It's All Performance Art 4

The world is not about to end. It is not going to end any time soon. Are we threatened by climate change and environmental collapse? Yes. Is it all going to end in my lifetime, or even in yours, Gentle Reader? No. Are things going to be different? It's likely. Will there be less food to eat? Maybe. Will there be mass starvation? Probably. Rich countries are likely going to horde and monopolize food sources as things get scarcer. Will parts of the earth become uninhabitable because of heat, drought, flooding, rising sea levels and hurricanes? Yep. Are the greedy braindead in Alberta and in other big fat oil patches ever going to see the light? Nope. How are we going to survive all this? I don't know. But we will. But locally and internationally, we are going to have to learn how to coexist better. A lot better, or our future is certainly going to be in peril. Up for grabs. There could be a lot of deaths. There have always been deaths, and now that this planet is overpopulated with our our kind, we are more than ever likely to crowd the weaker and poorer out of existence. This is tragic, and it doesn't have to happen. I think more of us need to work harder at building community. Protesting is one thing, but we still have to shore up for a difficult future ahead of us, and I don't think that a lot of people are ready yet to do this. Until it's too late, and then our collective ass is really going to get kicked. No kumbaya for you, dearies. We might even tackle things in time and halt or at least slow the disaster. It ain't over yet. This is not Armageddon. The Apocalypse is not going to happen. Poor you.

It's All Performance Art 3

Everywhere we see people living in fear and anxiety. The world is going to end. One day. Could happen this morning, could occur in four and a half billion years. No one knows. And we aren't going to know till it happens. That's the way it's always been. Human civilization as we know it, the human species as we know it, could be teetering over the abyss right now because of runaway climate change. Will it all end? Well, eventually. I mean, will it end in our lifetime. Maybe, maybe not. In the meantime there are tsunami waves of emotion, fear, grief and anger sweeping the planet. But those have always been our dominant emotions. We seem to think that we are living in unique times. This has always been thought, or felt, throughout the ages, and in a way it's true. Each era, every epoch of our human existence, is unique. But not that unique. We are still all persons who fear and love, and care and hate and rage and eat and consume and create art, culture and beauty, and this has always been. There are constants that never change. Even now in this era that could well be our last kick at the can, but probably won't be. In California, more wildfires are chasing wealthy burghers from their lovely homes. That occurs now all over the earth, and it happens with alarming frequency here in Canada. Also floods, droughts and killer hurricanes. Worse, more intense and more frequent than ever. And all this, of course, can be traced to human induced climate change. And in the meantime conservative, and even not so conservative, politicians and others and especially the swine that run and work in Big Oil, are insisting that keeping their jobs and getting their lethal product to market is more important than preserving the planet for future generations of humans and the many other lifeforms that make our lives possible. None of this is funny. But I am still telling all of you that unless you learn to laugh, to find joy and happiness in the midst of your anger and tears, then you are going to destroy yourselves. We have to find the joy in life or life will turn into a gaping maw of eternal death and we will be all swallowed into it before we can rewrite our resumes. We have always lived in uncertain times. But here in the pampered west, we have lived like gods, kings and deities, and only now are we being confronted with the same lurking sense of mortality that no one else gets to escape from. So, why should we? For me life is a gift. For me, every moment is a sacred gift, and this fills me with love, which fills me with joy, and this is what sustains me and moves me forward. We still have to work and struggle against the idiots who want to destroy our planet with their short sighted greed. Maybe we could do it singing?

It's All Performance Art 2

Life is annoying. I was just barely awake before 5 this morning and already the manic elephant was stampeding across my ceiling. I have emailed management about this. But it's nothing serious, just a chronic annoyance. I have just learned that the bus drivers are about to go on strike. There is no telling what that is going to mean, because they don't always interrupt actual service, but this is worst-case, and I am able to walk almost everywhere, unlike some people. We had a four month full strike in 2001 and everyone had to walk during that time. It is hard not to take things too seriously, under the circumstances, but I still think we have to rise above this. I even wonder if I should have paid for my compass pass for next month, November, but I'm sure things will work out somehow, that the employers of the bus drivers will see the light and give them what they are asking for, and I believe their demands to be reasonable. We do get easily upset, since everything and our lives often seem to just dangle from a thread, or at a very delicate balance. Life is hard. I get it. But we don't have to let it weigh us down, even though it always does. And then there is climate change and the horrible threat that is looming over us. But we still don't know how it it's all going to look, or turn out, which makes it all the more terrifying. So, how do we cope? Is it really that bad? Could be even worse. Or it might be better, but we don't want the major polluters to get off with a pass, so of course we are going to emphasize the negative, since that is the most likely outcome. Not inevitable. But we are still going to emphasize the fear, the horror and the negative, because that is the only thing that can get enough people mobilized to actually do something to help stop climate change. Are we going to succeed? Who only knows? It could be that we have gone past that point and soon it's schnitzel for you, Tootsie! We have to rediscover joy, in our lives, in our communities, in one another. This is imperative. Yes, it is all so very sad, serious, and grave. But we have to rediscover joy and laughter. We have to reclaim humour, or then we are truly going to be lost.

It's All Performance Art 1

Don't you sometimes get tired, Gentle REader, of how seriously we all take everything? The planet is dying! The Dump is still president of the Paranoid States of America! And the spokesperson about climate change is a sixteen year old Swedish girl who has Asperger's. She is a very eloquent and moving speaker, inspiring and mobilizing millions. Not a bad achievement at all for someone so young and with a neural atypical condition. But she does have three particular limitations: Asperger's, that she is just sixteen, and that she is Swedish. All of those factors combined are going to suggest someone who simply has no capacity for humour. And this is sad, given how much we need humour, and that we are needing humour more than ever, and that is simply not the strong suit for teenagers, Swedes. or persons with Asperger's! Of course it can also be argued that we need someone like Greta to kick our asses and push us out of our complacency, and this is working. But we still mustn't forget to laugh. We must not lose our capacity for joy. Everything that could possibly go wrong on our beautiful earth is indeed going wrong, it is going to be worse, and within a generation this lovely blue planet is going to be a dark blackened cinder whirling through space. Yeah, we've been hearing this for years. The earth is still turning. Yes, climate change is a problem, a huge one, but we will get through this, despite the many greedy and self-interested douchebags in power that want to keep mining and extracting and burning fossil fuels. Could it be worse? Will things get worse? Oh, probably. Will it get better? Yes. How can I be so cavalier about it? Well, for one thing, with almost everyone else taking up the call to go green, reduce our carbon footprint and save us all from planet climate destruction, I feel assured that I have done my part and that now younger and stronger voices can do it, and can do a much better job. Does that leave me off the hook? Yeah, sort of. I've done my part, and frankly, Gentle Reader, I am getting old and I feel a little bit tired these days. I know that what we have is precious. I also know that each day, each moment of our lives, is a gift, and that our lives themselves are gifts. Knowing this fills me with joy, and when I do speak about the troubles and how we need to wake out of our selfish complacency, I have opted to do it from a place of joy and gladness and thanksgiving. I am glad that others are weeping over this, because it is the tears of the virtuous that sow the seeds for a better future. I have cried enough already. Now, I simply don't just want to be happy but to share joy with others, which will also mean at times, sharing their tears, and they can also share my joy. Not a bad exchange, eh? i

Random Musings 4

You never know what’s going on in other people’s minds or in their inner lives. We tend to treat others when we are talking to them as though they were some kind of void or empty space that exists to receive our information, and that is a very self-centred and narcissistic way of communicating with others. A conversation is always a synthesis between two persons, so, you usually aren’t going to know how you might be impacting the other person: it could be something that was said or innocently implied but taken more strongly than intended, or there could be other issues between you, and someone might be carrying a steamer trunk full of resentments and small grudges for things that have been said, done and misinterpreted over the past. It could even be your bad breath, stinky feet, or body odour or whatever scent you might be happening to wear at the time, or perhaps that individual has fallen so rapturously in love with you that your very presence makes them melt and go weak, and you are especially going to believe this if you are already a legend in your own mind. On the other hand, they might know some of your dark and dirty secrets and now they can no longer look you in the eye. They have not only seen you naked, they have seen you really really naked. You never know with other people, and in fact, we so poorly know our own selves, that even much less are we going to know others. This can especially be a problem when we are failing to communicate and we have to gently ask others if they would prefer that we rephrase what we are trying to say. Or by asking them how they feel about what was just said, or simply how they are feeling right now. Remember, you are talking to a person, not into empty space, and this person will need to be treated with respect and kindness, even if they are not going to agree with you, or if they are not going to comprehend what you are saying. And they are going to need to feel treated with respect, or you will be getting nowhere fast. People sometimes don’t seem to get it because they feel embarrassed or intimidated or judged, and this can make particularly sensitive souls want to shut down completely. Communication is a two-way street, and we never know how we are going to impact those we are talking to. Tone of voice and body language are especially important, since only ten percent of communication is verbal. A little self-evaluation and humility can go a long way here, since we never really know what is being communicated in our words, nor how we are being heard and received. It can especially be difficult if you are a kind person, and kind people are often exploited and mistreated because we are misperceived as being weak. Until we start kicking ass and oh, the cries and screams of shock, horror and disapprobation! We're not always exploited but it happens often enough. Kind and compassionate people seem often to occupy the role of scapegoat for many, which is sad, because it just shows how reluctant most people are to take responsibility for themselves and their behaviour. Kind people especially need to learn assertiveness and about setting boundaries, because honey is so very attractive to flies, and we also know what else flies land on. Things we do and say can be easily blown out of proportion. This has actually ended a few friendships, and I am trying to take more care than before. If I am on the receiving end, then to find out what was really going on with the other party and how they were feeling, because our behaviours can trigger all sorts of things in others, depending on what is going on in their lives, and the same goes with us. Right now I have a friend with whom I often have to draw boundaries, but he also smokes pot every day (he is not young, by the way, over sixty, like me) and I often feel like I am dealing with a superannuated tween (tweens tend to be maturer), There often comes the challenge to draw slack for others just as you would like them to draw slack for you. Kind of a golden rule of friendship, but there are also boundaries. How to balance.

Random Musings 3

We can only survive the surrounding darkness if we have love in our hearts, such a love that can survive the intense testing that comes with living in a world full of selfishness and treachery. This love has marked my life, and it is a costly love, one of the costliest decisions I have ever made in life, when as a young adolescent I gave my consent for that love, that eternal and divine presence of God to have full sway in my life. I knew this would be an act of supreme renunciation, and that I would never enjoy what is commonly thought of as a normal life. This isn't to say that my life at that time was anything ideal. My parents were negotiating a bitter and nasty divorce and I was still reeling from multiple abuse from all members of my family (I was the youngest, and most vulnerable), and at fourteen I was already experimenting with drugs and alcohol. My childhood was stolen from me, and I really could see nothing left for me, so I threw in my lot and surrendered my life to God. I am sixty-three now, and really, I cannot think of a time in my life when I have felt better, more well, happier, and more willing to trust others, and none of this has come easy. There have been years and years of setbacks, disappointments, and some of the cruellest betrayals that one could imagine. I have lost my entire family and survived hundreds of deaths. I have been betrayed by people I thought I could trust, sometimes treated with the cruelest rejection and exclusion. I have suffered homelessness and extreme poverty. My closest friends have turned against me. There were individuals and groups after my life, and I barely survived some really scary scenarios. Yet, throughout, I have somehow survived all this. Even though I am still poor, I have managed to remain employed in a profession where I am respected and honoured, and I am comfortable in a subsidized apartment, so that I am no longer at risk of being homeless. I have friends, and some precious new friends I am growing to trust. I can travel every year and am fluent now in a second language, Spanish. I have friends with whom I can stay and visit in Colombia and in Costa Rica. This love has carried me and has sustained me throughout some of the darkest episodes of life and now I feel like I have emerged into the light. all this began to change for me as I came to accept the gift of joy that God was waiting to give me, and then I came to see that life is indeed a gift, and that every moment of our lives is a sacred and precious gift to be cherished and honored. I believe that God can implant in us a capacity for love that will survive and will also overcome all the sewage around us, but it is going to hurt, sometimes it is going to hurt just awful, but it’s a matter of not giving up. There are too many other people depending on our overcoming this garbage that surrounds us and for this reason alone we cannot give up. We have to keep going, we have to keep holding on, even if the world as we know it seems about to end. We have in ourselves the capacity to be the seeds of renewal that will help regenerate this planet and our lives as a broken lost and wounded humanity that is still desperately trying to find their way home. And we will find our way home.

Random Musings 2

Writing this blog every day has been a discipline, sometimes a pain in the ass, but I have always tried to get something new out on these pages every day, and usually I manage. I think this is kind of an engine that helps move me forward. I also enjoy communicating. I always have. I have worried sometimes that I might be somewhere on the autism spectrum. This only came to mind when a counsellor I was seeing brought it to my attention. Her thought was that I might have been on the borderline when I was a child. I no longer believe this. I have taken a few online tests and they all place me well within the Neural Typical zone. It seems that I have a sense of humour, don't get fixated on activities or thoughts to the exclusion of others, and simply enjoy other people too much to be other than fairly ordinary. I do admire Greta Thunberg for her zeal and dedication as an activist for the environment and against climate change, and I certainly appreciate where she is coming from when she describes her Asperger's as her engine. I have heard her speak and she is one passionate and articulate sixteen-year-old who can really move and inspire people. On the other hand, I heard her interviewed on a comedy program in New York, and she was so poker face and unresponsive at the jokes and humour that were offered her, that I felt only sad and awkward for her. This is not to judge or criticize her, but for me, humour is essential. I could not live without the ability to laugh off the stress and nonsense of life, neither would I want to live a life where I cannot somehow make others smile and help them lighten their own load. I know that humour isn't everything, and that there comes a time when we have to stop laughing and start facing things that are unpleasant and frightening. But can't we have it both ways? I am not talking about humour as sarcasm, or as a nervous escapism, but the kind of humour, the laughter that comes out of the depths of joy that springs like pure reserves of living water from which any of us can draw if we will only grant ourselves permission. There will also be sorrow, there will always be sorrow and tears. And sometimes the laughter must be mingled with tears and weeping, and this cannot be avoided. But joy, as the overflow of peace and love, is a true gift, and once we accept this gift, there is so much more we can do and be. With laughter.

Random Musings 1

Perfection is death. So said singer, and Johnny's daughter, Roseanne Cash in a radio interview a month or two ago. I agree with her. I know this as an artist, because try as I might I will never perfectly capture or express exactly what I want to capture or express in any one of my paintings or drawings. I don't even think I come close. I also believe this to be the obsessive dilemma shared by all creative souls, no matter how refined, honed, polished and, well, perfected our technical skills. And sometimes, perhaps often, our technical skills even get in the way, doing more to obscure than to release the vision that torments and tantalizes us. Even in writing this blog, I never feel like I am coming close to what I want or to need to say, but in a way, that's okay, because I still will have come perhaps just a little bit closer to saying it. Much as I have little sympathy for Olympian athletes (competitiveness and ego both tend to disgust me) I can understand their absolute driving obsession with being their most perfect in their chosen sport, and the perennial frustration they must have to live with that they never seem to get it quite right, not even after pulling all the gold medals that can be produced and minted. There is always lurking underneath the pride of accomplishment and the intoxicating drug of victory that nagging shadowy fear and doubt that they never quite got it, they never quite lived up to their potential. That they are never really going to get there. This is also shameless and unabated ableism, by the way. When you are living with a disability, your level and expectations of perfection become something rather different. I have also come to know this from the many people I work with who are living with a mental illness. While a completely able individual might think nothing about getting the groceries done and the meals planned for the week, for someone living with depression, anxiety, psychosis and mood disorders, simply getting to the grocery store to buy a bunch of bananas is going to be an achievement. Throw in a container of milk and they are just rockin'. Or simply getting the dishes washed, dried and put away on the same day that you dirtied them. Even just getting the dishes washe. Of course, self-improvement is a good thing. We are never a finished or complete work, and so we always have to be setting new goals for ourselves. But I don't think the perfection lies in the achievement, since that is always going to be elusive, but in the effort, in the journey. I feel that at this time in my life, as unfinished and imperfect as I am, at sixty-three, I can not think of a time in my life when I have found the ride itself so enjoyable. I will never reach my goal in drawing and painting as I only wish that I could. I will keep trying, but for one simple reason. The ride, the journey, the route that I am taking is awesome. I would not have it any other way.

Influence 7

We are all influencers. This morning I have been listening to CBC Radio One, and I am being influenced by everything that is being said, from the radio host, Stephen Quinn's, sick, but compelling humour, to the relentless harping on the recent election results, to the interview with the good doctor who is trying to promote using (creepy) smart phone technology to remind us to take our medications and keep our vital statistics flowing into the doctor's office twenty-four/seven. This doesn't mean that I am going to accept or agree or approve of everything I hear (I seldom do), but I am being influenced, nonetheless, and if I ever catch myself sounding, or making snarky remarks in the style of Stephen Quinn, then it will be time to shut off the radio and go live in a cave for a while. And when I leave my apartment I will also be influenced by every casual contact and view of every stranger I pass or encounter. And I will also be influencing them. Influence is a constant that surrounds and ebbs and flows around us. This is why I say hi to random strangers on the sidewalk. I am influencing them. And they are influencing me. We are all ingredients in the same soup, and it doesn't simply surround us, because we are the soup. Already knowing that I am going to be influenced, subtly and unconsciously, by all that I see, hear and am present to, I am also going to process and digest these random influences and become myself a vector of influence wherever I happen to be today. And so will you, Gentle Reader, every single one of you, if you don't happen to be living under a rock, that is. This isn't going to necessarily create a lot of kumbaya moments, though that is also bound to happen, since we often see others, and they often see or hear us, at our worst. Road Rage, anybody? Sidewalk Rage? Transit Rage?. When I holler and swear at some idiot on a violent right hand turn who has almost sent me to my eternal reward, someone else will have heard or seen me, and chances are, they are not going to sympathize with me that much for getting almost killed by a reckless driver, but they are instead going to silently judge me for raising my voice and using bad language in public. And if the driver is hermetically sealed inside his (they are usually males) death machine on wheels, then what are the chances that they have heard me, or seen me, or even would know or care that I exist? But this often happens with people when they drive vehicles. They insulate themselves all the more from others, and live under the illusion that they are somehow apart from the common mob. I think this is one of the more insidious features of car ownership that has always repelled me from the idea of driving. I have often mentioned to others, that riding on public transit teaches people to coexist, and this is a skill we are lacking, and badly need to learn, especially as we are heading into such uncertain and perilous times that we are eventually going to need one another more than ever. It's coming, Gentle Reader. Now get out of your car and live.

Influence 6

So, Canada has just elected a new government. The results are not at all surprising and, as always, disappointing. As I just commented on the phone to the CBC early morning program, the Early Edition, most Canadians are too afraid of change to want to elect a party and a leader that will actually be good for this country, so, instead, we are again stuck between reptiles, in this case Junior with a minority Liberal government and that deplorable little reptile, Andrew Scheer holding the balance of power as the leader of the Conservative opposition. Ugh! Jagmeet Singh, the leader of the NDP, and the only one in the lot worthy to govern this country, has once again been sidelined to the margins, because too many Canadians are afraid of change, have an irrational fear of socialism, or anything that looks progressive, and, even if they will not admit it, an underlying prejudice against brown people who wear turbans. Neither do they, especially if they are particularly wealthy, interested in accepting a small increase in taxes in order to bankroll affordable housing for the homeless and universal pharma and dental care. The usual greed and self-interest always seem to triumph. Our loss. Our sad and tragic loss, but so powerful is the influence of fear which was really the dominant emotion of this political campaign. We live in very uncertain times. Well, what else is new? We have always lived in uncertain times. But now the smugness of the so-called developed nations is finally being threatened and challenged by the forces of that big ugly real world that we are all having to live in. It is unfortunate that our global influence is dwindling, but because we do have a lot of cred as beacons of liberal and social democracy and the rule of law, but now we have that behemoth of the Communist Party of China and their loathsome People's Liberation Army rising and threatening to swallow the planet in one big gulp. Think of the rest of us as dim sum. A very dim sum, since our leaders were completely blinded by greed as they signed away our sovereignty and our integrity as a nation for trade deals that benefit dictatorships and impoverish Canadians. I will not go into the perennial problem of the Dump in the White House, since that entity already is given way too much oxygen, but, yes, along with climate change and looming mass extinctions (us among them) we do have a few things to be worried about. But fear paralyzes us, and we have to do better than fear. I am glad that one hundred thousand young people and a few others turned out four weeks ago in my city to protest climate change and global warming, but they are also being hobbled by fear instead of letting it become like an engine that will move us forward. So, older more conservative Canadians, how do they respond? By offering their unmitigated support to the Conservative Party of Canada, giving them more status as the opposition with a weakened Liberal government. At least with the Conservatives, they don't mask their nefarious intentions with beautiful lies, unlike Junior and his Liberal Party, making lovely sounds about the environment from one side of his mouth, while with the other agreeing to buy pipelines and simply go on kissing the asses and other nether regions of big oil, big pharma and anyone else who wants to keep soaking the canadian people for their own greed and self-interest. We need more influencers to keep on railing and working and screaming out against this toxic and destructive nonsense that is already enveloping us like a lethal black cloud!

Influence 5

I wonder about the influence of addiction in our society. I just barked out a rebuke onto the voicemail of the local CBC morning program, the Early Edition. The host is an admitted fan of craft beer, and possibly other imbibings, and doesn't appear shy about promoting beer culture, using our publicly funded broadcaster as his platform, and this is problematic. Recently this eponymous broadcaster has also interviewed various persons expressing well-founded concerns about the problems with alcohol addiction in our communities, and that the media's promoting of alcohol does plenty to aggravate the problem. So, after nodding his assent, this radio journalist goes ahead and continues to report over the public airwaves about our local beer culture. I mentioned on my phone message that I am the adult child of an alcoholic, there are many like me, and we and many others have suffered tremendously from the fallout from our parents' addictions. And the radio host makes agreeable sounding noises, then continues to endorse this culture of alcoholism. This leads me to wonder about just how strongly we are influenced by the powers of corporate advertising, and especially when it's about an intoxicating substance, a highly addictive intoxicating substance that is really not much better, perhaps even worse, than heroin and other opiates. This also influences me, as an assertive listener, to reach for my phone and give those clowns a good and well-deserved blast. As well as being influenced we are also influencers. And we need to empower ourselves as vectors of influence if we don't want to wallow in the misery of chronic victimhood. We are bombarded from all sides with advertising, endorsements, and all kinds of blatant and subtle appeals to our sense of dignity, our sense of identity, all in the name of purchasing product and allowing those hyenas to tattoo our souls with their brand. This all starts in childhood, of course. Children are a particularly vulnerable audience to advertisers. And they have absolutely no shame. The rest takes place in peer groups and the school yard, as the dominant kids declare what is cool and everyone has to follow them. This isn't always destructive, especially given how much the crisis of climate change has also swept through our younger populations, and the way they are taking the lead in alerting their elders to the crisis is nothing short of awe-inspiring. Influence is inevitable. And we have to also channel our power as influencers as well as negotiate the many forces and voices and multiple images and cacophony that is always competing to hold us in their thrall. But not everyone is empowered, nor is everyone ready for empowerment, when you see how destroyed and broken many lives are from those very influences that simply are not going to stop. Influence shapes and forms our lives. Influence crushes and destroys us. Influence dehumanizes us. But...Influence also empowers and inspires us. And influence transforms us into influencers, or vectors of influence. A lot of noise has been made about the power of multinational corporations, and their incredible capacity for enslaving us with their mass marketing and products, smartphone technology and addiction being a particularly egregious example. But they cannot enslave us without our consent, and this is my call to all of you, my Gentle Reader. Start taking authority, and power and responsibility over the forces that influence you. Acquire an ethical and moral compass. Acquire or reclaim you souls. Costly, yes, but you are not powerless. Lazy, maybe, but you are not as vulnerable as you think you are.

Influence 4

What makes us...us? What makes us, shapes and forms us into the persons that we are? Atheists tend not to believe in the existence of the human soul, since their anti-theist dogma demands that there exist nothing that cannot be scientifically measured or verified. Fair enough. But, I am not an atheist. I do not believe that the amazing and mysterious dynamic that makes us ourselves is simply the outcome of brain matter, neurosynthesis and environmental factors. When you see how distinct we all are, despite our many similarities, that there will never be two persons exactly alike, not on this earth that is inhabited by over seven billion of us, nor at any time throughout our five hundred thousand years of human existence. Which is to say that we are each more than the sum of our parts. We are not simply a blank canvas unless we are actually the artists ourselves, and I think that we are, whether or not we're aware of this. Perhaps we are each like a soft dark consciousness in the midst of the greater surrounding darkness, but there is light hidden there, and perhaps the best and most perfect trajectory of our human development involves bringing forth that light till it becomes a burning flame in the surrounding darkness. I believe that as well as organic matter formed and defined by our DNA that we are also each born a living individual human soul. Each with a will to live, to thrive, and to triumph in our circumstances. It is also my contention that we are not complete alone, because this flame that we are each ordained to carry and burn with is no less than the flame of love. This is what makes us, what defines us, as beings made by God and in the image of God who is love. It is already well known, researched, studied and documented that people who love well throughout their lives generally have better outcomes. I mean to say that those who have invested their lives in caring for others, in working for better and healthier communities, for social and environmental justice, who actively care not just for their families, not only for their friends, but for their neighbours as well, that their love and concern extends beyond their circles and zones of comfort and familiarity. This is what makes us us, what makes us authentically human. There is so much that influences us. In fact, almost everything influences us, from our parents, to our siblings, our neighbourhoods, our schools, friends and peers, what we see on TV, on the internet, on social media, on the big screen, and the music we hear or listen to, and it is almost as if none of us is really able to think for ourselves, but we do. We always do this throughout, even if it means making for ourselves some very stupid and irresponsible choices. There is also the political climate we are living in, our culture, language, how people in our country feel about human rights, immigrants, other religions, other political systems. The plethora of influences is endless. And it never seems to end. We are often like peahens, the female bird, drab and unadorned, waiting and passively observing while the ostentatious peacock shows of its gorgeous plumage, to see if he can seduce us. But, like the peahens, who casually inspect the stunning feathers of the male bird the way the Queen inspects the calvary guard, we are always quietly deciding, and then we consent or withdraw our consent to being seduced, to being influenced, to allowing our lives, our minds and our bodies to be modified, altered or changed. And this often means our decision to buy or not to buy, because the largest and most insidious seducers happen to be companies and corporations for whom our existence means one thing and one thing only. Buying and consuming their product. And they are not going to care a straw that this also means extinguishing the flame that we are, and it is going to be snuffed out when wse consent to their seduction, because those greedy bastards extinguished their own flame many years ago.

Influence 3

So, here is how I turned out: I am an aging Christian, brighter than average bohemian artist who cares for other people and the environment and really wants to contribute to making this world a better place. I am queer, asexual, alone, live quietly, I am poor, but I still live surrounded by art and beauty. I have a number of friends of diverse ages, occupations, interests and nationalities. I have always voted for left wing and progressive politicians and parties but I hate political correctness for its ideological tyranny, lack of humour, psychological dexterity, sensitivity to or awareness of anything that exists beyond its limited scope, or acceptance of diversity (ironic, this), but I also am very strong on the rights and inclusion of marginalized people, including trans, queers, people of colour, religious minorities, etc. (but just don't tell me what to do or say or how to say it or you will live to regret it!). As much as I hate hypocrisy, I am often painfully and embarrassingly aware of my own hypocrisies. I hate sports and competition and prefer long walks in the countryside or in quiet neighbourhoods and parks over competitive sports or going to the gym (I hate gyms and simply will not enter one). I believe that God's presence is imminent and strongly real for me. I love nature and animals, especially birds. I love colour. I enjoy jokes and humour. I like meeting new people and making friends. I also love solitude because it helps me breathe, relax, and think, pray and contemplate. I also enjoy stirring the pot and shocking people, but not to the point of hurting anyone. I love music, but especially classical music, and especially early music, Renaissance and Baroque. I enjoy talking and listening and learning. I speak Spanish fluently and travel every year in Latin America. I am also a survivor of a mental health diagnosis which I feel I have totally kicked in the ass, and enjoy a full and complete recovery. I enjoy reading, in two languages. My question here is, what have my parents had to do with the way I turned out, and I have to say, very little. I am quite disciplined, like both my parents (especially my mother) but this is a skill I have had to teach myself, though I have drawn somewhat on their influence. I am quick to anger, like my mom, and tend to be impatient with myself and others. Like both my parents, I can be quite irritable. I was still a child when I rejected both my parents' racism, but we also had the benefit of TV and seeing Martin Luther King's march on washington in order to persuade me that Mom and Dad were both decidedly, tragically and horribly wrong. At least my mother came a bit closer to admitting it, though I have never heard her apologize for anything she did in my life, and later, when I was thirty, instead of hearing me out when I tried to confront her on her abuse when I was a child, simply had a meltdown and then wouldn't speak to me for six months. I do apologize, frequently, though it can be an ordeal persuading me when I ought to. In this way, yes, I am like Mom. Like my dad, I love nature and being outdoors. Unlike him, I would rather befriend animals than eat them (I am also vegetarian). I have never owned or driven a car, and I have always refused to, specifically for the environment. Not fitting in well with a lot of social norms (but not being really that strange, either) it has always been hard for me to find decently paying work, and the resulting poverty, and lack of help from my parents or the government made it necessary for me to shelve my aspirations of graduating from university, thus forever denying me decently paid employment. I think this is a bit like my mom, because she never was able to live up to her full potential either, and my dad always had a strong social and family network that helped keep him afloat and well-employed, if not well educated, all of his life. His self-centred indifference towards me and my well being haven't really helped either, but that is all forgiven, and besides that, he is dead and no longer can defend himself. To be honest, I do carry personality traits from both my parents. But I decided that I was going to play those cards rather differently, and even if I haven't won the pot, I still have come out of the game rather well, and I think all the richer for it.

Influence 2

Influence, of course, begins in the womb. The psychological and emotional state of the expectant mother, and her living environment are going to foster and impact the development of the fetus. It is even being suggested, with significant scientific backing, that the emotional wellbeing of the mother or the lack thereof, regulates the hormones that affect fetal development insofar that the child's sexual orientation will also be determined in utero. I don't know the details, but this does sound compelling. When the child emerges into the outer world, he is of course completely malleable to all the forces and persons around him. But this is also where influence and child development can really take on the form of mystery. And this is because no two children develop alike, not even by the same parents, not even if they happen to be twins, not even if they are identical twins. This leaves me wondering just how blank is the canvas? Or could it be the quality of the canvas that determines the way the paint is applied? Concerning my brother and I (he is older by three years), my grandfather used to joke that one has a Bible in his hand (me) and the other is holding a beer bottle (my brother). Which is to suggest that we are not merely passive recipients of the influences that mold us, but that we, along with everything that is at work around us and on us, are co-creating ourselves and our development as persons. When I think of the kind of parents that I had, and the era I grew up in as well as the environment and ambience, I often wonder if I would have turned out quite differently, if my will hadn't played a significant role in my development. I was still influenced by all of the above. This was going to be inevitable. But I controlled the influence. We all do. Had it all been environment, I probably would have turned out much like both my parents. I would be an alcoholic, like my father, with anger management problems like my mother. I would be working as an auto mechanic, or something similar. I would be married with a couple of adult children, likely long divorced and living alone after cohabiting for a while with some other random female. I would have turned out reasonably upwardly mobile, not well-off, but fairly comfortable, with my own house and a car. I would likely be apolitical, but leaning towards the conservatives or even further right. I would be also racist, maybe even white supremist, sexist and homophobic. I would have little or no interest in my community, and lead a socially isolated self-centred existence with maybe a handful of friends every bit as small minded and bigoted as me. I would be miserable, alcoholic and chronically depressed and probably be already showing symptoms of Alzheimer's in my sixties. I would also be strongly anti immigrant and would chafe and grouse and gripe at having to pay taxes, especially in order to give free drugs to addicts, and housing to the homeless. And I certainly wouldn't be writing this blog. So, this is how I really turned out: a Christian with no alcohol or drug or addiction issues, poor or low income, queer, single, politically and socially progressive, involved in mental health support work, an artist, passionate about protecting the environment and rescuing our planet from the ravages of human caused climate change. I do not have a car. I live in social housing. I speak Spanish fluently as a second language. I travel every year in Latin America. I have lots of friends and I am certainly not depressed. How did this happen? How did I happen! Stay tuned, Gentle Reader...

Influence 1

We are influenced by everything. And we lack everything. I do get annoyed with super individualists that seem to think they have it all, are better than all, and are above it all. They are not, and I have known enough people like that to have the right to call them self-deluded little imbeciles. We really are a needy, naked and pathetically vulnerable lot. All of us. I sometimes think of us humans as being like grubs, larval insects with little sense but to feed themselves, defecate and sleep. Of course we are more than that, or we ought to be more, much more and much better. I still like to believe that we are made for better, but to meet that kind of expectation can often mean a lot of hard work, and it isn't so much that we are lazy, as that a lot of us are simply too exhausted from having to work and labour in order to survive in a ruthlessly capitalist market economy that simply does not value anyone or anything but money and wealth. I think that the consumer culture that has resulted from global capitalism has served us very poorly, if not at all. We have been reduced to economic ciphers, as life supports for appetite. We are like a grand gaping and pneumatic maw that must always be fed, must always inhale whatever passes as nutrient or diversion. We really are like blank canvases, and anything can paint itself on us, and it does. We like to think that we are doing the art, but for the most part we are not artists, we are the canvases, and those of us who are really artists are usually sidelined to the margins. Because we don't generate wealth, which is really to say that we don't make a lot of money, and this makes it harder for us to buy things and find more stuff to fill the empty void that passes for a human soul. I don't think anyone is immune to this massive sucking vacuum of consumerism, really, and what is particularly scary is the way we are very much victims of our environment and of one another. We are constantly under the influence, of everything and everyone around us. Even so-called trendsetters are simply copping, borrowing, appropriating and mimicking whatever has gone before them, or whatever fairy dust they are breathing in the air, like fungus spores, that end up growing out of their very skin like festering yaws or become engraved on them like tattoos. They perhaps have intelligence, genius, marketing savvy, charisma, good looks and sex appeal. But I think that for the most part they are just simply ruthless and conniving and self-adulating narcissists that care so little about anything but their own precious and exalted selves that they seem to get carte blanch for doing whatever the hell they want, wherever they want, and with or to whomever the hell they want to do it. They are the rock stars, the movie stars, the divas, the fashion goddesses, the sports heroes, the politicians, anyone who lives in and aspires to live in the limelight. I don't think that anyone who has a workable dose of humility would ever choose to live with that kind of relentless attention, adoration, scrutiny, envy or contempt. The meek shall inherit the earth, but the proud and arrogant get to cash in on the illusion.

Life As Performance Art 195

I did laundry yesterday. It was amusing and frustrating. For years I was washing my clothes very early in the morning, sometimes as early as 5 am, or even 4 am. But I really got tired of interacting with particularly difficult tenants who prefer the small hours of the morning because they do not do well with other people, so it is better for them to feel as if they are the only ones who live here. Conflict with any of those difficult neighbours, hasn't happened often, but even once a year is still far too often, especially at 5 am. I originally started doing laundry early in the morning because the laundry facilities were getting very crowded in the daytime, and I had to struggle so hard for getting empty machines, often with some very selfish and inconsiderate tenants to compete with, that for my own emotional survival I resorted to the early mornings, and being a creature of habit, this turned into quite the routine for me. But now, all those selfish idiots are gone, and we seem to have a crop of some pretty decent tenants here right now. And the laundry room never seems to be getting quite so monopolized as before. So, coming home from work at around 2:30 in the afternoon yesterday, there was one very elderly tenant (I understand he is a World War II veteran well into his nineties and still completely independent). He is also very pleasant, friendly and positive, which could have some bearing on why he is still alive and kicking. He was just putting his clothes in one of the dryers, and like me, was only using one machine for one load, which really makes me like him all the more, given that there are only three washers and three dryers serving more than sixty tenants. When I came back down to put my clothes in the dryer, a young woman who is also pleasant and friendly, was putting her single load in one washing machine. We had a pleasant chat, but I was distracted, and I think that I didn't properly turn on the dryer, so, when I came back an hour later, my clothes were damp and I had to actually turn the machine on. Which was really okay, because I had plenty of work to do upstairs, getting more art course material ready, and also fitting in a much needed nap. Then came the sock trap. I returned to the laundry room an hour later, everything was dry, but then I noticed a wet sock that looked like one of my own on the side of the washer, and imagined that the other tenant had noted it and put it there for me, and such acts of courtesy never go unnoticed or unappreciated. So, I took it with my other clothes back to my apartment. When I emptied my clean laundry onto my bed, I saw that I already had two of those socks, forgetting that I had two pairs, so I returned the wet sock promptly to the laundry room. In the meantime, the other tenant was trying to find a favourite article of underwear that had somehow gone missing. I had to return to the laundry room to retrieve the sock and we both kind of agreed that there must be a malevolent genie active that day in the laundry room. Even if I was a bit grumpy when I finally got my sock back, I had to admit it was funny, and I actually enjoyed the contact with other tenants, including the Colombian elephant who lives upstairs from me, when I waited for her in the elevator. She is actually a lovely young woman who is from Bogotá (and since I have a close friend who lives in Bogotá, this helps me like her all the more), and there was something about our friendly contact in the elevator that helped me feel less irritated a bit later when she was knocking around a bit in her apartment upstairs. I plan to go on doing laundry after work, probably on Tuesdays. This morning I am wearing the same socks. The one I rescued from the laundry room has a hole in it. I might wear it anyway, just for today.

Life As Performance Art 194

Here is my latest answer to one of the many lasme questions on Quora: "Meh, “Good things come to good people”; you say? Wishful thinking. Too many good people have suffered martyrdom for their virtue and goodness. Beginning with Jesus, whose death, for us Christians anyway, also presaged the hope of new life and redemption consummated in his resurrection, and for his apostles, all of whom came to a dreadful and ignominious end. Or how about all the Christians slaughtered in the Roman Coliseum, or the innocent so-called witches, heretics and Jews who were burned to death during the Inquisition in Spain and elsewhere in Europe, or the Jews butchered by Hitler’s Nazis, or the millions more slaughtered by Stalin and Mao? How could this fatuous thinking possibly explain the assassination of such as Mahatma Gandhi or Martin Luther King? I am not going to get into useless arguments about karma or comparative religion, but we really need to revisit some of our old assumptions and really learn to think and reflect carefully on such matters. We live in a world that often is neither kind nor fair, and it is only through the work, witness, lives, and sacrifices of those who have the vision to work and walk and live towards something better that anything is ever going to improve. If we really want a fair and just world, then that is something we are each going to have to work, struggle and sacrifice for. In the meantime, we had might as well give up on those fantasies about good things happening to good people, because there is absolutely no evidence to justify this kind of sloppy and lazy thinking." All I can add to this is the untested magical thinking of those who insist that they believe in karma. That Hindu and Buddhist nonsense that states that all the good we do comes back to us, just as all the evil we do comes back on us. I call this magical thinking, and there is no evidence that goodness is going to be like a good luck charm that will help us get through life. It could, but there are no promises, no guarantees in life. I also object to the self-centred and cowardly kind of thinking behind doing good for our own benefit. We do good because it is the right thing to do, and only because it is the right thing to do. Remember Murphy's Law, which says that no good deed goes unpunished. Perhaps not always or exactly true, but I enjoy quoting it from time to time as a corrective to that bland saccharine sweet Pollyanna thinking, which really isn't thinking at all. just another bromide, and really, Gentle Reader, we are worth better than bromides, and yes, let's continue doing the right thing, no matter how much we suffer for doing it, because every bit of good that is done from a pure heart and honest motives will help move things towards the change that we need in our world, the very change that can only be set in motion by people brave enough to become the change that they want to see in the world.

Life As Performance Art 193

"I often have to remind myself that we are not rational beings. We are instinctive, emotional, obsessive and reactionary, especially when our reptilian brain is allowed to dominate, and this seems to happen far too often. I have never felt motivated to destroy or undermine anyone, but I have seen it happen and it is one of the ugliest facts of our human existence. I think that instead of trying to understand why anyone would try to do that, I often try to do the opposite, to dedicate my life and time in the service of others, or of honouring and enjoying the beauty in our natural world and universe. There will probably always be evil as long as there is a world full of broken and festering humanity to harbour evil, but there will also always be good. Even in my most difficult interactions with others (today, for example, I was less than kind to someone who had recently done something to offend me), I try, if maybe on the late side, to appreciate the good that is in them as well, hoping that maybe someone will do the same for me should I be found not at my best." This I wrote last week on Quora, a social media forum for people who have questions about life, science, humanity, the universe, etc. The question was if I have ever tried to undermine and ruin anyone's life for them, which I have not, even if I have felt tempted from time to time. Quora can get pretty high-falutin and pretentious, sometimes a little bit lowbrow, but the site moderators are pretty strict about bad behaviour and are quick to call it out, and even to kick anyone off the site who gets nasty or personal. So unlike Twitter. So unlike Youtube. So unlike Yahoo. We need more strict moderators online, since freedom of speech is not the same as freedom to spew hatred. I have been getting bombarded lately with questions from Quora, which is to say, that they will send me some question that a member had written about their existential angst or whatever, and expect me and who knows how many other members to answer it, in a couple of sentences, or in a paragraph or two, sometimes in a lengthy, boring and pompous screed so turgid and laden with useless similes and mixed metaphors as to make my screed on these blog pages look as spare as one single tweet on Twitter (which I never use, fyi). Well, Gentle reader, today is Thanksgiving Day, and we have much to be grateful for. The fellow I mentioned in this post and I have been reconciled (we gave each other a hug in church yesterday) and all seems well with the universe. And I am grateful. My Colombian friend and I were on Skype last night. I told him I have bought my plane ticket and I will be flying down to see him for three weeks in February, after which I will be off to Costa Rica for the month of March. He still seems to want to see me, and I want to see him, and I am also thankful for this, because good friends are hard to find, and this one has turned into a very good friend. I am also thankful for the time I can spend again in Costa Rica and also for my friends there. And I am very grateful that, even with my low income, I am still able to make these trips into tropical and exotic destinations where I can also speak as much Spanish in one month as I will speak English for two months here at home. There are still a few months to go, four, exactly, minus three days. I woke up too early this morning and, following a light breakfast, will be returning for a nap of a couple of hours, then I will get up and get the bread pudding in the oven for my friends coming over for Thanksgiving breakfast. I am grateful to have friends with whom I can celebrate the holiday. There is a lot to be thankful about, but we also have to stop worrying about climate change, President Dump and China if we want to get the maximum benefit from the day. It doesn't mean that we forget about those things, but simply know when to recite the Serenity Prayer and move on with life.

Life As Performance Art 192

This is Thanksgiving weekend in Canada and tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. Or Turkey Day, for the nonvegetarians. I am having friends over for breakfast tomorrow, and I am not cooking a turkey, because it will be breakfast, and turkey is not an appropriate food for breakfast, and also because we are all vegetarians. Well, my friend is a vegetarian because his girlfriend, who is coming over with him for breakfast tomorrow, happens to be a vegetarian, and as some of you know, Gentle Reader, I have been vegetarian for most of the last thirty years, or so. So, I'm serving up bread pudding instead. That's right, Dutch recipe. Lots of milk and eggs, lots of cinnamon, cloves and other spice, containing apples as well and I will probably serve it with heavy cream and/or yogurt, but we shall see. My friends are bringing fruit and cheese. My one complaint is that my apartment is so small, and it can be difficult even accommodating one visitor, let alone two, but I have managed before, and one thing I am giving thanks for on this Thanksgiving is having friends to feed a lovely breakfast to. I have actually lived in smaller places where I have entertained even more guests. I remember some of the soirees I would host in my little room and kitchen in an old house in Mount Pleasant when I was a callow twenty-three, and everyone seemed to find a piece of floor to get comfortable and coffee and tea and food were all served up without reservation, hesitation or embarrassment. I was totally in my element, and I have long enjoyed hosting others. I remember especially the onion soup party I had one afternoon, with five visitors. A couple of days before, I collected from each an onion, and I did the rest. Of course, I'm still doing all the work, as usual, but others have cheerfully accommodated me in the past so now I like to think that it's my turn. Sad that none of the Anglican hypocrites in my church ever think of asking me if I'm alone or if I'm okay this Thanksgiving, but I have said it before and I am saying it again: Anglicans have got to be the most selfish Christians on earth. Well, that doesn't mean that I have to imitate them, but that is God's problem, not mine. I am also serving a big potful of dark Cuban roast, fairtrade and organic (for all you virtue signalers out there) coffee, and I happen to be enjoying a cup right now. There is always plenty to give thanks for. Even selfish Anglicans, especially for the fact that some of them are actually pretty kind and generous (though they are a minority. it really is a shame that some people can warm the same pew, Sunday after Sunday for decades, and absolutely nothing of the truth of the Gospels or the Holy Spirit ever penetrates their lives. The church really needs to address this). I just heard on the radio about how gratitude is good for our health, and it is. In fact, gratitude puts us directly in contact with God. No one wants to admit this because now everyone is a secular atheist, or spiritual but not religious, but it's still true all the same. Gratitude, giving thanks, regardless of what we believe or do not believe, puts us in direct contact with the Living God who created and sustains all that is (and this does not rule out evolution, by the way!) There will always be things to give thanks for. Start now, this moment, and if you can't think of anything to be grateful for, just remember this, Gentle Reader. This morning, you woke up breathing. Now aren't you just a little bit grateful? It's a start.

Life As Performance Art 191

So, I just answered another dumb question on Quora. The question is dumb because of the way it is written: "What are straight-up facts that people won't swallow?" There is so much wrong with this question, the way it's asked and worded and all the hidden assumptions, that at first I didn't want to dignify it with an answer. So this is what I offered instead: "Oh, I don’t know. I think most people have trouble swallowing anything that is, as you call it, a “straight up fact” I suppose if you would tell us what you mean because that can be pretty subjective. But I think that most of us like things to look pretty rosy and positive since we are all quite fragile and many of us don’t like to face things head on. It doesn’t seem to matter how far along we are in life, we are all for the most part like frightened children who don’t want to face things without bromides and plenty of comforts. I try as hard as I can, and really I don’t seem to have a lot to lose, given that I’m older, alone and without family, but I also have a good social network and friends, so that helps the world seem less cold and hostile. I also try to be a friend to others, and this makes the world even less hostile. If I seem to be evading it’s because I am, especially because a lot of “straight up facts” are also opinion based and I simply don’t want to go there, especially if it touches on religion, or politics or whatever, given how those subjects often bring out the worst in others, should they happen to disagree. But let’s just stick to the basics here, shall we? We never really do completely grow up and we go through our lives not much more than frightened children that are easily scared like chickens by a marauding fox or the big bad wolf, taking shelter in whatever will help us feel safe or protected. Could this be because we seem to always need to feel safe and protected? Well, that also depends on where we are in life. I have seen some people’s mental health tip very dangerously because they were facing things they weren’t ready to face, but I have also seen others compromise their mental health by simply going on whistling in the dark, pretending there is nothing wrong. As for myself, I always like to find the joy in life, or to create it. Am I escaping? Well, that would depend on how you are oriented towards life and the universe. It isn’t going to necessarily be a cold and hostile place for everyone, but this could also depend on how we are oriented spirituality and ethically, how unselfish we are, and how much we love, and how much joy we are willing to take in life and create for ourselves and others, and I think that it is love that makes all the difference, including our ability to face life and reality, and perhaps to alter our sense of reality in a way that fosters what is good and beautiful. But so much of that depends on us and of how willing we are to open ourselves to something that is infinitely lovely and so much greater than ourselves." I don't think we re ever going to find much in the way of answers until we have learned what questions need to be asked first, and how to ask them. I have long believed that we spend the first half of our lives learning what the questions are. After that, we have to learn how to ask them. I think we re always going to be learning how to ask the questions. And that is our answer, Gentle Reader.

Life As Performance Art 190

This has to be yes and no, as to whether or not I will freely tell just anyone anywhere what I really feel or what I really think about things. I am always trying to be aware of the people I am with, what they are needing or willing to hear from me, whether or not this would be helpful to them, and mutually helpful to our friendship or working relationship. This of course comes from my long professional experience as a care and support provider in social and health and community services. starting as one who will never be famous for tact or diplomacy, I have had to learn this from the ground up, and it has sometimes been a very bumpy flight. You simply cannot be cruel and blunt with someone who is in the middle of trauma or grieving. Other times, the worst you can do for some people is to eternally dance around the subject, so it has been quite the learning curve, balancing tact with bluntness. I think in some ways, I have become rather like a politician in my dealings with others. I try to take care to taylor and select what I am going to talk about, the way I am going to say it, tone of voice, choice of words, and perhaps filtre out any personal references or insults or whatever that might offend or be easily misconstrued, or simply will not be comprehended, especially across cultural barriers and differences. And I try to listen to my own voice while I am speaking, always carefully studying the other for their reactions, facial expressions or twerks, their body language, especially when they start reaching for the nearest rock or brick to hurl at me. I have really had to altogether cut out, or at least severely cut back on swearing, which is not a bad skill to acquire. I still use, on occasion, profanity, but very sparingly, and only when it really seems the most effective way of getting the point across. For example, a couple of weeks ago when my priest wanted me to write this blog in a way that was much nicer (which is to say, insipid), as she and the archbishop were both concerned that since I was such a nice, kind and gentle person face to face, then why couldn't I write a blog that also seemed so much nicer. I simply gave her a sweet little smile and in a quiet little voice replied to her that "I will write whatever the fuck I want". Oh, the puss on her when she heard that! I also try to carefully hear and express appreciation for feedback, while listening oh so carefully to the tone of voice, just to be sure that I haven't crossed any lines or boundaries while trying my utmost to be sure that I have communicated well, and at least gotten my point across. Even if I might happen to disagree. I would rather have friends than be right all the time, and as anyone who has read my posts on this forum will know, I can be pretty damn opinionated and annoying at times. An atheist is simply not going to be interested in hearing about my spiritual experiences, neither am I going to want to get into useless debates with such over the existence of God, and this sort of thing can really damage or stymie a relationship and sow ill will between people. Likewise about politics. I tend to be progressive, and to some, even radical, but if the person I am with is a dyed in the whatever conservative, I am more likely to keep my mouth shut, unless they might happen to be certain conservative privileged idiots who attend the Anglican church I go to, then watch me rip into them! It is not simply not wanting to offend others, but to recognize that we are not going to be all on the same page and that trust and respect first need to develop between people before we can get down to controversial matters. By the same token, I am often still trying to figure out my own position about various matters, and I really have to be selective about whom I am going to think out loud around. I have a handful of friends whom I can really trust and feel safe around, and even with each of them I try to cut and taylor and edit things, knowing that buttons could be pressed, especially if they are feeling fragile for some reason, but also respecting that they just might not be on the same page as me. A bit frustrating at times, because I really like to be as open as possible, but I will not jeopardize a friendship over my narcissistic need to be heard and applauded. On the other hand, neither will I be censored, by anyone. Not even by myself, if necessary. Not even if the first head to roll might happen to be my own, Gentle Reader.

Life As Performance Art 189

We never know how the day is going to turn out, no matter what we do to control events and determine the outcome. This doesn't make us victims to chance but simply as a salient reminder of our cosmic reality, knowing this could do a lot to teach us humility, and constantly knowing this might actually help keep us humble. We are not in control of the universe. Really, we are not, Gentle Reader! We never were in control. We never will be. And we don't need to be in control. In fact, the best thing in the world for us is that we are not in control, and that is also the best possible outcome for the rest of the world, methinks. This doesn't let us off the hook when it comes to planning responsibly and preparing. Not being in control is not the same thing as being out of control. We have a role to play, however minor. Today, for example, seemed that it was going to turn out perfect. I woke up well slept and feeling well-rested, following some very interesting dreams about people and my art and birds, and all seemed well in the universe, until I heard the blood curdling yell of some poor homeless male idiot outside in the alley with his buddy down below. My guess is that he spilled whatever powder it is he has been ingesting and now, more than an hour later, he and his buddy still appear to be out there trying to scoop it all back up) It is good to be reminded of the less fortunate, especially given how easily I could be one of them. But that kind of scream can only ruin someone's day, if we let it. I am not going to let it. Winter is coming, and we are already having unseasonably cold temperatures, and it is hard out there. We have worse homelessness than ever and Canada is not a poor country. I feel so lucky, despite some of the inconveniences of where I live. But...I have a place to live. Almost no alternatives, maybe, but I have a place to live in a time that is especially unkind to people who earn low incomes. There is nothing I can do about homelessness, except continue being a pain in the ass to politicians, but I also feel that I have paid my dues and others seem to be doing a better job at it than I can. Plus, I am generally tired. I need to rest more. This is part of ageing, it is also a kind of emotional exhaustion from working for an employer that chronically treats us like shit. I can't think of much else to write today. The world is neither better than what it seems, nor worse. It just is. We don't really matter, except for our potential for destroying our planet, and this needs badly to be reined in. What we are left with is ourselves and one another, and we still have the opportunity to treat each other well while being gentle towards our good earth. I like to believe that it isn't too late. I think I'll always believe this, even while we're all being flushed down the same toilet we keep forgetting to clean.

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Monday, I listened to the all-candidates English debate on the radio for this current federal election, and with predictable results. Of course, so much of the conversation was so contentious, the candidates, with the exception of Jagmeet Singh (NDP) and Elizabeth May (Green) so ill-mannered, negative and (dare I day?), mutually abusive, that I really wanted to shut it off after the first five minutes. I didn't, and soldiered on listening for the next two hours to the mean-spirited squabbling of all six candidates (Junior, Andrew and the French whack job of the pee-pee party being all equally the most abominable), all of them competing to become our next prime minister. At least I was near the bathroom, in case I needed to throw up. Each candidate had a stock one-liner that set my teeth on edge. Even Jagmeet and Elizabeth, the two I am most inclined to favour. Being particularly concerned about the potentials for abuse, I was not pleased with Jagmeet's way of declaring that every progressive candidate would be in favour of dying with dignity (euphemism for mercy-killing), as if it is simply assumed that, as though we were all members of a well-integrated religious cult, that we are all going to be on the same page about absolutely every fine point of secular dogma, from choice to euthanasia to how we perceive and welcome transpeople (spoiler alert: I accept and welcome transmen and transwomen. However, do not expect me to believe that they are real men or real women, and yes, it is possible to hold both opinions without paradox or contradiction while using all the appropriate pronouns!) Very few self-avowed progressives seem to be able to get their heads around the fact that not every progressive voter is going to swallow the same entire omnibus of progressive causes. I have known people entirely in favour of universal child care, and maintaining the abolition of the death penalty, and a secure social safety net for all, while remaining firmly opposed to abortion ("choice" is the politically-correct euphemism, by the way, and if you must know, I completely respect a woman's right to decide what she is going to do with her body, and this supersedes any discomfort that I might have around the ethics of abortion). Similarly, anyone who is really progressive would be expected to swallow the Kool Aid about government-sanctioned mercy killing. I accept that in some really extreme cases that it might be okay to consent to a dying or incurably ill person's desire to end their life, but the potential for abusing this measure, especially for the poor and disabled, needs to be given its due diligence, and so far no one is biting, and, no, people suffering from mental health issues should not even be considered for assisted dying. Slippery slope, you guys! But what really killed whatever remaining love I still had for the Green Party was Elizabeth May's oh so politically correct and very stupid, fatuous and racist comment about every single person who has white skin being privileged. This is the same absolute festering crap that the CBC dishes out to us every single day. This assumption that being caucasian, all by it's little own self, already gives us an inborn privilege and, hey presto, we are the lucky ones. Well, I have a thing or two to say about this nonsense. I will begin with a conversation I had with a friend today who is, like me, racially caucasian, and like me, is also pretty generally indifferent about race or racialization. He mentioned that guilt is a privilege of the already-privileged, hence the masochistic pleasure so many well-off Canadian middle class white folk seem to take in flagellating themselves over their presumed good fortune and citizenship in heaven because of their race and oh how unfortunate and how cruel and unjust that people of colour are not so entitled and favoured as they are. But that kind of thinking so reeks with the stench of noblesse-oblige that it isn't even worth dignifying with any further comment. The people who operate and staff the CBC, as with all prestigious media outlets, are completely out of touch with poor and low income Canadians of any race. This is because all the people who work there are themselves children of privilege, even if they happen to represent so-called visible minorities. They have all come from nice well-off families, benefited from nice progressive university educations and have graduated into nice privileged lives and professions. They don't have a clue how the rest of us live, and in their naive arrogance have an apparent expectation that the rest of the world is going to be like them, or somehow has to be like them, or we simply do not exist. We are to them a demographic, a category. We have no existence for them as persons. Only those whose lives and struggles fit within their narrow matrices are going to be allowed existence. I have tried over and over to communicate to those idiots at the CBC and elsewhere about the many poor, disadvantaged people who live and sleep on the pavement, or in low-barrier shelters, live with chronic poverty and underemployment, have to live in social housing, like me, and have to struggle to survive every single day of their working lives. If they were black or aboriginal, they would be the darlings of the media. But because they are white? Well, people like me should not exist. We have not enjoyed secure non-dysfunctional families, we have not been able to make it to, or through university, and because we never enjoyed decent professional or meaningful social connections, we have always had to struggle between low paid and unsuitable employment. No one writes or talks about us. We have no voice. I offered the Globe and Mail that I could write a column on their pages about the experience of low income Canadians, but no one would even dignify my inquiry with a reply, not because I'm a lousy writer (it is very clear that I am not), but because they don't want people like me to have a voice. They don't care. They are so ignorant and insulated from our existence, that they would prefer to keep it that way. Hard truths are very uncomfortable, especially to the privileged. A lot of us may be white, but that isn't the point. This isn't about race, and it doesn't make us special, but we are human beings, despite our lack of colour. I have worked in homeless, housing and mental health and addiction services for most of the last four decades of my working life, and you know something, Gentle Reader? Most of the people I have supported and cared for, are either white or aboriginal. Especially, way too many are aboriginal. Very few Asians or South Asians, perhaps a smattering of Latinos. If white people are doing so well because of white privilege, then why are Asians and South Asians also doing equally well or better? No one has any answers, and I certainly do not begrudge them their success, especially given the horrid and wretched treatment their forebears had to endure under the white colonialist majority in another and much less gentle and less kind era. The educated and well employed white middle class only falls back on that useless politically correct myth of white privilege, without troubling to really examine it, or challenge any of its tenets, while swallowing all the hogswallop of angry blacks and indigenous people who want to blame it all on white people. Well, white people are largely to blame, but we are not and should not accept this status as whipping boy, because this just creates its own dynamic of racism and further entrenches the divide and the stigma that fosters the divide. And imputing white guilt on people who can't even keep a roof over their heads is not the solution. There must be a better way. Unfortunately, I cannot reasonably expect that anyone is going to listen to what I have to say, because, not fitting their convenient little categories, to them, I do not exist. Being poor, they are not going to listen to me. They never do, never have and likely never will. So then, maybe it's a ghost, or a genie that has just written this blog.

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Here is another thing I recently wrote on Quora: "So, where do you get the idea that there is no obligation to help someone in need? This is part of our historical social contract as human beings. We are all interdependent and no one can live without the support and help of others. This is universal. If you prefer not to offer help or support to others, then that is your choice and you will not be breaking any laws, though I believe that is a bit of a legal grey zone, and sometimes criminal prosecution can occur when help and aid is refused to people who are in distress. That said, maybe you could ask yourself one simple question: “What kind of person do I really want to be?” If your reply is a selfish, lonely and hateful monster, albeit a highly successful one, then by all means, go your way and ignore others in need. However, if you deign to reach out in kindness to others, you are opening your heart, your mind, and your life, as well as helping another being, and on top of this, you will also be acquiring for yourself a soul." I would have to say that my own record in living up to my own words is mixed, or perhaps chequered. I don't try to help everyone. I am not able to. There is so much need and there are so many people in distress on the street that often, in order to just get to work, or an appointment or for an outing, I have to almost pretend that I am not surrounded by people who often seem to be practically dying. Very few people seem to notice those who have to live on the street. When they are alone they are almost always absorbed in their little tech toys, though I have also seen younger homeless people looking at their smartphones. When with others, a lot of people will chatter and laugh and make bon vivant as though they were walking by the seaside and all is right and perfect in their little universe. But that is how most people cope with the very visible misery of homelessness that surrounds everyone. They shut it off, pretend it doesn't exist, put their conscience on leave. But when we put our conscience on leave, then we are always running the risk that it will not return home. I have had to refuse some panhandlers. Recently on Commercial Drive, this tall rangy looking person of colour with dreadlocks, who is generally quite aggressive and gets in people's face. I suspect addiction issues with this one. I will not give to someone like that. I don't want to encourage in your face rudeness. He didn't want to take no for an answer, so I said, I already said no, respect it, or something like that. He leaves me alone now. Then, just the other day, another aggressive panhandler approached me for spare change. I had just been shopping and asked if I could offer him a banana. He said, no, I want money. I replied that obviously it's for something you don't need, and walked away. I could have been kinder, and I am aware how homelessness and being on the street can affect and impact one's emotions and ability to be rational. By the same token, not everyone who panhandles is homeless. Yesterday I was meeting up with a client at the mental health boarding home where he lives. One of the tenants left just ahead of us, and there he was at the intersection, approaching cars stopped at the red light to ask for handouts from the drivers. People need more than money. They need kindness, empathy, contact, a sense of connection. But this can be very hard to follow through when you have absolutely no idea of who they are or what they are really needing. By the way, I am not always a callous monster towards panhandlers. I do give sometimes, when I am able to spare some money, which isn't often, given that I am also poor, and usually the contact is positive, there are expressions of gratitude and well-wishing on both sides, and the sense that the day has just been improved for both of us. I only wish I could do more, but I have had to accept that I cannot, but that the little I do offer must surely be better than nothing? That the very least I can do is stay aware and not close my eyes, my ear or my heart to the many people suffering all around us, and through no fault of their own.

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I am a nonbinary male, androgynous and gender nonconforming. I dress like a conventional butch male, old jeans, rugged shirts, walking shoes, basic underwear and socks, cut my own hair, nothing fancy, and certainly no manscaping, no frills, just the facts. I also hate sports, especially hockey, love art and nature and baking and cooking. I would rather be surrounded by visual beauty than stuff or machines or whatever. I also know how to pound nails, though I'm not really good at it. I am not afraid of or ashamed of my tears, am nurturing, compassionate, pacifist, but don't piss me off. Equally male and female but in a man's body, or, why be both when we can be neither? Because I do not fit inside any neat categories on the queer spectrum, I often have to fend off some really dumb assumptions and sweeping generalizations that are sometimes made of me, especially by trans people. For example, this emotional and irrational attack I got on Quora from a transwoman because I had deigned to ask some questions about sex and gender that are not to her liking. i had the colossal gall to suggest that our obsession with being binary in the first place makes it necessary for some gender nonconforming people to assume they are a man in a woman's body or vice versa, and unable to accept or embrace paradox, or emotionally and psychologically survive in a culture that says men are men and women are women (and all the sheep are scared, Still, I don't think it is fair or just to demand that all cis men openly welcome transmen as men, or cis women to welcome transwomen as women. It is all very complicated, and there needs to be a lot of slack cut on all side. If we were all naturally fluid and relaxed and unconcerned about gender to begin with, then perhaps being trans wouldn't be necessary. But it is, for now, anyway, so get used to it. There should be room for a wide variety of perspectives, and a lot of transpeople seem to be insisting that because yours is correct, then mine must be incorrect. I did mention that I agree there is a difference between biological sex and gender. She seemed to have missed that. However, I am also concerned that by negating what we are biologically, then we could also be shortchanging ourselves as whole human beings. Gender reassignment is a choice, I am still not decided on how legitimate a choice, but it is one that I nonetheless respect. However, it could also behoove one to consider that not everyone is going to totally accept your self-definition, while completely respecting your right to it, and I completely respect your right to this. It doesn’t mean that I am going to agree. If a transperson insists that in order to be their friend that I have to agree with them one hundred percent, then we are going to have to forgo the friendship. I owe no apologies here, so please get over it. Respecting differences works on all sides. As to anyone's decision about transitioning, I do hope for the best possible outcome for them and that this is something that will help them move forward in life, whatever the decision. Of course, I would respect and address them as a woman, or a man, depending on how they are transitioning, because that is their preference. I think it’s going to take time for people on all sides of this discussion to learn to be adults about it. Everyone is too tainted by trauma to be adults right now.

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I really had to work at standing up to bullies. I was easily intimidated in the workplace, being at bottom rung in an occupation that does not facilitate advancement or promotion, poorly paid, and at the mercy of other worker’s attitudes of superiority. As many of you know, I am employed as a mental health peer support worker and we the psw's are continually being shafted and screwed up our backsides by our employer. I will go no further in identifying them as they can be notoriously thin-skinned and vindictive, and they are ruthless bullies towards anyone weaker than they are when we presume to stand up to them. In my early years in the profession I really had to put up with ignorant and superior attitudes from psychologists, case workers rehab therapists and others getting three to four times the amount of pay that I was. The systemic stigma is such that it is widely assumed that to be a peer support worker, then you are somehow permanently damaged and broken, or if not exactly so, then you are still not ever going to be completely whole. At first I didn't know any better and if an occupational therapist with whom I had never had a therapeutic relationship wanted to know what kinds of medications I was on, (none, actually), or where I was hospitalized (nowhere, never). It was the case manager who outed me to a client that I had a mental illness that had me drawing the line. She could not understand why I was offended and assumed that it was her right to talk about my mental health status to a client, when it was none of her damn business. I was blunt and brutal with her. She never figured it out, but by then, I no longer cared. It was the occupational therapist at another worksite who tried to pull the same one on me twice. Both times I let her have it, and still she didn't get it. She became aggressive and combative, trying every trick in the book to bully me and hold me down, and I stood up to her and fought her ever step of the way. I knew this could easily trigger me and put me in a relapse, but I didn't care. My emotional survival and integrity were at stake and the only one who could fight my battle was me. I also had a new, temporary supervisor filling in for the regular who was on mat leave and she was like Margaret Thatcher revisited. Plus, her assistant, the occupational therapist I was fighting with, had a very condescending mentality. I kept calling her on her crap and otherwise standing up to her, and she got so angry that a meeting was called with her and me and the supervisor. It was very ugly. They tried to accuse me of all kinds of things that were not true, and I blew up in their faces every single one of their lies. We eventually had to end the meeting, since we were clearly getting nowhere, but eventually I saw that I had won a critical moral victory with those two. It was gruelling and exhausting, but for the rest of that year they both finally were treating me with respect. It was hard work but worth it. I also, instead of being weakened and sickened by the conflict, came out all the stronger, and all the more healed. The takeaway is that we do not owe anyone our submission, not even our bosses, and the best way to keep someone’s foot off your neck will be by not prostrating before those imbeciles in the first place. Never give an inch to those bullies. We are better and we are worth better, but they are only going to start to believe it when they see that they cannot beat us down. You will also find the strength to fight, when all resources are exhausted, because you will have God and his angels on your side, and that makes you a majority.

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Here are my latest contributions to Quora, which here I have embellished and amplified: A certain individual, some years ago, irrationally turned against me, and eventually took to stalking, following me and uttering threats. This went on for a few years. I was becoming quite frightened as I was in early recovery from other trauma. Then, this same individual was brutally murdered. I tried to debrief about this to a support group I was then a member of. They all seemed to think that I ought to be happy and totally relish the schadenfreude. I could not. He was a human being, someone greatly loved by others we had known in common, and what had been done to him was unspeakably cruel and evil. This individual and I both went back many many years, to our late adolescence when we met in a very popular Christian coffeehouse in the West End. We never became close friends, as I never thought we had enough in common to be friends, and I just didn't like him. I also found him rude, difficult and temperamental, and once when I was eighteen, he physically threatened me, after which I always tried to maintain a safe distance between us. It turns out he was rather mentally challenged with some other challenges that I never learned about, but had been implied by others. To his friends he was loyal like a faithful dog, more like a pitbull or rottweiler, I'd say. Because he was incapable, or seemed incapable to reason things out or recognize nuance in anything, all conflicts were black and white for him, good guys and bad guys. When two of his most cherished friends had turned against me, he not only turned against me with them, but took it on himself to try to hunt me down, and if possible destroy me, as vengeance and vindication for his dear offended friends. He never got around to threatening my life, though that also seemed to be eventually coming. Yes, I was, and still am relieved that he is gone, that he is no longer around to harass or threaten or frighten me, but I regret that something so awful should happen to him, to anyone. I of course did not attend his funeral, and the therapist I was then seeing thought it would have been most inappropriate for me to attend, and even if I was vacillating a bit, even now, I completely agree with him. None of our so-called mutual friends could fathom that I would not attend the funeral of their darling and beloved Jeff. People actually phoned me to tell me the location and time, and couldn't really fathom that I wasn't going to attend. None of us have been on speaking terms for many years. It turns out that none of those so-called friends ever really valued me, otherwise they would have recognized the threat I was under from their beloved Jeff. Three of them turned on me, because they were nurturing against me some very strong grudges (I used to stand up to them and their controlling nonsense, and two of them were consummate narcissists). I have also come to understand that none of those people liked me to begin with. They only valued my usefulness to them, and because I was so desperate to be liked and to have friends I would try to make myself useful in order to win people over. This of course, constantly backfired, and I no longer do this, and seem to enjoy now healthy and sustainable friendships. I could speak ill of him, but what would be the point? Jeff is no longer around to defend himself and I hope he is in a better place (though sometimes I don’t. I have to be honest, and have on occasion asked him if it's nice and hot for him down there.) But regardless of how deserving they might seem to be, we do not kick someone when they are already down. It drags us down to the same level or even lower and that ruins it for everyone......Here is my answer to a Quora member who wanted some insight about a friend of his who seems to believe that you haven't really lived unless you have enemies.... "With friends like that, do you really need enemies? I find that kind of thinking disturbing, and that it could reflect more on your friend’s character than on any universal truths. This isn’t to say that we have to , or are going to be friends with everyone. And if you are a person of integrity and you are not afraid of speaking your truth, there are going to be those who are going to push back. It’s inevitable and it is also unfortunate. But having enemies as an indication that you are truly alive? My take? If you love others, appreciate life and receive it with gratitude as a gift, if you walk humbly with a desire to help and serve others, and if you are true to who you are, you might not be friends with everyone, and you might even end up with one or two enemies, but to cultivate animosity with others, or to use it as a bragging point? That borders on psychopathy."

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I'm going to subtitle this essay, "Peeing With Elvis", and for one simple reason: I want to write a few words here about a local coffee shop where one of the customer washrooms contains a painting of the eponymous pop legend. There he is, the King, his visage peering from the wall perpendicular to the toilet, serenely watching over our most basic bodily functions. It is a very good, very well-rendered portrait interpretation of Elvis Presley, by the way (I'm including his family name because I just don't wish to hear from the lawyers of the other famous musician named Elvis, who is still alive and quite well and likely richer than Croesus, so you had better believe I am not going to piss him off!) So, on my way out of the coffee shop I mentioned glibly to the manager and one of the baristas that it is a lovely portrait, and I just needed a little time for my bladder to unfreeze. (they are very kind to me there, by the way, and don't seem to mind my off-the-cuff remarks, Gentle Reader!) So, I call the washroom the Elvis Room. I suppose the other water closet could be dubbed the "Kremlin", given the red Coca-Cola sign in Cyrillic script. They have also freshly painted the bathroom doors, rather in the style of a toddler writing crayon graffiti on the dining room wall (remember dining rooms, Gentle Reader? Back in the days when most homes were actually houses and they had more than three rooms? Ah, nostalgia ain't what it used to be!) So painted on the door of the Kremlin are the bright coloured letters of the words "Wash your Hands! Whoever, Whatever!") The door to the Elvis Room is scrawled with big letter words, WASHROOM, repeated four or five times. I love this fun unselfconsciously silly kind of ambience. The staff are all decidedly young, rather neatly fitting the useless demographic of younger Millennials. But even if, in my early sixties, I am young enough to be their grandfather, I don't feel a lot older than they, nor do they seem that much younger than me. Perhaps this says more about the legendary Germaine Greer's quotation "you're young only once, but you can be immature forever." (if you haven't read her famous book the Female Eunuch, then go out and buy a copy. You'll also find it in the public library). It could be that I have never really grown up, and in a way, I haven't. I have none of the signposts of adult success or maturity: I have never married and raised kids, I do not own my home, I don't have a car. But these lovely, knd and humorous people who staff and operate this cafe all remind me of how I remember myself forty years ago. When I was in my early twenties, during the late seventies, I was already navigating issues of gender identity and sexual orientation and questions of diversity and inclusion and protecting the environment and eating less meat if not no meat at all (I have been vegetarian for going on almost thirty years), as well as treating others with kindness and respect. I suppose it could be said that I was many years ahead of my time, though I was certainly treated like a weirdo back in those days. I think some of them are vegans. When I mentioned to one of the staff about my confrontation with a super self-righteous and intolerant vegan, she, a vegan herself, seemed sympathetic (to me, not the other vegan), and mentioned the importance of treating one another with kindness. And the manager, whom I don't believe to be vegan (I have caught him eating eggs on the sly) smiles good-naturedly whenever I order their vegan scone, heated, with...butter. They play so much music of ABBA sometimes, that I seem to have lost my sense of embarrassment and have sometimes caught myself enjoying their music without irony. I have also, by spending time in this coffee shop come to get habituated to the music of Lana Del Rey, whose name in Spanish means the King's wool. She sounds rather like Kate Bush on Valium. There are two rather comfy chairs in the back where I usually enjoy sitting and I have spent many enjoyable hours with my sketchbook, occasionally exchanging commentary with staff. It is a very relaxed, very safe place, with enough rainbow signalling to assure queer people that they can be safe and comfortable here. I hope this coffee shop, which has been through a few changes of management and ambience already, manages to stay this way for a while. I have also thanked the manager for the way he runs the place, for this has also become like a local sanctuary, where my priest and I have also been able to fight and thrash out some issues that have since been resolved, or at least are being resolved. Even though I usually don't do endorsements, I will for this cafe. It is called Bean Around the World, and they are located on Granville Street, between W. 13th and W. 14th Avenues and this is my shout out to thank them for being here. Thanks, you guys!