Masochistic Perceptions, Trials and Truths

These are my cyberfied cerebral synapses ricocheting off reality as I perceive it: thoughts, opinions, passions, rants, art and poetry...

Wednesday, November 22, 2006


As I sit sipping some 15 year old Glenfiddich Solera Reserve single malt, listing to a bit of Shostakovich, a sense of fulfillment is washing over me. In spite of the mercury dropping to frigid lows, I feel like I’ve finally made a quantitative achievement through qualitative assessment. That is to say, I’ve pretty much nailed the lid on my first set of report cards. It’s interesting to observe my inner ebbs of emotion, swirled about by the odd rogue wave.

Don’t get me wrong, I still thrash wildly in the throngs of my mid-life crisis which commenced in my 20’s -I suppose this is attributed to my broody introspective and overly self-critical view of my self. Certainly, as I reflect on recent entries, I see what a pathetic moaning bastard I’ve become, certain that ideal happiness is like all other ideals – great until transferred to people and a constant that can never be maintained, no matter how clearly the Buddha illustrates the root of despair. But, taking a Buddhist perspective, I suppose the ups and downs in life compliment each other and, like any poet, I take extremely high highs and low lows. I guess this is the heart of masochism, is it not? A certain pleasure in pain, and a necessary yin to the yang of joy.

Though, by all appearances, it might seem that I dwell – but I am not a dweller. I moan and am pathetic, yes, but I don’t sit and “woe is me”. Rather I push myself harder (perhaps a part of my problem). In any case, I’ve been inspired by “Frida” (the movie and the book – the book is much better) and continue my literary enrichment by taking on Thomas Mann’s Doctor Faustus. Yes, I still dream of that utilitarian communist utopia made where I and other like minded pagan academics live in communal peace and Art with goats and dragonflies, void of bureaucrats. In fact, I’m contemplating joining the Marxist-Leninist Party of Canada as they are as valid as any other religion (and I do love their berets!)…

I have also started teaching myself Classical Guitar. I don’t know how long this will last. My early progress is promising (I’ve tried to teach myself before using this same book), though I’m getting near to the point in the lessons that I gave up previously in frustration. Perhaps I will discuss lessons in the new year with the missus. Even if I don’t go the Classical route (I can already play most major and minor chords), I might go alternative rock or folk – most likely the latter. Truly, though I will always remain active with things like Yoga and exercise, I think my days of hard training are winding down. Why most athletes retire in their late thirties is evident as I am presently traveling through this epoch.

That being said – and perhaps further hyperbolising my duplicity, I did recently beginning a power lifting program. My heart isn’t truly in it as I am only half contemplating trying Gaelic Football with a local club this Spring. I’m tired of being the brick shithouse though. Genetics, sadly, aren’t really conducive to me being a smaller guy.

One thing that has caught my attention is a re-kindled interest in Gojukai Karate. As you will remember, nearly a year ago, I contemplated joining a local Gojukai club (was also looking at Aikido). Any road, one of my teaching colleagues is contemplating getting back into it (he has his black belt) which would offer me the companionship I’ve been seeking in similar pursuits. Though I’m completely off the bloody and brutal, I still have oodles of respect for the values and philosophies espoused by traditional Martial Arts. So, we’ll see how this goes.

Absinthe has been on my mind as of late. Perhaps I’ll get a bunch of friends together for some Absinthe and poetry – definitely I was born of the wrong age!

So, there we have me. My, how a blog that was intended to bring the world my thoughts on life in a direct effort to start a cult has transformed into letters to myself – a diary per se. I’m not really entirely certain as to why I publish this stuff, especially since so few folks read it. Perhaps it’s simply my way of offering comfort to everyone else out there on a journey with no specific course plotted – you’re not alone.

Viva la revolucion!


  • At 3:14 p.m. , Anonymous Anonymous said...

    So you know you are not alone, yet sometimes maybe thankful the "Bush-league" is not reading your blog, nodroggout sees too there are all these sites full of people blogging along alone. Sting/Police= "message in a bottle" and crying in vaccum. But, good for me to see you are keeping busy. I gotta do laundry before shift tomorrow, or more snow falls, move the car around and plug it in. Suppose you had an American reader to your site? Would that help obscure the meaning of these rants? Marx wears berets? Che maybe? No Mao! Imagine what it takes to be a medical doctorate and use a machine gun to heal ailing ideology. See where Dr. Bethune differs from these.


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