The Wise And The Glib.

I talk, a lot. I make my mark on this planet by always having something to say. In certain settings I know when to shut it, but otherwise a day rarely passes where I am not hoarse by the end of it from chatting away.

When I think about my role amongst my friends, both past and present I have always been a joker. Making someone laugh is a huge tension-easer, and really helps to get people comfortable with you. Going all the way back to grade school, when I was only seven or eight years old I was already working on making people laugh. I recall one time where I was at a potluck dinner with a huge audience at a nearby arena. I don't remember what the occasion was, but I do remember the microphone. They asked if anyone had anything to add to the - whatever the issue was - and I took this as an opportunity to act. I walked up, probably nine years old if I was a day and grabbed the microphone and told this joke; what's black, white and red all over. A newspaper. It got a few chuckles, but I was thrilled with myself. I was fearless when it came to public speaking ever since.

I was never a strong kid, or a big one. I learned to get out of situations with bullies by talking myself out of them. It didn't always work, but it's what I knew. I had never been beaten up as a child from the other kids, and I think my fast mouth and faster brain was to thank for that. As I progressed through school, I often found myself involved with activities on stage or in front of audiences. It felt really good to have all eyes on me, listening intently to what I had to say.

When I entered into high school, I heard they had a drama program. It wasn't available to me in grade 9, so until then I had to take a different art class (although technically the drama class was run by the English department). I chose both art and music, as I really couldn't decide which I wanted to do more. Fairly quickly I learned that I was a not a musician and never really will be. Art, however I can do. When grade 10 finally came I threw myself into drama, full bore. I joined the production being run "The Face Is The Place", and as I had no interest in being on stage, I got to run the lights.

Now I bet you're thinking, "Didn't you say you liked audiences?" Indeed I do, and with drama class and running the lights I had a different kind of audience. With class I became known for my skill with the monologues I performed, as well as my advanced understanding of Shakespeare's works. Elizabethan never felt like a different language, but instead a different way of arranging the English language to achieve a more poetic sentence. I wrote my very first monologue to be performed in front of the class, and I had people asking me to repeat it again afterwards. With the lighting for my first production I was part of, my audience was the cast members and the crew. Working with them to get the show together allowed me plenty of opportunities to hold court and explain my ideas.

I continued through drama class for the remainder of my time at Waterloo-Oxford, evening working alongside my dad and the English head at the school to create a separate course called "Director's Craft". It was a course offered at my dad's school, but not at ours. We slotted it into the grade 12 drama class (I was in grade 13, or OAC is it was called) and I just attended class with them. It was heaven, I got to redo grade 12 drama, but when situations arose where a director was required for a situation, the teacher would delegate to me, and the class was mine.

Even with the job's I've had in the past, I've always been in a management position. It's not really a power hungry situation, as anyone who's worked beneath me can attest I was not a tyrant. I just enjoyed people asking me for directions and for help with their job. It made me feel important and needed which I think anyone can say they enjoy.

Now that I've returned to work I have noticed one big difference in my behaviour in work situations. While I once would jump at the option to chat it up with the staff during a slow moment, I find myself more likely to invent work for myself or ask my manager. I don't really find a lot of what they're talking about to be that relevant. It always seems to be about the same stuff; relationships, issues at home, "girl stuff". Things I could hardly care less about. Once upon a time I would feign enthusiasm to maintain a report with them. Now I'm more interested in just walking by and listening to what they have to say.

This doesn't mean I've stopped my love of talking, or for being an entertainer. I think the group I hang out with on Sundays would agree that I'm always likely to add my two cents to any topic being commented on. The skill comes in knowing what to say, when to say it and how to say it. It's a skill to be an accomplished conversationalist, not everyone can do it. If someone makes a comment that clearly indicates they've got a direction they'd like to take the conversation, if it's okay then let it slide and the conversation will evolve naturally. If someone insists upon turning the conversation toward themselves, then that needs to be stopped. I try not to do this, as I find it in incredibly bad taste, as well as being awkward. If someone initiates a conversation and wants to talk about their recently deceased relative, then the appropriate thing to do would be to listen, saying nothing. Don't mention the fact that your relative passed away recently too, I don't think that's what they're reaching out for. They're not looking for vindication in the knowledge that people die, nor are they looking for someone they can relate to. They're expressing an emotion, a sentiment. Those sorts of things need to just be stated and left, really.

There's a lot more I could go on about, I really think that a lot of people could use a lesson in conversational etiquette.

Xenoliths Of Flesh.

Coloured contact lenses weird me out. I can understand jewelry and dyed hair, but screwing with the colour of your eyes is getting a bit intimate. It's right up there with getting things other than your nose, eyebrow or ear pierced.

In tribes, ritualistic piercing was often a sign of passage or used in ceremonies. People did not just jam things into their face because it looked cool. I recall in grade school when you saw a girl with pierced ears it was pretty cool, it somehow made her older, more mature. When I got into middle school you started to see more girls with pierced ears, and even a guy would have his ear pierced every now and then. Once I hit high school, the piercing craze was in full swing. If you could pinch an inch of flesh between your fingers then you could pierce it. I saw eyebrows, lips, cheeks, tongues, every angle on the ear, every corner of the nose. It wasn't just studs or rings either, people were using "industrial bars" which are thick steel pipes between two piercings, and others still would gauge their ears causing the lobe to stretch and open, like you'd see on an African native or something.

This was getting absurd.

I can totally understand the desire to want to stand out, I was once a teenager. I fantasized about getting a tattoo, but it dawned upon me that there's nothing I like now that I liked nearly as much as I did when I was a teenager. I'd feel silly now to have something coloured in my skin that didn't matter to me. I think when you get a tattoo you have to get into a mindset where the permanency of the object isn't what's relevant, rather the marker it establishes in your life. You may no longer dig Chinese letters, but you once did and that makes it part of your history.

I just can't get to that point.

It's the same with piercings. I know small piercings grow back over in time, but people who are getting these massive gauges in their upper and lower lips and ears are really doing damage. They say their bodies are temples and that they're adorning them. Personally I think they're putting a novelty doorbell on the Taj Mahal, if you catch my meaning. It's absurd to deface yourself in such an extreme manner, in my opinion.

I suppose in the grand scheme of things, coloured contacts are not the worst modification. Sure they hide how beautiful your eyes undoubtedly are. I can say this because if you take the time to really look at the composition of eyes, they are tiny blue/green/brown/grey nebulae. Random, chaotic and limitless, crafted by the whimsical hand of Nature itself. People get upset that they don't have blue eyes, or that their eyes don't match their hair, or whatever. I think if they stopped, and let someone they care about look deep into those soulful lenses, and were told how truly stunning they were they may think twice about colour contacts.

On a totally separate note I'd like to point out I've made a post title starting with every letter of the alphabet. Xenolith was no small task to look up, let me tell you.

Verdant Fields.

I was thinking about this while I was trying to sleep.

To me, the idea of true inner peace would sound something like this:

It has just rained, and the clouds are just beginning to be chased away by blue sky. Sitting down in the moist grass somewhere in a vast, rolling field. The ground smells of wet earth and fresh rain. The landscape's contrast is amplified, the greens are rich and emerald. As the wind blows the passing clouds pass overhead, their shadows racing along the ground causing momentary chills to run up my spine as the temperature drops a few degrees. I'm drinking from my favourite tea pot, drinking my favourite tea. I can feel my pants beginning to soak through, and my socks are getting stained green. I toss my clothes to the side, and lay back in soft grass, naked as the day I was born. In the distance a cow lows, and a sense of overwhelming quietude settles over me.

I am at peace.

Elementary My Dear.

For many years, longer than I played World of Warcraft, going way back to when my older brother and I were young boys we discovered Magic: The Gathering and the cards you play with. We didn't really know how to play, and tried to put the rules together based on the little bit on the cards. Years later in high school I picked it up again when I discovered other players.

Without boring you with the rules, and getting more to my point, there were five elements in the game. Blue, green, red, black and white. They had fundamental themes that they more or less followed through their many, many years.

Red was about raw power. More than the other colours, it dealt with direct damage and the ability to control fire, and all similar themes. Blue is about the control of magic, including the ability to counter the spells. Green was about nature, the ability to give life and manifest powerful creatures. Black was about death, disease, poison and all things icky and evil. Finally, white is about healing, responsibility, armies and honour. There's certainly more to it, but that's a very rough idea.

After watching Avatar the series, these concepts ring true in many ways. It did get me thinking about alternative possibilities for these colours, elements, etc.

While Red/Fire is often about destruction and power, it's also very much about warmth, passion and the ability to spark life. Fire can be beautiful and its untamed nature is an attractive quality.

White/Wind can be about honour, majesty and revitalization, but wind is also very wild. It is an relentless force, capable of immense destruction. Hurricanes and tornadoes are devastating, and wind's ability to erode makes it a true ally of time.

Black/Death has the stigma of being evil, driven only be a desire to end life. In my opinion, though without death we do not learn the purpose of life. The mushroom lives because the tree has died. Without night we do not yearn for the day.

The nature of green/earth has always been about strength and a steadfast determination. I think earth can be a source of raw, primal energy that can yield death as much as life. The earthquake shifts the motion of the planet, and the life of its inhabitants.

Finally blue/water. An element that's often about the nature of countering what's going wrong. Water puts out fire, nourishes the thirsty, grows the crops, but there's a downside. Water can carve rock and coupled with wind helps to feed the hurricane's destructive power.

All I'm saying is that there's two sides to every coin, and it is for these extra dimensions we can be thankful for the variety of life.

Your Brain On WiFi.

I read an interesting article today that commented on technology's hold on us as a society. We rely, nay are entirely Dependant upon technological devices to keep our heads above water. Be forewarned though, this is no Great Lake you're swimming in, but the Dirac Sea; slip in and you're a goner.

I know when my pc goes on the fritz I feel frustrated, but certainly not lost. I've gone weeks without a function computer before. I just found other things to occupy my time. I watch TV, go for drives, read a book, but I don't panic. Now I'm not reliant upon my computer for my livelihood. It's a tool for amusement and interaction. I surf the web, I play video games and I chat with friends, thus is the extent of the purpose of my pc.

It's the same thing with cellphones. As it stands the port in which you plug in the charger is starting to breakdown on mine. I imagine it will fall apart in my hand like soggy paper and I won't really care. It was purchased for me so my parents could keep tabs on me when I started to drive more often. I can understand their purpose for me having one, but I think in the history of the phone, some 5 years old now I have used it less than 100 times for calls, and only slightly more for texting. It's a novelty at best. I've previously stated my feelings about cellphones, so let's shift gears.

When it comes to advances in technology and especially medicine, nothing gets the creative juices flowing like a good old fashioned war. When there's blood money to be made, and the government's footing the bill you can bet scientists will get to work on whatever needs to be done. It's horrific to think about, but so many of our modern devices were once upon a time military technology. A lot of companies that make our household items and devices actually have contracts with the the military for things like clothing, footwear, communications devices, etc. And how do we as the customer benefit? We pay for the consumer models which help to fund the research necessary for more devices, and so on and so forth. I'm not trying to make a declaration against war or consumerism. In fact I think that both serve very fundamental purposes in the human world.

War is horrific. Let's get that stated first, however in the twisted vagaries of such an act there's a clear purpose. From one point of view it does aid in keeping the population of the world in check. I know that sounds monstrous, but let's look at the facts. The world's population is ballooning. We're not exactly running out of space, if push came to shove and we had to cram people in every square foot on the planet's surface, we've got space to spare. The main concern is resources. I don't just mean fossil fuels, obviously war's not fantastic for that as a lot of war machines are fuel hogs. Instead I'm thinking about food and water. Our access to resources like that are not as limitless as we like to think, and many countries are unable to feed their populace. I am reminded of the many African countries that have starving children, men and women. Countries ruled by warlords who massacre and butcher their own people. The upside (if one could be gleaned) is that in some weird biological directive, these tyrants keep the population lower than it would be if they were all holding hands and singing.

I feel as though I need to reiterate that I'm playing the Devil's advocate here. Human nature is truly selfish and destructive, but we seem to be driven by forces beyond the obvious and conscious. Propelled by an individual need to survive, and kept in check by morals that usually prevent us from stepping upon one another to achieve this goal humankind is likely to survive forever. Movies always give us these threats about how nuclear war would decimate the human population on Earth. I find this very fantastic and hard to believe. We're nothing if not resourceful. If by some strange occurrence our atmosphere became instantly toxic to humans, I have little doubt that we'd still have a contingent of our species who would find a way to survive. When I think about everything that we've accomplished as humans, I am hard pressed to imagine a world where we are totally helpless.

We've flown to the moon, been to the bottom of the ocean and circumnavigated the world on motorcycles. We have witness events so brief and glorious it's difficult to quantify their existence at all, and we've survived every natural disaster the world wants to throw at us. Should we ever succumb to a third world war, I am most confident that the aftermath in the technology and medical fields will yield cures to our most violent of diseases. We'll cure cancer, AIDS/HIV and mental illnesses of the most extreme natures.

For those of you who have seen the Matrix, (and for those of you who haven't, what the hell?) I recommend you watch the Animatrix, primarily The Second Renaissance segments. That vignette really speaks to me about hope and human determination. We are a race of creatures that jumps into the fire to find out it's hot. In the scheme of the Universe we are so brief, so insignificant, but given the time there is nothing I don't feel we're capable of.

The next time your cellphone dies, or your XBox acts up just take a moment to think about how miraculous it is that they exist and work in the first place.

Under The Iron Sky.

One prevailing idea about the nature of life in the universe is that it requires liquid water to survive. Planets that have liquid water are often considered the most likely places to have some form of carbon-based life.

I like to broaden my horizons on this one a bit, and state that life (life as we know it anyways) really requires a few simple things. A source of energy, the ability to convert that energy into "food" and an ability to procreate within the parametres of your own species.

This led me to think about a planet that had an elongated elliptical orbit around a hypergiant star named VV Cephei A. Let's call the planet "Fe". Fe's orbit around the unimaginably massive star took 800 years, but as a result of the elliptical orbit, the nature of Fe changed greatly through this near-millennium. At the apex of the orbit, while it was furthest away, Fe was a solid rock of superdense material. Kneaded by the push and pull of its strange orbit, the rock that composed the planet's surface and mantle had been compressed and forced to create a shell that made it very hard. On the surface of this planet are hollow, bowl-like stalagmites. During the coldest season, while Fe was furthest away from VV Cephei A these stalagmites are filled with solid iron. For almost 100 years the iron remains this way until Fe gets close enough to the star it orbits, and begins to heat up. While the surface remains unchanged, the iron softens and a strange occurrence begins to take place. As a result of the massive magnetosphere that is formed between Fe and Cephei the iron is charge with both magnetism and electricity. Not unlike our own brains, this "spark" gives birth to consciousness.

This is where it gets a bit more sci-fi.

The idea is that the consciousness that befalls these iron pools is laden with the consciousness of eons of life. The creatures of Fe, Ferrans as I'll call them have traveled around Cephei for millions of years going all the way back to the time when the first of them gained consciousness as a result of the magnetosphere. Their "lives" exists for several centuries, as they thaw and "wake up" from their solid states. As Fe hurdles closer to Cephei, the Ferrans step out of their stalagmite cradles and onto the surface of their planet where they observe their solar system through an orange-hued sky, just barely screening the expanse of the universe. Like delicately created tuning forks, the Ferrans have no eyes, no ears, rather they pick up on the most minute of vibrations that emanate from both their world and their solar system. They turn these vibrations into information which is stored in their iron minds.

As Fe gets even closer to Cephei, the Ferrans density begins to lessen. They are now fully liquid and unable to record as finely as they once could. Instead their physiology has metamorphosed into something like that of a plant. With Cephei so close, they spread their forms out across the surface of the planet so that all of Fe is covered in a slightly glowing iron ocean. They absorb the heat and light from the star, and convert this energy into further data about the current temperature of the star as well as the size and density therein. This information is calculated and the Ferrans figure out (collectively) how much time their star has left, down to the minute.

Fe, now finally as close to Cephei as it will be in this orbit is intensely hot. So hot, in fact that the Ferrans have dispersed into an iron gas that envelops their world. This is the stage in which the Ferrans "procreate". Their material is scattered and mixed with that of all the others of their planet until it is impossible to tell where one Ferran ends and another begins.

As Fe begins to orbit away from Cephei at a higher velocity than it approached it, subject to a slingshot effect the planet begins to cool quickly. The Ferrans rain down upon their planet and begin to fill the stalagmite cradles from whence they came. In the few minutes it takes for them to fall from atmosphere to surface, there are large cracks of lightning that arc across the planet. This will be the last communal sharing of information between the Ferrans for another 400 years. With it, they record the ambient temperature of the space above the planet and the density of the atmosphere they compose.

As the stalagmites are filled with liquid iron rain, the Ferrans are new beings, the result of the gaseous state they were in, each of them now contains more memories, more information than they had previously contained when they neared Cephei. The solidification begins to occur, and the last few drops of liquid iron travel up the stalagmites to join their whole. No gram is left behind and once again Fe is quiet. The Ferrans have solidified and gone dormant once again, preparing for another trip around their hypergiant star.

If life can exist in the extreme depths of our oceans, and at the superheated vents along the tectonic boundaries, then surely it can exist anywhere.

Zee Bones, Zee Goggles Do Nothing!

There was a risk I wasn't going to post anything today, so instead I'll just make a brief post about my knees. My knees hurt as a result of standing for 5 hours today at work on a hard tile floor. After my surgery and the accident that invoked it, my legs in general have been sore. I hadn't noticed how bad it was until recently when I returned to work.

I've spoken with my physiotherapist about solutions, and we've come up with a few. First is to try orthotics to ease the pressure being applied to my foot, which should aid in relief all the way up my leg and back. Secondly is to get fitted for a brace which will essentially float my knee and take the pressure off of it.

The whole situation is a rather bleak look at what my future holds as I get older. Joints tend to get worse as you age, but my legs have been accelerated along this track and I feel way older than I am. Long gone are the days where I could run and jump like a child. Running is out of the question, and jumping even more so. Slight hops to get things on top shelves at work are excruciating (and I don't use that word lightly).

I've tried to be angry at the guy who caused my accident, I've tried plenty. I just can't seem to get there though. No matter how upset I want to be, I think, "it was an accident, he made a poor choice and as a result I'm suffering. If the tables were turned I'd want to be forgiven and so I've forgiven him". He's a young guy, and assuming he's not a sociopath he's felt guilty about all of this. I don't expect him to be ruined for life as a result, but after the lawsuit is said and done I imagine he won't think too much about it.

All I know is my life has been forever changed as a result, and change is good.

How It Would Be.

Running shoes in the daytime, something familiar and cozy. Not out to impress, just a desire for practicality. Well-fitting jeans with a nice coffee coloured belt and a cute buckle, perhaps a goomba or koopa troopa, just to let us know you're a gamer. A nice shirt, no print. Something soft, probably from Roots. Pierced ears with small diamond studs, actual diamonds probably a gift on your 16th birthday.

One sibling, a brother perhaps. Parents would be still together, still in love. Grew up in the city, but likes life a little slower, country blood in a metropolitan heart. Time spent talking about things you're passionate about, making others passionate about them too. No TV, but not too much reading. Sitting on the sofa with a record playing, mid nineties. Likes all music, but doesn't know a lot about any one band in particular.

Likes to cook, loves to eat. Feel good about the way you look, lives responsibly. Likes wine, enjoys a beer. Likes time apart, cherishes time together. Sleep with the window open so you can hear the wind at night and the birds in the morning. Positive, but not saccharine; honest, but tactful. Listens to me, but maintains a separate opinion.

Doesn't understand cellphones, doesn't want to. Sarcastic wit, never cruel. Spends time each day doing something to become a better person. "Gets" my friends, enjoys their company. Warm dinners, warm conversation, warm nights. Cries during the credits to sad movies.

Sun dress, white lace, white heels. Dinner out.

No kids.

Save up some money for a trip, visit Thailand, Laos, Japan, China.

Ireland. Follow your roots, find your past. Where you're from is as important as where you're going.

Pack up in the middle of the night, leave a note:

"People like us understand the fleetingness of everything. The sun sets, the tide recedes and the leaves fall."

I nod, understandingly. It will be the last missive between us.

When asked where you went, I'll shrug and say, "Returned to the thoroughfare of a life before me. So lucky was I that they stopped along the way to ask me for directions."

Prosperity And Loss.

For nearly two years I wasn't making an official income. I was receiving wage replacement benefits through my insurance company. It was quite a lot, and in fact served to keep me financially afloat. In February of this year those benefits ended, but as a result of my insurance companies lack of sufficient communication I wasn't aware of this fact until nearly the end of April. I had just assumed they had fallen behind on paying me. While it's my own fault for not being cautious with my money, I do feel as though I am not where I should be with my finances. I've started working again, but gas and insurance are fairly expensive and I worry that I won't actually be making money, rather spending money to work.

I've mentioned in previous posts how I would like to limit the spending I do when I hang out with my friends. It's tricky, though. You often get one of two responses from your friends. Either they offer to pay for you (which I don't like, I don't take charity) or they continue with their plan, insisting you come along but don't "have to buy anything". Neither of these solutions is fantastic. On the one hand I feel like a moocher, and on the other my financial restrictions seem highlighted. I'd prefer more situations where spending isn't a factor. I am reminded of an evening out at a friend of a friend's house, just playing boardgames and chatting. It was a lot of fun, and didn't cost a dime really.

When I was a kid, I would spend time at the local creek catching minnows and frogs. We once followed the creek from where it started in the middle of town, all the way to where it ended. As young children this was an adventure of epic proportions. We had to traverse through people's backyards and under fences. We walked along side cows in the nearby field until we came to a small wooded area where clearly some older children had started to build a fort. This was all around the age of 10 give or take a few years. By today's standards this would have been viewed as immensely dangerous. Any one of us could have fallen into the water, or been crushed under the hooves of the cows. We could have cut ourselves on the barbed wire fence or stepped on a nail at the fort. While our explorations were not without their hazards, they helped us learn about our town and surroundings, and it made us fearless.

I remember when they were building the local subdivision and many of the lots were still empty. There was a large hill made of packed earth we would take our bikes and drive up and off it. I remember seeing a spider and remember it as a massive beast, likely to bite me and drag me off into some dark tunnel when I'm sure it was no larger than a nickel. I remember the massive, bottomless pit that we would bike around. We took our parents by it one time to show them, and my dad had his video camera with him. Year later when we watched those home videos, the bottomless pit was nothing more than a pothole in the dirt.

The world was a large and exciting place back then, and as children we were free to traverse it. I went 22 years without a broken bone, or a stitch. All that exploration helped form who I am today as a person. I feel sorry for children growing up in the cities of today, so coddled by their parents and kept out of harm. No creeks to explore, no cows to dodge, only busy streets.

And for all those memories, not a single one of them cost a dime.

Religious Topography.

First look at this:
Mappa Mundi
Then look at this:
Garden of Earthly Delights

If you're not noticing similarities, allow me to enlighten you. The first, the Mappa Mundi of Hereford Cathedral is one of the largest and oldest maps of its kind. It is a depiction of world events, history and religion. While it is loosely based on the actual geography of the world, its significance is that it helps us look through the eyes of its creators to see how they viewed the world. 700 years ago we saw the world quite differently and it was always viewed through religious lenses. The map itself depicts events from the Bible, and is headed by Christ as God, and framed with other Judea-Christian references.

The second is a painting from Dutch artist Hieronymus Bosch. You can look him up if you're curious about him, but sufficed to say he was a master of detail and visual menageries. A great many of his works have to do with religion, and events from the Bible.

It's worth imagining yourself back in time, back when the entirety of the world was the land that was visible to you. Rivers were barriers placed by the gods to keep us corralled onto land. The entirety of the world was cordoned off by water. The far shores were lands of legend and myth. They were the playgrounds of the gods and other fantastic beasts. The further you got from home, the more fantastic and dangerous the world became. As man set out across these rivers into new lands they discovered there were no gods residing there. Perhaps there were species of plants and animals that were foreign to them, but nothing else.

As time went on and we became accustomed to our new land we approached great deserts and oceans. Vast, endless expanses. There was no longer a question as to what lay on the other side, for it was believed these were the homes of the sun and moon. The sun would set in the ocean, temporarily extinguished. It would rise from the desert refueled, fiery and warm. The world was flat, the gods resided in the heavens above. Man could swim and float, but he could not fly. Birds were revered as messengers from the gods for they could traverse the distance between land and sky. Owls and eagles became religious symbols, as did flying dragons in some cultures.

Maps from this time began to depict the world as a little broader, yet still surrounded by water on all sides. Great beasts loomed in the depths ready to devour and destroy any ships that wandered too far out.

Eventually man summoned up the courage to explore these waters for months on end. Eventually we discovered new continents inhabited by strange creatures, plants and people. These became the worlds at lands end. They were alien and fantastic. Imagine the first traveler to spot a kangaroo or an ostrich. They must have thought these creatures to be very bizarre.

As the world expanded and maps became more precise with the aid of science religion was slowly squeezed off the canvas. We circumnavigated our planet and came to understand there was no distant shore with golden gates and gods upon it. The sky became less fantastic as we realized that birds were mere animals. We entered an age of understanding where things needed to be measured, calculated and tangible. The gods lost their sway, and soon became symbols and beliefs rather than beings of actual concrete qualities.

When we launched into space and saw our world from above and found that there were no gods in the heavens above, we began to feel small and insignificant. We wondered about life on other planets. We began to map the surface of the moon, of Mars and wherever else we pointed our telescopes. We looked for signs that we were not alone. What was once the river that confined us to our homes was now that black ink of space that teased us. We could look out at everything, the entirety of space. The night sky showed us everything, and yet told us nothing. It's understandable why religion is under more scrutiny these past few centuries than it ever has been before. As we map our place in the universe, we start to run out of places for the gods to hide.

Looking back at the Mappa Mundi of Hereford and the Garden of Earthly Delights it's fascinating to imagine a world where concepts of religion were not warnings or theory. They were directly integral to the construction of our world, however small it may be. In the centre of the Mappa Mundi of Hereford is Jerusalem, and just above it is the depiction of Christ on the cross. 700 years ago religion was the topographical and geographical centre of the world, nay of the entire universe.

These days the things we find religion at the centre of is; debate, discourse, disagreement, debauchery, decadence, dependence, dynamism and devotion.

Onerous.

I cook supper for my family most days. It's become something I actually look forward to. The one thing about it, however that I find to be very frustrating is trying to coordinate supper with my older brother. His job keeps him at work until 5:30 pm, which is roughly the time my dad wants to eat. As a result he is often excluded from suppers. He feels as though he's being purposely left out for some reason. While it's certainly not conscious, I think there may be some truth to this fear.

He's been seeing his current girlfriend for nearly two years now. He spends about half the week at her place, and the other half with us. Combined with his job and his social life we generally don't see a lot of him around the house. Therefore it's natural to assume when we plan something that he won't be included. He's offended by this, though. He feels like we should still ask him, or call him on his cell to see what he's up to. Personally I think this is a bit bogus. It does not serve us any to call him each and every time we plan something, only to have him decline all the time. If he wants to be included in things we do as a family, then it's up to him to contact us and let us know he's free.

When I moved out the first time, I relished the idea that I was now on my own schedule. I liked that I could come and go as I pleased, and that the only person I had to worry about was me. This is probably one of many reasons why my first relationship failed. That aside, I enjoyed the freedom. I never expected my family to keep me up to date on their day to day habits, just in case I should feel inclined to join them. On the contrary, my father would actually insist upon seeing me for weekly dinners/lunches to keep in touch. I love my family, there's no question about that, however sometimes I prefer to be alone and on my own time.

I think because my brother still technically lives at home, he feels like he's part of the family directly. What he needs to learn is that at his age and with his career, he's in a position to move out and experience life first hand. I think once he does, he'll be hooked. Living at home, arguing rather extensively with my father about this and that I can only assume he's not really happy here. He's not bitter, but he's really feeling antsy. I have a feeling his relationship is what's giving him pause about his living arrangements. I think he wants to move in with his girlfriend, but isn't quite sure where that would lead. All in all he's got some hesitations that need to be leaped into head first if he plans on moving forward at all.

He also said something the other day that really hurt my feelings, but I don't think he's aware of it. My skin condition can leave a bit of a mess, what with skin flakes and all. As a survival technique I've had to overlook it sometimes, as it's been impossible to keep up with. I napped on the sofa the other day, and must have stumbled into my real bed without taking the time to vacuum. He and I were sitting near the sofa when he looked over at me and said, "John can you vacuum up, it's disgusting." Whether he intended it or not it really set me back a few months. If my own brother's thinking that my condition is disgusting, then it really gives me an insight into other people's minds. I'm not cancelling college or anything, but it does confirm some fears I've got about the nature of my condition and how people react to it, if not verbally.

I wanted to be angry with him, and I wanted to flip out and scream at him, but I didn't. I even tried to get upset about it and cry or something, but it didn't happen. It seems like I've finally become numb to my situation and verbal insults really don't carry the weight they might have once had. This isn't to say I'm not upset with him for saying it, but it's more of an intellectual malcontent rather than an emotional one.

I read a little speech for my dad at his retirement party yesterday and it got me choked up, surprisingly. I had to stop for a few seconds so as to not burst into tears of pride. I think that means my emotional system is still up and running, it's just a bit more fine tuned, perhaps.

There's a difference between not being able to cry, and knowing when to cry. In these past two years I've come to learn both.

Kitsch-en

As I've mentioned in previous posts, we were undergoing a renovation of our downstairs. This included the laundry room and the bathroom. There were a number of things that didn't go as smoothly as we would have liked, and there still remains a few unfinished areas. My older brother and I have been on my dad's case about making sure he isn't taken for a ride by the contractors and to make sure he is happy with the finished product.

One day when I have a source of steady income that is sufficient enough for my own house, you can bet I've got some interesting plans for it. First off would be the location. I love the city, I love the hustle and the bustle, the availability of the world at your fingertips. Restaurants, clothing stores, cafes, theatres, all of it. I do not want to live in the city, mind you. I am fairly content with the proximity of my house in relation to the nearest city as it stands now. I'd love to get something out of town, or even in town somewhere quiet with a lot of trees. I remember friends of ours whose house backed onto a forest. It was the kind of wooded area you think of when you think of a forest. Large maple trees, the smell of moss and damp earth, the sound of a trickling stream. It was really very pretty. There weren't many leaves on the ground, just raw dirt that had been packed down. There were a number of trails that weaved in and out of the trees, trodden many times before by countless feet. There were even downed trees with new plants growing out of them that spanned small gullies. As kids we would join up with the children who's parents owned the house we were visiting, and would journey out into the woods. As we got older, I remember taking a 2 litre bottle of RC cola, shaking it up and chucking it into the forest against the trees until it exploded and ricocheted around from tree to tree.

As for what I'd want my house to be, I'd love one of those all steel enclosures you see on TV. Built like hangars, they are generally used to store large farm equipment or to be used in conjunction with a house as a form of garage or shed. It would be a single floor set upon a large concrete slab to level out the ground. On the front face of the building would be a single door, and to the left would be a large roll away garage door. This would lead out onto my drive way where I would park. The purpose of the garage door would be to roll open on hot days and act as a sort of porch. I would also be able to drive my scooter or motorcycle inside during the winter where I would store it, polish it and keep it as a sort of art piece.

My bedroom would be in the back right, separated from the rest of the structure by hanging wall dividers connected to a motorized rail system. In this way I could maintain privacy, or roll the dividers away and open my bedroom up to the rest of the house. The living room would be on the other side of these dividers. It would lay between the garage door and the kitchen.

The kitchen itself would be very minimalist, utilizing only cement, stainless steel and a large blackboard. The blackboard would allow me to keep notes, recipes, ideas and pictures. Almost like a giant, ever-changing scrapbook. The sink would be a broad cement basin, square with two faucets. This would allow ample working space and keep with the theme. The cement counter top would have a rectangular hole in it which would empty into my garbage bin, not unlike the setup at Subway (which I bet a few of you know what I'm talking about). At the very end of the house, on the back wall would be the washroom. Very modest, having only a single sink and mirror, toilet and an old-fashioned free standing copper tub with claw feet and a rain-style shower unit suspended from the ceiling.

The open concept would allow for a deceptive amount of space, while also maintaining a small footprint on the lot and keeping building costs down.

I'm very good at spending imaginary money. I can tell you exactly how I'd spend every penny of a lottery. I know what I want in life, I know what things I would desire to have around me to achieve what I could call a "perfect life". I don't buy that money doesn't buy happiness. I absolutely think it does, but what it may not purchase you is contentment. That's more individual. Time spent travelling the world may make you happy, ergo money can make you happy. The trick is are you going to come home from your trip and still be happy. That's contentment, the ability to be happy with whatever situation you find yourself in.

I know that if I could achieve the life I envision for myself that I could achieve contentment. I feel as though my entire life is building up to something ideal and all I've got to do is ride out a few storms, and deal with a few speed bumps.

One day I'll have everything I need, there's no doubt in my mind about it.

Full Out.

I've always been sort of an all or nothing at all individual. When I get involved with something I always take it right to the limit, that is of course if I don't drop it immediately. If I start a painting I work on it for several hours, ignoring sleep, eating and washroom breaks. I engross myself with the task at hand until my fingers are sore, my eyes sting and I am totally spent. It's the same with things like my progress in video games. I've been known to start a game and finish it in a single sitting just because I have to. I am reminded of a 23 hour marathon I inadvertently completed for the game Ogre Battle 64. My younger brother would stop by my room on occasion to help my farm for equipment for a bit, and was there for a good portion of that event.

I don't think I'm an obsessive person, but I am something of a perfectionist. I don't mean in that really anal retentive sort of way that requires things to be "just so". Rather I set my mind on something and in order to feel satisfied with whatever I'm doing I must take it to it's absolute limit. Things like this blog, for instance. I imagine that if it will become something of a legacy for me simply because I want it to be the most fulfilling thing I've ever written. It actually irritates me that there's spelling and grammar errors in it. Not enough to do anything about it, though.

I think I get this quality from my dad. I've mentioned what he's like in previous posts. Suffice to say there's a good deal of my personality I get from him. This "perfectionist" quality, or whatever you want to call it works the other way too. If I start a task and I cannot fathom a way for it to turn out like I intend it to, I generally slack off or trash the whole thing altogether. If there's other people involved I suck it up and work hard, but if it's something just for me then I feel okay with letting it slide.

I have yet to have this bite me in the ass in any significant way. I mean, there's been times where my behaviour in this regard has proven to be slightly self-destructive, but not in any irreparable way. It has also led to some lows in my life, generally fixed with an iced coffee or something. I do often use food to treat the blues. Delicious self medicating.

I didn't have a lot to say in this post. Just a little insight I suppose.

Electric Bugaloo.

A hobby of mine is RC cars designed for rock crawling. If you've ever seen those large jeeps that have been retrofitted with large, knobby tires and jacked up suspension then you've seen my hobby's origin. It started with my brother's interested in the "sport". He got into RC cars, primarily nitro powered models. He's purchased and sold a few of them so far and seems really keen on his current Baja model which is quite the sight to behold. He asked me while I was convalescing if I was interested in getting one. I mentioned to him that the rock crawlers seemed neat, more in an effort to support his enthusiasm and less for my own end. What this resulted in was him getting my family to pool together to buy me an RC rock crawler. They're not cheap, not at all.

Ashamedly I let the car sit unmade in the box for longer than I should have. I always blamed my leg for not wanting to start the hobby. Finally, one night when I was suffering from a bout of insomnia I walked into my TV room, cut open the box and sat there for something like 8-10 hours building this car. It was an involved process to say the least. From the ground up I compiled the parts into a working vehicle. I was immensely proud of my accomplishment. When my brother woke up that morning I was sitting on the floor finishing the last parts of the car. I had the shell or body of the car to paint. I decided on an old WWII military style with the big white star and army green. I painted in the rust and it turned out pretty good. I took it out behind my house a few days later and drove it around on the rocks surrounding my fire pit. It was fun, but a vehicle like that requires some real terrain to take it out on. After a few more attempts at local hills and such my brother informed me of a gorge about an hour and a half away that he'd visited that would be perfect. We took the car there and it was amazing. It's a place called Elora Gorge and the rock formations were idyllic. We had a great time with the car and took a lot of photos.

We explored a few other areas like campsites and rock faces within a two hour radius of our house. A few of them were great, but were expensive to get to (entrance fees). After a while of watching me have fun, my brother decided to get a car of his own to tinker with. Being the engineering-minded person he is, he took the stock car and created a lot of custom aluminum pieces that suited his needs. With each of us having the same base car, we took our designs in entirely different directions. I went for the bare bones stock look focusing more on the tires and really gaining a control of the vehicle where he went more a more technical approach relying on something called a dig unit which helps to disengage the rear tires for tricky climbs. It's been a lot of fun, but there was this one time that can only be referred to as a death march.

He knew about this place near Milton that he had visited with his girlfriend. He suggested it and with my one friend in tow we drove up to Milton to check it out. We walked for about 20 minutes from parking the car, along the ledge of the escarpment while we looked for this perfect site he had mentioned. We found a few small climbs along the way that weren't too bad, but not what he was remembering. This was on a holiday Monday. I had received surgery on my foot the Friday before that. This was also on the same leg that was injured in the accident. We walked for four hours uphill and downhill looking for this site he remembered and we just couldn't find it. My back and leg were seriously messed up and I couldn't even feel my foot. We decided to head back to the car which was a nightmarish proposition in itself. It meant that the long walk we had just endured had to be repeated in reverse.

Near the very end of the trail, just a few hundred metres from where we had parked the car my brother noticed that the trail split off. From the direction we had come initially we must have missed it, but coming back it was as plain as day. We decided to check it out and there it was, not five minutes from the car. I was exhausted and as it turned out the rocks were far too large and smooth to be climbed on by us let alone the cars. The whole excursion turned out to be a bust and I feel a bit bad for my friend who trekked along with us, fruitlessly.

Since that day we have taken the cars out several more times, even buying a new chassis for mine as well as a new radio controller with a better signal. I don't think I'll ever be as gung-ho about the hobby as some people are, but it really is a nice way to bond with my older brother and it has gotten me out of the house several times, which is good. It's also been a great way to gauge the strength of my leg. With the rock courses being fairly extreme and with me having to go wherever the car goes means I've got to be in shape. Last time we went out I was able to hop along the rocks with relative ease. My leg was stiff and sore the next morning, but the fact that I was able to do it in the first place felt really good.

Sometimes all you need to do is jump dangerously from rock to rock down in a gorge near a river to find out your messed up leg is feeling better.

Quickly Now.

I suffer not for the things in my past, but in anticipation of the things in my future.

Ill Intent.

Words and ideas are dangerous weapons, especially when wielded carelessly and without thought as to their consequence. I talked with a friend of mine who was hurt by one my previous posts about not wanting female friends. She is, as you guess it a woman. I've tried to clear up with her that a lot of this blog is not self edited or censored. It's not really a legitimate excuse for hurting people's feelings, though. I attempted to explain to her the origins of that post, and where she falls (or rather, doesn't fall) within its explanation. I haven't heard back yet, but I hope she understands. No blog is worth a friendship.

People say things inadvertently at times that act as a sort of emotional currency. With this currency they can serve to blackmail others around them without any realization that they're doing it. Comments laden with a certain emotional weight serve only to obligate those around you into not setting you off. It's often not so much the statement itself, but rather the setting in which it's delivered. If you're sitting around joking with friends, and decide this is the moment to let everyone know you have cancer, that can come across very awkwardly. People then feel obligated to act a different way around you as a result of your statement. This isn't to say you're not totally allowed to confess these situations in a more appropriate setting, but doing differently calls attention to yourself and seems like you're fishing for pity. Another example would be if you were to just blurt out, "Well I hate men because I was raped." I'm not sure how people are suppose to respond to that. Obviously sympathy is due, but the nature of sympathy is that it's to be offered not asked for.

I will admit I sometimes fall into this state when referencing my leg and accident, but I always feel guilty for doing so and try to catch myself. This is why I've made the attempts I have to go to the gym and physiotherapy. I don't want my limp to get bad enough that I would have to go back to a cane. I don't require sympathy, and certainly not pity. Understanding is better.

Back to what I was saying though. This blog may serve to upset people at times, and while I don't intend to censor myself I do hope that readers take into account that this is first and foremost a diary. It is the channel in which I funnel my feelings into prose. These are all just feelings, and often have little concrete basis to them. Sort of like finding an underage girl attractive. It's okay to think it, just don't do anything illegal. Okay, bad analogy. The point is that while these thoughts make up who I am, they certainly don't depict how I function on a day to day basis. I imagine they come across fairly angry and misogynistic at times. Not intended at all, but inevitably my frustrations at a lack of relationship form into some pretty nasty ideas.

I feel as though I'm making excuses for my writing, and I really don't feel I should. I trust and love my friends and hope they will take this in stride. Like I mentioned at the start of my post, they are far more important that this blog is, and if I ever had to choose, the choice would be simple.

On a lighter note, I had a good day today. My hat is still missing but I had a few beers, some coffee and two great sandwiches. I find that in social settings I am prone to talk a lot. I don't need to be the centre of attention, but rather enjoy chiming in with what I hope are funny quips or commentaries. Quiet people weird me out a bit. I need to know what people are thinking and as I can't mind read, it makes it very hard when people clam up. Me, on the other hand I talk constantly and there's rarely a thought that enters my head that doesn't exit my mouth. This may come across to a more conservative minded individual as excessive and annoying, but until I get my block knocked off as a result I see no harm.

One day I may be on the radio and I'll be getting paid to talk. How sweet is that?

The Cow Goes Moo.

It's 2:45 here and I'm in one of those, "I really want to eat a steak, write a book, paint a portrait and leave dirty messages on my friend's answering machines" kind of moods. I've often worried if this is symptomatic of something actually wrong with my brain. I don't know for sure and if there is I'm not too concerned. I've always done my best creating in the wee hours of the morning when the sound of the morning birds acts as my ornithological signal to go to bed.

When I use to paint more it was always after several sleepless days when finally I would pick up my brush and canvas and attack like a fencer lunging for the point. By the end I was often covered in as much paint as my canvas as I would often regress into a kindergartenarian response, which is to say I finger painted. I found it gave me far more control over the final product than the brush could ever hope for.

These are also the times when I would draw or write, but there's a curse associated with this boon. That is my defenses are totally down, emotionally. Should I choose to spend my nights watching sad movies or movies that remind me of sad times, I turn into a soppy, sobbing mess. I used to torture my dad with these events by getting absolutely bummed out and then knocking on his door at 4:00 am wanting to talk. I have no doubt I've aged that man considerably. These are also the hours where I find myself thinking about things that make me angry or upset. I imagine this is because I delegate a portion of my daily energy to maintaining a personality and facade that allows me to function in society without appearing weak. When it's late at night and I've started to undress myself from the costume I've adorned, the cracks in my makeup appear and I ride on a razor-blade eggshell of emotion.

I recall distinctly sitting on the couch at my friend's house, just watching stuff on Youtube with one of his roommates (female). While I can't say I have a legitimate romantic interest in her, I found myself swayed by the dark light, the sound of music on the pc and the cozy intimacy silence can bestow upon two people.

I was also fairly loaded, but that's sort of beside the point. I've felt this way before. It's like every movement, every sound and every thought is so profound that it carries with it the utmost weight and relevance. One of my favourite evenings this year was spent with my friend watching Bruce Lee movies, Magnum PI and playing chess while drinking hobo beer. I don't require a lot of pomp and circumstance to enjoy my evening. Often times it's the dissolution of pretense that serves as the silent icebreaker to an evening.

Now, it's come to my attention that no one is really reading this blog. I perhaps get the occasional glance through, but not in any quantifiable way. I'm actually pretty happy with that. It's giving me this fantastic engine which is fed with thought and feeling, an engine that had begun to seize up from disuse. With college coming in the future, and with that an introduction to new people, I can hope to use this blog as envoy to the nation of Me. It's honest, perhaps harsh at times, but it's an unashamed view into my mind. For those I feel who are worthwhile pursuits as friends I will probably offer up this blog so they know what they're getting themselves into.

This my 20% Steel blog, my Declaration of John.

Blame The Superheroes.

One of the D&D-style games that's available to play is something called Mutant and Masterminds. Instead of the fantasy world of elves and dwarfs, Mutants and Masterminds is more of a comic book setting. You are free to create whatever kind of superhero you'd like, and there's plenty of options to make that character work within the rules. I've come up with what I think would be a neat character idea and I'll share it with you.

Name: Darren Buleski

Hero Name: Crisis

Powers: Anything that he is touching with both hands will automatically explode in the space between his left and right hand. He is immune to his own explosions, and depending on the number of fingers he has on something determine the size of the blast. For example, placing both of his pinkies on the hinges of a door will create a precision blast cutting the door open. Placing both his thumbs close together on a steel plate will form a shape charge, destroying whatever's behind the steel but leaving the plate intact.

Origin: Darren Buleski worked on the MC252 oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico when disaster struck. A violent tremor bent the drill and sent oil spewing everywhere. In a moment of panic Darren ran over to the leak site and futilely pressed his hands against the pipe. Before he knew what had happened he was surrounded in a ball of flame that raced across the entire rig, killing men and destroying equipment. The rig collapsed into the water and Darren clung to an empty barrel for buoyancy. He drifted for two days until he was picked up by a coastguard ship looking for survivors. He was the only one who made it off the rig alive. Unsure of what exactly happened, he claimed his memory was gone in regards to the disaster on the rig, and he was sent home after he was cleared medically. Overwhelmed with guilt for the disaster he had caused, he locked himself away in his farmhouse where he would sneak out at night to test his new found powers on bails of hay. Trying to bury the guilt he felt, he tried to give back to the world as the superhero "Crisis". He worked with metallurgical engineers to develop a flexible suit that was light weight and bullet proof, and that would not be damaged by his blasts. In this way he was able to charge headlong into conflicts with criminals without fear of being shot and killed. He would avoid killing the criminals, and would often employ his explosive power to blow the guns up in their hands, or destroy the engine in their getaway car. Once, in a moment of rage, he wrestled with a villain, careful to always keep one hand off at all times. After being struck in the head, Crisis spun around and inadvertently placed both hands on the victim's head. He continued to work with the engineers to develop gloves that would remain sealed until a mental command was issued and gaps along the palm side of the gloves would open so his power could be unleashed.

Enemies: Darren is often hounded by a journalist named Cliff Gregoria who claims he knows about Darren's involvement with the Gulf of Mexico oil spill. As it turns out, Cliff is the super villain "Recall". Recall is capable of stopping time for everyone and everything around him at will for several seconds, so long as his eyes remain open. He can turn the power on and off, but if he should blink or close his eyes while his power is active it will shut off. Knowing this, he wears a grotesque mask that pries his eyes open and shields them in tiny orbs that keep them moisturized. He appears to teleport short distances when Crisis is fighting him. This makes it impossible for Crisis to setup proper traps and explosions when Recall's movements are chaotic and impossible to track. Darren has learned that Recall's brain and power cannot decipher his eyes being closed from any other form of artificial blindness. As a result, Crisis often carries with him several flash bang grenades to temporarily disable Recall's power.

Yup, that's all I've got.

Somnus Pingere.

I go through phases of intense dreaming where I will experience as many as three separate dreams in a single night. It can last days or weeks, but often disappears without warning. Ever since I was a child I was always a fantastic dreamer, able to remember clear narratives, colours, smells and sounds. I wasn't a lucid dreamer in the sense that I controlled my actions, but instead seemed to nudge my dream-self along in what I felt (and I mean that in a totally organic and uncontrolled way) were the best directions.

There were several characters and events in my dreams that would repeat themselves. I can't honestly say I've had an entire recurring dream, but sometimes it does feel like I have. When I was younger, I was often confronted by a cartoon penguin not unlike the Linux mascot. Specifically I recall a dream where I was driving down the road and off in the distance to my right was a large factory. It was grey and uninviting against the winter backdrop, but I felt compelled to investigate. I pulled my car over to the side of the road, hopped out and slid into the ditch. There at the bottom was the penguin who pointed down a narrow tunnel carved in the snow. I pulled myself through and had miraculously covered several miles and was now at the foot of the factory. I don't recall the rest.

As far as recurring events I specifically recall a large number of my dreams ending with a rolling cloud of fire coming over the horizon, engulfing everything it past over. It wasn't a scary ending, and I was never afraid of the pyroclasm heading my way. Instead it was a signal that it was time to wake up. Two dreams with such an ending come to mind. The first started with me here at home, in my basement. The outside world was bathed in a warm, orange light like the sun was made of gold and amber. Everyone was standing outside on their lawns looking up at the sky. My father called us inside as we listened to the radio. A nondescript cataclysm was heading our way and people were warned to take shelter in their basements. We have a fruit cellar at the foot of our stairs that is all cement, so naturally we hid in there. There was preserves and cans of food to last us through whatever had befallen the Earth. Once inside my family disappeared and I immediately knew of their new location. They were in the auditorium of the nearby high school. I walked out to my lawn and donned my Rocketeer helmet and took off into the sky. I landed at the school just in time to see the rolling wall of fire crest the horizon. I decided there was nothing I could do so I took off my helmet and just as the fire ensconced me I woke up.

Secondly there was a dream where I was working at Pier 1, and we were just closing up. I heard the air raid sirens go off (which is not an unusual sound, Baden uses an old air raid siren at the fire station and would sound it to call in the firefighters). I walked out of the store and saw a halo of twinkling lights that circled the Earth. They were perfectly spaced out, almost like Earth's very own ring system. The streets and surrounding buildings had all been sacked and burned and I knew I had to get to those lights if I wanted to live. I ran across the street to the Mark's Work Warehouse where the sidewalk had been blown away and I was able to see a series of tunnels with lanterns beneath the earth. I ran behind the nearby Cineplex Odeon and hopped a fence. I was tackled by someone else making their way towards the lights in the sky and after a brief scuffle I took off again, heading for a nearby tool shed. I walked into the tool shed and closed the door behind me. In front of me was a sleek glass and steel rocket that had a seat and handles on it, like a rocket powered jet ski. I grabbed on and it automatically covered me in a glass bubble and launched me off into the sky. I was able to look down and across the entire planet as I took off, seeing several other "escape pods" launching up with me, and the cities and countries were aflame in riots and explosions. As I neared the mysterious light in the sky I became aware that it was in fact a second stage to my escape pod. It was a larger vessel that the escape pod latched into and laid me out on my back. A voice came over a speaker telling me that the Earth was about to be destroyed and all survivors will be placed into stasis and fired off in a multitude of directions. The intent was that one ship needed to land on a hospitable world so that man kind would be able to go on living. Just before the sleeping gas weighed down my eyelids, I looked down at the planet one last time as it was engulfed in a wall of fire and I woke up.

Most of my dreams are like the one above, and I generally have a great memory for them. It became something of a breakfast ritual for me to regale my dad with the adventures I had been on in my dreams. As I got older they remained as colourful, but less frequent.

As I continue to mature I can only hypothesize what dreams may yet come.

Living With The Sick.

Well-being and constant health do not really describe my household. If you go back just one generation to my grandparents you are met with alcoholism, tuberculosis, and Alzheimer's Disease. With their children (my parents and uncles) it doesn't get much better. My uncle on my dad's side had polio as an adolescent and has been left with a hump and breathing problems ever since. My other uncle appears to suffer from a nervous tick of some kind. My parents each have their own conditions, my father is a diabetic and compulsive worrier and my mother suffers from bi-polar and a fair degree of dementia.

Myself, I have an auto-immune disorder known as PRP (Pityriasis Rubra Pilaris). I also suffer from chronic leg pain as a result of an accident where poor judgement on a driver's behalf catapulted me thirty of so feet off my Vespa. My younger brother is currently dealing with a hernia and a stomach infection that first appeared to be ulcers, but is something else.

I'm not complaining, I just want it to be perfectly clear to everyone that I know very well of what I speak when I say that there's a certain degree of resiliency required to live within my house. For all our ailments not a single member of my household makes an excuse for what's wrong with them. We deal with it the best we can. In my mother's case it's difficult because she's not aware that there's anything wrong with her. As a member of the family I am well aware that she's slipping. She will ask me the same question four times in succession, and is unable to retain any new information. It's maddening and saddening to deal with, make no doubt about that.

What drives me nuts is the people who feel like the world owes them for the crap that's gone wrong in their life. That somehow because of their issues they require pity or recognition. While I've certainly dealt with depression as a result of my condition I do not present myself as a sick individual, no matter how sick I may be. I feel it is my responsibility to myself, my friends and my family to cope with my condition as best I can. It's up to them to react how they will, and when I'm lucky it's with a mix of indifference and broad understanding. I cannot ask them to understand how I feel, that's impossible. I think given the circumstances they handle my condition fairly well. I may not be a fantastic example of what's considered more acceptable, socially. I do not ask for help often, if at all. I would sooner throw out my back out trying to lift something than to get a second set of hands (yes I've made this mistake in the past).

What I've been forced to learn as a result of my accident is that I can't do the same things I was once able to do. I cannot lift the same, move the same and endure the same as I could two years ago. I've been robbed of pieces of my physical self to a point where not even willpower is enough to make up the difference. Work, for example has proven to be very painful on my leg. Simply standing for four hours at my shift nearly brings me tears. I'm no stranger to pain and discomfort, for nearly two years I was in a state that can best be described as having the chicken pox and the worst sunburn imaginable at the same time. Believe me when I say work makes my leg hurt.

This is really the first time since my accident and my diagnosis that I've put down in words exactly how this whole situation has made me feel, and how it makes me feel towards others. I am angrier now then I was before. I am angry at the fact that something's wrong with me that I have no power over. Angry with the realization that like my uncle I may be alone for the rest of my life as a result of a medical condition. Angry with people I thought were friends who were too self-absorbed to understand that a friend of theirs was going through hell. It's made me resentful of a lot of things, feelings and people. When I get short or snippy with my family or friends, it's not because I'm genuinely upset with their words or actions. Some days I just don't have the emotional fortitude to deal with a world beyond myself.

I don't report to all my friends that I feel this way, it's not their burden to carry, it's mine. You can understand why then I get upset at people who do lean on others so heavily, or those who seem to revel in their sickness. It's infuriating to people like myself who keep aspects of our lives personal.

And on a bit of a tangent here I'd like to state that I dislike people who say they're bisexual. In general I am ill at ease with people of non-traditional sexual orientations. Honestly I'm fairly ill at ease with people of traditional sexual orientations as well, but I've already spoken of that. I could go on for pages and pages about it, but I've also learned that people go to all sorts of odd lengths to achieve happiness, and if that means you have to love both men and women as sexual partners then so be it. I accept those people, but I don't have to like their choice.

I think that's something that the media doesn't quite clarify. Acceptance doesn't mean approval. I accept people's choices, because it's their choice to make. I won't be friends with members of the "Pride" community, but that's my choice. I won't egg them or terrorize them. I have no interest in telling them they're wrong, but in the same way I avoid the highly religious and in your face about it types, so too will I avoid the flamboyant and "alternative". I do admit there's a strong sense of jealousy in my anger, I make no attempt to hide it. I am envious of the fact that there are people out there with the "luxury" to love whomever they choose, when people like myself who have been robbed of their physical appearance are left alone.

I think this post got a little dark, but so often when you shine the light on a subject you cast a shadow behind you.

My Right To Bitch.

People feel they're entitled to the oddest of things. I was surfing through Youtube when I came upon a video where the audio was drastically out of sync. The deluge of comments that followed all berated and harassed the uploader. They left comments such as, "way to waste my time" and "nice out of sync video, and the asshole doesn't have the decency to fix it".

Whoa now, hold the phone! Did you just scorn someone who took time out of their day, and made an attempt to share a laugh? What right do we as the unindustrious audience have to complain? We're not paying for this service, it's not our cable TV on the fritz. This is a free website kept alive by the ingenuity and drive of people who ask for nothing but your attention in return. Belittling uploaders because their content does not adhere to your standards is utterly absurd.

Why is it that the unwashed masses always feel entitled to so much when they offer so little in return? If I made a claim about the nature of space-time, and got it printed in a scientific journal, and then had Stephen Hawking call me up and say I was wrong, that'd be okay. What isn't okay is when we - who aren't in the business of creating - decide it's our right to say what is and isn't good. This is often why I've never given much heed to critics of either films or music. To be a critic assumes they know better than I do what I would like. Granted, there are times when critics make such safe calls that it hardly warrants their purpose in the first place. Any of the B-Rated horror flicks of days passed are atrocious, and critics say they're atrocious. The audience that enjoys those types of movies often see them because they're bad, sort of like smoking a cigarette or getting drunk at a party. There's no quantifiable justification for those things, other than they are fun.

Another factor that's important to keep in mind is the effort spent by those involved. Being involved in a few productions at the high school level I am all too aware of the degree of heart and drama (pun sort of intended) that goes into the manifestation of a performance. You forge friendships with people that you are working with for months on end and they become a surrogate family. When the production is finally ready to be put on display, there were many of us who no longer cared there was an audience. The conception and labour involved with the project were rewards in their own right, and seeing a play take its first few steps made all the time and work worthwhile. Sure, lots of people won't like the play and many may even hate it; we didn't care at that point.

The question then becomes what purpose does the critic, the stage-side heckler serve? For those involved in the art don't care, and people will choose to see whatever they want to. So who are they helping? Ultimately I must assume they are doing it for themselves, much like the performers. Their art, their craft is writing and the creation of thought into word. Their subject matter is certainly moot, but that doesn't mean they're not as whole-heartedly invested in the end product as their screen-based affairs.

As for the people on Youtube taking the time to log in and post what can only be described as derisive and useless, I ask that each and every one of them upload a video and prostrate themselves before the beast of a thousand mouths, and ten thousand fingers.

The internet is no country for the weak hearted and mushy minded. It will eat you up and spit you out like a tobacco-chewing camel.

Edible Incredible.

There are some who will travel the world looking for love. Others search for the meaning of their life. People will go looking for peace, art, a new home, fashion and religion.

Me, I'd go looking for food.

Good food is better than the best sex you will ever have. It is undemanding, unpretentious, delicious and soul satisfying. I have had meals that have made time stand still leaving me to linger in bliss upon that first mouthful of Stilton and pancetta sauce smothered over a piece of beef tenderloin. I envy the truly great chefs with an endless supply of both ingredients and inspiration. I have cranked out a few of my own dishes that have left those I've fed quite content, and I really think that's what cooking is all about. Oils and sauces, pastes, fruits, greens, soups, meats and desserts. Just thinking about the variety available to me is dizzying. Some people will never experience cuisine outside of McDonald's and whatever they cook at home. I hope to satiate my lust for food knowledge to the point where I can eat no more.

When I was a young boy I would attend pot luck dinners with my mother at the university. The course she was in (something to do with religion) always found excuses to eat, and you can bet I was always right there eating along side them. I would find ways to get invited to these culinary collisions. It was my first true introduction to a world of cooking outside my white bread menu. As many of the students were from all facets of society, so too was their cooking. Spices and sauces I'd never known topping meats and salads I can still taste to this day.

I was hooked.

I would always come home and recount for my father the menagerie of meals I had eaten. Blessed with a rocket-fueled metabolism I could eat and eat until there was no more food. Many years later I would come to work as a waiter at an upper-end restaurant where my hunger-lust would once again be tantalized by the smells of cooking. It was an Asian and French fusion restaurant where I was reintroduced to foods I had missed, and teased with dishes I had never had before. While I could write an entire separate diary devoted solely to food, I will get to my point. Food became passion for me. I'd like to clarify, my last sentence was not a typo. I do not mean a passion, I mean passion. Excellent food stimulated all my senses. The taste of fresh sea bass, the smell of juniper and coriander. The appeal of a well laid out plate, the sound of meat sizzling in the pan and the touch of tender spareribs and the curve of a wine glass.

While it's difficult to divide the cooking world from the pretense it carries with it involving the nature of chefs, it's important to do so. Chefs are like maestro's, demanding and brilliant. They are artists with knives instead of brushes, oils instead of paints. Their canvas is the plate and the tongue, and they seek to make masterpieces. As a result they can be a bit eccentric.

I suppose all I'm trying to say in this post is go out, experience food like you would a good movie or a trip overseas. Just because you may not have the means to travel does not mean you cannot bring the world to your table. There will be things you won't like, and there will be things you will love. It's important to try everything before you pass judgement on it.

Now then, what's for dinner?

Easy's Getting Harder Every Day.

Don't worry, this post won't be all somber and melancholy, the title is just that of a song I heard on the way home. It did make me think about the difficulty we all face when trying to have good, simple lives. I enjoy excitement as much as the next guy or girl. I require a certain amount of excitement in each day to invigorate me, like a shot of Red Bull and crack. What I also need is downtime. The time to sit in front of the TV and not have anything else assault my senses. No extra noise, no questions, no interruptions of any kind. In a family of five, like mine getting this downtime is fairly difficult. My older brother accomplishes this by living at his girlfriend's house half the week, and my younger brother seems to bury himself in work and friends. Personally my down time is much more private. I am most content when I've got the entire house to myself. This way, if I choose to play loud music, or nap on the couch I've got the option. I think that's really what downtime means to me is freedom and choice.

In order to function responsibly in society, we have to adhere to all kinds of rules and requests. This is how society functions, by everyone working in tandem. When you're exposed to those demands day in and day out, you start to burn out and you need to reset. This is the purpose of the vacation. Homeless and other non-contributing zeros do not get to take vacations. Even I don't feel right taking a vacation from work, and I never really have. This means I've got to achieve my "Zen" elsewhere. I do this by going for drives on quiet streets or putting a movie on late at night just for me. It works well enough, but it makes me think about people like my dad. He's the type of person (and there are many of them) that cannot relax unless he's sure his world won't fall apart. Allow me to clarify. If he's not absolutely sure he's taken care of everything, and paid the bills, checked his email, etc. then he cannot and will not sit down and relax. His reasoning is that he gets to relax when it's all done, completely glazing over the fact that a huge part of relaxing is knowing when to quit. I'm not saying to leave tasks half finished, but it's okay to just drop what you're doing and take ten minutes to yourself. It's unhealthy not to.

I wonder how only children or people in situations where perhaps space isn't an issue, relax. Obviously just having time to yourself isn't the trick, as for some people that's all they have is time to themselves. Do they relax by going out? Doing things with friends? I like my friends well enough, but they require a certain amount of energy to deal with. I mean this in the kindest of ways, but as we're a very verbal and communicative group you need a certain amount of willpower just to keep up with what's being said. At times this can be a very attractive way to spend time, but other times I'd rather just be at home, in my room with the light's off and door shut.

I am reminded of a time a few years ago where I house-sat for my uncle while he and my dad went on a road trip. I stayed there for about a week or so, and when I came back home to deal with my family I found the whole situation to be very overwhelming. I was snippy with them, and generally more difficult to be around than I normally am. When you go long periods of time without regular conversation you kind of forget how.

I think this is why people who are socially inept remain that way. Without daily social contact with other people, your skills in that area begin to wither. You forget what's funny, or what's okay to say and continue to come across as being a bit socially "retarded". I've known people like this since grade 6. The types who are certainly friendly and good people, but just can't seem to wrap their heads around social scenarios. It's a bit sad, really. If I've got one skill, it's talking. I've even decided to make a career in radio based off this fact. For me, it's alien to imagine a situation where I'd be at a loss for words.

I'm not saying I'm a total chatterbox, although I can be. I'm just comfortable talking with almost anyone about almost anything. I say almost because there's realms of converse I am not good with. Yesterday I attended (early, but that's a whole other story) a party. One of the fellows there insisted I go out and smoke a joint with him. I have never, not once tried or taken any kind of drug not prescribed by a doctor. I'm not even the slightest bit curious. This came across as the most startling fact to this guy, and he pushed several more times for me to come outside with him. I'm a patient guy, very patient. What I'm not patient with is when I say, "no" and people heard "maybe". I say what I mean, and if people are going to argue with what are essentially aspects of my personality then I'm likely to just walk away from them, no matter what the setting. I was prepared that if he asked again, to just leave and head home. I can say "no" a bunch, but it makes me uncomfortable when people are awestruck by my choices. I didn't lecture him on the "evils of pot", I just said "no". I kept saying "no".

Now that I've thoroughly diverged from whatever my original topic was, I think in summation I'd have to agree with the title of that song I heard on the way home. Easy is getting harder every day, but that's not always a bad thing.

I'd rather live a life of complexity and questions than a life of simplicity and boredom.

Does Not Compute.

Often I find myself reading the really bad articles that come out of MSN Today. They fall somewhere between People Magazine and Cosmo. Out of male curiosity I read this and couldn't help but sit here slack-jawed and dumbfounded.

Really it's not about the facts and statistic, but that articles like this are even necessary. Turning sex into a game of emotional whack-a-mole (okay bad example) is really killing the idea of it. Unless your aim is to procreate and spread your genetic jam all over the place then sex should be about two things.

Are you happy, and is she happy.

If this takes less effort for a guy and 1000% more effort for a girl then we're in trouble. Eventually they're going to figure out they can just do it themselves and use artificial insemination to get the rest of the work done. Nature is seeking to reduce the man into obsolescence. I imagine there are some guys out there who are saying to themselves, "that doesn't count for me, I'm really good at it". That's a dangerous mindset to be in. Like every activity in life no matter how good you are at something there's always someone or somerobot (new word) better than you at it.

How are you going to feel when your girlfriend ditches you for titanium pecks and a penis that just won't quit!

I feel like this turned into an anti-robot post. Back on track!

This just goes back to what I was saying in an earlier post about the demands, both physical and mental of women are just way too high. I don't want to hear this crap about them being more sophisticated creatures, etc. They've been programmed by centuries of behaviour that they're entitled to certain things, and as men in order to get women we have to adhere to these ridiculous demands.

Well I say enough! Enough groveling and begging! Enough paying for dinners and apologizing for crap we didn't do! Enough feeling guilty for thoughts you're having about other girls!

As men we're programmed at the genetic level to procreate as much and as often as possible. Monogamy is flawed for humans. We're attempting to cram ourselves into places man wasn't meant to go. We choose monogamy because of two reasons: it's a sure fire way to always have a sexual partner and breaking up is hard to do. Some will argue, "what about love?" That's easy enough. You can love someone, and I mean REALLY love someone in that way that keeps you up at night until 4:00 am, sitting quietly to them next in bed hoping to hear their heartbeat or the flutter of eyelashes while they dream. You can love someone so much that flaws become features and the way the walk becomes magic. That's all fine, but don't fool yourself into thinking it's going to last forever. Nothing does. People switch from love, to tolerance and either fall out of love or just remain in that comfort zone where they don't want to leave, but aren't really happy staying. Those old couples who celebrate their 60th anniversaries are the oddities. They are the autistic savants of the love world. They're seeing stuff that as regular folk we can even imagine.

I guess you do need to be a bit "retarded" to be in love.

Intense Cheese Warning.

I'd be happy to be perfect, but I'll settle for being perfectly happy.

Blue Skies And Apple Pies.

I am not an outdoor person at all. I don't enjoy the beach or camping. In fact the only recreational thing I do outside is play with my RC cars. This does not mean, however that I am oblivious to the benefits of good weather. Sunny days like today are wonderful for going out and driving around with the windows down and the music up.

Each season carries with it innate properties that I find heart warming. Spring has the smell of rain and the thunderstorms that bring the rain carry a cozy energy. Summer has warm days drinking iced coffee and short skirts (on girls that is). Autumn has pumpkin pie and the smell of cinnamon and the sounds of harvest. Even winter can be enjoyed with either the clear crisp days that turn the world alabaster and silver or the blizzards that make us want to hibernate and sleep away the storm.

Some people are drawn more to one season over the others. The beach bunnies love the summer so they can get their tan, dress skimpy and go swimming. Spring is a season for growers and planters. Autumn is a season of chefs and romantics, and winter is great for the snowboarders and children looking for legitimate days off school. I've spent time over the years figuring out what season I associate with the most. While I love elements of all four, I'd have to say early autumn has me by the gourds. It's really the smell of September that's the clincher. Wet leaves on the ground are sedative and help to offset the anxiety and anticipation of a new school year. The aromas of nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves, cranberries and garlic are synonymous with the five short weeks that make up September. These are comfort smells for me, they are the scents that help ground me. Pier 1 carries a scent called "Ember" which is essentially all these flavours rolled up into a candle.

My family in general has never been much for the outdoors. We did camping as children, but when we grew up and were finally able to express how much we disliked being mosquito bait we stopped camping. As children we went sledding on a local hill and it wasn't too bad. Although I do remember one time being so cold that I was in tears - which is terrible because they froze to my face - and we ended the outing early. Also once when walking home from school in the dead of winter across a frigid cornfield I got so much ice and snow in my left ear (I wasn't wearing a hat because I was 16 and stupid) that to this day it doesn't have fantastic hearing and the ear itself is a tad thicker from scarring. In an attempt to make winter a bit more tolerable I'd remind myself that in the summer, outside there's a limit to how much clothing you can remove to keep cool. Even in the nude the summer can be relentless in heat and humidity. Conversely in the winter you can always put on enough layers to keep warm. It's a feeble attempt to make me like the season any more than I do, but I try.

With spring there's rain. Rain out here in the country is different than rain in the city. In town it serves to suck oil out of the streets, kick up pollutants and smells and all the streets end up with the clammy stench reminiscent of wet dog. In the country it makes the grass perfume and even the steam rising off the hot asphalt turns this hamlet into something whimsical and Tolkienian. Even when the power goes out from high winds the following silence and calm that descends over Baden is haunting in a way best suited for an eerie movie. Then there's the stars, my goodness all the stars! When the power goes out, and the clouds pass you can look up and see forever. No light pollution, no glare of headlights just the quilt of galaxies and stars that let your mind wander as you think about other worlds and the depth of space. I recall once laying on the roof of my car up on top of a nearby hill staring at the stars and letting the steel and earth beneath me linger into vacuum and I was left floating in the boundless expanse of everything.

There's a night out that costs nothing and yields so much in return.

No Time Like The Present.

As I was brushing my teeth a thought occurred to me. If there's one thing we love to do as humans - the world over - it's attempt to predict the future. Universally we aim to predict weather, stock fluctuations, someone's response to a question, anything so that we may compensate ahead of time and plan. Some cultures take it a bit more seriously than others even employing psychics and those with clairvoyant skills to aid in political choices. Ultimately it's entirely unknown if such fantastic foresight is even possible, but it doesn't stop people from making predictions about things.

If to be truly carefree is to be a planning-atheist in the truest sense of the word, then it is to be unmistakably unique to be so. It is said that to be a true atheist is to be either very dumb or very confident. I would assume the same is true of people who could care less about what happens tomorrow or the day after. In the cosmic balance that seeks to make the rich, richer and the poor, poorer so too would it aim to make the unplanned [un·plan·id] fall ass backwards into wealth and success.

Show me a man who doesn't care about his future and I'll show you a man whose past gives him no reason to care.

Trow Dropping.

When we're children there are several realities we come to learn. Things like the death of a pet, the lack of a real Santa Claus, what it means to fib and that are parent's aren't flawless. They all come at pivotal moments in our lives and we never forget them. Not unlike Dorothy having the Wizard of Oz revealed to her as simply a man behind the curtain, we too find that there's always something less spectacular behind concepts and people we magnify.

I was watching Mythbusters, one of my favourite television programs. Without going into too much detail, it was revealed that Kari - who is for all tense and purposes the sex appeal of the show - was a germophobe or a mysophobe. This is one of many cracks that has appeared in the veneer that is her allure. Why do the sexy ones always have to be crazy? Physically she's still an attractive actress/scientist/artist, but little hangups like that get under my skin. I think it's partly because of my own medical battles that encountering someone who's more prone to say, "Yuk, gross" rather than, "Oh, that's interesting" is a bit taxing. I'm sure there have been times where people have wanted to confess their discomfort with my condition, but didn't out of tact. It's really appreciated on this end, as I am not oblivious to my condition or the effect it can have on people. As there's nothing I can do about it, I rely upon the kindness of others to keep me from feeling like a burden. I recall distinctly a former employee I worked with who said straight-faced that she was grossed out by skin flakes and dandruff. She followed this up by saying that my condition didn't bother her.

Which is it?

That's like saying you're a Klan member, but really value the time you spend in Harlem. You can't say something harmful then buy it back by confirming with your converser that they don't fall within those parametres when they so clearly do. As you can imagine I no longer keep in touch with this individual.

Back to what I was saying, people with what I consider silly "issues" are hard to deal with. I understand legitimate fears like not wanting to walk home at night by yourself or a fear of big scary dogs. This should not extend to all dogs, especially puppies. Reservations about things are compensations for something else in my view. Almost as if to say, "Subject A scares the shit out of me, but in order to compensate for that I'll also be uncomfortable with subject B in order to distract myself about subject A." I don't know if that's the medical logic behind it, but it makes sense to me.

People have baggage, there's no doubt about that. I feel sorry for whomever I end up with (if I end up with anyone), because they're going to be getting a trunk full of my past. Some people can roll with this really well, and don't focus too much on people's past. I don't. To me someone's past is so vital to understanding who they are. If I found out that before me my hypothetical girlfriend dated girls I'd know immediately to stay the hell away, run for cover and toss a grenade over my shoulder in the process. I'm not looking for chaos and kink. I'd settle for natural hair, sweaters and running shoes. Once upon a time I was drawn into the idea of someone unique looking, but I learned that people only choose to look "autre" if they're either looking for attention, or looking to avoid attention. Either way it's not something I find attractive anymore.

People are complex enough without adding purple hair and lip rings.