hypnotizin' boogie

The spinning and twisting has started early this year, the always hilarious, christmas tree, holiday tree debate has begun in earnest. Every year at this time, I become even more irritable than my natural state. Every year I try to avoid the christian rituals, and every year I'm told that Christmas isn't about Christianity anymore, oh yes it is. By December 26 I'm so tired of having Christianity shoved down my throat, I'm ready to throttle the infant jesus in his swaddling clothes.

Woke up this morning in the throes of an unpleasant nightmare, a rare thing for me, my life is a waking nightmare, so it's rare that my subconcsious can come up with anything that can surprise me.


The ungodly fog has given way to an unpleasant damp. This is the problem with November in Vancouver, it's a remarkably unpleasant month. By the time December rolls around I'm ready to start making out with a pistol, playing Puccini and draping myself in silk.

However, like clockwork the first of december rolls around and everything turns out to be allright. This years physical exertion orgasm will take place around mid january. The ice climbing extravaganza was cancelled last year, due to...you guessed it....fog.


A spot of classic rock on the music box this morning, nostalgia overcame and I put on the travelling wilburys. Something about the dark mystic weather this morning required Roy Orbison's voice, a man taken from us much too young.

The week has an optimistic air, an old friend arrives into the vicinity today. Someone I haven't seen in a few years. She's been a good friend, however she continues to attempt to draw me back into a lifestyle I left years ago, a life of high pay, adventure, and a complete moral vacuum.

RUN!

Well, we have an election due on January 23. Watching the political dance last night on the news I have to wonder what the results will be. My prediction, I'll predict seats as we get closer, is the Liberals with a slim majority, the NDP picking up 5-6 seats, the bloc remaining the same, and the Tories the big losers losing a big chunk of seats. Harper will resign shortly afterwards.

The tories have set this up to be a particularily nasty campaign, which I think will leave a bad taste in a lot of people mouths, especially over the holiday season. As we approach the holiday season, more and more people will be questioning the timing of this collapse.

I said it before, I'll say it again, Harper should have waited until February. When Gomery II comes out mid february, Harper would have had an election victory handed to him. Having spent his capitol now, he's going to lose, and when Gomery II does come out, the collective public reaction will be "meh".

The first snow of the season last night, it was a freaking winter wonderland I tell you. Vancouver always reacts badly to snow and last night was no exception. Walking the streets at midnight, I witnessed 3 near collisions. People were fleeing the downtown core as if giant lizards were attacking. Maybe they were, I haven't read the local news yet. These days, nothing surprises me.

I've had the honour of knowing several people in uniform over the years, and the picture above must surely make them nauseous. Having sent over 2000 young men and women to an early demise, for blatantly false reasons, continuing to deceive, then for all intents and purposes accusing those who would question him of treason, the sight of this man in a uniform must surely cause intestinal distress.

Almost all wars in human history have started for political purposes, back to the siege of Troy. However, I don't recall reading about a war that from start to finish has had the reek of politics that this war has. It started because it was a winnable war against an old foe, who continued to thumb his nose at the US. It's ending in a civil war with a puppet government being established that denies large sections of the population representation.

This war, this new Mikado government will lead to strife, violence, bloodshed, tears for decades to come. Western empires, since 1918 have divvied up the middle east, much the way a parent establishes ground rules for children. After awhile, resentment builds up which leads to an explosion of rebellion.

Your faithful scribe is once again in the grip of the fear. I wish I could look backwards or forwards for solace, but both directions in time contain horrible, horrible things. A friend recently had a baby, while discussing the best time to meet this baby, I've come to the conclusion that any introduction to me should also contain the words "this is Chris, things aren't nearly as bad as he says", they are, however the weak and the innocent shouldn't be exposed to the hideousness of the truth.

The truth is not like a sore with a bandage to be removed, one swift pull can lead to a damaging shock that will lead to insanity and meaningless gibbering. I'm always torn when I see those jabbering weirdos wandering the streets, as to whether they are actually suffering a mental ailment, or perhaps they've read one too many newspapers and the truth became evident to them.

Reading the news the past few days, one can't help but wonder if the divinities are wreaking vengeance on the "land of the free". Hurricanes and tropical storms so common that they've run out of names, Andrew Card, Bush's right hand (brain?) is caught in a plane mishap. The locked door at the press conference, the seemingly endless pile of indictments that are crushing the white house staff.

A rare glimpse of the sun this morning, the bunker is bathed in a warm, almost soothing glow, ordinarily this would make someone feel good, it makes me feel uneasy.

The second night of the weekly sports orgasm is tonight, and things are going from bad to worse. I met a grown man who goes by the name of "Smitty" the other day, and the unfortunate thing is, he seemed proud of himself.

Been contemplating Poe lately, the weather of earlier in the week was ideal for a re-read of "the raven". What sort of mind creates the horror that lives with us a hundred years later. Shelley's was drug induced so it doesn't count. What sort of horrors lurked in the brain of Poe. Was it overwhelming guilt, was it a social dysfunction?

I don't wonder about the modern masters of horror, Craven, DePalma, Carpenter, their motivation is money. However Poe didn't make any money, his thoughts of horror were strictly personal confessions.

THE VALLEY OF UNREST
by Edgar Allan Poe
1831

Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sunlight lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley's restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless-
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye-
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave:–from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep:–from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.

THE END

The fog has finally lifted, and the grim task of calculating the aftermath can begin. Being able to finally see the horizon clearly is a relief. However, sometimes having one's vision impaired means you can't see the danger coming. That's how I'm feeling today.

Watching the newsfeeds burn this morning, one story grabs my eye. Paul Hellyer, who was minister of defence under Trudeau, has called for a committee to be struck that would examine how the canadian government would deal with extraterrestrials should they land. He also believes that extraterrestrials have already arrived, and are among us. As if I didn't have enough to worry about already, now you're throwing aliens in the mix. And people wonder why I'm tired all the time.

A disrupted day off today, I loathe staggered days off, I never quite relax as much as I should. The reality is, I need the two days off in a row to properly decompress, otherwise my agitation doesn't fade properly. The weekly sports orgasm is taking place in town on Sunday which means the neighbourhood will be filled with overweight, middle aged men reliving their past glories as obnoxious bachelors. Not realizing that paunches, grey hair, and wrinkles are not that attractive they will attempt to slap and tickle their way into any bed they can find. Alas, no women are safe.

swept away

The ungodly fog is in it's sixth day, and it's starting to drive me just a little bit bonkers. Children are disappearing in the mouths of dogs, I can hear the screams of the damned just over the horizon. I keep waiting for a ship to appear on dry land with a cursed crew beckoning me on board.

Sitting at the windows of the bunker, cigarettes on fire, I keep looking to the distance for some hope, but there is none. The forecast calls for rain later in the day, perhaps that will be the break that is needed.

The weekend promises to be a bad one, a grand excuse for drinkers and testosterone freaks from around the country to converge at one location to participate in some grand homoerotic bonding ritual that involves, too much alcohol, bodily injury, random yelling, misogynist and racist comments. Scanning the papers yesterday, a celebrity guest invited will be something called the booze Brothers, a tribute to a fake musical act, in which one of the members dies of a drug overdose.

The weekend will end with another display of testosterone, this time in Ottawa, where Stephen Harper has promised to bring down the government. I've noticed something about Harper. He does better in the polls when noone sees him. Once out on the hustings the man's astonishing lack of charisma becomes apparent. Combine that with hateful ideas, and he appeals neither to those looking to the superficial, or to those with an intellectual depth beyond that of the kiddie pool.

Harper's an intelligent man, but with a complete absence of any charisma. He may have been effective as a strategist, or perhaps writing manifestos. As a leader, he's out of his league. Setting up this Yuletide election he's wasting the political capitol that will come from Gomery II in February. By the time the second Gomery report comes out, Martin will have won two elections since the initial revelations, he will have no choice but to quit as leader.

well kiss me today, and slap me yesterday!

The fog has lifted slightly, oh so slightly. I can see across the street, but not down the block. I'm convinced that when it does lift the chaos will be unveiled. I'm not sure what the implications, if any, of this malevolent cloud cover are but it can't be good.

Listening to a little Muddy Waters on the music box this morning, he's setting a suitably gloomy mood for day 5 of this evil weather which has permeated the city.

A day off today, not sure what I'm going to do with myself, I'm still contemplating the floor, and wondering when I should be cleaning it. The floor in the bunker is quite badly damaged from years of abuse, and restoring it will be a task that will test my soul. I'm not good with power tools, I tend to go, well, a little nuts. This job will require many hours with powerful sanders, I foresee things going badly, bloody knuckles and wild laughter from behind safety goggles.

In travelling through the recent posts on this blog, it's apparent to me how much of a difference having an inspiration can make. The academic stuff is strict interpretation, however anything creative is dull, lifeless. For that, I apologize faithful readers. Disjointed efforts abound in recent weeks, a lack of focus.

When one has a muse, that inspiration should be kept to one's self, I've learned. Having a muse that does not want to be a muse, and requests to be released from that obligation, I had no option but to respect that request. Societal pressures and social graces, require that a person not wanting to be the object of ones affection should have their wishes respected.

However, in respecting the muse, I have lost that creative spark, it will return dear readers, hopefully soon. In past years, I've found replacements for an anthromorphic muse, an idea, a cause. As my quest for that replacement carries on, I fear for you dear readers that this journal will be a dull journey much like the photo above.

It occurs as I proof read this that perhaps this reads as a guilt trip, it's not, it's merely an internal observation. One of my failings as a person, I'm entirely too honest about my affections, about my emotions. Emotional outbursts are far too rare for me, and when they occur, I feel it necessary to share them. However, I must be conscious of the fact that the emotional peak I'm experiencing is not shared, and perhaps makes the object of my affections uncomfortable. In an age where one third to one half of the women in north america are victims of stalking at one point in their lives, I must be aware that unwanted affections, while well intentioned may be perceived as a threat, especially by those with unfortunate histories.

Stepping back, while difficult, is necessary. It's sometimes difficult to convince someone that you have the best of intentions. One can hope that with time, perhaps amends can be made. To my muse, should she ever read this, I'm sorry for ever making you uncomfortable, that was the last thing I wanted to do, my lack of respect for your feelings and considerations was cruel on my part. Should you ever choose to talk to me again, and I hope you do, I understand that will be on your initiative, not mine.

I'd rather have a full bottle in front of me, than a full frontal lobotomy

Day 4 of this sinister fog. Not sure when it's going to end, last night, sitting in the bunker, I saw dogs with glowing red eyes running off into the wilderness carrying screaming children in their teeth. Things are definitely awry.

It's interesting living in an emotional vacuum, life is neither highs nor lows but a constant level passing. Some people describe their lives as a roller coaster, I think mine is more like the log plume. Things go along quietly, admiring the trees and the animatronic Elk, then Whammo, crashing to earth in a splash, accompanied by screams of terror.

Listening to Mancini on the music box this morning, feel like I should be wearing the fedora and trench coat, or perhaps a smoking jacket. Things are cool here in the bunker, despite the eerie weather outside. Fog is a useful weapon in armed combat, if one has the knowledge of the terrain, a sneak attack can be launched wiping out an opponent. One wonders if that's what we're in for.

Seeking counsel from the weather wizards provides no consolation, this pall is supposed to last to tomorrow afternoon. There are rumours of a sun making it's appearance. I'm not sure I'll be able to deal with the sun this week. I'm running behind on movies to see, my newly purchased copies of sunset boulevard, and Mr. Smith goes to washington are sitting on the shelf. Capra, although a maudlin interepreter of the world was a brilliant emotional puppet player, his films suck you in. Billy Wilder on the other hand, was a brutal man, with all the emotional subtlety of a jackhammer. When one needs a laugh, some like it hot fits the bill.

I can't remember the last time I laughed out loud in a genuine surprised fashion, I've smirked, giggled, and grinned, but out loud laugh, that's been awhile.

Give me a ship, and a star to sail her by

This fog is getting creepy, third day in a row. Perhaps it was too much Poe in my youth, perhaps it's just my natural uneasiness, but when I can't see across the street, I get a little weirded out. Even the birds are quiet in this fog.

Thinking further about the US as the new Roman Empire, I'm pondering the hilarious escapades of GWB at the press conference yesterday. Watching him trying to bolt from the conference only to have a run in with a locked door aside from being hilarious on a Jerry Lewis level was telling, the man doesn't like to be made uncomfortable, much like royalty of the past, he pays lip service to being a servant of the people, but when it gets awkward, it's time to leave.

One of the flaws with the US system, there's no legally mandated accountability, should a US president choose, he does not have to answer any question he doesn't want to, from anyone. If a president chooses not to have a press conference, there's no press conference. Short of a summons to appear before the house, which would be unlikely with a house controlled by the same party as the president, it's conceivable that in my lifetime we will have an invisible president in the white house. Once elected, barricading himself in the White House never to be seen.

There's a time only truth buys
In the early small hours of the morning
When you brushed the sleep from my eyes
And told me stories
Electricity
The day scrapes the sidewalk
Sugar turns to salt
Talk is cheap
A half-remembered glance from a dirty window
I want to take a little walk
In the cool night air and see
Which way the wind blows

There's another side to the city
A life within a life unknown
Like blood in the veins of a body it flows
Down the alley nobody knows
Checkpoint charlie
Eyes from a garbage can
Reveal the man
Is on his toes
I want to take a little walk
In the cool night air and see
Which way the wind blows

I want to take a little walk
In the cool night air and see
Which way the wind blows

She gives a sky feeling to the night
Waiting 'til you weaken for a moment
She'll buy the diamonds
If you'll buy the pearls
For the moment
Electricity
The night lights a candle
Love turns to fire
I want to take a little walk
In the cool night air and see
Which way the wind blows

There's another time to the city
A time within a time undone
You can untie a knot
You can break a deal
You can sell what you bought
A cut will heal
A bone will mend
A road will bend
Street light blinding
Headlight shining
Take a little walk
In the cool night air and see
Which way the wind blows

(c) 1987

coming up from the slime

FOG

THE fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Carl Sandburg


Giving some more thought to the differences between progressives and conservatives,is the difference in thinking on the creation of the universe. Progressives, for the most part, believe in the evolution theory of creation, conservatives, for the most part believe in the new euphemism, intelligent design.

One of the biggest ironies of all this, on both sides, is that the each side in this arguement, is actually working to undermine their own theory. Conservatives, believing in intelligent design, are actually working on the principle of the strongest of the fittest, that an economic cycle will protect those best able to protect themselves. They don't believe in social assistance, and tend to believe in capital punishment. Progressives on the other hand, advocates of evolutionary thinking tend to want to undermine that evolution, helping animals that are nearly extinct, and believing in a compassionate bycle of economics.

Thinking about this before the sun comes up makes me need a nap already.

I've been giving some thought to why the progressive movement has failed to capture the minds of the population of the United States. Most of the western world has embraced the progressive movement. Looking at the gay rights movement in the past 15 years, it would have been absurd to think that gay marriage would be a common thing in my lifetime. In 1988, a member of parliament observed that half of all women were abused by their spouses or common law partners, she was responded with laughter by the other members of the house. Recycling was something hippies did.

Even pre 9/11 the United States was slow in embracing progressive thought, look at the way the word Liberal is used as an insult. I can understand the shift post 9/11, war makes everyone paranoid. The United States is rapidly becoming this island of backward thinking compared to the rest of the west. The inherent contradiction in this, is that the US thinks of itself as the exporter of ideas.

There's a sinister fog rolling into the city this morning, I'm not sure but I think I can hear dogs howling in the distance. This doesn't bode well on voting day. I'm leery of the results tonight, not sure how they'll go. Sullivan's an unpleasant man, and I'm not sure Green has what it takes to be mayor. A lot of wonderful pie in the eye ideas, but no practical discussion of how to implement them. Coming back to my point about the failure of the progressive movement, this is why the movement, while making progress seems to stall, they're very good at undoing stuff, that's easy, but not so good at implementing new policies.

As good a day as they get yesterday. Was provoked into giving some thought into what we are, as a species yesterday. We have, essentially 3 instincts, one is to survive, that's a wide on that includes eating, shelter etc. The second is to procreate, with men, it's to create as diverse a gene pool as possible, the third is to protect the offspring. Everything else we do is a product of evolution, and a result of societal change. Stripped down though, that's what we are.

So essentially, who we are before we become parents is who we want to be, and after birth, we become who we really are. It's a common occurence for young people in their twenties to go on voyages of self discovery, commonly to Europe. Sadly these voyages "to find the real me" are not the real person, but rather, the ideal person, the person they want to be.

Parenthood strips that away however, and we find a lot of what determines our personality, is genetics, we discover that we're more like our parents than we want to admit.

Health issues are wearing on your faithful scribe this morning. Two blackouts in the past 26 hours. My hope is they will stop.

Perhaps it's my brain telling me to stop working. An absence of passion in my life has thrust me for the past week into a world devoid of emotion, Mankind is designed to be a balance of left and right brain thinking, and I've been solely devoted to the right brain for the past while. Careful to evade any emotional provocation due to my fragile state, I appear to be suffering a form of withdrawal. I guess as with any case of withdrawal, I'll eventually get over it. Hopefully life will be better afterwards. I'm not optimistic however.

Thinking a lot about right and left brain thinking the past few days. Been listening to Glenn Gould the past few evenings, a socially awkward man, nearly to the point of autism, who played piano like an angel sent to earth with a heavy overcoat and gloves. His right and left brain were competely seperate from each other. Sometimes I envy that. It would have made my life a lot easier if my hemispheres could act independent of each other instead of having to interact, would have made me a much better writer.

The past couples of weeks have been an emotional detox for me. Like any addict, the detox I'm sure will be appreciated once the agony is over, right now it sucks, and I didn't want it to happen in the first place. If I start proselityzing someone come to the bunker and shoot me in the forehead.

There was a disturbance in the calm last night at the bunker. There were rumours of snow. The temperature has dropped substantially in the past few days, and in my delicate state I'm inclined to believe just about anything. I moved back to Vancouver nearly 4 1/2 years ago to get away from snow.

Alas waking up this morning those rumours of apocalypse turned out to be false. Anyone who has been through a first snowfall in Vancouver will understand why I felt the need to dust off and oil the rifles. This city panics, freaks out, goes bonkers, wigs out, goes crazy. As Canadians we do not do our reputations any favours. Having grown up in Ottawa I'm used to snow, I don't like it but I'm used to it.

A recovering cokehead has been elected to be the leader of the PQ, this can't be a good thing. Parizeau, the last leader who led the PQ through a referendum, let alcohol cloud his judgement which led to the infamous "money and the ethnic vote" line, which I felt was useful in portraying the inherent racism of the sovereignty movement.

Personally and socially, things are shaky. I'm in a state of calm right now, nothing terribly good, nothing terribly bad going on. I have a feeling that could change at any moment, and not for the better. Listening to "Bitches Brew" last night on the music box, combined with an apocalyptic weather forecast, led to tremendous sense of unease as I pondered the bowl of oranges on the counter. There's an almost subliminal which made things very eerie last night after work. Pondering the apocalypse, combined with Jazz/Rock fusion does not make for an easy nights sleep.

when the going gets weird, the weird get violent

Had lunch yesterday with a friend who is off to Australia this morning for 6 weeks. We got into a discussion of film making. I was reminded of a scene from Terry Gilliam's "The Fisher King". Robin Williams plays a homeless man with psychological problems, he has a crush of Amanda Plummer's character. The scene I have in mind, she walks in to Grand Central Station, the instant she crosses the threshold, all the people in the station, start dancing, glitter balls lower from the ceiling, and the entire building for the few moments it takes Amanda Plummer to walk across the mezzanine, becomes a magical, wonderful place. I love that scene, to me, that's what filmmaking is about, bringing magic to the world, even if it's just for a few seconds.

I'm uneasy this morning, I have a crawling across my scene, which I'm assuming is foreboding of something awful about to happen. Then again, I may just have allergies. We're on the verge of one of the most confusing election calls I've ever participated in. Not entirely certain what the opposition is up to, because it's a plan that's certain to backfire. History has shown us that rural canadians do not like to vote in the winter, especially around Christmas. The right, which has it's traditional base in rural Canada appears to be ready to force an non confidence motion. Urban Canadians, tending to skew Liberal and New Democrat, will most certainly be the one voting in higher percentages, leaving a battered and wounded opposition. Gomery II will come out in February, and the opposition will have no political capitol with it. Harper's being petulant, and in 7 weeks he'll be paying a price.

It's not a certain thing whether I'll be working in this election or not. I don't believe I will, AW seems to be disenchanted with the process which I don't flaw him for. The crazed loons in the suburbs are not a particular appealing voter bloc to me.

Strange Times in Vancouver

John Cale's spinning on the music box this AM, distracting me...can't concentrate.



Strange Times In Casablanca

Strange times in Casablanca when people pull down their shades
And its easy enough for us to look at each other and wonder why
We were to blame
Blame comes remorselessly transfixed
Like the sound of slamming doors
And doors have doors have doors have doors have doors
Like companions have pets they sleep in each other's mattresses
Like maggots in despair
And bleed in each other's nests and make a mess of each other's snares
Strange times in Casablanca
Strange times
They make some striking couples
They make some frustration of the call
And only those who are satisfied by friendship would even pay
Attention to it all
It comes like mail or telegrams
It comes expectant as a widow in heat as a widow in the searing heat
And that contentment of depression that delivers most of the time
But cannot help the styling of the horns in the shape of gargoyle
Broken prints savage fingers
Undertaken catamaran
Strange times in Casablanca
We've turned our back on it once before
And we can hear from across the waters what damage it will cause us
And you can smash once more
And they can smash once more
But I don't think anybody wants to smash anymore

Things are going badly in the bunker this morning, the paper was delivered, wet. The first attempt at doing the crossword puzzle ended in expletives. I feel there's nothing to do, but wait until the coffee finishes and just stare out the window.

Back to work yesterday after a 3 day holiday. Going back to work after an absence, even a short one of 3 days, can be a disturbing experience, shocking to the inner psyche. Things are no different to your correspondent.

Apparently the riots in France have started again. I've started receiving word that the events that led to the initial rioting were indeed not as straightforward as the french Gendarmes would have had us believe.

In fact, it now appears that indeed what the youth have been saying all along about these kids being chased onto a construction site, may have been a more accurate description. A video is circulating, a description of which was read to your faithful scribe, describes eyewitness testimony from adults, and other uninterested parties verifying the youth's story.

As I get older my cynicsm towards official accounts becomes more pronounced. This is the opposite of most people, who tend to, as they get older, become more trusting of official accounts, and less trusting of youth.

I'm grateful for one fact, the riots appear to be contained to Europe. I'm not sure how I would react if they moved here, if I would participate, close the curtains to the bunker and peer out the window, or run and hide, carrying a large flashlight, and a sidearm.

Zip a dee doo dah, zip a dee day

Went for a long walk in the rain last night. Whenever I've needed to clear my head of distractions, or put things into perspective, I've gone for a walk in the rain. First, there are very few people out, second those that are, tend to be moving very fast. In a warped way it's like moving in slow motion. If one is prepared with the proper gear, one can do it without risking of getting cold and wet. I spent most of yesterday in the rain. The first part of the day standing motionless, the second part walking around the namesake of this online journal.

November 12, traditionally has been a day of taking stock for me. I go through a lot of emotions on November 11, and November 12, they suddenly all shut down, and I'm left with the lingering effects of those emotions. So I usually wake up on this day, and go through a checklist of things I have to do, or take care of.

This year is no different. I've spent the past few months, as you know dear readers, shedding myself of certain friends, who have not truly been friends. That's a process that will continue. I've also got to start bringing back some people I may have inadvertantly pushed away with my honesty. Sometimes, too much honesty may be a bad thing. I have an ability to compartmentalize things in my life, and I don't realize that not everyone has that ability.

Came across some recordings the other day of some soldiers who fought in the battle Khe Sanh. It's always tough to listen to these recordings, most histories that I read are recorded by professionals who sanitize and look at the big picture. Isolating an historic event into it's individual experiences turns a grand event into in an small personal tragedy or victory.

I remember reading a book years ago about a man during world war II of Japanese ancestry who served with an American unit in Italy. This man had to put up with constant abuse and insults from his fellow soldiers. At one point, during an offensive he was preparing to throw a grenade, when a piece of shrapnel severed the arm with which he was holding the grenade. To save his fellow soldiers in the 1 or 2 seconds he had to spare, with his remaining arm, he picked up the severed arm holding the grenade with the pin removed and threw that piece of himself at the enemy. These are the stories that make up war. A historian describing that battle, would probably not mention that story. It would be a strategic study of troop movements, with a chart beside a map listing casualties.

Lou Reed's spinning on the music box this morning, I've always loved Lou, the epitome of cool. The renegade poet appeals to this tortured soul.

November 11, 1918

My muse has been absent for a week from my life, every day is like a screwdriver through my heart.

Today is November 11, 87 years ago today one of the most gruesome, brutal wars ended. It's amazing to think about how much this war has changed the face of modern warfare, the first use of planes, the first use of chemical weapons, the first time civilians were targetted by military forces.

It was called the "war to end all wars". I only wish that had been true. We are still sending our youngest to die on foreign soil. In recent years we've expanded that to include more and more women. I'm not sure that's progress. We live in a social structure that says that allowing women to be just as brutalized as men is progressive.

This is a tough day for me, it's a day when we contemplate our inhumanity. Events the past few years have revitalized slightly interest in this day, I guess that's a good thing. More and more children are contemplating what this day means.

This day provokes a lot of emotions for me. On a personal level, I'm reminded of sacrifice, I'm reminded of things that I should never have seen. Things I wish I had never seen. Last week I was on a bent about racism. I have seen where bigotry leads, it leads to babies being torn apart with farm instruments. It leads to pregnant women having their womb cut out with a shovel. It leads to men and women having their bodies hacked apart and cannibalized. That's the ultimate end of hate. People who make innocent jokes, or harmless steretypes to me are taking that first step down a very dark road. You can dislike someone because of an idea or choice, that's a whole different arguement, and to be honest oppression of freedom of speech does not generate the same visceral level of hatred. If you hate someone for what they are, their sex, their sexuality, their race, you hate them at their core.

When you talk to me, don't ever start a sentence, "I'm not a racist, but...." because you are.

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Istanbul was Constantinople

A completely unproductive day yesterday. It was one of those days that started out with grandiose schemes, but fell apart as the day went on. I'm sitting here this morning contemplating the rain, with a heavy heart. The hue of grey in the air this morning seems particularily heavy, this does not bode well for tomorrow.

A professional colleague of several years was injured in Jordan yesterday, just received the e-mail from his wife. I'm not sure how to process this information quite yet. I'm also not quite sure of the extent of his injuries.

Rememberance day is tomorrow, this is always an agonizing day for me. The only day on the christian calendar that provokes any sort of emotional reaction. I go through a lot of emotions on November 11. Pride seems into my heart as I see the men in their uniforms and I remember their sacrifice, but then anger and disappointment as every year the crowds diminish slightly more. This anger then turns to frustration, when I realize that the nature of conflict now is to minimize the effects of the damage on our society. Aside from one group of smuggled photographs we haven't seen the flag draped coffins coming back from the war in the gulf. If we aren't allowed to confront the tragedy of war, how can we commemorate it, and deal with it.

War is a nasty piece of work. People losing arms, internal organs, eyes, being burned, that's not pretty, it doesn't happen with a wilhelm scream and someone falling to the side, pining for little suzie at home. It's gruesome, ugly, and sad, the more people realize that, the more the sacrifices of young men and women in the past will be realized.

In an attempt to keep my mood up until tomorrow, the nutty boys are spinning on the music box this morning, Ska always cheers me up, gets the feet tapping.

Blue canary in the alley by the lightswitch

I'm thumbing through the King James translation of the New Testament this morning, the theme song to the Mary Tyler Moore show is stuck in my head, it's been there for a couple of day, and that surely has to be one of the signs of the apocalypse.

Jerry Harrison and the casual gods are spinning on the music box this morning, trying to drive that accursed theme song out of my head.

Thinking a lot about the news this morning, Trying to digest what's going on in the civic elections south of the border, a democrat turned republican wins in a landslide and the republicans see it as a resounding victory, a robot turned politician has been delivered a massive slap to the face by the voters.

France appears to be mellowing, thank heavens, and a news story that seems destined to become an adult film in a matter of minutes, two cheerleaders were arrested for having sex in a bathroom.

I'm pondering a massive pile of books this AM and wondering if I'm ever going to get them organized into any sense that will be useful.

Cleaning is always best with Scott Joplin I've found, his rags are timeless bippity bop music.

The gremlins that toil within my imagination have been at work again. I've been thinking a lot about what's going on in France. Watching the blinking box yesterday, the American news felt it more important to mention that 4700 cars had been burned than to mention that an elderly woman had been tackled to the ground and lit afire.

I'm not sure about you loyal readers, but I would be more upset if Nana were turned into a marshmallow roast than if my sedan were damaged. Then again, as many have pointed out, I'm a little odd.

Jack Layton cut the strings yesterday, laying the groundwork for an election. The conservatives have an interesting predicament. Their poll numbers go up, when their leader is invisible. During the past summer's BBQ circuit, Stephen Harper looked so uncomfortable, so out of place, that people reacted in a completely natural way, they ran screaming for the exits. However, in the house, the spotlight is diffused and shared with others, and people breathe a bit easier. If indeed we do have a yuletide visit to the polls, the Liberals will win, and win a majority government. What that means for Harper, I'm not sure, but by Victoria day (memorial day, my American friends), we'll have a new Tory leader.

I've changed the download times for the feeds to midnight, it was too damaging to my shaky constitution to watch them come in during the coffee intake. I'm not sure if waking up and having the wires already in place is necessarily going to help my psyche, but, it's like taking a swim in a chilly pool, best to jump right in and go into shock immediately than doing it in increments.

Keeping a close eye on the weather wizard these days, I'm looking forward to apparently standing in the rain for hours on end on Friday. Ordinarily I like the rain, but I have to insist on moving around. Standing awkwardly, in uncomfortable clothes while the rain drips off the tip of my nose is not going to be good for my constitution.

Groceries

I'm certainly not doing anything to help my unease these days with my choice of reading material. I'm reading a biography of John Wilkes Booth, the man who nearly 150 years ago assasinated Abraham Lincoln. The book is an examination of how an "ordinary" sensitive man of the arts could snap and commit an act of horrific violence.

One of the differences in Canadian and American history, we have almost no violence in our history, with the exception of D'arcy McGee, whose assasination most historians agree was probably a mistaken identity, or Pierre Laporte, assasinated during the October crisis, we have almost no violent outbursts in domestic history. I feel it necessary to put a caveat there before I start getting e-mails about Sun Peaks, Kahnestake, and the Winnipeg riots. We have no violence in our history directed at politicians.

Turning my thoughts outward again, the bunker is bathed in sunlight this morning, a pleasant change from the gloom of the past few weeks. Looking at the weather wizard, it seems destined not to last through the day however. How does the old saw go, "red skies at morning, sailors take warning"?

Stealing a page from Rumpole of the Bailey my thoughts are with my muse. I'm in a weird state where my muse is untouchable to me. While frustrating, it's allowing me to meditate on certain emotions that I haven't been able to meditate on for awhile. My thoughts are usually so logical, rigid, and devoid of emotion that I've become comfortable with that line of thinking. Every so often, someone enters my life who rips open a door that releases a flood of emotions that my perspective on almost everything changes. Politics, art, society, history (general and personal) are seen through a different prism. It's necessary to change the prism through which we see the world, otherwise our interpretations become rigid, and inflexible.

It's far too easy to see the news feeds as mere facts cycling through a machine to be displayed in grey and white on a monitor. Once that emotional door has been opened, and the prism changes the view, it suddenly becomes quite a bit different. The heart, normally covered with a crusty shell, suddenly starts pounding, shaking off the remnants of that shell, again becoming flesh and sinew. Ordinarily my heart is something in the grocery store, wrapped in plastic, prompting no emotional reaction whatsoever. However, laid bare on a slaughterhouse floor, it becomes a sad reminder of a wasted life.

ugliness

Riots have broken out in Paris, and everyone is confused, as the chaos approaches the main part of the city, the analysis over how this has happened has already begun. History, and current events do not happen in a vacuum. This is the biggest flaw in news analysis. It's easy to pronounce from a comfy chair in New York, that these kids rioting are just troublemakers. Some of them certainly are, however, it takes a fair amount of internal gumption to go on a looting spree. This is the debate I always had with people about the intifada in Israel/Palestine. Without engaging in a debate over the merits of their cause, you have to be pretty pissed off to start throwing rocks at soldiers who are pointing guns at, especially when you know those soldiers won't think twice about opening fire. Code words are especially important when analysing news coverage, I talked yesterday about the use of the word anarchists. In the past few years, another term which has become a code word is "muslim youth". Those two words strike fear into the heart of middle america.

As much as we would like to think our racist days are behind us, they're not. We're just more polite about it now. We're also more selective over who direct our racist barbs at. It's uncouth to use the "N" word, however it's still acceptable to refer to Aboriginal peoples as Indians, not correcting a 500 year old mistake. The term "Insert racial group here" youth gang, has been a source of irritation to me for almost 15 years. I've never heard of an anglo saxon youth gang, or a scottish youth gang. We've learned to become more eloquent about our racist leanings, and by getting rid of the ugly words, we've been able to convince ourselves that we're not really racist at all. But it's still ugly, Juliet, in the classic play with her name said "that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet".

Things are desperate here in the bunker. Iggy Pop is spinning on the music box, the cigarettes are on fire, and the coffee is bubbling. I'm not sure what's causing the agitation in your correspondent this morning, but it's sure to end in an ugly fashion.

I have come to a conclusion though. The floors in the bunker need to be refinished. Therefore, the sander is coming out of retirement this week, and the wood finish will be dispersed on my days off. Why am I doing this, because I can Buckaroos, because I can.

Watching the news yesterday, it's become apparent that according to the US establishment, anyone opposed to globalization has become an anarchist. I thought the term anarchist had passed out of fashion with the Paris Communes in the sixties. Apparently not though, watching the footage of the ugliness in South America yesterday, and watching the commentary gymnastics of Lou Dobbs and his ilk in trying to explain what was going on, the word anarchist kept seeping into the conversation. Anarchism is one of those political philosophies that cannot be easily explained away. Most people were not even aware that Anarchism is a political philosophy, one that's a lot closer to the right wing than they would want to admit. Following the views of the republicans to their extreme, Anarchism is the complete decentralization of government.

I often find it amusing how people put forward political ideas, and then when they find out the logical extension of that idea become terrified of it. It's an era of instant gratification, we need instant solutions. Some people watch the 6:00 news and see it as a game show "the answer is Jim...." to various social ills, we have a problem with homeless people "put 'em to work in camps", children of immigrants causing trouble "deport 'em Jim!". if however, you tell people, that the logical extension of both these ideas would be very very similiar to what the Nazis did, people clam up, mumble and say "that's not what I meant".

Do I know the solution to our social problems, Gods no. I do know one thing, we're not trying to find a solution as a society either, we keep slapping bandages on the problem hoping that the bleeding will stop. Years ago, watching Mike Harris put forward his "Common Sense" revolution a colleague of mine said, "what we actually need is uncommon sense".

Loss and Redemption

I had coffee with an old and beautiful friend yesterday that I hadn't seen in 9 months. Naturally the conversation turned to loss, tragedy, and corruption. I guess it's appropriate, a week from today is the only holiday on the Christian calendar that I mark, Rememberance Day.

We talked about how our histories change us, our surrounding create what we are. My dear friend, whom I haven't seen in ages, has suffered a terrible loss in the past 100 days, and my coffee shop analysis has told me that she's growing into herself, the person I met yesterday is a lot more comfortable with herself than the person I met 9 months ago.

Is that direct result of tragedy, I don't know. I do know that tragedy and loss have made me what I am, sadly, it's numbed me to the point where I neither feel highs nor lows. My empathy is still there, and I know that people prefer the company of a joker, rather than a sorrowful soul. Many people who know me, know that when I appear to be laughing and joking, know that's not the real me, that's the facade. When I'm comfortable, when I'm myself, the voice drops to a mumble, and the eyes become sad. Unfortunately, this guy isn't much fun to hang out with, and friendships tend to be a revolving door for me. Don't get me started on romantic relationships, many women attracted to "happy go lucky" Chris will be sadly disappointed when they get home and find this morose, sorrowful character.

Sadness and grey saturate this skull, not by choice, but by experience. There is a joy deep in here somewhere, it does try to sneak out. I do celebrate beauty, I do enjoy a good laugh now and then. Unfortunately, a morose and sad person isn't much fun to hang out with, which creates a perpetual cycle. A few days ago, I posted a song by Daniel Lanois, "the unbreakable chain" which gives me pause for optimism, someday, I'll meet someone who wants to crack this crust I've built around myself and will break the unbreakable chain.

When that happens, this blog will be for all intents dead.

A few shining moments of inspiration yesterday, I'm going to break my own rules and talk about my observations of something. I went and saw "Good Night, and Good Luck" yesterday with some good company. The opening and closing scenes, of Murrow giving a speech in 1958, in which he lectures the Radio and Television News Directors Association gave me goosebumps. Where are the Murrows today? Would we even allow an Edward R. Murrow today? Well, we do have them, we just ignore them, Seymour Hersh comes to mind. The rest of the mind is very well done, a finely crafted piece of historical drama. Clooney needs to work on how to use black and white effectively, but an outstanding piece of work.

The sense of grey this morning is creating a very disturbing palette outside the bunker windows. Awash in a steel hue, the colour has seeped into all the other colours visible. The building across the way, normally a disturbingly bright hue of green, is the colour of dead broccoli. There's an apartment across the way, which has brilliant red walls inside, even looks dull this morning. When the end comes, it will be a day like today. The citizens lulled into a sense of complacency, unable to stir any resistance because their energy has been sapped by Seasonal Affective disorder. I think we should be using vitamin E supplements, and high powered lighting in order to ensure civic awareness.

Had an interesting conversation about people who turn into stalkers yesterday. What is it that turns people into obsessives? Is it our culture that rewards mania? We cheer on people who devote their lives to a single cause, our own Vancouver yearly makes a celebrity of the Vancouver Canucks superfan, a 40 something man who still lives in his parent's basement who obsesses about all things to do with the Vancouver Canucks. We have trade shows and conventions devoted to TV shows, we create languages based on a television show. Obsession is a strange thing, when does one go from devotion to dangerous, when is the shift from getting revenge due to a supposed wrong to hunting down prey. When that supposed wrong is illusory, how does one inject reality back into the situation, or should one adapt to another's unreality and react to it?

We all create our own obsessions though don't we? I deal with mine, by writing music and poetry, that allows the emotional release I need. Let's me revisit those emotions when I want to. Is this necessarily a healthy thing, I don't know. Those works are available if she ever wants to see them, but they exist for my eyes only. However, even that can take a dangerous turn if it were to happen 24/7, if all my energies turned to one person who did not return my feelings. Perhaps obsession is sometimes just a result of poor social chemistry. My affections will find another, one day, and I'll look back fondly on these days of fruitless pining. Until then, I bask in the glow of a friendship that for now, makes me feel just a little bit more human.

Dance the Apocalypso

The gray weather appears to have leaked through the walls and has permeated the bunker.

The fingers danced to the Ramones on the music box this morning, which seems to be getting the feet tapping. As I ponder terror threats in Australia, bird flu in Manitoba, and finding out what the hell 'section 21" is, I hear the voice of Johnny singing "Rockaway Beach".

The afternoon should be easy, and provide some emotional rescue, finally, finally going to see "good night, and good luck" with some much needed companionship, a friend who makes the world briefly fall into place.

When the end comes "surfing bird" will be playing on the loudspeakers, the syncopated drums work well with jackboots. When the end does come however, it will be invited, not an attack. People don't understand the cheering crowds when the Germans marched into certain cities in Europe, but the people there wanted law, order, discipline, and more importantly security. As I scan the feeds, and digest the newspaper this morning I see the letters to the editor calling for more security, more law enforcement, more surveillance. When the jackboots do come, the welcome mat will be out.

There are a lot of things that occur to me when I wake up every morning, I would love to wake up not deep in the grip of the fear. I would love to wake up, fling open the curtains, stretch out my arms letting the sun bathe me and say "today is a new day".

The Unbreakable Chain

The Unbreakable Chain

You wake up and there's something there tugging at your sleeve
It's not the pitter-patter of the one in your dreams
Held on by the chain, the unbreakable chain
Held there by the chain, the unbreakable chain

You walk and you know that the wind is not passing you by
It's speaking and you listen and the tears don't come out when you cry
cry cry cryin won't break the unbreakable chain
cryin won't break the unbreakable chain

It's thirty years ago and you live with your decision
You talk to him in a prayer - you send out your transmission
But a prayer won't break the unbreakable chain,
Your prayers won't break the unbreakable chain

Your baby's not yours but he walks the streets of your city
He wants to know you, there's no self pity
It's pulling at your heart, the unbreakable chain
pulling at your heart, with the unbreakable chain

And you, you put an ad in the paper - it's foolish but maybe
maybe he'll see cause he's searching for mama mi
oh mama here, mama feel the unbreakable chain
mama feel the unbreakable chain

You can't believe that it's now, it's turned itself around
You're frightened of the way that you look, but you meet him there in town
Oh, the joy and the fear of the unfailable pain
The joy and the fear of the unfailable pain

He stares at you and you step back and no words are spoken
You say hello to your boy and he says 'Mama you've awoken'
ah, yes you have broken the unbreakable chain -
yes you have broken the unbreakable chain

You have broken the unbreakable chain
yeah, you have broken the unbreakable chain.

Daniel Lanois
For the Beauty of Wynona
1993

Your faithful correspondent was strapped down, prepared for anything last night in the bunker. This is the thing about preparing for the worst, when things go slightly awry, I'm ready for it.

Peering out the window this morning, the rain is falling, the skies are a deep shade of gray and purple. In the distance, there's a familiar blue and red flashing of law enforcement. Lot's of law enforcement out last night, I guess that's appropriate on halloween. When the feeds start burning this morning, I'll have a better idea of the chaos that went on locally. There are certain days of the year I don't like reading the news, this is one of them.

Reading the news however is rather unsettling, the new nominee to SCOTUS, seems to be a rather disturbed individual, swinging right, where O'connor rarely swung left. It's become clear to me that Miers was indeed a patsy, set up to fail to allow Alito to slide in as a much "better" choice. I suspect that the powers that be wanted a nominating fight first, to make the battle seem that much nastier, to allow public sentiment make a demand that this guy, who appears on paper, to slide through like a fart through silk.

Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows I have a big crush on Maureen Dowd, in some recent columns she's been extolling at length over the problems of dating men in the early 21st century. This has brought her some flack from the misogynist circles, one of whom has a contest to caption a provocative picture taken of her. As far as we've progressed in terms of women's rights, there are still gaps in the battle. There are still quite a few men intimidated by extremely intelligent, opinionated women.