Hunter

I met a guy (surprise). I think this time he’s a keeper.

His name is Hunter, and after arriving back from Calgary, I take a trip over to Vancouver with my friend Paul. We head out Friday night and I am out on the dance floor minding my own business when I see this guy… He is different, he’s dancing rather EMO, and we stick to each other the whole night without exchanging so much as a glance. I am terribly shy and so is this dude.

“But now it’s come to distances, and both of us must try…your eyes are soft with sorrow, hey that’s no way to say goodbye.”

We say hi to each other late into the night, which leads to us finding a quite place to talk. I quite enjoy him because he’s very nervous and shy. To me, it seems as if he’s very grounded and down to earth. I know my fascination with shy people – my fetish, one might say – is in full effect. The more and more we share this awkwardness the more I want to be with him.

The night at the club we both go our own separate ways. I am with my friends and am showing them around Vancouver. It would look bad if I left them for another guy. So I say goodbye and plan to meet the next night.

Night two: we meet and I must say after seeing him for the second time, I like him even more. After a few drinks, some leg rubbing and a polite kiss we part ways once again…this time with a brief kiss but nothing to sexual and plan to connect again at the end of the night. I know that he doesn’t think I will actually live up to my promise, but I do….and four in the morning we head back to his place to hang out.

His place is very interesting. Before entering he pulls a Charlie and tells me that it isn’t as clean as it should be – it’s something I would say and I smile. As I enter, everything is clean and put away and as I look around I see so many creative ideas. He has some old televisions stacked on top of one another, and the icing on the cake, a manikin that has been dressed up – half the body at least, and it’s standing, commanding, over the highest television.

The guy is so shy he won’t even look me in the eye. It takes him a right to make eye contact with me and to smile – to laugh – I am overjoyed and so turned on. I love it. I’m drawn to shy people and I find him to be interesting, I want to explore him, I want to be with him, the connection is undeniable and we spend as much time together as possible.

His style is very Hunter, he is unique and beautiful. The next morning, around twelve I guess, my friend phones me and wants to leave Vancouver. I had to peel myself away from Hunter, literally, and I was sad to leave. I wanted to do nothing more then stay in bed with him and find out more and more. I wanted to keep connecting and to keep feeling more and more intense feelings towards him. We both agreed its a good thing we live apart from one another or it may move too fast. I don’t want to rush anything and at the same time I want nothing more then to be with him – only him.

I’m spending New Years with Hunter. He wants me to meet his friends and I want to make sure if he is the one or not. I think he is…I know these things. I knew the first time and I know now. Much like I knew that the umpteenth time quitting smoking was the final time, or how I knew it was over between my ex and I, or how I knew so many other things; I know it and you’ll see it all unfold.

Xmas Party!

"I came by myself to a very crowded place; I was looking for someone who had lines in her face”

I sang Leonard Cohen’s Lady Midnight at my roommates Christmas party the other night. I had a few drinks, and the crowd was pretty much cleared up, the karaoke monitor was out of operation, and I decide to get up and do a number from memory. I’m normally a nervous person; it took me half the night to work up the courage to do it, but as I looked around, belting the tunes, people actually enjoyed it.

One of the managers, who reminded me of one of the Judd’s, ran up to me while I was singing and planted a kiss on my forehead. She tells me I sound just like him and that I was amazing. My confidence is boosted. I start dreaming about my future life as a musician. Looking around at the tables of people, I see them all focused on me. There is no more chatter, everyone is deeply immersed in my singing – and they are actually enjoying it. I had no idea…

“Whatever you give me, I seem to need so much more”.

After the song finishes, I head back to the table of friends, including a bi guy who has been flirting heavily with me all night. He tells me he’s jealous and I blush nervously, and I am complimented by my friends also. All eyes are on me and I’m relishing on my job well done. At this time, the manager who complimented me earlier, approaches me and asks who I was singing…I guess, I didn’t sound that much like him after all.

The bi guy is strange. He arrives with a gay pastry chief, and I only assume that he is an escort. I find out they are friends, as we sit side by side, feasting on rare lamb and Fillet Mignon. The night is amazing. His arm is around me; we are joking, looking into each others eyes, holding our gazes. I’m getting more and more excited about the after party.

All eyes are on us. I guess, we are the two best looking guys are the party. Some of the women are looking us both over – and the gay pastry chief is becoming more and more friendly. He reeks of perfume and I am getting more and more annoyed as he rubs my head and hugs me repeatedly.

The bi guy is sitting one chair away from me and I am starting to get turned on. I keep gazing into his eyes as he keeps talking into my ear, and I can feel his whiskers on me, his breath is on my neck. And, after a few jokes, I find my hand occasionally touching his leg and knee. He doesn’t mind at all.

"Don't try to use me or slyly refuse me, just win me or lose me, it is this that the darkness is for."

It turns out the bi guys enjoys my good friend Camilla also. After a failed attempted to show him where the washroom is, he jumps on a chance to talk to her. I see it all falling apart. I see how the two interact; I see how Camilla and I are in direct competition and I want no part of it. As I approach her, she merely comments “You can’t have it all” and I eagerly give up – I mean, I may see him again – but alcohol, bi men, and friendships do not mix well together.

“So I walk through the morning, sweet early morning, I could hear my lady calling, you’ve won me, and you’ve won me, my lord.

Camilla views me as a fiercely motivated individual. She has mentioned I can be intimidating because a) I am so focused; b) I am talented; and c) I have accomplished a lot in my lifetime. By no means are these my words, but I see how she could perceive me that way. I will not compete against her.

I remember one of the first times we hung out together. We head to the YMCA to work out. Camilla knows how focused I am when I work out so I challenge her to do some circuit training with me. Forty minutes later – and I am shocked – she is still going. I know right then and there, she isn’t going to give up until I do. So we are competing. And, I am drawing from her energy and her determination to prove to me that she can win, that she has enough motivation to pull me down from this pedestal that she has put me on. I beat her that night, so I guess it’s only fair she proves to me tonight that I don’t always win.

The night was amazing. The food was superb and I like the fact I showed up in a really tired and worn out mood, and, at the end of the night had befriended and entertained half the staff. I have a feeling some of them thought of me as upper management. I was assumed to be one of the invisible operaters of the organization. The fact that I was rubbing elbows with the managers didn't help either.

At the end of the night and after having a few drinks we stagger home. My roommate Paul asks me how my night was and I can only reply “I smell like a gay pastry chief”.

Title and Registration

High up, originally uploaded by copeseticnature.

The glove compartment isn't accurately named
And everybody knows it.
So i'm proposing a swift orderly change.

Cause behind its door there's nothing to keep my fingers warm
And all i find are souvenirs from better times
Before the gleam of your taillights fading east
To find yourself a better life.

I was searching for some legal document
As the rain beat down on the hood
When i stumbled upon pictures i tried to forget
And that's how this idea was drilled into my head

Cause it's too important
To stay the way it's been

There's no blame for how our love did slowly fade
And now that it's gone it's like it wasn't there at all
And here i rest where disappointment and regret collide
Lying awake at night

There's no blame for how our love did slowly fade
And now that it's gone it's like it wasn't there at all
And here i rest where disappointment and regret collide
Lying awake at night (up all night)
When i'm lying awake at night.

Cat Power

Victoria Cinema, originally uploaded by copeseticnature.

When I’m drivin’ in my car,
And the man come on the radio,
He’s tellin’ me more and more,
About some useless information,
Tryin’ mess with my imagination.

When I’m watchin’ my TV,
When a man comes on to tell me,
How white my shirt’s can be,
But, he can’t be a man cause he doesn’t smoke
The same cigarettes as me

When I’m riding around the globe,
And I’m doin’ this and I’m signin’ that
And I’m trying to make some boy
Baby, baby, baby come back
‘Cause you see, I’m on a losing streak
When I’m ridin’ around the glove
And I’m doin’ this and I’m signin’ that
And I’m tryin’
And I’m tryin’

It's just a rant, don't worry...

And this is my world, your world, the world now, tomorrow, and forever, until it’s no longer bearable. I am asleep most days, even if I am awake, I am in a different state of mind. My mind is hazy, out of focus and can only be awoken when something visually pungent comes my way.

I am a born soldier with a work ethic built on the blood, loss, and natural selection of my East Coast ancestors. They were the pioneers, dropped off on the shores of Newfoundland to die, malnourished, cold, without food or shelter, to be the work horses, slaves, of England. My blood is fueled by their loss, by their strength, and I am nothing less than what they are. I am strong because of it and their voices echo in my veins. They were the ones who I look to proudly to, and I thank everyday with the zeal that most have lost in their own family trees. I am not blind to what was sacrificed for me.

I am stark raving mad. I laugh in the face of stupidity. I carry my ego wisely, and never! will I let people know how much I think, for then, I will never be able to taken them for the fools they are. You want redemption, it’s too late. All hope is loss and you are spiraling towards an even greater problem: repentance, for you will need it soon. Don’t look to me guidance, for I am, and will be, the greatest hypocrite that has ever lived. I will go down in history in a state of utter contradiction.

Now, stuck in this mindless world, struggle with new technologies, more absurd and artificially created foods, polluted oceans and atmosphere; I am but a struggling pioneer once again. Where are the days of old? Where is the age of innocence? We are but a species that is more lost then ever, never mind the dark ages of Europe, the collapse of the Roman Empire, never mind the forging of mankind, it’s the here and now that is most volatile. We say it’s an easy time to live, but I don’t see it that way.

In this volatility I do nothing but watch the hoards. Those parasites who are stomping though their lives and missing the larger points. The consumers will always be consuming, and without any foresight, they will die with a mass of nothingness. They will die and pass it on to the next poor victim who will consider it a blessing.

Lets rape the land together. Lets form clubs where we can go out to the ocean fronts to dump our chemicals and finish of the ritual with a large bowel movement. It’s better to see it directly rather then mask the problem. I will be first to help out. To show the masses their foulness. I want to salt the earths and cut down random trees, burn them, still alive and dripping with sap. Why not? They will only be plundered anyway. Why do we use so much paper? Why do we live in a word that wastes?

Lets feast on tainted meat, chickens caged by the dozens who know nothing but disease. Shall we eat fish filled with mercury, regardless of the health warnings? I wonder how many birth deflects will come forward this century. I want to see it all. I want to see you affected, beg for your sins my friends, for you are to blame.

As the population grows so does our need for even more sea life, more farms, greater numbers of organisms that produce meats. I wonder how the next fifty years will treat our food reserves. Already East Indian and China are over a billions worth, who is next? Will we keep growing? Right now the only sure fire way of minimizing population is wide scale war, or start dropping the nukes. I know, in our resource rich Country, they will move out of need soon, morals will not come into play, it’s going to be a free for all when life is challenged.

-----------------------------------

I am a free thinking mammal with nothing to contemplate. I am a smoker who smokes too much. A lover who is loveless. I am immortal and will die. I am your worst nightmare and best friend. I am…just a man, disgruntled, scared, depressed, anxious, happy, fearful, and I don’t trust you, I don’t trust the government and I want out.

I think Sweden would be nice. Maybe I could learn the language, ski all day long, eat their horrible foods and hope not to get paddled. I don’t want to be the neighbor to the most horrendous state ever created. I could even dye whatever is left of my hair a blond color to fit it. I don’t want to be regarded as a foreigner…that guy from Canada. I am Swedish now, treat me as your brethren. I love meatballs and Ikea, although I haven’t shopped there; I think Ikea is getting worse as the years go by, but at least they take their raw products and form industries rather then ship all of their raw materials out of country, to do what? Lose even more of our economy. Gain fair, handshakes?

So if I resist, will I be noticed? Will it be meaningless, maybe taken on film by some Japanese tourist? Will it be on the papers controlled by the liberal governments? Will I be forgotten like everything else?

I want to start a protest, I don’t even care what it’s about, I just want one, and it should be memorable, historical, significant, with children, parents, gays, blacks, Chinese, I want all cultures, all sub-cultures, even animals, and I want it to strip us of all needs and wants. I want a unified struggle to change something…anything. I want to breath again. I’m not breathing - I’m dying here. It’s boring and I hate you all.

Zee crazy Germans

My neighbor is a crazy ass, German bitch. I’m thinking about where to began, or how to even word this, so please, bear with me.

I think it all started the week I moved in. I parked my U-haul out in front of both of our houses and she comes running out. “You can’t park there, it’s my spot!” Which is fine, I turn to her and ask her if I should move. I explain that the truck will only be parked for about twenty minutes and I’ll be out of your way. She tells me its ok, only because she likes my roommate Paul. “Paul’s a good boy”.

The next incident is a little more off the wall. A few of the pickets on her white fence are old and deteriorated. I head home one day to find her picking at them, staring, musing over it. When she sees me she points out that my landlord has destroyed her fence.

“He did it, I know he did”, speaking to me as if I even cared. “He doesn’t want to mess with me; I’ll phone the city counsel and take him down”.

“Yeah, you do that”, I respond and walk by, as she is still talking to me. It was a long day and I’m starting to see what type of person she is.

Before Ryan – also known as dirty, straight dude - moved out, he was changing in one of the bedrooms. The blinds were taken down because of the move, and half of the window is frosted glass. I awake about eight thirty in the morning to overhear the conversation.

“I can see it”, in a high pitched, German accent. "I can see you naked".

“Oh, Hi Mary,” Ryan replies. He just got out of the shower and was removing his towel only to find Mary staring right at him. The conversation pursues but I am now thinking forward in time to the next night. It’s eleven or twelve at night, my curtain isn’t put up yet, and Mary is flicking lights on and off, waving to me, through her window. I am shirtless and couldn’t give two fucks.

“Paul, this bitch is crazy”, I tell him over dinner one night. “She is spying on me through her windows late at night”. Its absolute insane and he acknowledges this.

Yesterday, the icing on the cake, there is a great deal of rain in Victoria. Our backyard is starting to collect a lot of water and the landlord comes in with a sub-pump. While I’m at work Paul logs in to tell me that Mary is going crazy. She is yelling at our landlord Cam and is causing a lot of trouble. This is about nine in the morning…

I arrive home at five to find Mary still yelling. She is screaming at cam, her shrill voice is yelling “I don’t care, get off my property!” Cam himself is defending himself and telling her that it’s not her property; he is on his own piece of land.

I head into the house only to hear her screaming, with broom in hand, for another twenty minutes until the pump is shut off. “Get off my land!” “Get off my property!” “This is not your land, get off”.

“You’re nuts Mary,” Cam replies. “You need help,” as he fends off her attacks. He’s a part of the city working core, he’s here to stop the flooding. He is a kind, sexy, football player looking kind of dude.

“I’m not nuts, you’re nuts. You get off my land”, Mary screams. Her voice is echoing the neighborhood, and at this point in time, I want to gas her and bury her in my backyard.

Cam knocks on my door to apologize. He explains that he has to phone the police because a) Mary took a swing at him and made contact and b) she pushed his father, who is in his sixties.

The whole time I am shocked and can still here Mary in the background. Mary makes me realize that this isn't the East Coast anymore. Crazy East Coast ladies would take up all your time in conversation and follow you around the yard; I'm thinking so much for neighborly love.

The funny thing is, water is running into her property also, but she doesn’t care. Cam tells me she blames the house for the death of her husband; the house is blamed for everything that had done her wrong in her life. She wants to burn it to the ground, my friend Paul tells me. I’m thinking I need insurance.

This morning I hear Mary talking to my downstairs neighbor. “You should apologize for what you put me through”, in her now insane, annoying, calculated, and dreadful German accent.

“Mary, I live here too,” she relies. She actually sounds human today, sporting a spine and the courage of her convictions.

“I live here!, Mary replies sharply. “I live here too…”

I believe in you Lord!

It has been raining for about a week straight now. The sky is clean and full of clouds, vehicles drive by more slowly with all the summers dirt drained off. I’m getting that claustrophobic feeling again. It’s as if my body has a great deal of gravity and pressure being exerted on it. Maybe I’m overtly sensitive? This feeling comes and goes and for the next four months will be a struggle for myself. I have to be domestic again.

I just found out there is a Church of Scientology next to where I live. The building is sporting a Roman-Greco architecture – it screams of pretension – and I want to infiltrate it. I always hear about this group and am curious how different their religion is in comparison to others. Maybe I should try to track down a service, show up unannounced and see what the reaction would be.

Worst case scenario, they think I’m the prophet reborn and they start to worship me with zest. Or best case scenario, upon sneaking in, I discover they are not really human’s but instead aliens who shed off their skins when the doors of the ‘scientologium’ are closed. I still haven’t figured out how a science fiction writer such as L. Ron Hubbard could be a founder of a religious movement.

I have been rifling though all my previous religious crazes. First, my United Church, glory bestowed upon me, it was my first taste of something holy and pure. I only attended this church for funerals, weddings, and school trips, minus a brief stint in Sunday school, I do feel as if I evolved greatly as a religious being. It was a church that bestowed a great deal of pride in me when I would mention my denomination to friends.

Secondly, think about this statement: JW galore. Yes, it’s true. I have a connection to the Jehovah’s Witnesses. My mothers side, at least half of her sisters and one brother are ‘Jehovees’, and they have just recently got my grandparents. Whenever we visited our aunt Charity in Gander she would always bribe our family to make us attend a meeting with her. Now, first we would be scrutinized on our clothing, our hairstyles, even our general cleanliness, and after a promise of treats and/or pizza we were off.

Now I have met some crazy fucks in my day but this church was quite the social experiment. I’ve never seen so many wide eyed yet vacant people in my whole life. My aunt would parade me around and keep my sister and family in the background. My selling feature was the fact that I was young and very knowledgeable about the bible. One might say I was even interested in it.

My religious knowledge went a long way in the community and when question time came about, I would put up my hand, grab the mike, and answer questions, only to hear a hall of applause afterward. I was hooked! I wanted the fame. I wanted people to approach me after a meeting and ask about me, her smart, young nephew. What can I say I was a whore for attention.

After leaving Newfoundland and heading to BC, I decided I am a man of great spirituality. I don’t need a specific religion to become closer to God. So I formed my own religion and had my own views about the world around me. I would define spirituality as taking a bike ride along the ocean and clearing my mind, or swimming laps, or…going for a hike up Mount Finlayson. To me, spirituality was being one with nature, keeping my body strong, and active. There was one thing missing though...

I was traveling on the ferry back from Vancouver; I think I was coming down from a harsh weekend of … well, let’s not go there. As much as I wanted to sleep, all I could hear was the sounds of laugher. One seat up from me were the happiest people I have ever seen in my life. It almost seemed unreal in a way. Four smiling and well-adjusted, young adults were entertaining themselves for an hour now. I had to investigate.

As groggy as I was, I asked “Excuse me, I can’t help but notice how happy you all are, not that it’s abnormal, but …. why are you so happy?”

“Well,” the younger guy, with blond hair and perfect teeth turns to me, still smiling, still radiant, “it’s simple, we’re Mormon’s”, and once again they surprise me with an uproar of happiness. I must say, I love Mormons. I met another group of them – notice they travel in groups – on a bus to Vancouver once. After my first experience, identifying the next group was easy. All I had to do was ask “Are you all Mormon?”

So my next stab at something more concrete as a religion was the Mormon faith. They gave me a bible on that bus trip and wished me the best. I was interested. I kept the bible close, looked at its thickness, watched a South Park episode on it, and realized it wasn’t for me. I mean, yeah, I could have made the effort of at least reading one page, but really, I know they won’t accept me. I’m not as…innocent as they are. I have had a much more enriched life, and I’m not sure if I could life by their rule set.

Religion is a great thing. It’s great to have some sort of omnipotent force supporting your everyday life. It’s cool to ask this unforeseen force for guidance, to use this spiritual being as a vessel to judge and blame others. It’s great…but I think I have a busy enough schedule.

Moving...

I have officially moved into my new place with my friend Paul. We are in a two bedroom character home on the main floor. I love it and I get along with Paul quite well.

There are a couple of issues right now though: one being the existing roommate. He hasn't left yet! We have two sets of furniture in the house right now and everyday when I get home a little bit more has been packed away and moved; I am slowly reclaiming the space as my own.

The second issue is our roommate’s adulterated concern for others. When I arrived home yesterday my expensive bike, which I cherish, and a large plant was moved out on to the outside deck. I was enraged and I decided to redirect all of the rage out on cleaning.

I emptied the dishwasher and proceeded to fill it again with all of Ryan's plates and glasses that he left on the countertop. He is one of those people that just leaves things around. I spent the day before cleaning up the kitchen and when I arrived yesterday it was back to the original state of disarray. This guy will never get married.

On to the bathroom...it was a mess. I don't think they ever gave the tub a good scrub or the toilet for that matter. I spend a good hour cleaning the base boards, the tub, the sink, toilet, windows and ledges; when I poured out the bucket of water it was completely black. I have never lived this way...and now that it's OUR place, I am going to set some rules up for Ryan until he moves out on Saturday.

He managed to walk all over Paul and destroy him with his uncleanliness; I will not left him do the same thing to me. Two days of living with Ryan and I already want to kill him. I had no idea how disrespectful and messy one person can be.

This morning when I woke, I came out to the kitchen, which was pristine the night before, only to find plates, an open package of sandwich meat, a knife in the sink...etc. I picked up the plastic meat package intended for the garbage and placed it next to his bedroom door. I hope he steps on it when he gets up. I have little to no patience for laziness. He is my guest now. He is now a renter.

I also took the liberty of picking up all of the things he has left around. Irons, clothing, laundry baskets and threw them on his bed and shut the door.

Paul is concerned he will get mad. To be honest, I really couldn't care less, he should be ashamed and apologetic. A healthy home is positively correlated to a healthy mind. I cannot portray myself any differently and need good Chi in my life. Ryan drained Paul and destroyed him by being the messiest person I have ever met.

My life....haha, I don't think it will ever get dull.

Life in a nutshell

I have a lot of news to fill everyone in on.

Firstly, I want to address the workmate situation. As it stands, we have let him go. He came into the office - after my boss popped by to ask him if he had a minute - and came back a few minutes later. Visually, I could see he was distressed and probed, “Is everything alright?”

“Well”, he responded, “he pretty much let me go”. It looked as if he was going to cry and his head sunk down. I had a mix of emotions. I do realize that when I get into situations that make me uncomfortable I sometimes break out into a smile or giggle to myself. After hearing him, I got up and walked out of the office for a half an hour.

He couldn’t understand why he was being let go. He said he thought he was doing a good job and didn’t see it coming. He complained about not getting feedback, etc. I heard him express these things and became a little upset. I shut the office door and talked to him for two hours. I think at the end of his conversation he was like “Oh, I really did fuck up, you’re right”.

He applied for a new position at the company. It’s in the other building and it’s a lesser role. Guess who created this role? Guess who oversees its operations? It’s me. He told me and my jaw nearly dropped. It’s ok though, I don’t mind, but once again I will have to train him on a process that is less complicated but still….I am happy he isn’t left out in the cold.

The second big thing is the move. I have moved about seven blocks down the road. I’m moving in with a buddy. His straight roommate Ryan isn’t leaving until Saturday though and we have two sets of furniture stuffed into a character home. It’s a bit unnerving but I have learnt to be tolerant and let go. They are both great people and I’m happy to be in that space regardless of how disorganized it is.

I like having fun with Ryan. He’s a really attractive guy and I throw out comments like “Ryan, I have one rule…after ten nobody wears pants in my household”. He takes it with a grain of salt and tells me to fuck off. I love our relationship.

In about a week everything should be settled away. I will have a new phone and my things will be sorted. I’m not too concerned right now.

Oh yeah, one more thing. I met my father in Vancouver. It was fine. We had a few nice dinners, one small argument, and he is totally cool with me being gay. In fact, nothing has changed at all; I can’t pick up any apprehension or tension. One night at a restaurant I pointed out a cute waiter and he had a conversation about it. My dad thought he was too feminine. I agreed but pointed out I’d do him just for the body and the look. He doesn’t have to talk.

Sorry to summarize this so much. I’ve been too busy to devote a lot of time to blog lately. Hopefully in a week or two I can return to this and elaborate a bit more about all these epic events.

No kind of life

You rely on someone else to make you feel alright.
As far as I'm concerned, it's no no kind of life.

The Fall

It's here.

I'm heading to Vancouver on Saturday to visit my father who I haven't seen in over three years. He has conferences all day long and I will be living it up at the Mariott (one of the nicest hotels in Vancouver). I plan on heading to the spa, ordering room service, lounging in the pool, hiking the grouse grind, biking around the city, and doing some hardcore shopping on Robson Street.

I have a feeling nothing really happens in Vancouver during the day. I will have to try to set up a few dates for the early morning when dad is away at work, lol.

One more thing, I'm on Zyban to quit smoking. It's been ten days on the medications and each morning I awake extremely early with a jumble of horrific images in my head. The drug itself changes your serotonin levels which regulate both sleep and mood.

Low levels of serotonin have been associated with depression, migraine, bipolar disorder and anxiety. Now, I am not a depressed person, nor do I ever get depressed; this drug makes me sink once in a while for brief periods. I know I shouldn't be playing with my mental state but I really want to stop smoking. I will handle the visions, the mood distriburances, and hopefully I will no longer smoke in a months time.

I'm really optmistic about ending this habit this time around. I have no need for it anymore. Wish me luck!

People...

There are so many of us. One city can house millions of people in various stages of life, with different tastes, jobs, lives, and we have one thing in common, we are all human.

My friend Scott passed away last weekend. He was in his 40's, HIV positive, in excellent shape (he was a gym rat), and was quiet and shy. He would hit on me when I went to the gym but he was too shy to say hi to me. I would gingerly walk by, nod, acknowledge his smiles and hope I didn’t come across as interested. Scott didn't even know I was gay until he saw me at a party with mutual acquaintances.

Scott had a heart attack. Its ok, I knew him but I didn't know him that well. It got me thinking though how many people would miss Scott. Did Scott have a group of friends and family in his life? I have no idea really. I always took him to be a loner. He seemed to always be in his own quiet, little world; this was my impression of Scott.

Will he be missed? I mean one life out of billions that blinks out of existence; in the great scheme of things it doesn't really matter. I knew Scott, Scott's dead; life goes on...It sounds shallow I know. But I look at the vast number of people in this world and I finally realize none of us really matter. That’s not entirely true, we affect the people around us, and hopefully we live really awesome lives but unless we hold a position of power or social influence our life is meaningless to 99 percent of the world’s population. We are but a speck.

Maybe I’m taking the pragmatic approach to it all. I won’t wrap it up in romanticism nor will I give it a more positive disposition, and I want to stress this, you’re life is meaningless. If you are reading this instead of helping third world countries in Africa, or at least thinking about helping them, then I feel sorry for you. If you are reading this instead of trying to climb the ladder of your countries political system, or develop a cure for cancer, or work in the field of AIDS research, or anything worthwhile for that matter…I don’t want to meet you.

In fact, if you sit around all day long and complain about life and expect everything to be handed to you, then you will never be worthy of a life. If you give up easily, or complain about mundane things, such as your steak being medium instead of medium rare, then I am sickened to my stomach in your presence. If you are on welfare, you suck. If you are too stunned to get an education, so be it. If you wake up every morning and rush for your remote control instead of to your window to see how the day is…you should think about what is more important.

Ground yourself friends, be humble, give thanks and thank, you only have one go of it and you may just drop dead of a heart attack, get hit by a bus, or have an aneurysm that could pop at anytime. What are we fucking doing? Sky dive, base dive, fuck strangers, eat unhealthy foods, and have more than one glass of wine a night; take a few vacations even if it breaks you financially. Don’t hoard your money, don’t gossip about your friends, and for fuck sakes smarten up and start looking around…look at things, don’t just walk by thinking about how you need to lose weight, or how you want a condo real bad in the downtown area; just fucking think about life, not the material things.

Please, don’t take it for granted. Don’t be a shy person who is afraid to take risks. Don’t let disease defeat you and always try to look for the good in every situation. Don’t be what I thought Scott was…alone. And the great Plato will tell you “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle”. Fitting isn’t it? In other words, the world has enough assholes, let’s try as hard as we can to rid ourselves of ego, selfishness, and the shallowness we all encounter from the people around us. It’s a hard fight.

I rant when people die. It’s my nature.

My Workmate

I came into work this morining only to see my IM opened with a message from the young guy I'm mentoring. As it turns out, he was trashing me and sent the message to the wrong person. HAHA. Check it out:

Geoff [5:02 PM]:
try being on charlies (5 questions a day) rule

Geoff [5:02 PM]:
that's so annoying

Geoff [5:02 PM]:
im learning a bit more finding the answers myself, but it takes ALOT longer

Geoff [5:03 PM]:
which is one of the reasons i'm helpin ya

Geoff [5:03 PM]:
hahah

Geoff [5:04 PM]:
lol

This is hilarious. The minute I read it I question him about it. "Ummm, Geoff, I opened my IM today and noticed you had a few things to say about me", and I must say this is the funniest thing that has happened to me in a while. He turns red and suddenly starts covering his own tracks.

"Yeah, I meant to send that to you...", still red and obviously telling me the biggest lie ever.

"Interesting, I don't think so, it seems to be addressed to someone else. This is why it's important to be meticulous Geoff...", and I go off on a rant. Here I go again trying to father him.

"Don't worry Geoff, I'm not pissed off, it's actually quite funny", but as it sinks in, I realized that a) he has lied to my face about this, and b) he was hoping I would be dumb enough to fall for it.

As I'm writing this he's scrambling at his desk to try to find the location of a meeting that he just missed. God, he's not that bright.

I'm glad it's Friday.

Lady with Baby

This song is about two closeted, young gay guys getting it on:

god bless the daylight, the sugary smell of springtime
remembering when you were mine
in a still suburban town

when every thursday i'd brave those mountain passes
and you'd skip your early classes
and we'd learn how our bodies worked

god damn the black night with all its foul temptations
i've become what i always hated
when i was with you then

we looked like giants in the back of my grey subcompact
fumbling to make contact
as the others slept inside

and together there
in a shroud of frost, the mountain air
began to pass from every pane of weathered glass
and i held you closer than anyone would ever get

do you remember the JAMC?
and reading aloud from magazines
i don't know about you but i swear on my name they could smell it on me
i've never been too good with secrets
no…

and together there
in a shroud of frost and mountain air
began to pass through every pane of weathered glass
and i held you closer…

Messy People

As you may have read in previous entries, I have a new study project. It's my workmate, and I am completely entranced with his lifestyle. Right now as I type he is drinking pop from a mug, while finishing off his deep fried chips (with hot sauce) and a two patty burger; he licks his fingers as eat bite goes down.

I don't mean to be critical...When I asked where we are going for lunch today he suggested "Wings!" and we left it to a vote. The wing idea was thrown away but we ended up heading across the street. I mentioned I wanted something healthy and decided to have a wrap with chicken, beans, and brown rice; my other co-worker followed me, and this dude decides to order a burger.

"You eat like a 12 year old girl", he tells me. I roll my eyes thinking about my eating habits.

"No, I usually eat three times a day. The difference between you and I are our choices in foods".

All my friends think I eat a lot. I mean, I'm constantly having fruits, some sort of healthy stir-fry, or some reasonably planned meal with healthy foods. Just because I'm not eating MacDonald’s or greasy burgers doesn't mean I'm starving myself.

People are turds. Well, some people are turds.

"I want to start collecting all the take-out menus for restaurants in this area. I mean, that way we can all get together and pre-order so we don't have to wait", he tells us after obviously thinking heavily about this.

"That's great, man. Fucking wonderful". We are very different people. Once again, this is someone who is a lot different that the majority of people at my workplace. Maybe it’s youth, maybe it’s upbringing, personally, I have no idea what it is, all I know is I find it really entertaining.

I miss you Jesus

I found a guy who thinks really deep thoughts, what’s so great about really deep thoughts?

I haven’t seen my family for over three years now. The last time I saw them we vacationed together in Fort Lauderdale, which is the vacation spot of their choice. The last time I saw my parents I was still in the closet but just beginning to reclaim my sexual identity. I was on vacation and going through a major life change – I was gay and I was ready to tell them.

The last time I saw them I was twenty three and they still affected me. They could make me argue, anxious, and yeah, I wasn’t the bigger adult – I guess most of us aren’t when it comes to having a dysfunctional family.

Since then, I have came out them and I haven’t seen them since. When I meet my father in two weeks he will be meeting a different person. I am now not just his little boy, I’m a gay male who wants to be respected, and, I want him to be proud of me. I am a little nervous about the whole meeting but I don’t think anything has changed between us.

It will be interested to see if he treats me differently. Regardless, I’m excited, and it seems like a lot of great things are happening in my life. I have met some great guys who I will explore and hopefully something will come of it.

Churchy Church

Flooded

My workmate…enjoys food.

We hired him over a month ago and it’s been an adventure people watching this one. His desk usually as an assortment of plates that once contained food, two litre bottles of coke or coke products, a large bag of chips (probably still with the trans-fats in them), and an assortment of subway wrappers, forks, and crumbs.

I’m having a hard time mentoring him. I have had years of experience first being a product plant worker, then trainer; a tour guide turned trainer; and now, in my current position I automate processes, develop applications, and I train people on applications. I sometimes give presentations, and I think I communicate my ideals quite well; I am a configuration manager/software developer though, that is my title, the training is secondary.

I have found that if people know the lingo and take the opportunity to learn, they excel and we are able to discuss the complexities that exist in our business. And other times, I find other people have their head in the clouds. They are more concerned about getting a good deal on a two litre of pop or how big or small the deli sandwiches are at the grocery store. It’s all fine and well but I wish the same exuberance was expressed when dealing with work.

As you can tell, I’m having a difficult time right now. I have exhausted a lot of avenues trying to find common ground. I have tried to access whether or not my co-worker is visual by drawing diagrams and mapping out procedures; I have tried to communicate verbally our processes and expectations; and, I have tried to point him to various documentation and literature. Am I missing something?

I sometimes think people just aren’t driven or motivated to want to excel and learn. I can only hold someone’s hand for so long before I expect people to be able to learn on their own or take initiative. There are systems and procedures we have in place that I have had to explain multiple times, expecting him to remember or write it down properly, but I find myself having to go through the processes too many times. Someone that should have taken up double my time is now taking up much more.

The barrage of questions…oh my God. This morning alone, I think I was asked about ten questions in the period of an hour. Some of them obvious with the answer staring right at him…and what does he do…he asks me instead.

I’m venting, I know. I’m just frustrated. Not everyone gets it, I have to understand that, but still, my little brother could have figured it out by now. I have more confidence in a thirteen year old.

Where do I see him in six months when we review him? For one, he will have probably gained about twenty pounds, he will be still working on some of the projects I have given him, and he will be reviewed. It all depends on how he handles the next four and a half months. Right now I have my reservations and will keep them to myself.

His question asking may be attributed to a difference in schooling. I went to an institution where answers are not fed to you. You are given an assignment with very limited information and you have to make an effort to understand and learn. They don’t make it easy for students and at times it can be a constant struggle.

He went to a college that spoon fed answers and you can see it just by the questions I am asked on a day-to-day basis. I am to the point where I reply “Figure it out yourself” or “Don’t ask me simple questions like that without first trying to find the answer”. I feel bad about the way I am reacting but at the same time it’s “sink or swim”. There is only so much I can do and I have to make sure he starts learning on his own and is able to adapt/survive.

My vacation is coming up in a month or two and I don’t feel comfortable having him left as the main go to guy.

10:23 Nietzsche

Nietzsche said "We are like shop windows in which we are continually arranged, concealing or illuminating the supposed qualities others ascribe to us - in order to deceive ourselves".

“I want a dog”, my friend blurts out at a coffee shop last night. We are surrounded by friends, most of them with at least a cat or dog in their life, and then as I look around, I see the vultures waiting to decend.

“Paul, dogs are expensive, they chew on furniture, they require a lot of your time, and you have to groom them”, I respond in a supportive, non-judgmental way.

As I’m speaking on of my friends is passing Paul an “adopt a pet” document from the SPCA. My words dissolve, nobody listens, and I see Paul become engrossed in the paper.

“Ok, fine, well I want a pet. How about a cat?”

“Paul, remind me…aren’t you the same person who has banned all the neighborhood cats from entering your house? Aren’t you the same person who claims that cat scratches will give you worms? You can’t even pick one up.” I’m becoming on edge, only because we are moving in together in a month, and I’m not sure if a cat or a dog will benefit my life in anyway.

I want a dog, I really do, but I don’t think I have the time or the patience to own one. I want clean furniture, I do not want to come home and discover Spike chewing on the leg of my table, or dog hairs on the couch. I don’t think it’s going to happen.

“Paul you have to be realistic about this…you told me you don’t even know where you are going to be in six months. You maybe teaching in Japan or headed to England; I’m just wondering how a dog/cat fits into this?” I plan on exhausting this conversation, I want to know a dog or cat isn’t going to mysterious going to appear in my life one day.

“Until you can commit to living in Victoria, or at least the West Coast, you can’t have a pet”, there, that’s that, end of conversation.

I guess I feel like I’m parenting at times. We are the same age and our thought patterns are very different from one another. I approach things cynically, rationally, and I think out situations before I jump into them. I wait a day before I make a big purchase and I check my bank account to ensure it won’t make my life uncomfortable.

Paul jumps. Paul can hit the town on a day of shopping and buy things on sight. I love the guy to no end, but I pray we don’t clash when it comes to responsibility.

I am open to a dog. I am, but I’m not going to let him know that, it would open up too many opportunities to be impulsive. And, I always worry about people with new puppies; there is this stigma that people with new puppies have emotional issues. Whenever I see someone with a new pet, I think, oh no, I hope he’s ok. We all know animals are sometimes used during emotional periods for comfort and security.

I just want to make sure we are both ok before a cute, little puppy comes into our lives. And if I do get a dog it will be from an animal shelter, there are so many dogs out there that need homes, it breaks my heart.

We try but we don't belong

I’m having a hard time getting through Annie Dillard’s “Pilgrim at Tinker’s Creek”. It’s a good read, very descriptive, but I don’t think it’s my style.

The entire book is about Annie living in Tinker’s Creek and taking in the nature around her. She talks about egg casings, bull frogs, spider’s that spin webs, and the passing of the seasons. I’m all about nature, mind you, but I am having a hard time figuring out how this novel won a Pulitzer Prize in literature. I would have given the prize to her other work “Holy the Firm” instead.

The book speaks of human conditioning and our relationship with the Divine. I must admit her prose does wrap you up in the event. Every time I pick up the novel, it takes some time me to get into it, but once I do, I am deeply involved and taken on a journey. And, the references to physics, literature, numerous religious traditions, anthropology, medicine and folklore are astounding.

The book itself was indirectly influenced by a near fatal attack of pneumonia which she was stricken with in 1971. After she recovered, Annie decided she needed to experience life more fully. It’s debatable whether or not spending four seasons in a creek would be “living more”. Life is in the eye of the beholder, I guess.

I had a Tinker’s Creek when I was younger. It was my sanctuary, a place I could go and see the world for what it is, without the confusion of cities, commercialism, crowds; it was my sanity at times. As I get older, I want it again, but I feel the draw of urban life and am conflicted.

I wish there were balance. I wish a city planner like Jane Jacobs could make my dream a reality. Jane is now dead, and a lot of her ideas will be rendered useless, because Mrs. Jacob’s was the driving force and we are a world without leaders now. Our leaders are greedy and power hungry.

“There is a quality even meaner than outright ugliness or disorder, and this meaner quality is the dishonest mask of pretended order, achieved by ignoring or suppressing the real order that is struggling to exist and to be served”

–-Jane Jacobs

"But look what we have built low-income projects that become worse centers of delinquency, vandalism and general social hopelessness than the slums they were supposed to replace. Cultural centers that are unable to support a good bookstore. Civic centers that are avoided by everyone but bums. Promenades that go from no place to nowhere and have no promenaders. Expressways that eviscerate great cities. This is not the rebuilding of cities. This is the sacking of cities."

-- Jane Jacobs

I miss her...

The Coast Line

Even if I'm shouting, even if I'm shouting here inside.
Even if I'm shouting, do you see that I'm wanting,
that I want to be so,
bright,
bright,
bright as yellow,
warm as yellow.

It's over the hump day at the company. Today, because of a 5KM Cops for Cancer run last week, we are having a Salmon BBQ. I do realize I have sold out to Corporate Canada, but I really like Salmon. Is it wrong for me to get excited about these things?

They say 30 is the age in which you cannot be trusted. It was coined in the 60's during the revolution (AKA Hippy Movement); the premise was when you hit 30, you are no longer free-thinking, and you have sided with the man.

In today’s age, I'd say it's now 40 or even later, people are no longer turning to the man after a quarter of a century of living. Have I sold out to Corporate Canada? Am I now one with the man after 27 years of living? I really hope not.

I still think of myself as the "Carney in the coal mine", I will expose all social dysfunctions and feel like I'm a contributing member that doesn't conform. Yes, I will be eating the Salmon and veggie dogs, but I assure you I won't be making small talk, I will be real, and the company will be secondary to my need to get to know people on a more personal level.

I was inspired by another blog to come up with a really fetching catch phrase or slang. I'm rooting it over in my head...and I have ascertained that all the good ones are taken. Wicked, Cool, Sweet, That's Hot, Eat me...I need something that'll raise eyebrows and be used day to day.

Maybe I'll just bring back the high five; people didn't really give it an honest effort. I think if the right people were high fiving, it would be cool.

Architecture

The Fall is here

Heaven holds a sense of wonder...

The Fall/Winter is coming. Our fall is winter…yeah. Anyway, I was at the coffee shop tonight after working, then working out for close to two hours; I wonder where I’m going with my life.

Yeah, so the coffee store. As I was biking down Cook Street I see Diana, and she yells for me to come over. I quickly veer my bike over and catch up to her.

We head down the coffee store only to meet Michael, another acquaintance. I am amazed that in the short period of four years…I finally am able to recognize people on the street and form relationships. We talk, we make jokes, and after a couple of hours at the coffee shop, we head to smoke a joint.

Now, mind you, I’m not a drug smoker. Two puffs of a joint and I’m completely high – in a manageable state, but stoned nonetheless.

We talk about the coming fall. We talk about why it’s so enthralling to be in such a beautiful place as Victoria, how lucky we are, and how we handle the winter. I have to give you some background first. In Newfoundland, as much as it snows, we can see the stars on winter nights, the days still have Sunshine, and the only thing that stops living is the snow, which is unbearable at times.

In Victoria it’s different. It rains, the sky disappears, I can’t explain why we are sometimes covered by clouds for weeks on end, or how I wonder if the Sun will ever shine again; I can’t tell you how many times I have woke in the morning only to see it pour, and to see the clouds so low to the ground, almost to the point of making me claustrophobic. That’s how we feel. That’s why I need to head away and find places where I can see the sky again.

There is an upside, a beautiful and agreeable one. The fall helps us to gather ourselves back together. I lose myself in the summer, in the weather, the beaches, the biking, hiking…and everyone else around me is active. It’s a time when I forget everything. In the winter, I regroup, recharge, I start to reorganize my life and take care of myself again. I get to write, to think, to once again feel as if I’m completely involved in my domestic and personal lives. In the winter, I am now focused.

We talk about these things, and we all agree we are lower, and we lose apart of ourselves, or do we just feel human again? I don’t look at it as a stale time. I think positively about the upcoming season. And I also see a different side to these two people. They are complex and somewhat unhappy beings.

The more people I get to know, the more I think, am I one of the few happy people out there? I mean, I have my bouts of problematic thoughts or situations, but really, deep down inside, I am content and happy. And saying it just validates it more.

I do want a boyfriend though…

Something that's never been done

Shorts, originally uploaded by copeseticnature.

I'm a coldplay junkie today.

Oh brother I can't get through...
I've been trying hard to reach you cause I don't know what to do
Oh brother I can't believe it's true
I'm so scared about the future and I want to talk to you.

Are you lost or incomplete?

I'm going to stop there. As great as coldplay's music is, the lyrics are fucking awlful. Whatever happen to great lyrics? "You can climb a ladder up to the sea...". I cringe everything I listen to the lyrics, although the Thin White Duke Remix is pretty amazing.

The song speaks of wants and needs. Although ineffective, I can see a lot of teenagers hugging into their pillows, dreaming of a world outside of the norm they are bought up in -- tears and the periods...yeah.

I think my friend was right when he describe coldplay...two types of people like his music...troubled 13 year old teenage girls and homos.

There is this gardener doing landscaping on our company grounds today. Lets just say I really don't need to see it today. He's a walking sex machine; hairy legs, redneck tendancies, in shape, well tanned, and I'm sure he's a lawn mower: No fair!

I was bold enough to flirt as my lunch crew walked by...

Smile on his face

He’s got a rose in his smile
He says he knows and he does

And his mind aches
And his heart breaks
‘Cause he’s silly

Gonna teach him to sin
‘Cause I’m always knowing where he’s been
Livin’ on the wrong side of the tracks
And you know he’s never
Coming back

He’s got a smile like a flower
He looks so fine by the hour

But his mind aches
And his heart breaks
‘Cause he’s silly

Gonna teach him to steal
‘Cause I’m always knowing
How he feels
Livin’ on the wrong side of the tracks
And I know he’s never
Coming back

Nature

"The world is full of creatures that for some reason seem stranger to us than others, and libraries are full of books describing them--hagfish, platypuses, lizardlike pangolins four feet long with bright green lapped scales like umbrella-tree leaves on a bush hut roof, butterflies emerging from anthills, spiderlings wafting through the air clutching tiny silken balloons, horseshoe crabs...the creator creates. Does he stoop, does he speak, does he save, succor, prevail? Maybe. But he creates; he creates everything and anything."

-- Annie Dilliard, Pilgram at Tinkers Creek

I enjoyed taking walks along the shore, along the banks, coast land, and the only road our town had. Most of the time, especially in the summer months, it’s quiet, vast, entrenched, and slow. The lakes were always calm along the single road that made up the seven or eight villages that were slung together. Einstein said “The human mind is not capable of grasping the universe. We are like a little child entering a huge library”, and as I think back to these times and agree. I see so little of nature, only bits and pieces, with life working it’s intricacies in the background.

One day on a trek along one of the small lakes that we boast are pure and clean; I hear a splash. Normally you heard birds chirping, the sound of the wind brushing against trees and leaves, the occasion call of an animal, but a splash was something different. As I look into the lake, I see a ripple, it’s small and I know that the object that made this splash couldn’t be that big. Then another splash makes me jump, as I peer out past the cloud of black flies in my vision, I see what’s finally happening. The trout are jumping out of the water to catch the mess of flies that have infested our neighborhood.

These beautifully flecked species, glinting in the lowering sun are making their way of the lake to feast, and unbeknownst to me, it was a common occurrence. Suddenly the whole lake is alive with splashes, clouds of flies hang over the puddles, and now I get it. Quoting Frank Lloyd Wright, I believe in God, only I spell it Nature.

Some of the happiest times in my life, and the most isolating, was when I made these treks around the small community I grew up in. I was surrounded by nothing and everything at the same time. There were days when I was hiking up the marsh only to find a litter of wild kittens, with their ferocious mother, crouched, knowing full well she has to fight for her kittens. All we see are domesticated cats; it’s rare to meet others who have seen such sights. Upon finding the cats, I ran back to my dad and told him and all he said was “leave them alone, let them find their own lives”. Sometimes it’s better to leave nature alone, let the life around us have free will. Who are we to takes these wild cats out of nature, the place where they belong.

Other times while swimming in Business Pond with my dog Reno and friends there would be beavers allowing along by our sides. My father would never scream at us and tell us to the leave the lake, he would only say don’t get to close. Even Reno, our dog, would be respectful of the animals. A beaver, I’m told, are found to be gentle; there is even an Indian word for “beaver-like” which means “affable”. Their tails would always crack the water and their stride was amazing. Even though they are a very dense creature they are able to rake through the water at a very surprising speed.

I miss Newfoundland.

Short Shorts

I think the last few entires have been way too serious. I just want to show everyone I'm not a complete turd.

I did this on a dare to myself while visiting Montreal.

Morality

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s done. Finished! If you bring it up one more time, I swear, I will delete you from MSN”, it’s three days into this news and I have to constantly fend off the nice people in my life.

I think I am a giving person. I think of myself as an open person who is caring and compassionate. If you look at it through the viewpoints of my friends, I have far to go; I'm not afraid.

“I’ve been thinking about this situation I’m in Jake (Mark, Paul, whoever). Initially I was 95 percent sure that I am completely sound and there is no way in hell it can be me”, as I take a drag from a cigarette and let my mind wander even further. ”The more I think about it, the estimate declines and anxiety sets in...”, my words disappear as my eyes lower to my knees.

“I think I’m scared and when I have time on my own to reflect, I keep losing my sanity, it trails behind me, and I grasp for sight, smell, origin; I hate it”.

I think I’m a hopeless romantic that welcomes these monumental events. Otherwise, there would be no purpose, my life would be predictable, and dullness would set in. And now, after one life changing event after another, I wonder if I am strong enough for it anymore.

This is one of the first times in my life that I have let myself be vulnerable to others. The only other time was my ex, he would dismiss whatever emotions I felt. Now I feel as if I can let go. My friends will listen and support me, and the fear of rejection that causes us to be guarded, is waning away.

I have let them in and this time I see that the people in my life do care. I see genuine concern and emotion. I know that I’m in a good place; finally, I have people in my life that love and care about me.

The greatest struggles in life occur when there is a battle, of the mind, body, whatever; I don’t need to define it for you. My struggles occur when I feel my life is put on trial or when I am given a challenge. It could be losing a loved one, or winning the lottery, or in the worst case scenario, having to come to terms with our own mortality.

I don’t live that way. I don’t think about the negative things and I push most problems out in the open so I can pick them apart, so they no longer seem intimidating. But, how do I handle the unknown? How in the hell can I justify this?

My friend once told me there is a lot of good in me. That it would be unfair for me to be giving a restriction on life…and I think about these things and wonder, why not? I am no different than anyone else. I am not special. I am the same as everyone else in the world. If anything, I am more fortunate, which isn’t a good argument for a person in my situation.

So why not me? I can’t answer the question; the next ten days of my life will be retrospective and careful. I will avoid any self-destructive actions and I will pray to my God with every spare minute my life has to offer. I mean, what else can I do?

I won’t bore you with the spiritual rant that I save for people who are fortunate enough to see me drunken and nonsensical. Today is a day of glory. For now, I know that whatever happens to me, I am without fear. I will relish in any struggle thrown at me, and conquer it with the fierceness I am known for. I will not be a victim and I will not let it destroy me.

And, I’m saying this while sitting on Cook Street in a small coffee store, surrounded by cigarettes, idle conversation, and the steady stream of vehicles passing me by. There is an eclectic mix off people as usual, and now, just because, I finally feel normal.

I can see my face getting older. I see the lines, slowly becoming more real, although I have the face of a child, the lines of my forehead are becoming more pronounced, and to the point I know that I am no longer youthful. My eyes change color depending on my mood, depending on the season, and they give far too much away with respect to my emotional well-being.

Adulthood seeps in without warning, my eyes, and my mouth, they are forming lines; it’s because my life has been good. An old buddy of mine said “whatever expressions you use in everyday life will be carried over to your senior years” and I believed him. If I ever see an older person, with a blank face, naked of lines, I’d worry about them. I’d wonder how many times they have smiled, how many times they expressed ire, or angst, I’d wonder if they have even lived at all.

The multitude of emotions any one human could express is staggering. I cling to the good ones, and embellish all the others; no one has ever accused me of being inanimate. And, as I look around, that is what I see, emotions, some more subdued, more quite gregarious, but I am surrounded by expression and am thankful.

I’ll leave you with these thoughts as the Chestnuts fall around me announcing the end of summer, as the blossoms of nearby bushes fall on my table, and one of the last remaining summer nights this year beings in the first inklings of the cold winds ahead.

I want you to know, I will not take my life for granted anymore.

Shades

The Last time...

We had a company event where the booze was flowing and free. Company events are great because a) everyone's guard is down; b) I get to see people in a different light; and c) there is a new coop that is fucking sexy.

Regardless, we took it to the next level and after the get together I met up with some friends on the street and it just got worse. I did something I consider ethically wrong - and his boyfriend would agree - and today and feeling bad about the whole situation.

There are a few things that are in the back of mind this early Saturday morning. One being the disease control center that phoned me asking me to get tested for HIV - it was abrupt and scary, I still don't think I'm over that episode. It turns out someone from my past has contracted the virus and my name was given out.

When I think back to the past year and my past test, I'm OK, I mean, I'm very sure I'm completely healthy, but the thought still lingers in the back of my mind. I don't think I have done anything risky since I had my last set of results back. I should be fine.

Secondly, my grandpa who passed away... Grieving is a funny thing, now I'm starting to wonder about the distance I have put between my family and I am thinking about who I hold dear. It's been close to four years and I need to see them. My life is passing me by at times and without my family, my base, I am nothing.

Third, dating! What can I say? I was turned down for the first time in my life this week...and it hit me hard.

Even when I avoid being busy - I am still busy - and escape from this 'busy' lifestyle is maddeningly impossible.

Passing...

It’s hard living 7,500 Kilometers away from your nearest relative. As independent as I am, as much as I tell people I’m better off without them, I’m not.

My grandfather, who shares my same name, passed away a couple of days ago. When I first heard the news, I simply lashed out; holding on to grudges and refusing to even feel a bit of remorse. This is the same man who didn’t attend my cousin’s funeral when he killed himself. I forever held on to that grudge…until now.

He was funny, smart, and wasted most of his life away drinking. People stole from him, people took advantage of his drunken state of mind, and all he ever did was put up with it. My grandfather wasn’t someone I bragged about, and when people told me how much I was like him, I would cringle and become deeply offended.

Still, he was my grandfather. The one thing I did this week was let go of grudges. I let go of the fact that he wasn’t an ideal grandfather, I have forgiven him for not attending my cousins funeral, and I send home a goodbye for the church to read aloud during service.

I was respectful and I made an effort to look at the positive things.

My grandfather sailed around the world twice; he served in World War II on a navel vessel off the coast of Germany. He became on of the first millionaires in my small town and had a knack for taking advantage of opportunities. He painted, made fantastic blueberry wine, and when he finally sobered up, made great efforts to seek forgiveness.

I didn’t do it until he died, but now he has it.

There are so many funny stories I could tell you, so many pictures I could paint with the whimsical stories surrounding this man, he was a legend and everyone knew his name. I will leave you with the assurance, he was the only person I found intriguing throughout my childhood and it shames me I didn’t spend more time getting to know him.

Death to me is different. I have seen so many pass. I have lost my uncle to a drowning, my grandmother to a botched operation/possible suicide, my first cousin (who I regard as a brother) to suicide, two first cousins who were caught at sea, a classmate from leukemia, and so many more. I no longer mourn, I am totally desensitized to it and I am respectful that it was their time to go. I am sure they are still out there someone, although I can’t saw where or how, but they are, and I will see them all again.

I was happy he passed. No more suffering, no more old age homes, he is now in a better place, with the people he held dear in his life…hopefully sober.

I love you grandpa.

Death...

My grandfather passed away two days ago.

I owe him an entry besides the previous "My Grandfather's a drunk" blog:

http://copeseticnature.blogspot.com/2006/01/my-grandfathers-drunk.html

I wrote this entry some time ago. It is very characteristic of him and I have no doubt he would find it amusing.

Stay tuned...

Last night in Victoria

You’d have a happy life, if you did the things you like.

Its quiet today, quiet and I feel completely absolved to the world around me. Since my trip to Montreal, my life has been out of sorts, coming home only to have more obligations, more company, and my domestic life is suffering. I am down to my last pair of underwear, my sports socks are all used; I am wearing t-shirts that I would consider worthy of the Salvation Army Thrift Store, and I’m fine with it.

The past few days I have been gingerly exploring two new acquaintances in my life. They are quiet, hesitant, and pure in mind and spirit; I am the loud one, who makes decisions, who dictates likes and dislike, and I am the one who was trying to break their shells, just to get a little more depth.

They are gone, and now, I’m sitting at my office, chewing my finger nails, haunted with the realization that it’s time to get my ass in gear and organize my life again. The weekend will be sunny and brilliant though, maybe I should put it off…yet again?

Last night we went to the Empress, which is a well known and very formal dining area in Victoria. The food was amazing, and Ben, one of the visitors with me, gets fifty percent off the meal and drinks; the meal now is reasonably priced.

I love the Empress. We are surrounded by the higher echelon of society. We are surrounded by turn of the century architecture, impeccable service, great food, and the expectation that we know the etiquette associated with formal dining. We do, and I think the night turned out to be fabulous.

I love looking around the restaurant and seeing the different groups of people. There are a group of boys, all under 18, who are well dressed and polite; their posture is commendable, and the only thing I could critique are the cans of coke sitting around the table. I’m surprised cans of coke would be outwardly displayed at a restaurant like the empress.

Around us there are singles, eating their meals, and I’m guessing they are on business. I hear thick American accents, I see the older, social elite in Victoria entertaining out of Towner’s, and a mix of people who are dressed well, who know which fork to use, and who are intelligent and worthy of the pleasures this life can grant.

It’s nice to step inside of this environment at times, to dress up, approach it with sincerity, and enjoy what it has to offer.

To even out the night, after the meal, and a lost parking ticket that was to be validated, we head to Big Bad Johns. It’s another ‘must see’ tourist spot in Victoria; and now, instead of lush wallpapers with polished diners, agreeable teas and deserts, we are thrust into a completely different environment.

The floors are sticky and littered with peanut shells, the people are bordering on redneck, and the ceilings are covered with women’s bras. I think people get their tab paid for if someone is willing to strip off their brassiere.

We sit around, drinking, more loosened up after two days of hanging out, and a fake spider falls onto my friends shoulder. We all start laughing and look up and see that there are small inventions, such as the spider, supported by a string that is controlled by the bartender.

Our last night in Victoria…we go urban-sophisticated and then redneck.

I think they had fun…

Dating...part II

This is the beginning of the third week of being asexual…

There is one problem: I have a visitor from Winnipeg and he has a crush on me. I mean, it’s fine, and yeah, I have self-control. I let him stay at my place last night after we hit the town and had one too many drinks.

We both agreed beforehand, that if he did stay at my place, it would be purely platonic. There would be no kissing; no nakedness, no fooling around, and I think we held true to the majority of those agreements. I don’t think I’m asexual anymore.

This morning, after waking up way to early and being hung over, we snuggle some more, we kiss, and I am left feeling guilty. I’m guilty because a) I also did the same thing to his ex about two weeks ago, b) I’m not even sure if I want to do this with him, and c) I have broke a promise to myself.

In the long run, it will be meaningless, and just another experience, but now, it’s causing me to think into this situation far too much.

“Can I sleep over again sometime?” he asks as I’m dressing for work.

“I don’t know. We’ll talk about it later, ok?” I go over to him and give him a hug goodbye, not knowing how to approach this situation.

We had a fun time yesterday. I left work and met him and a friend at a sushi place downtown. Mostly, I talked to Doug because Mark was too shy.

He was just sitting there smiling and being fidgety. At one point after Doug and I gave summaries of our lives up to this point, I put Mark on the spot. He turns red, fidgets even more, and proceeds to give us the quickest overview out of all three of us.

I shouldn’t tease him so much. I know he is shy and I guess I’m prodding him a little so he can come out of his shell.

After sushi, we go for a run. We start on Dallas Road, running about 4KM along the ocean, over to a breakwater where a single lighthouse – painted red and white – stands. It’s a beautiful backdrop…and, I think we both appreciate the here and now.

Later that night, after a work out and a shower, we head downtown. The streets are empty for the most part; it is Tuesday after all. Even at eleven some of the local tourist shops, gelato houses, and small pubs are still open for business. I don’t venture down here that often on the weeknights, so I guess I’m pleasantly surprised.

We head to a pub called Irish Times and order a couple of Guinness. The pub is nice, quoted as being Irish, but the architecture, and interior, well, I’d hate to say it, but it’s more English.

The take away is the fact there is a stunning performer on stage. The minute he starts playing our conversation with one another stops, and, I’m drawn into his beautiful Irish ballad. His voice is pure, and it reminds me of a Celtic Bob Dylan without all the frills and tangles. He’s wonderful and I’m taken back to the good ole days in downtown St. John’s.

I think he had a good time. I mean, I know he had a good time. I always enjoy it when two strangers, who barely know each other, get together and discover whether or not they can actually be friends and tolerate one another. I think we can.

Dating...Part I

“So, how did you meet him?” I ask, and he thinks I’m prodding. In a way I am, I mean, I want to know how this man spent the last 38 years of his life before me. “Did you meet him while cruising the park?”

“No, of course not”, he replies, acting as if it’s the most hurtful and disgusting judgment I could ever make. He sneers at me and upset with the question I asked.

I feel bad about the comment, thinking, maybe his life was normal and he wasn’t as big of a sex addict as I thought. Maybe I’ve been looking at him in the wrong light; I can only go by the stories and relationships that he has told me.

“I met him in a bathhouse”, he replies.

“Oh, yeah that’s much different than looking for sex in a park. I’m sorry I made that assumption …and I thank you for the clarification”. I’m thinking the whole time this man is a diluted asshole.

Why is it so hard to meet somebody ‘normal’? Why has the gay culture taken away wholesome and meaningful events like monogamy, dating, trust? Why can’t I find ‘Mr. Right’ at coffee stores or social event?

I guess the biggest question of all is: “Why do I still care?”

The Seasons

Rocky crags littered the coast lines. The rocks were worn, discolored, and suited no purpose but fending off the large vessels that tried to settle this wasteland upon its discovery in 1497.

I was a lonely child. I would sit upon the shores while the other kids were out biking together and playing guns; I would become one with the ocean. I would smells its salts, watch its movements, and take in the water and its surroundings as if I were mapping it out in my mind.

Along the coasts of Newfoundland you can smell the sea salt miles away. The humidity in the air would spread the familiar stench throughout the community. It would also spread the salts to our vehicles and homes, and after a few years, corrosion would set it. Most everything rusted after time, the bottoms of cars would be eaten away; the windows and siding on houses would turn brown and rot. Even the faces of people couldn’t resist the elements; aging set in quicker, and although salt is usually a preservative, it would deteriorate the living.

The crippled coast line had little aquatic life. The sea barnacles would attach themselves to the crags and build up mountains of white, crusted life. The marine life consisted of scopies, rock cod, shrimp, lobster, and the occasional jellyfish plotting they way along the shore. We could pick mussels and cook them during the summer months – provided the ocean was clean of red tide.

There were four seasons in Newfoundland; this is a long withstanding joke, but a truthful one nonetheless: winter, still winter, almost winter and construction.

In the summer, instead of a barren wasteland of snow, there were barren wastelands of bog. Up behind my house, there was a trail, forged so long ago by my ancestors, which led the way to the bogs that surrounded most of Newfoundland.

In order to get there, I had to pass behind my grandfather’s hotel, and trek for some time through the rocky and sandy trails. There were two large hedges of weedy trees, thinking back, I remember calling them alders, but I am not sure what the appropriate name would be.

There was nothing special about the bogs. They grew bakeapples (or cloudberries to some), blue berries, pitcher plants, marsh berries, and was a breeding ground for black flies and mosquitoes. In the summer clouds of black flies would torment us. Camping, although plentiful in these areas, was discouraged during certain times because of the abundance of biting insects.

I was a lonely child, and I would go to the bog for refuge. I would sometimes grab a gallon bucket and pick berries for my mother. I would fill her in on my expedition and tell her I would grab some bakeapples for her, and with that said, she would run for the bucket.

The bog was so barren the only things that lived on it, or inhabited it at times, were black bears. I think there was a dump nearby and the bears would forge these areas for berries. Most of the bog was acidic though, not even pine trees would grow there; if they did they would only be stumps and would only grow a few years before their bark turned white and started rotting.

About 20 minutes of hiking would bring me to a solitary lake. Nothing surrounded it, and it was like an oasis in a desert. The lake would reflect the sun beating down from the blue sky above; all that surrounded it was the brown, orange, and red boglands, no trees, no life, just berries as far as the eye can see.

Sometimes when I sat around the lake, a pool of water with no life, and I would hear the call of a bear or moose. It was the single to pack up and leave. A bear could easily out run a person if the need arose, and because their food sources were limited, I wouldn’t put anything pass them.

The winters here would transform the bog into a ski-doers paradise. There were many intersections and roads, the plows would smooth out most of the main routes with a small donation from community members. And, after school, the bogs, and most of the community, was transformed into a very unique transportation system. Everyone had a ski-doo, and if they didn’t, they would find a friend who would take them out.

Most of the road systems that we had would be covered in snow, so taking the snow mobile out would be the sensible option to getting around. Gas stations would be lined with motorists, people would go to grocery stores on ski-doors, to the liquor stores, and as you make your commute on the ocean or lakes, groups of five or more people would have their snow mobiles parked together having a yarn or scoff (a talk).

This was not a men’s only environment. All walks of life would be out around; bankers, teachers, fish plant workers would all be out, they are equal, and the only thing that separates the middle class from the working poor are the quality of your ski-doo and the type of dress. Women would float by, their hair done, make-up applied, speeding down the trails just like everyone else.

After a long day of ski-dooing we would head in, with our hands nearly frost bitten, our noses red from the cold, and would relish in the front of warm air as we barged into our home. Our mother would be waiting, smiling, and asking if we were cold. We would sit down and have a cup of coffee and home made bread to set us right.

One winter, I’m guessing because of the harsh cold, the arm (Inland Ocean) had frozen over, and seals were making there way down to the shores on ice sheets. Driving along the loop where we lived, we could see one or two battered seals strewn out on the ice-laden shores. Their blood would soak the white snow, their pelts dirty and unkempt, and someone in our small community ended their life, just because they could. The seals were a harmless nuisance.

The occasional polar bear would find its way down also and the communities affected would be put on alert. They weight a ton, are very wild, and if they want to get into a home, they will. Most polar bears that found there way down to the coast were shot on site unless an animal rights activist found them first.

It’s a raw environment. There were no wal-marts, sport checks; commercialism never existed until I moved into the city at 17. If we were bored, we would go on hikes, explore nature, or hang out with friends and play some sort of sport. I still don’t understand the need for people to shop; I don’t understand the need for people to surround themselves with this ideal accumulation. I don’t understand television, being idle, or complaining about life. I understand the simple things, and although I live in a moderately large city, I think the life I had, shaped the life I have now.