The Angel Weeps

An Angel weeps along a forgotten shore. It weeps to fill the ocean; it heaves and sobs because it cannot bleed. No veins filled with blood, no bones to make his frame, and no flesh to fill his body; no true physical form to speak of, but an image of what he projects as himself. He walks; hovers along the shore. Forever weeping, and heaving to fill the unending seas till the end of human suffering, or till the end of time. Some say both are one and the same. He holds the vigil since the day the first ones were sent out to the harsh landscape of an unfinished paradise. A project failed. He weeps not for sadness, he sobs not for dismay, he heaves not for loss, but he cries to fill the world with life. With each wail he floods the black sands at the edge of the world, with each tear he quenches a soul’s thirst, but there are too many and not all can drink. He steps and a score of millennia are fed, he hovers and just as many die without food, and sustenance.

There is a curious thing about the Edge of the World; it is not barren, the black sands rise to pillars. They rise; because they are the embodiment of sin, this much is for certain. They are there and further you traverse from the coast, deeper into the land, the taller they are erected, becoming mountains seemingly without end, or peaks. The Blacksand Pillars constantly block his course, and he wails and the floods wash the pillars away if they are small enough. There are times when sin is more prevalent and the sands escalate high and the peaks beyond sight. He weeps and the floods do not carry the sands away. He sobs, and he heaves then his cry, which is silent but filled with unrequited might, unknown, unseen, and unheard it shakes the Earth, and the Blacksand Pillars crumble and topple. Sin falls as hot black sleet, cutting and stabbing his skin, and slicing his wings, but he does not bleed, nor does he lose a feather. He has no physical form, the Angel Who Weeps upon the black forgotten shores.

With no lungs, he still heaves and sobs. Without true form, his wings still catch the air. He flutters and floats. An uncanny sight it is to watch him walk and hover. He steps and flaps; with each step some are fed, with each hover others starve. It is not course he has chosen; he has no will that he can call his own. Helpless as he his, daunting as his flight, and as graceful as his walk, he heaves. Though he heaves, and tries to expel the air in his nonexistent lungs, he moves on. He will not drop to his knees, even if he wanted to. His chest expands and his head flings towards the heavens, or is it Heaven itself? He flutters, his eloquent wings catch the air and he lifts. With a contorted body he strains every nonexistent muscle, he is in the air then collapses into himself, with every sob, and every heave.

He walks alone, no one to hear his words, no one to see his face gaunt and sullen, no one to feel his hot tears steam upon their skin. His tears burn from an Angelic glow; likened to a constant flicker of white-hot flame. Forever in solitude, the only warmth known to him is his own glow, and the pelting of the sands as they fall from pillars. His company the pillars of sin that surround him. His words silent, his steps, faint and unnoticed, his shrieks of pain unknown. He quivers with each step and wails with every quiver, he flickers and shines as beauteous as any sun that shines on life. An evanescible star, as all stars are, will grow brighter first, then grow in size and in fading light will explode in a bright hot flash; as does he with every step, every quiver, and every cry.

Beautiful and Majestic

Early summer night on a barren land
Our world began.
Screaming, and crying; fresh and writhing.
Full of life and health with forests thriving.
Sickness sets in. 

Our world, light bringer;
life giver.
Became a reflection of the land whence she came.
Barren, filled with hills and valleys.
Beautiful and Majestic.

Cold and distant,
yet warm and close.
Life giver, our makers' maker
Our teacher, preacher and player
Forever etched in our hearts.

A city glows in her eyes, vibrant and flowing
Filled with children, dancing, playing
Filled with mothers doting, singing,
Fathers, uncles, and sons proud and joyous,
Family burned infinite in sight.

A score of seasons her love was lost
He waits patiently; the pillar fallen, the crutch broken
A city in shambles, citizens lost
only to be found a new, to rebuild in her twilight.
Our light bringer, shines and flickers

Etched is a land, upon her face it quakes, and quivers
Our light bringer, life giver, my maker's maker.
Gasping, wheezing, waiting patiently
The land scorned with ash, then life returns
Gasping, waiting, ashen.

Patiently she waits for her pillar.
Nearly a score of seasons,
only a fortnight to pass.
Impatiently she flew for her pillar was waiting.
Ashen, golden, and still.

Etched is a land, upon the face of a woman;
Filled with canyons, valleys, and hills.
A city glows in her eyes, with age it shimmers and dies.
Cold is the land on whence it was birthed, and whence it was left.
Beautiful and Majestic

WARNING: Content May Offend! Not Meant To Be Offensive!

"All babies want to get bornd!"

Do all babies really want to get 'bornd'? I mean think about it. If a fetus had any idea of what was out here and what their parents were like, would they make the choice of wanting to be born? And being human beings could it be possible that babies could have 'behavioral problems'? I mean what if the baby is bipolar? That would make a lot of sense, if you think about it. They laugh and gurgle and giggle, then they cry like the demons of the fiery deep are stomping through the their innards. Babies are also very cute, even if they're ugly. If you don't believe me that babies can be ugly then you are probably a woman, and you just won't admit to it because of some maternal instinct. Simply put, SOME babies are just motherfucken ugly, usually due to inbreeding. Ugliness of an infant is not always due to physical deformities caused by extra chromosomes or problematic birthing. For evidence just look at a baby with Downs, they always look cute. Or an infant with some kind of palsy, always cute! You may feel sorry for them but you also think "Isn't he/she precious!"
So... back on topic. We can never know if all babies want to get 'bornd'. One day, we may be able to. So with that said STOP THE PROTESTS AGAINST ABORTIONS WHILE STATING WHAT YOU FEEL AN UNBORN FETUS MAY OR MAY NOT BE THINKING ABOUT AS THE BASIS OF YOUR STANCE AGAINST ABORTION! This should be some new club or lobby group called STP AA WS WY FAUF MOM NB TAAT TOY SAA. If you feel that you must protest against abortions then do so, but keep the unknown thoughts of the fetus out of it.

"You should go to China they give away babies like free iPods... you know they shoot them out of those t-shirt canons at sporting events."

If you feel that you would like a child and you don't want to add to the world's population then adopt. Go ahead and do it, but don't be like some of the goddamn over-protective-totalitarian-power-tripping-dick-parents that I have met. That whole situation only spells trouble. I believe if you want to adopt than love the child just as you would your own, and make sure you know what the hell you are getting into. If you do want to adopt a baby you could always go to China and watch a soccer game, you just might catch an infant flying out at 200mph (faster than birth by the way) while sitting in the stands.

"Would you like a free condom? They're boysenberry flavoured... They make my boyfriend's junk smell like pie"

If you do not want a child then use a condom, a sponge(not very effective by the way), the pill, depovera, IUD, the morning after pill, get a vasectomy, get a tubal ligation, castration, remove your uterus, or at least the ovaries, become homosexual (not actually a choice but it can be if you try real hard! but not likely), only have anal intercourse (not recommended due to prolapsed sphincters can be a side effect if done too often or when something too big is used), only have oral sex (make sure both parties have proper dental hygiene, and no cancer sores! Herpes, the proof that love truly burns!), or simply abstain; just not have sex (NOT FUN!). There you have it! All of the options I could think of to avoid growing a parasite in your gut.

All quotes taken from the 20th Century Fox film Juno(2008)

Your Duct Tape Bra Is Fitting

 Got your attention didn't I? The title really has nothing to do with this post. As many of you know a couple friends of mine, Shawn Anderson and Denise Hickey, are getting married next month and sad to say I will not be attending.

I have known Shawn for a few years and as for Denise, I only met her over a year ago. I never thought  Shawn would be a man to get married; he just never seemed to be the type. When I first met Shawn he presented himself as a ladies' man, but to my not-so-bewildered surprise he really wasn't. He was flirtatious, raunchy, and a great drinking buddy. I found all of this out within the first five minutes of shaking his hand. To say he was transparent would have been an understatement, were it not for the fact that he was more than what he lead others to believe. It is no secret that there were a couple of years where I was not really part of the 'group'. I was busy with a few things, more importantly a relationship with a woman that wasn't really worth my absence. Nonetheless, I reconnected with my fellows and of course Anderson was there relatively unchanged. When my relationship with the unsaid woman was waining and truly on its last legs I got to hang out with Shawn again.

We ended up at this kick-ass after party, and got to seriously talking, which at this point was something I wouldn't even fathom coming from the soon-to-be-groom. We were there having a smoke, and a few drinks and discussing the good old days (two years ago). We were there drunk as fucking hell talking about a time when we were all a tight knit group, and how we should try and finds ways to get the group back together. Funny, these types of conversations are usually reserved between old band members reminiscing the days of yore and wanting to rekindle the magic that was. To our delight this conversation did lead to a collective mostly unconscious action; we all began to mingle, converse, and have fun as a group again. After the initial shock, and glare of being with my friends again on a regular basis, I began to ponder if this was what Shawn was talking about.

Probing into the recesses of my mind I remembered, this guy is not acting like the Shawn I once knew. There were large changes in his character, his speech, and the look in his eyes. These would be considered small imperceptible changes to those who were around him all of the time, or rather more so than I was. I couldn't put my finger on it, so I would probe him about various things that have happened in my absence. I first went with work, work has not really changed except for a couple of raises and more freedom but nothing that would make this change that I have seen. So, I ask him about his family life, nothing there either. I jokingly then ask about his love life, and there it was. I would ask who is this lady he's chasing now. He would retort with dismissive comments at first, very unlike Shawn at all. Normally Shawn would go on and tell me the dirty deeds he would like to do with a woman before he even knew their name.


 It had taken me three weeks to find out who this lady was, and another two weeks to meet her. Then I saw it, that sparkle, that twinkle, that fear, discomfort, and out right euphoric speck in his eye. Our Mr. Anderson was in love. The night I had met Denise I knew Shawn was in love, it may have been before he knew but I knew it outright. That night I would coax him into telling me he was actually in love, he would threaten "I'll clock you! I'm not in love!" or "I'll cut your hair, I fucken will." Me thinks thou dost protest too much. Through subsequent weeks I would coax and tease and explain to Shawn that being in love is a most wondrous thing, it could lift you so high and bring a light to your darkest days.

 When I arrived to Newfoundland the first words out of my mouth to my greeting friends was "I'm getting married!". Shock, silence and general bewilderment was the atmosphere to my salutations. Boyd was there to confer my wild allegations then there was merriment and congratulations. After receiving my luggage we went out to set off and Anderson was there to pick me up. We went on and I told him in person of my situation, and congratulations were made and then the preparations for celebrations began. First coffee, burger, and the picking up of the ceremonial tequila and spiced rum.

One 26oz. gold tequila, and one 26oz. silver, one 60oz. Captain Morgans Spiced Rum, plus a butt load of beer. That night the celebrations began for all who were there and unforgettable memories forgotten by the copious amounts of libations to create those unforgettable memories. After a while Stik, Anderson, and I went off to the George Street Festival and saw Our Lady Peace. This is where Shawn FINALLY admitted he was in love with Denise Hickey.

Congratulations Shawn and Dee, I wish a long and happy marriage!

 

Wail

 So if this has worked correctly you should be listening to the second full song I've written. I find it odd that I cannot play this again. I've tried, in fact there has been months where I would only try playing this song. I suppose it's for the best, seeing as it is possibly the most depressing guitar track I've ever heard. I mean when I wrote this thing it brought me down for a few days. The reason why I put it up is because I've actually been listening to it; trying to hear it with 'new ears' try to see it in a new light. When I wrote it, it was a song of pain, of sorrow, but now I hear simplistic beauty. There is something liquid, dark, with a shimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. If you close your eyes what do you see? 

When I close mine I see the beginning of a sun kissed spring field, just after a heavy rain. The light shines upon a flower in half bloom, wilted not by impeding death but because of the shear weight of water lets it sag down. A drop falls like a tear and hits a small pond in a shadow, it falls slow and hits the water, then ripples out. It is dark now, and the only source of light comes from some point in the deep dark liquid. With each echoing rise of notes the light brightens then dampens, with each bend it ripples. As time passes so do I, ferried by Charon to an opening. Nearing the end of a journey, a bright doorway is unveiled to me. As if with each wave I come closer the end. Closer to an escape. Closer to the blinding light. Then it ends, unfinished and open. 

A Somber Begining

So we begin... again.

This is by no means my first blog, you could call this my fourth. Unlike my other blogs, I won't be using any defined theme. Having a defined theme can sometimes be rather liberating. You only have one thing to write about and thus you could only think about one constant that you could write about. I've stopped a few of my fictionalized blogs because I noticed that whatever I wrote into them they were no longer in my possession. Funny how a little line in an agreement article could quash all inspiration. In hindsight what I wrote was complete and total crap, so no loss on my part. We should not concern ourselves with these past attempts of being an author. Instead let us focus on the reason why I'm writing now.

As many of you should know by now the municipality of Iqaluit loss three lives, and so did my step-mother's family. I cannot say that I knew them well, outside of saying they were nice, good, and showed love and care regardless to the connection was either through a direct bloodline, or simply having a close family connection. I do not spend much time with a lot of my relatives and vice versa; we are too different to have any real connection. We love for the sake of loving those that you need to. I like most of my family, with a few exceptions leaning outside an immediate connection, like second cousins and such. It is no secret that I am related to hundreds of people in this town, and not all of them are good people. What I guess I'm getting at is that losing any of my relatives is difficult, losing three in a horrific scene just a block from my father's home was devastating. Especially when the day before, at 7 am I learned a woman passed away, a woman who I have known for sixteen years, and whom I have accepted as a surrogate grandmother. She had cancer, and was bed ridden with a lot of pain. I am glad that she is no longer in pain, but with the same token I was hoping to see her this December. I have not seen her in a few years, and have been trying to make time, but alas each time I've gone down I had to visit a dying relative, to make sure I say my goodbyes and make sure that I learn as much about my family's history. It is important to know where you come from. There is always the chance that you will have a brood of your own and they will undoubtedly have questions about where their family comes from. All in all it hurts to hear that she has left us. To deal with death hurts, and to deal with deaths one after another, after another, after another, and after another, is devastating to the core.

I will be fine, there is no doubt about that. But at the same time I am in pain. As the day is brighten by the rise of the Sun, so is the heart, mind, and soul are mended. I normally can deal with loss pretty well, but I have never had to deal with it such quick succession and in great numbers. Before I end this post I would like to point out that this will not be the tone of this journal, but with every begining I believe it is fitting to start it with darkness, just to show the light creeping in.