Thursday, March 22, 2018

The Planets Minerva: Episode 3: The Walled Town of Sealedge

The ranger Catherine and her Half-orc companions Armigus and Gu’ro’Baen have left the encampment of the brothers and sisters of Osiris, gratefully equipped by them with water skins, a few coins, clothing, footwear and such; and with belts which, in the absence of sheathes or scabbards, managed to contain their bared compact swords, though awkwardly, and at least allowed their hands free. They have followed a well-beaten track through the strange hot savannah, their hoods a shelter from the large red sun.

At the tall brown stone wall of the town of Sealedge the windowless gates stand closed. Before it some merchant and his guards and horses wait patiently with their loaded covered cart as town guards patrol high above. The merchant assures the party that these outer gates will open soon while the inner gates close instead, and that this will leave the outer ring quarters of Sealedge at their disposal.

“And what sort of little hate-goblin is this?” asks Catherine, gesturing toward the tall grass where a mousey, almost doggish face glares at them. She slowly approaches the short creature who scurries backward and upright away from the ranger.

When the sturdy gates groan and swing ponderously outward, the merchant shows papers to the guards within; there are many of them in sight, all garbed in charcoal-coloured capes and red helmets, and the merchant and his men are waved on. The party, with no papers, are redirected toward one of the four large buildings which abut the inner and outer walls on either side of each gate, leaving a single well-trod road bisecting the dense outer “ring” community.

There are banners posted on their left and right hand sides of this intersection; one with a westward arrow hailing the Horse’s Ass Ale House and the other plugging the Thirsty Bastard Ale House to the east. The former bears a crude drawing of a horse looking back over his shoulder while the latter depicts a gentle-eyed bearded man staring placidly at the viewer. Catherine is startled at the image. Her hand goes to the hilt of her sword where the saint’s name is inscribed. “Look familiar?” she says. The others follow her gaze.

“It’s the same image Brother Leotho showed us,” says Gu’ro’Baen.”

“Saint Montreal,” says Armigus. Saint of the abandoned, they each recall. “We must pay this place a visit.”

“Guard,” says Catherine, “I must report a matter of possible concern.”

“Go on.” She tells him of the presence of a little ‘hate goblin’ hiding in the grass outside the gate. The guard thanks her and vows to have this investigated.

They are then ushered through a door below a sign reading Intake wherein guards relieve them of their weapons with the promise of their return before leaving Outer Sealedge, whether inward or outward as their fate yet avails.

Guro, as his orcish friend calls him, is separated from the others and interviewed well along the narrow room, within their sight but out of earshot.

The interrogator demands his name and those of his companions. Guro complies and that much goes well. “And where have you come from?”

“From the encampment down the road. We were guests of the pilgrims of Osiris.”

“Since when? Did you enter the Verge with them?”


“Where is home then? Not Orikland.”


“You are part Orik though.”

“I… yes.”

“From where originally?”

“We’re… wanderers currently.”

“Perchance you were born somewhere?” The man seemed irked.

“Of course. The city of Renown.”

The guard shook his head. “I’ve not heard of this city before. To what land does it belong?”

“It’s a long way from here.”

“Clearly. But what land please?”

“I know not how to answer that. It’s an independent city, with it’s own rulers and army.”

The guard stares at him unpleasantly. “How can you not know in which land it lies?

“It is it’s own land.”

“Are you enfeebled then? Or a lunatic?”

“No sir!”

Eventually the guard loses patience and Guro is taken and detained while Armigus and Catherine are each interviewed. They respond cleverly with geographical references gleaned from the clerics and are permitted access to outer Sealedge for the time being, but with the burden of sponsoring the suspicious Gu’ro’Baen and unburdened of their weapons. They are each assigned permanent unique visitor numbers which index their entry records. They are told when to return to this barracks where they might be approved for entry or else bedded for the night.

“Have you ever seen such a tight-guarded town?” says Armigus upon their release. “What are they so protective of, I wonder.”

“Unspoiled water?” says Catherine. ‘It is rare apparently, in this land at least.” They are outside staring again at the Thirsty Bastard Ale House banner.

“Saint Montreal,” says Guro, echoing the others’ thoughts.

“Whoever left those swords for us...” Catherine muses.

“Do they mean to direct us there?” says Armigus, “Where they perchance await?”

“Let’s find out,” says Guro.

“And hope they’re friendly,” says Catherine. “We’ve no weapons now.”

“Something tells me that guards will be present,” says Guro as he looks around.”

“They do seem everywhere,” says Armigus.

“I suspect we’re being observed,” says Guro. “Tested as it were.”

Hmmm. I’m a little concerned about this exercise. It was meant to serve as a concise record of game play but it has taken a turn for the prosaic. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Perhaps it is a symptom of the stage of the story. It is still very much in introduction mode and a lot of subtleties are significant. Perhaps as this world gains familiarity the narration will gain some speed and concision.   

Sunday, March 18, 2018

I need a plastic bag or else comped for a pair of socks, please.

The socks were new after all..

Sick Boy and I were having a little write-in at one of sixty-something Scooterville Tim Horton’s locations; one recently renovated and, at this time, barely attended. I vanished from the table - briefly I expected - in order to drop off a couple wee kids at the pool.

I did so, and then discovered that the T.P. dispenser was ill equipped to dispense anything. It was as vacant as a North American politician’s heart or brain.

So I sat there, waiting for someone else to come in so that I could ask them to fetch help from the staff.

And I sat there.

I flushed… and sat there some more.

And some more.

Apparently males do not use bathrooms in this neck of the woods.

And I sat there… wondering how long before Sick Boy became concerned enough to maybe check on me or something.

And finally the lights turned off, presumably due to motion sensor inactivity.

And I sat there in the pitch dark…

And sat there.

Finally, in the dark, I kicked off a shoe…

Later I would have to find it in the dark.

Later still, I approached the young cashier at the counter and said: “You’re out of toilet paper AND soap in the men’s room.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“And therefore I need a plastic bag or else comped for a pair of socks, please.”

Deer in headlights.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I therefore need a plastic bag in which to transport home a wet pair of socks OR ELSE I need compensation for throwing them away.”

“Um. Oh.”

“They were brand new socks,” I said, nodding, wide-eyed, as if to say, yes, you understand correctly.

“Let me talk to my manager.”

“By all means. And can I get a large hot chocolate please?”

Maybe I’ll get the drink free, I thought. I didn’t.

It’s actually a nice bag but I don’t think I’ll re-use it.

Tuesday, March 13, 2018

Reflections: Fear

Roast beef with gravy AND horseradish! At the same time! Mashed potatoes, cooked corn and carrots, coffee and mint-chocolate chip ice cream!

Not bad for a free meal, eh? Well, I dropped a fiver in the collection box which I do most of the time. Otherwise, when times are tough, I wash a few giant pots and pans as a contribution.

The topic at this circles dinner celebration is fears, and how we have conquered them.

Some extolled the comforting virtues of their Saviour. Others had more earthly entities to praise. One excellent dad talked about the actual nightmares from the early days of parenting: in which terrible dangers loomed over his offspring who were always just out of his reach, and how he had to finally trust in the benevolence of higher powers, and relinquish absolute custody in his mind; something that bears relevance to my own mind and the troubles it so recently suffered, but which I truly seem to have finally found legitimate peace with.

I spoke of the fears which still haunted me at the age of thirty-one; fears so common they were not perceived as fears at the time, but which I suffered for nevertheless, unequipped to figure the accounting:

The fear of being poor; of being disrespected; of being unpopular; of being wrong; of getting caught in a lie; or losing my job; my car; my house; the love-relationship which seemed to garner popular admiration for its longevity, and for how darn cute we were in public.

While being monsters at home.

And I spoke of the unexpected solution: getting dumped from that relationship after twelve years-and-change, and then just days later, getting laid off from the occupation I had coveted for an equal duration: How I seemed to have lost everything, including the house.

But that I discovered how the groove I thought my life had been in, was really a rut.

How that blessed period of material freedom (via generous severance package and home equity) and this new freedom from societal investments in the mind of a person with mature perspectives on the world - compared to the usual free-minded of our society; the youths who conversely lack experience to draw upon, presented a very rare and golden opportunity, and a rare salvation.

The soul searching, the decision to write, the blank page, the questions and the search for truth. The courage and self-accusation, the discovery of illusion in the gap between consciousness and instinct, the immense ubiquity of it, but finally the mastery of context and the break-through to the wisest, universal perspectives… and the resulting freedom from the great majority of fears that nearly everyone inherits without knowing they have. Ninety-nine per cent of fears are the product of illusions, and simply evaporate once you see clearly.

Not everyone can have the privilege of losing everything around age thirty. That is a shame.

But most can find more time for solitude and creativity, which is where the process starts. It doesn’t require talent to win the best prizes that art offers. It’s all in the experience; not the product.  

Monday, March 12, 2018

Front Page News

Top headlines from Monday’s Scooterville Speculator:
(These are the accurate front page headlines from today’s paper with genuine copy below, but severely abridged and with generous poetic license...)

Christine Elliott concedes leadership to Ford
“I’m worried about Kathleen Wynne, not Christine right now,” Ford told reporters. “We’re going to defeat Kathleen Wynne and bring extra special elite prosperity “back” to extra special elite master citizens of Ontario at the lethal expense of the planet and the human race, and do it with just a teeny tiny bit more transparency then the way those extra-sneaky wolf-in-granny’s-clothing Liberals do it! Because it’s funnier and more insulting that way! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaa…!”


Auto body shop scams doubled repair costs
TORONTO -- Workers at auto body shops deliberately damaged cars, installed used parts but billed for new ones, invoiced for phantom repairs etc., according to an investigation by a Canadian insurer that is calling on government to help curb the problem.

Says every garage owner and mechanic everywhere: “Hey! I don’t scam customers any more than every other garage scams everybody. Why pick on me all of a sudden? That’s not fair. You’re just like all these damn women who let their husbands batter them for years and then all of a sudden complain! What the hell? If you’re going to get the everliving shit beat out of you for years and years then you have sort of given permission, haven’t you? And why should the government help you? They invented the racket of cheating everyone everyday in order to get stupidly rich!”

Hamilton ‘angel’ set to donate kidney to stranger
Christi Nolan of Hamilton is rather modest about giving a kidney to Toronto woman Jennen Johnson. Rather than draw sarcastic parallels to Hamilton’s reputation for taking care of most of the GTA’s migratory needy in terms of social services for decades, let’s just say… Christi, you’re awesome, and one hell of a legitimate human being within a culture of greed and fakery!

For the Love of Locke
Deanna Edmondson hands out hot chocolate from Goodness Me during Love Locke Day Saturday, as neighbours gathered in support of the street’s businesses following last weekend’s vandalism spree. Says landlords and tax-hungry local government officials: Unfortunately we don’t recognize Love Locke Day. Over-regulation and quadruple rent rates shall remain in place, thank you very much! We need to drive up property values and prices and bolster the coffers that are needed for corporate subsidies! And don’t worry. There are no victims from this system. The perpetrators were not victims, just random scary vandal monsters with no reason to be angry. That’s right. No victims here. Move along people. Go show a little love to the big box stores!”

Wednesday, March 07, 2018

Easy to learn and safe to ride!

Back when I was a teenager and generally didn’t know shit about anything I did at least absorb a fair hunk of TV viewing and radio listening and I figured out fairly quickly the prime rules of advertising… which are: Brag about the best qualities of your product and try to ignore the nasty qualities… with one vital exception: Take the number one nastiest thing and brag about it most of all!

Just reverse it. Say the opposite about it.

I guess their thinking is… people are so stupid you can distract them from your biggest problem by making them assume it’s the biggest advantage; that people are so stupid they will assume the thing you brag about the most has got to be true or you wouldn’t be bragging about it.

I don’t absorb nearly as much advertising any more. It has waned and waned throughout my life (typical, I think?) but on the rare occasions I am subjected to it I still see the above phenomenon again and again.

Let’s take a quick peak at this little number: the hoverboard. Which is “easy to learn and safe to ride” apparently! Let’s be generous and overlook the matter of whether it hovers or not. Let’s see if we can glean any insight into how easy and safe it is:

Okay then.

Friday, March 02, 2018

The big man

He leaned down, his face too close to mine and hissed, “I don’t like people who play head games.” It seemed like a threat.

I’d never worked with this burly, awkward security guard before. He paced a lot. He would stand, slightly hunched, staring ahead, his jaw working and working at some invisible prey.

I finally summoned the courage to ask him how he was doing, regretting it before the words were fully out of my mouth. The answer was a long growling litany of not good. It seemed like this ogre perceived that everyone was against him. I started to wonder how anything I said would not be perceived as a head game by someone so apparently paranoid. The entire night was unpleasant, seeming rife with jeopardy.

The next day I received an emergency email from the dispatcher: Could I please return for another shift that night?

And possibly stave off starvation and financial ruin a tad longer? Why of course!

She then confirmed the shift, and oddly, as this was not general practice, she mentioned who I would be working with: the ogre again.

Starvation suddenly seemed preferable.

I am not remotely comfortable ratting out employees to employers. It is a serious privilege to affect someone’s capacity for income. This needed much though but I had no time. So I quickly sent this email:


I realize that likely nothing can be done immediately and I am obligated to work tonight with [Big man], but I need you to know that I am dreading this, and going forward I will probably have to refuse to work with him. I believe the fellow has significant mental problems which I am not sure how to deal with. He is full of anger which so far has been limited to verbal venting and creepy behaviour which feels threatening to me. There has been no sign of physical violence whatsoever but nevertheless I am extremely uncomfortable around him. 

I'm very sorry to throw this at you and I am regretful I didn't speak up earlier but it's tricky to know the right thing to do. I don't wish to damage this man's career but I am also concerned about my own safety and well-being.

I am copying Mr. [H. R. Guy] as I am unsure who should best receive this concern.


By the next morning I had worked another shift with the fellow and discovered the potential tyranny in first impressions. I started to perceive that the “threat” I had endured was nothing more than one man, low on companions, whispering; confiding in a potential one. At the risk of looking like a bit of an idiot, I was obliged to contact my supports at the office again:

[Big man] and I were often together last night and I must confess I had no problems with him. In fact I would say that he was very polite and helpful. Though I still feel nervous around him currently, I would consider that perhaps this is something that is my responsibility to deal with, personally, as a matter of respecting diversity.

I would like to assume that on the previous shift where I met him for the first time, that he was just having an unusually bad day and that perhaps I interpreted things in the most unfortunate way. First impressions can be tricky. I regret my previous communication. Last night’s assignment was very short-notice and I felt cornered and rushed to choose a course of action.

I'm aware that [Big man] has some struggles currently but I'm now inclined toward empathy and I hope not to see his employment opportunities diminished. From what I saw last night I believe he conducted himself admirably and kept his problems to himself. I must also confess that given his superior mobility, he was the greater resource last night; especially toward the end.


Thursday, March 01, 2018

Dinner with the Potter

No others were available for our gaming group night but we two gathered anyway. I suppose I looked forward to it even more so than the previous occasion when we five played Tokaido. For I would have the potter to myself and surely gain some insight into the living experience of this significant poet; this capable witness to the universe.

The home-made bread was joyfully sustaining; the pulled pork superbly spiced. The competent Californian red was overly chilled and delayed while we divvied a magnum of white.

Dear Doctor Lock; his brother and my excellent old pal, had generously prepared us, each with praise for the other, and so we fell quickly into comfortable openness.

I garnered a valuable pointer or three with regards to the craft of writing both poetic and prosaic. There were books, films and at least one album demanding purposeful reflection. We bared ourselves much; confessed unashamedly. We had to speak of parents passed on, of course, and I shed brief tears for the departed father person of mine, for the first time since the event, when I abandoned him to pass away in no presence of love from me; one of my great sins for which I still owe the universe (what price I don’t yet know).

He praised me too much and he trusted me very much - as one is always safe to do. As such, I offer no particulars here, for this blog evolved before I did, beginning not quite as anonymously as I should have preferred.

But he allowed me to an inner place where the building blocks of his life took shape but with holes of course; one in particular which he can not abide. I understand his wish; his plight. There are commonalities in the way we fiercely love. He is looking far away at the possibility of harmony. I looked that way too once, for reasons less informed or pertinent, but it is one of many parallels.

We hugged warmly and parted with the promise to reconnect and where I vowed to properly share my own great struggle. I know that his counsel will be wise and so I am already comforted!

We had crossed paths before of course; twice at his own lofty abode. And so the next day his message, as with any proper poet, was precise: It was great to meet you, man.

Wednesday, February 28, 2018

“You haven’t changed at all”

I don’t know if it was an accusation; a complaint; a criticism… or just an observation. I know it was some part of an explanation as to why Neo, who feels that our relationship is stuck in the past, is not currently entirely comfortable with the current dynamics of our relationship. Or rather, his perception of our relationship. He uses the word relationship more often than friendship. This in no way implies intimacy. One might wonder if it is a way of questioning whether we truly are friends.

I wonder what his idea of friendship is; what that word means to him. I have long felt that it might not mean much to him. He seems most of the time not to feel much sense of a bond; of a duty or responsibility to be a friend; to cherish the privilege; to honour that bond as a habit and not just when it suits him, or when he feels bad and needs someone to talk to who might possibly have a solution to his quandary.

But I also know that these impressions can not be solidly assumed. There is also the perception that he may at times be paralyzed from communicating at the times when any good friend normally would, because of rare mental pressures which he may be prey to.

I am not shocked to hear the accusation above. He has aged from 12 to 20; myself from 41 to 49. The adolescent period is naturally rampant with change. He has grown more clever and talented and exposed himself to many new experiences and grown from them. He has changed ever so much but not in many of the healthy ways I have always much wanted for him, and vainly assumed he would learn from me despite how little effort I actually put in to demonstrating.

Meanwhile, what have I done in terms of change? I met him right at the climax of my own period of rapid change. My thirties were a decade of extremely profound change in terms of mental evolution; spiritual perhaps, though that invites a very challenging question:

Was my evolution solid in terms of re-educating my instincts? In terms of uniting the mind to some large degree? Or was it all strictly an academic process which excited me so much upon my release from the darkness of it, that I coasted on some euphoria which was bound not to last?

Whatever it is, in some ways it has lasted but in other ways it has slipped backwards.

When I met Neo I felt almost at once he had the makings of a tremendous apprentice, not that I made any plans around that; not that I dreamed it possible at that time. I only planned to be available should he turn up again in adulthood. What a surprise when he arranged it himself so promptly.

But I ignored warning signs I suppose. His secrecy about us. The eventual pattern he insisted upon where our meetings became infrequent and intervening communication almost impossible. He embarked on life-changing experiments without my advice (as youth, biologically, must do). All while I went into a holding pattern; thinking everything would change when he became an adult and there was thus no potential interference with his choice of friends; and when he finally finished his schooling and could then embark on a freer system of learning and exploring; with the benefit of my input. I expected this to be the time of our teaming up as equals, both with privileged perspectives on the defeat of ego but from different schools of experience.

I wonder now if he was ever open to any of that.

I know what I did. Perhaps it was utterly foolish. I don’t know how conscious I was of it at the time. I released myself from the task of evolving. I saw a youth of extraordinary potential; in a mental state far superior than my own had been at that same age; a pre-internet age; a pre-information age. I knew at once I wanted to teach him what I knew and let him run with it; let him achieve what I had yet to, either ahead of me or with me. And let him be the one to become a teacher of many.

I’ve always been aware of these dynamics; always aware at some level or other that this is what I was doing; just not sure how conscious a choice it was. And what does it amount to? A cop-out? An excuse to be lazy? An excuse to avoid my own trials? My own test? My own risk?   

What I accomplished by 40 was not genius, was not even terribly difficult given the great luck which surrounded me; which cleared paths for me, making insights so available. But it was very very rare I know. And it was courageous. It terrified me to confront the illusions within myself and see the devil in myself and humanity and the tremendous ubiquity of illusion in our society. It was the only truly courageous thing I’ve ever done in my life.

But what since then? Neo is correct in this context. I’ve done sweet bugger all to improve myself since then. And at some point it had to do with love. I did not want to proceed ahead of him. More rewarding to witness him do it than I.

Foolish. Very foolish I now think.

I feel now that I need to let go. I need to follow my own advice. I always tell people: “The only thing you can do is give your best advice! You cannot save this loved one! You must share this good advice and then let it be! The loved one will accept it or will not! He will save himself or not! You have no say in that! The universe is not yours to command!”

How many people have I said this to? And yet do I live by this? I think I have not. I have worried about Neo as I’ve watched his behaviour become troublesome by my view. I have worried about his suffering and held myself responsible for keeping him from suffering. God, but this is foolish, isn’t it?

Have I held on too tight? Must I let go… and just let him know that I am here… let him (the universe) decide for himself how much use to make of me, if any? Must I not offer my advice and then recede? Let him do what he will without a sense of jeopardy in my mind?

Must I not be more concerned with my own evolution? My parental instincts are such a huge part of my own internal mind and my own identity. I know that very clearly now. But I also know that instincts and identity are the constructor and the construct of illusions. I have seen straight through them though perhaps not quite so clearly as I once did.

I feel today that I will always be available to him at the times he wants or needs me. But that I must proceed with my own path and let him go; whether to follow my path or some other, nearby or far, but with the chance that they will cross; perhaps often or perhaps not. I feel today that I am capable of letting it be.

The struggle is my own damned ego. I have felt at times that we are best friends; and that he saw me as similarly as I see him: someone I can trust entirely and be fully myself in his presence. The value in that runs deeper than just ego. Though I toy with ideas of being fully myself in other special friends’ presence I must confess: I don’t see that happening very comfortably without first becoming less sensitive to others’ comfort. To be entirely myself I must allude to realities which many people are not wanting to see. I may have to reveal myself a misfit in their view. Well... maybe that is my most useful role and should be embraced? Haven't successful leaders of change all weirded people out initially! 

When I became a wiser man and largely ceased caring what people thought of me, I found myself thought much more highly of! Who knows: if I stop worrying about the health of my friendship with Neo, maybe the friendship will become healthier. And that’s just a thought by the way; not a scheme.


Sunday, February 25, 2018

Avitable Scramble Aroma edition

Thirteen thoughts in thirteen minutes:

1, I’m at the Aroma cafe at Euclid and College in Toronto because I’m way too special to be subjected to Q.E.W. rush hour traffic and so I make this apparently-now-regular trip from 2 to 3 PM and then hang out at the cafe-du-jour until the 6:30 dinner appointment at the Eloquent Potter’s tower.

2. I’m trying not to think about Neo these days. He’s back to mostly ignoring me. I wonder sometimes if he came back into my life specifically to torture me. I wonder if he knows how his behaviour is perceived when he continuously ignores me between offers of “Hey, let’s get together… when are you free?” followed by an immediate blackout period until the threat of getting together has passed. I keep trying to remind myself that this must be the product of some form of suffering and that I should not take it personally but it's very difficult.

3. I’m thinking of a very thoughtful and touching amateur documentary that was put together by a father and which mostly concerned his son, then teen-aged. At one point he narrates something  
like this: “I’m sure that teenage boys do not realize that their own fathers would literally murder them if not for the memory of the loving child they used to be.” I’m confident he was sane and sincere about that. I’ll get back to you with the title when it comes to me..

4. I paid twenty dollars for a fairly decent shredded steak and egg sandwich and a nice coffee in a bignormous wide cup which spills into the voluminous saucer every time this hysterically warped-legged table rocks back and forth as if it’s the Titanic’s final moments. I wedged enough napkins to supply the nation of Malta for a decade under one of the offending table feet to very little improvement.

5. Every time the saucer fills up with coffee I lift the cup and pour the saucered-coffee back into the cup. It’s a satisfactory system.    

6. Once you love a kid like your own son there is no going back, Ever. It’s just not possible. It’s a fucking life sentence. I mean - let’s face it: consciously I know that’s not really supposed to be true. Just like the spectre of rape, war or any traumatic event, it is fully possible to dismiss the past and experience no harm from it ever again. I know this with solid uncompromising clarity, The past does not exist. We subconsciously choose to hang on and we call this hanging on “scars.” But it takes oh god such a spectacular escape from the bullshit of our dedicated bullshit-only society to be so enlightened as to understand and conquer your own illusionary ego. No cell phone, no TV, no pal, parent, priest, politician or ubiquitous fucking corporation will ever let you get away with it if they can possibly help it. There is no sanity without firm and dedicated solitude. Except for - you know - hanging out with me!

7. I can’t imagine living in Toronto with a vehicle. Finding parking arrangements that are at all functional is like winning the lottery. Which is fine I guess. I used to park in my special little-known free parking place near the Islington station and take the subway in from there but I can’t do that any more because I am literally so decrepit I can’t carry my own briefcase more than a block and frankly I’m a little too attached to my laptop. It’s perhaps my own version of the dreaded cell phone at times.

8. This Aroma place must be a chain. It is exceptionally well-branded. Aroma notebooks $6.95. I don’t think you can get anything for less than $6.95. My sandwich is listed on the menu board for $6.95. but SURPRISE!! That’s actually the price for half the sandwich! If you want the whole sandwich you find out too late that it’s actually $13 and change. Hahahahahahahaha! Buyer beware! It’s utterly fucking amazing what a pathetic docile flock of dumbass sheep we are and what we let all our masters get away with. I’m sure we must be the most obedient morons on the Earth.

9. I think thirteen minutes expired a long time ago. I don’t care. It’s my blog. I make and/or ignore the rules on a whim. If corporations can do it so can I. Yay!!.

10. Speaking of some of the most evil and demonic maggots in the world… Monsanto believes they have the right to subpoena my personal information and communications along wiith thousands of other half-decent citizens for the world as part of a lawsuit against the entire Avaaz community for fucking with them and ruining many of their sickeningly corrupt cancerous schemes in which people and other innocent creatures die or are monstrously extorted for their immense profit. Personally I think that every Avaaz member should relinquish to this move but only after each and every one of us communicating conflicting plans around operations in which all Monsanto executives are to be kidnapped and have their leathery parasitic throats slit. Let them try to figure out which plan is the real one.

11. People often think I’m joking when I’m serious; and serious when I’m joking. Sometimes I appreciate the amusement in this.

12. The eloquent potter is a very interesting dude. He’s a very compelling writer and poet; a regular visitor to India and perhaps a seeker of enlightenment to some degree. His home is filled with his pottery and other art, bookshelves galore and… ready for this? A swarm of inflatable monstrosities. A giant inflatable donut. An inflatable Dalek. I don’t even know where he gets this shit. On my last visit the centrepiece on his dinner table was a slightly larger-than-life inflatable cooked turkey.

13. Tonight it’s just the two of us for the first time. I am very much looking forward to learning more about him.