I can't wait until monday

As I peer out the peepholes of the bunker this morning, the landscape is grey and desolate, I can see things approaching for miles. This is good, because the events of yesterday have me wrapped tight in the fear.

The coils of my brain are wrapped so tight, they're poised to explode at any second. The pressure inside my skull, is making my fingers grip my temples even tighter than normal this morning. The question of the day, who is Samuel Alito, and how did his name make it so fast onto the supreme court nomination list? Is he the second best choice to replace Harriet Mier's or was he secretly the first choice, and Mier's was set up to fail?

I've been hearing rumours of this nomination for about 72 hours now, and that speculation was confirmed early this morning, I now know that my morning is going to consist of reading circuit court decisions trying to find out who this guy is and what he thinks.

Mondays, even though they are actually Wednesday in the service calendar are very disturbing days. The political cycle attempts to start anew, politicos, of every stripe would prefer that you forget all the previous week's events and move on to a new way of thinking. The unfortunate thing is, this often works. This is especially true in the United States, where in recent years, Abu Ghraib, and practically the whole weapons of mass destruction seem to have been forgotten about by the public. For years scandals have generally hovered around cover ups and duplicity. American politicians are learning that rather than covering things up, they just need to be patient, all will be forgotten by next Monday.

Regrets, I have a few

There was a brief period for the past few days, where I almost felt okay, it's over, I'm deep in the grip of the Fear again.

Right now, Sunday morning in my bed is a woman, I vowed 4 years ago this coming february would never be be in my bed again. Last night, after work, sitting on the couch enjoying a tasty bowl of soup, the phone rings. An emergency, a crisis of biblical proportions, would I help? Like a sap, I said yes. Turns out this crisis, this cataclysm. this unprecendented tragedy was poor planning on my ex's part and she missed her ride back to Whistler, would I, help out? Sitting on the couch, talking, reminiscing, all judgement went out the window and parts of my body that should not be making important decisions took over the reasoning process. This morning as I sit, waiting for the feeds to burn, I'm filled with regret, coupled with a feeling of being used. I haven't heard from this person in two years, she's made no effort to stay in touch with me, and to be honest her cruelty towards me all those years ago gave me no impetus to stay in touch with her. However, one phone call and I'm wrapped around her finger again. I could feel the reasoning process running out the window last night as I talked on the phone.

Now, this morning as the coffee sinks in, I'm feeling, not just a twinge of regret, but a body spasm. I know my morning routine is going to be disrupted because of her, and when she does leave, she has no intention of phoning me, or staying in touch again, perhaps that's a good thing because she was without a doubt one of the cruelest individuals I know. Absolutely no interest in my life, I can write this about her in here, I know she'll never make any effort to read it. Unless it has something to do with snowboarding, jet skiing, or Cleopatra, she's not interested.

However, this is the weird thing. Apparently despite an absence from my life for 4 years, I'm apparently subject to her every whim. How does a man who has moved on from that point in his life still get drawn back to an unpleasant point in his life beyond his control? Do I suffer from the male equivalent of what used to be called the Cinderella complex? Will this be a pattern the rest of my life, returning and seeking out women who are bad for me?

This raises the interesting question, what woman is good for me? I'm an extremely unpleasant person to be around, the bunker is filled with reminders of horrors committed by man, and my life is a quest of seeing out wrongs to right. How can life be pleasant when success is measured in terms of finding tragedies? This is the contradiction in my life, I'm not happy unless I have a cause, the more horrific the better. My eternal optimism is shaded by a desire to cloud it with tragedy. A woman who would be able to put up with that, is not necessarily someone who will be of a positive outlook. I need someone who will literally take me by the hair, pull me away from the feeds and the news and tell me to "enjoy yourself damnit, rest for a moment".

Rest does not come easy to this weary head however, time not on the quest is seen as wasted time. This is why I barely sleep, I wake up feeling guilty. I cannot remember the last I woke up feeling refreshed, feeling good. Women I am attracted to make me feel good because they bring a sense of calm to my life. However the women who seem attracted to my life seem to bring nothing but chaos. My idea of a perfect night is someone falling asleep with their head on my chest, stroking their hair while I drift off to sleep behind them, it's not a sexual thing. However, the imagination as charged as mine, brings a libido which has to be sated as well. A vivid sexual imagination has to be fed once in awhile, and while that was sated last night, this morning I'm an emotional wreck.

The feeds are burning this morning with the tail of a man named Scooter. The day is not going to go well, when the first person I hear of is a grown man who not only answers to the name Scooter, but has not insisted that the media NOT call him scooter.

I was able to sleep horizontally last night, and the world seems marginally better this morning. My body is no longer bent and broken, just my view of the world.

Spent yesterday afternoon immersing myself in punk songs from the seventies, starting with the sex pistols, moving to the Clash, and ending the day before work with a smattering of the buzzcocks. Not really sure it's healthy to listen to a song called "orgasm addict" but there you go. This all started with a quest to find the "Batman" theme by the jam. Neil Hefti, the man who wrote Batman, and the green hornet themes was the master of adrenalin themes. I know what you're thinking, wasn't the green hornet theme the flight of the bumblebee? Yes, Yes it was, but that arrangement was done by Hefti.

Picked up a new book on the way to work yesterday, a book about Samurai warriors. Not sure what possesed me, maybe it was the pretty colours on the cover. Perhaps, it was the notion of lone man travelling the countryside with a sword, righting wrongs, and then vanishing into the woods that draws me in. one never knows, I may read this book and think "these guys were nuts".

Asian culture and tradition has always held a great attraction for me, much to the dismay of two very white, very anglo saxon parents. In particular the chinese culture, there's a sense of honour and mutual respect that certainly does not exist in our culture. Does it have some major flaws, oh yes.

twisted like a pretzel

A rough night sleeping. This is how bad things are, I live alone in the bunker and yet, for the past two nights I've been tossed out of bed and had to sleep on the couch. looooooong story.

The weekend, all too brief this week, and I've accomplished little to nothing of what I wanted to accomplish. The pile of newspapers on the kitchen table is as daunting as ever. Things are pretty tense here in the bunker today, the date for revitalizing the survival kit is rapidly approaching. Some people celebrate anniversaries or weddings, I celebrate the day I have clean out and replace the items in my survival kit.

I invite people over, we dispose of the canned items, and replace the batteries after a conga line procession, it's all very elaborate and choreagraphed.

The days are growing shorter, the darkness surrounding me like a cool wet blanket, oddly unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

Well Miers packed it in this morning, went to the smoking gun website and she threw herself on her sword because she didn't like the process. Typical whining of a loser, I wanted to play, but the rules were unfair.

Funny, I never heard John Roberts complaining about the process. Not that I'm a big fan of Roberts but he had least had the professional and academic qualifications for the job.

The day was off to an early start today, and the blog is being written after the coffee, another break from tradition. Been having terrible wrist pains the past couple of days, not sure what I did to provoke that but I'm sure it will go away. At least I'm hoping it will go away. I think last week's musical orgasm may have done more damage than good.

gremlins

My skull has been opened and the gremlins are running loose all over the bunker this morning, a late start to the day, much to my dismay, as I had too much to do. It's become evident by some of the letters I've received that not as many people are as familiar with Joseph Conrad as I thought(hoped?).

"The sea reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of an interminable waterway. In the offing the sea and the sky were welded together without a joint, and in the voluminous space the tanned sails of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished sprits. A haze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea in vanishing flatness. The air was dark above Gravesend, and further back still seemed condensed into mournfull gloom, brooding motionless over the biggest, and the greatest, town on Earth."

The above paragraph from "heart of darkness" is the paragraph I read when I was 12, that made me want to become a writer, the painting that takes with the combination of those words, is quite simply in my opinion, the most beautiful combination of words I have ever seen.

for nearly a quarter century, I've had those words committed to my brain, when I have a writer's block, that's what pops into my head and reassures me that true beauty is only a pen stroke away.

Oasis is spinning on the disc player this morning, and the anger of the Gallagher brothers seems to be feeding the internal angst. gazing around the bunker, I'm drawn to all the flaws in my housekeeping procedures. I wish I had a box big enough to put everything in and just hose the damn place down.

9:24 hit and the feeds went crazy today stories of Rove Cheney and Scooter burning the wires. When the indictments come down today, they're sure to cause chaos and insanity. The only thing I fear, well not the only thing but certainly the biggest thing today, is that if those three are removed from the white house, all the brain trust is gone, this will leave Bush to his own intellectual devices, then gods help us all.

I've been reading a lot of Conrad the past few days, I often wonder why, a polish merchant seaman who didn't learn english until his mid twenties is most artful master of the english language.

That being said, I've received some unsolicited feedback on this little journal, I was told to be a little less depressing, and perhaps a little more descriptive. Being referred to take a look at some other online journals, I discovered a lot of them revolve around talking about TV shows, movies or news. With all due respect, I couldn't imagine anything more boring than reading about the passive activities of another person. This journal is very much an internal affair, it's whats going on between my ears. The most interesting place in anyone's life is what's going on in their brain. Our culture is ever more, the one of the observer, not the participant. Reality shows, game shows, all present other people doing interesting things.

When did our culture become so passive, is this a new thing or is it a new development? I noticed a few years ago, the term interactive was all the rage. That seems to have faded away.

six hours after

Six hours since my last post and I'm not feeling better. The feed lines are screaming about Hurricane Wilma, I'm going to wait until I have my coffee before I attempt to read the news. I've heard from Cancun, and aside from some major property damage, everyone is physically well.

Sitting here in the pitch darkness, I'm feeling uneasy, the Childs bunker is in a state of high alert this morning, awaiting whatever chaos the week will throw at me.

Major upheavals in the schedule are happening this week, Friday is the new monday and Tuesday is the new Friday. People wonder why I medicate heavily. Barry White is spinning on the disc player this morning, not sure what brought that on, but that's where the fingers danced to this AM.

However, even the soothing sounds of Mr. White can do little to calm the dancing gremlins between my ears. The gremlins are a little more jittery than normal, perhaps in anticipation of what's in the news. A corrupt government that's the lesser of two evils on a federal basis, a provincial government so governed by the dogma of monetarism that any sort of human element has been completely removed from the equation of governing. Reading Plato is a good refresher in the importance of human element, the word democracy, at it's very root means "people power" it is simply not an economic determiner. This Campbell government has been so sterile, so surgically cold, so devoid any compassion, it makes the Christian right wing governments south of the border look compassionate by comparison. The only thing we lack up here is the christian social engineering element.

"If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face--for ever."

I'm breaking with tradition, it's 1:00 in the morning and things are weighing on my head this morning preventing me from going to sleep. The Nuremburg trials are weighing on me, for reasons that escape me those trials, their implications and legacy are weighing on me this morning.

As I sit here listening to MacArthur Park that brief shining moment where we had codified just how depraved as a species we could be is being forgotten. Abu Ghraib is passing into forgotten history, the highway of death is as forgotten as the honour at trafalgar.

"If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face--for ever."-George Orwell "nineteen eighty four"

I truly fear for the future of our society, we are going down a road that rapidly appears to have no exit ramps. We are so complacent in our "bread and Circuses" that we are turning a blind eye to the horrors in the world. Our own inhumanity is rapidly destroying our humanity. Our desire for security is stifling our need, our NEED for freedom. Yes I repeated that. We need our freedom and we are so willing to give it up, to hand it away, to sacrifice it, to diminish even further the unlikely odds that we will be victims of some terrorist attack.

We are eager to put cameras on buses, in schools, on street corners, in shops. At what price do we have this security? We have no privacy anymore, except in the privacy of our own homes do we have any sense of being alone. And I'm not sure those days are unlimited.

Perhaps it's reading nineteen eighty four again. Perhaps it's the isolating cone my future seems to be crushing into, I'm not sure. The Childs Bunker is my last refuge, the only place I can truly be alone anymore. I used to be able to sit under trees and read, no more.

There may inspiration later this week, I'm off to see "good night and good luck" Edward R. Murrow has always taught me, that one man can make a difference, the hope is, maybe somewhere someday someone perhaps a soldier will read this blog and not pull the trigger killing someone. This blog will by absence of action will save a life, I don't know, maybe that's being too optimistic.

We all have within us the capacity, the ability, the lust to create beauty. Why do we walk away from that, why do we feel compelled to create death and destruction. Why is it so much easier for us to destroy?

The ability to love is what sets us apart. I don't know if the ability to love is a purely human thing, if we ever discover other races on other planets, maybe next year maybe 100,000 years from now, they will look at love as the strangest thing they have ever seen. I see it as our greatest asset, our greatest glory, why do we shun it so?

that's enough. I'm going to bed.

Grey

The weather looks grim this morning, suits my mood. A grey backdrop to a grey day, makes spotting the enemies approach easier, than staring into a blinding backdrop of the sun.

Every year, around this time, I strip back everything I'm reading and go back to the basics, Plato, Conrad, and Orwell. Plato, who originated modern political thought, Conrad, who perfected the modern narrative, and Orwell whose prescience still serves to warn us in the 21st century of choosing the right path as a society.

Spent the past few days wondering how a colleague in Cancun is doing, haven't heard from him since tuesday when he hunkered down with his family bracing for the onslaught of Wilma. Many jokes made over the years about the problematic ideal of living in a resort community prone to tropical storms are coming back to haunt me. A quote circulating on the internet refers to main part of Cancun looking like it had been "trampled by a giant".

songs of the doomed

The screams of the doomed were punctuated by the howls of the damned this morning. Apparently it was rubbish collection day, and I've forgotten completely. 8:00 this morning the maw of Hades was screaming and howling as several men, who thought their life would have a different meaning emptied a large container filled with garbage into a truck.

Having achieved emotional finality in one chapter of my life has done nothing to help the feeling of uneasiness I feel in my life these days, if anything, it has made the confusion a more certain fact of life. As the Gods prepare to punish the southern United States again this morning with a hurricane named Wilma preparing to crash into the panhandle I'm contemplating whether or not that these truly are the Christian "end of days", certainly if I were god fearing Christian, I would have every reason to believe that Jesus was coming back. Having read the sermon on the mount, which is the only recorded speech by Jesus, I think that the so called Christian Right Wing are in trouble. The United States right wing is perhaps guilty of almost every directive in the sermon on the mount. The US as a culture, with exceptions (don't write, I've included your example in the exceptions okay?) is empty, vacuous and devoid of meaning. With the exception of the culture of the doomed.

The United States has the uncommon distinction of having it's most oppressed being it's most creative. In the late eighties, rap was a singular new voice in music, the greatest new creative force since the birth of Rock 'n' Roll in the fifties. However, having seen their was cash to be made has made rap music the bastard son of what it once was.

something

The best love song ever written by Lennon/McCartney


SOMETHING IN THE WAY SHE MOVES
ATTRACTS ME LIKE NO OTHER LOVER
SOMETHING IN THE WAY SHE WOOS ME

I DON´T WANT TO LEAVE HER NOW
YOU KNOW I BELIEVE AND HOW

SOMEWHERE IN HER SMILE SHE KNOWS
THAT I DON´T NEED NO OTHER LOVER
SOMETHING IN HER STYLE THAT SHOWS ME

I DON´T WANT TO LEAVE HER NOW
YOU KNOW I BELIEVE AND HOW

YOU´RE ASKING ME WILL MY LOVE GROW
I DON´T KNOW, I DON´T KNOW
YOU STICK AROUND NOW IT MAY SHOW
I DON´T KNOW, I DON´T KNOW

SOMETHING IN THE WAY SHE KNOWS
AND ALL I HAVE TO DO IS THINK OF HER
SOMETHING IN THE THINGS SHE SHOWS ME

I DON´T WANT TO LEAVE HER NOW
YOU KNOW I BELIEVE AND HOW



Lyrics Something Beatles

DOOM

A disturbing experience yesterday. I went to the store to purchase supplies, as I was waiting at the corner for the light to change, a bus passed by, I glanced up and in 8 foot high letters right in front of me was the word "DOOM", turns out, this is for a new movie but for a few moments I thought it was an omen of some kind.

There's an uneasy sense of calm this morning, much like the sound vacuum that occurs in the eye of a hurricane. Things appear to be going well, but as the scandanavians would say, this could be Ragnarok. Listening to Carmina Burana is providing just the right atmosphere for the apocalypse. Taking refuge in the Childs Bunker, listening to religious apocalyptic music, peering out the window at the chaos outside, I know things will be taking an ugly turn soon.

The crusty shell around the muscle in my chest appears to be healing well. Having laid it bare, and inadvertantly broken, once again, I feel things can once again return to normal. Some changes need to be made, whether they actually get made is another matter altogether.

The gremlins in my skull, for weeks, have been screaming "ABORT ABORT, the project is going to fail". But I recklessly chose to ignore the voices of reason in my head. In much the same way I sure bungee jumping was discovered, I had to venture into the unknown myself.

my thoughts revolve around music this morning. My fingers gravitated to Vivaldi in the CD rack this morning. I've always enjoyed Vivaldi and always thought he never got the credit he deserved. When you ask people what composers they like, you always get Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, but never Vivaldi.

I always thought Vivaldi was one of the more upbeat composers. Mahler makes me want to french kiss a pistol. Wagner was just too....violent for me, mind you there are days that I wake up in the bunker and Wagner is just the thing to set the mood for the chaos taking place outside my window.

My day is going to spent in front of the computer, having spent time yesterday recording musical tracks, I'm going to attempt to mix them into something that I can listen to. This piece of music will be mine, I recorded the music, I'm going to mix it, it came from my brain. I fully intend to make sure that no human ears other than mine ever hear it. I want one piece of creativity that exists solely for me. This may sound unusual but it makes sense to me, there are two types of cultural experience, communal and intimate. I'm going to make this intimate solely for me, I want noone else in the history, present and future of this hurtling sphere to ever hear this music other than myself.

unsettling signs

The Childs bunker is in a state of emotional high alert today. It may almost be time to call in the goon squad irregulars to take care of the situation.

The coffee is unually strong, the clouds ominously thick. Even the animals are acting strange, I'm convinced that I saw packs of rabbits and wolves fleeing the scene today. You know something is going to go wrong when the animals flee, they have an uncanny instinct for these things.

The day is packed, too packed, I'm not sure why I'm not a better scheduler, I have so little free time during an extended three days off. The bunker is a disaster, it looks like a combination library/book store/coffee shop exploded and the intact bits have been dumped here to be recovered. I have a couch somewhere underneath a pile of books. I haven't seen the surface of the dining room table in weeks.

As the faces of Che, Fidel, Miles and Dizzy look down on me from the walls, I wonder what the days ahead hold for me. I'm attempting some emotional therapy today, whether it sticks or not is another matter.

I did receive some emtional finality to one situation in my life confirming the dark spot in my heart, while the news was unpleasant to receive it was not unexpected, nor malicious. It does at least provide some emotional clarity.

I'm listening to a lot of south american music in the past few days, a lot of mambos, and tangos. Not sure why, the music does make me feel like dancing, which is disturbing to the neighbours, I'm on the verge of putting on the tight black pants, white frilly shirt and putting a rose between my teeth.

What a disturbing image that would be, however the hardwood floors do lend themselves to an superb tap dance medium, the police officer living below the Childs Bunker might not be as enthusiastic as me.

green

There's an uneasiness in the Childs bunker this morning, having checked the wire fences and inspected the traps, there's no sign of intrusion, but I can't shake this feeling that something is...amiss.

I can't put my finger on it, birds are singing, there are sounds of children playing, but there's an uneasy feeling that things are about to go horribly wrong.

Perhaps it's the orange juice this morning, or perhaps it's waking up to the sun when one is expecting clouds. The papers this morning are filled with the usual disturbing stories. So nothing there is awry.

Could it be...this morning I feel... good? If that's the case, it won't last long, soon enough the gates of hell will open up unleashing another tragedy upon my life. I'm cursed to a life of uneasiness.

Tuesday is the new Friday this week, however, I'm no less busy this week than last, just being paid less. The apartment needs a paint job on one wall, so I'm going to take the opportunity, I've discovered that one mirror on my wall which serves no esthetic purpose, but has provided much erotic fun, covers a pastiche of lime green. I'm unable to live with a lime green paint job in the bunker, it needs to go.

Casting a shadow upon the sky

Woke up this morning with the synapses in my brain firing unevenly. Things are akimbo. Perhaps it's the uncertainity of the future right now, perhaps it's the absence or a now intermittent presence that I had become used to being a consistent presence.

Some people have travelled through my life like morse code, dots and dashes, but no steady analog signal. This has meant that some lives have been open to interpretation for me, what does their presence mean to me?

Some presences have been more influences on my life than others, some people I have had intermittent contact with once every few years, other people become major influences in my life for brief flashes then vanish.

What's my influence on other people? I'm not sure. Someone I had tangential contact with years ago, has told me that I was inspiration to them to become involved in the political realm, and has put his name forward as a candidate. I'm far too young to be an inspiration to people. Especially once my sordid past is examined.

The future is like the sky, where does it begin and where does it end? How does one influence the sky? Past the gray clouds of a storm lies the same blue skies that exist on a sunny day. At the same time, blue skies of hope must be broken by periods of overcast skies casting a gloom as far as the eye can see.

I was thinking about the faces of the doomed last night as I walked the rainy streets at midnight. As my feet stamped through puddles, causing waves that broke the surface of calm, everywhere I looked I saw the doomed. Sometimes doom has a smile, sometimes it has the half crazed look of someone who lives on the street. But the fact remains, the doomed are all around us. As I travel these streets, am I one of the doomed?

Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye

I woke up this morning, confronted with a massive pile of books I placed on my couch last night, that needed to be organized. I'm daunted by this pile wondering when and how I'll find the motivation to put them away.the questions that linger, do I dust the shelves first, or do I just put the books away without dusting. One of the problems with urban living is the dust, lord only knows how much dust I suck into my lungs on a daily basis, but I guess that's the least of my problems given how much I smoke.

I was referred to in an e-mail as a harbinger last night. I like that, makes the sense of dread of feelings of impending doom actually mean something, rather than just ruining my morning coffee. I've said for years, I have a feeling that we're(the west) is on the wrong side of history this time. I stand by that, I suspect that in my lifetime, there will be new kind of revolution, something we have never seen before in history. I'm not sure what form it will take, but it will be ugly, take a long time, and will bring truth to Orwell's prediction "if you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face-for ever". Orwell knew what the future held, he had the specifics wrong, but the generalities he had dead on.

We're in a strange time, at the same time we've never been as progressive as we are now, legalized same sex marriage, we're taking steps to give dignity to the dying, and we're on the verge, of marginalizing racism completely. At the same time we've created an incredibly intrusive infrastructure, that allows the government to intercept and interpret all but the most private of communications and activities. As a society we're all but tripping over ourselves to aquiesce our privacy.

You have to play the hand that's dealt you, we fear nameless, faceless villains more than we do an invasion of privacy. One of the most common arguements, "if you're doing nothing wrong you have nothing to worry about", has to be one of the most frustrating arguements I've ever heard. One has to worry about how this information is being collated. Could it possibly be used in divorce cases in the future, could it be used against one in a job interview, or a credit application? Much talk in Canada in recent weeks about Elections Canada sharing voter information with other departments and ministries. My feet are shaking at the top of this slippery slope, looking down on a vast landscape of frightened people, shattered societies, a vast concrete jungle on the verge of collapse.

I walk the streets, and everywhere I look I see the faces of the doomed. We need a hero, we need someone to inspire us, to remind us of the potential that we have, all of us, the children of Eve. I'm reminded of a line a poet once used "from my windows I see ruins". That's the way I've been feeling for awhile now. I don't see that changing anytime soon.

With eyes of fire
No one can see
The smoke from the sweet grass
Covers me

I am drawn
I am drawn to her
Like a moth to flame
She leads me down
Unbound

I am lost
I am lost
Has anybody seen me
I am lost

Oh nothing is forgotten
Only left behind
Wherever I am
She leads me down
Unbound

No borders
No fences
No walls
No borders
No fences
Unbound

Oh, listen for the night chant
Oh, listen for the night chant

Like a moth to flame
She leads me down
Unbound

No borders
No fences
Unbound
No borders
No fences
Unbound
Unbound

tension

My body has been incredibly tense the past few days. My fingers are rigid and my neck and shoulders have more knots than a sailor training camp.

Perhaps it's a lack of sleep, perhaps it's yet another symptom of the emotional malaise I've now felt for 6 weeks. Spent some time earlier this week who does suffer from clinical depression, and what I'm feeling doesn't even come close to what she suffers. So when I talk of depression, I mean absolutely no offence to people who do suffer from it, or mean to make light of people who do legitimately suffer from a true illness.

For me, this malaise is caused by my surroundings and circumstances, and I know that changing a few things is my life will cause this to end. But to be honest I'm in a chicken/egg conundrum, I'm too sad to get motivated, but motivation will end my sadness.

Going to spend some time in the studio, a piece of music I've been working on for ages, since whistler, I think is ready. Using the nifty piece of software to synthesize what it will sound like I've got I think I've got something that I can listen to. Whether or not anyone else actually listens to it is another matter. Even though it's an instrumental, it's a remarkably personal piece of music, and anyone listening to it will, I feel be entering a piece of my soul. Although, I doubt if anyone did listen to it they would feel that, the reaction would be more like "what the hell is that?"

This will be the second thing I've ever composed and played by myself. The first piece was ages ago, a combination spanish guitar / japanese percussion thing I did years ago during my "world" music phase in the early mid nineties.

This piece certainly has a lot of "world" music influences. I hate the term "world" music by the way, why does only western music not deserve a modifier.

The last 10 minutes of this piece, I don't know what to call it, it's an instrumental for cryin' out loud, is about a friend I've written about here, and I'm not sure if this person has ever had music written about her, but there it is.

How about "blue" perhaps one of the most overused titles in music. It certainly describes the mood, yet skirts the line to a genre of music, as some it is more jazz than blues. I've never worked with synthesizers or electric pianos before so this should be an interesting experience.

Politics

I'm off to do the volunteer thing tonight with Vision Vancouver. I had my first phone call with the volunteer co-ordinator yesterday. Apparently my "captain" will be a woman named "Sage". I don't think I made any friends when I asked to be paired with someone who didn't have such a ridiculous name.

Apparently tonight is a meet and greet, with the candidates doing the glad handing things with free food, and non alcoholic drinks. I haven't done any schmoozing in ages, so I'll have to make sure I have my best slippery conversation cliches on a card of paper.

The problem with politics is the politics. I wonder how a candidate who didn't do the social functions, came across as strictly dry, but knowledgable of the facts with his expertise on the issues unparalleled. Would such a candidate go down in flames?

Why do we demand that people crafting legislation also be social extroverts. Are we not eliminating a lot of socially awkward people from public service? When did politics become a social event, with the candidate needing to master the skills of epicurie as well as dogma?

Some of the smartest people in history have been social maladroits.

hurtful

I'm waking up this morning feeling hurt, and I have no reason to be.

One of the biggest mistakes someone can make is attaching themselves to someone whose does not reciprocate the feelings you have for them. You set yourself up to be hurt. If the attraction is not mutual, just walk away. You can keep the friendship, but it must be up to the other person to keep it alive if she wants to. Setting yourself up for heartache, especially in times of stress is not a wise thing to do.

The worst part of this kind of anguish, the person causing is unaware of the agony they are causing. A normal social rearrangement which would be laughed off in any other circumstance becomes a powerful blow to the gut. A routine passing comment, "I'm seeing a great new guy" becomes a nail through the chest.

This is unfair to both parties, should one side have to censor their conversations because the other person has feelings for them? Perhaps the other side is unaware of the feelings felt for them. In this case, is there anything one can do, other than being perceived as a jerk and cutting one's self off.

There's an old saying "better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all". I've loved, the first girl I dated for 4 years killed herself, that led to a stint in the armed forces, trying to extinguish any emotions I had left. I fell in love again with a woman who manipulated me, and still does. That's been followed by the ordinary anguish of dating a series of women who were completely wrong for me, through no fault of their own.

Can I stop loving now, it's killing me.

looking for a human being

Woke up this morning thinking of Diogenes. I'm not sure why that story has popped into my head, I haven't thought of him in 6 years.

For those not familiar, Diogenes, for lack of a better word, was an eccentric teacher, who wandered the streets of ancient Athens, shining a lantern in people's faces, announcing that he was looking for a human being.

A lot can be discovered about one's self if they walk around by themselves in the dark, much more than can be discovered walking with someone. One of the aspects of the duality of man is that we are a different person when we're with a partner than we are when we're by ourself. We censor our thoughts, catch our tongues before we speak. We find a common ground about the topics of conversation, don't necessarily talk about what we want to talk about.

This has been a frustration for me for the past 49 months, we're on the tipping point of the world becoming a autocratic dictatorship run out of Washington. It would appear that very, very few people are willing to try and wrap their brains around it. It's not a deliberate effort by the states to "take over" the world, it's seen as a necessity for their cultural survival and security.

The progressive movement wounded has been wounded in the states. I'm a member of a number of talk groups in the states, and the progressives are literally shell shocked, they don't know what to do, reading the books they're sitting back and watching a "brave, new world" being created in front of them that scares the bejeesus out of them.

in my attempt to keep my intellectual sanity, I've switched my energies to keeping alive the thriving progressive movement in Canada, and to a more active extent, here in Vancouver. The schism between the US and Canada has never been greater, and this is what frightens me. I'm worried that within my lifetime a certain part of the US population will say, "enough is enough, this experiment ends now" and put us under supervision and undo the changes that we've made, and dismantle our safety net.

woke up this morning

In my life, I've met one person, the mere thought of her face brings a smile to face, Chrissy Bray. I knew Chris back in 2000 for only a few months. But the joy she brought to my life will last no doubt for the rest of my life, just thinking about her makes me smile.

Chris has gone back to Australia now, and I have intermittent contact with her 2-3 times a year. It's Chrissy's birthday next week, on the 18th maybe that's why I'm thinking about her this morning before I have my coffee. More than any girlfriend, or romantic partner Chris found a way to dig into my soul and lift it higher. I'm not sure if she ever knew she was doing such a thing.

Yesterday the music of the day was Mozart, today it's Rage Against The Machine. I'm not sure what that says about my mood. As I contemplate the ever growing pile of paper on my desk I really have to tackle it. Tomorrow is my new day off, and Friday. As the shoulder season crushes me, I'm forced to take whatever hours I can.

You woke up this morning
Got yourself a gun,
Mama always said you'd be
The Chosen One.

She said: You're one in a million
You've got to burn to shine,
But you were born under a bad sign,
With a blue moon in your eyes.

You woke up this morning
All the love has gone,
Your Papa never told you
About right and wrong.

But you're looking good, baby,
I believe you're feeling fine, (shame about it),
Born under a bad sign
With a blue moon in your eyes.

You woke up this morning
The world turned upside down,
Thing's ain't been the same
Since the Blues walked into town.

But you're one in a million
You've got that shotgun shine.
Born under a bad sign,
With a blue moon in your eyes.

When you woke up this morning everything you had was
gone. By half past ten your head was going ding-dong.
Ringing like a bell from your head down to your toes,
like a voice telling you there was something you should
know. Last night you were flying but today you're so low
- ain't it times like these that make you wonder if
you'll ever know the meaning of things as they appear to
the others; wives, mothers, fathers, sisters and
brothers. Don't you wish you didn't function, wish you
didn't think beyond the next paycheck and the next little
drink' Well you do so make up your mind to go on, 'cos
when you woke up this morning everything you had was gone.

When you woke up this morning,
When you woke up this morning,
When you woke up this morning,
Mama said you'd be the Chosen One.

When you woke up this morning,
When you woke up this morning,
When you woke up this morning,
You got yourself a gun.

Alabama 3 - Woke Up This Morning [Chosen One Mix] Lyrics

Most of the time
I'm clear focused all around,
Most of the time
I can keep both feet on the ground,
I can follow the path, I can read the signs,
Stay right with it, when the road unwinds,
I can handle whatever I stumble upon,
I don't even notice she's gone,
Most of the time.

Most of the time
It's well understood,
Most of the time
I wouldn't change it if I could,
I can't make it all match up, I can hold my own,
I can deal with the situation right down to the bone,
I can survive, I can endure
And I don't even think about her
Most of the time.

Most of the time
My head is on straight,
Most of the time
I'm strong enough not to hate.
I don't build up illusion 'till it makes me sick,
I ain't afraid of confusion no matter how thick
I can smile in the face of mankind.
Don't even remember what her lips felt like on mine
Most of the time.

Most of the time
She ain't even in my mind,
I wouldn't know her if I saw her
She's that far behind.
Most of the time
I can't even be sure
If she was ever with me
Or if I was with her.

Most of the time
I'm halfway content,
Most of the time
I know exactly where I went,
I don't cheat on myself, I don't run and hide,
Hide from the feelings, that are buried inside,
I don't compromised and I don't pretend,
I don't even care if I ever see her again
Most of the time.



Copyright © 1989 Special Rider Music

I can't shake this feeling of emotional malaise. I wish I knew what I could do to get rid of it.

My choice of music this morning probably isn't helping, Mozart's Requiem. While a powerful piece of music, it's not exactly chipper "wake me up music". A couple of changes are happening this week, hopefully one of them will kick start in the right direction.

Maybe I'm just in a rut, maybe it's the lack of employment security I'm feeling these days. Maybe it's the emotional vacuum I've created for myself. For years, I've tried to create a stable environment for myself, stripping away all the things that used to cause emotional turmoil in my life. Now, it seems, getting rid of all the emotional turmoil has created this emotional plane that exists with neither ups nor downs. It seems, that stability is not necessarily a good thing.

I can't remember the last time I got excited about something. Analysis, and dispassion are the watchwords of the day. And while this has served me well, I have a feeling too much of a good thing has become the root of my malaise. I need to immerse myself in something, I need to take back a part of my youth, take a gamble, put myself on the edge again.

At what price loyalty?

IN all the aspects of my life, to varying degrees of scale I have met the same kinds of managers. I have met those who seek blind loyalty yet provide none themselves, those who do not expect loyalty and therefore do not provide it, and those who expect and provide it. The latter have always been the most demanding, and at the same time, the most rewarding people I have associated with. As for myself, I have always given the same loyalty, and more that I have received. I was very lucky in developmental years, the experiences that I had I learned the importance of loyalty, my involvement in the political process taught me that there were a lot of people out there willing to sell you out for a bag of silver, or any other negotiatible price. I had the good fortune of meeting several people in my life who gave complete loyalty to me, and I've always provided the same towards them. My political mentor, even though my loyalty to him has probably set back any political hopes of mine about 10 years, taught me that political loyalty in the long term will ultimately sit me in better stead than people who abandon their horses mid stream when a better horse comes along.

It's funny, I have a reputation in the BC political world for being fiercely loyal, but at the same time, while several politicians have sought out that loyalty, I have found that many of them are somewhat intimidated by the ferocity of that loyalty, and apologize that they will not be able to reciprocate. I do not, have not, expect the same loyalty back (I've been burned too many times, professionally, and personally). All I have expected is common courtesy, and a certain amount of respect. The only real price I have wanted is, I want to be able, behind closed doors, to be able to speak my mind. I'm very plain spoken, in political terms, a straight shooter. I call it like I see, and I do not stand back and try to couch terms in political expediancy or niceties. Life is too short to be nice. I want to win, and the only way a progressive candidate is going to win is unless there is complete honesty.

This mortal coil

A friend came by to watch "Gangs of New York" last night. Funny, afterwards she proclaimed to be one of the most violent movies she had ever seen. However, I find it to be one of Scorcese's least violent movies. Aside from the fight scene at the beginning, with Liam Neeson, there really is not that much graphic violence. We do see the results of some nastiness, but on screen there isn't all that much. Certainly nothing worse than what you would see on an episode of CSI.

A feather upon the breath of God

Watched Amadeus last night, which aside from putting "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik" running through my head for the next weeks has got me thinking about wasted genius.

A british magazine focus, has been running a poll amongst it's readers to find out who the most important intellectual of the twentieth century is. The list is very post 1950 heavy, with people like Chomsky, and the canadian Ondaatje (Naomi Klein?!) as well.

This has me thinking, who is the most important intellectual alive right now, what writer makes me pause and rethink my perspective of the world. Certainly there are reporters out there who make me pause, Seymour Hersh comes to mind. Paul Krugman used to make me think until the recent correction fiasco in the New York Times.

Since the late eighties, early nineties, there has been an intellectual backlash. This is most common in our political arena, we seem hellbent for leather to make sure the politicians we elect are "just like us" and not too smart. This is certainly evident in the US house or representative, a little less so in the Senate. In Canada, we have a smattering of people who can hold their own in a battle of wits. At the risk of perpetuating stereotypes, these people tend to be on the left side of the chamber.

series of dreams

I was thinking of a series of dreams
Where nothing comes up to the top
Everything stays down where it's wounded
And comes to a permanent stop
Wasn't thinking of anything specific
Like in a dream, when someone wakes up and screams
Nothing too very scientific
Just thinking of a series of dreams

Thinking of a series of dreams
Where the time and the tempo fly
And there's no exit in any direction
'Cept the one that you can't see with your eyes
Wasn't making any great connection
Wasn't falling for any intricate scheme
Nothing that would pass inspection
Just thinking of a series of dreams

Dreams where the umbrella is folded
Into the path you are hurled
And the cards are no good that you're holding
Unless they're from another world

In one, numbers were burning
In another, I witnessed a crime
In one, I was running, and in another
All I seemed to be doing was climb
Wasn't looking for any special assistance
Not going to any great extremes
I'd already gone the distance
Just thinking of a series of dreams



Copyright © 1991 Special Rider Music

let slip the hounds

The morning has been disturbing thus far, the first words that filtered into my brain were the monkees. There is nothing more jarring than hearing Davie Jones muttering about the last train to clarksville when you're not even sure where you are.

As I huddle in "Bunker Childs" bracing myself for what the day plans to throw at me, my eyes wander to the window, vast stretches of building, human ice cube trays, a thousand stories taking place while I drink the morning coffee. Against the silhouette of a gray curtain, I ponder the thousands of lives that are changing while I watch. Is that couple breaking up, while I ponder the cryptic crossword, is that man contemplating suicide while I read the editorials?

It's easy to become self absorbed, and that's what I've become in the past few weeks. I'm not sure why it happened, it seems to come over me once in awhile, so as of today, October 6, 2005 my period of introspection has come to an end for the time being.

When my views switch from the introspective to the retrospective, my life becomes a lot simpler. Looking outside is a lot easier than looking in. When I uncover what's going on between my ears, it's like lifting a piece of cardboard on the dirt and seeing all the worms squiggling.

So....it's happy music for the next few days, I'm thinking Scott Joplin's rags will get a spin on the CD player today. The stones are spinning on the laser turntable now, getting the energy going for the weekly housecleaning.

As I ponder what to read my eyes wander of the shelves, perhaps some Conrad, for most of my life Joseph Conrad has consistently provided the best escapes for me. I include William Shakespeare in this, but Joseph Conrad is truly the finest artisan of the english language. Perhaps it's because english was his second language (polish being the first). His turn of a phrase, his mastery of the word, unlike any other authour I've ever read I'm transported to his world.

Sleep

I don't so much fall asleep every night as I collapse from exhaustion. For some reason in the past 6 years or so, sleep has become a necessary evil, not something I enjoy. Things are not productive when I sleep. I wake up behind the game, news going on around the world, things happening correspondence not being answered, jobs being lost. It's frustrating, I used to really enjoy sleep, in my twenties, I could sleep forever, lounge around in bed, reading, staring out the window. Now, however, it's become something to be dreaded. Even when I'm not working, I feel the need for cultural stimulation, there's music to be listened, movies to be watched, books to be read. When did my life become this information sponge? Perhaps it's guilt. I talk to people on a daily basis who share different cultural influences than me, I want to find out what shapes them. Perhaps I'm trying to find something I enjoy, ay, there's the rub. So few things in my life bring me genuine enjoyment, bring a smile to my face, that I'm trying to find the one thing in my life that can make me smile without fail. There are people in my life that make me smile, however they are few and far between.

I've been lucky, in my life I've met a number of people who are genuinely decent people, people who are kind, thoughtful and compassionate. However in 36 years, these people have numbered less than a half dozen, and unfortunately, none of them have been romantic interests. Perhaps it's part of my personality, but I seem to attract people in my life who end up being filled in some way with hate, manifested in some sort of bigotry, a self loathing, a cruel streak, or a dispassion for those less fortunate. Is it too much to ask to date someone who is intelligent, kind, and thoughtful?

This blog has become very introspective of late, a new generation, different than the savage journal which I kept up for years. Many of the people involved with that project died. I thought it best to let the journal pass onto the ether with them. This "strolling around lost lagoon" has become something...different, a cathartic process for me. Maybe it's the years catching up to me.

This sort of ennui can be daunting, a wall put up between myself and people I do want to get close to.

There is one person in my life, someone who makes me feel a little bit lighter a little bit less pulled down. Sadly, it's a one way thought, the circumstances are such that it will never be more than a one way attraction. I realize that, but I just hope the person knows that for the few moments I spend with them, my world is a little bit less heavy, that by not doing anything but being visible to me she makes the ground that I trod upon a little bit softer.

genot

The soul of a man is a strange thing. It can create the most beautiful music, art, and poetry, and yet has the capacity to commit the most hideous acts. I've seen the heights that a person can go to, and also beared witness to the lowest depravities a man can sink to.

These thoughts haunt me this morning. I'm not sure why, perhaps it's Rosh Hashanah, but recently I'm haunted by the faces of the doomed from my past. This isn't a "Christmas Carol" sort of haunting, it's more of a "there but for the grace of God..." thing.

As I ponder the cup of coffee steaming on my desk while I write this, I wonder how things have ended up as they have. All the job opportunities that have come my way that offered financial security, also carried a risk to life and limb. In fact, a job I turned down three years ago has opened up again, because the candidate who took the job, just lost his leg.

There's a word in Dutch, "genot" which doesn't translate literally into English. It's the good feeling you have after a pleasant experience. I don't think I've ever experienced "genot". When things go well for me, reality comes crashing down on me like hounds through a door.

Life isn't bad for me, I'm by and large a happy person, I have security, I'm well fed, have a roof over my head, and I want for nothing. However, I seem stalled in a perpetual holding pattern, determined not to be, what's the word, comfortable.

pulp beaten

There's something unsettling about the look of a man in a blood lust. The roll of his eyes, the uneasy, crushing grip in his hand. This is particularily upsetting if that person is delivering your newspaper. I shouldn't be frightened to get the morning papers, but the young man who's been delivering the news to me for the past few weeks is obviously not comfortable with the late/early hours. Most disturbing was his delivery of the New York Times on Sunday, for those of you who don't know, the Sunday New York Times is a gargantuan feat of publishing, weighing the same as a small phone book. I saw, through the peephole of my door a man who was deep into the throes of a blood lust, a man who wanted to hurt people who know how to read.

respect

The week is starting badly. It's extremely difficult for me to make myself emotionally vulnerable, it's happened in the past, and I've managed to survive having my heart ripped out, however my recuperating skills are waning.

Love has not been kind to me, I described it to someone a few days ago as the right people at the wrong time, or the wrong people at the right time. Being burned I have set up a series of walls, that I feel really uncomfortable letting down, this comes across as aloofness.

The difficulty is, it's not a matter of self confidence, if I don't feel an emotional connection I have no problem being confident with a woman I'm attracted to on a visceral, sexual level. It's the emotional connection that scares the hell out of me. When I meet a woman I'm comfortable talking to, makes me laugh (a VERY rare thing)and makes me feel good about myself. I'd sooner tear my lips off than make myself emotionally vulnerable to her. This is a contradiction I realize, one that could make a therapist a very rich man.

the hard lessons of loyalty

If I were to invest millions of dollars in property and infrastructure to build a business I would want to make sure that I surrounded myself with (a) people I trust, and (b)people who are loyal to me.

I think this is true for most businesses when they start out. However, once the management process devolves down from the original investor to a management team, those priorities became skewed. The most important thing is the bottom line, come hell or high water.

A staff with divided loyalties, means divided directions, and an unwillingness to make personal sacrifices, be they personal, emotional, or labour related.

Where does this come from? Last week one of my co-workers was assaulted by a guest who had been trapped in an elevator for less than an hour. After being released, the guest charged a co workerer chasing her into a stairwell where he put his arms and legs into such a position that she was unable to move. She did manage to break away and informed the manager of what had just happened. The manager, showing his true loyalties, didn't remove the guest from the hotel, or summon the police, he sent the guest a wine and cheese platter. Perhaps the most distressing aspect of this, the young woman who was the victim of this yuppie ape from the states is the front office manager's "favourite", and considers her a friend.

The rest of us, standing back and watching this, have come to realize that if similiar situations arise, we'll be left out to dry.