2003-11-06 - 8:47 p.m.

Mental Floss for the Masses.

OK, yeah. I been lax. I been not been bloggin�, Mon (3 points!). Been too fucking busy writing. The ideas have been plentiful as of late and I ryekee arot. I�m going through the next scene in my head right now as I watch this typically beautiful sun set over Vancouver, as I write this in my notepad with an actual ye olde Staedler .03 tech-pen.

The scene is going a little something like this:

The message � or rather, request � from the Earth God Yaweh - didn�t require the reading glasses to understand. These new Gods always spoke with egocentric melodrama. The glasses were a fetish. And there�s much to be said about the focusing power of fetishes.

Asmodeus � or rather, Ash Medai (ed note: get it? Ashmedai? Pffft.), Celestial Recruiter/Investigator for the Right Cause or Coin, Lord of Demons and Devil of Hell�s Board of Directors grimaced with delight and grunted � nnnnnUUUUUUuuuuuhhhhhhaaaaaaahhhhh � there�s something to be said for the focusing power of a gut-evacuating, prostate-popping shit.

He thought, �Humans don�t know how fucking well they are designed.�

He had a lot of respect for The Creator as a designer. He was fucking meticulous. His governing policies aside, He was an OK guy. It�d been a millennia since Asmodeus first took the persona of Ash Medai and he loved the challenge of thinking so fucking small.

Demons can�t be human without a lot of training � that�s why the possessed are so fucked up. Demon thoughts, human brain. Asmodeus, however, was a Lord of Hell. His form was him. He was 100% invincible human and has loved every day of it.

And so on.

There�s an entry worth chewin� on in the meat grinder, but it�s still being writ. Wanna get it right. So in the interim, Mini Entries!

11.06.0915

The Head Creative Guru for the Canadian Division of the company I whore myself to looked at my big-assed mug of delicious Starbucks coffee (we�re spoiled) and remarkable remarked, �That�s one big-assed mug of coffee.�

I replied, �A cuppa fresh Joe has more antioxidants than a glass of OJ. I�m fighting cancer on a �big-assed� level here!�

He laughed and says, �That�s a fucking great take. Everything�ll kill you. Says so in the newspapers.�

�I just fucking refuse to subscribe to that fucking newsletter, y�know? All Things Banal and Carnal will fucking kill you nowadays. Fuck it up the eee-hhhh-ssss!� and I make finger thrusting motions.

On the way back to my cave he says, �You should send those little fucking nuggets to the Group in the mornings. Say, like, 10 or so.�

�Yeah,� I snort, �I could call them �Daily Xendoms.�

Two hours later the �Daily Xendom� became part of my job description.

S.S.: �NOT �DAILY XENDOM�! I WAS FUCKING JOKING!�

Head Mukety-Muck: �NO! It�s GREAT! Bla bla bla bla bla.�

I�m a fucking Photoshop geek, not a fucking copywriter. �Hey! Witty guy! Make us all think, will ya? We�re short on fucking idears.�

Fuck.

11.06.1830

The Skytrain is packed shoulder to shoulder, as usual. The doors open at my stop and in the doorway, on the platform blocking our exit is this feral freak of a fucking human standing, bouncing foot to foot and holding a vacuum cleaner.

Crowds don�t wait for supper and I get pushed into this fuck who steps back and swings the fucking Hoover at me! I�d been assaulted with a major household appliance! HEW HEIGHTS!

He�d drawn the cleaner back to his body, defensively and I whip out at it with a sharp stepping side kick � shattering the frozen plastic handle. �Close yer fucking yip and get the fuck on the train or that�ll be your fucking leg, cunt!�

I walk away giggling. But honestly�where the fuck do these mutants come from, and why do they always find me?

11.06.2005

Tonight, walking through a sleeping Tent City, learned that I can roll a nigh-perfect joint in near-pitch darkness. I smoke half and give the balance to a tent dweller just watching the oily-black night-time harbour.

I learned that The World�s Best Bogart-Swaggerin�-Along-The-Waterfront Song Ever is Tom Wait�s, �Potter�s Field.�

OK. This is an �If you love me, you�ll do this one thing,� kinda thing. Get a copy of �Potter�s Field� and load it into your portable listening device of choice. When the sun is just past set, go down to the waterfront or sodium-light downtown and press play.

Step by step to the bass-line.

Listen.

Saunter.

This is �getting-naked-under-the-same-full-moon� typed shit. Get dirty.

The flavour of the next entry can be summed up by Tom from the aforementioned song:

�And so if you're mad enough to listen to a full of whiskey Blindman,

then you're mad enough to look beyond where bloodhounds dare to go.

So if you want to know just where the nightstick's hidin� out,

you be down at the ferry landin� oh let's say bout half past a nightmare�

If you understand, then you�ll realize we�re not so different.

0 of you fuckers have been accounted for.

old shit. - newer shit.