five deadly everythings...

Hello,

I am nerd.

toothpick and i decided to blog on each others blogs. its funny how immediately we saw differences in each others work. like how he doesn't use titles, or how he blogs in html. i don't want this to be a silly blog or a pointless one, however I don't know what to write about. i mean how many times do you get the opportunity to blog on someone else's blog.

yo, last night we took a journey through mississauga, we walked the local streets all night, never wandering far from our own neighborhoods, but discovering new paths and landmarks.

i slept over and now its 4pm and i am still in his space, with no signs of leaving. saul is playing in the background, and as i try to make this sound mildly intelligent or even interesting i fail in my own eyes.

this is surreal to post a blog on toothpicks blog, this guys writing has become legendary, and to become apart of that history is kind of honoring. we must also be the first people to have guests on each others blogs.

we got inspired by a struggling french-canadian filmaker from the sixties, discussed sexual connections with my sister, sat on some rocks while soothing stream from the creek gave our minds solace, dicussed where to do zazen, discussed ideas for film, and had moments where we thought we were boring each other, we went to wallys twice, saw suzanne's sister and waited for them to show up, i had buckley's while he had smokes.

all in all, this is a pretty shitty entry, can't compare to toothpicks blogs. in other news bagel is returning today, and tommorow and monday are busy film day things. probably the last ones we will have in a while. august is here tommorow and i am going to stop before i further embarass myself.

Posted by Scene -- at 3:35:00 p.m. | Permalink

Real People

I saw Cathy today. That's one of the few positives about working where I do -- I run into a lot of people I otherwise would probably never see again ever. Anyways, I was never really tight with her but she was one of the nicest people I met in highschool; used to chill with Jimmy and them but never really part of the core group.

She was all tanned and I asked if she just got back from vacation somewhere. Apparently she's been gone for awhile now, doing her thing in New York, working internships and shit, and she's just here visiting for the week. But check this: at the end of the week she flies off to start her new full-time career...working with AIDS patients in Nicaraugua.

I love meeting people after a long time and seeing that they're *doing* shit, but it's doublemint gum when the shit they're doing is also that positive. Really put me in a good frame of mind, which helped alot considering the type of b.s shift I was yet to work (don't get me started). We hugged, and I think that was the first time in my life I've experienced a real goodbye. A genuine have-a-nice-life, wish-you-the-best goodbye.

On my lunch break this customer sat with me, his name Kevin, and we talked about music and art. We talked about the tendency of artistic genius going hand in hand with madness (of varying degrees). And then he dropped the bomb and told me he was bi-polar and on medication. He is, of course, a musician himself. We actually got into talking about hiphop as well, lots of old school, Grandmaster Flash and Sugarhill Gang. I invited him to the festival. He showed me his Kurt Cobain graphic novel.

Oh and Mark came through as well. Talked about how he fucked things up with Arlene, showed me some really nice abstract drawings he had done (following the same themes as before), had some good laughs. Told me and Brohan to call him up and grab some drinks, which speaking of, I could use a beer right about now.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:12:00 a.m. | Permalink

The City is Mine

Candidly speaking for once, I have an affinity for this city. I do my share of bitching about it, and I'm entitled to it, given that I *have* been in the same gotdamn city my whole life, in the same house no less, but I can't with a clear conscience say I hate this place. Not with all the nights I've spent wandering through it's nooks and crannies with friends, conversing, finding our worldviews and discovering ourselves in some city-sponsored wooded park, or like yesterday, sitting in an empty parking lot under flickering street lights laughing at nothing and everything.

Caught by surprise, one of my favourite parts of the Common concert was hearing Com say "Mississauga y'all". I've never really repped the city like I did right there.

I've traversed this place on foot, in broad daylight, in pitch darkness (the summer of the blackout), high on shrooms, drunk, on weed, delirious with lack of sleep, wide awake and happy and strutting. I've walked through the summer oven heat, through winter storms, rain, and those beautiful days with the rabbits out and Illmatic in my discman. I've been in this city ecstatic, sharing a kiss on a driveway with a new love, I've wandered with a blurry mind home, hitting street signs with rocks after breaking up with my ex. I've sat in City Hall's secluded garden and practiced Zazen. I've run around with a friend, turning on the city's Christmas lights on an incongruously humid summer night. So many states of mind and so many states of city.

It's a unique experience to not have a driver's license in a city like this.

I know I'm on the cusp of moving out of here. Another year or two, depending on how soon I can make shit happen. But I can feel it already. I wouldn't be making such a sappy nostalgic post if I wasn't.

Yesterday I was walking to work and I looked down at the manhole, which read: "City of Mississauga Co. - 1981". My birth year. Despite everything that makes me sick about this place, how can I not have an affinity for it?

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 12:13:00 p.m. | Permalink

Moves of Un-Common Greatness

Today at work the district manager "surprised" me with a five year anniversary gift. The gift and the curse: happy to know that I haven't been there for nearly as long as it felt like, but also, sad to know that I'VE BEEN THERE FOR FIVE YEARS.

They gave me a special pen that comes in a leather case that comes in a black box. With my new special pen I feel like one of those Ghostwriter kids, except corporate sponsored and caffeinated.

I was able to pull some strings today at REMG and procure an extra ticket for the sold out Common show. Went with Kamal who surprisingly had never been to a major hiphop show before ("Is there dress code?") DL Incognito was the opening act, and he seems like just an all around nice cat. He was apologetic that no one in the crowd knew his songs yet, and he promised to do the best he could to get us live. Honestly, he was pretty dope, I wasn't expecting that.

I'm a big Melanie Durant fan but her music just didn't seem to transfer well to a live show. All the charms of her voice, the idiosyncracies of her music, it all got lost over the loud speakers. She was belting out notes, and belting them out well, but that whole diva schtick isn't what attracted me to her music in the first place.

As for Common, this is the second time I've seen him live. Last time was after Electric Circus dropped. Christianne and I had to wait in line outside for what seemed like hours in the freezing cold. Horrible. This time me and Kamal had a short wait in line, Common was on time, and he only played one track off of Circus. He rocks the fuck out of those Be tracks. Highlights for me included "The Food", "Be", "I Used to Love HER", "6th Sense", "It's Your World" (Com got into it and threw the mic on the floor after his first verse. I mean, I knew that song was personal but you don't really get it until you see it on his face)...and on and on. He even did some verses from Resurrection, which I wasn't expecting. Did a *long* freestyle, so good, namedropping Canadiana and pointing out things in the crowd just to prove he was going off the top of his dome.

No matter how fucked up the day goes, some good music can make everything seem ok again. Crowd was beautiful, live, hyped, sober. I'm goin to sleep relaxed and smiling for once, with no alarm clock.

Tomorrow is my only day off for like the next three weeks, and is also my 3 Year Anniversary with the love of my life (not a hiphop metaphor). I will not be taking any calls that don't come from France.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 1:12:00 a.m. | Permalink

Fuckery

Common show got sold out on us. How the fuck did I let this happen? I WORK FOR THEM.

In other, recent, grand displays of fuckery: I was an hour late for my internship today, my computer is broken, I have to work in five hours, I can't edit my stupid article, everybody at both workplaces keeps yelling, and my leg fell asleep and FELL OFF.

On the bright side of things, my leg didn't really fall off but the pins and needles hurt REAL BAD.

And yet, I had a great day. Riddle me THAT, Batman.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:49:00 p.m. | Permalink

For the Sake of Posting

I watched this HK movie last night directed by Johnny To, called "Running on Karma". It starred Andy Lau in a very creepy, very realistic giant muscle suit. It was one of the weirdest movies I've seen, but I now have this fascination with To's films (Throwdown was also fucking weird, about Judo, life, and...uh...)

Lau plays this superhero type who moonlights as a stripper and can "see" karma. I can't describe it, but Cecilia Cheung was her regular cute self and the ending touched on some Buddhist shit and went places I really didn't think it was gonna go. It basically challenges the whole idea of karma, being locked in the predetermined cause/effect relationship, having the course of your life set by your past sins. That made it sound really smart. It's really a stupid movie. In a good way.

This was the first Sunday open I've attended in a long while where I wasn't severely sleep-deprived or slightly inebriated or some combination of both. I spent the first hour following Julie around the store and bitching about things. I've been in one of those moods.

When you're in one of those moods everything relates. I read from some books, bought some new comics, listened to some music, watched some television, all my life, my life, my life, my life. I couldn't take it so I ran away and went jogging. And then it rained on me. How poetic.

This post sounds depressed but it's not. Not even close. Then again, all of my posts sound depressed, don't they? Wait, that's not true either.

Two days until our three year anniversary.

Until then, dance M.I.A., dance.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:38:00 p.m. | Permalink

I don't wanna make any more R.I.P. posts

A guy I knew in highschool straight killed himself last year. He had just gotten married, had a kickass job with computers (his lifelong passion), and had a baby on the way. They found him hanging in his basement by a noose. His computer was still in the process of downloading something. He had theatre tickets for later that week sitting on his desk. His friends and wife were scratching their heads for weeks because he had never shown any signs of depression.

Once upon a time someone with close blood-ties to me tried to swallow a bottle of pills. She had broken up with her long-term boyfriend, was dealing with teenage angst, and felt her parents didn't care about the shit she was going through. There's always two sides to things like this. She's always been a drama queen, and nothing in her life has ever really been bad enough to warrant sailing off into the darkness like that. But still. Depression is a sneaky motherfucka.

Recently, someone on the outskirts of my social circle tried to chug a tall glass of Tylenol, no chaser. The story goes, she kissed a boy in the halls of her highschool (or rather, he kissed her, but that's all he-said she-said and doesn't matter in the end), came home and told her parents. Her father denounced both her and the society they were living in, and her mother ran around the house crying "my daughter is a whore, my daughter is a whore!" If being a whore is being 17 and sharing a kiss with a boy, then I've spent my whole life in the company one-time whores. Cool.

Next morning, she was lying in bed with a freshly pumped stomach.

Why am I blogging about some girl I barely know? Because this shit makes me sad to no end. I used to be mad depressed myself but I always knew there was a huge clear line between having suicidal thoughts and actually attempting suicide. I used to mind-fuck with my counsellor because she had a hard time holding the two seemingly contradictory thoughts in her head: YES I was depressed, but NO I didn't want to kill myself. It's like without the suicidal tendencies your case no longer holds any weight.

I've been an optimist my whole life, sometimes to the point of naivete, sometimes to the point of getting taken advantage of by stupid motherfuckers. And so, even as a depressive I had one eye set towards the brighter side of things. Maybe because of that I'm not qualified to comment on someone else's suicidal thoughts. But shoot, if the only people qualified to talk about suicide are those that want to commit suicide, there'd just be a bunch of friends swaying in the basement and nobody to talk to.

One of the things that gets me through this life is faces. Most often young faces, kids, full of smiles and hope and all that gushy good stuff. I hold so much promise in the youth of today (and by youth I'm including you 20-something geezers), and nothing gives me greater satisfaction than a kid doing something with their lives. Creating shit. Doing shit. It's why if you make music I'm the first one to support. It's why if you write I'm the first one to want to read.

And on the flip, the worst thing I can imagine is one of these bright, fresh faces covered in tears and being stuffed with pills.

I know shit seems hopeless sometimes. I know there's degrees of bad and that by any scale sometimes shit is just plain BAD. But no matter what, there is never no hope.

I knew this guy in martial arts who went on to work as a 911 operator. He entered himself in mental ward after having a kid die on him on the phone. He said he cried for eight weeks STRAIGHT. I thought that was one of the worst stories ever. But he ended off with telling me that the greatest feeling in the world is knowing you've saved a life, and he'd saved a bunch. I can't even imagine what that feels like.

But kids, everytime you put down the pills you're saving a fucking life. And maybe that sounds stupid, but it's true. Everytime you're in that place and you walk away from it, you've just unleashed the greatest power you have. You save a life. You take control of a life. And that's what all of this is about right, control? No matter how bad shit seems you are still in control. You can swallow or not. You can tie the knot or not.

I don't know any ways to say this without sounding cliche. Just don't do it, it's not worth it. Life is a fucking mess, but that's part of the beauty of it. Keep strong, laugh.

I dunno. Yall are some beautiful fucking people, don't just die like that.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 9:46:00 a.m. | Permalink

Some Thangs:

Etta James cries and moans all over "Anything to Say You're Mine", and it's fucking audio crack. It's better than "At Last" in my humble opinion; download that shit. These old songs are cool in the way they bottom out at two minutes 30 seconds. They're like sketches.

I've got too much work to do. I realized today I'm pretty much working four jobs. Sbux, Halfway, REMG, Readings. And only one of them pays me. I played hooky (how the hell do you spell that anyways?) yesterday and ditched my responsibilities. Watched Cinderella Man, yet another confused Ron Howard flick featuring a heavily emoting Russell Crowe. Had informal Zen training, spitting koans and smoking zazen sticks late at night in park with fellow wannabe monk.

Two hours sleep then went to serve drugs to the coffee zombies. Shift actually went pretty fast, and offered to stay longer because Super(visor)Krys was sick and all the other stupidvisors were wandering and Wonderlanding. Leanne is giving me mad hours, which is good/bad.

Talked to Christianne a bit today on MSN, which was great, but seems like she got disconnected. My gf spent a night in Spain sleeping in hotel room with other boys. I spent the weekend sleeping in a bed with Steve Boyer. Not an even trade, if you ask me.

This is the poorest I've been in a long while. But not as poor as Russell Crow in Cinderella Man. He was so poor he won a boxing match.

Jef's crush on MIA continues to grow:



Next time in Five Deadly Everythings: 17 YR OLD SLUTS.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 3:52:00 p.m. | Permalink

Click To Do Some Readings



peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 8:17:00 p.m. | Permalink

Drifting

A lot of the old MAFA crew have become Sbux regular customers. There are my former students, Mara and the chick who hosts on The Shoppping Chanel. There's Sunshine and Kru Gerald, plus the new KATA connections, Dave and Zeyna. Sifu and Linda drop by every once in awhile, though I haven't seen Brad or Marinela in awhile.

Anyways, today I saw Caroline, whose name I couldn't remember and who reocognized me but couldn't place where she knew me from (she also went to York, though I only ran into her once). I haven't seen her in over five years, and that time span is surreal when you think about it. I used to really look up to Caroline and her friends. Joanne, Hansel, Brian, and Brian's older brother (whose name escapes me.)

They were just some cool fucking people. They were only a few years older than I was, but something about them...I just wanted to be them when I grew up. I remember riding in their car on the way to Brampton, going to watch Sifu Neil defend his belt, and they were popping in all these mixtapes, awesome hiphop mixes, drum and bass, everything. They were so unpretentious about their coolness. They included me in their inside jokes, and asked me questions the whole way there. Just some genuine nice people and it's been rare occasions that I've met people like them since.

Joanne, whom Marc Mendoza was (rightfully) in love with, was wearing hairstyles that are just now becoming ubiquitous. Her short bobs, semi-mohawks, coloured streaks and shit like that. She went over to Marc's house once to cut his hair and he wouldn't stop talking about it for weeks. One of the coolest filipinas I'd met, at a time in my life when I didn't especially like filipinas.

Hansel, her boyfriend, was this giant, awkward Native guy with an equally awkward smile. His hair was long and often tied in a pony tail, and I thought he was just so gangsta with what an individual he was. Plus, he never once looked insecure about the fact that his girlfriend was an infinitely better martial artist than he was, even when everybody would talk about it. Dude had supreme confidence. Marc used to jokingly wonder how a guy like Hansel could land a girl like Joanne, but we both knew. Big hearted and hamfisted, prolly my favourite of the bunch.

Brian was this Chinese stoic short guy with a slightly square shape to him. He was never that good at martial arts, especially when compared to his ninja brother, but something about his eyes could intimidate the fuck out of you anyways. I knew I could take him but I never wanted to try. One of the nicest guys you'll ever meet. I liked how he would come up to me after class and ask me questions, even though he was older, stronger, bigger than I was. He taught me about humility, and about the strength within being gentle.

Caroline was so quiet, and it seems like she still is. She's kind of this satellite that quietly hovers around everything, and yet there is communication even within that silence. Like today, we reintroduced ourselves with barely any words, just some squinted eyes and head gestures, half-smiles. She has this melancholic smile that's either world-weary, sad, dimwitted, or extremely wise. Maybe all that. We caught up a bit and I found that they all don't talk to each other anymore. Last she heard Joanne and Hansel had broken up. This made me sad.

I was upset that she caught me on day when I looked like crap. Unshaved, unshowered, beard out of control and face breaking out from too much sunscreen. I have this need to wow the people from past, to show them how far I've come and how different I am from the shy, reserved, pimply awkward kid they once knew. I tried to make myself sound impressive by talking about my film and such, but it was no use. Sometimes when you meet people from the past you fall into your role. I stuttered and avoided eye contact, and it was just like six years ago.

I don't know why I have this need to validate my present through people from my past. Maybe I don't need to, but I know it sure as hell would feel nice. I wanted her to be proud of me, to call up the others and be all like "guess who I saw?", excited and full of stories of how much I've grown. That's just a little kid's fantasy though.

I dunno. I ran into her again at the bank. We smiled at each other, because of the coincidence, but also I think in recognition of the fact that we both seemed to be wandering around that day by ourselves. We were both a little embarassed. Satellites.

Like me and mine, they too have drifted apart.

You think maybe I've followed in their footsteps a little more than I ever thought?

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 12:36:00 a.m. | Permalink

Vices

Somehow at work today Vice Magazine was brought up. Kev has ranted about Vice Magazine before, and I feel him, but I dislike the publication for my own, separate reasons. Anyways, G brought it up and Krys said she hated that magazine and it just set off a trigger. We went off about it's meanspirited, useless, ironic detatchment from everything and everyone.

But it's not just about the magazine, it's more than that.

"I just hate my generation sometimes", I whispered.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:45:00 a.m. | Permalink

Hungry HipHop Junkie in the City

My dad is crying out in his sleep on the couch beside me. This is disturbing, heartbreaking. He sounds like a wounded animal. I'm having flashbacks of the only two times I've ever seen my dad cry (both valid and "manly" reasons)--not happy memories. OK, good, he stopped. Fuck the what was he dreaming of? He just woke up and is two feet away from me pouring himself a glass of water. He has no idea. Dreams are fucked like damn.

Went out last night and got drunk downtown. First we wandered and ate and drank iced coffee. Sat on a bench and watched a homeless guy buy food with the loonie my friend had give him earlier. He didn't finish the food and violently launched it at the birds. The street festival was more like a group of people with no sense of direction, ping ponging off each other and the sidewalk barriers. Like The Land of the Dead.

Got just the right amount of drunk, which is always the best thing ever; we made observations and funnies and they pissed like mofos while I finished the spinach dip and attempted small talk with the waitress who politely humoured me. We tried to extend our time and make it for the *last* possible Sauga transit to my house. But then we had to piss and had to go to Kipling Station, where the washrooms were closed anyways, and we found out the subway had ceased running. So we pissed outside in the trees and hightailed it on foot back to Islington Station. We ran, only to find out we had gotten the times wrong anyways and missed the last bus by over an hour already.

So we, tipsy, tired, two ants on a twisted path of silent giant slabs of concrete and metal, decided to walk home. We went in a big circle and an hour later were back where we started. We did not lose hope. We got guidance from an angel in a pink skirt. We had Sobe and brownies and opinions and cigarettes. We walked for three or four hours, give or take a lifetime, until we finally reached Mississauga, though still far from home. Eventually we gave up and called a cab at around 5 a.m, whose soft padded leather vinyl or whatever it was seats felt like Alba after a long hard day at the office.

I got home, changed, washed the grime and scent of sweat and smoke off of my face, and went straight to work. I passed out on my 15 minute break, and Julie just let me sleep for an hour while she worked the floor by herself, which is the dopest thing anyone's ever done for me at work. I'd buy her a gift if I weren't dirt poor right now. I owe her one. She still gave me my lunch break as well.

After my shift I slowwwly walked back home, with a stupid grin on my face and my feet talking back to me, where I discovered that the "new" issue of Astonishing X-Men I had bought the previous day was really the old issue, but with a different cover. Waste of fugging money.

Passed out like a canary in a coal mine, dreaming of bagels and bunnies and fundamentally altered DNA structures.

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 10:20:00 p.m. | Permalink

Trip The Light Fantastic

Played third wheel with my favourite couple and went to see Fantastic Four. I expected it to really suck, and thus, I expected myself to have a great time. But they actually pulled off some stuff. Jessica Alba wasn't her regular horrible self (she's actually decent in this, and I don't understand the hate she's getting in reviews. It's like people wrote their reviews before watching. Also...there seems to be a re-up of women-hating going on in media and movies...but I won't go into that here), and the Four had some great chemistry with each other. Johnny's comic relief worked a lot better than the previews would have you believe, and The Thing looked and moved great.

Excuse me while I get my geek on.

[Long post about Fantastic Four that I decided to spare you]

In conclusion, Fantastic Four: Better Than The Previews!



peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:57:00 a.m. | Permalink

Readings

I got tagged by this meme awhile ago:

1. Total number of books I've owned:
2. Last book I bought:
3. Last book I read:
4. Five books that mean a lot to me:
I would pass this on to:

I've yet to fill it out because I have no idea how many books I've owned, and I know now, after days of procrastinating, I'm probably not going to get around to counting. Suffice to say, it's nowhere near as many as Kwasi. I spent a good period of my life (highschool) taking shit out from the library, so I've got nothing to show for those years besides a stack of Rolling Stones and other such pop cultural tomes. Plus, a good number of the books I've read were stolen from the shelves of my siblings, friends or girlfriend. I'm ashamed to admit, some of them were just plain stolen. I never stole CDs or clothes or any of the typical teenage shoplifting items, but I went through a phase of stealing books from the bookstore across from work. And finally...I'm a painfully slow reader.

The last book I bought was The Portable Beat Reader, which I copped on Monday from the used bookstore downtown that my friend's grandfather owns.

Last book I read? Well, I gave up on both Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and Harlan Ellison's Angry Candy. Not counting graphic novels, the last book I finished was quite awhile ago.

Motorcycle Maintenance was pretty good, but somewhere past the middle Prisig gives up on the narrative and dives right into a turgid dissertation on thought and reality. He pretty much says "from here on the trip got boring, so instead I will tell you my thoughts about..." Maybe it gets back on track near the end but I couldn't stay interested enough to stick around. Janey swears by this book though (she mailed to me for free as a gift) and I promise to give it another chance. As for Ellison, I find he is very hit and miss. When he hits, he is one of my favourite authors. When he misses, it's almost embarassing. Not to say that this collection was more misses than hits, bubt I'm finding that Ellison perhaps speaks more to a time in my life that has passed and is gone (he was my favourite in early highschool).

As for The Beat Reader, I'm enjoying it, I love Ginsberg, but I am getting the sense that Kerouac is a big hipster prick. I guess I can see what people get out of him...I can respect that and his work...but he just seems like a damn asshole sometimes. Stealing cars isn't being deep, you fucktard. And I think his understanding of Zen, unlike Ginsberg, is way off. Or maybe it was just the drugs. Either way though, some sick poetry. Even their letters to each other are interesting. Reading about the Beat generation kind of makes me sad, I dunno.

I'm also still reading Yellow: Race In America Beyond Black and White, and Alan Moore's From Hell, both of which I'm enjoying immensely.

Five books that mean a lot to me? Damn. Here goes (for one reason or another):

-The Tao of Jeet Kune Do by Bruce Lee
-Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card
-The Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff
-Wicked by Gregory Maguire
-Hitchcock by Francois Truffaut

And, even though it's not a "book", I think it needs to be mentioned for how many times I've read and been affected by it:
-The Dark Phoenix Saga by Chris Claremont and John Byrne

That list sucks and I'm gonna regret it later, but oh well. No poetry?

So what, I'm supposed to tag other people with this right?

Bagel
Nerd
Light

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:53:00 p.m. | Permalink

"You know I -- thug em, fuck em, love em, leave em/Cause I don't fuckin need em"

"Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us. It is not just in some; it is in everyone. And, as we let our own light shine, we consciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
Nelson Mandela

In other news, someone cool bought me a sword, someone hot sent me an e-mail, someone brown is trying to help me get published in Australia, and Jay Z, of all the songs you could have performed YOU DO BIG PIMPIN'???



peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 11:18:00 p.m. | Permalink

Essaywhuman???

At work I had this customer carrying a long meandering staff. It had feathers or something at the top. The man himself had long hair and a beard, and appeared to be wearing hemp clothing.

He asked me why I shave my head and I made a couple of stupid jokes, as I would do to any customer, but he went into a long rant about Natives, and long hair, and how the wind is my father and etc. etc.

I love building will all sorts of people, all sorts of cultures and beliefs, so I fell right into the discussion. I let him talk for a while, expecting a nice exchange, but as his rant went on and on I began to realise he was implicating me. His line of thought was far from coherent, but somewhere in there was the idea that cutting your hair cuts away your soul, and this tied into the suffering of the world as it is today.

"What about people who are naturally bald? What about hereditary baldness? Chemotherapy? These people don't have souls?"

He laughed, and I thought this was good thing. Breaking the ice. But no, his laugh was more a scoff in the face of stupidity, and he went on a bit longer about something or something else, and I'm not sure if he ever answered my question.

He started jumping into statistics about the environment and about AIDS in Africa, about racism, about Darfur, and I had to stop him.

"Dude, I feel you. You don't know how much I feel you."

He went on. Sudan. Oil. Rainforests.

"Dude. I understand. But you've gotta come up with a better way to do this than to walk around implicating people based on their hairstyle or whatever. There's better ways to do this, and better ways to judge a person's character than by whether or not they shave their hair, come on."

I stuck out my hand to shake his, and introduced myself. He said his name was 27 Dragons. This was alarm number one (I know, my alarms come late. Call me naive.) I said my name was Jef and he shook his head sadly, "A Christian name..."

Anways, suffice to say the conversation went nowhere and he eventually left without saying goodbye or thanking me for the discussion. No "Nice meeting ya."

It'd be easy to write this off as an encounter with a crazy derelict, but no. While eccentric, he seemed to be "all there", forming complete sentences, reacting to me, making acceptable and non-creepy eye contact. His politics were on-point though his spiritual beliefs seemed lazily formed, as if he were making them up on the spot.

It's funny that people are so quick to write someone off as a crazy person. Really, there's no difference between this guy and the pundits I see on TV. Both cling unbelievably hard to their beliefs, both seem to have a wellspring of pre-conceived notions to draw from. And both, by any account, are wrong wrong wrong.

I'm not saying I'm right about everything, but there is a right way to build. People get so wound up in their beliefs and opinions that they assume everyone is opposed to them. They’re constantly on the offence or defense even though neither stance is needed. I'm sure this dude is used to people brushing him off, and he was expecting me to do so as well. But no, I engaged him in discussion and debate, and he still treated me as though I weren't listening.

He was crazy, sure, maybe, but it was no different from any other conversation I've had with people who don't listen, who just talk my face off and condescend to me, lecture me, aim to teach me something that I'm already aware of.

I was thinking about Catherine, and it's funny because most people would call her a bitch, and it's true, she is one (still love you though Cat). But I remember talking to her one day about politics and race and for real, I've never met anyone I've so strongly disagreed with. Yet it's proven to be one of my favourite conversations of the past few years, one that I constantly refer to and think back on, because we actually talked to each other, we let the other person speak and we listened. We asked genuine questions and we challenged each other’s views in a way that wasn't confrontational or accusatory. We learned about each other's viewpoints. And isn’t it funny that I had this with the bitchy xenophobic Conservative in designer jeans, and not the ‘peaceful’ we-are-the-world Boho with the bo staff?

peace.

Posted by Scene -- at 10:14:00 a.m. | Permalink