Alpha to Omega

It’s incredible how long some produce can remain relatively intact in your fridge. I’ve had these clementines since just after Christmas and though they’re on the wrinkly side, they don’t smell or anything. I’m a little scared to throw them away because I have a feeling that if I grip them too hard they might explode, or worse, something living might leap out from inside and attack me.

I have a weird relationship with leftovers. I hate being wasteful, but the thought of eating leftover food turns me into a hypochondriac. This means I have a smelly fridge. That box of baking soda has quite a job on its hands. You would not believe how bad old broccoli smells – I wouldn’t believe me either. At one time I had an overwhelming supply of produce, enough to make many healthy meals. Lately though, all of that has gone to waste, since (and I can’t believe I’m admitting this) I’ve been out doing things and have only had time to eat what is commonly referred to as fast food. I couldn’t believe how quickly the general feeling of wellness left my body: almost from the first bite.

And then today, in my mailbox there was a menu for a Chinese food restaurant. And they deliver. So now I’m sitting here eating Chinese noodles and getting grease all over the keyboard. No, not the fat ones, I like the skinny ones.

Also in my mailbox was a flyer for a community pub night. Interesting. That might be entertaining, though not in the traditional way. I live in one of those funny little communities that act like there isn’t a city of over a million people surrounding it. And it really is surrounding it – it’s just outside of downtown. But, given the vicinity to civilization/distance from suburbia, calm and scenic streets and my charming little house, I don’t so much mind being the only person living here who would paint their walls red or have a smelly fridge.

Great, now that I have your attention, so do Liberals.

Due to the proliferation of repetitive arguments highlighting why such and such party is better than such and such party and the widespread use of the colours red and blue, I’ve decided to be innovative and attempt to play peacemaker. I expect that you will all listen honestly and respectfully and not resort to provocation and/or name-calling.

Firstly, Conservatives, this is why Liberals hate you:

1. If you haven’t had everything handed to you on a silver platter, you’re probably one of those tiresome rags to riches stories and you figure everyone should be able to do the same. Well, hardass, I have news for you – some people are REALLY DUMB. And yes, I know, you believe we need to cleanse the gene pool and whatnot, but that brings me to number two…

2. I know you think you’re better and more deserving of the things the Social Contract outlines, but let’s face it – some of you have your Christian values, which supposedly say that everyone is equal (not to mention the whole charity bit) and some of you believe in Social Darwinism, (aka: Evolution, aka: We were all spawned from the same freaky single celled organism) - they don’t really mesh, do they?

3. When you try to be PC, you just end up offending people. Just say what you mean for once ok? ‘Persons of the coloured persuasion’ is NOT politically correct.

4. Despite the fact that corporations don’t physically have penises, they DO like to fuck people in the ass. Liberals really don’t like that you support these giant dicks – makes them feel all icky.

5. You like to brag to other countries about the rich cultural fabric of your country and dress them up in cowboy gear, but you don’t like to fund cultural things like the arts. Where the hell is the sense in that?

6. You won’t take Howard Dean…please, take him, he’s yours.

Your turn Liberals:

1. Throwing money at things doesn’t fix them. It’s about time you learned about the concept of efficiency, aka: guess what cokeheads spend money on?

2. You like to trap conservatives with accusations of –isms when they use the ‘incorrect’ terminology.

3. Some people are truly lazy – why do these people deserve things and why should I have to pay for it? This is a genuine question and yet you always roll your eyes!

4. You aren’t very creative when coming up with slogans for your picket signs…’Support Gay Marriage’? Come on – controversy gets results – it should say ‘Support Fags’ and then have a giant picture of David Hasslehoff in a speedo.

5. Three words: Bleeding Heart Bitches

It seems like a strange observation, but anytime I remember an event, I always seem to have been staring out the window.

When M lived in his basement flat there were these great windows that went across the length of the living room and kitchen. The windows themselves slid around in a frame the colour of oxidized metal behind an aged and dusty Venetian blind that was visibly covered in kitchen grease. What was so great was you could sit at the kitchen table and smoke a cigarette and the window would be at eye level, with the grass and the ground and the flowerbed just below it. So the smell, in the spring and summer, was incredible. And because it was near 4 St. there was that busy street noise that makes some people nervous but turns me into a romantic. I found it so relaxing, that I would spend entire evenings in front of the window drinking wine – and we would talk about various unimportant things that were probably trivial and will always remain so because I cannot remember what they were.

And the thing I remember most about another person is that there was this Indian restaurant next door and when it was dark there was a red glow from the sign that would cascade softly through the room and hold you in the warmth of its colour. The room was comfortable because of the window and I would sit up naked in bed and rest my head on the sill and stare out at the traffic below. One day when I came over there were two wine glasses sitting on the windowsill stained with the remnants of the black bottle next to them - a good choice in the way of inexpensive red. Then I forgot what the room looked like and now I only remember what the view from the window looked like. It makes me wonder if I was ever really there.

Human interaction is comedy enough. If you were able to sit, invisibly, in the same coffee shop until the end of time, you would have enough entertainment to keep you occupied. There isn’t much need for television or books if you really open your eyes. That man across from you, for instance, with the laugh (gu-faw! guuuuh-faw!); that laugh has no place in reality, only in a sit-com or a cartoon. His companion sits spouting various tidbits of knowledge in a belittling, sage-like fashion. You catch snippets of the conversation and wish you had a tape recorder. You pretend to focus on the book you’re reading, but keep returning to the bizarre interaction.

“But what most people don’t realise, what no one realises but a select few people, is that everything known to man – the…the sphinx, aliens, Atlantis, all of that stuff that they make TV shows about and ask about – it’s all already known to us. We know these things, our bodies know because we inherit it. Where do we inherit it from? All those people who are our ancestors! Who were there when it happened! And you know what the best part is? You know where we store all that stuff?”
“Unconscious”
“Yes, but where is that?”
“Brain?”
He leans over and whispers, as if in protection of a divine secret “No, no…our livers”
“Liver?”
“Yes…the liver is the only organ in the body that can regenerate itself. I mean – you cut off part of your liver, it grows back – but that’s all science. The thing that’s science’s lost is the association with nature. That’s what hippocratus was on about when he said that temperaments were caused by bile production – he knew it! The liver is the seat of the soul! And science has just totally ignored everything he said and now the liver is just another organ. Well, you can’t live without a liver – and why do you think liver cancer is the most painful of all cancers? And liver is like the healthiest meat…vegetarians have it wrong too. And that is why people have lost all the knowledge that they had…because they aren’t in touch with their livers anymore!”
“Liver…”
“And the liver is a major player in what process?”
“Bile?”
“Getting rid of waste”
“Digestion”
“Most people are uncomfortable about their waste. They shouldn’t be if their bodies are healthy…getting rid of waste should be a spiritual experience! The one place it doesn’t occur to people to put a shrine is that place that they should – their bathrooms! Ha haa ha”
“gu-faw! guuuuh-faw!”
“But, yeah, as I was saying…”
“Yeah…”
“All this stuff is already known, so all we have to do is get in touch with it. I just came to this realisation a few years ago, but I’m really perceptive. I have this special…I guess talent, but that isn’t really accurate…I’m just really perceptive…but there are guys, the real guys, the ones who are so enlightened they go up away from everyone and have no telecommunications. This one guy I know, he lives on an island way out past Hawaii. There’s hardly any people on that island, only the natives and they all live with him on his complex. These guys have never seen white people…this is a private island, outsiders aren’t welcome, it’s invite only. And you know who the only white guy I know of to be invited?”
At this point he makes a ridiculous face and points at himself with his thumb.

Enough.

I've been writing today and I am basking in my love of sentence fragments and semi-colons...

In other news, Arthur Miller died today. I know that when someone dies we're supposed to say things like "oh, that's too bad...etc." but it really isn't. The man lived a full life and produced works that have left us indebted to him. I think I'm going to aim to achieve that kind of nobility from now on, not for fame mind you, just for that feeling you get when you've expressed yourself perfectly through art...

Subtlety is lost on a blog, I think. No one seems to get it.

The reason for this is, of course, that one doesn’t devote the kind of attention to reading a blog that they would to reading a novel. Even then, if the novel is pulp, or something that simply helps the time pass without the annoying burden of having to experience it, I suppose one could miss subtlety and/or meaning and/or symbolism. Or sarcasm. That one gets missed more than all the others combined.

That these things are lost on those who read blogs, mine in particular, is rather discouraging. I don’t know how the rest of the people blogging out there feel about it, but I’m rather sick of transparent symbolism and formulaic stories about all the traditionally heart-warming things that I’m supposed to value. Like puppies. Well, Fuck Puppies. (And, THAT, ladies and gentlemen, morons and fools, was what we call Sarcasm. What that means, is that I don’t actually fuck puppies or want them to die).

I should actually say that I used to get discouraged. Now, I realise that it is the medium and not myself or even my audience that is at fault (even though I am guilty of that tedious kind of writing that you can’t take literally, that you have to pay attention to). Because of this, I’ve been doing a lot more of what I call my Real Writing lately. I know you will all forgive delays in updating the site, as you have to have grown wearily used to them by now.

Also, there will be an upcoming improvement to the visual aspect of the site. I’m looking forward to distracting those of you who don’t give a fuck about the actual words in a blog with bright flashing lights and pretty colours (epileptics beware).

So people do change. Though I suppose in this case it’s not really a change at all, more like an overly concentrated version of what I’d always known you were destined to become.

I remember seeing you a while ago and involving myself in discomfort and various dramatic prostrations. There is no reason for that. The pure joy I felt in looking at you without judgement, without complexity, without personal involvement, without intimacy, was unspeakable. I know now that I had never really seen you. And the accuracy and unbiased nature of your reflection was a completely accurate reflection of that person whom I used to be. It only lasted a moment, and then I returned to my surprise at the degree to which you have changed. You had that same expression on your face. The one that you believe prevents anyone and anything from touching you, the one I used to be so attracted to. Only now, it looks harder for you to focus on. Something in your eyes, in your gaunt body and in the way you touch your face a little too much, tells me that you have upgraded your habits to something more serious, more concentrated and better at blocking everything out. Something about the way you’re dressing now makes me reflect with some astonishment that you have lost some innocence that I had never seen in you before. You were always an opportunist, a horrible coveter of purity and joy and my naïve imagined love, but at least your eyes had a kind of sparkle that has now been completely lost. And though I write that spelling out a faint semblance of anger and bitterness, I don’t really feel it. I just know that it is. And it isn’t bad or good or shameful, it just is. I know that the person I see before me doesn’t really exist.

And you’re in a coffee shop and you’re drinking coffee. And I remember one of the first things you ever said to me: “I fucking hate coffee shops and I fucking hate coffee. It’s so pretentious.”