WESTCOAST WALKER

DEFIANCE

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Sat, 21 Jul 2012 17:19:00 +0000

The recent mass killing in Colorado put me in a strange head space yesterday. I was busy at work but it was in the back of my mind throughout the day. It was like static in the background that doesn't always register consciously but is always present, altering my perception in subtle ways.

In contemplating this further my efforts to make sense of this feels at times like an insurmountable act of futility. Perhaps that is the point, as there is no way that it is conceivable to make rational sense of what is essentially an act of pure evil and destruction.

This appeared to be a calculated and systematic effort made for the sole purpose of eradicating life. On may levels it makes me profoundly worried about some of the narratives out there that give birth to such hopelessness and can create a reality where someone is willing to cash out their humanity and cause such destruction and misery.

I am trying to stay away from the talking heads and sound bites on the 24/7 media cycle that in the name of providing endless content will likely perpetuate the fear and paranoia that naturally occurs after such a tragedy. It is certainly worthwhile to have public discourse about this, though unfortunately most media outlets seem to pander to the interest driven "experts" eager to apply a simple narrative or explanation for this

The one certainty for me in the aftermath of this tragedy is my refusal to allow this to make me cynical or to live in fear. I remain defiantly hopeful and will stubbornly stick to the belief that most people are capable of kindness, mercy and acts of selfless love when push comes to shove. I owe this to my children. As a human being and citizen of this world it is also an obligation worthy of serious consideration.

Please consider joining me in this act of defiance.

IN PRAISE OF THE PORTAL

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Mon, 04 Jun 2012 21:30:00 +0000

Yesterday I meandered through Park & Tilford Gardens, which is a hidden oasis in what might otherwise be considered a typical strip mall. I love that fact that at some point someone decided that in the midst of a place primarily devoted to commerce it was important to create a space to explore lush, fragrant and abundant plant life.

I particularly love this rounded entrance to the Japanese garden area. It reminds me of an entrance to a Hobbit's home. In the midst of this garden it functions as a portal inviting you into another realm, a place to step outside of the frantic pace of life and commerce and soak in a purely sensory and aesthetic experience. You enter a sacred space that forces you to slow down, breath deeply and simply be present, if even for a moment.

There is something wonderful about the idea of a portal, or even a round entrance way. The circular entrance feels less linear and rational than a common rectangular doorway, and seems more in touch with the circular aspects of nature, such as the changes of the seasons, that have shaped our sense of time and place for untold millennia.

Although perhaps less practical, I wish there were a few more round doorways or portals in everyday life. Perhaps this in some small way this might change our thinking of what it means to transition into a new space. It may infuse even a slight sense of wonder and possibility upon entering into even the most seemingly mundane room or environment. Whether it be work or play, walking through a portal to get there might even change our imagination and therefore open even more doors.

Are there any portals in your world? Where would you like to see them?

WHILE I WENT OUT WALKING...

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Sat, 19 May 2012 17:39:00 +0000

My lunch time walks in Surrey, BC are a frequently fascinating enterprise. The cardiovascular benefits go without saying, and of course it helps clear my thoughts during the midst of an often hectic work day.

During my mid-day strolls I am always searching for indicators of both the strange and the sublime, and one recent walked produced some particularly intriguing results;

First off, a post apocalyptic battle helmet. On inspection it appeared to be made from the combination of a work helmet, fencing mask and bull horns. Great gear for the impending zombie infestation or high speed battle over the last drop of gasoline circa the Road Warrior. You can never be too prepared!

This was particularly intriguing, circular chalk drawings around strategically placed stones, weeds and torn bus tickets. I was a little worried that this was the early stages of some ritual to open a portal to another dimension that could unleash terror and mayhem if tampered with.

There has to be a story here. This is usually a sign that something isn't going terribly well for somebody somewhere. If only this suitcase could talk!

Ineffectual warning sign. Good thing I looked down before acting on my impulse to dig by the roadside.

Where the Skytrain ends (literally). Just in case you ever wondered. Made me think of Shel Silverstein's classic "Where The Sidewalk Ends". Perhaps a new book of poems is in order!

The WOW Sound

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 06:23:00 +0000

I am launching a new blog today called The WOW Sound

It is about my own unabashed and purely subjective response and reaction to the music that takes a hold of me.

I am utterly fascinated by what goes on internally when I immerse myself in the music that I love. There is a rich landscape that I enter at times that I rarely share with others.

This project is about playing with words and ideas and trying to bring some form to what goes on when I engage my imagination with the music that inspires me. It is a sandbox to play and explore.

No rating or reviewing albums here, just a place to write and ponder that which has always been a source of endless fascination for me.

I still plan to write in ye olde Westcoast Walker blog from time to time (about those other non-musical areas of life).

Feeling inspired to say the least!

IMMEASURABLE DEBRIS

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 00:06:00 +0000

The world is a strange and increasingly interconnected place.

There were quite a few articles circulating last month speculating on the nature and size of the debris field currently making it's way from Japan over to the western shores of North America in the wake of the cruel earthquake and tsunami of March 2011.

Floating shoes, cars, furniture and other assorted representations of an ordered world turned upside down will soon become visible reminders of our own precarious social contract in North America.

It fascinates me that with all our technological prowess we can't accurately track the size and scope of this ever changing mass of debris, and this of course increases our anxiety. We live in a world where we expect precision and anything that falls short of this is problematic.

This is a fitting metaphor for our age. There is at times a sense that we will eventually be impacted by something that happens "over there", though we can't quite pin point this faceless source of dread that is drifting just beyond the horizon.

I would imagine that even after the majority of debris arrives here there will be items washing up for years, or perhaps decades later. I hope that anyone who finds something on the shore does something meaningful with it and pays homage, not only to lives lost, but to our increasingly small and interconnected world.

I think of the debris like a bridge, like the frozen waters of the last ice age that brought continents together. This may force us to throw out our old maps and reconsider where we all stand.

THE ILL MANNERED THIRD DAY

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 15:00:00 +0000

The First Day of the new year is an enigma, a "new beginning" of sorts with all the wonder and awe associated with something novel. He is like a perky younger cousin who sees infinite possibility in everything. He is little annoying at times, but his enthusiam is also endearing and a tad infectious.

The Second Day is a different character of course and is all about getting down to business. Possessed with a steely reserve, Day 2 wants to operationalize all the lofty idealism of the previous day before the calendar gets impossibly full. A useful sort of person to have around.

The Third Day is that evil kind of bastard that will surreptitiously pour salt into the sugar dispenser and ruin your coffee. He wakes you up way too early with all the graceless belligerence of a drill sergeant on a cold damp morning.

He is the smug know-it-all who is far too eager to say "I told you so". The Third Day likes to quote statistics and freely gives unsolicited advice around how the world really works and somehow thinks that labelling oneself as a realist is a positive attribute.

Not a big fan of Day 3, though I will grudgingly acknowledge that it serves a purpose.

How is Day 3 treating you?

12 THINGS TO CONSIDER FOR 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 00:48:00 +0000

A few things to contemplate at the start of this year (feel free to check back in 365 days to see what fits)

That really good deal someone is offering you to take over their video store franchise might not be such a hot idea.
13 years into the 21st century & you will still not own a flying car or jet pack this year (though I am less confident that a singular A.I. entity won't come online shortly and begin to enslave humanity)
There will be more sequels.
You might start to feel nostalgic about the seemingly distant pre-Facebook/Twitter era, and in doing so will begin to re-envision a future where you don't always know what everyone else is up to.
Almost every band you have ever loved that hasn't already reunited will do so this year and will likely tour near where you live.
Many more places will be occupied by increasingly larger groups of the disenfranchised.
Rediscovering the art of letter writing & corresponding by post could be considered acts of spiritual discipline to counteract the tyranny of the immediate.
You will make numerous lighthearted references to your ADD related symptoms and forgetfulness, though secretly your increasingly inability to concentrate or attend to one thing at a time will really bother you.
There will continue to be a negative correlation between the decline in the music industry and the breathtaking array of incredible new music being produced.
You will be tempted to head down to Portland, Oregon to re-experience the Gen X dream of counter culture & slackerdom before it's officially "over", (which by some standards was 5 minutes ago).
The array of choice in the digital realm will be even more overwhelming and you may as a result be tempted to retreat further into the familiar
On at least one occasion you will Google "2012" "Mayan Calendar" & "doomsday".

SIGNS TO PONDER

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Fri, 03 Jun 2011 07:05:00 +0000

What are the thoughts that drift from our minds as we stare into the horizon? What are the internal messages that drift outward and are carried away by the wind? Often these messages are mixed; hope and despair existing in tandem, inextricably linked and fed by each other.

This duality has often fascinated me and became apparent on an exceptionally windy day during April of 2010 when I had the chance to wander the shores of BC's "Sunshine Coast".

I found a number of small signs mounted on popsicle sticks that had been planted on a short pedestrian causeway leading out to the ocean. Many of the signs were precariously close to being blown away by the powerful wind, from which there was little shelter.

The signs had everything from trite and cliché laden platitudes printed on them, to the wonderful duality of "Anything is Possible/Life is Empty & Meaningless" on one that stood out the most for me.

I liked the idea of these signs being situated on a spit of land looking out towards the sea, as if they were physical manifestations of the type of thoughts or reflections one might have while looking out into the distance and scanning the horizon.

The signs jolted and flickered in the harsh wind, like the torrent of thoughts crossing my mind at the time. It was a wonderful find, and I enjoyed placing the signs in strategic places, hoping perhaps that others might find them as well.

It also helped me reconcile the many conflicting thoughts competing for attention in my own mind, some just as turbulent as the wind swept ocean around me.

What would your signs say?

GOING BLANK AGAIN

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Tue, 31 May 2011 04:45:00 +0000

Today I was mostly non-functional. This may have been due to a number of factors including the grey weather, insufficient sleep this past weekend or the standard bout of general malaise that surfaces from time to time.

Regardless of causation the result is the same; I felt like a malfunctioning droid running on reserve energy. I needed to bypass certain higher brain functions (such as rational thought) in order to conserve energy for essential areas of functioning such as breathing, walking, and the ability to smile and nod during “conversations”.

The iPod mix in the background only helped to contribute to my workplace coma, and somewhere between Radiohead’s “Lotus Flower” and Animal Collective’s “Did You See The Word’s” I was lost on another plain of reality, drifting to another dimension while my body operated in auto-pilot (maybe not a good day to be listening to ethereal post-rock).

Now that I think about it, Thom York’s lyrics were relevant today;

“I will sink and I will disappear
I will slip into the groove and cut me up”

Yes, “sink and disappear” works well on day a like this, as I was lost in a void of sorts, a fog of nothingness that I drifted towards as the hypnotic rhythm of the music carried me away.

Today was about creating the illusion of actually being present, which in my books is OK once in a while. Anyone feeding you the “carpe diem” 24/7 line is either trying to sell you something or is functioning in a mythical place where the world doesn’t have the ability to occasionally suck the life out of you and force you to power down for a little while.

Some days are like this and I suppose it is good to ride the wave of nothingness occasionally and let it envelop you in its sweet and empty embrace.

THE IMPENETRABLE SEA

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Fri, 27 May 2011 05:30:00 +0000

"The sea which lies before me as I write glows rather than sparkles in the bland May sunshine. With the tide turning, it leans quietly against the land, almost unflecked by ripples or by foam... we are in the north, and the bright sunshine cannot penetrate the sea" Iris Murdoch - "The Sea, The Sea"

Last weekend I was drawn to the ocean, and my experience is reflected well in these opening lines penned by Iris Murdoch. It had an immediate visceral impact on me as it often does and I was abundantly aware how blessed I am to be living near the sea and to have the privilege of this being a place of solace.

My endless fretting about almost everything is often immediately placated by the natural rhythms of the sea as it unfolds before me. It's as if the movement of the tides match the rhythm of my breathing, creating a sort of sensory integration where breath and sea are one in the same.

I find Murdoch's words resonating, not just because Vancouver has been exceptionally dim and grey these last few months, but by the wonderful notion of the sea being "impenetrable" in some places. This impenetrable sea is unsettling at times, as one's own smallness in the scheme of things becomes apparent, swallowed in the vast undefined mass of the eternally shifting water.

It also bring me comfort though, and it is liberating to have my ego, and sense of self swallowed up for even a moment by something that is so impenetrable, unknowable, yet also familiar. The crashing rhythm of waves and ocean currents is an eternal song, my participation is welcomed though completely unnecessary for it's continuation.

Strangely reassuring for me are these thoughts that drift for a moment over, though never through, the impenetrable water.

(The photo was taken last weekend on a greyish day by the ocean at Ambleside Beach, West Vancouver)

THE SOUND OF SLACKING

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Sun, 15 May 2011 22:33:00 +0000

Right now all is calm. Everyone in my house is either plugged into some sort of electronic device or engaged in reading. As a family we decided to take the radical step this afternoon and do "nothing".

Of course "nothing" is a fairly subjective and nebulous construct, and in the common vernacular it usually implies not being "productive". This leads me to wonder of course what is this obsession we have with being productive? How does one establish the barometer for gaging this and what is the measurable criteria that ultimately decides this?

My argument is that being unproductive is actually one of the most productive things you can possibly do; ipso facto the two constructs often cancel each other out. On this basis, if one is experiencing any angst around being unproductive it would be wise to consider the very sensible advice that is written on the cover of the Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy; "DON'T PANIC"

My unproductive slacking thus far as included;

1. Listening to the new Fleet Foxes album
2. Tweeting briefly about the much maligned BC sales tax (HST)
3. Downloading and listening to a few free Kristin Hersh tracks off of Last FM
4. Setting up some viable slacking options for my kids
5. Writing this.

Of course there will be some intermittent interruptions of my slacking today as I fulfill my role as a parent, but I will remain proud in the knowledge that being blissfully unproductive was the central, and perhaps most productive, focus of the day.

What glorious and unproductive pursuits have you engaged in today?

The above photo was taken on BC's (often ironically titled) Sunshine Coast in May 2010 - a great place to wander about in a unproductive fashion

REOCCURRING TEETH

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Sun, 08 May 2011 07:28:00 +0000

The Antlers, an indie band worthy of consideration, have recently released a great new song called, "Every Night My Teeth Are Falling Out". It's the type of song that sneaks up on you and takes a few listens to permeate your consciousness before you appreciate what's going on. I would highly recommend it.

It is inspired by the type of disturbing reoccurring dream that can linger and leave some psychic residue long after the dream itself has ended. I've had the falling teeth dream a few times myself, and the initial dread of this is often quickly followed by the euphoric realization that my pearly whites are all still intact when I wake up.

Obviously, our dreams reflect our deepest anxieties, and undoubtedly losing one's teeth can represent a sense of frailty or having no control over something that is inextricably linked to who we are (and to think I didn't need to read "10,000 Dreams Interpreted" to figure this one out).

Most of my reoccurring dreams have positive associations , including flying freely over my childhood home, various heroic adventures that I revisit, and best of all (I kid you not) carrying around a stack of vinyl in a giant warehouse or shop full of records .

As a child I used to dream a lot about visiting the land of Narnia, as this was an imaginary landscape that had a profound impact on my young mind when I read the books. The only anxiety producing aspect of my Narnia dreams was that within the actual dream I would wake up and always want to fall back asleep so I could get back there.

The reoccurring dreams that are awful for me now are less about my teeth or some physical attribute, and are more about the anxiety related to being separated from or severely misunderstood or maligned by someone I care about deeply. It still amazes me how the emotional aspect of these type of relational dreams can linger long after the actually narrative of the dream is forgotten, leaving a bit of a dream hangover perhaps.

What is the equivalent of your "teeth falling out" dream? Do you dare to dream and tell?

(download "Every Night My Teeth Are Falling Out" by The Antlers)

CONTRASTS

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 18:34:00 +0000

I am slowly emerging from a fog that has persisted for the last 6 months. Trying and difficult times have this sort of impact.

It has taken all my energy to simply "get by" since September in the wake of cancer in my family. Thankfully, it seems that things are heading in a positive direction now. SJ is doing well and we are all slowly emerging from the dark.

It is timely that this coincides with the reality out my window; vibrant cherry blossoms are beginning to emerge in stark contrast to the grey backdrop of the sky above. Vancouver is very dramatic this way - dark menacing clouds can persist low to the ground, giving way to piercing and brilliant sunshine for half and hour, only to return to grey again just as quickly.

Extremes happen within a short time span. There are numerous micro-climates, and as you travel the evolving atmosphere can alter your perception in mere moments.

Perhaps this is a good metaphor for the unexpected trials and joys in life. The notion that things stay the course, that life can be predictable is a comforting illusion, and the constant motion and messiness of life seems well beyond our control. Yet there is something dynamic and life affirming among all the unpredictability.

Dark times are hard indeed, and they leave their indelible scars, though they are part of the landscape. They make the light that much brighter.

It's getting brighter friends.

(Note: the above picture was taken near the downtown eastside of Vancouver in 2006 - for a few fleeting weeks the city explodes with brilliant pink, making it essential to take it all in)

CANCER

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Wed, 19 Jan 2011 16:00:00 +0000

“The growth is suspicious”

Since September these nebulous words have shaped the life of my family and taken us in a direction I would never have imagined. My beloved, the mother of my children, was confirmed to be stricken with this seemingly random and capricious disease. My whole world suddenly shrunk and zoomed into focus.

I have felt stuck on the sidelines, helpless at times, watching my wife fight this ailment and deal with the side effects of a multiplicity of poisonous drugs flowing through her system.

There is a fog that follows the chemo treatment for her , and I wait and hope for the mist to lift, to connect with her, to understand. Her pragmatism throughout all this amazes me. We talk matter of factly about things that sometimes have me screaming on the inside.

A lot of waiting around – waiting for appointments, answers, test results and treatment. My incessant need for instant gratification and clean resolutions has been thwarted and I’ve had no choice but to learn how to accept a high level of uncertainty.

I haven’t been able to write. I have been paralyzed and exhausted by night fall, my emotional reservoir empty after a day of work and attending to the children. This can’t persist though, as I am starting to see that even in the midst of all this uncertainty there is life going on around me that requires my engagement.

I’ve spent more time lately reading to my kids at night, a ritual that sees us all in sync and calm at the end of the day, feeding our imaginations with rich and fantastical narratives. This makes me think of course of the power of narrative – what words or stories are filling my mind in the face of all this uncertainty?

I have some better choices to make and I think I have recently committed the crime of not looking past my own shadow and seeing what could be on the horizon . It hit me the other day when Sara sent me an e-mail with ideas for summer vacations, a simple thing really, but it made me realize that my imagination has been limited by focusing so much on just “getting by”.

In the spirit of being defiantly hopeful I am trying to relearn how to look forward. Please join me.

AIMING FOR AIMLESSNESS

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 03:50:00 +0000

My Summer (which didn't include blogging) seems to have come to a close. This is not a lament, as I am looking forward to the sights and smells of Autumn and the familiar routines that bring a sense of rhythm to everyday life.

The signs are already here; the nights in Vancouver are getting cooler and I have seen evidence of a slight golden hue on some of the trees, and of course the ubiquitous miniature red monkeys have returned to their ancestral nesting branches outside my back door as they always do this time of year;
I went for a delightful evening walk a few nights ago at sunset and listened to a classic Elliott Smith album on my iPod while watching the sunset over Ambleside Beach. The crisp air filled my lungs with that sense of wonder and anticipation that I often experience this time of year. I get quite introspective as the season changes and I often find myself walking aimlessly, allowing my mind to wander in various fanciful directions.

It is a time when I feel most human and alive, and feel more inspired to enjoy the abundance of life as it unfolds around me, free occasionally not to worry much about accomplishing anything that is "productive". Sometimes it is just good to breathe in deeply and scan the horizon for something magical, as an act of surrender of sorts towards the divine . I am looking forward to more of this.

(looking south-east towards Stanley Park and downtown from the North Shore - courtesy of the West Van seawall, one of the best places in the universe to wander aimlessly)

BEING THANKFUL FOR SPAM

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Tue, 18 May 2010 14:00:00 +0000

I am well aware that I have been neglecting personal writing and engagement with others in the blogosphere, as evidenced in the fact that Asian spam briefly appeared to be outweighing legitimate commentary throughout my increasingly scarce postings.

I can view this as a wake-up call, and perhaps it is way for the universe to let me know how I may need to revisit a medium that in recent years has been mostly energizing, has provided me a great creative outlet and has brought some very cool people into my life.

Perhaps I need to thank the Asian spammers for providing unintended inspiration; no I won't visit your site or try your "super fun happy product" but I do now feel compelled to counter this commercial intrusion through some good old fashioned self-expression and dialogue with others in this vast and seemingly endless digital universe.

Of course it makes me think of how language is a fickle and evolving entity, as evidence in the reality that if I uttered the phrase "Asian spam" 15 years ago you would have probably envisioned something like this;

It's a brave new world indeed, blink for a few seconds and something previously unimaginable is now normative. It is quite breathtaking and a tad overwhelming at times, though I still contend that it is worthwhile to participate in some form that is congruent with who I am.

So, I guess I need to thank a few anonymous spammers for this pleasant reminder. Who knows, I may even visit your site and leave a comment asking you to visit my "dynamic interesting mind-blowing blog experience".

LITTLE PIECES

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 07:01:00 +0000

An old friend reminded me recently that during high school (I dread to mention how long ago this was) I gave her a copy of the "Premier Book of Major Poets" complete with an inscription and date. She described the book as being "discoloured and worn-out", nestled among a collection of other poetry books in her collection.

This got me thinking of course about those tiny fragments of ourselves that are given to others and reflect a significant point of connection frozen in time, a tangible representation of moments where among friends the sharing of ideas and art opens doors to a bigger world.

In this case the poetry book existed outside of conscious memory for quite some time. I have been trying to reconstruct the story behind the book and what inspired this, but I am all too aware that my memory can be a capricious dictator at times, operating under terms outside of my own control or influence.

Perhaps it is an egocentric exercise, but it makes me wonder what other tiny pieces of me are floating around out there. I know that in my possession there remain a few treasures from people who have been significant in my life, including a few mixed tapes and inscribed books that have endured numerous moves in the ensuing years. These are gems that I take out from time to time, unearthed in a ritual of remembering.

I really appreciated my friend reminding me about this book that I gave her, and it made me think of just how unaware I am at times of the trail, or "essence" that it is possible to leave behind in even the slightest of encounter with another human being. I can at times fall into the trap of discounting the past and not making necessary connections to those moments that have enabled me to come to where I am today.

Of course there aren't always tangible representations like books or mixed tapes to serve as a memory queue. Occasionally we can be blessed with a persistent or stubborn memory that takes hold and refuses to let go, a fragment of time that connects you to another person and to a moment of friendship. These memories can be just as dog eared and worn just like an old book, and be all the more precious for it.

RING A BELL AND I'LL SALIVATE

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Sat, 27 Mar 2010 01:45:00 +0000

Early 21st century life seems at times like an ongoing Pavlovian enterprise;

Blinking red light = time to check my voice mail
Inbox with bold type = must open my e-mail
Instant messenger pop up = someone needs a response asap
Morning greeting at work = an exchange of pleasantries is required
Cell phone beeping = voice mail waiting

It feels at times like my day is compromised of one conditioned response after another, creating a continuous and self sustaining feedback loop; I do these things simply because I always do them. This makes it easy to float through a portion of the day in autopilot.

I would venture to guess that this is an increasing phenomena for many of us. Of course a conditioned response is valuable and necessary at times, though when it becomes the norm it makes me feel like some disembodied ghost, only playing the part of a fully functional and sentient being. So how does one break out of this cycle then?

Small subversive acts work for me; turn the ringer off for an hour, cover up the blinking light with a post-it note, choose a different response, pick certain times of day where I choose to open e-mail.

I often add music into my day to help transform it. There is something incompatible, yet transformational about listening to the yearning and reflective tone of Sun Kil Moon or the dream pop of Beach House on my iPod while I complete mundane tasks like responding to an e-mail . The soundscapes infuse a layer of beauty into my day, stimulating parts of my brain that make me more creative and less likely to float around in autopilot.

For a while I was worried that I was becoming some sort of Cylon sleeper agent, waiting for the next signal or command to trigger some internally programmed response. Thankfully, I am not a diabolical walking toaster, and perhaps writing this is down part of what helps prevent this for me.

So as the red light blinks on the periphery of my vision I will blissfully ignore it’s demand for a response, for the time being at least.

WHAT DREAMS MAY COME

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 05:24:00 +0000

I awoke this morning with a vivid dream still playing itself out in my mind. I experienced that brief interval that occurs when you first wake up and are overcome with some tenacious dream residue so powerful that it sticks to your brain for a few extra seconds. It is a wonderful place, a space between two worlds joined momentarily.

For a few seconds I lamented a profound personal loss, only to experience the dawning awareness that it was all a dream and that everything was in it's rightful order. The elation that follows this awareness is itself intoxicating. It is a temporary high, where the emotional content of the dream persists in tandem with the competing facts of an emerging consciousness. A little magic to start the day.

Recently, an old friend told me about a dream where she and I were at our high school prom together, and she was wearing a very ugly dress. She also noted that despite this being a high school dream we were both at our present age, among a group of people who were not all congruent with that particular setting.

This is something I have experienced as well, and whenever my dreams occur in familiar childhood or adolescent landscapes I am almost always my present age. I wonder if there is something in our psychological makeup that makes it hard to dream as if we were children again, as if our minds are filled with too much experience and input to allow us to go back so easily?

I also appreciated that my friend felt compelled to tell me about this dream, and it reinforces my belief that (with a few exceptions perhaps) it is always good form to tell people when they have permeated your dream landscape. I figure if someone has made it so deeply into my subconscious there must be something significant there, regardless of how subtle it may be.

I think if we told others when they inhabit our dreams some fascinating patterns might emerge over time, and perhaps we would see more of that elusive web of connectedness between ourselves and even those we thought were only bit players in our lives. Perhaps a few walls might come down in the process.

UNDEAD AT WORK

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 00:42:00 +0000

Since coming back to work from the Christmas holidays (and having a nasty cold) I have been a walking corpse in the office, a horrific shadow of my former self. That's right, I've been a zombie worker drone scaring my colleagues with my vacant stare and sporadic moaning.

I have been groaning the word "b-r-a-i-n-s" as I wander haplessly through the office. This is not because I want to eat one, but rather because I am calling out for my own brain, lamenting the absence of that lovely clump of gray matter that used to inhabit my skull and that once provided me with hours of entertainment.

The first symptom was my tendency to wander somewhere and forget mid stride were I was going. My lack of brains really became apparent during one of those cringe worthy moments where I temporarily forgot the name of someone I have worked with for ages, and when I was called out on it I couldn't come up with one of my usual clever recoveries.... aaaargh b-r-a-i-n-s!

Being the walking brainless dead at the office has it's upswing of course, as everyone has low expectations of you . Also, I suspect many of my colleagues are in a somewhat undead state as well, experiencing their own post-holiday state of zombification.

After mustering up some reserve brain power this morning in order to complete some paper work, my remaining grey matter finally collapsed and I was left with no other choice but to retire for the day back to my zombie den. Also, children tend to be scared of zombies, and an undead social worker is even more frightening, so I had no choice but to leave for the day. Hopefully someone will develop a serum to reverse my condition.

Any zombie moments for you at work this week?

DON'T FORGET TO BREATHE

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 07:45:00 +0000

"Just Breathe"

A form of advice that is so seemingly obvious and vital, and yet so often overlooked. It is also one of my essential resolutions for 2010 (and beyond).

I started thinking about it a few months ago after listening to a podcast of the CBC show "Spark" where researcher Linda Stone was exploring the concept of "email apnea" (the tendency to breathe shallowly, hyperventilate, or not breathe at all while checking email, using using an iPhone, or interacting with similar forms of technology).

In addition to my own form of email apnea I began to notice this pattern for myself in other circumstances as well, especially when I am stuck in traffic and stressed out about getting somewhere. I have a tendency to take shallow and short breaths during the exact moments where my poor oxygen deprived brain needs to be as alert as possible.

I would encourage everyone to take stock of this, especially in the context of our technologically saturated lives where we are often held breathless and captive by the engaging content or some all consuming task that is before us. Next time you are really enraptured by something on your computer try to take notice of how you are breathing and you might be alarmed by what you find.

Part of my mantra at work lately with my social work colleagues is to remind them at times to take big breaths before running off towards another of many stressful circumstances in their day. One of the benefits of taking stock of my own patterns of breathing is to notice when others are in need of this useful reminder as well (used sparingly of course).

So there you have it, one of my hopes for this new year is to allow my diaphragm to expand and extract with great gusto and vitality. I want huge, deep and vital breaths on a regular basis. On average we take 18,000 to 26,000 breaths every 24 hours, and I want a good percentage of those to be pretty damn meaningful this year!

So remember, "just breathe".....

SO THIS IS THE NEW YEAR...

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 07:17:00 +0000

Like many of my fellow human beings, I possess this irrational tendency to project a tempered sense of hope in response to the emergence of a new year. I often awake the first morning of the year with a brief experience of tabula rasa, of starting fresh and thinking the whole world should follow suit as well.

It doesn't take long of course before I catch the next evening news cast and experience the deflating "same shit, different year" perspective in response to some atrocity or another. I often try to avoid the news for a few days following a new year, as such ignorance is indeed bliss, at least for a while.

Of course to think that we can somehow start fresh, disconnected from our own personal nature or human history because of some arbitrary form of time measurement is completely strange and nonsensical on many levels.

I know that on a collective and individual basis, we remain who we are, rooted in the mire of the human condition, which is of course rife with suffering and a stunning lack of imagination at times. The turning of one day, month, year, or decade can't divorce us from this reality.

However misplaced it might be, there is something defiantly beautiful in the act of waking up and thinking for a moment that something, however small, could be different in the coming year. Perhaps it is like some gambler's fallacy deeply rooted in our psyche, allowing us to believe that the odds will eventually work in our favour. Regardless, it is a powerful and necessary force.

In many ways, an unfilled calendar page is a sacred symbol, one that propels us forward with great hope. There is something magical in that brief pause at the start of a new year, before the pages are filled or the script is fully written. We finally untether our imagination and allow it to take flight for a while. The possibilities are intoxicating.

A good way to start any day, really.

(flickr link for photo here)

FUN WITH WORD VERIFICATION

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 03:26:00 +0000

Verification words are an endless source of amusement. Every time I leave a comment on someone’s blog I look forward to the random configuration of letters that I am required to type first in order to make sure that I am not some insidious blog spamming bot.

A seemingly random process, most of the verification words that I have come across contain the proper vowel- consonant ratio to make them seem like believable words, albeit from some parallel universe where the English language evolved differently.

Here are the last three verification words that I have come across today (I have referenced the source blog where I left comments beside it)

impiout - (Bad Tempered Zombie)

hunip - (Flying Buttresses)

tiver - (Everything is Pop)

Of course, I couldn’t resist the temptation to provide definitions for these new words;

Tiver: Derived from the French word “hiver” (“winter”) - used to describe the short bursts of winter like conditions that can occasionally surface in times of year more associated with temperate weather - tiver is an abbreviated version of the French phrase “petits hiver” (i.e. “small winter”) . Example: “The unexpected snow fall in late April indicates that we may be entering a period of tiver like conditions for the next few days”

Tiver can also refer to a person, or group of people, self-identified as being ardent admirers or fans of indie-folk musician Bon Iver. Example: "Like a true tiver, she is going to every concert on Bon Iver's west coast tour this summer"

Impiout: Describing a person who expresses blatant disrespect for the religious beliefs or practices of others , often in an abrasive or brazen manner. The word evolved as a hybrid of “impious” and “idiot”. For example, "His refusal to take off his shoes in the temple indicated that he was acting like a real impiout".

Hunip: A woolen tunic typically worn by Attila the Hun’s army that helped keep soldiers warm while riding across the cold plains of central Europe & Asia. The hunip often included a convenient slit in the side to rest a sword and scabbard for easy access, while also providing a warm resting place for cold fingers between battles.

*******

Feel free to try a few of your own new verification words with definitions and pass them along. Perhaps we can start a linguistic revolution one random word at a time!

FLYING CARS & RELENTLESS RAIN

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 06:00:00 +0000

Other than a brief priod of respite today, there have been relentless torrents of rain day after day on the aptly named "Wet Coast" where I live. Much to the dismay of my umbrella, the sideways blowing rain has subverted it's one and only purpose in life, thus giving it some serious self-esteem issues to contend with.

Of course the ubiquitous November darkness, which can drive one to despair on a good day, has been given that extra shot of soul sapping and depression inducing weariness courtesy of endless waves of pounding wind and precipitation . It would be a good call to stay away from those Joy Division records this month.

I went grocery shopping the other day and had to tread water through large parking lot lakes while trying to keep a 4kg bag of flour dry, which is no small accomplishment. Have you ever tried to walk through a two foot deep puddle balancing groceries in one hand and a skin scorching latte in the other? Life here is harsh my friends.

Seeing as we are now well into the 21st century my biggest complaint is that we should really have all had flying cars by this time, or at the very least portable jet packs that we could use to fly above the soggy madness below. I could easily strap one of these over my gore-tex coat and be on my merry way out of the rain.

In the movie Blade Runner (which takes place in the year 2019) there is also lots of rain, and of course, flying cars everywhere for convenience. Sure, there are psychotic killer androids in the midst of an existential crisis on the loose, but the flying cars more than make up for this.

Of course the inhospitable weather has brought to surface my latent slacker tendencies, as what else does one want to do while the weather outside is so frightful but sit by the fire with some hot chai, a good book, or some mindless zombie movies to wile away the evening. A perfectly justifiable act under the circumstances.

On second thought, let it pour. Flying cars and rain be damned .... let the slacking begin!

GETTING TO KNOW MY BLOG AGAIN

noreply@blogger.com (Westcoast Walker) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 05:54:00 +0000

Like a lover scorned, my blog is completely unimpressed with my recent neglectful behavior.

I used to be so attentive to it's needs, so filled with wonderful flowery language and playful imagery to satisfy it's insatiable appetite for an endless stream of content.

Alas, now our relationship is a mere shadow of it's former glory. Where once the Great Muse bestowed me with many inspired offerings, there is now only dust, mere fragments of a once great promise.

I have tried to make amends, though the whole "it's not you, it's me" line did not go over very well with my blog. I have also tried to coast on my charm, though this is wearing thin as well. The only form of appeasement is through the provision of content.

So then, here I start again... digital signals form words as I type, giving shape to the random thoughts and flights of fancy that consume my mind.

My dear blog, I hope you are happy.....