There I said it.
I've been so afraid of identifying for so long, for fear that I will lose that which I identify with that I will be seen as ridiculous, that I am not what I say I am.
I give up on that. It isn't an ego thing, I don't care how I'm seen,
I care about how I see.
I am superstitious though to say I am something than have something happen that takes it away or ruins it or the idea itself falls apart.
I give up on that too. I am not responsible for the outcome, I am only responsible for the moment.
For the moment, I feel like a runner.
Since I properly started tracking my runs on August 30th, I started to get more motivated, more excited, more dedicated to running, to improving myself through running. Any chance I got I craved going for a run. I sought out sweat.
And I began to change. I started to care about running and then I started to care more about myself through my own eyes instead of the perceived eyes of the world around me. I thought of running when I woke up, desperate to come home from work, lace up and scamper off for a run. I went to bed thinking of my run that day or if I hadn't run that day, then thinking of the next time I could run. I thought of ways to overcome rather than allow myself be overcome. I felt like pushing and pushing.
I started running a couple of years ago but would make excuses (too hot or too cold, too tired or too excited, too much pain or not challenging enough) and often shortchanged myself of a run but most importantly shortchanging myself of my own willingness to pursue something, anything, with any modicum of eagerness and desire.
So when I started tracking myself properly I started to care about the pursuit of sweat. It became easier as I saw progress and distance to know I was actually accomplishing something I had wanted to do for so long: running.
Yet I was still scared, embarrassed, shy and self-conscious of calling myself a runner.
Then on Novmber 30th I went over the 400km mark. 3 months, 400 km run.
and that did it. I saw that, saw the distance covered, saw the amount of time spent and days dedicated to running, and I knew.
I am a runner.
I still can't sort out all of my problems, I still haven't fully quit smoking cigarettes or gained the amount of self acceptance and self reliance I know is necessary for me to leap forward, but it is getting there. The desire to run,
to listen to music and feel my feet carry me,
to feel the winter on my skin, to feel the summer in my bones, to breathe spring and fall,
to feel movement over pavement
to see the skyline over the bridge and claim the city
with every drop of sweat and every single step
I am a Runner.
-s
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
The weather report (free concerts)
Jamming the city for a 45 minute jam, isn't this how all street closures should work?
In the shadow of memory, where fences stood a short while ago
we danced
in the humidity of the day
we danced
we dripped and let our souls free on a wednesday night
in the middle of everything we danced
We walked and talked of many things
how to quit, how to say yes, why no is never possible
the rebellion in our hearts leading us to foolish things
for mere seconds to quiet the sighs and longings of our hearts
we walked along grand streets as the day folded
feeling grand and lovely ourselves
always still striving to answer to ourselves
it is still the city that elicits us,
it is still our city
In the shadow of memory, where fences stood a short while ago
we danced
in the humidity of the day
we danced
we dripped and let our souls free on a wednesday night
in the middle of everything we danced
We walked and talked of many things
how to quit, how to say yes, why no is never possible
the rebellion in our hearts leading us to foolish things
for mere seconds to quiet the sighs and longings of our hearts
we walked along grand streets as the day folded
feeling grand and lovely ourselves
always still striving to answer to ourselves
it is still the city that elicits us,
it is still our city
Monday, June 28, 2010
As long as my eyes are open, I am a witness
http://www.flickr.com/photos/rebelution/sets/72157624375306044/
Sunday, June 27, 2010
The Rape of Liberty
What happened today at Queen and Spadina was nothing short of an atrocity, was nothing short of our liberty being raped. There was no violence today anywhere, the black bloc was nowhere to be seen today. Only peaceful protests. Only peaceful protests.
One such protest, again peaceful was quickly surrounded and cornered. They were told to leave and provided with no exits. The crowd sang Oh Canada and when they were finished had riot police charge them The protesters were quickly arrested and removed and any common people were passing by, watching or simple private citizens were detained, for hours, in the pouring rain, not told what they were being charged with. Even media were detained, CTV's Lisa Laflamme's cameraman was detained for filming the protests at Queen and Spadina until Lisa yelled and screamed and got him free.
The police eventually were emabarassed into letting innocent people go free. Yes read that again.
Toronto? Canada?
It doesn't seem like that anymore.
Numerous reports of detainee conditions at the Film Studio Makeshit Jail.
People being held without access to lawyers, without being told they are being charged. Women have to use their in cell bathrooms in full view of male police officers, being left without toilet paper, without access to medication, having cops laugh at them. Being detained for over twenty hours at times in cold, with little water, food at (just sandwiches) at 9 hour intervals. Their cells were cages bolted to the ground.
If you read the above paragraph alone, where would you think we were, where would you believe this had happened.
It happened in Canada.
It happened in a once free city.
It happened in Toronto.
It is something we will not soon forget.
-s
One such protest, again peaceful was quickly surrounded and cornered. They were told to leave and provided with no exits. The crowd sang Oh Canada and when they were finished had riot police charge them The protesters were quickly arrested and removed and any common people were passing by, watching or simple private citizens were detained, for hours, in the pouring rain, not told what they were being charged with. Even media were detained, CTV's Lisa Laflamme's cameraman was detained for filming the protests at Queen and Spadina until Lisa yelled and screamed and got him free.
The police eventually were emabarassed into letting innocent people go free. Yes read that again.
Toronto? Canada?
It doesn't seem like that anymore.
Numerous reports of detainee conditions at the Film Studio Makeshit Jail.
People being held without access to lawyers, without being told they are being charged. Women have to use their in cell bathrooms in full view of male police officers, being left without toilet paper, without access to medication, having cops laugh at them. Being detained for over twenty hours at times in cold, with little water, food at (just sandwiches) at 9 hour intervals. Their cells were cages bolted to the ground.
If you read the above paragraph alone, where would you think we were, where would you believe this had happened.
It happened in Canada.
It happened in a once free city.
It happened in Toronto.
It is something we will not soon forget.
-s
The Day My City Died.
I was there yesterday as a witness to the murder of democracy.
I was there.
It was a day I will not soon forget, it was a day that broke my heart.
Perhaps the pouring rain at the outset of the protest was a sign of things to come.
The day began innocently enough, many of us gathered to air our grievances, to add our voices and stand together against the injustices we see in this world. We gathered to protest the policies of a few rich nations deciding the course the lives of many would take and under what terms those lives had a right to exist. We were there to voice our opposition to policies that favour massive bailouts of banks and multinationals on the backs of oppressed peoples and workers. As we began to march, the skies opened, the rain stopped and for a moment the mood changed to one of jubilation. Perhaps it was a sign that the day would go well...
It was not to be.
The mood of soured quite quickly. Sure enough, the black bloc and and their sympathizers hijacked the message of peace and began a campaign of vandalism and violence, easily eradicating any ground the people could have gained in their peaceful protest.
It did not however start there. No. It began when during the march, batallions of Riot Police lined the streets, blocking intersections, wielding shields batons and semi-automatic plastic bullet guns. It continued when we approached intersections such as Richmond and Spadina and cops began donning gas masks and bringing in reinforcements to deal with crowds of peaceful protesters.
"We are peaceful, what are you?"
I still hear our chants ringing in my head.
It continued when police left decoy vehicles for renegade individuals to smash and torch to justify an absurd security budget, for tv cameras to broadcast the wanton destructive turn the protests had taken.
Most of us were peaceful. Yet with blanket hubris, the police soon decided that all protesters were dangerous.
It was then the bullying began. It was then the the intimidation began. Wholesale.
Back at Queens Park, the police hemmed us in to the once place we were told we could protest in peace. 4000 riot police gathered and surrounded the park. Row upon row of black clad riot police stood at the ready and slowly began to advance on the crowd, flanking us. Beating a staccato rhythm on their shields with their batons they inched forwards chanting "MOVE, MOVE, MOVE, MOVE," pushing us back. We yelled, "where are we to go? This was where you told us to be, we are moving stop intimidating us," but they kept advancing, their lines getting deeper, their forces continuing to flank us at every opportunity. The police then began to pick certain people out of the crowd of peaceful protesters. The ranks of the riot police line would swiftly open, a few cops would run out, grab a protester, tie their hands and drag them back behind police lines.
"That is what democracy looks like."
I can still hear our chants ringing in my head.
They did this repoeatedly. I had never been so terrified in my life, my thighs and kness would quake each time they beat their batons and moved forward. They began then to rush forward, forcing the crowd to flee backwards, then stop, then inch forward, open grab a protester, then stop, then inch forward, rush at us, then stop. My heart pounded. We were peaceful, when they not asked but demanded we move back, we complied and they kept coming at us. Then they began to fire plastic bullets into the crowd.
I heard Chief Blair say no bullets were fired, he said it with such a straight face, for a moment I though perhaps I had imagined the whole thing. He lied. He was not there, I was. I saw someone beside get shot, hold his inner thigh in pain and curse, "what the hell are you shooting me for, I'm moving back!" There were cops with plastic bullet guns, headsets picking out targets, getting information on who and when to shoot and as the police advanced and we back up, they would fire, then rush us. We in absurd irony were pushed back past the statue of William Lyon Mackenzie at Queens Park and the placard adorning the foot of the monument hailing Mackenzie's efforts and dream of responsible government. They continued to push, more and more police officers rushing in and surrounding us.
Then they brought their horses. Riot police created a line in front of the police on steeds, would bang loudly on their shields and yell "MOVE" and we would move. In honour of our compliance they opened up their middle and the had their horse police charge at us, over and over moving us back then opening up and rushing horses at us, pushing us further and further back. People would fall and the police would not let up. They pushed us to bloor street, to the west side of Varsity Stadium, stood for some time, some smirking, some saying "the fun's over come back tomorrow," before heading into a bus and laving for other parts of downtown.
I was and am still mortified at how with such impunity, such disregard for the legal right to assembly adn freedom to associate and protest they came at us as if all who wanted to have their voices heard were criminals to be silenced, chopped off at the knees and tongues.
"Shame, Shame, Shame."
"The Whole World Is Watching."
I can still hear our chants ringing in my head.
As I reflected last night and this morning, I mourn for my country, mourn for my city. The police, surely have a job to do, to keep the peace, to protect the citizenry from harm and malicious intent of the few. How this was achieved and if this was I cannot say. What I do know however, what I do believe however is quite different. In five star hotels among five star meals, leaders of the richest nations, some with human rights abuses that curdle the spirit of any man and woman are invited to our country, our city to sign off of treaties that have little transparency, no accountablity in providing the vulnerable of this world with the basics of shelter, water, freedom from hunger adn freedom of choice. These pledges are done with caveats of behaviour and reform that governments of poor nations must endorse or their people suffer. The police then are that line that protect and help reinforce those policies. Rather than protect those who pay them those who need them, rather than allow speech to be fair, for speech to document the abuses humanity is enduring at the hands of the few, they push us back, they charge at us, they beat their batons to the song of murder and choke our voices. They did it so easily, without a second thought, they came at their own neighbours, brothers and sisters and fellow citizens with a disdain and disregard that will haunt me the rest of my days. So many times the police outnumbered us and continued to increase their ranks and push us back and back and back and back.
Yesterday I saw my city crumble under the boot of oppression that the many who live in this place had once fled from. I saw my city die, her bloody lips in protest leaving streaks of red on the pavement where she fell.
When those who wish to speak in peace and assemble peacefully are so forcefully, it is that moment when democracy begins to die, it is then that ALL of our civil liberties are are burned to the wind, it then that we are no longer free.
"This is what a police state looks like."
I will never forget our chants that continue to ring through my head.
I was there.
It was a day I will not soon forget, it was a day that broke my heart.
Perhaps the pouring rain at the outset of the protest was a sign of things to come.
The day began innocently enough, many of us gathered to air our grievances, to add our voices and stand together against the injustices we see in this world. We gathered to protest the policies of a few rich nations deciding the course the lives of many would take and under what terms those lives had a right to exist. We were there to voice our opposition to policies that favour massive bailouts of banks and multinationals on the backs of oppressed peoples and workers. As we began to march, the skies opened, the rain stopped and for a moment the mood changed to one of jubilation. Perhaps it was a sign that the day would go well...
It was not to be.
The mood of soured quite quickly. Sure enough, the black bloc and and their sympathizers hijacked the message of peace and began a campaign of vandalism and violence, easily eradicating any ground the people could have gained in their peaceful protest.
It did not however start there. No. It began when during the march, batallions of Riot Police lined the streets, blocking intersections, wielding shields batons and semi-automatic plastic bullet guns. It continued when we approached intersections such as Richmond and Spadina and cops began donning gas masks and bringing in reinforcements to deal with crowds of peaceful protesters.
"We are peaceful, what are you?"
I still hear our chants ringing in my head.
It continued when police left decoy vehicles for renegade individuals to smash and torch to justify an absurd security budget, for tv cameras to broadcast the wanton destructive turn the protests had taken.
Most of us were peaceful. Yet with blanket hubris, the police soon decided that all protesters were dangerous.
It was then the bullying began. It was then the the intimidation began. Wholesale.
Back at Queens Park, the police hemmed us in to the once place we were told we could protest in peace. 4000 riot police gathered and surrounded the park. Row upon row of black clad riot police stood at the ready and slowly began to advance on the crowd, flanking us. Beating a staccato rhythm on their shields with their batons they inched forwards chanting "MOVE, MOVE, MOVE, MOVE," pushing us back. We yelled, "where are we to go? This was where you told us to be, we are moving stop intimidating us," but they kept advancing, their lines getting deeper, their forces continuing to flank us at every opportunity. The police then began to pick certain people out of the crowd of peaceful protesters. The ranks of the riot police line would swiftly open, a few cops would run out, grab a protester, tie their hands and drag them back behind police lines.
"That is what democracy looks like."
I can still hear our chants ringing in my head.
They did this repoeatedly. I had never been so terrified in my life, my thighs and kness would quake each time they beat their batons and moved forward. They began then to rush forward, forcing the crowd to flee backwards, then stop, then inch forward, open grab a protester, then stop, then inch forward, rush at us, then stop. My heart pounded. We were peaceful, when they not asked but demanded we move back, we complied and they kept coming at us. Then they began to fire plastic bullets into the crowd.
I heard Chief Blair say no bullets were fired, he said it with such a straight face, for a moment I though perhaps I had imagined the whole thing. He lied. He was not there, I was. I saw someone beside get shot, hold his inner thigh in pain and curse, "what the hell are you shooting me for, I'm moving back!" There were cops with plastic bullet guns, headsets picking out targets, getting information on who and when to shoot and as the police advanced and we back up, they would fire, then rush us. We in absurd irony were pushed back past the statue of William Lyon Mackenzie at Queens Park and the placard adorning the foot of the monument hailing Mackenzie's efforts and dream of responsible government. They continued to push, more and more police officers rushing in and surrounding us.
Then they brought their horses. Riot police created a line in front of the police on steeds, would bang loudly on their shields and yell "MOVE" and we would move. In honour of our compliance they opened up their middle and the had their horse police charge at us, over and over moving us back then opening up and rushing horses at us, pushing us further and further back. People would fall and the police would not let up. They pushed us to bloor street, to the west side of Varsity Stadium, stood for some time, some smirking, some saying "the fun's over come back tomorrow," before heading into a bus and laving for other parts of downtown.
I was and am still mortified at how with such impunity, such disregard for the legal right to assembly adn freedom to associate and protest they came at us as if all who wanted to have their voices heard were criminals to be silenced, chopped off at the knees and tongues.
"Shame, Shame, Shame."
"The Whole World Is Watching."
I can still hear our chants ringing in my head.
As I reflected last night and this morning, I mourn for my country, mourn for my city. The police, surely have a job to do, to keep the peace, to protect the citizenry from harm and malicious intent of the few. How this was achieved and if this was I cannot say. What I do know however, what I do believe however is quite different. In five star hotels among five star meals, leaders of the richest nations, some with human rights abuses that curdle the spirit of any man and woman are invited to our country, our city to sign off of treaties that have little transparency, no accountablity in providing the vulnerable of this world with the basics of shelter, water, freedom from hunger adn freedom of choice. These pledges are done with caveats of behaviour and reform that governments of poor nations must endorse or their people suffer. The police then are that line that protect and help reinforce those policies. Rather than protect those who pay them those who need them, rather than allow speech to be fair, for speech to document the abuses humanity is enduring at the hands of the few, they push us back, they charge at us, they beat their batons to the song of murder and choke our voices. They did it so easily, without a second thought, they came at their own neighbours, brothers and sisters and fellow citizens with a disdain and disregard that will haunt me the rest of my days. So many times the police outnumbered us and continued to increase their ranks and push us back and back and back and back.
Yesterday I saw my city crumble under the boot of oppression that the many who live in this place had once fled from. I saw my city die, her bloody lips in protest leaving streaks of red on the pavement where she fell.
When those who wish to speak in peace and assemble peacefully are so forcefully, it is that moment when democracy begins to die, it is then that ALL of our civil liberties are are burned to the wind, it then that we are no longer free.
"This is what a police state looks like."
I will never forget our chants that continue to ring through my head.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Free City?
Last Friday, a week before these infamous summits, Em and I went downtown to see and photograph the fence.
It was so incredibly eerie and disarming to see these fences near completion, erect and like an absurd taunt to the people in this city. It was the weekend of NXNE, and so many people it seemed were downtown, enjoying the Friday night seemlingly oblivious of the atrocity nd irony of smiling behind fences. What was in their hearts however, I do not profess to know, nor can safely judge. In the heart of downtown, as the sun was setting and the evening settling in, I swear to you it felt like we were under occupation.
One week later, it seems we are.
Today the protests started in earnest. Battalions of police are in Toronto, fully regaled in riot gear, shields, masks, batons at the ready. They have buses full of police, helicopters flying overhead. About one month ago the province quietly ushered in an old police law allowing them these wicked powers of detainment and arrest. We cannot even move in certain parts of our city without being subject to search and identification.
This was once a free country and a free place.
Though I am not here to argue that security has no place. There have been similar protests before but none with such an incredible presence of law enforcement dressed for combat.
I was thinking earlier today about the nature of the police and i thought this - It is we who share with the world knowledge, dialogue, spirit, assistance and friendship that are the true police of this city and at the large this world. Only though peaceful dialogue with one another can we achieve a better place for humanity. This does not mean that agitation is out removed from the equation. Far from it. Non-Violent Civil Disobedience, the right to march and be heard, freedom of assembly, freedom to disent, freedom of movement are essential cornerstones of any democracy and should be protected and honoured by all. How exactly then does a peace officer protect the peace behind shields, armed and ready to fire upon their own brother and sister citizens on command? No, they are not peace officers, they are not police officers, they are that line that protects the status quo. They are the army of governments, who in the name of their people spill blood and turn as their backs as the poor die in cycles of violence and poverty.
The G8 and G20 are insolent gatherings of government delegations making odes to murder and impoverishment of the most vulnerable of our planet.
Tomorrow they come to my city. Tomorrow I march. I march for peace, for humanity, for the protection of our planet, an end to corporatism, poverty, I march for clean water to be given to all, for food to be provided for our hungry, housing for our homeless, support and choice for our women. We are not marching so governments can erect blanket jingoistic policies based on fleeting moralities so the most needy must conform to standards and beg for assistance. Most of all we march because the few, the rich few should never be able to decide course of life for the many. The few should never be able to dictate how the many shall live and survive.
Follow me tomorrow on twitter - Freecitycitizen
for now here are some pics the evening one week before the summits began.
Freecity?
It was so incredibly eerie and disarming to see these fences near completion, erect and like an absurd taunt to the people in this city. It was the weekend of NXNE, and so many people it seemed were downtown, enjoying the Friday night seemlingly oblivious of the atrocity nd irony of smiling behind fences. What was in their hearts however, I do not profess to know, nor can safely judge. In the heart of downtown, as the sun was setting and the evening settling in, I swear to you it felt like we were under occupation.
One week later, it seems we are.
Today the protests started in earnest. Battalions of police are in Toronto, fully regaled in riot gear, shields, masks, batons at the ready. They have buses full of police, helicopters flying overhead. About one month ago the province quietly ushered in an old police law allowing them these wicked powers of detainment and arrest. We cannot even move in certain parts of our city without being subject to search and identification.
This was once a free country and a free place.
Though I am not here to argue that security has no place. There have been similar protests before but none with such an incredible presence of law enforcement dressed for combat.
I was thinking earlier today about the nature of the police and i thought this - It is we who share with the world knowledge, dialogue, spirit, assistance and friendship that are the true police of this city and at the large this world. Only though peaceful dialogue with one another can we achieve a better place for humanity. This does not mean that agitation is out removed from the equation. Far from it. Non-Violent Civil Disobedience, the right to march and be heard, freedom of assembly, freedom to disent, freedom of movement are essential cornerstones of any democracy and should be protected and honoured by all. How exactly then does a peace officer protect the peace behind shields, armed and ready to fire upon their own brother and sister citizens on command? No, they are not peace officers, they are not police officers, they are that line that protects the status quo. They are the army of governments, who in the name of their people spill blood and turn as their backs as the poor die in cycles of violence and poverty.
The G8 and G20 are insolent gatherings of government delegations making odes to murder and impoverishment of the most vulnerable of our planet.
Tomorrow they come to my city. Tomorrow I march. I march for peace, for humanity, for the protection of our planet, an end to corporatism, poverty, I march for clean water to be given to all, for food to be provided for our hungry, housing for our homeless, support and choice for our women. We are not marching so governments can erect blanket jingoistic policies based on fleeting moralities so the most needy must conform to standards and beg for assistance. Most of all we march because the few, the rich few should never be able to decide course of life for the many. The few should never be able to dictate how the many shall live and survive.
Follow me tomorrow on twitter - Freecitycitizen
for now here are some pics the evening one week before the summits began.
Freecity?
Friday, June 11, 2010
Fever
I've got it.
Being at work is hard knowing that the World Cup is a happening.
Thank God for the weekend and espcially the Colonists vs. the Colonials tomorrow.
I don't have much more to say, which should come as a shock and relief.
Enjoy the the month of football. I will howsoever I can.
-s
Being at work is hard knowing that the World Cup is a happening.
Thank God for the weekend and espcially the Colonists vs. the Colonials tomorrow.
I don't have much more to say, which should come as a shock and relief.
Enjoy the the month of football. I will howsoever I can.
-s
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Puppetry
Do you ever feel like you're being strung along for a ride sometimes? Not really something prescient or fatalist, but more along the lines of sheer chicanery and malicious illusion?
I don't mean to be a downer, I am a questioner, i seek only answers and this usually leads to
a) a mild or complex form of lunacy - see eccentricity, refer also to paranoia, delusion, helplessness, isolation
b) a crumbling of the foundations that I myself have either built or have been housed in, usually with the consequence of the bricks falling upon the people who helped me build my walls and churches
So what brings on this fit of madness today?
Simple. Riots.
Now not so simple.
Athens is exploding day by day. Bangkok is on fire, people are defiant, foolish, willing to die. I'll say it again, willing to die.
Maybe once more. WILLING TO DIE FOR...everything.
So here is the puppetry, the masters of it, the strings. Money. Always comes with strings attached. Doesn't it?
Greece has accepted an "austerity" plan. You know how I see it? Like this. There are still 4 major powers in Europe - The English, who refuse to co-operate with anyone and will die by their pound. The French, whose ideals of liberty, secularism are praised by both the extreme factions of xenophobic and the inteligensia at large. The German, still the proud, efficient men and woman of the Holy Roman Empire, an economy that is continually renewed and built for survival in every age. Lastly, the Russians, the same secretive mob of government, always intriguing and alwasy shadowy.
It seems that for a very long time, the dynamics of this planet, Europe in especial, but Earth at large have been shaped by the events that happen in these four Nations. The "austerity" plan? Joint recommandation by the German-French EU alliance, of which currently Germany is the head of. Bascially Germany just bought Greece. They did not need any physical anschulz, they bought it for pennies on the Euro and we begin all over again. Same wars, same stories, different dead bodies and oppositions members, but essentially the same. It's as if we never learn, we just gave Germany the power to buy failing countries and prop them up with "enterprise" which means economic dependance. France backs it for now, England is sinking, and the KGB are suddenly fashionable again.
So they yank our strings again. The world explodes and we need to go buy more shoes and toothpaste becuase what else will you do?
And then perhaps in June, our city will explode as well. I will be there.
I will not be a match. I am the fire. I will burn with everyone.
-s
I don't mean to be a downer, I am a questioner, i seek only answers and this usually leads to
a) a mild or complex form of lunacy - see eccentricity, refer also to paranoia, delusion, helplessness, isolation
b) a crumbling of the foundations that I myself have either built or have been housed in, usually with the consequence of the bricks falling upon the people who helped me build my walls and churches
So what brings on this fit of madness today?
Simple. Riots.
Now not so simple.
Athens is exploding day by day. Bangkok is on fire, people are defiant, foolish, willing to die. I'll say it again, willing to die.
Maybe once more. WILLING TO DIE FOR...everything.
So here is the puppetry, the masters of it, the strings. Money. Always comes with strings attached. Doesn't it?
Greece has accepted an "austerity" plan. You know how I see it? Like this. There are still 4 major powers in Europe - The English, who refuse to co-operate with anyone and will die by their pound. The French, whose ideals of liberty, secularism are praised by both the extreme factions of xenophobic and the inteligensia at large. The German, still the proud, efficient men and woman of the Holy Roman Empire, an economy that is continually renewed and built for survival in every age. Lastly, the Russians, the same secretive mob of government, always intriguing and alwasy shadowy.
It seems that for a very long time, the dynamics of this planet, Europe in especial, but Earth at large have been shaped by the events that happen in these four Nations. The "austerity" plan? Joint recommandation by the German-French EU alliance, of which currently Germany is the head of. Bascially Germany just bought Greece. They did not need any physical anschulz, they bought it for pennies on the Euro and we begin all over again. Same wars, same stories, different dead bodies and oppositions members, but essentially the same. It's as if we never learn, we just gave Germany the power to buy failing countries and prop them up with "enterprise" which means economic dependance. France backs it for now, England is sinking, and the KGB are suddenly fashionable again.
So they yank our strings again. The world explodes and we need to go buy more shoes and toothpaste becuase what else will you do?
And then perhaps in June, our city will explode as well. I will be there.
I will not be a match. I am the fire. I will burn with everyone.
-s
Friday, May 7, 2010
sometimes we are reminded of music
we watched a movie tonight that I have been wanting to watch for quite some time. It was not a movie I wanted to see in theatres, (didn't have the time nor inclination for the whole foray) nor something I wanted to rent, (since renting seems to be more a waste these days and once again no inclination for the whole foray).
So I waited for the movie to appear on TMN on Demand and it finally did. It was the Soloist, the movie about Nathaniel Ayers, and from what I got from it, the redemtive powers of both music and friendship. Granted there are many things that are wrong with the film and reinforce and confirm my non theatre paying and non rental of the movie by conventional method. The direction is awful, incoherent, choppy and poorly edited. It is also needlessly pompous and self-serving, trying to force higher meaning rather than letting the story allow the emotion to occur naturally. The movie takes shortcuts in the storytelling itself and the ridiculous idea that Robert Downey Jr, from an asthetic purpose could pass for an American born of Spanish and Italian origin is not only laughable but downright insulting at points when you hear the name "Steve Lopez" over and over and see Iron Man, it seems slightly disingenuous. But that really isn't too important. It stops it from being a great and perhaps superb film, but it isn't important.
It isn't important because at the very least and most importantly the core message of the film, that music is vital, vibrant and redemptive, that friendship is vital, vibrant and redemptive, pulses through. Here is the crux, even though RDj plays Steve Lopez, he does such a fine fine job you end up forgetting the absurdity of the a white guy playing some halfway white guy. He makes him human and accessible, he plays him so well he becomes just human. Even better is how beautifully, how touchingly Jaime Foxx plays Nathaniel Ayers. Foxx has to be one of the best actors I have ever seen and if I had paid theatre or rental money for this film it would be worth it for hte performance of Foxx and Downeyjr alone. They make a mediocre-bad movie actually watchable and kind of good.
The movie also got me thinking which is another (plus in its favour) about two things. The first was how close we all are to crazy. And by crazy I do not wish to convey the derogatory. I mean to covey how I grew up and still identify the terminology of crazy - madness. Illness of the mind. I think we are all so close, so precariously close to breaking points each and every day, that it is wonder that we consider ourselves sane and continue to operate in a "normal" fashion. By the same token it is also remarkable that we don't respect the chorus of voices inside our heads perhaps as much as we should, that we try as hard as we can to hut them our, tune them out and distract ourselves from the noise with other noise. Madness it neither a choice nor a solution, it is an acceptance, often a wrenching acceptance, of absurdity, fear and the pressures of living up to our own and the perceived expectations of the world around us. Sometimes, these ideas just hit home a little harder, and tonight was one of those times. There are moments, perhaps small, statistically insignficant moments but personally relevant moments where we teeter on the edge, tremble at our loose footing and feel with all our being the absurdity of our every breath, the madness of our every step. For me the movie really hit home on that level.
The other part of the movie that was so important for me was the music and what it made me articulate to myself. Not just that I love music, love the passion, the desire for and the redemption that music brings. It was something far more tangible and direct.
I love stringed music.
This is something so superficial and exoteric to take from the film, but I am indebted to it for that. It made me realize how much I love stringed instruments, especially cellos, violins and guitars. It then went deeper into how much I love sustained notes. The pull of the note, how it soars and pierces. The note as it moves along, the lingering of a note, the movement and shadow of the linger, how it can cut you so deeply, wound you and still make you smile. For that alone I am so happy to have watched the movie.
So if anything, it should be all over the net or in any library and is probably public domain ...listen to Beethoven's Violin Concerto In D Major, the Allegreto, and I defy you tell to me you did not think of everything in your life, every lingered moment, every bated breath, every rain night and slow sunny day. I defy you tell me you did not for even one moment feel that stab in your chest that you could not place in a definitive moment, but that it made you sad, that it made you smile and that you did not feel alive in the contradiction itself. There are many more pieces like this, many more songs that aren't "classical" that evoke this, but I listened to this one tonight, a rainy, cool, cloudy damp night in Toronto and thought somehow we should share it wherever we were.
-s
"from the freecity, no matter how many time we say or remain quiet."
So I waited for the movie to appear on TMN on Demand and it finally did. It was the Soloist, the movie about Nathaniel Ayers, and from what I got from it, the redemtive powers of both music and friendship. Granted there are many things that are wrong with the film and reinforce and confirm my non theatre paying and non rental of the movie by conventional method. The direction is awful, incoherent, choppy and poorly edited. It is also needlessly pompous and self-serving, trying to force higher meaning rather than letting the story allow the emotion to occur naturally. The movie takes shortcuts in the storytelling itself and the ridiculous idea that Robert Downey Jr, from an asthetic purpose could pass for an American born of Spanish and Italian origin is not only laughable but downright insulting at points when you hear the name "Steve Lopez" over and over and see Iron Man, it seems slightly disingenuous. But that really isn't too important. It stops it from being a great and perhaps superb film, but it isn't important.
It isn't important because at the very least and most importantly the core message of the film, that music is vital, vibrant and redemptive, that friendship is vital, vibrant and redemptive, pulses through. Here is the crux, even though RDj plays Steve Lopez, he does such a fine fine job you end up forgetting the absurdity of the a white guy playing some halfway white guy. He makes him human and accessible, he plays him so well he becomes just human. Even better is how beautifully, how touchingly Jaime Foxx plays Nathaniel Ayers. Foxx has to be one of the best actors I have ever seen and if I had paid theatre or rental money for this film it would be worth it for hte performance of Foxx and Downeyjr alone. They make a mediocre-bad movie actually watchable and kind of good.
The movie also got me thinking which is another (plus in its favour) about two things. The first was how close we all are to crazy. And by crazy I do not wish to convey the derogatory. I mean to covey how I grew up and still identify the terminology of crazy - madness. Illness of the mind. I think we are all so close, so precariously close to breaking points each and every day, that it is wonder that we consider ourselves sane and continue to operate in a "normal" fashion. By the same token it is also remarkable that we don't respect the chorus of voices inside our heads perhaps as much as we should, that we try as hard as we can to hut them our, tune them out and distract ourselves from the noise with other noise. Madness it neither a choice nor a solution, it is an acceptance, often a wrenching acceptance, of absurdity, fear and the pressures of living up to our own and the perceived expectations of the world around us. Sometimes, these ideas just hit home a little harder, and tonight was one of those times. There are moments, perhaps small, statistically insignficant moments but personally relevant moments where we teeter on the edge, tremble at our loose footing and feel with all our being the absurdity of our every breath, the madness of our every step. For me the movie really hit home on that level.
The other part of the movie that was so important for me was the music and what it made me articulate to myself. Not just that I love music, love the passion, the desire for and the redemption that music brings. It was something far more tangible and direct.
I love stringed music.
This is something so superficial and exoteric to take from the film, but I am indebted to it for that. It made me realize how much I love stringed instruments, especially cellos, violins and guitars. It then went deeper into how much I love sustained notes. The pull of the note, how it soars and pierces. The note as it moves along, the lingering of a note, the movement and shadow of the linger, how it can cut you so deeply, wound you and still make you smile. For that alone I am so happy to have watched the movie.
So if anything, it should be all over the net or in any library and is probably public domain ...listen to Beethoven's Violin Concerto In D Major, the Allegreto, and I defy you tell to me you did not think of everything in your life, every lingered moment, every bated breath, every rain night and slow sunny day. I defy you tell me you did not for even one moment feel that stab in your chest that you could not place in a definitive moment, but that it made you sad, that it made you smile and that you did not feel alive in the contradiction itself. There are many more pieces like this, many more songs that aren't "classical" that evoke this, but I listened to this one tonight, a rainy, cool, cloudy damp night in Toronto and thought somehow we should share it wherever we were.
-s
"from the freecity, no matter how many time we say or remain quiet."
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
and one night a song sang its way through my memory
it said that "i lived in a devil town, that all my friends were vampires
i looked up then, i looked up for God and i saw nothing
i looked around then, i looked for God and i felt nothing
my years of superstition imposed upon me life some brick curse
how i had hoped to rally, oh how i had hoped to be something more than everything i woke to
every morning
nothing is ever enough, nothing is ever enough, nothing is ever enough
when the rain comes, it pours and soaks you to the gristle of your tired and tested bones
i have given, i am hoarse, i am limping along in sympathy and pity
i am crazy, i am a street corner, i am a test of faith,
necessary to acquire, easy to lose
it said that "i lived in a devil town, that all my friends were vampires
i looked up then, i looked up for God and i saw nothing
i looked around then, i looked for God and i felt nothing
my years of superstition imposed upon me life some brick curse
how i had hoped to rally, oh how i had hoped to be something more than everything i woke to
every morning
nothing is ever enough, nothing is ever enough, nothing is ever enough
when the rain comes, it pours and soaks you to the gristle of your tired and tested bones
i have given, i am hoarse, i am limping along in sympathy and pity
i am crazy, i am a street corner, i am a test of faith,
necessary to acquire, easy to lose
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
some wednesday night
you know how life is sometimes just so absurd right? Then one night when you're riding your bike home somewhere near a meridian called 8:30 pm, the sky above the Danforth has darkened but the way towards home is still faintly lit from the fading day.
Soon we will look up and the space above us will be painted royal and we will wonder amidst the nonsense of this life and our struggle to be towers, tempest is fugiting, the whole world is still the whole world.
Soon we will look up and the space above us will be painted royal and we will wonder amidst the nonsense of this life and our struggle to be towers, tempest is fugiting, the whole world is still the whole world.
Friday, April 16, 2010
a thought
It is correct when I say that I am an atheist. This does not mean I do not believe in God. It means I do not believe in how God is taught. God is the ultimate equation, life is the ultimate solution. The very fact that we are able to survive, each day despite all the conditions in the universe, that we are given a choice and that we are aware of that choice and the many means of survival at our disposal. Out of the infinite forms of life on this planet alone, to think that in the entire universe so far known to us, we each day wake up, not yet dead but given another chance to experience our cognitions and perceptions is a wondrous allowance. Should it not be worthy of our greatest respect?
Does this not mean that prayer is not invalid a notion? To believe in one’s one dignity and want of survival is nothing to be ashamed of. To believe and hope for the protection of what one holds dear, is that not common to us all? To will oneself the favour of the energy that binds all life together is that so far fetched a notion? So ridiculous? To believe so deeply in our own worth, we will our every day into existence, surviving simply on the idea that it is worth living, and therby making peace with our circumstances in some manner, however crude.
The implication of this, is that we could live forever.
Does this not mean that prayer is not invalid a notion? To believe in one’s one dignity and want of survival is nothing to be ashamed of. To believe and hope for the protection of what one holds dear, is that not common to us all? To will oneself the favour of the energy that binds all life together is that so far fetched a notion? So ridiculous? To believe so deeply in our own worth, we will our every day into existence, surviving simply on the idea that it is worth living, and therby making peace with our circumstances in some manner, however crude.
The implication of this, is that we could live forever.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Hey Nick!
I read your comment and again feel compelled to respond.
First the idea of a state without the compulsion of relligion is enshrined in the original Declaration of Independence of the United States. Regardless of how the equality was only offered to white men (and less wholescale to white women), is moot since whomever they considered human beings at that point in time were bound by the Declaration which offered the freedom of religion and association. The 1st president of the new found Republic himself was a deist and did not prescribe himself to any singular theory of God or religion (although was probably culturally attached to the story of a Christ Saviour). How the hell this disolved into "One Nation Under God" is interesting. It wasn't the pilgrims who wanted a new Republic, it was others who did, but the philosophy of the pilgrims, the evangelical Christianity of the pilgrims has become the almost de-facto informing thought behind much of American thought, politics and international interaction over the last 60 odd years, especially since the 1970's and the end of hippie culture towards a more conservative America.
The reason there are less self-identified Christians in the UK and England specifically is I believe inspired by two very important things:
1. The revolt against religion in much of Europe, as it was the Churches and the authorities of the Churches that played the most central roles in people's lives. It was a revolt against the power the Churches held and the authority they possessed over their constituents. This is most clearly seen in the rejection of the Church in post-revolutionary France and in something closer to home, the rejection of the Church during the Quiet Revolution in Quebec during the 1960's.
2. The above point however is minor. It helped create a mindset, a foundation of thought that leads into the major turning point - acceptance of Science and the demands of Scientific proof. I believe this is clearly and best linked to the publishing of Darwin's Origin of the Species which when published was extraordinary in its blasphemy but as time passed has become accepted as the rule rather than the exception. The wider and mainstream acceptance of evolutionary thought in Europe and in particular in England is perhaps why there aren't as many self-identified Christians. The English have chosen overwhlemingly to accept Evolution as a fact. In America, many more deride, ridicule and steadfastly ignore the idea that Evolution has occured and is continually occuring. Creationism or Intelligent Design is still a matter of fundamental thought to a large segment of the American population and by and large of the Americas themselves.
As for the Stephen Fry Clock, Emily got me a talking Alarm clock in the voice of the inimitable Stephen Fry for Christmas that wakes me up every morning with random series of phrases to get up, random snooze phrases and a sleep meditation should I choose to activate it. He does it in the persona of a butler. By far one the coolest things ever in the Ursa Minor sphere.
-s
First the idea of a state without the compulsion of relligion is enshrined in the original Declaration of Independence of the United States. Regardless of how the equality was only offered to white men (and less wholescale to white women), is moot since whomever they considered human beings at that point in time were bound by the Declaration which offered the freedom of religion and association. The 1st president of the new found Republic himself was a deist and did not prescribe himself to any singular theory of God or religion (although was probably culturally attached to the story of a Christ Saviour). How the hell this disolved into "One Nation Under God" is interesting. It wasn't the pilgrims who wanted a new Republic, it was others who did, but the philosophy of the pilgrims, the evangelical Christianity of the pilgrims has become the almost de-facto informing thought behind much of American thought, politics and international interaction over the last 60 odd years, especially since the 1970's and the end of hippie culture towards a more conservative America.
The reason there are less self-identified Christians in the UK and England specifically is I believe inspired by two very important things:
1. The revolt against religion in much of Europe, as it was the Churches and the authorities of the Churches that played the most central roles in people's lives. It was a revolt against the power the Churches held and the authority they possessed over their constituents. This is most clearly seen in the rejection of the Church in post-revolutionary France and in something closer to home, the rejection of the Church during the Quiet Revolution in Quebec during the 1960's.
2. The above point however is minor. It helped create a mindset, a foundation of thought that leads into the major turning point - acceptance of Science and the demands of Scientific proof. I believe this is clearly and best linked to the publishing of Darwin's Origin of the Species which when published was extraordinary in its blasphemy but as time passed has become accepted as the rule rather than the exception. The wider and mainstream acceptance of evolutionary thought in Europe and in particular in England is perhaps why there aren't as many self-identified Christians. The English have chosen overwhlemingly to accept Evolution as a fact. In America, many more deride, ridicule and steadfastly ignore the idea that Evolution has occured and is continually occuring. Creationism or Intelligent Design is still a matter of fundamental thought to a large segment of the American population and by and large of the Americas themselves.
As for the Stephen Fry Clock, Emily got me a talking Alarm clock in the voice of the inimitable Stephen Fry for Christmas that wakes me up every morning with random series of phrases to get up, random snooze phrases and a sleep meditation should I choose to activate it. He does it in the persona of a butler. By far one the coolest things ever in the Ursa Minor sphere.
-s
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Conflicts
My friend Nick has his obssession, not a slight one, but a full hard-on obsession with Craig Ferguson. Ferguson is this Scottish comic and writer who does the late night tv thing and has taken out American citizenship and all that. Nick sometime ago sent me this really intriguing clip of Craig Ferguson and my alarm clock (Stephen Fry) discussing their mutual love of America.
Nick later flushed out this opinion in his e-mail to me about how America is a land of adventurers and Europe lands of settlers and this is what makes America such a fascination, that it is rooted in adventure.
Let me then being by saying I hate America. Let me being again by saying I love America.
This polarity of thought and emotion towards America, informs, colours, biases my outlook on the American state and its people. This seeming incongruity of feeling is the foundation of my rationale on America.
You should know that my favourite band is still an American one. The books that most influenced and informed me growing up, that really fostered my love of literature were mainly American books, American stories and American thoughts. My favourite movies are American movies. To this day the best cinema in the world mainly comes from American hands or at least hands that get washed and shaped in America to some extent. The main parts of my culture growing up were unabashedly American - fast food, consumerism, saturday morning cartoons. The best parts of my childhood were American, - Sesame Street, cartoons, sugar with a side of cereal.
All this I know. and perhaps from some resentment I began as I got older to grit my teeth at America. Of all I had been presented and loved about America, most of it was false, a cover-up, deflections. The band I loved mad a mockery of the American dream and values. The cartoons I adored were either made for kids to buy toys or to promote ideas of violence and American philosophy, specifically Reaganism to young minds. Cereals with sugar we know are like giving kids a bowl of cigarettes, and fast food, well you might as well just have a cigarette.
America was two-faced. Evil.
Then I began to get interested in politics and then America became even more insidious. The foreign policy of the "Empire" was startling. When one says America is a land of adventurits it may be so, but it is often an adventure at the expense of other races, tribes, lands and nations.
It is easy to love America and it is easy to hateAmerica and for the same reasons. The promise of America, the idea of America is perhaps one the most fascinating ideas that ever came about. A revolt for freedom from taxes, from God, from anything but free association. This is the grandest statement of liberty ever concocted. The seeds of this thought come from England but are grown in the Americas and in particular the United States of. The very idea of individual liberty is so threatening and enticing that it still serves as a beacon for the sick, poor, hungry and tired of the world.
The experiment however failed.
America is not free. It has not been free for some time. Granted the policies and spirit are still in place for success under the original principles, but often one needs a certain net worth or claim to be able to exercise the original dream of America. The founding fathers of the United States were mainly atheists or deists, not believers in the predominant Christian thought of the day. How has that evolved in America? If a congressman so much as hints towards agnoticism, they no longer publicly qualify to lead people. God has become such an ingrained thought of the American psyche, that the very notion of American freedom is laughable.
In that clip with Ferguson and Fry, Fry mentions how with exception to the Natives and Blacks, people who chose to come to America did just that, they chose. And this he argues makes it so great, that they one day decided in favour of adventure, decided to leave what they had while others said they were content to settle. The analogy here is misleading. Yes people came to America once because of that dream to adventure. Many now come because the American adventure has forced them from their lives and lands to seek a place for refuge which ironically is the very place that has displaced them. From the drug wars of Central America and the American meddle within it, the puppet governments of Central and South America, the puppet governments of the middle east and so forth, the American state has displaced so many people, they they've become what the British were once when their Empire began to venture outwards. The American people have become settlers. In perhaps less of the way since migration in America is still part of its great story whereas migration within the UK was never really as much of an appeal.
The same advenutre is happening in Europe however. After their disastrous attempts at colonization, immigrants have begun to flood Europe. The displaced souls of the world are gritting their teeth and finding a place to call home within the places that tore their homelands apart. Sure they are choosing to be there (and in Canada as well, especially in the major cities of this country). They are changing the very fabric of the societies that once changed the very fabric of theirs. This is the great adventure, the migration of cultures and the trumping of cultures by either sheer number or homeland legislations.
Once the British were adventurists. They set sail to conquer the world, piece by piece, human heart by human heart, then settled for their lot. America is on the brink of this same collapse. The adventure is no longer worthy of dying for. Soon they will settle and the adventure will pass to another place and nation, perhaps the Chinese, perhaps the Indians, anywhere there are numbers, there are consumers and when one place becomes too crowded, the people in that place want more space to be free. They will venture out to conquer adn re-align once more.
The advenutre itself isn't dead. Nor are the adventurists dead. They just look different now. Even your adventure Nick, outside tis country to the one you are in is similar. It is the transfer of thought and the desire to be free. Wanderlust.
America still has that lust to wander, only they do it through grenades and guns, they know no other way. The promise of that land is dying. Fry said that he can't understand how American cannot still be a land of optimists. Fry only has to look at his own National history to see how optimism, arrogance and cheek can easily over time mold itself into weariness, embarassment and a long sigh.
America was once the greatest experiment in the world, the greatest show on earth.
We will draw the curtain soon.
(yes I have a Stephen Fry alarm clock. That just may be the most important part of this piece)
Nick later flushed out this opinion in his e-mail to me about how America is a land of adventurers and Europe lands of settlers and this is what makes America such a fascination, that it is rooted in adventure.
Let me then being by saying I hate America. Let me being again by saying I love America.
This polarity of thought and emotion towards America, informs, colours, biases my outlook on the American state and its people. This seeming incongruity of feeling is the foundation of my rationale on America.
You should know that my favourite band is still an American one. The books that most influenced and informed me growing up, that really fostered my love of literature were mainly American books, American stories and American thoughts. My favourite movies are American movies. To this day the best cinema in the world mainly comes from American hands or at least hands that get washed and shaped in America to some extent. The main parts of my culture growing up were unabashedly American - fast food, consumerism, saturday morning cartoons. The best parts of my childhood were American, - Sesame Street, cartoons, sugar with a side of cereal.
All this I know. and perhaps from some resentment I began as I got older to grit my teeth at America. Of all I had been presented and loved about America, most of it was false, a cover-up, deflections. The band I loved mad a mockery of the American dream and values. The cartoons I adored were either made for kids to buy toys or to promote ideas of violence and American philosophy, specifically Reaganism to young minds. Cereals with sugar we know are like giving kids a bowl of cigarettes, and fast food, well you might as well just have a cigarette.
America was two-faced. Evil.
Then I began to get interested in politics and then America became even more insidious. The foreign policy of the "Empire" was startling. When one says America is a land of adventurits it may be so, but it is often an adventure at the expense of other races, tribes, lands and nations.
It is easy to love America and it is easy to hateAmerica and for the same reasons. The promise of America, the idea of America is perhaps one the most fascinating ideas that ever came about. A revolt for freedom from taxes, from God, from anything but free association. This is the grandest statement of liberty ever concocted. The seeds of this thought come from England but are grown in the Americas and in particular the United States of. The very idea of individual liberty is so threatening and enticing that it still serves as a beacon for the sick, poor, hungry and tired of the world.
The experiment however failed.
America is not free. It has not been free for some time. Granted the policies and spirit are still in place for success under the original principles, but often one needs a certain net worth or claim to be able to exercise the original dream of America. The founding fathers of the United States were mainly atheists or deists, not believers in the predominant Christian thought of the day. How has that evolved in America? If a congressman so much as hints towards agnoticism, they no longer publicly qualify to lead people. God has become such an ingrained thought of the American psyche, that the very notion of American freedom is laughable.
In that clip with Ferguson and Fry, Fry mentions how with exception to the Natives and Blacks, people who chose to come to America did just that, they chose. And this he argues makes it so great, that they one day decided in favour of adventure, decided to leave what they had while others said they were content to settle. The analogy here is misleading. Yes people came to America once because of that dream to adventure. Many now come because the American adventure has forced them from their lives and lands to seek a place for refuge which ironically is the very place that has displaced them. From the drug wars of Central America and the American meddle within it, the puppet governments of Central and South America, the puppet governments of the middle east and so forth, the American state has displaced so many people, they they've become what the British were once when their Empire began to venture outwards. The American people have become settlers. In perhaps less of the way since migration in America is still part of its great story whereas migration within the UK was never really as much of an appeal.
The same advenutre is happening in Europe however. After their disastrous attempts at colonization, immigrants have begun to flood Europe. The displaced souls of the world are gritting their teeth and finding a place to call home within the places that tore their homelands apart. Sure they are choosing to be there (and in Canada as well, especially in the major cities of this country). They are changing the very fabric of the societies that once changed the very fabric of theirs. This is the great adventure, the migration of cultures and the trumping of cultures by either sheer number or homeland legislations.
Once the British were adventurists. They set sail to conquer the world, piece by piece, human heart by human heart, then settled for their lot. America is on the brink of this same collapse. The adventure is no longer worthy of dying for. Soon they will settle and the adventure will pass to another place and nation, perhaps the Chinese, perhaps the Indians, anywhere there are numbers, there are consumers and when one place becomes too crowded, the people in that place want more space to be free. They will venture out to conquer adn re-align once more.
The advenutre itself isn't dead. Nor are the adventurists dead. They just look different now. Even your adventure Nick, outside tis country to the one you are in is similar. It is the transfer of thought and the desire to be free. Wanderlust.
America still has that lust to wander, only they do it through grenades and guns, they know no other way. The promise of that land is dying. Fry said that he can't understand how American cannot still be a land of optimists. Fry only has to look at his own National history to see how optimism, arrogance and cheek can easily over time mold itself into weariness, embarassment and a long sigh.
America was once the greatest experiment in the world, the greatest show on earth.
We will draw the curtain soon.
(yes I have a Stephen Fry alarm clock. That just may be the most important part of this piece)
Monday, March 8, 2010
The Weather Report (small differences)
sorry nick, i'm still working on that USA post...give me a few more days and hopefully I can have it up by then...
until then though just a note...
this weekend the weather has been spectacular. Gorgeous. In this part of the world that means plus degree temperatures that approach the 8-10 degree centigrade mark.
Clear, clear skies, full of blue, awash in sunshine. The smell of mud, grass and puddles emerge from their own slumber.
Today, it is 11 degrees with sesame street sunny skies, a medium breeze that continues to encourage jackets, but lighter jackets and a slow shedding of complicated winter layers.
These are the days that remind me of those times when I would skip school for the sake of sunshine and rustling trees.
All I wanted to do today was go home and kiss my wife and take a walk until the sun set down for the evening.
Mornings like today, afternoons like today do everything they can to engender a positive response to our surroundings. More smile, less worry, just happiness at being in a moment that reminds us of being young and reminds us that we still are, that so many more warm sunny days are around the bend.
They call this a false spring. If so, I entreat the lie to hold a little longer, to lie a little more. I wish nothing more than my ignorance in the bliss of this day.
-s
until then though just a note...
this weekend the weather has been spectacular. Gorgeous. In this part of the world that means plus degree temperatures that approach the 8-10 degree centigrade mark.
Clear, clear skies, full of blue, awash in sunshine. The smell of mud, grass and puddles emerge from their own slumber.
Today, it is 11 degrees with sesame street sunny skies, a medium breeze that continues to encourage jackets, but lighter jackets and a slow shedding of complicated winter layers.
These are the days that remind me of those times when I would skip school for the sake of sunshine and rustling trees.
All I wanted to do today was go home and kiss my wife and take a walk until the sun set down for the evening.
Mornings like today, afternoons like today do everything they can to engender a positive response to our surroundings. More smile, less worry, just happiness at being in a moment that reminds us of being young and reminds us that we still are, that so many more warm sunny days are around the bend.
They call this a false spring. If so, I entreat the lie to hold a little longer, to lie a little more. I wish nothing more than my ignorance in the bliss of this day.
-s
Sunday, February 28, 2010
National Conversation
and so the National Conversation ends with deep collective sigh which is quickly overcome by exuberance, giddiness, and most of all pride.
this is the one we were waiting for.
the Olympics served to send a message, to the world and most of all to ourselves. After some 150+ years of existence, this country is ready to celebrate its own. We are ready to see we love this place, we are proud of we are and what we are becoming.
Throughout these games, the greateast thng we learned, is that Canadians are finally able to love themselves. And love themselves with great bursts, without shame or apology. We are coming to terms with who are are. Often in young nations it takes this long to truly know who you are, what you are celebrating. It takes about a 150 years to figure out.
Today was the defining moment.
Mens Ice Hockey Gold.
This is the one, whether right or wrong, ultimately decided whether these games were a success or not. Winning the Gold in this event, means everything. It is the National Converasation. It has been the National whisper for a year, a National Murmur since August, the National undercurrent through the last few months, and over the last two weeks it has been the dominant conversation in this country and will be for some time.
Mens Ice Hockey Gold.
We went to the centre of the city after the game, I wore my flag and walked with my wife. My cheeks are sore, I haven't stopped smiling.
There were random high fives and hugs. Spontaneous cheers, chants and breakouts of the anthem.
So many people taking over Yonge Street, seas of flags, horns continously honking, people screaming, jubilant, reverent.
and by people I mean that, peeople. This city is the world. There are more nations of people here than anywhere else on this planet and tonight they came out, all colours, all types, ones that looked like me, that looked like my wife, that looked like neither of us except in our collective joy. They came to celebrate this place, this country, this promise. For all that this country is, for all that this city is a microcosm of, for all our tension, there is one thing that binds us from coast to coast to coast. There is one thing that each successive generation of this lands souls have been told and taught. Wherever they might be from, no matter who they are, we are held together by this game. This beautiful game that is our National Religion, our National Conversation, our National Connection. So wherever you are in the world tonight, I know you feel the same, you felt it tonight, you will take it with you for all the rest of your lives.
Men's Ice Hockey Gold.'
this is the one we were waiting for.
the Olympics served to send a message, to the world and most of all to ourselves. After some 150+ years of existence, this country is ready to celebrate its own. We are ready to see we love this place, we are proud of we are and what we are becoming.
Throughout these games, the greateast thng we learned, is that Canadians are finally able to love themselves. And love themselves with great bursts, without shame or apology. We are coming to terms with who are are. Often in young nations it takes this long to truly know who you are, what you are celebrating. It takes about a 150 years to figure out.
Today was the defining moment.
Mens Ice Hockey Gold.
This is the one, whether right or wrong, ultimately decided whether these games were a success or not. Winning the Gold in this event, means everything. It is the National Converasation. It has been the National whisper for a year, a National Murmur since August, the National undercurrent through the last few months, and over the last two weeks it has been the dominant conversation in this country and will be for some time.
Mens Ice Hockey Gold.
We went to the centre of the city after the game, I wore my flag and walked with my wife. My cheeks are sore, I haven't stopped smiling.
There were random high fives and hugs. Spontaneous cheers, chants and breakouts of the anthem.
So many people taking over Yonge Street, seas of flags, horns continously honking, people screaming, jubilant, reverent.
and by people I mean that, peeople. This city is the world. There are more nations of people here than anywhere else on this planet and tonight they came out, all colours, all types, ones that looked like me, that looked like my wife, that looked like neither of us except in our collective joy. They came to celebrate this place, this country, this promise. For all that this country is, for all that this city is a microcosm of, for all our tension, there is one thing that binds us from coast to coast to coast. There is one thing that each successive generation of this lands souls have been told and taught. Wherever they might be from, no matter who they are, we are held together by this game. This beautiful game that is our National Religion, our National Conversation, our National Connection. So wherever you are in the world tonight, I know you feel the same, you felt it tonight, you will take it with you for all the rest of your lives.
Men's Ice Hockey Gold.'
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
das vi dan ya
the americans, as they have a special charm for doing, seem to have woken a sleeping giant.
Like a lovely English tale I read some many years ago, we are normally a big friendly giant. Unlike the tale however, we are much prettier and nastier when we have been poked from our slumber.
nyet nyet.
soviet.
we are ready to take our throne back, please and thank you.
Friday cannot possibly come soon enough even if it were the next breath away.
-s
Like a lovely English tale I read some many years ago, we are normally a big friendly giant. Unlike the tale however, we are much prettier and nastier when we have been poked from our slumber.
nyet nyet.
soviet.
we are ready to take our throne back, please and thank you.
Friday cannot possibly come soon enough even if it were the next breath away.
-s
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Ja Ja Canada, Nein Nein Allemagne
breathe Canada,
let it out
tomorrow we can hold our breath again
did you feel that wind? in your corner of the world?
that was a nation that just exhaled knowing full and damn well that tomorrow is really what will define
how long an entire country
can stop breathing
(yay Canada!
DA DA CANADA!
NYET NYET SOVIET!)
let it out
tomorrow we can hold our breath again
did you feel that wind? in your corner of the world?
that was a nation that just exhaled knowing full and damn well that tomorrow is really what will define
how long an entire country
can stop breathing
(yay Canada!
DA DA CANADA!
NYET NYET SOVIET!)
Monday, February 22, 2010
The Weather Report (what home once looked like)
once upon a time, in a land not so long ago, the scene outside my window would have been familiar. The chill in the air would have felt familiar in its dampness. For once upon that time, it used to snow in this place. Many a mountain, castle and fort were built from the snow that once fell. Weaponry was launched and even armies of snowmen were commissioned and modeled here. In fact, it used to snow o much in this place, that the little reminder we had of it today would not even require the armor we once wore as we opened our front door, furrowed our furious faces and trudged forward as every mighty citizen of this had before us.
Today, it snowed in this town. Once not so long ago but perhaps long enough, we would have scoffed at a snowfall like this, perhaps even sighed in relief at a mere 3-5 centimetres of snow. This town however is slowly forgetting what it once felt like and looked like to see the streets adorned in a fresh white coat, tufts of white hanging from trees. We forget how pretty it is to be caught in a moment gazing skyward as millions of shiny wet stars swoon to the earth.
As I walked home the short distance from the bus stop late this afternoon, I looked up and around and had myself a little linger. I felt the familiar, charming crunch of snow under my feet and I remembered.
Today, it snowed in this town. Once not so long ago but perhaps long enough, we would have scoffed at a snowfall like this, perhaps even sighed in relief at a mere 3-5 centimetres of snow. This town however is slowly forgetting what it once felt like and looked like to see the streets adorned in a fresh white coat, tufts of white hanging from trees. We forget how pretty it is to be caught in a moment gazing skyward as millions of shiny wet stars swoon to the earth.
As I walked home the short distance from the bus stop late this afternoon, I looked up and around and had myself a little linger. I felt the familiar, charming crunch of snow under my feet and I remembered.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
a long time ago, i used to stay up late
and take naps on friday afternoons
so today i did it once again
i read some words that made me think it was in my head
watched a film that that made me wonder what it would be like for this place to empty
and in those silent hours of the early morning night when i took the air
from my piece of the sky, i remembered how i felt
how it was similar, familiar and fragrant with memory
it was never the same as always, each was always slightly different
yet those shivers of memory convinced me of their common inspirations
so i lay down my guard to take in the Dawn, to stumble into another
philosophy of love
in this essay i was reading tonigt, the title essay in book v. cigarettes by George Orwell, he has this quote about books that is essential to share with you.
It is difficult to establish any relationship between the price of books and the value one gets out of them. 'Book' include novels, poetry, textbooks, works of reference, sociological treatises and much else, and length and price do not correspond to one another, especially if one habitually buys books second-hand. You may spend 10 shillings on a poem of 500 lines, and you may spend sixpence on a dictionary which you consult at odd moments over a period of twenty years. There are books one reads over and over again, books that become part of the furniture of one's mind and alter one's whole attitude to life, books that one dips into but never reads through, books that one reads at a single sitting and forgets a week later: and the cost in terms of money, may be the same in each case.
so today i did it once again
i read some words that made me think it was in my head
watched a film that that made me wonder what it would be like for this place to empty
and in those silent hours of the early morning night when i took the air
from my piece of the sky, i remembered how i felt
how it was similar, familiar and fragrant with memory
it was never the same as always, each was always slightly different
yet those shivers of memory convinced me of their common inspirations
so i lay down my guard to take in the Dawn, to stumble into another
philosophy of love
in this essay i was reading tonigt, the title essay in book v. cigarettes by George Orwell, he has this quote about books that is essential to share with you.
It is difficult to establish any relationship between the price of books and the value one gets out of them. 'Book' include novels, poetry, textbooks, works of reference, sociological treatises and much else, and length and price do not correspond to one another, especially if one habitually buys books second-hand. You may spend 10 shillings on a poem of 500 lines, and you may spend sixpence on a dictionary which you consult at odd moments over a period of twenty years. There are books one reads over and over again, books that become part of the furniture of one's mind and alter one's whole attitude to life, books that one dips into but never reads through, books that one reads at a single sitting and forgets a week later: and the cost in terms of money, may be the same in each case.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
that was not expected...
at all was it?
we are lucky 87 is equal to the challenge
but let the hand wringing begin, let them gather
and arrange an immediate summit,
held my breath the entire time, i confess,
nervous, so nervous, gazing at my navel over and over
tomorrow they will shout from the rooftops,
it will be the greeting of the day that passes from all our lips
that was not fucking expected at all was it?
(to those who can't follow due to being in places that are not here, Canada beat the Swiss, but it took a shootout, 6 skaters, with Sidney being first and sixth and scoring on his second try. Canada also led 2-0 at one point)
we are lucky 87 is equal to the challenge
but let the hand wringing begin, let them gather
and arrange an immediate summit,
held my breath the entire time, i confess,
nervous, so nervous, gazing at my navel over and over
tomorrow they will shout from the rooftops,
it will be the greeting of the day that passes from all our lips
that was not fucking expected at all was it?
(to those who can't follow due to being in places that are not here, Canada beat the Swiss, but it took a shootout, 6 skaters, with Sidney being first and sixth and scoring on his second try. Canada also led 2-0 at one point)
Friday, February 12, 2010
The Bigger Story of the Olympics
Isn't the biggest story on the opening day of the Winter Olympics the glaring absence of winter conditions?
That there is a scramble to assemble snow in some places, that there are continuing blasts of fog and that the temperatures are temperate, is sobering.
In the most beautiful place on earth, British Columbia, the lack of winter so far, for this showcase of their province must be bitterly ironic.
But we are Canadians. We adjust. We do it politely, stoically, gracefully.
That there is a scramble to assemble snow in some places, that there are continuing blasts of fog and that the temperatures are temperate, is sobering.
In the most beautiful place on earth, British Columbia, the lack of winter so far, for this showcase of their province must be bitterly ironic.
But we are Canadians. We adjust. We do it politely, stoically, gracefully.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Happy New Year!
There are three New Year's for me in any given year.
First the Gregorian, the junkmail standard of everyday living. The clock so to say. The one where I meet everyone
The last is the vernal equinox, spring, the season of renewal, growth, beginning. Fresh, new, born again. Spring.
The middle one is today. Once upon a time, I was born today. It is my personal new year.
I just finished twenty seven. Twenty Eight begins today.
The love of my everything took me to find words today upon request made from a suggestion she made three years ago.
She took me shopping for books in many of my favourite nooks to get pages in the city.
Do you know how much I love this city. How much I love this place, being from this place?
Do I?
To see it over and over, from angles and levels, all those masses, those red red cheeks and frosty breaths, those towers and streets that bend and stretch out dn out like fingers to pull me in to the centre, come to get me wherever I am.
It was a cold day. Sharp, stinging. We walked. We rode those old trams. We walked and sought, walked and sought, walked an sought. We found treasures, treasures the more for their discovery and opportune appearances.
So my year will look a lot like this, I look forward to the construction, the liason, the memory. Most of all I look forward to the words. Always.
First the Gregorian, the junkmail standard of everyday living. The clock so to say. The one where I meet everyone
The last is the vernal equinox, spring, the season of renewal, growth, beginning. Fresh, new, born again. Spring.
The middle one is today. Once upon a time, I was born today. It is my personal new year.
I just finished twenty seven. Twenty Eight begins today.
The love of my everything took me to find words today upon request made from a suggestion she made three years ago.
She took me shopping for books in many of my favourite nooks to get pages in the city.
Do you know how much I love this city. How much I love this place, being from this place?
Do I?
To see it over and over, from angles and levels, all those masses, those red red cheeks and frosty breaths, those towers and streets that bend and stretch out dn out like fingers to pull me in to the centre, come to get me wherever I am.
It was a cold day. Sharp, stinging. We walked. We rode those old trams. We walked and sought, walked and sought, walked an sought. We found treasures, treasures the more for their discovery and opportune appearances.
So my year will look a lot like this, I look forward to the construction, the liason, the memory. Most of all I look forward to the words. Always.
- Jacob Two-Two and the Dinosaur - Mordecai Richler
- Barney's Version - Mordecai Richler
- The Enchantress of Florence - Salman Rushdie
- Haroun and the Sea of Stories - Salman Rushdie
- Our Mutual Friend - Charles Dickens
- Candide - Voltaire
- Cat's Cradle - Kurt Vonnegut
- The Hobbit - J.R.R. Tolkien
- Fast Food Nation - Eric Schlosser
- A Complicated Kindness - Miriam Toews
- Choke - Chuck Palahniuk
- Lullaby - Chuck Palahniuk
- The Tipping Point - Malcolm Gladwell
- The Power of Now - Eckhart Tolle
- The Anthem - Ayn Rand
- A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess
- The Watch that Ends the Night - Hugh Maclennan
- Two Solitudes - Hugh Maclennan
- The Peterloo Writings - Percy Bysshe Shelley
- Utilitarianism, Liberty and Representative Government - John Stuart Mill
- Books V. Cigarettes (a collection of essays) - George Orwell
Nick, another look
Sorry I didn't and haven't written sooner or lately.
Sometimes this life thing turns into this Life Thing.
Attention at those junctions of interference tend to interfere with the direction we were heading and divert our attention towards certain mystery in some still certain places.
I read your thoughts on omiyage and felt compelled to discuss somethings with you.
See i always thought that la souvenir was more indicative of a remembrance and de souvenir was more like to remember. I mention this because I think the distinction is important. If i'm wrong the next part is moot and mostly garbage, but if I'm right then there is an idea here you might be interested in, especially as you are living "so far" from home. (for the waljees, this thought by virtue of the common degree of separation, ensnares you as well).
I think the separation of remembrance vs. to remember is in the act of the memory itself. A separation perhaps of reflective and evocative. To remember is much more participatory act, a voluntary act whereby we give ourselves up to the thought. It is harder, stricter and far more defined by the objective search parametres and boundaries.
A remembrance however is something much more passive, hidden and reflexive. It is something that Marcel Proust so wonderfully defined as involuntary memory. In his first volume of A la Recherche Du Temps Perdu, there is the famous scene of the narrator eating a madeleine cake
and the flood of memory it brings back to him. The very secret of its combination gives it its very freedom. It is an aspect, a moment.
So the idea of omiyage is very interesting to me because what I took from the post is the idea of a poeple, a culture actively seeking to evoke. There is something so uniquely human and transient about that idea that makes me sigh. It's such a fascinating idea - trying transport the subjective in an objective manner. The formality itself of the act is worthy or special note and regard.
You mention how souvenirs, at least how we've come to know and value them are acts of clutter and perhaps items destined for the bin.
I'm not sure I agree that if I stick to my perspective on souvenir. I think if I hardline the French idea (as I see it) then it is more of a remembrance, something remembered. We get souvenirs for people because we remembered them and if they keep that trinket then we have perhaps transfered the act of remembering to them by association with the object. That association in turn one day, one moment will spark, and you will be confronted by an involuntary memory that is a deluge of personal and subjective evocations.
So what happens when one day from now you taste something japanese and all of a sudden takes you back to that moment when you first had it as someone gave it to you from a place you had been because they thought of you when they went that place. What is the nature of the involuntary and lingering effect of the omiyage as it carves it's own place in an individual psyche?
Thoughts?
p.s. you spelled centres wrong. I'm disappointed, you're representing the Leaf more than ever when you're all the way across this sphere.
p.p.s. we invited you to our superbowl party, not to be cruel but to always make known the open invitation should you have somehow found yourself on this side of the sphere by some magic, decision or confusion.
p.p.p.s. I think the desire and seeking of adventure is that as we get older and perhaps accept the boldness of our positions and thoughts, come to value those thoughts, perhaps we are actively seeking to live. Perhaps that too becomes more a participatory, voluntary but mingled with notions of erasing parametres and boundaries. It isn't the Fuck You rebellion of youth and the danger it seeks for dangers sake. It is the fuck you of knowing more and more what we want. I feel that wanderlust too. I feel that need to do more, see more, experience more.
I don't want anything.
I want it all.
peacelove freedomjustice
-s
And when we meet on a cloud
I'll be laughing out loud
I'll be laughing with everyone I see
Can't believe how strange it is to be anything at all
-Neutral Milk Hotel (In the Aeroplance Over the Sea)
Sometimes this life thing turns into this Life Thing.
Attention at those junctions of interference tend to interfere with the direction we were heading and divert our attention towards certain mystery in some still certain places.
I read your thoughts on omiyage and felt compelled to discuss somethings with you.
See i always thought that la souvenir was more indicative of a remembrance and de souvenir was more like to remember. I mention this because I think the distinction is important. If i'm wrong the next part is moot and mostly garbage, but if I'm right then there is an idea here you might be interested in, especially as you are living "so far" from home. (for the waljees, this thought by virtue of the common degree of separation, ensnares you as well).
I think the separation of remembrance vs. to remember is in the act of the memory itself. A separation perhaps of reflective and evocative. To remember is much more participatory act, a voluntary act whereby we give ourselves up to the thought. It is harder, stricter and far more defined by the objective search parametres and boundaries.
A remembrance however is something much more passive, hidden and reflexive. It is something that Marcel Proust so wonderfully defined as involuntary memory. In his first volume of A la Recherche Du Temps Perdu, there is the famous scene of the narrator eating a madeleine cake
and the flood of memory it brings back to him. The very secret of its combination gives it its very freedom. It is an aspect, a moment.
So the idea of omiyage is very interesting to me because what I took from the post is the idea of a poeple, a culture actively seeking to evoke. There is something so uniquely human and transient about that idea that makes me sigh. It's such a fascinating idea - trying transport the subjective in an objective manner. The formality itself of the act is worthy or special note and regard.
You mention how souvenirs, at least how we've come to know and value them are acts of clutter and perhaps items destined for the bin.
I'm not sure I agree that if I stick to my perspective on souvenir. I think if I hardline the French idea (as I see it) then it is more of a remembrance, something remembered. We get souvenirs for people because we remembered them and if they keep that trinket then we have perhaps transfered the act of remembering to them by association with the object. That association in turn one day, one moment will spark, and you will be confronted by an involuntary memory that is a deluge of personal and subjective evocations.
So what happens when one day from now you taste something japanese and all of a sudden takes you back to that moment when you first had it as someone gave it to you from a place you had been because they thought of you when they went that place. What is the nature of the involuntary and lingering effect of the omiyage as it carves it's own place in an individual psyche?
Thoughts?
p.s. you spelled centres wrong. I'm disappointed, you're representing the Leaf more than ever when you're all the way across this sphere.
p.p.s. we invited you to our superbowl party, not to be cruel but to always make known the open invitation should you have somehow found yourself on this side of the sphere by some magic, decision or confusion.
p.p.p.s. I think the desire and seeking of adventure is that as we get older and perhaps accept the boldness of our positions and thoughts, come to value those thoughts, perhaps we are actively seeking to live. Perhaps that too becomes more a participatory, voluntary but mingled with notions of erasing parametres and boundaries. It isn't the Fuck You rebellion of youth and the danger it seeks for dangers sake. It is the fuck you of knowing more and more what we want. I feel that wanderlust too. I feel that need to do more, see more, experience more.
I don't want anything.
I want it all.
peacelove freedomjustice
-s
And when we meet on a cloud
I'll be laughing out loud
I'll be laughing with everyone I see
Can't believe how strange it is to be anything at all
-Neutral Milk Hotel (In the Aeroplance Over the Sea)
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Bibliophilia 2010!
January
November
1. You Are The World - Jiddu Krishnamurthi
2. The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism - Naomi Klein
December
1. Utilitarianism - John Stuart Mill
2. On Liberty - John Stuart Mill
3. On Representative Government - John Stuart Mill
4. Duono Elegies - Rainer Maria Rilke (Poetry)
5. How to Plant a Tree: A Simple Celebration of Trees and Tree Planting Ceremonies - Daniel Butler
6. Scott Pilgrim's Precious Little Life - Bryan Lee O'Malley (GN)
7. Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World - Bryan Lee O'Malley (GN)
8. Scott Pilgrim & The Infinite Sadness - Bryan Lee O'Malley (GN)
9. Scott Pilgrim Gets It Together - Bryan Lee O'Malley (GN)
10. Scott Pilgrim Vs. The Universe - Bryan Lee O'Malley (GN)
11. Scott Pilgrim's Finest Hour - Bryan Lee O'Malley (GN)
12. The Runner's Guide to the Meaning of Life: What 35 Years of Running Have Taught Me About Winning, Losing, Happiness, Humility, and the Human Heart - Amby Burfoot
- In the Skin of a Lion - Michael Ondaatje *
- Danny, Champion of the World - Roald Dahl
- James and the Giant Peach - Roald Dahl
- Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
- L' étranger - Albert Camus *
- The Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger *
- In Search of Lost Time, Volume 1: Swann's Way (Revised English Translation) *
- Shelley's Revolutionary Year, The Peterloo Writings - Percy Shelley
- Books v. Cigarettes - George Orwell
- The Third Policeman - Flann O'Brien
- Anthem - Ayn Rand
- The Boondocks "A Right to be Hostile" - Aaron McGruder (GN)*
March
- Candide - Voltaire (R)
- Haroun and the Sea of Stories - Salman Rushdie
- The Tipping Point - Malcolm Gladwell
- The Power of Now - Eckhart Tolle
- Valis - Phillip K. Dick
- Choke - Chuck Palahniuk
- The Boondocks "Public Enemy #2" - Aaron McGruder (GN)*
- The Watch That Ends the Night - Hugh Maclennan
- The Chosen - Chaim Potok
April
1. A Separate Reality - Carlos Castraneda
2. Lullaby - Chuck Palahniuk
3. Cat's Cradle - Kurt Vonnegut
May
1. Barney's Version - Mordecai Richler
2. A Complicated Kindness - Miriam Toews
3. A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess *
June
1. Our Mutual Friend - Charles Dickens
July
1. Footnotes in Gaza (GN) - Joe Sacco
2. Two Solitudes - Hugh Maclennan
August
1. The Fionavar Tapestry, Book 1 The Summer Tree - Guy Gavriel Kay
2. The Fionavar Tapestry Book 2 The Wandering Fire - Guy Gavriel Kay
3. The Fionavar Tapestry Book 3 The Darkest Road - Guy Gavriel Kay
4. Exile and the Kingdom (Short Story Collection) - Albert Camus
5. Think on These Things - Jiddu Krishnamurthi
6. Outliers - Malcolm Gladwell
September
1. Fast Food Nation - Eric Schlosser
2. The Enchantress of Florence - Salman Rushdie
3. How Football Explains America - Sal Paolantonio
4. The Age of Spiritual Machines;When Computers Exceed Human Intelligence - Ray Kurzweil *
October
1. Foundation - Issac Asimov
2. Jacob Two Two and the Dinosaur - Mordecai Richler *
3. Jacob Two Two's First Spy Case - Mordecai Richler
4. The Hobbit or There and Back Again - J.R.R. Tolkien
5. Solomon Gursky Was Here - Mordecai Richler
November
1. You Are The World - Jiddu Krishnamurthi
2. The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism - Naomi Klein
December
1. Utilitarianism - John Stuart Mill
2. On Liberty - John Stuart Mill
3. On Representative Government - John Stuart Mill
4. Duono Elegies - Rainer Maria Rilke (Poetry)
5. How to Plant a Tree: A Simple Celebration of Trees and Tree Planting Ceremonies - Daniel Butler
6. Scott Pilgrim's Precious Little Life - Bryan Lee O'Malley (GN)
7. Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World - Bryan Lee O'Malley (GN)
8. Scott Pilgrim & The Infinite Sadness - Bryan Lee O'Malley (GN)
9. Scott Pilgrim Gets It Together - Bryan Lee O'Malley (GN)
10. Scott Pilgrim Vs. The Universe - Bryan Lee O'Malley (GN)
11. Scott Pilgrim's Finest Hour - Bryan Lee O'Malley (GN)
12. The Runner's Guide to the Meaning of Life: What 35 Years of Running Have Taught Me About Winning, Losing, Happiness, Humility, and the Human Heart - Amby Burfoot
Year Count: 59
The Year in Reading 2009
They year finally came to a close last Friday and with it came to a close Bibliophilia 2009. What that is basically, is a list of works I read or re-read during the course of the year from January 1st 2009 until December 31st 2009. The list does not include magazines or journal articles as there are just too many things for me to keep track of as it is.
Six days into the new year I think is a great time to reflect over my year in reading, see what has been learned and what I can apply to this new year for Bibliophilia 2010.
In total 42 books were read or re-read this year, of those 30 were new reads. At times the reading was painfully slow and can be attributed to thick, sometimes onerous and dense material. Most of that material however was concentrated in the form of philosophy and theory work such as work by John Locke (in anticipation of Lost) and Carl Jung. At the risk of seeming like a snob, I would say those works were difficult as they were far more "scholarly" than other things I read in the year, far more reliant on theory rather than story. I am still woefully out of practice in scholarly reading so it was good to read those works and sharpen the dull edges of my mind. I find also that after reading heavy, dense works, I am far better at reading novels/stories and am able to pick up on ideas an symbols far better than I was previously able to.
Looking over the list, the dominant theme over the year seems to be one of transformation and change. Works ran in many directions around this theme from Athletic, scientific and straight stories. So much of what I read this year from fiction to non-fiction was very much about self-discovery, growing up and transformation. Secondary themes in many fo the works were ones of the individual's relationship with nature and their fellow man, which I suppose goes hand in hand with stories of change and discovery. At the beginning of the year, personally I felt I needed to change, my life was something that needed personal overhaul. It find it interesting that I was drawn to books about change, even books that had been recommended and I had either little or no idea about the contents of the books. Some were obvious with what I was going to find, while others were pleasant surprises. Others still were books on my penultimate list to read and found their way into my hands this year, and being a sort of fatalist, seemed destined for me to read at this particular time in my life. As the new year has begun, I am eager to see where my literary journey will take me this year and how my reading choices will be affected by my constantly changing self. With that I'll leave you with a few wrap it up thoughts from the my year in reading.
Six days into the new year I think is a great time to reflect over my year in reading, see what has been learned and what I can apply to this new year for Bibliophilia 2010.
In total 42 books were read or re-read this year, of those 30 were new reads. At times the reading was painfully slow and can be attributed to thick, sometimes onerous and dense material. Most of that material however was concentrated in the form of philosophy and theory work such as work by John Locke (in anticipation of Lost) and Carl Jung. At the risk of seeming like a snob, I would say those works were difficult as they were far more "scholarly" than other things I read in the year, far more reliant on theory rather than story. I am still woefully out of practice in scholarly reading so it was good to read those works and sharpen the dull edges of my mind. I find also that after reading heavy, dense works, I am far better at reading novels/stories and am able to pick up on ideas an symbols far better than I was previously able to.
Looking over the list, the dominant theme over the year seems to be one of transformation and change. Works ran in many directions around this theme from Athletic, scientific and straight stories. So much of what I read this year from fiction to non-fiction was very much about self-discovery, growing up and transformation. Secondary themes in many fo the works were ones of the individual's relationship with nature and their fellow man, which I suppose goes hand in hand with stories of change and discovery. At the beginning of the year, personally I felt I needed to change, my life was something that needed personal overhaul. It find it interesting that I was drawn to books about change, even books that had been recommended and I had either little or no idea about the contents of the books. Some were obvious with what I was going to find, while others were pleasant surprises. Others still were books on my penultimate list to read and found their way into my hands this year, and being a sort of fatalist, seemed destined for me to read at this particular time in my life. As the new year has begun, I am eager to see where my literary journey will take me this year and how my reading choices will be affected by my constantly changing self. With that I'll leave you with a few wrap it up thoughts from the my year in reading.
- I found myself finally confirming to myself that Mordecai Richler is my favourite Canadian author.
- Re-reading the Sandman series and especially finishing the last two before the new year was a treat as it always is. The more I read the series, the more I discover and I am still amazed at the finely woven tapestry of stories about stories. Neil Gaiman started with a base idea of combining various mythologies and in the end created his own sets my myths and characters that stand out on their own.
- Top 5 new reads of the year are (in order):
- The Unbearable Lightness of Being
- St. Urbain's Horseman
- Of Human Bondage
- Proust was a Neuroscientist
- Two Treasties on Government
Honourable mentions go to The Fountainhead (would have made the top 5, but Ayn Rand is not a good writer but her ideas are insanely poignant and affecting - and I'm not even a capitalist!), Memnoch the Devil (for Anne Rice's creation story alone), White Noise (for its meditations on the increasing disconnectedness of human beings especially those close to them), The Killing Joke (for re-defining the Joker character and the life altering moment with Barbara Gordon becoming part of the Dark Knight canon) and Neuromancer (for being so far ahead of its time, it was scary to read it at points).
Lastly, the best piece of advice or wisdom I extracted from the year in reading is from the character of Philip Carey from W. Somerset Maugham's Of Human Bondage. It is his personal philosophy, the way he ethically chooses to live his life and one that I believe we either all currently follow or perhaps should make note of It is as follows: Follow your inclinations with due regard to the policeman around the corner."
Happy Reading!
-s
Thoughts From the Leaf Game (43)
1. Looks like the New Years Resolution breaking has begun. Leafs down 1-0 in the first for the 879th time this season.
2. McCabe is getting soundly booed everytime he touches the puck. I understand that perhaps we overestimated his skill and value and perhaps the pressure finally got to him when he played here, but really there is no real reason to boo him other than the fact that Leafs fans are upset that they are Leaf fans. He still is a pretty good player.
3. As I write that McCabe gives the Panthers a 2-0 lead. He has played very well in the sunshine state.
4. Stempniak gets them to within one and they end the period on a better note than they started...
5. That being said, after McCabe's two markers the Panthers have lost their legs and settled into a rut. 2 goals in the second from the Leafs give them the lead going into the third.
6. A win, and the first of the new year! Alexei Ponikarovsky, welcome back to the land of the living. Nice to see you show up every now and then, Gistavsson, you won the game for us in the third. Great Goaltending.
2. McCabe is getting soundly booed everytime he touches the puck. I understand that perhaps we overestimated his skill and value and perhaps the pressure finally got to him when he played here, but really there is no real reason to boo him other than the fact that Leafs fans are upset that they are Leaf fans. He still is a pretty good player.
3. As I write that McCabe gives the Panthers a 2-0 lead. He has played very well in the sunshine state.
4. Stempniak gets them to within one and they end the period on a better note than they started...
5. That being said, after McCabe's two markers the Panthers have lost their legs and settled into a rut. 2 goals in the second from the Leafs give them the lead going into the third.
6. A win, and the first of the new year! Alexei Ponikarovsky, welcome back to the land of the living. Nice to see you show up every now and then, Gistavsson, you won the game for us in the third. Great Goaltending.
Monday, January 4, 2010
The Weather Report (a chill sets in)
Snow covers the ground, it has been snowing since yesterday
now slightly less steady,
its icy grip still squeezes the city
the winds are sharp and stinging
the cold air can be felt through the windows and over your toes
from our mouths come long curls of steam, streaming, cutting
through brightness of this particular morning
The air is taken in freezing lungfuls, clean and fluid
we are still breathing in the city
now slightly less steady,
its icy grip still squeezes the city
the winds are sharp and stinging
the cold air can be felt through the windows and over your toes
from our mouths come long curls of steam, streaming, cutting
through brightness of this particular morning
The air is taken in freezing lungfuls, clean and fluid
we are still breathing in the city
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Thoughts From the Leaf Game (42)
1. Oh my, the Leafs score first! Could the new year have ushered in some bad habit breaking aplomb?
2. Always tons of Leaf fans in the West. Good to see the Nation alive, well and louder than their stodgy Toronto counterparts.
3. Iginla is a beast. What a player. A joy to have watched him in my lifetime. I still maintain he should have been named the captain for the Olympics. Either way he is going to have a nice Olympics I think.
4. This new Calgary top line is devastating tonight. Glenncross is thriving playing with Iginla...
5. That being said our top line of late has been stale and not worthy of much attention, perhaps shuffled lines (once more) be a band-aid solution, a la Calgary?
6. Identical 3-1 loss to another Alberta team. The west coast was not kind to the Leafs, but to be honest they haven't done themselves any favours of late either.
2. Always tons of Leaf fans in the West. Good to see the Nation alive, well and louder than their stodgy Toronto counterparts.
3. Iginla is a beast. What a player. A joy to have watched him in my lifetime. I still maintain he should have been named the captain for the Olympics. Either way he is going to have a nice Olympics I think.
4. This new Calgary top line is devastating tonight. Glenncross is thriving playing with Iginla...
5. That being said our top line of late has been stale and not worthy of much attention, perhaps shuffled lines (once more) be a band-aid solution, a la Calgary?
6. Identical 3-1 loss to another Alberta team. The west coast was not kind to the Leafs, but to be honest they haven't done themselves any favours of late either.
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