It's Coming Together

I've been a busy body lately, and it's looking like this is going to become the trend... Lots of work, lots of social activity, and that's the way I like it. I just worked an entire two episodes while battling sickness (that almost got the best of me) and now that the show I was on is done, I have a few days to relax before getting back to it, working on a film project in Niagara Falls for the month of October, where I will be put up in a hotel with a pool, gym, and wifi (so I can play GTA V online with my bro once in a while). I'm looking forward to the experience, as it will be somewhat of a mini-vacation, and because I will be surrounded by some cool people! Having said that, I'm also looking forward to November, as something I've been wanting is finally coming together... Instead of moving out of my apartment to find something with a suitable workspace, I'm slightly increasing my current rent and taking over a larger room in the house, so that I can have a live/work space separate from one another in the same house! I lost a set-up very similar to this at this very time last year, and now I'm getting it back! Oh yeah!

:D

You can now go back to whatever it was you were doing. Thanks for stopping by!

I've been thinking a lot lately... You might have smelt something burning.

What are the things that matter to us most that we owe it to ourselves to strive for through the rest of our limited days on this massive yet miniscule rock floating in endless space? Hope is one thing. No matter how bleak things may be at any given moment in anyone's life anywhere across the world (some areas vastly more than others) I think we all want to hope for the best, because without hope why would we even bother to wake up and get out of bed in the morning? Though I prepare myself for the worst, I usually hope for the best in all situations, and not just for the benefit of myself. Speaking about myself though, two things that I personally desire, are a career that presents the freedom to have a creative space in which I can work on projects that I am passionate about, and a relationship with someone that compliments my personality, with whom I can share my passions. So I want these things, and hope for them... By doing this I might just get lucky, but if I go one step further and take action, my chances will improve. Where do I start though? What is the process for achieving such feats? How are we supposed to compete with every other individual on the planet with their mind's set on the same prize?

It's simple... We take a chance.

I've taken many chances and I've come pretty far I'm proud to say. I've been achieving personal goals, and am continuing to pursue greater challenges... It requires a lot of hard work, and difficult things like self motivation, pain, and struggle. A flexible plan is also useful. I have one of those, and I'm following it. It's somewhat terrifying because there is absolutely no certainty for success, but I have hope, and I'm taking that chance... At the moment work is steady, plans are falling into place, and I'm feeling confident. Now I just need my own place with a work room. It's close to happening, again. Yes, again... This time last year, amongst many things, I was turning half of my apartment in to an animation studio, I had gone from being happy with myself, to being happy in a relationship, I even jumped out of a fucking plane, and everything was looking great. Then, as the nature of things do, they changed. It was a difficult time for me. I would say I lost a little more than my way for a while for some time following that, but I'm back at it now. I'm going to have that ideal living situation sorted out, and eventually I'll have the relationship thing going well too. Until then, it's back to being happy on my own. At least that is what I tell myself... To be honest, once you're in a relationship you enjoy, you miss it when it's gone. I've only ever had two serious relationships in my life that I actually enjoyed in the sense that I was truly sad that they came to an end. They took place over the last two years, one after the other, the first ended mutually and amicably, and then fell apart because of the development of the second relationship, which I put an end to very recently because all of the compromise and expectations were falling on me and not on my partner... I was very happy, and had elements of what I wanted from a partner in both of those relationships, but neither it would seem were meant to last. So, what have I not been doing to find the right partner? I have thought a lot about this... I've come to the conclusion that I haven't really been doing anything wrong, except for maybe not listening to my friends when they give me warnings... I've followed the plan, I've taken chances, and I've had some experiences I will never forget, both ups and downs. I'm looking forward to having more...

Anyone reading this... I urge you to formulate a plan, and wish you luck with setting it in motion.

<3

Sometimes You Have To Let People Know They Suck

So, I was hired (or so I thought) for a full-time position on television show two weeks ago, after working for three days as a daily. I found out today that although I was told what the shooting schedule was in advance (to make sure I was available), that I was not actually needed for the show, and that I MIGHT get a phone call for a future episode if they needed anyone. I had booked off days from my part-time job to accommodate this production, as well as turned down some other work... So, having been struck with disappointment at the lack of communication, I wrote an email to the producers of the show...

***

To Whom It May Concern,

My name is Michael Torelli. I was hired as a Production Assistant, but worked as a 3rd AD during the shoot days at 15 Fraser in Liberty Village. I enjoyed working on Hardcore Heroes very much, and was looking forward to coming back, which is what this email is in regards to.

I was incredibly disappointed after having a brief conversation with the Production Coordinator this morning regarding my being needed, or rather NOT being needed any further. The reason I was disappointed was that during the days I was on set I was told by the 1rst and 2nd AD's (in front of one of the producers) that I would be getting hired for the duration of the show because they were beyond satisfied with my help. Now, I can understand not being paid more than a PA rate while coming on board as a 3rd AD due to budget constraints, and I can understand that due to those same constraints that some people might not be required any further, but what I do not understand is why this was not communicated to me until I started asking questions as to why I didn't receive a call sheet. When I was told I was being hired for the duration of the show, I was told what the shooting schedule was going to be, and therefore not only booked days off from my part-time job for the next two shooting blocks (which has put me in some hot water with them), but I also turned down other film work to keep my commitment to this production. This has become a rather sizable inconvenience to my welfare, and "well, we'll keep you in mind if something comes up" is an unacceptable way to deal with such a disastrous lack of communication. In the past, I have been compensated by productions when such last minute changes occurred.

Having said all of that, I do not hold on to any hope that Hardcore Heroes will compensate me for dishonoring what I understood to be a verbal contract. In the future, I will be certain to protect myself from situations like this occurring again. I suppose I have Hardcore Heroes and Proper Television to thank for that. As producers, I thought it was important for you to know what happened, because the people you hire and the level of professionalism they show is a direct reflection on you.

Regards,

Michael Torelli

***

I received a phone call almost immediately after sending that email from one of the producers, who was absolutely livid with me. It turns out one of the people I emailed was the owner of the company, and my email was going to get some of the producers in huge amounts of shit. She was angry and apologetic, but mostly angry that I didn't contact her directly about the matter. She sounded shocked when I said I would write a follow-up apology...

***

I realize you have all just received an email from me which seemed to fully express my feelings regarding the events that took place, and I wanted to point out that albeit it true, I realize it was an emotional response on my part, and that the fault was in no way any of yours. Having gotten it off of my chest, I realize I may have created problems for people who are not deserving of them. So, I apologize if these emails in any way cause trouble for anyone, as my intentions were to simply make whoever should have been aware that AD's were telling people they were being hired, were made aware so that these miscommunications and unfortunate circumstances that have befallen me do not occur with anyone else.

Sincerely,

Michael Torelli

***

I then wrote a third email, but only to the female producer who was swearing at me on the phone, telling her that I didn't appreciate her calling me and swearing at me, and pointed out that I could have hung up on her and proceeded to write a much different follow-up letter to everyone that detailed my getting accosted for bringing to light a situation in which the only person truly inconvenienced was myself... She wrote back simply thanking me for the email, and that she appreciated what I did.

A note to anyone who is ever hired by means of a verbal contract... If you are ever hired verbally, be certain to send an email to whomever hired you, thanking them for the work, and highlighting the fact that you're going to be available for the days on which they have verbally hired you... This way, if they try to deny that verbal contract, they then have to explain why they didn't respond to your email to clarify that you weren't actually hired. Got that? Good.

Unwritten Letters

Sometimes I wonder how you've been doing, and want to reach out and wish you well... It is clearly obvious though, that I have not. You have gone too far away. I often think about many people in my life that I do not see enough, and caring as I do I keep them in my heart, and hope the very best for them. I still do that for you. Though we have grown apart, and walls with barbed wire have gone up between us, the feelings I once had for you are the same, or at least mostly the same... I have no doubt in my mind that I will see you again. I only doubt that we'll be happy to see each other when it happens, but I'll be happy to know that you're well when the moment has passed.

You Know Who You Are...

I was recently put in a position where I had to make a choice between two people, by way of honoring a broken but valued relationship, or honoring a healthy and developing relationship. Did I do the wrong thing, following the "out with the old, in with the new" mentality? No, I don't believe I did. I do however have a lingering dissatisfaction with the outcome of my choice, as I suppose is expected, in the sense that things don't always turn out as we hope they will. I had little choice but to reach out by way of email... The message I conveyed was that space was necessary, as was some sort of acknowledgement of fault in the matter, and the message returned was that of severance, and victimization. In the words of Radiohead... "You do it to yourself, you do, and that's what really hurts. You do it to yourself, just you, you and no one else, you do it to yourself."

What I did was right. That is what I have to tell myself. I catered to myself in a situation where it was expected I would cater to the emotional comforts of someone else, to whom I was always flexible, and understanding. They put me in a position that challenged my character, that promised me nothing, and would cost me my own happiness, for nothing more than making things a little easier on them... They were being selfish. I understood the situation to be difficult for them, but they didn't think about how the situation looked from my perspective. Making things easier for them was what I was trying to do in the first place, the only problem is that with all the claims they made about taking chances, growing, and changing, that they continue to do things the same way. Throwing stones in your own pool isn't going to create ripples in the ocean, it'll just eventually dry out your pool. I in some ways feel like that water that has spilt out, away from them, back into the earth, where something else will grow with my love and affection. If I've left anything behind it will be the hope that they eventually grow in such a way that they find happiness, with or without me.

My message to anyone who might read this... What begins, in one way or another, will eventually end, but your character is something that will remain long after you're gone. It is the thing people will remember you by... Don't sacrifice that for anything.

A Blog About Nothing

You never know till you know, and even then, you'll only know it by your own perception. WHAT am I talking about? I'll be honest ladies and gentlemen, I have no idea what I'm talking about. I just clicked "compose" and started streaming my thought process. I suppose I should apply the starting statement to life. What specifically about life? How about EVERYTHING? Lets take my life for example. Why my life? Well, it is MY fucking blog for one thing, and who better to talk about it than me, you? Please, I welcome your words on the matter! Until anyone else chimes in however, you're dealing with me. Dealing with me... That's what I'm doing with me at the moment, dealing with myself, with my life, and all of the unexpected experiences that I've been having in it thus far in 2013. What have I discovered? I'm flawed. It's not like I didn't know this already, but I've had reminders, and in reality, those kinds of reminders are actually somewhat refreshing. I'm also very adaptable, and full of surprises. It's not like I didn't know this either, but again, rediscovering things about yourself is wonderful. I highly recommend everyone try it. Could I give you specifics on both sides of the coin to better illustrate these learned lessons? Absolutely! YES, I could. I won't though. Sure, I'm an open book, but I'm not going to sit here and turn the fucking pages for you. If you really want to know, you can set aside some of your personal time and I'll guide you through the pages. Besides, I share a little too much with people sometimes. I need to hold on to some of it for me... I'm taking back mysterious in 2013.

Untitled Zombie Story - Chapter 1.

1.

“If You Are Reading This, I Am Most Likely Dead”

Athena sits alone at the head of a long mahogany table in an extravagant dining room, appearing rather distant amidst the sounds of hammering, shouting, and an air of panic. Though she bears resemblance to a strong and steadfast Amazonian warrior princess, she is the emotional antonym. The jet-black haired Greek beauty trembles, somatically working through her trauma, a tear running down her lightly tanned olive skin, her mascara starting to bleed somewhat down her cheek. She was trying, but couldn’t remember the name of the little boy - who could have been her own son were she a teenage mom - that saved her with his selfless bravery, giving his own life for hers. She couldn’t remember if she even asked his name before it all happened. She could just remember promising the boy everything was going to be okay. She could only remember blood. Blood, it was everywhere, on her Lulu Lemon track suit, her Nike running shoes; it was on the hands and in the faces of everyone around the house. There was even blood on the table and the floor around it she began to notice as her spacial awareness returned to her, but this blood was dry she realized. Athena collects herself and scans the room. High ceilinged walls peppered with beautifully framed family portraits, carefully hung around display cases containing exotic statues and artifacts. Along the floor, lengths of broken “Do Not Cross” police tape dragged into the room by the entranceway that Mark - a handsome thirty-something fellow - led her into the room from to sit her down before running back out to help the others. Athena suddenly collects a chill amongst chills down her spine. She is familiar with this house, she had heard about it in the news seven days earlier. An entire dinner party of family and friends hosted by wealthy philanthropist and anthropologist Norman Goldberg was drugged then murdered, along with the entire house staff and caterers. The story made her nauseous, but then that was nothing compared to the events of the days that would follow. Athena takes a deep breath attempting to center herself, and glances at a half opened backpack on the table, noticing the cover of a notebook that says “READ ME” inside. Athena, ambient and compliant, takes the book from the bag and begins to read.

“There are extremely important notes in these pages that you should know about if you care for the way things used to be. If you are reading this it means I am most likely dead and this is all over, or more likely I am dead and the responsibility has fallen on you to continue my work. For this I am sorry, not because I was to blame for any of this, but because of what has been theorized that will have to be done to change it all back; things I don’t even think I could do. There are items needed, that I do not at this moment have. I will get to all of that in great detail, but before I do I want to you to know who I was, so that when these horrors have come to an end, I will not be forgotten.

My name is Richard Peter Johnson. A note on that... I’ve always disliked my name. Some people call me Dick, I’m content with that. I’ve accepted the innuendo, because I have been a dick before. We learn from example. So, if ones given name was directly related to their personality I would in fact be three times more a dick than a majority of the male population, as has been assumed in my life coming from a family of Dicks, I am however a remarkably nice guy. Very few people, with the exception of my few closest friends, and family that has taken advantage of it for almost my whole life (thirty years), have ever come to know that of me though. I’ve heard people say “Oh, he’s polite”... I’ve spent so much time studying, leisurely reading, or working diligently, that I wasn’t very social growing up, might have even seemed shut-out and distant with people... I’ve never really noticed how much that bothers me. Christ, the last time I made any sort of personal journal entry was when I was in grade one and our assignment was to write one page - double spaced - about our day, every day for the month, and reflect on the lessons we learned, the things that happened, and how we felt about all of it. Any other journal entry since then has been to document results of studies and projects. Funny now when I think about it, those personal journal entries from my youth were very much the same thing, experiments, only I never saw it that way. Isn’t that almost always the case though? We never fully understand what things are while they’re happening, while we’re immersed in them, and what the point is of anything until the time in which the events take place has passed. Despite the complexity of this moment, unfathomable in its nature, I’m certain that I get what is going on, the how and why, and I hope beyond all hope that it’s not too late to do something about it. I also wish there were some other way... I think I’ve felt that way about a lot of things in life. I feel like I’ve wasted a lot of my life missing out on life, but it was to do what I thought was right. In university I was that ‘uptight’ guy who showed up at parties late and left early because an extra credit assignment was due, or someone required academic assistance and I offered them my brain for picking, then I’d get frustrated with them because they weren’t catching on as quickly as I hoped. Maybe I am a dick? Maybe I avoided people socially because I don’t understand them. I suppose none of that matters anymore. For years I have been as dead to the world as it has been to me, and now where am I? Trapped in the basement of the city morgue where I work as a pathologist, surrounded by corpses.

Fuck. These candles are burning rather quickly. Here is the situation. The next page has an image of what you’ll need, everything that follows it will explain why. I came to the morgue not expecting to find what I found, the source of this nightmare you’ve come to know, not believing it to be real even though I had been warned it might happen. I was hoping to keep what I thought couldn’t possibly exist contained it but it was too late. The power went out shortly after I got stuck in this meat locker with what sounded like an explosion outside of the building, and I have little hope that it will come back on. It is too dark and exponentially more dangerous outside of this room with no light. I have to escape though, and I’ll have to move fast. My only chance is to protectively suit up and wait until sunrise. Using the flash on my camera I’ll navigate through the path of horrors for the first two subfloors, where on the next two up - pray the sky not be overcast or thick with smoke from raging fires - the east windows should catch enough sun to light the rest of the way out, at least to the surface. That is as far as I plan to make it. I have to get to the surface, even if it means death.”

“Hate To Say I Told You So.”

Kenneth Harris sits with nervous anticipation on his comfortable Herman Williams home office chair, cycling through data on his computer with the receiver of his telephone pinched between his left shoulder and ear, waiting for his call to be answered on the other end. He has let it ring five times already as his friend, “Dick”, Richard Peter Johnson - or “Cock Trio” as he calls him, with whom he desperately seeks dialogue - doesn’t have voice mail. Kenneth, it appears, has not breathed fresh air or showered for about two days. His face and hair are glazed with a light film of oils and sweat, his clothes musty and stained with food from a previous meal eaten in obvious haste, all for reasons some might say were paranoid delusions at best. Kenneth was always the suspicious type. His friends, or at least those few who still communicated with him, would say his tendencies to draw elaborate imaginative conspiracies and fantastical conclusions began in university with his studies of ancient civilizations and cultural behaviors, but the truth was it began long before that, with his parents who had long passed away, that were avid human rights activists and protestors for all sorts of international causes. This was genetic, it was in his blood.

“C’mon, pick up the fucking phone already, Jesus...” Kenneth remarks with slight impatience on the tenth ring, almost ready to give up until...

“Hello?” answers a female voice on the other end of the line, Veronica, Richard’s on and off girlfriend who doesn’t quite like Kenneth. Their feelings, mutual.

“Hi Veronica, I was hoping to speak to Dick, can you put him on?”

“Oh, Kent. Why do you want Richard?” Veronica asks, unenthusiastically.

“I really don’t have the time to explain this twice, I just need to speak to him.”

“Well is this, like, a matter of life or death, or something?”

“Yes, a matter of death actually, quite important that I speak to him, like, pronto.” answers Kenneth, clearly mocking Veronica’s goth-valley-girl qualities.

“Death? Really? I’m curious now, oh please tell me?” begs Veronica, for the first time actually conveying genuine interest in conversing with Kenneth. Death as it is, was Veronica’s favorite subject, a fetish of sorts. It aroused her, Kenneth knew, it was in fact the only reason he was certain she was with Richard, who was also aware of the fact, but couldn’t resist her not having much luck elsewhere with the opposite sex.

“Just give me Dick, would you?” insists Kenneth.

“Funny. Usually I’m the one saying that.” jests Veronica.

“Didn’t need to know that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I offend your delicate virgin ears?”

“Dick, please?”

“Fine... RICHARD!? Come get the phone dear, its your loser friend! Kenneth.”

“Thank-you...” Kenneth remarks, followed by a silent “...you awful bitch.”  before waiting silently for Richard, stewing in his hatred of Veronica, and flatulence.

“Hey Cunt Hairs, what’s this life and death matter I’m hearing about?” Richard says affectionately. They’ve insulted the other’s name since the dawn of their friendship.

“Hey Cock Trio. Is that goth emo cum sponge still in the room with you?”

“No, she’s about to take a shower and I want to join her, so make it quick.”

“Whatever, the dumb bitch has to stop fucking with your important phone calls.”

“She’s not dumb, Kent.” 

“Please, she thinks ‘taking dictation’ is terminology for giving oral.”

There is a momentary pause before Richard responds as he recalls the memory from a few months earlier. “You got me there. What’s so urgent?”

“Did all of the bodies from the Goldberg estate murder land on your tables?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Where and how exactly were the family members and friends killed?”

“This is what was so important?” Richard says in disbelief.

“Yes! Very. I have to know, seriously.” declares Kenneth.

“Most of them were drugged, and then stabbed in the heart. Satisfied?”

“ All in one room? Did the police find that murder weapon?”

“Man, I don’t know.” Richard blurts, somewhat annoyed with the questions.

“You have to call your friend in the department and find out, immediately.”

“What are you on right now?”

“What I’m on has nothing to do with what I’m asking! Just do it.”

“Why?”

“Norman Goldberg had just recently acquired some rather ancient Egyptian artifacts, one of which I believe has been used historically to raise the dead.”

“Raise the dead?”

“You heard me. Those bodies are going to rise soon, and it could get ugly.” says Kenneth with a unmistakeable matter-of-fact tone to his voice.

“Seems rather, fictional, and irrational.” says Richard, not taking it seriously.

“Just because you don’t believe something doesn’t make it less real.”

“Just because you believe something doesn’t actually make it real.”

“If I’m right, everyone in that morgue is in danger, and my gut tells me I’m right.”

“Is this another one of your far out of left-field hysterical theories?”

“I’m not fucking with you Dick, I’m seriously freaked out here!” shouts Kenneth, a genuine fear in his words, as he often believed all of his crazy notions.

“The bodies are in storage, immobile. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Not yet. Dick, and I’d hate to say I told you so. Promise me you’ll make the call.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll call Kenji and I’ll ask him about the investigation. Happy?” says Richard, hoping Kenneth will cease bothering him further on the matter.

“If they have the blade, tell him we need it, and have him meet you tonight.”

“The police aren’t going to release evidence from a murder!”

“Whatever, just do it, then I need you to come over before you meet with Kenji.”

“Seriously Kent? I have plans tonight.”

“Tell Veronica to keep the drinks cold next to her heart, it won’t take long. Kenji can meet you at the morgue. That’s where you’re taking that bitch anyway, right? To fuck by candlelight near some corpses?”

“Maybe.” says Richard completely guilt-laden.

“I’m not judging you, just promise you’ll call Kenji then stop here first, okay?”

“Christ. I promise, alright? You owe me, fucking lunatic.”

“Bitch please, I’m doing you the huge fucking favor, you don’t even know it.”

“Well then thank-you, I suppose, asshole.”

“You’re welcome. Sorry I interrupted your pre morgue fucking shower sex. Go get some STD’s then hurry the fuck over, just make it quick. We’ve got work to do.”

“Unfinished Business”

He had never been late when it came to his work, ever. “They weren’t going anywhere” he thought, so why not finish the previously recorded episode of The Sopranos and then get his things together and go? He hated watching things half-way through and then getting back to them later. The momentum of the story, although unchanged in its telling, to him would be lost, so he let it play out to the credits. He would still be arriving early he speculated, just not the extra hour early that he scheduled. This was going to be a walk in the park compared to the rest of his contracts, and the client wasn’t going to complain if he were to be late. Why worry?

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” He exclaims, surprised with the seething tone of his usual subdued voice, watching the smoke billow from the hood of his Mercedes, then silently but surely cursing Murphy and his ridiculous law. He had to break down right then and there, four miles away from his destination. He was, for the first time in his professional career, late. With an exhale of disappointment he removes the keys from the ignition and pops the trunk before exiting the vehicle. He straightens his custom tailored navy pin-stripe suit and adjusts his fedora before retrieving his matching briefcase then locking the vehicle. He closes his eyes and exhales again, frustrated. “At least it’s not raining” he thinks, knowing he was going to have to walk. He wasn’t carrying any cash or credit cards with him. He wasn’t even carrying identification, but then he rarely ever did. Malcolm Fox, a sly and slender silver-haired gentleman several days shy of forty-seven. He had rapidly started going grey before his twenties and been monikered Silver Fox, but most people only knew him as Mr. Fox. His appearance, along with his demeanor, was very deceiving. His name suited him well.

Almost four miles and seventy-four minutes later, having barely broken a sweat, Malcolm recognizes his destination in the distance, the city morgue, well lit by the surrounding lamp posts and bright lights of the hospital straight across the main road, and continues forward. “I’m not that late” he convinces his mind, “it makes more sense to arrive when there is less staff there anyway”. This contract was the most outrageous and irrational of all he was ever hired to carry out. Appearing at the morgue to stab the corpses with the same blade that killed them. Preposterous, but he was paid well to do so. As he reaches the opposite street corner of the morgue a police car speeds by, sirens wailing. Two very confused and somewhat bloodied Emergency Medical Technicians stand outside their ambulance out in front of the hospital gazing in the direction of the speeding police unit. In the distance Malcolm can hear a car alarm going off, and sounds of discord in the streets. His smile fades as an uneasy sensation suddenly washes over him. He no longer anticipates his contract to be carried out with the previously forethought ease. He contemplates for a brief moment the possibility of turning around and walking back to his car, curling up in the backseat, and going to sleep. He could syphon gas from another vehicle in the morning. “Why didn’t I just think of that earlier?” and “Too late for that now!” crosses his mind with a myriad of thoughts, as he realizes the abrupt deafening sound he heard while in a state of rumination was a speeding car pinning him to a lamp post, wrapping around them like a blanket tucked-in too tight for comfort. Malcolm straightens his suit and tie one last time... “I shouldn’t have taken that contract.” he laments while exhaling his final breath, fading into oblivion.

“The Goldberg Family Estate Murder Case”

Detective Lui stands near by the head of the long mahogany table in the large dining room where his investigation is taking place, stepping in slow observation, following behind police photographer Janet Dagnet, as she takes stills of the seventeen victims that fill the one room alone. Throughout the house, twenty-three dead in total.

“What in God’s name happened here Kenji?” asks Janet, unemotionally.

“That is what I intend to figure out.” responds the detective.

“I’ve seen some pretty disturbing scenes doing this work. This is nowhere near as gruesome as most, I’ve gotta say though, it takes the cake when it comes to being erie.”

“Agreed.” says the detective, pressing record on his iPhone.

“I’m curious old friend, what are your thoughts?” asks Janet, giving her camera a momentary break, aware that Kenji is about to speak his mind. She liked his voice, he didn’t have his parents Asian accent at all, but he did develop a methodic and well spoken tone to his speech, possibly she thought from hearing his parents trying to speak English as clearly as properly as possible. She liked doing her work while he spoke aloud, piecing together elements of an investigation, and often stuck around until he was finished whenever she happened to be snapping for his cases. Janet Dagnet, only twenty-seven but appearing slightly weathered from odd work hours and emotional work stress, met her old friend Kenji Lui, an almost ageless looking thirty-five year old, five years earlier. It was for both of them the first time they were on the scene of a murder, and despite their professional requirements to remain attentive to the situation at hand, they had both taken notice of each other physically. Although both still thinking the other was attractive, the affectionate thoughts faded rather quickly and over the years transformed into a solid friendship, for Kenji because his parents were traditional and expected him to marry within their culture, and because Janet was at the time engaged, now unhappily but still faithfully married.

“My thoughts...” the detective thinks aloud, scratching the back of his head. “Questions Janet, lots of questions, questions that lead to other questions. Questions like, what was Norman Goldberg into that would provoke an action such as this? This is a man, whom as far as the law and public was concerned, was a saint. Who would want to kill a saint?”

“Maybe he wasn’t such a saint. Maybe he was responsible for all this?”

“Nothing should ever be ruled out, I wouldn’t say thats likely though. Goldberg spent a fair amount of time and money on dealings in rare antiquities. He could have crossed a dealer, or perhaps another buyer. I’d question his known associates with knowledge of his dealings, they are however at the table in this room. I have doubts as to their being very helpful.” Janet continues to do her work as the detective thinks silently for a few seconds, the sounds of the camera shutter clicking, triggering thoughts in his mind, walking around the table taking note of how each victim is hunched forward in their seats, face down on the table, a puncture wound in their side straight into the heart, and by the appearance of coughed up blood from some, pierced lungs. The detective begins to feel a grumble in his stomach. He skipped out on lunch earlier in the day and now, even amidst the dinner party massacre, was hungry, the food on the table taunting him. His mouth watered as he feasted his eyes on the entrees. Asiago and spinach stuffed grilled chicken lightly drizzled with a red pesto sauce. Garlic stuffed roasted plum tomatoes on a bed of black-bean quinoa salad, with a side of lightly salted steamed asparagus. All of the food, barely eaten, going to waste. Detective Lui takes note of the one place setting with the most consumed food and drink at the table, a seat without a victim. His thoughts perturb him, because if the rest of the victims in the house were staff and caterers, whose spot was this? “The victims were most likely drugged and then sequentially dispatched, right in the place wear they were seated. I’ll require a toxicology report to determine that. There is an empty seat with a place setting where it appears someone was served food and drink, yet the rest of the victims in the house were hired help... Who was this guest, a possible suspect? Questions...” The detective walks to the entrance of the room and stands over the bodies of two servants, the trays of food they were carrying laying near by, delicious tropical fruits and skillfully crafted deserts spread out in a circumference from where they were dropped. The detective can clearly see that these two victims were also killed with a blade which was not yet found, however in a different and more violent manner than the rest in the room. “The help entered the room, no doubt horrified to discover the dinner guests being murdered, at which point they were slashed and stabbed at, killed quickly as to not alert others in the house to the happenings in the dining room.  Afterwards, they were dragged into the room away from the door to prevent them from being visible from the hallway, where the suspect, when finished with the dinner guests, proceeded down towards the kitchen to execute with a pistol, any possible witnesses who might identify him.” The detective stops recording his monologue.

“What the hell, Kenji?” sighs Janet now, with sadness in her voice having just taken several photos of a young girl the age of seven. Jenny Goldberg, Norman’s youngest child, and only daughter. Janet had wanted to have children of her own, a daughter especially, but her husband turned out to be sterile. Dead children always irked her more than anything else. 

“I know Janet, I know. You never get used to it, you just learn to accept it.” says Kenji, putting his left hand on Janet’s right shoulder to comfort her. “It may not be the most positive thought to entertain, but when it comes to children like this, I often try to convince myself that their life was soon going to be full of suffering and pain, horrible things that they’ll no longer have to face.”

Janet raises her right hand and puts it on top of Kenji’s. “You might be right.” she says, knowing that trying to convince herself any different would only make her feel worse. He was always a great comfort to her, more than her husband ever was. It was difficult for her to seek comfort in her marriage when it was her marriage where most of her problems stemmed from. His friendship made her happy, and equally sad. Janet feels Kenji’s hand slipping away from under hers with the sound of a vibration, the detective’s phone, the slight smile that was rising in her face, diminishing.

“Excuse me” says Kenji before he answers, “Lui.” A few moments pass as he makes the mental transition from friend mode back to detective mode. Janet returns to taking stills of other victims before her friend speaks again, “I’ll be right out.”

“You’re leaving?” asks Janet.

“There was a witness, a young boy. He’s outside.” replies the detective, pausing for an uncertain moment. “I’ll catch up with you in the kitchen” he says before leaving Janet alone in the room with the bodies.

Upon exiting the house, Kenji notices a young boy across the street standing in front of his mother, appearing somewhat overwhelmed with shock. An officer approaches Kenji and verifies that the boy is in fact the witness he seeks to question.

It had been one day since he saw her in the front yard of her house, where they usually played together. He didn’t really know anything about girls, he just knew that he liked her. It was all so clear in his mind, which made it ever more cloudy in his eyes.

“I don’t get it” he told Jenny, not having played the games girls play.

“Just hold hands with me, and sing along like I told you while we spin in circles, okay?” explained Jenny. He nodded, then she took his hands and began to spin him in circles, singing some sort of riddle he didn’t understand the slightest. “Ring-a-ring-a-rosie, pocket full of posie, ashes, ashes, we all fall down!” she said with laughter, letting go and dropping down in the green lush grass, alone, as he chose not to join in the singing, nor the falling. “Why didn’t you fall with me?” she asked him.

“I don’t get it. Its a stupid game.” he told her, causing tears to well up in her eyes.

“You’re stupid!” she cried as she got to her feet and ran back towards the house.

“Lucas?” says his mother, bringing him back to the moment, standing behind him with her hands on his shoulders, drawing his attention to a man wearing a suit in front of them. “Lucas dear, this man needs to ask you some questions.” says his mother.

“Okay.” responds Lucas, appearing rather sad with his thoughts.

“Hi Lucas, I’m Detective Lui. You can call me Kenji. Okay?” says Kenji, getting a nod from Lucas. “Your mom told a police officer that you said you saw someone leaving that house yesterday. Would you be able to describe that person to me?”

“Go on Lucas.” says his mother, but Lucas remains silent, so she speaks for him. “I bought Lucas a suit for his first communion. Its navy colored, and pin-striped. Lucas said the man’s suit looked the same, and that he had a matching hat, and briefcase.”

“Was there an accident? Is Jenny okay?” asks Lucas, desperate to know.

Kenji looks at Lucas’ mother, unsure of how to treat the situation. She nods to him, trusting he will be compassionate. Kenji responds, “I don’t think it was an accident Lucas, but it is still bad. If we want to help Jenny, we have to find the person who... Who made her not okay. Do you understand?”

“I told her that her game was stupid, I made her cry.” Lucas sobs, his mother kneeling down to hug him. “I didn’t tell her I was sorry. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“Shhh, its okay love.” says his mother, hoping to comfort him.

“I’m sorry Lucas. I know this isn’t easy, but we’re almost done. I need you to help me, for Jenny. Can you tell me if the man was tall, or short? Thin or fat? What color his hair was, and if he had any on his face?”

“It was white. It was white and it was only on his head. He looked as tall as you, but thinner, and older.” replies Lucas, fighting back tears. “That’s all I can remember.”

Kenji thanks Lucas and his mother, who then retire to the comfort of their home. Kenji releases a deep breath and turns back to look at the Goldberg estate, where he catches Janet in a second story window snapping a photo of the activity outside of the house, or maybe of him. She lowers her camera and shoots him a meager wave before moving away. Kenji proceeds back towards the house, making verbal notes from his talk with Lucas. “It’s going to be a long night” he thinks to himself, but then they always are.

Are You Paying Your Bills?

I find myself today, as a majority of individuals do at some point in their life, in a state of financial uncertainty. This is the life I chose as a contract union worker in the film and television industry, where I prostitute myself (in a manner of speaking) to people and productions, for free or for a minimal fee, in hopes of leaving an impression worthy of a rehiring, or being passed on in good will. The winter months were cold and unfruitful professionally, as I found my personal life in transition... I realize this must be the case for many, and that the challenges I've faced are no more or less important that those of others. This is my journal though, so for the moment, allow me to pretend that you yourselves have your shit together enough that you're taking the time to care about my stream of consciousness with regards to the difficulties of my life... Difficult? It is nobody's fault but my own that I am not working, I need to go out and find something, be it film related work or a "Joe Job" to make ends meet between one gig and another. The reason I'm not working is myself. Me. I've allowed myself to make it here... HERE, is good. It's not ideal, but it's where I am, and I am enjoying myself... I have to be honest with myself though, as honest as I am being with you. I need to find a way to keep enjoying myself here in the now, and make money while doing it, because being HERE comes with a cost of living. Does sex pay? 

Do you have something you need/want done, but don't really want to do it, and have considered paying someone to do it? If "yes", then you and I should talk.

Be A Boss

I've always thought about being my own boss. Who hasn't? The question though afterwards became, doing WHAT exactly? I was always interested in acting, writing, and film, so naturally I took some chances and pursued a career in film & television, which I've been doing for over five years now, and I love it, but am not yet my own boss. In the future, I hope the projects I end up working on are my own, but that is the future... SURE, I can always start my own projects on a smaller scale (and I am), but how can I be my own boss NOW? Well... I thought of many ways to do this. I could link up with other creative people I know, such as my cousin Andrew, who makes incredible latex masks, and combine my skill for costuming, and mechanics, to make better masks that will net higher profits, thus becoming somewhat of my own boss... This is something that is still on the table, Andrew and I just have to make it happen. We will make it happen... Until that happens though, what else? What can I do to be my own boss... I made a friend a little over a year ago when I moved back to the West end of Toronto, an owner of a coffee shop at Lansdowne & Bloor. We clicked right away. Cool fucking guy. Him and I talked occasionally about the benefits of being your own boss, and business ideas, and amongst many other things, even the possibility of going into business with one another some day in owning a cafe that served coffee, and alcohol... That was just talk though, and talk is cheap. What isn't cheap, is actually doing it. Actually doing it is a challenge. Actually doing it is taking a leap of faith. Actually doing it is being a mother fucking boss... So, we're going doing it... I'm going into business for myself, or at least that is the plan. The next few weeks will determine whether or not it actually happens, but I'm giving it a fucking shot, like a boss.

<3

This Is About You

There are a lot of things I could have gone out and done tonight.
I had several invites to be social, and I didn't accept any of them.
I feel like maybe I did let some people down tonight in doing so.
There are a lot of things I could say but the best is perhaps sorry.
I felt like I needed to spend time alone isolated in my apartment.
I have almost been out every single night since New Years Eve.
I was a wreck then, and I have not given myself time to recover.
As much as I would have honored these friends company, sorry.
If we are not good to ourselves, we will be of no good to others.

Photo Journal - Week One: Into The New Year

It is important to take advantage of the basic abilities we possess.
Walking...

I've been going for a walk every day so far this year.
For anywhere from thirty minutes, to four hours so far...

A different path every time.

I found myself at the Allan Garden's Conservatory, at Sherbourne & Gerrard.

I had known about it for a while, and kept telling myself I would check it out...

So, I finally did!

<3

It was like stepping into a different country. One with no snow...

The flowers were beautiful.

I like turtles.

They like pizza, and skate boarding.

As well as fish watching.

These dogs are aware of each other.

This shot didn't come out well, but it defines the night... Blurry.

We wanted to play pool, but there wasn't a proper set of balls...

So we just played to see who could sink the most.

I lost every game, but had a great night, and a decent hangover...

Today, I went to visit family. It was my nephew's first birthday.
Happy Birthday Gabriel!

2013, Really?

That was not the kind of night I expected... WTF?
I chose to get home, where the love of a purring feline greeted me.
I feel this was the right choice, being alone...
I have some questions, or quests in the new year now though...
Things I can't shake from my mind with everything that's happened in the last few weeks.
Things that were, and weren't said...
Hell, with everything that occurred tonight, I've got to ask myself, honestly...
Who am I?
Who am I to myself?
Who am I to others?
Who do I want to be?
I already know what I want to do, and how I can make it happen...
Everything isn't as clear as it seemed to be before, and maybe it will be again...
Until then, I push forward...
Why though? What is the point I can't help but wonder...
What will I make of it when things start to happen?
Who am I going to be?

This year is going to change me...