Don’t look into the sun today.
Maybe tomorrow too.
Cause the sun is hotter and bigger than eyes.
And a whole lot bigger than you.
Don’t look into the sun today.
Maybe tomorrow too.
Cause the sun is hotter and bigger than eyes.
And a whole lot bigger than you.
All a way down.
How it is now is how it is found.
This here’s a drama, unfolding ya?
Another in the can just waitin’ for da
End of this drama,
Wind it all down.
Gotta go dark afore the next big round.
It’s a series yer watchin’.
You’re the audience.
Next season in a bag.
Doesn’t make sense
To holler at a Tee Vee.
Stand in line to make it see the audience point of view.
Here, let me cuddle you
Thinker of too much.
Cause yer confused and frustrated.
Shit don’t add up that much.
But think you should.
Think what you could.
Thinking is good but think!
Will you open up your fucking eyes to see?
Or will you wallow in those things that set you free?
Cause you don’t want my thing and your thing to be.
You’d rather head your way and re-release me?
Don’t die sober.
Like everyone, raid the bar.
You’re walking home alone you are
Cause you don’t have a car.
They test for drunk not high.
You’re not that kinda guy
You’re a woman.
You fuck, you say nothing!
Money is all to you.
Now you meet the real currency,
I bet you stay true.
Benjamin, I do!
See, people talk from a distance.
What distance is that is?
You mutter, softy, alone to yourself.
You don’t even know what gives!
Bitch, you got an attitude!
You want your own damn way!
Don’t you see we’re playing catch?
You throw back okay?
What causes you?
Wearing your un-favorite color?
Going without clothing?
Does stinking like humans stink cause you to think a little differently?
Wearing skid marked undies again, or do you leave them off, commander?
Second meal missed today. How you feel about food, mister?
What’s to not like now?
What affects you, and how?
Buddy, it’s time to count the chickens.
A guy wants to end his life, ya?
The cops are trigger happy to oblige him.
They shoot him nine bloody times!
Sardines were radioactive.
Food chain radioactive.
Me, I’m radioactive.
‘Ashima… where you atta?
There is a way to complain that reduces disdain.
Makes is smaller and easy to hide.
You’ll not find it deep
Nor that far or that wide.
But somewhere inside is
That saying you’ll never give up.
Once upon a time there was a pump.
This pump pumped shit.
Shit that was made in various places somewhere the pump was not.
On the pressurized shit side was a field.
This field distributed the shit so it wouldn’t pile up.
Piled up shit is not good.
One day the shit makers discovered the shit pump continuously running.
The shit pump ran and ran and ran.
The shitters turned the shit pump off.
Now what? the shitters thought.
Shit began to pile up on the unpressured side.
Shit on shit.
A malodorous thing also started.
Shitting got to be a bad thing.
Uncomfortable, to say the least.
The head shitter thought he had tried everything to get shit pumping again.
He called people, got people to come look at his shit.
Still, shit piled up on the non pressured side and
It began to cause pressure.
Try something! the shitters said to the head shitter.
He looked at the shit pump with new eyes. Maybe priming the shit pump again…
The head shitter went through another possibly fruitless maneuver.
Priming the shit pump again.
But… this time was different.
This time the shit pump made a different sound.
Like really pumping shit.
When you care and everyone else doesn’t.
You are in for fun.
You better think pretty well of yourself.
Or you will come undone.
Your peripheral vision will blinder you.
You will cook yourself a stew where
The main course every day is you!
Do you want you rare or baby blue?
Cookie, its up to you.
These soldiers don’t carry guns.
Menacing, they know not.
No, they accept with a smile.
In their net you are caught.
‘Cause when you get drunk
You buy my junk.
You’ve been out- thunk.
So, one day you made a baby.
A baby that influenced you in ways you could not have imagined.
You imagined baby giving you feelings of joy, purpose, and completeness.
A taste of the good life, the best life, with you as the creator.
But, baby couldn’t really give you anything at all, in the beginning, other than a pristine canvass upon which you painted beautiful, reciprocal, unrealized experiences.
You nurtured baby. Fed it when you, yourself were hungry. And you sustained baby first.
Baby sometimes kept you up at night and needed constant attention.
Swaddling, feeding, soft singing and cuddling you gave to baby when its attention deficit reared it’s ugly head.
Baby didn’t ask for your caring or concern, it demanded it.
When baby came calling, your plans went a-falling because everything revolved around baby.
Then baby grew up.
You encouraged it to grow.
Led by example.
Treat me like I have acted toward you, you would say.
But, baby had it’s own mind. It’s own way.
One day baby didn’t answer your call.
That day it ignored you.
Babies are babies, no matter how old, you said to yourself to soothe your new wound.
Then, it happened…
Baby stole from you.
Stole from you and gave it to someone else.
Another baby. A stranger’s baby.
You tried diligently to imagine that there was plenty enough caring to go around.
Baby could focus on another baby and would still have enough caring to return yours to you.
Patience, you reminded yourself.
An example was what you must be, remember?
One day it was the second day in a row that baby hadn’t returned your call.
Messages were left.
The employment of guilt was avoided even though you understood guilt’s vast power.
Baby was out in the world.
Baby was no longer your baby.
It was something you created and let go.
Baby had a life of it’s own…
Don’t go to Mexico.
Well, if you do go, you better wear blinders.
You’ll need blinders just to avoid seeing hammered and passed out drunk people laying in the gutters and across unoccupied vehicles.
Children drunk. Grandmas drunk. Police officers and everyone… drunk, drunk, DRUNK!
Jeez, they got booze everywhere is why.
Booze in cool little bottles with tiny sombreros and colorful sashes being sold in convenience stores. More booze in grocery stores and even huge selections of booze in friggin gift shops! Those Mexi’s shore do need altered states!
The entire sad deal ain’t hard to figure because everyone knows that homo sapiens, no matter what skin color or culture, can’t help imbibing every bit of booze whenever it’s available.
All of it. All the time.
And that’s precisely why smart countries like Canada limit their childlike citizens access to alcohol. Yep, the wise captains of Oh Canada know that Canucks are mere mortals, unable to resist the lure of whiskey, vodka or even beer, and that is why these spirits (like their imbibers) must be compartmentalized.
At’s a good thing, no doubt.
We sure as hell don’t want to wind up like those poor, weak willed, passed out all over the place Mexicans, now do we…
The Shambala is a sheep.
A sheep in ship’s clothing.
And on that sheep is a good looking dude (you can call him Lester) who speaks broken English and super fast Spanish. Lester is an excursion director by trade and a merchanary by design.
Lester´s job is to herd foreign and domestic peso filled wallets toward fish dung filled waters and to encourage those sheep captive wallets to jump FAST (okie dokie?) into brownish foamed waters near some remote, rocky shore.
For the next twenty-five minutes Lester’s charges will be periodically breathing through skunge infested, somebody else’s mouth been on ’em, leaky snorkel tubes and then Lester will vamanos the wallets under his control back toward the acrid cloud of Shambala diesel exhaust in order to scale the sheep´s boarding ladder.
Dude Lester the director´s hair will look just as spectacular after snorkeling as it did before, it’s bleached blond tints gleaming fashionably through the fish dropping drippings.
Once sheepboard, Lester will then vamanos you an hour away toward a mountainous harbor where you will be encouraged to step off the kinda stable sheep into a horribly unstable (can’t you pull the mooring rope a little tighter Manuel?) open, motorized rowboat which will drop you calf deep into the wet, wavy lap of many hungry vendors – vendors with lazy lizards draped over their shoulders, lizards who survive only to pose for touristo photos, like the plethora of pie vendors with too much pie, and bobble vendors with too many bobbles.
“Mucho importanto,” Lester will say in his nighttime disc jockey lingo, “that you ask HOW MUCH?” before taking photos of Charlie the Donkey with roses on his back or De Lizards growing out of many local’s necks.
“I recommend that you choose a horse to take you up the mountain to the beautiful… sooo beautiful, waterfall at the at the top of the climb,” Lester will say.
“It´s only twenty dollars American,” (just short of one thousand of anyone else’s dollars) “and twenty bucks saves you from walking in horse shit.”
Lester forgets to say that second part…
During the upside of your mountainous trek, you will run the gauntlet of twenty hungry, un-unique selling proposition vendors, displaying their trinkets at various locations and you will politely grow so very tired of telling these persistent entrepreneurs “no, thank you.”
At the top of the mountainous touristo trap exists the “real” Shambala, a smart entrepreneur who will sell you a cold Corona for twenty-five pesos.
Tip him, please.
He deserves it for his ungouging entrepreneurship because at the bottom of your trek the price of Corona doubles. (uh, because… the sand, your Oasis server will tell you)
Maybe have two or three Coronas at Sir Fairness’s restaurant / lounge, you’ll need them to stiffen your upper lip for the return trip back through Gouger’s Gauntlet. Maybe Mexicans are not good at remembering pasty-white frugal faces or maybe they’re just persistent but whatever the reason, you will need the extra don’t caredness on account of your arse will be up-sold by every vendor who harassed you on the way up as they genuinely ask with pleading dark eyes “why you not buy senior, you are on vacation…?!”
Plus, hanging up-top for those additional brew-skis will allow the horse shit sweeper to get ahead of you with her donkey dung bucket and while the odor will remind you that for twenty American dollars you could be with the donkeys at the bottom by now, the absence of slickery brown ice will allow for more focus on the environment rather than the malodorous cobblestone path.
Now, once you make it back down, go directly though the donkey corral to the Oasis Restaurant (very importanto, Lester has already warned you on the sheep, remember that name: Oasis) because should you stray from the frontage sand of the Oasis onto another restaurant’s hallowed sand, you will be reminded by agents from competing restaurateurs that the sand you are attempting to occupy is reserved for open wallets only.
Is yours open?
During the Oasis “water’s extra” meal (included in the cost of the snorkeling excursion), you will be once again non-remembered for not wanting a photo with de lizard men, not wanting pie, not wanting bracelets, necklaces or silver anything.
Soon, Lester will shout “vamanos amigos, follow me to the pier!” where you will be laddered down into the Open Boat Wobbly to return you to the sheep.
Once back upon the sheep, after waiting for other wallets to be brought aboard, you will drink dark ale on decks soon to be swelling several feet starboard to port-side while perched precariously on plastic, made-for-land lawn chairs.
On the two hour return trip, get ready for some simple sheep games.
These games will first ask younger wallet purveyors to imbibe precarious amounts of dark ale during a who-can-down-ale-the-fastest contest and then squeal in lecherous anticipation as couples break balloons between themselves. The purpose of this maneuver escapes most wallets but ‘ol Lester The Handsome wasn’t born yesterday.
Excursion director Lester knows that right after the smile inducing ale downing and balloon breaking comes the passing of the tip bottle, where Lester’s crew comes around to shake every wallet’s hand while proffering an empty two litre Coke bottle in which they are peer pressured into depositing whatever the lizard / bobble vendors didn’t guilt out of you.
Then, the pièce de résistance…
Didn’t you wonder why Lester lined you up in groups (single file please) before you boarded the sheep? Didn’t it strike you as odd that prior to boarding the Shambala a stranger plopped a Captain’s hat on your spouse’s head then took two photos of the event, even though you were already tired of being hassled by the on-site walrus photo taking vendor?
This is where everything becomes all too clear.
See, Lester was setting you up for one last wallet wringing on the sheep’s boardwalk because there they are as you disembark… strangers selling already printed photos of you during happier times.
Wonder what they’re going to do with the unsold photos…?
Anyway, you´re safe now. Back in the place of land lubbing salespeople who know that just because you’re temporarily out of cash, you likely have not reached your credit card limit and you probably still have a few “no thank yous” left in you.
Because as you now know, in Shambala, you’ll need ’em…
The lord held his hand out.
Said “Come here, cat!”
The cat just sat and looked at god.
The cat was not afraid of god.
The cat would barely even nod.
It’s eyes blinked slowly as it turned away.
Like god wasn’t god at all…
Let’s remember the fallen.
And what they fell for…
Oh, the things we must start and stop doing!
Start feeding yourself and stop shitting your pants.
Stop feeding the wildlife. Start feeding the man.
Start feeding your mind. Stop feeding it shit.
Stop getting angry, getting even and throwing fits.
Stop needing gratitude and fairness and help.
Start feeling synergy and belief in yourself.
Start thinking you’re Santa instead of an elf.
It’s Christmas in your mind every day of the year.
Let the celebration start with right now and right here!
If you can navigate the middle of a circus,
And not become a clown.
You might be a leader,
Or already be a clown.
Boo hoo for that lonely soldier.
Marching there, on guard.
She stands for loyalty, courage and country,
Whom don’t know she works hard.
Hard to please.
Hard to free.
Hard in degrees,
Like her parents were before.
Because hardness boy, tempered toy, useful goy.
Two four urgent quiet, no assistance required.
You know, let her be.
A new guy in the big house.
This guy we can believe in.
He acts the part. We know he’s part actor.
And a damn hard act to follow…
Drama. You need it.
Watch your levels.
MP Bill Blair says until legalization legislation is in place marijuana requires strict regulation and that current laws should be obeyed.
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Let’s say this is your first day on the job.
How you know what to do?
How many times you lived this life before?
See, Santa is real like Disney is real and Saskatchewan is real.
Heaven is real, Allah is real and Orion is real.
It’s real. All real.
Now, you get real.
Oh, you knew me when I was twelve?
How could you?
I was never, ever twelve!
I was fourteen and counting and growing so fast, the pressures were mounting mostly because
Mama, she floundered and Dada, he pounded her,
Pounded unsound to her, now Papa, you’re dead.
And Mama’s bent in the head!
But damned if I’ll tell her.
Dread she find out,
What her life’s all about now her book
is in want of a cover.
You’re so tall.
You’re so smart.
Grew up from a little fart.
Or maybe fart’s too vague.
Too widespread ’cause
Who you are and what you doz was
In you long before you was.