While walkin' through Mount Pleasant C n' C

…. On separate occasions I’ve seen the ghost of a fire man, I heard children laughing, and I smelled the distinct aroma of birthday candles. It wasn’t the body burning in the crematorium with the door open, but  I saw that too. Different kind of smell.  But it’s all relative and pretty self=explanatory. It’s a cemetery, where dead people are buried. Some of em’ are at rest and glad to be there, while others are still pissed off about something they forgot to do.  Some, I think, just want to be seen. Why should things be any different on the other side, apart from all the pain-free amazing-ness.

The squirrels in the cemetery are above average on all fronts. They make up a very elite and intelligent mafia and nobody touches them, because nobody knows anything. This might sound like a conspiracy and I wish I could prove more but all I can really disclose is that they know how to read. They hide their stash of nuts and other paraphernalia at the base of certain tombstones and then they remember the names written on them.  I’ve seen it. It’s astonishing. They got that place monopolized. Don’t underestimate them.

Discovering weird shit like this makes me hungry for new life, the way I used to be in Vancouver. I keep walking, looking for side roads I’ve never been down. I haven't been this glad to lack the use of a car before. And now I go out more than ever.

I’ve been taking the streets a lot these days. It’s a combination of the weather mixed with the fact that I know I likely won’t enjoy a true Canadian summer for a few years to come, so with that in mind, I’ll walk anywhere, I’ll hoof it through a storm, like last Saturday, as long as I’ve got music on my side. I’ll say “yes” to those innocent offerings from people that I’m not sure if they mean it. I’ll roll with whatever’s happening, rather than dwell on what else is goin’ on elsewhere. I’ll make sure the empty spaces on the calendar from April to August are filled with something worth reading. Then I’ll keep it going further. And further.

“one day I just started workin’ hard and I forgot to stop”         - Shad

Fights... and my role in them.

Tyler Durden said something that has always stuck with me and caused me to look within myself a bit. And every time I find myself in that situation where I know that a fight is about to go down, a strange feeling washes over me and I hear his words; " How much do you really know about yourself if you haven't been in a fight?" 

I'm looking at the age of 27 coming 'round the bend this year and I'm still wondering and waiting for a one on one, hay-makers to the face, full out fight! I've never learned what I can deliver and what I can take from another dude in the heat of battle.  And this makes me a strange kind of curious. I'm not lookin' to start shit for nothing because I know one day I'll get into a serious tussle for a good reason. I'll have the fuel inside to drive me to inflict pain without regard. 

Wow, I wonder what your thinkin' about me now? I never said I was a pacifist. 

I've been in a few brawls over the years. The kind that begin with a one on one tilt, or more typically, a dirty jumping at a bar, where all hell breaks loose and everyone else jumps in to even it out or break it up. I'm a "break it up" kinda guy. The problem is there's these other clowns that ask questions last and go straight for the break it up guy. Only makes things worse. In my experience I've been fairly untouched because I'm a decently big dude that knows how to make an effective crazy face. But when the all out brawl out gets underway, I'm what the British would call a "tosser." I grab anyone I don't know by the scruff and throw em' with everything I got. I keep an eye out on the main fighters (usually Flanny or Darling in my group) and I make sure they're winning with no dummies on their backs. 

In almost every brawl I can remember being in, we've been outnumbered and I've thrown a lot of dirty bastards off my buddies. But I've never thrown a solid punch. At least not one I can recall. The instinct doesn't seem to be there. Yet when I grab the son of a bitch and toss his ass to the ground, he doesn't come back because I tend to stare at em' with a fucked up face like I'm gonna eat em'. They stay out of it. 

I threw a guy into an oncoming car during one memorable scrap on Halloween, up in St. Catherine's. It was one of Flanny's bouts with quite a few of us involved. The whole thing stopped instantly when the dude smacked onto the car. What was even better was the fact that we were all dressed up in costumes. I was Ron Burgundy. 

meet Charlie Lovebottums

I know this girl. She's insane, but in a good way. Crazy like a fox, if you will. I've known her since I was in high school. I had a class with her, which lead to us working on a project together, which lead to us kissing like a really good episode of Dawson's Creek, in the back of my buddy Braden's car as he was driving it. Such a night. I didn't know shit about anything back then so she dumped my eager ass on my 18th birthday. Then I went to a party, raving like a wild dog and I bit a good man known as Gordo until I drew blood. Your boy's a savage. I know a little bit more about life now. It's important to stay positive and keep lookin' out for the bright spots, 'cause they keep coming back around. 

She is the brightest thing I've ever fucking seen. 

One time, during the peak of a solar eclipse, my buddies and I stared up into the ring that your not supposed to look at because it's so bright that it can potentially blind you..... well she's brighter than that. And always good for the eyes. 

In the year 2005 she appeared again, thanks to the guidance of the late great Jeff Darling. 

Somehow we found our way out to Vancouver, living in the humblest of an abode, attending the same film school and getting closer and happier together than I ever thought I'd get with a girl. 

I guess I still didn't know shit. But I definitely knew that this one was different from the rest. 

Charlie Lovebottums is the epitome of what Billy Joel was singing about in "She's always a woman to me." Check that one out. 

She falls up and throws down. She spits words n' fire like a beautiful paradox. 

I'm talkin' about an open book of mystery here. A muse that remains as young as I do at heart. 

I doubt I'll ever be able to totally explain my special lady friend. 

I've lived with this girl for about 4 years now, in a shady flop house on 7th ave, in the bowels of a cruise ship, on the shores of Mexico n' Alaska, in the many hotel rooms across the Trans-Canada and of course, in a tent. She's the only one I can live abroad with. The person I've been looking for since I figured out how big and endless the world was. I'm a lucky bastard and I know it. But I'm grateful too. 

Now we live in the basement of a condo she owns with her Sister. It's too simple for us, this time n' place.  We're on our way outta here again. But before we go, I wanted to attempt to explain why I love this girl.  'Cause I do.