Up in Smoke

Now I have been thinking about addiction a lot lately. Working in a drive through cigarette store makes you really understand the sheer number of smokers that there are out there. It is baffling to me, but I have vices of my own, so...

What is the difference?

Love, I would argue. Addiction is love, or perhaps love causes addiction. The feelings I have felt in the longing for a loved one is not so different from the feeling I have right now in my patent expectation, waiting the live long day for that first bong blast.

Many of my customers are so busy unwrapping their package of cigarettes that they do not realize that I am trying to give them their change. I have been home for about fourty minutes so far, and while my tea is steeping I have done nothing to satisfy my desire to get high. The time between desire and reaching out to grab it.

You see I love marijuana, so I make it a part of my life. It was on a fate filled Canada day that I first meet Mary Jane. In the woods by Diefenbaker, I kissed her lightly, and she hugged my mind all night as we sat on a blanket and watched the fireworks. It was beautiful. So we started to see each other on weekends, at parties. I think she was the reason I became social, going to out just to see her again. It was not until the summer after high school that we really got serious through, and I started seeing her every day. Since then my life and hers have been pretty tightly interwoven, from buying and selling to Bobs and my pursuit of glass. She has been with me every step of the way. I would be lost without her relaxed perspective. Through the good times and the bad, she has always been there and never let me down. She is celebration, and reason to celebrate. She is my first true love.

So here is to you,

the leaves you grew,

the flowers that bloom,

and a never ending love.

My Mary Jane.

Uehen/Sean

Pot will get you through times of no money,
better than money will get you through times of no pot.

- The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers

I’m a forest, I’m a fascist.

I’m annoyed, and my state of mind allows me to put my body on auto pilot and think. Then I started thinking about what I had done since I got home. I got in the door turned on the computer, put water on to boil for tea, then frog eyes, then I got high. Oh addiction. It is funny how our body does what it wants when we let it.

Oh sweet Gemini Jesus.

I came home, in a bad mood. I looked around the gas station, and I saw a self enforced prison. I looked around that place, saw through their paper work, saw through the spy tactics, and felt trapped their by money. Then I called Moe back, got a hold of him and soon may have a new job.

947 9084 - Moe - Monday at Four. Either Cheese or Wine. I should get my hair trimmed. Nah, I’ll do it myself.

So I was in a bad mood and going to rant about how horrible it is to be forced to work at a gas station. Making outlandish remarks about how society is like a game of janga, and how social reform is needed in order to maintain the survivability of everything. How until every ones base needs were meet we would never progress to the next level. Think Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.

But now i am in a good mood so I am going to read Dune and think hopeful thoughts.

Uehen/Sean

Do you make good money?
I make some rope,
When you listen,
think of money.
How it dries very ground.
All the roses bloom from money.
Put it in twist it in,
Twist the bills,
Watch the transfiguration,
I know it will make your head spin,
What we do with money,
Oh I found it makes your head spin,
What we do with money,
Did you love the oasis,
The first two chapters sang.
I’m a forest,
I’m a fascist,
Knowing I can turn it.
Are you transcending,
The thing that signifies,
Oh my life.
Promise not to sing the word,
To fallow,
You’ve got science,
We have science,
I have reason for defiance,
We got science via science,
I know it will make your head spin,
What we do with money,
Oh I found it makes your head spin,
what we do with money.

The Hypocrite In Me

Or

The Power In Faking It Until You Make It

I am not ready to write this.

I am being vague. I always think I am being a narcissist for writing anything personal, so being vague makes it better. I am kind of an idiot.

If DEET touched my skin while I was tree planting, it was only as a result of standing down wind of an aerosol can. I did not use bug spray once all season. I had bug spray, I got some from MEC, and my dad sent me some in a care package. It was a test for myself, ignore the bugs. For the first few freezing nights in Northern Saskatchewan I did pile my clothing under my sleeping bag to keep off the ground, but the rest of the season was spent sleeping directly on the ground. Yet for as hard core as all that is I still planted slowly.

Oh planting...

For all the hateful feelings, for all the angry words, I could not hate the trees. There were planters who cursed them, and I did as well, but more as a colloquial slang than out of any spiteful feeling. I looked over fields that stretch as far as the eye could see of newly planted saplings. I could look down from hill tops and see the patch work pattern of growing trees. Squares cut out of the middle of forests. I could see the six metre tall piles of uncollected lumber, and the six metre diameter rings of rubble left over from a controlled burn all spaced out evenly along the logging roads. Yet despite it all I could not help but wish luck for every tree I planted. I hated planting places that I knew they would not survive. To just stand on a log and look out over the land. If I have ever said a prayer for anything it was for the trees in those fields.

How strange it is to be anything at all.

So now I go from the bottom feeding tree planter, to the evil oil crisis gas jockey. From one industry I am ethically apposed to, in light of the availability of higher fiber yielding annual crops, to another industry run on the blood of disenfranchised people. The sullier of our skies and waters. When they were going over safety then asked every one if they knew how to pump gas, and I was the only one who had not ever pumped gas before. I have sold my soul for twenty five cents over minimum wage.

They make it so hard to believe in anything. So I am forced to play the game and try to believe in nothing until I am able to achieve my goals.

Persistence over comes resistance,
But my success here was given to me,
Not won.

Tossing their guns to the ground, they accidentally shot Peter.

I am a little afraid of the future. Things are good, and the future is looking mighty uncertain. My plans at the moment hinge on a few uncontrollable variables. Predictable they may prove to be, but for now uncertain. A) Profits, my tree planting money has depleted faster than anticipated. I want to maintain an emergency fund incase I need to book it to Europe for some reason. I have a job now, but if my initial calculations are correct I am still only going to have two hundred dollars of useable income. B) Costs, a loan, to pay for a workable lampworking studio, including all supplies and fuel. Rent, heat, and food we accounted into my calculation, so I exclude them from things like marijuana, movies, shows, gum, news papers, and the loan on top of that, things may get tight. C) Other Obstacles, working full time. It looks like I am going to be the 7am to 3pm Monday to Friday gas jockey at domo gas. Working at a gas station would be cooler if they sold propane. A studio. I need to convince Tyler to trade bedrooms with me, so I can trade his bedroom for Miranda’s. Her room is twice the size of mine and could be converted into a beautiful bedroom studio. Also the propane that has to be kept outside could be kept in the back yard and come in on lines through the bedroom window. I am willing to bribe the both of you some how, possibly with sex. Or things made of glass...

If I am working full time how am I going to spend six hours in front of the torch a day?

Mind you I cannot think of much else to do around here.

I need to find a smoking buddy.

I cannot remember ever not having a smoking buddy.

Mind you I have made this ounce last for a really long time.

Ugh. Too many bong hits.

I made chi tea to make it better but ugh.

Too many bong hits.

My worry. Money. I hate money. I hate money more than I hate television. I hate what it makes me do, and I hate my dependence on it. I hate that I cannot get away from it. That I will never be free of it. Tree planting was about money, but it was just numbers. I will never be one of the great planters because I do not have the greed. You can see it in the eye of ever high baler. Of ever vet. The lust for money. Greed. I was just as happy to be outside on a beautiful day that paid for itself in an hours work. I could live and know that the work I did that day had paid for the meal I ate for dinner, and not care after that. It was my closest brush with freedom. This thing more than anything else made me love tree planting.

All my hands can do, is fold themselves in the valleys, in the corridors, on the ceilings, over you.

A glimmer of hope in the land of the free.

Uehen/Sean

I still think of her when I am sick and tired of all the other stupid girls. I think of her all the time.

Jeff is an ass hole.

Tree planting was the best worst experience of my life. I love hated every minute of it. From chucks of ice falling from the sky, to chunks off ice on a stick. Everything is a simple matter of perspective. You just have to learn to love it, and I guess I did. Olsen’s was a great place to learn the ropes, the foremen made sure none of the rookies pick up any of the bad habits, and the vets were always willing to lend a hand. For a wonderful season, I thank them all, even if Jeff is an ass hole.

That is what I posted as my comment.

I wanted to write something special, or whatever, but then I decided to just do it quickly.

I’m tired of your sexy sexy eyes. Lies! Of your lies!

I hold myself back.

Why do I always fall into those deep blue pools of enchanting mysterious wonder.

I used to blame all of you, but really if I think of it, I may as well tell you right?

Nah. Fuck off.

I’m going to play Starcraft.

Uehen.

Pot will get you through times of no money, better than money will get you through times of no pot.

Pronunciation Key

red·neck

n. Offensive Slang

1. Used as a disparaging term for a member of the white rural laboring class, especially in the southern United States.
2. A white person regarded as having a provincial, conservative, often bigoted attitude.

Recently however I have adopted a definition first put forward to me by Seth. A red neck is one who makes fun of things that they do not understand. Rednecks exist in both political spectrums, both genders, and can be found in all walks of life. I like his definition as it can be applied to many of the people I dislike. So where is he going with this?

It came to a point today, when I realized my fears had come to fruition. For so long I had said to myself, alright I can over look that. I strained on the tips of my toes to look past all the obstacles, to see some common ground, but I fear my mettles depleting. My dear room mate informed me of her latest quest to the local block buster. She said she saw a rather tall bald man, well over six feet was walking around with a black suit and a pair of wings. I commented that it was cool that she got to see such a sight, but she was more confused by how strange it was. ‘Its funny, I don’t get it why would some one do that?’ She laughed at him, instead of with him. She said she did not understand, but now I do.

Soylent Green is people, but no one will believe it.

Uehen/Sean

America out.

Kids on the play ground get into a disagreement communication breaks down because they lack the skills or do not have the experience to deal with the situation so they fight. They same behavior can be seen in drunks. And nations. How many of you remember being separated from one of the other kids in the class by the teacher to stop a fight? How many more soldiers would be killed if they just pulled out? How many more lives would be saved from those soldiers guns. Remember when they said there were only a handful of hard core Saddam worshipers who posed a resistance? Well that may have been true, but they did not tell any one of the thousands of others who would easily be brought into the fold of one of the other factions trying to get America out. America out. America out. That is the mindset of these men. If they were really trying to convert Iraq to democracy, they should have taken a more subtle approach. Making these people hate everything America is not going to make them love democracy. Socialism is more likely to spring up than democracy. As soon as America is out, some one is going to over throw the government and take over as the great liberator.

Uehen/Sean

The War Is Over, If You Want It.

Frogs Eyes rock.

If I were a rich man...

That there is a war on drugs is not only a sign that we are doing drugs, but is also our victory banner. We do what we do because we do it. You started this war you see, we wanted nothing to do with it. You are the one who is convinced I am wrong, so you have done nothing but give me something to prove to you. These walls that you have built, we will draw our plans on. We will put it for all to see, revealing the secrets in our hearts. Teaching and preaching right to those you hid up in those ivory towers, and once we have reached them they can teach you. We will teach you how you were wrong.

Bah. Stupid system. Why can you not work with me this once. Hey everyone is Saskatoon, I sent that to the paper, so keep an eye out if you happen upon a paper. I doubt they would put that in, but who knows.

More later.

Uehen

Peer Pressure, Peer Pressure, Peer Pressure.

For what ever reason, of the four hundred odd bands that were mentioned over the eve the one I remember to download was Frog Eyes. My understanding is that they are from Vancouver, or something. They are pretty crazy. I like them. Like, hmm... Hot hot heat mixed with a magical fairy after drinking too much coffee. That is not the name of a band. I mean like a real magical fairy after drinking too much coffee.

Speaking of magic, you know what is crazy? Religious Zealots. I got interested in finding out why every one started burning dungeons and dragons players as witches, or warlocks respectively back in the eighties. It turns out, that it really is only a small group of insane people who have a real problem with it, other than you know it being for nerds. Neeeerd. There are these orthodox Christian types that believe magic is real. Not like David Blaine, or Copperfield, but like Harry Potter and Petter Pan. They do not want their children pretending to cast magic in a game because they believe it will encourage their children to attempt to cast spells themselves. They are afraid their children will become wizards.

This is funny.

So you have these Christian parents raising their children with a healthy fear of god so that next time Sara gets that special feeling in her tummy about Leslie, she might just lash out at her parents by running off and joining the occult. If you fear something enough, and if you let your children understand your fear, they will use it against you. And the further you tighten that sting, the more it snaps back. If you tell your children that Harry Potter is evil and a real threat to them, you are practically telling them that magic is real. You tell them that they shouldn’t try and cast spells, and all they are going to want to do is cast spells.

How are they going to cast anything with a negative intelligence score?

Now I do not think I’ve ever seriously tried to cast anything. Perhaps I tried to use the force to move my cup a little closer, or to convince the local authorities that my companions were not who they were looking for. But I have never sat down in a circle of candles, speaking gibberish and hoping for a demon to show up. There are people who have, and it is sad.

Uehen/Sean

Fire in Suburbia

Once upon a time at the foot of a great mountain, there was a town where the people known as Happyfolk lived, their very existence a mystery to the rest of the world, obscured as it was by great clouds. Here they played out their peaceful lives, innocent of the litany of excess and violence that was growing in the world below. To live in harmony with the spirit of the mountain called Monkey was enough. Then one day Strangefolk arrived in the town. They came in camouflage, hidden behind dark glasses, but no one noticed them: they only saw shadows. You see, without the Truth of the Eyes, the Happyfolk were blind.

In time, Strangefolk found their way into the higher reaches of the mountain, and it was there that they found the caves of unimaginable Sincerity and Beauty. By chance, they stumbled upon the Place Where All Good Souls Come to Rest. The Strangefolk, they coveted the jewels in these caves above all things, and soon they began to mine the mountain, its rich seam fueling the chaos of their own world. Meanwhile, down in the town, the Happyfolk slept restlessly, their dreams invaded by shadowy figures digging away at their souls. Every day, people would wake and stare at the mountain. Why was it bringing darkness into their lives? And as the Strangefolk mined deeper and deeper into the mountain, holes began to appear, bringing with them a cold and bitter wind that chilled the very soul of the Monkey. For the first time, the Happyfolk felt fearful for they knew that soon the Monkey would stir from its deep sleep. And then there came a sound. Distant first, it grew into castrophany so immense it could be heard far away in space. There were no screams. There was no time. The mountain called Monkey had spoken. There was only fire. And then, nothing.

There is so much I never wanted to tell you.

I was worried, for a moment there when the computer crashed that all I had written might be lost to time. But it hasn’t. Good ol word backed it all up for me, despite my not naming a file yet. Just tucked it away until I got back.

I’m taking a break from writing by getting stoned, and writing. This here now to you the reader. You won’t be getting to see my project just yet, oh no, I’ll never show, what mad mans ideas have reaped... or sown... okay. Fine I’m writing a play. You twisted my arm. I feel like I’m bragging. That’s sad. (a moment of sad for sean.) I’m writing a play, and I like the idea. It is new, or at least, I’ve never seen it, nor any one else that I’ve told the idea too. So, here is hoping. I’m four or five minutes written, first draft. Not very impressive, but we are working with a good base. Oh yeah. We. Tyler and I are writing it. I should have said. I like the idea. It is rare that I like an idea, that is workable. I know it is good because it is writing itself. I’ve spend an evening at the key board, and evening punctuated by getting stoned, eating, and star craft, and I’ve already got a base. A good workable idea. I feel like I have found gold. Like I am going to do this until it is finished and then take it across Canada so help me god.

I want nothing more than to do a fringe play next summer.

I should be working harder at this.

Oh well I’ll start tomorrow... ahh...

So it is one of those nights. I don’t feel as tired because my nose has cleared up. I feel like I can breath and live and understand again. You know that first day you feel better? That first day you get your lungs back and your brain turns back on because it is now finally receiving enough oxygen. It is one of those.

So I started thinking, hey, I’ve been smoking these last few days, but only the take the edge off the boredom/dampen the voices in my head, kind of smoking. I hadn’t been baked in a long time. So two bong rounds of hydro and a mystery bud bowl from Thrysus I am now baked. I like the idea of being able to go to the glass studio and renting it out for an hour. Do you hear that James? Any time I want a new bowl for my bong, I can go make my own! How are things back in Saskatoon anyways?

Haha.

Oh Brutus, why did you twist the knife?

Here is a funny thing about living with Tyler that I don’t mind him reading in this post. He will often times make rather funny assumptions about... things. He thinks of the most logical reasoning in any given situation and then assumes everyone else will think the same. More often than not I agree with what ever he assumes, but I think he forgets we also live with a woman.

More fun insight on what it is like to live with Tyler after these messages.

My name is Sean, and this is the story of my life. On December sixtieth I was born around seven thirty pm in Misericordia Hospital Winnipeg Manitoba Canada North America Terra Firma. Nine pounds six ounces. I doubt I’ll ever smoke that much pot. I was lucky enough to be born by caesarean section so my genitals didn’t pass through my mothers even once. I was brought home two days later, after being okayed from some initial lung problems. My mom said I peed on the nurse who was trying to put my first diaper on. She had been reading the little house one the prairie books... or was that with my sister?

Our car was stolen and I was telling the police officers how they broke the glass and took it. I can remember being intelligent at that age, which is strange. I mean, now, I’ve always thought, for as along as I can remember that I am intelligent to a certain level. I personally do not feel that the level of my intelligence has grown... at all, since then. I knew what was going on, and I could communicate what was going on to others. I just use longer words now.

A neighborhood child who keeps taking my toys receives black eye.

That might have been swift current. I’m so fucking prairie. I only moved to Winnipeg so when I moved to Montreal I wouldn’t have to say I’m from Saskatoon. I’m just saying.

Swift current is stealing baseballs from the kids playing on the diamonds. The girl next door eating sand, and her father always having some animal around, on account of being some forest ranger type. Her name was Jodi, my sister named her Cabbage Patch doll after her. The first time I got to hold a Nintendo controller was at the boy down the blocks house. He yelled at me one day while I was walking around. I went over to see what he was yelling about, and we started talking. He had the first street fighter. You know the really shitty one? Or the really shirt port for the NES? Well he had that. And the girl across the street who had a million dolls also had a secret room in her basement that went to some Mario esk fantasy world, that I tried so hard to believe in when I was younger that my memory now is so modified that I remember going there as real. Memory is a strange thing.

Then Saskatoon is school, divorce, Sutherland, and all the other horrible things I do not feel like remembering right now. I remember in our back yard in Swift Current pilling up the soft powdered snow, and jumping off the edge of the balcony into it. When I was in grade one and two, and would think about what it must be like to not have to go to school, I would wish to be back in that place. In the piles of soft snow.

Uehen/Sean

And all the pretty things I could have written.

PM Wins Over Japan

No Kites

in a

No Fly Zone

You know what? I’m glad I left when I did and missed your fancy shamancy fireworks show mr.Saskatchwan. Winnipeg had a lighting storm reminiscent of a photo shoot for God. There was a flash so bright in front of my eyes that I could see burnt into my vision where the windshield wiper had been when the flash went off.

So for the last three days I have been putting on the white stripes and not turning them off until I have made my way through every album. Then I will listen to the new Gorillas, or Sufjan album, and listen to them all again. I did this once with Rage Agianst the Machine, but I could feel myself slowly going insane and one day just kind of snapped and deleted all their music off my computer.

Egypt just fired its government. Election on the 11^th in Japan. I wonder if they did that to stick it to the Americans? What is the general feeling towards America in Japan? Sure they sell us fuel efficient cars, and high definition TVs, but are they not still pissed off about being nuked twice?

I would be.

Hello,

It is far too hot out for Sean’s to be skating with fedoras on. Shorts and t-shirt left me in a muggy mess stumbling to the mall in a sprawl for papers. I found that I was indeed perhaps a little higher than I had anticipated. The ordeal at the bank left me with the impression that the cashier thought I may be cracked out. The hot to cold shock did all it could to impound the problem, but I will admit that I enjoyed this little taste of creature comfort. Back across the street with the hot to cold muddle, I had to convince myself that cheese bread was just Safeway’s way of tricking me into giving them my four dollars, and not a delicious trip through sourdough goodness. I did however cave for the Tim Horton’s frozen coffee extravaganza. Pitter patter, pitter patter, dropped my skate board to make a clatter. I approached Zelfare with hopeful hopeings that I would find what I am looking for. Then, after some quick direction from a sales clerk i see it... Low and behold, this is not your mothers stack of construction paper. This is the kind of construction paper that gave a notable boost to the logging industry. For as many colours as there are it works out to about a dollar a colour and... god damn it! Tyler doesn’t have this thing set on Canadian spelling! Blood hell. What was I talking about?

Uehen/Sean

All of your friends are all letting you Blow

I would like to write something meaningful.

Something poignant, lasting, or consequential.

Hmm… nope.

Maybe tomorrow.

If I use the different words to say the same thing over and over again it will be come true.

It is true that if I repeat what I said enough times it will become factual.

Making the same point using different words counts as making two different points.

The more you hear something, the more you are willing to believe it.

If I can find another way to rephrase what I just said, it will reinforce it.

The way you argue a point is often more important than the point.

If you can make it sound correct through repetition it will be treated as a truism.

Your views are interesting, but I’ll continue to repeat myself until you believe me.

If we work together I’m sure we could come up with something.

What does it prove?

That proving things is as easy as sticking to your guns.

Persistence over comes resistance.

I’ve seen people get into arguments, where one will say something, the other says the opposite, and then they will take turns rephrasing what was said until one quits. No points will have been made for either side, just that one out lasted the other, or knew more words to apply to the situation.

Drawing lines in the sand on a windy day.

Building sand castles on a low tide.

Building a snow man.

Reproducing.

Tick tick tock.

I have made, big decision.

I gonna try to nullify my life.

Because when the blood begins to flow.

Its time to go.

Uehen/Sean