If you read past this first little paragraph - I'm sorry. What follows is hardly worth reading and I am sure that it is destined to be another piece of refuse on the blog garbage dump...so again, I am sorry. However, if you do find a moment to read through understand that I go through bits of insomnia-like nights for weeks on end. Last night was night one of what I hope will not see night two. The other thing that you should understand is that I wasn't trying to write so much as I was trying to see where a thought association would take me. If you don't know, it's like a word association; e.g. sky, star, hollywood, brad pitt, troy, war, peace, hippie, etc., but with thoughts. I re-read this today and wondered how I jumped from one thought to another - but it doesn't matter. Try it out sometime...
What happens when you don’t care anymore? How many times should I try and explain myself to myself…if I can’t get me then who in their right mind would? Tragedy and hope live together in the basement of a flooded house in Winnipeg. Mosquito larvae, live downed power lines, and boots with holes in them keep this odd twosome as happy as the grim reaper in a world that loves rationalism. How can I care if everything is an extreme or mediocrity of something else? Did you know if you press your tongue to the top of your mouth your neck muscle’s act stronger? They do. Are they any stronger? Nope. Maybe reincarnation is partially true if we were to consider that the atoms that make you you have been around long before you and will be here long after you are gone. Being you is not a gratifying experience at the atomic level; for all their devoted attention to your existence they actually don’t care about you…they don’t even know that you are there…or that they are there. It is a bit interesting to think that if you were able to pick yourself apart with tweezers, one atom at a time, you would produce a mound of fine atomic dust, none of which had ever been alive but all of which had once been you. Yet for the short stretch of time known as your existence they answer the miracle of life impulse that keeps you you. The bad news is that atoms are fickle and their time of devotion to you is short-lived; even a long human life adds up only to about 650,000 hours. And when that modest milestone flashes past, or at some other point thereabouts, for reasons unknown your atoms will shut you down, silently disassemble, and go off to be other things. And that’s it for you. Did you know that I have finally figured out why dreaming is so hard for me? I can’t sleep. Have you ever been to an honest funeral? It seems that only good people die; if you’re bad do they not give you a funeral or do funerals just cancel out all the debt and bad? I wonder how many times you can die inside before you know you are dead? And what happens when you know you are dead? Do you stop feeling? The same questions haunt sane people who suspect they are insane…but the insane never ponder if they are nuts or not. I have a theory about anyone who asks, “What is my purpose?” If you’ve asked that question then there is a pretty good chance that your purpose is trying to re-connect with you. The difference in life is just a matter of one space; it comes between a ‘w’ and an ‘h’ in a word that you would have trouble finding if it was nowhere. I heard that somewhere once and it stuck in my head. “If a man’s steps are directed by the Lord, how then can anyone understand his own way.” An ancient piece of wisdom. And now my modern (or postmodern or pre-modern or post-christian or whatever the heck) thought: maybe I shouldn’t care so much.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Not Sure How My Mind Wandered Here.
What would it be like if God complained? What would he complain about? The anthropomorphic reality that he is would probably say something like this:
Re-read that last bit and imagine God is complaining in a polite and English accent. It may make the words dance a little clearer for you.
-e.d.
Do you know what it is like having a memory so good that you even remember what
hasn’t happened yet? That’s me. Oh yes, terrible really. It is as though there
is no future…only the past that hasn’t happened yet. Dreadful. Do you have any
idea how heavy that thought is? The yet to happen past?
Re-read that last bit and imagine God is complaining in a polite and English accent. It may make the words dance a little clearer for you.
-e.d.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
the Alpha Male.
Man in his primal state and smell; strong and ready to fight, a champion and ladies man, an ego the size of TV evangelists’ hair, and only a few straws short of a haystack. A very entertaining lot! And I suppose that is why I found myself this weekend at two radically different events that were exactly the same; the rodeo which was full of cowboys, wrangler butts, and girls oogling them…and…at a hip-hop show with the Swollen Members, saggy butts, and girls oogling them.
Keep it gang starr.
For anyone keeping track of the style watch; the metrosexual is on his way out the 'backdoor' and alpha male is resurging as the dominate trend in style, fashion, and badittude. I'm not sure where pomosexual fits in though.
Keep it gang starr.
For anyone keeping track of the style watch; the metrosexual is on his way out the 'backdoor' and alpha male is resurging as the dominate trend in style, fashion, and badittude. I'm not sure where pomosexual fits in though.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Tidal D
One of the great advantages of living outside of time is that you would never have to go to the bathroom. However, every person every day, we hope, must fulfill certain obligatory duties at certain times in the water-closet; some are as regular as paparazzi catching Brittney Spears doing something ridiculous and others as irregular as a Hollywood marriage lasting more then 5 minutes. I am one of those regular folks who sets his schedule around the reoccurring themes of the bat-cave.
I am highly particular when it comes to the bathroom. Clean, well kept, a visible back up stock of TP, Uncle John’s Bathroom reader, and quietness. No music, no talking through the door, no cell phones, no rattling door knobs, and no company. The porcelain thrown is, in some regards, a sanctuary; a sanctuary that must never be held in irreverence.
Unless, of course, you are camping.
A fallen log will do fine to lean against. Your leg muscles will burn. There are leaves you should and shouldn’t use; I would never recommend skunk cabbage…too waxy, don’t use stinging nettles for obvious reasons, and pine cones are only for the tough. Choose a well wooded area with oak and maple saplings surrounding and, if you are feeling particularly adventuress, use the outhouse.
This week I did neither.
I used a much cleaner, colder, odder, and highly effective technique; the tidal flush. If truth be told, it was actually more of a surf flush. The technique is non-wipe and simple; de-textile completely, walk/swim into the ocean, get duty-free, and then catch a wave and body surf back to the beach. Simple.
Unless a sneaker wave steals your towel.
Unless a friend has a camera.
Unless between the ocean and being not-complete-nude is 200 yards of sandy beach.
Simple.
I am highly particular when it comes to the bathroom. Clean, well kept, a visible back up stock of TP, Uncle John’s Bathroom reader, and quietness. No music, no talking through the door, no cell phones, no rattling door knobs, and no company. The porcelain thrown is, in some regards, a sanctuary; a sanctuary that must never be held in irreverence.
Unless, of course, you are camping.
A fallen log will do fine to lean against. Your leg muscles will burn. There are leaves you should and shouldn’t use; I would never recommend skunk cabbage…too waxy, don’t use stinging nettles for obvious reasons, and pine cones are only for the tough. Choose a well wooded area with oak and maple saplings surrounding and, if you are feeling particularly adventuress, use the outhouse.
This week I did neither.
I used a much cleaner, colder, odder, and highly effective technique; the tidal flush. If truth be told, it was actually more of a surf flush. The technique is non-wipe and simple; de-textile completely, walk/swim into the ocean, get duty-free, and then catch a wave and body surf back to the beach. Simple.
Unless a sneaker wave steals your towel.
Unless a friend has a camera.
Unless between the ocean and being not-complete-nude is 200 yards of sandy beach.
Simple.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Realms of Distraction
The realm of reality is, believe it or not, where most of us live.* Unfortunately, I am not sure that anyone really knows what realm of reality anyone else is living in. Sure, together We have a vague idea of who We are because of who They are……but really, who are They? And if They changed – do you?
There are certain spaces where eccentricity is normal. There are just as many spaces that are normal because there are eccentrics. After all, They and We and I derive the notions of what it means to be normal by continual reference to the They around We. Normal is only normal because of the context that humans find themselves in.
And so there just may be multiple realms. And if I am right, there just might be multiple loop holes. And if We could travel in those loop holes then maybe We could know ourselves? And then maybe They would stop creating the social contexts that are full of red lights? And I know I should never start a sentence with ‘and’. And I don’t care.
*Except for those few gifted souls who rhyme ‘orange’ with ‘door hinge’ and understand that there are loop holes in and out of realms like there are loop holes in and out of normalness, punk shows, and any complicated system. This population lives most of its life in padded rooms wondering when everyone else will get it.
There are certain spaces where eccentricity is normal. There are just as many spaces that are normal because there are eccentrics. After all, They and We and I derive the notions of what it means to be normal by continual reference to the They around We. Normal is only normal because of the context that humans find themselves in.
And so there just may be multiple realms. And if I am right, there just might be multiple loop holes. And if We could travel in those loop holes then maybe We could know ourselves? And then maybe They would stop creating the social contexts that are full of red lights? And I know I should never start a sentence with ‘and’. And I don’t care.
*Except for those few gifted souls who rhyme ‘orange’ with ‘door hinge’ and understand that there are loop holes in and out of realms like there are loop holes in and out of normalness, punk shows, and any complicated system. This population lives most of its life in padded rooms wondering when everyone else will get it.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Swear words.
Sometimes I feel like screaming. Like right now for example.
Deep throaty and manly screams. Screams that are laced with all kinds of profanity but are so ‘hells bells.ish’ that no one would recognize a single syllable of color. Today and yesterday have been among the most frustrating days of the last few days; I woke up yesterday opened my computer and everything was gone. Stolen. Or lost. Or hidden. I can deal with hidden.
But I’m tired of looking. I’m tired of not having a wireless internet connection. I am tired of not having access to my Outlook. I hate, no, I loathe using my hotmail account. The mouse with worms in it yesterday was more enjoyable.
I am starting to believe the Mac ads. You wouldn’t believe what happened. I downloaded the new Windows update and it destroyed my start up configuration…leaving me gasping and grasping and clasping and feeling faint.
Please, if you would, enjoy a scream for me.
-e.d.
Deep throaty and manly screams. Screams that are laced with all kinds of profanity but are so ‘hells bells.ish’ that no one would recognize a single syllable of color. Today and yesterday have been among the most frustrating days of the last few days; I woke up yesterday opened my computer and everything was gone. Stolen. Or lost. Or hidden. I can deal with hidden.
But I’m tired of looking. I’m tired of not having a wireless internet connection. I am tired of not having access to my Outlook. I hate, no, I loathe using my hotmail account. The mouse with worms in it yesterday was more enjoyable.
I am starting to believe the Mac ads. You wouldn’t believe what happened. I downloaded the new Windows update and it destroyed my start up configuration…leaving me gasping and grasping and clasping and feeling faint.
Please, if you would, enjoy a scream for me.
-e.d.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Sour Faced Dancing
Honesty has a dancing partner, her name is Disappointment. And she is scandalous. The worst of her kind, a designed-in-the-USA-made-to-kill threat to Honesty. If she where a fish she would be a cat-fish swimming in a river so polluted that only maps could tell it was a river. She would scavenge food and garbage and rotting life from the river bottom and belch fish burps that would make swamp dragons jealous. If Disappointment belonged to a guild she would drink watered down beer and wear cheap perfume in the hotel of the guild of thieves. She would wear a red dress and smoke long filtered cigarettes with the intent to seduct Honesty; to trap him in a dark alley and silently steal Honesty’s wallet. A pickpocket. If she were a hotel that you booked online Disappointment would be that one-star dumpy hotel that claimed to be five-star on the beach. It is really too bad that Honesty, who apparently many people want to be friends with, has never been quite clever enough to avoid this devious girl…and so honesty stops dancing.
technorati tags: honesty, disappointment
technorati tags: honesty, disappointment
Friday, July 07, 2006
Shared Space
Imagine that you are on a steep mountainside and you are tired after a long days stumble through the underbrush and fallen logs. Not only are you tired, you are thirsty, a little sleepy, and more then a little wary of the approaching Darkness. Across the ancient flood plains of what now is a lake rises another steep mountain highlighted by two distinct features; one, it is a mountain, and two, there is a small glow of light piercing out into the Darkness, across the lake, and into your head.
The most amazing thing is that the Light, once inside your head, allows you to almost be an active part of its origins; a warm flickering light inside a small rustic cabin. However, if the Light really did allow you to be apart of things it would contradict all known laws of anything…and so you can only observe.
The first thing you notice is the obvious rustic nature of this cabin; walls that could tell stories back nearly a century, views that settlers wrote home to the east about, and rock bluff foundations that shivered through ice ages. Inside you will find simplicity. A Celtic cross and a candle stand with red candles, a wood stove, kerosene lamps, a beautiful piece of poetry written lopsided on an overhead wall, an eclectic of theology, plant life, and novel in the book case, and a wall filled with the reminders of the dark riches of togetherness. Traditions says that when you enter this secret place you must drink Scotch from the quaich…a right of passage.
The second thing you would notice is the deep honesty that each man is forced to settle with as they spend those moments that we call days in this place. It is a rich brotherhood between men who share this space; its code is ‘a place to get away and re-connect with who we really are, away from the noise of the city, a space where each individual leaves something of themselves and takes something of themselves away.’ In the ongoing history found in the log books are the deep and lasting entries of men and the occasional woman who has been faced with them selves; the stories of where and when we are revealed to ourselves. It is a multi-biography of people in the deepest sense of shared history.
A dear friend, on Dec. 27, 2003, penned these words, “It is amazing that people come here and can’t help but reflect on life. Authenticity has been enforced here.” Thank you to those I have shared wine, laughter, and history with.
Technorati Tags secret place, history, friendship
The most amazing thing is that the Light, once inside your head, allows you to almost be an active part of its origins; a warm flickering light inside a small rustic cabin. However, if the Light really did allow you to be apart of things it would contradict all known laws of anything…and so you can only observe.
The first thing you notice is the obvious rustic nature of this cabin; walls that could tell stories back nearly a century, views that settlers wrote home to the east about, and rock bluff foundations that shivered through ice ages. Inside you will find simplicity. A Celtic cross and a candle stand with red candles, a wood stove, kerosene lamps, a beautiful piece of poetry written lopsided on an overhead wall, an eclectic of theology, plant life, and novel in the book case, and a wall filled with the reminders of the dark riches of togetherness. Traditions says that when you enter this secret place you must drink Scotch from the quaich…a right of passage.
The second thing you would notice is the deep honesty that each man is forced to settle with as they spend those moments that we call days in this place. It is a rich brotherhood between men who share this space; its code is ‘a place to get away and re-connect with who we really are, away from the noise of the city, a space where each individual leaves something of themselves and takes something of themselves away.’ In the ongoing history found in the log books are the deep and lasting entries of men and the occasional woman who has been faced with them selves; the stories of where and when we are revealed to ourselves. It is a multi-biography of people in the deepest sense of shared history.
A dear friend, on Dec. 27, 2003, penned these words, “It is amazing that people come here and can’t help but reflect on life. Authenticity has been enforced here.” Thank you to those I have shared wine, laughter, and history with.
Technorati Tags secret place, history, friendship
Monday, July 03, 2006
Merry Canada Dayish!
Howdy dowdy – I hope everyone is doing fine. I know I am. Fine looking that is.
Anyhow, what a great weekend! I hope everyone had a blast, stayed safe, and made memories. My weekend was full to the absolute max; here’s the breakdown. Two nights of camping, a full day of hard bouldering in Squamish, a wedding, crazy dancing with crazy people in a crazy hot hall, fireworks, close friends sharing two sleeping bags in a field late at night sharing an amazing conversation, a trip for two to the doctor, late night hot tubing, bouldering with friends and new friends in Hope, a boat, tube warfare and wake boards, and a bowl of cherries.
Deep memories. Deep conversations. Deep stories. All colliding into one. I love it.
New shizzle blogizzle this wizzle. Ya dig?
Anyhow, what a great weekend! I hope everyone had a blast, stayed safe, and made memories. My weekend was full to the absolute max; here’s the breakdown. Two nights of camping, a full day of hard bouldering in Squamish, a wedding, crazy dancing with crazy people in a crazy hot hall, fireworks, close friends sharing two sleeping bags in a field late at night sharing an amazing conversation, a trip for two to the doctor, late night hot tubing, bouldering with friends and new friends in Hope, a boat, tube warfare and wake boards, and a bowl of cherries.
Deep memories. Deep conversations. Deep stories. All colliding into one. I love it.
New shizzle blogizzle this wizzle. Ya dig?
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