A shot in the Dark

I cannot help but wonder what life has planned for me.
Life has introduced me to a person I cannot see
To talk to me as an equal, but it is clear to me
That despite your best efforts, you are in a different league
A league of your own, of extra ordinary players
I become more and more intimidated as I peel back all your layers.
I’m blinded by your life and all you’ve done to date
I’ve accomplished oh so little in the shadow of your fate
You have been put on this earth for far greater things
Than spending time waiting for the joys that I may bring
As much as I am scared of you, I respect all that you can be
I’m just not sure why you want all that to share with me
The more we talk, the more I learn a little about myself
I try to forget the little things, like the riches and the wealth
If ever we should be together in this crazy world
I want it to be genuine and take it for what it’s worth
As I grow to know you I can’t help but feel the spark
My eyes are closed and I pray to God
As I take this shot in the dark

THICK

Thick, 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?
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.
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.
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?
Why is everything so distant?
What happened?
Why the hell am I here?
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.
I sat, arms folded in front of me, bridging my knees to rest the weight of my chin.
What do I do?
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.
Did I just imagine that noise?
Where did it come from?
How far away?
Why only one drip?
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...
…Why am I here?
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.
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.
Typical drainage slope
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?
My head hurt again. I leaned my back against the wall the lowered my head.


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…
…Why did nothing make sense?
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…
…What happened to me?
What have they done?
Who the hell is they?
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.
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.

Only God Can Make a Tree

A 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.

The Dream About Who

Well I can only remember bits and pieces here and there. It was one of those dreams where you wake up in the morning and its so fresh in your mind that you swear you will never loose grasp of it, then by the time you are in the shower you’ve managed to only scrape what little remains in your mind; you’ve lost most of it, and nothing makes sense anymore… yes, one of those dreams.

I don’t really remember how it all started, I assume it had an explanation as to why we were where we were, but I’m not sure what it was, so just go with it. I’ll jump right to the cake.

So we are on a submarine. It’s a passenger sub, and for whatever reason it’s become an efficient and fun way to travel. Essentially it has replaced conventional cruise ships as it has become safer to travel underwater than on top and, not to mention it has become a rather prompt form of travel. (It takes only a few days to get from North America to Europe.)

So we are both on the ship for business purposes, but we didn’t come together. I didn’t know you were on the ship up until to point where I can begin to remember the dream:

So I’m going to the dinning hall to partake in the “Captain’s Dinner” so naturally, everyone is dressed up rather nicely for the occasion. I go to my table assigned to me based on my cabin number and socialize with those already present, explaining my business purposes and other general conversation. After dinner there is of course dancing, but for the most part I choose to simply relax at the table talking to those who seem to share an interest in what I have to say. As I lower my rye and ginger I see a woman between the many people on the dance floor, but only for a second, but enough to catch my attention. Red dress, longer on the right side tapering up on the left, matching lacy red heels, long wavy brown hair that bounced ever so gently as she spun gracefully on the dance floor.

Distracted from conversation, my eyes fought to find her again in the crowd, but was lost trying to search in the sea of people from my table. I continued talking and finished up at a natural pace thinking nothing more of the woman in red.

On my way back to my room I took a detour down a hallway of glass, open to the sea outside. There wasn't much of interest outside, hardly the display they have at sea world, but there was still something so peaceful about looking out directly into the blue. Having only a plate of glass between myself and ocean.

A voice.

"Calming isn't it?" It asked.

I turned and sure enough it was the woman in red. It was you. Older; not to much older, I would say 26 maybe. You've matured quite nicely if you don’t mind me saying. You seem taller, not allot talker, but it could just be the heals, I can't tell at this point. We walk and talk, about what I’m not sure, I assume we are catching up on things. A blur, and somehow we are now at a lounge bar, laughing it up, talking about whatever it is we manage to talk about.

Then by some fate (or by decision) we end up back at my room (and I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not what you're thinking, despite myself wishing otherwise). The room is odd, though every room is similar; almost natural it would seem, as it this design is the norm for every vessel of this kind. The room entrance opens into a regular height room, but is still rather small. It contains a washroom on the right with a toilet, standing shower and sink. Nothing more. To the left is a small table with a coffee maker, a drawer with a bible and storage area for small carry on cases. To the left of it, is an outlet with four plugs instead of two. A closet makes up the rest of the left wall. Directly in field of vision, the room suddenly shrinks to half the height, were in which lays a double bed with no box spring. Despite the lack of box spring the bed is extremely comfortable. Once on the bed, there is only enough room to sit up with perhaps 4 inches to spare, most certainly not a large space, but yet it seems to suit the purpose of sleeping.

We lay in bed together face to face simply talking once more. I remember a conversation about rainbows and how you are only fond of the top of the rainbow because the colours at the top make you happy. You speak negatively of those you call “the dark colours”. You dislike them because they are both dark and at the bottom of the rainbow; the tighter arc causes you to find them rather depressing. I find this odd, but yet still find logic in your reasoning. Needless to say, you still enjoy a good rainbow.

That's all I remember

In a Card Game With Vegans

Before even begging to write my knee jerk opinion to an article I read, I just want to take this time to say that I have NOTHING against vegans. Their lifestyle does not scare, disturb, nor offend me. Vegans have made a personal choice to support that lifestyle, whether the reasoning is moral, environmental, or whatever. I know only a few vegans and I have never said their choice in lifestyle is inferior to any other, I simply do not feel that lifestyle is appropriate for me. This entry is not to pass judgment on vegans, but rather to provide a theoretical reaction based on a short article I read regarding several statements suggesting ‘veganism’ will improve our environmental crisis. I will say this about vegans though, they are tremendously difficult to cook for if you are preparing them a special dinner.

Now that we have that out of the way I can blab on.

Okay, so really? Turning the whole world vegan will solve everything eh? I’m not buying it. Sure animals will all live, there will be a natural balance…eventually. But well, how long do you think that balance would take to reach. Perhaps my mind works differently than most peoples, and I’m not going to lie, I’ve done absolutely no research to support my argument, which is why I consider it only a theory, but please, humour me for a minute and read on.

Let’s say that as of today, the entire population of the world turned vegan. All over the world meat packing plants would shut down, stamping an expiry date on Millions of jobs. Cows no longer serve a purpose and are left to run free in the wild. Cows begin to die off because they have become infected due to extensive periods without being milked. Unable to produce enough calfs to drink the milk the o’naturel way, cows die in incredible numbers. Chickens, now insignificant, are thrown into the natural order of the food chain, somewhere at the bottom, with humans. Weasels have a field day and stock up, nabbing chickens left right and centre, and storing them in their snack sacs as there is no longer a coop to protect these helpless and delicious chickens. Weasel populations explode, as they quickly become masters of the earth. In time those left alive will become their slaves. Sheep are left ungroomed as there is no longer a need for wool. They all go blind as the untamed wool is pulled over their eyes. Many walk of cliffs, most are eaten by the weasels. Hats and sweaters are fabricated from hemp and polyester as a substitute for wool. Everyone moves south because it’s too damn cold. Florida is already full; we are forced to move elsewhere. Farmers are forced to turn their land from feeding grounds to orchards. The result is displacing the once cared for animals into the wild. They feed the weasels. The demand on fruit and vegetables sky-rockets and farmers can’t keep up. Trees take too long to plant, the farmers go broke, or die, which ever comes first. The world economy is thrown out of control as the suicide rate jumps. Families are forced to starve because they can no longer afford what used to be reasonably priced fruits, vegetables, beans, and rice. The food chain gets tangled in a knot as we are left hanging at the base of the chain, gripping on for dear life to the kicking legs of the chickens above us; the weasels put on their dinning bibs and cartoonishly remove their knives and forks so conveniently stored amongst their fur. Wineries and breweries are laughing as the price of wheat, hops, and grapes exponentially increase. We are now forced to pay $25 for a bottle of beer. Truly this is a tragedy. Don’t let this happen to our world. People, if you truly care about the environment, you will kill helpless animals and eat them for sustenance. Eat a chicken, save a life.

Wild Fire Of Confusion

If I knew what I was feeling
Perhaps I would be able to explain it
However I fear that I cannot
As I am far from understanding it myself
I haven’t been this vulnerable in a long time
Lately, I feel that it has been more hostile
I’m not sure if its your actions or my jealousy
For a while things were going quite well
I was not upset
I was not angry
I was not even jealous
Though I will always be slightly heartbroken
I was, in fact, happy, content.
There were some moments even
Where I was feeling rather superior
A sense of satisfaction in knowing I had avoided something
A realization that I never did or said such things
A feeling of relief.
I mean this not in an insulting way
It simply reminds me of what made things so great
What made things worthwhile
What made things our own
Without fear of anger, violence, or depression
We forged our own path
One of tranquility and relaxation
I don’t know what draws you to the flames
The light, the heat, the intensity
Perhaps it’s the unpredictability that you crave
A wild fire you are
This I always knew
But is being a contained burn not better than being burned
The spectacle of light as it dances
But yet I suppose the wrath of such things is beautiful too
And yet you laugh away the pain
I respect that, because I often cannot
Myself, I choose to avoid the pain, and simply laugh
If ever you wish to speak to me
I will not judge despite my contradicting opinions
You are who you are
That is what I love so much about you
My ears are open
My shoulder is braced
Despite being so vulnerable
You somehow make me feel strong
So I will wait until you’re ready
As a lifetime is long.