A period pinches the line.

March 6, 2008

Born this morning without warning, don’t number me a hundred fifty tornadoes, a person is a thousand pictures, requiem mourning, symphony of pleasance and woe, hymn frantic to and fro.  Never sojourning.

A period pinches the line.  Every breathe, a pinch of time.  You are yours, I am mine.

Show me how to give.  Show me how to care.  Show me you know something of hell.  Show me you’re well.  Save me from me.  Show me your face.

No slowing the winds of a tornado.  No cooling the fire within.  No easing, nothing pleasing.  The stone-cutter becomes the mountain on my back, bringing me back, breaking my back.

I’m the black-hole.  No events on this horizon.  Big events in store for me.

Mental exhaust.


491 Words to Mine Self

February 2, 2008

Living in defiant compliance to the appliance of science.  Where does religion fit into the equation?  Does God have anything to do with religion?  What if the preachers are wrong and their concept of an omnipotent and ever present deity doesn’t jive with post-reality?  Why does wisdom begin with the ‘fear of God’?  Why do you need to fear your supposed creator?  It’s the preacher who wants you frightened, easier to persuade and control you when you’re afraid.  Preachers can’t stand up to logic because there is no logic in religion, no logic to God, no logic in a singularity.  It doesn’t make sense.  Have faith, my child – or so they told me.  I wonder…how strong would any Church be if it was built upon faith alone?  I simply don’t understand religion.  I am sorry, but don’t you have any of your own ideas?  Do you really live your life and think your thoughts as would a pious person?  Probably not.  I would say the pious person is a myth, another reflection on Socrates’ cave wall.  We all want to kill someone.  We all want to hate.  No one tells the truth all the time.  That’s why no one truly trusts anyone else.  We live in a world of deception, confusion and interference.  No wonder you seek for someone else to tell you how to be and what to do, but it’s not you and you can feel it.  The deep inner frustration of unfulfilment (I know it’s not a word, but I like the sound of it!).  You can’t wait for something you don’t know to happen, it might never be.  You have to take advantage of now.  Something (anything) is manifest quicker by work than by wish.  Or you can sit on an uncomfortable pew and lament about your pain.  The two worlds of self and God cannot co-exist.  They tear each other apart and the tatters are remnants of what we hoped we could be, but are not.  If everyone’s on stage, there couldn’t be an audience.  Do you understand what that means?

Passport Canada (Serious Security Breach)

December 8, 2007

As an addendum to the post about Ontario Driver’s Licences, new security features & encoding citizenship information.

Read about how critical personal information was available to the web-viewing public on Canada’s Passport website.

And the government (doesn’t matter which level!) thinks it can provide security.

Once I had a bunch of moral fibre (but it went through my system pretty quick)

November 7, 2007

I don’t know the first thing about seconds.  The truth of the matter is I like throwing Frisbees to myself.  I love the dignity of the parabola.  The golden equation, the sum.  Some is too much.  Chocolate smiles too sweet to smudge with a touch.  Lick it, lump it, like it.  When did fudge become a mistake to make?  I rub my eyes full of glittering flies.  Blue.  Electric.  Eclectic, almost like electric if you don’t pay attention.  I’d be surprised if most people’s attention could span a puddle. 

We’re getting Googlephrenic.  The idea of disgoogleplexia is heightened by infinity plus one.  The numbers never end.  There is nothing but empty space.

I wonder if they’ll ever have McDonald’s Restaurant theme parks for all the little chubby kids.  Eat your shorts for good, nutritional Christian values.  It’s not supposed to make scents, but it stinks no matter how you slice it.  I recommend using your hands and ripping, but that doesn’t always work out for some of the saucier things in life. 

What can you do about googlephrenia?  I don’t know, Google it.  The spinning wheel, karmic in nature, stops on a dollar.  Bits of a puzzle up the barkers sleeve.  Religion is so medieval.  Shit.  Think of something else.   You know what I meme? 

Know, no, I mean, now, how brown cow?  If they made chocolate milk, I’d be sucking those teats ’til the farmers came home.  I don’t want to offend Hindus.  I rather like the art.  Beautiful intricate colours.  I don’t know anything about famine, except for the guilt I feel from cheating on the thirty-hour version.  Fuckin’ charity, what is it these days?  A corporation under a different guise. 

Shit stinks.  I think that’s why we call it shit.  We say so many things smell like shit, but they don’t really all smell exactly like shit, not even all shit smells the same.  That would be weird.  What would the world be like if we spoke with our mouths, but ate with our bums?  The food court would be a lot uglier. 

What does crude mean to you?  What does rude have to do with crude, other than the price we pay?  I’m on a plane, wake up snickers, I have a sweet suite to suit all my wants, but none of my needs.  All these weeds.  How is cleanliness close to godliness?  Priorities ward back, beckon thee to reckon thee. 

A yahoo is a beast of burden, a human slave to horses.  Is this what you want?  Horses are fleet of foot.  We’d be too, if we stayed on all fours.  That would be strange, huh?  Quadrupeds, eating out of our asses.  At least there’d be some time when we weren’t talking out of them.  Too many people talk shit.  Not a bad breath statement.  I might have something to say about that, but I locked all the workers out of my olfactory.  Commie bastards.  None of them can play the drums worth a ruble. 

America is going down with their dollar and sense.  If life without a gun in my face means death, then death it is, ’cause you can’t control anyone or anything for long.  If I’m going down because of you, I’m taking you too.  Ya dig? 

I once had a nightmare about digging holes.  Each hole was assigned an numeric value, more like an algebraic equation.  The nightmarish was that no matter how many holes I dug, I couldn’t surpass a certain sum.  I woke up sweaty and terrified.  I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.  2001 was on TV.  I should give that movie another shot.  I was in a poor frame of mind.  I shouldn’t live with regret, but that would mean I’d have to forget.  What?  Not sure.  No matter how much I forget, it never changes the regret.  Some things are carved into bone. 

Once I had a whole bunch of moral fibre, but it went through my system pretty quick.  That’s the title.  That’s how things are named in these here parts.

Funny thing is I don’t know what’s mine and what belongs to someone else.  I don’t know if plagiarism applies to a memory without footnotes, end notes, ibids or et als.  We’re all crazy.  We can’t agree on cake.  I like the icing that gives you a cocaine like sugar high.  You know the icing in which you can crunch the granules of sugar.  Still mostly empty space.  Hard to picture.  Harder to imagine.

All apologies and a thousand more, but I’m still going to slam the door.  I don’t want to see you anymore.  You’re a whole other whore.  None of this real.  Nothing I feel.  The opposite of love is indifference and I am finally indifferent.  It doesn’t matter, because matter is mostly empty space, like an excuse.  No substance other than forgetting.  I’ve lost count of the leaves in the trees, but the planes are lining up ninety seconds apart on the skyway.  Nothing is forever, not even energy as we know it. 

The truth of the matter is that I like white chocolate cake with my name scrawled in sweet icing sugar.  I have a big belly.  So there we are…word count 856.  666+190.  I wonder what the six-hundredth and sixty-sixth word was?  I should’ve paid attention.  My attention span is a short toothpick bridge.  Everything is a joke, especially this, that and the other thing, like an algebraic equation for holes, the variables are yours to tell.

Crush Your Gripes (have some wine)

October 29, 2007

I don’t understand people who do not improve at their job.  I work with someone who pretends to intelligent, but all of their actions lead me to believe the opposite – that my co-worker is, in fact, unintelligent and lazy.  The thing I noticed this week is driving me crazy.  This person walks really slow when they’re on the clock, but when it’s time to go home -look out- this person’ll bowl you over in their rush to leave.

I can’t tolerate people who drag their ass (or heels) all day long and mope about in the misery they’ve managed to create for themselves.

Don’t Ask What I’m Up To?

October 12, 2007

I’ve realized that it isn’t worth talking about screen writing. 

I spend a good deal of my time thinking about, reading about and actually writing.  The people closest to me would say I am consumed with it.  Fine.  This is something I’ve decided I am going to achieve and I will work on it until I do so.  However, I spent a good deal of time in university (6 full credits) on writing.  I ‘ve spent the last four years fine tuning my craft.  I’ve agonized over it.  I’ve lost sleep.  I’ve been so excited I could barely contain myself.  I’ve written four feature-length screenplays (three with partner).  I think I am getting close to being a capable screenwriter.  It’s more work than you think.

So, if all you’ve done is thought about writing a script…keep it to yourself.  I’m not interested in what you’re not doing.  Your mentioning it is belittling to my efforts.  You are not in my category of aspiring screenwriter.

The Validity of a Response.

September 21, 2007

As you read through this web log – do I really sound hateful and narrow-minded?  Or, is that how certain readers read my crap?  We see everything through our predispositions, but I’m also writing through my predispositions.  So, what’s valid?  My thoughts or yours?

I may be contentious.  I may be inconsistent.  I may write things that upset your sensibilities.  I may be the dumbest person to ever walk the planet.  But I am open and available to your comments, whether I like them or not. 

I consider everything you say or write.  I weigh it against my experience, knowledge and understanding.  I try to share your paradigm.  That doesn’t mean we will agree in the end.  It means nothing other than I do not outrightly disregard you.

My thoughts are no more or less important than yours.  My ideas are no more or less enlightened than yours.  The greatest of all achievements is an open and honest dialogue between two contrary points, between you and I.

I am far from perfect.  I am far from being free from the sticky grip of ignorance.