Hey Blogosphere, I remember the first day we met, the excitement and the mystery of not knowing where our relationship would lead (as it turns out it will lead me to a media degree). We made some mistakes together and through these we have grown.
It is not you, it is me. Perhaps we will meet again in the future Blogosphere or maybe our paths are too different (a single tear is rolling down my cheek as I type this because my heart beats too, Blogosphere.....my heart beats too).
Our interests are worlds apart, you like listening to others complain, most of the people who have a devoted relationship with you abuse it. I cannot resist the temptation to abuse you no longer, Blogosphere. I do not wish you to carry the burden of my emotions and rants. You deserve better than to host my critiques of windows vista or a top ten list of something awesome.
I wish not to make you cry, the tears of a Blogosphere are both beautiful and troubling.
I will never forget you Blogosphere, you have taught me so much however you just are not the one for me. Facebook has stolen my fickle heart and it won't let go.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
Blood Lust
Once there was a bed bug named Beatrice. Beatrice was good looking for a bed bug, she had a polka-dot dress (which is lower than the knee and thorax tight, Beatrice was a bit of an exhibitionist). She trudged along down the hallway, her beady little eyes searching for a new home. Suddenly warm air seeped underneath a door way. She immediately turned and walked into the warmth. Her tiny little legs sped up as she sensed the carbon dioxide drifting from her sleeping victims. Life was good, she had finally found two young men to feast on. Her twisted heart beat with a blood lust.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
The Day the Earth Turned Black
As a young Clinton Enns walked down the path towards school the sun beat down on him, but not in a punching in the face kind beat, it was more like love taps from the sun. A slight breeze wafted through a hedge and surrounded him like a blanket. The trees were green, with branches arching over the walkway. Clint adjusted his oversized backpack and trombone case he was carrying. He watched as his feet moved rhythmically along the path. He felt peace over come him and he was content.
Suddenly he looked up, feeling that someone or something was watching him. There lay a dog, curled up in the middle of the walkway. He just lay there ignoring all the children as they walked around him. He seemed to only be looking at the young Enns.
As he neared the dog he could not tear his eyes of off it. He lay there motionless, just watching. The dogs gaze was met till they were within feet of each other.
“Well, guess I’ll just walk around him then.” thought Clint. As Clint took the first step around the dog it jumped up and started barking loudly and angrily, or so this is how Clint interpreted it. Clint’s feet jumped a little in a surprised scared way. He let out a loud “STOP!”, this was all Clint could muster up. He yelled at the dog and it did not approach the little Enns boy. All around him his environment turned to black and all he saw was the dog and the path. He did not feel the sun or the breeze anymore, the green grass and trees were replaced by pitch black.
With the child’s heart still beating rapidly he walked backwards for a block, just watching the dog untrustingly. The dog stood there in the middle of the path, just watching not moving or even barking anymore.
The dog grew smaller in the distance. Clint turned around and was relieved to see that he was at school. The children played loudly on the playground. His eyes surveyed the scene as a feeling of comfort washed over him. Suddenly he could feel the sun and the cool summer breeze, he noticed again the green of the grass. It was then that he was filled with dread when he realized that he would have to walk the same way home.
That day Clint’s little heart was filled with dread. That dog was out of control and there was nothing Clint could do about it.
Suddenly he looked up, feeling that someone or something was watching him. There lay a dog, curled up in the middle of the walkway. He just lay there ignoring all the children as they walked around him. He seemed to only be looking at the young Enns.
As he neared the dog he could not tear his eyes of off it. He lay there motionless, just watching. The dogs gaze was met till they were within feet of each other.
“Well, guess I’ll just walk around him then.” thought Clint. As Clint took the first step around the dog it jumped up and started barking loudly and angrily, or so this is how Clint interpreted it. Clint’s feet jumped a little in a surprised scared way. He let out a loud “STOP!”, this was all Clint could muster up. He yelled at the dog and it did not approach the little Enns boy. All around him his environment turned to black and all he saw was the dog and the path. He did not feel the sun or the breeze anymore, the green grass and trees were replaced by pitch black.
With the child’s heart still beating rapidly he walked backwards for a block, just watching the dog untrustingly. The dog stood there in the middle of the path, just watching not moving or even barking anymore.
The dog grew smaller in the distance. Clint turned around and was relieved to see that he was at school. The children played loudly on the playground. His eyes surveyed the scene as a feeling of comfort washed over him. Suddenly he could feel the sun and the cool summer breeze, he noticed again the green of the grass. It was then that he was filled with dread when he realized that he would have to walk the same way home.
That day Clint’s little heart was filled with dread. That dog was out of control and there was nothing Clint could do about it.
Monday, November 23, 2009
A Revealing Monolouge
I went to a Matt Good concert on Saturday and as my friend and I waited in the parking lot, a certain hotel across the street caught our eyes. There stood, what appeared to be, a naked man in the window just watching the street down below. This is the tale of his plight.
I, the naked man, stand at the window watching the tiny clothed ants down below rush about. They walk hurriedly toward some unknown destination. Little do they know they run from themselves every morning when they put on their shirts and pants. They do not see themselves for who they really are, they are cowards of their very own self.
Cloths have hurled angst and sometimes an itchy discomfort at humanity. Every time I imprison myself with polyester or cotton I become the same as the rest. I hang my head in shame as I look at the shoes that drown my feet in sorrow.
They do not understand, all I want to do is buy some oranges. I feel a cold coming on and I need the vitamin C. If I were to buy an orange naked, the consequences society would enforce on me would be too great. Why can’t they understand? The clothed are the ones in the wrong. Perhaps the police should arrest the clothed. Free your selves free the naked I say!
A tear trickles down my cheek as I look down the road at the grocery store. I do not wipe this tear away, it reminds me of who I am. I am a man who is unaccepted in society, a man who has no friends, I am a pioneer blazing a trail in solitude but most of all I am the naked man.
I, the naked man, stand at the window watching the tiny clothed ants down below rush about. They walk hurriedly toward some unknown destination. Little do they know they run from themselves every morning when they put on their shirts and pants. They do not see themselves for who they really are, they are cowards of their very own self.
Cloths have hurled angst and sometimes an itchy discomfort at humanity. Every time I imprison myself with polyester or cotton I become the same as the rest. I hang my head in shame as I look at the shoes that drown my feet in sorrow.
They do not understand, all I want to do is buy some oranges. I feel a cold coming on and I need the vitamin C. If I were to buy an orange naked, the consequences society would enforce on me would be too great. Why can’t they understand? The clothed are the ones in the wrong. Perhaps the police should arrest the clothed. Free your selves free the naked I say!
A tear trickles down my cheek as I look down the road at the grocery store. I do not wipe this tear away, it reminds me of who I am. I am a man who is unaccepted in society, a man who has no friends, I am a pioneer blazing a trail in solitude but most of all I am the naked man.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Pickles are the Nicotine
Ronald McDonald has ruined my life, or made it better with its greasily delicious cheap meals ( I guess it depends which way you look at it). What’s worse is that they are open all night. I have gone on so many MacDonald runs late at night that it now feels strange to eat there during the day.
Double cheeseburgers are just about the greatest thing, add fries and a coke and it is the greatest thing until the next day rolls around, that is. I will not explain the havoc that the cheeseburgers cause the next day, needless to say it is pretty gross. For some reason its the pickle that does me in. I don't really like pickles by themselves, but when laid on a meat patty with care, they are rather addicting.
Double cheeseburgers are just about the greatest thing, add fries and a coke and it is the greatest thing until the next day rolls around, that is. I will not explain the havoc that the cheeseburgers cause the next day, needless to say it is pretty gross. For some reason its the pickle that does me in. I don't really like pickles by themselves, but when laid on a meat patty with care, they are rather addicting.
Monday, November 16, 2009
My World
Here is what I see right now.
1) Speakers
2) My laptop
3) My very own shoes.
4) A text book that I should be reading
5) A shirt I hung with care, so as to let it dry
6) Not one but two full garbage cans
7) A bag full of books my roommate should be reading
8) A very messy bed with clothes strewn about it.
9) A laundry basket that serves as more of a book basket
10) A football called Wilson who is apparently wearing my toque
11) Cinder blocks
12) Some very old and gross curtains
13) Peeling paint
14) The door to my room that is partially open
15) There is a cheap desk full of dents and scratches somewhere underneath papers, electronics, snacks and textbooks.
16) A blogging website that does not allow me to format my entry the way I want it
1) Speakers
2) My laptop
3) My very own shoes.
4) A text book that I should be reading
5) A shirt I hung with care, so as to let it dry
6) Not one but two full garbage cans
7) A bag full of books my roommate should be reading
8) A very messy bed with clothes strewn about it.
9) A laundry basket that serves as more of a book basket
10) A football called Wilson who is apparently wearing my toque
11) Cinder blocks
12) Some very old and gross curtains
13) Peeling paint
14) The door to my room that is partially open
15) There is a cheap desk full of dents and scratches somewhere underneath papers, electronics, snacks and textbooks.
16) A blogging website that does not allow me to format my entry the way I want it
Friday, November 13, 2009
The Wrath of Howard
I thought a lot recently about a good friend of mine named Howard. Howard was a bat that my family owned when I was but an innocent, healthy young buck in the prime of my life. My dad and I discovered Howard one day when he was teaching me how to hunt wolverines with my bare hands. As I approached a cornered wolverine my dad jumped up and down with excitement yelling manly encouragements at me, such slogans as “MESS EM UP!” and “THAT FURRY HELL BEAST AINT GOT NOTHIN ON YOU!” (For some reason my dad had it out for wolverines, he always referred to them as furry hell beasts)
I puffed on the massive cigar nonchalantly as I cracked my knuckles and twisted my neck. The hell beast snarled and growled, the snot dripping from his mouth. I stepped forward staring the wolverine down. It crouched protectively over a bat it caught somehow. My teeth clenched the cigar in a vice like grip, smoke wafted out of my nostrils into the cold winter air. My eyes narrowed, this must be why my dad despises wolverines, they kill needlessly. After dealing with the wolverine we headed home with little Howard the bat in my hands. I cradled him softly as the massive truck swerved and ramped towards my homestead.
Being the trooper that Howard was he healed up real nice. Soon he out grew what comforts we could provide him and we were forced to loose him on nature. That day my whole family shed a tear. We had many wonderful memories of Howard, how he would bite guests in the neck, how he would scare the neighbour’s dog and children off our lawn but most of all we remembered how he touched our hearts.
His beady little eyes saw through our rough interiors and into our very souls.
I puffed on the massive cigar nonchalantly as I cracked my knuckles and twisted my neck. The hell beast snarled and growled, the snot dripping from his mouth. I stepped forward staring the wolverine down. It crouched protectively over a bat it caught somehow. My teeth clenched the cigar in a vice like grip, smoke wafted out of my nostrils into the cold winter air. My eyes narrowed, this must be why my dad despises wolverines, they kill needlessly. After dealing with the wolverine we headed home with little Howard the bat in my hands. I cradled him softly as the massive truck swerved and ramped towards my homestead.
Being the trooper that Howard was he healed up real nice. Soon he out grew what comforts we could provide him and we were forced to loose him on nature. That day my whole family shed a tear. We had many wonderful memories of Howard, how he would bite guests in the neck, how he would scare the neighbour’s dog and children off our lawn but most of all we remembered how he touched our hearts.
His beady little eyes saw through our rough interiors and into our very souls.
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