Go Ahead And Jump (the not so happy post)

There is something in a Sunday that makes the body feel alone, but today isn't Sunday and I don't feel alone. If I feel anything its crowded. I am standing at the edge of the subway platform at Main Station looking at the black rails and carbon covered garbage. I'm wondering what I'm doing and where I'm going. I'm wondering what the point is, but I don't really know which specific point. So I try to shrug it all off and get lost in my surroundings - right - stay creative, stay distracted, stay focused on something else besides the here and now. Live outside yourself and hope you find what it is you are or, the meaning of "you".

O-Oh, here I go again. It's starting. The open drop and still air of the station seems to help me loose my feeble grip on reality and I start to wonder what it would be like. To - you know - do it. I think that maybe I know what goes through people's heads just before they jump. Maybe it is the same stuff that is in my head. Maybe I am just one instance away from it just like they were; just before they jumped and turned themselves into a knotted rag of flesh and bone. To turn into garbage. To turn everything into nothing in an instant.

The air is always so warm and thick in here with echoes of sour milk. Fuck If I could just puke. The day seemed to be starting out ok - but now all of this. Was it something I ate? Did my over-priced bacon and eggs cause all of this? I wish I could spit them up all over the mosaic tile. Shoot vomit to try and balance out my equilibrium. No I don't want to kill myself and I am sure everyone thinks about it - wonders about it - toys with the sinister thought of it. Let's face it we all have the power. My problem is the aspect of want. No I don't want to kill myself. Why does everyone always want something. I have never met anyone that didn't want. Whether it be love, money, sex, Pepsi, God, or baseball cards. There is no person on this planet that is without want - don't lie to yourself.

The eggs churn in my gut and bile swells up my throat into a bitter acrid palate. I know all of this stuff already. These moments will pass. Just ride the wave. Everything will be alright in the morning. The difference between coping and plummeting into despair is thinking too much. Stop thinking, buy a pack of gum, get a magazine, hurry you need a distraction, you want a distraction. You want. You want. You want.

There must be something to fix this. I must need something. Yes that's it I need to find out what's missing. I need to find out what it is, and then get it.

This is an outfit for sale in a retail store on Spadina Avenue in Toronto (Chinatown). I imagine it would fit a three or four year old male child. I wonder what would possess someone to dress their child in such fine textiles, and furthermore what would motivate a retailer to display it in their window if there was no demand for such an outfit? It looks to me like some sort of concierge or baker outfit - I don't know any pre-school door men do you?

When I'm not dreaming about the demon feral felines from hell I see this image in my unconscious. This child stands at the foot of my bed and is biting my ankles. He takes chunks out, my flesh not unlike an apple's. There is a little drop of blood on his tiny lapel and he smiles as I watch him. He bites off large chunks that free easily. There is no pain. He looks exactly like the photograph. A little man made of clay or flexible plaster. Why does life have to be so creepy all the time?

The Demon Feral Felines From Hell...

It was late and I came out of the bathroom after taking one of the best dumps in my life. One of those after shower all-relaxed ones with a lot of volume. It was then that I saw that The Demon Feral Felines From Hell had overtaken my apartment.

There were too many to count and they all looked exactly the same - like some kind of resident evil throwback to the mid nineties. Zombie cats in my house is almost as traumatic as finding out Debby Travis has shown up and painted your favourite room green. Well actually maybe they are a little worse because they want to eat your face off. There were so many climbing, growling, clawing and The Demon Feral Felines From Hell paced around me in circles and grew in quantity. They were spilling through the windows like pails of orange rags, their four twigged paws thundering on the hardwood. Some hacked and spit up what I thought at first to be furballs but they were live black hairy spiders. The cats lurched and gagged and the spiders dropped out like spitballs and scurried under furniture.

I pissed. I just stood there and pissed. They wanted to eat my face and there were so many of them that the apartment seemed to be warming up. They moved in a wave of glowing eyes and Halloween fur. Each of them looked as if it had been licked by a cow. Their mouths rotted and billowing the stench of death. Their staggering feline ballet. I tried to back away from them but they began to pounce. One perched on my shoulder and held itself there with its talons as it yanked and jerked at my ear. They raked my scalp and pushed their noses into my eye sockets. Sandpaper tongues opening my skin. Cold velvet noses searched for hot blood as I strangled and snapped the necks of as many as I could. The Demon Feral Felines From Hell were getting the best of me and my hands swept to and fro colliding with their quantity in vain. I was sure to die by the claws paws and jaws of The Demon Feral Felines From Hell .

But then I heard a light switch and the scene changed. My wife stood looking at me confused and drawn to all of the racket that I had generated. At her feet were the two of them. The two felines that I knew to be safe. The ones that I slept against and trusted to leave my eyelids in place. The six eyes looked at me in unison and question as I cleared the sand from my own in an attempt to awake quickly. And in an instant I was sure that I saw the glint of hell within the eyes of my own felines and wondered to myself if they too were The Demon Feral Felines From Hell .

Now all of you can post comments without the hassle of having to register so go ahead and comment away - if the spam gets to be too much I am going to change it back so get all you have to say in now.

Introducing - Vikky - our blog mascot.

I am in love with Vikky and that is why I made her the mascot. I don't want any shit about it. From now on without her there is no Blog and what she says goes. Just so you know I am going to let her run the show from now on. I rescued her from some egg and had to put her legs and arms on. It was the polkadot bikini and her little belly that really made me love her more than oxygen and I don't care if you think I am acting like I am 15. This is my shit and you are just here to take a look.













See how cute she is? She tells me secrets and little dirty things that make me blush. Oh I am so ditry! Vikky giggles a lot and eats pink ice pops while she suntans on my router. I keep asking her to take off her top but she says she can't because it is stuck on.
Keep your eyes peeled because Vikky will show up now and again, but only on her terms.

The soap is in the orange jug.

Alright wait a minute I have to open my flask. Good thing brandy goes with coffee.
It's early today - or it seems early here in Toronto. I think in one of my dreams last night someone was hitting me with a baseball bat because I feel sore all over. It must be the weather or something. Maybe after being unemployed for a certain time Mondays even begin to suck when you don't have to go to work? No, no. Don't start. Stay positive. Keep things going like you planned, have another swig of brandy and push on. Oh yeah and by the way that isn't my urine in the toilet. I always flush my garbage, and wash my hands.

So a few things this morning to talk about. The first one is Found Magazine - http://www.foundmagazine.com/ This is a very interesting magazine and I keep wondering if it is all legitimate. They have five printed issues available and a comprehensive website.
I am sure you figured out the premise - collections of found objects and notes to help define our humanity. As one moves through some of the collections you can't help but feel like you are infringing on someone's most intimate secrets. Its a magazine posing as a reality TV show. Have a look at it if you haven't already.
















I took this photo at Pacific Mall - an all Chinese Shopping mall in North Toronto. It seemed the most interesting thing in this washroom, besides all of the gum in the urinals. The washroom was dirty and it smelled like dirty sex organs and shit. There was no paper towel and each urinal had a puddle of urine overspray underneath it so if you were going to take a wiz you had to spread your legs and piss in a stance that made you look like you had grapefruits for testicles. Either that or get piss on your shoes.

Change means shit happens differently.

So I took a few days off, so what. I needed to stop thinking for a while, and besides I had to peddle my white wax coated ass on the street to cover my mortgage this month.

Now all of you can post comments without the hassle of having to register so go ahead and comment away - if the spam gets to be too much I am going to change it back so get all you have to say in now.

I like the dots don't you they make me feel more contemporary, more leading edge.

For the next few posts I am going to be showing you some of my favourite places to shit. I felt the need to share this with the world because I know everyone always chooses there depository destinations with intense thought. And as an aside those of you that will only shit at home well, get some fucking backbone. Grow up and start shitting like a real human being, not like your trapped in the back of your daddies station wagon holding that railroad spike in until you get home - we all know who you are - you are the ones that can't sit still for two seconds.

Yes the first post out of the turnpike and I am talking about defecation - it seems like it is going to be that kind of year. Oh and as a reminder, all of those people that fucked me last year can eat my shit! - and those that didn't well, please ignore the last comment.

So tomorrow is Monday and I have quite a few resolutions set up. You see unlike most people I give myself a week off after January 1 - then I hit the self-deprecating critical phase that brings disappointment and loathing. It seems this year I have a new image of myself. One that entails a pretty severe transformation including the removal of my left thumb. Oh and as a reminder, all of those people that fucked me last year can eat my shit! - and those that didn't well, please ignore the last comment. I bought myself a flask today and filled it with Stock 84 brandy. The flask has a picture of Jesus on it and it says "What wouldn't Jesus do?" Ah shit I know, sorry, I always seem to be on about Jesus and the Virgin Mary - but the flask really does have that on it. So you see I figure each morning or whenever I sit down to write this blog that I bring along my Jesus flask and get a little lubricated. I'll see how it goes. My wife says that she doesn't want live with a drunk so I have to watch it. But I figure I'm safe because it's only a six ounce flask, and I am sure that each time I see Jesus on it's going make me feel guilty.

Most writers are drunks so I figured I would try it out for a few weeks and see what happens. It's an interesting twist on the whole New Years thing don't you think? Kind of like a Leaving Las Vegas type mantra? Oh and as a reminder, all of those people that fucked me last year can eat my shit! - and those that didn't well, please ignore the last comment.