It took a week for the government to realize that Bill C-30 was too big a pill for Canadians to swallow. The ridiculous notion that a rejection of uninhibited government surveillance was somehow equivalent to child porn advocacy invited a swift revolt from thousands of Canadians. The catalyst that lit a fire under the generally apathetic arses of media-sedated Canadians originated in the mind of a liberal staffer under the umbrella of "Vikileaks". While the bill isn't yet completely dead, in it's initially proposed form it thankfully will never see the light of day. The founder of this amazing and unprecedented movement amongst Canadians (who came forward of his own accord) is now to be called to the House of Commons by the ruling Conservatives to answer for his 'crimes'. Meanwhile, that same Conservative Party is neck deep in allegations of electoral fraud throughout the country and has expressed no desire to investigate any of the claims.
I'm reminded of the wikileaks scandal in the US, in which Bradley Manning leaked footage of cruel and brutal murders of civillians by the US Military. The soldiers involved in the murders have gone uncharged. Bradley Manning stands accused of treason, and could face the death penalty, while simultaneously being recognized beyond his borders as one of the nominees for the Nobel Peace Prize.
Adam Carrol while certainly not facing the death penalty, does face persecution, and possibly prosecution for initiating one of the most effective acts of civil disobedience in the history of our nation.
In my opinion, Carrol is a hero. He has reinvented democracy for the cybermasses. No longer do we have to sit idly by while our government tightens their grip on the people. Now we can sit idly by and revolt against tyranny in 140 characters or less, to MASSIVE effect. Whitman and Thoreau would be proud. Whatever happens to Carrol after this, history will remember him as a Canadian dedicated to the principles of freedom.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Scotland
A letter home that I'll blog instead.
I'm on the train to Ayr right now, passing through what's known as "The Roman Frontier". It's the home of Hadrian's Wall, where the Roman emperor Hadrian built a wall running the entire breadth of the country to protect his soldiers from the Scots Reivers (of whom I and consequently our children are direct ancestors). There isn't a Scot alive that doesn't know the story of the vanished Roman Legion that disappeared completely from the Borders, only to be found 1000 years later at the bottom of a loch in Scotland.
Sleeping across from me is a sight all too common on the West Coast. A young tough with a nearly shaved head is snoring away peacefully. I say sleeping but he's passed out with a half finished tall boy of skol in front of him and the smell of beer and cologne thick and sweet. He's wearing heavy workboots that have never seen a day of work. Much like me he's wearing them for insurance against confrontation rather than compensation. I come by my paranoia honestly you know. I'm going to try to snap a pic of him.
It's amazing how quickly the train cleared of English people at Carlisle. I'm surrounded by thick glasgow accents, black hair and blue eyes right now. It's a good feeling.
Earlier I passed by a Scottish school that was just letting out. It looked identical to the one I'd attended, and it's cold and wet in Scotland today. It brought back memories, but almost no positive ones. I'm going to work on building some here this time. I owe it to my dad, my kids and myself. I just get a feeling of penultimate sadness driving past all the poor and rundown areas by the tracks. I hope I can reconcile it.
The guy across from me just woke up. He slept through his stop. When he got up we had a nearly unintelligible conversation and then he asked about the accent.
"So you from America?"
"You won't believe me if I tell you where I'm from." I said and I told him Ayr and that I'd been in Canada for 25 years. And then it was all big tough guy barroom warrior handshakes and much love and smiles. Bastards like that turn on you in a second here though so I stayed wary but warm. And that's not me being paranoid. Everyone else on the train seems nice enough however.
I have to change trains at Kilmarnock. My route through Scotland has been Carlisle, gretna green, annan, dumfries, sanquhar, kirkconnel, new cumnock and auchinleck so far, with the next stop being Kilmarnock. Kilmarnock is where my friends and I used to sell the scrap metal we stole from the salvage yard in Ayr. (Just got a picture of the glasgow drunk before he woke up btw.) I've recently found out that the yard we stole it from belonged to a man my dad went to school with. Feel a bit horrible about it now.
Just changed trains at Kilmarnock. I had a few minutes between trains so I walked around a bit looking for a coke. A young guy about 20 was changing trains too, and he came up and said (in a good Glasgow/west coast accent) "Nae bar here?" I said not that I know of and he said "FUCK'S sake!"
ah home.
I'm on the train to Ayr right now, passing through what's known as "The Roman Frontier". It's the home of Hadrian's Wall, where the Roman emperor Hadrian built a wall running the entire breadth of the country to protect his soldiers from the Scots Reivers (of whom I and consequently our children are direct ancestors). There isn't a Scot alive that doesn't know the story of the vanished Roman Legion that disappeared completely from the Borders, only to be found 1000 years later at the bottom of a loch in Scotland.
Sleeping across from me is a sight all too common on the West Coast. A young tough with a nearly shaved head is snoring away peacefully. I say sleeping but he's passed out with a half finished tall boy of skol in front of him and the smell of beer and cologne thick and sweet. He's wearing heavy workboots that have never seen a day of work. Much like me he's wearing them for insurance against confrontation rather than compensation. I come by my paranoia honestly you know. I'm going to try to snap a pic of him.
It's amazing how quickly the train cleared of English people at Carlisle. I'm surrounded by thick glasgow accents, black hair and blue eyes right now. It's a good feeling.
Earlier I passed by a Scottish school that was just letting out. It looked identical to the one I'd attended, and it's cold and wet in Scotland today. It brought back memories, but almost no positive ones. I'm going to work on building some here this time. I owe it to my dad, my kids and myself. I just get a feeling of penultimate sadness driving past all the poor and rundown areas by the tracks. I hope I can reconcile it.
The guy across from me just woke up. He slept through his stop. When he got up we had a nearly unintelligible conversation and then he asked about the accent.
"So you from America?"
"You won't believe me if I tell you where I'm from." I said and I told him Ayr and that I'd been in Canada for 25 years. And then it was all big tough guy barroom warrior handshakes and much love and smiles. Bastards like that turn on you in a second here though so I stayed wary but warm. And that's not me being paranoid. Everyone else on the train seems nice enough however.
I have to change trains at Kilmarnock. My route through Scotland has been Carlisle, gretna green, annan, dumfries, sanquhar, kirkconnel, new cumnock and auchinleck so far, with the next stop being Kilmarnock. Kilmarnock is where my friends and I used to sell the scrap metal we stole from the salvage yard in Ayr. (Just got a picture of the glasgow drunk before he woke up btw.) I've recently found out that the yard we stole it from belonged to a man my dad went to school with. Feel a bit horrible about it now.
Just changed trains at Kilmarnock. I had a few minutes between trains so I walked around a bit looking for a coke. A young guy about 20 was changing trains too, and he came up and said (in a good Glasgow/west coast accent) "Nae bar here?" I said not that I know of and he said "FUCK'S sake!"
ah home.
england
I am rolling through the countryside of Northern England, headed for my hometown in Scotland. It's a beautiful day, by which I mean the sun is high and warm and bright enough that it ignites the colors of the hills and trees and homes and trains in full spectrum high res. A 1080 HD kind of day.
The train is quiet, a gentle rocking with a white noise whirring hush keeping my state meditative and near transcendent in the moments that I start to nod off. The only other sounds are those of the girl sitting across the table from me, writing in her notebook and humming a soft soprano celtic tune. A stolen glance at the pendant bouncing about a bouncing cleavage reveals a heart shaped locket wrapped in a thistle and I'm proud again to be Scottish.
Ancient walls line the tracks as we pass through the cities and towns, stained black with the centuries old coal smoke of warm hearths and orange lit cobblestone streets.
In the countryside it all opens up though. Trees and rolling hills covered in lush green grasses that seem somehow wetter, thicker, softer and warmer than ours. Faraway cows and faraway sheep are stuck like steak pegs in the hillside, and the high def sun shows 10,000 shades of green, constantly shifting in the shadows of North Atlantic clouds.
The rivers I pass are dark murky and cold, more a grey blue slate than the blue green liquer back home. Still used as highways by lumbering barges and cargo ships, lined with quays and docks older than any family tree I know of, they are dotted with elegant white swans drifting lazy noble and with an English calm on the gentle waves.
It's autumn and occassionally we'll pass freshly fleeced flocks of foolish sheep, standing thin and stupidly vulnerable like newly shorn shih-tzus waiting to go out for a pee.. The term 'sheepish' never more accurate than it is on the face of a plucked poltroon of a sheep lamenting it's lost wooliness.
I have to confess that I hated Britain before this trip. I was here before, in my teens with my parents, who were then approaching 60. I saw nothing of the country except what nostalgic 60 year olds wanted to see. It was all Coronation Street and Marks and Sparks and chippys. I'm seeing a different Britain this time around.
This is a progressive country. More concerned with the environment than the average self righteous Canadian. Walking is a preferred method of commuting here. In the clubs of Newcastle I danced all night, and never once feared for a fight. If while dancing in a drunken stupor I happened to bump into another guy, more often than not we'd wind up in wildy exuberant dance ourselves. There's a palpable enthusiasm and joie de vivre here. The workers that I'm here to train are some of the finest young people I've ever met. So different than the sleepy kids back home that sit drooling with anticipation as you contemplate sending someone home early each night.
The confidence, humor and perseverance I see in the average English kid is inspiring. I can honestly say I no longer harbor resentment towards the English.
That's all that I have for now. I'm writing this on the train and I'll publish it later.
It's time to slip back into that beautiful meditative state. It's a strange and mystic roll through the Roman Frontier for the next little while, travelling through places impossible to say without a Scots accent;
Carlisle, Gretna Green, Annan, Dumfries, Sanquhar, Kirkconnel, New Cumnock, Auchinleck and Kilmarnock.
The train is quiet, a gentle rocking with a white noise whirring hush keeping my state meditative and near transcendent in the moments that I start to nod off. The only other sounds are those of the girl sitting across the table from me, writing in her notebook and humming a soft soprano celtic tune. A stolen glance at the pendant bouncing about a bouncing cleavage reveals a heart shaped locket wrapped in a thistle and I'm proud again to be Scottish.
Ancient walls line the tracks as we pass through the cities and towns, stained black with the centuries old coal smoke of warm hearths and orange lit cobblestone streets.
In the countryside it all opens up though. Trees and rolling hills covered in lush green grasses that seem somehow wetter, thicker, softer and warmer than ours. Faraway cows and faraway sheep are stuck like steak pegs in the hillside, and the high def sun shows 10,000 shades of green, constantly shifting in the shadows of North Atlantic clouds.
The rivers I pass are dark murky and cold, more a grey blue slate than the blue green liquer back home. Still used as highways by lumbering barges and cargo ships, lined with quays and docks older than any family tree I know of, they are dotted with elegant white swans drifting lazy noble and with an English calm on the gentle waves.
It's autumn and occassionally we'll pass freshly fleeced flocks of foolish sheep, standing thin and stupidly vulnerable like newly shorn shih-tzus waiting to go out for a pee.. The term 'sheepish' never more accurate than it is on the face of a plucked poltroon of a sheep lamenting it's lost wooliness.
I have to confess that I hated Britain before this trip. I was here before, in my teens with my parents, who were then approaching 60. I saw nothing of the country except what nostalgic 60 year olds wanted to see. It was all Coronation Street and Marks and Sparks and chippys. I'm seeing a different Britain this time around.
This is a progressive country. More concerned with the environment than the average self righteous Canadian. Walking is a preferred method of commuting here. In the clubs of Newcastle I danced all night, and never once feared for a fight. If while dancing in a drunken stupor I happened to bump into another guy, more often than not we'd wind up in wildy exuberant dance ourselves. There's a palpable enthusiasm and joie de vivre here. The workers that I'm here to train are some of the finest young people I've ever met. So different than the sleepy kids back home that sit drooling with anticipation as you contemplate sending someone home early each night.
The confidence, humor and perseverance I see in the average English kid is inspiring. I can honestly say I no longer harbor resentment towards the English.
That's all that I have for now. I'm writing this on the train and I'll publish it later.
It's time to slip back into that beautiful meditative state. It's a strange and mystic roll through the Roman Frontier for the next little while, travelling through places impossible to say without a Scots accent;
Carlisle, Gretna Green, Annan, Dumfries, Sanquhar, Kirkconnel, New Cumnock, Auchinleck and Kilmarnock.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Into the Mystic.
I had a direction for this post two days ago, but I didn't have time for it. Now I have time for it, but I forget which direction I was going to take. So I'll start rambling and hopefully it comes back to me.
Jung wrote of the 'participation mystique'. Anyone that's ever watched a technicolor sunrise spill orange juice and grenadine over fast retreating darkness will understand this implicitly. In layman's terms the participation mystique refers to the sense of oneness and unity that humanity had with the environment when we were primitive active participants in it. The magic of the universe is somehow more palpable in natural places than it is in our urban islands of insanity. It's why walking to work seems so much more refreshing than biking, why a good thunderstorm is more exciting than the best hollywood blockbuster.
This week I'm disconnecting cable and my land line. I'll be using just the internet and my cell phone for all of my family's communication and entertainment needs. I'd love to say that this comes from some noble motivation like going off grid, or raising less media dependent children. I'd love to say that it's an attempt to reconnect with nature. It's not. It's cheaper, and I can get movies and tv over the net.
That being said, I'm an optimist of the highest order. The big telecom and cable companies are struggling because a lot of people are doing what I'm doing. I like to think of it as a form of evolution. The further integration of humanity and technology. Unlike most hippies, I believe that science and technology won't bring about the destruction of mankind, but that they are our best hope.
I read a fantastic article this week. Organic light is a reality already, with bio-luminous trees a very real possibility in the not too distant future. Imagine a world where instead of streetlights our roads are lined with glowing trees. Instead of lamps you'd read by the light of bio-luminous palm fronds. I see a world where all our devices become hybrid organics, giving back oxygen, taking away greenhouse gasses, and perhaps more importantly, returning our species to a partnership with nature as opposed to a battle against it. Not going to proofread this, because I'm pretty tired right now. Those are the thoughts in a nutshell anyway. Maybe not as coherent or flowing as I'd like, there they are.
Jung wrote of the 'participation mystique'. Anyone that's ever watched a technicolor sunrise spill orange juice and grenadine over fast retreating darkness will understand this implicitly. In layman's terms the participation mystique refers to the sense of oneness and unity that humanity had with the environment when we were primitive active participants in it. The magic of the universe is somehow more palpable in natural places than it is in our urban islands of insanity. It's why walking to work seems so much more refreshing than biking, why a good thunderstorm is more exciting than the best hollywood blockbuster.
This week I'm disconnecting cable and my land line. I'll be using just the internet and my cell phone for all of my family's communication and entertainment needs. I'd love to say that this comes from some noble motivation like going off grid, or raising less media dependent children. I'd love to say that it's an attempt to reconnect with nature. It's not. It's cheaper, and I can get movies and tv over the net.
That being said, I'm an optimist of the highest order. The big telecom and cable companies are struggling because a lot of people are doing what I'm doing. I like to think of it as a form of evolution. The further integration of humanity and technology. Unlike most hippies, I believe that science and technology won't bring about the destruction of mankind, but that they are our best hope.
I read a fantastic article this week. Organic light is a reality already, with bio-luminous trees a very real possibility in the not too distant future. Imagine a world where instead of streetlights our roads are lined with glowing trees. Instead of lamps you'd read by the light of bio-luminous palm fronds. I see a world where all our devices become hybrid organics, giving back oxygen, taking away greenhouse gasses, and perhaps more importantly, returning our species to a partnership with nature as opposed to a battle against it. Not going to proofread this, because I'm pretty tired right now. Those are the thoughts in a nutshell anyway. Maybe not as coherent or flowing as I'd like, there they are.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
One Flew East, One Flew West.
I have had a difficult time over the years, due primarily to the efforts of my worst enemy. The enemy in this case being myself. I've had a delightful condition called bipolar mood disorder that I've loved with a passion despite the damage it's done me. In 40 years I've rarely held a job more than a year. I leave jobs for myriad reasons, but I've come to realize over the past year that it's all related back to my brain chemistry. There has been the odd time I found the world so bleak that getting out of bed and going to work was simply too much to ask for. Getting dressed, walking out the door, at some point having to talk to another human being...more than I could face, and another job bites the dust. There have been other times on a manic upswing, compelled by a higher calling I'd leave the menial and meaningless tasks of whatever 'job' I had, convinced that the only path to a creative life would necessitate the burning of all bridges behind me.
By far the most common reason I've left jobs however would be a combination of high anxiety and low bullshit tolerance. There's a period somewhere in between the highs and the lows where an all encompassing loathing and irritability permeates every aspect of every relationship, task, thought, feeling. At times the anxiety peaks into a near paranoia. The fear of losing a job, combined with the anxiety of trying to read everyone's motivations drives me to quit, just to ease my mind. Or the grave insult of being talked down to becomes an unforgivable slight that only a fool or a wimp would tolerate.
That's the way things were. I've since started on an anti-depressant, and I've been on and off of it for the better part of a year now. On it I'm complacent, conformist,calm, collected, conservative and practical. Well, more so than at other times anyway. I've held my job for more than 3 years, and it's a stressful and demanding job with more than it's fair share of bullshit. Twice since starting the meds I've weaned myself off of them. Both times I saw the promised exacerbation of symptoms. Once I exacerbated up, once into that horrible fucking gray area of permanent dystopian aggravation.
I realized that as a provider for my family it's pretty imperative that I stay on these pills.
Today has me a bit nostalgic for the brilliant madness again however. I've just recovered from some pretty painful throat surgery, and today was really the first day that I felt good in long time. I got a good amount of sleep last night after a 20km run on my longboard, and I woke up enervated and optimistic. At work I had a coffee and the caffeine went straight to my bloodstream, which is something I haven't felt in a long time either. I decided I would get 'jacked' on caffeine and I had a couple more pints of coffee. Soon I was rolling in a state bordering on hypomania. I had racing creative thoughts, I was meeting strangers and hitting hard and fast banter that brought huge smiles and that mixed look of bewilderment and amazement that inspired rambling tends to elicit from normies.
I miss that. I miss being able to energize a whole room. I miss having a mainline to the divine where puns and poetic turns and prosaic prolific ideas come at you warp 9 and gaining. So fast, so brilliant, so many ideas and all of them setting off a pyrotechnic cerebro magnificent firestorm in the brain that leaves me amazed I have such thought processes.
I miss it. But I know where it leads too. It leads to explosions of rage at any attempt to control or harness my energy. It leads to dangerous obsessions with ridiculous things or people, to sleepless nights and exhausted family members sick of trying to keep up with me. It leads to flirtations s(without consummations) that risk my entire family's well being and harmony.
I've just taken my little white pill again, before writing this. I'm wired and I can feel HAARP style bolts of neuro-electric blasts rising in tempo and temperament and I know that I could be taken somewhere simultaneously magnificent and horrible if I just let it ride. The temptation is there, even knowing the seriousness of the consequences. It's there because this ordinary life, when I'm not somatized into domesticity is stifling. So I'll take the soma for now. And in a few days I won't miss this anymore. I won't want it. I won't want much of anything, because I'll have a carefully metered contentment that turns me into a well behaved ordinary citizen.
By far the most common reason I've left jobs however would be a combination of high anxiety and low bullshit tolerance. There's a period somewhere in between the highs and the lows where an all encompassing loathing and irritability permeates every aspect of every relationship, task, thought, feeling. At times the anxiety peaks into a near paranoia. The fear of losing a job, combined with the anxiety of trying to read everyone's motivations drives me to quit, just to ease my mind. Or the grave insult of being talked down to becomes an unforgivable slight that only a fool or a wimp would tolerate.
That's the way things were. I've since started on an anti-depressant, and I've been on and off of it for the better part of a year now. On it I'm complacent, conformist,calm, collected, conservative and practical. Well, more so than at other times anyway. I've held my job for more than 3 years, and it's a stressful and demanding job with more than it's fair share of bullshit. Twice since starting the meds I've weaned myself off of them. Both times I saw the promised exacerbation of symptoms. Once I exacerbated up, once into that horrible fucking gray area of permanent dystopian aggravation.
I realized that as a provider for my family it's pretty imperative that I stay on these pills.
Today has me a bit nostalgic for the brilliant madness again however. I've just recovered from some pretty painful throat surgery, and today was really the first day that I felt good in long time. I got a good amount of sleep last night after a 20km run on my longboard, and I woke up enervated and optimistic. At work I had a coffee and the caffeine went straight to my bloodstream, which is something I haven't felt in a long time either. I decided I would get 'jacked' on caffeine and I had a couple more pints of coffee. Soon I was rolling in a state bordering on hypomania. I had racing creative thoughts, I was meeting strangers and hitting hard and fast banter that brought huge smiles and that mixed look of bewilderment and amazement that inspired rambling tends to elicit from normies.
I miss that. I miss being able to energize a whole room. I miss having a mainline to the divine where puns and poetic turns and prosaic prolific ideas come at you warp 9 and gaining. So fast, so brilliant, so many ideas and all of them setting off a pyrotechnic cerebro magnificent firestorm in the brain that leaves me amazed I have such thought processes.
I miss it. But I know where it leads too. It leads to explosions of rage at any attempt to control or harness my energy. It leads to dangerous obsessions with ridiculous things or people, to sleepless nights and exhausted family members sick of trying to keep up with me. It leads to flirtations s(without consummations) that risk my entire family's well being and harmony.
I've just taken my little white pill again, before writing this. I'm wired and I can feel HAARP style bolts of neuro-electric blasts rising in tempo and temperament and I know that I could be taken somewhere simultaneously magnificent and horrible if I just let it ride. The temptation is there, even knowing the seriousness of the consequences. It's there because this ordinary life, when I'm not somatized into domesticity is stifling. So I'll take the soma for now. And in a few days I won't miss this anymore. I won't want it. I won't want much of anything, because I'll have a carefully metered contentment that turns me into a well behaved ordinary citizen.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Manny! Look at dat pelican fly! C'maaaan Pelican!
Moments of sheer and utter bliss have been lacking this year I'm sad to say. An early spring led to a pretty crappy June and my summer rush was delayed. Followed that up with tonsil surgery and 2 weeks of unbelievable pain. It's kept me down a bit and I think today may finally have been the first day of feeling really great again. This was evidenced by a zen moment along the river again today. Gotta love that river.
A major winding section of road is currently closed down due to the threat of rising water levels. The water hasn't hit the road yet, but it has cleared all traffic off of 4 lanes of pristine asphalt on one of the most scenic parts of the riverbank.
I was boarding this stretch as part of my base building for the 100k board session I have planned 3 weeks from now. There was a beautiful stretch of downhill, into a light wind. I love long stretches of downhill. As you hit your maximum velocity you get motion without energy, and there is a sense that you are detached and free from the Earth for the duration of the bomb. It was while coasting effortlessly along that I looked up and caught sight of a pelican doing precisely the same thing. It had spread it's wings, caught an air current and was just gliding along in perfect effortlessness. In that moment I felt what the bird felt. Not a power over anything as one might think, but an independence from everything. A freedom that only pelicans, seagulls and longboarders know.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Instant Gratification.
I'm all about instant gratification. I say this and people say to me "I can relate" and they generally reference a shopping purchase. I'm far beyond that. I need instant gratification on everything, even negatives.
When I was a kid if there was a big kid that wanted to beat me up I could not stand the anxiety of waiting and would seek him out. In high school if someone told me they were going to beat the shit out of me after school I'd challenge him to do it that very moment because I had stuff to do after school. Again, it was because of the horrors of waiting.
When I have a band aid that I know is going to hurt to tear off I do it at the earliest opportunity.
But by far the greatest example of my need for instant gratification is my compulsive news checking. I check the news about 30 times a day. Compulsive is perhaps the wrong word. I've never dropped out of doing something in order to check the news, I haven't a need to check the news, but I do check it a lot. What I'm looking for is a disaster, war, assassination, tragedy of such proportions that I will be able to clear my schedule for the day and just do what I want to do.
I secretly hope for a massive B.C. earthquake or the outbreak of the third world war, just so I will be able to stay home from work for the day. I don't think beyond that to the suffering that will follow, to the feelings of those who have suffered losses. I just want some time off and a clearing of responsibility for a while. It's with this hope that I check the news 30 times a day. Isn't that awful?
When I was a kid if there was a big kid that wanted to beat me up I could not stand the anxiety of waiting and would seek him out. In high school if someone told me they were going to beat the shit out of me after school I'd challenge him to do it that very moment because I had stuff to do after school. Again, it was because of the horrors of waiting.
When I have a band aid that I know is going to hurt to tear off I do it at the earliest opportunity.
But by far the greatest example of my need for instant gratification is my compulsive news checking. I check the news about 30 times a day. Compulsive is perhaps the wrong word. I've never dropped out of doing something in order to check the news, I haven't a need to check the news, but I do check it a lot. What I'm looking for is a disaster, war, assassination, tragedy of such proportions that I will be able to clear my schedule for the day and just do what I want to do.
I secretly hope for a massive B.C. earthquake or the outbreak of the third world war, just so I will be able to stay home from work for the day. I don't think beyond that to the suffering that will follow, to the feelings of those who have suffered losses. I just want some time off and a clearing of responsibility for a while. It's with this hope that I check the news 30 times a day. Isn't that awful?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
