A handsome piece of deformity.

Off to Jasper. Back soon.

Hush, you.

“No pitter-pattering, no scratching; nothing. The rats had abandoned ship, and in the absence of their familiar pestilence, I knew I was alone. The silence hit like a jalopy driven by a late businessmen after a three-martini lunch, careening like a mad motherfucker through Manhattan’s icy streets, unable to halt until it slammed right into me.

“My ribs went first, followed by the thick, wet slop as my lungs punctured and burst. My body broken, life’s blood expelled through pulped and mangled lips through force of impact, I figured I’d join the rats: it’s a lost cause. Time to burn my bridges and get the hell outta Dodge.”

Why? It felt right. Stream of consciousness kind of thing. Cut myself off at the knees, though, before it went too far.

Not too much to say on this end. Actually, that’s a blatant lie, but there’s little I feel like saying here, though that’s obvious given the gap between this post and the one prior. Life’s been a quagmire since December began, and it seems unlikely that I’ll be able to extricate myself prior to the resumption of work in the new year. Hell, who knows; maybe going back to work will be my life boat? Disturbing thought, that…

All said and told, however, life’s been good. Busy, hectic, and what-have-you, but good. Couple of things have happened over the past few weeks — the details of which are insignificant when compared to the effect they’ve had — that have shifted my perspective on life, giving me cause to be even more grateful for who and what I am and who and what I have in my life.

Now, if you’d excuse me, I’ve a lot of living left to do in the little that remains in this year of 2004. Take care, everyone… I’ll be back, soon.

Things I’ve learned playing Half-Life 2: Deathmatch:

• not being able to run full-speed full-time adds an interesting element to The Game^TM that’s been absent since Return to Castle Wolfenstein;
• though it’s been many moons since I’ve played Counter-Strike, I still excel at any range with the Desert Eagle Magnum .357;
• though it’s been years since I last played the original DOOM, I am still death on two legs when armed with a shotgun;
• there is always a place for stealth; and
• gravity’s never been this enjoyable.

Wow. Fun, fun, fun!

UPDATE: Though, in the humble estimation of this gamer, the damage of the Magnum .357 needs to be reduced, and the damage of the shotgun needs to be increased.

Starting a new sheet of writing is perhaps the most difficult thing I can think of. The black ink strikes a bold contrast with the white shine of my canvas, so alone and exposed at the height of the page. One by one the words tumble down from my mind through my body to my pen to the paper. Something is lost in the translation; my words take the colour of the various filters they’ve traversed to reach this point, and the message is lost.

Lost in park, see in Canada, the Dragon of my own personal mythos… simple abstract representations of thought put to the closing plateau of mortal confines, of notes lost and washed with the laundry, of sheets intercepted by observant teachers, of letters never ever read by loved ones but written for them. This is the struggle of writing, the danger of it… and its ultimate appeal. Finding the ability within yourself to brave the blank slate and embark on a destructive-cum-creative journey, observing your feelings being beaten into the shape of established language and the pattern of existing convention, consonant and its brethren. Writing is but thought described, and who may lay the claim that thought — which first began as feeling — is understood, or sufficently rational to be explained?

I tire of this conflict, of will versus language, yet am comforted by the sight I see before me: a page approaching equality in terms of black and white, and yet am discouraged… how many words must be wasted in my pursuit of the description of an idea, a feeling, that in my mind that makes such sense? And yet I take comfort in knowing that I am not alone… these words contain me, like so many others, and I surrender myself to lack of meaningful expression and flail about blindly in the white void, seeking definition. I am lost and losing.