Sunday, December 6, 2009

Creation of the temple

That last blog really took the cake didn’t it? It was the first piece of feedback so I suppose it’s par for the course.

The actually important stuff is the temple I built in my room. I do believe that two days ago I went into some detail about the construction, operation and development of my new space and rituals. I didn’t wake up at any particular time either day, but each day, as soon as I woke, I went to the bathroom, washed my genitals and pits, ate an apple, lit a candle, meditated in front of a mirror, did some yoga, then break danced for around 45 minutes. Today I did in both directions, ten six-steps, coffee grinders and air-swipes. I was exhausted at the end of it, but I felt great. I was muttering to my self, “what a great way to start the day”.

The point of it is, I did it. I proposed two days ago that I was to undergo a self imposed spiritual growth and it happened in front of me. One cool thing is that while talking to a pretty girl about playing the banjo, I instinctually offered up my now clean temple to jam in. I had been rationalizing that the mess was okay because I wouldn't be doing anything with the space anyway. Now that it’s clean, so is my mind for new opportunities. An even cooler thing, is that after I proposed we jam at my place, I then found out that this certain friend of mine, whom I’ve known for about a year, has been inspired and directed by spiritual midwifery for the last five years. She’s help diliver around 17 babies and has traveled to Ghana to work in a nursery. It was a lovely conversation and I look forward to jamming with Gillian. That’d be a cool band name or a for a folk TV show, Jamming with Gillian.

Speaking of Band names, I’m thinking I’ll call the band Maxim and the automatics. I think Maxim et les automatiques might have a better ring. Tell me what you think, maybe I’ll post this in face book so more people take a gander.

Another effect of the construction of my personal temple is the continued references I keep dropping to Hip Hop spirituality. By break dancing and listening to hip hop every morning, when people ask me how I’m doing, I’ll suddenly decry the marvels of positive, traditional hip hop. It became a tool of truth when I found myself in an unsavory position. A girl online told me that I made her smile, so I took the liberty of prattling off the standup jokes I’m in the process of writing. I wrote a satirical joke about attempting to reverse the effects of racism by going out and complimenting the color of black people’s skin. The joke is in poor taste in order to shock and is supposed to sound racist.This is because racists generally don’t know/think they are racist. She said that this kind of communication was unacceptable and chose to cease the correspondence. I bore my soul and the supporting columns of black culture that lay within. I spoke about my ritual and offered my apology. She seemed like a fascinating creature and I hope we can resolve the differences.

I haven’t mentioned the fact that I spend countless hours on a web site called “plenty of fish”, I think it’s a cleaver name, it’s a free dating site and I’ve hooked up with some very cool people on it. Chelsea and I found each other on that site and we went out for three months. I’ve also talked to a lonely house wife, not looking for anything on the side, and an aspiring musician mother of three, interested in performing at my open mike. It’s an insight to the general population and the general result is pretty bleak. I spend hours sifting through countless profiles which state they are “laid back” and “love hanging out with their friends”. My real-life friend Danny suggested they want to present themselves as social creatures, who are comfortable with groups. This is an entirely valid point, but there’s a certain lack of individuality in the way these people express themselves. Either way, it’s become like an addiction to sifting for gold in a creek with a decent reputation. I like that the “matches” are constantly changed in the order of when they came online. The result is a furthering of the new voyeurism which has sprung up with Myspace and Facebook. Spending countless hours sifting over the details, especially pictures, of someone else life. When you do find that occasional gold nugget, it’s extra special. I hadn’t stumbled onto Chelsea’s profile once before she messaged me. And we’d both been in ottawa, using the system for about six months.

I check out the profile of a girl with really pretty eyes, she posted a pancake recipe. She looked pretty nutty and I hope I get to meet her one day.

I didn’t mess around on the internet today as much as I did yesterday. Yesterday I surfed aimlessly for hours and eventually recorded and broadcasted a video of me covering “chocolate Jesus” on the banjo. I attribute it to the temple, once again. I was supposed to play a concert with a guy named Billy Boone. It was going to be in drum and bass style. I was looking forward to collaborating and expanding my playing into new directions. Unfortunately circumstances thwarted that endeavor, but dance music will remain a focus of mine. Eventually I went out to see John Aaron Cockburn, who just got back from a 6 week tour of eastern Europe. I asked him about any musical technics he picked up on the road. His response was a zen one. He spoke about absorbing the energy of his environments and re-circulating them though is actions. All and all I’d say it sounded like an incredible trip. He’s experienced the thick of traditional Romanian culture. He wrote a travel journal, hopefully he’ll publish it one day. Apparently Matt Smith has a travel journal of his trip to Spain, perhaps our journals will make it into the new zine.

We hung out for a bit and my friend said a certain girl we know had repeated a certain erotic proposition involving him and I. I was reluctant and first, I think I’m a lot more conservative then most people think. A few minutes later, I was coveting a certain knit jacket that Andre had worn that night. I asked him what he wanted for it, he said engage the proposition and it would be mine. It’s a beautiful jacket and I’m looking forward to wearing it more often. The proposition reminded me of an expansion I’d made on in the last time I’d hear it.

That expansion is the creation of a Christian Morality free zone. A time once a month or week, when people get together and explore sexuality and creativeness in a safe and peaceful environment. I envision a routine haven where respectful individuals are at peace to acknowledge the universal desire to be touched and appreciated by others. I think my financial situation is will soon be more lucrative and I’d love to provide a space that facilitates and encourages such behavior. The job is another cool thing that I chock up to my new temple. I’ll be teaching guitar and piano to kids in “at risk” neighborhoods. Some powerful and connected people are responsible for financing this project and I’m hoping it might offer a spring board into my goal of summer festivals. I got this news from my long time guitar teacher and mentor, Kurt Walther.

Here are some notes I wrote while talking to two cool dudes at Zack’s diner.
An Ottawa cultural blog.

the zietgiest roll spirit.

Vacation as valhalla.

Not always hustling. I’m doing the hustle cause I’m break dancing.

Check out core yoga. Centrality and neutrality through exertion. Power yoga.

I’ve been loafing at this diner for ages.

I’ve been inspired to write about the cultural story of Ottawa.

I’m sitting at Zacks diner and the place is buzzing at three thirty AM on a Sunday morning. Some 18 year olds are extolling the fight they got into earlier. like lions celebrating a prey. “I hear you guys cheering me on and shit. You were like, ‘your a bitch, your a bitch.” It makes me want to pick fights. Accidentally bump into people, profusely apologize and play weak, then strike the temple! Only for the purpose of good though.

I’m starting to hit that stride of raw energy that claws at me in the early morning. Here at the restaurant, I’ve been trolling my cell for numbers of girls who own warm beds I might crawl into. I’m not on the internet, so my POF resources are limited. All I can do now is to read back over the many profile pictures and descriptions I’ve saved on my hard-drive, just kidding.

Barry asked me what I saw when I looked at the scene in front of me. I see stagnancy. This diner is little more then a late night junior country-club. I dig the fifties nostalgia, but this venue feels too much like a haven, the food is expensive, the clothes are well tailored and everyone is almost exactly the same age. This is a place where we spend money freely and the servers are rewarded if they present a positive attitude while walking endlessly back and forth across the room. The tall blond girl has been working here for years. I’ve never talked to her, but I’ve always speculated on the details of the rest of her life. She’s beautiful but a bit self-conscious in a conservative. The image that come to mind are Christianity, university, suburbs, maybe ridding horses, some kind of intellectually honorable pursuit, like becoming a veterinarian. But the longevity of her tenure and slow but steady evolution of fashion makes me think she’s a bit of a home body worker type. Upon investigation, my first theory was fairly correct. She’s a political science graduate, plus she’s dating the “sexy bartender”. There’s a certain new swagger in her step. That’s what getting laid does. She thinks it’s weird that people recognize her outside of this restaurant. I mentioned that she’s become a caricature, the tall blond who works at Zack’s. “With the big boobs” added my friend Beata. Britney made a fun gesture at this point. Good times.

A funny lepraconesk man was being uber sarcastic about the fun of selling drugs at work.

I’ve got no prescribed missions tomorrow. The one element that hasn’t been present in my most recent spiritual growth the doing of homework. On the plus side, I’ve written more then usual. The trick is to engage writing into my daily routine, now it’s more sporadic. I can start with my dreams; writing down my first thoughts in the morning. My hope is that my life will simply get so productive that homework will get done on itself. It’s a long shot, but I think it will work. Thinking positively about it when doing yoga might be a good thing. Training the mind to be propelled in certain directions while engaged in physical exertion. Unorthodox, but I feel it’s valid. I think my rejection of homework lies in fear. Fear of exerting myself to further a goal which I’ve always knew was dubious and a generally a divisive institution which serves to maintain the status quo. I’ve always known this and my reaction has always me and those around me, anxiety. My dance with the devil is almost up and it’s going to end in one of three ways. Last minute scramble, fail the classes, repeated eventually or never. Go on with life 2. Most likely scenario, eleventh hour coffee induced scramble, pass the classes. 3. Preemptive attack. Pass the classes strongly. The last one would bring most piece to the world. I think it might be possible. If I’m writing two to four pages a day of blog, I should be able to squeeze out a few ten page essays. My dad is getting really nervous about my school. My mom said they’ve not discussed a number of issues with me. I think dealing with me is trying. All I can do is keep on keeping one.

On a positive note, this will mark the first time since the beginning of my blog that I’ve published submissions two days in a row.



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