The Medium is the Message

I haven't dreamed anything I could remember for a while now. But that changed last night. Instead of the regular weirdness that typicaly ensues when I close my eyes, I was inundated by ideas from a show that I watched earlier in the evening.

I suppose I am a sucker for punishment watching as long as I did; flipping back and forth through my three channel universe debating all the while if I should watch Diamonds are Forever. I decided to forgo the adventures of James Bond for another evening, opting instead for the documentary women who are sold into the sex trade. Sex Slaves.

A Russia-Canada co-production, the documentary tracks the multibillion-dollar trade in human trafficking in which young women are sent from the former Soviet Union to customers around the world. Hidden cameras and microphones are used as pimps move their product from eastern Europe to third-world brothels, in one case even to Canada where a young woman was supposed to work as an exotic dancer. Viewers are reminded that Canada's so-called stripper visas, now under review, have been aiding the trafficking. It is estimated some 600,000 women a year are lured, enslaved, raped and ultimately abandoned or murdered.
In one nail-biting sub-plot, a desperate husband agrees to wear a wire and go under cover to try and 'buy' his abducted wife back from a very dangerous Turkish pimp.
~
I am watching a truck drive away loaded with women. Suddenly the truck makes a sudden stop lurching the passengers forward, and as they resume their position a child's body bounces off the front bumper and hits the pavement like a rag doll. The truck lurches back into gear and carries on leaving the lifeless victim on the street much to the cries of the women on board.

The women are scared and tired and cramped in the truck. They are being moved to their next destination. Throughout this dream I am only a spectator. This opeing scene is too much for me to continue, and I wake up. I turn roll over, and adjust my pillows, and go back to sleep.

I resume dreaming. Much like the documentary the colours are drab shades. I dream of more women being rounded up, and it is taking on the charachteristics of past dreams where I am fleeing from an army, marching with hundreds of people to safety. I wake again.

I am caught in a pattern of sleep, dreaming and waking for the majority of my night. The dreams all quite similar. Flight or fight reactions are tunned to flight mode, and it is all about escaping captors.

Now that I have been awake for a while I'm slowly getting past yet another injustice imposed on the poor, imposed on women. As the street prostitutes make their way down to my end of 107, I can see why people move to the suburbs. It is a retreat into security, away from the grit, desolation and the disenfranchichised.

The land of milk and honey cannot escape the vile smell of sour milk.

Claire and Dead Bird

Unfortunately for my cat, these are unrelated photos. I came across the bird carcass on my way to brunch last Sunday. Oddly enough it was half a block past a Synagogue that was hosting a funeral.

Change of Season

Although the first day of fall isn't until September 22 you couldn't tell. The leaves are changing colour and falling to the ground, the sky is grey, and there is noticibly less day light. For many it also signals the beginning of moodiness, lethargy, and melancholy.

Seasonal Affectiveness Disorder is a real bitch! You wake up in the dark, get home from work with maybe an hour of light (if you're lucky)before you're hurtled into darkness again. Knowing that I am one of these sorry sacks, I am going to be proactive this year and purchase a full spectrum UV lamp.

Having a lamp isn't a magic bullet or anything, it's just the casing. If I can keep physically and mentally active over this period I will be ahead of the game. Especially if I get outside more. Dare I say like the good ol' days when I was back east. What the hell happened there I'm not sure. It certainly wasn't hard to do, let alone hard to maintain. I just never did. I traded in my snowshoes for SFA. Time for a rebound.

Labour Day

I am back in school, and I have managed to start the year off on the right foot. I hope I'm still feeling this way when I ask for 1.5 days of personal time to "attend a function" in October. The function is actually Arcade Fire- but I don't think travelling to see one of my favorite bands is going to fly with administration. I want to disclose the least amount of information possible so I can forgo half-truths.

A friend came by for a vist, and since it's been awhile since I'd heard it last, I put on Funeral. This is one cd that we both sing along to. I have a great memory of driving in her car with the cd player louder than the hums and rumbles of her little car singing at the tops of our lungs- happy to have found this gem of a band. The realization on Friday night that in a month's time we were going to be seeing them (twice for me), got my chinker going.

I sent the CD to a friend back in the spring. He didn't get into it as much as I, which is funny because we have gotten into some great music together, and I thought if any cd would bridge the miles of ocean this one would. I guess the good news is that we don't need music to do that when e-mail is at our proverbial beck and call.

I spoke to my father today. He usually calls on Sunday while my mother is at church. That way he can say what he wants without the possibility of her running commentary. She has returned from her huge road trip, viisting family and friends on her way to see, possibly for the last time, her sister who is battling cancer. After visiting with her and my sister for several days I gave her my collection of Harpers magazine to pass the time. Well dad had started reading them since she got back, and off the bat asked me what I thought of George Bush. I paused surprisingly, for I am usually quick to expound my views on republican politics. I thought about it Katrina, being part of the working poor; safe and sound in my apartment, food in the fridge, electricity humming away...and all I could say is "any black person who votes for George Bush is a fucking idiot, despite Colin Powell and Condoleezza Rice". Jesus Murphy what was I thinking? There I go talking without thinking again- but I did think, and it still came out. Thank god we are family and on the same page.

I later came across this quote at http://pmrush.blogspot.com/

"The problems that exist in the world today cannot be solved by the level of thinking that created them."- Albert Einstein

Amen.

Rock & Roll Life Style

When I was 20 I met this great guy Mark. We've lost touch, but it hasn't stopped me from thinking of him often. You see Mark was one of those people who had a really great life style, one that I hope he still enjoys. He had a low overhead- no kids, no mortgage. He always worked at jobs he enjoyed, and most importantly ones that gave him time to do the things that he really loved- see live music, and spend time outdoors hiking and camping. Mark is also the man who introduced me to the concept of independent wealth. Neither of us had it then, and although I can't speak for him, I definitely still don't. But that is neither here nor there. But getting to the point...seeing live music is one of my favorite things. So when I heard that the Dirtbombs were playing with a great local garage/surf band The James T. Kirks, I knew a great evening of live music was 2 weeks away. The tickets are pricey $25+ but it's not stopping me from going. It's penance for 1% of the music I've downloaded- I always said I would support the arts when I could afford it, and you know even though I can't really- fuck it! It's just my feeble attempt at a temporary rock & roll lifestyle.

The right place at the right time

Talk about being in the right place at the right time. I was walking down the hall and from one of the rooms I heard, " Does anyone want a coffee maker?" I took a few more steps, now just outside the door, "Does anyone want a cappuccino maker?" Now looking into the room saw a man holding a espresso maker and replied "Why yes I do." With that he handed it to me and pointed out it came with all the peices, and it worked great when I tried it at home. In 48 hours I have drank more milk than I have in a year. It's in latte form, and that's alright with me.