Fascinating.

Fascination really. Just

slightly
off-set.

I feel the pain, man. In my teeth.
Sorry, your

drugs
don't help.

It's still there. Just like tomorrow. Which is just like today and every day before and since.

I gave it up, cut it out like wisdom teeth,
impacted.

Bony, even.

Gave you up for why? For fear, man. For the things they said, man.

And for your touch, I would

do it all
again, but different. Preferrably
with you.
An Informal Survey of Everything2

    27 randomly selected nodes.
  • 2 nodeshells,
  • 4 Webster 1913 only,
  • 15 informative or factual nodes,
  • 1 poem,
  • 1 Nov 13 1999 one-liner,
  • 1 metanode,
  • 1 humor,
  • 1 E2-specific humor,
  • 1 Magic:The Gathering card.
Also three syncronicitous events occurred during this survey, three specific nodes that related directly to my thoughts or immediate surroundings.

An informal survey of Eponymous

This is the most significant thing I have done today. Long, long, day. Ennui. Weltschmertz. You know, for years, I pronounced ennui "EN-you-eye". First time I heard it spoken, blew my mind. "What's on-WEE?"


Concrescence Messiah Village Elvish Ranger Bark at the Moon Fabricator Mary had a little sprout Willem Barentsz stellar husbandry the perfect pop song math is art colonel potter and the chamber of secrets confessions of an ex-personal ad taker rapparee I am no longer an EDB refugee Oprah Winfrey PokeDex senior general semantics Jeeves and Srkorn's Excellent Adventure Metal Ion Catalysis Here's to... oyasumi nasai detective Brachiolaria Trapezium pubis E-
It's been an interesting weekend I suppose. It's never much different, except from an occasional drinking binge or two, depending on the mood of course. But its all right in my mind. Routine is always a good thing, as it is the root of all predictability.

Last night was great. Mike's Hard Lemonade and Neon Genesis Evangelion. Cheap wonton soup and staring at complete strangers at 3 AM in the morning. Nothing else much about it. I've recently received news that I've lost an old friend to a stabbing. Due to the amount of time in between in which there was no contact, he has become more of an acquantance but still, memories do not allow me to think of him that way. His liver stopped working on Wednesday apparently and my ex-girlfriend informed me. I've been down since then and having people ask me questions I need not be asked at this point do not work. But to each his own I suppose.

Waking up late, I still found myself sleepy. I haven't slept much, and since I tend to dwell on certain issues, death right now didn't make me feel much better. Then I found out my uncle is sick, and apparently wasn't able to function properly. He's my favorite uncle, as he always treated me like his son, though I never had the chance to reciprocate the feeling back. We went to visit and while I was ecstatic to see him since I don't see him often with our conflicting schedules, it tore my heart to shreds to see him in such a frail condition. I tried to console him by ensuring that if he needed me, I'll be there. Tried to make him laugh, and partially succeeded. But when I didn't, it scared me. He always was the cheery one. But its a situation in which optimism would be the best solution for all. At least that's what I tell myself. You deny that fact to suppress that facet of your reality. Creepy.

I went with my family to the cemetery today, to visit my long departed late maternal grandparents. I never grew up with them, with myself only meeting my grandmother once and never meeting my grandfather. I didn't want to go. Its not that I don't want to pay my respects to the departed but cemeteries always seemed the perfect picture of the limitations of human mortality. While truthfully saying that I'm not afraid of death, I rather not be around symbols of it. The whole scene reverberated in my mind for a few hours. How I stood there, on the sidewalk, staring at the horizon, with the sky turning from light blue to red. The cold wind sending chills down my spine. The view of far away memorials filled with flowers, making an eerie mosaic of both everlasting love and despair. I remember wondering what it would be like if there were no visitors here placing flowers. How that mosaic would simply be a peaceful picture of greenery with breaks of greyish tiles. But that only depressed me so we left.

The rest of the night was composed of the gym and other regular Sunday activities. Not overly fun, but definitely not productive. I should study tomorrow, but definitely after work. Have to go to the doctor as I have to see if I'm suffering from lockjaw because the right side of my jaw is bothering me. Hopefully. I seriously need to get out of this funk...

I spoke with two friends of mine yesterday, about a very bad thing which was committed. The whole fiasco is truly none of my business, so I've decided not to get directly involved- as a friend, I can only offer good things and time to listen. I offer kindness to all parties, who are in several different kinds of emotional turmoil. What was done was idiotic, cruel, thoughtless and consequential- and the reprecussions will be felt by all parties involved for a long, long time to come in ways unseen or imagined.

One of the transgressors (two were involved in this emotional crime) has a lot of things to think about- at the top of the list is "What do I do next?" I suggested doing what was right for them- and making damn sure that whatever that entailed wasn't going to cause more grief. I hope I made it clear that, while not surprised, I'm definitely disappointed in this friend. I hope they make the right decision.

One of the transgressed (yet again, two were involved) aired their grievance rather smartly- and I don't blame them one, tiny bit for their outrage. What was done shouldn't be experienced by anyone- ever. This person needs a hug in the worst way imaginable. Hugs are good, even if a little foolish sometimes. Hugs don't solve the problems, but they provide solace and understanding sympathy in ways that words cannot. If anyone knows this person and is able to, give them a deep, gentle, loving, tender hug and tell them that, eventually, they will know love in the way that suits them best. I know this well; I saw it on their face when I met them just over a month ago. A year, maybe a tad more, and life will take incredible turns for the better. It will happen. I know it bears little solace to read this now, if you're reading, but in time you'll be spinning with joy and elation. Just as all good things must come to an end, they also have a beginning. Your fresh beginning awaits you, when you're ready to meet it.

To the OTHER who has been transgressed: My friend, my heart goes out to you. I'm not sure if you saw it coming or were surprised by it, but I know that you could not have been pleased. Perhaps you'll handle it a little better than your counterpart- for reasons only you know. I pray that you deal with aplomb. You're a good person, at heart, and I know that you'll not let this kill you inside. Then again, perhaps some part of you had already died long before this occurred. Live once again, my friend. You need a hug, too.

To the other transgressor: If you need to bend an ear, I've got two big ones. This is a monumental screw-up and there's absolutely no chance in hell of making it right- except to learn from it and not make the same mistake twice. We don't know each other hardly at all, but I'm offering myself as a person to gripe at or talk with if you need to.

To all: You deserve love (not the romantic type, either), patience (with yourselves), compassion (for others) and time (to heal). I hope you all get it in your own ways and at your own pace.

Nothing grates on my nerves more than seeing friends at odds with one another. I know that people often times err and there is no way to rectify the mistake- that is perfectly natural. People can be brilliant and, sometimes, brilliantly foolish. First rule to remember in life, when things are about as fucked up as can possibly be imagined: To err is human.

You're human beings and with that comes all kinds of crazy shit that can't be expected. There's 6.3 billion of us on this planet and even though we're all individuals, it is virtually impossible for us to be alone- ever. You can't NOT be human. You're unique, just like everyone else. Treasure that, for better or for worse. To embrace animosity for your fellow humans is to deny your membership in the human race.

Back to Part One - To be Con't

§2. Home is in Your Head:

        The south-end of the city's peninsula was still ten trees to every rooftop, with its hushed, rustling narrow streets of closely-nestled houses. The major source of illumination from their picnic vantage were the rows of yellow klieg lamps along the borders of the dockyards. There was still not a trace of smog, not a whiff of expansion, no inclination at all to go overboard, and still not much really going on in general. Angie found this a staggering relief sitting on the slightly-damp grass of Citadel Hill that night overlooking the harbor. There seemed to be a few more cargo and cruise ships in dock than she remembered being normal, and the streets downtown looked a little more polished and colorful. There did certainly seem to be more tourists milling around the historic core, gawking at brick and wood and cobblestone like they'd never seen natural building materials before.
        Everything else though seemed to correspond roughly to memory. You could still drive across town in twenty minutes top, could still walk the waterfront at three in the morning, still get a cup of coffee at the Tea Room for 75cents, free refills. After the two of them had taken the bus into the city from the airport, they decided to split up for a bit to make sure everything they needed out of the way could be gotten out of the way. This was the MO they had always worked under, forcing each other to always get the labor-intensive tasks out of the way first so that you could concentrate on the slothful, impractical and/or truly outrageous later on. Besides, Zoe and her had some friends here who didn't exactly match up perfectly. Film kids and day-jobbers on one side, theater and art-school grads on the other, with old grade school friends cropping up in-between. At parties, this had not always been a germane combination. Zoe also said she had some 'financing' she needed to iron out, the shadowy nature of which Angie felt she could hazard a glowering guess, but which seemed to laden a topic to move into immediately after their arrival. So she'd been free to wander the streets alone for a few days, in which time she'd done a great deal of careful comparison, dutifully trying to line up her favorite memories of places and things, sights and smells, to confirm all the images and sensations were still firmly intact, both in her world and the world.
        This was not as easy at first as she would have thought. Firstly, she had to give excuses to her friends, all very eager to drink and catch-up and play cards, about why she needed to go out all day. She was quite sure if she told them the truth, that she was going down to the point to stare at the water, or feed the ducks in the Public Gardens, or sit in the cemetery, they would think she was gone completely soft in the head, because had she not already spent quite enough time in these places, enough surely to know them by heart? On grounds of pure rationalism and from a practical standpoint, this might, Angie admitted to herself, be empirically true, for surely these spots were now burned deep into her brain, had made indelible nicks and scratches that she never wanted to smooth over or wear away.
       Movement was never that easy though for her, never just a simple matter of A - B, so she told her friends she needed to see her mom for lunch, or run to the drugstore, or whatever, and then just headed out for the day, trying, along the way, to counter arguments they had never actually voiced. Not unusual for Angie to be having spats with herself, twirling her braids, adjusting her shades, sauntering along trying to ensure her motives were, if not entirely well-reasoned, then at least pure. She thought sometimes people derive such pleasure, quite intentionally, from the very lamest of things and people. She thought the objects of our affections often wear out, or surely we should outgrow these things, but at day’s end adoration is as much habit as heart.
        To wit: Angie didn't necessarily love feeding the ducks by the little artificial lake for the sight and smell alone, she knew that for damn-sure as she sat slowly dipping her and spilling the contents of a paper bag of popcorn, all the hedged and clipped Victoriana of the gardens abounding around her, willows bending over birdbaths and fountains spurting little trickles. Quite the contrary, while this may have a small, initial pull on her, all the tactile presence was now completely secondary. She loved it now for what was not there, what had been and was gone, that attachment seems all the purer, removed so. So much had happened to her here, in the confines of this well-wrought and treed city block, memories of hearing her name called by several boys over the years here, at the beginning of an evening, meeting up by the bandstand. The memory of all the last kisses and embraces she'd had. The memory of being here with Zoe in long skirts, thermal leggings and fingerless gloves, playing chess on the huge stone tables in autumn, big thermos of coffee and Bailey's at their side while the leaves made little pinwheels around their feet. There were tiny reels of recollection stored in this and a half-dozen other corners of the city, silently squirreled away, waiting to spring.
        In beginning of that psychic walking tour, along the elm-lined alleys of her youth, suddenly she found herself confronting the second difficulty of her extensive re-visitation, that being the memories kicked up in the process where not universally pleasant ones. Some of the steps were simple. Spending an afternoon gossiping with her favorite professor from school was pure ease and splendor, watching her prof honorably pack up two armfuls of student papers with an indulgent sigh and cram them into a worn leather satchel, then lead the way immediately from her cramped office hidden away over the gymnasium to the campus bar and finally listening entranced as she launched into an account-taking of everyone who'd made good, gone bad or just vanished into the ether from the school since.
        Equally comforting in some insubstantial way was making sure her initials were still carved into the girl's residence door, and just quietly circling the Quad of the tiny campus, picking up on ghosts of her and others coming and going years before. She sat down next to the flowerbed in the middle of the Quad, looked at the pillared steps of the Main Hall. Amplifying the wavelength of nostalgia and the amplitude of reverie was pure emotive science, if you knew how to twist and tweak the knobs properly, no matter how poorly timed or ill-fated past events may have sometimes transpired. Mounting years may not be forgiving to people, may not always hang well on their shadow, but time can sometimes be very good to places. The trouble began for Angie as her mind raced back and over some of the grimmer spots and blemishes of her remembrance, the slick-oily stillness never far from the edges of vision, just a hint of which could suck the air from her lungs, leave her blind and gasping in the light of day. Even sitting in the quiet of the campus, a sky of pure blue above, picking at the grass and just looking at the granite statues carved over the doors of the residence Bays she remembered a blurry night in one of those tiny rooms with the radiator popping and pipes banging in the winter head. The sun went cold then, the shadows darkened. The statue set into the building wall over the Middle Bay door was of two heroic Grecian figures in the Classic mode, arms locked and veins popping, struggling in stone and wrestling to a standstill, and Angie remembered struggling, and struggling and trying to breathe, breathe, breathe. She stood up now from the grass, wiped the dirt off her hands, off her dress, off her back, she shook out her jacket, shook it out well and turned and walked away. Not scared with the place, or herself, or even her minds ability to delight and haunt in the space of second, but just needing movement once again.

............


       Zoe rescued her later that last day, as always appearing just in time as the mist threatened to close in. Now they were up here on the hill after a few days back, having gotten their bearings and already feeling themselves drifting back into the comfortable routines of the past, and subsequently they were each taking slow, thoughtful pulls on a couple of cans of Keith's. Zoe had spent her first few days checking in on numerous ex's, regaling them no doubt with further, Byzantine anecdotes about her trials and tribulations in the big city. These stories were largely just that for the most part, with some tertiary grounding in fact, but were by and large elaborated upon well beyond all objective recognition. Angie knew she could always rely on Zoe for veracity, so long as it was just the two of them, but once any other listener was factored into the equation it became largely a matter of simply nodding along in agreement with Zoe's kaleidoscopic imagination. So Angie, for example, had no doubt that Zoe had spent a dizzying weekend in Lake Ontario cabin country alternately watching and participating in the coupling of two sexually ambiguous, fey young hotties whom she'd noticed skulking around the café she hung out at on weekends. Certainly her observations and pointers on technique for such a charged situation were, if anything, theoretically interesting, 'watch the elbows, that's important, three people can make elbows a bit of a hazard', 'try to keep it as simple as possible at first,,' 'water, very important, always keep it in reach,' ' 'many showers, hot and cold, as required.' Angie found it a little exhausting just listening to it, wasn't sure how Zoe kept up the energy level for this sort of thing, or anything for that matter, the way she talked, the way she worked, the way she shagged. It was all art to her, maybe, and art was the territory where you either went big or went home.
        There was wind carrying ocean air sweeping up the Hill, not Harbor air, which no doubt still reeked of untreated sewage, but the brine of the Atlantic, crisp and tangy and ever-wicked cold. Angie tugged her natty wool cardigan in a little tighter around her frame, tipped out the last drops left in the can, shook it, crumbled it and dropped it in their knapsack while fishing out another. Zoe was just watching the moonlight shimmer off the water around McNab's Island, setting its deep, dark forest slopes in contrast the quicksilver water lapping up against its shores. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder on an old woven blanket they'd borrowed from Angie's mom, dressed mostly in old clothes they'd both had stored in her basement, stuff they hadn't seen since leaving town. It was like they'd stepped back a few years in the space of a few days, recovering all their lost familiarity and patter in an instant, as if there hadn't ever been a cutting word or grievance between them. Angie wondered how many people might not have people like this in their lives, people that constantly amazed and inspired you to do things and think things you'd never for a second entertain on your own. She'd been a long time convinced she'd had that kind of flowering potential with Rob, yet that perfect certainty evaporated in a black flash after he left to work away and the calls just stopped. By the time they talked next, when he used the term 'thrill of anxiety' as an example of something he need, they both seemed to know already what had happened. Then she got a glimmer of that sense, though it was cut so short she couldn't be sure, when she'd literally tripped over Jason- but by then Zoe had already called her home, everything de-railed, and just started piling up.
       The indefinable quality of people like Zoe was that they just seemed to always go on, no matter that conditions often far from perfect, or that her behavior frequently tried even the patience of saints, or how her own life got distorted through the lens of overwhelming personality. None of this mattered to these people, and Angie supposed this is what made them artists, even if they never picked up a brush, swung a chisel, bent some clothes hangers together, suspended a carcass from a ceiling or whatever other stunts or materials it was the new movements were into these days. The essential energy was the real gift, and the ability to spread that enthusiasm and kinetic spirit around, to share it and make it contagious. Angie sensed, for a second, that these people wandering the globe might be the most important nodes of energy in circulation and that without them always being shifted around, coming into contact with the ideas and situations that kept them going, then the lights might conceivably begin to go out all over the grid. It scared here that there were so few of them, that they were so easily misled, that they put themselves constantly in harm's way, forced the margins, and indeed were even often made targets. It scared her to realize how intrinsic Zoe had been to her developing a sense of self, with no big words or heavy hands, and it freaked her completely to think she might ever lose her.
       "Hey. What the hell? Saving that beer for someone are you?"
       "There's no need of that now. Getting catty."
       "Oh you don't know from catty my little koshka. I 've a whole new arsenal, courtesy of a few years of city life, all prickly as would turn your little cheeks red. New barbs and slanders derived from a dozen different cultures. You're still toting the baggage of our lily-white ancestry, but believe you me, there is a whole world of caustic out there waiting for your curious little ears. Profanities perfected over a thousand years of strife."
       "I don't doubt it." The chill that spread uniformly through the air, caught in swirls and eddies around the slope, was like a delicious dream after the sweltering heat to be slogged through in Vancouver and Toronto. The wind was sharper while somehow seeming at the same time more fitting, or natural. These were the tug and push of a natural system, not the updrafts and undercurrents of city air. Angie thought she might simply wither on the vine those last, halting days out West, when the air hung still in the air and all the moisture seemed to drain from the usually lush landscape. Never mind that up until that week, most of the summer had been constant, cloying rain, that sales in all sectors were down, as people stayed home glued to their sun lamps or hydroponics apparatuses, waiting with bated breath for summer to make one brief respite before the autumnal rains of September swept up against the mountains out of the Pacific, plunging the city back into a misty gloom for another eleven months or so. Instead, her last memories of East Van were sun-scorched, over-exposed snapshots: wandering around Trout Lake in the early morning while little clusters of elderly Chinese-Canadian ladies in track suits did the pensive warm-ups of Tai Chi routines, drifting out into the night with a thirst crying to be slaked down to the smoky mirth of the Broadway Express for a cheap draft served in a dingy glass, scarfing down one final parting bowl of double-shot, shade-grown, soy-milk latte. All in the midst of heat wave that made her want to shave her body from head to toe, pack herself in ice, and not lift a finger until the sky finally clouded over again- but it never did, at least not until after she was long gone.
       "Hey, girl. Where are you off to tonight? It sure doesn't feel like you're here."
       "No I'm here, I'm here. In fact I was just thinking about how badly I needed this."
       "Yeah, well, you and me both. TO was starting to get me snaky, this summer especially for some reason. Gives me great satisfaction knowing it will remain, from henceforth, just a stop-over on the way to anywhere else."
       "Now you don't know that."
       "Au contraire. I made some seriously solemn and sacred vows back there. None no more, that's all I have to say."
       "You're never going back?"
       "Not if I was begged, pleaded with, on bended knee, by a whole swim team offering me executive expense accounts, Rosedale digs, a different Lexus for every day of the week and any number of other Hogtown-style perks. Place has its charms, I'll give it that, some decent places to eat, good for shopping, some tolerable clubs."
       "But?"
       "But what? You were there, you've seen it, the great grey invisible ballon hanging over the city - and I'm not talking about the smog either. It's the scene, the one-upmanship, the pure cut-throat antagonism that fuels the place. I mean I'm sure you get pockets of the same thing everywhere, in Van even, but at least from what I'm told people out there haven't actually completely lost the ability to unclench occasionally. And here, Christ people are so unwound out here most of the time it amazes me people don't blow away in the wind."
       "It was like that out West too, people did all kinds of stuff all the time, but they weren't boneheads about it. It was pretty nice."
       "Sounded nice. So why did you leave?"
       "Well, I guess it was like you said, it was just time to come home."
       "Has to be a bit more to it than that."
       "Well your little rescue call certainly helped solidify it for me."
       "And Rob?"
       "Done like dinner. You know that. I have no regrets there."
       "But you have regrets."
       "Sure, yes. Yes I was pretty screwed up already and then things got compounded."
       "'Compounded'?"
       "Zoe it's a really long story."
       "Oh really, well that's funny, I seem to be idly-rich at the moment, and last time I checked your little social agenda was pretty open too."
       "Yeah, well I've been wanting to ask you about that."
       "Like you said, some stories keep. Tell me what happened to you, or who rather."
       Angie had already thought forward to this point, thinking there would have to be more to the beginning than this, something spectacular in the air, so that her arcing explanations would have started or ended under some dark star or strange conjunction, or even some wayward location, distant city, or far-flung hemisphere. She's felt on the plane the two of them ought to have been lounging in hammocks when this started to unfold, overlooking a tropical vision of aquatic beauty, pink and orange corals just glimmering under a blue open sea white-capped by warm winds. Maybe that's how all stories would ideally start and end, not with order, not with grace and perfection, but with at the least with a hope of reaching warmth. Angie reached into the bag for a cold can to pass to Zoe. She knew she had felt that way, had thought of lot of things, but they were all giving way to litmus tests along the way, toppling in rows all around. Now she though she'd had her fill of heat, been sweating for three years straight. What we really need now is cold

To be con’t

I planned daylogging today about my yearly 3-day trip from high school tomorrow. But this trip got canceled/postponed. They say it's because of the heavy rains in the area, but we all know the real reason.
Today's Headlines (Maariv): 12 hours: 26 killed, more than 200 injured.
Faces. Small pictures of faces. Lots of them.
And then, in huge white-on-black letters: BLACK DAYS.
We all know it's because of the situation. The happenings. The numbers.

The people.

The plane juddered upon hitting the runway at Stansted and I felt like I was entering my parallel life again. For the past few months I have been torn between London and Cork, conducting my research in one and my love life in the other.

She was wearing her cute nurse -like dress and we watched Faust into the night trying to discover some meaning in those puppet creatures. A bizarre mangling of wood and flesh. The Icarus sequence of Brazil, reminiscent of the Bladerunner unicorn scene, pulled our already teetering eyelids down.

The next morning we were subjected to a pummeling of dance music courtesy of the teenage girl who lives next door. Noodle bars and Indian restaurants sustained or famished bellies that weekend. We visited a designer store, expensively cool and had cake in an organic deli. Before we were ready to take leave of one another, I was on the train to Stansted reading a tale of broken love.

And back to Cork, my love far from me but calling me and letting me know that she is drawing puppets from Faust on pause.

Finally!

I have my answers, or at least some of them. But I did receive the most needed answer - one that has been lingering for the past month and a half. And I couldn't believe the answer she gave me.

Out of all the scenarios I was thinking of, the most simplest and ridiculous of them all, had come true. No, it wasn't that she was cheating on me and went to live with someone else. No, she wasn't smart enough to just rent a room like a friend of mine did while working in the city. And no, it wasn't because she was seeing someone in London and in the process, lost interest in me. Although, all of these scenarios would have seemed more worthwhile and riveting for me to accept.

Instead, it was about a measely, insignificant computer that can be easily fixed. For her, that was the deal-breaker.

Baffled?

I know that I most certainly am. But of course, underneath that were all the problems we were having - the total package of discord. That, I can understand. Either I'm completely blind or that I tolerate so much of what we had been through, the result of it was that I was still willing to work through our relationship.

I'm pretty much through feeling sorry for ourselves, especially for myself. I'm no longer whining (as she so callously put it) about our failed relationship. A failed marriage would have been worse. And besides, it's normal to have certain feelings when someone abandons another person. It's been studied only recently.

I've read through nearly a third of the book. I'm about to finish the second section about Withdrawal and have glanced a little bit of the third section, Internalizing. I have a feeling that I'm already into that phase, given the new information provided.

I've also come to discover that I already intuitively know of the Akeru excercise prescribed by the author and its adaptation with the Zen philosophy. That, to me, is a good indication that spirituality cannot be obtained from a book - it is inherent in the experiences we go through.

I only hope that the next person I fall in love with has enough insight to realize the same things (if not, more so) I do.


The past weekend was somewhat eventful for me. My friends and I finally got around to going to the Helium night club in downtown Toronto. We had to get there almost an hour before 11pm to get into the place. It was jammed-pack as usual. The beer was cheap and the music, awesome! This place housed one of the better DJ's playing a mix of Techo, House, Down Tempo and Trance. The thing is, because of the relationship, I wasn't able to go out with my friends as often as I would have like to. It's just one of those things that naturally happens. And now:

I'm happy that I'm single.


Well, after reading the daylog by codic, the one just below my own, I've come to realize that I have a profuse amount of anger towards my ex. Of course, I question whether I was right or not to have shown such emotions - especially when she did what she did in the way she did it. Perhaps it's not a question of right or wrong, but rather that it was natural for it to happen. But, would a more enlightened person harbour such feelings of resentment and hostility? Probably not, but even to question that, it doesn't sound to me that I'm anywhere near the level of evolution I'm suppose to be at. In that case, let me start over.

There's one line that I really do feel that hit home with me:

"You can tell a lot about how much a boy/girlfriend really loved you by the steps he/she took to play damage control on your bruised ego."

Now that's the most eloquent statement I've ever run across in a long time.

It also blatantly indicates how much she really cares for me - which is nothing, zilch, nada, zero. And what do I do? Well, even though I'm the one with the bruised ego, I also tried to bruise hers by attempting to retaliate with words. That tells me how much I love her - which is also nothing, zilch, nada, zero. Okay, I must admit, I still feel sorry for her due to her current situation. But the fact remains is that she chose to put herself into it. There were other options she could have excercised. And it wasn't as if I didn't want to do something that could better the situation. I pleaded with her to discuss the matter, but she totally ignored me. She was set in her ways.

So as a constellation, I suppose taking her to small claims court might not be a good idea. I'm not cruel enough to seize her assets when she's already suffering. And taking into consideration what codic stated made it so clear to me now.

Thanks, codic! :-) Because of your writeup, I shall cool! you!

Besides, I never did like involving myself with the Law. Anything that had to do with even Law or police, especially speeding tickets, always made my stomach churn. I guess I won't be able to go to Law School. Oh well.

Yesterday my really wonderful girlfriend broke up with me. This wasn’t anything unexpected. Early into the relationship I had made sure that Meg understood that my design and animation career was the priority in my life, and always would be. It just got to a point where, after many months of the same old song, the time I was investing in the really good thing we had going on wasn’t enough. She laughed a little and said that I was right, artists really do make shitty boyfriends. I asked her to not tell me about the guys that would follow in my footsteps. She said sure, and wished me good luck with this year’s portfolio.

And that was that.

I’m 23 and too old to ever give anything more drama than it deserves. Meg, thank God, is a logical young lady who has amazing control over her emotional faculties. The breakup felt more like a friendly FYI conversation about “Ok, so do I have to pick up my clothes or do I still get to keep that drawer next to your bed?” and “Alright, so I can still crash on your couch if I get out of the city too late? No? That’s cool, I understand.”

I’ve never had a normal relationship that also, for whatever reason, ended normally. All my breakups have ended in weird, drawn out ways. Stuff like female screaming (which is a very different sound from any other type of screaming), long bouts of emo music, empty threats in public places, throwing food (really), and burning CDs always seemed like the norm concerning this kind of stuff.

So gosh, for Meg to just understand that she’d have to ditch my ass because I’m so passionate and driven about creating and designing. For her to just make that logical conclusion of, “Well, he always meant well, but he has this other thing going on which takes up 98% percent of his time, leaving me with only 2%, and that isn’t going to work.” For her to just keep stable, make a decision about us, and explain to me the hows and whys of that decision.

It was, well, really fucking cool of her to not go psycho on me.

Maybe a lot of other people would find the specifics of how well the breakup went to be kind of unimportant. Maybe most people would see the act of getting dumped as the only important detail. That’s not really the case, which is my point with this node and the specific thing I’ve learned from it. Here it is:

You can tell a lot about how much a significant other really loved you by the steps he/she took to play damage control on your bruised ego. Meg had about 100 different ways to really put a knife in my head, whether it would be attacking the quality of my art, calling me a shitty lover, making fun of the things I told her in confidence, whatever. I’ve learned that women can be really, really good at cutting into a guy with words when they want to.

My ex-girlfriend didn’t do any of that shit.

And Boo, if you stumble across everything2.com one day, and find my nickname among the community members. If you stumble upon my nodes. If you ever find this one node in the gel, and expect some kind of monumental movie-like ending for this piece of writing talking about our breakup. Well Boo, this one’s for you baby:

I could never tell you this to your face because men are stupid animals that can’t express intimate thoughts as well as girls. Instead we write down important things on stupid online journals, hoping you’ll never find them. Thank you for respecting my life in a way no other person ever has. Thank you for not belittling the things most important to me. When you see those credits roll and my name on those fucking credits, just know that a lot of what I became had to do with the time I spent in love with you.

It’s impossible for a human being to ever touch another human so perfect and gentle. Imagine my surprise when you did just that while breaking up with my stupid-hyper-creative-ass.
I'm starting to think that a lot of E2 editors are pretty much just assholes that don't like me.

That, and the entire issue of me being single is getting me really depressed, piled on top of the fact that college is really sucking right now.

I'm also really upset that my Reason that "36 hours of coding" is a Bad Thing(TM) has mysteriously, without a trace, disappeared(I'd provide a link to it, but that'd be pretty pointless as it doesn't exist anymore.) I have no idea what happened to it. It isn't even in Node Heaven.

All in all, I'm starting to take a pretty pessimistic view of the world.

And if, for some reason, this node gets deleted, I'll have no doubt that the E2 editors are assholes. This is the Day Logs. There should be no reason this should get deleted.

Here's the thing, I'm having a bad month and some of the e2 editors aren't helping. Notice that I did not say all. Certainly, there are some that have been very helpful. All I'm doing is expressing my opinion about a number of them, not all of them.

Also, I can tell when a Day log is directed at me. I'm not an ass.

Also, I don't need any comments about my own opinion.

That must be it! Many of the E2 editors must think I'm a XP Whore! Many well intentioned nodes, I'm sure, got down voted for this reason. Well, I'm willing to forgive, but let me think about it for a while.

Thanks, mom:

Good morning, How are you this fine day? We are at -5 with about an inch of snow and its starting to feel like Christmas here. Decorated the house and started to bake some goodies and J already ate all the poppycock so I'll have to make it again. I thought you where going to call on Thurs. Needed your advise (sic). Actually still need your advice. Dad and I went Christmas shopping on Fri. Here's the deal... what do you know about the games: (... --ed.)? Are any of these games any good? Does our computer have enough memory to play? Would J enjoy playing these? Have you played any of these? Let me know what you think. It's kind of fun shopping but when you get into the computer stores and all the kids tell you what the fun games are and they happen to be the most expensive and since we don't play, what do we know?

So how was your weekend. We are on the count down for sleepies for when you come home. I'll have to ask J-L how many days are left. Dad has holidays booked for the week you are home and I'm off as well since I don't work the days the library is open that week. Do you have any plans or you just want to hang out and relax, play some Rook, eat? I thought of renting a cabin at Clear Lake but the nice children just laughed at me.

So... We had a busy weekend. Dad and I went shopping on Friday and then straight to the Carman area (sic) for a rink shift from 4:30 to 10:00. We have to do 3 - 6 hour shifts or else pay the canteen $180.00. So we have now worked the 3 times so that is done. Saturday we both worked. Sunday was church and then in the aft at 3 the Community Christmas concert at the hall. It was over 2 hours long. The band did not play this time. J-L was in a play with a group of Youth kids from church. The concert was good but alittle long in one of the drama's since your Father all of a sudden was sleeping. His head kept nodding and I looked over and the lady beside him was sleeping as well. So much for understanding the Drama Club's play from school.

Today Sky Cable is coming to take down the antenna since Dad got Bell View Express put in. You get the little dish attached to the house and then hundreds of channels. So Dad can watch endless football, and J-L can see Friends over and over again. Have to do some baking today as well. The stove thermostat went last week Wed. Put a cake in and 5 minutes later the stove was black with smoke. The temperature did not shut off. So no cake for us that night. Dad just finally got the part and installed it yesterday. Anyways I should get going. Have a good day and try to call sometime. Love you and miss you and pray for you. MOM

I've been here for a few months now, and I've had a mostly positive experience. There are some -really helpful- people on e2 who have given me good information, good pointers and good stuff to read. Wuukiee took me in and even though some of my wu's suck, everyone's been generally helpful and cool.

Because my experience has been so positive, it's been hard for me to remember that e2 is a microcosm and not much different than THE REAL WORLD. There will always be people who dislike you or would rather not hear what you have to say--you just have to hope you're lucky and your friends are louder than your foes. I knew that coming in, and I came anyway. But for the last week or so, I've been coming into contact with the more difficult, not-so-pretty, sometimes-rather-mean side of everything.

Some of my writeups are starting to sport snippy and insulting links. Sometimes I get comments above my Chatterbox that are stinging and seemingly unprovoked. While most of us seek criticism, I wish for comments of a constructive nature. But you know how it goes; if wishes were pigs bacon would always be on sale.

I could choose to take the insults personally and sniffle about my hurt feelings or my bruised ego. I could choose to keep a stiff upper lip and ignore them. I could choose to cower and meet the whims of every random noder who decides I'm wrong or not a good writer. (As much as I don't like to admit it, I can be overly affected sometimes.) I could choose to do any of these things with no effort at all.

I think, though, that I will have an entirely different reaction. I'm going to make a conscious effort to take the criticism as if it were constructive. This is everyone's space, and if someone is so insulted or threatened by my words that they move to strike back, then perhaps I need to rethink what I've written. I will not, however, compromise my own ideas or personality to pander to someone who can't even get the good sense to /msg me.

Okay, so shut the hell up and do it. What are you bothering the daylog for?

Despite having been warned that journaling here is a bad idea for new noders, I decided this was the best place to lay all this out. I'm hereby promising not to take it personally; please hold me to it.

Well, another week, another hardware problem. As previously noted, something Bad happened to my server that is coloed in New Westminster. Due to a fortunate set of circumstances (I didn't carpool, and I didn't take lunch) I was able to leave work early. A lovely drive in the pouring rain out to the colo, a bit of tinkering to see if it was maybe a cable, or the controller, and then packing the box into the trunk and driving it back home. Sadly the noises that were coming out of the hard drive (wiiiiiiiiiiiiiizzzzzzzthunk wiiiiiiiiiiiiiizzzzzzzthunk wiiiiiiiiiiiiiizzzzzzzthunk) told me it was not going to come back up any time soon.

Most things were backed up. I had to re-install the base OS (Debian Linux) and try to remember what was installed before, but it all got worked out eventually. The only thing I didn't back up was my /usr/lib/cgi-bin directory :( This directory didn't have much, but it did have the main search and view script from the free geek personals page I run (Peer2Peer Personals). The site is in enormous need of a facelift and redo, but I just haven't had time, and I think my perl-fu has gone (I've been a c hacker for a while now). Guess I don't have much choice now do I?

All in all, it could have been much worse... Still, not a nice way to spend the weekend.

I want to ride my bicycle.

It’s 63 degrees and sunny here in Cincinnati—very unseasonable. Beautiful cycling weather!

Instead, I’m stuck in my cubicle, plodding away at workplans and status reports. I gaze out my window, and see the reflection of the sun in the river calling me.

I get off at five. Sunset today in the Queen of Cities is 5:15. No chance for a ride after work. I could, I suppose use my lights, but that pales in comparison to what it would be like to throw my leg over a bicycle right now.

It is supposed to be just as nice tomorrow. I’m very tempted to call in sick, but I have several meetings.

Saturday, a day I could ride, is expected to be “near forty, with snow flurries.”

I hate winter.

Today I am *&%#))@!#%+:... still recovering from the weekend. At work, I struggle to remain awake in front of the taunting computer screen. Work it says. Sure, sure, lemme just get a brief day log down in further procrastination.

Phil and I enjoyed a two-night rave over the weekend. We ended up having one of the best times we've ever had at a show, seeing plenty of friends and several performers we've been longing to see for a while. Of course, Sandra Collins was swaying at the decks on Jack Daniels and a lil' something else, I was told, and she was two hours late. But Prophecy's performance was wonderful. Though not the most inventive musically, they put on a show replete with stunning visuals, and a passionate performance is never wasted. Regardless of the small pockets of e-tards, the crowd was excellent. I met Shannon, the singer for Prophecy while in the bathroom. I was a bit tied at the tongue- it can be difficult to speak to a spectacularly-dressed goddess-like woman while standing in a line to pee.

We watched the movie "Arlington Road," starring Tim Robbins and Jeff Bridges over the weekend as well. Quite good and quite depressing- I do recommend it. Interesting to watch a film about terrorism in America right now, no?

We had pictures developed from the late night revelling, and most of them came out well. Phil may put them online at some point. All in all, a great weekend, though now we are paying the price. We plan on being home-bodies for a little while- after all we really don't want to become poster children for a Bosch painting.

I woke thinking of you and music

I woke thinking of you
And music
Piano keys that tickle the floorboards
And an oboe that rattles the light fixtures over the den
The sounds of violins down the hallway
and soft drum echoes around the walls
And I can feel them on the headboard
as I lean against it
Smelling the indented pillow you left behind
Before you got up
to make coffee & the soundtrack to our morning

12:01 - 9:30 am) attempted to sleep. had much troubles doing so. had trouble getting to sleep from 11:00 on because some place at the corner was playing Indian music just loud enough so that it was an annoyance. like when you try and sleep with some low sound in the room which becomes more and more annoying. like Chinese water torture.

9:30 - 10:?? am) arose out of my psuedo-sleep. realized i had not got much sleep at all. became upset because i really really need to study for finals today. tried to fall back asleep in a desperate attempt to suddenly become well-rested (note: i have not been well-rested since sometime in early high school).

10:??am - 12:?? pm) out of bed wth me. attempted to watch GMA to see what the whole Ginger thing was about. got the station that it was on wrong. ate Frosted Flakes with soy milk and made orange-tangerine juice. attempted to finish the reading I hadn't finished for a computer science course. at some time had a shower and watched a portion of Maury Povich as well as a portion of The View. dressed.

12:?? pm) ate lunch

12:??pm - 1:?? pm) attempted to sleep some more and finished reading the comp sci

???) masturbated (can't quite remember when)

2:2?pm) checked bus schedule. did hair. wrote check for landlord. gave check to person who works for landlord.

2:41pm) ran to try and catch the 2:42 bus which was of course early (buses are always early when you want them late and late when you want them early). i actually hadn't expected to make that bus anyways. realized what a waste it had been to have ran, as i got to the stop cause my throats were all burning feeling cause it's cold out.

2:51pm) caught the 2:50 bus.

3:22pm) arrived at UBC. talked to someone I know waiting at the bus loop. went to the statistics TAs' office to buy old stats finals and ask about a question I got wrong on the midterm. it kind of make sense how the TA explained it. then I went to the stats lab and got some more graphs and emailed them to myself for my stats mini-project.

4:??pm) left UBC. arrived home.

4:50pm) told myself I'd start studying at 5. talked to people on net. watched a small portion of Days and for some sick reason Oprah.

5:00pm) rememberd that i was supposed to start studying. decided to put that off to the firm deadline (sarcasm) of 5:30. watched part of Urban Rush. talked to people on net.

5:4?pm-6:??pm) attempted to figure out that stats midterm question. got angry at it. makes no sense. phoned friend's cell phone. didn't answer. someone phoned here. i didnt' answer the phone. i was angry. yelled and did angry things. e-mailed prof asking about the question, including a reference to counting llamas. attempted to sleep. could not due to the previously mentioned low volume but really annoying Indian music. screamed and covered ears with pillow comically. was angry.

6:3? pm) went onto computer again. came here. wrote this.

7:02 pm) hit "idea". felt like guy in movie Pi. (you know, "balbla pm: hit enter").

QXZ's London Invasion, Part Four
back to part three

Between beams to the gloom room
and
The old grey mare, she ain't what she used to be.

For variety's sake, my ham and cheese breakfast sandwich this morning will be toasted. Humble thanks, TESCO, for your infinite options.

I didn't manage to drag myself out of the hostel until 11:30 today. That and the continued gloomy weather have decided that the British Museum will be today's destination.

A whole phalanx of uniformed Underground employees flowing blue down the stairs.

The British Museum is technically free. However, checking your coat or bag will cost you £1.00 per item, and a Visit Guide (without which you're lost) runs £2.50.

First stop: the Reading Room, where Marx and Engels did a good amount of writing their Manifesto. John Maynard Keynes held a reader's ticket here some years later. I wonder how well they would have gotten along?

Moving on: mummies! Mummies and swarms of uniformed schoolchildren, blue kids and red kids. And green kids. I'll avoid the mummies for a while.

Ah. The Museum appears to be doing it's part to provide evidence for the historical "inevitibility" of capitalist globalization. A placard in the Ancient Near East section reads: "In order for the Levant to play a role in the international trading community, the old village-based economy of subsistence dry-farming and pastoralism had (emphasis mine) to give way to one of productive agriculture leading to trade". The WTO and its brethren, it seems, are merely fulfilling traditions begun "at the start of the third millennium BC".

Schoolchildren streaming up marble stairs sound like a roaring flash flood.

Lindow Man. Probable Druid sacrifice. Drank some mistletoe, knocked twice on the head, then garotted and dumped in a peat bog. Wherever you are, I hope it was worth it, my man.

The Rosetta Stone. It is what it is. Fascinating, of course, but you don't gain much by seeing it in person.

The Elgin Marbles from the Parthenon. I'm a fan of classical sculpture, so it's a treat to see these. As to whether they should be returned to Greece or not, I'm not sure. The Parthenon and its treasures have been progressively destroyed over the centuries by both weather and human violence. Do the sculptures "belong" in Greece as opposed to London? I suppose. By they'd be in a museum there just as they are here. It feeds into the whole question of the propriety of the treasures of empire, I guess. Cultural works have more significance in their original context, but when they've been badly destroyed it probably makes little difference where they're removed to for preservation. Ehh... no conclusions here. Is it theft or scholarship or both?

The Shabaka Stone: an ancient Egyptian (710 BC) stonework inscribed with a creation myth. Its carving was ordered by King Shabaka to preserve the story for all eternity. The stone's still here; however it's been used as a millstone in the interim. Practicality vs. spirituality. Is it significant that the center hole and troughs carved for grinding are highly representative of the sun?

It has occurred to me, over recent months, how much time and energy has been devoted over the centuries to sculpting the cocks and balls of horses. It's probable that equal or greater time has been spent on the genitalia of human males, but the lavish attention directed towards equestrian sexual equipment strikes me as odd. Is it simple penis envy? Did sculptors have lessons on the proper way to render a horse penis in marble? Was there extensive field study? Lots of practice? What happened to failed experiments in horse cock sculpture? Did a master sculptor frown and nod seriously if and when he was complimented on the quality of his horse dick carving, or did he get the giggles? I think this is an important and overlooked area of art history.

Left the museum after nearly four hours and seeing the Money exhibit. Amazing place, but I feel that, like most museums, I'd get more out of it if I went to see something specific. Otherwise, it's "historic object overload", and I can't feel the proper sense of awe that you know everything is due.

Went for a walk down Great Russell Street on a whim and stopped into a comics shop to look for Tank Girl stuff for Tara. Bust. Profoundly offended by the sticking of price tags directly onto the covers of comic books.

Further whim carried me down Oxford Street, which is a main shopping thoroughfare and all lit for Christmas. Pretty, but heavily trafficked. Stopped at a Marks & Spencer to look for shower slippers and just to have visited the icon.

Then: dinner at Pizza Hut! Ha! I'm not ashamed! god, yes, i am. Familiarity. Pizza at exorbitant prices. Money into PepsiCo accounts. If I wasn't alone I'd never do this.

Being alone has been mostly fine so far. The main drawback is lack of someone to talk to. Hence this notebook. It's been nice to have the freedom to do whatever whenever, but it's harder to make decisions without other people to bounce ideas off. I have a vast amount of possibilities, and weighing the relative merits all by myself is time consuming.

Took a walk down Charing Cross Road to Trafalgar Square. The square, and Nelson's Column are quite impressive, and I would imagine are even moreso by daylight.

Caught a bus just to have the ride, and cruised across the river. Drove through Battersea, then looped back and got off at Westminster. Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey are quite pretty at night. I'll get back to them the day after tomorrow.

Planning on showering tonight. Haven't had any luck finding flip flops or something similar. The hostel shower itself doesn't seem to bad, but the bathroom floor is a nightmare and I don't need rotting feet. I may improvise a bath mat from the two plastic Duane Reade bags I have with me.

"Pedro! Don't forget! I love cock and I love men."
"If you love cock, then come up here and I'll send you to the moon in five minutes."
-Miriam Frenchgirl and Pedro Spaniard converse

The roomies are watching True Romance on TV when I get back. BBC 4 is billing it as "Quentin Tarantino's True Romance. One wonders what Tony Scott would think of that.

I think the shower will keep 'til tomorrow, unless the one upstairs is free.


Excerpted from QXZ's travel log, 12/3/01.
QXZ endorses nothing.

Back to Part Three
Forward to Part Four

Some thoughts on all the Segway/it/Ginger noise extracted from several emails with a coworker.

....They are rechargeable, supposedly it costs $0.10 to charge it for some 10-15 mi of travel.

Rich squares and others are saying stuff like "it's bigger then the internet". wtf, it's a scooter! I'm all about cheap clean ways to travel lightly but come on, i can get a mountain bike for $200-. I can go down (or up some) stairs on a bike, use NO electricity, and it'd be a lot more fun on the weekends! All this thing will do is make clean, economical travel hip, since that concept is now something sleeker then everyone else's concepts. Besides anyone can own a bike, how marketable is that.

Rich wierdos and US-funded mailmen will ride them around sometime next year, they'll be featured in the next teeny-bopper movie, we'll watch avant garde TV commercials, etc. I'm keeping my XT-350, thanks. I did some quick math and it costs me $0.01 to go 10-15 miles, and I bet I was going a lot faster then 12 mph.

And I have heard that "revolutionize the world" stuff before too.

I think the Segway is to personal transportation what the ATX power supply is to PC's. It's a new way of achieving something boring that people have already been doing for ages, via bikes skateboards and scooters, just with a new perks and go-faster stripes. And, as far as ATX goes (and the Segway will go) a few new pains in the ass. You doubt me? Just wait until your stuck behind a flock of them at the mall or getting your toes crushed on a sidewalk. Or one of 'em rides in your blind spot at Wal-Mart and you mow him over. Surely some crazy will put a weed eater engine on the thing and create a new road hazard, earning the stares of hot chicks. Well, ok I guess that'd be kinda cool, at least until he hits a pothole at 30 mph, is critically injured and sues the city transportation department.

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