The end of my lease for this apartment is approaching at the end of October, so I’ve been weighing options for where I’ll be living on November 1st. My new job is considerably further from where I am now than my previous job (a four minute walk compared with a half-hour bus ride); I’d like to find a place closer to where I work. I’d also like spend a bit less on rent if possible, knowing inflation will make my finances tighter. Apartment hunting, however, doesn’t appeal to me at all and the risk of not finding a fitting place is daunting. So, if any of you have advice for making this painless, I’d welcome it.

My life has been moving at an even keel of late. Work has been taking up a good deal of my time, as has reading and tea drinking. I’ve been going through more tea each night than I’ve ever been in the habit of before. Chai has enchanted me entirely, but tonight I’ll be going with a green tea. I’ve collected several boxes that I want to finish off before getting any new tea, but I have quite a list of suggestions to try when I do.

I’ve been easing into some weight training. At the hotel there’s a fitness center and I’ve used it each night for a short while, trying to get my body used to the routine. When the hotel opens I’d like to do some weight work after each shift. I’ve never done exercise of that sort, focusing instead on cardiovascular fitness. With my improved diet and meditation practices, I figure it’s about time to move into a more holistic approach to my health and include focused strengthening.
I’m also looking into taking up a martial art similar to T’ai Chi Ch’uan, assuming my schedule and financial state permit it. I appreciate the combination of mental and physical discipline embodied in some martial arts, and because I’m a pacifist, the emphasis on kind-heartedness in traditional T’ai Chi Ch’uan is appealing.

This poem, attributed to a Shaolin temple, shows a pragmatic pacifism that should have a strong marriage with a soft martial art. The meditational and health focuses of T’ai Chi Ch’uan have the greatest appeal to me, obviously, but having an increased capacity for self-defence would be nice as well.

I tend to wear mostly black. It suits me well and people have come to associate that with me. When I discovered a t-shirt for sale with the words “My Other Shirt Is Also Black,” I knew this was something perfect for me. I’ll likely be ordering one soon, if only to have the marvelous inside joke at hand.

As most people have, I’ve kept up on developments with hurricane Katrina. I was relieved it wasn’t as disasterous as anticipated (at work we speculated New Orleans would lose far more levees, for instance), but still am deeply moved by the suffering it has caused. Events such as this bring my attention increasingly to the universal suffering that we don’t become directly aware of as we do such devastating natural disasters that can’t escape media obsession. As I strive to cultivate compassion, I find this understanding of the oscillating between apathy and compassion to be troubling, both in myself and the world at large. How can we not feel the deep wish to end the suffering of war vicitms in Iraq, AIDS patients in Botswana, those displaced by natural disasters in Asia and America, the homeless families in our own cities and the countless others suffering greatly across the globe, even when we don’t hear of them on the evening news or other media?

Last week I finally got around to reading Neil Gaiman‘s American Gods and was thrilled by the experience. Since the time I first discovered Mr. Gaiman’s narrative mastery (first in a short story, I believe), I’ve held him in the highest respect and I’ve long counted him among my favourite writers. He’s a true master storyteller and his work in various mediums never fails to be inventive, powerful and immensely entertaining. So, of course, I came to this book with nothing but the highest expectations. Even those were surpassed.
Like many of Neil’s writings, American Gods deals with the evolution and altering of stories. In this novel it’s the adaptation of myths from other parts of the world (and new, native ones) to America that takes the focus. Gods are the driving figures of this story, a down-and-out bunch who have lost the faith and accompanying power they once garnered from those who believed deeply in them. It’s a facinating core to a story that spins together facinating characters, a road story and novel explorations of such universal themes as death and sacrifice, technology and change and myth and spirituality.
The real strength of American Gods is the protagonist, Shadow, a very humanly protrayed character who came across as a gruff, intellectual everyman. Shadow was complex, a man just out of prison who was unable to return to his old life and must both reinvent and rediscover himself; he came to be thrown from one foreign situation to the next, both mundane and supernatural, from the moment he was released. He gave the story a much needed core of realism to anchor it and draw in the reader to the appreciative portrayals of the positive and simply bewildering aspects of America that need no fantasy elements to embellish.
Gaiman’s ability to balance story elements precisely shone through the entire book, with the pacing and opposing moods made impeccably fluid. Few writers are as adept at forging stories that engage and move the reader throughout their entire length. His humour, which is incredibly sharp, was especially appreciated during the more grisly scenes.
American Gods stands among Neil Gaiman’s best works and, quite frankly, among the best works of fiction of the past decade. Both well written and thematically important, it’s a book I feel stands as an exemplar for contemporary writers. All in all, it’s an immensely enjoyable, deeply satisfying and purely delightful book.

I’m sneaking in here while at work. I’m at the front desk on phone duty and there hasn’t been a call since I arrived. That makes sense, of course, because this hotel will not open until the 7th of next month. It’s been a long wait for the opening and I’ll honestly be relieved when we can all start working the jobs we were hired for. I’m not looking forward as much to being the manager on duty for the weekend we open, but I’ll survive the potential flood of guest problems.

Well, I suppose it’d be proper to update you on the very thrilling life I lead. Which is to say that I’ll tell you I went to see a movie last night, the only thing of note. I saw Broken Flowers, a rather enjoyable film that, despite a rather bleak theme of a life lacking meaning, was one of the most entertaining films I’ve seen in a while. Bill Murray is in a mode much like his role in Lost in Translation, so that may be an indicator of how you’ll find it (I personally liked that one a lot).

I’ve been drinking plenty of chai tonight. That stuff’s bloody great. Aside from the gingerbread tea I fell in love with over the holidays, it’s my favourite tea for taste. There are coffee makers here but no coffee yet, so I’ve been using the boiling water dispensers to steep my tea. I’m sure the 24-hour coffee in the lobby will come in handy once this lovely hotel opens.

To continue with the theme of warning of the dangers of Evangelism, I have an article to share that Gaby pointed me to. “Grooming Politicians for Christ” details one initiative by a televangelist that is attempting to mold future politicians to look to their angry God for guidance instead of looking to voters. One seminar leader notably said at a meeting, “Thank you, Lord, for these students. Build them up as your warriors and your ambassadors on Capitol Hill.” The use of the word warriors is telling and chilling; there is an underlying element of violence and coercion to this movement that we need to be wary of.

This increased religious zealotry, when coupled with the fascist-capitalism of the conservative movement is incredibly troubling and dangerous.

I signed up at PenPal World over a year ago to see if I could find some interesting people to correspond with. I did end up with a few people I’ve enjoyed writing with since, but haven’t looked around the site much. Today I discovered an interesting feature the site has launched, got PenPal, a way to allow strangers to contact you without giving out your personal details. One proposal they have is to create business card-sized printouts with your ID code on them and pass them to people. I share my details here on my website, but if you’d like to see my profile there you can use the code QT85FR. I’m always open to new people to write to, so if you’ve stumbled here and do want to write to me, feel free to send me a message there.

My phone was the avenue of disruption and confusion during my time of sleep today. At 1:00 I was awakened by a call that resulted in a voice mail message asking me to call my supervisor when I woke up. I went back to sleep. At 3:00 my supervisor called and this time I answered. He asked me to take tonight off and attend a training session tomorrow (formerly scheduled as a day off). He called back not long after to tell me to instead work tonight and take tomorrow off. As I was getting some food together for work he called again and told me to change things again, this time to have tonight off and do training tomorrow. So, here I am in day sleeping mode, to be up all night and then off to train tomorrow. Coffee will be my morning saviour.

Last night at work was rather enjoyable. I spent a good part of it talking with my co-worker Rob, who, I’m surprised to find out, is on the same page as I am on most topics we talk about. We covered a wide range of topics, including philosophy, music, education theory, religion, anthropology, animation, films, work eithics and workmanship, plaster replicas of celebrity faces (“I kissed Angelina Jolie’s plaster lips,” he chuckled.), history and food. It’s refreshing to find engaging conversations where I never expected to. It’ll surely make work more pleasant.

Evangelism is the most dangerous religious corruption to hit the western world in centuries, I’d contend, and today brought us another example. Pat Robertson, an evangelist leader in the US, called for the US to assassinate the president of Venezuela, claiming President Chavez is trying to launch communism on the world and make his country, made up of 98% Christians, into a haven for Muslim extremism. (We should remember that Robertson also stated that feminism makes women “kill their children, practise witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians,” all of which, save the first, are not inherently negative and the third a supremely noble goal.) Also of note, another dangerous evangelist, President George Bush, still is trying to make us believe the invasion of Iraq was justified and is helping most Iraqis. From my perspective, any Christian who does not embrace holistic compassion is not following the central teaching of Jesus. I’ve no quarrel with compassionate, reasonable Christians, but something has to be done to stop the rampant spread of Evangelism and the corresponding support of violence and irrationality.

Those of you who do some work in design and are colour lovers might find ColourLovers.com of interest.

I’ve enjoyed looking around and have been thinking of using the palettes “Strawberry Sunset” or “Daytona” in a new website layout. I’m trying to create something that makes reference to “The Great Three” of the beautiful, the good and the true, because I’ve been reading about them the past few nights (I’m in the middle of Ken Wilber’s The Marriage of Sense and Soul). To visually convey them is a challenge, though, especially for someone with limited visual art talents.

I’ll wrap this up by pointing you to Wapsi Square, where today’s comic amused me quite a lot. One certain friend comes to mind, and she’ll surely know it.

I’ve been sitting in a robe, enjoying the simple luxuries of ice cream, tea, incense and fine tunes. It’s nice to have a night for relaxing here at my apartment. For eight nights straight before Saturday night I was working, so I haven’t had the chance for prolonged comforts in a while. Life’s damn good when you know to appreciate the best of what’s already here.

Saturday night I was invited out to take part in a gathering with Enfielders and Friends (many of the same folks who brought us Enfield Adventures). We began by gathering at Chris and Micalea’s place, where antics were taken part in, music listened to (I introduced Chris to Last.FM and I do believe we have a new convert there.), a film watched and conversation had. Odd things come up sometimes. For instance, my new crop of beard was praised by Robert and we discussed methods for improving growth.
While there, Robert suggested I take part in a program similar to Locks of Love that he intends to contribute to. His mother recently had cancer treatment and thus he learned of the program for children who lost their hair during medical treatment; he’s been recruiting people to take part, he tells me. I figure that by the time he’s grown his hair long enough (his hair is quite short now) I’ll have mine plenty long to cut without missing the 10-14 inches too much. Those close to me know how spiritually important my hair is to me, but helping others has more value, so I’ll most likely take part.
After a while we headed to the Alehouse, where we met up with even more Enfielders (they’re all invading Halifax, it seems). I had quite a good time there, in no small part due to the excellent cover band, Frisky Biscuit. The music was a mix of really fun 80′s and 90′s songs, including the Fraggle Rock theme, which I think was a request made by the crew I was with (it was preceded by a happy birthday wish for Micalea), Collective Soul’s “Gel” and The Zit Remedy’s “Everybody Wants Something” (you all should remember this if you watched the Degrassi series).
Two odd things happened while there that I found amusing. When we arrived, a group of girls wearing odd clothing passed by and one said, “Look, red hair!” Another girl came up, held my hair and kissed my cheek, quite unexpectedly. Later, while passing through a crowd a girl came up to me and asked if I had a condom. Not being in the habit of carrying them and having no interest in her, I of course said no. Perhaps I’m just unaccustomed to pub customs, but going around asking for condoms seems slightly off.
After a stop-and-start walking adventure I said goodnight to the Enfielders and headed home. As I had to reassure Robert a couple times, I have fun with those folks. Every time I hang with them I enjoy myself more and come to appreciate their unique combination of wackiness and fraternity.

I’m about to start practicing for Talk Like a Pirate Day, which is coming up on the 19th of September. I’ve always enjoyed pirate speak, so I figure giving it a shot for a whole day will be fun. If I’m not working that night, I figure I should at least get an eye patch and pirate hat, but we’ll have to wait and see.

After TLaPD, the next great holiday will be Halloween. I’m especially excited about this year’s festivites because they’ll include the finest benefit single ever to be released. “Do They Know It’s Hallowe’en?” is a brilliant satire of west-centric benefit songs (like the condescending “Do They Know It’s Christmas?”) and simply a great song released by the North American Hallowe’en Prevention Initiative, collection of some of todays greatest musical performers and their friends. Among the stars are Beck, The Arcade Fire (the biggest and best (tied, respectfully, with Stars) indie band on the planet), Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Sloan, Peaches, Feist, Wolf Parade, Postal Service, and the ever astounding Buck 65. Making this all extra sweet is the fact that all proceeds will go to UNICEF!

To end this all off, here are answers to some questions recently posed to me by a Ms. SarahBee.

1. Describe your vision of a perfect (but impossible) world.
That’s tough. I’d say we’d all be living in socialist, democratic, environmentally balanced, healthy utopias. Of course, you all know I believe we have a responsibility to work for this now.
2. Your number one all time favourite album. Just one.
This is nearly impossible. Stars‘ Set Yourself On Fire is the closest to a perfect album I’ve heard, so I’ll have to go with that.
3. Mac or PC?
I use Windows and Linux, but prefer Linux when configured properly. Macs have some strengths, though, and I feel Windows is going to stagnate further with the next release. So Macs win in a choice between the two despite the big drawback of a lack of compatibility. I’d have to say Linux is by far the best OS for my needs, though (being free, well supported and very adaptable helps a lot).
4. Do you think humanity would be better off without the internet? Why/why not?
Absolutely not. I think it’s an invention that has a huge potential to transform humanity, perhaps more so than anything else invented in the past 30 years.
5. Would you ever get your tongue pierced?
I don’t feel a desire to do that, but I don’t see anything wrong with doing so. My answer is maybe.

I’m going to write of love and romance now (At last, some of you, who I mentioned planning to do so some time ago, must be thinking.). They’re topics near and dear to me, ones I’ve been thinking on extensively lately. I’m sure I can’t do them justice, but I’ll do what I can. Welcome to my romantic manifesto.

Love is selfless. (See, I can cut to the truth.) Genuine love is the deep wish for the wellbeing and happiness of another and the will to do what one can to bring that about. If we’re doing something for someone in hope of having personal gain we are not motivated by love but rather by a lesser intent, be it desire, complacency or another avenue of misguided self-interest.
To love isn’t to take part in masochism, though. We need to have a love for ourselves that can help us to descern things that provide us with genuine happiness. Too often we’ll seek out or cling to things that are in reality harmful. Love that is pure will not harm us because it will foster a respect for our own wellness; how can we make someone else happy if we disable ourselves through misery or otherwise limit our capacity to do good?
Loving is rewarding, regardless of if it is returned properly, because it improves who we are. The more genuinely we love, the greater happiness we create in ourselves, the better we maintain ourselves and the more sincere relationships we are able to create.
It’s incredibly challenging to live with love, but there’s nothing else that can bring about a life truly worth living. I’ll admit to falling prey to lesser motivations. My first romantic relationship was very unhealthy. I was not in love with the girl I spent months with; I was caught up in the idea of a relationship and going through the motions without deep love. This isn’t to say that I didn’t care about her or treat her well; I was just not living genuinely and deceiving both of us because of this confusion. I was living within an illusion of happiness that took a long time to realize. I took the lesson to heart, and for that I’m thankful; I now know when I love and do all I can to feed that love.

Romance is both an appreciation for beauty and the creation of beauty. In this way it is both an art and a veneration. We find beauty in the people we love and we create beauty through the love we express. Even the most awkward expressions hold tremendous worth when they are genuine. When I see people with real love for each other there is obvious art in every interaction between them, from the glances of wordless “thank you for being, thank you for blessing me with your beauty” to the gentle gestures of worship.
Through healthy romance we also can more easily recognize our own beauty. Most of us struggle to look past our flaws and failings and find those positive traits to cultivate. Romance is in part a celebration of the beauty of another, but it’s also recognizing the beauty surrounding us and that which resides in us. It’s a sharing of beauty, a collaborative process of creation and worship that can strengthen each person.
Romance, defined in this way, can exist with aberations from love. One can create through acts of romance and appreciate the beauty inherent in another without doing so selflessly. This is one of the easy confusions we can have, to mistake romance for love. There is great good to be gained through romance, but far more when we live with both love and romance. I’d say I’ve always been a romantic person, though perhaps unconventionally so. However, I didn’t manifest love properly, as I said, until I learned to. Since then I’ve not regretted or been unsatisfied by my romances.
Love is a perfect partner for romance. Romance gives the tools for a manifestation of love. Love gives the pure motivation to benefit another and romance gives a method to do so. It’s not always the best way, but when the two are coupled well there’s nothing more magical or rewarding.

As hard as it is to cultivate love and romance, the greater challenge is to learn to understand those we love and their situations well enough to do what it is we can that will benefit them. Especially hard is to know when it’s best to do nothing at all or to mindfully remove ourselves from their lives. It’s easy to veer and believe our actions are helping someone because we want to be helping. This is a failing that can lead to our best intentions being harmful.
How do we learn this? I wish I had the answers. I’m still learning this, still struggling to enhance my mix of intent and proper actions. My second romantic relationship began to teach me of this. The girl I was in love with had deep personal troubles and I did what I thought was best to help her. I failed in that many times, I’m sure, despite my sincere intent. Even now I don’t know what actions would have been best, but I’m ever committed to developing a better sense of this. I’d appreciate any sage advice that might make me better prepared for future loves and romances.

Love and romance are what I wish to dedicate my life to, because they inform everything of value and grant the best perspectives. The path will be challenging but the fruits of them the sweetest. I’ll live for love and live with romance as best I can.

This is rewritten from memory of an entry that was mistakenly lost Monday night. Much will likely fall into the cracks, but alas I must still learn to save everything often.

I’m towelling dry after a bath with an ink-spotted towel. The inking happened because I forgot a pen in the pocket of a pair of pants I wore before doing laundry last. If fate had woven a different thread, perhaps that ink would have instead bled out onto a page as words and loosed thoughts that were growing wildly in my mind. Blue globs sunk into the lighter blue towel and showed up on those few cloths light enough for it not to blend in. There’s no ink on me now, however. My skin is cleansed of sweat and dust from a day of work and hours of walking; my mind is cleaner than it has been for weeks.

I often find that my mental journeying needs the fall of my feet to create real movement. Something must match the shifting landscapes my tangled thoughts grow wild within or I can become stagnant. A closed place or somewhere I’ve been too long can leave me stagnant if I’m not careful. I’d neglected extended walking for a while, so my mind was overgrown. I had a lot to move through when I stepped out of my door Friday night.
I made my way along the sidewalks and toward Point Pleasant Park, the one place in this city where I have the most ghosts and most often find solace. The age, quiet, natural grace and resilience of that park have always made it perfect for reflection and something about it draws me to it to create important memories. That’s how the ghosts come to be; some of my fondest memories are tied to that park. The first girl I was truly in love with and I were on the bordering coast of the park to capture sunset images one December evening, I visited the park and hunted salamanders with my friend Cerra, I spent many days there in contemplation, and over a month ago I shared that sacred place with Susana.
When I reached the park I moved to the coast and walked along the rocks. Life directions, convictions, love and romance have all been on my mind lately. They always seem to be, especially love and romance, but I’ve been questioning each extensively. There’s no better place to match that mental state than the beach I walked. The fitful waves, the unsteadying rocks, the looming cliffs, the resolute trees, the gentle breeze and the drift wood all felt like a reflection of some element of my struggle.
As I walked along I untangled the toughts I could, leaving threads to wrap around the rocks in my wake. Soon I turned from the shore and was beneath a tree I once dreamily branch-watched and later shared pleasant moments. I have a deep peace and love for the beauty that tree sheltered and created, so I passed it with a smile and a quiet, slightly wistful breath.
Later, after paying my respect to a familiar tower, I felt compelled to walk into the unfrequented paths that wind through the trees and bushes of the park. My mind was a greater tangle than the open paths and roads could offer proxy for. I needed deeper sight and thought I’d find it somewhere I’d not been before. I came at first to a ruined brick wall I’d not seen before and gave it an offering of crouched time, a deep settling of something wild. This was an unknown place but not deeply enough unknown for my thoughts.
I walked at length through thorns, over hills, around obsticles and became as lost as I could. There’s something vital to finding answers in becoming lost. Labyrinths are deeply ingrained with our condition. My thread-trail of thoughts was my gift from Ariadne and my Minotaur was an unknown. I don’t know if I slew it or left having never stumbled upon it. When I’d wound my way back to a road I felt lighter, at least, so something of value transpired.
As I left the park I spotted a streetlamp. My love for those is no secret. I find there to be a great beauty and comfort in those lights, something like a lighthouse’s beacon or, from afar, grounded stars. Though I’ve continued walking for thought nearly daily since, this was a closure of sorts to my much needed plunge and releasing of tangles. I was being warned of the jutting, hidden rocks of stagnation and set back on the proper path.

I’m crawling back into the webbed world. This entry was delayed due a bit of a disconnect I needed to make in order to refocus myself. The walk I wrote of here was the first of many I’ve been on since then that have been helping in that. Now I’m in the midst of catching up with sharing a few things, so please be patient as I warm up the writing sphere of my brain and get back into my daily practice.

I’m listening to Sam Roberts‘ “Hard Road” at the moment. It’s fitting what I’ve been thinking as best as any other song I can think of at the moment, so I’ll snitch some lyrics from it for this entry’s title. I’m looking forward to hearing what the band has written for the new album because the first still excites me.

Coming soon are an anticipated entry on love & romance, some thoughts on death, a book review and reflections on atomic terrorism. Patience is a virtue and I’m so glad you fine readers are so virtuous.

I walked home with groceries through a downpour. I wore a shirt and jeans, so it didn’t take long to become soaked. My hair was weighted down with raindrops and lifted slightly by the wind. The bottom of my largest pair of jeans soaked up water running down the sidewalks. I relished the chance to spend time in the rain. There’s nothing quite as refreshing as a summer rainstorm.
I’m sitting now listening to great rolls of thunder and waiting for some food to cook. I’m drying slowly, letting my hair release droplets that trail down my bare back. I’m also playing some music, a few demos from The Squarewaves, and drinking some mint tea. I’ve found myself appreciating simple pleasures such as these more often this week. They can be a distraction, as it’s hard to resist a great tea, a blissful song, a sweet rain, or exchanged soaked smiles, but these things are what gives life value through each day.

I’m listening to some Sage Francis now, so I decided to go take a look at his website to see what’s new in his journeys. There I came across a journal entry titled “RIP Turtle.” I’ve read it with the thunder still loud in my ears, which feels appropriate. In the entry he detailed the dilema of what to do with a dying turtle just crushed by his car wheel. One more reason I’m glad not to have one of those bulky things? You bet. Check Sage Francis out if you’re after intelligent hip-hop, by the way; his stuff’s solid.

Thunder remains here and I’m going to walk in it, to feel its shudder and be washed again.

Have you ever found an article so exciting and facinating that you knew you had to write and share it but neglected to for months? “Myths Over Miami” sat in my bookmarks for over half a year after I first read it after Neil Gaiman pointed it out in his journal. Tonight I’ve finally cleared out all my old bookmarks except for this one and it needs to finally be mentioned so those folks who pass by here and haven’t read it can have the chance.
Folklore is one of my strongest interests, part of my deep appreciation and obsession with storytelling in general. I love exploring how folkstories are developed and the connections their evolutions create and splinter. From Jesus to Huldra and the Wild Hunt to Robin Hood, the richness of our collective myths is astounding. Especially facinating to me is when myths emerge that combine multicultural motifs to form distinct new stories.
“Myths Over Miami” presents a jarring and stark mythology that has developed in various parts of the world among homeless children. Their stories are incredibly dark and opposed to those traditional religion.

This inventive continuation of myths (mostly Christian) shows that these children are forming genuinely new and complex myths to reflect their harsh lives.
There is also a sense of righteous struggle in these stories. The children feel helpless and are faced with seemingly insurmountable odds both mythically and in their real lives. There is a consistant theme that, even though the good may lose, it’s always better to struggle and fail than to give in to evil.

This bleak view coupled with conviction to stand for good is full of such remarkable sophistication for such young people that it must give us pause as we try to understand the effects of poverty and other social ills on the most vulnerable. There is a message in all art and these emergent myths hold ones we should heed and take as a call to our duty to create positive change, to make this struggle for good less futile.