An Old Friend

Crime of Life, April 10, 2001 at 08h18

An old friend saved my life the other day.

I was driving on the highway the other night listening to Eric Clapton Unplugged, playing Tears In Heaven over and over as I pictured myself playing it in front of a large crowd. I do that occasionally. The song started to make me think of some things I’d never thought of before. In particular, I got the feeling that I was alive on this Earth for a reason, but I haven’t been called on to fulfill that reason yet. I also got the feeling that I was essentially being kept alive until I was needed. I felt that God was moving dangers out of my way as I introduce them into my own environment.

Then I thought, am I pushing my luck?

I mean, there’s only so much that God can save me from before he gives up. God could one day decide that he’s had enough with trying to save my life, and he could find others who could take over my duties. There are things in my life that I know I shouldn’t do. For example, speeding at night isn’t safe, even if it does save me three minutes of driving time. So I slowed down.

And a deer ran in front of my car.

I am absolutely certain that if I hadn’t slowed down, I would have hit that deer. I might have died.

The Rules

My Regular Mind, March 6, 2001 at 04h35

Follow the rules.

Don’t be a rebel. Don’t think for yourself. Don’t be an entrepreneur, don’t try to market new ideas, and certainly don’t blaze new paths.

Break the rules.

Don’t break the rules – take them out for dinner. Entertain them for awhile; dance with them. Buy the rules lavish gifts and expensive jewellery. Then bring the rules home. Hit the rules over the head with a shovel. Bury the rules in your backyard.


Crime of Life, March 4, 2001 at 05h30

Some lessons I learned last night.

With age comes wisdom, with adversity comes triumph, and with patience comes understanding.

Landon Cummings played a good show last night. I was there. I sat in a dirty room with many older people. Many were poor, tired, and alone. They were, for the most part, sick or otherwise unhealthy. They dressed in ragged clothing and seemed dirty. I, on the other hand, was so much better than them. I, with my fancy coat and clean clothes; I, with my clean shaven face and perfect hair; I, with my education and money. Yes, indeed, I was so much better than everyone else there.

And then, I was approached by an older gentleman. We talked. His name was Keith. He was 59 years old. He had stories to tell, and I listened. He was in a band when he was in his twenties – he played the trumpet. He loved music and had a deep passion for it that he didn’t try to hide. He’d travelled around the world and he’d been to many places. He named countries that he’s been to that I didn’t even know existed. For two years of his life, he had even lived in my home town and helped build the road that I travelled on every single day. I could have listened to him for hours.

(With age comes wisdom.)

I walked over and met Keith’s friend Tom. Tom was also interesting to listen to. He also had great stories and also had great questions. He dropped out of University – but encouraged me not to do the same. He’d hitchhiked across the country countless times, met many different people, heard many stories. When Tom was born, his fingers had almost all been deformed. But he never let it upset him. He found other talents that he could take advantage of, and he did.

(With adversity comes triumph.)

I could have listened to them for hours.

(With patience comes understanding.)

I had judged good books by covers.

I Can Smell It On You

Crime of Life, March 2, 2001 at 12h05

I can smell it on you.

I walked to the mall today. It was warm out, it was a nice evening. I enjoyed the walk. I got into the mall, after walking through the parkade to avoid the wind (too difficult when it’s windy.) I walked into the mall, on one of the east entrances, and I saw a girl with long blonde hair. She was wearing one of those outfits that makes 14 year old girls indecent. Continued…


Crime of Life, February 28, 2001 at 06h59

I attenuate things sometimes and I don’t mean to. Sometimes there are things in my life that I completely tune out because I think it’s the only answer. And often it is and often it isn’t. Is the world a better place because of me? No. Would the world be a better place without me? No. So here I am – stuck – in the middle of life. I don’t have the power to change it, so I do what I can. I live.

Everybody try it now.


Crime of Life, February 13, 2001 at 12h44

How do you manipulate someone?

How do you pull someone’s strings until they’re so completely screwed up that they can’t even operate?

How do you build someone up so much that it makes them fall to their knees?

It’s not so much a question of “how do you” as it is “how can you.”

Bad Voodoo

Crime of Life, February 12, 2001 at 10h25

I smell some bad voodoo in the air.

I think I need to withdraw myself from the world for awhile… can I do that? If life is a game, can I just say, “Okay – I give up. Good bye.” And walk to the sidelines and become a spectator? Then, when I’m ready to come back into the game, I can just return – no questions asked? What we need in the game of life are replacements. A second string of players that we can just trade off with for when we’re tired of all that comes along with life.

Do you smell the bad voodoo seeping in through the windows of my room?

I think things happen for a reason. At least, I hope they do… otherwise there’s no point to life. I like to believe that life isn’t a long string of completely random and unrelated occurences. I need to talk with a few people… I need to talk to them tonight. I don’t like confrontation, but it has come to my attention that things must become voiced. I don’t want to lose three good friends. And I don’t want to think about who I would choose to remain friends with.

I know you can smell the voodoo now – it’s everywhere. There’s voodoo behind every single word in this entry.

I need to vent to someone. I need to sue someone. Somewhere, at some point in my life, somebody authorized voodoo doll replicas of me. Now they’re all being used. Long, sharp needles are being pushed into every part of every doll owned by everyone.