A society made up of individuals who were all capable of original thought would probably be unendurable.
H. L. Mencken


A good and kind soul recently directed me to dream analysis. I was forced to explain that. as a self defence mechanism, my brain wipes these dreams from my memories upon waking. Much better that way, let's me face the world without walking the streets screaming like a banshee.

Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.
H. L. Mencken

What is appropriate for New Year's, contemplating the past year or dreaming of the new year? I guess it depends if you're a ponderer or a dreamer. I guess I'm a dreamer, but my dreams tend to shift easily into nightmares.

The more easily 2005 is forgotten, the better I think we'll all be. The year started off with Abu Ghraib, and the rights abuses spread right to the US mainland. The magnitude of the dishonesty with which led to the invasion of Iraq is now so common that everyone has forgotten about WMD's.

Chalabi, the second man hailed by the US government as the saviour of the Iraqi people has been rejected. Apparently the man who has the administrator, hand picked by the Bush crew, hasn't even won enough seats to be a representative in the congress in the new, improved Iraq.

I'm betting in the next few months we'll see some changes to the rules to allow Chalabi to be in the government.

Looking forward to 2006 isn't much help either. However my disappointment I'm sure will shift from the White house and capitol hill to the Vox Populi. If people aren't already in the streets in protest, I'm not sure what will provoke them. Years ago in my youth I read Daniel Goldhagen's book "Hitler's Willing Executioners" and thought to myself that human psyche had evolved that we could never let that happen again. I'm afraid I was wrong. The circumstances are set for a repeat of massive human rights violations in the western world. We are prepared for the suspension of Habeas Corpus, unless the Padilla situation is resolved. We are prepared to accept executive decisions regarding suspension of constitutional rights. We are prepared to accept 24/7 sureveillance of our comings and goings.

A newspaper is a device for making the ignorant more ignorant and the crazy crazier.
H. L. Mencken

My mood is darkening these days. Perhaps it's the schedule of the weird, perhaps it's this insconsistent weather, maybe it's the brand of coffee I'm drinking, who is to tell?


Secure here in the bunker I'm contemplating what music to listen to, some cuban folk music might be appropriate, ah, there's the thing. Ibrahim Ferrer who left us only a few short months ago, leaving the world a darker place for his absence.

perhaps it's the stready stream of bad news on the civil liberties front, 2006 is going to be a watershed year, people can either start demanding accountability for these ongoing rights violations emanating from the halls of power, or we as a people can roll over and take it. Whatever happens, 2007 is going to be what we make of it.


Perhaps a vacation is in order, it's been almost two years since my last respite from the day to day drudgery.

Injustice is relatively easy to bear; what stings is justice.
H. L. Mencken


I guess I should have seen this coming. Lawyers for Padilla et al are now seeking to have their cases thrown out because of this illegal surveillance. Unfortunately this does not cheer me, rather it makes me think that the law will be changed.

Each week, little by little chips are falling away from whatever freedoms we have left. And once again by and large we remain silent on the matter.

I should have seen this coming from the muted reaction to the torture allegations out of Abu Ghraib earlier this year. Perhaps it's because people still, stupidly, believe that this is just happening to a few arab malcontents, I don't know how to break it to you Bucko, it's happening to more than just a few eyrabs, it's happening to organizations like PETA and apparently a native school up north.

What we have to be careful of, very careful, is that this chipping away will not stop until the whole structure collapses.

If these court cases are dismissed, blame will be put on the messengers, and the process it will not be placed in the lap of the people who committed, and those who ordered this illegal spying.

For crying out loud people, GET MAD.

It is inaccurate to say that I hate everything. I am strongly in favor of common sense, common honesty, and common decency. This makes me forever ineligible for public office.
H. L. Mencken

In the almost 30 years since FISA was passed, of the 19,000 warrant applications, only 4 (FOUR!) have been rejected. Yet the President of the United States found this court was too ponderous to bother with and illegaly ordered wiretaps of US citizens.

News like the above depresses me immensely. Especially when there is no protesting in the streets, no calls for immediate impeachment, no barricades set up in front of the White House demanding resignations. I'm not so much disappointed in Bush and crew as I am disappointed in the voters of the US for not standing up to this obscenity.

If he gets away with this, the door is opened to all sorts of abuse of civil rights. Rights are fragile things, once taken away it's almost impossible to regain them. It's nearly impossible to take away a right, but in the west we seem to be tripping over ourselves to hand them away.

Of ill omens

The past 4 and a half years have been peppered with pretty words and phrases of respect for the Islamic faith from the white house. To cynics like myself I always thought those words were empty, in the words of Sun Tzu, "hold your friends close and your enemies closer", as loath as I am to assume that any member of the white house reads chinese philosophy, it would that's what they were doing.

It's now become known that the US government was monitoring Mosques for increased radiation. They were also monitoring community centres, and business, all of which were on American soil. Once again, this was being done without a warrant.

The more I think about this, the more I think the timing of this revelation was not a coincidence. It's well known that if you want to bury a story, you bury it in the middle of a bigger story, or on the weekend. There is no bigger weekend than Christmas. By the time the Vox Populi go back to reading the newspapers this story will be so old that a new sexier story will have taken it's place, perhaps something involving Paris Hilton and Michael Jackson.

Shadow on the wall

The choir of the apocalypse is singing this morning, and I couldn't be more terrified. This season always fills me with unease, I'm isolated from society because I don't celebrate the yuletide. People continue to wish me a merry christmas, despite the fact that I don't celebrate the season. They mean well, and I don't intend to sound irritated but it happens anyway.

The growing civil rights violations in the states have me increasingly concerned, word comes now that mosques have been under increased monitoring for radiation levels. I'm not surprised that these things have happened, what concerns me is that it's become public knowledge, paired with the complete lack of indignation. Perhaps it's the season, and people don't want to get involve in politics at this time of year.

Where is the outrage, that's a question I seem to ask myself more and more with each passing year. Every year, bit by bit, the world is becoming increasingly like the roman empire, and year after year there is no indignation at the eroding liberties we've enjoyed. I never thought I would regard privacy as a liberty, but it becomes more difficult to maintain relationships with people that are not public knowledge.

I'm a private person, always have been. My back story is noone's business, my future story is another matter. All of my actions now and in the future are logged catalogued and referenced to profile me.

The War Prayer
by Mark Twain

It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.

Sunday morning came -- next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams -- visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation



*God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest! Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!*

Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory --

An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there waiting. With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued with his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, "Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"

The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside -- which the startled minister did -- and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:

"I come from the Throne -- bearing a message from Almighty God!" The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. "He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import -- that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of -- except he pause and think.

"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two -- one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this -- keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.

"You have heard your servant's prayer -- the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it -- that part which the pastor -- and also you in your hearts -- fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!' That is sufficient. the *whole* of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory--*must* follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle -- be Thou near them! With them -- in spirit -- we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it -- for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.

(*After a pause.*) "Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!"

It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.


Twain apparently dictated it around 1904-05; it was rejected by his publisher, and was found after his death among his unpublished manuscripts. It was first published in 1923 in Albert Bigelow Paine's anthology, Europe and Elsewhere.

The story is in response to a particular war, namely the Philippine-American War of 1899-1902, which Twain opposed. See Jim Zwick's page "Mark Twain on the Philippines" for more of Twain's writings on the subject.

Transcribed by Steven Orso (snorso@facstaff.wisc.edu)

The strange mind of the visionary

The season of yule is nearly upon us. 3 more days until the x-mas season, and I couldn't be more terrified.

Hideous storms are upon us, this isn't a nice, pleasant rain, this is some kind of weird, destructive washing of the earth. This is a good night for contemplating what the norse called "ragnarok".

As the schedule of the weird continues to take it's toll on my increasingly fragile constitution my dreams are becoming weirder and weirder. If you dear reader, think what I write on this journal is disturbing, you should share the images that wake me up screaming.

Last night was a combination of cocaine, clowns, and high speed cars. There were screaming senior citizens, and flames licking out everywhere. I'm not one for Jungian analysis of my dreams, but surely this can't be a good sign.

my ghost likes to travel

The schedule of the weird is taking it's toll on my delicate psyche. The simplest of things have become complicated, for instance, when should I open the drapes?

Turning on CNN this morning, the footage is dominated by a plane having landing gear problems in Boston. When the live footage shows the plane, safely but awkwardly landing you could hear the disappointment in the voice of the anchor, she wanted a crash or at least some flames. A telling comment through the narrative, she said that erratic plane landing are to television news in the twenty first century, what car chases were in the nineties.

of bullots and ballots

The twisting in the moral wind going on in the United States is becoming more and more complicated with each passing day.

There is now a lot of finger pointing going on directed at past Democrats who have signed similiar orders. Of particular interest is Jamie Gorelick, Deputy Attorney General, who said in 1994 that the President "has inherent authority to conduct warrantless searches for foreign intelligence purposes."

The ethical dance that is going on is making me believe more and more that it's going to be revealed soon that a few of these wiretaps are going to be revealed as politically motivated.

For the longest time, many people have thought of me as paranoid, and perhaps they were right. As time passes, I'm finding myself more and more, not paranoid, but justifiably cautious.

I think we may be seeing the end of the era of fear, either that, or we're at the beginning of something new, something even more frightening than before. Once the polls come in, if Americans decide that they don't mind illegal wiretaps in the interest of "security" we may find ourselves irrevocably on a path to the dark side that can't be detoured.

The Red Light Flashed Beware!

Watching Bush performing his linguistic gymnastics last night brought to mind Churchill last night, if only in his dissimiliarity to the great orator. Churchill, the great union buster of yore, in one of the most powerful speeches of the twentieth century, reminded people that they shall "fight on the beaches...". As a child of parents who survived the blitz I learned from an early age just how important those motivating words were to my parents, and to the people of England during those dark days.

Last nights speech was a pale shadow of that great speech. He reminded more of a used car salesman pleading with a customer to "trust him" than he was of a wartime leader trying to rally to the cause.

Yet it was right to remove Saddam Hussein from power. He was given an ultimatum, and he made his choice for war. And the result of that war was to rid the world of a murderous dictator who menaced his people, invaded his neighbors, and declared America to be his enemy.

He declared America to be his enemy because due to a blockade which prevented medecine from being imported into his country, food from being imported, hell even ambulances were prevented from being shipped, over a quarter million Iraqi children died between 1992 and 2003.

September 11th, 2001 required us to take every emerging threat to our country seriously, and it shattered the illusion that terrorists attack us only after we provoke them. On that day, we were not in Iraq, we were not in Afghanistan, but the terrorists attacked us anyway -- and killed nearly 3,000 men, women, and children in our own country.

I repeat something I said yesterday, Saddam Hussein was the first Arab leader to condemn the attacks on 9/11, issuing his condemnation before the third plane hit the pentagon. It's irony that Bush uses the word illusion in this passage. It was Bush/Cheney et al who created, through parsed sentences and dodgy wordsmithing, the illusion that Iraq was involved in 9/11.

We are approaching a New Year, and there are certain things all Americans can expect to see. We will see more sacrifice -- from our military, their families, and the Iraqi people.

Of all the gaul, asking the iraqi people to sacrifice more. Over the past 33 months the US has killed between 30,000 and 100,000 thousand Iraqis.

I know that some of my decisions have led to terrible loss -- and not one of those decisions has been taken lightly. I know this war is controversial -- yet being your president requires doing what I believe is right and accepting the consequences.

He talks about accepting the consequences, but he doesn't say how. Will he resign if the casualties increase? Will he send his own daughters over there? How will he accept the consequences? Will he surrender himself to the world court to stand trial for war crimes?

I don't think a president of the US has been as masterful at squandering good will as the current one has. At every step after 9/11, he has betrayed sentiments of support from allies and opponents alike. In the weeks after 9/11 almost every country in the world had expressed support for the United States (little know fun fact, what was the first Arab country to denounce the attacks on the WTC? Iraq)

In recent days, Bush has managed to alienate even his most ardent supporters, with the revelations that the NSA has been spying on American citizens. This doesn't come as a surprise to me, given my background, what does come as a surprise, is that he's now admitted it.

he's managed to spin it, so the people who made the revelations are the bad guys, but the libertarians in the US are now questioning if Bush is the right man for the job.

The next few days and weeks are going to be interesting. If the people who have backed Bush previously, now cave in Bush could be in serious trouble. This would be judicial hijacking, the star chamber created in the seventies to approve domestic wiretaps has been neutered. If only one case of politically motivated surveillance is hinted at, it will be the end of this whole administration. I'm not sure how indepth this investigation will go, but the possibility of corruption, under the guise of national security will erode and moral authority the bushites have claim to.

The goblins between my ears have been working overtime, which means I'm a nervous wreck. The coffee is especially strong this morning which on a taste level I'm enjoying, it means however that I'm even more jittery than normal.

Riots have broken out in Australia as well. These ones are driven by louts who feel compelled to push their racist yobbo views on everyone. As any regular reader of this column will attest, I have about as much patience for racism, as a kitten has for italian opera.

Bigorty seems to be one of these irrational things that people will try desperately to rationalize, like greed. It's also something that is taught. For every yahoo running around in Australia right now throwing a brick or bottle there should be two very ashamed parents.

Watching the leader's debate last night on television didn't make me feel much better about the world. Watching Stephen Harper twist in the wind, again trying to justify his homophobia I wanted to reach through the television screen to smack him. Having parliament twist and coil last spring over the issue of same sex marriage marriage was enough, he's pinched a page from the quebec seperatists and announced that another vote will be held. It's not democracy to keep having votes until you get the result you want. Admit it Stephen, you lost the vote and same sex marriage is here to stay. Society has evolved and you've been left behind.

It's not often that you meet people who not only admit their eccentric, but thrive on their eccentricity. When I do meet such people I like to keep close ties to them. These are the people who are the most honest. Conformity is easy but also dishonest. Downplaying one's own personality in order to gain acceptance from one's peers is sadly , very common and also remarkably dishonest. I've never tried to fit in, I've got my own thing going, people can either accept it or walk away. When I do meet people who embrace the things that make them different, I know I've met someone who is being honest with themselves and others.

The sun has burst through the interminable fog finally, two days of sun, casting light on the devastation below. Sequestered here in the bunker, I'm able to survey what has gone on. Venturing outside is a possibility, the name sake of this journal has been calling to me. I haven't "strolled the lagoon" in ages, weeks perhaps.

The lagoon itself is a strange and perhaps fitting paradox for this journal. It is one of the most beautiful sites in Vancouver. It's also the location of a sexual predator who in the past 18 months has attacked several women. How did something that was designed, and cultivated for beauty, by the actions of one man become a destination for fear?

The guys got disco on the radio

Some disturbing news from the bunker this morning. The drapes opened and there were visions of chaos breaking from both directions. From the west came dump trucks carrying large amounts of building materials. From the east came the gibbering of several lunatics. One man was singing the Hallejuiah chorus while he moved his belongings in a shopping cart. This duality of the holy with the wretched was far too much to bear before the coffee was finished, the drapes were immediately pulled shut.

The schedule of the weird has continued this week and I'm still not sure which way is up and down. The damnable fog keeps appearing and disappearing, you know things are bad when the weather is taunting you.

As the feeds burn this morning the news is dominated by the news of balloting in Iraq. CNN has managed to round up a whole bunch of people in Baghdad who are pleased that the US has invaded. One has to wonder how truly representative these vox populi are. I'm not sure I'd be eager to welcome people who had by their own admission killed at least 30,000 people. Lancet magazine puts the estimate at almost 100,000.

I believe our moment our civilisation died was the instant we intellectualized brutality. I'm not exactly at what point that happened but it will be recorded in history along with the moment Nero fiddled while Rome burned, not an actual historical moment but an allegory.

In the news, over conference tables, and in meetings in houses of parliament across the western world we have intellectualized torture, and brutality. Our leaders have discussed allowing planes to refuel on our territory that we know carry people on their way to be tortured.

Countries in Eastern Europe, basking in their new "freedoms" gained only in the last 15 years have allowed dark prisons to be built that carry out this torture.

A few short years ago, the idea of western governments using torture to conduct foreign policy would have been ridiculous. However it's happening now, and the outrage is muted. Where is the debate in the coffee shops, where is the marching in the streets?

so what the hell is a stick anyway?

The fog is back, and my mood has darkened with it's return. Peering out the window last night I could swear I could hear the baying of wolves just across the street. Then again, my imagination has always been a bit on the overactive side.

The twisting in my brain has taken a very disturbing turn of late. Perhaps it's all the talk of torture on the 6:00 newshour. It's tough enjoying my noodles when the talk emanating from the television revolves around testicular eloctrocution. These are strange days we live in. The debate in the realpolitik has desecended to the merits of torture. At this very moment, two people are talking about the merits and drawbacks of torture over a non fat cappucino.

Where is the outrage these days? Have we resigned ourselves to giving in to the darkside completely, in order to protect ourselves?

Years ago, in conversation after the towers came crashing down, when the mood was "send the troops" I mentioned to someone that I had a horrible feeling we were on the wrong side of history this time. That feeling is reinforced every time I open a newspaper.

I knew things were going wrong when my childhood memories had to answer to stockholders. The disney company, which owns the rights to Winnie the Pooh, have decided to tinker with story. Christopher Robin has been given his walking papers, replaced by a "tomboyish six year old girl".

I'm not sure the idea of of Winnie the Pooh hanging out with a peppermint pattie wannabe is a good idea. Having plumbed the depths of hollywood creativity, knowing how Hollywood loves stereotypes, it's only a matter of time before this new bastardized creation devolves into a three stooges rip off with this new unnamed tomboy character smacking Tigger.

As anyone who has known me for more than ten minutes will attest, I'm not one for getting weepy about childhood memories. However, I'm starting to get a little irritated with the ongoing revision of historical stories. I keep hearing rumours that Beatrix Potter is going to be "updated and modernized".

To Hollywood, I say this "leave my memories alone you bastards".

Days like this...

Been spending the morning watching Donald Rumsfeld do a linguistic limbo around the issue of torture. While Condoleeza Rice is toodling around Europe saying "we absolutely do not torture". The White house is seeking an exemption from the rules against torture for the CIA. Rumsfeld for reasons that baffle me, seems to be the point man for the press on this issue.

Cornering him in a hallway, the press was badgering the man. Rumsfeld is a man who does not like it when he's not in control of the situation. Watching him duck and weave the reporters was not unlike watching a drunk man fight with an imaginary goose.

I am secure

My apologies, a weird schedule of late has thrown your dear authour's schedule akimbo. Day is night, night is day, and the damn fog is back.

I'm hearing about airplanes sliding off the runway this evening, when did mass transit become a thrill ride?

Stories like that make me feel more comfortable huddled here in the bunker. Short of an asteroid crashing in on the building, I'm reasonably safe here. As long the emergency kit is well stocked, I'm secure.

It's been a day of funeral music here in the bunker, not sure why, the day started with Requiem, I then moved on to Wagner. Sometimes a day of dirges and funeral marches is what I need to get motivated.

Days off were brief this week, but I think that's due to the schedule of the weird that I'm currently working. Only one real day off, one 24 hour period of no work.

Some pain, some shame

Been thinking about man's inhumanity today. As the US dwells on whether to execute a man in California, there are calls to publicly beat a man who has moved in only a few blocks away from the bunker.

When do we learn compassion? Is it as a child and the lesson is forgotten when reaching adulthood? Is it something we're taught as an ideal, but not practicable? Everyone knows that greed is bad, yet it's the very engine that drives our economy and culture.

So, having said that, is cruelty what drives our justice system? I speak in a western "we" including most of Europe, North and South America. We spend little to no effort rehabilitating people. We're more concerned with incarceration and punishment.

I can see for miles

A time change here in the bunker, I'm working the overnight shift tonight, starting at 11:15. I don't think I've pulled an allnighter in almost 12 years. There is one thing that's certain, I'm going to need new shoes, I've had extraordinary leg pain for the past two days, which I'm blaming on poor cobbling. One cannot possibly focus on anything but the fear when one is in extraordinary pain.

A tad angry this morning, so The Who is playing on the music box. I'm not sure why I'm angry. Perhaps, it's the headlines. Iran is apparently of the verge of nuclear weapons. Maybe it's the photographs of planes used to transport people to US torture centres refueling at canadian airports. Maybe it's the suddenly empty apartment after having a visitor for a week.

There's an old Public Image Limited song, Rise, in which the chorus repeats over and over on top of a violent guitar chord "anger is an energy". I need to harness this anger in a positive direction. Get something done. Perhaps it's the right time, there's an election going on, and I'm in a conundrum who to vote for, this is the first federal election since '93 that I'm not working on anyone's campaign. It's not because I wasn't approached, it's because I'm so very tired these days.

I'm in that weird phase before an awakening, before the spiritual coffee kicks in, to steal a line from my introduction.

Nietzche once said the only cause worth fighting for is a lost cause, all others are merely effects.

my years of social involvement have tended to follow those lines, I've always found it, at the same time, frustrating and satisfying to get involved with the lost cause, rather than jumping on the bandwagon. East Timor, in the nineties, same sex rights in the eighties. These both seem like givens now, but not always. It was hard for the longest time to even get people to be interested in what hemisphere East Timor was in. Same sex rights, for young teenager, and then a serviceman in the canadian armed forces was a recipe for a beating.

Why do I bring this up now? I'm in the process of trying to find my latest passion. A place to devote my energies. My problem? There is so much injustice in the world right now, the whole damn thing seems like a lost cause. The homeless situation in Vancouver is probably the one that calls to me the most. It's a problem that's socially awkward. It's one that people have been trying to deal with for centuries, I haven't seen any original thinking on this issue, in well over 100 years. The right's solution, find these lazy yobboes jobs. The left's solution, throw money at the problem. Neither solution is the right one.

So, this leaves me. What is the right solution, on what side do I throw my energies?
Wherein lies my passion? This will be the pondering over the new year's season. Come January a cause, unknown to me at this point will be unveiled in a moment of clarity.

The Wind Lyrics (Cat Stevens)




Cat Stevens - The Wind Lyrics

I listen to the wind
To the wind of my soul
Where I�ll end up well I think,
Only God really knows
I�ve sat upon the setting sun
But never, never never never
I never wanted water once
No, never, never, never

I listen to my words but
They fall far below
I let my music take me where
My heart wants to go
I swam upon the devil�s lake
But never, never never never
I�ll never make the same mistake
No, never, never, never

my agony is your triumph

Things are eerily calm in the bunker, the awaited snowstorm never happened. Listening to Bowie on the music box this morning I'm having a moment of clarity, emotional clarity. They don't come often, but when they do there is a calm that washes over me much like the feeling you get when you figure out a murder mystery.

The unfortunate part of this is that this emotional clarity requires me to cut myself off from some people I've only recently made the acquaintance of. In my past I've had the misfortune of being involved with a person who was quite cruel to me. I vowed at the end of that relationships not to allow myself to be put in that position again.

So before things get carried away, or I make any sort of emotional investment I'm walking away now. Relationships are said to be risks, maybe I'm gun shy, who knows, but I'm not getting burned again.

The past 31/2 years have been extremely therapeutic for me, having spent most of my twenties and early thirties involved in relationships, I've been enjoying a certain emotional solitude. I've truly discovered my own voice in the past 3 years, a voice which has been quiet since my teens. Recent events, difficult as they may have been have helped me to achieve the state of emotional "zen" I'm at right now.

There are aspects of my personality which are quite unpleasant, in order to enjoy a relationship I must submerge those aspects of myself, for the convenience of my partner. However submerging those aspects kill a part of me. For a long time I've had to "play dumb" in order to not be intimidating. This is what I've been told anyway, well fuck that. I like Haydn, I like ragtime music, I like the poems of TS eliot, I can read Dante, and enjoy him. I read Chomsky, Aristotle and Plato and take away things from it. I like the films of Wim Wenders. That being said, I also like batman, I hate sports, most pop music, and I don't watch sitcoms. I enjoy watching the legislature, and I spend hours a day reading foreign newspapers. This is who I am, my days of putting those things under wraps are over.

there are two kinds of limbo, a good one, and one that requires liquor

I have in the bowels of the music collection a variety of albums of novelty music. One of my favourites is "The Twist with Ray Anthony and his bookends" put out in 1956. You cannot have a bad day when you're playing the Bunny Hop Twist.

However, I've discovered that some people don't appreciate the twist before they've had their coffee. In fact I have someone glaring at me right now who feels that my pre-dawn taste in music is not only annoying, but downright disturbing.

My attempts to explain myself are falling on deaf ears. The music has changed to Grieg, Now that's depressing music, best for funerals and moments of deep contemplation when good feelings will be a distraction.

Excitable boy they all said

An uneasy calm in the bunker this morning. The coffee is brewing, the cigarettes are on fire but things seem to be on the verge of....something.

Spending the day wandering around the city on foot yesterday, today heading over to the island for the day I'm reconnecting with the city I call home. This often happens when showing the place to people who are visiting. Especially when one is visiting from a place that is notoriously flat.

An evening spent drinking fine scotch, and smoking cigars from forbidden countries, talking about the world, and generally all global problems were solved with increasing ease as the liquor took more and more effect.

Normally dressing is an easy process for me, jeans and t-shirts, however when one is travelling with a companion of the opposite sex, even one who carries a pistol to work on a daily basis, suddenly all of my choices come into question. I've been made aware in the past ten minutes of the horror of wearing white socks in December, who knew, apparently everyone except me.