Yet Another Classic

I think I need to set this one up for you all. Like all the others thus far, I wrote this song in high school and it was based on true events. At the time this was written, someone was running around killing people in a town in British Columbia. To add to this I was starting to get into some heavy music (Cannibal Corpse) that deals with the grotesque side of things. I have warned those of you I work with that you may see me in a different light after reading this and I really didn't want to post this but I cannot disappoint the few readers I have.

Murderous Ways

I feel myself slipping away
I fight to stay awake
Because as I drift to sleep
My thoughts become clearer
My urge to kill awakes
As I jump to my feet
I walk zombie like
Towards the kitchen cupboard
It's too late to turn around
The need for death is strong at hand

I leave the house
My victim soon to be found
Thoughts of death haunt my mind
As I attack them from behind
They never see me coming
With my knife in hand
They only feel my wrath
And never see my face

They have no chance to run
As I drag them to an alley
I feel their bodies tense
And know how scared they are
Nothing matters to me
'Cuz I enjoy the pain they feel

I take pride in my kills
And know they can't find me
No evidence is left behind
Except the rotting corpse
The blood soaked body lies
Waiting to be found
So more lives can be affected
By my murderous ways
No one's left unscarred
By my murderous ways.

I personally like the last few lines, as it was the basis for the song. When murder happens, especially serial or multiple murders, the fear of more murders grips the entire area and holds the citizens hostage. In this instance, I was slightly affected by these random attacks and I was miles or rather kilometres away from the actual events. I cannot even begin to imagine how those directly affected by events similar to the one described above really feel but they definately are not alone in their fear and anger.

I just want to emphasize that the feelings and thoughts in the above song lyrics have never really entered my mind other than for this song. Sure I have wished certain people were dead but I never considered helping them along at all, well at least not seriously and no where close to as savagely as described here. I hope I have put everyone's mind at ease so I don't receive any strange looks from behind pillars or desks.

Untitled

This following poem was based on an experience shared between myself and a friend several years ago; another lifetime ago is how it seems, one where the future was bright and the glass always full...of whiskey sours. She sent me a poem and I in turn was inspired to return the favour and this is what was created, or at least I think this is my version of things. Neverthless, it is nice poem and it serves as a reminder that once a moment has passed one cannot get it back.

One moment
Captured in time
By a few words
Written in prose.
A warm memory
Shared by two souls
Bound together
By the first-timeness
Of the moment.

A moment of reflection
Brought on by nature's creation.
Between light and dark
A first star lit up
Shining with the weight
Of the moment's indecision.
A wish to be had
No wish to be made
By two souls
Who were caught
By the first-timeness
Of the moment.

The Blind Leading the Blind

I just got back from a meeting with my section; a meeting that was hosted by both my manager and supervisor. This ‘meeting’ lasted 40 or so minutes, about 30 minutes longer than any reasonable person would have needed to hand out and skim through the 5 page point form document. Let’s just say there was enough ‘dead air’ to fill the Grand Canyon and all we got out of it was a cold fruit juice and some chocolate cookies. It totally felt like neither my manager nor supervisor really has a clue what is going on in this section. In fact, sometime in the next two weeks, my supervisor will be meeting with each one of us to find out what we do. Being in charge of the section, one would assume that they should already know what we do.

After a spell of dead air the administration people were banished from the room so the analysts could get down to the real work (I hope the sarcasm is coming through because I’m laying it on pretty thick). Anyhow, after being exiled and while we were treading down the walk of shame back to our office, Fuzzyhead says to us, “there is one hour of my life I would like to get back”. Well said Fuzzyhead, well said.

Saturday Morning Fun

I wanted to post an in depth blog about the gastroscopy I had performed on me Saturday but unfortunately the sedative worked too well and I don’t really remember much of what happened. I even had a conversation with my wife after the procedure in which I seemed quite alert but I had forgotten all about it until I was reminded of it Sunday. I still don’t remember receiving the discharge instructions.

Here are the highlights. I had to lie in a bed and wait for the doctor while he and the nurses took a break (in itself it is not too bad, I would rather have a rested doctor dealing with me then a tired one, but I didn’t know exactly what to expect from the procedure so I was getting nervous and as Tom Petty says ‘waiting is the hardest part’). Lucky for me there was a guy there who had finished his test and was waiting to go home and felt the need to talk. It turned out to be good for me though because he gave me some insight and I knew what to expect, at least somewhat.

Around 10:30 a nurse came and took me to the room the gastroscopy was to take place. She gave me an oxygen tube, which I made full use of (in through the nose, out through the mouth...inhale....exhale). Then my doctor came in, played the role of the concerned doctor, explained the procedure to me, and then slipped something into my iv. The last thing I remember was being asked to turn onto my side before I got too dopey (to which I replied I think I’m halfway there) and the doc slipped more sedative into my iv.

I do not recall any of the actual procedure but I do remember gagging 3 times, possibly even 4 times, then I was being wheeled out of the room. I was quite groggy for a bit after but I do remember the nurse took my blood pressure and said I could put my clothes back on. I remember asking the nurse if I could get some of those drugs to take home (unfortunately she said no) but totally forgot about the discharge instructions until I was reminded yesterday. I apparently also joked with my wife that as part of the instructions I could not drink and drive for 24 hours.

The usually mundane task of dressing myself seemed to be quite a challenge for me. It wasn’t the act of putting my shirt on that troubled me but rather the art of standing seemed to give me great difficulties. When I finally decided it was time to leave, I wobbled and swayed like a drunken idiot, out of the hospital and to the car, relying on my wife to keep me upright.

All in all it was not a horrible way to spend a Saturday morning but now I have the daunting task of waiting (almost a month) to find out if this test revealed any answers.

Lost In The Crowd

My life is a mess,
Nothing's sinking in.
Don't understand
How no one can see.
I need some help now,
Why can't you see?
Feeling lost
And all alone.
No one really cares
About the war inside of me.
Can't deal with this stress
And wasting of time.
I'm hurting inside,
Why can't you see?
Please, please help me!
Help me while you still can.
Can't take this no longer
Wish I were stronger
But I can't keep this up
And fulfill my dreams.
I need some help now,
But I've been
Lost in the crowd.

A Tragic Day

A sunny day.
A bright blue sky.
A hundred sit
Helplessly;
Hopelessly;
Unknowingly.

A silent sky
Broken by
A flash of light.
A fatal flight
The engines ignite.
Plane's engulfed
In a fiery death.

Crashes down,
It hits the ground.
Nothing left
But a mess of debris.
(What a gory scene)

A morbid day.
A hundred lay,
Dismembered.
As millions sit
Horrified.

A hundred died.
Millions cried.
On this tragic day.

Orange Juice

Here is another of my early poems / song lyrics / ramblings (take your pick). This one is totally mindless but I find it quite humourous, I hope you all do too.

Orange Juice

Orange juice,
Nicknamed OJ.
I drank two glasses
This morning.
If it's suppose to be
'Morning Sunshine',
Then why the fuck
Am I so
Pissed off.

I will be posting a couple more of my poems / lyrics in the coming days. I have two more in mind that are a couple of my favourites but the rest really are not worthy of posting (or so ridiculous as to be funny as in this case).

Pyromaniac!

Recent events have reminded me of a poem/song I wrote way back in high school that I want to share with everyone (unfortunately there are not too many other poems, etc from my high school days that are fit to share, to many expletive deletives would be needed). Enjoy!

PYRO

I feeel
Like a
Pyro.
A pyro.
I feel
The need
To light
A fire.
A fire.
Strike a match.
Watch the flames.
Owe,
I burnt
My hand.
Strike
A match
Again.
Again.
Use
Some gas.
Ignite
Your house.
Watch
The flames.
Listen.
Hear
The sirens.
The water.
Nooooooo.
The fire is
Dead.
Gone.
Dead.

Definately not one of my best but quite entertaining; good for a few laughs at least.

A Glimpse Inside The Mind Of A Madman

Are you back in the bathroom again? What do you do in there all the time?

Figure it out.

No, I mean like before. Like every morning before you leave you're in there for like a half an hour and all I ever hear is water running.

And?

You're not in there touching yourself, are you?

I was wrong about you. You're crass and retarded.

What do you do in there?

You really want to know?

I asked, didn't I? I'm playing the role of the concerned guy.

I cry.

You cry?

I cry.

Any particular reason?

Hey.

I think about the people that make decisions that affect our lives. The doctors who make advancements in curing diseases. The engineer that designs skyscrapers. The guy that maps out a plane's flight path.

The navigator.

I think about how those people are out there every day making a difference, leading big lives. And how they refuse to be intimidated by the tremendous odds of failure they face. And how they only concern themselves with peers and company that apply to their goals and noble causes.

Jesus! I'd hate to tell you what I think about when I'm in the bathroom.

I think about all that and I cry. Because I have nothing better to do than fuck you.

The above is a part of the script from Mallrats that has come to my mind a lot in the past few weeks. I feel like this passage explains how I feel about my job. There are people out there who go to work everyday and make a difference but I sit at a desk all day, invisible to most people (unless they are lost and confused and need to find their noses), generally doing nothing and when I do actually do work, it is meaningless mind-numbing tasks.

I don't know why I chose to write about this at this time. Maybe it has something to do with others around me pursuing their dreams or achieving something they had wanted for years. Or maybe it is because this subject was touched on brieflywith some co-workers of mine (I can't even call them colleagues that is how meaningless my job is; I would be degrading them all by referring to them as colleagues).

The problem lies in the fact that I have no real skills (I might have had some at one point but being where I am has seemed to destroy them all). I also work for the government so it is near impossible to find a job I am qualified for in the private sector that will pay anywhere close to what I 'earn' now. In fact, my equivalent jobs in the private sector pay at most $15 per hour and those are very few. To top it all off I rely on public transit to get to and from work and you all know some of the troubles I have with that.

Many of you out there will likely tell me to find something else, maybe in a different field altogether, and I would agree with you 100% but the trouble is what field. My hands seem totally out of my command some days and I can barely hammer a nail let alone construct a house or build a fence so construction my not be in the cards for me either. As my co-workers can testify, my people skills are lacking or rather non-existent and my brain seems to run on dollar store batteries that are nearing the end of their useful lives at times. Anyone hiring?

My only interests are video games (and I only beat Mario Brothers once, the original Nintendo game), sports (bush league skills at most and way past my athletic prime anyhow), and photography (but who isn't into photography these days). Oh yeah, don't forget music but I am as tone deaf as they come. So I have no skills and the few interests I do have won't lead to financially stable careers without dropping about half a million dollars in education, which I never liked the first time through...or even the second time.

Someone once told me that I am living in the wrong era and I am beginning to believe that. I keep thinking that once my wife goes back to work everything will be okay but I don't know if I can last here that long (I told my supervisor this morning that I am a prime candidate for 'going postal', I bet she spent the better part of the day trying to find a way to let me go...nicely). My wife has a better chance of finding a well paying job but it will come at a huge cost, less time to spend with baby Alan, and I don't know if she really wants to make that sacrifice.

This situation has made me think a lot about the past and the choices I have made to get where I am; the things I would have lost had I not chosen the path I did. I would have made some small alterations but other than my current employment situation, I can take solice in the fact I would not change a thing given the choice. Since this post is getting away from me I shall leave you now with the closing of the poem 'The Road Not Taken' by Robert Frost:

'I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by.
And that has made all the difference.'

Public Transit – The Better Way…

Yet another story courtesy of the ignorant asses that ride the GO train every day. The day started off in somewhat of a rush, I snoozed through my alarm the usual three (3), or was it four (4), times and still didn’t want to get up. Eventually I dragged by sorry ass out of bed and did my morning routine. When I got outside I was still behind schedule and I had to scrape the inch-thick (or so it seemed) frost off my windows and wait for the car to warm-up. I finally arrived at the train station and was “lucky” enough to have been on time for my usual train so I wander to my usual seat.

My usual seat is the two-seater on the top level of the coach. For those who ride the TTC it is similar to the two-seaters on the subway except there is leg room for normal size people. There is in fact lots of leg room and no-one sitting opposite to fight for the space. All mine.

We arrive at the last stop and the train is fairly full as usual, the seat beside me is still vacant though (I guess I am really that scary that no-one dares sit beside me. Do they know I am the top candidate at work for “going postal”, is it really that obvious? Or maybe it is the heavy metal music mixed with 1960’s country blaring out of my headphones that deter people from sharing the ride to work with me). Whatever the case the seat is usually vacant until the last stop. Finally, just when I was thinking I was not going to have a seat mate, a man roughly six feet tall, not exactly fat, but still covered with a layer of french fry created cushion, sat down beside me.

Ordinarily that would be the end of things and I wouldn’t be writing endlessly about the ride to work but of course today there is still more to tell. Instead of just sitting in the seat and trying not to bother anyone (being me) he squirmed and wriggled even lashed as if defending a rebound in basketball. Now you may think ‘what’s the problem here?’, but just picture two grown men, six feet tall, weighing a combined half ton sitting in a seat designed for five foot nothing people…there isn’t room to act like Michael Jordan. I would have shifted a bit in my seat except for the fact there was no room to shift.

He then rummaged through his bag, elbowing me and such as he went, and finally pulled out a newspaper, the Globe and Mail (well, at least he’s not a complete moron…or is he? The first section he grabbed to read was the sports section…the Globe and Mail is possibly the worst Toronto based newspaper for sports coverage, next to the National Post but that isn’t much of a paper anyhow). He settled down to read his paper and other than the occasional bump, he kept to himself. That is until his feet started shifting and he kept kicking me. I of course stand, well I guess it is more like sit, my ground and prevent him from infringing on my space and transforming my ride from slightly uncomfortable to totally unbearable.

The train, after what seemed like days, finally pulled into to Union Station and everyone debarked and headed to their work locations. I waited patiently for the guy beside me to get up and when he did, he had the gall to turn back and look at me as if I did something wrong. Hello, was I not just sitting there trying to mind my own business getting elbowed so much that the new NHL would have given him a match penalty for attempt to injure? I must be wrong, I guess I should have cut off half my body so he could be more comfortable, or maybe he was just irritated that I didn’t roll out the red carpet for him and kissed his ring. He was after all wearing a cheap suit, likely from Moores, the store that thrives on ignorance and disregard for those that they think are inferior to themselves, while I was (and still am) wearing a nice t-shirt and slacks from Marks Work Warehouse.

Pick a Spot, Any Spot

My work day yesterday ended like every other; I was so bored and tired at work I snuck out early only to have to wait for my train buddy. Once she hurriedly gathered the essentials (id badge for work so she could get in the next day, house keys, bag full of whatever, and most importantly her saviour on the train, the engineering marvel, the apple iPod. Anyhow, that is irrelevant to my story.

We rode the train with our iPod’s blaring, in an attempt to drown out the “lop’s” (loud obnoxious people) until we reached our destination. She got off in the first stop or so while I struggled to the end of the line. When I finally reached my stop I got off the train, strolled as slowly as possible towards the parking lot, found where I had left my car that morning, turned on the radio and began a Sudoku puzzle while I waited for the chaos of everyone trying to leave at once to end…or at least die down.

Every so often I looked up from the puzzle to see if the line of cars had dissipated. On one of these observances I noticed that the space to my right was vacant as well as four or five spaces in front of me. Nice, I can just pull out and go from there. But wait, there are lights coming at me. That can’t be. But it was. A car, with all the other empty spaces not only around me but in the entire parking lot, the driver decided to park right in front of me blocking my easy escape. After the shock wore off I noticed that there were two females in the car sporting the ever popular straw cowboy (I guess in this case cowgirl) hat. At least I will have a nice view as payment for the inconvenience but I was sadly mistaken.