Hergest Ridge

As if the day was not full enough of moronic, hot air, brain dead Emails, one more passed into my inbox without so much as flinching under the idiot radar. Now my spambox contains more intelligent content than the inbox.

If you’re too busy to read my emails in full, fuck off and don’t waste my time. It’s not my job to redress the issue several times, while you read only the first paragraph of each Email on your Blackberry. I also don’t take kindly towards amending work order after work order, as you slowly realise that your budget is insufficient for what you originally asked for - just as I told you the case would be. You hired me to complete a job. Give me the tools required, and stay out of my damn way so I can complete it.

The audio books you’re “learning from” and are “inspiring you” are killing your remaining braincells along with any semblance of an attention span which you might still posses - my best explanation as to why you can’t get past the first of two paragraphs of an Email. Lay off the Starbucks, put down the Blackberry, loosen the tie, and for once listen to those around you.

Your inability to plug-in into reality makes you and me look like idiots at times we both need to look credible, professional, and intelligent. Don’t be stupid only so you can apologise later. Listen to what I said. Read what I wrote. And it’ll all come together.

So Gogol Bordello sold out. Wonderlust King is now the soundtrack to a Sony console racing game commercial.

Maybe the song is part of the actual game instead, and that’s how it made it into the commercial?

Either way, I suppose it’s too easy to criticise. The money from such endorsements would likely be a retirement nest egg of its own, but when art becomes annoying due to constant repetition of an excerpt, that’s just plain disappointing.

The white dove came again. (Original entry)

Now quite dirty compared to the pristine white it was the first time around - it looks like it had a rough time out there, and the groomed look is now replaced by a more frazzled one.

Someone suggested this is a run away pet, which would explain a few things. It did not stay the night and I wonder how well it can cope with the bone chilling nights of -40 that will soon sterilise all of the prairies.

The visitor of last night has made it off. The alarm rang at 6:00, but I recall little until about an hour later. I must have checked after the alarm to see if it flew off, but do not remember.

Not sure if injured and awaiting its last breath in relative peace, the white dove perched up in the corner of the wall on the balcony startled me last night as I went outside. Only its head turned towards me, dark round eyes observing, it felt no need to clear out in my presence. Over the next hour as I cooked the day’s last meal on the grill, I came in and out several times but it only turned its head, never moving its feet or wings.

In a bottle cap I put out some water, my hand a chicken’s pace away from the visitor. It adjusted itself, and observed without much fanfare. In the end it did not accept the offering, for the cap is still filled to the brim.

The burlesque side of my human nature sought a greater meaning to the event. Or, was it a kind of desperation that tried to persuade my reason into a fantasy filled with omens, signs, and prophecies?

The dove now departed, unconvinced of event explanations beyond those of an animal’s need for shelter on a cool night, I’m ready for another day of work to help pave the way to a flight of my own.

The summer is slipping into something red and sexy, with a scent to match the occasion.

About five hundred words writing per day is the pace required to complete my writing project before year’s end. Perhaps a new deadline is more reasonable?

The religious pandering of politicians in election mode - here and south of the border - is making me nauseas.

“Jesus saves” is false advertising; If prayer accomplished anything, folks would be hiring others to pray for them.

Wearing your heart on the sleeve is a pathetic state; Love thy enemies like you love thyself a pathetic mantra.

(”Hi Honey, this is Jim. Jim tries to run me over with his car every time he pulls out of the driveway, but I love him as much as I love you and myself.” Well, aren’t we all just fucking special?)

I had nothing to say, but wrote anyway. And now I’m done.