Friday, September 21, 2007

A Failure at Capitalism

I have money to spend. So I have been shopping. There are always so many things to buy. There are always so many things you can convince yourself you need. With some disposable cash in your pocket it seems that there are infinite possibilities. Shopping soon kills these infinite possiblities. Five minutes in any store soon proves how limited my resources are.

There are so many things I want. There are so many things I want to convince myself I need. But I can't. I am forced to be selective. I have to carefully choose the items that I want inspire my act of self-persuasion. Do I want a new bag or new shoes? I really don't need either, but I want to need both. No matter what, I will ultimately end up not getting what I want, and only buying what I need.

Shopping isn't fun. Shopping only shows me how much I don't have and can't afford to buy.

I have money to spend. But never enough. I hate shopping.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Haiku #2 Work?

Waiting is boring.
Tick Tock Tick... Time goes by...
Haiku keep me sane.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007


I could never go back.

But somewhere else instead.

I owe everything and nothing to all of you.

Currency Concerto

Music is the social capital of the hip, young, & beautiful. As with all forms of capital, I live below the ledger-line of poverty.

Haiku: The First

The first of many
So clean, clear, succinct. Ah... Zen.
Haiku is like that.

Airport Security

The wheelchair sits casually folded off to the side, merely placed as to be not in anyones way. The bridge to the aircraft slopes downward. Something inside me yearns to calmly unfold the wheelchair, sit down, and, like a cheap ride at the fair, roll down the bridge to the entrance of the aircraft, then, just as casually as I had unfolded the wheelchair, stand up, fold the wheelchair, and set it off to the side, as to not be in anyones way.

Something inside me yearns to take a wild ride on a wheelchair; a triumphant entrance to my domestic flight from Regina Saskatchewan to Edmonton Alberta.

Something inside me places on foot in front of the other, without any conscious effort, guiding these thoughts free floating in the comfort and safety of my mind, to seat 11a, on flight 215.

Monday, September 03, 2007

I Know Where I Belong

I know where I belong. And it isn't here. I no longer belong in this place. This place I once called home.

It has been ten days since I left Toronto. Ten days of meeting old friends for drinks and living in my parents basement. I know these faces, I know these walls, almost better than I know anything else. Or at least I know them in memory.

We are different now. Things have changed as things do. We still share a bond, something special that is a part of my present because it is entrenched in my past. Yet the past is past, and I've grown so much since when we went separate ways.
The love is still in my memory, still in my heart...

I am different now. I know where I come from now that I have left. But I have left. I no longer belong here. I belong in Toronto.

I belong home.

Godzilla and Ballet

"You have to think of golf like ballet; graceful and smooth. You can't just come at the ball and hit it like you're Godzilla".

He wants me to love golf as much as he does. So he tries to appeal to my taste.

This is how my father thinks. This is how my father loves.