I imagine that having a pet squirrel would be amazing. Like, wouldn’t it be really ticklish and weird if they climbed all over you? And what if you could train them to grab you small things off the top shelf and stuff? That’d be fantastic.
Just once I’d love to see a corporate entity be openly disgusted with failing to meet their goal for a charity drive. Imagine going on a bus and seeing an ad for a fast food company with a picture of some sad children and something along the lines of: “Whelp, we only raised $5,000 for ________ last year. What a waste of time and effort.”
I was walking around downtown one day while wondering how to advance my career as a foot model. My problem is that I wasn’t getting anywhere near enough exposure. So I took my shoes and socks off. Problem solved.
Someday I will die a heroic death to save someone. As she holds me in her arms, I will tell her “If you see my wife, tell her that I love her,” to which she will reply “It’s me, I’m right here.” “How convenient,” I will say as I breathe my last.
Sometimes people ask me what I’m thinking. Usually I have to struggle to come up with a thought that is relevant because if I shared what was really on my mind it’d become very obvious that I wasn’t paying attention.
I wonder why anybody would get excited over a horse-drawn carriage? Personally I’m not even sure you could look at anything drawn by a horse and have any idea as to what it’s supposed to be.
It took me many, many years to come to grips with the fact that I’m actually a very terrible listener. Despite having passed hearing tests as a teenager with flying colors it was only within the past couple of years that I realized that my problem is actually that I can’t really focus on what any one person is saying. I can get distracted by anything. And I mean anything.
Apparently there’s a webcomic called Poorly Drawn Lines. I get some hits from people looking for that. With that said I get about as many hits from people looking for drawn erotica so maybe I shouldn’t think about it too much. Or maybe I’ve stumbled upon a new niche market I can tap into.
Oh, exciting news! We now have a button maker! One for larger buttons too! I might have a design or two up for sale soon.
As many of us curse ourselves for continuing to write down ‘2012’ on various forms for the next few weeks many more of us will break promises that we have made to ourselves in wake of the new year. Personally I’m going to dread going to the gym since the next six weeks is pretty much the worst time to go ever if you’re already a regular. But I digress.
Then there are those who feel that the concept of New Year’s Resolutions are silly. Why pick that particular time to plan a life change? Shouldn’t you try to improve yourself year-round? Until earlier today I was in that mindset myself.
But then I thought about the things I would like to change in my life. I thought about how I spend too much time on Reddit/other pointless timekillers and less time doing things like socializing or even finishing my massive back log of games/books/albums I’ve yet to listen to. That led into me thinking about how I could probably be a better significant other at times, and from there I started to think about things I could change about myself.
In the shower just now it hit me. New Year’s Resolutions are important because it’s a reminder to sit down and think about our problems rationally and come up with solutions. Even if we generally fail at said solutions many people wouldn’t even attempt them had they not been forced to think about what it is they would want to change in the first place. I felt a little stupid because this way of thinking is exactly the type of thing I was taught is extremely important when I was in therapy for my Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and as such I feel like I should’ve figured this out long, long ago.
So with that said I’m going to attempt to get off the temp train this year (For those who aren’t in the know, I’ve been working a variety of temporary jobs for quite awhile now), try to be more proactive with my hobbies (And spend less time looking at badly captioned photos and live streams of games I don’t even care about [Except for you Jay, there’s always time to hassle you ha ha]), put some effort into making bees interesting again (Instead of copping out and using MS Paint all the time) and stop telling my girlfriend that she’s a poopface all the time.
Or at least do it less frequently. ❤
Speaking of her, she went out last night but left me this little note. She’s kind of the best.
Have you ever done that thing where you go to pull a door handle but you miss with your hand and wind up stumbling backwards instead? It’s fun having to explain to other people in the bathroom that I’m not drunk.
I want to create an animal with the heart of a lion, the spirit of a lion, and the body of a lion . . . Come to think of it, I kind of want a pet lion I guess.
Beatnik is a word that I haven’t seen/heard in a long time. Maybe it’s due for a comeback?
So what are you all up to this weekend?
My mother, sister and myself moved around quite a bit throughout my early years. I spent my preteens in a small farming community and before that I lived in a trailer park for a few years. My teens were spent entirely in one of those tiny fishing villages that Nova Scotia is frequently associated with.
Growing up I never felt at home. Somehow I was a city kid trapped in the countryside despite never having actually lived in a city. The slow paced rural life always bored me, and living in a fishing village with an ever-increasing higher percentage of homes being owned by those who only intended on living there in the summer didn’t exactly help to create any illusions of excitement. Once I turned 18 I set about fixing this as quickly as I could which resulted in me living in a nearby town for a couple of months before moving to The Halifax Regional Municipality.
A year and a half or so at the age of 24 I was living with a couple of friends of mine in Halifax. It was the first time I had lived in a full-sized apartment building with a double-digit number of floors, balconies, shitty superintendents, etc. One day I got off the elevator on the eight floor and was walking down the hallway back to our place when a thought hit me and I stopped dead in my tracks to ponder it aloud.
“Wow. This single building has a larger population than my entire hometown.”
It took me a couple of days to get over that one.
Funnily enough a friend of mine who is from the same village sent me several pictures last night. I’ll start with this mspaint bee straight from my nightmares. Thanks Danny!
– We can eat out or eat in. We could also go out or stay in. But we only work out. Twice as much language goes to things with half as much effort behind them.
– I plugged a cord into a fjord because I was bored. Okay, not really. I just wanted to say that.
– Someday I will have a front row seat at my own concert. When I fail to appear on stage I will then proceed to start a riot.
– I went grocery shopping a long time ago. Now I have to go twice a week or so. It’s becoming a habit.
– Anybody up for planting some time capsules with all sorts of notes detailing completely fake information about how we didn’t have any technology until 1993 when all electronics were introduced to us by people from the future and any advancements since were simply them giving us more details as a social experiment? Sounds like a good first date.
– I was at the bar eating a Snickers bar with my main man Barbar when I noticed I only had one bar left on my phone. My identity was mistaken and I was barred from the bar as I was throw quite far into a car with a single door ajar. I was attacked by a pirate yelling “Yarrr!” and I fought him off with a hearty “Har har.”. The police threw me in jail and now I’m behind a locked door thingie with a lot of steel cylindrical barriers.
– Good friends may kiss your ass from time to time, but best friends will kick your ass when you need it the most.
– If you have room in your purse/shoulder bag (aka ‘Man Purse’) for a grocery bag, do yourself a favour and just huff one in there. You never know when you’ll need to carry a wet object or something. Plus, now that some stores are charging for bags, you can save some nickels this way!
– If you have to proclaim that you’re something, it usually isn’t true. A trait is something that shines through and is seen by other people, not something you proclaim that you have. Nice people don’t have to claim to be as such, calling yourself cool is a sure sign you aren’t, etc. With that said, I’m a freaking global phenomenon.
The following picture was drawn by Adam, the owner of The Last Gamestore in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Check it out if you’re ever in the area: http://www.facebook.com/Lastgamestore
Now what if the water was the land and the land was the water? Play with me here for a minute.
So we have a world. Everything above ground is water. For the sake of imagination let’s pretend we can only breath in water but not without it, the reverse of what we do now. The water fills up all the way to our ozone layer so that our planet covered in seemingly endless water instead of air. But under the ground level there is no water. The oceans are vast spaces of emptiness, lakes are ruts of dry dirt with water hovering above the ground level, etc.
We could swim anywhere above ground level. With enough physical strength one could swim up into the sky. I’m not sure how oxygen levels would work but this could almost be like being able to fly in a sense. Exploration for the normal person would nearly be limitless.
The ocean would be more dangerous than one made of water though. Falling into shallow emptiness wouldn’t be so bad if you could still reach the water and propel yourself back up. But any further and you would surely die. Would climbing lessons replace swimming lessons? Even if one could climb not being near a rock wall would spell certain doom for you seeing as how you wouldn’t be able to swim back up since all the water is up there.
You know that sensation you get when you stop being dry and become wet? What would it feel like if you were wet all the time and then became dry? And if your lungs are accustomed to being filled with fluids what would it feel like when you are suddenly deprived of them? Would it still be like drowning? What would the proper term be?
I imagine landscapes would lose much of their appeal. Something like the Grand Canyon would be much less impressive if you could just freely swim up and down it at will. What new extreme sports would be invented to replace mountain climbing and diving off large cliffs? Would we harness ourselves to the surface and bungee jump into the water-less crevasse below?
This one’s probably going to keep me awake for awhile.
I press on. With one hand under my robe I firmly grasp the neck of a priceless violin. The other I use to hold the robe in a desperate grip, the kind you use to hold a lover for that final moment knowing you won’t see them again for a time that is always too long. I had forgotten why I needed to leave so badly, but it needed to be done.
The dusty trail is all that I have known for quite some time now. I wander and I wonder as I wonder and I wander. Man I love that sentence. The trail seems never-ending. Of course it hasn’t been the same trail for all of this time but that makes no difference in my mind.
Maybe it’s time to stop deluding myself. I know damn well why I had left, and it wasn’t because of the romantic travelling fantasies that I’ve had my entire life. I was running. Running away from things that anyone else could handle with little effort. Or so I’ve been lead to believe anyway. My flair for the dramatic had laid its roots far too deep though, to the point that it was the primary cause of many major life choices.
It was the same old tale you’ve surely heard over and over. Yes, there was a woman. Memories of lying on an open hill watching clouds while my hand found hers for the first time, urging her to play me a song on her bass until she finally caved in and shyly played a jazz solo she wrote, making love while covered only by the light of the moon . . . These things constantly push their way to the forefront of my mind. Sometimes with my consent, sometimes without. Like a passionate kiss from an angry god they always leave me confused and hurt regardless.
Why things fell apart so quickly was beyond me. But alas they did. Disagreements turned into arguments, arguments turned into confrontations and confrontations turned into fights. Then I abandoned it all. Leaving only a spiteful note for her and an apologetic note full of vague explanations for my roommate with enough money to pay for a month’s rent I ran away from my problems. Given my approach it was probably safe to assume that everything was my fault. With that said though that’s my thought pattern towards most things in life.
Pawning off my expensive goods for some quick cash and leaving most of the rest behind out of convenience I departed for nowhere. Aside from clothing all I took with me was a cheap violin. Priceless not because of its monetary value, but because it was my first. You never forget your first love. I did sign the bottom of it though. If that act ever made it more valuable than any instrument made with a high level of craftsmanship . . . Well, it’s a fantasy I have. A common one I’m sure.
Years later and I find myself on a desert cliff somewhere in the great southwest. What makes it so great I’ve yet to experience. This is as good a place as any though. I survey the scenery in front of me. Still can’t decide if these things are better experienced alone or with the company of . . .
A tear forms as I remind myself yet again that the answer to that one is obvious.
With my right hand I cast off the robe behind me in a dramatic fashion. I pull the bow from a sheath I wear on my back over the shoulder. It feels like I’m an archer who just pulled out the arrow that will pierce the target of my desire. Which is excellent because that’s the precise reason I designed the sheath to begin with. Hesitating for a few seconds I take a deep breath and close my eyes as I position the violin on my shoulder . . .
The song I play is a song of my own concoction. A concoction of hope, love, sorrow and regret. I play to an audience of nobody. Even in my craft I strive to hide my innermost feelings from the world in fear of judgement.
After I finish I loosen my arms and let them hang by my sides. My violin gently taps my left calf as tears begin to stream more freely now. I stay like that for what seems like forever before sheathing my bow and re-donning my robe. I leave to go find shelter for the rest of the night.
I will continue doing this until everything makes sense. But by then my old life will be completely gone if it isn’t already. Maybe the only reason I keep this up is because familiarity breeds comfort. I await the day this cycle ends . . .
(Editor’s Note: After finishing this I didn’t feel like sketching a picture, so here’s something I pinned to a poster board on Barrington Street.)