I really want to do more with this space.
So in the absence of my own motivation, I’m going to post some things I’ve written at other times.
Some are complete thoughts. Others, sketches in type and set yet to be fully realized.
Please enjoy. These are the breadcrumbs of my frustration.
K.
It’s getting dark outside, here where i am, and heavy, gray clouds are rolling from the East.
The air is thick and wet, and at any moment the sky could tear itself open and wash down upon the ground.
I’m safely inside. Out of the storm. At least in a physical sense.
Thousands of kilometres away, life trudges forward. Shit happens. All of which is outside my control, and beyond my understanding.
After all the chaos of the day dies down, the quiet moments in between each deep sigh remind us of how deeply we can feel the words said in haste and from anger.
The ups, and downs, and sides to sides that occupy this gauntlet we live through, seeks to bruise us, batter us, and leave us exhausted and worn. And then we get up and do it all over again.
We have to really live with the consequences of our actions. Not just pay them lip service. Not just say “we have to live with this”, but take it in, embrace it, and be willing to accept it for all of the heartache it will mean.
There is a difference between knowing the path, and walking the path, and either way is a test for our collective soul.
But i can’t pretend to know what any of you are thinking, or feeling, or knowing, or living through, if you don’t say anything until it’s too late.
I am only a drop, in an infinite ocean of drops. I am a leaf on the wind. I am myself, at the best of times, and the worst of times, still just myself.
And i am sorry if that just isn’t good enough. Because it is all I have to offer.
Sorry. I’ve been out of the loop a bit.
The coffee is pretty good. The scenery, delightful. The internet: not so great.
But quietly approaching 30 days of naught, and I’m still looking for a place to happen.
I’m not intentionally obtuse, I just can’t tell you anything.
But it does cause my mind to cast off to far away shores, where the comfortably numb are free to pontificate upon the big bad wolf in designer sheepskin shoes, and how hard life is, what with all the free health care and freedom to choose life, or liberty, or the pursuit of tackiness.
Sometimes, just imagine that things are not as convoluted as the script outline says they are.
Consider, if you will, the idea that maybe, just maybe, the farther from home you are, the more it’s the same same.
We are all afraid. We all want love. And the simple things in life, like a cup of good coffee, the sweet caress of a warm hand, or a bellyful of shared laughter counts towards our daily bread, all the more so than anything that fits within the 140 character limit of doom and gloom.
I miss home. I miss what it represents and how it makes me feel. But most of all, the more I see of people at home, wherever they are, the more I reminded of why i am here. For now, at least.
Someday soon, it will be just another day. And then I will be home again, home again. Jiggity jig.
Hi. How are ya?
Well, enough about you.
I’ve been busy.
Too busy, apparently, to drag my neanderthalish fingers across the touch screen to delight and entice my stalwart readership with my stirling demeanor and rapey wit.
Sorry.
On a brighter note, I have discovered a few things some of you may know.
First: I can be an asshole. Again, sorry.
B: Kobo has this cool self-publishing dooey on their site. I haven’t used it yet, but eventually, I will learn the whole alphabet and give it a whirl. Here’s the link: Kobo – Writing Life
iii) Writing Prompts @ Reddit. This is my new favourite subreddit. It’s how my writing brain goes to the gym instead of sitting around writing about chips and beer.
I will, of course, endeavor to pop by here and do my diligence. If I remember.
Because I really do feel better after I’ve made an honest effort at writing something. I feel the same way after going to the gym for my body too.
Trippy.
Tragedy and Triumph.
Cats and Dogs.
Wookies and Pedia.
Life is all about conflict and the ever evolving sphere of our experiential development.
We are stubborn. And resistant to change.
Mostly we are afraid to ask for help.
Or tell the truth. And be ok with it.
It takes a long and winding road of frustration and hurt feelings before we finally recognize that, upon accepting our reality for what it is, and embracing the fragile, dented reflection in the mirror as our own, we can finally begin to heal.
And maybe, just maybe, give ourselves a bit of a break from the heartache.
We are a cosmos of individuals, all rowing in opposite directions, divided by our fear of being alone.
But we don’t have to be.
I know I’m not. Now.
And guess what?
Neither are you.
Because I got your back.
– BOOM goes the dynamite –
In your face, stupid bad days.
Shout out to HBG @ http://hexbegone.blogspot.ca/
Olympics.
Oh-limp-pics.
Oli Mpegs.
I digress. Apparently I have a face that digresses. Again.
So the Olympics are on.
That venerable pasttime where nations pit their brightest and best against each other in the spirit of competition and sportsmanship.
We’ve had some real challenges. Doping scandals. Scandals about dope. Herculean spectacles of advertising and money making. Terrorist attacks and political action.
A true mirror to our long-suffering interdependency.
It’s 2014. And the Olympics are in Sochi, Russia.
Tensions are high. All eyes are glaring. Conditions are less than ideal. The climate is like chilled vodka in a frosty glass.
I see what I did there.
And still, the athletes perform like gods. Amazing feats of dexterity and coordination. Wonderful displays of patriotism and teamwork.
And heartwarming visuals of solidarity across boundaries large and small.
Back home, the political benchwarmers squabble over what flags to fly. Like their opinions matter.
Because, they say, the Olympics are about the very elite of a country’s physical magicians, those finely honed and trained persons of exquisite strength and character.
It’s their chance to shine.
And the powers that wanna-be will tell you it has nothing to do with a persons preferred lifestyle choice.
And you know what?
They are absolutely right.
It’s 2014. The Olympics are in Sochi, Russia.
And what people do behind closed doors with each other, in the name of love, lust or passing fancy, has no bearing on their ability to win gold, silver or bronze.
Or, as it happens, to do just about anything else you or I might have a hankering to do in our everyday lives.
So fly the fucking colours, mate. All the colours of the rainbow.
If you don’t like it, you shouldn’t have put The Rings on it.
This is my blog.
There are many like it but this one is mine.
My blog is not necessarily my best friend, but it means well.
It is a tiny fraction of my life.
I must master it as I must master my life.
Which I recognize is a circular statement with no actual context or substance, but sounds deep and wisdomy.
Without me, my blog is useless.
Also not as funny.
Without my blog I am just another guy without a blog.
I must write my blog true. Or false. Depends on the weather, i suppose.
I must ruminate more crisply than some other blogger, who is trying to out-funny me.
I must stop using made up words, like geflunka, or Dave. Or wisdomy.
I must publish mine before he or she publishes theirs.
I will. (No I won’t).
I promise. (No I don’t).
I mean it this time. (Not really).
Really. (Wrong again).
Before Eccentrica Gallumbits and Kurt Vonnegut and The Fonze, I swear this creed:
My blog and myself are defenders of the magical land of Tee-Hee-Hee.
We are the Masters of my inner monologue.
We are the Sainted Physician, attending to the Sacred and the Wounded Words of my life.
So be it, or make it so, until there is no more words to write, but peace.
So say we all.
Seacrest, Out!!
……everytime I get a notification.
Email. Twitter. Facebook. To a lesser degree, Google+. Much lesser, actually.
My life is a continuous symphony of cacaphonious alerts, reminders and ding-a-ling-a-lings.
Cacaphonious is not a real word. But its an accurate descriptor.
I can even rely upon the magical internet bunnies to provide me with updates on all the tremendously hilarious and frantically mundane things my friends are engaging themselves in.
Which brings me to a quandary.
OK, not so much a quandary, as a conundrum.
People have all different kinds of preferences.
Some like some things. Others like other things.
To each their own, as the French might say.
The internet is a veritable “choose-your-own-adventure” of http://www.whgatcanigooglenext.com in which to immerse yourself in.
I just don’t enjoy some things. I’m certain neither do any of you.
The unfortunate side effect of our expanding digital playground is that it has become commonplace to ridicule and retaliate in even the smallest measure.
How dare I exercise my social muscles by responding or commenting, especially if it is in defence of the less popular?
Because suck it up, that’s why. That certainly seems to be the common response.
I try to tread as carefully as possible. I ask myself some questions.
1) Do I actually need to involve myself in this chest-pounding circle jerk of a discussion? Or can I casually glance at it as I pass by on my way to do something more effective with my remaining time on earth? Like cleaning the toilet, or getting philosophical about wax.
2) Does my life stand to benefit in anyway by desperately pleading my two cents?
3) How much do I actually care?
4) And finally, how much excrement can I expect will levitate and gain momentum, moving expeditiously towards the nearest air conditioning unit, as a result of my involvement?
Exactly.
It seems asinine, but it’s almost as if we are better off keeping our traps shut. Because the alternative is wading into the murky depths of Lake Inconsiderate, where sensitivity, and voicing it, is a weakness.
Of course I am all wrong here. I should probably fill out a hurt feelings report and file it under “cry baby”.
Or I could lash back out. Spew out my frustration, say my piece and flash the online hand as I log off.
I could also say nothing. I mean, only if I have nothing nice to say.
I’m not going to try and scroll the wool over your eyes. I’m not actually involved in any kind of debate.
It was the Pavlovian sing-song emitting from my mobile device that reminded me of it.
That, and the distinctive bleat of the elusive yet smarmy internet troll, twitching its nose in smug flash mob sentiment.
That shit really gets my goat. Continue reading
Well, it’s that time of year again.
No. The other one. (This we offer in humility and fear. For the blessed peace of your eternal slumber. As it ever was).
Sorry. I took a few days off.
The world raises its glasses in celebration, sending off the year in a manner befitting of whatever cultures or peoples it embraces.
We all reflect and remember in our own way.
We all have plans, dreams, hopes and schemes to unfurl in the coming days and weeks.
From the day we arrive on the planet, and blinking step into the sun. There is more to see than can ever be seen. More to do than – no, hold on… Sorry, that’s the ‘Lion King’. But the point still stands.
We will be challenged. Its not easy, the future.
It tasks us. It tasks us, but we shall have it.
And tomorrow morning, as we slink from ‘neath the lamp shade of indulgence, the first bright new day of a brand new year will shine its unforgiving flashlight upon our expectations.
I know you’re out there. I can feel you now. I know that you’re afraid. You’re afraid of us. You’re afraid of change. I don’t know the future. I didn’t come here to tell you how this..… Facepalm. – that’s “The Matrix”. Sorry.
Look at the egg on me.
Listen.
When you go forward into 2014, keep this in mind: I have a proposition which was true in old times, just as it’s true today. Be excellent to each other. And… PARTY ON, DUDES!
Oops. I did it again.
Happy New Year. And shit.
It’s the night before Christmas, and all through my place; The pets are in hiding, afraid of the chase.
The tree is all made up, and lights are aglow; the cars all are dusted in thick, icy snow.
The children are crazy and bouncing off walls; Excited that grandfolks and cousins will call.
With Mom on her Kobo, and me on my phone, the seasonal flicks play on like a drone.
When out on the lawn there rose such a din, that as I tried to stand up, I smashed in my shin.
The boys walking dogs were hooting and nuts, as I hobbled to get them and to kick their butts.
Im sure it was funny, me limping and red. But I swear, one more outburst would be the last thread.
They’re all silly. Obnoxious. Frustrating and sweet. And upon each occasion. They drive me to weep.
But soon it will pass us, and a new year will start. And they’ll all be older, and it breaks my heart.
So wherever you are, this evening,
my best. Cherish your loved ones, despite the unrest.
For as the night draws, ever closer to nigh, remember these good times, and remember the why.
Its Christmas, for Pete’s sake. Its Number #1!!
So hurry up, dammit!! Hurry up and have fun!!
BTW:
Die Hard: Best Christmas Movie Ever!!
Merry Christmas.
Welcome to the You-Niverse 