winter in st. john's

These craggy cliffs and rocky shores and battered winding roads
the screaming gulls and screaming winds and harsh atlantic prose
the wistful frozen bleakness of this lonely island town
the icy mournful waves reaching for what will not be found



reflects too accurately the part of my soul i want to leave behind.

i wont miss this gorgeous haunting place.

spspspspspring

i think i've narrowed the trigger down to the sound of water dripping from rooftops, running through the streetside gutters, the sweet scent of dirt and gravel and dried grass released finally to seep into the mutating chilly air. the perilous ice is gone and we regain the feel of our footing on the hard dry earth again.

i missed that friction between me and worldly things, hot and rough and tangible. spring is like a stimulant drug in me; it makes my brain buzz around like a bee in a jar, makes me feel like the world is mine.

and why shouldn't it be mine?

RIP objective meaning

Sometimes when I'm alone I make tea and I read philosophy excerpts out loud. I pretend I am in an 18th century coffee shop in europe speaking passionately in mixed tongues at a table filled with great minds. Yesterday Spinoza told me that there was no such thing as contingencies and that everything existed only out of necessity. God is everything and he exists only because existence is his essence, and everything that had ever occurred and ever will occur only happens because that's the only way it can happen. Our will is not free. I loved the simplicity of this idea, but Francis Bacon then cautioned me to be most wary of what I found most appealing. The human mind loves ideas that are easy to imagine and understand, and truth to many people is a means to be able to live contently, and not an end in itself.

Philosophy murdered my sense of objective meaning cruelly and thoughtlessly and now I'm trapped deep in this existentialist pitfall where nothing is more meaningful than anything else and everything is ultimately pointless and there's no higher power and no rythm and no reason and no pattern behind the chaos, just chance and madness and hangnails.

it's not so bad though. it just means that instead of searching the world for the true meaning of life i thought i knew i was sure i believed existed, i make my own meaning. i make it from scratch, with my sheer character, with ideas that i find lying around my head under couch cushions, with paperclips and odd buttons and elastic bands, i will make something great with what i have, like how McGuiver does it.




reading philosophy is like chasing wild geese
that are invisible and can throw smoke bombs.

understanding the universe is like licking your elbow
neither of which I have stopped trying to do

engineering

enthusiasm and hazelnut cream coffee are rushing around in me, quickening my heartbeat and warming up my blood. it feels like my blood is thickening these days, rising from the status of the nauseating diluted red koolaid my cheap babysitter used to give us to a nice raspberry syrup flowing rich and good through veins that have been dormant for a long time.

I sit on the steps of my uncles house, kicking my feet against the pavement and watching him clearing his driveway. the baby spring sun is still small and shy, peeking bashfully through the grey of the clouds but never straying too far, a child gripping her mother's skirt. soon she's going to eat up all this ice and hardened dirt-stained snow and grow nice and strong. in a couple of months she'll excrete it all out again on us in the form of summer and our hemisphere will be happy again for a little while. I babel to my uncle rambunctiously and incoherently regarding our excreting sun, and about space travel and sequencing genomes and medicine and poverty and most importantly, how I'm going to change the world. I expect people to be delighted when I inform them of this but they rarely are. Instead he looks at me for the first time today, my naivety reflecting from his hardened eyes and he says "you know, there's money in engineering."

i stare at him. and he continues moving portions of snow from his driveway to the gutter, one shovel at a time.

The day I met Azazel on the Las Vegas Strip

Azazel was one of the leaders of the rebellious angels that had strayed from God's law according to the Book of Enoch in the time preceding the great flood. He taught men the art of warfare, of making swords, knives, shields, and coats of mail, and women the art of deception by ornamenting the body, dyeing the hair, and painting the face and the eyebrows. He had also been popularized by the Rabbis as a great seducer of women. Eventually God sent Gabriel to punish him, and under Lucifer he became one of the fallen angels.



I met him one day a couple of years ago when I was walking past the Venetian hotel, very hot and moderately angry and slightly lost. When he first approached me it was as a salesman trying to convince me to rent a car which was very tempting at that point except for the fact that I had no license and no money, so I politely declined. The second time I met him was when I was backtracking down the same sidewalk about ten minutes later looking very obviously disoriented and he asked me if I was going somewhere in particular and I said no because I wasn't, except for maybe some shade.

He said he was going to take a break so we sat down against a wall and he told me about a dream he'd had that to him had seemed very real. The earth had split open somewhere not too far away, and he gestured vaguely outward into the heat of the desert. He said the ground began to come apart slowly at first, and then faster, moving towards the city. He emphasized the intensity of the blood curdling cracking sound it had made as it went, and said that in the dream he felt like he was witnessing a portion of the end of the world.

I have always felt very attracted to the idea of the end of the world and how it had a romantic and exciting notion about it and I told him so. He seemed interested by this and we talked about why the world might end and if it might be due to the sinful nature of man and how engaging that would be, and we talked about reincarnation and the collective consciousness and the kaballah and god. He was very intelligent and articulate and insightful and charming and I was quite impressed.

I must have said the right things because he said he was going to let me in on a secret. He told me to read Memnoch the Devil, because most of the things in it were true and it was the most reliable account of what had really gone on between God and the devil, and the reason he knew this was because he had recently realized he was Azazel himself, and was slowly recalling his memories of being an angel after a few thousand years.



I was very enthralled by this because I'd never met a real angel before, so this whole thing was just delightful and I told him so. He was pleased that I believed him. Apparently most people didn't.

He proceeded to tell me all about how within the next decade a great war would be waged between God and the Devil and all the angels, and many humans too. At first it would be silent, and then there would be things like cracks in the earth that cities fall into and domestic animals devouring their own kind and spontaneous fires and mass hysteria. As stakes became greater for god and his angels, the world would transform into a battleground for an all out celestial war. Most people would not understand but some people would play a part in it. He said that i would be one of them because I knew the right things and asked the right questions, and that he had to go because we'd been talking for two hours but he was looking forward to seeing me again in a few years. He shook my hand, expressed gratitude for our conversation, and walked off into the las vegas sunset and palm trees through the fake grass and cockroaches to sell people cars.



So now you guys know how the world is gonig to end. I wish I'd asked him whose side I would be on.

Fukuoka, Japan

lately I've been thinking of that trip we took. it was one of the biggest things i ever did with my life because it changed my perception of everything. i never really believed it was possible, that we could cross an ocean that big and come out safe in a different world like that. i always listened longingly to stories of travellers and i said that i would be one of them one day but the whole concept seemed like something intangible you'd find under a rock at the end of a rainbow, until ashley said why not. and even then i didn't believe it was really happening. it was totally a step by step thing and i was totally skeptical the whole way. raise my credit card limit, wire some money, buy a plane ticket, learn some basic hirigana, quit my job, tell my mom, pack some clothes, buy some yen, get on a plane, cookies or pretzals? cookies please, get off the plane... and then i realized we'd done it and i was totally bewildered. how did it even happen? we kept repeating 'we're in japan' every so often the whole time we were there, as if trying to convince or reassure or remind each other like a couple of kids playing make believe - "we're princesess! we're princesses!"



the feeling was surreal. what was that feeling? i remember thinking, we did it! achievement, potential, oppurtunity. we crossed to the other side of the world and we did it on an airplane and a job at the zoo and ambition and intense curiosity and utter, utter directionlessness. For a while I'd believed people when they said what we were doing was crazy. I guess it was. But sometimes I thought about them in the mornings when I opened my curtains while I was lying in bed and watched the sun melt over the orange mountains in the distance and slide down the speckled hatched roofs onto my beanbag pillow. i listened to the chirping of the birds and the bugs and the rattle of the train on the tracks and I knew I'd rather be crazy than be in any of their shoes.

Images and instances keep coming back to me and I think about them all the time. i think about the alleyways behind the dorm and how they were like a maze in an alternate universe densely filled with stray cats and pretty trees and something else i couldn't place. it's amazing how a place can be so modern but feel so ancient.



the heat coming up through the soles of our shoes from the pavement and our intense love-hate relationship with the overwhelming warmth. hidden shrines scattered around the city that jumped out at us from behind corners like mischevious children. watching clumps of pink and blue flowers sway along the side of the tracks as the train sped by. pretty girls riding bicycles in the morning on quiet streets with white lacy umbrellas in their hands.

The obscene english/japanese/french/german hybrid sound that pervaded genkijacs as we all sat on the straw mats and ate cheap sushi and exotic pastries. green tea and random assortments of crazy fruit drinks from obscurely placed but plentiful vending machines being our main source of hydration. The doughnuts... the 500 yen breakfasts of rice and miso soup and things that we mostly couldn't identify but were so insanely delicious.

the maniacal obsession with EVERYTHINg being irrationally cute.



Playing cards in the dorm late at night listening to music on ari's laptop and watching the olympics in japanese. those guys were all so cool and they were from everywhere. we were from canada. do you think we were as exotic to them as they were to us?

the rain on the beach beneath fukuoka tower, the neon lights over the river at night time, the fireworks over the ocean celebrating the return of the souls of ancestors to the spirit world, and running down the street amidst an onslaught of hot rain in skirts and tiny japanese shoes and continuously forgetting umbrellas and laughing and loving it.



One of the first day's we were there ashley and i were walking down a back street exploring, and a little boy carrying a basket was looking at us from behind a corner, and i waved at him and he smiled bashfully and waved back. it was like something connected then that was so much bigger than me. i dont even knkow how to describe it.

for us the world was simultanously so much smaller and so much bigger than it had ever been before. i want to feel that again.

do I exist? yes

sometimes when i try to walk across the street, cars don't stop for me. this naturally leads me to deeply question my existence. they may not be stopping because they are unobservant or in a hurry, or it could be because im not really here. sometimes for days at a time i dont talk to anyone at all, and i fall into my head. inside there its kind of grey and clammy and foggy and smells like oriental cooking. it's soft though, like its covered in moss and i can feel things watching me from behind shadows so im never lonely when im there. the shadows are dark and twist and turn like water in a storm. they fight and become hot and scream and make noises like papers rustling and glass shattering and sometimes eat each other. i hear voices too. at times they are crisp and clear and at others they're faint enough to have travelled across centuries. they discuss the purpose of my life and ask if i forgot to lock the door that morning. many times they're voices i recognize but sometimes they're not, and they talk to me about things that have happened and things that will never happen and things that could happen if i learn how to find out what i want. there are lights that float around, changing colours and becoming harsher and softer and bigger and fuller, and ill follow them sometimes for a long time until they become too dim or until the shadows get too dense or until i get too frustrated with the meandering path or until someone tells me the coffee shop is closing or that im blocking a stairway. and that's when i look up and smile and say 'thanks' and then in my head i say 'for confirming my existence'. someone always does that for me eventually, i guess im just waiting for someone who will do it in a meaningful way.