Exlax

So, I am constipated. I have severe blockage. I have no access to the creative portion of my mind.

I even went back to old stuff to see if there was anything there for me to repost and cheap out on you today. There was nothing.

To a certain extent, it is frightening for me to be locked up like this. Generally, I can fake it with the best of them, and no one would ever know. Right now I can't fake it.

I know what the problem is. There is one thing I want to say. It is a single thought that I want to get off my mind, but I can't. I can't say it, I can't write it because I don't know how to say it.

What do you do when you have a thought that scares you? It isn't so much that I haven't tried to say it before. The problem is, I shouldn't say it. I know it is not the time, and the time will likely never be right.

I can't figure out why I feel the way I do. I can't figure out why my head, my gut, and my heart are not in sync.

A friend of mine....ok he's not really a friend, but this guy I know talked about what it feels like when your heart, mind and soul are all in alignment. It sounded like an awesome state of being. This place where everything lines up and all seems right with the world.

Of course, there is a corresponding theory in psychology. This idea is that we are affected by three things, our thoughts, our feelings, and our actions. All of these things are effectedd by our schema, our world view and our personal mores, and beliefs. When any one of these three things is not in line with your schema, then you are now in conflict with yourself.

For example, if you think murder is wrong, feel murder is wrong, and then kill someone, you are now experiencing inner conflict. You will go off the rails on the crazy train.

So if we combine the two theories, and call the soul your gut feeling, here is conflict. I feel one way, and my brain is telling me it is not a good idea. My gut says take a chance. So my brain is locked up because I can't come to resolution.

My brain has but three ideas on how to continue. My brain wishes to effect my actions.

1. Deal. Bust it out and see what happens. There is danger here of course, but I would achieve closure on the issue one way or anouther.

2. Deny, deny, deny. Pretend it doesn't exist. Pretend it is all good, and nothing will change. This carries the danger of locking me up mentally and emotionally.

3. Break stuff, kill people, and then change everything in order to change reality.

Which do you think I should do?

I need to do something in order to get back to being productive and creative. Until I come to a decision where my actions can match my thinking and my feeling I am going to be a very lame writer, doing very lame things.

So help me. Give me an idea of where to go from here.

A Love Letter

This is a repost from last new years. In light of my new found glory of dreaming, and my special mini dragon friend, I thought it would be nice to post it again and share my idea of love.



A Line from a movie has been rattling around in my head lately, and as is so often the case, I need to spew it all over the internet. The line is “everybody has their death star.” As is so often the case, the lines that rattle around in my head are from b movies. And is so often the case, it comingled with another thought that was in my mind and created a life of its own.
It has recently come to my attention that not everybody worships at the altar of Lucas, and thus some explanation may be necessary. You see there was this poor country orphan named Luke. He was living in a remote area dreaming of the stars in the sky, and probably those angels from the fifth ,moon of Iego his father used to talk about....wow I am a geek...anyway, one day Luke got swept away on an adventure. Luke was forced to choose sides in a great struggle and he ended up being the deciding factor in what would be considered the first death blow to an evil regime. He blew up the death star. For the rest of his life he would never really do something that great again on a grand scale, though some might argue that what he did before the end was more monumental, but frankly I like to think that blowing up a giant sized death machine is much more grand than writhing on the floor pleading for his life...yep geek...so there you have what is meant by everyone has their death star, that one monumental moment in their life that defines them and forever changes their destiny and outlook on life.
I have had my death star. The sad reality is no one left alive knows it, but I did, and I regret none of it. It may not have had anything glorious, and in fact one might say it was inglorious, but nevertheless I can honestly say I have nothing to regret on the death star front, which is a blessing.
There is however something I do regret. I never owned a dragon. I mean owned and not slayed. Many people have ideas of what a dragon represents, one writer uses it as a metaphor for father, another for honour, another for salvation...the list is long. No matter what you think of when you hear or see the word dragon, majestic has to come to mind. While they may also be horrible killing machines in their own right, they are also beautiful and graceful. Malevolent and honourable, terrifying and unforgettable. These flying amalgams of all our hope dreams and fears are truly wonders, and I always wanted one.
I knew that a dragon would both breath life in to me and a take my life, but I wanted one anyway. To soar the heights of the sky and to plunge the depths of despairing dungeons would have been magnificent in a way. Too many people have felt that wondrous terrible feeling, and yet not me. I came close, possessing drakes and dragoons, even riding a dragon turtle, but never ever have owned a dragon, and so one might say for me the true death star never came. I writhed on the floor begging for mercy, and got it, but I never even bulls eyed a womprat, let alone nailed the shot heard round the galaxy
But this is not that kind of rambling, this is the kind of rambling on the night when all things are possible, I wish all of you your dragon and your death star. I want all of my friends to ride the dragon and in so doing find their death star and take their rightful place in the annals of time as the wondrous creatures you are.
Tomorrow begins a new year, and with it the hope of eternal springs and a life less ordinary. For me, I always dreamed not of the stars, but an ordinary life, riding a dragon.
Someday it will happen, because today I dare to dream.

Solid State Dreams

I have finally figured out what is wrong with me.

I'll give you a minute to recover from your laughing fit over jokes you just made at my expense while I am attempting to pour my heart out to you on the internets.

All better?

Great, let's move on.

At first glance one might say trauma. That's bullshit. Emotionally speaking, I put trauma in its rightful place and am not really phased by that sort of thing, in fact I don't think I have been phasedd by it in some time. Any douche who says being able to shut of emotionally when bad stuff is going down is a tool. Here's why.

There are many different types of people in this world who deal with many different types of things. Some handle stress and pressure weell, some do not. The same thing that causes a firefighter to run in to a building that everyone else is running out of, is the same thing that causes a police officer to walk in to a domestic disturbance, is the same thing that makes an ER doctor calm enough to save a life. It is the same thing that allows me to be who I am in times of stress and or pressure.

It is an asset.

These people are not insane, nor do they not care about others. Far from it. They actually do what they do because they care....or because they are stupid. Either way, I would be glad to be compared to that kind of stupid.

So trauma is a joke to me. Can't be that.

Some say guilt. I have tried to make that the issue. Guilt over what I have done, who I have been. It never felt, smelled, tasted, sounded right. It may look like the right thing to be, but it really isn't. Sometimes, you play the hand you are dealt. It is easy for a person to never be faced with tough decisions to think I made the wrong ones. It is easy to judge and to put value on certain cultural situations when you have never been faced with them.

I did the best I could with what I had. I never hurt anyone who didn't choose to be hurt. That may seem odd to you, but it is, in a sense true. Our decisions help to define where we are at any given time. If we choose to harm others, choose to be a bad person, and bad stuff happens, then we in fact choose to put ourselves in a situation where bad things can happen.

I know this is partly justification, but in the end, we all do what we need to get by, and sometimes the world isn't perfect. I am not now, nor have I ever been a bad person.

I have made bad decisions, mistakenly hurt people I care about, but never out of being a bad person, and never out of a desire to inflict pain on anyone.

I have some minor shame over some of the people I have hurt. That is not cripiling guilt, and if they can forgive me, so can I.

Ok, so not guilt, not trauma. That leaves fear.

People do things out of fear all the time. They also don't do things. We all have fears, and I am not exception. I learned long ago not to let them drive me, but that is a lie we all tell ourselves. There is one fear I cannot master, and that is the fear of failure. Sometimes, it keeps me from doing stuff, but not all the time, and I have rarely failed at that which I try for. That really isn't the problem.

The real problem is that I never dare to dream. I have no dreams. No great desires.

I have wants and needs like any other human being, but nothing that drives me forward in a manner that befits a human.

I think this is true of far too many of us. We rarely set the bar high enugh, and then work ourselves to get there. We become complacent and sedddentary in our lives simply because it is easier.

I have never really had any dreams since I was 16. I remember clearly the day I decided I weould be on the radio. My best friend Ian and I devised the plan. We were idiots. We figured we could just start one, no problem. We were very wrong.

I eventually made it on the radio. I wanted to do play by play for sports. I did this. In fact, the name Chris Parker will be forever remembered in the annals of time as the first person to do colour for professional women's hockey on the radio.

That was the last time I had a dream.

I think it is time to dream again. I think we all need dreams. We need things to drive us forward, or we stagnate.

We all need things to strive towards and to achieve...or die trying.

That is what is missing in my life, no real dreams. Everything I desire is achieveable in my current state, or I can justify not getting because I am punishing myself because I am not worthy.

How many times have you said this to yourself? I do not deserve it, or I am not good enough.

Maybe I am the only one, but I doubt it. There are things out there, big things, nice things,, hapy things that we all deserve. We don't deserve them because we were born in to it, but because we work to get them.

I told a friend today she could have all of her dreams come true if she just figured out what they were. The same is true of all of us.

You can have more than you have now. You do not need to settle. You do not have to go at this half assed, and neither do I.

I think it is time for me to dream, and more importantly time for me to really go get those dreams.

Now if I could only figure out what to dream about.....

One Monkey - The Musical

So, yesterday I made a throw away line on my facebook about wanting a soundtrack to my life, and the more I think about it, the more I like the idea.

Since I needed to organize my music anyway, I decided to populate my soundtrack.

I am breaking it down in to two parts. The first is my life up to this point, the second is my life from here on forward.

Pt 1.
Chronological order from birth to today.

Live - Lightening Crashes

Everclear - Wonderful

The Five Tairsteps - Ooh Child

And now to my teen years.

Guns N' Roses - Welcome To The Jungle

Tool - Prison Sex

Alien Ant Farm - Smooth Criminal

Beastie Boys - Rymin' and Stealin'

Boy Meets Girl

Barenaked Ladies - What A Good Boy

Girl Dies

Drowning Pool - Bodies

Breaking Benjamin - I Will Not Bow

Disturbed - Down With the Sickness

Boy Meets A Lot Of Drugs

Johnny Cash - Hurt

Alice In Chains - Down In A Hole

Time To Sober Up

Stone Sour - Zzyzx Rd.

Seether - Rise Above This

This is the story of my twenties. Aimless wandering.

Metallica - Wherever I May Roam

Jonathan Coulton - Code Monkey

Boy Meets short person.

Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars

I was married once

Nirvana - All Apologies

Redifining purpose is depressing. Nothing seems to work.

Soundgarden - Fell On Black Days

Pt 2.

Meh, whatever order I see fit to place them in. Ok, by that I mean alphabetical.

3 Doors Down - Here Without You

Alter Bridge - Rise Today

Audioslave - It Doesn't Remind Me

Ben Taylor - I Try


Breaking Benjamin - Away


Creed - My Own Prison

Disturbed - Land of Confusion

Incubus - Drive

Lost Prophits - Rooftops

Nirvana - Lithium

Papa Roach - To Be Loved

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Snow

Seether - Fine Again

Staind - Mudshovel

Three Days Grace - Riot

Three Days Grace - Wake Up

Tool - Hush

Weezer - Pork and Beans

Stone Sour - Zzyzx Rd.


Ok, that`s all I got. I am kinda bored of this....and mildly depressed by it, so enough.

Dreaming with the lights out pt 2.

Standing in the bathroom, Danica Phillips stares bleary eyed at her reflection in the mirror. It is hard to say whether she disapproves of her reflection or her reflection disapproves of her. Either way the eyes are sad, disappointed and one of them was ringed with a fresh bruise.

Trying to brace herself on the counter, she raised to her full height and twisted at the waste. The eye bruise was nothing new, but the bruise along her rib cage was something alien. He had been mad before, but not like this. In the past it was just a slap to remind her of her place. Well more to remind her of his place as the man. He was the one in charge, not her, and his word was law.

Examining the bruise she thinks about this and realises it was her fault really. They had been out to dinner earlier in the night and she had done something wrong. Now she was unsure of exactly what she had done, but she knows it was bad.

Mark had been flirting with the waitress. Harmless really. He loves Danica, he tells her all the time. He had just wanted to charge his batteries, that was all. He wanted to flirt, and Danica should not have been rude to the woman. That's all.

That's not the whole story, but right now, Danica is to upset to admit the rest. She is too ashamed to admit her own jealousy. Too frightened to admit Mark's anger over being questioned. Too embarrassed to admit how it made her feel at times good and bad to know he cared this much.

Maybe she was justifying his behaviour. Giving it altruistic motivations to quell the fear she is feeling.

Danica is not a stupid woman. Far from it in fact. Like many people, Danica is just afraid of being alone; furthermore, she secretly doesn't think she is worth the love he does show, so the hate he shows is just her penance for the good.

Danica is glad she woke up so early, and too proud to admit it was the pain that jolted her from her troubled sleep, where she dreamt the dreams of the frightened and possessed.

She has grown proficient at make-up. So proficient she can cover up almost anything. She begins with a good healthy foundation.

As she cleans herself up she reveals deep blue eyes in an almost almond shaped setting. She has a vaguely exotic appeal in her face despite her usual pale complexion. She won't have time this morning to wash her sholder length Raven hair. She doesn't really have time for much other than make-up.

A quick shower was all she got. Enough to wash away the surface dirt, but not enough to scrub her really clean. Not enough to wash all of what happened off her.

Heaving a deep sigh she examines herself in the mirror. She will forgo the contacts today. Hopefully the make-up, her thick rimmed glasses, and the luggage of the damned under her eyes will hide the truth enough to fake her way through the day.

She is close to the end of her cover-up when her heart jumps out of her well formed chest when she hears the sound of a harsh knock at the bathroom door.

Cursing the fact that Mark had the annoying habit of waking up 5 minutes before the alarm went off and never giving her any warning of his impending arrival, she cautiously intoned "Just a couple more minutes."

Outside the door Mark shook his head, both in exacerbation and in an attempt to shake off the last vestiges of sleep. "Whatever babe."

Danica knew he would be heading to the kitchen to get some coffee, and that meant she had 4 to 7 minutes to pull herself together.

Pulling on her light green scrubs and tieing her hair back in a severe bun, she makes the final inspection. The glasses would work she decides, and then leaves the bathroom.

In the kitchen, Mark is dressed only in boxers, sitting on a stool, glancing at his laptop. The modern form of reading the paper. His RSS feed has carefully combed the internet for everything the wife beater on the go needs for his more ablutions.

I think it would make us all feel better if he was reading tips on how not to leave bruises, or domination daily, or how to make her feel worthless and dependant quarterly, but instead he was checking the morning market, grabbing a laugh from an online cartoon, and checking the latest from cnn. I think we would feel better if at least he was checking Fox news, but no such luck.

In a sense, Mark is average. He has a decent job working at a small law firm as an associate, is a decent guy, in the fact he tips well, gives money to homeless people and says all the right things at all the right times to all the right people. Plus, he has decent hygiene; bathing regularly and looking after himself.

His body and looks are not average. He is the perfect specimen of body fat to muscle ratio, and he has those little protruding bones at the waste that women like so much.

Mark is handsome and just slightly rugged, without being overly manly or overly prissy. The modern man for the modern times. In a sense, he looks much like he walked out of a Sears catalogue, wherein he was portrayed in a suit, camping gear, and playing soccer.

This is why Danica was so attracted to him. He was everyman, and yet no man can be this. He embodied women's desires so completely he almost defied existence, yet he was so banally average in every other respect that he defied interest.

Looking up from his computer he smiles, revealing an average set of off white teeth. "Well hello there." His tone switches to a playful baritone and pattern, "I wish I knew what it is you women do in bathrooms that takes so long."

Danica fakes a smile and dies just a little inside.

Mark gets up, walks over to her, kisses her offered cheek, gives her a playful smack on her rounded buttocks. "Be ready in ten babe, I gotta get to the office."

True to his word, he is ready on time. They go to the apartment complexe's parking garage and get in his car, a silver suv.

Mark is more particular about time this morning than he usually is. He his constantly checking his watch as if he is afraid of being late for work.

The ride begins in silence, but shortly becomes a cacophony of Mark's voice regaling her of his coming day, of how difficult his coworkers are, and how he has no idea what he is going to have for lunch.

After checking his watch for the umpteenth time, Scott reaches over and turnes on the radio just in time to hear a loud annoying bass heavy song cease, and the dj commence.

"Got an email dedication this fine morning, from Mark to Danica...oh you gotta be kidding, it is way to early to be this sappy...my producer is waving frantically at me to carry on, so with all apologies to those who just had breakfast, Danica, my love, my sweet, nothing in this world will ever come between us. You are my everything and I would do anything for you, always. How sweet and what not."

Danica doesn't hear the rest. She doesn't even really hear her favourite song come on. Her heart is pounding and her eyes are welling up.. In the back of her mind, where the mean lady who tells her to be careful all the time lives, she hears, don't cry, it will ruin your make-up job, and we don't want that Danny, definitely not that.

She ignores the voice, but not the advice, stealing her courage and willpower, she suppresses the tears and looks at Mark.

"I'm sorry babe. I don't know what got in to me. You're the best, and it will never happen again."

His eyes look so sincere. His steel grey eyes convey truth, a truth he believes, and so does she.

She leans over to kiss him and snuggles in to his shoulder. Taking his eyes off the road, he appraises her. He has great taste he thinks to himself. She takes care of her body, and it shows. She mostly eats right, mostly remembers to exercise, and mostly fills out those scrubs properly. A bit chunky around the hips, but that's ok. It translates to a bit extra up top as well.

He reaches out to cup one of her breasts and completely ignores the road. He completely ignores the fact that he is blowing through a red light. He is so transfixed by the beauty of his giurl...well not beauty, she is kinda slightly overweight isn't she? And her lips could be fuller, and her eyes are all poofy, and she is wearing too much make-up today, but she is still attractive. He is so transfixed that only the sickening sound of grinding metal shocks him back to the here and now. The here and now where he just ran a red light and as a consequence, caused an accident.

Danica's eyes snap open and she stiffens, craning her neck to see what just happened.

"Oh my god Scott, we have to stop."

Mark's average mind computes the options for a moment. It takes a moment longer for him to come to a conclusion because, after all, his mind is only average.

"Gonna be late babe, forget about it, it doesn't concern us. I am sure someone will stop to help."

With that, they carry on, her with concern and the natural curiosity of an ER nurse, and him with his self absorbed diatribe about his coming day.

Behind them, Scott Reynolds is dying, and being reborn.

lessons.tv.edu

So I have been trying like hell to procrastinate some long over due housework. To that end I have sought out anything and everything that will entertain me for longer than five minutes.

I have run out of my normal entertainment sources, so I am reaching out to new resources and sources. This has been a disappointing situation.

I have learned a few things.

First off, sitcoms and dramas come from two different universes. In sitcoms everything is about odd coupling. Contrast is key, whether it is in relation to hetero life mating or just plain mating. This is what has led to the rise of the fat slob guy with a heart of gold and a head of nickle being with the hot chick who is overly emotional.

The same holds true of any situation in a sitcom. Odd friends or polar opposite brothers, doesn't matter. The humour is all in the juxtaposition of diametrically opposed world views. It is similar to talking head shows like ye olde HANNITY and colmes.

In drama however, stereotyping is the key.

What I have noticed is not only the reason why America is fat, but also the reason why they are stupid.

For starters, let me point out that America is fat not because of their diet, but because all the thin people are dying violently. This is confirmed by the 37 network television shows based around cops and criminals. You see, only young attractive people, or slightly older, yet still attractive people are dying in record numbers.

These people are being killed by two groups. First, the other young, or slightly older attractive people who are in some way jealous, envious, or angry at the victims. These criminals are either sent to prison or killed by the police. Just so we are clear, more people are shot and killed by the police in Miami than are killed in Ontario in a year. Yeah, not kidding. I would have to track down the exact numbers, but Horatio Cain has killed more people in the last ten years than almost any other serial killer in the history of mankind. It's ok though, he is a force for justice. A sniper rifle, bazooka, knife, 9mm, wielding force for justice.

The other group of individuals killing the beautiful young people...mostly in bikinis or short shorts if they are female, or boxers if they are male, are unattractive weirdos. These are stalkers and crazy people, who by design are incredibly odd looking. They are deranged and have moles, look out! They have a slight deformity or are sick or have bad skin, and thus they kill.

In many cases they are killing because they are just not good enough.

As a side note, it should be pointed out that the stalkers who do not kill are always hot. Not kidding here people. My empirical data states that out of the 8 stalkers depicted in the shows I have watched recently, only one (from supernatural) has not been the killer or been completely hot. 3 were not the killer btw, and they were all hot, while only 1 who was a killer was slightly attractive.

I bring this up because all too often we are led around by the depictions of reality on the television. We are led to believe, or have our impressions of the world manipulated by the things we see. While in the minds of many social psychologists, real life experiences are far more influential than images in media, we cannot discount the media as a source for the way we see the world.

When every television show that is supposedly depicting real life events in a dramatic fashion builds a stereotyped view of criminals, we cannot help but feel this way in real life. We allow these images to seep in to our collective consciousness, and they do become reality for us, because we reinforce them with our behaviours and attitudes.

This is no different than the way we view romance through the lens of media. We base our understanding of love on what some writer fantasizes about. I honestly don't think you want the world to be based around my fantasies.

We tend to sit around waiting for the magical world of romance, while we allow good people, people who love us to walk right on by. We are inundated with images of what true love looks like. It looks like those douches from twilight.

Apparently it looks like a dude with smoldering eyes and pouty lips and shimmering skin and steroid created super figures.

It looks like perfect hair and bedroom eyes, and perky breasts.

We see these images constantly and it fills our heads not only with what beauty should look like, but what love should look like.

As much as I am willing to die for those I love, the option just doesn't present itself that often. I rarely, if ever, have to sacrifice my being for another person, but that is what we think love should be.

Love is never about sacrificing who you are for the other person, or even subjugating your will. Love is about celebrating the other person for everything that they are, be it good or bad. Love is about acceptance and caring, not sacrifice and tight abs.

Let me put it to you this way, if I showed up in your room tonight and watched you sleep, would you think that is love, or would you call the cops and get a restraining order? Right, so why then do we think of Edward as the embodiment of romance and love? Because he is hot? Because there is soft music playing in the background?

So if we go back to the original point of dramas and say, they depict people like me as petty jealous or crazy dudes who are so bent on our desires that we can no longer function as rational human beings, why am I not excused from partaking in the same behaviours? Oh cause it is just art and cinema, I get it.

But then why are we expected to live up to the example of the same characters put in a more positive light, and embodied in a better frame?

Some entertainment I truly enjoy, but for the most part, it is all just stupid.

Where does the stupid come from? It comes from shows that have the clue magically appear. It comes from the criminals being supposed super geniuses, yet they put their meetings and plans in their cell phones. It comes from telling me I need to conform to some sort of stereotype, or I need to search for a specific sign of love or beauty.

Stupidity comes from us accepting, as entertainment, the dumbing down, prettying up, over blowing of reality until what we see doesn't resemble anything we can expect in our lives ever.

Why do I say that? Because, since our lives are no where near the crazy surreality of television, we must accept words of comfort to meet our expectations.

Since I don't have to protect you from a pack of werewolves or vampires, and I do not have to kill your enemies, or shoot the bad guy to save your life, all I can do is say I will.

Here's the problem. It is easy to dupe you in to believing I love you. I can say all the right things. I can say that I will love you forever, and say that I would protect you from harm, and always bve there for you. I can say that you mean the world to me, just like they do in the movies.

Here's the rub. In the movies, Edward says these things, and then he does them. He says he will sacrifice everything for Bella, and then he does.

All I have to do is say them. And as long as I say what Edward says, and as long as I say what they say in all the books and movies, and look sincere when I do, you will think I love you.

Then something evil happens. Then I treat you like shit. Then I can make you feel self conscious, make you feel like you aren't as smart as me, or as kind, or like I know something you don't know. I can then treat you any way I see fit. Oh sure, at a certain point, reality meets head on with your desire and dream of what reality should be and conflict arises.

Then I have to soothe you with speech again.

This can continue for a long time, until eventually we fight constantly or you resign yourself to the new reality and stop seaking out that which you desire and settle for a water downed version of love that was based on nothing more than mutual attraction and hormonal releasing of chemicals in the brain.

You have thus been deprived of actual love. Love that was offered in other ways from other people who just didn't live up to what you expected because tv and movies told you what to expect from this life.

The same people who bring you the crime fighting Miami detective who kills more people than one should and still remain on the street are the same people who bring you Edward.

The same people who bring you cheerleaders with no heads are the same people that bring you studly werewolves.

The same people who bring you stupid criminals who give the police everything they need at the crucial moment in the show because they couldn't get the information any other way, are the same people who bring you a man with a ghetto blaster standing outside your window.

Real people can't live up to these standards, nor can you expect words to equal the sentiment in these shows.

All reality is, is a series of events where a person either proves they care about you and your feelings, or they make you feel bad. Sometimes, good people who care will make you feel bad accidentally, and they will apologize and try and fix it. Douches will intentionally hurt you and your feelings because they don't care enough about who you are to make a change in what they are, or to support you.

All I can do is stop using television as a source informing my opinions on the world...you know, other than the daily show....that is just truth.

I sold drugs to river pheonix.

I choose this title for a myriad of reasons.

1. I know it makes me look like a monster, and I enjoy being the thing of nightmares rather than dreams.
2. It plays well in to my topic of discussion, namely young people who piss me off.
3. Pheonix is pretty much a greta reference for this post.
4. I like making lists.
5. Unless they are to do lists.


The most disturbing development has recently come to my attention. I have only been tangentially aware of the existance of something known as the Bieber. I understood from what little information has trickled in to my cerebral cortex that he is a a mom made internet star. That is to say, his mom made him post you tube videos of himself until some image maker got a hold of it and made him a star. This may not be the whole story, but I am loathe to research this any further, so we are going to assume this is all that happened and we can blame Mrs. Beebs for this whole mess.

What mess you may ask? This Mess. Go a head and click on it, I swear this isn't a Rick Roll. This is too serious a situation for that kind of tom foolary.

Did you click on it? Do you now know the terrible thing that will end the world as we know it?

Bierber has....an autobiography.

At 16.

A biography, and more importantly, an auto biography is about more than money. It is about more than posterity. It is about more than just fame. Yet, this boy's handlers have cheapened it, and we have let them.

Bierber is now as important to the people of the world as any historic figure, because we have given him that power. We have said that your contribution to society is so important we need you to document it. You are so important to us that we need to know what makes you tick.

You wanna know what makes Bierber tick? He is 16. He doesn`t even know who he is yet. Appearently the book is about a rebellion against the fact that most people think he is going to fall from grace at some point. He claims this will not happen to him. He is incorrect.

Justin Bieber is not who he should be. I know this becuase he is too young to have confirmed his identity. Too young to have found who he is and make peace with it. He is who others want him to be. He has been forceed in to a role, and at some point in his life, that role will break down. He will rebel against that role and seek out who he really is.

What that rebellion will look like, who can say. River Pheonix took his turmoil over identity and internalized it and drugged his way to oblivion.

Michael Jackson....well....I don`t really think anyone knows the truth about what Michael Jackson did with his turmoil, but we can certainly surmise it was not pretty.

Justin Bieber, at 16 has won. We have let him. I am tired of it. I am tired of my passions being ignored.

I know this is self serving and a bit narcissitic, but at this stage in our lives, I honestly believe I have more to offer the world autobiographically than Justin Bierber. I am not saying I am more important to the world in general. He provides the world with something very valuable, and while it is not my cup of tea, I must recognize that it is still valuable, and in many ways his continued existance provides more to the world than mine. That is not the point I am making here.

What I am talking about is the point to an auto biography.

They are meant to provide the world with insight in to a person`s chartacter. To describe the events of thier life, and then, through exposition and self examination, provide context and understanding. They add to the collective consciousness of society by defining a contribution to society.

There is value in most stories, but Bieber`s is so far from finished there is no value in it. There is no character arc, no struggle, no overcoming adversity, no lessons learned.

At this point all he can teach us is; go on you tube, get noticed, sign deal, give other people control of your imnage, go on stage and perform. This is not anything new, nor is it anything worthwhile in the long run. It is a fad thing, and we see it all the time.

20 years from now, when Justin has experienced some hardship, or managed to avoid all hardship, I will want to read his story. At that time it will provide something worth reading. Right now it is merely a marketing tool and a money grab.

All too often we fall prey to these schemes, forgeting true stories and immersing ourselves in the hoopla of fame.

Look to the people in your life and relish their stories.

Look to the people you pass on the street and learn their story. It is a far better one than anything Justin Bieber has to tell at this point.

Yeah, I am jaded and pissed that Bieber gets to tell his story and I do not. That makes me a bit pathetic, and I can live with that. What pisses me off more though is that he gets to tell his story and River Pheonix doesn`t. River had something to teach us, but we will never know what it is. But we certainly can find out what turns Bieber on.

Is there no other statement on modern society that is sadder than that?

Me, Myself and Sam Beckett

All my worldly possessions go to the geek who gets the reference in the title based on the content of the piece.


I was recently reminded of Schrodinger's cat. I am always one for discussing the torment of soft kitty, warm kitty, little balls of fur! For that reason, I wanted to discuss the cat of this man schrodinger.

I also didn't want my last post to be my last post. No one wants to go out all bitchy and mad faced. I am no different. I want to go out with some style and a little pinache.

To that end, let us return to torturing furballs.

So Schrodinger came up with this thought experiment to discuss the possibility in all things to exist in two diametrically opposed states at a single point in time. The idea he proposed was the most absurd extrapolation he could come up with.

Put a cat in a box with a device attached to a deadly poison. Make the device equally likely to release the poison as to not. Close and seal the box.

At any given time one can say that the cat is both dead and alive. Since it is equally likely that the poison spilled, as it having not spilled, it is left up to the mind of the person watching the box to determine the state of the cat with no further evidence..

We all look at this box from the outside universe and we all decide whether the cat is alive or dead. My question to you is, do you want to be a dead kitty person or a live kitty person?

Do you want to let fear cripple you in to not trying something because it might be bad? Would you not rather be the person who risked it because it might be good?

It is terrible when we open that box to find the cat smeared to the bottom in various states of decay, but when we open that box and see a warm fuzzy little kitten purring and meowing at us, our hearts melt.

One can say the same thing about any two options in this world. One can say it about love, about that crazy italian restraunt (yes that is a nirvana reference) or one can say it about me.

In my little box, with no evidence to pick one side or the other, I could be both alive or dead. In fact, what Schrodinger was actually tryng to quantify was the fact that all things are both. You are the potential for everything on either end of the spectrum of being, and thus, at any given time you are both because you have the potential to be either depending on which way you bend.

In the simplest form, what I am saying is that the answer to an unasked question is always no. The outcome of untried experience is always negative because you lack the experience.

Asking the question always gives you the chance at either answer. Experiencing the thing you desire that you are ignoring is always better than ignoring it because you will have experiencedd it, and it has the potential to be great, in as much as it has the potential to be bad.

If I can leave you all with nothing else, I leave you with this, paralysation is not the answer. I am constantly haunted by one dream. Sometimes I dream that I wake up, but I can't move. I am stuck in one spot....and then things that happened to me before begin to happen again and I am stuck, unable to move or do anything about it. I struggle to move my body until I am finally jolted awake from the strain.

Don't live your life like my nightmare. ACT!

Do something before it is too late. Do not be afraid to let go of the thing you have in favour of the thing you want. Do not be afraid to sacrifice comfort for a bit of the old howdoyado (assuming that means excitement).

Happiness is a rare thing in this world, made even more so by the fact that it is almost never achieved in a state of contentment. Contentment is just that. Plain, old tired, boring staid, safety, with little to no interest. It is for the meak and mild who can't dream of something better,or who have been taught by someone along the way that they deserve no better.

EVERYONE WITHIN THE SOUND OF MY VOICE DESERVES BETTER.

You deserve all the world and all the stars and all the joy, because you are a special snowflake.

You deserve some happiness and adventure, and safety, and comfort.

I am so tired of sad faces and sad stories.

Mine included.

This is esspecially tiring from those who have the skill to change their circumstances, if not for paralyzing fear.

As such, I am climbing in to Schrodinger`s little box. That is where I will be, and you can reach me through his kitty.

Later folks.

Declaration Of War.

Screw you guys, I'm going home.

This was all fun and whatnot but it really isn't going to work out.

You see, I'm just not in to you.

I am trying to shift my locus of control from external to internal or some such nonsensical psychological bullshit. In truth, this just seems boring and a waste of time.

In a way I know it is silly but, like any person who bares their soul in any fashion, it feels hollow when they are pissing in to the wind. What is he jibber jabbering about you may ask....if you are an impolite housewife from the 50's?

I pour out my inner feelings, let you all know who I really am. Then, as an encore I share with you secre4t desires, motivations and a little piece of my creativity, and it feels like so much wasted time.

No conversation is sparked, no comments are made, no validations or criticisms, just blank empty pages and banal conversations about nothing, and not even the seinfeld nothing, i mean almost literly nothing.

I am tired, and I am going to bed, and I am not coming back because I am just nopt that in to you.

It's me, not you.

I think we should see other websites.

We have grown apart, or were never really together in the first place. Weird obsession and mutual patheticism drew us together, but in the end, we live in different worlds, are on different paths, and frankly, I am too tired to explain myself to a bunch of people who don't give a shit, or who get some sort of twisted voyeuristic pleasure from watching me spew my heart out and never reciprocrating.

Like any relationship, if you take me for granted, I will eventually leave.


I feel angry because of how one sided this seems to be. I know to a certain extent that is incorrect but whatever, this is valid, if a bit misguided.

Honesty is a two way street. Putting the expectation on me that I be honest and express my feelings and inner whatevers, and then not get jack in return is just wrong. I might as well just be journaling.

That is exactly what I think I will do. No more internet bullshit, no more sharing my feelings with you, just me venting on my own. I will get the same out of it, and not have to feel so bad about it, and not have to feel used.

Later.

Internet project.

I have always toyed with this story but never have I had the guts to do anything with it. I wasn't sure what the right outlet would be, or what would motivate me to actually complete it if I started on it in any real sense.

I have decided to use the internet to spew it out of my head, and to also motivate me to finish it.

So, in a few minutes, I am going to post part 1.

If you like it, be sure to let me know so I know I should continue with it in some fashion.

Your silence, or hate filled negative comments will let me know that it would be best for me to seek approval and acceptance in another fashion.

Fiction incoming.

Dreaming with the lights out, pt 1.

So very few of us ever wake up knowing today is the last day. Today is the day when it's all gonna come to a screaching halt. Scott Reynolds was no different than the rest of us. In fact, that is a truism about Scott in so many ways.

Scott was generally what one would call average. He was neither athletic, nor a sloth. He was neither brilliant nor dull. Scott was for all intents and purposes just a guy making his way in the world. Scott worked at a telecommunications company as an IT professional in order to pay for his small townhouse in a quiet residential neighbourhood. He went to work, he came home. He watched television, surfed the internet, and ate a balanced diet. For fun, Scott had a few friends, but really no one close. They would meet on Wednesdays and bowl. He wasn't that in to it, but it was an excuse to get out of the house.

Scott had grown up an orphan, so he really had no family, nor had he learned the necessity for close bonds, or the skills to make them for that matter. He wasn't bitter about this, after all, life happens; however, it did make for a slightly lonelier existence than would be the comfortable norm.

We don't really need to go in to all of this, because this is the part where something very bad happens, and all of this just lets you know what kind of guy he was, not what kind of dead guy he is.

His last day started of pretty much the same as most. Alarm, shower, instant Breakfast, car, traffic. That's when it all came unglued for Scott. On a normal day,
he wouldn't have slammed on the brakes to avoid a car running a red light. On a normal day he wouldn't have been in front of a semi carrying a full load. On a normal day he would be humming along to the radio, snickering at the dj, making mental notes about the weather.

The accident was loud, a giant cacophony of screeching tires, grinding metal, and breaking bones but Scott really didn't care. After all, it's not the noise of the impact, it's the force right? In this case, the impact was great enough to
cause his neck to snap, and one of the bone fragments to sever an artery, flooding his brain with a viscous red liquid he had previously relied on to keep him alive.

Much of the next 15 minutes would be hard for Scott to remember; but, if you asked him, he would have told you it was exactly like the movies. Snapshots in time. This impression was most likely due to the aforementioned life giving fluids now flooding the cognitive centers of his brain, but really, who cares about the science of why he saw the world the way he did in his final moments.

A voice asking him if he's all right.

The look on the face of a young EMT that said holy shit, how do I fix this poor bastard.

Next came that feeling of being lifted up and out.

The pain crashing in on him in waves of excruciating awareness. Suddenly he remembered he had a body, and suddenly that body hated him.

The sound of a different, but equally dumbfounded EMT shouting "Hurry the fuck up Tim, we gotta get him there, he ain't dyin' in my bus," as the siren sang a
song of impending doom.

Harsh white light that normally would have sent stabbing pains through his skull and out the other side softened, while the pace of conversation between doctors and nurses quickened to staccato pace.

The Sounds of machine, his only connection to the living.

The unmistakable sound of high pitched tone, acting like a homing beacon for the recently departed.

The doctor's voice fading with the light, : call it. Time of death eight thirt....."

But this is not a story of death. This is a story of after death.

Women`s issues.

I know what you are all thinking, this is going to be me complaining about how I suck with the ladies, and you would be wrong.

In recent weeks, many different issues primarily effecting the feminine aspect of humanity have cropped up, and I have been derelict in my duty as an internet pundit to wax philosophical about them.

A couple of weeks ago, the highest court in Ontario deemed certain aspects of anti-prostitution legislation unconstitutional, or counter to the charter as we say in the frozen north.

Those aspects are:

1. Communication for the purposes of prostitution.

2. Running a common bawdy house.

3. Profiting from prostitution.


So what does that mean? Basically it means the only thing illegal about prostitution is doing it on the street, which by the way is illegal when money is not involved... a lesson I learned in Ottawa from a nice police officer who decided not to bust me and my girlfriend. I gotta tell ya, nothing ruins crazy monkey make up sex in a compact car more than a cop beaming his beatstick in your car window.

Essentially, you can pimp, you can run ads, you can tell a guy named john that half and half is 150, round the world is 200 and dressing up like wonderwoman and stripping to theme from mighty mouse is 90,210. (that is a great joke btw if you get it, and if you don't it is because you are one of the 99.9% of the people in the world who took a pass on Mallrats) You can also run a happy ending message parlour, or you don't even have to bother with the pretense of an awkward, sweaty, oily rub down and just hang a red light outside your door...which is something I am considering doing just to see what happens. Can't be any worse than the douche's who frequent my porch now.

On one hand, this is a major step forward in protecting women in the sex trade from abuse as it brings these things out of the dark alleys and sheds some light on them. It provides the government to set up standards and practices which can help protect the safety and health of these women and provides for recourse and redress of grievances.

On the other hand, it does nothing to protect women who are often dragged in to these situation kicking and screaming.

Now the hope is, that because it is going to be above board, and regulated, those underground pimps will be pushed out of business, and we will see something more akin to the bunny ranch. This is true, but only to a point.

You see, people will still want to get their freak on, and they will still need someone to provide those services. Now one can make an argument that once the police are no longer focused on what two consenting adults do behind closed doors, they can focus on what one consenting adult does behind closed doors.

While this is true, it ignores the fact that the police already do this to some extent. No police force will ever admit to selective policing, but I can assure you, it exists.

I have seen police look the other way when it does not involve violence, or what we called civilians.

I have heard stories of the catch and release programs that harass more than they curtail.

It is somewhat similar to the whole parental notion, better the devil we know then the unknown demons. This is the philosophy that allows some parents to look the other way, and have basement parties for their 16 year olds to get blotto at. I can understand this philosophy to a certain extent as a certain level of experimentation and curiosity is healthy.

This is exactly the philosophy of many police departments.

Heck, I live with a drug dealer. I know he is a dealer, and I am certain the police do as well. Yet, until last night, he was quiet, respectful and went about his business in a non threatening manner. As long as he keeps that up, he will most likely never be busted, unless someone needs a headline, or he is part of a chain of events that leads to the pretty blonde girl having something bad happen to her...but that is a whole different issue.

Back on track... what some are afraid of is that this will make prostitution a viable career option for young ladies. I am not sure how true that is, or if even this would have an effect considering the million other messages that inform young ladies that they can trade sex for goods and services.

I would tell you to check out mtv, but I don't think they have a show that plays videos anymore, but that is ok, I do believe they replaced all their videos of half naked young girls simulating sex acts with everyone with half hour shows of actual young woman who have real sex with random people...I am looking at you Kardasians....though I think your show is on E! ir some equally useless television station.

There is no glamour in being a prostitute. There is nothing glitzy, sexy or empowering about it. It is a thankless, emotionless, mechanical existence full of stale intentions and broken lives. Legal or not, that will not change.

Making it legal doesn't make it a better choice than it is, merely a safer one for the majority of the people involved in it.

As for the young ladies out there who are dragged, forced, abandoned, abused, neglected in to it, this will have zero effect on that.

We are to blame for that. We as a whole. We create an environment where it is ok to sexualize children. We live in a society where we make it possible for us to turn sexuality in to a weapon.

I recently began reading a book on the issue, and the thing I learned I wish to share with you at this time is the meaning of Lolita.

You see, we bandy about this term to describe the wanton sexual advances of young girls, or more to the point, the awkward sexuality that they present as they begin to discover this aspect of themselves. We use it to fullfill a fantasy of the taboo, and to make ourselves feel better about desires that are not socially acceptable.

Thing is, that is not what the author of Lolita meant. What you need to understand is that the Lolita character is a tragic figure. A young girl who is abused and tormented by her stepfather who justifies his actions by misinterpreting her actions and then labeling them as sexual advances.

The character of Lolita never does a single thing to invite this rape and abuse. Lolita is a victim, and not a seductive underage mistress.

That is a whole new thing we have created. I am not sure what we should label what we have done, but it is not healthy and it most assuredly is not right.

We have taken the developing sexuality of pre adolescent and adolescent girls and we have adopted a new attitude. One which allows for us to misuse and abuse it for our purposes; whether we are trying to sell sexy underwear or trying to find sexual gratification actually is beside the point.

This is what creates an atmosphere where selling sex for goods and services is a viable career choice.

At the same time we are regressing in our sexual education, we are tossing out sex symbols, sexually provocative clothing and mores that don`t jive with what we say.

Is it any wonder that youth, and most especially young women are confused and manipulated into situations beyond their ability to understand them or cope?

We need to broaden education, not limit it. We need to understand how sexuality develops and deal with it naturally and without shame or prudishness.

Sex is dirty, nasty, slimy, sweaty, and sex smells bad. Sex is wonderful and natural, and a true expression of feeling, and sex feels great.

Sex is a natural aspect of who we are, and sexuality is a natural expression of society and of our inherent nature. It is a thing to be celebrated, and a thing to be smart about. It is a thing everyone should be eased in to. Sexuality should develop over time, as the person matures and develops. It is not something to be thrust on to a person too early, or left until it is too late and they have no understanding of the things they are already going through.

Sex and sexuality is not something to hide, nor is it something that needs wanton flagrant flaunting in the streets...you know, unless that is fun and consensual and so forth.

Sex and sexuality is not a thing we should fear, it is a thing we should embrace.

In the spirit of my philosophy of authentic blogging of who I am: I love sex. It feels fantastic.

Of course there are different levels of sex.

Fucking. This is that animalistic type of sex which happens when desire outweighs anything else. This is raunchy and wet and dirty. It is best done between two people who know each other and each other`s bodies. It is the most fun because it is about true abandon, but it can only come about when the parties are in touch with each other, otherwise it becomes the next category.

Screwing. This is passionless sex. This is what prostitutes do, and it is what drunken teens and twenty somethings do. It usually preceeds deep regret and shame. This is what happens when people lack understanding of their sexuality and the true nature of sex. This is what happens when two uneducated morons decide to bump uglies.

Sex. This is your generic, I wanna get off type thing. This is what people mean by getting laid. This is fun sometimes, and sometimes it is a chore, but it is almost always satisfying in a narrow way. This is what married couples do after the first year and 90% of the time. It is also the type of sex that happens to unmarried people when the spark is lost and they are too lazy to end the relationship until one of the partners decides to seek a more fullfilling outside source of gratification.

Making Love. The true art form of sex. This is what happens between two people who are connected so deeply that they just mesh. This is slow and low, and it is sensual and romantic. It is not a myth and it is not just something that happens in trashy novels or chick flicks. This is that true outpouring of emotion that happens on several occasions for married people, or people in love. It doesn`t happen all the time, but when it does, it is the most awesomest feeling in the entire universe...I am assuming, since my frame of reference is somewhat small, though I do plan a trip to Jupiter at some point.

Fetish. I do not understand this category because I don`t have one. This isn`t just BDSM; it also includes, but is not limited to, having sex with feet, inanimate objects, anyone other than me, people in mascot uniforms, food (no I am not talking about that one time with the whipped cream and cherries, that is just fun...or the banana incident, I mean people who need to use food as a sexual surrogate) and voyeurs and the like. I simply have no...uhmmm...I hesitate to use the word abnormal, but...well I haven`t crosswired sex with anything out of the standard accepted realms.

Lastly we have abuse. This is where people have crosswiured sex and love with hate and anger. Yes, one must admit that a large segment of the ladies of negotiable affection (seriously, did you think I would not get that in here) population fits in here. The abused tend to dehumanize sex and their partners. Needing that same release we all do, they have designed a system that simply is unhealthy to get it.

We need to extol the virtues of some of this, and warn against the pitfalls of other aspects.

Simply saying, stay celibate, or stay safe is not enough.

Understanding desire and connection is more important than any other aspect of sexuality. It is at the center of all of our actions and when we can master our desires, by truly understanding and accepting them, we can learn to control them, channel them in to healthy outlets and live a more fullfilling (sex) life.

Of course, what the hell do I know, I am just a lonely guy wookin pah nub in all da wong paces.

I suck at titles

Recently I have been listening to some fantasy novels on tape...no not dirty ones with Fabio on the cover, ones with dragons and dudes in plate armor and chicks in chainmail bikinis. This has led me to think in terms of knights and dragons and the like. Because of that I have been toying with certain unsavoury ideas. This is one of them.


Her terrible wrath is known by the entire realm for years; as is her beauty. In a way, she is a freak of nature, but she has managed to make it work for her.

She is a minidragon.

One might think that this would make her less terrible, less frightening, but one would be wrong.

To behold her is to know unbridled fear and unmitigated terror. If you are one of the few who can withstand her all incompassing aura of unfathomable fright, would describe her as follows:

Her bright eyes glow with an inner fire which can range from a calm soft brown when she is excited and playing with her food, to a stormy blackish brown with fiery sparks when she is in total rage. One could lose their soul in those eys, and possibly even enjoy it until one of her claws guts them.

Her face is perfectly molded and symetrical, and the beauty is only marred by a mouth full of razon sharp teeth, which one will never confuse the use of.

Her sacles range from a shimmering onyx on her back to a more radiant dark red on her underbelly. These beautiful scales which reflect a light that may actually be radiating from inside.

Her tail is formed by some sort of good. The perfect shape that invites awe and terror. The tail ends in a sharp point with a barbed tip.

Though her legs may not be long, her legs are shaped to support her frame and provide a counterpoint to her solid frame.

What mortals fear is not her appearance, the true terror resides in her mouth. Her tongue is reptilian and it lashes out to catch those unaware. It can knock a grown man down with a mere flick. But even that is not the true terror. When she opens her mouth one of two things may happen. She may charm you with her spell. She can spin your mind in on itself with her sweet tones, and draw them in to her trap.

But if she wants to be destructive, if the whim hits to obliterate all she surverys she can use one of her two fierce breath weapons. She can breath fire, immolating anything in her path. She will incinerate your home, your clothes, your flesh, your very soul.

When she feels particularily mean and spiteful, she won;t burn you in a gloriously short fire of rage, but rather spit out acid. This acid slowly corrodes everything it touches. Once it works it's way through your clothes, your outer defenses it begins to work on your flesh. Seering pain enters the picture at this point.

The acid seems to have a mind of its own. It feels as if it heads straight for your heart, where it can do the most damage. One would think this would speed up the process of sweet ecstacy and the release of death, but the slowness of the acid betrays you. It slowly works its evil on your heart, breaking it down on a cellular level until it finally devours the last remaining piece of your heart, and life finally ends as you know it.

Now that you know what we are dealing with, one more thing needs to be said about the minidragon. That is, she is mini. Not young, not jouvenile, just small for her species. This, all the the sages agree, is what makes her even more terrifying. This is what makes her mean spirited and ravenous for your soul.

The minidragon, whose name is lost in the mists of time, lives in an unknown lair. The bards tell of glorius treasures that lay inside. She has been hoarding her treasure for sometime, and no mortal save her slave has seen this treasure, and he does not speak of it, out of terrible fear.

This is the complete picture of our evil foe, of the scourge of the realm.

What remains for our hero is to figure out what to do with the dragon in order to save the world from her evil.

Like most true heroes, ours doesn't even know he is a hero yet. We can only hope that he finds his true nature before she does; because, if she does, she will surely kill and silence him forever. This is her way, her self preserving way.


Happy birthday Alison.

Mushy gushy

I don't want to bury today's original post, because it contains a wicked new philosophy I am going to try, as well as a challenge to all of you to face your true selves and stop hiding from stuff, but I am just motivated to speak out, so more on that other thing tomorrow.

On a day where a douchebag threatens to kill me, and some crazy psycho threatens me with a toaster oven....really, what are you going to do, bake some tastey cakes and then refuse to share? I can't help but be amazed by humanity.

Oh sure, we can be nasty to each other. I watched a guy push his girlfriend and call his mother the c word. His mother.

I watched a group of people pull of a miracle today. I know we toss about miracle willy nilly, but let's face it, a human miracle is succeeding against all odds. A human miracle happens when we as seperate people put aside politics, selfishness, greed and ridiculous hats to do something to save others.

Watching the rescue live on the internet taught me something about humanity. There is little we can't do when we put our effort in to it and work together.

A while back, some smart people decided to make the internet. Then they used it for evil world domination and price fixing, or whatever it is the cia does.

Then some smarter people, or one person named Al, depending on your view of history, decided this can be a force for good....and porn.

Flash forward to today, where some lazy no good canadian can sit on his ass eating bon bons and watching something priceless happen...no the megan fox porn tape has not been released yet. I am talking about the rescued miners.

I am reasonably sure someone has said it better than me, but I am still going to say it anyway.

When those miners were first trapped, I am sure they never thought they would make it out. Ther persevered.

When the families of the trapped miners first heard, I am sure their fear was overwhelming, but they kept hope alive.

When politicians heard they came up with some plan to curry political favour.

When CNN heard they thanked god for providing them with something to do besides retweet the opinions of the common folk.

Then, smart people got involved.

Several smart people from several countries.

They came up with a plan. A daring new plan. They came up with some new equipment. They gave time and effort and were rewarded for that.

So were the miners and their families.

Today we all saw, through the magic and wonder of technology that can be used for great good in this world, a tremendous life affirming event.

We saw people come together, and ignore their differences to save lives.

We saw hope restored and rewarded, and we saw a miracle of humanioty.

I am so glad this happened, and had a happy ending.

I am so dissapointed that tomorrow, the same people and technology that brought us this wonder are going to return to business as usual; dividing us and bringing us hate and bigotry.

Maybe these truly positive stories are few and far between, but I don't think so. I just thing fear and our desire to be better than our equals drives us to desire hate and anger and outrage.

I for one am going to hold on to this little story, and try and remmeber the good that was done in Chile today. In the spirit of being authentic and true to myself and everyone around me, I am going to say, I was moved, and I hope it continues.

Also, I did not post this because of people with toaster ovens.

Splinters

Some of us have the most outrageous defense mechanisms, and some the most classic. What we all have in common is that we all have deflector shields. Some are blanket shields like in star trek, where you just raise shields and no one can get past them, other than every single person known to the universe who can do simple frequency harmonics (which is exactly why star trek blows imho) and some are more directed, such as those in star wars, which simply absorb energy until depleted. The best part about star wars shields is that they are able to be angled towards incoming attacks.

Who wants a shield on their hind parts when the attack is coming from the front? Wasted energy I tells ya. What value are those forward facing shields when you are being pursued by a plethora of tie fighters on your tail? Simply foolish.

My defenses have been well documented, I am the little wooden boy. I own that, and I make it my own, and I make no excuses for it.

I bring this up because I have recently discovered how much I have in common with another little wooden boy. This one is a fictional character of ill repute....sort of.

I have come to identify with Dexter Morgan, vigilante serial killer and family man.

The thing about Dexter is, born of tragedy, he developed a defense against emotion. He completely shut down and caved in on himself. By allowing himself to feel nothing, he was able to cope with tragedy. The big problem came in his dissociative state. When you do not open yourself up to connection, you become incapable of it, and thus incapable of humanizing others, or normalizing events and feelings.

It is a wondrous trick to be sure.

It is a terrible thing to be sure.

Though this is startlingly familiar to my defense mechanism, the similarities do not end there.

In order to camouflage himself, Dexter takes on all the outside appearances of normalcy. A good job, a close relationship with his sister, a girlfriend, banal hobbies like bowling. These are all the masks he wears to appear normal, yet they are always at arm's length...or so he believes.

He eventually forms attachments to these things and these people. He begins to care about them.

The trouble is, he is not destined to have these things, and one by one they are stripped from him, save the bowling team. This is how I generally feel.

This is where trouble begins.

As the little wooden boy, I pretend nothing phases me, and I don't give a shit about anything. I play with things just to experience them. I search, like Dexter, for a way to feel alive.

Our defense mechanism precludes the highs and lows of life, until things are at their most drastic, in either direction. In order to feel alive, we must be near death or on top of the world. The middle ground is never enough.

It is never satisfactory to be normal everyday and average. We simply don't feel it.

Our defenses, our shields block those incoming emotions. We cannot feel the value of a summer day, and many simple pleasures are lost on us; you know, until we ritualize them.

Now what is the point to this ramble? No it is not to confess to being a serial killer, though some days, some people annoy me to the point of wondering if it would not be easier to simply fillet them. The point is to gain clarity of focus.

Critical thought is never so powerful and destructive as when we turn it on ourselves.

I say this in hopes you will turn a critical eye towards yourself.

My defense mechanism is star wars style deflector shields, which I angle towards whatever point of attack I perceive as most critical at any given time. Sometimes things creep in around the sides, but for the most part it works, until it is too late and I find myself lost and frightened, like a little boy without his mommy or blanket.

What do you do?

What are you protecting yourself from?

What are you afraid to risk?

I am afraid to risk rejection and hurt. I am afraid to be told I am not good enough.

What is it that you fear so much that you need to shield yourself from it by lying to yourself, or worse, lying to others?

What can't you admit because admitting it would mean exposing yourself?

If you cannot admit what it is, can you admit what you fear?

I am not a particularly brave man, but I did it. I have done it all along, despite what I keep telling myself is the right thing to do.

So now can you be brave enough to admit any of these things?

Can you step outside yourself, risk the status quo, risk what feels safe, and yet unnatural to find out what life feels like? Can you feel alive?

Fantastic

I noticed that I may have lost my mind recently. While this does not surprise me, or even worry me, it does make me feel guilty.

I am feeling guilty that maybe you didn't sign up for this. I feel like maybe I have pulled of an epic bait and switch, much like say George clooney did in this.

You see, the Rick Roll, which I know I overuse, and I promise that I will stop for at least 2 weeks, I swear, is perhaps the world's best example of the bait and switch. You go in expecting something, are told in fact that you will get something, and then instead you get Rick Astley telling you lies about never giving you up.

I think this blog has become one long Rick Roll. I made several claims as to what you can expect from this sorted little affair. I made some vague outlines of what you can expect here; however, as vague as they are, I still feel like I have lost touch with that and treated this stupid thing more like my personal journal and less like my Internet musings on ridiculously unimportant subjects.

So let's get back on track. Let's remember that Star wars references, Kevin Smith resets, bewbs, and bad tunes is what brought us here in the first place.

We need to breath new life in to our Internet courtship, lest we end up in divorce court arguing over google visitation and who gets to keep the porn collection.

To that end, let me begin the new era....of returning to the old era, by keeping the present era inline with the old era's vision of the future era (friggin Roddenberry made time travel so confusing)by simply stating....


WTF IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?!?

By people I am referring to fans of stuff. It really doesn't matter what stuff. Any stuff will do....apparently. There is a fan for almost anything these days. I used to think that people who wanted to have sex with duct tape were the craziest thing on this planet until now.

Don't believe me? Go back to that toilet paper fan site and type the weirdest thing you can think of in to the search field. The Internet is a wondrous, and all too scary place. This is not really about that. This is more about how scary the human mind is.

For some reason, when someone becomes a fan, they loose all sense and reason. I understand that fan is a shortening of the term fanatic, and fanatic is defined as:


fa·nat·ic
/fəˈnætɪk/ Show Spelled[fuh-nat-ik] Show IPA
–noun
1.
a person with an extreme and uncritical enthusiasm or zeal, as in religion or politics.


yet, the shrinking of the term to just fan should have also carried with it a shrinking definition.

fan 2 (fn)
n.
An ardent devotee; an enthusiast.

An enthusiast makes sense. I enjoy xyz. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, sort of like watching a kitten....get blended....uhmmm did I type that out loud?

But really, an enthusiast sounds so tame, and much more in line with what I have in mind for my fandom.

I like certain things, like say Wil Wheaton. I like Wil Wheaton. He is generally funny and occasionally insightful in a manner that speaks to me. I can say this and also say. Wesley Crusher was the most annoying television character of all time. I can also say sometimes, he misses the mark and bores me, or tries to hard and I look at him with pity. Sometimes, he just isn't entertaining or insightful. It happens. I would also tend not to compare said Wheaton with say...I don't know, George Carlin.

Carlin was a master at entertaining and insighting (it is a new word, shut up) me and many others. He is one of the all time kings of comedy, and a true master of his art. Wil Wheaton, as much as I like him is no George Carlin.

Now, why am I saying all of this?

Because I had a true WTF moment earlier. No it isn't about why fanatics seem intent on wishing dead people a happy birthday, but rather because some tool decided to make the following statement (real geekshit incoming)

DL (dragonlance, a series of novels and a campaign setting for dungeons and dragons, which was pretty entertaining when I was a kid)is in no way near the the same literary standing as LOTR. Maybe so, maybe not. Again, I suppose we will just have to wait and see.


This person, on an internet webboard thought it would be within the realm of serious discourse to suggest that maybe draginlance and lord of the rings were on the same level.

Hands up everyone who knows what dragon lance is.

Thanks geekiest of the geeks.

Now, hands up everyone who knows what lord of the rings is.

Ok, I can't count that high, so put your hands down everyone who doesn't live in a third world country or a shack outside of civilization in the middle of Pennsylvania.

Need a slightly more dramatic example?

Ok. So the reference that this person was making was in regard to the dragonlance movie. A movie which this person felt should have been done slightly differently.

Here is the imdb site for said movie. In case you are wondering, when IMDB writes video inside the bracks with the release date, they are denoting a direct to video release.

Dragonlance the movie was treated the same as all 7,834 (or so) Olsen twins movies.

So I can see how you could compare the value of that product with say, the 2 billion dollar release of the Tolkien masterpiece.

Right well I can see how you could say a live action version might have done well, and the following qualifying statement might apply:

Personally, for me, this series could dethrone LOTR if the movies were made right.


The important part was where the person said "for me" because that means in their eyes, it might have been better. You and all six of your closest friends may have thought that way.

That is the difference between fan and fanatic. The difference between enthusiast and uncritical devotee. The difference between thinking Beiber and Lennon are the same and Wil Wheaton isn't bad, but he's no Carlin.

I could sit here and inform you about how Dragonlance steals many of it's architypes from LOTR, I could show you how setting is the only major difference between the struggles faced by each group, and thus the only true difference between the two series would be in the quality of the writing, and if that is true, then one needs not go very far in determining this person is off their rocker.


Why can't people enjoy something based on its own merits and resist the urge to compare it insanely to masterpieces?

I can draw stick figures, and I may be able to brain wash one person in to thinking that I am a better artist than Van Goh, but that doesn't make it true.

In short, no name mac and cheese is not KD. Stop saying it is, and stop trying to say it is as good or better than. It is a pale imitation. Acceptable when the real thing is not available, but seriously, it is not as good.

Stop thinking that all this new crap is better than the old crap just because it has a shinier coat of paint. And for the love of Paladine, stop thinking a second rate imitation of quality groundbreaking work is new and innovative and can dethrone the master.

Sometimes something new can be better, but most of the time it is just a water downed version of it. If you don't believe me, check out the new Santana album. It is all covers of guitar awesome songs. On the surface you would think, good guitar songs, done by a good guitarist would be good. Yet here's the thing:

He brings nothing new to the table, nor does he honour the old. He simply repackages the old, puts a new coat of paint on it and tells you you should buy it.

This is the difference between loving the old song, and hating the new one.

The difference between hunting down the vinyl for the original, and downloading a free copy of the Sanatana (and then promptly deleting it in a vein attempt to wipe it from the official record of reality).

This is the difference between a 2 billion dollar oscar winning theatrical release and a direct to video release.

Dragonlance may be cool, but it isn't as cool. Thank the ground that LOTR walks on for proving to the industry that fantasy is a viable genre. Don't complain when they realised that as viable as it is, the individual sub genres are only worth a few million bucks from us weirdos.

All of a person's complaints about generalizing or making a story more accessible to a broader audience are what make it a viable production and worth spending the money on. If the audience is so narrow as to provide only a certain level of profit, then all you are going to get is what they can afford to make for that profit.

In the end, just because we are all crazy about something, doesn't mean everyone is.

Beauty and quality are always in the eye of the beholder.

Not everyone is going to find what I like as cool as I do, but generally, I don't care about them, cause they're stupid.


Note 013/06/2012 - I actually began re-reading the Dragonlance series and watched that movie.... The books are good, well thought out and generally of good quality. That movie is tremendously shitty.

Good Medicine

I see her standing there in my mind. I close my eye and I picture it, and the picture becomes so vivid I can smell it, taste it, hear it.

All my senses become electrified as I open the door and see her standing there.

She is wearing a brown track suit. It clings to her because it is raining outside. Slung over her shoulder is a fine purse, I don't know the make because I am a dude, but I can see it, it almost matches her track suit. It definitely matches her large rubber boots.

In her hands is a toaster. I have no idea what she plans to do with it, but it probably isn't natural.

My eyes get lost in hers. Their is mischief in there, and the light of a thousand lives, and the darkness of lost souls who had the misfortune to get lost in there.

This is not a nightmare, it is a dream. Sweet dreams are made of these.



I think I may have found a cure for the blahs and I am calling it good medicine, and no, I am not referring to this.

For the past few days I have been looking for a silver lining or a bright ray of sunshine. I have said that life needs purpose a reason, a redeeming quality and factor to it.

My life has been rough. I have had some of the worst things imaginable done to me, and have done some to others as well. Sitting alone with my thoughts, which some people know is a terrible idea, I find myself wondering what positive effects I have. Am I worth this blazingly wonderful thing called life?

Generally, I have never felt so. I can blame other people for that, and I would be right to do so. I can blame myself for that, and I would be right to do so.

Blame never solved any problem, but understanding cause can be helpful in the long run. I mean really, who do we blame for this. Though satisfying as it might be to rip someone apart for that, and punish them by doing this. In the end, that helps no one. So instead just think of the reason, and if you want to know the reason for Beiber, simply follow these steps.

1. Go to the nearest bathroom.

2. Look in the mirror.

3. Repent.

Ok, I am getting off track here, the important thing is, I almost never feel like anything I do matters. I have always felt that I am an easy person to cast aside and that there is nothing of value in me to other people. This used to depress me in many severe ways. That has passed for the most part as I am now able to really distinguish between flawed thinking and reality.

That being said, it is still a not fun thing.

Today, I learned something new about myself, and about someone I cherish deeply. I need to take some medicine from time to time.

Sometimes we all need to be reminded that despite all of our flaws, we are worth being around, even in the bad times where we need someone else to lean on.

The story doesn't end here though folks. It never does with me. I want to tell you about my medicine.

Cute as a button and yet that could not even begin to describe my medicine.

There is something about the way it is shaped that is just appealing. Some drug addicts talk about how appealing the package is, and while that i important, it is not enough in my good medicine.

Don't get me wrong, the reality is, my medicine is no Megan fox, but in a way, my medicine is so much better looking than Megan fox will ever be. Classic beauty is overrated and frankly leaves something out...I think it is the human equation. When I look at a Megan Fox, I can appreciate it in the same way I can appreciate a beautiful flower. tructuraly speaking it is perfect. That perfection is not beauty though, that perfection is a technical thing. Real beauty is about looking at omething that may not be perfect, but seeing it that way. My medicine may not be perfect, but my medicine is so damn beautiful that perfection is a leser thing.

My medicine's eyes contain a spark of life that is unlike any I think I have ever seen. It just seems like my medicine is there and real, never a placebo, never a low dosage, but always full and the perfect amount.

My medicine is smart. Not because my medicine can explain the theory of relativity, but because my medicine knows what to say, when to say it, and more importantly how to say it. So many people ssay the wrong thing at the wrong time, or merely get lost in their own mind and blurt out what seems to be the right thing based on their world view, but rather, my medicine knows what I need.

The remarkable thing about the intellect of my medicine is that my medicine knows what my medicine doesn't know. My medicine seeks out knowledge, eats it for breakfast lunch and dinner, and then asks for seconds. My medicine also doesn't accept crap answers.

My medicine is a special snowflake. Unique in the fact that it can do so much and yet cost so little. Nothing acts like my medicine. Frankly, nothing should, yet my medicine makes it work.

Sometimes I have to be strong for my medicine, and sometimes my medicine has to be strong for me. I am not sure why my medicine is strong for me, but I do know why I am strong for my medicine.

I once forgot that, and some jerk changed my prescription, but I have finally found the right doctor who is willing to prescribe the right medicine, the good medicine.

When I am feeling blue, my medicine makes me red.

When I am red, my medicine makes me blue.

Good medicine is what I highly recommend to anyone who is struggling with anything, because good medicine can make all the difference. Good medicine can motivate, satiate, aggravate, and just plain immolate the senses.

I am thankful for good medicine, because in some strange way I am comforted by the fact that my medicine is there for me when I need, in good times and in bad.

What can I say about my good medicine that I have not said before

Good medicine is beautiful, smart, kind, funny, short, and worth every penny.

My hope is that I will be paying for my medicine for the rest of my life, because once you have the right medicine, you never let go, you just ride it out and hope for the best.

Thank you for being there medicine.


Disclaimer:

Good medicine may cause

Drowsiness
headaches
heartaches
diarrhea
delusions of world domination
a burning sensation (only if good medicine has matches)
smiles
laughter
nasal leakage
The desire to put things in sterlite containers
a new found appreciation for track suits
sunny days
pathetic adoration


Consult a doctor if good medicine causes heartache that lasts for longer than 10 seconds, you get an erection for more than 4 hours, or if you experience sadness while on good medicine, cause something is not working.


I love my good medicine, and my good medicine loves me back, cause otherwise, good medicine wouldn`t work.


PS, I guess I am thankful for something after all. Must be the thanksgiving miracle charlie brown.

casey jones- The Ungrateful Dead

So this weekend is thanksgiving, at least it is here in the Frozen North. That usually means people are scrambling to find family to torture or pathetic friends to save. It also usually means people will comb the surface of their brain like an over zealous stormtrooper on the sands of tatooine looking for droids.

If you expect me to do either of those things, this is not the blog you are looking for.

So many people are so thankful for all their gifts in this life, and try as I might, I am not one of them. I rarely if ever consider anything in my life a gift. This is almost exclusively to do with the yin yang of everything in my life.

Many people are thankful for their parents. I could try and be, but when your parents both love and hate you at the same time it isn't easy to be thankful.

Many people are thankful for love. I simply am not one of those. My love for others has always been misplaced or blown up real fast. Those who have professed to love me have simply dissipated. Ok not so simply in some cases but frig that, invisibility is invisibility.

It is at this point a normal person would scream out I am unlovable. I ain't gonna do that. First of all, I am not normal, and second of all, I am lovable in my own way.

Sure I am fucked up, but at least I have the balls to admit it, and the ridiculous lack of shame to blog about it on the internet.

Many people are thankful for their job. HAHAHA!

Moving on.

Many people are thankful for their friends. In a way I should be, but I am not. I am no longer comfortable with any of them. I may never have been simply because I am never able to be fully and truly me with any of them save 3. One dissapeared, one lives in another country and one expects more from me than I can deliver.

The vast majority of people are thankful for life. I am not. Like all yin tang situations, my life has been extraordinarily blessed and cursed. Yet those great joys seem hollow and empty now as I look back on them because they were never what I wanted. All those little victories were tainted by the fact that they could have been much more.

The pain. The pain was real.

Someone foolishly said to me today I should not rest on my laurels. I would like to gut him like a fish right now, and I hate fish.

No quarter given, no respect for the distance traveled so far, merely penalizing me for not having reached the finish line as posted by him.

Few know enough about me to actually say to me, I know you well enough by now.... in fact I think only two living souls have a right to say that...maybe three. That third is most likely not smart enough to actually know me.

At some point pride is valuable. Self esteem is valuable. Self worth is valuable.

To all those who climbed out of the gutter to stand on the side of the road I salute you, and welcome to the club.

There are gutters in life, and not those shiny ones in your bowling alleys that simply spit your ball back out when you slide it in there by accident. There are gutters that consume. Gutters that are full of quicksand and tar, with dirty needles for rocks and dead bodies for bumpers.

There are gutters full of the diseased, the sick the abandoned, the lonely.

This is the gutter of the abused. This is the gutter of the guilty. This is the gutter of the forgotten and the downtrodden. The gutter of the traumatized. The gutter of the addict. The gutter of the poor. The gutter of the misbegotten.

When someone crawls out of that gutter, stands up, looks around and says, can anyone help me find the way back home, you don't tell them find it yourself. You do not tell them hey I see you got yourself out of the gutter, why can't you find your way home?

My story is not that different from others.

Abused by 3.

Broken so badly that the vast majority of people with my injury can't feed themselves let alone think for themselves.

Scared, stalked and alone.

Abandoned and mistreated.

Lost and found in a place not for the weak of heart.

Abandoned again.

Guilty of so much hate and hurt.

Abandoned again.

Left to addiction, and almost lost.

Freed through willpower and inner strength, only to make the same mistakes again because my roadmap is shit.

Broken down and misguided.

Foolish in love to the point it breaks him again.

Lost and alone.

Reinvents himself and begins a wicked journey of self discovery that he hopes will lead him home.

Lost a drift. Begging for a light and help with the map.

Fuck you if you think I haven't done enough. Fuck you if you think it is so easy to get this far.

Ahh what have I done? Laid bare my angst and anger over everything. So be it. Feel free to judge me all you want. I am strong enough to withstand your opinions, it is myself that is the true harsh critic.

Personal savior indeed. Look for your strength in others if that warms you at night. I like the cold.

Go ahead and tell me again how I like the inner strength to make change. Go ahead.

Yay me for being stupid enough to share this with you all. The fact is, maybe you can learn from my mistakes, and even if you don't, I can still be a cautionary tale.

What I will not do is be thankful for all this shit.

It never really amounted to much, after all, I haven't amounted to jackshit. But, I have managed to accomplish something few do, I got out, and I breathed clean air for a bit. It was kinda fun, in a messed up sort of way.

Now, go forth children and be thankful. Be thankful you are not me, since I am weak and pathetic and not worth anyone's kudos.