.........."UBER RETARDED".

 

 

 

 I've said this once. Maybe twice. And now I'll say it a third time: Mississauga, is quickly becoming a "white-trash" utopia. As a result, I cannot, in all good conscious, critize Toronto for all it's shortcomings. On principle alone, at least Toronto is taking steps to clean itself up.

 

 Today was yet another prime example, of the kind of social refuse which chooses to inhabit this area.

 

 I was out for my run (which has become more of a "power walk", since the onset of arthritis in my right leg), when this greeseball with a mullet, who, based on his ethinicity, was either a "fish stealer", or a graduate of the "Vinnie Bobaronio School of Tough Guys", pulls up beside me in his car.  "Hey guy," he says, "It's a little hot for a sweater. Don't ya think?". he remarks (I was in my track suit). I'm thinking to myself, "WTF? This guy HAS to be a closet case, and this is some warped kind of pick-up line. Either that, or he's watched too many episodes of "What Not To Wear". Not to mention, this guy's critizing my choice of wardrode, when he's waltzing around with a "Tennessee Waterfall" running down his neck. So I reply, "You're a REAL tough guy in your car. Aren't you asshole? Try stepping out of it". The S.O.B. drives off. Never getting out.

 

 This is not the first, second, or even third time in a year, I've been harassed while out jogging, and minding my own buisness.  I even had a regular stalker for a while that was SO habitually annoying, I had to change my route. He was SO frequent, I swear I was being stalked. I'm not kidding. I had a beer bottle launched at my head from a moving car, near the end of last year, and had two guys yell "FAGG0T" to me. Again, from the safe confines of a moving car (Ya. Two guys, alone in a car. Not a woman between them. BUT I'M THE FAGG0T? Uhhhhh....Something is wrong there, people.).

 

 As if this wasn't bad enough, lately, I can't seem to pull up to a traffic light, without someone panning for change on a roadway island, or waiting outside Tim Horton's for a handout. It's getting totally ridiculous. I've also noticed a high degree of whackjobs coming out of the woodwork as well. Just last month, I was at Wendy's, talking to one of the floorstaff during my lunchbreak, when some street guy comes up to me, steps in between my companion and I, gets right in my face, and just starts rambling off at the mouth, about how unhealthy my chilli and salad were. "I was a personal trainer for 5 years. You look like you've been living off a steady diet of booze and heroin, for at least twice that. Who are you? And who are you to tell me what to do, period?". I swear. I think for every sane person born, there's at least one nutjob, and one socially inept delinquent as well. On that note, I don't see the numbers balancing out anytime soon.

 

 Back in 1980, my family moved me to Mississauga, to get me away from all this. Now, this kind of societal hooliganism and unnecessary nonsense, seems to be rapidly progressing west, and overtaking here. The powers that be (YES, Madame Mayor. I'm refering to you.), need to pull up their socks, and nip this type of garbage in the bud, before it gets any more out-of-hand.

 

 The cons, are quickly beginning to outweigh the pros, when it comes to living here. At least in Toronto, people usually know not to harass or pipe off to anyone. Because it's inhabitants pack heat, like Rocco Siffredi packs fudge. Therefore, you can never tell who is carrying what on their person, or if they'll use it. Which, now that I think about it, might explain the rise in garbage here.

 

 The mess here is getting out of hand. Someone send in the janitorial crew to clean it, before I have to pick up and move elsewhere.

 

 Gh0sT

 

 

 

 I hope nobody is seriously surprised by this:

 

 http://www.citynews.ca/news/news_3153.aspx

 

 The first time I observed John Mark Karr, I knew he wasn't the real culprit of the Ramsey murder. This was long before the DNA match proved incorrect, long before his fabricated tales of the crime, appeared and smelled more like an aging slice of Swiss cheese, than anything convincingly damaging to his person, and long before his ex-wife was testifing to his unhealthy facination with high profile crime cases. To the lay observer, hellbent on perpetuating a witch hunt, Karr would do just fine. On principle alone, he'd already been implicated in California, on child pornography charges. However, to the more scrutinizing follower of the case, all one had to do, was observe his physical demeanor, when first encountering the press. He appeared more like a fish out of water, than anything remotely menacing. He silently walked with his head down, and refused to make eye contanct with any of the press core. When he did speak, it barely sounded like more than a whisper. Everything about him screamed, "Oh my God. What have I gotten myself into?".

 

 But therein lays the difference, between an socially inept "attention whore", seeking their fifteen minutes of fame, in an desperate attempt to be somebody, and a true, sociopathic predator.

 

 While both may share the same need for recognition, and subscribe to the theory "If you can't be famous, be INFAMOUS.", it's the sociopath who posesses the qualities, which allow them to live up to that idology. It's one thing to "talk the talk", but an entirely different thing to "walk the walk". Most criminal profilers agree, these types of anti-social behaviours begin at an early age. Usually with bullying, and animal torture. It's after they've acquired taste for such, that they gradually progress up the "thrill ladder", and escalate into violent crimes perpetuated on their fellow man. To continue unabated in their secret lives, while, at the same time, maintaining their ablity to reasonably function in everyday society, they must develop key, sociopathic qualities. Charm, and pathological lying (Often done SO efficiently and frequently, it fools law enforcement, as well as the general public), possibly being the most important. Lack of shame, coupled with lack of empathy, enable the person to carry out their deeds. In short, all the characteristics and abilities John Mark Karr was completely lacking.

 

 Somehow, I sense the police were possibly already aware of his innocence, but for the sake of the public, felt obliged to go through the motions. It being such a high-profile case. I suggest you look over the evidence yourself. The public is devided on it. As are some households. Mine being  just one of them.

 

 On an "up" note....I hear Cali inmates aren't big on pedophiles, either. So it may be a case of, "Out of the frying pan, into the fire." for John Mark Karr.

 

 "Don't drop the soap, Mr. Karr."

 

 Gh0sT

 

 

 Holy shit......Do I feel like a total heel, or what.

 

 My "evil friend", made a huge comeback tonight. Henceforth, why I'm awake at 3am popping pills and sipping ginger ale. Not wanting to disappoint my dearest, I went over for a spell to see her and the kids. By 9pm, I thought I was going to give birth. Someone call Gregg Valentino, and tell him I'm having some "nuclear explosions" going on, that could rival his. By midnight, I had to book. I felt THAT sick. The look on my dearest's face was tramatizing to the soul. That "You don't want to be with me." look. Which is NOT true, and something I never want to imply. With words OR actions. But in the same sense, I don't want to be around someone, when I'm crippled with pain, or feel like I'm about to experience a Valentino "shit bubble" firsthand. That's something best left to you, a magazine, and the cold confines, of the porcelain palace.

 

 Okay. Gonna go die now. HAVE A NICE DAY! :)

 

 Gh0st

...Because everyone needs a vacation, once in a while!

 For all my MSN friends,

 

 Most of you won't know this, but I'm currently be harassed by my girlfriend's ex-husband. Over the last week, he's been hacking into email accounts, sending mail under aliases, and pretending to be people he's not. Last night was the coup de gras: He vandalized my car. The police are looking for him, but he's being sheltered by at least one person.

 

 For safety's sake....If any of you receive any "questionable" email from any of my addresses (email that seems "out of character" for me, uses improper grammar, slang, or is lacking my specific mannerisms), DO NOT assume it's me. If you are completely unsure, contact me to ask.

 

 My apoligies, for any possible future inconviences regarding the matter.

 

 With thanks,

 

 Gh0sT

 Encompassed by it's manificence, the watcher becomes enthralled with the big city splender.

 

 Transfixed he sits. High atop a concrete thrown, and resting against the sculpted mask of a grotesque. From this pearched position,  he is one with the belly of the beast, and finds himself marveling over every facet of her nervous system. In this symphony of the senses, little, if anything, is lost on him.  He hears the collective groan of traffic that forms her heartbeat, and watches the splatters of neon imagery, which are her thoughts. As her bowls let loose into the sewer,  he catches the pungent aroma wafting up into the air. Along with the gaseous emissions of commuters, as they file back, one by one,  into the toilet of humanity.
 
 Far below, her primal voice is heard, in the audible hostility of her combative citizens. In their screams and shouts, threats and vulgarities. Her pulse quickens, and reproductive organs flush with heat, when two of her children fornicate in an adjacent alleyway. Cums spills onto the concrete. Lubricating the parched, erroded surface of her ashphalt skin.
 
 Suddenly, with the bellow of thunder, she echos her displeasure, and begins to weep from her skyward eyes. Emitting  a torrential stream, of planitary unhappiness, she rains down with unbridled authority, in a attempt to both purge and cleanse. Choosing to remain at his post, he accepts the full consequences of her outburst. Slick with her tears, his face becomes a smeared mask, of dark eyeshadow. Streaked with pools of cosmetic gloom, he appears as some tragic mime.

 

 Lost in the wasteland, of this saturated apocolypse. And the drenched overseer, of this vast, metropolitian landscape.

 I was cleaning out my computer, when I happened across an old video file I'd stored away. It was a snipet of a documentary on drug abuse. Based on the dialect of the narrator, I presumed it to have been filmed somewhere in Eastern Europe. Now, on any given day, a documentary on such a topic, may not draw a second glance from me. I'm a product of the 20th century, and am very much accustomed to seeing junkies sprawled out on every street corner in the urban jungle, in which I was reared. Not apathetic, mind you, but accustomed. However, this one in piticular very much caught my eye, because the average age of the abuser, was eight years old.

 

 Yes. You read that right. EIGHT.

 

 There is something indescribable, about watching an eight year old boy mainlining, with all the precision and care of a verteran nurse. With a Marley hanging out the side of his mouth, he looked like a pint sized James Dean. Which might seem humerous, were it not for the fact he was killing himself. As the heroin took hold of him, you could see the life drain from his eyes, as they rolled back into his head. While, at the same time, one of his companions breathed second hand pot smoke into his gapping mouth, in an attempt to elevate his already semi-conscious state.

 

 I'm trying to think back to when I was his age, and how I passed the time. Probably listening to "Chipmunk" albums, playing with Lego, or something else age appropriate. I don't think I even knew what a "drug" was. But that describes the crux of my arguement right there: I was just too young to realize, just what a s__thole this planet truly is. As it should be. With most people, it takes at least two or three decades, before they reach that level of psychological and social abandonment. But eight years old? My God. If the world can pack such a profound degree of cereberal termoil, into such a miniscule amount of time, enough to send an eight year old running to a crackhouse for relief? I mean, what do you say to that? Other than it only furthers my previous notion: The world is truly a s__thole.

 

 Always one to call a "spade", a "spade".

 

 Gh0sT

 
 

 

 

 I'm feeling three shades of manic as of late. I have two, full bottles of booze infront of me. And as God is my witness, if I had tomorrow off work, they'd both be bone dry by now. I feel like the wells in my life are quickly running dry. I'm constantly burning the midnight oil. I can't jog enough. I can't go to the gym often enough. I can't sit still, and merely thinking requires the most concerted effort on my behalf. Reality tells me, I'm chasing something I'll never catch. I'm angry more often. I'm seeing dualities in several aspects of my being. I'm clinging to little comforts. The bike, the past, fleeting moments of introspection. Missing silly things. Like getting my brains scrambled in the ring. As horrible as they have all been to me. Past or present. Well. I guess sanity is a subjective thing. Someone once told me, the definition of "insane", involves repeating the same behaviour or behaviours, while expecting different results each time. Were that true, then I am unequivocally insane.

 

 Course, having said that...The insane get all the best drugs. So maybe there's still hope.

 

 "Even the most primitive of societies have an innate respect for the insane."

 

 Gh0sT