Deaf Mutes.

Am I speaking clearly enough for you?

Taken as a whole people speak and don't listen. This is a conclusion I reached along time ago but thought it necessary to reiterate. If you really don't want or need my input on something, don't fucking open up your yap and ask me what I think. I'm growing weary of the constant verbal diahrea spewing from everyone I meet. You know I'm a condescending prick and if you continue to cut me off as I am responding to your previous statement or don't even have the decency to listen to what I have to say, it's only going to get worse for you.

I am well aware that at times I speak rather quietly. I do this for a reason, when I have something to say, I get to the point and move on. I don't feel it necessary to make a big goddamn production out of it. "Hey look at me, I'm talking and not saying anything important, but pay attention to me because I have self-esteem issues and you really need to pay attention to me." If this is you then I have no time for you, crawl into a corner and whimper like the useless bitch that you are, I have more important things to attend to.

I've found that more often than not, when I instruct people as to how I want something done I need to write a fucking thousand word essay outlining EXACTLY how I want things done every fucking step of the way. I wasn't aware that I had to write a manual on how to do your fucking job you useless sack of shit. If you have ANY experience then there are some things that "should" go without saying, but day after day I'm left answering calls because some numb-fuck, dipshit couldn't think ahead and see past the explict instructions I have layed out. Apparently I am a baby-sitter, yet this particular aspect of my job isn't reflected on my paystub.

The sad part is that it isn't relegated to just staff. My customers are some of the most insipid, retarded, spastic, half-wit, moronic, fuck-wits I've ever come across in my life. Apparently when I tell them something is going to be done, doing it yesterday was WAY to fucking late. As well, they lose their goddamn marbles about the most inconsequential bullshit day two into the job. Jesus Aytch Fucking Christ, give me more than ONE fucking day before you start picking apart the job you stupid, stunned, useless, cunt.

I think I might need to start handing out deaf aids with a note attached. "Turn the volume WAY up stupid. I'm talking but you're not fucking listening."

The first person to receive this wonderful gift would likely be my boss.

To sleep, perchance to dream, ay, there's the rub.

In this case the rub is the fact that Rob Zombie and Ozzy Osbourne are playing at Rexall tomorrow and I have fucking wicked-ass tickets. Just to make it more difficult, the new Soilwork album is in stores the day after. This has to be a sign of the apocalypse, one of the unwritten ones like the tenth or eleventh. There is no way I could experience this much music love without something horrible just around the corner. Maybe I'm due to lose a testicle in some horrible industrial accident (unlikely), guaranteed I won't be contracting an STD anytime soon, so I guess we'll just have to wait and see what sort of horrible gotcha life has in store for me. I'll keep you posted.

Of Mangling Projects and People

This is not the job I signed up for.

Having said that (which is my newest favorite phrase), I knew I was walking blindly into a shitstorm. What I didn't realize is how little knowledge I truly have and that bullshit only goes so fucking far.

Dealing with the day to day vagaries of people is awfully fucking frustrating. When I say do something I mean do it NOW, not when you feel like it. When you feel like it, it's going to be awfully uncomfortable with a saw-z-all jambed up your ass with the trigger lock on. The other side of the coin is dealing with the customers. What part of "we'll start rebuilding your shithole in three months" don't they understand? It's as if I've stopped speaking English and started speaking Swahili.

BTW, I'm not gonna fucking paint all of the walls in your house and change all of the fucking carpet just because you think you hit the fucking 6-49, and if you keep aggravating me I might just blow up your house with you and your stupid family in it.

I really wish that both my staff and the witless retards that are the insured's had to spend a week in my shoes, if only so they could understand what it's like dealing with 100 or so people all acting like spoiled little shitheads wanting everything handed to them on a silver fucking platter.

This job has really put things in perspective for me. I learned a long time ago that taken as a whole people are self-centered morons. In the position that I'm in, it's as if that has all been put under a magnifying glass and amplified to 11.

I no longer live life wearing the altruistic rose-coloured glasses that I used to. I used to believe in a certain base human decency. Those illusions are long gone, only to be replace with bitterness and anger. It is a constant struggle to reign in my dark half, which only a select few can truly appreciate. For those at work that get to see me in fine form, all I can say is enjoy it while it lasts (Cory you'd love it).

Later.

-It's better to burn out than fade away.

Freak Music.

It's been some time since I've been to a concert. Thursday I went to see Korn at Rexall. It was just what the doctor ordered. Angry music played at high volume, surrounded by others of my kind, therapy of the highest calibre. I must admit that I was more impressed with Hellyeah than Korn or Droid, mostly due to song choices. The first time I saw Korn they played all of the right songs for a concert setting, this time there were some odd choices.

Hellyeah is the supergroup that everyone claimed Velvet Revolver was supposed to be. Comprised of members of Pantera, Mudvayne, Damage Plan and Nothingface, they were nothing short of amazing. Alcohaulin' Ass is a song that I'm sure any of you reading this could learn to love (well maybe not everyone, but I'm sure Cory would like it).

The title of the post is borrowed from a family member of mine. He uses it to describe the Heavy Metal that I listen to. I've decided that although he means it in a derogatory way, I see it as a fairly accurate description and I'm not offended by it. Fuck, all you had to do was take a look at the crowd Thursday and you'd know what I'm talking about.

The end result of Thursday's shenanigans was to bring me closer to center, forget the work shit for a few hours and spend some time with friends rockin' out. I can't wait till Oct. 22 when Ozzy and Rob Zombie take to the stage, it's going to be something else.

Peace.

It's been awhile. My ridiculous workload has conspired to keep me away from everything that is near and dear to me (booze, chicks, writing tracks, etc). Apparently insurance adjusters speak a different language than the rest of us. One where No means Yes, I'd love to take the claim and let it sit and rot.

As the sole person taking new claims this week I have a new definition of busy. When I signed on, I was told that I would be introduced slowly so that I could get my sea legs. Not so, on my second day I was thrown in the deep end with the words "swim bitch!" as my only encouragement. They didn't even give me a pair of fucking water wings.

Don't get me wrong, I would far sooner be doing this than what I've been doing for the previous 20 some years, but there comes a time when it's just too damned much for one person to handle. I've officially reached that point. Fatigue is setting in and starting to cloud my brain. The most basic, obvious things are getting overlooked in my constant rush to get to the next job or back to the office to push paper from pile "A" to pile "B", only to push it back the next day.

At this point in the game I can only look forward to the weekend with hopes of extreme inebriation to numb me to the point of unconciousness.

If this keeps up, my next post may be from Ponoka.

Miserable, Murderous Hell

That is the only way I can describe moving from one city to another when you work all week in the city you're moving to and only have the weekend to drive back and pack up your shit. Were it not for my amazing friends (not Cory, he's an asshole :) ) I think I would have long since lost the last shred of sanity that I have in a choke hold.

Today was especially horrendous. I had the unenviable pleasure of driving the cube van that we have from Edmonton to Calgary. Picture this, no air, no cruise and NO FUCKING RADIO! I spent a good portion of the time text messaging on my crackberry just to keep my mind off of the fact that my right foot went numb after 20 minutes of driving. Just to do the speed limit on the autobahn (a.k.a. Highway 2) I literally had to stand on the gas pedal.

Upon my arrival in Cowtown I was greeted with the revelation that they (they being the illustrious city planners) decided to turn the Deerfoot into a fucking parking lot. I understand the need to repair infrastructure, but please enlighten me on the wisdom of paving all but one lane at the same time.

Lacking a radio to listen to the traffic report, I was unable to foresee this screwed up mess and navigate an alternate route. Adding insult to injury, the wonderful drivers of Calgary lived up to their reputation of being collosal, spastic, fucking, morons. Whilst trying to merge into the ONE open lane, having engaged my turn signal well before, two witless retards thought it would be wise to not let me in and blast ahead of me. The second of the two nearly met his maker as he just avoided hitting me and the concrete median. Had the aforementioned brainless, dipshit actually collided with me I guarantee there would have been a bloody mess for the authorities to deal with and I would be hauled off to the hoosgow in steel bracelets.

I will never understand the lack of etiquette and common courtesy so prevalent among Calgary drivers. It only takes a moment to let one vehicle merge ahead of you and by doing so traffic flows so much better.

Let this be a lesson to you all, the next person you blaze in front of in a situation like this may very well be me. I am quickly losing patience for this kind of behavior and if I'm driving a truck the size of the one I was today, I guarantee you will lose.

Revelations.

Wow.

That word singularly sums up my experience last night. A very good friend of mine played a song that I wrote. He did an absolutely amazing job of selling it to the audience. Words truly cannot describe the feeling of standing there watching a crowded club dancing to a track that you wrote. For me it was perfect, surrounded by good friends, enjoying a few tasty beverages and listening to kickin' tunes. I can die a happy man after having experienced the euphoria of last night.

Peace.
Jason

Sieg Heil Bitch!

After nearly 11 long, arduous years of miserable hell toiling under ignorant, spastic, half-wit, morons my time has finally come. I am moving into the ranks of the aforementioned retards. I can finally forget everything I've learned and act like a complete fucking nit-wit.

Yes kiddies, I'm going to be a Project Manager.

I get to be the one that's loathed by all of my underlings, yep you read it right, I will finally have underlings to do my bidding. Like some evil, ignorant overlord I will have minions, not many at first, but minions nevertheless. Ah yes, supplicant and subservient to me. In my servitude as it were.

My plans for world domination are coming along nicely. Soon I will have legions of e-tards listening to my music, gorging themselves on the subliminal messages I have carefully placed in my tracks and my staff at my new job will be my generals in the onslaught that is inevitable.

Bow down before your lord and master.

The Reverend.

My Kingdom for a control surface.

I will be accepting donations to be put towards purchasing a control surface. Consider it an investment. If you give me money I'll give you a mention in the liner notes when I get one of these tracks released. After listening to track after track by other artists, I've come to the conclusion that one of the major limiting factors in the mastering process is my current inability to properly automate volume fades and filters (yes Cory I'm aware that I still can't properly structure a track). Structural defects aside, being able to automate certain parameters would add a great deal of dynamic feel to my tracks, and being able to hear in your head what you want it to sound like and not being able to realize that sound is might frustrating to say the least.

Every day I'm getting a little closer to realizing my dream and technical and monetary limitations are just silly, really someone should just donate a complete studio for my private use.

Mr. Van Dyk are you listening?

Farginpoopenshitten

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK.

I need a new computer.

Just when I hit my stride as an electronica producer, my computer decides that it's a blue-haired, bed-shitting, abacus. Really, I think I could almost do better with an abacus.

This fucking boat anchor is barely two years old, even dogs don't age as fast as technology (and before you try to compare the two, how many trance artists do you know that are dogs). The ram isn't the problem, nor is the video which is more than sufficient, it's the godforsaken CPU which, just for shits and giggles, the manufacturers change the pin configuration every couple of years so you have to buy everything new. The only major piece of hardware I can retain is the hard drives, everything else has to go. So now I'm left with a really fuckin' expensive toaster.

Jesus fucking Christ on a pogo stick, this does not please me. I'm on the verge of having a track worthy of sending to labels and this happens.

I swear god has a vendetta against me.

Winds of Change

I've recently returned from a brief foray back to my old stomping grounds. I was tasked to help our Edmonton office get through some of their backlog in light of some recent flood activity in the region.

Every time I find myself driving into the south of E-town it's like a homecoming. All of the stress and anxiety just melts away and I'm left with the feeling that all is well and good in the world.

This time was no exception. I had the pleasure of accompanying 3 people that had never experienced the beauty of the city and it was refreshing to see the city through their eyes. During the trip from Calgary I tried to explain some of the many differences between the two cities, though closely related in size of population, in my experience that is where the similarities end.

Of particular note is the people, or more precisely their respective attitudes. I've always found Edmonton to be more of a blue-collar sort of city and Calgary, well, it's just full of pretentious assholes, yearning for status and the all-mighty dollar. Living in Cowtown (that label works on so many levels as most people here are full of bullshit) I miss having a beer with my good friends, people that understand and accept me for who I am and care nothing for my position nor what I drive.

Having extolled the virtues of the city and its citizens I was pleased to find that the Edmonton staff are exactly the people that I like to work with. They share the same sense of humour as I do and treat each other with equal parts respect and playful condescension as my friends and I do with each other. The staff I brought from Calgary couldn't believe it was possible to have this much fun and still get a ton of work done in a day.

Of particular note is the fact that the Calgary staff felt it necessary to point out quite regularly that I am a completely different person in Edmonton versus Calgary. In Edmonton I'm apparently quite relaxed and jovial, not the bitter raging asshole that I am here. In my defense all I can say is that's what life can do to you when you're stuck in a festering cesspool with few friends and stuck in a shitty job.

Leaving today was for me bittersweet. For the first time in ages I actually had fun doing this craptacular job. I was tired from the work, but in a good way. I had a feeling of accomplishment, and the kudos from the people I worked with felt good as well. On the other hand I was looking forward to enjoying a frosty beverage in the confines of my abode, and sleeping in my own bed. I just wish that my residence was situated in Edmonton and not Calgary.

I leave you with an uncharacteristic hope that I can soon return to the warm embrace of the city I love. A city that accepted me as one of its own although I wasn't born there.

I can't wait to go home.

Going Postal

Ah, Cory's hallowed day has nearly arrived. The day that I finally fucking snap and slit some useless fuckwad's throat. It nearly happened yesterday.

Let us rewind and review the proceedings.

All was fine and shitty in my world as it usually is and I was in one of my typical condescending prick sort of moods (go figure). I was enroute to speak to a collegue regarding obtaining an address pertaining to a job that required my unique abilities. A certain useless, fat, douchebag manager of another division in the office I work in happened to pass me and thought it pertinent to bark an order for me to help him in some fashion or other. Without missing a beat nor looking at him, I proceeded to disrespect him in front of his perceived subordinates. Now before you judge me, know that said (mis)manager often feels it necessary to disrespect me and my colleagues on a regular basis and shockingly, expects no backlash. Me being who I am, said exactly two words to the aforementioned ass-kissing, cock-smoking, fuckwad.

Those two words were "Bite me".

Those of you that have experienced me when I'm in that sort of mood can envision the condescension that drips from my lips as I speak. At that point two of my coworkers that were witness to the event proceeded to laugh uproariously, which I think may have contributed to the ensuing near melee.

It took the dipshit a FULL 5 minutes to come back and retort. At which point he invaded my personal space (a big no-no) with breath that smelled as if he had just eaten the asshole out of a week old dead moose. I must admit the smell threw me off of my game briefly and if you kiss ass the way he does I guess ingesting a certain amount of feces is inevitable.

With a face as red as a cherry tomato, he proceeded to chastise me on the etiquette of respecting his authority in front of others and then thought it pertinent to threaten me with bodily harm.

By this time my ire was reaching epic proportions, mainly due to the foul odor emanating from his never closing word-hole. I reminded him of the fact that respect is earned not given and he stormed off, most likely to make someone else's life a miserable hell.

Normally I am not a violent person. This is due to many factors, primarily the fact that I do not wish to spend time in prison. When I gathered my wits after recovering from the violent chemical-biological attack on my person that is his breath I decided that now was the time for his life force to be extinguished. Fortunately for me he wasn't in the vicinity when I attempted to trace the route that I thought he might have taken through the shop, so at that point I decided to leave and attend to the business at hand.

An amusing anecdote to the above tale is the fact that he was yelling at me at the time and apparently I spoke in calm, even tones, so most people only heard him blowing a gasket. Now he looks like a clown (more so than he did before) and the fact that I walked away makes me look like a champion.

So in conclusion, be a condescending prick to all of the useless fuckwits you encounter and keep your composure as I almost did and you will look like a superstar. I say as I almost did because apparently the look on my face as I left the shop was something akin to what people expect Satan to look like manifest here on earth.

P.S. Cory, have no worries, the day will come and with the prevalence of camera phones I'm sure the resulting carnage will make it's way to the internet for you to peruse at your leisure.

Good Times

After my recent foray back into the den of iniquity that I like to call hanging out with my friends in edmonton, I must admit the above graphic sums it up in a nice neat package.

I had almost forgotten how retarded we can be when we congregate as a group. Separately, we each have our moments, but collectively, the shenanigans can reach epic proportions.

Notice I said we. I am an active participant and sometimes the instigator of the drunken debauchery we engage in. While this weekend was relatively tame by our standards a certain number of past exploits were revisited.

I wont subject you to the horror of having to listen to me rehash the past but suffice it to say I've had some amazingly good, oft times hair-raising times with this crew of misguided freaks.

P.S. when I woke up Sunday morning there was a post-it note on my forehead from my liver saying "I'm leaving, I can't take this abuse." So if you happen to see it panhandling on a street corner, please give it bus fare home.

Good Friends

I must admit I have a rather diverse cast of characters that I consider my friends. One in particular stands out. Cory. I have met very few people that can make me laugh the way he can. His dry humour strikes a chord and complements my sarcastic wit. I thoroughly enjoy the exchanges on places such as facebook and the like. As well he is one of the rare people intelligent enough to "get" most of my humour. I admit alot of it is well above the general populace and I'm not sorry for that. If you're too mentally deficient to understand what I'm saying then it sucks to be you. I hope to be working in Fort McMoney soon so that we can continue our escapades. I almost feel sorry for the poor retards that will suffer at our hands, I say almost because they won't even understand the freight train that hit them.

The times they are a changin'

I've gone through some ups and downs in my short time here on this earth. Today, I turned a corner of sorts. When I started this job I felt it necessary to reign in my personality to the point that it nearly killed me. My coworkers just didn't "get" my particular brand of biting humour and sarcasm. Well folks, the gloves came off and they got to experience me at nearly my finest. I didn't bring my 'A' game as I'm a might rusty, but you get the point.

It felt good to let loose with volley after volley and even better when the people other than the intended target laughed at my witty repartee. I was careful to spread the hate around evenly as I wouldn't want offend anyone (yeah right). People that I had heretofore not targeted did not leave unscathed as the arrows were flying at any and all that crossed my path, be it project managers to general staff. As Cory and others can attest, when I'm on my game look the fuck out if you don't want to get stomped.

I found the whole experience rather invigorating and I was rather impressed with my ability to expand and build on a simple burn and turn into a work of linguistic artistry.

After today, I think they are finally starting to understand the unique way in which my mind works (or doesn't, depending on your perspective). I feel like a caged animal that has been set free, I can stretch out and flex muscles I haven't used in some time and it feels good. I just hope that they have strong psyche's as they have no idea the maelstrom that has been unleashed.

The ghost of christmas past

Lately I've been forced to revisit my past. A past that most, if not all of you know only bits and pieces of. I have a great many skeletons in my closet that have stayed there these great many years because I didn't know how to deal with them. Truth be told I still don't but by getting them out into the light of day they somehow seem to lose their power somewhat.

Today's ghost is one that will surely horrify and disturb you as it has me for far too long. After the death of my best friend, at a point in my life when I was extremely confused and vulnerable, I was approached by a pedophile.

I was biking to my grand parents house to visit my great-grandmother. He pulled up beside me in his car and asked me to help him.

I will never forget his face.

He propositioned me and told me it wouldn't hurt. The one thing that is forever ingrained in my mind is the patch on his jacket. It said 'Coach'. I never said anything to anyone about this incident, I was just too embarrassed and scared to do so. I told him no, and continued on my way, but I still wonder how many boys he's abused over the years and I had the opportunity to stop him. I've lived with this guilt every day since then.

I know my life has been more and less traumatic than others, but we each deal with adversity differently. I've grown weary of carrying the burden that I have and this blog has become one of my outlets to try and ease the load the weighs upon my soul.

I don't expect you, gentle reader, to even remotely understand the hell that I've had to deal with in my life, I just hope that you can give me a modicum of understanding and accept me warts and all.

Tribute to those that have gone before us.

"When a man lies, he murders some part of the world. These are the pale deaths which men miscall their lives.

All this I cannot bear to witness any longer. Cannot the kingdom of salvation take me home?"

-Cliff Burton "To Live Is To Die"

Today marks the 21st anniversary of the singularly worst day of my entire life. March 27, 1986 is the day I watched my best friend die. He was struck by a drunk driver that swerved to avoid hitting me and after bouncing off of a bus swerved back and killed my friend Gordon Stoney. This is the first time I've seen his name in print in a very, very long time.

Over the years I've developed a ritual tribute that has helped me deal with the pain of his passing. Have a drink and smoke and listen to Metallica's Master of Puppets. On that day, we were returning home from the record store. I had just purchased the vinyl and we were both eager to hear it. I had just turned 14 and we were both fanatical Metallica fans. I was already a guitar player and he was saving to buy a bass. When we weren't talking about the girls that we liked (or up to no good) we dreamed of the band we would have. At that particular time in our lives I understood him as no one else could and he understood me likewise. We were inseparable, often getting in trouble with our parents because we would say that we were staying over at each others house so that we could go out late at night and either just hang out, or commit a number of relatively harmless, yet nefarious deeds (at least for our age).

Last year which was a milestone of sorts, I had Jill to help me. We had a drink and she helped me celebrate the short time we had together and remember the happiness. This year memories I had thought that were long forgotten rose like Lazarus and kicked me in the ass.

This year I'm alone with very few friends and trying to deal with a lot of past pain. Slowly I've either been able to let it go or integrate it into who I am. Today the memories of that day came flooding back in a torrent that I was unable to deal with. Every detail of that fateful day have come back to me in such detail that it feels as if I'm reliving that day all over again. I can still see his lifeless body lying on the ground in front of me. I can see the river of blood running down the stormdrain, the blood on my backpack that he was carrying for me, my bike thrown aside as I rushed to his aide. I can remember the kindness of strangers attempting to calm me down as I screamed bloody murder. I remember being chastised by the coroner for moving the backpack. I remember having the police drive me to his house and make me tell his mother (whom I loved and loathed as my own) what happened.

I remember being at my grandparents house. I remember my mother crying in the kitchen. I remember listening to Master of Puppets for the first time. I remember everyone telling me not to worry, even though I knew he was already gone. I remember sitting in the living room with my great-grandmother watching the late news and learning that he was dead. I knew that he was gone, but hearing the newscaster report it made it concrete.

That day forever changed me. It marked the beginning of my descent into hell. It was the one event that irreparably changed my future. After the funeral I returned to school immediately and was ostracized by nearly all of my classmates. No one knew how to deal with my trauma. It marked a very empty, lonely period of my life.

I'm hoping that with everything going on in my life now, remembering that day can finally bring the closure I'm looking for. For years I held onto the pain because I feared that I would forget about him and what he meant to me. I've since learned that I can carry all of the good feelings and memories and let go of the survivor's guilt that has been plaguing me these many years. I know he would want that and I know there is no way I can ever forget him or the impact he had on me as a friend so long ago.

Farewell my friend, know that you were loved and I raise my glass high in your honor.

R.I.P.
Gordon Stoney
1973-1986

There's a tear in my beer.

There are merits to alcoholism that I think AA and their ilk have overlooked. If you drink enough often enough you get to live your life in two distinct ways. 1) In an alcoholic fog where everything is fun and you're generally too paralytic to move and 2) So fucking hungover and in pain that nothing else seems even remotely important than the hell you are feeling at the present moment.

I have recently rediscovered this as result of my life coming crashing down around me (in a rather spectacular fashion I might add). While having a wicked hangover can make your work duties hard to perform, at least I have the solace that some of my coworkers are feeling just as bad as I am. In addition, while in the depths of the toxic after effects of a good night, I can easily ignore all of the dramatic bullshit that the others around me seem to exhibit with frightening regularity.

If you're wondering, it's 4:15 on a Saturday afternoon and I'm on my 5th beer, and if the beer isn't enough, I have a bottle of bitchin' wine that one of the few lovely women that I work with gave me for my birthday. So all told I know I'm in for a good afternoon (I'd say a good night, but at this rate I don't think I'll see 7 o'clock). It must be interesting for you, the reader, to watch my personal meltdown over the course of this blog. I imagine it's like watching a car accident or train wreck, brutal but you can't peel your eyes away from the carnage.

One day I expect to wake up and see a note from my liver saying it's left me due to the fact that I've done nothing but abuse the poor fucker for so many years. In response to that eventuality I say "Good Riddance, I don't fuckin' need you anyway".

With that I raise my glass to me and to the rest of you, well you can get fucked, fuck off, or do whatever you wish, I have the two things that have never fucked me over, booze and music.

The last flight of Icarus

The inspiration for my latest work came to me out of the blue. As I lay on the couch pondering things the name Icarus jumped randomly to the front of my brain. A quick wikipedia search confirmed my knowledge of the story of the last flight of Icarus and after that I proceeded to write the following.

The Fall of Icarus

The threads of my life I weave as wings
To set aloft and escape these things
Flee the ghosts that haunt me still
Slay the demons that would bend me to their will

Again and again I set upon my task
With grim determination, yet shall I bask
In the warm glow of a life free of these
Trials and tribulations, and total catastrophes

Like Icarus before me I fly too close to the sun
My wings melt away and I watch the wax run
As I plunge to the sea, the only thought in my mind
Is “Why do I fail, when I try to be kind”

I am a poet and didn't even know it.

I've been finding inspiration for my recent spate of poems from song titles (well except the first one). This one and the last should be obvious to those of you that know my musical tastes well.

Theatre of Pain

You see me standing here, wearing this grim mask
It does nothing to hide my pain, that is an impossible task
Can you smell the scent of death upon my soul?
Can you see my heart is as black as coal?

Feel as if controlled by marionette strings
Strangely compelled to do terrible things
Setting alight that which I love, helplessly watching the fire
Contort and twist, laughing at me, raising my ire

I am the star performer in this farce
You need not a program to parse
All that is required is to look at my face, it is very plain
To see that I’m trapped in this body that is a Theatre of Pain

Poetry 101

For those of you that read the last post, the same rules apply. I've started writing again and I would feel sorry for subjecting you to my amateur wordsmithing save for the fact that I really don't give a fuck. If you don't like it don't fucking read it. So here we go with another one.

Frayed ends of Sanity

My psyche crumbles, sanity no where to be found
My heart is empty, and cold, not unlike the ground
Upon which I walk, I’ve traveled many miles all alone
No respite from these dreams, I must reap what I have sown

I cannot find love, it eludes me at every turn
And yet without it, I am lost and continuously burn
In a fire of self hatred, a cold fog of spite
I feel completely lost, unable to make it right

This self-loathing I feel drains my soul and clouds my eyes
Blinding me to the beauty of the friendship of allies
I ask not for much, yet nothing is what I am given
A simple love is all I want, and for that I have striven

As the days go by, and death draws near
Dying alone, unloved, that is my only fear
The reaper stalks me, hauntingly reminding
Me, of my impending doom with a smile that is grinding

His grim countenance I see, my future in his grasp
As I descend into a psychotic hell, my cries are only a gasp
As you can see, I am mine own worst enemy
The horizon of my dreams lost upon a sea of insanity

Of mice and friends.

I'm quite sure that by now, gentle reader, are quite tired of my tirades about the lack of romance in my life. So if that be the case I suggest you stop reading now as this is likely the most introspective entry I will ever do. For me poetry is an intensely personal medium through which I can give voice to whatever is troubling me, but in a stylized fashion. For me it is a cathartic experience, but due to the highly personal nature of the poems, they are rarely read by anyone but myself. In light of the chaotic nature of the changes I'm undergoing in my personal life right now I though I would share my most recent poem. Feel free to comment, but remember this is something deeply personal to me and I'm laying myself bare with this, so please be kind, or not (I know you fuckers are all dickheads that love to see me fail).

So without further ado, here goes.

The Dichotomy of My Soul

I’ve gone back to place I thought I had left behind
My tortured soul cries out in pain, a fire burns intensely in my mind
My dreams turn to demons that taunt my every thought
The pain of past love, of the beauty I have sought
To make mine own, yet here I stand fast
Like a statue of stone, still living in the past

I am my own prison, without voice or reason
Overwhelmed by feelings that strangely feel like treason
Lost love for one, growing feelings for another
Try as I might, these emotions I cannot smother
Unknowing and blind, she knows not that I treasure
Every smile, every touch, to me, these bring great pleasure

Will I ever find that for which I yearn
Or am I doomed, cursed forever to burn
In a hell of my own design, never stepping into the light
Of a love that is true and kind and right
Time is mine enemy, slipping away day by day
Closer to death, desperately trying to keep it at bay

In constant darkness, always wanting to take flight
To escape this insanity, to leave behind this plight
As this body withers and decays and grows weak
My mind twists and turns growing darker and more bleak
Yet the dichotomy of my soul, which to you I lay bare
Makes me hope for the future, may I yet find love there.

The Dirty Thirties.

This fuckin' dry spell with the women is seriously going to either kill me or drive me nuts. I've met exactly ONE woman since my ex took off and as it turns out she played the hateful "just friends" card. The really shitty part for me is the fact that I see her every fucking day. The only saving grace is the fact that she is a phenomenally cool chick and I genuinely enjoy hanging out with her. What I can't deal with is having to listen to her talk about looking for "hot" guys or even worse knowing that she's hooking up tonight with a new guy that she's interested in. This I can't deal with, I have far too many painful memories of my ex doing exactly the same thing to me.

I wish there were some way of letting her know that in these situations it feels like someone is ramming a knife into my chest. I hate having to make lame excuses to leave.

I've found there are three kinds of people. Those that enjoy being single and alone. Those that enjoy being single and engaging in casual sex and brief relationships, and finally those that hate the other two and need to be in a committed relationship.

I find myself in the third category. I hate being alone. There is no "thrill of the hunt" for me. I'm happiest when I've gotten past all of the getting to know you bullshit and realize that I want to be with the object of my attraction. Unfortunately this takes time and most often puts me in the unenviable position of having missed the boat and winding up as a "friend".

Before you offer any suggestions, let me tell you I've done the e-harmony thing (a complete and total waste of fucking time and energy), and I can't be the arrogant asshole that gets the chicks. I am who I am and I just have to live with the fact that I'm likely gonna be single until I die. Not a happy prospect, but at this point I need to be a realist and stop deluding myself.

The upside.

At least there's porn.

This one's for the gamers.

More wacky You Tube goodness. I came across this one accidentally and truth be told I have no idea where he's going with this, but it made me laugh and as such I thought I would share it with you.

For those of you that want more, there are more episodes on You Tube.

The Fog of War.

Lately I've been battling some demons from my past. With some we've come to a gentleman's agreement, with others I've won. Unfortunately there are still a few that I thought I had defeated but were only playing dead only to rise up and kick me in the junk.

Today my head felt as if it were going to explode. The white noise inside my brain was nigh on unbearable. The unfortunate side effect of this was my inability to properly deal with the resulting anger and my overaggressive reaction to, under normal circumstances, would be something that I could laugh off, basically pull the N.M.P. card on the whole situation.

It's been a difficult week and that is the only reason I can see that I let something so trivial as a retarded project manager's stupidity get under my skin. My own inability to properly deal with life's many stresses is likely going to be my downfall. How exactly is it going to transpire? Well, let me tell you I wait with baited breath.

Knowing that YOU are the architect of your own demise, yet feeling powerless to stop the train wreck that you see coming, in a word, it sucks.

Really, really lots.

I grow weary of the constant self examination. I just want things to be easy for a change. I would love for someone to print a list of things from my past that are beneficial and then wipe my memory. I really think brains should come with a reset switch. It would make life so much more enjoyable for people like me.

With modern medicine being what it is, I think one of you rocket scientists out there should research this and make it happen.

* Stabby rip stab stab *

Okay, I lied about not posting anymore (yeah, so fuckin' sue me). Anyhoo, I just watched this video on Youtube and it's fucking hilarious.

My last post was so emo I want to throw up (does that make me even more emo?).

P.S. I know the formatting's fucked, but at the moment I don't feel inclined to fix anything so just fuck-off and enjoy the show.

Desolation Boulevard.

I admit defeat. I am a beaten, broken man. The only thing I feel is an all-consuming emptiness. Yes, this is the dicotomy that is my soul. The fire that fuelled my personal rage has been extinguished. Life has won out. As such, this will likely be my final entry. Not that it matters, as no reads this tripe anymore. It is with a heavy heart that I bid you all adieu.

Fin.

Kick to the cool.

It's amazing how much life can beat the shit out you. Just when you think things can't get any worse, BAM! a major kick in the junk. My vehicle insurance provider somehow deemed it necessary to pilfer my bank account thus leaving me fucking destitute until payday, and by destitute I mean to the tune of 40 cents in my account instead of the 80 dollars I expected to see there. I'm unsure of how they can take two payments out at the same time when the payment schedule said there would only be one and more baffling is the fact that the dollar amounts differ by some 50 cents. I can't wait to unload on the poor, unsuspecting fuckwad that answers the phone at the insurance company. There is no justification for this kind of ignorant fucking bullshit. I refuse to sit idly by and let the corporate fuck-faces rape me blindly just because they think they can.

On a positive note, my boss took a bunch of us out for drinks tonight and believe you me, it couldn't have come at a more opportune time. I do believe that it saved me from going to jail as all day I was contemplating who I would most like to off in a most aggregious fashion. Fortunately for them, the list is so long that by the time I had finished my beer, the feeling had past.

The Last Bastion.

Well folks, I've finally hit a new low. The singular thing in Cowtown that I didn't hate was my place of residence. The rent is cheap (compared to the rest of Calgary) and the resident manager and her daughter are very nice people. Music is my life, it gets me through the bad times and lifts me up even higher when I'm feeling good. Tonight I had a visit from an angry douche-bag neighbor. Apparently my Nuance bookshelf speakers are pumpin' bass that I can't hear. I wasn't aware that speakers could magically produce frequencies that normally aren't possible, and I'm supposed to be clairvoyant enough to know that he is a pussy and goes to bed at 9 o'clock.

I can't wait to move, just to piss this asshole off the same way I did the last asshole I had to deal with in a former residence. When I knew I was moving, I flipped all of my speakers on their backs and cranked everything I had (which is quite substancial, even though I no longer get to use any of it).

So it looks like I'm moving back to Toon Town, only because I can afford to rent a house there. Lord knows that I don't want to live there, but circumstances being what they are, Alberta has absolutely fucking nothing to offer me.

The more things change...

... the more they stay the same. I've come to the conclusion that taken as a whole (with a few notable exceptions) women are nothing but a bunch of hateful, deceitful bitches. Their sole purpose on this earth is to make man's life a living hell. It's ironic that god gave men two heads, but only enough blood to run one of them at a time.

I wish I could find an anti-viagra. It would solve nearly, if not all of my problems in one fell swoop.

Those of you that know my past can likely predict where this is stemming from. Once again I've been burned in the EXACT same way that I've been burned in the past (twice by a certain hateful bitch). Stupidly, I fall into the same trap time and again. I must admit I'm mighty tired of running on this fucking hampster wheel of relationship hell, fuck I wish someone would jam a stick in the spokes.

It's amusing how just when things start to look up life can give you the most heinous kick in the junk at just the right time to let you know your place in the world. So it would seem that the virtiol has returned, and this time I think it's for good.

Fuck you all,
Jason

Two fifty for a decade.

Tis the start of another year. With each one I am amazed that I've made it this far. Long ago I thought I'd either be dead or in jail due to some heinous incident involving me going postal. I must admit that music is what has kept me around this long.

I've been working on a new logo for Marble Orchard as you can see above. As well, I've been messing around with an embedded MP3 player seen below.

Unfortunately the electronica has been mostly put on the back burner for now as I've started playing more and more guitar. Suprisingly, I'm actually coming up with some new song ideas and finding ways to integrate some of the synth stuff into it. My biggest stumbling block right now is my lack of knowledge of Cubase, but I keep plugging away at it and slowly but surely I'm figuring things out.

Well, enough of my rambling, here's hoping that you find a measure of peace and prosperity in the coming months.

Peace out,
Jason

P.S. for those of you that are wondering, the title is from a Tragically Hip song titled "Little Bones", it's from the Road Apples album.