No Accounting For Accounting

No Accounting For Accounting

(PM LXI)

It absolutely boggles my mind

when somebody has less

aptitude in mathematics

than myself.

They are required to print

out three sheets, each

numbered on the top

right corner, one, two

and three.

I stamp and return copy

number two, and I keep

and file one and three.

Oh, yes, I have to staple a

sample to copy number one

if there is one.

Anyways, some people come to

the dock completely Fubar

and can't get the idea of three

fucking copies set in their

head.

Some demand all three copies

stamped and returned,

I refuse,

others keep copy number one and

give me two and three.

I try and explain to them but I get

many a gape and a long

soul-less look in the eye.

Some just throw all three

copies at me, drive away and

supposedly hope for the best.

I think I would like to take up

origami and make little

white cranes for the people,

hoping it might brighten their

day and even make them

a little smarter.

MCC

Despair and Depravity

Despair and Depravity

(PM LX)

I have become one of the

"bad machines"

from Midnight Express, doomed

to walk around

in a circle in the basement

until I can be fixed

How I want to break free from that

condemned walk,

and go counter-clockwise,

shoving people out of the way and

drawing the attention of the

fixers,

that maybe I am slipping

slowly away from their grip.

Why do we have to reach the

very pit of despair and depravity

before someone reaches out to

help us.

Wouldn't it be easier to catch

sight of the souls tumbling

through the cosmos and try

to soften their landing pad

instead of trying to pick up the

pieces that have shattered

on a cold, tiled bathroom floor.

The neurons in the brain misfire

at times or do not reach across

the synapses to fire the motors

that drive you,

or so I've understood.

One of the drugs I take tries

to make the connection better,

and in doing so,

will better help me function

in society, with my family,

co-workers,

blah, blah, blah,

Wouldn't it make more sense for

me to learn to live within

society with what I have,

workable or not?

Altering my brain function

and usage has not worked,

it has alienated me more from

reality, and if I didn't have

a more patient wife and son

I would truly be fucked.

I can live inside the boundary

for a short amount of time

before slipping over the border

occasionally to dabble in what I

call "semi-blind futility".

I forget to pay bills

I spend compulsively and lose

track of money and time.

I procrastinate like crazy and I

do not complete half the

tasks I am obligated to

undertake.

Importanly I lose my vision

of reaction,

consequences disappear and

lock themselves into a part of

my brain that I can see but I do not

hear or take heed.

By the time I react,

its too late,

and I suffer because I

am conscious of my faults,

just too late to try and

avoid them.

MCC

We Don't Need A Better Mousetrap

We Don't Need A Better Mousetrap

(PM LVI)

Someone should come up with

a drug that makes you feel

as though you were twenty years

old again.

Not physically, but just to have that

feeling of omnipotence,

that you had the world by

the balls,

nobody would fuck with you

and you could pretty much get

away with anything.

You don't worry about speed

limits or wearing seat belts,

you don't worry about heart attacks

or whether your insurance

is going to go sky-high.

Once the pressure sets in

and you start to feel

it,

that's when you begin to age

and unlike a fine wine,

you age poorly.

Death is frighteningly foreshadowed

by the first grey hair

or the discovery of a wrinkle

on your forehead

when you smile in the mirror.

Later you notice that it takes

you longer to stand up and take

a piss than it does to sit down.

You get sweaty from eating

and you can't stay up

drinking for three days straight

like you used to.

Your hearing becomes impaired,

knees crack when you get up,

and it takes a little bit longer

to scrape yourself off the floor

when you pass out on the hard-wood

floor, some broad has stolen

your car,

and you start your day at work

by adding a little

Bailey's to your coffee, and

by noon you're

into the Ballantine's.

Life is fucked up!

MCC

Catnip

Catnip

(PM L!V)

I heard the thud on the floor

as he cat made a less

than cat-like jump from the

couch onto the hardwood.

She was graceful, lithe

and had a beautiful shiny

coat.

She came home doped up

after the operation

and was in a bit of a daze

for a day or two.

She would occasionally look

at me closely as if to ask

why we had put her through

a hysterectomy.

Surely her instinct couldn't

tell her what we had

done,

and what she would be missing.

I don't think she was really

mad at me but since

the whole episode,

I feel she doesn't wholly

trust me anymore.

Last night I woke up and she was

batting my feet,

I don't know if I had been

disturbing her,

or she was just playing with me.

She gets groggy when she sleeps

and the first half hour after she

wakes up is usually spent in

what I believe to be a

hallucinogenic paradise.

I hear her cry sometimes when

I am asleep and when I

go and search for her,

I will find her alone, staring

at the wall where maybe there

was a caterpillar a minute ago.

She cries to go outside when its raining

and when I open the door and she

sees the water coming down

she looks at me angrily and berates

me for allowing it to rain

on her property.

MCC

Barbecuing 10

Barbecuing 101

(PM XLVIII)

In honor of Goose-Gate I am

going to bbq chicken tonight.

I have come close to perfecting a

dry-rub which is very basic

but it is mine.

Rubbed basil, fresh thyme and a triple soupçon

of Cayenne pepper form the main ingredients

along with kosher salt and fresh cracked

pepper.

I also add garlic powder, dry parsley,

dry hot mustard, fresh chopped rosemary and

dried oregano.

I cannot stress enough the fact

that I use absolutely no tarragon

at all. I have always disliked

tarragon and I would notice even

the smallest quantity.

Don't fuck me around on the

tarragon!!

Lately I have added two new members

to the dry rub although in

minute quantities.

Allspice, just a pinch, enough to feel the

aroma gently caress and meld

with the already pungent rub.

Now, thanks to the Food Network, I

also grind a good size tablespoon

of nutmeg into there.

I tried Bbqing steaks with nutmeg

a couple of weeks ago and

they were an instant hit,

incidentally one of the diners was an

adamant nutmeg hater!

I think I cured him, the only problem

is if I tell him,

he wouldn't like it.

I'll bathe the chicken in this

concoction rubbing it into the more

tender and hidden parts, making sure

I get plenty under the skin.

After letting it sit for maybe an hour or so

I'll bathe it in a little President's Choice Habanero

tequila BBQ sauce

just before putting it on the grill.

Depending on the size of the chicken

pieces, I usually leave them on for

an hour and a half on low, indirect

heat. This broils them up nicely.

caramelizing the BBQ sauce and just letting

them bathe in their glory.

Result- Perfect tasting chicken,

a little exotic with a zing of Habanero

and Cayenne pepper tickling the back

of your throat with each bite you take.

You won't specifically taste the nutmeg

but it will speak to you

all the way down your throat,

so brush ip on your Spanish!

By the way, don't fuck with the

chicken while it is cooking,

it will take care of itself.

Dried cumin and epices Provencal,

use them if you got them.

Could Be Any Large Corporation

Could Be Any Large Corporation

(PM XLII)

One of the stations located here

in the plant where I work

experienced a restructuring

recently. What that means is

they shook up all the points of call

in the whole area

and packaged the routes out in

different orders for the paeons

to bid on and then

own.

Everytime they do this, there is

always a lot of tweaking to

be done and the union is forever

accusing the company of eliminating

jobs and making employees work harder

to cover it up.

This time has been no exception,

although it has been the most blatantly

poor restructure I have

seen in my short while here.

People who were outside delivering

for three hours are now lucky

if they finish in five.

People are calling in sick at a

tremendous rate,

leaving more work for those left

behind as they are now "forced"

back to work everyday to pick

up the slack.

People who are forced back often

call in sick the next day to

cover their anger

and the situation worsens.

Phone calls from irate customers

begin pouring in,

demanding to know why

their things are being delivered

at four in the afternoon

instead of ten in the morning.

The company will say anything,

blame it on a labour disruption,

the weather, Wikipedia or YouTube.

It doesn't matter, the real reason

will never make the news as the

loudest complainers will quickly

be silenced by superior, supervisor,service.

In other words one of them will

drop of Grandma's pension cheque,

and maybe get their cat out of a tree

while they happen to be there,

leaving them heroes,

and leaving us a bunch

of disgruntled, spoiled, overpaid,

lazy civil servants.

And that's why the country

is in the mess it is today.

MCC

Workplace Hazard

Workplace Hazard

(PM XLIV)

Red had left early that day,

much earlier than usual as

said he had a number of errands

to run after work.

I think he only drank about

three beers that morning

which was light for him.

I vaguely remember saying

goodbye as he flew out the

back door like a wet cat.

Fifteen minutes later there was

a commotion in the back parking

lot by the loading docks.

I got outside in time to see Red

standing there in his underwear.

His clothes, mail bag and mail

lay strewn on the ground beside

him.

"I'll fucking see you all tomorrow,"

he yelled as I wondered what had

got into him.

His car exploded out of the parking

lot leaving the remnants in a lonely

pile on the concrete.

Within ten feet of the pile, reasons became clear

the smell of skunk rose in my nostrils

once again inspiring my gag reflex.

MCC

Extraordinary Coping Skills

Extraordinary Coping Skills

(PM# XLIII)

I witnessed a pretty magnificent

marvel coming home on the bus

last night.

The bus stopped to pick someone

up,

the bus driver got out of his seat

and made the people on the bench

by the door get up and move

along.

He flicked a switch under the bench

and it swung up leaving quite

a large space.

He then activated a ramp that ran

from the door to the ground,

a guy in a supersonic futuristic

wheelchair inched his way on the

bus using a toggle he operated

with his nose.

He was very agile and it only took him

a moment to wheel the chair

around and out of everyone's way.

He couldn't talk and he could only

move his head. He had an ipod

directly in front of his face by the

controls which he operated

with his nose.

His head moved back and forth\not in any nervous fashion but

obviously in time to the

music.

There were a number of zippered

pockets on the back of his chair

making up an elaborate backpack

which I assume contained a

washroom and any other things

he would have needed in a day.

I don't know how he would have accessed

anything in there as he

was alone and had no use of his arms,

I guess he would have asked one of us.

Either he had secretly signaled the

driver or he knew where to let him

off because he got out just as

quickly as he had embarked

and I watched how he motored

off into the pouring rain,

driving with his nose.

If one of my eyes had been

gouged out at that moment, how

could I have complained about it?

And who on that bus would

have listened?

MCC

We Have No Need For A New Yogi Bear

We Have No Need for A New Yogi Bear

PMCCLVII

It took a while to be able to tell my true feelings about the

new Yogi Bear 3-D Movie, I was upset when I first

found out. Yogi was one of childhood heroes and probably

for all the wrong reasons. First of all he was a rebel, he lived

off the main highway and had to steal to survive

in his own habitat. He refused to be himself and do what

bears do and eat what bears eat. He ridiculed authority,

Ranger Smith, who was quite obviously gay, was his nemesis

and he concentrated all his time into outwitting

him yet still they formed a symbiotic relationship. There were those

that thought Yogi might also be gay what with his little buddy

Boo-Boo and all but we must remember his love for Cindy-Bear

and that other weird female bear that escaped from

the zoo. I just think he thought more of his stomach

than he did about sex and lets just leave it at that.

Yogi Bear was the Homer Simpson of the seventies, surviving

despite stupidity could have been his motto and his

inexplicable need to do the opposite of any sane individual

left us reeling in laughter and breeding a special

love and respect for his foil, Boo-Boo. I have not seen the new

3-D movie or for that matter, even read about it. I'm afraid

what we are in for is a politically-correct, green, Obama-loving, Bush-hating

tamer and smarter bear that we should have left back in the

seventies with his buddies Huckleberry and Quickdraw. The idea

that children will clamour to hug this new, gentler, wild bear is not sitting well

with me and I urge you not to see it. Stay at home with some good

old-fashioned pot and watch all the episodes on Youtube.

I leave you with the immortal words of my hero;

"Looks more, like a sycamore, to me!"

Idiots In My Life

Idiots In My Life (PM LII)

Reggie, grossly unsatisfactory (p)seudonym,

included in a gust of wind,

is someone I have nominated

for asshole of the month

for the rest of my life.

He just walked by,

a cup of Tim Horton's coffee

in one hand and

a stack, six or seven sheets,

of paper in the other.

I couldn't make out exactly

what the papers were

but if i was more of a betting man

I would wager

they were all useless, fake

or redundant.

He put on an air of haughty

importance,

but I knew he was even

lower in being.

than the runt in a pig's litter,

the ninth baby of a sow

with eight nipples.

His vocabulary was childish,

as though he had no

education at all,

but he tried to hide it,

behind an ancestral Greek

accent that should have been

severed the day he was

born in Canada.

When he came back my way

he finally decided to

acknowledge my presence if

not my very existence.

I greeted him coldly but with

the minimum of respect

necessary when dealing with

anyone in management.

He asked me how I was doing

and even though I knew he

didn't care, I told him I

was fine.

He walked on, shuffling his

papers and taking small sips

from his coffee cup.

I had asked for extended leave

when my mother died,

he denied it and it took

me three days of fighting

until I got it.

I got the time off,

but his belligerency

indifference and denials

that made me have to stand

up and fight for my rights

were somehow a victory

for him,

and to this day I believe he

revels in it a little every time

he sees me.

I think it would be easy to poison

almost anyone,

you could do it with indifference

and not have to witness

the outcome.

In Reggie's case, I believe

I could get my hands dirty,

and they would wash off

quickly

and guiltless.

MCC

Blue Friday

Blue Friday (PM IL)

The air has cooled down immensely

and I am awaiting the impending

storm.

It is Friday and office workers

I generally never see are sneaking out

to their cars and leaving way too

early.

Employees are dropping their

stuff off in a race to get their

weekends started early,

compromising their driving ability

as well as their work ethic

I'm certain.

The sun tries to poke its' head

through the clouds but I'm

sure its going to pour,

hopefully before I get the hell

out of here.

I have read the daily newspaper

three times

and absorbed nothing,

the free papers seem to carry

the most worthless news stories,

most of which are over three

days old.

The parking lot is nearing full

capacity meaning everyone is

back and free of another

work week. I see some still

struggling their way in but they

are also done for the day,

at least mentally.

As I while away the last few hours

on a Friday afternoon I

realize the futility of rage

and hatred, if only in my mind,

I should be able to transfer it to

my hourly dealings with

all time-consumers.

Yet I feel the pull of denial and

of boredom,

feeding on every last neuron that

I possess,

bringing forth from my soul such a

frothy lament that I can't quash it,

nor can I sum up the immense

strength it would take to

completely cover up.

The second hand is moving

slower but it is still moving,

time has that awful way of

always being in control,

manifesting itself especially

when we delude ourselves

to believe that we are in

the driver's seat.

I felt the tug of time lose its

grip on my soul one time

in my life and I thought I

was going to die.

I was scared but very

reasonable and accepting to the

inevitable,

berating myself easily for not

doing enough than for doing

too much.

The feeling passed while I was in

consciousness,

and I regretted the passing

as though I had made it that

far, how could I be fucked with

even worse and have it taken

away?

Of course the light remained

on for the rest of the night and

I was able to greet another

sunrise, although even in the

dead of winter, it did appear.

MCC

Foie Gras

Foie Gras (PM XLVII)

I caught a quick glimpse today

of an e-mail addressed to a

supervisor that I'm pretty sure

I was not supposed to see.

Apparently somebody had phoned

in because they saw an employee

chasing a Canada goose

in the Hillier Avenue

parking lot.

They wanted to know if the employees

had nothing better to do than

chase assorted wildlife during

the work day.

I was the goose chaser!

Actually I wasn't chasing the

fucking thing.

I had got off the bus and

walking to the plant I encountered

the goose when I walked around

a truck.

Usually they run away but

this one was brave and

was not giving me the right

of way.

I did not chase him, I lunged

in his direction hoping to change

his direction and for me to avoid

getting billed. I have been snapped

at by a goose before and

it hurts.

Anyways the goose and I

reconciled, he went his way and

I went mine.

I can't imagine who the witness

was that decided it was important

enough to send an e-mail.

I didn't notice anyone and I

don't usually check parked

cars for occupants when I

am coming into work. When I'm

leaving, its a different story.

The e-mail got covered before I could

covertly finish reading it so I

am not sure what the final

action to be taken was going to be.

I tried successfully not to worry about

it for the rest of the day,

as I was sure the union would be

able to back me up.

Goose-Gate was a dead duck.

MCC

No Pleasing Some People

No Pleasing Some People (PM XLVI)

"Hey Bud," he called,

Fuck, if there's anything I hate

being called more than Bud,

I have yet to hear it.

I would sooner be called

anything else,

Diana, big nose, small dick,

fatty or smelly,

but not Bud.

It was 10:30 am and he told me

he had a load of flyers that had

to start being delivered the following

Tuesday.

Not knowing if this was possible I

went back to the office

to ask someone.

I was told there was a chance they

might not be started on Tuesday

and thats the way it was.

Noticing that there would be no

further effort to appease this fellow

I simply went back and told him

that they probably would go through

BUT there was a chance they could go

out a day later.

He looked pissed.

He pulled a fifty dollar bill out of his

pocket and offered it to me.

Long weekend, I was tempted,

but I had no control.

"Look Bud," I said, "I can only

move it so far down the line

then I would have to start paying

people and to be honest, fifty

bucks wouldn't go very far."

"They are going to go out on time

don't worry."

He put the bill back in his pocket,

"Have a nice fucking weekend Bud," he

spat before getting back into his

car.

I watched as he drove away,

seething from the "Bud" comment

I waited until after the cut-off

time to process his order.

God, I hate being called "Bud!"

MCC

Heat Wave

Heat Wave (PM XLV)

He's coming straight at me,

slouching across the parking lot

on his final visit for the day,

right on a long weekend.

Sweat is pouring off his face

and collects in wide wrinkles

on the side of his neck,

weather beaten and weak he stops

at his car and somehow manages

to coax his body into opening the

door.

He slides in unceremoniously, his bulk

makes the shocks groan and squeak in

thier little metallic voice about how they

wish this guy could just lose a few

pounds and give them a break.

Getting into the car has winded him

but he manages to get it started

right away,

the air conditioning is blowing in his

face but it must still be just

hot air.

He looks beaten,

ten rounds with Mike Tyson,

and no championship belt

in sight.

Audible sighs come from inside the

car and I can feel he pain of a

man well trodden down and left

to die on an alien planet floor.

Sweat and tears can always be

interchanged, abused or confused

but I believe I saw tears escaping

from the many wrinkled folds of this

man's eyelids.

He sat for another moment,

becoming more vacant and weird

until I could see the sweat

retreating from the side of his face.

The air conditioner was beginning

to work,

he shifted into gear and got the hell

out of there,

before common sense told him to

go to the bathroom first.

MCC

Scarborough Rapid Transit

Scarborough Rapid Transit (PM XLI)

The elevated train or RT as

it is called down here is

my true eight hour companion

here.

People come and go and

work changes every minute, but

every five minutes or so I can

look up and see the four cars

pass in the distance.

I am too far away to see

a face,

even if I put my glasses on,

but I can see shadows and

I know it has many

people or not.

The trains going east are heading

towards the Town Centre,

shopping malls, government

buildings, passport office,

the GO station is there for

people to continue on an

eastbound direction,

Ajax, Pickering, Whitby, Ottawa.

I like to think the mood on

the eastbound train is lighter

and happier than the west,

people going shopping or on

an adventure, both productive

ways of filling out a day.

The train heading west is something

different, almost

sinister,

and reminds me of the train

Montag rode home in Fahrenheit 451,

the line ends at the subway

station hub,

downtown,

mostly heading to work.

I can imagine the faces of the

people destined for a day of drudgery

cooped up in some small office,

much like myself.

Therefore the train west

always seems to be headed

into a storm cloud while

I keep my optimism

entrenched with the eastbound

hoping the people on that train

have much better luck.

I only ride the train east,

ironically on my way to work,

for the route home I prefer

the shorter walk to the bus,

even though it is slower, smellier

and more uncomfortable than the

train.

Torture seems less intense when it

occurs at the end of the day

instead of ruining the beginning.

MCC

More Effexor Withdrawal

More Effexor Withdrawal (PM XL)

Day four of effexor withdrawal

is hard,

but it has the feeling of moving

forward instead of behind.

Overall health such as nausea,

aches and pains are on the ebb,

although there is a strong

increase in the

'crying for no reason' or crying

initiated by a real bizarre

reference such as a song on a

television show.

Frequent urination is certainly

an inconvenient side-effect,

especially when you are expected to

remain in one place unless

you are physically relieved.

I have had to make a number

of unannounced runs to

the loo but luckily they have either

gone unnoticed or it has been so slow

I was not missed.

My body responds better physically,

instead of slumping against a wall

or lie on a couch,

helpless.

I am able to overcome the

black and move past my mind

to complete tasks,

whereas two nights ago I

could not force myself to get

up and do the dishes

after supper,

last night I could do the dishes

and take the garbage

out without the world falling apart.

My sleep remains terrible and

inefficient, I sleep for maybe

an hour and a half, two hours

and then I have to get up

to urinate.

Then, stupidly, instead of trying to

go back to bed right away,

I'll go downstairs for a smoke,

thereby waking myself up even

more and stealing much

needed rest from myself.

Although the reality is that

Zopiclone has ceased to

work as an effective

sleep-aid, I can't imagine

being without it.

Out of all the drugs I take,

to me it is the most

important and the last one

I would give up.

It calms my brain even though

it doesn't always let my body

relax completely.

It works the best when I take it

with a small amount of food,

a sandwich, ice cream or

a banana,

eat too much and the effect get lost

in the food.

Eat too little and you have to

pick through your own vomit to

try and take it again.

I joined a Zopiclone support

group a while ago on Facebook,

but usually everyone is too

stoned to respond properly to

anything I post there.

Lorazepam is smooth, I'll give

it that,

but it will never take place

of the Blue Wonder,

Oh that magnificent mixture of

wonderful chemicals and a little

touch of magic and hope,

all wrapped up into a

tiny little pill,

7.5 mgs of rhovane

bound with some jell-o-like

substance I imagine,

making so many people happy,

the world over.

MCC

Deluge

Deluge (PM IXL)

The sky was clear when I

boarded the bus yesterday. Two

miles to the south on Kennedy

I disembarked from the Ark

into the beginning of the flood.

Due to my umbrella the very top

of my head remained remarkably

dry, the rest of my body completely

drenched right to the scrotum.

My shoes were sopped completely

inundated I hoped for the best

and foolishly left them outside for

the night hoping the fresh cool air

would dry them.

My scientific knowledge let me down

and I began the day with

unwearable shoes, they were

still dripping,

the only shoes I could find at

such short notice,

morning without looking very

hard,

were my son's Pink Floyd

commemorative collector's edition

All-Star running sneakers,

they are nothing special

really,

black with white trim

and The Dark Side Of the Moon

prism and rainbow painted on the

back heel.

I believe they cost almost a

hundred bucks and to be honest,

they were not very comfortable.

However,

wearing these shoes has

allowed me to steal back a small

amount of my youth,

memories of hours of acid-laced euphoria

lying on my bed with the

speakers almost as high as they

could take.

The incessant heartbeat that permeates

the album making it come alive

and flow through you instead of

just into you.

Cacophonous laughter, raving lunatics

and the admission that

I've always been mad,

the lunatic is in my head,

and the sun is indeed

eclipsed by the moon.

MCC