The course of writing

When looking at writing today -- which is to say writing, which cannot be broken down to senseless drivel, where does it stand? It’s a question that many mull over -- but they are usually pontificating-scholarly-types at ends with the MTV generation. We live in an age that is over-saturated with everything from iPods to Britney Spears’ genitalia to vacuous television (I.e. Girlicious). But also with thoughtless writing. 

It follows us from newspapers to flyers to chalkboards (nay, scratch that -- I’m pretty sure those are now obsolete) to vacuous YouTube comments. But not to mention blogs and everyones opinion a.k.a. Web 2.0. It’s blogs -- and Facebook -- that many get their daily dose of gossip, news or whatever euphemism applies for subjective hearsay. We ostensibly pseudo-communicate through this giant web of spin-doctored news, canards, and inconsequential bullshit. 

So will it come back to bite us in the proverbial ass? That is, will all of the nonsensical ramblings of neo-Neanderthals actually gain enough substance to lead to mass ill-effect? No clue. But, it’s interesting to bear witness to endless technological advances while we intellectually regress. We take to a false being on the Internet to virtually carry on our day-to-day lives.

But this is not a philosophical avenue, which I want to take on nor answer. It’s just something to think about. Because in the end, before you write that next e-mail, poem, love letter, conspiracy theory, ransom note... think. Dear reader, I implore you to think in this world or virtual-world (whatever is more applicable) which is rife with  absent-minded rubbish.

Just think and question religion, society, culture, poverty, or a friend... because really, what do you have to lose?

"The act of putting pen to paper encourages pause for thought, this in turn makes us think more deeply about life, which helps us regain our equilibrium."  --Norbet Platt

A Plug for TRAVIS Magazine

Dear all two people that read my "creative outlet" if you will. I think the sun should shine on you daily, but not during the sad times -- that's just rude on the sun's part. 

However, I recently had some work in TRAVIS magazine, Sheridan's really well-done campus magazine, which you should all check out. Especially because there's a lot of shit in there that trumps sunny days, not to mention my measly work.

http://www.sheridansu.net/files/docs/Travis/apr08.pdf

But peruse at your own accord and enjoy! (Seriously, it's worth your while).

Dear Kanye,

Please, for the sake of your own self-aggrandizement, stop it! We get it, you think you could destroy Jesus in a thumb wrestling competition -- hands down (or doest that expression apply?). Does anyone make any real shit anymore, well, in accordance with you, I'm not that sure. Let's deconstruct shall we? That song that helped you destroy Fitty's career, "Stronger," (as everyone knows) is a sample from Daft Punk. So you making fun of people not making real shit in a song that isn't really yours is okay? Right, I forgot you trump Jesus. And on that point, you have completely bit the shit out of electronic/house/Justice/MIA (they're all synonyms), but with avail. 

How do you get away with it? 

Maybe it's the fact that you symbolize our hedonistic culture. Over-confident, self-absorbed asshole with a world-view which doesn't exceed your gaudy eye-wear. And what the fuck is this about you studying English literature so that you can rhyme in iambic pentameter, and thus be remembered for your poetic license? Last time I checked with my love, J. Donne, (pronounced J-dot) he was confused with the lines: "Heard they'd do anything for a Klondike/ Well I'd do anything for a blonde dyke." Actually, hold the phone, there are five feet per line there. Looks like your name is going to be leather-bound, collecting dust between Voltaire and Wilde in the not-so-distant future. Great news, bespectacled neophyte scholars will be studying your metaphysical conceits with nothing short of genuine awe.

Signed,

 

50 Cent.

 

Dear 30-something wankers,

It's is with heavy heart that I understand your predicament. You're currently in limbo between "young and cool" and old-with-family-on-the-horizons-and-no-more-game-nights. I feel your pain, nay, I have no idea, nor do I care to sympathize with you. But here is maybe a clue to find just a shred of "cool" in your blurred haze as a hasbeen jock in high school. It's quite simple. Get the fuck off your ridiculous Bluetooth phones everywhere you go, you insolent pricks.

Seriously, don't walk around the supermarket talking away to your mistress or joe blow about your lame white-collar job as a fuckoid accountant. I'm sorry, you're already fucked and uncool, but a bloody earpiece phone isn't going to make it any better. No one cares about your pathetic "oh man, you see that hot babe" excuse of a life. You're not fooling anyone.

You're just as cool as those washed-up athletes that you rag about to dickweed Timmy while walking to your wretched job.

Signed,

Your replacement in never-land.

post script. Fuck off and go punch some more numbers.

post post script. Oh, and stop getting your hair cut like that for Chirst  sakes, you look risible.

Who am I?

When walking by, it seems lonely, quiet, maybe even tired. A recluse of sorts. Sitting and waiting for some activity. A picture, set of stats, a new story to muse. Contemplating its role in society and its use to students that seem too busy to care about its existence. But when it counts, it kicks into play. Buzzing, humming, turning its nodes and cogs to meet its users' high demands. It stutters, goes quiet, and settles back for another period of languidness.

Otherwise than that, if you care about our brethren in Africa, please see the following article I just had published in The Dominion... http://www.dominionpaper.ca/articles/1778

If you want to make a difference yourself, please see the following petition, and make your mark: "Buduburam 2008"

http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/LiberianRefugees?e

Parental Guidance is Advised Pt. 4

The downtown street was vacant otherwise than the swarms of people walking by like ants on an ant hill circling the queen. But Frank was isolated. The world moved at its usual hyper-speed rate without noticing any of its inhabitants. Like a blinding snowstorm of people, but you're the one huddled under a snowdrift losing touch in your finger tips. Their faces were blurred and rearranged and resembled pseudo-Picasso pieces. His head felt raw and was home to only a few thoughts firing around amongst a blackened ether of cocaine and malt whiskey.           

"Hey! Watch where you're going, fuckin' crackhead," a voice rings out accompanied with some spittle into Frank's face. The blurred representation of a yuppie stands in front of Frank holding the cliched requirements -- attache case, Armani suit, and a stupid fucking haircut. Frank turns around, looks directly into the yuppie's beady eyes and breathes the equivalent of rat poison into the prick's face.

"Of course young sir. How dare I interrupt your daily waltz accompanied with your own theme song, written personally by, Bach, I believe. But the real Bach, not one of his amateurish sons riding on a surname. Is there anything that I could do to make your day any better, my dear fuckhead," Frank lets out in a semi-couth manner. The yuppie scoffs, slides his diamond-clad hand through his perfect hair, and keeps walking.

"Glad I could be of some assistance," Frank calls back, lighting a fresh cigarette and taking the day's first pull of refined poison and settling in for an oncoming bout of listlessness.

Parental Guidance is Advised Pt.3

        Waking up to an unsettling mixture of the sun, a bad dream, the smell of sex combined with stale beer, and his dog, Possum, licking his face, Frank opened his eyes and pushed his stain-covered duvet over his knees. His room was strewn with empty beer bottles (but they were the clear ones, not the green nor the shit-coloured brown ones), painted art, and novels -- a fucking plethora of novels covering essentially every nook and cranny that wasn't swallowed in either beer or art. Oh, and he had a small wooden closet which held his semi-respectable collection of quasi-vintage t-shirts and worn black jeans. Frank lifted his head, grabbed a partly-burnt cigarette he found on the floor alongside a matchbook and pondered his circumstances with a long and slow drag of assorted toxins.

"How'd ya sleep big fella?" A woman's voice rang as Frank jumped and turned his head to the bedroom door where a young women, say mid-20s, stood. Frank's blurred haze of a mind cleared enough to allow him to recall this woman. But he also recalled doing blow off of this woman's breastbone. A pseudo-epiphany if you will.

"Oh hey, well, if you look past my pounding head which feels like the fall of the Berlin Wall, then I'm all right." She came forward and jumped into bed next to him and took a puff of his cigarette.

"Do you want mama to kiss it better?"

"I was never one for the whole oedipal complex thing, sorry," Frank replied as he reclaimed his cigarette and hopped out of bed and began to put Yesterday's booze-stained clothes back on. And as he began to put his pants back on, he noticed some blood on his hands. It was at this moment that Frank remembered more of last night. The gun, the blood, the whole botched operation. Jesus, he thought to himself. His mind started to run, like it always does, and he ambled out of the room to mix himself a stiff snort.

"Darling, is everything all right? What's the matter?" the woman questioned.

"Well, if you see the four horsemen of the apocalypse as okay, then yes, everything is dandy."

"Oh don't be melodramatic Frank, you know that turns me off."

"Right, how could I forget your precious little ideals that need to be satisfied 24-fucking-hours of the day you coquette of a whore.”

Parental Guidance is Advised Pt. 2

 Sitting at the local cafe, Tuesday's Special, Frank sips his char-black Ethiopian bean coffee. His king-sized Du Maurier slowly burns between his relaxed lips as the poison floats above him. It's his local spot -- that spot that he comes to in order to people-watch and ironically get a breath of fresh air. Problem is, the air is usually stale with cigarette smoke and day-old coffee. 

The room is riddled with pictures of people -- some being relatively famous -- that had once-upon-a-time frequented the cafe. From looking at all of the photos, the most famous celebrity was Patrick Swayze. The rest of the decor consists of queer WWI airplane memorabilia and a sole wall decorated in the faces of "Have you seen this missing child?" pictures found on the back of milk boxes. That part of the room kinda gives a macabre sort of a feeling.

His black laptop computer, with the Apple symbol glowing on the back lid, sits in front of Frank. The screen is a clear white abyss that stares blankly back at Frank. Truly beautiful, if it weren't for the fact that he was trying to clear that emptiness with words as he is a writer -- supposedly a good one at that. But Frank's mind ran. It ran back to reading in bed next to Rebecca to throwing the ball to Luke, their son, and to the past week. That tumultuous last week.

Parental Guidance is Advised Pt. 1

The following is the first part of a long story that I am working on... enjoy! Let me know your thoughts...

"Now let me get this straight: since you're an overbearing egotistical cretin just feeding off of pussy, which coincidentally landed you knee deep in self-loathing behavior, I am suppose to forgive you?"

"Yeah, well, I was hoping you would hit that ball and then maybe catch it... if you know what I mean, my dear."

Our protagonist really didn't understand anything around him, or actually, no, he did understand everything around him to such an astute level that it completely ruined him and everything that surrounds him. Some kind of perpetual-self-imposed-shit-filled-nightmare if you will. Which was, of course, only exacerbated by his self-medicating and drug-induced ennui.

"No, I don't fuckin' 'know what you mean!' No one really does... that's precisely my point. Your speech is so steeped in bombastic language and abstruse metaphors that no one can actually see past your pitiful life and obvious defense mechanisms -- which really only have the barflies convinced."

"Well, isn't that a bit harsh, my lady. And did you say, 'abstruse'? Isn't that some magniloquent language yourself, my lady?"

"Oh common, Frank. I'm not a dullard like your family and friends down at the Underground Table, I'm not just as... self-aggrandizing as you are. You know just as well as I do that you're constantly up to your neck in doublespeak to just get you out of facing reality head-on. In a word, you're a coward."

Our protagonist rolls over in bed to cover his five o'clock shadow and puppy-esque brown eyes.

"So what do you want then? For me to change; send money to charities, hold car washes in my bikini, adopt a malnourished orphan from a distant tribe in Swaziland? Really, what's all of this shit actually going to solve... is it going to make you feel better if I keep my dong out of everything that winks at me and cut back on the lexicon a bit? Truthfully." He stares deadpan. "I'm sorry if you're upset that you're a bank teller, or should I say a facilitator between money-controlling machines. That actually makes me upset: all of our money, our most precious thing that we kill and start wars over, is completely, and utterly controlled by computers. Dystopia anyone?"

        "You know what Frank, you're so conceited and smug that you have actually lost touch with everything but you're beloved Faulkner. But, when push comes to shove, and reality comes back to bite you in the ass, is Faulkner going to sell-out like he did writing for Hollywood and actually comfort you at night and guide you on your writing downfall?"

"He's been known to get me out of a sticky situation on more than one occasion..."

"Well, I hope he is just as good in the sack... because I'm not sharing that godforsaken post-celibate thing -- not after what you did to me..."

Frank rolls out of bed in his black boxer-briefs exposing his quasi-chiseled abs to console Rebecca. Problem is, she's already closing the front door to his condo.

"Fuck."

Good reasons for pessimism

When you receive news in today's day and age (and most likely in 1840 too), it's no secret that it is usually dismal to say the least. In the news, the bad always kicks the shit out of the good. No Hollywood endings in the media. 

But reasons to be upset: N.Y. Gov. Eliot Spitzer, a supposed good guy in politics -- a prostitution fighter on Wall Street -- has been linked to a prostitution ring, The New York Times has learned. The best part is that his wife, Silda, stood beside him while he gave his statement to the press. Now that's loyalty, but I bet that Oprah-loving-feminists are outraged. Is it possible or even worth an attempt anymore to thwart corruption and scandal in politics and government? Seems utterly futile. Like even the Superman of politics is, well, the Joker. (I'm working on a satiric screenplay for an animation studio and clearly working on my comic references, I apologize.)

But what fuels my misanthropy is of a different vein. I've learned that a new movie is in the works. A movie about a literary idol of mine. Edgar Allan Poe. If I tried, like I put aside all TV watching, eating, sleeping, and feeding ducks at the park to concentrate on my literary pursuits, I would never be as powerful and compelling a writer as the mind behind "The Tell-Tale Heart." But with all honesty and self-effacing aside, the inordinate pain comes from the core of the movie. It is to be directed by, hold the applause... Sylvester Stallone.  But even better for you, lovers of literary art with acute depression, is that he is also suppose to write it. Fucking Rambo is writing a movie about one of America's greatest and most mysterious writers!

The best way to sum up my thoughts, as a writer, on this: Fuck you Hollywood, fuck you.

Global warming wallop

I was thinking out loud today and something dawned on me. If poster boy Al Gore had released his harping documentary, An Inconvenient Truth now, as in this Spring instead of in 2006, would it have been as potent? For instance, as we sit through a massive snowstorm, which is seeing up to 50 centimeters in parts of Ontario, is the earth warming up? Scientists predicted, and are still contending, that this current winter will be/has been the coldest in decades. So if memory serves, when Gore released his seminal work (or was his seminal work losing the presidential race? I'm not sure) we had had a relatively green winter. Pun intended: grass was visible during that winter. Anyway, if released this year, would people care and jump on the green bandwagon, which hit its peak at the beginning of last year? You know, Canada's bold commitments to ward off climate change: eradicate incandescent light bulbs by 2012, drop out of Kyoto, and to ween out plastic bags in grocery stores. We will make a difference, we will.

Or the fact that billionaire-cum-climate change combatant (alliteration, fun!) Richard Branson has teamed up with Gore to wreak havoc on the world's lethargy and ambivalence towards climate change. But the problem, is that Branson owns Virgin Airlines and facilitates tons of emissions annually. Or the fact that he travels from city to city, country to country on a day-to-day basis, personally emitting an insurmountable amount of emissions.

But whatever, it's all in the name of a cause -- a means to and end -- and, any other euphemistic cliches which apply.

And in truth, I concede that this is only the tip of the (metaphoric and literal) iceberg on such a monolithic issue that has so many facets to take into consideration to just understand the rudimentary basics. In the end, I support the notion that there has been a change in the climate, which more than likely or "very likely" to use the words of the UN's Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), is due to human activity. 

However, the key issue I assert, is that the IPCC also said that the global surface temperature had risen by only 0.6 degrees since 1900. Thus, the problem lays in the (utopian or dystopian) future and if the slight change in weather is a catalyst, which will only exacerbate the change in the climate.

So let's leave it to the poster boys to predict the apocalypse or to lead us down an ineffectual tryst.

YouTube Scrawls

Have a moment? Good. I have a magic trick-cum-test for you. Go to YouTube and watch any old video that your (figurative) heart desires. Need some inspiration? Anything Gary Busey is usually gold. Or try "Britney Spears Stoned." Anything hard-hitting and intelligent will work -- or the antithesis of that sentiment is probably more apt for YouTube. 

But I digress.

Watch the enlightening piece of cinematic art and then scroll down to the "Comments & Responses" directly below. Now peruse freely. Sift. Skim. Wade. Diddle around in an English professors hell. Mingle in the primitive drivel of children's etchings on futuristic cave walls.

It's amazing to see how YouTube melts the cerebral matter of its users so aptly to turn their "comments" into inconsequential shite. What the hell happened to the English language? Well never-mind that, what the fuck happened to actually leaving a comment that wasn't "HAHAHAHAHAHA" or "OMG, so funnie." Why be so vacuous? If you're going to waste your time leaving anything, at least put more than two letters in succession.

Where are the opinions of people that don't think their feces is finger paint?

Humanity's regression has begun like America's recession.

Think. Or lose all control

"A man who does not think for himself does not think at all." -Oscar Wilde

It's interesting. No, it’s really interesting. The best, probably most effective and productive thing – as a people – is simple. Probably too simple for it to even work. However, I contend that it is this simple task/activity/process that could change the landscape and workings of, well, the world.

Thinking. And subsequently talking.

If everyone around the world, and especially so in the apathetic West, thought everything over and were avid critical thinkers the world would be a different, yet vastly better place. Creating dialogue on important worldly subject matters – such as: torture, medical care, AIDS – is the first step in curing ignorance and these aforementioned problems.

I’m not arguing that people don’t think; I’m sure the common man thinks about his lunch, that new Mercedes, or that good looking blonde in the next office on a day-to-day basis. But to think critically about world issues, such as: war, poverty, corruption, governments, famine, cover-ups, the media, the people which surround you, the people that you will never meet, death, religion, the past, future, the cuteness of babies... inter alia. It’s the use of one’s noggin to dig deeper in a world clouded with so much conspiracy, scandal, and gratuitous death. Something that open dialogue can help impede.

The problem is that people are constantly entertained. They have the latest iPod or gizmo and are constantly in a pursuit of materialistic things that we never stop and question the world around us. Why is there a terribly unpopular war in Iraq? Is Osama bin Laden really to blame for 9/11? Why is there such a devastating imbalance between the rich and the poor?

The biggest tools that a government can hold over the people are 1) ignorance, and 2) and the prohibition of free speech. By hindering thoughts and discussions on said thoughts, you not only thwart the people, but their ways of life, free speech, opposing sentiments and so on and so forth.

It is apparent to see where the world has been heading within the last few decades. It’s becoming a world that is steered by only a number of powerful men; a world that is full of fear mongering; a world that keeps its people in the literal and proverbial dark; a world split into polarities: the haves and the have-nots; a world that is utterly selfish.

And it’s simple, a way for the people to counter these growing trends is to think about, discuss, and refute them on a mass level. To do this would see a massive positive change in the future on an unparalleled scale.

However, it is obvious that thinking about these issues is not always the "easiest" or "most comforting," but then again, neither are the deaths of millions of children annually due to famine or a "War on Terror," which is the biggest farce going (well, maybe next to Scientology) as an umbrella term for anything anti-American.

It's time for that renaissance of thought that is much needed. During those hours of mindless television watching, self-medication, and insistent distractions, the general public needs to stop and think. To seriously stop and think and question not only their surroundings in the micro, but in the macro – the world at large.

We need to question a friend on their views of the war in Iraq. Question someone's position on waterboarding. Make a preposterous claim in class, next to the water cooler, to a taxi driver and discuss.

Because, really, why not? All we have to lose is our freedom of speech and thought.

Clouded by conspiracy

I have a problem with "conspiracy nut" haters. And a little bit of a problem with conspiracy nuts. The problem is that people who completely ignore conspiracy theories and counter-arguments are a) ignorant b) close-minded, and c) devilishly harmful.

I am not personally, in anyway, a conspiracy theory supporter/lobbyist/advocate in any shape or form, but people who are vehemently against counter opinions and opposing thoughts or the exact opposite of what they usually laud themselves for, critical thinking, are problematic. They completely belie their own arguments by ignoring other "sides" to the argument. Isn't critical thinking questioning everything and constantly asking the "what if?" question, not based on the credibility of the source, albeit, I concede that credibility does have some leeway. Case in point: BBC is more credible than, say, Entertainment Tonight or other such vile.

No, it's not fact that the U.S. government was behind 9/11 or JFK's assassination, but isn't it important to maybe question these assertions? I think it's more loathsome to believe everything that you're spoon fed than to muse on polemics. 

I contend that it's vital to be open to all sides of an argument and from a holistic viewpoint, come to an opinion or persuasion of thought.

Stop being so close-minded and just think, you hypocrites.

"America is a vast conspiracy to make you happy." -John Updike, The New Yorker

You make the choices...

What is life, but a myriad of choices?

Let's be evocative

Take a look at the above logo. You all recognize it. You see the colours, unless you're colourblind; in that case: it's purple and burnt orange. However, look closely. More than likely it's a logo you see quotidianly, but do you see its subliminal messaging? I'll give you a second... no, well, look between the "Ex" in the white space... interesting eh?

FedEx is apparently constantly moving forward... savvy buggers.

“You can fool all the people all the time if the advertising is right and the budget is big enough.” -Joseph E. Levine

I'm alive -- but only figuratively

So, I am back off of my brief hiatus of life in Whistler with my buddies. Joy to the world. Holler. Party! and Good Times (always spell out Good Times -- you look lazy if you don't).

Now how do I summarize my week riding powder, acting as a buoyant object in a hot tub, and being in a state of utter inebriation while not doing the two said things? Well, let me try: Whistler = burlap bar walls, k-os on drugs in concert, cliffs (Whistler has an ample supply of those) and my friend likes to soar down them unbeknownst to their whereabouts, and a land where "badgers trump sheep." Yep, that pretty much does justice to what Whistler is and was to me.

And just to rub it in, here are some photos (I think they clearly illustrate the abovementioned):

 Look in the goggles to find the answer to life.