Please join the CCAC today: Concerned Citizens Against Christmas. I made it up just now. Tell all your friends. Join now. We've only got four days to stop this terrible thing from happening. Thank you!
Let's play a game called Here's What I Don't Have What So Fucking Ever! I'll go first!
1. bedbugs
2. a family
3. love
4. any hope of happiness
5. suspenders
6. visitors
7. a giant pet turtle
8. a wine cellar full of wine
9. emotions
10. a plan
11. a vagina
12. steak
13. remaining interest in this asinine activity
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Woke up to the sounds of Chrisaster Artist (Chrisaster for short) knocking dishes around in the kitchen while babbling to himself and slamming cupboard doors. It was 1:30AM or so and my movie, Dragonslayer was over, I'd probably fallen asleep in the first five minutes which is fine. I took off my hat, headphones and CPAP mask, moved the laptop off my lap, hauled myself to a sitting position, flexed my legs for a while to gain sufficient strength, heaved myself to a standing position, slipped on shoes and went next door to pee.
Chrisaster spotted me, made some kind of joke about fighting me. I told him it looks like he's busy fighting the kitchen. He cackled like a lunatic and agreed. I squirted and returned to bed, re-cocooned myself and managed to nod off again during a second episode of Comedians in Cars Getting Seinfelded.
Woke up around 4:30 AM to more smashing and babbling from the Most Disgusting Housemate on Earth (Chrisaster for short). He then camped out in the washroom singing songs about being a legend and so on. Chrisaster has a chrisasterous drug problem if I haven't mentioned.
Tried to sleep. Couldn't. Had chocolate-hazelnut breakfast instead of cereal because it was within reach.
Made Irish coffee. Grabbed my coat, hat, notebook, treat bag and walker and toddled out to the sidewalk. Sat in the very very barely present drizzle and sipped. No cat friends or dog friends came by. Got cold and passed on the morning walk. I'll try again later presumably.
Sat in the kitchen, joked with Eugenius and The Bro, and talked about ways we might be able to murder Chrisasterous Crap Head Parasite Weasel and get away with it while said weasel continued singing, babbling and slapping himself behind his closed door. B and E have bedrooms in his immediate vicinity so they were up all night. I only get driven to the brink of murderousness when he slinks and staggers into the kitchen for a few minutes or hours. We've devised many assassination plots but all are cost-prohibitive thus far. Our budget is roughly 45 cents. We're all on ODSP. Bro made us Ethiopian coffee. I covertly Irishized mine (with Irish whiskey BTW; not Baileys. I'm not crazy. That I know of).
The Bro made some progress getting my phone to work more properly. I had gone nuts deleting and disabling apps, trying to make it stop chirping at me for no reasons that I understood. I hate distraction; not just instinctively but because I know very well how distraction has destroyed minds and nations for the last thousand years and how it's still getting worse all the time. Bro seemed to lure my keyboardy widget back into occasional functionality.
Well. This post couldn't be more boring if I tried. I hope you didn't read it.
... at describing my morning! Not at taking my life! Ha ha ha ha ha! Did I scare you there! Well, don't be such a chicken shit next time!
Lucky (or unlucky?) for me, I am definitely a chicken shit once again so... Nothing news-worthy is going to happen around here.
Let me try to recall that morning: I washed some of the last few dishes from Turkey Fest. Most were done the night before. Took my meds. Went for my walk. Had a coffee which is VERY important!
Now that love is out of my life (had to put it on injury reserve) and I cannot afford a proper addiction to take it's place, I have had to promote coffee from the practice squad to first string. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I gave a generous portion of fishy niblets to Ginger (Kevin) Ferraro and a large milkbone to Moose. He had the Mama translator in tow that morning; not the Papa, and he gave her no choice. Just pulled her to me and drooled all over my coat while I fished out a biscuit. Then he wanted to eat the garlic bread with cheese that I was eating for breakfast but I did not relent. Mama finally dragged him away.
I thought about my family who are boycotting me, trying to force me to do what they think I should. Their ideas are incorrect. My fear is not that they won't relent. My fear is that I won't forgive them. I have dear friends and uncles and aunts who are too medically unstable and either that's why they don't see me anymore or that's the excuse. Maybe I'm just intolerable and don't know it! And then there's Aqualad who is just too busy for me and the Eloquent Potter who lives far off in the Big Smoke and has no car.
All the people I love are not available to me except online and I would rather die than go on pretend-living online. Fuck online. Fuck it.
[he says on his blog.]
I am empty empty empty empty inside. I now understand why people have addictions I think. Everyone needs to need something. The delusion of identity I suppose. And when it's not people, it has to be things. I can't afford drugs or alcohol or gambling which all sound great. Sex is certainly out of the question.
Empty empty empty empty empty.
Planet Earth is blue and there's nothing I can do.
Last night Eugenius cooked a turkey dinner for the four of us plus his mysterious quiet houseguest who is here on day 3 of the visit. It's against the rules but I don't care. Even though it means twice the filthy disgusting cigarette smoke that escapes his bedroom window and drifts in through mine; some of it... I still don't care.
Oh I fucking hate the smoke though. I'd say it's a matter of the purest insanity that cigarettes are legal but of course sanity has absolutely nothing to do with politics whatsoever. The bottom-feeding demon spawn which occupy 99% of the elected government make every decision based on the long-term will of their masters (including when they appear not to), including those deranged filthy near-human excrement masters who manufacture tobacco weapons at deliriously evil profit. How nice for them that most of us slaves are so pathetically distracted and deluded and ignorant as to cast votes for their wretched red and blue minions.
To think I was once enlightened enough to love the peoples of this society and to pity us all rather than to slip periodically into the most vile of contempt for we and our overwhelming lunacy.
Well, this isn't going as anticipated! I meant to brag about how delicious and juicy and tender the turkey was, except for the neck. He served me the fucking neck which I found unsettling and unenjoyable but the rest was exquisite and the carrots were perfect and the mashed potatoes were quite possibly the BEST I ever have had! They were deeply saturated in the turkey stock; boiled in the same pan, and generously dosed with garlic and like-boiled onions!
Friggin delicious.
Fact #1: Everybody poops.
Fact #2: Everybody dies.
Fact #3: Everybody poops when they die.
Fact #4: Fact #3 might not be a fact. It's actually just something I've heard.
I mean - I understand the physiology. But what if someone pooped, like normally, and wiped and everything, and then seventeen seconds later they died. Would they still poop again? Would they poop just a tiny tiny tiny bit? I suppose we could arrange an experiment around this but really, I'm not that eager to solve this riddle. Fuck it. Let's not give it another thought.
Fact #5: I have a hole in my heart the size of Tokyo and I cannot imagine still being alive when Christmas rolls around. I would very very very very very very very very much like to please cancel Christmas this year.
Okay. That's not likely to happen. Fine. Well... just know that if it kills me, the turd that I leave behind was not intended a holiday gift to you all and in no way reflects my feelings toward your character or your performance as a supposedly human being - or bona fide human being if you're one of the special few! And hey, if you're reading this blog, you probably are!
The following video contains disturbing macabre violence. You may wish to look away.
Man being slowly consumed by alien monster poorly disguised as a mustache:
Neighborhood update!
Skittles MacBeth has finally come around again after a lengthy absence and was just as skittish as ever.
My new young friend Moose has come by on two consecutive mornings now but with two different human translators in tow.
So I posted something recently that might possibly have hinted that my landlord company might be... less than stellar. I believe I may have referred to them as "real life slum lords" or something subtle like that.
Well... they got back from vacation and by the next day they'd fixed the main entrance door and the bathroom light fixture. So... let's give them a little more probation before throwing them to the wolves. Let's see if they can keep up the good work.
and did what I was told
and I learned a lot
I learned about teachers
I learned about students
I learned about schools
And I heard about a whole lot of other things
Some even seemed interesting
Some might even have been true
Outside we played sports
Inside we played boring games with numbers
Year after year I remained a prisoner
played sports
played boring games with numbers
learned about teachers and
students and schools
and did what I was told
and accepted the friendship
of all those who decided to be my friend
Going along with everything as it came to me
With all my childhood curiosity driven out
of me by my wardens
I waited waited waited
for adulthood to come along and take me away
But then Disaster Number One
or rather the Great Disaster as it was then known
We didn't know there'd be a number two
I fell
in love
And the whole world became cruel
and none of it made sense any more
I said enough is enough
I'm getting the hell
outa here
I seized adulthood
and was dragged away with it
As an adult drag-along
I did what I was told
I took the friends and lovers and jobs and promotions
which were offered me
I played the sports
But no more boring god damned games with numbers
I made a commitment
I bought a house
I found I was respected, sometimes even admired
For my ability
to go though the motions
And then Disaster Number Two
Or so I thought
I was doubly rejected.
Paid handsomely to go away
So I did the very best thing
any 31 year old could ever do
I started life all over again
Thanks to being forced into it
A bread and butter friend said to me, But Rich,
You need to have faith in something!
So I wrote my first poem called
But I have faith
A poem about my family, friends, myself
and the expectation that the sun
will rise again tomorrow; the promise
of a new day
Thus I had discovered the blank page
and so I wrote some more
and better still, I stared at the blank page
and curiosity was born in me again
I wrote and I stared and I asked questions
and courage was born in me for the first time
I asked the biggest questions
I asked the most dangerous questions
And the horror, the horror
I discovered the possibilities
were dire, and that I
knew nothing
Except:
That thanks to some thousand or more hours
of boring games with numbers
I did know how to leave a tip
without asking my phone
So there's that
Life became an experiment
I researched, I explored, I adventured, I said YES!
I reflected, I contemplated, I searched the blank page
And truth began, ever so slowly to accrete
Distilled in my laboratory of the mind
My lab tools were the page
and the guitar and keyboard
creative models worked just like
scientific models; they isolated reality
My discoveries were solid:
The omnipotence of causality
the matrix of illusions
human duality
Illusions were dispersing
and with them superstitions
and with them fears
In came perspective, freedom
pathways to enlightenment
and the natural inevitable joy
of being human, no longer shielded from me
by the unnatural machinations of society
I seemed strange to my bread and butter friends
They warned me of liabilities, blind as they were
to opportunity
But I was choosing new friends. I spied the finest people
and I made myself the friend
I was confident and grabbing life, not waiting for it to happen
And I discovered the purpose in life: it is to design your own purpose
My own was easy and obvious: To champion harmony, over chaos
My friend Dr Lock summed up his own spiritual life in two sentences:
I was created
I create
A woman of mixed ethnicity who wore it on her face was asked
What are you?
She said I am a New Day Rising
I knew at once: Me too! That's exactly what we ALL are; we humans
We're the Cosmos' greatest potential! Most of us seem not to know it
But she knows it, and I know it, and I say:
New Day Rising; that is my name now!
Now,
as I physically decline, perhaps only temporarily
I cannot do so much so fast
But I am well prepared to bear the siege
Some days I remember my lessons
Some days I remember my purpose
Some days I remember that I am a new day rising
I am learning how to accept help from others:
other champions of harmony
But to quote the eloquent composers Cummerford,
de la Rocha, Morello and Wilk:
Fuck you I won't do what you tell me.
Alex
Tubi Support
I have a feeling Alex looks something like this:
Submitted this ticket today. I'll be sure to post their reply, if they bother.
Please create the functionality to disable the auto-play feature so that we have the option to not be treated like complete and utter morons.
Or better yet, get rid of the auto-play feature. It is no less idiotic than an airline which auto-departs you on the next available plane to an algorithmically-appointed destination if you fail to flee from the fucking terminal within three seconds of your arrival. It's a bloody disgrace. Have some respect for humanity, you snivelling ghouls.
Other than that I love the site and the service. Top notch quality and reliability and stunning selection! Keep up the amazing work! Thank you!
Seems Saturday mornings might be the target now for the Friend Recruitment Program...
The first was Karma; an old gal, out for a stroll with master Bill. She took the biscuit upon first offer but with a very serious expression, then ingested it efficiently. I was rather bold in placing the back of my hand up to her nose and she didn't move but gave me just a hint of growl. Bill disapproved at once.
"Oh that's okay," I said, speaking to Karma. "You just want me to know you're on duty. I get it. You can't be bribed. I get it." Bill and I introduced ourselves and talked about the neighborhood and finally Karma inched over and sniffed the rocket pocket where I'd returned the Milk Bone box.
"No no. Nice try," said Bill, drawing her away. But not before I snuck a hand in and scratched her behind the ears which was fine with her. She'd obviously pulled a few strings and expedited the probation period.
Raven is a standard poodle puppy with dark fur, out with her two young lady friends. I think they're an all-girl family. Raven was not at all shy upon receiving my offer and being led across the street to me. She seemed to consider leaping onto my lap as I brandished the cookie. Friends immediately! She was too excited to eat it at once, or to deliver it home without dropping it accidentally onto the street. Mama scooped it up. "We'll give it back to you when we get home!"
Success! Suddenly my dog roster has caught and surpassed the cat roster.
Wait, did I say rocket pocket? I think I meant walker pocket.
Actually I think we'll stick with rocket, come to think about it. Rockets and walkers are virtually the same thing, right? Just vehicles for extending a person's... reach.
Not to be confused with the Pocket Rocket:
 |
| Henri Richard; little bro of Maurice "Rocket" Richard |
Well aren't you the curious one!
Okay. What's new:
1. I'm at the pub where I go on the first Friday of each month in order to write, work on the Dungeons & Dragons hosting business and snort a couple 18 ounce glasses of Friday-Special domestic draft beer for only four dollars a glass! Other than this I'm pretty much in bed every day.
2. I'm still getting my wound dressing changed by a visiting nurse every day. I've had this thing about seven months now and they keep telling me it's getting better and better. So yeah. This item is not actually new at all.
What's new/current (to be more precise):
3. Getting PSW assistance three times a week for hygiene purposes.
4. Getting outside every morning for a wee walk and some rehab exercises, kitty-cat feeding and work on the crossword puzzle creation. I kick out four or five new (newspaper quality) puzzles per week just from my brief daily sidewalk sojourns. I really should publish a collection soon.
5. Some of the crosswords are being diverted to another publishing project. A sort of daily almanac I'm throwing together largely because it's a no-brainer; the content is all stuff that I naturally assemble on a daily basis because of my own keen interests as a researcher and archivist. Here's the material: daily holiday/special observances notes; This day in history; tip, quote, word and song of the day; poem, film and vegetable (not exactly what you're imagining probably!) of the week; daily, weekly and monthly challenges; a daily puzzle (usually crosswords) and a weekly monologue. I may end up cutting a thing or two. We'll see. It's largely all tied together thematically. The thrust of it all is... here's a bunch of nudges as to how you can live life a little better perhaps! I will be releasing a 2024 first-quarter volume (Jan-March) this December! It's too much material to stuff a whole year into one book.
6. I've been writing short stories of late and between that and the "almanac" or maybe "lolmanac" I realized yesterday, on the second day of National Novel Writing Month that I might as well participate. It just won't be a novel.
Well... I think that's enough for now. I'm on my fourth four-dollar swill (more than I intended) and being so out of practice, drinking-wise, I'm feeling a little buzzy!
Later, 'gators.
Here's the shit hole I currently call home. Now that all four rooms are rented (plus the other three or four in the front-of house unit and the money is pouring into the management company's pockets there's no need to impress anyone by... you know... maintaining the place.
The screens are detached from most of the windows. I have vines breaking through my own tiny window threatening some sort of Little Shop of Horrors scenario. Cupboard doors are falling off their hinges. Most doors are falling apart. The bathroom door can't be shut or you'll be trapped inside. There is also no working light fixture in the bathroom. The main entrance door is such a wreck it can no longer be opened.
We have mice and even RATS among our thrilling Pest Menagerie. The exterior is surrounded by garbage and debris. The Google shot above must have been taken quite a while ago. This management company consists of three family members. Here's a shot of their office:
Ginger Ferrero comes to see me every day. And eagerly. Sometimes she saunters away again and later comes running over as if we're seeing each other anew, but I don't fall for that. Treats once per day and that's it. But that first day she was cautious. She came near and sniffed the air, and soon after returned and nibbled the fishy little kibbles I'd dropped on the ground for her. Since then, she comes and pokes them from my hand each day with her little nose.
Skittles Macbeth was the same way two days ago. Gave me a look and then later approached and accepted the offering for the first time.
Yesterday Patches came around for the first time (short for Patchwork Bananas el Fresco). She meowed at me twice, from twelve feet away. Maybe today she'll come dine. I'm about to make my morning coffee finally and head outside with my walker and supply of pet treats to do my exercises and tend to my folk.
None of us have been properly introduced. I'm only guessing at their names but I'm probably right.
Last night I dreamt that I complimented a friend on his ring; a dream friend; not a real one, and he said, "Here. Have it!" so I accepted and then later I found out it was worth a lot of money so I sold it and used the money to buy a beautiful new floor. I think it was prismarine.
Later I guess I moved out and somehow the room with the beautiful prismarine floor became a public washroom and my dream friend found out that the ring he gave me was super valuable and wanted it back so I became like - Ocean's Eleven and was putting together a crew for a public bathroom floor heist so I could sell it and use the money to buy back the ring.
So what does that dream mean? Does it mean I'm hungry for blue-flavoured cotton candy?
Artist interpretation:
Whoa, now hang on! He's not a racist Hitler, and he doesn't want to kill any people; just cows and pigs. Which is pretty unkind, I realize.
But he is insane and ruthless and an uncompromising tyrant. And he's irresistible. He's feared and obeyed by his subordinates. He's the agent in my brain in charge of hunger. Thank god he is not always in command. But he's the most powerful commander in my brain and will grab power at the slightest opportunity. When I'm hungry obviously. When I'm bored which is luckily practically never, and when I'm not full or necessarily hungry but around food.
He is utterly canine in his instincts. This is what my dieticians need to understand and what I have failed to fully realize in myself and failed to communicate. Trying to teach me dietary discipline is like trying to teach it to your dog. Even if Fido could understand you his instincts will not allow him to cooperate. I am no different.
Correction: I have realized my Food Hitler's presence for a long time. What I have failed to fully realize until now is just how undefeatable he is. I know now there is only one solution for me. To keep him out of the drivers seat. I need utter convenience. I need an absence of abusable food. I need a computer with controls placed on it to withhold Doordash and Skip the Humanity sites from me.
I need a strict protein/meal replacement diet for a long long time. With fibre supplements and probably some kind of simple fat source to go along with it. And a regular alarm that goes off five times a day or whatever, telling me to have a shake - or a shake and a yogurt or whatever. Simple eat-ready products that can go in my bar fridge in my room. No more kitchen. Guaranteed nothing else will work. Atkins, Weight Watchers, The Zone, the Four Hour Body and the Bariatric program have all failed for me. My only success has been with a temporary protein shake diet designed by my personal dietician and myself a couple years ago. And that is also the only diet that I could reliably jump right back on to after a cheat day,
And cheat days WILL happen. Christmas, thanksgiving etcetera. And that's okay.
The goal now is to get a dietician on board who will support me long term with this. They will know it is not ideal. But no ideal diets will ever work for me. We can't afford to fool ourselves any longer.
If I have to, I'll do it alone. But the better the dietician, the better my access to superior prescription meal replacement shakes. If I'm on my own then I have to deal with over the counter products and all of their deficiencies.
I'll do what I have to do.
Finally. No more fucking around.
Here in Scooterville - okay - TWO secrets. ONE: Scooterville is actually called Hamilton. The word Hamilton, as far as I know, is an Iroquois term meaning He who rides through burger drive thru on a scooter with case of beer on his lap [citation needed].
Hamilton has many sports teams calling it home. Famously, the Hamilton Tigercats of the Canadian Punting League (since 1950), Forge FC of Canadian Premier League Soccer (otherwise known as football by humanity) and the Toronto Rock of NLL lacrosse who is officially Toronto's team but they're currently playing out of a Hamilton venue for shits and googles.
Other Hamilton hockeyball highlights include the Steelhawks, Generals and Real McCoys of Ontario Sr. hockey, and the Blues, Rangers and Kilty Bees of Junior hockey (Kilty Bees literally referring to bumble bees wearing kilts. I shit you not). Add baseball's Cardinals; Soccer's Hamilton United, Hamilton City SC and Chantilly Forever FC; Rugby's Camels R.F.C. and Hornets R.F.C and Australian footballers' Wildcats.
But wait. Secret number two today is Hamilton's best-kept sports secret: The Hamilton Bengals. If you want to see some of the most talented athletes in the world while they are young, just before turning pro, for 5 to 10 bucks admission, the Bengals are the obvious choice. Every year multiple Bengals players graduate from Hamilton to affiliate Jr. A team Burlington Blaze before getting drafted to the pros. We are a hotbed of lacrosse development in this country. Hamiltonians are missing out on such a treat it's crazy.
Richard Ayoade of the UK, and of African Norwegian descent, has been my favourite celebrity for some time now. These are some of my fave Ayoade tidbits:
I pulled the folding metal chair; the only chair in the kitchen, up by the oven. I shouldn't have. And I sat on it, but I shouldn't have. And I fried my perogies in margarine. The son of god appeared with his wide eyes and told me they'd be good with sour cream. Yeah, I know but I don't have any. That's okay. They're bacon-onion perogies. No cheese. I might try them with plum sauce. The Bro appeared, checked us out, spied my meal, rubbed his big black belly.
And then the chair went; melted below me like butter. I was eased quickly to the floor.
Not good. My roomies went into action, each took an arm, helped me plant my feet. "You'll have to use all your weight for leverage," I said, "like football players do. Don't worry. I won't let you go." Few understand this. Every student should be shown football clips so they learn how to effortlessly pick people up. They tried. I got to one knee.
"You can do it," they said. I could not. And the knee was getting crushed. I'd have to go back down. The hope drained out of me. All of it.
"I can't." From nowhere the third roommate had appeared. I felt his arms go around me from behind. They all lifted and suddenly I was on my feet.
"We got you," they said. "We love you," they said. My eyes leaked as they hugged me. These men I barely know. The wide-eyed son of god and the Bro and the hairy skinny high dude.
"It's an abusive relationship," says Jerry Seinfeld with regards to humanity and we. "Just when you want to give up on them, they do one nice thing, and suck you back in."
Turns out my supernaturally-noisy neighbours are moving out today! Well yay for me but sorry kids; no superhero crimefighting capers in your future. It's probably all for the best.
Another lovely late-night listening to the stomping charging screaming wailing kiddies who live on the other side of this apartment's paper-thin walls stomp, charge, scream and wail. Making sure I drink in my fill of this joy because it'll be 1:30 AM soon; their usual bedtime. You know, it's not that I particularly wish to invade their home and slaughter their parents before their little eyes. It's just... well... it worked out pretty good for Batman. Could be doing them a favour...
You ever wonder what the very best video on the whole entire internet is? No? How about now? Are you wondering now? Well wonder no more. 'Cause here it is! But it's divided into four parts so that I don't have to pay the YouTube Long Video Surcharge thingamaroo. So it's a playlist. Enjoy. At least until the part that offends you!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tq466K4nIbQ&list=PLtY6xWGmYKvdP0h0rx2CsIguUNqcNFDvb
Seven seasons of Game of Thrones in three weeks.
Binge-watching is such an ugly word.
I prefer to call it... searching for an episode where no one gets murdered.
The old-growth ecology of Algonquin Park was never protected. Our thirst for lumber changed everything. But we have saved the new ecology instead, and we love it. We find it beautiful in our eyes. The whole story though, from the glaciers which shaped the land to the portage routes shaped by human feet, is one of tension and violence as well as beauty. Thus a bold soundtrack choice for this latest video assemblage for poetry club.
Just toddled back from the bathroom of my private little suite in the rehab ward, where...
... I had wiped up with Cascades Pro Select bathroom tissue! You hear that, people? Pro Select! The poo paper of choice for professional poopers! That's right bitches! Me and the elite poopers of the world, what are PAID for their elite pooping; we use the very same single-ply non-quilted tracing paper on our prestigious posteriors! Are you positively snot-green with envy? Yeah. I know you are.
In a surprise move I've been suddenly transferred to a dedicated rehab ward which had been kept secret from me until now. A few things are a little different so far. Most notably is that my next door neighbour is almost certainly a dolphin.
I am hearing a distinct conversation between a man and some entity speaking in a high-pitched EHH-EHH-EHH-EHH-EHH-EHH-EHH Flipper voice.
Now, I know what you're thinking. You're doubtful. You're thinking how could I possibly know who is the patient and who is the visitor. Well I'm glad you asked. Our doors meet at right-angles you see. So no dolphin visitor could have come flip-flopping past my door, into his room without me taking note of such an event. My door has been wide open since I arrived.
Case closed.
A lot has happened fast. Kidneys finally back to normal. Infections on the cusp of defeat if not defeated. Feeling in lower body much returned. I'm able to do a tiny bit of walking using a walker and plenty of arm strength.
Perhaps I'll remain in acute care another couple weeks and then perhaps a step down to the therapy-oriented complex care ward. We'll see.
Was woken at 5 AM for a bum swab. They do bum swabs once every 10 days or so; a frequency that doesn't seem so tight it must be done at exactly 5 AM. Are bum swabs only reliable if the patient is groggy and irritable? That must be it.
Fuckers.
Today I called nurse Jasmine "Pinky" instead of Jasmine. Both Pinky and Jasmine are nurses I rarely see.
"I'm Jasmine!" said Jasmine (who is East Asian). "Pinky is Indian!" She thinks I've confused their ethnicities. I haven't. I confused their names because Pinky and Jasmine have the same flavour to me; the same vibrancy.
I'm okay with that as long as we agree that teammate Max Domi is the Penguin.
... Just avoid it.
Cry Macho (2021)
Natalia Traven plays the charming necrophile love-interest.
I watched it til the end in case there was a prize. Nope.
So the Respiratory Therapists installed a machine to monitor my CPAP and I for oxygen levels while I sleep. Problem is, how the hell do I sleep when the damn thing keeps going into alarm mode constantly and I have to silence it?
In the morning they pick it up and ask how it went. I told them next time just hire a clown to march into my room every twenty minutes, jab me in the ribs and say, "HOW YA SLEEPING?!?!?!"
Well.. if you wanted a story: you got one.
I returned for the next try-out on Thursday; two nights later. Interviewed some players, made an official commitment to shoot and edit a mountain of video. Got them shopping for a proper video camera.
Got home and looked at my legs. Swollen and red and puss oozing in places. I desperately need to be elevating my feet more. I go ahead and commit to the Reservation trip Saturday morning for a pre-season tourney. Three short games. Golden opportunity for interviews. I'll find a place to put my feet up and summon players to me.
Coach offers me a ride. I agree to meet him at the edge-of-town Tim Hortons for 6:45. But that's a bit early for the first buses of the day on a Saturday. Instead I take the last buses Friday night and plan to spend the night at Tims with my feet up, getting work done, snacking, drinking coffee. Perfect.
I get there and they're closed. Now only the the drive-through is open 24 hours. Their website is wrong. I make the hard journey to nearby MacDonalds and then Taco Bell. Again, drive-thru only. I am diabetic and my blood sugar is failing. I need food. I'm cold, hungry and dehydrated.
I spend hours painfully wandering. I have no phone and I've lost my bank card. I have a little cash. Not enough for a cab ride home.
I'm sad that I have been passed by hundreds of people while struggling along with a walker so late at night and no one has asked if I need help. What's up with you Tiger Town? You disappoint me.
Finally I flag down a Taco Bell customer and beg him to take my cash and buy me a meal. But Taco Bell has just closed. He persists, gets their attention and tells them I need help.
They give me water and fucking cinnamon puffs, which basically melt on your tongue.
I enter an ATM vestibule for warmth and sit on the floor in order to elevate my legs. At 4AM security responds and he's friendly and tells me that Tims has opened at 4 (a lie). He doesn't want to help me up because its extra paper work if he touches someone. What a fucking world...
I can't get up, end up lying flat on the floor in failed attempts to raise myself. I drag out my computer and send a facebook distress call.
Paramedics eventually rescue me, take me back to Tims, sit with me until 5:30 and leave me sitting in my walker with a big warm blanket.
6AM I get in, get a coffee and sandwich, meet coach at 6:45 and we're off.
Now things get weird. I'm not taking stock of how much physical and emotional trauma I've experienced. I do some interviews. I get very light headed. Time stops functioning. This day would take weeks to pass. After the second game the prez drives me home. The drive takes us a week it seems. I lose consciousness constantly and feel like I'm waking up the nxt day yet we've only gone a block.
At home the roommates look at me funny and propose calling an ambulance. I ward them off.
In my room I am utterly fixated on fluids. I want Mountain Dew and energy drinks and Gatorade by the gallons. All I want is to place a rush grocery order for as much of this as I have money for.
Somehow I never even got my computer turned on.
The fire department tore my door off and tore the door frames off the walls in order to carry me out of my room, naked in my comfy chair, covered in feces. They think I had a stroke.
I acquired a nasty infection. My kidneys shut down. I had no feeling from the waste down. I had trouble breathing and needed oxygen. I had dialysis lines installed in my neck three times because things kept going wrong.
I spent a week in Intensive Care; a week of torment, anxiety, extreme discomfort, depression. The world became meaningless. I wanted out.
The last week I have been in ICU-Lite. My kidneys are functioning again. I'm breathing on my own. I'm just barely able to stand but only by using my arms to hold me up. They're still fighting the infection.
My interest in living has returned. I'm looking at life in the simplest terms. The goal of standing upright The joy in a glass of milk. Friends have poured in to visit. I may land in a rehab facility. I try to sleep, try not to be anxious or depressed. Baby steps.
There is a new fellowship running the Affiliation. LaxMastermind has officially stepped back into an advisory role and a humble, selfless one-time Enforcer has stepped up, taking co-coaching reigns with a host of supporting characters including a 20-something junior record-breaking sniper with whom I'm also very familiar and a quiet fuzzy old-timer who I'm meeting for the first time.
More introductions: Our new full time GM and the same from our Junior A affiliate. They are both young and seem free of ego and give off the greatest vibes. And there are new-to-me brass from the Junior C's here, of the same bent. How different an environment from those of other regimes I have once known. I love the widespread selflessness of this organization. Everyone seems to be doing it for the kids and not for ego. I love it.
There has to be at least sixty youths at this late-stage tryout. Perhaps a couple will be relegated to an Intermediate rep team. A few will be disappointed, signed to the C's rather then B's or to B instead of A. But this way they'll get the valuable development they need, get promoted a couple games to cover injury absences and get a good shot at a full promotion next year.
Talent galore. I struggle to take notes and start learning who's who. A couple lads stand out but of course I learn that they are A players who showed up for some floor time. Floor time, we say. For love of the community are not the words spoken but the smiles on their faces give something away.
I'm constantly aware of my physical discomfort while internally I feel a deep comfort. I feel home again. And needed. No one has been shooting promotional video. No highlight reels, no player bios, no pump-up videos. This has to be corrected. Too many tiger town players are up for US scholarships and pro careers They need film! It's the norm in scouting and recruiting. And its video of course which grabs social media attention which leads to game spectator attendance. I hope.
My video-editing skills and instincts have been really coming together. But to actually do the physical shooting is frankly a terrifying prospect. I'll have to find a way to do it from my walker and make it work. Maybe low angles will be our... look. A brand even?
At the end of the night I tell my fellows, "No promises. I have to go home and see how I feel. I have to see if I can even get out of bed tomorrow. I'll be in touch." They know that this was just my first tentative peek at things. The lacrosse season is one heavy grind. A jam packed summer. And a long one given the constant playoff presences of these teams.
Our new GM is nodding and smiling. He's been taking note of my comments this night. "Hey is this a younger brother of so and so? How's he doing? Did he graduate from that prep school yet?" Every return to lacrosse welcomes you with familiar names; brothers and sons of former charges and teammates.
I like this new GM and I learn that like me, he once got burnt out and fled lacrosse but was drawn back in. It probably began with LMM as it did with me. Nodding and smiling when I say, "no promises."
"You'll be back," he says. "You're gonna do this." I'm surprised at his sudden boldness. He's still smiling. "I can tell. You love this."
*no actual two towers were harmed in the making of this sequel
Toddled to the bus stop, survived a transfer and discovered a long walk was to be had to get from the local stop up a long long parking lot to the arena. Put on my big boy pants and began the journey.
Plenty of time to kill. I'd arrived two hours early. One can never be too safe when you're the Slowest Man On Earth. Plus I may have been confused about the time.
Found a good spot for my first intermission rest, settled in to my rollator walker seat and lo and behold here comes an SUV and a familiar driver. It's Coach; the Guru, previously known here as LaxMastermind. I see him squinting at me. Is it me, he wonders. I was not expected. I wave. He pulls over. There is much to talk about. It's been a few years. Immediately I must warn him that I been off my meds for a few days. Because I feel the emotions welling already.
We do some catching up. Some real shit has gone down. One could say that LMM and the new world organizations he works with, are not held dear by the ruling class of the Provincial Lacrosse Regime who, some might say, are loyal to their old friends, the pale-faced traditional lacrosse hotbed communities whose names share the record halls with those such as Powless, Bomberry or Montour for instance, who kept white lacrosse barely alive in its meagerest decades, who kept the Western Nemesis Province from winning too many national titles and threatening the Big Baby egos of these old boys who do what they do for themselves, for old boy adolescent pride, for the reptilian joy in making other's kids suffer because they have the POWER! One might say that power is the default end-goal of every brain-stunted greying psychopath who can't think of any other pursuit with which to disguise himself as an actual adult. One might blame this exact phenomenon for the completely deranged state of lunacy that is North American politics and the corporate maceration of society and humanity.
Aw shit, have I digressed into a rant already? I need to take a break and come back to this story from a concise and personal angle. And by the way, dear diary, no one is actually saying any of those things: Certainly not LMM, and not me either; not officially. And to be fair, I am not as intimate with the Provincial Lacrosse Regime as I used to be or as I should be before making any kind of accusations. But I'd have to be pretty blind not to notice how innocent kids, who the PLR has been charged with nurturing, keep getting their lives fucked over by old men who explain their punitive sledge hammering habits by saying "That's my decision! My MY MINE! I DECIDED! How dare you QUESTION my RULING...! now go away; you are ruining my beer-guzzling pursuits! Glub-glub-glub-glub-glub-glub-glub... " rather than with any coherent interpretation of actual rules and how "MY RULING" somehow benefits kids in the long run.
Cause they don't.
... of invention. Right?
I've long thought of it as the mother of creativity. Sometimes, at least.
I'm all about creativity. To me there's no other point to life or to being human. But being creative doesn't mean that your imagination produces things out of nowhere. A mind does not just come up with random material. It thinks up things for reasons whether you can follow the causality or not.
Many times I know I need to add elements to a story but my mind is blank. What to add? Nothing occurs to me. But there's a very useful engine for creative imagining and its when there is a problem to solve.
I needed to work on a novel a decade or so ago and did not have a concept in the bag. I did have many short story ideas clamouring for attention though. So I picked three compelling ones; three simple premises I had previously come up with and listed them on the page. Three ideas. And then I said "How to bring these together into one novel?" I logically worked at the problem and what was born was probably my most excellent novel outline I have ever managed: The Transneptunians was the working title. That word, by the way, refers to any astronomical member of this star system which exists beyond the orbit of Neptune.
I have never finished the first draft because it is still lacking a thing or two. It was about the lives and relationships of a father and daughter who never knew each other beyond the girl's toddlerhood. Every other chapter revealed the father's life from his own childhood until the defining life-changing event in his prime adulthood. And every other chapter revealed his life in reverse, from death, backwards in time, as learned by the daughter who researched his life by seeking those who knew him, as she was compelled to understand what appeared to be a tragic life after learning her biological father had died. At the end of the book the two timelines meet and the truth is revealed. The title comes from a cosmic idea concerning the process of his death, but also concerns the relationship; father and daughter whose lives revolve around each other without them meeting, like Pluto and Charon, once considered planet and moon, which revolve around each other without ever touching.
The first youth writing club I facilitated in my school volunteer days; they wanted to co-write a novel; the most ambitious option I presented to them. I had them each create their own character and their own simple story about their own character, so they could each be writing separately at home on their own early chapters of the book. My promise to them was that once we had each character on the move; their problems and pursuits rolling along, we would then figure out how to bring them all together; how to get every character into the same space in a situation; an event; that would bring about their defining moments; the climax of the novel.
Two problems: 1. They were not working fast enough as the school year swiftly ran dry. And 2. They didn't trust my promise that their seemingly unrelated stories could possible come together. And this eroded their enthusiasm without my knowledge. By the time I realized what was going on it was getting too late. I knew with certainty that we would have been able to bring it all together. And the seemingly unbridgeable distance we'd have needed to close; the apparent stretch of it, was exactly the reason I knew it could be done and be excellent. The great necessity would have been the mother of great creativity. It's too bad perhaps, that I was not more determined and didn't push harder, and didn't find a way to show them and convince them.
As I work daily on getting my new business to the launch state, I will be leaning heavily on the concept. Have I mentioned I'm going into the Dungeons & Dragons hosting business? There is a boom in D&D playing and a shortage of dungeon masters which has spawned a nascent industry: DMing for cash. I'm working on a whole new set of rulebooks; a best-practices formula which considers all previous versions of D&D resources and my own innovations; a very considerable collection of improvements. My goals are big and doable: the ultimate D&D experiences for my clients. Fun, challenging, compelling. Campaigns that are fully immersive; not glorified obstacle courses. Not a formula for player characters to fit into my story, but a fully prepared 360-degree world with possible adventures, resources, allies, opportunities and clues in every direction, where players determine their own objectives and are the prime movers in an evolving story which I discover at the same time they do. It demands a ton of preparation but I am very well-positioned for that. I've been collecting ideas and story concepts and creative elements for a long time. I have over 4000 names in my personal fantasy-themed name collection for instance.
Now, anyone could make the same claim by simply subscribing to an online resource. But it's not the same. Mine are all gold. Mine were all created or acquired within the context of my worlds. They all work. They all will resonate and not seem random. This is one example of a great many that are going to make my product fucking kick-ass.
And whatever gaps in my resources come to apparency through this evolving process: they will be created marvelously... out of necessity.
Back to work...
Here's my pranks compilation from the Jackass movies. It's definitely not for everybody!
This is right in my parents' back yard. These are the lands I romped in and explored as a free-range child in the summers when the farm was my grandparents'. These are the lands that fostered my imagination and made me who I am today. What's happening there really hurts.
Twelve thoughts in twelve minutes. Kind of stream of consciousness sort of, except I'll be thinking about what's new? No preparation but I know what the first thing will be. Ready. Go.
1. I have moved. It was ugly as shit. Took me a month to do it. Spent about $1200 of other people's money. Totally mismanaged it. Never came close to coming to terms with my own limitations. Had to deal with the ugly consequence of the hoarding trap that I fell into being largely immobile and sleepless the last couple years, and my basically giving up on life for a while.
2. I have graduated from welfare to disability basically, which means that instead of choosing between the streets and a homeless shelter I got to choose between a homeless shelter and a weird apartment-sharing arrangement I can almost afford. Actually I can't afford it but... there are food banks.
3. I had to let a number of friends in on my little hoarding secret because I desperately needed help. Not that I accepted help at first. I was dead set against it and not out of humiliation. I am very good at suppressing pride and ego when I want to. Just out of guilt. I didn't want anyone to suffer the experience of seeing my environment and dealing with it. The Healer made it happen. She just showed up with her companion and bulled her way into my room and kicked me out and they started cleaning and purging.
4. My unpacking project, so far, consists of lugging boxes of books out to my little hallway outside my room. I do four or five boxes before feeling hurt and overwhelmed and that's it for the day. Once they're all out of the way I'll have room to sort everything else onto my bookshelves. Then it's fine-tuning the furniture placement, and putting everything in place, last being the books. It will honestly take a month I bet.
5. I'm committed to getting my home business launched ASAP. It's a lot of work. Trying to put in 8-hour days which includes breaks. I'll tell you about the business some time. It's Dungeons & Dragons hosting of the finest calibre hopefully. I can earn up to $1000 per month without a disability benefit penalty; after that my benefits decline 75 cents per dollar I earn. I think that's fair. That would be net earnings. So I should say income; not earnings perhaps.
6. Wow I'm only at six. This writing is a mess. I will fix spelling errors etc. after the clock stops and before publishing.
7. I had a sushi lunch with my old bread and butter friends. Earlier I thought I'd been kicked out of sushi club. I thought they'd been carrying on without me. Well... I guess I was wrong. I enjoyed their company immensely. No, the conversation was not the material I'd prefer and no, I wouldn't have agreed with much of it but they were wonderfully sweet and I loved them and I felt the love returned and it was wonderful. It was really wonderful.
8. Monty Python. They are damn funny. No matter how many times I watch their stuff it just stays damn funny. So there.
9. Neil Peart, Guy Lafleur and Norm MacDonald have all died in this last brief disability/covid shut-in era. My favourite musician, hockey player and male comedian of all time. It feels like a blow.
10. Time makes me sad sometimes. It's so fucking cruel. All the people it takes away. All the opportunities lost. I wasted the potential glory days of my young adulthood in a relationship I thought was monogamous, with a deranged psychopath who was very good and not perfect, at the time, of hiding that he was a deranged psychopath. And I was never as deeply in love as I could have been with someone else. Twelve and a half wasted years. We had some fun though.
11. Time's up.
12. I failed I guess!
Today I walked, or rather stumbled, out of the townhouse I have called home for the last 12 or so years; as long, I think, as I've called any place home, for what might be the last time. I dragged my last nine parcels out with me.
Excuse me. I nodded off there just now. Have not slept much at all lately. High hopes for tonight though.
The taxi driver came with van at a surcharge as requested. He looked at the walker and my bags and said:
"Is that all coming?"
Translation: "I wish that wasn't all coming."
Me: "Yes."
Top-Ten Answers I should have said:
10. No. They'll follow us on their own.
9. Let me guess: you're not aware you're a moron; are you?
8. As long as they're not on fire.
7. No; just every other bag.
6. Yes. And I really pray that's the stupidest question I'm going to hear today.
5. No, just the ones that don't fly away when you reach for them.
4. I don't know. You'll have to ask them.
3. Hey, that's a great idea! Yeah; let's bring 'em all!
2. Does the Pope shit in the woods?
1. No. They're just breathing heavy.
Do you like TV and film bloopers? I do. So I put together a collection of the highest quality I could manage. Just gems. No chaff. It's um... kinda long... but no one says you got to watch it all in one sitting.
.JPG)
