Country: Canada

Well, these past three days have been some real welcomed ones that have already put me in a better position; I'll be able to take care of of my passport this week, and not have to pay the rush service fee—bureaucracy... ughhh, my nemesis; started minding myself to get it done tomorrow so I'll hopefully take care of it within a comfortable margin before closing-time on Friday.

Selling my solid-oak dresser, a fairly imposing piece of furniture, forced me to clean out seven drawers that reminded me how much stuff I had that I could do without, even if separating myself from much of it made little sense other than to have empty drawers. Perhaps my problem is that I had too much storage?

The place I'm in is a reasonably-sized three-and-a-half apartment, but the kitchen is larger than most and offers way more cabinets and storage than one is used to seeing in a rented apartment. Plus, I 've quite a bit of furniture, which means many drawers. I've gone from having a reasonable-drawer-to-space-ratio being owner of a good-sized place, the problem occurring when I found myself going toward renter of medium-sized, but especially toward a small-but-only-temporary one... this year marking the tenth one I've been here, at the last. So, unless we redefine temporary, it's high time I get out of here, says the dictionary. And my 'soul', which I say just to avoid getting technical. 

What's that? Yes, I agree. But, for my sake, let's just agree that a decade is but temporary. And it is, in a sense, for what is time but a pure abstraction if without lease-renewal dates?.

Actually, ten years is the longest I've lived anywhere, which makes it odd that I've always viewed it as "temporary" in my mind. 

But time does pass by quicker as one grows older, thus allowing older folks the time to approach "temporary" more wisely. 

My parents put my sister and I through four major moves by my early teens, and I added at least two major ones and four minor ones to the list by my mid-twenties, and a few more since. These include Indiana, Brossard, Rosemere, Scarborough, Candiac, Mile-End, Plateau-Mont-Royal, Calgary, and a few more.

Quebec, though, more specifically, Montreal and area, is where I feel at home and willing to call it so, but there's no specific neighbourhood that I identify with in any manner that resembles the small-town romanticism that includes football and marrying one's high-school sweetheart that's often portrayed in Hollywood movies. Instead, there's several places, these like a slice taken from different recipes of the same cake, each one playing a prominent role throughout the specific phase of my life they represent.

What kind of cake? you ask. 

Good question. 

If I had to pick one, I'm not sure what my favourite cake would be. I do know that my ideal one probably includes chocolate, custard, wildberries, mocha, Macadamia nuts and almonds, some nougat, a bit of almond paste, and whip cream.

Well, that certainly managed to make me crave something fit for a pregnant lady. I wonder if I can make basmati rice and peanut butter taste anything like that... it should only be a matter of mixing the correct spices, essences, and food colourings, I'm sure.

I'm off to experiment. I'll let you know; maybe share the recipe...   

As I was prepping my stuff, filtering what I could take with me from all that I'd hoped to be able to take, my back seized up.

Being willing to take whatever amount I could get for anything I'd hoped to sell if leaving it behind was the only other option, I had, as I'd mentioned, sold both my washer and dryer for a mere $40.

I had been curt and clear in my reply to the buyer, who seemed to have misread my ad and added strongly to the insult that such sales entail, but I then let him know that I'd take his offer; I'd email him at 17:00 but allowed myself up to 18:00 for a better offer. And I was very clear that, for $40 for both, I would absolutely not be lending a hand to bring them down.

When the time came, I emailed the guy, who took close to two hours before finally getting back to me. He was waiting to hear back from his brother, he told me, eventually setting the time for 20:15. He emailed me at 20:30, telling me his brother was running late.

At 20:50, when the doorbell finally rang, I had expected the person I had been in communication with, along with his brother. It was just the brother. A beast of man whose muscles and size made me want to make sure I never pissed him off, yet, he ranks up there as one of the kindest and most polite persons I've recently come across; he oozed friendliness.

"Is it just you?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied, apologizing again for being late.

I told him what I had told his brother: No way I'm giving a hand for that price.

He didn't hesitate; no pause, not even a blink, and replied with, "No problem. I'll do it myself."

"What?! No, of course not. I'll give you a hand," I said, slightly miffed.

While I emptied the bookshelves in the passageway in order to clear the way, the man, whose name I can't recall—an issue with me—pulled out the units, disconnecting hoses and all and got them ready; wheeling the first one through the passageway and frontdoor to the first flight of steps is where any sense of "brute" matched his physique. If it doesn't squeeze through, force it!

Nonetheless, all major damage avoided as I gave him a hand, he showed me how to properly place the single strap on my shoulder, looping it under my other one, then under the machine; before we lifted, I asked him, "How the hell were you going to bring them down on your own."

"Oh, I just pick them up once I reach stairs," he said. "It's super dangerous," he grinned, doing so in a manner that betrayed a sense of pride while acknowledging how harebrained it sounded.

A beast of a man, I tell you. Imagine picking up a full-sized washer and dryer and carrying them down two full flights of stairs, one of them being a winding pain. I don't think I can lift either up, never mind move them, and stairs?! They'd be the death of me, squashed under a Kenmore metal box.

Wanting to prove myself at least half the man he was—a feat for most males, I'm sure—I didn't stretch nor grin, just went at it, doing my best to carry my share of the load with a smile.

Once both units were down, the second safely set on the sidewalk, he gave me a friendly hit on the shoulder and kindly said, "You did that like a pro." 

I think he could tell: I hadn't moved anything of that size or weight for a few years at least, even if my own physique betrays that of someone who's always been physically active.

I felt a generalized stiffening in my legs and upper torso before I had reached my apartment, but setting the bookshelves back and setting books back on the shelves is when my lower back let me know it wasn't happy, and let me pay for it.

I continued prepping, but eventually had to lie down. Fell asleep. Hard.

Woke up still stiff but in functioning order a bit after 5:30 and continued with prepping all that I'd need for my journey. At around 7:00, three emails came in from people wanting goods, and two of them were willing to come that morning, 11:45 being the later time. Turned out being worth the wait.

Moneywise. And also because the delay meant that the landlord came by to see how things were going. I'd emailed him a confirmation in the morning that I'd be out by the end of the day, as agreed, as I felt a weirdly deep urge to sleep and couldn't think of doing anything else, and figured I could nap until the buyers came by to pick up the goods, while I hoped the landlord wouldn't feel an urge to do as he did if he knew I hadn't yet officially moved out. However, some work needed to be done at my immediate neighbour's place...

I opened the door wide and told him, flatly, that things weren't going as well as I'd hoped, and apologized for having to leave the apartment as it was, my goods still all over the place. 

He instantly gave me an extra month.

For some reason, I wasn't comfortable with that.

We talked things out a bit. A truly kind man; he breaks the evil landlord stereotype, forces one to consider the side of 'Mom & Pop' landlords separately from that of corporate-minded or based landlords. 

Offering me this break, it seems to have placed me back into the same situation, allowing me to reconsider staying, the delay now letting me count on landscaping work or similar should a more appropriate job not come my way.

There's a comfort to be found in that despite the stress of an externally-determined-resolve set against a deadline that's to be faced, again, all in a gamble driven by a scramble to find any job ASAP, never mind that the reality one comes across isn't what's reflected in the numbers that are worked over to suit what's promoted by liberal media, especially with the threat of a Trump looming in a possible future.

Nevertheless, if I'm to be real honest: If I hadn't sold anything yet, still possessing all the goods that satisfied my habits, brought a sense of security, then I'd surely be doing that: scrambling for any job, relying on landscaping if I needed to just to avoid finding myself in the situation I now face.

But I know full well that that's not going to offer any real solution to the malaise I feel, and will continue to feel if I stay here; I absolutely need a change of setting, and to face anything other than the synthetic challenges that now dominate my life, wanting those that I do face to matter to more than to companies and their quarterly bottom-lines.

Rather, it gives me more time to prepare properly, and to liquidate some goods in a manner that'll get me more reasonable amounts. It's unfortunate that I rushed the sale of some things given the deadline I was working in, having originally hoped for the end of March rather than the 15th, but I'm certainly in no position to complain about that or much else right now.

I'm just grateful. Plus, the timing will allow me to avoid some of the harsh late-winter / early-spring weather.

I told him I'd give him news on a weekly basis, but, with more things to be sold this weekend, per emails received, I'm focusing on that, being increasingly limited in goods needed for basic living (I no longer have a microwave... I relied on it heavily, it turns out), and hope to be on a better track, with a clearer direction, before the end of that month.

So, in essence, not much has changed, but I've been offered a better window in which to prepare and to set off, hopefully being able to focus on reporting.

I took care of a few things and lied down.

I slept for close to 20 hours, occasionally getting up, briefly, feeling a need to go back to sleep before I could even think of making myself a coffee. 

•       •       •

Not to be petty, but The Economist recently commented on Indian news, calling it, in a sense, incompetent and problematic, stating that it tends to be ultra-partisan, nationalistic, and that it displays a striking level of ignorance in regard to world affairs, especially from its globally-oriented news channels, pointing to Palki Sharma of FirstPost directly.

Hey, wadda'ya know? That's exactly what I've been saying for over two years, at least, seeing a disappointing display in very good talent, along with a lack of cohesion. I had called her "naive" though, and in a good way, and not "incompetent". I still believe it to be more appropriate, albeit the over-the-top moments of BJP cheerleading that may, at times, merit the "pom-pom girl" appellation. Much contradiction and hard-to-pin aspects about her, wherein my intrigue lies, perhaps?

However, I'm not sure that The Economist is making such a statement on her and Indian media for quite the same reasons I am... 

To be frank, any eagerness to point it out came about as I was really hoping that one particular Indian online personality would see the value in what I can offer regarding Western views, bringing greater nuance, combined with the fact that she/her team have gotten many storylines and documents off of DMS&UY, which leads me to believe that she could do with a better researcher being a part of her team, perhaps, one that understands Western views real well.

Also, I was heartbroken to find out that she was launching a new channel; nothing would have made me happier than to play a part in that in any way possible. For reasons I'll avoid, I'll nonetheless say that she benefited off of my material and interaction, and I know she's aware of an email I'd sent asking about the application process while she was at WION, to which I got no answer, hence some of her comments, as well as being quick to point to nepotism to explain my situation with my site in December—rather than simply ask me—means she's playing into the same problematic and arrogant media mentality she oft rightly criticizes.

Aren't I being parasocially-deranged, you ask?

No. I really don't think I am. I have lots to offer to establish as much, but I'll just point out that she had mentioned “losing a site for $300” in that segment in which she mentioned nepotism as a reason why anyone with certain smarts could possibly be in certain situations and not earning more, having difficulty paying their rent, let alone “$300 to…” That kind of specificity... I'm not delusional. 

Then, as at other moments, I had felt a sense of understanding delivered alongside comments that made me think that the event may lead to a writing opportunity, but I'm now thinking that pettines and derision were really behind what she expressed.

She's suddenly grown too big, too important, or she's an opportunist, or far too self-centered, or petty, or a mix of all trapped in sexist notions she claims to want to end whilst not believing that such is a possibility. Or it could be none of those, as, I mentioned in that same series on India in which I'd called her geopolitical takes "naive", there's a facet that I don't quite understand and, simply, feels exploitative. And, also, as many have probably figured out by now: I don’t do “fanboy”.

Try if you must, but you'll quickly realize that it's impossible to find even one person who may feel I've harassed them in any way possible, through any platform. And, no, negative opinions voiced in reaction to someone's actions, done on occasion, doesn't qualify as "harassment", no matter how deeply I may have insulted the person concerned. 

Which I'm sure I've done, without quite being aware of it on many occasions... we all have our deficiencies. While I'm being honest: I can also be a big baby at times. But let's save that for another time...

Any which way, I'm quick to see false hopes; I try to extract the lesson that's there to be learned, and move on.

Which is why I do need to move on from where I now find myself. Concretely; physically. And why I'm extremely thankful to suddenly have a few more weeks to better prepare, doing so with an extra bit of certainty that it's the right thing to do. 

Well, here we are.

I’m getting ready to take off into the night, slipping away, leaving pretty much everything behind. A lifetime. Gone.

All kitchen goods, from pots and pans to food processor to professional knives, Corningware, dishes, utensils, and my cappuccino machine... Shirts and shoes and suits, too. Plus my books. And all my personal goods. All my photos. Accumulated knick knacks. Souvenirs from my travels. Gifts from family and friends...  

I'm trying to fool myself into seeing this event as if my place burned down, took everything, and I happened to let my insurance lapse (though I didn't). 

And, so, I leave all behind, armed with only $78.

It's been so very upsetting to find myself negotiating on already ridiculously low prices. For example, I'd hoped to sell my washer and dryer for $50 each or $80 for both, which is a great bargain at that price, as both are in great working order. I ended up selling both for $40. Yet, if I'd wanted to replace them, I'd probably end up spending over $1,000.

Sigh.

I did have real low moments today, suddenly bursting into tears several times throughout the day. I forced myself to snap out of it right away. Not sink into sadness.

But it's hard. So very much.

The only event this brings to mind is the time I was forced to make the call, pulling the plug on my mum's life support. Then, like now, I didn't feel I had choice. It was a matter of acceptance.

That said, while going through everything, I was reminded that I still have her ashes. They're sealed in a special baggie, resting in a rigid cardboard box with her name on it. I still didn't know what to do with them. Leaving them behind doesn't feel right. A person's ashes are far heavier than most would assume, and I've limited space, taking only what I can carry in my backpack... but, as silly as it may sound, I'd hate myself if I didn't take her along, finally releasing her ashes somewhere special I know she'd love. 

I've been piggybacking off of my neighbour's wifi this past week. I don't know when I'll be able to log in again, nevermind posting. The battery on my laptop is kaput, requiring that I plug it in to use it; I was really hoping to make enough from selling my stuff to buy a replacement battery, but alas.

And, as my luck would have it, today I received a whole whack of emails from interested buyers hoping to come by this weekend...

Sigh.

I'm so very fed up. A bit of joy; feeling like I've a purpose.

It's all I ask.

Sigh.

It hasn't been a good week; whatever I was able to sell off pretty much allowed me to survive, covering some needed expenses and letting me feed myself from day to day, and that's it.

While at it, I, too, need to complain about the price of food: Holy crap has it become expensive to eat. And prices keep creeping up, everything rising by several cents every single week so that whatever one could count on being able to eat if armed with $5 or less, one needs a whole other strategy the following week, finding other products to rely on that one can convert into semi-fulfilling quasi-meals that can be stretched over a few days; tasty and satisfying single-meal stuff is far too big a luxury. 

Despite how long ago it now seems, I recall a very recent time when, feeling hungry and lazy or just too busy, I'd simply open up the DoorDash or Domino app and, based on whatever bargain was to be had or points I had available, I'd just order a Shish Taouk platter or a large green pepper, roasted red pepper, pineapple, baby spinach, and onion pizza without a thought. What grand days those were. What I would give to eat either of those right now...

But, back to my peanut-butter-dominated reality: Having to get rid of all your stuff is bad enough; having to leave it all behind, not even being able to generate enough bucks that can provide some peace of mind that allows me to set some direction, that's just plain awful a situation to be in. 

It's hard to qualify what I feel; a maelstrom of emotions ruled by shifting sentiments, none of which I'd categorize as "positive" albeit my efforts to convince myself otherwise. There's guilt, disappointment, regret, and the feeling that time constraints are forcing me to dump all and to miss out on many potential selling opportunities, for, surely, as past attempts to sell personal goods have demonstrated: there's always a "right" buyer willing to pay a worthwhile price; one just has to be patient. Every time I ended up selling something for much lower than what I had hoped to get for it, there came along someone willing to pay what I had in sight just a few days later. But the item was already gone.  

With two days to go, it looks like I'll be forced to face several heartbreaks. Most of these involve highly-personal goods without much value beyond the sentimental ones that are tied to these items. That's where "guilt" comes in, mostly. Or there's valuable stuff that's personal, too, like two Montblanc pens I had, which I was able to sell, but for roughly 15% of their full value. Ditto with some of my watches; I did have a pretty nice collection not too long ago... 

Then there's stuff like the Wedgwood dishes and WMF cutlery I use, which are worth well over $5000 combined, but, starting at $1,200 (dishes only) and lowering my price each day, it now at $180, hasn't generated even one bit of interest from anyone.

That wasn't the case a few years ago when I'd unloaded some "iced-tea spoons" I never used, putting them up for auction on eBay. Right away, two buyers for Replacements kept outbidding each other and I ended up making $320 for 10 spoons. Replacements is a store that buys back registered patterns by reputable makers, thus servicing the guarantee that comes with certain china and cutlery sales, promising buyers that a replacement piece will always be available, no matter how many years from the purchase date, should you break a plate or chip a cup, etc. Replacements doesn't buy from individuals; they only deal with intermediary expert buyers who get perks for finding and delivering the goods to Replacements. Hence, as I learned, it's not rare to see buyers fighting over the same pieces, these willing to go as high as the price offered to them by Replacements, so the perks must be worthwhile, is what I'm guessing.

The china pattern I have, which is bone white with a black band and a real titanium band, is one that Replacements backs, several pieces being available on their site, so I was really hoping to catch the attention of a buyer and negotiate a fairly interesting price... but no such luck. Zero interest. Zilch. I'll be forced to just leave the set behind, though I did consider breaking every piece just for the hell of it. But I can't do it. 

And so, technically, besides being in a bad place, metaphorically, I can't even leave Canada it seems, not having had enough to cover the $140 to $180 needed to acquire a new passport.

That said, I'm still undecided whether to leave on bike or by foot. Both offer pros and cons, and having a bike is always handy. Plus, I love my Cannondale—awesome frame—and I know I won't be able to sell it for a good price right now, anyway, though that'll be a different story once spring finally hits us. I also have a Trek road bike I've been trying to sell, and many have shown interest but still no buyers at $40, but I'm sure I could get $140 for it in May, very easily.

Frustration. That's also a big part of what I'm feeling. Never mind all the other sentiments that current events bring to the fore.

Strange times? 

No, we're past that, I think.

Sigh.

In many ways, and also, because I'm me, I guess it's no surprise that my timing happens to be real bad, and on several levels.

After all, the situation I find myself in certainly isn't the product of a well-functioning and confident economy that sees companies acting per a five and ten-year plan; clearly, no one knows what's to come six months from now, making real-short projects and gig jobs that favour more junior and intermediate workers who are more likely to accept certain forms of exploitation with a smile the preferred hires.

And, with AI, there's a viciously-funny irony at play when one considers that highly-respected fields demanding long years of study are those more likely to be rendered obsolete through AI implementations. 

Sure, trades people may be better off, and with less debt, etc, etc, as conservatives are known to say whenever discussing this or similar topics, but I'll always value quality education no matter what, even if only for the sake of learning. More to the point: Though doctors may see themselves temporarily relegated to 'machine supervisor' roles during initial roll-out phases, personally, I think it's wonderful that none of today's doctors had opted out of their vocation, deciding to flip burgers instead given that Ray Kurzweil had predicted that the tech singularity would occur around 2030, arriving at such by basing himself on Moore's Law, the relationship it establishes being simple enough that even a doctor should be able to understand it.  

And. for those who haven't yet hit their forties: no matter what one is led to think, there comes a time when, want it or not, you're forced to realise that "age" turns into a major negative, detrimentally so if one finds themselves having spent too much time outside of the proper and expected paths, or without the expected holdings and status symbols, these making some problems unimaginable, especially if one betrays any sign of a higher education rather than radiating a 'redneck' quality while belching bigotry, as such would not only warrant any financial hardships faced, it would offer a reassuring sign that all within the universe is properly aligned, as all should be.

I'm 51. And given a whole whack of events and decisions and where this has led me and how that's interpreted along with how the 'system' is set up, geared toward those expectations within proper paths... that age is a huge problem for me, right now, and later on, too.

Plus, I’ve no doubt that my views have played against me on more than one occasion. I didn’t think things through, obviously, or I would have focused on setting money aside before attempting to call attention toward any substantiated truth that’s not in line with the establishment’s desired narrative. It's to be expected these days; certainly, I'm too old to understand.

•       •       • 

Of course, last week we had unseasonably warm weather that reached 15°C; even the nights were relatively mild. Yesterday, Saturday, things started taking a turn, the week's sunny skies now dark grey and heavy, gloom laden; a cold, stinging rain finally fell, ripping the sky as I was on my way back from meeting up with someone who bought my tagine and air-fryer, and still several blocks from my place. Got home soaked.

I had posted adverts last week for an indoor garage sale held today, Sunday. In the middle of the night, the rain turned into a heavy snowstorm that continued intermittently throughout the day. People woke up to a scenic but miserable scene; why go out if one didn't really have to. And one thing I noticed; very few are buying anything lately unless they really have to.

•       •       • 

The last snowstorms always crush one's soul and spirit just a little bit, more so the later it comes. But one always comes right when we've convinced ourselves it's finally over.

Winter.

I hate winter. So very much.

However, I do think that Canada may offer some of the better living conditions should the climate continue to heat up. Well, in the winters, at least; our summers are quickly becoming unbearable and I can't imagine how horrendously-hot certain areas of the globe must be like, especially those without much water, or those seeing their water retreat.

Making our cattle obsession absolutely ridiculous, the 'methane issues' tertiary, the deforestation that usually accompanies beef cattle farming being secondary, water consumption and contamination leading to the depletion or destruction of important aquifers on which many life forms rely on for survival being a primary worry all should share.

But I only mention any of that to avoid having to say: Despite several emails telling me differently in the days prior, not one person showed up.

I'm so screwed...

First off: To all women, with or without a penis, more power to you! And not just on your globally-recognized special day. On Mother's Day, too.

Kidding. But you're welcomed. Now back to the kitchen you go. Hop along. Thank you.

•       •       • 

Been caught up in preparations and had little time to write today, so I'm sharing this, the last improv I did with my beloved guitar before selling it. 

I'd done a "last improv" that's 29 mins long that I had uploaded to SoundCloud, but managed this last, last one before saying a final goodbye.

Sigh.

Fully improvised track, no edits. 
Electric guitar; two loopers; effects.

Stuff.

Not even close to all I’ve to get rid of…

Too many books (five other large bookcases that aren't seen).

And so many ties, too. How did I end up with 68 of them? I've one neck.

And I won't get to finish the painting on the easel, plus a few others.

 •       •       •

I’m trying to make sure I eat all I have, leaving no food behind when I lock the door behind me for the last time, but I already took care of that last week.

I kid. I still have just under half of a 10-lb bag of Pakistani Basmati rice, but I also have a full bag of buckwheat flour—both cost just over $10 each—with which I can make pancakes for at least a month were I to eat just that everyday. Such a staple isn’t something I’m likely to use, but it’s a trick I learnt in April-2022, before starting the job I was laid-off from, as I’d gone through all else, even those old cans of weird or unknown stuff that may seem good in the lentil soup I kept adding things to and stretched for a week, eating a different coloured version of the same soup each day, until I was left with only a bag of regular, bleached flour.

And mustard.

Turns out that mustard on pancakes is actually quite good. Especially if using whole-wheat flour, which I was lucky enough to get my hands on at some point… but only because I got on the stool and had a look to see if I’d missed any crumbs on that top shelf. Finding that 1 Kg bag… no birthday present I’ve ever received provided as much joy as that flour, I don’t think. Sadly, I hardly had any mustard left by then.

Sigh.

Also good is a peanut butter, cheddar, and red onion sandwich on rye bread. Regular bread and onions can do the trick if on a real tight budget, with Kraft plastic cheese slices (beurk) being an option depending on the week’s sales. If on a budget similar to mine, bread-like and peanut butter-ish with an imaginary No-Name version of Kraft slices and make-believe onion powder is the recipe for you.

No worries. With whatever little I have left from selling my guitar—it’s not a seller’s market, right now, I tell ya; I haven’t unloaded anything significant yet, though this weekend may yield better results—I was able to get a new, medium-sized jar of grocery-branded peanut butter and the store’s bargain bread, which is usually a foot longer than all other sandwich breads and at least fifty cents cheaper, too, though it’s eerily ‘square’ and too evenly cut for anything natural.   

Cheap-ass bread; the kind you never buy because it tastes like cardboard, but tasty cardboard when really hungry, and, eventually, it starts to taste like cardbread and, finally, just like bread, until someone slips you a slice of the real stuff and you’re, like, “Holly Molly! I'd forgotten what real bread tastes like! The stuff I’m eating is worse than cardboard!”

How easily we forget.

I’m not there yet!

 •       •       •

By the way: that GoFundMe link may not work; they paused the account as any mention of perks are not allowed. I fixed it, I think. But weird things then happened resulting in a notif telling me that "edits" aren't allowed. Not sure if "unpaused" or what the status is. Not sure I want an account with them, anyhow. I was lazy... They're all all the same to me. If you really want to help out there's Buy Me a Coffee or PayPal, accessible through the "Open" button at the top, and the "Support" link. 

But maybe I do need to suffer a tad; not set off so easy.

Plus, I want to establish a clear goal leading, hopefully, to a self-sustained, self-sufficient affair if set amounts are invested, both for charity and to cover ops. That said, albeit irrelevant at present, I make the pledge that, should any donations or collected fees exceed $25,000/yr, my personal salary shall not be greater than that amount; some expenses must be weighed in, but the surplus is to be invested/spent per whatever strategy is deemed best (I'm hoping an expert will handle such matters at that point; if I never have to touch the stuff, I'll be happy. But you can trust I'll be checking for funny business at least twice a week.). A voting process seems appropriate re certain financial directions, charities, etc. 

Seems like today was just one long panic attack.

Turning back is no longer an option, but I surely would have opted to do so today were it still a possibility.

And I've no doubt whatsoever that I'll be heading into this devoid of any encouragement or support, this aspect continually making me reconsider why I should do this, though, I'm well aware: no one forced me to do this.

On top of that, the window I'm left with to prepare all that's needed is far too small; a minimum of one month is what I would have needed to get rid of my stuff in a manner I can feel good about and maximise whatever money I could have potentially made out of selling it all. But, had I not "forced" things, I never would have made the move, I suppose.

If things stay the same, I'm starting my journey barely able to afford a bread, is how things are shaping out. This is what's to be expected; my luck should suddenly change... why?

Plus, I'm a fool for having believed in anyone and having laid any degree of hope whatsoever on some individuals, thinking they may lend a hand helping me get to where I sincerely long to be.   

I'm not whining; I'm voicing a deep disappointment. I only have myself to blame, armed with yet another lesson I've had plenty of to know that I should have known better: never count on anyone, period! 

That said, if I'm to be honest, the closer I get to the 15th, the more I see myself simply heading West and hitting Banff right before the major tourist season opens up, making it easy to find some job that'll allow me to achieve nothing of consequence other than spend as much time as possible within the mountains I so very much love, eventually die on top of one when age makes things real bad, providing, I'm hoping, I won't have to be wheeled up. 

Otherwise, I can't force an interest that appears to be inexistant. As simple as that.

I'm so very tired of fighting alone. Hence, why fight at all?

Sold my electric guitar yesterday. That hurt. Especially for the price I got.

Double sigh.

Soldier on…

•       •       •

Julian Assange. Here’s what I think is happening:

The Brits are under huge pressure to extradite him, but they don’t want to be seen as ‘meanies’ and suffer any potential consequences. Meanwhile, the Desperate Dems want to exploit Assange to prop up a deflated Biden hope of re-election, but the military and intelligence establishment have been pressuring the White House heavily because, well, that kind of embarrassing ‘upmanship’ must be punished, leaving the Biden Bunch eager to wait until after elections to extradite him if left with only one option: jail him for life. Which translates into an accelerated death. And even fewer Biden votes...

In the meantime, Assange can just rot some more. Honestly, after all these years, what's a few more months? Not a patient man, that Assange, is that it?

Any which way, the real “meanies” behind it all aren’t the ones likely to receive any public scorn; that anyone should cheer for his extradition, wishing that he receives a life sentence... there's something wrong with you 

•       •       •

That suicide note, I didn’t post it because I’m looking for pity. It’s because I’ve moments of “Holy shit! What am I doing?!” that, combined with the ‘aloneness’ with which I make this leap—and everything else—had a way of suddenly swinging my emotional pendulum into the dark, and my thoughts, composings, and planning back to tweaks and acts revolving around that ‘note’.

Best way to kill it was to post it publicly. And it's also the best way to put the complaints they usually carry into a relevant and far less drastic context.

As all other content creators will acknowledge, I’m sure, the mere act of doing so forces one to make a more lucid, more self-critical, and more broadly contextualized assessment of what one is making available to all.

That said, seems I can be quite the melodrama queen. "Insignificant", boo-hoo. I'm full of shit, aren't I?

 I’m in a bad bind, but that’s about it; I still have my health, head, and limbs, etc. Compared to Gazans, including the Burmese and Congolese, they sorta make me feel embarrassed to be complaining about my current 'state'. In a better world, 7-Oct would have waited until 16-Mar-2024 so the proper and warranted global attention can be brought to my case!

People! Aren't you paying attention?! I'm white. And educated. With blue eyes, and grey hair, but post-blond ones! Are you really gonna let this happen? Where's your sense of humanity?

What's that? Oh, bloody hell! Fine. Take care of the Gazans first as you allow society to degrade further.

And so, perhaps more appropriate would have been: If I had to do it again… I’d pay my fucking rent!

Of course, when you’re in that dark well, it’s not so easy to see things as clearly, while, nonetheless, it’s easy to say, but having the ‘will’, alone, doesn’t grant one the power to print money.

However, there’s much I could have done differently; simply, I could see no reason to go through all that again to be, most probably, miserable “during” to then be forced into an “after” that were to dump me at an identical “before” that brought me no further, and no closer to where I’d like to be.  I forced the issue, clearly; unconsciously at first but very consciously afterwards, albeit with a “if, or else” conditional clause setting one of two next steps. The third, the one I’m embarking on now, had appeared wholly unviable and not worth considering seriously.

Untill, I faced the abyss, the clock counting down past the 16-hours-to mark… it’d be so very hard to describe what occurred and what I glimpsed, but I was jolted back to a sober place that made that third option a complete no-brainer I’d be completely brainless to avoid.

It's official!

If I were to not do this now, I’d assuredly die here in my increasingly shrinking and darkening 3rd-floor hole, and probably far too many years too early.

I'm feeling increasingly invigorated. Excited 

My only real concern is the fact that I'm out 'on the streets' in mid-March, which is sure to deliver nasty winter weather still, it coming in the form of at least one heavy snow storm. I'd do some camping each May with music-fanatic friends, all of us meeting up at the annual, world-renown Festival international de musique actuelle de Victoriaville (FIMAV) for the 33 to 35 'new music' concerts spread over 4 days—always a mind blowing experience, which I'll probably miss again this year, though I'm now wondering if someone is slated to cover it for AAJ... maybe I can get a free pass in exchange for a write up?  That'd be nice, but forces me to stay in Quebec until late May. But, anyhow, my point was: nights can be real cold still that late in the year if camping.

Working on a few things for here in between readying my stuff for sale... more news soon. 

For those who get upset whenever the mention of Nazi-esque folks in Ukraine receives ridicule while an objective view of events earns one the moniker "Putin Lover"; for those who get deeply frustrated with the equivalency drawn between MAGA and "insurrectionist"; for every Latino who despises being labelled an "illegal alien"; for all Blacks who are deeply disappointed whenever "Whitey" refers to someone else (joke on that one), and for all those who, for whatever reason and whatever friction they may represent to the West, are tagged as "terrorists" and terminated if not dragged away without evidence or due process, locked up in Guantanamo in wait of a trial that may, several years from then, one day come...

Please trust me when I say that the whole "Khalistan terrorist" shtick is motivated by a genocidal-type of hatred and it exploits the same type of generalized vilification that triggers set social reactions deemed "proper", hence, reinforced by peer pressure, such as the examples mentioned. Many of you should spot the similarity between what you've witnessed and endured and what's being applied in the Sikhs' case.

I'm not asking you to take my word for it and to accept it as the truth, but, at the very least, to trust the veracity of my claim and to allow it to cancel out that which is claimed by New Delhi so that you may start from a more neutral place from which to assess the situation.

To clarify: During the Truckers' Protest, I wasn't willing to point out the Sikhs in Ottawa who were asking for donations because I was certain that the money would serve terrorist ends, but because these individuals were misrepresenting themselves to donors by abusing the case of a group of Sikhs truly in need. As such, I had the Sikhs' case in Montana in mind far more than I did those in Ottawa, while it's true that I was then more ignorant of the depth of the situation than I am now.

Below are two documents that provide broad strokes and non-Sikh-related references (like Amnesty) that provide a starting point for stats or other relevant info. The following, from the first doc, highlights that which should ring a bell:

According to Amnesty International,“the UAPA, India’s principal counter-terrorism law was amended to allow the government to designate an individual as a terrorist. It gives an overbroad and ambiguous definition of a ‘terrorist act’ giving unbridled power to the government to brand any ordinary citizen or activist a terrorist. It stands to implicate individuals for being proactive members of the society, ban critical thinking and criminalise dissent by designating them terrorists.” (Amnesty International, 2020).

Punjab lawyer Jaspal Singh Manjhpur says “Accused often are not implicated under UAPA to convict them, but to keep them in jail for a long period of time. Majority cases under UAPA have no criminal occurrence. In most of the cases, the police tells court that the accused was planning to carry out some criminal activity and then uses UAPA to ensure that the person does not come out of jail on bail.”

This "row" may seem minor to you, but a heavy focus on facts—being extremely mindful of Indian propaganda—and addressing this particular hate-based issue will, hopefully, reveal wider ones that should be of greater concern to many.

Hindutva is poison, it seems. Melts brain cells, apparently.

Refusing to cooperate—the whole would have been resolved quietly, in such a case—and willingly weaponizing one's entire mainstream media as a reaction, these having busied themselves with pumping out anything to make it all a "Canada bad and India blameless" affair... that's loathsome and psychotic.

A recent one from Abhishit Chavda, Major Moron (right). Yep, that's a crown. What's in colour versus what's pushed back is very telling. Hilarious.

And, for these, anything goes to win "the battle"; this the Hindus' century.

Indeed. Not India's. The Hindus'.