Monday, February 28, 2005

Fall On Your Knees - Or How To Sing A Hymm Of Praise at 3:00am EST

So, ah, have you heard the pope is sick. I really hope he gets well. He is the leader of today’s Catholic church. The man who defends his faith against all challenges to that faith. And to be totally honest I have a particular vested interest in the pending death. I don’t want it to happen. Ya see when a pope dies there is this renewed Catholic vigour that sweeps the world. Lapse Catholics return to their faith, new people join, and then we have to tolerate another prolonged agony of death for the archaic institution. But if the pope can stay alive for another ten years and get more and more decrepit so too shall the gothic tomb of spirituality. AND THEN when the next whiff of white smoke sails into gods nostrils announcing the inheritor’s arrival he will be too late for the kingdom, the power, and the glory has crumbled.

So I had a dream the other night and in the dream I was trapped in a Roman Catholic Church--indeed a true nightmare. I had left my studies for the priesthood in the early '90s after my cock started demanding too much attention and I realized I like my dates to be at least 19 years old. What made this dream even worse was the fact that I had stopped being a Christian some ten years ago. Just when I thought it could get no worse, I was told I was about to be baptized again. Before doing so the obligatory first confession was in order. Alas I found a way out of this darkness: "Bless me father for I have NOT sinned…."

I'm a slut, a tramp, a whore--the holy trinity of debauchery--all things we are afraid to admit that make us bad little boys and girls. Shhhhh! We can only do or talk about those things with the lights off, late at night, by ourselves. Shame! If I wanted to be a good little boy I'd grow up and marry the girl next door, move to the suburbs, get a mini-van, and pump out 2.5 children. I've participated in the spilling of enough bodily fluids to populate a small Pacific island. I've lost count of how many times I've stepped onto the dance floor. Hey, wake up! Every bump and grind was a movement of two (well sometimes more and sometimes less). They all freely chose to mambo. I make no excuses or explanations or apologies. Every person I've been with has felt like they got their monies worth and then some. Yeah okay there was the occasional fuck up--human error. That's the picture. Look--or turn away in disgust. But your judging gaze no longer scratches me. Well, if you're cute and know what you want--let's "talk".

I'm out of the back seat. No longer a passenger in someone else's divine car, staring blankly out the window, watching everyone living lives that I so desperately want for myself. I've leapt over the front seat and kicked out the idiot behind the wheel (realizing he looked a bit too much like me). Then I realized what a shitty car he had and went and got myself an Alfa Romeo; the SUV can wait until 50.

Life is too much of a wild ride not to be roaring down the road--mad as a hatter--convertible top down, screaming into the night air--shirt open--the rain beating its tribal rhythms on my chest. Yes I am alive. Now I will prove it. I am going to go and preach my message to the multitudes. "It is your turn! Don't be me or the guy next to you. Be you, but be the you that is lurking deep inside wanting to howl at the moon. Dance in the rain. Kiss in public. And turn around and tell the person queuing behind you that if they don't stop pushing you they will land on their ass. And to the moron in front, 'Does it really take that fucking long to figure out you want a double tall decaf latte with soy and hold the foam?'"

So Father, this is the last time you will get this "I fall on my knees" for you. You no longer have this boy offering up his ass. It's got better places to be offered. I don't want your slaughtered lamb--unless it comes well-done and with mint jelly and oh, those little sweet potatoes. My guilt is now on my terms.

But dear padres, don't look at this ending as a failure. Failure is when something ends and you have learned nothing. I've learned a lot. The biggest Sunday school lesson I've learned is that a message of love has been corrupted by old men in black (and no that ain’t Tommy Lee Jones and Will Smith--though they may be suited to battle this earth grown evil) looking backwards clinging to a tradition of power to make serfs of us all.

I am now attending the church of the beast with two backs. There I gladly fall on my knees and sing hymns of joy in the sweat stained cathedrals as my heart pulses to the cacophony of house and techno. There the Holy Communion is placed on my tongue promising true union with my brothers and sisters. There we raise our hands in glorious praise for we know God is made in our image. And!! He is a DJ. Here endeth the nightmare. I cum in peace.

(This was a piece I had published last year but was on my mind of late. The first paragraph is new just for alyx. oh and thes last sentences are new too.)

Thursday, February 24, 2005

Chicken Style Black Forest

SO it seems I found myself in the kitchen after smoking a little pot (quelle surprise!) and opened the fridge to see what gluttonous treasures lay within. Now I got (oh wait this an SM for those keeping count.) a sweet deal here. Ray is a nester and we are never for want in the house. Da boy keep a well stocked pantry ladies. All I do is I write him a cheque each month. And he isn’t a bad roomie. We have a unique companionship.

This may at first look like the utopian ideal I describe but alas there is a weak link. I don’t always like the choices or quantity/quality of things he may buy. I opened the deli tray and saw something that looked like chicken or maybe ham. I’m stoned who cares. I roll up a slice and my brain lays in anticipation to see what my taste buds tell: Is it chicken or is it ham? Then came the screwed up face.

What the fuck is "chicken style black forest" people? See it is even hard to say. That should portend or at least foreshadow the doom that lay ahead. OH and if that doesn’t say whoa Nelly then the next line says 15% meat protein. And all in the same font. AND not even dropped down a point or to the next line.

Chicken Style
Black Forest
15% Meat Protein

Is this flesh before me the sour and sweat spawned offspring of some bizarre mad scientist lab copulation between species experiment gone awry? You know how mixed babies are usually quite attractive as some aesthetics gene kicks in and takes over the selection process and only the unique genes commingle. (Aside: When I first saw Alex I thought he was mixed. Then I found out he was just unusually quite beautiful.) Where were we? Oh yeah the mad chicken ham beast. It did not get the best of the chicken and pig. Salty as hell - I got borderline hypertension.

I think they know how bad it tastes and add the salt thinking it will magically make it palatable. Yeah sure. Do you think they actually get a big bunch of chicken and ham and grind and mush them together and then shape it to a loaf? Gross.

Furthermore and maybe paramount where is any sense of decency? Man we raise the damned chickens and pigs in captivity and kill the damned chickens and pigs to eat the asses can’t we at least give it a little dignity in death and let it be its own food product. Hell I don’t mind. If I really want those two flavours together I’ll stack them.

Where’s PETA when you need them.

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Cr-cr-cr-crushin? Or is that gas?

(I have decided to use a different style as I guest write for Epi. Check out my own blog for my usual pedantic ramblings.)

SO I am spending some time with a man. I have grown fond of this man and like being around him. He is helping me let go of some past expectations/illusions/delusions. And though I proclaim to be a liver of the moment he is so much better at living the moment then I could ever be. My brain has a wee-bit-o-problem turning off.

For the first two weeks there was the euphoria of newness. I think the word is CRUSHIN. His name is Simon. He says he is CRUSHIN too. I think that is what makes this grin slide across my face. Requited affection - gotta like it. I may be in jeopardy of losing my acerbic edge. The horror the horror!!

Two samples of incredibly romantic or cheesy dialogue uttered in the last 53 days (a wild guess).


Joshua: You have a perma-grin.

Simon: What’s that?

Joshua: You have a permanent smile on your face as if you are smiling from your heart.

Simon: So do you.

Joshua: I guess we are both extremely happy with where we happen to find ourselves at this point in time.

Simon: I guess we are.


Joshua: You are so cute.

Simon: You are.

Joshua: You are so adorable.

Simon: But that’s you though.


Joshua: I feel the need to ravage you severely.

Simon: Then don’t let me stop you from meeting your needs.


Joshua: I keep smiling a lot lately. Walking around with a grin on my face.

Simon: Its called a “shit eating grin”. I have one too.


Now though I find myself attracted to this person I find I do not have that gut wrenching passion for him. I don’t emotionally or intellectually get off on this person. The first couple of weeks le papillon de l’amour were doing their thing but they quickly fluttered away. Fickle ‘flies. You know the nervousness in the tummy when I think of him.

We are kind, considerate, caring, sexy. Maybe how I define passion for a man is changing and all the craziness of youth is replaced by a more realistic view. I’ve been in love many times and had my heart broken, reassembled, and broken hearts. I have absolutely no idea what the hell I am trying to convince myself of. I need to stop thinking and just be and let it run where it may. Great advice to give but a bitch to follow.

Monday, February 21, 2005

Writer's Block Party

SO, many polytheistic belief systems believe that we human beings are conduits of and for all energy in the universe. Changes are often reflected in our moods. Now I am not talking about the ability to watch an episode of Extreme Makeover Home Edition and be laughing one moment and bawling your eyes out the next.

A number of friends have of late been reporting a lack of creativity. With a lack of creativity comes a lack of motivation. They are two ingredients in the sour dour dough. I count myself in their numbers. But sadly there seems to be no saints to march in and save the day – or at least a good idea for fuck sakes.

Is it the cold Canadian winter? The low light levels? The lack of colour? I personally have not posted on my own blog for a while now. Even Epicurist says that one of the reasons for not posting lately is a lack of creativity. Maybe gravitating towards the routine of career gives us the energy to wade through the sea of ennui? Maybe soon the colours of spring trigger areas of the brain that finally thaw out. Until then.

So this is my creative kick at the can holding my creative slump. I figured by taking responsibility for someone else’s blog I might at least feel obligated to write and at least keep the muscle working.

Here we go. I hope.

Extended Absinthe

Well Absence is more like it.

I am bogged down by The Man, and wishing I wasn't. I want and need a vacation, but seeing that I can't, I am willing myself away from the Kingdom of Blog - just for a while longer.

In my very soon to be missed absence, my friend and fellow blogger, Stoned Bunny will be my guest writer. I have known him for about 11 years, and have always respected his intellect and humour. He is a veritable genius, and I expect that he will do me proud.

Attention Stoned Bunny,

I, Epicurist (aka Alexander), of the domain Epicureal thoughts, give you, Stoned Bunny, full and complete editorial freedom, to write and post without hesitation or fear of my involvement (well, so long as there are no incriminating stories about me).

So without further ado, here is the adorably cute and fuzzy Stoned Bunny.

Cheers and Thanks a lot,

Monday, February 14, 2005

Some time off

Hello my lovely bloggers,

I will be taking a short time off due to work and the amount of projects on my plate. Unfortunately, this time I will not have the luxury to blog whilst I work.

I intend to be back soon, but in the meantime and learning about RSS and CSS (info). If any of you know of good tutorials or RSS downloads and good Host server sites, I would be happy to hear from you so that I can begin my path toward ultimate geekdom.


Wednesday, February 9, 2005

The Year of the Rooster

Wishing you all a very Happy Chinese New Years. It is the year of the Rooster or as we fags like to call it, "Year of the Cock". I wish I had time to tell you more about it, but work is busy as hell, and well, I really don't know all that much, so have a look here about Chinese traditions and here for info on the Year of the Rooster.
Happiness, Health, Prosperity & Good Luck!

Wednesday, February 2, 2005

When thanks are due....

I just wanted to take a few minutes to thank you ALL for your support, advice, and friendship, from the bottom of my heart. It has been just over a year since my first blog, and I must say that I am pleasantly surprised by this unlikely grouping of bloggers. I truly do see you as friends, and thank you for the stories, the laughter, sarcasm, bitchiness, and warm comments.

I admit that I have always been a fiercely independent soul, keeping personal issues to myself, but you have all shared so much that I now realise that being emotive and expressing oneself is not a bad thing. It is not a sign of weakness. It is human nature and the way we grow.

This adventure has truly expanded my horizon and I want you to all know that you all have been the silver lining to my blog experience.

The last 3 years of my life have seen many ups and downs, where I most often fought the battle on my own. It has been tough at times. Only my close friends in Toronto know what I have been through. I have no regrets about how I did it. I am stronger for it, and am far more clear about who I am and what makes me tick. I have faced darkness and despair, but risen from that hellish hole to see that life has a lot to offer, as I to it. My superb friends have been my Rock and I would also like to send my love to them.

As I embark on a new path this year, many changes and new choices are being made that will irrevocably change my life for the better. The ball has already begun, and I can feel the restless tides churning. I have been in a very good place for quite sometime now, and it is because I have realised that I cannot do this on my own, and that friends are to be leaned upon. At the same time, one must always Respect, Honour, Love and Thank those who have been there for you. Friends and family are not to be taken for granted.

So without further a do:
Thanks to all,
The Joy Luck Club
The Cottage Crew
The Highschool Gang
The Kingdom of Bloggers
and To my family (I love you for how far you have come, and I look forward to what is next)

With Love and Thanks Always,

Barking dogs and Magic Mushrooms do not go together.

Since recently on the topic of dogs, I forgot to write about an experience I had during August 2004. I had gone away to a friends cottage late Friday night. My dog was to be alone for about 8 hours or so, with my mum coming early the next day to babysit, so I believed all was fine.

Granted, I should have arranged someone to come earlier and I take full responsibilty for it.

Anyhow, Saturday comes along and were all happily basking in the Parry Sound Sun. Water is warm and weather is beautiful with an ever so slight breeze. The true story begins, when one of our friends decides to take out his bag of magic mushrooms to share with everyone. Now, take note that I have only done this once before, but what I took was smaller than my fingernail, and had little to no effect. This time, they hand me something about the size of my index finger which I eat suspiciously.

What began as a nice day literally turned into a nightmare within the hour. The initial high was fine, but paranoia and hullicinations were going to be the chosen theme for the day for me. Branches, trees, grass and even the wallpaper were crawling like bugs and had me completely freaked out. I have never been in a powerless situation like that and I will never put myself there again. This of course, lasted 6 hours and at the 4th hour I get a call from my hysterical mother telling me that the neighbours had called the security and Police indicating that the dog had been abandoned and abused as she was whining and barking all morning. The police apparently came and said the dog had defecated and urinated all over the home. If the constable had taken a little more care, he would have noticed that the supposed shit were actually her toys and bones strewn about the floor.

This of course could’nt have come at the worst moment. I don’t believe I have ever been more stressed in my life. To top it off, the neighbour left a nasty letter at my door, indicating that I was abusive and that the dog barks everytime they walk down the corridor (like duh!). They called the Humane society, and upon their arrival, the neighbour accosted my mother whilst she was sitting watching Tele with kalyx. Mum of course is a petite, diminutive lady, and she immediately began to cry. The humane society lady was sweet and said that the neighbours were being ridiculous and indicated that kalyx’s mixed breeding made her a whiner, and that she would most certainly bark if someone unfamiliar walked past the front door. She pointed out that it was the nature of dogs to bark.

Now, I realise that I made a misjudgement in leaving Kalyx for an extended period of time, and tehre is no excuse for that. But the kicker was my conversation with my neighbour that Sunday night.

I called her Saturday while in Cottage country and left a mesasge to apologise, and for her to return my call Sunday evening, which she promptly did. She starts the conversation by saying Kalyx always whines and barks, which I tell her I am sorry about, but little I can do. Kalyx literally whines all the time -when we leave, go, move from one room to the other, play, walk, etc. Her whining is equivalent to that annoying tap that never ceases to drip. I have lived with it for 13 years and I am used to it.

I apologise for the barking, and continue by telling her that the walls are quite thin, as her boyfriend had indicated that he could hear me play the piano every now and then. She then responds by saying

“Yeah, we can hear you play Coldplay. One day you’ll get it right!”

Was that completely necessary? I was completely aghast that she would be so nasty. I ended the conversation there. Saw her a few times thereafter, but was cordial. Anyhow, she and her boyfriend have moved. So now, I suppose I have “Bad Neighbour” to add to my any qualities.