Shits and Giggles

The Silver Saturn Ion whips around the dimly lit streets of Queen St. West. Looking for a party, a birthday celebration of a friend. A trendy friend in a trendy part of town where trends seem to lift the gristly rough streets into a cultured urban stratification. Devoid of any true purpose except to exist. A place to be, where one thinks they shall be noticed or at the very least notice the noticeables amongst those waiting in line to be noticed. You won't catch me waiting in line for anything other than a coffee or a bank machine. Caffiene and dollars make the world go round. Or my world at least. I park and repark three separate times, each occasion inching closer to my intended destination. Funny how when one doesn't know where one is going, its always easier to be lulled into the idea that one is already there. When the brutal truth is, one always has a little further to go. In that vein, I think I am going to request to be buried SEVEN feet under ground. As the car passes by the Queen Street West Mental Health Centre I am reminded of a recent lyric by Steven Page: "They say that Jesus and mental health, are just for those who can't help themselves. But what good is that when you are living in hell on earth?" Tommy, can you hear me? I finally set upon a spot within walking distance of my destination and I disengage my internal monologue as I approach the restaurant. I find its always better not to think around people because if I do, I tend to enjoy them less.

Even though I have left the house without applying a bit of hair paste (to give my coif a matte shine and some spikes) and I am dressed decidedly out of style (relative to the style whores standing in line at the Drake Hotel); I feel strangely confident this evening. I am imbued with the inner strength of a man who refuses to be judged. I wear a smile, clean clothes, and an appetite for pleasure. That should be sufficient to get any man through the night. Though I must add I have always found it prudent to carry some gold coins and jewels in case the local currency collapses. And so, my night officially begins. Comrades, acquaintences, springy youthful fit strangers, all in my purview as I tease my eyes with the gourmet menu of gastronomic temptations.

Birthday parties seem to mirror the lives in which we live. Reflections of who we are and the abilities we have are exacted through studying how we celebrate the passings of a year. When we are young, they are controlled events put on for the display of the parents. We have themes and our imaginations run wild and there is always somebody crying about not getting to cut the cake. Then as we progress through our adult years the parties become less enthusiastic, and a lot more selfish. As adults we use the birthday party of others as an excuse to eat decadently and quaff a few more than the usual. Not a lot of thought goes into most of these parties, except the destinaton usually reflects the style of the said birthday person. No paper hats for the most part, and no adult supervision because frankly our parents are either dead or sleeping. Have you ever been to a birthday party for a senior citizen? I have, and let me tell you that it can be a real drag. At this point birthdays become reminders that we haven't died yet. An occasion to think about all the people who were at your last birthday and didn't make it to this one. Yes, you have won another round in this battle of human attrition. Eat your cake gramps, and lets hope the sugar doesn't flare up your type two diabetes.

It's always about life and death. Life is larger than death we think. Life encompasses everything we do, are about to do, or have done at some point. Death is seemingly the downtime, the final nap, the eternal sleep. I figure I am going to be dead for a lot longer than I am going to be alive, so therefore I want to make the most out of my living days. I begin a new search for adventure, to seek out new lives and engage with them in discourse and illumination. I wish to leap out of this fishbowl and titter across the ocean.

I need something to find. Having a goal isn't what I mean here. It's not a start/end proposition. I can't just be content to live life. That is no longer an option. I need meaning, a justfication other than a mortgage or Desperate Housewives, or The Drake Hotel.

I refuse to wait in the line of life. If I must, it has to be for something that will take me places.

Coffee or money, the rest of it is just days on a calendar.