Is there anybody out there?

The year ends like Tolkein's first two thirds. I ask the question once more, "is there anybody out there?"
Is there anybody out there that respects present day mythology? Is there anybody out there that acknowledges that God is the ultimate character and God's Plan is not Fate, and Fate is not Irony, and Irony is not Coincidence? That this IS- THE- story?
Is there anybody out there that sees the cosmic humour and the human horror of the Godfather of Soul sleeping through Chistmas while Saddam takes Berlioz into the New Year? But mostly, Is there anybody out there that centres themself in the midst of this story and laughs demonically at their location, while the concentric circles of their experience dance to the light of the moon?
I'm not being poetic and I'm not being cryptic, I'm asking a question that can only be affirmed Yes if it is wholly understood without explanation.
This is MY story and I'm still so torn bewteen fear, embitterment and awe. Life is Grand but oh what a life to be waiting for Frodo's success.

The Chains That Seperate The Men From The Boys

I spent every lunch hour in middle school at the plaza "illegally". I had to wait for the lunch lady who side lined as a 'Brick' Commercial star to make her way out to pasture so I could step over the chain link and scurry to the KFC. Not that I'd ever buy any. I was just too cool to hang out with the hyenas and the nintendbimbos. The walking in a 10 man parallel line or circular multi-faced amoeba was nauseating to me. I prefered liming at the plaza solo and exchanging flirty remarks with Joey from the neighbouring highschool because Joey's brother, who was my age, hated it.

I was cool. I got invited to every one of the hyena and nintendbimbo parties. As much as they usually despised me, they never left me out. And I went, spending the night slow dancing with one of Mikey's friends -the only outsiders to our upper middle class french immersion school mixed parties. Looking back, I should have paid more attention to Mikey himself - did he ever turn out fi-i-ine!

But here's the thing, because I believed myself so hardcore and managed to make the cool crowd believe it too, I was able to keep the nerdiest kids close without their nerd factor actually rubbing off. Sweet little rat face, two years my junior, who brought me a bag of batteries for my walkman just because I was nice to him. Adorable David from the "retard" class who would run and hug me when we passed in the yard. Losers from my own year, whose full names I remember with total clarity- Dhooki, Roopnarine, Buttersingkorn, Ostrovski- because I took the time to acknowledge them. Yes, anyone uncool, I treated with great sensitivity.

The cool ones well, I was not so kind. I threw poutine at Kristy in the public transport bus, I had the morning t.v. news zoom in on a picture of Lauren and referred to her as a "canine familiaris". I flirted with their boyfriends, I was insulting and condescending and basically treated them with a carefree contempt. I was a cool kid terrorist.

It seems to me that as we've aged, the nerds have turned out super cool and the cool ones not so much. It certainly explains why I liked the nerds then and why I don't much like the nerds now. Here I am going on 30 and I'm still so much a loner stepping over the chains that seperate the men from the boys...

dot dot dot

The Tragedy of The Elipses

...I find the dot dot dot to be the most morose of punctuation marks...it lends to an exhalation that seeks breath in the following sentence...where in fact it is not.
The dot dot dot is sign that while the thought continues it has in fact already faded...there is no hope with the elipses...it always ends in nought. Some may say it enables the flow of conversation but actually, used excessively, it leads the reader on a deserted road where they must find their own way in a lonely lonely world of no possibilities. The dot dot dot is melancholy...

Santa Sabotage

IZzy told me "mum, you is a liar!"
IZ don't call me that and what are you talking about?
Santa ain' real! You does wrap de presents when I sleeping and you does put dem unda de tree. And reindeers don' fly neida!
Who told you that??!!!!
My teacha! She tell we 'dat we parents is who's Santa and wunna buy de presents and hide dem and den you does take dem out at night.

I had to do some serious back backing to make the boy believe in Santa again with a speech that went something like,

Reality is relative. Do you want to live in a world with fairies and giants and dragons and trolls and Santa and the Easter Bunny or do you want to live in a world with none of them? IZ says he wants to live in a world with Santa. So believe in Santa then. Your teacher wants to live in a boring world with boring things and that's why Santa doesn't bring her any presents.

Miss Kill-Joy Lovell's poison bomb was defused.

Neurotic Knot

Yesterday I was told by a professional character analyst that my neurotic knot is one of control. I am obsessed with having control and yet I like it when others try to control me. This psychological tug of war has me in a lock. It will not allow me to be free and freedom is what I truly desire above all else. "Take Control! Be Free!"

I confess, I do have control issues particularly with regards to men.

I didn't really contemplate just how bad they were until I found myself getting somewhat irate and deeply frustrated that the damn man was trying to control me with his fucked up control mumbo jumbo while at the same time being strangely attracted to the control his 'control' theory gave him.

I'm not sure I want to explore this neurotic knot- I think poking at it might just strangle me.

Ghetto Golf 2006

Having found repeated tyre tread marks in the freshly cut and very wet grass, Ricky set up a spy network to source who is out to smite his effort.

See, with this heavy rain, the tyres left big ugly grooves on the lawn, a lawn he has become VERY particular about.

Then a new discovery! He went out to pretty up by the cart road only to get tied up on banana stems strewn about. Literally tied, as the pieces of banana tree wrapped themselves around his whacker string.

He is now convinced that the banana hawker is out to deliberately sabotage him. To teach her a lesson, he has placed 'flags' (stakes of rod iron with pink plastic bags tied to the top) all around the grass to test whether she will disobey his bold sign of caution.

The lawn now looks like a ghetto golf course just in time for World Cup Golf. I'm gonna lure Tiger Woods away from Sandy Lane and set him to play a few rounds with the road works crew. You can purchase your Ghetto Golf 2006 tickets from any one sitting by the side of the road drinking rum and cursing loudly.

The World of Drunken, Sunken Souls

I am still having trouble relating to the fact that I have embarked on a journey of the social callender. Some may find this hard to believe, what with me being so damn fly and interesting, but truth be told, I hibernated through those 'college years' finding peace in the company of monkeys and goats and IZ and Self. I never did dates. I don't know about all night binges and keg paties. As my Unknown Souljah would say, "I lacked social skills".

Suddenly, everything is different. One night I'm meeting Shackles at Opa's after a horrible lecture (supposedly) on the Old Testament and the next minute I have to check my diary to see what I can swing. It's weird.

I feel like a visitor in my new life. I am not yet comfortable here. I often think the shadows were more honest. But I check myself. I'm still in my twenties and shit if I don't get out now then when?

So I make the necessary investments for sociability. I get my hair done. I spend more than I need to on clothes. I re-introduce my body to cigarettes and alcohol. I learn to operate on less sleep. I argue with my smarter self that this is all part of the program- if you're in for a penny- you're in for a pound. I argue with my dummer self that this is all illusion so what in the end, does it really matter?

As I dive into this forgotten world of drunken, sunken souls I realize a few thing:
1) I am sickeningly lucid.
2) I am disgustingly nonchalant.
3 I am nauseatingly empathetic.

and as such

4) I inevitably end up listening to someone's spirit sing.

I don't know how to put on that tightened nasal voise and I can't muster false enthusiasm. Perky is downright painful. Nevertheless. The social world embraces me. It's long been straved for a cool compassion and two ears that truly don't give a fuck.