If you're in love

Sometimes I find poetry that I wrote.

Notes:

1. First line should be underlined.
2. The omission of an apostrophe in "youre" is deliberate.
3. "Pretend like" should be hyphenated with an invisible hyphen.
4. That there are two "ough"s in the fourth line is not a coincidence.
5. I probably should have said 'breast' instead of 'chest' but it's 2011 and this is impossible.
6. I'm not sure that voids can have 'depth'. Worth discussing in a classroom setting.
7. There is an invisible space between the 'can' and 'not' of 'cannot'.
8. I should have spelled out 'tv' as 'teevee' but it's 2011 and this would be laughable.
9. "And deny though you will" Note the author's repeated use of 'though'. Hmmm...
10. I should have used 'whole' instead of 'hole'.
11. I should have used 'youre' instead of 'your'.
12. That does in fact say "unmindedly".
13. "To wade into the interminable depths" To be recited in a poly-rhythmic style.
14. "But that's only of course" is arguably the worst line in the poem. (Or is it?)
15. The second last line is the same as the first line of the poem.
16. The last line is the same as the fourth line of the poem and the last line of the poem and this is not a coincidence.

Capital O change

I don't expect much from twenty-ten. It's just another sequel after all.  Besides, I've heard rumours that it went way over budget and there were a lot of post-production issues. (I mean, I'll see it, but I'm keeping my expectations low.)

That said, I'm happy to see this year go. Twenty-oh-niner was a bully. He pressed my face into the mud and dotted me with spitballs. He pantsed me oh-so-many times and worst of all, he asked me questions I couldn't answer: Where do you come from? Who are you? Where are you going?

Hardly Guantanamo-esque interrogatives, I know. But when you're grinding coffee beans at noon with your eyes barely open, existential queries like these threaten your ability to survive breakfast.

Cue the fanfare.  Next year will be different. I will embrace capital O (for Obama) change, and raise a standard of almost theatrical confidence. And I'll wave the damn thing too. I will shout platitudes. I will traverse latitudes. I will change my attitude, and I will wield my resolve to capital O change with both hands, like a sword. And I will swing this sword wildly at the naysaying tagalongs whose faces so closely resemble mine. And I will do more pushups.

*   *   *

No, fuck this -- cut the music -- this isn't new thinking. This is capital O optimism of the worst kind.  The Optimism that mistakes genuine hope for reform itself.  As though adjusting your sentiments is sufficient for true change.

If I really want next year to be different, I must skip the resolutions.  Let's have fewer resolutions and more revelations. And here's a good one to start: the dawn of a new year (or decade) isn't a turning point.  It is no desert oasis, nor the starting line to a marathon, nor a warm gun in my hand.  It's just a mile marker on a really long road.  It's possible to be inspired by a signpost without having to pretend that tomorrow I will set forth on hallowed pavement.  If I figure out the answers to last year's questions let it be by accident, or luck, or Because.

Next year will be different.  I will set down the flag, and endeavour merely to try a little bit harder, and not be ashamed by the effort.

The other side

E. B. White wrote:

Possibly you have noticed this about New Yorkers: instinctively, crossing a one-way street, they glance in the proper direction to detect approaching cars.  They always know, without thinking, which way the traffic flows. … Yet after that one glance in the direction from which the cars are coming, they always, just before stepping out into the street, also cast one small quick, furtive look in the opposite direction -- from which no cars could possibly come.  That tiny glance (which we have noticed over and over again) is the last sacrifice on the altar of human fallibility; it is an indication that people can never quite trust the self-inflicted cosmos…  (16 July 1932)

There's a place, at right angles from life's parade, where one can stand and consider the torrent.  A noisy spot to be sure, like the bleachers of a Grand Prix, but the view is splendid. It's from here that I file this report.

I've been watching this procession for three months now.  Not merely a procession, but dense like a river.  I know its rhythms, its ebbs and flows, the nature of its eddies and rivulets.  I've stepped to its edge and felt its damp breeze.  I can almost feel its breadth as I keep vigil on the bank, and I want to cross it.

And like White's New Yorker, I know the intricacies of its traffic.  I know the pauses, the lulls, how long it would take to scoot to safety.  I know precisely how to traverse this writhing morass. But like that same New Yorker, my gaze is drawn into wrong direction.  The direction from which no traffic could possibly come.  To the sight of shrinking sterns of bygone ships; people and ideas and ambitions floating away in the dark, undulating channel.

And it's no furtive look. I am hypnotized.  And thus, I stop before I begin. As the sound of the cavalcade fades into the horizon, I forget the deafening approach of the river behind me.  My focus is locked on the part to which I can never catch up.  On the terrible, untouchable future.

It strikes me, as I assemble this metaphor, that the sensible thing to do is join the parade, not cross it.  Surely the view from the other side is just the same.  Perhaps it is.  But to me, more inviting than the bustle and flow of anonymous hordes in the confluence, is the quiet bank cupping the other side of this river.  Why I want to stand there, I don't know.  But I do.

I found this scrawled...

I wrote this late one night, prob-possibly high and poss-probably extremely high.  It appears to be the legend for a menu for a restaurant from the future. (You might want to read that again.) I'm not sure why the intoxicated me is so enraptured by the promise of things to come. God bless him, he tries so hard.  Fortunately, I know better; the future is nothing more than the past with more plastic and smoother corners.

Perhaps, if we're lucky, they'll approve those sex-domes I've always wanted, but more than likely:

• we will still wage wars with coloreds
• other coloreds will continue to starve
• people will bitch about download speeds
• cars will remain firmly on the ground
• George Clooney's appeal will continue unfettered
• Florida might finally disappear underwater and
• world politics will flop like a restless sleeper or else collapse into a fascist theocracy

Here's exactly what I wrote that night:

Captain Zoom's Outer Space Eatery

Background radiation = french fries
Hawking radiation = curly fries
Weak nuclear force = onion rings

Quasar = burger
Pulsar = cheese burger
Parsec = veggie burger

Supernova = milkshakes
White dwarf = sundae
Black hole = cola
Ever-increasing entropy = diet-soda
Nebulae =

And that's where I leave off, unable to think of a suitable candidate for "nebulae."  Since we're here, can I offer perhaps, "root beer"?  Or "Sprite"?

I'm not sure what the purpose of this was, or how I thought I was ever going to use this.  Besides, reviewing it now, it seems so implausible that an Earthling of the Future would walk into a restaurant and order a "pulsar with a side of Hawking radiation and a black hole."

Actually, that sounded amazing.  Was I planning on opening a restaurant?  Where would I get the seed money?  I must have had some sort of a plan.  (It's also possible that I thought you could literally fashion these food items out of the astronomical phenomena listed.  I was baked, dude.)  The problem with high me, is that he's frightfully optimistic.  I know the success rate of restos in this city.  Something tells me Captain Zoom's wouldn't cut it.

Twenty oscar niner

The new year is upon us like a fat lover. Unlike most years, I actually enjoyed (didn't hate) this past one, so I embrace this upcoming year with a bit of ambivalence. In fact, I'm going to resist it as long as possible. This protest will take the form of writing stale-dated cheques and constantly referring to the Vancouver Olympics as "two years away".

It's not that I fear the future, but more specifically: events in the future. In fact, my prediction is that 2009 is going to suck. Mark my words, this will be a year full of:

• Terrorist or terrorist-related news stories
• An unpredictable financial market
• Deaths of noteworthy people (both expected and unexpected)
• A medium-sized disaster of some kind
• Car accidents
• Lists
• Et cetera
  

But I don't know what the future holds for me. After seven consecutive weeks of convalescence (and sobriety!) one's outlook becomes dimmed, like the view from underneath a fat lover. Here are my resolutions for 2009:

1. Make the content on this blog interesting for a change (maybe?)
   
2. Replace my skepticism with a combination of asceticism and mysticism
3. Refer to myself in the fourth person (whenever it figures out what that is)
4. (Finally) sign up for those Esperanto classes
5. Start smoking (so I have a resolution for next year. In billiards this is called "setting up your next shot".)
   
6. Get a girl preggers then 'bort that shit/Then I'm a write it all down and rap 'bout it
   
7. Start a drunken fight in a bar but get out of it using a cockney accent and a lead pipe
8. Grow my religion; apply for tax credits
9. Run (the interesting part of) a marathon
10. Perfect the omelette

It's a good start at least. To the century, I mean. The naughts have been hot, I must admit. Let's hope we can round this decade out with a modicum of dignity, as doubtful as that prospect is.

Happy new year!

But I'm thirsty now

Sometimes I wonder: will there be enough bottled water for future generations? (And what about limes? Some of our children's children wouldn't mind a slice for flavour.) As I sit here sipping a glass of Toronto's finest I can't help but ask: is anyone doing anything to make sure our descendants will be adequately hydrated?

You'd better believe it.

Water Tomorrow

Since I became involved with Water Tomorrow, I have been dedicated to promoting the sustainability of drinking for future generations. Top scientists predict that given the rapid rise in world temperatures and population, in 30 years it will be 1.5 times more difficult to drink just 50% the amount of water we consume today. This could mean a difficult future for the parched global citizen.

Water, Water, Everywhere?

It might be hard to see the significance of this problem. "I just got twenty-four bottles of Dasani from the local Sobeys," some people might say. "We have plenty of water, right?" Wrong. Each year every person on the planet consumes more than 60 L of water. And that's only five cases of Dasani. And on the planet there's more than a billion people. If you do the math, it's as clear as the water we drink: things are going to get thirsty and soon.

The effect of this shortage doesn't just affect water drinkers either. Imagine a glass of the favourite childhood staple, Kool-Aid, without water. Or trying to mix frozen orange juice from concentrate without water. The effect on the drinking world of water shortage cannot be understated. Do you enjoy your scotch with a little water? Or use water to help swallow important life-saving medications? Keep reading.

How Can I Help? I Want to Help Now!

Water Tomorrow has spearheaded a number of initiatives to ensure the future is not thirsty. Here are just some of things you can do at home to help our cause:

• People need containers to drink out of: stock up on tumblers, mugs, and stemware
  
• Every day fill one 2 L container with water and store in your basement or cellar for future use
• Collect rainwater and bathe in it
• Make some ice cubes, in case someone likes their water with a bit of ice; I know I do
• Add 10% less water when preparing foods or beverages, to conserve for the future
• Do not spit or ejaculate except for the purposes of procreation
• Water houseplants with a 50/50 mix of water and urine
• Prepare frozen pre-cut limes and lemons to add to beverages at a moment's notice
• Boil pasta in hydrogen peroxide
  

Is There Any Hope for the Future? Any Hope at All?

It is easy to despair at this mounting problem, but not all hope is lost. Today, dozens of volunteers are working with Water Tomorrow to ensure that there will be plenty of bottled water, ice, limes and cups for the drinkers of tomorrow. Water is such an important drink (if not the most important) that we need everyone's help to make sure the future is a well-hydrated place.

Big City Bound

I'm moving out soon. The days grind by slowly of course, but I've never been one to count down. It feels like eons since I've lived on my own, and I'm anxious to resume my habits of napping through meals I'm too lazy to make, and smoking away Sunday afternoons while watching TV, and beating a hand drum at midnight for no reason whatsoever; all in the name of independence and merry irresponsibility.

But what I'm really looking forward to is picking up where I left off. It's like I pushed "pause"; I've lived for almost two years in a Temporary State and it would seem purgatory really is worse than Hell. To continue the Biblical allusions: I'm like those people awaiting the Rapture, living in a world of pragmatic and blindingly-optimistic paucity. I think so much about the future, I only process the here and now. It's strange how a long transition can strip your life of purpose. But perhaps no more strange than how a change of address can bring you back to life.

Soon I will no longer be a clock-watcher tethered to train schedules, nor forced to retreat nightly to my twin bed in the suburbs. I'm happy to quit enduring, and start... well, something.It's about time. Perhaps I should start counting.

Tracklisting for a shitty rock opera

Love in the Year 3000

1. Once were we young (Jermaine, Eloise)
2. Almost Forever! (Chorus)
3. We must to repair this station wagon (Japanese mechanic, Eloise)
4. A road is a life not driven (William, Robo2000)
5. Could you, would we, should they, are you? (Eloise, chorus)
6. Non-vegetarian waltz (Eloise, Jermaine)
7. I'd bet $75 that you're right (Jermaine, William)
8. Pay me back later (William)
9. I have a robo-soul (Robo2000)
10. Once we were young (reprise) (Chorus, Robo2000)
11. Entr'acte
12. I've never eaten meat before/Damsels in distress (Eloise, Clay, Japanese mechanic, Rudy)
13. I L-O-V Eloise (Jermaine)
14. Pay me back later (reprise) (Chorus)
15. Niggaz killin' 'bots (Rudy, Japanese mechanic)
16. SpaceTime (Eloise, William, Clay, Rudy, Japanese Mechanic, Robo2000, Chorus)
17. Almost, Almost Forever! (Chorus)
18. Yesterday's Tomorrow, Today/Once we were young/Finale (Chorus, Robo2000)

Music and lyrics by Harvey Kornbluth
Book by Harvey Kornbluth
Directed by Hal Prince