Monday, February 23, 2009

Extra Sensory Interpretations

At times, I float in the matter of the brain only open to the tiniest cracks of gravitized electrons - my imagination.  As if quirks and quarks ride the wave of impulses directing my primitive ape hands to digestively interact with my outside surroundings.  

The human brain is a roadmap that currently mimics the uncharted waters and maps of lost empires - it is almost blank to our interpretation.  With it's internal structure and total mass, the mammalian enterprise of evolution sculpted the brain and it's encephalization to organize and control 75 billion neurons to fire synapses back and forth and to and from and right and left and up and down.  It's quite obvious how it's quite precious to us, God even blanketed a pocket of mucous membrane to protect our thick skulls from meeting numskulls.  

So with all of the amazing power we know the brain to contain, we still find it such a mystery.  And the mystery can always be explained and furthered in the 6th Sense - ultraperceptive extrasensorical magic.    

The feeling in my guts when I don't have a good sense of things is usually explained by what I ate the night before - the other day it was ginger beef and salt and pepper squid...  But instincts, yes I can admit that I have those - in my definition, are similar to my ethics and principles to determine right and wrong, left and right, up and down, and so on and so forth.   I do know that at some point in time, my brain and body functions have an expiry date, I've come to grips with that - however I do like to believe that this amount of time is partly, in my control, through what I eat, what I breathe, and what I do.  What I don't believe is that a premonition for-telling my doomsday can be predicted by even the noblest and honest of fortune-tellers - I just don't believe it.  I can't explain it any more clearly - it's just horse shit to me.    And I'm often not blunt.  I do know I rant and rave - and asininity begets bluntness, and vice versa...

The countdown is now on - less that 4 years away - the tales of the Maya, Einstein and Nostradamus will ruin us all.  The premonition of our planet's expiry on December 21, 2012 is an asinine scam.  There's that bluntness again...

I can imagine myself back in those days of the great Maya Empire - a simple farmer's son in the warm brisk days of the summer's heap -  and close to our God - the Sun.  We cherish it as the day's length endures - we obsess with it to keep track of it's keep.  We watch it from the skies with the stars in the night.  Deep into the stars.  

What I can't imagine is that the idea that the Maya Empire were able to discern the centre of the Milky Way Galaxy with no mathematical proof and a simple calendar to go by and pre-tell our destinies are tied to our earth and sun coinciding with the Milky Way.  This, to say the least, is a little out in space for my tastes.  This premonition would mean that by some magical energetic force from beyond the galaxies, by a measure which our current technologies can't record (but for some reason an ancient civilization could), the universe will unleash an energy beam, flipping our magnetic poles upside down, from up to left, and right to backwards.  Everyone better hop on Noah's ark when this happens...

So the next lesson in asininity is to take data and interpret the data to validate your theory - the Magnetic poles are in a constant dance around the up and down slopes of our earth - they shift.  Like the needle of the compass dancing to find true North, the poles move and shake - as if all the mass in the centre of the earth's core is spinning away in constant magmetic, magnificent, movement of magma - the densities shifting ever so slightly to balance beast of beauty's true heart - mother earth.   But mother earth wasn't invited to the bard's dance and the prophecies of the scam - the winter winds of 2012 will magically tune our fiddle for this one...

Every once and while, the chaotic spinning will burst from the radial acceleration of gravity, propelling molten magma upwards and beyond - depositing in such ways that mystify our geologists, and for some reason, are interpreted by our psychics to indicate that Noah did indeed save every 2 species on the planet.  

"Two things are infinite - the universe and human stupidity; and i'm not sure of the universe" - Albert Einstein 

Busy bees buzz - they collect coupons of pollinated pools of cool craniums.  Bees fly in an alternate universe of time, being able to dictate, communicate and create a hive of busy bee activity.  In doing so, bees also have the capability of pollinate the great plains of the Pacific's eastern playgrounds - from pole to pole, from magnetic shift to magnetic shift.  If Bees were to become extinct, as the Great Author Al once wrote, the human population will be dead in 4 years.  As if he was truly a magnificent prophet, Big Al is being pushed onto the bandwagon of 2012 - as that in 2008, populations of bees are being mistreated, on a downward spiral to extinction.  But then again, Ol' Al lived in a day that pre-dated genetic biological engineering - a type of educated practice that plays God's role...

If I used a pen name, which I do, I would probably select something cool, like Rotoed Tiller - something off key - something memorable.  Michel Nostrad sure did select the right pen name.  A man best suited for donning the ass hat beret with a beautifully accessorized manbag - all to play the role of Straw Man - speaking the words of  wisdom and prophecy - line up to get your lotto ticket cause i've got the winner right here!  He first spoke in words of tongue - quatrains in the Virgilianized syntax.  Through fear of persecution - he hid in the Churches alongside queens and mums - with his syntax being broken down with the write of religimous cantanker.  And now the Prophecies dictate our doom - 2012, by some magical interpretation of the words of writings.

I always thought we had 5 senses - smell, touch, sight, hearing and taste.  I've recently discovered I can pleasantly consider balance and acceleration a sense, temperature, kinesthetic and pain as senses as well.  These all make sense to me - they are senses all connected to the brain and in the body - my outer boundaries of being.   When I do think that the brain can be a wonderful playground - I do know when to be grounded - when to be ethical - and I can't sit idly by waiting for a doomsday prophecy to dictate my faith and fate.  It's just asininity at work again.  Silly bastards... 

Friday, February 20, 2009

What a Waste of Skin

Trailer Park Boys, Mr. Lahey: "You know, he grew up as a little shit-spark from the old shit-flint. And then he turned into a shit-bonfire and then driven by the winds of monumental ignorance, he turned into a raging shit-firestorm. If I get to be married to Barb i'll have total control of Sunnyvale, and then I can unleash a shitnami tidal wave that'll engulf Ricky and extinguish his shit-flames forever. And with any luck, he'll drown in the undershit of that wave. Shit-waves."

Human shit. It's gross to us, it's fecal to us, it's innate to us. Everybody poops. We unfortunately must go through walks of shame, courtesy flushes, launch a watermelon or use the strategic, camo-cough, but it is always in good humor - everyone does it!! Who doesn't enjoy a good fart joke now and then? Fart jokes can be simple and hilarious without not a word spoken - silent and deadly - they can also be dramatic, as if the Heismann Trophy itself was paying homage to the great digestive tract.


We begin the process of poop with a little nutrition - what we eat. An average human body ingests about 2,500 calories a day. The average body expends roughly 4,000 kJ in a day. In all of this transformative mess, the body ingests food, and turns the calorific food energy into transmittable heat and body energy. The heat energy we expend is transmitted to the atmosphere at our 37.8 degree Celsius bodies.

It all begins with a smell - the odorous olfactory nerves twitch with the excitement of being woken up - the unfamiliar alien vapours infiltrate the cavities of the body, triggering the cerebral nature of our beasts - we smell bacon... we drool. The puddles collect in our potters, ready for the next step to this trip to heaven - our taste buds. Quickly, the greases penetrate the rough patches of the tongue twisting twaddle of twenty twinkled twitches - sending more nirvanic blasts to the brain. In all the excitement, the twist of the tongue shoots the pork-pulled platypus down it's hole, ready to be savoured by the body graciously.

As the twisted lumps of biologically enhanced matter splashdown into Cape Canaveral, the rocket engines fire - as the epiglottis direct traffic from main control in Houston. Here, the native beings of our bodies begin their religious right - Houston called for enzymatic and acidic support of the lost cargo. Here in the bowels of the stomach, our great defender, Pepsin, armed with a ceremonial vial of destruction, horde off the invading microorganisms hiding in the deeps of the lost cargo - no Trojan surprises on this voyage...

Once the embattled cargo has passed through the gates of glutton, a long, slow voyage through the intestines, both small and large, begins the celebratory capture of the infiltrating alien matter. The fats of our urges, met with bile, while all the nutrients our body craves, heaps mercilessly from the pile by enzymes and transported to through the body to generate our energy. All a seamless masterpiece and homage to the gods in Houston.

The average human body poops about 0.36 kg, or 0.8 lbs. For every thousand people, that's 360 kg, or 800 lbs. Thankfully, my olfactory nerves are nowhere near smelling anything right now, so here goes - poop steams heat - poop generates gases - poop came from our bodies - poop is not disgusting and poop can be very, very useful. One thing I have never done, is experiment with my own poop - you can thank my mother for teaching me those lessons - but on average, most organic material on our planet contains about 4000 kJ/kg of material, energy which is transferable to heating homes and lighting light bulbs. What's more, is that poop is normally mixed with paper, and water - two vital ingredients to the magical transformation of decomposition - carbon and aqua. With these ingredients, the concoction can be stirred and digested to transform our poop into biogas and fertilizers - no fuss - no muss - no puss - wam, bam, thank you mam! So if we can generate poop - we can think that we generate our own heat and energy source - ah shit!!! For every 5 people, that would be 7,200 kJ - or enough energy to heat about 20% of your home (~40,000 kJ per day for home heating). Imagine that - you take a dump in the morning, and some of your energy bill is paid off! Holy shit...

"Who... even in this whole world, doesn't have problems? Who doesn't have a drink too many times once in a while and maybe even winds up passed out in their own driveway, pissing themselves? Who doesn't drink too much sometimes or who doesn't have a puff from time to time. And who doesn't have problems with the people they love? This is our home. This is our community." - Mr. Lahey

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Dungeons and Dragons

Dungeon Master
As a nation under scrutiny to perform and ride the wave of despair as if on top of a magical unicorn awaits it's first meeting with the new leader of the United States, the billowing clouds of smoke continue to cursively cross cattle country.  But these billowing clouds of smoke aren't coming from the industrial paving machine designed to crush, drill, pump and fill - these dusts and particulate matters are from the ever-increasing speed limit of transients departing from the good graces that once were.  The wild west is becoming a ghost town.  And, as if trying to sweep up all of the crumbs and drips left below the kitchen table under the rug as if Grandma's coming for surprise dust bunny inspection, the vast reserves of black bubbled BBQ sauce is being quickly justified as eco-safe - just waiting for that green seal of approval from good ol' stool.  But if look at the subtleties of the attached link, the article's title may be misleading: 

"Oilpatch to see new rules on water use - Proposal calls for lower consumption"

To find the hidden clues of misleading writing, we can read between the lines:

"The 10-per-cent limit on fresh water is consistent with the recycle rate currently required in most thermal scheme approvals"

And in fact has been that way for the past 5 years.  These new regulations, in fact, have been an 'unwritten-rule' during this period, and the article further explains that existing oilpatch users don't need to abide to the new rules for another 5 years!  As if the government said: "here, have this free milkshake, it won't run out for 5 years, and don't worry about cleaning the toilet from the diuretic filth you regurgitate - we won't need to worry about it for 5 years, neither of us are going to be around!  Enjoy the party while it lasts boys - ha ha!!!"  When you read between these headlines, I quickly came to realize that no conservation is really happening at all!  At least not until 2014 - 5 years into the future - I wish I did believe in time travel...

This ploy initiated by a government-run entity has placed a temporary band-aid over our scars - like one of those really cheap imitation-brand Band-Aids with a picture of Mickey Mouse on it.  The ones that didn't last 15 minutes until the glue started seeping into the scar tissue, effecting every nerve ending of the sore, until finally the bandaid's gotta be ripped off pulling every hair follicle that gets in it's path.  When President Obama arrives, the banners of protest will be reminding him of the compromises of lost leadership - of cowboy country corporate buffoonery.   President Obama should drop breadcrumbs towards the parliamentary notices, detailing his policies of limiting executive allowances.   

The stools prop us up with some nice stirrups boys, I gotta say... - that saddle there is genuine cowhide leather - polished with the finest snake-oil my black money can buy - only gotta step up and ask for it - that's what a real cowboy does - ain't no one fraid of a cowboy when he's got his holster drawn and all the hands up...

In 2006, black biscuit projects brought a total of $14 billion of spending toward chopping, clearing, paving, tamping, pouring, craning, nutting, bolting, welding and facilitating the gross misuse of a resource.   In these projects, much moneys are spread out amongst the work force to feed the families, but in these transactions, executives, in the same year, saw their salaries, profits and dreams shoot to beyond the stars.  But even to pay out these executives, where did the remaining hundreds of millions to billions of earning go?  These millions and billions of dollars were created by the hard working busy bees buzzing away designs, meeting deadlines and realizing dreams - yet at the ceremonial point of worship and divvy of the lion's share in profits, the busy bees were handed gift coupons for a chow-down at the closest cowboy cookhouse - the rest was pulled out of the kitty and handed throughout the hoity-toity world of Robin Hood's dreams.   And now that the Sheriff of Nottingham has caught the caped crusader?   No one left to steal from the rich?  The downturn in the credit crunch has crucified the bubbling burst of the boundaries of bovine country.  Moneys are tightly bound, homes are for sale, and bandits are escaping into the night.  

Role Playing
If Canada were truly blessed to have an honorouble man in its presence, it should take the time to listen to the man's words.  To listen and hear the words of this one man, and to understand how he views how to rebuild a nation in shambles.  President Obama has the un-enviable task at hand right now - he's here to listen, understand, think and form an opinion  - that is what we should all do as well.  

Monday, February 16, 2009

2 Minute Powerplay

I recall catching my first NHL (National Hockey League) game a few decades ago - the ice was sheen and blanketed with a intersurficial layer of sweat and spittle - blades swerved through the cracks, spinning in infinite signs of valour and bravery - occasionally making contact with the rubber duck - which was as elusive to the goalie's glove as it was to the naked eye - pacing and darting from one corner or another, the goal was to shoot the duck and catch the prey in the net.   

Rules were of course followed, but often confusing - what does the blue line indicate - is this the safe zone?  Is this a boundary to which that ducks are shot from?  Faceoffs, penalties, delay of games, fighting, injuries - the whole thing fascinated me.  That game I witnessed a Russian born player make his best impression of the great Rocket.  

The great Canadian game spreads throughout the continent of America, filtering through northern parts of Europe.  It does seem Canada has extensive roots from Europe, all types can be found in Canada.  With that said, Europe has greatly influenced Canada - with the visits from Mum and a Province dedicated to the Fleur-de-Lis.  It could be said that Canada takes quite a few queues from the lands of Nomads and Vikings - and I quite often observe the Nomads and Vikings - frontier pioneers of savage romanticism.  

Cross Checking
In today's society, Europe is currently undergoing a so-called 'face-lift' - decades removed from inhumane atrocities, the countries have banned together to form a Union.  A European Union with their own currency and platform to enter a new age of renewability.  By 2020, the EU plans to have 20% of it's energy supply generated through renewable measures.  All this in an effort to curb the use of fossil fuels.  

It has recently been announced that the newly voter-appointed leader of the United States will provide measures to, in essence, mimic the leadership of the EU, indicating a desire to reduce the U.S. reliance on foreign oil, or dirty oil.  This measure of reducing the use of dirty oil has put a target directly at the vast reserves of the great canadian oil sands, which are estimated to be second only to the crude oil reserves in Saudi Arabia.  I've always wondered though, if there are oil sands in Canada - could there not be oil sands in Saudi Arabia as well - perhaps the light crude nature of the oil in the Middle East does not warrant the exploration of heavier crudes similar to the sticky nature of bidumen.  But in the heat of the moment, Canada pumped and expanded, employing the nation's workforce from Newfoundland to Vancouver Island - extracting vigourously the black soup of prosperity.  From 2003 and beyond the Oil Sands created a craze - another bubble floating up to the surface expanding and soaking up everything in it's path - hopes, homes, policemen, politicians, physicians and philanthropists.  Moneys were abound and GDP growth was bursting.  

10 Minute Misconduct
So it is currently getting to be 2 moons past since the shake around the sun, and the U.S. and the EU are frontiering ahead with the path to renewability.  But Canada seems to be lagging behind - as if stool's got a hand in keeping the faltering black tars stuck to the bottom of his boots.  If we focus the microscope into the boundaries of the blue lines, the best hunting grounds for black-billed ducks, the cowboy conservative cattle country of canada continuously caters to a chorus of cowardly cautious corporate stools.  In all the midst and glory that were the oil sands, some bailouts reached the underfunded.  In all the glory of nader and the bounty of his keep, the surpluses will be turned back to whence they came - back into the dirty oil, and much of this dirty oil bailout money is being distributed to small oil - or better yet, small oil that branched off from big oil - small time executive sharks preying on the scraps of meat thrown their way...

Neutral Zone Infraction
The issue with getting the black shit off the bottom of your boots is that it sticks.  It gets everywhere to your hair and socks.  It takes scrubbing and scrubbing to get it clean, or it takes steam to wash it away.  The average CO2 emission factor to wash it and pump it up to our fast-paced lives is approximately 55 kg CO2 for each barrel of black bouillon.  So that means it's planned production by 2020, a forest 6,000,000 trees would need to soak up the billowing clouds of carbon - but to proliferate the profit of black gold, the trees are being slaughtered.   The stools and sharks may claim that costs are too high to capture carbon.  But for all the negative carbon benefit, for all the negative market prices and for all the negative executive bonuses, why is the bailout supporting a black goop of shit that can't be used for anything?  THIS DIRTY OIL IS PRINTING DIRTY MONEY AND THE BLACK DIRT ON MY BOOTS WON'T FRIGGIN COME OFF!!!  

I like the idea of renewability.  A frontier of renewability is happening, albeit slowly.  The Bullfrog Power concept is one that is reasonably situated in two frontiers of Canada.  Perhaps the peasants across the nation can climb onto this bandwagon like the Stanley Cup is coming to town... 

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Wolves in Sheep's Clothing

I’ll start this post off with a glass of half infinite matter – I love rocking chairs.   Feels like floating on the Pacific with the control of the waves at your fingertips – peacefully back and forth, nothing rocking more than the nauseating balance of your feet.  If by chance the rocking nature of my feet bring an excess of imbalance, It’s diagnosed within milliseconds to ease the steady tapping of my foot to a slower pace of life. 

Ancient Civilization

There are often times that my feet tap furiously – as if the angry depths of Hades themselves are stirring to be heard.   It is, often, mistaken that the definition of Hades is in fact differentiated between Ancient Mythology and Christian interpretation.  The Christian interpretation involved fear that the soul will remain in Hades for eternity, and that the gates of Heaven determined if you were granted admission (don’t forget the popcorn) of peace, or be tormented for eternity in the underworld, or Hades.  However the underworld, in Greek Mythology, was simply a division of all the matter in our known planet.  Zeus got the Skies.  Poseidon got the Seas.  And Hades got the Underworld, or the Earth.  Hades was crowned as a God, as the Greek God for the Land of the Dead.  A soul-keeper and, I would assume, soul-giver. 

The Roman Empire, as part of the great ancient Roman civilization who were greatly influenced with Greek Mythology, was the glorious start of the new realm of civilization – a Senate and Governmental structure that could feed a nation with conquests and new beginnings.  That new beginning, of course, could be defined by the Roman’s development of the Calendar, which first began it’s use in 46 BC, and closely resembles the current calendar used in today’s society.  That new beginning, of course, could also be defined by the Roman’s donation to the Church.

Donation of Constantine

The air is fresh, a mist of pollen revives the outside world.  You Spring open your windows and let the fresh moist air in – you grab a broom, you sweep you clean – you grab a box, you pack, you donate. 

A donation is, at times, the most precious gift one person can give to another. 

As a young boy – born 272 as Flavius Valerius Aurelius Constantinus, Constantine I learned in the open fields of the region currently known as Serbia, and soon honed his craft in militaristic strategy in the Roman Army.    

Through discussion, education, meandering and prospering, Constantine I quickly gained power of the Roman Empire, ruling lands from Britain, Gaul and Spain – and it was quick to be known as the first Christian Emperor of the Roman Empire.  In 313, he begun by removing a ban on promoting Christianity and returned all confiscated Religious possessions.  Perhaps at least one of these moves was right… he later established the position of the Christian Emperor of the Church, in order to ensure that God was properly worshipped in his empire, and here I thought Gluttony was supposed to be a Sin…   Constantine I also established as policy to forbid Jews against converting Christians to Judaism – or face penalty of being burned alive...and here I thought Wrath was supposed to be a Sin.  In 316 he acted as judge on dispute involving the Donatist  - and ended up leading an army of Christians against the Christian Donatists – a breach of intra-Christian persecution – and here I thought Envy was supposed to be a Sin. 

If you read up on the link to the Donatists, you’ll notice that they were essentially robbed of their free rights and robbed of their lives.  One thing that remains a mystery of Constantine I were his final years and the purported Donation that followed – perhaps Constantine I felt compelled to give back in his final years – the Donation of Constantine purports that in he donated dominion over the lands of Judea, Greece, Asia, Thrace, Asia, Africa and the entire Western Roman Empire to Pope Sylvester I.  An honourable gesture of a dying man’s last breath – the donation of dominion and domination of nations.   Constantine I was also baptized in his final days, according to the lore of the Donation – perhaps after his lifetime of sins, the Catholic Church had brought peace when he died in 337.  Perhaps Constantine I wasn’t going to Hades after all…

The Fall of the Roman Empire

I once heard that history books were written by the best military strategists – people who observed ways to manipulate information to persuade a reader into believing a fact, or fiction.  The history of the fall of the Roman Empire is perhaps well documented history – in 395, the Roman Empire, emperors were mere figureheads – Barbie dolls to play with while the G.I. Joes, the military rulers, the Wolves in Sheeps Clothing – hid in the shadows directing their play.  Revolution occurred – and the rest is history. 

At the time Rome was in ruins, the papacy had become quite the political player – infiltrating missions of hope and the word of God to areas of Germany, Ireland, England, France and throughout Western Europe.   It was clearly evident, that the fall of the Roman Empire, even though it was bestowed to the papacy, did not affect catholic, wide-ranging reach. 

Sorting the Rubble

Tax season is right around the corner – no better time for a little Spring Cleaning to find out how much you get, or how much you owe.  I think I’ll end up owing this year.   I don’t think I gave back or donated much last year, and unfortunately I can’t put anything into the Dependant’s category - I haven’t adopted any kids lately…

Although adoption numbers, at times, scare me. 

Adapted to breath.  Adapted to smell, adapted to taste, adapted to touch, adapted to feel, adapted to speak, adapted to listen, adapted to think.  But we for some reason, are not all adopted.   In 2002, the US adopted 19,613 children internationally, and 127,000 children domestically – a number that does not fluctuate too often, year to year. 

Adoptions are usually carried out through public or private agencies – where public agencies require about $0 – 2500 of money, or private agencies, set-up as non-profit sponsorships, require approximately $4,000 - 30,000

Donations to God

An apple is a paradox in the beholder’s mind – this was something I wrote just to get a momentary reflection of its meaning – only to realize that it’s nonsense.   Nonsentious  meanmerings and prolifications embiggens me – the Minister once told me.  And I gave – and I gave.

In 2002, approximately 2.6% of a US citizen’s income went into donations to the Christian write.  With a total population of 159,000,00 in 2001 (76.5% of total population), the Christians write a tale of prosperity, of peace, of freedoms. 

In 2003, the median household income of the US was $45,000 per year.  If we equate this to the price of prosperity, of peace, of freedoms – this costs the median household income of the US $186 billion dollars per year. 

I know we currently speak our economic jargon in trillions of dollars today – popping up as deficits, only to see our shadow, and quickly ducking under the covers of sunlight.  But even a paltry $186 billion dollars would buy me all the cabins and lakes and creeks and infrastructure I could ever need – I’m curious to find out how it is spent.

Accepting a Path

I was quite uneasy about finding some results – the edginess of the conundrum played its tune on the tiniest piano – the adoptive donation of the writings of the Bible.  Through operating under the role of non-profit organization, adoptions can be set up through the church to find all the statistical genetic makeup of your dreams; find it at You can also find a similar website for the churches’ option here at Similar website, similar goal. 

The church, can provide safe haven, and a shelter to spread His word.  To properly spread a word, however, one must be truthful.  One cannot deny one’s own past and can’t falsify records.  Blasphemy should be a Sin.  A shelter must provide the safe haven, in order for adopted child to prosper, as the writer’s tale says – a shelter cannot do harm – to Sloth is a Sin .   The safe have must protect the adopted child from prey –  to Lust is a Sin.  Details of these Sins can be found here:, another site dedicated to adoption donations. 

It does bother me that the amount of money that could be used to shelter people, provide health, provide energy, provide comfort, is being used for Malfeasance. I do like initiatives the some governments take to cut spending on Religion.   But for every penny earned and spent, I’m not quite sure how to solve the adoption issues.  Perhaps we need to abort mission and return to our home planet – we were quite out in space on this one…

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Artificial Daylight

I hate planning. Yes I know, more complaining and whining – but I like to think that it’s more scepticism taking control of my fears. I’m sceptical that at some point in time in the near future, I won’t be feeling the same urge to play the fiddler’s tune – fortune-telling is a witchcraft I don’t quite abide to well. For instance, I’ve made plans to meet with some friends over the next week, but I don’t know if that day will be one of those on-the-couch-exhausted from running the hamster wheel all day days…

My hatred of planning extends to other realms of the outside world too… for if a wonderful Saturday is planned, jotting off to the mountain tops, whistling in the woods, hearing if a tree truly makes any noise in the great outdoors – a rain may come and spit upon the day from the skies by mother nature… then I don’t have a choice, I’m disappointed in the rubble of the plans. Today was the day of my Spring Cleaning - the task to rid my rooms of ruin, rubble and ravageness, but instead, Spring was delayed when the groundhog bit his shadow and nature blanketed the ground with white droplets of water to send the boroughs to sleep.

Circuit Breaker

When some plans don’t work out, the rubble of the ruins needs rebuilding, needs restructuring to repair the impairs of the devastation. The great coliseums weren’t even immune to the great collapse of a plan in ruins. Much planning always needs restructure. The only way to restructure is with some fundamental mechanical and civil engineering principles – throw everything at it and the kitchen sink, and see what works and what doesn’t. Always reminds me of the youth and their silly pranks suspending a Volkswagen Beetle from rafters and ceilings.

At the onset of the rubbled mess, we can begin to strategize a path to repair the impair. As mentioned, finding a curtain to pull over the stars and call a home to rest weary eyes in peace is the first priority – but structure and repair also need infrastructure. The things that tie us together – the gravity in perpetual motion design – the magnets that propel us to the stars… infrastructure.


Call them underground tunnels, call them strings across the sky, the pipes and channels and transmissions that pull us tight and ring our phones is infrastructure. Over the past century our infrastructure development has paved the way to our two great Oceans. From sea to shining sea, the prospects of seeing a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel is only a short distance away. A gentleman once told me he saw a train at the end of that tunnel – I scoffed and wrote his buffoonery off to the light-hearted conversation of pumps and pulleys. Infrastructure can never lead us down a railroad track – well, I suppose it could…

Electrically Driven

To tie our things together, we first need a gift – something that would be cherished for a life time. Freedom was the first gift – and we built our highways to feed our tunnels with the wildest dreams of the oceans. Our freedoms from sea to sea. Our next gift, wrapped tightly in a knot, was our comfort, or our energy supply – gas and juice. 5 amperes, 120 volts and you’ve got yourself one helluva light bulb there James Watt! To feed our thirst for gas and juice, we set up networks of tightly bound energy streams, all pumped and drilled and connected to our little dots in the distance – we are our own tiny little lights at the end of a long tunnel. And we drink the gas and juice. We revel in it’s moisture-rific succulence and we crave to have more, like the nicotine addict to the patch.

Fire Class C Extinguisher

The thirst for moisture and water to prevent our dehydration is innate – we must have these comforts in order to survive. The infrastructure for water supply is solid, not quite for the whole of the worlds, but if we can fix ourselves, we can help to fix others. The thirst however, is never satisfied in the world of entropic energy. The petroleums that drive our worlds. The next gift to tie our things together, is to open up a present and to find a nice warm hand-sewn blanket – a comfort. An infrastructure system dedicated to tying in our solar panels, our geothermal wells, and our wind farms. These remote locations of the world can now be our sparks of safety flares in the distance. If we build this gift to ourselves, we’ll be unwrapping more presents by the next celebration of Christ – we’ll have jobs to support this development – rigs, platforms, kaleidascopes, mirrors, squirt guns and bulled horns – we need this to be the next great pioneering campaign. I could never imagine a pioneer without an altruistic sense of purpose – a pioneer dreaming of freely blowing winds, soft billowing clouds of steam beneath us, or eternal sunshine glowing brightly into the phosphorescence of our souls.

We can build this – we just need to first think about what we can build with our heaps of junk in our garbage cans. By the time the garbage stinks enough, the methane gases will rise and spark with light bulbs going off above our heads. We just need to think about these things that tie knots.

Real courage is risking something that you have to keep on living with, real courage is risking something that might force you to rethink your thoughts and suffer change and stretch consciousness. Real courage is risking one's cliches."

Tom Robbins - Another Roadside Attraction

Monday, February 9, 2009

Spring Cleaning

In my bed I sleep.  It’s comfortable, it’s pillowy, it lets my dreams float on to images of the universe.  Fantastic colours weaving and shaping – my inner psyche unleashed.  The dreams have been peaceful, with the exception of an alter universe of myself with an obese walrus…

I sleep on my stomach, with my back to the stars.  I’m not sure why.  Maybe it’s knowing the roof above me will hold.  I’ll always have shelter.  I don’t think I’d be able to dream without a shelter, staring into space at night would keep me awake.  A Universe in my own backyard.  

Dust Up

Lately I haven’t slept well.  Bed Bugs Bite I suppose.  Maybe my roof is collapsing.  But I also live in a property which is rapidly losing value.  The property I bought is more suited for renters and transients – as is what I presumed when I bought it.  I wasn’t a renter – but was I a transient?  Thermodynamics tell me a transient state is steady-state – and there is way too much entropy for me to stay transient!  So I now face a property that I don’t want, and I don’t need. 


When I bought the property, I planned to find a suitable renter one day, and provide a shelter for someone.  The place is small, easily maintainable for the organized and has brought me comfort for the last 2 years.  But I don’t need it now.  It may be tough to find renters at this time, mind you, it may be tougher to find buyers.  While randomly being excited, I came across the concept of rent-to-own. 

Simple in nature, but intended to ‘ease’ a buyer into a home, the concept is this:

1 – a buyer pays both rent and an amount of Principle every month. 

2 - The Principle is an amount to save up, stored away for that rainy day – down-payment day. 

3 – Rent is provided for the seller to make mortgage payments owed on the property. 

4 – When the down-payment day is reached, at some point in time, let’s say 3 years from now, the saved money from the Principle is used as down payment for purchase of the home, or let’s say 5% of the total purchase price (it can be 10%, it can be 20%).

5 – the sale price of the home will be determined at the time the lease-to-sale agreement is reached.

6 - the renter and seller, will provide a shelter for the duration of the ‘renting’ period, or 3 years, as above. 

7 – at the onset of 3 years, the renter can choose to purchase the agreed price with the saved down-payment, or forfit the down-payment as penalty so the seller can re-balance the ongoing mortgage payments or equity building. 

Garbage Collection

What also keeps me awake are noises.  Noises along my street – noises in the air.  I sometimes think to myself – do I really own my home?  I sometimes think no – right now, my bank does, and I pay interest.  And quite a lot of interest. 

Its sometimes tough selling kool-aid to a crowd of bloated fish.  When I observed the beginning of the collapse of the housing market in the U.S., I was in Philadelphia at the time, city of brotherly love.  I drove out to Amish country, out towards Reading – a quiet technological hub.  The serene morning drives along the superhiways brought me to see my first cooling tower – a spectacle of concrete and imagination.  The drives also brought me through signs of trouble ahead – everything for sale.  The Mindy’s and Maxes smiling away with a fake plastic, eager to please and eager to gain – come take a business card - You can see my feign before the pain… Homes were abound and eager to be bought!   The madman’s cabaret of high-risk gambling feeding off the promises of ownership to all with the quick signature and zero down was a dance that will not be forgotten.  The crunch locked things up.  The crunch stopped the leaky drain.  The crunch stopped the northern brigade. 


I do blame part of the credit crunch on my current blissful unemployment.  I live in a city that is currently feeling it - a city that brought promises of prosperity and home ownership, only to find out it wasn’t sustainable.  The good times may be gone, but they won’t be forgotten.  The city may dwindle a few transients away, but the boom times have definitely brought a new enlightenment to what is sustainable and what isn’t.  High risk speculation may have drowned a few rats in the city I live in, but rats always seem to endure – at least the people that are somehow tied to the city will stay.  People that still dream of prosperity.    

I once thought to myself, do I really need to own a home?  Or am I just renting it until I pay my toll along the River Ganges?  The method in which mortgages were handed out to anyone passing by worried me at the time.  Pressure being enforced by all, realtor, seller, and buyer.  At no point were renters ever considered.  And I do like this concept – a renter with vested interest to be a buyer one day.  And I do like the concept that this type of transaction can be carried out without the Max and Mindy’s spewing cookie smell from a spray can.  

Couch Potato

I’d love to own a home one day.  My piece of the world.  The ethics that were followed in the collapse of the banking world cannot be a part of my piece of the world.  Housing strategies need to be revised.  They need a clear and concise review of how this happened, and where the leaks were.  A leaky roof sometimes won’t go fixed until the landlord is notified.  Let’s figure out how to get people into homes properly, without loopholes, catamarans, burgoo, bruxer, or brummagem.   Get the housing system fixed before anything else… get people into homes.  


Sunday, February 8, 2009

Dawn of the Day

It dawned on me the other Day - how random things are.  I ran into an old friend.  Just walking to a grocery store, and there was this talking bottle of Heinz 57 Ketchup - mixed from authentic backgrounds, but as western as an old dirty cowboy.  He rustled up to me in his chinks and boots, smoking his Malboro.  Well what the fuck?  I thought the same.  In all of the vast area of the city, we ran into each other at the parking lot at 9:30 pm.  I was searching for toiletries; he was out on a date, typical Wayne. 

It also happened a few weeks back, Day's it seems though - walking along a path to nowhere, with somewhere in mind - I passed a dog I was in love with - an Akita Inu.  These breeds were first introduced to me by a sweet angel, and here he was – the first I ever witnessed and knew – an Akita Inu.  I mindlessly passed the owners, when no further than twenty paces, I turned to look again at the dog.  At the same time, the owner turned around, familiar with my face, and he asked if we knew each other.  He was from my hometown.  On some random road, at some random time, in another time zone, he realized the randomness of it all, typical Ty.    

By pure randomness while writing, I typed in Akeda while searching for a picture of the aforementioned Akita.  A random link posted – The Binding of Isaac.  These words were never planned to be published, but in the event of the subject hour, I decided to re-shift my attention to this random path.  And this is truly a subject that I think is random – Religion.  A topic I seldom like to discuss. 

I have not read any Religious passages in detail, with the exception of the Tao Teh Ching.  As mentioned, I’ve picked and prodded, but this random link to the Akita led me to Akeda, which led me to the Binding of Isaac.

Genesis 22 / Hebrew – English Bible / Mechon-Mamre

The passage begins with a word from God, requesting the sacrifice, or slaughter, of a man’s only son. 

The passage continues with a 3-day travel – the man’s son curiously wondering the final journey – curious to a fault. 

The passage is fearful when at the end of the travel, the man builds an altar, binds his son and lays him upon altar and wood – and the father draws a knife blade. 

The passage is calmed when an Angel appears, a voice of the LORD assuring to the man that it is known that he is God-fearing – and that the sacrifice is not necessary. 

This passage is why I do not understand some Religious beliefs. 

I cannot openly accept that any overseeing power would ask us to sacrifice that which is most previous to us – children - I would never accept to send any of my children to sacrifice. 

I cannot openly lead a child to danger, no matter what the journey – their curiosity needs protecting.

I cannot openly hurt a child.  Never even in my wildest dreams.  If I did – I would consult Freud.

I cannot openly believe in a God that casts fearful doubts of love to his disciples.

There has been much recent controversy surrounding a group of Atheists in London campaigning for the free right to advertise their cause.  For the longest time, I resented their pushy cause for preaching – I don’t need to hear anyone’s Religious beliefs, thank-you.  It wasn’t until recently the other Day, that a random path led me to a discussion which allowed me to realize that they weren’t necessarily preaching, they are getting their fair share of advertisement blitzing.  After all, if a faith that follows passages dictating us to sacrifice our sons is getting radio, TV, and all types of media play – why can’t the Atheists? 

Just to clarify, I don’t consider myself an Atheist.  It was the Tao that taught me that

Names can be named, but not the Eternal Name. 

It was from the Nameless that Heaven and Earth sprang

 Nameless and Eternal sounds find to me.