The Heidi Game

In 1968, there was a televised football game between the Jets and the Raiders. With just over a minute left in the game, and the Jets up by 3 points, network executives changed the live broadcast to the scheduled airing of Heidi. In that last untelevised minute, the Raiders came back to win the game.

Some things in life end before they should. And unlike the infamous Heidi Game, those outcomes will never be known. It might have been incredible, or not, but in any case, an unexpected end is never a satisfying conclusion. It leaves the fans wondering.

From Zero to Sixty

I made the mistake yestreen of trying to go to a show without already having tickets. It was of course sold out; and so, already being downtown, I went for a chai latte instead. As I walked in, I heard Take The Power Back by Rage Against The Machine. A fantastic song. After I got my drink and sat down, I heard Settle For Nothing, which is the next track from the same album. My favourite album of all time. It couldn't be a coincidence. I got up and asked the guy at the counter, and sure enough, they're playing the whole thing.

It was a wonderful evening.

And it rained.

Silence

Last night, I sat on a bench and watched the moonlit ocean in the rain. I wasn't cold; my thoughts kept me warm. Afterwards, I saw a red bucket at my local small-chain grocery store, and among all the cleaning supplies, it helped me understand a little more.

I love fridge magnet poetry, and I'd like to share some things that have found their way together under my supervision:
- Beneath the petals lies the garden
- Borrowed moments produce lust
- I dance to a symphony of one
- Enormous philosophy in these tiny notes

But none of these quite compare to my personal favourite:
- To use a girl, whisper lies of diamonds and love

It's been a long time since I've whispered.

Catering to the Senses

There are squiggly, squirmy, smearing things in this city. Today I saw two. They are an unpleasant sight in the morning.

I finished my sixth draft of a children's story this evening. In the next few days, I will forget about it completely, and then take my surgical pen to it with a fresh mind. In the meantime, I'm also working on a much larger story of twelve equal parts, which is going well. I find it interesting to think of a story as something visual as I write it. Before this, and not since I was much younger, writing comics with friends, I thought of stories as words and feelings. But there's so much more going on than that, isn't there? It's almost as if a reader actually has all of his senses... maybe more than the author...

Overnight

Every 53 seconds, this city dies. For a moment, it stops, and it breathes. We allow ourselves to exist and be painfully aware of time, and age. People mourn, and then the breath is over. And it begins again.

This morning, I remembered all that I dreamed in the darkness. A phone ringing, a tapping on the window. Meaning, at just the right time. I must have smiled in my sleep.

I could be somewhere else today, but I am not. So I mourn, and I breathe. And in 52 seconds, it will begin again.

Endings

Last night I was told of courage in the face of devastation. Her story had such honest detail and its message resonated in the room, magnifying with each word. When she spoke, it was with understanding and dignity. In the end, she saved four lives; herself, her children, and the man that she feared.

There can be beauty in tragedy. For some, this is where we find our grace.

An Anniversary of Sorts

A year ago today, I was sitting in a hammock on a beach looking out across the Atlantic Ocean. I was feeling ill - as I had become accustomed to - but had yet to realize the source of the pain. My current relationship had made me ambivalent. I wanted more, but I was the only one that wanted it.

Ten months ago today, I gave up on finding someone to believe in. I resolved to be alone and guard myself from becoming attached to any woman. Months later, I met Her, and I forgot this resolution completely. I believed again.

Three months ago today, I was driving a truck loaded with everything I owned. I spent twelve hours crossing two provinces fueled only by hope.

Today, I am greater than the man I was a year ago. For that I celebrate my situation.

Tomorrow will always be better.

I Am My Own Power

In this age of technology, our lives are battery powered. We have cell phones and calculators, laptops and music players. Things that we've become dependent upon. Without them, we do not function. With them, we do not think. They are not extensions of our intellect, they are the limitation. Bound by devices, the source of our ability is chemical power. Artificial strength.

But my strength is not artificial.

I am my own power.

You Can or You Must

People get scared for many different reasons, and they react in many different ways. Sometimes their reaction can be instinctive and out of character. In this way, someone strong can be weakened; but is this weakness out of context? Are we defined as the sum of our instinct or as the sum of our choices? Does one moment of weakness balance out all the other moments of strength?

Instinct is what we must do because it is our true nature and everything else is what we can do because we choose to do it. Fear blurs the difference and can lead to identity crisis and loss of self. When this happens, we either collapse or endure.

There are two reasons why someone changes: because you can or because you must. Believe in what you can, but -

Always trust what you must.

T9

All these text messages I've saved from so many months ago. I kept them, and read them over and over, any time I needed to smile. It always worked. Except now there's a weight in them that I can't manage to carry on my shoulders. Now they seem to be just letters and words that accidentally found their way together. That accidentally found their way to me.

It seems I've found the silliest things to comfort myself in the last little while. I look to the future now, walking towards my shadow, with the brightest light I've known behind me. For better or for worse, it no longer blinds me.

Man Vs Self

I've become a snoozer over the last dozen years. Sleeping in those extra few minutes is, I admit, hardly worthwhile, and so presently I've been trying to correct this. Thing is, logic isn't quite logical in waking moments. When it takes so long to fall asleep in the first place, nine more minutes of rest seems like an eternity. And for the first few days that I was living in my current kitchen, my snooze button went unused; but now I've fallen into familiar routine. Something that had been ongoing for years has slowly returned, and every morning, I think those few extra minutes will make my stomach settle. They never do. So when I finally get up, I take on the day with a feeling of physical unease that I wouldn't wish on anyone. Not even myself.

In The Great War...

Father talked about the Great War only once, when I was eight. He caught me out in the woods poking at a dog with my Red Racer pellet gun. I didn't kill it, but he wouldn't listen. He yelled at me about not respecting life. About death. Father had never raised his voice at me but this one time, when he told me of having to shoot blindly into the fog and finding later a child laying in the street. Of looking into your brother's eyes as he begs you to end his pain. Of all the blood and guilt and misery that happens when you pull the trigger. I couldn't bear to look anywhere but my feet. When he left, I buried the dog as well as I could, and I left the Red Racer down with it. I have never killed anything in my lifetime, and I thank my father for doing what he did so that I would never have to.

Defenseless

I truly admire the will of someone that chooses to wittle their lives down to a few possessions, if any, and take on the challenge of life unarmed. In the last few nights I have had dreams of living in peculiar places with only a backpack of belongings to claim. Papers and pens; things I've written and things yet to come. Lingering in places that capture my interest and leaving as I choose. Life is not a tyrant and living does not require defenses. The only real possessions I need are the things that I've created, things that cannot be found without me. I am my own strength. My weakness is forgetting that.

In My Time

A tiny brief of fiction I wrote called Dolls has won a monthly writing competition. (For you studious types, I also won this competition back in June.) And in addition to doing absolutely nothing productive today, I have hung things on walls and attempted to locate the source of the unpleasant odour in my fridge. And while there, I spent dozens of minutes re-arranging my fridge magnet poetry into inspirational maxims. Life is certainly happening, in my time.

Under The Bed

There are monsters under your bed. Just as you imagined when you were young, they are there, and they are waiting until you fall asleep to gobble you up. Something to be aware of, though, is that the typical Bed Monster is not particularly fond of eating people. At the right time of the season, of course, nothing tastes better than a sweet and sour people pie, but on any other occasion, cookie crumbs or bits of cheese is a much more enjoyable substitute. That was the reason why Little Silas Grumble never went to sleep without first leaving half of his lunch under his bedskirt, and is now also the reason why Big Silas Grumble has an unwanted roommate who simply will not leave. You see, it is Common Knowledge that you're not supposed to overfeed a Bed Monster. They get very big very quickly and are much too scared to ever leave the bedroom. And it is also Common Knowledge that you must never ask a Bed Monster to leave.

This morning, Silas found his cereal eaten and his milk drank, and in a groggy, angry, foolish haste, yelled at Shoom to get out of his house. Shoom did not like this. And who knows what an upset Bed Monster might do.

Show Don't Tell

A friend once told me a writing technique called show don't tell. I've used this immensely in writing ever since, but in the middle of October I began to understand its deeper significance. It's not just a saying: it is a reflection upon living.

In every relationship I've been in, I have been selfish. In an attempt to make things easier on me, I've often accepted the idiosyncrasies of my partner. Even at times when it compromised my integrity and the strength of the relationship, I ignored these concerns. I focused on what I was attracted to and dreamed up perfect lives that we would have, defining an arbitrary standard of greatness to cling to even when everything seems the opposite.

Doing this as routine for the past several years has seen me through the most painful moments of my life. I found comfort in putting myself second, and now I see that being second in a relationship also means you're last. To win, it has to be a tie.

What I realized a month ago is that I can recite this over and over, word for word. But that doesn't mean a thing. It must be shown.