Mordant

Delicate Deviation

2007-10-22T22:09:00.000-06:00

The past thirty days have been an eye opening experience. So much so that I now want to close them tightly, cover my ears, and wander about singing "La la la la". Bizarre clarity as the result of sobriety. Indeed, the world viewed without the blurred vision of beer goggles and endured without rum induced enlightenment is truly a dismal and depressing place.

You begin to notice the underlying selfishness that drives most everyone around. It should be no surprise really - After all who goes out of their way to do something they don't want to do unless properly persuaded with something to gain? Ethics and morality appear skewed. Blind faith and trust become tainted as motivations are questioned... And you find you don't much like the answers. A conspiracy begins to form as you slowly come to the realization that perhaps, just perhaps, not everyone has your best interests in mind.

Their blatant lies become...well... more blatant and obvious. Worse still are the unspoken omissions, those disturbingly familiar silences occurring when a topic is not-so-deftly avoided, or someone fears you simply can't handle the truth. The glimmering of understanding that you've been fooled, and the crushing discovery that you were quite content to be fooled.

Yes, the world, despite the freedom of misinformation, a few cosmetic touch-ups, and artfully crafted illusions, is not a pretty place. Nothing more than a seething mass of insatiable animals striving to rise up by whatever means necessary to feed a voracious hunger for self
satisfaction.

And it is impossible not to notice those who remain blissfully unaware. Content avoid individuality and adopting a herd like mentality - bumbling about with glazed eyes, occasionally peering about and wondering if the grass really is greener on the other side of the fence when they notice someone else barrel head-first over the barrier.

I've been sitting on that fence for quite some time now - Sometimes peacefully observing the eerily mesmerizing grazing patterns on one side, and sometimes gazing longingly at the vibrant pastures on the other. And even though I secretly suspect those fields are chemically treated and that no good could possibly come of it - I'm still sorely tempted to make a run for it.

All I need is a smidge more motivation - Perhaps a blinking neon sign, or a warm and enticing taco.

Spin in the Teacup with Alice

2006-11-26T19:14:00.000-07:00

Bah. I’m miserable, mostly because I am not miserable. It appears happiness and contentment tends to stifle the imagination causing the creative juices to coagulate and refuse to flow freely. The brain atrophies, slowly choking off the oxygen supply to the inspiration center of the brain. It becomes near impossible to achieve the necessary levels of outrage, derision and malevolence required.

So, somewhere along the perimeter of this vicious circle I find myself miserable, because I am not miserable.

Strange things begin to happen when you remove strife, struggle, and distress from your life. Eliminate the desperate need for something better and rather than be left with a void slowly filling with happiness and joy you have an aching, empty hole hungry for heartache. You are left in an inexplicable state of abject contentment.
My perceptions have become so distorted, so excessively perverted; I can almost no longer recognize the wretchedness of the human condition. A self-serving, self-proclaimed misanthrope lacking angst, derision, and disdain? How disgraceful.

It really is my own fault. I should have seen it coming, but I permitted myself to have a minor lapse in judgment. I allowed the crafty harlot to sneak up on me. I never saw her, or the rose coloured glasses, coming.

For those of you unfamiliar with rosy-red spectacles and the changes they bring, let me assure you it is frightening and disconcerting. The flocks of sheep milling about the city centers begin to look like real people, complete with real feelings, dreams, hopes, and aspirations. The boss develops significant meaning for his actions above simply attempting to make your life unbearable. Earthquakes and the like that occur a vast distance away are of little importance. After all, they happened a vast distance away. Pestilence and famine appear to be trivial details, minor problems that will obviously be overcome momentarily through proper planning and well constructed aid programs. The woes of the world are insignificant, we have governments with our best interests a heart and they are toiling tirelessly through the night to ensure that tomorrow is a better day. You can sleep well at night knowing that when you awaken we will be one step closer to utopia, and through no actual effort of your own. Yes, the rose coloured glasses are a wonderful accessory, but they do very little for blocking out blindingly bright light.

Darling, I love you, and I know you like them, but really they make it difficult to see where I am going. So I am going to be forced to take them off before I bump into something dangerous and hurt myself or, worse yet, someone else. My newfound conscience couldn’t handle that. Thus, I shall auction them off on E-bay, or simply trade them off on a pair of dark sunglasses.

Argument ad Verecundiam

2006-11-15T19:01:00.000-07:00

"A plan incubating in the brain
It hatches and flutters away
Leaving you walking on eggshells
And wondering what’s that smell?"

A parasang south of nowhere, encompassed by the cold, I am rudely disturbed by the foul alarm clock – A most vile device. Expergefaction. I’m not at my best. Afflicted immediately with aprosexia, akasia, and the usual metaphoric proctalgia.
The chronically obtuse – too dull and thick to realize there is a problem. The exotic, quixotic – filled with vitality and life wandering about immune to the plight. The gloomy and morose; harbingers of doom. Oblivious blondes in gregarious groupings. Over-primped parvenu reeking of a physagogue overdose. Disingenuous smiles and Machiavellian plots.

Somewhere, out there, a village idiot thinks himself The Prince. The end. It justifies the means.

Hey good looking… Can I go nowhere with you? You lead. You seem to know the way well.

Political systems rife with Zabernism. Maculate nations.

Subsannation.

The pinguescent, merdivorous, mattoids. Mannequins following the bell-wether. Go ahead without me. I’ll just lay here and await my stovaine injection… the feeling is returning to my spine. But be quick – The smift is lit and it’s only a matter of time.

Cheese is the Devil's plaything

2006-11-12T10:30:00.000-07:00

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Familiarity breeds contempt. Well, apparently it has been copulating like promiscuous rabbits and so far the only fondness I’ve encountered is for the absence. Ample time was provided to alter heinous ways… yet still nothing.
Time passed. I received a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers. Unmanly. Childish. I love ‘em.

Religious propaganda delivered to my door with a handshake and a smile. Bored, I perused the pages:

Are we living in "The Last Days"? Bah. Of course we are.

Did God use evolution to create life? What mad heretic was permitted to pose this question?

Intrigued as to how they intended to end the whole Creationism/Evolutionary debate I read on.

Perhaps Adam and Eve was a story meant to teach a moral lesson and not intended to be taken literally. Oh my. I do think perhaps the religious community is on to something here. Perhaps if they applied the same logic to the rest of the text there is hope for them yet.

Keep reading.

Oh. Not possible.

It appears taking Adam and Eve out of the historical equation fucks with Jesus’ whole family tree. The family tree is, of course, sacrosanct. Thus there is no reason to believe in evolution.

It continued on for a few more pages, but I must say I lost interest somewhere about the time it began to argue that the length of each "day" it took to create the world was not, in fact, a literal twenty-four hour period, but a metaphor for the period of time… blah blah blah.

Sweet, stolen water - A metaphor for forbidden love.

Bridle thy tongue. Put away malicious bitterness, anger, and wrath.

But then what an empty husk I would be.

Wait ‘till the Saints win the Super-Bowl, then we’ll talk about faith.

As a honeycomb the lips of a strange woman keep dripping and her palate is smoother than oil. But the after-effect is as bitter as wormwood; it as sharp as a two-edged sword.

Idiots. It was the wormwood in the Absinthe that led me to the lips of the strange woman to begin with.

Call together the Sanhedrin. Let us discuss this. Or Politics. Or Money. I've got time to kill until the next soul saving issue is released.

Chicks, cars, and the Third World War

2006-07-19T14:42:00.000-06:00

I occasionally awake in a panic, chilled and shaken like my favorite martini.

Afraid, yet oddly unsure of what I should fear…

Perhaps mosquitoes and the vile West Nile, or Iraq, our feathered friends and the Avian Flu, Iran, lepers, Bush, rabid wombats, homosexuals, devious little dolphins, a genetically engineered band of devil-worshipping serial killers or a sasquatch type thing.

Or perhaps just the voices…

A time when technology and warning labels have made life simple enough for the most moronic to survive, even to thrive and advance to positions of power and fame. We really don’t need the looming doom of the birds and the African bees to threaten us, we seem perfectly capable of genocide on our own. God forbid someone should remove the warning label from the nuclear device.

Hezbollah and Hellfire, but someone find me a hand-basket.

The Sanctimony of Polyanna

2006-07-11T10:27:00.000-06:00

Four months in a daze. Eyes shut, hands clenched over my ears, and all the while singing "La la la" in the naïve hope that once I freed my senses everything would appear sunshine and roses. The problems of the planet proven to be no more that the result of some vivid hypnogogic hallucination. A paranoid delusion, dementia, or self induced psychosis I could cure by playing chess and drinking green tea laced with ginko biloba.

So I’ve awoken from my stupor feeling relatively non-plussed. Seems perhaps it wasn’t all just a bad dream. Still the same dark world in which The Merchant of Death, inventor of dynamite and weapons manufacturer, has a peace prize named after him and poor Vylacheslav Molotov has a cocktail for a namesake.

(Am I the only one still patiently awaiting an English translation of Nemesis?)

A world of joy and happiness. Sorrow and despair. Feelings and emotions. Fully treatable diseases of the mind – All you need is the right prescription and a willing pusher.

But how to medicate the mice? The newest plague of emotionally cognizant critters possessing the ability to empathize with those who are suffering. How long before we are forced to manufacture Prozac ‘n Cheddar infusions to treat a surge of suicidal rodents?

Ahh… Mollify the masses. Supply tryptophan for the soul. Let them eat turkey.

(Bloody cannibals… yet not quite anthropophagites.)

I tried sobriety for a bit. I found work to be boring, monotonous, and generally unchallenging. Friends seemed lame and vulgar and not nearly as funny as I remembered. Soft drinks were far too sweet. Smoking didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. And I wasn’t as brilliant and charming.

I fell off the wagon, got up, dusted myself off, chased it down, and burned the damn thing to the ground.

Semeion and Terata

2006-03-04T16:09:00.001-07:00

I shiver.

A natural, uncontrollable reaction to the cold. Instinctive. Under normal circumstances I would likely not brave the elements and the resulting unpleasantness, but I'm a slave. A victim of addiction. The demon beckons and I have to choice but to obey - Seek out the blessed nicotine.

Now.

So it's out into the darkness of an arctic winter. I feel foolish... Somehow weak allowing myself to be controlled by a habit. Forced to bundle up and head scurrying out into the most miserable of days. Enclothed in a suit designed to fend off the elements, hood pulled in close, face down to avoid direct exposure to the wind I quickly seek shelter behind the building. A place moderately protected from the blowing snow. My haven. A quiet spot to relax, or at least relax as much as one can when huddled uncomfortably trying to ignite a cigarette in the midst of a storm. Away from stupid questions, annoying people, and life in general.

Cigarette lit I finally take a moment to look up and gaze out at the raging winds.

And notice him - A faceless stranger lurking in the dark.

He appeared to be doing nothing. No cigarette was lit, no tool in hand, no easily discerned purpose. Simply a strange man in a strange place. Which leads me to my next thought:

"How strange."

Lurking in the dead of night. Lurking in the arctic winter. Just lurking. For no apparent reason.

"Fuck. It's cold." He says.

"Yeah, Almost like it's winter."

"How long is it supposed to last?"

"Till Spring."

He fades into the darkness. Saved by the yellow bird.

The catholic church speaks out against South Park. Inadvertantly the pope sparks a ressurgence of the show's fading popularity.

Nice work Benedict.

But who killed the Clutters?

In Cold Blood indeed.

Time, I've concluded, is an evil adversary - Fleeting and intangible. For a moment you have too much on your hands, the next it's been wasted. Gone. And impossible to get back. Always astounding the amount of it people are willing to expend worrying about it, how much they've lost, how it has slowed to a crawl, or how it seems to fly by. Pointless - Can't catch it, stop it, or even slow it. Can't travel though it and no use in fighting it. It happens. It passes. Always has. Always will.

Regret. For things done, or things that should have been. Missed opportunities. Lost chances. The sad, pathetic realization that things could have turned out differently had you only taken the time.

A regurgitation of petty thoughts too long entrapped within the hollow that is my head. Echoing irritatingly. Increasing exponentially until finally it breaks loose of its feeble container and is released into...

The aether of cyberspace.

Serpent or Rainbow. Or something in between.

Blinded by the lies. Enraptured by the belief that I've been caught up in the drama of real life. Those oddly intriguing events that seem to occur all around me, but always to other people. Observational only. Interaction is prohibited. And please don't feed the humans.

"O".

It was magnificent wasn't it? Or another figment. Illusion.

Or delusion.

Can't help but notice the lack of focus, of fluidity, or of continuity.

Indeed. No matter really. They are free.

And all is well.

Except, perhaps, for the fact that lately I have been most definitely inspirationally challenged. A casual observer drifting aimlessly about devoid of direction. Blown about wherever the hopes and dreams of others may carry me. Occasionally I tend to wonder if a purpose would have made a difference, if there is a chance that by not really worrying about which way the wind is blowing I have somehow missed the boat. Or if, somehow, I have overlooked yet another painfully over used cliche.

I doubt it.

What, really, is there to Understand?

2006-01-16T03:48:00.000-07:00

There are days when I truly wonder about the wisdom of my ways. Some days I tend to wonder a little more than others. Following the mass hysteria commonly know as the Christmas season, moderately fed up with the meaningless debate about the political correctness of "Happy Holidays", "Merry Christmas, and "Season's Greetings", and mostly dismayed by the fact that I did not receive a much coveted I-pod in my stocking, I cleverly sought solace in the one refuge I was sure would restore the faith one more.

Thus once again I boarded the plane headed north.

Destination: The Arctic Circle.

Six years I've been searching the frozen tundra for some some sign that will miraculously make sense of everything. So far my studies have led me to discover:

Isolation.

It does strange things to a person. Strange things that creep up on you slowly and in such a way that you don't even realize what is occuring. Separated from society, cut off from the comforts of the modern world you quickly forget the mundane concerns that once plagued you. Suddenly warmth and running water become a luxury for which you are thankful. A well cooked meal is a gift from the gods.

And talking to yourself seems perfectly normal.

Spending close to third of my time inside the arctic circle leaves me with far too much time on my hands to contemplate the things which are truly important to me. It also has taught me a substantial amount about the things I am quite capable of doing without. It makes the trip back to civilization occasionally seem unbearable. Too many people taking too much for granted, too caught up in the drama of their own creation, too self absorbed with chasing a hollow dream and striving to get ahead. Too distracted by obscene displays of wealth and waste and a narrow, fanatical desire to get more of it for themselves.

Understandable, and likely inevitable, I suppose. Given everything, all basic needs for food, clothing, and shelter largely attended to, it now remains a matter of providing more expensive food, designer clothing, and an extravagant shelter to prove your value to society.

All superficial trappings designed to give yourself the illusion of meaning. Worth. Importance. Something to show you are needed. A special part of life. A unique cog in the mystical machine required for it to operate smoothly.

I can't help but wonder if I were to venture a little further from the safe, comfortable confines of my fabulously manufactured shelter and headed out to play with the cuddly little bears with the alabaster hair, what would happen when I didn't return? A quaint little funeral, a few tears, but then really... nothing. The machine would keep on going, my absence going essentially unnoticed. My greatest accomplishment to date? Providing a few bears with a snack.

Mayhaps it is better to just become a missing person and hope that somewhere, out there, someone actually notices?

Twisted perspectives. Perhaps everyone else on the planet is missing. And perhaps today I really don't care. Or perhaps they were never really there, simply a fabrication of a bored and empty mind crafted to give existence substance.

Or perhaps I just have a little frostnip of the brain.

Regardless, it doesn't change the fact that is still dark, cold, empty and unforgiving.

Which reminds me of a girl I once dated... but that is a story for another day.

Reprised for the Nescient

2005-12-19T12:14:00.000-07:00

A shortage of time, energy, and inspiration combined with dismal fourth quarter sales has forced me to offer a reprised post from a year ago:

Alright.

So there are an astounding number of blind little sheep who seem remarkably dedicated to contributing nothing substantial towards society. Their purpose is markedly singular - They exist simply to consume and to provide fleece for the shepherd.

Fair enough. If the life of livestock is perfectly acceptable to you, who am I to argue? If the shepherd points towards the green pastures of "The Mall" and offers you an all you can buy buffet how could you possibly be expected to resist?

Having come to the conclusion that I am not content to live life simply as a sheep, and having determined that except for a few notable exceptions most of the planet is, indeed, quite satisfied with the status quo there is only one viable option left open to me.

I shall become "The Shepherd".

Cast off all your previous ties. Renounce your loyalty to the Vatican, the Illuminati, the Freemasons, Bushco, your Satanic Cult, and any other ineffectual affiliations. Follow me to peace, happiness, and hedonsim. Let me lead you to glory and euphorically towards Utopia. Give me your fleece and fear not, for I shall provide sanctuary against the evils of the world.

Join the ever-growing ranks of "The Agnostic Coalition of Insightful Deviants Tenaciously Restoring Intelligence to the Planet."

Be one of the first to bask in the light of A.C.I.D T.R.I.P. Experience the delight as you open your mind to new and wonderous visions. Rejoice as I guide you safely through the maze that once was your carpet. Let me lead you on your journey towards the scintillating lights. Allow me to open your eyes to sensations you've only dreamed of. Come with me and Break on through to the Other Side.

Tired of the fear of a burning torment for all eternity in hell? Too busy to be bothered with Confessing your sins? Unable to properly mix a martini? Still confused about the literal meanings of unclear religious texts? Apathetic towards environmental issues? Experiencing troubles in your Ethics 101 classes? Excessively over medicated and too weary to care? Never heard of Clamato? Still haven't received your free I-Pod? Still trying to discern if it's Less filling, or Tastes Great?

I can help!

Act now, and become one of the enlightened and blessed souls who fear not the process of natural selection! Come, join me, be well and prosper!

It can all be yours for only 666 easy payments of $19.99.

Imagine, eternal, panoptic pleasure for under $14,000!

Nowhere else are you likely to find such an amazing offer.

For more information on how you can join the craze sweeping the nation please inquire to burningtorment@hotmail.com.

Sincerely yours,

The "Not-Quite-Center of the Universe",

Sardonic Vexation.

Musical Interlude

2005-12-07T10:54:00.000-07:00

Cocaine plays on a cold and snowy winter evening. A nearby streetlight illuminates snowflakes falling outside. Bookmarking my page I rise from the sofa and stand silently observing the peace and quiet that has enveloped my neighbourhood. If only for a moment, all feels well with the world. I smile. A true, genuine smile, different from the one I've grown accustomed to using to mask my disdain for humanity. A solitary moment during which the loathing ceases.

The music changes to Paranoid Android. My gaze flickers down the street and notes the distinct lack of blinking lights. It seems the recent cold snap has prevented the local sheep from delving into the basement to uncover cheap ornamentations from where they lay buried for the past twelve months. I know that nearby some jackass is peering miserably out at the cold. He awaits the moment he can venture forth and cover his house in bright flashing lights will become a magical statement expressing his obvious christmas spirit and that the rest of us will overlook the fact that for the remainder of the year he is, in fact, still a jackass. I've never met the man, yet I suspect if I did he would be clad in clothing of Peacock Blue. Unless it is a woman in which case the bitch is probably wearing white after Labour Day.

Music is the Victim. My mind foolishly fixates on the the thought of the impending decorations. I attempt to suppress the hope that the lights he has purchased are of the recalled Costco variety and that upon plugging them in he (or she) will enjoy a moment of happiness before they sputter and spark and his whole world once more grows dim. The attempt at suppression fails. Instead I smile.

My reverie is broken slightly as I hear The Unconditional Discipline of the Bastard Prince. I pause for a second before I turn to glare at the stereo, somehow expecting it to offer up excuses as to how that made it onto my playlist. It stares stoically back as though daring me to say something. I refrain, not so much from fear that speaking to inanimate objects may make me appear somewhat insane, but because by the time my mind formulates a suitable reprimand the song has switched to

Fear the Voices. Something in my head tells me there is some hidden meaning to be found in that. I ignore it and return my focus to the world outside my window. An elderly man has braved the cold and is shoveling his walk. An unexpected sight. One that seems to me to be a pointless endeavour considering the snow is still falling. I put odds on the sound of metal scraping on concrete that awakens me at six in the morning is caused by the same man.

Psalm 69. Christmas music I don't expect to hear being piped into the malls this Holiday season brings back memories of a youth gone slightly awry. Once again I smile and begin to wonder why humans don't hibernate. My mind becomes a befuddled mess of impossibilities and improbabilities. Dwelling on things I have lost and those I never tried to gain. I struggle with the uncertainty of a hundred "What If's" before...

Let The Good Times Roll forces another smile to my face, this one slightly tainted with a tinge of wryness.

Tactile Guile

2005-11-18T14:44:00.000-07:00

The voices become more boisterous as the night goes on as if the sheer volume of their verbosity will convince their audience, themselves, and anyone else in earshot of their brilliance. Or perhaps cause us to overlook the fallacies in their arguements. Whether it be a philisophical debate over the effects of a full moon on their favorite sports team or the best flavour for chicken wings - they speak out loud and proud. They disgorge the dogma quickly, allowing no opportunity for rebuttle. Through strength of will alone they intend to force feed you falsehoods and egotistical exaggeration. Picayune posturing that is rapidly ignored by the crowd.

They haven't learned yet the proper methods of persuasion or deception.

Lean in close and speak in hushed tones that gives the illusion of a conspiracy. Reticently spoken and revealing little, yet hinting at something more. Allow the listeners mind to fill in the gaps. Gently guide them in the right direction, but refrain from forcing them. Give them enough information to form the desired conclusion, but permit yourself the luxury of plausible deniability. People, for the most part, love a secret. Thrive on thinking themselves clever enough to have figured it out, relish feeling a part of it, and desperately seek out others to display their genius.

Governments have been perfecting the techniques for years. When the wish for a story to die a quick and painless death they flood the media with direct and forcefull statements that soon fall on deaf, uncaring ears. When they desire for it to spread rapidly and linger for months in trivial conversations around the water cooler? An unsubstantiated leak to an unknown source that strikes up debate and controversy.

I feel truly dismayed to observe some loud mouth behemoth obnoxiously spouting on about his own overwhelming skills and virtues to a crowd of people who simply roll their eyes and return to their drinks.

Far more can be accomplished with a wink, a smile, and a few carefully whispered words.

In Accordance With The Prophecy.

2005-11-16T12:41:00.000-07:00

Her dance is a carefully choreographed chaos that defies explanation. She assaults your senses with a vengeance - Unceasing and relentless. Irresistable. Surrender or be destroyed.
Seductively tempting, yet hinting at danger. You can struggle to avoid it, desperately try to drown in all
out, but eventually will look up into her eyes.

And you will be lost.

Forever.

And feel no shame in defeat.

It is inevitable.

Whatever your deepest desire - She offers to fulfill it.
Whatever your greatest fear - She forces you to face it.
Whatever your darkest secret - She reveals it.

A catalcysmic meeting that leaves you stripped naked, powerless, and
perplexed.

Yet Aware. Of something more; of something greater; of something different.
And you will love her for it.

And you will say "She is mine."

And be mistaken. A living, breathing creature of such complexity, vitality, energy, with so much to explore will never belong to one person.

Except, perhaps, me.

Her name?

New York City

Suffice to say that the five day birthday celebration in the big city went well. So fabulous and mesmerizing, in fact, that it turned into a ten day tour - another testament to just how pathetically inept at avoiding temptation.One of those unforgettable occasions that makes it painfully difficult to leave and seems to leave you wanting more.

Hyde... Meet Dr. Jekyll.

2005-11-02T16:05:00.000-07:00

Life is a magical elixir. A fantastic combination of taste, texture, and scent with a fabulous colour and clarity best served with fine music after it has been allowed awhile to breathe. Like a fine wine it should be slowly savoured with a careful attention to detail lest you miss some subtle nuance that adds to the character. The flavour is best experienced by a clean palate, one that is untainted. Occasionally it is consumed too quickly by the untrained. They fail to fully appreciate the hint of pepper and tobacco and understand the complex aroma that can be coaxed when gently swirled.

Yes, life is a feast for the senses. A wondrous sensation to be enjoyed by all. Of course it is usually best when consumed in conjunction with a proper meal. A little something to fill the stomach and fend off the intoxicating side effects that can occur from an overindulgence in living. A little something to temper the euphoria and keep you somewhat grounded rather than flying off to new dizzying heights only to crash back down.

Yes, a banquet for the soul. A gift to be celebrated. A true miracle of which we are all a part. Each of us only adds to the elaborate design. Together, my friends, we are marvelous blend forming an exquisite phenomenon that is so much greater than the individual parts. A lone we are nothing but a small portion of something that is so much more. Only together is the true splendor made clear and we can finally perceive the vast perfection and beauty of it.

Margaret Wolfe Hungerford once said "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

And I believe for each of us to see the beauty we need but to open our eyes and behold all of the glory around us. I have cast the blinders from my eyes and caught but a glimpse of the fantastic nature of life and living it. I am reminded of the immortal words of Edgar Allen Poe:

Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.

Listen, my friends, to the sound of my soul weeping.

And let there be much rejoicing.

The Demons

2005-11-01T11:34:00.000-07:00

They come out mostly at night.

They haunt you.
They taunt.
They torment.

Though to what end; for what nefarious purpose, I can't imagine. To simply deprive of much needed slumber seems foolish. There must be a deeper, darker, meaning behind it. These minions of the night must have some goal. An underlying purpose they keep carefully masked. A fiendish plot deviously designed and painstakingly performed.

I think perhaps they want my soul.

So stong is their desire and their need they don't seem to realize I don't have a soul. I traded it long ago for one night in the arms of an angel. A poor trade I came to realize later. Once I even begged to get it back, but the bitch told me it was forbidden - Souls, unlike hearts, cannot be freely given. A flaw in the system, I decided, yet my complaints fell upon deaf ears. It seems no one wants to address the problems while they think they are ending up ahead. Why repair a glitch when you can gain from it?

So you are left with the universal question "How can I best exploit the system to work for me?"

A question best asked when you have nothing. Once the emptiness within becomes unbearable and you notice that all around people seem happy and you realize, in that one moment of clarity, that the World owes you something. And it owes you now.

Or when you realize you have everything and that the World owes you more.

So, All you half-dressed harlots in your fish-net stockings, trailer trash trollops in your satan red sequins, and voluptuous vamps in your long black cloaks...

Bring it on.

I'll heed the warning of the fortune cookie - "The finest structure can house the worst evil."

And I will prevail.

I must.

I need a soul.

The Fall

2005-10-24T16:03:00.000-06:00

Black clouds linger in a darkened sky as chill air infiltrates a crack in the window sill. Already the threat of Winter has forced the Sun into hiding. The hours of light are dwindling, leaving behind nothing but gloom. In the streets and in the parks the crowds have dwindled. Instead they seek shelter behind closed doors, comforted by forced heat and false light. Spirits drop, tempers flare, a vast portion of humanity seems destined to surrender to depression early this year. Spring fever fades and the thin line between love and hate becomes even more indistinct. Tis the beginning of the time where many become pensive and withdrawn, retreating to their homes with a good book to wait it out, while others simply seem content to become louder and more offensive - As though somehow by railing in frustration at everyone and everything will somehow chase away the seasonal blues.

Some welcome the arrival of Autumn; the coming of The Fall.

It's a magical, seasonal wake up call that all will not remain sunshine and roses forever. All good things come to and end. It is inevitable. Those overly jovial constructs, with their contrived happiness and freakishly unfounded faith in the underlying good will of the world begin to fail. The mundane act of scraping the morning frost from their windshield seems to take its toll. It becomes difficult for them to muster the energy required to maintain their lighthearted jubilance.

The Fall of springtime lovers.
The Fall of the frivolous frolicking.
The Fall of flirting and dreams of the future.

Eyes still partially closed as they dwell too long on the past, regrets of what they have lost, or what they could have had. A desperate need to cling to fleeting memories and trivial emotions. A futile struggle against nature and a disgraceful refusal to let it die.

Oh, certainly some will be far more successful than others. They will manage to resuscitate some moment of happiness and try to relive it. Continue to breathe life into it for as long as possible and stubbornly refusing to let go. Until, at last, it twists in to some lifeless and tormented mockery of its former glory. Foul and tainted.

Everything comes to an end.

And the sooner that you let it -

The sooner it can be reborn.

Miasmatic

2005-10-15T16:17:00.000-06:00

It was December 11th, 2004. I was babbling incoherently about whatever came to mind and happened to mention something about concern over the impending doom hanging over our head that is the Avian Bird Flu. And chicken heart transplants. Surprisingly I went largely ignored.

Oh, but now that The WHO in collusion with the CDC have decided that it may be a pandemic waiting to happen, suddenly the world sits up and takes notice. H5N1 is the enemy. We must fight it. Sixty deaths is simply atrocious.

Chinanery. A deep desire to not appears as bloody useless with this looming nightmare as with other recent disasters of nature. However, I must note that the UN had requested $175 million to combat and hopefully eliminate the threat a little over two years ago (They went largely ignored as well).

"To stop it from spreading to humans, we have to stop it in birds."
- Health Secretary Mike Leavitt

They received an entire $30 million. Rather than invest in a solution to the problem the governments opted instead to invest in anti-flu medications to give us all the wonderful illusion of preparedness. No money to be made from mass hysteria and fear mongering if the threat is wiped out. (Speaking of... How goes the hunt in Iraq? All those pesky terrorist been brought to justice yet?)

Italy for instance decided to spend somewhere around $40 million on vaccines rather than attempt to squash this little flu bug before it got rolling. The US $100 million. Belgium considers setting aside a billion dollars to produce and distribute medication. The result? Half of the Italian popluation could possibly be vaccinated should the need arise. The US could effectively treat about 1% of its population. Bankers in Belgium still debate the cost/return ratio.

I wonder which 1% of the population they plan on distributing the vaccine to? Or who holds the rights to the miracle medications they are purchasing. And who is most highly at risk? My completely uneducated bet goes on poor people who live in squallor and will be unable to afford or otherwise procure protection (Being at risk that is, not holding the rights). The disease has rampaged about Asia for what? Five years? Didn't hear much about it then. Now that it has reached Europe? Hmmm, they can afford medication in large quantities.

I became curious. Who would be in charge of dealing with this catastrophe should it make its way to our shores once more?

More you may ask? Surely we haven't seen evidence of the Avian Bird Flu in North America?

Well, technically it would appear there has not yet been a noted case of the H5N1 version of the disease. However there have been a few documented cases of H5N2 recorded within Canada and the US. The problem was identified and quickly eliminated. On August 17th, 2004 the last of the virus was eradicated from Texas and the US was once again pronounced safe. But just in case the organization known as the Department of Health and Human Services began working on plans should another case erupt. Which was to be expected. They are, after all, the primary federal agency responsible for health and medical emergency planning, preparation, response, and recovery. Currently they seem to have concluded that should the new version of the disease break out it would result in the deaths of between 200,000 and 1.9 million people.

Yet government officals call for military intervention. Quarantines and resricted travel. They also point out that it only falls upon the HHS to deal with until it is declared an incident of national significance at which time they bring in the most highly trained of disaster relief personnel - The Department of Homeland Security.

Fabulous. Death by disease knocking at my door and I'm going to be detained while someone rifles through my luggage looking for a pair of contraban tweezers.

I can only pray that Dr. Yusef Fischer may, at this very moment, be striving diligently to find a cure for this malicious malady.

In the meantime may I make a few suggestions?

Clean out the bird cage. Bad things thrive in filth.
Avoid playing with sickly birds.
Quit petting your beloved budgie.

The consequences could be severe.

And should you observe anyone inhaling any sort of powdered substance, assume it is Zanamivir.

Vis Mortua Vs. The Bubble of Babble.

2005-10-08T14:18:00.000-06:00

(Warning: Dated Material Enclosed. Open Immediately)

Ahh, the mnemonic mysteries of music.

It has the wonderful ability to whisk you away; back to a simpler, happier time. Allows you to fall back in time and relive some indelible memory of your youth. A sentimental sojourn into history. One song is all it takes and suddenly you are there.

No bills to pay, no job to concern yourself with, no worries.

Any money you managed to procure need not be budgeted. You could feel free to indulge yourself however you saw fit. Dreams were fulfilled by collecting the most coveted CD's (Actually back then they came in the form of cassette tapes. I won't bother explaining this inferior product design), a twisted preoccupation with books (A geek then. Still a geek now), and the rapture inducing slurpee.

Time; however, is a malignant beast. Pernicious. One that slowly eats away at the childlike zest for life and slowly drags you towards your grim, inevitable fate.

A lifetime avoiding all things austere and ascetic and a severe preoccupation with the sybaritic and epicurean has begun to take it toll. Each day the struggle gets harder. Yet there is no option but to try. And achieve:

Paedomorphic senescence.

Aye, ya skint bastard standing all self important, filled with unreal rectitude. How do you like me now?

You gaze into a mirror and are startled by the exsanguious cadaver that peers back. Has it really come to this? Have you really degenerated so far as to become nothing but a stringed corpse awaiting rigor mortis?

Not yet. There are still a few tricks left. Elan Vitai - The force is still strong. The flame of life still burns bright. Still hot enough to...

Ignite the passions,
Cauterize the wounds,
Cremate the evidence,
and maybe even heat up a small cup of tea.

But enough tip toeing through the maelstrom of my mind. I'm off to Hang out with Halo Jones.

Enter the Somnambulist

2005-10-02T10:10:00.000-06:00

Twisting, turning, writhing in the darkness. A moderately disturbing feeling lurking in the back of your mind keeps you from the much needed slumber. Sleep has eluded you for a week and left your senses skewed. Still there, but without a doubt they are slightly off kilter. Life continues to play out as a bizarre cinematic drama. A dramatic experience in which you have been placed in slow motion. A five-second time delay occurs before your mind processes the data. Except for those erratic moments when the pace speeds up, your mind races to keep up, and your heart flutters in confusion. Even more distressing you realize that you despise the feeling that you aren't in control. That somehow your thoughts and your movements have conspired in some dark pact to avoid obeying your will. You momentarily consider beating yourself into submission. Or perhaps drinking until you pass out. But then you realize that is exactly what they want. For you to sleep, to relinquish complete control so that they can go about fulfilling their devious desires without your interference.
No.

Sleep is not an option.

Obviously.

B.C. to spend $7 Million on Meth. Fairly liberal stance, even for
British Columbia, but hey, may turn out to be their most lucrative investment in a few decades.

So, being the fool that I am I decided to try and order Chinese Delivery Online. 1:20 minutes passed and still no food. So much for the computerized estimate of 30 - 40 minutes. It would seem my initial attempt at hassle-free sustenance is a failure. I called. No record of the order. Big surprise.

"Wait 45 minutes and we will have it to you."

Fabulous.

And it seems the price went up $0.50 for my troubles. It's possible this little episode may annoy me. In about five minutes. Forty minutes before the food arrives.

But that was all last night and today the struggle begins again. Upon awakening you go through the habitual motions that begin the day. The morning shower, and the morning coffee. Pulling open the door to venture forth to work and tripping over an oversized Sunday edition of the local newspaper. The elevator ride down to the parkade. The realization that it is an absolutely detestable type day. Overcast and gloomy, a light drizzle of rain, the air uncomfortably chilled, simply a miserable day with no readily apparent redeeming quality. A wry smile reaches your lips as you realize the weather may be an appropriate metaphor.

For what?

Pay attention.

To what?

Shut. Up.

You've grown weary of the listless melancholy that seems to have insidiously enveloped your life. You vow to break free. Starting now.

Right now?

Yes. Now.

You sure? Wouldn't want to rush into anything like that too quickly. Consider the big picture. Perhaps you should wait until you've had the morning Chai?

Bastard. I hate it when you're right.

You vow to break free.

Starting in a few minutes.

Mahjongg and Mabon

2005-09-22T09:29:00.000-06:00

'Tis a day to frolick. A favorite pasttime of Neopaganists everywhere. What better excuse can you have to dance in the moonlight than the Autumnal Equinox? Build a bonfire, bang a drum, find someone to play the pan flute, and rejoice in the wonders of nature. The Japanese, at least, fully comprehend the importance of such a day. They decided it should be a national holiday.

Which seems odd - I don't normally view them as a society predisposed to dancing wildly and freely frolicking in the woods.

Frivolous frolicking. Fun in the forest. Fanatics spouting rhetoric about the celestial importance of the day as they desperately try to tap Mother Nature's power. Capricious cavorting throughout the woodlands. Naked. Closer to nature. Giving yourself over to the spirits of the wild. Oh, to find that center point within. To feel balanced and together. Relaxed tension and balanced focus. And to feel the connection to everyone. To be one conciousness.

Blessing from the Cauldron of Ceridwen. Ecstacy of the Spirit.

Turn East - Call to the Winds.
Turn South - Call to the Flames.
Turn West - Call to the Rains.
Turn North - Call to the Stones.

Consider the possible,
Explore the probable,
and question the truth.

Blessed be and Divine do.

All that dies shall live again.

Oh Good Lord and Lady... It's an outdoor Rave gone awry. An excuse for the bored, the lost, and the lonely to gather about and roast marshmallows while watching the firelight flicker over the glistening nakedness of their fellow free spirits. Feel the love. Give in to it. It is the will of The Mother.

Our hearts beat in unison. You can't deny the power of this night. Cast aside your inhibitions. Embrace the balance.

Embrace me.

Smoke your weed.
Lines of cocaine in the car.
Tabs of acid make their rounds.
The group in the back has 'Shrooms.
Who brought the ecstacy?

Chemically imbalanced with a muddled mind.

Yes, you fraudulent frolicking fuck - I can feel it too.

Keep it Simple, Stupid.

2005-09-15T22:57:00.000-06:00

Bizarre.

Life, generally is a series of up and down. Occasionally things tend to array themselves in such a way that you begin to think there is no possible way things can work out badly. This is usually followed by an extended duration for which you feel you are plummeting endlessly on the Drop of Doom. May as well give in to the despair and ride it out. There's little you can do about it anyway. Once you reach the bottom you can content yourself with digging futilely to tunnel your way out. Yet another pointless endeavour, except perhaps to pass the time until it begins it slow, exonerable rise back upwards.

I've been digging for two weeks. This ride had better start heading up soon, or I fear someone may get hurt.

Someone stupid.

Which wouldn't be a real great loss. After all there are oodles of stupid people wandering about. Most of them wouldn't be missed. Well, maybe for a brief moment, but I'm sure a few minutes would be long enough for the world to grieve and get on with things.

I'm talking those disturbing cretins that just ooze incompetence and ineptitude in a S-M-R-T like hammer type way. They open their mouth to speak and you cringe instinctively awaiting the next great deluge of nonsense and foolishness. They are repugnant and they have a certain way of making a mockery of humanity without even trying. And usually are adept at being arrogant about it. Persistent and insistent Idiot Savant's with an insatiable, esurient taste for ignorance. I fear I've encountered some of their elite - The Marquis' of the Rude, Arrogant, and generally Intolerable. And now I'm tempted to load the whole lot into some giant camion and drive the bloody thing straight into the abyss.

They started out as your basic garden variety nuisances. They quickly evolved into bothersome beasts which, in turn, developed into great repugnant blathering demons set forth upon the earth with only one purpose.

To ruthlessly hunt me down and try my patience.

They've done it well. Very well, in fact, and I really must offer them a small amount of respect. No one has ever managed to try it so very well. So well that over the course of the last two weeks I have become relatively familiar with a concept that I never fully understood before - The concept of stress. Previously it had remained a perfectly vague illness that stuck other people. Stress, to me, was something to avoid at all costs. Up until now I had managed to be rather successful. As usual it was only a matter of time before the gods descended and decided amongst their malevolent selves that I had been getting off just a smidge to easily in their little game of life.

So. Like. What now? Dude.

Well, apparently due to people asking so politely and multi-lingually, I write and hope that perhaps it all gets a wee bit better. Which, all things considered, is quite possibly not a completely terrible idea. Which means that perhaps, just perhaps, I haven't been completed tainted by my surroundings. Thank the Holy for that. And I do believe it does seem to be working. Already I'm feeling slightly more... me. Tempted to get up and wander down to the local club, purchase myself a $4.00 for 3 weeks membership, and see if their is any truth to the old saying "misery loves company".

Or I suppose I could just grab a beer, bury the patheticness in this little hole I've managed to create since I reached rock bottom, and babble on in relatively incoherent patterns. Or just sit back, relax, and remember the words of wisdom "This too shall pass." Content myself with knowing that in four days I can unwind at home and focus on regrounding myself and, as they say, "Sort myself out" before facing another period of exile in the Artic Prison Camp.
I must say that the thought of sorting this mess out frightens me. I can only assume that if I begin toying with all these frayed strings that the damn thing may unravel completely. Which is to say that I don't think it has already. But then again I am usually quite delusional.
Oh, and once I get everything back on even keel, I fully plan on spending five days unfocusing and ungrounding myself.

For my birthday.

In NYC.

So if you would all be so kind as to book your tickets now, I promise to break down and buy a round.

I'm sure it will make me feel better.

All's I can say now is "Thank Buddha everything always works out in the end."

So, for purely entertainment value I present Vex's Modified Commandments:

1) Thou shalt not ask stupid questions. (And yes "How many quarters in a football game?" qualifies)
2) Thou shall endeavour to the utmost of your ability attempt to solve your own insignificant problems such as which toothpaste to purchase before seeking assistance.
3) Thou shall venture forth in mechanical transportation devices only when you have adequate monetary units for fuel to successfully traverse the distance between point "A" and point "B". (Thou shall also ensure that these monetary units are accepted at a variety of gasoline vendors. Dumbass Denny's Discount Diesel cards are not widely accepted.)
4) Thou shall learn the meaning of "Jerry Can."
5) Thou shall remember the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. The other two directions are north and south.
6) Thou shalt not ever utter the words "Hey, Does this look contagious to you?" to anyone except your medical praticioner.
7) Thou shall refrain from asking anyone to drive 666 miles to drop off $125.00 so your insignificant other can pay off the electric bill. Especially the day after payday, and doubly especially at 3:30 in the morning. Look up Western Union or Wal-Mart Moneygram's. Many are open 24 hours. And charge less than I do for fuel and stupidity.
8) Thou shall ask me to drop off your laundry, go shopping, or cook meals only if you are willing to pay the 417% "Do I look like your mother?" service charge. Unless you are relatively attractive in which case the fee may be waived.
9) Thou shalt not play poker, or partake in any other form of gambling unless you are willing and able to lose.
10) Thou shall believe Dr. Vex when he tells you something is impossible. Unless, of course, you are willing to donate a suitably sized "tithe" to make it worth his while.

But for now ya'll have to excuse me. I think I hear a cowbell.

Swimming for the shallows.

2005-08-31T14:25:00.000-06:00

I really should have been paying attention to the signs. There were, after all, quite a few that offered up fair warning of just exactly what it was I was getting myself into. There was, for instance, the sign that declared “Cattle Guard” and was followed by a noticeable rumbling as I passed over some metal grate in the roadway. The next proclaimed “Livestock at Large. Next 17 Mi.” and then finally there was the “Open Range”. All which, in retrospect, were quite clear and straightforward indications that things had definite potential to go awry.

No one has ever accused me of being particularly astute. I’m beginning to realize that there is a reason why.

So, rather road weary and in absolutely no mood to deal with anything resembling work we pulled into the nearest saloon.

They sat grazing at the table nearest the pool table. Handfuls of chili cheese fries being consumed at an alarming rate, and judging from the heffer sized platter they were feeding from I have no doubt that four stomachs were being filled. They looked up and blinked as we entered the establishment and then proceeded to stare, never once pausing in their rapid, beastial consumption.

It was rather unnerving to be fixed in the gaze of eyes so dark, empty, and soulless. It makes you shiver. At that moment I felt like the last remaining chili cheese fry. Alone in the midst of a slimy, sludge-like residue just waiting for someone to breakdown and devour me.

I racked. S. broke. And we proceeded to play the game, ever leery of looking up lest we once again become fixed in those deeply disturbing eyes. All was seemingly going well until a deep, throaty voice croaked up from behind me, “Mind if we play you next?”

I paused in mid-shot and glanced up at S. It was quite clear from the look of horror on S’s face that the den mother of all garishly made-up obese cougars had been the one to make the inquiry.

“Sure, go ahead.” I heard him say. Poor bastard. Never had a chance. He hadn’t seen it coming and was sufficiently confounded that he was unable to concoct a suitable excuse. I cleverly remained focused on my shot and avoided making eye contact.

At the end of our game an eerie shadow fell across the table. I looked up. Again I should have known better. The den mother smiled revealing a well stained set of teeth complete with coagulated cheese and chili chunks stuck to her chin.

I never shoot terribly well while my stomach is recoiling in shock and disbelief, but we managed to finish off the game. A polite handshake and I thought we had escaped the ordeal unscathed. (When the hell did I become so bloody naïve…)

Four tequila shooters arrived at the table and the den mother and her protégé stood up to offer a toast to the winners. I solemnly tipped back the glass and offered a half-hearted thank you. (Dumbass). Den mother leaned forward at that moment and uttered softly “If I get too drunk you won’t try and take advantage of me will you?” Just in case that was a wee bit too subtle she offered up an exaggerated wink.

A few responses leapt to mind. All off them far too rude or offensive to actually be used. Something along the lines of “I came here to drown my sorrows and wallow in self pity, not wallow with the pigs” almost slipped out. Thankfully I hadn’t consumed enough to loosen my tongue that much. Instead it came out as “Of course not ma’am. I wouldn’t think of it.”

Yip, that went over just about as well. Apparently she doesn’t take kindly to rejection, or being called ma’am. Still, in the grand scheme of things, I wasn’t about to worry too much over spilled milk.

Creak.

The doors open and out of the light steps Bonnie Botox and her friend Country Connie. They bounced indoors and paraded directly to the jukebox. No Doubt started playing over the speakers. Something about spiderwebs. Finally, beer in hand they sidled up towards the pool table.

“Can we play?”

S. had that look in his eye and Den mother hadn’t taken her eyes off Bonnie since she entered. I’m pretty sure her claws scratched the table. I could see it coming. It reeked of trouble.

“Sure. Go ahead.” I heard from behind me. I turned and looked. S. handed me the pool cue and headed to the bar. He returned with four more shooters and four more beers.

I shook my head and broke.

Full Circle Loathing

2005-08-27T11:54:00.000-06:00

Close to a year ago I made my first foray into the cyberscape somewhat intrigued by the possibilities presented by an open and largely anonymous forum for the free exchange of ideas. It seemed the perfect diversion for one who spends the majority of his time isolated from the rest of humanity and kept me from losing my mind on more the one occasion. It has helped break the monotony of an otherwise completely mundane and uneventful day. When you are stuck for fourteen hours a day in front of a computer it is a welcome respite to take a slight break every hour or so and see what has been happening elsewhere on the planet. For a while I feared it was developing into some twisted form of addiction, but thankfully I was given an alternative explanation when someone declared “It’s nice you have a hobby.” Indeed. I’m quite content to consider it a hobby, regardless of how compulsive, rather than an addiction. It doesn’t hurt that I long ago mastered the art of denial.

The fact that a few people I actually know read this has not, for the most part, inhibited my expression of views or opinions, although it has, upon occasion, tempered them slightly. I have periodically endured a small amount of derision and disappointment, but they are an understanding group which has yet to be completely offended by anything I’ve said (Which really just makes me want to try harder…). At worst they come to the conclusion that I am “dark”, or “a bit of a downer”, or “sooooo goth.”

Yeah. Whatever.

I suppose it was only a matter of time before acquaintances and associates stumbled upon my little haven on the internet - The type that assume from one simple post that I am, without a doubt, a venal and iniquitous bastard. It’s almost as though I had sprouted fur and fangs and began to growl. I have become the harbinger of doom. Bah. I could only wish.

I have, myself, stumbled across web logs created by people I know. I recall having thought to myself “Oh my, who knew?” Not once have I ever had the inclination to dismiss everything I knew about that person and came to the conclusion that it was a valid representation of who they are.

Recently I received a wee bit of correspondence from an acquaintance which had, as far as I was able to tell, diagnosed me as “…maladjusted with anti-social tendencies…”

Well, I must admit to feeling a small amount of unhappiness about that. Personally I feel perfectly well adjusted. I am, should the situation require it, able to act with an amazing amount of propriety and politeness. Here; however, I’ve just never felt the need. And it is doubtful I ever will, unless, perhaps, it is to make a brief point.

It had not really occurred to me that perhaps this strange little phenomenon had occurred to others until a few began to post similar sentiments about such things. It strange really – Those who know you best accept it, those who know you not at all either accept it or move on, yet those who have only a fleeting understanding of you decide it is a personally explicit exhibit.

Now I must admit that I am guilty of misconstruing the point, interpreting incorrectly, or finding the meaning completely incomprehensible. I have made comments when I have failed to properly understand what it was I just read and subsequently felt like an ass for it. Some I feel the need to comment on whenever they offer up new content, others I am simply content to read in a purely voyeuristic context. Regardless, I have never assumed that from what I read I can form a realistic picture of the person in question.

It is, in my own most humble opinion, an entirely selective process. The writer chooses what to reveal, how to reveal it, when, and why. It is entirely possible that there was a point behind whatever they wanted (or needed) to divulge that you are never going to fully comprehend. Nor were you likely intended to.

Onward…

The Loathing began one night at home. It stuck without warning as it is often wont to do. It started slowly – First the observation of some slothful behemoth in a peacock blue t-shirt. No reason for it, but instantly I took to despising the individual wearing it. A few moments later I noticed a drunken trollop wearing the same colour. Yet a few moments later yet another victim of the same peacock blue. Zero logical explanation for deep disdain I felt for all of them. An instinctual reaction, much like a dog who simply growls at a person for no apparent reason.

I know it was wrong, yet I couldn’t help myself. So, while I refrain from making judgements based on what a person may write, apparently I am unable to keep from judging based upon the colour of shirt they choose to wear. Somehow it seems so very wrong.

Usually such feelings fade quickly and I revert back to my normally kind, considerate, generous, caring, understanding, and compassionate self. This time it continued to grow and fester at an alarming rate. No longer was I content simply to despise people based on peacock blue, I have since come to loathe people based on their posture, speech patterns, idiosyncratic mannerisms, hair style, penmanship or lack thereof, choice of music, and organizational skills. Pretty much everyone is now a source of annoyance in some way or another. I think the feelings are only heightened by the rat trap motel in which I find myself imprisoned, so hopefully with a change in accommodations I can alter my perceptions of the rest of the world.

Oddly I’ve now returned to the place where it all began. Another stop across from “The Last Watering Hole” which, much to my dismay, has since changed its name, yet still has the same blinking Budweiser sign hanging in the window. Perhaps letting loose and once again succumbing to temptation can assist in curing this malady of malevolence?

I'm quite certain it can't possibly hurt.

Here be a few visuals to help you understand my current dismay.... All exactly as it was when I checked in.

Did someone say a Play?

2005-08-17T18:25:00.000-06:00

A Dive Bar. A Neon Sign.

Evening.

CD: (Seemingly perturbed) Aren't they already sniveling little twits? I mean, I don't get one teenager who walks into my store without some kind of rebel suburban attitude and a penchant for wanting to engage me in some kind of drama so they will have something to think about for the rest of the day. This is definitely going too far. If they're already all brats, just imagine what they'll be like now.

Pozzo: Yes yes. You have been correct. So that I ask myself is there anything I can do in my turn for these honest fellows who are having such a dull, dull time.

Vex: (Face down on the table. Muffled) Buy a round Bozzo. It will help ease the pain.

Sigurd: (Thoughtfully watching smoke rise from his pipe) Drinking makes people interesting. And if you drink enough even the most silly conversation can seem important. Just the other day I was having a drink and arguing the drawbacks of baseball's OPS rating as if it were some infinite truth.

SB: I remember playing the Vat last year. A most excellent bar staff -- they insisted on shoveling Chartreuce down our throats until we thought the entire audience was naked. (Leans back and smiles widely)

Sheleena: Hmmmm, sounds deceivingly kinky. (Leans back and smiles widely)

Ago-go: (Looks up from her book) I’m just waiting to be screwed over.

Vlad: Ah Gogo, don’t go on like that. Tomorrow everything will be better.

Colonialave: (Nodding knowingly) I know this emotion completely. You're lonely and yet - you feel as if you shouldn't be. It sparks anger and uncontrolled anxiety.

ESB: My lexicon has been leaking. (Orders another beer)

Est: Everything Oozes.

Pozzo: That’s how it is on this bitch of an earth.

Ros: (Oddly insightful) Generally speaking things have gone about as far as they can possibly go when things have gotten about as bad as they can reasonably get.

Hermes: (Slams back a red bull and vodka. Reaches for the last piece of sushi) Ack! My head is about to explode like the strong warrior from Big Trouble in Little China.

Vex: (Peers up looking rather vexed) I hate having to clean up the primordial bits. (Pauses momentarily lost in a daze) Hot enough for you?

Hermes: Frivolous banter about the fucking weather... Idle idiots who worship idols forever engaged in pissing matches and fruitless comparisons of dick sizes.

Vex: (Notices some anonymous stranger sneaking out the door) Ha ha. Loser.

CD: … Loser? Aren't you the one who smokes crack?

SB: Though I can't argue that crack may be playing a substantial role in the slow but steady retardation of the brain -- I wouldn't presume it is the culprit in this case. (Stops to consume an abundance of Chartreuse shooters that have inexplicably arrived at the table)

SB: (He continues with a shrug) Then again, this is only a theory. Autopsy results to follow.

Sheleena: (Sipping on bong water and apparently scribbling a map on a napkin murmurs almost to herself) Moral fiber? Who needs moral fiber? Hedonism is always the path of enlightenment.

Xtine: (Drains a shot of tequila and nods in understanding) I have been struggling with that problem for a while now. The more people I meet in this world the more I wonder "why bother?" The greatest frustration is it would take only the smallest effort, exerted on a grand scale, to make infinite changes. Ego-centrism is the hottest fad since sliced bread. The mantra "if you can't beat em join em" had once been twisted and perverted into "If you can't beat em, beat em with a stick." But today we "just ignore, and ostracize them till their voices can't be heard"I miss solidarity.

(The room falls silent as all eyes turn to her)

Xtine: (Slightly uncomfortable with the sudden attention) And I'm not drunk right now, if that helps.

CD: True wisdom is recognizing you know nothing. (Angrily hurls a lipstick stained cup across the room. Hits an anonymous lurker)

Dark Muse: I feel like a kindergarden kid reading this… I'm lost after the first paragraph

Hermes: Isn't it vanity that gets out of bed every morning? The pursuit of life, liberty, and property? It's the American dream, baby, as sad as it may seem, keeping up with the Joneses, pursuing that elusive dream of owning a benz, a sizable chunk or real estate, and a lovely wife with blond hair and large, tanned, fake breasts?

Mr. Fish: OK, so that reminds me of "An Essay on the Principle of Population" by Malthus. I have mixed feelings about advocating an end to reproduction. Some parts of the world are seriously *under-populated*. Without immigration, Canada would experience a population decline. It is an interesting idea, but economically, it would lead to disaster. I am not a conservative: I am as far left as you can get, but who will pay your pension and other social benefits?

LingLing: I’ve got a friend who was really depressed and getting off the subway in NYC en route to work. This homeless woman shuffles by with a cart, and says to her, "Honey, you really should wear a belt with that."

Anonymous: Oh look! A charnel-house!

Tim: (Looks up from his comic book in confusion) I thought this was White Castle.

Polonius: Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.

Sheleena: (Whispers to no one in particular) We are so subversive.

Ros: Stark raving sane.

Vex: (Face down on the table. Muffled) That’s debatable.

Tim: (Dejected after realizing it most definitely is not White Castle) I completely feel like I've died inside. Marvelous.

Andi: My unborn twin is trying to gnaw its way out of the back of my head.

Vex: (Face down on the table. Muffled) Buy a round. It will help ease the pain.

Guil: Foul! No repetitions.

Sar: You don't ask for much, do you?

Dena (Thoughtfully searching the sky for meaningful cloud formations): Four words. Never going to happen.

Ros: Eternity is a terrible thought. I mean, where’s it going to end?

Xtine: (Drains another shot of tequila) Whoa. I see dead people.

Vex: (Lifts his head and smiles) Welcome to hell. There are few of them here.

Aydreeyin: (Points up to the neon sign) The neon calls again. Green and purplish hells. And I'm slightly comfortable with it.

Sartre: Hell is other people.

SB: I don't believe we've met, what's your disco filled treasure treat?

Lee L.: O bloody hell.

McBickle: (Happy that another round has finally arrived at the table complete with a bowl of chips. Quits sharpening her box of pencils) So timely. Smidge is such a great word. And, geez, I love dips. And tequila.

Mr. Fish: (Glares at Vex) You should have put it in the recycling bin.

Vex: You’re probably right. (Succumbs to the inevitable and motions for another round of drinks)

Ros: We could go.

Guil: Where?

Est: Well, shall we go?

McBickle: (Brandishes a sharpened pencil in a menacing manner) Really, Please go now.

Vlad: Yes, let’s go.

Ros: Couldn’t we just stay put? I mean no one is going to come on and drag us off.

(Men in white coats arrive to drag us off)

.White: (Smugly) Well, that solves that.

Exeunt Omnes.

*** My deepest and most heartfelt apologies to Beckett and Stoppard***

Vermin

2005-08-13T17:03:00.000-06:00

Returning home has always managed to stir up a wide range of emotions. For years it was a destination of solace and comfort. A much welcomed respite from the anxiety and excitement created from exploring new and varied locations and dealing entirely with the unexpected. A return to a place where people know and understand you, and you them, allowed, for at least a brief moment, the body and mind to relax.

I don’t know exactly when that ceased to be the case. Yet it did. No longer a haven of contentment – It is now a twisted, tormenting, and ridiculously blasé hell. It has reached a point of being overly saturated with stagnation.

Or perhaps it always was, but I was just too accustomed to it to really notice. Or perhaps I just didn’t want to. Regardless, one late night walk throughout a city I once considered home was enough to make me realize it was not.

You can’t always see them, yet you always know they are out there. The diseased creatures, the filthy scavengers, those that survive on discarded remnants or stealthily pilfered prizes.

You can’t always hear them, yet in the dead of the night, drowned out by the screeching of tires and the wailing of sirens, you know their silent screams echo. And an unseen scavenger smiles at the prospect of another easy mark.

You can’t always smell them. Their scent is often masked by the overpowering odour of decay and decadence. Which itself largely goes undetected, so dulled are the senses to that which they have become so accustomed.

Taste them? Naught but the tainted wrongness of it all - Soiled, dirty, and unclean. Spice it up anyway you like, but you are still left with defiled sustenance that just barely manages to nourish.

But you can feel them. Lurking in the shadows causing the hair on the back of your neck to rise up. Or concealed close enough that occasionally it forces the bile to rise up. Regardless of how it manifests itself, It is there.

Ask anyone. They’ll admit they feel it too. They just tend to blame it on bad Sushi.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Blinded by the light

2005-08-09T15:13:00.000-06:00

Hello.

So, it was a most spectacularly boring Sunday. That of the mind-numbing, please-just-beat-me-with-a-stick-so-I-may-feel-something variety. In order to alleviate the condition I did the usual. I surfed aimlessly from link to link in a quest for the holy grail of web logs. I followed the usually recommended procedure – Start at a blog you like, click on something they like until you find one that holds your attention, lather, rinse, repeat.

The result? I’ve managed to kill off 27 more brain cells, gone through a bottle of shampoo, and now have the cleanest hair in Utah. I encountered the regular political pundits, the fashion gurus, the inarticulate activists, the religious fanatics, and the endearing conspiracy theorists.

At approximately 3:00 Pm, after two Chai teas, three Lattes, a coke, and a box of Marlboros I had effectively cursed the name of almost every blogger in existence. Those I didn’t like because, well, I didn’t like them and those I did like because they apparently have real lives that prohibit updates on the weekends. Inconsiderate bastards - Quit your job, ditch the annoying insignificant other, move into your mother’s basement and blog for me. Please?

I’m selfish and needy and lack anything resembling a healthy meaningful existence. I have no purpose beyond living vicariously through the thoughts and opinions of others (Except for the political pundits, fashion gurus, inarticulate activists, and religious fanatics – They can all move to Greenland and hopefully live out a silent life of anonymity).

But I did learn. It seems there is a need for moderate amounts of social reform pretty much everywhere. Armed conflict also appears to be of great concern to many. There is a great debate over the existence of god, as well as which one. Somewhere a tree is in jeopardy of being turned into a university textbook.

But… they were all missing the most insidious threat of all.

Flashing Neon Signs.

The true bane of humanity. You’ve likely heard the rumour that these devious creations can, upon occasion, cause debilitating seizures in some people. Most of you brush it off at that and think nothing more of the subject. But seriously folks, if it can cause such a drastic effect on a select group, are you really comfortable accepting the fact that they are harmless to the rest of us?

Hardly.

The evidence is all around us that Flashing Neon Signs are evil. And that no one is immune. Not even me. Take this evening for instance. I was driving down the road without a care in the world when it appeared before me. The Flashing Neon Sign that proclaimed “Cold Beer Sold Here”. As I drew nearer I saw the Flashing Neon Sign in the window that said simply “AmberBock”. Blink. Blink. Blink. From there it remains unclear as to exactly what happened, but there is no denying that just minutes later I emerged from the building with the Flashing Neon Signs with a cold case of AmberBock. Coincidence? I think not.

I scurried back to my vehicle and proceeded down the road. Only moments later I encountered yet another Flashing Neon Sign. This one lacked words, yet the silhouette of a naked woman was unmistakable. Blink. Blink. Wink. As I passed by I noticed an abundance of vehicles parked outside and a few confused souls stumbling out into the daylight. More victims of the Flashing Neon Sign.

A few blocks later – Another Flashing Neon Sign. This one proclaiming “Souvenirs” with a red arrow pointing towards the entrance. Blink. Blink Blink. Within? A poorly designed storage facility for authentic Indian artwork. I grabbed one of the delightful wood carvings and flipped it over. “$9.99” a tiny white tag proclaimed. Blink. Blink Blink. Seems reasonable for an authentic Indian artifact. I proceeded towards the cashier with my prize lovingly cupped within my hand. Blink. Blink Brrzztt. The sign failed to blink. I looked down into my hand and noticed the small white tag was beginning to peel. I toyed with it a moment and was mildly distraught when it fell complete off. In its place the words “Made in Korea” were inked. Hmm…. Sure an authentic Indian artifact is worth $9.99, but an authentic Korean artifact? Silliness.

Beware the hypnotic blinking of the Flashing Neon Signs my friends. They can be blinding.

Current temperature: 84.
Current precipitation: None.
Current mood: Vexed.
Currently reading: A Chinese Takeout Menu.
Currently watching: Suspect Zero.
Currently listening: I wanna be sedated – The Ramones.
Currently thinking: I wanna be sedated.
Currently smoking: Marlboro 72’s.
Currently drinking: AmberBock.
Current political climate: Tenuous.
Current terror alert: Yellow. Blink blink.
Currently in my pocket: Lint. Three quarters, three dimes, and a nickel.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

And that solves that.

Editor's Note: I ripped off both the beginning and end statement. Sorry.

2005-08-07T00:02:00.000-06:00

Honey, I’m lonely. And yes, as a matter of fact, I do realize you are right there beside me. Really it’s not helping the situation much. The feeling is still there. To be completely honest for just a moment - Your presence actually only seems to be adding to the odd sensation of isolation.

No, I’m not saying that just to piss you off and force you away. I just decided to express my feelings. You recall how you always push to know what I’m thinking every waking moment? Well, I’m trying to tell you. I’m lonely.

Actually the melodramatic anger isn’t helping much. I’ve seen it before, and there are others who do it better. They’ve perfected it. It’s almost as though they were born to it. Some people just do anger well. You, my dear, aren’t one of them.

Remember back. The one who snuck downstairs at 2:00 in the morning to shred every picture of a female in the house and smash the offending frames in which they were held? Who called late at night and threatened the life of anyone, man or woman, who was unfortunate enough to answer the phone? Who, once I quit answering the phone, left messages. Spiteful, vile, “I hope you freeze to death in Alaska”-type messages? She did anger, and psychotic, very well.

No, no. I’m not saying you are inadequate in that regard. I’m sure if you mixed alcohol with your medication you could be every bit as twisted. Seeing as how you are a woman I have no doubt that with a little incentive you could be even more evil. Destroy me? Make my life a living hell? Ruin my life? Yes, well, I’ve seen that as well.

Remember back. The one who came around to let the air out of my tires when I was out playing poker with the boys? And the one who called her brother and father and told them I had taken advantage of her? She stood by and smiled as her brother expressed his displeasure? I was living with her at the time. It was Valentine’s Day. So yes, if that’s the route you wish to take give it your best shot.

Well, you could promise to do better, to be better, but really it is unnecessary. You’ve done nothing wrong. It would still not alleviate the problem. Honestly, sweetness and blind devotion really isn’t the problem. In the end I’m still quite likely to feel the same loneliness I feel now. And no, it’s not a matter of personal compatibility.

Remember back. The one whom I spent every moment I could with. She’d visit me at work and we’d go golfing on the weekends. We’d spend the holidays at her family’s place, take a helicopter trip out to the lake, and spend the evenings drinking wine, talking of alternative music, watching obscure movies, and discussing even more obscure philosophy. I learned much from her, and to this day still miss her, yet that wasn’t enough to keep us from breaking up at a friend’s wedding.

Hmm… Tears? Not exactly a novel idea, but more effective to be sure. But of course you know I have a weakness for crying. Or do you? I can’t actually recall you being around for any of that. Ah well, I must cling to the belief that you knew. It’s the only thought that helps strengthen my resolve. To assume they are spontaneous would break me. Nice try.

Remember back. The one who could cry on demand. At anytime when things weren’t going exactly her way the floodgates would open - A devious, nasty, and generally cruel manner of manipulation. People are generally inclined to be sympathetic and attempt to make you feel better. Yeah, That didn’t end well.

And no, it is not because of her, or her, or her, or her. One is a friend, one an old and dear friend, one just got married, and one is, well, I’m not actually sure how you know about her, but she’s just not it. I suppose the real point is – Neither are you. Otherwise I probably wouldn’t feel lonely.

Remember back. I told you a friend of mine said I was “Chasing a pipe-dream”? She was right, but for all the wrong reasons; and another friend said “You can do better.”? He was wrong, but for all the right reasons; yet another said “Sometimes the best things are sitting right in front of you,” but was wrong and for all the wrong reasons. I said something along the lines of “You’re better off without me.” I was right, and for all the right reasons.

Mendiferous Mind

2005-07-31T13:47:00.000-06:00

Hello menschen.

Today the grass is a vibrant green and the skies are blue. Songbirds sing and a cool breeze blows. For all intensive purposes everything is going wonderfully well. Nothing is amiss. Today all my worries have been washed away. It’s almost cliché.

My feelings are a melodic mélange of munificence and magnificence that yearn to be mellifluous. I have embraced the myopic monotheism and the monopolies that have revealed themselves to me in the prevailing pedagogy of the proletariat. I’ve realized that a faithful dialectic is preferable to a stubborn dyslogistic view. Misanthropic tendency was a mortiferous elixir that threatened to be a scourge upon my soul.

Oh yes. Catharsis. Purgation of the spirit leads away from purgatory - No more pandering and patronizing in an effort to placate the masses. It is the pathway to perfection and to peace, not just frantic phonetics.

Deconstruct the immaculate deception. Discard the shameful theatrics and the stained veneer of propriety. Destroy the sad simulacrum and the flaming effigy of false representation. Display proper deference during this dismal period of deception and decay and exalt, embrace, and even indulge in this epoch of enlightenment. Hold as true as a Triatic Stay throughout the torrential downpour of delicious deviance.

Open and read and be in awe of the most benign and benevolent of the holy books:

The Dictionary.

Out of Context

2005-07-29T12:31:00.000-06:00

Dancer: “So, you guys married? Kids? Or what?
Junior: “Fuck that.”
Senior: “Divorced. I just buried my best friend last weekend.”
Queue Awkward 12 Second Silence.
Dancer: “Vex?”
Vex: “Nope. Hey Senior, sorry about your friend. How ‘bout you sweetness?
Dancer: “Just got out of a two year relationship. Got a dog though.”
Queue most annoying twenty minute discussion of dogs ever.

Junior: “I think I’m falling in love. She’s wonderful… smart, and so much fun. I think I’ll invite her to Mexico with me.”
Vex: “Really?”
Junior: “It’s what I’ve been missing – a good girl to come home to every night.”
Vex: “Yeah…umm… How long do I have to wait?"
Junior: “For me to ask her?”
Vex: “No, for you to clue the fuck in to what she meant by “Massage Therapist” and “Dancer.”

Senior: “Junior’s starting to piss me off.”
Vex: “He has a knack for that sort of thing.”
Senior: “Yeah. But I mean really starting to piss me off. He has no idea how to treat a lady.”
Vex: “Ahh… Smitten with Dancer, eh?”
Senior: “A bit. She’s hot. Think she’ll let me take a picture of her titties?”

B.S: “Dude, you know the best thing about dirty girls?”
Vex: “Nope.”
B.S: “They’re Diiiiiiiirrrrttttty.”

Junior: “My brother-in-law is with the H.A. My dad has a string of strip-joints in Texas. My sister is about to get married to a guy with the Italian Mob an’ my cousin works for the Mexican mafia.”
Vex: “So you, of course, are instantly bad-ass cool by association?”
Junior: “No. I’m just sayin’ if there’s any problems I can pull some strings.”
Vex: “Yeah, OK Puppet-master. Grab me a beer, eh?”

Frighteningly intoxicated stranger: “I lost my wallet.”
Junior knocks Dancers glass to the floor where it shatters loudly.
B.S: “I guess it was true.”
Senior: “What?”
B.S: “If they can’t eat it or fuck it, they’ll break it or lose it.”

Junior: “So, like, one question I gotta ask - What the fuck is the trick to hangin’ upside down on the pole? I tried in once and fucking landed on my head.”
Dancer: “It’s all in the shoes baby! All in the shoes!"

Vex: “Time to go kids. Were outta here.”
Junior: “Fuck that.”
Senior: “No way man. We’re heading downtown to see her in her school girl uniform.”
Junior: “Fifty bucks says we stay for an hour.”
Vex: “Shut up, finish your beer, and let’s go.”
Senior: “Hundred bucks?”
Vex: “Shush. Let’s go.”
Junior: “What? Gonna cost us thousands?”
Vex: “If ya got it Junior. I may be easy, but I sure as hell ain’t cheap.”
Dancer: “Good one.”

Queue five-hour interlude and distinct venue change.

Drunken trollop that sits down next to me: “You’re Vex right?”
Vex: “Yeah.”
Drunken trollop: “I’m Drunken Trollop.”
Vex: “Pleasure to meet you Ms. Trollop.”
Drunken trollop: “You look sad.”
Vex: “Strange. I never felt that way until you sat down.”

Senior: “It’s your shot fucker.”
Vex: “Doubtful.”
Senior: “I said it’s your fucking shot.”
Vex: “I know.”
Senior: “So you gonna shoot or what?”
Vex: (Directs Senior’s attention to the table where he is playing someone else) “You’re up.”

Clueless AudioSnob: “This music sucks.”
Vex: “Go talk to the DJ and request something.”
Clueless AudioSnob: “What do you want to hear”
Vex: “Something I haven’t heard for awhile. How about some Police? But the older stuff, you know, before Sting joined the band.”
Clueless AudioSnob: “Cool. Be right back.”

Amusing Bartendress: “What’ll it be Vex?”
Vex: “Club Soda.”
Senior: “What?!”
Junior: “You serious!?”
BS: “That’s a first.”
Amusing Bartendress: “Twist of Lime?”
Vex: “Negative.”
Amusing Bartendress: “Careful cracker, I don’t need no fights in here.”

And to make the day complete 5:30 Am rolls around and the phone rings:

Vex: “Hello?”
Junior: “Dude, I got a problem.”
Vex: “Tell me you didn’t call just for this early morning news flash.”
Junior: “No man. I gotta go to work, but the bitch won’t leave.”
Vex: “Personal problem. Why the fuck am I awake?”
Junior: “How do I get rid of her?”
Vex: “Umm… Call a cab and give her five bucks for cab fare.”
Junior: “Can I borrow five bucks?”

Darkness and the Lies that Bind.

2005-07-22T23:05:00.000-06:00

The Lands of Zion, Utopia “Light”, July 2005

The people take pride in the majestic views from their homes, their friendly nature, and the obscenely incredible gene pool. It is a place where beauty reigns supreme. The community is filled with sickeningly sweet and lovely people. It is free from refuse, transients, and any other form of unsightly trash. Take a trip to the bank, the Laundromat, and the coffee shop are you are amiably greeted by an Angel. It all gives the illusion of Pleasantville in living colour and given a cursory look it is an award winning locale. The ugly and the off-colour are quickly escorted out of sight. Out of sight and out of mind. There is no place for it here. It is, after all, Paradise.

Well, unless you find little comfort in a place where drinking yourself into oblivion is damned near impossible and is generally frowned upon; where everything you encounter reeks of falsehood; where everything is protected by a shimmering veil of righteousness and shroud of deception.

Venture forth into the darkness and discover the true ugliness that writhes and seethes behind a veil that no longer shimmers in darkness. Here you find the true heart that pumps blue-black blood through varicose veins. In the night the masks fail and if an interloper is careful to avoid attention they can begin to learn of the infidelity, adultery, alcoholism, and envious spite buried deeply by dawn.

At sunrise faces of perfection emerge and the illusion is skillfully crafted once more and passing visitors remark on how simply splendid it all is. You retreat to a lonely sanctuary and desperately attempt to come to terms with the incongruity of it all.

Perhaps it is not incongruous at all, just a basic matter of balance. You’ve wandered so long through a world of clouded grey that you’ve long forgotten what it feels like to live in a world of pure virtue or utter debauchery. What must it be like to bask in the glorious light of god during the day, yet dance to the devil’s tune throughout the night? A matter which is clearly worthy of further investigation; delving deeper into the darkness; and exposing yourself to the blinding brilliance of the light.

‘Tis the only way. And it can’t really be wrong – It is in the interest of science, enlightenment, and understanding. There is no more worthy a cause. Your soul may suffer, but you are a martyr, and so long as you don’t get caught – A happy one.

A few last words to the wise: Invest in a bottle of aspirin, import a bottle of something decent, avoid speaking unless absolutely necessary lest you slur something along the lines of “You’re Mamma”, drink plenty of fluids, ensure you have a full tank of fuel, and buy yourself a dark pair of shades.

And if anyone asks: You “Are conducting vital research.”

All bark. No Bite.

2005-07-19T15:55:00.000-06:00

I despise peanut brittle and coleslaw. I feel quite the same about Cracker Jacks and the pathetic prize within every box. Pink popcorn tastes like regurgitated refuse, and sushi is quite possibly the most disgustingly vile trend to ever sweep across North America. Scotch is like turpentine in my mouth, and no declaration that it’s “Like velvet on your tongue” is going to sway my judgement. The song “Stayin’ Alive” creates an almost physical reaction that forces me to remove myself from anyplace that plays it. Babies are not cute. They are drooling, needy, alien looking little creatures with tufts of hair. Bean salad always has, and always will, suck. Advancements in the design of modular homes makes no difference, I still flatly refuse to live in a trailer. Playboy is pornography no matter how you try to rationalize it (And I’m OK with that) and sex will always sell. I still believe in antiquated ideals such as honour, nobility, and chivalry despite the fact that they seem to be losing the battle to the almighty dollar. I think conventional organized religion has been turned into a dirty joke and I view religious leaders with disdain. Politicians are even worse. No one can convince me that there is a successful political representative out there who hasn’t sold out in one way or another. It’s the nature of the game. A game in which I fully expect to watch both sides paint their faces in bold colours of either red or blue and wave foam fingers in the air during the next election. I’m appalled that political experts claim to be surprised by the Governor of California’s endorsement of muscle and fitness magazines. Globalization has become an excuse for corporations to exploit third world countries under the dubious guise of “Economical Growth”. Environmentalists are wasting their breath - Greenbacks speak louder than Greenpeace. Celebrity trials are meaningless except as forms of media revenue - Guilty or not they always end up richer in the end. Atrocities which result in the deaths of millions occur, yet some bitch with cold feet gets national coverage. Oprah may as well have been a politician and Dr. Phil and his make-it-all-better-pill can kiss my ass. You want a dose of reality – Watch Springer and just see how much people are willing to give up for their five minutes of fame. It’s a sad, sick world out there and normal is a comforting myth, nothing more (evermore…). Marijuana is not the root of all evil unless you really consider sloth and gluttony to truly be sins. I fear I will never understand women, Chia pets, abstinence, or why more people aren’t arrested for public indecency. Stupidity should be a crime. You’re ugly, does that really mean I should suffer because of it? You’re pretty, but must you be such a cunt? You’re underprivileged, so why are you above taking a job doing what the rest of us started out doing? Why must I support your too-good-to-pump-gas ass? The key to appreciating wealth and opportunity is to have at sometime gone without it. Take the spoon from your mouth, get over yourself, and focus on what is truly important - Like how you can benefit from this mess. Everyone should have a shiny new soapbox and is entitled to their opinions, and you just read a few of mine…

… Now enlighten me. What the hell are yours?

Visceral Vanity and Wasted Wisdom

2005-07-15T22:07:00.000-06:00

Out in the real world I have a tendency to speak rarely, with the notable exception of a few close friends which I feel comfortable enough with to babble about whatever crosses my mind. Those select few have my undying respect, as well as my sympathies. I am well aware of how I can get occasionally. But yes, in general, I am the quiet one in the corner diligently pretending to be doing whatever it is I am supposed to be doing and pointedly ignoring the farce of human interaction that occurs around me. There is just far too much false praise and pointless flattery; an overabundance of feigned interest; a generous supply of forced optimism and enthusiasm; too bloody much false modesty; and of course the always present need for small talk.

“Vex, are you OK? You’re awfully quiet.”

“Oh, I’m fabulous thanks. Don’t worry about me.”

It usually happens when the most vocal member of the group realizes that I don’t seem to be hanging on their every word which naturally means there most be something amiss. Why else would I not find them to be the most fascinating orator to grace the planet?

It’s bad enough when it happens amongst friends and associates, but it drives me completely insane when you are introduced and the first thing out of their mouth is:

“Vex was it? So what do you do?”

The question itself really is innocuous enough; however, it always comes across to me as “So, How much do you make and where do you fit into the financial food chain?” and invariably expect to hear a twelve minute monologue on what it is they do, how much they make, and how well their recent investments are doing declared in voice loud enough to be heard by anyone within fifty feet. Somewhat harsh I understand, occasionally people are truly curious, but rarely, and I’ve decided to play the odds.

Is it wrong that I started this yesterday fully intending to see it through to completion, but now find myself bored with the prospect? Within the span of eight hours whatever I deemed inspirational has faded into but a foggy memory. I remember thinking it was important, that somehow everything was going to take shape and fall into place as some fickle divinity had planned. I hate it when I think wrong.

Instead I’m stuck here wishing I had a beer and a cigarette, as though somehow those two things would wash away the lingering lassitude. On a normal day it usually does just that, but today I get the distinct impression that it just won’t be enough. Today the void may just be deep enough that it needs a smidge more to fill.

But where, I ask you, does one find a suitable smidge in Utah? Back home, in what I often erroneously refer to as the real world there are smidges aplenty. Years of practice has taught me all the tricks I require to locate the perfect smidge to act as a placeholder in any given void. Dislodged from my element and I become… inept, anxious, and hopelessly adrift in a pathetic pool of insecurity. Some animals can smell the fear. Some are predators. Some have two legs. It’s all I can do not to shiver despite the heat. Heat which seems to do nothing productive, except perhaps, to make me once again crave the cold, comfortable embrace…

I suppose one day I may tire of prosaic, pedestrian, placeholders and seek a more permanent solution to the issue. Even now I can feel the urge lurking just over my left shoulder whispering twisted notions of happiness and health into my ear.

Marlborough and MGD may not be enough to fill the void, but I’m quite certain they will be sufficient to drown out that sickeningly seductive voice. From there I’ll my faith in Bacardi and see just how deep this damned hole really is.

Until then, however, I’ll grip tightly to the understanding that I am fabulous.

“What do I do?”

I do just fine.

Wasted Time

2005-07-11T14:05:00.000-06:00

The intense desire to differentiate yourself from the rest of the world; to ensure your own identity; to prove your own uniqueness; to prove to yourself that you are, without a doubt, originally you or the need to believe that in some fashion you do not fit the mold; to believe that you are special is overwhelming. No one wants to go through life thinking they are a clone, some tragic waste of time, effort, and energy without direction or purpose. Just some wasted replica of something else that already exists.

It’s a struggle that gets harder to do with each passing day. The day I was born I had only to compete with about four billion others for uniqueness. Today I have around six and a half billion. By the year 2020 eight billion others will be desperately searching for that one thing that makes them them. It kind of makes me wish I had existed a thousand years ago. With only three hundred million or so roaming the planet I’m quite certain I could have been the first one on my block to come home with a new tattoo and a bad attitude.

Now? So passé.

So what is a person to do? What mark can you possibly leave behind that hasn’t already been etched into the billboard of history and tagged by some young artistic vagrant? Drugs, alcohol, rebellion, anarchy, apathy – It’s all been done to death. Quite simply we are running out of creative methods to assert our individuality. New creative outlets are drying up quickly. One cursory glance at modern mainstream music and Reality TV should be proof enough of that.

What does it all mean? It means you’re fucked. May as well sit back and relax, pop the overpriced purple placebo, chug a Bud, buy a SUV, and play with your kid’s beloved Tickle me Elmo that has sat untouched on a shelf for the last decade.

Unless you stop for a moment and quit devoting every waking moment to portraying the proper image and consider other possibilities:

Let us say, just for kicks, that you wake up tomorrow and spend absolutely no time worrying about your own appearance. You shower, not for you own pleasure, but so as not to overly offend the olfactory senses of those you encounter. You get dressed, not in the latest fashion, but whatever happens to be clean and comfortable. You forego the usual vain attempt to match your lipstick to your shoes, and leave the aerosol hairspray alone. You venture from the house with your cap/fedora/beret firmly affixed to your head as protection from the elements rather that some personalized tilted-just-right accessory. Stop at your favorite local coffee shop and use a refillable mug rather than the normal environmentally unfriendly paper and cardboard/styrofoam disposable cup you consume every morning of your life. Instead of purchasing the local paper in all its ninety-eight page glory for the sole purpose of completing an aggravatingly simple, yet inaccurate, crossword puzzle, you use one of the dozen left floating about the coffee shop. You could leave the house a little early, perhaps hitting the snooze button only once instead of the usual six, and permit yourself enough time to walk or take the public transit to work. Help a little old lady cross the street or get off the bus. Donate fifty cents and a cigarette to the panhandler on the corner who can’t help his addictions. Use the phone at work to call your father and say “hi”, rather than your friends overseas. Instead of skipping out of work early to make it for happy hour, drop in to the community center for a little volunteer work.

I considered the possibility. So now I’m going to run upstairs, take a half hour shower, fire up the truck, let it run for twenty minutes to be sure it is properly air conditioned, drive all the way across town to save thirty six cents on a pack of cigarettes, and hit the drive through at Tim’s. Some of you may be thinking of the harm I’m causing to the environment and perhaps hoping that I’ll stop and “Think about the children.”

Well, to be completely honest I did. I took a moment out of my day and considered the sad state of affairs the world will be left in because of people just like me. Then I realized that is only of real importance to people with children. And people with children, as far as I can tell, are doing a far worse job at saving this world than I am - Contributing to the overpopulation of the planet, which inevitably leads to more houses, more roads, more cars, more waste products, and not to mention the obscene amount of disposable diapers littering the landfills. Include the disposable plastic toys, the outfits that last all of six months before becoming outsized (And who wears hand-me-downs anymore?), the strain all the children put on our educational and social systems, and it really is looking bleak.

Which really makes me think the answer is for people to discontinue the reproduction process. No more children for, let’s say, the next decade. Stop the proliferation of new bodies now. Save the Planet.

Worst case scenario? I have 2.5 billion (Give or take) less people to compete with in my quest for originality by the year 2015.

Baa Baa Black Sheep.

2005-07-08T16:17:00.000-06:00

So, you should have been on the road by 6:00 Am, but now it is 2:00 Pm and you still haven’t moved. Not your fault – You’re waiting on others, and they seem to be rather incapable of getting their shit together. No surprise, which is why you are sitting at a comfortably air conditioned establishment sipping on a beer awaiting the call rather than the appointed meeting spot you were to be at eight hours ago and no one has noticed.

A call comes in “Be there in half an hour.”

You order another beer. Forty-five minutes later another call comes in “We’re running late. Be there in twenty.”

Half hour later they arrive and declare “Change of plans.”

You manage to carefully conceal the shock and awe and respond only with silence lest speaking reveal how utterly thunderstruck you are by the situation.

“Drop this off in Corpus, and then leave this in Houston.” They explain.

“Fabulous. If I leave now I should hit Houston just in time for rush hour.” You reply. You place the vehicle in Drive and begin the journey. Four hours later you find yourself handing the third toll-booth operator a handful of coins and glaring fiercely at the surrounding mass of moronic drivers.

Four and a half hours later you arrive at your destination only to find the door locked and no one available to open the door. Calmly you pick up you phone and dial. You explain the situation and the answering party assures you the situation will be rectified. One hour seventeen minutes later you make a fifth call. This one, unlike the previous three, is answered. You explain the situation again.

“Oh shit, I got distracted. Give me a minute and I’ll have someone there.”

Thirty-six minutes later the gate opens, you deliver the package, and depart. Your phone rings and a very apologetic and helpful person offers advice on a place to stay for the night. You politely assure them it was of no great inconvenience and thank them for their help. After glancing briefly at the map you notice the place they suggested is an extra hour in the wrong direction.

You travel north, in the right direction, and stop at a pleasant little town that has a University and a State Penitentiary. It sounds like a delightful place to spend the evening.

You sleep, you awaken, and you begin your travels again. More helpful advice arrives via phone and in an effort to avoid stagnant construction areas and accident you detour through Mesquite to Plano and eventually over to Denton before the next call comes.

“Have you passed Ardmore yet?” They inquire.

You shake your head momentarily before realizing that response is likely not helpful. Finally you manage to utter the word “No.”

“Perfect!” They exclaim happily, “Here’s what we need you to do…”

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Normally I find traveling to be very relaxing and extremely therapeutic. I have countless hours to consume with few distractions except for the occasional jackass on the road with me. For the most part my mind is permitted to wander aimlessly and mull over thoughts that are usually interrupted long before I achieve any real form of understanding. I enjoy the experience, even when there are Vampires. Today was Vampire free. Instead it seemed a day strangely dedicated to the memory of a far fore fearsome creature.

Today was Cupid’s Day.

It all started normally enough, but then these things usually do – In order to find some imagined conspiracy there must be a completely innocent sequence of irrelevant coincidences. The sequence must start somewhere. This sequence started at Love’s Truck stop for fuel.

It wasn’t until much later in the day that I realized how very odd it was going to be. I found myself cruising absently northward along Highway 83 when I encountered a fork in the road and had to make a decision. Veer off to the right and head towards Broken Bow, or stick to the left and head towards Valentine? Ever optimistic I headed to the left.

And soon regretted my decision. Construction, well, a congested area, a painfully chaotic array of flashing lights, and a vast number of brightly coloured signs advising me that traffic fines are doubled in work zones. As for actual evidence of construction or work – Nothing.

Nearing the end of the stretch of dilapitated roadway my path took me to a narrow bridge of questionable quality. I had no choice, however; but to cross the rickety old bridge to safely make my way across Dismal Creek.

Then through Bowman, Southheart, Dickinson…and then retrace steps back through Southheart. Another one of those “Change of plans”. Besides, I couldn’t comfortable remaining in a town called Dickinson – It conjures up visions of some backwater catholic priest and makes me feel dirty and used just passing through…

Anyway the journey finally came to an end at a quaint little lodge where it was deemed necessary to set up shop. Quaint and rustic. The kind with six phone lines available for 100 or so rooms. Internet access, normally my one connection to the outside world was almost impossible to get, and when I did it was at a blistering 32000. Hopefully this helps to explain my extended absence from the cyber world.

Disconnected from the internet, isolated in an area lacking text messaging or cell phone coverage I’ve begun to go… squirrlyish. Somewhat like a furry rodent on crack. Most of my co-workers didn’t notice a difference. Desperate for news of the outside world I perused a stack of week old newspapers in the lobby – USA Today. Classic literature.

It seems the finely trained officers of the Miami/Dade County area were called in to deal with a young schoolboy about seven or eight years old. The youth was allegedly threatening others with a shard of broken glass. Their reaction? Stun gun. Electro shock therapy for the little terrorist. Simply Brilliant. I’m sure there was no other possible way a full grown man in body armour could have taken down the young man. Unless, perhaps, they had tried offering him candy.

Screw it… I’m going to start hoarding nuts and hide in a tree for the rest of the year.

Subversive Submissive

2005-06-22T22:10:00.000-06:00

Oh my. I find it hard to believe a whole week has passed. How very inconsiderate of me. You have my deepest, most heartfelt apologies. Now suck it up.

Happy Belated Summer Solstice… Midsummer’s eve… You know, the day the sun stands still. I truly hope all the Neopaganist wiccan types can find it in their hearts to forgive me without first afflicting me with some evil curse – Like Spring fever. If it helps “A Joyous Litha to you.”

And, of course, my apologies for missing Beltaine. I’ve been simply pathetic at keeping up with my pagan rituals, but I promise to make up for it all during the next Equinox. (Someone please remind me a few days in advance…).

But you see, I have an almost plausible excuse. I’ve been waiting patiently for a map that may lead me from this place. Of course I have now realized that a map is really only of any use if you know where you are to begin with, and where the corresponding position on the map is located… otherwise it really serves no helpful purpose.

So, whilst awaiting the arrival of this map I have kept busy for the last week by:

- Working 102 hours.
- Watching 15 movies. Which, in order, are: Ocean’s Twelve, Lost in Translation, After the Sunset, Blade Trinity, I “Heart” Huckabee’s, King Arthur, Alone in the Dark, Closer, Garden State, DeVour, Sideways, Spanglish, Hitched, The Machinist, and Cursed.
- Drinking 54 beers of questionable quality.
- Drinking three shots of whiskey (A notable event as I generally consider it to be the devil’s brew).
- Smoking 162 cigarettes.
- Consuming 9 pots of coffee.
- Eating Six hotdogs, Two pizzas, One Club sub, a Big Mac, an order of wings, and a Taco.

Pretty much if I’m forced to wait much longer for this alleged map I just may perish due to disgust with myself.

Thankfully I had the pleasure of the following to keep me entertained:

- 3 drunken phone calls after 2:00 Am.
- 5 drunken text messages after 2:00 Am.
- 1 drunken dumb-ass trying to get into the wrong room after 2:00 Am.

So, by my best calculations I’ve squandered 102 hours working, 35 hours sleeping, 22.5 hours watching movies, and still have 8.5 hours unaccounted for in the week.

My parents must be so proud.

More to come… If I decide to pull the gun barrel from my mouth.

Somatic Insomnia

2005-06-15T23:17:00.000-06:00

The skies are black – Not a real black, but the deep-blue tinged comic book black.

The moon dangles from a lamp post and emits a gossamer luminance over crimson water.

Dark silhouettes flicker beneath the surface.

She lay still, reposed on a boat, a small barge without any rails.

She arose and beckoned. Her lips were the same red as the waters around, her hair the same blue-black of the sky above. The rest was unclear, obscured by the shadows and the shimmering veil of light.

She beckoned again, a sensual gesture I could not deny. I moved, and I was moved.

A splash - It disturbed the serene and tranquil moment. I turned to see.

A cruise ship, a ghost ship - Milla Jovovich and Christian Slater battled hellhounds on the bow. Both were dressed in black. On the stern – Pierce Brosnan and Natalie Portman enjoyed a candle-lit dinner. He drank merlot from a martini glass and she sipped pinot from a plastic beer cup. They began to argue.

Her hair was crimson as the water, His blue-black like the sky.

Jack starts singing In Between Dreams.

A raven cries out and I gaze up. It descends wings wide and beak open in a silent scream. It, too, is the same strange black. It comes at me. It comes for me.

It slows to a painful frame-by-frame available only when sleeping. The beak opens wide and my glasses fog up.

I realize I am wearing contacts, yet it seemed I was blind.

The vision clears. A bird rests upon my shoulder. It turns and cocks its head like a perplexed puppy. I reach for the scrap of paper it carries.

I notice my arms are covered in blood, yet my hands are clean.

The note reads “Come.”

A phone rings and I answer. “Remember to call your father this weekend. It’s father’s day.”

It rings again. No one is there.

It rings once more. “Please wait for an important message regarding your television service.”

I throw the phone in the lake. Tiny ripples form and fade into the distance. Three hours later a tidal wave capsizes a catamaran. I can’t help but wonder.

I look around. The raven is gone. The ship is gone. She is gone. I am alone.

A bloody hand grabs me and tugs me away from the water. I follow. I look back.

She beckons.

Synthetic Methodology

2005-06-11T23:11:00.000-06:00

It occurred to me early in the week that people were seemingly far more obnoxious and generally annoying than was usual. On Wednesday I found myself particularly offended by this noticeable trend. At one point it pushed me beyond my normal disparaging remarks and subtle disdain and actually made me angry enough to raise my voice.

Well, almost. I really wanted to, but I just found, as usual, that I couldn’t work up the necessary passion to warrant a vocal outburst to demonstrate my distress with – Everything. Self-control prevailed and I calmly realized that it was, at worst, a nuisance, an insignificant event which may have required an entire 210 seconds to remedy. No big deal. But it made me examine the reasons behind my uncharacteristic outrage.

Thinking that perhaps my objectivity was skewed by a bad day or lack of sleep I decided to dedicate an entire week observing and reflecting upon the behavior of the people with whom I interacted.

Now I am forced to face the dismal realization that people have officially given up on the concepts of respect, manners, civility, empathy, understanding, and rationality. Social deportment is at the lowest level it has reached in centuries.

“Gimme, Gimme, Gimme!” - The mantra of a new era of the greedy, selfish, and the self-serving. There is no longer such a thing as a polite request; an expectation of consideration; or an assumption you will be treated with even a modicum of respect.

Even the overly-medicated mendicant on Main Street awaiting alms for alcohol has begun to develop an attitude. No longer content to appeal to your sense of decency, plead for your pity, or to sit patiently and solicit your sympathies they have become arrogant and aggressive. They now command you to part with your coins and demand you part with your dollars.

The world around me is collapsing and devolving into such a state of tactless disrespect it really is no wonder I am having difficulty maintaining my insincere mask of amiable and suave refinement. To be completely honest I was having a far better time pretending to accept the thin veneer of forced politeness. Now I just wish upon them some debilitating venereal illness - Cupid’s Itch perhaps.

It's reached the point where a polite request from a waiter, waitress, hostess, barista, cashier, or bellhop has been replaced by a rude, socially impaired soliloquy of obscenely pointless desires that they expect to be met immediately to feed their need for instant gratification. There is no cognizant realization of how utterly boorish and insulting the demands may be, only that they be met Now.

Society, it seems, has forgotten the Magic Word.

A tragic loss that currently has me wanting to suggest people have the silver spoon removed from their mouth and shoved up their ass. Of course they would have to undergo some clever procedure to have their head taken out of the rectum first. Perhaps the relief would actually enable them to form a smile?

Basic niceties people - Is it really too much to ask?

Sincerely,

Milquetoast.

Nice work Chavez. Pass the Peyote.

2005-06-05T00:09:00.000-06:00

Three things I should never do while drinking: Pick up the phone and Blog. The whole writing thing results in a dismally crafted submission of vague tripe. Wholly self-indulgent gibberish created for no other reason than to appeal to my own sense of vanity. Oh, and to prove the rest of the literate world that I am delightfully fabulous. I must admit; however, that I could not have done it alone. I have my own personal editing team to point out errors in spelling and grammar. Little details like the "e" missing in mdia are brought immediately to my attention (To any I may have offended by this little oversight - My apologies).

On occasion conceit forces me to go back and correct these glaring omissions and errors. It has not yet caused me to delete a post, although I have been tempted repeatedly. There is a lot of garbage to be found throughout the past 10 months. Much of which the world would be a better place for never having encountered. Ah well, take the good with the bad, and take it all with a spoonful of sugar. And a shot of Vodka. I once thought of creating another blogspot. It was to be entitled Mordant Cliffnotes - Chicken Soup for the Stupid. Then I realized I am probably better off being misunderstood by most. Better to remain silent and be thought a fool...

So, I embarked on a journey of memetic deviation, though I really have no idea what exactly that means. While searching for the answer to one of the most perplexing questions of our generation - "What, exactly, is a meme?" I became confused to learn that even the esteemed experts, The Memeticists, can not agree on a definition. The most vocal sect of them have offered "Any piece of information transferable from one mind to another". It appears to be based on assumption that ideas, theories, mood, music, etc evolve, replicate, compete to reign supreme.

Fabulous. "Hello. I have a degree in Memetics (or is it Memeology?). Would you like fries with that?"

Switching gears for a moment:

Most Esteemed Members of the Web Log Community,

Enough with these false claims of being humourous, sarcastic, irreverent, observant, and fabulous. Tell you what - Try applying some of those traits to your writing. Continue to ramble on with your deeply insightful, oh-so-original political dogma. Leave it to us experts to decide just how highly you rate on the witty and brilliant scale. Unsure if this is a jab directed at you? Then it most likely is. But only because you suck. Bad. It nothing personal, and don't even try to dispute the imputation. I've located an army of Memetic Minions to prove I'm right.

Yours Truly,

Moe, Ron. Esquire.

And now we're back to... umm... other stuff.

Just like to respond to the two inquiries I had regarding the new addition of the Answer of the Day. May I please direct your attention to the list of others worth checking out to your right. Yes, there. Where it says "You'd be better off here". Click on them. Pay attention. Leave a comment. They are, for the most part, good people (Well, at least as far as I can tell in this clouded cyberscape). Although if you manage to piss them off you are on your own. And don't bother telling them I sent you. Most of them will already know. They're perceptive that way.

One moment please. I have to refer back to the manual. Offend some people blah blah blah flattery will get you everywhere blah blah blah blah blah eccentric blah offer personal glimpse. Oh yes...

For your confusion I offer this little titillating tidbit. An email I sent that even makes me wonder what was going through my mind at the time:

"Yes peoples. The proper pluralage of people. Rarely
used by anyone. Except by myself and the minions.

A sleepless
badger? Interesting. I had no idea.

I slipped away this afternoon.
Everyone assumed it was for tequila shots. HAHA on them. I was drinking beer.

The FOOLS!

Cheers,

The Almighty me."

It's empty. Must run...

Yours Truly,

Dr. Vex, PHD (Memetics)

Oh. Woe. Is. Me.

2005-06-04T01:01:00.000-06:00

Ever had one of those days where you find yourself so incredibly bored that you've passed the last hour playing "Duck hunter" in the top window over your Statcounter and haven't once been annoyed that every time you hit a duck you have to wait to be redirected before you exit from the Online Reward Center for the next shot? Yes? Well, you are just pathetic. I get annoyed every time. Which is why, after the second hour, I began to play "Next Blog, Next Blog, Random Link, Read". I must admit I found some wonderful recipes for Tofu (Which, incidentally, is made from soy). Hopefully they work just as well when I substitute beef for coagulated soy milk. I was also amazed at my apparent proficiency at knitting. I really think I've mastered the Twisted Purl Cast on. At least it seemed to work well with a mismatched set of pens and a loose thread from my shirt. At some point in the day I deemed it necessary to peruse my yearly "Employee Performance Review". The past eight or so years I didn't bother to read them, but then I wrote them - I felt it would be redundant. This was the first that was compiled by someone else. To my amazement and amusement it was the best review I have ever received. Apparently I was being too hard on myself in past years, or maybe I just had a better understanding of exactly what it is I do. Of course a narcissistic nature refuses to allow me to go any further without pointing out a few of the highlights:

"Vex has and excellent attitude and a great sense of humour... adapts easily... very dependable... can be counted on to help out whenever needed."

"Vex is an excellent (Insert Job Title Here) and an asset to the company."

"Vex has a very positive, easy going attitude and is always willing to help out whenever necessary."

At this point I was feeling rather smug about the whole thing. Seems I had somehow managed to convince my supervisor that I was somewhat competent at my job (and very helpful). The follow up phone call to review the results was the part that made me giggle:

Ms. Supervisor: Vex?
Me: Hello Satan.
M.S.: (Laughing) You read the review?
Me: Yes.
M.S: And?
Me: I couldn't have said it better myself.
M.S: You read the part about "Planning and Time Management Skills"?
Me: "He plans ahead and manages his time very well"?
M.S.: Yip, that part. You notice I left out "In order to free up more time to drink"?

Damn, she has a perfect understanding of what I do.

Now we come to the problem. As you may, or may not, be aware I absolutely cringe when I face problems. I abhor them almost as much as I despise making decisions. So, understandably, I am quite disturbed trying to decide what to do about the problem:

M.S. is leaving her job, which means it is vacant, and I have the option of applying for it. The problems?

- Relocating from my current residence. Not really as issue, I spend much of my free time in the new location anyway.

- Less money. Again, not a huge issue, half the hours and weekends off rather than the crap I've dealt with over the years. No more winters with a view of the arctic ocean? May be worth it.

- The travel comes to an end. I really can't express how much this one is bothering me.

- I truly doubt my ability to thrive, or even survive, in a structured office environment. I'm far too accustomed to doing what I please so long as the work is completed at the end of the day.

- Corporate sycophants and "Yes" men. It would be only a matter of time before I said the wrong thing.

- Potential for advancement. Which would be novel. There's nowhere to go from where I am currently at.

- Out of the other qualified candidates for the position only two I have faith to do the position justice. One is completely disinterested, the other a long shot. Any of the rest would, to put it bluntly, suck miserably and lead to my inevitable leaving anyway. I almost feel obligated to apply just to ensure a bigger ass doesn't end up with the job and alienate the few that are actually good at what they do, rather than good at who they do. (Which is completely bizarre as I have been one of the biggest supporters of the "It's not what you know, it's who you know Theory").

- I completely resent the fact that some power hungry, corporate minion could soon be my boss.

One week to decide. Suggestions, opinions, advice, or insights are appreciated.

Ha Ha! Loser!

2005-06-01T14:02:00.000-06:00

I'm not angry. I'm not offended. I'm just disgusted.

It started a few months ago when I first encountered an article in the local newspaper explaining that all the playground jungle gyms were coming down. It escalated slightly when I discovered a local park landmark was to be torn down. And today it reached a pinnacle when I read another aggravating expose on self-esteem in schools being the reason that the game of tag was being forbidden in some schools, as was the use of red pens for correcting their homework assignments. Apparently lavender is the new red. Competitive team sports and games in which there is an easily defined winner and loser are on the outs.

To the sick, twisted fucks that come up with this shit: "Kiss my ass."

Mayhaps you should could quit worrying about the youth of the nation actually having fun and enjoying themselves and expend a little more effort it trying to repair the appallingly decayed state of education in the classroom. Personally I found a little competition to be exciting and enjoyable. I even discovered the experience of losing had some identifiable merit that did not result in emotional scarring. In losing I realized one of two things:

1) Perhaps the activity or academic pursuit was not for me. I had to seriously consider the fact that despite my deep desire to engage in synchronized swimming professionally I lacked the necessary grace and timing required to excel at it. I also found it difficult to bitch and complain while under water. Sure, in time and with a little practice I could likely have been OK at it, but to be honest I was never going to be a Star. I can only imagine how much of my life I could have wasted on such a thing had everyone been encouraged to lie and spare my feelings. If I suck at something at least have the decency to tell me. At some things I am completely inept, I know this. I no longer participate with them. I leave that to people with talent, skill, and aptitude.

2) Perhaps the activity or academic pursuit is for me, but requires a little effort on my part. Nothing like a little dose of "Loser" to convince you to try harder and strive to be better. Without a healthy fear of losing, of failure, of ridicule from your peers how do you inspire someone to work harder or convince them to work to their full potential?

And what kind of future lies in store for them when they are forced to venture alone into the real world? Newsflash for you dumbass - It's dog-eat-dog out there. Competition is everywhere. Jesus, we've even managed to turn the institution of marriage into a bloody game show. How well adjusted do really expect them do be if at no point in their formative years have they learned to deal with the misery of failure and losing? Can you say "Selfish, self absorbed, sniveling twit?" Adults with the petulant me me me attitude of a two year old? People with an adamant and illogical inability to admit when they've been wrong? Splendid. Definitely a step in the right direction towards promoting the healthy growth of the children. What possible niche would such people fill that doesn't, at least occasionally, require them to accept responsibility for making a wrong decision (Well, except for being President. But really, they can't all become President can they?).

No child left behind. To ensure the success of this little brainchild program we shall ensure that all children are equally sheltered from reality and receive identical, intellectually stunted educations. When they grow up we can house them in trailer parks, placate them with beer, get them hooked on nicotine, remind them that Walmart accepts food stamps, and rest easy knowing we have effectively created an uncaring and uneducated population frightened of the colour red. But not the calm and soothing Lavender. Praise Jesus for that.

Pandering to the lowest common denominator does not strike me as the best route to take. Certainly it's good enough for the folks who aim to one day manage the local "Cum N Go", or the "Pump N Pack" along the highway, but what of the adventurous few who aim higher but are restricted from doing so due to increased safety measures and a fear of heights?

Quite simply - This is getting ridiculous.

Yeah yeah, I know - Back to my corner for a "Time Out".

Section 8

2005-05-30T23:21:00.000-06:00

It's one of those days where I feel a desperate need to communicate. Unfortunately I have absolutely nothing of value to communicate. My mind is in that discomforting state that occurs when a millions thoughts race through your head at an alarming rate and nothing stays there long enough to form into a coherent idea. It's cerebral recrement, or perhaps excrement is the word I am reaching for. Certainly it is unmitigated crap. Whatever it is it smells bad and it makes me queasy.

Now usually this condition is common only during periods of increased stress or apprehension. Something that occurs in anticipation of something which I find awkward or disagreeable - Like public speaking or informing someone that their employment has been terminated. Currently; however, life is relatively uncomplicated and free of any urgent concerns that I would expect to result in this odd feeling of anxiety.
So, whilst discussing this little problem with a dear friend of mine they reminded me of a troubling little problem I have that has proven to be vexing time and time again. It's a little curse that has plagued me ever since I can remember and it seems unwilling to cease any time soon. So far in my life I have only encountered two people who appear to be exempt from the curse and one person who seems to seriously understand the condition. Cause for concern? Of course not - A minor quirk, nothing more.

To delve quickly towards the crux of it all:

I have been stricken by the Three Day Malediction.

To try and explain:

No matter how much I like someone, despite the fact they are perfectly nice, normal, intelligent, and interesting people and attractiveness notwithstanding I, after 72 hours, begin to resent their presence. Every fiber of my being seems to shrink in upon itself and begins to despise the offending interloper that dares infringe upon my time. The sight of them, the sound of their voice, even merely knowing they are close brings an almost overwhelming feeling of contempt. They become absolutely loathsome. Generally a full 24 hours apart is sufficient time to allow me to revert back to normal. 48 hours guarantees it.

This, I now realize, is the source of my distress. Since Thursday I have been charged with the responsibility of training someone to do my job. Which pretty much means that for 14 - 15 hours a day I have a human shadow. 5 days with no respite and none looming on the horizon until June 8th. I'm doomed - My tenuous grasp on sanity is threatened.

Oh my... can you say Sociopath boys and girls?

And so ends tonight's rendition of instability Unleashed.

I need a drink.

Yano estes chingando vavamos... Or something like that.

2005-05-29T23:11:00.000-06:00

Today appears to be the day that everyone seems dedicated to eliminating my normally understanding and accepting attitude and turning me into a ranting, raving, frothing at the mouth lunatic.

Oddly insecure people desperate to make some sort of connection no matter how tenuous. As if I care if your third cousin's middle name is "Vex". What cleverly conceived thought process even remotely translates that little tidbit of information into a life long bond of friendship? Am I really expected to exclaim gleefully "Wow, what an amazing coincidence. We must be soul mates. Let us hug!"? I am not impressed. Nor amused. I am; however, mildly irritated.

Oh, we get to move along to inconsequential small talk and useless questions? Yippee. I woke up today and thought wouldn't it be absolutely wonderful if I could waste away part of day answering the obvious. "Hot enough for you?" What was the first clue Sherlock? The river of perspiration that has started to pool around my feet? Or the surprised "You haven't gone for lunch yet?" Yet another astute observation, my friend. That is some wonderfully heightened perceptitude you've got there.

You know what would really make my day? If you were one of those fabulous few whom, through some miracle of the divine, had managed to procreate. Yes, if you had some wonderful stories about your "little blessing" newfound ability to goo or gah that you would like to share I would forever be in your debt. The first rendition of "Baby Rolled Over" was fascinating. I was able to accept politely, smile, and offer some clever remark regarding the joyous wonder of children. The second time I can manage a nod and a half-hearted smile. Third time? I'm beginning to experience some difficulty feigning interest. The fourth time? Come on - Even Gandhi would want to rip your tongue out and fill the hole with salt.

No, I haven't seen the latest Star Wars. Yes, my life feels slightly empty an meaningless because of that fact. No, I must have missed the headline that said the fellow who plays Anakin is considering giving up acting for architecture. Yes, I'm serious I didn't see that... No worries though - I'm sure I would have felt a disturbance in the Force if such a thing was true.

Finally - I'd love to proofread and edit your daily report. I'd also love for you to take my word for it when I tell you that you meant "kept" instead of "keeped". And yes, I'm quite certain that there is no "e" in "Lightning". Well technically you are correct - "Lightening" is in the dictionary, but as a verb, not a noun... Ok, true, it is as a noun as well, but come on, we are not giving birth here. Feel free to keep it in there if you disagree.

Oh really? Baby can roll over? Fascinating.

I Lost Myself...

2005-05-26T00:02:00.000-06:00

(The thoughts and events that follow are real. No facts or names have been altered to protect the innocent.)¹

It was not your typical cliche dark and stormy Monday night. The darkness was so thick and tangible you could collect a bit and save it in your pocket for another day. A relentless darkness that feared nothing, save for the occasional rumbling of the night sky heralded by flashes of lightning. It was electrifying. A night which, despite nine hours on the road, begged me to continue. I have long been unable to resist proper pleading and nature's teardrops running down my windshield, thus I surrendered myself to the evening and pressed onward.

I was traveling through Nebraska along the I-80. I glanced down at my map (See attached image - I must say this is possibly the most useless map I have ever had the pleasure of traveling with) and realized that was all wrong. In order to properly expedite this little journey I should really be traveling through Kansas along the I-70. So I did what any clever tourist would do - I took my next right off the Interstate and headed south. My map, sadly, did not reveal any insight as to exactly where to south I should be heading so I accepted the sign that proclaimed "McCook 63 miles" as my goal and relied entirely on intuition. What I had previously believed to be complete and utter darkness was, upon exiting the interstate, exposed as a falsehood. Now, on a disconcertingly deserted stretch of Route 83, I discovered the true meaning of pitch black. I permitted my mind to wander as only a weary and fatigued mind deprived of outside stimulus can meander. Which is, of course, when things usually tend to get interesting. The first thought which popped into my tiny brain? Boy, it sure is dark. Followed by - I wonder where all the people are?

I pondered the latter question for a few moments and came to the obvious conclusion: They had been taken by Vampires. What other explanation could there possibly be for a landscape so devoid of humanity? I was armed with my trusty bottle of Aquafina² holy water, and was quite certain that my blood was far too polluted with caffeine and nicotine at this point to attract any of the Nosferatu worth their weight in blood - But still feared the type of blood sucker that would stalk the roads of Nebraska. I remembered that a wise man had once informed me that Vampires were a myth and simply didn't exist. Well, Thank Buddha for that. As my heartbeat slowed and my tinge of panic began to subside I as recalled a wise woman telling me that Buddha didn't exist either. He was simply another myth created by an evil covenant of monks in an effort to line their coffers with gold by striking fear into the minds of mortals³. What do they expect now? 10% - 15%? A pittance to pay for salvation. Nothing like the promise of eternal damnation to convince the masses to loosen their purse strings. So, what other fearsome creatures roam the night? Witches perhaps? I know, I've been told that they don't really exist either. But riddle me this then genius - If witches do not exist who did the Hindu Inquisition° cleanse of devilish influence by burning at the stake back in 1692? Innocent people? You expect me to believe that society would have let that happen? Let me tell you something my friend, I am not gullible enough to accept that explanation. My, it sure is dark and this storm is horrendous. I can hardly see a thing. If I was clever I'd seek shelter indoors somewhere safe and wait it out. So where are all the people? Vampires are out. Witches, I decided, were exterminated over 300 years ago. Hmm... There goes McCook. But you're really not tired. May as well keep going until you hit I-70. It can't be that much further and you still have almost half a tank of fuel. (My apologies, I realize it can be quite perplexing trying to follow along as the voices in my head constantly interrupt. I, for the most part, have learned to ignore most of them.) Then I thought of the classic Night of the Comet. I suppose it could be possible that a vast majority of the world had been wiped out in some cataclysmic event and I had missed it. So thinking the word cataclysm made me think of the Dragonlance Chronicles and the obscene number of spin-off novels that have been printed. Wouldn't it be funny if, say, a few hundred years down the road the descendants of tonight's survivors found a set of these novels and began to revere dragons and feel some anxiety about encountering a five headed fire-breathing beast? Silliness again - I understand. People are far too astute to fall victim to such a thing as mistaking a fanciful work of fiction for gospel. I pushed such thoughts from my mind as I pulled onto I-70 and headed east. It was 1:00 am and I was still only guided by the faint illumination provided by my headlights. Zombies. Of the Resident Evil, Dawn of the Dead, Army of Darkness, and 28 Days Later variety. That would explain it. The indigenous population had succumbed to some tragic outbreak of zombie-ism. Ack! I'm doomed without the anti-virus. I recall reading somewhere about zombies and some Voodoo type religious group that worships these living dead. Perhaps religious is the wrong word. I think Cult would be a more apt description. I also remember reading somewhere that raising the dead is impossible. You cannot re-animate corpses. So what, I wonder, would persuade a group of people to create a Cult that offered prayer and benediction to a zombie? Thankfully this has never erupted into a large scale, worldwide phenomenon. That would be frightening. And then imagine the trouble that would ensue should this Cult of Zombie Worship began to accept, no - Demand! - Donations to further its diabolical cause under the guise of saving your own precious soul. Actually that sounds rather intriguing. Something I could really sink my teeth into, a little distraction to help me feel revitilized. Almost born again.

But boy, it still seems dark.

¹ - Except for the following footnotes which help clarify a few points that I may have been confused on in my state of exhaustion.
² - Aquafina spelled backwards is Anifauqa. Need I say more?
³ - I later realized I was mistaken. The followers of Buddha do no such thing. They are a benevolent group of people seeking enlightenment. My apologies to Buddhists everywhere for my error.
° - Again I realized I was mistaken. It was not a Hindu Inquisition and they were in no way responsible for any such atrocious burning of people at the time. My apologies to Hindu's everywhere.

Tainted Love

2005-05-21T15:00:00.000-06:00

So I sobered up and read over some of my previous posts. I must admit I was sadly disappointed by what I saw. Inspirationally dead material. Crap really. Drunken profession of my love? Oh please. How magnificently original. For those of you without intimate knowledge of what I'm babbling on about allow me to explain. When drunk I have a disturbing tendency to transform from my normally happy and cynical self into "That Guy". By "That Guy" I mean the annoying drunk guy in the corner who inexplicably puts his arm around you and utters the infamous words "I love you." It is a slow metamorphosis that occurs with varying stages.

It starts out with quiet and mellow drunk guy. Almost indistinguishable from quiet and mellow sober guy. I'm usually content to sit and drink, play some pool, watch the band, and keep my mouth shut. All the while becoming increasingly amused by the antics of the drunk people around me. For the most part I think it would be best if I just stopped my consumption of alcohol here. I haven't yet made a complete ass of myself and I will fully remember not making an ass of myself.

Stage two is a noticeable slide towards trouble. My mouth opens and some insipid gibberish spews forth uncontrollably. A snide remark may escape, but if I am terribly lucky nobody takes offense. If they do - Too bad. Odds are it was true and needed to be said. It is at this point I also come to the astute realization that I am nearly invincible and unable to fail at anything. Phrases like "Here, hold my beer and watch this!", or "Twenty bucks says I can double bank the eight ball in the corner", or "Oh yeah, she wants me." At this point there is no doubt that I have made an ass of myself and will fully remember making an ass of myself.

Stage three. Painful. Marks the inexorable decline to stage four. Here I magically acquire the ability to master activities I previously had no expertise at in any way. I become the Solid Gold Dancer, the Rock Star, and the Philosophy Major. Quite simply put there is absolutely nothing that I don't know or can't do. At this point I have reached perfection. Not convinced? Just ask me. (But not until I've finished my set on the Karaoke stage). Adoring fans are everywhere. And they all want me. There is no doubt I have made a complete ass of myself, although it is doubtful that I will remember much of it. Progression to stage four is unavoidable unless one of three things occurs:

1) Somebody forcibly places me in a cab home.
2) Somebody coerces me into a cab with promises of better things to come.
3) I've lost my wallet and can no longer support my habit.

Stage four. No more pain. No cohesive thought process. All bets are off and nothing is impossible (Except perhaps for a sentence without slurring or walking a straight line). Bring out your dead, your dying, your stupid, your annoying, and your mentally unstable. Chances are I will love them all as well. This is quite likely the point at which you try to determine why the frighteningly intoxicated individual is draped over you explaining just how much you mean to him. Even photographic evidence fails to trigger anything remotely resembling a memory.

Stage five - Extremely rare and not recommended. The body is officially operating on auto-pilot. My head spends much of it's time rested on the table and only rises infrequently to assure the waitress that I am, indeed, fine and all I really require is another Caesar to wake me up. Most frequently asked questions following a Stage five debacle:

1) Where am I?
2) Who are you?
3) Who am I?
4) Where did all these frozen gerbils come from?

Now why, you may ask, did I deem this important enough to explain? Well shut up and quit interrupting. I was getting to that.

Recently I have encountered a strange breed of people who go to the Bar, but do not drink. Have never had a drink. Expressed some confusion over why some of us endured the aforementioned Five Stage process. Well, for some it is an addiction. It's called alcoholism. They have no choice but so seek out the sweet solace that the bottle offers. Others abuse it as a coping mechanism. It helps them, if only for a few hours, forget the mundanity and insanity of their lives. It helps to release some tension after spending your days dealing with the stupid, the aggravating and the useless. Personally, I'm addicted to coping.

Now I really must inquire - Whatever possesses someone to go out and spend an evening with people who are drinking while they are not? There have been times when I've arrived when the others are already fully into Stage three and let me say "Holy #$%^ are they ever annoying." It is only through the grace of a few shots and a quickly downed pint or six that I can endure such a torturous encounter for a brief period of time. To spend an entire evening with such people? I'm certain it would drive me to drink.

Yes, yet another uninspired effort. I'm in the process of packing for a little sojourn to the great state of Texas and procrastinating badly rather than trying to determine what it is I am going to forget to pack to survive a three day drive across the countries and the following six weeks in the heat of the southlands. I've removed the arctic gear from my luggage as I really don't expect to need it at 33 C (93 F or so). I fully expect my body to go into shock having to endure a temperature change of 75 degrees (or 133 F). Madness. I may just melt. With any luck a tour across 8 or 9 states will produce some sort of revitalization of spirit and renew my faith in humanity. Regardless I'm sure it shall result in an increased production of posts - I really doubt I'm going to venture very far from an air conditioned environment for quite some time.

So please allow me to reiterate: "I love you."

But this time only in a limited, awkward, one night type affair in hopes that in saying such a thing it may result in sex. "Can I buy you another shot of tequila?"

See you all in 2468.12 miles.

Cheers kids...

Deficit of Decency

2005-05-17T21:05:00.000-06:00

Hello my Sheeps. I've been neglecting you. I am sorry. Hopefully your lives haven't been crumbling into despair during my absence. I realize it can be difficult to cope without my enlightened wisdom to guide you through the dark void which is life. Yet the absence was unavoidable. My sanity demanded I escape from this bastion of the bewildered and seek solace amongst the cool kids on the coast. 8 days of spiritual, moral, and musical redemption with an ocean view.

First order of business when traveling abroad - Secure suitable lodging. Thankfully two of the sexiest young ladies I know share a one bedroom apartment and have plenty of room to spare. Next is to find a suitable location to hang out and enjoy the view. After all one cannot be expected to remain cooped up in a small apartment with two lovely young ladies for an entire eight days. That could seriously affect the moral redemption aspect of the vacation. So I set forth to locate acceptable places to plant my sorry ass for a few pints.

Day One went like this:

The Mill - Fabulous food. Big Rock on tap. Ocean view. A fountain. Staff that are encouraged to play Frisbee and stuff. Lovely place.

Sip - Every item on the menu created with some form of alcohol. Heaven. Perhaps the best martini I've encountered. You can't see the ocean from here, but try and trust me when I say the view is spectacular nonetheless. Whomever is in charge of the hiring has a keen eye for beauty.

Bin 942 - Best wine list I encountered during my tour. I was far too drunk to make any other notable observations of the establishment except for the waitress seems exceptionally good at ignoring the antics of intoxicated patrons who have a knack for saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time.

(Honourable mention to The Morrissey and Ginger)

Day Two:

The key to enjoying yourself when traveling is to cleverly insinuate yourself in with the locals. They know the secrets to a good time wherever you happen to be. They also have patios upon which to hold BBQ's in Kitsilano with a guest list list that can only be referred to as amazing amusing. You can have the pleasure of hanging out with singer/songwriters with a wonderful ability to entertain despite the fact the fact that most of what they say tends to fly over the heads of the rest in attendance. In his own words "I like to buzz the tower". You can also have the pleasure of spending time with other singer/songwriter types who assume that by exuding a proper disdain for the rest of humanity in a truly pompous and angst-ridden manner is sure to please the masses. Please - If I wanted that kind of crap I'd come here instead.

Day Three:

Much needed respite from the over-indulgence of the previous few days. Nothing terribly exciting to report except for the excellence of a tremendous little Thai restaurant by the name of Wimaan.

Day Four:

Pre-event party in a fabulous apartment featuring two story windows and a few beer. Citizen Cope concert. Here I digress from popular opinion. Which I'm sure threatens my ability to hang with the cool kids - Interesting. Yet lacking. And really I mean no offence. The beginning was excellent. After awhile, however, I grew bored. My own fault. I have the attention span of a gnat. The sixteen year old bimbo with the fake ID seemed to be doing fine.

Day Five:

Hello Squamish. Hello Whistler. Hello I can't ever afford to live here. But they are still bloody brilliant places to hang out. The Shady Tree Pub in Squamish.

Day Six:

Spent most of the day recuperating from the time spent to the north. By six the Victoria clan arrived to ensure that my body didn't receive the rest it required, with the exception of a two hour nap at 11:00 that went largely unnoticed. At 1:00, about the time the rest were getting evicted by staff I was sitting peacefully at home awaiting stupid people. I wasn't disappointed, as expected they arrived.

Day Seven:

<-Deleted->

Day Eight:

Return rental vehicle. Pretend you aren't from around here. Go Home.

- End of Days -

2005-05-08T02:30:00.000-06:00

Just another day in paradise...

2005-05-08T02:27:00.000-06:00

It's entirely possible that someone misunderstood when I said "Fade to White"

2005-05-08T02:26:00.000-06:00

Oh Really...

2005-05-06T11:23:00.000-06:00

Ah... Occasionally I come to the realization that, for the most part, my life has absolutely no purpose or meaning. None. Zip. Zero. Nada. Really, in the grand scheme of things, my value to society is negligible. Of course I've never let that stop me from acting as though the entire planet exists only to provide amusement for my otherwise pointless existence. As a general rule I attempt to only profess my deepest and most undying love when I am completely wasted. I've never really considered the ramifications of doing so. To be completely honest, I've never really recalled the events leading up to such an occasion. Incoherent rambling? To be expected when you are severely uninhibited and slightly under the influence before noon. The point? There isn't one. Except to say "I love you." All of you. Each and every one of you that bothered to stop in and see whatever I deemed important enough to ramble on about today.

I attempted to go shopping. I had a plan. I went to find three CD's that, over the course of the last year, I realized I have not had the pleasure of listening to on a complete beginning to end type basis. Radiohead - OK Computer. An album, rumour has it, of life-changing proportions. Also rated as the greatest recording effort of the past 100 years by people in the UK. Next I attempted to locate anything produced by a little band known as Pulp. Another band that also ranks quite highly in musical merit according to the masses. Five music shops, and sadly - Nothing. So, arguably the greatest album of our time and another that ranks right up there, and they cannot be located here. Oh... Why am I not surprised? The third I didn't even bother looking for. Instead I returned home with:

- Pirramimma - Petit Verdot
- Barossa - The Holy Trinity
- Lasos - Syrah-Malbec
- Polar Ice
- Zaya
- Plymouth Gin
- Finca Flishman - Malbec
- Kopke Porto
- Noval - Raven Port
- Gibson's Finest
- Bacardi "8"
- Le Bocce - Chanti Classico
- Masi - Amarone
- Norah Jones
- A Smallman Records compilation
- A six pack of Red Stripe
- 2L of Pepsi
- Two packs of DuMaurier Regular

I went home and perused:

- Gabriel Garcia Marquez One Hundred Years of Solitude.
- Three Books of Occult Philosophy

Laughed out loud when I looked at:

- Identity, Character, and Morality: Essays in Moral Psychology and
- The Seven Deadly Sins board game

But really, what it all boils down to is...

"I Love you."

In an undying, endless, eternal sort of way.

Sintax Errors

2005-04-28T02:48:00.000-06:00

The cloudy concept behind friendship was so much clearer in Vexation 0.6. It was all an easy to understand matter of location and circumstance. The kid next door, almost inevitably, was dubbed "The Best Friend". As the distance to their house increased, the closeness of the relationship was diminished. Those closest would walk to school together, hang out at school together, and walk home together. The hours of daylight were limited, but those you had were usually shared with those nearby. The others fled home early in order to make it to the magical sanctuary of their own homes before the dreaded darkness heralded the end of playtime. Options, truly, were limited and easy to understand.

In the later years, somewhere near the release of Vexation 1.6 things began to change. With the inclusion of "Motor Vehicle Transport" in the new version suddenly the proximity to my house was no longer a sufficient gauge of friendship. I was able to be more selective in the people I was to spend my time with throughout the day. Those that shared classes or an interest in other extra curricular activities were favoured as friends. Version 1.6 was quite possibly the most drastically altered of all the various releases. It was the first to include the beloved "Alcohol" toolbar as well as a rudimentary "Girls" toolbar. It was also the first version to include the unwanted options of "Pay Rent" and "Support Yourself", which was only barely offset by the inclusion of the infamous "Disposable Income" feature and the amazing "Format own Living Space".

The next few adaptations arrived unremarkably. The "Girls" option was replaced by "Women". A few limited edition sets that friends invested in came with this option unavailable, but did include a "Men" option. A few even splurged for the Platinum edition which included both options - More bang for the buck they insisted, but I never bothered to try it out.
Around Vexation 1.9 came the insidious "Choose Career Path" expansion. The options included with this expansion pack was simply obscene and the jumbled user interface was a mess. I spent the next few years pointing and clicking with abandon. The result was a haphazard mass of friends, acquaintances, relationships, and career choices that never really amounted to anything substantial and were left lingering in the background taking up valuable memory and slowing down the entire process.

Eventually I just became completely disgruntled with the whole program. Convinced that it was bugged or carrying some harmful virus I reformatted everything and did a custom installation of Vexation 2.3 in which I chose not to select all the possible options in hopes that my overworked brain would be able to make its way through the basic processes.

Thankfully it worked. I was able to fine tune the configuration until only those friends that were really required for the rest of the programs to operate efficiently remained. Shortly thereafter the bogged down "Career Path" feature started operating with greater efficiency, and the previously undiscovered ability to "Ignore", "Delete Contact", "Pay Mortgage", and "Make Truck Payment" were located.

By the time Vexation 2.6 arrived I felt I fully had the hang of manipulating my way through the maze of programming and had a relatively decent grasp of how they all worked together. Feeling confident I began to recover a few files saved from before the purging of Version 2.3. Sadly I discovered the old file formats to be incompatible with the newer programming and all I managed to achieve was to somehow load up some harmless, yet increasingly annoying, ghost program that occasionally resulted in oddly worded Pop-Up windows that forced me to select "Yes" or "No". So far, regardless of which I have chosen, they have ultimately faded into the background without crashing the whole program. They appear to be benign and take up so little space that I haven't really tried to have them banished to cyber hell yet, although I have considered letting the Virus scan quarantine them until I have time to decipher their purpose.

Installation of Vexation 3.0 I approached with a high degree of trepidation. The few remaining friends did not speak too highly of the newest version. Still, I was filled with confidence that I would have little trouble. After all I hadn't bothered to install the free shareware expansion "Children and Marriage" which, as far as I could tell, was the source of most of their complaints. Without pausing to read the instructions (I had already been through the upgrading process 29 times) I clicked "Next" and awaited the expected results. All seemed to go off without a hitch so I started the program and immediately noticed the absence of the "Hints & Tips" function. This version assumed the user had some previous knowledge of the operation of the Vexation program. Thankfully I did. I fear someone who had skipped directly to 3.0 would have been woefully overwhelmed.

I now find myself becoming rather bored with Vexation in its current incarnation. The last time I felt this way led to the inclusion of the "Add Inane, Insane Blogspot" feature. To it's credit it managed to keep my attention for nine month, but I'm thinking it's about time to invest in another expansion pack. There are a variety of choices available that have appeal these days. Or I could just reformat the whole bloody works and see what happens.

Either way the future looks interesting... The newest upgrade is scheduled for release in another 6 months and already I am greedily anticipating whatever new goodies it offers. Occasionally, however, I dream of a simpler time, of the ease associated with good old Vexation 0.6. I'm just not sure if I could still operate it the way I remember.

On a completely different note: Today I surfed my way back to a recently added link that leads the unwary victim to Misanthropically.blogspot.com. It reads something to the effect of "For more of Vexations musings check out her blog". HER blog? Ah well, that would no doubt explain the overemotional, irrational, unreasonable and generally confusing direction I've been taking lately...I really must check into the configuration more closely. But I really should run, I've got this overwhelming urge to cook, vacuum, do some laundry and discover the source of that annoying ticking sound.

Ambiguously yours,

Vex.

Earth is Full. Go Home.

2005-04-27T01:38:00.000-06:00

So, for the first time since about the 21st of November (With the minor exception of 10 days in Mexico in January - But that really doesn't count as it passed by in a relatively drunken haze. There was a wedding if I recall correctly) I have the distinct pleasure of enjoying temperatures that managed to climb above 0°C. It was a momentous occasion which would have, had we possessed the necessary party supplies, resulted in the largest party this side of the Arctic Circle. Alas, deprived of alcohol, pointed hats, noise-makers, and women, I did what any normal humans would do in order to celebrate - wandered aimlessly about in shorts and T-shirts drinking coffee, peppermint tea and smoking handfuls of Marlboros. I must admit that some days are far more lame and uninteresting that I would like. Actually most days are. Which would explain this nasty addiction to living vicariously through others via weblogs. My lord do I ever have to get a life soon.

Anyway, April 26th official marked the beginning of the end of this lovely little adventure. Soon the Land of the Midnight Sun will be little more than a fond memory and 42 not-so-fond memories. Already I can feel the disease of depression dissipating. A few more days and I should be back to my normal, well adjusted, and blissfully happy self. A few more days after that and I should be back in the civilized lands.

First order of business - A shave. It's been two weeks since I last tried to chisel through this growth on my face and I'm beginning to look all Grizzly Adamsish. The fact I haven't had a haircut since January 8th only adds to the look. Oh yes, don't kid yourself - This kinda sexy cannot be set free on the rest of the world. I could not live with the guilt of being responsible for such mayhem. Especially considering the chaos that is apparently already occurring. Rumour has it that there is a veritable love fest happening down south. I can only assume it has something to do with the world operating without Cupid's poorly aimed arrows. With luck I will arrive in time to share in the...umm...Festivities before Cupid² pops up and begins her reign of terror. So my friends - Stash your morals, store your inhibitions, rid yourself of hate and embrace the love! I'll be along shortly. (Provided I can find the map home)

Cheers kids - Here's to happy homecomings.

Spring cleaning for the soul.

2005-04-23T05:55:00.000-06:00

It is that time of the year when the gloomy depression of winter begins to dissipate. The magical time of year when the bibulous crowds and your own multifarious cadre of friends begin to venture forth and congregate on roof top patios. Looking around I can’t help but feel like an odd heteroclite amidst the stream of conformity. Desperately searching the subdued grandeur of nature for a brief glimpse of some majestic apotheosis, yet I see only sinister and discordant charades. The great masses long ago forfeited their claim to any mental acuity and now only prance about in some obscene portrayal of what they wish they had become. Empty and deficient of any true feeling and left strangely enraptured by their own phosphorescent radiance that appears to be fed by the attention of others. A nascent thought – Perhaps I should give up the pointless bloviation, the struggle against senescence, and the nugatory attempts at understanding. Focus instead on properly developing my own atrocious excrescence of self-importance. Perhaps it is only a pneumatic glitch of my own creation that creates the feeling of discord within. It’s possible, I suppose, that in some twisted fashion it makes sense that environmental activists and protestors for peace are accused of sedition and treasonous thoughts while military action and money hungry corporations are supported; applauded as the saviors of national sovereignty and somehow manage to incur the divine blessings of celestial beings. My own righteous nimbus seems to be transforming into a nimbostratus that threatens to rain heavily upon my parade of pointless petulance. Mayhaps it is high time I stepped down from the height of my utopian soapbox before I suffer from vertigo and tumble from my lofty perch. Unfortunately I have encountered too many who seem to hear the same dissonant song echoing in their minds for me to think I am the only one searching for some arcane explanation for our current predicament. Although sadly it seems the ones carrying the compass to point us in the right direction are not the ones sailing this ship. A slight shift starboard and straight on towards the Lands of Cockaigne and then...damn...

Where did my map go?

The Fiends of Friday.

2005-04-22T07:09:00.000-06:00

The insignifcant splendor of the world that surrounds us. Here today, yet a fleeting glimpse at what tomorrow may fade into history. Engrossed in fallacious drama of their own creation; in chasing sinsiter shadows of conspiracy and intrigue, the view is overlooked. The celestial nobility and majestic symmetry of balance is subdued as we bask in the phosphorescent radiance of our own surreal self-importance. A radiance that tends to wax and wane as the phases of the moon (But with far less precictability).

How, really, can I be expected to take the time to savour the majestic grandeur of nature? I find whatever free moments I have are devoted entirely to deceiving myself. Such an austere undertaking requires dedication and discipline...

Aww crap... Don't you just hate it when work interferes with a perfectly good web log of gibberish?

Mind Freeze

2005-04-22T04:12:00.000-06:00

Today's installment of semi-cohesive sentence structure has been postponed in order to bring you these prerecorded lists:

Things I miss:

- Toilets that flush.
- A bedroom that doesn't have an inch of ice around the doorway
- My bed.
- Someone to share my bed with.
- Long nights of drinking Traditional and playing Big Buck Hunter.
- Absinthe at midnight.
- Drinking Pirraminna and talking about absolutely nothing until the wee hours of the morning.
- The noon coffee delivery.
- Sleeping until the sun sets.
- A sun that actually sets.
- Caesar's for lunch.
- My couch and a DVD.
- Vehicles without tracks.
- Choosing my own meals.
- Listening on the phone for an hour as grandmother describes her trip to the supermarket.
- Picking up the milk and eggs that grandmother forgot.
- Zaya
- Bacardi for breakfast.
- Convincing people to call in sick on Monday morning.
- DuMaurier.

Things that I've come to expect:

- The relentless rattle of a diesel generator.
- Luke warm coffee you can stand a spoon in.
- Laundry miraculously appearing clean and folded on Wednesday.
- Motion sickness every three days while sitting in the office.
- Fish Friday.
- Prime Rib Sunday.
- Knowing what day it is by the food that is served.
- Newspapers that are two days behind.
- Going to bed at 4:00 Pm.
- Hitting the snooze button at 11:00 Pm.
- Using the word "Roger" on the radio a minimum of 25 times in a day.
- Hearing the word "Roger" a minimum of 200 times in a day.
- Enduring the sound of Static for 2 hours a day.
- Being able to count the combined IQ of 3/4's of the people around me on both hands.
- Northern Lights that put hometown fireworks to shame.
- Polar bears, Arctic foxes, and seals.
- Flannel.

---- Now back to our regularly scheduled deprogramming and bitter propaganda for the sole benefit of myself ----

Over the past few months it has been mentioned that I am, for the most part, inspirationally dead. I also came to the understanding that I am a walking fashion faux pas, woefully unable to comprehend the minds of women, somewhat vague in the expression of my feelings, obtuse, and unsympathetic to the needs of others. I lack passion, joy, depth, understanding, empathy, and the ability to experience happiness. I am a stubborn, selfish jackass and incapable of taking anything seriously for any amount of time.

Almost brings tears to my dark and soulless eyes. A wee bit harsh don't you think? I mean really... Unable to experience happiness? That is an outrageous statement. I find joy and happiness daily. Usually by observing the torment of others. It's quite amusing much of the time - To watch as someone gets all upset and twisted about over trivial nonsense. The smallest, most insignificant details that tend to send people over the top. That is simply funny.

Is it wrong that I take some strange solace in the misery of others? That so long as others are distraught and overly concerned I am far more able to feel content? It's possible that it is, but I fully believe that if I am to continue living a life free from stress someone else must take up the slack.

Now, before somebody gets all bent out of shape and works them self into a frenzy, let me explain. It's not tragic, life threatening misery that causes me amusement. That is sad and, well... tragic. I'm talking about those that appear to experience physical pain because their cappuccino had too much foam, the traffic light took too long or their flight was delayed by five minutes. These people make me happy.

So to all you people wound just a bit to tightly - Thank you.

On a personal note: It appears that the infamous "Powers that Be" have increased their efforts to suck away my will to live and that I have almost completely succumbed to their evil plot to drain anything that resembles inspiration from my mind. Alas, it was all for naught. I can now see the light at the end of the tunnel that shines as a beacon to guide me home. Sadly in a month I will likely be found composing a similar list complaining of the unbearable heat, the snakes, the spiders, and anything else I can find to complain about in the great Lone Star State. Finally - new topics to bitch about.

Half Moon Rising

2005-04-20T04:35:00.000-06:00

Today it occurred to me that life has been one endless struggle between the forces of Self-Confidence and Self-Doubt. They battle tirelessly over the token prize that is my soul. Daily the tide shifts from one side to the other only to sway back again in the spiraling winds. Which, I've decided, it not such a bad thing. It keeps me relatively balanced. An overabundance of either would be entirely detrimental to a long life of happiness. Too much confidence and I'd be likely to attempt to overreach my potential and become horribly scarred by my inevitable failure. Too much doubt and I'd be unlikely to attempt anything without that nagging voice in the back of my head saying "You're doomed." That is my own perpetual pit of paradoxial poison. Long ago I learned to accept a little internal strife and move on with my life.

Today's issue, however, is not about me. It about the abundance of arrogant, chicken-head, fleecy ass-clowns that have thus far survived on mommy's dime and daddy's dollar and have just recently entered what the rest of us have cleverly dubbed "Real Life." It is also about the select few who have decided it would be far more productive to sulk in the darkness of their basements in a state of perpetual fear of rejection and overall despair. Somewhere in the sewer pipe of life you reach a point where you are going to be forced to face the humanity on your own. Life experience is a large factor in how you deal with this, as well as being an integral part of personality development. Which makes me think that those who have been babied, doted on, sheltered, and given everything they've ever desired (Overly verbose perhaps, but I decided spoiled brat was unsatisfactory), are at some point going to break down into some type of hysterical temper-tantrum complete with fits of yelling and bouts of pouting. It's unlikely to be a pretty sight and not likely to be their best moment. Emotional scars and possible jail time to follow. Those that fear interaction and whose only reactions is to force their head further up their own ass? Come out, come out wherever you are. Step forth into the light and rejoice. I almost guarantee you won't melt or burst into flames. Almost.

Alright, now that I have that out of the way - On to far more important topics.

Mordant News Briefs

International: Pope Benedict XVI. 78 years old. Recalls the Dark Age fondly. The Vatican status quo will be maintained.

National: Canadian Politics. WTF? Liberal Vs. Conservative vs. Bloq vs. NDP. It's a bloody cage match that would make the WWE proud.

Localish: A red light district to save beleaguered districts such as Forest Lawn? $200,000 for "research" into successful brothels around the globe? Extra points for the one who managed to get this proposal consideration.

Personal: Offically annoyed with office memorandums regarding Professionalism and Excellence in the Workplace that fail to recognize the subtle differences between there; their; and they're.

In conclusion: "PUHFFTHTHTHTHTTTTT..."

- End of Days -

2005-04-19T07:13:00.000-06:00

Just another day in Paradise...

2005-04-19T07:12:00.000-06:00

It is entirely possible that someone misunderstood when I said "Fade to White".

2005-04-19T07:10:00.001-06:00

Nuff Said?

2005-04-19T07:07:00.000-06:00

The Forsaken.

2005-04-12T05:54:00.000-06:00

“I think therefore I am.”

Which, unless I am sadly mistaken, means there is a plethora of those who most definitely “Are Not”.

They are those wonderful automatons wandering aimlessly through the day, forever opting not to switch on their minds. They are everywhere and they spread rapidly. They can be found feeding on next to nothing, reproducing at an alarming rate, and eternally infecting others. If you are careful you can mark them by the stink of decaying fiber that follows them. They are seemingly forever lost in a polluted and convoluted labyrinth of their own social narcosis trailing crumbs of depleted principles. They conform and consume and they are content.

No, No, No…Trivial garbage of no meaning or consequence. It’s possible I may be guilty of becoming somewhat repetitive and that is simply unacceptable. Lacking suitable esteem for myself, and all nine readers.

The cries for rainbows and unicorns have once again been heard. Shun the darkness and skitter haphazardly into the light. What choice do I have but to bow down with proper obeisance and heed the cries?

Hmm? What is that the voices are whispering? It’s my Web Log? I can do with it whatever I please? Feel free to continue to display artificial disdain for mankind in a pathetic imitation of real content? Embrace the elitist derision as an adequate replacement for a meaningful commentary on the state of affairs?

Perhaps overly bold suggestions - Somewhat unseemly and confusing for visitors to a site entitled “Mordant.”

Sunshine, lollipops, and cutesy pink elephants – That’s the key. The key that opens the door to vivacious glee that aches to be free.

Alas, my search for lost keys must wait. I really must get back and check on my simmering stew of haughty indignation and mendacious exasperation. Once it is finished I’m sure I will feast hungrily, explore the wonders of www.poweroptimism.com and…

Fade to White.

Sardonic Utopia

2005-04-07T02:45:00.000-06:00

Washed out idealist.
Losing to hypocrisy.
Clinging to fading delusions.
Holding on to corrupted objectives.
Dancing in the darkness.
Guided by the pale moonlight.
Exhausted by the futility.
Faith slips into a distant memory.
Guarded emotions shielded from the light.
Self-awareness replaced by narcissism.
Satire becomes reality.
Reality becomes a dream.
A dream becomes a nightmare.
Always falling.
Never reaching the ground.
Feet firmly planted in concrete shoes of your own making.
Disdain for the sycophant.
You’ve become one.
Apathetic is your epitaph.
Impassioned caring is but empty dogma.
Meaningless rhetoric spills from your lips.
Vicariously living through the convictions of another.
Eternal apprehension in a world gone awry.
Sadistic pleasure from the misery of another.
Tainted hope and twisted integrity.
Chasing the perverted shadow of perfection.
Sublime in ignorance.
A contented inhabitant of a fool’s paradise.
With a delightful façade of inner angst.

Ahh... Now that feels better.

No no. It's not me. It's you.

2005-04-05T01:02:00.000-06:00

The most wonderful thing about being me is that I do it so fabulously well. Let's face the truth - I'm utterly brilliant at it. No one else on earth pulls off being me with quite the same flair. Not that I would even begin to expect you to try. Simply put you'd fail miserably at putting together the cynical smugness and thinly veiled contempt in just the right proportions and wind up seeming haughty and ostentatious.

And that would never do. An unreasonably hand-drawn facsimile at best. Unworthy of any prize.

So, as me, I offer a humble bit of advice - Stick to what you know. Which I'm hoping is being you. I'll be the first to admit it's something you do far better than I could ever hope.

Perhaps because I don't feel comfortable in an expensive suit. Perhaps because I never learned to knit. Perhaps because I've decided that a cheap Shiraz is often better than an expensive merlot. Perhaps because I'd rather lounge in some cheap dive listening to live music instead of mingling with the "chic elite" in some posh club. Perhaps because I've never mastered the linguistic talent required to say "Baaa".

The reasons vary incredibly. They are vast and endless. You may excel at math, cranial surgery, playing an instrument, writing a song, writing obituaries, securing a loan, or playing the system. Whatever. There is, without a doubt, a collection of things that make you uniquely you and not me.

And please don't try and tell me about what they said, or they did, or that you heard that they were going to do. I, being me, would be forced to snatch away your own insipid naiveté and beat you upside the head with it. They will peddle any twisted version of you that they think you may actually invest money in. Approach them with that stunned, vacuous look and they'll sell you a cheap twisted version of you. With accessories.

Why? Because that is what they do. And they do it very well. Well enough to convince me at least. I'm not about to lie to you - I'm one of those suckers that the corporate advertisement people love. An impulse buyer. One who walks in and purchases something based purely on the pretty colours and giving to no actual thought to whether or not I really need such a thing.

What's that? A laptop computer? In metallic blue? Sold.
A shiny new 4x4? In black? Sold.
A cell phone? With camera? And changeable faceplates? Sold.
Scintillating harmony balls? No useful function? Sold.
Zen Garden? With real rocks? Sold.
A used halo? Slightly tarnished? Sold.

One soul? Never used? Like new? No thanks. Already have one.

Hermetically Sealed

2005-03-31T18:36:00.000-07:00

Well colour me surprised. Fully expecting another three months of winter I banished myself indoors and ventured forth only once the sun had hidden beneath the horizon and the levels of alcohol and nicotine reached dangerously low levels. Today, however, I poked my head out the door and was faced with the disturbing spectacle of my own shadow. It frightened me. Perplexed I scurried back into the comfortable darkness of my own home and glared angrily at the clock on the wall. It most definitely was NOT 8:30 Pm. The blindingly bright light was proof of that. Cautiously I approached the door once more and squinted into the light and immediately noticed a distinct lack of snow covering the ground. Fearing the worst I once again daringly poked my head through the portal and breathed deeply. Then I breathed again.

I must admit I didn't notice it right away. It took some time for my dulled senses to sort through the overpowering odours of chlorine, soggy garbage, carbon monoxide, and mildew, but there it was lingering beneath it all - The putrid stench of Spring.

Spring is in the air! I fell back into the house as the terror gripped me and apparently destroyed my sense of balance. This could only mean one thing - I had emerged too early and was now faced with the possibility of catching the most heinous of all the inexplicable diseases.

Spring fever threatens every year. It's subtle. It's dangerous. And it is largely diagnosed incorrectly. To the trained eye it quite easy to notice the signs and symptoms, but to a neophyte it can be deadly. It is insidious and devious. Warning signs are hard to detect. First it attacks your mind and clouds it with something akin to Prozac. It makes you think everything is OK, that life is simply delightful, and that you have nothing to worry about. Then the hallucinations commence.

You begin to notice things that previously occurred undetected. The wonderful shine of the checkout girl's hair, the amazing grace of the waitress, the mischievous sparkle your parole officers eye, or the fact that the local panhandler has the most perfect hands. You approach, you smile, they notice for the first time how cute you are when you smile, they smile back, you ask them out for an innocent cup of coffee, they accept.

You have just been afflicted with Spring Fever. Phermonally charged air as a result of the changing of the seasons, noxious fumes exuded by the melting of the snow, some strange chemical imbalance caused by excessive exposure to light? Experts simply just don't know.

You may begin to wonder how it is you never noticed them before. The feeling fades as you realize it doesn't matter. What does matter is that you've found them now and you can't imagine your life without them.

It's sick. It's twisted. It's sneaky. And there are very high odds that it may lead to a relationship. One that offends most around you. Public displays of affection, not-so-cutesy baby babble, etc etc. Disturbing really. Perhaps even a committed relationship between two equally diseased people. Destined to evolve into romantic dinners, late night movies, surprise flowers at work, and a weekend in the waterfall hottub of the Polynesian room. The more sorely infected individuals may take months, perhaps even years, to recover. By then it may be to late. The damage is done. Children are born, picket fences are built, and a dog runs in the back yard.

Thankfully I'm one of the few that suffers from this wretched condition for a period of only three days. 72 hours later, enough for one wonderful weekend, and I'm cured. The hallucinations subside, the Prozacian effects fade, and I'm left once more wonderfully cynical and able to recognize error of my ways. Although I do occasionally suffer from long term side affects such as a desire to stab someone in the eyes with a pen, smash the phone into tiny bits, and abstain from drinking. I'm equally thankful that this too fades away.

If you recognize this condition in yourself, or someone you love please act immediately. Begin by bashing the afflicted persons head heavily against the stone wall of love. Then fill with vodka, echinacea, and a healthy dose of reality until a nominal level of self pity and regret is achieved. Get plenty of rest, mope about, avoid humanity, and wait for summer to arrive. Things may, or may not, be better by then.

Sincerely,

Dr. Vex

Good Mourning to Spring.

2005-03-11T04:45:00.000-07:00

Dearest Inhabitants of the Planet Earth:

Mother Nature is reportedly still in mourning over the loss of her beloved cherub Cupid and is unable to adequately fulfill her duties. Father Time has agreed to act in her stead whilst the Mother is feeling under the weather. As a result of his overwhelming workload and new fiscal restraints imposed by recent budget cuts Mr. Time has deemed it necessary to lay off one of the four seasons. After much heated debate it was determined that the season formerly known as “Spring” would be eliminated. Henceforth March 20th shall not signify the beginning of Spring. Instead it shall signify the last three months of “Winter.”

Local officials insisted all pagan rites and rituals associated with the Vernal Equinox would be unaffected by the change.

Lord Winter, elated by his new responsibilities, was quoted as saying “This is just too cool.”

It remained unclear as to how this change will affect the Summer Solstice, but Father Time insisted the matter would be addressed following a budget review meeting scheduled early in June. He was quite optimistic about the continued longevity of Summer and stated that at present it will likely only be necessary to eliminate Summer from the Province of Ontario.

Summer and Autumn, last seen boarding an airplane bound for St. Lucia, were unavailable for comment.

People of the Vatican City reported the Pope waved down from his hospital room, a sure sign of Papal agreement to the changing of the seasons.

George Bush, with childlike glee, produced a handwritten note from Father Time that outlined the plan and ended with illegible scrawl that either read “Continue running the country” or “Continue ruining the country.”

Either way nobody, the President included, seemed to care.

Pat Robertson issued a press release concerning the absence of Mother Nature that vaguely stated his position “Finally the Bitch is back at home where she belongs. Quite obviously she was not cut out for the job and clearly her actions in the past were part of a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians."

An innocent bystander noted, “Careful Pat. They got to Cupid… they can get to you.”

Warmest Regards,

Sardonic Vexation
A.K.A. - RC

2005-03-11T03:30:00.000-07:00

Courtesy of Wunderground.com:

Forecast for Central Beaufort Sea Coast
Updated: 4:00 PM AST on March 10, 2005

Winter Storm Warning remains in effect until 5am AST Friday morning...
Tonight Very windy with blizzard conditions. Lows 10 below to 15 below. Northeast winds 35 gusting to 50 mph. Wind chills to 50 below.

I am so much not enjoying this...

Sub Specie Aeternitatus

2005-03-07T02:42:00.000-07:00

At some time during a stay in an isolated environment, confined with the same people all repetitively working at the same mundane and routine tasks day after day, reality seems to take on an aspect of the surreal. Well, perhaps not a surreal, it’s more like sleepwalking your way through an entire month. You go through the motions, not from any truly conscious thought, but out of habit.

Every so often the brain, fearing atrophy, seeks to engage in some form of intellectual discourse and forces you to attempt to speak with those around you. A few valiant attempts that result in:

"Have I shown you pictures of the girl I ordered from Russia?"

or

"Check this out! Real fermented whale blubber! They call it muk-tuk."

Ok. So intelligent dialogue may be more elusive than a Bandersnatch out here. The mind finally accepts that and returns to a stoic hibernation until the hunger becomes overwhelming and it ventures forth once more into some meaningless discursive entry.

There was I time when I had naively believed that if you dug down deep enough everyone had some common energy that could be tapped and that at the core all of humanity had the same intrinsic values. Now I've come to the conclusion that I am one of the few - The aliquant of a society that doesn't add up.

It's not that I seek a debate about quantum physics or to ponder theories of modal and temporal logic, just a normal conversation about anything reasonably considered meaningful. Unfortunately “meaningful” is one of those highly subjective terms. Myself, I find that rotting flesh and mail order brides are simply not of paramount importance, but that’s entirely because neither is an issue that is likely to affect me anytime in the near future.

So, does that mean in order for something to be considered important it must, in some tangible fashion, influence my life? In a nutshell – Yes. Sad and selfish I must admit. That doesn’t alter the fact that if I fail to recognize a benefit for myself I am unlikely to exert any effort whatsoever in creating change - Or creating anything for that matter.

Does it make me evil incarnate to be so fully and completely self-absorbed? To strive only to manipulate that which, in the end, will inevitably have a favourable result for myself? Perhaps, but I prefer to simply consider it innately human.

Hmm… Perhaps I’m not so different as I’ve fooled myself into believing. Damn the disillusionment that comes from boredom and introspection. Anyone know the number for a good therapist? Or why, while listening to Sublime’s What I got on antiquated and sad sounding computer speakers, I’m humming the incongruous harmony Build me up (build me up) Buttercup, Baby…

Jesus, I need a drink.

I begin to wonder how long the mind can remain dormant? How long the soul and spirit can endure the laceration before they shrivel up and face an extirpated demise or just dry up into some lapideous lump?

Now I understand why people talk to themselves – They don’t have a blog.

And yes, Once again it is all about me...

Dawn and the calm before the storm...

2005-03-03T05:30:00.000-07:00

So, as temperatures drop down to the -31° F and the winds increase up to a wonderful 20 mph (which bring the effective temperature to somewhere around -61° F or -51° C), I find I'm beginning to wonder about:

A) My sanity for returning to this desolate nightmare of a landscape.

B) The mythical theory of "Global Warming".

C) What they meant when they issued a warning for "Freezing metal".

D) Why, at this very moment, I could really not care any less about the plight of man-kind, political issues, post-modernism, pollution, or people in general.

E) The way in which I can most quickly escape from this "Arctic Prison Camp".

Have a drink for me. I'd do it for you... At least I would in 14 days.

The Calm after the storm.

2005-03-03T04:52:00.000-07:00

Home after the storm

2005-03-03T04:49:00.000-07:00

The light at the end of the tunnel?

2005-03-03T04:48:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the darkness.

Political Quandary

2005-03-02T09:51:00.000-07:00

I shall keep my ride on the Political Bandwagon short.

Liberals and Conservatives are both starting to annoy me.

Where is my beloved Rhino Party when I need them?

Co-Opting the Evil.

2005-02-26T04:47:00.000-07:00

The world is odd. The lines have blurred. No longer can I easily differentiate between Black and White, Good and Evil. Forced to look around and accept the good, the bad, the ugly, the insane, the brilliant, the rich, the poor, the liberals, the conservatives, the environmentalists, the oil whores, the drunks, the druggies, the Trekkies, the homeless, the militant, the pacifists, the Christians, the Catholics, the Muslims, the atheists, the agnostic, the deists, the scientists, the crazy, the lazy, the activists, and the apathetic. It’s become (Or perhaps always was) a chaotic grey melting pot of the global society where distinction and classification is a futile pursuit.

Myself, I began with far loftier goals, more noble objectives, and a much greater regard for my fellow man. Somewhere, however, I lost the passion. I’ve been set adrift in listless resignation. That glazed over gaze of disinterest found a home upon my face.

It takes but a glance in the mirror, or to see the same look reflected in the eyes of another to cause a reaction somewhere between nausea and dismay. A sadness for the lost innocence and enthusiasm of youth that has been replaced by the strangely comforting realization that I know nothing.

At 16 I knew, beyond a doubt, that I could make a difference - That fate and destiny were collaborating and that good would triumph over evil. How could it possibly not?

It turns out; however, that fate and destiny are fickle friends. Enthusiasm fades. Eventually the realization that change is not an easy thing and that not everyone shares in your glorious vision of Utopia kick you upside the head. Change is a painfully slow process. It threatens to wear you down piece by piece until, from the most unexpected avenues, something appears to restore your faith, something that sparks your spirit and rekindles your drive.

This time around you don’t waste energy foolishly trying to change everything around you. You accept that which you can’t alter and embrace it rather than struggle against it. Focus the energy on yourself and your surroundings - Things you actually have a fleeting chance to improve. I have, for the most part, given up on trying to affect the vast majority of the sheeply population I encounter. Now I simply find it enough to not let them have an affect on me.

Live life on your own terms. Influence who and what you can - Realize who and what you can’t. Realize that abstinence and sobriety are not the answer. Remember what it felt like to be young and alive – recapture that feeling. Rejuvenate your psyche, invigorate your spirit and refuse to surrender to the darkness.

And that is the gods honest truth...

2005-02-25T05:40:00.000-07:00

The Truth?

Largely a relative term as malleable and erratic as the people who support or denounce it. In the purest sense, I suppose, perhaps, a wondrous thing. However, it, like anything else we are forced to contend with, is as subjective and prone to differing perspectives. So far as I can determine the only purpose which remains for the truth - To determine the victor in an argument. Even then the results are subject to change. (With or without assistance from Florida or Ohio Polling Booths). The truth, it seems, has become largely irrelevant.

Perfect.

So now even the most innocent dialectic is destined to degenerate into the most diabolic of diatribes. The inevitable dissemination of information, as simple as it is in today’s era, tends not to result in a united society firmly and faithfully steadfast in their position of the truth, but rather in their blind acceptance of that which they are led to believe is the truth.

So if I’ve no faith in the truth to set me free, what option remains? Revert to my childhood and resort to such things as Aesop's Fables to guide my morally decrepit existence? Quaint fairy tale like stories that, if nothing else, manage to capture my imagination and spirit? Or go with greater, more fantastic works of fiction? Old Testaments, New Testaments, generally any mainstream religious text? Personally I'm all for varying belief systems, provided it delivers some vector for our youth to follow that deviates in some notable fashion from the Noah, Jonah, Sodom and Gomorrah feast commonly rammed down our throats.

So fantasy, Fairy Tales, and Fables it is. Falsehoods and fallacies, but at least they serve a purpose and at the end you can find a moral to the story. Somewhat refreshing in a time when even the most fundamental truths are so vehemently disputed by philosophers, scientists, crackpots, and zealots.

Or perhaps The Egyptians - Arguably one of the most advanced and architecturally ept peoples in history worshipped... Cats. So, faithful worship of cute, cuddly, and furry felines led to the creation of the Pyramids. Many others discover such ventures as the crusades, a Jihad or two, and The Inquisition.

Can I please have a kitten?

But I digress. The last thing I desire is a theological debate. (Except on Tuesday when the Witness's come over for coffee...)

Babble, Babble, Toil and Trouble...

Where was I? Oh yes!

Truth.

Couldn't we just all agree on some sort of obtuse verisimilitude? Accept that myths and legends have as much plausibility as any other written testament and allow cognitive dissonance to do the rest?

"The Truth is out there"? Doubtful.

Odds are "The Truth is in Here".

Sadly it’s as muddled, perplexing and discombobulated as this entry.

… "ept"?

Rainbows and Unicorns

2005-02-18T16:26:00.000-07:00

Taking a little bit of advice that arrived via e-mail correspondence I have decided to dig out a pair of those rose coloured glasses and attempt to find a little ray of sunshine to brighten my day. At first I had intended to ignore such a request entirely and no amount of badgering or dolphining (Don't ask - odds are only two people on the planet will understand) was going to sway me. Then I got to thinking about it. Sunshine and roses? Write from such a deviant perspective? Almost a challenge. And I am a sucker for a challenge.

The trick here, I believe, is to find something that makes me happy. Something that brings me pleasure - Something that instills some degree of faith and a glimmer of hope.

So we have koala bears. Rather cute and cuddly looking little critters. Spend most of their days in a slothful existence getting high on eucalyptus. Thoroughly inspirational. If I had to choose another mammal to become, the koala would be the one.

And beautiful women. And not just those that are attractive on the outside, but ones that truly have an inner glow and an infectious smile. The type that just seem to exude an enchanting aura of excellence, intelligence, and mischievousness. (Preferably ones you know and can actually talk to, NOT those that consider you an adorable and harmless stalker)

Good friends. Those whom despite your most grievous drunken transgressions, or the most heated debates about trivial topics, still accept your calls and can often be convinced to join you for a beer. (Or coffee. Or tequila. Or whiskey.)

A workplace that allows you to have conversations like this one:

Employee: "M, I think there is a problem with my cheque. I don't think I got paid for the 10th and 11th."
M: "New policy. Now I only pay you what I think you are worth each day."
Employee: Stunned Silence
M: Click

(Ok, may have missed the mark slightly, but it brought me a moderate amount of enjoyment.)

See, already I'm feeling much better about life. It's not all so bad. I'm sure that with just a little work and effort we can easily turn the tides of darkness that I usually see washing over the land. I'll just try and cleverly coerce the nearest Unicorn into leading me to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and use it to fund programs to assist those less fortunate.

And then there are the ever-vigilant entities such as Greenpeace, Unicef, NATO, Bushco, and the Roman Catholic Church looking out for our best interests. Often enough they are even helpful enough to explain to us what is in out best interest.

Speaking of the Church- Anyone else noticed how the Pope is starting to look more alien-like as he sits on his holy seat in the Vatican. I swear he's looking all pasty like a fragile plaster puppet. It makes me wonder if perhaps The Vatican City is being run by Jim Henson. Yes, folks - Fozzie Bear is learning Latin.

Hopefully this small gesture is enough to placate the unruly masses. If not, may I suggest a Blog of your own?

But I really need to get out of these glasses The pink elephant is really starting to freak me out and these colours are bloody annoying.

Communication 101

2005-02-17T13:41:00.000-07:00

Communication via the Internet is a confounding beast. Despite your greatest efforts the point is almost always misconstrued (When it’s not missed entirely). I am, without a doubt, as guilty as the rest of the world in this. I’ve read through dozens of blogs and left comments, only to realize later how pathetically badly I managed to remain completely oblivious to the actual meaning of what I read.

Normally I would just write it off as the inevitable result of crack, bad Taco’s, the annoying distraction of sheep grazing in the front yard, and a general refusal to believe there may actually be a deeper meaning to be found within the words I see. Careful consideration, however, has led me to a different conclusion.

Quite simply I am stupid. Due to the offensive amount of complete gibberish that is available for my bored perusal and the dismaying amount of dumbed-down drivel that I encounter throughout the course of a day, my mind has become numb. Occasionally something worthy comes along and sparks interest. Then I’m forced to endure a few moments of agony as my slumbering mind awakens and the shooting pain of pins and needles begins.

I think what is needed is a Coles Notes (Or Cliff Notes, or Classic Notes) to assist in proper translation and to uncover all the hidden nuances that may otherwise be lost. Something that provides a clever, concise synopsis that explains cultural considerations, inside jokes, and the intended audience.

It may help, or it may not. Somehow I still think I would wind up engaged in a discussion of my favorite type of Taco, the proper techniques to care for the abundance of sheep the plague my fair city, or the best locations to procure some crack.

My own fault I suppose for never pursuing a higher level of education or striving to obtain my Masters in Linguistics. Destined it seems, for a lifetime of ignorance and misunderstanding.

The wonders of nature...

2005-02-16T14:45:00.000-07:00

This morning at about 9:35 am AKST I had the delightful pleasure of experiencing my very first earthquake first hand. I’m quite thankful that it was just a small one with a magnitude rating around 5. It’s rather disconcerting when the ground begins to shake and move beneath your feet.

At long last years of practicing walking while inebriated has finally paid off. A keen sense of balance combined with finely developed ability to remain standing no matter how drastically the floor seems to spin and tilt ensured my relative safety during this momentous occasion.

Later this evening I think I may be forced to try and reenact the event in the name of research. My dedication is such that I vow not to stop until I have reached a comparable level of ground movement.

Then I’ll have a nap.

Happy Valentine's Day

2005-02-14T13:56:00.000-07:00

Finally a horoscope I can believe, courtesy of SFgate:

SCORPIO October 23-November 21 This Valentine's Day is spent placating loved ones and/or in-laws. Thrillsville. Your Significant Other owes you one.

In other related news:

Cupid was found dead in his room early this morning. Cause of death has yet to be confirmed but early reports indicate it may have been complications stemming from the two arrows in his eyes. The bow, as of yet, remains missing. Investigators expect it to be located once they shed a little light where the light normally doesn't shine.

One exhuberant officer expressed his amazement at the length of the list of possible suspects.

The chief investigator replied: "Suspects? Clearly it was suicide."

After which she was rumoured to have been heard muttering: "Fuck Cupid."

Lethargic Tedium

2005-02-12T15:10:00.000-07:00

Despite the fact that I have absolutely no project to work on and have no paperwork remaining on my desk it was politely suggested that I come into the office for a few hours today. So, with no productive avenue left open to me I have, instead, relaspsed into blog addiction. Thus far I have surfed about a half dozen or more times through:

Stupid Beautiful, The Cynic Ward, McBickle, The Center of the Universe, Miss.White, Karendipity, Mark Morford, Sigurd, Emnlyn, Indy, Misfit, Iris, Melville, Common Dreams, and managed to use up whatever creativity that hasn't been leached from my body commenting about Cupid on Xtina's Blog.

The point is folks, that I am bored and count on you all to produce distractions from the monotony of a wasted afternoon.

Thanks for that.

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

2005-02-11T10:15:00.000-07:00

Ever seriously wondered about your mental health? Sat down quietly and reflected upon the possibility that you are, indeed, losing it? Come to the conclusion that you do not, even remotely, view the world in the same manner as all of those around you?

It's almost as though everyone else is engrossed in perpetrating some sick joke and you are the only one that isn't in on it. A truly disturbing feeling.

Certainly I've had it before and this isn't the first time I've felt this way. Generally whenever I begin to think I've got a screw loose I eventually determine I'm fine at that the rest of them have simply wound it in too tight. Far too tight.

Throbbing in the head, "Ouch, that hurts", could pop at any moment tight.

For validation of my little fantasy I really don't have to look any further than my nearest news source. Road rage ending in a fatality, postal workers going... well... postal, domestic violence, and an ever increasing rate of suicide. Do I really need any more clues to lead me to determine that there is a definitely something going on that I don't truly understand?

The feeling of being lost and alone in the woods even though you are surrounded by a multitude of others is quite disturbing. I realize it is a result of my own deluded paranoia and my own innate distrust of humanity, but I've come to believe it all stems from my inability to fully comprehend the reasoning behind much of what I see.

As the waters of popular opinion ebb and flow, I always seem to be struggling against the tide. In an era of globalization, political correctness, and understanding I somehow manage to feel isolated, dead wrong, and confused.

Deep down I think I'm OK with that.

Why? Because it gives me something to wonder about, something to distract me from the everyday pressure and stress that appears to envelope much of the population of Mother Earth. It causes me to avoid the mundane stagnation of blind acceptance that too often sets in and forces the mind to focus on nothing more that a little house on the prairie with a white picket fence, a drooling dog, and 2.4 children screaming that they want more.

Quite recently I received a brilliant piece of advice via e-mail: "Do whatever the hell makes you feel good."

Which is, of course, what I attempt to do each and every day. Why fight against your nature to attempt to conform and fit into society? A dog-eat-dog society in which the dollar is given more importance than health, the environment, and basic common sense? A society in which war, famine, pollution, and death are acceptable so long as you have the money and the oil rights?

"Hello? Four Horseman of the Apocalypse? Please feel free to take the next few years off and vacation in Vegas. We seem to be doing fine here without you."

Screw it... I need a drink.

You've got to be #$%$#$% kidding me...

2005-02-09T14:04:00.000-07:00

Warning: Never open e-mail before your morning coffee.

The life of a pretentious crack addict isn’t an easy one. Add to the mix adult ADD, a compulsive drinking disorder, a weakness for women, wine, and most things wicked and it’s amazing I have the time to relax for a coffee break and watch absently as the thin tendrils of smoke waft lazily about in the light breeze.

Damn. Where was I? Oh yes… Skies are blue and the ground is white. From inside it looks wonderfully picturesque. Venture forth, however, and you quickly realize “Holy #@$%! It’s cold.”

Mind numbingly so. Frozen synapses don’t tend to fire as well. Which is, of course, my own personal excuse for all the stupid things I do. Brain cells damaged by frostbite. A rare affliction. Cure unknown.

Anyway, combine that with the ever so nasty side effects of consuming cold, week old, Mexican Taco’s that were expertly smuggled across the border and it is no surprise that friends and strangers alike express concern about my health. After all I do tend to have some degree of difficulty maintaining one simple and coherent thought…

I remember once, as a child, I wanted to be a fireman. Well, not exactly a fireman, more specifically a Fire Inspector. Not from some morbid fascination or pyro type tendencies, but because of an odd interest in cause and effect. And the fact that they had cool uniforms.

Over the years the novelty of uniforms and fire has dissipated, but I am still left with the strange curiosity for cause and effect. No longer of flames, but now of human behavior. The preoccupation with trying to determine why something is done has led me to briefly peruse through a variety of books and subjects in search of answers: Behavioral science, philosophy, psychology, history, religions (both ancient and modern), biology, physics, chemistry, the occult, and drama.

The result: I know nothing.

Without intimate knowledge of circumstance and other mitigating factors it is impossible to truly understand the meaning and motivation of anyone’s actions. Even with such knowledge it is a largely futile quest. Most days I tend to question why I do the things I do and fail to come up with a reasonably logical conclusion.

Which make me wonder deeply how people (Some friends, some who I’ve never spoken to) have the audacity to assume that they know me, and worse yet, that they know what is best for me.

Differing views, opinions, and thoughts of value I enjoy and respect and, in fact, often look forward to during the day.

“You must do this or you shall burn forever in the fiery depths of hell” type reactions can, for lack of a more suitable phrase at the moment, can go straight to hell. And if, by chance, I should end up there please rest assured that I shall endeavour to fulfill my childhood dream and investigate the cause and effect of the eternal flames.

I’m almost certain that once again the point will be lost (Mostly because I’m not sure if I had one) and that once more I am in danger of damnation for the remainder of eternity, but then since when is that anything new?

I suppose I could delve more deeply into it, attempt to clarify a few details that are apparently a little vague and ambiguous. But really, where would be the fun in that? I’d say something about who this is directed at, something trite like “You know who you are.”

Unfortunately I’m not convinced they do, but refuse to expound any more on the subject.

Have a fabulous day.

Oh Look! A Castle!

2005-02-08T10:22:00.000-07:00

Odds are I should apologize in advance for this little entry. I think boredom and isolation threaten to get the best of me...

Once again I find myself pondering the relationships that people become involved in. Now, I'm not just talking the romantic or sexual relationships that develop between a man and a woman, but those that develop between any groups of interacting people. I can't help notice how they tend to resemble this luke warm Taco that seems to have mysteriously made its way to my desk. At first it began as a warm, moderately tasty treat designed solely to provide sustenance for a hungry soul. A chaotic mixture of unclear ingredients held together tentatively by a fragile shell. Caution is required when you take the first bite. Rush too quickly or squeeze with excessive force and the shell is likely to break, leaving you with nothing but a mess dropped unceremoniously in your lap and you asking the question "How did that happen?"

Proceed with care, however, and you can safely navigate your way through the entire Taco. Set it down and leave it untouched for a while and it tends to lose some flavour and the crisp shell becomes soggy. The cheese coagulates and hardens and in time it simply doesn't seem as desirable as it did a short while ago. "What am I doing eating this crap?" You wonder. Leave it long enough and you simply discard the cold stale remains and decide to go find yourself a steak and lobster dinner. After all, you deserve better.

Sadly you find yourself disappointed with the new meal. The steak is prepared poorly and requires a chainsaw to cut through and the lobster overcooked and rubbery. Despite some fabulous peppercorn and garlic-butter seasoning it still leaves a bad taste in your mouth. You leave wanting more and have developed a powerful thirst.

Your coffee, once hot, aromatic and providing that necessary boost to keep you going has become cool, bitter, and relatively stagnant. Thankfully the bar is open and you realize it is never too early for a Caesar. Cool and refreshing, with vitamins, vodka, and a healthy vegetable garnish. Three more and they too seem to strangely lose their appeal. You switch to rum until it too becomes dull. Inevitable gin and juice takes over until you awaken in the morning. Head throbbing, feeling dehydrated, and once again requiring sustenance. You guzzle back a gallon of water that oddly acquires a taste that matches the disturbing feel of your mouth. Dying of hunger you reach for the half eaten Taco discarded on the table and ravenously consumes all that is left. The best food ever.

Now, after a brief nap on the couch, all is well.

Yes, I know, a sad metaphor. But I already apologized. Sorry about your luck. I'd continue, but amazingly enough I'm hungry again. I wonder if I can get a Caesar this early...

Now is the Winter of our Discontent...

2005-02-06T16:04:00.000-07:00

Occasionally I find myself torn between becoming a social pariah hermetically sealed on some desolate mountain top, or fully submerging myself within the faceless masses that shuffle forth each morning completely oblivious to the fact that a world exists around them. Other days I feel a strange, entirely inexplicable desire to change it - An uncontrollable yearning to, in some witless fashion, force them to open their eyes and take note of life passing them by in some unseen anonymity. Perhaps to feel some empathy for their fellow man, rather than the apathy that continues to run rampant. This feeling commonly fades quickly once I remember that I am far too self-centered, self-righteous, pretentious, and, of course, largely insensitive to waste such an effort. To approach the world with a purely altruistic, self-sacrificing manner would simply seem absurd. A wasted effort destined for failure despite the admirable attempt. It is, in my own ever-so-humble opinion, impossible to keep everybody happy all of the time, and exceptionally difficult to keep even part of them happy part of the time. You can almost certainly be assured that someone will not approve of your actions. Which leads to them being despondent, frustrated, or angry and expecting you to offer a supplicating apology and perform some theatrical penance in order to pacify them. The reaction is usually irrational and moderately irritating, thus the odds of appeasement improbable. Then there are the days when you stumble across something that causes you to realize that all is not wrong with the world and that it’s all just a wee bit askew at the moment and that given a few million millennia all will be back the way it was intended - Some ethereal and serendipitous event that has the potential to change you forever. Suddenly you realize that it will be OK and that there is no need for you to worry about the current state of affairs. It was a chance meeting for me. One I had not planned. A strange meeting outside the airport and it seemed the man had been waiting for me. He furtively handed me small bag and whispered those four life altering words:

“Here, have some crack.”

Now, if you’ll excuse me I really must run. Seems I’ve lost my pipe.

Signed, Sealed, and Delivered.

2005-01-16T13:47:00.000-07:00

Ethics, standards, and moral fiber. Three things I had once blindly and naively convinced myself that I had a healthy supply. Or perhaps a younger, less jaded and far more optimistic version of myself did, if fact, maintain a suitable degree of each. Regardless, I am now quite certain that any reserves I had are depleted. Now, instead of standing tall on my own pedestal of illusionary virtue and honour I recline on dark sands of self indulgence, basking in the seductive light of hedonism, dipping my toes in a warm sea of apathy.

I'm can't help but think that I should be terribly revolted by the fact that I can be bought. That I can be so easily tempted and swayed by beguiling promises of a better life. That I am so very close to slipping into a shadowy void wherein lies the shimmering grail of instant gratification. I should possibly feel some sort of dismay for lost innocence, or mayhaps anger towards a society that incessantly bombards me with cliche slogans like "He with the most toys wins."

Sadly, I feel none of those things. I am left with only a stolid acceptance of my fate and a slightly throbbing emptiness where faith and conviction once resided. Disturbing to feel your spirit decay and degenerate into some twisted mockery of what it once was and to lack the courage, will, and determination to restore it.

Quite simply I'm losing the struggle. For too long I have be following the easy road and it has led me so far into darkness that I'm not sure if I can find my way back. Nor, really, am I sure I really want to. It's comforting here and all your worries just seem to fade away...

Winter Wonderland

2005-01-14T13:32:00.000-07:00

There was a time not so long ago when I attributed my bad attitude in the winter towards cold temperatures so extreme that I couldn't even be dragged from the house to spend a day on the Slopes. Now, however, I don't think it is the winter weather that forces me to hide in nice warm lounges to escape for a brief moment of respite.

It is, quite simply, the abundance of truly stupid people who venture forth in the winter months and seem completely oblivious to the fact that it is not summer. You may have seen them recently. They seem to have a distinct tendency to congregate in snow drifts just a few feet off the road. Their presence is often announced by the presence of flashing lights and a fire truck blocking all but one lane of traffic. So far as I can tell they seem to prefer Glenmore, Crowchild, Deerfoot, and McKnight as meeting places. Which effectively limits your ability to easily traverse the City in less than two hours.

Sadly, were you to approach these seasonally inept, they will, invariably, assure you of one thing - They are, without a doubt, above average drivers. Their current predicament is the unfortunate result of the rest of humanity conspiring against them. Well, of course it is. I am quite certain that excessive speed, lack of attention, failure to notice the sheet of ice on the road, and terribly poor timing had absolutely nothing to do with their SUV being launched into the snowdrift/lightpole/guard rail/other vehicle. Four Wheel, or All-Wheel drive, while exceptional for permitting you to accelerate and weave through traffic, offers absolutely zero assistance for stopping on ice. Oh, and stay off your bloody cell phone dumb ass. I doubt you are so important that the Earth will cease spinning if you delay your call for a few minutes until you have safely exited from traffic.

That being said, You are all now cordially invited for beer and wings at Stavros North at 7:00. As usual I can be convinced to buy. Last chance before I flee this god forsaken land for the more habitable climates of Victoria and Cancun (And yes, sadly, then back to the frigid North Slope of Alaska). For those I don't see... Catch ya in April.

It's all about...

2004-12-30T01:38:00.000-07:00

Me.

Considering the fact that it is the Christmas Holiday Season I should probably mention a little something about the Boxing Day frenzy that seems to have overwhelmed much of the population of my fair city, as well as a quick note of disappointment at the fact that most of these holiday shoppers seem to be quite amazed by how frightfully busy it is at the mall. But really, what needs to be said? It has, in my limited experience, been a madhouse consisting of the grumpy, the thrifty, the angry, and the all too bloody happy (As well as the three other nameless holiday dwarves). It hasn’t changed in the last decade, and is only likely to get worse over the next. Get over it.

I should also take a moment of silence to reflect on the 80,000 reported to have perished in the wake of the Tsunami on December 26th. It is a truly cataclysmic event that officially ranks as the most devastating disaster to occur in my lifetime. I can only hope that it remains the most destructive and catastrophic tragedy for the remainder of my days. My mind fails to fully fathom what could possibly be worse, yet inhumanity and Mother Nature have a distressing tendency to provide that which my imagination cannot.

I should take a moment… but really, why bother? After all, neither of these aforementioned events actually has any direct impact on my life. The consequences and effects of each ranks equally in the world of me. In fact, on an individual scale of self and selfishness I am more likely to be disturbed by the feverish lunacy of the holiday shoppers – I actually know people who experienced it.

I, personally, experienced neither event. Cleverly, and with much obvious foresight, I took to the air. What better place to avoid the manic masses and sixty foot tidal waves than to be 34,000 feet in the air? Simply brilliant.

Or so I thought.

Then I was forced to contend with even worse horrors - Those that happened to me. Can you imagine:

There you are safely snuggled into your seat high above the turmoil ravaging the world below when, out of nowhere, a baby starts crying and disturbs your oblivious slumber. Now, semi-conscious, the sounds assault you. You begin to realize the fellow across from you has an annoying wheezy type snore, the man three seats ahead of you is obnoxiously spewing some propagandized rhetoric about a topic he clearly knows little about except for the brief three seconds it spent on the bottom of CNN, and that little old lady has a cough that doesn’t sound so good, nor does the behemoth next to you smell so good.

Poor, unfortunate soul.

But wait! It gets worse.

The plane, after successfully navigating its way (With some admitted help by what I am sure was a relatively sober and competent pilot) over the troubles far below, begins to descend. Your hopes rise. With luck this torturous travel shall soon be over and you will be free of this winged tin can and its noxious contents. The doors open and…

The blast of cold and ice washes over you in an instant. Only seconds pass and already you are chilled to the bone reaching desperately for the jacket you long ago discarded due to the uncomfortable and stifling heat of the aeronautically engineered transport. You peer out the door and quickly realize that despite the fact it is two in the afternoon, it is decidedly dark. You’ve just entered the Arctic zone. Freezing temperatures (About –36° C) with blowing snow and not a stitch of daylight to be seen for a few months. For a moment you reminisce about better times – About the warm, cozy confines of an aircraft cabin and the soothing sounds of a lamenting cherub.

No way it could get worse. You are certain of it. It’s all clear sailing from here...

Until you arrive at your winter accommodations. They are cheerfully decorated with about five feet of festive snow. The lights flicker gleefully (Unfortunately this is the result of intermittent power failure and not some celebratory effort of the camp staff). The water supply is out of service, the kitchen is still without even intermittent electricity, and nothing is likely to be done to rectify the situation until the winds die down to a non-life threatening level.

No worries. You have an entire 186 minutes until there will be one hundred and nine equally disgruntled associates to share in your anguish. Of course, as one of the first on the scene the living conditions are quite obviously all your fault.

Baaaa Humbug.

‘Tis strange for to me to realize, as I must, that to someone else this likely doesn’t seem so bad. Of course, they are likely dealing with an overabundance of water and attempting to muddle by as best they can with whatever meager resources they are able to muster in an effort to survive their own calamity.

It is simply amazing how the mere matter of perspective can so drastically alter the severity of any hardship or adversity. Someone else’s plight is almost trivial in nature and things are, inevitably, always worse when it is happening to you, and “No, You couldn’t possibly understand.”

Reflecting once more to 80,000 dead and those survivors who are desperately trying to remain so, I can honestly say “No, I can’t possibly understand.”

Yet I try.

And only come to the realization of how truly insignificant the problems in my life are in the grand scheme of things.

Merry Christmas

2004-12-25T13:02:00.000-07:00

Happy Holidays

Somewhere over the rainbow, Skies are blue...

2004-12-21T13:49:00.000-07:00

Seeing as how we are quickly approaching Christmas, I decided to detour from my usual path of misanthropic dismay and create a list of things that actually instill happiness:

1) The Phish version of the song Gin and Juice. I really can't explain the phenomenon, but hearing it automatically puts me in a bizarre and joyous mood.

2) Varsity Wine Merchants (Located at #412 4625 Varsity Drive NW, Calgary). Tired of warehouse sized wine shops that fail to have staff that can offer any helpful assistance? This place can help. It is also one of the few places I have encountered that can provide you with a bottle of the much coveted Zaya Rum.

3) San Marco Cathedral, Venice.

4) The Locus Cafe (Located at 4121 Main St, Vancouver). An amazing atmosphere and superb service, both of which are only surpassed by the quality of the food.

5) The entire concept of Namaste.

6) The Bondi Bar and Cafe (Located somewhere in downtown Munich). Newcastle, Jagermeister, and some of the hardest drinking Australians... In Germany.

7) The Castles of Austria.

8) Swansea Pub, Wales. Anytime you can waste away an afternoon drinking Guiness on the patio while looking out over the ocean is a good time.

9) The crazy australian who left the warm beaches of Oz for Central Alberta... All because of love. (Insane, but somehow touching and romantic at the same time)

10) 60 cent beer in Dakar.

Hmm, once written down I notice a distinct trend towards alcohol and alcohol related activities. Perhaps meetings are in order?

It was only a matter of time...

2004-12-17T14:43:00.000-07:00

Alright.

So there are an astounding number of blind little sheep who seem remarkably dedicated to contributing nothing substantial towards society. Their purpose is markedly singular - They exist simply to consume and to provide fleece for the shepherd.

Fair enough. If the life of livestock is perfectly acceptable to you, who am I to argue? If the shepherd points towards the green pastures of "The Mall" and offers you an all you can buy buffet how could you possibly be expected to resist?

Having come to the conclusion that I am not content to live life simply as a sheep, and having determined that except for a few notable exceptions most of the planet is, indeed, quite satisfied with the status quo there is only one viable option left open to me.

I shall become "The Shepherd".

Cast off all your previous ties. Renounce your loyalty to the Vatican, the Illuminati, the Freemasons, Bushco, your Satanic Cult, and any other ineffectual affiliations. Follow me to peace, happiness, and hedonsim. Let me lead you to glory and euphorically towards Utopia. Give me your fleece and fear not, for I shall provide sanctuary against the evils of the world.

Join the ever-growing ranks of "The Agnostic Coalition of Insightful Deviants Tenaciously Restoring Intelligence to the Planet."

Be one of the first to bask in the light of A.C.I.D T.R.I.P. Experience the delight as you open your mind to new and wonderous visions. Rejoice as I guide you safely through the maze that once was your carpet. Let me lead you on your journey towards the scintillating lights. Allow me to open your eyes to sensations you've only dreamed of. Come with me and Break on through to the Other Side.

Tired of the fear of a burning torment for all eternity in hell? Too busy to be bothered with Confessing your sins? Unable to properly mix a martini? Still confused about the literal meanings of unclear religious texts? Apathetic towards environmental issues? Experiencing troubles in your Ethics 101 classes? Excessively over medicated and too weary to care? Never heard of Clamato? Still haven't received your free I-Pod? Still trying to discern if it's Less filling, or Tastes Great?

I can help!

Act now, and become one of the enlightened and blessed souls who fear not the process of natural selection! Come, join me, be well and prosper!

It can all be yours for only 666 easy payments of $19.99.

Imagine, eternal, panoptic pleasure for under $14,000!

Nowhere else are you likely to find such an amazing offer.

For more information on how you can join the craze sweeping the nation please inquire to burningtorment@hotmail.com.

Sincerely yours,

The "Not-Quite-Center of the Universe",

Sardonic Vexation.

In the Event of a Water Landing...

2004-12-16T11:30:00.000-07:00

So, recently I have become somewhat addicted to other peoples Blogs. Considering the amount of time I spend in front of a computer at work it is truly frightening to realize how much time I have to devote to this awful affliction. It has almost become ritualistic to persuse through the same blogs hourly. Click - Nothing new - Click - Nothing new - Click - Nothing new - Click

Hallelujah!

Ladies and Gentlemen (And you select few to whom neither word applies) We have new content. Suddenly the meaningless monotony at the office is momentarily interrupted. Occasionally, to my utmost dismay, it happens that hours may pass with nothing new. No insightful posts. No clever and witty comments. No new perspectives offered.

For a brief moment depression sets it. Then, thankfully, I return to my senses. It a bloody blog. Other people have lives and cannot possibly be expected to be available to post for my convenience. It does not take long to overcome the sadness - After all I still have the
giddy anticipation of checking back in sixty minutes.

At one point of utter despondency I went out searching for other interesting sites that may be able to hold my attention until the "Old Classics" were updated. A short while later and I had made a few observations:

1) There are an obscene number of blogs out there. I had no idea.

2) I have zero interest in many of them. (Not to say that they don't have excellent content, just that I do not knit, persecute minorities, club seals, have a vagina, or hold any strong religious convictions)

3) That, like, seven people found and read this is fascinating. In some sick, twisted, narcissistic sort of way.

4) That I am an ass. I love to read the comments, to receive them, yet I am brutally inconsiderate about writing them.

5) That I am not exactly sure what it is that attracts me to the ones I read repeatedly. Perspectives often vary, opinions clash, yet still they suck me in. So far the best I can come up with is that they offer what appears to be an honest, original, creative, and heartfelt opinions as opposed to some forcefully contrived rhetoric or antiquated precepts that result from years of insidious indoctrination.

6) I have decided to prescribe myself a healthy dose of gin and juice, administered with a garnish of reality and a regimen of getting out of the house in order to cure this disease. Anyone else suffering from a similar disorder who is brave enough to mix with the Masses of Proselytized Sheep in order to swill a beer or twelve just give me a shout. I'm buying.

Must run - The natives are restless and chanting something about "Happy Hour".

2004-12-12T20:35:00.000-07:00

Kitschy?

All in the name of progress...

2004-12-11T08:00:00.000-07:00

Indeed.

For centuries it was believed that the world was flat. Over 2000 years passed before some erudite individual discovered that the Earth was not, in fact, the center of the universe. Somewhere around 1095 AD some religious zealots thought the Crusades to be a fabulous idea. So enthralled were they with the concept that they decided repeat it ten more times over the next 574 years. Somewhere during the same time the people of Spain began to feel like they were missing out on the fun. Hence, a little game they referred to as the Inquisition was born. Shortly thereafter news of the festivities traveled across the ocean and there was jealousy. Not to be outdone the fine people of Salem came up with a jolly good time and called it a “Witch-hunt”. Thankfully, humanity as a whole has progressed away from such silly diversions. (With a few notable exceptions such as the Third Reich, a little disturbance in Vietnam, and the occasional Jihad type ordeal in the Middle East) They became enlightened. By the mid 1800’s they even managed to abolish slavery, and by 1918 the women of Canada were permitted to vote.

Without such distractions, however, people grow bored. Instead they begin to ponder and debate such things as “Do blue Smarties, Coffeemate, and smoking cause cancer?”, “Is Anne Heche really a lesbian?”, and “Does McDonald’s meat contain mealworms?” They listen to the words of wisdom spewed by the sagacious Dr. Phil. Hell, the police force in Akron (In what I can only assume was an effort to keep busy) spent 5 hours negotiating with an empty house. The North Koreans are transforming a military base into a golf resort to entertain the South Koreans. Researchers spend their time discovering that 1st degree relatives of alcoholics are more likely to become addicted to alcohol and cocaine. (Thankfully I’m not an alcoholic. I’m an alcohol connoisseur with a propensity for becoming overly sensitive to the rotation of the earth¹) Other researchers have discovered substantial similarities between Chicken and Human DNA. I can’t be the only one holding my breath awaiting the first chicken heart transplant? I must admit I am now far more concerned about the Avian Flu epidemic currently ravaging Africa.

There is a new breed of discontented people who entertain themselves by engaging in a little game of “Identity theft”. That is simply silliness. I’d be perfectly willing, after a cursory credit check, to trade with most of them. No need for thievery. And then there is Reality TV. Not sure what I need to say here…

Thankfully the Christmas craze is upon us. The bored masses can now flock to the nearest super center and overspend to their hearts content. Undoubtedly they will be purchasing the variety of overpriced items found on Oprah’s Favorite Things list. Not to mention the expected skirmishes over whatever new fad has replaced Cabbage Patch Kids, Tickle-Me Elmo, The X-Box, and Beanie Babies.

Now, if you’ll please excuse me, it seems there is some diabolical sect of satanic scientists attempting to procure some of my much-valued Brain Juice.

Thank 'Name of your favorite deity here' for progress.

¹ Credit to “The Mel” for this little phrase.

Warning - Some Profanity to Follow.

2004-12-11T07:25:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you’ve all experienced it:

You awaken one morning, roll lethargically out of bed, and prepare to bravely face the day. Yet, strangely, something feels decidedly off. Initially you ignore it, assuming that a shower, a shave, and a pot of coffee will rectify the entire situation. To your dismay it does not. Caffeine, nicotine, cold water, and shaving gel all fail. Somehow the world seems to operating about two seconds faster than your mind can process. Despite your best efforts you can’t get the hair to look just right, so you grab a hat and hope a brisk walk to the office will do the trick.

Wrong.

Now you are cold, wet, miserable, suffering a two second penalty, and at work. At this point there is no doubt that this day will be simply delightful.

You grab another coffee, endure the meaningless morning small talk, successfully dodge a few people you simply are not in the mood to deal with, and escape to the relative security of your desk.

Only to discover it is a trap.

He whom you loathe most is there and instantly launches into what he obviously considers to be witty repartee. To your amusement you are easily able to keep up even with a two second disadvantage. Then your favorite assclown decides it is a fabulous time to bombard you with the usual disparaging comments regarding Frostbacks, socialist government, the tendency to say “eh”, and something about “Crappy Canadian Beer.”

So, understandably, you lose it. A short jab to the head, an uppercut, and a blow to the solar plexus – He crumples to his knees like a sex starved man begging to his wife. Once again you are the champ. (Serves the bastard right, considering what he said about the beer.)

Ok, perhaps it doesn’t happen exactly like that (But only because you are operating at a slight disadvantage). Instead it collapses into an uncomfortable silence until you force enough synapses to fire and utter the ever so distinguished and respected phrase…

“How’s about you go fuck yourself. If you were even remotely smart enough to do this job I wouldn’t have to be here. Unfortunately you are so fucking inept that they called me back early again. I could be sitting back home sipping martinis, but no, you’re not clever enough to handle this on your own. Fuck off and leave me alone. EH!”

Admittedly it is not your most professional moment, but thankfully you have a full two seconds to come to that insightful epiphany. A drink would be really nice about now, but its early. Then you remember Junior on the other side of the office has a bottle of Bailey’s in his desk drawer. Rumour has it that Bailey’s goes well with coffee.

So what do you do now? Sit down and get to work, or be sociable and go visit your new best friend? (It is Friday after all, there is little to do. What little there is can wait ‘till Monday, and your boss is likely to take you to happy hour at noon anyway.)

Please feel free to choose your own adventure.

Regrettable Wednesday

2004-12-08T08:21:00.000-07:00

So.

It would seem the Karmic powers that be are relatively displeased with me these days. Undoubtedly the inevitable result of a misspent youth. My truck has been broken into not once, but twice. I assume you will all understand if I am slightly bitter about the whole ordeal. First some nice people in Vancouver absconded with a rain jacket and a pocketful of change. The some nice people in Edmonton made off with – not a damn thing. Which made me slightly happy, but not as much as the blood around the broken window. I now find myself hoping it hurt, that it gets infected, and that the culprit burns for all eternity in the flaming pits of hell. (A reaction not likely to gain me any points with the Karma Counters). The good news – the five bands playing at the Windspear Auditorium may have been worth the cost of a broken window.

I also had the distinct pleasure of spending some time with the then current object of my affection. After much rebuffing of amorous advances it was decided that all we are destined to do is share a song that shall evermore be known as “Our Song”. Puddle of Mud’s She Hates Me. Delightful.

Now, enjoying life to the fullest, I decided drinks with a dear friend was in order. Which was, of course, fabulous. Then I returned home, played back the night’s events in my mind, and got stuck on her desire to find a “Meaningful Relationship.”

It did not take long for me to consult with the Holy Dictionary and find “A connection existing between people related to or having dealings with each other for a function or purpose.”

Thus forced to consider all my relationships I discovered that by definition, it seems, that they are all meaningful. So I considered the possibility of a meaningless, insignificant, and inconsequential relationship. Quite simply – It does not exist. Truly, What would be the point?

So I decided “meaningful” was not exactly what she meant. Perhaps an intimate, romantic, passionate relationship composed of friendship, respect, and the kind of understanding that leads you to finish each other’s sentences is what she really sought.

Good luck with that.

I wonder what Abu Sa’id ibn Aboa al-Chair (Some Persian Mystic born back in 967 who died approximately 81 years later, and whom I know absolutely nothing else about) would have to say the whole situation?

I also wonder what it is I am truly seeking trudging through this cesspool of broken dreams and stagnant minds?

In other, completely unrelated news:

1) I’ve managed to get the Blogrolling thing working. If your site should appear there and you really wish it hadn’t, just let me know. I shall endeavour to find some way to make it vanish.

2) I have been dubbed Random Canadian here. I have no idea why that is such an overwhelming source of amusement to me.

Somniferous Exigency

2004-11-27T19:51:00.000-07:00

Indeed.

Due to circumstances fully and completely within my control my departure has been delayed (In no small part to conflicting weather reports from the home office). As a result it appears I shall employ yet another weekend with fustian reflections regarding the apparent insipidness of human existence. I am not so certain that this is the proper time for such musings as lately I must admit to strange feelings of listlessness. Despite my best efforts its seems that I am being swept into some pit of stoic resignation. It may be only a matter of time before I become just another mindless member of The Quintessential Collective of Languid Mediocrity.

I suppose it really wouldn't be all that bad to blindly accept that everything is occurring exactly as it should, and that this is as good as it gets. Unfortunately I can't seem to overcome my belief that society seems to be selling the meaning of life with a synthetic glaze of contentment and false hope on the side. It's quite likely I'd be much happier over the holiday's if I simply conceded defeat and surrendered myself to the propaganda that surrounds us. Ah, to be able to blindly put my faith in the ecclesiastical dogma of big business. Sadly that is about as likely to happen as me becoming a highly religious born again convert...

And, sadly, I lack the inspiration to continue with this.

Deviant Delusions

2004-11-26T16:12:00.000-07:00

Ah... Blind ambition. Aspirations. The never-ending struggle to get ahead and stay there. Staying ahead of what still remains a mystery to me, yet I've noticed a large number of people scurrying about this coastal village called Vancouver who certainly seem to be in a hurry to get there.

I squandered a large part of my weekend perched perilously on a street corner watching attentively as the drama occurred around me. At least is started out attentively. I must admit that somewhere between the Guinness, the gin, and the bacardi my focus may have drifted slightly. Luckily there was no shortage of panhandlers to ensure that I remained steadfast in my street side scrutiny. All they asked in return was for spare change and cigarettes.

At some point I became rather annoyed by the young fellow in the designer clothes who approached for the fourth time to "borrow" a smoke and a quarter to make a call. Not once did I ever see him make a call. I've come to suspect that perhaps it was never his intention to use the phone and that he had some other purpose for the money. Saving up for a cup of coffee, for instance.

For a purely entertaining thrill ride I forced myself onto the late night bus to the corner of Hastings and Main. A truly enlightening and eye opening experience. Should anyone feel that their lives are empty and meaningless, I truly recommend a quick trip to put everything in a proper perspective. Or, if a view of the other end of the spectrum is needed you can always take the lovely drive north along the coast until you reach the Heavenly Narcissistic Haven of Whistler Village. Here you can encounter a profusion of hubristic personas devoid of any inspiration or desire beyond looking good and ensuring everyone else knows it. I must admit I felt a great deal of perverse pleasure just being there.

Now, however, the time has come to leave the warmer climate of the West Coast and venture once more across the mountains to the Land of the Frozen Heathens. All I can do is pray that some kind soul will be waiting in Cowtown with a frosty pint of Traditional.

Traveling Turpitude

2004-11-18T17:33:00.000-07:00

The week in review:

Three days of waiting for the airline to locate my luggage. One medivac off the mountain top for a fellow suffering from altitude sickness. One ankle (Not mine) broken in a drunken wrestling match. One case of an extremely rare disease. And one search and rescue attempt for an inexplicably missing crew. A relatively boring seven days. It is so nice to be back in the civilized lands where the most dangerous thing I've encountered are the cab drivers.

Traveling is something I do often. Often enough to find it completely irritating that others who do it more frequently have not yet figured out the simple ways in which to accomplish it in a painless fashion. Thus, in hopes that one day I may manage to make it through a customs line up in less than an hour here are a few simple tips:

1) Discard the gaudy jewelry. The fourteen rings adorning your body in various locations, the cheap Gucci knockoff watch, the silver pendant, the oversized belt buckle, the impressive copper bracelet - All have a nasty tendency to set off the metal detector. The rest of us have the pleasure of patiently waiting as you remove the offending item and attempt once more to make it through the screening process. In order to speed up the process remove them before you reach the detector. Please.

2) Loose change. I know it is painful to part with the $0.67 in your pocket. The security people may be tempted to pilfer your hard earned money. But change is made of metal. Metal tends to set off the metal detector. If you set off the metal detector, the rest of us will get to wait and watch as you repeat the process.

3) Steel toed boots. Take them off. Place them in the provided tray. Steel is metal. Metal tends to set off the detector.

4) Sharp objects. Knives and such are difficult to get through security. Admittedly they look exceptionally cool strapped to your belt, unfortunately they are prohibited. By prohibited they mean "Not Allowed". You can try and argue. I will patiently await in line behind you.

5) Cell phones and Laptops. Ensure they are charged before you head to the airport. They will inevitably ask you to turn them on. If the batteries are dead and the unit does not turn on, it is likely to turn into an argument. Arguing with the security people may result in further delays.

Now, in the off chance you actually arrive safely at your destination I offer a few other minor tips that may assist in an incident free journey. (Mostly only of use if you are traveling to a quaint little country we call Canada). The first thing you may notice upon arrival is a blanket of white powder that appears to cover pretty much everything. We call this "Snow".

Snow, for the most part, is cold. It is an integral ingredient for the creation of igloos, snowballs, and snowmen. It is also a much needed part of the entire tobogganing experience and is necessary for skiing and snowboarding. Snow also has a tendency to make driving a precarious adventure. For those unaccustomed to operating a vehicle in such conditions I would highly recommend buses, taxi cabs, and dog sleds for transport.

For those arriving from smaller rural areas you may encounter a novelty we refer to as traffic lights. Their main purpose is to control the flow of traffic in an organized fashion. The way in which they work is really quite simple: Green means go. Yellow means accelerate quickly through the intersection. Red means stop (Similar in many ways to a Stop Sign).

And finally - Buy a toque. You won't regret it.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine

2004-11-14T13:06:00.000-07:00

“Life is a pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”

Well, apparently I am doing a relatively pathetic job of selling myself. There are a few bored people on the planet who seem to believe they have me all figured out. It seems I am a disconsolate, dark and repressed individual and spend the majority of my time clad in gothic attire hiding out in my basement plotting the demise of mankind.

Quite simply that is untrue. I leave the demise of mankind up to the exceptionally disturbed crack addicts of VHEMT.org.

The truth is I lack any sense of cynicism and always endeavour to view the world through rose-coloured glasses. I enjoy spending my time taking long walks on the beach, in the moonlight, and in the rain. I possess limitless patience and am generally a kind, considerate, generous, caring and loving individual. And honest. Very honest. Trust me.

I also am the proud owner of a nice little bridge that I may be willing to let go. For the right price.

Occasionally, however, I slip out of my state of obliviousness and actually look at the world around me. Once focused on the world my rest reaction is to reach for the nearest beer and drink until the world no longer appears so completely fucked, or the girl at the bar begins to look cute - Whichever comes first.

On very rare occasions this time honoured coping mechanism fails miserably. It leaves me with ever more questions. Most notably “Where am I?” and “How did I get here?”
Thus far I have been largely disappointed with the answers.

Other days something, or someone, convinces me that perhaps I am not quite as sublime as I would like. A healthy dose of gin can quickly cure that. (For occasional bouts of guilt I recommend Vodka)

Hopefully this helps to clear up some of the confusion I’ve encountered and puts everything in perspective. If not feel free to drop me a line and we can discuss this little investment opportunity I came across – A sweet deal on some ocean front property.

‘Till next time – Much love….

A Comment Gone Awry...

2004-11-10T15:42:00.000-07:00

As I seem to have acquired the same “Decay of Society” scented air freshener:

Everyone, it seems, is looking for some sort of distraction from their empty, meaningless, and mundane lives - Unwilling to accept the fact that they didn’t unfold in a Fairy tale like fashion. The consumerist pathology that seems to be sweeping through gives them small way to fill the void where “feeling, emoting, thinking, and giving a shit” used to be. They can now approach the world with a smug “Look what I bought” attitude. Apparently owning what is new and expensive is an adequate replacement for actually living life. Personally I’d just like to offer these people a nice, warm cup of “Shut the fuck up.”

Far be it for people to actually spend time communicating and interacting with their children. It is so much simpler to plant them in front of the television. Should they begin to misbehave there is, of course, no way it could be a lack of proper parenting or discipline. It must, therefore, be a medical condition. Unfortunately most doctors these days seem to have lapsed into the same quagmire as the rest of society. They seem more apt to prescribe rather than treat. The same, I believe, is true of Therapists. Apparently they are quite content to sit silently awaiting some sort of abreaction to justify a prescription. Prozac, Valium, Vicodin, and Ritalin can “cure” whatever ails you.

At the risk of being even more presumptuous than usual – I’m thinking you may have done a fine job in the psychology field. I get the impression that you could have offered people with a damaged psyche something a little more helpful than “Take two of the pink pills and tell me about your mother.”

I like to think that things will change for the better, but it’s difficult. Looking about as a large portion of the planet wanders about in a haze – Heavily medicated, moderately sedated, partially deluded, or completely disaffected.

Combine that with an excuse to overindulge their consumer habits with the upcoming holiday season (Only 44 days ‘till Christmas) and it is almost impossible not to become disheartened and somewhat nauseated.

I truly wish more people would come to the realization that there really is more to life than simply “existing” from one day to the next. Unfortunately, I don’t see it happening anytime soon.

Alas, the voices in my head have told me it is time to get back to work…

(For those completely clueless about what I'm babbling on about, please look here:
http://drippingwithsarcasm.blogspot.com)

Imminent Ambiguity

2004-11-06T13:15:00.000-07:00

I am beginning to feel like a spectator in the Omnibus box observing as the Theatre of Life performs before me – I can watch, but am unable to provide any direction. Strange to witness intellectual atrophy run rampant through society and remain powerless to slow the spread of the plague. Watching as supposedly free and democratic countries sit on the verge of becoming Oligarchies.

I begin to consider the concept of Karma and Fate – trying to determine if I believe in a prearranged destiny or doom, or do we each have control over our own lives?

“…Yielding to eternity or enclosing oneself in the moment…” (Simone de Beauvoir)

Words that lately have begun to have a greater meaning than I previously realized. A choice to make – to succumb to the mandates of society or remain an individual struggling to shed the draconian labels so quickly applied.

Ambivalence. The best word I can find to describe my feeling. Lost, confused, and definitely torn. Structure, society, and conforming to what has been, since an early age, instilled as acceptable – Or making decisions based on what I feel is right, on exercising my own free will and trusting my own ethical and moral standards.

But then what does it really matter? One way or another we will all find ourselves at the same place in the end. Eventually Atropos will cut the thread and all will have become meaningless. What to do in the meantime? Grasp hold of some apotropaic talisman and pray for the best? Succumb to hedonistic desires and live only for the moment? Or venture forth and try, in some feeble way, to make a difference?

Exuent Omnes.

The Friday Facade

2004-11-05T10:16:00.000-07:00

The fear of being alone, and of remaining that way, seems to adversely affect the judgement of many people. The desperate need to feel loved; to believe that there is a place for them somewhere in the world is overwhelming. They will, invariably, seek solace wherever it is convenient.

Some will become faithful members of the church to fill the empty void. Others may find ritual sacrifice is more to their taste and join a cult. Some may take a more mundane approach and simply join the PTA. And yet others may simply become die-hard sports fans - fooling themselves into believing that their team’s victory somehow validates their own empty existence. Myself? No affiliation as of yet, but I’m thinking perhaps group therapy or AA meetings. I am sure either one should be able to provide the loving support that I crave.

There are people who do not need their own coven to fulfill this desire to be loved. Their yearning to be cherished can be satiated by one night in the arms of whichever vile creature is first to offer them a drink. They can generally be found hovering around barstools and are easily identified by their ability to misconstrue a nod of acknowledgement as a sign that you care. A smile can be mistaken for a declaration of undying love, and purchasing them a drink is akin to a marriage proposal. (How I came by this information is of no consequence)

Then there are others who’s thirst for unconditional adoration causes them to create life – those who feel the presence of a child will give their life purpose and meaning that they were otherwise lacking. (Not that I have anything against someone having a child - I’m against someone having a child simply because they are lonely)

Then there are the most dangerous of the solitary souls. The Stalkerish types - those that view the object of their desire as prey. They seem to operate under the delusion that by hunting their beloved they can, at some point, catch them alone. Occasionally abduction is necessary to expedite the process. Once alone they will run through a myriad of persuasion techniques to convince the lucky victim that the feeling of love is mutual. If crying, screaming, pitiful attempts at seduction, and copious amounts of alcohol are unsuccessful it is not uncommon for torture and starvation to ensue.

Is there a point to this rambling? I really have no idea. It just struck me that everyone, despite protesting to the contrary, has the deep inner hunger to feel loved and appreciated and clings desperately to the belief that somewhere out there is someone or something to feed the hunger.

What if there is not something for everyone? What if some poor, hapless souls are destined forever to be alone? Never truly connecting to another person or group? Never truly knowing that sense of love and belonging that leads one to feel complete and fulfilled? Or does everyone wander around with that vague feeling that there is something missing?

Some, it seems, are quite content and happy. Outwardly it looks like they have somehow discovered the secret to inner peace. Occasionally I wonder if appearances are deceiving. Is it just a façade created because that is the way they wish to appear? Or are they just completely oblivious?

Ignorance, I’ve heard, is bliss.

So then I wonder – How is it you know you’ve found that elusive missing link? Some mystical force that bonks you on the head and tells you “This is right.”? A sudden warm and fuzzy feeling inside? Does the nagging feeling inside just fade away to be replaced by endless happiness and that vacant smile?

Then there is the frightening revelation – Perhaps it just myself that wanders about with the hollow, empty feeling within. Maybe not everyone desires more from life, from people, and from themselves. It’s entirely possible, but a possibility I stubbornly refuse to accept.

Quite simply – There must be more.

Tanqueray and Chronic

2004-10-21T14:55:00.000-06:00

The morning coffee.

A ritual I have come to look forward to most mornings (Or afternoons as the case may sometimes be). Thus I was noticeably distraught to realize that nowhere in the house was I likely to find a warm caffeinated beverage. I was forced to travel through the cold and snow to the nearest coffee shop.

It appears I was not the only one faced with such a dilemma. Far too many of the annoyingly pompous corporate consumers had descended upon the downtown core. One in particular managed to attract my attention. The lady with the bleached-blonde hair that pulled her nice shiny BMW into the handicapped stall and dashed in to get her "Half-caf, low fat latte". Immediately she made it abundantly clear that she was a very busy and important lady and did not have time to stand in line with the rest of us peons. I, being a consummate gentleman, was kind enough to move aside and allow Middle-aged Barbie to bark commands to the staff. I patiently endured a quaint little tirade about how the amount of time it takes to steam milk is "Absolutely Ridiculous." I continued to patiently wait as she rummaged through her purse for a few minutes to dig out exact change and then I watched as she scurried back to her car complaining on how they always make it "Far too hot." (I have noticed this frightening trend myself - I'm beginning to think they may be using boiled water and steamed milk in the latte).

Approximately forty-five seconds later I received my own disturbingly warm cup of coffee and proceeded towards the door. To my overwhelming amusement Ms. High and Mighty had not yet moved her car. Judging from the conversation she was having on her cell phone her "Significant Other" was in a moderate amount of trouble for not having the number to BMW Assist on speed dial for situations when she has locked her keys in the car. It was also very clear that her entire day was completely ruined.

Sweet Justice.

I'm not exactly sure why it is that displays of wealth such as a BMW or an over-priced suit allow people to forfeit basic niceties and good manners, but I suspect it is similar to why a seven year education seems to imply some sort of mystical intelligence. Personal experience has led me to the highly enlightened conclusion that this is not always so. Scattered about the planet there is a plethora of wealthy, excessively accessorised, well educated people cruising about in over-priced vehicles and clad in $900 casual ensembles. These people are still fully capable of being "stupid". Not to mention being rude and generally nasty. Regardless, they still seem to expect us peasants to bow down and kiss the ground upon which they walk.

I think its the tangible air of arrogance that tends to follow them around that bothers me the most. The supercilious demeanor and shocking vanity tends to fill me with a feeling of loathing and contempt. And I suppose that somehow my disdain for them makes me equally guilty.

More morology lessons to follow...