Pas De Deux.

If you're lucky, you get to watch a movie that shakes you. I mean really grabs you by the sternum and gives you a sound thump. I can safely say I'm a fan of Darren Aronofsky and his films. While I've yet to see "The Wrestler" I have seen and enjoyed the rest.

Enter "Black Swan".

I had been looking forward to this movie for some time now, ever since I heard of its release. The subject matter seemed thoroughly dense and enjoyable, and the story itself would be nothing short of thought provoking, as is Mr. Aronofsky's way. I treated myself to a movie this afternoon of Christmas Eve. I went, by myself out to the nearby theatre and sat myself down in a nearly empty room.

While I won't bore you with a plot synopsis, I will try and give you some what of a framework so you know what it is I'm talking about.

In "Black Swan", the main character Nina is a talented ballet dancer. For years she has be aching to be the lead in a production. She gets her break when the former prima ballerina retires. She is cast as the White Swan and as the Black Swan in an avante garde production of Swan Lake. As the movie progresses and the stress involved with mastering the role and getting in touch with herself takes its toll. She begins to hallucinate, and feels as though she is being tricked by the new dancer, Lily (played by Mila Kunis).

The movie itself was unique, in that it wasn't a moral tale with a happy ending. It was intense, bleak and ruthless. Aronofsky is known for making very dark movies that really test the limits of human emotion and endurance. What was really spectacular about "Black Swan" was the way it reminded me of a 1998 movie from Japan called "Perfect Blue". In "Perfect Blue" we are introduced to the character Mima (coincidence?). She is part of a girl group called "CHAM", but she has her sights set on acting. She is given an opportunity to act, but like "Black Swan" this opportunity is fraught with emotional turmoil. She begins to hallucinate that she is being followed by her pop idol self.

While there are many comparisons to be made, it's worth seeing both movies. They show different sides of the fame monster and it's really chilling to think about what actors and actresses have to deal with in order to be famous. It's no wonder that we lose so many of them to addictions or mental disorders. They are constantly pushed and pulled, kneaded like dough. Eventually the dough breaks down and won't hold any shape any longer.

I would like to sit down with a group of like-minded individuals and watch both "Black Swan" and "Perfect Blue". In fact after a little bit more digging I've learned that Darren Aronofsky actually owns the rights to "Perfect Blue" which he bought for a song. He replicated one of the scenes in a previous movie "Requiem for a dream", seen below.



So the fact that "Black Swan" and "Perfect Blue" share so many similarities may be more than just coincidence. I don't find that this detracts from "Black Swan" in any measurable way. I'm of the thinking that if you get a remake of something and it's as good, or better than you've been treated to something special twice.

Is imitation flattery, or simply lazy?

And All The Kings Horses.

Well, I did it. First semester of college finished and I did pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. There's been an obvious void in my posting, and there's several reasons behind that.

First off, I was busy. Not so busy that I couldn't sit down and write a post, but busy enough that I didn't feel like I wanted to. That was really the only thing holding me up, my desire to post something. Secondly, school kept my brain fairly occupied so I didn't find myself stewing over thoughts like I have before. That's probably a good thing, because on the whole I've been happier now than I have been in a long while. Finally, school has provided me with outlets both for writing and for connecting with others on an emotional level. I'm still single, but that's okay. I've made some very good friends these past few months.

I still find myself overwhelmed emotionally some days. I show up at school fairly grumpy, looking to pick a fight. I feel kind of listless because while school is going great, aspects of my social life are still a bit under developed. It's not so much that I want to be in a relationship, but I still find myself resentful of people in relationships and women in general, really. It's actually helped me in school stay focused on the task at hand because I'm not busy worrying about girls. One of my new friends, Dan has a habit of commenting on the girls at college. I listen to what he has to say, but I look at it like this, "You don't show a man in the desert dying of thirst a vending machine filled with water when he has no change in his pockets." Having the variety of girls pointed out to me is about as beneficial as buying roller blades for a paraplegic.

Today Dan and his sister-in-law (sort of, long story) came with me as I ran a few errands around town. It gave us an opportunity to chat casually and I realized that though I am a talker I prefer to listen to Dan and Lesley. They are people that I want to know more about. I want to know every little thing that's going on in their head. Dan's much more vocal than Lesley is, but I feel like I know Lesley better. Dan always has his walls up so it's hard to get in most of the time.

Things with mom have slowly been degrading, but I don't know what else I was to expect on that front. It's just day by day with her.

I can't really sit here and write right now. I'm anxious. Very anxious. I've been neglecting my medication lately and it's been starting to show. I spend most of my time up in my head thinking, ruminating, obsessing. It doesn't outwardly show, I know that much. All it does is serve to frustrate and anger me.

Back to the pills I go.

Neglectful In My Posting.

To my dearly devoted readers,

It's been quite obvious that I've been remiss in my posting duties lately. School has become the focus of my life these days. Between classes and extra work outside of class hours I find myself with precious little time to do much relaxing. When I'm not at school I'm at work for the weekends and I never have a day off. As a result I'm feeling a bit thin. Happy, but thin. I intended to a take a day off from school a while back, but I just couldn't justify it to myself. On of my new friends from school is dealing with much more than I am and she always makes it to class. It's inspiring and it keeps me going day after day.

On the subject of "keeping going" I wanted to share with you something. We were assigned the task of writing a short piece on a mentor. Of all the writing projects I've had to work on this one really stumped me. I think it's because I've never had an official mentor in a way you might immediately think of. No sports or club leaders that sought to make me a better person. I did start to think about my dad and the role he plays in my life. As I began writing I found myself weeping pretty steadily. I think I hit the right nerve required to write this piece. Tell me what you think.

I have been on the edge. In the first year of my illness I spent every night before bed contemplating a way out that wouldn’t hurt anyone. It stopped being scary and simply became an exercise I would perform before shutting my eyes and falling asleep. I think back to the days where I would be curled up in the foetal position on the ground, crying and screaming as my skin cracked and bled relentlessly. Back to the days where I would scald my skin for the painful relief it would temporarily grant me. Each and every one of those days my Dad would be at my side.

He became my reason to live and for each day of that year he was the reason I kept going. He has always been the strongest member of our family, making sure there’s food on our tables, clothes on our backs and love in our hearts. I cannot think of anyone else I have ever met with such a strong will. I often feel guilty for arguing with him considering how much he has given me. In the middle of the night, when he had work the next morning I could knock on his door and wake him up so that I didn’t have to be alone on the nights that I didn’t think I could make it. He never denied my company and never told me that he had to get up early.

At this juncture in my life I have no interest in being a parent; however when I think about how my Dad granted me life day after day it makes me stop and think. Stop to think that if I could even have just a shred of that influence on a child’s life then the life I’ve had handed back to me will have purpose.

Every word of it the truth.

In Tune.

Call it a curse, call it a boon, but I've got an innate sense when there's negative energy in the air. Part of being emotionally receptive means you often pickup emotional waves that people give off whether they intend to or not. I'm not talking about anything magical or mystical here, just an ability to pick up certain feelings in a room with people in it.

I don't know how much I believe in things like feng shui, or spiritual energy. What I do know is that certain environments or rooms have a feeling about them if you key into them. In general my house has varying degrees of tension and even hostility. It's not overt and it's not oppressive, but it's there. If I had to pick a room in the house that feels the safest and most relaxing it'd have to be my brother Paul's room. I don't know why that is, specifically. Part of it could be his personality has rubbed off on the walls and floor so that when you walk in there you are welcomed by a generally happy feeling. Interestingly enough it's also the room our cat spends most of her time in when she's not out with the family. Read into that what you will.

When I walk into a building the first thing I do is try to pick up a "vibe" about the place. Now mechanically this includes things like lighting, acoustics, decor, etc. I've been to a lot of homes and I'm usually fairly accurate about my feelings of a place. If I feel a setting is tense or hostile, usually the conversations in those rooms follow suit.

Let me give you an example. The other day I was at work, and without any specific cause I felt all tense and anxious while up at cash. I later discovered that there had been a few grumpy customers just before I arrived at the counter. Obviously a good portion of this was reading my fellow employee's faces as well as their body language. I just do those sorts of things naturally and peripherally. I can tell when someone's having an off day or if they're hiding something. I think this is why I've been dubbed as a good listener. I don't just listen to your words, I watch your movements, your gestures, where your eyes go and the way you stand.

It's remarkable when you start to notice these traits in people. Try this with someone. Have a conversation with them about something you both like. Part way through, shift the conversation to a subject you know they're less comfortable with (for any number of reasons) and watch them. You'll see them change and when you can start to read these changes passively you can start to be a really effective communicator. Beyond that you get to where I am which means you don't even need the person there to know something's up. I've walked into my house after school or work and been able to tell that an argument took place. Again, mechanical things like the way a book is sitting on a table, or how the counter top looks can all key me into what's taken place in a given room.

This may actually work against me in the relationship department. The "curse" of this kind of sensitivity is you can't shut it off. You can dull it and attempt to ignore it, but it doesn't go away. When you're dealing with a partner and you're trying to just carry on a nonchalant conversation you can't help but read into every facial tick and hand gesture. Ultimately what started off as a simple conversation about something innocuous turns into a great epic of feeling and revelation. This gets tiring and puts immense stress on a relationship. I'm not content or comfortable to be with someone and not dissect their brain and heart with questions. A lot of people don't want to be examined or scrutinized.

What do you think? Do you like it when people pry and inquire? I often welcome the opportunity for people to ask me questions about myself or what I'm feeling. I'm pretty damn self-aware of my own thoughts and feelings at any given time so I'd be able to answer honestly.

I know this post seems really egocentric, but you know what? I don't care!

The Then, The Now.

I'm over at a friends house and he's busy preparing Thanksgiving dinner. Don't worry, your calender is working just fine. It's become something of a tradition for Mark to prepare and host Thanksgiving dinner for the household and even former tennants. Each year it has grown a little bit, adding another person here and there. This year we will be sitting around the fold-away tables sharing warmth, food and laughter.

However, sitting at the table writing I find my mind wandering to one thought in specific. How much of what we're doing now, here in this room is "authentic". What I mean is, are we hosting this "adult" dinner because we feel that in our early to mid twenties this is what people do? I'm finding it difficult to look at myself as an adult. In so many ways I still feel very immature and young. I find myself having the thoughts one could say are immature. Stubborn streaks, irrational anger, moon-eyed lust. Does this change when you get older? Does life get more serious and straightforward? I think about how my Dad raised us. I think due to circumstances he had to be more mature and pragmatic than most other fathers. As a result my view of adulthood was one of bills, appointments, obligations and fitting in fun when you can.

I relish these "grownup" times I spend with my friends. It helps ease the transition from being a young adult to a full grown person. I think if I were left to my own devices, my formation as an adult individual would be entirely guided by the media. I find that even now I try to live up to a standard of human that has been dictated to me by the media. I keep waiting for my steam to run out. That is to say, living life at 11, making sure to go out every night and do things with everyond is going to take its toll on me, I'm sure. I justify it by saying I'm making up for lost time. While I'm sure that's true, I have to really start to recognize that I only lost two years. In the scale of my life that's not much. It's not as much as some people lose due other illnesses. Diabetes shaves years off your life, cancer can take even more. One of my new friends, and easily one of my most personal friends knows that her life will be cut short by her MS. With all of that in consideration I think I should look at those two years as having been a brief pause. Something that gave me the time to consider what I wanted to do next.

I think when I give thanks at dinner tonight I'll try to keep that in mind.

Superstition

Baby, if the writing's on the wall I'm going to take you apart brick by brick.

The Key Word Is "Remember".

For my writing class we've been asked to write a piece about Remembrance Day. Not having ever known anyone in any war it's difficult to get nostalgic about the subject. I don't agree with nearly every aspect of war, but unfortunately there are certain parts about it I understand. I understand it as a facet of humanity that will probably remain a perpetual reality until man ceases to exist.

For this piece I wanted to create a juxtaposition. In it we see man as a soft, terrified creature at the mercy of a beast. Platoons are turned into formless black aberrations, bombers become terrifying wraiths up above and every sound is given shape.

I am the Earth.
I am the mud and rain.
Limbs of flesh and steel, blood and grease.
Above me the sky flashes with man-made lightning
as great winged dragons spew fire and copper earthbound.
My men, the war machine that moves as one.
Thinks as one.
Survives as one.
Each day we see the sunrise is a day more than we thought we’d get.
From my foxhole I can hear the scream of bullets and men.
My gun, my heart.
Pump action.
There is no tomorrow,
there is no later.
There is now.
The carbon air suffocates the beast,
makes it gag and reel as it lumbers forth,
pressing the attack.
I am no hero.
I am not the Hollywood gunslinger.
I am 18.
I am terrified.
The space between me and my troops is 15 metres.
It is a mile.
The crack of gunfire and the hiss of grenades are the flex and pomp of this giant. Posturing and stamping the earth like a bull readying the charge.
I’d hope if it were not hopeless.
My foxhole.
A pauper’s grave.
I will not pray for there is no space for God between the tanks and trenches.
Remember me. Oh please, someone remember me.
Do not let this black-powder-conversation end with me as a footnote.
I will not be around to remind you.

In Summation.

I've done it. 100 entries. I didn't think I'd make this many, but here we are. I think it'd be important to take a look back now and reflect upon the things I've said, and the feelings I've felt.

There was originally a purpose to this blog, and that was to give myself a place to keep track of and document the ideas I had from a purely creative standpoint. As I grew more comfortable with the medium I started to branch out making social commentaries as well as comments about my personal and social life. As I read back on my posts several things are very clear to me. It's evident I'm angry. Angry at a life I don't feel entirely in control of. I know I've hidden behind sarcasm and stubbornness in order to regain control of my feelings. I thought that if I spent enough time convincing myself that there weren't things I needed in my life that I would eventually stop needing them.

First of all is a acceptance. When it comes to my physical appearance I'm intensely self-conscious. I am constantly aware of how I look even when I have good days. It changes the way I walk, move and talk. It affects me day in and day out, and I just feel so overwhelmed by it. It's affecting my romantic life. I've told myself I don't want a relationship because I know if I wanted one right now I couldn't have one. I really couldn't, and I don't think that until you've had that kind of a freedom yanked out from under you do you begin to understand how I feel. I can't love because it won't be reciprocated. It feels fairly crushing some days, and it makes me feel very alone. I feel angry and jealous when I see my friends in relationships and making plans for the rest of their lives. It makes me want to just get up and leave the conversation I'm having with them.

Part of that is also my relationship with Steph. I don't know why it affects me so much, but it still does. It's such a feeling of being used and misguided, of never being loved despite being in love. It's the part of me I haven't fully healed yet, and I don't know when I will. It's made me terrified of love and being in a relationship. Coupled with the fact that I don't feel as though I'm attractive or desirable it makes for a potent depressant. I've had to take control of these feelings and say I want to be alone, and I don't want or need anyone. All lies, but lies I comfort myself with as I go another year single. I hate her for the way I feel today and I can't see myself forgiving her or myself anytime soon. So much of what went on in that relationship is my own doing as well, so I have very few people to blame for it.

Also there's the intelligence. I'm not a dumb person, I know that. I also know that I use my intelligence to gain superiority over other people, and that can make them feel bad. I don't have much to support myself up with in social settings, so I compensate with charisma and wit. Both of which feel somehow tinged by the poison I lend them. I want to be the best person I can be, but until I agree to myself that I need to turn it down a few notches I don't think I'll be anything more than a brain. It's nice to feel smart, but it's very lonely at times.

I think about my friends, both new and old that I hang out with. I am subject to so much information and personality that I feel somehow lost amongst all of it. I am not the centre of attention, as much as I'd like to be. Other people are going through situations much more momentous than I am, and as a result my own issues seem to get lost in the mix.

I don't intend for this post to sound self-deprecating. Instead I want to illustrate to my readers (however few or many that is) that I'm still human. I still have the same feelings and flaws as anyone else. Despite my best efforts to be more than human, to be constantly funny, or constantly successful I am still intensely flawed and complex. Like all people I have things about myself that I know I need to work on, I just don't know if I have the strength of will to do so.

As I read my comments about science or history I feel like my life will never be long enough to learn and know all the things I want to know. In one of my earlier posts about the comic book I wanted to write about the man who knew everything it was made clear to me that his was truly an enviable situation. To know everything, and to be mere mortal seems like the ultimate life. I'm caught somewhere in the middle between a fear of death and a general malaise towards the subject. I don't want to die, but I do know that once I do it's really a moot point. Death is scary until you die. There's things I want to accomplish with my life before I die. I want to fall in love, earnestly and true. I want to travel, to witness as much of this world as I can; land, air and ocean. I want to create art and let my words and message carry on for all humanity. I don't know how much of this I will accomplish, and it is the prospect that I may not accomplish any of it that scares me, not death so much.

I love my friends, but I love myself more. I want to spend enough time with them so as to be part of their life, but not a key player. I'm afraid of commitment like that, of any kind for that matter. I don't want to be the focus of someone's life because that makes it so hard to slip away unnoticed when you need to. It's another reason I fear relationships.

I would love to go through this entire blog, edit it for grammar and spelling and publish it as a small book to hand to my friends. I know not everyone in my life reads this blog, and it honestly saddens me. I am baring my soul, my being onto these pages and I am giving people an extensive insight into what makes me John. I would relish the opportunity to have all my friends write blogs so that I could learn more about them. I don't want to have to pry and question the facts out of them. I'd like them offered up free of charge. The words I've written down in this blog are important to me. This blog is my canvas and each word a stroke of the brush. By not recognizing my blog you are not recognizing a piece of myself.

I wish I wasn't as angry as I am about so many things, and conversely I wish I was more proactive about things I should be energetic about. Is this the flaw of humanity, to be caught at polar opposites?

All I want is to be John French; son, brother, friend, lover and artist and to be the best I possibly can be at each of them.

The Things We (Don't) Want To Hear.

I'm an honest person, but I understand tact. I do, however have a trigger for throwing tact out the window and it is as follows, "Tell me what you really think." If someone says that to me then they had better be prepared for me to tell them what I think. It isn't always pretty.

Oh who am I kidding it's never pretty. People only want to hear the honest truth about things they don't want to hear the truth about. It's the masochistic nature of humans to get hurt in this regard so they can develop negative opinions about the "truth speaker". I've seen it happen a lot, and I've done it to. The kicker is when the person tells you that you're wrong. I'm not sure how I can be wrong in an opinion. I can be uneducated or perhaps misguided, but my opinion remains just that, my opinion. It is the yardstick I use to measure the world. It tells me what things are good and bad and what people are worth talking to and who isn't. It's a slippery slope, perhaps, but I can't be faulted for being dishonest.

Women have a tendency to be more demanding in this request. They will ask for a man's "honest opinion", but they want that honest opinion to match what they're already thinking. Sure sometimes the two line up, but more often than not they won't. Men don't think the same way. As a fairly intelligent guy I can assure you I don't think the same way about certain matters as other people I've dealt with in life. When they ask me for my honest opinion it's going to be a well thought out critique.

I was presented this situation earlier tonight when a colleague from work asked me what I meant by a statement. I clarified saying it was a miscue and that my comment wasn't worth pursuing. When she pushed further I explained what it was that I was thinking and I'm fairly certain I insulted her. I'm not too concerned about any fallout from this, but I do find it frustrating when people bite my head off over matters they wanted to know.

It serves to have a bit of emotional detachment at these times. Often people don't like hearing the truth and aren't getting mad because they think you're a liar. Instead they get upset because you've hit a nerve. This may be conscious or unconscious, but I think this is more often the case. I'm a perceptive guy, and I can read someone fairly quickly. I'm not always right, but I do get the general picture pretty clearly.

All I'm saying is don't ask me for the truth if you can't handle the most cutting things I have to say. I keep my tongue sheathed most of the times because I am well too aware of the wounds I can open with it.

For That Which I Will Not Sacrifice.

So there I am, watching House when an interesting - albeit obvious - line was uttered.

"For relationships to work you have to make sacrifices."

It's something I've heard for years, and TV does a good job of regurgitating this idea. An idea, I must confess that is full of crap. And no, I don't mean to say that relationships requiring sacrifice is crap I just think that making sacrifices to be with anyone is crap. Call me proud, but I don't feel like there's anything I'd be willing to give up (time, money, position of power) in order to be with someone. It may sound selfish and perhaps even chauvinistic, but if I'm going to be in a relationship I won't be the one giving anything up. I've already had to give up so much in order to get to where I am. Of the things I've had taken from me the one irreparable gap is that of time. I don't get my two years back. I'd be more than happy to be in some manner of relationship, but honestly I'd want it to work around me more than anything.

Ultimately that idea is flawed, and I recognize this. It's why I won't be in a relationship in the near future. I don't want to, nor do I feel like I should sacrifice anything. There are a lot of women out there who are perhaps worth giving up certain freedoms, but I'm not in a position where I feel like that's enough. College has presented me with an entire campus of women and while I may find some of them interesting, it's a tainted interested. Tainted by a resentment I feel towards having to make collective decisions, having to be half of the whole. I want to be whole and complete with or without someone in my life. I'd want them to be complete without me as well. If I happened to meet someone I'd rather we were close friends, but individuals all the same. Relationships demand that your decisions must be run through an intermediary before they become final. While this can vary in its extremes, there's always going to be those questions you have to ask your partner if you want the relationship to work.

I don't know if that's a maturity thing, or what. I just don't feel it. There's women I've met since starting school who I think are legitimately interesting people, but there's this giant brick wall in my mind that I cannot (and choose not) to overcome. On this brick wall in large yellow letters are the words, "You are all you'll ever need." I can't argue with such a bold statement, especially one painted on stone and mortar.

That's really all I had to say tonight, and perhaps one day I will look back on this post in utter disbelief that I was once so pessimistic.

Royale With Cheese.

While sitting in the car this afternoon listening to the radio, I decided to embark upon an exercise in writing. The task was to make a cheeseburger sound sexy.

With the slightest provocation she is coaxed from her paper-thin dressing. Warm to the touch she invites me closer with an intoxicating aroma. She is done up to the nines; colorful, fresh and bejeweled in green and red. As I wrap my hands around her body I feel her squirm and shift. A part of her is trying to escape my clutches. Bringing her closer to my lips I can already taste her salty kiss. Pressing her against my open mouth she kisses me on each cheek affectionately, playfully. Putting her back down after our first embrace I am saddened to learn she has come undone in my rough hands. She is no longer whole, missing a piece of herself stolen by my brutish nature. I sigh sadly knowing that too soon will our liaison come to an end. Not wanting to draw out the inevitable any further I dive in and ravage her voraciously. Amidst the slops and slaps you can make out the slight ruffling of the now filthy wrapping she came to me in. Sitting back in contentment I revel in my carnivorous ways.

And there you go.

To Cheapen One's Experiences.

A friend of mine from college was recently delivered some bad news. On Friday her husband was riding his bicycle and was hit by a car. He broke his leg below the knee and took a good knock to the head and shoulder.

I couldn't help but be reminded of my own experience in this field and given the timing - his occurring just before Thanksgiving and mine occurring just after - it did serve to strengthen that reminder. What I found peculiar though was this. He ended up in the same hospital, but was released the next day after they got him into surgery and fixed his leg. By comparison I was in the hospital for nearly a week. This caused me to question the severity of my own experience. Never having been in a car accident before or knowing anyone directly who had, I had no reference point for what was considered "severe". Sure, people can tell you, "you were in a severe accident", but without a frame of reference those are just words. It's not until you encounter someone who was hit by a car while riding on a two wheeled vehicle that you can begin to fill in the blanks. I'm realizing my accident was fairly severe and that things could have very, very easily gone south fast.

I don't think I mention my accident in social settings too much, but I feel like sometimes people have heard about it enough and really don't want to anymore. I can understand that feeling. It seems like I'm fishing for pity and perhaps in some regard I am. What I feel like I'm doing though is trying to illustrate to people how eventful this was for me. A lot of people who survive accidents will say things like, "I saw God" or "life is so much more beautiful now". That never really happened for me. The air was not sweeter, colours were not brighter. Things just "were", and that's all there was to it. I think in more recent months as I've come to learn the lasting effects having your leg shattered leave you with it's dawned upon me that I'm built of pretty solid stuff. Not physically, but emotionally. My leg hurts to varying degrees on a daily basis. Sometimes it's no more than a dull ache, but can ramp up to a full blown limp given the weather. If I live to be 80, that means for the next 56 years my leg will progressively get worse as I age. It's a life I didn't have before me until the accident. Do I want pity? No, but recognition would be appreciated.

When I was younger I used to think to myself, "How would I handle tragedy? Would I rise to the occasion like a Hollywood action hero, or be consumed by it." I honestly thought these things, and when life handed me not one but two tragedies in a row how did I respond? Initially I was defeated by them, utterly crushed by an auto immune disorder that I thought would govern the rest of my life. As I found coping mechanisms and strength (denial?) I tried to move on with my life. Not a month and a half into my new apartment I was confronted with another tragedy. How did I fare? Again, I was thrown to the ground by a set of circumstances that made me feel as though life and the Universe were out to get me. For months I withdrew from the world and I was filled with so much anger and sadness. I was forced to grow up rapidly or be consumed by my grief. As my body was aged by illness and incident my heart and mind became weathered as well. I joke with Dan, a friend from school that while I may be twenty four I feel as though I'm forty some days.

So does making reference to these events in my life while they are still fresh in my mind, and evident on my body, cheapen them? Have I become "that person" who I've repeatedly commented I never wish to be? The toxic friend, the one wallowing in self pity? I hope not, and I'd hope my friends would be forward enough to let me know if I'm drifting out to sea in a boat composed of my own misery. I try to stay positive, and for the most part I can. It's easier these days with the distraction of work and school, that's for sure. I just hope that when my PRP disappears and I find myself willing and able to re-enter the dating scene I won't chase away prospective partners by depressing them with my tales.

I wrote a short piece the other day that really sums up the past few years.

When you get hurt
and
you will get hurt
whether it's against the car bumper
or
at the end of a lovers sentence,
you lose a piece of your immortality.
That immortality we forge in our youth
and temper in our teen years.
Bruise by bruise we become
worn
flawed
mortal.

Again With The Dreams.

I've written a lot about dreams lately, but that's only because I'm in a stage of high dream production, and I feel it's interesting to write them down for later review.

I often dream when I take naps in the middle of the day. I'm capable of slipping into REM sleep fairly quickly, and even within a 15 minute nap I can experience an entire dream narrative. Well, at least I think I do. With the way my brain works I'm sure I experience a portion of my dream while asleep and in the milliseconds from when I officially wake up to the moment I open my eyes I have a feeling my brain adds context and meaning to what I just experienced. As a result the bulk of my dreams are created the second I wake up. Not unlike being handed a box of puzzle pieces, unconnected and random. Even if there's a few pieces missing I can put the picture together in my head instantly.

The latest dream I had actually occurred this afternoon. I was taking a nap after school. The dream started off in a city I've dreamed of before. It's an amalgamated image of any metropolis, and specific to no one in particular. I'm on a double date and I'm walking across a parking lot with my date. It's dark and only the occasional lighting from parking lot lamps light the way. We're heading over towards a large warehouse building. There's a patch of lawn in front of us, and a long stretch of road heading back behind the building. The road has a boulevard with trees and lamps taking turns dotting the strip of land.

While walking with my date with the other two behind us my date grows amorous and we call back to the other two saying we'll meet them at the restaurant. In an effort to keep this PG we'll just leave it at that for the moment. Afterwards we head towards the restaurant which consists of a large building that looks like a series of houses stacked and jammed into one another. Imagine a stack of Jenga blocks, about 6 high with some of them sticking out at different lengths. The restaurant houses several different restaurants ranging from a downstairs tavern all the way to a ballroom-centered restaurant at the top. The building is blue and made of wood and brick and looks somehow ancient. There are ramps and staircases all over the building, leading to the different establishments. We meet up with the other couple who are waiting in line at one of the entrances. At this point I wake up.

What was really interesting is I knew the girl I was on the date with, but I don't know who she is. She was a chimera of several of the women in my life right now. Women who I find to be stimulating if not romantically inclined. I don't know what that says about my state as it is right now. I'm trying to stay focused on school, and I know I don't have the resources at my disposal right now to even allow myself to be interested in a woman. I'm okay with the fact that I don't look 100% these days. Maybe 85%, and that's much higher than I could say a few months ago. Regardless I don't really consist of "dating material".

It's somewhat uncomfortable to be confronted with these dreams because they seek to rebel against my station in life. I've often joked with myself that I'd be very successful at a vow of celibacy.

I'm off to bed, and hopefully whatever dreams I compose will remain vague and uneventful. I'd even settle for a nightmare just to mix things up a bit. I can handle horror, it's love that freaks me out.

The World Is A Big Place.

It's late, so I'll make this brief.

I was checking out Google Earth looking for Carmen Sandiego. No, really that's exactly what I was doing. I love switching to the satellite imagery mode for Google Earth. I thought I'd check out some of the man made structures that are visible from space such as the Great Wall of China and many of the man made island structures in the United Arab Emirates. As I was sweeping over the green mountains of China, the salty blues of the Persian Gulf, and the tiny specs on the map that make up entire cities with millions of residence.

I found myself getting choked up, and almost went into full blown tears. The world is so large, so incomprehensibly magnificent and yet it remains an insignificant spec in the scheme of the Universe. I could live until the end of time and even then would I not have enough time to see everything that exists. I don't believe in an afterlife, but if I could somehow, someway be assured complete enlightenment and absolute understanding of everything then I would gladly devote myself to such a cause. Alas, I find myself wanting.

If I could even visit a fraction of the places on Earth I want to visit I would consider myself 100% lucky.

Procedural Pensiveness.

Every now and then I am astonished by my family's intelligence capacity.

While sitting around with some family friends we got discussing religion. Now, religion in our household wanders between two camps: grounds for friendly debate and totally ignored. My mother is the only religious one in the family. It could be said that my dad is more spiritual than religious, and the three of us boys don't really give it much thought in their day to day life. By nature I am an argumentative person. This isn't to say I am aggressive, but I do like to have friendly debates about subject because I may just learn something either about myself or others that I didn't know before and that's really exciting.

We discussed (the family friends, my parents and myself) the existence of God and the purpose of religion, primarily the Jehovah's Witnesses my mother entertains. While I won't really get in to what was being said the conversation did yield unexpected fruit. I was in my room watching some silly videos with my older brother Jess when my dad came in and tried to impress upon Jess how he (my dad) felt that he (my brother) would have responded to the entire situation. I had to clarify the statement to my brother as I tend to have a knack for understanding the sometimes archaic way my father speaks. My brother's response is what was really amazing, he said "God exists for me because he exists for other people. I can say I don't believe in wind, but that won't stop it from pushing me over. People believe in something and whether I do or don't doesn't change that belief. The existence of God as those people want to understand it means that I have to believe that they believe in it." That's not entirely verbatim, but it's close.

Jess isn't terribly vocal when it comes to religion or such matters. I think it's understood he falls in the same camp as my younger brother Paul. They just don't really think about religion or let it govern their life and therefore they're agnostic by default. I'm closer to being an atheist then they are, but only because I spend more time vocalizing my opinions. To hear him say what both my dad and I felt was an incredibly understanding sentiment was really reaffirming. If not only because it helped to solidify in my mind where Jess stands on the matter, but because it introduced a new way to think about the subject. Belief of God as prerequisite for believing people. Neat! I think it's important to state that it didn't change the way I think, but it did allow me another insight into how others may think. For someone who's often labeled as being one of the more stubborn members of our family, I think Jess has a certain Zen approach to life. He doesn't argue what can't be argued. It's smart, if somewhat complacent in my opinion.

I don't think it's wrong to follow a safe way of thinking no matter how revolutionary or compassionate it may seem, but for me it doesn't work. If I don't challenge myself and the others around me I feel like an artist with a lump of formless clay. It is by pushing and pulling at the medium that I accomplish form and semblance. I need to illustrate my thoughts in three dimensions in order to get a better hold of them. My brother is apparently capable of looking at the clay and saying, "That could be made into a car, a box, a bowl or an animal" and walking away. I, on the other hand need to separate the claw into four pieces and construct a car, a box, a bowl and a cat in order to prove that the clay can be bent to my will and that I have the skills required to create.

Yup, that's just how life goes here at the French household.

Decadence And Decisions.

I play Dungeons and Dragons. I think I've mentioned this before as I do have a label for it in the blog system.

One of the hardest parts about playing is making it work. It's not like Monopoly or a video game where the rules and goals are laid out in plain sight for you. So much of it is created on the spur of the moment by both the DM (Dungeon Master) and the players that it's never the same from one day to the next. It is a shifting target that when you actually hit a bulls-eye you remember it for years.

In the current campaign (or over-arching storyline) we're playing in now there's a certain amount of unrest amongst the players and I'll tell you why. First off there's an issue with group synergy. Now when I partake in any kind of social activity I enjoy being in a commanding position. I like to have a direction and I like to drive the action. This doesn't mean that I don't enjoy input from the other players. I can understand it's hard to get a word in with someone like myself, but I am fearful that if I don't chime in with an option or a direction that we won't really do anything. Those kind of awkward moments can kill a session. Silent players are not playing. If I'm the only one really role playing it gets pretty boring pretty fast. Now, the reasons for this can be varied. Sometimes it's because players are tired, or are lacking motivation personally. Additionally they could feel like their character is lacking direction and they don't know what to do with them. These can be two hard barriers to overcome, but I find that at times like this it's best to refer back to what your character's fundamentals are.

My character currently is a large (Goliath) fighter who uses a scourge (cat-o-nine-tail) as a weapon. He's a dervish which is a class specializing in movement and whirling attacks. I've taken ranks in dance and weapon drill so that when there's nothing going on I can just kill time and perform for money. While mechanically this may serve little benefit it helps to add depth to my character. This is what he does in his spare time, and that helps add that extra dimension to him. A character that simply goes from point A to point B without doing anything in the meantime is fairly boring to play with. This is brings me to me second point. D&D is a role playing game, it requires players to play a role, whether that role is mechanical (picking locks, gathering information), physical (heavy damage dealing or tanking) or social (a talkative player who is big on "being" their character). If you're not accomplishing any of these tasks you either need to change your character or evaluate how much you're adding to the D&D group. It may sound bizarre, but D&D does not cater well to the shy. It requires a certain degree of gregariousness in order to make an interesting character.

There's also the DM's responsibility to create interesting scenarios. Now I've been very fortunate in having a DM who is excited and passionate about the game. He's great for presenting us with situations that allow for a lot of freedom. If I had to critique him I'd say that he is perhaps a bit too forgiving of his characters, when it may better suit the role play to really drop the hammer on them. Just a passing observation, one I wouldn't worry too much about really. I know our DM would love to be a player more often, but sadly no one else in the group is as proficient a DM as he, and thus no one would be able to generate as interesting a scenario as he does. I've tried, and I do okay I just don't have staying power when it comes to continuing an entire storyline.

I just hope something gets worked out in some capacity so we can try and hit that moving bulls-eye and have the fun I know we're all capable of having.

P.S. I just rejoined Facebook much to my chagrin, and having to go through all of the old posts, pictures, updates, etc. that pertained to "you know who" was about as much fun as swallowing glass. What a miserable way to end my weekend.

Breathing Room.

Well, I've been fairly remiss on my posting duties, but it's not without good cause. Lately I've been working two jobs and doing college. I was ending my employment at one location and starting up at another. The two week interim proved to be time consuming and exhausting.

On the one hand I do feel pretty good doing that amount of work. I feel like I'm contributing again, whereas for so long I didn't feel like I was. I like to remain fairly busy, as I do get bored. The problem is that when you're doing several things at once they all suffer slightly for it. I've known people who relish the opportunity to work several jobs at once. It's rarely because they have to, but more often because they feel it somehow defines them as a person.

Case in point would be a friend of mine. He likes to work a lot, and is somewhat masochistic in this regard. I actually asked point blank the other day how much he was willing to sacrifice in order to get through law school. His response was he was willing to accept the issues that come with a packed schedule, his career is very important to him.

Watch this:


I don't know about you guys, but it's a bleak world when twenty two year olds are that concerned about their career. I think that's why I like the idea of radio so much. It's not a high paying job, and the hours are trash, but it's doing something that allows you to be who you are without pretense. I would never sacrifice the things important to me for the sake of career. I've attempted that once in an avenue of my life that could hardly be called "career". It's not worth it. I feel like some people have resigned themselves that happiness is unattainable, so they might as well be wealthy. I think that's utterly depressing. Happiness in a Sesame Street kind of way is unrealistic, but I don't think it's too much to ask to be purely content with your situation in life.

There's that word again. Happiness. Is it too much to ask for eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, free from the demons that plague us? Is it too unrealistic to be content with the person you're with, even if that person is just you? There will be days where the sucking vacuum of despair can force us to our knees, but it feels so unnatural to be so unhappy. I want for all of you, all of my readers to start feeling happier. Live a little more carefree, smile at simpler things. I tell myself jokes in my head just so I can chuckle. The other day I walked out into the living room and kissed my dad on the top of his head. I didn't have a reason, I didn't need one. I don't know if pay it forward works, but it requires so little energy to try it, you might as well!

I guess this post got a little G-rated towards the end there, but not even me in all my cerebralisms can stay moody indefinitely.

Captain's Log.

In writing class today we had to write a short piece about a chunk of wood our teacher brought in. While that sounds rather bland, it's actually an interesting exercise. The piece of wood is from BC, near Shuswap Lake where my teacher lived for a short while. Not unlike a still life piece in art where you are asked to draw a banana in whatever way you see fit, the exercise is about looking through and beyond the subject.

Here's a sneak peek at what I wrote, and will be submitting next class.

I am small, the prospect of something greater than the “me” of now. Time is not as fleeting as you may think, and I cherish each second as I fall from my home to soil below. As I fall into the loam below I lay in awe of the great distance I have already travelled. When the first rain yields the earth beneath me, I settle in and rest for the journey I must make upward once again.

My thirst is quenched by Margaret and my hunger satiated by soil of Shuswap. The sun squeezes through the limbs of my forefathers and races to warm the land below. Slowly, so slowly I split the confines of my earthen blanket and am greeted by the stunning silence of a land unhindered by industry. The wind tugs at me, threatening to tear me from the ground and toss me into the lake. With filamentous roots I hold on for dear life, life which is as important to me as it is to the birds that cry overhead.

The air is cool, sharp and it stings my soft green sides. I know – yet how I know, I know not – that winter is soon and I will hibernate in the sparse snow that gathers around my family’s feet. As I shut my eyes and conserve my resources I wilt in the face of briefest winter. Long do I sleep, dreaming of times where I will soar with those same crying birds, standing taller and mightier than any before me. As my dream comes to an end I feel the caress of rain against my skin. Waking to the first rain of the season I cannot help but feel energized exhilarated to continue my quest. Spring is long, and harmonious. My family opens their home to the nesting sparrow, and cruel osprey. One day I too will be host to a kingdom of my own fauna.

The dry summer bakes my skin, hardens me, and tempers my body from sapling to tree. In a pubescence that will last for centuries I grow. The loss of my first leaves to the coming fall shames me. I am naked, small, and insignificant. I am heartened though as the once sharp wind falls dull against my firm exterior. I stand in defiance of the winter that looms in the coming months. I do not sleep, instead I press onward, upward. It is this cycle I follow for year after year.

I am godfather to countless squirrels, robins, mice and insects. My first tenant is a tiny chipmunk who has taken refuge in my minimal foliage. Chased up my side by a hungry coyote, he tickles me with his sharp claws. If I had a mouth I would have let out a laugh that would have relieved the woods of the quietude it lingers in so often. Too quickly does the chipmunk move on and for several more months do I remain alone, stoic and steadfast. The first time I feel true sunlight on my fingertips I feel excitement. Standing but a branch shorter than my father I can lookout upon the world. For the briefest of moments I feel immense. My size dwarfs the shrubs and ferns at my feet and not even the trees around me match my goliath quality. It is then I see the lake, the horizon, the clouds, the mountains and suddenly I am small again.

Resigned to my fate I grow outward. Eager to support my height with thicker limbs, stronger roots I build upon myself. Two hundred years. Three hundred years. Six hundred years.

The seasons race by, and as I am greeting the children of birds in my care I am already bidding them farewell. The greying tops of the mountains extend and recede each year. They are ancient friends sharing laughs of millennium past. They too grow, much slower than I. Perhaps one day I will be larger, mightier than they. I have now fathered my own children in the space where my forefathers lived. Their deaths feed my seeds, and for giants that seemed immortal their passing reminds me of my own mortality. I can feel my knees ache and moan.

I do not know how many more seasons I can weather.

As I enter the summer of my 800th season, a fierce wind – that same fierce wind that once threatened to rip me from the ground – now threatens to send me crashing towards it. I am old, ancient, a Methuselean aspect. With a crack of thunderous quality I buckle at the knees. For the briefest of moments as I hurtle towards the earth – that same earth that once cushioned my formative fall – I am caught in the nostalgia of it all.

We fall, we grow, we fall again.

As I lay on my side, wheezing out the last of my breaths I feel myself fragmented into hundreds of shards. For all my might, and all my grandeur I am as fragile as glass.

Perhaps one day I will be welcomed into the home of another, as I was home to life and death of countless others.

One day.

Things That Go Bump In The Night.

My father and I watched the movie "The Relic" tonight. A monster flick we hadn't seen in a number of years and thought would be fun to watch again. The monster genre of movie is really an interesting horror sub-genre in that it plays upon our own (childhood) fears of creatures in the closet and under the bed.

The movies that have been successful in their manifestation of beasties are ones like Alien (and Aliens, which was arguably an action movie, not a horror), Mimic, Cloverfield (which I'll explain further on), The Descent, Pitch Black, The Fly, 28 Days Later and I Am Legend. The reasons these movies work is that they are first and foremost movies about humans and their struggles. They don't fall prey to lame stereotypes and formulae like other horror movies.

Now I mentioned Cloverfield. It's a movie that many people felt was a lame attempt at copying Godzilla or The Host (a Korean monster movie). The hand cam style was difficult to watch (I even got sick in the theatre from motion sickness), and the acting was pedestrian. What it did do well is allow the viewer to feel helpless and uneasy about a creature we weren't really shown until the end of the movie. This is one of the key elements to a good monster flick. With a few exceptions the list I mentioned above features our villains in either partial or flickering light, passing quickly through a frame or any other number of film techniques to limit our seeing the creature. The human brain is vastly more superior at scaring itself than any director could. We get scared at a primal level making it so that the scare is deep in our subconscious and therefore more effective.

Two other movies I feel are worth mentioning while on the topic of Cloverfield are Blair Witch and Paranormal Activity. These three movies belong to something known as Fourth Wall film making. They seek to make the events going on as legitimate as possible, bringing the audience in one step further to the action on screen. For the last two we never actually see the creature at all. Are terror is produced primarily through sound effects, simple lighting tricks and the actors response. In the same way a multitude of people laughing can enhance a joke, so too can the actors palpable fear make the audience more afraid. A movie that attempted, but failed in this style was The Fourth Kind. While the premise was good, it faltered in that it used known actors (Milla Jovovich for one) in their "recreation" of events. We know she's an actor and immediately that fourth wall is raised again and we're very aware we're watching a movie, not a documentary.

One thing I'd recommend you find is a short movie called "Alien Abduction: Incident in Lake County". This Fourth Wall piece sparked some controversy when it was aired on TV without any prior warning or caption stating the film's validity. Of course a small panic ensued and message boards were alight with people wanting to know what they hell the just saw. It's one of those pieces that's quiet clearly false, but it has a few elements that are so legitimately unsettling that it works in being a scary movie.

While not a purveyor of horror movies specifically, I'm always appreciative of any piece that can elicit a response from me just long enough to cause me to tense up, or feel my pulse race.

Architect Of My Dreams.

I've commented on my dreams before, but I had a particularly interesting dream this afternoon while napping that I'd like to share with everyone.

It was a windy and cool evening in an unknown city. I was inside a magnificent house the likes of which I'd never seen before. It was a fair sized Victorian house with rich coloured wood floors and banisters. The house itself was actually cylindrical with three quarters of it embedded into the hillside near it. This caused only the front of the house to be visible, as well as the top which was a large exposed glass dome. The glass was green and copper, aged and thick. This glass dome looked down into the attic space which was filled with various devices and knick-knacks that lay stacked on the floor or hung from the ceiling. Inside the house the living room which was in the center actually had a wide window that looked up into the master bedroom. When the lights in the bedroom were off the window just appeared to be a black bar at the top of the room.

We appeared to be having a Halloween party at the time, and the house was filled with friends from all over my life. Work, school, social friends all partied together. We were all dressed up, drinking mysterious liquors and dancing to an anonymous musician. Towards the end of the evening the light in the master bedroom was turned on, and while many of the guests had left the few of us that remained on turned our attention towards the wide and narrow window toward the ceiling. In it we saw one of the guests changing into another costume (a French maid costume, but orange and black instead of black and white). I must say I distinctly remember the semi-clad form of the guest changing from one costume to the next. What's really curious is it's someone I know, but harbor no real attraction for.

Anyways, she came downstairs and the party continued for a little while more. When the evening ended and we were all leaving I doubled back and climbed the hill that hid part of the house. Once on top of the hill I was able to walk out onto the glass ceiling that composed the top of the house and opened one of the windows and climbed in. Wanting a private moment with the "exhibitionist" I mentioned earlier, I felt it somehow mysterious and romantic to steal my way into the house, pour some wine and get a roaring fire going in the fireplace while they were in a different room.

At this point I woke up. I never did get to complete the dream, but I was warmed by the image I had created in my dream.

The part that should thoroughly bake your noodle is "who was the girl in the dream?"

Loving Hearts.

I went out tonight for a friend's birthday party. The experience, like so many parties was very pleasant. Oddly enough, though the height of the evening came from a rather unexpected source. A couple I have come to know announced "officially" (as I already knew) that they were having a kid and that they were getting married.

These two are immensely caring and warm people. Though I have known them for such a short time they have opened their home and their hearts to me and made me feel welcome in their life. I can only imagine that their child will be loved with equal vigor, and that they must have a truly wonderful relationship. I am at once filled with pride and joy, as well as a shameful degree of jealousy.

I want nothing but the best for both of them. They are the caliber of person who really deserve it. However, at my own end I feel jealous that so many around me seem to be either in relationships or beginning to settle down. It makes me recognize my own aloneness. I say it's a shameful kind of jealousy because I'm not actively in control of it. It's something I can't help but feel in the darkest recesses of my mind. It's part of the curse of being so in tune with my emotions that I am forced to recognize and feel that ones that really have no business being felt. I write this down not to garner pity for myself or my station, but to express the honest feelings that I feel. I think that one thing so many people deprive themselves of is the feeling of shame. Some people wallow in it, and others refuse to acknowledge it thinking it makes them somehow less quality people. I feel differently. I feel that it's a valid, albeit bitter emotion that needs to be recognized and analyzed. If we can figure out the reasons behind our shame we can learn more about ourselves.

Although a short post, I feel like I've learned something about myself. What was once anger has been replaced with envy. Envy for those in relationships. Perhaps this means I'm ready.

God As Landscape, Man As Traveller.

I was on my way to school this morning, thinking about this and that (as I am often prone to doing) when, for the life of me I know not why I began to think about the Agnostic man.

It occured to me that God (nay, all gods) are not unlike a painting of the oceanside beach. While we can understand the water to be cool, the sands to be hot and the sky and sun to be open and inviting we remain distanced by the canvas. We cannot quench our thirst in the clear blue water, tan our skin underneath the open sky and bury our toes in the white sand. They remain concepts that we can understand fully, but never experience. All men of faith are like men in towers looking at this portrait of the ocean. Men who have known no other world other than their four walls and the landscape in their hands. They are comforted by it, and fill their sighs with "one day"s and "I wish"s. The Agnostic man gets up out of his seat and walks over to a nearby window. From his window he can see the actual beach and ocean. He resolves himself to actually leaving his tower and diving into the water.

As soon as he sets foot outside of his tower he is greeted by a lush field with rolling green hills and the sound of cattle at pasture. This is a world not in his painting, and is alien and wonderful to him. He walks through the hills that seem to stretch on forever, and willingly loses himself for years amongst the loam and earth. When much time has passed he remembers why he set out from his tower in the first place and begins his quest anew. He packs up his belongings, gets his barings and heads once more for the ocean. After months of travelling he comes to a vast, endless desert. Resolved to cross the desert and reach his goal he starts the long journey across the desolate landscape. For a few years he subsides on limited water, killing any small creature that crosses his path so that he may eat and see the next day. Often does he long for the green pastures he had left and even his four-walled tower before that. He grows weak, thin and scared as he feels he will never reach the ocean.

Just when he is about to give up he is treated with the faint wiff of salty air. Over the next dune he is rewarded with a glimpse of the ocean. Sure that it isn't a mirage the traveller picks up his pace and dashes towards the water. As he closes in on his life long goal he can't help but feel the sand is somewhat more coarse than he would have assumed. The sun is dry and the sky is filled with the cry of seagulls. As he collapses at the edge of the surf and lies down waiting for the froth to wash over his parch skin he lands on a small seashell which pricks him in the shoulder. When the tide finally reaches him the water is toe-curlingly cold, and the bit that gets in his mouth tastes of salt and sealife. He forces himself to his feet and looks around. The beach, though magnificent pales in comparison to the painting he had held in his hands many seasons ago.

Filled with a mixture of disappointment and relief, our traveller begins to build himself a hut at the side of the surf. For months he feasts on crab and mollusks, distilling the rain into drinkable water and attempting in vain to recreated the conditions of his painting. On one particular day he peers out into the vastness of the ocean and spots a small island, simply a grey blotch raising out of the horizon. "Perhaps the sand their is whiter, the sky bluer and the water fresher!" He lashes together a raft and sets sail immediatly. The traveller is now in the winter of his life, and is far too aged for such a voyage over the rolling waves, but he journeys forth regardless. As day turns to night, then into day and night three more times he feels his age catch up with him. Minutes, metres from the next beach his small raft is caught up by a large wave which tosses his raft against the nearby shore, smashing him and his boat into equal pieces.

As he lays on his back, body bent and broken on the beach of his island he can't help but feel the sand is soft beneath his skin. The tide is warm and sweet and the sky over head could not be bluer.

Whither The Price Of Love?

So here I am, watching "A Knight's Tale" on the History Channel when the scene where William wishes to confess his love to Jocelyn, in which she requests, nay demands that he lose the next tournament to show he loves her above even himself and his own reputation.

Hold the phone! She wants him to besmirch his reputation in her name? I think this lands squarely in the realm of "ridiculous", just south of "selfish" a quarter mile from "impudent". I understand that love requires a certain amount of sacrifice on behalf of each partner in order for the relationship to work. These acts of selflessness should be self-motivated. Having them be demanded of someone makes it less a matter of them being selfless, and more a matter of you being selfish.

Thoroughly perplexed? Wonderful, let's continue.

I've always felt that love should be not unlike a warm blanket. Private, cozy, familiar, unpretentious and undemanding. Once love is built upon a foundation of sand, it cannot hope to weather the storms of conjugality. I don't believe that partners need be entirely undemanding, but the demands one makes of the one they love should be demands they would expect to be asked of them self. I feel that there will always be a more dominant member of a relationship, but it should be expected of them not to abuse their position of power and control. Be it the man or woman, a ship is best steered by a sure hand with a yielding grip. Nothing gets accomplished when people begin to feel bossed around by their significant other.

I felt that segment of the movie was entirely preposterous and kind of makes for a hypothetical back story to "Brokeback Mountain". I could certainly see such obtuseness as grounds for a team swap.

Ch-ch-changes.

Some of the scariest things I have to do in life involve making changes, especially changes that impact other people. I'm fairly comfortable with changes I make for myself, or changes others make on my behalf or that effect me so long as they're not violent or harmful changes.

I think this circles back to my concern that I never really know what's going on in people's heads. Call it a degree of narcissism, call it insecurity, but what I feel is a fear of not knowing what's going on in other people's heads. I'm fairly in tune with my own emotions. I know I have the education and vocabulary necessary to formulate what's going on in my head into words that express this. I'm fairly straight forward with my friends, and like I've said before very few thoughts enter my head that don't exit my mouth. It's my way of remaining transparent so I won't be misunderstood. With other people though it's not so easy. I'm left to decipher words, facial expressions, body language, all in the name of knowing exactly what they're thinking.

Tomorrow at work I am going to be giving my notice of resignation to my boss. It's always hard for me to leave a place of work because I fear they will take it personally. It's never a reflection on my peers, but in this case it's a reflection on the needs of a business not coinciding with my own needs. Pier 1 has been a fantastic place to work. I worked their initially out of necessity when I got my first apartment, but I came to love the people I worked with. It was actually something I looked forward to when I went to work. When I left because of my illness it was out of necessity that I resigned. When I called to see if they still had a spot open back in the summer it was once again a matter of necessity that I find employment. Pier 1 was something I knew, and it was something I was comfortable doing after being out of the workforce for nearly two years.

However,

I can't help but feel as though I've been a square peg trying to fit itself into a round hole. I can do Pier 1, I really can. I know how to sell the products and I know how to work with people. The issue is that I don't have the passion for the product itself. There are items and furniture pieces that I like, but it's not like being a BMW enthusiast and selling them for a living. It's much more a matter of basic retail than it is of following a dream. I'm doing what's required to put gas in my car and pay my bills.

With the scheduling conflicts I can foresee on the horizon I felt it prudent to step down now before I get myself in too deep, and too close to Christmas. While it will be stressful for a while at Pier 1 while they arrange the schedule to accommodate my departure, it's nothing that a thousand different businesses haven't done a thousand other times. I think that goes back to the narcissism bit. I feel that without my hand involved in the function of something I was once part of it will fall to ruin. I don't know why I think this way, but it's a deep feeling in my gut that I can't shake.

I think it's time I see my therapist again, before school really takes off in full swing. Clearly there's some anxiety issues creeping up on me.

The Void Engine.

I am posting this from class. Yup, that's right. Sitting in the middle of my writing for radio class during our break. I was struck with a sudden urge to put down what was going on around me into words.

There's a certain hum of white noise that always falls over a crowd of students when the teacher departs from the room. If you sort through the static you can discern conversations and comments that speak truer of people than anything they'd say when being listened to directly. I am immediately aware of a certain degree of, for lack of a better word "immaturity" from some students. Certainly not all of them, and in fact they are the exception, not the rule. I know part of the issue is the age of some of the students. Many of them are fresh out of high school and are devoid of any major developmental stages. It's not their fault, it really isn't, but it does nag at me when I hear their droning about this and that.

The title of this post is really about high school in general. As a machine whose primary goal has become a holding tank for students, the function of high school is woefully lost in the bureaucracy of the system. Yes there will be students who actually learn, grow and emerge from high school as learned individuals who are set for post-secondary, but for every one student like that there is ten or more who aren't ready. I don't blame the teachers, I can't. It's not their fault that the system is failing so many kids. Partly it's the parents for their lack of involvement and partly it's the government for providing and demanding a level of performance that is less about education and more about numbers. Schools look better if they have a high pass rate. Principals (especially business minded principals) are more concerned about getting good ratings than the welfare of the students. Too many are bumped from 48% to 55% all in the name of keeping statistics up. What does this mean in the long run? Underdeveloped and unprepared children are being conditioned and thrust into the post-secondary world without the necessary skills to succeed. This places a huge onus on the professors at college's and universities to take these students and turn them into something. It becomes a self perpetuating engine where schlock is shoveled in, and schlock is shoveled out. These students then produce children who have less expected of them than their parents did, and sequentially we become dumber and lazier as a culture.

Some would argue that our advances in tech and medicine are signs that we're advancing as a society, but so many of those advances are made by the few and not the many. Culture as a whole is growing dumber. Once upon a time classical studies like music and art were part and parcel with etiquette and diction studies in school. Somewhere along the line these were deemed unnecessary for the proper formation of a good student, but when it comes to the work force potential employees score higher on employer checklists if they are eloquent and proper.

It is for these reasons I look forward to one day perhaps having children of my own. You can bet they will be the most prim and proper children in the classroom because they know what wrath will befall them from their father should they step out of line.

The Starch Of Being.

When people define admirable qualities in an individual's personality there are certain features that seem generally good. Things like a sense of humour, being compassionate, smart, generous and patient. I've often held myself to these social statues finding it makes me a better person to adhere to them. I have a good sense of humour, often able to offer a quick joke or witty insight into a subject. I have a sort of sixth sense when it comes to dealing with people which gives me a good measure of empathy and sympathy. I'm smart in ways that I think matter in life. I won't be solving any quantum physics equations, but I have a sort of social intelligence. I am a giving person, almost to a fault. It is a matter that often gets me into some degree of trouble at times. And then there's patience.

When I'm at home, I can safely say I have a fair degree of patience. I've had years to hone it dealing with my mother. Tonight was an example where my patience was tested. Over the past year my mother has been steadily gaining weight. It's affected her balance as well as her joints. She is now dealing with knee pain and has trouble standing up, or traversing stairs. I had to help her off the ground where she had slumped to in an effort to get out of a chair. My patience with my friends is almost limitless. It's not tested very often, but when it is I'm able to grin and bear it until the moment passes. On the rare occasion where it does break it's not unlike the bursting of a dam. I don't really have a "mildly angry" stage, I go from calm to furious with no middle step. I don't know if that's entirely healthy or not, but as I breach that wall so infrequently I've found no reason to change.

It's certainly one of the limiting factors in my effort to obtain a significant other. I know I can't tolerate any one person for too long without blowing up in their face, especially someone with whom I would have a closer relationship with. I'm not a violent person, so that's certainly not an issue. I have never struck anyone in my rage, minus the one time I shoved my mother after she made a slip of the tongue and claimed my accident was my fault. I knew she didn't mean it, but you can imagine how that made me feel. I just know that anyone who I end up seeing on a romantic level would have to deal with someone who's had to deal with a lot of frustration in his life. These past two years have taught me a new depth of patience and reserve I never knew I had. When your body is subject to so many sensations at once, as are your emotions you learn how to separate and divide yourself into compartments. It is in some of those compartments where I store my anger, frustration and rage. I have told myself it takes twice as much energy to care half as much. It's why I have down times where I am not very talkative or social. It's sort of like I'm defragmenting my brain so I can sort it out better and more compactly. It's a subconscious process that requires energy from my conscious self.

It's why I'm thankful for one of my medications. It helps to silence the brain and just let things turn into a grey paste that slides down my cerebrum and out into nothingness. I use it at night to get to bed, because without it I don't sleep. I am too busy arranging, worrying, designing, deconstructing, and thinking.

I would hope that those close to me; my friends, family, colleagues and classmates come to understand this facet of me in a quiet and unspoken way. I have a system to my life that works, it gets me from sunrise to sunset in one piece. Whomever I end up with is clearly going to be a very special person.

Critical Error.

I'm not comfortable with making mistakes. That doesn't mean I don't make mistakes, I make plenty. I am human after all. It's the venue in which I make mistakes that causes me discomfort. For example, if I make a mistake at home I know my family well enough to know what to expect in return. If I make a mistake with my friends I know they're not going to give me a hard time about it. When I make a mistake at work, however I'm terrified. It's primarily because of one of my superiors. I don't know how to talk to her, I always feel like I have to impress her, or be flawless. I don't know why this is exactly, but whenever I make some kind of error and I have to answer to her I feel absolutely impotent.

Today at work I made a fairly large mistake. Without going into the details and boring you, I mistakenly gave a customer a $400+ discount on several barstools he purchased. It was really a matter of me acting too fast and not handling the situation well. My concern really lies in the fact that tomorrow at work I have to answer to my superior and I'm already nervous about it.

Now often this ends up being a case where I worry too much and nothing ends up happening as a result. I just don't like being scolded, that's really the issue here. I've stated in previous posts I'm uncomfortable with getting in trouble, and scolding is more or less just a version of that. I don't know why it bothers me so much, but I will lose sleep over it.

I don't have a tonne left to post about tonight, so I'll just let that drift and we'll see how tomorrow goes.

School.

Well, here I am. One week away from heading into college. This will be the first time I've been in an academic setting (with serious intent) since I was 19. As I near closer to the first day of school I find certain things are robbing the moment from me.

First off there's work. I had explicitly stated that I could only work certain hours, and yet on the schedule I am set to work almost the exact opposite of what I said was okay. Now I can understand that my boss is a busy woman, and having to remember a thousand things when making the schedule means that new things she's been told may get forgotten. That's not the issue here, what is the issue is that even if I remind her and we rectify the issue for a bit, it will still happen again. I can't afford to have a "scheduling error" occur during a week where I have finals, or I am needed at school to do the radio show. That will only serve to harm my school career and I can't allow that to happen.

Work has become an interesting place to attend in its own right. There's a certain sub-culture amongst retail employees and I can't say I often care for it. I don't mean to blame the matter on my all female staff, but I do find there's a fair amount of "talking" going on. That is to say, be careful what you tell someone because it will go beyond that person to unknown numbers of others. There's no one particular culprit in this matter, I find it's often the case with most of the staff. I know the slips aren't done maliciously, but they still occur and it can be dangerous to truly open up at work. Some people will say that you need to keep your work and social life separate. I can certainly see why, but when you spend as much time as one does at work, and these people become a huge part of your day it's hard to not let them in on certain things.

It's why I need to approach the schedule matter as tactfully as possible. It's like surgery where you need to go in, extract the anomaly and get out without nicking an artery or upsetting an organ. It's not easy, that's for sure. I think that's one of my hesitations with returning back to this particular job. I feel somewhat powerless amongst the rest of the staff. Often times I feel less involved in the machinations of the company, and instead more of a tool that the staff and managers know how to wield to get results. With my sore shoulder and arm those functions are certainly decreased, but I'm often too proud/stubborn/shy to let them know that I'm in pain.

It's an aspect of school that I don't need to worry about. I can be as open or as closed as I want at school and the only person demanding excellence out of me, is me. While the teachers have certain expectations as to what's required to pass the course (hence grades), their investment in me isn't that specific. It's up to me to push myself to do as well as I can and get the marks I need to truly make college worthwhile.

I look forward more to the graduating aspect of school than school itself. That's not to say that I'm not looking forward to school, but I like the idea that once I'm done school I will have opened up a whole new world of possibilities for me. I will no longer be relegated to positions in retail and service. I can actually contribute to society in a manner of my choosing. I can be on air doing something that I love to do, and make a decent enough wage while doing it.

As I embark upon this scholastic endeavor wish me luck, for once I have set foot inside those halls I will be taking my last step out of "aimlessness" and first step into "driven".

Online Hijinks And Mall Malaise.

Well, I went into the college today to pay for parking. I found out once I got there that I was too early to pay for parking. There was apparently a window between when the online registration ended, and when you could buy it in person. This wasn't really explicitly stated on the college website, so my confusion was warranted. The problem wasn't so much that I made this mistake, but that I got the response of "Did you read the website?" from the staff. Feeling I didn't want to waste my trip I went over to Student Financial to see if my OSAP loan was available for pickup. Once again I was thwarted, and asked, "Did you read the website?"

I've had enough of that response, and let me tell you why. We pay people to be staff members at help desks, or information counters. Asking if I read the website is not doing your job, it's avoiding doing your job. You get paid to be helpful and important, not difficult and priggish. There's too many industries where customer service is in serious decline. So often to we expect that people can help themselves with self-serve options at gas stations, help line, banking, etc. This is one avenue where technology is not serving anyone any better. I have little doubt I can explain a situation better and more efficiently than any website.

The only sector in which customer service is not only a must, but it's actually getting better and achieving some amazing heights. This is the server or waiter position. A waiter has an interesting job, in that they are sort of on commission (tips), and the product they're selling is themselves. No matter how good or bad the food is, if the service is exceptional it can make the entire experience worthwhile.

I've found this is why Pier 1 is a bit of a rarity. As a non-commission based company we still try to excel in customer service. It's a bit of an old fashioned approach really. Back when department store employees sought you out and helped you rather than stand at the register waiting to ring you through. And speaking of the mall, here's the second half of this little tirade.

I remember when I was young and loved going to the mall, and my parents hated going. I thought, "That'll never be me when I get older, I love the mall!" Sadly time caught up with me and I find myself loathing the mall, and it's for a number of reasons. One of the reasons is that I generally despise the "mall rats" or the teenagers who hang out at the mall. For the ones with money they're decked out in all the latest fashions from American Eagle and West 49. If they aren't packed with money they still look ridiculous as both groups of kids end up looking like their clothing doesn't fit one way or the other. Skinny jeans, baggy jeans, over sized hoodies, unlaced shoes, etc. It drives me nuts how children like this can get money from their parents to actively look like they're missing a chromosome.

Also on the list of why I hate malls is the stores in malls. They either have bad, loud music on, have the noxious smell of some perfume/cologne, or are so prim and proper I feel out of place even being in them.

I think this rant lost a bit of steam as I took a break in the middle of writing it to go to work for four hours.

Sleep, Perchance To....Sleep.

Well, I'm wide awake right now.

I've got an early morning shift tomorrow, but for the life of me I have no interest in going to bed. If I fail to take my sleeping medication, the prospect of sleep is entirely uninviting. Sleep feels like a colossal waste of time to me. Not to say that I don't enjoy dreaming, and if I could assure that I would dream I might be more keen on sleeping. As it stands now, however I find sleep to just take up hours upon hours of my life that could be better spent doing anything else. This includes, but is not limited to: eating, watching TV, playing a game, going for a drive, tidying up my room, laughing at the idea of me tidying up my room, writing more blog posts, eating more, etc.

Some people look forward to when they get to go home, curl up in bed and go to sleep. Not me though. I always lay in bed and think to myself, "What else could I be doing now?" The problem is that this begins to cycle in my head and sleep becomes a futile pursuit and I begin to do whatever it is I thought about doing in the first place. I think a large part of this stems from something psychological, but the other part of it is that I worry about not having enough time to do things.

Studies have been done for decades about how much we sleep, and the percentage of our life we spend with our eyes closed, unconscious. It's generally pretty staggering how much of our lives we devote to not living them. I've gone as many as three days without sleep before, back when I wasn't working. I would spend this time doing any number of frivolous things. These things were important to me at the time I did them, but I can say that looking back they were fairly moot.

I found myself panicked this afternoon while driving to work. I think about where my life and the lives of those around me are heading and I can't help but feel like I've fallen behind. Many of my friends are either finished college/university or are well on there way to finishing. Some of them are moving out, moving in with their significant other, already live with their significant other, having kids, and moving out of the city. I've commented before on this matter, but it really started to get me worked up today. I worry that by the time I've finished all the tasks required to start an adult life I'll be too old to begin the things that my friends are doing now. This is probably part of the reason I've moved out twice before, only to come home again. I want to be out in the world, I want to have the experiences that make me mature as an individual. I'm not content to be twenty four and just entering college. That's not to say I'm malcontent with college in general; I am looking forward to the experience very much.

I just don't want to be thirty years old, not be in the career of my choice, living alone.

After Market.

On the way home I got to thinking about a concept for a sci-fi novel or movie. The premise is that it's an alternate timeline, and a bill was passed in the 1990's that allowed for cloning of humans, with certain limitations. These limitations were that cloning had to occur at the embryonic state and only one of the clones was allowed to gestate to full maturity. The other had to be removed from the uterus and used for study.

Obviously this outraged thousands of anti-abortion activists and protests turned into riots and Canada and the United States (the two countries that passed the bill) were in turmoil. Seeking to find a balance, politicians agreed that the bill needed amending, making it so that only families who had their embryo inspected for genetic defects would be allowed to clone their child. The goal was that while one of the children would be born with potential defects (like Downs Syndrome, dwarfism, etc.) the other would embryo would be removed, undergo genetic restructuring and then reinserted into the womb. Thus parents would be given twins, one with the birth defect and the other normal. While this served to appease many of the abortion activists, it still didn't sit well with society on the whole. Issues where parents would blatantly love one child more than the other began to spring up. The challenged children would often be subject to abuse and neglect. A few decades later the bill was amended again. Once again anyone was available to have their embryo cloned, as before, but they were allowed to "harvest" one of the embryos and have it grow in a lab. If the embryo was a clone of a child with a defect, the defective embryo would be aborted and the restructured, healthy embryo would be reinserted into the womb. The excuse is that the soul of the child was preserved in the new embryo.

In the future the practice of cloning embryos came to be a luxury of the super rich who would clone a healthy embryo, but keep the clone in a sort of stasis. It would grow, but would never be awoken and in the event their child became ill, or had severe internal injuries they would "harvest" the clone's organs for replacement.

Wait a minute. I think I just wrote the plot for The Island. Goddammit.

Invasion Of The Body Snatchers.

There's a fungus in the jungles of the world known as Cordyceps. Now, Cordyceps are fascinating fungus, if you can imagine such a thing. They are first and foremost parasitic. Now, in general understanding parasitic symbiosis often refers to one living, sentient creature living off of another. Sometimes it can be one plant living off of another. What makes Cordyceps so interesting is that they are fungus that live by infecting insects and basically using their bodies as hosts to grow and spread.

One of the more devious and ultimately creepier Cordyceps is the one called Cordyceps unilateralis. What C. unilateralis does is infect carpenter ants and then it takes over their mind. By controlling the ant's brain it forces the ant to climb upward into the forest until it finds a suitable place to stop. Then the ant is forced to bite down on a stem or thick underside of a leaf. At this point the fungus begins to grow, erupting out of the top of the head of the ant, killing it. After about three weeks of growth the end of the spore explodes sending out tiny spores all over the jungle to infect more ants. C. unilateralis has been known to wipe out entire colonies, so the ants have developed a sort of sixth sense about it. When a fellow ant becomes infected, one of the ants from the colony will carry the "sick" ant far away from the colony so that when it dies it doesn't infect other ants. It's really quite an interesting site to behold, check it out.

My Head Hurts.

I think I've stated in previous posts where I stand on homosexuality, but I thought I'd take some time to try and hammer out some points.

From a purely biological directive we are programmed and even physically built to procreate. I don't think there's any argument there. Fundamentally we have to view homosexuality as contradictory to the evolution of the species. In a black and white scenario, if we were all straight the world would continue onward. If we were all gay, the human race would see drastic drops in population and only artificial means of insemination would continue the species. From that angle being gay may be natural, but it hardly seems productive.

Enter love. Love seems to be the biggest argument in favour of homosexuality. It's stated that if you love someone, same sex or not you can't help it. Love is love. From that standpoint we have to view love as a directive somewhat separate from our design to procreate. While love, it seems is fundamental in long term homosexual relationships, it hardly seems to be the case in heterosexual relationships. Straight people get stuck together for all variety of reasons, often involving someone getting knocked up. So we can either look at love as a potentially deviant expression of human behaviour, potentially seeking to eradicate our species or it lends strength to the argument for homosexuality. Again, in a black and white scenario.

Now some animals species are recorded as having occasional homosexual couplings. This would seem to fly in the face of love as we understand it. Love is a human construct, a word tied to a feeling which would otherwise be neigh inexplicable. Animals tend to function on instinct. To them love is more instinctual and a primal directive to protect your children or home. While some species of animals are monogamous, this doesn't necessarily point to love from a human standpoint. Often times human love is fraught with inconsistencies.

Personally I feel that homosexuality is a widely accepted mental disorder. Now those may sound like strong words, and I don't mean to imply that they're wrong in their beliefs or feelings, or that it can be cured with pills. I'm just saying that there's a component to being gay and being human that doesn't quite mesh. We all have tiny neuroses, the greater of which can be declared as obsessive-compulsive, anxiety, depression, etc. While these are generally diagnosable, not all of them are treatable with medication. They can be curbed sometimes, but not always. We accept these people in our societies and they can lead successful lives without anyone really knowing anything's off. Homosexuality, it seems is the one "mental illness" which requires parades, special clubs, TV shows and all sorts of attention. Usually when people are waking down the street for mental illness awareness it's a charity walk and they're raising money, not eyebrows.

Now for people who read this who don't know me all that well I have to say that if I found out one of my friends was gay I'd be absolutely okay with that. In the same way I know they're okay with my various medical quirks. It's fine by me if you want to be gay, or make out with your significant other in front of me. Doesn't offend me at all. I just want people to be able to recognize the underlying possibilities for what's going on. To say that being gay is just the way you're born and it's natural seems to fly in the face of a lot of other sexuality-related issues that can arise at birth. Those born with hermaphroditism would hardly call their situation normal. While mentally they may be normal, normal is such a weak term to use that hardly anyone can be held to it.

I guess I didn't really have a point in this post, just wanted to get all of that in writing in one place.