_Undefined_

Hollywood Ending.

As most people who know me (well outside of the whole casually getting drinks/helping out friends in need side of my life), I’m a guy that has a pretty lousy suspension of disbelief and that I tend to live my waking hours firmly rooted in reality. (I know, I know a tall, lanky beanpole like myself without his head in the clouds? For shame.)

Maybe it’s the carmudgeonly old man in me (seriously, my mind is a lot older than my rakish good looks would indicate), but I’m finding a greater disconnect with a rather large portion of my generation. (Ew. I’m just as disgusted using that term as you are reading it.)

While I do love a lot of the same things as my peers on a more tangible level (music, culture, entertainment, sports) I feel that our outlooks on life and everything in between are worlds apart.

I’m not sure when it started, but I’m really taken aback by the fact a large percentage of people I know romanticize / idealize their daily interactions to quite absurd levels (I’ll leave the people creating their own self-inflicted drama tirade for another day).

I can’t understand one drawing a parallel between their lives and the works of the stage, or either of the large or small screens we usually plant ourselves in front of.

I mean I can get why people can relate to the Carrie Bradshaw’s/Walter White’s of the worlds and their situations/pressures. Usually the viewer attaches themselves to a particularly poignant bit of writing that speaks to their current situation/struggles.

That’s where it should stop though.

Watching so many people around me compare themselves to fictional characters is profoundly troubling. Looking to re-create or compare their lives to that of people who simply don’t exist (or couldn’t exist in the real world without a heinous amount of embellishment) is something I simply don’t understand.

Life is difficult. It goes without saying.

Love is a lot of hard work, which should involve letting a lot of little (and big) things go - including the past - and accepting people despite all our inherent flaws.

Work is a necessary evil. Not a source of entertainment.

Romanticizing these things, and turning people into clichéd archetypes as a coping mechanism? It’s only going to damage you in the long run.

I’ll be back in a few, kids… now that this whole writing bug has taken residence in my harbourfront condo.

-M

I prefer my humble pie to be contradiction flavoured.

For the people that know me well enough, who I actually am is quite different from the persona that I tend to project. Not for the purpose of being secretive about who I truly am mind you, but rather it’s a requirement for my employment, among other things. 

Tick of the Clock.

I can’t actually pinpoint the day that I let my naivety be overtaken by the cold hard truths of the world, but to be honest, it’s probably for the best. That way I can’t wistfully recall or yearn for a time when that existed. That, and of course I don’t want to be known as a delusional 31 year old male. I’m sure part of that is a self-defence mechanism, too. Hooray for evolution!

I really don’t mean to paint a bleak picture of humankind, though. Just because there’s the potential for us to be humiliated by a rather large percentage of the world, doesn’t mean that the entire world is out to make us its proverbial bitch. Creating an impenetrable wall, or using Hugh Grant’s ‘rock/island’ monologue from ‘About A Boy’ as your daily mantra probably isn’t the way to live a happy and successful life for you, or anyone tangentially involved with you.

When sharing yourself with people, be it the people you love, the people you like, or simply the people you work with, you need to realize that some people are simply self-serving assholes. You need to weed out the people who will suck you dry (the people you loved, but were really only in love with themselves and the idea of you at the time), the people who will use and manipulate you (the people you liked as friends over the course of your lifetime) and the people who will use you for their own personal betterment or career advancement (the people you work with). You need to constantly ask yourself in every situation:

‘does this person deserve me, do they deserve my time?’

A lot of the time, that answer is going to be a resounding ‘no’. It’s being acutely aware of this that’s going to make all the difference in your happiness in both the short and long term. Don’t get me wrong though, I’m not out to say something as cliched as ‘the only way to know who you are is to spend time with yourself’. I really don’t want the world to turn into a bunch of miserable, isolated, self absorbed jerks… and I’m not alone, I do have a person I love (and a family I love in an entirely different way), friends I like, and co-workers who I admire. Even despite the myriad shitheads I interact with on a daily basis, I’ve managed to find happiness in my inconsequential existence.

I’m slowly veering off-topic though. So let’s get back to the matter at hand. You will never be the same after someone betrays you and that can be a acrid pill to ingest, But it’s important to realize that everyone serves a purpose in this mortal endgame we call life and you’re better off for knowing someones true colours (as terrifying as they may be) rather than not. Understanding that people can be really hideous creatures will take you a lot farther in life than being oblivious to that very pointed fact.

Well, that wasn’t too bad, was it? I managed to keep most of the talking out of my ass to a minimum today. Who said progress is such a bad thing?

I just want you back for good.

I know, I know I just quoted the absolute WORST ‘Take That’ song in my return post. I can’t be a bell weather for good taste all the time, you know. 

So it’s been a rather long hiatus, am I right? After many (and I mean MANY) moments of stop-starts and half hearted writing attempts, I think I’ve finally got inspiration to write again. 

Let’s not dwell on the what’s or the why’s right now… let’s just revel in the fact that you’ll all get a nice little heaping helping of caustic wit and self-indulgent observations in the very near future (on a regular basis, no less). 

I think I’m overdue for a redesign, too… and perhaps a change of service providers too… I’d like a little more flexibility that what I’m getting from tumblr these days (as easy as it is to use). 

Alright, enough waxing poetically for now, I’ve got posts to write. (and no, none of them are going to end with ‘Gossip Girl, xoxo’. That show jumped the proverbial shark far too long ago, anyways.)

Talk soon, kids…

M

Nature vs. Grace

“There are two ways through life. The way of nature and the way of grace. You have to choose which one you will follow.”

I’m sure we can sit here all day and argue if this is a false dichotomy or not, but I’m not here to spark debate or introspection. Take away from that statement what you will. Be it fact or fiction, truth or deception. Just like most thoughts, in the big picture for the educated majority, it’s irrelevant and inconsequential to our daily machinations. Both nature and grace are open to interpretation, so take from that what you will. (Connotations or otherwise). 

I’m sure my writing today is going to be equal parts actual insight and equal parts talking out of my ass (let’s leave that decision up to your discretion though). Truth be told though… thoughts are tripping over each other in my head, and all that frantic action seems to be making things less and less clear for me. It’s not a comfortable place for me to be in (usually I’m focused with laser-like precision on the task at hand), but ultimately, I feel I’m just going to have to get used to it for the time being. 

As for where I fall in the nature/grace argument, I feel like I’m on both sides of the spectrum on this one. I realize that in itself is a contradiction (which I guess in essence makes me a contradiction… but at this point, it’s something we’ve come to expect from me, right)? I may not be the most unique or intriguing being in the world, but at least I can pride myself on not being yet another mindless automaton making absolutely zero contribution to society and the human condition in general. 

See what I mean about being all over the place? Congratulations if you can make heads or tails of this… because I realize that sometimes I can more difficult to understand than the builders of the Tower of Babel. (There I go, the non religious guy, making a religious reference… see what I mean about contradiction?)*

Enough of the contemplative navel-gazing for one night… I’m going to stop talking about myself for a minute and wish each and every Canadian (or future Canadian) a happy Canada Day. There’s nothing wrong with being patriotic about one of the best places on this textured sphere we call earth.

I’ll be back (and a little bit more coherent, I hope), soon enough.

-M

* Just because I don’t follow/practice it, doesn’t mean I don’t understand the principles of Hindu, Jewish, Islamic or Christian practices to name a few.

down the line/redux.

It’s a bit of a mixed bag here, kids. There’s a bit of the old mixed in with the new here, but I can’t get past my own internal struggles lately, so it’s not like new content has been flowing out of my fingertips as easily as it has in the (not so recent) past.

Just a forewarning, the following isn’t going to be unicorns barfing rainbows with puppies sliding down said rainbows. So I urge you that if you don’t have the stomach, hit the back button as soon as this paragraph finishes.

So as some of you know, this passing weekend was of a relatively large significance to me. I’m not going to get into exquisite detail here, as there’s not enough space to detail the whole story, and well… there’s something to be said for the lost art of having meaningful conversation with someone in a face to face setting.

The event in question you ask? Well, it’s an anniversary of sorts. Not a particularly happy one, either. You see, June 25th, 2001 was a day that created a seismic shift in my life on a variety of different levels.

While I’m not bitter of losing my youth so suddenly, I just wish I could have gotten just a little bit of forewarning first. I probably could have dealt with things a little better, and prepared myself for what I was about to deal with.

Let’s be clear, too… this isn’t a ‘woe is me’ tale, either. We all have struggles, We’ve all dealt with life-altering events and my pain is no more exquisite than yours when it comes to the proverbial trials and tribulations we all deal with on a regular (or daily} basis.

So yes, back to what I was talking about. June 25th, 2001. Not a moment goes by that I don’t wish I could alter this event. It’s not something that’s avoidable, I get that. I simply wish that I had more time. Wish I could have reacted differently. Made different choices. We all do things we regret, some just seem to stick around a little longer than we’d like sometimes.

You see, June 25th, 2001 was the day I lost the most influential person in my life.

My mother.

Completely unexpectedly. From what, I’ll never know, either.

While I’m not going to go into specifics about the before, during and aft (that’s far too intimate a discussion for several people who I know very little about), I’m sure you can get a pretty good mental picture/imagery from what appears below the “—-” line in this (seemingly neverending) post

While I’m still a little bitter and jaded about what happened, I can be thankful that there are some traits of her I possess, no matter how littered with proverbial potholes my journey has been these last 10 years.

So if you see a guy giving the shirt off of his back -although I’m not sure many folks want to see my somewhat tanned, somewhat tattooed upper body - to a total stranger, or see someone who will always put his needs as secondary to the people he genuinely cares about, or that guy who still thinks that chivalry should never have died… well feel free to look skyward and thank the woman who brought me here for that.

(Let’s be clear, I’m not a religious type. I don’t go to church, I doubt I ever will. But I am fully in support of people choosing their own beliefs and following in their pursuit of their own cultural/societal dogma). I’m sure I’ll get labelled as a ‘skeptic’ for that one… but I truly don’t know what to believe, and am not smart enough to know if I ever will. I’m sure you can understand my lack of blind faith in a variety of facets of my life, though.

It’s not all tragedy and trauma though. For the loss of one truly great person, I was also spared a lifetime with another:

My father. Not through death though. His non-particpation in my life was a conscious decision I made around 2005. For as much as my life is filled with regrets, this is one decision I’m actually proud of.

He’s probably one of the main reason I’ll never want (or have the desire) to have kids. I know it’s cliche to say that I’m afraid to bring another kid into the world we live in, but I somewhat agree with this statement. The truth of the matter is though, my biggest fear is becoming the type of father my dad was to me. I could never live with myself to do that to any human being, to act so cold, so callously and so selfishly. That story is for another day, perhaps another post… but as time goes on, I see less and less reason to acknowledge his existence. If he’s taught me one important lesson it’s that karma is very, very real and that it will eventually catch up with you.

Fortunately, I’ve got some great male role models in my life (my uncles, Paul and Peter) who have taken care of me, and ensured my belief that not all guys are evil. (Not doing so great on the guy friends side of things though, as I have an uncanny knack of befriending guys who think it’s ok to shit-talk me behind my back and usually convince my litany of (now) exes to cheat on me.)

I just wish that 10 years down the road, I could have provided a better legacy. I’m tired of being the oldest 30 year old you know. I’m tired of not being able to let go. While I live a (moderately) successful life, and am surrounded by great friends and family, I simply can’t help but think that I could have achieved so much more in the last 10 years to honour her, and her existence.

So yes, I realize my original blog entry for this website is below. For those who have read it, well, you don’t need to go further. For those who haven’t, well, here’s hoping that it gives you a little insight into who I am, and goes to show you that I’m simply not the archetype that you’ve pigeon-holed me into.

I’m genuinely thankful that any of you took the time to read this.

MW

—-

(untitled.)

… all this time, and it still seems just as painful as it does the day it happened. I can close my eyes, and still remember every minute detail in bright, vivid colour.

I remember the sky… cloudless, pastel blue. The sun, and its fractured diurnal beams cutting through the hazy late June afternoon. The machinations and movement of bodies scurrying across the property in a quiet, yet peaceful panic. Children playing in and around the pool, pretending that a concrete hollow was the largest of oceans. The clanging of glasses in celebration being drowned out only by laughter.

I remember the electricity in the early afternoon air. The sounds of earth’s creatures echoing into the unremitting daytime atmosphere. The gentle air dancing against my freckled and slightly scarlet face.

The smile of strangers never seemed so comforting.

With that kind of tranquility though, comes impending chaos. The constant of change always supersedes the constant of pseudo-stability.

It’s hard to describe the feeling that permeates through your body when everything comes crashing down around you. That moment that pulls on every fabric and fibre of your being and tears it with obstinate rigor.

I remember hearing the heightened excitement between my sister and my mother, one approaching middle age, the other just beginning her ascension into motherhood. I remember the conversation I had with my cousin about our forays into the world of journalism just moments before the inevitable.

I remember hearing my mother uttering the words “I love you so much” to my grandfather standing just outside the master bedroom, Seems like something cliché, I know (especially for us bitter and jaded types) but love was the driving force of my mother’s life. Her essence seemed to endlessly radiate this to every soul that wandered through our front door.

Time then seemingly froze.

It’s difficult to chronicle the emotions you go through when you realize that your path you’ve been set upon has been forever altered. You can’t help but feel like a ghost yourself at that particular juncture in time. Every action and reaction just as indiscernible as an actual non-corporeal entity.

Moments later, the mumblings of an anonymous voice traveling through the miles and miles of fibre-optics brought reality back with a startling clarity. Panic and desperation hadn’t quite set in yet, so I was still able to compose my usually stoic self to parlay the events that had transpired before my eyes.

Despite the frantic goings on around me, I remained a statue. Telephone welded to my ear and mouth, feet seemingly cemented to the ash-coloured carpet, I was immovable as the weight on Atlas’ shoulders.

It’s almost like you can pinpoint the exact moment someone’s umbra has been jettisoned, the moment where the body goes from a gentle ivory tint to a pale yellow hue.

Deafening silence was superimposed over the disarray and consternation of every soul beneath the roof overhead.

This taciturnity remained for days.

Things were as fractured as my thoughts on this page.

Fast-forward several hours. The quiet hum of nature replaced by the thrum of machines. Words weren’t necessary. The lack of clarity in her eyes said more than we all cared to know, or accept for that matter. Minute gauze squares hid the inevitable truth teeming just below the surface.

White coats began an endless parade through the corridor we called home for three days. The most noticeable sounds being the clicking of pens, the rustling of paper and the squeaking of high-priced tennis shoes across the dull, tiled floor reeking of industrial strength disinfectant.

Doors close. Her fate sealed with the cold delivery flowing through a strangers’ pursed lips. There’s nothing to do but allow yourself to be overcome with the myriad of emotions that are twisting haphazardly through your mind. You can’t decide if you want to destroy something exquisite, or allow yourself to be completely engulfed in the darkness that emanates from your newly minted hollow core.

Everyone gathers. Hands reaching out to hold on that for that one last moment, through the thin yellow fabric. Like an executioner, his actions are issued with a slight nod and a slow blinking motion from across the room.

The astringency of everything tears through you with such effortless ease.

Everything happens at a dizzying pace. Seemingly negligible paper shuffles in front of you, meaningless condolences being uttered around every corner. The sterility of your surroundings becomes the one invariable you gain solace in.

Detachment imposes its will on every facet of your scarred psyche. You become engulfed in your own oblivion.

A hollowed shell is all that remains. Cold. Unrelenting. Immovable.

One last touch, one last glance, one final moment to etch this image into your mind. That’s all you’ll ever get to take away from this…