As I sit in the back of the van, listening to the latest release of what could objectively be seen as my favorite artist ever. Having been privileged to hear the sprinklings on both sides of the fence, I know and understand all too much concerning the reality of this death suit. On one side, the sincere praises euphemized. Exasperated. Stifling. Resilient nonetheless. You can rape a purity of all its legitimacy, you can even forget about it entirely. But you will never be able to deny what it is capable of at its best. Inspiration to the bitter end. And on the other side, a commodity draped in all it’s carefully etched business plans. A number, the apex for projections of expenses, supply and demand theorems and the razor sharp wit of marketing execs. that just want to fall in love with something. Nothing feels better than hiding these days.
Farther and farther are we from a time when Hans Zimmer pipes in just at the right time. The heroine rescued, the villain smitten, the sacrificial lamb avenged, our hero, triumphant. Until the first wave of post-pubescent responsibility ridden anxiety crushes every bone in his fairytale world. Bones shatter. Lets not forget how fragile we really are. And how much you really do owe it to yourself to thank god everyday for the strength you’ve been given to get out of bed and say “K... One more try”. Underestimating yourself is the first step to falling apart. Lose faith in what you are capable of, and you’ve lost your grip on reality. Which reminds me. The guy that told me “you create your own reality” needs to be kicked in the mouth by a man wearing a shirt that says “It’s hot out” The sooner we all wake up and realize that everyone sees the same sun rise and we all see the same color of blood gush from buddy’s mouth, the better. That being said, it’s pretty hard to get through to someone who has created their own sense of realism. But really only convicting enough so that they can believe their own horse shit too and don’t look like they’re straight up lying to you as they drag you into bed and use the fuck out of you.
This is my most favorite time of the year. When no matter what time of day or night it is, be in the right place and you can smell fresh cut grass. You can smell life and earth and air. British Columbia is one of the most beautiful places in North America. That is a fact. I’m proud to call it home. A series of fortunate events has occurred and made possible for me to travel a lot more effectively. I’m home more often now. And I’m very happy about that. 2 days off in Regina? Nah, I’ll fly home and meet you guys in Edmonton. Lucky. So Lucky. So Proud. So Something.
I found a turtle. Driving home from the airport about a week ago. It was in the middle of the road. I stopped. Picked it up, put it in my car, and brought it home. It is a Red Slider. It is the biggest Red Slider my Vet has ever seen. It is precisely 12 and a half inches from the front of its shell to the back. This is a big fucking turtle. Instinctively, I named it Ray. It turned out to be a girl, leaving me with the only other obvious choice, Faye. (e is gender specific. Il Vous, Elle Vous, I failed 8th Grade French. Now I stand alone with my stupid English and nothing at all impressive in my back pocket) Faye lives in my garage in a big plastic tub. With a couple rocks and water. Faye is omnivorous. Faye eats red meat. And goldfish! I can’t tell you how excited I was when I first found that out. Immediately I shut out all else that the vet thought necessary to tell me as I stared blank into space and the gears in my bean started to turn. Would I lower the fish down one at a time dangling by a rope? Can I blindfold the fish? Should the fish have a last meal? Then something bright flashed past the window and I lost my train of thought.
*Flash*
Is everything the way you want? Is anything that close to home? Is all we have this pale of grey? Is anything at all for sure? For certain, forsaken, forgotten. Foreclosure on a head and heart who’s lease hasn’t yet expired. That’s communism. Socialism. A freedom prison. Ever wonder if it was possible to free yourself into a nightmare? Make sense of it. How free do you have to be. How liberal, how autonomous must you feel before you start asking yourself “where the fuck did I leave my morals and standards” Just because you can get away with it doesn’t mean you have the right to. We’re starting to forget that what goes up must come down. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. (and in a lot of cases, a bloody rude awakening to boot) Only killers call killing “progress”.
Wet’em up before we jump. Don’t let it get too hot down where it counts. Keep your stick on the ice and your dick in your pants. Keep your hands to yourself and an 8” gap when you dance. No one said NOT fucking like rabbits and overpopulating this already bloated boil we call earth full of half-witted ingrates choc-full of Spike TV goodness would be fun. But it doesn’t have to happen out in the open. Have you ever entered a new city at night time? Shining bright in all its glory. The large, glowing, industrious spearhead. The tipping point. And as you get closer your mind begins to wander and you take a stab at figuring just what type of repulsive evil transpires behind closed doors and shut blinds and dark corners and back rooms and basements. And then you throw up in your mouth and Dan has to pull over and open the trailer so you can get a new shirt out of your suitcase (a result of some vomit that dribbled down your chin and onto your white shirt. You had Thai food for dinner so a khaki curry yellow stain now takes the place of pure white nothingness.) you smile as you look down at the sublime embodiment of what made you so flash flood sick to begin with. Don’t worry about that which starts out big. It’s harmless and quite possibly even a bit retarded. But be wary of small beginnings. Nothing tastes that bad in small sips. Baby steps. Do you know how much butter is in a donut? But diluted just enough and you’ve got your self zitty goodness. So go eat 24 Honey Crullers and then marvel in the apathy surrounding girls, younger and younger, dressing like Saigon whores. HEY DAD! This summer it’s short shorts! Next summer, you’re daughter is going to have AIDS! Choices kids! Oh the choices!
