppy drama queen (or king) is unattractive because of all the maintenance involved, and the fact that eventually, listening to someone complain all the time gets fucking annoying. That being said, should we not be proud of who and what we are? I am a man. Personally I’m fond of it. I get to pee standing up, I achieve quick easy orgasms, and I wanna fuck every hot woman in the world. I am constantly challenged by the mystery of the opposite sex, which I find extremely interesting. I doubt that I would enjoy myself nearly as much if women didn’t exist.

Women should be proud of being women because they tend to experience the more intimate relationship with the children, they crank out orgasms like machines (which we as men never completely figure out), and they enjoy sex more than we do (at least according to Greek mythology and my personal experience). If I am indeed wrong about this, it means that I’m really good in bed or that the women I’ve slept with sucked, and I didn’t know it (pun intended). Women also have this ability to empathize better than we do.

People always say that if you want to appear attractive to someone you need to appear confident. You can do this by accepting who and what you are, and/or by challenging the things you want to change about yourself without looking like a douche. I’m of the opinion that people are never perfect. Therefore, we are constantly trying to better ourselves in various ways. The point is that if you are going to be comfortable with who and what you are, you need to come to terms with your own sexuality and the differences between the opposite sexes. I like women who can defend themselves, and who are not completely dependent on me. I like that slight uncertainty about my relationship which allows me to never accidentally take my partner for granted. But more than anything I like a woman who is proud of being a woman.

Likewise, women don’t like guys who are weak and complainy all the time. They like their men manly. Should a man begin to exhibit some womanly traits like sensitivity or understanding too early in the attraction phase they more often than not become less interesting or relegated to friendship status (which basically means you are castrated). This prevents us from getting nookie from a chick who we found interesting enough to pursue. To quote the Okcupid online personality test, “A shoulder to cry on? Sure! A penis to hold? Never.” Everyone has that guy friend who complains all the time about the, “Oh we can’t date we are such good friends!” excuse. In woman talk that means, “You’ve proven to me that you don’t have a penis. I can’t fuck a dickless freak!”

Men and women also have different objectives. It is difficult to make generalizations about what it is we seek from an encounter with the opposite sex because such altruistic desires are governed by hormones, culture, and age. I think that by in large, most young men are seeking sex before a relationship. Shoot first, ask questions later. As guys get older, they start having difficulty managing to keep up with their former younger selves, and they usually try to focus on settling down. However no matter the man, if he has slept with many women it does nothing but boost his confidence. Some guys become so obsessed with the idea of poking as much as possible that they forget to consider the woman’s emotions in the equation. True this is not a nice thing to do, but it is manly isn’t it? It’s what women like? I guarantee that any woman who knows that a prospective fuck is not used to getting sex is going to wonder what is wrong with the gentleman in question. A dude who sleeps with an ugly chick, will be scrutinized. Likewise, a guy appearing too obvious about his sexual intentions is screwed (or not) since a woman also wants to feel special, and nothing says un-special like a dude who hits on everything that has boobs. On the other hand, the guy who manages to convince a girl that he is hitting on her when he could have anyone he wanted in the bar, is going to score. In essence, this “negative” masculine quality endures because women encourage us to be that way. Hell, even the homosexuals like their boyfriends manly! And they cheat on each other at least as much as we do.

With women, objective is completely subjective since the female orgasm is quite a bit more mental than the male one. I know some women who want to get as much tail as possible and wreak havoc among the hearts of man. I also know other more conservative types who want to score a great guy and dig in and hold on to them. I find it difficult to comment on the aims of women in relationships since every one of them seems to want something different, and go about it in different ways.

In many cultures women still don’t have the same social status as men, and a woman is pressured to keep her sexual integrity as intact as possible. Some dudes like their women inexperienced so women do everything they can to stay that way. I think that in North America and Great Britain, the sexual revolution has made women more open to the idea of a random bang, so more power to the dudes out there. In these cultures the girl who screws around a lot is not necessarily unattractive. Irregardless of the aims however, in any culture women are attracted to men who are manly. If a guy is not acting like a guy, a woman will get turned off. A woman who is acting womanly or manly, we want to poke at least once (unless she’s still ugly after five rounds). Should pokage occur or not, it is at this stage, after Attraction, that we decide weather or not subsequent encounters are worth the effort.

Bottom line, men and women are different. There are reasons that this difference is perpetuated just as there are reasons as to why these differences will perpetuate. The hardcore angry feminist will never win simply because women like us the way we are, and woman will never be as manly as we are for biological reasons. We are the way we are for a reason. Embrace it and rejoice for there is nothing sexier in this world than a confident member of the opposite sex. This is perhaps the one thing that we have in common between the two genders.

2007-03-06T11:48:00.001-08:00

Back when I was living in Zimbabwe I had this group of friends. We weren’t by any means considered cool in any way except for perhaps myself since I was a novelty in the school. In an ultra-conservative environment, outside the United States, pretty much everyone you meet is going to judge you with this preconceived notion that, by virtue of your Americaness, you must also be quite devoid of original thinking or any measure of intelligence. It also means that the rebellious types flock around you for being a preconceived badass. Those intelligent enough to make their own judgments, also befriended me, since I was smart and funny. I probably had the largest mix of acquaintances in that institution, and I made a point of being friendly to everyone no matter how retarded they were. I was after all trying to change the stereotype. Fortunately I also found a handful of enlightened people or two who to call close friends. In the meantime my popularity grew among both teachers and students as being the most unusual American they had ever met. Then again, I myself am the most unusual American I know so perhaps my efforts to educate were in vain. I’m digressing.

At the end of the year my comrades came up with the rather brilliant plan to pour two liters of potassium permanganate into the swimming pool at St. George’s College. We had considered gelatin, but that idea proved too costly and complicated. Our hypothesis stated that the pool water would instantly turn a dark deep purple color. We also reasoned that since potassium permanganate is antiseptic, we would, at worst, be giving the pool a good cleaning. I considered it atonement for the numerous times I had urinated in its waters way back when I was forced to humiliate myself at the back stroke.

Since I am not a very good burglar, I offered my contributions as the financer of the project, funding my compatriots with the chemical in question. In the end, I had little to do with the plot.

The plan was simple. One of my comrades had stolen the key to the grounds, and snuck himself, and another, in the dead of night. Apparently they only had one run in with a security guard who stopped, thinking he had heard something, and then moved on. A quick hop over the swimming pool’s fence, and a few moments later, the package was delivered, and my friend made out safe from harm.

The following day was monumentous. The pool was a deep deep purple color, and the whole school was in awe of the feat. People began proclaiming that they had perpetrated the crime. Rumors were flying everywhere, each one more outrageous than the last. I’ve never been in the situation where everyone is talking about something where I am one of the few who know the true facts. Someone said they had tasted the pool water and that the substance was grape syrup. Another said he had poured the paint himself and defiantly declared that he didn’t care if they kicked him out of school for it. I was shocked and angered by the fact that anyone would even begin to take credit for that which had been done. People were questioned extensively. And then the school began a bout of pathetic psychological warfare on us.

First they said that they knew who had done it, and that if the student turned themselves in, they wouldn’t be expelled from the school. Failing that, they claimed that the pool system had been ruined, and threatened to charge every student for “fixing” the problem. That was a pretty dumb move since the parents went ape-shit at that prospect. Finally they began taking random people, and accusing them of having done the crime outright. One of my buddies was confronted in this manner, but he held up under the questioning.

Then I began hearing whispers among the professors that they were of the opinion that the only American in the school was responsible for this, as it was the most ambitious prank ever pulled in the history of the institution. Fortunately my alibi was ironclad. I was with my parents all night. The school left me alone, but I know many people had decided I was behind it. That pissed me off.

In the end, they got away with it clean and simple. The plot still remains legend at the school. I sometimes imagine myself returning one day and reveal this longest unsolved mystery just to see their faces, now that I am invulnerable. In the meantime I remain bitter towards many of the people over there who automatically judged me guilty by virtue of my land of birth. I would eventually have my revenge after I left the school as my A-level results came in, thoroughly blowing all but three or four students out of the water.

I don’t really talk to those guys anymore. Random stuff happened which broke us apart, but that’s a different story.

2007-02-21T09:23:00.001-08:00

Among the moaning winds of Earth,
The rolling hills with rolling blades of green,
The roots of stout oaks cling firm,
Deep within the solid earth.
The rain falls lightly, littering life,
And fire falls as if to smite
Anything upon the land.
This my friend is where the old magic began.

The peoples simple simply put,
Smiling strong against the elements,
The futile buffeting of that which would return
All to that primal urge.
The old ways never cease a weakness seek,
Against the rising stones of man,
But, they have a plan.

On Earth runs magic strong and old,
Which nary agéd could unfold,
For long ago has man since turned,
And such it was that human learned,
Of civilization, and organization.

Against the winds, they built the mill,
To harness harshest fury chill,
And make the magic work for them.
The air protests and it portends,
The harshest hardest huff and puff,
But all its fury ‘vials it not,
For stone of man is study stuff,
And easily will not be conquered.

The land it did begin protest,
When man began to dig within.
Her surface changed unnaturally,
And chunks of her body were erected
To guard against the elements.
But earth is patient slow and strong,
Its vengeance not felt for years come.

Water was the fluid one,
Changing as it’s always done,
Granting life to that it touched.
For man it seemed t’was not enough.
And so he forced the water blue,
And granted life at his own whim,
And this perhaps was greatest sin,
For through the element of life,
Did man begin to cause the strife.

Ever chaos fury Fire,
Burning, passion and desire,
Boiling, branding brazen brash,
But even fire did we stash.
It rages ere the iron shackles,
In lanterns, candles does it cackle,
Plotting its revenge.

Thus do the old magics persist,
Ever immortal in their tryst,
Until the man will take for granted,
That power which he underhanded,
Stole from That who lies above,
Watching us, and judging us with love.

And man it seems forever stronger,
Tightening hold forever longer,
Twisting turning molding sculpting.
As gods we play forever longing
Mastery o’er the old magics.

There will come a day my son,
That man’ll regret what he has done.

2007-02-19T13:21:00.000-08:00

Ellestor was peaceful land
Though many gods forsaken had
Let the land the life they live
And little care they did
Give unto the many things
And promises and dreams
Forgotten long throughout the age
And thus the length of time to gauge
Went on and on man many moons
Until the darkness did ensue

The field were long and green and true
The barely shone in afternoon
The peoples simple small and sane
Their children bright as colors gay
Knew not the woes of mortals sin
And there out tale it does begin

One morning bright there was a knight
Who many held un much regard
His hair was light his smile was bright
The crimson burn upon
Though Ellestor was peaceful land
Little knights and little deeds
Belittled little memories

Alas our hero hero true
Foresaw the evil did ensue
He strap his sword and fluffed his plume
To battle ride to battle tune
Which softly sang upon the winds
And then the darkness did begin

It came so sudden sudden wrath
The gods themselves they parted path
For Ellestor was peaceful quiet land
And none of them they ought to

It occurs to me as I am writing this that the vocabulary is quite lame and childish. The theme is one which I have ardently been attempting to address for I am a big big fan of the Arthurian, and for some reason I’m recalling a poem by Coleridge “Kubla Khan” one of my all time favorites. I really like poetry and I would like to write something really good someday, but none of my stuff measures up yet. Note to self. Less baby talk, more flowery embellishment. Keep some sense of rhythm and rhyme. Im gonna try doing another... Consider this one a failed attempt.

2007-02-08T11:13:00.001-08:00

Valentine's day always pisses me off. I still don’t understand why people choose to grasp onto one day of the freaking year to be close to their significant others like its some kind of birthday or something. All this phoney cuteness, and abundant pink makes me want to kick a puppy in the head… repeatedly… till it dies.

Last year I asked myself weather or not prostitutes received more business around valentine’s day; you know, from lonely lost people who feel the need to quell their lack of lovin in a non-platonic sense. I even posed myself the question seriously enough to attempt contacting two escort services in Montreal which I conveniently found on Google (I’m certain the cops haven’t yet discovered this method of purchasing sex yet, so I assume it’s fairly safe). Anywho needless to say the persons on the receiving end of my transmission weren’t amused, or must have assumed that I was some kind of porn junk mail, for no reply was forthcoming. Alas! My question will remain forever unanswered. I can however tell you with certainty that this Valentine’s day will be extra special for the whores since it’s a hockey night, and sex-workers always gets more business on sports nights. I know this because an ugly stripper told me. She wanted to smoke a joint with me, but forgot to come back with the weed.

A few years ago myself, Number 65, and Nissou found ourselves single and studying in the Concordia Library on Valentine’s day. The event severely brought us down, incapable of focusing on our work. Naturally this became the topic of conversation, and I rather brilliantly suggested that only the very single, and very ugly could actually remain studying in the building on a day like this. Naturally we tested our theory and began browsing the silent halls of the Hall Library looking critically at every homo-sapien specimen present in the edifice. After achieving certainty and satisfaction that we were indeed the hottest looking members of our respective genders, we proceeded to celebrate this startling realization with my good friend Mr. Sleeman. Several beers later, everyone in the bar around me was way hotter than me, and I was feeling sorry for myself.

The following year ironically found us all in relationships, resulting in all three of us ditching our respective significant others with the goal of re-creating that rare moment of bonding which had occurred the previous year. I think we chose a different bar this time, and somehow everything seemed different, armed with the knowledge that I had lied to my S.O. a the time, about all the studying I had to do, when in fact I only wanted to get wasted with my friends. Now recreating a moment is hard, if not impossible, but I recall having a decent time that year.

The following year was bad to my ass so I was unable to perpetuate the tradition.

After much philosophical debate, I have concluded that Valentine’s day is not only a travesty to the true romantic, but also a pathetic attempt at the insecure to maintain their hold on those who are too good for them (not to mention the serious amount of cash which the restaurant and greeting card business rakes in, CHING!). I, on the other hand have, since then, been forthcoming about my feelings on Valentine’s day with my playmates, and my intentions to introduce some mind-altering chemical or other in my blood stream in protest of this sad sad day. Maybe this year I’ll go watch the hockey game.

2007-02-02T09:32:00.000-08:00

When looking for a job, one of the important things is to define what the individual can bring to the organization over another from a similar technical background. One must define the skills and tools which one possesses, and somehow differentiate oneself from others. In this regard, I am unique, and the following paragraphs illustrate why I am a better choice for employment within any firm.

Economics had always been one of those very broad, very vague, and somehow very respected fields of study which not too many people really know anything about. Most people, when asked what economists do, tend to guess that it has something to do with business. Other, more enlightened persons might hazard a guess around something having to do with business statistics, or forecasting. We hear mostly about economists in business news as those who form predictions about the state of various markets, or governments. This is one of the many applications of the science, and as a consequence, most small-scale employers will not consider hiring an economist on the basis that they usually do not know in which context they can be useful in their business. This is a fallacy.

The basic economics curriculum is divided into two main sections. The first is theory, which basically teaches us how we should think about various market environments and situations. We learn to justify why and how people make decisions, generally having to do with how they spend money, given a certain salary, and how this affects the overall demand for a specific product. We can also study how the supply or demand for a product evolves given any kind of change in the environment of the model (a major ecological disaster, the introduction of a new more efficient technology, a sudden unexpected fall in price of similar products etc…) We also study how businesses maximize their profits, and how they make their investment and hiring decisions, in order to reach this maximized level of profit. All of this modeling depicts how the world should work, and has some bearing on the truth. However we all know that at the end of the day, there is a tremendous line between pen and paper modeling, and real life.
The second aspect of economics involves a great deal of statistical training, which usually includes some fairly heavy mathematics. These statistical tools allow us to take the theory we’ve learned in the first section, and put numbers to it which might have some real meaning to someone. We learn to use advanced statistics software packages, which many businesses use. Every economist becomes proficient with a computer and has some basic training in computer programming. Furthermore our training has given us the opportunity to learn about how data is generated and where it is located. True, any individual given time, and a little luck on Google, can learn about where data is found. I know because I’ve already been through that.

The result of this is that economics will tell you what the situation is in a certain market, and from time to time be able to lend advice on how an organization involved in this market can improve their situation. The real emphasis is on researching a certain economic environment. Say you wanted to sell a bunch of pencils. Given data, an economist will be able to tell you weather your product will sell, and how changes in the market are likely to affect your production and profit. As far as “getting the job done” it probably won’t help that much.

However, people are constantly publishing and talking about the trends of various markets, and how the world is reacting to various phenomena. Any business which acquires a study claiming that pencils are very profitable will jump at the opportunity to get into the pencil industry. Some more skeptical businessmen will even bother reading the technical paper, and more often than not walk away with a headache, and little more enlightened than they were before. This is where having someone with an economics background is useful.

Economics doesn’t just teach us how to look at the bigger picture of a market, it also teaches us how to think, and how to read through the multitude of bullshit which exists in the business world. It is for this reason, that we get so much respect. No matter the numbers which are pulled out of thin air, we possess the capacity to read through a lot of the glorification, and fast-talking which exists in the business world. Given information we can, to a degree, predict the future, and for those companies relying on other people’s research, having someone with an economics background can help explain from where this prediction came from.

However in spite of the obvious attraction which economics has for the business world, it is not only limited to that. Indeed economics can be applied to a myriad of situations because it is a way of looking at and solving problems. I myself applied a branch of economics, to studying how students form study groups in a classroom where the professor enforced a fixed class average and a bell curve. A great deal of economics can be applied to studying human nature, decision-making, and even strategies involving bidding for various contracts. Even the pharmaceutical industry hires economists to study the efficiency of various drugs on humans (this mostly to the vast statistical background which comes with the degree).

Most people who study economics end up working in the private sector for various firms and organizations, doing jobs which have nothing to do with economics. Why does this happen? The answer is simple. Business is something which anyone can do. It can be taught, and you don’t need an advanced degree to come up with a business idea, and to make it work. Such things are generally learned through trial and error, as you feel out the process for yourself. You can get a B. Com or and MBA to facilitate the process, but at the end of the day, learning to run a business is not a terribly difficult thing to do. The fact of the matter is that the economics background will not only be able to do the job as well as a B. Com, but he/she will also be able to look at various problems/situations from a perspective which your average Joe will never be able to do.

Now that I am done defending my degree, I would like to address why I am different from your average MA in economics. As far as economists go, many of them end up focusing on the statistical aspect of the science mostly because it doesn’t necessarily require very much imagination to understand mathematics. Somewhere along the line there is a chain of logic which remains intact. The reason I was attracted to economics in the first place was the vastness of its applications. I never look at the world the same way since my first microeconomics course. At one point, friends of mine and I were discussing how we could model male vs female behaviour in dating. My master’s thesis itself was quite unorthodox in that I invented a problem which had never before been solved using economic logic. The main thing which distinguishes me from your average economics student, is that I have that extra imagination to use my theory, and apply it to all sorts of situations where economics might not usually be considered. There is a book written by Steven D. Levitt called Freakonomics. This book won national acclaim because an economist had the imagination to use his educational tools in ways which no one had ever even considered. Now I do not claim to be nearly as brilliant as Dr. Levitt, but having read the book, I know that he and I have a similar view on economics and its applications.

One of the major attacks which economists receive is our inability to be understood by any but the hyper-educated. Another way in which I consider myself different from your average economist is that I have a rare talent for explaining difficult concepts to just about anyone. This talent was reflected in the fact that I managed to hold on to a teaching assistantship for the entire time I was at Concordia University. I was also an economics tutor during my time at Concordia because I was a good teacher. Furthermore (and one can choose to agree with me on this or not), I consider myself a fairly articulate writer. I pursue creative writing as a hobby, and I am comfortable with expressing myself on paper. I have been acknowledged in three separate master’s theses for my contributions to correcting the English, and just making it sound better. I leave you, the reader, to judge my writing skills.

Finally I am young, smart, and motivated. I get exited when solving difficult problems, because it makes me feel good about myself when I do. I’m also stubborn when coming across a problem which I can’t solve because I seldom encounter any situation which is beyond my abilities. I tend to prefer dynamic work which challenges me with new situations. I am not afraid to take criticism and I always take advantage of opportunities to learn from others. I speak French and English fluently, and I speak Spanish very well. Whilst my written French is not quite as good as my English, I nevertheless write fairly well in French, and my written Spanish is also quite excellent. As I grew up and lived in five different countries, I am culturally open-minded, and at ease, even excited by coming into contact with foreigners. The experience has also made me charismatic, and most of all adaptable to situations which are unfamiliar to me. I also grew up as a computer geek, and almost went into computer science myself, when I noticed at young age that by the time I would hit the job scene, the IT market would be well saturated. I like to think that this early sign confirmed my vocation in economics. The result of this is that I am comfortable enough with a computer to learn most software packages in a reasonably short period of time.

I believe that these reasons paint an accurate picture of myself, and illustrate exactly what makes me different from any post university student interested in joining the business world. I am not only different in my education background from your standard business school candidate, but my education is nevertheless relevant in the field. Furthermore, I am different from most economics students in that I can actually apply my education to more than just statistical interpretations, and explain the logic behind most complex economics theories in ways which are understandable to those who lack the technical background. In addition I write well. Finally I differentiate myself on my diverse background and upbringing which has made me adaptable to working in environments which I am unfamiliar with, and in arguably the three most useful languages in the world today. Bottom line, you want to hire me.

2007-01-09T19:39:00.000-08:00

I’m feeling nostalgic for my old life in the US these days. Exploring this rather unexpected shift given my anti-americaness and strong canadianwannabeness, I’ve been exploring the web site of my former high school. These feelings are sparked simultaneously from a recent trip to Venezuela where I saw one of my closest friends, and a recent visit from the first dude to befriend me in my old US high school.

I was quite the uber-dork back in the day. I shudder at some of the things I did, and how I thought they were cool back then. More than that, I cringe at how delightfully lame I was. I remember realizing my lameness when I hit around fifteen years of age, and set out to change my image. Sadly it was hard so I used the opportunity when I moved to Zimbabwe to get a fresh start, which I did. Several years later, and after experimenting with some things I’m not completely proud of, I am the proud shinning self-unemployed person I am.

Back in the days of my uber-dork phase I was infatuated with a female who I had known for quite some time. Eventually I worked up the balls to ask her out on one date, which really didn’t work out the way I had planned due to the uber-dork in me. My violent shift in abode left me unable to contact her. I believe the last time I saw her I kept the conversation superficial and simple for fear of making a genuine fool of myself. In retrospect this was probably a wise move. But as all people are prone to do, and because man is stupid and masochistic, whenever we get a bit down, or violently breakup, etc… one is prone to thinking of the past once again.

And then god gave us Google. Google is a wonderful thing cause it lets you put virtually any word, phrase, anything, and spit out results. So I found the female in question. She evolved in a much different way than I would ever have anticipated, in some ways interesting, in some ways not. It’s odd to me how people do that. Here I’ve had this happy and yet sad memory of someone long gone from my life, and watching them change into something completely opposite from what I had imagined is a strange sensation.

People often wonder what might have been when they lose a loved one to death. Since people cease to exist in your life after you move on, there is a similarity between actual death and falling out of touch with someone. When someone I knew, but wasn’t close to dies, it is a similar sensation to when someone who you were once close to, but eventually grew apart from and never saw again. Number 65 would say that people only exist when they know him. Then again he also thinks the universe revolves around him, although in spite of his mathematical endeavors he has yet to be able to prove this fact.

There once was a man who loved his wife very much. One day, she died, and a demon came to him saying that his wife could be restored to him in exchange for his soul upon his deathbed. The man so in love, so broken by his loss, accepted, and the deal was sealed. There was but one minor condition. The man could never let his wife know of the deal, and the truth forever kept from her. The man was returned to his wife and they were happy… for a time. Then one day, as most great adventures of our lives, the man and the woman grew so far apart that they could not stand being together anymore. It wasn’t that either was a bad person, but as life happens, we can but move with the current, or fight with futility as the tide drags us. The woman left the man, and eventually found happiness herself. She remarried and lived happily ever after never knowing the sacrifice of her first husband. The man realizing his mistake knew pain like none other, for not even in suicide would he be released from his torment. He repented and begged the Lord for forgiveness for tampering with the natural course of things…

Suddenly the man awoke violently and suddenly, trembling uncontrollably, and sweating violently. Shaking off the remnants of his slumber, he tried in vain to grasp the vestiges of that which had been but a vague memory or dream. And suddenly he knew great sorrow as he turned towards the empty spot in his bed and remembered that his wife was perished three days earlier.

Eventually he accepted his loss, and found happiness once again. He never completely remembered the occurrence, but he did know that whatever he had seen in his sleep on the second night had helped him recover. Many demons came to the man in attempts to find some grip upon which to drag him into darkness, but never did they succeed.
Needless to say I did not contact the girl. I don’t really have anything to say to her, and frankly I don’t know what she would have to say to me. Perhaps I will let the dead sleep.

EDIT: Number 65 insists that I point out that I misinterpreted his philosophy. In fact he is of the opinion that no one exists unless he actually perceives them either physically or in some other form. I therefore correct my earlier statement. I'm surprised anyone read this shit in the first place, therefore making a correction at someone else's bequest is a happy moment indeed.

2006-10-01T22:32:00.000-07:00

I walked
I walked among people
I walked among people who walked
I walked among people who walked without purpose
I walked among people who walked without purpose or thought
I walked among people who walked without purpose or thought, and I realized
I walked among people who walked without purpose or thought, and I realized that I was
one of them.

I sought
I sought enlightenment
I sought enlightenment from friends
I sought enlightenment from friends who spoke
I sought enlightenment from friends who spoke in words
I sought enlightenment from friend who spoke in words which hurt
I sought enlightenment from friends who spoke in words which hurt me
I sought enlightenment from friend who spoke in words which hurt me very much.
I sought enlightenment from friends who spoke in words which hurt me very much, and
so I turned
I sought enlightenment from friends who spoke in words which hurt me very much, and
so I turned my back
I sought enlightenment from friends who spoke in words which hurt me very much, and
so I turned my back to those assholes.
I sought enlightenment from friends who spoke in words which hurt me very much, and
so I turned my back to those assholes whom I once called friends.

I deluded
I deluded myself
I deluded myself into thinking
I deluded myself into thinking people cared
I deluded myself into thinking people cared about each other
I deluded myself into thinking people cared about each other, and this upset me.

Listen
Listen to me
Listen to me, please.
Listen to me, please, for this is very important.
Listen to me, please, for this is very important.
Listen to me, please, for this is very important.

You are a selfish piece of shit.

2006-08-07T13:45:00.000-07:00

I have one asshole now.

2006-07-21T08:54:00.000-07:00

Sounds

Bumping back, and rocking forth,
Bringing flinging feathers north,
Floating flying falling through,
Whisper winning welcome woo,
Why the warrior washes worry,
Wondering wasted woman wandering,
Woollen wasted waning wash,
Wearing Wednesday wallow wish,
Making merry mannerism,
Money mastered mystery,
Moaning mumbling mystic means,
Mustn’t measure memory.

It brings alliterations to life,
That which makes the weather strive.
To making lightly understand,
That which one must underhand.
The moment mining measurably,
The massive manly manning me.
And so I bring the melody,
To halt for that which mightily,
Is said without remorse,
And to illustrate my point I’ll use this horse.

Insert random ramblings here,
The dog I fear the end is near,
And valiant veering vagabonds,
To wander with within without.
Lacking lilies Lilith lies.
Inside the pride instils the bride.
And so believe I’ll end the tale,
For it entails,Then end.

I just wrote a poem, and I have no idea what it says, but I'll give it to you for every word was important, at the time it was laid down...

2006-06-20T10:36:00.000-07:00

One of the more common complaints I’ve been hearing this past year is, “Why do all my relationships end like this! Why can’t just find someone decent for a change!” etc… I wonder if it has occurred to these people that unless you find the “one true love” thingy (assuming you believe it exists of course), ALL RELATIONSHIPS END, and usually in ending, they end BADLY. That is, of course, unless it was a shallow one and the separation doesn’t affect you. Those relationships which are the most intense usually end worse, more violently, and more painfully. To know great emotion, one must know great vulnerability. The more you love someone, the more it hurts when it ends. You can’t have one without the other since these two concept define each other. In the end though, statistically you’re fucked since EVERY relationship you have WILL fail unless it’s that utopian one that we all strive for (some of us anyway).

Something else, don’t feed me that “I’m going to protect myself better from now on” bullshit. Love is a beautiful thing which invariably must end. Bask in the glory of it, and make the most of the moment rather than trying to martyrise yourself like some over romantic drama queen.

True romance is not about suffering. It’s not about self imposed pain. It’s about being able to find beauty in all things, and loving it. It’s about being able to more fully embrace all emotion, both positive and negative (people place waaay to much emphasis on the negative).

That is all for now.

2006-06-02T23:49:00.000-07:00

The thing that bugs me about strip clubs is that when I’m inside one, I can’t help but judge everyone around me and feel like everyone is judging me. Naturally for the sake of political correctness I try to treat everyone as individuals, I talk to the strippers, try and humanize them a little so that I don’t feel like I’m just groping random meat. I’m probably going about things the wrong way. I once asked a stripper if she enjoyed her job and she went on a five minute rant about how bad it was. I walked away feeling sorry for her, and a little disgusted at myself when I was clearly courteous, perhaps even friendly. Every now and then though, (maybe a couple of years or so), I feel the need to go back and remind myself why places like that bother me so much, and virtually every time I walk out with these startling realizations which I had reached only a few years prior. The first one is that trying to humanize a stripper makes me feel dirty. The second one is that if I am judging all the ugly guys around me as “pathetic” then I am probably also pathetic, not because I think I’m ugly, but because I’m at the same level as everyone else. Today I also reached the conclusion that the stripper probably also bundle me into that pathetic category, and that really bothers me. These women are ordinary girls, most of them in school, with hopes and dreams, and personalities. They have opinions, and egos. Some of them have crazy self esteem problems, and those who don’t probably have strong egos, not by virtue of being strippers, buy by virtue of having to do rounds and asking random guys if they want table dances. I’m sure that has to affect you in some way, walking around trying to sell yourself (Ha, wait until I hit the job market. I haven’t begun to sell myself yet). The few strippers I’ve asked say they really hate it. I also never found a single one who enjoys her job, and I’m sure that if I did find one, there is a decent chance that she is lying.

I think the worst part is how hard I am on myself. I could probably get over some random person categorizing me without giving me a chance to prove myself. However when one judges oneself, that is the hardest thing to face. Through the looking glass is man’s greatest enemy, and most vital tool to self betterment. Let’s see what happens in a year or two.

2006-02-14T14:39:00.000-08:00

I wonder if prostitutes get more business on Valentine's day...

2006-02-13T01:22:00.000-08:00

A few years ago I went on a date which basically went horribly, and despite what I considered to be numerous sacrifices on my behalf, I got blatantly rejected. I swore to myself after that, that I would never again compromise my dignity for a member of the opposite sex, regardless of the potential rewards. Years have passed and I find myself managing to keep this promise. I am both pleased and frustrated. By the way I hate “the game,” and its players.

She sits upon a stool and stares blindly into the haze before her. Her visage is that of empty feelings, as if a dried husk, a hollow woman, a wasted potential. She does not blink for she requires no blinking. She does not breath for she requires no air. She does not speak for she requires no communication. She does not feel for she requires no contact. She does not live for she requires no passion. But those around her would gape and stare. Many trying to unlock something which is not un-lockable, and those intelligent enough to notice no keyhole attempt to breath life into her, with promises of beautiful things. They throw themselves senselessly against this automaton of vision. But they know not that she serves no other purpose but to distract, for that is all she knows.

“I am not angry you know. I am… disappointed in myself. I thought myself more perceptive than to fall into an old trap. I’ll not compromise my dignity for a girl. I’ve been there and I hate myself when I do it, even if it means something more. It’s ok. I’m not bitter. I swear. Just… disappointed… Ok maybe a little pissed off. Fine angry. What the fuck man! Fuck the Game, and its players. You wanna play this shit with me you play by my rules. I make my own rules. What’s that? You walkin away??? You lose bitch… Fuck…” But he also lost there didn’t he?

“Don’t hate the player man. Hate the game.”
“Damn straight.”
“I hate everything. Because my life sucks”

“Dude, what a tard.”
“Yeah man real winner here.”
“Leave me alone.”
“You think your life sucks? What about that friend with the triple fractured ankle who can’t get a doctor to see her?”
“Touché asshole now get the fuck our of my face.”

Fuck you Valentine.

2006-01-30T22:13:00.000-08:00

“There is something I want to know, and you’ve never given me a straight answer about this. Why did you dump me?”
“... I told you before. It kinda died for me. I started to feel different about the whole thing. It stopped feeling right. I can’t explain it completely it just happened I guess.”
“I don’t believe you. It’s been what, nine months now? You still think you don’t know? Tell me.”
“I’m serious. I don’t think about it that much you know. I just prefer to put things behind me.“
“Bullshit. You can’t keep anything inside and you’re a compulsive obsessor… I think you do know, and you don’t want to hurt me. I’m ready now. I’m over you. But I want to get to the bottom of what you couldn’t tell me. So I’ll ask again. What made your do it?”
“Many things.”
“Such as?”
“Well I’m not lying about feeling a different vibe. It’s just. Well. Ok it was many things. Ever since my relationship before you, I’d been on the lookout for someone else. You know being in love is a great feeling. I loved it. I wanted to return to it. I wanted to move on. So when we started going out, and everything was working out great I kinda rushed into it head first. I wanted to reach that stage again so badly. So I guess I kinda burnt myself out. Wanting it too much.”
“So you lied about being in love with me.”
“No I didn’t because I thought I was. I wanted to be. See I lied to myself.”
“Ok so what are the other reasons?”
“Well, see because I ran in blind I didn’t let certain things bother me too much. You were all over me you know. Always telling me about how awesome I was, and how you wished you could do half the things I did. I’m not special. I’m no renaissance man, and you kept putting me up on this pedestal.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes you did, and worse, every time you did, it was putting yourself down with that compliment. ‘You do all this stuff that I ‘cant do.’ Dude. And I even tried telling you about how that bothered me once, and you got all defensive about how strong you were and stuff. “
“Hey I’m not some wide eyed bimbo if that what you think I am.”
“No I never said that. I’m saying that you were trying too hard to appeal to me… Don’t you see? Look you came out of your relationship with someone that hurt you as well. You were constantly asking your friends to hook you up with someone. You wanted to move on. You made exactly the same mistakes I did!”
“No. I was really into you!”
“I’m not saying you weren’t necessarily. I’m saying I got turned off by the fact that you were trying so hard to make it work. Combine that with my realization that I was in a relationship because I had wanted to be in one so bad. I felt like I needed to get some time alone, get comfortable with myself.”
“Look if you wanted some time off that’s fine, but I was never dependent on you like you say I was. I wasn’t in awe of you like some god or anything.”
“Look. I’m not the only one who noticed it ok? Even after we broke up people were telling me how you were always trying too hard to appeal to everyone. But that’s not the issue. It just a way you were, and it bothered me ok? There is no right or wrong in this situation, it’s just a question of vibe and comfort. I disillusioned myself and you in the process. I’m sorry. But in my defense I think you also disillusioned yourself.
“… Ok fine. Anything else?”
“No that’s about it. I’ve been single ever since we broke up, and for the first time in my life I don’t have this overwhelming urge to find a girlfriend in everyone that I meet. I’m actually comfortable in my solitude. Sure I get lonely from time to time. Everyone does. But for once, I’m not obsessing. I’m not desperate. And I’m having fun!”
“So that’s it? You’re going to be alone for the rest of your life?”
“No. I’ve just stopped trying so hard. I’ll meet people, and eventually chemistry will act, a spark will happen, and something might ensue, just as it might break. Same as always really, but I won’t force the feelings next time.”
“So you never loved me.”
“I thought I did. And in my defense I think you did the same thing I did.”
“That’s not true.”
“Maybe.”
“…”
“You wanted the truth.”
“You’re such an asshole. I can’t believe I even gave you the benefit of the doubt when you dumped me.”
“Look you’ll think about it some. And you will eventually realize that I’m not a bad person. Misguided, young, naïve, but not an asshole. You taught me a lot about myself and I’m grateful. I have no regrets.”
“Always about regrets with you isn’t it.”
“I live my life that way.”
“…”
“…”
“So I guess this is goodbye.”
“I guess it is. Someday you will forgive me.”
“Perhaps.”

2006-01-29T12:35:00.000-08:00

In the north, there is a little house in the middle of a wood, on a lake, covered with ice and snow. A small tendril of smoke eschews from a small protrusion perhaps about the size of a tin can of asparagus, or tomatoes. A soft wind sharpens the hint of a razor’s edge to the austerity, bringing the foliage to life as it shifts comfortably in its resting. It shakes the white powder onto the blanket at its feet, and with a great sigh falls into a deeper sleep. Such perfection is seldom witnessed by those who know how to appreciate the beauty of such moments.

If one should walk slowly and deliberately towards the man, made structure, one will hear the crunching of snow at one’s feet, as indentations are carved irrevocably upon the surface of mother nature; a testament to those who have passed previously. Footprints, sled-prints, perfect holes in the blanket where once a beer bottle resided, cooled by her breath. The path is worn and narrow, and difficult to navigate for the chasm between the two sides of ice was difficult to build in the first place. Passage through this place was obtained through the footsteps of those who have passed before, as if a quickening of erosion.
And as you reach for the golden knob on the door to the cottage, icicles fighting to grow one drop at a time as the warmth of the cottage feeds them fresh droplets of water, a smell of woodchips and tobacco fills the senses.

2005-12-29T09:13:00.000-08:00

These two tidbits were stuff that I wrote recently under the infulence. I've come to the conclusion that my writing is a tad self indugent. Perhaps I will be trying something new instead of venting my melodrama. In any case here are the fruits of booze.

PS: Christmas pictures are up! Thanks Mom and Dad for the camera!

Because I didn’t have the balls, I called… I called my past. I called those who refused to listen to me, I called the Antman who was forgotten even through I tried to convince him that it was true. I called those who told me I was full of shit but in fact were totally wrong. I called those to thought that life was fraught with rejections from me, and those who couldn’t see clarity was false. I called to those who told me they would be ok with their significants to fornicate with others. But honestly I don’t believe this. I am not of the similar opinion. The same testosterone flows through our veins. That makes us the way it is. I am too inebriated to relate that which goes on in my mind. Too bad that I am misunderstood. Perhaps the Turkish girl was correct. I am but an innocent hypocrite in the darkness. Damn me. I hope that Mister Tucker will come and bless this entity like I did once a long time ago. Darn. Too bad. Rawr! I miss you, and though it seems to be meaningless, never the less I persist in thinking that alcohol is a beautiful thing, Damn the masses, fornication, and sex… I am the man. Worship me… Damn u. Love Jesus and stuff. Boooyah… I have a following. I do. Respect me whilst I throw up. Damn u!

Me
Damn Hiccups!

a few days later

I watch porno and listen to Ella Fitzgerald and its cold outside. In this moment I recall a drunken rant which I made once a while ago. I can only concede that since the mistakes were not as rampant on this, which I write in this very moment, I must not needs be necessarily be quite as inebriated as I was in the previous expulsion of emotion which I did make, I still need to make heads and tails of it. In the meantime, I got my love to keep me warm… skip song. This is a fine romance. This day I must have rolled a one hundred on the dice. Random encounter hello! I bring to you the meeting of someone random whom you’ve never heard of. Roll another dice. Ahh! It is feminine and attractive. Let us roll one more dice to determine how it goes shall we? Perhaps she would be a follower of the Deceiver? The Confuser of Ways? Wait a minute did the dice say I was this geeky??? Damn! No wait I’m not! Shit.. never mind then. “TWO MAGIC!!! TWO MAGIC!!! TWO BLESSSED!!! ARGHHHH!!!” “ Tchack! I’m dead!” Booyah.

A fine romance my dead duchess. Two old….. gamers? No. I say either. My very good woman… Porno! I’m watching porno! Ahh yes… booyah… bring it on people… I guess I could end it here but I don’t think that will be enough… checkout my pics site for there will be some cool stuff up there soon… either ither... Timmah…

2005-12-03T07:50:00.000-08:00

cracked at 296 hours

2005-12-01T09:01:00.000-08:00

Ahh let us embrace the sensation of testicles filled tight like water balloons wanting nothing more than to quench the heat of a hot summer day. Let us bask in the glory of unfulfilled desires which leave one empty despite the overwhelming fullness of it all! Let us take the air in a breath of freshness which the lungs are unused to knowing. Let us drink deep, the clear clear waters from which no fermentation can occur. Abstinence from sin is good for the body! And yet… it’s never been more fragile. Irony is a fickle bitch who’s sense of humor’s akin to mine. Damn you for turning the joke on me!

And somewhere in the distance someone is getting laid tonight. ZING! And somewhere in the depths of my being I know comfort, for I have beaten the odds. I have conquered myself. I am the Master of my domain! But why do I continue to punish myself so? What evil do I seek to cleanse with fires of righteousness?

A test! A game of chess against myself. Free beer! Self confidence! Mmmmmm sushi….. Mastery of one’s self! Freedom from the hand! Yeah that’s it! It’s a matter of pride… yes pride! I hold my pride in my right hand! … No wait…. I won’t do that! Not yet! Not until…. until…. What was I just saying? Second only to nature! Ooooops…

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

249 hours down… 519 to go…..Must……. not……. crack…. Arrrrrrrrrrgh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2005-11-23T21:38:00.000-08:00

Mister Prufrock’s frequent visits
Behind the curtain of the screen
Lost among anonymous keystrokes
The Internet
The Internet is for …
The Internet is for …

And in the room horny men come and go talking about how much the cam girl sucks

Grab you credit card and start yankin!
Discreet billing.
No adult mentions on your credit card statement.
Mister Prufrock’s name won’t appear.
Mister Prufrock’s peers will never know.
They shall say, “What the hell is Cyberweb?”
“Who the hell is Prufrock anyway?”
They will never notice.
They will never understand.
The bank will think it’s web space.
And the Admin doesn’t care.
Neither does the girl.
Just a name in an anonymous channel.
That’s what you want isn’t it?

And in the room horny men come and go talking about how much the cam girl sucks.

“No!”
“Damn she looks good.”
- Tehcamgirlsux has been kicked from chat-
“Any time now.”
- Hey baby stick it in jur ass! -
“Any time now someone is going to realize the brilliance of this.”
- Tehcamgirlsux has been banned from channel -
“There must be someone in here who will notice.”
- Hey I’m a girl and I love what you do -
- Ohh baby that was great! -
- Do you like girls? -
- I’m giving you a ten! -
Perhaps the girl?”
- Hey where do you live? -
- Close up please -
- I wish that was me right there -
“Maybe I’m just a retard.”
- Ok guy’s show’s over -
- Thanx babe see u 2morrow -
“But I haven’t finished yet!”

And in the room horny men come and go talking about how much the cam girl sucks

Beating the evening furiously
At one and two and three o’clock
With slippery hands
Coaxing out the last drop
Spitting frantically
Begging for release
And seeing it was a soft November night
Four o’clock in the morning
Sticky hands
Weary and alone
Curled into a fetal ball and fell asleep.

2005-11-15T19:39:00.000-08:00

Withered fingers play melancholic melodies upon the keys of a synthetic surface, bringing forth emotions of stagnation and decay. The soul burns for retribution, demanding reparations for a life cleft in twain from an organic rot deep within a broken coccyx. Time hammers upon the anvil of destiny ceaselessly, irrevocably, and brutally despite those being molded from the fires of Hephaestus. It isn’t supposed to be fair. It matters not to the greater powers. We must need flee like ants evacuating a flooded tunnel, desperately seeking to rescue the seeds of its future. They will not know vengeance for the fall of their comrades. The child with the magnifying glass is too damn big!

I have seen my putrid flesh served upon a silver platter like tartar delicacy, cutlery laced with the blood of my rectum. I have inhaled the fumes as they purged the sickness from my flesh with the fires of man. It is an unpleasant smell. All the while I felt nothing.
Alas corruption cannot be destroyed so easily. It must make sense somewhere in the mysteries of the universe, for it happens. However, the reason of it all eludes me.

Powerlessness is a frustrating state, which when merely accepted can destroy the morale of man. A small part of me wants to fight the futility, like a duty to myself. Like a man plunging headlong to a lost battle, trying hard not to let reason deter him from his glorious end. A responsibility to his pride. To submit in the face of the flow of time, the universal healer of all things, is the surest path to self destruction. I will endure, even though I know I cannot win.

I don’t suppose, that I could impose upon you, good ladies, to cut me a tidbit of thread, weave the hole shut, and tie it off for me? You’d really be doing me a great favor.

2005-11-14T23:31:00.000-08:00

Lying upon my mattress on the floor, my hairy chin propped up by two pillows, my hands extended in front of me, fingers dancing across the keyboard as if playing a complex tune with some foreign instrument. The net at my disposal, and the imaginations of a repressed individual having spent too much time upon the floor, for the seated position was inappropriate and uncomfortable. I feel my body degenerating in this enclave, several feet below the surface of the earth. From time to time I venture out into the bright sunlight of the world, only to return exhausted and nostalgic of the life I have left behind all those months ago, a life which I long to return to, one who’s reunion is certain and elusive. If my time down here in this prison like place has taught me anything it’s that I truly value more all the things which exist outside the fictitious realities of a computer screen and written word. I’ve learned my lesson Life. I know I’ve been negligent. I know I have to learn responsibility and purge the causal comforts associated with that which I take for granted. I must begin to regenerate and strengthen. I no longer wish to waste away upon the floor. My resurrection is at hand. It is time. Release me.

2005-11-12T23:01:00.000-08:00

One of the first things I got into when I first plunged myself into the world of the internet was the IRC chat rooms. I must have been about 15 years old when I first entered one for the first time. It was one where people met to talk about Japanese cartoons. In time I made some friends and migrated over to one of the larger networks, EFNET. We spent hours every day talking about random shit. Then of course the older people all started traveling to meet each other, and eventually have sex. It caused a lot of drama. The most typical story would be one member or the other would be in an online relationship, travel to meet the person in question, screw like rabbits, and then the following morning whilst the partner was taking a shower, use their computer finding out, reading chat logs, that the individual was having cyber sex with about three of his/her friends in the channel. This would result in channel scandal, and members of the chat room would takes sides and eventually split off into two separate rooms, only to have the process repeat itself in some other parallel scenario. Being one of the youngest members, we just sat and watched all the drama. It was very educational.

In time, I got fed up with the constant repetition of it all. I considered on several occasions to go meet some people myself, but it never really worked out seeing as I was too young to travel alone to visit complete strangers. So I left.

Every couple of years since then, I stop and think about what happened to those people, and how the chat rooms would have evolved since those days. From time to time I act on my curiosity. I download a copy of MIRC and travel back to EFNET which is all but deserted these days. #cyberheaven, #17-25, #chathouse are completely empty save for #loonybin where the IRC bot Johnson still stands guard from an attack. Otherwise it remains lifeless with no sign on activity since the days we once hung out there.

2005-10-29T23:01:00.000-07:00

Ella Fitzgerald

I lie of the floor trying to figure out exactly how I went from a three day long melancholy disposition to the beginnings of feeling better. Ive kept all of my wirtings up to now purely artistic, but that sort of thing isn’t satisfying enough for me to feel better sometimes when the mood hits me. I’ve kept from writing direct things about myself for fear of revealing certain aspects of myself which I am ashamed of. These are things which all human beings feel sometimes but I take it upon myself sometimes to conquer my emotions with logic and reason. I don’t like it sometimes when I get swept up by myself, and when I try and wirte about this it feels like I am reading the pathetic ramblings of an insecure teenager. I am in fact twnty five years of age and somewhat mature, at least I consider myself, for the amount of emotional experience I have felt. It is this constant expectations of myself to be able to conquer negativity through cold logic and indifference which makes it so hard sometimes. I’ve done things in the past which I am ashamed of. Rather I have dealt with certain situations in ways which, looking back made me feel childish. I suppose that when such childish emotions begin to take hold of me again I begin to hate myself for feeling a certain way, and as such nstead of trying to work my way thourhg it I’ve been repressing certain things from shame. This brings me down.

Being down is no crime. It hits everyone from time to time, and as such I feel no shame to tell people that im a little depressed. What is embarrassing to me is trying to admit to myself that the cause.

This is the third Halloween. About two and a half years ago I brokeup a relationship in which I had invested a great deal of emotional energy. The break came at a moment when I was already dealing with a great deal of stress. I was doing a boring internship at the Central bank of west Africa. The jobs sucked and I basically spent three months doing nothing. Not only that but I used to come home to an alcoholic mother with whom I used to have violent arguments. It was a very difficult time for me. My parents were threatening to separate, and I found myself ni a situation, far from home with no human backup. Then two weeks before going home I brokeup with this person, and later found out that our relationship had actually ended ni a blazing flame of lies and betrayals.

Thankfully despite the fact that were do share some of the same friends we hardly see eachother except when fair sized party comes around, and Halloween is a tradition which has not been passed up for several years. Every Halloween I dread seeing this person.

The first year she was there, but I was plastered drunk, and showing off a newly acquired skill as I spun chains with glowsticks attached to them, on the roof of the neighbor. It is a miracle I didn’t fall off the three stories.

The second year, the Halloween party took place at my house, and whilst she didn’t show up out of respect for my space, even though I did not implicitly invite her, I suffered from the same heartwreaching stress. That evening we lost and Xbox, an Ipaq, and a digital camera. It was a bad year.
Now the last few days I’ve been fearing the same thing. Ive been attributing the stress to a combination of my medical condition taking longer to heal than I would like, combined with random arguments with my father, but thinking back on it I think the stress was probably there to being with and these inconvenciences just aggravated the situation rather than being the actual cause which I was depseratly trying to put to it.

That being said I forced myself to go to this gathering even though a large part of me didn’t want to. I may have brought some people down in the process with my horrible mood, but I guess I knew deep down that this was something I had to do. Sure enough she was there and for the first time in two years I went up and said hello. I gave the two kisses and made about a minute or two of random small talk. I guess that was my way of saying… I don’t know what I was trying to say. Maybe just that it’s ok. I’ve finally let go of my hate. But if I did why was I so anxious? And why after the hour that I spent, when I decided it was time to leave, when I said goodbye to her again in the same way I had said hello. Why do I suddenly feel better? I know I’ve accomplished something important, but I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it will come to me in time. In the mean while it feels good to feel relaxed again. Until next year. I hope I’ll feel better next time round.

I know those to threw the party are going to read this. I’m sorry I had you guys worried for me. I know my reaons for being weird are childish.. But all selfishness aside the evening was a productive one for me.

I’m not going to reread this. I’m not going to edit it or spell check. I’d rather leave this is in its natural state.

2005-09-18T21:38:00.000-07:00

Loosely coalesced droplets of water patter softly upon the surface of my cranium, gently massaging all the aches and pains within. A slight breeze cools the bitterness beneath the skin and calms it tenderly like a breath of fresh air re-instilling life into an asphyxiated personality. I do not attempt to fathom the objects which create the reality which I habitually interact with. No, my eyes are closed this evening, and I am all alone with the rain and cool airs. My lungs heave and release, just like the time before, and the time before that, but this time with recognition and symbolism that I had not noticed, or bothered to notice. I can feel liquid gently making its way in between the follicles of hair down my arms, down my chest, my back, my legs, my face. There is a great weight lifted, as if all the worries and troubles of the imperfect man are washed away from him. In a moment another great sigh as it pours off me into a pool at my feet. And in a moment, for just a moment, I can let go completely. It makes me think about how lightly I take my breath, my heartbeat, my shivers, the tiny itch in the bottom of my feet which is only a nuisance when I think about it, only for a few moments, and then it is gone again. It makes me think, how easily I lose sight of the undeniable truth. It is good to be alive right now, and forever. If God does exist I pray he never let me lose sight of this moment. Where everything in the world makes sense.

2005-09-16T17:11:00.000-07:00

Inspire me o Lady of the Word! Allow me use of these thy gifts. Thy permission grant I plead. Homage to thee. Thou hast blessed the mortal man with pen, and paper, and keyboard. Thou hast given unto me sensitivity and life. Thou hast taught me love, and song, and desire. I plead unto thee madam inspiration to pay respects to thy divination. For with the words which thou hast granted me, I wish to make unto thee, a gift. And though these thoughts cannot unto thee do justice, I’ll do as best as I know how. And though I am incapable of depicting, exactly that which doth flow within me when feel the ecstasy, I’ll do as well as can be done with the very tools you instruct. And I pray thou dost accept my most profoundest admirations, for not a master of the art am I. But I do assure thee that all my being went out into it. And so I ask thee to guard that which I am about to give, a part of my soul. Cherish me, and I do give thee worship. So speak unto me o Muse! Fair maiden of dictation. Lay upon me use, thy everlasting inspiration,

Her name is Polyhymnia and She moves like grains upon the sands of perfection. Swaying in the wind like some gentle force of nature,
Upon some lost and lonely shore.
Undisturbed in silence,
Swimming softly to the beating heart of earth.
And as she passed to and fro,
All who behold her know
Peace.

She is the hope which Pandora did release.
She is the outlet,
The cure,
The means by which mortal man endures.
She brings respite to those who follow her,
The likes of which no mortal lover
Brings.
She is better than death.
She is release.
She is the most serene listener,
The soundest word,
The greatest love,
Desire,
Shoulder,
Friend,
Lover.

Her whispers have inspired passions in the most devout.
Her breath has robbed and bestowed the deepest romances,
The most bitter hatreds,
The most pure emotions.

Through her one can peer,
Deep within the darkest hearts,
And understand.
And with her one will jump,
And shout,
And laugh,
And dance,
And cry,
Without ever knowing why.

And yet ever elusive is she.
For not one to be caught is she.
Beyond the hopes and dreams of man,
Beyond imagination,
Beyond conceptualization,
Beyond that which man was made to grasp,
Beyond all we understand,
Beyond reality,
Beyond even me.
And yet,
I know her to exist,
In my mind her touch persists.
And I am scarred
Forevermore.

More elusive as is the questing beast,
Incapable of being caught,
For not even I can perceive her thought.
Though I may try,
With all my perfect imperfections.
I am blind unto her as a child staring hard unto the sun.
She exists not except within me.
And deep within my soul,
Close to my heart,
My mind,
Myself,
I’ll cherish her forevermore.

She is my light when there is darkness,
My darkness when there is too much light.
She is neither jealous nor demanding.
Granting only understanding,
And confusion.
I care not,
For what little glimpse I do perceive,
Doth suffice to drive nations unto madness.

I am her loyal servant,
And her lover,
And her brother.
She loves me in ways none other
Can.
For created her did I,
Just as she created me.
We are one and none.
We are bonded but apart,
But I exist and she does not.

I’ll spend the rest of my days seeking the most imperfect reflection in another’s eyes.

2005-09-15T00:13:00.000-07:00

Occasionally I think back on my old school in Zimbabwe and how much I hate it. The school was called St. George’s College, and it was an all boys school run by Jesuits. The system of education was old school, corporal punishment, copying 100 lines from the bible by hand. Your incentive to be good was punishment, not at all like the progressive reward systems.

My first impression came even before I actually moved to Zimbabwe. My parents had been down to scope out the place, and they went to visit the school. They told my parents politely that my brother and I would be better off attending the international school. We were furious but insistent. Eventually my parents had to ask a friend of the family in the Vatican to write a letter on our behalf. We got in.

The school uniform consisted of a both khaki shit and shorts, with a red and white tie, a red floppy hat and blazer. It was absolutely ridiculous but I wore it with pride and humor my first days of school. I was well received by the students since I passed myself off as the badass American boy from DC. No one called my bluff, and I instantly acquired respect. The teachers treated me like I didn’t speak their language. One even went so far as to suggest that we write to the examination board when exam time would come and inform them that they were going to grade an American student as if I was disadvantaged. Since they school heavily favored the jocks, the administration gave me a lot of shit for not trying out for sports. I seriously hated it.

The turn of the tide came when the school took two months off and sent us all off to do community service. I was sent to an elementary school for mentally handicapped children. I admit that at first I was very reluctant seeing as I had already completed community service at my old high school in the States. We brought the parents to plead my case, but the school refused to waver. And so I found myself every day working on restoring old computers which the school used to teach their kids. The computers were old and crappy but I put each one back into decent shape quickly. I installed games, played with the children, it was fun. At the end of the session we were asked to raise money for our respective organizations. In a brilliant scheme I took advantage of a school play taking place and set about selling soft drinks and snacks. We made more than any other group in the history of St. George’s College. Around that time I started getting a little more positive notice from the teachers. Those who had forced me to go gloated, but I was happy I’d done a good thing and had a good time.

The next two years was one victory after another. In academics I pwned. I made a buddy with whom I started a lucrative underground operation involving internet downloads. I had access to technology and know-how that no one else in the place did. We made quite a killing further enhancing our reputations amongst the student body. I went out a lot, partied, started smoking, threw parties in probably the largest house anyone I’ve ever known has lived in. I was king of the world there.

Now at the time things were going well. My grades were kicking ass so they gave me some slack about sports. Turns out their all American jock was turning into the nerdy brainiac with a social life and a reputation. However I had this friend who was less liked by the administration. In short they sent a note to the boy’s parents saying that mine and another kid’s parents had officially complained to the school about the behavior of a certain student. Naturally my friend was booted right out of the school and his parents pissed off at me. The matter was sorted out between us eventually, but he never truly recovered from the blow. Sure he was a slacker. He didn’t excel at sports or do particularly well academically. Now St. George’s College is an excellent institution which produces excellent boys. So because they couldn’t train him they banned him. I’ve never forgiven them.

I got my vengeance shortly thereafter when some friends of mine snuck into the school at night and poured two liters of potassium permanganate into the swimming pool. We turned the pool dark purple. Guess who they blamed. Only a foreigner could have had the balls to pull something like this. However I was the kid who was going to bring them three A’s at A-level, and they had no proof whatsoever. The school tried intimidating the culprits with lies about how they knew who had done it and would offer mercy if they stepped forward. No one did, and I had been home when it had happened. Booyah.

My friend and I eventually grew distant and to tell you the truth I don’t like him much anymore for different reasons I wont go into now. But the fact of the matter is that the school wasn’t interested in giving education. They were interested in money and reputation. All the words of the priests and people, the school which sent us all out for two months for the good of mankind did it for repute. It seriously hit my view on Catholicism and the Jesuit Order. I’m not saying that such people are bad people. Many of them have good intentions and do good things so I’m not going to judge people based on their religious choices. However I remain to this day disgusted at St. George’s and the lies.

Since then Zimbabwe has gone to shit. I don’t know if the school remains open. I don’t know what befell of the people there. I do know that some of my more favorite professors did get out. I also know that the people who hated me for being a foreigner before proving myself, and lied about my friend, got into shit with the government, because that is the nature of dictatorships. I feel truly bad. No one deserves what they are getting, even if the system was misguided and oppressive to the students.

I have a fantasy that some day I’ll be able to back to the school as I remember it with no troubles and none of the political turmoil. I’ll go right up to “Spacemonkey” one of the most despised members of the school and ask for a tour telling him that I am considering making a hefty donation. I’ll offer fags to those old enough to smoke, and openly humiliate the man in front of his students all with a couple hundred US dollars in my hand waving them at his face. In the end I’ll tell him that it was myself and a couple of buddies who engineered the best school prank, the school had ever seen. The money will go to some student I deem worthwhile and I’ll send him off to University somewhere good.

My daydreamings can be so very childish sometimes.

2005-09-08T09:36:00.000-07:00

Entering the hall of mirrors makes one reflect in many different patterns upon the iris. So many aspects of oneself are illustrated, that it is no wonder that the human mind is stretched to impossible limits in order to fathom it all. Perhaps one is not meant to understand all the distortions, images, allusions, allegories which encompass the human soul, reflected upon millions of looking glasses. However despite all the myriad of imperfections, modifications, and fat heads, one can be assured that there exists somewhere somehow a genuine article, which is the source of all these distorted representations. This metaphor is similar to the way people view you from an external perspective or better yet, the way you see yourself in the reflective eyes of those around you. It is difficult to peer directly into one’s own soul and more often than not it takes another imperfect mirror to illuminate what lies within the original… like a shadow shedding light on a dark corner. I believe that one of life’s eternal quests lies in finding those who’s reflections are clear enough to learn something about oneself. After all my own eyes, more often than not, reflect the most obscure images of me. As for the significance of the perfect mirror, I am not yet certain. In any case there is no such thing.

Some say that only in solitary reflection can one eventually find truth and enlightenment. I am of the opinion that such methods do not work in emotional matters of oneself. I am at the moment concerned with earthly carnal things which affect my life. I care not for the higher truths in the universe of things, simply because one can never be certain, of what will see when peering into a black hole. I prefer to redirect my attentions inward and ponder upon myself. Tis very egocentric it is, but as I perceive it, we are all the centers of our own universes.

And therefore since all the world’s a hall of mirrors and all the men and women merely looking glasses. I say wander and absorb. Discover yourself, and if you do, and do not like what you find, change it, rather than finding another more desirable reflection. You cannot run from the hall of mirrors for it surrounds us all. You either study it or ignore it. To run would lead one to exhaustion and despair

2005-09-05T22:51:00.000-07:00

Late in the evenings before heading off to my rest is when I get most of my writing done, and where I spend most of my reflecting time. It is in these moments that my mind is free to wander about the random things in life, generally accompanied by my own personal soundtrack from my computer. Music is incredibly important to me. Right now I am listening to “Hit me Baby One More Time,” by Travis. It’s a great song. Makes me nostalgic a bit. My own piece of drama.

I think on the past, the present, the future. I think about loneliness and weather I really do feel alone despite the overwhelming amount of close friends I have. Despite the overwhelming amount of people who consider me close friends, neither jealous of those I also share myself with. I am supremely well surrounded, and yet there is little romance in my life at the moment. I might as well blame it on the ass, but I think that in large part I don’t want to be with someone for the sake of being with someone. My experience has shown that forcing leads to disastrous ends. Better to leave it to the magical science of chemistry. This is a topic I think very much on. I guess perhaps I just miss the attention. I don’t know.

I don’t know if I get very much accomplished during these sessions of self analysis. Most of that which I learn about myself is by analyzing my behavior, reactions in social situations as they are happening or based on other people’s observations. I learn most of life’s lessons by screwing up and then seeing someone make the same mistake. More often than not sense is only achieved when I begin to draw parallels.

I am very frustrated with my writings. I can’t seem to dialogue. I have been trying over the past several months to write out conversations between people. Any conversations, about anything. I am fully capable of relating descriptions, professions with my writings. I am a fair actor for one who has no experience. I can lie, like a champ, and make people see my side of things easily, but when it comes to exposing a point through dialogue I don’t know where to begin. It bugs me because eventually I’d like to write something meaningful. I have several ideas for potentially interesting plots, but I can’t seem to commit further than setting up the story.

I missed the Greenday concert because of my ass, which incidentally is more sore than usual. I have an uneasy feeling today that the doctor might have missed something with the last operation. I hope I am wrong. I can’t spend another 4 months of my life in a basement floor. I need to go out and do something now. I miss life so very much. I’m starting to hate my computer games. I am bored. I want to go back to the way things were before. I’ve been gimpy for 5 years over a stupid reason.

That’s it for now.

2005-09-04T23:57:00.000-07:00

And over here ladies and gentlemen I would like to interest you in the birthing of a new day. The smell of moisture is still thick in the air, undisturbed only by the errant animal, delicate breeze, random insect, lost drunkard returning home from an evening of heavy emotional suicide. I urge you all to silence, and to bask in the sense of peacefulness, the austerity of the nature around you. Don’t mind the asphalt, the lack of flora. The city itself has its own unique energy did you know? Close your eyes. Can you feel the sensation of millions of people simultaneous resting in anticipation of yet another day in their lives? My excitement is overwhelming. Right now is the most special part of the day because no one bothers to live this moment except in blissful ignorant slumber.

Ahh see the birds have begun their worship of the soon to be rising sun. In just moments the animals will rise and begin preparation for the coming energy. See the squirrels ripping open green garbage bags on the street, seeking breakfast? In but a few short hours, men will come and clean up the mess. The smell of fresh coffee will begin to fill the streets, and warm bread, and morning smells. Observe, they come just at the first crack of dawn. And now a buzz as the first automobile fires up, speeding through the empty streets. Is it not unique to hear only one engine raring in the midst of virtual silence?

Let us walk to the river. See the dewdrops glistening on the grass as the sun rises eastward? If you sit, you’ll get a bit wet but who cares right? Soon the sun’s warm rays will dry whatever your manufactured clothing absorbs. It’s quite alright. Now breath. You can almost smell the water from here. They say you can’t swim in it, but it is nevertheless beautiful as the sun bares its first expressions on the reflective surface, blinding you with its glory. It is quite lovely the moment where she appears in her fullness, washing away the cold, and dampness in your jeans. It’s too overwhelming for the human eye to absorb completely so you have to hide and cover your eyes a bit. Any who try and behold the fullness of her beauty are struck blind, for mortal man was never meant to understand all of her secrets. That’s a good lad, now try not to drool so much.

Look here comes the very first wave of feet pressing to the resurrection of the city. The dreams are beginning to end and preparations must be met in order to satisfy the coming events. See the man exiting his abode to fetch the news of the world, the thoughtful mother allowing her pet dog respite from urinary abstinence, the children yawning, alarm clocks ringing, last minute lovemaking, showers, clothing, breakfasts, defecations, tooth brushings, well wishing, last minute homework, car starting, day beginning. Are we not fascinating the way we can fill the void with all our dreams, disappointments, promises, lies, anguishes, accomplishments, violence, and love? Truly the collective consciousnesses are in themselves another overwhelming form of beauty, like the sun, too difficult to stare at, but amazing to behold.

Now sit down and stretch out your souls. All the energies beginning. Can you feel it? Can you feel the life? Can you feel her breath? She is alive you know. And you are as much a part of her as she is of you. You may be a small player in the grand scheme of things but without you she is not who she is. And besides, all play an equally important role in her eyes. So cherish her, and never let her die. Accept her as she accepts you. Love her, for she is your home.

2005-08-26T13:57:00.000-07:00

Witness watch
Behold, enjoy
View the thing which I perform
Feel the wet as I submerge
Sense the liquid penetrating
Everything

The wetness rises
Hold you breath
Pray for death
Immolation via water
Perforation of another
And soon
You breath

The substance seeps deep into the bowels of one’s being
Turning it to its own
Tainting
Dehydrating
If you shower too long your skin will pucker.
If you abide too long you’ll melt
And your eyes will stay that way forever

Absorb, bask, excatsize
The feeling filters everything
Throwing onto it an incontroversial bias
It brings nostalgia to all things

Be sure to eat lots of ice cream
Chocolate chip cookie dough
View old videos
Read letters of love long lost
Weep for the past upon dusty photographs
Take the air in a melodramatic tranceAnd drown yourself in it.

2005-08-08T22:26:00.000-07:00

Nostalgia and regret are two of life’s most bitter opponents.

I have regrets.

I regret not having stayed friends with certain people, or rather allowing myself to become distant from certain elements of my past became I was ashamed. I miss certain feelings. I wonder what they are doing now. I beg forgiveness. It matters not.

I regret not having had certain foresight in some situations. Or rather not facing myself and the truths which I knew to be true but wasn’t ready to accept. I wish I had been more mature in some situations. It would have saved me, and many people who were in my entourage at the time, a certain amount of pain. I have made myself out to be an asshole in several situations due to my selfishness and my lack of foresight. I beg forgiveness. It matters not.

I regret women who offered to share themselves with me. Good people I liked, but was too intimidated to act on because I was naïve and frightened by what I might discover about myself. I wish I had been more brave and adventuresome. I wish I knew then what I now know. I wish I had had more tact in my refusals. I hurt people. I beg forgiveness. It matters not.

I regret not spending more time with my parents. I grew afraid when we began to drift apart and I have on some occasions been insensitive and judgmental. I have taken them for granted since they are always there and always be there. I assume too much. I beg forgiveness. It matters not.

I have put people who are close to me through useless immature drama and fits of naïve emotion. I have put mundane problems on the shoulders of people with issues far more important and real than my own. I have bored people, frustrated them, wasted their time, and been, by some, pushed away as a result. I beg forgiveness. It matters not.

I have become melodramatic again on occasion. I miss the past and fear the future. I have gimped my chances because I am too scared to act to save myself. I keep waiting for someone to dig me out of my pit. I am reluctant to do it myself. I beg forgiveness. It matters not.

However, in spite of all this I am learning, growing, shifting changing. I grow stronger every day, slowly steadily. I give thanks for this. It means the world to me.

2005-07-30T20:03:00.000-07:00

A passage from the exploits of Habib al Taib.

Habib enters the hall of the Formian queen and stares at the great alien presence before him. He feels that it somehow falls into a certain sphere of the natural order of things. He does however concede that whilst his knowledge of nature is normally undisputed, the Seerdomain and Akaron in general do indeed present an interesting variation of the natural laws. He realizes that in this place he must maintain an open mind.

The creatures before him are neither ant nor human. They resemble both and neither, and this fact ensues a conflict within himself concerning weather or not the Formian race represent an abomination in the eyes of the natural order. He ponders not too heavily upon this matter, and deliberately turns a blind eye. The creatures have offered aid, and against their devil opponent, clearly an evil, unnatural creature who would destroy existence as he knows it, all aid must be accepted and graciously exploited.

His companions begin to question the Queen about the metal beasts, denizens of the Devil Shadowthrone. A consensus has been reached that the best way to weaken the enemy defenses would be to attack its allies. The metal beasts are an abomination and a threat to the mission. They must be eliminated.

The Formian queen is unable to provide much information that is not already known. The metal beasts eat anything metallic with delight, and have a weakness against organic means of destruction. Habib realizes that the fight will most likely center around himself and his pet Jackal. With this in mind he begins his meditations entreating the forces of nature to grant him specific magics to best exploit the enemy weakness. He plans to employ the use of a great wave of slime capable of eating through metal, as his primary means of attack. He is confident, for there are few who would be capable of countering this tactic, as a means of offense.

As a final warning, the Queen informs the group about Zalatium, Shadowthrone’s second. Zalatium, she explains is a fallen angel, a Trumpet Archon who despite his fall from grace, is still capable of employing his angelic abilities, along with new Devil powers. He is a force to be reckoned with, and as such, the party should prepare to deal with him should they assault Shadowthrone’s fortress.

The companions leave as the queen grows irritated at their noncessant interrogation. It matters not for they have obtained most of the necessary information for completion of their quest, and to remain longer would only invite unnecessary repetition.

Habib lands on soft eagle feet having scouted the area and finding it deserted. He consults the forces of nature, entreating them for answers, but none are forthcoming. This is strange to him, however he quickly remembers that in the Seerdomain, nature might very well answer to its owner only. He motions the party forward, weapons drawn and ready for anything. His anticipation is heightened when he spots very fresh tracks metal beast, and if not for the quasi-godlike eyes of Valenkel, he almost flies straight into an Orc hiding in the brush, accompanied by two tigers.

Remembering that things are different in Akaron, Habib speaks to the Orc in his own tongue entreating a discussion away from the potentially dangerous proximity of the metal beast lair. The Orc agrees, and the party follows him to a nearby hidden tunnel.

The Orc is called Munroot. Munroot is covered from head to toe in a bone armor with weapons made of similar material. Not an ounce of metal exists on his person for the metal beast smell the substance and revel in consuming it orally. He is sworn to avenge his brother, fallen victim to the head metal beast. Munroot assures the group that the power of the creature is such that a “sacrifice” must keep the beast at bay whilst he prepares a magic arrow to slay it instantly. Munroot explains his intentions to sacrifice his pet tigers, companions of his own fallen brother, whilst he prepares the spell. He spots Kay decked out with metal weapons, and understands him to be the group’s “sacrifice” against the beast. Kay concedes with a smile and irony, already confident of his own immortality. Meanwhile Habib attempts to befriend the tigers who, much to his surprise reply back in common tongue. Habib understands that Munroot’s brother was a Shaman, and had awakened tiger companions. In order to strengthen Munroot’s trust in him, Habib proclaims himself a powerful shaman. Munroot is pleased to have found a “friend of nature”.

A consensus is reached, and an alliance formed. They will work together. Habib finds working with an Orc repulsive at first, but retains an open mind. Akaron is a strange place indeed.

The companions creep carefully towards the lair. Early on they are jumped by the metal beasts who are quickly dispatched. Whilst the fight is short, it causes a ruckus. Munroot is quick enough to employ some form of magic to stifle the noise. The creeping resumes.

The lair of the metals beasts is, like the creatures, entirely constructed of metallic substance. Its walls are riddled with lookout spots where some of the monsters await to jump lesser creatures for food. The first of these sentinels is dispatched without incident. The second one proves more problematic as Habib foolishly orders his earth elemental to pound at the walls seeking to pulverize the beast lying in wait behind an illusionary. The noise sends a powerful resonance down into the pit of the cavern and warning is heard. The beasts are aware of their presence.

Habib recognizes orders being shouted. He is capable of understanding the language of the beasts and is able to warn the party of a pending attack. The beasts howl a metallic screech which resonates in the cavern as if its very walls had been engineered to amplify the sound. Its effects are excruciating but Valenkel throws a silence stone to nullify the noise. Battle is engaged.

The fight is brutal, for the metal beast leader is huge and intimidating. He is also unexpectedly agile as he dodges Habib’s slime wave. However knowing his role, Kay assumes an incredible display of taunts at the beast. Kay is a seasoned warrior and a cocky one. He understands that he must keep the beast distracted long enough for Munroot to prepare his arrow. He approaches battle weaponless, armed with a sturdy coral shield for defense. His taunts infuriate the sentient Metal Leader into a frenzy of powerful attacks absorbed by Kay’s body, reinforced by Estand’s magics. Whilst the Tigers are quickly destroyed by the lesser metal beasts, the rest of the party is capable of engaging them competently. Munroot smiles and proclaims the end. In, but a few moments the beast will be destroyed when a lesser creature slips by his attackers, disrupting Munroots’s concentration. Munroot goes pale with fear, but the warrior within him retains control. He raises his bow and begins again, awed by Kay’s resistance against the Leader’s furious attack.

Kay is brilliant, and it is only the sternest duty which prevents Habib from collapsing into a heap of feathers in tears of laughter at Kay’s taunts. “Ohh is that all bitch? Are there any females of your race? Cause you hit like a girl! Common! I’m just a measly human with no weapon? Is that it? I can dance all day bitch!” So insulting are the taunts that this monologue will not do it justice, and the beast doesn’t even realize as Munroot’s soul seems to flow into his arrow, piercing his powerful metal body.

The Metal Leader exploders into a myriad of shards. A creature rises from the remains bearing two marks of blue and red which Habib recognize as marks of ownership. He suspects that one must belong to Shadowthrone, for he himself bears a similar red symbol from a different devil lord. The second one, he believe belongs to Zalatium. The creature is weakened but not defeated, and it is by chance that Habib understands the metallic orders which eschew from the beast. “Summon him,” he urges, and smaller creatures run quickly to the back of the room.

“Kill them!” Habib screeches with a bird like screech, unleashing another slime wave. The party recognizes the threat for the slime is of Habib’s most potent curses. They fly. Alas one beast succeeds in reaching its destination, opening a portal. A few moments later a trumpet appears at its mouth. Habib orders a summoned earth elemental to block the sound with Valenkel’s stone of silencing, for the Archon’s trumpet can destroy mortals with its pure notes. The plan functions temporarily, but the Archon is wise and powerful. He projects a manifestation of himself and blows.

The sound is not unpleasant, crystal, clear, beautiful, but somehow tainted. Whilst the companions are unaffected the metal leader explodes once again, this time into a mess of gore and guts all over the back wall.

And then….

2005-07-26T23:55:00.000-07:00

Along the river of neglect,
Lying futiley in peaceful ignorance,
Whispering reactions of freedom,
Finally dig into shadow,
Of blissful misfortune.
Every dooryard which appears,
Begins the fear,
Of loathing crosses,
And we fall.

We are the dense men!
We are the heavy men!
Headpiece filled with lead!
Alas!

Reminder of that which was,
Remind me of times one could cope
And joke
Of fleeting things,
Remembering,
Nothing of that at hand.
Understand,
It is nature made this way,
And pray,
I sink not deeper,
Into cement.
Lament,
My loss.
Praise,
My success.

Faced with that which I most feared,
Makes me wonder growing beard,
Would help.
I shall shave my head again,
I shall change myself again,
I shall, I shall.
It is impossible to express myself!
But as if a man stood on another,
I’ll take another,
And steal his work.

Look into a mirror mirror.
Close your eyes.
And face yourself.

2005-07-17T23:36:00.000-07:00

Mister Alexander was a gentleman like none other. His manner was smooth, his words appealing, his dress cordial, and he moved with a certain finesse and grace, a certain je ne sais quoi. However the gentleman in question was a mystery to the good folk of Bodington, and when his untimely demise arrived, most people couldn’t help but wonder where or what or how this somewhat special, yet unobtrusive man had met with such an unfortunate accident. Naturally the local authorities were suspicious that one so well known by the people in the small town, were able to provide such little information about him. He was after all relatively sociable, amiable, approachable. However not one person knew anything about his past nor had had the curiosity to enquire as to how such a remarkable fellow such as himself, would have come to settle in the quaint little village of Bodington, nestled in the Many Mountains.

Upon further investigation it became apparent that Mister Alexander had left no will, no instructions, no testament as how his fortune was to be distributed, and indeed it was a remarkable weight of coin which the Prefecture acquired from Mister Alexander’s modest estate. Eventually the coin disappeared, probably eaten up by the establishment itself. The Man profited from Mister Alexander’s demise, but no could conceive of any possible motive nor method. And yet one cannot help but think at how unlikely an event it would be for a ten ton boulder to randomly fall seemingly out of an un-rocky mountain, onto a moving vehicle at precisely the same moments, once again proving that two objects cannot coexist in the same place at the same time. By the time the bureaucracy finally reached the crash site, the destructive force of fire had already taken most of what was once a polite, elegant young gentleman with no past or identity.

His estate was seized, and almost immediately auctioned off along with his belongings, for the investigation led no where at all, and since Mister Alexander kept his abode in tip top shape, no renovations were made. Mister Alexander’s belongings sold well. The people of Bodington acquire quality coats, canes, weed pipes, ornaments, objects pertaining from cultures not known to them. A wandering tinker gypsy troupe which came by every year identified most of the objects as hailing from a country far across the Great Sea. Most of the villagers scoffed at this idea.

The Gypsies were sneaky buggers not to be trusted, since things did have a manner of disappearing when they were around, however they did bring to the villagers wonders not seen in any nearby land. And since they had to date not been implicated, the lull of some of their extraordinary wares and shows was far greater than the fear of theft. It was however agreed that the Gypsies could not be trusted, and that the Great Sea went on forever and ever so that a sailor could be birthed upon his craft and his offspring, and his offspring, and his, and his, and his, perish from ripe old age before the craft would rot, and its cargo drown. They knew this because Patrick the Potent had indeed dared the adventure and returned twenty years later with no news. What was affirmed was that the winds made the return trip far quicker that the going, for Patrick had sailed nineteen years and eight months before perishing from a broken piece of mast to the noggin, which resulted in his crew turning back. His men were surprised to discover, four months and a day later that Gaia was once again in sight. Since everyone knows that sailors are incapable of deception and masters of their craft, no one sought to question the validity of their claims.

But alas, it seems to be that I have entirely digressed from the matter at hand, and gone off into the telling of another tale.

Mister Alexander’s sparse remains were cremated shortly after forensics determined that the boulder had landed directly on top of the late gentleman killing him instantly and sparking up a fuel in his petroleum tank. His ashes were scattered on the four winds, so that his soul could wander in any direction it pleased before ascending to the beyond, and just as soon he was forgotten.

Years passed, Seasons turned. And by the time a Mister Alexander settled in a quaint little estate on the edge of Bodington, none could recall a similar scenario occurring but a few short fifty years earlier. Mister Alexander was tall, and charming. Eloquent, and chivalrous. He gave off the feeling of total decency and civilization. His manner was smooth, his hat, elegant. And since it is not considered polite to question a gentleman too closely this Mister Alexander also didn’t leave behind any information concerning his past, when a boulder collided precisely with his transport as he was making his way to town. Mister Alexander’s belongings were auctioned, along with his estate. His fortune, having not been bequeathed to any next of kin, seized by the local authorities, and just as quickly as he perished. The memory of Mister Alexander vanished like smoke on a cold winter day.

Now the minds of man are imperfect, and memory a fleeting thing. However it was perhaps around the twentieth, fiftieth, or maybe millionth Mister Alexander that the good people of Bodington found themselves with more hats, and canes, and relics from “Across the Great Sea” as the Gypsies so aptly put it, and began to wonder how it was, that hamlet had managed to amassed such an unprecedented rate of growth compared to neighboring cities. Indeed it appeared that the local coffers were limitless in providing funding for some local project or another, that by the time they began to question, the phenomena, Bodington had grown to a sizeable metropolis complete with any sort of local public good man could conceive. Why they even had machines scouting for all but the slightest blemish on the shiny town, eradicating the offending spot in mere minutes. Neighboring communities grew fearful and jealous at Bodington’s success. And it was only shortly after Bodington’s declaration as an independent state, that old Farley stands up one evening and says, “Hey anyone remember what happened to that ol’ Mister Alexander feller?”

2005-07-15T11:23:00.000-07:00

One of life’s greatest revelations came to me when I took a course on Spanish Romantic literature at McGill University. I had walked out of a bad breakup about a year or two prior and was still feeling sorry for myself at the time. I must have been about 20-21 years old. Yeah late bloomer. Anywho I minored in Hispanic Literature and Culture in order to keep up my recently acquired mastery of the Spanish language, which has severely deteriorated over the years, but that is another story for another time. A digression if you will.

The course was excellent. It was taught by a Catalan gentleman, who I thought had lots of class. He clearly liked and was liked by the ladies. We were perhaps 20 females and 3 males taking the course, so you know I felt pretty good every time I walked in.

We began reading story after story concerning men, and women who had fallen hopelessly in love with each other, but denied its reward. Either it was a priest and a woman, a commoner and a lady, or a playboy and some innocent, etc… Either way it was always soppy, tragic, and invariably ended with someone dying of tuberculosis, the death of a broken heart. Unique suffering, sensitivity, understanding, supernatural love, all these were recurring themes. The people in the stories were weak and pathetic. And then it dawned upon me that I was exactly the same.

My conclusion at the time lead me to the realization that extreme romantics become so obsessed with their unique sensitivity and lack of understanding from their peers, that it dominates their lives and ego. One can build self esteem exclusively based on their unique ability to feel, and when you are a romantic, the emphasis tends to be on suffering.

“I am misunderstood by humanity! The world is full of insensitive barbarians with no emotions comparable to mine! Look how great my sensitivity is! Look how evolved I am to be able to feel such powerful emotions! But somewhere, out there, there exists a kindred spirit who longs for the same things. Who feels and suffers as I do. And when we meet, we can turn our backs against those who are too blind to understand us. And we shall live our lives happily ever after, content in each other’s loving company!”

When your self esteem is built entirely on this sort of thing, you tend to feed off your depression, and get even more depressed. I realized at the time that I was basking in the glory of having been cheated on. For two years I appealed to the pity of others, which of course I didn’t get since being cheated on is no big deal these days, and the more people laughed at me, the more it strengthened my resolve. A very destructive loop indeed. I suffer therefore I am great, therefore I suffer.

I’ve spent years trying to take a more practical approach to life. I tried the opposite extreme of complete emotional mastery and apathy, but that also has strong negative repercussions such as being a dick to everyone around you. Bad idea guys. So now I’m somewhere in the middle. I have my sensitive side, but I don’t let it destroy my life. I’ll pout and complain maybe a little bit more than most people, but not nearly as much as before thank God.

I have since then, been dumped and dumped a couple people. In the immediate aftermath I always tended to feel sorry for myself, but I accept that as human nature. Understanding from another is a rare and difficult thing to achieve, and just as some relationships were meant to work, we also observe that most of those same relationships are meant to fail. I don’t know if true love exists, however I have ascertained with certainty that ‘chemistry’ does. And even if it is doomed to fail, the good times are always worth it. True happiness in life lies in experiences. If you bitch and complain all the time, you will never find a moment to enjoy life.

I believe that in this respect I have achieved balance. Booyah.

2005-07-12T00:01:00.000-07:00

It begins in the diaphragm. Like a pit, so vast that vertigo is felt when one ponders upon its nature. The sensation is kept in check only by practiced reason and sanity. A twisting feeling. A sense of urgency. There are barriers there. Walls that hold back an anguishing energy of complete despair and loss of control. At some times the barrier is weaker than at others. Sometimes a crack or two allows genuine fear to seep through, and the faster you try to plug the leak the more furious the boding sensation of pending doom grows. It dominates the entire body when it does. Breathing, motor skills, the head, the heart, the strength. You want to run, but you can’t. How do you hide from yourself? How do you conquer that which your mind plays against you? How can you win? What can you do but escape? Sleep! Yes, my dreams will liberate me yes it will, and I can run away into some corner where they won’t catch me! Yeah right. Ever heard of nightmares? Ohh shit! Ok, so I just have get my mind off it. If I can think of something else it will go away! But I can’t concentrate. I’m afraid. I feel like I’m dying! I don’t wanna cease to exist! I want to be like before! Take me back to before! Build the wall! Protect me! It’s horrible! Help me!

Drugs don’t help. Alcohol doesn’t either. Exercise? But I feel so weak! I can’t do it! I can’t handle it. I can’t deal. Everything is so depressing!

And then, just when it hits you hardest, you drown.

And then a hiccup, and then a sigh, and then a wail so profound. The flood. The remnants of the barrier gush unto the floor, unto your wiping hand. A handkerchief. A mess. And slowly but surely the barrier reasserts itself as you surrender to the emotion, stop fighting it. Accept it. Let it wash over you, like a storm.

And then when tears dry, and half the world’s Kleenex lies as your feet in an organic lump, pain subsides. Dreamless sleep. Suspension of consciousness. Disexistence.

2005-06-23T00:46:00.000-07:00

Lingering songs leave bitter sensations in the bowels of my intestines. The master strikes again, and another note eschews from the sphincter of woe. It floats for a time, congeals, and leaves behind the remnants of an eternally beautiful thing. Frightened it gazes upon the faces of those who choose to stare intently upon it, and dies. Softly the moans roar into the night, and life which was almost gone arises once again. I too am guilty of such things, but I have not the knack, nor the ability to take it quite as far. Perhaps the realizations which strike the midnight herring will someday illuminate the wickedness of bastards. And fleeting fireflies squeal with delight.

Allow me to apologize for the ravings of the lunatic which slips into the night like a cabbage upon a windowpane. Permit me indulgence at the masturbations of manhood on the crevices of rocks. Forgive my trespasses, as I learn to forgive those who trespass against me. If I have in any way offended thy senses know that it was not my intent. We all want to be noticed by someone who doesn’t notice. We all want someone to pick us up and change things for the better. We all want what we don’t have, and not want that which fall into our possession. Man's greatest friend and most wicked enemy is his desire, his envy, his insatiable lust for that which is beyond his grasp. It will make us masters and break us.

Release thy desires! Let go thy longings! True happiness lies in complacent vegetablism. I want to be un-wanting. I want to be apathetic! I want! I want! Shut up already! The Buddhists were fools! They are just as longing as everyone else. Accept your humanity. Embrace it. Learn it. Control it. Be selfishly unselfish. Make morals! Accomplish stuff! Be happy! There is joy! Stop complaining! Leave me the hell alone! Love me damn you!
It's way past my bedtime.

2005-06-21T00:43:00.000-07:00

It seems to me, my lady that the remedy to thy most foul disposition lies simply in an analysis of thine own necessities and desires. Based on what data I have gathered concerning the matter, I do believe that I have been able to deduce a pattern to thy methods. It occurs to me, madam, that the comforts whist thou art taken with, hath repeatedly concerned men possessed of similar qualities. It is in these common attributes wherein resides the flesh of my deductions.

Firstly and fore mostly, it does occur to me that the consorts which thou hast indulged with, are all men whom at first glace did seem not to notice thyself nor thine existence. Secondly I do perceive that these individuals did also not give in right away for some reason or another pertaining to past liaisons with other human beings, or present ones going on. Weather thou didst know of these facts is irrelevant, for thine actions have been similar in both senses. From these common qualities I do perceive that thou art thyself a slave to the game so to speak. One who appreciates the intricacies of the match more so than its rewards. Such has thy obsession grown, that thou art incapable of appreciating a relationship easily obtained. My lady, thou art a slave to the challenge, and so long as thy goal is beyond thee, though art disposed to long for it all the more. However I do presume that whence the game is done and won, indifference and disinterest shall overcome thee as thou longest for a new challenge. In truth thou hast not yet been subjugated to such a situation, as thou dost choose thy targets in such a way that thou hast not yet achieved a completely successful campaign. I do attribute, madam, the greatest source of thy discomfort to be thine own romantic desire to achieve the unachievable, to conquer the unconquerable. The truth madam, is that such quarry will lead thee unto a never ending quest, and insatiable satisfaction. I do urge thee to consider this strongly as a potential threat to thy further stability. Further analysis also discerns that thou art sensitive to the rejections of peoples. Thy perpetual fervour at chasing the ever so elusive Galtisant hath made thee victim of thine own self worth. Madam, due to the enormity of thy quarry, thy repeated failures have caused thee to be flung into the rapids of a deteriorating self worth. Thou knowest all too well that thou posseseth beauty and intelligence well beyond that which normal members of the fair sex have been attributed with, however thy perpetual dissatisfaction causes thee to question thyself relentlessly. Because thou hast been incapable of discerning the cause for thine inability to achieve stability, thou art looking for some fault, some imaginary endowment which thy consorts perceive, but thou canst not. Thou dost starve thyself, analyze thy personality, rebel, spend much time in preparation prior to unimportant events, and thy efforts go to naught. This in turn begins a spiral of self oppression. My lady, lack of nourishment, and perpetually dissatisfaction will lead thee to ruin.

However madam tis also shown by repetition, that thou hast yet to heed my warnings. Most of the substance, contained in my report, is known to thee from conversations and prior consultations. However thou dost refuse to desist from thy path. I am therefore of the opinion that thou art not yet ready. Thou knowest the wisdom of mine words in mind, but thy heart hath not yet let go of that fleeting hope that perhaps someday thou whislt conquer Narcissus himself. Until thou truly realizeth this truth, I must reluctantly advise thee to indulge in whatever passions thou dost perceive. It is my belief and ardent hope that thou whislt eventually come to see the truth in mine words, whence thou dost enter into thy situations armed with that which I have imparted unto thee. Maybe someday thou whislt comprehend that which I have implored thee to realize.

We all want to be noticed by someone who doesn’t notice. Life's a bitch, but love is not a one way street.

2005-06-12T17:39:00.000-07:00

The Annals of Habib Al’Taib

Damn the Formian! It appears that that lump of whatever it was that the Queen fed me has left my stomach in shambles. I haven’t felt this way since the time Jagdish tricked me into drinking camel urine, telling me it was a spirit quest potion. I never repeated the mistake again; plus I’m supposed to be immune to poisons!

Our meeting with the ant Queen revealed that the metal beasts are among of the primary defense forces of Shadowthrone’s fortress. The Queen also happens to know the location of the nest from which these minions come. It might be to our advantage if we crippled that location first, seeing as we have managed to acquire some spare time. Alternatively we could also try and nail him now, given that we have but one short week left.

We retired to our quarters for further discussion, when my stomach began to flip-flop. I have just come down with a horrible liquid experience. My insides are melting into a greenish substance who’s smell is almost as excruciating as the searing fire which has exploded in my gut. Thank the gods that we purchased that extra-dimensional crapper at the beginning of the adventure. At least I can travel with my companions wherever they decide to go since right now… … … aw shit… … I am in no condition to contribute anything positive to the decision making process… … I think I’ll try writing when I get better… … Aww crap.

2005-06-05T17:37:00.000-07:00

I remember when I was a child the very day I decided that I wanted to become a sorcerer when I grew up. You ever seen Fantasia? It was a long time ago. Far back enough that I do not remember when I saw it, but it remains to this day one of my earliest memories and notions of existence. Two things remain clear to me as I watched the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Firstly that the sorcerer’s magic hat looked wicked cool (I might have used different words at the time since I don’t think I knew that many back then). Secondly, I wanted to be a manipulator of magic when I grew up.

One of the saddest days in my life happened when I was in the third grade, and I came home one day crying to my parents about how everyone at school was saying that Santa Claus didn’t exist. It took my parents a few days to work up the courage to tell me that it was my father who dressed up every year. In that moment I understood that the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, and magic didn’t exist. I knew I would never be a sorcerer. I was crushed. A small part of me still wants to believe.

Armed with existential philosophy and ridiculous arguments one can justify the existence of magic and some unknown unseen force blah blah blah. Many of my friends claim to be adepts in the art. It’s just not the same. I re-watched the Sorcerer’s Apprentice a few years ago in Fantasia 2000. It was so much fun. Made me feel like a child again, and I walked out feeling warm and safe, and secure that the world wasn’t all that bad. I was also high, but I don’t think that influenced the feeling much.

2005-05-31T09:22:00.000-07:00

From the Annals of Habib Al Taib

Entry IV

We managed to overcome incredible fatigue, pushing our bodies to the limits of their endurance both physically and with the aid of magics. Thankfully it bought us the precious time we needed in order to save the Formian Miramar. We arrived just in the knick of time as the Sladdi were mounting their final assault. Our intelligence was correct in that the Sladdi were indeed masquerading as humans. So effective was their deception that I myself was almost fooled as the commander issued orders to his men to, “kill the Sladdi,” when he spotted our approach. Fortunately my companions were not fooled, although in my defense many of their number did indeed retain a human form after having been dealt death. I suspect that these peoples were unknowing pawns in an elaborate game conjured by the Sladdi. However since we did not have time to determine potentially confused persons from bloodthirsty assassins, we chose the easier path of general eradication. I must state that even despite this seemingly easier course of action, we barely made it out with our lives, and it was in the arms of my friends, the greater air elementals that we managed to acquire our target and escape, leaving his brethren behind. In an unusual display of charity, Miss Amber Sessions covered our escape with her life. I did not manage to summon another ally in time to rescue her from her predicament, but her sacrifice did indeed buy us the precious seconds we needed to make our escape. Justina also left her life behind, but not without having given our enemies a taste of steel and strings.

We returned to the Formian hive without incident, our charge having shown us a shortcut to the lair of her queen. We were indeed much thanked, and rewarded with the knowledge that Shadownthrone’s ritual was doomed to fail if one wielding another rod piece claimed the Seerdomain as his home. Shadowthrone's ritual will fail, and as such it will take him yet another week to complete a new one. The queen was good enough to provide us with magical transportation to and back from the Temple of the Old Man, whereupon we resurrected our fallen companions.

And so it was after a quick ritual of devouring something which tasted much like ant feces, that we became native to the Seerdomain. The queen had warned us of potential side effects causing us to perhaps take on some Formian traits. Hoping to acquire one of these powers I did not fight the nausea which overcame me as I ate. The result is that I became sick and unchanged. Kay and Justina were the only ones to acquire traits. It appears that Kay is immune to poison, small price to pay for the mandibles at his jaw. Justina’s eyes took on a completely black coloration. It doesn’t affect her eyesight however, her wounds heal almost instantly. Larger wounds do take longer for sure, but minor knicks and cuts disappear in a matter of seconds. It also appears that they have developed a lesser telepathic link with each other permitting them to warn one another from danger should they be close by. The next assassin who tries and rip them up from behind will be met with a nasty surprise indeed.

I took the opportunity to attempt a link with my familiar Duke Devil, but it appears that the connection doesn’t work across planes. This is something worth remembering for my escape from the bowels of hell.

We have just been called to an audience with the Queen again. It appears she has new intelligence to share with us. I shall return shortly to relate the details of our next expedition.

2005-05-23T21:09:00.000-07:00

I am feeling a bit melodramatic these days. I know the causes. The only solutions seem to be time and mastery of my emotions. I will prevail. I have no other choice but to. Like it or not these things will pass, perhaps to be replaced by something else which will also pass. That is the way of things. Life… is a beautiful thing even in its twisted intricacies which so do make us melodramatic. And besides, I have not yet known real anguish. I pray that I never will. I am spoiled. Even in my wallowing I am grateful. Man I hate myself when I am like this. Drama bad. Bad Admiral!

2005-05-20T08:55:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I managed to detach myself from the computer screen and spend some time outdoors. I don’t know what drove me except for perhaps a sense of feeling sorry for myself after the multitude of time spent playing KOTR2. But I digress. (I liked it by the way).

The primary motivator for this short journey outside of my apartment is my good friend Nissou, who I’d much rather call Miss Chokesondick, but for fear of offending her, and other people, I chose the former nickname.

Our destination was the Jean Talon marketplace, a bustling collection of tents and stores, out in the open, just like in many European countries. The food is delicious, fresh and cheap due to the vast amount of competition which goes on in this compressed space. There are Lebanese, Quebecers, Latin Americans, Haitians, French, Asians, a true melting pot of cultural diversification and energy. It reminds me much of the market places in France in which I used to spend hours exploring with my grandparents whenever I would go visit. They don’t make em like this anymore, and I fear that such gatherings are becoming more and more scarce due to economic development. Whilst I could argue for hours about weather it is efficient or not to have such market places, and I don’t think its profitable for the seller to setup a stand given the multitude of identical kiosks, there is a cultural consideration in the old school sense.

Nissou and I walked among the energy of the people, the fish seller yelling his prices to the people, attempting to attract attention, samples of fresh fruits and vegetables laid our to entice the potential customer. She purchased some vegetables and fruits, I bought some BBQ sausages which were exquisite. We finally ended up in a Butcher shop where she purchased some Saucisses de Toulouse, whilst I acquired two sexy Saucissons d’Auvergne. I think I burnt a hole in my stomach shortly after arriving home and consuming one of them in a matter of hours with my Opinel knife.

Nissou is from France, and I know she dosen’t feel completely at home in Montreal sometimes. That day a certain peace and optimism radiated from her. I think some of it rubbed off on me.

Culturally I am more American than French. Actually I am neither given my peculiar upbringing, however this trip made me realize that there is a significant part of me which identifies with the French side. I find this odd because I generally don’t get along too well with the French, and hence tend to be rather detached from that part of me. Except for the Mediterranean gastronomy. I am accused, and rightfully so, of picking and choosing my background and culture to whatever situation I choose. Multiculturalism is fantastic.

2005-05-19T07:36:00.000-07:00

When I first came to Montreal I was put into a Frosh group at McGill University. Most of these people were just temporary friends, and I never did bond with any of them at any particular level. I do, however, recall some drunk woman hitting on me during the first five minutes of meeting, and then not speaking to me for the duration of the two weeks. I never figured out why. Never mind I am digressing.

I met a man named Eddie. I chose to name him by his real name since Eddie is a common enough name to be attributed to any random person in my world, but his name is unimportant now. In fact I could be wrong and maybe it wasn’t Eddie who showed me this. Anyways the point is that McGill sent us to an Expos baseball game back before they left Montreal, and as method of transportation, we chose the metro, it being convenient and quick. Most metros in Montreal arrive from the left side of the track. If you stand about a foot or so from the edge on the left side whilst the metro comes, you get whipped violently by the rush of air as it zips past you. The rush is an incredible feeling. I know it’s stupid, but I love standing close to the edge and doing it. I am no thrill seeker. I am afraid of heights and violent speeds. But it brings me joy

People commit suicide by throwing themselves in front of a whooshing metro. I wonder if anyone has wanted to jump but been deterred by the thrill I get from this rush. I sometimes think I can see through the eyes of a desperate soul, witnessing the last moments before a life is snuffed out by itself. I don’t understand. I am very fearful of death, but it can make me alive.

I encourage no one to try this sort of thing. It is dangerous and probably illegal.

2005-05-18T13:52:00.000-07:00

From the annals of Habib al’Taib, Wasteland Druid of Dejiy

Entry II

The day has been as harsh as the tales of Akaron would suggest. This is not a place for the weak. It is not even a place for the strong. Akaron is a land of perpetual warfare where armies rise and fall at every moment. There can be no peace in this place, only conflict and bloodshed. Only those truly gifted in both body and mind could hope survive here. Akaron is as tough as it is cunning. And it takes a fool to embark on our mission.

I am writing after a hellish day of bringing us ever closer to our mark. Our path has been obstructed by devils, demons, and strange elemental creatures I chose not to investigate too closely lest we waste more time. Tzadzik has fallen again, this time upon the spear of an Ice Devil. I should not have sent him in too closely. I shall bring him back when we complete our mission for I have not the time to perform the ceremony. Time is becoming critical. We are making steady progress, but who would have known that the Seer domain would be so difficult to reach. I am spent physically, emotionally, and magically; my friends fatigued by the rigorous demands of our trip. One can walk for days without stopping, however flying requires the use of all limbs and a tail to stay aloft. Thankfully the gravity between the cubes is forgiving enough so that we may keep a steady pace without collapsing of exhaustion. We have but three days left.

My friends and I have decided that the best course of action would be to contact the Fomorians and attempt to workout a deal, however Edyleen’s intelligence tells us that they have been recently molested by Slaadi, disguised as human warriors. Our initial contacts will probably be violent, however I have faith that we will be able to make them see our point of view. After all the worst that can happen is that their Queen will scan our minds and use us to achieve the same ends we seek. I am not over concerned.

I am grateful, for the day has brought us upon a vast cube teeming with life. It is good to feel the grass again, and such a haven brings me hope that Akaron is not yet completely consumed by destruction and death. I will rest now, for tomorrow may prove to be yet another grueling ordeal.

Entry III

Estand is fool. One sometimes wonders how a powerful servant of the God of war could be so incompetent in diplomacy. We arrived at the Seer domain with great difficulty costing us a small fortune to the God of war. With the help of his servant we managed to escape another intrusion from the minions of Chaos. Our arrival to the Seer domain was quick, and I had another chance to relax before landing on its surface. We quickly encountered a dispatch of Fomorians and attempted contact. Since Estand is capable of communicating with the creatures, it was up to him to plead our case. And so when the Fomorians took control of my mind I was confident that we would eventually be scanned for information, and the truth learned. Not so. Estand fought off the enchantment, which might not have been a bad idea after all, until he managed to make contact with them and turned us into their servants. The Queen still has no idea of Shadowthrone’s plans, or capabilities should he succeed, and now we are off on some fool mission to eradicate the Slaadi, with not 2 days left before he completes the ritual. He insists it would not have made a difference. Fool. We have no time. The words “ritual” or even “complete defeat of Law as we know it” did not once cross his mind. Grand strategist indeed. I think the worst part of it all is that I was under the enchantment of the Fomorians and hence incapable of speaking for him. Next time I will know better.

For now we are on our way to fight Slaadi and recover a Fomorian Taskmaster as proof of our intentions to the Queen. She knows only that we are on, “Some important quest for the forces of Law” or something rather. Since we have no time, we have had to fly all day pushing ourselves to the edge of endurance. I seem to be holding up ok, but the rest of my companions have had to be sustained by magical means. We have no time. We cannot in two days fly back to the Fomorians, then to Iron Fortress and defeat him. The ritual will be complete and when that happens he will be able to search for us. Finally the final holder of the rod piece will come after us rather than us to him or her. Anyway the damage is done, what will come will come. It is unfortunate that the events seem to be even beyond the influence of the Gods themselves. Praying the Huntress for guidance is bringing me no reassurance whatsoever.

2005-05-14T09:07:00.000-07:00

There are times when I think that certain things in life are like going to a swimming pool in the spring, begging for a semblance of summer. The swimming pools, during these periods, are full and free during the week, cheap during the weekends. I spend hours every summer bathing in the collective juices of humanity, straining for physical superiority over the people I water wrestle with. I try to swim every day when the weather permits because its fun, and indoor pools just don’t do it for me. However I am digressing.

Firstly. Without loss of generality I will assume that most people, including myself usually find pool water to be cold upon entry. Secondly, I assume that there exists a continuum of methods for pool entry, the extremes of which lie in either throwing one’s self in whilst screaming ,”Geronimo!” and the slower method of careful insertion into the water. I further assume that the latter takes longer time to achieve than the former. That being said agents are faced with the difficult decision of choosing a method of pool entry which minimizes desired level of pain experienced at insertion, and the amount of time it takes to do it, thereby maximizing the level of “fun” experienced by a trip to the swimming pool. (Note: At this stage of my analysis I am still drawing the analogy exclusively to swimming pools).

I don’t know about you guys but I choose to throw myself in. It hurts like hell, but you get over it much faster, leaving you more time spent beating the living crap out of your buddies under water.

2005-05-03T12:08:00.000-07:00

Despite the feathers, I could feel the droplets of sweat dripping from my beak, onto the ground thirty feet below. As in the past we had triumphed again, but what about next time? No, no time to think, people are injured and I dive-bombed below to my wounded friends. The creature we had just scared off was a Horned Devil, and after defeating his minions he’d fled the battle, but at what cost? I had revealed our nature and purpose to the thing, and no doubt it would be reporting our presence to its master. No doubt our target knew we were coming after him. I felt foolish for my mistake, very foolish indeed believing that the thing would acquiesce to an unwilling slave of a Duke of Hell.

As I began tending to the wounded we spoke of our course of action. Much of my magic had been spent in the fight, and there was no doubt that we would have to rest before reaching our mark. Akaron is a dangerous place for resting, and there is little safety in this world. Valenkel informed us of a means to returning to the temple of the Old Man for rest, but that would result is the loss of two days, and we had but six left to complete our mission.

As we argued, another evil agent made an appearance. The creature was large and ugly, with gargantuan mammaries which sagged almost to the floor, and tiny wings which I knew could serve imperfectly in flight. A Malfeshne. “Beware its illusion,” I managed before transforming into a bear. Tzadik, Kay and, Amber charged in whilst Valenkel fired an arrow.

We came out even more weary than before having defeated two supernatural agents and their minions, one right after another. I patched everyone up as best I could and turned us into birds so that we would be on our way, muttering a plea to the Huntress to guide us to our prey unchallenged. I should have asked louder.

Our next impasse came in the form of a giant wasp swarm so thick that we were unable to keep our mighty breakfast down. However Estand had done his work well, and despite the nausea the poisonous stings did not affect my friends. I do not fear poison myself. I also learned that day that hell wasps have a substantial resistance to fire, and It was only after hitting Valenkel with a fiery aura that they dispersed. Once again we were on our way.

Our destination was that a world which belonged to shadow elves. I know not much about the race, but Valenkel insisted that its peoples knew the location of our mark. Upon arriving we organized a shelter molded from the rocks itself. Valenkel was turning out to be more useful than just a guide, and he fashioned a crude dome for us to rest in before continuing our journey. Our respite was interrupted only by a brief encounter between Kay and some bipedal creature which I did not recognize. It had been content to warn us to stay out of its way. It seemed to think that we should know it by reputation, but not being from these lands I knew not its race or purpose, nor did any of our company. We were content not to fight it and recover our strength. The following morning I communed with the natural forces of the Cube, and determined the location of an unnatural formation in the vicinity. We moved towards it, hopping it to be a shadow elven settlement.

She did not give us her name, but it became quickly clear that she was the mistress of the world which we had landed on. My friends and I are not people of great eloquence, but all things considered we did manage to keep a relatively non-insulting appearance. We offered gold as the price for the information we sought, and were guided to an elven woman who had just returned from a reconnaissance mission on Shadowthrone’s cube. Her name was Edilene, and just as we were about to obtain the information we sought did a dart pierce her neck rendering her incapable to defending herself. The assassins were the creatures which Kay had encountered earlier, and they did not attack us having considered us fearful of their presence. Their overconfidence cost them the battle, and although the leader escaped, Edilene remained unharmed.

Shadowthrone lives on the Cube called the Seerdomain, however his power over the cube is far from perfect as he is challenged by a fomorian matriarch for mastery of the world. He considers her a mere pest, and as such, has not checked her power, working diligently on mastering the Rod of Seven Parts. It is a ritual which we came to prevent. It is why he must die. We were also provided with a map of the Seerdomaine. If we move fast enough it will remain in its current location, although Shadowthrone is by now warned of our quest to eliminate him. It is said he is a descendent of a Dragon God, and master creator of powerful weapons, a true genius in the art, capable of dishing out items rivaling the power of the Sword of Kings or Bloodthirster of Krook Ma’Kali. Normally I would not interfere with such powerful forces, however mother earth has chosen me as its representative as protector Tellene, and no one else is qualified to do the job. I’m also bound to the Duke, by no will of my own. I can still recall glimpses of the torments I endured at his hand. My only hope is that Kassali has worked out something. He’s had ten years dammit, and he had to disappear on me again. So now I am left a slave of a most unnatural beast.

No man, that’s enough quit it, stop worrying. Life is to be taken one step at a time. Resolve this issue, then worry about something else. There is no time, and right now the order of things is more important than my soul. The status quo must be maintained. I am an agent of life. If I am to suffer an eternity of torment in her service I will. I have faith in her mercy. I will prevail.

2005-03-25T13:56:00.000-08:00

Several years back when I was a wee lad an important decision presented itself to me which had to be resolved. Up to that point I had been an earnest student of the computer sciences, and the resolution of problems using programming. I had studied several low level computer languages, and even use my skills from time to time to resolve minor issues which occurred in daily life. I was the local computer geek that everyone knew to solve their problems and naturally, I migrated towards other nerds in an attempt to find common ground. I made many friends most of which I lost eventually, but I was, and still am, a member of an exclusive group of people who spent lots of time surfing the worlds of the BBS (pre-internet file sharing) and the beginnings of the popularization of the computer. I saw the internet come into private use almost a year before it actually took off. I even helped set it up at the school I studied at when I was living in the states.

And so naturally the nature of this big decision of which I was referring to, before digressing, was weather or not to pursue my hobby into the realm of the career. I new the science fairly well, enjoyed resolving problems, and was computer literate enough to score the odd job as a local computer geek, slacking off playing games, overwhelming the curious with enough jargon to cover my ass. But there were so many of us out there, and so many more entering the domain. I started believing that perhaps there would be too many of us eventually, and that the online advertising industry was way more hyped up than it really was. For these reasons, and the great frustration I felt whenever I came across a problem I couldn’t solve, I decided that a better future was in store for me if I kept my hobby a hobby. I proceeded more towards something different. I think I was the only one back then in my group of friend who diverged, and I chose to take French literature over computer science. I told them that by graduation time there would be too many computer guys out there, and that we would have to spend the rest of our lives being updated with the technology, constantly relearning, always pushing to stay ahead of the obsolete. Too much competition. Even then I thought like an economist.

I’d say a made the right decision after seeing how the world turned out. I am somewhat smug at the accuracy of my predictions. On the other hand life has slapped me in the face seeing as I’ve spent the last several weeks, and will be spending the next several more, working on some econometric regressions using programming languages. I’m staring at statistics, ones and zeroes mostly, and the irony of the situation is almost too funny for me to ignore. Some things never change.

Debugging still gives me headaches.

2005-03-22T21:11:00.000-08:00

I am a man who is perpetually ashamed of the past. The present and future always represent the opportunity for self improvement and re-evaluation of one’s own self worth, confidence, direction, understanding, satisfaction, goals, morals, attitudes, accomplishments, the list goes on and on. As a result of this never-ending quest for perfection, I never manage to look at my past fondly. Every time I go back to the way things were, I always scoff and laugh at how stupid I was, how ignorant, and most importantly how far I’ve come since. I never manage to look upon them as the good ol days anymore only because I am currently obsessed with achieving something greater than that which I was.

This phenomena has made me very bitter in many respects. including towards the people in my past. I have had a dynamic life, moving around perpetually from one place to another, and as a result of this, every new change was an opportunity to change something, and to become a better person. I embraced each and every one to the fullest, but the result was that I have come to dislike and disregard the people which I so loved in my past. I come to realize that with very few exceptions I not only do not stay in touch with people, but also end up sometimes disliking them not for who they are, but because they represent something of the weaker person I once was. This unfair judgment has only recently come to my attention, and I am realizing that it is not fair what I have done. I am ashamed of this even as I am proud of who I am at this very instant.

I doubt that any of these people are reading this but if they are I’m sorry. There, I said it. However in spite of this I am not prepared to go back, tracking people down for the sake of doing it. My mind and heart and soul are content with my current circle. I am hopelessly in love with the people who surround me right now, and have been for quite some time now. I believe that my settling down is beginning to bring about a new era of understanding and self-betterment which I was unable to achieve in my perpetual movement. To try and go back in time would upset the balance which I have built. In the future I will try and live my life without regrets.

2005-03-01T21:41:00.000-08:00

Life has brought me to a point of delirious happiness and extreme angst. The two are unrelated. I am at the same time full of hope and frightened to death. I am dreamy eyed and paranoid simultaneously. The two things are unrelated, but I wonder at how one can feel emotions of opposite extremes at the same time. True there is a fine line between love and hate. True extreme happiness can make one cry, and reflect on one’s inner faults. However this is generally due to one event at a time. Two events generating the opposite effects don’t cancel each other out. They push sanity to its limits. Welcome to midterms. Time is on my side. Soon the negative will end for better or for worse. It’s looking like the good is here to stay for at least a little while longer. I’m becoming more and more cheesy every day. I can’t stop grinning unless I’m trying to prove asymptotic normality of an ordinary least squares estimator, and even then. I am foolish, soppy, hopelessly retarded. I feel great.

2005-02-20T21:49:00.000-08:00

Behold, for there is indeed light at the end of a dark tunnel. One that can and will illuminate, once again, all the sordid images flickering from a formerly shrouded conviction. Behold, for within the glory of the light lies the answers to all things, and an overwhelming acceptance of all that is beautiful and pure. Behold for within brightness of the phenomena, joy is to be found; there is life where once there was apathy. There is euphoria as the power of the illumination shines so brightly that even that which was once hidden is now even harder to understand. Behold the glory of innocence. Behold the safety of the knowledge that somewhere a miracle arises. Behold as the miracle itself takes you into her soft arms shielding you from everything which threatened to rip you from the tenuous hold you once had over a turbulent existence. Behold the worry evaporating. Behold the passion of love. Behold the desire, the beauty, the fertility of your surroundings. Behold a feeling of extreme contentment. Behold, and bask in the glory of existence. Behold yourself. Behold… LIFE!

2005-02-07T21:38:00.000-08:00

The cycle of life is such that one birth leads to a death, which in turn leads yet again into the fruition of something yet to develop. And ultimately as things begin and die, only to resurrect, one is only left with a pair of silver earrings on one’s nightstand. The evening ends, bringing promise of the following day; an emotionally attachment is severed, only to be replaced by the birth of an empty hole which will eventually be filled with something new. Life revolves in cycles. The wheel spins upon itself in much the same manner, but brining one to different places. There is, despite the vastness of the universe and life, a certain order to things which are irrevocably related in the most profound sense. This repetition is common in all things: lessons of life, love, war, peace, economic growth, invention, physics, rise and declines of great civilizations. “What goes up must come down…” However someone also forgot the second part, “… only to rise again.” In some form or another death and rebirth are a perpetual phenomena and pretty much the only stable fact that human existence has ever known even if he hasn’t realized it. And yet people would say that we are making progress despite the untimely turn of events. Indeed, progress we are making, for despite the turnings of the wheel, the wheel itself brings us further along the road. I wonder weather it will eventually turn back upon itself. Is this a suggestion of reincarnation? Is it true that as things go towards the infinity, all things are not only possible, but also bound to happen? The larger the concept becomes, the more intimidated I feel to ponder upon it, and yet I cannot help but question this observation. Inevitably, I suppose it doesn’t really matter, for whatever I acquire in this existence will eventually also fade away into the ultimate ending and rebirth. I will perish eventually, what I leave behind will also some day cease to exist, and those who will come after us and after them will also eventually succumb to the cycle. But like all things there is a future, and no matter how complicated it gets, no matter how difficult and destructive, rebirth will always occur, and a new scenario will exist.

2005-02-03T15:30:00.000-08:00

I wanted other things from life
But then I couldn’t much complain
Amidst the pain the hurt the strife
My feeble voice my whines in vain
The worlds revolve like miracles
Slowly sucking all the life
The worlds they spin and twist and curl
Giving meaning to delight

And solitude is sign of change
And solitude is sign of shame

There once was a man with carnal knowledge
Wishing he was off to college
Walking did he choose his path
Seeking wealth he sought to pass
And when found that which he sought
He wished his quest he had forgot
For innocence is beautiful
And ignorance is wonderful

I want to say so much more
I want to say so many things
I want to break the rhythm
I want to break the rhythm of things
I want to be a pioneer
I want to create
I want to... break it
I want to taste it
I want more time

And so the man he travelled forth
To cure himself of hopelessness
For truth he felt had no remorse
In punishing his carelessness
For knowledge all is ill begot
And antidote for it there's not

And one cannot but cry
For truth is but a lie

2005-01-31T23:03:00.000-08:00

I woke up one morning thinking
Of things I could do today
Of all the thing I'd do today
Of everything I had to do
Of all the things I had to do.
And so I slapped the snooze
And drifted off to sleep again.

Awoke again not that much later
Planning on taking a shower
Allocating the next few hours
Maybe I could get a little more
Maybe I could get a little more
Maybe I'd dream
Maybe I'd sleep
And so I slept

The light returned and with a start
I think I’ll save the world today
I think the world I’ll save today
Everyone needs healing
Everyone is stealing
I think I’ll make it whole again
I think I’ll make it work again
The way it was supposed to be
Wouldn’t that be nice

I woke again in not too long
My body urging to be gone
I was going to make a change today
I was going to make a change this day
I was going to save the world
I was going to spread the word
In just five minutes I'll get up
In just a little I'll be up
I think I’ll just relax
The world can wait

The evening fell in not to long
And naturally I rose quite strong
Rested do I feel I do
Rested and I slept for you
Changing things is tiring
Saving us is tiring
I think ill meditate before I leave
I think I'll concentrate before I leave
And formulate a plan
And dreaming it began

And not too long the sun did rise
And not too long the birds did rise
The birds will save the world today
The birds will rescue us this day
"I'll join them in a little while"
Said I sleeping with a smile.

2005-01-23T22:24:00.000-08:00

Wandering amidst the thick flaccid walls of adversity brings life into the glorious days of recollection. There is a place which one seeks to find so elusive, that one cannot but smile and delight at the complexity of it all. There is feeling in the emotions of reconnaissance. There is joy in the finding of one’s temporary self. There is thrill at the thought of perpetual evolution, which leads yet again into another complex gathering if thoughts and feelings which bring about the creation of Yourself. And yet this striving, this insatiable search for inner enlightenment, is in itself a journey towards what one desires to be made in the image of. It is a romantic journey, a fine scavenger hunt which we self inflict, to give meaning to our lives. And at the end of it all, who knows weather or not the cycles will cease, for it is not revealed to us what lies beyond that which we have been confined to. However confinement is improperly used for one has never yet tested the true limits of one’s own imagination. That is the beauty of human existence. Whatever we think of can happen if we truly strive for it, even in an imperfect sense. So let go, find freedom, live life, learn, discover, bask in the glory of our youth. Our’s is a generation which will last forever, a culture which will never change due to its very nature of constant re-adaptation. Each day we grow stronger, for it is inevitable. With all the screwed up things which are happening around us, I am honored, privileged, and relieved to be able to benefit from the opportunities which have been bestowed upon me. And now, with everything I have, I will love to the fullest, laugh as best I can, suffer as deeply is my soul, cry as though the rivers themselves were issued from them, and be content with the fact that nothing can hold me back.

2005-01-12T19:16:00.000-08:00

Tom Petty "Greatest Hits CD"

-So why did you date her?
-Because she put out.

As I fight off the remaining shreds of lethargy, the clock tells me that I have woken up entirely too early, and I still don't feel like doing all the things I should be doing today. Mustard is good. I like it more and more every day. I subscribed to the Montreal Gazette this morning just after waking up. I kept on forgetting. Tuna from a can tastes like ass without mayo. I am becoming more and more cynical. Last night I dreamed a conversation I'm going to have today. He told me the evening backfired because she couldn't lubricate. A friend of mine and his girlfriend are in trouble. I am sad for them. Today is econometrics. I hate econometrics. I should apply for my visa. I wonder if she came back today; I should call her friend. I don't know what to tell her though. Maybe I'll organize a poker night this evening. I want my play station back. I need to get more quests that are my level. My pager is ringing.

2005-01-05T04:21:00.000-08:00

One of life’s most frustrating things is finding oneself in the confines of a closed space during an 8-hour period awaiting time to pass so that one can continue his bloody journey. Miami greets you. It is about 6 AM eastern standard time, 9 AM for me. I am running on few hours of sleep, and all in all I’m feeling just a tad bitchy about my 8 hour layover.

The past few weeks have been a frenzy of hardcore rest and relaxation in the most masochistic sense. I have discovered (technically) 3 new countries although I was passed out and hungover for one of them, and didn’t leave the airport for another. On the other hand, Uruguay is a brilliant undiscovered heaven, which I am certain will soon fall under the throes of rampant commercialism and tack. This being said, I had made up my mind to make the most of my holiday, in every possible sense.

My first days in Uruguay were spent in the capital city of Montevideo which, although very nice, didn’t have very much to offer in my opinion. My flight over was smooth except for a slight delay in Montreal which resulted in my spending 15 minutes in Miami rather and an hour and a half, before my connection. I suppose this extended layover kind of makes up for it, but as usual I digress.

I met a man named Diego on the way down who helped pass the hours as we discussed trivial matters. I did not click with this particular human, but it was better than doing nothing, and so I indulged in what conversation I could to help pass the hours. Upon my arrival I got his contact information, but never got around to calling him for reasons which will become clear later. After 2 days in Montevideo, having visited malls, small shops for tourists, and entirely too much cable TV, we made our way down to Punta Del Este.

Punta is a small holiday town which is active during 3 months of the year. Its entire economy relies heavily on tourism. It lies on a peninsula which juts out into the Atlantic Ocean, and the mouth of the Rio de la Plata, offering turbulent waves on the Atlantic side, and calm waters on the River side. Temperatures during the day got to about 30-35ish, down to about 20-25ish at night. People complained about the cold evenings. I did an awful lot of laughing.

One day after our arrival, my parents went to see an apartment, and my ever so resourceful and watchful mother came back with the gift of a telephone number, belonging to an attractive young female who I’ll call Bonnie, since I can’t come up with anything more Irish sounding, and the fact that she’s got a bit of the blood and an obsession with Celtic culture. She was in fact Uruguayan, and one of the only ones I met the entire time. Our first evening, she introduced me to a crowd of Brazilians who were all there for pretty much the same reasons I as. One mutual friend, desire to party etc… Bonnie knew the drill perfectly, confiding in me that herself and a few select others form groups like this routinely during the summer holidays (Uruguay is south of the Equator, below Argentina and Brazil). The first evening, I was taken from a quaint little bar called “Miro” (After the painter, who was actually from Mallorca, but I didn’t bother asking why they’d named the bar after him), to a disco called La Paya. La Playa was in fact on a beach, but with no access to it unfortunately. I christened the john’s and went looking for action which I never really found. I made a few attempts at conversation with the members of our group, but since someone decided that the best place to dance was right below the speaker, I didn’t get much in the way of quality conversation. I also attempted moving and speaking to a few strangers. One girl was quite rude to me, the others seemed uninterested. All in all it was a shitty night, the music sucked, I was tired and demoralized, but I had met people. I went to bed with a mad ringing in my ears at 6 AM which apparently was early, as I found out later.

The following days we spent time at the beach, went out dancing in a various places, some shopping. I got to know my new friends pretty well, but I only seemed to have bonded well with one Brazilian guy living in Miami. I had gotten along well with Bonnie, but she came down with a bit of a flu shortly after our meeting, and so I didn’t have enough time to work my magic. Nonetheless, I hardly every went to sleep before 7 AM, sober, from having sweated out all the alcohol dancing. I’d get up at about 2 PM, and spend some time acquiring darker pigments, nap, and dance the night away so to speak. Most of my days were spent with our very good friends, the Locatellis who had invited us there in the first place. These guys are awesome friends of the family, and it was great seeing them.

We spent Christmas among family, and friends. It was small, intimate, charming. I love Christmas.

At some point we decided to drive north to the border with Brazil to explore some old forts built by Spanish and Portuguese. I told the to my Brazilian buddy, and ride home for the evening, who promised me I’d be back in time to make my departure with my parents. I was dropped off at 8AM that morning, got 1 hour of sleep, and jumped into the car with the family. It was the most difficult day because of lack of sleep, hangover, heartburn, and dehydration. We crossed into Brazil for a few moments, but I was sleep. I woke up at the hotel that evening and slept again, my bowels punishing my for the previous evening’s antics.

The forts were really cool, and I wish I had been feeling better when we visited them the following day. However despite this, the most impressive thing I saw during that road trip was the small border town of Chuy (which I am probably spelling wrong). Chuy lies right on the Uruguay-Brazilian border. One side of the street is Uruguay, the lane on the other side is Brazilian. The Uruguayan side was cleaner. The entire town is contraband, as far as I can see it. Store upon store sell first world products, sunglasses, watches, alcohol, and no taxes. I am convinced that this wasn’t legal, but I didn’t hesitate to purchase a cheap pair of authentic Raybands, as I was lacking protective eyewear during the trip, to begin with. We spent several hours shopping in Chuy before returning home. I liked it. Of course, the moment I got back, I was out again.

The following days was more of the same, culminating in a massive party occurring at some guy’s house who was a friend of Brazilian guy’s sister, who I also became friends with. I haven’t given nicknames cause I can’t think of anything appropriate and I’m tired… I digress. The evening began among family and friends. The people I met were friendly and uplifting, the food excellent. When midnight came we were graced with a 360 degree fireworks show since everyone buys fireworks for new years, and the whole city took fire as people did their own stunning displays the likes of which would give any North American safety inspector a seizure. At 1 AM I left, and made my way to a younger crowd.

The party took place in the backyard of a large house, hosted by 8 people renting the place. They had poured about 3 grand in booze, plus what people brought, so you know we weren’t left thirsty. I think at least one thousand people showed. It was just massive. By then I had discovered that my tastes in music didn’t really coincide with the local populace all of whom were Brazilian, but at some point, they did hit up a medley of U2, The Clash, ACDC, etc… so I did get to be myself for a few moments. The following day I was told by one girl that I had a lovely voice, and she asked me if I sang professionally. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t joking, so I was flattered. I walked home at 7 AM, as the sun came up, and passed out. There was no ass slapping, no wrestling, although some people ended up on the pool. I realized as I went home that the people I was spending time with were very different from my usual kind of crowd, however they were fun and I had a good time.

My parents bought the apartment that Bonnie’s mother wanted to sell them. I will be coming back with people for sure next year. By the way who wants in?

The final days ended with me finally losing money at the casino, breaking a winning streak which was beginning to have me worried. Believe it or not but I’m quite pleased I lost (mind you I would have been happier had I won =P). The last day we had dinner in a small pubish restaurant where they played live music in Spanish some of which I even recognized. Bonnie went home early because of sickness, at both the music and her infirmity. We danced to the cheesy songs until 4 AM and went to a night club. I got home at 7 AM, said my good-byes, and slept.

I haven’t taken any pictures, but Brazilian guy was going to give me a CD. Unfortunately there was a miscommunication at the last moment, and I didn’t get it. It will take a few more days, but I am certain that I shall have stuff to put on the web site soon. I have been writing for the past hour, and must now reread a couple of times before publishing. It was loads of fun, but all in all I think my body needs a break, rather than my mind. I’m also craving a real beer which doesn’t exist in Uruguay, and a good game of D&D. I lived a trendy lifestyle the past few days. It’s time to crawl back into my little geekhole and start playing WOW again. Sunday I’m gaming. Tomorrow I have classes. It’s cold in Montreal, and I have a tan.

Brazilian dude’s sister nicknamed me El Kurdo, “The Kurd”, because of my facial hair. I rather like the nickname. I proudly add it to a long list of previous ones.

Uruguayan BBQ is among the best in the world. Simply awesome. Feel good! Get fat! Eat Meat! Vegetarians are evil! Yes you are and you’re proud of it!

And so, this is the Kurd, signing off, 7:06 AM. Miami.

2004-12-23T14:41:00.000-08:00

There comes a time when one is sitting on a long journey in an aircraft, heading to some distant destination and one is left with nothing else except for the solitude of one’s own thoughts. I have tried very hard not to ponder too much on things, for I have in the recent past psyched myself out repeatedly over trivial things. However left with my thoughts about the less mundane worries, which I torture myself with, I find that reflection is somewhat amusing when one does it consciously. It was in those moments that I began to ponder upon where I am going with my search for myself. It is not so much that I am trying to discover myself, but more like I am trying to discover which direction I want to head in right now. I am what I am at this very moment, and it is a product of what I have wanted to do in the past. I may not have achieved it, and I am fully aware that it is critical for one to learn from his or her mistakes. I am undeniably left with limitless options in this point in time. That being said I with to discover where I head rather than where I am right now. I say this because I am content with what I have achieved, and discontent with what I have failed to accomplish. I feel I understand myself, and I know enough to realize that I must keep on moving. I am in perpetual evolution, and to stop and consider too hard as to where I am will cause me to become overwhelmed.

That being said I have decided that I want to write more, and that I want to leave a mark upon the planet. In recent past, I have been obsessed with coming up with an idea which I can publish and express to the world. Leave my piece of mind. Immortalize myself. Men have always tried to achieve immortality in different ways. Some tried to change the world for the better, some were outspoken, some wrote, and some bore offspring leaving behind principles in the minds of their children and DNA. Many have done a combination of everything. I want to it all. It is probably a matter of pride. I should be comfortable with who I am based on my accomplishments, and not dwell too strongly on goals. Disappointment is a bitter enemy. I can live with my mortality because I know that it will overtake me eventually in the vastness of existence. But because I feel like I have something to share with the world. I will attempt it. I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.

2004-12-01T21:32:00.000-08:00

Small sharp explosions pierce the serenity of an otherwise quiet existence, filling the bowels of memories with violent images that cling. In between the bursting lies nothingness in which one self absorbs into a feeling of complete complacency and vegetableism. It is in moments like these that man truly learns either apathy or to really genuinely detest himself contrary to the normal self loathing which all human beings deem fashionable. I have felt moments like these, and realize in mild pangs, the futility of the way one complicates his or her existence. All things irrevocably fall down to a lowest common denominator, and somewhere at the bottom lies truth, if it even exists as man truly believes it does. One will relate thoughts and memories and realizations which inevitably become futile. Sudden epiphanies become obsolete after but a few short moments of careful reflection, only to be replaced by some greater understanding of something yet to be destroyed. One’s outlook on existence is fleeting, and enters a state of perpetual evolution until the process itself become useless. The worlds revolve like a gigantic wave, rolling from one extreme, cusping, and then violently descending until it cannot but rise again. It is painfully enforced, for balance in not within human nature or man's grasp. It is the constant swirling chaos which perpetuates the motion of our affairs. Self importance is attached to things which do not need to exist. Some things only fill reality for so long as they are needed, others only truly begin to exist when they disappear from our lives. We want what we cannot have. We have what we do not want. And when we finally achieve our goal, satisfaction is never lasting for meaning is only found in some greater pursuit, until failure hits, and failure is painful. Man is masochistic in this sense. He can never truly be happy without being unhappy. It is impossible to love without hating, it is impossible to strive for peace, without being swirled around in a blissful vortex of self imposed drama. I hate the way things are only because I cannot find the peace I am searching for. I love the life I live only because I will never achieve Nirvana. And somewhere within the void of everything that is, one only reaches the conclusion that a denominator will cure all things. Eventually one becomes sick even of self analyzing the universe around itself. It becomes more interesting to ponder, not as to how life is structured or can be lived to maximum fullness, but rather to achieve a state in which one derives experience form his experiences and just lives it. And hence we become complacent again, monotony settles, and the cycle begins anew with my spirit sleeping interrupted only as small sharp explosions pierce the serenity of an otherwise quiet existence, filling the bowels of memories with violent images that cling.

2004-11-21T21:10:00.000-08:00

‘Tears’, Django Reinhardt. a most excellent song, and one that I have begun an obsession with. I have reached the opinion that the best love songs are sung without words, but with soul. The human languages are not meat to describe complex emotions. A scream can relate true anguish, laughter can capture true joy, madness, anger. Words do not do them justice. I have heard music that does. It’s beautiful.

Back in line with the quest of self-improvement, I discovered recently through the excessive playing of videogames that self-esteem is better built whilst doing physical actives, and not necessarily by sitting for 10 hour chunks in front of a computer screen. In fact it, actually took me about three days to come to this realization, although I suspect that deep down, I knew it from the beginning.

The first step in building self-esteem starts with learning to love oneself. This means taking care of your body and hygiene. I am attempting to shower more regularly. I have decided to keep my facial hair relatively neat and trimmed. I am attempting to make myself smell good. I’m also trying to add to my limited wardrobe which is aimed more at comfort than style right now.

However the main issue comes with exercise. I am one of those people who is not only unsatisfied with the way that I look, but also of the opinion that my dissatisfaction can be cured. I am fully convinced that a physically attractive person lies beneath my lard. This may or may not be true, but the important thing is that I think this about myself regardless of other people’s opinions. Since I stand only to better myself, and my health, by losing a few pound I will do this, not for anyone else other than myself. This is the first time in my life that I have consciously decided to lose weight and exercise more from my own desire rather than a desire to impress someone or for someone else’s sake. I should also mention that there is something incredibly satisfying in working out. There are also all sort of positive advantages. This time I do it for me, not to impress, not to pickup chicks, not at the urging of the people around me.

Yesterday I played a hard game of badminton. It felt great. My ass is sore. Tomorrow night I think I’ll go swimming. I am one step closer to happiness. It may be that I am too concerned with esthetic things, but if that is what is bothering me for the time being it should be addressed. I am not satisfied. Satisfaction is within reach. It’s just a simple matter of gritting your teeth and going for it. It’s like quitting smoking. I used to tell people for years when I smoked that I did it because I liked it, and because I didn’t want to quit. I quit several times, mostly for other people at first, eventually for myself. I started again because people tend to become self destructive when they are depressed, and depressed I have been in the past. But as with all things, wallowing in self- worthlessness does indeed get boring and unfulfilling. I think I’m in the mood to try this positive outlook on life thing now, see where it takes me.

2004-11-19T07:12:00.000-08:00

Our story begins much as can be expected. One as an exercise, another from no apparent desire to commence anything constructive. They did not know weather or not they had ever wanted to come to this place, but somehow they did all eventually end up here. It was the way of things. And people do things the way they were intended to be done. Not necessarily from a sober aspect, but perhaps from the influence of creativity. One had once made a deal with a buddy that he would never be able to produce work of any quality whilst he was not himself. But he maybe was wrong. But I digress.

Our story begins on the first day which was a day which would be etched forever in their minds. They had anticipated these very moments for a long time, revising every second a different scenario for how the following hours would unfold, and now that they had finally reached the critical point, it seemed somehow less fun, too real.

The instructor walked into the room amidst a buzz of activity of people getting to know one another eagerly. It was not his course they were interested in, but more to meet the people they would be spending time with, calling friends, gossiping about, maybe even having sex with, both worthwhile and meaningless. It was an exciting time which was broken only by the voice of the instructor beginning to introduce himself and his class. They settled down after the first sentence or two, and for a moment they realized what they were really supposed to be here for. Notepads and pens, were conjured. The talent show had begun.

The first lectured turned out to be quite a boring ordeal offering nothing but promises of hard work yet to come. But then again hard work bred good study groups, and this is what some of them had set out to do that day. It was finally time to select those few who they would be spending a short portion of their lives with. In time, an informal selection process would be made, some would gravitate, others would leave, but within the end of the month those remaining together would stay that way for the next two years.
And that is how it all began.

2004-11-17T19:34:00.000-08:00

Remembering a few weeks ago it was a Saturday night, and we were out drinking. It was one day off from Halloween, but for us, the festivities had already ended after a terrific and disastrous party at my place on Friday night. Halloween had not yet come, but in out minds it was over, and we were ok with that as we waded through the streets amidst all the people dressed up. The interesting thing about a Sunday Halloween is that it lasts 3 days. By day 2 we were we had it out of our systems, and closure was achieved. And so not wanting to miss the remainder of the festivities, we went for a drink on Crescent Street, dressed up as ourselves for a change. We ended up, I believe, in Brutopia accompanied by some music which couldn’t have been exceptional seeing as I don’t remember it. When I say exceptional I mean it both ways, as in exceptionally good or exceptionally bad. I must also say that in Bru’s defense, the music is almost always excellent, and so exceptional music over there means not only good but really good. I digress. The evening’s conversation is irrelevant seeing, as I do not remember it well, but I do recall thinking to myself that it was a shame seeing everyone all dressed up whilst we had kinda lost the groove and reverted to the usual. Upon exiting the bar we began our trek towards Number 65’s place seeing as he and his companions live within walking distance. I followed along anticipating a cab ride home, the public transportation having stopped long ago. Just a few short steps out of the bar, the following conversation took place between myself, Number 65, and some aged blond chick dressed in a Superwoman outfit.

Superwoman: “Hey you guys seem like a decent bunch; lemme ask you something.”
She proceeds to bend over, lift up her cape and display the contours of her ass held together by her skin-tight Superwoman outfit.

Superwoman: “Do these earrings make my ass look fat?”

Me: “Ummm well, uhhh.”

Number 65: “Yeah a little bit.”

Superwoman’s face assumes a look of disbelief and anger. She recovers swiftly and stomps off angrily muttering obscenities under her breath.

Me: “Number 65 dude, you are my hero.”

This all goes to show that there are some things in this world money can buy, for everything else there is schadenfreude.

2004-11-14T08:24:00.000-08:00

If one who wanted things to happen
Played dead in the garden of Eden,
Would it be fair to presume
That all the world’s a stage?

If one thinking wishing world,
Believing would destroy,
The thing the very air we breath,
The sacred soul of greed.

Is it pricy cheap perfume,
Which makes me so distraught?
Mayhaps it is the stick it must,
Merry laugh eternal thrust.

Is it that impossible,
To give your all in life?
To live and learn and love again,
To lavish in the strife?

What earthlier happy is the rose,
What earthlier sad is Darwin’s man,
What earthlier pathetic is the life,
Of one who spends his time in coffee houses,
Whispering gentle words,
Absorbing the noxious fumes,
Seeing visions of Xanadu,
Writing word which lost upon the souls of man,
Feeding sensations immortal,
Gently filling up the portal,
Fisting futility for fun,
And basking in the eternal glory
Of rampant evangelism.

There is a fine line between desire and madness,
There is a space between divide,
There dwells inside a twistedness,
There lives within a lie.

They say the world will end in fire,
Others end in smoke.
“Agreed,” said I,
“I wont’t deny,
My poetry’s a joke.”

2004-11-10T23:04:00.000-08:00

A couple of days ago I was out with some of friends and as usual, the subject matter turned towards relationships. This is a topic of conversation which I have hesitated a great deal to write about because my philosophies about the opposite sex are hardly set in stone and are in perpetual rapid evolution along with myself. However this was proposed to me and has been running through my mind the last couple of days. Since this is technically a journal I wish to share my thoughts on the subject.

So we are eating sushi one night and of course the topic of conversation gravitates towards one’s attitude vs. relationships, love friendship, the works. More precisely we began to focus on dependence on your significant other, which is a phenomena which occurs quite regularly if not constantly. This friend of mine in question explains that good relationships entail not dependence on the person, but just loving the person for who they are. To begin with, this is something I do not completely agree upon, but she does make the interesting and true point that when you need someone and become dependent on them, you might actually love they way they make you feel and not necessarily having them, in particular, as a human being. It’s really the next point that she made which made me think, however. In order to truly love someone you need to love yourself enough so that your self esteem does not become all caught up with the relationship. This makes a certain amount of sense to me, and yet I hadn’t thought about it before. Everyone has some kind of self esteem problem or another. This is something we perpetually try and battle against, but when you are in a relationship where someone else is making you feel good about yourself, you go to the top of the world and nothing can touch your happiness… until it fails, and when it fails, you fall hard. Wouldn’t it be easier to recover, armed with the confidence that you are proud of who and what you are regardless of other people? Would it make your love with your significant other stronger, knowing that you are in the relationship because you like the person and not because you need them? But let us not exaggerate, for there does exist and extreme to this. Friendship is a necessary dependence because, like it or not, happiness is virtually impossible without some form of human contact. It is in man’s nature to depend on others to a certain extent for the weight of reality is heavy indeed. I’d sooner put a bullet through my skull than give-up friendship forever. Is this because I depend of my friends? Yes I do. Is it wrong? No. But then friends are less likely to hurt your feelings than a significant other. So the ever so popular theory kicks in again and proves itself most likely true. The answer lies not at the extremes, but in the middle. We are not meant for solitude. Our minds are not really equipped to build and provide self esteem without the help of others. However relying too much on people is detrimental because you get hurt when the people who provide it fail you, and they will fail you because man is imperfect. I believe I will try and change my life such that I can find this imperfect balance, for I have always relied entirely too much on other human beings to fuel my self worth. I should love because I want to love, not because I need it to be happy. I should want to be with friends because I want to, and not because they make me feel special. I’m not saying that it’s bad. I’m saying that maybe I rely on it too much. Wholeness should be personal. I will try to make this happen for myself.

My 1000th hit since I started writing is comming up. Thanx for the support.

2004-11-08T05:25:00.000-08:00

I believe that people have intentions, sometimes good sometimes bad, but despite all the evil in the world I do believe that man has more good intentions than bad ones, even though sometimes his means of achieving his intentions are not the very best. I believe that all people including those who are bad, are capable of laughter, love, and sometimes even innocence. I believe that sensitivity and vulnerability are beautiful things, however should not be taken to the “whinny little bitch” extent. I believe that mastery of one’s emotions is a good thing, but should not be taken to the extent of suppression of all emotion. I believe that one must first lower their defenses to be capable of loving, but that such a move also makes you more susceptible to attacks. I believe that one must learn to be comfortable with one’s self in order to be able to truly love someone without becoming dependent on them. I believe that one should not rely solely on one’s self, for there is always wisdom in the words of a second opinion. I believe that true love happens weather or not you are looking for it. I believe that it is important to overcome your fears and go for things. I believe that it is important not to force something to happen just for the sake of doing it, but rather because you want to do it. I believe that man is a complex beast who does not know what he wants. I believe that inherently we all have some notion of what makes us happy. I believe that one can learn a about one’s self by trying new things, and that people can show you things you never new you liked. I believe that there are limitations in what should be attempted, and that certain things should be tried to satisfy one’s curiosity and not just for the sake of doing it. I believe that some relationships, both romantic and friendly, are meant to be. I believe that some relationships both romantic and friendly are meant to fail. I believe that there is something to be learned, no matter how small, from every experience. I believe that it takes us a long time to learn many of life’s lessons. I believe that one can know a lesson objectively, but not know it subjectively. I believe that the true teacher is experience, and that an objective lesson is more difficult, if not impossible to truly master. I believe that people worry too much about the way things should be, and forget to look at how things really are. I believe that people don’t think enough about the way things should be. I believe that life can be difficult and ruthless. I believe that life is the greatest experience of them all. I believe that the answer does not lie at one extreme or the other, but somewhere in the middle. I believe that mediation is always the answer. I believe that regret is worse than rejection. I believe you should not regret what does not happen. I believe that we all have the power to save humanity. I believe that humanity does not want to be saved. I believe that I have the power to change my life and the lives of others, for better or for worse, as I desire. I believe in love. I believe in hate. I believe in happiness. I believe in sadness. I believe in trust. I believe in caution. I believe in desire. I believe in apathy. I believe in man. I believe in believing in myself. I believe that I someday will.

2004-11-07T18:33:00.000-08:00

He hands her the gloves and helps her put them on. He secures them tightly so that her wrists will not suffer any more than they need to. She bangs them together. She is ready. She assumes a defensive posture and throws him an experimental punch, bounces back with catlike dexterity, strikes again. There is finesse in her precise strikes, as each hit lands solidly and squarely on the part of his arm where it was intended. "Just let go," he says after a few swings. She increases the pace of her hits, hander, faster, more angry, more furious. In a moment she explodes into a series of hard punches, her entire body weight behind her every swing. This is probably not good for her wrists, but she pursues relentlessly ignoring the toll which her anger is taking upon her, pounding away, losing all finesse and precision, letting the fury overtake her. She starts yelling and screaming obscenities at him with every punch. He stands still and takes it, his arm beginning to become sore. "Hold on a minute," he says and switches arm. She gives him a few moments respite before beginning again with renewed fury and anger, fists flying, lips moving, mouth screaming, unleashing all her vengeance against fate which has disrupted the balance of an imperfect world. Her face contorts in anger, burning blood red, like a silhouette of fire wanting nothing more than to consume everything that has ever hurt her. It is impossible to know exactly what she is thinking, but the negative energy is leaving her, and he is absorbing it.

And then her punches grow weaker and she backs down, sweating slightly. He removes her gloves from her hands as she sits. "Thanks," She says in between heavy breaths. "That’s what friends are for," he replies with a smile.

2004-11-03T14:55:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time in a land not so far away the people of the land decided to get together to decide how to solve some of the problems which had arisen over the course of the past four years. The people were bitterly divided on the solutions to many things, and a fierce debate ensued. What occurred exactly is entirely too complex for anyone to say, and the events will probably remain shrouded in mystery forever. What we are certain of however, is that both sides fell in behind certain leaders who’s vision of the future more or less coincided with their own. After much debate, both civil and bitter, votes were cast and much to nobody’s surprise the people opted for the more adventurous route. “May we live in interesting times!” they cried. Indeed the next four years will be interesting for everyone including the land’s neighbors. If anything we won’t be bored.

I love economics. It allows us to create simple worlds with simple assumptions and simple people which bring us to complex solutions in an attempt to explain the way things really are in the world. The fact of the matter is that we are useless. No one listens to what we say unless it suits them, and none of us have the ability to put into practice any of what we learn in this crazy crazy world. The best we can do is live day by day and watch the world make its decisions. Man indeed, is a complex beast far beyond the reach of simple theories and mathematics. We can spend an entire lifetime trying to understand them, and yet time and time again, they never cease to surprise us. I guess this is one of the things that makes man beautiful, our ignorance, our intelligence, our hatred, our desire to do good. Everyone has a different image of how the world should be, and everyone has a different idea of how to get there. Some people become so obsessed with their visions that they try and ram it down the throats of other people, sometimes violently. I am guilty in that my own opinion does not coincide with other people’s, but I am graceful even in defeat, and acquiesce peacefully to the decisions of the land. I am no patriot after all. Most people are far more obsessed with the land than myself. It is clear to me, and most of the people living abroad, that there is something which we are not getting. From the outside the choice seems obvious to me, perhaps this is because I’ve been gone so long and have not a subjective viewpoint. I can only hope that I am indeed short sighted, and that the others have it right. Unfortunately I have faith in my own wisdom. Man is stubborn. So am I.

2004-10-28T06:00:00.000-07:00

I would like to share these insightful bits of wisdom imparted to us by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, from Team America World Police. It explains many a complicated phenomena in the world today.

"There are three kinds of people: dicks, pussies and assholes. Pussies think everyone can get along and dicks just want to fuck all the time without thinkin' it through. But then you got your assholes, Chuck. And all the assholes want is to shit all over everything. So pussies may get mad at dicks once in a while because... pussies get fucked by dicks. But dicks also fuck assholes, Chuck! And if they didn't fuck the assholes, you know what you'd get?? You'd get your dick and your pussy all covered in shit!!"

"We're dicks! We're reckless, arrogant, stupid dicks! And the Film Actors' Guild!.. are pussies. And Kim Jong Il is an asshole. Pussies don't like dicks, because pussies get fucked by dicks. But dicks also fuck assholes. Assholes who just want to shit on everything. Pussies may think they can deal with assholes their way, but the only thing that can fuck an asshole... is a dick... with some balls. The problem with dicks is that sometimes they fuck too much, or fuck when it isn't appropriate, and it takes a pussy to show 'em that. But sometimes pussies get so full of shit that they become assholes themselves. Because pussies are only an inch and a half away from assholes. I don't know much in this crazy, crazy world, but I do know that if you don't let us fuck this asshole, we are gonna have our dicks and our pussies... all covered in shit."

2004-10-27T20:10:00.000-07:00

My exams are over, and due to this fact I am back to my normal college self again. Of course the end of midterms was cause for much celebration, and I have spent the past week under the influence of many a drink and other things. On the other hand I’ve managed to quit smoking…. tobacco, so that’s good. Last night was no exception, and I still feel the ill effects of my previous evening’s consumption.

I found myself last night, at Café Campus where 60s 70s and 80s music is played on Tuesdays. I like this arrangement very much for the selection is an exquisite mix of cheese and class which I so do enjoy. The place gets very packed quite quickly due to its popularity, and I find that most of the time, I need to show up quite early in order to skip the lineups. Yesterday was no exception, but we didn’t have to wait long to enter. Since we were celebrating the birthday of a friend of mine I found it suitable to purchase the first round of drinks. Since no one obliged for the next one, except the birthday girl of course, I obliged a second round as well, which left me quite undamaged since Café Campus is also famous for its 6 dollar pitchers on Tuesday nights. Hence it only took me a short time before realizing how deliriously happy I was, and went off to the dance floor to experiment with my newly acquired fluidity.

At about 1:30 the birthday girl expressed a desire to return to her resting place since she had consumed quite a bit more than she had originally intended, and felt the effects beyond her control. Being the gentleman that I am, I returned her to her home, and departed.

It was in this moment that it dawned upon me how drunk I was, and realized all of a sudden, that I might have difficulty walking the remaining two blocks to my abode. However, I persevered with a bit of stumbling around, and found my way to bed without incident, if I recall properly.

It occurs to me that I was acting perfectly normal, not slurring my words, and, whilst I was responsible for my friend, did nothing stupid, nor gave away the level of my intoxication. However upon being relieved of that responsibility, I was plastered. This brings me to a conclusion which has popped up several times during my drinking bouts. If I am responsible for someone or something I manage to clear the alcohol from my head for awhile.

Indeed several times in the past I have found myself quite drunk until something bad happened, such as the time when a friend of mine got ill and had to go to the hospital. All of a sudden, bang, I was sober again. Adrenaline rushes do the same, but yesterday was no such thing. I was responsible for a friend of mine, and I stepped up to it. I am certain that had I spent the evening with no such thoughts in my head, I would not have managed a successful return home, unassisted.

2004-10-25T23:13:00.000-07:00

The heart is beating to a frantic, twisting beat. It attempts to force as much as it can. A hollow drumming is felt within the confines of an empty shell. The brain beats. Blood rushes furiously like a panicked mob desperately attempting to flee from a burning building. Burning. The stomach turns, and flips, and dances, furiously attempting to escape a pending doom. Petrified, it expels. The left heel taps rapidly in anticipation, like an epileptic fit. Calve muscles tense. The belly squirms. Breath pumps. Frantic fear.

And all of a sudden. BANG! The body stops, the muscles relax, the breath settles, the tapping of the heel shifts into a calm mantra. The beating becomes music. The mind is focused, the heart relaxed. And enlightenment happens. It is not a deep understanding of the things beneath the eyes, but rather the profound comprehension that life matters. The hand scribbles something meaningful in somebody else’s universe which might be akin to its own, but in the end, it ends and that makes all the difference.

2004-10-16T22:00:00.000-07:00

I really like economics. It’s a great subject and lots of fun. People think I’m crazy for studying it, but I always argue that it just a more specialized form of philosophy. Then again most things stem from philosophy, but I digress.

However like all great things it is always possible to overdose, especially when you are force feeding yourself because of exams, and like all things there is almost always a small aspect of something which you dislike. This thing for me is Econometrics. Econometrics is the more applicative aspect of economics. It consists mainly of advanced statistical inference, along with loads of economic theory. I tend to prefer the more creative aspect of economics. Give me a model, some kind of explanation, it is art. Give me matrices and multidimensional mathematics, and I crumble. I should probably elaborate for economics is a very mathematical subject.

Algebra is ok so long as it doesn’t become too abstract. When I start having to imagine dubious spaces in more than 3 dimensions I get headaches. It especially hurts for vector projections. Calculus, no problem. I know it, I understand it, I know more than most people; I get by. Statistics, if kept relatively simple are doable. Combine, statistics, calculus, linear algebra, and economic theory to boot, you have econometrics.

I guess I’m especially bitter because over the last week I’ve been studying for my econometrics exam about 8 hour or more every day. My exam on Thursday was ridiculously difficult, and although the whole class failed, I am left with a very unsatisfied feeling. Exams like these can’t be studied for so I feel like I might have wasted a lot of time. Fortunately the professor is a fan of the bell curve, so I’ll get a kickback, but how can I convince myself that I want to make a career out of something which leaves me with no sense of accomplishment?

However in defense of the “dismal science,” I happen to love just about every other aspect of economics. I am especially attracted to Game Theory, and not because it has the word “game” in it. This week I’ll have the remaining two exams, International Macroeconomics and Game Theory. I’m a bit burnt out from Econometrics, but I think I can pull them off without too much coffee. Time will tell.

So maybe someday I’ll be Doctor Admiral, but until then it’s back to the Economics Department at Concordia U for more brain stuffing (I know how bad that sounds).

2004-10-09T14:41:00.000-07:00

It’s Saturday late afternoon. I know this because of the calendar on the computer, the needles on my watch. The box is devoid of natural light for there are no windows in the economics department. I like it, sometimes. It’s quiet. When you sit still and listen, there is a dull throb of florescent light bulbs, the humming on the computers from the computer lab. Death silence in a bustling city. By now the rain has probably begun. I know this because of the computer, its feels like it’s raining. There are no windows.

The last several hours have been a myriad of numbers and equations filling the cervices of memory. As if a hard drive is de-fragmented for extra space. None of it stays really for very long. It slips away silently as the eyes move on to other things. Somehow, someway, they will seem more and more familiar as they are looked upon. Eventually understanding will dawn, and the miracle will occur. The hand writes and copies, the eyes stare empty. There is no thought, but eventually it will come.
You can lose yourself for days, hours, weeks in a place like this. During the day there are bodies in this place. There is noise and laughter and frustration and joy. There is anger and love and smiles and frowns. But in the end there is only ME. I move through the dimly lit halls searching for a way to make it all happen. I gain inspiration in this windowless box. Lost somewhere within the walls of a building, right in the center of it, lies the road to enlightenment. It is in places like these that one can truly explore the nature of things. "I am moved by these fancies that are curled around these images and cling: the notion of some infinitely gentle infinitely suffering thing." But among the doors, the humming, the poor quality carpeting. Among the florescence, the musty smell, the books, the notes, the drama. Among the plastic, the blue, the conformity. "Words, words, words." "Numbers, numbers, numbers." Shall I go and memorize? Do I dare to try a proof? I shall write senseless things and walk along the corridors. I have seen professors working in the early hours of the morning. I do not think that they will speak to me.

When you find yourself alone. Lost in a small part of the world where no one will go to. When you are alone and thinking. You start wishing you can share it with someone special. But sooner or later reality reasserts itself, and I have to get back to studying.

2004-10-05T20:33:00.000-07:00

“No thanks. I love life… I’m sad, but at the same time I’m really happy that something can make me feel that sad. It’s like, it makes me feel alive you know? It makes me feel human. The only way I can feel this sad now, is if I felt something really good before. So I have to take the bad with the good. So I guess what I’m feeling is like a beautiful sadness. I guess that sounds stupid… Thanks for offering to let me in your clique guys, but to be honest I’d rather be a crying little pussy rather than a faggy Goth kid.”

-Butters (Southpark)-

A similar problem has been bugging me for the past year or so. I didn’t expect to find the answers in a Southpark episode. Now I can go find something else to worry about.

2004-10-04T18:38:00.000-07:00

The events of the past few days are plentiful and hilarious. So much so that I have little faith in my ability to explain all the intricacies of what happened, the inside jokes, the context of everything. However because we had so much fun I will attempt to put into words the overwhelming feeling of hilarity which dotted the weekend. The following post WILL be offensive to anyone who attended Bishops University. I am a little ashamed of myself.

That being said, I begin. The Minister of Fashion is an ex-student of the University of Bishops. Or maybe it is Bishops University, but this is not relevant. Bishops is located north of here in the small and quaint village of Lenoxville. It is a small undergraduate school, which sports over 2000 students, however the most impressive thing is that is it, to my knowledge, the only Anglo university in Quebec, outside of Montreal. Most people haven’t heard of it. I first heard of Bishops when I was living in University residences, back in my McGill days. A couple of acquaintances of mine had gone up and ripped the place apart with obnoxious acts ranging from rampant vandalism, to getting thrown off campus for playing with the fire extinguishers. They came back weaving a tale of a party school full of jocks. At the time, I thought it to be close by. Much to my surprise, I discovered, several years later, that Bishops is but a short 2 hour bus ride from Montreal in the small village of Lenoxville. Lenoxville might as well be called Sherbrooke for I do not notice the difference going from one to the other. It is surrounded by small farms and is quite rustic. My roommate, The Minister of Fashion, invited myself and Number 65 up for a trip this weekend. It was Shell Boy’s birthday and we were requested to celebrate. It was more an excuse than anything else. I’d been to Bishops in May to help the Fashion Minister move his belongings to Montreal, but I had not the time to taste the lifestyle there.

So it was with great enthusiasm that we debarked from the bus after a long ride of making loud redneck jokes, and faking a poorly done Quebecois accent. We were feeling obnoxious and I’d been itching to let lose all week. It’s been a hard week, but I digress.

Bishops stank of manure, which didn’t surprise me much seeing as we were in the middle of hick Quebec. We made several remarks concerning this, which might have offended Shell Boy a bit more than I’d intended. I probably went too far with the “Bishops student’s are just McGill rejects,” remarks but I managed to stop myself before any true harm was done. We were introduced to Shell’s roommates, and settled in.

As we were entering the building we came across one of Fashion’s old friends. Since she was a great source of amusement for the whole weekend I shall call her Fifi. Fifi and I got off to a great start when I introduced myself in French and she goes, “Ohh you’re Quebecois!” I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an empty look of lack of intelligence in a human beings eyes before. She reminded me of a puppy with a stellar body. I am certain that this female was what they had in mind when they coined the word “Bimbo.” For those of you who don’t get the joke, I am French from France.

The dorm room was exactly as expected. The common area was covered in trash which they insisted was “recycling.” The dishes were dirty enough so that I stopped feeling embarrassed of the state of my apartment. I found joy in the fact that I had progressed since my own undergrad days. Shell had three roommates who I shall call, Raspy, Julie, and Steve. Steve was the president of the computer science club, and, as his name suggests, was a complete dweeb. Julie disappeared quickly so I didn’t have time to make judgments. Raspy was a shy, cute gamer girl with a wicked sore throat. It took me about thirty second to judge Steve with his, “Yeah I’ve heard of the IMF, when I was living in Nicaragua. All the farmers complained about how the IMF made them buy 100 dollar manuals on agriculture which were worthless to them.” I responded with a famous line, “Dude, do you even know what the IMF is?” So obviously we got off to a great start. Raspy was hanging on his every word, obviously smitten. Steve’s girlfriend “Megabyte” (her real nickname), was this loopy chick who reminded me of some movie I’d seen as a kid involving a chainsaw wielded by a psycho blonde.

We basically dropped our things and went looking for liquid refreshment and food. After a short walk, which involved jumping along train tracks, we found ourselves in one of Lenoxville’s culinary gems, Village Grec. We were served by an angry waitress who didn’t believe us when Number 65 requested a chicken sandwich. He also warned her that he was going to check the food for saliva, when she complained about how we had switched tables. When she asked us if we wanted anything else he replied with, “Well what do you recommend?” She replies, “Umm desert?” I was just happy she forgotten to bring my side order of tzadziki for it tasted like ass on my pita. Shortly afterwards, were back in the residence with booze. Shell Boy’s roommates took off, and we waited for one of his friends, Shell Girl, and her buddies to show. The plan was to celebrate Shell Boy’s birthday and then go to a house party.

Shell Girl turned out to be every inch a spoiled princess. Her one friend was relatively cool, and was giving Number 65 a pretty good vibe before pleading fatigue and leaving. Too bad too, he had almost convinced her to come with us. Shell Girl had us all annoyed with her princessy plastic attitude. We couldn’t help but take a few cracks at her. Number 65 posed as a fine arts student from Concordia and later admitted to “taking the piss,” (She was a fine arts major). I laughed at her when she whipped out Shell Boy’s birthday present, a shot-bottle of whiskey, which was obviously taken off an airplane ride. At the end of the evening she stormed off saying that we annoyed her. Shell Boy didn’t seem to mind.

The house party was littered with French people (from France), and I really didn’t have much of a vibe from anyone. I function much better in English, but I also have trouble speaking to people when I don’t know them. This effect is multiplied when the crowd is 6 years or more younger than myself. I did some light conversation with a Spanish girl who, of course I argued with, but mostly I was observing people. I also got into another spat with Fifi who insisted that I had a Quebecois accent when I spoke English, and that it was my English she had commented on previously. I hadn’t spoken a word of English to her until that moment, and I pointed out to her that I am half-American. That shut her up. Fashion was in his element. He approached everyone with the lamest comments he could muster. At some point he took a dare and brute forced himself into talking with a girl by interrupting the conversation with an arbitrary line about his sexual preferences. Everyone was plastered so it didn’t matter. Number 65 was cornered by an ugly example of the fair sex. It was amusing for me.

At around oneish, Number 65 and I stepped outside for a bite. Since McDonald’s was closed we contented ourselves with Pizza. It took 45 minutes to get it and of course they’d screwed up our order and brought us Pepperoni with extra cheese instead of an all dressed Pizza. By the time we got back the party had died. Fashion decided to stay at the place since they offered a better sleeping arrangement for him, so Shell, 65, and I went back for the dorm room and passed out.

I was woken by Steve and Megabyte holding signs over my head and snapping pictures. I didn’t get to read the signs cause I was sleepy, so I rolled over and went to bed. We spent the early part of the day lounging around. 65 tried to study, and I spent most of my time chatting up Raspy who confided to be a gamer and big fan of the medieval. I was a bit hungover and didn’t feel like pursuing too much. That doesn’t ever happen to me. Whenever I meet someone with similar interests to mine I jump all over it, but for some reason I just wasn’t getting the vibe. When Fashion showed up, we headed to the sports facilities.

After a couple of pathetic dives in the pool and breath holding competitions, Fashion challenged some kid to some diving. The individual in question pulled a magnificent flip/twist, landing on his feet. Fashion ran across the diving board like a crippled kid and threw himself into the water. It was funny to watch. I managed about 75 meters holding my breath (I’m certain that I could pull 100 if I wasn’t constantly breaking my smoking ban). We also spent some time in the sauna next to some sweaty naked guy who lectured to us about the history of the sauna. The sauna was electric and he was pouring water onto the coals straight out of a bucket. He did however admit that it was dangerous to do so with this particular sauna when I pointed out to him that pouring water on an electric heater was hazardous.

Upon returning to the apartment, we were informed of a night of drinking occurring there, later that evening. They gathered friends of theirs to play a game called 3-Man which is an old drinking game I played once when I was 19. Their version however involved dice and Raspy was all proud about whipping out her d6es. We went to the supermarket to get booze which got all sorts of positive reactions from the flat mates. It hadn’t occurred to us that they might think we were going to fuel their game. People started showing up sporting 40s of Wildcat, which I liberally took the piss out of. When they started helping themselves to our booze we hid it. Finally we got bored of observing the young rez student in his natural habitat, seeking temporary companionship by impressing females with the quantity of bad beer which can be consumed in a short period of time. Eventually they left.

By this time I was annoyed. Our beer had been taken, and the level of intelligent conversation had dropped heavily with their presence. They reminded me of everything I used to detest in rez and I was glad to see that my opinion hadn’t changed. I played with Raspy’s dice and suddenly developed an overwhelming urge to take them. When I suggested this to the others, Shell Boy warned me that she would be sad at losing them for they have great sentimental value to her. I was fairly certain of this given her gaming background. Most gamers are very attached to their dice. A dice with attachment is more fun to roll and from a superstitious standpoint more powerful. Naturally I don’t believe in this but my D&D buddies will understand where others can’t. They weren’t especially nice, but I was in a shitty mood and wanted to do something bad. I don’t know why. Raspy wasn’t a bad person, she was even cooler than the others perhaps, but something ticked me off. Eventually my conscious and my buddies convinced me not to do it, so I placed one dice on top of the kitchen cabinet so that it would be difficult to notice. I placed the other one under the coffee table so as to make it appear as if they had been knocked over. I wonder how long it will take for her to find it. I feel a little bad.

To Steve I used the old trick of the screenshot. I took a screen shot of his computer and made it into his background. I hid the icons, and dropped the taskbar. Voila. It looks like everything is there but the icons aren’t because they are back of the background. I wondered if such an old trick would confound the computer science president for a long time but it was harmless. After a few laughs we ascended to Fifi’s apartment for a bite of brownies.

It was at this time that I realized truly how genius my roommate really is in his native language. I always knew was funny, but in French he is ten times more hilarious, and liberally started ripping into everyone including himself. We was rude, witty, quick, punning, and hilarious all at the time same time and generally in one sentence. After helping ourselves to some brownies which turned out pretty good, we departed for the “Lion” night club, accompanied by a French girl who’s name I never caught so I will refer to her as “French girl”.

The Lion was packed with hotties and jocks. It reminded me of Crescent Street. A real meat market. The boys were all preppy white guys dancing to gansta rap. Exactly the kind of place I tend not to like, but nevertheless I had a beer which was surprisingly good. Homebrewed apparently and not bad at all. Eventually I got bored of watching people so I struck a conversation with French Girl whilst the others went hunting. I was still riding on my “I’m not in the mood to make an effort to face rejection tonight,” feeling, and so it was only when Number 65 returned asking us to join him on the dance floor, that we did anything.

I don’t like Rap and R&B. It was obvious that French Girl also wasn’t too much into the music by the way she danced, but I shook my ass as best I could, and took the piss out of myself as I always do whenever I’m dancing. Eventually 65 left the two of us together and we shook to the music. Suddenly some guy pushes rudely and points at my t-shirt with a scowl. I was wearing a McGill shirt. I threw him a mocking smile, emphasizing the insult with my hands, and continued what I was doing. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him scowling, not dancing, and after a moments hesitation, moving to speak to other guys whilst pointing at me. It was at this moment that French Girl suggested we move off the floor. I conceded, not wanting to get into trouble. I found out later that there exists a long lasting hatred of McGill on behalf of Bishops students. Apparently McGill beats them in rugby or something rather. I am convinced that this actually stems from the fact that many Bishops students are McGill rejects. This was confirmed to me by several people. Anywho I pulled it off and remained unmolested for the remainder of the evening. At one point Fashion filled a beer mug with urine and left it on the table despite my urgings to pour it into random cups (I was in the mood for cheap thrills). We left Number 65 who had managed to start a conversation with some girls, and returned home.

When we entered, three people were in the process of passing out on our mattresses. Shell Boy kicked them all awake informing them that the mattresses were for his friends. I watched with glee as they left, and fell asleep with a smile on my face. Several hours later Number 65 stumbled in, cursing his bad luck. He had made friends with one girl who lived a bit of a distance away, but since he had no ride, she was forced to leave prematurely. I fell asleep again to the sounds of him cursing his luck, interrupted by an occasional flatulence of mine for good measure.

This morning we woke to a scowling Steve who ignored our existence completely. Raspy was somewhat social, but disappeared into her room for a few hours and then from the apartment. We had breakfast and packed up. I figured from the music eschewing from Steve’s room that he had fixed his computer, but I gleefully noted the dice which still hadn’t been located. We shall see. A small part of me still wanted to take it. A small part of me still wishes I had. I am a bit ashamed at myself. We bade Steve goodbye, which was returned very unenthusiastically and left. Shell Boy went to class.

Now I have to go back and edit this stuff, so I’ll keep my closing remarks short. This story is probably not as interesting to you guys seeing as you weren’t there, and most likely you are thinking about how much of a looser and asshole I am. I have no defense to this save only that I’ve been feeling kinda shitty for the past few weeks and this weekend gave me the opportunity to unleash that frustration. The unexpected bonus is that I got to unleash it against a time of my life which I really disliked. It was some lame form of vengeance for me, but it was extremely gratifying and for all it’s worth I laughed my ass off.

2004-09-27T22:12:00.000-07:00

Last night some friends and I conducted a trip to one of my favorite places in Montreal, the Casino. The game is Blackjack. This is an activity which I indulge in about once a year, for lack of funds, and fear of addiction, for it is far more addictive than any activity or drug I have tried. It is also one of the potentially most dangerous addictions known to man. However having long thought of the consequences and frame of mind in which I like to gamble, I have put together a “Theory of Blackjack.” This goes back to a previous post which I made several months ago, concerning my poker games. In Blackjack, however, the stakes are much much higher than a poker game for pennies.

Firstly there is a mathematical axiom, which holds with complete certainty. That truth is the age old cliché, “The house always wins.” Keeping that in mind one should always enter the casino with the frame of mind that they are most likely paying money to enjoy the thrill of the game, the tension, the excitement, the disappointment, etc… Winning or losing is incidental, and in all likeliness the longer you play, the more you will lose.

A game of Blackjack, if played properly, and I’m not talking about the various obscure techniques of counting cards, etc… (of which, I might add, I am very skeptical about), can yield approximately a 47ish percent winning ratio. Winning is possible, but the odds are less than 50 percent, and those who win are in the minority. If this axiom did not hold, casinos would not exist for they would not be making money. Therefore there is no trick. Learn to play well to maximize your odds, and if you are lucky, your money will last a long enough time for you to enjoy the game without losing too much. If you are really lucky, you might even net positively, but NEVER go in expecting to win.

Learning Blackjack is not a difficult process. For those of you who wish to learn, I highly recommend the following web site, http://www.hitorstand.net/. This web site has an excellent trainer for Blackjack, which will explain to you what steps you should take when faced with various situations. You play against the computer, but the computer points out your mistakes and tells you how to maximize your odds. It is easy to quickly become a good Blackjack player, and it’s free and fun. The program, however doesn’t specify a betting strategy. This is arbitrary. One can always double their losses in bets to make the money back, but the tables have maximum betting limits to prevent the over-exploitation of this fact. If I lose several hands in a row I like to up my stakes. Probability theory says that it’s not a valid strategy, but I like it that way.

For those of you who want to go without knowing how to play, you can bet behind some people at certain tables at the casino. That means that you can place bets along side a certain player and win when he wins, lose when he loses. You have no control over the game and have to rely on the skill of the player you are betting behind, but if you find someone who knows what they are doing, (observe around a bit), you can have fun that way too. Personally I prefer to play rather than play behind, but that is just me. I had a friend betting behind me last night. He knew I knew how to play.

That being said, the next step is to set yourself certain limits. Firstly, one must set himself a time limit. Playing is fun for awhile, but eventually you get tried and stop wanting to play the game. I’m talking from an external standpoint here. Playing more to win back the money you lost is not a good enough reason to keep going, and will most likely lead you to ruin. When you get bored, stop. Secondly, set yourself a financial limit. Assuming that this money dies before your time limit, too bad. The floor will prevent you from losing too much. In the worst case scenario, you will lose all of your money quickly, but most of the time you won’t. Lastly, set yourself a table with a low enough minimum bet so that you can make your money last long enough to enjoy yourself.

Finally, “Don’t regret what doesn’t happen.” This line comes from my good friend Calvin, and contains infinite wisdom applicable to a multitude of situations. If you win great, if you lose great. Losing is also fun if you are in the right mind frame (even though you will always have this nagging feeling in the back of you head when you lose). However I can safely say that when I’ve lost in a casino I didn’t regret going. Even losing is fun, though winning would have been so much better.

Given the above I won’t relate to you how much I won or lost last night because it is not central to the lesson. Last night I set myself a two hundred dollar loss limit, over a two hour period. I chose the 15 dollar tables because it is the minimum that someone can play behind on. I stopped after two hours, and had fun.

Those who are close to me will all know about the night’s details (because I have a big mouth), but that is not the point of this post. Have fun, be reasonable, and don’t do anything stupid like bet everything in one go. Make it last. Longer games are more fun, always.

2004-09-26T15:59:00.000-07:00

As consciousness assumes itself there appears to be a sense of anxiousness and activity in the warm parts of an under-lit taproom. Yellow smoke permeates the atmosphere, rubbing its back upon the windows panes. It is in these places that faces congregate for discussions of various types. Words are spoken, mostly with the sole intention of captivating an imagination, or perhaps better yet, as a formality for certain things which are yet to come. Plastic laughter, synthetic smiles, all in the name of buying time enough for the chemicals to settle in and dilute the phony barrier. Even the barrier is fake, for both sides know the drill.

Arms wrapped around necks, hands unwrapping arms, fingers laid on shoulders, lips laid on lips, jaws working furiously so as to ensnare, like ragged claws. Gatherings such as this are meant to satisfy physical needs. “Let us take the air in a tobacco trance.”

There is a feeling which builds, struggles, begging to break the barriers which hold it; barriers which we are instilled with. They protect, and deceive. They hurt. We wish they could stop feeling sorry for myself. The defect of this source of outlet is that one cannot commit the most painful and difficult tests for fear of exposure and attaining the pity or frustrations of others. He wouldn’t want for such things to occur. On the other hand, the black sheet of paper is the world’s best listener and worst reassure.

Some people seek to master their emotions and learn to control them so as to be able to turn them on or off, like a light bulb. I prefer to believe in the release and revelry of the chaotic things which go on inside me, rather than containment and eventual stifling. For me emotion, both good and bad, are incredible things. Painful, sweet, sad, exhilarating, beautiful. Yet I hate it when I pity myself. There is so much to comprehend.

2004-09-25T15:28:00.000-07:00

A tingling light. A soft glow begins to emanate, illuminating the dark corners of the premises. Swing. Rush. Roar. As the flames begin to cradle back and forth, a dull lullaby begins to sing to itself. Rushing, roaring, spinning. The song is that of a small child singing alone, a dull echo in its voice as if sung within a hollow mind. So soft and sweet and violent. Deliberate and lulling. Insane. And all of a sudden they explode into a stunning dance of looping, arcing, graceful circulations, all accompanied by the harsh protests of flame both feeding off the wind, and struggling to survive against it. Like a drug.

Intensity is felt. Heat emanates promising annihilation to anything which dares to intercede its destine path. Thrill begins. For the mastery of the flame is man’s oldest battle and greatest victory. They too struggle to overthrow the weaver, but in vain. It follows a chosen course, and all they do is gasp for breath and squeal an outraged sound. It is moving how these things are done.

The eyes all stare, and laugh and grin. None of them know the feeling, the thrill. Pretty lights, rushing sound. “Do a Trick!”

And then the speed, the sound, the sensations. Of fatigue exhilaration. Droplets of water form a protective barrier to prevent the threat of fire, both internal and external. And the skin begins to warm, and heat and boil. Speed and strength recoil. Mild euphoria settles. Faster. Faster. More extravagant, more daring. Hair! And in one final display of dominance and mastery, the flames are stifled leaving only small trails of smoke as testament of their existence.
Clap, clap, clap. Whooo! Yeah, yeah ok. Thanks. Where the ladies at?

2004-09-22T20:49:00.000-07:00

Awesome, I survived the day relatively intact. Today I did not have class, but I nonetheless spent the better part of my time downtown finishing up this assignment and some light studying. It’s a painful adjustment, but I’m finally starting to feeling like I’m getting back into the groove of things.

I took three hours off to volunteer and conduct interviews. As far as that goes, it wasn’t as much fun today. The people I interviewed were annoying, and really didn’t know what they wanted. One of them was emitting this harsh cologne which must have been some kind of sick avant garde experiment involving urine and skunk. Fortunately this woman was not so confused as the others, and I quickly managed to conclude the experience.

Tomorrow I’m going to a big house party in Dorval. From the people throwing it, and the crowd attending I fully expect nothing less than an American Pie experience. I very much look forward to returning to this aspect of my youth which I missed out on. After all, the house parties in Zimbabwe were of a different nature than this sort of thing. I’ll be there in full force with my pyrotechnics to showoff. One final bang before breaking ties with the summer laziness. It’s time to get back to work.

In other news I have decided to fully memorize, “The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock,” by TS Eliot. It is a rather long poem which I have been obsessed with for quite some time. The poem itself discusses the inner battle of a man at war with his lust for the opposite sex and his inability to meet women. I find that I relate to Prufrock in many ways, although I definitely never suffered quite as much as him. Nonetheless in my dark moods, consisting of way too much self-reflection, I do indeed draw parallels with him. It is scary, but true nevertheless. I hope to have it all down by the end of next week. It is quite a doozy.

Finally I made a new friend today. Yay! It is not every day that one meets new people let alone make a new friend. Over the past few days I have met a number of people who I will be friends with for at least a few months. I’ve neglected mentioning them and so this one’s for the two people previous, plus the one I made today. Joy!

All is well in the state of The Minister of Fashion. Obviously his style is paying off.

There is Magic in the air.

2004-09-21T14:51:00.000-07:00

Booyah. Yesterday I finally experienced my first “study headache,” since last April when I completed the last of my exams. I find it very strange how I’ve conveniently forgotten all the negative aspects of school so quickly. All summer I’ve been pondering about how much I miss my classes and studying, the camaderie, the satisfaction of being correct, solving a hard problems. Funny how easy it is to forget the stress, the headaches at not managing to solve something, the anger associated with it, the fatigue associated with a droning voice.

Yesterday I began my first assignment, Econometrics. For me Econometrics is the least attractive aspect of economics. Throw me theory, models, philosophy any day, but make it into complicated statistics, and my brain starts PMSing. Anywho I started the assignment, and fours hours later after not having gotten anywhere I had someone explain to me a few short simple mathematical tricks which made it all so easy.

So now I’m wondering weather or not I wasted those four painful, angry, frustrated hours or not. I’m not a violent individual, but if I get frustrated at not being able to solve something I should be able to do, especially when I feel I should be able to do it, I don’t get depressed and self loathing, I get angry. It’s probably not healthy, but anger is a more motivating emotion than self-pity. Most probably the painful process is constructive. I explored my imaginative side of Math to solve this problem, came up with all sorts of interesting things which failed. I am better at manipulation of mathematics as a result, but dammit, my head hurts. Plus, because I didn’t manage to solve it myself, I don’t feel the satisfaction.

When it comes to economics I am vain. I have confidence in myself, and I am convinced I can do most things my professors expect of me, hence the frustrations. I think that this self confidence is a strength. I haven’t taken it to the extremes of belittling people with it so I’m not abusing.

In other news I’ve decided to drop the easy class with the boring teacher because I can’t keep my eyes open. I’ll do better if I’m challenged.

Lastly, I’ve been assigned a teaching assistantship along with all my friends who applied. YAY!

2004-09-17T08:19:00.000-07:00

“Whatever you do, just stay close to your friends.” -El Presidente- (Sage advice from one friend to another, concerning a deep depression which hit me last year).

Yesterday I found myself awake at 7AM to make a 10AM class. I know that such an early rise from my slumber was not the most efficient way to go about starting my day, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Naturally it wasn’t until 8PM, when my last class ended, that I finally started feeling really awake, and prevailed upon Number 65 and another fellow colleague of mine, to join me for a pint at Brutopia.

Our evening consisted of light conversation, catching up on summer events, speaking on things yet to come. All in all it was a splendid evening despite the sheer number of people filtering into the barroom, smothering my space with bodies and smoke.

Number 65 and I embarked upon a long conversation, which began as an analysis of difference between our personalities. I think I started something along the lines of, “Hey dude I’m going to organize to go to the Comedy Works next weekend. I haven’t been there in while.” To which I got a, “Ahh but what if everyone backs out on you. Would you go alone?” This is a very philosophical question concerning my psyche. It addresses the issue that I am a groupie. I revel in human contact and detest doing things alone. I am constantly striving to surround myself with people, and if I don’t manage to, I sometimes have difficulty amusing myself. In many respects I am an organizer of events, and entertainment. However on my own, I almost seldom do anything other than trying to get people to come out with me. This holds true for most things with certain small exceptions. I have been known on occasion to completely withdraw myself from society and socializing, for the sake of an engrossing videogame. It’s one of the few things I don’t need to share with people. The only other exception, which comes to mind, is the time no one wanted to go to a Jazz concert at McGill. This is the only time I bit the bullet, smoked a joint, and went to listen to some music alone. It was fun, but I remember thinking, “Gee everyone would have loved this.”

Perhaps the most illogical dislike of mine is going to see a movie alone. I haven’t done it before, and I probably should. However I feel that I just won’t enjoy a good movie if I’m not sharing the experience with someone else. It’s illogical, (I’m borrowing from Number 65 here). (More or less) “Admiral man when I go see a movie, I don’t talk to people, I don’t want to be talked to, I just want to sit back alone and enjoy my movie. If you start talking to me, you ruin my fun.” He is correct. My first defense for taking people to see a movie would be to provide an opportunity to discuss the show afterwards. This doesn’t hold, however, for the simple reason that such discussions can take place at a later date; that and the fact that I like to “digest” a good movie before making judgments. This ruins my basis for ever saying, “Don’t go see it without me.” It just doesn’t make sense.

It occurs to me that there have been several shows which I’ve wanted to see that people saw without me, causing me to not to see it. For example, I haven’t seen Fahrenheit 9/11 yet, for the simple reason that I didn’t want to go alone. I wonder if this provides insight as to my motivational purposes.

When I study alone, I hardly ever get any work done, and I’m constantly losing my train of thought. However when I am in a study group, I am motivated and harder working. Now it’s true, I’ve been known to be distracting in a study group, but I get much more done working with people. It is clear that human contact motivates me. Lack of it makes me idle and unwilling to do things alone. Is this a flaw?

So now I have to wonder to myself weather or not my dependence on people is a bad thing or not. Right now I have loads of friends from many circles so I generally don’t have trouble getting people together to satisfy my needs. However should I depend on others as much as I do? Or should I strive to learn to become more independent and less reliant on others. It is clear to me that both extremes could be a bad thing. As with all things the answer must lie somewhere in the middle.

2004-09-13T20:18:00.000-07:00

School has started and all in all I’m kinda glad to be back. I’m starting my second year at Concordia, and it makes me think of my second year university experience at McGill. My first year at Uni back in the before time, was riddled with new faces, and an array of small groups of friends, acquaintances quickly formed. These were people who I socialized with, opened up to, and befriended. Second year brought about a phenomenon I liked to call, “The cleansing.” The cleansing probably took place due to the fact that we left residence, and didn’t see certain people as often as before. The result was that some of us came to realize that we only hung out with some of these guys because they were conveniently present and partying rather than any genuine interest. Beer, drugs, a party, all these things were present in rez, which caused us to bond. Now I don’t want to offend The Minister of Culture and his wife with what follows. I know don’t see them much since I’ve moved, but that is more a circumstance of busyness than anything else. The fact of the matter is that we came to realize that some people just weren’t interesting enough to spend time with, and as a result splits were made. On the other hand I became excellent friends with some people I hadn’t know that well in rez, and formed excellent long lasting friendships.

The years following brought about lesser cleansings, but none so great as the first one. Most of these were brought upon by people we met in classes who moved on in subsequent years, different interests which just diverged, maybe just the natural way of things. I find this phenomenon extraordinary because this is the first time in my life that I have spent five complete years in one place without moving away. Back when I was a wee lad, we moved around a lot causing me to force break many friendships. In fact there is only one human being I’m still good friends with from my Washington DC days, and I only speak consistently to one person from Zimbabwe. Ironically I didn’t know her that well when I was living there. Now, however, I have ex-friends I can bump into the streets and say “Hey man long time no see!” It is strange for me.

Of course the cleansings only truly kicked in, several weeks after the school started cause there was always an effort to keep the old crowd together after the long rigorous summer. I wonder at my situation now and ponder as to weather or not the same thing will occur with me this year. Probably not. Most of my school buddies are in the same classes as me, this due to the fact that the department of economics is small, and offers a limited selection of classes. Plus we spent most of our time together studying rather than socializing, and a certain knowledge of each other’s working habits developed. We know who we work well with and who we don’t. In fact, as I recall many people studied with us at the beginning, and it took several months before our core study group solidified. I guess you could call it a “cleansing” which took place earlier in the year, out of necessity.

Cleansings are always interesting, and sometimes painful when you realized you been “cleansed.” However they almost always bring in new people into your life. I am eager to observe how the dynamics of my life will change due to the school year and my most recent move. Change is good, evolution is fun, painful, and necessary even so far as friends are concerned.

2004-09-08T06:40:00.000-07:00

Over the last few weeks I’ve been brainstorming a list of quotations which have had an impact on my life and way of thinking. I’ll probably add more, but this is what I’ve come up with so far.

The only thing worse than rejection is regret. (Number 65)

Don’t regret what doesn’t happen. (Calvin)

No matter what a stripper tells you there is no sex in the champagne room. (Chris Rock)

For it so falls out that what we have we prize not to the worthwhiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost, why, then we rack the value, then we find the virtue that possession would not show us whiles it was ours. (William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing)

So, how about that Ebola virus? (Friends)

Frailty thy name is woman! (William Shakespeare, Hamlet)

You know? I think just realized I hate cognac. (Me)

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. (M. M.)

It’s fashionable to be bisexual these days. (Me)

Every problem you ever have you look at. Think to yourself, “Will I still have this problem in 4 years?” If the answer is “yes” then you have a real problem. (Tony)

Long distance relationships never work out. (That girl in Encino Man)

So what!? (Mynx)

Winning is not as important as having fun. (no comment)

I should have been a pair of ragged claws, scuttling across the floors of silent seas. (TS Eliot, The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock)

Never piss in the fountain of youth. (King Karl)

Extremes are the source of all bad things. (Me)

He who hesitates, masturbates. (Kalan)

Shut up and re-boot. (The Minister of the Interior)

En Vino Veritas. (Tom)

Any one-liner from Evil Dead 3, Army of Darkness.

2004-09-07T07:26:00.000-07:00

Kayaking kicks ass. This last weekend sent us just outside the rustic village of Hawkesbury. By us I mean, The Minister of the Interior, The Minister of Fisheries, Number 65, and Barbie (since I can’t come up with an appropriate name for him). Our mission, whitewater kayaking. Unfortunately I don’t remember the name of the lake except that the whitewater is referred to as “The Seven Sisters” and that it is located at the mouth of the Riviere Rouge. I had other things on my mind.

I am a man with small, mundane, human fears. I fear death. I fear life. I fear heights, rapid speeds, and needles. However in water I fear nothing. The last great water sport I embarked upon was scuba diving, which took me to some of the coolest coral reefs off the Islands of Fiji, underground rivers in Mexico. I can consistently beat the two minute mark when holding my breath underwater, and I’m a damn good water-wrestler. But I digress.

It occurred to me as I hauled my kayak up to a relatively tame but still scary looking section of the river, “holy shit this is nuts!” But I didn’t heisted to throw myself down the river. I love water with all the rocks, water up my nose, and red eyes.

This was my first time kayaking, and I was excepting something along the lines of an elaborate waterslide with more thrills and danger. I was correct to some extent. We went with a company called H2O Adventures. The Minister of Fisheries has dealt with these people before and greatly enjoyed it. Our quest took us to a small island on the lake. We arrived late on Friday night, and took a short raft ride to the island. Friday night was relatively quiet despite the large quantity of alcohol imbibed. I spun fire, met the instructors, hung out. Our group was rather disappointed by the lack of femininity on the premesis. Among 10 guys we had something like… one female who was clearly significantly older than any of us. So we parked our things in our abode, which by general concensus was dubbed “The Sausage Hut,” and went to sleep.

Morning took us early around eightish. In the middle of breakfast more people arrived upping the female count to five females, hardly an ideal situation but more fun nonetheless. There is nothing like raging testosterone competing for attention.

We were in the water by tenish, learning basic moves. Now when you get into a kayak you have a skirt around your waist, which keeps water out of your boat. However if you need to exit the boat quickly, i.e. if you have been flipped over, you need to detach the skirt from the kayak by pulling a strap and exiting the boat. Interior Minister, and Number 65, learned this particular trial by fire, or water if you will. We also learned how to rescue an overturned person by having them use your boat for leverage.

The first day consisted of basic paddling techniques, quick recoveries before flipping over, and safety. Interior and I were jousting and playing bumper boats. It was great fun. We also got to ride down a section of whitewater with our life jackets. Alas Number 65 got ill, probably a combination of seasickness and water up his nose. I had purchased a pair of nose plugs, but they were taken by the lake, probably at the end of the day when the Minister of Interior and I were doing “Terry Tate” tackles to each other in the water. Lunch was served sometime in the middle of the day, and the evening found us huddled around a campfire telling jokes, making fun of each other, listening to Fisheries’ stories, and some fire dancing by me. The story he told was about a man gone fish, once again validating his appointment. It was much fun despite the day’s physical antics. We went to bed tired and drained.

The following day consisted of a quick review before we headed out to the whitewater for some action. We learned how to surf waves on the whitewater and navigate currents on the river. Lunch was had and some of us decided that we wanted to learn “Eskimo Rolling” which is the technique kayakers use to flip an overturned kayak up by itself. We had heard about this difficult move from Fisheries and Barbie since they were the veterans of our group. Apparently beginners seldom learn it. After getting an explanation and trying a few drills Interior and I got bored and joined Fisheries and Barbie for some wave surfing. It’s harder than the veterans make it look, but I’ll get better with practice. By then Number 65 had backed out again due to physical discomfort despite his newly acquired nose plugs. On the way down I borrowed them and attempted an Eskimo roll myself without assistance. It took me a few tries and apparently the instructors were using my attempts as demonstrations of “what not to do” when suddenly I succeeded. I was able to repeat the feat multiple times. Interior later confided to me that the instructors were flabbergasted by my improper technique and success despite this. I’ll get better with practice. Interior succeeded one shortly afterwards.

The last thing we did was go down the whitewater in our kayaks. This was by far the most thrilling part of the weekend. Water pulled and pushed. Gravity propelled me through currents, waves, and rocks. Halfway through the experience I lost my balance and tipped over. I attempted and failed two Eskimo rolls before wet exiting. I collided into just about every rock on the way down, but it was fun anyways.

The goodbyes weren’t tearful, but there was a general agreement to try and book the same weekend for next year. These were made more on the spur of the exhilaration and will probably die down quickly. Personally I want go to back right now. There were some e-mails taken and some telephone numbers as well. I will probably never see these people again, and their existence in this chapter of my life will fade with time. I say this with no hint of sarcasm or regret, just experience talking.

Anywho it was fun, and I highly recommend it to anyone who is mildly interested.

2004-09-01T15:28:00.000-07:00

The last few days have produced a series of interesting events and anecdotes which will probably result in a rather long discourse. However in the defence of the fact that I have not written in several days, it is justifiable. And so without further a due please find outlined most of the transpirations of the last few days of my life.

As many of you know I was in St. Louis, these past few days, visiting someone, who by unanimous decision, has been dubbed St. Louis (sorry girl I was not consulted on this one). Anywho I departed on Tuesday afternoon and got nailed in a traffic jam which resulted in me only having to wait about 15 minutes before boarding my flight. See? See? I said about not aboot hahahahaha. But I digress.

The flight was bumpy, sending us over many a rain cloud and thunderstorm. We landed heavily on the tarmac in Minneapolis, and I had 2 hours to kill. 2 hours later, we were up in the air again, and I was dozing. There was a young man sitting next to me, boasting a harsh southern accent. He was acting all excited and jumpy like it was his first time on an airplane. I was planning on ignoring him until he shook me awake so that I could focus my attention on the windows. Outside lighting rained all around us. The captain came on the speaker advising the stewardess to stop what she was doing and strap herself in. Her tone was that of concern. It scared us all. The next thirty minutes were spent in absolute silence, the dull roar of the engine in the background, the moment threatening to be pierced by a stray thunderclap. Lightning danced for us in an amazing display which created a sensation of awe and fear within me. I could see the clouds above the storm and those below. It was beautiful. It was terrifying. In the end we weaved out of the cloud and escaped the wrath of nature. I believe that I have been privileged to a display of forces which has been denied to many men and slain many others. It leaves me with a feeling of respect for physics.

The plane descended and we bounced onto the runway, the winds blowing hard in an attempt to banish us from the concrete. However the skills of the pilot defeated the elements and we arrived safely. I deplaned, walked over to the terminal, located my luggage, and finally met with St. Louis who I hadn’t seen in almost 6 years.

Our reunion was strange at first, but time quickly dissolved our preconceptions and our friendship resumed to its former glory.

St. Louis turned out to be a more interesting city than expected. The downtown is riddled with buildings in the neoclassical architectural style which I am so fond of. It was clean, nice, hot and humid. On some days we didn’t go out of her place fearing the wrath of the sun and the moisture in the air. All in all it was fun. I threw around many aboots and, got the crap kicked out of me on several occasions. I was credited with having a “strong Canadian accent.” Not bad ay? I played along with the “Canadian” thing for the most part. Those who asked, however were disappointed to find out that I was a mere citizen of the US. Ahh well.

I purchased “If Chins could Kill,” Bruce Campbell’s autobiography. It’s hilarious.

In St. Louis the PFK is actually called KFC. What an interesting notion!

I watched a lot of the Olympics including the closing ceremony. It was fun. I caught up on some heavy TV which I've been missing out on for the past few years since well I just don’t watch TV. I think I got most of it out of my system. Saw some good movies and other things. In the evenings we’d go out to bars or clubs. Alas her tastes in music did not always match mine, but I was most amused by watching young males and females participating in the time honoured courting ritual which gets many of us no where unless the target is sufficiently diluted with alcohol. I was amused.

St. Louis plays a good game of pool. I was both impressed and offended when she beat me in the first game. I came back of course being the personification of masculinity that I am, but I couldn’t help but feel somewhat castrated by that first defeat. She rubbed it in my face too.

Tuesday morning found me awake before 7 AM with a groggy mind of someone who hadn’t obtained sufficient sleep the previous evening. Nevertheless I dressed and packed. The trip back was riddled with a relatively cloudless sky and stable winds. A short stop in Detroit and boom I was in Montreal again. A few phone calls later found me at Café Campus shaking my ass to 60s 70s 80s rock n’ roll.

Thus ends my story. I am a better man. I have grown, I have learned, I didn’t gain a level but I’m confident that there was some exp involved somewhere.

We are pleased to appoint the Minister of Fashion to the Cabinet. I trust that he will perform splendidly in his duties and look forward to working with him in the future.

2004-08-23T22:32:00.000-07:00

This last weekend was eventful, finding me in the small town of London Ontario for a dragon boat race. I like the sound of it. London. Yes well if you must know we went to London last weekend for a race. The Annual International Dragon Boat Competition of London. Yes yes our team is that good. We raced 8th overall. We raced on the Upper Thames. Jolly good. Unfortunately London Ontario is not quite so grandiose but hey.

Anywho, the trip up was fun. I designated myself the personal motivator of our driver, which resulted in me singing lots of Aerosmith, U2, and random tunes on the radio to keep her awake. She sung along as well so it was all good except that I had this minor cold and my voice didn’t last very long.

We stayed at a campsite near the Upper Thames. It was nice, clean, civilized. Running water, real bathrooms, etc… A plastic outdoor experience just the way I like it. The temperature dropped to about 8 or 9 degrees Celsius. It was fine though. I slept on a queen size inflatable mattress. It would have been perfect except for having to wakeup at 8 AM to make our races.

Saturday evening we BBQed on an open fire and drank copious quantities of beer. The heavens treated us to a beautiful sunset. I spun fire for the team, and glow sticks. We told stories. I recited Annabel Lee, by Edgar Allen Poe. The sky opened up allowing me to once again balk at the glory of infinite white specks against a dark crystal backdrop. My eyes got lost marveling at the soft glow of dying embers. I was one of the last to go to sleep. All in all it was fantastic.

Race wise we did well. We may not have been the best team, but we definitely were the funniest, as we screamed out “Eat ME!” whilst getting our medals. Ohh did I mention we won a medal in London this weekend? Racing on the Upper Thames river we did. Second place in the B Division. London’s International Dragon Boat Competition. Smashing good time it was. I love the sound of that.

The trip back was difficult. The Minister of the Interior had his interior probed by a sleeping bag which was compensating for the shortness of the bench upon which we were sardined on. Fortunately there was good music. We stopped in Toronto on the way back for Chinese food. My advice to you, don’t stop at a Chinese all you can eat buffet as a means of trying out the fine fine delicacies of Toronto. Keep driving, or find a better place. I got home at 2 AM last night, and naturally I couldn’t fall asleep cause I slept in the car. The rest of my evening was pretty much self-entertainment before passing out, if you know what I mean.

I’ll be putting up pictures just as soon as the photographers send me what they took.

As Surgeon General, it gives me great pleasure to appoint the new Minister of Fisheries. He knows who he is. Congratulations and welcome aboard buddy.

2004-08-20T12:00:00.000-07:00

Dear Future,

Hi there what’s going on? How are you? We haven’t met yet, but I was hoping to get to know you a little better seeing as eventually we will be spending the rest of our lives together. What kind of person are you? What are your likes, your dislikes? How do you feel about me? How do I make you feel? I’m obviously very eager to meet you. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything romantic for anyone. It’s been so long since I’ve felt romantically loved. I was kinda hoping to accelerate the process by getting in touch with you, you know?

I consider myself an interesting fellow. I’m into some aspects of geek culture, D&D, computers, anime, videogames, some light LARP. I also study economics at school. Doing my masters degree. It’s fun. I enjoy it. I spin fire balls attached to the ends of chains for fun. It’s very cool, and I get a lot of positive attention from it. I’m a bit of an attention freak.

I’m the kinda guy who considers himself very funny. I make lots of bad jokes generally concerning sex in some way. Most of my friends think I’m a bit loopy, but they love me and I love them too. I can’t wait for you to meet them. They’re great. I’m also a tad erratic, and intense emotionally. This works either way, good or bad depending on the situation, but as a human being I’m open to compromise and tend to think myself more concerned with the happiness of others before my own. I like it when the people around me are content and am willing, more often than not, to go out of my way to make them happy.

I fear death, roller coasters, heights. I like water, even when there are huge waves or when I’m 30 meters underwater with an air tank strapped to my back. I fear spiders, but not snakes. I’ve traveled to many places in the world, and speak three languages pretty well. My background is quite mixed, and I consider myself knowledgeful about the world. I am open-minded, to many things, culturally, sexually, ideally.

In the future I plan on getting my PHD in economics and perhaps doing some research at first. I’m not necessarily driven financially, but more perhaps towards accomplishing something fulfilling. Since, I am afraid of death, I plan on immortalizing myself in history or the memories of people. I want to have a positive impact on the development of the planet. We’ll see.

Anyways that’s a little about me. I’d love to hear from you soon. Find out what kind of person you are. Meet you, fall in love. Please write back as soon as you can.

Anxiously waiting

Erik

2004-08-19T17:43:00.000-07:00

Greetings and salutations. Over the last couple of weeks I haven’t felt inspired to writing anything in particular, and for this reason I feel like I’m neglecting my blog. Hence I’ve decided to write about my life as it stands in the current moment.

The month of August is flying past us, and I’m starting to have to make plans to accommodate the impending school year. I am registered in 4 classes, but will be dropping one of them depending how it goes. I also plan on auditing a course on mathematical economics since I have no background in the subject as of yet, and believe that a bit of exposure would do me some good. I am eager to commence once again. Even more eager perhaps to fall back into the routine. I genuinely love school and the people I study with, many of whom have left for the vacation and haven’t seen in several months.

I also wish to keep my volunteering going if possible. It’s fun, but alas my hours will have to change which is a bit of a bitch cause I have a vested interest right now, to working on Thursdays. We’ll see. In any case it’s fun and downtown which is good.

My dragon boating is also beginning to draw to a close as we had our last practice on Tuesday, and our final competition this upcoming weekend. We will be driving to London Ontario for our last few races. It’s been fun and I will be missing the exercise, and the people.

Aside from that, the weekends have been super busy. This last weekend I was at Domaine, a summer LARP I play. Next weekend I’m in London, after that in St. Louis visiting someone who’s nickname I haven’t decided on yet, after that I’m kayaking, and then another Domaine weekend.

We’ve finally started swimming again in the Sommerled swimming pool. By swimming I mean water wrestling which is an activity that myself and the Minister of the Interior greatly enjoy. From time to time we are joined by others. We are getting to know each other’s styles entirely too well. New blood must be found. Anyone wanna join us?

My apartment is still a mess. I have a new fine young roommate who moved in. It’s fun, and he comes up with interesting ideas about furniture and other things. I look forward to living with him and appointing him a cabinet position just as soon as I come up with something suitable.
That’s aboot it I guess. Cheerio!

2004-08-18T12:34:00.000-07:00

Allow me time, reflect the past
And in the water I percieve
Enities which I concieve
Flowers I surpassed.
-
Permit me life to wander with
And from This gift I shall persist
And destinty will be my guide
Eternity I shall deny
Mortality is mine
-
Grant me strength for I'll asail
The greatest deed I will prevail
The sweetest song I ever sung
Telling tales of one's
Expression as a pun
-
In light tranquility
In dark eternity
In fluid extacy
In freedom finally
Rejected fecal matter

2004-08-17T14:23:00.000-07:00

And now for something completely different!

I just returned from a volunteering job I do. It’s fun. I like the people I work with, and since my job is to interview and place people in volunteering positions, I get to meet new people every day. However today disaster struck. And this is how it began.

At aboot 12:15 I was in a hurry trying to get ready to make the 12:23 bus. I was running all over the place getting my stuff together. Anywho I managed to find everything, put on my sandals, my hat, my wallet etc… I made it just in time for the bus. I entered, sat down, and began my habitual observations of people while listening to music.

Suddenly an odor begins to tickle my nostrils. It was a foul odor, stank, dank, unpleasant, somehow familiar. Not BO. It was with great relief that I exited the bus to escape the smell… Odd it was following me. It then occurred to me that the odor was emanating from my sandals. Fuck.

I am downtown, I have 15 minutes before working. I haven’t eaten. I have stinky feet. I’m going to be interviewing people all afternoon. So naturally I grab a bite and tell myself that I’ll just wash up before working. I eat along the way. Get to work. Enter bathroom. Start scrubbing the sandals. It is in mid scrubbing that it occurs to me that my sandals are now wet, and that I’ll be interviewing people in wet footwear. This fact doesn’t bother me for some reason. I finish. Fuck they still stink. So I let them out to dry and prepare for my first interview.

My brilliant solution was to take the sandals off and put them by the window in between interviews. Whilst the sandals dried quickly, the smell was still present mixed in with an odor of soap. How very unusual.

Needless to say the experience was unpleasant for me, but the fact that I was interviewing men only made me feel better for some reason which doesn’t make sense at the end of the day. My boss and the people I work with laughed at me. I didn’t get much help. One person told me it only reeked cause I was looking for the smell. Meh…
And so well that’s it. It’s not much of a story, but I wish to relate how very stupid I feel.

2004-08-16T22:49:00.000-07:00

Last Cigarette:: August 11th.
Last Alcoholic Drink:: Boreal Doree.
Last Car Ride:: Yesterday, from St. Julie. Played a LARP called Le Domaine du Createur all weekend.
Last Kiss:: Early May 2004.
Last Good Cry:: December 2003.
Last Library Book checked out:: Probably some economics text book. At least 2 years ago.
Last movie Seen in Theatres:: Spider-man 2.
Last Book Read:: The Chronicles of Amber.
Last Movie Rented:: Basekitball.
Last Cuss Word Uttered:: Me Cago en la Puta! Joder!
Last Beverage Drank:: Water.
Last Food Consumed:: Chicken Nuggets.
Last Crush:: Ohh no I’m not telling!
Last Phone Call:: Hobbes. “Hey buddy guess what, I’m NOT going to the gym this morning I’m fucking sore from the weekend.”
Last TV Show Watched:: I don’t watch TV usually, but I saw Ali G at the Minister of the Interior’s house 2 weeks ago.
Last Time Showered:: Last night 7 PM.
Last Shoes Worn:: Cheap running shoes.
Last CD Played:: I don’t do CD. Right now I’m listening to George Harisson “I Got My Mind Set on You.”
Last Item Bought:: Registration fee for my weekend LARP.
Last Download:: Some kind of slutty pornographic material.
Last Annoyance:: My apartment perpetual mess!
Last Disappointment:: That a buddy of mine couldn’t make the game.
Last Soda Drank:: Sprite.
Last Thing Written:: Words.
Last Sleep:: Last night obviously.
Last Weird Encounter:: Apologizing to someone for a misunderstanding which took place a month before, but didn’t have time enough to sort out.
Last Ice Cream Eaten: Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate chip cookie dough.
Last Time Amused:: I’m always amused.
Last Time Hugged:: Yesterday
Last Time Scolded:: I’m constantly being scolded.
Last Time Resentful:: I’m not bitter!
Last Chair Sat In:: Umm…I’m sitting down now in a crappy foldout chair in front of my computer.
Last Underwear Worn:: Blue boxers.
Last Bra Worn:: That was a long time ago in another country and besides the bra is dead.
Last Shirt Worn:: Black.
Last Webpage Visited:: www.weather.com

2004-08-10T05:30:00.000-07:00

Permit me to reflect upon an irony which I have been faced with many a times in the recent past. One of my jobs for the summer, by jobs I mean time wasters more than anything else, is working at the Department of Economics at Concordia University updating the web site, and assisting in basically whatever needs to be done. I am the all purpose office bitch as well a mild tech support, even though technically I'm not supposed to go into the tech stuff. But I digress.

I am, in this very instant, serving in the capacity which I have described above. The summer is beginning to draw to a close, and in theory the beginning of the school year is starting to draw close. I am should be working harder during the month of august as all sorts of administrative stuff starts popping up. Teachers need new web pages, new teachers need web pages, help, etc... However I have come in to work today, 15 minutes early I might add, and find myself with but one minor change to make to the web site. This took me only 5 minutes to figure out. I spent more time in my boss' office asking her how vacation went, and for a more efficient use of my time here. I got a "Good vacation," and a "Well there really isn't anything right now." So now I am faced with a dilemma. I have 2 hours and 20 minutes left of "work" time. My boss knows I have nothing to do. I am here. My hours will be fulfilled, regardless of the amusements I manage to bring upon myself. So, should I depart and disappear, having done that which was assigned to me? Or should I look busy? I could ask my boss to go home, but she might get annoyed at me throwing her another problem to deal with in her busy day. After all, it’s not her fault everything is in working order. Besides it's more fun the other way. I know! Perhaps I should write! Wait a minute.... ARGHHHHH!!!!

What strikes me the most, however, is not my dilemma or my boredom, but the fact that what is occurring with me right now flies straight in the face of years of economic theory. One of the many things which economics tries to show us is how to use limited resources in the most efficient manner. Labour, as we all know, is one of the most important resources which planet earth possesses. I have a BA in Economics, I am halfway through my Masters degree, I have kickass grades, I speak three languages fairly well, I am a part time computer nerd, I have travelled to almost 30 countries, and been exposed to countless cultures, ways of life. One would think that the Department of Economics could use the 3 hours a week which I dedicate to them more efficiently than giving me a 5 minute job, and then expecting me to well.... I don't know, but I am being paid for this. Now most people would kill to have a part time job working at school sitting on your ass in front of a computer with internet access and a couple of cute girls to chat with. But somehow this use of my time feels fundamentally wrong. There is value associated with free time obtained when shirking responsibility, but here I cannot feel that satisfaction because, well I've got nothing to do anyway! I know, I shouldn't complain, but well blah.

I think I’m going to chat up someone.

2004-08-05T13:51:00.000-07:00

As the heavy doors swung inwards, an odor of decomposition permeated the atmosphere. For the first time in centuries, new untainted air rushed into the chamber dispelling the stench which had lain dormant within. Dust suddenly sprang to life from its long resting place, cobwebs lain by spiders which had suffocated blew softly from the mild breeze. The room was littered with small carcasses of the insects which had expired from lack of renewed air. A small skeleton or two occasionally littered the floor threatening to crumble at even the slightest disturbance. As the curtain of particles began to settle down, a beam of light penetrated into the room, illuminating the far wall at the back. The wall had not seen light in ages, but remembering its task, it began revealing the secrets which had been inscribed upon it long ago. The pictures told the tales of a man of power gone mad. A man who had caused much suffering due to his madness. A man who was assassinated because of this madness by one he loved. For love in itself is often guided by madness. The tale was a sad one, and left no moral, no lesson, for there was nothing to be learned from the story.

In the center of the chamber, on top of a slab of exquisitely carved marble, lay a coffin in the shape of a man. The alter and coffin were clean, smooth, and bore no signs of having remained unmoving for centuries. Even the dust itself was loath to rest its back upon the surfaces of the items. They were beautiful, alluring, enticing, however maybe too much so. The man who approached the resting place of the dead did not realize the influence which was being exercised upon him. He did not notice the particles of dust reaching up and screaming for him to cease his approach with every step he took. He did not perceive the long dead spirits of the deceased’s servants imploring him to turn back. The man was so completely withdrawn into his walking, that his mind seemed to have wandered off into some small cavity of existence which only he could ever know about. And as he drew back the cover of the coffin, as a weathered decrepit appendage seized his wrist momentarily, a feeling of contentment overcame him as his soul was violently ripped away from his body. Suddenly everything the man had ever pondered upon made sense. Suddenly he was free of the bonds of his flesh. Suddenly he had joined the world of the spirits, but this fact did not bother him as much as it would have in life. And as he watched his body erupt in a blood-curling cry of victory, the man knew pity for the monster which was incapable of attaining the serene existence of the afterlife.

2004-08-03T07:30:00.000-07:00

I am a big believer and supporter for more and more open-mindedness in the world. I don’t like close-minded people or cultures. I believe that it is important and essential for any society, culture, civilization to have a certain openness towards new ideas, thoughts, philosophies in order to grow and enrich itself. However last year I was in Burkina Faso for an extended period of time, and I faced a big dilemma.

Firstly, Burkina Faso is a small country in West Africa. It is one of the poorest countries in the world. Burkina is conservative compared to most first world cultures. They are trying to open up, become more developed, and most of the time they are eager to try things the way more developed countries would do it. I would tend to argue that we have certain aspects of our economy that make us more efficient than Burkina Faso such as better healthcare, more education, etc… However I came stumped on the subject of culture.

In Burkina Faso the role of the woman is to take care of the household, raise the children, clean the house, and have dinner ready for her man when he returns home from work. I was shocked one day when I was listening to the radio, and they were having debates about weather or not there existed situations where it was justifiable for man to cheat on his woman (not the other way around). Most people who called in, both men and women, agreed that a woman who did not do her job cleaning, cooking, etc…. was not worth staying with, and that the man could justifiably cheat on her if she wasn’t good enough. This idea appalled me. Hold on a second. It’s cultural. We must maintain an open mind. The women themselves uphold the system.

A few days later I was talking to one of my coworkers, and we were discussing the subject of marriage. I personally don’t believe that it serves any other purpose than getting you a tax break. I don’t believe that marriage does anything to the relationship except formalize it with a ceremony. The love is there regardless. But I digress. I was explaining this concept to my friend who was horrified, and told me that I was an upholder of concubinism. I responded with, “Well that makes me as much a concubine to her as her to me.” Obviously we have different views about the status of women vs. man. He might have won out though. In Burkina, a woman without a man is useless because she can barely find anyone willing to hire her. The woman’s reputation is very important as well. A woman who is not married stays at home and never leaves the house, but a woman who is rejected by her husband is shamed no matter the circumstances. Often run away women are sent back, by their families, to abusive husbands, etc… I got the impression that a man can justifiably beat his wife. More importantly though, an unmarried woman who is having relations with a man or multiple men over a long period of time is considered a whore, and will often be rejected by her family out of principle. A woman rejected by her family is also rejected by society. The family plays a HUGE role in Burkina.

So I got to thinking. How inefficient. One of the best things any country ever does, in its evolution, is liberating women. It increases the work force, boosts the economy in a big way, it’s also just simply more fair, right? Women and men are both human beings and as such have equal worth. The concept of subjugation of one of the two reminds me of slavery, fascism. Conclusion? Evil?

But here is where the problem comes in. It’s all part of their culture. People are scared every day of their lives about how culture is being lost amidst all the Mc Donald’s, the internet, mass media and communication. Culture must be preserved. But how can I justifiably defend an aspect of culture which I perceive to be morally wrong? In some parts of the world public executions are part of the learning process for children. “Don’t do bad things or we will cut off your head.” It’s cultural. Should culture be preserved as much as we think it should? Is culture holding us back from evolving? Should bad aspects of culture be eliminated? If so how and which parts?

I believe that the answer will be reached not by conscious manipulation. In many parts of the world we have evolved such that women are granted equal rights to men. There is an economic reasoning behind this, and a moral one. I believe that eventually, many aspects of culture will also fade away due to similar reasons. However it is also possible that such a force will wipe out other things which should be preserved, languages, religion, rituals, etc… which could be harmless. Inevitably we will all intermarry and form into one race so will our roots matter? Does it matter to wonder upon this subject seeing as we don’t know what to do with it, or how to manipulate it if we even had some direction?

I don’t think we will ever know.

2004-08-02T07:05:00.000-07:00

The Beatles. Blackbird. Today is August first. Most of the summer months are behind us. Here we are already in August. School is only one month away. It’s passing so fast, and it’s been really good.

The month of August is like a Sunday. You already start feeling depressed and nostalgic because you know that the end is near. Don’t get me wrong. I like school, and from a masochistic perspective, I do indeed miss the work, the pressure, the feeling of accomplishment, the camaderie with my study mates. During the year we work until the wee hours of the morning, we buy each other coffee, we get distracted when we are too bored to study. It’s a fun life. But the summer, it’s just well the summer. From the time when we were but infants the notion has been ingrained in our minds. Some of us may have full time jobs with only two weeks vacation per year, but no matter what, when summer comes, one can’t help but feel excited if not only because of a psychological imprint made over several years of childhood. Frank Zappa, Bobby brown.

I am 24 years of age, and this year I pulled a summer a la classique teenager. I worked some jobs, but more than anything I took it easy. I joined some activities, I traveled a bit, played lots of games, worked out, did lots of self improvement. It’s been the best summer in a long time. Perhaps the best one of my life with the exception of the ones where I was seeing people. Nirvana, Rape Me. I have accomplished much. I am in shape, I feel good aboot myself, I’ve made some new friends, I’ve taken some large steps in dealing with a reoccurring depressive problem of mine, I’ve made peace with some people I’ve been at war with for a long time, I’ve moved apartments even though it’s still a mess, I’ve managed to keep my plants alive. Garbage, track three on the first album. On the other hand, I did not manage certain personal goals. Stuff only happens when you actively stop going for it. I am obsessive. Anywho there is still some time left. I am ranting aimlessly. Ohh well.

Yesterday I helped a friend by association move. It rained all day and I was wet. Long term ickyness is somewhat annoying after a time. Afterwards the Minister of the Interior and I went for a swim at Li’s place. Gun’s and Roses, Paradise City. After a healthy soak in chlorine with a twist of water, I exited feeling very chlorinated. I don’t know which feeling I prefer. Nevertheless I was able to perform at the bowling alley. Bowling, like poker, is fun when you are with people who dish out the trash-talk. I like trash-talk. Trash-talk likes me. It gets ride of stress. I am not stressed.
I am not satisfied. I have four weeks left… No five. I need to do something else. There is so much more I need to accomplish before I become a slave to my studies again. I have things to do. People to meet. Needs to meet. I need more time. Dammit! I will now proofread and edit this rant….. Nirvana, Come as You Are…. Cake, Frank Sinatra. Grease, Greased Lightning.

2004-07-28T13:38:00.000-07:00

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.

2004-07-27T14:53:00.000-07:00

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.