So I haven't done this in a while. That's no real surprise. I've been a flake when it comes to composing entries on AMM. Truly I'm only living up to the title.

 Every now and again when I stop and take a look back at this site I always find myself surprised that  it still exists. With so few posts and such little traffic, it's hard to imagine why it still persists. Especially considering I don't pay for the webspace, or the URL. Granted, it's not much to look at and there's not much to read, but part of me is proud to know that this little blog exists somewhere. Everyone and their best friend's uncles puppy has a blog of their own so I can't quite explain the pride... I suppose it's just that I made something and put it out into the world.

 From time to time I add a little to it before I forget about it once again. I like that it's limping on without me, and apparently it occasionally garners a hit or two
 (Note: This is not self deprecation, it literally only gets the odd hit or two).

I've recently found myself a single man once again, after repeatedly trying after Everest. That mountain does truly seem insurmountable. But this time around I found a sense of peace with it that I hadn't before. There are no delusions that it is any greater. Those have been put to bed. There is a contentment with knowing that try as you might, it's not what you hoped it might be. I feel that I put in the effort that I could, made what adjustments I could, and it didn't take off. Knowing that I did those things stops me from labeling the experience a failure. It was a search for the truth, what really WOULD happen if we gave it our all? I found the truth. There's comfort in that.

So now what? What the hell am I doing on a Blogspot/Blogger site? What am I writing about?

Well I suppose it's a rebuild phase. Re-define, Re-explore, Refine and Replenish. I feel like I'm searching again, in a state where I can explore all the available avenues and delve into hobbies with manic ambition without fear of letting anyone down, or shutting anyone out.

Part of me is freaking out. I'll be honest, it's a pretty large part. It's clamoring to find someone, to repeat old cycles. To go back to the normal, the comfortable and the easy. I won't make any grand statements about changing my life, that's not my intention. I just want to pause and take things in, to consider what it is I'm after, and then to go for that. Whatever that thing, hobby, person, or action may be.

As always Faithful Few, I thank you for reading. I know this message may fall upon deaf ears and I accept it. This was for me, if you're reading it then I suppose you can share in my self reflection.

-The Absent Minded Man

It's Not News

So it's been a dogs age since I've done anything in the way of updates. I had to fight with blogspot a little just to get my account back up and running (password related issues) but thankfully that's been solved.

I'm not really sure what to say at this point, other than I believe I'll be posting more and hopefully on a somewhat regular basis. I doubt I have readers but I don't particularly care all that much. This space is more of a dumping ground for my brain slush. All those random thoughts and day dreams that slosh around in my head, awash with bits of song lyrics and what not.

I've been doing a little painting. Completed a few small pieces as gifts in the last few months as well as stripped and hand painted a simple longboard. It feels good to be "creating" again and I have a small stack of canvas' waiting to be used. I haven't been doing much in the way of creative writing but I have been doing some interesting reading. Having just finished Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, I've now started in on Ulysses.

Ulysses scares the shit out of me.

That gets its own line.

There's so many editions and despite their claims, none are a "definitive text" as the original manuscript never really existed. Joyce would 'complete' the manuscript, send it off for possible publication, and continue to tinker with it afterwords. He would later send off these newer versions to other potential publishers and so on. As a result, even picking up a copy that I was happy with seemed daunting. I have the Penguin student edition, and it's a fucking bible in length. I'm excited to read it, but scared to start and not finish.

My girlfriend (the 'new' one) pointed out that I'm often scared to just DO things, despite things usually turning out pretty well for me. She said she thought it was because I got hung up on the possibility of failure, and that this inhibited me from even starting things that I wanted to do. She has a point with this, it's somewhat inarguable logic. I get fearful of failure and never begin. Thereby automatically failing. It's a somewhat sobering and depressing notion.

I didn't always used to feel this way, and I have no MAJOR instances in my life where I have failed, so I'm not sure where the insecurity spawns from. But I suppose knowing it about myself, I can try and combat it with hopefully greater ease and success.

Not much more to say for now. I think that I'm going to dig up some of my writing experiments and tinker with them a little, or perhaps just move onto something new. My last semester at school taught me that I can do some pretty damn good writing when inclined to try. I took a beating in late penalties, but the papers themselves were decent, and most of them written either the night or the day before handing them in.

Hopefully my next update will include something creative for reader consumption.

If the traditional sign off still holds any water, I'm not quite sure. But for posterity sake...

Thank you, Faithful Few.
Wouldn't be here without you.

Tales From a Crypt in The West.

Alright alright, I said I'd do it eventually.

Here's a introduction/snippet of a short story I started a while back. I gave it a once over and rewrote a few things and I'm interested in getting some feed back. If you like it, I'll add more. But for now, here's (something close to) the first five pages.

Daryl was on his third whiskey when Casey walked in. He looked up wearily from the table, pulling himself from some darker thoughts to acknowledge his son. Daryl held a half full glass of whiskey in his liver spotted left hand. The glass had a spindly crack running down it's side, and was razor sharp where that crack became a chip on the rim. It was Daryl’s favorite. He thought it mirrored his tormented life. He may be battered but he wasn’t entirely broken, cracked yet mostly whole.
Casey tipped his hat back far on his head, feeling the dust and the grit on it's brim as he pushed his way into the crowded saloon. There was his father, holding onto his weathered whiskey glass. Casey would like to believe it represents strength in the old man, but in his heart he knew otherwise. Daryl clung to that old glass and his nightly drinks as if his life depended on it. Damaged goods, that’s what the piece of shit cracked glass said flatly. Just an old drunk, broken by the years. Damaged goods.
“I thought Bank said he was going to toss that stupid glass.” Casey said pointing. “Didn’t Jim cut his fucking lip open on it just last week?”
Daryl just nodded and Casey sat, sighing. There was almost no point, Casey thought. Damn old man doesn’t want to hear it.
And it was true, Bankey had almost smashed the glass himself after Jim Stokes had stumbled out of the saloon screaming, whiskey searing his bloody slit upper lip. It had been knocked off the bar in some fight or another and Bankey had forgotten to get rid of it. Daryl took a liking to it that day as Jimmy Stoked shrieked and stubled out of the saloon. He shot Bankey a look from his seat at the bar, grunted and extended his hand towards the glass that lay on it's side, blood still on the rim. Reluctantly Bankey handed it over.
So for the last week or so it had been Daryl's, who would roll it back and forth between his palms after he'd finished every drink. Sipping the last of the whiskey, he'd start to roll it back and forth between his large calloused hands, slowly for a minute or two. It was almost as if he were trying to mend the cracked glass, or maybe just wishing the whiskey hadn't run dry. It was a wish that Bankey fulfilled all too frequently. Once Ol' Daryl started rolling that glass it was time for a refill. Maybe that's why he did it, just to let Bankey know he'd run out.
Bankey’s father had willed him the bar when he died. The will was short and consisted of a note that read;

-Don’t piss off the regulars, or ya won’t have none. Bar’s all we got son, don’t fuck it up

Carl

Bankey had taken that advice to heart. Keep the regulars happy, keep um drunk. His own personal motto. It had served him just fine since he got the bar from his dad five years back. So Bankey let Daryl keep the cracked glass. Made the man happy, and in return Daryl drank like it was his day job.
Tonight is gonna be rough, thought Casey. Bastard is already three sheets to the wind, and it’s not even dinner. What the hell are you doing to yourself, don’t you have enough on your plate without climbing into the bottom of every bottle you find? How long has it been since you been a father, or a respectable man with a job to do? A man with a place in the world he needed to be in the morning? How long since you’ve had a reason to come home sober, instead of a sniveling mess?
It seemed like Bankey and Daryl’s drinking buddy George had been carrying him home every night for a month now. But Bankey had his hands full tonight with a bustling saloon and George was no where to be seen. Enough was enough, a line had to be drawn and Casey had come here to draw it. He had hoped to speak with his father before he’d had much to drink. From the glassy look in his fathers eyes, it seemed Casey had already missed that particular window of opportunity.
“Guess I'm too late” Said Casey, thinking aloud.
“What was that?” Daryl said looking up from his drink.
“Nothing dad, just talking to myself. How long have you been here?”
Daryl grunted again. He could feel his body buzzing, thrumming along to his heartbeat. He was riding a good buzz at this point. It was almost enough to block out some of the pain and regret he'd been feeling. Almost. Though it was never enough, So Daryl drank until he was standing up falling down drunk, and even then he couldn’t block out the noises in his head. The crackle of fire, the screaming...flames seemed to crawl into the corner of his vision as the light hit the amber whiskey. He downed the last of the glass and looked at Casey, bleary eyed and red in the face.
As Casey took a moment to steel himself before speaking, he was caught off guard by a flashback to his childhood. He saw himself suddenly much younger, six or seven at the oldest, standing in the shallow end of lake Jakob. Stripped down to just his skivvies. His friends were splashing around a little further out in the water, calling to him. It was March and the water was still a bitter harsh cold. Casey with his thin wiry frame was already trembling. He tried moving his toes in the mud but felt nothing. They had already gone numb. He felt betrayed by his body, couldn’t stop his arms and legs from shaking, his teeth from chattering. He must have stood that way for five minutes or so before he could stand the cat calls of his friends no longer. Cupping his nuts in his hands he ran the rest of the way out into the water. Screaming at the top of his lungs as he went, every hair standing on end.
The hair on his arms rose now, and he shivered as he began.
“You have to stop this dad, you have to come home.”
Daryl sat motionless, taking in his son through bloodshot eyes.
“You can’t keep coming into the bar and drinking yourself into oblivion.” He continued before adding “I wont let you.”
“The hell you wont. It’s my life and I’ll be damned if you’re going to tell me how to live it.” Daryl leaned to his left and spat.
Bankey looked up disapprovingly from behind the bar where we had been polishing glasses, but went back to it without saying a word.


So there you have it! Something small to try. An appetizer to nibble on. If you're still hungry and like what you've read than I'll continue to tack onto this little tale. It has some direction, but I'm not sure how long I will run with it.

It's now or never Faithful Few. Time to speak up and tell me what you think. Honesty is the best policy, if you don't like it then I would love to know why. I might not take every suggestion, but I'll likely take some, and I'd certainly appreciate it if you'd write them.

So cheers for now. I hope to hear from you Faithful Few

-Chase

Proximity

I think it hinges on the environment,

It's interesting, when I left school I had such aspirations for myself. To attend to all of those little creative projects that I never had time or energy to do while I was in university.

Once I got out though, it was another story. I was all work, all day, every day. When I wasn't at work I was busy running all over the city spending time with people. While none of this has changed, it's only now that I've returned to school that I feel the creative energies flowing again.

Absent Minded Man is a prime example of this. I hadn't touched this writing space in ages, but being on campus and in lectures...sitting through tutorials and films...

Well, here I am. It's gotta mean something.

Proximity to an environment that dictates that you think, that you write, and you consider and appreciate. It's a nice feeling to want to work on my own creative en-devours enough that I actually follow through.

I'm taking a serious interest in re-reading the old narratives I was working on last year. There were directional issues for sure. I know how heavily influenced I am by the work of whichever author I'm currently reading too. I see it when I look back at what I've written in the past.

What does everyone always say? Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

But to appreciate the work of another, and to go the distance and create something new...well those are much different things.

So while I'm considering revising old pieces there is also the chance that I simply start a new narrative. Tell a new story.

I have some ideas, some characters I've cooked up. Not sure what I can do to bring them to the page. I'm scared that I'm wasting perfectly good characters before I know what the hell I'm doing. Don't want to try and breath life into them and fall flat on my face, only to hang my head and walk away.

I mentioned a long time ago that perhaps I'd post some of my other work. I think that if the revision process goes then I may be able to tie up a few loose ends and post the short stories.

Depends entirely on my satisfaction with the end product. So we'll see.

Faithful Few, who am I without you?

We're like Animals, We play pretend.

So guess who's back in the damn saddle? You're looking at him.

This blog has always been centric to my struggles surrounding school and specifically the life I lead in Toronto. There's lots that goes on in my hometown that simply never makes it online. I've been busy working my ass off (6 days a week) for the entirety of the summer, and juggling the social life I'm known for...albeit poorly.

Sadly - Skating has fallen by the wayside, parkour even more so. It's not something I took time in the day to do. I still had a tendency to vault railings, or to skate to and from a bus, but I'd be selling myself short if I thought that cut it.

Women came and went. Again. Where's that stability we all strive for? Hell if I know.

But work was getting to me, grinding on me. It's okay, I had some bills to pay and I pushed through it, payed off all the school debt and what not.

One day the boss walked in and said "So when's your last day?", Despite the fact that we'd discussed that my attempts to get into university in British Columbia had fallen short. It seems he'd forgotten. I could tell it would be a struggle for him to keep me on the schedule in any significant way. He asked me what my plans were for September, and to let him know what I was doing.

I walked into his office a moment later and told him I was done. Book me to the end of the month and I'm out of here.

I had a week off, maybe two. My grandfather passed and I went north to spend time with family. I was a pallbearer in his funeral, I miss his smile and his presence heavily.

I decided on a whim to try and get some night classes in at U of T. Phoned the school and quickly discovered there was no "night school" program. I had to enroll like everyone else, and guess what champ? The last day of enrollment is tomorrow, so move your ass.

And move my ass I did. Enrolling and getting into classes that I had absolutely no right slipping into. People had been signed up for courses for a month, how I got into them overnight...I'll never know.

Now I have a minor in film (of sorts) taking my academic life by storm. I chose not to try and get another apartment. There was too much stress and money involved with it, and in many ways I did it before to run away. I think that's the first I've admitted it to myself actually...I moved so that I could run. I had some hurt that was a little too close to home, and I couldn't stand the proximity.

That comes and goes I suppose. I have a new tool of escape. I bought a car. Just a domestic four-banger, but it gets me where I need to be. Sometimes that's just anywhere but where I am.

I'm conflicted now. I really want to get in my car and go very very far away. But I'm not sure it's healthy.

Up to my neck again...Never seems to take TOO long to get here does it?

A friend of mine said "It's only up from here"...maybe they're right. Could do.

Here's my shameless unrelated plug, the other creative endeavor that's been eating my time is called Stealth Geek Unlimited. It's a podcast I throw together with my brother and a friend, give us a listen at;
www.StealthGeekUnlimited.com

Faithful few, who the hell are you?

...and the doctor screamed "1.21 JIGGA WATTS"

Yack Yack Yack,

I want to talk about everything that's been going on. The problem being the topics at hand are incredibly all consuming and have been discussed by myself to such an extent in real life that I'm tired of thinking about them.

A couple of things briefly,

I'm not as poor as I once was. A few decent paycheques and some government tax money has lessened my overwhelming debt. I'm still talking to my lawyer in regards to the accident I had last year, so there might be some progress there as well.

I barely live at home these day. I'm so caught up in other things, on the run constantly, and I'm wearing myself down.

Death sucks, heartache sucks, work sucks... I keep thinking "I want to go home" but "Home" is some idealistic metaphoric conceptual thing...Must be, because my house isn't really where I'd like to be.

I feel like debbie downer today.

I'll live, please don't feel the need to add pitying, comforting, or supportive comments. I'm not looking for feedback today, just ranting. Letting these fingers go for a stroll and seeing what happens. It's like my head's too full to rationalize my thoughts, all of the excess just leaks and seeps out slowly until I can contain it again. Blah Blah Blah, what you thought you knew yesterday has been subverted today. Your shock at the facts that things are changing and perhaps not for the better, is a silly thing. You know things will never level out for long. You can't always be laid back, as hard as you might try. Sometimes your backs to the wall and your head hurts and every fiber of your being just screams RUN LIKE HELL.

You can't run. Don't have the guts or the money or the will power. Have to make the best of what you have.

Sometimes there's nothing you can do and it's out of your hands.

-Absent Minded Man.

Bombings

Welcome Back Faithful Few,

As always it's been too long. I get too busy living my life to write about it, or so it seems. Anyways there's some fairly big news on my end, thought I should share.

First things first, my ambitions to go out west have been squashed (though for how long I can't really say) UBC declined my application to their Creative Writing course. My GPA also bites the big one, so I didn't get my back up acceptance to their English course either.

You have to understand that I REALLY disliked the last year I spent at U of T. I was failing in spectacular fashion too, until I thought it through and realized how much it was costing me. So instead of flushing my money down the toilet I decided to buckle down and save my own ass. Which I did. So I was in good standing with U of T, but my GPA was nothing special, to be sure.

SO, it looks like the only university that will take me back is the one I so desperately fled. Somebody upstairs hates me just a little, feels like.

Anyways, if you've been following AMM, you'll have known most of this story. My thoughts are either to do another year at U of T in English so I can up my GPA and transfer out, take summer classes to do the same thing instead of an entire year, or go back but switch subjects entirely. Thoughts or advice folks? I'm as lost as you are.

In other news:

I might be joining the PodCast known as The Stealth Geek. It seems fitting for a guy like me. My brother was a founder of TSG versions 1.0 and 2.0, and this new rendition is will likely go by: The Stealth Geek Unlimited.

I'll let you know if that gets off the ground.

Back to writing for a moment. I have all this short story prep work I did for UBC that now has no outlet. Anyone care to read this stuff? I can post it in pieces, perhaps turn it into an ongoing serial. There's about 30 pages of revised NaNoWriMo work that have become one story, and another related short story that could also be of interest.

Comment and let me know if it interests you.

As many of you know, my life outside the computer often consists of a hectic social life, and a hell of a lot of skateboarding.

Recently I discovered the best outdoor concrete pool in all of Ontario. It's right beside my work and I've been skating every day on lunch. Riding vert transition and bowls/pools is new to me, but it's coming along nicely. I think I'll break out the camera/camcorder soon and shoot some footage. A Shout Out to Vincenzo Pistritto of Pipe Dream Photography for buying me an HD Camcorder. I hope to put it to use soon my friend, and I own you a pint and a few rounds of darts. I haven't forgotten.


Every here that song The Boss is Coming? Well, cue that, I gotta roll.

Thanks Faithful Few