Friday, December 6, 2019

Social Problems 101

Three ways to "Class it up" she said to us, in the class room, it was 6pm and I did not want to hear it.

"What the Fuck do I need to class myself up for" I whispered to my class mate, he shrugged and laughed.

"You're fucked if you don't rise above where ever the fuck you're from" he said to me pretty sternly. How was it that this 300 pound kid had anything over me.

"I can out run you" he said to him.

"Yeah but instead you choose to get high you loser." He exhaled. He was right I was high, it was a night class and I didn't care about "Social Problems 101"

"To say the least the first thing we need to address as a society is that our population is out of control." She wrote it on the board. I was so high, I had eaten some brownies that my roommates had made, they were so good and I was so hungry so I ate a bunch. The were laced with weed. I was almost asleep.

"Anti social behaviour is on the rise in our cities and in our man stream media" she blurted, in a way that made me want to listen less and less.

"Social problems come form being too generous to the peasants" I could smell his breath when he said it to me. I was getting more and more stoned as the weed started to kick in. I burped and I could taste it. People don't need to have homes, they don't need to eat and sleep as much as they do." I could hear him whimpering next to me.

"If you want to rise about the rest you need create a world around you where there is no bullying." Was the last thing I remember her saying.

"No bullying?"I asked myself but spoke it loud enough that she looked back at me.

"Yes Bullying, and not bullying others, that's not the problem" she mentioned.

"What do yo mean?" I asked all baked from the back of room 101.

"We bully ourselves" she said, and it hit. I was alone.

Paper Boy

It was always cold, but I was lucky because I had to deliver the papers in my apartment. It was this huge complex actually that ran about a kilometre, two stories snaking in a zig zag for probably over a thousand meters.
I had this basket on wheels that I put the Edmonton journals in. I had to deliver a stack that filled the container.
"It's not that cold" I'd say to myself as I stepped into the lobby of each unite. There were spaces that led from the hallways through to doors that led to the outside across into the next unite.

It was warm in the buildings, but it was dark. I can remember the smells. I was twelve and I remember watching an episode of one of those spooky nineties shows. A Friday the thirteenth. There was a kid, who was living in a house with a dying grandparent. People were nursing the person. The kid watched.

I don't remember the premise, but I remember that once the body of the dying person was gone  something else stayed.

No one noticed but the kid.

I remember those hallways and I remember a certain space where I felt the energy of that dying sprit, what ever it was. A grandmother, an old face, dead, Scary, and smelly.

It was my fist job, I got it when I was twelve and it was hard in retrospect. Up at 5 am every day to deliver paper and go to school. Looking back it shows my ambition.

I worked hard enough to make enough money to pay for my guitar.

I delivered the media to your house feeling haunted by the feeling of your dead gran mother.

This is my fare.... fuck so cool.

I love this blog and everything it's allowing me to feel.

Thursday, December 5, 2019

Rats that don't die are expendable

His tooth is hurting, who cares? Not me I'm only his orthodontist. We're not paid to care. We are paid to not feel.
"Your mouth is changing" I told him, I'm a third year ortho student and I'm going to be rich. Women already love me and I already don't like my patients, and I've never really had one, being that I'm still a student.
Oh' this guy? He's not my actual patient, he's Dr. Moores. I'm just his student Orthodontist. My professor would get the blame if I fucked anything up.
"That tooth though? it looks like shit. Why haven't you braced it yet?" He asked me once.

"I was waiting for you Doctor to tell me what to do." The professor clapped,

"good boy," he'd yell.

The patients are always last on the list in the current medical industry. We're an evil culture in Canada that's doing it's best to put profit margins and excess for CEOs to the for front.

"I want to be rich and do as little as possible and make as much as possible that's my role as a Canadian going to the university of Alberta to become a doctor."

I wonder why so many of the students kill themselves and not their patients.

kite by then

It was cold outside,

"It's always cold in Canada! At least in the winter" said this little kid. 13 year old boy. At the Bar drinking a beer. A warm beer. With a shot of syrup. I know I poured it for him. He was this little foreign kid from Canada. What the fuck did I care.

"Because it's so cold where I am from people are hard. We have a darkness" he talked about Canadians like it mattered.

"You're only 13 though, what the fuck do you know about Canadians" I asked him once.

He stood up. This little fucking kid and with his Canadian accent he drunkenly yelled to me in Polish "I am a Canadian" then he slugged down his beer.

I saw him throwing up in the back latter that night.

No one cared.

Sunday, December 1, 2019

shoot my dog

Walking into the basement of Steven's house was always fun. He had this awesome family and they had everything. That day though he opened the door to the garage. It was winter and cold, the night had already settled in so all the lights were on.

"I want you to see this Jake" he told me in a whisper. He was excited and I did not know what to expect. Then I saw it! A brand new car! It was so cool. 

"What kind is it?" I asked, never one to be overly interested in cars. 

"It's a Chrysler!" He said happily. He had to be eight and I was nine or ten at the time.

A new car would have been a big deal I guess, I had never really thought about it. We weren't getting anything like that at my house, but I did't feel separate from him. He just had a different lifestyle than we did.

"Kubasaw!" his dad would yell at me, My name "Kuba" short for Jake in Polish sounded like that to him. Bob was a rich guy I guess in hindsight, he was a union controller or something. He did important things.

"Kubasa" he shouted, "see that shit on my lawn?" he asked kind of in a joking way. 

I could see the crap in the snowy grassy knoll out front, "No" I'd say "I don't"

Then he'd say "I think it's your dog's."

I'd then say " No, I don't think so."

"I think it is" he'd respond.  "you need to keep a closer eye on that dog, you can't just keep letting him out at night." 

He was probably right, but "it's my dad that let's him out at night" I'd tell him. 

"Just keep a closer eye on him, you never know something might just happen to him."