September 1, 2012

There’s this boy on my Facebook who routinely misinterprets getting recognition for things online for actually doing them. It’s strange and sad and maybe our very real future.


August 21, 2012

“Return of the prodigal son,” my father says, in that resolutely opaque humourous display of his.

I swallow the retort in my throat, and reply with a terse, “Hi Dad.”

He slaps me on the shoulder and I cringe inwardly, but stiffen and expand outwardly, keeping my face carefully and obviously blank, trying to ignore the friendly gesture that I transform emotionally into a perverted display of force and dominion and willingness to forget the unspoken past.

I take off my shoes and enter, secretly eager to leave this calcified ritual behind.

I never forget and I never will.

Face Book

August 11, 2012

Ads are starting to filter through my ad-blocker on my browser. I now get snippets of ads, broken text, and nothing to click on. It’s as though they’re tired of trying to coerce me into buying their product, and they just want to have a regular conversation.


July 31, 2012

So, Andre Romelle Young decides to send Olympic athletes at the 2012 Games pairs of his branded headphones. The International Olympic Committee takes issue with this, because their corporate “audio” sponsor is supposed to be Panasonic. Athletes are seen on the news wearing the headphones and they call this a measure of ambush marketing. An illegal marketing maneouvre. The IOC makes the claim that they must act to protect the legitimacy of their corporate sponsor, because if Panasonic cannot be certain to have advertising primacy, other sponsors will feel the same way, and the Olympics will dissolve, choked by their lack of funding.

I never liked the Olympics and I certainly don’t like them any more now. Yet I capitalize the words, because it is what looks right to me. It is already branded into my mind.


June 28, 2012

Today was a windy day, full of violence. The heat was unbearable, and the winds blew it in hot waves, channeled down downtown streets. Lurking behind corners to leap out at you as a turn a corner, the sun burning your flesh as the wind strips the flesh from your bones. I’ve never experienced an angry planet like this.

The Vaguest of Pains

June 26, 2012

There is a twinging in my heart. It feels as though my body is being drawn into a hole there, taut and pulling in on itself. On the verge of disappearing through a tiny black hole to flee this universe. I put my hand to my chest, but the sensation is purely internal. However, my heart has been severed from all the nerves that attach it to the rest of my body, specifically to the nerves which lead to my brain and inform me of sensation. Thus, I know that this sensation is entirely psychological. Why do I feel this? Can a body feel the absence of something?


June 21, 2012

It’s been six months since the operation.

As of this week I have been taken off of the following:

– Prednisone (steroids)
– Valganciclovir (immunosuppressant / anti-infection)
– Chlorhexidine (anti-infection swallowed mouth-rinse)
– Nystatin (anti-infection spit mouth-rinse)
– Sulfamethoxazole (anti-bacterial)
– Insulin N and R

Veritas lux mea.

June 19, 2012

I’ve got issues. I’ve got no direction. I’ve got no process. I’ve got no destination. I’m just whirlin’ in the wind. Great Storm, blow me down or blow me away.


June 5, 2012

I wake up in the morning with sunlight flooding my apartment. The morning sun fills the living room, then the kitchen, then my bedroom before it disappears behind the building across the street.

At mid-afternoon, the hot sun again streams through the ceiling-height windows until the heat and light is almost unbearable. I watch the cutouts of day travel slowly across the walls before they narrow into nothingness.

Then, in the late evening, when the sun is low in the sky, the fading light flashes off of the windows of the building across the way and the mirror light of sunset shimmers like a day in half-existence. Paler, cooler, and shimmering.

The Need You Know

May 18, 2012

I drove back into downtown late last night and the stench of drying sweat filled the air. The first hot days of summer had infused the air with a warm thickness.

Drives serves as mental downtime for me. I switch into autopilot, turn up the music, and my mind begins free-associating all the concepts that have been tumbling around in there for the last little while.

My life lies at a crossroads, and choosing a direction now may be one of the longest-lasting decisions I’ve had to make. As the last remnants of medical frenzy slough away from my flesh, I emerge, pink and frail. My eyes gaze up into the sky, and my weak hands grasp towards it, but they cannot yet reach.

There is an interim, a time of social obligation, where I must return to the world that which it did for me. Everybody put their effort into keeping this corpus alive and walking, and now, I must show them that this was not in vain. That I can live freely and independently. That I can step up.

But what am I going to do? And where am I going to do it? I do not yet know.