As I sit here in repose from yet another bender I find it amusing that I so often find myself wanting to settle down. That I’ve felt a certain way before and so easily forgotten it, says something. It suggests that I am never content unless I believe that what I’m feeling ‘right now’ is completely unique.

I will never be devoid of my desire to be at the center of the universe.

While sifting through the backlog of random musings on my hard drive I stumbled upon this.

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Whenever I have thought about changing the direction of my life, I have envisioned a complete ninety degree turn. On heels, I lift my toes off the ground, swivel, and change face entirely before taking my first step. Over the years, my behavior has teetered between one extreme and the other. I have been a man contentedly balancing between alcohol and overhaul.

When I cleanse, I eliminate it all-every last bit of poison- and flush it all out. And, when I party, I consume it all-every last tempting tidbit-and move about the room stunted and blinded.

The question and purpose over the years has not been how to become completely pure but rather, how do I find balance in this shaking and breaking world of mine?

How do you give up just enough and only indulge just enough to remain happy, healthy, and on track?

As I sit here in this cafe fresh from a late evening, trying feebly to study I realize how pathetic my ability to think is right now. My brain does nothing for me other than provide its constant stream of distractions and daydreams.

Sometimes I wonder about the role that my environment plays in the whole thing. I wonder if it is my environment that is enabling me, causing me to falter. But, how do you eliminate the temptations that come in human and inhuman packages? And, how do you continue to foster love in your life when you have to eliminate people and your social settings from it?

I suppose it can be enough to just take baby steps here and there, keeping your best intentions in mind. I suppose it’s enough to believe that we are exactly where we are supposed to be, doing exactly what we’re supposed to be doing. I suppose it’s entirely naive to think that you can change over night, but my brain and body are telling me more and more every day to at least give it a shot.

As if Economics wasn’t enough on its own. My impending exam lurks over me like the smells of this guy sitting across from me.

And then there’s this seagull.

This dusty colored bird, this solemn fellow that has been sitting here for over an hour. So completely intrigued by something about my activities, he has refused to take his eyes off of me. He squats and rises to this and that, and although I seem to be conducting the same activities as all the rest of my academic-conscious comrades on level 4 of the downtown Vancouver library, this seagull is only fascinated with me.

I worry that he will take flight when I place my phone against the window. Maybe I will have to recount this whole friendship through words, but still he sits and I take five pictures of him with the crappy camera on my phone.

I continue to follow his head back and forth.  Even as a gust of wind picks up the dust on the ledge, it is only his feathers that falter.

Perhaps, the Gods have sent this avian peeping tom to rescue me from my boredom, or perhaps merely as a distraction to prevent me from ever feeling confident about passing this test.

A big white gull suddenly dives at my peeping tom and frightens him from the stoop. He swoops down and out of site. The white gull stands for a moment, looks around at me and my surroundings and flies off, completely dissapointed by what he thought must be something totally intriguing.

Damn white bird! Now what the hell am I supposed to do?

Something occurred to me today about the existence of pregnancy tests. Wouldn’t it be simply amazing and incredible if every time we were curious about the outcome of something, we could just pee on a stick? Yeah, you just take this stick, piss on it, and presto, there’s your future! Because it seems to me as a homosexual male that that’s pretty much a pregnancy test: a stick that tells the outcome of a woman’s life.

Sure these things are not foolproof, and I would expect the same of a test that could tell who your future partner was or your cause of death, your next fiscal move in the market or the country you should travel to. By no means would I expect the thing to give you everything in full detail and I wouldn’t demand 100% accuracy. I wouldn’t expect a detailed picture of my future Prince Charming to appear in perfect coinciding precision with my evaporating urine, but it would be nice to have a hint. Maybe the stick could speak the sound of his voice, or let off a pheromonal alert signal so I would be able to pick up his scent in a busy crowd. Maybe it could tell me the first letter of his name, or his email address so that I might be able to find him on Facebook.

The whole thing seems so simple to me. In an age of space travel, psychics, and cat scans, I can’t see it being all that difficult. So, here is my proposition: anyone who can figure out how to tell my future from my piss, specifically, find my future mate, they shall have my greatest thanks, and in time surely a fortune to match the burgeoning tide of new-found happiness that would cross the globe.

I read Jurassic Park on a road trip with my family. Although my taste in literature was more along the lines of comic books than fiction, I remember enjoying the book, and enjoying the movie even more. After finding out that Michael Crichton passed away yesterday from cancer, I was struck with a pang of emotion. Although I had no love for the author, I was struck with enough to silently honor the life of a person who had entertained me.

In an effort to explore the author’s life, I stumbled across something as disheartening as it was intriguing. Michael Crichton was totally and completely passionate about his disdain for environmentalism. It took me back, almost gasp-worthy, in fact I couldn’t believe that anyone in this day and age still held such archaic beliefs.

Okay hold back, I thought, give the man a chance. I’m an open-minded and educated man, I have enough patience and respect to read the entirety of the speech that I found on his website entitled, Environmentalism as Religion, and that I did.

Wading through his thoughts I learned that he was under the impression that the elimination of DDT is responsible for the deaths of millions, that second-hand smoke is completely harmless, and that unless we somehow utilize nuclear fission technology, we have no hope of turning back the carbon-dioxide-clock. Oh yeah, and the Sahara desert is getting smaller at the same time the Arctic ice is growing.

I also learned that, in his eyes, environmentalism is a religion. Comparable to any other faith-based belief system, environmentalism is to be taken with a grain of salt. Sure there are fundamentalists on both side of most equations, and the world is filled with those that doubt our environmental condition is as bad as it’s made out to be, but really? Really?

I don’t intend to dance on a dead man’s grave, but I had to say something. Sure the man spoke of these things five years ago, and the state of his dying mind is something that I’ll never be privy to, but unfortunately his legacy has been tainted in my eyes.

Artists are constantly sharing their minds with the world, and in Michael’s case it was no different. It just saddens me when someone with the power of persuasion uses it to discourage the changing attitudes of people who want to repair the mistakes of the past. Granted, there are those among us that would rather preach their beliefs to the masses and prop themselves up on their hybrid-fuelled pedestals, but come on. Trying to placate green behavior in this day seems criminal.

Organized religion is based on fiction, belief, and if these beliefs could be proven then surely there would be fewer facets of spirituality throughout the world. Diversity and faith are what make religion a beautiful thing. As someone who places himself outside the confines of religion, I still wouldn’t have a world without it. Maybe it was the lack of cold, hard evidence that kept me from believing in God, or perhaps it was my education, but I shocked to hear a man so self-admittedly educated, claim that all the proof we have been given about the state of the world is a crock of shit.

One of a writer’s greatest tools is his use of irony, and in this case it is no different. I reckon many of us will fight a hopeless battle with cancer at some time in our lives and if irony has its way I’ll be suffering right at the forefront.

So, Michael, I mean you no harm, and Michael I applaud you for your success. But Michael, I’m confused, and Michael I’m befuddled. And, Michael, it’s ironic and sad to me that a man so lost in his own conspiracy theories, forgot to check for the conspiracies that were growing inside his very own body.

So, with the election tomorrow. Election?–oh yeah, that one–it seems redundant and unnecessary to comment on the obvious: the fear and excitement that most of us are feeling.

Every time an American election rolls around I’m astounded at the energy that surrounds it. I suppose, that all the press and world-wide hysteria is appropriate considering everything that the United States stands for, but I can’t say I’ve been this excited since… I don’t know… Since I got my first BJ on some hill in Calgary. And, like that same act of fellation, I should most likely prepare for disappointment.

So, with the election tomorrow, I am forced to reflect on some thoughts that have been going through my mind, perhaps about the inevitable eventuality of certain outcomes. No, I won’t bore you with my opinion of the candidates, and the dribble that we have all been inundated with the last months–actually years:

McCain wins… dies… Palin… oh God, Palin… World destruction… Christian overthrow… downfall of Western society… blah, blah, blah…

Boring. And, frankly all too predictable.

I’d much rather think a little further down the road than that.

I think we’ve all grown very accustomed to the reality of a religious and depressing state of affairs coming from America these past eight years. I’d much rather play with the possibilities that lie in an Obama-ruled empire. I can’t stop thinking today about the reversal of roles that could happen; the reversal of the roles of Canada and the States. Is it possible that Obama could bring such peace and happiness, such balance and coherence to the world, that Canada comes to look like the true Fuck-nuts of modern society? This scenario seems more amusing to me. Is it possible for our reputation to change when our neighbors to the south are the first to place a black man on their throne? Is it possible that all of our excitement and intrigue over a change in American politics could actually lead to dire consequences for us? Unlikely, sure, but what if?

What if, Barak Obama has more than a charming disposition inside that handsome, dapper bod of his? Well, for tonight, and tonight only, I’ll suspend my hopes and fears about another republican nightmare. I’ll hang them on the bedpost next to all my shattered dreams, and for tonight, and tonight only, I will allow the head of Barak Obama to storm through New York on the body of a gigantic bumblebee, destroying everything with his explosive laser eyes.

And, then he’ll do me up the bum.

The End.