November 5

Lust brings 15 minutes of intense joy. #Love brings a lifetime of calm, deeply rooted, happiness.

Kodak Tmax @ 3200
Kodak Tmax @ 3200 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I see so much attraction between people, even though it “should not” be there.

My wife likes a close female friend of ours. That close female friend used to like me, and I used to like to her. There is another woman who I sometimes work with; I have recently developed an intense attraction to her, and at the same time she has developed an intense attraction to me.

These are everyday attractions that most people aren’t even aware of. I think a lot of people guess that someone might like them, and they might like someone but deny it because of a boyfriend, girlfriend, wife, husband, or whatever. It’s the man who constantly tries to talk to you, even though he might have nothing to say. It’s the woman who laughs at your terrible jokes, especially when they aren’t funny.

I’m that guy who can see what’s written plainly in front of his face. I don’t hump the beautiful woman who I sometimes work with, grabbing on to her leg like a dog, not because I’m married, not because she’s in a serious relationship, and not because I’m afraid to stain her favorite pair of pants. I don’t engage these attractions because I love the woman I’m with, and she loves me.

Yes, I still want to rip my wife’s clothes off with my teeth, take her from behind, spank her, turn her over, and frost her cupcakes; after all, I’m still a filthy dirty man with filthy dirty man needs. I don’t want to do this with other women. I’m not some gay guy pretending I’m straight, and I’m not super sensitive to the point where I believe that cheating is the end of life itself. In fact, I kind of see it as mostly insignificant, but it’s not something I’ve ever done, and it’s not something I entertain at all.

I love my woman, and I love my life. All things are in a constant state of change, but I want to continue to learn, grow, and age with the woman who I’m crazy in love with. I don’t think marriage is the reason not to have sex with other people. I think love is that reason. This lasting, life long, love is what has kept me from pulling my “money” out of my pants and sticking it into any “roast beef wallet” that has come along.

I have to stop writing now. All of the sudden, I’m hungry for a sandwich with lots of meat and extra mayo.

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November 4

Take a Picture it Lies Longer

Video Camera
Video Camera (Photo credit: pursuethepassion)

I was listening to the radio on my way home from work the other day. I know it’s crazy not to listen to music that I spent hours selecting and illegally downloading off the internet, but sometimes I like to listen to news or talk. On this station, they were discussing the idea of documenting every aspect of a life. People spend all sorts of time photographing and taking videos of their lives. These photos and videos make great memories, and they are nice to share with family and friends. The woman on the radio argued that this fanatical over documenting that people do doesn’t allow them to actually live in the moment. Instead of being the person in the moment, you become the person documenting the moment.

I have to say, the idea of living in the moment and not documenting it is not a new concept to me. Most of the reason that I almost never photograph a moment or record something to video is because I want to actually enjoy the moment, live in it. Now, I don’t think that taking a 30 second video or taking 1 or 2 pictures is going to spoil your fun, but I do agree that recording an entire birthday party means that you are not truly living in that moment.

The biggest problem that I had with this radio program was that they never mentioned the idea of documentation as an outright lie. A real documentary is to stage nothing, be impartial, and show things fairly. We document our lives and our families lives not as a documentarian but instead we stage moments, we are completely biased, and we only show what we want. Even for those of us who actually take candid shots, most people aren’t keeping the pictures where people look unhappy.

I think most people stage photos. Nobody smiles 16 hours a day. Even people who are ridiculously happy spend most of their time not smiling.

All of these thoughts lead me to a very sad memory. In the summer, my beautiful nephews (identical twin boys) turned 2. I was so happy, excited, and just completely involved in the moment when they got to open their presents. The first 2 presents were given to them by my wife and me. They had huge smiles on their faces, and they were about to rip into the presents. Most people would see this as a perfect opportunity to document it by taking some candid photos and video taping it, but my very typical family/extended family decided to stop the boys from opening their presents because the video camera wasn’t yet ready. My sister even grabbed their hands and told them to wait. One of those boys almost cried. I put up a serious protest with my sister and told her to let them open the presents because I could see that she was ruining the moment for them. She wouldn’t listen to me, and everyone in the room made me feel as though I was being ridiculous.

After the video camera was finally figured out, the boys had no interest in opening the presents. They had to be coaxed into it by everyone in the room. In ten years from now, the video camera is going to tell the memory of 2-year-old boys opening their presents. Yes, they will have unaffected looks on their faces, but people will just say that’s how they acted when opening presents. Who really knows with a 2-year-old anyway? The video camera will tell the lie that everyone wants to believe. The video camera will never tell the story of how their mother completely ruined the first time that they’ve ever really cared about opening presents in their lives. Spoiling the moment and creating a lie was worthwhile to everyone in the room (except for me and the birthday boys), but missing the true moment and allowing the birthday boys to enjoy their birthday was completely out of the question.

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November 3

Accepting Today

Liane (Photo credit: adreson)

Ring . . . ring . . . ring.


“Hello, my name is Emily, and I’m calling from Empire Credit Card. Is Ryan home today?”

“Yes. I’m Ryan.”

“Hello Ryan. How are you today?”

“I’m feeling a little melancholy for no particular reason. This is fairly common though. I’m also a tad bit peckish, and I’m frustratingly horny, so much so that I can barely stop myself from getting an erection, even if I think of my grandmother nude, who is not a bad-looking woman, but she is much older and related to me. How are you today Emily?”

“Um . . .”

I hear her shuffling through notes. I’ve put her off script, and she’s only just begun.

She begins again: “um . . . I’m good. I’m with Quality Control Customer Service, and I’m calling to see how your recent phone call went with our Customer Service representative Jessica.”


“Swimmingly? Sir?”

I hear her shuffling again.

“Ryan,” I say.

“Sorry Mr. Ryan.”

“Ryan is my first name.”

“Sorry sir.”

“Emily, please call me Ryan.”

“Oh, of course. Are you able to take a short survey?”

“What’s your definition of short?”

“I have 20 questions.”

I laugh, heartily.

“That’s funny,” I remark.

“What’s funny?”

“20 questions – like the game.”


“Ryan, not sir. Say Emily, how old are you?”

“I’m 22. Why?”

“I kinda wanted to extend that whole grandma theme. The little guy is really starting to wake up. I’m afraid 22 just won’t do it. You even sound young on the phone. Can we pretend that you’re older?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to do that. I’m just supposed to ask you 20 questions.”

“Right, but while you ask me, can you try to sound a bit older?”

“How old?”


She starts giggling like a school girl.

“Ah, you want me to do an old woman voice?”


“Like this?”

“Wow. You sound like Carol Burnett. That’s kind of a huge turn on.”

“Whose Carol Burnett?”

“Never mind that, just keep talking in the old woman voice.”

“OK, sir.”

“Perfect, but don’t call me sir.”

“OK, Ryan – the survey is kept anonymous, but we do ask for your first name.”

There’s a long pause.

“Ryan, are you still there?”

“Yes, and I love the voice.”

“Oh, OK, I thought you had gone somewhere. So first question is what’s your first name?”


“R-Y-A-N. OK, Ryan from a 1 to 5, 1 being not satisfied and 5 being completely satisfied, how would you rate the service that Jessica gave you?”

“Well, she didn’t talk to me like an old woman.”

“You shouldn’t rate her based on that.”

“I was just joking. I didn’t ask her to talk to me like that.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I didn’t even talk to her.”

“It says here that you spoke on October 31 at 8pm for 30 minutes.”

“I didn’t. I didn’t call in at all, and I haven’t for months.”

“Oh, there must be some mistake. I’m sorry Mr . . . I mean Ryan.”

“Don’t be sorry you’ve been delightful. Say, would you like to meet?”

“I’m in Montreal.”

“Great, so you’re only 2 hours away. I’ll see you in 2 hours.”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to.”

“Emily, if you don’t want to, that’s cool, but who cares if you’re allowed to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that I have a boyfriend.”

“You have a boyfriend, and I have a grandmother; it’ll never work out.”

“You don’t really like older women do you?”

“I like women as young as you, but not quite as old as my grandmother.”

“I guess I should let you go. It’s been fun,” Emily says in her normal voice.

“Em, don’t think about yesterday, and don’t think about tomorrow. Think about what you want to do right now, today.”

“My friends don’t call me Em. I like you calling me Em though – it sounds nice.”

“Em, I’ll meet you at the Biodome in 2 hours.”

“Why shouldn’t I think about yesterday or tomorrow? Why today? Today is just a yesterday waiting to happen – that’s what my dad always says.”

“Today isn’t a yesterday. Today is today. Yesterday doesn’t actually exist. Have you ever visited yesterday? It’s just a memory of today. Tomorrow doesn’t exist either. Everyone tries to visit tomorrow, but by the time you get there, it’s today. Tomorrow is a hope and a dream but not a day,” I say.

“So, you’re saying that I have a memory. I have today, and I have a hope and a dream.”

“Yes. Will you be with me today? It exists. It’s here.”

“I think, um . . . yes, Ryan. I’ll see you in 2 hours.”

“I will be holding a single red rose, and I’ll meet you at the main entrance. Until then.”


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November 2

A Hole . . . Lotta . . . Drugs

Green Door

I’m outside the world’s sketchiest house. I feel that I’m running from something, so I open the world’s flimsiest green wooden door and go inside. There’s music playing, but it’s turned down real low, so I can’t make out the words in the song, and even if I could, I expect I would have never heard that song before.

I hear a man yell: “I’m going to get you.”

I run quickly into the nearest closet, another flimsy green wooden door. The paint is peeling off and the edges are worn. I slowly shut the door behind me when I hear a loud stomping noise come down the stairs. The stomping ends at the closet door. He yells out my name, “Ryan . . . I’m going to get you.” Then he moves on.

A woman’s scream bellows out from the basement. What if he is torturing her? What if he’s killing her? I run downstairs to an unfinished basement to see a woman wearing only an expensive new red bra and matching red panties. She has dark brown hair, a plain face, and the body of a 40-year-old office worker who doesn’t exercise. She isn’t overweight, but she isn’t exciting to look at either.

There are hypodermic needles spread out over the grey floor, and there’s an old man wearing tight white underwear and sitting down on a very old, unpainted, wooden chair that has four distinctly round legs.

“Who are you?” I ask the lady.

“I’m Lotta.”

She comes over to me and starts touching my chest. I’m not really attracted to her, but as a man, I’m programmed to never shrug off female attention, especially if that female is in her underwear. I kiss her cheek, grab her back gently but firmly just above her panty line, and just at that moment I hear stomping on the stairs.

A man with crazy anger in his eyes, thick dark hair, and a meat carving knife comes raging towards us. The old man runs away in terror, and the crazy man heads towards him, as though he will run upstairs after him. I move towards the crazy man, but he runs around me in the opposite direction, straight for Lotta, and he plunges the knife directly into her heart.

I run for Lotta, trying to help her, but I know it’s too late. I’m down, kneeling on broken needles, next to her fallen body, trying to hear the last few words that she’s gasping out. The crazy man breaks some sort of small vial on the floor next to us, and a puff of smoke comes up into the air, clouding my eyes. I see the smoke, but I don’t run away from it. I inhale it deeply, but I don’t know why. I’ve been poisoned.

My journey has begun. I see my wife and kids running out of my funeral. It’s the end of the world. There are these weird giant frogs, the size of dogs that keep eating up small children. A wise looking man comes to me and says: “get to a church; you’ll be safe there.” He seems to be the only one who can see or hear me, so who am I not to listen.

I’ll be at a church soon, and my trip will be over.

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November 1

Where’s the Muse at?

Hesiod and the Muse
Hesiod and the Muse (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Sometimes when I’m writing anything, a story, a poem, or maybe even a clever email, I run into a touch of writer’s block. I even ran into writer’s block while writing this writing tip. Here are five ways that I battle writer’s block.

  1. Write down ideas through out the day when you have them.
    Writing is often a very “mood based” type of activity, but you can’t always write when you have inspiration. If you jot down the basic ideas you have while you are in the mood to write, you have already got yourself passed most of the writer’s block (the idea stage).
  2. Read and get inspired.
    Reading and even watching TV can help you with style and stories. If you have free time while you aren’t writing, fitting in a small amount of reading can give you that inspiration you need for writing time.
  3. Set aside time everyday to write.
    If you can legitimately argue that you can’t make the time to write because you are too busy, the harsh truth is that you probably aren’t a writer. Most of us already set aside time for eating, sleeping, using the washroom, and working. If you set aside time to write when you aren’t doing anything else – truly nothing else at all, you will find your muse. Sometimes I can only find half an hour to write, and even if I only come up with one good idea or one good sentence, I’ve started to push the idea snow ball down the giant mountain of literary snow.
  4. Get your mind right.
    This is my way of saying that you need to clear your head of all the bad juju. If you feel stressed, go for a run. If you’re mad at a friend, talk to him/her about the issue. If you can write better when your mind is in angst, go for it. For those of us who can’t do anything when we feel that way, clear it up, fix it – do whatever you can to get past the feeling and just write.
  5. Write what you want.
    If you’re writing the greatest novel that ever was and you’re stuck on Chapter 2, try taking the time to write a short story or a poem. Get your mind off of Chapter 2, but keep writing. I know this doesn’t mesh well with deadlines, but if you’re at risk of blowing a deadline because of writer’s block, the best thing you can do is write about something completely different. It will sometimes cure your writer’s block and allow you to get back on target with Chapter 2.
October 31

How much does it cost?

Capitalism (Photo credit: Juliano Mattos)

Come steal from us;
And give to them.

Please take freedom;
I say take our
Teachers, doctors.

Land and water.

I’m your soldier;
She is your whore;
Meek get nothing.

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October 30


Woman with long black hair
Woman with long black hair (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Her thick tar black hair radiates steam;
And Her powdery anthrax white skin spores.

She carries no farm tools;
And She wears no robe.

She bares no skeleton;
And She forgives no man.

Her hand roles the bones;
And Her eyes pierce him completely.

He has no destiny;
And he’s simply random.

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October 29

Half Past

How to Stop Time
How to Stop Time (Photo credit: smartwentcrazy)

The big hand guides the little hand;
Pulling it forward, racing through time.

The innocent little hand follows blindly;
It never knows how fast things will change;
It never knows how bad things will get.

That little hand is now big;
Pulling another little hand out of innocence.

The clock keeps moving forward;
In a circle.

How can we stop time?

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October 27

Meeting Goals

Empty Net
Empty Net (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
For the last few years, I’ve been struggling to meet goals. The goals are simple, become a writer and get into shape. Neither goal is particularly difficult; they’re both just long and time-consuming.

I’ve never been what you would call overweight, but getting into really good shape would still take a lot of dedication, maybe 12 months of working out 6 days week. Well, I’m about 6 months into this schedule already. This wasn’t an easy task for me, since I’m not, by any means, a jock.

It’s easy enough for me to sit down and write here, but to make it my life and career is a longer goal. I need to treat it like exercise and just keep devoting time to it, no matter what. Right now, I’m going to volunteer for some writing jobs to build a portfolio.

As for this site (, you can expect to see stories, writing tips, and perhaps just general musings in the weeks to come.

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