That doesn't make any sense!

A spark from a fire
That had burned out long ago
It takes eight minutes

The landing is a clean one; as clean a landing as any. The passengers evacuate their seats, carrying their trophy hams. Outside on the tarmac, the welcoming committee awaits. It consists mainly of refurbished Victorian furniture, with a few world war 2 veterans thrown in for good measure. As the passengers leave the massive, winged, SUV, using the provided slip 'n slide apparatus, something strange begins to occur. Rather than welcoming the returning guests home, the committee began shouting obscenities. Being one to take offense, I retaliate with automatic fire from my ar-15. The crowd disperses, the furniture doesn't stand a chance. I mow through rows of antique chairs, dressers, tables. Hours later, I would find out that the cheese did in fact, not belong to anyone. But I digress, I began to reload when I noticed that my goat guide had dipped into my reserve of avalanche honey. I became infuriated at once. It had taken me years to extract the honey from the pores of bears, vacationing in Vienna during the uncle celebrations. I turn my weapon of indiscriminate life giving onto my former friend and ally. The goat returns the favour in kind. A small red line appears under my Canadian spelling. The lacking of any paragraphical formatting also becomes evident to me, as does the use of a word not yet in existence. There we stand, an old Ethiopian stand off. By now the passengers are going through the shreds of fabric and wood that once was their welcoming party; their eyes filled with pastry custard as they grieve. Neither the goat nor I mind any pay to this matter. In fact, the only thing that matters, to the two of us, is the shape of the moon's fast approaching crescent from underneath the matte rug. He blinks. I fire. The act of self preservation, echoed a thousand times over in the splattering of brain matter across the ballroom floor. He has children. I am aware of this fact. The casing evaporates before it hits the ground. I smile and hold up a roll of Mentos to an unseen audience; breaking the fourth wall, only, there is no fourth wall. There is just me. And then there is not.

They see each other
They smile uncontrollably
And they don't know why

God said, let there be _______

In the beginning
God decided to make man
After man made god

Light. That's what he said, and there was light. But at what point did he start saying things like, let there be cancer, rape, greed, genocide, extinction, and all the other fun stuff that makes our planet what it is today? When did god decide to just fuck his creations and instill in them everything that he, himself, did not embody?

What if god had said, let there be jello. Would there really have been jello? Or would the universe utterly reject such a ridiculous demand and nullify his will. Would the universe bend to gods will if god was a woman? Why do humans think that a supreme being would have a sex? Why would something omnipotent have the need for a sex? Let's just say god has a sex. Let's say that sex is female. Would the universe do the bidding of a woman more readily than that of a man? What if, and this is a hypothetical if, god didn't care?

As I understand it, the god that most people believe in has many human flaws. So let's say god is real and did create man. He or she, decided to create this vast universe, then just focus on a small tiny part of it. In this tiny corner of the universe it created a planet that was capable of sustaining life. It did not create any other planets that were capable of such a miracle because it is lazy. Then one day it decides to create life on this one planet that it's focused on. On it, it creates all sorts of life. But like most humans, it loses interest very quickly. After about a couple of years, it just says to hell with it and moves on.

On to what, or where? Who knows, who cares? What if it came back, and told us all it was there, watching over us. Would we accept it with open arms or would we bemoan it's existence because of all the suffering that we must endure? Who even cares.

This is my life, and it's ending one blog entry at a time.

Just a small town girl
Living in a lonely world
Took the midnight train
(Going anywhere)

One more for the road

The grass sways with the passing breeze. The trees form a barrier, barring entry to the natural light at the far end of the valley. She emerges from the darkness and into the valley. Her eyes require a moment to adjust to the light. It had been so long since the suns rays had directly made contact with her retina. The small river passing through the valley beckoned her. She strode across the field, her joints no longer hurting. At the base of the river she ducked her head down and took a drink.

The air around her crackled with anticipation of the coming thunder. She turned back to the forest, a large cloud was looming overhead. She took another drink, stared for a moment the river, that seemed to flow on endlessly, then headed back for the trees. This time she saw the lightning land somewhere among the trees. The thunder that followed didn't startle her though. It was only ever the first that would get her, she could and would adjust quickly.

In the forest she saw him sitting in a small clearing. She hadn't seen him in a very long time but she knew it was him. He didn't move to greet her, she was hesitant to approach him as well. All these years on her own, she'd forgotten what life with others was like. The rain had soaked him to the bone but he dared not move out of it. She refrained from entering the clearing but sat at the edge, still sheltered by the foliage above. They stared at one another. His head dipped but his gaze never left her.

The rain slowed to a drizzle, an acceptable level of wetness for her. She moved beside him and sat down. He lowered his head again, as if ashamed. She moved her face next to his, he smelled just like she remembered. Before they made contact, she woke up.

Huddled in a small corner of a burnt out building, in a nest of soggy cardboard and assorted plastic tarps. She got up, the pain in her joints had returned. Just outside the doorway that no longer housed a door, a grey pool of water was collecting. She took a drink on her way out. She paused in the middle of the street, the ash had started to cover her coat again. Nothing in sight ahead. Before she was able to turn back, a sudden force knocked her down.

A sharp burning sensation rushed through her chest. Blood oozed out of the small hole that had just been created seconds earlier. Numbness overtook her body, the pain in her joints disappeared. She closed her eyes one last time. Maybe she'd see him again.

Believe it or not

Monkeys telling lies
The truth manipulated
No longer the truth

This year is going by so fast, I can't believe it's July. But, I better believe it, because it is. Choosing not to accept a whole truth like that would be very unhealthy for my mind. I might as well refuse to believe that it's going to probably rain a lot this summer. So I do believe it, and I retract that stupid statement. I can't believe I said it. You fucking better believe it.

People use that saying quite often, in such horrible context. I can't believe they made this stupid movie! You better believe they made it, you're watching it. I can't believe people would do something like that. Again, fucking believe it because it happened. I can't believe it's not butter. They're kind of telling that it's not, just accept it and move on. You'll be a happier person if you do so.

So what's with that saying? Where did it originate? Why does no one put any thought into this? Crazy people have one thing in common it seems; and that's that they don't know they're crazy. Would I know if I was crazy? Would you? Where do gorillas go to die? I wish I knew the answer to just one of these questions. For now, let's refuse to accept the truth and go on living our sordid lives. Cheers.

All the more I learn
All the more I realize
That I know nothing

Diminished concern

Muscled men fighting
A blood lusting audience
Sport of the future

The movie is done! Well, shooting is, except for one scene. But there will be a rough cut soon so my two valued readers can see it before it premieres at Cannes. I kid of course, it will premiere at TIFF. Must support my Canadian roots! I do envy the French though, they sound so sophisticated with their almost intangible language. However, I do hate their use of potatoes in the culinary arts. No one's perfect right?

Moving on. KuJect is on it's way! What is KuJect you say? Who told you about KuJect is what I say! Was it Craig? That guy talks too much, he needs to keep his mouth shut. Don't lie, it was Craig wasn't it. Man I'm going to kick his ass when I see him. No? Who as it then? Don't lie to me damnit! Who's Abdul? How the hell does he know about my KuJect? Are you lying? You better not be, we won't be friends, and I mean that. No, I'm fucking serious, if I find out you're lying, we're done. Me and you, it's over. I will erase your number from my phone. Man I just know it's Craig. I'm so going to give him a piece of my mind when I see him. What? I said what? I never said I'd beat him up. You're lying again. Ok, ok, I got to go.

Hmm that was a tad strange, but keep an eye out for KuJect! It's coming and I'm going to keep it all secretive so as to build up anticipation. That's right, the two of you reading this will come and talk to me and ask what KuJect is and I'll pretend like I don't know what you're talking about. But that's neither here nor there. The following is brought to you by KuJect. KuJect, your only choice for feminine care!

I see something, just beyond those goats. I can't quite make out the shape of it's duodenum but I know it's sex is not unlike chess. They move with the grace of turtles of the teenage mutant variety, bobbing and weaving through the traffic of remote control yachts. As one of them nears I realize that I'm enjoying my pudding too much and take a step back to re-examine my life as an oligarch. Without warning it hurls itself at the silverware I had brought with me but missed due to the lack of depth perception my uncles collectively wield. Nevertheless I chose to take precautionary actions and had the sum of all my earnings for the last quarter of 1843 enclosed in a hamlet just south of awesome. It was there that she found me, she found me. Just a little late. Where were you, where were you?

That's enough of that. KuJect!

Pangea was here
We could all have been so close
Can't dwell on the past

Fun, my life!

Kids hail me in songs
I take everyone to school
I'm the bus driver

I wake up. I eat. I do a lot of things. I wish I could do a lot more. But I'm just one person. There are only 24 hours in a day. Were there more, I'd probably end up not doing everything I wanted to. I'd probably complain about there only being 28 hours in a day. What does it matter. The movies delayed again. I feel like strangling someone. Does that make me hostile?

Let's see if I am. I feel like strangling. Pimps often strangle. Prostitutes have pimps. Prostitutes exchange sex for money. Money is the root of all evil. Evil is a human construct. Human constructs become social norms. One social norm is not murdering people. Not murdering people coincides with many religions. Religions have caused countless deaths. Death is a fact, like taxes. Taxes are filed annually. Filing annually is poor organization. Poor organizers can lead to crappy events. Crappy events can lead people to be unsatisfied. Unsatisfied people can get rowdy and hostile. There you have it, I guess I am hostile.

My eyes start to shut
I start to think of my dreams
I can't keep this up

This is the story of a boy

From inside his cell
He broods and plans his escape
The child you once were

Once upon a long ago, there was a boy. Brought into a world he did not understand because of a choice he did not make. Early childhood for him meant lots of drugs. He was constantly sick. He even knew the names of the antibiotics he was taking. Memorized after countless doses. He didn't make very many friends. The ones he did manage to make, he cherished greatly. When you have very little, you appreciate the little you have. He struggled through it all until his teens.

His illnesses faded, he became more socially capable. His childhood, or lack there of, behind him. He started to dream. Of his future, of what could potentially be. No, to him it was what would be. A child in the guise of an adolescent. Delusions of grandeur abound. Years pass, certain dreams had to be abandoned. Each year caused the death of another aspiration. Yet he remained hopeful. He told himself he had to be. His father died before he'd seen a fifth of a century. The world's cold reality shattered his protective bubble. Then he met her.

She made him feel good about everything. He was just happy, simply thinking about her. More years pass. She lets him know she wants offspring. Two sons are produced. Worthy of carrying his name. His father's name. The third child kills her. He never forgives his daughter for a choice she never made. Better it end this way than with resentment in one's heart. Because love fades, it's not forever. But he can't see that. His daughter grows up to hate him because of it. Despite it all she maintains a good relationship with her brothers.

His children no longer children, they move out on their own. He begins to get sick again. This time he has trouble remembering the names of the antibiotics. At times he forgets where he is or how he got there. But he still remembers her and how she made him feel. On his last day in this world he visits her resting place. He can't speak, so he just stands there. Staring at the cold stone slab. That night he lies down in his bed one last time. He thinks of his father. He thinks of the world he knew. He thinks of her. And then he thinks no more. A child, quicker born, quicker bred, quicker dead.

A play in three acts
Only there is no encore
All the world's a stage

Are you kidding me?

People change with time
It's amazing to witness
Life breaks everyone

Juvenility: Ju-ve-nil-i-ty [joo-vuh-nil-i-tee] Noun - 1. An instance of being juvenile.

Juvenile: Ju-ve-nile [joo-vuh-nl, -nahyl] Adjective - 1. Immature; childish; infantile.

I have faith in the human race, dwindling as it may be. I try to love all people. I'm polite and friendly. I show no disrespect until disrespect is shown to me. I try not to judge but it is hard not to form an opinion of people as you interact with them over time. The two are very closely related. The distinction that I make is as follows. Judgments are more concrete than opinions, where as opinions can be swayed and altered more readily. That being said I have many opinions of many people and topics. Not all good, but there are reasons for that, just like there are reasons for the good opinions. I place values on certain information, traits, and actions; I then form opinions based on what I see, hear and read.

Given the above, I value my opinions. They are my own (for the most part). If asked by someone what my opinion on a topic or a certain individual is, I will let them know. Even if it isn't what they necessarily want to hear. There is a remedy to that, however, simply don't ask. I don't go around spouting my opinions where it's not welcome. I don't divulge unless input is requested of me (usually, unless I'm telling a joke, being witty, etc.).

One of my most prevalent opinions is on the topic of hypocrisy. Granted, no one has asked my opinion on hypocrisy as of late, but no one put a gun to your head and forced you to read this either. So here it is, in all its glory. Hypocrisy, that's for fags. That's how faggots do it. Don't complain about people being judgmental. Doing so is casting judgment on those people. That's being a hypocrite. Don't claim certain people are juvenile because of certain actions, but not really confront them about it. Hiding from a problem is far more juvenile than saying a few choice words. That makes you a hypocrite. Don't bemoan friends not living up to standards when you yourself aren't affording them any of the courtesies you are looking for. Communication is key, people can't read minds. That's for hypocrites, and fags, mostly fags.

But that's just my opinion of hypocrisy. It may change. It may not. For instance, an opinion of mine on a person changed recently. It's not the first and certainly not the last. This person was less than amiable even though I was nothing but nice. For the sake of a friend I was nice even though I began to dislike this person. However, this person recently stopped being a douche and opened up a little. Bam, like that I went from not liking this person to being on fairly neutral-to-good terms. That person decided to change, and with them so did my opinion.

My opinion of someone else recently changed from good to not so good. A disappointing event lead to said person's decline. I won't go into specifics, but the point is opinions change. Mine do anyway.

So I maintain that even though I'm not on my walkway, I try to reserve my judgments. But like I said, people look at me and find it hard not to judge. I'm not even on the walkway yet. What happens then?

Just for fun:
Ways to be juvenile - (In no particular order)
1. Don't answer your phone to avoid someone
2. Don't really confront someone about a problem you may have with them
3. Assume that people can read your mind when it comes to the aforementioned problem
4. Call others juvenile
5. Hide from your problems
6. Don't voice your opinion when asked so you feel like you belong
7. Be really agreeable so no one develops a negative or positive opinion of you
8. Don't make eye contact and hope the person you don't like doesn't come talk to you
9. Try to crush someone's fingers when shaking hands
10. Make fun of people with disabilities (Are you kidding me?)

Our sun gives us life
Let's complain about the light
Where's my sunglasses

Delays!

Flexing up on stage
The human body displayed
Witness the fitness

So more filming was done the previous Friday. Some old scenes and some new ones. Saturday was not as good though. Bad weather and problems with the cast created more delays. Every step forward is onto a slippery rock that might not support our weight. This ravine, I must cross it, but it seems to beckon me into her cold, wet arms. If only there was a bridge around. Alas there is not.

I think my thespians are beginning to lose patience and faith. But I have a vision, and confidence. Also, as of tonight, add ambition to that list. I saw a building, mirrored. Twin towers if you will. There was a walkway. Mr. lead me to the building. No way. That's where I want to be. Up in the sky, looking down on a young guy walking down below. Talking to his friends about his short film. Thinking of how great it would be to be up where I am. On this walkway. This walkway that lead me to this building. He'll see me and think, that's where I want to be. On this walkway. Looking down.

But from on high I will reserve judgment. Because who am I to judge? Because I've achieved something in this life that really amounts to nothing if pondered deeply. I will look at people and try not to judge, but they will look at me and find it hard not to judge. But none of this has happened yet. I'm not on the walkway. It hasn't lead me to any buildings. I'm down below looking up. Only, there's no one there. The walkway's empty. Mr. lead me to the building isn't leading anyone anywhere. Then, just like that, they're out of view. Out of sight, out of mind. But I still see that walkway in my head. I'm on it, looking down, but not down upon.

Friday will see the commencement of shooting. I can't wait. This is the first step toward that walkway. The first step that leads me to the building. My walkway waits. Gilbert, Natalie and Maria will facilitate these first steps. I am forever grateful, thespians, walkway et al.

Like strangling a goat
Tone deaf and some rusty pipes
He tries all the same

Movie Magic! Part Deux

Fostering ill will
Bereft of ill gotten gains
Bemoaning ill thoughts

Snag! Unhappy face. The audio for the raw footage is mediocre at best. It seems as though all the filmed scenes will need to be shot again to attain satisfactory quality audio. Still, Saturday is day 2 of the shoot. Let's hope all goes well then and Old Friends progresses rapidly toward completion. Sigh.

Someone said something
But because you were speaking
You did not catch it

Movie Magic!

I yell out action
The thespians get to work
Apes creating art

Day 1: Started off slowly. After some delays, the shooting began around 12 P.M. My actors were so bad but I had to just bite the bullet and get this done. I can ditch them when my genius is acknowledged. I kid, the actors were great and very natural. Filming went very smoothly and nature supplied us with a beautiful day to work with. We managed to finish 8 of the 19 scenes in the film. The finished product should run about 8-10 minutes long; So far I have 45 minutes of raw footage, just to give anyone reading this an idea of what film making is like. In case you didn't already know. I am really excited about getting this done and hopefully into some film festivals. The next day we're filming is Saturday, I'm giddy with anticipation.

Shirts and pants abound
The withering landscape lives
Beyond what we see

Inactivity due to lethargy

I think that, no wait
Maybe we could if only
Or how about, nah

I once saw a man with one hand. I asked him what life was like with one less hand. He told me that it was a handful to deal with. I did not expect him to have such a great sense of humour.

I don't feel like thinking of anything in particular to write about. Here are two amazing quotes from someone I had lost complete faith in until recently.

It's so stupid to kill people. They're so beautiful.

It's hard for me to judge people, and it's hard for them not to judge me.

Please go and watch JCVD. I cannot say enough about this movie.

How quickly we judge
Think of all the injustice
On this pale blue dot

Break a leg

They sing we listen
If only for a moment
Adored and hated

There's a slight apprehension at first. Then she loosens up. They all do. Her voice cracks only slightly, then she comes into her own. The song is hers and hers alone. She really gets into it. At one point she was dancing whilst singing. They all were. Music is a powerful force. If only she'd come out of her shell sooner. The party departs. Silence befalls the room, it waits until the next party arrives. But the deeper the silence, the louder the thunderclap when it's broken.

J.C.V.D., wow
What an amazing movie
Not even a nod

Same planet, different worlds

I land in Holland
I step out of the airport
I see English signs

I go to sleep in Amsterdam. I wake up in Tehran. It almost takes a second to realize I'm still on Earth. Where once I saw many visible ethnicities, I now see one group of people. Where once I saw signs in English, I now see signs in a strange language. Unfortunately that language happens to be my mother tongue. The airport I arrive in is as modern as any, which I wasn't expecting when I started my journey. My initial reception is small, my father's last brother. On our way out we're offered four taxis. It's an hour drive into the city and I start taking in this alien country of mine.

My exposure to the world not Western goes smoothly. I see four men on one motorcycle. I laugh and make a comment. My uncle joins me in my mockery. The following day I'm at my cousins wedding. I can't recall the last time I was surrounded by family members exceeding the single digits. I dance and drink alcohol. My family wanted me to feel at home. The alcohol tastes terrible. But it's not peaches and cream back here anyway. I get drunk in the Islamic Republic. A small act of rebellion perpetrated a thousand times over that night, by countless other revolutionaries. Two days later I get to visit the grave of one of the twelve prophets of Islam. It is here that I try to convince my mother's brother that there is no God. It doesn't go over well.

Back in Tehran by the end of the week, I find one cousin waiting for me. He tells me he's going North to the Caspian Sea, says I should join him. I do. We pay about $20 for a 6 hour taxi ride. This particular taxi driver happens to be a fan of Vin Diesel. I didn't see the speedometer go below 120. Those were the moments he was turning. I arrive alive, my cousin takes me shopping for swim trunks. I express my concerns about removing my shirt because of my tattoos. He reassures me that Iran has progressed. I trust him. I spend that whole week swimming. On the last day, a storm arrives. I swam in the Caspian Sea during a storm.

That night I'm in my grandmother's home. The following morning I endure temperatures that would kill a lesser man. My aunts cook traditional Persian dishes. The lamb is particularly delicious. Hours earlier I witnessed the lamb's murder. There was so much blood. The rest of the week reveals more cousins to meet. I am taken to an oil rig. I see first hand how Iran's powers that be maintain their wealth. On the way back, I get to enter a destroyed Iraqi tank. I also see a white Camel. By the weeks end I know my way around the neighbourhood. On my last night I'm treated to the sound of gunfire in the distance. My family tells me not to worry. I don't.

Week four starts off in a tourist city. My father's army buddy picks us up from the airport. I'm told we'll get to see Persepolis in the days to come. I have trouble sleeping from anticipation. Two days later I bare witness to the labours of men. Real men. Fourty foot pillars carved out of a solid piece of stone. Busts of bulls the size of two men. Dozens of them, all identical, all carved by hand. Archways adorned with harbingers of a God long forgotten. I see two of my three tattoos, etched forever in stone by a civilization long lost. I remove several pieces of stone from the damaged ruins. I hope my ashes can be scattered there.

Midweek I arrive in another city. I get to catch up with a pair of brothers I'd spent my infantile years with. I go shopping for groceries with one. I see fruits and vegetables that look anything but perfect. Genetic engineering can be so easily overlooked. I'm treated to a Persian BBQ that evening. Beef had never tasted so good. The next day I enjoy a hooka with my mother's cousin. She's one year older than I am. I experience my first earthquake. I thought a bomb had gone off.

I return to Tehran for my final week. My cousin and his wife treat me to a night on the town. I enjoy the sights and sounds of the capital. Days later, I enjoy a peach in public, during Ramadan. The reasons for the staring dawns on me. Less than 78 hours later I'm in the airport. My father's remaining brother hugs me. He tells me to come back soon. I bid this strange, beautiful land goodbye. And then I woke up. Just kidding.

The rivers are veins
The land masses are organs
The oceans her heart

And then I woke up

Remembered or not
If only for a moment
It was real to you

I'm in a large garden. There are pillars made of marble adorning the outskirts of the cloister. In the centre is a pool, spanning nearly the entire length of the garden. On either side of the pool are empty chairs, neatly aligned, row by row. I can not discern any way in or out of this garden. There are a few marble steps leading up to a platform where two people stand. As I make my way closer I see that it is my friend and her sister. I climb the steps and join them at the top of the platform but we do not speak. I take a seat on a marble stool. My friend and her sister are conversing with one another. I am able to figure out that her sister is getting married.

There is still no one but the three of us there. I stare at my friend until I have her attention. She doesn't say a word. I look over to her sister but cannot make out her face. Her hair obscures her face at every angle. When I look back at my friend I notice her outfit is different. Still, it's not something one would wear to a wedding. I still refrain from speaking and simply listen. I quickly realise the only one speaking is my friend. What she's saying isn't eliciting any responses from her sister. She turns to me and speaks, but her words are for her sister, not me. I sit there, silent.

I turn around to survey my surroundings; the garden seems to be mirrored on either side of the platform, pool, chairs and all. I turn back to my friend, she's again changed her clothing. It's still however, not something you would wear to a wedding. She's staring at me intently. I say something, she doesn't respond. I look to where her sister was, she's no longer there. I stand up and walk to my friend. She turns and begins walking down the steps I came up moments before. I don't follow her down. She continues on her path, walking past the neat rows of chairs. I return to my stool, when I sit down, she's gone. I am alone in this garden. And then I woke up.

Smiling ear to ear
His work is never complete
A good clown at work

Only when you've lost everything...

I am not my car
I am not my bank account
I am not this blog

Personal identity can be defined in a number of ways. These definitions are rarely agreed upon, as everyone has their own identity; and everyone has their own idea of what their identity is comprised of. However, as unique as each person's identity is, there are many overlapping factors that are universal to just about everyone within a certain demographic.

Take for instance the average North American. The majority of the public places great emphasis on their positions in society, their financial wealth, their material possessions, etc,. A lot of people believe these things define who they are, when it is in fact the individual who gives definition to these things. Your bank account doesn't exist until you open it. Your car doesn't go anywhere until you buy and subsequently drive it. The position in your company is vacant until you, or someone else fills it. You are not the things in your life.

Most people's lives would collapse if all of these things were taken away, and they do. Think of the countless news articles about people killing others and themselves when they lose their job; or, think of the countless people who have made poor financial decisions, how their lives have spiralled out of control until they're either mad or homeless, or both. We've grown to believe that these things are us so much that we simply cannot live without them.

But these things are not us. They do not have meaning until we place meaning upon them. We must learn to see these things for the trivialities that they are. However, to do this, a truly objective mind is required, and that's easier said than done. So try to imagine your life without everything that you think makes your life, your life. Now try to define this new life. If that's too hard to do, go live in a Buddhist retreat for a week, or try living as a homeless person. Because it is only when you have lost everything, that you are free to do anything.

The world needs saving
Not from some external force
Rather from itself

Something happy

Children having fun
Enjoying a summer day
Completely care free

Happiness is fleeting. As a wiser man than I once said "you come, you eat the cookie, you smoke the cigarette, and that's it." It's those small moments, that start to fade almost immediately after they occur, that truly make us happy. Because were those moments more abundant, they would lose their luster.

Just knowing shes there
Can bring a smile to my face
And like that it's gone

One a day

A man died today
The world is none the wiser
His mother's world ends

Just under 300,000 people die everyday. 300,000 out of 7 billion. That's a little shy of .005% of the Earth's population. Worry not though, there are about 1 million births a day. But how obscene a population our species has amassed that 300,000 amounts to less than .01%. I personally haven't seen 300,000 in one place. I don't think I've even seen 300,000 different people throughout my life.

I once read that an asteroid of 1km in diameter would be sufficient to snuff out all life on this planet upon impact. But not all at the same time. The worst case scenario would be if it hit an ocean. Best case scenario would be a mass of land. Either way a lot of people would die right away. The survivors would have to compete for food and survive countless earthquakes, floods and horribly cold weather. Competing for food is fine and all but there is no more sunlight, because the sky is obfuscated by ash, soot, and dust from the impact. No sunlight means no heat, no energy for plants. No heat and no energy for plants means the food chain starts to fall apart.

So now all the plants that animals eat are dead, therefore the animals that we eat are dead. We have stores of food but production would cease. Those stores are finite, and when they run out we would need to find alternatives to survive. After all, everything we do is so we can simply survive for another day. Now, many months after this horrible catastrophe, all the animals and plants are dead. What's left? Humans! Probably lots and lots of humans.

Which brings me to my next point. Not enough research has been done on cannibalism, I feel. We don't know how well our digestive system could handle human flesh. We also don't know the psychological implications of cannibalism. Hopefully we'll never have to know, but it's better to have knowledge and not need it than need it and not have it.

Suggested reading: The Road by Cormac McCarthy

A wind swept valley
That no one has ever seen
Amounts to nothing

Society 2.0

Add me as a friend
Let's write on each others walls
Or you could just call

Facebook has revolutionized the way people interact with one another. Whether it's for the better or for worse, that's up to the individual to decide. It's not just Facebook, either. There is a plethora of websites that specialize in social interaction. They are great tools for networking, keeping track of friends at long distances or even locating people you've lost touch with. Though, as great as it may seem, there are cons to this social networking. This lack of actual face time that's substitued for text and images is detrimental, I feel. We're social animals by nature, and slowly but surely we're removing the animal; and I'm not quite sure what we're replacing it with.

There was a time that if you wanted to get to know someone you met, you got their phone number. Now people exchange Facebook profiles. Even when confronted by social interaction, people avert this interaction back to cyberspace. It seems as though that life on the internet is becoming more and more prevalent than the physical. So much so that younger generations are beginning to speak the way they type. There have been many times that I've heard someone say something witty or funny, and their listener's response was LoL or LMAO. I wonder if they know that they could just laugh and still convey the same message. These people seem to be the minority for now, but so were the first people on Facebook.

If society continues on this way, people will stop being people. They will become their profiles. Their status will eliminate the need to ask how they are doing. Their blog will eliminate the need to ask them what's new. The omnipresence of the internet could completely eliminate the need for that person to even exist.

It is to that end that I predict headstones in the future will have an LED display, not some touching final thoughts from family and friends. The LED will display their Facebook profile. Everyone will write something touching on their wall and mourn from home. But no one will ever go to see it. They'll just check it from home. So maybe they won't even have headstones. Facebook will just change the colour of their wall from blue to grey. It'll save everyone more time, to update their status to 'in mourning'.

It is her first time
He says he will be gentle
He removes her tooth

Dog and the meaning of life

The prayers of many
Unanswered they shall remain
Because no one's there

I love my dog. My dog loves me. Probably more than my dog loves herself. That's a hard concept to wrap my head around. To love a living creature more than you love yourself. I'm sure it will be easier to understand if ever I have children. But for now it's a pretty insane idea. We're not related, we're not even the same species. It goes against every biological predisposition of self preservation and propagation of the species one may have. It's the only real form of altruism I can think of.

Therein lies the meaning of life. In that there is no meaning, other than what you give it. My dog has chosen to make the meaning of her life me. My life's meaning right now is the completion of my education. Beyond that, my life's meaningless. But only because I haven't given it a meaning yet. I'm sure I'll have many ambitions that I'll pursue and many more that I'll dash when the time comes. Those aspirations will add to my personal idea of what my purpose is. However, giving yourself a purpose does not constitute a purpose, per se. Confused yet?

I was too. But not as confused as you are. Trust me. I'll explain. There is a man who once asked someone he was about to kill, to pray to God. He gave his victim to be 30 seconds. If God gave this man a sign, he would refrain from murdering his target. Needless to say, the man doing the praying is no longer with us. The dearly departed must have assigned himself some self imagined purpose. But I can guarantee you that this self conceived meaning was not to hurt his family with his passing, be ridiculed by a psycho moments before his death or be made an example of on a blog. My point is this, if your purpose isn't your purpose, then what is your purpose? Nothing.

I guess what I'm trying to say is I'd like to travel. See the world. The Pyramids (Egypt and Mexico), the Great Wall, the Eiffel tower, etc. Not because they're beautiful, or because I want to have a unique experience. Simply because I want to see these infinitely ambitious Human constructs, as unfathomable as their creation maybe to my simple mind; then ponder their inconsequential insignificance in proportion to the vastness of the universe. Maybe I'll bring my dog.

What the hell is this?
A mole or melanoma?
Goddamn skin cancer!

Brangelinasthesia

Brad and Jen broke up
Brad is with Angelina
Why do people care

As previously mentioned, the world is going to hell. I, as you may have discerned by now, am concerned, to say the least. But when doing my daily rounds of information whoring, I like to take a moment and find out who's banging who in Hollywood. I don't really, but a lot of people do. Chances are someone reading this, is doing so after reading about some Hollywood gossip. Or maybe they'll check out some gossip after reading my blog. Who am I kidding, no one reads this blog. I could be writing white power literature and no one would be the wiser. Come to think of it, I'd probably get more attention if I was writing white power literature. White power.

But that's neither here nor there, or anywhere for that matter. But anywhere there's a will, there's a way. And where there's a way, there's the potential for an obstruction. And that's where Brangelina comes in. The obstruction on the way to spiritual and mental fulfillment in our society is this obsession with celebrities. Their pictures are plastered everywhere. There are countless blogs about their daily lives. We just can't seem to get enough of these crazy, famous, rich people. White power.

But why? Why do we care so much about the lives of these actors, musicians, and other entertainers? Is it because our own lives are so completely devoid of any substance that we not only have to live vicariously through these people when they are performing, but also when they're not as well? Or is this simply a new extreme type of method acting, taking it to the next level. Maybe these people are staying in character all the time, for our sakes. Because deep down inside, they know our lives are empty voids. Or maybe it's the other way around? What if they're mirroring our own absurdity. Only, like any work of fiction, it's exaggerated. White power.

Maybe, just maybe, it's one more sign of our impending doom. Because when our concern lies with who broke up with whom and not with whom invaded whom, then maybe we deserve said doom. That rhymed, I assure you this next one won't. If the doom hammer is coming down, bring on the Brangelinasthesia, because I don't want to feel any of it. White power.

I miss the old days
When the only things picked up
Were toys on the floor

Consensual violence

Two artists at work
Competing for one canvas
But their strokes are strikes

It's 1995. I'm 11 years old. I have pay per view un-scrambler in my home. I turn it on one night and witness men of all shapes and sizes fighting in a cage. The cage is in the shape of an octagon. I fall in love. It's 2004. I'm 20 years old. The ultimate fighter reality show is attracting more people to the sport of MMA. I despise these fake fans. It's 2009. I'm 25 (just shy of that mark). Everyone watches 'Ultimate Fighting'. Strange how things change from being fringe bloodsport to mainstream sporting event. It's even stranger to overhear people talking about MMA at school, movies, work. But they don't talk about MMA. They talk about UFC. They talk about it as if the UFC is MMA. I still despise these fake fans. I no longer have an un-scrambler.

I turn on the tv sometime last year. I see a commercial for Never Back down. I have the urge to vomit. I'm talking to someone I just met about a recent UFC fight. Then I mention that what the UFC is doing may be bad for MMA. He asks what MMA is. I change the subject. I'm talking to someone else of little relevance in my life. The topic of combat sports comes up. I mention that I train Muay Thai and BJJ. His response, like many other people this society over, is I bet you can kick a lot of people's asses huh? I change the subject. I turn on the tv sometime last week. I see a commercial for Fighting. I have the urge to vomit.

I don't think this fad is going away.

Things to say to people wearing UFC shirts/hats:
1. Do you ultimate fight?
2. If yes, you wanna ultimate fight?
3. If no, make up a gym name and tell them you teach UFC, they should stop by.
4. Ask them if GSP could beat Silva.
5. Ask them if Silva could beat GSP.

Ring the in stepping
Be to need I rather or
Confident am I

You can't spell student without stud

They sit in silence
She whispers that she's sorry
His love turns to hate

The world is going to hell, fast. Everyone seems to believe Obama is going to save the world. People everywhere are investing all their hopes in him. The internet is peddling countless 2012 doomsday prophecies. So much so, it's leaked into the mainstream with a new rash of movies about 'the end' (one of which is brilliantly titled, wait for it, 2012). The economy seems to be getting worse because people are speculating, then turning those speculations into actualities by acting on the speculations they themselves made (self fulfilling prophecies are fun). The climate seems to be going through extreme changes as well. It snowed very recently, in the month of April. To top it off, my student loans won't cover my full tuition. Maybe on December 21, 2012, instead of the end, we'll see the end of high prices (possibly a new shopping mall complex).

She moves to his side
He shows her some affection
Her tail starts to wag

Late night musings

How unfortunate
That death should grant us freedom
When it matters least

There is fluoride in your drinking water. This is because a man named Edward Bernays convinced the American (and subsequently Canadian) public that water fluoridation was safe. Edward Bernays was the nephew of the famous Sigmund Freud. He was also the author of a book entitled Propaganda. In Propaganda, Bernays argued that the scientific manipulation of public opinion was necessary to overcome chaos and conflict in society. As you may have guessed by now, Propaganda is essentially the manual for, well, propaganda. Not someone I'd trust the state of my drinking water to. But that's just me.

Fluoride is lethal to humans at certain dosages. It also causes deficiencies in the thyroid glands. Drinking fluoridated water makes and keeps you, to a certain extent, unhealthy. When you are unhealthy you visit doctors, who act as pushers for pharmaceutical companies. The antibiotics they peddle in turn keep you in a state of poor health. Unhealthy people are easier to control than healthy people.

Fluoride, however, is good for your teeth. But it does not require ingestion. A topical treatment will yield similar results. Most European countries do not fluoridate their water supply. Let's all move to Europe.

No longer great apes
They sit in captivity
But they see the bars