Pleasant doctored memories.

Old photographs, sitting in a shoe box hiding in my room. I fell away from myself, Got lost in the negatives of memories. So many years have gone by doctoring the truth, print after print. But negatives never lie, Those images caught in sun light, can't be seen in the darkness. As the shutter closes more negatives pile up, followed by the prints. Doctored, burnt, dodged, changed. But the negatives never lie, put them up to the light. See the truth reflected in shadows, Shades of psychedelic grey and black. What I focused on is clear, what I needed to see was blurred, background noise to some unimportant subject. So now I look into the negatives of the past not the photos, the prints made to order. They can stay in that shoe box, Pleasant doctored memories.

God dammit Canada!!

It's sad to see Canada selling education and castrating the curriculum. From higher university costs right down to elementary schools selling over priced crud for lunches. Capitalism should have no place in our education system, period. Canada if you want to lower illiteracy, poverty and crime than take these financial vices off your youth and their families.I thought this "free" society left the days of education for the wealthy behind. Why are you repeating histories fuck ups?

Stop being bleeding heart, "politically correct", liberal d-bags. Dr.Seuss teaches our children valuable life lessons, why are you pulling him out? So what if one or two snot nosed parents with carbon rods up their a-holes get offended. If they hate the fact that their kids develop critical thinking skills, than home school them. Oh so you have Muslim children in your classroom and won't celebrate Christmas? Do it anyway, if little Bopender's parents don't agree; they can keep him ignorant of other cultures than make him stay home.

It comes down to hippocracy Canada. You want the education system to be peace loving, happy pappy, health crazed and "politically correct", were everyone has an equal chance to get an education that's rich and fulfilling. Yet you monitor literature, food and religion like Stalin. Canada you throw ridiculous costs at the students and parents who have no choice in what educational institution they are involved with. Simply, God dammit Canada! Get your head out of your ass.

A Sociological Look at the Saskatoon Zombie Walk

My first University paper...Read it at your own risk :p

Earlier this month I had the chance to attend The Saskatoon Zombie Walk which was part of the Dark Bridges Film Festival. People came to not only dress up as zombies but to take on the zombie’s iconic shambling horde mentality and walked from Kiwanis Memorial Park, over the Broadway Bridge and ended at the Broadway theatre in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. While walking amongst the horde of “walking dead” I was curious to know what compelled all these people to dress up like corpses and shuffle up the Broadway Bridge, moaning and howling. Through reflection and research I have come to understand that these phenomena are a great example of Emilie Durkheim’s theories of Social Currents and Social Facts.

Durkheim’s theory of Social Currents can be described as ‘Facts without such crystallized forms which have the same objectivity and the same ascendancy over the individual’. In other words social currents are the emotions or values within a group that have power over the individual. In the case of the zombie walk the ‘social current’ is the almost assimilated emotions and personas of the individuals or “zombies”, regardless of their lives outside of the zombie walk. It should also be noted that the social currents displayed by the mass of “ghouls” were not displayed by the onlookers outside of the social group.

According to Durkheim’s theory, social facts are ‘to be considered as things that are external to the individual, and that are capable of exercising coercive power over him or her.’ One could also say this means the fundamental values and ideology of society, which exist as entities beyond the individual and are unchanging, yet still directly affect the individual.

This theory is displayed by two definitive factors during the zombie walk. The first factor is the lack of noticeable change to match the social current within the group of “zombies” by the observing individuals, displaying how social fact is separate of the individual but still affects the individual directly. The second is an example of how social facts are evident by the change in the participants of the walk, as they reverted back to their original behavior as the walk reached the Broadway theatre. The relationship between the social fact, being the common sense idea that “zombies do not exist”, is stronger than the social current displayed by the zombie walk, “zombies do exist”. Furthermore the social fact proves itself unchanged by the social current, because the ‘mass mind’ aspect of the social current being displayed by the walkers, did not affect the onlookers who knew “zombies do not exist”. Social fact is also displayed in the change of social behavior from “zombies do exist” to “zombies do not exist”, as they reached their destination.

Social facts are unchanged by social currents. However for a short time the social current “zombies do exist” altered the social fact for the group of individuals participating in the zombie walk. This shows that social currents can alter the social facts of the group or ‘mass mind’; but the social current cannot directly change the social fact.

From relating my observations of the Saskatoon Zombie Walk to Emilie Durkheim’s theories, one can understand the relationship held between social facts and social currents. A social fact is like a simple organism with removable parts made up of social currents. In this case the organism was “zombies do not exist” and “zombies do exist” belong to the idea that one can take away, or add other parts to the organism but the organism itself remains unchanged.

Sun thief

Someday,
I'll be a big bird.
And fly into the ocean,
to steal the sun
and plant it's rays like seeds,
for you and I.

The world will smile,
as the new sun grows,
reflecting the old.

The moon will be jealous!
The sun will need legs,
to run from the moon.
Who once called the sky her own.

Now the stars will sleep,
as the new sun weeps,
Reflecting his ocean home.
Sky's of blue remind him
of the water below.
The clouds are like waves,
roaming with the wind.

We are Kin of the fish,
Brothers and Sisters of the birds.
Trapped between two oceans
By our crippled machines.

Clear mind, clean hands.

In the recent past I have been on the fence when it has come to my faith; I am not prepared to jump on the Jesus bus to the big Super 8 in the sky, and frankly I’m tired of being disappointed by organised religion. I am a bisexual male, this means I can have as much intimacy in a relationship with a male as I can with a female. It doesn’t matter who you get into bed with; whether you are gay straight or obtuse, love is more than skin deep and sexuality should be an extension of that love, not a tool meant only for heterosexual couples to makes babies. So from this point on (or from the point of this morning at 3am on) I’ll put my faith into acceptance. I accept that love is more than the act of sex alone, no man or woman should be judged by who they wish to love.

Finally my mind is clear; I know where I stand and my hands are clean, clean of the ignorant hypocrisy that tells me I’m going to hell if I love a man like I should love a woman. I will tolerate your hate because I accept that your faith tells you to remain in the dark, accepting change is a sin after all; but I am not a part of your hate. My hands are clean.

Remembering insperation

I read a note put on facebook by an old friend and it got the brass gears in my head clunking. As adults we all have our little memories that tend to get pushed to the back of our head by the rigors of life. It could have been a trip that changed your view on life, maybe it was summer camp as a kid or the sound of Granma making the table in the morning during Christmas on the farm. Either way those memories are brought to the surface by similar surroundings, smells a photo or a memento. For a time we enjoy them, but as life goes on around us memories fade back behind the importance of paying bills and remembering your keys.

I volunteered in the kitchen at camp during the summer just so I could be there a bit longer. That generic smell of a clean commercial kitchen always, brings up the memories of late night kitchen raids and afternoons after lunch clean up spent in the councillor cabin on that dirty old couch, watching Princess Bride and drinking Jones soda. I can still remember the sound of Granma making the table for breakfast on Christmas morning, I remember Bob Dylan on vinyl in Grandpa’s office that doubled as the guest bedroom. Last summer was a time for major change in my life, one of the face knuckle sandwiches that got me to realise I needed change. My friends were there for me, they were my comfort, a solid during a time when everything around me was diarrhea. We almost ran away together and toured Canada on our feet; I spent a lot of time with them and thought that they would always be around. Life happened, and although they still are close I feel like I need a plane ticket to find them. I don’t know why these fond memories tend to be bitter sweet, maybe I shouldn’t say good-bye to those who aren’t gone. Why live on the fraying threads of past memories when new one can be weaved from the same loom.

Poor John Doe

He woke up from a scotch induced lullaby, to high to cry, wiping the sleep from blood shot eyes. Kept up until the morning his 3D rendered vision of the perfect him standing idle, waiting for confirmation of his existence from the control stuck some were in his couch. Week old recycled clothed semi washed in a sink, hanging crusty and dry from chili light strings. Quarters are meant for emergency vice money not laundry, bounce sheets are forgotten. How many beers has he gone through that week, the lake bed of tin grows daily, gross that one had something in it. Stale weed fills the air it's green ghost lingering like the refreshing smell of a camp fire,but not as pleasant. Knowing he's a slob is half the battle, that's how he justifies his sad state of affairs. Once a king he's fallen in exile like Napoleon but without the gall for one last battle, he thinks he's defeated stuck in survival mode. Always trying to change gears but never getting past the grinding halt of doing it wrong because the sound make him cringe. Nothing but time consuming effort in the fridge "Three days, hmm it smells fine"...To the mice and bottom feeders who lived with him he was a provider, a saint. The funeral in his kingdom of trash lasted for days as weeping roaches mourned and mice packed their belongings, knowing their paradise would soon collapse. To bad the humans around him had no eulogy in his name. Plenty of ideas and no religion, a priest said a prayer without meaning, a recitation for the unknown, for poor John Doe.