i'm inches away.
i'm crawling towards the end.
i'm desperately reaching out.
i'm fighting, clawing, for...uh beer.
it's not just any beer. nope sir e...this beer is special.
it's special like a white Christmas.
i've dreamed about this moment.
a moment that once seemed so far away.
now it's here, and i'm inches away.
the beer is nigh. i can almost feel it.
I congratulate myself among the rest of you hard-working, ridiculously brilliant CreCommarades! We are the champions of the first semester. We are champions until the end!
(...just write the script, hand-it in and run)
celebrations.
happy holidays. get trashed or read the bible. or both. or not. or something else. or what.
to be with you again,
jon
Friday, December 11, 2009
Late Night Jazz
i love late night jazz.
i dropped steve off sometime in between two and three in the morning and continued on home.
i turned some mind numbing radio on, and then skimmed through the stations to stumble upon some late night jazz. my mind suddenly felt clear.
i love late night jazz. it's a tasty treat to listen to because i can think above it or casually focus on it.
fluttering piano melodies. heart-warming drum sounds. sometimes a cool, classic trumpet singing about late night love, or leaves falling, or whatever it feels like to me as i drive through the lights and into the darkness of the country.
most gals i've known don't like late night jazz. to me it's the perfect sound to accompany her and me. whoever she may be.
i love late night jazz.
i dropped steve off sometime in between two and three in the morning and continued on home.
i turned some mind numbing radio on, and then skimmed through the stations to stumble upon some late night jazz. my mind suddenly felt clear.
i love late night jazz. it's a tasty treat to listen to because i can think above it or casually focus on it.
fluttering piano melodies. heart-warming drum sounds. sometimes a cool, classic trumpet singing about late night love, or leaves falling, or whatever it feels like to me as i drive through the lights and into the darkness of the country.
most gals i've known don't like late night jazz. to me it's the perfect sound to accompany her and me. whoever she may be.
i love late night jazz.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
I LOOKED, AND THEN I LOOKED AWAY
Chapter 4 - "One Hell Of A Cigarette"
The madman could see his motion for prayer was enough to send shivers down my spine, but not enough to send me running away screaming. My fear was now mingling with a rage of my own.
I suddenly realized I was still smoking what could be my last cigarette. I guess if I was to die by the gun in a lonely African town, I might as well smoke the hell out of this last cigarette; for all it’s worth.
After pointing his semi-automatic at me once more, he slid his thumb against his throat with his other hand. His final warning had been made. I was going to die.
Still, shock kept my feet glued to the pavement. Where was the rest of my company? Where were the police? Was I really that cursed that I was the only one in the parking lot with this terrorist? I looked around to see if anyone could see what was about to happen. Nothing; there was nobody in sight.
“Of course,” I thought. It was only a few parked cars and shopping carts.
The madman started to shout at me again. This time louder and with less patience. I couldn’t help but notice the harsh rasp in his voice. He could be fucked on crack for all I know. He could have lost the woman of his dreams today, or turned his back on his religion. No sense in talking about it. In fact, there was no sense in running away screaming either. It’s either he shoots me or I walk away.
Life is wild in this way. I’ve experienced many conflicts in my life. Most of them get resolved through careful communication or a fight, be it verbal or physical. I’ve been in predicaments where my life was on the line. Every time it hasn’t been my decision whether I would live or die.
Two weeks prior to this predicament I was hopelessly surrounded by lions in a tent, far away from a gun or even a knife. That night I experienced true terror. I could hear the menacing growls of these fierce predators circling the campsite and around my tent. It was like I had to suffocate myself for fear of making the slightest sound. I had to hold still and remain frozen for hours. I don’t know if they weren’t interested in man flesh that night, or whether the embers of the dim campfire began to mysteriously burn into a flame, scaring them away. I know I pissed in my sleeping bag that night.
That was a horrifying experience. Africa was turning out to be what I might have been looking for. It was dangerous, and it was an adventure to say the least. I knew I had changed significantly in the short time I was here.
However, now as I stared into the barrel of the gun, none of these experiences or realizations truly mattered. What mattered were the last puff of my cigarette and the next few seconds of my fragile life which was currently held in the hands of a madman.
I exhaled that last bit of smoke as I looked him in the eyes. It was death looking back at me, grinning with flattery. I paid no more attention to him as I turned around and walked away, flicking my cigarette into the wind.
...and that's all folks...
The madman could see his motion for prayer was enough to send shivers down my spine, but not enough to send me running away screaming. My fear was now mingling with a rage of my own.
I suddenly realized I was still smoking what could be my last cigarette. I guess if I was to die by the gun in a lonely African town, I might as well smoke the hell out of this last cigarette; for all it’s worth.
After pointing his semi-automatic at me once more, he slid his thumb against his throat with his other hand. His final warning had been made. I was going to die.
Still, shock kept my feet glued to the pavement. Where was the rest of my company? Where were the police? Was I really that cursed that I was the only one in the parking lot with this terrorist? I looked around to see if anyone could see what was about to happen. Nothing; there was nobody in sight.
“Of course,” I thought. It was only a few parked cars and shopping carts.
The madman started to shout at me again. This time louder and with less patience. I couldn’t help but notice the harsh rasp in his voice. He could be fucked on crack for all I know. He could have lost the woman of his dreams today, or turned his back on his religion. No sense in talking about it. In fact, there was no sense in running away screaming either. It’s either he shoots me or I walk away.
Life is wild in this way. I’ve experienced many conflicts in my life. Most of them get resolved through careful communication or a fight, be it verbal or physical. I’ve been in predicaments where my life was on the line. Every time it hasn’t been my decision whether I would live or die.
Two weeks prior to this predicament I was hopelessly surrounded by lions in a tent, far away from a gun or even a knife. That night I experienced true terror. I could hear the menacing growls of these fierce predators circling the campsite and around my tent. It was like I had to suffocate myself for fear of making the slightest sound. I had to hold still and remain frozen for hours. I don’t know if they weren’t interested in man flesh that night, or whether the embers of the dim campfire began to mysteriously burn into a flame, scaring them away. I know I pissed in my sleeping bag that night.
That was a horrifying experience. Africa was turning out to be what I might have been looking for. It was dangerous, and it was an adventure to say the least. I knew I had changed significantly in the short time I was here.
However, now as I stared into the barrel of the gun, none of these experiences or realizations truly mattered. What mattered were the last puff of my cigarette and the next few seconds of my fragile life which was currently held in the hands of a madman.
I exhaled that last bit of smoke as I looked him in the eyes. It was death looking back at me, grinning with flattery. I paid no more attention to him as I turned around and walked away, flicking my cigarette into the wind.
...and that's all folks...
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
I LOOKED, AND THEN I LOOKED AWAY
Chapter 3 - "The Lord's Business"
The madman put his hands together and looked up into the blinding blue lit sky as if to say to me, “Pray for your life.”
“You don’t know who you’re talking to you asshole,” I muttered in my mind. I didn’t want to pray. I didn’t want to ask anything out of God. This African trip was a spiritual journey that died in the sand. I hated God.
When I left for Africa I had a real desire to see if God was here in Africa. I had heard enough about genocide, crime, and poverty. But I also had heard of crazy miracles taking place like limbs growing, diseases disappearing, and even people getting raised from the dead. To me it seemed like God was in Africa and not in Canada.
I used to believe that I could talk to God, and that he truly cared about me. I was raised this way in my small-town of seven churches. My dad was the pastor of one such church and so I had to attend service every Sunday. It was boring every time. I knew religion better than most kids on my block, however, and I knew the confusion and torment that comes with it. I was taught that God was in the business of love which I had learned on this safari, was not true. He was in the business of stealing and tormenting and being a bastard.
He took my gal away while I was on this safari. She was perfectly in love with me before we left.
I met her at my best-friend’s wedding. That day was perfect. She wore a beautiful yellow dress with a white flower in her hair. She reminded me of summer; a feeling of freedom and happiness. Her deep brown eyes and long dark hair made me think I was in a dream. We danced that night under a canopy of stars and I knew when she smiled that she was the one for me.
It felt so right for so long until a few days back when I had called her from a payphone at a lonely gas-station in the middle of nowhere. She said she didn’t know what was going on inside of her or why she was losing the love. She just lost it she said, and then hung up.
I didn’t believe it was her. It was my luck, as the good things in life - the beautiful things in life, are taken away from me and replaced with terrible things.
After my heart was completely crushed, and I shed a few tears, I heard the sound of music coming from the other side of the station. It sounded like hope to me. I walked around the front to see what it was.
A large group of Christians were singing hymns together. It sounded angelic and I thought, maybe, just maybe, this was a good sign. It’s not every day that you stumble on a group of angels singing outside of a gas station in the middle of the Kalahari Desert. Maybe I should open my heart once more. It felt a little soon, but I didn’t really have anything to lose by that point. She was gone and I was alone.
I lit a cigarette and stood outside of the group, observing the joy these people were expressing. They were all smiles. Men, women, and children all gathered together in a semi-circle singing so passionately. It was like God was conducting this beautiful choir.
Was this why I was in Africa? Was this the moment I had been searching for this whole time? My heart was hopeful and tears began to roll down my cheeks.
Then an older man, which looked like the pastor, started to approach me. As he walked my way slowly I realized that this was it! Something out of the ordinary was about to happen to me! The pastor man looked into my broken heart. I thought he might have some sort of profound word to say to me. He got closer and my heart burst with excitement.
“Could you smoke your cigarette over on that side of the station? We’re doing the Lord’s business here. Thanks,” he said with a concerned look in his eye.
Fuck. Everything that was good inside of me disintegrated into nothing at that moment. My heart was already broken, and this was the finishing blow. It was like somebody beat the hell out of me; beat the life out of me with a simple instruction.
He was her. He was God. He was this African adventure. In that moment, he was everything that was once something good in my life.
I turned around without saying anything in reply. I flicked my cigarette into the wind and walked towards the safari bus feeling my heart had just been literally turned into stone within a few minutes. I turned my back on God in that same moment, with the flicking of my cigarette and the exhale of my smoke.
The madman put his hands together and looked up into the blinding blue lit sky as if to say to me, “Pray for your life.”
“You don’t know who you’re talking to you asshole,” I muttered in my mind. I didn’t want to pray. I didn’t want to ask anything out of God. This African trip was a spiritual journey that died in the sand. I hated God.
When I left for Africa I had a real desire to see if God was here in Africa. I had heard enough about genocide, crime, and poverty. But I also had heard of crazy miracles taking place like limbs growing, diseases disappearing, and even people getting raised from the dead. To me it seemed like God was in Africa and not in Canada.
I used to believe that I could talk to God, and that he truly cared about me. I was raised this way in my small-town of seven churches. My dad was the pastor of one such church and so I had to attend service every Sunday. It was boring every time. I knew religion better than most kids on my block, however, and I knew the confusion and torment that comes with it. I was taught that God was in the business of love which I had learned on this safari, was not true. He was in the business of stealing and tormenting and being a bastard.
He took my gal away while I was on this safari. She was perfectly in love with me before we left.
I met her at my best-friend’s wedding. That day was perfect. She wore a beautiful yellow dress with a white flower in her hair. She reminded me of summer; a feeling of freedom and happiness. Her deep brown eyes and long dark hair made me think I was in a dream. We danced that night under a canopy of stars and I knew when she smiled that she was the one for me.
It felt so right for so long until a few days back when I had called her from a payphone at a lonely gas-station in the middle of nowhere. She said she didn’t know what was going on inside of her or why she was losing the love. She just lost it she said, and then hung up.
I didn’t believe it was her. It was my luck, as the good things in life - the beautiful things in life, are taken away from me and replaced with terrible things.
After my heart was completely crushed, and I shed a few tears, I heard the sound of music coming from the other side of the station. It sounded like hope to me. I walked around the front to see what it was.
A large group of Christians were singing hymns together. It sounded angelic and I thought, maybe, just maybe, this was a good sign. It’s not every day that you stumble on a group of angels singing outside of a gas station in the middle of the Kalahari Desert. Maybe I should open my heart once more. It felt a little soon, but I didn’t really have anything to lose by that point. She was gone and I was alone.
I lit a cigarette and stood outside of the group, observing the joy these people were expressing. They were all smiles. Men, women, and children all gathered together in a semi-circle singing so passionately. It was like God was conducting this beautiful choir.
Was this why I was in Africa? Was this the moment I had been searching for this whole time? My heart was hopeful and tears began to roll down my cheeks.
Then an older man, which looked like the pastor, started to approach me. As he walked my way slowly I realized that this was it! Something out of the ordinary was about to happen to me! The pastor man looked into my broken heart. I thought he might have some sort of profound word to say to me. He got closer and my heart burst with excitement.
“Could you smoke your cigarette over on that side of the station? We’re doing the Lord’s business here. Thanks,” he said with a concerned look in his eye.
Fuck. Everything that was good inside of me disintegrated into nothing at that moment. My heart was already broken, and this was the finishing blow. It was like somebody beat the hell out of me; beat the life out of me with a simple instruction.
He was her. He was God. He was this African adventure. In that moment, he was everything that was once something good in my life.
I turned around without saying anything in reply. I flicked my cigarette into the wind and walked towards the safari bus feeling my heart had just been literally turned into stone within a few minutes. I turned my back on God in that same moment, with the flicking of my cigarette and the exhale of my smoke.
Monday, December 7, 2009
I LOOKED, AND THEN I LOOKED AWAY
Chapter 2 - "Chaos Has A Gun"
The man was shouting at me in some sort of African language which I could not understand. The rage in his tone gave me the sense that life had taken this man and thrown him into the desert. He was Chaos as far as I was concerned and there was no point in trying to reason with Chaos. Especially, when he’s got a gun pointed at your face.
His appearance made him look like he was the man to avoid eye-contact with when shopping at the grocery store or the kind of villain that walks into a saloon and changes the drunken noise into silence upon arrival. He was wearing two-different sized boots and a ripped up pair of jean shorts. His build was just as frightening as his bravado with his massive arms sticking out of the black sleeveless Nike shirt he was wearing. If he was so angry about rich white tourists getting off the bus in this shitty little town, then why was he wearing a cool American muscle shirt? It didn’t matter. It was the fruits of my capitalistic society either way. Something he probably didn't know much about, but who was I to know?
The racism pissed me off. The lack of respect pissed me off. The perspective pissed me off. My emotions melted like lava onto the hot pavement of the parking lot as I began to smoke faster and more nervous than I ever have.
The man was shouting at me in some sort of African language which I could not understand. The rage in his tone gave me the sense that life had taken this man and thrown him into the desert. He was Chaos as far as I was concerned and there was no point in trying to reason with Chaos. Especially, when he’s got a gun pointed at your face.
His appearance made him look like he was the man to avoid eye-contact with when shopping at the grocery store or the kind of villain that walks into a saloon and changes the drunken noise into silence upon arrival. He was wearing two-different sized boots and a ripped up pair of jean shorts. His build was just as frightening as his bravado with his massive arms sticking out of the black sleeveless Nike shirt he was wearing. If he was so angry about rich white tourists getting off the bus in this shitty little town, then why was he wearing a cool American muscle shirt? It didn’t matter. It was the fruits of my capitalistic society either way. Something he probably didn't know much about, but who was I to know?
The racism pissed me off. The lack of respect pissed me off. The perspective pissed me off. My emotions melted like lava onto the hot pavement of the parking lot as I began to smoke faster and more nervous than I ever have.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
I LOOKED, AND THEN I LOOKED AWAY
Chapter 1 - "Why Africa?"
I stood there, motionless; gazing into the red eyes of a madman and the barrel of his gun. I felt the hate from a few steps away; cold and confused. It was as if he was stealing my soul with his blood-stained stare. I was helpless; raped. Death held me over the edge, eager to let me go. The only thing left for me to salvage was the rest of this cigarette, and possibly, a free ride home in a casket.
“What the hell was I thinking when I decided that it was a good idea to go to Africa anyway?” I sulked to myself. The consequence of my choice seemed far too real at the moment. I could’ve shot myself for my own stupidity.
Why Africa? This question I could never honestly answer. I didn’t know why, or what I was doing in this god-forsaken desert. I used to feel a sense of pride when the question was thrown my way. Whoever asked me was truly puzzled; especially Africans. It was the chance for me to say, “Hey! I’m crazy! I want something crazy out of life.” Now my pride had been sweated out in the sweltering sands of the Kalahari. I wasn’t proud. I was powerless.
My answer was always true; I didn’t know. I was going to Africa, and I didn’t have the slightest clue as to why. Maybe it was a young man’s desire for a real adventure. Maybe I wanted to dip my feet in dangerous waters.
I had spent my entire life living in a small-town on the Canadian prairies. The most adventure I could find there was in drinking tons of booze, getting really high and jumping the midnight train. It didn’t really matter what country I was going to. My hometown was a place that made me question everything. I wanted answers. I had to get out; see the world. What was it like beyond my borders? Would I change if I stepped outside? Who am I? The sort of questions that barrage any young man’s mind after getting out of high-school without a clue of what is what. And rather than working on the farm till the cows came home, I chose Africa. But by now, it made me sick to think about.
I stood there, motionless; gazing into the red eyes of a madman and the barrel of his gun. I felt the hate from a few steps away; cold and confused. It was as if he was stealing my soul with his blood-stained stare. I was helpless; raped. Death held me over the edge, eager to let me go. The only thing left for me to salvage was the rest of this cigarette, and possibly, a free ride home in a casket.
“What the hell was I thinking when I decided that it was a good idea to go to Africa anyway?” I sulked to myself. The consequence of my choice seemed far too real at the moment. I could’ve shot myself for my own stupidity.
Why Africa? This question I could never honestly answer. I didn’t know why, or what I was doing in this god-forsaken desert. I used to feel a sense of pride when the question was thrown my way. Whoever asked me was truly puzzled; especially Africans. It was the chance for me to say, “Hey! I’m crazy! I want something crazy out of life.” Now my pride had been sweated out in the sweltering sands of the Kalahari. I wasn’t proud. I was powerless.
My answer was always true; I didn’t know. I was going to Africa, and I didn’t have the slightest clue as to why. Maybe it was a young man’s desire for a real adventure. Maybe I wanted to dip my feet in dangerous waters.
I had spent my entire life living in a small-town on the Canadian prairies. The most adventure I could find there was in drinking tons of booze, getting really high and jumping the midnight train. It didn’t really matter what country I was going to. My hometown was a place that made me question everything. I wanted answers. I had to get out; see the world. What was it like beyond my borders? Would I change if I stepped outside? Who am I? The sort of questions that barrage any young man’s mind after getting out of high-school without a clue of what is what. And rather than working on the farm till the cows came home, I chose Africa. But by now, it made me sick to think about.
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