notanotherphony.

my brain still playing all kinds of tricks on me.  calm and sleepy one moment then manic and restless the next.  confident and clear one moment then edgy and foggy the next.  what does this mean?  what is the sign?  what is my purpose?  what is my purpose?  what is my purpose???

I woke up on the floor of Tom’s condo after a night of drinking and casting and reading and auditioning.  taking life into my hands one slow and long day after another.  what is my purpose?  what is my purpose?  what is my purpose?  lacking confidence one day.  fiery and focused the next.

I woke up on the floor and went down to the steam room with Tom.  sweating out the booze from the night before.  sweating away the toxins and doubt.  steam room.  hot tub.  swim.  coffee.  breakfast sandwich.  then drove over to Bloor St to buy a Brahm’s cd.  I walked out of the Bloor St store and realized that I was at Brunswick Ave.  I turned right and walked north on Brunswick.  I walked to Jean Sibellius Park.  thirty six years ago a young girl was taken from this park and raped and murdered a block away at 482 Brunswick Ave.  She was nine years old.  her name was Sharin Morningstar Keenan.  I was sixteen.  her body was stuffed into a small fridge where the killer had lived.  he disappeared.  his name was and is Dennis Melvyn Howe.  he was never found although there has been many sightings.  how does one disappear?  no sign.  no clues.  no nothing.  sad.  one of the detectives working on the case committed suicide a few months after the young girl’s body was found.  so tragic.  so unnecessary.  terrifying.  within a five year span in the early eighties there were several tragic cases.  Alison Parrot was raped and murdered after answering a phone call at her midtown home where the killer pretended to be a photographer and lured the young girl down to Varsity Stadium for a supposed photoshoot.  she phoned her Mother at work to ask if she could go and her Mom said “yes” and that was it.  her Mom never saw her again.  sad.  terrifying.  unnecessary.  tragic.  traumatizing.  her killer, Francis Roy, was eventually caught and sentenced to jail.  Nicole Morin disappeared from her Etobicoke apartment in 1985.  she was eight years old.  she asked her Mom if she could go swimming with her friend and her Mom said “yes.”  she walked down the hallway and took the elevator down to meet her friend.  she never made it down to the lobby.  she vanished without a trace.  no signs.  no clues.  she has still not been found.  her Mom died of cancer shortly after Nicole’s disappearance.  her Dad still holds out hope that she is alive and well somewhere.  no answers.  no resolution.  no hope.  her Dad is alone.  sad.  tragic.  unnecessary.

all of these tragic stories happened about eight years after my initial loss of innocence.  that happened in 1977 when a young eleven year boy from Portugal who shined shoes for extra money for his family was lured away from Yonge Street and was brutally raped and murdered by three savages.  all three are now in jail.  maybe one of the guys has died.  not sure.  The Shoeshine Boy, as Emmanuel Jaques was nicknamed, lost his life in fear.  torture.  alone.  his family devastated as were the families of all the other young victims.  sad.  tragic.  unnecessary.

I left Jean Sibellius Park and walked over to 428 Brunswick.  the spot where Sharin Morningstar Keenan was viciously raped and murdered.  the wind was howling.  it was dark.  grey.  the street was weirdly empty.  I heard chimes off in the distance.  I stood outside the rundown house and began to cry.  what a horrific way for a young girl to die.  terrified.  alone.  in pain.  how could anyone do such a horrific act?  how could anyone harm such an innocent child?  why does this happen?  where was god?  where were the neighbours?  how did this sick man lure the innocent girl?  nobody saw?  how is this man NOT behind bars???  does nobody know where he is?  what happens to the families of these innocent victims?  do they ever move on?  life.  loss.  why?

I walked away from 482 and walked south.  tears streaming down my face.  snow began to fall.  I was cold.  sad.  thoughtful.  lost.  confused.  purpose?  purpose?  purpose?  TELL POWERFUL STORIES THAT MAKE PEOPLE FEEL.  WE HAVE TOO MUCH FLUFF IN THIS WORLD.  TOO MUCH PHONINESS.  NOT ENOUGH AUTHENTICITY.  PURPOSE.  WHO CARES ABOUT ANOTHER COMEDY?  WHO CARES ABOUT ANOTHER COMIC BOOK?  WHO CARES ABOUT ANOTHER SUPER HERO?  WHO CARES ABOUT ANOTHER DUMB SHOW WITH BRITISH ACCENTS AND HORSES OR KINGS AND QUEENS.  POWERFUL STORIES THAT MAKE PEOPLE FEEL.  love.  loss.  sorrow.  hope.  sadness.  happiness.  real.  family.

childhood trauma.

lots of childhood trauma.

still a child in many ways.

didn’t have a childhood in many other ways.

family torn apart at a young age.

trauma.

traumatic.

1970’s.

1980’s.

tragic.

loss.

love.

missing children.

sadness.

love.

I want to love.

restless and real.

make people feel.

feelings.

no more fluff.

no more HATE.

no more PHONINESS.

real.

loss.

LOVE.

LOVE.

LOVE.

THE SHOESHINE BOY.

SHARIN MORNINGSTAR KEENAN.

ALISON PARROT.

NICOE MORIN.

MY DAD.

1970’s.

1980’s.

childhood memories.

fast mind.  big heart.  a keen sense of seeing through phoniness.  a keen sense of seeing through lies.  watching young girls at school cling to each other out of insecurities and fear.  observing them making fun of other’s out of insecurity and fear.  putting d list celebrities on pedastals and screaming and shouting at them as if they had just seen GOD when in fact they just saw some useless youtuber who makes make up videos.  sick.  sad.  parents of these kids sickening and bored.  dull and lost.  living their lives through their kids while offering up no opinions at school with teachers and the curriculum.  just wanting their kids to be popular.  popular at the expense of conviction.  at the expense of real friends.  popular at the expense of a backbone and of opinions.  worried who they would offend.  “OH PLEASE HONEY.  SIT YOUR FAT ASS DOWN AND TIE UP MY SHOE.  I WILL GIVE YOU AN AUTOGRAPHED SELFIE!!!!”

SELFIE.  WHAT THE FUCK IS A SELFIE?  why have they taken over?  and based on observation on my IG why does this disease affect women more than men?  a sick disease.  a narcissistic disease.  a disease, once again, based and mired in insecurities and lack of love.  “HEY MARGE…LET ME TAKE A SELFIE WITH HARDLY ANY CLOTHES ON AND SEE HOW MANY “LIKES” I GET.”

how painfully pathetic and sad.  artists turning over in their graves watching such peasants pretending to be artists.  pretending to be seekers of truth.  pretending to be activists.  pretending to be unique.  pretending to be “ballsy.”  pretending to cry.  pretending to have an opinion.  an opinion that they think is unique but is the opinion of every other sheep.  every other donkey.  opinions that get applause from the masses and “likes” on facebook but DO NOT challenge anything.  just a useless opinion by a useless artist.  when your opinion is that dull and that meaningless do us all a favour and take a bikini selfie and get a thousand likes.  this way I DO NOT have to waste time reading rehashed boredom and rehashed opinions that put me to sleep.  fucking fake artists with their fake smiles and fake hair and fake teeth and fake opinions and fake laughs and fake friends and fake parents and fake clothes and fake lips and fake tears and fake anger.  FUCK ALL ARTISTS WHO ARE NOT ARTISTS BUT PRETEND TO BE ARTISTS WHICH IS WORSE THAN THE MERE PEASANT WHO OFFERS UP NOTHING BUT SITS IN HIS GARAGE DRINKING SHITTY BEER AND SCREAMING AT HIS TV.  GO VOTE AND GET EXCITED.  PRETEND THAT YOU ARE MAKING A DIFFERENCE.  BUT A DIFFERENCE TO WHO?  A DIFFERENCE TO WHAT?  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.

over forty years ago a young girl asked her Mom in Etobicoke if she could take the elevator down to the lobby of their apartment building to meet her friend to go swimming for the day.  it was hot.  the summer break had just begun.  her Mom was running a daycare out of her apartment and was quite busy so she told her daughter, Nicole, that it was fine.  she could go.  Nicole was so excited and she quickly changed into her bathing suit, grabbed a towel, and ran out of her apartment.  she waited for the elevator to come.  she was alone but her friend was waiting in the lobby.  the elevator arrived and Nicole jumped in.  she hit the “lobby” button and the elevator doors closed.  SHE HAS NEVER BEEN SEEN SINCE.  she did not arrive in the lobby to meet her friend.  her friend waited for awhile and then called Nicole’s apartment.  Nicole’s Mom answered and said, “Oh you know Nicole.  She probably ran into someone she knows.  I am sure she will be there soon.”  BUT SHE NEVER ARRIVED.  her friend eventually left to go swimming by herself.  Nicole’s Mom continued to run her daycare.  Nicole’s Dad at work and completely unaware of what was the beginning of a NIGHTMARE that would change all of their lives forever.

Dinner time arrives and still no Nicole.  her friend now at home.  her Dad now at home.  her Mom at home.  kids all gone.  Nicole’s Mom called Nicole’s friend and she told her that Nicole never arrived to go swimming.  FEAR SET IN.  FEAR.  PANIC.  WONDER.  Nicole’s Mom called other’s in the apartment.  no sign of Nicole.  FEAR.  FEAR.  FEAR.  She then called the police and they came to the apartment and did a “door to door” search.  nothing.  nowhere.  she went missing without a trace.

that summer was filled with searches and hope combined with silence and fear.  “what happened?  where did she go?  who took her?  why?”

so many questions and, unfortunately, none were ever answered.

Nicole Morin went missing over forty years ago.  In Etobicoke.  mass searches.  many leads.  many tips.  many false alarms.  but still NOTHING.  no sign.  lost hope.  sad.  lonely.  loss.  wonder.  worry.

the parents eventually got a divorce.  they could not take the emotional toll of their only daughter missing and gone without a clue.  without closure.

Nicole Morin.

what happened?

her Mom recently died of cancer never knowing what happened to her young and precious baby.  slowly dying a painful death both physically and emotionally.

her Dad still going to church and still praying hoping for a miracle.  hoping for closure.  hoping for his “love” to somehow appear forty years later.  I am sure he is even hoping for bad news.  he is just hoping for some closure.  closure for him.  closure for her.  closure.

what a sad life.

I cannot imagine losing your only daughter this way and never ever knowing what happened to her.

he sits alone in his apartment.  Nicole’s bedroom has not changed since the day she left to go swimming.  same stuffies.  same bed.  same clothes.  same pillow.

sad.

lonely.

loss.

unknown.

why?

who?

this story hit me hard when I was ten years old back in Unionville.

but it hits me even harder now.  married and with my own daughter.  so beautiful.  so precious.  so unique.

how could your life go on without ever knowing what happened to your precious daughter?

life.

went to bed.  couldn’t sleep.  our dog sleeping at the end of the bed.  taking up all of my leg room.  I toss.  I turn.  I toss some more.  pop one sleeping pill.  then another.  take a piss.  still can’t sleep.  dog whining.  I get up and bring him downstairs.  put him outside.  try to call him in but he refuses to come in.  he wants to be outside.  I want to sleep.  dogs can be stubborn.  so can I.  I close the door and attempt to go to sleep on the couch.  tight for room.  no room for my arms.  snuggle under the covers.  sore stomach from all the pills.  feel like I am going to barf.  I also have a zit on the side of my nose that refuses to go away.  stubborn just like my dog and me.  stubbornness a quality that I like when it is from me but I hate when it is from someone else.  contradictions.  so many contradictions.  I am, finally, almost asleep when I hear barking from outside.  forgot about my dog.  get up.  open the door.  let him in.  he licks me and then lays down under the couch where I am sleeping.  my wife and daughter fast asleep.  I have to work in the morning.  anticipate being tired.  accept that I will be tired.  acceptance.  allowing.  semi-understanding.  I fall asleep.  dreams.  good dreams.  forgotten dreams.  intense dreams.  forgotten in the morning.  I wake up to licking and whining by my dog.  I look at the clock.  5:30am.  I don’t need to wake up until 7am.  life.  constant struggles.  constant adjustments.  constant annoyances and constant love.  contradictions once again.  the yin and the yang.

I wake up and my dog jumps on me.  licks me.  kisses me bites me.  scratches me.  he loves me.  I love him.  but I am not sure if he is aware of time.  aware of work.  aware of his space.  but I love him.  and he loves me.  unconditional love.  even when I sit down to write with a morning coffee by my side I get bugged by barking outside.  and barking for food.  and barking to go back outside.  and then barking to go upstairs.  and then when I go to pick him up to bring him upstairs he runs away from me so I smash the wall with a baseball bat and then break the window with a baseball.  I scream.  I holler.  I yell.  I throw a tantrum.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”

dog is sleeping upstairs.  I wake my family up.  they ask if I am okay.  I tell them that I am tired.  they tell me that I need help.  I tell them that I am lonely.  They tell me that I am crazy.  I tell them that I am lost.  lonely.  tired.  bored.  frustrated.  confused.  getting old.  thinking of dying.  thinking of the past.  memories from youth.  great memories.  hockey memories.  soccer memories.  baseball memories.  tennis memories.  getting molested.  Dad dying.  false arrests.  drunken debauchery.  toasted western sandwiches for lunch at the Vines house.  my Dog now eating my daughter’s bag.  he stops me from writing again.  my eyes are tired from no sleep.  my tongue is brown and purple from too much wine and too much coffee.  no water.  never any water.  “Drink lots of water.”

I look round and now my dog is eating the carpet.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

no time.

never enough time to write.

NO SLEEP TIL BROOKLYN.

a great start to the day.

FUCK.

LET’S MOVE AND SHAKE THIS SHIT UP!!!

bye.

woke up today alive.  ready to begin a new day with new hopes and new dreams.  morning hike.  morning coffees then long drive down to Toronto for my psychiatrist appointment.  good music.  lots of traffic.  new attitude.  new life.  not one filled with yoga and meditation and self help books and podcasts by gurus and praying to a god that I don’t believe in.  NO today was a new day filled with new confidence.  a new attitude.  a new outlook on life.  an attitude that is filled with the mantra of FUCK EVERYONE.  not that I want to FUCK EVERYONE nor do I hate everyone but it is an attitude that gets me away from people pleasing and doing the “right thing” and worrying about what other’s think.  a healthy new attitude which is really going back to my old attitude.  my core.  my authentic self.  I mean do people really care about other’s?  they are so focused on their own lives and the lives of celebrities that they don’t have time for other “normal” people.

I sat in the waiting room of my psychiatrist’s office and read some pages of American Buffalo.  a much better “self help” book than Learn To Let Go or Eckart Tolle books.  A book that fires me up.  gets me excited.  inspires me.  excites me.  I read some scenes and envisioned myself acting them out.  a fiery performer filled with passion and balls falling into the depths of boredom and stillness.  Stillness.  Present.  In the moment.  all useless terms thrown around in a useless industry that applauds useless fake actors and useless fake youtube stars.  an industry filled with puppets and robots and dull shows with dull cardboard cutouts.  FUCK ALL OF THEM.  HOW HAVE WE DIGRESSED SO MUCH?  SO LOW?  WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?  WHY ARE THERE SO MUCH SHEEP?  SO MUCH PUPPETS?  FAKE FOLLOWERS WITH FAKE SMILES AND FAKE FRIENDS.  a disgusting society that is getting more disgusting and more dull.  more fake and more sad.

My psychiatrist called me in and I excitedly walked into her room.  I sat down on the couch and pretty soon I jumped up and began telling my psychiatrist about my new changes and new attitudes and new beliefs.  I was on fire.  sweating.  moving.  speaking loudly with conviction and balls.  not without balls.  not tiny balls.  but big fat loud balls with big fat conviction.  no time for meditation and listening to nature sounds.  give me the Rolling Stones or Red Hot Chili Peppers.  I want to live not die.  I want to move not sit.  I want to be loud and fun and engaging and fiery and controversial and abrupt and abrasive and unique and weird and exciting.  I DO NOT want to sit and breathe and relax and close my eyes.  I WANT MY EYES TO BE WIDE OPEN AND MY MOUTH MOVING AND MY ARMS FLAILING.

after my rant in my doctor’s office I sat down and took a breath.  she agreed with my new attitude and then gave me a bunch of prescriptions for adhd and I left.  jumped in my car and drove home.  I picked up a coffee on the way.  My third of the day.  no food.  I listened to great music in the car.  got home.  went for another hike.  fresh air.  moving.  constantly moving.  two hikes in one day.  always two hikes in one day.  no point to the story.  no point to bad movies.  bad shows.  bad music.  just no point.  dull.  shit.  politically correct.  fighting nothing.  challenging nothing.

story is shit.

I am rusty.

no more self help books.

no more doctors.

no more coaches.

no more yoga.

no more meditation.

no more McDonald’s.

no more wasting my time with dull people with dull opinions.

MOST PEOPLE BORE ME SO I HAVE TO AVOID THEM.

WINE.

BOOK.

FILM.

MUSIC.

SLEEP.

CONTRARY TO WHAT THE EXPERTS SAY…DO NOT SIT STILL.  MOVE.  ALWAYS MOVE.  ALWAYS YELL.  NEVER WHISPER.  NEVER SIT.  DO NOT BE STILL.  DO NOT WASTE TIME.

NEVER WASTE TIME.

WASTING TIME IS BAD FOR THE SOUL.

FUCK EVERYONE.

 

so much wasted opinions on so many wasted platforms.  “know it all’s” discussing politics and religion and fake news and corporate bullshit while doing nothing with their lives.  they have all the answers except for themselves.  wasting all their energies on things they cannot control or cannot change.  puppets on the end of a string but thinking they are free and knowledgeable.  peasants.  peasants among peasants.  bashing Trudeau for new laws that enable cops to pull people over for no reason.  give tickets for no reason.  give breathalyzers for no reason.  fucking peasants.  nothing has changed but always wanting to attack the latest story.  the latest current event.  the latest political diatribe.  cops have always had the power to pull over unsuspecting drivers.  they have always had the power to tell you that you were driving erratically or that you did a rolling stop.  stop the insanity.  stop the arguing.  stop the wasting of your time and other’s time.  find your passion and run with it.  if your passion is bashing Trudeau then run for fucking office and be the change that you believe in.  bashing Trudeau on facebook won’t do much.  applauding Trump on facebook won’t do much.  if it legitimately helps you and keeps you off meds then all the power to you.  but if it is a distraction to actually doing something important with your lives then STOP.  nobody gives a fucking rat’s ass about dumb opinions from dumb people who think Superman is important but Bukowski is shit.

fucking stupid people with stupid ideas and stupid smiles and stupid friend’s with stupid cars and stupid energies.  AVOID MAGGOTS AT ALL COST.  AVOID THE INSANITY.  AVOID THE DULL.  AVOID THE “KNOW IT ALL’S” AND AVOID SECOND HAND OPINIONS FROM SECOND RATE POETS AND SECOND RATE POLITICIANS.

AVOID DULL PEOPLE.

AVOID DULL CONVERSATION.

AVOID DICTATORS.

AVOID DULL DICKS AND DULL PRICKS WHO SPEW OUT DULL THOUGHTS THAT ARE REHASHED FROM DULL OLD WASHED UP EGOTISTICAL PEASANTS MASKED AS LEADERS.

I only have a certain amount of time on this earth.  I do not want to waste anymore of it listening to fiery but dull re-hashed garbage coming out of the mouths of peasants.

I prefer good music.

good wine.

good films.

good books.

good hikes.

good bike rides.

good laughs.

good hearts.

good souls.

trump.  trudeau.  clinton.  bush.  harper.  ford.

who gives a fuck?

they don’t.  so I don’t.

fuck all of them and FUCK YOU if you fall for their shit.

dull.