The Overpass

I’m totally numb.

That’s about the only way that can come close to describing what I’m currently feeling.

When I sat at my computer yesterday, getting set to work, I was hit with the news that my work account had been suspended due to a Terms of Use violation; according to them, my account was being used fraudulently.

That’s all I know.

Surely, this is all an error that’ll be quickly rectified, I thought. I appealed the decision but got the same response a day later (today); they’re adamant I exploited their system in order “to gain an unfair advantage.”

What I did, I haven’t a clue. 

And just like that, for reasons I absolutely do not understand, I’m now out of a job. 

I honestly loved what I was doing and making good money to boot. Plus, things were going real well, and my supervisors were happy with my performance; I was convinced things could only get better.  

Last week was when things took a wrong turn, I think. My PC was acting increasingly erratic and giving me problems. It would suddenly lock itself or shut down, doing so without warning until it simply refused to boot up again.

I used my phone to access the messaging app in order to contact my supervisor. This set off a fraud warning, I was told, as the number I used wasn’t the same with which I had applied. I explained that my phone had been suspended due to the financial woes I was in prior to starting, and that, in between applying and beginning to work for them, I had switched to a monthly plan with a different company in order to have a phone, an absolute necessity these days, especially if one is looking for work.

Apparently, this was sorted out, the change was noted in my account, and I was fine.

However, I no longer had a working PC. I wasted no time, found a great deal on a used system and jumped on it. I’d notified my supervisor to ensure that this change would not create similar problems. All’s good, I was told.

I resumed work as normal as soon as I could. I put in two full days, but I did notice a strange shift that forced me back to my dashboard after I’d submitted what was to be my last bit of work for them. I didn’t think much of it given the constant glitches on their platform, and I closed up for the day. 

In the early hours of Wednesday morning (1:17 a.m.), I received an automated message telling me that my account had been suspended. When I woke up Wednesday morning I noticed that I no longer had access to my work dashboard; I then saw the email.

The way everything ties a user to a unit these days, be it a phone or PC, the change in PC and the way I’d quickly set it up to work ASAP, adding my account on top of the admin account that belonged to the previous owner, that's the only thing I can see that could have set off any alarm bells. 

I’m seriously dumbfounded and clueless as to what I could have done to suggest fraudulent activity, and I can only assume that, from their end, they must have noticed a mismatch between the info registered to this PC and my regular account.

We were constantly warned that monitoring is strict and that they don’t kid around—every document is stamped “classified info” and even taking a screenshot of anything could get one in big trouble—but I expected that behind that wall was a bunch of reasonable people who’d work with us to sort out such issues and get to the truth of the matter.

Boy was I wrong, it turns out.  

On top of that, given the reason, they’re withholding what’s owed to me. So, not only have I lost days working for free, even attending an unpaid workshop, I’m suddenly left up shit’s creek without any paddles, my only recourse being an appeal that was denied.

This actually puts me in a worse position than I was in before as I highly doubt that I’ll stumble on another job in the next few days.

My landlord isn’t going to be as forgiving, yet again, I’m sure of that. I’m out on the street for sure now without some solution coming my way fairly quickly.

I knew I had cause to be worried over the fact that things were suddenly going too well, I just knew it!

Right now I'm just numb, but as it's wearing off, I'm feeling myself sinking into heavy depression.

It seems that, no matter what I do, happiness isn't for me, and that, when I do find it, it doesn't matter how hard I try to hold on to it.

I don't know what message I'm meant to get out of this event. Is this a sign that I wasn't yet where I'm meant to be? Is this a sign that, as it was getting less and less of my attention, DMS&UY is meant to be my focus? If so, what am I do make of that as I abruptly find myself with zero revenue and renewed financial commitments re my debts, per the steady income I was expecting?    

I'm deeply confused and feeling lost. Not sure I see a point to anything anymore.

I think this is the last straw for me; I've endured too much shit for too long to make any of it seem worthwhile.

A bit of self-indulgence.

This one had gotten a tremendous number of plays when I'd originally shared it in the now-defunct "Daily Run Down My Street" section.

It's called "Nostalgia Fuels Hope" and was recorded on 24-Jan-2023. 

This one, too, is fully improvised; one take, no edits.

This is the original recording and could do with some equalizing and noise cleaning, this aspect not being my forte.

Out taking a walk and listening to some tunes as I enjoyed the lush, cared-for alleyways Ville Émard offers, the player on my “phone”, being set to “random” for some reason—which tends to annoy me, as I like to listen to selections from an artist if not a full album—offered me this pdl original, an improvised track I had completely forgotten about.

I had gotten in the habit of recording at least one per day, so I can’t be expected to remember them all, I suppose (or hope… it’s not “age” settling in, I’m sure).

It was recorded on 20-Jan-2023; I’d titled it “Plotting One’s Revenge”, which may have something to do with whatever motivated it, what I may have been feeling when I sat down to play, or the imagery that ran through my mind while playing or listening through the recording.

It’s a brooding piece, managing to surprise me throughout, not anticipating where the varied turns I took took me (sounds weird, but it makes sense).

The revenge could be the ending; I wanted more, and was angry it ended abruptly.

I’m not sure, but I believe I used two loopers, though it may be three. Several effects are also used throughout. As usual: one take, no edits.

I do miss my guitar, so very much, it being one of the first things I was able to sell. Eventually, certainly—definitely—I’ll get another. But I did love that one. Deeply.

Currently working on a Llama LLM, also doing ML with Python scikit… however, I'm not doing it for DMS&UY and good, humanitarian reasons, playing a role in helping to bring about a legitimate change—as I’d hoped—since, combined with the journalism-geared, topic-relevant etymology and taxonomy I’ve developed, along with the DBs I’ve spent hundreds of hours compiling, those efforts could have provided the framework, tools, and insights that indie news outlets can only dream of, certainly not being able to afford those kinds of devs by anyone focused on the usual, dare I say "normal", life stuff.

As I couldn’t afford it or accomplish it on my own, not without field-appropriate “allies” and less than $20,000, which includes the “salary” I was willing to take, such an amount being peanuts for some or easy to raise if those with thousands of fans combined fundraising efforts, instead, I’m doing it for a super-rich corporation just so they can get richer and leverage more power over all of us.

But, at least, I’m making money, right?

Am I genuinely happy? Not really; I could be far happier. But now, at least, I can eat and pay my bills.

Anyone who thinks that the money is what really matters to me doesn’t “get” anything about me, period.

The irony is that I’ll now be doubly shunned, accused of being nothing more than a part of the PMC—Professional Managerial Class—after I’ve tried damn hard to bring my PMC-ness and skills to those who whine incessantly about PMCs... yet rely on them in one form or another.  

•      •      •

I received news two days ago that changes everything; had I been aware of this two week ago, I don’t think I would have accepted the job.

In truth, what this change made me realise is that the only real reason why I took it is because I strongly felt that I needed to do the expected and responsible thing in order to pay off certain debts, the main one, which is the largest and the one I felt most guilty about, is being wiped clean, though not without a long-term cost in the form of a major rent increase, albeit, now being the only original tenant from when I moved in, it’s one that still keeps my monthly rent $200+ below the 7 other similar units in the two apartment blocks owned by my landlord—prices have skyrocketed in Montreal (and Canada as a whole). He’s putting both up for sale in July and this increases represents a big advantage for him and, in a way, helps protect me as well, as a new landlord would surely use the declared loss by my landlord and my far lower rent to boot me out and raise the monthly rent by $400-500.

Anyone not familiar with Quebec rental/leasing laws may think our laws strange and excessive, favouring either renters or landlords, depending on the issue and which side one finds themselves on, but, having been both renter and owner, and having experience in these matters across three provinces and some familiarity with the laws across Canada, I do think that Quebec is the best system in Canada and one of the best in the world.

The laws here are firm, easily accessible, and real clear, and aim to protect renters and landlords equally, providing clear, efficient, and binding recourse for any abuses suffered, be it on either side of the renting tango.

However, one particularity certainly makes Quebec a “special case” worldwide: July 1st; that’s our official moving day across the province. All leases officially start and end on July 1st of every year, making one’s first lease either shorter or longer than 12 months to adjust for that date if one happened to move in before or after July 1st.

February 1st is the deadline for landlords to notify you of any changes, such as rent increases—which are capped yearly—and March 1st is the deadline for renters to notify landlords whether they accept the increase or wish to cancel their lease. Three months notice is the minimum time required by law to cancel a lease, and (crappy) landlords can hold renters responsible for the monthly rent until July 1st. If a landlord wants you to move out prior to that day, they have to have a good reason among those accepted by the Régis, and pay you a minimum of three months of rent plus one month for every year over two years for which one has been a renter.

These days, landlords are real happy to see any long-time tenants leave so they can adjust the rent way up, per current rates. Many of them lie, telling renters that they wish to rent out their unit to a family member, immediate or not—which is one of the valid reasons—but if you can prove that it’s not a family member who moved into your place, then they’re in trouble, facing big penalties paid out to you.

Our system that protects employees and employers is equally well-defined and good, with stern repercussions against those who abuse the laws, so that simply threatening to file a case with that Régis against any employer who knows they’re in the wrong is usually enough to get them to do what’s right.

•      •      •

All and all, having developed the habit to not spend more than I had over a decade ago, my whole debt load is now below $5000, most of that having been incurred since COVID, and roughly 1/5th of that is federal income tax from 2022—due to governmental COVID aid—that I haven’t yet paid off.

My situation could be far worse.

To think, when I was 24, mortgage, vehicle, credit cards and all, I was close to $140,00 in debt.

•      •      •

Since I work remotely, this aspect keeps me relatively isolated and continues to feed my loneliness somewhat, which I’ve put some degree of effort toward rectifying by re-establishing contact with some long-time friends, this change having been helped by my mention that I was leaving Quebec, probably for good; all of the above confirms my notion that life is little more than an ironic twist with a big dollop of absurdism.

I feel I’m back in control of my life and I'm no longer in a depressive state. Yet, albeit I no longer find myself having to leave, there’s a deep yearning in me for a drastic change that’s still present, and, for reasons that are too hard to explain, I feel a sense of regret for not having finally followed through on a long-time dream to sell everything and travel the world freely, writing about my adventures. Plus, the work I now do is "remote", which means I can do it from anywhere.

•      •      •

I’ve looked into Airbnb, which isn’t allowed for the postal code I live in—a regulation passed a few years ago to limit all the conversions to Airbnb-focused units that made renting just a regular apartment increasingly harder—and I discussed a sublet with my landlord, as this would allow me to keep much of my stuff as well as a pied-à-terre in Montreal, and at a relatively decent price, while having the rent paid off and making a bit of extra cash each month, all whilst living out an adventure… but he's entirely against the idea of me subletting the apartment. I've to comply, especially after all he's done for me.

So, what to do???

Like much of the world, but all the more so on a personal level, I’m in need of a drastic change, and staying here, working for a corporation, sure as hell isn’t it!

What an awful week I just had. Seems like they're all like that lately, compoundingly so, as every glimmer I see turns to naught, leaves me in a worse off situation, but always managing to fuel some degree of hope beforehand, albeit the fact that any optimism is pretty much being entirely sucked out of me as I morph into full pessimistic cynicism. Slowly. But surely? 

I've that "part 4" and another post on the Iran-Israel situation that should have been posted by now, but I've been having a difficult go at doing anything this week, having had a fever for the past few days due to an imposing abscess—I'm badly in need of oral surgery that I can't afford, this aspect providing one more challenge in terms of interviews and impressions as, along with teeth issues, last December, I fell, and, freakish luck, as plagues me, all my front bottom teeth broke in half, giving me a pretty awful, yokel look. Not something I'd mentioned—ego and all—but just one more thing that's made life increasingly unbearable.

 The infection swelled half my face and made even a light tap on that side some of the worst torture I can imagine, and, of course, my whole condition isn't aided by my bad—and worsening—diet, eating what I can, not what I want or need...

If wondering, that meat didn't do wonders on my gut. That was more meat in one week than I normally eat in two months. 

My "bonus" month is over, and I'm still in the same situation, which means that, by this weekend's end, I'm on the street and officially homeless again...

I'm so fed up. I know I've said it quite a bit recently, but all I do is keep on sinking, no matter what I do or try... 

Here's another Bill Frisell Trio concert that's definitely worth the listen, making every second spent on a re-listen priceless moments.

SInce hearing it for the first time yesterday—an event I can best describe if using the word "orgasm"—life is mostly priceless...

With two more years playing with bassist Thomas Morgan and drummer Rudy Royston since the 2021 Jazzaldia Frisell concert I had shared, and with a Fender rather than the Gibson, Frisell is delivering from a place of absolute comfort in this showing. And the world is better for it.

The energy bristles and snaps, peaks to its loudest through soft sentences and filled silences; it's infectious, coursing through listeners who are complicit, drawn into the exchange, hearing, reacting, electrified vigour having laken over when the distortion mounts and the reverb amps up... and where's the madman with 5 arms and 7 drum sticks? That dude looks way too chill...

The sound sculpting by Frisell on this one establishes why so many try so hard to emulate him, only managing to achieve it in an ephemeral manner that offers but a surface glimpse of the artist.

At the start of a concert I was at, John Scofield—a guitar great in his own right—had mentioned Frisell and the show he gave within the same festival, then went on to praise Frisell, saying, though I'm paraphrasing: "I also play with tone, and I can do loops, and I know how to use the same effects as Frisell, so, I figured I'd be able to do his stuff no problem, maybe even better... but, it turns out, Frisell does all three at the same time, and he adds emotion and passion on top... that, I can't do."

Rudy Royston... jeez, man! Like, holy crap! Some of the time changes he manages, inserting odd-beat oddities that fit right in, filling more space than one realised was there as he's continually accentuating, never simply setting time.

He's just at the edge of overstated and over-the-top at times but he never crosses that line, never going into "look at me," Steve Vai-styled gimmickry that easily wows publics but offers as much substance as a Big Mac.

Thomas Morgan, however, you kinda forget he's there at all, frankly, which, practically, makes his performance a "perfect" one if seen with the symbolic significance of a baseball pitcher throwing a perfect game.        

This version of "What The World Needs Now Is Love" is far superior than the Jazzaldia one, but, for one of the best, have a listen to the one in this 2017 Montreux Festival live show he did with his previous Tony Sherr, Kenny Wollesen trio.         

"You Only Live Twice" appears to now fill a spot in Frisell's changing repertoire of standards. While the Jazzaldia version had "wowed" me, this one solidified my "awe"; the three just make it groove, but do so by focusing on the melodic brilliance of the chart, not on its groovability potential.

On the other hand, 'Shenandoah" is one he seemed to have let go of for a bit, bringing it back for this live concert. 

Frisell recorded a version of the Americana trad-tune "Shenandoah" with Ry Cooder for his 1999 Good Dog, Happy Man album, and, although hearing two guitar masters with a love of Americana come together to cover it should provide the go-to reference for those wanting to hear Frisell's interpretation of this classic, it's the one I'm least likely to think of and to go to, the takes that managed to truly move me all coming out of his live trio performances. This version also now sits before his 'official' 1999, Cooder-collaborated cut.  

Bob Dylan's "A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall" is another that delivered an intimate, powerfully profound and moving Frisell reimagining that's no longer making a regular showing in his setlist. Eager to see this trio tackle it.

I'm actually glad he keeps altering as he also keeps on writing new charts, too, which is why he hasn't had anything I'd qualify as a stale period, nor the typical breakout-turned-stale career; always Friselling, he is! 

.

Setlist

I'd been contacted by a firm in Bahrain on 4-Apr, and finally decided to contact them back on Friday, 12-Apr. I won't offer more pertinent details at this point, for whether there's something worth telling at all now depends on them.

But I will offer some bits about the reflection that analysing, deciding, and acting on have led me to have.  

One aspect that surprised me: I seem to be willing to accord better intentions to individuals if said individuals are foreigners from certain countries and from certain types of institutions then equal "ranking" non-foreigners from similar, North-American-based or Western institutions. I see one as them offering me potential and opportunity and the other as seeing only a potential opportunity for them in me.  

The last is mostly true if a US firm within any financial/banking sphere. Anything "Wall Street" makes me cringe and recoil. Maybe lash out, too.

But there's no hard-and-fast rule that I'm aware of; instincts and non-tangibles based on personal experience appear to largely account for any variance, which may offer the reverse given a different reason altogether to consider 'which would be the best option'.  

Then there are those I'd never trust or wish to be associated with in any form whatsoever... The Nigerian Princes are among them, but only because they always seem so desperate to leave Nigeria, so, leaning on any "Nigerian" part like they do makes me think they're not serious as Princes; I like my royalty to be dedicated to their kingdom, thank you.

I was also contacted by UAE tech firm about entirely different matters, which I definitely should reply to; I hadn't as I'm always expecting the DMS&UY site to be forced down due to a lack of funds, yet, months later, I'm still here whilst having established that contact and adding my name to their "vendors list" may have helped in rectifying that.

I truly am an odd one. Perhaps far too caught up on correct principles and on good morals, always acting in concordance with my strict personal ethics and within my own moral framework?

If only I'd given more thought to my ethics and morals before becoming so attached to my framework, I'd surely have a more world-friendly and economically-functional take on "killing babies" and about what to do with those dreaded "others"?

As long as it's 'other' people's babies and kids, where's the problem, right?

And if I really were serious about earning my rightful place in the world, I'd scrap fluff-words like "people" and learn how to use "animals" properly instead whenever I'm dealing with such within a pertinent context.

Damn my parents! I blame them for those word choices I invariably seem to make.

Any hoot, related matters provided another instance that reminded me just how impossible it is for me to ever do things the "proper" and "expected" way, for which a "How To" or set template is almost always available. So many times, a voice in my head tells me I shouldn't... just follow the by-the-numbers cookie-cutter approach... But if I did that, then, I'm not being genuine, making "honesty" a secondary feature less desired than "expectations"? That definitely ain't right, leading to false presentation and unwanted representation on my side, and, possibly—and more than likely—on theirs as well.

Here's a post scriptum to my email, a formal business one sent to a person located in Bahrain; I added it because I felt a need to address one aspect, but felt that doing so brought me to a place that just isn't me, which gave me license for absurdity rather than simply avoiding any mention unless/until absolutely necessary: 

P.S. Times being what they are and cause for condemnation quickly found when so desired, I specify the following to avoid potential headaches only, doing so given your location: I’m willing to focus my efforts, but I’m not interested in betraying the West in any manner whatsoever for money; I’m just as equally uninterested in betraying any nation, or any religious, political, or cultural group for money. Except, maybe, that country with weird toenails and pubic-like curls to their hair… what‘s the name of that place?

If it’s on the tip of anyone’s tongue, that may not be a good sign. At all.

Honesty. True impartiality. A genuine attempt to understand. Hatred-free. Better steps leading to a true, lasting peace. These are things I will never betray, unless the amount to do so is so big I can then buy the world and set things right. Maybe get rid of those people who don’t like my music or cooking, while at it. Cursed be those people!

That was the email; the "formal" doc I'd attached offered similar moments...

All these formalities, they're always a firm slap in my face, for they act as a reminder that I seem to operate on a different plane of reality, one that's detached from the set formulisms put in place to gauge one's worth within said formulisms that operate per a set hierarchy, itself defined and dependent on set formulisms. If without them, then how is anyone to judge what's good or bad, right or wrong?

Thinking on that brought me back to my nine-year-old self and a second-grade art project I'd been chosen to create first, so the class would then have a model to go off of; I was almost always selected for such roles when artistic goals and imagination were the focus. One day, I wasn't... I had a mini identity crisis, age 10. 

We'd moved to Toronto from Montreal and, at that point in my story, I couldn't say with any degree of confidence that I spoke English, but neither could I longer claim total ignorance; I "got" the gist, not the details, but this facet doesn't explain my boneheadness, which is the appropriate label, in this case, I feel.

The project: Use your initials to create a colourful patterned overlay on a holder-box for notes that we first had to create.

Here's the thing: I somehow never caught the "your initials" part; I selected my letters based purely on a letter's aesthetics, per the font used to create the stencils from which we were to create our masters. O, Q, and R. The letters had zero meaning to me.

My initials being PL, or PDL for those who know me well, and PDGAJL for those who know me too well... I didn't even manage to hit one! When the teacher, Mr Cody, then used my model to show the rest of the class what to do, none of the kids understood why, then, did I use those letters. It took a few minutes for what people were saying to sink in and what had been meant by "initials", which sounds a lot like the French "initiales", though not so much like "yorreenētials" to a young Québécois with no English.

When it finally sunk in, I felt kinda foolish... pretended those letters had a meaning. Maybe I was making a gift for my mum; how do they know I'm not... so there. Also, in my defense, the teacher had placed much emphasis on "example", and I recall that having an impact on my choice.

For the rest of the year, students had a personalized holder-box that identified them. The one that identified no one was mine...

That reminds me of a speech I did for the annual competition we had, winners going on to the regional and then national competition. I'd discussed video games, mentioning a "pool" game in the speech, but referring to it as "billiards". Except, I didn't know how to pronounce that in English, and used the French pronunciation—it being a French word, after all—which sounds like "B Arr" in French, and nothing like the English "bill yards".

When I was done, a student raised his hand and asked me what "B-R" was. 

"Bee-har", I asked back, "where?" I hadn't a clue what he was referring to, getting caught on B and R without being able to link it to the French "billiard" that sounds like "B Arr".

"Yes, I wondered that, too," said another student. "You mention B-R a lot, and I hadn't a clue what you were saying."

The whole class wondered about that, too...

I finally clued in weeks later, upon hearing someone pronounce "billiards" the proper English way and reacting with "Oh, I thought it was pronounced Bee-harr."   

One thing I'm seriously tired of reading/hearing from idiotic ideologues—they act the part; I merely apply the label they fit—is the pseudo psycho-analytical description of the type of people who support Russian President Vladimir Putin and the why—never mind what they define as "support"—or the tendency for these to lump all such opinions as those of rightwing individuals, usually of the "far" variety, and to qualify anything voiced about Putin that isn't negative as being a part of a "love affair with a dictator", reduced to infantile terms like "Tankie".

On such things, TYT has definitely been that; anything foreign affairs related turns them into mindless, pro-Pentagon propagandists, all whilst claiming to want to put an end to imperialism. Methinks they open their mouths way before having given some topics any serious thoughts, perhaps?

Absolutely asinine behaviour. Totally immature and superbly ignorant. Entirely tribalistic, but on a larger scale, is all.

Such comments betray how easily brainwashed and made to act in a certain manner that segments of the West can be. These people gobble up whatever Western leaders want them to, their messages pushed through the mainstream media that Western indies claim replacing. That loop into stupid still boggles my mind, hence why I often point to it. It makes no friggin' sense. "Who da foe?" is the only real question asked from this group, it seems.

Despite the well-established and imperial tendency to vilify once respected friends and allies should said snap-of-the-finger Satan-worshiping, brutal dictators—and Commies, to boot—get in the way of USD-creating energy, there's a segment that always seems to fall for that plot each and every time, and again, as they're promoting themselves the real friends of Liberty and her now slutty, desperate-to-please friend, Democracy as she slips a US-industry-saving missile deep inside the invisible-cloak-wearing pole-dancing junkie, Integrity, but don't worry, no need to "cancel" anyone, taxpayers are footing the bill and she's no friend of Rachel Maddow, anyhow. They don't even know each other.

Did I say "friends" of Liberty? I meant "heroes", so don't forget to click "Subscribe" and "Join" if you can, and don't forget to "Like" and you can also...

And we're back, discussing the all-black side of what should be an all-white world. In every sense. 

For close to eight years, the West thought that Putin was a real swell and respectable, tell-it-like-it-is, black-of-the-eye-honest-soul type of man until he voiced a desire to see a multi-polar world, not quite trusting the uni-dimensional Rules-Based one promoted by ORBAH (Order of Rules-Based A-Holes). Can he be blamed for that. [No, it wasn't a question, thus the period.]

Is Putin to blame for the why de-dollarization is occuring, and at a far healthier pace than the inner-me had hoped in spite of the harm? [that question mark isn't in regard to the "blame" part, but, maybe, about my inner desire to see some types of "harm"? That'd be bad. Let's hope it's not that(?)]

That said, perhaps I should never have power over some things, I concur... 

I noticed that India started praising the need to maintain a Rules-Based Order (RBO) after having recently intervened (last week) in a spat between the Philippines and China. I don't have a full view, but the Philippines is increasingly turned into a US proxy; there shouldn't be any doubt there, even if I do believe it to be mainly unwillingly so, most probably threatened through one potentially economics-destroying or personally-enriching promise or other.

The clear and BRICS-contradicting emphasis on a need to maintain the RBO from India is sure to involve the US somehow, either in the Indian MEA S. Jaishankar's optics, and, by default, those of the BJP, or in the hopes of scoring brownie points with the West? [That one is because I haven't a clue.]

And, yes, BRICS is a money-and-trade-focused loose alliance of deplorable and evil nations, per Western textbooks, I'm sure, but such a view fails to grasp the philosophy that drives it; sits at its core. And a fair, equally-applied International Law-Based Order (ILBO) is a desire that defines the justifications to let go of the current ORBAH-led and synthetic-war-loving, disturbingly-pro-West world we currently live in. Well, um... until recently.

It's subtle, but did you catch the diff between ORBAH and ILBO? ORBAH isn't global, but it's globally applied. Per Western whims and needs. Not per set laws.

All that NATO Liberty-loving BS is just a way to enforce the US' war-dependent imperialism; NATO is a colonialist tool, plain and simple, and the war in Ukraine isn't amped up to ridiculously-grand-but-imagined threats and maintained by the West and sold as a Wall Street commodity to the USA by leading warmongers and ex-British PM David Cameron just for the spin; it's what allowing the US to bolster its economy and remain afloat, giving it a glimmer of hope it may regain full control over the globe. So, maybe that inner desire of mine wasn't so evil after all?

Instead of the Petrodollar it's now the Bombuck.

Of course, things aren't that drastic, but the economic windfall on the US for having manufactured the global threat warranting a rapid re-arming of the earth—for all purchases, allies through the front door; evil autocrats use the back one, please—is huge. And only Ukrainian deaths are involved, which makes it, per Blackstone-approved economists: "a great investment". 

These days, the American Made plan is centred on explosives and other tools of death, and those of domination if taking into account Washington's motivation for its huge sums in chip manufacturing that have yet to produce a chip.  

And, yet all those wars that are named to demonize Putin and Russia, doing so relies on a high level of ignorance. Several key factors need to be missing to adopt such a position while those that fall under "arrogance" are surely there aplenty. ORBAH seeking to satisfy its implied "global" part has far more to do with that than Russian "savagery".

Moscow is loyal to its ethnic-Russian non-citizen "citizens" is what Russia can really be blamed for, doing so in parts of the world that are in its own backyard, and never as the instigator. The same can't be said for the West.

Badly bizarre is the instant acceptance regarding anything said about "poison", fools now believing themselves experts in "Putin's modus operandi" rather than easily manipulated idiots, not even willing to consider just how obsessively-destructive certain Capitalism-all-embracing entities have become, and the perturbing power-lust and need to control the world that still drive those who are allowed to gain any real power in Western Establishment-friendly governments or extra-governmental bodies.

The oligarchic situation in Russia is one that was entirely created by the West immediately after 1991, and those who were punished for profiteering from the privatisation fraud pushed for by the West in order to create a situation Western elites could profit from and leaders indirectly apply control over, these, the West props up as exiled or jailed martyrs while painting those still operating in Russia as Lucifer's mob uncle. Where's the logic in that. [Here, the absence of a question mark denotes an absence of logic.]

The difference between Putin and Western leaders? The latter's oligarchs have been allowed to take full control of the state; Putin removed "his" oligarchs out of the Kremlin, and forced them to comply with the state's direction, not vice versa.       

I'll admit, it takes a certain type of forcefully-applied authority to achieve that, but, as a whole, the nation and the people are better off for it, a handful of oligarchs and the West are not. Like it or not, Putin brought back his country from a hell-hole of a situation, and did so in a remarkably short time, while still qualifying as a Capitalist, so be proud! Losing his position threatened the quick destruction—for a Western gain—of all that the nation managed to achieve, sinking them back into the horrible post-1991 period that had been far more devastating on all USSR countries than in the decades preceding it.

Sometimes, switching one evil for a lesser evil—lying boobs all—every X-number of years isn't necessarily what's best or truly desired. Today's Russia is nothing like it was frozen in Western minds to be. And there's a progression that must be allowed to take place, as well as a leeway—a compromise between 'different ways' from vastly different cultures—that is based on understanding.

And the war in Ukraine was never about invading Ukraine or imperialist dreams; get your goddamn head of your ass!

One of the absolute worst is Radio Times. Absolute old-school, Cold War-worthy propaganda that proves to be even more ignorant than any of the ideological ignorance embraced at the height of the Cold War.

I honestly thought the world was past that type of dangerous, destructive, and totally empty rhetoric. 

There's absolutely no peace to be found there, except through oppression, violence, and needless bloodshed.

With that: I deeply respect Vladimir Putin, but I can't say I "love" him. I'd need to spend a weekend with him first. [wink]

After a return to biting cold weather followed up by last week's heart-attack causing snow storm—what a slap in the face that was to wake up to—Spring is finally here!(?)

Need to have that question mark. This is Quebec, after all, so, one never knows. Though it's nothing like living in the Rockies, where I enjoyed all four seasons in one day on a few occasions. I remember going to work in the morning in short sleeves one day and making a snowman during lunch; that was in July.

If wondering: As I had eventually learned, quickly adopting the practice myself, the surest way to tell the difference between tourists and locals in a town like Jasper or Banff is by whether or not one has a backpack. Locals always carry warmer clothes with them on a warm day and vice versa on cooler days (except in the dead of winter).

By the way: I wish; everyday lately. I sincerely hope I suddenly and painlessly drop dead from a heart attack. It would resolve so much; make 'life' easy...

My dad had two mild ones and died from a third, but, unlike him, I don't drink (alcohol) and spent a good portion of my life running or on a bike; I easily put over 100,000 KMs on my Cannondale in the last decade and a bit alone, and I used to spend way, way more time on my bike in my twenties. So, heart-attack... I wish. But not with my luck.

Not something I wanna go into depth in in this post, but, despite being hundreds of KMs away, I knew it when he died; I felt it. When the call came, there was zero surprise. I still have a hard time accepting certain facets of his death, but... maybe another time.

Any hoot, today was a gorgeous day, the peak hitting 20°C (68°F). Even nicer than yesterday, and, yes, I did have a chance to enjoy the total eclipse, which lasted roughly 1 min 25 secs for the Montreal area. 

I went for a long walk, bringing a bag with me in case I should come across some empty bottles. It's a habit I had picked up some years ago, as, without looking for them, I'd continually come across a whack of them simply walking to and from wherever I was going; despite not needing the money back then, I averaged a bit over $100 per year simply picking these up and returning them for a refund on the deposit.

During a period when I was making real good money, I'd still pick them up, but I'd them leave then in a bag on the sidewalk in front of my place rather than returning them, so someone who did need the money and made a job of hunting down empties, rifling through people's recycling bins for them, would get a prepared 'bonus' whenever I had a few dollars worth.

I haven't taken on such a 'job' yet, still not finding myself living off of the deposit economy that bottles have created.

A few years ago, when the littering problem caused by water bottles had become an issue that most N.A. cities felt needed to be addressed, I was shocked to see how ignorant most people were regarding this aspect.

Folks living comfortably were entirely convinced that the problem showcased the deep hypocrisy that granola types (in today's parlance: Wokes with an environmental focus) operated under since only water bottles littered the landscape. They couldn't figure out that the lack of deposit gave them no value, hence, no one was picking up those bottles only. Pop and beer drinkers littered just as much if not more so. These days, you'd think only consumers of energy drinks are those who litter. 

Having had a good walk, I made my way back home but, for some reason, was propelled to take an odd route through streets I rarely ever set foot on, having no reason to go there. 

As I turned the corner and decided to cut across a small park nestled between two residential buildings, I spotted a reusable Walmart bag that was sitting on a picnic table in the middle of that small park. The closer I got, the more intrigued and set on discovering its contents I became. 

The firm, rectangular shape that  the bag's content imposed on the flimsy, tissue-like fabric bag, a case of beer or some such case filled with empty bottles is what I had expected to find, but... yet... that didn't seem right.

Nope. Not bottles. Inside was pure gold.

If hungry, that is.

A full loaf of sliced bread—a pricey brand—sat atop close to $40 worth of meat.

My initial thought when I saw that bread was a negative one; I was sure that it had gone bad, sitting out in the open like that, and probably for a few days, ditto for whatever else was underneath it... nope. All of it was still frozen, removed from someone's freezer and placed there no more than 30 minutes to an hour ago.

I looked around; the park was completely empty, so were the sidewalks on either side of the park. I scanned the area and pretended to care whether it had been forgotten there by error, making a show of 'waiting' for someone to show up, but within 30 seconds, and in a pantomime sort of way, I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head, snatched the bag, and bolted out of the park.

Instead of my "usual" Basmati rice or flour-and-water pancakes, I had the two Toulousain sausages for dinner (supper for those not raised as snobs) and, so far, I'm still alive. 

Other than breakfast links, which I hate, Toulouse sausages are among my least favourite, real Merguez (lamb) being my faves, though no one would have believed that if watching me chew and swallow that meal. That fat, dripping from the sausages... sooo good.

•       •       •

Last year, though not quite in the same situation I'm in now but tight on cash, I'd gone for a walk and, when I got back to my place, found a ripped shopping bag with a brick of cheese, crabmeat, and some other goodies (don't recall what else).

Two weeks ago, real hungry and having only $3.85, I'd made my way to a store that sold its cans of beans cheaper than all other stores in the area, as what I had allowed me to get two cans, which, I figured, would give me food for two days, having to last three until a bit of money came my way (based on selling my NAD and Rotel amp and pre-amp, if the buyer did come).

On the way back home, crossing a pile of furniture left on the curbside, I noticed a can of Lipton Chicken Noodle soup sitting proudly on top of the pile. I hadn't seen it on the way there, having taken a good look at the pile. It was brand new, and with plenty of rice added to stretch it, provided that third day's meal...

In December, when things officially had taken a turn for the worse for me, I made my way to the same store hoping to get a loaf of bread and some milk, as I still had half a large tin of coffee, which I do love having with a bit of milk and sugar. There was no price on the bread, but I took a gamble, finding myself 15 cents short at the register.

Rather than giving it to me, I was forced to remove one of the two items—some shop owners are like that... what can you do—which didn't really bother me as I knew I could get cheaper bread at the larger grocery store nearby, and 50% cheaper at that if expiring on that day.

However, an Indian fellow who'd come in after me, eyeing me oddly as he zipped to the wine section and quickly picked up a bottle and made his way to cash, told the woman—who owns the shop with her husband (they're Chinese)—that he'd get it. 

"Oh, thank you so much," I said.

The woman seemed confused about how to proceed, waited for the man to give her the 15 cents.

"No, no. Take it all. Take back your $5," he told me, then told the woman to charge him for both my milk and the bread.

"What? Really?" I couldn't help it; I broke out in tears, thanked him profusely. The woman seemed lost; couldn't understand what had happened.

I never quite got why the man did that, though. For all he knew, I was 15 cents short, and that's it. I was wearing an expensive Columbia jacket, had good boots on, leather gloves, a cashmere scarf, clean chinos, etc. I didn't look like someone so badly in need of those 15 cents.

He sure made a difference for me that day. I swelled with emotions, overwhelmed, happy. Tears froze on my cheeks the whole way home.

It takes so little sometimes.

I'm not sure that anyone truly cares, for I've the weirdest bunch of readers, bar none, none of these having the balls to make themselves known or to show direct support despite being steady visitors on the Street?

I so don't get it.

That kind of behaviour... it's simply making me hate everyone. Ever wonder how 'super villains' are born? Well... 

Nonetheless, today, I was lucky enough to sell a folding table I had, which, with some creativity—my bank account, PayPal, and credit cards all being in the red right now—allowed me to 'splurge' on some real basic necessities and to cover the monthly hosting fee, too, though I very much would have preferred spending that money on some food... no one can accuse me of not being dedicated to DMS&UY, this being so no matter how stupid that makes me.

Sigh.