Bunk's journal

(Edit: This post is no longer necessary. Thank you to everyone who replied in support. I've realised though that it's my perogative to move forward and build on this.)

This post was edited by Bunk on Feb 25, 2006.

The Doorbell is Inside.

That has to be the best sign I've seen on my door to door aerating job. Like my brother said, I should have knocked and asked "Can I please use your doorbell for a minute?"

Yes, I've been working. For Kando (pronounced "can do") Property Services. I had an aerator, and I walked around going door to door and asking people if they want their lawn aerated. Amazingly, it made pretty good money. Now we do contract work, and I'm paid hourly. But that door to door was quite the experience.

: By completely random chance, I ended up on the street of one of my best friends... and they needed it done, so did I their lawn.

: I walked up a super long driveway for about ten minutes (thinking "Big house = big money") only to find a run down old shack with a tiny junk covered lawn.

: The best customer I ever had gave me juice, water, tea, cookies, a fig bar, a ham sandwich and a piece of meat pie... and a tip. :)

: I had the door closed/slammed in my face twice. One person looked at me through the window, eyed me suspiciously, then shook their head. Another pretended not to understand english. :/

: Some dogs don't just bark. They jump up and slam them selves into the door or window in a frenzy.

: It's amazing how many people will answer the door in their bathrobe as late as 11:30 on a saturday. One even had breakfast in their hand, still chewing her last bite.

This post was edited by Bunk on May 21, 2005.

A quick jingle is playing in the background, with funky bass and 70's style wah guitar.

Dr. Love: Hello my gorgeous radio callers. Are you ready for an evening of Dr. Love? Oh yes you are. I can tell by the smell. Oh my. Now let me tell you something, my ready callers. I just spilled hot, hot coffee all over myself. Oh my. That hot, hot coffee is everywhere on Dr. Love. My salty listeners, your sexy Dr. Love is a big steaming city of first degree burns. Oh my. Let's get to a caller before I pass out. Caller 1, your name is De-braaaahhh, and you are a great big machine of love. Talk to me.

Debra: Dr. Love, while we're drinking coffee, I'd like to ask you a question about food.

Dr. Love: Are you hungry, do you want to eat a meal? Oh, but you better be a starved Ethiopian orphan, because no other person could be hungry enough for a meal at the Dr. Love feedorama. Are you a starved Ethiopian, Debra love?

Debra: Um... anyway, my boyfriend is coming over to my house tonight for Valentine's, and I'm wondering what kind of meal I should cook for him.

Dr. Love: Mmm, Debra, this question is right where Dr. Love wants it. The first thing you serve up to your chum, as an appetizer for the whole delicious feast, is a pair of plump melons. Make it one holy Honeydew, and one karmic Cantelope, because if you Cantelope, you can still Honeydew it baby. Oh my. What next, Debra love? Are you aching to know? What would you do to know what's next, sugarsweet? Would you climb to the top of Mt. Kilmanjaro with a colony of fire-ants in your armpits, just to hear what's next?

Debra: Most likely a combination of cold temperatures and lack of oxygen would kill the ants off before I reached the top.

Dr. Love: You are right Debra hunk. Now, it's time for the main course. Hot dogs. As many hot dogs as that chum of yours is man enough to eat. Stuffed with the biggest sausage you can get, but the type of bun is all up to you. The sliced kind, or the rolled kind? And in each of the sliced kind, a single red jawbreaker candy. Because chewing on a jawbreaker candy hurts and gets you nowhere, so the only to do is suck on it till it melts. Oh my. And that's the meal of Love. Mmm hmm.

Debra: But what about dessert?

Dr. Love: Why Debra my big-buttoned teddy bear, for dessert you move to another kitchen and serve the whole thing over again. Oh my. That was Debra folks, an absolute robot of love. The coffee is a cold blanket on Dr. Love, and my skin seems to be getting oh so numb, so I'll change into something less uncomfortable, and wait for Caller number 2...

This post was edited by Bunk on Feb 14, 2005.

A few months ago, I visited an optometrist. After a myriad of tests involving letters and lenses, he assured me that taking into account a slight stigmatism in my right eye, my vision was excellent, beyond 20/20.

The technical examination of the eye reveals the anotomy: the iris, pupils, retina, glands and ducts and nerves. In my opinion, the eye is the most amazing product of nature and evolution. The brain is magical yes, but it's really just a big grey blob; the eye, the eye is art pure and simple (And the lord when he created the eye, lean'ed back upon his work bench and said unto himself, 'Oh yeah. I'm good.' ;p). Intricate, colourful, layered. And fundamental to the modern existence.

We are in the age of the visual. Everything is appearance, every ad designed to catch our eye for more than a fleeting glimpse, every entertainment made to excite and overload what we see. And like being in an ever brighter room where a single light must be shown brighter and brighter to stand out, this visual input must be made constantly more intense as we become desensitized. What surprises me is how amazing it can be to simply consider the simplest of sights like a snowflake or the texture of human skin. The things we miss.

And when I close my eyes, how it all melts away. Creepy, in fact. When I close my eyes, the opportunity for doubt presents itself. All of a sudden I can begin to convince myself that it isn't real. It's all just a vision. All just a dream. It's takes some convincing then to make it all real again.

But taking your sight in context as just another sense can be useful too. I used to be afraid of the dark. No more. All I need to do know is say to myself, "What? Everything that was there in the light is there now. Nothing more, nothing less. You just can't see it. What difference does it make?"

Sometimes when it's quiet I just stop and stare at things. I like to watch people. Not in a voyeur fashion, but simply a study. I find you can see in a persons eyes almost more than they can with them. All the subtle things, the shift of focus, the shape, the direction. You know they are alive when you see their eyes, as though you could see inside and flip through glimpsing at the pages as if their soul was for a brief moment an open book.

It's interesting what can happen when you make eye contact with people. With strangers. It's a symbol of my own openness maybe. I try it sometimes.

Most avert their eyes. I'm sorry if I scared them.

This post was edited by Bunk on Jan 04, 2005.

Saturday morning. I'm awake. Hmm, my nose isn't too clogged. Could my cold have cleared up just in time? I take a few breaths. Pretty clear still.

Breakfast is light. We leave a little late, and there's road construction. At least dad knows where we're going, so we arrive on time, but there aren't any seats left. You'd think a tournament with 500 competitors would have a little bigger facility. Oh well.

I greet my instructor, and the other members of my school that are competing. It's a small group, about ten people, but we all know each other pretty well and are friends. I say hello to some people from the place I used to train, and trade some jabs with old classmates.

There are some introductions, and then a great set of demonstrations which finish with Master Lu, 8th degree black belt. To start, he held three 1" boards of wood around head height, released them into the air and punched them all clean in half with his other hand. Then he capped a series of quick breaks by snapping a board held two inches in front of another guys face with a twisting kick. Awesome.

The competition commences. I try to loosen up on the sidelines, in between watching my friends compete. I'm coughing pretty harshly. Not good. But our club is doing well. The lanky Dylan wins a couple medals. Tasha, the lone girl in our group, does great, taking the Silver in patterns and the Gold in sparring.

As we are in the last division before black belt, myself and Marc are the last from our club to compete. It's a fairly small division, totaling six people. But it's tough enough that, if you want a medal, you have to earn it.

Patterns, the artful side of Taekwon-do, are first. I get called in the first matchup, and it's so loud, I don't hear my name being called right away. Great start. I can feel my cold affecting me. I'm excited, adrenaline is pumping, but I just don't have the same edge I normally do. I lose the match by one vote. Fudge. I sit down, and watch the rest of the patterns. Marc wins his match, and ends up finishing third place. I'm glad.

Here it is. Sparring. It's fast and fun, supposed to be light contact fighting, but in this division things tend to be more heated. I'm cool with that. I survey the competition; my brother, a couple guys I'd fought before, a lower belt, and a great big guy who I'd never seen before. I was feeling pretty good about medaling at least. The competition started. Raymond beat the lower belt. Marc fought the other guy I knew, and I thought he beat him pretty good, but the judges disagreed. They wrapped up, and then it dawned on me: weight. Me and the big guy were a different weight class. So it was me vs. him for the heavyweight Gold.

He was tagged as red, I was blue. I thought I could take him easily. I would use my kicks and my speed, chew him up like a punching bag. Boy was I wrong. Right off the bat he took me by surprise, charging in landing a flurry of punches. He was FAST. I was in trouble, I was on the run.

I couldn't help but contemplate my position. "Great. It's almost over. Geez, I can't believe it. I worked, I thought and prepared. And now this. A bigger opponent, and a cold. It sucks. I don't want to end up being a pushover here."

He charged in again. I'm desperately trying to counter, then WHAP! I land a quick kick on the side of his head, and his helmet goes flying. It's a pretty good effect, and a clear two points. Good for a quick smile at least.

Late in the match, and I don't have a good feeling. He's been taking it to me the whole time. The ref pauses the match for a moment. The timekeeper signals that the match is up. "Wait!" I want to shout. "I can do better, give me another chance!" She corrects the timekeeper, and resumes the match. This is it. Ten seconds left, and I give it all I've got. I attack like a maniac, desperate for another point or two, and carry it all the way to the end. It's over. All up to the judges now.

"One red, one tie, two blue. Winner, blue." I did it. Mine was the hand being raised.

After the medals were handed out (sweet gold!), I wanted to thank him for the great fight, but he just left. Oh well. There were congradulations and handshakes all around. I was proud. Proud to represent my school and my instructor. I feel like I scored one for the team, and for myself.

So there you have it, my little moment of glory. I think I'm allowed. For once, humility can take the backseat. Hell yeah! :D

This post was edited by Bunk on Nov 17, 2004.

It seems like for periods of time I enter states of apathetic ignorance, a sort of latent indifference to the goings on of my life. And yet there are times I feel geat, peaceful; days where I work hard and get a ton accomplished, where I almost feel like I know where I'm going.

It doesn't last. Neither one seems real when I am experiencing the other.

Switches flipping inside me:

On: My mind is free, sharp. No rules constrict it, no boundries tie it down. I was made to see the big picture, to concieve of the systems in which we constantly participate.

Off: i stumbled around like an absent minded fool. i was tired, drained, slow at what i did. I kept making stupid mistakes, and wondering "how could I be so thick???" after. i had to go back to the guitar store TWICE. first I broke the bridge pins and had to get new ones (of course they didn't have the right colour) and then I broke a brand new string and had to get one of those to. i'm so lazy! i was supposed to type up my resume, but I forgot, like I forgot a lot of things...

On: I feel good and confident about myself, and I am thankful for what I possess. I have a great family, I live in a nice big house on a big lot with forest and lawn. We have good things too: I love our stereo system, our woodstove, our good TV... and of course, the instruments. The Fender is fantastic: It's unique, and it sounds great. We've also got the bass, the drums, the keyboard, the piano. I almost feel like everything is in place.

Off: it seems like, as a family, we in serious denial of our real financial state. nobody knows the numbers (which is part of the problem) but it's bad. it started a couple years ago, we got smashed by a change in tax bracket, and it's been compounding ever since. the move was supposed to take the pressure off, but with the money we spent on this place, that was only temporary. what choice did we have? nothing else would have given us what we wanted. it looks like all the money I made will be gone soon, into education. i just wish i could find work, but it's so fucking HARD! none of the places I went to, and i went to a lot, offered anything. not one peep. what the hell do I have to do?!? so many holes where the money could go, I keep feeling like I'll always be a step behind.

On: There are always friends to cheer me up. I'm like to think I'm a good person, I'm accepting of people and I have a sense of humor. I can go with the flow socially, and I'm nice. But I also have a twisted side, which I am proud of. I'm helpful, thoughtful, easygoing; but I stand up for myself too. Always try to avoid the fights, but if the need arose you would not take me down easily. No one ever really makes me feel hated, and my best friends are great people.

Off: just once i wish I could live somewhere NEAR my friends, so getting together with them wasn't such a chore. I don't see them that much. and... there are barriers too. call it the "moving syndrome". I don't really know how to get truly close to people. In the past, whenever I really started getting to be really good friends with people, we would move on. friends were missing for parts of my life, parts where i wish they had been there. and now, just when I have a friend who i feel is really a good true friend, he's going to school now and i'll hardly be seeing him. and then of course there are girls. this is probably pretty typical, but... physically attractive girls I sometimes find intimidating. ok VERY typical. but it bugs me how differently I react to people when, put plainly, they're hot. maybe if i met more of them it wouldn't be that way... sigh. and happy people scare me to, for whatever reason. i guess seeing a crowd of laughing, smiling, happy kids my age makes me feel, irrationally, like i'm missing out.

Oddly enough, I don't even care if people say "I know what you're going through" or worse "It'll all get better, you'll see". I feel better having said it, and would be satisfies if people simply read it, and understood a little more about me and possibly themselves. The past few days, I haven't written much. And soon I may need to take a break altogether, to get other things in order. But I will never regret having come here, and becoming part of this: a collection of the light of other souls that is also in turn a mirror to view my own.