This has no title.

A friend of mine wants me to put this up against my better judgement. It is the first part of what I wrote so far. The idea being I was going to tell a story, where you already had a good idea where it was going. This is actually a pretty cheap trick to get you to keep reading if it is done well. Sort of the poor man's foreshadowing if you will.

Anyway....here it is so she will shut up.

It was the night of the first storm of the season in town, and the rain was coming down in sheets. There was a cool breeze to accompany the occasional flashes and booms that punctuated nature's fury.
In the rear-view mirror, Danica could see her reflection clearly. From the corner of one bruised eye, painful tears were streaming down her face. They were not the tears of sorrow.
Danica was a much more careful driver than she had been just 8 months ago, and while she fought tears and thoughts with every ounce of her considerable will, she also concentrated on a safe driving experience. Danica refused to take that chance, even as she was completely uprooting her life.
Looking in the mirror again she saw the terror fade. The3 anger was not there as it had been just an hour ago. It was replaced by a serene calm that she did not actually feel. Was she really going through with this?
The tears were not of sorrow and loss like one might expect. Danica did not mourn the dissolution of her relationship with Patrick; in fact one might say in a way she was celebrating it.
The tears were those of a person who just doesn't know what else to do other than cry. When you're tired...no exhausted, and you can't take anymore, what do you do? When your anger is spent and your adrenaline gone, what do you do? When you are scared of the unknown but you can’t run away from it, what do you do? When you are determined to break free of the chains that shackle you to an existence you cannot stand, what do you do? When you are fleeing the scene of the crime, what do you do?
Danica cries.
Danica cries lonely tears, silent tears, defiant tears.
Danica never wanted this, but who among us get to choose our fate freely?
Danica had survived what most would determine after close examination, a microscopic fiber check, and a thorough inspection of every piece of evidence, a difficult life. She had come this far, lived this long, dealt with this much. The journey would last a little longer before she reached a safe plateau, bit she could see it from where she sat behind the wheel of her PT cruiser, despite the heavy rain and poor visibility.
These were the thoughts of Danica Phillips as she drove to work for the last time.


Needed some more deptrh I thought, something to make it tangible.

What do you think?

Alt.ambition.die.die.die

Olde Skool title reference today.

I wrote this big long post that was full of funny and wisdom, then erased it, 'cause it sucked, and that is pretty much what this is about.

I could go on a big long journey of self exploration where I bare my soul to the internet in a totally heretofore unheard of display of perfect honesty and forthrightness the likes of which have may never be seen again.Or, I can just say I am feeling like Anakin Skywalker. No not Cool sexy Anakin from episode three. Not even whiny petulant Anakin from episode two. I feel like pathetic life form Anakin from episode one. "I can't do it mom, I just can't do it."

I suppose if I spent more time listening to my L7 (NSFW) I would know what to do with all of those people who fill my head with doubt. I wonder what you do when it is you? Can you put yourself on your own shitlist?

As the target date approaches for my submission of craptacular verbiage to old white money guy, I am more and more convinced it can't be done. I think it was unrealistic to have had the expectations he had in the first place, but I also think this is a cromulant waste of time. (Sorry had a bet that I could fit both craptacular and a simpson's reference into the same thought...yay me)

When I read what I had written it just didn't seem like it was anything of value. Maybe I have unrealistic expectatrions of myself but the fact is, if I am going to try and force people to give me money for something, I want it to be worth their time and money. I am not convinced I have that capability. Oh sure I can entertain a few friends at parties and keep some people's interest online for about 4 minutes, but that is all free stuff. There is a higher standard when people shell out their dough for it.

To that end, I am cancelling my end of this project. I just feel I can't deliver something worth people's $10 in under a month.

Self doubt blows.

Chicks, Girls, Gals, Broads, Ladies and women.

In a statement of what can only be called actual irony (yes I am looking at you Alanis) one of my closest friends informed me that I needed to "roll with a better class of female." This amuses me since at the time of this speech that friend was in fact a female....and to the best of my knowledge she intends to remain that way for the foreseeable future.

Personal attacks on Alanis aside (yes I intend to learn more html code, but before you get uppity, you might want to consider that the next thing I learn is embedding photos....and did you really want me to begin by embedding...teehee Alanis?) this is actually an important statement in life.

I have come to the conclusion that there are 6 types of females in this world (not including sisters, mothers, and aunts....let us just pretend for the sake of argument there are in fact no females we are related to ok...) and the list breaks down somewhat like this....and if I did it right there will be a photo example.

Chicks.




This type of female is characterized by a complete inability to make realistic life choices. They are usually attractive in a superficial way, or they have some sort of character that makes you want to be near them....right up until they say something really, really stupid...which will happen. They are completely self absorbed and will in fact behave in a manner that makes you scratch your head and wonder how they are not dead. In a relationship, which will be purely based on something superficial like money, fame, a nice hindquarters, whatever...they tend to wonder why the drunk guy they love to party with is banging six other chicks...all of whom will answer to the name baby. These are also the girls who take their tops off on video because it seemed like a good idea at the time and then wonder why people call them sluts. It is my learned opinion that unless you want one blissful evening of pumping away at a moaning near lifeless carcass, followed by 7-10 days of anti-biotics, these are the ones to avoid. You will know them by there smell...it precedes them by 5 minutes and cost more than 100 bucks, and it really doesn't turn you on.also, their laugh will clue you in...it is misplaced and always too loud and over the top. Also, if you are not HOT) they most likely won't talk to you, or they will treat you as if you are their gay friend. Unlike the movies though, this class of female never sobers up and realises they have loved you all along. Just run ok.

Girls



I hesitate to use the term immature to describe this class of female simply because most people will be thinking of chicks when I say that. These females simply haven't grown up yet. I don't mean that in the pleasant young at heart sort of way where a female can be all girls and cutesy. I mean the3se females are still playing house and dress-up, only with real people and real babies. This is in fact the kind of female who will poke a hole in a condom to get pregnant so you have to marry her and then build that dream life together. Here comes reality folks, steaming down the tracks....they almost never make good choices. One day they wake up and realise they are with an ass, but lacking adult sophistication they have no idea what to do. These are also the type who are dreamers and always waiting for the better thing. They are not willing to try anything that does not fit in to their perfect little dream world because it doesn't match the Norman Rockwell setting. This type will mature eventually and will realise what they really want; and more importantly that it can't be found in the bad boy drummer or the drunk frat boy, or the abusive stock broker; but this takes time, so you best have patience if you want to wait for this one to catch up. I once watched a dude wait two years for this one girl while she continually made hairbrained choices and went back to her ex and got hurt time and again, until he lost patience. The good news here is that girls are not as superficial as chicks, but you have to fit in to their fantasy or they won't give you the time of day, other than to use you to get their real needs of intimacy, friendship, safety, and security met. This can be very disheartening.

Gals



These are the world's most common type of female in a sense. You see they are the ones you meet and get along with and become friends with. They see you as a friend, and maybe you did too...at first. Then you realised the secret to life was....be friends first. Only one small problem. You live in Platonia. We all have this guy to thank for that. You see he was the first to walk up to a female and say, hey baby, why don't you and I go behind one of these pillars and philosophise. And the response was, I don't know, your beard is kinda scruffy and you've got an awful lot of sitting around on your backside thinking all day weight. I think it would be best if we just stayed friends. Now instead of saying whatever and moving on to the next female, that guy thought hey, maybe if I stick around she will eventually see how smart, funny, caring, and interesting I am. Heck I am this guy they will remember me forever as a cool dude, she'll have to see it eventually. And thus was born Platonic love. A sad desperate little dance where one female decides not to be mean and say hey, you are ugly to me, even though you possess every trait I say I want in a dude, so we just can't do it, they say, let's be friends. It never works out like that. In the movies you see they eventually realize they are truly meant for each other. As heartwarming as that is, it is not how it happens. What really happens is, dude is placed in friend hell, and one or the other begins to feel bad about the situation. Then one of them pushes the envelope once again because they have become real intimates...and the whole thing goes boom. This female is cool. She is friendly and she likes you because to her, you are completely non threatening. You are all the good things she wants but not in a package that intimidates her or makes her feel uncomfortable. You also might be crazy, but let's assume you aren't. for whatever reason she is not attracted to you so she treats you like a king. You have fun together and you can do things that would normally be hardcore flirting or even foreplay for crying out loud, but because you are buds it isn't for some reason. These are dangerous females. They will hurt you. Not intentionally mind you, 'cause hey they are just one of the guys right? Again...pain!


Broads.




These females are tough, no nonsense career oriented women. They say they do not want kids. They are obsessed with success. The only thing I can say about these females is to stay away from them at all times. Do not approach them. If they want something from you (and they will) they will tell you. Do not upset these females. They are capable of grinding you in to pulp. They are success and goal oriented so if your goals and their line up, they do make good partners, but there will be less emotion involved in your love making than in buying the Lexus.

Ladies.



These are unattainable females folks. They barely exist, and they do not hang out where you do. Ladies are prim and proper. They are experts in manners and sex...no kidding. These are females who are designed to please in every way. Sometimes gals can pretend to be ladies, and when women are in the mood, they easily become ladies, but as a species...or sub species, whatever, these females are a rare sight. Don't believe me? Google image search classy. Then try classy dame. Now count the number of women with half exposed bewbs and spray on tans. Now cry.

Women.



These are the rarest of all females....at least in the unattached variety. These are normal, sane, mature, caring, fun, etc etc females. 99% of them are martried or in a commited relationship. To find one "on the market" is next to impossible. Some scientists believe it is because they have been scared away. Others believe this is the evolved form of life that girls eventially become. Gals also become this, but not with you. Chciks will find it hard to reach this stage of life, and need a lot of help to get there. Broads consider these females beneath them, and Ladies consider them works in progress, but worthy of respect. Women are hard to find, but I am told they are out there. I see examples all the time. My friend Darryl found one, clubbed her over the head and now they are very happy.

I would say my friend was right, because looking back I would have to say, I have never been with (in any sense of the word) a lady or a woman. Hell I never even been propositioned by a broad....guess I just am not ambitious enough for that. All I haver ever done was seek girls, lust after chicks, and just plain be stupid over too many gals.

What a weird way to live huh?

When Social Justice attacks

I have to start by saying the internet is full of fail today. This blog will be no different. Those who come here expecting to be entertained today will be sadly left with hurt feelings and a sagging funny bone. Today I am putting on my Social commentator hat and wondering WTF?

I started my day with a friendly jaunt through some funny videos. This sounds great at first but in the end, I was left with one unmistakable reality punching me repeatedly in the face. The internet is for porn and swearing. It's ok, that link is not to porn or egregious swearing, it's just me attempting to spice things up with a little multi-media up in here.

What I am going on about is the fact that wherever I went there was talk of porn, links to porn, swearing, lots of swearing and more swearing. As a dude who believes the world is for experiencing and the use of language conveys great and small ideas, you would think this wouldn't bother me so much, but it kinda does. What I mean by that is we have shifted our entertainment in to shock mode exclusively. All I seem to be able to find is seriously vulgar humour. Ok, I can live with this....mostly because it amuses me, but where oh where is the entertainment for others? Where can people go to be entertained and not be grossed out at the same time?

Well here is the problem....while our entertainment is going to one extreme, so is theirs. We have our Kevin Smiths and so on, and they have...well Snark toons or whatever. As we push to our extreme, they push to theirs. I generally blame this on the American political machine and media because in their world there is only black and white, there is no room for healthy debate on any subject.

What bothers me is that we end up with nothing in the middle. No common ground with which to work from or connect with.

That brings me to my main point. Today's newspaper

I must start by saying there is no defense in the world for this woman, and I am not going to even try. Her part in the deaths of at least three people and support of a man accused, if not convicted of a long series of rapes leaves little room for one to justify her actions, so I will not even try. This is not about that, and if even one internet troller attempts to say I support her they will be flamed to the ends of the earth.

That being said, this case puts a tremendous strain on social justice and in fact justice in general. At face value one finds it hard to argue for this person to receive a pardon. But in the end we must examine what pardons are all about.

They are about a person paying their debt to society and attempting to rejoin society in a fashion that allows them some small measure of dignity along with some semblance of benefit to our community as a whole.

The government has decided, through sentencing guidelines and laws what paying a debt to society looks like. We have guidelines for offenses for the purpose of saying, if you injure our community in this way, you will pay in that way.

In this specific case, I understand, since she received a plea bargain for testimony used to convict another person she has technically not served what would normally have been given to a person who injured society in the way she did. That being said, she has, as many others have served her time and is shortly eligible for a dispensation that all Canadians are eligible for.

If there is a problem with the system, then we as a society must voice exactly what that problem is. If it is a problem with a specific case, then we must shut the heck up. why? Because the system is designed not to deal with the individual case so much as what is best for us as a whole. More on that latter.

The proposed legislation in this case is laughable. I say this because it gives even more power to a barely accountable group of individuals to make life altering decisions about other people based on public opinion. This is a travesty of justice.

I say that because public opinion is not only fickle and ever changing, but it is also controlled by the media and social pressure. The media in this and many other cases tends to frame everything in the harshest light to appeal to our most base emotions of self preservation and fear. Want to know more about that? Watch this movie.

What that means is that we can be manipulated in to an emotional response that may or may not be the truth in a situations. What is worse is that this form of social manipulation makes it nearly impossible to voice a contrary opinion.

That is in fact exactly what happened here.

The original legislation suggested would have denied this person pardon. Anyone convicted of 3 indictable offenses would have been denied the ability of applying for a pardon. This would have allowed for this case and any other case to be summarily disposed of without the chance that a number of people in the media or community could have swayed the opinions of the parole board in any way. Essentially we would say to criminals, it is not ok to commit that many serious crimes, and if you do, we are simply warning you now that it will not be tolerated, so offend at your own risk. That I believe is the point of a punitive justice system is it not? Do this, and these are the consequences.

Here's the problem. Not everybody feels that this is a good way of dealing with criminals. That means there was no way the legislation would pass. So there are politicians in this case who obviously feel that the idea was not appropriate.

Flash forward to this specific case. No one wants to be seen as the person that said it was ok for this woman to get a pardon because they know it would be incredibly unpopular, and ensure that they would never be elected again, simply because any election in the future would be based solely on this one issue. I can see the attack adds now. Do you want to vote for the person who let a sex offender and murderer out and free to play with your children? Heck, it is people like me who write the damn things.

That being said, what are we going to do about this political hot potato? I know, let's write a law that says we can deny anyone we want a pardon if we think it might make us look bad. Style over substance. It doesn;t matter what the person did, it only matters if we would lose q rating if we did it.

We are allowing people to make decisions based on popularity and public perception, not on facts or what is right or wrong.

This is the very essence of what I was talking about earlier. We are entertained in many different ways, we are shown messages constantly, but all we tend to see are the messages that stand out. Those messages that live at one extreme of the spectrum or the other, and we then tend to be pushed around by the emotion of the situation, forgetting that real lives, real people are effected by these things in ways we insulate ourselves from.

I can't admit that I find SMODcast funny for fear that someone will judge me for it based on their own beliefs or taste.

Likewise, I can't admit that I disagree with this legislation as it stands is a gross miscarriage of justice for fear that someone will say I support this woman. Hell no I don't support rape and murder, and anyone that would suggest I do doesn't know me, or even the character I play on the internet.

What I do support is a justice system free of pressure from the whims of public opinion. A justice system that seeks redemption and rehabilitation. A justice system that says, we don't like what you did, so here's a time out, and now here are some supports to allow you to return in some fashion to society in a way that is better for everyone involved while protecting those that need protection.

But then again, I am just a porn loving, fart joke spewing, mad, frustrated writer, social activist with too much time on his hands.

I Have Too Much Time On My Hands

Georgia in for a Rough Ride

By: Chris Parker, OMM News Contributor.


Authorities in Georgia are bracing for an early start to the huricane season this year. According to scientist Blake Smarterthanu an early start to the season means people are unprepared in Atlanta and the outlying regions. "With little to no warning that we are about to be hit by a devastating storm, the people of Atlanta could face tremendous pressure to deal with something they have never seen before."

One such storm is headed their way according to reports we have received. This storm, which has been dubbed Hurricane Alley is expected to reach Atlanta sometime today and brings with it the full force of terror and dread for the citizens who were not informed of such an arrival until early this morning via facebook.

Experts, who asked not to be named, are suggesting that this storm might be worse than first predicted yesterday. "Carrying with it hot air that can travel upwards of 120 miles per hour and devastating rains and even large heavy objects thrown around randomly at their cities less intelligent inhabitants, the potential for disaster is great!"

Authorities are no cautioning the people of Atlanta to stay indoors as much as possible and avoid this storm. Further warnings have been issued to any stores carrying track suits, hoodies, shoes and sterlite containers as it has been rumoured that this storm has a particular attraction to those items.

Meteorologist Sunny Dayze spoke with me about the threat. "We could see polyester and plastic flying everywhere, I am very afraid, will you hold me in your big strong arms?"

Whatever this storm has in store for the region, you can be assured that Atlanta will never be the same after today. The people will have to try and pick up their lives as best they can with the understanding that you never quite recover from this sort of thing.The potential for destruction on a mass scale is one that will be felt for sure in this zone.

We can only hope that hurricane Alley decides to be gentle, and no one tempts fate by laughing in the face of this danger.



I have way too much time on my hands that I am obviously spending very wisely.

Welcome to the Bungle

We got fun and games....sorry quick air guitar moment before I jump right in.

Today I wish to talk about a subject near and dear to my heart....bewbs. See what I did there? It's funny because I have man boobs.

Ok before you run away in disgust or remove all of your clothing...depending on how interested in this subject you are, I should say I am not going to be vulgar or pornographic, I am just using shocking speech to get your attention and make myself giggle like a school boy.

The uncomfortable truth is, like most men, I am lead around by a leash, and that leash is not being used properly. Somewhere along the way something got jumbled up, and instead of thinking with little jimmy, I am just being dragged around by my uhmmmmm prehensile tailbone...or something...look it up, I did, and it is kind of funny.

The thing with me is I have painted myself in to corners more times than I would like to recall. I have misread, misunderstood, mismanaged more relationships with women than I can even count...assuming I stopped learning to count past like 8.

There is one reason for this and one reason only.

I can't say no to a women.

I mean I really can't do it. When they ask me for my last dime, I give it. When they ask me to get them woman stuff, I do it, even if am not a blood relative or married to them (which by the way is like the man code for that sort of thing...common law applies). When they ask me to stay up all night holding their hand and making life better I do it. When they say jump I say....well on that one I usually feign an injury or just run away. Point is, no is rarely if ever in my vocabulary if there is a woman in sight.

I am not sure why I have trouble saying no to women, I just do. Some psychologists might call it a mommy thing but to them I say Luke Skywalker. Luke was all like mommy died, auntie raised me well, no worries....but then he couldn't say no. He said no to the darkside and all of it's force juice, but could he say no to his own sister....even when she wanted to make out? Ok bad example but still....This is so not going to be about wanting mom's approval, if I wanted that I would ask for it, or at least send her my report cards or something. crazy freudists aside, why would I have this problem? Is it a problem?

Yes.

See what this means is, I can be played, and I mean like some dude who made a deal with the devil plays the fiddle played.

It means I will do almost anything for womanly type love...or even bare acknowledgement. Ok, I can accept that but....when's gonna be my time?

When do I get mine. When do I, your humble monkey servant get to wet his beak (not dirty, it is a gangsta reference...gangsta like the godfather and goodfellas and stuff, not as in like gold chains and $3500 rims on a $1500 dollar hooptie).

I just wanna say that the more a person is used and then thrown away without reciprocal usement, the more likely a person grows bitter and tired of the game.

All I am really saying is man, I feel like a woman right now. I feel like all those women who date immature guys who use them for sex and money and rides (don't look at me like that, I can't drive) and Popsicles. I feel at one with the sisterhood of the stolen pants.

Alas, only at the end does he see what all woman kind has gone through to get where they are now. I am used for what little intellect I have, what meager succor and aid I can provide, and for self esteem building.I wonder why no one uses me for my body? You know I once had a girl tell me she couldn't date me because that is all it would be, just using me for sexual gratification....we lived together for six months after that....I wonder why she cheated on me and never appreciated my romance gestures....Ok this is no doctor Phil moment, this is Oprah baby, on to the united sisterhood front.

Ok so from this day forth, I pledge never ever ever to use another woman for my own gratification...well right after I use this one who is using me for my own, and my friend's entertainment...I pledge to never ever ever take for granted the woman and or her breast tissue again. I pledge to hold sacred the womanly virtues and never ever ever make fun of them...unless some dude is all girly...and only if he claims to be a macho man.... I also pledge to just be honest.

Now ladies, what the freak are you gonna do for me?












That's what I thought. See if I ever help you out again....Ok I will, but I will complain about it.

PS There is a vieweskew reference in there, you just have to look close...so far I have managed to get starwars and kevin in to every post... I am awesomesauce with cake and whatnot.

Justification is a river in.....somewhere

I am not a big enough geek. Wait let me rephrase that.... I do not show how big of a geek I am very often, and that is a shame. For peace and happiness to abound one must embrace who and what they are and throw caution out the airlock.

My good friend Becky has spent a tremendous amount of time reminding me I am not that which I was. This is true, but right now I am immersed in that culture. I am swimming around in my own pensieve, pulling at random spaghetti strings of misbegotten youth. Oh this is fun to be sure. I get to relive the time I stole a pregnancy test for a girl (it was negative, and not mine to begin with) or the time I opened a gym bag full of ancient melee weapons handed to me by my street brother or the time I ran in to 15 dudes with machine guns. All of these stories are funny to me and they bring a smile to my face and remind me that there were good times.

Problem incoming, intensify forward fire power!

I am also reminded of harshness. I remember the time I was stabbed over Pantera, and I remember the time I was watching a dude die for being black, and I remember the time....well you know what, you get the friggin picture. This is a rerun by the way, and only contains like 30% new material, sorry to have waited this long to tell you.

all that being said, I think I made a bad decision on what project to work on next. I recently blew my emotional wad on a story (which I no longer have a copy of) that explained all of my feelings surrounding a certain crazy street chick. This was very hard for me and when it was done I felt so very content. But reliving those terrible moments of her darkest hours, and my own, were enough for a while.

I think my personal story is one of those project I need to pick up and put down from time to time. Not unlike Stephen King and his epic Dark Tower deal. He never really wrote that story, or any of them in a targeted manner with deadlines and pressure. He picked them up, put them down, worked, ignored, worked some more, then walked away, then sauntered back in the room.

I think about this guy, one of the best modern writers of fiction and I can't help but think about the fact that he has his way and George Lucas has his.

You see George had two different styles of writing the two different trilogies. The first three movies were written over several years. He had notebooks full of crap. Thoughts that occured to him from time to time while he was writing other crap. Every now and then he would sit down and go at a piece of the original trilogy and work with purpose, but he never really had a deadline. The result was fabulous.

Those three movies are a fantastic tale of family, love, triumph, tragedy, perseverance, rebellion, and laser swords.

Now, flash forward to the 90's. George had one month to write each of the new movies. No massive notes, no weird ideas in the shower, no collaboration, no narrative styling. He just pounded out whatever came in to his funny little head.

What resulted was a stinted, bloated story that needed to be rewritten on the fly and required more laser swords than acting talent.

I want my story to read like the first trilogy....with a few less muppets, not the new trilogy, with no chemistry and cgi friends to play with instead of the real thing.

For that reason I am shelving my personal saga. I want it to mean something when it comes out. I want it to really matter to me and those close to me....and I want a break from the ghosts.

Last night I slept like a baby for the first time in...well months really, maybe even two years. Some might credit the new bed....and I do as well, but it is something else as well. I banished the demons, cast a neato spell from my d and d handbook of how to be a devil worshiper in three easy steps, and all of the sudden....sleep...and inspiration came knocking.

I am geek here me roar. As geek I am going to write a story that will appeal to geeks and girls....cause as I have learned from two other writers, hook the females and well, you get to print money in your basement.

Character is the key, and right now, I don't want to focus on me, I would rather focus on a simpleton waging war across the afterlife for his soul, and that of his one true love. This is the story I have in me right now, and this is the story I am going to tell.

If you don't like it you can have your money back....but since you haven't paid yet, we're even. You can walk away now and we're all square, or you can hang out a little while longer and see what the monkey has for you. It's a funny little dance and in the end you will laugh, and if you have female parts I will try really hard to make you cry, and if you have geek parts, I promise large abyssal creatures that would make Bruce Campbell run.......for the shotgun/chainsaw hybrid...I mean come on, not even I can scare Ash!

Anger is a gift

Emotion drives the world and this is a truth no one can deny, even robots. Let's face it, every robot I can think of has been driven by emotion unwanted.

Data, totally emotional dude who stove to find them damn emotions wherever he could.

Robot from I, Robot, the only robot in the movie with emotions. Uh oh! All of the sudden 3 rules safe means jack!

AI, overly emotional, even for the I see dead people boy.

I could go on but I think I have established my geek bona fides on this issue.

For the last several nights I have been listening to Coast to Coast. If you don't know what this is, let me enlighten you. It is a radio program devoted to paranoid schizophrenia. I am not kidding. It is a show all about aliens, the Illuminati, small demons invading our breakfast cereal and all other manner of conspiracies Barack Obama is hiding from the world.

So, I, a totally normal free thinking rational human being has been listening to this show...I am doing this right now and as I am writing I just heard the line, "and they don't want you talking..." yeah dude, that is exactly why he is on an internationally syndicated radio program with hundreds of affiliates worldwide, because they are scared of him talking! Where was I? Ok so this much sane brain of mine has been listening to the rabble rousing of various dissidents and now I am angry.

I am not angry about the fact the world is going to end Thursday, or that the military industrial complex is keeping us all under their thumb by putting Prozac in our potatoes, no sir and or ma'am, I can handle the aliens in their strange attempt to understand humanity by continually ramming strange objects into our rectums, I can handle the fact that George Lucas is a historian and not just a horrible filmmaker. Here's what I can't handle.

My life.

I think that some sort of insidious smokey back room filled with old white men conspiracy group is trying to keep me down.

Seriously.

No really, get back here!

Ok so this is what the heck I mean. I am stuck in a feedback loop. I am guilted in to doing things I do not want to do, being places I do not want to be, and feeling things I do not want to feel.

Going in to a place every day to get abused and used for no remuneration is bad enough, but now I am being made to feel guilty about it. But wait there's more.

For some reason I am expected to be the one to initiate all communication. It is true. I have tested this theory out over the last week and found out I am one of those people that is out of sight out of mind.

Ok whatever. But now I am made to feel guilty for liking people, who seem pleasently nice to me. I am guilted in to feeling bad about liking other people who may be unhealthy for me because of history and other unnatural acts of mental cruelty to myself.

And I can come to only one conclusion in order to remain confident in my ability not to become a raving lunatic on the radio.

The cirgarette smoking man wants me silenced. He wants me second guessing my actions and feelings. He wants me worried in to inaction. The cigarette smoking man wants me browbeaten and confused.

You see it has to be the cigarette smoking man, because if isn't that dude and his croanies, well then it can only be one other person.....me!

So instead of taking personal responsibility for my position and working on fixing it, or making my position known, I am going to sink my inconsiderable resources into fighting the power. Please feed my dillusion and join my battle. Together we can strike a blow for insanity and lack of self discipline. You and I can take the man down! And then I don't know, we can hang out and get a latte, or perhaps train some robots to feel.

Excerpt from untitlled project

Ok, so here is is, a few minutes late but here it is. I called this chapter one, even though it is more of a prologue, proving once again I am horrible with titles.

This will be the story of both the most horrible night of my life and of how I got there.


Chapter 1 – In a, With a, What?

I remember the night clearly; well it wasn’t really night when this story begins, more like that twilight time when the shadow people come out to play. That’s the dangerous time for any meth freak. That’s the point where the shadows start making faces at you and pretending that they care.
That was the situation I found myself in at the time. Sitting in a folding chair at a card table peeking out the window, wondering if the random passersby knew what I was doing. They might have had they bothered to peek in and see; had they cared enough to take time out of their busy schedules to give me a second thought.
Oh and the sight they would have seen. Of course that sight wasn’t for them, it wasn’t for anybody. It was all for me. It was the ritual you see. All mine. Nothing for you. Just me and my addiction. Just me and my ritual.
Most addicts can tell you of the ritual, but few will reveal what it is to you. The ritual is the process most, if not all, addicts go through with their addiction. It is the start of feeling good, the start of the run or the binge or just the start of the average day. It is the required element to complete the entire process of escape from reality, of breaking away from whatever it is they don’t want to face, or for some it can be the part required to push down the shame of how far they have fallen.
I had my ritual, and since I lack the shame gene, I will share it with you. It was a simple thing really. It starts with pulling a small picture frame down of the wall. I can remember it now, fake wood, maybe what they call Formica, I don’t even know what that means, and frankly never cared. It was not really even wood coloured, more that bright yellow they make fake wood in and pretend is wood. I doubt it was glass either, I never really knew. Inside was a small sign that read: In Case of Emergency Break Glass. Underneath the sign was a single cigarette, a match and a strike plate. I always found this an incredible irony and uproariously funny at the same time. The real emergency took place on top of the glass. That is where the magic occurred.
That is where I would spend a long time, sometimes even hours lining up the meth. The first line would take maybe 45 minutes. I would dump out maybe half of what I had; take the razor and just play! Push the powder around, crush it, form it, reform it. I would look at it from every angle. How could you not admire the beauty of it? It was always just slightly shiny, just slightly off white, just slightly singing to me in a sultry voice.
And thus the ritual would continue. By day two of the run it could take hours. By this time I would be clenching my jaw and talking both to myself and to it. By day four, and that was what this was, a day four without sleep, without rest, without reality, it could take forever.
I was down to maybe three or four lines, at best. This was always the time of great decisions. Should I do a big line to recapture the glory of the rush! Or should I doo smaller lines and draw out the run some more. Escape from reality longer. Avoid me for longer. The joke was on me that night, because I imagine either choice would have led to me. Led to the real me. Naked me, no clothes, no curtains no respect, no lies. Either choice would have ended in the unmistakable reality of who I was.
I choose smaller lines. Thinking back, I am not sure what I was using as a tooter device. It might have been a pen, a fiver, maybe just some cardboard…no it was a straw. I remember now because later there was a little blood on the end and I kind of went weird, but that part is getting a head of myself. I put the straw up in my nostril, it was the left nostril because at the time my right was pierced, what a fucking chore that was, and I went to town. I took a short breath and let it out; there is nothing worse in that world than breathing on the damn dope. Then I leaned in and wham, into my head it went.
I am not sure if maybe I got a bad hit (there is no way, this was primetime one step from the chemist, mixed myself shit, and I never made mistakes, never!) or maybe it was just my time, but I knew right away something was wrong. The world did a small flip and there I was looking out the window, across the street at the little hill that made up the driveway to the Golf Steakhouse. I always found that ironic too. What probably amounts to the most expensive steakhouse in town nestled upon a hill overlooking the slum. Crappy low rent, the strip club, the biker bar, a Dutch girl store, nothing redeeming really. Ok it was near the river and there was a bunch of nature, but I could care less about that. I was a city boy away from his natural habitat. Ok wait I am doing it even now.
You see this is what happens when you do a line. All of the sudden your mind races and you follow tracks of thought that have nothing to do with anything, or your intended destination. Even now, after all these years, as I write about it, I am feeling it. I guess they are right, it never ever really leaves you.
Ok, so where was I, right me sitting, line dancing. I looked outside after the world changed and I was frightened for the first time in a long time. Fear gripped my heart with icy fingers, wrapping around it and clutching so hard I could not wrestle it away with the thought that I knew what I was seeing was not real. Reality didn’t matter. All that mattered is what I saw, and all that mattered were those blue fingers gripping my heart and turning it to stone.
I can see it as clearly now as I did then when I close my eyes. Outside across the street on that beautiful manicured grassy hill in the twilight were more than a dozen body bags. I can see the street lights glisten off the surface, see the headlights of a car too fancy to be local shine brightly for an instant off of one of the bags. The effect that had was to show me that the bag wasn’t zipped up all the way, and in that brief instant of clear illumination I could see the face inside the bag.
I wish I could tell you it was my face. I wish I could say that in my drug fueled haze, combined with sleep deprivation my mind had tried to conjure an image that might snap me out of it and make me see what I was doing. I wish I could say that self preservation had caused my mind to rebel against my diseased gut. I wish I could say these thing because I think then I might have been able to avoid what came next. In that avoidance would have been my own destruction, but at least I would never have had to live the rest of that night, never had to face my true being, my true nature.
That instant my whole body did a weird sort of reverse triple Lundy thing. People talk of stomachs doing summersaults, of hearts doing back flips and of minds doing back gainer thingies. What you rarely hear about is it all happening at once. Right then and there my mind, my heart, and my gut jumped up and screamed, hey buddy, what the fuck? I think now that this must be the soul; the combination of all things that make up the human existence.
The mind. The cognitive center. The true rational guide to all that we do.
The heart. Our figurative emotional core. The drive that sustains us in our loneliest, most desperate hours.
The Gut. Our instinctive center. The place that guides our survival and our base instincts.
When you combine all three in to one massive motor function, I like to think that is the soul, that is the totality of us, the Tao of me. And at that moment in time, the Tao of me was pissed. It was ready to fight back and call me to task for everything I had done.
The face I saw was Joanne. My first love, my strong love. My only love. And in that moment I was convinced I killed her. My mind raced. Thoughts, images, sounds, smells a kaleidoscope of moments in time careening across my cerebral cortex swirling in and out of focus. I was dizzy with the shock of it all.
Then everything came in to focus. A sharper focus than I had had in years. One thought came into my head. How had this happened? That led to me thinking, how had I gotten here? And then I remembered the beginning, and this is it.

Blockage

I am stuck. I am totally, completely, utterly stuck. Every fiber of my creative being in in a state of limbo like paralysis. I have no access to my mind in any fashion..


I am really not sure what happened, or more to the point what is happening. I thought maybe if I began writing this blog post something would occur to me, some kind of epiphany or at least a freaking brain fart, and I could splash this page with juicy nuggets of intellect and humour; a little something to get the old swagger back. Nothing.

Nada.

Zip.

Zero.

Zilch.

What scares me is the fact that this might not only be my groove. I have this crushing suspicion that this is also where I am at in my life. Paralysed in to some sort of comfortable inaction. For some people that might not seem like a huge deal. Life is about repetition, monotony, Pure cheesy (hey look kids, I was totally not stoned enough to forget Ren and Stimpy...if you don't know what that is then you have never been a pot smoking Canadian with too much time on their hands. Oh powdered toast man...which was a nickname of mine for a few weeks, and the ever popular LOG! And of course don't wizz on the electric fence...the home game...wait what was I talking about....did I just float off in to mesmeratia, the land of no thought, trying to spice this thing up with other people's creativity? This is what I am talking about people....ok where was I....)ridiculous long time over dull same old same old routine. There may even be some kind of unnatural attraction I have for certain aspects of that; you know the comfort of expectation, but not at the expense of spontaneity, or even the moment. This means I am afraid I am ready to blow a gasket.

Here's an example of what I am talking about. Last weekend, because I am dull and uninteresting, I decided to do something stupid. Here's what I did. I hit on the same chick (yes mean it that way people) that I had been hitting on for the last two years...well ok year and a half or so. I guess I just wanted the comfort of being rejected again. I do this with her every three months or so, just to remind myself that I suck I guess. I know the outcome before I even start, it is the same every time.She tells me she is not interested in dating anyone, which in case your girlie to english dictionary is broken means, I am waiting for someone better than you to show interest in me. Sometimes I like to pretend it means, you are too nice and I am waiting for a good looking douche who will treat me like shit to come along and I need to make sure I am single when that happens, but we all know that is creative licence.

The point is, rather than take a chance, try something new, dare to be different, I did the same old thing. I think the definition of insanity in some circles is doing the same thing over again expecting different results each time. This does not apply here because I am always expecting the same results. I want to be rejected, it fuels my need for self loathing. Don 't get me wrong I don't do it because I hate myself, I love myself too much for that, I mean look at me, I blog for crying out loud; something inside my head makes me think you need to hear (read) the dither, blithering rants that I spew forth at an alarming rate, because if you didn't your head would explode! No what I mean is something differently entirely.

I need that rejection so I can justify any crap that does actually happen. I do that to defend against the dark arts of the world. If things go too well, I always have that to fall back on.

And that leads me to the point of this (besides doing this instead of real writing) which is, do we as people crave disappointment in order to feel even better about our small successes? I went through this whole process to get to the idea that in order to safeguard myself against rejection that might actually mean something. I ask her out in order to avoid rejection from someone that might actually hurt me; someone whose opinion means more to me, or who might actually be worth long term investment. Maybe I thought she was a year ago, but really people, and sorry if she reads this and figures out I am talking about her, but frig, do I seem like I am trying anymore?

The same can be said for my editor...who never really wanted the job. She (yeah shock me back to life, did he say she?) read over my first bit of brilliant prose...and do you know what she said....she liked it and no real changes were necessary! In my head I am thinking wow, she hated it that much that it wasn't worth her time to rip it apart and tear me some type of new excreting orifice. Geez oh pizza, what now? What if no one will like it then? Oh crap, is it crap?

Gotta love lack of confidence huh? But you see here comes something that matters right about now..... I want people to like my writing. Yep. It is true. I want people to be entertained and enlightened (whatever the hell that means) by what I have to say. There are very few thing that people have in this world that define them in their own minds, and for me this is one of them. I want to be a writer. Because of this, I obsess a bit, so forgive me this little shamble of the brain.

In my heart of heart, the one tiny little piece that lies suspended in an adamantine enclosure to protect it from the elements and harpies that would choose to feast on its withered carcass, lies the truth of a thousand voices. I want em to like me.

But wait, there's another fat man with a pen that I mustn't forget.The Obi Wan to my Luke, the Yoda to my...well everyone else in the galaxy. Let's call him....uhhh Kevin Smith....I suck at names.... he has taught me one thing, no not the circus seal bit, I already knew trhat, that people will hate on me, and people will love on me. If I have something worthwhile to say, someone, somewhere will listen and in their own way say, read it, liked it. And for every one of those people, there are roughly 7 zillion asshats who will log on to the internet to tell me how fat, old, stupid, ugly, dumb and douchely I am. So screw it, which one of those groups do I do it for?

So for the one dude reading this and going, hey that shit makes sense in a weird unintelligible way, what up? And for the 7 zillion dbags who want a piece of me because they have nothing going for them in their own lives....bring it! I can handle you, and gosh darn it, I like me, even if you don't.

So Ladies and gentlemen, whether it is good or not, whether it is a strong example of what I can do or not, on Wednesday June 9th at 4pm est I am going to post an excerpt from my book that some old white guy thinks is worth spending money on. Read it, and praise me, or mock me, just do something to me....feed the troll!!

Firsties

Man, I remember when that was cool! Back on those old style message boards, back when the Internet was slow and random AOL users would IM you looking for love. It is totally different today, now random Yahoo users IM me looking for money. Progress!

I gotta say this is an interesting little exercise. I have for years been utilizing the social networking craze as a platform for my Ben Affleck like attention whoring, but now I finally have a reason to do things smartly. I am sort of a professional writer...again, for the first time...

Well for years I pounded out refreshing slogans and adds for junk you don't need or even want until I told you you needed and wanted them. I got paid, and I had to write, so I guess that made me a professional writer. Truth be told, the only thing I liked about it was when they let me write bits and perform the funny stuff. I enjoyed when they let me do the entertaining monkey dance.

Like a million frustrated writers I consoled myself with the fact that someday, somehow, someone would notice me and give me praise and make me an offer I would refuse at first and then slowly demurely accept like the nice girl at the prom. I made excuses for why it hadn't happened yet and I relished the attention from well meaning friends who lavished me with their praise and encouragement. And for sometime this kept me stable, alive, fed and satiated by their morsels of kindness. Slowly I became bloated and content to just let it be, and be me, but a kind of weak version of me that never hungered, never sought the prize.

Well dammit I am Rocky, and I want my prize. I wanna run through Philly, I wanna hit on the weird shop girl, I wanna get my face pounded in to hamburger and I want to stop paying someone else to do that last part!

Really what I want is the freedom to play video games all day and hit on unattainable women, all the while eating good food and not having to actually work for this privilege. I want to be a writer again.

So I got the urge, got the thought, got that feeling deep down in the pit of my stomach...got the tums but that didn't help, and so I realized I was being called to my keyboard again.

Then I met the man who will change my life again. And now he wants to pay me to write, so here I am, because I am cheap....and still actually poor since no one wants to pay me before they get paid, doing a more serious bloggity blog thing. Why might you ask?

Kevin Smith.

Yep, I have learned from him the ways of self marketing. Don't buy my books, buy me. I am a brand. You know what you get when you bite in to one of my works, and thus you want it. Ok you don't know yet, but you will.

So here I sit, on a Friday night, pretending I am cool, all the while wondering what you look like naked. Nice birthmark by the way. Here I sit on the verge of breaking through to some sort of natural high, strangely enough writing about unnatural ones... hey now there is irony Alanis!

Ok so for now I will use the good folks at google to house my blog, and then, oh then you will see. Eventually we will move in to fancy new digs, I'll invite you over for a cocktail, and you will have to indulge my thoughts, not because you like them, but because you are being polite.

Until then, let me enlighten you as to what to expect.

My Plan is to blog here, and release some excerpts from my book, assuming my publisher allows it. He might not over some sort of legal arrangement thingy that says if I post something on a site I don't own, they now own the rights, but I figure they can't own the rights to my story, but hey I am no lawyer. In the end, until one of us coughs up the dough for our own site, we will be playing fast and loose with the whole legal system.

I am also going to work on some guest blogs, and maybe a podcast. In the end one monkey media is not just about me typing away unendingly on a keyboard. One Monkey Media is about you and me. It is about all forms of entertainment, and it is about being cool. It is about chatting about everything and nothing. It is about being a geek. It is about free form thinking and expression. It is about Neo-classical post modernistic art. It is about pre-pubesent humour. It is in fact about whatever we want it to be about.

The world is our oyster people, let us shuck it!


P.S. In case you hadn't figured it out, this entire post was nothing more than a space filler and a way for me to mess around with the blog format until got it right....uhmmm maybe I should do something entertaining......uh oh, I blew my creativity on the Affleck joke.... oh wait. there was s and m too, so there!