tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56569294365458876572024-03-13T05:09:54.803-04:00Random ThoughtsJust Because My Mind Wont Stop
- Thoughts, Stories, Songs, Whatever it is I've been thinkingJRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-80304448661671011572013-10-28T10:36:00.002-04:002013-10-28T10:36:15.842-04:00The Darkest HoursThere is a light at the end of the tunnel, though it is difficult for me to see it.
The end seems so far away, while the entrance still right behind me.
To continue forward or to turn around, it is my only choice to make.
I stand idling, to walk the long walk or to retrace the path that now lay behind me.
I feel as though I’ve come to far, unwilling to admit I wasted my time to this point
In the end not making a choice is the only wrong decision I can make.
Others around me seem to light their own way, radiating a glow allowing them to see.
Darkness consumes my body, as only faint lights are visible to guide me.
I have refused to move, as I fear the darkness, the unknown journey to the light calling.
There is no one willing to illuminate my way, no one willing to do provide the light.
Is this by their own choice, or one I have unknowingly made for them.
Regardless, I am aware that no one can help me until I am willing to help myself.
If there are indeed roads paved will gold, I would be satisfied with one paved of brass.
Forward or backward, it is a choice of doing something, instead I stand doing nothing.
It appears to me now that is the choice, not the darkness, that I fear most.
It is truly that dark, or are my eyes just closed.
JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-4260152411497995522010-03-15T08:22:00.001-04:002010-03-15T08:23:10.191-04:00Slightly Out of Context Quote of The Day" I will trade you my lunch, for a baby. "JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-27470468734601258502010-02-23T15:54:00.003-05:002010-02-23T16:00:54.907-05:00There are Always Other Fish In the RiverThe day was typical, at least so it would seem. The sun was beginning to set over the cityscape, and the hot humid day of the early summer was slowly cooling down as the day drew to an end. I was one of the few still left on the beach, taking in each possible minute of sunlight that remained. As I grabbed my shirt and shoes I began to make my way home when my phone rang; it was no longer a typical day… at least not for me; for the unluckiest person in town, however, this was a typical day.<br /><br />I never really considered the city to be very big, nor was it very confusing. There were farmlands, and suburbs, and a small central core to the city; although it was a city, it was diverse enough to avoid getting lost, at least so I thought. My friend had only recently moved here and was delighted to explore the city. Within a weekend, I had shown my friend the sights and sounds that were worth seeing and hearing, the foods worth tasting, and the places worth visiting. With all that the city had to offer, there was no reason to venture too far away. Within a month or two my comrade was well stocked with friends. One such evening, I was told of an outing; a relaxing evening by the edge of the river with drinks and snacks. I had passed on the opportunity as I already had plans that evening, plans I would learn would be cut short with the sound of my ring tone.<br /><br />The sky was clear and cooling quickly with the fading sun. My unfortunate friend was somehow left alone along the riverbanks on the outskirts of town; an disastrous miscommunication I was told was at fault. The river ran through the entire city from west to east, although I was not completely certain, I assumed my friend was in the east end of town, where the river grew wider. As the city lights dimmed in the rear view mirror the highway began to merge with the calm river waters. It would be a difficult search, but I would find my friend. <br /><br />The sun had long set, and there sat my friend and the rocky shores of the river. Alone, and without a sweater I could see my friend was no was not as happy as those back in the heart of the city. My friend lay motionless, in the sand, head back staring at the darkening night sky.<br /><br />“It took me forever to find you; there is a lot of river to follow.” I said. There was no response. “Well, let’s get you back where you belong.” With that my friend stepped into the car, not a word need be said by the unluckiest person in town.JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-46943815489662604642010-01-29T18:33:00.001-05:002010-01-29T18:33:55.944-05:00Coffee For TwoThe day was typical, at least so it would seem. The morning laboratory session was a complete disaster, the cafeteria was out of onion rings, and as it has happened every week before, Professor Santos mistook his Tuesday class for his Wednesday class. The lecture hall was buzzing with conversation as my classmates waited for the professor to arrive. My friend and I sat in the front row waiting patiently, discussing the poor performance of the Maple Leafs from the night before. As always, Professor Santos came running in briefcase flying, and coffee in hand; only 9 minutes late this afternoon. Perhaps my watch was slow, perhaps the professor is getting more timely, whatever it was, something was different; it was no longer a typical day… at least not for me; for the unluckiest person in town, however, this was a typical day.<br /><br />Professor Santos began scurrying down the stairs towards his podium. “I’m sorry, I’m Sorry. I swear, one of these days I will actually get here on time.”<br /><br />The professor began to sort his papers and the class started to settle down. From the front row I could still hear the ‘Milton Twins’ and company discussing their rowdy weekend adventures.<br /><br />“Did anyone get up to anything exciting this weekend?” the professor asked?<br />The class fell silent, as each student looked back at their weekend, analyzing every moment to see if anything was worth presenting. Myself, I was still distracted by the conversation occurring four, maybe five rows behind me.<br />“… I just can’t believe I waited song long before I let him do that to me”, it was one of the Miltons<br />“Do what to you Miss Milton?” Professor Santos asked.<br />“… Oh my god! Umm… forget I even said that.”<br />Her face grew a bright red, as the class focused solely on her, each leaning forward to hear more of her dirty gossip.<br />“What’s wrong Miss Milton, fill us in, I’m sure everyone is as curious as I am now.”<br />The class’s ears perked up, waiting in anticipation.<br />The professor put his foot up against the armrest of the empty chair next to my luckless friend, leaning forward, his coffee in hand. He took a small sip of his drink and continued, “Please, fill each one of us.”<br />“Ha, that’s what she said!” A voice cried out from the back of the class.<br />The room fell silent once again, not knowing what to make of the immature comment. The professor froze, with his coffee cup to his lips. Slowly his cheeks began to grow, like a propane tank in a fire, the pressure was too much; he was going to blow. The hot coffee spurted from the mouth of the professor as his laughter echoed through the lecture hall. The class would be quick to follow, laughing at both the comment, and at the professor who was now lying on the floor, laughing uncontrollably. All were laughing, all expect for my ill-fated friend, who too was on the floor, however, not with laugher, but with pain as the searing coffee began to burn the flesh. Eyelids blistered and bruised, forehead swollen and red, and cheeks lightly rashed. The burns would turn out to be minor, however as I walked down the corridor on the way to the campus clinic, my friend in my arms, I realized one thing: we never did find out what happened to Miss Milton. Some people have all the luck.JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-85220868068900725712010-01-26T10:21:00.001-05:002010-01-26T10:23:36.128-05:00Even the Kitchen SinkThe day was typical, at least so it would seem. The sky was overcast, the breeze cold, the temperatures frigid; it was seemingly a typical winter day. The coffee shop was full, as it always is at this time of the day. Waiting in line to order my lunch, I weighed the options in my head; black forest ham, or BLT? My phone rings; it was no longer a typical day… at least not for me; for the unluckiest person in town, however, this was a typical day.<br /><br />I arrived at the client to see my unfortunate friend. A nurse showed me to the correct room where I found my fateful comrade receiving stitches above the left eye. Looking at the equipment on the sterilization tray, I could see that the doctor had been sewing for quite some time. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“How bad is it this time doc?”</span> I asked.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“Well we got lucky today. Eleven stitches above the eye, three more on the left cheek, nineteen on the right hand; thirty-three in all.”</span><br />I pushed the air out of my lungs and wiped my brow.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“Could be worse.</span>” I threw in.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“It has been worse.”</span> <br /><br />And the doctor was right, it had been worse… much worse. Despite the barrage of stitches, this was only a minor scratch in ever growing medical records of the unluckiest person in town. <br /><br />I took a deep breath and braced myself, “<span style="font-style:italic;">What happened this time?”</span><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“Kitchen sink exploded”</span> The doctor replied<br />A stupid grim swept over the face of clumsy counter-part.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“What?”<br />“You heard me correctly; a sink exploded. The gash above the eye is from a piece of the faucet, the cheek was a shard of glass from a tea cup, and the hand… well thankfully it was used to block the dinner plate.”</span><br />The smile grew yet somehow stupider. <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“Well, thankfully everyone is okay… well reasonably”<br />“Two to three weeks, your friend will be back to normal”<br />“Thanks doc, see you soon”<br />“Hopefully not”</span><br /><br />I walked out of the client and started me car. With the engine lightly humming, I drifted away into thought, wondering how one person could be so unfortunate. I suppose one can be thankful, better that it wasn’t me. The passenger door flung open as my comrade hopped into the vehicle. <br /><span style="font-style:italic;">“Come on you goof, lets get you home.”</span>JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-48908646296469117162009-12-17T13:18:00.001-05:002009-12-17T13:19:49.151-05:00The Best Part of Waking Up, is Frustration in Your CupTo Whom it May Concern <br /><br />Why is your online billing process so painful? All I want to do is check my current balance and some previous purchases, yet you make the process extremely difficult. First I tried signing up as I was asked to.. I don't know what a client number is, or if I have or need one, but it seems to be rather important because you keep prompting me to enter it. I’m sorry I don’t have one. When I sign up for a “Credit Card session”, I happily provided you with all my information. After spending far too long trying to figure out a password that was exactly 8 characters long and contained both numbers and letters that I would be capable of remembering, I was finally done the registration process… or so I thought. After this I tried to view my balance but was again asked for a client number. Making up numbers apparently did not help. I finally found the button allowing me to view a ‘limited credit card session’ – finally I found what I’m looking for. But wait, my troubles did not stop there, I was again prompted to change my password; what exactly was wrong with the one I original chose? After choosing a new password I was then prompted to… change my password. The system continued to do this until I got too angry to continue; I'm now taking my frustration out on you. Why the hell is your online system so painfully user un-friendly?JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-89393235945004781962009-12-17T00:10:00.002-05:002009-12-17T13:20:03.696-05:00Not Just Another<span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />From the start we were doomed<br />Yet I carried forth anyway<br />Do I regret my choices; never<br />For if I did, I would not be who I am today<br />I have changed<br />Perhaps for the better, <br />Perhaps for the worse<br />However this change has pulled us apart<br />From the start we were doomed<br />Yet I carried forth anyway<br /><br />What was to only be one night<br />Proceeded to become a lifetime<br />A lifetime filled with joy<br />A lifetime filled with tears<br />A lifetime filled with experiences<br />Both new and familiar feelings<br />Living them all for the first time with you<br />You were the best I ever had<br />And yet I never really had you at all<br />From the start we were doomed<br />Yet I carried forth anyway<br /><br />There has always been something <br />Something to believe in<br />I was tempted by your flame<br />And captured by your light<br />You treated with me dignity<br />You treated me with respect<br />My distance has never been of fear<br />My heart simply demands my space<br />You may never forgive what I’ve done<br />Nor will I hold it against you<br />Listening to my heart<br />You will never be forgotten<br />From the start we were doomed<br />Yet I carried forth anyway<br /><br />The whispers of fate will gentle flow by<br />And taunt my every thought<br />They whisper ‘what if’ as they bring me close<br />The echoes fade, and the whispers let go<br />What time will tell has yet to be heard<br />I just want you to know<br />You weren’t just another girl.</span>JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-44372311464047785242009-12-11T21:26:00.000-05:002009-12-11T21:27:11.259-05:00The Weight Of Disappointment.<span style="font-style:italic;">The Weight of Disappointment<br /><br />I sit here and I worry again<br />Despite you telling me not to<br />I worry for you, for your health, and for your peace of mind<br />I worry too about us, and what we will be.<br />I worry that maybe we have come as far as we were meant to<br /><br />I sit here depressed<br />Because I may once again have my heart broken<br />I have done this too many times<br />I am expecting too much perhaps<br />I fear that maybe we simply are not destined to be. <br /><br />I dive deeper and deeper into depression<br />With every minute that passes that I am left alone<br />You have disappeared again<br />Already I know that regardless if return or not<br />You have left a scar on my heart<br /><br />I sit here again<br />This same routine of mine<br />My shoes tied, my pants hemmed, my favourite sweater kept neat<br />I wait by the phone every minute simply waiting for it to ring.<br />You have left me here again and taken yet another piece of me<br />I will smile because I have to<br />And because I know I should be<br />I’ll do this countless times again<br />But one day, it will kill me. </span>JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-60226843552569796542009-11-20T13:33:00.002-05:002009-11-20T13:40:52.529-05:00It's Been a While Since I've Bitched About Something.So it’s been a while since I posted something. I mean besides today of course. I don’t have a lot to do in the office today, so I’ve decided to write… for the sake of writing – Well in this case it’s more like “bitch for the sake of bitching” – Enjoy!<br /><br />I’ve decided there are far too many stupid people in the world; I watched a youtube clip of a guy tazering himself. It was pretty funny because the guy was completed knocked out by the shock. This begs the question; who voluntarily tazers themselves that isn’t a police officer in training, or a guinea pig being paid to do it for research purposes? I also watched a kid clothesline himself. I sit and I wonder, “what could possibly posses someone to think this is a good idea?” I understand at that age, one may think they are invincible, and one may think it’s hilarious (which despite trying to make a point about how stupid it is, it is rather funny) but do these people simply lack the gene that says ‘despite the fact that this wont kill me it will still hurt like a bitch’? I don’t know. In talking with Angie, the point was brought up that it is nothing more than the camera that influences this kind of radical behaviour. The idea that one may go viral; a chance at the elusive 15 minutes of fame. This begs another questions however; why would these potential Darwin Award candidates want to be known as the person who tazered themselves? Or the person who thought it would be funny to break and egg in their mouth with a baseball bat? Has stupidity truly become the modern form of flattery? I look at it this way, if I were to take a poll on the streets and ask 100 people if I can punch them in the face for no reason, how many people would say yes? Probably nobody, yet these people seem to volunteer themselves for similar treatment. Perhaps if I filmed it, I would receive a more positive response. The world is a sad, sad, hilarious place. <br /><br />So who else hates crocks? Seriously, what’s the deal with these “shoes”? I use quotes here because personally I don’t consider them shoes. If anything they are slippers or maybe even sandals, but they are not shoes. I just don’t understand why people would decide to wear something that is neon orange with what is otherwise a regular outfit. I understand they may be comfortable, and under that argument, you have a home in which you can walk around with them on. The cottage? The beach? By the pool? Three other wonderful places to wear these monstrosities, but downtown on a Saturday night… yeah, I’m just going to go walk over here now. <br /><br />Has anyone else looked at the price of shredders lately? Yes, the office machine that turns paper into smaller strips of paper, or in some cases confetti. Well I assume most of you have not investigated the world of paper shredding, so I will say this about shredders: they are not cheap! The average shredder seems to sell for about 125 bones a unit. I suppose that’s somewhat reasonable, yet from the reviews of shredders, generally speaking, they seem to only have about a two-year lifespan. You would think it would be easier to build something in which the sole purpose of it is to destroy something. I mean, look at the nuclear bomb, that thing is much more efficient – although it can only be used once - but you can forget about any evidence of your credit card numbers, that’s for sure! So the nuke might be a little over the top, but I could purchase a gun for about $125, and not only is that extremely destructive, but it will last more than two years, even with daily use. I forgot where I was going with this, but anyway, I saw a shredder for over $3,000 dollars. Really? For $3,000 I will personally cut up each one of the pages into tiny little pieces! Anyone in need of a sociable shredder?JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-11675917769065397562009-11-20T11:20:00.001-05:002009-11-20T11:20:47.516-05:00A shot in the DarkI cannot help but wonder what life has planned for me.<br />Life has introduced me to a person I cannot see<br />To talk to me as an equal, but it is clear to me<br />That despite your best efforts, you are in a different league<br />A league of your own, of extra ordinary players<br />I become more and more intimidated as I peel back all your layers.<br />I’m blinded by your life and all you’ve done to date<br />I’ve accomplished oh so little in the shadow of your fate<br />You have been put on this earth for far greater things<br />Than spending time waiting for the joys that I may bring<br />As much as I am scared of you, I respect all that you can be<br />I’m just not sure why you want all that to share with me<br />The more we talk, the more I learn a little about myself<br />I try to forget the little things, like the riches and the wealth<br />If ever we should be together in this crazy world<br />I want it to be genuine and take it for what it’s worth<br />As I grow to know you I can’t help but feel the spark<br />My eyes are closed and I pray to God<br />As I take this shot in the darkJRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-81285077672753469662009-09-02T09:52:00.001-04:002009-09-02T09:58:15.393-04:00Serious to be UnseriousI believe the quote “life is what you make of it” is the cause of our need to find structure. The ideas of disorganization, randomness, and chance are intimidating. They scare us, every one of us, with no true exception. We combat these fearful ideas by creating ideas of our own; ideas less threatening; ideas of assembly, of balance, and most importantly – predictability. We try and make our lives what we want them to be. To say this is a bad thing would be to go against human nature, but to say we should trust that our lives would go according to plan is ludicrous. What we should be telling ourselves is to never take life to seriously, because no one gets out alive anyway.JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-11537274349632333762009-08-27T15:37:00.001-04:002009-08-27T15:41:38.836-04:00You Can't Judge a Book By its CoverWhat ever happened to common courtesy? When someone says something nice, you thank him or her. If someone looks like they need help, you lend a helping hand. When someone opens a door for you, you accept the courteous gesture and if you’re feeling extra kind, you can even thank the person for doing something as simple as holding a door open. <br /><br />Well it seems the world is going to hell in a hand basket, and you know who’s leading the way, OLD PEOPLE! That’s right, it appears that it’s no longer Generation Y’s that have forgotten the meaning of good manner, but rather those who practically invented it; the elderly. I was at a gas station this afternoon filling up my tank and simultaneously getting myself a beverage to compliment the left over pizza I had waiting for me at work. On my way out I saw an elderly gentleman making his way towards the double doors; I assume to pay for his gasoline purchase. As I was on my way out, and had to open the door for myself, I kindly pushed the door open and stepped aside, still holding the door, to allow this gentleman to freely pass without hassle of opening the door himself. Standing there, still holding the door, I watched as the man ignores my gesture of good faith and proceeds to open the door directly adjacent to that which is already open. I am now standing there in awe, door still in hand, at what just happened. Who does that?! I mean, I would think that it would almost be a natural instinct to pass through an open door, let alone a sign of respect, grace, and civility. I have seen, more times that I can count, people allowing doors to close behind them with no regard of those who follow; but I must say, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen anyone purposely pass up what most consider to be a fleeting sign of good favour. Some people! <br /><br />Well next time I see him, I’m going to run him down in my car. Of course I’m kidding, that would be cruel; instead I’ll just play loud music, use plenty of curse words, and remind him that things no longer cost what they used to!JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-29475791076888269522009-08-27T12:00:00.001-04:002009-08-27T12:02:24.297-04:00THICKThick, sticky, almost firm, but not quite. The rubbery film stuck to my fingers as I raised my hand from the ground. I ran my fingers through the semi-solid attempting to determine what my hand had woken me up to. It was dark, still, when I opened my eyes. Where was I? <br />I sat myself up, wide eyed hoping to take in any rare beam of light scattered in this…this room? I shook my head, attempting to recall how I had gotten here. Nothing.<br />I leaned back planting both hands on the floor behind me. My left planted back into the sticky film from before. It felt odd, like drying white out; perhaps paint. My right hand found the cold touch of concrete. Most certainly concrete. <br />The air was warm and stale. The smell of paint was more evident now, and backed my suspicions of the unknown film on my fingers. Concentrating further, another smell tickled my nose, faint, but most certainly present, lingering in my nostrils, toying with my senses. I could not tell what the smell was, but it reminded me of…of what? <br />Why is everything so distant? <br />What happened?<br />Why the hell am I here?<br />I bowed my head and leaned forward, hands now in front of me. I felt my left hand with my right; the paint was near drying. I could not see for sure, but it felt as though the paint did not transfer from hand to hand.<br />I sat, arms folded in front of me, bridging my knees to rest the weight of my chin. <br />What do I do?<br />Focusing on nothing my ears perked to a faded noise, a drip, barely audible. I leaned into the sound waiting for another, but lost any further drips to the deafening silence. <br />Did I just imagine that noise?<br />Where did it come from? <br />How far away?<br />Why only one drip?<br />I lowered my head once again. It hurt; it hurt to think, it hurt even more not to. I ran over my options…limitless it seemed. After…five, ten, fifty minutes...<br />…Why am I here?<br />I grabbed at my shirt and ran my hand down the sleeves. This was the same shirt I was wearing…earlier, I suppose. My grey shirt, long sleeves, though made of a very thin fabric and breathed well. I had torn the right cuff, and as such always kept my sleeves rolled up, making sure to roll them inward. This was still the case. My pants, blue jeans, fairly new. I reached into my pockets to find all of their original contents. In my left pocket my debit card and driver license. I had removed them from my wallet that morning because I found my wallet too bulky with these pants. In my right pocket, a tube of chap stick. I leaned to my right side and slid my hand into my left back pocket. I felt what I assumed was the twenty-five dollars I had left in the pocket from the last time I had worn the pants. I shifted my weight to my left side and slid my hand as before into my other pocket to find…a piece of paper; a small one, partially torn, conceivably from a larger piece of paper. I pulled it out and unfolded it in front of me. Holding it close to my eyes I strained to see what, if anything, was written on it. I swept my fingers across the paper and felt no indents. I placed the paper back into my pocket and lowered my head between my legs once again.<br />After what felt like ten minutes I decided it was best to explore my immediate surroundings. I slowly laid on my stomach, flat, arms to my sides, legs straight. I ran each my left and right arm out in an arcing motion, reminding myself of the days when I would make snow angels; a paint angel it would seem this time, as my left arm was now most certainly covered in the paint. The paint ran well beyond the reach of my left arm and ended just clear of my elbow. My right arm felt nothing but more cold concrete. As I ran my arms back and forth along the cold floor I could sense a slight slope, sloping down and away from my current position. <br />Typical drainage slope<br />After exhausting my reach I repeated the process with my legs. My left leg swung out uninterrupted, but it was not long before my right was stopped by what felt like a wall. I upped myself to a prone position and slowly crawled backwards until I could feel the wall with both feet. The wall was also concrete with no baseboard or base-plate, I ran my fingers along the wall and floor intercept to find that it was uniformly poured during its construction. I turned to face the wall and ran my hands in all directions as far as I could reach while staying on my knees and felt nothing. I turned back to the…empty room?<br />My head hurt again. I leaned my back against the wall the lowered my head.<br /><br /><br />Time had passed, it was difficult to say how much; maybe fifteen minutes, maybe more, maybe less. I lifted my head and stared into the darkness which surrounded me…<br />…Why did nothing make sense?<br />I sat against the wall, my head burning from the inside. It was unusual for me to experience even a headache, yet I could not help but feel that even a migraine would be more pleasant that this…<br />…What happened to me?<br />What have they done?<br />Who the hell is they?<br />My head my slowly tearing itself apart form the within. Sharp pains blasting from the depths of my head, breaching the base of my skull with an icy cold touch; it was too much. Then…nothing. The pain was gone.<br />It was time to move, time to explore this…this place. My brave thoughts were followed only by hesitation, deciding to move left or right along the wall. In the end, I found myself drawn to explore the wall to my left, perhaps to find the source of the paint. Staying low to the ground and keeping my back to the wall, I slowly shifted my way to my left. After five, maybe ten feet, I could feel the thickness of the paint beneath my left foot, soon after, beneath my right. With my left are extended and flush against the wall I continued to slide down the length of wall, slowly and cautiously, making sure to keep my senses vigilant.JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-22013833660134527572009-08-27T11:16:00.002-04:002009-08-27T11:27:52.191-04:00That Time AlreadySo it’s that time of year again! That’s right; there are only 126 days left in the calendar year before the 21st Century hits it’s first set of double digits. 126 days to make 2009 a year to remember. It’s time to start thinking about the things that have been done and the things that haven’t. Yes sir, it’s time for that fall overhaul. As a wise hick once told me, “Get yir piggies outta the pen and clean up that shit”. Good advice if I do say so myself. I don’t own a pen, or any ‘piggies’ but I do understand the metaphor and should probably head his red neck advice. (Wow! I never once thought I would hear myself say that in my lifetime.) Nonetheless, it’s time to make a change, get the ball rolling, up the ante, clean up the shit! Yet here I am wondering what I can do to make these next 10 and a half dozen days truly worth remembering. I could break the bank and travel the world; take a chance and go skydiving; drop everything and become a hermit. Most likely, however, I will continue with the same daily routine, simply waiting for an opportunity to make something happen. Then again who knows. 239 days down 126 days left. Bring it on little piggies!JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-10725931093900476502009-08-19T00:58:00.003-04:002009-08-19T12:16:59.575-04:00Funny PeopleIt’s funny how the things that make us the happiest can also bring out the saddest in us. We cherish the good times, hold them close, never to be kept too far away. The good times will always be with us to remind us that life really can be fun and games. We remind ourselves of the best so that we can forget the worst, but often the best can equally remind us of the worst; remind us of the smiles that have been lost; remind us of the memories we can only dream to create. A heart can be overwhelmed by emptiness when all logic should suggest a feeling of fulfillment, of humour, of enjoyment. Life has a funny way of bringing the world together even as we try to pull it apart. We dissect ourselves to try and discover why life is so complicated when the reality is nothing more than it’s awe-inspiring simplicity. A single smile can flood us with feelings, which ever they shall be. Every day is a new memory, and every day reminds us to smile, as well reminds us we may often be missing something worth smiling for. Life is irony in itself; it’s worth laughing at. We have all said that life can be funny sometimes, but maybe we're what's funny; maybe we’re all just funny people.JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-53269289466217778012009-08-12T10:42:00.001-04:002009-08-12T10:43:27.644-04:00A Story About Starbu... I mean LoveAwww, so cute. I remember the day those two love birds met actually. It was a beautiful late summer day, the air was crisp with love. I remember seeing this wonderful brunette with a perfect smile, but alas her eyes were not for me, but another man. It took me a while to see who she was looking at, but it didn't take long to see that a simple street could not keep these two apart. I will always remember that day, it was the first time i ever ordered the Vanilla Bean Frapachino. As i sat by the window of the Starbucks, enjoying my Vanilla treat, i witnessed love bloom. No, I wasn't in the same Starbucks as her..What?, NO i wasn't in his either. I was actually in the one on the second floor two doors down. You know that new one they put in, that over looks the park.. yeah yeah that one, the one directly above that old Starbucks.JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-31318331729441852292009-07-29T15:06:00.002-04:002009-07-29T15:08:29.843-04:00For The BestIf you only knew <br />They I doubt you would have stayed with me<br />If I could prove to you<br />That it wasn’t all just make-believe<br />The time we shared <br />The gifts we gave<br />The hugs we shared <br />The games we played<br />Every moment was as real as it could be<br />I’m just sorry I couldn’t be your fantasy.<br /><br />I woke this morning with a headache<br />The night before I just couldn’t shake<br />Things went so well, at least at first <br />Then by night fall that bubble burst<br />You questioned me, why I can’t provide<br />Why my feelings fell short, why I never tried<br />I shake my head I’m so confused <br />Where did this come from, must be the booze<br />I’m in this corner now, you’ve boxed me in<br />I won’t swing wildly instead I’ll listen<br />Time and time again we act like this<br />But neither of us would be the first to admit<br />That this conversation just had to happen<br />We were both just too scared to hear the answer<br />The reasons that you explained to me<br />The hot, the cold, the daily swings<br />I felt the same way; I just was agreed<br />Never thought that’d be the end of things<br />It’s over now and my heads so much clearer<br />The headache’s gone, but the heartache’s nearerJRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-23268403620281444922009-07-20T13:52:00.000-04:002009-07-20T13:53:00.848-04:00Only God Can Make a TreeA tree. Nothing more. As tall as it was full, almost overwhelming to look at. Circling the truck of the tree, the leaves glowed a pure yellow, touching on a feeling of innocence. As the branches grew and reached outwards, the leaves began to change, quickly but effortlessly transforming colours to a golden orange. A beautiful color it was. As the branches narrowed towards the tips, the fingernail leaves glowed fiercer to a fiery orange, but never quite red, simply a blazing orange. As the wind gently blew through the leaves, it seemed to give it life, the tree danced with the swift winds, bringing the inferno into existence. Flames of maple dazzling the eyes. Loose leaves would soon lose touch of their woodland mother and glide gracefully down through the air; a gentle orange rain born of a wild orange flame. I wish you had been there, if not to take a picture, then simply to see. I wish I could say more, but simply put, it took my breath away.JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-10674094437304763192009-06-24T16:21:00.001-04:002009-06-24T16:26:16.532-04:00You're On Your OwnIt’s time again for everyone to start to wonder<br />When I erupt it is bound to make you run and duck for cover<br />Get your pens and papers ready to take notes for some debating<br />I’m back again, so sorry to keep you all in waiting<br />You’ve all been kind and everyone’s been oh so patient<br />I’m blown away at the virtue you all have been displaying<br />But pay attention now because I’ll say it without hesitation<br />There is no second chance when you explode in people faces<br />Make sure to soak it in cuz you’ll be tested on this narration<br />To see if you picked things up in your world of imagination<br /><br />So here we are again, in this exact same position<br />I keep saying things even though you never listen<br />So lets trade shoes and put yourself in my position<br />I gave you everything I could to make your life more than simply decent<br />And here we again, now later but no different <br />I’m still willing to lend a hand while you make things lurid<br />I only walked away so I wouldn’t grow to hate this<br />I cared too much to see the wall and the paint to used to paint it<br />The writing’s on the wall and it’s your written in which it’s written<br />I helped you clean it once but you’ve no longer got me smitten <br />Pray, cry, bitch, moan, and scream at me for missing<br />Now you know how life is when no one cares to listen<br /><br />So don’t you cry<br />I cannot lie<br />I let you go<br />You should have known<br />It’s not just me<br />I left you be<br />In your world alone<br />No place for me; You’re on your own.<br /><br />The last thing you ever said to me wasn’t even to my face<br />You’re hurt because life has finally put you in your place<br />You say it’s common now for all to ignore you call<br />Perhaps it wouldn’t have been like this if you never let them fall<br />How could you not knew what you were doing when you did this<br />Taking time to ride the line with smiles and good spirits<br />You played me for a fool and god knows how many others<br />Does it really surprise you that we have learned for these blunders<br />Mistakes were made but I see just what kind of person you’ve become, <br />Because it hurt to play these stupid games, but now I’m glad we're done <br />I said that I would help if you ever need that extra hand<br />But I know that you can’t bring yourself to ask that of a friend<br />Stubborn, arrogant, egotistical or malicious<br />Whatever trait you to reach onto will leave you alone and in the ditches<br />I don’t know how you changed so much from the girl that I once knew<br />You built a castle with your attention, a queen for all to grabble to<br />It all came down and now you’re your lost, I could have seen it coming<br />You never had to the foundation and now you’re left with noting<br />I know I’ll never hear from you again, You’re too stubborn to ask for help<br />You’ll learn your lesson soon enough when you’re left with nothing but yourself.<br /><br />So don’t you cry<br />I cannot lie<br />I let you go<br />You should have known<br />It’s not just me<br />I left you be<br />In your world alone<br />No place for me; <br /><br />You’re on your own.JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-49175086692756540742009-06-12T14:55:00.003-04:002009-06-12T14:59:22.251-04:00Because It's Not TopicalHow come there aren’t more foods that comes in ‘popcorn’ form?<br />Whoever said laughter was the best medicine has never been sick! <br />Speaking of which, has anyone clinically killed themselves laughing?<br />It’s amazing the “Clear Out Your Desk” cake isn’t more popular.<br />Did the Scarecrow actually have a brain before, because I think the Wizard of Oz was just full of it. (After all, without a brain, how would the scarecrow know any better)<br />Why is so much effort made to make vegetarian products so similar to meat products? They made their choice. (There is something about vegetarian meatballs that doesn’t quite sit right)JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-676880643121311922009-04-09T15:49:00.002-04:002009-04-09T21:27:14.392-04:00Back to the BasicsBack to the Basics<br /> <br />I don’t know how to start this off<br />Every time I think my mind goes soft<br />Like Jello in a mold it takes perfect shape<br />Then I go to taste it and it all goes to waste<br />But jello without a mold it’s all out of place<br />This is how I feel now when pen gets put to page<br /> <br />Every minute of every hour of every single day<br />Is spent wondering why everything happened that way<br />What’s right, what’s wrong, what’s meant to be different<br />What’s mine, what’s gone, is this how things should be<br />With so much on my mind, you would think my words would pay<br />Yet when it’s time to cash it in I’m left with nothing else to say.<br /> <br />It’s not that I’m just not emotional<br />I speak so much I’m practically promotional<br />It’s just so much harder to get things into verse<br />Seems all I do lately is waste it all in curse<br />The harder I try the harder it is for my mind to formulate<br />The feelings that I’m feeling, it’s rather quite unfortunate<br />I rhyme just fine, so now it’s time to shine<br />But the words I am seeking I just can’t seem to find<br /> <br />What ever happened to those days of the past<br />When I would take the time to write every day in class<br />So much to say and an ability to say it<br />On this lyrical road, I was laying down the pavement<br />My life’s changed so much in the last few years<br />With every emotion from laughter to the tears<br />Friends come, friends gone, friend’s staying in their places<br />Fist fights, love songs, I’ve shown so many faces<br />With all this to show yet my words turn to vapour<br />Every time I try to put this pen to this paper.<br /><br />I just want to create something of some substance<br />Instead of wasting time making absently no sense<br />Bitching about nothing for thirty something lines<br />Inventing words just make things rhyme.<br />What happened to the words that I once could say<br />Closed my eyes and let the pen find its way<br />Open them next to see the words a poet wrote<br />Read through it once and make a couple notes<br />Close my eyes again and write it one last time<br />When ink touched that paper it was perfect every time.JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-83818076922066873252009-03-16T12:29:00.001-04:002009-03-18T11:29:33.533-04:00The Words We Live By“I’m too old and it seems out of reach; but nowadays, everything seems out of reach. I know I’ve got what it takes to succeed; I just don’t know what the fuck I want to be. I don’t know where I’m going; I don’t know what my future holds. How can a path be chosen when no one knows what’s down the road?”<br /><br />- Michael BoydJRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-52258259956042130202009-03-15T01:13:00.003-04:002009-04-09T15:53:44.850-04:00Returning Your MessageI know what you mean; I had one of those nights last week. It was amazing! A well deserved (and expensive) night out. Right now. however, I'm a little into the bottle and watching an infomercial for "Turbo Jam" - it's basically Toe Bow meets 20 minute workouts. They guarantee 10lbs and 10in in 10 days. I believe it. It basically looks like a high intensity kick boxing class compressed into a twenty minute workout. Even I can't do half the shit on this DVD. It's like a weight-loss DVD for people who are already in shape. I don't get this?! A 300 lb man would probably die from a heart attack. These workouts also look more like a choreographed dance... How am i expected to remember this? These people all scare me, they are all far too happy...JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-48554313225818252572009-03-11T17:15:00.003-04:002009-03-11T17:31:29.052-04:00Don't Beat Up RihannaYou know what I'm sick of? People's opinions about Rihanna and Chris Brown. I'm sick of hearing about this. It's not so much that I’m sick of hearing that it occurred, nor hearing about what the latest is on their relationship, but rather, I’m sick of everyone who seems to know what is right and what is wrong. Now don't get me wrong here, hitting a woman is about as right as microwaving kittens, I'm not saying that what he did is fine, nor am I saying that if she did it, would it be okay, it's never okay to hit a person. I want to make that clear before I continue. <br /><br />I was listening to the radio today and found out that Diddy (or P-Diddy, whichever he goes by these days) is lending out his home so that Rihanna and Chris can have a place to get away from the media and discuss this. Apparently Diddy is Satan for doing this. And I quote the voices heard from my car speaking this morning "If he was a true friend, Diddy wouldn't even allow Rihanna within 100 yards of Chris brown". Yes, that's right, it's apparently Diddy's fault now. I don't know about you, but I think that Diddy allowing them to try to rectify the situation, and give up his home as a therapeutic place of resolution is rather honourable of him. And since when was Rihanna kidnapped and forced to go to Diddy's house, I'm pretty sure this was a voluntary action. <br /><br />Diddy, on the Ellen Show, also made mention that we are to "pray" for Chris and Rihanna as they attempt to get through these hard times; expressing that life is often cruel and that even the best of relationships often have ugly patches. I’m aware that this patch is uglier than most, arguably the worst thing that could happen to a person in a relationship, and once again, I'm not saying that striking a woman is a reasonable action; it's not! We don't know what happened that night, and we don't know what happened every day leading up to that night, nor the days thereafter. We don't know the emotional bond these two share, nor do we know what they are thinking or feeling, so why then do so many feel it is their place to cast the first stone? <br /><br />We have all experienced situations in which we question our partners. Perhaps it didn't involve physical abuse, but there is more than one reason to walk away from a relationship. Everyone seems to support the “Leave Him” approach, but what does not seem to occur to anyone is that perhaps Rihanna sees things differently than the ‘media’ - and therefore the rest of the world that is oh so quick to judge. The media will forever label Chris as a ‘beater’ and “once a beater, always a beater”. Maybe, just maybe, she believes people can change, that people can learn, and that people make mistakes in life that they wouldn’t dare repeat again. We've all been down that road and back, and perchance even to this degree, but regardless we have all been victims just as we have all been transgressors; we've all done things we believed we were incapable of. <br /><br />For all we know, (because not a one of us does know), Rihanna sees what no one else appears to see, that it was a mistake.. not a character trait. I’m not defending Chris Brown, there is no justifying his actions, but Rihanna is a big girl now boys and girls, and she can leave whenever she wants; if she hasn't yet, there is clearly a reason. But you're right, maybe Sally from Minnesota knows what's best for Rihanna, after all her opinion is clearly correct. I'm not Rihanna, and I'm not Chris Brown, and because I'm neither of them, I say let them make their own decision. Or we could just blame Diddy.<br /><br /><br />-From the mind of JRL with added inspiration from Angie. <br />P.S. Visit Angie’s LoungJRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5656929436545887657.post-22160277206369852542009-02-12T14:28:00.002-05:002009-02-12T14:28:57.517-05:00Feeling Sorry for WinterludeSo here in Ottawa we have a yearly winter festival called winterlude.<br /><br />Hilariously enough, it seems that every year when winterlude begins the weather always seems to heat up. Great for some of us; terrible for others. Personally I don’t mind the increased temperatures, despite the fact that it usually comes with rain, slush, and gloomy days. That being said it’s currently above freezing and that puts a smile on my face. <br /><br />To the point however! A big part of the this yearly festival is an international ice-sculpting competition. Some years bring out more sculptures than others, but every year it is amazing to see what people can create out of a block or two of ice. I was fortunate enough to see some of the sculptures before Mother Nature decided to play her yearly miss-timed April’s Fool joke. <br /><br />I was speaking to a friend in regards to said ice sculptures to which she told me she always felt sorry for them, similar to how she felt about a certain lamp in a certain IKEA commercial. (If you haven’t seen it, a lamp is thrown out, and through sad music, panning in and out, and terrible weather conditions, we, the viewer, begin to feel for the curbside piece of metal) I asked myself how one could feel as bad for a lamp as an ice sculpture. How could one feel bad for either? The creator of the lamp and similarly the ice sculptures, sure, but the inanimate objects themselves? Amazing how we do however. I too even felt bad. That being said, my sympathies will certainly go to the ice. The ice, with time, will melt. The image of a grasshopper minatore will not longer put a twisted smile on the faces of the passing children. The country of France will have nothing to show for their efforts except a photograph and a ribbon with the number 1 on it. Where as the lamp, will simply remain a lamp. Whether curbside, or bedside, the lamp will always be a lamp. Perhaps even the home of some small garbage dwelling squirrel or chipmunk. Perhaps it will find better days as a decoration for a hobo. It may be even be pickup by a passerby and once again be used as a lamp. Feel if you must for these creations, but always remember, there will be other lamps, as I assure you there will be other half melted winterlude ice sculptures. <br /><br />The snow sculptures however, they deserve no sympathy.JRLhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15389761799309730214noreply@blogger.com0