28 November 2004

So perhaps it really is all my fault. Which is not so much to say that they were my shortcomings, my mistakes alone that led to this. Contributions to the present case came from all sides, to be sure. But it is becoming more and more apparent that amidst all the frantically shouted directions and misdirections from the passenger side, it has been me sitting at the wheel all along.

And now you're too tired to drive, so I get my bearings and put my foot to the pedal again. I'm tired too, but after my years of misguided education, I am accustomed to all-nighters (coffee always was a better friend than beer). I always deeply regretted their necessity, though, knowing each time that had I only had my shit together... The fact that I am well-practiced at biting the bullet tends to suggest that I let myself get shot at all too often.

And I wish I knew how to change.

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24 November 2004

I really should know better than to read calculus before bed.

Man I'm tired.

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23 November 2004

It's a quarter after six in the morning, and I have this inkling that today is going to be very mean to me.

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21 November 2004

Reading Chomsky is always both fascinating and frustrating. Because the world as he describes it is so complex and so maddening. And there are times I wonder why I keep flipping the pages, why I keep swallowing that red pill, when I'm so powerless before the reality of the situation.

But I would rather know. Perhaps ignorance is bliss, but I'm just too damn curious.

I am not optimistic. Something about a "dilemma", as I put it not so long ago. I do not see world history taking a turn for the better anytime soon, or even ever. The powerful are too well-entrenched now, it's gone too far, and it's much too late.

Strangely, this does not depress me. It makes me angry from time to time, but it does not make me hopeless. The world as a whole cannot be saved, but parts of it, and even large parts of it, might. I cannot say for certain. The question is only how I will choose to live, in light of the facts.

I'm still working on that.

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18 November 2004

Excerpt from a not-novel I am writing

Every time I hear Mad Dog by The Catherine Wheel I find myself thinking of her. Perhaps because what little this mysterious and voyeuristic context reveals about her neatly fits the description. All she reveals is filled with a kind of melancholia and ferocity, a vulgar and hostile sort of beauty. Every time I look I feel as though I am pestering a sedated tarantula that has given me a standing invitation to do just that.

Perhaps it is posturing. As much as that image that pierces my mind when I hear that song, gun-barrel pupils and a single light strand of hair, surely was a posture. Carefully constructed though perhaps haphazardly designed. I think sometimes it is a posture. But certainly not a fake. Rather a crystallization of reality. A life in concentrated form.

And I wonder if her dad was a wierd child.

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17 November 2004

I'd almost forgotten what it was like to have a little time in the early morning. And the whole world right now seems to be in a state of 'wait and see'. Myself. Friends. Entire nations are waiting to see the fallout of things now far beyond their control. And no matter how much someone wants to scream that we're all in control of our own destinies, sometimes it simply isn't true.

There's nothing more maddening than when someone (especially a boss) says something inane like "Where you go here is really up to you". No, sir, it really isn't. I can try to convince you that I should go somewhere, I can work my ass off, I can prove my ability, et cetera, et cetera, ad nauseum. But if you simply don't feel like it, nothing happens. I can justify certain decisions, but I'm not the one who makes them. So don't pitch me this line and try to make me feel that it's somehow my fault if I'm not getting anywhere after everyone else around you has agreed I've done all I can.

We do place our fates in the hands of others. All the time. The tricky part is seeing that line where my prerogative ends and yours begins.

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8 November 2004

Contemplating a new name for the blog. The Daily News just doesn't cut it. I don't think it ever did. It's what happens when you call in sick to work one day and, hard-pressed to find anything else to do, you build a website.

Not just yet. This deserves some thought.

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4 November 2004

Like a satellite dish badly dented by hail, I am this imperfect parabola. Reception is fuzzy. Whole parts of signals shooting right through the holes to the other side of me, uninterrupted and unnoticed like pennies that fall through sewer grates without a sound. Those portions of signals that are reflected reach the focal point diffused, scattered, and weakened.

I am caught in this tiresome cycle of desire. To become who I truly am. I am no longer convinced that existence precedes essence, though I'm not sure I ever was. In fact, I'm quite sure I never was convinced of that, and that I believed quite the opposite, though my shots in the dark would never have given that away.

I very nearly envy misguided people; they at least have a clear sense of purpose. But I only nearly envy them. I have no desire to be misguided. That kind of purpose isn't worth where it takes you, no matter how much fun the trip is. But as with so many things, this is not a binary business, and to live without tangible purpose is not the only alternative to being misguided.

It is not simple. If it were simple, I wouldn't believe it, for they are fictions, not truths, that are simple. (Thank you, C. S. Lewis). And in the jumble of distortions bouncing off this parabolic plane, one frequency still comes through clearly enough to be useful, as it always has. And it has plenty to say.

Seems I'm just too busy trying to get more channels.

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3 November 2004

DILEMMA: (n.) A situation in which one must choose either of two options, neither of which is attractive. Eg. the recent American presidential election.

Six of one...

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DailyNews



1 November 2004

And the hits just keep on coming.

All at once, people from my past are flooding back into my little sphere of existence. Many from across the continent, through concerted effort on my own part. And some here in my own city, by pure chance.

Perhaps it won't be long now until we find out what the people we have become really have to say to each other. For better or for worse. But, I think, mostly for the better.

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