Ramblings of Mundane Insanity

Forgotten Passions in the Dread of Desolation

2010-02-05T10:20:00.000-08:00

Forgotten Passions in the Dread of Desolation

Beelzebanian charm:
the Lord of Flies
gathers with mead
and gluts
on supplicating succubi.

The cloying palaver
of gilded tyrants
caballing their gilded thrones
crowns the obeisant mawks.

Unctuous divestment
of the gilded –
deposed by thorny,
deadheaded roses
who bathe in retching remorse.

Poached psychopomps
limn the barren pudenda
of capricious nymphets
who kick against
the penetrating pricks
of rapacious power.

Acrid tear glands
dried from hellish heat
belong to fleeing augurs;
a resin of rue
for the reprobate.

Promethean anguish:
his bitter gift–
sealed with stigmatic wounds–
reverses its fortune,
and burns instead of lights:
a prize absent of victory
against the Gods.

Gurgled cries
and sibilant wheezes
are the only voices
of the caged,
whilst impish pliers
pluck their teeth,
and bleeding gums
anoint fellatio.

Ravenous purloiners
muse their fortune;
lowered gibbets
offer suborn manna
of androphagy.

Cursed are they who feed:
they soon find themselves
caged in the offering plate
that gave them their meal;
the rat laments his cheese
as he is mounted.

Oh they that predicted the end
share their fate
with the damned.

There is no end.
There is no respite.
Though flesh is stripped,
and consumed...
There.
Is.
No.
End!

Roasted
on the bonfire of sin-
Burn!
Burn!
Burn!

Longevity endowed,
else suffering
cannot truly be known.

At least the wolf of Gubbio
knew mercy.
None of the abandoned here
will speak mercy’s name.
None of the forsaken,
though they behold
the mutual hideousness of each other,
will die; they only shriek.

There is no chance to rule here;
all who arrive
are victims
and perpetrators alike.

Shrieks that beg
to be blind
to be deaf
to be dumb...

To be dead.

Why Thanksgiving Is Really Turkey Day

2009-10-12T17:24:00.001-07:00

First of all, let me preface whatever I’m about to say with a deep-felt respect for those who truly get into the Spirit of Thanksgiving. Having the spirit of gratitude is rarely a bad thing.

For many of us, Thanksgiving means time with family and friends, and much food. Perhaps less of us take time to reflect on why we get together and share a meal. Some write gratitude lists, while others simply sit in the pervasive feeling of peace and thanks. Yet others of us participate in what seems like a spirit of mockery, calling Thanksgiving “Turkey Day”. Some of us appreciate the humour, some of us shrug, and some of us don’t care for the term.

Those of us who “mock” have our various reasons. Perhaps some feel that holidays – all of them – have become so commercialized that there is no real meaning in them. Perhaps some are jaded about having no place to go. Perhaps some, however, do it for other reasons.

Like Christmas, Thanksgiving comes once a year. There’s nothing wrong with this. In fact, its rarity often leads to truly appreciating it. What is problematic, though, is that it’s too easy to limit the spirit of these holidays to their calendar correspondences.

Oh I’m sure many of us are tired of hearing “why can’t the spirit of Christmas/Thanksgiving last all year round?” – and certainly I would be included in that group, which is what makes writing this somewhat hypocritical. However, that really is the gist of this paper. Why do I need one day out of the year to be thankful?

Originally Thanksgiving was intended to celebrate a particular event in history – and I’d be damned surprised if any Canadian knows the history of Thanksgiving in their own country. So, if we’ve lost the original context of this holiday, what is left? Taking one day out of the year to appreciate what we have? Seems like a rather vacuous activity.

So, what of those who make it a daily thing to be grateful? What of those who actively develop the over-used cliché “attitude of gratitude”? What does Thanksgiving mean to they who already give thanks every day? Oh, it probably means a day to eat turkey.

Life isn’t a test, life is life

2009-08-26T12:37:00.000-07:00

One of the biggest mistakes that people often make in life is believing that the burdens they carry or the obstacles they face are somehow a test – that somehow the grand events of the universe have coalesced into a unique set of circumstances for only them. Let me just say that you are not that special.

Life is what it is. After your remarks of gratitude towards this captain who sails the ship Obvious, that statement is still true and relevant. Life goes on with or without us, and though life’s events are often shaped by us, they are rarely shaped for us.

When we accept life for what it is, that life happens on its own, we shift our conscious awareness of life into an resigning acceptance. Life on life’s terms, as the cliché is known by some. Once we understand and accept this acceptance, life simply becomes about how to work our way through or around the barriers in our lives. If I have to get to school from home, I simply plan my mode of transportation. What I don’t do is believe that I’m somehow being tested because school is so far away from home. I simply accept this and make accommodations.

If believing that “life is a series of tests” was simply a benign paradigm, there would be no need for this current rant. But it isn’t, and there is. Let me repeat myself: you are not that special. Believing that you are being tested when life gets difficult develops a mentality of victimization, that somehow life is out to get you, and that these things make you somehow more unique than everyone else. The inevitable result is the belief that you are “worthy” of a special set of burdens set aside for either the lowlife or saint.

Hubris shows itself when we believe we are above our station in life. What often goes unrecognized is that believing we are burdened more than the average person is just another form of hubris. You are not that special. It is impossible to develop an attitude of humility when the desire for such humility is born from a foundation of arrogance. There is nothing humble or burdensome about deciding the method and route to take to a destination; likewise, there is nothing humble or burdensome about trying to figure out a way past life’s difficulties.

Granted, there are some things in life that are unique obstacles. This is either because there aren’t too many other people who share them, or because something really is difficult. However rare or difficult something is does not remove it from the necessary paradigm of overcoming it. This is the fundamental difference between victims and survivors. Victims are burdened and stay burdened; survivors are burdened and overcome.

Whatever the case, the burdens and obstacles in life just are. They were not designed for you, nor do they make you special. While participation in life may not have been your choice, how you participate is. Believing that life is a series of tests impairs one’s ability to cope with problems, and is an intoxicating viewpoint that prevents solution-oriented thinking.

Now pardon me while I hop on the bus so I can get to school.

2009-08-20T23:22:00.000-07:00

Saw a counsellor at UVic the other day. The tranfer from Camosun to UVic is starting to become areality, thought I don't think it will fully hit until the first or second week of classes.

I really liked the counsellor I was seeing at Camosun. He was a great guy. But, I felt too much like he was more of a colleague rather than a counsellor. He was great to talk to, but I didn't really get any special insight or work the way that counsellors are supposed to do.

It was incredibly refreshing that the counsellor at UVic was able to make a small breakthrough on only our second visit. She gave me a bit of insight that I can use as a tool for future self-analysis, to examine my habit of projecting conflict into the future thus creating anxiety. I feel much better knowing that this counsellor has the capacity to challenge me and get me working on the things I need to work on.

I recognize in her a lot of technique that Maslow developed, but she is able to interject and offer an analysis when needed, which is something that Maslow's technique sorely lacked. She also inadvertantly reminded me that being a counsellor at a university setting makes it so that she is used to having incredibly intelligent persons come in for help. This loses the aspect of uniqueness that I am used to dealing with, and I probably won't get any special recognition for me intellect and personal insights into myself because of it. That's not really a bad thing, just something to help me to remember my place. We'll see how things go from here, but I'm hopeful, but a bit wary knowing that it's unlikely that I can continue to be complacent in my personal growth.

2009-07-11T02:55:00.000-07:00

So, I'm no longer an atheist. If my descent out of Mormonism and into atheism was a giant blur, this recent ascent from atheism into theism (for lack of better terms) is a condensed version, condensed to a week or two.

Mostly it's Hermetic thought that I find appealing. It has the ability to explain the existence of God in a rational manner, something that doesn't require such a leap of faith as most religions do. I suppose some coherent system would be necessary for me to buy into it. Yes, God exists. That's about as far as I've gotten. No possessed qualities or intrinsic characteristics other than it has/is a mind, and existence is a product of that consciousness. At this point that's about all my belief is. Who knows where this will take me, but it's enough for me to abandon the atheism paradigm as an encompassing one. I'm still critical of religion and dogma, but only when they present themselves as an objective, absolute truth, and not a relative manifestation of individuality.

By and large my desire to study and learn about debating theists is mostly gone now. I'm going to have to rethink a lot of things, but I guess I'm getting used to abandoning old paradigms and trying on new ones. One of the side effects of this is an inability/unwillingness to form identities that are attached with these paradigms. In fact, it might be fair to say that I'm abandoning the identity thing altogether, and that I'm just accepting me for who or what I am, and that I don't have to attach myself to anything to find meaning. I am me. Now, if only the ego were so easy to shed.

2009-07-10T05:31:00.000-07:00

There are no words to describe how depression feels.
You want to say you’re sad, but really you're too numb to cry.
You’re empty, hollow – a shell with nothing inside.
Your food tasted better when you used to smoke than it does now; bland and flavourless – besides, you don’t eat because you’re hungry, you eat because you’re trying to fill that eternal vacancy that is never sated.
How can I be dead already? That’s what I am: the walking dead.
There is no desire, no hope.
Life cannot be defined by our physiological health.
Even a person in a coma has a heartbeat.
The eternal state of anhedonia knows no equal.
There is no anguish, no torment, no hellfire quite equal to that kind of emptiness.
Don’t forget to smile so no one thinks anything is wrong.
Don’t forget to fulfill your obligations so other people can enjoy what you’ve never known.
Wanting to die is necessary and sufficient to be declared insane.
Yet I can form sentences coherently, even eloquently if I desire; I know where I am, what day and year it is, who our prime minister and premier is; solve a simple quadratic equation if I had to, or even discuss the finer points of ontological epistemology or whether identity is intrinsic to existence or merely a construct of the social world, yet the simple desire to end this incessant madness, this descent into insanity is enough to get me locked up.
Why is the right to choose to live or die not considered the most basic, fundamental right for anyone?
Should not all freedoms start with this basic liberty?
Is it not the most arrogant, condescending position to look at another, fail to understand their torment yet refuse them absolution?
Are you really that cruel?
You would fly to my side, call an ambulance, or go to whatever lengths were necessary to ensure that I am protected from myself, and you would feel like you’ve done your part, but why do you not seek me out in my bedroom, when I’m hugging my pillow with shame and guilt?
Why do you not visit the lonely, the sick, the afflicted?
Why do your efforts come at that end rather than at the beginning or middle, when they might have made a real difference?
You call suicide a tragedy, yet you do nothing to interfere with the steps that lead to it.
You who look upon death as a tragedy could never understand those of us who look upon it as a reprieve, as a form of mercy.
Would you really deny me my final solution if there were no cure for this?
If I were condemned to the life of madness and anhedonia, would you force me to live it to the end?
How dare you.
How fucking dare you.
You sadistic piece of shit, you fucking bastard how dare you.
I don’t want to die, I just want the pain to end.
The throbbing, aching pain that never goes away.
Go ahead, put on a hundred-pound backpack and go on with your daily activities.
How far do you get?
That’s a good day.
Tape toilet paper tubes to your eyes so it’s all you can see out of, duct tape your fingers and hands, and tie your feet together so they can never be more than half a foot apart, and then try to function.
Don’t forget about the backpack.
The heavy backpack.
And then, when you’ve done all this, you still won’t understand, because you still care that these things, these burdens are upon you.
When you stop caring about your backpack, your toilet-paper-tube eyes, your duct-tape hands, and chained feet, then you will know.
You will truly know.
And not until then.
Oh God, please end this now.

2009-06-04T01:41:00.001-07:00

Not too long ago I committed myself to writing 1,000 words each day. Tonight's project turned out a bit differently, a kind of conscious flow rather than an edit-as-you-go process. Though much of it could be refined and edited, I am pleased with the raw essence that it is now. Here it is:

Drama 101. Right next door to Deposing a Tyrant 254. Such is the banality of my writing tonight. Torn between forfeiting a day of writ, and actually beginning to feel the compulsion of habit forming. My thousand words, elusive sycophantic pomp, expressing themselves in whatever loinal flame intuits. Sometimes it’s pure nonsense; others suggestive of mastercraft. Today, though, I simply write: unadorned, unfettered, and unafraid. I write. Thoughts and words in Word inseparable and insidious. This is not one of those times that makes sense. Even the very sentences that craft this daily obligation do not in themselves organize coherently. Leaps in logic and language, bounds in babble and bidding, gaps in gregarious garbage. I want it all and want to want for nothing – alas, such a pitiful fate, a manqué destiny already realized. Lyrical theft and disorder characterize and trivialize what I call work and others call fluff. Platitudes passed as pure predilection: none of it makes sense; pedant penchants, precarious proclivities. How many other words that begin with P can I include in this drivel? This soppy foddersotch. Go ahead, make up words. No one can care if no one reads, n’est ce pas? Such trivial ideas and ideals, inclinations and insights – to pass the petty as grandeur, and dismiss the grand as unintelligent. Might as well dismiss the entire universe, if truly grandeur is forsaken. You and you and you and you – all gone, and no one cares for even the poet has vanished – is that why I’ve been left behind? To stay and stink and stain the page with my foddersotch words, my sorry, pitiful expressions, written in dichotomous delight and despair, only to be dispatched in the face of true talent – of pretty much anyone else who puts pen to paper, or fingertip to protruding letters in this case.

My thousand words; my spellings and misspellings and typos and mistypes. How dare Word try to correct me on my grammar! Has the vile paper clip ever considered the human equation? The human desire to put it to death in visions of glorified and satisfying hell, where piece by piece it’s suggestive agony suffers for each time it tells me it looks like I’m writing a letter or that I have some form of unidentified fragment yet cannot offer even a single suggestion. Die, motherfucking paperclip, die you rat bastard! Oh forsooth and forlorn! My thousand words might as well be a daily million, as I type and type and it just becomes more nonsense piled on more nonsense. These are the words of neither the poet nor the craftsman. They are fluff; empty, shallow, surface words, designed to appear important but really included only because they sound intelligent. If only the writer possessed even a grasp of lingual comprehension, perhaps he might be more...

Oh thousands words, elusive thousand, perpetual chase, a fair maiden dressed in dreamy white, glancing behind as she runs away in playful games; I never get closer, though I run with more vigour. Were I to catch up she would simply disappear. If particularly feisty this evening she would appear behind me with a sudden tap tap so that I might reverse my chase and repeat the same foolish game on a path already trodden. And if I get tired and lay my head to rest, she comes and kisses me so tenderly that I dare not wake, lest the tear I just shed proves imagined. And if I lie perfectly still, she will rest her head on my chest, listening to the pounding of my heart. She knows it beats for only her, and she loves me for it, loves me, loves me, loves me for it. And never, though my wildest and fondest dreams but reach, never does she fall asleep before I. I awake, and she is gone, and a different tear falls this time. She is gone. She is gone. My mistress is gone. Oh sorrow-filled heartbeat.

My thousand words has died tonight, before it was ever born. It leaves behind its cousins: sensible sentences under fifty words and stories told in tandem – both more lazy and inferior products. Where is the emotion? Where is the drive? Where is the human spirit in such order and laziness? Where is the arcane pining? The capricious whim? These are not found here! Nor should they be. This wordy garbage should die before associating with that filth! Oh lexical villain, phonetic antagonist, go back to your infernal pit and entreat us no more with your sordid business. Deprive someone else of their joy, for I have already paid you too much. Indeed, what more can you ask for than ruin? Where is my maiden? Where are my words that stir the human soul? Such insipid, banal claims, these should be abhorred like the whore they are. Oh Babylonian canvas. I long to exist as a pillar of Sodom salt, better dismantled tiny piece by tiny piece than turn in this drivel for marks. And all this but an act, some pseudo-feeling, feigned for the duration of my maiden search. But she is on the road ahead – I can see her! Why does she not move? Is this my fixed mark? Hath summer’s lease shortened its day? Why can I not run to her? Such terror, such loathing! What have you done with her, insidious paper clip? You mock my pain. No, I do not want to write an obituary! Fuck off!

Yes, that is the difference: we bury our dead. My mistress, cold and etiolated – good for one last lay when you get right down to it. Oh dear mistress, fair white lady: thou art slain. Thou art passed beyond this world, and I must bid farewell to my Annabel, though no sea can be seen. My thousand words, elusive sycophantic pomp, expressing themselves in whatever loinal flame intuits. Torn between forfeiting a day of writ, and actually beginning to feel the compulsion of habit forming. Such is the banality of my writing tonight. Right next door to Deposing a Tyrant 254: Drama 101.

What Does It Mean to Be Canadian?

2009-05-31T01:56:00.000-07:00

A few years ago this question would have been quickly answered with “not American!” accompanied by a smug look of superiority; nowadays, not so much. One of the reasons revolves around being educated about the nature of identity and how I consider an identity to be something, not a lack of something. Another reason revolves around being educated about Canada and the subsequent disillusion with blind patriotism – which is, ironically, why so many Canadians are so quick to reject the identity of their southern neighbours and is, ultimately, simple hypocrisy. Show me a Canadian who doesn’t belt out this quick retort who isn’t also guilty of the very thing they reject (blind patriotism). The Americans simply get away with it better, and though many a Canadian would suffer the pains of death before admitting it, it is that jealousy of getting away with this blind patriotism (and perhaps having to be educated about the US without an educational reciprocation on their end) that leads Canadians to reject Americanism without a second thought.

Oh the picture of Joe Canadian with his beer mantra rejecting what many Canadians believe that Americans are ignorant of; you know, the igloos and dogsleds and “aboot” and mapleleafs. The funny thing is these same Canadians have relatives that they often visit – relatives who are generally in the know about their Canadian cousins. So where, exactly, does this perceived ignorance come from? Perhaps Canadians are as guilty as the people they point the fingers at?

Barring my cynicism about Canadian hypocrisy, blind patriotism, and desperately clinging to an ephemeral identity, I think one of the things that makes a Canadian truly that is what motivates him or her to separate himself or herself from being labelled an American: the innate and driving need to be unique. I mean really, is being labelled such so bad? Apart from the last eight years of Bush doctrine, what is it about Americans that we find so repulsive when in practice we find no two countries as friendly and open with each other (maybe not so much in recent and developing years)? I think that what Canadians abhor so much is the idea that they enjoy living in a first-class, developed country with all its privileges and freedoms, but not having a readily available identity to attach it to. Why would we, if we are not American, attach ourselves to something as superficial as beer, or a leaf rather than our superior public education system when compared to its dismally-dwindling southern counterpart? Maybe we already to some extent attach ourselves to our universal health care, but is not this universal health care something they already do in Europe, and doesn’t Europe do it much better than we? Sure, according to Michael Moore, we don’t have to pick which finger gets reattached because we don’t have insurance, but the same source also points out that Brits get cab fare to go home. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve always had to make arrangements for a ride home when I’m done (done the half-hour seeing the doctor after waiting several hours to see him/her). So, is this attachment to our oh-so-efficient medical system worth its praise? Something tells me it’s not the golden child we make it out to be.

So what other things do we Canadians pride ourselves in that fares better in the north? Peacekeeping? Treatment of blacks? A non bipartisan political system? Hockey? Let’s face it, gone are the days of Pearson when Canada stepped in as a mediator. Instead we act as but a cog in the wheel of United Nations Peacekeeping. Not really something we can call ours, now is it? Treatment of blacks? Perhaps we do treat out black people better, but ask any aboriginal person if they feel their people have been treated any differently than the Americans treat black people and I doubt you’d see a difference. Maybe there is something to be said about having more choice on a ballot and more diversity with political opinion, but what exactly can be accomplished when the more choice we have the less effective any party can govern? Division in votes – votes, I might add, representing less than two-thirds of Canadians in this latest federal election – means more chance for perpetual and inefficient minority governments. So what about hockey? Well, when was the last time we brought home the cup? I think one time in the 90s was the most recent. And sure we had half a decade of wins in the 80s with a subsequent increase before then, but what do you expect when the earlier back in time you go you start to approach a 90% supply of players for the entire NHL? Seems like Canada is resting on the laurels of a single 1976 game versus another country who favours red on their jerseys. How many current Canadians were even alive for that?

Canada is the spoiled rich kid of parents with a deep history, and needs to establish a separate list of accomplishments. Failure to do so only makes it the boss’s son which none of the other employees like. Oh sure, right now we still have our charm, but Canada is slowly fading from the minds of other nations, nations who once held us in the highest esteem. And why is that? Because we really haven’t done anything worth noting in the last few decades.

So, after tearing down all that might stand a chance to represent us, what does it really mean to be Canadian? It means that being next to a cultural giant I have to go above and beyond the normal effort to search for an identity. It means that I don’t have to attribute my identity with my nation of birth. It means that I enjoy the privileges and freedoms of a developed western nation without necessarily having the years of turmoil, conflict, and struggle to mete out some unifying idea with my fellow Canadians (how many of us identify ourselves by province or region anyway? How many people you know living on Vancouver Island refer to themselves as “Islanders” rather than British Columbians or Canadians?). It means I have the opportunity to be a pioneer in forging a global identity, to be a leader and example in forsaking nationalism and zealous imperialism. It means unpractised ideologies such as bilingualism (which is really more divisive than unifying), exportation of natural resources, kowtowing (or ankle-grabbing as some see it) to economic and military superiors even when they are clearly proven wrong over issues such as soft lumber, and ultimately walking a fine line of compromise throughout our entire history. It means being surrounded by fellow Canadians who barely have a grasp on their own history and politics, and can cite more facts and understanding about those they readily claim to not be. Yet after all of this criticism and seemingly harsh statements it’s what I call home. Home of the free, home of the polite, friendly, and generally liberal people, home of the tolerant and understanding, home of the best and the worst of the British and American systems without the extremes that either face. It is only because I am Canadian that I know enough to criticize to the extent that I do, and it is only because I am Canadian that I would not live anywhere else in spite of them.

Writing

2009-05-26T00:51:00.001-07:00

Words are the writer's weapon, and I am equipped with a simple knife and simple training from boot camp - and I think they gave me the knife so I can peel potatoes.

Lolita

2009-05-22T03:42:00.000-07:00

It's fair to say I've fallen in love with Nabokov's literary style. I wonder how he would express such a concept...

His expressive tone and underlying, subtle hints of ephemeral notions supplanted an impassioned and permanent love affair with his supernal writ. Page by page, perhaps even line by line I uncover layer upon layer of masterful diction, unearthing celestial treasure with each passing word. Oh that I may one day express myself as poetically, as soulfully, as beautifully succinct as Nabokov.

55 Fiction

2009-05-20T20:13:00.001-07:00

So I've been exploring some alternative literary styles, and I came across something called "55 Fiction". It essentially means writing a story in exactly 55 words (some say less is acceptable) - title doesn't count towards word count (which can be very useful). It's an interesting technique, particularly because it demands all of the same elements that a traditional story demands: plot, characters, conflict, and resolution. Trying to pack all of that in 55 words is challenging, but I'm enjoying it. So far I've got three, but I think I'll keep one of them private (it's kind of disturbing, and I'm thinking about deleting it actually). Anyways, here are my two 55 Fictions that I wish to show off.

2009-05-14T02:17:00.000-07:00

Some days I feel like I'm losing my mind, like in some unidentifiable way I am slipping into the abyss of insanity and that I have no way to gauge reality from fantasy or delusion. But really, isn't this the human condition? To filter truth from fictions, and to understand what we perceive and how we perceive it?

I guess what I'm struggling with the most is a daily existential dilemma, things that my old religion used to answer with such arrogant certainty. And you know, such struggles wouldn't be so bad if they weren't coupled with that oh so pervasive and ever ready depression. I really try to treat it as a separate condition - because really it is - but it makes searching for answers that much more difficult.

As a functional nihilist it's hard to find even a single reason to get up every day if that day is just a dull repeat of the empty yesterday. Really, it boils down to finding simple pleasaures in life, but hedonism is a whole other ball game in the field of lethargy and anhedonia. And it doesn't help that I have so much pressure from myself and other things: pressure to do something with my life contrasted with an inability to function at even the most basic level, pressure to deal with my education and finances contrasted with needing to slow down on school and facing being cut off of student loans as a result.

And what does the latter pressure result in? Further withdrawal and depression, more pointless escape/survival mechanisms, all with a sense of doom in the nearing future. I want to see my doctor about things, but he's practically impossible to get in to see, especially now that my days and nights are mixed up. And I loathe trying to find another doctor. The forms I need to have filled out require at least a year-long relationship, and my personal needs require a very compassionate and understanding doctor, and far too many of them judge or are cold. On top of that, not many doctors in Victoria are taking new patients. It's rather rough to be non-functional at this time.

But, for some reason or another I've inherited this stubborn quality. I refuse to give in and hang on out of sheer tenacity. Sometimes I have no idea why I hang on. It really makes no sense: if pain outweighs pleasure, then there's a strong argument for the end of a life - and I for one am a proponent of euthanasia if the right conditions are met. It is a philosophical position that I have that the most basic liberal freedom is the right to choose whether one lives or not. All other freedoms should spring from this single one. But in spite of this, I hang on. Perhaps the delusion of hope has evolved in us because it is essential for our survival. I suppose, though, that one can be disappointed only so many times before all hope is lost. I'm not there yet, but the outlook isn't too great.

Yes I Voted - This Time

2009-05-12T17:55:00.001-07:00

To the elected leaders, be it federal, provincial, or municipal,

Today is Election Day, and it is my patriotic duty to go out and vote. It is my responsibility – nay, my privilege as a citizen of this country, as a resident of this province to participate in the democratic process. I get to choose who my leaders are and how my country and province are run by my vote. I think of many other nations that do not have this same privilege and it makes me grateful that I do. My only wish is that it was not a mockery of real democracy.

Democracy should intrinsically have an element of real choice. I understand all too well that I cannot hope to have all of my political views represented in my leaders. It would be absurd to expect this. Part of the social contract I make with my fellow citizens is a compromise in my leaders, that at least some – but not all – of my views, wishes, and desires are represented, with the expectation that my fellow citizens allow the same. The most unfortunate aspect about the democracy I see in front of me – both represented on the ballot I will mark and in the parliamentary process I observe – is that this real choice is sorely lacking.

How can we tell our children to behave with common courtesy and to exercise manners if you politicians yell at one another in a way that is indicative of a three-year-old throwing a tantrum at the grocery store because he or she cannot have a bon-bon? How can I ever have enough confidence in you, the elected, that you will do the job you are mandated to do if you care more about power than about the policies and principles that are to govern us? Finally, how can I in good conscience approve a system wherein should any individual recognize the need to rise above the pettiness and immature games that are so pervasive in politics, that he or she is made ineffective?

Is it not my duty as a citizen that rather than give tacit approval for power-hungry individuals to dictate law, I ought to protect myself and my fellow citizens from these same individuals? Should I not do everything in my power to ensure that those elected few view their mandate as a responsibility to serve the public, and not as a ticket to do what they want? And if I am powerless to effect any of this, can my apathy for anything political really be condemned?

It is not my intent to be cynical or jaded, though admittedly I am. Perhaps this is because somewhere inside me I believe that we CAN have a better system, if only those participating in it will choose to do so. Perhaps this is because I believe that our elected should be role models, examples of moral pillars and individuals who maintain the highest standards of integrity. And perhaps, most of all, that rather than seeing these ideals, I am utterly disappointed with their polar opposites that now exist and have existed for far too long.

My dear elected leaders, if you want my confidence and approval, not only for you as individuals and supporters of political ideologies but also as participants in a system that you help shape and guide, you must demonstrate that you can handle your mantle with responsibility and care. Anything less than this is a system that is broken, and a system that I cannot approve. And, most unfortunate of all, should I decide that the only way to voice my disapproval is to not vote, I am simply lumped together with the apathetic majority whom you deem as a problem. You say vote if we want to see change; I say change the system so that I can have confidence enough to vote in it. You say apathy is the problem; I say apathy is a response to the problem. Treat each other as decent human beings and display common courtesy to one another. This would be but the first step in a mile-long journey towards a political system worthy of participation and approval. Political differences aside, how can you ask me to participate in an electoral process when all I am doing is choosing who gets to throw the sand in the playground conflicts?

Signed,

A voter with a voice

April 12, 2009

2009-04-13T15:32:00.000-07:00

Another birthday came and went. This one was fairly enjoyable - unlike last year's. Last year I turned 30. I had to say hello to another decade, and despite my best efforts, reflected on that age with an overwhelming sense of how single I am. But these become trivialized when compared to the crisis of faith that I experienced at that time.

There really was no distinct moment when I became an atheist. No event ushered in the change in perspective; no trump announced the paradigm shift. No, it was a process, a dilution of disillusion. As Julia Sweeney (Letting Go of God) so succinctly addresses God "sitting on his suitcases near the front door of [the] door", "sit here for a while if you want to; you can stay a little while if you need to. There's no big hurry".

This is not too different from my own experience. Perhaps the only thing that got me through it all was the amount of patience and love I allowed myself. There was no judgement for hanging on to old beliefs, only the allowing them to sit on their own suitcases by the door.

Looking back it's impossible to pinpoint the moment I lost my faith. I guess that's the nature of spectrums. Instead I chose to look back and assign an arbitrary date when I knew that I had lost my faith and was, for all intents and purposes, an atheist. This day was my 30th birthday.

So, my journey into the decade of 30 is paralleled with my journey into Cartesian doubt. If I would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in my life I doubt, as far as possible, all things (Descartes).

Having doubted the very core of my belief system and emerging on the other side has been an interesting experience. There is no way of expressing the joys and sorrows that are unique to this journey. Those who are not forced to walk it will forever be blissfully ignorant of it, and those who are join the club where members conceal their silent scars, and walk with a noble understanding that only their initiated fellows share.

It is this day, on my 31st birthday that I celebrate a year of freedom from dogmatic chains and rigid socialization. And while I would never want to experience another year such as the most recent one, I look forward to partaking of the wealth of information that was once forbidden or considered taboo.

The Door

2009-02-15T03:37:00.002-08:00

The Door

I wait
I feel the grain of the wood, touch the faded stain of years past
I lean against the smooth surface
And press my cheek against its edge

I wait
Emptiness, the sound of silence far too loud
Nothing stirs, no echoes of life
My cheek still rests against the smooth wood

I wait
Still no sound, still no life, still I wait
I begin to dance, a dance known to countless generations before me
A dance designed to appease nature

I wait
I no longer care for little details
My dance begins to grow, the urgency to complete it rises
Fiery impulses fill my body; I close my eyes and dance with more fervor

I wait
Hungry I am now to complete my dance
This fever inside me spreads until I can barely contain it
I shout, “Are you almost done in there? I really have to pee!”

My Pretty Fox

2009-02-15T03:37:00.001-08:00

My Pretty Fox

She baits and taunts me while she walks.
This temptress muse, she laughs and mocks.
I watch her dance under marquee.
She flaunts her lust and lechery,
And I prepare to hunt my fox.

She tries to run, but like a cox,
I steer my prey, my pretty fox.
Her screams and cries fill me with glee.
She baits and taunts.

And when it's done, my pretty talks,
And seals my fate with iron locks.
With all her lust and lechery,
Fate cursed her with impurity.
Now know her I and know death stalks
She baits and taunts.

Bated Wit or Dillusioned Banter

2009-02-15T03:35:00.001-08:00

Bated Wit or Dillusioned Banter

How much I mean it when I rue regret!
Too late, my conjured comments of such wit.
To be admired by my peers, but yet
I turn around, alone the stairs I sit.

If only I could rewind time for naught,
I would not be alone on empty stair.
The perfect riposte that my tongue hath caught,
Hath passed my lips too late for friendly care.

“Your mother is a hamster,” yes it's true!
“Your father smelt of elderberries,” ha!
But none of these shall know my peers' review,
Nor shall they look at me with wondered awe.

But yet a smile doth creep across my face;
I know next time these words shall be my mace.

To Those Who Fought on St. Crispian’s Day

2009-02-15T03:32:00.001-08:00

To Those Who Fought on St. Crispian’s Day

To those who fought on St. Crispian’s Day
Shew me thy scars that I may praise and laud.
Strip off thy sleeves that I may curse the day
I held my manhood cheap for but a-bed.

That day, that fair day, that glorious day
Found brother’s blood, shed for an honour’s share.
Their names, o’erflowing cups, in mem’ry stay,
And name that day with those who tip-toed there.

The gentled vile do show their wounds and laugh
That they were numbered at Crispian’s feast.
And crown-filled purses convoy far the chaff
Who have their passports made for vigils ceased.

But though I own no feats on Crispin’s Day,
My son shall ne’er forget their memory.

The Circle Round

2009-02-12T23:02:00.000-08:00

When my niece was little, she used to call the spinning chimney caps “circle rounds”. We all got a kick out of it and thought it was really cute. I use the term today to iterate a concept Bruce Lee talked about when he said, “Before I learned martial arts, a punch was just a punch and a kick was just a kick. When I studied martial arts, a punch was no longer just a punch and a kick was no longer just a kick. Now I understand martial arts, and a punch is just a punch and a kick is just a kick.”

I had a very interesting conversation with a catholic priest today. It was at school, and I had just gotten out of class, thinking very deeply on this whole God thing. I don’t know, something inside of me sometimes feels like its starving for a spiritual fulfillment. I look at things like consciousness, and I just don’t understand how it can possibly exist without being a manifestation of something greater. Whatever we think we understand about it, and however flawed it may be, it still is. And what IT is, is still a topic of endless debate. Many call consciousness an emergent quality of a complex system; but, is not the universe incredibly more complex and vast? Would not a vaster and more complex system manifest a higher emergent consciousness? Granted, this would not be immediately observable, and would still call into question if this consciousness could or would still be aware of itself or its parts. A lot of unknown variables to say the least, but it is something to consider or at least work with.

Is this drive inside me for some kind of spiritual connection a human condition, or was I moulded for such based upon my upbringing? If the former, why do some not have such a drive? If the latter, how can I be rid of such pervasive conditioning? In any case, something the catholic priest said was very interesting. He mentioned something called “mysteries” and explained these mysteries as the things above and beyond what we can know through our reason but can still be accessible by other means. It is perfectly reasonable to know that there are things beyond our senses; it is interesting to understand what modalities might be involved with their discovery. All I know is that while there are still a great many things that I consider absurd with Catholicism, this priest has given me something to ponder.

It seems as if I may be participating in a circle round. When I was Mormon, a spiritual experience was just a spiritual experience, and a spiritual connection was just a spiritual connection. Now that I am an atheist, a spiritual experience is no longer just a spiritual experience, and a spiritual connection is no longer just a spiritual connection. Who knows, maybe I might one day understand “martial arts” to complete the circle. All I know is that I’m not anywhere near done my journey.

2009-02-05T22:50:00.000-08:00

I think I'm facing a paradigm shift. It's nothing really significant, just a sense of being okay with who I am and what I might accomplish. I hope it's not just some ephemeral feeling. I think I'm starting to unshackle some of the chains of perception about myself. Time will tell though.

Move to the Back of the Bus

2008-12-30T17:52:00.000-08:00

It never ceases to amaze me how Canadians feel entitled to their personal space. Many times I've ridden the bus, and people don't have common sense when it comes to making room for others. Yes, people, this means YOU move to the back of the bus when there's room. It doesn't mean you stand there like a dumb shit while the front of the bus fills up and no one's behind you. Grab a fucking clue and move back - yes, all the way back. Stairs aren't some insurmountable barrier preventing you from moving. A couple of steps isn't a big deal. Failure to get out of your comfort zone for common courtesy means several people can't get on the bus when they otherwise could.

Worst of all, there are more people that are clueless than are aware and courteous. And the most baffling part, if I said something about it, I'm the rude one.

The REAL Christmas

2008-12-25T06:53:00.000-08:00

So despite my little rant yesterday, I managed to hold on to some glimmer of hope. See, whatever else happens, I look forward to waking up Christmas morning and, even if it's over the phone, ~~watch~~ listen to my family open their presents. It has never been much of a bother to me that I'm the one who has the least number of presents under the tree (year after year). I really only care about whether or not those who have gotten me presents have thought about the gift and what it means. So this year, with one present to open (from my roommate, no less), it still didn't bother me a whole lot as long as I could share Christmas morning with the family (that I don't care for too much). And this morning was a painful remininder of exactly why I would completely disown them if my conscience would let me. You see, they had already opened their presents last night. They didn't even call me when they were doing it; I had to find out by calling them this morning. This was the one thing that would have made Christmas bearable, the one thing of substance. That thing is now gone, and there is nothing left. Christmas has literally become for me what formal logic calls "an empty set". On top of this, the money that I sent to my mom with specific instructions to spend it at a particular place was spent somewhere else; my instructions were ignored.

And yet, somehow, I can't help but feel like I'm whining over all of this. I'm not going to take away my right to feel this way. I believe people are entitled to a meaningful Christmas, and in the end, I suppose all I want for Christmas is for it to have some kind of meaning. Maybe that's why I'm feeling this way, that I can't find any meaning in it. Call me Charlie Brown, or call me Scrooge, or even call me the Grinch. I just want Christmas to mean something, and it doesn't. The biggest problem is that life is not paralleled by the movies. Movies have happy endings, and everything works out - especially Christmas ones. Life doesn't have the same fairytale settings and fantastical endings. Movies are like religion: they build high and unrealistic expectations, and when those expectations aren't met, there is nothing but disappointment and disillusionment. It's nothing that can't be remedied by lowering expectations or not getting one's hopes up.

Christmas

2008-12-24T21:37:00.000-08:00

This year is a special Christmas for me: it's my first Christmas as an atheist. No inner contemplation, no reflection on what it means to have a saviour come into the world, no sense of fulfillment. It is an empty shell of a holiday, and I would just rather sleep through the day and buy stuff on Boxing Day. Lots of people have asked me what I'm doing for Christmas, and the only answer they got was "I don't know", which was as often as not followed by an invitation to a dinner. One person in particular pushed the issue beyond normal pleasantries. He wasn't overbearing, and was really motivated by wanting to see me enjoy the holidays, but to be honest his actions kind of backfired. See, by not giving too much thought to Christmas, I was able to enjoy it at some superficial level. Now that I'm thinking about it, that superficial enjoyment has left the building with Elvis.

What remains is a form of bitterness coupled with a sense of self-sabotage and a touch of spite. I'm reminded of how much religion fucking stole from me, of the perpetual lies and deluded thinking that people maintain. God, I wish I could be more susceptible to the delusions that provide a higher sense of meaning an purpose, but for some reason I cannot. Reflecting on the "true" meaning of Christmas used to be my way of combating the inevitable observation that Christmas is nothing more than a giant commercialized holiday, but now that that sense, that reflection is gone, I can't help but see it as anything but. So why would I want to celebrate? What is there to gain from sitting down with friends and family to celebrate something that I don't sahre a belief in? And realistically, I have nothing else to fall back on.

If Christmas is a time to spend with family, I can't say I'm too fond of mine right now. Half the time Christmas meant surviving the warzone of family conflict. I can't say I'm too fond of conflict at any time, let alone at a time when peace is supposed to be cherished. So, there's this sense of not wanting to expose myself to an environment that could be potentially difficult. And it's not just the environment either. I can honestly say I don't like who my family members are.

My niece is a lippy, arrogant, know-it-all who swears, yells, and continually disrespects my mom - and she's only 13. I can't say that this is someone I respect, like, or want anything to do with. My mom puts up with it, compains about it, but doesn't do anything about it and wonders why it continues. It never ceases to frustrate me just being around that, and I simply don't want to be. My sister, well, she gave her daughter up about six or seven years ago because she felt like she didn't have enough opportunity to party, like she had missed out on her chidlhood. Nevermind that she planned to get pregant at fifteen. Now, she has a second due date in March, and even though my mom has had custody of my niece for several years now, my sister is actually considering keeping this kid. She barely speaks to her current daughter for fucks sake! And to top it all off, this pregnancy may have been planned as well. There are no words that can express the exasperation I feel over it all. This is the family I don't want to spend Christmas with. I just want to sleep through it.

Hope

2008-12-22T00:28:00.000-08:00

What a queer thing, hope. Hope is the quintessential element required for survival, the one fuel necessary to be propelled forward. Yet this hope is the very thing that permits suffering. We move forward because we hope for something better, believe that whatever we hope for is attainable. And if the thing we chase is unattainable, and we are deluding ourselves the entire time we chase it, then that hope that once acted as motivational fuel now reeks like the gasoline that now blankets us - and all it takes is someone with a match...

So where exactly is the line drawn? What separates hope being that optimistic feeling from being the thing that tortures? God, I wish I knew. Kind of hard to not feel like something's plaything, like it's some kind of hubris to want to rise above one's station in life and be continually disappointed, when one hopes and is not fortunate enough to attain its object. Such is the path of the deluded or the masochistic; such are the comments of the cynic. But hey, the cynic is only someone who stopped chasing the carrot, and now has enough time to point out the folly of those who have not. Can life really be nothing more than deciding between embracing truth and being lonely or having hope as a companion but forfeiting truth? What a terrible decision to make... oh cruel fate.

The Proposed Coalition Government

2008-12-04T09:13:00.001-08:00

First of all, allow me to iterate that I am neither for nor against this coalition. I don’t feel the need to conjecture about whether or not this will be a good thing or bad thing for Canadians. I don’t consider myself to be nearly informed enough on politics and the issues at hand to make such an interpretation. I would encourage all who read this to consider the same point. I further refuse to be suaded by emotional arguments, that this is a bad thing because I don’t like it. My purpose is to clarify exactly what this situation is and what it isn’t, so people can understand it better before they make a decision about it or try to argue a particular position

Perhaps the most fallacious argument in this whole debate is the democratic nature of it. Those who are opposed to the idea of a coalition government claim that it is not democratic because the elected government is being sidestepped. I want to clarify that there is absolutely nothing un-democratic about this process. The only way such a coalition is possible is because the coalition would represent more Canadians. In Canada, the government is able to pass bills into laws because they have enough members of parliament vote in favour of it. When Canada has a majority government, this means that they have sufficient members within their own party to vote something in. When Canada has a minority government, they need to cooperate with other members of parliament – other parties – to pass bills into law. Thus, when a ruling minority government cannot find a way to cooperate with other members of parliament, they do not have sufficient governing power. When this happens consistently enough, this is what’s called a “Vote of No Confidence”: the rest of the house – the majority of parliament – no longer feel that the governing party can effectively do anything. The bottom line is that anything that the majority of the members of parliament do IS DEMOCRATIC.

The nature of Canada’s government allows such actions to take place. However underhanded or shady you feel such a proposal is, you have to understand that the system of Canadian government allows this very thing. It is the nature of a Westminster system. If you don’t know what this is or how it works, I would encourage you to look into it more. I would further encourage you to refrain from forming an opinion until after such information is gleaned from your research. It is also a mistake to think that we elect our Prime Minster – we do not. We elect area representatives who belong to a particular party. This party chooses who their leader is. We do not get a say. Thus, one of the major faults of the Canadian system is that the Prime Minister could lose in his or her own riding but still be the Prime Minister. Nowhere in this process is there any kind or democratic electing of our Prime Minister. Thus, side-stepping his or her authority can in no way be considered undemocratic. In fact, I would accuse the process by which our Prime Minister comes to power to be undemocratic – but then again, Canada is a Constitutional Monarchy, not a true democracy. We elect those into power (our area representatives), but for the duration of their stay, they make decisions on our behalf without having to receive input from those whom they represent. Many do anyways because they feel a responsibility to their area, and because many seek re-election. Rest assured, though, they have the power to exercise their position whatever way they see fit, and barring extreme circumstances, we are powerless to do much about it. Just ask any Canadian who is represented by an MP they did not elect.

Let’s analyze some numbers to put this all into context. National voter turnout was a whopping 59.1%. This means that of all of Canada’s eligible voters, less than two-thirds turned out to have their say. Of this 59.1%, 37.6% voted Conservative, 26.2% voted Liberal, 18.2% NDP, 10% BQ, 6.8% Green, and 1.2% other. This voter percentage is grossly misrepresented by the number of seats each party holds. This is one of the major problems I have with this “first-past-the-post” election system. It is archaic, and truly undemocratic in its very nature – but that’s another story. This means that the Conservative vote actually represents ~22% of the Canadian population. This also means that ~26% of Canadians are represented by the Liberal and NDP parties alone. Call me crazy, but that seems to me that they have more support of Canadians. When you add the BQ and Green percentages (both of whom have voiced their support), you actually have Canadian support of 36.2%. Now, there are some who would argue that 78% of Canadians didn’t vote for a Conservative government and thus make up the majority, but I consider that to be as silly of an argument as saying that a coalition is undemocratic. It is, however, fair to say that a coalition really does represent more Canadians – however distasteful you may find it. As a side note, did you know that almost twice as many Canadians didn’t vote than those who elected a Conservative government? Let’s put proportional representation into context here.

I think one of the most ironic and humorous aspects to this is the ones who are complaining – the majority of which are Conservative supporters – fail to understand that the government that would be ousted by this was the same government who put together this proposal in 2004 to fight against the Liberals. That’s right, Harper is being injured by his own weapon. This is one of those areas where I would encourage anyone who is critical of this proposed coalition to oppose it in principle, not because your favoured government is the target. Would you still criticize this and call it undemocratic if the party you supported was behind it? Think about it. If a Conservative-NDP-Green-BQ coalition government meant ousting the Liberals immediately after the Sponsorship scandal (something that I have yet to forgive the Liberals for), would you still be critical of it? Would you still consider it to be undemocratic?

Another thing that I find incredibly amusing about this is the level of, for lack of better terms, sheer stupidity of Harper and his decision to remove party funding when he had a minority government. I say nothing about the merits of such a decision, only that to question what Harper thought would happen. This reeks of a decision that you would need a majority government to pull off. When you need to cooperate with at least one other party to pass bills, do you really think you can get that cooperation if you want to handicap all other parties? Am I the only one who sees the idiocy – nay, the hubris of such an act?

I think my final criticisms rest on some more minor issues. I shake my head at Harper’s campaign promises of not needing to go into debt, but then hearing a month or so later that we need to go into debt. Couple this with the coalition’s justified claims of inaction in the face of global economic crisis, and contextualize it with this campaign promise being broken and inaction coming from someone whose career is based on economics... I trust the point is self-evident.

Claims of usurpation, undemocratic process, and many other claims are essentially unfounded. Again, I iterate that I am neither for nor against this coalition. If I had to find criticism for the coalition it would be that I can’t help but see politics being played at an epically sad level. I can’t help but see this coalition as a pathetic grab for power; however, I am not closed-minded to the idea that such a power grab might be necessary. If inaction in the face of global economic crisis is as dangerous as many claim it is, this coalition may be necessary. But, this is one of those area that I consider hindsight to be the only true way of knowing. Therein rests my justification for fence-sitting. I am not supportive of a Conservative government, but I’m not so sure if such extreme measures are warranted. What I will argue, however, is that such extreme measures aren’t unfounded, that and our parliamentary system is established in such a way that a coalition government is allowed. If you want to criticize this coalition, perhaps it would be more correct to criticize a system that allows such a coalition to occur in the first place. The bottom line is if more Canadians really understood the infrastructure and workings of our government, I think they might not use the particular arguments they are using. They reek of misunderstanding the system, and display only their ignorance. It is only to their benefit – and everyone else’s – to further educate themselves on Canadian parliament.

2008-11-26T18:23:00.001-08:00

So after a week and a bit of some pretty bad anxiety, I finally got myself out of the rut and managed to get some work done. Part of this "work" was finishing my Biopsychology essay, but the other, less traditional, part involved making some life changes. These life changes started with what I eat, and how often I eat it. But I'm not going to talk about my diet. I want to talk about hope and how sometimes life can throw you curve balls at inappropriate times.

A few months ago I let a friend stay with me for a little while. He had no money, no job, and his dad had just kicked him out on the street. So, I let him stay with me for a bit. We agreed to a price and few conditions up front, which he agreed to. One of the conditions involved his getting a job. I told him not to worry about paying me right away, that he could get his feet on the ground first. I also let him eat my food. Another expectation was that he kept cleaned up after himself - nothing unreasonable.

After a bit of time watching him procrastinate his job search, and getting after him a few times to clean up, I realized it wasn't going to work and so I gave him 10 days notice for him to find somewhere else to stay. I also told him to not worry about paying me right away the money he owed me for the time he had already stayed with me, as I would wait until he was financially stable. At that point he started telling me how he felt like I never accepted him or treated him like a friend. You can imagine why this wouldn't sit very well with me, and I calmly told him to pack up his stuff and get out. After everything that I had done for him, I felt like he had just slapped me in the face. After some minor arguing, I knew I wouldn't see the money he owed me, and that our friendship had just gone out the window. With that, I figured he would move on with his life and I with mine.

A little while later I learned that he was staying at a street shelter, feeling pretty bitter about the situation. I soon got a text message from him apologizing and what not. It was a pleasant surprise. That was the last I heard from him until today. Today pretty much stunned me.

Friend:
by the way, i just needed to remind you of your absolute pussy nature, you have no balls. you will never get a girlfriend cuz you are too afraid to aproach one. you shook in your fucking boots when i talked to girls. youre a coward. so i just wanted to say my goodbyes right to a man like you, fuck you and have a good life of well calculated ballless risks, and enjoy a life of loneliness with your obsessive compulsive idiotic fat lazy boring self.

Friend:
i still will keep u unblocked for a bit so i can see ur pathetic retort

Me:
Well, _____. I can honestly say I never expected this from you. I guess I thought you were better than this. I really hope you find some kind of inner peace in your life.

Friend:
I hope you eat a dick like I know you want to. You are really gay I know it

At that point I reported him for harassment because I was not willing to play that kind of game. Normally I would laugh this kind of thing off, but I can't think of a worse time for him to send such a message. Going through the amount of anxiety and stress that I am right now, and with finally seeing a ray of hope, this message was quite the side blow, an unexpected haymaker.

On the one hand this only confirms to me the end of this friendship. On the other hand, I can't help but pity the guy. I don't feel pity for too many people - I prefer empathy - but in this case pity is exactly how I feel. I would like to see him become a better person, but I doubt he will.

So, I think this will probably end up being not much more than an unexpected push that makes me take a couple of sidesteps to regain my balance before I move forward. I really hope that's all this is. I feel like I've taken the high road in every situation of this circumstance, and I don't know if I can keep it up. I really hope I don't see him in public, and if I do, that he won't come up to me and talk. I fear if he doesn't let up I might lose it on him. I might have to prepare myself for walking away if I see him.

2008-11-09T13:28:00.000-08:00

It is interesting to see the apparent dichotomy between things we consider events and things we consider journeys. Last night I experienced an event that was - that is - part of a long journey: I delivered a letter to the bishop of my old Ward declaring my resignation as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. That's right, it means I'm officially no longer a Mormon.

I've been doing some research on the subject for some months now. Apparently the moment that letter is received it is considered legally and immediately effective. This means that if church officials try to drag it out any longer than is necessary or try to persuade you otherwise or even try to subject you to church discipline (i.e. excommunicate you), they are out of order. In Canada and the U.S. there are laws that protect against this sort of thing from institutions who might otherwise be less than scrupulous. My understanding is that many church members in the States have experienced a lot of grief and problems with getting their names removed from church membership record. I also understand that Canadian members don't have nearly these kinds of problems. Is this indicative of Canadians as a whole, or is it indicative of how distance from church headquarters can influence the process? Hard to say I suppose. Regardless, I guess this is one of those small perks of being Canadian.

So less than 24 hours later, I don't really feel any different. I guess that's the difference between an event and a journey. This journey away from Mormonism and into something else - for now it's atheism, and could very easily stay there - has been filled with events like this. I don't know if actually becoming an atheist was an event, or more of a journey in itself - probably the latter. Once I got there, though, that's when it became a true journey. I suppose one can't truly begin such a journey without first feeling the need to search; if you believe you have all the answers, what's the point in searching?

So with events like having my bishop stop by and my telling him I no longer believe, like taking off my garments and cutting them up, like packing up my church books and getting them ready to ship, I suppose this is another in the series. I think I prefer to look at my journey out of Mormonism and my journey into atheism as parallel process rather than one preceding the other. Truth be told I'm not entirely done my journey out of Mormonism, and I'm still looking at atheism and other, more spiritual, avenues to see if there is any merit in it/them. I don't feel like I'll have total closure until I have these books shipped off. I suppose I need to get a letter of confirmation from the church stating that my name has been removed before it's really final, but in my mind it's already done; the confirmation letter is merely a formality.

2008-11-07T22:19:00.000-08:00

I got a letter today. It had a cheque inside. I don't think I've ever been so disappointed to see a cheque for $100 with my name on it. This means my application to become a Freemason has been declined.

I remained open to the idea that this would happen. It's kind of hard for an atheist to be accepted into a fraternal organization that requires a belief in a supreme being. But I suppose I would rather be turned down for being honest than accepted under false terms. I struggled with this one a great deal, almost considering trying to find a way to justify a belief in God, but to no avail. I don't believe in God, or anything that could be considered such, and I will not subject myself to denial-type thinking or cognitive dissonance. I just don't work that way. The entire reason I became an atheist is because I searched exhaustively for answers and reasons to believe, and I ended up empty-handed. If my identity, value- and belief-system, sense of purpose, and spirituality was abandoned for sufficient reasons, why would I want to go back on that just to join a particular organization?

So, here I sit, disappointed and feeling let down. I don't know why. I should probably have expected this. Perhaps it's for the best. I mean, how comfortable would I feel around a bunch of other people who all advocate something that I consider to be irrational and illogical? I don't know if I'm saying that just to make myself feel better, or if it's a valid consideration.

It's kind of difficult to describe how I'm feeling right now. When I was in the middle of my application, I was open to certain ideas, like the oneness of the universe and a universal mathematical harmony. Now I just feel slightly bitter, and I want to embrace my atheism even more even though I feel like I've lost something because of it. But I'll never be one of those people who views loss as a valid reason to not believe something. Realistically, I gave up a lot of things when I was a Mormon, and I would give up a lot of things if I became any other religion. Hell, I give up a lot of things just being a student, and I would be giving up a lot of things if I weren't a student. It's just the nature of things I suppose.

Truth be told I don't blame them one bit. I knew full well what was expected when I applied. It's just that things changed for me from the time I first applied until the time when I was visited by the committee. It sucks that it turned out this way, but I don't feel the need to apologize for anything, least of all for who I am and for what I believe or don't believe. My ultimate loyalty is to the truth, and even if I am way off-base, I am pursuing it to the best of my ability.

2008-11-07T08:19:00.000-08:00

So, California’s decided to re-ban gay marriage. And rightfully so, people protest it. Things even went as far as the LA Police, in their usual way of handling things, deciding to beat a protester. But this isn’t about the civil rights and liberties of homosexual couples in California (or anywhere else for that matter) or even about the police brutality. This is about self-examination.

From what I understand, this protest began outside an LDS temple in Los Angeles. I’m not sure where it ended up, but again, that’s not the point here. The point is how I would have viewed this entire situation a year ago and how I view it now.

Having recently become an atheist, I’m still trying to weigh and measure many different points of view, paradigms, and philosophies of life. Now that I no longer have this dogmatic lens that tints my paradigmatic glasses, I am free to choose what I value, what I see, and what I consider right or wrong - even if it disagrees with “doctrine”. I am now free to be able to look at things objectively, to analyze them, look at them from all different sides, and figure out what I feel good and right and proper. It wasn’t always this way.

Many times in life I’ve been often confused because, for the life of me, I could never figure out how some people could see the world the way they did. I could never understand seeing someone as inferior simply because they had a different skin colour. I could never understand why people would subject themselves to addictive drugs. I could never understand why people would choose to be gay. Then I would tell racist jokes and laugh (I don’t necessarily see anything wrong with racists jokes if we laugh at all races, including our own, and if they’re not overly hurtful). Then I would smoke my first joint at 15 and experience several years of chaos and misery because of my drug habit. Then I would learn that homosexuality was as much a choice as my heterosexuality - no one chooses who they’re attracted to.

So over time I slowly learned tolerance and acceptance. Part of this learning came with being open-minded to the fact that I didn’t have all the answers to life, part of it came with dealing with the issues that lead me to escape in drugs, and part of it came with simply growing older and learning more about life. Ah, the cock-sured nature of youth!

I remember considering myself to be fairly liberal and tolerant of many things. When I accepted that homosexuality wasn’t really a choice, I felt like I was being understanding and tolerant – even though I recognized that attraction wasn’t a choice, I believed that practicing a homosexual lifestyle was. It was this kind of justification that allowed me to feel tolerant and accepting while still supporting the suppression of gay marriage. How could I do otherwise when I submitted myself to the authority of an all-encompassing institution that dictated my beliefs (I’ll address the issue of social coercion in a later post)?

After experiencing some time away from Big Brother, I now look at things like these protests and suppression of gay rights, and I can’t help but shake my head. I shake my head at the fact that there is still this kind of intolerance in the world, but mostly I just shake my head at the fact that mere months ago, I probably would have voted in favour of rebanning gay marriage. And that thought horrifies me.

Now that I wear a more objective lens (at least according to my best judgment), the ethical problems surrounding these issues become self-evident. The only reasons why people are against gay marriage are either because the church tells them so, or because it disgusts them – and somehow I feel like those two aren’t entirely disconnected. So, if I eliminate the institution of the church, and I begin to exercise more tolerance, there’s no reason I should ever consider why the civil rights and liberties that I now enjoy should not be extended to everyone. But again, this isn’t about that (although somehow I fear my point is getting lost in it).

The bottom line, the entire point of this post, is that I look at the kinds of things I support now, and the kinds of things I supported when I was religious, and some of them are vastly different. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I am humbled to a very deep level that I could ever be capable of such intolerance – especially when it was disguised as its opposite. I don’t beat myself up over it, however. I may look back on it with regret, but more importantly I am beginning to recognize some of the things I learned in Social Psychology – how the power of the situation is often more powerful than the individual; how social persuasion and coercion can influence people to do things they might not otherwise do. It saddens me that I was ever capable of such thinking, but I try not to be too hard on myself. In recognizing this, it helps me to be less judgmental of those same people who now exercise that same intolerance, and to not judge them for it. I was once like them.

This doesn’t excuse intolerance or prejudice behaviour, but we can combat these without hating those we combat. You never know when fighting for what’s right, with compassion and understanding for those you fight against, may cause a soldier to cross over. And that, I think, makes it worth it in itself.

Courted Wit

2008-11-06T08:57:00.000-08:00

In true blogger fashion (does that even mean anything?), I'm going to share a poem I wrote. Hopefully that one reader who stumbles across this blog years later will enjoy it.

Courted Wit

A chap addressed his lady muse,
“Oh joy that I should bear such news.
Thy father bid me late last night,
That we should wed at dawn’s first light.”

The dame looked in the young chap’s eyes,
“Good sir, I will not hear your lies!
My father, he died yesterday.
I bid you do the same today.”

The chap replied, “It pains me so,”
That you think me a man so low.”
To take advantage of a maid,
And think it right to serenade.”

“Good sir,” said she, “it’s obvious,
That you don’t take me serious.
Your serenade is plain as day.
I beg you now, please go away.”

“But lady, please, I beg you so,
To listen to my tale of woe.
My love for you, it knows no bounds.
Please join me now in wedding vows.”

“Oh sir! I feel I must protest.
Your lofty goals of wedding bliss.
You dream of souls who ache apart.
I dream that you will just depart.

Most men, they lack a certain sense.
Tis no small stretch to call them dense.
Dear sir, you are a man apart:
An ass who’s put before cart.”

“Oh miss, your words, they strike my cœur.
I cannot bear, please say no more.
Tis plain as day, I fear I see.
My love shall not return to me.

But gentle miss, one last request,
Before you reach inside my chest.
I only ask that you be kind,
And keep my heart til end of time.”

The lady pondered with great care.
“I fear I’ve judged in haste and err.
Good sir, tis true your love’s concrete?
Am I the fool to be discrete?

Then truly let us be away,
And marry at the light of day.
Oh sir, that we would happy wed,
And live in love until we’re dead.”

“My lady makes me truly glad
To lift a heart that once was sad.
Oh hark! Is that another maid?
Good dame, I must bid you good day.”

First Post

2008-11-06T08:52:00.000-08:00

So, yet another blog. Seems like I start these and then abandon them. Hell, I only keep my LJ because of the communities. Who knows, maybe if this one is less socially connected than my other ones I may keep it. Who knows, maybe if no one reads it, I might write more and write more personal things in it. I suppose we'll see. Regardless of anything else, this is my first post (duh!).