The world is populated with fictional characters. An endless list, from Ali Baba to Robert Zimmerman. Names we are more familiar with than our neighbour's. Everywhere we don't look, Santa lurks. The Tooth Fairy slides her moneyed hands under your pillow and into your dreams. Jesus is in every school. People who don't exist are becoming the newest majority, and we may not stand a ghost of a chance.
Like Jacob Marley and his knockers we are haunted by the spirits we consume, and we find them dry.
Christmas past and Christmas presents. Every box we open contains a plethora of Pandora's chocolates. Take a bite. Every savoury filling was made by someone who doesn't exist. Moist and creamy, the sweet trickle of flavour slides down our throat, making our bells jingle and filling our stockings with something to tell the Baby New Year not to do.
We love Thor's day, and the promise of soon being hammered. It is the rabbit test of holidays, especially Easter and its bunnies. Hugh Hefner has been bed hopping for years, and though his tales are fluffy, men prick up their ears at the thought. Though we never expect it to happen, sometimes a Delilah or a Mata Hari walks into our life and we are screwed.
Shadows hide underneath every light, and they all have names. Real or imagined, every person you know is in some way haunted by the ghosts of every person, he or she, has ever known. My only word of caution...
Wear a condom.
DaBuoy
Wednesday 30 November 2011
Occupy The Cracks
There is a whole in the flag. It is torn and tattered. The colours have run. There is no one to salute the mast of our social disease. Our beliefs are as titanic as our consumerism, and the iceberg of a limp and flaccid economy has pushed at the entrance of our lifestyles. The lifeboat, that is, our social safety net is full of holes. We are lost at sea and Wilson has left to do an endorsement deal with Beckham.
Where are our balls?
The money we stuffed in the mattress for our retirement has been devoured by the bedbugs of our own greed and avarice. Living in a world free of DDT (how do you spell that?), has pulled the loose thread of indifference. The fabric of our society is coming unravelled, while a noble few attempt to create a ball of yarn and tales that might weave a path and shuttle us back in the direction of progress. We write with Sean Penn and Robin Wright and all the while we lose sight of the movie playing right in front of our eyes, We are so busy with the spectacles of expenditure, we fail to see the nose on our face in spite of ourselves.
Do not despair, faithful readers. There is an answer.
We must gather the poor together. We must give voice to the disenfranchised. We must join hands and with a common course, push them all into the cracks. Once the rend in our civilization has been puttied with the sweat, grit, and bodies of the underclass, we can proudly step over them and into a bright, brave, bold, new world.
DaBuoy
Where are our balls?
The money we stuffed in the mattress for our retirement has been devoured by the bedbugs of our own greed and avarice. Living in a world free of DDT (how do you spell that?), has pulled the loose thread of indifference. The fabric of our society is coming unravelled, while a noble few attempt to create a ball of yarn and tales that might weave a path and shuttle us back in the direction of progress. We write with Sean Penn and Robin Wright and all the while we lose sight of the movie playing right in front of our eyes, We are so busy with the spectacles of expenditure, we fail to see the nose on our face in spite of ourselves.
Do not despair, faithful readers. There is an answer.
We must gather the poor together. We must give voice to the disenfranchised. We must join hands and with a common course, push them all into the cracks. Once the rend in our civilization has been puttied with the sweat, grit, and bodies of the underclass, we can proudly step over them and into a bright, brave, bold, new world.
DaBuoy
Monday 28 November 2011
The Happiest Tragedy
Death is all pervasive. It rides the warmth of every ray of light. It fills the air of the sea breeze. It is the darkness that creates the shadows. It is the source of our dreams and fears.
Heimlich knew.
We choke back the nasty thought that maybe we are already dead. We clutch the remote control like a monkey clings to a tree branch; certain, unaware, and desperate. Thank goodness our "Friends" are there for us. A few presses of the buttons and we are safely among competent doctors in the "ER". We are better seated than those centre squares.
For Heisenberg, it was a certainty.
You can know where you are, but never how fast you are moving. You can fathom your speed, and be fated to ignorance as to where the HELL you are. The road trip of our existence has no GPS. We know the roads, highways and bi-ways, but what of the on ramps and off ramps? Is love merely a Tim Horton's Truck stop along the way? Does Family merely mean another reason to stop for ice cream? Do we sound stupid when we continually say, "are we there, yet"?
At least I know exactly who and what I am DOING and NOT doing... most of the time
DaBuoy
Heimlich knew.
We choke back the nasty thought that maybe we are already dead. We clutch the remote control like a monkey clings to a tree branch; certain, unaware, and desperate. Thank goodness our "Friends" are there for us. A few presses of the buttons and we are safely among competent doctors in the "ER". We are better seated than those centre squares.
For Heisenberg, it was a certainty.
You can know where you are, but never how fast you are moving. You can fathom your speed, and be fated to ignorance as to where the HELL you are. The road trip of our existence has no GPS. We know the roads, highways and bi-ways, but what of the on ramps and off ramps? Is love merely a Tim Horton's Truck stop along the way? Does Family merely mean another reason to stop for ice cream? Do we sound stupid when we continually say, "are we there, yet"?
At least I know exactly who and what I am DOING and NOT doing... most of the time
DaBuoy
Wednesday 23 November 2011
Are We There Yet?
It is more about the journey than it is the destination.
Bullshit.
I have travelled, and (basketball aside), I am most relieved when, both I, and my luggage reach their final destination. Somewhere in the world I love, is a scattering of clothing and toiletries that sought the path less travelled and whose fates now remain unknown. Many a mint held fast by a pillow bears a trace of my DNA (I drool when I sleep). If there is one set of footprints on a beach, it was mine as they longed to get back to my room.
I have been 'layed over' as airports shut down. Port holed by ships that would not sail. Lobbied by hotels with no vacancy. I have even made a park bench my boudoir, lest you be judged.
Travelling without heed to your destination is homelessness. Personally, I don't trust people who disrespect the nature of plumbing simply because they would rather be wandering and wondering about the nature of something or someone else. While they are looking out for #1, they tend to find themselves lip deep in #2.
We didn't tear up all that valuable farmland to build concrete jungles, just so we could starve to death from artistic malnutrition. Our gut feelings are the destination of the yogurt that is the cultural bond that glues us all together. Forgetting this creates a bland journey. We need the fruit bottoms of society to flavour existence.
It is, in truth, not about where you are going or how you get there, but about the fat guy next to you who hogs the armrest.
DaBuoy
Bullshit.
I have travelled, and (basketball aside), I am most relieved when, both I, and my luggage reach their final destination. Somewhere in the world I love, is a scattering of clothing and toiletries that sought the path less travelled and whose fates now remain unknown. Many a mint held fast by a pillow bears a trace of my DNA (I drool when I sleep). If there is one set of footprints on a beach, it was mine as they longed to get back to my room.
I have been 'layed over' as airports shut down. Port holed by ships that would not sail. Lobbied by hotels with no vacancy. I have even made a park bench my boudoir, lest you be judged.
Travelling without heed to your destination is homelessness. Personally, I don't trust people who disrespect the nature of plumbing simply because they would rather be wandering and wondering about the nature of something or someone else. While they are looking out for #1, they tend to find themselves lip deep in #2.
We didn't tear up all that valuable farmland to build concrete jungles, just so we could starve to death from artistic malnutrition. Our gut feelings are the destination of the yogurt that is the cultural bond that glues us all together. Forgetting this creates a bland journey. We need the fruit bottoms of society to flavour existence.
It is, in truth, not about where you are going or how you get there, but about the fat guy next to you who hogs the armrest.
DaBuoy
I Have The Munchies Again
If food ruled the world, no one would starve.
I know, what does food know about anything. Could I be bored by a burrito or perhaps besieged by a bagel. I am better than food, and I refuse to be steered by a steak. How could I be helped by a gyro when my trans fats need zero.
My every predatory move carefully tracked. Bar codes etched into my collective consciousness, so we wolves don't dine and dash. My lion eyes shielded behind dark lenses so my cutting glances go unnoticed. A swipe of my Air Miles card scratches and tears into the meat of the middle class.
I fight to be heard.
I dance and sing and screw. I crave to live in a world of like-minded creatures. Feasting and devouring the sweet warmth of each other's company. Free to take what we desire and keep what we love. Blood stained incisors dripping with the mechanization that feed us all in an orderly manner. I will be entertained between hunt and pursuit. My appetites will be satiated in comfort and in style.
I am Man, and I am a warrior species.
I am master of my destiny, and diviner of my own fortunes.
If food ruled the world,
we would all know how to fight.
Dabuoy
I know, what does food know about anything. Could I be bored by a burrito or perhaps besieged by a bagel. I am better than food, and I refuse to be steered by a steak. How could I be helped by a gyro when my trans fats need zero.
My every predatory move carefully tracked. Bar codes etched into my collective consciousness, so we wolves don't dine and dash. My lion eyes shielded behind dark lenses so my cutting glances go unnoticed. A swipe of my Air Miles card scratches and tears into the meat of the middle class.
I fight to be heard.
I dance and sing and screw. I crave to live in a world of like-minded creatures. Feasting and devouring the sweet warmth of each other's company. Free to take what we desire and keep what we love. Blood stained incisors dripping with the mechanization that feed us all in an orderly manner. I will be entertained between hunt and pursuit. My appetites will be satiated in comfort and in style.
I am Man, and I am a warrior species.
I am master of my destiny, and diviner of my own fortunes.
If food ruled the world,
we would all know how to fight.
Dabuoy
Is There Anybody Out There...
"You are here", is the first line of the Existential Handbook. After that it gets complicated.
We post signs everywhere. Most of them illustrate for us the moral certitude of needing to be someplace else. No loitering, no parking, no solicitors, no junk mail, post no bills, no habla English. Everyone knows where they are going and where they have been, yet few seem to grasp where they are. We shake hands and hear names all the while wandering into thoughts about the cost of Purell and wart removers. We watch a movie and dream of hot rides and stiff drinks. Our clothes slide brightly about our worlds as we contemplate another costume change.
What were we talking about?
Attention deficit disorder is the new awareness.
If you didn't have the patientence to read that last sentence, you may already be there.
hear hear!
You probably know all about me. I have a blog, I Twitter, I hardly ever don't friend someone on Facebook. I am single. I haven't met anyone yet.
This month the 7 billionth human was born. What makes them so special?
I wonder...
DaBuoy
We post signs everywhere. Most of them illustrate for us the moral certitude of needing to be someplace else. No loitering, no parking, no solicitors, no junk mail, post no bills, no habla English. Everyone knows where they are going and where they have been, yet few seem to grasp where they are. We shake hands and hear names all the while wandering into thoughts about the cost of Purell and wart removers. We watch a movie and dream of hot rides and stiff drinks. Our clothes slide brightly about our worlds as we contemplate another costume change.
What were we talking about?
Attention deficit disorder is the new awareness.
If you didn't have the patientence to read that last sentence, you may already be there.
hear hear!
You probably know all about me. I have a blog, I Twitter, I hardly ever don't friend someone on Facebook. I am single. I haven't met anyone yet.
This month the 7 billionth human was born. What makes them so special?
I wonder...
DaBuoy
Tuesday 22 November 2011
gimme gimme some loving...
Unless you learn
to be selfish,
your relationships will
never work.
I know what you're going to say.
Love is about giving
and sharing
and buying her
a diamond.
It's about
long walks and
candle light...
WRONG
Love is about dirty lingerie and taking out the trash - and anyone who has been in a long term relationship knows there is a LOT of overlap.
Give me a kiss is a command. Love never gives kisses freely. Each peck on the cheek has a cost. Every hold of the hand is virtually passing cash. The Barter ship of romance is designed for perfect storms. The hatches are all battened down, sealing the deal. Every man becomes the cabin boy of his affection's desires, and the Captain of his destiny is the ever present notion of the idea of a perfect moment.
The truth is smeared make-up,and sticky stains that keep a black light busy. Bitches about dishes. Nags about price tags. The bone of contention that dogs us.
What cost Love...
to be selfish,
your relationships will
never work.
I know what you're going to say.
Love is about giving
and sharing
and buying her
a diamond.
It's about
long walks and
candle light...
WRONG
Love is about dirty lingerie and taking out the trash - and anyone who has been in a long term relationship knows there is a LOT of overlap.
Give me a kiss is a command. Love never gives kisses freely. Each peck on the cheek has a cost. Every hold of the hand is virtually passing cash. The Barter ship of romance is designed for perfect storms. The hatches are all battened down, sealing the deal. Every man becomes the cabin boy of his affection's desires, and the Captain of his destiny is the ever present notion of the idea of a perfect moment.
The truth is smeared make-up,and sticky stains that keep a black light busy. Bitches about dishes. Nags about price tags. The bone of contention that dogs us.
What cost Love...
Monday 21 November 2011
He said 'flag'
Flags are popular. Flags have always been in vogue. Every nation's Must Have.
The question is, what does your flag say about you?
Is your flag on the play? Does it illuminate the rockets red glare? Does it allow for careful treading or do you have to watch your step?
They say the colours of a flag never run, but I am fairly sure I saw a flag in pastels. Do they also come in acid wash and button fly?
Is it a freak flag, and does it fly? Was it stolen or is it firmly planted in blood stained soil.
Did you have a say in its design or was it thrust at you from failing hands?
Does it fit you or do you fit it?
Flags are burning, salting the earth and leaving civilians for dead.
A flag can lead to pole sitting. Many a man is remembered for being at half mast.
I know I wave my flag when my hands are not busy doing what is necessary.
DaBuoy
The question is, what does your flag say about you?
Is your flag on the play? Does it illuminate the rockets red glare? Does it allow for careful treading or do you have to watch your step?
They say the colours of a flag never run, but I am fairly sure I saw a flag in pastels. Do they also come in acid wash and button fly?
Is it a freak flag, and does it fly? Was it stolen or is it firmly planted in blood stained soil.
Did you have a say in its design or was it thrust at you from failing hands?
Does it fit you or do you fit it?
Flags are burning, salting the earth and leaving civilians for dead.
A flag can lead to pole sitting. Many a man is remembered for being at half mast.
I know I wave my flag when my hands are not busy doing what is necessary.
DaBuoy
Where Did Everybody Go?
Things seem to be disappearing. I distinctly remember there being more things in the universe. I'm not talking your run of the mill nouns. I'm discounting the elements, simply because, they will always be. What seems to be missing are the intangible things I was raised with, man's nobler pursuits.
A mere decade ago I could walk a block away and find nude jello wrestling. Now it seems there is no room for that bouncy sweet dessert. The only time jello and breasts meet these days, is in a hospital ward.
I used to look at every street corner, and now where there are coffee shops, I see only the memory of taverns where a man could go and share his ignorant racist views with people of a similar ilk. Now that hatred is reserved for the hipsters and their barristas.
I walk past schoolyards and past parks reminiscing about bullies and bloodshed, supervised by underpaid and overworked teachers and can not help but smile.
Some things never change.
DaBuoy
A mere decade ago I could walk a block away and find nude jello wrestling. Now it seems there is no room for that bouncy sweet dessert. The only time jello and breasts meet these days, is in a hospital ward.
I used to look at every street corner, and now where there are coffee shops, I see only the memory of taverns where a man could go and share his ignorant racist views with people of a similar ilk. Now that hatred is reserved for the hipsters and their barristas.
I walk past schoolyards and past parks reminiscing about bullies and bloodshed, supervised by underpaid and overworked teachers and can not help but smile.
Some things never change.
DaBuoy
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