Five things that I for some reason know.

1. Cashew nuts are, in their natural state, poisonous to humans.
2. Alexander Graham Bell did not invent the telephone, but was rather a thieving bastard.
3. An actor once rescued Robert Todd Lincoln (the son of Abraham Lincoln) from being run over by a train. His rescuer? Edwin Booth, brother of John Wilkes Booth.
4. Mongolia has a growing neo-nazi movement.
5. The female humpback whale's genitalia is usually fully surrounded by barnacles.

These are just a fraction of the pieces of pointless trivia rattling around in the ol' noggin'. How any of this will ever be of use to me I do not know, but I remember it all the same. Absorbed it like a sponge I did. Yet for some reason I appear to unwittingly deem it unnecessary to recollect directions to any place via car. Like some sort of subconscious environmental activist.

With autumn comes new ideas and the wilting, withering death of old ones.

As the stars are falling...

...you have to wonder what else we might be missing.

Naturally in our nature.

Nature is not beautiful.

What do I mean by this statement? Am I somehow claiming that there aren't appealing patterns in the scales, skins, fur, fluff or feathers of fauna? Nor any gorgeous colours and shapes permeating the natural landscape? And that the only semblance of beauty can be found in the monstrous clumps of concrete that we call a modern city? No, of course not. What I am saying however is that it is we, us human beings, that make our world beautiful. We seldom go out and actually physically reshape nature into something more appealing to our sensibilities. What we do go out and do is interpret nature. Through our minds and imaginations and the skills that we have learned. Things that are wondrous in their very existence. To say nothing about the fruits that they sometimes produce. In whatever art-form that may be. This is far more scintillating than any actual piece of fruit.

There is no universal truth that states that nature is categorically beautiful in and of itself. It's when we pick out a part of nature, see it in our own unique way and try to share this with other human beings, that we make it into an endless source of beauty. It becomes enchanting when a painter paints a swaying field of gold onto a canvas. A babbling brook is inspiring when described and penned into a narrative by a writer. Blades of moist grass touch a nerve of nostalgia when photographed with the light bouncing off of them, just so. It is in these feelings and thoughts about snippets of nature and how they are conveyed to others that we find beauty. Without us our ecosystem would be nothing more than a whole bunch of stuff. Spread around. Esthetically speaking. Clumsily written.

Inside of every strung out tramp dwells a poet. In every bloodthirsty dictator an artist. Every human being on the planet has the potential to reinterpret reality and our world into something that tickles the spirit, elates the soul and smashes down the doors of perception. So no, nature is not beautiful. Nature - just is.

Listening to: Boards of Canada - Dayvan Cowboy

Reading: Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk: A Modest Bestiaryby David Sedaris

Watching: The Venture Bros. Season 4

Reiterating an irritation.

There are days when everything annoys you. Every little occurrence and thing makes you uncomfortable at best. Angry at worst. Sounds are too loud. Lights are too bright. Every single fiber in the fabric of your clothes chafe against your skin. And all other things rub you the wrong way.

Smiling faces become smirking masks. A handshake become a crushing, yet somehow disgustingly sweaty and clammy, vice-like grip. A hug transforms into a human straitjacket. Any morsel of food tastes like cardboard pulp with a splash of Styrofoam garnish. Your loving and previously beloved pet is now a leech on your life force. The best of friends change into complete twats. That favorite track you've been listening to all week now sounds banal and you can't for the life of you remember what it was about it that you found so lovely. Delete it. Regret it. Download it again.

Buttons won't button. Clicks won't connect. Programs crash at the most inopportune moments. Why is the spacebar sticking in the keyboard? Words won't fit properly into any sentence you utter. Be it through your mouth or via the tips of your fingers. Both of which seem to be detached from any reasoning part of that lump of clay you call your brain. You forget important things. Dwell on the inconsequential. Speak when you shouldn't. Remain silent when you mustn't. You lose the plot. And your favorite pen. You stub your toe and spit on your lapel/collar. Shit. A thousand times; shit!

A feeling utterly inhabits you. Becomes your very essence. A feeling of malaise moving through molasses. But don't worry. As soon as your head hits the pillow those jarring thoughts will begin to deconstruct. They gradually shift from coherent narratives and concepts into incoherent flights of fancy without you ever noticing. Slowly slipping you into the comfortable World of Dreams. I'll meet you there. We'll ride a unicorn together.

Listening to: Broken Social Scene - Meet Me In The Basement

Reading: Last Exit to Brooklyn

Watching: The Walking Dead

In spite of inspiration.

I find it mind boggling that there are these deep and perculiar people out there. Walking around in the world. These amazing individuals who have lead these lives of immense complexity. Perhaps they have had dramatic ups or downs. Contrasts that have made permanent marks in the very essence of their being. Alternately they may have existences pointing in one definite direction and have never veered from that trajectory. Not even slightly. All of them are fascinating paths to travel. No matter what the eventual outcome might be.

Maybe they are the extraordinary offspring from likewise extraordinary parents. Progenitors that have nurtured just the right attributes and interests and morals in their child, in order to create a truely beautiful individual. One that is kind and with a sharp intellect which can cut through any adversity. Conquering it. Restructuring it into a wonderful opportunity. Exceptional folk that can find even the most miniscule grain of hope in a salty sea of shit.

Or their parents completely fucked them up beyond repair. Through shitty parenting and guidance. Or lack thereof. Or abuse. Forming, fermenting and unleashing a completely selfish asshole onto the world. A reprobate who is a detriment to all those unfortunate enough to be around them. That unlucky child might turn into a violent criminal with serious psychological scars and issues. Whatever the case may be they are all interesting people. With interesting stories to tell.

My life is nowhere near as intriguing. I have had a few negative influences and some positive experiences. Some of them seemed massive to me. The scope of which I couldn't fathom. I imagined. However, if I take a step back and get some distance and put it all into perspective my life has been a pretty clear and straight line going forwards in time. Towards no particular goal or horizon. 

I have never been a person who has lived life at it's utmost extremes. No matter what part of the positive/negative-spectrum that might be. I am not one of those people. Not an inspiration to all others, who volunteers their time at a soup kitchen during Christmas Eve. Nor a menace to society, that punches a pensioners in the face and steals their coin purse in order to buy some cheap smack. Never mistaken for one of those people who has traveled to all corners of the world.  To obscure and exotic countries, eating little known national dishes while riding upside down in a hang glider in the middle of a thunderstorm. I won't ever be that deranged loon of a person who rides the most frightening roller coaster stark naked while lobbing fragmentation grenades into the awestruck crowd of innocent onlookers down below. I'll never fuck a walrus. While even though the most morally ambivalent of the examples, it is just not in the cards for me.

I've read some books, watched some movies, met some people, loved some people, hated some people, traveled a little, eaten poutine in Canada, smoked a few cigarettes (with varying contents) and here I am. And that's OK. Interestingly uninteresting is my angle and I'm sticking to it. 

What's your story?