Lockdown 23+199 daze

It’s been about two hundred or so calendar days. However, it has been more of a daze. This society is seemingly collapsing under the oppressive weight of Umpa Lumpa narcissist continually doing things for attention like a toddler. I got in the habit of changing the channel or tuning out whenever the name that shall not be mentioned is mentioned. Even my beloved CBC is pressing the controversy. It’s enough to drive any sane person mad? I was already insane and hearing that news sobered me up…

Succumbed to joining the other reindeer in getting an Android box and subscribing to commercial free streaming service. Maybe access to endless B Movies may quell any lingering boredom?

I’m not in a healthy writing routine, Maybe the New Year’ll bring inspiration? But to me it still feels like it’s March !!!

http://www.isitstillmarch.com

The #GreatCanadian social experiment

To be or not to be Canadian;

To become or be an unbecoming Canadian ?

To me, to be Canadian is to encompass all of the stereotypes you can think of. Unapologetically polite. Yet, we’ll say sorry gratuitously. A caring and sharing peoples. Full of hope and joy. Both accepting and welcoming. Astutely polite and witty. We like are coffee with two sugars and two creams. We watch Jeopardy for the double-double entendres. Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday nights over Sunday [American] football. We are accepting of any and all. Get along with everybody — any and all. Welcoming, friendly, love bacon… fresh bagels, poutine — poutine with bacon drizzled in maple syrup not ketchup!!!

We love trying new foodstuffs especially spicy dishes… polar bear swimming, hikes in Algonquin Park, cross-country skiing, tobogganing, playing horse shoes, et m. We work hard and play harder.

Always offings a helping had and quick to joke to break the ice. Can’t go a weekend without a two-four with friends. Unyieldingly apologetic working towards a better tomorrow.

Do whatever you have to do to make the world a better place. Baby steps towards constructing a future worthy of perseverance… I started a tree farm… it’s not much but it’s a step in the correct direction?

However, everyday I encounter peoples full of insolence and ill-will. It’s not the bullies fault that “they” are full of ignorance of what it means to be human. Oh, to be humane and humble. If only we could all afford that luxury. But being kind costs nothing but to dissolve your ego. Keeping your ego in check is key to remaining humble?

The bully in me died years ago. That is to say my persona isn’t governed by the need to be loud or provocative. Silence is golden afterall? There is nothing more beautiful than silence and there seems to be quite a few ugly people out there.

To be human is to be humane. Sure there are those that thrive on appealing to the darker side of human nature but that’s not me. Although, I have been known to have a dark sense of humour and howl at dank jokes. I’ve even considered doing stand-up comedy. This was after my stint on the local poetry scene which got all to political. I like poetry that sounds good yet says nothing. I have a stand-up routine written but I’m not sure any audience would like it?

My sense of humour shifts depending on what I feel like laughing at on that day. Some days I’m laughing my ass off to Daniel Tosh others I’m disgusted by it. Today, I find it off putting because I realize he’s just of privileged loudmouthed arse. Kinda reminds me of the dude at Sobey’s 02062021~1136 loitering beside the eggs in the daily section insulting peoples as they pass by. People just rolling their eyes and continuing on their merry way. Dude must’ve thought he was balling on stage getting laughs from the audience. Really just being foolish lingering at a grocery store in the middle of a pandemic. I can think of better things to be doing on a Saturday morning. Just the sheer arrogance of thinking people want to hear your unsolicited commentary. Not what you’d expect from a cosmopolite society.

“The bully” was educated outta me. I’ve matured and’ve learned how to be respectable. Which mainly means STFU and minding my own business. I have better things to do than say “I’m rubber you’re glue”. Very much reminds me at recess time in elementary school. Children slinging verbal mud at each other trying to see what sticks. “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words”… are just idle chatter. I have better things to do than make a fuss. I go to the grocery store to by food. Food is very essential to civil society. Having an over abundance makes life on Earth less precarious. I’m immeasurably thankful for there being a constant supply of foodstuffs. Although I have been taking hikes geo-caching cans of beans at various green spaces around town. I bury three cans about one foot down. This, call it a hobby I started six years ago. The cans only have a shelf life of two year though… I got the idea after watching The Book of Eli. I’d really like to believe in a future more like Star Trek but fear it’ll be more like Warhammer. I used to volunteer with the local Humanist Movement organization but then got distracted with work. Being a temp is vicarious. Often sporadic hours or for a limited time only. I lost count of all of the sinking ships I’ve temped at. Maybe the ships were sinking due to relying on temps? Kinda reminds me why I don’t fully understand ‘business’. Thinkers versus the do-ers. The educated at the helm. The millwright saying that’s not possible. It can only be created good, fast, cheap but you can only pick two! I choose the ball ? When people are over fed it leads to boredom. Being spoiled leads to stupidly for shits and giggles. So I found a hobby to both promotes wellness and gains me strength. I LARP….

The poetry scene was interesting to say the least. One “poet” would claim to be a starving artist yet had a fridge full of bourgeoisie delicacies. I brought a cheap bottle of wine to an afterhours event and was the target of connoisseurs jokes. The scene kinda had an air of MLM events. Everybody peddling their work. This is where I’m a failure. I’m not good at sales. I’m not selling anything. Although I do try to advocate taking the high road. I’m not certain the road to the future is paved by the Humanist Movement though. Quite a lot of pandering to the audience. It turned into a rumor mill no different than high-school. Teaching civics is different than practicing it. Not to mention the competitive nature of the intellectual sport. Quite a few privileged university educated people complaining about how this world is so unfair. Much irony? I volunteered by putting up posters around town. I still have a few for posterity sake. I didn’t realize if was a broken social scene until after. Not to mention me not being the greatest at socializing and missing social cues.

Pulped fictitious novella

I’m working on a rendition of In the Company of Men (1997) movie. Not as a screenplay but as a pulp-fiction style novella. Pulp fiction in the sense of being full of sex and violence. Not in the sense of the popular movie?

We all know how “violent” language can be!

Instead two misogynistic corporate men this story has two misandristic feminists that run a poetry slam. The remainder of the plot is vis-à-vis. The women decide to take advantage of / make a weak hearted / soft man fall in love with them. Using their poetry slam scene as hunting grounds for a potential victim. Then try to trick him unto suicide.

It’s going to be entitled ‘In the Company of Womyn’ and will like be published via Kindle Direct Publishing within a month…

Let sad news inspire you to create?

After I heard the sad news about Desmond Morton I decided to pick up one of his books. It inspires me to prepare poetry for Remembrance Day. Hopefully I’ll have a polished poem by the time the clock tocks that date.

 

As for war. In all of the simulations war is the only constant. Something about human nature that makes some people feel the need to dominate/subjugate others. As a pacifist I try to remain nonviolent. Some may see being polite as a weakness but not I said the writer to his blog which nobody reads. Maybe my superpower is gullibility.

 

More fuel for the ether? Why be nasty violent and vengeful whenceforth you could be a model denizen? Well, I’ve been mistaken for quite a lot of things in life. I’ve been called a dirtbag freeloading hippie, a grungy greasy punk, and other such lowlife lables people like to pin onto a donkey.

 

I try my best to keep my dejected caricature to my fiction… so until Marshal Law is declared or the moon conspiracy is revealed as false truth. I stay strong and free?

Nothing is as silly as believing all of that folly with an open heart?

What colour is your solus?

So many souls gleeful with darkness? And ‘they’ do their worst to try to change the frequency of your soul! Can’t everybody see the colour of others soli?

Just because someone has darker skin than you doesn’t mean they have a dark heart.

I like the gays with their rainbow soouls. Not to say some don’t encompass darkness. Shimmering iridescent like a raven or a puddle of oil. A pale blackness dancing with the full spectrum like the spectre of this autistic adult waiting at the bus stop?

eXist3nZ as a conundrum

the ignorant man full of wisdom

 

the warmongering pacifist

the vegetarian that eats fish

a heart full of hope doesn’t need to “wish”

 

the saint that sins

a LottoMax millionaire that practices minimalism

a sober alcoholic remains stoic

 

a destructive creationist

with chaotic orders of tranquility

that’s friends with a capitalistic Marxist

 

a sad woman that always smiles

while honestly embracing

senile of the truth

 

an environment polluted with cleanliness

the ephemeral materialist

a gullible skeptic?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Only fools and loners?

I was once foolish enough to fall in swoon with the silhouette of a lady. She was a tramp? Highly inebriated and lacking clear judgement. I devoted almost all of my thoughts and prayers to the idea of her. The temporary elation I acquired ignored almost all of reality.

Mainly, that she wasn’t into me?

To have a desire that is persistently unfilled. May lead to a broken ego? Ever forgettable I am walking down the street wearing nothing but a pumpkin. Avoiding eye contact because I’m an autistic adult not a conceded fool. Ever so aloof to only notice her shadow. Then fear the face it leads to is disgusted with unkempt bearded me with cheeto stained lips.

Trying so, to avoid any unpleasant misunderstanding; “I’m sorry. I thought ‘freedom of expression’ was a given here on this just land?”. That would include freedom to be a dumb mute. Freedom of being chastised from supposed peers. Jeering fools that may think I care what they have to say.

When I likely wouldn’t even give them the time of day?

“Do you have the time” (to listen to you whine?)

{no response, the eschewal continues}

[carries around pocket books in foreign langues to look like a tourist]

Responds only with that universal gesture of peace and love?

Mistreat others the same way you desire to be mistreated?

*****

Epilogue

*****

“Just keep smiling”. Is what she wanted to say to him. Say to me? Except he wasn’t already smiling. Why put yourself in social situations then remain obstinate? Maybe because he liked being around people but just wasn’t good at socializing. Like the other day at the green grocer downtown. There was an inked up plain Jane hovering nearby he could have at least said hello to. Maybe the feminist propaganda got the better of him.

“Why do MEN think we’re here for them?”, said the disgruntled womyn?

He couldn’t really tell is she was gazing with delight in his direction or if she just desired one of those plump avocados. That he just so happened to be standing in front of. His friend gave him some sound advice.

Just talk to people until you get used to talking to people. Then you may know the difference between a woman that gives you butterflies and just being nervous around people.

So he started hanging out at hipster cafes hoping that somebody would talk to him. However, nobody did? Everyone at the cafe seemly already had a clique. And most group of friends aren’t open to outsiders?

If you be friendly with everyone, doesn’t mean everyone is your friend.

He started feeling like that teenager with Downsyndrome he’d seen around to and chatted with a few times. The kid would hang-out on benches in public areas and try to talk to passer-by’s and almost everyone ignored him. Henry was the only one to acknowledge that person as a fellow human being?

There isn’t much difference between a restaurant and a jail house cafeteria. Sit at the wrong table and expect /r/PublicFreakOut ? Sounds like a fun social experiment?

Hoping to meet a woman isn’t going to make it happen. You have to put in effort to socialize. Like that woman in the car in the parking lot at the mall. He only realized she honked and pulled over to the side to maybe chit-chat when he was a hundred foot steps away. Why feel guilty for wanting a normal life?

The number one sure pathos to a good life is having a good life partner; are dating websites the key to finding this or an unwise shortcut?

Love is a warm gentle smile. A chance for fleeking minds to meet the ever sought after ideal. Like sunshine on a cloudy day. Does your nimbus part the clouds?

Maybe Henry needs some danse-danse therapy. Take his dancing shoes out of storage and find a dance floor and dance like there is no tomorrow?

Transistor of Time

“What the Hell?”, she thought to herself. “After all of these years, he hasn’t aged a day!”. Anka thought she was in a dream or time-warp having seen former lover with all the glorious memories that come with seeing someone we have previously loved – still love? This must be one of those waking day dreams brought on by being back in a familiar place after being absent for so long. The rush of memories from the tune of the subway warning bells, the smell of crisp winter air off of the lakeshore. She had met him at the same subway stop almost a half-century ago, and here this character was jiving to the same old beat, playing the same jazzed-up melody wearing anachronistic clothing. Since their brief but passionate romance she had traveled the world as a cosmopolitan citizen; achieved, accomplished, and experienced more in life than most could fathom in an imperfect world. Had the privilege to meet, greet, have brunch with, share stories with, some of the brightest souls and greatest minds ever to exist since the golden age modernity. Climbed mountains, crossed behemoth bridges, viewed fine art from Antiquity to the Renaissance to the pissant Impressionists to postmodern hipsters embracing minimalist kitsch avant-garde macaroni arts and crafts. Used the shitter at the most suave museums, sampled exotic cuisine and lost delicacies, swam with wild adventurous loving dolphins, saved the elephants from extinction, taught guerrillas how to fight against poachers; experienced the best that life has to offer. And he was still humbly but merrily busking at the St George interchange terminal with his bass clarinet. Only now there were break dancers on hover mats and the performance included an impromptu ensemble of make-shift instruments; bucket drums, oldschool digital-vinyl turntables, a chocolate saxophone, a kazoo, etc. “Huh, not a single grey hair!”, she thought begrudgingly with perplexity. In comparison to her self-conceptualized image herself he actually seemed somehow younger than she remembered but our memories are good at playing tricks on us depending on our mindsets. “How can this be? It must be his son.”. Was the thought from the rational centres of her mind. There he was all scruffy faced and greezy haired, the free spirited hippie she fell for a whole lifetime ago. He was playing the same riff that caught her attention decades ago when she still danced like nobody was looking but new everyone was because who would deny themselves a glimpse at such a beauty. She started to feel queasy, that youthful zest we lose after life sends us a curve ball, the tragic ironies that help us grow and be stronger for out next challenge conquering the unspoken fears of #terraincoganita hoping not to drown if we venture to close to the river of solipsism and get lost in the ocean of unspeakable delight. We all drink the same sacred water that once was the ectoplasma of the dinosaurs and fertilized the frog and fish eggs. All of a sudden the background clamour all the surrounding pedestrians became silent as a harmonica swiveled on a C# note, the ‘contredanse’ of the bustling people continued but she was frozen in time as she was now a few steps closer and could see the birthmark and scar. No natural creature passes down such markings to its offspring, even if he was a clone or imperfect replicant of what she had presumed was a man. “He was certainly a man by anatomical definition”, her inner commentary read aloud in soliloquy in the empty stage of her mind as she took a deep breathe remembering how he had comforted her with platonic companionship. She was now in a quiet duress in contrite contemplation of existential philosophy of reality. Had she just dreampt all of those glorious memories. She was now in tears and quivering as she seen what looked like a young lady with similar aesthetics as her younger self when she was in her prime scholarly years jiving to the music of life*. She tried to pinch herself to wake-up from the anomaly that was her guardian angle teasing her. Would you trade it all for one true love, or bask into the comfort of taking the path most choose to travel? She had the decision to relive that love affair or continue on in solemn resolution that we only live once and having the knowledge from the countless cultures she had encountered her intuition wasn’t all to curious of the idea of shifting time&space just for another chance to be young foolish and in love once again because at any age we can embrace whatever will make our hearts content and it is always wise to choose a new beginning without toying with the Fates.

Besides she didn’t feel like tasting his halitosis once again.

[Literature / Prose / Flash Fiction / Romance / General / Short Stories]

 

[commentary: This is from my old writing blog. It’s a second draft. I got the idea for this from one of those fleeting moments. A granny at the bus terminal gave me vague look of spooked familiarity. The setting is Toronto. I miss taking day trips there and wondering around.

The characters name was a tribute to Anka, Paul Albert – Canadian singer and song writer.]

A funny thing happened while walking home from decorum

While on my morning walk. This time from a friends after watching the winning Toronto Raptors NBA game (they are now eastern conference winners and have made it to championship tournament). I experienced the earthy tones of recent rain storms dissipating unto the mild humidity.

With fresh hints lilac.

Which I followed my nose to the blossoming scent of beauty. I hope the property owner is forgiving of foraging urban hikers. (I took a branch to enjoy the smell for the rest of my walk home)

I got a McCoffee and free newspaper. A special edition of the recent win.

Noticed a security guard doing their job likely politely asking loitering vagrant on undisclosed corporate property to vacate the premises. Of course this jovial bloke was a tad grouchy for being woken up from their slumber. Echoing explicit mutters of discontent which muddled my peaceful morning trek.

I don’t understand why people would choose to slumber on the doorstep of a bank. There is a greenspace maybe twenty yards away. Not that I’m for non-permitted urban camping (hobo encampments). However, I haven’t had the misfortune of not having a pot to piss in.

Thank goodness my many irresponsibilities as a millennial adult have not lead my down that road (yet?). I have been known on occasion while returning from a night of over-consumption/indulgence of intoxicating nectar decided to slumber beside train-tracks or other off-the-main road/path (greenspaces). If only to avoid a potential confrontation from my vivid imagination. (I’ve been ‘jumped’ before and have since decided against walking around alone after dark)

Maybe the solution is creating affordable housing with locally sourced recycled materials?

Maybe some people choose the lifestyle and thrive in degenerate behavior which leaves them at the short end of the stick?

Maybe this message will self-destructive?