Naturally

There’s sweet, icy piano music a-slidin’

It’s natural

Sweet background music

But the piano ain’t where I’m lookin’

Cuz she’s a-standin’ there

Existin’

S’all

Just standin’ round, natural-like

But elusive, y’know? So… elusive

Got that dark brown hair, an that way she moves… even when she’s not…

A special, so original smile

An I steal a glance at that smile, an that hair, an those moves

An brother, I just don’t know

Can’t make no sense out of myself

I’m just confused

But she…

She’s still there

A-standin’ around, all natural-like

An she’s just out of reach

Too… damn… elusive

An brother, I’m pretty sure it’s my fault

The Coffee Shop Man 1

I saw him from across the coffee shop. It was kind of a dumpy coffee shop. One of those out of the way hovels where prissy hipsters come to brood and commune. It smelled like coffee; an attractive, but distinctly bitter smell. Similar to the man who just walked in. He was balding, but his rock of a chin more than made up for this trivial shortcoming. It was one of those chins that allowed male movie stars to star in romantic roles well into their fifties, simply because of the chin-painted illusion that they haven’t lost any of the masculinity from their decades old prime.

I tried to make out what he ordered. The stupid staff in this joint takes really takes their sweet time in making drinks, and by the time they were done I had forgotten that I ever cared about what his drink was at all. Thanking his server, he swept his stiff leather coat in a slight, dangerous swirl and strolled out the way he came in. Smooth jazz began to play over the tinny speakers in the ceiling.

I watched the man stroll back to his ride from my window seat. A black Escalade, of all things. Any doubt that his shades cast about his identity was quickly brushed away after one caught a glimpse of his car. Subtle indeed.

Finishing my drink, I waved away a nearby degenerate who felt that it was his duty to tell me all about how he spent his irrelevant weekend, and was about to drop my glass cup on the counter and leave, when the guy in the corner raised the hat off his face.

I hesitated. Not good. My mind quickly churned out the potential results to my walking away, not reacting, and not giving in to my curiosity prodding at my brain. Thankfully, my mind has a habit of churning fast. I turned my awkward delay into an order for a refill. The cashier passed my used glass back to his coworker, his eyebrow arching at my insistence not to use a clean cup. You say it’s weird, I say it saves me $0.05 on my drink.

Him and the Night

               “It’s dark,” said the night.

               “Oh, is it?” he responded, “I can’t tell.” At least, he was pretty sure he was a he. He couldn’t actually imagine being anything else, so he decided that for the sake of convenience he would stick with what he thought he knew.

               “Are you sure it’s dark? How do you tell?”

               “I don’t really know,” the night thought out loud, “That’s just how things are, I guess. People have always said that it’s dark when I’m around.”

               “What do they say when you’re not around?”

               “I have no idea, because then I’m not close enough to hear what it is they’re saying.”

               “Hmm. Well, this is all very interesting,” said he, “Really, it is. But I feel like I really must be going.”

               “Yes? How do you know that?”

               “Same way that you know it’s dark. Because that’s just how it is. We know about ourselves because of what people say about us. So I know that I must continue walking because I say so.”

               “I see. People logic never really made any sense to me, but I suppose it would make sense to people. Else, why would they keep using it?”

               He felt like he was moving, and that was more than he had felt before, so he decided that it would be progress if he continued feeling that way. “Goodbye, night. Maybe we’ll meet again.”

               “Bye. See if you can find me once you’ve gotten where you’re going. Good luck.”

               He imagined himself gesturing in a way that would indicate that he was leaving, but none of it really made any sense. Anyway, the night was getting fuzzy, and this strange bright sensation began to cover him.

               “Hm, this isn’t night,” he was getting concerned that he would never arrive because everything was so confusing, “Now it’s not dark, it’s messy. This new night is messy.”

               And he was right. The area he was moving into was cluttered with all sorts of things that were coloured, and had mass. Now this was most confusing. The objects seemed to be separated, as if this new kind of night had hardened and then been smashed into a bunch of incongruous bits. And the bits obviously repelled each other, else why were they not sinking into and fading through each other?

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               I enjoyed writing this.

               I am slowly becoming more and more peeved that the blogger posting system does not contain an adequate indentation system.

               Also, I only really write from a male standpoint because I have never experienced life from any other perspective.

7 Things I have Learned About Blue-Collar Work

1. It sucks
2. Be polite to everyone and your job will be much easier
3. It's a lot more fun to work with people who don't care too much about their jobs
4. Canadian winters are not terribly compatible with construction
5. Coffee is essential
6. Nobody seems to understand that radio stations exist which don't just play the top 40 songs
7. Blue-collar work (at least in construction) is dirty. I hate being dirty
8. The vocabulary of most workers is about Grade 7 level, just with more swearing

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I've decided that I don't like the name of my blog. It was made in haste and was a desperate attempt to sound original. Alas.

A Man on his Porch

            It was a pleasant winter evening. The elderly gentleman stood on his porch, watching the cars as they went by and occasionally glancing at the construction going on across the road from his quaint, attractive townhouse.

            The hedge around his garden was well kept, and gave the man a nice sense of privacy, even though it was only about a hand’s breadth above waist height. His gnome bustled around the hedge, trimming a leaf here, a wayward branch there, helping the shrubby wall keep up the illusion that it had in fact grown to be as orderly and mathematical as it appeared.

            The man was very pleased with his life at the moment. Heat emanating from a mug of mild black tea teased his hand and prompted a satisfied smile. He had a good life, after all. He kept a clean, prim house that was but a short distance walk from the town’s small commercial district; he didn’t struggle to make ends meet; and he had reached that stage in life where he had both the means and the time to take things slowly, and fully enjoyed doing so.

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            Hello again. I have finally decided that I will continue to post updates, but the focus will no longer be on travel, rather it will be a place where I dump pieces of creative writing I've made. I don't know how often I'll update, but it will probably be more than once a month.

The Future of Good Wildebeest

As is evident, I haven't really been updating this blog very frequently. This is because it started as a travel blog, and as I am no longer traveling, there is nothing to blog about.

So, what should I do with this blog? Should it be a creative blog? Should I blog about my daily life? Or write fantasy stories starring my guinea pig? I need suggestions. Ask your friends, and try and give me some feedback about what I should do with my blog.

Thanks,

Josh

My Trip to Hong Kong, Part 2

Hard to believe it may may be, but I actually did other things other than hug Winnie the Pooh whilst in Hong Kong. For example, I used chopsticks:

I mean, who cares about Disneyland, wouldn't you rather hear about my chopstick technique? Honestly? Now, I know you would absolutely love to read about the finer points of chopsticking, but unfortunately, the above is the only appropriate picture I have on the subject. And as the content of these blog posts is entirely dictated by how many pictures I have for each topic, a single picture on a single topic is fated to receive only a proportional amount of coverage. But enough babbling, here's a picture of me with a wizard:

I don't know where those children came from.

So yes, the Abrey family and I went to Hong Kong on the Thursday before the Sunday when I had my flight back to Canada. Aaand we went to Disneyland. It was awesome. I know that the castle wasn't real, the  princesses walking around weren't actual princesses, and the whole park was built to advertise their movies and get you to buy coffee mugs embossed with motifs of Mickey Mouse's head, but I loved it.

The whole park was so darn happy it was difficult to remain cynical. I went on almost all the rides except the teacups and the Small World ride. Our collective family was also able to eat at the Enchanted Garden buffet restaurant in the bottom of the Disneyland hotel. What a buffet. Now I'm hungry. I'm gonna go eat lunch, then finish this blog. Don't go anywhere.

...

I'm back. Lunch was delicious. Anyway, the Enchanted Gardens were cool because they featured lots of classic Disney characters that walked around and took pictures with the residents of each table.

I need a suit like Mickey's.

We spent a couple days at Disneyland, and on the third day we drove through Hong Kong, and I was able to see where my Uncle Paul grew up. Hong Kong is certainly a beautiful place, but you can hardly tell because all the beauty is obscured by smog.

We took a tram that was pulled up a mountain at like a forty degree angle in order to reach a lookout place that looked like this:

http://www.thepeak.com.hk/en/1_2_1.asp

Great view, but again, very smoggy.

I was obviously having fun

If it wasn't for the pollution, Hong Kong would be incredibly attractive. I recommend it.