singing problem

Hi, my name is Louis and I have a confession. I have a singing problem. I wake myself up every morning because I am singing to loud in my sleep- and it just continues throughout the whole day.

I can’t help it; it’s not even a conscious thought anymore. I’ve been to several doctors, and they keep pushing drugs on me- and I told them I don’t want to go that route, it’s not healthy, but I’ve usually been drinking and cave in and take them anyways.

I just break out on subways, restaurants, bathrooms, while teaching. I was singing so much that I had to go out and start a band, you might have seen us OLD MONEY, (shameless plug noted).

The only hope for me is knowing that I’m not the only one out there, a young urban professional; let’s call him Jed Pavolich came to me with the same problem. And we have been getting together to discuss our problems and try to put a positive spin on it.

So if you are anyone like Jed or myself, perhaps we could all meet and sing about our problems! HELP ME

winay pichu

The world is in the palm of my hands, a mere seed waiting to be planted.

Hidden in the clouds a secret garden consumes energy and breeds life in heavenly amounts. An overwhelming state sends my body into chills knowing I am in the presence of something magical.

Worlds and cultures collide at soaring heights.

A looming peak dances over the infamous Machu Pichu for adventurous trekkers who wish to see true beauty and magic come alive in a new perspective.

I choke for words to describe my feelings.

Slowly my dreams are coming to life, as I claim my stake on this world. The amazement of becoming familiar with new lands draws me to the brink of tears, as I mould my existence.

I’ve seen a miracle. My eyes scarred by the touch of magic. The seed has been planted.

May.8.08

theft in india

The act of theft from a child in India is reprimanded by driving over his arm with a vehicle leaving the child scarred for life and rendered futile for the remaining years of his life.

How is it that a child can be punished by the mind of an adult? Children are not fully grown in mind and act as children- then why should they have to live the rest of their life damaged for a crime they committed under a youths conscious? Not only is it unfair and unjust, it is disgustingly horrific that these actions are being implemented by minds that rule countries. It sounds like the childish minds have been reversed. We need more great minds in power. An individual, who is looking for greatness out of his people, should know that this act won’t deter children from stealing- children will act as children, and thus likely, starving will act as the starving. We were all one young- and acts like these will crush a society not help it flourish. 

march 6/2009

trip to paris

I went to the jays game today- biking in the rain to meet Jord and Cory quit we scalped 10$ tickets and snuck into the 100 level seats and watched the jays kick the rangers ass as they swatted 3 dingers in a 7-2 victory. I left in the 7^th cause of parking issues and cruised back to Dundas losing my Korea hat along the drive. The day before Tim and I took a leisure cruise to Paris, Ontario- a town lying on the shore of the Grand River that looked like a photo from the turn of the century- each building stood firm from its original structure. The length, if even, of a football field ran the towns strip; two dollars stores, a few cafes, the ubiquitous Chinese restaurant, a pub, canoe rental, candy and ice cream parlor, all of which had its feet in the sand of the Grande hosting a grand view of its own. Being labor day weekend the only store that caught my attention was closed- there is nothing more enjoyable in my books than to peruse towns for used book shops- it lets you peer into the lives and interest of the locals without the rigidness of the already standing buildings that have premeditated their daily choices along the strip. I believe I will come back next week with the mother on my bike to enjoy the old world feel and buy some more soy candles from this wonderful ladies garage.

sept 2010

sitting at the ship

Sitting outside the ship on Augusta with Kemeny, a lady at an adjacent table invites herself to watch or game of rummy in action- I being new to this bar, going out in Canada and also just being the nice naïve Jew that I am empty our third chair of my bags and pull it out for her to join- in doing so I unknowingly unleashed a cluster bomb of annoyance- this woman; 35 year old Vanessa with a v bled her life story on us while managing to drown us with her interest in riding my bike- I the betting man agreed to at the price of Jeremy beating me at a game of good ol rummy 500- a game I got in the bag. Now I’m a tad crazy myself, in a good way I’d like to think, and can definitely appreciate wacky, quirkiness- but I draw a fine line when a random individuals traits BOLTS herself past the above and into a league of intolerable blabber- much like Vanessa with a V was doing- yelling over our table to an attractive blonde “how old are you may I ask? I don’t want to be rude”- 29 the girl replies… “Oh my god shut up… you look amazing I would have thought 21 or 22… really you’re gorgeous… 29 I don’t believe it- you’ve aged beautifully” yadda…yadda...yadda… “You’re like a bottle of wine aging with beauty- guys isn’t she so beautiful” This is cool and all- a compliment is always a nice gesture, but when it goes on and on it becomes an annoyance and people just want to get back to their prior engagement- so that passes after a round of rolled eyes, raised eyebrows and tight lips before she’s onto music- asking me to pt a set in my ears to hear a song- top 40 no necessarily my go to but I listen and feign interest to Eminem and Rihana’s track “have you heard it before?” she blabbers “yep” I say focused on cards. “Do you like it?” Yeah it’s alright I say. “Its Eminem do you know him?” yeah I know who he is. He’s Albright I just don’t listen too much of him”.

“You don’t like Eminem??”

“Why don’t you take a look through my iPod” she says “but you’re probably not going to know any of the artists, I listen to obscure music”.

“I’ll give you 10$ if you can guess the next song” she says.

I can’t and don’t even guess because I haven’t a clue.

“It’s John Mayer. Do you know who he is?”

“Yep I’ve heard of him I say”

“Do you want to show me all you’re music?”She says.

“No, not really… I have a lot of music and I am kind of trying to focus on the game- feel free to look through it though”.

“Ooohhh” she retorts snidely followed by silence.

We continue playing our game taking it seriously like we always do- not to ignore her, just that she had finally taken a break and it was refreshing to have a little peace- though you could tell she retracted and took my response to heart- so I tried making peace “it’s cool that you’re here, we can talk it’s just that I don’t really want to walk through 1000+ songs at the moment when I’m in the middle of a game”

“No, ill just keep to myself”

“Well, that’s not what I said- I think you’re taking this the wrong way”.

Then the 4^th gentleman at our table whom she called over also introducing herself as Vanessa with a V- I chose a song on my iPod with a letter V, so she’s playing that song right now- so sit- he does and nearing the end of the night he point to my necklace and asks about its origin.

“It’s a Buddha. My GF in Korea was Buddhist”.

“You have a GF? She speaks with attitude.

“No I use too, but that was when I was in Korea”.

“Well, I shouldn’t talk to you then- you have a GF… and I even thought you were cute- ill just stop talking to you”.

This being the best offer id received all night- I had no option but to take it wishing them a good night- Jer ad I paid the tab on my tea and honey and we parted.

“Why the hell did you engage that?” Jer says.

“Dude I don’t know” is the best response I can give- which got me thinking of how many people are actually normal. I could wrap my brain around it for years without a clue- so ill take the safe route and continue to invite everyone to the table without bias and fill my books with crazy encounters like that of Vanessa with a V.

once upon a thyme

I want to peel any preconceived notions and say that this concoction is no bologna and is entirely based on the shelf life of being locked in a can.  So now that I’ve got that settled- get ready to sink your teeth into this little dish about a hot tamale who searched yeast and west in search of a ripe tomato with a set of cans that would crush Mama Caroni’s famous pasta dish.  Read on as these two beefcakes inherit a lot of dough and struggle to stay grounded.  It’s a delicious tale of two sole mates on the rise to fame- and their unfortunate mix up with Lil Debbie who tries to get her slice of the pie. This story will leave your stomach twisting in knots, craving every morsel. Kneed, I say anymore. Indulge in this feast of a lifetime.

dec 30/2008

piece of mind

MY THOUGHTS ON RETURNING TO NORTH AMERICA HAVE BEEN A LITTLE skewed by my observations and new life abroad. Seeing the genuineness and level of respect in Asia was refreshing and I was almost thrown-off by their patient demeanour, being the magnitude of people congested within a city- I got the feeling they got along really well.  It was a nice change from the hooched-out youth, the surplus of racial disputes, (hot headed) impatient drivers and the constant negativity encompassing everyday life i.e. work, money, gas, school, taxes, weather, government- that herds cooler talk discussions America-wide. Constant talk of problems without talk of solutions- so much negativity that it almost embodied me.

            Upon returning home, I was ready to be negative as well, and put down the people and their views.  Fuelled by my love for Asia and its conscious state of mind, I’ve been contemplating how I would react being tossed back into my old world circle.

            In my short time home, I have learned that you really can find nice people everywhere- people smiling or willing to assist, even go out of their way for you.  But you also find the lame, the downers, the douches, the free-loaders, the gomers and half breeds- who aren’t even capable of having a conversation worth starting- due to the ignorance that steams off them like a fresh pile of dung on a London street donned with cobble stone, illuminated by archways that horse-drawn carriages daintily gallop these faux elite on their way to arrogant dinner parties with Sir.Douche and Lady Deadfish.  It’s sad that a handful of low-life’s take up the majority of frontlines in today’s newspapers, news, and change the angle of how we view our own country- and this is speaking from a totally un-political perspective (which for that argument would need enough paper from forest of trees to do justice to those greedy, manipulating pig-fuckers).

            In the middle of all this I find myself stuck trying to make sense of what’s to come; from a man- that is what I am aren’t I- neatly written in calligraphy donning the erection of my Bar Mitzvah- and now I return home and I want people to understand, perhaps even change or to have grown along with me, but no.

            Now my burdened soul- a soul with new desires and aspects to shape a society to appear suitable- perhaps suave compared to this un-tucked, unshaven, cigarette stained, foul tongue, tiger striped sweat pants society I’ve agreed to myself to return to- and I expect changes. When in reality I am the only one who has changed.  Sure… the majority appear to have their head on their shoulders- except those lucky enough to have been brainwashed by America’s most talented circus freaks (join the war on terror- i.e. join a one-sided raping of  a people who don’t want your short stubby American cock even around the house pig).

            But here I am thrown back into my old circuit like nothing has changed- except my head full of thoughts and new outlook on life- and I have to walk the same old streets and sit next to these people as they gobble down the same steel garbage pails full of waste- you know the true American industrial waste basket before recycling became such a fad. That incidentally people waste their lives working to afford filling with waste.

            But what about these wasters who work 12 hour shifts to order a variety of deep fried ‘whatever’- wait on their asses during their break from the concession stand for this heap and by the time it actually arrives- have to return to their shift- in other words wasting more waste.  On their electric cart ride back to the concession stand they see a newspaper that reads in thick bold print “fried food kills’. ‘Phew’ manages to escape their lips between wheezing, ‘I’m glad I didn’t eat that waste bin of tripe’.  Like you didn’t fucking know that already you double big mac, large fry, diet coke, second-from-snapping elastic waist band on society!

            Then you have the people who drive around with children in their car, smoking with all the windows up- these assholes should be punched with their awards. And how about the ever-so-popular family that uses threats of violence to quiet their children’s crying (in public). “If you don’t stoppa da crying im gonna wack you upside da head”. How about you quiet your fucking voice we are in a Wal- Mart and you are making more of a fucking scene than your child that just wants a minute of your attention instead of checking out the ageing sales clerk.  No, keep on threatening- I can see it worked well for your upbringing.  Assholes with children just piss me off in general- if you don’t get it- then how do you expect your kid to get it. Why don’t you just take them to McDonalds to shut them up- and feed your 2 year old to death because you never learned the 5 basic food groups when you were a child.  And when you leave McDonalds you can teach your child a good lesson by tossing your litter outside your shit-brown, torn seat, failed emission test, duct taped rag top, spinning rim, 73’ Oldsmobile.     

            When did morality get dumped curb-side with the rest of your junk? Probably at the end of the driveway of some asshole who thinks working for a living- is scamming the public. “Hi, I work for UNICEF and I am collecting any donations you might have. Oh thank you so much mam, the good lord blesses you…. yadda yadda BULLSHIT!”  The list goes on for low-life creeps looking to make a fast buck. Here’s a fucking hint Gustavo- shave your moustache, take out your piercing, cover your tattoos and don’t be such a fucking lurk for once and maybe your uncanny ways of scamming the public could turn into a productive construction job- and you could become a surplus to the economy, rather than sucking from the aging teat your nicotine stained teeth have been clenching onto since birth.

            Yeah its true were not all born with charm, wit, good looks or a widows inheritance, but were also not born into a country where you don’t understand right from dirt bag.

            The difference between the two could be determined by the neighbourhood you grew up in. But what about wanting to better yourself, rather than being the staple ingredient of the stench your block is brewing. Take initiative. Sure a job at the local McD’s isn’t glamorous but commitment looks good on a resume. So instead of spending your measly pay check on dime bags and HJ’s from a questionable street corner john, make a goal. Have a reasonable idea you can aim for so that you feel productive and feel good about yourself.

            Maybe it was the language barrier in Asia that allowed me to feel carefree, maybe even their patient and respectful heritage, or their drive for excellence, perfection and success- whichever it may be- it was a nice change from the constant burden of having to listen to douches, turkeys and gomers day in day out talk about; how shitty their life is, gas prices, traffic, and ‘can you believe this weather we are having?’. The key is to surround yourself with positive people and cut all the waste out. It’s your time and it’s not selfish to say “ Hey asshole, quit being such a fucking downer, stop being so negative and take action if your life really sucks as much as you say it does. ‘Cause I’ve heard the same story over and over and I’m sick of having to waste my time listening to you bitch- your bringing my high down’- but it’s like I said ‘you can find nice people everywhere’.

played in quito all day

Played in Quito all day- we danced through the streets taking pictures in cop cars, befriending peanut vendors and hopping on trolleys. My energy was over-flowing today that it could have lit the New York Skyline.  We walked to the dodgy part of town, Mariscal, to pick up a steak for dinner. Leaving the grocery store with a 1.6 kilo steak, we were ready to feed our little community of travelers. I was the bbq’r and no one got sick, which is my only concern.  With the soft sound of jazz underneath dinner conversation it was the first true feeling of embracing a close knit group of friends- as we cooked and laughed all night.

june 2008

plaza da armas

The pecking heads of pigeons move in sync to the footsteps of the locals who came to gather at the Plaza da Armas, Arequipa Peru. The suns rays beating down, leaving a contrasting glow to where my flesh was hidden.  The fountain being focal point to snapshots and refreshing thoughts in this bathing heat.

Cast iron rungs and detailed hedges outline green pastures which are understood as out of bounds.  Couples embrace in the cities beauty- minds at east, ignoring the looming volcano in the distance.

Palm trees and illuminating floral give color to the properly named “white city”. Locals pass like clockwork selling vibrant gelatos, homemade popsicles, and postcards- while self acclaimed photographers, weighted down with ancient cameras: that hang like tacky jewellery on the elderly- quickly dart to and from holding down their cornerstone business block.

With my shades obscuring the sun, I soak it all in.

                                                                                    May/08/08  

never trust an osborne

 I want to live in a world where everyone has that adorable, sweet wrinkly grandma that still makes toast over the burner, and that old that old fart of a grandpa who races you in a mashed potato and cream corn eating contests, and always lets you win.  Sure we can all dream right? But truth be have it, some of your grandparents, grandparents, grandparents were real live rapists, murderers, and treason committers. For serious, and I believe that I can uncover at least one disgusting family member out of each and every one of you who is reading this. Heck, I know I’ve gone to school with at least one of you already.

And the thing is I always knew it too. It was always that same weird feeling in the back of my head, saying “that kid is seriously fucked up, like I would never wish that kid upon any family” and now I know why, because it runs in your fucking family. You were no good then and you’re no good now- I would personally and formally like to ask all you raping murderers that have a fondness for treason to leave. Please just put down the paper, computer, or wherever the heck you are reading this from and go hang yourself. Please. Ok now that they are gone, I can breathe a little easier, I hope you can too.  I do this for you, you know, so I hope you appreciate it.

Alright so where do we start. It’s almost too hurtful for me to begin, because it happened on a particularly fond day for me, it was... No not on Christmas, not even Hanukah. Nope, not thanksgiving... would you stop guessing already – it was on my birthday August 17^th 1801 when Bartholomew London was... duh... duh...duh...duh... POISONED, signifying Hamilton’s first Murder.  “Which rube conducted this concoction”, I DEMAND!! And by rube I mean countryman, and by conducted I mean brought life to... so basically what I mean to say is which countryman brought life to this concoction.

Well I will tell you who, though it turned out to be two who’s, and they were none other than George Nemires and Mary Osborn. Now you cannot stand there stone-faced and tell me that you didn’t go to school with one goddamn Osborn, maybe not a Nerisme-whatever that name is, it’s a little obscure, but a freaking Osborn.  Of course you did, they always wore jogging pants and ate there lunch in a brown paper bag- sitting on that brick ledge eating that same damn egg salad sandwich,  chocolate pudding and banana every day, brainstorming who they are going to poison.  There’s probably an Osborn hiding in the corner of your room right now, I’d look back now just to check that shit out, because I don’t want to say I didn’t warn you after you end up dead.  Those Freaking Osborn’s are bad news. 

my dog joe

Standing outside My Dog Joe the familiar face of Nikhil strides by- beautiful head of hair and a honest smile, and though we’ve only met once, our rapport is fluid- I part from my mother and follow Nikhil inside for a coffee he offered to buy. We sit and lay bags down tableside while Alice pops in-between us- Nikhil an employee of Mulberry Street Coffee House which is an affiliate of MDJ, and I a baker- we discuss our new product that my mother has just delivered- chocolate dipped pretzels rolled in toffee… simply put… mmm… Alice leaves and I explain the rules to Nikhil while setting up the board. The game runs smoothly, but the conversation was a nicety- both of us in similar situations of being single and just looking for an excuse to get out of the house. I will write his schedule here for further reference (3-11 most night at mulberry with it closing at 10 and heading to the Brain after for a nightcap). As he leaves a lady smiles from a neighboring seat as she places her biscuit on the table- overhearing our conversation- I apologize as she nods it off. Her name Is Julia and she works at the Skydragon (coincidence) and I make plans to drop in Thursday for open mic- her presence reads electric and educated, fashionable and laid back- a woman whose on her own path and gets it- If you dig what I’m saying. I am heading on a walk with my dog and mom to the arboretum, but before I must go to the bank and mail my name change form. Today is a good day.
oct 4/2010

the bench of tears

Sitting in a shaded 3 bench park boarded by an open gate- an elderly, white haired man inched into view. He slowly stepped his way foot by foot over the raised bar that hung the  gate a crouched cats height from the weathered brick walkway.  He caught me in his view and froze as if I had tried to sneak his daughter in past her curfew; but I assumed  I was sitting in his seat.  A mustard coloured bench, torn and fretted exposing its wood interior mixed amongst a ménage of hues reminiscent of a damp residue clinging to the leaves of a forest in late fall.  He barred the incline gently and with eyes glued to his journey-worn feet- he made his mark a face-plant away from I. We once again shared eyes- when a toothless smile  smeared his pruning flesh and he picked up a water bottle  resting bench-side and laughed after making its acquaintance- I followed suit shooting a gumming smile as if I’d aimed with arrow. He took a newspaper, like they always do, and placed it as a seat cover not to stain his washer-worn trousers. I sat a bench behind him as he swung his hand to scratch his glistening brow. His bent fingers, pawing through his buzzed white sprouts threw me into a fond relapse of childhood;

I’m sitting tableside while my
Grandma cooks toast over an
Open stove-top flame- I don’t
Know how she did it but I’ve
Never tasted a better piece of
Toast in my whole darn life and
I still haven’t to this day. As her
Aged hands lay the toast on my
Plate- I think how her wrinkles,
moles, and marks never bothered
me, because she is my grandma
and I love her. Now with grandpa-
all sitting behind our plates piled
with mounds of mashed potatoes,
cream corn, and a gravy masked
meat; Pa and I set out on a race
 to devour or meal first. I don’t
 recall how this tradition started
but I hold it close to my heart.
Of course grandpa always let
me win; so what seems like a
lightning bolt of quickness our
meal is done and I sit at the
table for nana to finish the dishes
so we can play cards. Pa would
head to the back room to watch
the tele; loafing on his worn couch in
his work-worn slacks and smoke
his cigarettes. Finally nana finished
the dishes and dealt out the cards-
whether crazy 8’s, kings in the corner,
or gin- we’d laugh and play as her
cigarettes burned down to the filter.
After a couple hours id call on my
Grandpa to go to his legion-like
basement to play darts. Walking down
The creaking J-shaped staircase to
The cool cement floor was always my
favourite part of my visit. The basement
Was in the shape of a torpedo with a root
cellar and tool-shop to the left of the stairs.
I’d always mess around with grandpa’s vice
Grip- locking blocks of wood between its firm
Hands and furiously taking saw to it; my grandpa
Always lended guidance and assisted me until the
air was filled with dust and the nub smacked
the cold ground. The shiny metallic heating ducks
 that tunnelled along the ceiling were home to chalk
etchings of dates, names and high scores. Darts
was the main attraction; even at my young age I
managed to have a few scores engraved amongst
the old timers. We’d spend hours down there; throwing
darts and busting each other on missed throws
and low scores. Then we’d pull a couple wooden chairs
 to this circular table and tell me stories about
World-War II and his time in the navy.

“We were commissioned off the coast in Halifax and were sent to go check out a location that was said to be infiltrated with German U-boats; we set out but had to return to refuel and another ship was sent out in our place and ended getting blown out of the water- no survivors”

I was always in awe of the story when I was a wee one and it stuck with me to this day. He gave me his oil slick WWII knife; two-sided, one with, now dull blade; the other with an aged stake.

As I faded in and out of trance- I heard my grandfathers voice “I’m right here with you, you little bugger”. The tears began to stream down my humid cheeks (and as the white haired man entered my life he just as quickly disappeared). As I opened my eyes upon hearing the words from my grandfather- he rose from the bench and gently crept past the raised gate till he was out of view. Sometimes occurrences sneak up on you in many forms that piece together the importances that have pieced together who we are.  This beautiful occurrence helped dig up a fond memory that I have thrown many shovel loads over. It is important never to forget where one comes from and I must give thanks to that toothless angel that came and graced one of the three benches.
 6/29/2009

the cat and the beggar

Everyday we are faced with dilemmas that we must break down and obtain a conclusion. Often these dilemmas won’t paint the picture of your future- but they will often help define ones character.

Today, I’m sitting in an enclosed courtyard in the heard of Seoul enjoying the sun while I eat my breakfast. Now, to my left I have a shoeless man laid out on a bench shifting about, while roaming behind me I have a stray cat. This is where my dilemma comes into effect.

I always feel the need to help- though I wonder if my lending a hand is effectively helping. Let me break down my conscious.

Each time this man gets a handout- even something as small as a bek won (10cent equivalence) it is sealing his fate as a beggar.  Each time that a caring individual come by with a sandwich is for longing his stay on the streets.  What is it going to take to get these people to fit back in with a society that they have turned against opted for nonconformity or has overlooked them?  Understand that each individuals story varies intensely (I cannot discuss the hard times because I have not lived nor studied the injustice of some of these cases)- what can we do or what should we do, when many of these people are unfortunately and I will abrasively spell this out useless to society. Whether they’ve been affected by drugs or have been a foreigner for so long they wouldn’t know where to begin- so what do we do?

We have a government – which luckily to us is grazing over the intent of our well-being.  But do these people not count or have they opted for the road less travelled. Should we use force to institutionalize and rehabilitate these slackers and dropouts and give them jobs cleaning up the city?  Or do we toss them a nickel or dollar when we see them balled up on the street and hope they make it till the next day.

Unfortunately, I think the latter is all we can do right now aside from bring them into our own homes. But let’s face it, we all have our own lives to live and how long does it take for the vision of the beggar to be dislodged from out memory after we’ve either helped them or past them by.

I take another look at the roaming kitty and place two balls of rice on the winding granite bench- hoping that it learns to fend for itself and grows strong enough to pass up a couple of blank spoonfuls of  rice. 

                                                            Written at the courtyard beside Toma Tillo in S.K 6/11/2009

the doctor who cared

Sure I’ve lied to people- though they have been mostly tedious cover-up’s to avoid detail or confrontation. I also know I’ve been lied to; whether a taxi has deliberately driven me home the long way or a corner store clerk makes up a price to an unmarked item- some people just lie.  Though what sets a raging current of hate and forces tension in my fists and jaw are businesses that make a killing out of lies- leading my topic of discussion to the pocket-raping dictatorship of doctor-ship.

I just got off the phone with my ailing father who has been fighting a series of cramps, bloating and constipation for over four months and has been seeing his doctor as regularly as he can or at least as much as he is able to- being doctors inherited gruelling schedules. Each time my father visits, let’s call him Dr. Rich, he is treated in the same response; take yadda yadda these pills and yadda yadda that; sign here; make another appointment with my clerk; thank you for your money.

Now this has been going on for over 4 months, and I could understand and appointment or two to perform testing and a period for receiving information- but four months; who knows if the pills aren’t just placebos- its something that we don’t question because we trust our doctors. But aren’t doctors supposed to look out for the interests of their patients? Then how come everything is treated with a pill? You rarely hear doctors say “if you just mix a little cayenne with some burdock root the swelling should go down”. No you never hear this. Now I am not trying to be cynical or pessimistic (even though it may damn well be) because I know there are millions of good doctors- but these aren’t the ones praised on tv or news or flock past the tongues of the healed.  It is not necessarily the earnest of these doctors as it is the form of treatment they prescribe.

What ever happened to the natural doctors; call them what you will, witch doctors or medicine men that can cure you with nature’s essence?  Now everything is concocted in a laboratory and bears no face- except the welcoming one from your doctor who is taking the wrath from my pen and mind.  If it weren’t for these prescriptions doctors handed out like candy- these doctors wouldn’t be bringing in a fifth of their salary.  But when do you sacrifice the well-being and health of patients for a couple extra zeros on your pay check.

My father who saw his doctor over a handful of times in the four months was given prescription after prescription of ill attempts until they scheduled him for surgery.  His surgery booked for September 09, being another 3 months away was too long to wait for someone suffering as long as he has; what is he to do beside call, badger, harass, beg and plead only to get bumped ahead- aside from that these doctors schedules are carved out of the same stone as the 10 commandments.

While waiting, a friend of my pops with an understanding of my dad’s ailments, mixed him a blend of crushed flaxseed and……………….  And after 2 weeks his pains, cramps and bloating have all receded and he’s also able to go to the toilet regularly.

Now I’d like to know the doctors honest response. Honest being the key word- because how many doctors would agree to fucking up prescribing an unknown pill; admit they were just trying to meet a quota; or just went on a whim.

My father is now back to health thanks to a caring intelligible woman who took a minute to analyze his ailments and perform an ounce of research- all the ingredients found in bulk at a local health store and free from doctors fees and surgical tubes in his ass.   

6/19-20/2009

washing up on shore

I’m staring out at a million shattered and abandoned homes washed up along the beach- and I begin to understand the power struggle amongst species. Within a few hundred meters I witness a total dichotomy of life and existence- the following is my encounter.

Whether you know it or not- each night the ocean recedes hundreds of metres from the beach and each night millions of homes are left seized or under foreclosure. Millions of tiny creatures fight against forces and currents only to be thrown or sent hurling into desertion.  These forces mask that of society- in a sense that the strong survive to a fight a new day, but even then are we not guaranteed that we won’t wash up on shore- figuratively and literally speaking.

I rise from my tent and drag myself down to the beach (I am on vacation don’t forget). I begin my barefoot walk on top of the infinite eddies created by tides- the view strikingly similar to the long rivets created by the desert breeze amongst the dunes, and think about how contrasting these two element really are. As I watch my feet sink ever so slightly before taking my next step- I stop in my track when I spot a dispute. 

I bend at my knees to get a closer look and can’t believe my eyes, but I am witnessing a robbery. A feisty shelled crab no longer than my fingernail is forcing itself into the home of a hermit crab- being that of a much more attractive home, resembling the much needed status one needs when you are one of a trillion. Amongst the fight are three other shelled crabs scrimmaging for what I assume to be the instigators disserted home. 

I rise when my legs get tired of crouching and carry on further till I hit water. I inch myself up to my knees when I spot a fish flying out of the water. Splash!! Then again… and again… and it looks as thought they are playing even though I know they are catching an early breakfast of tasty flies- but the breakfast seems more like a buffet as more fish come shooting out of the water and landing on their bellies making a plop.

Now maybe I wouldn’t have thought anything of this, but I had just witnessed millions of homes destroyed and a robbery in progress- but it made me think how unfair life is to some. While people are out snatching at a sea of flies, others have to fight to hold on to what they have or start from scratch.

I made my way back to the dispute and shook the shelled crab off of the other and placed it a few meters away– and watched it scurry off dragging its beautiful shell behind him. I normally would have let nature take its course- but I felt that everyone deserves a break once in a while.

6/7/09

blossom

The pain in my left foot, though minor, has made it increasingly more difficult to perform my tasks. I had to turn back after less than halfway during last night’s walk to the tower. Today’s motorcycle ride was even hindered because of the clutch. And to think- something as miniscule as an unalignment or baby fracture can cause so much discomfort. We live our whole life in wonder of our body; never fully aware of the functions taking place or the narrowing harm that we introduce to it.  Some accidents or severities are definitely avoidable- whether health conscious, avid fitness\er or you choose not to go sky diving there are many options available to stay on the right foot. But what happened to me and to billions of others are life’s unavoidable lessons. These lessons serve as groundbreaking importance to the development of human nature; they act as an awareness; an awareness of the pain and suffering that exists on the whole- and no matter how painful, people always endure. They fight and they endure. Life without pain is indescribable- for it is not life.  In Buddhist doctrine the focal law is that life is suffering and worldwide famine and terror all the way to he bumps and scratches are all apart of life's infinitely modified puzzle. These injuries are not to break us down but build us up. Take heed in your suffering and let it help you grow- for the forest must suffer winter chills to take fruition next spring.

6/29/2009

killarney with varadi

I leveled the grill and started the morning fire with a handful of snapped twigs and a strip of birch bark- looking out across Lumsden Lake the early morning mist was breaking way. I filled two pots with water and placed them on the grill resting atop a bed of rocks encompassing the flame, then I went to down to the lake to fill my bottle from earth’s cup. The past two days of camping has been a chore- a rewarding chore mind you- but this is the first day where I actually have time to let the water boil, mosey down to where the rocks kiss the water’s edge and really absorb natures landscape- now with belly full of oatmeal and pancakes I left the campsite a mess; pots unwashed, fire on last embers, tent and all in transition- but I’m left without a care in the world. The sun warms my face while its reflection pyramids itself directly into my lap as if energy drew it there- the call the cool granite home while the breeze at my back chills my feet, even while wrapped in two pairs of woolen socks. The cliffs to my left, house sheer rocky crags with a direct vertical drop ideal for jumping, had the water not been chilled by today’s mid-October air. Yesterdays wearing hike to Topaz alongside excitement- having been almost 5 years since my last visit to Killarney, and six years since being accompanied by good weather. I, with balls clenched like teeth, jumped into the icy Topaz only to jump back out as fast as I went in- and stupid me, being the rugged adventurer, jumped right back in- this time swimming 100 ott meters to a more accessible point of exit for an asshole without shoes on, and by the time I leisurely backstroked & front stroked myself up onto the rocks my body went from icy to burning in a matter of a second. Now this is a feeling I’ve never dealt with before and Adam told me that a burning sensation was the last signs of hypothermia- either way 8km into the park I had clear and stubborn intentions of staying put in one of Ontario’s natural wonders, so I dressed and dizzily hiked up the steep rocks back to the path where my body finally started to loosen up and come back to its senses. Like our previous two nights camping- it’s a taxing routine of setting up tent, hiking the forest for enough wood to cook, have tea and keep warm for a portion of the night before retiring to our bags, cooking, washing, and all those trips down to the water to fill up our kitchen sink for the duties ahead. They are all done with pleasure and patience for the great outdoors. No chore is quite the same- each time you fill your canteen the sky morphs- leaving a varying lasting impression, the trees are cast with ghostly shadows, the lakes ripple smacks rock with unique sound- all while the rustling and crackling of sticks in the woods implicate an eerie sense of danger and unknown. All of my senses are overflowing, like water boiling in our blackened tea pot, and they are incapable of staying within its confines when they react with all the elements on a night much like tonight.

The melting sun has hit its homestretch after being caught behind a string of unclassified shapely clouds. Much like pictures I have taken this week, engrossed and solely genuine in nature, void of man and city thoughts- I too have left business and other home based thoughts at bay.

This getaway was much thought after and played a very key role to the revitalization of my focus and interest at home. I have continuously been tethering the idea of moving back to Korea- and perhaps why I went to Killarney with casual thoughts and peace was because the day prior I had been dealt a handful of restored faith. Why I loved Korea so much aside from its foreign appeal, neon lights, and 24 hour mentality was because it was comfortable- my bode away from bode and perched atop all that was the fact that I did that things that were driven by passion inside of me; journalist, poet, mc, teacher, adventurer, boyfriend, money maker and friend- all things missing in my current life. But, all these things have seemingly passed through the turnstile- I am happy- something I’ve been my entire life, though varying in degrees, but life is on the up and up I feel. I know Canada’s not ideally where my heart yearns to be, but while my anchor is temporarily cast to sea, I am to take full advantage of my docked voyage.

Now with passion and comfort hung to fresh walls in frames and familiar steps along floating floors- I feel at home! Everyone should have a residence that they have equitable space to host gathering and take pride in. I have found this suspended above a computer shop in Westdale- with no connecting neighbors in all directions, a large bay window overlooking king, a living-room fit for a bid kid, a large TV hooked to laptop, the comfiest of couches all interwoven with music that flow from two turntable and a microphone.

All this leading to the second passion in my life- two Thursdays ago I performed my first open mic in which I received impressive feedback and contacts to create a live hip-hop band (being the 3^rd passion of mine to start performing once again). The main kick for my homage is my biscotti business which I have helped create and am passionate and dedicated towards, but was always left transient abandoning thoughts solely financially based- I had even taken initiative to sell my motorcycle to relieve some of the stress of penniless pockets- but all of this changed in the course of a day when I landed a job working for d.f. wilby tree surgeon company- a secondary income that has far surpassed my focal income- that aside this job has allowed me to stay Canada side to water my business. The other perks have been due to my new found interest in the local Augusta and James street scene  that house many like-heads to the extent that I even commented on how there hasn’t been any talk of sports in months- a refreshing change to my old circle. Everything in my life currently has been working with pulling forces to sync my life up in alignment- one of my remaining interests left unfulfilled is my passion of companionship/relationship- a soul mate that loves and cares with such ferocity. But, it is a new day and I will no longer stress this issue and let time and action take its place. My new found feeling of serenity has allowed me to breathe in the tall pines and fall colors that are peppered through Killarney and breathe out without any lingering burden to take my head out of the misshapen clouds.

oct 17-19 2010

heron journey

Weaving through midday traffic like a school of fish amidst coral- I found myself parallel

to the Hangang tributary. A road that begins a sunrise in the distance and ends perfectly located in front of one of my favoured destinations in Seoul. Taking time to appreciate the city was the selling point of buying a Daystar- though hustling my life in-between jarred traffic, is a hustle that requires complete awareness. This is why I was struck with a predicament when its wonder came into my view.  Should I embrace and face potential downfall- this obviously taken in the literal text, or neglect this hallmark and choose safety. Well, Ill tell you- I thought for a lot less time than it has taken me to write this forward and I engaged in an act that I have never before, nor will undoubtedly ever again. So I revved my bike up to 80 and took the inside lane manoeuvring between a sea of motorbikes fighting to eek through the synchronized lights. I finally caught up to my mantra- an incredibly angelic soaring heron. Its delicate wings nearly spanning the width of the waterway effortlessly gliding through the summer heat- ignoring traffic, stoplights, pedestrians and the fury of commotion. It was only concerned with resting its skyscraper frame in the cool water and hoping that’s today’s fixings aren’t going to bring to much of a struggle- because its just to darn hot to make such an effort. The heron flew the contours of the waterway- that tailored the twists and winds of the coal black mirage, as if we were on the same flight. We matched speed and caressed the duration of our venture together- though I fully engulfed in it, and it not I, I felt as if we flew as one.

The euphoria was short-lived. The heron arrived at its destination- swooping overhead while looping gently and descending to the grassy wetland. We departed without words, but that moment left an impression of wings that have helped guide me to soaring heights. 

5/29/2009

lou's lament

Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!!!

The jumbly mess of a blundering atrocity

The wretched inklings of thought

Disfigured, maimed

Limping thought the foul sewage

I call my mind.

Clenched jaw, tensed in anger

Brewing envisions of the nights past

Feeling confined, chained

Gagging on my passive actions

In the last 10 hours I’ve relived the moment as if id locked eyes with my child as our grip lost clasp and let slip away. Now choking on words and tears- I feel as if I too had lost a love.  She was the first girl I’d loved and within days a migratory had taking homage and feasted on my broken heart, drinking my tears until I was barren as the Gobi.

I let the phone ring until she appeared at my door- she knocked with the weight of anger. I meekly let her in. The blinds hid any source of light. My room mixed with the stench of resent and fear along with my smoky clothes which were strewn about the room. I swim in my bed as tears stain my pillowcase. This is the scene she walks into- dark, lonely and down.

Not my best moment, but I bore no painted face. Every apology was batted away with quick arsenal. The tears rallied between us.  I drowned in her eyes thinking it would be the last- my sombre face wrinkled, squinting fighting composure.  I pictured a life without her smiling, glowing, sexy presence- and I vowed to protect her. 

These words foreign to my lips- always one to give love, humour, nourishment, encouragement, attention and so on…. But protection- where has my head been lodged?

Girls need protection- the feeling of safety and security. Why had I not offered my position that night? I choked- I lost the moment. A coward, a chicken, a push-over- I jumped to rationality rather than violence- a formula breast fed to me since birth. It is a product of my heritage.

But there must be times when I need to break character and fight for love. That night I fought with tears, a surreal awakening inside of me- I need to be aware at all times. I lead an indecisive ‘yadda yadda whatever’s cool’ kind of life and it is time I turned that around. Its time I have my mind made up before I enter a situation give it my full attention.

Min Ji criticized my character pointing out that dire situations bring out a persons real character. Am I a weak man? Do I coward and run from trouble? Or is it a trait that I can work on and master? These questions will be left hanging next to the suit that awaits my funeral.

We emerged from my bedroom as a burst of light blinded our beady eyes- and much like the sun after a storm, it too instilled beauty and calmness.  And as if she had planned it- her first smile appeared on her face since the incident. We toss smiles back and forth like father and son playing ball.  I will tell you it was one of the most refreshing moments in my life- to have lost love and found it staring into your eyes. She said she loved me over a bike ride.   

6/2/2009

prelude to one hour love anthem

Today is May 13^th 2009 and I’m sitting in a McDonalds in Apkujeong, SK waiting for the clock to hit 11 and fighting every ticking second against my fat rumbling stomach for lunch and burgers- oh tasty, fatty burgers. That aside, I just wrote a potential anthem for my new band –OneHourLove- its funky as heck itself and its written around an incredible horn section that I was surprisingly blessed to meet at the last show. So I sit here smiling at the bright sun outside, my food awaits and a song just written that I’m going to fucking explode to once I get on stage- and this is only a decimal of my recent happiness. 

6/13/2009