Around in Captured thoughts

  • June 23, 2019, 9:39 a.m.
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  • Public

Generally, I just need time and a destination and I’m happy. A purpose, no matter how paltry and some time, no matter how skimpy, a place no matter how peripheral and I’m good to go. I go out early in the day with an unnecessary outing to the library to drop a book into the return slot.

I have goals but they are mostly daily tallies or whispery dreams to the future. The thing about having daily goals is that they reset every day. Everyday starts at zero. There is pressure in that. The daily reset. The daily run around the dog track, chasing that mechanical rabbit. And I’m a guy who never had goals, or if I had them they were always very short-term and easily achievable, reinforcing my abilities and superiority.

Goals are like The Trojan Horse full of Greeks or a piñata full of candy. Goals are like baby spiders hatching out of the nest or walking down a Calcutta sidewalk on the morning of Holi festival. Goals scatter around me like like riders off a midway ride gone off the rails.

I take a lot of steps but none of them are in a straight line, none of them are a stroll or an amble. They all have a purpose. And though the purpose is mostly pointless in the grand scheme of things, most things clearly are. The purpose is the piñata. The purpose holds the goals.

And work gets in the way of a lot of things. If I didn’t have a job, I would have so much time, and I would have no trouble filling it. I would likely rent a small workshop and start a van conversion business. So easy. Sometime life gets in the way of goals and sometimes goals get in the way of life.

Doing something is always easier than not doing something. It is a universal truth. Positive beats negative. I am rabbit. I am not dog. I take a walk, listening to a few podcasts and thinking thoughts like no one ever says ‘send me a fax’ anymore.
When cell phones were new, it was cool to have a fun or interesting ringtone. Today, if your phone isn’t permanently on silent mode, you’re a scumbag.
And corn hole is actually a game, like horse shoes. I thought it was some sort of sexual reference. Check out the terminology. Backdoor, woody, and hooker are part of the lexicon. I don’t think we will ever see corn hole in the Olympics, but maybe we should. We have speed walking after all.

I wander into a rough neighbourhood and fall behind and in love with a woman walking her dog, taking big strides, clearly on a mission to lose weight or lose me in her wake, this is not a stroll. This is power walking. But so that I could keep my eyes on her big round ass but not so that I was stalking her, I fall back and create a story about her in my head, what she does, where she lives, the name of her dog… She tells me that her family is English and that she is the first one that didn’t go into the family business, which is bakeries. I wonder what it would be like to get my hands on her muffins.

My minds drifts back.
His father invented hubcaps and his mother the question mark. He told me that he invented the practice of using half the Big Mac box as a fries container. That was way back when the box was styrofoam.
He said that he was born in Mexico but that his sister who was three years older was a Lebanese national. His parents were hippies he explained, carving overland trails out of the mid-sixties.
I didn’t believe a word of it but I listened carefully, learning what I could about the art of lying, a skill that would serve me well in years to come. That was 1986 in Amsterdam.

You can change yourself and get on a different road but you still have to know where to stop. I spend a lot of time thinking about sentences that rhyme alcohol and Montreal.

I walk up past the university to a poutine place that I sometimes go. Then I walked back through the park listening to news podcasts about Trump making friends with enemies and enemies with friends. He is a great undoer and destroyer as well as being a lot of other things. We might make it through his term but we will never be the same.

That line sounds like a line from an Eagles song. “We may lose and we may win but we will never be here again.“

The new rodeo company is keeping me busy. I knew that I was going to be busy before I joined them, but now I have all their stuff to learn on top of my regular work.

“In the morning I go gunning for the man who stole my water. And I fire till he is done in but then they catch me at the border.”

I had a presbyterian minister visit me from Kapuskasing and I have to say that he carried a dark force with him. Maybe he absorbs others’ bad karma, but I was with him for three hours and everything I touched broke, my mobile printer ran out of ink, the office printer was out too. The software I have used forever got buggy. My internet connection got slow…pens ran out of ink…everything. He said, it always happens.
How can he live that way?

At 9:30pm it was still stinking hot and I was finally home from the office. I take another stroll with the missus through town. Everyone was out drinking in open air taverns and clustered on the sidewalks smoking. There was a singer, playing guitar in the blues bar and AC/DC blasting out of the so called gourmet hamburger place.

I’ve been winding down my days watching youtube videos of people living in their vans, trucks and campers.

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