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Sitting on a night-train chewing on a jelly roll... Sitting on a night-train chewing on a jelly roll...
Ah yes antoher day of what the fuck to do now. Just so you know I love Karoake! Another day of pull my finger and sniff my ass. Here pull it. Go ahead and pull it you fuck.

......................eh.......................

September 5th and the weather is grey. Grey is a good way to describe it. There is a cat sitting on my lap as I type this and I feel like my guts are made of plasticine - is that how you spell it? At times I want to open the second story window of my office and puke out of it. At times I want to run out into the middle of the street and tell everyone that they are all liars. At times I want to get an RPG and clear out the houses across the street from me just to change the view. I need to cover myself up; I need to get underneath something and feel warm and dark. If my mother was still alive I would try and crawl back into her womb. Fucking stupidity, all of it is just stupid; including me. I am such a fucking narcissist. It's nauseating.

The Website - shameless advocation.

www.explainit.org
Well after two years of pissing around I have finally put my website back on the roster. There is a larger picture in mind here but it is a much more well rounded start than before. Some of the content here shows up there and vise-versa. Have a look at it and if you want me to add you to the links section let me know - I just might do it. So have a look at it and let me know what you think of it - The photos section is not done so most of the content is writing.

Calm - Everything is Calm

The leaves on the trees rustle. The birds sing. The grass is cool underfoot. Everything is calm. I love calm. It makes me so - calm. It's nice to be somewhere that makes me - lets say tranquil.

Ahhh. things are much better now. Yes. I have arrived. Oh where am I again? Right - I am in my "magnificent morning" happy place, that's it. You know - the one that lets you rule your day in a happy way! Ah don't you just love those magnificent mornings. Fuck I sure do. They let you take on the day. They let you shine at whatever it is you do. Simply put - magnificent.

Now I'm Really Fucking Angry....

Hi all - I guess I only write this blog when there are crisis in the air. Well there are crisis again, but it is good times still. It seems that my venture of employment has again taken a downswing and I am left standing in the middle of the road with my pants down. Just four days after my grandfather gasps his last breath - the kind, integrity-driven, people caring, company that I worked so hard for have decided to "Let me go."

After weeks of praise, admiration, assurance and reverence, they pulled the rug out from under me and I didn't have any clue - or see it coming. (Yes this entry is therapeutic.) As they lead me into the office I was expecting an increase in salary or some sort of recognition.

There reasoning was that "they" were sorry but they had hired the wrong type of person for the position - not just a week prior the founder of the company told me that I was the perfect person and that they had all of their faith in me. There were no warnings, no offers, no signs; just a big vat of smelly fly-covered bullshit that said I was amazing over and over and how I was their savior and doing an amazing job. Talk about mixed messages. Oh well say-la fucking-vie! (I know it's spelled wrong - but I need this rant.)

I would not be so angry - if I had screwed up or I had gotten warnings - and I conclude that they all might as well take the last 10,000 charter cards that I ordered for them and wipe their asses with them. They are no different then McDonalds, Enron or George Bush for that matter.

Hilarious really; and quite interesting. The deception that the almighty dollar can inspire never ceases to astonish me. It's ok though, I will be fine, like they say It takes a long time for a person, or a company to realize what "they don't know they don't know."

I have returned.

From the depths of oblivion. From the pitch of all conscious mire. From the blanket of iniquity. I have returned. It is time to cast the first stone upon those that have abandoned me. It is time to distinguish the things that make us aspire. Behold I am one and al that there is and behold I have returned. I am unscathed and live with a pre-determined abandonment of all inhibition.

Ok, I'm just back is all.

Yea - The Seniors "Just Roll" with it.

So I had a trip to Shady Lanes rest home a few weeks ago. It's the new place my grandfather and his wife live now. It used to be a hotel but they rennovated it into a seniors resort. Each room door has a mailbox and the seniors decorate the door and the walls beside the doors like it was the outside of their houses. Their names are on the doors too - I guess in case they forget where they live.

My grandfather and his wife have joining rooms - each with a single bed, TV, loveseat and a few other things. There was shit on my grandfather's bathroom carpet. He uses a walker with wheels to get around when he has to - but spends most of his time in a chair napping.

When I got there it was about 80 degrees farenheight in his little room - he was wearing a cardigan and complaining he was cold. Needless to say it was a different kind of experience. It made me feel mortal to say the least. But the seniors they just seemed to "roll with it" - shit and all. I wonder often what they think deep, deep inside. What is really going through their heads? Is it any different then ours, besides maybe just a little bit more foggy?

Don't worry - if we are lucky we will all get a chance to find out.

The intercom goes off and a woman's voice greets us: "good afternoon Shady Lanes residents dinner will be served in fifteen minutes - there is a choice of roast chicken or teriaki beef, thank you."

On this que my grandfather begins to prepare for the ardorous task of getting himself out of his big chair and over to his wheeled walker. He totters around a little burning away the next ten minutes while we all just stand around waiting - sweating in our clothes. Finally his shit is in gear and we are out in the hall. As my grandfather makes the turn out of his room and into the hallway other patrons slowly diffuse into the corridor and it is soon filled with hunchbacked blue-hairs riding hard and senior-fast, on their wheeled walkers. As slow as the process is you know they are all rushing. You know they are rollin' with the shit so they can dig down on the free eats in the nearby cafeteria.

Yea - from what I can tell the seniors they just roll with it. I guess the little things become the big things when you get tired just trying to get your leaky ass down to the Shady Lanes cafeteria. There is knitting displays and other crafts for sale on the trip to the slophouse. I try to convince myself I should buy something - but there isn't anything worth while. My grandfather ambles along in tandem with other members - he doesn't talk to any of them but they all seem to share some sense of silent camaraderie.

Once we get seated teenagers start to bring out the food. They are removed from their task and there doesn't seem to be any human element in what they are doing. The clash of the emotionally stunted teens and the seasoned aged gongs at my senses as I watch them interact. The food is hard to swallow but the gang of geriatrics seem to take it in at break-hip speed. The coffee is weak and tepid, the decor garish colonial, ala silk flowers and pastels.

Yeah - the seniors they just roll with it. They just keep on keeping on I guess.

The experience is a sour one and the whole time I'm there I wanna leave. I wanna just get out and hope that I never end up here - but I know I will. I just roll with it and take one for the team. I just roll with it and tell them It was good food and a great place. Just so it helps them to think it is. Just so I do my part to make things a little better for them. I will go back a hundred times and I will hate every second - but I have to go - I want to go. Just to give them something normal. Just to let them know that I know, I too, am going to be there - with my shit on the bathroom carpet.

Well it's Thursday and I have four days left before I start my new career as Creative Director for an International Multi-Million-Dollar Corporate Coaching Company.

It's funny how, you know, I was just pining for the position - agonizing over getting it, and then when I got it, it was euphoric and it still is - but now I am counting the days prior to my start date. Hilarious really if you think about it - I have had lots of time off - more than enough - but now I feel like I am running our of time. Gee like five months isn't enough of a break? Well the pain is over and I feel really good about everything again.

I feel grand. Like any minute a rainbow might just shoot out of my ass.

Thinking = Feeling = Action = Result.

We are what we think (most of you should know this already). I have been pre-occupied with getting myself warmed up for the "future". The great thing I have realized is how much I really did hate that "other" job. How it was like dipping myself into a coating of lead each day I walked in there. How oppressive the management was and how completely barbaric their management style is and was. There are a thousand other places just as bad - most places have their bugs - but some of them make it hard to stay positive and make sure that our thinking is thinking good things - not bad things.

If we think bad things we feel bad things and then we do bad things and then we get bad results.
Toxic environments breed negative thinking and be-little the concept of reinforcing self esteem. To rule with an iron fist is an arcane practice and it can only harbor resentment and a lack of respect.

There is a high percentage of people that work for superiors that have a 60 point less IQ. This is stated as fact and it is a common challenge to have to learn to work around such hurtles.

I remember being so terrified of loosing my job, or getting in trouble, or saying the wrong thing, or maybe not doing what was expected of me. I remember constantly having to watch my back, wondering if there was a conspiracy, did I take too long for lunch, did the last project not really go the way "they" wanted it to, was there something that I did wrong, does everyone hate me?

Sure, sure I know all of this stuff is just thinking and we are what we think - or at least we can control what we think. But a toxic environment will wear down your positive nature. It will make you loose your work valued candor. Slowly your guard will rise and you will fall victim to the messages and messaging that surrounds you.

Essentially there is no way that a person can hold on that long trying to keep a faithful and positive attitude if their environment doesn't reflect it. Power is a sacred and noble chair. You can look at it two ways - is your boss the good witch of the east or the wicked witch of the west? Each one has equal power and each one chooses to use it in a certain way.

I had no idea how programmed I was. I had no idea how oppressed I was. I had no idea how miserable I was. I had no idea how afraid I was. It was almost as if I had taken on the personality of my rulers. They had changed me into a different person.

But now I have been set free. I have had the time to get myself back. To be able to center my core and look at finding a way to start to grow again as a human being. To be able to marry my career back into my life and have them work in harmony together. No longer does my life consist of a full day of nightmares and an escape route home to heal and feel better.
Now I have it all back, and then some.

Sure this is an optimistic post - one of the first in some time. There is always room for a little optimism and there should be room for a whole hell of a lot more. So if things are getting unbearable get out of what you are in. Get out before your life is over. Get out before you get so damaged that you won't be able to fix yourself.

Your life is yours and the only thing holding you prisoner is yourself (I know easier said than done). You've got kids to feed, bills to pay - but should the cost really be painful? Are you willing to spend the balance of your life in a bad place just to pay the bills? I used to think so. Ah well - the paycheck is good right?

I will end here. I could go on for hours because I guess I am getting a little of my thunder back. 12 hours of motivational life coaching can do that to you.

I don't think that earning a living has to be a painful venture - and if yours is, get out as fast as you can. Take the risks and be terrified for a few months - it will pay off in so many ways.

At least it did for me.

Might as well jump.

Ok here's another subway story - another true story without the condiments of embellishment. A week ago today I decided to take another subway ride. Nothing out of the ordinary - just to go and meet a friend of mine for a few drinks on a Friday night. I get down to the platform of the Main and Danforth station and take my place to wait for the next westbound train.

Through my pensive boredom I notice a tall lanky middle aged man bobbing and weaving to the tune of some strong but unknown narcotic. This guy is high, sky-high, higher than the moon or the CN Tower. He is mumbling a little bit and making eye contact with things hovering invisibly above and around him. The man is a little grimy looking, but not destitute. He is sporting a three quarter length military coat covered in a green camouflage pattern, bluejeans and hiking boots.

On most occasions I am fascinated by such characters and spend a good part of my down time gazing at them. They seem to pop up in the strangest of places and populate the entrails of the Metro system. I took my place a little further from him - out of his line of sight, and kept my eye on his every move. He did his contortions and gestures pretty much keeping to himself for a good five minutes and then something changed. A switch went off, a light came on, his milk spilled, or maybe his brain just exploded.

At once the man tensed and held his arms at his side. His spine straightened and his head wobbled wildly, like that of a freshly killed bird. I raised an eyebrow, tuned in my focus on him, and just as I got a perfect angle of view he catapulted himself out and off of the subway platform and landed flat on his face with his arms still fastened to the side of his body. His form raised into the air like a salmon would spring out of a river and waggle upwards to its destination.

Then in what seemed like an hour of silence we all gazed at him laying still on the tracks. His nose and forehead were covered with the black carbon that blanketed the floor of the pit that had consumed him. He kept his body rigid and just moved his head. It was as if he had been bound or mummified and could only move his scull to try and access his "situation".

I viced my teeth into my bottom lip and gazed at the dream-like scene. There was a live man laying across the subway tracks and for sure the train would be here any minute and squash him. For sure I would see him get cut into three. He would turn inside out in front of me and everyone else on the platform while we stood there frozen and watched.

The man stood and looked around. It worked out that his shoulders were level with the top of the platform that we stood on so when he came over to the edge just his head popped over the top. A young man hurried over to help him up and onto the platform but struggled a few times with his weight so I unconsciously ran over and grabbed his other arm to help hoist him up and out of harm's reach. As we got him half way up there was a loud clang against the tracks and to my astonishment a large silver meat cleaver bounced off of the tracks and into plain sight.

A young woman screamed "Oh my God He has a butcher knife!" We were still holding the man and finished heaving him up onto the platform. I swallowed a dry panic and backed away from him. "I. I dropped something." The man gestured to maybe jump back down onto the rails but the light of the oncoming train was in sight. The young woman spoke again. "No you didn't drop anything, there's nothing there."

The man looked around and then broke into a run away from the platform and up the stairs.

After the train had stopped a few of us went to speak to the operator and the cops showed up to take descriptions. The train was delayed and I had to spend time discussing the events with the police. The cops were rude and impatient.

So the moral of this true story is this. No more mister fucking nice guy good Samaritan help the world save you from yourself bullshit attitude from me anymore. If you want to jump off of a fucking cliff go ahead and do it because who knows what's on your mind and what you will do if I do help you. No not me I don't need a meat cleaver lodged in my scull because I helped pull you off of the subway tracks. If you want to jump be my fucking guest.

A work in progress....

Here is a little rough excerpt from something I have been working on for a few months now. - More details on this later - It is the next project after Mors Volintaria gets put to bed.

I wake up behind the city hall and it feels like a hairbrush is lodged in my back-side. One of my teeth are chipped and both of the palms of my hands are scraped off. There are little stones stuck in the palms of my hands, and dried snot on my face. My mouth tastes like American cigarettes and blood. Every inch of me aches and I begin to wonder what the hell happened to me. How is it that a man of my age can travel this far in life down the wrong path? Didn't I see it coming? Didn't I know that things would turn out this way?

Why did I decide to do this? What did I expect to find out by giving up? I try to stand and slowly push my legs straight. I feel like I could tip over any minute and have to wait for a few seconds to get a little balance. My stomach rolls over on itself and I immediately want to smoke a cigarette regardless of how bad I feel. A half of one flattened on the pavement catches my eye, I work at making it round again, light it.

The smoke thickens my chest and for a few seconds I listen to the robins and the sparrows celebrate the morning. They celebrate the fact that they are still alive, that they have survived the night. The dampness that has stiffened my joints is slowly dissolving and I can feel the warmth of the day starting to sink in. I wretch and heave a few times, careful not to drop my smoke. A long string of mucus and bile ribbons out of my mouth and catches on the side of my face. The birds keep singing and I start to shuffle my feet slowly in the direction of the park. I want to find Amber, maybe get a coffee and shoot the shit with her about the night before. A smile pulls my face back and it feels tight against my scull. All of this pain and still I feel more alive than I ever have.