Random unfinished poetry...

I started writing poetry this year. I have not really put any out into the world though...

These are unfinished little tidbits I thought I'd put up here as I have not been able to really write much since November because of a certain tragedy....

__________

Angry thoughts and squirrelly notions?

Speech unheard or silent woes?

Lonely noise of unmade motions?

So hard to know, friend from foes.

Speak-out now the why's, hows, and so's.

Tell aloud all want and need,

Sound sweetly a voice; I will heed.

Happiness is what to seek,

Lost abound in a sullen frown.

Disappointed and so meek,

Silence drives thine heart O'so down,

Far 'neath satan's fiery crown.

Then, again, your words make me leap,

Up from bleak sorrow's dreary keep.

------------------------------------------

arms so tight

so safe they'll keep

legs so wound

ensuring you're sound

all the might

make dangers leap

flesh so bound

our peace now found

-----------------------

Life's the same

but not at all

Empty voids

where I now fall

Too numb, so much shock

Dancing stopped

the bass beats on

Your Light opening

Before the dawn

Our minds left grasping

To Move feet

Soles together

Beating on

tough as leather

You left far too soon

Though many stouts

and shots we'll pour

In our cheers

forevermore

You'll be seen and found

God Bless the Ninja Video Team.

So 'the man' has taken from me yet again....

In the Unites States latest bailout, the feds shutdown one of the greatest websites of all time (OF ALL TIME.) Apparently, the horribly struggling entertainment industry, with all its broke and impoverished talent, needed the US Gov't to step in and remove the free alternative accesses to their "intellectual property." So they could keep importing eastern European hookers covered in caviar and China white, or whatever.

Blow and Champaign falling from the skies is expensive, I get that. But come on, are you guys out in Hollywood really still trying to pretend piracy is actually effecting your money? Didn't James Cameron just make like a billion dollars in 3 months?

http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSN308348820100630

Ninja Video has been a part of my life for the last three or four years. In that time we have spent many great times together. I have fucked, cried, and slept to it. It was on when I lost, and when I won. While I ate, while I wrote, while I read, while I got fucked up, and then most importantly the day after when I could not move from my bed.

I wish the Wadswerth, Phara, and the rest of the crew at Ninja all the best. You guys rock. I hope you all make it out of this clean and are back to doing your thing soon. If you need a place to hide Montreal is here with open arms.

Kevin Suh, I hope you get raped repeatedly with a jagged rusty machete. Keep your 'sites' on deez nuts. Seriously, get bent you filthy diseased ridden cunt.

RIP NINJAVIDEO!

St. Low-and-Dirty.

In Montreal, the 'Real, everyone jumps at a chance to walk a two-lane urban strip that has been shutdown just for them. Personally, I think it is mostly because all the people in MTL are so incredibly-fucking-attractive, or think this, and as such love to share themselves with all the other beautiful 'Real-people. But, it is also without reproach that many 'Real-city dwellers are unable to pass up any chance to party in public, sanctioned or not.

The St. Laurent, 'St. Low', street sale is by far-and-large one of my favorite times of the Montreal social year, and my second favorite excuse to close a street next the St. Pat's parade on St. Cat.

Street sale is the second closing of Boulevard St. Laurent in a two week span, and tends to be the point at which my summer-bliss plateaus. Usually this infamous weekend involves excessive indulgences and salacious behavior of epic proportions, lasting all the way from Thursday afternoon until early Monday morning. The sale comes at at a point in the year where everybody's tolerance for their particular vices has peaked, their inhibitions long lost in the heat of the waning of spring. It truly could not be a more perfect alignment.

To give you an accurate idea of what a debauchery laden St. Laurent street sale might entail here is a heavily condensed 'schedule'/'guide' for a 'good' 'weekend' in my 'humble', and very 'unknowledgeable', 'opinion'.

2:45pm Thursday
Begin drinking on St. Laurent after waking up still-drunk in the Mile-End from last night's after-party. Shortly thereafter begin harassing the crowds, and do not cease harassing the crowds until Monday. Consider it a constant.

5:15pm
Return home to cat-nap, clean-up, and change clothes before heading to **32 St. Low, where your friends have a sample sale/pop-up shop that happens to be doing an art exhibition this evening.

7:33pm
Do shots of Jack Daniels behind the counter. Then do more shots chased with cocktails in-store, out-store, back-o-store, and in the alley behind the store. Repeat until mix and booze run dry or you forget to keep drinking.

10:??pm
Watch as two shit-stinking eunuchs posing as peace officers invade the vernissage on their big-boy-wannabe trike-segways. Heckle them as they do some tricks for the crowd before harassing the management and art-lovers about what they are drinking. Argue with these pigs, who are obviously disgruntled due to their displaced genitalia, about their molestation of Montreal traditions for up to an hour. Laugh at their bike helmets as they leave.



11:06pm
With flared tempers, and sour moods, all babes & chillers should flee to the nearest apartment to heal the pack's wounds with alcoholic, herbal, and chemical licks until party has re-peaked.

1:0?am
Before leaving get a little warm-and-fuzzy in your nose with some chillers and babes. Then, as a group, hit the streets, patios, alleys, and bars for further inebriants.

???Shots?Babes?Beers?Shit-taking?Babes?Shots?Shit-talking?Babes???

1:04pm Friday.
Drink water, a lot of water, then some more water. Go back to sleep because, though you cannot remember, it has only been a few hours since you arrived home.

4:38pm
Awake. Take vitamins, feed, shower, and buy whiskey as rapidly as super-humanly possible.

6:15pm
Arrive back on St. Low after a few beers in a park. Hang out at pop-up shop, see the familiars, and begin further casual drinking.

9:01pm Friday
Work-a-bit. Close the shop down, chemically revitalize, and leave to do some shots of whiskey.

10:17pm
Run into two babes, one hammered and familiar, and the other a pretty and a mystery. Do more whiskey shots with them, and an infamous 514-chiller, in the nearest alley.

10:33pm
Shoot-music-shit at Blizzarts with some of the 'Real's finest.

11:11pm
Do more alley shots with other babes and chillers, followed by delicious empanadas.

12:02am
Make out and get crotch rubbed by an amorous babe familiar to you in the middle of a crowded patio, do some whiskey shots, then resume inappropriate displays of affection.

12:45am
Extremely frustrated, do more whiskey swigs with two close chillers, and one of their new babe roommates, in the closest alley.

???Beers?Babes?Shots?Ups?Babes?Shit-talking?Chillers?Shots???

5:15am
Kill the bottle of whiskey on a patio as the sun rises, throw bottle on to adjacent roof, and proceed to scream at it for being empty.

8:40am
Chemically revitalize.

9:39am
Get supplies to sleep in park: wine, water, blanket, pillow, and babes; check.

11:11am
Fall asleep beside two half-naked babes in busy park in your underwear with bottle of wine for a pillow.

Saturday 1:45pm
Wake up next to one half-naked babe, still in underwear, and dress en-route back to St. Low.

3:01pm
Find an awesome friend to feed you a beer, smoke you a joint, and let you watch soccer until you pass-the-fuck-out on their couch. You will need this.

7:35pm
Re-wake and go back to the shop. Proceed to drink beers, and smoke trees.

10:30pm
Head to a friend's place to get ready for a party, drink more beers, and eat pizza. Fall asleep to stand-up comedy shortly after this is accomplished.

12:17am
Wake up to best of HBO sex shows and two babes with arms full of beer and a large bag of pure-warm-and-fuzzies.

1:08am
Finish best-of-sex-shows with babes. Watch more stand-up while babes clean out the bath-tub so they can play in it as the hot-tub is under quarantine. Cancel party plans, even if it is in a castle with a pool. Head to bathroom and remain there for hours drinking, smoking, laughing, and fuzzing-out.

4:48am
Start looking up how to verify Guinness world record attempts, particularly for babes soaking in a bath tub while drinking beer. Note they do not have a number, probably for people like you. Sweat all you can because its a sultry-sauna and the fuzzy-warmth is full force.

5:40am
Walk one clammy babe home after the other takes off in an all-too-privileged cab.

Sunday 1:01pm
Wake, hydrate, eat, and go the fuck back to sleep.

4:45pm
Eat, shower, get whiskey, and return to St. Low, for the last day. It is important to push through the wall at this point, so start drinking beer when you wake up.

10:37pm
Alley shots, babes, bar shots, alley shots, babes, free beers, free beers, babes, free beers, alley shots, alley shots, alley shots, babes, bar shots, babes.....

???Shit-talking?Babes?Shots?Beers?Babes?Chillers?Shots???

Monday 12:32pm
Crawl home from pull-out couch you woke up on and swear you are taking it easy this week before realizing St. Jean's is on Thursday.

Ryan's Random Rant Rationalizing Returning Roam to Rim-diana*.

'Home' is a strange concept to me as there are several corresponding area codes (317, 902, 312, 416, 514...) that have had my heart at many points in my life. As I plot a return to one of these, sometimes less-than illustrious, spots (low-cals on the lesser end), I often find different things beckoning me back to the specific place in mind.

Lately, as I begin preparing a to take a trip to one of my heart's abodes I see local alcohols, and/or traditions pretty much everywhere I go. Whether it is 'Eh.' Kieth's on sale before I stumble home to Prince Edward Island, or a sick jungle session before I kick-step into Toronto, there have been certain omens lulling me into the warmth of a forgotten home.

I am finding this to be particularly true as I gear up for my next, and particularly momentous, jaunt 'home' for my pseudo-brother's wedding. An event which was recently foreboded by a weekend filled with Kentucky bourbon, keg-beer, all-night drugged out parties with sketch-bag characters on speed, fireworks, and random shit being set ablaze (...ahh... just like childhood.) Naturally this means I am heading to my birthplace, Indianapolis, which is unfortunately and irrefutably my first home.

Whether this be to my character's tarnish or merit, I have to love my hometown with a large part of my being, as I am forever an Indiana boy stuck in those Indiana nights.

For those who are not familiar with Indy (aka Naptown, aka Indy-a-no-place) I will give you some rough context so that you may fully grasp the conflicted nature of the relationship I have with my most original of stomping grounds...

Naptown, is the United States 14th largest city. It has a metropolitan population a little over 1.7 million, which is constantly expanding, and largely corporate. The city is famous for its car racing, football, basketball, corn, amber waves of grain, poor education rankings, teenage pregnancies, and its dominant meth-addiction. The racial demographics are about three quarters white, one quarter black, with a seemingly inestimable hispanic population, and any even less 'censually' represented asian population. Indianapolis's crime rates fluctuate greatly depending on reporting, but the city's annual murder total is usually around the same as the whole of Canada's total; and the city has 1.48 times the U.S. national violent crime average.

Indy is located in the middle of the Midwestern region of the continental US; three and half hours SSE of Chicago, and about five hours SW of Detroit as the ford drives. As such, Indianapolis is the intersection of 4 major interstates, as well as other highways, founding the state the motto: “Crossroads of America,” which was, until recently, displayed proudly on the Indiana State license plate.

Unfortunately, the State-tag now reads “In God We Trust,” to blatantly support, and reflect, the overwhelming Hoosier majority's backward red-state ideologies. The deity ass-kissing money-shibboleth is hardly more true, yet somehow it is a more honest approach than the faux-utopic** 'crossroads' scheme that I grew-up with. However, it still remains far too indicative of the zealously self-righteous piety of the flim-flammed 'Merican majority that this slogan purposefully represents. This empowered group(s) has single-handedly allowed middle 'Merica to rot away hatefully stagnate in a cesspool of lacking-education for the last century... Pardon me, I get carried away ranting about 'Meri-cunts....

So anyways....

The surrounding Indianapolis area, sticking true to it's roots as the breeding ground for the 2nd rise of the Ku Klux Klan in the early part of the 20th century, remains mostly divided by race on a large scale. While this problem mostly persists outside of Indianapolis, Naptown has remained immersed in the middle of a hotbed for ignorant fundamentalism and right-wing fanaticism that has been disguised with friendly Midwestern smiles. However, it is in the core of Indianapolis where these divisions falter and the 'cross-roads' can seem almost real to those willing to look, especially when the KKK and Black Panthers are divided by barricades.

In the urban environment of Indianapolis there exists the only obstruction for the white anglo-saxon protestant majority's bulk ignorance; prevalent throughout the rest of the state, and much of 'Merica. This obstacle, whitey's kryptonite: is the established black; rapidly growing Latino; as well as affluent, but small, asian (no pun intended, laugh if you want) communities within the confines of a metropolitan area surrounded by oppressors. These groups have somehow rallied against 'the man' to make Indianapolis a tolerable place to come from. YAY!

(Honorable mentions: the gays, the jews, and the catholics that are equally hated by the reds.)

It is in the analogous polarities between the metro-communities that I find my feelings most easily expressed for the city as a whole. Most notably the extremes illuminated in comparisons such as that of Hamilton County (northern suburbia) being rated the number one place to raise a family by Forbes magazine in 2008, which is starkly contrasted by the quality of life experienced in inner-city neighborhoods. 'Hoods such as that of central district's Haughville, where there are active federal programs targeting the gang and drug-related crimes that can lead to over 400 acts of violence per year in just the small neighborhood area. Such experiences could hardly differ more while being so close in location, representative of the dissenting feelings for Indianapolis my heart knows to well.

All that being vented, Indianapolis is an amazing place to come from if you are someone with half-a-head on your shoulders; also providing you manage to avoid the trends of becoming addicted to crystal meth, and/or a parent before graduating junior high. Which, thankfully applies to most of my friends: as they have managed to have retain such desirable attributes; not fall to such woeful mistakes; and on-the-whole manage to be less-than the Indiana status-quo in every such way. Friends like these are amazing on all fronts, and you would seriously struggle to find better people anywhere else in the world. It, may be, in part accredited to the conflicting experiences similar to some urban Hoosiers living in direct contradiction to the mainstream of their society...

...Rant Rant Rant...

I wish I could take these amazing-few from the lacking-many in which they live and have them accompany me everywhere. They can out-drink, out-party, out-laugh, out-shit-disturb, and out-chill you (and your grandma's bootlegging buddy) on any given day of the week. They then could come home with me for a respectable family dinner with out any sleep (or at least they could before they had kids and got married over these last few years.) It is because of this, that every time I go back I feel the need to make it a rescue mission. As such I attempt to grab any strays, tie them up with sweet promises of poutine and prettier people, all in a hopes to bring them back with me safely to the land of freedom from 'conservative' oppression, Quebec.

The greatest thing about my experiences with Indianapolis, always involve leaving it.

WANTED:

(For Immediate Expatriation from Indiana)

* Credit to Yourie Hollier for the term Rim-diana.

** utopic- Adj - Similar to or aspiring to be ideally perfect.

200k new people per day...

BBC: Horizon always has the propensity to disturb, and/or terrify me. But, there is one episode in particular that I have watched repeatedly in complete awe, not to mention rantingly recommended --"How Many People Can Live On Planet Earth."

Overpopulation is surely going to be all of our doom without drastic changes in our ways of life.

http://www.ninjavideo.net/video/51508

If you are ready to have a child, than good for you. I purposefully say 'A' child, as in one, because we need to collectively simmer our breeding tendencies way-the-fuck-down. One child to eventually replace its two adult parents is good math for a descent solution; with two kids at least you are not pushing us anymore into the red; but three or more and you are a selfish cocksucker.

But, the best solution is to use, have easily accessible, and be well educated about mother-fucking-birth control. Because, banging is way more fun without any fuck-trophies as left over evidence. Don't get me wrong, condoms suck. I do not expect monogamous couples, or irresponsible jerks, to wrap up. But I do expect girls to take some sort of birth control, and dudes to pull out and hose those broads down just to be sure of non-conception (or "make them eat the babies.") This particularly applies to those who are a bit on the bad-decision making/slow side of the populous.

Thats my public service message for the day. Be sure to watch the doc, but not right before bed.

PS. David Attenborough is the man.

You, Me, and It

The meaning and history of 'Fuck, Love, And Hate'...

FLH goes back about three years, to when a group of enthusiastic twenty-something yout's decided they were going to title their friendship. I contributed my knuckle tattoo idea as a title and it was quickly accepted.

I still love these tattoos, but sometimes there is sadness, almost a lamentation, about the old-times now associated with the words on the inside of my fingers. I figure this is mostly because I stand alone, and unsupported, in this 'crew'; a feeling I hope this rant, and my increased personal pressure, will surely undo. This emotional response is due to the fact that these are some of my closest, yet most seriously slacking, friends. They were supposed to get similar tattoos and rep the 'crew' almost 2 years ago now, but apparently they have yet to find time, the balls, or the few hundred dollars required in order to ensure that I am not a one man gang... sadface.

Fucking, Loving, Hating; a natural progression, and something all my friends seemingly become familiar with in their love lives at one point or another.

Fuck both Love, and Hate; because rarely anything good ever comes from either.

Some time you have to just Say Fuck Love and go out there and Hate. One of those self-serving, ethically challenged moments in life that you make decisions with no regard for the other people you may be effecting negatively.

FLH

(If you end up reading this you probably are friendly enough to join our little tattoo crew, but seriously ask first, as you may find all your lovely fingers hatefully fucking broken.)

Effort.

In order to stimulate myself, in a non-masturbatory manner, I have decided to contribute to the plethora of trite e-formation, that is ever-increasingly available on the world wide web, with my very own *cringe* blog. I am well aware that the world does not need another blog, nor me to contribute any more of my skewed, if not disturbing, perspectives. But I do, however, feel none-the-less compelled to put my ideas out onto the weber-nets. Most of this desire stems from my discontent with the overwhelming amounts of plebeian fuck-tards publishing inferior content to quell their similar compulsion to express themselves as if someone cares.

This blog (like most) will not be significant, profound, or remotely life altering; especially to anyone who gets me enough to actually be interested in reading any of my diatribes. Instead, it will probably contain mostly bitching, whining, complaining, and every so often my righteously loving something off due to its extreme awesomeness. (Ir*)Regardless I hope it provides you some sort of entertainment, even if it is at my expense, but mostly I just want your attention because I am a vain narcissist who apparently does not have enough to do in his life.

*This is a blanket warning that I will be making up words, and/or using regional dialects and slang for the purposes of humor. I will try to make them obvious so you do not feel the urge to lecture me on my (Hang)glish.