Big Ugly Perp

Life is this thing we live everyday. We feel/think things moment by moment. Some people think hundreds of thoughts in a given hour, which can easily kill sleep and peace. Others, like myself, have the ability to shut everything off at will. A willfull tune out...

Snap. Lights out...yeah, it's almost never that easy.

We're living, breathing, 24/7 operating sponges. The battery never goes out, unless we go out. Lights off - forever - at least on this horizontal plain.

I was watching something recently that hurt my eyes (lots of things hurt my eyes). Familiar images we see everyday, whether on tv, in print or on screen with mammoth surround sound.

This image in particular rattled me. Picture it:

A stage is set, sparkly, twinkly, almost showy. Spotlight ready on command, judges take the first row. As the roar of the music soars, a line of girls hit the dance floor, dressed in barely there spandex and lace, face full of makeup, lip gloss - cherry red. Eyes dead-set, hooked on you, they dance, strutting, humping the air.

Did I mention these are 5-7 year old girls. 

Just when did this madness begin? Whether 5 - 15 - 25 - 35. Is it okay to see her this way? Should we sound the alarm? There should be no harm...right? 

Not at first sight.

It's very normal to see a scantily dressed female. We see her this way everyday in print, on commercials, in music videos and on film. She's the talented starlet on a glossy magazine, you just watched her in that film on the weekend, the movie grossed 110 million, but there she is, barely covered in boxer briefs, a man's shirt tied provocatively, giving you "make love to the camera" eyes. She's also running across the beach in a skimpy bikini, holding hands with a fully dressed man, showing you what a vacation should be. She's in numerous music videos, almost naked, surrounded by impeccably, fully, dressed men, there to be "whatever or wherever" your imagination travels.

And she's again, on stage, just 6 years old. There to feed whom? What 6 year old is able to comprehend the situation at large. But perhaps it starts then. The conditioning, for all sexes.

Or have we as a culture come to a place where such sights and images blur into our reality or normalcy. Where a nude female, at whatever age, is nothing but "whatever".

Will this cycle of violence ever stop?

And it is violent. Not the way war is violent, but violent in a manner that is silent and multi-generational. A slow rape of morality and purity, for both women and men. Purity is an often misused word. It has less to do with sex and more to do with action and thought.

Everyone wants to be treated well, fairly and with respect. Only when motives are pure can that be the result. If we only consider "our own end" then motivation becomes impure. Respect and fairness hit the skids.

In regards to women, and men, the unseen/unspoken world of equally violated men and boys, how does one fix this...

Is it about power? Who cooks the books? Decides and approves the print, commercials, videos and film that will delights our senses? Images that continue to teach us what is "natural". But then again, that is an entirely different rabbit hole. Kinda.

The failure to see people, all people, as Human: living-breathing-feeling, having been born from the whom, with a soul and conscience, sharing and experiencing all the pain and joy life can bring will always escape the mind of a perpetrator.

An innocent infant/child, a teenage girl/boy, a young woman/man, a mature woman/man, your grandmother/father. There are no lines drawn in the sand when it comes to valuing human life: emotional, physical, mental, spiritual.   

When you assault (rape, steal, kill) without consent, you are a perpetrator. Silence, getting into someone's car or stepping into someone's home does not signify agreement. There's no rationalizing. If your motives are impure, only to self-gratify at whatever expense, you're a Big Ugly Perp.

And titles mean nothing: Frat boy. Preacher. Teacher. Hollywood Elite. World Elite. Political Elite. Mom. Dad. Grandpa/ma. Sister. Brother. The list is endless. If you've taken to gratify your physical needs - You A Big Ugly Perp.

And if you are a BUP, and you believe no one is watching...

Someone is always watching.   

Someone already knows.

And that Picture it image of the strutting six year old girls? Replace them with 6 year old boys, dressed in speedos, dancing like Chippendale dancers. How natural is that? 

Beyond ur Sight

The world scurries. Time flies for the young and old. As if on a battleground, time feels like an opposing force, bent on a mission to end the race of all races.

Time.

I was speaking with a colleague about 'time' and how it feels out of rhythm. As if the clocks are working overtime. Minutes rocket like seconds. Hours drain like minutes.

Do you notice that?

What's going on up there? What's going on everywhere?

It's easy to just sit back, relax and drink what's handed to you. It takes more effort to ask, "what's in it?". Stare into the glass long enough to see gray drink begin to change colour. I hope you're staring long enough, asking enough to see more than what's there.

Dropping crude doesn't mean "road trip". More is at hand. Dubious more.

Military vehicles on neighbourhood streets. Military. Where did they suddenly come from? And why are military vehicles being carted on highways and byways, the lone trucker wonders while trying earn an honest living.

What could be up ahead that is beyond our sightline?

It's not just time. It's not just incurable diseases that people seem to be suddenly cured from. It's the unspoken. The hush we're all too familiar with. 

Sure, I've said little white lies here and there. Nothing major. Just words that involve my tiny fishbowl. "Do you think I'm vain?" a friend will ask. I could be thinking "yes, but I like you anyway" but I'll smile and say something like, "You just care about what you want, and that's okay." I'm not lying, I'm rephrasing what they already know.

I can be totally honest with my sister. But we're that type of family. Brute honesty. We laugh about it.

But the ruling jellyfish tries to push, shove and mold this world into something they can control and liquidate - they're messing with a much larger fishbowl, a world bowl. And we have every right to bite back. They're the minority. 

Even the church. It's not just about feelin' good and gettin' favor. You're so off the rails.

I'll try not to be too serious in my next write up. I'm just unclogging my brain.

http://youtu.be/-ALRLZQf42s

nite

Fucking Lost

I've been away for a while. Fucking lost, blind, walking in a blackened room with arms stretched out, feeling my way through the dark. It sucks to be in this place and not even realize you're there.

side note: a friend came into town for work, a yearly Festival that bombards my city with glitz and flashbulbs, that's where we met. she's such a good person and I miss her terribly. maybe I'll visit her in Paris next year.

Back to being lost. Fucking lost. So lost, parts of me vanished, the good parts, the parts that made me sane. And like a squirrel I'm quietly searching for parts of myself that I buried all throughout this year.

Not all of me is gone. Thankfully.

I'll share what this "lost" thing is...perhaps. Later.

I've recently entered a new land. One where a multitude of colours rain down from the ceiling. Scents spout from every nook and cranny as people scurry about in uniform dress, prettying what is naturally beautiful and enhancing all that is hidden. And in the last few days we've been flooded with green. Lots of it. 

I often feel lost in this land, though the natives are sweet and welcoming. But I must leave. I'm dying and drowning in this beautiful land, and it's my own hand that will rescue me.

1am and my eyelids are about to drop. I'll hit the sheets in twenty.

another side note: have you ever gotten this strange feeling that your friend likes you more than a friend, and that friend is a she? this is for all the women reading. ...yeah, I'm going through that... strange feeling. I like men. I can easily appreciate a woman's beauty, but that's it. Time will unfold more details.

Now there's another Lost something. Love. Been fucking lost for a long time.

Will stop saying/writing F*** for tonight.

Not So Nice

What can I say...

I'm a nice person. Mind you, I can get ugly when I know someone is taking advantage of me or my friends, but pending the situation - the vulnerability of the other party, timing and just my emotional strength at the time, and equal level of intelligence - I will let a lot go.

Nice doesn't mean weak or stupid, innocent or inexperience. Most of the time when people do un-nice things, instead of claw or stab back, I let it slide.

But nice stinks. It stinks to be nice. To let it slide. To turn the other cheek. But the alternative is too easy, and it's a road taken by many. The high road is a hard-ass climb. The not tearing down, loose lips and chainsaw words to rip through reputations and names does take a willingness to step back and look at the larger picture.

We're all human. Built with memories, experiences, feelings, hurts and all that other awesome stuff that tends to surface and pile up on stressful days, lonely days and shitty days.

The only instance I'm un-nice is when someone is consistently getting away with bad behavior without any consideration to change.

example: taking advantage of a woman without a hint of backing down. Whether verbal, physical or with a long lecherous gaze. Whether towards my friends or myself, I will be un-nice about it. I will let you know it is wrong and not feel any guilt in doing so. Because I know, many "nice" women before me have let you get away with it.

Nice isn't such a nice word, from my experience. Perhaps it's because the word itself is too vague. Used too simplistically: Nice flowers, nice dress, nice smile, nice guy.

Instead of: Gorgeous Flowers. Knock-out Dress. Killer Smile. Awesome Guy.

The difference is huge.

Websters definition of Nice: giving pleasure or joy : good and enjoyable: attractive or of good quality: kind, polite, friendly.

It's not what we think of when we hear the word NICE. Or at least not all of it at once.

But it's in me, tragically, to be a few of those examples of nice. F**king boring, but true.

It's the nice in me that helps people with baby strollers and heavy items down the stairs. It's the nice in me that looks out for peers so they don't get reamed by the boss. It's the nice in me that always gives up my seat to someone who looks more exhausted than I do, even though I'm really exhausted. And it's the nice in me that will always forgive, except if you're an abusive ass-hole.

Sadly, we've become a micro-tiny, interactive world where so many are not nice. Cause that would be boring. Nice is unfashionable and uncool. Though we would all like to be treated with niceness. It does make us smile, doesn't it. When someone does a nice gesture, however small: opens the door cause your hands are full with breakfast and a coffee. Holds the bus cause they see you running for it. Gives you change when you're 50 cents short.

I hope those small tokens of nice never go away.

Verdict: Guilty

You've been in this situation, many of us have. You're walking on the sidewalk and up ahead you see someone who is clearly a panhandler. Sometimes its just them alone with a cardboard sign, other times they have pets - those are harder to see during the winter months. Nonetheless, you have an option, pending how much your heart-strings are tugging.

I often give what I can. And it's not much. But sadly, what stings the ear most is what people perceive, things people have shared, "why give? they'll just use it for drugs" or "they should just get a job".

I agree. They could be using it for drugs. They could get a job. If it were so easy. Even with a roof over head, a bed to sleep in, pocket money and transit money, I've known and still know people who are looking for work. 

It's not as simple as getting a job, or getting off drugs. There are plenty of people who are employed - still unhappy, and addicted in other ways.

It's not for us to throw that gavel down, no matter how brilliant we think we are. No amount of income, Fame, Masters in Whatever or Religion can save us from being a complete Jackass. You've met them, I've met them, we've been them at some point:

The Asshole Judge.  

But we live in this hyper-crazy voyeuristic culture, suffocated by a fog of tabloid Garbage, constantly forced fed Who is Beautiful - Who is Not - What to believe - What not to say. 

I'm Dry-heave ready. 

But we're not completely at fault - kinda. We've been reared this way. From Geraldo, Oprah, Joan Rivers,  Access Hollywood, The playground (this includes work), Family Occasions (the longest hours of one's life), To our own reflection - There's always a finger pointing. Even Yahoo, the comments section - filled with bitter finger pointers.   

So. Where. When. How will it stop... Could it?

Maybe it starts with just one person. Willfully deciding not to be an asshole. To not judge. Cause it's like a killer boomerang, ready to cut you back down. Instead, swallow the jabbing words, take a breath, and make that hard (yeah, it can be so hard at times) decision to shut up, or spin it positive.

It's something I try to be mindful of, everyday. To see people as works of progress - Cause we all are. To not be so hard on myself, as well as others. To get back up, when I fall miserably. And to know We're all just Human, trying to make sense of this life.

Support vs Slander. I'll take support. Any day.  

http://youtu.be/nGt9jAkWie4

Wise words, Oh Fur Ball.

60 secs of Clarity

The day begins as it normally would.

Eyes open, deep breath in/out. Sun filtering though curtains. The window's open, birds singing - that same cardinal year after year, same tree, same branch. It's his voice I often hear, a tiny reminder that aside from all the ugly news that bombards your senses - Life is beautiful.

So I was out and about, I don't remember where specifically, what I was thinking beforehand, or what I was doing, but in a moment of clarity, I'll call it clarity, every whisper of fear, doubt and anxiousness left every pore of me. And in this sudden breath I felt an elated wave of happiness, joy and peace, knowing everything would be okay. Better than okay.

It wasn't just 60 secs. It lasted several minutes.

These moments don't come by often. There's often a tap on the shoulder, reminding you that somewhere/somehow you're not measuring up. We all know that intruding voice well. 

Such thoughts should only be a ten second gnash of the brain. Chew quickly. Spit out.

But those moments of clarity are awesome. Truly a natural high. For myself, I can only thank God for such moments, knowing that he's got my back.

And knowing he's got my back, I feel assured that this summer is going to be especially awesome. I don't know exactly why or how, and I dare not fill in the blanks. I can only remain faithful, pray and do my part, leaving the rest to him.

One thing I do know is that this summer will be filled with laughter, great memories with people I love, new relationships, a finished script, endless walks on the beach, and lots of ice cream.  

Doesn't that sound awesome already? Does to me.

I hope it's the same for you too.

Free For Now

I can't recall the last time I posted. I may have been writing about liars and my dislike of people that lie.

There's been a lot less of that lately, which is awesome.

I've been in a long state of quietness. Recluse. Writing, or more so adapting a novel I had written a few years back into a script. I'm savouring every bite of written word.

Last Sunday the weather was at its peak in fabulousness. I was at the beach with a friend, the place was crammed, boardwalk crawling with people from all walks. And as every pore on my body breathed in the dewy melding of sun, and as Goldilocks would put it "just right" temperature, I was overcome with a sense of "we're so lucky" gratitude for what we have. 

Freedom.

There wasn't a cry to be heard, unless it was from laughter or a flubbed miss of a volleyball. There was no fear, panic, or chaos of a thousand legs fleeing harm. It was perfect. It reminded me of when I was last in NYC. The Park, can't remember the name, where hundreds gathered to watch a film. From what appeared, not a doubt in personal safety. Not a brow arched in anxiety. Just life as we should know it. Safe and beautiful.

My lens isn't so much a tangible one. It's not about luxury homes, designer wardrobe, or prized wheels. For me it's a condition. That people have freedom of choice, freedom of hope, freedom of life. Even when I'm travelling early in the morning, seeing people having breakfast with their family, a companion or by themselves. I'm thankful. We can do it. It's just there, and there's never a second thought.

Across the pond life is different for many, where freedom becomes a hostile word. Will it One Day strike us? Slither across oceans, ponds and lakes - mask itself in something or someone else and take? It takes just one rotten apple to spoil the basket. I guess we just have to stay awake, not sleep, not follow, not stay mute, not accept.

I hope we never lose it.

Never Cry...Liar.

I dislike liars. I don't like catching lies either. It's an awkward feeling, isn't it...when you know someone is lying. All you can do is half-smile, cringe when no one is watching, and file that incident in the back of your brain.

Catching someone in a lie never goes away. Like a scar it's there forever. Time may help it fade, but the lie will always be there, on the shelf, waiting to be picked up again.

There are big lies, medium lies, and tiny white lies. But it's still all wrong, and a pain in the ass to keep track of. It's like holding onto a child's hand in a very busy supermarket.
Let go, and in time it's bound to pitch a scream and become the center of attention.

I often wonder why lying is so easy to some people. Like having milk with cereal. It just slips off and on the tongue effortlessly. How can you sleep deep with all that baggage?

I guess I'm bringing this up because I've recently been surrounded by many liars. My ears burn when listening to their piercing words. The lies aren't so much against me, but it's just being in the presence of a lie. I feel like an unwilling accomplice, and sometimes these liars expect you to lie for them - keep the lie alive to save face, save a reputation, to save money.

But I suck at lying. So never ask.

See, from the time I was a wee one, living free, skipping and jumping in puddles. Staring for hours at the clouds, afraid to look down the street, convinced that the woman at the end of the block was a witch, and that my neighbours dog, my bodyguard, which he was, would save me if she ever tired to grab me, which hasn't happened yet - Yes, a fabricated lie, well, the witch part. I shared this story with many people. I never knew it was a lie. Never knew it was bad. But what do you know at 6. A lot and nothing at the same time. Pretty much like now. 

But I think I did lie. A lot. I was left alone a lot. Left to wander, discover. Free to speak to anyone. Strangers were never "strangers" to me. I was a lucky kid. But I did lie. I often recall people saying to me, "Annie, it's not good to lie like that!".

I have no clue what I was saying. Maybe storytelling? It came naturally to me. Than again, perhaps, this is how writers begin. But that soon came to a stop. The lying part. 

See, from the time I was a child, the one story that made a clear impact on my life, even till this day is: 

Never Cry Wolf.

A timeless tale about lies, laughs, truth and a satisfied stomach.

And I do retreat, mindfully walking away from those who lie habitually. Cause the last thing I want to do is call you out. And I will. As we all have the right to.

Mind Ur Business. Nope. Not here.

Bus platform reamed and getting fuller by the second. Breathing out, trails of human exhaust circle and float. I got there just seconds ago, relieved to be going home. Looking around, the face of exhaustion was evident. Whether from a long day of work, school or just plain life - people itching to get to wherever.

Not many enjoy waiting like cattle for a bus.

Now there's a natural order to things. Even seasons understand that Spring crawls before Summer and that Autumn skips before Winter's march. It's awesome that one doesn't have to think so hard when it comes to this. But then there a few exceptions. People born of privilege, fed with Wonder Woman's silver spoon, is how I'll affectionately word it.

So, this woman steps on the platform. She saunters with a cat-like step easing to the front of the pack. This, this is forgivable, we've all seen people like this. But she does stand out in this way. Unseasonably underdressed, wearing a faux fur head piece, yellow tinted aviators, slim velvet tracksuit, well-painted nails, holding a half-eaten take-away of Popeyes chicken.

Side note: I'm auto-observant. Been that way since birth, and it's bled into my every-waking life. I think the writer in me fuels this all the more. The bad side of this is that I'll intentionally/unintentionally stare at people and things for a length of time: I'm so creepy.

So the bus arrives and we all board. Queen Faux Fur gets on first, she's first in line. The bus gets packed, sardine-like, fast. And as we nudge through rush hour, within a few minutes an argument of some sort wafts from the end of the bus to the front. The voices  getting louder and angrier as seconds pass.

Of course everyone tilts their head, ready for anything. This is Scarborough, the East end, the Ghettoie side of the tracks. A place where Hipsters fear to tread. 

And as the voices get louder, more voices step in. Words begin to slice. It doesn't sound good.

The entire bus is involved at this point.

"You're a very rude woman!"

"Both those seats don't belong to you."

"You and your accent, go back to your country!"

"Oh, you want this seat? You want this seat! You ain't having it!"

"You're an ugly woman, fucking ugly!"

"Look at your ugly hat and cheap sunglasses. Yeah, go home and finish your chicken."

"Here, here's a quarter," someone tosses a quarter her way. " That's what your worth. Here, here's another quarter. Go buy an outfit."

"Go home to your lonely apartment. Who would ever want to be with someone ugly like you. Who would call you?"

There was more. Much more ugly that followed.

Getting off the bus, I got the backstory. The back-end bus story to tie it all together.

Queen Faux Fur apparently didn't want anyone sitting next to her, and when asked to move over, she poured her cola onto the empty seat, thus - no one's sittin' here. Thus the bus erupts.

What surprised me was that all the people throwing words with QueenFF were men, all coming to defend a woman who just wanted to sit down.

Lesson learned, I hope, for Queen Faux Fur. Unlike downtown, this is Scarborough. If you act loud and proud like that, you're not only treating one person that way, you might as well be speaking to me. And if you're acting that ugly, you'll get double ugly in return.

Apparently QueenFF shed a few tears from the crushing backlash. Maybe she thought her beauty would allow such rudeness to pass. Maybe she's gotten away with it in the past. But not that day and definitely not here.

Between the Lines

Even within the darkest of dark we're still allowed some vision. It might not be clear as day where a tree is a tree or a fish a fish. But given a few passing minutes the fish will soon begin to stink.

Update: I haven't been on in a long while. My schedule has been jammed for the past 2 months. Days off I'm buried beneath the bed sheets, watching 5 films, thinking of the week past and the week ahead between flicks. This is how I mellow out. Laundry put off till the next week.

No apologies.


Today was an interesting day.

Sometimes we come into contact with certain people, and for whatever reason, I'll call it GOD, allows certain paths to cross. Whatever the outcome, what matters most is our condition - the heart condition. When something/someone makes you feel nervous, and not in a good way, you have to take a moment and step back. This moment is to think.

You can brush it off. Sure, I've done it in the past. Like water off a ducks back. But today, this person, this feeling and the lead up to what may unfold...Yeah, not so easy to brush off.

See, you can never hide lust (sorry fellas). The eyes are the window to the inner soul - freakin' true. A person's intension, no matter how well hidden, is revealed in a simple glance. A glance that can spark mutual interest, excitement or just plain unease.

This was unease.

More than money and power, the greatest wealth one can hope for is wisdom and discernment. With wisdom, you seldom makes mistakes. With discernment, you seldom become a lapdog.

And this so called "Alpha Dog"... Dude, I'm not that easily bought. I can read between the lines, no matter how fuzzy you make them, or don't make them. But being in my place of work, in which you wandered in, where sensitive ears stood footsteps away - it's not the right time and place to put you straight.

side note: Sometimes biting your lip to stay quiet is the hardest thing ever. Grace before bitching someone out. Grace wins most times. Thank God for grace.

....You (him, he, for me) still feel a million miles away. 

She patiently waits...

Blah, Blah. Purple hair.

It's cold. The mean kind of cold. The kind that eats at your bones. The kind where your nostrils stick together after 10 seconds. The kind where you long for steamy summer days.

It's been damn blah. The weather, dreary and worn. People are sick, attacked with the flu which they spread to others. Stay at home and work it out. Don't cough all over the TTC door handle and spread the love.

I blame Autumn. Such a lazy Fall, since it rolled over and ditched 2013, ushering in the  bite of this Polar Vortex. I hope Spring elbows its way in, cutting into March. A Spring that melts your cares away.

These days my bones are aching. Brain on massive overload, near fried. There's nothing to do but make it work. Work till something more "Me" comes along.

But I'm trying to stay positive. Can you tell from the mini-rant above.

Tried colouring my hair purple. Like, Katy Perry purple, but it's more Goth black purple, which is better I think. More me. I colour my hair when I'm happy, so I'm not totally lost in the woods. Just resting.

February will give me some more open time. Time to write. Meet up with a new friend, who I still have to call and set a date.

side note: Don't dwell. Just let it go.