I am reading James Joyce and his fabulous stream of conciousness and I am reading Marshall Mcluhan and Mcluhan was a fan of Joyce which is interesting in that Mcluhan is writing about awareness and conciousness and James is demonstrating in writing how we think and in efforts to be a writer and I am thinking it would almost be unconcious to be aware of these 2 and not beg, borrow, steal here. No??

The ideas all went silent. All the writer’s are asleep.

The tongues are all about restraint, for the secrets we can keep.

The wise men are all now crazy. And the beggars found a home.

The sun is setting in the east and I never more will roam.

It’s all over but the crying and I’m broken up inside.

There was so much more I had to see but I’m falling with the tide.

The fights are all but over and I’m close to letting go.

The past is here and in between and love is all I know.

Every year she takes a trip; where it’s dark and forever cold. She laments about her beauty lost, and the pains of growing old.

I can’t say I know depression and for me it’s not always cheer. I stay silent when I’m smiling, my intentions aren’t always clear.

I don’t know how much I help her, I just point towards the sun. And tell her to enjoy the ride and that it’s only just begun.

She says, “How can you be certain?” I said, “Certain? I am not. ” But the alternatives are too frightening and this is all I’ve got.”

I have these memories from childhood. Down by the river, just me and the tide. Rising to me and falling to somewhere. Where are the others? What do they say? What are they like? What do they do?

It was like that on the farm… not knowing. A naive dream state where few answers were forthcoming.

I left the farm and the river to the answers, past where the tides went and now I am there… feeling contentment at having had that time of naivete.

I ventured out to my local market for a morning shop.

A man standing on Queen Street at Lansdowne is pissing into the street in full view of a streetcar. His piss is dribbling over his hands, and onto his pants and then on Queen Street.

A sign on the door of the Local Market states ‘if you are sick please do not enter.’ I enter with no other customers here.

I go home with my apples and flowers…

Life is short…

Love is worth fighting for.

Family is important until they aren’t.

Memory is faulty.

Silence and patience are virtuous.

Words can hurt. Use them carefully. You never know what inner struggles others are dealing with. If you have nothing good to say, silence is a wonderful option.

Protect yourself and treat yourself with respect. If we treated our friends the way most of us treat ourselves… we would have no friends.

Gravity works.

The sun rises and sets every 24 hours regardless what you think.

You are what you eat. Eat well and in moderation.

Don’t take yourself to seriously. No one else will.

Tell people you care about how you feel. No one can read your mind.

Matter exists in at least 3 states, solids, liquids and gas.

Money matters. You can’t pay rent or eat with good intentions.

Very few people speak truthfully. Many exaggerate. If something is to good to be true then proceed with caution.

There are 2 types of workers. Those that do a good job and Those that promote their careers.

Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.

Don’t go to sleep angry.

Shit happens. Sometimes bad things happen to good people.

Generally speaking, following the crowd is a bad idea.

It is not the lies we tell each other that are problematic. It’s the lies we tell ourselves and believe that are the problem.

Change happens. Get used to it or learn to suffer.

Learn to give without an expectation of return: or don’t give.

Fears fall into 2 categories. Rational and irrational.

Avoid the words Always and Never. They rarely happen.

I’ve been told that the sole purpose of a University education isn’t just to provide a degree, but also to provide a degree of critical thinking.

Being a High School Dropout wasn’t the plan however, I was educated with the notion that putting all your eggs into one basket wasn’t a good idea.

Hindsight being 20/20, my observations are that the critical thinking that goes into this simple notion about the eggs and the basket are missed by many.

An old friend reminded me of something yesterday…

Your parents prepare you the best that they can but in the end, the world owes us nothing, and often delivers.

Looking for something I seemed to miss.

Searching and yearning, heavenly bliss.

My child, my daughter I find all this.

The simplicity and beauty of a freshly opened orchid.

Photograph by David Carlson

Orchid by God