Please Click on the Ads and Make Me Money and Other Thoughts

Please click on the ads you see adorning my wonderful blog. I don't care if you press 'Back' after you do. I don't care if you buy whatever they are pitching. I simply ask you to click on all the ads. It's been a week since they have been up, and I have made EXACTLY three cents. Not even enough money for me to go fuck myself with. So, in the spirits of giving (to Brett) please click away and help a brother out.

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It's Monday and I have yet to find an apartment to rent. We haven't really looked all that ambitiously, however. Today the search will begin in earnest, but not TOOO earnestly, I note, as I sit in the dark, dank computer room and type away on issues that matter not. I need my own car. Click on the ads.

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I've been having nosebleeds alot lately. I am concerned. In fact, every day since my return to Calgary, my nose has dripped life fluid. I recall my first move to Calgary several years ago suffering from a vertigo-type illness whenever I would stand up. You see, Calgary is about a mile-high which is a much higher altitude than in most regions. My hope is that these face bleeds are nothing more than adjusting to the highness of the city. My fears tell me otherwise; That it's deaths trailor being played out through my nostril (the right one, for the record). I have checked other orafaces for signs of blood and so far, I am ok. As it stands now, it's just the middle of my face that bleeds; something to calm my fear, I need.

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If you are living in the Calgary area and have Calgary Flame tickets to give to me, I will take them. Send me an e-mail and I will help you unload your burden on me.

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I should be looking at homes to live now. But I am not. I am waiting for my father to return with his car. 26 years old an still at the mercy of my Dad. Maybe my nose is bleeding because the spirits of those who are strong are punching my face, telling me to toughen up and be my own man, do my own thing. Rely on no strength but my own. Maybe it's my spirit punching my nose, telling me to man up and stop being the waif that needs. Start being the man who is. Yes. A man. A man takes control of his destiny and grabs it from the hands of those he passed it to in his moments of weakness. A man attarcts people to the greater cause. A man - I am one. Listen, all of you.....If you simply click on my ads.....

Tomorrow is For Fools - TheProof Is In The Litter Box

"Five years from now, I'll have a mansion and things will be better"
"Once I get my investment portfolio up and running, I'll be happy"
"As soon as I get my television show, life will start being REALLY good"


Tomorrow is for fools.

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The family Martin has a new cat. Her name is Chloe. She is an excitable kitten who is bursting at the seems with boundless energy. Although I must admit I prefer the previous pet at the moment, this one is not without her charm. A pint sized grey and white tabby kitten, Chloe is five hundred pounds of attitude and swagger in a two pound frame. She dictates when she will be held. She calls the shots with the humans in the household. Her food bowls are re-filled with no second thought once she fixes her kitteny eyes upon the house people. Chloe, only three months into existence and three weeks at the Martin Family house, has herself a charmed existence in a myriad of ways.

The house is covered in cat toys and cat bells and cat fishing rods. It also has kitchen table chairs, which double as cat-monkey bars. It has grocery bags which have evolved into cat noise makers. It has hands, fingers and toes, all of which are of the most exciting things in the world of cat-dom. The house itself has become not much more than a kitty-cat playground in which a mother, a father, call home, and a son and his girlfriend call their launching pad. But, in the mischievous eyes of excitable Chloe, it's the whole world and she is the undisputed Queen - a Queen, mind you, who would starve without her servants can-opening abilities.

I watch her. She amazes me. She goes and goes and goes, running circles around the TV, family room, kitchen and living room, attacking everything she sees with zeal. If you are reading the newspaper, she will attack it and seize your attention. If you are drinking chocolate milk, she will sneak attack a sip. She pounces at her own tail, then, like clock-work, realizes it's attatched to her body, which is hers, and thus focuses on another toy in another room, beginning another cycle of kitten rampage.

She will do this non-stop until the fatigue sets in. Once it does, she finds the nearest warm place and crashes into the deepest realms of kitty sleep, re-energizing for the next round of all-out Chloe terror.

In the world of Chloe, there appears to be no tomorrow. Granted, there may be limited levels of consciousness, but the fact remains true. When she is chasing her cat-nip bow-tie, there appears to be no other reality at the moment but that. There is not thought of which toy to swat at next, no consideration of whose toes' to surprise attack soon after. She appears to be the master of the moment, the zen cat from the future, sent to teach the Martin family and whoever has an open (third) eye a thing or two.

I found myself watching her sleep, curious as to why she would wake up. For what reason? She has no career to pursue. There is no dream home to build. There is no mate out there for her to meet and, thanks to the neutering service of the Humane Society, no offsrping to conceive and raise. In terms of conventional reality as we know it, her life is meaningless. If I could speak Cat, though, I am not sure I could convince little Chloe of this fact.

You see, in her world, once she wakes up, all is anew. In front of her lay a vast land of opportunity, fun, excitement, joy and pleasure. There is love, too, given from the hands and laps of the people populating her universal reality, that, in her moments between food and play, she is more than happy to partake in. There appears to be no tomorrow for Chloe - only a wonderful now; a blissful, exciting, all-encompassing moment that she, in her infinite wisdom, knows to appreciate.

It matters not to her that there is no University on her horizon, no kids to raise and kick-out of the house, no tomorrow in which the work of today will pay out; there is no pursuit but one - to be. And at that, Chloe Martin is the champion of Being. And at 26 years old and haven seen the majority of my enormous, vast, country and reasonable amounts of the world, I find my wisest teacher yet may very well be a three month old kitten who just happens to love playing with feces in the litter box.

It's Not That You're Just Another Number, But.....

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The Mind is Out of Order

Imagine the most amazing thought. As supremely and astounding a revelation as the mind can fathom, and the pretend I just wrote it. I tried but I have nothing to say.

Forest or Trees?

I'm in Saint John, New Brunswick. It's an off night and Super Bowl Sunday, which as I age, is looking more like any other Sunday, except it seems I'm supposed to have more fun tonight than usual, and drink more name brand Beer and eat more name brand Pizza. I'm suffering from the Blah's tonight. I'm not sad or happy. I'm not elated or down. I'm just Blah and fortunate that my Hotel room has wireless.

New Brunswick and Nova Scotia are two Provinces I did not know that well before doing this tour. I'd been to Halifax and Northern Nova Scotia, but that was a drinking vacation, and memories are not meant to arise from such journeys. This time my eyes are open, but my mind is somewhere else. Sometimes I forget where I am. I've been to so many places and have so many more places to go that it is begining to blur into one. Every city has the Gas Station with the Certain Bank Machine and the certain kind of one-of-a-kind coffee and a toliet that smells like urine and chlorine, which is sad, because I like the smell of chlorine and now my mind is registering urine as 'hopeful good smell' in it's processing.

There's trees and rocks and hills and old buildings and semi trucks and hotels with nice people and motels with jack-asses. There's the restaurant that's thankfully clean, the diner that's surprisingly good, the cafe that's surprisingly open and the nearing town that's closer than you thought.

There's the audience that loves you, the crowd that didn't get you, the room of people that were fun to talk to, the venue that won't have you back and the show you'll never forget. There's free beers, two dollar pop and staff menu to order from. There's the Manager that drops names, the bartender who drops glasses and the comic you're working with that picks-up the groupies that are not nearly as numerous as you would have thought.

Every new place you go is so much like the place you left that, if you're lucky, you start to see it all as the same thing. You're no longer in a new city or a diffirent country; now, you're just over here, and at some point, you're going to go over there.

At the same moment, you begin to see how every place is incredibly unique, too. The Factory Workers that bought you a beer and told you about their factory closing and how it affects the town is tought to forget, and even though bad things happen everywhere to everyone, when you can put a face to the misfortune that you only ever hear about on the News, you realize that life is real, and so are the people in who serve the bitter coffee in the greasy spoon that you swore you've been in before.

I have so much I want to see, and I guess I'm on the right path. I'm just wondering if there's not another angle to view it from. Saint John, New Brunswick is a nice town and the people have been cordial and I have been uncaustic, but even though this is my first trip here, I can't help but feel I've been here a hundred times before.

One more day in New Brunswick and it's back to work. Until then, it still feels like Groundhog Day.

Baker Street

I leave Montreal on Thursday for Halifax, where I begin a ten day tour of the region. At the commencement of the trip, I will be returning to Western Canada rather than Montreal. My time here has come to a quick, yet expected end, and with it, and end to a begining I gathered would not cease this soon. Jessica, the woman I have shared my time and life with for the past several months, departs for the sunny pastures of California for her new life four days after I head for The Maritimes.

And with that, with those two flights, ends one of the warmest periods of my life. It's too harsh to use the term breaking up, but the same result swill occur here. The cards reality has dealt show a hand that does not allow me to get to Los Angeles; rather, my cards have me in a good position none-the-less. I am headed, again, forward, this time, though, with emptier arms.

In my mind, heart and soul, I am sad, to be honest. I enjoyed this period of time truly and heartily. My relationship record had been very spotty to this point. I hadn't been fortunate enough to go through much more than good times and good connections. The world of true love had yet to be entered, yet alone sustained. With this ends by far the best experience I've had, one I wish wasn't yet done, one I'm having trouble believing actually will end. I find many endings in my life seem without valid reason, but life is not reasonable, it is simply life, and all I can do is live by it's rules or be hurt by them. I can only make sails, not the wind.

I will not stay down. Life is a gift full of gifts and that which is given is usually taken away. Memories and a new reality will be my souveniers to share as I continue on my path to everything and everywhere. She leaves, I should hope, with a happy heart, too. I try to give all I can and I hope I didn't fail her. One could easily point out that since she is leaving without me, that perhaps I had no effect. That perhaps I was nothing more than a convenience or a warm body, and in all honesty, often times that person pointing out these facts are me, but something in me knows better. I have never been a man that has been presented with fair obstacles or usual circumstances, and this could be easily categorized as a similar event, but I feel that as this thing ends here that, for whatever reason, I left a mark, too. We all make our choices - I hold my head high knowing I loved the best the best I knew how.

Other than that, I am well. Even with this, I am well. My will is stronger than ever. My human being skills have been honed. I feel I am just now begining to excell at the art of living, that all the time before now was primer for what this may all be about. I wanted dearly my life to take a turn to that of one with a greater meaning, and that transpired here. I am not the same man that entered this city. The man who leaves Montreal only slightly resembles the boy who arrived here months earlier seeking a new chance and a new meaning. He found both and more, and although the face may be the same and hair still brown, the eyes, they know more now, and the hands feel able to build worlds.

The flight I leave on happens to have the comic I am working with on it. It's a nice treat that just as one journey should end, right when the tide of life pushes me hard against my will, a new one shall start once I board my plane and once again depart for the unknown, this time, via Halifax, with thousands of Maritimers to share my pont of view with.

It's been said, but it's true. It's better to have loved and lost than not have loved at all. Not many more hours until things dry and the refocus begins. I have my eyes set, they are fixed West, and they are hungry. Fisrt I have last day here. One more day to enjoy....