Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The amusing jumble that is my mind makes for good times. Laughing the whole way as I attempt to make heads of tails of any given thought at any given moment. It contorts so well, a gymnast making shapes on a floor while taking Yoga lessons. The true contortionist -- and I wonder as to the why's or the how's but never get an answer. And if the glinting of an answer is to be had, it only makes way for the bulldozer and paving crew as they make an in-way for more questions. Lest we forget that the mind is a funny thing, the questions are all comical, as all questions are. A why here, a how there, with puzzling little question-marks in tow like ducklings following a mother. Only they're crossing a highway and being squashed by passing vehicle traffic. All my questions, smashed and turned to gunk -- a pile of gunk on the side of the road with fast congealing blood and rotting paraphernalia. But talking about these questions, attempting to reveal what they are, there's no fun in that. Just musing about them being there and why I have no answers is more interesting. I could seek out answers, or wait for answers, or never even attempt to find answers. Regardless, some are answered, others are not. So as it may seem that I have an answer to the whim of a question, I in fact do not. And now I'm off to go write something else...that needs answers to questions. How's and why's and where's and what's and who's and when's. Extrapolations of ideas and musings and inklings and thoughts rolling into a massive compilation of jargon. A mishmash of technical literalnesses that could make sense and won't make sense but just might make sense. But only to someone with an eye for it. Forget reading between the lines.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
I was with my brother. We were driving to Kamloops. We were talking, as people often do, about all sorts of things. But we were drawn into a silence when we passed a person. He was an Asian man, no problems here. He was sitting on the stump of a tree. Still, no problems -- nothing that would draw us into silence for a split second. The stump as at the end of the driveway. Still no reason to pay attention, only it was what he was doing -- rocking out to a guitar while sitting on a tree stump at the end of his driveway that was next to the highway. The whys of this will never be answered -- we didn't stop to ask him. But it silenced my conversation with my brother as we both wondered a moment, then voiced this wonderment with the all encompassing exclamation of misunderstanding -- What. The fuck. Mind you, I've seen some interesting things in my life, but a man rocking out on his guitar while on a tree stump next a highway takes the proverbial cake on this one. At least until I can remember another little twisted thing from the depths of my memory. But, it wasn't just the fact that he was playing guitar, but the way. Head banging was taking place, full body rocking -- a back-and-forth as he slashed himself through the air his hands tracing the strings frantically. Again, I won't know the why. I could speculate, but that's all it would be. But I'll do it just the same:
- Maybe he was trying to cheer up drivers with his antics. They were amusing to see, and after the episode of confusion had passed, I laughed.
- Maybe he's trying to distract drivers and cause an accident. Wouldn't be an impossibility.
- Maybe he's actually a hitchhiker and doesn't actually live at the house at the end of the driveway and this is his best method for getting people to pull over and give him a ride. A bum on the road with his thumb up? You might pass him. But a bum on the side of the road playing a guitar with so much energy and just hoping to get a ride to his next destination while playing "Stairway to Heaven"? Oh, very possible indeed.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
As Beast, Sniper and Demon exited the pub, which was more a run-down shabby establishment for the mentally insane (it said so on the sign), they ran into a DemonicHoard. Oh, it could be said that this hoard was a single person with many selves, which could be true, but the reality was his original name was Demonic. He only became a hoard after a very badly done exercise in cloning. The problem stemming from the fact that they all thought and said the same thing at the same time. And there were about fifty of them. "Oh...oh God," Demon said, smelling the smell to end all smells. "What is that?" "What is what?" asked Sniper, who, as per his usual idiosyncratic self was off in something less like reality. Beast was wrinkling his nose (more like wrinkling the area in his face where a nose may have been, but the fur was shaggy enough to make it so the telling of whether there was a nose or not became difficult). "I think the smell in question is them," Beast said at length. The army of three faced off against the DemonicHoard of fifty. The glazed over red eyes seemed to penetrate their very souls, hungering, thirsting for blood. Demon actually began to wonder if this might be the end of his life. That he might die here today at the hands of one of these freaks. But he was saved... As a boy in a monkey suit yelling "DKFAN SMASH!" came whirling through the hoard spinning like a cyclone. The hoard, distracted from its stare-down of Demon and Co. turned toward the kid and began to move like zombies (which they may have been). "Run!" Demon yelled, and ran. Beast followed. Sniper stood there picking his nose. Demon and Beast got a fair ways away when Beast turned, then asked, "What about Sniper?" "He'll be fine. Let's get out of here." And they did.