Monday, March 31, 2014

The saga of Gilgimarsh (part two)

Saint Josh well renowned as the epic gallivantier and sneaky spy had been off in distant Greechen Land consulting with oracle Belle Von Delphi and partaking of pungent mozzarella flavoured gases emanating her chamber. They had been soberly in discussion on philosophical theories as those proposed by Martin the Buber (not to be confused with Justin the Bieber) and whether the toucans, who believed they were gods, could theoretically be part of a binational solution to the strawberry wine sacrifices Gilgimarsh was forced to make. They had reached a conclusion that gods could be given a vote but only if they were sober, and this may be the biggest challenge; however it would be easier than the present form of apartheid, and if the gods had to buy their wine it could be taxed too.

On returning home Saint Josh encountered a problem and it wasn't from Von Delphi's gases either. Gilgimarsh had become mired in toucan regurgitation almost reaching his arm pits. Now cows loved this stuff, they thrived on it. But people, you needed a boat. Saint Josh waded for days to reach the village, and had to resort to a tinfoil hat because the gods seemed to have it out especially out for him with their keen olfactory abilities droning about for bombardment victims. When he finally reached the village he found his epic tribe turned dairy maids and durum hewers gallivanting on the roof tops totally soused on sweet strawberry wine. Now Saint Josh loved his lasagna more than life itself, however his pessimism on the convictions of his cohorts to remain faithful to this passion allowed him to take in the scene with a grain of compassion. The wine skins were almost empty so he joined right in with the frolicking becoming the life of the party with his bright eyes and tinfoil hat, and when the wine was gone that was that.

After everyone had added their own mix to the god's regurgitation they all settled down and had a ceremonial feast of scavenged charbroiled lasagna after which a discussion was held on how to appease the gods in a manner less prone to human vulnerabilities. It was concluded that a binational approach heralded by Saint Josh would be best suited to the problem at hand, but only if the gods were convinced that they would have a majority in the new democratic state. Much brainstorming hatched a plan to deceive the gods into believing they had a majority by creating thousands of false gods on long poles and planting them all over Gilgimarsh. It took several months but eventually the whole land was covered with colourful large beaks which the residing overlords took as their own. Saint Josh then led a delegation into the forests to offer appeasement to the gods in the form of a democracy in which the majority would rule a country which constitutionally embedded the right for regurgitation, but only within forested areas.

In the next episode of “The saga of Gilgimarsh” the toucan gods forfeit polytheism in an attempt at democracy and elect one of their own to be god of gods and king of kings.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

The saga of Gilgimarsh

As spring unveils itself the stench of last falls rotten vegetation and mold kicks in, we welcome a new episode of s.a.d. as we turn off any semblance of news and views on the proceedings of our worldly domestic squabbles and catastrophes. It is with great pleasure and mollification that we may reduce our world to an imaginary state of well being by viewing with our inner eye the vast realm of Gilgimarsh and it's likely inhabitants.

To describe Gilgimarsh in the words of Saint Josh the renowned spy and epic gallivantier, “It is a murky bright land overflowing with lasagna made with the ripest mozzarella your nose could imagine.” Why he and his cohorts would relish this place is may lie in the inherent instability of the human equation. As Justin the Bieber has noted in his great viral classic on Crime and Punishment, “There's no hot cars or pavement in Gilgimarsh so why did they go?” But good old Saint Josh with a clothespin on his nose, embarked on an undertaking which would leave no cheese unturned. His bright eyes and laughter and unwavering love of lasagna heralded forth a new land overflowing with fat cows and garlic into which he led his beleaguered tribe of brightly dressed and slightly olfacticly confused shepherds and cow herders.

And God created the toucan. And God said, 'Let us make the toucan in our own image, in the likeness of ourselves, and let them be masters of the fish of the sea, the birds of heaven, the cattle, all the wild animals and all the creatures that creep along the ground, and all the lazy humans who love lasagna.' And into this land crept Saint Josh with offerings of fresh fermented strawberries to placate the toucan overlords to leave them so inebriated that they could not regurgitate on the pathways thus making them impossible for navigation.

Life became rich for the transient tribe. Saint Josh would beam from ear to ear. They became hewers of durum with dairy maids curdling mozzarella in cottage-side vats, and with vines bursting out red ripe tomatoes on every window box as far as the eye could see. And strawberries, fields and fields of strawberries, for that ransom offering to the mighty overlord, sweet strawberry wine for the almighty toucan. It became a thriving cottage industry, the manufacture of wineskin baskets to hang in Gilgimarsh's rainy forests filled with juicy red ripe strawberries in sweet strawberry wine sauce. The toucans never left the trees and the paths all remained navigable. And the lasagna with that richly aged mozzarella became prized over the whole earth and Gilgimarsh went down in Justin the Bieber's great works as the best place for a 4 a.m. snack in the whole of the known world.

If no toucan regurgency hits the fan we'll be back with another episode of “The saga of Gilgimarsh” when Saint Josh comes home to find his community pilfering the sweet strawberry wine and Gilgimarsh waist deep in toucan regurgitation.

Saturday, March 29, 2014

Bad cat, bad cat

We have a naughty bad cat and his name is Mr. Gray
He's smug and sly and exasperating, an insidious frolicking spoof
The other cats don't like him, he disesteems their social standing
If you tell him no no, he'll spit at your misunderstanding

He likes to roam his little earth, and leave his scent around
Marks his path dogmatically, with smells that quite astound
Other cats are puzzled by his offers of audacity
And dogs that happen on his trail just lift their leg and yawn

He doesn't believe in science, thinks gravity's a farce
Ascends the doorposts in his realm with total disregard
And when he's stuck and can't get down he blames it on his bros
It leaves the world watching lost in stitches and in throws

We have a vagrant emissary and his name brings us to shame
He's smug and sly and exasperating, an insidious frolicking spoof
Our household doesn't like him, he scorns our honoured place
We're going to tell him no no, and spit right in his face

When he's drubbed we'll take no slack he better pack
Or fate will paint a white stripe down his back
And if another stray cat comes our way with intentions of dismay
We'll fill that smelly litter box with water come what may

Beats throwing rocks, don't it?

Sunday, March 23, 2014

On being a nice, responsible anarchist

Enough being Mr. Nice Guy. This winter's been long enough and I've had it. This country has no politicians who are worth voting for and the towel gets thrown in with the abolitionist forces against any power structures controlling our society, including our Deathrock apartment's caretaker. And my wife too, this institutionalized co-habitation isn't all it's cracked up to be when your stuck inside month after month.

Anarchism is generally defined as the political philosophy which holds the state to be immoral, or alternatively as opposing authority in the conduct of human relations. Proponents of anarchism (known as "anarchists") advocate stateless societies based on what sometimes is defined like non-hierarchical organizations, and in another times is defined like voluntary associations (wikipedia).  Now this sounds pretty cool so we take it a step further and read about this Malatesta guy who warned that anarchists must always have anarchy as their end and consequently refrain from committing to any particular method of achieving it. Now that's really cool.

Should have put the book away there, but me, kept on reading and found anarchy had become contemporary and possibly held me responsible for something? According to anarchist scholar Simon Critchley, "contemporary anarchism can be seen as a powerful critique of the pseudo-libertarianism of contemporary neo-liberalism... One might say that contemporary anarchism is about responsibility, whether sexual, ecological or socio-economic; it flows from an experience of conscience about the manifold ways in which the West ravages the rest; it is an ethical outrage at the yawning inequality, impoverishment and disenfranchisment that is so palpable locally and globally" (wikipedia again).

So it's a tough call: Am I personally responsible for anything or is it the wild west which has to take responsibility, or is anyone really responsible? Anyhow it's cozy comforting to be in cahoots with all my fellow anarchists and have no need for the methodology of achievement. We can all sleep at night, that's what us old hippies was rooten about. And may the force be with the dysfunctional inept 99% movement and it's total disregard for modus operandi. It's gonna win someday, sort of.

Friday, March 21, 2014

How to “bounce” a red light ticket

Got me a red light ticket and it was obviously photoshopped but I went to court armed with my briefcase and my best jeans and hoody to plead guilty but with very plausible explanation. On said day I had just come from the laundromat and the smells drive me nuts that I can't even walk straight so I forthright told His Honour I had a medical condition and gave him the following print out:

"Health Risks of Fabric Softeners
© Echo/Ecological Housing, 1998

Fabric softener is the most toxic product produced for daily household use. It has been found to be associated with numerous illnesses and chronic conditions.
a) It is widely advertised, widely used.

b) The effects of its toxicity are insidious; a user becomes "chronically maladapted" to it. The exposure is so constant that it can be difficult to connect the product with the signs of reactivity it causes. Neurostimulant/irritants and central nervous system toxins used in these products are known to produce an addictive-type response that may cause the user to experience a feeling of pleasure when the product is directly inhaled. Regular users of fabric softeners (and perfumes) also often claim they "can hardly smell it". This too is an effect of chemical ingredients on neural receptors.
c) The product is designed to impregnate fibres and slowly re-release for an extended period of time. That re-releasing affects the health not only of users, but those around them.
The following information contains a partial list of the chemical ingredients of fabric softeners and the potential effects of exposure to them as quoted from manufacturers' Material Safety Data Sheets. For the purposes of this document, Central Nervous System has been abbreviated to CNS. CNS toxin exposure symptoms include: dizziness, disorientation, nausea, headaches, mood swings, numbness in face or extremities, pain in neck or spine, memory loss, aphasia (difficulty speaking), confusion, irritability. CNS disorders include: Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, Dementia, Seizures, Multiple Sclerosis, Multiple Chemical Sensitivity, Hyperactivity, Strokes, Attention Deficit Disorder, Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.
A good alternative to fabric softener or fabric softener sheets is a piece of aluminum foil.

Risks of Perfumes and Scented Products

The chemicals listed on the following page (along with Methylenechloride, Ethanol, Formaldehyde, and other petrochemicals and neurotoxins) are among the 4,000 chemical ingredients used in the manufacture of perfumes and scents. The Environmental Protection Agency (E.P.A.) collected samples of every perfume sold in North America in 1993. Every sample contained Toluene (a proven carcinogen and neurotoxin designated as Hazardous Waste worldwide). Many also contain chemicals to mimic the pheronones (sex hormones) of insects, musk ox, apes, and pigs. (Sounds romantic, doesn't it) The health risks of these products are so varied and extreme it almost defies comprehension.

Chemical Ingredients in Fabric Softeners/Dryer Sheets:

Alpha-Terpineol: "Causes CNS disorders. Highly irritating to mucous membranes. Aspiration into lungs can produce pneumonitis or fatal edema. Lesser exposures can cause decreased circulation, headache, depression of CNS and/or respiratory function, ataxia (loss of muscle coordination), behavioral changes. Prevent repeated or prolonged skin contact."

Benzyl Acetate: "Carcinogenic. Vapors irritating to eyes and respiratory passages, exciting cough. In mice, pancreatic cancer, hyperanemia of the lungs. Can be absorbed through skin causing systemic effects. Do not flush to sewer system."
Benzyl Alcohol: "Associated with CNS disorders. Irritating to upper respiratory tract. Can cause headache, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, sudden drop in blood pressure, CNS depression, death due to respiratory failure."

Camphor: On E.P.A.'s Hazardous Waste list. "Avoid contact with eyes, skin, clothing. Do not breathe vapours. Inhalation can be fatal. Properties: anesthetic, neurotoxic, carcinogenic. Chronic effects of exposure may include liver and/or kidney damage. Medical conditions aggravated by exposure. Kidney disorders, liver disorders, heart disorders, skin disorders, allergic or respiratory conditions. May cause headache, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, drowsiness, irritation of respiratory tract, loss of consciousness. Conditions to avoid: heat".

Ethyl Acetate: On EPA.'s Hazardous Waste list. "Narcotic, may cause headache, narcosis, stupour. Irritating to eyes and respiratory tract. May cause anemia with leukocytosis and damage to liver and kidneys. Wash thoroughly after handling."

Limonene: "Prevent contact with skin or eyes. Properties: irritant, sensitizer, carcinogenic. Always wash thoroughly after using, especially before eating, drinking, applying cosmetics. Do not inhale."
Linalool: "Narcotic. Associated with CNS disorders and respiratory disturbances. Attracts bees. In animal testing: ataxic gait, reduced spontaneous motor activity and depression, depressed heart activity, development of respiratory disturbances leading to death."

Pentane: "Danger: Harmful if inhaled. Inhalation of vapor may cause headache, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, irritation of respiratory tract and loss of consciousness. Contact can cause eye or skin irritation."

I think he read it twice cause he looked at it and he looked at me and I tried to look humble and then he looked at it again. Finally he removed his glasses and asked if I would settle for $50 instead of the $200+. I retained my pleasure for on the way home and said “Yes Your Honour I will pay $50.” And then with this slight grin he added, “And young man, no more laundry and driving for you, okay?” “Yes Your Honour” was my humble reply.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Pothole heaven

I wonder if heaven has potholes
It sure would be nice to know
I'd sell my new Ferrari
And take my junker Joe

I'd drive it up that highway
Through mountains into clouds
And crash that pearly toll booth
My tokens wrapped in shrouds

I'd find the nearest pothole
And skulk my junker Joe
Awaiting heavenly council
For eternity to show

Friday, March 14, 2014

Cynicism will get you jelly beans

My kids want my money
My wife wants it too
My boss wants dedication
I live in a zoo

My cats want attention
My car needs new tires
The tax man needs bilking
I'm allowed no desires

So I live in my dreamworld
Closed in at the seams
My boat glides unruffled
Chewing my jelly beans

Wednesday, March 12, 2014


We live on this earth and we have a nice blog
We send silly messages up into the fog
We write to our cousins who live far away
In hopes they may hear us in their galaxy

We look and we wait for acknowledged queries
But hits we get none on our detectories
We fuss and we tinker but all is in vain
Might as well face it, we're going insane

Our blog is a loser, it's mundane and dull
Those alien creatures we're trying to banter
Are squealing with laughter at this little earth
Who's life forms are icky in diapers just born

Our ego's are lusty, our brains quite naive
We're nothing but newbies, we'll have to evolve
And tickle our gene pools to a level mondaine
To earn any rewards from megacosmic adsense

Sunday, March 9, 2014

Love poem just for you

Roses are red
Violets are blue
My heart is bedraggled
And it's all cause of you

I'll send you no flowers
You'll trash them in snow
Lost your old calender?
You rapscallion old hoe

I'll never more trust you
Your breath has a smack
So what, now your haughty?
Old Man Winter just pack

Friday, March 7, 2014

Momma bear

She made us oats porridge for breakfast this mornin
Out with that canner should've bin warnin
That two pound bag full was all but used up
Cookin for an army our faces lit up

Oats porridge for breakfast, fried it for lunch
For supper we baked it with cinnamon crunch
She says not to worry anyone who phones
She's just tryin to help us put meat on our bones

We had a discussion, our whole family
Tonite when she slept watching Three's Company
They asked me politely if they could have chicken
So I fed them their favourite our cats one, two, three

(and then we all went out and gave the neighbours dog an oatmeal treat)

Monday, March 3, 2014

The dogs and their canoe ride

Our boys were boys at that teen age. So one day it was spring and most of the snow had melted and it was a nice warm afternoon so why not take the canoe down to the local crick. Off they set, two of them and I think a friend, and our two dogs for sure who would never miss this fun. Now usually in summer this crick was a little dry and would have been a tricky paddle down to the lake, but it being early spring they said it had lots of water and looked like a good ride with a bit of a current they wouldn't have to paddle much.

So in they got and the two dogs too, and they said everything was going real well, and they were moving along at a pretty good clip. Now there was this railway track between us and the lake and it had no other choice than to cross this crick and what the builders had done in the early nineteen hundreds was used this huge culvert about twenty feet across to let the water through.

Who saw it first I don't really know, the dogs or the boys, but it was definitely approaching fast and it was this little space about two feet high between the top of the water and the top of the culvert. It gets a little confusing here, the story, but I gather the boys jumped for their lives and the dogs with no fear steered that canoe right through the centre of that culvert not quite understanding what had happened to their passengers.

When the boys all had dragged themselves out of the current and the bush and made it over the railway track there on the distant shores the dogs had neatly parked the canoe with not a little water in it, and were busy shaking themselves off while awaiting their passengers to show up. Never did figure out if they paddled to the lake for a leisurely afternoon of girl watching or what, but the canoe it needed a little more than loving care, and the one dog, he never took to the water much after that day much less setting foot in any floating contraption his humans could contrive of.

Saturday, March 1, 2014

Purging ourselves of logic

~x2 = ~ and ~x~ = ~, therefor ~x2 = ~x~, simplifying (~x2)/~ = (~x~)/~, thus 2 = ~ (humour this logic please, purgatory does not equal infinity and purged souls will come back to haunt you)

When I was in high school I wrote this math test and I cheated and got in the top one percentile so they sent me off to this local university for a weekend of exhilarating lectures and revolving chess contests. Wasn't my thing.

To this day I love looking at beautifully written equations. They have this transcendent quality about them that makes you feel if you got drunk enough they might just transform into glorious landscapes full of cozy hobbits.

Math is logically manipulating symbols which may or may not represent apples and oranges. I find it much more interesting to logically manipulate pictures and ideas. You can take Plato's view of everything being shadows on the wall and multiply it by your tax return and get Stompin' Tom Connors doing a tune on cases of rum in Ottawa. Makes more sense than string theory.

Our number system today uses a base ten system. Most of our computers use base two. What do our brains use? It used to be thought that synapses either fired or didn't so this would be a base two like our computers. Some researchers now think that synapses communicate via quantum wave breakdown and each synapse could pass on a large if not an infinite number of possibilities. The paths that these impulses follow do not use logic in their decisions but follow paths which are learned responses by our brain to our environment in an effort to construct a relatively sane view of our world using a trial and error method. So our brains don't use logic, they just use the feel good approach that whatever fills my tummy is the best path.

For all those of us who place little importance on calculus the next time we feel intimidated by some math geek we must sing softly to ourselves “yummy yummy yummy, I've got love in my tummy” and visualize this poor geek having to wire his lonely brain for illogical logic just so he can get a hug from his mommy or daddy. Love makes the world go round, not logic, however illogical.